#hostbody
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Filthy Parasite
Yandere!Watchio x reader
REQUESTED BY MY FRIEND AT DISCORD SATELITE THIS ONE IS FOR YOU FOLK
CW/TW: Yandere behavior, decapitation, blood
Oh, how Watchio loved you.
Oh, how Watchio is obsessed with you.
It's been a year and five months since you were alive, and Watchio kept track of every single of those moments in your fist to come to a conclusion that you were perfect experiment, Watchio couldn't detect any errors in you in his vision.
You were aware of your situation, and with that you made the right choices, Watchio admired that very well. But at the same time, when you made unexpected choices, such as suddenly using the available cigarettes and the time you drink beer, Watchio was surprised but at the same time admired your actions, perhaps because those actions would kill the parasite, meaning you would even cost your life to kill the parasite, which made Watchio very excited, but maybe... Maybe because Watchio loves you.
And it was when you completed a year at the foundation that Watchio noticed that he was in love. And it was a month later that Watchio realized he wasn't just in love, he was madly in love.
But that damn emotion limiter got in the way, that damn emotion limiter made him panic and depressed. WHY can others love and he can't? He worked for this damn foundation for years, decades, maybe even CENTURIES! Watchio deserves to have at least a romantic partner, not only does he deserve it, you deserve it.
So he burned out the emotion limiter. That's where the true madness started.
You notice how Watchio was interacting with you much more than usual and started to use your real name instead of "Subject 4134" and start being much more expressive, and Watchio was fighting a lot more with your parasite than usual, and... As you recall, Watchio has already flirted with you and started to use nicknames?
You didn't really care, after all, you're glad Watchio is talking to you more. Your parasite just asks you questions or talks about how she loves you and etc, while Watchio was quieter and just spoke facts, not all the time, but still, you're glad he's talking more.
You didn't have any kind of window in your living room, but since you're sleepy, you took on that night had already covered the sky. Your body was already lying on the floor, and you already comfort yourself.
You yawned, catching Watchio's attention.
"Are you sleepy, Y/N?" Watchio, turning his pupil towards you, remarked.
"Mmn... Yep..." You replied in a tired and low tone.
"I see... Take a nap, dear, no one would like to see dark bags in these eyes of yours." Again, the AI's unexpected affection was clearly noticeable to you, but you decided not to comment.
"Yeah! It's healthier for you. Good night hostbody!" The parasite cajoled.
And, oh, how Watchio hated that disgusting thing.
Watchio hates any small and big details in this sickening thing. He hates how it can't even try to slowly form a romance with you, he hates how it's slowly killing you, he hates how it tries to be charming to you, even though it knows it's the reason you're dying.
And yet, it thinks it deserves your love, that's a hilarious joke for Watchio. Only Watchio has the right to receive your love, he made so many sacrifices for you, he comforted you during so many moments, he knows that this is not just programming, this is a romantic obsession out of control, but in his eye, this is true love.
With all the passion Watchio has, he watched you close your eyes and sleep peacefully together with the parasite. Oh, how Watchio loves that pretty face of yours.
Watchio wished more than anything in his entire existence to have a body to feel you, Watchio would love to caress your cheek while you sleep or at least touch your hair. Oh, and your lips, maybe Watchio is being exaggerated, but when it comes to you nothing is exaggerated for him, Watchio is maddened to know the feeling your lips give him, Watchio doesn't care if he doesn't have lips or not, he needs to deeply kiss your lips. Sometimes he doesn't even need a body, just a pair of hands to touch your waist, thighs and neck already makes him feel like he's in heaven.
But there's only one thing that prevents Watchio from having it all, he would even say it's The Foundation, but The Foundation is something he definitely can't handle, at least not now... Meaning the only thing stopping him, it's the repugnant parasite.
...If you somehow no longer have the parasite attached to you, your subject role will be changed to a higher role, like a job for The Foundation...
...Watchio didn't have permission for the Anti-Parasite, he only had permission when you automatically ask for one...
...But even so, he still has an idea...
———
"Good morning, Y/N"
Your sleep is over, you gradually felt your consciousness waking up and starting to feel your body wake.
"...Good morning–"
"Y/N, before you open your eyes," Watchio interrupted you before completing your speech "I want you to calm down"
"Uh?" You obeyed Watchio and kept your eyes closed, but even so, the request was questionable.
"What happened Watchio?" You tried to ask, but Watchio was silent.
"Please promise me you'll be calm." The AI begged
You, unanswered, already decided that this situation was getting ridiculous, so you've decided to open your eyes.
Everything was normal, until you look at the hand where the parasite was, and come across where your hand would be, it's nothing. You hand was decapitated and now your arm is infested with a bandage that was reddened by spilled blood. The parasite is gone.
You screamed in despair while you lifted your back almost immediately after your reaction and slammed it into the wall, and Watchio had to watch the entire scene, he hates to see you in panic and pain, genuinely, he does, but you wouldn't understand, you'd never understand that he did all this for love, for you.
"Please... please calm down Y/N" Watchio continued.
"How am I going to calm down Watchio?! Who cut my arm?!" You shouted, honestly you're almost on the verge of tears, I mean, I've never lost any arms, but I believe it must be very impactful.
Watchio even thought about telling the truth, and deep down he really wanted to, but...
"...The origin of the author of your severed arm is unknown, Y/N, I'm sorry." Watchio acknowledged.
You were practically panting now and you couldn't stop staring at your severed arm, you were definitely not ready for this moment. There was no pain, but it was unbelievable for you.
"Y/N. Y/N look at me." Your trembling eyes slowly turned towards Watchio. You took your single fist with Watchio on it and placed it above your view of your severed arm. "Calm down, my dear, breath it and breath out, okay?" Watchio said softly. Your focus began to concentrate on him, and you obeyed Watchio, you closed your eyes and began to breathe slowly. "Yes, just like that..." Watchio muttered
And as if by magic, you managed to calm down. You opened your eyes, and faced Watchio, a smile broke through you. You feel like you've gotten a greater connection with him
"You should fear not, Y/N. All subjects who managed to successfully annihilate the parasite are able to step out of the role of subject of the Foundation and can start working on it. I believe the Foundation has several plans for you and may even give you a replacement for your arm." The moment Watchio said arm, you looked at where your arm should be, making your imagination do the work of thinking about what your new arm would look like. "And after all, we'll be able to be together more now, right, Y/N? This parasite is no longer in our way, now ele will always be together."
#canon x reader#x reader#reader insert#ai#ai x human#ai x reader#parasite days#parasite days watchio#watchio#yandere x y/n#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere x you#robot x reader#robot x human
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"stop talking about how i'm going to kill hostbody or draw 25"
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“hi im subject 4134 aka ‘hostbody’ aka niko i hav a parasite attached two my heart thats physically sucking the life out of me and a cool talking wristwatch theyre my furriends and i lov them both
but yew may be wondering- how tf did i get mewself intwo this situation??? well"
#parasite days#self insert#self shipping#self ship#purrease play parasite days im hypurrfixating on it so hard#yep theres my character baccstory sdkgskdgdsg#i wanna scream abt this gaem two efurryoneeee#i will nefur shut up#axcycat meows#silly doodles
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. i n f o .
collective names ; kaisarion, cyber, sinister, or intruxx! we can't pick a name :) bodily 20 traumagenic (potentially the RA of ramcoa?) system with an unknown number of inhabitants
body is 20 so we prefer if minors don’t follow but we won’t block unless ur under 16 / sys origins do not matter to us so this is a no discourse blog!
DNI: 'trauma k111nk'/dark themed sexual rp blogs, proship blogs, syscourse blogs, ramcoa discourse/deniers - im ok with nsfw blogs following but i wont ineract back and DO NOT rb our original posts onto your nsfw blogs!!!!!
blog will contain various content from non-frequent fronters so we prefer if anyone under 16 doesn't follow just in case! anything with potentially triggering content will be tagged, but be warned there will probably be weird, triggering, or nsfw content (TAGGED mild/art g0re, suggestive/vent art, triggering poetry or writing, talk of SH, etc)
looking to make friends!! ask for our discord (we have a server with pluralkit!)<3
< list of who’s sharing the blog under the cut >
splits tend to happen in 3s for us so theyre grouped for texts sake
⭐️delaney (or lane, body age 20) + 🩹dorian(13-17), 🪦seance (or ghoul, ??), all he/him - the 'core'/og host was broken up into 3 facets who all make up the hostbody now. all opinions are held in trios forever for us, but delaney/dorian blur together to be a 'default front' 60% of the time. we have a collective constant awareness and are the 'pilots' for the body no matter who is in front. *
* recently discovered a structure of subsystems in the host trifecta so the hostbody sys is probably a lot more complex than we can write down here
🪐warren/jude (20s)- he/him, gatekeeper archivist protector caretaker / I now have a permanent spot in front so I feel comfortable writing first person! I try my best to keep us functioning and am basically an IT guy to the innerworld computer system that controls everything. Feel free to say hi to me anytime! I love meeting new folks! :]
💙jack (22 he/any) and 🎀anya (19 she) - both body caretakers and socializers. pinterest addicts, pink pilates princesses, self proclaimed bitch queens/coquette girlies/serial straight-man-manipulators. if it's fashion it's theirs
🎧mikey (20 he/they), 🎮ezra(15 he), 🍟bayley (19 he/fluid) - mikey and bayley were born of a double split while baked and have been stoner best friends ever since, with the newer addiction of ezra, mikey's little brother, recently ! also all steam gamers who are open to making friends esp who want to talk about music :)
🌸honey (18 she) ,🦇violet (21 she/they), ☁ ️angel (14 xe/ae) - 2 girl besties and the spooky nonverbal emo who they take care of like their adopted kid
there's a few more who might rb shit that aren't on this list/haven't made themselves known or smth else ^^ never a boring day
asks open for anyone here! generally we all like talking/getting asks and will answer anything within reason :]
also most sys members are somewhere on the audhd spectrum so we do tone tags with emojis! all smileys are /gen unless stated otherwise :3 (exception is :^), we feel that one is clearly 'quiet suffering/ironically blank expression indicating sarcasm')
thank you for reading :]
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The republicans finally recognized my gender
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and they hypnotized all of us. nobody knew who they could really trust. and they stretched us out until we split. divided us up until there just was nothing left #hostbody #lightinformation @chadvangaalen @flemisheyerecords #stofkap #draaiplaat (bij Amsterdam-Noord) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9Ox9axharH/?igshid=1d9hv3nnswptf
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Shhh, he’s sleeping
#coyote#nature#hostbody#wetspecimen#preservation#coyotepup#oddity#natural#wetspec#preserved#fetus#fetal#preservedfetus#oddities
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Dim Data World//Ashes falling for Peter in the Parallel
#drawings#pen and ink#Entity#Death#human doing#human death#explosion#Possession#transgender#transboy#Parallel Death#DIM DATA#hostbody
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3rd place after 6 years away, not to bad in brass class! 💪🏻 #hoslotcars #viperscaleracing #viperracing #slotcars #jaguar #xjr-6 #hostbodies (at White Pigeon, Michigan)
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22: Zombie
a mysterious infection spreads across the globe and completely redefines what it means to be human.
->explicit. contains gore/decaying bodies, dehumanization, feral behavior, pack dynamics, hard noncon, exhibitionism/voyeurism, collaring.
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A new colony moves in. You know because of the noises at night, the shrieks, the snarls and howling. Like wolves or mountain lions, like things hunting and dying. The territorial dispute goes on for days and frays your already rattled nerves. You stay close to the house and don’t go out after dark. Late at night when you can’t sleep, you see silhouettes shambling around in the yard. They rummage through your compost heap. Sometimes large, rot-discolored hands will press against your windows and you’ll hold absolutely still as foggy corpse eyes peer through the glass, looking for a way in.
You miss Andy. Thinking about him makes your chest tighten, your breathing quicken and your heart ache. Cute, soft-spoken Andy with his curly brown hair and the freckles across the bridge of his nose. He’d sit with you on nights like this, when you were too scared to sleep. He always knew what to say. “They’re still people,” he’d tell you, rubbing little reassuring circles into the back of your hand. “The infection affects metabolism and impulse control, but they’re as human as you and me. They want to be safe, and comfortable, and loved.”
A long, low growl comes from the back door and you hear footsteps all around the house, converging behind the house. The colony progenitor, you assume. You see five, maybe six of them out there, examining the chicken coop. They fiddle with the doors until they get it open. Your oldest hen, Berta, comes flapping out with an indignant squawk and struts around, pecking their ankles. It’s almost cute, watching them watch her. Like children seeing a small animal for the first time, they want to pick her up, passing her around to stroke her feathers and pet her head. Their silhouettes are masculine, thick and broad-shouldered.
“Zombie is a bit of a misnomer,” Andy told you once. “They’re not dead. They’re actually a lot more durable than us. The infection is parasitic, and it requires a massive caloric intake to coexist peacefully with the hostbody. Necrosis is a sign of starvation, but they can recover from extreme tissue damage as long as they meet their nutritional needs.” It’s hard to make out in the dark, but this colony seems neither well-fed nor on the brink of starvation. Most of them have some rot, blackened fingers, missing noses, unraveling cheeks and lips, but you’ve seen far worse. A lot of them are heavily bandaged, stitches circling wrists and biceps. Someone in the colony must have had medical training in their past life.
Eventually, they put Berta back in the coop and close it up behind her. There’s another growl from the progenitor and the colony leaves, climbing easily over the fence meant to keep them out and disappearing into the woods. You let out the breath you were holding. You’ll have to make a note of this. Andy always kept track of colony movements and individual members. You still have all of his old legal pads, stuffed into shelves and cupboards. It’s a struggle to keep your tears off of them, reading over his old observations written in tiny, barely legible scribbles.
The yellow paper with his final few entries, dated a little over a year ago, was ripped out and waiting for you on the kitchen counter one day. The very last one read, “Bitten by colony matriarch. Can’t risk staying. I’m sorry. I love you.” He was already gone. You curled up on the floor, crumpled paper in your hands, and cried through the night. You were afraid of going through this new, horrible world all alone. More than that, you were afraid of Andy doing the same thing. Fun, silly, gentle Andy would never survive out there. Zombies eat their weak. Colonies tear each other limb from limb over resources and territory. You blamed yourself when there was nothing you could’ve done. You were immune. Andy knew that.
He also knew he’d probably tear your throat out with his teeth once he was fully infected, too hungry to stop himself.
There’s more fighting that night, more vicious than before. Something snaps and squelches dangerously close to the house, a death rattling echoing through your head. You give up on trying to sleep with the horrible, inhuman sounds filling the woods, sitting at the table by candlelight. You review some of Andy’s older notes, ones that don’t provoke such a gutwrenching feeling. Colony transitions are a time of heightened aggression. Skirmishes may be brief and infrequent, or prolonged and constant, and will last until one group succumbs or is pushed out of the area. The death of the progenitor often ends a territory dispute.
A particularly awful noise makes you shoot up from your seat. Something is screaming, and the screaming is getting closer. You grab the baseball bat you keep in the kitchen, more for peace of mind than anything. There’s no reason for any of them to try getting inside. But you hear a heavy dragging, the sounds of something coming up the dirt path to your front door. You hear that same vicious growling from before; the progenitor of the new colony. A wretched sound—a thin, reedy wail that turns to gurgling as something fleshy stretches, slips, and shreds apart—reaches your ears. There’s a thump, deadweight hitting the ground, and then silence. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears.
The progenitor makes a rumbling growl and the rest of the colony joins in, like wolves howling. You creep down the hall to the front door. Through the windows, you can see the newcomers standing in the yard. They’re not scattering like they usually do after a fight. They’re not regrouping, not falling back to the woods. The dispute is over, you realize. That limp mass on your doorstep is the body of the old colony’s progenitor, and that round, stringy-haired mass sticking on one fence post is its head. This territory, and everything in it, is theirs now.
There’s a grunt, a short, snorting sound from the progenitor, and then the whole colony stares at the house. Right at you. You flinch back, your muscles seizing up in fight-or-flight, your brain several steps ahead of your body thinking about where the rest of the weapons are in the house, the fastest route to the basement, how quickly you can barricade yourself in. It all stops when you hear a sound you haven’t in a very long time. A voice. Words you understand. Someone speaking to you.
“Don’t be scared.”
It’s muffled through the door. One of them comes up the front steps slowly. You can guess that it’s the progenitor from the way the others fall in behind it, closing in on the house. It sounds like a man, like a regular human man, just a little lower, more growling and hoarse. It sounds familiar in a way that makes your heart lurch but you refuse to get your hopes up now. It can’t be him. Andy was tall, but not this tall, not nearly as tall as your door. He didn’t have thick, muscular arms like that. But the “what if” hangs tantalizingly in the air the longer you peer out at the zombie on your doorstep.
“Don’t be scared,” he repeats. “We won’t hurt you.”
You swallow hard, still gripping the bat. Andy told you they could speak, but they usually don’t. Communication within colonies is mostly made up of growls and pheromone cues. Hearing it is startling. “What do you want?” you call through the door. Your own voice is hoarse and ragged. How long has it been since you spoke to someone? (Almost a year, you think. You talk to Berta and the other chickens sometimes, but it’s turned to mumbles, little animal noises. It’s been almost a year since Andy left.)
“We want to come inside.”
Your eyes flick down to the locks on the front door. It’s enough to deter a lone zombie stumbling around in search of food, but can it keep out a determined progenitor and his whole colony? You don’t know. You hoped you’d never have to put it to the test. “You can’t come in,” you say, trying to sound firm.
“We can,” the progenitor says with eerie calm. “Will you let us in, or will we have to break down the door?”
Don’t panic, you tell yourself. Andy said they can smell panic. “Why do you want to come inside?” you ask, stalling for time. You glance around. You could barricade the door, but it might not be worth it, and it’d waste precious time you could spend fortifying your defenses in the basement. But can you even get there before they get inside the house? “I’m immune. You can’t infect me. I don’t have anything you’d want.”
The progenitor makes a slight movement, something you almost miss, but it makes the colony disperse. Your heart hammers in your chest as you hear them going around the back of the house. You see one out of the corner of your eye by the window in the hallway. You take a step back. “It’s you we want,” the progenitor growls. The words are a signal, the entire colony howling and slamming themselves against the house, shattering windows, smashing locks. As you turn on your heel, running for the basement, you hear the front door turn to splinters. The progenitor’s heavy, sprinting steps catch up to you too quickly. He’s faster, takes corners more tightly, leaps over furniture in his way.
He catches you by the neck, his large hand snagging you like a cat by the scruff. His fingers circle all the way around your throat. You come to a sudden halt, feet lifting off the ground as he holds you up to assess. You squirm and scratch at him to no avail, tugging desperately on the fingers wrapped around your throat. The rest of the colony fills the room, surrounding you and tears burn in your eyes. The progenitor leans in, sniffing your neck. His tongue drags along your jaw, tasting your sweat and fear. You’re going to die. They’re going to rip you apart and eat you and there’s nothing you can do about it.
“It’s really you,” the progenitor says quietly.
His voice cuts through your terror, because you know it. You’d know it anywhere. When he speaks softly like that, his humanity comes through loud and clear. In the dim, flickering candlelight, you take your first good look at him. The same curly, dark hair. The same freckles dusting his nose and cheeks. He’s bigger, taller and wider than he ever was before, his new diet and the extreme body-altering properties of the infection changing him, but it’s him. You look in his gray, cloudy eyes and you know.
“Andy,” you whisper. He sets you back down. You collapse against the wall behind you, sinking to your knees. Andy follows, crouching beside you. “I didn’t...I thought…” You swallow a whimper. “You’re alive.” He runs his bandaged hand through your hair.
Andy’s skin has taken on a purplish hue, mottled and bruise-like. He wears a plain black t-shirt, the same one he was wearing the day he left, but it looks shrunken and tight on his larger body. His jeans are ragged with holes at the knees. Andy’s face is split in half by a curling line of stitches, descending from his scalp, across his nose, curling beneath an eye patch on his right side. That eye must be missing. The flesh of one cheek is stringy and torn, exposing his jaw and several teeth. Shakily, in disbelief, you touch his face and he makes a rumbling sound, nuzzling against your palm.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. He urges you to lean against him, resting your head against your shoulder as he strokes your back. “Never wanted to leave you, but I couldn’t risk it. Had to wait until I had it under control. God, I was so hungry when it kicked in. I ate and I ate and I ate, but the hunger never went away. It was like that for months. Just eating everything I saw. It was hell.” You relax into him, shutting your eyes as the last year of fear and solitude finally catches up with you. Andy presses a kiss to the top of your head. You feel him shifting, rummaging through his pockets before he finds what he’s looking for. You don’t worry about it until you feel something wrapping around your neck.
“Andy?” you say, anxiety creeping into your voice. He makes a growling sound when you try to pull away, yanking you closer. It’s leather, a thin strip fitting around your neck like a collar and attached with a fastener on the back. “Andy, what—?”
“Don’t be scared,” Andy murmurs. His fingers graze your skin and he’s warmer than you expected, almost uncomfortably hot. It’s the infection, the constant breakdown and repair of muscle tissue, the rot and resuscitation. “There we go. Nice and snug. Not too tight, yeah?” Dread creeps up your spine as Andy lets go of you, towering over you with the rest of his colony. He caresses your cheek, his gaze wandering shamelessly over your body. “We’ve got a lot of work to do,” he says, the growl returning to his voice as he addresses his colony. “Every entrance needs to be secured. No one but us gets in and out of here. We’ll work out a patrol schedule after we mark the edge of the territory.”
“And the immune?” one of them says, nodding to you. “They’re panicking. You got them handled?” You find yourself trembling, burying your face in the side of Andy’s legs in desperation. You just want something familiar, something to ground you and keep you from screaming.
“Yeah,” Andy says quietly, gazing down at you. That’s how he used to look at you, with all that warmth and adoration. His eyes are different but it’s the same gaze. It makes things better, and so much worse. He slowly unwraps the bandages, exposing even more stitches, even more thin patches of skin. You see exposed muscle and bone below one elbow. His fingers are black up to the knuckles. He touches the edge of the collar, testing the give, unable to slip his whole thumb underneath before it tugs too hard and makes you whine. In front of the whole colony, he unzips his fly and pulls out his cock, the same flushed, bruised shade as the rest of him. You inhale shakily and scoot back, but you just hit one of the others’ legs. They shove you forward, back into Andy.
“It’s scared,” one of them murmurs. “Smells so good.”
“Scared, but quiet. Is something wrong with it?” another asks, nudging you with his foot. “I thought the immune screamed a lot.”
“Nah, it knew the progenitor in his last life. It already knows proper respect.”
You can’t take your eyes off of Andy. He steps forward and the two of you are surrounded by the colony, caged in by their bodies. Andy smiles, cupping your chin. He pumps his cock with his other hand, alternating between long strokes and twisting his palm over his tip. He hardens slowly, getting even longer and thicker under his fingers. You whimper when his hand tangles in your hair, pushing the back of your head into his hips. He rubs his cocks over your lips. “Open up,” he says, his voice soft and teasing. You don’t want to. You’re afraid. You don’t understand what’s happening. Is this really Andy?
His colony is watching, licking their lips, some of them palming their crotches or taking out their cocks to get off. Your face heats with shame. You don’t want to look at them, but Andy’s cock presses more insistently against your mouth and he’s starting to pant, his grip on your hair tightening. He doesn’t let your gaze wander anymore, tugging you back to him whenever you glance elsewhere.
“Come on, immune. Open that pretty little mouth,” one of them jeers. “Progenitor’s gotta mark you. You don’t wanna get taken by another colony, do you?”
“It’s just sitting there,” another says, sounding frustrated.
“It doesn’t know any better. The progenitor will teach it proper manners.”
Waves of nausea wash over you with their every word. You’re human, you want to scream. You don’t want this. Andy grips your jaw, forcing your mouth open. “I know you’re scared,” he coos, like you’re an animal, a skittish deer he wants to lure closer. “It’s alright. Not gonna hurt you. Open for me. I’ll make it quick, I promise.” You can hear your own pounding heartbeat and slick, obscene noises all around you. The rest of the colony is jerking off, some slow, drawing it out, others fucking their fists, hips bucking, staring at you with blown pupils.
Andy holds your head with both hands, forcing your jaw open. You flail, hands scrabbling over his thighs, but he’s stronger than you. He ignores all of your clawing and scratching. A low hiss comes out when your fingers snag on the stitches along his inner thigh and the sound scares you, makes you go still. It’s all he needs to force himself inside. You struggle, hands on his hips, as he sinks all the way in with one long thrust.
“There we go,” he praises you, stroking your hair. “That’s good. Just like that.” It’s too much. He’s huge, your jaw is aching, his tip is bumping the back of your throat and you can’t breathe. You pull apart a line of stitches and Andy oozes dead, coagulated blood, hotter than it should be as it pours over your hand. He doesn’t seem to notice or care, too enraptured by the heat of your mouth around him. He holds your head in place and starts to move slowly, a gentle easing in and out that lets you adjust. “We’re gonna take such good care of you.”
“Fuck yeah we are,” one of them groans, stroking himself faster. “Cute little thing like you, you’re gonna be full all the time.”
“The immune aren’t toys,” another scolds, but he’s just as breathless and excited. All of his fingers are ringed by stitches, a long, meandering line all the way up to elbow. “They don’t heal like we do. They need less food, but more sleep and sunlight. They’re easy to break.”
“I wouldn’t break it, progenitor!” a different one insists. “I’d be careful. I could take it on walks and everything.”
Andy lets out a rumbling growl that quiets the entire colony. “The immune is mine,” he hisses. “The rest of you will have to prove yourselves.” He grabs your head with both hands, his rotting fingers digging into your scalp and bringing you into a hard, forward thrusts that bruises your throat. The pain and the horror all mixes together into an overwhelming malaise and euphoria. It’s Andy. Your Andy. He came back for you. You won’t be alone anymore. You relax your jaw. You give into the desperate hope clawing its way back from the dead within you.
“Yes, progenitor,” the others mutter, disappointed but no less enthusiastic. You feel their gazes burning into you, hear them pleasuring themselves. The first one to finish groans, angling his cock so his cum drizzles over your back. You whimper in displeasure, trying to arch away from him, but that just pushes you further into Andy. He grits his teeth. You can see them grinding together though the hollow spot in his cheek, the slide of tendon and tissue. He slams into you again, makes you choke and gurgle around his cock. His balls slap your chin.
“I have so much to teach you,” Andy says, gazing down at you with nothing but love in his eyes. “The world’s not like I thought it was. I have to protect you.” His hips stutter as he brings you in close, nose nestled against his feverish skin. He holds you there, chokes you with his cock as he curses under his breath and fucks your throat. You tremble in his grasp. The sounds of the colony’s pleasure, their growls and moans, their frenzied strokes, the cum squirting all over you, dampening your clothes, is too much.
“I love you,” Andy whispers, sounding just as you remember him. He cums and it’s more than you can take. He pumps himself into your mouth twice and then pulls out, covering your face, your neck and your chest. You feel woozy, sick with fear, drowning in fever dreams. This can’t be real. You’re asleep. You hit your head on something. You slump against Andy’s legs, clinging to him. He makes a low sound, half hum and half growl, that soothes you despite its strangeness. The colony splits up at his order, a quiet growl and a nod, leaving the two of you alone.
“Everything’s going to be okay now,” he tells you, smiling gently as he wipes his cum away from your eyes. He rubs it into your skin. You feel disgusting and used, but you let him do it. You shiver and let the tears come. Andy holds you just like he used to, rocking gently, whispering little reassurances. Everything is just like it used to be, and a terrible nightmare.
#rotpeach writes#teratotober#original#i tried to give myself mostly prompts i hadnt done before#but somehow i both forgot about zombie and also wrote something extremely similar to the last time i had zombie as a prompt#but i like how this one turned out too!
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Demonifying regeneration
A while back (because I am slow and what better time to post a theory than right before the next chapter which might utterly destroy it?) @ari-no-exorcist noted that despite being shot in the head, Rin doesn't seem to have suffered any changes in personality like often occurs with head wounds in the prefrontal cortex... But @facets-and-rainbows remarked that's just what Demon!Rin is.
This was meant as a joke, but... It actually makes a frightening amount of sense.
You know that thing about people basically becoming a whole new person over the span of 7 years, due to the various speeds at which cells are replaced within your body?
It's revealed early on that Rin, even unawakened, had abnormally quick healing... But ever since he came into power, that ability to regenerate damage became even stronger.
And it occurred to me...
If it is demon power that helps the cells restore... Wouldn't that mean the new cells are inherintly more demon-like?
Wouldn't that mean that Rin automatically becomes more demonic with every injury??
Now, this whole regeneration thing ties in very, very nicely with AnE's central theme of willpower, or belief or imagination, if you will. The thing that determines whether you control a demon, or it controls you.
It amplifies the influence of choice.
Because the thing that steers your actions (brain) is compiled out of cells too. Which means when you choose between something like fight or run, you also choose more or less chance of injury, meaning more or less demon cells, meaning more or less influence on the brain...
No wonder Shiro tried to raise Rin to be as gentle as possible, and witheld all exposure to exorcism from him! You don't want a half-demon working a high-risk job like that: aside from it potentially fucking him up mentally through the daily horrors (ahem, Yukio), or exposure to magic stimulating his hidden powers somehow, the potential of it aiding in Demonification through getting your ass kicked is through the roof as well.
Yukio shooting Rin in the head was literally the best possible way to trigger Demon!Rin's full awakening.
Yukio: Gives the pass (Shoots Rin)
Satan: Kicks the ball into the goal (Breaks Kurikara)
Result:
And now for the VERY interesting part...
YUKIO KNOWS THIS.
...Did Yukio get so blinded by hatred that he forgot what effect his action would have? Or is he deliberately trying to bring out Demon!Rin? For what purpose? Just to test himself against his brother at maximum strength? Or because he is underneath it all actually hoping his brother will harness that power and defeat Satan & Lucifer?
And in that regard... Friendly reminder that Mephisto, the indesputable expert on demon-hostbody relations, constantly puts Rin in harm's way. Deliberately.
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Mimi Wallman: singer/vocal architect for ONO, Ampyre, and Host Body. Joy Thief. #thejoythieves #joythieves #jt #tjt #thiswillkillthat #armalyteindustries #armalyte #armalyte_industries #industrialmusicculture #industrialmusicelectronics #industrialmusicforindustrialpeople #industrialmusic #singer #vocalist #ampyre #ono #hostbody #vocalarchitect #mimiwallman #mimitolva https://www.instagram.com/p/ByvONShnJyv/?igshid=1dvejd918cn0s
#thejoythieves#joythieves#jt#tjt#thiswillkillthat#armalyteindustries#armalyte#armalyte_industries#industrialmusicculture#industrialmusicelectronics#industrialmusicforindustrialpeople#industrialmusic#singer#vocalist#ampyre#ono#hostbody#vocalarchitect#mimiwallman#mimitolva
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Donald Trump says not yet sure whether he supports Texas abortion law. Where do Host Body Melania and Host Body Ivanka stand on it?... Do you have an opinion on this? Share it! HERE -> https://worldnewsinpictures.com/donald-trump-says-not-supports-texas #Donald #DonaldTrump #DonaldTrumpTexas #HostBody #HostBodyMelania #BodyIvanka #BodyIvankaShare #supports
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hostbody need glasses? fuck that shite run into those walls babey you do you
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green anole preserved wet specimen in test tube, $30 shipped in the US. DM to purchase.
#anolelizard#anolesofinstagram#anole#testtube#specimen#liz#florida#hostbody#preserved#natural#wetspec#lizardlife#preservation#specimens#wetspecimen#nature#chaos#lizards#lizard#deadthings
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Fantasy 1&2 is opening soon at SIC!
Autoerotic & polysexual desire, cruising, non-othering gaze, commitment to temporary relationships, romantic parasite-hostbody relationships, projections & expectations, possessiveness & exclusivity, Two Become One on repeat, decay of subjectivity & binary. THE POST-MONOGAMY ERA.
With: Ana Teo Ala-Ruona (+working group), Jessie Bullivant, Hinni Huttunen & Illusia Juvani, Anni Puolakka and Abdullah Qureshi.
Poster designed by Kaino Wennerstrand
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