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ctheathy · 3 months

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Zails the Zone Cop NSFW Headcanons

Zails x Reader

NSFW Headcanons

Short Concept

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Both reader+character are of legal age or aged-up for obvious reasons in this post!

These are smut headcanons, read at own risk. !Female!dom!Reader+sub!Zails • Eating his darling out • Drooling/salivating • He gets a bit rabid with it

Ah, wowie. Zails getting himself a girlfriend? I thought it would never happen... but let me tell you that Zails is truly one of the most hopeless and desperate variant of Tails that exists. He would be so needy for constant affection and reassurance, but he'd also be quicker to grow a lot more ...horny than the rest of the bunch. Even if he constantly has his grabby fingers all over you, a singular touch from you can easily trigger his sensitive nerves, leaving him an aroused mess.

And if you gave him permission to taste your cervical fluids? That is 111% the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life and you absolutely should do it because it would absolutely shatter Zails the best way possible. He would instantly fall and completely melt into a drooling mess and beg you for a chance. He’s not used to those sweet, sweet fluids and he is absolutely not stopping until he has to be pried off of your body with a crowbar. He would be in pure ecstasy and nobody would be able to separate him from you anymore.

It would be the worst thing Zails has ever felt, and he wouldn’t be able to think straight anymore due to how much he would enjoy it. He’d be making pathetic groaning noises and his leg would shake uncontrollably. You would be his whole world at that moment, he wouldn’t even hear it if there was a volcano exploding outside his house. There would be no way for him to recover from that at all.

Tell him to not dare disappoint you while does the deed.

Cause that, my friends, would be the end of everything for Zails because that would literally be the final blow. His legs would go numb from the ecstasy as he softly moans into your entrance, tongue working overtime just to enjoy the sweet and divine taste. His mind would become completely flooded with hormones that would leave him absolutely dizzy. His whole world has been flipped upside down and he would NEVER recover from this.

He’d be so weak-minded that he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else but making you feel satisfied as his eyes would roll back and moan louder into you, not wanting it to stop. He would be completely addicted to the taste, and the sound, and the sight of the whole thing. His tongue deep inside of you getting every drop of nectar he can. I can see his tongue would become more desperate with its movements to try and taste even more of you. Becoming more vocal as it reaches deeper into your body, his tongue being in this hot, moist and tight claustrophobic space, with juices soaking his already wet tongue.

And by the time he reaches that level of desperation, he’d be nothing short of rabid. His tongue would move at rapid pace as he just tries to get more of every single drop, his brain just melting to the point he feels like a drooling animal. And the more he gets the more desperate he becomes, he would feel your hands on his back and he would get more desperate. He’d start licking anywhere you touched him, just praying for more. His body is nothing more than a shell anymore.

Which is the perfect comparison honestly, he’d be acting like he was on death row and this was his last meal before dying. He would be lapping up everything like a dog that wasn’t fed for weeks. And if you decided to actually allow yourself to climax, oh lord, that would be the biggest shot of pure ecstasy he could ever experience. It would absolutely break him to the bone. He would feel like he didn’t deserve to live for being able to experience that kind of blissful experience.

You'd have a grip over his tongue since the start of the interaction, and it would get progressively tighter until it would become unbearable. His breathing would get heavier and he’d start to moan so loudly, but you could definitely make him feel the lowest he could possibly be. He’d be trying to reach a deeper level while you can enjoy every moment of him being helpless in your grasp, sitting on his face once he’s ready to burst.

Zails would absolutely need a full body suit just to keep all the drool in his mouth because he’s actually just a mess of an entity at this point. He’s nothing short of a starving animal in heat who would have no care about being overstimulated. And if you were to let out a sound that even remotely resembles a moan, he’d be a goner. He’d go insane on you and you may as well just be giggling the whole time over him melting and making a mess. He is completely broken at this point. All it takes is a single sound.

And that, I think, would cause his mind to completely snap. He would be completely overrun by his own emotions and be in complete euphoria, yet so filled with desire too. He would reach a point where even days after the experience, he will literally be begging for you to let him drink from your fountain of life again. You would not only see the desperation in his eyes, but you could feel it in his entire being. And his body would be shaking all over, as if in a fever, unable to contain all of that need inside ever again.

A need he didn't even know he had.

#zails the fox #zails the zone cop x reader #zails #zails x reader #zails the zone cop #sonic smut #sonic x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #tails x reader #tails smut #sonic comics x reader #sonic comics #sonic the hedgehog

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resident-gay-bitch · 1 year

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you can now find eddies pov here :))

this wasn’t going to be easy, and that was a fact.

dustin was already distraught, a blabbering fucking mess for the entire walk from the town centre to the creel house in this slimy godforsaken underworld.

they were already at their wits end, with barely a string of hope left when eddie stepped in. eddie, who was now a bad guy apparently. steve had to tackle dustin to the ground when eddie first swooped in and tried to slice nancys throat open with his claw because dustin just wanted to hug him.

that was hard enough. everything was hard enough. but now steve had to face - and probably be the one to kill because he was the brawn if nancy couldn’t - the very man who had been haunting his dreams for months and led him to ask robin the question of how she knew.

he was… rabid. clothes ripped and clinging to his body in unnatural ways, his hair a fucking wild mess, his eyes glowing red, his skin paler than usual, the tips of his fingers now black and sharp like talons, extra teeth that were far sharper than teeth should ever be, a snake like tongue, wings!, and not to mention he was soaked in blood. he had it dripping from his chin for fucks sake.

whatever that thing was, it wasn’t eddie.

but it was.

so they’d spent the past hour trying to hide and calm dustin and devise a new plan, whilst trying to survive in this hell.

yeah this was going to be the hardest thing steve’s ever done.

he was probably going to die today.

well, if he died at the hands- claws of eddie, then at least he’d be dying with something beautiful. monster or not.

they stepped back out into the road, steve leading the pack and nancy covering the back.

something swooped overhead, casting a wide shadow, and by the break in dustin’s voice, steve knew it was the eddie thing.

he looked up to see the beast pearched atop a stobie poll, crouched with his hands between his feet like an animal, his wings hanging down behind him.

he looked right at steve, and steve felt his heart stop.

covered in blood and fucking terrifying, steve still loved him.

more than ever, actually.

eddie cocked his head to the side, just looking at steve.

steve adjusted the grip of his nail bat over his shoulder, ready in position to swing. he heard nancy cock her gun, he heard mike and dustin grab onto eachother, and noticed el stepping up beside him at the ready.

eddie just sat there. he moved his head slowly forward, like he was trying to get a better look. he was assessing them, probably, figuring out the quickest way to kill them all without getting hurt.

it made steve sweat.

if eddie wasn’t so high right now, steve would just charge and take a swing. get this over with. give the kids the best advantage.

eddie quickly straightened his head out and made a sound. it was a weird sound. sort of like a creepy roll of his tongue and then a click. it sounded far too much like a demo dog for steve’s comfort.

everyone froze at eddie’s sudden moment and then started looking around after he’d made the sound.

had he called for help?

steve clenched his jaw and gripped the bat tighter, eyes fixed on eddie.

eddie raised his wings up high, spread out wide and they were big. like fucking massive. steve was sure one wing alone was longer than he was.

everyone braced for impact.

eddie made the sound again and stood, standing tall atop the electricity pole, and then he made another sound that was more like a birds chirp (if the bird was dying).

and then he moved, and everyone made sudden noise and yielded his weapons but then stopped not a second later.

eddie was falling.

he was just freefalling backwards off the stobie poll with his hands clutched at his heart.

right before he hit the ground, his wings kicked up into action and carried him back up into the air. and once he was high enough, really fucking high, he dropped again.

steve was confused.

eddie dropped and then… oh shit, he wrapped his wings around himself and was fucking spiraling through the air like an arrow, heading straight for steve.

he heard will shout to run, and everyone jumped back but-

steve was on the ground, groaning and trying to fight eddie off who was on top of him, pinning him down. steve didn’t know where his bat went.

eddie was looking at him with wide eyes.

steve’s jumped out of his skin, screaming when he heard nancys gunshot.

silence.

eddie made a small sound, a shrill one, like he was hurt.

oh he was hurt.

eddie turned his head and spread out his wing and steve could see a perfect circle cut through it. eddie looked at it, then moved his wing out of the way to scowl at nancy.

this couldn’t be good.

eddie snarled at her, his snake like tongue darting out to his before he was grabbing steve and lifting them up into the air.

steve screamed, he’d never been this high before.

nancy had aimed her gun to shoot again but dustin stopped her, there was a very good chance she’d hit steve if she did.

steve didn’t know where his bat was.

eddie started flying, steve clutched tight in his arms and he had no clue where they were going because he had his eyes squeezed shut.

he was so gonna die like this.

and then they stopped, and steve was being layed down on something… soft?

he opened his eyes to find eddie crouched over him again, his hands between his feet like before, his wings draped down behind him, his head cocked as red eyes blinked at steve curiously.

steve rubbed his head and looked around to find that he was… in the highschool theatre dressing room? he only recognised it because it was a classic in school make out spot.

he was laying on a pile of pillows and ratty old blankets that were piled on top of a few mattresses. pillows, big and small, were piled up even higher around the mattresses and it looked… it looked like a nest.

eddie made the clicky sound again and then chirped happily and crawled away.

steve was beyond confused.

he sat up and looked around.

beside him was an old mangled bear, there was just a pile of flannel shirts in one corner of the nest, eddie’s guitar was leaning up against the edge of the nest wall, there were those weirdly shaped dice dustin always carried scattered around, and… oh.

steve moved a pillow to the side a little to find his old varsity jacket stuffed there. it was dirty and a little wear for tear, but everything was in the upside down.

he wondered why eddie had it.

he moved the pillow some more to find one of his shirts there too. and then he lifted a blanket to find a whole collection of his clothes! a few shirts, a red jumper, three odd socks and one matching pair, a pair of purple boxers, his old basketball shorts, a singular sneaker that matched the one on his foot now, and a yellow sweater that steve recognised as the one he threw at eddie on the boat.

steve pet his own chest to feel the familiar bumps of the pins and patches of eddie’s battle vest laid there.

oh.

oh they- they were the same.

they missed eachother.

they barely knew eachother, but they missed not being able to learn.

steve spun around when he felt eddie’s presence again, and eddie was sitting in his same weird stance, but this time right beside steve, his face abnormally close.

steve kinda freaked out.

eddie cocked his head again, blinked those wide eyes that steve couldn’t find scary, even under the red.

steve held up the varsity jacket in one hand and gave it a waggle. eddie looked at it and then looked back at steve, then back at the jacket, then back at steve, and then he purred.

steve didn’t know why it gave him butterflies.

eddie nodded his head forward until his head bumped steve’s shoulder, and then he looked back up with those wide eyes again.

“it’s yours.” steve said simply, tugging at the sleeve of eddie’s vest on himself, “i know, i’m sorry. i hope you don’t mind. it helped ground me on the bad days.”

eddie cocked his head.

“can you understand me?” steve asked.

eddie nodded.

steve was very glad to hear that, “can you talk like me?”

eddie just looked at him.

steve sighed, “i’ll take that as a no.” he hummed, “you have a lot of my things.”

eddie dropped something else on his lap.

their old year book from eighty two. steve opened it up to the page that was indented, obviously eddie looked at it a lot.

on the page was a picture of the swim team, steve posing in one picture with one other guy - the co captains - however, the other guys face had been covered by a cutout of eddie’s face. above it in red sharpie wrote “by the time you graduate, this will be real, and he will be nice and want you back”.

steve couldn’t help his laugh.

eddie crushed on him in highschool?

steve stopped his laughing when eddie made a sharp sound of protest, and steve looked up to see his already wide eyes even wider and… a pout?

oh god, he was making a puppy dog face at steve right now.

god, steve had heard so much about his puppy dog face from wayne, he’d dreamed about being on the receiving end of one himself. and here he was, only it was different now. he had pale skin and dark eyes and blood on his chin.

steve closed his mouth and looked at the pleading expression on eddie's still pretty face, and kinda melted.

"you technically still haven't graduated, you know?" steve found himself saying, and he didn't know why. eddie was technically a demon or something. steve should be running for the hills, but...

eddie made a chipy clicky sound again and then suddenly something wet was touching his cheek and- okay, eddie was licking him.

eddie was liking him a lot, like a dog.

steve laughed and pulled away and smiled at eddie, "licking? really?"

eddie smiled and nodded, shuffled steve back into the steve pile under the blankets and made him rest there. steve did lay, and rest, leant up against the pile of pillows and old clothes. he'd forgoten all about the high stakes of everything, because all he could think about was eddie. eddie here, alive- not really there, but here no less.

eddie shoved steve into the shape he wanted and then grabbed the old mangled teddy with his teeth and crawled over to steve. he dropped himself down heavily into steves lap - causing him to jolt forward and gasp from the sudden weight and pain - and curled up. his wings wrapped around steve, caving him in. eddie nussled his head against steves chest, under the opening of the vest, the mangled teddy clutched tight in his arms, and then he purred again, a big long one.

it was so warm like this.

steve didn't care if eddie wasn't really eddie anymore, because deep down inside, he was still every bit eddie that he could be. it was this world that had turned him into something else.

plus, who was he to judge? steve was a much uglier monster at one point in his life too, bulying and kicking people to the ground during highschool, but he was still good at heart these days. eddie could be too.

he was.

there was no doubt about it.

steve ran his hand over - not through because he physically couldn't - eddie's hair and held him close, and they rested there together for a while, in eddie's home.

saving the world could wait a little while.

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irondiotallica · 17 days

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Nightmares

So I'm bored again. Thus, this little blurb came into existence. I hope you like it and that it sounds okay. It'll get easier to write smoothly hopefully. -Silas

[Steddie]

Steve couldn’t breathe. He was running, panting, scared. He looked at the familiar boy next to him. Dustin is standing there something akin to fear in his eyes. The bats were there and Dustin’s eyes seemed to scream, ‘How will we get out?’. Steve took a breath and then ran. He ran and met the bats only to be devoured. Except it wasn’t Steve with this agonizing death, no it would’ve been okay then. Instead dark curly hair partially obscured Steve’s vision and cold metal rings were bitten around by those damned demobats. The screams leaving his mouth had a haunting musicality to them. Eddie was dying.

Steve jolted up. His eyes scanned his room with a rabid panic as his breaths came out short and clipped. Sweat was rolling off him in waves as he tried to orient himself. He was home. He was safe. He had caramel brown hair, usually perfectly styled, but at this moment, it clung like thick tendrils to his face. He wasn’t Eddie Munson. He was Steve Harrington, but god he wished he wasn’t.

Steve felt his eyes water and his chest continue constricting as he finally relieved the fear in his heart a bit. This is what his dreams had been for the past four months, but there was one thing to ease him after these bouts of torture. Steve took a breath in before sliding out of bed. He took a shower and let the cold water run over him. He stared blankly at the shower wall as he tried to pull himself together. After far too long, he stepped out of the shower and threw on a random t-shirt with a new pair of flannel pajama pants. He went to the bathroom and dried his hair carefully. His eyes paused from examining his hair for water as he realized what shirt he had grabbed in his haste. The red demon's face, dice, and mace let him know exactly who it belonged to. Steve couldn’t help the quiet sob that escaped his lips as flashes of his nightmare popped up in his mind. He needed out.

Steve was driving with the radio quietly playing Tears for Fears. Steve was on autopilot. He did this exact drive nearly every night and tonight was no different.

Steve sat next to Eddie’s hospital bed. His heart was beating calmly only slightly fast with feelings he had only come to terms with within the past four months of waiting. He took Eddie’s pale, chilly hand in his own. He missed the feeling of cold metal that the rings brought, but the comfort that Eddie provided him was still there. He lowered his head and let himself drift as he confessed again to the still body that was once lively and animated.

“I like you, Eddie. I really like you. Not as a friend, but something more.”

Steve placed a kiss upon Eddie’s unmoving fingers. Before drifting off, hoping that he would be greeted by dreams of kissing boys with dark curls who smelled like weed and lavender; rather than nightmares that reeked of rose and rot. Maybe if he wasn’t so exhausted he would’ve kept his head up for longer and seen the slow blink of big brown doe eyes and a sweet grin of mutual infatuation. He would’ve seen dark curls shift as the boy who lay in the bed caught a glance of their entwined hands. But even though he slept through all of this, it was ok. The boy in the bed would give him an answer back.

"I like you too, Stevie."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hospital #blurb #fluff?#im bored #stranger things

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bittermuire · 2 years

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nightmare

nesta has a nightmare and goes to cassian. angsty but also fluffy, post acowar

The night was black and silent when Nesta jolted awake.

Her whole body was on fire.

Again, again, again—it was always the same. She always dreamt of the same thing. Her heart was hammering and her skin was clammy, her whole body was on fire. She sucked in a breath, another, tried to keep breathing, choked on a sob.

It was just a dream.

It was just a dream, Nes.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and it was salty and hot as it slipped over her lips.

I’m so scared.

It was always the same. The battlefield, except everything was in flames, the grass and the trees and the sky, the clouds… the Cauldron, and the rocky waves that held her under for what felt like forever. Her sisters. The smell of death. The horrible stench of blood and the shrieks of pain, mutilation. She was there every night and she saw it, so slowly. Fate had its hand clenched in her hair and pulled her head around, whispered cruelly, Look, Lady Death, at what you’ve caused, Lady Death, this is your home. That horrible, sandpaper laugh.

And—

The crunch, the crack of his wings. The ragged sound of his cries.

She shuddered and ran her nails up and down her arms again and again, some attempt to staunch the fear, the guilt—she closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, but the tears refused to stop. Her heart burned with terror.

With a long, deep breath, the silence slipped back in.

And something very primal, very beyond herself, took her by the hand and brushed a kiss to her cheek.

It’s okay, Nes.

She pushed the sheets off her legs and went out into the hallway. Crept through the darkness, could have had her eyes closed—she was listening with what she’d denied for so long. She heard his heartbeat.

At his bedroom door, she waited.

Will this change everything? Will everything change?

But she’d had a nightmare. And she wanted to be held.

She knocked twice. Waited. Cracked open the door.

Cassian was sitting on the edge of his bed, squinting, the hulk of his bandaged wings a confused shadow around him.

“Nes?”

She tried to explain herself, tried to say the words—I’ve had a nightmare—but she couldn’t say anything; her throat closed up and she could only shake her head. Then he was in front of her, he was hovering. He wouldn’t touch her, like he was waiting for her word.

“I had a nightmare,” she whispered. “You keep dying.”

“I’m right here, Nes,” he murmured.

She shook her head.

“Look at me. Trust me,” he said. His voice was rumbly. And his hands slipped around to her back, gathered her close to his warm chest. It was that touch—she came undone; sobbing, hysterical, she gripped him as tightly as she could, needing him to crash into her, to hold her until she felt like a person again, breakable and healed.

She barely registered how he led her to the bed, pulled her closer, half onto his lap. And she calmed slowly as his breath ruffled her hair, as his hands rubbed her back, her arms, as his voice whispered sweet nothings and found her stray heart, coaxed it back home.

“What can I do, Nes?” he murmured. “What can I do?”

Cocooned into his warmth, she was quiet. Her heart had slowed. He pressed a kiss to her hair, her temple. She opened her eyes finally and, in long moments, linked their hands together.

She swallowed, then said, “Let me sleep with you tonight.”

And he lifted their hands and kissed her fingers which had trembled until they rested in his. He met her eyes. “Of course.”

She kept her hand on him as they laid down beside each other—but she could relax when he made no intention of letting her go cold. His arms were again around her and she slept; she slept deeply, soundly, and dreamt of sweet, good things.

The changes began the morning after.

Little touches, companionship, familiarity. Where they had argued like rabid animals before, now they sparred good-naturedly. They walked together, ate together. She straightened his clothes when they were awry. He always put her scarf on for her.

They were a conundrum to the rest of them in the townhouse, she knew. And they did not always sleep together.

But her favorite sweater smelled of his cologne, and his pillows smelled of her soap.

angsty but in-love nessian is a forever favorite of mine. and WHY did sjm not give us a nightmare comforting scene between them? a decent soft one??

#nessian #nessian fic #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian angst

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lumenflowered · 2 months

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Musharna Malice!

You open your eyes in this nightmare, and you are not yourself, that much is apparent.

Your fingers are wrapped around the hilt of a sword- the silver blade you liberated from the broken, mummified corpse curled up outside of the courtyard on one of the balconies- and you're dimly aware of the hammer you typically favor tucked away in the dream around your feet.

The non-god, Mensis's handmade nightmare constructed out of the mutilated bodies of the people living in Yahar'Gul, is dissolving. The women who heralded it had wielded fire and arcane power and you and Draka took several shots each before you managed to kill all of them, sun-bright spots and dark overcompensation still flicker in your vision between blinks, and something deep inside of you thrashes. The thing deep inside of you, housed in the marrow of your bones and the rush of your blood and the ecstasy of adrenaline, gnashes at the backside of your ribs like a rabid animal at the bars of a cage.

You shift your weight, your coat swishes around your legs, you trade what hands your sword is held in (and remember vividly the woman who instructed you in swordfighting breaking the fingers of your left hand so you couldn't use it), you scramble for any grounding you can possibly get as the rabid animal-thing in your blood-bones-soul-viscera gets louder and more intense. Your ears ring. Your vision blurs more than usual. The voices that stick in your ears shriek over the ringing and the blood rushing, but they say nothing, they just howl and scream like dying animals.

Draka's voice rings out, clear as wedding bells.

You lose your grip on the claws-fangs-knives-fire inside your ribs and everything snaps into clarity and you are no longer in control of your own body.

She looks in your direction, and you want to sob in relief at the cold fear-determination-pain that shatters across her expression of confusion before her face shutters. And you wish you could cry as she starts saying your name again, but you can't. You can't.

You watch from your own head and your blood and your bones and behind the cage of your ribs and the adrenaline filling the body that isn't yours anymore as the animal wearing your skin lunges for her fucking throat.

She scrambles away, clumsy with the high-turned-crash-turned-high of adrenaline she's no doubt feeling.

You feel the snarl rattle out of your flesh, the scratch of it in your chest and over the parts of your throat that are only barely starting to warp into the shape it needs, and all you can do is watch as it lunges for her again. It brings your sword to bear, your memories and training and skill all at its disposal as it tries to kill her.

She was such a good student, and an even better hunter once the two of you started during the sunset of this accursed ever-fucking-lasting night, you always knew this, but being on the other side of it feels like assurance that nothing will stop her. Her strikes are true, even if she's trying to disable instead of kill, even if she stumbles out of range more than she dodges like you know she could. You watch her use blood vials, you hang onto the pain of the teeth of her weapons in your flesh, and the burn of bullets in your body, and the radiating burn of the fire from the molotovs that shatter against you and leave you reeling and blind striking out at anything around you.

You're relieved when her blade strikes true into your already damaged shoulder and the teeth bite through into the gashes and bullet holes and rip the muscle and bone apart and your right arm goes with her when she leaps away.

The animal in your skin drops for the blade that had clattered out of your right hand, but your swordsmanship was always better with your right than your left- a side effect of training, of course- so it's just one more edge for her. She looks sick. Your arm drops off of the teeth of her saw cleaver and lands with a wet, dull thud. All you can think of is that it's the sound of a sure win.

Your body lunges for her again.

You trade blows, your flesh parts under serrations, her flesh parts under silver and iron. A lucky swing rips one of your eyes to shreds, and you savor the pain and the half-darkness the world has been reduced to. The animal that controls your flesh is scrambling for some way out, any way out, and you can feel the exact moment that it decides to use who your flesh is to manipulate her, to make her pause long enough that it can strike true and-

You want to scream, you want to howl, you want to do both so long and so loud your throat is ripped to shreds and you're hacking up blood, you want to sob until all you can do is choke on your tears and gag on misery, you want to beg her to stop hesitating and to kill you so you can't kill her, but you feel your face twist into a smile and your mouth form the syllables of her name instead of the agonized shrieking that you want to force out of your throat.

You see her face twist, but you can't help the bone deep relief that shatters through you at the knife flung at your face in response.

The animal bolts for her, and she does the same, closing the space between the two of you. Your blade is aiming for her neck but she twists and you know it won't stop you in time but the cleaver is brought up and around, with as much force as she can muster, right for your skull.

Your sword slams through her throat. Her cleaver breaks through your skull.

The animal sputters out.

You lay there, and for those last, lingering seconds of your life, you are yourself, and you are with her.

...

You jerk awake, sweaty and shaky and exhausted from so long spent locked up in response to the nightmare.

O h. Is up pose apart of me h as always wond erred wha tit feltlike b ut not

No tli k e this

#ooc: yeah this one is not going in the pokeblog tags #musharna mail #tw nightmare

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rex101111 · 1 year

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uuuh how about Doctor Arknights, with Identity, Relapse?

You have a name. Or used to have one, at least. Its written in a file only Kal'tsit and Amiya have access to. Its not the same name you use to introduce yourself to other people, even if it sounds the same.

And a face, you probably still have a face, a face with pale skin and pale eyes and pale lips. Probably. You take your helmet off only when you absolutely need to, to shower or when you go to a check up. Your gaze bounces off mirrors before you can check.

You used to be a bastard. A monster. You wadded through pools of blood that reached your knees to reach your ever shifting goal. W looks at you like you're filth, Kal'tsit looks at you like she's watching a rabid animal, Amiya is the only one who Knows and still smiles when you enter a room.

There are patches of skin on your arms that carry scars from frostbite, a scar along your chest from a crossbow bolt, the pinky on your left hand is missing the tip. Burn scars on your forehead. You have trouble breathing when there's too much dust in the air.

You can't sleep. Not for long. Because when you sleep you see the most beautiful woman who ever lived, she's smiling at you. There's a crown of burning shadow above her head. She's bleeding from a gaping wound in her stomach.

You killed her. You know this deep in your bones. You and your worthless plots and your bloody schemes killed her.

You see a face behind her, a face that shares the crest of her nose and the sharpness of her cheeks. You hate this face, hate it more than anything else in this dying cruel world.

The woman, your King, forgives you. She smiles at you gently, blood leaking between her lips. She tells you to wake up. And an order from you King will never be ignored.

You wake up tense with anger, with sorrow, with regret. You think of opening a window and jumping out of it.

You think of finding the face behind your King and striking it until there's nothing left. You feel the monster you used to be rear up and plan, plans upon plots upon schemes, each bloodier than the last.

The details stack up in your head into a mountain of bloody knifes, you think of how easily every person on this ship can kill someone. You put them in little boxes and categorize them and place them into perfect little formations.

The speaker next to your bed flickers to life, Amiya's voice, sluggish and tired and cheerful, sounds through it. She tells you breakfast is ready.

You blink, and the plans vanish into thin air.

You reach over to press a button on the speaker, you tell Amiya you'll be there shortly.

The monster grumbles and retreats, knowing better than to press its' luck when the situation had turned against it.

No one knows about the dreams. They never will.

#answers #anonymous #Arknights #stuff rex wrote #drabbles #going through my inbox and decided to finally finish up this one #Arknights spoilers #just in case #doctor arknights

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erin-bo-berin · 2 years

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Hi Erin!

I have a suggestion for the next installment of Steve & the single mum (I'm an Aussie, so we say mum not mom!)

Reader goes into labour in front of the girls and they freak out seeing mum in so much pain cos they are not used to it and are in tears. Steve somehow manages to get the girls calm enough to take them to whoever has been arranged to look after them (Joyce?) and then takes reader to the hospital and she gives birth to the twins. Joyce and Hopper bring the girls in to meet their new siblings and they are unsure how to react to them - how does that sound?

Oh poor little girls. You know that’s gotta be scary for them not knowing what mommy is going through. Man Steve would be super dad that’s for sure!

Steve Harrington x Reader

Part of the Dad Steve x SingleTeenMom!Reader series

You loved your daughters, you really did. But at the moment, your brain didn’t know how to parent due to the excruciating pain coming from your abdomen.

Your swollen belly was tight, the contraction rippling through your torso as you moaned in pain. Abbie was scared, crying and cowering at the other end of the couch from you.

“What’s wrong mommy?” her little voice cracked through her tears.

Arabella, still very much a young toddler at only 18 months, was screaming at the top of her lungs, clinging to your arm, wanting you to hold her.

You desperately wanted to calm them and reassure them and you tried your best through the pain.

“It’s okay baby,” you panted, “I think the twins are just making a bit early than expected appearance.”

You groaned, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch cushion you were seated on.

You’d been home alone with the girls while Steve was at work. You’d been having contractions on and off for days now and didn’t think anything of it as they seemed to disappear like a whisper of smoke after only a few strong ones. So when they’d started again this morning, it wasn’t unusual. Steve, bless him, was worried sick and made you promise to call him if you needed him.

When the tightening of your belly became stronger, the contractions coming even closer, you knew it was time to call Steve. It had only been a few minutes since you’d phoned him at Family Video and you knew he’d practically be speeding through town to get home.

But in those few minutes, your water had broken, confirming that these babies were well on their way into the world whether you were ready or not. You knew, typically twins came early, but it was still a little over a week before you’d even expected to have them and you hadn’t been prepared to go into labor and potentially scar your children for life.

“Oh god,” you moaned, breathing heavily as another contraction started up, barely giving you a moment’s respite from the last one.

If you hadn’t been in such pain, you might’ve cried in relief when you heard the front door. Abbie scurried off the couch and ran toward the hallway.

“Daddy!” she cried, “Something wrong with mommy!”

You were grimacing, breathing hard when you looked up and saw Steve walking in holding a still upset Abbie in his arms. You must’ve made quite the sight, sitting on the couch panting and heaving like a rabid animal, surrounded by a pool of amniotic fluid and Arabella clutching to you, face red as she screamed.

At the sight of her daddy, Arabella cried harder, reaching for him, figuring she wasn’t going to get any comfort from you. He bent down to take her in his free arm.

“I’m. Sorry,” you said between pants, as you tried to work your way through the current contraction, “I tried to calm them down but the contractions keep coming harder and faster.”

“It’s okay,” he said, “I called Joyce and Hopper and they’re coming to pick them up so we can get to the hospital.”

“They better make it fast or else they’re going to be walking in on a double birth—with you delivering them,” you grunted.

At any other time, the sight of Steve’s paling face would’ve been comical. Not so much at the moment, though.

“Mommy’s not dying is she?” Abbie whimpered, clinging to Steve.

“No sweetheart, it’s just your little brother and sister telling mommy it’s time to be born,” he soothed her.

“It okay Bella,” Abbie sniffed, leaning over and patting Arabella’s shoulder, “Mommy okay.”

“How far apart are the contractions?” Steve asked you, feeling helpless as he watched you clench your teeth in agony.

Unbeknownst to him, he had helped a lot. You were thankful he’d gotten the girls to settle some as each contraction had only scared them more.

“Three minutes.”

“Shit,” he cursed, too panicked to even realize he’d cursed in front of the girls.

“Bad word daddy,” Abbie scolded, “You owe the swear jar a quarter.”

You managed to huff a laugh. Even in the midst of this, your first born was able to scold her own dad.

Once again, the front door opening was a welcoming sound.

“Hello? Steve? Y/N?” you heard Joyce call from the front hall.

Abbie wiggled down from Steve’s arms running to Joyce.

“Gwamma Joyce! Mommy not dying. She just having the twins!” Abbie reported.

“Which is why you and Arabella are having a sleepover with us,” Hopper said coming in behind Joyce, picking up Abbie, “Hey kiddo. You okay now?”

He kissed her head, noticing she’d be crying.

“Yes Gwampa Hop,” she nodded, “I didn’t know what wrong with mommy and I got scared. Sissy was crying too.”

Joyce had immediately rushed to your side, knowing good and well what labor felt like even all these years later.

“Hop, get the girls to the car. Steve, get your car started. I’m going to help Y/N to the car. She’s already so far along that it’s probably going to be a chore to walk as is.”

Joyce just had that commanding air about her because no one second guessed her instructions and everyone leapt into action. Hopper set Abbie down, taking her hand and took Arabella from Steve’s arms. Steve rushed to get his keys that he’d discarded on the front hall table and both men were out the door in seconds. It was impressive, really, what Joyce Byers could put into action.

Joyce helped you up and you grimaced at the mess you left behind.

“Honey don’t worry about that now,” she assured you, “All you focus on is getting these babies into this world safely.”

“And hopefully not on the side of the road,” you groaned.

“That too,” she chuckled.

When she’d safely gotten you into the car and buckled you up, she promised to take good care of the girls and sent you and Steve off to the hospital.

“Just breathe, baby,” Steve coaxed as he pulled out of the driveway.

You gripped the door handle, already breathing through the contraction. You were in no mood to be told the obvious.

“Steve, I love you, but if you tell me to breathe one more time I might smack you.”

He nodded, knowing well enough how agitated labor made you.

“Point taken. Now let’s go have these babies.”

•

Lucas Alexander Harrington—Alex for short—came into the world at 8:27 p.m., mere hours after your water broke. He was peaceful and didn’t cry at first, although your doctor said he was alert and healthy, just calm. That is until his sister came out spitting mad and howling, four minutes later at 8:31 p.m.

Autumn Reign Harrington was a spitfire from the moment she entered the world, crying loudly causing her brother to start in as well. You weren’t sure if it was going to be a sign of what was to come when it came to them, but you were just happy they were healthy.

Tears rolled down your face when they were both put on your chest for you to see them. They were tears of happiness, exhaustion and just sheer love for your babies that you’d just birthed, the two babies that you’d reunite with later and your husband Steve who hadn’t left your side through the whole intense and quick labor.

“They’re beautiful,” Steve breathed.

He was giving you a chance to rest and sat in the chair next to your bed, holding both babies in his arms at once. He was in awe at them.

Autumn was fast asleep while Alex was staring up at him curiously.

“Hi there babies, I’m your daddy,” he smiled down at them, “And that pretty lady over there?”

He motioned to you with his head, shifting in his seat so they could see you—although only Alex could since he was the only one awake.

“That’s your mommy,” Steve said, “You caused her an awful lot of pain earlier trying to come into the world. In fact, it kinda scared your big sisters some. You’ll get to meet them tomorrow. You’ll love them and they’ll love you, my little nuggets.”

You smiled sleepily, eyes closing as you watched the scene before you. You’d only gotten to hold them briefly after they were born, but your pure exhaustion was making your eyes heavy. Steve had assured you earlier that he’d make sure you’d have plenty of time to hold them later.

With that promise in mind, you let yourself drift off into sleep.

•

The next day when Joyce and Hopper arrived with the girls, there was much exclaiming going on—mainly from Joyce. She was as much in love with them as you and Steve were.

Abbie and Arabella were very hesitant at first. Arabella had just wanted you and you took her from Hopper, cuddling you.

“Mama,” she smiled happily, holding onto you.

“You want to meet your new brother and sister, Arabella?” you asked her.

“No,” came her straight response.

Everyone burst out laughing, including you.

“We’ll let Abbie see them first and then see how you feel, okay sweets?” you smiled.

Abbie was in Hopper’s arms, staring at baby Alex in Steve’s arms, a serious look on her face. Then she turned and looked at Autumn in Joyce’s arms.

“Why don’t you come here and meet your baby brother?” Steve asked, motioning her over.

Hopper put her down and she walked over to Steve’s side hesitantly, looking down into Alex’s face.

“Abbie, this is Alex,” Steve said.

“He tiny,” she whispered, eyes big.

“He is,” Steve nodded, “You were probably too little to remember but Arabella was this tiny once too. You loved her.”

“And they’re staying?” Abbie asked, a brow raised.

He laughed, amused at her sass.

“Yes baby, Alex and Autumn are part of the family now. But think of it this way. Not only do you have a new sibling, you have two. A brother and a sister. That’s pretty cool isn’t it?” Steve asked her.

“Yes,” she nodded, watching Alex stretch and coo.

She reached a hand out, knowing to be gentle even before Steve could tell her to be. Alex grabbed a hold of her finger and Abbie’s face lit up.

“He’s holding my finger!” she smiled.

“See? He already loves you,” Steve smiled, planting a kiss on Abbie’s head.

While Steve and Abbie bonded with Alex, Joyce put Autumn in your lap and you held her so Arabella could see her.

“Baby,” Arabella smiled, looking down at her.

“This is your new sister, Autumn. Daddy and Abbie have your little brother Alex.”

“No,” Arabella fussed, trying to push Autumn away.

“Hey, hey, gentle,” you reprimanded, holding Arabella close in your arm, “It’s okay sweetheart. I know it will take some getting used to.”

You had anticipated there being some jealousy with a new baby, but hadn’t quite expected it to come from Arabella, but more from Abbie. It seemed that they’d surprised you on that front.

It was only when Autumn started fussing that Arabella quieted, looking down at her almost suspiciously. Then, much to your surprise, she leaned down and gave Autumn a sloppy kiss on the head.

You smiled, everyone in the room awwing at the gesture. Maybe she’d come around after all.

It was only after Joyce and Hopper had stepped out later, to give you a little time as a family before they took the girls home, that Steve looked over at you. Autumn was now in his arms and Arabella was in his lap. You had Alex and Abbie. He smiled before speaking.

“Look at us, Y/N. The Harringtons: party of six.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things blurb #stranger things fluff

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powderkeg-dogs · 2 months

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Musharna Malice!

You open your eyes in this nightmare, and you are not yourself, that much is apparent.

Draka's voice rings out, clear as wedding bells.

You lose your grip on the claws-fangs-knives-fire inside your ribs and everything snaps into clarity and you are no longer in control of your own body.

She scrambles away, clumsy with the high-turned-crash-turned-high of adrenaline she's no doubt feeling.

Your body lunges for her again.

You see her face twist, but you can't help the bone deep relief that shatters through you at the knife flung at your face in response.

Your sword slams through her throat. Her cleaver breaks through your skull.

The animal sputters out.

You lay there, and for those last, lingering seconds of your life, you are yourself, and you are with her.

...

You jerk awake, sweaty and shaky and exhausted from so long spent locked up in response to the nightmare.

First a city and now a Beasthood dream… whoever this was, I’m sorry.

#in character #djura post

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moons-favorite-guy · 2 months

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Musharna Malice!

You open your eyes in this nightmare, and you are not yourself, that much is apparent.

Draka's voice rings out, clear as wedding bells.

You lose your grip on the claws-fangs-knives-fire inside your ribs and everything snaps into clarity and you are no longer in control of your own body.

She scrambles away, clumsy with the high-turned-crash-turned-high of adrenaline she's no doubt feeling.

Your body lunges for her again.

You see her face twist, but you can't help the bone deep relief that shatters through you at the knife flung at your face in response.

Your sword slams through her throat. Her cleaver breaks through your skull.

The animal sputters out.

You lay there, and for those last, lingering seconds of your life, you are yourself, and you are with her.

...

You jerk awake, sweaty and shaky and exhausted from so long spent locked up in response to the nightmare.

Was that... no no that wasn't me but it could be it could be it will be me it could have been me and it will be-

#in character #the hunter speaks #tw nightmare

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valleynix · 3 months

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I was looking back at the angsty posts and was reminded of Alcina getting a second chance in chp 8 😭😭 it made me think of if one of the sisters got a second chance instead.

Maybe bela somehow was able to go back right before she was killed and was confused at how normal reader looks and how they don’t know anything.

HMMM >:3

She doesn’t understand.

How could this have happened so quickly? How could they be completely fine during dinner and a beast by moonrise?

She’d found them in the library, wings out, hunched over and stumbling as though they were drunk. She wasn’t aware they even had a mutation - what were they? - but upon seeing it… Perhaps both she and her family had been wrong about this stranger and what they meant.

After urging Daniela to find their mother or someone to help them, the human she was growing attached to focused their attention on her, and the battle was bloody.

She hadn’t wanted to kill them, no. She knew what a frenzy looked like, how someone behaved when they had no control over their body, and part of her thought she could save them. All she needed was a distraction, but she underestimated how rabid of a cornered animal they really were.

Through her best efforts, she’d thrown them against bookshelves, sliced at them, dodged them enough so they stumbled into something else, torn out their eye… And yet, as though their body were nothing more than a machine in her uncle’s factory, they continued after her.

Bela knew her youngest sister wouldn’t want them hurt, not in an unrepairable way, but as the bells chimed in the castle’s highest tower, she knew something had to be done or none of them would make it through the night alive.

She could do nothing, however, except let her eyes drift closed. As she felt her body crumbling around her on the floor and that beast in her home stumble through the library’s door, she could do nothing but wait and beg.

A second chance was all she wanted. She knew she could do something, knew she could help them-

And when she reopened her eyes, she was in that same library, holding open a book in a clean room. The bookshelves were how they’d always been, the books themselves still neatly placed in order of genre, no blood or missing appendages…

“…think so,” the human mumbles, grumbling as they shift in a chair beside her. Their cup clatters as it’s placed against a small plate, and they wince as the sound hits her ears. “You don’t find it odd that the lord would abandon his name like that? All for someone he barely knew?”

What-

This doesn’t make sense. Wasn’t she just-

She was dying. It was no dream, no hallucination. She knows what she saw and what she felt, so how the hell-

“Maybe I just don’t know what that’s like. Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to go through the marriage and keep his name-“

“What are you talking about?”

This was… She remembers this moment, though it was some time ago. She hadn’t meant for her words to come out that harshly, but… What was going on?

The human tilts their head to the side, brows furrowing. “We were… discussing the latest book you’d had me read, weren’t we? I thought…” They lean away from her a little, worry clear in their eyes and features. “Is everything all right?”

How could she lose that much time as if it were nothing? That doesn’t… She was just there-

“You were… Something was wrong.” She’s sure she must sound insane right now. “I was- Wasn’t I?”

Their confusion only grows as they shake their head, glancing all around. “You’re talking to me, aren’t you? I don’t understand.”

They look so… them. No blood on their face or anywhere around them, no wings, no… nothing.

Both golden eyes stare up at her after a moment, a single brow lifted with a question clear on their face. How is it that she lived through something so real, only to continue her life as if nothing had actually happened?

Doesn’t that mean she could prevent it? She could stop it from happening, stop the destruction they caused.

“You would… tell me if you were hiding something about your existence, wouldn’t you?”

Their head tilts to the side. “I would if I knew anything. Should I be worried about where this conversation is going?”

“No, no. I’m sorry, little one. You’ve done nothing wrong.” That doesn’t seem to calm their anxiety any. She tries to smile and pat their leg, but they flinch at her touch. “You’re in no danger, you know. I must have dozed off and had a nightmare, is all.”

But she remembers. She knows their conversations, their intimate moments, their care for one another. She knows their true laugh, the way their eyes glow brighter when they smile, and what to say to really fluster them.

She knows it all, every interaction until the moment she was dying. How did she…

The human raises their hand and places it on her forehead, determined. They hold it there for a moment as Bela’s eyes widen, completely flabbergasted.

They hum and lean back, a mischievous smile pulling on their lips. “Cold, as usual. Your body never gains warmth, does it?” She must have had a stern look on her face, as they avert their gaze and mumble, “Sorry, my lady.”

She snorts and shoves their head, her own worries easing. Despite her suspicions of them after that… They really didn’t know anything, did they? Whatever that was - whatever it meant… Hm.

They continue reading in silence, occasionally humming or gasping quietly, and she chuckles to herself in turn, watching and studying them. She memorizes their face, washing away that terrible image of them bloody and with only one eye left in their head.

After the maids clean up their little messes, she tells them, “You’re safe here. If you know something and you’re unsure what it means, I ask that you come to us and let us help you decipher it.”

They give her a nasty side eye, though she knows they mean it in a lighthearted way. “You’re awfully worried tonight, aren’t you?”

Right. There’s no way they remember any of that, not with how casual they’re speaking with her and acting. The fact they’re not panicking and wondering where their other eye was told her enough.

“I want to ensure you know you have a place here. We mean you no harm, and I hope you mean the same.”

They shrug and go back to their book, though it’s clear they’re not reading any of it. “I don’t think I could harm you if I tried. That sickle you always keep at your waist isn’t there for show.”

“No.” The silence between them rapidly becomes awkward. “But we don’t know what you are. We don’t know what could become of you, what lies within your body we’re unaware of. You could be an immense danger to all of us, kill us with ease.”

Good one.

“I don’t think so.” Their voice is quiet, and she watches as a small smile cause the corner of their lip to tick up. “You take such good care of me, despite hardly knowing me. It’s only fair I return the favor, hm?”

Her brows furrow. “In what way? We have everything we could ever need.”

They glance at her, their eyes drooping as their gaze flicks down her body and slowly back up. She feels her cheeks heat almost immediately as she coughs and turns her head away, some of her flies buzzing around her shoulders.

“Ah. I see your point.”

“I often make good ones.”

As she snorts with them and flicks their temple, that horrible image of them becomes vague in the back of her mind. She could fix things, could help them understand that her family would keep them safe however they could.

They’d gone against Mother Miranda, after all. What were a few more months of caring for this human?

She could simply never realize how quickly things would change for the worst.

#asks #resident evil #resident evil village #bela dimitrescu #i hope this is okay?? 😭#i haven’t written anything like this in a WHILE #i’ll do cass and dani if yall want me to #this was fun but it feels off for some reason #hmmm #anyway enjoy <3

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olreid · 2 years

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hey, love your tlt posts! i had some thoughts on your posts on cavaliers and animal language – not trying to criticize or hate, just something i thought it could be interesting to point out.

i definitely agree with the idea that cavaliers are subjugated and treated as workhorses/batteries/lesser than necromacers in tlt, but i think it’s a bit misleading to highlight animal language deployed exclusively to describe cavaliers, because there are a lot of other instances of animal metaphors in the series. i personally think tamsyn muir either just likes animal metaphors, or is doing something slightly more complex with them that i can’t quite grasp.

here are some examples (just from searching for the word "animal," not an in-depth reread):

animal language for harrow:

gtn ch 14: “My mother and my father and my grandmother together … and I’ve advanced so far beyond them. One construct or fifty—and it simply slows it down … for all of half an hour.” She shook away frustration like an animal with a wet pelt, shivering all over before fixing dead black eyes on Gideon. “Right,” she said. “Right. Again. Keep watching, Nav.”

gtn ch 24: “Thanks for backing me up, my midnight hagette,” said Gideon, placing her back down. Harrow had not struggled, but gone limp, like a prey animal feigning death.

htn ch 6: Your vision swam. It became apparent immediately that you could not move. Your clinical brain rose to the fore as your meat brain shied and ran around and barked like the badly behaved animal it was.

htn ch 19: It seemed hateful to you that in death you should be treated like a prey animal some domestic predator had brought inside. You heard the Saint of Duty say in his flat, joyless voice: “I don’t answer to you.”

htn ch 27: When you laid your head back against Ianthe’s pillow, you smelled the thin putrefying off-apple smell from her bedside table, and you smelled her, and that scent was now familiar. It was the animal yearning for the familiar that undid you. You closed your eyes, and you were asleep.

animal language for isaac:

gtn ch 9: From three tables over, the loathsome teens greeted his audacity with low moans: they lost all appearance of restrained respectability and instead chorused his name in slow, hurt-animal noises, lowing “Magnus! Maaaaagnus,” which he ignored.

gtn ch 18: The awful necromantic teen rose to stand now. His eyes were raw and red, and his fists were dirty with blood. The numb agony on his face was like an animal in pain: when he spoke one expected only tortured baying.

gtn ch 22: “I wanted you two because Magnus liked you both,” she said. “So you get the warning. Don’t say I didn’t tell you.” Then she led Isaac away, him looking like an expectant prey animal, her like dynamite, ushering him back through the salt-warped door.

cytherea/dulcinea:

gtn ch 15: Dulcinea was breathing a little harder. She was wearing a filmy, foam-coloured dress and Gideon could see her ribs expand beneath it, like a shocked animal’s.

gtn ch 15: Dulcinea herself was smiling with what she obviously thought was infinite sweetness and what Gideon knew to be an expression of animal cunning.

ianthe:

htn ch 27: She sprawled in a puddle of red as though it was her shadow. Her long hair tumbled over her face and shoulders like a veil, and she grunted hard through her teeth, breathing in long terrible breaths like a dying animal.

mercymorn:

htn ch 36: The communicator crackled. Somebody breathed deeply. Then there was a lowing over the system—a terrible animal call of uncomprehending pain—and it did not sound like the Saint of Joy.

htn ch 46: Mercymorn was still juddering and crying out—it didn’t seem like she was actually dying, but she was frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal.

judith:

ntn ch 13: In a different voice she suddenly said, “Where am I? Where’s Marta? Where’s Lieutenant Dyas?” Then she threw back her head and howled like an animal. Crown and Palamedes both held her down.

hot sauce:

ntn ch 7: Then Hot Sauce reached out and put her hand quietly and firmly on Honesty’s shoulder, and that calmed him down, but he was sweating, he was warm. He smelled like overheated animal.

all necromancers (from an outside pov):

ntn ch 17: The Angel said, “What, right now? ’Course not, start running in the opposite direction … No, don’t fight them, Hot Sauce,” she said, as Hot Sauce opened her mouth. “If you valorise paranoia so much don’t be a hypocrite about it, all right? If you’re scared of necromancers, run from them. If they really are a necromancer, there’s no point in fighting them, is there? It’s like big animals, you can’t actually exert your will on them."

hi! yeah i def don’t think i said that muir only uses animal language for cavaliers, or at least i didn’t mean to! from my reread i think the most accurate way to put my interpretation of how animal language is deployed in the text is that muir describes many characters with animal language, but does so more often with cavaliers than necromancers; furthermore, cavaliers are most often described as beasts of burden, or dogs, which i would associate with loyalty/obedience and the outsourcing of physical violence in this context. the animal i remember most often associated with necromancers, particularly ianthe, harrow, and cytherea the first, is a snake, which is an animal whose deployment i would argue connotes power and cunning.

it’s interesting that in the examples you highlight, necromancers seem to be linked to animals through pain and proximity to death, which is something that i think we can say on a cultural level is typically outsourced to cavaliers, the extreme circumstances of canaan house notwithstanding. this is not to say that necromancy is not physically demanding in its own right, but rather to point to cavaliers’ positioning as the first on the ground and thus the first to die, as well as the cultural practice of resolving conflict through cavalier duels. what comes to mind for me is when harrow says she has been “unmanned” by grief; there is a sense in which examination of animal language points to the way that humans become animal through cumulative exposure to pain, loss, and trauma which strips them of their higher faculties and reduces them to base instinct. in the necrofuture, it is a structural truth that cavaliers are more often exposed to those things, more often made animal because they are more often in pain or wounded or dying. this is not to say that necromancers are never wounded or dying or pained, as your citations show. however, what i would argue - and this is what i am interested in here - that in the case of cavaliers as a class, their deaths produce a recursive feedback loop of violence that renders them animalistic, at which point their animality is used to justify their exposure to further violence.

while both cavaliers and necromancers are capable of being rendered animal by violence, i think the second part of that process really only applies at a societal level to cavaliers. overall what i mean by discursive linkage is that when the animal language is taken in context with the societal positioning of cavaliers, repeated association with animals takes shape as a tactic used to subjugate them and make their deaths hold less weight than they otherwise might. in absence of the structures set up to situate cavaliers more proximate to death than their necromantic counterparts, it would be easier to read the use of animal language as what you suggest: a particular affinity on muir's part for animal metaphor in her prose. however, when taken together with the structure of the imperial core, i personally find it hard to write off as a stylistic choice, and even if it wasn't intentional i think it creates particular effects in the text regardless.

wrt isaac, there is definitely something to pick at re: the association between the innocence of youth and innocence of the [prey] animal, but i would have to chew on it more. my instinct is also to read into the fact that isaac is fourth house, generally thought of as “cannon fodder,” and that perhaps the fourth house's proximity to the machinery of war has something to do with deployment of animal language in his and jeannemary's case.

but yeah tldr i don't think that only cavaliers are associated with animals in tlt and it could very well be that muir is doing something more complex or nuanced with her use of that device! it just struck me on my reread that cavaliers are controlled not only through mechanisms which actively facilitate their deaths but also through cultural and discursive work that makes those deaths more acceptable to the nine houses, and association with animals is one vehicle through which that work is accomplished.

#guy who has had a melatonin. hopefully this scans #asks #onefleshonepod #locked tomb trilogy #ntn spoilers #animacies

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queenpiranhadon · 3 months

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A/N: SHOOOTTTT THIS IS SO LATEEE IM SORRY 😭 It's okay, it's here now :). This chapter is written by me 👀. My cowriter is the lovely Nyota (@labaguetteisdabest) :D. . You can find the masterlist here

Warning(s): blood depictions, gore, death, rabid animals, panic attacks, sleeping as a coping mechanism, LOTS of cursing, blacking out, all that fun stuff in the chapter.

Pairing(s): Kaepex

Thump.

The rhythmic sound of the carriage bouncing against every rock and pebble on the narrow road was probably the only thing keeping me sane as the claws of boredom threatened to suffocate me in its patronizing grasp.

The man outside, the one driving the carriage was one I vaguely knew, he was the one who coincidentally brought me to the docks of Minsare when I was 5 to go to Watarumi in the first place. And now I was going home.

My bogy tingled with anticipation at the prospect. The room I’d been raised in for 5 years, and icy winds of Khaenpanii stinging my flesh, akin to the feeling of being free.

I couldn’t wait.

Thump.

CRACK.

The only thing I remembered after that was the sound of the delicate but sturdy wood of the carriage being splintered open before everything went black.

When my brain finally decided to regain consciousness, there was an insistent ringing in my ear, high pitched and nauseating, stabbing needles into the darkest corners of my brain, working its way into anything and everything, attempting to fracture my brain’s ability to function.

But it clears up eventually, the throbbing in my head ebbing and flowing, as two sharp red piercing eyes send chills straight down my spine, ice cold fear running through me from head to toe.

My body refused to move, my bones locked as if they didn’t know how to move in the first place, no matter how much my muscles twitched, screaming to move, to run, to do anything but lie on the ground, splinters of wood stabbing my skin as the giant beast lurked closer, its red eyes wide and wild, mouth foaming with the prospect of food.

Food.

It looked starved, and unhinged, sanity long gone to the feline creature, but most of all, it was desperate. Eyes the color of sticky blood that said that they only existed to be fed.

To feast.

On me.

Thump.

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The rhythmic pounding I felt now was my heart, beating so fast I felt like I was going to choke on it.

Crunch.

Adrenaline and pure fear course through my veins, as what I assume to be a rabid leopard, now sinks its foamy and bloody mouth into the flesh of my driver, saliva dripping down its fangs, the horses that pulled the carriages long gone.

The leopard tears through his skin, the sickening crunch of devoured bones and the smell of metallic blood are the only two things I can sense, my driver’s agonized screams slowly dying out, a choked sob leaving his lips followed by thick streams of red.

I can’t look, so I don’t, bile rising in my throat, threatening to suffocate me in fear and disgust.

And then its pupils narrow, zooming in on me, clarity returning to the beast’s eyes, ready for another hunt.

It’s only then that my legs start to move, one of my bags still draped over my shoulder, scrambling to stand up and sprint into the woods, careful not to lose track of the path.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

I run away, loose but sharp branches slicing my skin. They sting, but the pain only makes me run faster, my energy only focused on moving, on getting the hell away from the crazed monster.

I can hear its paws crunching against the underbrush, but I can’t see it. I have to move faster.

My heart races faster, it feels inhumane at this point, tears of desperation pricking my eyes and my throat clenches in fear.

Lungs burning to the point where they feel numb, my eyes find a small nook underneath the thick foliage, the opening big enough for me to hide in and the surrounding number unripe fruits great enough to cover my scent. I use my body weight to abruptly fall into the opening, tumbling into the darkness as I hear the low growling above me.

My heart pounds in my ears, my lungs begging to take much needed air, but I let them continue to burn, knowing that if I make even a single sound, I’d end up with the same fate as my driver.

Please damnit Allaida I beg you, please please please please...

Suddenly, the growling gets louder, as the padding of paws get quieter, the vibrations it sent getting less intense, and suddenly it was gone.

Air floods into my lungs, trying to gulp down as much as I can, even if it was too much to take it at once. Crawling out of the nook, my chest heaves, coughs racking through my body as tears start flowing down my face.

I bury my face in my hands, trying to drown out the sounds of the forest, the beads of sweat mingling with the salty tears that stained my face.

I’m petrified, but I need to think through this like I always do.

Now that I think about it, this trail is usually crowded with carriages, one passing by every half hour or so, considering Minsare and Khaenpanii’s trading regime. Merchants are almost always traveling on this route, what’s a leopard doing so close to it – we barely see any animals here, especially undocile ones. Unless... no merchants have come. But for a lack of merchants to be the cause of rabid animals converging on the route, they’d have to be missing for a long time.

My heart rate picks up again, as my stomach twists in uncertainty.

Was something wrong?

No one was around... and speculation of a sickness has been arising for the past few years. But the last time I heard about that was 5 years ago... then again, that’s the last time I’ve heard from anyone. After that, my Reya training was extremely brutal, so I just chalked it up to not having time to write.

But if something was wrong... then maybe going back to Khaenpanii wasn’t the best idea.

Wait. Was that why Eran didn’t send a letter? If the whole continent was infected with this virus...

This is bad.

This is really bad.

Damnit, damnit, damnit.

The only chance I have of survival is to find people that aren’t infected like me.

Oh, fucking hell.

I have to find Apex and Cari.

Fujimura shares a border with Khaenpanii, so finding Apex would be the best course of action.

But I really don’t want to.

Maybe dying here would be best.

But no, I know I can’t, what Syla would jeopardize the lives of her people for a grudge against another?

Even if they’re really irritating...

Fatigue finally seeps into my aching bones, a stream of red running down my leg – which is weird, I never noticed it. Maybe something hit me while I was running.

Now that I had a plan, I just needed to find a place to sleep for a while... I’d go find the cold-hearted fire princess tomorrow.

Looking at my bag, the one still slung over my shoulder, I realized I had a clean change of clothes, including a flowy white blouse, a deep brown corset, and some baggy beige pants. Besides that, and the clothes on my back, I had my signet ring, a few scrolls, a hairpin, and thank fuck, my uncle’s compass. And a single apple.

Wonderful.

I have to last an entire day on a single apple.

My mouth felt dry, begging for some cool refreshing water. But going to find a lake to drink from would be a death wish, more rabid animals like the leopard would probably be lurking in the area. Using my sore fingertips, I turn the humid air around me into frozen molecules, attempting to form a sort of container to drink out of.

The result is a deformed teacup.

Oh, how I missed my silver-plated goblets.

Making sure the ice was solid enough to not melt all over my fingers, I fill the cup with fragile ice, hoping it’ll melt into drinkable water.

Maybe I should’ve gone for the Acquarone instead...

No matter, the ice has melted by now, and I must drink before the cup melts over my hands in this unbearable heat.

Gulping it down, the slightly bitter taste of the water makes me scrunch my eyebrows, but at least dying of dehydration won’t be an issue.

Using the slightly melted cup to clean the dirt and blood off myself, I crawl back into the nook, deciding to sleep there in the meantime.

The darkness was comforting, helping me block out the world, as sleep slowly overtakes me, my subconscious deciding I could go a few hours without healing Dodomi.

I’d continue my journey at noon.

#adrienne “apex” pyracent #kaeda leona cynet #star crossed haters #kaepex #kaeda x apex #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writers and poets #writerscommunity #creative writing #my writing #writer #the cloud archives ☁️

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mojowitchcraft · 1 year

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Awakened I Have Become

Light now slips away Manipulate your mind Darkness is my slave Taste the sins of Hell The blood that I so crave The last thing that you see Is the hunger in my eyes

“At Dawn They Sleep” - Slayer, 1985

🩸

The hunger sets in—clawing at his stomach like an angry beast—he does his best to tamp it down, ignore it like he usually does.

In hindsight, he realizes that putting it off until he’s past his limit isn’t the best decision he’s ever made, but he’s never really been known for making good decisions, and maybe the whole dying thing fried some of his brain cells. Some days it feels like he was struck by lightning, his whole body vibrating with whatever the fuck is coursing through his veins. So it’s no surprise that when he punches a hole through the universe, hunger edging on rabid, he loses all control at one whiff of that intoxicating scent.

His legs carry him through the woods, new instincts taking over and pushing rational thought from his brain as he leaps over fallen trees, branches scratching at his torn jeans. He hardly feels them, all he can focus on is that smell.

Usually, he’ll slip through the barrier between worlds, hunt for some poor animal to satisfy his new cravings and then disappear again. Not wanting to face the reality of what he’s done, what he’s become. Gone is his shame and self-preservation, all his focus is on the source of that sweet odor.

Heightened senses allow him to track the object of his obsession through the woods, and while he moves faster than any human ever could, he takes no care to be quiet. Twigs snap beneath his bare feet and the aroma becomes tainted with a hint of fear.

🩸

Steve Harrington whips around, flashlight sweeping through the trees as he squints, searching for the source of the sound echoing throughout the otherwise quiet forest. He sees a shadowy figure rushing toward him, palms sweating as he fumbles with the flashlight in favor of gripping his bat with both hands, regretting it when the light falls to the forest floor and points at Steve instead. He takes a step backward, planting his feet, preparing for an attack.

Recognition sets in moments before they reach him and Steve falters, bat falling to the ground as he stands in shock, a name falling from his lips like a question. That moment of hesitation is Steve’s downfall, for in the dim light he doesn’t catch the near-black of his attacker’s eyes, the elongated teeth that are no longer human, the expression of pure hunger upon his pale face.

Steve finds himself abruptly pressed against a tree, no need for a broken bottle this time, not when a clawed hand grabs his throat and pushes it roughly to the side. Not when a knee presses between his legs, holding him in place. Hot breath puffs against his neck, warming his skin for a split second before those sharp canines breach tender flesh. He should fight, should try to run, to escape, but all he can do is cling to the shoulders of the man currently feasting upon him as he asks again.

“Eddie?”

Cross posted on ao3 here

#steddie week 2023 #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie fic rec #steve x eddie #vampire eddie munson

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sennamybeloved · 2 years

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selfshiptober day 2 : rainy day

marlene x bluejay (s/i) - reblogs appreciated!

Bluejay doesn’t mind the rain. She likes the way it feels on her skin, despite it’s chilliness, and she enjoys the atmosphere that a storm brings. She prefers it over the snow, and she heavily prefers it over the blazing heat. They’ve been experiencing a lot of that in these past few months.

But it’s autumn now. The once-green leave slowly fade into hues of red and yellow, dying in beautiful plumes of vibrant color. They fall from the branches and cover the ground in a blanket of foliage. It’s getting colder, much colder, but Bluejay would rather trek through a blizzard than a heatwave any day. Besides, autumn has some of the most gorgeous scenery, and when you’re walking everyday, all day, you’ll be doing a lot of sightseeing. Bluejay is the only one who seems to be delighted by that anymore.

Finally, after what must’ve been hours, they stop walking. The downpour has grown too intense for them to continue on. They need to wait out the storm, as Marlene says, rallying the group of exhausted Fireflies as she waves them under some old, abandoned house.

One of the walls is torn clean off, leaving them exposed to the elements, but the unstable, crumbling ceiling still keeps them dry.

Not a single word is uttered; everyone finds a semi-dry spot to sit or lay, digging into their bags and pulling out what little food and water they still have. The atmosphere is heavy and sorrowful, and the silence is suffocating. The only sound that can be heard is the steady pitter-patter of rainfall.

Marlene sits at the furthest end of the disheveled building, on a pile of stones and other rubble. She’s the only person who’s not eating, not drinking, not moving. She’s staring at her feet with her brow creased and her mouth pulled into a frown, a look of contemplation and frustration distorting her face.

Bluejay sighs. She’s so hates seeing her so… despondent.

She walks over to her, her movements slow and light, as if she’s approaching a rabid animal. “Can I sit with you?” She asks gently.

She looks up at Bluejay, her hardened expression softening for a moment. “Sure.”

She gives her a polite smile before sitting down next to her. Her arm brushes against hers, and she resists the urge to reach out and grab her hand. She wants to give her space, though, assuming that’s what she needs. It’s wrong to assume that about Marlene, though, because she can be shockingly clingy at the best of times. Clingier than you’d expect someone like her to be.

The pair sits in silence for a moment, with Marlene staring at the floor and Bluejay staring out into the rainy streets. Eventually, Bluejay speaks. “It’s really pouring out there, huh?”

“Yeah,” Marlene replies dryly. “I wanted to get us to the edge of the county by sundown, but I guess not.”

She frowns, eyeing her girlfriend with subtle sadness. She can’t stand seeing her so stressed. She wishes her pressure was something physical so she could lift it from her tired shoulders and ease her of the pain that comes with leading dozens of people into a raging storm, unsure of what’ll happen when you reach the other side, if there even is an other side. She’s doesn’t smile much, but she certainly smiled more before this journey began. She wants to see her smile again. She wants to see her smile and laugh and be carefree. She wants to see her relax, and she means really relax. She wishes she could take her burden on as her own so that she could experience a moment of true, uninterrupted peace.

But none of those things are possible, so, she settles for bringing a hand up to her back, rubbing it in slow, soothing circles. She feels the rise and fall of each heavy breath, and watches the way her expression relaxes with each passing moment.

“We’ve made it further than I thought we would,” Bluejay says, uncertain if that’s reassuring or not. “I’m proud of us, especially considering the uh… circumstances. And we ain’t all been shot or infected yet, right?”

Marlene sighs out, long and heavy. “I guess not.”

“And we won’t.” She nods. “You’re gonna get us… we’re going to get out of this. Together.”

She repeats that, or something to that effect, a lot. We’ve got this, we’re a team, we’ll get out of this together… she thinks it’s cheesy and unhelpful, but the way that Marlene’s eyes brighten whenever she begins spewing optimistic garble tells and entirely different story.

She sighs again, her muscles relaxing under Bluejay’s hand as she continues to rub her back, her neck, her shoulders. Her eyes flutter shut, her breathing becoming deep and steady. Gradually, she relaxes. After many days of not eating, not sleeping and barely even speaking, she finally lets herself relax.

Bluejay laces their fingers together, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. She feels her squeeze her hand before shuffling her body closer to her’s, huddling against her for warm, for comfort, for anything.

She pulls her head back, taking a nice, long look at Marlene’s face. At her tired brown eyes and her downturned lips. At the stray curls that fall out of her bun and stick to her skin. She gently removes one that obscures her eye, attempting to tuck it behind her ear with only partial success.

Marlene stares back at her with a similar look of longing and adoration. She almost swears that she sees tears well up in her eyes, but that’s very unlike her. She doesn’t get to think about it too hard anyway, because moments later, she throws herself against her, burrowing her face in the crook of her neck.

Bluejay slings an arm around her waist, pulling her in closer. She weaves her fingers into her curls, effectively undoing her frazzled bun as she massages her scalp. They both sigh, almost in unison, melting into each other as they set their fears and worries aside for the moment being.

All Bluejay can hear is the sound of Marlene’s breathing, and the steady pitter-patter of rainfall.

#【 💡 】 ✦ * · ˚ — she’s the only girl that i wanna love │ r: marlene .#lotus writes #✦ * · ˚ — self insert: bluejay .#selfshiptober #star selfshiptober #self ship community #self ship fic #self shipping #selfship #f/o community #self insert x canon #self insert #tlou self insert #tlou self ship

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