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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 10 months

Note

Caliban’s cravings are so fascinating to me. Can we get a story of when Caliban’s cravings first return? Him trying to hide them at first and maybe when Azalea is beginning to catch on?

That's so sweet of you to say! Thank you so much!

I've already talked about this in a few asks (mainly this one, this one, this one, and these two. Major kudos to the anons who sent said asks in, btw! I've really gotta start making an emoji list so I can recognize people). But I'm happy to expand on it a bit more. Even if I do want to keep some things vague. . .

(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, implied cannibalism, implied violence, mentions of blood, cravings/hunger pangs, mentions of eating/drinking, implied abuse/neglect. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

(Also, just to clarify: this snippet takes place years before Caliban and Azalea joined The Pentas Family)

___

His world is a blur thanks to the violent movement he’s fighting against. . .

Caliban’s eyes felt dry and heavy. One of them twitched as he stared into the darkness of his room. Even as he kept tossing and turning in his bed—the same one he’d had to hide under so many times before—he couldn’t seem to close them.

For the first time in years, the house was quiet. Not calm (a place like this would never, never be calm. Not to Caliban or his sister, at least), but quiet. It had been ever since. . .

Caliban flinched badly as a long, low, sickening growl reverberated under his skin.

. . .Or, the house was relatively quiet.

Logic insisted that the noise wasn’t as loud as it felt, that Azalea couldn’t hear it through the wall in the room next door.

A small voice in the back of Caliban’s head chastised him for still trying to look for logic, considering exactly what he’d done.

Caliban swallowed a lump in his throat, trying to take deep, slow breaths.

It didn’t steady him at all. In fact, it almost seemed to amplify his stomach’s demands.

His teeth click-click-clicked against one another as he started moving his jaw up and down without knowing or meaning to.

Caliban hadn’t even realized that he’d started shaking until he felt himself curl into the fetal position, his arms snaking around his abdomen.

As if that would do anything to drive the aching and gnawing and churning away.

The skin is soft and warm under his teeth, tearing far too easily. . .

Several hours came and went, and Caliban found himself in the kitchen with his sister. It was a wide, open area, providing more than enough space for a much larger family to use. That luxury ultimately meant more things to clean, but that wasn’t too much of a problem right now.

Azalea paced back and forth between the dining room and the kitchen, transferring what she and her brother had used from the table to the cabinets.

Caliban, meanwhile, stood before the sink, soap suds nearly reaching up to his elbows. He’d always found it pretty damn stupid that so many types of cutlery couldn’t be put in dishwashers, but he wasn’t about to complain.

He could barely remember the last time he’d eaten a full meal, a proper meal. (Azalea had smuggled food to him whenever she had the chance, of course.)

Now that the two of them had free-reign of the house. . .

Both the pantry and refrigerator were decently-stocked. There was nobod—nothing to withhold any of that food from him now.

Still, he needed to be careful with it. He had to make sure there was plenty for his sister. Aside from that, it would only last so long.

The siblings may have learned how to properly stash any money they managed to come across. (Hell, they’d found plenty more sometime on that fateful day, when they’d entered a room they’d previously never even been able to breathe in the direction of.) But they needed to be cautious about that money, needed to use it sparingly until they figured out what the hell they could do about their circumstances.

Caliban moved to the side as Azalea came up to the sink to soak a spare rag with soap and water. She paused, peering at him, then offered a small smile as she went to wipe down the table. Caliban smiled back.

Earlier, they’d worked together to make a small feast. It truly seemed that Azalea had been born to cook and bake, and Caliban was eager to learn what he could.

It’d been so. Damn. Refreshing.

Being able to just coexist with Azalea, help her, enjoy this new freedom with her. . .it’d almost been enough to distract him.

Almost.

But when Caliban finally turned the faucet off, when he began drying off the things he’d washed, when he took a gleaming steak knife into his hands. . .something crawled into his mind.

The blade was clean.

It shouldn’t have been clean.

It should’ve been be dripping, should’ve been slathered in red, should’ve been slicing into—

It clattered back down into the sink as Caliban’s stomach began to roar.

Caliban ground his jaw. He almost immediately felt cold sweat begin to form on his skin as his sister froze, slowly turning to face him.

“. . .We literally just ate,” Azalea mentioned, tilting her head, eyes filled with concern. “Are you feeling okay? Is your stomach upset?”

“I. . .” Caliban’s reply was shaky, as something in his throat was trying to pull his voice down. “I’m not sure.”

Blood gushes out, dark and crimson and rich on his tastebuds. . .

Caliban had trouble settling onto an armchair at one corner of the living room. It wasn’t uncomfortable; the leather was plush, and it seemed to give the perfect amount of support for his back.

He just wasn’t used to actually enjoying this space. If anything, this room was one that he and Azalea had typically tried to avoid.

Speaking of Azalea: she was sitting cross-legged on the floor. She’d all but covered the coffee table in colored pencils and fine-tipped markers, and her eyes were glued to one of the adult coloring books she’d had hidden away.

She didn’t seem to be feeling out of place or tense, but Caliban had been wrong before.

Caliban lightly shook his head, trying to focus on the book in his lap.

The carpet was smooth under his feet.

The carpet also still carried the smell of dish soap. It wasn’t as strong as it had been on that day, (and even then, it definitely wasn’t as strong as bleach would’ve been), but it hadn’t faded away.

A chill raced up Caliban’s spine as he chewed at the inside of his cheek. It’d seemed impossible that he and Azalea had been able to clean the carpet so quickly. Especially with how he’d felt something stir as he’d stared at that huge, dark red stain. . .

He caught movement in his peripheral vision. He glanced at his sister, who was scanning the coffee table instead of the page she’d been working on (an abstract drawing of an octopus, which now boasted pretty blue rings along its tentacles). Her brow was furrowed in confusion; she was obviously looking for something.

Caliban’s eyes wandered to the floor. Sure enough, he discovered a pale-gold pencil resting near one of the armchair’s legs. He reached down and plucked it up, then audibly tapped it against his book. The noise caught Azalea’s attention, and she swiveled her head to face Caliban. Her slight frustration melted into a smile as her brother handed the formerly lost pencil to her.

“It’s healing,” she murmured. “Shouldn’t take more than a week.”

Caliban’s own smile flickered as tilted his head at the statement.

Azalea fidgeted in place, probably wondering if she’d actually meant to say that. “Your eye, I mean.”

“. . .Oh,” Caliban replied. “Right, right.” He subconsciously raised a hand. His fingers brushed against the skin around his left eye, which was a dull shade of purple. It was still sore, but the swelling had definitely gone down.

Although. . .well, it certainly wasn’t the first black eye Caliban had ever gotten. And even if he’d somewhat adjusted to the throbbing, stinging sensation that always came with black eyes. . .he hadn’t exactly had time to focus on the pain that followed this particular one.

Another awful groan shuddered through his intestines. Caliban flinched, biting back a gasp.

He saw Azalea freeze, saw her slowly bring her pencil to rest against the page, saw her begin peering at the room around them.

Caliban forced himself to stare at his book, turning the page and almost accidentally tearing it out. He shifted in the armchair, hoping that the way its leather squeaked would somehow cover up the noise.

Shut up, he repeated the words like a mantra in his head as he pressed a hand against his midsection, his nails digging in through his shirt. Shutupshutupshutupshutup!

The smell of iron (or maybe pennies?) is so strong, completely filling his nose, to the point where his eyes are nearly watering and he can feel it creeping along his brain. . .

Caliban wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d crept out of his bedroom, had trudged down the stairs, had been pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room.

The house was dark. Like the past few nights, it also wasn’t entirely silent.

He was careful to walk slowly, to keep his movement as muted as possible. He didn’t know why he bothered, though.

It wasn’t like he could hear his footsteps through the cries of his stomach.

It felt like the acids were alive, and that they’d somehow formed claws.

So how the hell could his stomach feel so empty at the same time?!

He hovered in front of a door in the corner of the pantry.

The basement was unfinished. There was no carpet down there, no insulation, no windows.

No matter what the weather outside was like, the basement was always very, very, very cold.

The basement had always been a cluttered wreck. On one hand, that made it even more unsavory than its darkness and temperature.

On the other hand, the mess down there had helped him and Azalea to hide the body.

Caliban stared at the doorknob. It looked smooth, polished, even. But his instincts swore that the material would drag along his skin and leave a bloody gash in his palm if he grasped it.

That didn’t change the fact that he needed to open the door. He needed to go down to the basement. He needed to stop feeling SO GODDAMN HUNGRY DESPITE HOW HE’D FINALLY BEEN ABLE TO EAT ON HIS OWN TERMS—

The kitchen light was suddenly beaming down.

Caliban whirled around to find Azalea standing just a few feet away. Her eyes immediately drilled into his, full of stress and hurt.

“Cal,” she pronounced. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

Caliban’s mouth opened and closed a few times. No words came out.

“I know something’s wrong,” Azalea insisted. “I know you’re not okay, and I know it’s not just because of what happened. The only thing I don’t know is why, and I can’t just—”

“Since when have either of us ever been okay?” Caliban finally replied, voice shuddering.

“That’s not the point.” Azalea argued, taking a step closer to him. “The point is that you’re my brother and I’m your sister!”

Another step.

“I care about you! I want to make sure that you're safe and happy!”

Another step.

“But I can’t do that if you’re trying to hide things from me when I’ve never hidden anything from you!” Azalea’s voice grew weak, choked-up. She stood in front of Caliban, eyes now glistening. “You never had a problem talking to me before. And I’ve never had a problem listening. So why now?”

“Because I’m scared, Aza!” The words forced themselves out of Caliban’s mouth. “I’m scared because I don’t understand what’s happening to me!”

“And I can find a way to help you understand it!” Azalea almost shouted.

Eyes starting to burn, Caliban nearly yelled back, “Well, what if that leads to you being scared of me?!”

Silence

The seconds dragged by, jeering at the two siblings.

“Do you. . .” Azalea tried, a tidal wave of emotion crashing down on her features. “Do you not trust me anymore. . ?”

Caliban felt his heart sink. “N-no, no! I do trust you, I swear! You’re probably the only person I can ever trust!”

It’d been a miracle that she’d helped him clean up the mess.

It’d been a miracle that she hadn’t fled the house screaming.

It’d been a miracle that, after seeing him hunched over and covered in blood, she’d approached him and snapped him out of that daze.

“I’m sorry—I just—I-I-I can’t—!” Caliban hardly felt dull pain flaring in his knees as he collapsed onto the floor, tears pouring down his features. It took effort to feel Azalea wrap her arms around him, to feel himself hug her tightly.

He could barely feel anything other than hunger.

His sister was right.

He had no choice.

“I liked it, Aza,” he confessed, his voice caught between a whisper and a sob. “I enjoyed what I did, and I’ve been starving ever since I did it! The taste was so good and it was everywhere and I’ve just been wanting more!”

And with that, Caliban waited. He waited for Azalea to turn pale. He waited for her to push herself away from him, to stand up and start running.

He waited for what felt like hours and hours.

But she never did any of those things. Instead, he saw her push her hair out of the way before she rested her head on his shoulder. Still embracing him, still drawing circles on his back.

“. . .That’s not your fault,” Azalea finally murmured. “You had your reasons; we both know you did.”

Even though his crying had tapered down into hiccuping, Caliban wasn’t sure how to answer. Relief flooded through him, of course, but it was still overshadowed by shock.

“We can figure this out,” Azalea promised, carefully pulling back to look her brother in the eyes. “You and me.”

Like him, her face was covered in tear stains. But Caliban didn’t see a single trace of disgust or anger or fear.

“You and me,” he echoed.

The screaming keeps coiling inside his ears long after the thrashing eventually stops. . .

#the edgelord gets fed #my writing #writing requests #my characters #caliban #caliban the cannibal #matpat #egopats #azalea/aza #rosanna pansino #nerdy nummies egos #the pentas family #[the future mob project]#tw implied murder/death #tw implied cannibalism #tw mentions of blood #tw implied abuse/neglect #tw cravings/hunger pangs #tw mentions of eating/drinking

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simpingforstardew · 13 days

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muse

pairing: sdv elliot x reader

synopsis: elliot is struggling with severe writers block; if only he had a muse...

note: a while ago i talked about having a derivative idea for an elliot x reader fic; here is that fic !! the premise is completely unoriginal, but i'll leave the references at the end of the fic to avoid spoilers hehe

warnings: i don't even know for this one gang, wholesome w/ an ending that could be read as spooky? let's call it a doomed romance !! tw/ relationships that are doomed by the narrative !!

word count: 1.5k

Adronitis

A heart so damaged; tender; sore—

You ever-blooming sycamore,

Through hunger pangs; my deliriousness,

I mourn my mortal catoptric tristesse.

With starving dreams, your warmth I crave—

I worship you, I must embrave,

Indulge me, lay your fear ahind.

Our sanctuary; your piece of mind.

My amorous famine demands more […more what?],

So I feast on your smile […] petrichor.

i am just writing this right niw so it

looks lije i am being pro ductive oh Yoba

andnow leahs comin g over this

is alll shit im jist going to star t overrr

“How’s the writing going, El’?” Leah peers down at Elliot with a smile, wiping the sweat from her brow. “We’ve been at it for a while without a break, you know?”

“Oh, Leah! It’s going splendidly, and yes, it seems we have…” Elliot coughs, avoiding eye contact while tearing the paper from his typewriter. “Why don’t we call it for today then?”

“Without showing me what you’ve done? C’mon,” she whines, “What do you have?”

Elliot and Leah had decided, sometime early last Spring, to meet in Cindersnap forest every Wednesday to work on their current projects. ‘Parallel play for artists,’ Penny once called it when walking Jas back to Marnie’s ranch. For Leah, this weekly rendezvous has (so far) allowed her to complete 2 clay sculptures, 3 wood sculptures, 23 drawings, and 8 paintings; for Elliot, the last few months has allowed him to create…

“Nothing,” Elliot sighs, packing his typewriter’s case with a frown. “I have, somehow, written nothing! I mean, I wanted to craft a Petrarchan sonnet, inspired by Poe’s romantic, yet macabre sensibilities. I ended up with trash I couldn’t even make hendecasyllabic. It’s embarrassingly Shakespearian and—”

“Whoa, whoa, buddy, that’s okay. That’s fine. I’m not sure what any of that means, but…” Leah scrunches her freckled nose, hoping to find the right words to calm Elliot down, “It seems like you’re expecting perfection from a first draft. Maybe we should call it for today, and you could revisit your poem tomorrow?”

“Yes, you are right,” the authors scowl softens; after a moment of meditation—feeling the summer breeze tangle in his hair—he looks towards Leah with a smile. “I will see you next week, Miss Faraday.”

Elliot didn’t return to his typewriter until later that week, deciding instead to bask in the sun’s warmth on the beach. The author sits on the pier with a contented sigh, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore providing a soothing backdrop to his afternoon reverie.

Even still, despite the Elysium that he has found himself in, Elliot cannot shake his frustrations; his linguistic discouragement plagued his every thought.

“Ahoy there, my boy! Perfect weather for fishing don’t ya reckon?” Willy smiles, closing the front door to the Fish Shop behind him. Elliot

“Ah, hello Mr. Tucker,” Elliot waves as the fisherman sits beside him, attaching a small blue tackle onto an impressively shiny rod, “I suppose it is, although I fear I don’t have my fishing gear with me today.”

“What’d I tell you about calling me that? No need to be so formal, son,” Willy chuckles, casting a line into the vast depths of the saltwater, “Say, aren’t ya usually off in town around this time? Feel like I never see you this early on a Wednesday.”

Elliot still had to adjust to the predictive routine of a small town, and the horrifying consequences of straying from said routine: becoming the topic of mid-afternoon gossip.

“Yes, well, I um—,” Elliot sighs, looking into the deep blue below as if the ocean concealed the antidote to writers block, “I have been, writing with Leah every Wednesday and… actually can I ask for some advice?”

“O’ Course ya can, my boy.” Willy nods.

“I have been… struggling lately,” The taller man slumps as he runs a hand through his auburn hair, his voice heavy with uncertainty, “I feel as if I have lost my spark, my… capacité artistique. I cannot, for the life of me, write anything of quality! I just… I feel broken, Mr. William.”

Willy takes a moment to think, slowly breathing in the salty air, “Hmm, I see your problem, lad— but it’s important to know yer not broken. Aye, nothin’ about ya is broken.”

A fish tugs at Willy’s fishing line: desperately; hopelessly.

“It’s like if yer pal Willy couldn’t fish anymore… I’d sooner swallow a sea urchin than lose my ability to do what I love,” Willy pulls the rod towards him, putting up a fight with whatever poor creature is on the other end of the line, “but sometimes it’s tricky doing what ya love 24/7, son! You got to remind yerself to take breaks, and…”

The creature is hurled out of the ocean, flapping helplessly as the fisherman releases it from his tackle. Willy holds the freshly-caught octopus up to Elliot.

“Remind yerself why ya love it!” Willy chuckles, before mumbling to himself about throwing his newest catch in a tank lest he ‘gets inked’.

As Elliot sits in contemplative silence, the ocean offering solace: the rushing winds, the distant cry of seagulls, even the smell of salty air. Over the last year and a half, he has grown to love it all.

As he rises to his feet, Elliot considers his friends’ advice. He certainly didn’t want to remain in this slump forever; so he needs to find a reminder of why he loves writing; a source of reinvigorating inspiration.

He needs to find a muse.

A muse in a village with a population of 27.

‘Well,’ Elliot thinks, slamming his cabin’s door shut behind him as he slides onto his desk chair. He sets up his Olympia SM 9 for the second time today. ‘If I can’t find my muse in life, I will simply create my muse in art.’

For a moment, the black page loaded into the typewriter stares back at Elliot, mockingly. Then, as suddenly as the crash of thunder that bellows from above, the author began to write.

Elliot bursts into the Fish Shop, his manuscript clutched tightly in hand, a triumphant gleam in his eye. “Willy, my friend, you’re incredible!” he cheered, his excitement palpable. “I truly could not have done this without your support.”

Willy grins, offering a sincere thumbs-up. “Glad to hear it, lad! So what was your reminder, eh? What got you back on track?”

Elliot coughs, a flush creeping up his freckled cheeks. “Well, you see… I made it up.”

Willy arches an eyebrow, bemused,“Ya made up yer reminder for why you love writing? Now, son…”

“No, no,” Elliot hastens to explain, “My love for writing is genuine. But my muse, my darling muse, is not.”

“I’m not following, my boy.”

“I have spent all night crafting the narrative of a completely fabricated person, it’s all here,” Elliot elaborates, “They’re genuinely kind, talented and hard-working, despite never being appreciated. They have the most charming mole on their neck, and they’re delightfully witty! After their grandfather passed away, they—”

“Son,” Willy interrupted gently, his tone tinged with amusement, “Yer a peculiar one, ya know that? How is this going to help with yer writing?”

“It does sound ridiculous, but dedicating my sonnets to this idealised character… thinking of them as I work on my novel… It has been phenomenally motivating!” Elliot laughs, re-reading through the pages before stopping in his tracks, “Oh, I do apologise old friend, I barged into your shop like a man possessed.”

It had been months since Elliot had felt such a fervent desire to write; his unbridled excitement was contagious; a smirk spreads across Willy’s face, crinkling the corners of his dark green eyes.

“If it were anyone else instead of you, I’d be furious, lad,” Willy chuckles, reaching into his mini fridge, “‘Ere, I whipped up too many crab cakes last night, and I know they’re yer favourite— consider it a gift.”

As Elliot arrives back at his cabin, writing snacks in tow, the muffled playing of his piano greets him. He chuckles softly, before preparing to shoo Harvey out of his home so he could resume his day of writing.

“Sincerest apologies, I—,”

“Oh! Honey, you’re back so soon.” Turning away from the piano, your eyes catch Elliot’s with a familiar warmth. You admire the way your boyfriend’s hair always forms delicate waves when exposed to the sea spray.

The author was struck speechless, his heart pounding as he stared at you with more focus than you have ever been subject to.

It couldn’t be real. And yet there you are. You. The muse Elliot had crafted— who's entire life was written mere hours prior on the pages that were now strewn about the floor— was standing before him in flesh and blood.

Every flawless detail exactly as he had imagined.

“Elliot, darling, are you okay?” Your smile becomes wry; nervous as to why your lover was acting so peculiar, his pale skin was now a ghastly white. “Would you like me to pour some wine? We can—”

Before your suggestion was made, Elliot was gone; the door slamming shut behind him.

note #2: okay if you didn't catch it, my inspiration was the 1960 episode of the Twilight Zone: 'A World of His Own', and (more relevantly) the 2012 psychological horror romcom Ruby Sparks !! if you check out either that episode or movie, pleasepleaseplease lmk what you think <33

#bad fic is bad but this was more for the concept ok !!! we're getting conceptual up in here #sdv elliot #sdv x reader #sdv elliot x reader #sdv elliot x farmer #sdv elliot x you #sdv elliot x y/n #stardew valley #sdv #sdv fanfic #stardew valley x reader #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley elliot #stardew valley elliot x reader #x reader #ao3 writer

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skinnyicedlatte555 · 1 year

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Skinni minni tips!

TW, below is info that relates to an ed

I recently shared these tips with a mutual and I thought I should share them as well! In the past two weeks, I've basically dropped roughly 3kgs (sorry I'm not sure what that is in lbs) but as someone who legit could never see that number drop, it finally is — after changing my habits and taking things seriously.

1. eat lots of fruits, I love them anyways so they aren’t too difficult to eat for me personally - for example, I like to chop up a bowl of strawberries or a bowl of grapes. a tip with this is to use a smaller bowl for smaller portions (pics of mealspo always have small bowls too)

2. veggies!! cucumbers chopped up are very filling and delicious. I sprinkle some salt on top for some extra flavour. also celery, carrots, etc whatever you like. fruits and veggies are all basically low cal.

3. heapsss of water, carry a drink bottle with u. drink water between bites of food.

4. sugar-free drinks to subside hunger pangs. sometimes I get anxious or bored and I just want to sit in bed and eat something (even if I’m not hungry) having a nice drink is good to help with this. this could be sugar-free monsters, diet coke or any sugar-free soft drinks, or sugar-free iced tea. they also taste pretty spot on to regular drinks if not better.

5. chew slowly and really enjoy your food. you will start to notice that you’ll feel fuller.

6. green tea helps with hunger pangs and helps with speeding up metabolism

7. lemon water, cut up a lemon and drop it into a cup of ice cold water - also helps with hunger pangs

8. it is very hard at first, I'll admit — you'll find yourself quite hungry but if you persevere, your body becomes used to the amount of food you're eating and your appetite begins to become naturally smaller. you might even find yourself not craving food as much. take it from me who craved chocolate, sweets, fast food all the damn time. I had a small bite of a piece of chocolate yesterday and felt full! trust me on this one.

9. don’t stress too much if you accidentally eat too much or binge!! there’s always tomorrow.

10. and lastly, take care and always be safe. make sure to always listen to ur body. :))

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whumpshaped · 1 year

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tw nonhuman whumpee (or are they), starvation, implied cannibalism, gore mention

"You don't understand. I, I get these urges, these uncontrollable urges... I need you to restrain me somehow. I need you to lock me up, please."

"Urges?"

"The hunger pangs are unbearable, I can't control it."

"Everyone needs food, you can't just-"

"Please, listen to me. Please. I'm not getting these fucking cravings for chocolate. I need to be locked away before I could tear someone's throat out."

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @dustbunnywhump @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland

#whump #whump dialogue #implied cannibalism #gore mention #starvation

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confessions-official · 2 months

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TW: HEAVY eating disorder and self harm talk, th1nspo mention

I used to have an eating disorder. I was all into th1nspo for a good two years, and I spent a really long time trying to convince myself that i was doing something ~gentle~ and ~light~ and ~kind~, how i wanted to be dainty and be light enough to pick up. Id convinced myself I was starving myself because I wanted to be loved.

When I started going to therapy, and my therapist asked me to elaborate on my behavior, and I took a really long and deep look, I realized that what I wanted was to hurt myself. I craved hunger pangs, I felt this compulsion to isolate myself walking up and down the stairwell instead of going to the cafeteria, I quietly celebrated when I brushed my hair and began pulling out more and more hair, and I fantasized about growing lightheaded and falling to the ground and hitting my head hard on the way down and never getting up. I almost couldn't care less what I looked like- the appeal was not the thinness, the attractiveness, the hyperfeminine petite figure that the ana circles idolized in their aesthetic pinterest boards. It was the palor and sickness and the fact that you could see my bones.

I've gained 40 pounds since then, and it's been a very long road to recovery. I wish I never found that community.

#confession #eating disorder #self harm #suicide mention

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senatushq · 2 years

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NAME. Cal Renard AGE & BIRTH DATE. 516 & September 17th, 1505 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Vampire BLOODLINE. Juno OCCUPATION. Senator & Right Hand of the Queen FACE CLAIM. Colin O’Donoghue

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: poverty and sex ) Cal Renard should never have been a name that anyone remembered. Born in the gutters of London in the early 16th century, his first mortal memories were filled with filth and hunger. He became a thief out of necessity, stealing to survive and living an unstable life but he always dreamed of more, felt he could do and be more. He grew up fast, using any trick he could think of to get himself out of trouble and discovering that he could often talk his way out of it, in spite of his poor appearance. It didn’t always work – he earned lashes on his back from constables more than a couple of times for getting caught stealing but that only spurred him to get better at his craft. Furthermore, he was naturally observant and studied the upper classes, the rich merchants and nobles, and practiced their mannerisms and the ways that they spoke. Cal got fairly good at this and also kept honing his thievery. It was never enough, though, and he hadn’t quite managed to pull himself up to where he wanted to be. He was a skilled thief, true, but he dreamed of power, of palaces, of luxurious items and things he’d never really known and he wanted it while he was still young and alive enough to enjoy it. In spite of this drive, this craving, there was always a sense that he was running out of time. He’d been alive for nearly four decades, after all, which was a feat in and of itself when his dangerous lifestyle never guaranteed that he’d live through another day let alone a year. It was this urgency that drove him to commit his biggest theft yet, knowing he needed more wealth to be able to achieve all that he wanted. It nearly worked but he was caught and sentenced to be hanged.

That’s when the vampire found him.

Sitting in a stinking cell the night before his execution, Cal seethed with rage and bitterness, trying to come up with a plan, with a way to escape. Unbeknownst to him, a vampire had taken an interest in him and had been following his activities for some time. They came to him that night in his cell and offered him an alternative to the hanging. A new life unfolded before him and Cal immediately agreed, the vampire breaking him out and turning him soon after.

That was the moment Cal’s life truly started.

Afforded a second chance and an endless amount of time to achieve everything he’d always wanted, Cal redoubled his efforts. Learning from his sire, integrating into vampire society, it didn’t take long for Cal to shed all the vestiges of the poor thief he’d once been. His natural charm increased, he fully polished his speech and behaviour, reinventing himself as though he’d never been a pauper, never known the pangs of hunger. He understood quickly the hierarchies that existed in the supernatural world and that, as in the human world, those with the most power were closest to the monarch. That, then, is where Cal needed to be, so he worked towards that goal. The urgency was lessened with eternity before him but his determination never wavered; he got to know the right people, observed and learned from older vampires and emulated some of them the way he’d once done with mortal nobles. While he’d once stolen material goods, he came to understand that in this world it was information that held real power so he shifted to stealing, and trading, secrets. This was surprisingly easy (and wonderfully enjoyable) when he discovered that people were so much more willing to talk after sex. It happened to be one of Cal’s favourite pastimes and also a convenient way to feed (though not from other vampires, of course). He let it be known carefully and strategically that he was useful, that he could get information no one else could, and it was that that finally attracted the notice of the Queen. She invited him to meet with her and that began Cal’s final climb to power.

While it had started with only him, over the centuries he slowly built a network that he could turn to for information, spies that were constantly gathering whispers and rumors and reporting them back to him and he would in turn report these to the queen. While many only saw his outward charm, his flirtatiousness, his debauchery, few realised how clever and strategic he was and always had been. While it was never an act (Cal delighted in all of those) it was a useful mask to cover the important work he did and continues to do. Newly appointed to the senate to replace the previous Juno representative, Cal’s hard work has finally paid off. Both the Right Hand of the Queen and a senator, Cal has the power he’s always dreamed of and intends to use it to find out all that the senate has been hiding.

PERSONALITY

+ charming, ambitious, clever – vain, vengeful, materialistic

PLAYED BY SAM. MST. She/Her.

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infernal-feminae-archived · 1 year

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Peek into my muses' memories ! Slip a ⏰to see a memory or a part of my muses' past.

Anonymous said: ⏰ Beelzebub, when Temperance first gave into gluttony

tw: cannibalism, gore

She was so hungry...

Ever since her creation hunger was all she ever knew. One would think she would have grown accustomed to it--and she was.

She managed to ignore the sharp pangs in her stomach every time she was forced to watch one of the higher-ranking angels indulge themselves in their glorious feasts, while she left with scraps. She hid how thin she was by wearing layers of oversized clothing so no one to think to ask. Not that they ever did anyway...

Hungry...

She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She was supposed to be content with what she had. Well, what little she had.

Oh!

One of the higher-ranking angels was passing by her way.

Aurelia immediately bowed her head in submission, clasping her hands in front of her body. She couldn’t help but self-consciously tug at her drab and colorless attire compared to the other angel’s fine clothing that shimmered in the sunlight. Even her golden hair lacked any luster, as it hung limply around her shoulders.

The angel passed by without even sparing her a glance.

HUNGRY......

She lifted her head, watching the angel leave. Her face hardened. She recognized them. They were one of those that had insulted her for her inability to fly. They had called her DEFECTIVE.

Her expression hardened. She followed after them.

They still not notice her presence even as her burning gaze was trained on their back.

H U N G R Y......

It wasn’t FAIR. Why did a select few get to live in luxury without a care in the world?

What did they do deserve such decadence?

What did SHE do to deserve this growing hunger constantly gnawing at her, eating away at her...?

They have never known real pain, real hunger--

She abruptly stopped. It was like she had an epiphany.

She wasn’t hungry. Oh no....

........She was Ȑ̷̞̘̘̫͓̙̈́ ̶̨̧̝̘̒À̶̡̹̞͙͇̘͠ ̸̡̞̞̰̞̦̱̙͐̉̅̊́̏̂̆̀͝V̷̺͎̮̲̠͎͓̯̐̀͜͝ͅ ̷̛̛̟̩̜̮̎̉̕ͅÊ̴̹̳͊̔͐̓ͅͅ ̶̢̡̤͖̲̥̹͈̝̟̒N̸͎̦̬̯̓̒̽̽́̊̋̀̕̕͜ ̷̙͓͈̎̄̽͊̀O̸̡̪̙̲̬͔͍̰͋̀̾͂̑͆̂̅ ̶̰̱͎̺̳͇͉͙͙͝Ȗ̸͍̘̃̈́͘ ̷̧̀̆͝Ş̵̩̱͕̹͙́̏̿̓͜

Aurelia let out low, guttural growl. Then she launched herself at the angel. Before they could even think to cry out in surprise, her maw had opened up to an unnatural size. She bit down on the angel’s shoulder, tearing off a large chunk of their flesh and swallowed.

Delicious...

She wanted MORE.

She tore off more chunks of flesh from the angel with just her mouth, and they were powerless to stop her.

Their terrified screams were melodious to her ears.

And it went on like that until she devoured every last inch of the angel. Right down to their wings--and she ate those too.

Until nothing was left.

She greedily lapped up whatever remained of their blood from her fingers. And then, she realized something. She was full.

And yet, this... CRAVING didn’t go away. She still wanted more. She wanted to feast. She wanted drink more of their blood...

She wanted more, more, more-

M O R E....

And it would never be enough.

#🐝Qᴜᴇᴇɴ ʙᴇᴇ: ɪᴄ ʙᴇᴇʟᴢᴇʙᴜʙ #❖ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ: ᴀꜱᴋꜱ #❖ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴀɴᴄᴇ: ᴘʀᴇ-ꜰᴀʟʟᴇɴ ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ #//fuck yeah another drabble I wanted to write #drabble #cannibalism tw #gore tw #Anonymous

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

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Love your work and your writings. Headcanons with pregnant reader? Maybe Ciel, Killua, Ging, Feitan, Kaneki, Ayato Kirishima, Dazai and Akutagawa.

😉. Underaged characters are aged up in here.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, paranoia, manipulation, overprotectiveness, isolation, pregnant s/o, mentions of abortion

Pregnant s/o

Ciel Phantomhive

☕️He had his suspicions that something might be wrong with his wife, noting that there seems to be weird hunger pangs of hers, a sudden change in taste, weird cravings and fatigue. The weird smiles Sebastian has given him only adds up to his suspicions that something is going on yet he wouldn’t really know what it is until his butler decides to spill the fun. During the breakfast held between you two, the demon mentioned all too casually that the young master should start planning about the new addition to the Phantomhive mansion already since a baby requires a few things to be assured a healthy and good life. And that’s when it finally clicks in Ciel’s mind and he connects all the dots, spitting successfully out his tea and yet chocking on it at the same time. As smart as he is, in regards of the female body and pregnancy he has little to no clue.His usually faithful demon butler won’t be the one in charge of his darling during pregnancy, Ciel has much rather a professional and trustworthy human doctor paying the mansion daily visits to check on you and the baby.

☕️The Earl is more…warily when Sebastian is alone with his darling even if he knows Sebastian wouldn’t hurt her since Ciel has strictly forbidden it. Knowing that he has people who dislike him and would love to ruin him, the news that his darling is awaiting his heir will be kept as low as possible, only the Queen and a few others like the Midford family will be informed. Grows somewhat paranoid to the point where he doesn’t feel safe anymore to leave you alone. Someone will always be with you, be that one of the human servants, Sebastian or himself. The servants are also the only ones who are in Ciel’s eyes trustworthy enough to cook you meals or do other tasks overall for you. Doesn’t want to risk taking his darling outside, the garden is the only real save place in his opinion and Finny will be tasked with planting whatever makes the scenery more beautiful. There are doubts and worries in his mind, some because he doesn’t possess despite his education enough knowledge, though you might find him often reading some sort of book over it, and some whether something will go wrong.

☕️But his biggest concerns are whether he’ll be a good father and if he will even live long enough, the contract with Sebastian all too present in his mind. Considering his own childhood which was brutally over in only one night, he would wish to give at the very least his own child a safe and happy childhood. Learns to deal with the mood swings, cravings and the nausea of his darling quickly and tries to support her as much as he can. Even if he does lose his patience, he can’t bring himself to leave her side at all. The Phantomhive would actually really love to touch the growing bump of his s/o, but his pride holds him back for quite some time. The human servants kind of want to touch his darling’s belly too, but they need the allowance from their master first and specifically Finny has to be careful. A room and different clothes and toys are carefully chosen and Mey-Rin, Finny, Tanaka and Bardroy are often found talking excitedly about the little one. The closer the day of birth gets, the more everyone gets anxious yet excited and especially Ciel grows to be very nervous and anticipating.

Killua Zoldyck

🪀As a very observant guy himself, he probably noticed that something seems to be off about his darling as well and it worries him. Killua is extremely overprotective so noticing that something seems to cause you to be constantly tired and feeling like you’ll have to throw up obviously alarms him and he will be rather quick to find someone who can quickly check up on you. It’s only after the doctor has listened to the symptoms of sudden cravings and increased queasiness that he suddenly asks whether the darling has missed her period or not, voicing out the possibility of the darling being pregnant. Something that suddenly knocks all thoughts out of Killua’s mind before he asks somewhat insecurely if they could eventually do a complete check to be absolutely sure, suddenly keeping a tighter grip on his darling. It’s only after it has been officially confirmed from the doctor that he grows quiet, thoughts of his own family running through his mind. Killua feels initially too insecure to bear the responsibility of being a father.

🪀He’d of course never be like his own family was to him, he wants his child to live freely and normally. The white-haired boy needs some time to digest the news properly and you might just worry when noticing the conflicted look in his eyes. The last thing he would want right now though is making you feel uneasy whilst you are pregnant with his child so he will probably only brush your worries off and give you an awkward smile. He is happy, but he has so much to think about. If his family were to find out that his child will be soon born into this world, he fears the worst that they will somehow force the child to be trained like he was so he does everything he can to keep the whole pregnancy a secret. Gon, Alluka and Nanika are the only ones who know. Grows extremely overbearing, protectiveness increasing to the point where he won’t even let his darling lift the lightest things, always saying that it’ll be done faster if he carries it for her. Additionally he sticks to his darling like glue, not feeling safe anymore to leave her side, especially in public.

🪀Killua doesn’t trust anyone with you, not even fully the doctor on whom he always keeps a sharp eye. With everyone else it’s even worse since Killua constantly is omitting a dark and warning aura. Deals with mood swings pretty cool since he grabs his darling pretty much anything she wants unless he believes it to be dangerous. Giving her private space and letting her go somewhere alone is about impossible for him, even if he agrees after his s/o breaks out in tears and he panicked he’d probably still stalk secretly over her. Doesn’t let anyone touch his s/o and her belly, he rather found his own obsession in stroking the ever growing belly of his darling and the more weeks pass by, the closer he seems to stick to you. At one point he probably confessed his worries regarding the baby and all his fears to you, though he mentioned afterwards that he’d do whatever it takes to let no harm happen to you or the child. Grows visibly tense the closer the date where his darling is supposed to give birth to the baby gets and he’ll probably grow paranoid and overprotective to the point where will threaten everyone who looked for too long at his s/o. God forbid if someone made you upset enough to cry.

Feitan Portor

☠️Has absolutely no visible reaction after his darling informed him nervously about the possibility that she’s pregnant, saying that she has missed her period and found herself having some symptoms that are typical for pregnancy. Instead he just disappears for a while afterwards, leaving you alone before returning later on with a bunch of pregnancy tests, demanding that you take one and show him the result afterwards. It’s only after the result has turned out positive that he finally seems to react to it in some way, a short flicker crossing his eyes that can be either understood as frustration or annoyance, perhaps both and even more. Feitan didn’t expect this to happen to him from all people and he has never given the thought of being a father even the tiniest bit of time so this all suddenly comes way to spontaneously. There’s even slight anger against you for getting pregnant in the first place, as ridiculous as this might sound anyways. Asks his darling for an abortion, not knowing how to deal with a child otherwise and if his s/o agrees everything will be over.

☠️Yet you reacted the complete opposite way from what he expected you to do, insisting on keeping the child which greatly confuses him. Feitan doesn’t expect you to like him even long after he has stopped torturing you constantly, the scars never heal on your body and heart after all. The child that is resting in your stomach is after all from the same monster that kidnapped and tortured you so finding out you still want to have the baby is downright a shock. He kind of starts an argument with his darling after, coming up with all comments why having a child is not logical yet the s/o refuses to listen, causing him to give frustrated up shortly after. Fine! Keep the baby but don’t expect him to be involved! The Phantom Troupe finds at one point in time out as well and they’re quite shocked as well, some are even worried for the future of the child though all congratulate him hesitantly, not sure if he is even happy. Doesn’t talk much about it anyways, though he took Machi’s offer to check on the darling’s and the baby’s health since she has medical knowledge.

☠️He finds himself getting involved the one or another way anyways, be that because people like Pakunoda, Machi and Nobunaga told him truthfully that this is his child and he will have to be in their life somehow or because of some soft spot of his. In a way knowing that you still keep his child fills him with a weird pride and he’d never admit it, but he’s flattered, maybe downright touched, by this gesture of love. He guarantees that his darling always has enough food and a variety of it due to the peculiar cravings of hers, he informs himself a bit more what he can do through Machi and tries to endure sudden mood swings and clinginess from his darling. When it gets to much he will leave his darling alone though, but at this rate he��s probably asked Machi or Pakunoda to look after you, not feeling completely fine with leaving you too long without someone watching either. No one else except the spiders are allowed to find out or they’re dead meat. He’d probably really like it to touch the belly of his s/o, but he doesn’t want to make himself look like an idiot so his pride keeps him from doing so most of the time.

Ging Freecs

🍎He’s so incredibly often away and stays not for too long so there is this crushingly huge chance that he left only few days after he indulged a bit more in his love life. For some reason he still managed to come back merely a few weeks after, in his usual nonchalant mood before his darling walked to him, having heard the door opening and already knowing who it was. The mad and serious look on her face had him still raiding questioningly his eyebrow, noticing that she seemed to be worked up over something. It was after she had sat down together with him that she told him that she was pregnant with his child. His reaction is quite amusing to watch. At first he just blinked for a few times, the calm expression slowly being replaced by a wide-eyed one as he fully understood what you meant. A child isn’t something Ging was necessarily looking for, he searches for adventures and a baby would only keep him down from doing so. Let’s be honest here, he never saw it in a million years coming that he would knock his darling up.

🍎His life which used to be without much worries or responsibilities is suddenly ripped away from him as you were now bearing his child, the sudden weight of being a father pressing down on him. And his initial and hasty thought might just be that he wants to go away again before you asked him to stay with you for once since this was his child and this was your first pregnancy, insecurities and nervousness plaguing your feelings. A small feeling of guilt that hit him when he saw the scared look in your eyes before he hesitantly agreed to at least stay for now, not fully throwing away the option of one day just leaving again. Life afterwards is a new life experience and adventure in itself as he discovers since he is met with so much new things. How pregnancy exactly works isn’t exactly his nor is the fatigue, the mood swings or the hunger pangs where his darling asks for some…adventurous food. Zero idea how he is even going to survive with this and he might just think his darling is overreacting a bit which always earns him a pissed hissing from her side.

🍎Someone needs to instruct him how to do this, be that his darling, her neighbors or the doctor, he needs help. Which he searches for actively himself, he supposes it’s the least he can do for you as of now. If he’ll turn out to be the biggest help is the other question, during the first time he might just be more of a nuisance than a help for his darling so she constantly throws him out to buy something for the baby or something for the fridge in order to not deal with him for too long. Won’t appear to be bothered too much whenever his darling throws a tantrum over a small thing or or has a phrase where she is clingy, he can handle all of that perfectly fine. Finds himself becoming a bit more interested with his darling’s stomach after it fully shows, though he doesn’t feel the need to touch it constantly. Obviously him and you will have to have a serious talk about how life after the baby arrives will look like because Ging doesn’t have the intentions to settle down. Doesn’t want to show it, but he is on the inside more worked up about the birth than he’d show completely on the outside.

Ken Kaneki

🔲Drops whatever he was holding in his hands the moment his darling confessed with a nervous and scared tone that there is a chance that she is pregnant. There are so many thoughts and worries racing through his head before the sudden calling of his name brings him back to reality and he remembers with anxiety that his darling needs him right now. Takes her in his arms at first, wanting to give her comfort and searching in her embrace comfort for himself as well before he decides that he needs a believable pregnancy test to be completely sure, hastily buying one before waiting next to his darling for the result. It’s only after two red lines appear that feelings inside of him start to overflow. Stress, anxiety, worry, happiness, love and so much more. The question for a professional medic is suddenly important, someone who preferably knows how a human carrying a half-ghoul will turn out and someone who accepts ghouls and won’t think of the baby as a monster.

🔲Tsukiyama ends up being the one to know a few people, though he needed a while to convince Kaneki to let him help, Touka had to begrudgingly agree with the purple-haired man that he might indeed know a few well-educated people before Kaneki warily allows it. Shortly after he was informed by the people Tsukiyama contacted what it would have to mean for you if you wanted the child to be born healthy, having to commit cannibalism yourself. Hearing that…broke something in Kaneki since he had such a hard time having to accept the fact that he had to eat human flesh as well, he doesn’t want to put his darling through the same tauntingly experience. So when his darling ended up agreeing he almost wanted to protest despite knowing it would mean that the child wouldn’t make it before his darling confessed that she wanted the child and a small family. Broke out in a few tears after, feeling on the one hand so incredibly guilty and on the other hand just so touched by it.

🔲Treats you like you’re made out of porcelain more than he did before, knowing that you are bearing his baby inside your growing baby bump. Kaneki probably is pretty much at his darling’s feet during the following months, doing about anything and everything she wants him to do. He was already before, but it reaches a new high the more her stomach swells with the baby inside. Since he’s used to doing the household chores by himself and cooking for himself, he’ll at the very least make for a good househusband. He cleans everything, makes sure to always bring breakfast to your bed and will cook you whatever your craving at the moment. Doesn’t want you to go out into the full city where anything could happen, though he listens to advices of the doctors and takes you out somewhere with little to no intrusion, though he always seems to be on slight edge. Afraid to hurt you whilst touching your stomach, though he’d die to do so and maybe even feel the precious baby moving inside of you. Never strays away from his darling’s side, terrified that anything could happen.

Ayato Kirishima

🌌I will go for now with the scenario that his darling is human in here since I always assume this unless it’s requested specifically. Ayato is pretty sure not someone to indulge in the thoughts of starting a family with his darling. For starters he still has a bit of troubles fully accepting that he ended up falling for the same thing that he despises so much, a human. Additionally to that, even if not knowing the full details yet, he can already imagine that for a human to bear a child that will be a half-ghoul, there would be certain conditions to be fulfilled and a possible higher risk will be involved as well. At the end of the day Ayato would never want to risk your life and he doubts anyways that you’d ever want to bear a child of his after the brash and cruel way he used to treat you in the past before he softened up a bit. So he is caught off-guard when you do tell him you plan to keep the baby despite everything he has told you after already being shocked enough that he managed to impregnate you in the first place.

🌌He might just feel resentment against the darling for getting pregnant in the first place even if he knows it’s silly. Yet the man thing going through his mind right now is stress, the sudden heavy weight pulling on his body as he sighs and runs a hand through his blue hair, eyes darting back and forth. The ghoul in the end has to promise to find someone who will be in charge of looking for his darling and her well-being in the end before he goes his own ways for a while, needing time to think about this and sorting his own feelings. This came too sudden for his taste and if he wouldn’t know already that you want to keep the child, he wouldn’t even have too much doubts about an abortion. His darling is stupid, he definitely senses her uncertainty and insecurities as well and yet she refuses to lose the baby. He’s picky whilst searching for a doctor, he already would prefer someone who is a ghoul and his trust isn’t given to anyone either, so much more now that his darling is pregnant. He wasn’t too surprised when he heard that you’ll have to devour human flesh if you want to give birth to a healthy child.

🌌What ended up surprising him and causing him to develop more respect for his s/o was when she actually pulled through with it despite being disgusted by it which was the moment where he made up his mind to give this all a chance too. Sooner or later Touka gets involved as well and it is because Ayato finds himself unwillingly seeking her advice. She has experience since her and Kaneki already have a child and she is his sister after all. Having seen your determination to have the child has strengthened his own will as well and he finds himself looking steadily more forward. He swore to himself to not make a fuss over you whilst you’re pregnant yet at one point he can’t help himself anymore. Ayato becomes a good amount more overprotective and yes, he at one point didn’t want you to carry slightly more heavy things anymore. Yet just like Feitan his pride holds him back from touching your growing stomach which definitely catches his attention a lot as soon as it starts to show.

Dazai Osamu

🤎Dazai wants children and he always tries to coax his darling into wanting to have one or two with him as well. Next to the fact that it would bind his darling down and mark her forever as his, the imagination of having someone as adorable as his and his darling’s child running around is way too precious to just give up on. So when he begins to notice signs of morning sickness and a sudden change of taste from you, he gets his hopes up, looking on how he had his long love session with you not too long ago. Gets his darling a pregnancy test quickly, waiting impatiently until the result is positive. And before his darling can really fully have time to react, he has most likely already pulled her in his arms, giddy with excitement and joy. He’ll skillfully ignore for now the fact that his s/o might still be a bit iffy, nothing can and will him ruin this precious moment as he showers his darling in kisses. He’s quick to act afterwards as well, getting instantly an appointment in the hospital. Your health and the health of the little one are after all the most important now.

🤎Dazai has decided long before he got his darling pregnant that if the day would happen, he’d keep quiet about it. Dangers with the Port Mafia are still possible and he’s way too possessive to let someone know just yet about the pregnancy of you. So his co-workers won’t really be aware of it for quite some time until Yosano caught Dazai and his darling one day during a shopping tour with Atsushi as her scapegoat in a shop that sold baby stuff. Atsushi probably didn’t get it instantly, but Yosano did quickly. Especially after noting the slightly swollen belly of his darling. After the Agency knows and everyone has congratulated him and his darling, Dazai starts to feel with time comfortable enough to be open to his co-workers after having not uttered a single word before over it. Instead he’s often seen reading books about pregnancy and he definitely ended up showing everyone excitedly photos from the ultra sound and the babies. Yes, it turned out that his darling is carrying twins and after receiving this information he most likely grew even more overbearing and possessive.

🤎Has a surprisingly strict schedule in regards of meals which are healthy for mother and babies, though he indulges now and then into the wishes and cravings of you as well. He finds himself having a bit of a harder time to say “no” to you during your pregnancy, understanding that constant changes of your mood and questionable cravings are normal. Might not be surprising, but he develops a huge obsession with touching his darling’s stomach which only increased after discovering that there are two children inside of her stomach and he will be petty enough to not let anyone else touch her belly. Really though, he was over the moon when the doctor confirmed that there are twins awaiting him and his darling. Probably still respectful enough to give you a little bit of private space, though don’t expect that to stay this way for too long. The man finds himself only feeling the growing need to glue himself constantly to your side and constantly touch you and your stomach in some way, fawning over you and the babies. Yet he can turn extremely strict if you were to do something that might harm all three of you.

Akutagawa Ryunosuke

⬛️Getting knocked up with his child is already a story hard to believe so if it actually happens then I can imagine the darling being terrified. Akutagawa isn’t a good and nice Yandere, he is violent and will be physically aggressive even against his very own s/o. So telling him that you’re pregnant in the first place is already a nerve wrecking experience on itself. His face twists into a very interesting expression, one that definitely isn’t pretty nor calming yet his darling will have very few moments where so many emotions at once are seen on the surface of his. Confusion, irritation, anger, frustration, annoyance and perhaps something much more emotional. He’s never seen himself being a father and raising a child and he doesn’t really feel like he wants to do so either. That is exactly why he leaves right after having stared silently at you, scaring you in the process. His darling is most likely left alone for the rest of the day until Gin later on comes over to look over you. Turns out it was Ryunosuke who asked her to do so for whatever reasons.

⬛️”Do you want that child?”, will be a question of his as soon as he comes back home, having managed to calm his mind a bit. He has no real desires to have a baby of his own even if he admits that it would be a great idea to raise a strong child, since his sickness is holding him back a bit, and to keep his darling on a tight leash, since she surely won’t be as cruel to leave her child behind. Yet he wouldn’t have much problems with an abortion either. It’s really up to you and even if you should never admit it out loud, he’d have full understanding if you don’t want to keep his child since he’s aware and does know that he’s beyond cruel with the way he treats you. He’s positively surprised when you still decide to keep the baby, he was probably counting that you don’t want it. But it’s the one of the very few choices he’ll let his darling decide so he’ll have to accept it as well. He’s still not completely happy with it and that feeling will stay with him for a while before he slowly warms up to the knowledge of the coming fatherhood.

⬛️It’ll have to be someone from the Mafia who will check in regards of health every once in a while on his darling because Mori has eyes and ears everywhere and finds out. Ryunosuke wanted to keep it a secret yet he shouldn’t be too surprised either with the boss finding out. Akutagawa probably isn’t able to deal all too well with mood swings and possible clinginess and the need for too much physical contact from his darling’s side. Even he needs a bit affection every once in a while, don’t get him wrong, but he can’t handle too much at once and since he doesn’t want to hurt his s/o and the baby, he’s responsible enough to leave before he lashes out. He’ll probably end up asking Gin for the favor of coming over in such situations to watch over you for a bit so he feels better. With him having to go away it still never means he’ll fully leave your side. Something always kind of pulls him back and he ends up watching from a distance over you like some sort of brutal guardian “angel.” Doesn’t allow anyone except his sister near you either. His darling kind of catches him often staring at her swollen stomach, though he never really tries to touch it. He doubts he can expose a tender side of his too well.

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mermaidenisaacs · 4 years

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isaac went to college and became a fratboy, part 2

the aftermath of hooking up with isaac lahey at a frat party includes: shame, regret, and the stupid thrill of leaving him on read

TW: sexual language, sexist language, some impure thoughts

I finally saw Isaac again.

After a fire alarm interrupted my study session at the library (some idiot burned Poptarts in the microwave again), I was forced to evacuate to a nearby dining hall. I was annoyed by the whole ordeal until the hunger pangs kicked in.

I was waiting in line for tacos when I saw him. He was sitting at a table by the windows, laughing with his head thrown back while another guy, presumably one of his frat bros, playfully shoved his shoulder and laughed along. He was surrounded by three attractive boys, one of which I recognized from my political science class last semester. I remembered him because he was unnaturally attractive, with swooped brown hair and warm chocolate eyes, and also because he had saved me from the embarrassment of forgetting to bring a scantron for the midterm by offering me one of his extras. His fratboy status aside, he was surprisingly decent. His name may have started with an ‘S.’ Steven maybe? Sam?

I couldn’t focus on him for long, not when Isaac suddenly turned in my direction and met my gaze. I froze, caught in the act of staring. The corner of Isaac’s mouth tilted upwards into a smirk, and his gaze dropped shamelessly to my legs and drifted slowly back up, and in that moment, all the memories of our night together came rushing back.

It was the first time I’d seen him since that night he had invited me to a party at his frat house, where he unceremoniously fucked me head-first into his bedroom door, then kicked me out, leaving me to retreat with my hair disheveled, makeup smudged, traces of him between my thighs. Anyone who wasn’t too drunk or high could piece together why I looked absolutely wrecked. I’m sure many girls had been seen doing the walk of shame out of Isaac’s room, and now I really was just one of the many, another notch on his bedpost.

Isaac succeeded in living up to his fuckboy reputation. After that party, he texted almost every other midnight, snapchatted borderline nude selfies of his shirtless chest or his hand palming his erection over his sweatpants, with captions like “wyd,” “you up,” or “miss this?” That last one always sent waves of arousal, tainted with shame, reminders of the way I let Isaac degrade me and use my body, the way I loved every second of it and craved to feel it again.

So far, I hadn’t texted him back, but I couldn’t resist leaving him on read. I smirked at the thought that Isaac might feel the sting of my cold indifference. It wasn’t much, and it was stupid, but it was the only power I could salvage back for myself. I avoided him in class too, and nearly gave myself leg cramps every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to sprint across campus and get to class early so I could choose a seat far away from our usual spots. I sat towards the front, an area I knew he wouldn’t encroach in fear that the professor would see him dozing off during lecture. He even texted me dirty things during class to get my attention. It was taxing to ignore the distraction, but I ignored the buzzing on my desk, letting Isaac’s stare burn a hole into the back of my head.

Eventually he got the hint and the texts stopped, and it left me with the somewhat bittersweet realization that we had reached the end of our… whatever it was.

Or so I thought. Three weeks and one burnt poptart later, there he was, staring back at me with the knowing glint in his eyes that only comes when you’ve seen someone naked.

The only available table in the dining hall was one near the windows, and I would have to walk past Isaac’s table to get there. With my tray in hand and my bag hanging off one shoulder, I steeled myself and walked in his direction.

I hung my head, letting my hair drape my face from his view, but my attempt at hiding was useless. He called out my name anyway. I tried to continue in my path and pretend I hadn’t heard him, but he called my name louder. Begrudgingly, I stopped and turned around.

“Isaac.” I said.

“So, she lives. I was starting to get worried. You never responded to my messages,” he said, subtly referencing his obscene attempts at luring me back into his bed.

I rolled my eyes and smiled back tight-lipped. “I was hoping you’d take the hint and leave me alone, but clearly you’re too dense.”

One of Isaac’s friends snorted loudly at my remark, the one I recognized from last semester. Isaac glared at him. “Sorry,” the boy said. “First time seeing a girl call you on your bullshit. I like her.”

I smiled at him, bashfully tucking my hair behind my ear. “Um, I remember you, but I’m blanking on your name. Sorry,” I said to him.

“No worries! I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. I’m Scott. We had political science last semester, right?” I nodded. “Yeah, you were the girl who forgot a scantron.”

“Yes.” I chuckled in slight embarrassment. “Thanks for that, by the way. You really saved my ass.”

“Of course! I was happy to have an excuse to talk to the pretty girl who sat next to me all semester, even if it was just for a few seconds,” he said charmingly, flashing an adorable smile. I scoffed playfully at the compliment. His gentle flirting was a welcomed change from the texts I’d been receiving from Isaac, who I noticed was suddenly glaring daggers at me. “Hey,” Scott said, “since you’re here and you know Isaac, and now you know me too, why don’t you join us?”

My eyes went wide and my mind blanked. I stuttered for an excuse. “Oh, th-that’s okay, I don’t want to intrude. Besides, there aren’t even any empty seats--”

“Oh no worries, I got you.” Scott stood up and looked around, then approached a nearby table. He spoke a few words to the group of girls studying there, who giggled at something he said and nodded. Scott picked up an empty chair at their table and brought it over, proudly presenting his contribution. “There! Please, sit.” He gestured towards the seat and smiled at me so sweetly, I felt it would be rude to reject his offer. I nodded and gingerly perched on the seat. I set down my bag and my food, and cordially gave a tiny wave to all the other boys at the table, who exchanged knowing grins.

~*~*~*~

Isaac couldn’t believe you actually accepted Scott’s offer to take a seat.

Not that Scott had left you much of a choice. He had these big brown eyes that girls usually fell for. And then there was the way he so valiantly brought a chair over for you. Isaac chewed on the flesh inside his cheek, unable to plaster on his usual easy grin. He couldn’t help it, especially now that you were sitting with him and his friends, acting all cute and polite, playing the act of the good girl again.

Normally, his pride would swell if he saw you act all prim and proper. He could bask in the satisfaction of being the only one who knew who you really were, what you really were. He knew your ticks, your kinks, what you looked like when you were coming apart all over his cock and begging him for more.

He couldn’t enjoy that knowledge today, not when his friends were staring at you like that. To any outsider, they just looked three boys engrossed in chit chat, but Isaac knew better. Behind their friendly, clean cut facade, they were all thinking the same thing, and it was far from clean. Isaac didn’t care who his friends slept with, and on occasion they even passed around the same girls, those special ones who didn’t care who they fucked as long as they had a good time.

But for some reason, the thought that any one of them, Theo or Liam, or especially Scott, laying a finger on you, made Isaac’s blood boil. Isaac tried to extract this ugly feeling, this primal possesiveness he couldn’t seem to shake when he saw another guy looking at you.

Isaac somehow managed to keep his expression neutral as you giggled at something Liam just said. The kid had managed to endear himself to you already. He was young, and in the newest pledge class, but he was a quick learner. Isaac had taken a fondness to him and decided to mentor him, taken him under his wing and transformed him into his image. Liam’s arrogance and eagerness to prove himself was something Isaac remembered from his freshman year. What he didn’t expect was that Liam would hone Isaac’s techniques to make girls fall at his feet and use them on you.

You giggled again. “Oh my god, Liam, I can’t believe you did that!” Liam had just finished telling a story about the time he knocked over a TV trying to do a drunken keg stand. “You could’ve broken your arm or something. What were you thinking?”

Liam shrugged sheepishly and grinned. “I don’t know. There was a girl I wanted to impress and she was older than me, so I just went for it ya know?”

You smiled fondly at him. “That is adorable. How much older was she? And what year are you?”

“She’s a senior and… I’m a freshman.” Liam looked down shyly and rubbed the back of his head, just like Isaac had taught him to. The lesson was to use your age to your advantage. Girls loved that cute shit.

“Aww, Liam you’re so cute! And I’m sure she thought so too.”

“You think so? That’s good. I’m kinda into older girls.” Liam bowed his head again and smiled, and Isaac would’ve been proud of how well he’d taught him, if only you weren’t on the receiving end of his little performance.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be working. You hummed casually in response. “Hm, I know what you mean. My philosophy professor last semester was so hot. She was maybe in her late 30s, and I still have no clue what she went on and on about, but it was my favorite lecture of the day.”

Isaac inwardly grinned at the way Liam’s accomplished smile faded at your unaffected response.

Theo snorted. “You had a crush on your female professor?” he drawled. “That’s kinda hot.”

“Is it? It’s not really that big of a deal. Haven’t you ever found any of your male professors attractive? I feel like the place is swarming with hot male professors.”

Theo looked at you in amusement, with a twinkle in his eyes that Isaac was all too familiar with. It was clear now Theo had his sights set on you, and usually when that happened, Theo got exactly what he wanted. “Can’t say I’ve had time to think about the men around here. I’ve been a bit too distracted with the girls.”

When Liam flirted with you, Isaac could manage his jealousy, since the kid was still mostly innocent, all talk and no real game. With Theo, all bets were off. He didn’t have an innocent bone in his body and he wasn’t afraid to let girls know, and they were always very happy to know. Isaac knew he himself had strayed far from purity a long time ago, but Theo was something else. Isaac preferred you choose anyone over Theo, maybe even Scott, who was Isaac’s closest friend, if it meant you would stay away from Theo.

“So, I’m curious,” Theo continued. “How exactly do you know Isaac?”

Isaac noticed the way your eyes widened the tiniest bit. “Oh, uh, we um, have a class together,” you said. Isaac could hear the nervous wobble in your voice as you spoke, and his lip curled up in amusement at the realization that you were nervous because you were thinking about him.

author’s note: i came across a google doc of a draft i wrote 3 years ago. a continuation of a fratboy!isaac fic that made people feel some kinda way. the fic, along with all my other fics, got zapped when my old blog got terminated. but since i found the draft and remembered how many requests i got for a part 2, here it is (kinda). 3 years later. i’m sorry.

#isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey smut #isaac lahey fanfiction #isaac lahey #teen wolf #hey it's mar

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bbrandy2002 · 4 years

Text

Fools Rush In

Part Seven

I’m participating in Wacky Drabbles prompt #57: There is no happy ending to this.

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Series Premise: With two weeks until Liam is to marry Madeleine, the guys throw him a bachelor party in Vegas. After a drunk night, he finds himself with way more than he bargained.

**MC did not exist in Liam’s social season. OC lives in Las Vegas.

Word Count: 1926

TW: Drug usage, std mention, who’s the daddy, and I think thats it.

A/N: Thanks to my lovely prereaders for calming my fears and assuring me this wasn’t terrible. Also, thanks to @dcbbw for an idea she had that I was finally able to put in this.

Permanent Tags: @burnsoslow @dcbbw @ao719 @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30 @drakesensworld @janezillow @merridithsmiscellany-blog @mskaneko @loveellamae @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @pedudley @caroldxnvxrs @jovialyouthmusic @forthebrokenheartedthings @desireepow-1986 @bebepac @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @cordoniaqueensworld @amandablink @blueaster-blog1 @liamxs-world @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr @hopelessromanticmonie @charlotteg234 @twinkleallnight @annekebbphotography @txemrn @thecordoniandiaries @alyssalauren @cordonianroyalty @monsoonblooms12

Series: @princessleac1 @cordonia-continued @sanchita012 @shz256 @cordonia-gothqueen @narrytheworld @graceful-leah @mom2000aggie @queenwalton @tinkie1973 @muchkoolermk @captain-kingliamsqueen @gabesmommie1130 @cordonianprincess @cinnamonspongecake @loudbluebirdlover @liamandneca @waywardromancefantasygirl @thegreentwin @walker7519 @nomadics-stuff

Their lips locked together with a pang of intense hunger and passion on a level neither had experienced before.

Liam's fingers tangled through her long dark hair that felt like ribbons of silk twisted around each one while his other palm caressed her sleek jawline.

It wasn't their first kiss or the first taste of the other. Nor was it their first touch or fiery embrace.

But it was the first one they remembered.

And every second her sweet, succulent lips were on his was like a spark igniting over and over again, shooting tingles of heat that rippled from his blazing tongue, down the ridges of his spine, and into the furthest reaches of his curled toes.

It didn't make sense to Liam—that feeling. That craving. That overwhelming desire to please and shower her with a tenderness that would clear away all the hurts and heartache. To erase that sadness he had just witnessed in her eyes.

He didn't know her, but he didn't have to. It just felt right.

Something about this woman pressing her slender body against his, melting into Liam's every hold on her while the essence of her freshly washed hair lingered in the air like a crisp spring rain, made him want to protect and care for her.

The moment she uttered her first words to him the previous day in a crowded nightclub, he sensed it. A connection that had since grown stronger. He tried to brush away that fact because Riley was a stranger he met and married during a drunken night in Las Vegas, knowing the easy thing to do was end it and marry Madeleine.

Liam didn't want to do the easy thing, though, not when he finally felt this whole. She was like the missing piece of him he never thought he'd find. It was utterly ridiculous to feel that way already. But in his arms, engaged in a passionate kiss with him, was ... his wife. Suddenly he was proud of that.

Riley's hands moved from their grip at his sides, slid up to his broad chest, gently pushed away, and broke the seal they had on each other.

Through labored breaths, his heart still pounding, he willed himself to speak "Riley. That ... was ... incredible."

Liam drew her close again, his fingertips lightly brushing across her forehead, sweeping stray hairs to the side while he searched longingly into her wanting eyes.

Riley swallowed, wanting more than anything for him to lean down again and place his tender lips against her sentient skin. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him into her closer. She shuddered as his heated breath bounced off the skin that covered her collar bone, and his hand slipped under the hem of her shirt.

It felt so damn good to have a man desire and want her after so long. But it was so much more than that; it was just Liam.

It was Liam. Which is also why she had to stop.

Riley pulled away again, leaving him to stare at her perplexed.

"What's wrong?" He asked breathlessly.

Her fingers lightly crimped and rolled the bare skin below her neck while she searched for words. What was wrong? She was incredibly attracted to Liam. He had been amazing to her since they met. And oh my God did she want him. But she couldn't shake her thoughts of those 'what if's' and self-doubts. She would never be good enough for him. In her mind, Liam deserved the best, and that wasn't her.

Riley stammered, "I ... um, need to pack." She looked around the living room, still flustered and reeling from their moment together. Tripping into tables and chairs, she let out a random nervous laugh that made Liam's eyes widen, still unsure what the hell was going on as she pranced around grabbing remotes, a vase, and drink coasters.

Liam raised his brows in bewilderment. "Riley? Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes! I'm great. Never been better." Stopping to pick up a lamp, Riley saw the look on his face, staring at the items that had piled up in her arms. She glanced down and chuckled heartily again, clearly high-strung. "What the hell am I doing? I don't need this stuff in Cordonia? Do I need this stuff in Cordonia? You probably have a ton of lamps and coasters already. Am I talking too much? I'm talking too much, aren't I? What am I even saying right now? I'm just going to leave this stuff right here, because ... you don't need them." She paused with a timid grin, then dropped the items onto the sofa with a clang, turned and shuffled out of the room.

Liam scratched the back of his head and uttered to himself, "What in the blue Bianca F. Walker was that?"

There was more to that outburst than just needing to pack, and he knew it. Riley told him she couldn't make him happy just before that kiss they shared and was seemingly projecting her feelings away from him. It was clear from that kiss that she felt the same way about him as he did her, but was letting fear grapple her heart and mind.

If she was going to Cordonia to save him, Liam decided he'd slay those barriers she built up and save her too.

But why?

Placing the stuff Riley dropped on the couch onto an end table, Liam flopped down onto the sofa. The lustrous rays of a setting sun coming through the window behind him projected a warmth on his back that matched his heart. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together.

Riley wasn't perfect and didn't pretend to be, which was refreshing compared to the women he was used to. She knew nothing about Cordonia, how to be a Queen, maybe a bit of a hot mess, and knew very little about him. How could this ever work out?

Liam sat up and propped his head on the back of the sofa, replaying those facts over and over in his mind. So many things could go wrong, he thought as he let out a heavy breath. "But, she's the one."

A half-hour later, Riley fumbled out of her room, rolling a suitcase in both hands, and a carry on bag hung crossways over her shoulder. Liam took both suitcases and assured her he would take care of anything she forgot or needed.

After loading everything in the trunk of the limo, Liam whistled for Leo, who was lying on his back in the neighbor's yard and passing a doobie to an 80-year-old man named Burt he hustled pot for.

He popped up to see his ride leaving then quickly rose to his feet. "That's my bro; I gots ta go." Leo looked down at the man with the long white beard and asked, "Anymore words of advice, Dumbledore?"

The old man stroked his beard then took a hit off his joint, blowing plumes of smoke that faded with the wind. "Never put your hand where you wouldn't put your willy, son."

Leo pondered on those words, then nodded and patted his chest with his fist. "Word."

"Take it easy, Weasley!" The man waved as Leo headed for the limo.

With everyone ready to head to the airport, the chauffeur closed the door behind Liam.

Liam had a million things he desperately wanted to discuss with Riley, mainly what he knew they both were feeling, but they were at zero hour. He had to prepare his new bride for what laid ahead and her new role as one half of a ruling monarch. Even if only a temporary one.

Reaching over his shoulder, Liam grabbed the seat belt and snapped it in place. He glanced over at Riley, who was sitting next to him, searching through her purse for Visine to clear Leo's bloodshot eyes. They were starting to scare her.

She must have felt his eyes on her because she looked back at him in time to see the beaming smile leveled at her.

"You ready, my Queen?"

Riley drew in a deep breath with a shrug; there was a hint of uncertainty, but hope was written in her eyes. "I think so ... my King."

_________________________________

Drake stared at the picture of three identical little boys who looked like they were ready to raise hell. The photo shook in his hand as the rage in his veins continued to build-up. "That fucker is dead when I see him. So help me, I'm gonna beat the living shit out of Leo."

Drake's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he took it out to read a message from Liam saying they were headed for the airport.

As he relayed the message to Maxwell, they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Maxwell jumped up to answer it and looked through the peephole. With eyes widened, he turned and gestured with his thumb at the door and exclaimed through a loud whisper, "It's Pinquee Kittee!"

Drake stiffened then shook his head. "What the hell could she want? If she came back for more, she's shit out of luck. My hardware is fried because of that woman." He tossed his phone on the counter next to his wallet and grabbed the pharmacy bags. "I'm gonna go apply my ointment before we go. Get rid of her, Beaumont."

Maxwell nodded then waited for Drake to clear the room before he answered the door. "Miss Kittee!" he greeted with exuberance before shouting over his shoulder, conspicuously, "If you're looking for Drake, he's not here."

The gray-haired woman whose wrinkly face and sagging jawline creased even more when she scowled. Pinquee Kittee removed the cigarette dangling from her mouth and spoke with a husky voice, "I just came for my casserole dish and ..." She reached inside her tube top and held out a credit card. "To give this back to my client. I swiped it during ... the cunnilingus."

Maxwell’s hands shot to his face as he hurled a little in his throat. Taking a moment to collect himself, he grabbed the card from her hand and inspected it. "Hey, this is Liam's card."

She waved her cigarette wielding hand in front of her. "Not my beef. Now, where's my dish? It's CorningWare. Shit's pricey."

Maxwell turned and walked into the kitchen to get her dish out of the dishwasher, with her following behind.

Satisfied with her item retrieval and a whirlwind of white smoke trailing behind her as she left, Drake crept out of the bathroom a minute later and looked at Maxwell. "She gone?"

Maxwell nodded. "Yeah, she picked up her casserole dish and brought back Liam's credit card."

Puzzled, Drake cocked his head and asked, "Liam's credit card? How'd did she get that? It's in my wal ..." His eyes roamed over the kitchen bar counter frantically. "Where's my wallet? And my damn cell phone?"

They both glanced at the door at the same time, knowing she was most likely long gone by now.

Drake dropped his face into his hands. "This was supposed to be a fun trip, Max."

Maxwell frowned and clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Between the sexually transmitted diseases, a summons for child support on kids Leo most likely fathered, and now your wallet and cell phone have been stolen by your hooker, there is no happy ending to this trip for you, Drake." He pulled the handle of his luggage up. "Come on, buddy. Shuttle's waiting. Let's get you home and rest."

#Fools Rush In #liam x riley #liam x mc #king liam #king Liam x mc #liam x oc #choices liam x mc #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #trr #trr fanfic #the royal romance choices #the royal romance fanfic #bbrandy2002

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 10 months

Note

If you’re up for it, can we see Azalea breaking Caliban out of that interrogation room? That one where his cravings are really bad and Aza poisons the guard and gets him out?

Oh, I'm definitely up for it! (By the way, are you the one who sent that original ask?) I hope you didn't mind the wait, but here it is! Enjoy!

(Trigger Warnings: implications of illegal business, murder/death, poisoning, descriptions of cravings/hunger pangs, blood, implied cannibalism, mentions of unconsciousness, mentions of drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

___

“Drink it. . .” Azalea’s voice was soft, just barely an octave above a whisper, and yet her words still came out in an impatient, acidic growl. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Drink it already, you son of a bitch!”

It was a well-known fact that mobsters tended to avoid police departments like the plague. Another well-known fact about mobsters was that they often worked in the dark. And as of right now, the local station was very dark, save for a few lights here and there.

That was why she, Murdock, and The Newcomer had snuck in just ten minutes ago. It’d been pure luck that they’d gotten here before the officers had returned to drag Caliban into one of the interrogation rooms.

Even if things had taken a turn for the worse, at least it’d been long after sunset. The station’s doors officially locked at five o’clock or so, but that didn’t always mean officers weren’t at work here. It did mean that there were far less of them to deal with—three in this case—so that was something.

She’d already taken care of the security cameras. . .

(Erasing video footage was pretty damn easy, so long as you knew which buttons to press.)

. . .Except for one.

She was fully prepared to knock off that camera’s evidence, mind you. That particular camera would be as good as belonging to an amateur vlogger soon.

Right now, however, it had to stay on.

It wasn’t like Azalea wanted to watch three pigs try to intimidate her brother, but last-minute plans like this had to be handled carefully.

“Has he taken a sip?” A hushed, familiar baritone voice called.

Azalea glanced over her shoulder to see Murdock slither into the office, having left his car’s trunk a bit heavier than before. It felt like only seconds had passed since he’d crept up behind the security guard, since he’d jerked that guard’s neck on a violent right-angle.

“Not yet.” Azalea chewed her lip, shaking her head. “I can accept someone deciding that they need coffee at this hour, but taking this long with it once you’ve got it? Ridiculous!”

The very second those officers had entered the building, Azalea had easily overheard the ringleader ordering one of his cronies to put a pot of coffee on.

Sure, coffee-makers always took time to prepare that addictive battery acid. And sure, policemen were always way, way too unobservant to be as revered as they were.

Still, it’d felt a little miraculous that Azalea had been able to sneak over to the station’s canteen, slip a cyanide pill into that pressed-bean-juice, let that pill fully dissolve, and stir it in before slinking back to the security office.

“. . .I mean, when was the last time you heard of a cop doing things efficiently?” Murdock inquired as he came to stand beside the chair Azalea had claimed. The remaining camera’s blue-glow light reflected off of his shades.

“Fair point,” Azalea admitted, sighing. “I just—I need him to die already.”

“So do I, so do I. One way or another, we’ll get Cal out of here,” Murdock promised. “It doesn’t matter if that asshole is one of those weirdos who likes his brew lukewarm. What matters is how long your little secret ingredient will need to take effect.”

“It should knock him out in less than a minute,” Azalea mused, “but depending on his weight, it’ll take two or four minutes for him to actually keel over.”

“Not too shabby,” Murdock hummed. “Newbie’s on the far corner of the building. They’re gonna set off a distraction on my signal. I’ll help them with an ambush when those two try to investigate.”

Azalea nodded. “Sounds good.”

A brief silence settled over the office as the two of them stared at the camera monitors.

They watched as Caliban slowly but surely began to shudder, making an effort not to squirm in his chair.

They watched as Caliban’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, as he immediately tried not to look at the photographs of blood-spattered crime scenes that the interviewing officer placed on the table.

They watched as Caliban grappled with not being able to reach up and wipe at the thin strands of saliva now rolling past his lips.

“Today was supposed to be a feeding day,” Murdock murmured, sounding equal parts frustrated and guilty while kneading at his forehead.

“You think I don’t know that?” Azalea replied in a somewhat pointed voice. She could already tell that Murdock knew just how furious she was right now, knew that she couldn’t be blamed for her anger-fear cocktail. “You’re gonna be making up for this for weeks.”

“I know I am,” Murdock answered, side-eyeing her right back. Unlike the majority of the time he spoke, there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in his tone.

This wasn’t the first time a problem had come up during a job, and it wouldn’t be the last, either. Underground business was always risky, always dangerous. What happened earlier wasn’t exactly Murdock’s fault. . .but tonight’s little rendezvous had still been his idea.

But Murdock’s new debt had to be put on the back burner right now becAUSE OH GOD THE RINGLEADER-COP FINALLY DRANK SOME OF HIS FUCKING COFFEE HOLY SHIT THIS IS HAPPENING NOW!

“There! That’s it!” Azalea hissed, sitting up so violently that it was a wonder she didn't punch a hole in the monitor screen. “The others can’t see the side-effects! Go! Signal the distraction! Hurry!”

Murdock was out the office door and down the hall before his accomplice had even finished her sentence. The fact that he still managed to be mostly silent was as impressive as it would’ve been unsettling to outsiders.

Azalea’s hands were a blur now that she was finally able to clean out that last damn camera. The image on the monitor paused, flickering and blurring before clicking to blackness. With that, she ducked behind a nearby filing cabinet. The seconds jeered at her as they dragged by. And yet, just as she was about to start colorfully muttering to the void, she narrowly avoided jumping out of her skin as some kind of alarm came shrieking through the air.

Yelps of shock followed the distress call, as though the officers down the hall thought they could outdo whatever Murdock and The Newcomer had triggered. Azalea held her breath as muffled footsteps thundered past the security office’s closed door. She could’ve sworn that her heart skipped multiple beats as she was forced to wait for the right moment. Violent shudders wracked her body as she crept up to the threshold and peered through the gap.

As soon as the sound of a stampede faded, as soon as Azalea was sure that the officers had moved far enough away, most of her stealth was kicked to the curb (a few stubborn strands held on, but only because of instinct).

She bolted down the corridor, not caring one bit how there didn’t seem to be any air in her lungs. Through the alarm, through her own thundering pulse, she could still hear the dull thump of a hundred-odd pounds of something hitting linoleum.

She turned a corner, discovering two doors. One hung open; it probably would’ve drifted shut by now, but the heap of man lying in its path had other ideas. At first, the ringleader-cop could’ve just been mistaken for being sloppy-drunk, what with the way he twitched and gurgled. Foamy, blood-tinged drool leaked out of his mouth to form a puddle where his face met the floor.

It would’ve been impossible to enter the room without tripping over him, but Azalea kept her footing via stomping down on his neck. The choked, pathetic sputter she elicited sounded as though it’d come from somewhere much farther away.

Time seemed to slow down as Azalea raced over to the interview table, as she snatched up the paperclip that was keeping all those crime scene photos together. It was only after she’d picked the handcuffs open, when her brother’s arms limply fell to his sides, that she realized Caliban was slumped over the table, eyes closed.

He’d only fainted. Azalea knew he’d only fainted, and yet her eyes still stung as she shook his shoulder. Caliban’s breathing wasn’t weak, but it was shaky, labored. She’d seen all the stress and fear he’d had to go through, and she still couldn’t understand how an unconscious person could look so tense.

Azalea had to bare her teeth to avoid sobbing as she tried to coax him awake, as she struggled to lift him, because the people who tried to hurt him were dead and he wasn’t in danger anymore and she needed her brother—

She startled badly at the sound of rustling plastic. A scream caught in her throat as The Newcomer materialized before her. They mimicked Azalea, grabbing hold of Caliban’s other arm and draping it over their shoulders.

“Murdock’s handling the other two bodies,” they announced as they helped Azalea half-carry half-drag Caliban over the ringleader-cop (who was now wrapped up in a fresh body bag) and out of the interrogation room. “He said he’d take care of the one in here! We just need to focus on Cal!”

Azalea didn’t answer. Her head practically swam. She kept moving forward, but she wasn’t actually seeing whatever was in front of her. Old, awful memories were trapped in her vision, and if she wasn’t busy clinging to Caliban, she would’ve tried clawing at her eyes to force those memories out. The noise all around her made it so much worse.

Somehow, after Azalea eventually managed to blink, she briefly felt cool nighttime air against her skin. The blaring alarm hadn’t disappeared, but it was muffled enough that the telltale sound of a seat belt being buckled rang in her ears. She didn’t remember The Newcomer calling shotgun, but their gray eyes peered at her as they turned around in the passenger seat of Murdock’s car.

“I wiped down the security office,” they coughed. “On my way to you, I mean. Got rid of the handcuffs, too.”

“. . .Oh,” Azalea replied. “Well, good work. Thank you.” On one hand, she hadn’t even thought about fingerprints, and was impressed at The Newcomer’s thoroughness. On the other hand, she didn’t have the heart to remind The Newcomer that she’d been wearing her work gloves all night.

A small smile appeared on The Newcomer’s face. That smile died a quick death when a low, rolling, organic sound broke the awkward silence. Azalea didn’t flinch as she glanced over at Caliban, who had been sat down on the other side of the backseat.

Azalea felt her shoulders slump. She peered back and forth between Caliban and The Newcomer, who was trying (but failing) not to wince. Not that Azalea could really blame them. She’d had plenty of experience helping her brother with his hunger.

But The Newcomer. . .well, even if they’d adjusted to working with a cannibal, and even if Azalea only knew so much about their past, she still had her doubts that they’d ever heard a person’s stomach growl so loudly.

Azalea’s worry came back at breakneck speed. Thankfully, out of the corner of her eye, she spied something shiny and red lying in a heap on the car’s floor.

Her brother’s favorite jacket.

The same one that had interior pockets for days. . .

She snatched the threads up, quickly rummaging through aforementioned pockets until she fished out a small, rectangular bottle. It was shiny, having been designed with a marble-esque pattern that complimented the damascus material of Caliban’s favorite meat cleaver.

Azalea twisted the little cap off, allowing a strong, metallic, infamous smell to seep into the air. She moved closer to Caliban, reaching up to gently take hold of his lower jaw and tilt his head back. Then, she raised the vial to his lips—her hand was still shaking, so it was a wonder how none of the processed blood dripped onto his face.

She heard The Newcomer declare that Murdock was finally leaving the station, heard them get out of the car with the same speed as a cat with a violent case of the zoomies. And while it would’ve been very funny to watch Murdock struggle to carry three full bodybags in a manner similar to a dad refusing to take more than one unloading trip, she wouldn’t take her focus off of Caliban.

Though Caliban’s eyes remained closed, instinct still kicked in (with a little help from gravity, of course). One massive twitch shuddered through his whole body. His brow furrowed as a cough forced its way out of his throat.

“Shh. . .deep breaths, Cal. Deep breaths,” Azalea coached. “Drink.”

A few seconds passed the siblings by.

Then, as the car began to tremble in response to a frustrated hitman bodyslamming its trunk, Caliban’s eyes fluttered open.

“. . .Aza. . ?” he muttered.

And just like that, Azalea grinned at him. All the dread she’d felt up until now. . .something else came along and ate it up. “You owe me big time.”

Caliban squinted at her, obviously still attempting to convince his body to work again, but it took no time at all for him to grin right back.

It didn’t last, as he and his sister yelped in tandem when the car suddenly lurched forward, the tires underneath squealing in excitement.

“Well, that can count as our cardio for the week,” Murdock pronounced, reaching over to clap The Newcomer on the shoulder. He then glanced over his shoulder to peer at his other two accomplices. “How’s it going, Cal?”

“I don't know. How the hell do you think it's going?" Caliban snarked as he leaned back in his seat.

Seeing that her brother was probably coherent enough to do things for himself, Azalea slipped the vial into his hand. Her prediction was confirmed when he immediately took a swig of blood.

Murdock smirked. “That’s a weird way of saying ‘thank you,’ but I’ll take it.”

“Listen, do you know what it feels like to be hungry right now?” Caliban asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “It hurts. Not as much as last month’s target, but it hurts. So I’ll thank you when I’m not so damn hungry, okay?”

“Okay,” Murdock agreed after a second of consideration.

“I mean, there are four dead people crammed in the back. . .” The Newcomer mentioned

Caliban’s eyes lit up at that.

“Ah, you can’t eat any of them, though,” Azalea interjected, offering an apologetic cringe as her brother automatically pouted. “Hey, look, I’m sorry, but you know the drill when it comes to cops. We’ve gotta go the old-fashioned route for disposal—”

“Because the DNA of important public figures can’t be traced anywhere near us. I know, I know,” Caliban finished, sighing. However, his disappointment still didn’t stop him from pulling Azalea into a side hug, which she was quick to reciprocate.

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

Text

[Xiyao one-shot - NSFW - tw: blood / tw:body horror (to be on the safe side)]

[Masterpost]

He is hungry.

His body is broken and battered, stabbed clean through, and all Meng Yao can think of is how much he yearns to fill it. The gaps in himself, the holes, the spaces, the emptiness. His hunger is a deep-rooted tearing thing, ripping him to shreds from the inside out. He’s a husk, an empty hull waiting to be filled.

He is hungry.

His lover is a banquet. ‘Lover’ is perhaps too gentle of a word, but it begins to convey some sense of the desperate need for him. His feast, his fountain, his sacrificial offering. He’s meat and drink, Meng Yao bites into his chest until the wet tang of iron blooms hot and thick on his tongue. He dips between his legs and takes him into his mouth, swallows and sucks and wrings him dry at every opportunity - and they are numerous. Meng Yao sinks down onto him and lets him fill him, cock in his body, fingers in his mouth, he lets Lan Xichen pin him down and fuck him until he passes out and it’s not enough, not enough.

He would never bite the hands that feed him, that stuff him full enough to make him believe for a moment that he’s no longer starving. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t inflict pains. He bites and he scratches and he plants himself in the bloody furrows until flowering moans reward his violent care, until pleasure bursts sun-warmed and sweet between them, berries ripe for the picking. He stains his mouth red with them, his fingers purple with the bruises he paints so delicately on his devotee’s body.

If Meng Yao is being clawed to a slow torturous death from within, then it stands to reason that his other half will be ripped to shreds from without. He keeps his nails sharp and his teeth bared to tear into his flesh and drink sweetly of the vintage he offers - sweat, spend, blood, saliva when their mouths meet for crushing kisses. All of it is his to consume. He puts his mouth to the feast of Lan Xichen’s body and eats until the hunger pangs are satiated, drinks until he feels dizzy with it.

No wine, no ale, no sweet fall of rain will slake. He can only accept the sharp bitterness of come in his throat. Can only yearn for the drips of thick blood onto his tongue.

Lan Xichen can heal himself. Meng Yao can bite his lip until sweet hot blood drips thick and syrupy into his waiting mouth. It will be healed by morning. The swelling will disappear, the injury forgotten. For now Meng Yao can press his lips to the wound and suck, demand more, beg in broken pleas for Lan Xichen to fill him again.

Months after their last meal together he finds himself still so hungry.

In the golden cage of his new rooms he ties his lover to the bed with the luxury of red silk ropes, strips him bare with the delicate drag of a knife through his finery. He doesn’t ruin it - such garments surely cost enough to feed him (the mundane sort of food he eats to survive) for a month, perhaps more. But he cuts the ties, severs them until they’re nothing more than misplaced scraps, useless strings that no longer keep him from what he craves.

He drags the tip of his knife along the hard cock in his lover’s trousers, root to tip, and watches his eyes go dark, nothing but black as his lips part around a moan. Jin Guangyao takes it greedily into his mouth, honeyed candy melting into the slick heat of his tongue as he holds the knife poised just so over his feast’s belly, ready to be carved into, consumed. His appetite has been whetted now and it grows harder and harder to keep it at bay.

He doesn’t even so much as nick the skin with something so impersonal as a knife, but its presence is thrilling, a possibility, a maybe. But when he climbs on top of his prize he digs his hands in and takes what he wants by the greedy fistful.

Over and over he eats, he sinks down onto hand or cock or face and lets his lover press pieces of himself inside him. The dexterous spread of his fingers, the thick blunt stretch of his cock, the plush tongue that fills his mouth just as eagerly in other circumstances. He grinds down onto whatever he’s given and tries to force it deeper, always deeper, it’s never enough he’s still hollow under his ribs, he’s nothing inside the shell of his skin.

Lan Xichen has so much to give as he’s clawed away piece by piece. The meat of his thigh, his ass, the unending supply of spend from his cock, the sweat in the crooks of his thighs and under his arms, the searing glide of his tongue, sharp pain of his teeth. Jin Guangyao could eat and eat and eat forever and his lover will replenish himself for him, heal and return for more, offer himself up for the taking at every possible opportunity.

It’s not enough.

He needs him more. Always more, more, more. He scratches into his chest as if to claw out his beating heart and take a bite, he licks the blood away, watches more of it bead up for his tongue again. So generous with his body, his lover is, and patient. He doesn’t even jump when sharp teeth break the delicate skin of his neck, his wrist, his thigh, he only moans and begs to be consumed, to fill him again and again.

Smears of crimson and soft lavender follow his ravenous mouth, blood and bruises sucked to the surface of milk-pale skin. The insides of his lover’s thighs are tender and sweet against his tongue and he takes and takes and takes until he’s fed as soon as his lips wrap around the red, wet head of his cock. He sucks him down anyway, the restraints around his lover’s wrists and ankles stilling his thrashing as he’s pushed past the point of pleasure into the exquisite pain of overstimulation - and Jin Guangyao still takes more. The silken soft weight of him in his throat, on his tongue, between his teeth makes him feel slightly less empty.

His hands press into the flesh of his hips, crack through to bone, to sinew, to hot sticky strings of blood that drip from his fingertips whenever he lifts them as he swallows around him again and again and again, devouring, craving, demanding everything that his devotee can give to him.

“A-Yao,” his swollen bloodied lips turn the moan pained, exhilarated. “A-Yao please.”

Pleas for relief are useless, they both know this. Jin Guangyao will take until he’s satisfied, Lan Xichen will provide. But then, the word he wants to hear - “More, A-Yao, more.”

His feast is so good to him. Never once asking to stop. To be shown mercy. It’s always more, more, please, let me fill you, A-Yao. The hands that feed him are generous indeed, and so Jin Guangyao reaches up, flicks the knife through the ropes around one wrist to slice it free, and then there are fingers scratching his back, trying to hitch him higher. He knows what Lan Xichen wants and he’s willing to humor him now so he goes, wrapping his starving mouth around a nipple instead so that he can arch into the lithe fingers that find their home stuffed in his entrance.

He’ll never be full. The world has left him a hollow shell of greedy desire, perpetually famished, parched, but there are moments when his lover’s gifts are numerous enough to pretend.

He gentles his mouth until he’s suckling and kissing, he lets the fire retreat low in his belly to leave his mind clear. He spreads his legs to let Lan Xichen slide a third finger inside of him, a fourth, and he moans sweetly for him as if in apology for the growling and snapping of his hollowed out anguish.

“Mmmm there you are,” Lan Xichen hums through his kiss-bitten lips pressed into his hair. “A-Yao, my A-Yao,” he purrs as he prods his fingers deeper, stretches him wide around them until it burns as hot as the greed in his veins. “You’ve ripped me apart again, my heart.”

Jin Guangyao retreats to sit up - grind further onto those fingers - and survey the damage.

Bloodied scratches down his chest. Bruises in the shape of his mouth everywhere they could conceivably be littered. Impressions of his teeth everywhere his muscles curve - biceps, shoulders, chest, hips. Half-moon punctures in his hips weeping crimson pearls. Sweat shining on his skin, breath heaving in his chest.

Raw adoration in his eyes.

“Am I enough for you?” Lan Xichen asks with a vicious twist of his wrist to slam harder inside him, to jerk his body hard and fast. “Am I enough yet, A-Yao?”

“No,” he gasps, as he always does. “I need you again. Just once more, A-Huan, one more.”

It’s always one more. One more bite, one more scratch, one more lick, one more fuck, one more day, week, month, year. One more lifetime to try to satiate themselves.

One more eternity.

“Good,” Lan Xichen purrs - and then he jerks his still-bound wrist hard enough to snap the rope and he’s pinning Jin Guangyao down to attempt to fill him up for good once more.

Always once more.

#the untamed fanfic #xiyao #lan xichen #meng yao #jin guangyao #dark JGY #hint of dark LXC #tw: blood #tw: body horror #if this needs other tw's or tags y'all please let me know #honestly I don't even know what this is lol #just wanted to try something different #everyone heartily consents in this but it's a little uhhhhhh #more violent than I usually write #my attempts at prose I guess?#Anyway. Uh. This is a thing

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queroze · 3 years

Text

Holding back

Happy holidays, @worrynotso ! I hope you enjoy!

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

Summary: A vampire merman and a marine biologist meet. Love at first bite? Not quite....

Angst with a happy ending, Analogical

TW: its a vampire mermaid: fangs, blood, water, biting, non-consensual biting

Word Count: 3533

Link to AO3

Virgil was hungry.

Very hungry. It had been far too long since he had eaten. He was desperate. Weak and dizzy he looked up from his cave of coral on the seafloor, the sandy muck and seaweed around him swirled as he moved. Shadows moved over him, blotting out the small amount of light that managed to make it to his glowing purple eyes.

Food.

A grouping of large sea animals cast dark shapes above him. They were too large to be fish. And it didn’t matter what they were. If they moved in groups and they were as bulky as they seemed, they were warm blooded. And that’s what Virgil needed. His stomach panged as he moved out of his cave and up and out with a quick flick of his tail. The bodies were sleek and quick.

Dolphins.

He swam, lithe and fast toward a pod of dolphins. Darting, chasing, gabbing, squeaky skin just out of reach. They scattered, each going a different direction, effectively confusing Virgil's luminescent violet eyes. Because there wasn't an old weak one among them, Virgil didn't get a chance to pick one off. He let his body fall listless to the bottom of the sea, the sand catching him and puffing around him.

Virgil would have never tried for a dolphin were he not confused by hunger gnawing away at his gut. His hands went into the sand, hoping to find some kind of mollusk to chew on at least. It wouldn't give him the nutrition he craved, but it would at least give his pointed teeth something to do, rather than him biting his own tail. The thick, strong and rough appendage was tucked under him as his thin pale hands came up empty of shells.

Blood.

Mammal blood. That's what he needed. Warm, live and pulsing. Heart pumping away into his mouth, veins his glass, teeth his cutlery. Seals were ideal. Slow on land, thick with blubber sure, but at least it wasn’t that rubber band bounce of a dolphin. Whales were marginally better than their squeaking cousins. But also, extremely hard to catch. But their size made it easier to feed off a single one for months before Virgil sucked them dry. But he needed something, anything now.

There was no warning when the net fell on him, other than the slightest change in the shadows that surrounded the merman in the sand. It tangled him, caught his hands and arms, twisted at the base of his tail, cut into his skin. The net was making it hard to breathe, restricting his movements, until all he could do was a pathetic wiggle, sand filling his mouth as he struggled. After what seemed like an eternity, water catching in his gills frantically, a new movement happened. Virgil was being pulled up.

Virgil thrashed against the net, as he moved from the sea floor thru the empty middle expanse of the ocean. The thin twine cut into his tail, his back, his face.

But up he went.

His sharp teeth were useless, because he could not get purchase with his mouth against the tight weave of the net. But that didn’t stop him from biting the water uselessly.

And up he went.

The merman’s arms were pressed, folded awkwardly at his sides, as he attempted to claw at the net to no avail. The short stout claws would have done the job in a hurry if he could only get to the net.

Still up he went.

Until he broke the surface, rump first, tail flopping his own face as the full force of gravity hit his body dripping over the water. It was dark. It could have been a day with a storm, or a clear night for all Virgil was aware. Something jabbed at his side as he slowly turned in his dangle. Rough voices excited and fearful hit Virgil's ears as his body turned sluggishly around. A fishing boat, men in bright yellow shiny coats, as rubbery looking as a dolphin. Virgil snarled at the men, wiggling like a worm on a hook.

Something jerked and his body was moving closer to the boat. The movement was smoother than the easiest swim. The merman kept thrashing, snapping and snarling in vain. When he got close enough, hands grabbed him, callus and rough, pulling him into the boat. There was yelling, incomprehensible and confusing. The people aimed the merman over a large hole in the deck, dark and menacing to Virgil's violet eyes.

Trapped.

Virgil was dropped into the darkness, the deck of the ship disappearing above him. He landed with a splash into water. The water was wrong. It was too warm, too still, too hard, too scratchy. It stung his glowing eyes, the gills along his neck and his tender and pale upper body skin. Virgil’s body dropped like a stone, until it hit the hard and smooth bottom. The net loosened around his body and Virgil moved and thrashed until he was free, the net an evil puddle on the smooth floor.

Free finally to move about Virgil swam quickly around a small circle. A tank, he was in a tank. Legends of humans and their cruelty were abundant. Catching, killing, eating, maiming. He had heard them all….before. Before the only thing that sustained him was blood. Before when flesh was what he needed to survive. Before his tail turned dark, his torso pale and his eyes glowed. He had heard about the cruelty of humans.

And according to Virgil, those legends were right.

Chapter 2

"Unusual coloring on the upper quadrant of the specimen indicates a wider variation in population than previously hypothesized." Logan pressed pause on the recorder. He cleared his throat and turned to the merman in the tank. The 9-foot-long merman was laying at the bottom of the tank, its eyes tracking Logan's movement. Pressing play again he continues. "Incisors and canines are also 60% larger than other specimens that we have studied." Logan continues to take notes walking up the ramp that curved around from the bottom of the tank to the top. He paid no mind to the glowing violet eyes following him.

"The specimen is also at the point of starvation. Live fish, dead fish, and processed food have been offered and so far, rejected. The specimen…." Logan, nearing the top of the tank, checked the tag. Each of the merpeople that have been caught had been assigned a letter. This specimen was assigned the letter V. "The specimen V, as it will henceforth be referred to, seems to be on the brink of malnourishment. Because of this, in order to keep the specimen V alive in captivity for as long as possible for optimum scientific inquiry, some kind of nutrition needs to be entering its system without delay. Intravenous methods are being considered at this time."

Logan looks down into the water holding the merman, purple eyes look back from the bottom of the large tank. The merman wasn’t moving. But it’s fluttering gills and open eyes the only thing betraying the fact that it was alive. "The specimen V has been tracking me all the way up the ramp. That suggests alertness and awareness of its surroundings. This is encouraging as its malnourishment has not yet affected its cognitive abilities." Logan bent down to take a sample of the water. "A water sample of the specimen is going to be taken at...gaAHHHH!"

As quick as lightning, a pale arm breaks the surface of the water and pulls the marine biologist down under. Artificial saltwater fills Logan's mouth and lungs burning his esophagus and nostrils. He fights for the surface, reaching with his hands but the edge is getting further away. He fights against the strong thin hands that hold him, one around his torso, and the other around his face. But already the lack of air makes it hard to fight, to struggle, to get away, to get to the edge of the pool that was only 2 feet away.

A clawed hand tugged his hair, pulling his head back. Teeth sharper than scalpels cut into his neck, staining the water red around him. Logan's body, already heavy with clothes, is impossibly heavier as blood is drained from him. Darkness creeps the edges of his watery vision. Logan is being drained and drowned at the same time. The only thought in his head, clear despite facing impending death was: What is going to kill me? The water in my lungs or my blood in the water?

Blackness overtakes him.

Thump

Thump-thump

Stinging, salt and chlorine erupts from his face. Logan coughs, fresh new air burns and it begins to fill his chest. He is laying precariously close to the edge of the tank. Something hard and plastic is pressed into Logan’s hands by someone pale and wet, his apparent rescuer. His glasses. Logan smashes them onto his face, blinking away the harsh water.

The merman looks back, mouth painted with blood. Logan's blood. Logan clutched the wound on his neck, still wet. But from his own blood gushing forth or from the saltwater clinging to him, he can't tell. He scrambles up, but almost falls back into the tank for his trouble.

"Dude. Chill."

Logan tries to focus on the voice, but as it happened to be coming from the direction of the merman, the very same merman who currently has Logan's blood on his lips, Logan was looking for any other source of the sound. Hand still clenched on his neck, stemming any potential blood from escaping him he finally makes eye contact with the…. vampire merman.

"Sorry about that." The voice of the vampire merman was low, gravely, and rocky in all the right places.

"Biting me?!" Logan asks, finding his own voice to be higher and raspier than it normally was.

"Yeah...I uh...hadn't eaten. And you were right there." The vampire merman actually looked embarrassed, his hand on the back of his neck, eyes downcast.

Logan looked dumbstruck at the sea creature talking to him. None of the other specimens had even said hello, let alone mumbled an embarrassed apology for blood sucking. But Logan's instinct for correction overrode the astonishment.

"You didn't eat. We provided a variety of options."

"I don't eat fish." Came the simple yet significant reply.

"You suck blood." Logan hypothesized, hand still on his neck, still stemming whatever bleeding was happening there.

"Mammal blood" The vampire merman corrected with his rocky stormy voice confirming what Logan was about to say.

"Mammal blood. You drink mammal blood." Logan plops hard on his rump, blinking in disbelief, his hand still on his neck. It was cold, not warm. Did that mean there was no bleeding?

The vampire merman reaches out and gently moves Logan's hand from his neck. "Your fine. You won't bleed out." The care in his gravelly voice is apparent.

Logan goes along with the movement, looking wide-eyed at the most unique creature he has ever studied. "I won't? But the blood...my blood...it was in the water."

Specimen V's pectorals turn a dark purple. "Yeah, my bad. I was starving, so it got everywhere. Usually I'm cleaner than that."

Logan nods dumbly unsure how to respond. He finally looks at his hand, the one that was supposed to be stopping the blood from the bite wound. It was clean, as Specimen V had said. “How?” was the only word the biologist could form.

“oh…uh…I don’t really know?” The merman looks everywhere but at the human. “Something to do with the venom….”

“Venom?!?!” Logan says moving away from the fanged monster.

“Woah dude…It won’t kill you…probably…” The merman winces. “I’ve never fed off a human before…So probably.”

Logan shakes his head a hundred questions lighting up in his brain. “How are you talking? None of our other specimens talked.”

Specimen V's looks at the slightly cowering human with sharp eyes. “Other …specimens?”

“The other merpeople.”

“How many?” The fanged voice is all sharp rocks and crumbling cliffs.

“You are the 22nd” Logan says scooting away from the merman, the tank, and all the mysteries they hold.

“Oh no…” The merman grabs at the scientist’s ankle like lightning, even quicker now he was out of the water. “You’re not just going to leave. You have to let me out of here.”

The vampire merman, after displaying a surprising number of emotions, now shows the most surprising one of all: fear. Terror is etched into every line of his skin, bone, and body. From the way his muscles were taunt as he held Logan from escaping. To his pale face, violet eyes frantic and darting, looking for an exit. His angled jaw set, fangs poking out of his lips menacingly.

Logan pulls his leg hard trying to get away, but the creature's grasp is tight. “Let me go, I cannot release you from here.” He reasons confidently.

Specimen V, eyes still looking for a way back to the ocean himself, finally settles on the man he is holding distrust in his eyes. “How do I know you will?”

“You don’t.”

Chapter 3

Virgil lets go of the human. There wasn’t much more he could do. His captor was probably telling the truth, as there was nothing within reach that looked like the ocean to him. The human scrambles up and runs down a curve and out of sight. And Virgil waits, skin feeling tight as the too clean saltwater dries on his skin. He rubs the gills on his neck in a self-conscious movement. He could dip back in the tank with the water that was all wrong, relieve his gills, give his tiny lungs a break. But being out of the tank gave him a better view of the goings on of the human. The human who had been gone for an exceedingly long time….

“Hey! Don’t you dare do anything funny!” Virgil calls, his voice echoing unpleasantly off the metal walls making him wince from the reverb.

Nothing calls back. In fact, is suspiciously silent. Virgil pulls himself forward, tail dragging on the grates under him. “Are you there?” he calls again, voice high and tight in suppressed panic.

Then footfalls, fast and heavy are coming up the ramp that hugs the tank. The man comes into view, this time he is armed with a spear as long as Virgil.

“No! No please!” Virgil yells holding his arms up to protect himself.

“Get back in the tank!” The human yells at him.

“Please! Please just let me go!” Virgil cowers now, the human getting closer. He had never seen spears up close, but the victims of such weapons left little to the imagination.

“Back in the tank! Did you really think I am going to let such a unique specimen go?” The scientist laughs hauntingly. “In addition, you speak. You and I are going to have a number of conversations.” With a free hand he holds up an impromptu muzzle made from a bungie cord and some extremely large fishing hooks. “One way or another.”

The cruelty of humans is well known from before his tail turned dark, his skin pale and his eyes glowed. But never did he hear of the cold calculation of a man of science. Of an ambition and ivory towers. No, if Virgil had heard about that he would have starved himself at the bottom of the tank, with its too clean saltwater and too smooth floor.

And there he heads now, splashing sideways, spear poking at his side, just this side of cutting into his skin. He looks at the man bearing the spear defiantly. “Someday you will get too close again. And I will not hold back.”

The vampire mermaid and the human scientist stare each other down, each one a monster in the other’s eyes.

Chapter 4

Months pass.

And Virgil is fed. Not always on purpose, and sometimes on accident, but he no longer starves.

Months pass.

And Logan learns more. Not always on purpose, and sometimes on accident, but he knows more now than he ever has.

Months pass

And each of the monsters grow softer to the other.

Logan is kinder and gentler now to the merman he has learned the name of. Logan learns he doesn’t like it too bright, too warm, or too loud. The biologist learns that the merman in his care knows all about the prey he hunts, doesn’t know anything of his kind. That after being left for dead by the one who had bitten him, he had not interacted with merpeople since. He had no mate, nor friends.

Virgil is softer and sweeter now to the biologist he has learned the name of. Virgil learns he hates to repeat himself, dislikes not being listened to, and craves praise. The merman learns that the biologist who harbors him knows all about the creatures of the sea, but knows nothing about his own race. He didn’t know how to interact with them, how to find a mate, and how to make friends.

As they pity each other for what they don’t have, each develops a want. One that they each try and squash.

When Logan feels the want, he refuses to meet Virgil’s eyes.

When Virgil feels the want, he can’t stop looking at Logan.

Months pass.

And the want grows.

Logan is reading to Virgil. Virgil is on the outside of the tank, laying on a makeshift sofa made from an inflatable raft. Logan is on a stool, hunched forward, nearing the end of the tale. Virgil is enraptured by Logans voice, the story, everything, his eyes drilling into the hunched figure in front of him. As Logan concludes the book, he closes it and looks up at Virgil, meeting his eyes.

“Did you enjoy that one?”

“Yes….and I liked you reading it.”

This catches Logan off guard. “Only because you’ll get the pages wet.”

“I like your voice Lo.” Virgil says his own stormy and rocky tones that send shivers up Logans spine.

“Your sample size isn’t that large.”

“I still like it. Its soothing.”

“It’s monotone.”

“Same difference.”

Logan smirks setting down the book. Virgil perks up. “What are you doing now?”

“Not leaving. Don’t worry. Its Friday night, so I have no plans.”

“Lo?” Virgil’s voice is soft, like the foamy part of the waves.

Logan looks toward the merman, and notices his chest is a darker purple again. That happens sometimes. But Virgil assured him it was not bad. But it was still curious. “Yes Virgil?”

“You can plan to stay here. Then you would have plans.”

“Well reasoned. That does make me feel better. Plans created and executed. I am now fulfilled.” Logan says deadpan.

The merman laughs, fangs catching the light.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Logan asks undoing his tie already.

The purple on Virgil’s chest gets darker, eyes not leaving Logan’s face. “I mean…. we could find someone else…”

“It’s the weekend. It isn’t good when you go three days. If you drink today, we will get you someone else on Monday.”

Virgil’s stare intensifies. “Alright.”

Logan comes closer, and sits next to Virgil, shivering next to the colder merman. Virgil reaches for Logans head and pulls it down into his lap gently. The merman cradles Logan’s head, his neck exposed and waiting. Logan breathes steady under him. Virgil bites, fangs going deep into the pulse of the human’s veins. Logan hisses until the toxin makes its way into the wound, numbing the area. Logan’s eyes flutter closed, the toxin and the blood loss a potent combination. Virgil drinks deeply, brine and blood in this mouth and on his tongue. He finishes with a press of his lips on the open wounds, and they knit close, new skin tender and shiny.

Logan opens his eyes, and he sits up unsteadily. His face close to Virgil’s, he can feel the sharp breath on his cheek. His eyes drop to the dark purple chest of the vampire merman. Virgil’s chest was always dark purple when he drinks from Logan, but never when he drinks from someone else. When Logan smuggles him someone homeless, drunk, or drugged it’s a ghostly pale white of his normal coloring.

Virgil tips Logan’s chin up, their eyes meeting. “My eyes are up here sailor.” He whispers playfully.

Logan swallows, eyes stopping at the lips of the merman, one of his fangs caught on the outside of his bottom lip. “Virgil?”

“Yeah?” As he speaks, the fang is tucked back to where it belongs.

Eyes still on his lips Logan surges up and kisses the vampire merman. Virgil, surprised, is knocked back, into the inflatable raft, his tail squeaking against the rubber. The biologist, embarrassed, scrambles back.

“Oh no you don’t…” Virgil grabs the human by the ankle and pulls him into the raft. “I have been wanting to do that for months!”

Logan laughs crawling into the raft, “Why didn’t you?”

“I was already drinking…it seemed a lot more to ask…but now…” Virgil brings Logan into a Vampire kiss, fangs pressing into Logan’s lips. “Now…I’m not holding back.”

#sanders side fic #sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #vampire #mermaid #vampire mermaid #so crazy it just might work #fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #quewritesalot

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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NAME. Armando Salavieja Roa AGE & BIRTH DATE. 447 & November 4th, 1574 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Genderfluid & He/They SPECIES. Cubi OCCUPATION. Artist & Bartender at Ambrosia FACE CLAIM. Pedro Pascal

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: violence, gore, suicide, the sex ) Colonial Chile, 1617

The stench of gunpowder and gore clogged the air, as thick and suffocating as the mud the conquistador’s knees sunk into. Through the tears and the muck caked into his lashes, Armando stared into the blurry heap of red, swimming matter he struggled to cradle in his arms. Seconds ago it was the most beautiful composition of human features the heavens had designed, lips that relished the taste of sweet figs and Armando’s name; treacherous dark eyes that softened when they landed on his companion, unscathed and victorious, only seconds ago. Seconds. Now it was all running together, slipping through Armando’s pleading grip to join the muck of the battlefield. He retched until his ears were ringing and his lungs burned, his body sapped from this heady business of war and grief.

He was left with a musket, a single snuff of powder and bullet, and a war-battered horse that was more fit for meat than a mount. Altogether it was a great show of generosity, considering the depravity of his sin. It was impossible to know how long he stayed there, slumped in the gore, until he was wrought of emotion.

Months ago, watching women and children succumb to cutlass and rifle and rotting fever, Armando had come to the conclusion that their God had not crossed to these uncharted lands with them. Even if he had, he knew there would be no negotiating for his tainted soul. So, with the long barrel pressed precariously beneath his chin, he shut his eyes and pleaded to any deity that would listen.

“Perdoname,” Armando spit through clenched teeth, “Que mi mayor pecado fue amar.” With a final, shuddering breath, he pulled the trigger.

Only... there was no crack of white-hot pain or blinding light, no smell of burnt gunpowder on the air. The woodlands went still. Blood drummed like a battalion in his skull. A sudden chill tore down his spine, alerting Armando that was no longer alone. He’d prayed, and someone… something had listened. It was bristling and primal, something much more ancient than the God he knew. Before he could speak, it had wrapped him in a warm, spiced plume of smoke, much how a mother swaddled her child. She sealed his wounds between the veils of time, his taker-in of wayward things, and offered respite from his sorrow.

Armando, with nothing but his immortal soul left to lose, signed it away.

The deed fulfilled, the indiscernible shadow was gone in a litter of silken white feathers, the smoke dissipating behind. The woodland life resumed its chatter. The grief was gone, now replaced by an equally-encompassing numbness and… and hunger. He was ravenous, though no food would satiate him, only pleasures of living, giving flesh.

The newbred incubus found relief within a small encampment of Spanish settlers, and wrapped them tightly in his coils. In a week, he’d wasted the camp of its souls, each of them enraptured by him until their dying breath, which Armando was delighted to find always tasted the sweetest. The high of consuming a human life was unlike anything he’d felt before, but the euphoria plummeted fast and hard, leaving pangs and more lustful hunger in its wake. He was a new creature entirely, propelled through the world by lust and yearning and instinct, and the unbending anguish he’d felt not even a week prior was now a lifetime away.

Until, when he’d had his fill, his dead lover appeared at the husk of a homestead he’d created. Armando’s heart would’ve stopped, had it been beating. It was as if the shape had separated from the fog itself, a mirage cast of perfectly-cast light and shadow. There was no mistaking him though, albeit his strong features were gaunt and sapped of color. An expansive, purplish scar flayed like lightning across his face, tangled high into the roots of his hair.

“Estabas muerto,” Armando stammered and reached to trace a finger along the frayed skin. “Te abracé, te enterré. Como estas vivo?”

He flinched when a cold hand caught his wrist before it could reach his blackened lips. “No estoy vivo ni muerto,” The shadow replied.

‘Pastor’ was the closest word he could find for it, a shepherd of sorts, called to herd the souls of the settlers onward before Armando beat him to it. He was an unbound soul, a taker-in of wayward things, without a sturdy enough vessel to withstand Armando’s newfound hunger. Even a single night would be enough for the cubi to consume the reaper’s flickering soul entirely.

And so, the star-crossed lovers were bound, never to consummate their eternal binding of spirit. The decades began to run together, Armando’s eternal pining drowned in hedonism of every shape and flavor. Pirate ports, private palaces, military outposts - anywhere there was a lascivious craving, he could be found entertaining it, leaving only sourness and death behind. His lover visited intermittently through the channel of dreams, though this illusion of intimacy could never be enough to satiate them fully. In time, the rift grew wider between them.

Decades stretched into centuries, and each turn of the clock came with a new vice to entertain. The incubus took up painting portraiture along the way, an art he found to be incredibly intimate in its nature, with the bonus of allowing for the disarmament of willing models through his prominence and charm. With his hunger qualmed, his victims’ living image was forever captured in oil-cast splendor. Armando found it all quite poetic and generous of himself to provide such a flattering life beyond life. A recurring motif throughout his art was a scar-ridden face with striking features, one that would be the quizzical discussion of many European parlor rooms into the early 19th century.

When painting portraiture fell out of fashion, he took up the camera. Armando found photography to be a flattened bastardization of the world, wholly devoid of life. His portraiture, by contrast, restored life through tactful illusion, while the photograph only staled it. Still, the medium allowed for new cliente, each earnest visitor leaving a bit less whole by the end. Armando’s series gained him renowned acclaim, particularly a series following several subjects over what appeared to be decades of hard living. Few knew the truth of his subjects’ cause for wasting away, but the artist fled San Francisco before anyone could wise up to it.

With the Americas still spent and breathing hard, Greece beckoned, and Armando, a creature driven by basest impulse and desire, followed.

PERSONALITY

+ self-assured, vivacious, perceptive - arrogant, compulsive, self-indulgent

PLAYED BY THEO. PST. She/They.

#nonbinary #taken #cubi #pedro pascal #armando salavieja roa

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punkcupcakestyles · 4 years

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Sober Up

May we never go to hell - Part 1

Quick note: this is a second part to Sober Up, a story I wrote as a part of the PYPChallenge put together by the fantastic @for-fucks-sake-h @oh-honey-styles and @andwhenshesays. Here’s the Masterlist! If you have a chance please go and read, cause there are a lot of fantastic stories and give them all much needed love!

tw: drug use mention.

You were a fucking pest, he knew that much.

Why would you think it was a good idea to hang out with Steve, who was fucking wanker on his best days?

Why did he keep looking for you in a room full of people?

Fuck you, he had better stuff to do, like going back to icy cold beer, which always made him wince, and to the pretty brunette by his side. She smelled nice and smiled sweetly at him as if she actually liked him. She never rolled her big, brown eyes to him or sneered at him.

Granted, some of those he had earned, but still, she was a lot nicer than you.

But she didn’t kiss like you, with that mix of hunger and wonder that made him daydream about your lips. Her touch didn’t raise goosebumps on his skin and her laugh didn’t bubble up from the depths of her tummy, making him feel like a funny guy. He craved you, fucking hell.

But you were a pest, he kept reminding himself. He would rather go with annoyance than to admit there was a pang of pain in his chest.

If only he could stop looking at you. If only his stomach didn’t drop to his feet when he saw the way you smiled at Steve as he dropped a small plastic bag on your open palm.

“Fuck her,” Harry cursed under his breath as he took another swig of his drink. Why would he have to worry? “Fuck.”

“Is there something wrong?” The pretty girl batted her eyelashes as she tried not to sound too eager. There’s something with men and eagerness that doesn’t mix well, or so her friends kept telling her.

“I need to go to the loo,” Harry told her, smiling softly as she turned just a bit pink around her cheeks. She was fucking adorable, he had to admit that.

“Oh,” she muttered as she looked at him getting up. It would’ve been nice if he had kissed her, she thought. Maybe she would kiss him when he came back.

The initial thought was nice: to let you do whatever the fuck you wanted to do. It was what you always did, anyway. So, he would go to the loo and he would go back to his girl to get the hell out of there. He would tell her that the throbbing lights were giving him a headache.

But his feet had different plans and he found himself walking toward you even without a command. If something bad happened to you, he’d have to kill Steve anyway, and God knew he would do poorly in jail, so this was just him taking care of himself.

You almost screeched guiltily when you turned around and found Harry standing behind you, with his hands stuffed into his pockets and his lips curled into an amused smile. You stared at him for a bit, at the way the lights of the club played tricks on his creamy skin and noticed how your tummy bubbled warmly as if you were just one step away from home. You hadn’t felt like that since that morning.

“Styles,” you heard Steve’s voice ringing in the air, as you suddenly realized he hadn’t just disappeared into thin air. No, the world was still there, it was just lending all of its light to Harry. “I’ll wait for you outside.” Steve’s hands made you shiver as they pressed to your shoulders and you tore your eyes away from Harry so he wouldn’t see you as your brain shed to a million pieces. What were you thinking anyway?

“Thank you, mate, but I have plans,” Harry smirked. “Raincheck?”

“Fuck off, Styles. I meant her.”

“Oh, well, now I’m disappointed,” Harry smiled brightly as Steve rolled his eyes on his way out. Harry’s attention slowly turned back to you, and you felt flush covering your cheeks as he narrowed his green eyes.

“You really need to pay more attention to girls,” you quipped, out of habit, and just to give yourself something to do. “They keep getting away from you.”

“What’s on your hand?” He asked, breathing deeply as he decided to ignore you. He knew what you were doing, he knew you, after all.

“Fingers and nails,” you shrugged.

“Show me,” Harry said seriously, and even when you couldn’t see his face, you knew he meant it.

“Why? Do you miss them?” You smirked, tilting your head as you looked at him mockingly. You had looked down at your cards, and this was the hand that you had decided to play: the flirty one. If Harry were to admit that he indeed missed you, it wouldn’t have been too bad of an outcome.

“I get by just fine without them,” he said to your disappointment, as his hand reached for yours and he brought it up to see the little bag with the tiny pink pill on it. It was so small, it had to be harmless, right? “Wow, babe, I think you’re being a bit ambitious,” Harry mused as he took it and put it in his back pocket. “Wanna fuck Steve while high?” The words sound almost sinful while coming out of his lips, a new cadence you didn’t know they could have. You followed the way his lips moved and felt the air getting trapped on your lungs as he walked a step closer. The tips of your fingers felt almost electric and you wondered what would happen if you were to touch him right then. Would he shiver? Would he burn?

“I don’t wanna fuck Steve while sober,” you muttered.

“Then we should start a little smaller,” Harry offered and you rolled your bottom lip into your teeth and bit lightly on it.

“I thought you were gonna tell me off,” you whispered, narrowing your eyes at the unexpected turn of events.

“A little party never killed nobody.”

But not with Steve, fuck him.

***

You wouldn’t have imagined that your night was gonna end up with you and Harry hiding away in your room, as you both lay on your bed. You had dreamed about it, but never really thought it would happen after...that day.

You had been lied to about getting high, there were no fireworks, no heightened feelings that made you think like you were flying. You just felt tired.

“Steve!!” You yelled, suddenly remembering the boy you had abandoned at the club. Steve was a funny word to say: Ssssssteeeeevffff. “We left him!”

“Did you want to bring him here?”

“Not really...maybe he’ll find your girl and they’ll get together.”

“I think she deserves better.”

He was already looking at you when you hastily turned to him. You had spent the last 3 weeks trying to remember every bit you hated about Harry, but it was difficult to do so when he was staring at you and his soft lips curled into a sweet smile.

“Does she deserve you?”

“Probably, I’m a fucking catch.”

Your eyes closed slowly in agreement and you felt the bed dip as Harry rolled to his side, and a waft of his breath fanned over your skin. You opened up your eyes to peer up at him and the first thing you noticed was his pink-colored lips, so close to you you wouldn’t have to make that much effort to kiss him.

“I don’t feel anything,” you finally said. “I think it was expired.”

“Are you sure?” It was more a warning than a question, cause his hands were already traveling down your dress and his fingers were lighting little fires on your skin as he trailed them teasingly up your spine. Your lips parted as if to protest, but the only thing you managed to do was to inhale sharply as he smiled at you.

Your eyes fell closed once again, enjoying the shivers that came with his touch, and you let your tongue roll across your bottom lip. You couldn’t figure out if the fire that was already burning in your tummy was coming from the high, or was just a natural result of Harry’s touch. You were inclined to think it was the latter.

The next thing you felt was his lips, as they found the crook of your neck and nibbled softly on the delicate skin. His breath was warm and it made the little hairs on the nape of your neck stand at attention, as your fingers curled on the cotton fabric of his white shirt.

Harry was slow and careful and the tips of his fingers felt like little electric balls as they trailed up your waist and brushed up your ribs to meet the fabric of your bra. His tongue licked a stripe on your neck and his nose pushed up to your jaw as he made his way to your lips.

The second it took him to push himself off the bed and spread his legs on each side of your body to hover over you was too long and leaned forward, as the air filled with striking bolts and bubbles of energy about to burst. His usually green eyes were now multicolor shining grey and blue and golden and even purple as he looked at you and he bent down to kiss you, slowly and lavishly, exploring the taste of your lips as if he wanted it itched to his brain to remember on a rainy day.

As your fingers went to his neck to hold on to him, his own went back to exploring whatever was under your dress. Every little touch felt brand new and comfortably familiar at the same time and your legs trembled as he broke the kiss and looked at you.

Harry’s breath was heavy, tightening on his chest as your hands made their way down his torso and toyed with the button of his jeans. It was a decisive moment. If you did what every inch of your body was screaming you to do, there was no turning around.

“Sit up,” Harry commanded with a hoarse voice that sent shivers down your tummy, to add to the already pressing fire that had built between your legs. It never occurred to you to ask what he wanted, cause truth be told, you would do whatever it was. Your eyes followed him as he went to sit against the grey and plush headboard of your bed with his legs wide open. “C’mere,” he smiled, patting the space between his legs.

Under normal circumstances, you would have never crawled to him. But these weren’t normal circumstances, they never were when it came to him. So, you made your way to Harry, getting on your knees with your hands primly settled on your lap and your lips slightly parted, just in case he wanted to keep kissing you.

His fingertips burned on your skin as he curled them around the fabric of your dress and pulled it slowly over your waist. You felt yourself flush as you raised your arms for him and the dress fell onto the floor in a mess. You didn’t even need his touch at that very moment, cause the way he looked at you did things to you.

You settled down between his legs, with your back pressed to his chest and his arms around your waist, lingering over your tummy as he dipped his head down to kiss on your neck again. You closed your eyes, reveling on the way his hand brushed over your skin until it pushed down the fabric of your bra and he could close his fingers around the swell of your breast, while his other hand traveled down your stomach until it pushed past the fabric of your undies.

You quickly pushed your panties down your legs and took your bra off, feeling yourself glow in pride as he offered you a satisfied smile. His hands didn’t miss a beat, and soon, he was pinching your nipple between his fingers, just as he brushed over your slit teasingly, until he allowed his heart finger to slide between your folds and rub lightly on your clit.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he said and his words rose goosebumps on your skin, maybe because he was kissing on your neck and the warm breath from his mouth felt velvety and rich over your skin.

You were dripping, actually, and you looked at him as waves of pleasure jolted up your body and he made sure he took over every one of your senses, with his kisses and his touch, and the tortured moans that elicited out of his throat whenever you moved too close.

“Fuck me,” you begged as a new shiver ran up your legs and settled in your lower tummy. “Please.”

His smile was mischievous when he looked at you and his hot breath fanned over your skin as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, just as two of his fingers slid between your folds, pumping slowly into you so you could feel each one of its ridges.

“Like this?” His words felt heavy against your skin, dragged up with the same intense feeling that was quivering in your tummy, tightening like a little ball of pleasure and fire.

You could already tell, the high that came from this was gonna be all-consuming, demanding, and overwhelming. Cause you could feel him on every inch of your body, the echo of his kisses reaching down to your curling toes and the fire from his touch making you rock your hips against his hand so you wouldn’t miss a second of it.

“Fuck, please, Harry, I wanna cum around your cock,” you begged one more time, as you slid out of his arms so you could lie down on a pillow and he leaned forward to trap your nipple with his pink lips. He nibbled and licked on it, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud until a cold shiver ran down your spine and you grunted in sheer pleasure.

You were so close, so fucking close, that the fact that he couldn’t budge and fuck you raw was only a minor inconvenience. Your eyes scrunched closed and your nails dug into the sheets until they were just a tight-fisted ball in your hands.

“Fuuuuck,” you laughed, letting your heels press to the mattress to anchor you to a reality that was slipping away in kaleidoscopic blues and purples.

Usually, after the high came the kisses, a bad habit, no doubt, that you had picked up along the way. The kisses and the insincere digs, that was a fun habit. So there was no one to blame when you expected just that: for Harry to settle in your bed for an hour or two before he absolutely had to leave.

Your eyes widened as he got up as you calmed yourself down, and he combed his long fingers through his hair before he looked at you with somewhat guilty eyes. At this, you sat up and covered yourself, as you looked out of the window so you wouldn’t have to see him leave.

A kiss would’ve been nice.

***

There are sacred things in this life, like Sundays and brunches, and Rose lacked respect for all of them.

You were supposed to be having a dubious mimosa and a plate of ridiculously expensive eggs, dressed to the nines, while still managing to look like you didn’t put much effort into your outfit and wearing natural makeup that no one would’ve guessed you had spent an hour on. Instead, you were wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a white top that would rile up your tummy every time you raised your arms, with a drumming headache from the night before. You should’ve gone with Steve.

“Hi,” Rose smiled widely as she sat next to you and you looked at her with narrowed eyes, silently accusing her of the fact that you were out of bed.

“What?” You snarled in response.

“Your mission is to trap Harry.” Her smile had turned devilishly and now that she had caught your interest, you offered her a devious smile on your own as you nodded with satisfaction. “His legs are too long, can’t have him going around.”

The game was both simple and stupid and fun and violent. It was some sort of rugby, only once you trapped someone, you would have to stay put, while the other person tried to free themselves so they could continue playing. The last one standing won the game for the whole team, and the losing team would have to buy the other one lunch or pay for the drinks at the next party. At first, you would always play on gendered teams, but after a while, you decided to spice it up and form mixed teams. Harry was always on the opposite teams of yours.

It was a good way to keep your ass active, you would give her that.

Rose was on a mission of her own: She had broken up with her boyfriend, the leader of the other team, and she wanted to kick his ass and make him buy her lunch. She would choose someplace expensive, of course, and ask for dessert. Chocolate lava would be very nice, add double ice cream and a second serving, it’d be perfect.

There was a new skip on your step when you stood across from Harry and you tilted your face as you looked at him offering him a sweet smile that he didn’t buy for a second.

This time, he was wearing a pair of black running shorts paired with a white ratty shirt and a black snapback that made his curls look messy and trapped mercilessly. He looked gorgeous, and your blood boiled when you remembered how he had left you alone the night before.

“You do know you’re going to be bald when you grow older, right,” you told him in a low voice, so no one else would hear your exchange.

“Then I’ll think of the times you begged me to fuck you,” Harry replied in the same tone, as his lips curled into a smirk. His eyes were just as tired as yours and you could bet he had barely slept the night before. Had he continued to party after he left your room?

“Oh please, I’ve never begged anyone for anything in my life.”

“Really? Where have I heard you say “Harry, please, I need to cum, lemme cum, please.” Or “fuck my pussy harder, baby,” then? I think I’ve heard it somewhere.” He was enjoying it, the fucker, leaning forward so only you could hear him.

“Your ass is mine, Styles.”

“I would say it’s the other way around, love,” he smiled sweetly, just as Rose rang an alarm on her cell to let you know the game had started.

This time you had to rescue a caramel teddy bear right from the center of the field and take it to your designated goalposts, marked with bright pink hula hoops.

Harry would never hurt you, so you had that to your advantage, or so you thought. He was swift and careful as he picked you up, and you yelled in surprise, looping your arms around his shoulders as he carried you to the ground. Actually carried you, with his arms around your waist to soften the blow when he laid you on the soft part of the grass and he softly took your hands in his, to pin them above your head to make you behave. Not one of your hairs got out of place as a result.

Your eyes widened as Harry untangled himself from you and straddled you as he pinned you down. Your fingers fell on his thighs, and you looked at him as you tried to catch back your breath. Traitor heart, why was it soaring in your chest?

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, truly worried that he might’ve been too rough.

“Of course you did! You just threw me down to the floor!!!”

“I did not throw you,” Harry rolled his eyes. “But you play dirty, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Huffs and puffs were all that you managed to do, wriggling under him to release yourself from his hold. Death stared down at you as Harry dragged his eyes down to you, pupils slowly turning darker. “Stop moving,” he growled. It took you a second to understand, but as soon as you did you laughed, shimmying your hips to spite him. “I’m sensitive, stop it!”

“You could’ve fucked me last night, don’t try to make me feel sorry for you. Lemme go and I’ll stop.”

“Styles, hold her!!!” you heard Ed’s scream, just as Harry turned to glare at his friends. He had you, what the fuck did Ed want?

Harry’s first mistake was to let one of your hands go, so he could shield his eyes from the inclement sun. His second mistake: He should have never pinned you down.

“Harry, baby?” you called for him, with a sweet smile spreading on your lips as you rolled your body with purpose until Harry thumped down on the ground and you quickly climbed over him. He huffed a sorrowful sigh and you were pretty sure he hated you for a second, you could tell by the way his eyes darkened. They were so pretty yesterday, with all of the twirling colors dancing in them.

His lips were way too close to you and you could feel his warm breath against your skin. You could kiss him, there wasn’t much he could do about that, but you didn’t, looking into his eyes instead as you both held your breath.

Just as he had done to you, you pinned his hands with yours, leaning over him so you could reach above his head. Your hips were pressed to his, and he bumped you up like a rag doll when he jerked his knees. You rolled your hips, smirking when Harry sucked in a deep breath, trying to control himself. But there was no much use to it, cause you could already feel his outline pressing to your center, hard and thick, just as you remembered him.

“Harry!!” you hissed.

“Stop moving your fucking hips...please.” The heat that came from your body, the familiar aroma of your perfume, the warm puffs of your breath fanning on your skin, it was all a bit too much for Harry. He grunted when you rolled your hips again, your devilish smile telling him you enjoyed how much power he had surrendered. “Do you miss me that much, babe?”

“You’re one to talk,” you snorted. “You got hard as soon as I touched you.”

Harry could easily free himself, you both knew that. You weren’t a delicate flower, by any means, but he was a lot stronger than you. And he didn’t even try, lying still as you tortured him. Every breath, every tiny movement, added to the fire that was fogging his brain. Soon, he was gonna run out of blood, cause every drop of it was rushing to his hips. You witnessed as his eyes went from a bright shade of green to dark emerald. Harry whimpered, barely loud enough for you to hear, and you stopped moving altogether, letting his hands go as he heaved a breath.

“Wanna know why I left?” He finally asked. “You were high. I didn’t want you to wake up and regret it.”

“Please,” you snorted. “You had your fingers deep in my pussy. Just say I fucked up and you don’t want me anymore.”

“Who said I don’t want you?” He asked, jerking his knees again to make you look at him. “You’re a literal pest that doesn’t leave my mind.”

“Romantic,” you bit back, not giving yourself even a second to consider what he had just said. “Next time I’d pick Steve, I’m sure he won’t leave me begging.”

“He won’t fuck you right either.”

“Don’t know about that.”

“WE WON, YOU FUCKERS!” Whatever it was that he was going to reply, was lost in the moment, cause Rose’s ring tore through the air in triumph. You almost had forgotten about the game, and you both looked to the field to watch the distant figures of your friends. Rose’s was jumping and screaming, while she rubbed the teddy bear she had just scored on Ed’s face, laughing as he looked at her with murderous eyes.

It was over, there was no need for you to continue sitting on Harry’s lap.

“I…” You started, licking your lips as you gave yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. “I need to help Rose before Ed kills her.”

You went to get up but lost your balance as Harry’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you back to him.

“You’re not going out with Steve,” he had furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips, looking at you so seriously it was almost a command, an order. There was no way you could go out with Steve cause Harry had said so.

“Let’s do something, I’ll go ahead and fuck him, and I’ll report back to you, for science,” you offered him with a smile, right as you untangled yourself and jumped up to walk to your friend.

Once again, a kiss would’ve been nice.

***

The room was dark, but that didn’t matter, cause you had it mapped out in your brain. You had snuck so many times to it, it couldn’t be any other way.

“Harry?” You whispered, wondering if you weren’t acting like the dumb white girl in every single horror movie, entering a dark room without switching the lights on first. So you did that, hurriedly and half scared.

The lights blinded you for a second and you had to blink the little white dots away. When you recovered, you saw a wad of sheets on the bed and you walked to it to see Harry under it. His nose was stuffed and red and his lips were parted as he breathed heavily.

“Ed’s looking for you,” you said as you crouched in front of him and you couldn’t avoid but to brush your fingers over his forehead to feel his burning skin under your tips. “Jesus, you’re burning up.” You jumped to your feet to inspect the boxes of pills on his nightstand. A wet cloth and a spray bottle filled with water were lying there and you took it, brushing it over his forehead to help a little.

“I don’t feel so good,” he whined, in a rich accent that made him sound like a posh, British toddler. He was covered up to his shoulders, but still, he shivered. “Stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. Scoot.”

You weren’t missing much, anyway. Only the freshly baked brownies you had made, extra-gooey and chocolatey, to share while you watched one of your favorite movies. You were going to eat pizza, which was your reward for a very difficult week of clean-eating. Not much, anyway.

Harry moved over almost sorrowfully, and his head lay on your lap as soon as you sat down next to him, your fingers pushing through his hair to massage his scalp. He bubbled some words out but you couldn’t understand them, and soon, he was asleep again.

You played with his hair a little bit more, until Harry was sound asleep and he snored slightly, scaring himself awake. He was so cute, your heart fluttered in its place.

“Bad dream?” You asked him.

“A bit. Stay the night? You can go early, so no one sees you?”

“Do I have to go early?”

“No, please stay.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #1dff #hs #writing #sober up #this might be late #but I wrote a part 2 #tell me what you think #please!

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will-o-wisps-writing · 2 years

Text

In the Eye of The Beholder

TWs: whatever can go wrong will go wrong. Please read at your own risk.

As we are formed by his hands, he shall be the one to decide our fate.

This is a simple fact that we, as the people of this world have to acknowledge. They claimed if we remain pure at heart and mind, our souls won't disintegrate in sin and contempt. They promised us wealth, warmth and that those painful hunger pangs would fade into the past…

For a while, it did seem that the world was at peace at last, and yet there was no sense of satisfaction. The Land favoured by the gods, it was called, its fairytail-like landscape was uprooted from far within its golden heart, its people slaughtered and hung up as ghastly decor. But they did it in the name of god, they say. How funny.

Bile and lies, lies and so many more lies have spilt from their self-proclaimed divine lips and yet we are the ones that suffer the consequences.

Or better yet we will soon face them.

And yet all those little insignificant bugs still cling to their faith, it doesn't matter what their status of birth was. It did not matter whether they were fed with a silver spoon or a rusty piece of metaöl. No single soul dared to question their might, blinded by empathy prophesies and promises. It makes me question how they don't realise on their own that no matter how beautiful a light might be it will always cast the vilest of shadows, ready to devour them whole.

And yet one can't help but be intrigued by their willingness to continue on their ignorant ramblings. The darkness lurking in their heart, the truth so clearly displayed in front of their own eyes, all of it is covered by a veil, waiting to be lifted. Its secrets crave chaos and yet it remains untouched perhaps favourable in the face of recent events.

They are at their wit’s end, despair and fear plaguing their minds, they are rendered useless in the face of missing civilians and a rise in cultlike activities. They know that long ago when a similar crisis threw the world into chaos and terror they managed to overcome it, but I fear that the current population might not be up for that task.

Sure, only time can tell, but we all know that fate is a fickle thing so why shouldn't they do what they know best?

Kneel and pray for a miracle that might never happen.

They need a saviour, but is there even anything left to save…

And you, my dear. Who shall you be when the curtain fails and your story comes to an end? Will you triumph in the face of hardships? Do you hope to blossom under the rules and expectations laid before you or will you wither and crumble? From afar, I will watch and wait for your remains to be carried away, just like the ones before you did and we all know history loves to repeat itself, no?

…On the spot you could think about a thousand different ways on how you wished your last year of elementary school to end. But then again most people wouldn't expect that a simple trip to the museum would casually teleport them into some strange fairytale world.

Adorned with strange markings and a perhaps unfamiliar visage you can partake in the journey of rediscovery. What joy. But be warned people here don't like outsiders so maybe learn how to blend in.

But of course, every child needs to receive an education and one wouldn't object to walking the halls of the prestigious halls of St. Vinett. Surely not and ////// and don't let me forget about //////.

Should any answers be left I am sure you will come to understand them soon enough.

Let us write your first chapter together - who knows who you might become. And now hurry up! The gods are anticipating your arrival with batted breath. You better not keep them waiting.

Start your adventure as a small version of yourself thrown into a world you only dared to imagine in your wildest dreams.

So what can you expect?

Customize your MCs gender, appearance and pronouns

Figure out what you want to do with your second life if given the chance

try to survive school (literally)

Study magic, blow things up, fight... you know the good stuff

Learn about the history of this world and its gods

Can your choices save lives or will history repeat itself again and again?

Will you be able to reach the Happy Ending?

Several Endings and story development, depending on your choices.

Don't forget to watch your steps, you never know when your past choices will catch up with you.

Take on this journey on your own or try and join forces from a colourful cast of potential partners in crime.

Vincent/Vivienne Baheera van Aziz Pronouns: he/him or she/her Sexuality: Gay/Lesbian

your new roommate

Countless rumours surround each member of the Aviz family, and just as expected they aren't an exception to that rule. People seemingly can't keep their eyes off them for long, resulting in the weirdest gossip surrounding the resident flirt of royal blood. But with so many rumours, who can know for sure where the difference between the cold truth and the carefully crafted lies lie. Funnily enough, there is one part that everybody can agree on; don't get on their bad side. A silver tongue, with the needed wits to back it up, connections that reach beyond all the borders and the ability to easily wrap people around their little finger make truly terrifying abilities if they fall into the wrong hands, no? And outside of school? At court they are known for their skills in diplomacy and numerous arts alike, making them an ideal marriage candidate… Hence, why their father is quite pleased that the incoming letters of potential suitors rarely ever stops, but is that even what they truly want? They seem to be a player, is it simply a facade to fill the void which their [Redacted] left behind?

Who will you be to them? Their muse, the one that guards the key to their heart or do you want to tear them to shreds and dealt them the final blow. The choice is yours more or less.

Appearance: They have golden brown skin with patches of vitiligo. Eyes the colour of emerald and slightly curled rose-coloured hair that goes past the mid of their back. They are rather small for their age.

( slightly older than the MC)

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Noelia/Noah Pronouns: She/her or he/him Sexuality: Panromantic

a person you should avoid

Skin as pale as snow and blue piercing gaze that makes everyone freeze in their way. But who are they beneath the layer of frost? They aren't the most outspoken person to wander the halls of St. Vinette, unsurprisingly there isn't that much known about them. Their fellow students would describe their personality as something along the lines of brooding, perceptive, and serious. It is also no real secret that this kid considers other people that can't live up to their expectations to be beneath them. Adding to that the way they carry themself seems more like a trained warrior than a simple middle schooler...funnily enough this doesn't stop the longing gazes that some cast on their local ice beauty, is it the dangers that attract them, do they wish to be the one to break the ice wall surrounding their heart....what fools.

Do they really have your best interests at heart? I doubt it.

Appearance: dark blue eyes perfectly complemented by pale skin and marine blue coloured hair. Pretty tall for their age, something they take pride in. But their height and a face seemingly void of emotion manage to make half of the students run away in fear. (Age: should be two years older than the MC.)

Character Intros - I'm rewriting them Extras in the work

Demo TBA

Health Post

#twine wip #twine #if #fantasy #interactive fiction

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