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mindmelter · 3 months ago

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Offspring

I am standing on the side of the bed as I watch my neighbor's youngest son, Devon, wake up his equally hot dad by sticking his tongue inside his mouth. Mr. Bennett struggles and shakes his body as his alien-possessed son infects him with the alien parasite.

Mr. Bennett is fit, but he doesn't have a chance against his much more muscular youngest son. Seeing my hot neighbor's son helping me turn his dad into an alien host is getting me so hard! I pull down Mr. Bennett's shorts so I can finally see his bulge from closer. His bulge is as big as I was expecting, and the fact he is wearing white underwear makes it a lot hotter, the urge to sniff that man's bulge grows stronger at each passing second that I stare at it.

While I hear the slurping noises coming from their passionate "kiss" I bury my face in Daddy Bennett's bulge and take a deep sniff while I hear the wet sounds of the parasite forcing its way down his throat.

With my face still buried in his cock and balls, I look up and catch a glimpse of the parasite sliding from Devon to his dad's mouth; The snake-like parasite is quite long and very thick, so thick that Mr. Bennett's throat bloats with the intrusion. I bury my face even deeper in his massive bulge, licking it over the fabric. I can't wait to have them both as my alien-possessed sex slaves, I think to myself.

Devon finally detaches his mouth from his dad and I watch the parasite's tail wriggle and disappear inside Mr. Bennett. I can't hold it any longer and pull down his underwear. I look in awe at how beautiful Mr. Bennett's cock and balls are; his balls are huge and heavy, and even while soft, his cock is big and thick, but he won't be soft for much longer. I took his big cock into my mouth and started to feel the member grow to its full length. Devon just continues standing on the side with the same slack and empty face he has since he was taken over, totally unbothered by the fact I'm blowing his dad.

With my mouth full of Mr. Bennett's cock, I have a great view of his stomach, and I witness something amazing happen; his belly starts to bloat, and I can see what is obviously the parasite wriggling inside him, doing something to him. I put my hand on top of his stomach and felt the alien moving inside.

I had seen the same thing happen with Devon when I put the parasite in his agape mouth while he was sleeping on the couch downstairs. But after a few minutes, his belly went back to normal, and he stood up with a blank facial expression; he didn't say anything and just stood up and took the stairs toward his dad's bedroom. I followed right behind him.

Now that the parasite has left Devon, he is left motionless like a robot without battery. I see Mr. Bennett's stomach slowly going back to normal and he finally wakes up, sitting on the bed while I am still latching on his cock. I feel his hand on the back of my hair, and he gently pulls me away; he has the same empty look on his face that Devon has. And without saying a word, Mr. Bennett gets off the bed and kneels in front of Devon, pulls down his shorts, and takes his son's cock into his mouth.

The sight is nothing but breathtaking. After a few seconds of blowing Devon, he stands up, now both of them sporting a hard-on. Mr. Bennett stands close to his son, close enough for their cocks to be aiming at one another. Leaving only a few inches apart from each cock head. Then what happens next is something I will never forget. A small black parasite—a lot thinner and smaller than the one I helped inside Devon—crawls out of Mr. Bennett's piss slit and makes its way inside Devon's cock.

Both of their eyes roll back and they shook while still standing, the parasite connecting them both by their cocks. When the tail disappears inside Devon's slit, Devon finally comes back to life; though 'life' might not be the right word since he still has the same blank expression, at least he is moving again. Devon and Mr. Bennett stare directly at each other for a few seconds, then they smile at each other—only those smiles were nothing but human.

Mr. Bennett slowly raises a hand, and Devon mimics him; then Mr. Bennett tilts his head, and Devon does the same, they continue going on like this for a while. I'm not sure what is happening; it's like they are connecting somehow. Whatever that is, it's an eerie sight, I must admit.

After playing that game for a few more minutes, they walk out of the room without saying a word, with Mr. Bennett leading the way. Their cocks swung and throbbed with each step, and I was no different.

Mr. Bennett stops in front of a room and slowly opens the door; inside is his oldest son, Matt, who is sleeping peacefully in only his underwear.

Matt is as hot as his dad and younger brother, with him being the most muscular of the three. Mr. Bennett and Devon walk toward him, but only Mr. Bennett starts jerking off over Matt's sleeping body; soon, he shoots a tiny black parasite from his cock, identical to the one he infected Devon with.

The tiny parasite crawled towards Matt's crotch and disappeared inside his grey underwear. I watch Matt suddenly squirm on the bed and grunt in discomfort; The way his muscles flexed during the takeover was making me leak.

When Matt woke up, he was already one of them. He stood up with an emotionless face and stared at his dad and brother; those two still had creepy smiles on their faces; seeing that, Matt also started smiling.

I really don't get the smiling thing, do they think that would make them look more human?

Still smiling, Mr. Bennett raised his right hand and waved at Matt. "Good morning, Matt." He says. It is the first time I hear the alien speak with his vessel, and he sounds just like you would expect: robotic and emotionless.

"God morning Dad," Matt replies, the smile never leaving their faces.

"Did you sleep well, son?" Mr. Bennet asks naturally, as if he isn't naked with his cock throbbing in front of both his sons.

"I slept wonderful, Dad."

"Good morning Matt, did you sleep well, my older brother?" Devon asks, his tone of voice no different than his dad and brother. There is a long silent pause, and then Devon asks again, "Good morning Matt, did you sleep well, my older brother?"

"Good morning younger brother. I slept wonderful," Matt responds and then they just keep smiling at each other like idiots. Everything looks and sounds so creepy and surreal, it's like watching aliens playing with human dolls about how they think human interactions are.

I decide to try something risky, so I step into their circle and the three of them look at me in sync, their blank eyes confused as they tried to study my presence.

I clear my throat and wave at them. "Hi, I'm the neighbor, I'm the one who let those parasitic aliens turn you three into brainless hosts."

"Oh, Welcome neighbor," Mr. Bennett says, waving back at me.

"Good morning Neighbor," Matt says, out of nowhere.

They didn't acknowledge anything I said; It's like they don't understand what I say and just mimic anything they find in their host's memories.

Either way, it was hot to see these three hunks acting like brainless idiots. I pull down my shorts and start jerking off in front of them; as I was expecting, each one started to mimic me. Mr. Bennett is the first to grab his cock and start to stroke, his sons, seeing their dad—leader—start mimicking him. Now, the four of us are jerking off, our strokes are so in sync that it feels like I'm stroking in front of a mirror. They mimicked even my moans, soon I started to cum, and so did they.

"This is going to be so much fun," I moan.

"This is going to be so much fun," they say.

#alien possession #male possession

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reyrapidsbutgayer · 1 year ago

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Ranking All Elden Ring Bosses by Fuckability

It was only a matter of time until I made a post like this. (And an equally horrible post featuring the DLC bosses.)

In this hypothetical all of the bosses can be reasonably communicated with and are not actively trying to kill you.

Repeat bosses not included, duo bosses counted seperate.

It should also be assumed that all of these bosses have access to their magic/items/resources to benefit them in bed.

Explanation of Grading system:

Ineligible: (Cannot give consent)

These characters are not sentient enough to communicate consent, or are physically incapable of sex.

Unfuckable: (Can give consent, but does not DESERVE sex)

Character sucks so badly that they do not deserve to experience pleasure in any shape or form.

Uninterested: (Can give consent, does not WANT sex)

These character are fully capable of sex but would never participate in sex due to lack of interest or overabundance of moral convictions.

Not worth it: (Can give consent, is terrible in bed)

I mean, you COULD have sex with these characters but why would you?

Acceptable: (Can give consent, would be fine in bed)

These characters are average in bed, nothing crazy or noticeable. Some might end up in this category because they ARE good at sex, but the entire process would be inconvenient or uncomfortable to initiate.

Good Time: (Can give consent, would be great in bed)

These characters are good at sex, give or take a few points depending on their mood or situation.

Knock your socks off: (Can give consent, would be amazing in bed)

These characters excel in giving pleasure and would be well worth the time and effort involved.

Sex God: (Can give consent, would be the best in bed)

These characters would be so good at sex that all other factors are irrelevant. They are serving and we are here for it.

Evil Sex God: (Can give consent, is a terrible person but you’d make an exception.)

These are characters that should fall lower in the rankings, but their sexual prowess supersedes their inherent awfulness to a noteworthy degree.

Full list below the read more. Obviously it's not going to be sfw.

Ineligible: (Cannot give consent)

Dragonkin Soldier:

Mindless beast

Astel, Naturalborn of the Void

Weird rock alien, doesn't/can't understand.

Fia's Champions:

Ghosts, simps.

Regal Ancestor Spirit

Animal

Erdtree Avatar

A plant

Great Wyrm Theodorix

Mindless beast.

Ulcerated Tree Spirit

A plant, no junk

Tibia Mariner:

Skeleton

Red Wolf of the Champion:

Animal.

Full-Grown Fallingstar Beast

Weird rock alien, doesn't/can't understand.

Abductor Virgin

First off, just some snakes in a robot. Second, virgin.

Erdtree Burial Watchdog

Stone gargoyle

Crystalians

Non-organic

Mad Pumpkin Heads

Unable to consent due to madness.

Cemetery Shade

Unable to consent due to mind controlling parasite.

Spirit-Caller Snail

Animal

Runebear

Animal

Miranda the Blighted Bloom

A plant

Guardian Golem

Stone gargoyle

Starscourge Radahn:

Unable to consent due to madness

Unfuckable: (Can give consent, but does not DESERVE sex)

Elden Beast:

Too catholic.

Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing:

Dick game weak - unironically posts joker memes.

Omenkiller:

Basically a cop.

Necromancer Garris:

Killed his family, not a good husband.

Royal Revenant:

Won't stop screaming (in an unsexy way)

Godrick the Grafted:

Incel - Also all that murder and torture business but mostly the Incel stuff.

Uninterested: (Can give consent, does not WANT sex)

Valiant Gargoyle:

Could probably have sex if it wanted to, but is kinda going through a lot right now. Ya know, that whole "Is made of several corpses mashed together" thing.

Malenia, Blade of Miquella:

Look, I ALSO wanted her to higher up on this list, but let's be honest here. Her body is rotting and falling apart, she just isn't up for sex in her current form. In her prime? She'd be top of the list. She's the daughter of Marika and Radagon, she'd be playing fuck/marry/kill with every warrior who crossed her path. (in that order)

Death Rite Bird:

I think it might be physically capable of sex, but is too busy burning corpses to bother with stuff like that.

Black Blade Kindred:

Same reason as the Valiant Gargoyle but you might have like 2% more of a chance because they are goth.

Maliketh, the Black Blade:

Would normally be a sex god, but is too religious. Probably took a vow about this sort of thing.

Morgott, the Omen King:

You kidding me? This guy has the same energy as a repressed youth pastor. He's gonna be a virgin till the day he dies. The dude sided with the same religious order that locked him a sewer and tried to kill him. He's not out there getting phone numbers he's too busy praying and judging others for their 'impure thoughts'.

Draconic Tree Sentinel:

Married to his job, also physically chained to his horse. He ain't taking off that armor anytime soon.

Wormface:

Too sad, leave him alone his face is full of worms.

Tree Sentinel:

Same as the Draconic Tree Sentinel but he's a tiny bit more naive so you might have a better chance.

Elder Dragon Greyoll:

Too sleepy, but still kinda a milf.

Grafted Scion:

There might be some genitals in there somewhere but I don't think they know how or even want to use them.

Not worth it: (Can give consent, is terrible in bed)

Esgar, Priest of Blood:

No sense of hygiene, is always covered in blood (in an unsexy way)

Mohg, Lord of Blood:

This loser is dripping with all the least sexy bodily fluids and he has sharp horns sticking out of him. Even if you got him in bed you'd only enjoy like 5% of it. Plus you just know he'd be all needy afterwards and try to get you to join his MLM.

Borealis the Freezing Fog:

Too cold, not a snuggler.

Elemer of the Briar:

The armor stays ON during sex.

Kindred of Rot:

It's like all the worst possible aspects of alien biology, it won't be nearly as fun as you hoped.

Sanguine Noble:

Same as all the other Mohg followers, too sticky and too smelly.

Decaying Ekzykes:

He's sick right now, leave him alone.

Acceptable: (Can give consent, would be fine in bed)

Loretta, Knight of the Haligtree:

I'm sure she'd be a decent lover. Maybe a little overzealous but she'd has good intentions.

Grave Warden Duelist:

I mean these guys are hot and probably fuck like a truck but they are not the most caring lovers, also they are covered in live snakes so there is that.

Night's Cavalry:

If you like goth knights I'm sure they'd be fine.

Alabaster Lord:

Their skin probably feels like stone, but I bet they can pull off all sorts of freaky zero-g sex stuff if you ask them.

Onyx Lord:

Same as the Alabaster Lord but slightly more goth.

Fell Twins:

Once you get past the horns and stuff I bet the Omens are actually pretty good in bed, just watch out.

Demi-Human Queens:

I feel like all Demi-humans are pretty good lovers but their biology probably has some unexpected drawbacks.

Stonedigger Troll:

If you can get past the texture and the size I bet they could be decent in bed.

Flying Dragon Greyll:

A surprisingly unsexy dragon, but a dragon is a dragon and still worth at least a one night stand.

Glintstone Dragon Smarag:

A dragon willing to kill racist magic users, earns them a few extra points.

Beastman of Farum Azula:

On one hand the Beastmen probably have crazy mating skills, but they are also zombies, which detracts some points for all the decay.

Battlemage Hugues:

Contrary to popular belief, Wizards are not very good at sex. They spend all their time studying instead of partying, at least Hugues is willing to get his hands dirty.

Commander O'Neil:

Seems like a decent guy, but probably won't shut up about his time in the military. Also he is infected with scarlet rot so that might be a mood killer.

Bloodhound Knight Darriwil:

The bloodhound knights are probably pretty wild in bed if you can earn their loyalty, but good luck with that.

Adan, Thief of Fire:

The dude committed heresy, that has to earn him some sexy points.

Soldier of Godrick:

He's a good boy, he's doing his job so throw him a bone.

Flying Dragon Agheel:

One of the first dragons you encounter, so he earns some points for style.

Demi-Human Chief:

Same as the queens, but probably a bit rougher in bed.

Good Time: (Can give consent, would be great in bed)

Lichdragon Fortissax:

A much sexier dragon, you know they were hooking up with Godwin. Only loses some points for all the death rot.

Crucible Knight Siluria:

A bit gloomy, but I bet the crucible knights can do all sorts of freaky stuff with their animal body parts.

Mimic Tear:

A slippery liquid shapeshifter, need I say more?

Commander Niall:

A way better guy than O'Niel, plus he just a bit more daddy energy.

Fire Giant:

Once you get past his size, his sadness and the giant fell god of destruction in his chest, I bet he's got something going on.

Ancient Hero of Zamor:

Gives me Hercules/Amazonian vibes, I could be into it.

Cleanrot Knight:

Lesbian activities detected.

Crucible Knight:

These guys have tails, horns, wings and big old throat sacks. Imagine the possibilities.

Glintstone Dragon Adula:

Has a sword. If you hear "Dragon holding a sword" and your pants aren't already off, we can't be friends.

Bols, Carian Knight:

He seems like a good boy.

Scaly Misbegotten:

I feel like the Misbegotten have some really interesting possibilities with their animal biology. I bet they have bonobo type societies and that could be fun.

Leonine Misbegotten:

Same as the other Misbegotten.

Misbegotten Warrior:

Same as the other Misbegotten.

Knock your socks off: (Can give consent, would be amazing in bed)

Crucible Knight Ordovis:

Has all the desirable traits of a Crucible Knight but I also imagine they are super into threesomes.

Perfumer Tricia:

She seems really nice, and would be a super attentive lover. Plus she probably has access to crazy drugs and could hook you up.

Nox Swordstress & Nox Priest:

You just know that the Nox were getting up to crazy hot and crazy unethical experiments in their underground cities. These two probably get up to some wild shit and they are inviting you to join them.

Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon:

As she is now, I bet she'd be too sad to really be in a relationship again. But she kept up with Radagon and you just know she has some tricks up her sleeves that could make you abandon the golden order.

Sex God: (Can give consent, would be the best in bed)

Dragonlord Placidusax:

Has two male heads and three female heads, imagine...

Ancient Dragon Lansseax:

Formed a whole freaky dragon/human cult and you just know they got into some eyes-wide-shut orgies behind those doors.

Godfrey, First Elden Lord (Hoarah Loux):

We all knew he'd be this high on the list. He was just a normal dude but he managed to keep pace with Queen Marika (Who is basically a goddess of fertility) for a good long while. He will fold you in half (on the battlefield and in the bedroom.)

Evil Sex God: (Can give consent, is a terrible person but you’d make an exception.)

Radagon of the Golden Order:

He sucks in all the worst ways, but I mean... You can't NOT. Both Radagon and Marika are the embodiment of evil but they managed to suck and fuck their way across an entire continent for generations. You HAVE to give a try at least once.

Godskin Duo:

Oh my god will it be awful with all those flayed human skins, but you know you are still gonna have to. They can stretch and do all sorts of freaky stuff with their bodies, plus they kill gods and nothing is sexier than heresy.

Vyke, Knight of the Roundtable:

The dude is a mad killer but... he can still probably get it, might as well give it a try.

God-Devouring Serpent / Rykard, Lord of Blasphemy:

Personally I wouldn't, he's a loser and will probably kill you. But he is also a giant snake made up of squirming hands doing all sorts of sexual experiments, I can't blame you if you want to give it a taste.

Black Knife Assassin:

They committed a whole lot of treason but the power of armored lesbians is too hard to resist.

Patches:

If you are already having sex with from software characters, you gotta give Patches at least one attempt. When you wake up he'll have robbed you, but you knew what you were getting into.

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skeltnwrites · 2 months ago

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Tides at Moonrise ☾⁺˖⋆₊

After being attacked by demobats in the Upside Down, Steve experiences some supernatural changes.

vampire!steve, bf!steve, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort / TW season 4 spoilers, vomit, arguing, drinking blood, very minor descriptions of injury and gore, mentions of death and cannibalism, spooky elements 6k

a/n - steve and dustin are such a fun pair to write i miss the iconic duo that they are

── .✦

“Fuck,” Steve croaks, swiping at the thread of spit swaying from his lips. He glowers at his reflection in the toilet bowl, muddied brown from a piece of chocolate but mostly bile. The sting of acid coats the back of his throat and sours the length of his tongue.

It’s been four days, going on five, and he hasn’t been able to keep anything down. You’ve tried toast, soup, crackers, protein shakes, and every other sick food on the list. And now in a desperate attempt, you’ve ruined his favorite candy for him too.

You press a water bottle to his bicep, “Here.”

“No.” His hands tremble where they’re braced against the porcelain rim. “I can’t.”

“Stevie. It’s just water.”

“I will. Just, not yet.” His tone is callous. He’s not mad, at least not at you. A culmination of feelings fester in his chest like a swarm of bees gearing for attack. But he won’t take this out on you. Won’t let himself.

He sinks back on his heels, decidedly finished.

You snake an arm around his middle as if to say it’s okay. You’re both exhausted from a string of sleepless nights. Finding the proper words requires a level of energy you don’t have. He prefers your touch anyway.

The half-hearted embrace lacks the comfort you hope to find. The skin of his bare back is like ice against yours. It’s a foreign sensation, though becoming less and less so each day.

Steve sags into your warmth with the entire brunt of his weight. His strength fades with each passing night, as your worry grows in equal measure.

A finger scratches the coarse gauze plastered to his tummy. It’s still snug, exactly how you fixed it. You only trouble him with changing his bandages if it’s necessary. You’re thankful that the road rash across his back has scabbed over. It’s healing fine, but it’s not pretty. Like a pair of fiery wings hung from his shoulder blades.

You coax Steve back into your shared room. He’s averse but can’t afford a fight.

It’s late morning. Bright enough to project bars of sunlight across your sheets. Steve winces at them, among a number of other things, as he crawls into bed. Even through the glass pane, the sun stings. It’s not unbearable, but an uncomfortable heat, like a sunburn.

You reinforce the makeshift curtain where it’s unfastened itself. It’s a throw blanket you really miss now that you sleep beside a human ice pack. Someone is bringing blackout curtains to cover the blinds. You think it was Mike who offered, but you aren’t really sure. Your brain is fuzzy with fear and fatigue. The last week has tangled itself in your mind like an unraveled spool of thread. The only strand of it you’re focused on is what’ll help Steve.

He seeks your hand when you join him on the mattress. There’s enough indirect light seeping in to highlight the sickly shade he’s become. Signature golden, sun-baked hues have drained from his skin like a bleached photograph. And while he hasn’t eaten or seen the sun in days, it just doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation does.

You all have your theories– how this is linked to the Upside Down or a part of Vecna’s plan. But everything circles back to that night. Steve was shredded by demobats and took a chunk out of one with his teeth in revenge. Something about their bites or swallowing their blood did something to Steve. It changed him, right down to his DNA.

Dustin’s tried to present several possibilities from a scientific standpoint. Gene mutations, parasites, cellular regeneration, infections, but there are always holes in his explanations, always things that don’t quite add up. But you’re running out of time. You feel it, Steve feels it, everyone does. He’s grasping at a fraying rope, wilting like a dying flower in your palms.

Steve calls your name like a beacon from your thoughts.

“I can hear how anxious you are,” he says when you face him.

You have to be the strong one right now. You shake your head. “I’m not. It’s okay.”

He softens like melting snow and scoots closer until he’s more on your pillow than his. “Don’t lie. Please.”

“I’m not,” you whisper, not caring that he won’t believe you.

Steve sandwiches your fingers between both of his palms; draws soothing shapes across the marbled green and purple of your knuckles. “I can hear your heartbeat, you know. It’s racing.”

Your first instinct is to call his bluff, then shove away any embarrassment and lock it up in a box deep in your brain until all of this is over. But he’s not lying. He’s a stupendously bad liar. And at this point, he could tell you he has x-ray vision and you wouldn’t be that surprised.

“I can hear the blood pumping through your veins too.”

“Is that… new?”

“No. It was just so chaotic before. I couldn’t focus on it.”

You study his eyes. They’re a shade of brown you never expected to become your favorite. Hooded and half-lidded with the weight of too many things for one person to carry. You try hard to commit them to memory because you’re afraid if they close they may never reopen.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs.

“You’re not.” You blink away the salty sting as fast as it arrives. “You don’t know that.”

“I got it out of my system. I feel fine.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not,” he lies.

“It’s bullshit.”

He snaps you a harsh look, seemingly triggered by your tone or choice of words. “Okay– well, shit, babe. What do you suppose we do?”

You sit up, ripping out of his grasp. “I dunno, Steve. Go to the hospital? The fucking government lab people? Literally anyone– we clearly don’t know–”

He scoffs, wrenching himself up with the help of the headboard. “Yeah, because the nurses will totally believe the part about the sentient vines that tried to strangle me. I mean clearly something– fucked, has happened to me. Something they aren’t going to know how to fix!”

“Then the scientists! They might know! They’d have a better clue than us.”

“And where do you suppose we find these scientists who El said were killed with Brenner?”

“I don’t know, Steve! But it’s worth looking! You’re worth getting real help for!”

The yelling is squashed by an even heavier thing that is silence. Steve isn’t sure what to say and neither are you.

This is not the first time you’ve argued since that night. There’s enough stress between the two of you to stretch to the other side of the earth and back. And more than enough fear to turn both of your heads gray. You’re irritable and angry and so desperate for a night of sleep where you aren’t tormented by your loved one’s deaths. And you feel like your best friend in the whole world is walking a tightrope straight into death’s door.

“I am okay,” he promises quietly. “I’ve been through worse. I have.”

“What like getting in fist fights? Getting drugged by Russians? This is different, Steve. Something’s wrong.” Your voice raises and then wavers before breaking completely; like the keystone pulled from an arch, everything crumbles.

Steve gathers you into his arms like you’re made of putty, scooping and pulling like you’ll slip right out of his hold. You inhale a staggered belt of air and choke on a sob into his collarbone. He seals you against his chest, not caring about the scrapes and cuts and bruises; not caring if they reopen and stain the mattress red.

He cradles you for an innominate amount of time until you slacken and your sniffles morph into congested snores. His gaze flickers across your face, tracing the bend of your brows and the seam of your lips. He hates this; having to convince you he’s okay when he’s not. He needs to be stronger, to be there for you as much as you’ve been for him. Steve won’t lose you in this pit his body’s created. He can’t.

ᯓ★

It’s evening when you wake. You can tell because the white glow framing the window has ebbed into orange. There’s a pounding at the base of your skull and a sharper pain, like two barbs behind your eyes. You remember why your eyes are puffy, why you aren’t warm in Steve’s embrace, and why someone’s knocking very loudly on the door all between one shuddery breath. You feel sad but you should be grateful. That’s the longest bout of sleep you’ve had all week.

You tug away from your sleeping boyfriend and steal his water bottle off the nightstand. The static has to be shaken from your legs before you can drag yourself to answer the door. You know it’s Dustin before you open it because he’s the only one who knocks this impatiently.

“Okay, I think I’ve figured it out,” he starts as soon as your face slides into view. “I was looking through my monster manual– and I know what you’re gonna say– this isn’t some game, Dustin,” he mocks your voice in an inarguably awful impression. You’d chastise him if you didn’t have such a killer headache.

He prattles his way into the kitchen beside you while you search for that damn bottle of painkillers. Words are spilling out of Dustin’s mouth like a burst dam. You love him like a brother, and you appreciate him even more for what he’s saying, but you aren't catching a lick of it. The medicine is right where you forgot it beside the tower of dishes in the sink– mostly yours since Steve, well, you know. You take a swig of water and pop three pills.

Dustin stops his spiel to ask, “Should you be taking that many?”

“Yes, unless you want me to bash my head into the wall.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever. As I was saying, if this really is the case, I think Steve’s a vampire!” He beams at you like this is great news; like he said something completely normal.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve huffs from the other side of the counter, a blanket strung across his back and bunched in the front like a cloak. He scrubs his nose, either squinting from being woken up or narrowing his eyes at Dustin in irritation, you aren’t sure.

“I’m serious,” Dustin defends.

“I’m going back to bed.”

“Wait, Steve! Let me explain!”

Steve entertains an explanation for one reason only. You told him to. Seven hours of sleep does nothing when you haven’t eaten for as long as he hasn’t. His stomach is twisting itself in knots and frankly, he doesn’t want to spend the last days of his life hearing about characters from Dustin’s nerdy game.

But you both sit and listen and decide his theory actually kind of makes sense this time. Steve won’t admit it and you’re trying to be skeptical– raise all the right questions and find any holes– but your heart lurches at the possibility that you finally have an answer. A cure.

Steve’s aversion to sunlight, his paling complexion, not being able to keep human food down, hearing your goddamn heartbeat– it all clicks. He’s a fucking vampire.

“And vampires need blood!” You shout with Dustin.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve glares at you. “I’m not a vampire.”

“Weirder fucking things have happened here.” Your eyebrows knit together, mind swirling with endless thoughts. “I mean, how did we not consider this? You were bit by a bat!”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because it’s crazy!”

“Steve!”

He shakes his head in disbelief. You love him so much you’re desperate for anything, even illogical answers. He refuses to play along.

“Will you just try it? See if it works first?” Dustin asks.

“Do you realize what you’re asking me? To drink someone’s blood? Are you out of your mind? Where would we even–”

Dustin cuts him off, shrugging, “I know a place.”

“You know a place?”

“Yeah. I know a place. Don’t question me.”

Steve stares, eyebrows raised.

“It’s pig’s blood, from a farm.”

“Christ, Henderson. I’m not drinking pig’s blood. You psycho.”

“Steve, don’t be like this,” you plead. “How can you know if you don’t try? Maybe you’ll like it?”

“‘Don’t be like this?’ Are you you kidding? I’m not doing it– that’s gross!”

“Okay, okay. What about a steak? Like a really bloody one? Will you compromise?”

Steve makes a funny face. “Fine.”

ᯓ★

“This is not the way to the grocery store,” Steve realizes out loud, heaving himself up in the backseat of his beamer.

It’s overcast and nearly sunset but he’s dressed in long sleeves and brought his blanket-cloak for extra protection. Steve always loved the sun– pool days, barbecues, beach vacations, all of it. Now he can’t enjoy the heat of it from his bedroom without hurting. It’s like a punch to the gut, realizing you may never see his sun-kissed hair or trace his moles by his parent’s pool again.

“Ding. Ding. Ding,” Dustin goads from the passenger seat beside you.

“You guys are assholes. Especially you, Henderson.”

“Wasn’t my idea.”

Steve meets your gaze in the rearview mirror. He supplies his signature Steve pout. But only the tiniest slice of your brain is worried about that. You’re fixated on how bloodshot his eyes are. How deep they sag, even after sleeping as much as he has. You can deal with Steve being mad at you; what you can’t deal with is Steve being dead.

You think he’s starting to come to terms with the plan because he doesn’t argue further. But he really just doesn’t have it in him to bicker. He thinks it’s a stupid idea. He’ll probably throw up, either at the smell or mind game of drinking it or whatever the hell’s wrong with his body. And pigs have all sorts of diseases, don’t they? It very well could make him more sick than he already is.

When you arrive, Steve’s cheek is smushed against the car door. He’s been dozing in reluctant fits for most of the drive.

The farm is fucking creepy, to say the least. It’s not dark yet, but the clouds are drawing shut over the last bit of light. And the long, gravelly path up to the house is freaking you out. This is the kind of place where people in movies get murdered.

“You’re sure this is the right place?” You ask Dustin, shifting the car into park.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

You crane over your seat. Steve’s curled in on himself like an earthworm. The long drive was just a catalyst to knock him out.

He’s been wired at night. You’ve spent hours up with him and the moon, trying any and everything that comes to mind– reading, movies, baths– none of it’s worked so far. But he’s exhausted during the day no matter how much he sleeps. At least the nocturnal-ness makes sense now.

“We can’t leave him in here,” you say.

“Why not?”

“What if he wakes up? Sees he’s in the middle of fucking nowhere by himself? He’ll think we left him.”

“What if he makes a scene in front of the farmer? He’s not exactly on board with this plan.”

You sigh, defeated. You can’t send Dustin alone. If he gets slaughtered, you don’t think you’ll be able to live with yourself. Plus Dustin already called this guy to arrange this and explained the pig’s blood was for a project for film school. Dustin doesn’t exactly look old enough to pass as a college kid so that parts up to you.

“Okay, come on.” You open and click the door shut as gingerly as the car allows.

Dustin isn’t spooked but he is cautious. He scans the pines beyond the house, the truck parked under the sycamore tree, and the underside of the porch. No murderers, yet.

You knock and put on your best film school student face.

A long-bearded man in his seventies at least, cautiously eyes you through the crack of the doorway. “Can I help ya?”

“Hi, we’re here to buy pig’s blood. For a school project,” you say.

“Oh,” he grumbles, setting aside a shotgun before unlatching the slide bolt. “Forgot you was comin’.”

The man ushers you inside. The foyer looks normal enough– framed family photos and wooden side tables and a floral rug. There’s no blood stains or screams or machetes lying around. That’s a good thing. But you can’t shake the uneasy feeling. It follows you through the house like a ghost.

“I sell it by the gallon. Five dollars for one. How many ya need?”

“Uhh. Two?” You glance at Dustin for reassurance.

He frowns and shrugs.

“Alrighty. Let me grab ‘em from the basement.”

The basement? Those are keywords in a scary movie. He probably keeps his victims in the basement. Or worse, his weapons.

“This place is creepy as shit,” Dustin leans over and whisper-yells as soon as the guy’s out of earshot. “We need to get this blood and get the hell out of here!”

You swallow hard and think of Steve alone in the car. He’s not being brutally murdered right now. He’s not running for his life through the cornfield. He’s not–

“Here ya are, kids.” He lugs two dark red jugs onto the kitchen table.

A thought crosses your mind that it’s human blood. How would you know? Are you about to force your boyfriend into cannibalism?

You fumble with your wallet, willing your hands not to shake as you pass him a ten.

“Now where’d ya say you go to school?”

“Bloomington.”

“Purdue.”

You blink stupidly at the man, scrounging your throat for excuses and pulling them up painfully by each word. “He’s going to Purdue– Well, he wants to. When he gets in he’ll go there! I go to Bloomington.” You purse your lips and nod excessively, like that’ll really top off the story's believability.

“Right,” Dustin chuckles nervously.

He cocks an eyebrow, “Well, okay then. Hope yer film goes well.”

“Thanks!”

You yank a gallon off the table and Dustin snatches the other.

Night has officially settled in, and the wooden porch steps creak loudly beneath your weight. For a moment before Dustin reminds you, you forget you left the keys in the car and convince yourself the old man has taken them and you’ve just become the star of the latest blockbuster.

Steve startles awake when Dustin slams his door. He lurches into the back of your seat as you floor it in reverse.

“What! What happened?” He shouts. “Guys, what the hell?”

Dustin releases a dramatic sigh, slumps into his seat, and lays the back of his hand over his forehead. “We almost died, Steve.”

“What!”

Your hands are slick against the steering wheel. You’re still half expecting the farmer to materialize in the middle of the road with an axe.

Steve bends over the center console and shakes your shoulder. “What happened?”

He pulls you back into reality. He’s good at that. Except for before when Dustin convinced you that this was a good idea in the first place.

You describe what happened in a poor attempt at good storytelling and Steve quickly determines that you and Dustin are just a pair of ‘paranoid idiots’.

He perks up on the way back, offering to drive and booting Dustin to the backseat when you agree. Dustin gets dropped off at his house on the way to yours, leaving you, Steve, and two gallons of pig’s blood in your kitchen.

“Should I heat it up, or like, mix it with something?” You ask.

“It was your crazy idea, honey.”

“It was Dustin’s. And I’m asking how you’d like it. You’re the one drinking it.”

“I’d like you to throw it out.”

“Steve.”

“Mhmm?”

“I can put it in a shot glass?”

A wide smile divides his lips; the kind that makes your tummy flip. You ache for it as soon as it fades.

“I hate you,” is said with such affection it can’t mean anything but the opposite.

“I love you too. Seriously, though. How do you want it?”

He takes it raw. Too afraid that combining it with real food will upset his stomach regardless and too afraid heating it up will trick his brain into thinking it’s human blood. You take a small glass from the cabinet and fill it halfway. Enough for a few big sips but not enough to set any absurd expectations either.

Steve gags when you pass him the cup. You can’t blame him. It smells the farthest thing from appetizing. There’s a musky, metallic quality to it, like a box of screws that have been sitting in a garage for ages.

“I can’t do this,” he decides.

“Come on, Stevie. It might help.”

“No. You’re insane. Do you smell that? It’s rancid.”

“It’s not rancid. You tore that bat's throat apart with your teeth. You’re telling me you didn’t taste its blood? At all?”

Steve clicks his tongue. “I don’t remember! It was a heat of the moment thing– not supposed to be my dinner!”

“I can count you down?”

“No, no. Just,” he lines his nose over the cup for another whiff and scrunches his face in disgust. “Give me a minute.”

A minute turns to three which turns to ten. But you can be patient.

“I can try it first,” you offer.

“Absolutely not.”

You don’t insist. You weren't exactly keen on offering in the first place; the smell really is strong.

Without warning, he launches the cup up to his lips and takes several hefty gulps like he’s chugging a beer. And Steve’s determined, he empties it in one attempt, peeling the glass away and leaving a crimson mustache behind. A fist shoots up to stifle a burp and scrub his mouth after.

After dating for so long, you can read Steve like a book; sometimes, you think you know him better than yourself. But this is the first time in a long time, you truly cannot decipher his expression. His lips twitch into a weird satisfied almost-frown and his lashes flutter like hummingbird wings.

“What? How was it?”

“It was… it…” He shakes his head, “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah, I don’t–” He snags the jug off the counter to pour another glass.

You gawk, open-mouthed and floundering as much as a fish on the shore. “You like it?” You manage to ask.

He takes another few sips, smacking on the aftertaste and analyzing. “I mean it’s… I really hated it at first. And it doesn’t taste good still. But, I don’t know, it’s like filling, I guess.”

“That’s good, right? You don’t feel nauseous?”

“No.” He grins, relief washing over his features. “What the fuck.”

“Dude, you’re a fucking vampire.”

“Does that mean I’m like, immortal and shit.” Steve blinks at his hands like they might grow an extra set of fingers.

You aren’t ready to process that possibility and instead, turn to open the fridge. “Do we have garlic?” You ask. Glasses clink as you card through the side door, retrieving the jar of minced garlic. You pop the lid and shove it under Steve’s nostrils.

He wrenches away at the sudden potency of it. But it’s not repulsive. It’s the same scent he remembers.“Maybe I’d have to eat it?”

“Or it might be a myth?”

“I hope it is. I really like garlic bread.” He licks his lips, fishing for leftovers. “Is it bad if I have another glass?”

Steve drinks half a gallon of pig’s blood like it’s orange juice. And weirdly, it doesn’t gross you out one bit. You’re just grateful to see him smile. To see him digest something and not immediately chuck it up.

After four glasses, he belches accidentally and tumultuously with a groan. A strong hand grips your waist for support, the other propped against the countertop behind him.

“You okay? Are you gonna be sick?”

He shakes his head, pinching his eyes closed.

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?”

“Dizzy,” he mumbles, searching for you in the sliver of vision still there. It’s like somebody’s strapped anchors to his eyelids.

Heat flashes the inside of your body like lightning. Your first thought is poison. Some kind of poison. The farmer poisoned him? No. Drinking that much blood would poison anybody, right? Should you call poison control? Force Steve to throw up? Several trains of thought overlap and intersect into one inescapable explosion of anxiety.

“Here, come here. Come sit.” You encourage Steve’s full weight into your side, underestimating how heavy he is. You stagger sideways, catching yourself on the stovetop with your free hand. On the way to the living room, he rams a shin into the coffee table and nearly takes you both out when you fail to warn him to step over a shoe. He’s easier to manage when he’s shitfaced, you think. Maybe this is like being drunk for him on some level. Blood drunk.

But you make it to the couch; collapse into the cushions with the full force of two adults and pretend it doesn’t hurt when Steve headbutts your chin. Your limbs get organized for optimal comfort– Steve’s legs slung across your lap and his face tucked against your collarbone.

He’s deadweight against you. Awake but just barely. And only fending off sleep for your sake; he can feel how scared you are.

“‘s like a sugar rush,” he says, slow as a drop of honey. “‘m so tired.”

“You feel tired? That’s all? Not sick?” You press a cheek into his crown, combing the untamed mop of bedhead starting at the roots.

There’s an attempt to shake his head but all you feel is a twitch. He hums no and sighs, “Feels good.”

His breath is freezing. You can’t help but shiver. Your fingers rake through his hair. One trails down to linger over his pulse point. It’s steady, not abnormally slow. At least if he is dying, he’ll die content.

Steve isn’t the only person you love. You love the kids like they’re your siblings and some of their parents like they’re your own. But your love for Steve is uniquely distinct. You love him in a way you aren’t sure you could love anyone else. And you can’t lose that. You can’t lose Steve.

He tilts his face up and he unsticks his eyelashes like they’ve been brushed with glue. “Relax.”

You nod, too afraid to rely on your voice. A fingernail scratches the crusted stripe of blood cutting his chin in half. He looks peaceful, for once. “Sleep,” you whisper.

That’s about the easiest thing anyone’s asked him to do all week. He feels as light and full as a balloon, trusting you to tether him to earth if he floats—your arms are a string of safety. He feels okay for the first time since that night. More than okay, even.

Steve staples you against the couch but he’s more of a weighted blanket than a barrier. You have no intention of leaving his side anyway. You’d swear you aren’t tired but you fall asleep anyway.

ᯓ★

It’s warm, uncharacteristically warm. You’re pinned on your side in a tight-knit cocoon of blankets. And you feel great, for once– no headache, no nightmares, nothing of the sort. It’s tempting to go right back to sleep but you begrudgingly open your eyes because this can’t be right. It’s not. You’re alone. Even in the dark, that’s obvious. Steve’s a restless sleeper and more often than not is holding some part of your body for comfort. What’s weirder, you’re in bed. You definitely didn’t fall asleep in bed.

It’s too hot. You miss the unfamiliar cold of Steve’s skin. Where is he?

You shove the layers off your body and sit up, blinking harshly, and swallowing harsher to chase the dryness away. Your feet are flimsy under your weight so you grip the bedpost for balance. You feel brittle as a pie crust, like you’ve been baking under that duvet for years.

For a brief moment, you consider that you actually have woken up from a nightmare. Which parts are real and which parts aren’t, well, that’s hard to distinguish. But that still doesn’t explain Steve’s absence.

You fumble around on the carpet beneath the bed for Steve’s bat. Stack one hand on top of the other, choke it at the base, and always point away– exactly how Steve showed you. You try not to fixate on the blood-rusted nails, but the image of a mangled demobat sticks to the forefront of your memory like a tattoo. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the squeal it made when you struck it.

It’s eerily silent in the hall and just as black as your bedroom. Steve’s not on the couch where you hoped to find him but his keys hang from their rightful home by the door. He wouldn’t leave on foot, right?

You slink into the kitchen and when it also comes up empty, you panic. You check inside a cabinet and then another, but he couldn’t fit inside if he tried. You realize the sink has been emptied and the countertops cleared. But why make the effort to clean it just to leave? Some kind of twisted goodbye favor?

Something frigid skims the bare back of your arm and your heart stops. You lurch forward a few feet before barrelling around, bat outstretched between you and… Steve.

He’s in a fresh pair of pajamas and his hair is slicked back behind his ears. His complexion is dewy, glowing with the moonlight spilling in from the window. He looks alert.

“What the hell! Where the fuck were you?”

Wide eyes comb over you. A warmness has returned to them, a sweetness too. And suddenly you don’t really care about where he was when he tells you, “I was just in the bathroom.”

“With the light off?” You bark, still upset and climbing your way down the defensive fence you put up. Outbursts aren’t limited to just him, you have your reasons, and he knows that. But you know you need to reel yourself in before this turns into something it shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Did I wake you? I just– hey.”

The bat clinks against the tile where you drop it. You lunge into Steve, interlacing your arms across his shoulders in a fierce hug.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” He spreads each palm across opposite ends of your back.

“I thought– I thought you left or– or you died, or something.” You gasp wetly into his sternum, clinging to him like he might blow away if you breathe too hard.

“I didn’t leave. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

He shushes and soothes you for a long period before you lean back for a better look at him. “You’re okay?” You blubber.

“Yeah, I feel way better,” he promises. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I scared you.” The pad of his thumb strokes a loop from the end of your brow to the bridge of your nose and back.

“I almost took your head off with that bat.”

He chuckles but it lacks any real amusement; he can’t find a joke through all his concerns. A set of kisses are sewn from your hairline to your chin. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry?”

“It’s like four AM,” you wipe your nose with the flat of your hand.

“So? You’ve been busy taking care of my ass. When was the last time you ate?”

You make a noncommittal noise. You really can’t remember.

“Exactly. Let me make you something. What do you want?”

You let Steve cook for you. He’s happy to return the favor, take care of you for a change. And you’re just happy he’s happy.

All vigor appears to be restored. He stands tall, moves swiftly, and works sprightly, maybe even more so than before. It feels too good to be true. Perhaps you’re dreaming now.

He doesn’t notice he’s cooking with the lights off until you mention it. And he swears they don’t bother him like the sun does when you question him, just another newfound ability that he can see in the dark. But he flicks the light on for you and you find his face is a shade that is much more Steve. Not as golden as before, but not as lifeless, either.

When you get situated at the dining room table under dim lights with a plate full of steaming food, you thank him.

“Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you, dummy.”

You shake your head. Gratitude is not needed. “I missed you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Silly apologies aren’t needed either. “Don’t be, please. Nothing you could do.”

“No, I should’ve listened to you, from the start. I hate to admit it, but you and Dustin were right.”

A touch of a smirk finds your lips. He’s so stubborn, you love it as much as you hate it. “We need to call him. Tell him it worked.”

“Inflate his ego some more?”

“Exactly,” you crack into a grin and he watches fondly, despite your mouth full of food. “But seriously, he cares about you, Steve.”

“No, I know. I know. I’ll call him.”

There’s a dip in the conversation. You observe each other like you might never have the chance again. A mutual understanding eclipses any prior tension. You’re both alive and you’re both endlessly grateful.

“We should visit Max. The others too. I’d like to see them.”

You nod, an attempt to self-soothe more than a confirmation of his request. Tears prick your waterline like sand spurs and spill in quicksilver lines down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Steve scoots his chair against yours, shovels you into his lap, and begs you to tell him what’s wrong in one fluid motion.

“I’m just so glad you're okay, Stevie. That’s all.”

“I’m okay,” he assures and he repeats it again and again until you believe it.

His fingers are icicles where they sweep the length of your arm. It’s a stark reminder of what’s changed.

The love of your life, Steve Harrington, is a vampire. The idea is peculiar, sticks out in your thoughts like caution tape. But it presents some sense of consolation too.

Steve’s a vampire. He moves like a mouse and can see in the dark and hears your heartbeat from across the room. Admittedly, you hate that last part a little bit. It’s fucking bizarre and something that’ll take time to get used to; even more for Steve than for you. Most importantly, he’s still sweet on you. Still selfless enough to nurse your wounds before his. Still loving enough to kiss your tears as they fall.

This new phase is just that– a new phase. It brings things to learn and even more things to love about Steve. It’ll take a lot worse to tear you apart.

#vampire steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #skeltnwrites

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monstersandmaw · 3 months ago

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My love letter to Scar and Lex from AVP

aka 'why AVP is definitely a love story XD'

(I was talking to someone about this yesterday who is definitely not a monsterfucker, and they were not convinced by my take on AVP at all XD. I think this is definitely a monsterfucker spin on the movie)

her expression when she's peeking through the wall and watching him go through his scarring ritual is curious, not fearful

he's obviously curious about her too, and doesn't attack, letting her say her piece before deciding what to do about her

she's the one who calls him friend first :) (admittedly, it's in an 'enemy of my enemy' context, but hey)

he could kill her here, but hesitates a long time:

He's clearly torn about letting her come with him, but when he sees her looking at him like this, he can't help but want to assist her:

He does not have time to waste hacking a xenomorph to bits, let alone giving Lex Xeno Biology: 101, but he does it all the same, and he even makes a little joke to lighten the situation

He cobbles together some gear to keep her safe:

His plucky human goes first into the danger ahead, but he's there, guarding her back. Plus, he's taller so he can see ahead too:

He lets her take care of her friend and doesn't butcher him to get at the parasite/hatchling/chestburster. Instead he waits for her to leave, then catches the thing and destroys it (so as not to upset her further?):

Even in the heart of the hatchery, where time is 100% of the essence, he pauses yet again to explain the self-destruct feature on his vambrace to her: (10/10 for communication, Scar)

Yautja can run way faster than humans, but he stays half a pace behind her for the entire escape sequence:

Tell me this isn't the face of a man in wonder at the person before him:

And Lex isn't exactly... unaffected... oof

Then he waits for her to nod her consent, and does a really tidy job of marking her as a Blooded, and his concentration is to the max!! (his little purr after he's finished is so cute too). The he bows in respect to her. She may be human, but she's his equal as a warrior.

After Lex has saved his life and injured (and seriously pissed off) the Alien Queen, and while she's tearing the place to bits to get at Lex, Scar does the most Extra™ spin attack to draw her attention away from Lex, lodging his combistick right through her face. Bad. Ass!

Then while Lex gets away, he roars and flares his mandibles in a challenge at the Queen, which gives Lex the opportunity she needs to pick up the chain, and the two of them haul on it together and work seamlessly. They clearly understand each other without the need for words, or ego. This is very much a Team Effort:

He protecc:

Bonus Alien vs Predator shot :)

This heartbreaking scene, where he feels like he's trying to tell her something (in the novel, he apparently says 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' in her voice...)

Lex seems genuinely grief-stricken when he dies:

I wonder how long she stayed there like that before the Ancient's ship showed up?

Lex' final expression:

In short, this definitely is an inter-species love story and you can pry that theory from my cold, dead little claws :).

Also why did he have to die??? T.T

#lex x scar #avp #alien vs predator #avp is good actually #avp spoilers #alien vs predator spoilers #i guess #for a film from 2004 #holyshit that film is 20 years old #i feel so old #yautja

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seventeenpins · 5 months ago

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the stranger the better

pairing: Dieter Bravo x Reader word count: 5.6k summary: Dieter gets tentacles. That's the fic. content/warnings: uhhhh this one has a whole lot: importantly--TENTACLES!, lots of viscous body fluids, slight dubcon due to tentacles with a mind of their own??, buckets of cum, piv, tiv 👀, dieter is a switch, sex parasite, anal, masturbation, body horror, idk they're freaks and it's great, reader has a vulva but gendered language is not used a/n: this is basically just a crackfic that i've taken far too seriously. Also, shoutout to Ozzie @ozarkthedog for listening to all my dumbass thoughts and helping me finally get this finished!! ☺️😚

Dieter doesn't know exactly how the idea came to him, but he knows the important bits. It was, he reasoned, a sign- nay, a prophecy. He wishes he could replicate the exact cocktail of stimulants and psychedelics that allowed him to see this glimpse into greatness, because the results were eye opening.

Somehow, the universe injected into him an understanding of That Which He Sought.

He sketched it, painted it, utilized every descriptor he could think of, and sat down his PA, Todd, using every medium he had adequate command of to illustrate as clear a picture for his employee as was possible.

He was very thorough.

Todd, who Dieter often found unsettling due to the degree to which he was able to stay entirely un-rattled by anything, raised an eyebrow.

(Dieter didn't want to ruin the moment, but this was a fucking win.)

The PA's first response was "Excuse me, you want me to find you something that definitely doesn't exist because you had a drug-induced hallucination about it?"

On day five of Dieter waxing poetic, Todd needed it to end. He was already well adept at navigating the dark web--this was not the first time Dieter had had him track down something weird--but he had absolutely no doubt that Dieter was about to get scammed for a whole lot of money.

No skin off my nose, he reasoned, and negotiated the definitely-not-legit sale anyway. Whatever Dieter wants, Dieter gets. Hopefully, he'll be willing to accept the truth when no magical prophecy thing materializes at his door.

It's over a month later, when Todd feels confident nothing would turn up, and just as Dieter begins to accept this crushing defeat, that a strange, perfect cube of a parcel arrives.

It was a sleek box that felt somewhere between aluminum and heavy cardstock, with a heavier, equally sleek box inside. Something about it seemed almost extraterrestrial.

Todd placed it on the least cluttered corner of Dieter's immensely cluttered coffee table and made a prompt exit. If this thing was somehow the thing Dieter was after, he didn't want to be present for even a minute of the aftermath.

Hours later, when Dieter discovers the parcel, his heart begins to pound. With shaking hands, he unwraps it.

It's a bitch to open, almost akin to one of those puzzle boxes, but even more confounding. There are no visible seams. No obvious opening. He's halfway ready to take a hammer to it when, all of a sudden, it unfolds itself in elegant, silvery, petal-like plates.

Inside is a glass-like cube. Glass-like, but definitely not glass--it didn't have enough weight to it. Not plastic, either. The density wasn't quite right. Inside the cube is a strange, pulsating something.

It's the thing from his dream.

The pulsing thing is a little revolting, but mostly intriguing. (Todd would argue the reverse.) Shape wise, it's grub-like, maybe a handspan long, with its body made up of many near-identical segments. Both ends of it taper to a rounded bulb, and both ends are absolutely dripping with some sort of viscous fluid. No flared base, Dieter notes, and then decides it’s a nonissue.

As well as being, well, somewhat disgusting, it's also quite beautiful. It's iridescent, reminding him of some kind of shimmery beetle. It looks soft, and with every strange pulse, the sheen catches the light and throws rainbows in all the crevices of its little body.

Dieter immediately pops the weirdest boner.

For a man who's impulse control is about as ingrained as his commitment to abstinence, he's incredibly proud that he manages to wait until after this Friday's particularly tedious production meeting wraps up before getting started.

He has this weekend off, and gives everyone on his team the weekend off too. When the last person steps out the door, he locks up and promptly gets naked.

If his prophecy is anything to go off of, he expects this to get messy.

The shower pressure is perfect, and the temperature is just right. Slowly, tenderly, he works himself open. Sometimes he does this even when he doesn’t intend to put anything in his ass, sometimes it’s just for the sensation. This time, though, he absolutely does.

He isn’t sure if he should run the -thing- under the tap first, cause it’s dripping so profusely he’s worried he’ll shoot it across the entire length of the bathroom like an errant bar of soap. In case the lubricating properties are necessary to the efficacy of the process, however, he holds it gently but firmly with one hand as he lifts it out of its, fuckin, transparent aluminum box, holding his other hand beneath it.

It’s slippery, that’s for certain. And when he presses it against the rim of his asshole, he experiences a very new feeling.

It wriggles. As if the nose? Tail? Indeterminate-and-hopefully-not-sentient-end of the thing seems to respond with enthusiasm the second it’s within sniffing distance of his favorite hole. He feels it pulse in his hand, gushing more of the fluid. For a moment, he’s certain the thing is going to evade his grasp and slip away but instead, as if burrowing, it slides itself up, up and away.

Dieter suddenly feels very full.

If he’s honest, this isn’t quite how he expected it to go. He thought he’d be more involved, for one. For another, he didn’t realize it would scurry so quickly into his butt. He thought he’d be able to hold onto it a little. Fuck himself with it.

Gently, he presses a finger into himself to see if he can feel where it’s gone. Nothing. He switches from his pointer to his middle finger, slightly longer than the former, and presses even deeper, spreading his cheeks with his fist, sinking in as far as he possibly can.

He doesn’t feel it.

This may be precipitating a (not unfamiliar) ER trip, but he’s not ready to give up yet. Besides, this thing seemed at least a little organic. The likelihood of it perforating his bowel seemed pretty safely nonexistent, so maybe this one can be something of a wait-and-see.

Besides, maybe this is just the process! Little in life was actually straightforward, and his vision was pretty nebulous.

Maybe, to move it along, he needed to start by busting a nut. So he takes his cock in hand and starts pumping, feeling the hot spray of the shower on his back, working out all the kinks.

He’s hard, yes, and it does feel good. But after fifteen minutes of stroking himself, he realizes he isn’t experiencing pleasure, nothing that’s building or arousing, which is in itself a new experience. He can always feel pleasure. It’s the goddamn thing that’s gotten him into trouble more times than he can count.

Now, however, the shower’s started to run cold, his dick’s rubbed raw, and he’s no closer to an orgasm than he is to becoming an elected official. He’s been beaten by his own meat.

It’s absolute bullshit, but as he feels himself start to panic he manages to tamp it down a little. Nothing good will come from spiraling. Instead, he luxuriates in covering his entire body in a particularly wonderful-smelling body oil (for combination pampering and sore skin smoothing) and smokes a fat, fat joint.

This was Tomorrow Dieter’s problem.

He gives himself a couple more half-hearted tugs, just in case the oil makes a difference. It doesn’t, and it kind of burns, but he can at least go to sleep knowing he did the best he could.

Tomorrow’s a fresh start.

He slips into bed, takes a moment to appreciate the fabric against his bare skin. With a sigh, he drifts off to sleep.

Hot midday sunlight blasts through the gaps between the blinds. He should really get some of those non-gappy blinds installed. Or drapes. Nothing beats a good drape.

As he wakes up, something feels… off. He tries to sit up, but there’s something of a mass at his abdomen. He tries to brush it away–probably some detritus he’d left in his bed and forgotten about. Instead, though, the mass doesn’t budge. Instead, he’s suddenly overwhelmed by an intense, blinding pleasure. It hits him and takes over everything, and by the time he comes back down a whole minute later, he’s certain he must’ve just creamed his pants.

He pulls back the covers to check.

Instead of the view he expects; his fat, hard cock, thighs, and tummy coated with cum–he finds a writhing, twisting heap of squirming tentacles.

He must still be dreaming.

Dieter slams his eyelids together. Presses the palms of his hands against his sockets till his vision goes brown and black spotty. Opens them again.

The tentacles are still there.

Not knowing what else to do, he reaches out and touches one of them, gingerly. The same blinding pleasure hits him again. It’s only a gentle touch but already he knows that this isn’t just some wayfaring… squid that’s decided to make a home on his belly.

Nope.

This is definitely a part of him now.

He tries tensing and untensing his core muscles. One tentacle slaps out and hits the bed. Another two tangle themselves together. A fourth smacks against one of his nipples and, with a viscid sucker, pulls a desperate whine from him. Though some of the tips seem to always be emerging from him, he’s able to unfurl even more at will. He’d only noticed seven tentacles at first, then tensed, and a second row exploded from him while the outer layer smacked against the bed like a radial motif made of party horns. He thinks there might be even more. A third layer? A fourth?

When he’s able to relax a little and re-focus his attention, shaking, the inner layer sucks back in and he notices that the outer limbs have the same rainbow iridescence as the thing. Of course. Of course!

It takes time, more than an hour to start separating the new sensations from one another. To divide the writhing limbs and control them each individually. When he finally manages to high-five each of his outer tentacles, one-by-one, he’s certain he has at least enough control to avoid causing injury.

By this point, his cock is aching. He wraps two of the lowest tentacles around his length. The tentacles are thick, but his dick is too. They’re quite cold in a way that’s actually delicious. It feels like the cousin of the sensation he experiences when he slips ice cubes in his ass, only way, way more intense.

Just like that thing, too, the tentacles are dripping with the same viscous slick.

He works himself up. It's so intense, soo much stimulation, he half-expects to cum in a fraction of the usual time.

Instead, he finds himself hours later on the verge of tears, not a single orgasm in sight.

His body simply will not allow him to cum.

It’s miserable, and clearly a horrible, horrible mistake. Will he be like this for the rest of his life, rife with tentacles and unable to clutch at his own pleasure? His dick is sore, having tugged at himself with every limb available. He has sucker marks on his nipples and throat. One tentacle is still squirming around inside his tight little hole and still he can’t reach his peak.

He needs a fucking break.

And maybe some food.

He checks the time. It’s later than he thought, nearly dinnertime. He’s spent his entire day on this.

He starts to formulate a new plan. Order food. Eat. Hydrate. Maybe he’ll scroll through his phone for booty calls and see if he can pinpoint one single person who might not get him sent away to Area 51. Maybe it makes a difference with another person?

He barely thinks as he fills up his virtual bag and places an order. Leaves a massive tip because he’s getting into hangry territory and needs his food now.

He shoots Todd a quick ‘I have tentacles now’ text, and closes his eyes.

It’s been a long day. A bit slow, which makes you itchy, but it hasn’t been too bad.

You’re about to call it a night. Grab yourself a bite to eat, and curl up at home.

Then your phone vibrates in your hand.

A delivery order pings on your phone and the tip is substantial. It’s incredibly close to you, too. You accept immediately, not wanting anyone else to get to it first. The tip alone can keep you afloat till after rent is due.

You rush, heading to the restaurant and, miracle of miracles, it’s a quiet night. The restaurant’s already working on the order and it’s only a matter of minutes before it’s ready to go.

Twenty minutes from accepting the order, you’re walking up the footpath through a well-manicured succulent garden. The house is ostentatious. An enormous lazy river wraps around the home, and you have to cross over a bridge to get to the fucking door . When you get closer, though, you notice surprisingly beautiful carvings, spandrels, and various other decorative details that make it more than just a generic multi-million dollar cookie cutter home. It’s weird, but it has personality to it.

You get to the door and check the order details. It’s not a no-contact delivery. Instead, the message reads:

very sleepy. need food. 1) knock, if no answer 2) ring doorbell, if no answer 3) bring me food and wake me up and i’ll double the tip for your trouble the door code is 6969

Frankly, it seems a great way to get lured in by a wealthy eccentric and hunted for sport, or recruited to join a cult, or something else equally unfortunate. But self-preservation has never been a priority for you, and life is made to be lived.

You knock. You really want him to open the door himself. Even with permission, going in feels like an enormous invasion, and especially if this guy is sleeping, you really don’t want to tiptoe through this stranger's house.

On the other hand, though, you really can’t see yourself turning down that tip, if it comes to that. Definitely lends itself to your ‘this person is crazy’ theory, but you’re committed. You’re seeing this through.

You knock a second time and wait. Nothing.

Thankfully, after ringing the doorbell, you hear the shuffle of soft footsteps. The lock clicks and turns, and a moment later, you’re face to face with a rather disheveled individual.

His hair is mussed, sticking out in all directions, and, you realize, he looks familiar.

But it only takes a moment to forget that thought entirely.

At first, you hadn’t noticed that anything amiss. He was wearing a striped dressing gown over a crop top and sweats. The stripes, though, looked like they were rippling. And it wasn’t an actual crop top, either, no; the shirt had just been pulled up to accommodate what was on his midsection.

It took every effort not to drop the bag of food when you realize what it is.

“Oh,” he says, noticing your expression. He rubs at his temple, infinitely exhausted as he looks you up and down.

“You’re-” you start.

“Yeah, I’m Dieter Bravo-” he finishes.

You blink, shaking your head. He is in fact Dieter Bravo, you realize, but that doesn’t seem like the most significant thing happening here. “You’re covered in tentacles.”

“Oh,” he says again. “Yeah. I guess they are tentacles."

“Um, are they… yours?”

He shrugs, disinterested.

You fumble to find something to say, instead giving up and thrusting his bag towards him.

He takes it after a moment.

“Thanks,” he says, not making eye contact.

Apparently, putting on a robe was this man’s idea of concealing them. Now, he’s not trying to be discreet. The tentacles unfurl, most of them hanging heavy from his abdomen, nearly brushing the floor. Several, however, reach into the food bag and withdraw a burrito and a sauce container.

"Are they--" you watch as two of the tentacles start to unwrap the burrito. The foil tears a bit more than he intends, and then he dunks it a little too heavily into the sauce, which shoots out from the grasp of another tentacle. Salsa verde splatters everywhere. The limbs’ movements are apparently uncontrolled. "Are the tentacles new.. to you?"

He sighs. "Yeah. They just showed up this morning."

You’re not sure what to say. “Huh,” you venture.

“Yeah,” he agrees. But then he looks at you, surveys you, and narrows his eyes. He seems like he’s weighing something.

“Uh, this might be weird, what with this-” he gestures at the tentacles, “Situation. But-”

He hesitates, and you nod, encouraging. “But what?”

Dieter winces. Takes a deep breath, and lets it out.

“Do you wanna have sex with me?”

You look at him. At his tentacles. This is admittedly a lot. It’s almost certainly a bad idea.

But you made a promise to yourself and to your best friend years ago: If you ever have an opportunity to fuck an entity that has tentacles, you’d better say yes.

And it’s Dieter Fucking Bravo. You’re not backing down now.

“Yes I do.”

It starts surprisingly gently. You lean towards him and he cups your cheek in a broad hand, pulling you in.

This isn’t your first time kissing a stranger. If you’re honest, it’s something of a hobby of yours, so the experience of feeling a new give-and-take was familiar despite its novelty.

What you’d never experienced before, however, was that from the first moment his tongue stroked into your mouth, you felt the most delicious pull.

You were already a little excited, but before even a moment had passed, you now felt yourself drench. Your pussy was drooling, the slick pooling between your legs.

You’re certain he can feel it too.

What had been a look of pleasure and curiosity twisted into absolute hunger. You swear you can see his eyes dilating. After a moment, you’re certain yours must be, too. The room suddenly feels too bright.

Whatever disinterest he’d shown when you’d turned up at his door has dissolved, replaced with an urgent enthusiasm. “Fuck I’ve been needing this all day.”

From the front door, all down the hallway to the bedroom, a trail of clothing marks your path.

Between kisses he explains.

“Ever since-” a kiss, “the tentacles–”

You grab him by the hair and he moans.

“I can’t cum. I’ve tried, for hours-”

You hop on one leg and then the other, peeling your socks off as Dieter steadies you by the waist.

“Been jacking off all day-,” he peels his own shirt off, hands flying frantically to make quick work of his clothes, “But I think I need someone else. My body just won’t work. Been hard as fucking rock but nothing happens-”

You slip an arm around his waist and drag your teeth along his collar, grinning when he melts into you.

“You poor thing,” you tell him, and you look in his eyes when you make your promise; “I’ll try and help, much as I can.”

"Amazing," He grins. “I feel better already.”

Dieter’s entirely bare, but you’re still wearing clothing. Something, you both realise, is passing between you. It’s a strange electricity that heightens every sensation. You feel the scruff of his beard against your cheek, you feel your underwear soaked. When he pinches at your nipple, you nearly howl at the pleasure that washes over you.

As you feel each touch, the sensation builds in a way that’s totally alien to you. He shoves a hand in your pants and groans when he feels the thatch of hair at your cunt. He rubs two fingers along your slit, not stimulating your clit and not even trying to. He’s just warming up what feels like every single nerve ending in your entire vulva till you’re bucking against him.

He pulls his hand away and touches a finger to his tongue, tasting you. Two tentacles make fast work of the button of your jeans. Another wraps around your waist, lifting you up from the floor and suspending you in the air to peel the denim from you, unceremoniously tossing the garment behind you somewhere.

He’s fully naked. His cock hangs heavy and a little to the right, and there’s so much precum, it streams down his thigh where his tip meets the flesh of his leg.

You reach forward and wrap your fist around him. At your touch, he shudders. It’s a beautiful, desperate noise, and already, there’s so much more slick leaking out of him that any suspicion that this amount of oozy fluid isn’t normal is entirely confirmed. You wrap your hand around his length and he melts into your touch with a whine.

The tentacles wrap around you. You’re not sure how many there are, and their movement is fast and intentional. The man in front of you is essentially a walking sex toy from your sickest, wettest dreams, and you will not waste this.

You reach for one of the tentacles, whatever is nearest to you. For a moment you think it’ll pull out of your grasp, but then it relaxes at your grip. You stick your tongue out and lick the tip, getting the suckers at the end nice and wet. Then, you realize it’s superfluous; the tentacles themselves are already leaking, oozing a pearlescent, cum-like fluid. For all you know, it is cum.

With your thumb, you swirl the slick around one of the larger suckers, and look Dieter right in the eye when you pull one of your bra cups down and press the sucker against your nipple. With barely a flick of effort, a tendril unhooks your bra, pulling it off of you before slicking up your other nipple and pulling a throaty moan from you.

His breath catches just watching you. It’s perfect suction, slick and firm and oh-so steady.

“How many do you think you can take?” He asks, pink-faced and restless. The flush is so endearing. He looks desperate.

“Give me all you’ve got,” you tell him.

He whines and hisses. You think he might be deliberating, but after a moment it’s like a switch has flipped, releasing any inhibitions he may have held onto, unlocking his filthy tongue.

“Lemme see that wet little snatch,” he purrs, “That’s it, open those legs for me-”

As if simply willing it–and that may as well be all that it takes–you both watch as one of the fat tentacles splits from the tip, sticky goo trailing between the trifurcated ends like an aloe vera leaf sliced apart. The three new tips writhe apart before slamming into your mouth. Two others pluck at your skin, marring the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

You yelp, muffled, as your legs are spread wide by slick, strong limbs, smaller tendrils prodding at your slick panties before giving up and tearing them apart. Elastic slips loose from your hips, and the gusset of the underwear is a ragged hole.

He steps closer, holds you effortlessly. You’re suspended by a whole mass of tentacles, the suckers pulsating against your skin, dark purple blooms beginning to bruise beneath them. Dieter’s face is so close to your cunt, your first instinct is to close your legs. He holds them open further, though, and breathes deep. “You smell like a fucking dream,” he praises, running a think finger along your folds, dipping in gently, stroking along you, finding where you’re most sensitive.

After a thorough examination, he steps back. “Gonna play with you, baby,” he tells you.

"Jesus Christ", you breathe. The tentacles in your mouth slip out and another tentacle presses at your opening. It slips with a lewd squelch and little resistance, pumps in a couple times, and pulls out to wrap around Dieter’s cock. He strokes himself with the slippery tentacle and lets out a groan.

"Feels like fucking heaven," he breathes, and another tentacle replaces the first, plunging into your cunt and pulsating, filling you so nicely, making you shake.

You fight against the flutter of your eyelids. There’s so much sensation it’s hard to keep your eyes open, but you need to see him. Need to see this.

“Can you feel with them?” you ask, “With the tentacles?”

“Hmm,” he ponders, “Yes, but–” he slips a second tentacle in with the one already probing your hole and you feel very full. They twist and turn, writhing, pumping in and out of you. You’ve barely gotten started but you can already feel yourself start to build. At this rate, you’ll be squirting all over him in absolutely no time at all.

“I feel it,” he tells you, “And it feels really good, like, fuuuckkk–but it feels like it’s not just me controlling them. It is me, but it’s more than just me. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Then don’t,” you smile, “Just fuck yourself with them the same way you’re fucking me.”

He lets out another whine. It’s cute, really. Only a minute ago he’d been telling you what to do, and with the slightest prodding, he seems eager to obey. You could get far too used to this.

“C’mon, baby,” you coax, your hips canting, thrusting against the slippery tentacles pressing deeper, deeper-, “Keep going just like that. And open yourself up, too.”

He groans, and two tentacles move around him to start spreading his cheeks. A third prods tenderly at his hole.

Just as a third tentacle presses into your cunt, and another is gently pressing it’s suckers up your throat and holding you in place, Dieter is rendered incoherent as one thick tentacle shoves its way into him. Immediately, he sees stars. If this was the result of an entire day of edging, it was more than worth it.

You’re rutting against the tentacles that are fucking you, meeting each thrust. There’s a pulse pumping through each limb, making you feel impossibly full. When you look at Dieter, you’re certain you can see the bulge of a tentacle in his belly, filling him up so full.

You barely have time to process the build of your arousal before the tip of one of the tentacles suckers against your clit and another twists inside you, hits you in just the right way, and you tip over.

Cum spurts from you, your entire body convulsing. You try to close your thighs, try to pull away from the sensation, but you’re still being held aloft and spread out, fully bared. Instead of stopping or slowing, the tentacles only fuck into you faster and deeper. You can’t stop coming, certain at this point you’ve made a whole damn puddle on the floor beneath you.

Dieter watches, transfixed by the entire show that’s played out before him. He’s red-faced, his skin mottled with purple bruises, cock so hard it looks painful, and has a trio of tendrils ass-fucking him.

When your orgasm finally, finally tapers off, you almost expect your holds to release you. A new hunger stirs in you, though, and when you’re still held tight, you’re oddly grateful for it.

Dieter lowers you, pulling you towards him. He kisses you, open-mouthed and messy, groaning into it. After a few moments he pulls away from you, slick lipped and panting. When he speaks, his voice is raspy and desperate, a monstrous echo following it to create a bizarre, two-tone sound.

The tentacles that aren’t already on or in you both start whipping around, grabbing for purchase and pulling away as if they can’t make up their mind.

Dieter pushes you back. Starts to withdraw.

You hold him in place.

Now you can see his eyes.

They’re totally black. Even the sclerae are gone, murky with inky swirls, glassy and wide and beautiful.

“I- I think you need to leave,” he begs, “It’s too much. They’re taking too much from me.”

You reach out to put a hand on his cheek, and he leans in for a moment before flinching away.

“No!” He hisses, “You need to go. It feels too good, it won’t let me stop. I won’t be able to stop. I don’t know how far it’ll go, but if you don’t leave, I don’t think I can stop it.”

Warmth and clarity floods you. You’re not sure how much is your own mind, and how much is this thing that’s taken over, but it’s sweet, really.

He thinks you could stop if you wanted to.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, and you feel the way he melts, feel the way the tentacles stop fighting and start wrapping around your limbs again, their grasp pulling tighter and tighter, “You take what you need.”

With a sob, he lets go.

The tentacles set you down. Your legs shake, and you barely have time to blink before he’s on you. Any distance you had is gone now, his hands grasping at you, his body flush against yours. You can feel the weight of his cock against your thigh, the strength of his arms holding you. He’s steadying you, or maybe steadying himself. The skin-to-skin contact feels so fucking good and, if the way his hands fly all over you, you’re certain he feels it too.

One big hand grabs at your breast, the other clutching the flesh of your hip. He grinds against you, messy and sticky and so, so delicious.

He settles you back against a surface, seats you and spreads your legs with his strong hands. A tentacle grabs at your jaw almost tenderly, plucking at the skin, holding you gently.

Dieter lines up his cock and sinks into you, groaning at the hot wet clutch that sucks him in. The surrounding tendrils wrap around you both. You’re certain there are still tentacles fucking into him, but you think another might join, right at the same time you feel the slippery tip of one prodding at your own asshole.

You relax into it, nod to let him know you’re ready, and moan as you feel the slimy length penetrate you. Dieter moans, too, entirely lost in the sensation.

He fucks you fast and deep. You’ve never felt fullness like this before. The pump of the tentacles into both you and Dieter matches his rhythm.

“Fuck-” he croaks, desperate, “Think I’m getting close-”

“That’s it, baby,” you soothe, “Makin’ me feel so fucking good. Come on, baby, come for me-”

He pulls you into him, presses his lips to your in a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, longer and deeper than it has any right to be. It’s a tentacle, too, you realize, and you moan into the suckers that have started pulling at your tongue. It’s disgusting and absolutely exquisite.

He only manages two more thrusts before he explodes.

You feel his balls pulse, cum flooding your cunt. The tentacles pulse too, though, and soon your mouth is full, your ass, his ass. Like fireworks popping off in quick succession, every tentacle unloads, one after the next, painting the entire room in dripping swaths of cum.

He lets out a noise that sounds like something between a sob and a laugh, final blessed release at last reaching him.

Dieter pulls out, but continues rocking against you, humping your thigh as his alien limbs continue to surge with spend.

After several long, sticky minutes, you unfurl from one another. With some distance between you, you’re able to see the damage that’s been done. The room is a disaster. You can literally see cum dripping from the ceiling.

Dieter’s looking around the room, too, but he doesn’t look concerned. No, he looks impressed.

“Well shit,” he surveys everything around him. “That was fun.”

You’re still catching your breath as he rummages around and procures a stash box. You can see a variety of substances; baggies filled with powder, assorted pills, a few things you don’t recognise, and a fat pouch full of bud.

He rolls a joint, licks the paper, packs it, and sparks it.

“So, uh-” you start, unsure where you’re going with it.

He beats you to it.

“You wanna stay over?”

You stare at him.

“I mean, it just seems rude to send someone home after sharing some life-altering tentacle sex, right?”

“I was unaware there was standard etiquette regarding tentacle sex.”

He shrugs. “All etiquette is just made up, right?”

A glob of cum drips from the ceiling and lands with a dull splat against the top of your head.

You burst out laughing.

Dieter’s eyes crinkle, and he’s laughing too.

He passes you the joint. You take it, wiping cum from your forehead.

“All right,” you tell him, “I’ll stay over.”

Dieter checks his phone, pulls up Todd’s text thread.

Beneath his tentacles text is Read 1:43pm. He rolls his eyes and follows it up.

you remember those cleaners? the good ones? the crime scene ones?

I need em

soon as they’re free

promise it’s not a crime scene this time

there’s just a lot of cum

After you’re both showered, you go to Dieter’s spare bedroom. Hazy from the weed and exhausted from the hands-down weirdest and best sex of your life, you collapse together.

Dieter’s tentacles look different. Smaller, maybe? Less hungry. Sated.

You fall asleep with his tentacles around you.

When you wake up, his arms are around you instead, holding you close. His abdomen is bare, only skin left.

You start to wriggle, to turn over, but something’s in your way.

There’s something at your abdomen, blocking your movements.

Dieter begins to stir. He stretches, rubs his eyes, and takes you in.

“Babe-” he grins, “You’ve gotta fuck me with those!”

Your own set of shimmering tentacles slip and writhe from your body. You pull him close, suddenly hungry, and get to work.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo smut #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #idk this is some really slimy monsterfucking nonsense and i hope yall enjoy

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pinknipszz · 7 months ago

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“hello sweet precious,” you croon at the warm bundle in your arms. hardly three weeks old, it fusses a little when you lift the sand-washed silk to gush over its bonny face. “i wish i could keep you forever. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

the summertime sun is your company—aside from the newborn babe and your ichor-stained husband, who meditates beside you on the decorated blanket with his legs crossed, an ankle over his shin in quarter lotus. the air is thick with the smell of fresh-cut fruit. there is sake too, brewed in oak barrels, courtesy of uraume.

you lean over the edge to pluck a white iris from the earth. a wail comes from underneath you at the sudden movement, but you hush it quickly and say: “this flower makes for exquisite perfumes that smell sweet and slightly herbaceous. i want to wrap you in silk that is exactly this color.”

roused from his thoughts, your husband cracks an eye open, leering. “do not waste any more energy on that wretched vermin.” his voice rumbles in the cavity of his cruel, muscle-bound body, each word punctuated by equal amounts of scorn. “it does not matter what kind of silk you wrap it in, wife. i will get rid of it later.”

you huff and turn your sweeping gaze over the vast expanse of scattered flowers. right. you did not give birth to the thing in your arms—a servant did. a foolish one who had slept with the arborist who trims your chestnut trees, or so uraume had told you over barley tea. you had been delighted; your husband, not so much.

but a small part of the king of curses is still human, still weak to the whims of his darling wife, so he let you keep the parasite that had been propagated by his bastard servants. you lean against his imposing figure and sigh woefully. something must have changed his mind. “will you bring it back to its parents?”

a large tongue peaks through the gash in his stomach as he settles into a more comfortable position, picking up a plate of tangerines and throwing a few slices into his mouth. you watch him bite into the soft flesh with sharp teeth, already copper-stained from his recent venture. “no,” he says. “i will eat it.”

you understand him, then, and peer up into the sky. your vision burns a bit just to see the summertime sun perched perpendicular to the horizon, high above maple trees where kodama and kitsune come alive. when a plump slice is brought to your lips, you briefly wonder if tangerine tea would pair well with iris.

a question dances on the tip of your tongue, and your husband, in all of his omniscience, seizes it with a searing kiss before you can lock it away and throw the key. you cannot help but mirror the wicked grin on his face.

(masterlist) | (a/n: morally gray reader ig? anyways the baby doesnt have a specific gender but there were subtle hints that it was a boy if anyone caught them. also there was more to this but I got lazy. rip!) tag: @lem-hhn

#💐🎴#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen x reader

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unnervinglyferal · 2 months ago

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I don't know if anybody else in her family actually thinks of it as such a concrete system as my girlfriend does, but her family's behavior that I've seen so far does seem to be consistent with her explanations of the family hierarchy and how the ranking of this apparent pecking order works. Men and children are not involved in it, the internal family power games are women only.

Two years ago when the situation in her mother's home became unlivable, nobody in the family could take her in because that would have been read as an open insult towards her mother, who still had a good standing within the family and could not be offended like that. So that's why she ended up in the group home in the first place.

But when she got pregnant and made it public that we're keeping the baby, she became a "honorary adult" within the family and was free to make choices regardless of thet mother, so her great-grandmother could take us in. Apparently becoming a mother while under 18 raises one into adult status, but having kids as an adult doesn't inherently improve someone's standing within the family. Being a good mother raises one's status but being a bad one lowers it.

And that's why her mother is fucking spiralling right now. Not having my girlfriend in her custody anymore lowered her status, and since we have apparently demonstrated ourselves to be competent parents to Stinkbug (and hopefully to the little lump on the way), that has raised my girlfriend's rank in the family. So now my girlfriend outranks her mother, and her mother can't stand it, so she keeps acting out and making her own situation worse. Apparently the worst that can happen is being demoted back to the status equal to a child, where nobody takes you seriously and nothing you do or say really matters.

I asked her if us getting married in November is going to change anything, and she said no. I'm already here, and whether I'm present matters more than legal papers. I didn't have time to ask before she clarified: having a man isn't inherently valuable either. Not having one around is neutral, the default state regardless if one has kids or not. Having a man who's a decent father and contributes to caring for the family is a positive, but doesn't necessarily raise status either. But having an useless deadbeat around who doesn't do jack shit lowers one's rank, because tolerating a pointless parasite just for the sake of having a man is a sign of weakness.

So basically I guess it's somewhere between historical royal court intrigue and a clan of hyenas biting each other in the face.

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brandwhorestarscream · 2 months ago

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Tfa bots afraid of sparklings au

Megaop, and even though he received a class/lecture on the subject Optimus still takes notes throughout the pregnancy

Sentinel's look makes the situation even better.

Optimus approaches the whole babymaking thing with rigid tact and intent to do everything by the book... all the way up until the time comes for him to lose his virginity the decepticon warlord, and his suddenly awakened sex drive kicks into high gear. He's on Megatron all night long, for several nights in a row. He just can't get enough! And when he turns up carrying, Optimus is equal parts excited and terrified. His eagerness suddenly does a 180 and he's almost afraid to touch his partner now, nervous he might hurt the delicate newspark he's carrying! Megatron rolls his optics and assures him that it would take a lot to harm this baby: Primus, his last one survived him being blown up and having his body parts scattered about that organic planet and harvested by the parasitic scavengers. It likely would've continued developing had the creepy piece of slag not infused it's own genetic material with the growing protoform, mutating it beyond recognition.

That sends Optimus reeling, because wait, what?! But Megatron offers no further explanation. Just says that, "There's little you could do to threaten them, little Prime. Worry not."

I do think you're right about Optimus taking notes tho. There's very little information on the subject right now, and even Ratchet said each carrying cycle is different, just like every carrier is different. So he wants to be prepared, map everything out and take notes so he can familiarize himself with forming patterns, and also to track their baby's progress. He keeps their baby book with laser precision, has dates and times for everything, down to the second. Cute things like the first kick, and the first time their presence could be felt in Megatron's spark. Less cute things too, like when his mate has the worst of his nausea spells and how his emotional fluxes come and go, and even how often the baby needs transfluid donations 🤭 which is quite often, given that the size difference between the parents is so great.

All in all, he's very excited to be a sire, and weirding out Sentinel is just a bonus XD probably clocks the old windbag right in the face if he dares say anything bad about his mate while he's carrying

#megop #sparklings are scary au

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slimewares · 4 months ago

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actually still thinking about the idea I had while high the other night about like contagious pregnancy and the idea that it could change anyone's body, regardless of sex, into being able to both be pregnant and get others pregnant (holy fuck this turned out way longer than I expected so, uh putting it under the thing)

[and btw while personally I did have kinda like an alien-ish sex parasite thing in mind, you also could just read it as just a fantastical multiples/rapid pregnancy type thing, tbh do whatever your want :)]

Like, imagine you're at a party or something. You start chatting with this trans girl who's a friend of a friend of yours. Or maybe a friend of a friend of a friend. You're not sure. In any event, being two of only a few trans people at the party, you're naturally drawn together. You think she's really cute and you quickly find that she's into you too. After flirting for a while, she suggests you two duck into a nearby room for some privacy together. You wouldn't usually let things move this fast, but you've been partying for a while and being drunk/high always did make you feel deliciously easy. Although, now that you think about it, you haven't seen her drink or anything all night, but with the way she strokes your thigh and whispers how badly she wants you right now, you don't care.

The second the door to the bedroom closes, she's all over you. In between striping off your clothes and kissing every inch of your skin that's available to her, she tells you just how insatiably horny she's been recently.

"My girlfriend and I broke up a couple weeks ago," she says as she backs you towards the bed, "and with no one to touch me, I've been so horny I could explode."

You smile as she pushes you back on the mattress, legs open and your cunt dripping wet, thrilled to be on display for her. She leans down and kisses you, her tongue easily sliding into your mouth. You both moan as you make out and you gently tug on her shirt, equally eager to get a look at her body. When she does undress, you try to take a moment to take in the beauty of the soft curves of her breasts and hips and thighs. You also notice that she seems a bit bashful about her stomach.

"Sorry, I guess I've been taking the breakup harder than I thought." She says as she places a hand on the slight bulge to her belly. "I have no idea what's been causing me to gain weight as quickly as I have."

You pull her back down on top of you and reassure her that you don't mind at all.

While usually you'd prefer to get a decent amount of foreplay in, especially with how mouthwatering her cock and tits are, you're both so wound up and you're already so wet that she wastes no time in lining herself up with your entrance.

She pushes into you easily. You let moans and sighs fall from your mouth freely as you feel her slide deep inside of you. You shudder slightly as you feel her tip brush against your cervix once she bottoms out.

"Comfortable?" She asks, breath slightly shaky.

You nod. She holds still in you for a moment, allowing you both to adjust to the feeling of the other. She reaches down between the two of you and gently strokes your dick, experimenting with the way it makes you twitch around her. She laughs to herself about something, you don't really catch it, but you gather that she's surprised as to just how hard she is. She shifts the two of you, pushing your legs back and allowing her to slide just a bit farther into you. You smile to yourself as you notice the way that this position allows you two to be close enough that her stomach slightly rubs against yours.

'Cute.' You think.

You can sense just how eager she is and how much she's restraining herself, so you give her the go ahead to start moving. She pulls almost all the way out and then slowly pushes back into you, delighting in the soft moans it pulls from both of you.

She starts pumping in and out of you at a sensual pace, clearly wanting to make it last and enjoying the ease with which she can make you whimper under her, but you sense that something is eating away at her will. A hungry look grows on her face and her hips start driving into you harder and faster. It's not long before she gives in to whatever temptation was nagging at her and she begins to truly pound you into the mattress. You jerk yourself as she fucks you, but you hardly need it. You swear you're seeing stars with the way her cock keeps hitting your cervix with each thrust.

"You like it?" She pants down at you.

"Ah! Fuck! Yeah!" You're barely even able to form a coherent thought.

She smirks cockily and begins sucking a trail of hickies up your neck. The sensation makes you arch up toward her. You feel like you've completely lost control as you frantically stroke yourself.

"Uh, uh, I-" you stutter. "Al- uh, almost!"

With the way she's breathing heavily in your ear and desperately grinding into you, you figure she's about to cum as well.

"Oh, yes, baby!" You moan as you feel yourself reach the edge.

Just as you do, she drives almost painfully deep inside of you and you both cry out as you feel her throbbing cock shoot rope after thick rope of cum into you. You can't help but throw your head back as your combined orgasms overtake you. Her cock pulsing deep within you, coating your insides with her cum, and your cunt squeezing her, milking more out of her and coaxing her cum deeper and deeper.

She pulls out of you and flops down onto the bed beside you. You feel a little sore, but the feeling of her warm spend pooling around the tingling entrance to your womb more than makes up for it. You slowly and absentmindedly rub your cunt, smearing the cum that's beginning to drip out of you all over your dick. In your cross-faded haze, you try to remember if she or your friend mentioned how long she's been on hormones and try to do the mental math regarding sperm count, but you soon decide that that's sober you's problem and, for now, you don't care.

You're about to ask for her number when suddenly she climbs back on top of you, hard as a rock already.

"This position good for round two?"

Not knowing what else to do, you just stupidly nod and let her push her cum back inside of you as she begins fucking you again.

She continues to fuck you all night. Both of you cum several times, and she makes sure that all of her orgasms result in you getting filled.

Things start to blur in your memory at this point, but you wake up in the morning with her number and social media handles already in your phone and an obscene amount of her cum seeping out of your pussy.

Once you get home you jump straight in the shower. You wash yourself as best you can, truly amazed at the amount of cum stuffed inside of you. As you push it out, you can't help but feel turned on. You start to play with your dick. You remember how good it felt to be filled by her. You start feeling a strange, yet not unwelcome, warm thrumming feeling radiating from your cervix and wonder whether any of her sperm have managed to wriggle their way into your womb yet. It's that thought that makes you cum. You ride out your orgasm and try to continue with your shower once you've recovered. But you start to feel a slight cramp coming on.

'Oh, damn, is my period coming back?' You wonder.

You try to ignore it, but it does remind you that there is a very real possibility that her cum did have sperm in it, and while you don't know for sure about her, you know that you are fertile. As you jump out of the shower and dry off, you figure that you should stop by the drug store for some plan b while you're out today. Just in case.

At first everything seems normal. You and the girl chat online every now and again, but unfortunately your schedules don't line up in a way that lets you meet up again any time soon. You think about her often. Really often actually. You find that your libido has gone up like crazy recently, but you don't worry about it too much.

After a couple weeks though, you start to notice some strange things. For one thing you keep feeling nauseous. The first time you figured that you were just hungover from the party, but you just keep feeling sick. And then there's the abdominal cramps. You start to get worried. Eventually you hear about some weird stomach bug that's been going around recently.

You wonder if it's the flu or something more serious, so you figure you should ask the girl you slept with if she's come down with anything. You've both been pretty busy recently, and haven't been talking a lot, so you're completely shocked when you go to her page and see that she's announced that she's going to be a mom. Her post doesn't have a lot of details, but she seems incredibly excited. Trying to figure this out, you remember that she and her ex-girlfriend are still mutuals, so you go to her page to see if she's posted anything about this. You see that her ex had made a similar post announcing that she was pregnant.

You figure maybe they got back together and got pregnant. For a moment, you're a little hurt. While you weren't exactly going steady with this girl, to think that she'd get back with her ex and decide to start a family without telling you... wait a minute. Her post saying that she just found out that she's having a kid is from just a few days ago, but her ex's post is from almost a month ago. Did she really get into a new relationship and get her new partner pregnant that soon after her ex did? That would be a pretty big coincidence. Then again, as you scroll through your timeline, you see that quite a few people you know or at least follow are announcing their pregnancies.

You decide that this is all too weird. You send a message to the girl saying that you'd like to talk over a few things when she's free, and go to bed for the night.

That night you're roused from your dreams by more abdominal cramps. A particularly strange rolling pain pulls you into wakefulness.

"Ah!" You hiss. "The fuck?"

The cramp begins to melt away into that same strange, warm feeling deep in your womb. In fact, your whole body is tingling, the epicenter of the sensation seeming to be your dick. The throbbing of your tdick is undeniable, you can't help but shove your hand into your boxers and start rubbing yourself.

But something's off. You feel harder, bigger even. You must be mistaken, you've been on testosterone long enough that you didn't think you'd be experiencing any further bottom growth, and especially not out of the blue. You turn over in your bed to turn the light on.

Oh wow.

As you look down to inspect your dick, you discover that you actually can't see it. Obscuring what would usually be a clear line of sight to your crotch is a small, but undeniable bump in your abdomen.

"Wha-" You gasp aloud. "H-how?"

You place a hand on your stomach, but immediately pull it back when a strange fluttering sensation responds to your touch.

This doesn't make any sense. This doesn't make any sense! You took the emergency contraceptive, you can't be pregnant! And even if you were, you wouldn't be this far along already, right? Not overnight. Right?

Your mind is racing. But louder than your thoughts, the pulse of arousal radiating all over your body grows greater and greater until you feel like you can't think at all. The twitch in your boxers can no longer be ignored.

You sit up a bit, while your stomach has grown, you can still see past it with relative ease. You pull down your boxers.

Oh wow.

Your dick is big. Not just tdick big, although you certainly had no complaints about your size before. But now, your dick has somehow become not only quite a bit longer, but thicker too. And as you wrap your fingers around it, sighing at the way it throbs at your touch, you also think it might be... leaking? You begin to stroke up and down your dick and see that, yes, beads of wetness are dripping from the tip.

Questions still flood your mind, but you can't help but focus all of your attention on this miracle between your legs. You wrap your hand around your dick and without hesitation, you begin fucking up into your fist with an animalistic need.

Your eyes roll back in your head at the familiar, yet new sensation. You twist your hand, squeeze yourself, every experimental touch feels like heaven. It doesn't take you very long before the feeling overwhelms you and, panting like a dog, you cum hard. And as you feel a warm wetness splash across your round belly, you realize that you didn't just have an orgasm, you truly came. You look back down at yourself, the thick white liquid still dripping from the tip of your dick confirms it.

You lie back. and stare at the ceiling. Somehow, you're pregnant, or at the very least, having something stirring in your womb. And not only are you that, but you somehow also have a dick that can ejaculate. You should be confused, you should be panicking. But you're not. The warm thrumming of your womb resonates throughout your body and leaves you in a state of total euphoria. You are at peace. You are happy, and something deep within you tells you that you want to share this happiness and the stirring in your loins tells you that you are not completely satisfied.

Just then you get a notification on your phone. It's the girl.

"it's been a while, how are you feeling?" She messages. "there's another party im going to soon and theres lots of cute guys and girls who i think we should meet :)"

You look down at your phone and smile.

#slimy wares #can you tell i watched a lot of cronenberg movies around the time i figured out i was trans? lol #terato #terat0philliac #<just due to the kinda sci-fi nature of it all :P #ftm breeding #breeding k1nk #nsft #t4t nsft #ftm nsft #pregnancy k!nk #rapid pregnancy #nsft concept #intox kink #mtf breeding

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uramitashi · 12 days ago

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sometimes i mourn the fact i'll never get to have the relationship i wanted. the fact that men basically care just about getting sex, and everything else is secondary at best; the fact they will never be an ally of our class for all my lifetime; the way they talk about our body, the way they discredit our minds, the lack of genuine interest and the pure sense of possession they feel instead of the tenderness that love should be. i cant stop thinking about the fact that brothels have existed for longer than women's right to vote, because access to our bodies has always been more important than our social contribute. even the most perfect of all men has his sexuality shaped by porn and the general sexual objectification of women, and has grown up surrounded by a misogynistic society; he still has a privilege he doesn't care to address.

and although i am so so happy to be 4b sometimes it feels so weird - right by my side there should be half of the human population, other human beings, someone I can learn to love and with whom to explore the world. and yet they are as of now the biggest threat to me, to my sex class. unable to see me as anything than a mean to an end.

i am not making a logical discussion but a sappy, emotional vent: it hurts to be constantly aware. it hurts distrusting half the people i know. and yet i am proven more and more to be in the right. but why couldnt they just enjoy our presence as equals? in a dumb way, i take it on biology for making our gametes so different milions (bilions?) of years ago. i say maybe, if we evolved differently, all this would have never happened: i would not have to treat feminism as my ultimate end because feminism isnt needed, and i can instead focus my energies somewhere else. i wouldnt waste my efforts in protecting myself from a sex that actively hates me. i would be able to explore love and sexuality in a healthy, carefree way and enjoy the laughter of friends and relatives and of my life-long partner.

but a male relative of mine has pedophiliac tendencies, and my male "friends" got contaminated with andrew tate parasites, and "life-long" male partners abuse and kill their girlfriends and wives, cheat on them, financially neglect them. a prostitute is richer than a wife: i know where men's priorities lie.

and yet in a humiliating to admit, sad way, it's disheartening. maybe in another lifetime we evolved differently and none of this happens; maybe it's just the bad timeline

#this is embarassing to post but i know no shame anyway so i dont care #heart-felt #tbh i think that many osa 4b women will get the disheartening feeling #i put this into words bc i know i am not alone #sacrifying my pride to be relatable #lol

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pursuitseternal · 1 year ago

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Introducing “Our Blood is Thicker:” Enemies to Lovers Astarion x Tav (OC female)

Astarion x Tav (female OC) | E | 4.8 K Chapter

Summary: He can’t remember anything, but she does. The betrothed she believed dead, the source of all her centuries of grief and heartache now in the middle of her path after the Nautiloid crash. He might look mostly the same as the one who stole her heart, but something is different about him. Dark. Changed. Something hidden. But her own centuries of becoming battle-hardened haven taught her wisdom and insight beyond her own elvish abilities. He is a monster she can tame, a challenge she will have to face. No matter the heartache.

CW: angst, heartbreak, enemies, sexual tension you can cut with a dagger, vampire trauma-induced memory loss, calculating manipulation (Astarion), Spoilers for the gameplay

A/N: Prompt fill, 3rd Person POV, female Tav OC, headcanon Astarion as Star elf ✨, our Little Star

Read on AO3 if you prefer

Chapter 1: Wondering

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Shh shh shh shh,” that sweetened, mellifluous voice whispered in her ear so softly. Lips nearly pressing against her sensitive, pointed ear. Something about it reached into the dark recesses of her memory. Jarring almost more than the danger he posed.

It was a sharp contrast. So caressing in tone. Strange, compared to the way he used every bit of his wiry, lean, overwhelming strength to push that dagger towards her neck.

“Not another sound… not if you want to keep that… darling… neck of yours….”

Shivers, colder than ice, colder than death ran down her spine at his words. Recognition shot right through her. It was a voice that once haunted her thoughts, one she once craved. But that craving had turned sour, that longing had long ago twisted into spite.

That silver hair, those piercing eyes and dangerous smile.

Even the way his arm cradled around her back, bracing her into him as he tried to threaten and destroy her.

But she had been here before.

Destroyed by him once.

Over a hundred years of loathing, resentment, anger, it all came rushing up, pouring out from her. Her hands swift and strong, she grabbed his body where she could, smashing her head right into the bridge of his beautiful, aquiline nose.

His howl of pain as he rolled away made her heart sing.

Her companions watched, mouths open as they stood in a line, some in surprise, some in delight. Karlach’s laughter was especially reassuring to her ear. Making her go just a hint faster as she scrambled for her own elegant blade.

But it was a struggle to keep her stance, to keep up. Maybe that fucking parasite is making me slow, she cursed inwardly, or maybe he’s just become quicker. Faster. But equally mean and threatening as before.

A ghost from her past, just as much of a… threat… as he once was.

Already at his feet, he clutched his dagger in hand, lips pressed in suspicion and cold, calculating spite. “I saw you on the ship…” he hissed.

She squared her shoulders, spinning her own blade expertly in hand. “That doesn’t give you the right to touch me, Astarion Ancunín,” she hissed back.

She saw it, giving her a sublime dark and twisted joy. His shock and doubt the moment she gave his name. A flicker over his face as his concentration, his intense charm and swagger, shattered. He eased on his toes, weapon lowering. Looking for answers, maybe for peaceful conversation. But it was too late for her, swallowing down the bile that had risen to speak his name again.

No backing down now, she sneered. And besides, she wasn’t alone this time. Her party stood behind her, their anxiety palpable as they watched. Waiting for her to choose: attack or speak.

And for every scar on her heart that bastard made, she longed to attack, but her own, ancient elvish sensibilities prevented her.

She couldn’t just kill one of her own. Not when there were already so few Star Elves to begin with.

“I take it, we’ve met before,” he replied. Cold, so cold in his tone. And cautious, as if he weighed every word before he let it out from those sneering lips. Same old Astarion. “At least before you crawled around the Mindflayer’s ship doing gods know what…”

That was it. She snapped inwardly. It was hard to control it, her need to pummel his pale face. “Don’t remember?” She forced a charming smile, narrowing her sharp, silver eyes at him. “Of course not, over a century of chasing your own ambitions and leaving your people behind…” She swallowed the need to mention herself… how he left you behind, her mind hissed at her with all the venom she had tried to bury.

He said nothing, but she could see how his mind was racing, scanning her up and down and all over with those… crimson… eyes.

She paused. Where were those deep violet ones? The ones she would once lose herself in, deep like the night sky she had stared into, abandoning all reason, forgetting her own self in, during those long and lonely years, wishing she wasn’t alone in her bed at night….

Rapidly, she shook her head.

It pulled him back into the tension, the pale elf hardened his form again, back on the offense, a second dagger in his fist now. “Tell me what you know about these parasites, or I’ll decorate the ground with your innards, darling…”

That’s when something pulsed in her mind, the parasite swimming, throbbing as their minds smashed together.

She saw through foreign eyes… crouching in the darkness, the tang of old blood… locked behind walls away from the stars, the sky, forsaking the sun… her stomach burned with a hunger she had never known. And slowly her mind raced, trying to cling to the memories of faces and names and the feeling of grass under her feet and wind on her face.

She wished she had chosen death as the blood on her back began to dry, as the pain of his knife still cut your senses and deadened her mind. She tried to remember anything, but it all faded into the dark…

Her eyes shot open, the glaring sun a relief to her heart as she gasped. As if she had been suffocated by that dank dark prison herself.

Astarion glared at her, so intense and angry as those crimson pools narrowed. “They took you too, I saw it during… whatever that was,” he scowled at her. Confusion, mistrust, wrinkling his porcelain brow. “It seems we have a common goal, darling, even though I could feel your hatred for me clear as… day.”

“Another gift from the Ilithids, it seems,” she scoffed, “glad I didn’t have to waste my breath telling you.” Her lithe fingers resheathed her dagger, turning on her heel to face her new found companions. But they didn’t budge even as she approached with all the confidence of a seasoned commander.

“That's it?” The elf called, voice sharp as he followed in her steps. “You’re going to just… leave me? Even though I am stuck with the same fate as all of you?” He sounded desperate, an edge of true fear flickering in his mellifluous voice.

She scoffed, tossing her shining red hair over her shoulder with a glare. “I seem to remember you always preferred to go your own way,” she jeered over your shoulder, feeling the tips of her own pointed ears growing hot with rage.

“Look, if I remembered anything, I’m sure I would have centuries to apologize for, but as it is…” he cleared his throat. She turned fully at the noise of discomfort, reassured by the closeness of the others beside her. She watched as he put on a well-practiced smile, making his arms soften as he flexed them at his sides. “I… I don’t, I can’t remember much other than my name, and little of my past.” His eyes scanned your company: wizard, cleric, tiefling… begging and pleading with their wide wetness in every way that matched his supplicant tone. “Please, I know you’re trying to find an expert, a solution…” he placed a hand on his heart, smile softening, forcing sincerity, “I’d like to, too.”

The wizard shifted beside her, leaning closer so his voice reached her ear. “It would be.. most extreme to just… ignore someone thrown into our path and bound to the same fate,” Gale’s calm and soothing lilt seemed to only aggravate her.

“We know nothing about him,” she snapped between gritted teeth. Hissing, her mind corrected those furious words: you know nothing about him.

“Do you know anything about any of us?” Shadowheart added, eyes so soft and sparkling, tone so damnably calm too.

Her nostrils flared, her temper beating in her head. Made things difficult to think past all feelings that swirled in her stomach and befuddled her mind. But she forced herself to take a breath, closing her eyes as she turned to face that unsought phantom from her past. “Fine,” she gave a relenting hiss, “for the good of the group, I will allow you to come.”

His brow quirked. Too attractively, too seductively for her own good. “Thank you,” he crooned in reply, catching her fist where it balled at her side and pressing his lips on her fingers.

His mouth was cold, but so was the air, she shook the observations from her head. Trying to keep everything he did at a distance. Hard to do as he smirked down at her, as rakish and roguish as once plagued her dreams. “I always enjoy being allowed to come,” he purred, quietly enough for her ears alone.

“Don’t,” she rasped through her tightly clenching jaw. “Don’t make me regret this spike of altruism on your behalf…” Finally ripping her hand from his chilled hold upon her. “Not that you would know the word at any rate.”

He stiffened, caught off guard again as she mentioned his past… who he was. “For as much as you think I should know you, darling, I don’t…” he squared his frame, rigid and defensive. “And for as much as you think you may know me, of what I once was, I assure you…” he seemed to sneer bitterly, his teeth flashing in the sun, “…you do not.”

Provoking him was fun, she decided. Maybe, making him pay would be a pleasant distraction from the fear of these damned parasites. She made her lips smile, giving her fiery, burnished red hair a toss. Cool and collected. “Then it seems we will have much time to get to know one another, Astarion.”

There it was again, that outward show of being polite, his feral nature just simmering beneath. “Of course,” he bowed his head, closing in so close, she had to push past him.

But the moment she cleared ahead, he was right there again, and this time, she couldn’t fight the aggravated sigh in her throat as he fell in step behind her. His body so close, she could feel the brush of his sleeve—richly colored, decadentally embroidered—with every fucking step. That’s when his sultry voice leaned too close to her ear so as to fill it. “So, since you’re so cunning and sneaky and beautiful, I’m sure you know about these parasites…”

“Certainly,” she threw him her most annoyed and caustic look. “I know enough to tell you they’ll turn you into a Mindflayer,” she snapped her reply. Quick and to the point.

“A…” he stopped frozen in his tracks, shaking his head as he scoffed with bitter laughter. “Of course,” he sneered with disdain, “it’ll turn me into a monster. What did I expect?” he commented, quietly, under that icy breath, almost to himself.

She sniffed, her own irascible, twitching grimace on her smooth face, letting out all the barbs that had piled up as he looked at her, that aloof veneer just… pissing her off. “You were always a bit of a monster, Astarion,” she teased, malice in her words. “Shouldn’t be much of a change for you.”

That did it. That broke into his ice-cold defenses. He roared, hands clawing into her upper arms, his massive strength shoving her little, flexible frame against the closest tree. He’s so close. His breath chilling. His teeth bared in her face, but all she could see was the feral, unchecked wilderness in the shocking red of his eyes. “Look,” he growled, voice barely more than a rumble as he pinned her into that unyielding tree. “I don’t know what you remember, or who you remember. But I don’t know you… I don’t recall your name, your face, your annoying, rash, irritating presence…”

“Funny,” she kept her face relaxed, pleasantly smiling softly, strangely calm as all the bile began to draw from the dark recesses of her soul. At last, her mouth spewed the words that had tightened in her chest since she recognized him. “I can recall everything. An elf’s memory is their curse, you know. I remember the depth of colors in your violet eyes, I remember the way your giggle would turn every head to give you the attention you longed for, even as a youth.”

His pinning frame eased, but he kept them on her body. Still heavy and strong as he pressed over every inch.

She wished he wouldn’t.

But it only kept the poison flowing. “I remember the taste of your tongue in my mouth, the heat of your hands as you caressed me through my gowns… I remember the way your voice cracked with feeling when you gave me your word we would be wed, my betrothed for every age… every lifetime…”

Now it was her silky voice that cracked. And she watched the shadows draw over his pale face. The lines around his eyes crinkling as he winced, as if her words were sucking a venom from sealed wounds.

“I remember that same untamable need for power, for ambition, the same that made you leave your people under the stars, in the woods, to go to Baldur’s Gate for your studies. For you to find a way to take power from society, exploiting the law… becoming a Magistrate so you could discover true power and freedom…”

Those dark red eyes shut completely. His lips drawing slowly in a pained sneer. But now the words just couldn’t stop. Not now.

She inhaled, shakily and deeply. The pain almost overwhelmed her. “I recall every second of waiting during those years, waiting for your letters… for your return to me… to make me your bride but…”

He gave a rattling breath from his chest. “But I never did…” his hands swept down her arms, lingering for a moment before he released her completely. “I couldn’t return…”

She gave a derisive huff, a laugh of pure ire and disbelief. “I know. Well, I thought I did. I went looking for you, Astarion. I found your… grave.” She almost shouted the last word. The full extent of her pain, her betrayal coating her voice, coloring her vision in pure, red rage. “I sought after how you died. Murdered in the streets. Like the traitor you were to me.” Her breath was rough and ragged. “I let you go from that moment, Astarion. So forgive me if stumbling upon you very much… not dead… is a bit painful.”

“I assure you,” he spoke through his perfectly white, gritted teeth, “it might not be as painful as the truth.”

“Well,” she sniffed in scorn, “once you deign to share it, then I’ll stop assuming you faked your own death, just to get away from me. What a sense of humor the gods must have to throw you back in my path now.”

“The gods have nothing to do with it,” he twisted his head, and she could see every muscle in his neck clenching and throbbing. “You’ll learn the truth, I’m sure. Maybe it’ll even come to you in the night…”

Brows furrowed, making her face screw in contempt, too irritated to be confused. “Maybe,” she snipped, “might be faster than waiting on you to do anything.”

He grinned, brows canting, those eyes gazed at her with that same amused stare that once made her thighs wet with need. And dammit, if she didn’t start to feel it again. Especially as that smirk started to twist more rakishly. Her heart skipped a beat. The wind in his hair, tousling those same silver locks, the scent of his skin, citrus and spice, she hated the way it still tugged at her body.

“Fuck,” she cursed, jutting her chin up at him, trying to look composed and undeterred. And unaroused. “I just hope you’re as good of a fighter as you once were,” she taunted, eyes scanning the daggers at each side of his narrow waist. “Seems your body remembers that even if you don’t remember anything important.”

“I would dare to say, darling, I’m even more dangerous now than I ever was,” he preened. Proud. Insufferable. “If you ever felt yourself in danger around me before, perhaps you may wish to watch your back… and your neck.” His eyes raked down her body, that same ancient heat in his eyes even if he didn’t remember it from… from before.

That was enough. She huffed and stalked on up the trail, trying to put as much distance and as many other bodies between her and him.

That’s when she saw it… where the rest of her party had already gathered. Something about the rocks ahead, the massive door in the wall, something inside her wanted to see what’s inside… and without another thought, she shoved on the big, wood planks.

“Locked,” she proclaimed, looking at her sweet Wizard, giving him a soft, pleading look for any help he and his magic could offer.

“Well, I do suppose…” Gale smiled, “anything to help our fearless leader, even if it’s just the gentlemanly thing of holding a door open…”

“Done!” Astarion crowed, his lockpick in one hand, the other gesticulating dramatically as he bowed. The thick door did, in fact, groan on its hinges as it opened into the mountain. “Who needs magic when you have a fine tool to shove in tiny holes, hmm?”

His eyes fixated right on her. Gods, her mind raced at the way he looked at her as if she was bared to the sun. Is he remembering?

“Well, Astarion,” the cleric taunted as she drew closer, “no one is accusing you of gentlemanly behavior.”

“I should certainly hope not,” his eyes shifted that heated, flirtatious stare on Shadowheart. “Gentlemen aren’t known for having as much fun as I tend to… enjoy.”

“Ugh,” that groan came from her, through, totally unplanned. She pushed between them to enter into the dark. But what she tried to ignore, try to distract herself from, was how her stomach knotted, how her blood boiled at the image that was now burned in her mind. Of how he was just… smirking at her…the cleric… undressing with his eyes… throwing those honeyed barbs…. And all he has for you is just anger and blades and pain, her thoughts scratched at those old, heartsick wounds.

As she entered into the dark adventure ahead, she didn’t know what was worse. The enemies in her path, or the traitorous ghost that haunted her with envy within her heart.

With a sigh, she could only hope he was as brutal a fighter as he seemed to think he was. External enemies he could slay, but she doubted he would help, could help, that bitterness and jealousy that had taken root inside her.

___________________

Hells below, she moaned, she made it to the night. Alive and in one piece. And… as she surveyed her companions that fate had shoved into her path, it was thanks to all of them. Even… she groaned inwardly… Astarion. He was indeed vicious. Worse than she remembered. He loved the bloodshed. He thrived in the chaos of battle. He became one with the shadows to sneak up on the enemy.

It was…. Gods forbid… impressive.

She mindlessly sorted through the food that everyone had pilfered on the journey today, every companion busied now piecing together sleeping places. Some of the more ambitious, entitled, conceited companions had begun to construct tents.

Like Astarion.

A heavy sigh, she tried to ignore how he was bouncing on his toes, fairly giddy to make a little abode under the night sky. Rolling her eyes painfully far back in her skull, she settled for a comfy, if austere, bedroll that she settled by the fire.

She looked at her hands as she fluffed her pillow, shifting the thick blanket to cover the leather of its back. So dry, so scarred. Calluses on both her fingers from holding sword and dagger. Seeing Astarion… it made it hard not to remember the days before. The days when pricking her fingers with a needle and thread were the worst she could do… days when she touched the finest silks, softer than starlight, that shimmered just as brightly and just as…

“Shame you can’t fashion yourself a little retreat away for yourself… a little place for privacy, secrecy,” that irritating and silken voice snapped her from her sweet memories, thrusting her right back into the agony of his presence. The reminder of all she lost. And he towered over her, looming above where she crouched.

Turning a look of pure spite up at him, she glared from over her shoulder, unable to miss how his legs stood so close to her rear. Nearly touching her with his body.

“What need would I have of secrecy, Astarion?” She taunted as she stood, carefully putting more room between them as she did so.

“Given how little I do recall about you, I’m sure I have no idea,” he purred, crossing his arms.

Exasperation. It had been a long day, ending it with more of him wasn’t ideal. She needed to… put something to rest. Anything.

“Okay, I get it,” she huffed, crossing her arms too, jutting her chin up as she met his sultry stare of indifference, “I remember much more than you. For whatever reason, I don’t know. And I know after all this time, I doubt I deserve any form of explanation. But my memory is all I have….”

She swallowed, the words you were all I had burning a hole in her throat as she fought them back down.

“But what I do know is that… someday… I would like to know what happened,” she blinked her sharp silver eyes, turning away hurriedly to hide the harsh sting of tears that began to burn. “When you’re ready… if you even remember enough to share that.”

Breathless, she waited for some snarky reply. For some witty rejoinder. But it never came. She turned. He was just… standing there. The light of the setting sun seemed to glow around him, almost making those soft, silver curls on his head incandescent.

Gods, she knew how it was she fell in love with him so easily, so long ago. A lifetime ago. Shadows darkened his eyes, and she saw it then, how he had let his guard down for a split second. Nothing but purest pain on his face.

“Astarion,” she breathed, those long forgotten feelings creeping back up. Timeless affection, boundless attachment, undying devotion.

“I will tell you… but,” he swallowed, giving a heavy, saddened sigh. “Gods, I wish I remembered more, remembered… you.” He looked at her then, really and truly. No squinting or leering or smirking. “You seem so, nice… when you want to be. You sound like you really, truly cared for me.”

“I did,” came her reply. I do, her heart screamed through the cage of spite that she had built.

“I am… sorry,” he kept his eyes fixed on her, so wide and soft. “I… must have cared for you too, I… I can almost feel it too.”

Her lungs burn. No, no. She was past this, for almost two centuries, she had buried herself in serving her people, defending them from enemies, seeking victories on the battlefield. Alone. Prowess with the blade. Feats few of her race have ever attained. No marriage or love to soften her.

And yet…except for his eyes, this was her love… her… gods, she swallowed the words… her betrothed.

“It’s alright, Astarion,” she shrugged, shoving down all that saccharine sentiment, “even if you did feel the same way as you did once, there is still the pain of losing you for such a long time.” Her head hung down, her eyes looking down the front of her well-worn linen shirt, as if she couldn’t examine the creases in her sleeves hard enough.

Then she felt him drawing closer.

“I… didn't fake anything,” he whispered. Standing right before her. Not touching, but staring back in the fading light. “I didn’t fake my death.”

She let out a quiet scoff. “So what, then if you didn’t fake it, you really died?” She couldn’t help the slight mocking edge to her voice as he dragged up all that pain she fought to still keep locked up tight.

He gave a single, loud, bitter laugh in return. Then, his face instantly lost all that softness, becoming all slanted angles, clenching muscles, and spiteful glare. “I was captured,” he hissed, “kept as a slave to a… monster.”

“Astarion,” his name was a sob in her voice, her body unable to stop her hand from reaching out to rest on his arm as it clenched at his side.

“No, I don’t want pity,” he snapped his teeth in rage, “I don’t want your pity. What I want is revenge. Freedom. These tadpoles have obviously affected us, in more ways than I think anyone can simply observe. There is a power here.” He trembled under her featherlight touch, but he hadn’t shaken it off. “And I would like to use it to its benefit for me, for once.”

“Sounds like even with… everything you endured, you haven’t changed all that much,” she tried to smile. Despite his pain and rage on his beautiful face. Despite her heavy heart.

“You have no idea what you are speaking of,” his voice was exacting, enraged, and sharp.

Her head nodded, the soft red waves of her hair falling gently as she did. “No, no I don’t. You’re right.”

And instantly something shifted in his frame. His gaze felt… different on her face. Even though she didn’t look up. Not yet.

“And I would want those things for you too, even once upon a time,” she added, “Freedom. Revenge.” She trained her eyes on the ground between them, feeling his stare’s intensity more than seeing it.

And still, he allowed her hand to rest on his arm.

“When we… once were… together, I would never have said such a thing. But I have changed in these centuries too. Fought enough battles, looted enough corpses to lose the softness of my hand and the gentility of my voice.” She struggled to breathe again. Something around her heart releasing at last. “Maybe it’s best that you don’t remember me.” She gave the hard sinews of his arm a gentle squeeze. “Maybe we just get to know each other as we are now?”

“I kind of like the sound of that,” he hummed. Then he cast that well-practiced smile, the only warning before his other hand came to cover hers arresting it from his body in his soft fingers.

His touch was still so… cold.

“I do still wish I could remember more of you,” his voice dipped low, soft and sweet and tickling in her ear as he seemed to draw closer. “Maybe you can think of some things to… trigger my memory?”

“I could certainly try,” she managed to reply, and as he began to crowd her.

“I’d be open to some ideas of yours, darling,” his hand raised her to his lips, placing a polite kiss on her twitching fingertips. “I also have some… suggestions that you might find… intriguing.” His eyes flashed as she looked into his face, as she felt his breath on her hand where he kept it pressed close to his mouth. “Especially since you say we were betrothed…”

Nope. She gave him a disapproving frown, a bitter chuckle. “If you can’t remember if we have coupled yet, then I am not about to tell you either way, Astarion,” she smirked at him. “If we are getting to know one another again, it seems only fair you should earn such a privilege again as well.”

He shrugged those strapping, broad shoulders. “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he purred. “Not with how… delectable… you smell.”

Her breath burned in her lungs, his hand turning hers slowly, running a thumb over that sensitive skin inside her wrist just once. Pressing it against his nose. Smelling her flesh. Even more painstakingly slowly, his lips caressed it, trailing a few more over those tingling nerves he was igniting on fire now. Then he released her just as quickly as he had stolen her hand to press to his lips.

Similar, but so, so much more daring. Devious. Desirous. Gods, kissing her fingers was one thing, but this. Oh, she felt molten inside, barely noticing just how cold he still was to the touch. Finally he released her. “You should rest, my dear. Tell the others, I will take the first watch to show you all I’m on my best behavior.”

She watched him turn and take two steps towards his tent.

Then he stoped, casting a smirk over his shoulder. Catching her in the glint of his crimson eye. “Sweet dreams… Cordehlia.”

Hells… her name. Her gut stabbed in on itself. Her legs gave out slightly, as she hoped he wouldn't notice.

No one had said it… her name… not within his hearing. How… did he…?

As he crept his way to the treeline, Cordehlia watched him as he stalked away. Wondering just how much he might remember.

Wondering at how much he had changed…

Wondering… why was he so cold, and why were his eyes so red…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

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esamastation · 1 year ago

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Shizuroth, part twenty

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen,

Somewhere, a flower dies.

It is a rare flower, a mysterious and exquisite herb rarely seen, with an ability unlike any other. When a seed of this plant is fed with the Qi of an individual, it becomes intrinsically linked with that individual - so much so, that as the seed is planted and takes root, it begins growing in the shape of that individual.

This particular plant was fed by Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, immortal master Shen Qingqiu… sometime before his death.

It was planted by his sect sibling and fellow Peak Lord, that of An Ding, immortal master Shang Qinghua. And unbeknownst to Shen Qingqiu, Shang Qinghua paid very careful attention to the planting. His own flower would grow right next to the one fed with Shen Qingqiu's Qi, and if Shang Qinghua was anything, he was a survivor. And that's what these mystical plants were for - for survival.

For should they, for whatever reason, die, their souls, linked to their individual flowers, would find a new home in the plant grown in their shape.

In a hidden grove rarely visited, where the Sun and the Moon would have equal reign, where the dew gathered on new leaves and Qi flowed pure and wild, the seeds were planted with utmost care, to flourish in their impeccably selected and prepared environment.

And they did, for a while. Together they sprouted, and together they reached for light. For a while they flourished.

Nonetheless, one of them died. The first tender leaves dried up and curled in on themselves as the stalk withered, and what could have grown into a body underground never got a chance.

And the link to Shen Qingqiu's soul was severed.

Elsewhere, a body lay dead.

Perfectly preserved with a half-demon's Qi and effort, with that half-demon's blood parasites working within it, relentlessly repairing what death damages. No decay was allowed to take hold, even the stiffening of death could not take root, the half-demon did not allow it. The body remained supple and soft, as though the person had only laid down to sleep.

Nonetheless, it was dead. It did not breathe nor did it's heart beat. Every day and night half-demon begged the body, awaken. It did not.

Shen Qingqiu's soul was not there.

"What do you mean, his soul isn't there?" Luo Binghe, the new upcoming demon lord, asks dangerously the demon on her knees before him.

Madam Meiyin bows her head. She is a succubus and fortune-teller, one of the strongest in the human and the demon realm - and as such she knows the dangers of giving this man bad news. "I can only tell you what I sense, my lord - I know not what it means. Shen Qingqiu is not here - his future is not here, his fortunes have departed."

The demon lord before her oozes dark, rageful energy, grown only stronger by all-encompassing grief that besieged his every thought and wish. "I have done everything in my power to preserve his body, I have done everything to make sure he will not reincarnate - if his soul isn't here, then where is it?!"

Madam Meiyin presses her prettily painted lips together. "It has departed -"

"Don't you dare tell me he's gone!"

The succubus flinches and keeps her head bowed. "Gone doesn't mean his soul no longer exists," she says carefully. "Nor that he's necessarily beyond my lord's reach. He's only… gone. He is somewhere else now."

Luo Binghe lets out a wordless roar, turning away with a violent motion, as though he wants to tear at something to alleviate his fury. "So he slipped through my fingers? He reincarnated after all?!"

Madam Meiyin hesitates, not sure how much she can say. Should she offer too much and should later the young demon lord fail in his quest to get Shen Qingqiu back… he might look upon her past advice and see her as a liar, for giving him false hope. Her life would surely be forfeit then.

"My lord," she says, keeping her eyes on the floor. "I once, a year or so ago, met Shen Qingqiu, and I read his future for him. Though my predictions can be vague, they are rarely wrong. He had a full life ahead of him, then, with a love of a younger lover and happiness unlike any he felt he deserved. And…"

She pauses as the demon lord before her keens in agony, clutching at his head, tearing at his hair. She swallows and waits, pretending she can't hear until he pants for a breath and is ready to listen once more.

"And," Madam Meiyin continues, very carefully, "I do not feel this fortune has at all changed."

Aww, Bingbing...

#Fanfiction #Svsss #ff7 #ffvii

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analviel · 1 year ago

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I see a lot of examination and discussion of how Shen Jiu had the setting/backstory of a protagonist, could've been a protagonist if not for a twist of fate, and in a way his shape is still a protagonist when SY literally piloted his body- but not. (I think we all get hung up a lot bcs he didn't become protag like he deserves but he also didn't become a full on villain, who's still a protag of his own story, but just a scum villain because of the misunderstanding, somewhere along the way something happened and held him back in that in-between place, unable to tip over completely one way or another.)

It's often brought up that he's undergone his own blackening into a scum villain and I think about that a lot, but you know, his settings never actually trailed off too far from the protagonist setting, with the 'from the lowest to the highest' template- idk if that makes sense, but anyways, I of course have read more than my fair share of fix-its, but often, if not always, it's a time travel scenario.

But WHAT IF:

But what if Shen Jiu, rather than swallowing the shards of Xuan Su, uses it to cut himself free of the immortal binding ropes or whatever is stopping his qi. Which is not LBH's parasite blood I don't think they have that ability but whatever. I mean, you'd ask how would he, without arms and legs, escape? A nifty thing we're all familiar with called author's will.

A time when LBH is away to deal with one thing or another, and SJ, after years of lifeless staring, and even more lifeless staring in the aftermath of YQY's death, moves. The thing about not attempting to escape for a long, long time, is that people lower their guards and grows complacent, and it's not as if there's anyone checking up on him to see if he's eating meals or whatever, LBH is more than happy to get suggestions from his wives for torture ideas but was very controlling of who gets to inflict it (Xuan Su was just left there and he did manage to swallow it). So Shen Jiu, with only Xuan Su's blade and it's inherent property as a spirit sword, not even an active one which means on one hand there's no active qi in it but the latent one from its materials, and on the other hand it's not bound to anyone and was more malleable, whatever. ANYWAYS. Skip.

Shen Jiu knowing of one thing or another, or several things that's a combination of common healing theory, rarer healing practices, less than righteous surgery techniques, equals bastardized body repair and ends with him frankensteining himself with some shaky qi threads. The needle is a piece of Xuan Su. He doesn't blink bcs his pain receptors are no more.

Scenario A.) I want SJ to play the 'mysterious wandering protag with a mysterious dark past and a mission for vengeance', only wanting to kill LBH before planning to retire from existance himself and he goes with his cool and angsty scarred body that he'd DIY'ed. The blood parasites are solved by something ruthlessly self-destructive only someone with SJ's coldness and lack of actual desire to continue breathing would do without even some initial testing. This would be done quick and dirty to keep LBH from teacking him. OR/AND

Scenario B.) I say or-slash-and because the scenario A could be cut off or maybe they could be combined. The handy dandy sun and moon dew!!! Plant it, grow it, kill himself, and recover his full potential all those years ago! Of course this would take quite a while, so he might need scenario A anyways. And conveniently enough, it puts him in the path of....... dun dun dun ZUZHI-LANG!!! And TLJ by proxy. Allies get! Maybe! Because TLJ wants to kill the sects, right? But his son did it here for him, so maybe he wouldn't bother anymore. Or maybe it's not enough bcs he hadn't killed all of everyone, so let daddy fix that right up. Or/and, LBH feels threatened and threatens in proper blackened protg manner and TLJ threatens back and flat out stomps him.

So. Maybe!

To expand on the rest of the Jianghu, the other 4 Peak Lords we know are alive, SQH, QQQ, WQW, and MQF. Bcs we don't have definite details on the timeline of PIDW, we can conveniently fill in space, put a lot of cause and effect, the cultivator world is in an uproar by the reveal that LBH is a demon (it's not as if they were okay with that, duh, if they'd known he was a demon, SJ's actions would've been treated as the only logical thing to do) and YQY is dead, AND SQH is a traitor, so that's down two - or rather three with SQQ- influential people, two of which were heavily involved in how everything is run (SQQ, while not actually lazy in his cultivation, was indeed lazy and unmotivated in most tasks that involved coordinating with others).

I really don't think SJ would feel even a little bit betrayed by SQH. To be betrayed you have to trust first, and his whole thing was that he never trusted anyone from CQMS. For SJ, SQH didn't betray them so much as his loyalty just belonged to another. Still would kill the rat next time he sees him tho (spoiler alert, he doesn't, kill him that is, but he does see him eventually).

So, I'm of the belief that Airplane's drafts included the Peak Lords as big boss too, where TLJ is the big boss of the demonic realm, they're the ones for the cultivation world, and my headcanon is that they were purposely met with sudden deaths one way or another in PIDW, and none actually died in a straight up fight, which is on brand with LQG's deviation, SQQ's trial, and YQY's thousand arrows (that I say are one of those bullshit golden finger artifacts of PIDW, maybe something like 'heavenly damned arrows of a thousand rays' that always flies true to it's target and could seal rare level pokemon rip-offs beasts for every single one. No reason that they would be normal p arrows, really). SQH might have fought or just been completely taken off guard by his lord killing him out of the blue with no chance to wriggle out. But Like QQQ was backstabbed. WQW was poisoned. MQF sacrificed himself for a beloved disciple (and that's why WQW died because he set out to find his martial brother but didn't know he'd already died. Awww).

(connected to another headcanon, the other five unnamed Peak Lords died long ago in the first battle against TLJ when he was sealed)

These people were meant to be a team. Or at least a set.

So SJ goes on an epic quest of getting power to kill his Qi-ge's killer via sun and moon dew possibly while he gets his tactician brain creating up something to kill LBH (OP characters are not killed in straight up fights, as we've learned, they're tricked or betrayed) and accidentally finding and gathering his siblings who, at that point, happen to have become guardians of havens and refuge communities in pockets of the world that holds the remnants of cultivator and human realm, where the demonic forces have spread far and wide in every realm. It's initially written to later, eventually be conquered by LBH. For example there's a hidden cave passage that leads you to Mu Qingfang's hidey hole, a pocket dimension with much rural fantasy aesthetic, housing parients and normal mortals with farms and houses woven to giant trees. Wei Qingwei is found underground creating weapons and defenses day in and day out to source to QQQ and MQF. Qi Qingqi with her armies always on the move, squads spread out in the realms, resisting against the demonic forces, helping Mu Qingfang rescue stragglers, from her old fairycore ensemble shifting to dragoncore, rarely resting with her inedia in the hollow of a mountain.

(xianxia aesthetic, whimsical aesthetic, aesthetic aesthetic aesthetic!!!!!!!!).

They..... Well. It's an awkward reunion.

SJ was shocked to meet the first lord sibling he'd seen since his imprisonment, shown only by a slight widened eyes, but emotions quickly gone. His first words is, "Do you wnat to kill the beast?"

He didn't care about the answer, if they said yes, then alright, if they said no, then he'd just walk away.

They say yes. Every one.

So, the rest really depends on how you interpret his relationship with them before the trial.

A). Was it a case of it's exactly what it looked like and they oh so very righteously hated him and he hated them back, a bunch of misunderstandings and not-so misunderstandings building up?

B). Did they have mutual respect and mutual awareness that everyone in the room they hold their PL meetings in were assholes of different flavors? Did they expect Shen Jiu to save himself in the trials, was dissapointed when he didn't but since he didn't give any indication of wanting to be saved, shrugged their shoulders and left him to his life, as they have always poked and snided at each other but always kept away from actually interfering with their lives (no matter how evil they thought the others were, because they may be evil, but they were still siblings and that just meant they had evil martial siblings. Love morally dubious group of PL but still ride and die)?

C). Or maybe they actually had a good relationship consisting of a lot of sharp teasing and reckless verbal and physical lashing and tantrums that you can really only get away with to your siblings, but was twisted by outside perpective?

And, on the way, maybe he learns to form relationships properly, with people that he loved nothing like the all-consuming soul twisting and mutually hurtful and destructive way he dedicated everything to Yue Qingyuan (from his loyalty to his shrivelled love and every hurtful words).

Just. Friends. Family. Siblings.

Imagine SJ eventually wandering off, with a burnt down Peak that would never again beholden him to promises, broken and otherwise. Grieving, yes, but somehow at peace than he'd ever been in. A very long time?

Ming Fan, who'd perhaps been in Qi Qingqi's Fairy Haven (of course that's the name, we've got a theme people) that was the group that consisted of people that bayed for the Emperor's blood or just the more active cultivators (with GYX mayhaps), a loyal disciple reunited with his Shizun. Or mayne he'd been the one to have found SJ as a human stick and helped him get spare body parts.

I imagine in this world, once Luo Binghe is... out of the picture, one way or another, busy dying or busy having an appropriately dramatic amnesia arc for him to develop character development, NYY takes over as the Empress, with her court of demoness and humans, and Harems becomes synonymous to Council. LMY her right hand helping keep everyone in line, who are also partially managed by SHL, who weighted her options and pros and cons and found establishing her position as left hand pretty good for now. The rest can come later. Imagine NYY growing up, not in brute strength bcs that wasn't how she was taught, nor is it her strength, but perhaps in a way that SJ would idly wonder if perhaps he should've endorsed her to Qiong Ding. Not all harem members stay of course, and some had to die. Ning YingYing becomes the First Empress of the age of peace in the unified two realms and first order of business is secure her influence. Second is ban slaves. Third is to encourage a tentative cooperation between humans and demons.

(Additional note: LBH having a protagonist halo doesn't make him unkillable, the death just has to meet several requirements, like being suitably glorious and impactful, and also maybe tragic- ehem killed by his own father or shizun, and seeing his washerwoman mother at his last moments. The protagonist is just another tool to set up the story and evidently, genre change is not impossible.)

(I imagine a confrontation between SJ and LMY early on that goes along the lines of SJ saying, "Wouldn't you know better than most, the thirst for vengeance for a brother's death?)

What if SJ's fix-it comes after PIDW, you know. PIDW being his tragic backstory. A slave who climbed so high despite the past clinging heavy on his shoulders, and then falling down lower than he'd ever been and resolving his issues and then climbing back even higher with more stable footing.

Qiu Haitang, Yue Qingyuan, Liu Qingge, their Five Unnamed Martial Siblings, Luo Binghe- regrets, and triumphs, all part of his story to mull over whenever he reaches the top of random hills and sets out his tea set. It's a bittersweet plot I like thinking about.

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