#cw: dismemberment mention

[roleplay-abiogenesis2]

@shattered-sacrifice said:

So. As torn apart limb by limb? A easy request to grant. But a pain in the ass to clean.

"HAHAHAHA YES! That's exactly what I'm talking about! Every single gross bit of it! My poor lil' monkey, scrubbing himself until it bleeds trying to get rid of all the gunk. Can you imagine what a cute face he'd make while crying? If I think about it, I think I could die twice! HILARIOUS!"

Aw man, where is Saruhiko right now? He should join in on the brainstorming! If his condition doesn't kill him faster, Niki might consider faking his own death just to throw his kid a party now. Missing this kind of fun is almost a pity.

[roleplay-abiogenesis2]

A dog-a-list user, of course. That was the only answer, and in any other moment, he'd have thought it was dead funny.

Only, right now even he couldn't find an ounce of humor in his own joke. No shadow of a smile in his eyes. The pull on his muscles became tear, and the punchline was left undelivered, in favor of a tired scoff between lips pulled into a fatigued snarl.

He needed to shut it out; the pain, the mirroring images of his nightmares overlapping with the present. He'd been through worse; he could manage.

"I'll be fine." He muttered, before Ren could voice his concerns - really, more like pointing at the obvious here - again. "I'm used to it."

There, he pauses, hunched over, catching his breath while one hand needlessly rises to hold onto the bruised side - it's turning purple against the honey shade of his skin, he can see it out of the corner of his eye - while he exchanges a bitter look towards Ren and mulling over his words. He wanted to argue. He had a lot to lose, more than most would think.

Even here, with just the two of them. Making the wrong call would bring loss to many. Not just the people Cyno had come to care about in his life, but also those who now felt the same way about the wanderer. Could he in good conscience even think he'd be able to look Nahida in the eyes again, should he walk out of this alone?

No way. Her attachment for her ward has been a bitter reality to swallow... just about as bitter as his present realization that, like it or not, Ren's suggestion was his only option left.

The heavy stone that weighed onto his arm was more than just that. Following the web of debris, one by one, Cyno's eyes saw and he knew that the whole structure around them rested onto that very spot. There was nothing he could remove, wedge or shift in order to change the distribution of that weight. Chances were every bone inside was already crushed to dust, no matter how soft the sand beneath could be.

Amputation would be the necessary solution. He knew that much, and yet... With his weapon being a blunt staff, what could he possibly achieve in a time-efficient manner?

'So let me.' Came the intrusive thought. And he knew right away who that side of his mind belonged to.

If he were ever asked someday, Cyno wouldn't lie and say that there wasn't a moment where he'd felt inclined to oblige that idea. It was impulsive, tempting; it'd felt just right. The way surrendering himself to the possession of his spirit always felt.

But this time, he opposed it. Well, not completely. A different idea took form instead; a gamble perhaps. Like on a match of his favorite game, the General decided to place his bet on one last roll of the dice.

"It's like you said... I'm different from an ordinary person, too." He said, hearing his own voice drop one octave while every ounce of his focus concentrated in the gathering of every slightest ounce of elemental energy from his surroundings. From the electricity in the air, the static on his clothes, even from Ren himself, perhaps.

Through a flash of his Vision, the Sacred Rite completed, and the spirit's eyes opened on the surface of the jackal headdress, sharp fangs emerging out of Cyno's knuckles, while at the wrists shackles and wraps bearing ancient scriptures followed his movements as though made of actual cloth.

His time was limited. Eighteen seconds to do, or die. In a semi-conscious state that erased all physical sensation of pain and torment, the Pactsworn Pathclearer aimed and struck at the heavy debris trapping the wanderer. They unjammed and flew high and above like projectiles of stone and clay, sent skywards and littering the sky with their shadows. Promising to rain down soon enough.

In his present state, it was barely the time needed to quickly pick up the light form of Nahida's ward and dash out of the way with powerful leaps. The ruins came crumbling down at their backs, rising a massive cloud of sand and dust. Landing in a crouched position, Cyno felt his transformation ebb away; beneath the dissolving form of the spirit, his flesh trembled, his body near its limit. His lungs felt on fire; how much dust had he breathed in?

But at least, they were out of there. Now all what was left to do was assess the damage. Forcing himself to be careful, he graciously and slowly let Ren's weight down and off of his arms, back on the ground, just looking him over in assessment while he waited for his own energies to recover enough to stand again.

❝  a  cat ...  oh.  ❞  the  realization  comes  in  line  with  an  audible  gasp  —  not  from  the  pun,  but  rather  the  removal  of  such  a  large  piece  of  rubble.  with  the  pressure  gone,  waves  of  agony  flood  his  body  with  renewed  vigor.  he  can  make  out  the  damage  better  now;  there  are  breaks  in  both  sides  of  his  ribcage  —  though  thankfully,  the  wanderer's  bones  were  designed  dense  enough  to  SNAP  rather  than  shatter.  (  all  so  they  can  be  slotted  back  into  place,  like  pieces  of  a  grotesque  puzzle.  )  that  isn't  too  terrible;  he  only  needs  to  make  sure  everything  is  in  order  and  his  inbuilt  regenerative  abilities  should  be  able  to  do  the  rest.  though  he  isn't  entirely  certain  about  the  state  of  his  legs.  experimentally,  the  wanderer  tries  to  at least move  his  arm  —  only  to  find  it's  still  pinned  beneath  the  stone.  perhaps  he  could  try  to  pull  it  out  by  force,  but  ren  has  a  sneaking  suspicion  that's  just  as  likely  to  send  the  entire  pile  tumbling  down  on  top  of  him.

he  looks  up  —  and  in  an  unusual  twist,  there  seems  to  be  a  scrap  of  genuine  CONCERN  lighting  up  indigo  gaze.  ❝  ...  you're  injured.  ❞  the  wanderer  notes,  hating  the  emotion  that  realization  evokes  in  the  pit  of  a  stomach  he  doesn't  have.  he  feels  guilty;  that's  troublesome.   ❝  don't  push  yourself  so  hard.  if  you  pass  out  trying  to  help  me,  we'll  both  be  in  trouble.  ❞  the  human  more  so  than  ren  himself  —  though  he  suspects  cyno  doesn't  exactly  BELIEVE  his  claims  that  his  injuries  aren't  as  severe  as  they  appear  to  be.  he  falls  silent  for  a  moment.  trying  to  think  —  trying  to  figure  out  a  way  to  drag  them  both out  of  this  inconvenient  situation.  realistically,  if  he  can  just  get  himself  free,  he  can  bring  the  general  mahamatra  —  somewhere?  ren  knows  basic  first  aid,  but  he  isn't  a  MEDIC.

whatever.  one  thing  at  a  time.  ❝  just  get  my  arm  free.  ❞  the wanderer  tries  to  (  awkwardly  )  gesture  by  nodding  his  head  in  its  direction.   ❝  at this point, what  else  do  you  have  to  lose?  trust  me.  ❞  ren  knows  that's  asking  an  awful  lot.  as  an  olive  branch  of  sorts,  he  adds,  ❝  and,  uh.  what  do  you  call  someone  with  too  many  dogs?  ❞

his  enthusiasm  feels  awkward  —  so  artificial  as  to  be  painful.  but  it's ...  an  attempt.

[waterfrontcomplex]

CYCRANE KILLER - A YANQING SERIAL KILLER AU

TW/CW FOR MURDER, VIOLENCE, DISMEMBERMENT, GENERAL MENTAL INSTABILITY, MENTIONS OF ABUSE

AU INFO ↓

after the disastrous battle at dragonprayer terrace, yanqing is left disheartened, confused, and alone. he was just defeated by 2 criminals, and the one person he trusted with his whole being left him there with no explanation.

he gets healed at the alchemy commission, and returns home. jing yuan eventually recovers, and... everything returns to some sense of normalcy. no 'i'm sorry', no 'are you okay?', no nothing. he receives assignments as usual, and goes through with them with ease.

during an assignment in cloudford, he encounters a man who was on the run and had a warrant out for his arrest for domestic abuse. yanqing pursued the man until he accidentally cornered him with some particularly violent mara-struck, and was killed before he could stop them.

that night, he couldn't stop thinking about the man. he had let a civilian die. but... that man was a terrible person. he had a family that loved him, and he hurt them in return. yanqing felt an unexplainable burst of 'satisfaction' or even 'happiness'. that man would never hurt anybody again.

a terrible idea appeared in his head. what if he purposely killed people like those?

it's extremely illegal and goes against his duty as a cloud knight, but they would deserve it and he's just so, so frustrated. so, he looks into a couple cases and finds one he takes interest in. if he wants to go through with this, he can't use yanzhuo or his ice swords; it would make his identity too obvious. he grabs a blade he's been itching to test out, dons a cloak and leaves during the night.

the break-in and murder is easy enough. most people on the luofu stand no chance against him. adrenaline is rushing through his veins, and now there's a body on the floor and his dagger is covered in blood.

the cleanup is simple; he has the knowledge and resources available to make it look as if his target had just vanished during the night. he dismembers and disposes of the body and returns home. he had just killed another civilian... but they were a terrible person— no, they're not even a person. they're just vermin, unworthy of the title of 'human' and waiting to be eliminated. he feels static in his head.

in the following weeks, he does his best to avoid searching up information about his target. yanqing listens in to gossip instead, and gathers that they had been reported missing but no traces were found. he had gotten away with murder.

and he was going to do it again.

the next few nights, he claims more lives; lives of those unworthy of them. after the murders, the static in his head clears, but comes back later. they disappear during the night without a trace.

while disposing of a body, yanqing encounters a partially broken down cycrane with sentience, like his swords. he fixes it up, and it says it doesn't want to 'return to a mundane life of endless deliveries', so he takes it home and hides it. after a bit of searching, he gives it a name: rosebane.

the cases are starting to catch the attention of the higher-ups. the public now knows about the 'mysterious disappearances', and rumors start spreading like wildfire. some claim it's a monster, other say it's a stalker, and some are claiming that it's a whole group of people. nobody suspects him a bit. tensions are high.

yanqing doesn't want the public to worry too much. rumors of a monster could put the cloud knights on high alert. if he let any witnesses see him, they would know it was a human. and if he brings rosebane, they would know it's the same person, and not a group of people. rosebane wouldn't reveal anything about his real identity, and would be particularly useful for tracking down targets. a monster would be extremely concerning, but a person would be... hopefully less concerning. and with a cycrane, it would lead the investigators away from him.

during his next murder, he chooses a time where there would be a witness, and commits the crime, leaving the body. word gets out, and news of the 'cycrane killer' is everywhere. yanqing masks his nervousness as worry for jing yuan, but he doesn't fully buy it.

he's not crazy, he's not insane at all. he doesn't kill for the adrenaline rush, or to clear the static in his head, or for whatever other reason.

he's just... doing the luofu a favor.

☆⋆⋅───────

RELATIONSHIPS

YANQING -> ROSEBANE

friendly. they are extremely close, but can't talk much since yanqing shouldn't bring them out during the day. they're partners in crime, bound to their secret. he finds their sentience interesting.

YANQING -> JING YUAN

tense. yanqing partly blames jing yuan for his... new hobby. he still cares and would never hurt him on purpose, but he's extremely frustrated and confused. he mainly wants an explanation but feels as if he has no right to ask for one. yanqing also has to tread lightly around jing yuan to avoid him figuring out about his murders.

YANQING -> FU XUAN

cautious. if fu xuan suspects him of anything, she could easily rat him out with the matrix of prescience. he's been keeping his distance.

JING YUAN -> YANQING

worry. jing yuan knows yanqing's upset and has been acting strangely ever since he recovered. he also knows that his retainer is hiding something, but doesn't know what.

[possibly-in-wonderland]

US, LIST3NING T0 MARY FR0M TH3 WALT3N FIL3S SCR3AM AS SH3'S T0RN APART LIMB FR0M LIMB:

alice, butting in: do you think this is how raven sounded when smoke tortured them?

M3:

[luhstories]

ㅤㅤ“    ooo— cheeky, jaiden. keeping secrets from your closest companion?    ” tuts of disapproval were given; still playful despite its sinister agenda. putting on a wounded face when the male vocalized his disdain for them; their own feigning. then came the million dollar question, but they stayed silent with only a smirk and their hand lowering to prod at temple. “    if he couldn't, you wouldn't still be alive right now.    ” control wasn't absolute, but over time and with a few more sacrifices, he figured jaiden would be the last lamb alive for doomsday. “    what's your plan exactly to help him? did you plan to get ahold of an exorcism book? visit your local church and hope some hack priest has the answers for you? you'd be better off watching one of those moving pictures with all the gore and demon stereotypes.    ” the hearty laughter that left him thinned out into an airy amusement, shaking head and drawing closer to jaiden. “    well, while you try and figure out how you're going to save him ... i'm going to continue my duties, and i've gotta hand it to the youth ... amongst tragedy, you all still find time to party without a care in the world. i mean, this girl ... anna mccormick? she's throwing a party and all i can think about is what lucky teen will drunkenly fall into my lap so that i can cut them limb from limb.    ” words left them with ease and a smile; glancing down at the lack of space between the two of them anymore. “    jaiden, do you think spineless, meek forrest would go these lengths for you if the roles were reversed? i think it is in your best interest to find the next exit out of town. you seem smart, so you should act smart. there's nothing smart about trying to go against something eons older than you.    ”

hands shoved casually in jean pockets, concealing the way his fingers tapped uncertainly inside, as if the easy stance wouldn't give away how his heart started to hammer in his chest - although at the other thing's words jaiden wondered if forrest would know that. probably. the one person he'd never thought to hide his concerns from. “ he doesn't know everything. ” features narrowed, unwavering in staring back at the both familiar and unfamiliar gaze meeting his. he didn't know how jaiden really felt about him, nor the fact there was almost nothing that he wouldn't do to get him back. “ you think i like you? ” the question repeated was an almost incredulous turn in his tone. “ i can't stand you. i want my friend back - the original one. and i'll find a way to help him. ” jai had to. after all, whatever he was talking to was right, this was all his fault. the prospect that the other male was fading in there pushed like a weight against his chest, confidence feigning for a moment at the knowledge he had no idea where to start. “ can he still hear me? ” he hated having to ask, the knowledge that no answer given would feel like the truth.

[stories-of-the-multiverse]

((Starter fore @remnantsouls ))

Charlie winced when of course, she felt no pulse from the body she was checking. Poor guy bled out before she could get to them...

She sighed as she stood, holding onto herself.

Alright, don't give up now, Charlie. The moment you do, whatever survivor there is is done for for sure!

She jogged forward, eyes briefly scanning the bodies as she passed.

There has to be someone, someone she could help. Someone she could give at least another year!

Someone that-!

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw an inky black trail among the crimson. And she felt her blood go ice cold.

An unfortunate truth was, an average of ten percent of victims of these genocides were Hellborn. Those that could not afford to live in the other Rings, or even in Hellborn only settlements like Imp City. Either the Exorcists couldn't tell the difference, or didn't care. Perhaps a mixture of both.

Demons are demons, after all...

And it looks like she might find another example of this statistic...

Uneasily, she followed the trail into the alley...

"... Oh my god...!"

Another fun bit about the Exterminations? Most Exorcists were notorious for playing with their food. Not just in chasing their targets, but finding increasingly cruel ways to end their lives.

And taking literally an arm and a leg from them...?!

Charlie rushed to the incubus's side, hurriedly checking his pulse.

Still alive...!

"Ca-Can you hear me?! I- H-Hold on-!"

She took out the kit she was carrying, bandages and guaze being snatched up as she hoped the empathic link with her goat bois would bring them here.

She started with the shoulder, putting the gauze over the bloody socket and hurriedly winding the bandage over it while being careful maneuvering his remaining arm out of the way.

If it weren't for the threat of the blood loss, she would have cleaned the wound first. Infections were a bitch down here. But right now she had to do something about the bleeding.

She hoped her hands were steadier than she felt...

[robinlmaoo]

rping in the backrooms is terrifying. i thought entering as a child into the backrooms, that it would spare me from all the horrors and violence and bloody blood blood. but no. just no. an entity in the rp i was in had the nerve to fry off my arm, i was a ten-year-old BEAN, HOW DARE THEY-

i was mono btw. mono from little nightmares. mono in the backrooms. who had his arm taken off after he saw another person OOF because the notjohn hivemind who was chasing use YEETED him with a laser and took away his breathing privileges. and now he’s depending on another mysterious entity for survival, help my poor boy pls

[ask-spamton-gpory-spamgon]

Alpha 66529810 Beta Gamma Omicron Uploading Archive Footage date: December Day ?? 1999

Archive Footage Trigger Word: Thigh Highs

Upload 3 of 3 complete

All footage/text documents uploaded are locked but only to the uploader themself.

Unit Will Return online approximately 9 to 10 hours from now.

Thank you for your patience.

all hail team rocket!

The footage seems all shaky the whole labatory seems to be shaking and screaming the door from the lab could be seen Slamming open,

and a young looking man and what could be recognized as Dr. Holiday run into the test subject's room she seemed to be very badly injured to the point she was missing an arm she coughed up blood and although audio was messed up some of what they said could be made out.

"Doctor please we gotta go I know that things your life's work but it's not worth losing your life over! We already know what happens when we play god and we're paying for it!, we gotta go before the experiment from the labatory next door finds us"

She could be seen dropping her arm to the ground and screaming before burning the wound closed with something before sitting down at the computer desk.

"NO I MUST COMPLETE HIM OTHERWISE HE'LL BE DEAD WITHIN 30 YEARS HIS CODE ISN'T DAMN COMPLETE YOU CAN EITHER HELP ME OR LEAVE! I CAN DO IT MYSELF IF I HAVE TO!"

Although the faces were blurred the man jumped and mumbled "I'm sorry... I just don't want to die I hope you make it out of here okay." Before running away as some sounds of destruction came towards them seemed.

She seemed to scoff loudly before rubbing her head and continuing to work away typing away the best she could with only one arm this project was her life's work she didn't want it to destroy itself she wanted to complete him,

she was growing tired and looking around her nervously the sounds were so loud so distracting she then noticed the camara still recording and got up from the table and began to walk towards it just as the door smashed open with a blue glow around it.

She gasped for air feeling herself being choked by a physic hold pulling at her own throat she began to beg but not for her life but instead for her creations life.

"P-Please let me store these logs in his memory at least I beg you he must know about his past... and... give him this scarf it's from his mother"

The legendary pokemon let go of her throat and spoke telepathically "YOU HAVE 5 MINUTES THEN I'M SETTING THIS CREATURE FREE"

She sighed before turning the camara off and the footage ended there.

The final message that appears is the same one that appeared in all these other stored video's but with a small little text at the end

"There are more code phrases, these will unlock more of these documents and also allow Spamgon permission to read all these logs TRY ANYTHING! DIG FOR THEM but don't use too many code words at once, it might make him shut down this is,

so he can see all these I prey whoever reads these... Is able to fix him before he expires, he's my snowflake and he must be allowed to live. Goodbye and if Giovanni is still alive tell him he's A-"

[miyamiwu]

Reading a new horror danmei, and oh man, this is interesting

Chu Yang's eyes widened and he thought to himself, what if they don’t call the police and this turns out to be a case of murder and body dimemberment? The manager seemed to know what he was thinking and explained with an odd look, "It's not that I want to cover anything up, but... this room wasn't even occupied yesterday." Chu Yang became more and more confused, “No one was staying in here? But I saw a sign hanging on the door... The manager hesitated for a moment then suddenly reached out and pulled the door shut. Just when Chu Yang was struggling to understand, she opened the door once more. Chu Yang's mouth opened slightly and he blinked his eyes hard, even rubbing his eyelids with his hands, wondering if there was something wrong with his contact lenses. The room was clean, completely uninhabited, not to mention any blood or chunks of flesh...

[activatebutterflyshield]

All’s Fair in Love and War

VERY LONG POST

Mentions violence, blood, dismemberment, and implies cannibalism but that doesn’t actually happen

The first part of a series of connected short stories in my setting called the Layered Earth, which contains various versions of the Earth that exist parallel to one another. Each version is a Layer, and each Layer is different. This story takes place on Layer Beta, a hidden-style urban fantasy setting with fun things like gods, supernatural organizations recovering from the Cold War, magic guns, cult nonsense, etc, etc.

This one features some poor sods out of Station Chicago of the Chatter & Melody Society, who are a bunch of scholars and diplomats trying to keep the peace and understand the supernatural.

RECORD #20150519 Chicago

TYPE: Field Recording

INCLUDES: Rio Delgado, Chicago Field Agent Designation Drop Spindle, Songbird, team leader Dominic Rower, Chicago Field Agent Designation Gold Standard, Fluctuation Sylvia Yang, Chicago Field Agent Designation Turncoat, Speculation, former IPL

Delgado: This is Delgado. Rower, Yang, and I have arrived at the town of unclear. Uh- yeah, I know the mission instructions and Francis said it was called Glade, and that it’s in Kansas, but I don’t see any signs or street names or, well, really anything that isn’t covered in claw marks.

Rower: Uh-huh. Everything’s completely covered in them; the road, the windows, the street lights, even the gas station sign. I’m glad we took the Pony Express and not a car, or else we’d be stranded. Hell knows what put claw marks in the asphalt…

(Sounds of footsteps)

Yang: Uh, guys, I think I found someone. Or, eugh, part of someone.

Delgado:** Hyugh, yeah, that’s an arm. For the record, it’s a human arm, adult size, tan, and very bloody. Severed somewhere between the shoulder and the elbow… I think. Don���t wanna get any closer, that’s for sure.

(Camera clicks)

Rower: Guys, there’s more.

(Sound of footsteps)

Yang, bewildered: Holy cannoli that’s a lot of blood.

Delgado: And… guts. And bits of something that went through something very nasty. I guess this is what happens if you skin a cat. Well, lots of cats.

…

What? No gallows humor?

Rower: Mate, we don’t know what’s, or who’s dead, or even how many are dead. You don’t even feel a bit sorry?

Delgado, defensively: Hey, hey, just trying to live up to my lighthearted patron, aye? Why aren’t you being all analytical and junk?

Rower, defensively: What, am I supposed to be emotionless? Y’think that’s what the Deer’s about? Man, if we weren’t partners—

Yang, forcefully: Shut up the both of you. Let’s just do our jobs. We’re not the goddamned IPC, we don’t need to do a whole war crimes investigation. We’re just here to log the carnage and leave the evidence intact.

Delgado: sigh, aye. Sorry, mate.

Rower: No big deal, let’s just get on with it.

(Sounds of footsteps)

Rower, somewhat distantly: Found a leg over here, knee down. Hurghk… and a hand. Huh, seems like the hand was holding on to something before it was, uh, cut off.

(Camera clicks)

Yang, closer: There’s some blood red graffiti here. Doesn’t look like actual blood though, just red paint. Uh, I think it says “Conquered and Fallen, #1” with an exclamation mark on the end. Looks really neat though, like someone took their time tagging it.

(Camera clicks)

Rower, farther away: Looks like all the buildings been broken into, though it’s kinda hard to tell through all the claw marks.

(Sounds of rustling, footsteps, camera clicks)

Rower: Yup, gas station’s been ransacked too. Shelves turned over, cash register smashed, coolers busted to bits. There was also blood in there, looked kinda like footprints from boots or something, but ain’t no way I’m going anywhere in there.

Delgado: Y’know, I think we might be in over our heads.

Yang, sarcastically: Y’think?

Delgado: Yeah, no, we’re definitely in over our heads.

Rower: Should we bail?

Yang: No way. I dunno about you guys, but it just feels like we’ve got to document the stuff here and get it over with… is that a Speculation thing?

Delgado: Maybe, but I feel similarly. Let’s just get on with it.

Rower: Aye.

(Sounds of footsteps, clicking of cameras, and occasional nosies of disgust)

(Door creaks)

Unknown #1 M: HEY!

Delgado, strongly: Who’s there? We mean you no harm! We mean you no harm!!

Unknown #1 M: What are y’all doing here? Haven’t ya seen the blood?

Delgado: Oh, we’re… hitchhikers. And, uh, journalists. Technically.

Rower: Yeah, the last guy we rode with dropped us off a bit down the highway, and said that Glade was the next town over.

Unknown #1 M, while gesturing about: Well, it ain’t much of a town anymore. Gotta say, I don’t quite know what happened myself. Just heard a bunch’a horses and marching and, well, violence, and I hid. It just stopped a few hours ago, but I was still scared, so I didn’t go out. At least till I heard y’all clattering and threatening to throw your lunches.

Yang: Horses? And marching?

Unknown #1 M: Yeah, like a whole lotta horses. Y’know, it kinda sounded like one of those old cavalry charges from war movies. And the marching sounded like a war movie too. Lock-step and in formation and such. Oh, and dogs. Lotsa dogs. Barking and howling and, uh, what’s the word? Begging? Like when a dog really wants your food and starts making real loud noises.

Rower: Y’mean baying? Like when they feed the wolves at the zoo?

Unknown #1 M: Yeah, yeah! They were baying, but then they stopped and then they started again, over and over and over. Oh God, d’ya think they were eating people?

Delgado: I sure hope not.

Unknown #1 M: Well, whatever happened out there, I ain’t gonna leave just yet. Y’all gonna be alright?

Delgado: Yeah, we’ve done this before. In fact, we’ve been hitchhiking in search of stories like this for a bit. Left from St. Louis a few days ago.

Unknown #1 M: Be careful out there. And, uh, if you find a boy named Samuel, tell him that Ronald’s fine.

(Door creaks)

(Sounds of footsteps, clicking of cameras, and occasional noises of disgust resume)

— 16:24 MINUTES CUT FOR BREVITY —

Delgado, tiredly: Stars Above, that was some nonsense.

Yang: Seconded. Hey Rower, for the record, how many people did we actually find?

Rower: Only 47. 23 men, 24 women, no kids nor elderly. Every one of them was fit, younger than 50, and completely able. Last census count had the population at 96. None of them could describe the incident beyond the sounds of an army with horses and dogs, the sounds of fighting, and the sounds of screams.

Delgado: Most of the food was missing, too. All the stuff in packaging at least. Nothing but sad fruits and vegetables, right?

Yang: Yup. Oh, and there was this banner. We got photos, of course, but even with the camera’s capabilities, I doubt it really caught everything on that thing. It looked like old-fashioned woven cotton, kinda tattered. It was painted on with a properly medieval-looking image, like you’d find in illuminated manuscripts. It had some Latin above it, something along the lines of ‘the white hound who conquers’ and ‘the red fox who slaughters’, and the image was of, well, a white hound with a crown getting chased by a red fox with a sword.

Rower: That imagery’s concerning to say the least. It may be tamer than a wolf, but a hound still hunts. And the crown? It’s obviously Expanse of some variety, but I’ve never heard of a dog-herald who brings a whole ass army to decimate farming towns.

Delgado: And the Latin saying ‘the red fox who slaughters’ means that Chatter‘s herald is somehow more vicious than Expanse’s. How something that can kill almost forty people in a single night is not described as ‘who slaughters’ makes me scared.

Yang: Well, it ain’t our problem any more. Betcha de Klerk and Ramos are gonna have to do the follow-up.

Rower: Serves them right, getting all those cushy jobs after we work our asses off weekly. Still can’t help but feel bad for them though, this one’s a doozy. I’m still scared of whatever put claw marks in the asphalt.

Delgado: In summary, some Expanse-related nonsense went down in Glade, Kansas, where some 40 odd folks either got killed and eaten by dogs and horses and soldiers, or they went missing, while the ones who didn’t are completely fine and also young and fit. Claw marks, blood red graffiti, and a banner with medieval-style imagery of a fox and a hound and Latin in a field were also found. Follow up definitely necessary. Delgado, Rower, and Yang, signing off.

Oh, and we never did find Samuel. Sorry, Ronald.

— RECORDING ENDS —

[vocesincaput]

Even after the surgeon had finished cutting through the bone, making quick work of the flesh and muscle underneath, the pain coursing up through Izzy's arm was excruciating. He clenched his teeth down so tight that he was sure his gums would bleed from the pressure. Was surprised that he hadn't bitten through his tongue.

He closed his eyes and tried his best to breathe through the pain but it came out in short, forced almost pants until he could open his eyes again and look up at Ricky. Having to force down a shudder at the sight of his hand in the other mans.

"I don't fucking care what you do. It's all bigger than me. What ever you're doing... it won't fucking work."

"Oh... oh, listen to the sound of it," Ricky said, wrinkling his nose. He stood with his hands on the table on either side of Izzy's head. It was the best view of the event, if one wanted to see the man's face.

He turned his attention from the actual sawing down to Izzy's face when he started to cry out.

"There, there. This should be old hat by now, shouldn't it? Considering, well..." he made a slight gesture down towards the leg. "Anyways! He's almost done."

Sawing through the bone made for slower work than going through the joint itself, but this was torture -- not a purposeful disarticulation of a dead man. When the bone finally gave, Ricky held out an expected hand, "Quick, staunch the bleeding and get him patched up. We don't want him leaving so soon."

He held the hand in his own, turning it over and finally holding it up so Izzy could see it, "I think I'll make sure the glove is back on, when I send it off. That is a part of your ensemble."

[rodolfoparras]

not to be crazy but reader being crazy obsessed over dragon!price. maybe reader's a hybrid, or maybe he's just a human; but it doesn't matter, not when all he cares about is john, john, john, john. a reader who's so obsessed price, no matter what he does or say, cannot seem to get rid of you. in the peripherals of his vision he is haunted by you, whether you are actually there or not, you have infested his mind just as much as he's infested yours.

a reader who's so obsessed he'll go up against creatures much stronger and older than he is, against creatures with teeth and claws and magic that hums in their veins - but that magic and claws and teeth are all usually against a man who's sole purpose is to live for another man, for a man who you're so deeply and dearly enamored with. their size and strength and whatever mystical, non-human features are all useless against you, whose veins scream for violence and blood, who scream at you to get rid of anyone that so much as breathes your john's way.

and price isn't sure whether to be impressed or disturbed by the amount of heads that arrive packaged onto his desk, the dismembered limbs he throws out with distaste on his tongue. it boggles his mind whenever he finds out you've gotten rid of yet another hybrid, how someone like you - either a human man or a weaker hybrid of sorts - have managed to become the personification of death itself.

he's more exasperated when he somehow finds out you've been stalking him, finds the collection of polaroids of him stored away somewhere, finds a shrine just for him, than he is frightened. he's never had anyone be so obsessed with him the way you are in all his years of living, and despite himself, with every corpse or limb found, with every sickly love letter finding itself on his desk, with stolen clothes finding itself in your bedroom or laundry, with the little bloodied gifts you leave him, it has his draconic instincts purring at a potential mate.

Cw: 18+, dragon!Price, dragon! male reader obsessiveness, stalking, scent kink, masturbation, voyarism, exhibitionism, briefly Nikolai x Price, brief mention & depiction of dismemberment, yandere!reader, yandere!Price

It all started with a small act of kindness. You were getting scolded by a superior for something you’d done- had almost gotten kicked out of your squad because of that, when suddenly Price had swooped in and uttered a little white lie “he didn’t mean it, I’ll keep him in check don’t worry about it general” and got you out of trouble in a matter of seconds

Truth be told Price forgot all about you after that encounter but you couldn’t forget about him. You spent every waking moment learning about him who he was - a dragon hybrid and a captain- what he’d done- fought in wars and served everything from kings to generals - learned all about who he keeps in his inner circle - it had once been his mate now it’s mostly his squad and oh his mate -she was absolutely beautiful- a dragon hybrid just like him. They’d been together for years until she’d gotten killed.

That’s at least what you had read in one of the many journal he keeps in his room. You had snuck in one day when he left for a mission with the intentions to just look around but you had ended up with your clothes on the floor and fucking one of his pillows just because it smelled like him, - soap and cologne still embedded into the pristine white fabric, and still carrying the imprint from where his head once had been. So of course you folded the pillow right in the middle and slid your cock inside of it, losing yourself in its tight and warm grip, pretending it was the stand offish dragon captain you were fucking before spilling ropes of cum all over the sheets.

Then it came to the over protectiveness. You really wouldn’t call it that. You just wanted to make sure he was alright. So what if you watched him through the cracks of his office door while he held conversations with Nikolai? And what if you stayed as his lips crashed onto the Russians, while your hand slipped down your pants and what if you snuck into Price’s room the morning after and buried your face in his underwear just so you know that Nikolai didn’t take it any further?

But Price knew- could feel your eyes on him as he lined Nikolai’s cockhead up with his entrance. Price knew -could hear your growl and the way your hand stroked your cock as he bounced on Nikolai’s cock. Price knew- and he enjoyed it, tipped over the edge at the sheer thought of it, vision turning blurry and ears ringing as he slumped into the other man’s embrace.

So it wasn’t to any surprise when he discovered the Polaroids you kept of him, stashed under your mattress but poking out enough for him to get a glimpse. He had come to your room to talk about your recent behavior. Things had started to get out of hand. He didn’t really care that you watched his every step. What he did care about were the soldiers that had mysteriously gone missing, soldiers he’d gotten into minor arguments with prior to the incident, but eventually popped back up in his office or rather his desk- body completely dismembered and limbs neatly wrapped, reminding him of a Christmas Day in hell and Price was sure he knew who was behind it

There were plenty of Polaroids, so much so they made up an entire album.

Some were rather innocent in nature, snapshots of him while he was smoking a cigar or talking with Kate or any member of 141 . The photographs were blurry - unfocused almost as if you’d accidentally taken them but he knew that wasn’t the case. Some were a bit more suggestive: a close up shot of his ass while he was maneuvering the shooting range or a shot of his scantily clad lower half as he held a training session with the team. He could only imagine what you did with those,

But there were more polaroids, snapshots of him while he’s clearly asleep, blissfully unaware of what’s happening. Going by the murky surroundings, the pictures must’ve been taken whenever the two of you were out on a mission together and shared a tent.

Some were close up shots of his face, cheeks dusted in pink and hair in disarray, completely unaware of what’s happening. Other Polaroids were blurry shots of his body, silver of skin peaking through the clothes he’s wearing, probably a direct cause from all the tossing and turning he’d done in his sleep. Despite the nature of them, they were rather innocent, reminding you of causal snapshots someone would take of their lover.

But something about that had heat creeping up his cheek, blood pooling straight to his dick.

He could imagine you sprawled out on your bed, or seated in his office chair, one hand holding a Polaroid; probably a snapshot of him smoking a cigar, while the other hand was stroking your cock.

Disgusting he thinks as his hand shakily unbuckles his jeans, doesn’t even bother to take a seat.

How could he allow anyone as sick as you into his team? He thinks, hand grasping his dick, that’s already hard and weeping.

He should report you for misconduct and get you kicked out of the army, he thinks, thumb swiping over his tip, smearing around the pre that had been collecting there as grunts and groans escapes his lips

All thoughts escape his head as he sets a steady pace with his hand, stroking root to tip while his free hand fondles his ball sack.

“Fuck!” He grunts out, eyes fluttering shut, head tipping back as he fucks into his own hand.

“John?”

[tawfu]

a flower yet to bloom

cw: sub kabukimono, dom reader, gn reader, corruption, masturbation, virginity loss, hand jobs, blow jobs, fingering, anal sex, dacryphilia, overstimulation, size difference, masochism, praise, dick can be read as strap, mentions of codependency, exhibitionism and dismemberment

wc: 1.3k

Summary: The Electro Archon’s puppet discovers a special kind of pleasure.

A pure, delicate puppet. Pliant and innocent. You’re certain that if you didn’t take him into your hands, someone else would. Someone evil, who’d take advantage of the sweet boy.

You would never.

It was only a few months ago that you had your first encounter with Kabukimono. He was drenched, curled into a corner in Shakkei Pavilion, eyes screwed shut and hands covering his ears from the sounds of thunder and rain. 

Your hand reached out, and he looked up at you with the prettiest puppy eyes. You had to help him. His own hand grasped yours, cold and small, and he followed you home without question.

Did he see no other exit, or was he just naive? You quickly realized it was the latter.

At first, Kabukimono wasn’t the talkative type. He never requested anything, and the only words he’d mutter were “yes” and “thank you.” Even so, you’d always talk to him, and allow him to help you with house chores as a bonding activity, and with that, he slowly grew more and more attached to you. 

Bright smile greeting you when you returned from your adventures, blush painting his cheeks pink when you pointed out his beautiful features, tiny giggles escaping his lips any time you cooked together, and always eager to learn anything that you were willing to teach him.

These innocent feelings continued developing quicker than Kabukimono could understand them. Normally, seeing your skin exposed around the house or when you exited the shower didn’t cause him to react, but now, seemingly out of nowhere, he feels his whole body heat up as an unfamiliar feeling rises in his gut. He mistook it for anxiety at first, however, a more likely explanation dawned on him.

You’d told him many fairy tales of romance before, ones you’d gathered from your visits to the city of romance itself. The puppet wondered if this was what love felt like. How he shivered when your fingers grazed his arm, and the way he’d get nervous when you’d get too close. How he felt a bit weird… down there, when you praised him.

And sometimes, it would get a little painful. Surely, with your knowledge, you’d be able to give him a solution to the problem, but he was too embarrassed to ask. Those are his private parts, after all. 

All he could do was sigh in frustration, cupping himself over his pants when you were out of sight while making his way to your bedroom, plopping down on the bed with a small thud and burying his face into his pillow.

“Why does this keep happening?” he thought to himself, squirming in place– “O-oh! Oh god!” 

His eyes widened, and he was trying to comprehend what he just felt. He attempts to recreate the movement again, and the same electrifying feeling runs down his body, eliciting a gasp out of him.

It felt… really good. Right where the tingling sensation arose. So he kept going, rutting against the bed softly as he rested his chin on the pillow, hands holding onto it like a lifeline while his eyes were screwed shut. 

Soft little whines poured out of his mouth as he kept going, drooling all over your pillow. He felt guilty for dirtying it, but your sweet scent that lingered was driving him crazy. The more his dick grazed the bed, the louder he became, but he didn’t care. Kabukimono had no way of knowing that such activities were meant to be… private.

Your scurrying to the bedroom was inevitable, worried that something may have happened that caused those moans and whines of your name to be heard from afar, though the sight to be beheld wasn’t expected. Any words you had remained in your throat, leaving it as a small gasp instead.

The puppet’s head turned around at the sound of you walking in, his bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead, eyes filled with tears and cheeks burning hot as his humping subconsciously sped up at the sight of you. Your gaze only served to rile him up more, and he moaned loudly, reaching his hand out to you.

“Please help me…” he mumbled, taking hold of your hand and placing it on his cheek as the tears flowed freely.

Maybe this once, you’d indulge him.

Your sweet Kabukimono didn’t know it was possible to feel this good.

One hand tugging at his aching little cock, mouth latched onto his perky nipples as he thrashes around and cries out in pain. He could barely fit a finger in at first, but now all you can hear is the lewd squelching of your fingers, knuckles deep, stretching him open as his cum splatters all over himself once again with a scream.

And yet, this newfound pleasure that has him in a haze still leaves him absentmindedly begging for more, even if he’s overstimulated to bits. There’s no point in turning back, not when his hole clenches around nothing as you pull your fingers out, practically begging for you to stuff him full.

The puppet’s eyes dilated at the sight of your cock. It was much larger than his, but he wanted it carnally. He wanted you to feel the same pleasure he felt.

He crawled towards you, making his way between your legs and wrapping his small hand around your cock, almost inspecting it.

“Can I… put it in my mouth?” he spoke softly, innocence still laced in his voice, and you nodded, a sweet smile adorning your lips.

He smiled back shyly, wiggling in place as his lips littered kisses on the tip of your cock, before his tongue darted out to leave kitten licks there. He wasn’t good at giving blowjobs at all, but he looked too adorable and eager for complaints. No matter, you’d train him sooner or later.

“Open.” You spoke, and he complied, watching you slap your cock on his tongue before shoving it in, his eyes rolling back in response.

His hands held onto your thighs, clawing at them as you held him by the hair, pushing his head down while his tiny, wet mouth coated barely half of you with saliva. He couldn’t fit more, gagging and mewling with each bob of his head, and as much as you wanted to fuck his throat until his voice got hoarse, you only wanted to make it easier for him to take you.

Kabukimono whined when you pulled him off, and he could feel his throat burning and his scalp hurting from your hold.

“You did so well.” You kissed his sweaty forehead while maneuvering his small body to its previous position, spreading his legs apart and bending him in half hurriedly. The way you manhandled and used his body only made him twitch and leak further, face lighting up at the prospect of making you lose control from desire.

… “Making love,” he called it. Asking you to fuck him silly was too embarrassing, but the feeling of your cock slowly filling him to the brim was too addicting. How you’d cradle his face even as he’d scratch your back and lock his legs around your hips, pushing you further into him until his hole was gaping. How the sudden “I love you” that left his lips in a moan as he squirted onto his tummy was reciprocated while your cock still pistoned into him, going round after round because Kabukimono didn’t want his first time to end until he fell into unconsciousness.

And he’d beg you every day since then. To please make love to him, to ruin him again and again. It didn’t matter if you were busy, if you were outside, or if the world was lit aflame. He would still cling to you, get on his knees, spread himself open, even cut his limbs off if you so inquired. 

The pure boy you met was naught but a sweet doll, yours to use and love eternally. And making love was how lovers expressed themselves, so won’t you please wreck him until he is an empty shell, dependent and permanently living through the pleasure you graciously bless him with?

[subtlebloodshed]

Talk to Strangers

description- After a rough day at work, you find comfort in your favorite place: your boyfriend Rudy's arms. After a steamy night, you wake up to discover more about him than you ever wanted to know.

word count- 3.6k

cw. brian moser as rudy cooper x f!reader, fem terms, drinking, drunk sex, surprisingly gentle sex, oral f!receiving, unprotected!piv sex, biting, canon typical violence, gagging/vomit mention, dismemberment, manipulation/gaslighting, domestic violence (kind of?), strangulation, brian is his own warning.

You knock on Rudy’s door with a six-pack of his favorite beer and a bottle of red wine, leaning against the frame. You’d had the worst day at work; it felt like everything went wrong or crashed around you. Nothing more in this world comforted you like him: his strong arms, warm, inviting scent, and those pretty green eyes. Being with Rudy was like being at home–entirely relaxing and soothing. 

Rudy opens the door in his boxers, a smile on his face and one hand almost instantly pulling you inside. 

“Hey, beautiful,” He murmurs against your temple as he plants a kiss there, his nose nuzzling in your hair, “Why didn’t you let me know you were stopping by?”

He’d barely put his hands on you and you're melting into his embrace, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I did, must’ve missed it. Were you sleeping?” You ask, pulling away enough to set the drinks down onto his desk. 

He lets out a quiet chuckle as he shrugs, “Yeah, dozed off in bed, long day, I guess.” 

You naturally move to the kitchen as if you’ve done it a million times before. Getting on your tiptoes, you pull out a wine glass. “Tell me about it, I cried as soon as I got in my car.” You sigh, making your way back out to grab the bottle and settle on the couch. 

“You want to talk about it, doll?” Rudy asks, moving over to sit next to you after he grabbed the six-pack. He takes your bottle and pours your glass for you. 

“God no, I just wanted to be with my boyfriend,” You say, taking the glass and sipping much too large of a sip from it, “Maybe get a little bit of dick.”

“Well,” That draws a grin from him, his lips brushing the top of your ear as he whispers, “You definitely came to the right place for that.”

—

A bottle of wine and six-pack of beer later, you both are tangled up on his bed. There’s a giggle between every kiss and every movement is clumsy, uncoordinated. His head is buried in your neck, peppering kisses, bites, leaving marks all over your skin. Each sense is filled with him– him, him, him. Every experience with him felt like that from the moment you met. You fell so fast, so hard. And Rudy made it so easy and so damned sweet. 

“I’m so in love with your body.”  He murmurs against your skin as his hands trace patterns across your bare abdomen.  Most of your clothes never even made it to the bed, a trail of fabric littered its way like rose petals. 

Your hand tangles in his hair, guiding his head towards yours for another kiss. The flavors of beer and menthol flood your mouth, a combination that has become familiar and addicting. You have grown accustomed to everything that is uniquely him and crave it like a drug. It's as if you stopped needing air the day you met him.

His hand pulls your thigh over his legs before sliding up to firmly grasp your ass. You grind your hips against him, feeling desire pooling between your thighs and drenching both of you. He hardly needs to touch you to elicit such a reaction anymore - just one look from him and you're ready for him.

“Please,” You whisper, pulling back and resting your forehead against his. It's tender, loving, soft– his beautiful face melting into that darling smile as he guides his fingers through your wetness. How could he still look like a Disney prince with his hand between your legs? 

"Here?" He teases, rubbing slow circles on your clit and studying the way your eyes flutter closed in response. "Or here?" His voice dropped an octave as he slowly pushed the tips of his fingers into your hole before returning to your clit.

You whine in frustration, pushing your hips forward into his hand and trying desperately to gain more than he was giving, “Rudy, I need you, stop teasing…” You plead.

He knows how easy it is to rile you up and play with you. “I’ll take care of you, doll.” He smirks, rolling you onto your back. His lips find their way from your neck down to your chest, pausing to explore every inch of skin and eliciting gasps and moans from you. When he playfully bites down on your hip bone, you squeak in surprise. “Just lay back and let me work my magic.” 

Rudy doesn’t have to tell you twice, you simply lay your head back and let your eyes close. The warm, wet trail of saliva followed his tongue as he traced it over your hip bones, then down to your mound, and the junction of your legs and thighs.Your grip on his hair tightens as his tongue makes contact with your clit.

“Fuck, Rudy…” You sigh as you roll your hips towards him for more contact. He chuckles softly at your eagerness, holding you down by placing his hand on your lower abdomen.

"Easy now, don't get too greedy," He mutters before biting down on your inner thigh and sucking softly. "Take what I give you."

You nod in agreement, loosening your grip on his hair slightly. "O-okay."

Rudy seems pleased with your submission, continuing to pepper kisses along your thighs. "Good doll, good…" He praises as his other hand moves between your legs to tease around your entrance and lubricate his fingers. Slowly, he slides two fingers inside of you and you let out a sharp moan, pushing back into the pillow. The pace is gentle and slow at first, his fingers opening you up and preparing you for more. His tongue continues to work its magic on your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of pleasure.

Your body arches as Rudy's skilled fingers and tongue work in tandem, pleasure building steadily. The room fills with your soft moans and the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers. Your hands tangle deeper in his hair, holding him close as your hips begin to rock against his face.

"God, Rudy, don't stop," You gasp, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. You can barely open your eyes to look down at him, but you’re so glad you do. He looks gorgeous like this– his dark curls tangled in your fingers, eyes closed in concentration, nose brushing against your mound. 

He hums against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. Your thighs begin to tremble as the tension in your core builds. And the moment he opens those breathtaking eyes to look up at you, the dam breaks and you cry out, waves of ecstasy washing over you as your orgasm crashes through your body.

Rudy works you through it, lapping up your release as your body quivers beneath him. When the last aftershocks subside, he plants a final kiss on your inner thigh before crawling back up your body.

"You taste divine," he purrs, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, mingled with the lingering flavors of alcohol.

Your hands roam over his muscular back, feeling the strength coiled beneath his skin. Rudy's erection presses insistently against your thigh, hot and hard. You reach between your bodies to wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly.

"I need you inside me," you breathe against his lips. "Please, Rudy."

He groans, rocking his hips into your touch. "Anything for you, doll."

Rudy positions himself at your entrance, teasing you with just the tip. You whimper arching your hips to try and take him deeper. He chuckles softly, nipping at your earlobe.

"Patience, doll," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I want to savor every moment with you."

Slowly, torturously, he sinks into you inch by inch. Your breath catches in your throat at the stretch, your walls fluttering around him. When he's fully sheathed, he stills, giving you time to adjust. No matter how many times you’ve taken him, the full length of him always left you breathless. His forehead rests against yours, those mesmerizing green eyes locked on your face.

"You feel incredible," Rudy breathes, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "So perfect for me. You were made to take my cock."

His words send a shiver down your spine, igniting a renewed fire in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Your hands slide up his strong arms to cup his face, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. As your tongues tangle, Rudy begins to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has you gasping against his mouth. 

"Yes," you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even closer. "God, Rudy, you feel so good."

He picks up the pace, driving into you with powerful thrusts that make the bed creak beneath you. Your nails rake down his back as the pleasure builds, leaving faint red lines in their wake. Rudy growls, burying his face in your neck as he pounds into you relentlessly.

The room fills with the sounds of your shared passion– skin slapping against skin, breathless moans, and whispered sweet nothings. Rudy's thrusts become more erratic as he nears his peak. He slips a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your oversensitive clit.

"Come for me again, doll," he commands, his voice rough with exertion. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you come, let me feel you."

His words and skilled touch push you over the edge once more. You cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash over you, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around him. The sensation triggers Rudy's own release. He buries himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, his hips jerking as he spills inside you.

For several long moments, you both lay there panting, bodies slick with sweat and tangled together. Rudy presses tender kisses along your jawline before capturing your lips in a languid, post-coital kiss. When he finally pulls out and rolls to the side, you whimper at the loss.

“Mm, come back…” You whine as you wrap your arm around his abdomen, head settling on his chest and leg strewn over his. He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his hand running through your hair softly.

"Feel better now, beautiful?" he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You nod, nuzzling into the crook of his neck with a yawn, “Much better.” 

—

Hours later, you stir a bit, waking up with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. Maybe drinking the whole bottle wasn’t the smartest move. You turn over, hand reaching out for Rudy but he’s not in his usual spot next to you. 

“Baby?” You murmur, sitting up to look around. He’s not in the bathroom– the lights off. You grab the robe you keep at his place, wrapping it around yourself as you stumble through the apartment, still slightly buzzed.

Maybe he’s in the kitchen? You make your way through the apartment, slightly stumbling since you’re still a little drunk, a frown set on your face as he’s not in any of his usual spots. That’s when you feel a cold draft hit you next to the living room with a sigh. He must have left the freezer door open, when would he even have opened it?

You creep towards the cracked door. You’d never even seen the inside…had you?

Your fingers grip the cold handle, and you pull the door open just enough to peek inside, curiosity gnawing at you. And what you’re greeted with is enough to make you sick. 

A frozen woman’s body lies in pieces on a metal table, limbs neatly arranged as if pieces on a board. Your boyfriend stands over her, bone saw in hand, cutting through one of the limbs with a practiced rhythm.

You stagger backward, your breath hitching in your throat, eyes wide and disbelieving. The bottle of wine and the six-pack seem like artifacts from another life, the cozy intimacy of just hours ago obliterated by the macabre sight before you.

Rudy looks up at the slight noise you make, but makes no effort to move. His face flickers through a spectrum of emotions: surprise, irritation, and finally, something calm and unreadable. That calm, more than anything, makes you begin to tremble in fear. 

"You're awake," he says simply, as if you’ve just caught him reheating leftovers instead of dismembering a human body. His voice is steady but there's a tension behind his eyes, something calculating, as if he’s evaluating your reaction. He doesn't stop working, the bone saw whining softly as it slices through icy cartilage and bone.

You want nothing more than to run, scream, throw up– but your feet are planted frozen to the floor in fear and disgust. 

“You-you…” You mutter, heart in your throat as your hand comes to your mouth, the other wrapped around your abdomen in a guard, “What have you done?” The walls feel like they're closing in on you and you fight down the bile that seers through your esophagus, threatening to escape with each breath.

Rudy sets the saw down with precision, slipping off his gloves like he’s just working on a project. "I was hoping you wouldn’t see this," he says, his tone almost regretful. "Not like this, anyway." 

It clicks together like some fucked up grotesque puzzle, “You’re the killer I’ve been reporting on for months.” You manage to croak out, pure anguish settling over you. How could you have never guessed? How many times had he fucked you in the same bed as these poor girls? How many of them sat in his passenger seat with his hand resting on their thigh like you had?

In some fucked up way, the thought of him cheating on you makes you just as sick. 

But no, this isn’t real, this can’t be real. This has to be some twisted nightmare, a drunken hallucination that will disappear once you rub your eyes hard enough.

But no matter how hard you try, the moment doesn’t fade away.

“Listen, I know this is a lot to take in,” Rudy says, moving from around the table to approach you. You should run, why aren’t you running? “But I’d never hurt you, you know that right?”

His hand comes to your hair, petting it as he’s done a hundred times before but this time, it felt like a façade, his way of lulling you into relaxation. 

“Don’t you trust me?” He says, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of your head. You feel disgusted, every touch from him is tainted by all the blood he has on his hands. He’s a monster—and by all means, you should treat him like one. But he’s looking at you with those forest green eyes, they’re so full of emotion like he’s begging you to trust him. 

‘Trust?’ You want to scream at him, every nerve and warning sign igniting in your body. The rage inside you is boiling: you had trusted him so foolishly, how you had no knowledge of the monster you shared a bed with every night. But your frozen, mouth agape, more conflicted than you had ever been in your entire life. 

This shouldn’t even have to be a conversation. The moment you saw him with that saw in his hands you should have ran, called the police, anything than stand here like you are right now.

Of all the emotions swirling within you, one nauseated you the most; you were jealous. The Ice Truck Killer only killed prostitutes. It gnaws at you, the thought of him touching them, the same way he’d touched you. His hands on their skin. His lips against theirs.

Your thoughts are a tangled mess of rage and self-loathing as you try to articulate any of it. “You’re—you’re just sick…we…we can fix it. You just need help…” You stutter out, the words even more pathetic than they had been in your head. He wasn’t some broken little boy who needed fixing—he was a serial killer. A wolf in sheep’s clothing you’ve let devour you whole. 

“You think I haven’t heard that before? I spent fourteen fucking years in a ward getting ‘help’. It didn’t change anything. This is who I am.” He shakes his head, reaching his hand out to caress the side of your face. 

“I-I don’t understand,” You deny, bringing a hand up to grab his wrist. You don’t pull him away, however, you just stand there in confusion holding him, “You were good, you’re…you’re good. You wouldn’t…” This doesn’t even feel real, you are trapped in a haze of fear, disgust, shock, and confusion. All you want to do is disappear or go back in time and live blissfully unaware. You’d give anything to have not woken up or let yourself get curious, you didn’t want to have to face this. 

“Hey, hey, doll, look at me,” Rudy cajoled, hooking his finger under your chin to meet his eyes, “It’s going to be okay, I promise. You just have to stay calm, alright?”

You have trouble focusing on his eyes, your rationality a million miles away, “O-okay? How is it going to be okay?” 

Rudy sighs, leaning his forehead in against yours, “You know I love you, right? More than anything.” 

You just nod dumbly against his head, your fawning response settling over you. He says he loves you and as long as you behave, he’d have no reason to hurt you. You didn’t have to end up on the table all the other girls had. You were important to him, different– better than them. 

“Good, baby, good.” He mutters, planting a kiss against your lips. He’s ice cold to the touch, the time in the freezer showing with the red on his cheeks. It’s something you would have teased him about had you seen it in a better setting. God, it’s hard to think. The sight before you eats away at every positive memory you’ve ever had– your brain feels like utter mush right now. 

Your fingers tremble against his wrist, and it’s not from the cold but rather the unbearable weight of what you’d seen. The man who held you so tenderly, who made you feel safe, was the same man who had been dismembering women and arranging them like frozen sculptures in public like a gallery of horrors. 

“Rudy…” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the freezer. Your grip on his wrist tightens, but you still don’t pull him away.

“I know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple as if this were any other night, as if you weren’t standing in front of proof that the man you loved was a monster. “It’s a lot to process, but you don’t have to be scared.”

The way he says it—it’s almost comforting. Almost.

But you are scared.

Terrified, actually.

Not just of him, but of yourself. Because as much as every bit l in your body is screaming at you to run, another part of you—the sick part of you that has spent nights tangled in his sheets, breathing in his scent, tracing the lines of his body with your fingertips—wants to believe him, wants to believe that somehow, someway, this isn’t as bad as it looks. You want to believe that there’s a version of this story where he’s still the same man he was a few hours ago, where you can wake up tomorrow and pretend you never saw a damn thing.

But the body on the table won’t let you forget.

Your stomach churns as your eyes flicker to it again, the pale, dismembered limbs arranged with precision. You gag, clamping a hand over your mouth, and Rudy’s grip tightens just enough to remind you of his strength.

“I need—” Your voice cracks. “I need a second.”

“Of course,” Rudy says smoothly, finally letting you go. Your body stumbles back before you catch yourself against the door.

He watches you, not like a man afraid of losing his lover, but like a predator waiting to see what his prey will do next.

You could run.

You should run.

But where would you go?

Your phone is in the bedroom. Your keys, too. And Rudy—Rudy is faster than you, he'd beat you to the front door, watching you with those green fucking eyes, as if he can hear every frantic thought racing through your mind.

“You’re thinking of leaving.” His voice is calm, but there’s a warning beneath it.

You shake your head without hesitation, even though you both know it’s a lie.

Then, with a rush of adrenaline, you’re sprinting to the door. If you could get to a neighbor's door, you could scream and someone would help you. 

Your hand is on the handle and you are pulling it open, you’re going to make it out.

A surge of pain radiates from your head and your vision goes for a moment, the sound of the metal door slamming filling your ears. His hand is tangled in your hair and he’s pulling you back against his chest, then his bicep is wrapped around your throat. 

“I told you to stay calm, this could have been different. Why didn’t you listen?” 

The sound of his voice is distant as you can feel yourself slipping in and out of consciousness from the lack of blood flow to your brain. 

You want it to stop. 

God, please someone make it stop.

Stop. 

Stop. 

Stop. 

“You should have listened, doll.” 

Stop.

authors note- it was originally supposed to be a drabble and i got carried away. oops. hope you enjoyed! <3

taglist- @brian-mosers-cumsock, @butterbabyflapjack (wasn't sure which blog to tag)

[aislebewithshu]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 loveit?

x gender neutral reader.

wc: 468

cw: yandere, mentions of cannibalism (in a metaphorical sense), character death, dismemberment (but not too graphic), vomit/throwing up, dark content basically. DIRECT references to the song loveit? and love eat and also based on the revenge theory bcs ppl have different interpretations towards this song lmao (and it made a dent in my brain forever. thank u to that one that came up w the theory).

dead dove, do not eat.

author notes: hi it's been a while since i last wrote anything.. i mean anything at all.. this (obviously) might not be the accurate representation to the songs HNFF pls i tried considering other theories... thank u for reading!! scroll away if uncomfy <3

red. It is the color he could only see.

how putrid, he thinks. seeing so many people surrounding you, it irks him. how could you talk to these… lowly creatures undeserving of your presence? he eyes you like a predator, watching your possible next move. oh, how he loves that horrified look you have for a second the moment you laid your eyes on him.

“come on, eat it, darling."

he urges you as you hesitantly look at the ‘food’ served to you, then back at the male. what could he put here that he insists that you eat the meal he prepared? you take a bite, and he smiles.

it was the meat of the person you last talked to, he whispered. the moment he said that to you, you immediately threw up, not letting said human meat inside your system. disgusting, vile, even uncanny.

he was pleased, after all, you wouldn't let anyone in your life except for him, would you? the first question in your mind was, why? why, would he go lengths, as to butcher one's body just because you talked with them? he hates that you're giving all your attention and affection to that insignificant pest.

he also has to stake claims to you - a mark that you are his. that's why he proceeded to gouge out your right eye. it was excruciating, but what mattered to him is that he put a mark on you forever, and he plans to do more.

after all, love makes everyone blind, even to those who think they've seen what true love looks like.

"i'm going to eat you, sexually unrestrained."

oh, why can't you say anything? you're not fighting him back, so you must like the pain he's inflicting from you? poor thing, but he loves you too much to let you go. he promises to eat you up, deep into the marrow, flesh and blood.

that is, until you snap.

cupping his cheeks with your stained hands, you gaze into his eyes. it is uncharacteristically loving, to the point that it freezes him on the spot. what are you going to do next? he thinks.

bringing your lips to his, he indulges in the sick, yet passionate kiss, as you bring your hand to take his knife. you wrap your arms around him as he does the same, tracing lines at his back with the knife you're holding, bringing your beloved to his beautiful demise.

"you're loveit in human form."

surely you haven't lost your mind? of course, love does make everyone blind, even him. your ultimate intentions— on why you had to indulge in his twisted whims, why you didn't fight back, it all made sense to him now. after all, he fell into the fake love you presented before him, a punishment you endowed on him for killing your actual beloved.

enstars - shiina niki, tenshouin eichi (hear me out), fushimi yuzuru, saegusa ibara, shino hajime, sakuma ritsu (honestly i cld put the whole niki's kitchen circle here)

twst - trey clover, jade leech, jamil viper

bllk - mikage reo, kaiser michael, bachira meguru (hear me out pt. 2)

hsr - jiaoqiu

+ your faves.

©AISLEBEWITHSHU on tumblr. do not repost / feed to AI.

[yandereunsolved]

Dissect Me, Doctor - ,, yandere JPM with a psychologist reader

cw(s): yandere themes, dismemberment, suggestive themes, (James) necrophilia, noncon touching, cannibalism, mention of reader having breakdowns & panic attacks

✧ James found you by God's hand one fateful day. You could say it was more than a mere coincidence, eh? He had just finished killing one of the hotel guests. He was about to call Miss Evers in to clean up the mess when he spotted something sticking out of the dead gentleman's breast pocket. He plucked the card out of your pocket and read it allowed, 'Doctor...' His curiosity was the least bit piqued. Psychologists weren't exactly popular in the 1930s. The true study of the mind hadn't emerged, but James had always lived to study humans. To study their fight or flight instinct, how their bodies react to various torture methods, and how fear affects the human psyche. Perhaps he has found someone who shares his fondness for such things. It would be a great way to meet someone new. Considering Elizabeth refuses to speak with him, he has grown desperate. Not even defiling his killings tapered his already suppressed desires. 

✧ He got Sally to teach him how to use this magic witch named 'Wi-fi' who owns the internet—or something like that. Most new technology is just rubbish used to get people to make inauthentic connections. Although perhaps just this once, it can be used for the betterment of his temperament. He has Sally schedule an initial appointment at the hotel. Sally uses the excuse that James is bedridden and terribly ill (non-contagious), but he hates telehealth and just wants someone to talk to in person. You were skeptical because of the rumors surrounding The Cortez, but you were in desperate need of another client, and he was willing to pay extra—a lot extra.

✧ You had your first session in his room, and you immediately got strange vibes from him. He wasn't ill, that was for sure. Perhaps he was a little pale, but he probably hasn't gotten enough sun or vitamin D lately. He was even smoking! He was sitting all relaxed on a couch, dressed up in 1930s-esque attire, with a cane leaning against his lap. He introduced himself as James Patrick March, and you immediately understood why you were called. He either has a personality disorder or is a compulsive liar. Perhaps both. You asked him simple questions, such as his real name and when he was born. You were only getting nonsensical answers. He could not have been born in the late 1800's or early 1900's; that is ridiculous! 

James only felt himself grow hotter with each question you asked. It was like a fire had been lit beneath his skin, and he needed to put it out. Then you asked the question that really got him going.

"Since you refuse to use your real name, I'll just call you Mr. March. How is your personal life going? Are you currently sexually active?"

"I have peculiar interests and refined tastes. How do you modern people phrase it? 'Where there is a hole there is a goal'?"

✧ With that astounded expression on your face, he feels his urges compell him to end this lovely conversation early. That look would look perfect on your dead corpse. He takes the sabre out of his cane and tries to slit your throat; he narrowly misses. Somehow, you unlock his room door and bolt through the hallways. How promising. He walks through the winding hallways slowly. You scramble to find the exit, and he struggles with not just outright chasing you through the maze. No, he must preserve the hunt. After what feels like an eternity to you—only eleven minutes in real time—you finally trip over a stair and hit your head on the railing. Talented fox. You nearly escaped to the lobby. You are too much of a challenge to let go so easily. He's going to keep you to get his release. In more ways than one. 

✧ You wake up in the middle of the night in the same room as before. It's freezing, and your clothes are nowhere to be found. Your head is pounding, and you are barely able to breathe. James drugged you with some cocktail of drugs—some legal, most not. You feel blades ghosting your body. You feel them just barely slicing into your skin. It must be sleep paralysis, you rationalize. Something whispers sweet nothings into your ears. You are barely able to discern what those words are. 

"You taste... a dream."

"Never leave."

"The best prey— never leave me."

✧ You drift off once again before groggily waking up in a different room. You are still in the Cortez, now in room seventy-four. You feel much different today, weighed down and yet free. You don't have any marks on you that would indicate you were harmed last night. You feel the need to escape, but you are also incredibly confused. A maid is in your room, setting down a new set of clothes. She explains that you passed out after you tripped on a stair while leaving the session early. You accuse her of helping the strange man you interviewed who tried to kill you. She chuckles and says that you aren't his type. Her voice has a little bit of spite in it. That was the moment that you were introduced to Miss Evers. Quite possibly the only person who simultaneously envies you for getting all of James attention and pities you for your lack of self-awareness and intelligence in the situation.

✧ Before you are even able to shoo her off this JPM impersonator comes in your room and greets you. You are naturally apprehensive. He is naturally enthralled to see that his trophy prey has awoken. He cannot wait to just see how you react today. You try to leave and he explains that you never finished your session. You accuse him now of trying to murder you. He brushes it off and insists that you at least have breakfast with him before you leave. You are about to answer firmly when Miss Evers folding of a towel loudly snaps together. This 'James' scolds her and she gives him a doe-eyed look. Before you are even able to say no he is ushering you down the hallway in silken pajamas someone put on you while you were passed. The thought makes you shudder.

✧ You both were served a hearty and delicious breakfast. It isn't very filling to you, no matter how much you eat. It must be how queasy you are from yesterday. If it happened. Perhaps you had a mental break due to all the stress you have been through lately. You don't get a lot of time to think because you are snapped from your thoughts. This James speaks about your future together and how you will have a long and fufilling relationship. He asks you to give him a psyche evaluation. When you say no, he subtly threatens you with the thought of not paying because you didn't actually fill his full session. You reluctantly agree.

✧ He's both incredibly frustrated and intrigued by your persistence. How many times must he explain to you that he isn't a 'cosplayer' or someone with a personality disorder. He is simply the great James Patrick March. No matter. It will make you even more fun to play with.

"Your delusions, doctor, are clouding your mind. So I suppose I will have to make you see the truth—one way or another."

He sets up small 'challenges' to see if you can pass them. He wants to test how long your mental fortitude will hold up. 

✧ The first of those was dismembering himself in front of your very eyes. He does it multiple times, and they are all random. He will pluck his eye out and stir it in his tea. He will cut open his chest and stuff his organs into your suitcase. He will remove whatever is covering his neck and finger from his suicide wound. He asks if you would like to feel it, stroke it, touch it, or play with it.

"Doctor, I understand you only deal with the human mind, but would you like to feel this and assess if it is real? Do you believe me now?"

He will stab himself in the heart during one of your sessions and tell you that this is what you do to him. In the most extreme cases, if he isn't getting your coveted attention, he will take himself apart limb by limb and place them on your bed like a cross.

✧ You begin to come to terms with the fact that, at least, this man is psychotic. Perhaps not a ghost, but definitely a killer and wickedly sadistic. You try so many of the phones in the hotel, but so many seem not to work. You try to find your way out once again, but you seem to be trapped within these walls. Which comes to one of his many other tactics: trapping you in The Cortez's hallway maze. He is able to distort the minds of his guests and make sure that they never get out. Like a rat trying to find an escape from a box maze that has no exit. He enjoys just slowly walking behind you and taking in your panic and your quick breaths when your clothing rides up on you. He is able to take a respectful peek at what he will inevitably see time and time again.

✧ He keeps you trapped in the hotel. You never even have a chance to get to the lobby. He has a nice breakfast, lunch, and dinner with you. He has his daily sessions with you. Outside of that? His torture. All of his torture. All of it. He threatens you with it subtly if you do something that he is displeased with. He'll even lock you in that death closet of his and make you stand right near the spike. Sometimes you prefer to be in there because you can hide from him. He likes it when you hide in his death traps. So he totally leaves you alone and totally just doesn't sit right outside your ability to view him.

You are coming to the point where those times when he is cordial are the times you crave. All part of his plan, of course. Although—he hopes that you will keep up the chase, he likes that fiery spirit of yours.

✧ You often find him getting release from his dead victims. You know because your relentless cycle of agony and pleasure stops. At least he doesn't force himself on you when you are awake. You end up doing your best to stay as far away as possible from him during that time. Only you always end up stumbling into the same room as him. You avert your eyes, yet he always has something cheeky to say to you.

"Ngh—darling, darling, wait! This.... this could be us. This could be me. You and me. Nothing could be a replacement for how your flesh feels against mine."

He always turns around and gives you one of those godforsaken winks of his.

✧ That isn't the only time his victims come into play. You are always suspicious of the food he serves you. It's either drugged or the meat could be made from his victims. You first learned that the hard way. You were served meatloaf, and James called in manloaf. He stated that it was made in this very hotel by the very guest who was trying to help you leave. You wanted them so bad, you can have them—in your stomach.

✧ Not even the Countess is able to help. Not that she tries. She is too busy luring more men in. She's forgotten about James mostly, except for the betrayal. She gives you a few warnings and some caution when she can. You are almost like one of her children. Perhaps she would help you if you really were in need. Maybe.

✧ You still get those sensations in your sleep. The feeling of fingertips ghosting on your figure. How the sheets seem to slip off your body. A warm presence keeps you close throughout the night. It often manifests in such strange dreams. It feels like James's thoughts are being injected into your own mind. You dream of him against you—sometimes he is brutally murdering you, and in others he is sensually caressing you. He always seems to tease and taunt you with those tantalizing images in your mind.

✧ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ ⁿ⁰ — You often have panic attacks and breakdowns because of him. Your heart rate quickens as sweat rolls down your body. Your legs shake and give in. The entire hotel seems to spin around you. You have to seek him out for your own comfort. It's so twisted and vile. You can feel bile rising in the back of your throat when it happens. You almost have to crawl on your hands and knees to reach him. Yet, it feels like heaven. His skin is so soft and supple. His suit is always made of the most comfortable materials. His body is always so cool to the touch. In those moments, your body melts into his. That is, until your mind stops its dissociation long enough to realize the trauma you were going through. You are falling for him—a classic case of Stockholm syndrome. You couldn't stand for this. You need to fight against this, against him.

✧ Unfortunately, your non-belief in ghosts stops when you see multiple people you thought were dead trying to warn you. You see your patient, who was killed in this very hotel. They tell you that they're so happy to see you. They are so happy you are here with them. You have to put on your therapist hat again and calm them down. It all clicks. Other people you thought were guests here were warning you. You are being oddly welcomed into the space. The others are cautious of your presence and afraid to upset the owner, the one who holds so much power over them. That strange being that seemed to flicker in and out of your peripheral occasionally. You finally make peace with the fact that James Patrick March is indeed a ghost. You really do need to escape here.

✧ You steal the hotel's shipping schedule for their toiletries and linens. You make a plan to escape. You think you are so clever, and it really makes James hot under his white buttoned collar. He lets you think that you are so much more astute than him. It makes him a little desperate, but he won't show it. He needs your touch so badly. He needs you to love him so badly. He needs you to be his little trophy victim. He needs you to help him chase his highs. He needs you. He needs you. He needs you. You, only you.

✧ He confesses his undying adoration for you and clings to your waist as you try to walk out. He sighs and tries one more tactic before you step out the door. He promises to tell you the entire truth. You are caught off guard by this, and your hand slips off the door. He leads you to his trophy room and shows you his 10 Commandment killings. He directs you to the corner, where your body lies. You are covered in wounds that have long since dried out. Your eyes are lifeless. You have his name etched across your naked chest. You scream, shout, and sob. James gently holds you and soothes you even as you thrash, kick, and gnaw at him.

"You've been trapped here the entire time. Since that night."

As if that makes it any better. You aren't that stupid. You could connect the dots—lack of appetite, coldness, the odd sensations, everything. You are stuck with this monster for all eternity.

"Hmm, yes! I saw you and just knew that I had to have you. Have you gotten my diagnosis yet, my love? It's lovesickness, and your body is the cure."

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⟿ taglist: @coentinim @bluerthanvelvet444 @cxndiedvi0lets @doll3tt33 @lacucarachapisser @etheral-moon @fear-is-truth @marchsfreakshow @girlyfart @nahoyasboyfriend

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