#from the meat beast's maw

[mystigaron]

how it feels to have the same favourite character as 99.99% of the rest of a fandom but you liek them in such a different way and for different reasons you don't wanna be lumped in with everybody else

[tojisun]

simon riley x f!reader; uhhh a wedding night kink au blurb or something like that idk anymore

it coalesces — the burning need; the hunger; the itch to touch and to claim. it is seeping into your pores, leaving you parched and heady, your breaths coming out in rasps as you stare at him heave from across you.

simon’s jeans are pooled to his knees and you trail your eyes down from his chest to his flushed cock where it twitches on his thigh. he hasn’t even touched himself yet but it is already an angry red, leaking, and so sensitive, that it has him gripping at the edges of the mattress.

simon has never looked so… debauched as he does now.

he has never looked more subservient to his desires and he has never acted like his hunger triumphs over everything, leaving him as he is now, all sloppy before you. his cold bravado and his walls that drive you out have crumbled. he is so putty now, and you haven’t even done anything. not a whimper, or a tease of a show. you just walked into the kitchen, in the pretty dress which johnny drunkenly confessed that simon bought for you, and talked.

you spoke about your day — about work and your meetings; about the recipe you wanted to try; about the trip to the grocery shop and the limited sale of the ribeyes that simon particularly loves.

you just told him how fun it is to be a civilian again. how it was so easy to fall back into the normalcy of a woman your age, amiably befriending the mothers at the park who shared their favourite recipes with you before ushering their chubby babes back home, or the butchers who were obviously trying to make you buy more cuts of meat than you needed, or even your short meeting with kate that had little substance as you two just fell into a quiet conversation about her wife.

it was a day full of banality, and you shared that with simon. but, somehow, something about it, about you, dragged his aches into the surface because the next thing you knew was that simon was slotting himself behine you, fitting you in the spaces of his arms, before breathing you in.

you stuttered out his name, only for your voice to warble even more when he rutted his hips along the plush of your ass, all purposeful and slow.

“si…” you gasped out, blinking the fog away.

this wasn’t the first time that simon and you fooled around, and you are sure that it would never be the last, but it was never this charged. it was never so—

intimate.

it always happened in quick bursts, like two beasts jumping at each other, snapping maws and showing fangs, like any sign of weakness would end with a throat ripped open. but never like this — at a safehouse, in clothes that are so ordinary that one would never mistake the two of you as spec-ops, and sensual.

it was never a needy rutting nor a slow fever.

it was always an all-consuming passion so this… carefulness left you—

well.

it left you aching.

like the rug had been ripped from underneath you, and you are thrusted into the abyss, only with the heat of simon’s body burning from where he’s caressed maps into your back.

“room,” you remember gasping out. you felt him nod before he planted a kiss on the side of your neck, making you jump, and then he was tugging the two of you to the bedroom.

then here you are now, by the door, watching as he dropped himself on his mattress, his scarred hands tearing into his buckles and his zipper before tugging his jeans down and leaving him bare while you remain there standing, heaving, and your eyes wide open as you drink him in.

“c’mere,” simon rumbles, his voice grave and heavy, and you follow his call because you are enchanted by him.

you fall to his lap, your dress ruffling as you scoot closer, closer, closer. you pause. simon clicks his tongue and pulls you even closer.

“s’right,” simon murmurs when your clothed cunt finally brushes against his leaking cock. “sit on it, pretty.”

he wraps you in his arms, and leaves searing kisses along the cut of your jaw and the slope of your cheek, and it is so, so drunken and clingy that you cannot help but mirror his affections. you cling onto his shoulders, nuzzling close, before humping at his cock, feeling its sticky pre- mussing the cloth of your panties.

“that’s it,” simon sighs, almost dreamily. “such a good wife f’r me.”

oh.

oh.

a mewl leaves your lips as your mind catches up to what made simon like this — you realize now that he’s envisioned something like this before. a life outside of the violence. a life where he dresses you up and you become his pretty wife; dolled up for him, cooking for him, coming home to him.

“yesss,” you keen. “thank you si.”

you hump at his cock faster, positioning yourself so that every brush of the head bumps into your hardening clit. “thank you, husband.”

simon’s hands clamp down on the meat of your ass, and he groans, loud and deep.

“gonna buy you a ring,” he grunts, his voice all sticky with his desire. “gonna make this permanent, baby.”

a soft hiccup leaves your lips, your eyelashes fluttering when he pulls back just enough to gaze up at you.

“y’would love that, won’t you?” he asks just for formality.

“yes,” you gasp out, feeling his hands slide underneath the skirt of your dress and into your panties, his palms rough against the fat of your ass. “love nothing more, si.”

his whole body shivers, like it is singing in pleasure, before he plants a chaste kiss on your lips.

“say i do.” his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in familiar circles.

you hiss for a second, your eyes shutting close at the muted pleasure racing across your nerves.

“so beautiful f’r me,” you hear him say, and it is so breathy that you almost miss it but his benevolence sticks to you and not even an orgasm feels as good as hearing his devotion so you look back at him, your trembling hands cupping his cheeks, before you finally whisper, “i do.”

you lock your vow with a kiss, this one more hungry as hot lips devour each other. and, like a good husband, simon makes love to you all night long.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Hiya, didn't wanna leave your asks dry for too long :3c

Fem hunter who's been trying to trap something terrorizing the village, only to realize she's the one caught in it's trap. (Maybe some knotting and overstim on both sides?)

I'll let you work your magic, Your Horniness~

Let's see if you can figure out which property this was almost fanfic of

Kabr0z Writes Episode 36: Hunter, Hunted

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: noncon; physical force; violence; knotting; overstim; creampie; transformation; Interspecies;

A/N: Still some asks in the box, including one that I'm definitely getting 2 unrelated stories out of, but don't let that stop you sending in requests! It might be a few days until they happen but I'm endeavouring to write something for basically every ask I get

Now without further ado:

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You lay another trap, wafting a bunch of smouldering twigs over it to mask your scent before moving on. Whatever was in these woods, it was bigger than a man and killing sheep. The villagers brought you in to put a stop to it before it started hunting villagers. You grasped the holy sigil dangling from a cord between your breasts. You were going to destroy this monster, failing that you knew a dozen binding spells to stop it doing any more hand.

A trap snapped shut, not far from you. You'd not even finished laying them all and already something's been caught. You took your scourge off your belt, the many barbed whips coiled in your hand, ready to strike as you stalked through the forest to where you heard the clang of the metal jaws.

The trap was empty. It had definitely been triggered by something, the bait was gone, but whatever took it was still around. You stayed in the shadows, the matte leather of your hunting garb disguising you despite the omnipresent full moon hanging in the sky. Your hand drew to the sigil again as you said a silent prayer for protection. The Angel was dead, of course, but it helped ease your mind. Few enough people even wear her symbol any more, not since the horror was trapped in the moon, but she saved you once and you had faith she'd do so again.

Another trap sprung, from the direction you'd came. You set off towards it. Moving quickly and silently, you avoided the moonlight. This time a clump of coarse fur was left in the jaws of the trap. This was probably a werewolf at work.

There wasn't any howling, it must be alone. You wondered if it's by choice or if it's newly turned and not been adopted by a roving pack yet. It's certainly still got enough of itself left that it knows how a bear trap works. That doesn't bode well for you.

You squeezed the weapon in your hand, the leather of the handle creaking as it pressed against the straps. Stepping closer to the trap you could see tracks, digitigrade feet taking long strides. Well formed pawpads. Stride length suggests something like seven or eight feet tall.

An experienced wolf, then. Shit.

You started backing towards the tree behind you, making sure to step in your footprints to avoid any errant snapping of twigs.

You bumped into something.

It wasn't a tree.

You spun, releasing the thongs of your scourge to lash it across the beast. You weapon struck true, vicious spines lashing across your mark. A sheep, freshly disemboweled.

It hit you. Eight feet and three hundred pounds of apex predator swept you off your feet and carried you a dozen feet or more. The tree you hit splintered on impact. The beast threw you. You hit another tree and slid down the trunk.

You could only sit there and cough up blood as the monster loped over to you. It tore open your shirt, bearing the silver mark. A guttural, growling laugh rumbled from the beasts maw.

"A dead protector, for a dying hunter. Fitting."

It grasped the symbol and tore it off you, the cord snapping like dry grass. You could smell searing meat where the beasts flesh touched the silver before it threw the totem away.

"I'm going to hurt you, then I'm going to turn you"

The monster grabbed your face in both hands and dragged you towards it. The cracked bones made you gasp in pain. The beast took advantage of your open mouth, pushing your face to its sheath and humping madly. Your head filled with his musk, the scent and the pain killing any thoughts that weren't about the rapidly growing cock being thrust against your face, painting you with precum, marking you as his. The cock slipped into your mouth again and again, the fluid coating your tongue and throat, making you choke and gag at the sheer amount of the salty pre flooding your senses.

He pulled you up properly, turning you around and holding you upright by your bruised waist. The broken bones grated against one another as you barely balanced, waves of pain coaxing you to delerium.

His claws tore the crotch out from your trousers, pushing aside your undies he lowered you onto him. You felt your mouth gape and your eyes bulge as the cock stretched you open. He was still humping even as he dropped you on him, his hips moving with a life of their own forcing him deeper inch by inch until he was buried in you, his knot already starting to swell and plug you up

The best drew you to his chest, hips bucking and pumping. The sensation of the thick knot bouncing in you, stretching your opening then jamming upwards again and again was making you sweat, the feeling of orgasm overwhelming the pain from your battered and broken body as you rode the first wave.

Your voice was weak, you could barely hear your moaning into his chest.

That's when he bit you.

His fangs sank into the meat of your shoulder, breaking the skin and drawing rivulets of blood. He staggered into the moonlight and let it bathe your skin.

The curse set in fast. Your cracked ribs set themselves and knit together. The tooth marks on your skin closed and faded as a thin fuzz of fur sprouted from every inch of your skin. Your legs cracked and reversed, your knees breaking and re-setting with a sickening crunch.

You barely felt it.

The moonlight brought something else. A heat rising in you. Your arms wrapped around the other wolf's chest as you drove your pelvis into his. You were desperate for him, and you didn't care about anything else. You toppled him as you started fucking yourself on his knot, hearing his grunts turn to yips as his overstimulated cock pumped more and more cum into you. You were a wolf now, just like him, and you'll be damned if you're not gonna make him your bitch.

Your fingers pressed and rubbed against your clit as you groped one of your tits, drawing you to orgasm after orgasm as you bounced on him. They were starting to hurt, your muscles cramping up despite their newfound power, your tortured nub sending waves of discomfort along with the pounding satisfaction.

At last you fell on him, the cold light of dawn starting to fill the sky above you, that full moon still hanging in vigil over the world

You're one of them now. A hunter in the dark. A beast to be feared.

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Thanks again, Anon, for the wonderful request

And thank you, dear reader, if you click my profile and leave a request of your own! Limits are in the pinned comment, but I don't bite and I don't charge!

I'm looking to do another 330-ish of these so I need all the requests I can get!

[hazardoomttrpg]

D&D 5E | Player Species: Gnoll

Ever since reading @dailyadventureprompts's post on gnolls, I've been thinking about playing as one. I've seen a few versions around on the internet, but I haven't seen a jump to the 2025 ruleset. This take on Gnolls was actually one of the jumping off points for my Folk of the Wilds project. And with their push into a more demonic direction in 2024 ('25) Monster Manual, it felt like the right time to put out a more humanoid version. Also included here is the Survivalist background; perfect for being someone who innately understands the wilderness.

Let me know what you think!

Art from Hex: Shards of Fate. Copyright Hex Entertainment 2016.

Gnoll Species Details

Gnolls are the quintessential survivors of the multiverse, living far from the farmlands and cities populated by humans, elves, dwarves, etc. While some gnolls, known as "The Hungry Ones," have succumbed to Yeenoghu's call and have taken on a more demonic nature, many continue to live in the wilderness in small nomadic clans following the migration paths of various herds.

While many outside of their communities may find their behaviors and culture as barbaric, Gnoll traditions are ultimately utilitarian: when survival is on the line, the definition of what is and what isn't useful has a much broader definition.

Some of these traditions are as follows:

Gnolls are laconic and candid when speaking. In times of survival, understanding the situation and transmitting that information as quickly as possible is the difference between life and death.

When a Gnoll dies, there is a great celebration to honor their passing. During this, the clan will consume most of the deceased's flesh: it is one final honor for the individual to provide for their pack.

Gnoll weapons and tools have hilts/handles made partially or wholly of the bones of the deceased. These will often be named after them whose bones were used in the weapon or tool, serving both as a reminder of the clan's history and as a method for the deceased to continue serving their community.

Gnolls' understanding of ownership is based on usefulness: if a tool would be best used by one member of the clan, it makes most sense for that member to be the holder of the tool.

While Gnolls not bound to the will of Yeenoghu aren't overly religious, they find some spiritual connection either to ancestral spirits or to gods of nature, hunting, and weather, such as Obad-hai on Greyhawk or The Wildmother on Exandria.

Gnoll Traits

Creature Type: Humanoid

Ability Score Increase (5E 2014): Strength by 2, Dexterity by 1.

Size: Medium (about 6-7 feet tall)

Speed: 30 feet

As a Gnoll, you have these special traits.

Darkvision

You have Darkvision with a range of 60 feet.

Carrion Feeder

You have the ability to stomach many foods which others cannot, such as rancid meat. You have advantage on Constitution saving throws triggered by eating and/or drinking. You also have resistance to Poison damage and advantage on saving throws against being poisoned.

Bite

Your fanged maw is a natural weapon, which you can use to make unarmed strikes. If you hit with it, you deal piercing damage equal to 1d6 + your Strength modifier, instead of the bludgeoning damage normal for an unarmed strike.

Pack Tactics

Once per turn, you have advantage on an attack roll against a creature if at least one of your allies is within 5 feet of the creature and the ally isn’t incapacitated. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Proficiency Bonus, and you regain all expended uses when you finish a Long Rest.

Suggested Backgrounds

Farmer (5E 2024), but re-flavored as Hunter-Gatherer: This background is perfect for a Gnoll whose primary role was as a provider for the clan's next meal.

Guard (5E 2024): You might have been assigned as one of your clan's protectors, whether that was from the wild beasts your clan would routinely encounter OR from marauding bandits who looked at your clan as obstacles to supplies.

Guide (5E 2024): With Gnoll clans being nomadic, you might have been tasked with leading your pack through the wilderness, finding places of shelter for rest and short-term habitation.

Folk Hero (5E 2014): You might have undertaken a great trial to protect your clan, such as single-handedly fending off the attack of a great lion.

Outlander (5E 2014): In many ways, this background is similar to the 2024 Guide, but adding extra emphasis to your knowledge of how to survive in the wilds.

Survivalist (Homebrew): As the name suggest, your upbringing taught you all about using your wits, skills, and tenacity while surviving in the wilds.

A little bit extra: Survivalist Background

* 5E 2014 Version *

Skill Proficiencies: Perception, Survival

Tool Proficiencies: Leatherworker’s Tools and one other Artisan’s Tool of your choice.

Language Proficiencies: Druidic

Feature: Scavenger Crafting

As part of a short rest, you can use materials harvested from a slain beast, construct, dragon, monstrosity, or plant creature of size Small or larger to create one of the following items: a shield, a club, a dagger, a spear, handaxe, or 1d4 darts and/or pieces of ammunition. While doing so, you roll 1d20. On a roll of 15 or higher, the crafted item is well-made, and is considered to be a +1 non-magical item. To use this trait, you need to have a set of the appropriate artisan's tools. Add your proficiency to the roll if you are proficient with the tools.

Equipment: A stone dagger, a hunting trap, an assortment of animal parts (such as claws, furs and teeth), a set of traveler’s clothes, a belt pouch containing 10 gp

* 5E 2024 Version *

Ability Score Increase: Strength, Dexterity Wisdom

Suggested Feat: Scavenger Artisan

Skill Proficiencies: Perception, Survival

Tool Proficiencies: Leatherworker’s Tools

Language Proficiencies: Druidic

Equipment: A stone dagger, a hunting trap, an assortment of animal claws and teeth, a set of traveler’s clothes, a belt pouch containing 10 gp

[muzanswaifu]

Bittersweet

Demon! Sanemi x Fem! Reader

18+

Request: "I have been waiting to read something like this for so long. Demon Sanemi craving blood because fem!reader is on her period, so yk he eats her out without mercy❤️"

Demon Sanemi is so mean I love hiiiim :3 Need me a man who would eat me out on my period 😒 Jk jk that shit gotta taste nastyyyyyyy

NSFW Warnings: Yandere, Non-con, Smut, Sexism, Kidnapping, Forced Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Menstruation, Blood Kink, Forced Orgasm, Kinda Gross ngl

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The rhythmic pitter-patter of feet echoes through the green, a slow churn of water thrumming with the flow of the current. Even the thick noise of crickets and wind couldn't drown out the hint of life found deep in the brush, the figurative curl of a finger beaconing him to draw closer, to close the union of rarity.

He took a breath. A deep one. Taking in the pungent scent of weak males. And a female.

Shinazugawa could nearly taste the delectable meat already, the flavor settling on his tongue and seducing his taste buds. Drool nearly threatened his mouth, but he withheld himself. He wasn't an animal. Not technically, anyway.

But he might as well be. Only an animal could hunt as he did, track as he did, kill as he did. But a beast was not nearly as precise as he was, not leaving even a scrap of evidence in his wake. Only the crime scene would be found, a gorey scene of bone and torn flesh, remnants of his well-earned meal. But only the males would wither...

As for the female -

Oh gods, did just the thought of it make him salivate, his very bones trembling with need. Her scent alone made him feel weak with hunger, his tongue curling with horrid intent. The fragrance was familiar to him, a vague memory of his past existence of rare blood, the same unique trait only serving as a grand pillar toward his success as a demon. Her blood ran the same, her veins full of the powerful elixir that his kind would quite literally kill each other for. But he had no need for such rivalry.

The path the cattle strode upon was a hidden one, veiled by a plentiful layer of wisteria about fifty feet aways on either side of the trail. The effort wasn’t so useless, he supposed. Perhaps it served useful against weaker demons of no rank, the fiends not yet powerful enough to develop some resistance to it. But his godly build was stronger, the frail flower only giving his skin a lingering sting. His hunger far outweighed it.

He had long stalked his prize. The demon had patience in these rare situations, biding his time for the perfect opportunity to make his efforts all the more worth it. It had been several moons ago that he’d first stumbled upon her delivery across these lands, his keen eye catching the lingering dust kicked up by the horses that pulled her carriage. Even back then, the chance had been perfect. The men were unknowing, all walls of defense down as the car came to a halt, surely one of exhaustion. Shinazugawa drew closer, only a breath away from finally feasting when his vision was obscured by a heavenly vision.

A small thing she was, her skirts nearly catching under her feet as she gracefully stepped down from her traveling abode. The moonlight shimmered brilliantly off her glazed skin as she bent her delicate neck back, stretching out the aching tightness trapped there. Her (h/c) hair was frizzy across the outline, the static from the summer heat pulling at the threads and giving them a coiled curl. His maw fell open with his amazement.

He’d come across several humans of marechi blood in his infinite lifetime, and most, if not all, were nothing much to look at, quite ugly in his opinion. They all bore the same simplicity and naïveté, their only unique trait being their delectable composition that gave them their sole purpose of feasting. But she was so drastically different.

Everything about this female sang rarity, her natural features reminiscent of that of ancient goddesses that mortal men could only wish to touch. But here she was. Within an arm’s reach, he could have her, do with her what he wished. He was nearly disgusted with himself, being far more captivated with his food than he should’ve been. Sparing her of death would’ve been such a waste of opportunity, one that even those lower than him wouldn’t have been so idiotic as to squander. Yet, his own self-doubt swallowed him as he drew back into the dark wood, letting her little toy soldiers bring her back to the safety of the nearing daylight.

He’d gorged himself after that, consuming soul after soul at a nearby village in an attempt to quench his own frustration and need. There weren’t many options to consider. He couldn’t spare the thing entirely, he wasn’t that fucking stupid, but he didn’t very much want her dead either. Turning her definitely wasn’t an option, women just didn’t have as much potential as demons, and he had his own personal beliefs that women shouldn’t dirty their hands. But dear gods, her scent, her smell alone probably called upon hundreds of demons to her location daily, perhaps it would’ve been a mercy to take the female’s life.

Fuck.

He hated himself for how indecisive he was. Not once in his entire demonhood had he been at such a crossroad of hesitance. There had to be another option that held the best of both worlds, yes? Shinazugawa just hadn’t come across it yet.

But fate gave him a hint as he snatched up the severed half of a female he’d killed, her guts spilling into his lap as he gnawed on her fat ankle. His daggered eyes trailed up her cold thigh, lining the dark trail of blood that seeped from under her skirt. A small confusion fell over him as he mulled over the strange placement. His blade’s cut through her navel had been clean, her blood pooling into the muddy grass and not at all staining much of her clothing. Yet the chain of red kept its existence, running into the conjunction of her thighs. Cursing his own curiosity, Sanemi swept the pesky material aside, only to be met with the brilliance of a cruel idea.

It hadn’t been hard at all to follow along the woman’s usual route of travel again, her men taking the same path,  ignorant of its dangerous discovery. Yet the timing was unfortunately off, her smell still sickeningly sweet and clean rather than bitter and dirty. He’d have to wait for next time. And the next. And the next. He’d nearly given up hope entirely until the fated night his lungs were filled with the metallic scent that had his belly tensing with primal famine. Just the mere aroma of ichor had drool gathering in his jowls, his fists clenching with need. It only grew thicker as her quaint carriage drew near, the clicking wheels singing a dreadful tune with each snap against the road. Sanemi could already taste the woman on his tongue, her savory flesh plump and tender between his teeth… god, he was going to lose it.

He nearly did as she stepped from her carriage in the same manner as their first meeting, her hair knit in tight braids across her crown, framing her delicate features. She was dressed more eloquently this time, Her gown long and loose yet hugging her figure with a gentle tightness. He mused to himself that perhaps she was on her way to some formal event to maintain appearances, maybe even earn herself a husband. Yet the notion of such a possibility irked him all the same. He’d never felt a hunger like this before, if one could even call it that. This felt so much more significant, crucial even, as if his very life depended on it. And maybe it did, since he would most definitely not let himself live if he couldn’t get even a single taste of her blood. Her body was his to take.

It took him no time at all to do away with the weaklings, the men’s bodies falling one after the other into the gravel, making a sad splash as their vitals funneled out. The man ogling at her backside was the first to go, his head severed the instant his eyeline met the wide curve of her dress, dropping to the ground with a thud and rolling to a leisure stop to her heel. When the woman finally turned from her distraction of the ominous wood, she was met with pure, bloody isolation.

Her horrified scream echoed loud, her hands clawing at her own face as she looked upon the gory scene of blood and guts that surrounded her. Shinazugawa was almost impressed at her reaction speed as she quickly turned foot and bolted, running through the thick bush despite her frailty. He couldn’t help but snicker, so enamored by her utter foolishness of trying to escape. If the men protecting her couldn’t even survive, what made her think she was the exception?

“God, you’re fucking stupid, ha!” he cackled, leaping about the tree-line, nipping at her backside but giving her just the right amount of space to let her hope she could get away.

She was not at all athletic, her stamina quickly dwindling as her frail figure fought with itself to continue on. Her chest burned, her feet hurt, her will to keep moving dwindling by the second and feeding into the persuasive idea of giving up. Yet the monster snatched her before she could choose, slamming her into the soft, melted ground and caking her elegance in earth. His hand wrapped around her pretty neck firmly, another snaking down her bodice and tearing open the gold buttons of her dress. His tongue swept across his lip as he unwrapped her, taking his sweet time to unveil every inch of her pristine flesh to his ravenous eye, her little fists pounding at his chest as she sobbed and screamed for help.

“Shut it,” Sanemi growled lowly, surprised to see her actually listen, her lip wobbling and eyes flooding as she silenced herself. He could still hear her pathetic whimpers as he stripped her, her small frame shaking as he brushed down her stomach, removing the lacy undergarments that hid her delicate body from his sight. He could see her plush intimacy coming into view from beneath her coverings, her curved hips thickening her figure, her thighs trembling as they tried desperately to hide themselves. But there was nothing that could be done about that now as she lied there, helpless, powerless, weak.

He opened his mouth wide, exposing sharp canines and letting his hot breath wash over her firm abdomen as her tears began anew and wept down her flushed cheeks. The demon was pleased, relishing in her surrender and submission as he gently ran his tongue down her navel, sampling his meal and savoring the girl's pitiful sobs. He loved it when humans cried, when they begged and pleaded for their lives like the weaklings they were, it made things so much more exciting.

His tongue flicked out over her pelvis, gliding over the pudge over her sex as he breathed in the scent of her musk, tainted with ovulation. Sanemi could already feel the saliva gathering in a jowls as he began to peel down her underwear, a cotton cloth clinging to the crotch of it. Her breath stuttered.

"N-no, no, please! Please... please!" she cried out, shaking hard and grasping at her own face, nearly clawing her eyes out with panic. But she knew better than to try to fight him off again, clearly more afraid of what he would do then than what he was currently doing. He couldn't help but grin against her supple flesh, his edged teeth nicking her thigh. She jerked at the sudden pain and the warm sensation of blood trickling down her leg, soaking into the dirt.

"P-Please, p-p-please don't... h-hurt me," her words shook with her exterior, her sniffling likely a strong persuasion to those who had a heart. He obviously didn't but was still bothered by her pestering fear of being eaten. "If I was going to eat you, don't you think I would have done it already?" he groaned sarcastically.. The human slowly removed her fingers to peak down at him, her eyes red and welled with tears, lip trembling. He laughed.

"I mean come on, you think I'd let you bitch and moan this long just to kill you later? If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Quit fucking crying," he hissed.

She sniffled again. "B-but -"

"Zip it."

Her mouth snapped shut, quickly obeying before her brain could even comprehend him.

Sanemi growled. "Talk again and you get to join those fuckers back there." He nodded his head back to the direction of her abandoned carriage and dead guards. His claws dug into her thighs, pulling them to spread wider to encompass his presence. "The sooner you let me take what I want, the sooner I let you go. But I don't deal with brats. You either listen or you don't, 's up to you bitch."

He wasn't sure how he expected her to react, but it definitely wasn't for her to spread herself wider, without any instruction. It was almost touching how quickly she gave in, not even needing a moment to think it over before she opened herself up for him to do as he pleased. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she were eager for it.

His head fell down to her core again, his fangs pricking the surface of her skin yet again, drawing forth a shallow line of blood as he slid them down her inner thighs, his eyes locked on her frightened yet curious gaze. She shivered at the sharpness of his touch, her legs trembling as he moved further south, trying to appease his hungered excitement. He resumed pulling down her panties, reveling in the aroma of moon blood that filled his senses as he took away all obstruction. It was beautiful. The smell of blood. The sight of red dripping from her puffy lips. He could only imagine the taste, so eager in his imagination of its excellence. He'd never tasted pure ovulation blood before, never even thought of it actually. It would be stupid to use just his tongue when he could devour with his teeth in an instant and move on to the next meal. But this was a different situation entirely. This woman could satiate him for years, decades even, with marechi blood. It didn't hurt that she was a hot piece of ass either. If he didn't get himself together soon, he might end up fucking his food as well.

The woman's eyes lingered on his leisure movements, the drawl of his dangerous eyes along her sex as he studied the meal. Embarrassment quickly rose in her chest as she realized his intentions, praying that he’d move on with whatever he was trying to do so her dignity could recover. Although, she supposed letting him taste her menstrual blood was better than getting eaten alive... but hardly.

The demon felt her pulse quicken in his grasp, her breathing growing faster and her patience dwindling as she began to quiver again. He didn't blame her though, not in the slightest. But he had every right to  such a rare female, he deserved everything. And if the needs of others were sacrificed, so be it. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist her for too long. He was ravenous.

And he was horny.

He smiled as his head dipped down, his tongue flicking out to smooth against her swollen clitoris, barely brushing the top as he inhaled the fragrance of her blood. Her legs trembled, her muscles tensing as her hips buckled in response, shocked with the sudden feeling of sensitivity. She had to bite her lip to silence her noise of surprise. He chuckled as he teased her, dragging his tongue from one side to the other, teasing her wet folds and leaving behind a thin trail of saliva. He didn't really care for her pleasure at the moment, but he was curious of her response to it. Dinner and a show. That was fine by him.

She bit her lip harder, her thighs flexing to keep from touching him. Sanemi was excited at her reaction, watching her face contort with each and every careless stroke of his tongue, her hips subconsciously rising to feed herself into his awaiting mouth. A few times, she almost grabbed for him, but her arms were still pinned to her side by her own strong will to survive. He liked that, enjoyed her struggle as he continued to lick her up and down, her clit becoming more sensitive with each and every pass. Her blood was intoxicating, his head already growing dizzy as he drank her from the source. He thought it would be difficult to keep himself from biting down but the thought never even grazed his mind as he continued giving sloppy licks and sucks to her weeping heat. She was so tasty, so sweet, so ripe. It seemed like she would never stop bleeding as his tongue was eternally blessed with a fresh coat of red. He wondered for a moment if it was possible to drain her of it all in one night.

He growled, his head lowering down to her opening and his tongue falling out again as she whimpered in anticipation, eyes closed tight. She felt like she was losing her mind with every pass of his ravenous tongue. Her head was so foggy and light, her pussy so warm, she couldn't stop herself from letting out small noises of pleasure as he kept feasting upon her. It took every ounce of her being not to wrap her legs around his head and trap him into her center, forcing him to cease his cruel teasings. What little was left of her fear only heightened the experience, giving her a blissful taste of sin that she'd never indulged before, the sense of danger giving her such a rush.

Her ichor only grew sweeter on his tongue by the second, her slick diluting her blood in heavier batches that gave him more a taste of lust than power. He focused on her hole then, realizing that nipping at her clit certainly wasn't helping the situation. Yet, her pleasure rose none-the-less. His tongue worked hard, dashing inside of her, licking up every drop of liquor, drinking it down as if it were a fine wine. It was nearly too good to be true, this level of strength he felt. He looked down at the girl, his eyes burning into her as he watched her squirm and grip the earth. She was so delicious.

But he needed more.

His tongue pumped into her again and again, dipping as far as it could reach before retreating to her entrance to lick up anything that had escaped him. She shuddered, her hips subtly grinding on his face to chase her nearing end. It continued building in her belly, sending bolts of electricity up her spine and warming her insides. She couldn't even feel the pain of her cramps anymore.

Sanemi sipped at her wetness more vigorously, his tongue lapping at her like a dog, desperate for more of his meal. He slowed only for a moment as the woman gave a small cry, her hips and thighs quaking harshly and tensing in his palms. He wasn't even angry when her juices sprayed him, drenching his lower face and dripping down his lips. If anything he was amused, only a human could come from such little care. Yet, he stopped, her cunt hardly even bleeding anymore being so wet with arousal and relief. What was the point of pleasing her when he gained nothing in return.

He rose from his position on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes raked down her sloppy appearance, certainly not that of a noblewoman. Her backside was caked with mud, her hair messy and matted, her face red and mouth leaking with drool. She nearly looked peaceful as she let out gentle pants, still softly shaking from such a strong orgasm. He rolled his eyes.

"Get up," he commanded, uncaring of her condition. "I don't have all fucking night."

The woman only rose when his growls became violent, her movements awkward and her head still in the clouds. She still attempted to cover herself, tucking an arm over her breasts and cupping her sex with another.

"I'm only going to explain this once so I suggest you pay attention-" he began, her eyes quickly lighting up with fright, "You are going to come back to this path every month during your menses. You will come alone. No guards. No friends. No nobody. Understand?"

She squirmed nervously in her footing, her fear beginning to crest again. "B-but I-I won’t be a-allowed to travel for n-no r-r-reason..." she stuttered.

"Not my problem."

"A-and how would I come back without anyone to take-"

"Not. My. Problem." he hissed meanly, making her cower away.

He stepped forward to her, towering over her little form. "I'm not here to negotiate. I'm just telling you what you're going to do. I don't give a fuck how you're gonna do it, but if you know what's good for you, you'll obey. You want anyone else dead because of you?" he sneered.

Her lip quivered and tears glazed in her eyes. "N-no."

Sanemi chuckled, looking down at her and pressing a strong hand over her lower belly and brushing away her small hands, dangerously close to her privates that were still glazed with his saliva.

"This is mine," he stated, passing two fingers between her puffy cunt lips, "Give it to anyone else and I'll kill them and make you watch. I'll make it slow too. You want that?" She violently shook her head, nearly on the cusp of pissing herself from the terror of such a suggestion.

He hummed with his approval of her response, giving her another once over with his eyes and a quick squeeze of her breast before backing away into the night, undisturbed with how on earth she was going to get back home. It would've been any second that he could lose control of himself and pounce, a desperate need growing in pants to satiate himself. He'd have to establish that as another rule - no fucking when she was edible. Maybe he'd pay her another visit later when her period was over, at her estate perhaps, just to take away her innocence and test out how useful she was to him. He could only imagine how pathetic she would look speared on his cock with nowhere else to go, but that would be for another night, he couldn't forget her main purpose.

And he couldn't wait to get a taste of that again.

-

@acehyacinth

@chaik1

@tomiokas-lunchbox

@walkingtravesty97

@keimuras

@akazaapologist

@prostheticmind

@doumakiss

@uchihabucketlist

@tired-writer04

@magoliaomega

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@ledafox

@that-bih

-

-

[niiwa-angel]

"One V dies and the others move on!" Or "One V survives and gets redeemed"

No! Fuck that! Those three are codependent as fuck! In hell, in the most dangerous place in existence, these three carved out a safe space for themselves. They trusted each other and once it's gone, they break hard.

Vel and Vox lose Val and all of Hell feels the quake. Vels designs become erratic and dark. Less cool and more like a mourners outfit. Vox is searching, because no problem doesn't have a solution and by Satan, he will find one. They're both tightening the leash hard on all of their souls, because solutions cost money and they need serious influx to sort this out.

Vox dies and Vel and Val make sure the entire Pride Ring feels it. The streets are a river of blood and it leads back to the V Tower. Vel gives up on designing clothes and goes right for armory, because someone is going to pay for his life and she will be prepared going in. Val is cruel in ways nobody even thought he was capable of. There are no more porn films, just videos of sinners being torn to shreds, no assailant ever seen but the shadows on the walls are enough to leave viewers shaking.

Vel dies and Vox and Val spiral. Because they were her boys but she was their girl and the tower isn't complete without her. Val is finding any sinner that looks vaguely like her and trying to pretend she never left, only to inevitably tear them apart because they can't sell it. They don't have the sass, the spark, the walk, no matter how hard they try for perfection they will never find it. Vox shuts down the grid, all of the Pentagram is dark and nothing anybody does can bring back the lights. His light is gone and he shouldn't be the only one feeling it.

Val and Vel die and Vox sinks. He was always obsessive but now without anyone to pull him back to reality, he lets it fester. He goes right for Alastor, because none of this would have happened if he'd just said yes 7 years ago, they could have all worked together and they would still be here. He's showing up at the hotel every day, injuries still oozing coolant and dye from the day before, screen cracked, suit torn, and he doesn't care. He doesn't eat, he's so sick with grieve he doesn't even notice how haggard he's become. Even Alastor, proud as he is, agrees to let Lucifer out up a shield to keep him out because Vox has nothing to lose anymore and he's never fought him like this.

Val loses Vox and Vel and makes sure all of Hell knows it. The V Tower goes dark and it's like a gaping maw, dragging sinners in and spitting out bones and scrapes of fabric. Only the cannibals dare go near, the discarded scrapes of meat promising a good meal but after so many never return, Rosie forbids her people from going near there. Inside the tower, Val is a mess. The floors are sticky with blood and he prowls like a feral beast. He's unhinged, slipping deeper and deeper into insanity everyday. One brave soul delivers a repeat package and inside are some products Vel would use regularly. He laughs the night away, breathing in her perfume and her soaps, smelling her and when day breaks and he remembers she's gone, he destroys the bottles. He sleeps down in Vox's minutes room and pretends the fans humming are Vox's and he's beside him and when he wakes up, he'll be there.

Vox and Val die and Velvette loses it all. The entire time she's been in Hell, they were there, and she doesn't want to exist in a universe where they aren't with her. Those are her boys, her partners, and how is she meant to go on without them? She goes into Overlord meetings like a woman on the brink, she's barely understandable and what the other Overlords can comprehend scares them. She burns through bridges like tinder because what's the point in crossing if they aren't on the other side? Her hair gets greasy and tangled u til eventually she just chops it off in uneven cuts, she stops wearing makeup and it's just doll-skin plastic showing. Her ball joints spin and twist until she can barely walk and then she drags herself along. She kills whoever asks about it.

[evolutionsvoid]

In a land of plentiful fluids, there is a great variety of life that thrive within them! Be it water, bile or blood, these fluid bodies are always a host to an incredible array of aquatic creatures!

1. Silt Snorter - A large bottom feeding fish with two mouths and iconic whiskers. They spend their lives down near the silt and muck, using their twin mouths to suck it up and filter food through their hairy gills. Their long whiskers help them keep their bearings when the silt is disturbed and the fluid is clouded. Growing to giant sizes, they are prized trophy fish, but not so great for eating. Their flesh is tainted by their mucky diet, but with the sheer quantity you can get from a single catch, no one wants to waste it, thus folk have developed recipes to help mask the flavor. Also a good source of sea snot.

2. Nailbiter - A keratin clad fish with a dexterous maw. They specialize in pulling prey from nooks and crevices, using their oral fingers to reach in and drag them out. With no actual biting or shearing teeth, they can only eat what can be swallowed whole. Their armored scales are tough but light, allowing them protection while not weighing them down. They are caught for their "fish fingers," a dish made from their oral digits. Legends like to say this fish came to be from a greedy fisherman who reached into the water for one too many fish and had the offending hand taken to replace what he stole.

3. Sperm Eel - An odd boneless fish known for its strange reproductive habits and milky nature. They live in riverside burrows, feeding on small invertebrates and floating bits. The species lives only long enough to reproduce once, as the viable adults congregate up river. When the time comes, these breeding fish straight up disintegrate into reproductive fluids, with the males becoming a cloud of sperm and the females a cloud of tiny eggs. Entire floats of white frothy egg masses form from this breeding session, creating thousands of larvae. This season can clog rivers with these rafts, but it is a bountiful moment for other species that come to feed. When it comes to fishing them, they must be caught and kept alive, as their bodies melt upon death. Though there is no meat to gain, they are used as a soup thickener and add a delightfully milky and salty flavor to a dish.

4. Syringefish - A parasitic fish of the rivers that targets larger piscines or wading beasts. Their single tooth is hollow and built for sucking Blood from prey. Typically look for sluggish fish to feed on, or disturbances from animals swimming. Will ram themselves into whatever flesh they can find and drink as much as they are able. Their stomachs can swell up to fit their meal, growing until they are practically sphere shaped. A pest to any who have to deal with them when wading through the river or trying to catch fish that don't have puncture wounds all over. At least good for a nice bloody snack for those who catch engorged ones.

5. Scabfish - Crimson in color and crusty in texture, they typically appear in bloody waters or in scarred regions. They rest upon the floor of the fluid body, waiting for prey to pass close for an ambush. Their rough scabby skin makes them unappealing to some predators, and make them quite abrasive to handle. Some seafolk may use their dried skin for sanding wood and ivory. Can also be used to make scab crackling.

6. Urolith Fish - A jagged fish that prefers to rest on the bottom rather than swim, using its wide fins to crawl in a way. Typically hides in tight spaces and uses ambush tactics to swallow prey. They are infamous for their spiny bodies. with nasty spikes that break off agonizing shards into those who touch them. Once inside the flesh, they are difficult to remove and are prone to breaking into smaller pieces. These fish serve as a reminder to watch your step when wading through the shallows. To be avoided and not eaten, as their meat reeks of urea. Some shady folk have found their spines good as debilitating knives, stabbed into victims to paralyze them with pain.

7. Mantinia - A colorful creature of chitin that slices through the water with its razor body. Its frontal appendage is designed for lashing out with blinding speed and snaring slippery prey in its barbed grasp. It lacks a true mouth, and instead uses its hollow spines on this "arm" to suck fluids from its prey. Its vivid coloration is believed to be used to win over mates. Despised by fisherman for stealing catches, cutting lines and shredding nets. Legends say that this fish came to life when a warrior surrendered his colorful chitin blade and gave it to the water.

8. Skullcracker - A powerful bulky fish known for its bony forehead and cracking teeth. They feed primarily on ivory corals and other hard-bodied prey, using a mouthful of broad teeth to shatter shells and armor. Their bulging forehead is solid and makes for a good weapon against predators and rivals. They make for dangerous catches, as they may ram the boat with their head or jump from the waters at inopportune times to concuss the unwary fisherman. They have gained this name for a reason.

9. Snot Shroud - A tiny fish that is capable of producing an incredible amount of Phlegm, they use it to surround their body in a false mass. This mucus sheath acts as a fake body and shield, allowing them to ward away parasites and survive predation. This sticky mass also collects food particles and tiny prey for the fish to feed upon. A potent producer of sea snot, and typically kept alive by seafolk on ships to churn out this marine Phlegm for medical purposes.

10. Searfish - A parasitic fish that possesses Yellow Bile and a nasty suction cup on its head. This structure is made to latch onto the sides of larger fish, where it then pumps the burning humor to melt through scale and flesh. The porous surface of this sucker allows it to absorb nutrients from its host, feeding on fluids and digested flesh. Typically target leviathans as their vast size allows them to shrug off these wounds. Circular scorch marks are the scars they leave behind, and some fisherman have found them on the bottom of their boats. If not deterred, they can scorch straight through the floor of a small canoe or boat, thus fisherman take steps to keep the burning buggers away.

11. False Floater - A seemingly rotting fish that plays a deceptive game. Their belly-up posture and patchy skin makes them look quite dead, but this fish is alive and well. A gas filled bladder suspends them in the water, while perfect stillness lures in scavengers. A multi-part jaw filled with needle teeth snares prey that comes to feed on this supposed corpse. Though they are not actually rotting, their meat is very pungent and slimy, thus is avoided when it comes to eating. Their dead appearance does lead to them being associated with the Mother of Snow.

12. Spiretail - A creature instantly recognizable due to their preference of hanging vertically and upside down in the water. They often hover just above the bottom, feeding on the small bits and critters that pass by. Sharp shards of Black Bile jut from their bodies, warding off predators. Often hang out in groups, gaining more protection through numbers. A bane to swimmers who accidentally swim through these schools, as such encounters guarantee several lacerations.

13. Cysthorse - A diseased looking fish that is actually filled with a burning toxin. Attempts to eat or touch them will result in these noxious boils to rupture and seep out this vile poison. Flesh that comes in contact with this fluid often winds up looking like the fish's unsightly skin. Avoided when it comes to fishing as one snared in a net may ruin both the net and the catch with its boiling fluids. Plus, they are associated with sickness, thus their appearance is an omen for future afflictions upon the catcher.

14. Sawtooth - A vicious fish with a killer overbite, they use their protruding blade of teeth to wound and shred prey. Appear to be solitary and not fans of their own kind, judging from the scars their hide often bears. They are a prized catch of any fisherman, though bringing them in without losing the line or a limb is difficult. Their upper jaws are often saved as trophies and turned into tools or weapons.

--------------------------------------------

Recently got and completed the fishing game Dredge and was inspired by it. So the obvious choice was to fill the fluid bodies of FOI with some fishies!

[izgnanik-a]

Someone put it in my head, and I can't stop thinking about it now so I'll make it your problem — Shifter!NikPrice (Grizzly Bear!Nik x Wolf!Price) MDNI

back to masterlist 1

slight gore under the cut (they’re carnivores obvi)

Winters are usually easy going for Price.

The cold makes it so much easier to shift, so when he wants, he’ll strip down to nothing and slip out into the snow blanketed world. It’s quiet, cold, and yet Price hears and feels everything.

He doesn’t have to worry about hunters because he’s miles and miles out from civilization in his cabin. He also gave his neighbors a rumor that he’d managed to tag one of the wolves, and with a makeshift bright collar he’d given himself, the neighbor let him be.

He feels the snow crumbling under paw as he tip-toes into his own steps, making him a silent killer. Driven by the noise of carrion overhead, they’ll see something fresh and dead before he ever does. But when he gets closer, he realizes that the murder of corvids and vultures obviously didn’t take this beast down.

Wary of the tracks surrounding the body, he steps closer and the birds rush off in fear of being a chew toy in his teeth. The meat is scalding under his maw, but delicious and savory. He’s covered in blood and guts to his chest before recognizing the warning cries of danger from the corvids.

When he tips his vision up, he sees it.

A bear.

Standing up on its hind legs to gaze at him, once it’s spotted, it settles on its front paws like it’s been caught. Huffs and grunting, it comes in close.

Price hasn’t had his fill of the dead carcass yet, but he sends a prayer, and steps back when the bear grows closer. With a warning growl and snarl, the bear lingers back before snatching the dead carcass by its spine to bring it closer to itself.

The bear, though he’d seen bears before in person, didn’t compare in size to the usual who loomed in the country. He wasn’t exactly a model wolf either, bigger than a Grey Wolf, heavier than an American Dire Wolf. All of his human bulk and weight had just translated over.

If someone were to catch him, they’d have a bountiful dinner (that is until he turns back into a human when his heart stops beating).

With big black eyes and massive paws, its nails dug into flesh and pooled more blood into the cavity that had been dug out by Price himself and the vultures. Price stared too long at the size of it.

Price let it take his found kill. He’ll just find dinner elsewhere at his cabin.

He returned home slowly.

🐾🐺

When he went out again, bright collar around his neck, he walked a whopping 10 miles up the mountain before catching wind of something; the smell was thick with musk, the kind that made him think of the underside of wet bark, deep layers of earthy dirt, and scalding warmth.

It brought him to a scented tree, the tuffs of fur stuck between the cracks. It was a bear’s smell, no doubt. He didn’t want to stay longer than he needed to if he was moving into bear territory. He’d have to mark it on his map to stay clear of it when he gets back.

What he didn’t expect was to find a small campsite in the middle of a clearing. Someone had hunkered down in the snow behind his land without his knowledge. He was tempted to steal the cooked meat left to dry on the rack, but the movement of a standing body coming from the stream made him pull back.

He was spotted before he could dash.

“Oy.” The man clapped his gloved hands to spook Price, but he wasn’t moved. “You’re a brave big dog, aren’t you?” His eyes panned to the bright collar around his throat. “I’ve never seen a collared wolf before.”

Price kept his defense up, watching the man with a low head, lip ready to snarl if he stepped too close. Even though he was in this man’s campground, what was going to stop him from finding Price’s cabin and breaking in while he was away?

“You hungry?” Said the man as he moved forward, daringly towards Price.

Price snapped his jaw before scurrying up the incline to get above the man.

With no real evidence of nervousness around the “wild wolf”, the man proceeded to unhook his meat and toss it at Price’s feet. “There you are, pup.” He huffed. “We all get a little hostile when we’re hungry.” He smiled.

Price took the food and turned.

He didn’t report the man in the woods. But he wondered if he knew there was a bear in the same territory he settled down in. And if it would run him out of the woods. Or worse.

(a/n : More?? Link to next chapter here)

[paperbackribs]

werewolf steve, werebat eddie (ch2)

🦇🧥🦇

Eddie’s knee bounces in the stationary van parked outside the Harrington house; he stares down at the open Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual clutched between his arms, flipping between the werewolf and the dire wolf. A drawing of the former has it standing upright, muscled and snarling with outstretched claws; his eyes are drawn to chaotic evil.

He knows that Steve isn’t evil. He does. The man who had spent hours next to Eddie at his hospital bedside showed an honour and trustworthiness that had drawn Eddie in even before he’d recognised it.

No, the caring guy he’s come to know is about as far from an alignment that lacks compassion and kills for sport as someone could get. That Steve is capable of wielding a nail-bat against the monsters of the Upside Down only lends an appealingly chaotic feel to the man Eddie had begun to think of as a rogue knight.

Sighing, he flips to the other page held open by his spare hand: dire wolf. Unaligned and a beast advantaged by its pack, this seems like Steve’s speed. Resembling his transformed self more acutely with its simple, albeit large wolf appearance. His finger stops on the bloodied maw, but the idea of it is still terrifying.

Reluctantly, he turns to the page he’s now memorised by heart. Man-shaped, this monster growls with open fangs too; sharp tapered ears are fixed on a figure draped in an aristocratic overcoat and cape. Finger trembling, he traces undead and lawful evil before pausing over bat polymorph as one of the vampire’s characteristics.

A loud bang smacks against the side of the van and Eddie jumps high enough to hit his head on the Chevrolet’s roof. “Ow, Christ!” He hisses, rubbing the sore spot and glaring at Dustin grinning at him through the closed window.

“Come on,” he shouts, “Everyone’s here!”

Eddie scowls, leaving behind the manual to tumble out of the van. Dustin immediately starts pushing him from behind and Eddie whacks at him with his hands, “Lay off, man. I’m coming, okay.”

Dustin hums doubtfully, “Yeah, but I watched you sit in the van for the last ten minutes and that was only after I noticed you’d arrived. Who knows how long it was going to take you?”

He quickly opens the front door before Dustin pushes him right smack into it, but the younger boy continues shoving at Eddie until he stumbles into Steve’s living room. In a similar configuration to yesterday’s intervention, the party sits, lounges, or stands about the room, quietly talking.

On the couch, Robin sits cross-legged with Steve who’s flipping through a magazine. Eddie’s relieved to see that all four limbs are human-shaped, and mouth only curved into a soft pout as he contemplates the article in front of him.

Everyone pauses to look over at their loud entrance. Steve glances up and, meeting his calm expression, Eddie almost blushes at how uncoordinated he must have looked falling through the door. He averts his gaze to El who approaches him with an outstretched palm, “Are you ready?”

Eddie sighs but takes her hand; she leads him to the open floor and they sit across from each other, “Yeah, we might as well do this. So, you’re going to force the bat out or something?”

“There’s no guarantee that you can shift,” Lucas leans back against the wall next to Will with casually folded arms. “You could be a normal human with bat scars and that’s it.”

“Or I could be a vampire of the night,” Eddie counters darkly. “I’ve been craving meat lately.”

Max rolls her eyes, “You have not, you big liar. I saw you scoffing down Honey Crunch on your front porch only two days ago.”

“Yeah, well, I was high. Maybe weed mellows out the beast.”

Eddie’s gaze flies to Steve when he snorts, but Steve looks away, concentrating on the magazine that Eddie suddenly suspects he’s not actually reading.

The thought that he’s avoiding Eddie stirs a familiar sense of guilt, giving rise to the niggle that he’d tried to forget after the wolf left yesterday, further punctuated by Robin’s distinct stink-eye. Even amidst the fear that had gripped him, he’d been able to see a sad, dejected version of Steve in the down-turned tail and slow trudge away.

“I'm going to take you into the void,” El says, holding out both her hands over her knees and Eddie takes them at her urging. “When I visit Steve there, he is able to feel the wolf and communicate with him.”

“I sort of see him next to me, if it helps,” Steve finally pipes up, watching Eddie warily like he’s expecting him to reject the advice, but Eddie only nods grimly. He’s going to need all the tips he can get he suspects. “Do I let it possess me or something?”

Steve frowns, a hint of reproach about him, “My wolf doesn’t posses me, he is me. Just like I’m him.” He shakes his head at Eddie’s confusion, “If you have a bat or a vampire or, I don’t know, maybe you’ll have a wolf too, then just reach out to him. He wants to be a part of you and you’ll both figure it out from there.”

Eddie looks into the steady gaze of Steve’s hazel eyes and feels it like a hand over his own: Steve has done this before, and successfully. He just needs to trust in the rogue knight one more time. “Okay,” he says, closing his eyes and following El’s lead.

🐺🐺🐺

Steve throws his Fine Gardening magazine onto the coffee table and leans against Robin’s shoulder, she presses back. “Does it usually take this long with me,” he murmurs, trying to keep quiet for the two sitting silently in the middle of the room. Both El and Eddie have their eyes closed and hands clasped with the other. Max had turned the television to a snowy channel to help channel El’s concentration with the static sound.

She hums a negative, “But then, you two only did it to play around and see if there was more you could learn about yourself. This is Eddie trying to find out whether he even has another version to turn into.”

She grabs his arm suddenly, “Wait.” Steve blinks, unsure of what he’d seen other than to describe it as a pulse around Eddie. A long beat passes before the trick of the eye flickers again, so quickly that Steve can’t be sure of what he’s seeing.

In one rapid swoop, the air around Eddie contracts, pulling abruptly inwards until Eddie the human disappears to be replaced with a bat standing unsteadily in front of El. He blinks wide eyes, faltering on tiny feet before stumbling over to land on his back.

Eddie squawks in what Steve thinks is shock before frantically flapping his extended wings and tossing over to push up into the air, erratically darting around the suddenly panicking humans.

With one wing beating harder than the other, he drunkenly tilts and rolls into Mike’s long hair. Shrieking, Mike pulls Eddie out and flings him away even while crying out, “Shit! Sorry, Eddie! Sorry!”

Eddie cries out himself and flutters, gaining his momentum only to slam into the wall with a thump next to Dustin who leaps forward trying to catch him, but Eddie desperately twists before leaping higher, aiming for the peak of the ceiling.

“Catch him,” Will yells as Lucas runs out of the room.

“I’m trying,” Dustin shrieks in a tone that matches the high screeches of Eddie above them.

Robin shrugs off her boxy jacket, “Wait, I’ve got this.” She advances on Eddie as he zig zags against the wall again, but he must see her as a large threatening animal because he chitters wildly before smacking his wings at her face. Robin yelps and falls, only narrowly avoiding hitting her head on the ground by Max urgently jumping underneath to stop her rapid descent.

Lucas skids into the living room, triumphantly holding aloft the large pool skimmer usually stored in the garden shed. “Steve,” he yells before throwing it across the room.

Steve deftly catches the long handle in the air and, with a twist of his wrist, scoops Eddie mid-flight. Quickly flipping the pole, he entangles his small body in the net.

Panting or, in Mike’s case, holding down his hair, the group silently gather around the squirming bat version of Eddie as he shrieks and tries to bite his way out of the thin rope.

Steve thinks of his first fumbling and panicked steps: the distinct difference between having two legs extended to four, not even at the right height, let alone the terror of suddenly having a completely different way of looking and feeling the world had been indescribable. There are still scratches in the wooden floorboards from how hard he had dug his claws in to stop his legs from skidding in all directions.

“Back up, guys,” he says softly, keeping his tone low and soothing. “Hey, Eddie, hey,” he shushes, positioning the net against his torso so he can roll Eddie out of the mesh without letting him escape. Everyone steps back or sits in a chair, and Steve brings Eddie higher up to his chest so he can meet the eyes of the little guy.

Although his thinking or way of interpreting his surroundings may be a little different, Steve is always aware of the world as he would be as a human, and he can see that it’s the same for Eddie. The big wet eyes of his bat form aren’t that different from his human ones, Steve thinks, a little amused even while worried at how hard Eddie is panting.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, “You’re okay, you’re with friends, and this isn’t permanent. You’re just a bat for a little bit, Eddie, and you’ll be human in no time. Okay? You’re okay.” He keeps repeating reassuring nonsense, keeping his fingers firmly wrapped around squirming wings and resting Eddie against his heart.

As a wolf, Steve likes to lay his head over Robin’s heart, likes the proof that she is alive and well under him, and often finds himself calming under her steady thump, thump, thump.

Under his fingers, he can feel the frantic thrumming of Eddie’s heart start to calm too.

“That’s good,” he croons softly, stroking his thumb over the soft down of Eddie’s head. He takes stock of the little body in front of him: over Eddie’s nose the bridge is one long stripe of white, the rest of him covered in a deep brown while the ruff of his neck is almost golden, his ears are tapered as is the long tip of his pink tongue.

They all watch while Steve successfully calms Eddie as if he is a baby cradled to him. “Do you think that’s a were thing?” Asks Lucas, peering at Eddie as his breathing slows down, he blinks back up at him.

“I don’t know,” Will says thoughtfully, “Steve is pretty soothing to have around.” El nods while Mike shoots his friend a look of betrayal.

Steve rolls his eyes, “He was just scared. Look, now he’s had a moment to chill he’s with us again.” And, sure enough, little Eddie’s eyes are drooping as Steve continues to lightly pat him, clearly relaxing into the comforting gesture. He loosens his hold, still keeping a firm grip but not so tightly in fear of Eddie struggling again.

Max snorts as she peers down, “Oh yeah, there’s the big bad metalhead everyone fears.”

Eddie’s closing eyes snap open with a glare and he squeaks at her. Unfortunately, Steve thinks, the cuteness of it all only supports Max’s teasing. Robin meets his eyes over the kids’ heads and silently laughs in agreement.

“Okay,” Steve orders, “I think the lot of us in the same room may be too much for him right now. You guys skedaddle and we’ll let you know when he’s back to rights.”

Dustin looks doubtful, “What can you do that we can’t?”

Robin snorts, “Uh, Dusty-bun, Steve is literally the expert in this room when it comes to were-changes. You can’t research your way out of this one.”

Dustin grumps, “I could. If we didn’t have Steve, I could absolutely be the one to help him get back to normal.” He turns to the backpack shoved against the table. “Here,” he says, pulling out two books with photos of bats across the covers. Steve peers further into the bag and can see back-ups that apparently didn’t pass muster. “These are the books I brought on bats. If he starts craving blood, let me know — I have more on vampires when he needs them.”

Max takes them from his hands while Lucas steers Dustin towards the front door, where they’d left their bikes outside. Mike mutters a mocking noise that sounds like skedaddle and, with that, the room falls silent once more.

Robin and Steve look over at Max as she falls back onto the couch with El quickly following behind. She stares back belligerently, “What? Mom dropped me off and Eddie was our ride back.” El crosses her arms with a serene smile.

Steve sighs, “Okay, but we’re not doing anything exciting and you guys are making dinner.” The girls readily agree, heating leftovers from Steve’s fridge and serving the four of them as they sit in the living room, eating while watching a Bewitched marathon. At Steve’s instruction, Robin had brought down his blue hoodie with its tunnel-like pocket over his belly.

Little Eddie had curled up inside of it and Steve keeps one hand over him to provide what he hopes feels like shelter and comfort; under it, he can feel the heat of his small body and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“You look like you’re pregnant,” Robin acerbically observes from the other end of the couch, feet crossed into her lap for the lotus position.

“Does that mean that I can finally eat butterscotch ice cream without you making that face?” He counters with a bitchy expression back.

“What face?” She protests even as she makes The Face. Max rises her brow to Steve, “Why does she look like that?”

“That summer at Scoops maybe put her off some flavours for life,” he shares. El ignores them all in favour of watching Samantha wiggling her nose to float Darrin out of a tree.

“If I have to smell USS Butterscotch one more time, I’m going to puke — lack of pregnancy be damned,” Robin warns.

The commercials blares once Samantha finishes rescuing her husband, and El moves to peek inside the hoodie, tentatively extending a finger and gasping when Eddie’s little bat foot comes out to grip it. “He feels so soft.”

Steve snickers at Robin and he thinks he feels what’s supposed to be a bat bite through the cotton in retaliation, but it’s hard to tell with the lack of sharp fangs behind it. He sobers for the younger members of the room, “Yeah, but he can’t stay this way forever. Can you sense anything from him, El?”

She closes her eyes while continuing to hold Eddie’s foot, “He is not upset like earlier, but I don’t think he is ready to come back to being human-Eddie yet either.”

Steve looks worriedly down at the bump over his stomach, “Is he okay? I ran around a lot at first too, but once I figured out what was happening I tried to turn human again as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, but you also didn’t know that it was possible to turn back to human,” Robin points out. “He could be chilling ‘cause he knows that everything is going to be okay.”

El hums, “No, I do not think that’s it.” She shrugs, gently untangling Eddie’s clawed toes to lean back into Max who shifts an arm and drapes it over El’s shoulders comfortingly. “But he is not willing to share either. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Robin reassures her as she peeks into the other end of the pocket, smirking as she waggles a playful finger at him. Steve can see the wide, wet eyes of Eddie peeking out at her in curiosity. “Maybe he knows that he’s cuter as a bat than as a stinky human boy.”

Eddie glares and snaps his small teeth in the air before sullenly turning, curling up and facing the other way. Once again, a small hidden lump in the hoodie. Steve sighs, “We’ll give him the night and, if he’s not back tomorrow, maybe you can look for him in the void, El? Ask him what’s going on or guide him back to being human again. Whatever it is that he needs since it’s not working for him right now.”

He glances at the stairs, “Do you guys want to stay over? You can sleep in one of the spare rooms?”

“I call third bedroom,” Robin calls, standing up decisively, “Second bedroom has a weird smell.” She points her finger at Steve’s opening mouth, “I don’t care if you can’t smell anything, which, weird. Since you’re the one with the super nose these days.”

She grimaces and says more quietly, “I don’t think I can bunk up tonight, all the screaming got me…” She waggles her hand around her ears and Steve nods, knowing that she needs some quiet time after a lot of stimulation.

Max smirks and takes El by the hand, “That’s cool, we can’t smell whatever weirdo smell your nose is picking up. Night guys.” The girls wave before heading upstairs and Steve shuts off the television.

Picking his way through the house he double checks that the windows and doors are locked before turning off the lights and heading to bed. Lying down, he snuggles little Eddie to him, the small body already curled on top of his chest and asleep.

If you enjoyed anything of this I hope you'll consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 - it would make my day! 💖🦇🐺💖

[tyrantisterror]

At Sea Without a Map pt. 17

She's the first friend you've made in your entire (admittedly very short) memory, you are not letting Calibani get eaten without a fight! With a heroic athleticism you didn't know you possessed, you take a running leap off of the broken boat and onto the deck of your own, bridging the gap of water between you so quickly that no lurking beast below could hope to catch you. Unfortunately, you act so swiftly that you don't actually prepare well to land, and end up slipping when your feet hit the deck, sliding a ways until your sheer momentum sends you crashing into Calibani. On the other hand, you hit her with enough force to pry her tail out of whatever was holding it, and as you lie on top of her in a heap on the deck...

...well, she doesn't look particularly upset about it, at the very least.

You don't have time to dwell on your close proximity for long, though, as the boat shifts violently beneath you while the waves around it become larger and nastier. Quickly you get to your feet, steadying yourself with the railing as you look over the side to see something massive rising up from beneath the water.

What emerges is more hideous than you would have dared to imagine, a twisting collection of lumpy, tumorous flesh held loosely together by rancid sinews of rotting muscle tissue. One by one the pus-dripping flesh globs that make up the bulk of its mass begin to split open, their skin pilling apart to reveal a chaotic assortment of eyes and teeth. On occasion an eye will close and the flesh will seal over it, only for another tear to appear elsewhere in the beast's roiling surface like a fresh zit. All of this occurs as it continues its dread ascension out of the ocean, its body like some nightmarish pustule oozing its way out of the skin of the sea.

More gaping maws on the beast open, and soon you are hit with that familiar reek of halitosis as long, hideous tongues emerge from the rancid mass and slither towards your boat. You're fairly certain you know what killed the other sailors now.

As the hideous glob of rotting meat rises in front of your boat, ones of its twisted jaws opens and speaks with a soft, vaguely-British voice that has an oozing aftertaste of lewdness. "Oh my my my, what luck! Two tasty sausages for me! A crunchy one and a chewy one, how splendid! I can't wait to take you inside me!"

As you confront the worst nightmare you've seen yet, you consult your compass.

[mystigaron]

alright man

[cloudyswritings]

More Wyrm Things

just some more wyrm(and PK) headcanons.

Wyrm:

They don’t really sleep in the same way that other bugs, beasts, and higher beings do? Like it’s something a bit like how dolphins sleep with half their brain, but on a much more diffuse scale. The result is that they don’t sleep but do have more and less active periods.(this is also why PK was immune to the Radiances influence and why he felt comfortable moving his palace into the dream realm)

They’re fully capable of closing their inner throat to avoid taking in excess water if they burrow through a aquifer underground.

Aditionally Wyrms aren’t really bugs so they don’t actually have spiracles like bugs do, I’d make the wager that they’ve got lungs or some other stranger form of respiration.

It actually seems like Wyrms are vertebrates? Like the wyrm corpse has what look like vertebrae. I think the track of evolution on hollownest world probably has a group of creatures with both a skeleton and an exoskeleton. These would be some kind of fusion of reptiles and crustaceans, this is the group Wyrms and their distant kin belong to.

Wyrm meat is very tough, luminous, and highly toxic to most beings. Of course roots can devour a wyrm corpse without issue.

in lower form(ie after dying) most Wyrms choose to be taller than the bugs that worship them and also still mostly rely on touch and scent over sight.

Wyrms like very dry and windy conditions, in fact stagnant air and high humidity will actually cause respiratory issues and begin rusting their outer coat of armor, making it much harder to move and shed.

PK:

He doesn’t like having bugs that don’t share his pale color scheme in his palace for any length of time.

in fact this might be a wyrm thing in general but aesthetics matter a ton to him, like it’s sorta an OCD thing? But he needs things to be on theme, at least where he lives. Colors that complement it(like red) are tolerated.

when he first met the white lady he was terrified of her. She was the only other pale being he’d met, and he expected their meeting to end with one of them consuming the other.

in general he tries to distance himself from the culture Wyrms have, he only indulges his instincts in private.

he’s a messy eater, so when he holds court and does politics he generally doesn’t eat. I think most denizens of Hallownest think that gods just don’t eat because of this.

He has fantastic spacial awareness and impeccable memory. Yes this does mean he remembers every single mask in the abyss intimately.

He nibbles on things when anxious sometimes.

He wears such a long cloak to conceal the parts of his body where his understanding of lower bugs and beings failed and he made mistakes. He’s got some really fucking weird joints, and seethrough bits( especially over his heart, it’s why he wears his part of the kingsoul there.

his head might be mostly hollow tbh, it’s a lot like the maw of his wyrm form, in a sense it’s even appropriate to say he doesn’t have a true face.

Parts of his brain are actually stored in his lower body and chest, not that it really matters because as a god he’d survive even without a body. Though he’d have a harder time with that than the radiance. He’s a god of the physical world and she’s one of the ephemeral world.

he likes the taste of mint, to the horror of the bugs around him(it’s a toxic insect repellent to them)

he has little ingots of metal he eats, like candy bars but very dense. It’s because he needs metal in his diet, something which hornet deeply regrets inheriting from him.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

It's a moonless night when Phil smells that two humans wandered into his territory. 

They were smart enough not to come into the woods any other time. His senses are still twice as powerful as those of any human, but even in this form, they're more dulled than they could be. Phil feels it pulling at the back of his mind, the sluggish tug of his instincts is not as strong as he's used to either. When the moon is at its brightest, it burns away his humanity. Right now, some of it remains.

But that doesn't mean he's going to let the trespassing slide.

With his snout pressed close to the earth, he tracks them through the undergrowth. Their scent lingers on his tongue, the phantom taste of fresh meat and blood. Nobody sane should set one foot inside this forest. They know the cursed beasts that live there - human by day and wolf by night. To walk here is as good as a death wish.

It's not their own death they wished for, though.

Phil stops when he sees the shape of something left against a tree in the dark. He growls in warning, waiting for the trap to be sprung. Nothing happens, so he slowly inches forward, closer to the basket those humans left behind. And then he sees the small human sleeping within.

Those that left him wrapped the blankets around him tightly, a waning parental instinct that fought against them even while they were doing the most horrible thing one could do to their child. They left him out here to die.

Phil can guess why. The boy is smaller and thinner than he should be, barely two years old if he were to estimate and already underfed. If his family couldn't care for him, they made the right decision. A quick death in the maws of an animal might be better than the slow crawl of starvation choking the light out of his young chest.

And Phil isn't one to resist his urges.

His nose pushes up against the tender flesh of the child's throat, watching him fidget in his slumber. He smells of human, yes. But he's also been out here long enough to smell like the woods a little bit. Like the river that dampens the undergrowth and the wind that brushes through Phil's fur. The child has no fur, aside from some tuffs of brown growing on his head. He's small and helpless. So tiny he can fit into the basket and seems like he's drowning in it.

It reminds Phil of the two he left in his den.

A thumb forces its way up his nostril and Phil jolts back, exhaling warm air in a surprised huff. The child is awake, prying hands reaching out towards him. He makes a noise that's almost a giggle and coos at Phil happily. His fingers flex and unflex while trying to pet him.

Phil tilts his head. The child tilts his own in response.

He's still reaching out to Phil.

Stepping closer again, Phil carefully lowers his snout enough to nudge his chest. The child - 'pup' his mind helpfully corrects - babbles nonsensical sounds and pushes his warm hands against the side of Phil's neck. His eyes are big and blue and bright. 

The moon is gone and Phil has some humanity left in him tonight.

He doubts the pup's parents knew. But he also knows it doesn't matter. His family has abandoned this little one, so they will not get him back. They have lost the right to their pup with this cruelty. Closing his teeth carefully around the handle of the basket so he doesn't jostle its precious cargo while lifting it, Phil heads off back to his den.

The territory is safe, and the pack can rest easy with its newest member safe and sound in the den.

[the-chattering-tower]

"It shouldn't be this easy," Timián muses to himself, trudging along the hunting path in the woods, "for someone like this to hunt." "Someone" being Aelroth, his gigantic, silkshine body slinking between the trees without as much as making a sound. BCKBRNR* sits perched on his shoulders, dwarfed by Aelroth's everything, the spines on its back twitching as it searches for the heartbeat of prey. The pair's vibrant purples and oranges fade easily into the deep greens of the forest, too easily, leaving the mind searching fruitlessly for the movement it knows should be there. Only BCKBRNR stands out every once and again before fading back into the background, knowing well enough to keep hidden in the shelter of Aelroth's folded wings. It's not right. The first time Timián saw Aelroth hunt he had all his questions answered about just how in Arcanist's name someone so large and brightly-coloured and obnoxious can bring home bounties of meat. But that doesn't mean his mind has accepted seeing it happen just yet. Maybe he's a bit grumpy today, too. The dense forest means none of his birds of prey can help him with much of anything on this trip. Timián himself is an adept hunter, swift on the pounce and good with his claws and meticulous about field dressing. But he doesn't feel complete without his birds to send on smaller prey. All at once, Aelroth freezes, Timián feels it more than sees. The three of them search for what had set off...Aelroth? BCKBRNR? There. The bright head of a clown charger before it slides behind a bush again to graze. The pale fins on its back laid flat. Not alarmed. Faint shuffling from that way, suggesting a small herd. Aelroth flicks only his ear in command, and Timián is already stalking through the underbrush to circle around. First, surround the herd, get on the opposite side of them from Aelroth and BCKBRNR. Then, drive. Chase them with primal joy towards the beast they cannot imagine waiting for them, a maw almost larger than they are, a body too much to dodge around, the swift needle teeth of the moth-thing that'll descent on whichever charger makes a break for it anyway, fast to find the throat.

-

Field dressing is not pretty business. Timián had shaved up the fur on his arms for it, leaving the rest of him comfortably shaggy, and over time has paid for the loss of padding with a few new scars. His priorities remain the same no less: clean meat for the clan, and an offering for the scavengers.

A definite bonus of hunting with the confusing duo of Aelroth and BCKBRNR is this: Aelroth carries their bounty for being so dang large, and BCKBRNR doesn't complain.

-

*Pronounced "Backburner"

[fishermcn]

❛   patch .

@sunmad // no need to caw or croak when your intent is plain; we'll see if these silent endeavors were always in vain // accepting.

It'd been a right bloodbath, no two ways about it. Beasts may stalk the shadowed alleyways of Yharnam with no true equal, but in the face of paranoia long fed and fattened on hatred of the outsider in sweet consort with that sickening thrall of the good blood overwhelming reason for hunger, men can be twice as cruel as the fiendish maw of any wolfish thing. Gunshots had thundered across both sides of the cobblestone streets in storms of leaden hellfire, trick weapons intended for rending malformed hide and putrid pelts had instead crashed against one another in shrieking protest, and by the end of the entire miserable affair it's a wonder the duo hadn't emerged from the other side of the exchange on the back of a cart destined for another funeral pyre.

That wasn't to say they'd emerged whole and hearty, mind, and certainly not Crow. Miriam might have the benefit of that supposedly good blood coursing through her veins and further bestowed with a vial's kiss when needed, but for himself and the hideous bite taken from his flank from the very edge of a saw cleaver? Bandages, stitching, and no small amount of cursing will have to suffice until it finally gnarls itself from vicious wound into one more ugly scar to join the ever-growing collection of tithes Yharnam has taken for her due.

Rather than bleeding out across the better half of the godsforsaken town attempting to hobble back towards the isolated butcher's shed Miriam has the gall to call her practice, Crow's led them to one of his own little retreats. Scarcely more than a nook tucked away in the shadow of two rightfully condemned buildings, there's still roof enough to keep out the winter's chill and room enough for them both to play their parts in this loathsome little play. Crow the picture-perfect patient is gritting his teeth to the point that his jaw throbs and squeezing the arm of the chair so tightly his knuckles are a shade paler than bone; Miriam the good doctor unrolls her gleaming little implements and fingers one of the seemingly countless sharp edges, and without more than a mere moment of shared eyes the operation begins.

She'd offered sedative, or the only equivalent available in this town. Blood, blood, blood. He only reached under the chair and drained a third of the whiskey in reply.

Cleaning it goes beyond words, but there's no lack of trying on his part given the screaming being stifled by the leather glove he's sunken his teeth into. Spots dance and writhe to the careful and concise butchering done by the flaying edge of her scalpel as the scraps of meat are done away with, and by the time Miriam has exchanged that menacing little blade for the burn of alcohol to cleanse anything that might've been caught in the sawteeth it's a wonder he isn't dead or drifting off into it. Sweat beads his brow in a way that chills him, darkness isn't at the edge of his sight so much as occupying it, and yet those flinty eyes still watch the work that her hands have done to put the pieces of him back into some semblance of working order.

Surely this is the most thoroughly he's done to dirty her. Whereas soot and ash had clung to the pale expanse of her skin and befouled the purity of her snow-white robes with marked intent, his blood clinging to her cuticles and seeping into every crease of her fingers and painting the entirety of her hands seems an altogether different sin. Wrong, awry in a way that some part of him distantly should find concerning, surely-- what does he care what he's done to her after all? This thing of theirs was entirely self-serving after all, his ends for it and Miriam's leading them to parting ways eventually.

And yet, even for the bite and pull and bite of the stitching needle putting signing a curtain's call to this performance, there's a dissatisfaction etched into his very marrow that the iron coating his tongue only further sours. As if the blood has somehow ruined something, and not for the first or the last time in this town.

Then Miriam looks him full in his face, raises her fingers to her lips, and drags her tongue through his blood without so much as batting her pretty eyes.

@sunmad asked: ❛   mark . (throat, naturally)

Whatever weariness and exhaustion that's seized him within its iron jaws suddenly drops him at the sight, and there's something like a half-curse choked to death in his coarse throat as Crow watches this indulgence play out. There's something decidedly wrong in the act, yet when it ought to make him nauseous down to the bottom of his stomach there's something kindled instead. A crude oil fire that's threatening to burn him alive more assuredly than even the flames that had scoured the expanse of his back and choked his lungs is writhing under his skin as she laps and sucks and scrapes each digit clean with the just too sharp of her teeth.

How hard has he been breathing, that his throat could be so damn dry? How long has his heart been beating this bloody hard in his chest, that it's making it so hard to fucking breathe?

Then Miriam is leaning forward, stained everything now settling damply and messily against his bared skin to paint him in likewise red shades, and any consideration for the pistol tucked beneath the chair or the knife stitched into the arm Crow's still gripping onto like a lifeline is cast aside for the press of her hand spit-slick under his chin and the flutter of her breath against his throat. Surely, she can feel the full sprint of his pulse this close to his goosebump ridden flesh even before her lips part to press open mouthed onto the tender skin.

Crow makes a noise that's barely human, and that's before Miriam sinks her teeth in. Maybe she was entirely unaffected back then on that snow covered street when with a mistletoe he'd dirtied and likewise marked her, or perhaps there'd been enough disgust hidden beneath that placid expression aplenty to find his display unworthy of response-- maybe, maybe, maybe. He's no such restraint whatever the case might've been, not in this moment as a stained hand settles onto the crook of her waist and his knees part to allow her to slot neatly against himself fully.

"Miriam." For an irreverent, blasphemous creature that he so makes himself out to be, her name sounds an awful lot like a prayer in this moment. "Miriam," Crow croaks, and when her jaw sets even harder in the very spot he had so plainly bruised her prior, there's no helping how he presses himself so utterly into the shape of her. "Miriam."

What a ruin she's made of him when at last she does retreat. Pupils entirely bereft of that beastliness debasing so many like men in this town are blown wide, the stormfront of those grey eyes for once painfully transparent in lieu with his ragged breaths and shivering for a reason entirely different than for having gone without a shirt. His own blood has now soaked into his skin from her robes, and standing out starkly amidst it all is an already bruising return laid against that throat she's so fondly regarded.

Godsdammit, Crow swallows. Godsdammit.

[vuldak-juneau]

@heroic-ignus Location: The journey to Hrimthur's Outpost

(tw: violence) Each step further into the wasteland was agony. The miles and days had piled up, but so too had the promises. Little aside from callouses and frost-bitten extremities had materialized as rewards. That was until the long-whispered about village materialized before their eyes.

Rest was welcomed, and the collective held breath was finally released. Hands were made busy with preparing beds for resting, hunters were dispatched to find meat, and gatherers for what other provisions there were to be found. Even Juneau, perpetually pessimistic, found her mood slightly lifted and her surly attitude a bit more welcome to chip in for the benefit of others. 

Juneau had been tasked with preparing a space for the horses, and that solitary work suited her fine. She spread the hay as evenly as she could, and perhaps fed them a bit more grain than was prudent, but they had earned it after all. Her back had begun to ache from the manual labor of refreshing the stalls and wielding the heavy pitchfork. A breathless sigh escaped her as she pulled the thick sleeve of her coat across her forehead.

And then—somehow immediately amongst the throng of refugees—she saw his face. Ivar. Whatever happened between the moment she first laid eyes on him and meeting him toe to toe was beyond her. Rage and shock had blacked out her senses, and then next thing she knew she was throttling him. 

Pitchfork in hand, she grappled him to the ground and relished in the fact that her newfound strength allowed her to best him. Juneau was determined now to demonstrate her superiority in every way, to return his favor of demonstrating how little he had needed her but sending a clear message that she needed him even less. Ivar struggled, and his panicked eyes found no reprieve or tool to aid him in his plight. Instead, he only saw the jackal’s smile materialize on Juneau’s face hovering above his own.

He was fighting as hard as he could, and the unyielding, violent urges that drove Juneau’s decision making process spurred her on. She pinned him, one foot pinning down each of his arms with her full weight. Juneau needed him to understand how futile escaping his fate would be, he would receive the same lack of mercy he showed her a month prior—none. Her breath was ragged with elated anticipation as she gripped the pitchfork in both of her hands and strained her back to lift it above her head. 

The movements were swift and secure as she brought the rusted points of the pitchfork down with the whole of her might. He screamed and the sound of it could have made her laugh. Perhaps there was a time and a place for small mercies, for rather than piercing him through the neck, she pinned him to the frozen floor of the village path between the lethal prongs of the tool and slowly lowered her face toward his. She felt her mouth opening, the flesh of her cheeks lengthening until the sinew tugged at itself to the snapping point, her gaping maw opening wider than the hinge of a human jaw would permit. The razor-sharp jowls of a wolf threatened to raze through his neck and swallow him whole, but when the beast of Juneau took in that anticipatory breath before the kill all it loosed in her was a scream.

The woman jolted upright into the frigid, dark air in a chaotic, sudden lurch. Juneau panted and clutched at herself, finding that she was still very much human in form. The flickering light of a near-dead fire reminded her that they had not arrived anywhere except another bend in the winding mountain pass, another false summit, another unkept promise of respite. She swallowed hard and pawed at her cheek finding it dry—it was too cold to allow for the materialization of tears, not that she was weak enough to cry. Not for that fucker. The beating of her heart began to right itself again, slowing back to its normal rate in increments and she glanced around hoping that her decision to sleep as far away from the others had granted her the privacy it was intended for.