#he’s just a little hungry and needs meat to survive

[kii0mi]

Zombie Au

Original post

TRIGGER WARNING! There’s some blood on the drawing, very little and no injuries, but thought I’d put a warning anyways

I’ve been playing around with a half zombie!Danny, didn’t think I’d love this idea so much but it’s really fun! This is the design I’ve thought of for Danny, and I plan on at least making a reference page for the designs of the human!ancients. Clockwork, pandora and frostbite and guaranteed to have a new design planned for them, I might also do others like ember, and kitty, Johnny and shadow :)

My plans for them so far are: clockwork as a cryptic man who used to work in a clock shop, pandora as a Greek woman who is a martial artist expert, frostbite and his tribe as a group of scientists who were around the earlier tests of the virus but maybe left for ethical concerns (might change), ember as a punk artist traveling around and sharing her music, and kitty and Johnny as a motorcyclist couple who adopted a docile zombie dog. I’d like to continue world building on this, hopefully my energy allows it :)

Original idea by @phanboyo

[twilightkitkat]

Can we talk about the dynamics of Logan "I eat anything and scarf it down immediately" Howlett and Wade "I only eat the same 10 foods in different fonts" Wilson?

Logan is used to living without. Even as a child, he had to get by when he was sick with the food his family could afford. Once he joined the military, he had to survive on the limited rations he was given. He didn't have room to be picky—he either ate what he was given or didn't eat at all. And in war, he had to eat eventually.

His preferences didn't matter. He was always treated as a soldier, a weapon, and his food reflected that. He'd get enough protein and carbohydrates to fuel his power but that was it. Food was for functional use, not to be enjoyed. It didn't matter if it tasted disgusting, he just inhaled it so the taste wouldn't linger.

He's also an extremely quick eater. He's feral and ravenous when hungry, tearing into meat with his claws and hands. He lived in the army, in the mountains, through the Great Depression, and in dangerous situations where he hunted for himself. To him, food is a scarce resource and if you don't eat it while you can, you might not have it tomorrow. So he takes gigantic bites and tears into food no matter how bland and unappealing it was because that's all he knows. His standards for food are just that it has to have nutrients and not be poisoned.

Wade, on the other hand, is more picky. If he had to choose between eating something he hates or not eating, he'd rather just starve. At first, in the army, he did eat what was given to him even if he disliked it, but it was purely for survival. He choked it down even when it made him vaguely nauseous and disgusted. But later, he'd hoard stashes of his own food that he managed to steal or barter for or bet on. It was better to be hungry most of the time than satiate his hunger temporarily only to fight to keep it down and feel sick the entire day.

The second he has the freedom to pick his own food, he sticks to things he knows he likes. That he feels comfortable with. He's picky about brands and specific types of food and how it has to be cooked or made, but he manages. He can normally find something on the menu he's OK with, even if he often has order a kid's meal. But most places have grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken tenders and macaroni, and people chalk it up to him being childish and silly, so nobody pays much attention.

Wade sees food as one of the only things he can control. He's been devoid of true choice for most of his life. He couldn't control getting cancer or being forced to turn into a horrific mutant. He couldn't save his relationship with Vanessa. When everything around him was collapsing, he hyperfixated on the little things he could control like food or clothing.

The two, together, learn to have a healthier relationship with food.

Logan was the first person to truly pay attention to Wade. To see which foods he liked and which he picked at and grimaced towards when nobody was looking. When Logan abruptly said he'd cook dinner one day, Wade was nervous, but nearly started bawling when Logan made homemade chicken tenders and macncheese. He noticed. He cared.

It was the first time Wade could be open and let someone see he was genuinely affected by food instead of him just playing it up as a lunatic. And Logan took him seriously and didn't make fun of him. He learned recipes to make the foods Wade liked but healthier and more balanced. He helped Wade finally get the nutrients he needed consistently without feeling sick to his stomach.

And Wade helped Logan too.

Logan was never allowed to have preferences. To have a sweet tooth or ask for more. To expect quality. But here Wade was, buying him some apple cinnamon-filled pastry just because he looked at it too long in the store.

Logan was never allowed to have dessert. To have sweet food just for the sake of it even after a meal. His eyes become wet as he clutches the pastry between his shaking hands and takes a bite. He's allowed this. To have the comforts in life. To eat just because it tasted good.

Someone cared about him enough to buy him what he wanted just because he'd enjoy them, not just to keep him functioning as a tool. Wade treated him as human. Like he was precious. Like he deserved the nice things in life.

And Wade reminds him of this. He stocks their kitchen with desserts that Logan likes, because he knows that Logan secretly enjoys sweet things. He sees the way he sniffs the air and wanders close to the fresh-baked goods of a bakery. He keeps snacks around the house, so Logan can eat whenever he want. Even if it isn't a "necessary meal."

And Wade learns to be more comfortable and try new variations of foods he likes that Logan makes. Because Logan knows the textures and flavors he hates and is somehow able to create a few new dishes entirely that he likes. He stops dreading mealtime or trying new foods. And Wade feels comfortable just trying the food without pressure, knowing that he can just not finish it if he doesn't want to and that someone else will.

And Logan learns to let himself enjoy eating again. To see it as less of a chore for the maintenance of his body and more as an enjoyable activity. Wade reminds him that he can eat just because he wants to and that it's OK to have preferences and ask for things. Logan feels well cared for. Pampered, almost. And he basks in the feeling of being wanted and loved and being allowed to express it through cooking and food.

[monimccoythings]

Feral!Logan drabbles

Oooh finally did it. Couldn't resist to write some silly Feral!Logan drabbles. Wanted to use a pic of Hugh in the first movie but this one was too perfect for what I had in mind. I love this little feral hairy man.

Reader is female.

So Reader is a mutant with light based habilities. She can absorb electricity from devices and machines and turn them into blasts of light (kinda like Starlight from the Boys)

Reader's on the run from the American government, they want to harvest her powers and use them as a way of 'defending' themselves from mutantkind. For the last year she has been running. Right now she has crossed the border and is currently in the middle of a blizzard in the Canadian Rockies.

She's tired, hungry, cold and there's no electrical current in miles, so her powers are basically rendered useless. And they keep chasing. She doesn't know how much longer she's going to last.

Reader can barely see and trips on a branch, knocking herself out.

Feral!Logan has been living in the mountains since he escaped from Weapon X, probably in the 80s. Has no memories, no social knowledge, just survival instincts.

Feral!Logan hates when strangers enter his territory and refuse to leave. Those are his hunting grounds, not theirs. He swiftly disposes of the agents and approaches the unconscious Reader.

He feels a weird tingling on his chest when he sees the pretty human female laying on the snow. His fingers slowly caress her soft features. He decides that moment he must have her.

Believing her to be a mate for him, Feral!Logan carries her back to the cave where he lives, placing her carefully on the pile of furs he has collected from his hunts.

When Reader awakes, she finds herself laying in a makeshift bed of animal fur in some random cave instead of a government jail cell. She immediately panics, not knowing where she is.

She tries to leave, but is stopped by a wild looking man covered in dirt. Taller than her and built like a fridge. He's half naked, his only clothing are two dog tags hanging from his neck and some undergarments that leave little to the imagination.

Under all that dirt there was hairy body rippling with muscles more fitting of a bodybuilder than a man who lived by himself in the mountains. Jeez, you could grate cheese on those abs. Reader can't help staring.

Feral!Logan roughly pushes her back against the furs. One single hand is enough to keep her still, which speaks volumes of the kind of strength he possesses.

The rugged man starts sniffing her everywhere, her neck, her collarbone, he kepts getting lower, grunting approvingly. When he's about to reach that part of her anatomy. She grabs his dishelved hair, trying in vain to keep him away. He looks at her, annoyed at having been denied of his prize; but, surprinsingly, obeys.

From then on, Reader's entire life becomes that cave and her mysterious savior/keeper. He provides her with shelter, warmth, water from a nearby stream and food from his hunts. Feral!Logan wants to prove himself as a worthy partner for her, catering to her needs.

Reader didn't spend most of her childhood summers in camps to eat now raw meat, no matter how little Feral!Logan seems to care about it. So she teaches him how to light a fire the old fashioned way, lamenting she can't use her powers so it'd be easier.

And he freaks out.

After a while he gets used to it, he nearly gives you a heart attack when he touched it and his burnt hand healed almost instantly. He rumbled pleasingly when you held his large hands between yours, marvelled at his healing factor.

At night, they sleep together, in the makeshift bed of animal skins. His arm engulfs her waist, pressing her smaller body towards his powerful chest. It's nearly impossible for her to move away.

Like hell he's going to let her go.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Monster!Konig with a little cute kitty! She just wants to make him happy but she's to dumb to realize what he needs!!

Awwwww! Konig would definitely humiliate the shit out of his pretty little kitty mate. You're a monster, but you're even weaker than an average human! So adorable and pathetic, Konig just can't wait to claim you as his. Your body is a good enough temperature for his eggs, and your womb could carry so much of his litter...maybe even produce some weird octopus kittens that can be used as universal soldiers! You need to consume flesh as a monster, so Konig would only feed you the tiniest chunks of meat, making you plead and beg each time you're hungry and can barely move from how weak you are...he'd allow you to chew on his tentacles, your sharp teeth are so cute when you think you can really do damage with them...he loves to be covered in your bite marks, it's the testament of how much you adore him - even if you shake and cry every time he touches you a bit too roughly. You're always so dumb and disoriented he has to put you in a tight collar with little chumming bells because it's the only way for you to not get lost! Everyone can hear the little dingle and know that Konig mate is somewhere around here - it's especially useful when dumb ol' you got into a tight space or a really narrow closet because you went into heat and needed a confined space. He would put you in the finest fabrics for your nest, lots of toys and ways for you to play - as long as you're not really trying to escape the fate of being his dumb kitty incubator. You're too weak to survive without him anyway.

[jaythes1mp]

Cat reader idea: which one is your favorite. Like Damian would be nice but he’s always on you for improper diet (you ate fruit and not the horrid wet food he leaves out for you)

Dick has no sense of personal space and he wants to squeeze your adorable little toe beans despite your protests.

Jason would be okay but he practically steals you at night for cuddles and for your own safety. Nothing safer than sleeping with a knife under your pillow.

Tim is iffy, he just likes your company, but the moment you sneeze he’s sending you to the vet- even worse when you get out, using your chip to locate you.

Bruce and alfred just adore you, but only get to see you now and then due to their busy schedules, mainly petting you when they walk by or doing your training.

:3 hope this is accurate lmao

Okay, this is beautiful and a perfect way to incorporate some things into the fic.

More on cat shifter reader.

01

Damian is 100% on your ass, meticulously keeping track of your dietary habits, setting up charts to keep track of your meal times, ensuring that the family knows exactly what you've consumed and what not to give you. This way, he can ensure that you're sticking to the food plan he's designed, with zero room for deviation. He even resorts to constantly reminding Alfred and Dick not to give you anything, no matter how hard your adorable little eyes plead up at them. Determined to make sure you stick to his meal plan. It’s even worse when you’re in your human form, despite his repeated warnings. — and don’t get him started on Jason. The man is the most difficult of them all to control when it comes to your diet. He completely ignores Damian's instructions and will immediately scoop you up and secure you in the cat carrier attached to his motorcycle if you even hint at being hungry. Then, he'll spirit you away to his apartment without a second thought, offering you an array of forbidden human foods in exchange for your sweet meows.

Don’t think about attempting to escape through him however, that would only lead to being futile. He's engineered his bike with a series of safety precautions, meaning that if you even displayed the slightest indication of trying to jump out or escape, the restraints would immediately tighten, making it virtually impossible for you to break out. Let alone breathe comfortably.

Moving back to your diet; Damian has completely altered the Wayne Manor’s kitchen to cater exclusively to your feline dietary needs. He’s even managed to ensure that the rest of the family has adapted their own diets to match yours, to prevent any accidents regarding food you’re not supposed to eat. Despite your attempts to reason with him, Damian refuses to acknowledge that as a human, you can safely consume foods like chocolate without getting sick. You’re a kitten after all.

Though, if by some chance you do manage to infiltrate the kitchen, an assortment of only the finest fruits are packed at the ready for you. Small bits of cut up mango, fresh unpackaged pineapple, blueberries, melon, bananas, apricots, apples and watermelon at the ready. The fridge always stocked full of cooked meats, fluffy cooked rice, boiled eggs, and vegetables.

Damian might not be overjoyed when you venture from the specific meats and hundreds of lavish wet food brands that he's tasked Pennyworth to prepare, he still begrudgingly accepts it as a form of compromise. As long as you’re eating things that fall within his carefully controlled parameters, he can justify allowing it. He’s aware that you need some form of autonomy and independence to survive in the manor, unlike many of his brothers.

He treats you the most reasonably.

02

Dick is definitely one of the people who gets loads of little cat clothes to dress you up in and needs to have you in his little cat bag so he can take you around everywhere.

Who cares about the numerous concerned remarks regarding your drowsy appearance? Dick simply laughs off their concerns. His kitten is just tired, he promises! After all, it’d be quite a hassle to have to explain to every person who stops for a photo that it's nothing more than the effects of the medication he's given you to ensure you remain placidly content and docile during cuddle sessions and neighbourhood walks.

Once Dick starts on your adorable little toe beans, there's no stopping him. He gushes incessantly about the cute contrast of pink and black on your little paws and how they're just perfect for the miniature cat-themed socks that Alfred has patiently taught him to make. He gleefully coos over your small digits, marveling at how perfectly they fit into the little socks. Aren’t you happy your big brother made them for you? Can’t you just purr this once, please? He won’t even get mad if you kick them off or tear them to shreds again!

He’s definitely the type to have an entire wardrobe filled with little outfits for you. A nice red bow tie to get you to look nice and handsome or a warm purple sweater for you to look pretty.

Dick's affection for you remains steadfast, even when you shift to your human form. However, in his mind, you'll always be his precious little kitten, and no amount of whining, hitting, or swearing can convince him otherwise. He's stubbornly determined to shower you with love and care, undeterred by any resistance you may offer. The world’s just too big for you, and he needs to protect you from it. So come sit on his lap and stop whining, the movie’s starting.

03

In stark contrast to Dick, Jason has a clear preference for your feline form, showing little interest in you when you appear as a human. He often ignores you entirely, showering you with love and attention only in your feline body.

It's a double-edged sword, this dynamic with Jason. On the one hand, you've discovered a way to make him leave you alone – simply appear in your human form, and he'll instantly lose interest. He'll glare, shake his head in distaste, and then storm out of the room, grumbling incoherently under his breath as he goes. Unfortunately, when Jason realises your tactic to avoid him, he'll barge into Tim's room unannounced, no matter the time of day or night. Tim, due to his habit of staying up late, will inevitably be awake, and Jason will insist that he make you transform back. Following his forceful tactic of making you transform back, Jason will quickly switch gears and act as though nothing untoward has happened. He'll enfold you in a tight hug and bury his face in your soft fur, nuzzling against you affectionately, completely unbothered by his previous behavior.

Given your penchant for exploring the outdoors, Jason often takes advantage of the darkness of the night to whisk you away. He's aware that you need to experience life beyond the confines of the Wayne estate's gardens, and he prefers to do it when the rest of the family is less likely to notice your absence. Or rather, more occupied with their nightly duties so they’re unable to stop him from taking you.

You’re still under complete lock and key, but at least you get to experience the night air every once in a while.

04

If I had to pick my favourite out of the ones you’ve written I’d go with Tim’s. It’s the one I agree with the most.

Tim likes to keep you sedated. Having you laid out nice and docile on his lap, desk, or of the many cat trees that litter the place, while he works away on the batcomputer.

He’s the most precocious, being particularly meticulous when it comes to your well-being, even the slightest sneeze prompting him to arrange a visit to the vet. Monthly veterinary checkups are non-negotiable, and he ensures that your health is consistently monitored. Saying that, he’ll never take you to a hospital with doctors that specialise in anything other than animals.

A sleek, high-tech collar encircles your neck, constantly transmitting your vital signs in real-time to Tim's phone. Additionally, a microchip planted in your body and trackers strategically installed on various parts of your anatomy ensure that they can monitor your location at all times ensuring that under no circumstances are able to escape.

Tim is the one who suggested and ultimately confirmed your declawing, dismissing your protests and tears as mere tantrums. Despite your pleas and emotional outburst, stating that it would render you disabled — equivalent to cutting off your fingers down to the knuckle — he remains cold and uncompromising. Your objections are disregarded, treating your fears as if you were a pet throwing a tantrum, denying you any agency in the matter. If you didn’t want this to happen, you wouldn’t have scratched them in the first place. It’s easier this way, really. They get to look after you in human form and there’ll be no more scratching up their arms or the furniture.

Initially, Dick supported your side, recognising your profound distress and desperation. However, after a conversation about how you would be completely reliant on him while in your human form, he changed his stance. He stopped giving the issue a moment's consideration, fully accepting Tim’s conclusion.

When it came to the decision, Jason and Bruce were in favor from the beginning. For Jason, it meant his new couch would remain unscathed, and prevented you from clawing at Bruce during business meetings while he held you snugly in his lap.

The sole member of the family fiercely opposed to the idea of declawing you was Damian.

Nevertheless, to Damian's dismay and your own, you'll be made to undergo the declawing against your will anyway. Despite his disagreement, he'll still be there to gently bandage up the raw nubs where your former fingers once were, and he'll lovingly pet away your tears and sobs. You were still his kitten, he’d coo. Just a slightly less fierce one.

05

I’d have to disagree with you here.

Bruce will undoubtedly make time for you, despite any disagreements you may have. You're a top priority in his life, and he'll ensure that you receive the attention and care you deserve.

The eldest Wayne will go to great lengths to accommodate you in his busy schedule. He'll happily reschedule meetings and carve out special time just for you. If there's a vital meeting he can't avoid, he'll bring you along, insisting on having you by his side.

You’re theirs, through and through.

Thanks for the ideas! Any and all asks are encouraged and appreciated.

Previous cat asks: 1 2

Link to Masterlist.

Link to offical chapter

[majorasnightmare]

the tadpole/brain damage thing. its like. chekovs gun to me. obviously theres very little mechanical support ingame for having a disabling injury, aside from maybe an optional voluntary decision to drop the INT score, but similarly to choosing to write intention into the lack of dark urge Lore responses from the party, i just like to make mountains out of molehills and force game mechanics into In Universe Character Problems

like when dirge repeatedly mentions that he thinks the tadpole is doing something beneficial for him, that its helping him, it isnt JUST the power-hungry psionic ambition in him. its a parasite, that needs a host. it needs a LIVING host, or its own chances of survival plummet. and dirge gets tadpoled right after a life threatening injury to the tadpoles preferred habitat. neither of them want to die!! dirges body tries to recover, but cant in part BECAUSE of the tadpole (the netherese stasis magic rejecting outside influence and binding it to its host, having an unejectable foreign object in the injury site, etc), but its not like the tadpole WANTS its host to have a life altering injury

its not like its malicious (except when it comes to Hive Activity, and then it can be a right bastard), it just cant live any other way. it cant help what it is. halsin calls the illithid life cycle abberant and unnatural, but brood parasitism exists throughout the natural kingdom. is the wasp egg evil for having been laid in a caterpillar?

its first moments of life outside the brine pool, and its new home, its new life, its host, its caregiver, its food supply, is bleeding and dying and falling apart and trying to fix itself but cant and its trying to heal around you but it cant but if it doesnt do anything youll both die, so this larva, this tiny worm of psionic potential and instinct, does what it can. holds its host together with whatever force it can muster, soft gelatinous body (perfect for compreesing flat and squeezing through small orifice openings) keratinizing outside the acidic environment of the brine, its four oral tentacles (its only source of motion and movement when so young and soft, dragging itself along as best it can) made for interweaving with dense synapse clusters to passively absorb the psionic imprint of its host, now desperately intwined with bleeding meat just to try and hold it all together. driven by survival instict and a vessel of psychic potential, forced into passivity by the commands of the Elder, further forced by circumstance to leverage all its great gifts to keep its host standing long enough to eventually eat

my thought is that the reason why dirge still gets the cutscene of the emperor tadpoling him at the beginning of the game, is that the original tadpole orin forced on him is just so weakened and exhausted by months of effort trying to keep him alive through kressas experiments and meddling, that the emperor, currently in thrall to the absolute, feels the need to replace it with a fresher healthier specimen, which then cannibalizes and absorbs the previous one, and then just has to go back to doing the same shit as the last one.

i think that dirges tadpole isnt as twitchy or squirmy as the others because of it. that when omeluum gives him a psychic MRI, the tadpole is just burrowed down and its tendrils stretched like a dense net throughout dirges brain tissue, only moving or writhing occasionally but definitely not as mobile as usual, its web of tendrils especially twisted near dense scar tissue at the back of his head. this worm is already so fucking weird and the circumstances for this mind flayer MRI have already introduced a bajillion different variables that need accounting for, that i dont think omeluum immediately groks the specifics of whats going on but CAN peg the "you have brain damage and your worm is fucking Weird" situation fairly easily. but i dont think it gets enough time in dirges head to get a full understanding of what the tadpole is doing FOR him

cuz like. imo its definitely objectively helping. its a psychic information bank specifically designed to interface with a human brain. the reason why dirge isnt experiencing too many of the side effects of brain damage is because the parasite is doing its best to mitigate them. memory issues, brain fog, disorientation and balancing issues, theyd all be significantly worse without the parasite. when he brings up how he feels its helping him, objectively hes right and its not even the kickass psychic powers hes right about.

like it doesnt cure EVERYTHING, he has chronic migraines that are sensitive to light, and before he asks halsin to make medicine, he starts every morning puking his guts out when the morning sun makes him so nauseous he cant hold dinner down. even without the Urge Nightmares, he has insomnia and just cant meaningfully sleep. but keeping track of what day it is, remembering what happened a few hours ago or the other day, standing up from a sitting position and not immediately wobbling and/or collapsing, retaining his old muscle memory. all shit the parasite is helping with

which is why i cant help but fixate on those moments immediately after defeating the absolute. like oh thats juicy

[hootshooch]

BG3 Headcanons - Food/Meals

Wyll: he hunts and forage for the group up whenever they're low on camp supplies. he lived in the wild for 7 years, of course he knows how to do that!! and if Gale isn't cooking for some reason, he will volunteer to do it and it always shit like meat and potatoes wrapped in foil and roasted inside the fire. everyone loves it (born to be a ranger forced to be a warlock </3)

Shadowheart: she... can't really cook. if she NEEDED to she could make something decent to get by, but otherwise she can'f cook for shit. it's not that she doesn't WANT to, she's just never been in an enviornment where someone really taught her how to cook beyond the basics. she's also a little bit of a picky eater but never really says anything about it (minor spoilers: if she survives, her mom sends her a recipe for a cheese bake so I also HC that her mom starts teaching her how to cook a lot more and she ends up loving it).

Lae'zel: she eats almost as much as Karlach does. she's just one of those people who never seems to gain weight no matter how much she inhales because she has a wicked metabolism and is constantly excersing. she's not as loud about her appetite but she WILL keep on going back for seconds and thirds and will deflect if someone asks her about it and say "a warrior must always remained replenished and prepared for battle" or something to that effect. but my girl's just chronically hungry

Karlach: always forgets about her dirty dishes after meals. will never clean her own cups and bowls after eating unless someone reminds her. But she doesn't do it on purpose!! she genuinely just forgets (ADHD...) and feels really bad about it afterwards. it drives Gale nuts. she's a super messy eater, too. likes to suck the marrow straight out of the bones and crap. this also drives Gale nuts

Gale: when he cooks for the party he will always refuse help, no matter how much they insist—he claims it's from a sense of altruism but in reality he just can't stand other people being around him when he cooks. he has a very specific way that he likes do to things and it pisses him off when he feels like people are getting in the way of what he's doing. his food is always great, though

Astarion: though he can't really taste any food (aside from blood) but he CAN feel the "kick" in spicy foods because of the capcaisin. if he ever eats food that's even a little bit spicy all he'll notice is the heat (which is predictably unpleasant for him). the tadparty used to make fun of him for having a low spice tolerance until they learned that he's a spawn and realized that he can't handle spicy food because there's just nothing to balance it out for him. karlach still makes fun of him for it (but after that point he doesn't really eat food anyway because he doesn't feel the need to "blend in" anymore)

[auspicioustidings]

Firewatch 11

Summary: You just want to sleep, but Price needs you to calm down first.

Words: 2.8k

CW: Kidnapping, light bdsm

When Johnny tried to touch you, you only buried yourself into Simon and glowered at him. He looked wounded, pulling his hand back from where it had been poised to stroke your hair. None of them understood why you were reacting like that. You seemed back to yourself, but then it would stand to reason that you would be most scared of Simon. And yet now you were only too happy to be held by him. Only him.

As far as you were concerned it was a survival tactic. If you were always by Simon, none of them could kill you without going through him. And you weren’t really sure anyone could go through him. He seemed happy enough to play protector, thumb rubbing firm circles into your waist and teeth nibbling at the tip of your ear every so often. You suspected he was probably looking at the others when he did it, gloating. Good. 

“You need to eat sweetheart” he purred into your ear.

“Mm, don’t tell me what to do Simon.”

“Bratty even when you’re half dead.”

“Bossy even when I’m being nice.”

He chuckled at that. If he were a better man perhaps he would feel bad that Price, Johnny and Gaz were at the kitchen island looking like grumpy little puppies. As he was not a better man he only shot them a lopsided grin. Why shouldn’t he be happy? You were safe, your temperature was back to normal, you were in his arms and letting his fingers sink into the fat of your waist, letting his teeth lazily graze the skin of your ear. The fear of losing you gave way to how you fit so fucking perfectly against him. He couldn’t help but imagine how else you might fit together, how perfectly warm and wet and tight you’d be around him. Fuck would you let him take you to his bed? He didn't even need to make love to you just yet if you were still stubborn about everything, just hold you, feel your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin proving you were alive. 

“Like you nice, should give it to me more often” he said with his hand testing the waters, squeezing the meat of your thigh dangerously close to your ass. 

“Don't get used to it, can't imagine it'll be a frequent occurrence.”

You felt the squeeze and your body gave a valiant attempt at arousal, but it was like molasses, sticky and slow moving in your exhaustion. You didn't mind it, if anything it was sort of nice. His chuckle betrayed his own exhaustion a little, the raspiness of it pointing to him having had a very stressful day. 

“Then let me enjoy it while it lasts hm? Eat something for me sweetheart.”

Stupid man being stupidly charming. You didn't really feel like eating, you had went past hungry at some point in the cold and now you just wanted to stay cuddled up to someone you were steadfastly believing was safe and go to sleep. He kept jostling you though, a nip to your ear, a squeeze of your thigh or a finger tracing your spine keeping you awake from how it caused little thrills through you. 

“You make it.”

“Hm?”

“I'm not eating whatever they made. You make it. Or give me something that's sealed.”

Well that was an alarming thing to hear you mumble softly against him. The smug happiness of having you favour him was rapidly turning into concern. What exactly did you think they were going to do to you? Did you think they would poison you or were you just refusing to eat anything from them out of pettiness?

“Why?”

“I'll make it myself then” you grumbled, pushing away from him even though every fibre of you hated it.

Oh he did not like that if the growl was anything to go by. Simon stood with little warning, an arm banding under your ass to keep you wrapped around him. You tensed, knowing he was going over to the others and not being sure you really wanted to be near them. Price maybe, he had been kind, he was asleep when Johnny and Kyle had been discussing your murder. Second murder you supposed. But you couldn't really be sure he wasn't in on it. Then again you couldn't be sure Simon wasn't, but you didn't have much choice but to believe him. 

You were placed lightly on the kitchen island and he took a small step back, forcing you out into the open. You had felt a lot less vulnerable wrapped up in him, face buried in his shoulder. Your skin prickled with the gazes you felt on you. 

“I was only gone a few days, what exactly happened in that time that's got you not willing to eat anything they've made?”

“What? That true little bird? You are not starving yourself, you're already in enough trouble for running off like that” Price said, trying to temper himself.

He was off balance with this whole situation. You had seemed on the edge of giving in before he went to sleep (which he now felt incredibly guilty about) and then he wakes up to you gone? And now after letting them rescue you, Simon shows up and you are suddenly only willing to speak to him. You hadn't been refusing to eat before. You had been a brat about it sure, but you hadn't refused. 

You looked at Price, not sure how to untangle your feelings towards him. He could not be in on it, surely not. If he had wanted to kill you he could have smothered you while you were in his bed. Johnny spoke and while you didn't mean to, you flinched. Everybody certainly noticed.

“We dinnae ken what's happening in that bonnie– I… baby what's wrong?”

“Back off Johnny.”

“I didnae dae anything!”

While you were glad Simon was telling him off you wished he'd just let you cling to him again. This wasn't a conversation you wanted to have right now, you just wanted to sleep for 16 hours in a warm bed. You'd probably take a warm body in it if it wasn't someone who had openly spoken about killing you. 

“Everything seemed fine the other night luv, you were getting along.”

You did glance at Kyle, seeing him look alarmed at how you froze up when he spoke the same way you had for Johnny. He was right, you were getting along. It had been almost peaceful, you had been almost calm. Maybe that had been what they had been waiting for. 

“Simon.”

You said his name as a soft plead, hoping you could get out of this conversation. You didn't want to say it out loud. You didn't want to make it real. Because goddamnit you kind of liked them. You liked teasing Johnny when Dosia was horrible to him, you liked watching Kyle cook. It was so stupid of you to fall for it, to find yourself liking them. Please let Price be outside of it, please let him want you alive. Heartbreak twice over was already enough. 

There was a stunned sort of silence at your little plea. It wasn't really like you at all, not the you they had been getting to know. These men knew one another well enough that they could each tell that nobody knew what was going on here. This wasn’t you being angry or scared that they were keeping you here. This was something else, and none of them knew why. Price moved into your eye line and you lowered your gaze stubbornly to the ground, but you didn’t seem the same level of upset as you were with Soap or Gaz. 

His brow furrowed and he crooked a finger under your chin, making you tilt your head up and look at him. He could feel how agitated Simon had gotten at you saying his name like that, but he also knew that he trusted him with you. He trusted he would make this right. So he stayed where he was, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms to ensure he wouldn’t reach out while Price tried to fix whatever had went so horribly wrong.

“What’s going on?”

“Failed escape attempt, obviously.”

“Try again little bird.”

Oh, he was using that voice again. That one that oozed authority and made you want to push and push and push until he snapped. Only now you didn’t know what that meant. Part of you hoped he would just backhand you, show you his true colours so you could get over whatever this ridiculous feeling was. Another part badly wanted him to take some sort of control, force your racing thoughts to calm. Fuck you were demented.

“You wanted me to stay put, you should have clipped my wings.”

“That what you want?”

Maybe. Maybe you just wanted them to stop fucking toying with you. You were exhausted, fear and misery had drained you and you just wanted to give in, but your already incredibly wounded pride would really rather he made you give in so you could pretend you had fought it.

“Does it matter what I want John?”

He considered you for a while, the world holding its breath in anticipation. You didn’t realise how tense you really were until he moved his hand to the nape of your neck, tugging you off of the counter, fingers and thumb gripping with enough pressure that it loosened you all at once. The others didn’t intervene as he marched you out of the kitchen and into his office, the click of the lock causing a full body shiver. He was behind you and you just let your eyes softly unfocus on the wall as he bent slightly to speak right into your ear.

“I didn’t want to do this right now. You need rest. But you’re too wound up for that aren’t you little bird? Won’t even eat if we can’t get you calmed down.”

His foot slid between yours, pushing gently to get your legs to widen as he pressed on your neck, bending you over the desk. You didn’t have resistance left to give as you settled on your elbows. His hand running down your spine made you sigh. 

“This… it doesn’t change anything” you said softly as tugged on your sweatpants, getting access to the bare swell of your ass.

“Course not. Bet’s still on, and I still intend to win.”

–

Gaz couldn’t sleep. He was half tempted to do what Soap had done and sneak into Ghost’s bed for some form of bloody comfort. He hadn’t seen you since Price had taken you into that office, although they all knew exactly what would have happened in there. He knew you were due punishment for running away like that, but it unsettled him that it had happened so soon. You weren’t right yet, you were still… well he didn’t know. That was the problem. Shock he could understand, but he thought they had warmed you up and got you lucid again. And then you had looked at him like you were scared of him. You had never looked at him like that before, not even when you had been spitting mad and screaming at Soap. 

He trusted Price, he knew that he’d figure out what was wrong, knew that he’d take care of you in whatever way you needed it. But it didn’t help him sleep. He wanted to take care of you. He wanted you to cosy into him like you had done with Ghost. It drove him wild watching how his fingers had sunk into you, how you had let them. Fuck it was so stupid, Kyle’s fingers had been inside you but he was getting jealous of the intimacy of another mans fingers even touching you.

He was driving himself a little crazy going over your last interaction with him, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. You had been fine, you had even laughed when he had made a cutesy little smiley face on your omelette with ketchup. He wasn’t about to pretend that you were happy being kept by them like this, but he was so sure you had been beginning to settle. Him and Soap were going to wait until Simon was back and then make their case to him and Price that they should talk to you about giving you some freedom. They couldn’t let you just run to the police, but what if they built you your own place? Just like your little cottage. They thought they could make you happy with that for the time being, work on it until maybe you’d like to move somewhere far away with them. Then they could take you out on dates without incriminating themselves. They just needed to convince you that you wanted to go on them. And somehow he had fucked it all up. 

The light knock on his door had him out of the bed in record time to answer. He knew how a knock sounded for people, and that was too light to be Ghost or Price (Soap never knocked, fucking git that he was). He should have tried to be more cool and collected but he wrenched open the door and just flustered for a moment at you standing there in pjs. Fuck you were pretty. You looked tired still, but calm, he suspected Price had probably given you what you needed. 

“I… um. Can I come in?”

He nodded rapidly and stood aside to let you wander into his room. You seemed maybe a little nervous, but at least not scared of him. He hated that you had been scared of him. He hated not being able to figure out why.

“Are you-”

“I wanted-”

You both paused and there was a moment of each of you trying to get the other to go first until Kyle sighed and very gently moved you to sit on his bed so he could crouch in front of you, taking both your hands in his.

“Are you ok luv?”

“Tired. John gave me the soup you made, it was nice.”

He had fed you after he had rewired your brain with the absolute leathering he had given your ass. You were pretty sure you had cried during, but it was all a little hazy. It was a stupid thing to do, but you found you trusted him. Hard not to when he had climbed into the bath with you, washed your hair and gently dried and moisturised you after without once trying to take advantage.

You had nearly choked spying on him when you were supposed to be undressing for the bath, watching through the crack in the bathroom door to his room as he leaned his forearm heavily against the wall and quickly jacked himself off. Fuck, you knew he had done it because he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be getting hard with you naked in his arms and you had to throw cold water on your face to try and pretend you weren’t flushed with the thought that he wanted you that badly but wouldn’t do anything to you even in your vulnerable state. Made it hard not to trust him really. You had been suddenly glad for how utterly exhausted you were because while your body had made an attempt at getting you aroused it had been overpowered by bone tiredness.

Instead you had let him take care of you and pull you into his arms in bed. And you had finally talked. You told him what you had overheard and he told you that without a shadow of a doubt you had misunderstood. He’d even offered to knock their heads together for even accidentally frightening you like that. And you were so thoroughly out of emotions, so run through with the events of the day, that you couldn’t find it in you to not just believe him. He hadn't stopped you when you had mumbled that you wanted to see Kyle, he had just pressed his lips to your hair and let you go. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I thought you and Johnny were going to kill me. I overheard you in the kitchen,” you answered, no energy for anything but blunt honesty.

Kyle took a moment to figure out what the fuck you were talking about and then groaned and hid his head in your joined hands. 

“Fuck. Oh fuck. I should have thought about how that would sound with you right in the next room, I’m sorry, it wasn’t anything like what you’re thinking, it- well we-”

You squeezed his hands to get him to look at you again.

“S’ok. I’d just like to sleep if that’s ok.”

He wasn’t going to argue with you when you were sat in his bed, when you wanted to share it. So he just smiled and let you crawl under the covers so he could slot in right behind you. 

He fit there. 

[hayanwulf]

IronStrange: (angst/drama)

One of them falls unconscious in the other's arms. The one who catches them is panicking at first.

I don’t know how I ended up in this angle, but I enjoyed it.. hopefully you do, too.

“Stephen,” Tony called out, worry lining his tone, as he watched the Wizard sway on his feet. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I said I’m fine,” Stephen snapped, motioning a hand at his very blood-bathed robes. “Most of this isn’t mine.”

Tony glanced once at the pile of man-eating werewolves they had just taken down, all looking various degrees of dismembered. None of them breathed anymore, though.

Tony had made sure of that.

He regarded Stephen with skepticism. The Wizard decidedly had terrible survival instincts, perhaps even more than Tony himself. He had seen the few moments when the sorcerer had come damn close to becoming wolf snack, had genuinely feared for his life when some had tried to chomp off his limbs. The sorcerer must’ve been able to protect himself against the bites, somehow, since clearly, his limbs were all still attached where they belonged.

A werewolf’s bite-force was vicious. Deadly, for a normal human.

“Another waste of a trip,” Stephen growled, pacing around. “There isn’t any vampire base here.”

Tony frowned a little at the sorcerer’s restless movements, shaking his head in disagreement. “Not a complete waste. We still got these guys.” He waved a hand at the dead werewolves scattered around them.

Truth be told, their success rates of the undead hunts had vastly improved ever since the Avengers allied with Stephen and his super secret hunter group, even though there was still very little they knew about the said group. All Tony knew was that they were magic, were located in many places across the world, and were scarily efficient at their job. Surprising was the fact that they had never been heard of before.

Then again, Tony couldn’t fault them for staying in hiding. With the exponential growth of supernatural activity since the late 20th century, one could no longer tell friend from foe.

Once they had met, though, Tony had convinced (read: pestered) the sorcerer to agree to form a working alliance of sorts.

This one was meant to be a duo scouting mission for a suspected very major vampire base here in Germany, but had turned into an impromptu battle when they ran into the pack of hungry werewolves.

“Obviously,” Stephen drawled with a hiss in his voice, in response to Tony’s previous statement. “This is Central Europe, of course there are werewolves. What did you expect?”

Tony watched for a moment as Stephen flexed and unflexed his fingers while pacing. The Doc was being extra irritable today, for some reason that Tony couldn’t decipher.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, Stephen suddenly stopped his frantic movements, swaying dangerously close to collapsing. Tony immediately jumped forward to help, but Stephen abruptly turned away from him, balancing himself and putting distance between them again.

Tony’s heart tightened with a sudden sting.

They’d known each other for nine months, been working together in a close partnership for six, and yet the other man always kept Tony at arm’s length.

“Let’s go back,” Stephen said, his voice sounding a little.. off. Okay. So now they were going to forget all about the heap of dead wolf meat they needed to take care of first. Alright.

Still facing away from Tony, he began to draw a portal.

All that formed in the air was a few golden sparks that died in sync with the way Stephen swayed.

“Hey, Doc..” Tony took careful steps towards his companion, who tried to draw a portal again. “How about we sit down, take a breather—”

Stephen tilted sideways, and Tony didn’t hesitate to rush and catch him, careful enough to not hurt the man with his armor. Stephen was instantly limp in his hold, eyes closed. Tony’s heart stopped for a second and he mentally berated himself for not doing something sooner.

“Stephen?” He called, gently lowering the man to the ground, the Cloak assisting him. “Stephen?” A gentle tap to his face.

No response.

“FRIDAY?” He asked his AI over the loud thudding in his chest.

It took her a moment to respond. “No heartbeat detected, Boss.”

Tony’s heart plummeted like a rock. “No—what do you mean—” He retracted the nanites of one hand and reached for Stephen’s neck. Touched here and there and everywhere, but all that his fingers found was cold skin.

No, no, no, Stephen was standing just a second ago, dammit! How could this happen!?

“Give me more than that, FRI!” Tony practically yelled as he retracted nanites from his other hand too, frantically checking Stephen for something, anything.

“It seems he hid his injuries with magic, Boss. He has severe bite injuries that need medical attention.”

Tony cursed, trying to work himself out of his own mind-numbing panic to instead help Stephen. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it didn’t compute that blood-loss should stop the heart so abruptly.

In his panicked haze, he almost, almost missed the glaring detail in Stephen’s eyes while checking his pupils.

Red.

Gone was the otherworldly gleam of blue. Stephen’s eyes were red. Red like..

Stephen was a vampire.

Tony’s breath hitched as his heart flipped, and he physically recoiled away from Stephen, standing up.

Stephen was a vampire. He was.. he was just another lie.

Tony felt betrayed. Used.

He didn’t understand.. was this all just so he could crawl into Tony’s inner circle of trusted people?

And, god, Tony had fallen right into his trap. He had trusted Stephen. Had trusted him as a friend and a colleague; had trusted him to watch his back on every single mission they’d done together. Tony had allowed himself to be vulnerable around the man in so many occasions and— Tony shuddered at that thought. How many times had he been completely unguarded and exposed around Stephen? How many times could Stephen have had a chance to do whatever he wished to Tony, all the while the latter would have been none the wiser to the incoming assault?

“Boss,” FRIDAY’s concerned voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “He’s losing too much blood...”

Tony swallowed as he looked down at the man he considered a friend. His hands were shaky as he brought them up to wipe at his face.

“What happened here will not reach the Avengers,” Tony said with a finality in his tone, even though it came out more shaky rather than commanding.

“Yes, Boss,” FRIDAY replied without skipping a beat.

Tony knelt down, let the nanites form over his hands again, and looped his arms around Stephen’s body to carefully lift him up. The Cloak — bless them — helped him properly position Stephen without moving him too much. “Get us to the bunker, ASAP,” Tony spoke as his helmet formed around his head, and they took off into the star-lit sky.

The Avengers had secret facilities across many parts of the world, thankfully, since their undead hunts led them to foreign soils more often than not. One such facility was in Leipzig, Germany.

The flight didn’t even take five minutes due to how close they were to it.

Tony put Stephen down on a medical bed as gently as he could manage. He couldn’t involve anyone else for this. He couldn’t, because Stephen was a vampire, and vampires were the most narcissistic, heartless monsters that didn’t think twice before taking an innocent life—

Tony stopped that train of thought to focus on the matter at hand.

He was no doctor, but between his medical nanotech and FRIDAY, he was sure they would manage it.

He tore off Stephen’s robes with no finesse whatsoever, and sucked a sharp breath at the sight that was revealed.

Large, deep jaw marks bled furiously, painting a large part of his body a sickening red that made Tony’s stomach churn nauseatingly.

Trying his best to ignore the heavy pounding in his chest and the odd, dizzying feeling the entire sight caused him, he got to work with FRIDAY’s help.

He sealed all the wounds with nanites first, and then began cleaning. There was no beeping of a heart monitor as he worked.

The eerie silence might have killed him, if it weren’t for FRIDAY’s interruptions.

The more he worked through Stephen’s wounds, the more his chest tightened painfully, the more his hands shook. He wasn’t sure of the cause anymore. It was all just too much.

If FRIDAY noticed him looking more at the graph of Stephen’s brain activity rather than Stephen’s body, she said nothing.

It was his only way to know that Stephen wasn’t ‘dead’.

After what felt like forever, Tony was finally done patching up all of Stephen’s wounds to the best of his ability. Aimless and unsure after that, he just sat on a chair beside the passed out sorcerer, staring blankly at the brain activity graphs.

“What can we do about blood, FRI?” He asked.

“Obtaining us blood from Germany’s banks is difficult, Boss. And it will take a minimum of 6 hours to transport blood here from the states. I took the liberty to attempt to get in contact with Master Wong, but he hasn’t responded yet.”

Tony exhaled an airy sigh, settling his elbows on top of knees, and then propped his chin over his hands, eyes settling on the Wizard.

Stephen had lost blood. A lot of blood. It made Tony rewind his mind back to the fight, trying to figure out how he’d missed it so badly.

The attack had been unexpected. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t been prepared. In their line of work, one always needed to be prepared. Still, they couldn’t have possibly known that an entire pack of werewolves would come out of ass-nowhere just to ambush the two of them.

Planned ambush, a part of his mind said.

Stephen, as always, had been extremely staunch about keeping Tony away from the attacks, nevermind the fact that between the two of them, Tony was the one wearing any armor at all. There had been several instances when Stephen had stepped in to take a bite in Tony’s place. Tony had been alarmed, but had quickly brushed it off since Stephen had looked completely fine two seconds later, like he’d never been chomped.

Tony understood why now; it wasn’t because of the magic somehow protecting him. He simply had higher strength and endurance owing to his status as a vampire. But that wasn’t the only reason why Tony had so easily brushed off.

Stephen had never, even for a split second, allowed pain to show in his face.

That, more than anything, had led Tony to assume that Stephen was fine.

Tony cursed himself now, for being such an idiot.

Though, this brought up another train of thought. Since Stephen had bled so much, it was only natural that his bloodlust would go up exponentially, spurring his vampire instincts to light, making him go out seeking the scent of blood, to feed on blood.

Tony had seen several vampires before, in their crazy haze of extreme bloodlust. When they were injured was when they were the deadliest, because it was when their bloodlust reached its peak. They always looked like off-leash, rabid creatures, attacking anything and anyone closest to them that smelled of human blood, driven by nothing but pure, raw, unfiltered instincts.

Stephen had to have a bloodlust too. He had to have it dialed up to eleven when this badly injured. And Tony had been practically a walking blood-bag for him, ripe for the taking and completely oblivious.

Yet, all he did in the name of ‘attacking’ Tony was a growl and a near-hiss while he himself tried to escape, before promptly passing out in Tony’s arms.

Tony covered his face in his hands, letting out a shuddering breath. Guilt and shame pierced straight through his heart.

How could he even think that Stephen was deceiving him?

It was.. it was just as he had thought before, but had somehow failed to truly understand his own reasoning. How many times had he been vulnerable around Stephen? More than he could even think of keeping track of.

And Stephen had never, ever harmed him.

He had always respected Tony’s boundaries — nevermind that Tony had always been the one trying to push Stephen’s boundaries — had never made him feel unsafe, even though Tony couldn’t have possibly suspected Stephen of being a vampire.

He’d never broken Tony’s trust before, except for with this one thing.

Which, now that he really thought about it, what was Stephen even supposed to do? Tell a hunter that he was friends with a vampire?

Tony huffed, letting his arms slide off his knees as he looked at the floor for a second, before returning his gaze back to the unconscious man.

Stephen had.. he’d actively prioritized Tony’s safety. Always. The latest proof was right in front of his eyes, dangerously pale skin covered in bandages and medical nanites.

The guilt in his stomach swirled stronger than acid.

He shouldn’t have ever had such thoughts about Stephen.

It.. it didn’t matter that Stephen was a vampire. He was still Stephen. He was still the same snarky arrogant asshole who liked to argue with Tony about why Pink Floyd was better than AC/DC. He was still that cold, shut-off man who had allowed Tony the privilege of seeing his rare genuine smiles. He was still the man who effortlessly made Tony lower all his guards, made him relax into a comfortable state where everything and everyone from the outside world stopped mattering.

He was still the same man who made Tony’s heart flutter with this sweet, addicting feeling he didn’t want to name.

He was still his Stephen.

And the fact that he was a vampire couldn’t suddenly change all of that. It shouldn’t.

A little hesitantly, Tony reached out with a hand, scooping up one of Stephen’s scarred hands in his palm. The lean fingers were eerily still and unshaking, with its owner passed out like this. Tony slowly traced his fingers over the marks highlighting the soft skin, his caress light as a butterfly kiss, as though any harder touch would harm the man.

These delicate hands had cared for Tony’s wounds countless times. Never once had they held any intent other than to heal.

No, it wouldn’t, Tony decided. He wouldn’t let the fact that Stephen was a vampire change anything between them.

He swallowed, glancing once at the brain activity monitor to reassure himself that Stephen was fine.

He wasn’t really.

He’d lost a lot of blood, and it wasn’t like the blood banks provided you with vampire blood on the ready for undead-saving transfusions. The other alternatives all included somehow procuring human blood and hoping Stephen woke up long enough to consume it.

Damn it, Stephen.

[mynameisjag]

Because I gotta.

Give me the feral man, give me the beastie who has probably been avoiding human contact as much as possible except to get drunk off his ass. This man has no idea of his own universe's tech, you think he has a chance understanding the one he has been kidnapped into? No. Bastard stinky man, feral, sad looking fucker…I adore him.

He needs to be more animalistic.

One would think by now, Wade would have experienced and seen what the multiverse had to offer.

Working with people over seeing different timelines did that.

So did being aware of the ‘audience’ and their many eyes.

Still, watching an almost naked knockoff werewolf scuttled across the room on all fours with what appeared to be a bloody carcass of some kind of animal in his mouth while growling like a demented cat, it was surprising.

“Well, chat, can I ask, what is this r rated looney tunes bullshit? Hey, Tasmanian Devil’s estranged cousin, you better be cleaning this up soon! We just got these floors!”

And Logan was already in the bedroom with his catch, probably hunkered down in his hammock and going to town some poor innocent creature’s remains.

“Whatever, I do cocaine, I have no room to judge.”

Sure enough, stepping over the trail of blood and pushing the door open revealed what he already expected to find. The crunch of bones and squelching of raw meat being chewed on, blown out brown eyes were glaring at him and a gutteral snarl giving warning.

“Easy there, boy, just checking up on ya, seems you brought home dinner for yourself tonight, didn’t even get me anything?”

The snarling stopped and the bloody remains were held out to him, the little head tilt would be cute if not for the smear of gore across his concerned face.

Actually it was still cute.

“Awe, thank you! But I’m good…and he’s going back to eating that, well…I’m going to go throw up now and contemplate the merits of becoming a vegetarian…so…how about a time skip for everyone's sake?”

With a time skip activated, cleaned floors appearing and a still half naked Logan chilling on the couch scratching Mary Puppins behind the ears as she chewed on bone with drool going everywhere.

Some of that drool might be Wade’s but who could blame him, but he had to pull himself together and not be distracted by the feast for the eyes and focus on the feast of the flesh that happened in the bedroom and not the fun type.

“Hey, honey, can we take a minute away from the,” he glanced at the show, “huh, didn’t think that was still going…no, focus Wade…right, Logan, my little murder puppy…the fuck did I just witness?”

“Got hungry, went hunting, ate.”

“Right, and the, not that I’m complaining about the view because I should be taking pictures, but why were you half dressed on all fours, should I be concerned?”

“Easier to hunt…comfortable…”

“Alright…”

Okay, let’s give the big guy a moment…

Shrugging before plopping down nearly on top of the man, Wade just grinned at the sharp look sent his way as Dogpool jumped down and carried her prize off somewhere.

It took two episodes in before Logan huffed, voice barely audible over the TV as he finally spoke.

“…people hated me back home…when they hate you…you tend to be unwelcomed in most if not every place…hotels…bars…stores…”, bare hands were flexing, dark fingernails just slightly pointed and severely cracked, “you get used to the surviving…you get used to avoiding those places…”

Wade reached over to grab one of the hands, flipping it over to trace a pattern in the rough palm, “but they don’t hate you here? You can go in and if they try to stop you or have anything to say about it…then they won’t have a choice in the matter after I visit them.”

The smirk he sent to the ex X-man, wasn’t that a strange combination of words, was met with huff.

“…it’s the crowd of people, the smells, the sounds…it brings back the memories…but staying inside is like a slow torture…hunting and losing myself made it easier to cope.”

“Trust me, if anyone knows anything of trying to make yourself disappear using whatever is available for just a moment of not having to think of what kind of shit haunts you…its me…”

“Hmm…”

“So if being the feral little man you are makes you feel better, just little heads up next time, your hammock is still dripping blood on our new floors.”

[pooks]

Ichiji had never thought that he would ever be in a place without any food. He was raised as a prince; he always got whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

But right now...he was so hungry that he could cry.

---

He stared up at the black skies. Glimmering stars, hundreds of them, twinkled above them. Ichiji was awake. It was strange that he was so tired that he wasn't tired anymore.

It felt like a cosmic punishment. As a crown prince, he never missed a single meal and if he didn't like the food, he sent it back to the kitchens and demanded something else. He was so spoiled and ungrateful...

"Royalty mustn't cook!"

That was what he shouted at Sanji, back at Germa.

And now, he regretted that bitterly.

Ichiji swallowed back his sobs, not willing to show weakness. He couldn't live with himself if that old geezer saw him crying. No, he needed to be strong, for Sanji's sake.

Sanji. His baby brother, so frail and small, was curled against his side. He had become so thin now.

"Brille, brille petite étoile..." He sang softly, barely louder than a whisper. His voice had become hoarse. "Dans la nuit qui se dévoile..."

And Ichiji prayed, as every night, for a ship to come and save them. It was too late for him, but they could save Sanji. As long as he got saved...he could die happily.

He didn't even get to finish the song before he succumbed to the darkness.

---

A lot of things went in a blur for him.

Ichiji knew that he woke on the morning. He collected morning dew, as he did every morning since they got onto this forsaken rock, and gave it to Sanji.

Sanji was weaker than him, from the start. Ichiji had more meat on his bones, more muscle mass and a different metabolism than his little brother. He was able to last longer than him. That was why he had resorted to eat as little as possible, saving more for Sanji to survive on.

It was the 79th day when Ichiji collapsed. His legs couldn't carry him anymore and his mind went blank. He was already out of consciousness before he hit the hard surface.

Ichiji never heard Sanji sobbing his eyes out.

---

"Niisan! Niisan! Wake up! It's not funny! NIISAN!" Sanji screamed, trying to shake him awake.

But there was no use; Ichiji lied still on the ground.

Sanji broke down into hysterical sobs.

"Stop wailing, little brat." The old geezer grumbled at him. "Don't waste more energy."

"WHY DON'T YOU CARE?! MY BIG BROTHER IS DEAD!" Sanji screamed at him.

"He isn't dead, you idiot! Pipe down!"

Sanji watched as the old geezer examined his not-dead brother.

"No, he isn't dead, Eggplant." The old geezer shook his head. "He's ill. Very ill."

Sick? Ichiji was never sick. Not at Germa or at The Orbit. But then again...

Sanki stared down at his older brother. Ichiji didn't look...like he did before they got here. His red hair was no longer vibrantly red, like a lollipop. It had instead gotten darker, but it was still red. But he looked so weak. Just skin and bones, like him, now. He didn't move. His eyes were closed.

Ichiji looked weak and Sanji hated it. Ichiji was supposed to be strong.

"Niisan..." He sniffled. "H-he lied to me. He said he had taken his share before I woke up every morning, but he didn't..." He hiccuped. "H-he collected morning dew everything morning...j-just for me."

Zeff said nothing.

Because the words he had would not comfort the little Eggplant.

'If a ship doesn't come soon...the boy will die. He's already wasting away. He isn't going to last another week like this.'

If a ship didn't came soon...the little Eggplant would be forced to say farewell to his brother.

---

Ichiji has been ill for three days now. His skin is white as snow and his hands are cold, but his forehead is boiling hot.

There is nothing to do than to wait and hope for the best. Even if their chances are smaller now and Ichiji's chance of survival has dropped to extremely slim chances.

Ichiji was slipping in and out of consciousness, barely awake for more than a few minutes and in the little time he was awake, he did two things. He looked at Sanji without saying anything and gave a weak smile...and one time, he said something to the old geezer that made Sanji nearly break down in hysteria.

"If I die before a ship comes...eat me."

It was such a horrible thing to say. Sanji screamed, cursed and protested at his brothers' chilling words.

But Zeff understood his character more as time passed on. Ichiji wanted his brother to survive, no matter what happened to him. He had slowly wasted away for him, collected dew and given it to the Eggplant every morning and now, he quietly accepted his death.

On the fourth day since Ichiji fell ill, 84 days on this damned rock, Sanji panicked when he woke up and there were no Ichiji lying by his side. He was on the verge of crying, thinking that maybe he had wasted away into nothingness or fallen down to the seas...until he found the old geezer holding his brother in his arms.

Wrapped in the old pirate's coat, Ichiji looked so small and weak.

It took Sanji a long while to come and sit next to the old geezer (as his stamina has dwindled into nearly nothing).

"...y'think...i'll see Mama once I'm gone?" Ichiji whispered.

"...don't be stupid, brat. You won't see her until you're old and grey." Zeff gruffly told him.

Ichiji blinked a little, it took him a long while to process his words. "...it's a nice thought. But no."

---

A god damned guardian angel must've looked after the two children, in Zeff's opinion, because a ship came on the 85th day. Five days into Ichiji's illness and he was barely holding onto a thread by now.

They were spared from death.

It took some time before they all miraculously recovered. After two long months of careful diet restoration and their progress being strictly monitored, Sanji recovered first while Zeff also recovered. But Ichiji took the longest to recover as he was in a critical condition, due to his illness.

The doctors in charge had told them that Ichiji had been so close to death that the grim reaper had probably collected him after one more day on that rock.

A damn angel must've watched those two brats, Zeff concluded.

It took Ichiji four months to fully recover and Sanji, bless that little eggplant's heart, couldn't stop wailing once he was reunited with his brother.

Zeff ended up adopting an eggplant and a tomato as his own sons.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

three cheers for your ego

hello mtt nation, i am here with my promised angsty christmas fic, as part of my defeat of my evil twin in the twinter war (i am the better twin now obviously). enjoy, and happy holidays >:3

When Sans comes back home from a tiring scouting mission, he immediately notices something is off. The food rations he’s so sure were left near the kitchen entryway are gone. That meager bits of fresh meat he’s scraped together for Gyftmas just simply… disappeared.

“what happened to the food?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

His younger brother, seated on the sofa in the living room, flinches but doesn’t look away from his intense blood red gaze. His hands twist nervously in his lap. “I… I GAVE IT TO THE BUNNIES.”

“you what?” Sans says, voice deceptively quiet. His whole body goes rigid and his fists clenches, threatening to break off the door handle he’s gripping.

“THEY NEED IT MORE THAN WE DID – THAN I DID,” Papyrus replies, his voice carefully laced with a tone of defiance that is not very helpful right now. “AND… IT’S GYFTMAS.”

Sans thunders across the room as he stands before papyrus, his teeth clenched so hard he can hear them grinding in his skull. “what does that even mean?! who the hell cares if it’s gyftmas?! that was all we had! do you understand what you’ve done?!”

Papyrus shoots up on his feet, his frame towering over Sans’ short stature. Sans unconsciously takes a step back, momentarily surprised by his brother’s reaction.

“I UNDERSTAND PERFECTLY,” Papyrus says, his voice low and steady. “THEY HAVE KIDS, SANS. LITTLE ONES. AND THEY ARE HUNGRY AND COLD. DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO NOTHING? TO TURN MY BACK ON THEM?”

“yes!” Sans snaps. “exactly that! if we starve, who’s gonna save us? who’s gonna keep you alive?!”

Papyrus’ face twists in discomfort, but he stands his ground. “I DO THINK ABOUT IT, BROTHER,” he says, his voice soft. “IT’S UNCOMFORTABLE TO THINK ABOUT. BUT, WHAT’S THE POINT OF SURVIVING IF WE’RE JUST… CANNIBALIZING EACH OTHER IN THE PROCESS, LIKE WHAT’S HAPPENING IN OTHER PLACES? IN SNOWDIN, WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE A COMMUNITY, SANS.”

“oh, spare me the sentimental piece,” Sans growls. “do you know how hard it is to get food around here? and you just threw it away to some family who wouldn’t lift a finger to help us if the tables were turned!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” Papyrus shoots back, his voice slightly trembling. “KINDNESS STILL EXISTS! NOT EVERYONE IS LIKE YOU!”

The words hang in the air like a shotgun. Papyrus looks shocked at what came out of his mouth, but he doesn’t look sorry. Sans stares back at him, mouth open like he’s about to say something, but then he stops. Without a word, he turns on his heel and storms towards the door, anger rolling from him in waves.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Papyrus demands, rushing to block Sans’ path. Sans glares at him, irritated.

“where do you think?” he hisses, his eye narrowing dangerously. “i’m taking our food back.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO ROB THEM?!” Papyrus gasps, disbelief making way to horror. “THEY HAVE KIDS, SANS!! AND THEY HAVE NOTHING TO EAT!!”

“well, too bad then,” Sans spits. “no one steals from me. and the bunnies will learn real quick what happens when someone does. they’re gonna have a mad time.” A feral grin spreads across his face.

Papyrus stands in front of the door, defiant. “NO.”

“out of my way, paps.”

“NO! I WON’T LET YOU!”

“you think you can stop me? i can easily shortcut pass you.”

“I KNOW! BUT IT’S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING, AS YOUR BROTHER! IF YOU CROSS ME, I’LL WHACK YOU TIL YOU SEE SOME SENSE IN THAT CRACKED HEAD OF YOURS!!” Papyrus crosses his arms, disapproving.

“you think you’re so much better than me? you think you can survive on morals alone?”

“NO,” Papyrus replies, his voice soft. “I JUST WANT TO BE BETTER THAN THIS.”

After an eternity, Sans drops his coat and lies on the sofa, the tension in the room lessening but still palpable.

“well, merry fucking gyftmas then,” he mutters. “i hope you’re happy with this.”

The frozen streets are silent, blanketed with layers of dust and snow. The streetlights flicker weakly as Sans makes his way towards the party venue and his favorite spot in Snowdin – Grillby’s. The place is quiet and empty, but bears a feast of dusty wine bottles, cold cinnabuns, and some canned goods. Sans hums a strange, broken tune as he prepares the table.

“paps, do you think this will be enough?” he asks, holding up a container of homemade soup he made by himself. He turns to the younger skeleton lingering near the jukebox, whose face is skeptical but amused.

“I THINK THAT SHOULD SUFFICE, BROTHER!” Papyrus says. “NO ONE WOULD EXPECT MUCH FROM YOU LAZYBONES, SO NO NEED TO BE SO WORRIED!”

Sans chuckles, putting the soup container onto the table. “you’re right, paps. shouldn’t be too important how it tastes – it’s the intention that counts.”

He walks up to the jukebox to see if it still works. A bit rusty from underuse, but he can fix it in a flash, no problem.

As he works, Papyrus trails behind him, his voice teasing. “WOW, YOU’RE REALLY PUTTING IT ALL THIS YEAR OF ALL TIME, HUH? FOOD, DECORATION, MUSIC, ALL THAT JAZZ. NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

“ha, good one, paps,” Murder snorts, then in a softer tone he continues. “it’s gyftmas. it’s supposed to be a special day. i guess… i just wanted to do something different, something new, this time. something nice. for you. for everyone else too.”

The next minutes are draped in silence, but the more comforting kind as Sans tinkers with the jukebox. Papyrus’ voice breaks it for just a moment. “IT’S WEIRD SEEING YOU SO… SENTIMENTAL.”

Sans doesn’t answer, busying himself with fixing the broken machine and then with arranging cracked plates and mismatched cutlery. He tries to be as meticulous as possible, careful not to disturb the frail air of festivity he has created in this small space. It should be a wonderful day today after all.

When everything is done, Sans sits in his place, reserving the place next to him for his brother. No one has arrived yet, but he guesses he can always start the feast early, a private celebration between him and Papyrus.

He pours a glass of wine for himself, then one for his brother. Papyrus looks a bit affronted at being offered a drink, but he doesn’t complain, so that should be good enough.

“a toast.” Sans raises his glass. “to time. to the end of a year. to family. to… the ones we’ve lost.” He clinks his glass softly against Papyrus, who doesn’t pick it up but does sigh, an exasperatedly fond sound.

“to you, sans. to your newfound resolution. and holding on to your goal for once in your life.”

Sans drinks, and drinks even more. The guests start to pour in, their voices echoing around him but muffled as if he was underwater. Only Papyrus is clear in the cacophony – a beacon of light he can hold onto in this strange but joyous time. Sans laughs at the jokes coming from Papyrus, his voice bouncing off the walls of the bar. He smiles as he listens to Papyrus recount the things he can’t be sure are real in his inebriated state – childhood memories, plans for the future, a warmth that doesn’t spread to his snow-soaked bones anymore.

So, he drinks again. And again. And again.

As the nights wear on, some things start to slip through to his foggy mind. Plates that remain untouched. Wine bottles that remain unpoured. The soup he made sit alone on the table, growing colder by the second.

And yet, Sans still smiles. At his brother, who hasn’t changed at all. “thanks for staying this time,” he whispers, trying to touch Papyrus’ hand but stopping at the last moment, the distance between them so small yet so inexplicably big at the same time.

“OF COURSE, SANS,” Papyrus says, a faint grin on his severed skull. “I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE.”

It has been raining snow a lot these past few days in the town. A normal monster would be freezing out in the snow, but, well, he’s hardly a normal monster anymore, is he? Few things phase him at this point, and the cold isn’t one of them.

He knows he isn’t supposed to get close to anyone, but he can’t help it when his friend hasn’t been here with him for months now and the light show in the snowy town is too tantalizing to pass up. So he goes in, wearing a large puffy coat and some hat and scarf to cover his whole face up – a perfect disguise. Now he looks like one of the children playing around near the big tree in the town center. Just a normal, socially awkward child standing near a building, watching his peers mess around from afar. It isn’t exactly fun, but it’s something to do to sate off the gnawing boredom in his chest.

And then, he sees them again.

A skeleton monster just like him – how peculiar. He was interested of course, but something has held him back, something nagging at him at the back of his mind. He can’t name it exactly, but it makes his SOUL pang uncomfortably in his ribs, as if warning him of something. So, he is content with just staying back, idly watching the scene play out.

The strange skeleton monster has been doing this for days – asking people around about their sibling, someone with a name that keeps slipping away from his mind. Again, how odd. Everything about this skeleton monster is odd, from the way they tower over most people yet never intimidate anyone, to the way they enthusiastically play and talk with the town’s children like it’s second nature to them. They’re an opposite of him, and yet-

Ah, whatever. It’s no use thinking about it anyway.

He watches as the skeleton monster again asking the townsfolk about their brother again. And again no one has any clue where the missing person can be. The monster looks dejected, but only for a moment. The resilience… it would be heartwarming to see if he had one.

He subconsciously takes a few steps when the monster finally stops at the giant tree with presents underneath it. He has taken some of the presents for himself, and no one seems to have noticed so far. The skeleton monster looks up at the tree, which has a star on top of it. When he gets just close enough, he can vaguely make out what they’re saying.

“-I WISH THAT THIS GYFTMAS, MY BROTHER WILL RETURN HOME! HE STILL HASN’T PICKED UP HIS SOCKS, NYEH!” the monster grumbles, then in a softer tone continues with a mournful sigh. “… I WISH I HAD SEEN THE SIGNS. HE HASN’T ALWAYS BEEN THE MOST CHEERFUL PERSON, BUT I THOUGHT HE’D TELL ME IF SOMETHING’S WRONG. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED… I DON’T KNOW WHY HE LEFT… I FEAR THAT- NO, THAT’S- I WOULD KNOW ABOUT IT, SURELY!”

The phantom watches the whole scene slow around him. There’s something about this monster that feels familiar to him yet fills him with dread. They’re… weak. Vulnerable. Sentimental to a fault. In this world, it’s kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. There’s no place for kindness when everyone is out to get you.

But, looking at this monster, whose eyelights sparkle under the lights, he feels an urge to avert his eyes, something clawing at his red-hot deadened SOUL. A memory flickers in his jumbled mind: his friend showing him the real stars on the surface, twinkling like their carefree eyes.

Ah, isn’t he forgetting something?

He turns away, boots crunching in the snow as he disappears into the shadows. This is just a distraction – a fun yet trivial thought experiment. But the image of the monster standing under the Gyftmas tree, wishing for something impossible, stays in his mind long after he’s gone.

[s0lar-ch3ri]

LOOK AT MY FREAK WEEK FIC BOY (CANNIBALISM) (INVOLVES MENTIONS OF GUTS, BLOOD, AND OTHER SHIT LIKE THAT) ("a mouth to bite with; wouldnt your corpse just look so nice?")

It’s bad. Very bad. Vyncent halfway is understanding the words here. He’s found little to nothing to eat, and most has been purged only minutes after consumption. His throat is clawing its way out. It needs something it can process. Something like home. Something that he can survive and live with, because the gods know even their place in the terrain was due long ago.

His eyes, hurting from just how different the light here was, lock onto someone. A random passerby. His head hurts. His stomach hurts. His teeth are itching for something. They’re just right there. He didn’t know them. It’d cause him no harm. It’d be fine.

He remembers this feeling too well. It’s not his first time. Vyncent remembers many a time the hunger would hit him, never just was this needed for survival. He knew what skin could taste like. He’s wrapped his tongue around things that were just too humanoid for comfort. He knows how blood is meant to taste. It felt wrong on those rare occasions he indulged, washing his mouth from the tastes. It was never wrong, it wasn’t right, it was just more food. Just more food.

He wiped his watering mouth.

He was not the worst at stealth. He however was not aware how loud he could be, his ears feeling filled with water. They turned around just as Vyncent wrapped his fingers around them. They were a bit shorter than him, a struggle at it too. Rounded ears that barely jut out from the face, and shrunken eyes with rounder pupils. They were smaller then what he knew them to be, he figured it was a fear response. He normally had a half mask as to block out the strange air, but he dragged it down, accidentally catching a lick of his carnivorous teeth, sharpened and ready for this moment, hungry.

In the small area between the tall and strangely constructed figures, the dark surrounded them, one where he felt most comfortable, the light shining at him better with the setting sun. It felt earlier than what he was used to, but everything here is not what he’s used to. The person struggles in his arms. He finds it may be best to start with a blade. Might have protection or be poisonous.

He bites in.

It is not the flesh he knows. The taste difference is minimal, but there. The path to the bone feels less blocked. The meat inside is less thick. Feels like the arm is thinner. Of course, his path starts at the shoulders, sinking in his jaws. The fabric is minimal bother for him, he tears through easily as he pulls back, flesh coming with. As he spits out the fabric, he sees the blood spurt out like a fountain. He wipes his mouth, he knows he’s not done yet.

They do what Vyncent can only assume is yelling. As they try to flee, he grips their arm, flipping them over his head and onto the floor. He hears the faintest crack as their legs hit stone. Tears stream their face, looking behind Vyncent at the world there he never understood. Holding this arm and on a knee, he bites into the wrist, hitting bone quickly. He manages to almost tear off the hand, yanking off the little bits left attached. They’re stuck in fear as they watch him use his teeth to hold onto bone and remove them out, eating what’s left. He feels weak pushes and loud screams as he goes for the motherload. Wielding his dagger, he plunges it into the chest and cuts up, getting the full thing. He rips the cut wide open with his hands. He pulls out guts that seem different than regular ones and rips off flesh bits from the opened wound. He can taste the blood. It had a more distinct metallic taste. It wasn’t too horrid. The meat held good value in its texture for sure. He couldn’t help but to dig in, he was hungry, and you don’t waste good food.

As they scream, its words that bounce off his ears, cries that are left to unknowing ears. One may say it felt wrong, the way his teeth could so easily pierce the flesh as he tore out chunks and pieces. Maybe a bit of a shiver went down his back as he looked in eyes that lost shine, chewing down scraps of skin to satiate something. It couldn’t have been any rewarding, as he heard drowned what he could figure were concerns through ringing ears, loud sounds behind that he thinks were attached to the strange metal beasts. He had to go. It felt strange to hold someone once more, even if they felt slightly off and were not breathing anymore. He knew he couldn’t just leave it here. He’d get hungry again.

He’d need to carve a way to survive again.

[mikimakiboo]

Last but not least... Horror !

Viking boy surprisingly has the least traumatizing backstory (still traumatizing tho, but he's clearly the most mentally stable)

Horror lived in a small village of approximately a hundred people, there were a few farms, some longhouses (which are, as the name says it, long houses that could house 20 to 30 people and were approximately 30 meters long and 8 meters large) and individual houses and small stores which looked like small houses (5 meters long, 4 meters large) being buried underground with just the entrance outside

People were nice and they were all pretty much friends as they weren't a lot

But since good things don't last, something had to happen

There has been a great drought which caused great loss in harvests, which itself caused to lose some animals in the farms as they weren't fed properly, which, you guessed it, caused a famine as they didn't have the ressources to cook and were short on meat, even if they started hunting they couldn't provide for everyone or else they would have very small portions

The first to die were the elderly as well as some children and sick people as the lack of food made them too weak

And because they really didn't need it: a fire started as the land was very dry and very flammable, destroying a big part of the village so all that was left were the few buried houses and one longhouse

By that time almost half of the villagers died and they were down to 50/60~ inhabitants who now lived in the longhouse, except sick people who would be in the buried houses as to prevent any contagion of the sickness, or hunters who would wake up earlier and have their material with them as to not disturb the others (Horror being a hunter, he slept in a buried house)

It's not a fun life, but everyone keeps on living and they help out each other and still manage to laugh and smile, waiting for the rain to come back as they don't lose hope

There's still mandatory trauma tho:

Food insecurity for starters, he's very much afraid the others won't eat enough and often starves himself if he sees the portions are too small as to leave his to those who need it more, he is strong, he can handle a few days without eating, or sometimes he wouldn't finish his plate and pretends he isn't hungry and they can have the rest

So on one side he makes sure everyone is well fed but on the other he's the one putting his body through starvation more than necessary because there was enough food for him but he couldn't get himself to eat it because he didn't want to steal it from someone who needed it (little does he know he's the one needing it)

And second he feels he is responsible of the group's safety so he tends to blame himself if anyone gets hurt because that means he failed at protecting them, it applies to the village but also the gang as he saw them as rather fragile persons

He's also very stressed to be far from his village but he tries to stay positive and tells himself that it is all the gods doing and surely it's not bad

Also his head injury dates from when he was a kid, he hurt himself playing and somehow survived the head trauma, so he's just happy to be alive even if he does get migraines from time to time and they hurt pretty badly

[gremlingottoosilly]

What happened to weird octo human baby hybrid?

It's somewhere! Hybrid babies are still more independent than actual human babies and only need their mommies for half a year or so, before finally growing up enough to start eating meat as normal monsters do. Of course, it being weaker, you would have to ask Konig for help to get him the meat he needs, and your monster husband is so mean about it( you have to be on your best behavior if you want your baby to survive, Konig now just gained a perfect opportunity to manipulate and use you. You would do anything if it means helping weird octo baby hybrid(( Once it outgrows its cute stage and starts to actually gain strength, you can count on Konig isolating you from it as much as possible. You wouldn't dare to question this, but he is...scared, really. Monster babies are wild and hungry all of the time, you can get hurt while trying to play mommy with your son, so your husband has to step up and only allow you to hang out with octo baby when its sated and chill. You don't understand before your son started biting you with the hungry desire to devour your fingers, so you started to cling onto Konig( you're just so confused and sad, why would your baby behave like this after you've done so so so much to let him live happily... Konig had to give you another clutch of eggs after that, so your weird depressed state could be calmed down a little bit with the hormones and you'd start worrying about monster babies again, not some half-breed brat that Konig has to whip into shape(

[roryacker]

WereGhost Part 5

Surprise, part 5 :D

I will note Simon's unclothed for a while but there's little to no detail given and it's just for a perfectly SFW bath scene. It's not for any nefarious reasons I promise, he puts some clothes on eventually

I forgot to add this at first and considered if I even needed it but figured just to clarify, it couldn't hurt.

Imagine Simon's surprise, of course, when the very next morning he was awoken from his uneasy sleep hearing a familiar voice. That accent he'd grown far too used to, calling out the silly name he gave Simon on a whim, uttering something about him looking like a ghost story. It got him to wake up, at least, shuffling around to be able to poke his head out of the crevice he'd made a cold rock den out of, eyes wide. Sure enough, on the very edge of the small territory, the edge Simon made sure to rest close to in order for an easy escape, wandered Johnny, calling like he'd lost the family mutt and not what he thought was a wolf.

Except Simon isn't even a wolf, really, he never was. Hell, he only first started learning to shift when he was seven or so. Even now his body isn't lupine in appearance. Staying in that form for months on end while staying with Johnny meant that his body was tired and sore from it. And of course, the only way to offset that was to avoid shifting for a while, enough to remind the body that it's two creatures and not one. He can't help the discomfort that wells in his chest at that fact, glancing down at himself with furrowed brows and tugging an old deer pelt further over his body. It's rare he keeps the pelts, especially with wolfhunts, but they're really all he can get for warmth outside of his canine form.

Still, a greedy, hungry part of his mind grins at the thought that the (frankly stupid) human came to look for him. The dog got out somehow, and Johnny's gone out of his way to get him.

Simon bares his teeth in a grimacing snarl at the thought, nose scrunching as if he can scare it away the same way he might a competitor, if there were still any in the area. The hunts have killed most of his kind nearby off, if they didn't simply decide to leave before it got bad. Simon's only company outside of Johnny, as of late, have been the hares, rabbits, and occasional deer he makes a meal out of. Sometimes even a pheasant or the like if he can catch it, though he finds the meat to not match his tastes.

Maybe that's why he clung to the human like that. Maybe some part of Simon is lonely.

Maybe that's why he reluctantly decides to slip out of his sad excuse for a den.

Not to follow the call; he never did respond to Ghost, fitting as it may have been. He doesn't want to seem like a loyal hound now of all times.

It's mostly to watch Johnny; sit crouched in the grass, covered only in the deer's pelt and the wolf's skull that somehow follows him between the shift when the rest of his clothes become torn and ragged- the real reason he doesn't bother, truthfully, otherwise he'd happily bask in the warmth- watching intently as the human wanders about. It's bitter for a moment, a sour feeling that only deepens the frown etched on Simon's face.

But of course, if life were ever in his favor, Simon wouldn't have monthly hunts deciding which lucky man will be able to hang his pelt on a well, make it into a rug maybe, he would have never waltzed into that bear trap, maybe going by the humans' idea of good luck he would have never been a beast at all, but as fate so has it, he's Simon goddamn Riley, the town's chicken-eating ghost story-

-and Johnny meets his gaze even through the grass. He falls silent, dumbfounded, and it takes Simon a second too long to realize that fact and shift back in a hurry, scrambling backwards with his ears flat and a genuine snarl in his chest hoping that the sound of it might finally force the human's defunct survival instincts to kick into overdrive and not question it, but of course, he steps forward once, and then again, and then before Simon knows it the man's crouched down in front of the opening of his sad little cavern, staring at a familiar monster with raised hackles and bared teeth, tail tucked between his legs in a gesture Simon hasn't made (hasn't needed to make, truly) in years. There's recognition in Johnny's eyes, and he looks tired, like he hasn't slept for a while.

They're both silent, Simon shifting anxiously and trying to back himself further into his hole, hoping that Johnny might get the hint, but no. The idiot, the absolute numbskull he is, reaches his hand forward, knuckles up, to offer it for Simon to sniff. His expression looks so soft that he can't even bring himself to pretend to be aggressive. If Simon were an ignorant man he might just assume it to be acceptance, but he reasons with himself that even if he knows otherwise he can afford a risk, being close to Johnny's size even in this form. So, he hides his teeth once more, fur smoothing down, and leans forward to sniff as expected, grunting softly at the familiar scent.

It's the one he's used to- not flowery and sweet, but warm, given the wild of the forest around him to further add to it. It smells right. He huffs and shakes off, backing off like he might just be stung if he lingers longer, but Johnny isn't having it and reaches over to scratch behind his ear, much to Simon's surprise.

"Dunno what you are..." he murmurs, voice so quiet compared to the desperate, nervous tone it had before.

"I mean- I know you're no good. Townsfolk've done wonders spelling that one out." Simon bristles at the words, then, narrowing his eyes and growling lowly, but is quickly shut up by another hand settling on the ruff of his neck, that one joining in on the soothing scratching that he's only slightly offended by.

"But you could've eaten me, aye? Could've mauled me in my sleep. And you didn't." He finishes, a bit more firmly, gripping Simon's muzzle in both hands and shaking slightly as if to try and emphasize his point. It's enough to get Simon to keep quiet for good, meeting Johnny's gaze for a fleeting moment before he huffs, nudging his snout into the touch for just a split second, and pulls away.

He's been caught, but at the same time, this is the same man that went so far out of his way to make sure he'd heal up. The man who let him sleep in his bed, let him be a nuisance lounging about the house, who came looking for him when he disappeared without a word.

He shakes off, grumbling quietly as he shifts back, clumsy hands going to cover himself with his pelt-blanket once more instead of simply being draped over himself, and turns his gaze down not in a sign of nervousness or fear, but submission. It's been ages since Simon had to submit, the last time being his father before, still a young adolescent, he realized that pack hierarchy meant nothing, that he could challenge it and win if he used his claws and teeth cleverly enough. To do it willingly and not by force? That's new.

Even if Johnny doesn't understand the gesture, the changing is clear enough. Simon is weak in this form- weaker, anyways. His teeth are still sharp, but they don't pack quite the bite, and his claws are thinner and less of an aid. Simon tries not to let his expression shift hearing the hitch in his breath, but tugs the pelt tighter around his body anyways, muttering something more for his own ears than anything.

Eventually Johnny pulls away, and for a moment Simon's mind scrambles to try and figure out what the hell he does from there "you're screwed, it was a trick, run off before he calls the hounds" but again, the man simply stands, and reaches a hand out to try and help Simon up as well. He stares blankly, confused by the gesture, but snorts, shaking his head off, and begrudgingly takes it- stumbling and shaking on two unsteady legs, but eventually settled.

"Do they know your face?" Johnny questions, letting one of his hands drift to rest on Simon's back- to keep him up, no doubt, though he still bares his teeth on instinct, growling at him and lurching slightly. Shockingly, Johnny doesn't budge, only shifting his hand to rest against his shoulder, instead. At that realization, he relaxes just a bit, if only not to waste energy on useless threats, huffing instead.

"I'll take that as a yes, then. Careful it is. Not very chatty, eh?" He laughs, and for a moment Simon falters, glancing up at his face as his own relaxes just the tiniest bit, before his brows furrow again and his gaze drops, grunting quietly in reply as his nose scrunches. Johnny, ever the patient bastard, simply chuckles and rubs at Simon's shoulder, and he can't help the way he leans into the touch, really, it's not his fault.

"Don't even know your name... hope you don't mind if I stick with Ghost." He doesn't. It's familiar, by now- it's been years since he's heard "Simon" from someone else, even from himself, outside of the rare times he mutters it to try and remind himself of what his voice sounds like- of what a voice sounds like, when it's not yelling and whistling and shouting commands. He shakes off the bitter thought, growling softly and leaning up against Johnny. The human is surprised, he can smell it, but doesn't shove him off.

They walk for a while, and Johnny manages to smuggle him into the house without being caught, all while he talks Simon's ear off about the ruckus he caused and what's happened since he left. He doesn't mention the woman- the house doesn't smell like her, but stress and sorrow, instead. Something about the lingering scent, now fading out with the eagerness and happiness sticking to the man, makes Simon feel oddly comfortable. No, not just that- it's pride. The same feeling he gets after a hunt, after establishing his territory as his own, after winning a fight. He's won, here, even if he didn't intend for there to be a fight in the first place.

Johnny tries, for a bit, to find him fitting clothes, but Simon is huge, for lack of a better word, and none of them would really fit. So, he's allowed to linger in all his glory, only decent because of a pelt- not that Simon cares any. Wolves don't wear clothes. He's sure after all this time they'd feel about as comfortable as that trap.

Speaking of which... Johnny reaches for the leg, moving slowly and carefully in what Simon assumes is an attempt to not scare him or trigger his aggression. Reluctantly, he lets him, and the human takes the chance with a pleased little smile, rubbing his fingertips gently along what's now just a scar.

"Healed well, I see. Did you even need me? Never seen a wound that bad scar this fast... now I wonder if I've been tricked by a wolf."

"Would've taken another month without the help." Simon replies, his voice low, more of a growl than anything pleasant on the ears, and he can see the pure shock that crosses his human's face when he hears it. But he doesn't recoil in discomfort or disgust- just laughs and nudges at his knee.

"Well, good to know I wasn't just being used by you... hell, even if I was, I think you do deserve a bit of a chance to be lazy after all these folks have put you through, mm?" Yes, yes that sounds nice. Simon is uneasy for a moment, staring at Johnny's face, before he realizes the man's being genuine, and he allows a soft little snort to leave him.

"You do stink, though. Like mud and old blood..." He murmurs before Simon can give any response. He should probably feel bad or maybe insulted, but he can't muster up anything negative, really.

"Probably last kill. Got a fat rabbit." Simon hums, licking his lips at the memory, suddenly hungry once more, but the thought quickly leaves when he sees Johnny moving again, and he's quick to follow. He doesn't miss the little laugh or the shake of his head, but it seems the topic is done for now as they both set off towards another room in the house.

Johnny decides to set up a bath for him, still complaining about the smell, and Simon has the decency to pretend to be apologetic about it as he fills the tub, readying some soap that smells a bit too pleasant for Simon's tastes. For a moment he wonders if he should shift back, perhaps, if Johnny plans on scrubbing him down, figuring it would be less awkward if he took on his wolf form again, but Johnny simply guides him towards the tools he needs, offers some loose instructions, and says he'll be back with clothes for Simon- either through raiding the older man's closet (John, he learns his name is, though he decides that he doesn't like how close their names are) or through buying new ones. Simon doesn't like the idea of him leaving, but hums in response, hesitantly dropping the pelt and leaving it folded on a countertop before lowering himself into the bath.

The water is comfortable, he finds- not the warmest, per se, but far warmer than the river water he sometimes treks through if he's especially dirty- and it's still, meaning it doesn't tangle his fur... or hair, in this case. It's calming, really, enough that he decides to lean back and shut his eyes for a bit. It feels much safer in there than a little cave, after all, and his rest the night prior had been uneasy at best. It's only when the water's grown cold and he hears familiar footsteps approaching that he realizes he'd fallen asleep in the first place, perking up and lazily resting his jaw along the side of the bath as Johnny enters the room, fresh clothes in hand. They look new.

"Well, you didn't even wash up."

"Got tired. Besides, not used to having hands..." Simon mutters, stretching out with all the comfort of a fat housecat, rolling over so his weight's on his knees and he can rest his body up against the side of the tub. He's just giving Johnny a hard time, really, but finds himself tensing slightly when the man sighs, leaving the clothes on the counter atop Simon's pelt, and approaches, crouching beside the tub and reaching for a rag.

"I think you just like bein' a nuisance."

From another man, or maybe in another case, the words might sting slightly, cause some anxiety- but the amusement in Johnny's eyes and the pleasant feeling of the fabric scrubbing along his back simply has Simon sighing in something akin to relief, shutting his eyes once more and allowing his body to all but melt into the surface under him. The smell of the soap is diluted by the water, and really isn't all that bad, a hearty herbal scent that isn't too harsh on the nose. Part of Simon is tempted to sneak outside and roll around in the mud or something when Johnny's asleep just to feel it again, but that'd just be stupid, of course. Instead, he savors it while it happens, his eyes only opening when the human finally pulls away.

"Alright, you mutt. Up you go. Towels are in the cabinet, and I'll assume you know how to dress yourself..." he isn't given the time to make any smart remark or anything before Johnny's leaving the room, and he mourns the loss only for a moment before he begrudgingly moves to stand, shaking excess water off while he's still in the bath before moving to step out. His skin is clean, he finds, lacking possibly years worth of dirt and grime that had been there before. Scars remain and become slightly more prominent without the earthy coating over them, but he doesn't mind the look. Really, it's not that bad.

He almost looks normal.

It takes a while to dry off, but he finds it's much quicker than trying to get his fur to dry in the wind as he has in the past. From there, his last task is putting on the clothes Johnny had gotten him. They smell of another human, but only faintly, fresh enough- and lacking the scent of the older John- that he's sure they're new.

Simon doesn't like clothes one bit, it turns out. They're confining and uncomfortable and he doesn't like the feeling of the fabric on his body. It feels like a snake wrapped around his limbs, only with threads and seams and lord knows what else that just makes him want to scratch it all off like it's a colony of fleas.

Still, he can tell Johnny had been just slightly uncomfortable with a naked man in his home, so he deals with them even despite the urge to bite and gnaw until nothing itches anymore... he wanders around the house in search of the man, sniffing about in an effort to find him, and finally stalks into the bathroom, head lowered in an unconscious show of dislike for his threaded prison, but content with the smile that meets Johnny's face at the sight, anyways.

"There we go... could almost mistake you for a person, if I didn't know any better." He laughs at his own joke, while Simon only grunts in response. He stands there for a minute or so, before opting to move towards him and start crawling onto the bed. Johnny sighs, but makes no move to shove him off or anything of the sort, and from there it's just a matter of making himself comfortable. He finally ends up on his back, limbs stretched out lazily and one leg hanging off the bed, but cozy enough, anyways.

He's not asleep when he feels Johnny reach over to bury a hand in his hair and rub lightly at his scalp, but he does a damn good job at playing dead, anyways, not moving an inch and letting his breathing stay settled. It's good enough to lull him to sleep, anyways, a warm, nice feeling in his chest that he doesn't really want to shake.