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allurilove · 6 months ago

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Yandere Stalker x you

Rated 18 + -- mature short content !

Content Warning: This story contains themes of obsession, stalking, manipulation, and violent fantasies. It delves into the unhealthy and dangerous mindset of a stalker obsessed with you. Reader discretion is advised.

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

INCLUDES: Stalking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, cunnilingus, fingering, fem reader, choking, mentions of cheating, p in v sex in public, murder, death, he's not a good person, dom yandere?, degradation?, he can be a bit of a gaslighter, gore, and more.

*This is the third fic to this little mini series. Check out the first part, and the second part for a better understanding! He is referred to as "your stalker." The italicized portion is his inner thoughts! This fic is inspired by the show You, and this is purely fictional writing!*

SYNOPSIS: Your stalker's obsession intensifies as he becomes involved with another woman named Daniella Foster, who he views as inferior to you. Despite his disdain for your best friend, he engages in a flirtatious and sexual relationship with her, all the while fantasizing about you.

What's more dangerous than a sick, psychotic, and perverted man?

I ran out of your blood today.

Just four hours ago, I was completely fine. The vial of your period blood was nearly empty, but I was able to stick my finger inside to collect the last of your crimson essence. I sucked a particularly big blood clot off my finger, and I was able to start my day with a huge smile.

Four hours ago, I could claim that I was a normal and functioning man, someone you wouldn’t blink an eye at, and that was all thanks to you.

Four hours ago, I was able to brush my teeth, take a shower, and clean myself up for the day. I had an extra pep in my step, and I felt like I could take on the world with a positive outlook.

Don’t you see how much life you give me? Your blood alone has made me feel like I was on top of the world, like I could float up into space with just your plasma to help me survive.

But now, it was gone.

Your stalker stared blankly at the window as his body was jostled side to side, his hands tightly gripping the handle of his tote bag that rested on his lap. He tried to ignore the obnoxiously sick person near him, who didn’t even bother to cover their coughs. He closed his eyes to avoid staring into the eyes of another person across from him. He was sandwiched between two burly people: one shouted loudly into their phone, clearly having zero spatial awareness, while the other snoozed. The woman's head drooped as she nodded off, and her greasy hair brushed against his cheek.

She had a distinct smell of sweat and wet socks. Your stalker apologized to the man next to him as he slightly leaned his body away from the woman. He was stuck in this position unless someone took pity on him and spoke up.

His car was in the shop. The tire had unexpectedly given out, causing him to swerve into oncoming traffic. The car was old anyway, a gift from his parents when he first got his license in high school. That must have been, what, ten years ago? He didn’t like to think about his age; nothing good ever came from it anyway.

Your stalker rummaged through his bag, his hand searching for the familiar plastic tube he used to steal your period blood. His fingers brushed against a particularly sharp blade he kept for “safety” reasons before they wrapped around the vial. He had really tried to savor it. He would carefully open his mouth and tilt the vial just enough for a single drop of blood to settle onto his tongue. Sometimes he would pour a bit into his coffee, or he would put it into his food. Either way, it made him feel closer to you. It was a comforting notion to think about, that he was the only man and human who had access to you in such an intimate way.

Your stalker sighed as he put the empty tube back into his breast pocket for safe keeping.

He didn’t like taking public transportation. New York was known for having odd things happening on the trains, buses, and subways. He was pretty sure that last week someone had set a rat on fire, a poor woman got robbed in broad daylight, and a group of teens were filming their dumb YouTube prank videos on the elderly.

Your stalker felt a flare of irritation as the woman leaned on his shoulder again. He gently nudged her off and ignored the way she woke up all startled. He glanced down at his phone, counting the number of stops, and saw he had twelve more before he could get off.

He was going to Manhattan for a job. An absolute douchebag had hired him, and his name was Myron Vykolv. He was the type to spend his money on trips and a bedazzled car rather than giving back to charity. Vykolv was an artist's worst nightmare: fickle, a headache to deal with; but surprisingly, he had good taste in art. He had to; he hired your stalker, after all.

He pulled out his phone to scroll on social media, his eyes scanning the copious amount of braindead content, and he paused when he saw a familiar face. He pressed the buttons on the side of his phone, his screen flashing, and the screenshot he took was saved in his photo album. Your stalker zoomed in, and his eyes widened as he saw the perfectly harmonious facial features. The baby tee top had a cute graphic splayed on the chest area, hair slicked and pulled back into a bun, and gold hoops dangling from those nicely formed ears.

It was you.

He glanced down at the caption: "a coffee date with my favorite bff." Posted exactly five minutes ago. It wasn't your account, but it was the closest thing he had to you. Your stalker decided to follow your coffee-manic and bikini-loving friend, and every post and picture she had, you were in it too.

She made it almost easy to stalk. Jesus, what if a deranged man had decided to show up to her place in the Beverly Hills area on the street of— seriously? Did she really just post her full address online?

Daniella Foster. The epitome of a fun and ditzy socialite who spent way too much time at parties and clubs. A trust fund baby if there ever was one, with her daddy being a big shot in the entertainment industry. Despite all that privilege, she never quite made it big herself.

Your stalker snorted as he saw the array of failed projects she had been in. Modeling? Wasn't in the cards for her. Acting? Horrible. A piece of cardboard would've had more personality than her. Originally from Tampa, Florida, then she moved to California, where she had her comically large house, and then… she decided to bless us by coming to New York. Lucky us, right y/n?

Your stalker looked up from his phone and realized the train had come to his stop. He got up from his seat and quickly made his way out. He felt his phone vibrate in his hand and looked down: Daniella requested to follow you. That was fast.

He clicked accept.

She's a shameless flirt, your stalker soon found out, and he’s not the least bit surprised. Daniella slid into his DMs with a picture of her provocatively sucking a lollipop, and her first words to him were: “What do you look like?”

Gee, take a gander, Daniella. My profile picture is a high-definition shot of my handsome and sexy fucking face. But sure, ask me about my looks as if you were actually interested. Your stalker rolled his eyes. He didn’t even want to respond to that message, but he had no other way of seeing you again. You would probably run at the sight of him, and that would be the most sane and correct thing you could do.

So, what does a man say when he’s mediocre, average, and you’re clearly out of his league? “I look like the man of your dreams, sweetheart.”

Your stalker had spent hours sexting and courting this woman who had flooded his inbox. Even when he was painting for a client, he managed to multitask and send a dick pic. He sent her whatever she wanted to keep her hooked, and just by her messages alone, this must have been the only time a man actually matched her level of craziness and horniness.

Days turned into weeks and then soon into months. The moment he woke up, he would see that she had sent him hundreds of messages in one night—she must've been drunk again.

He spent hours reading each message, and he hearted the ones that he felt were the most important. It was actually coming to an end, thank God, but to his surprise, she asked him out on a date.

"So, what do you do? Who are you?" The girl in front of him asked.

He shouldn't have said yes because now he was sitting in a restaurant that he could barely afford or get a reservation to, and he had to be with this woman who wasn't you. She was dressed beautifully - he'd give her that. He liked the dark colors of her red dress, the way he could drink in the curves of her hips and chest, and how it gave him a clear view of her body.

Now, he wondered what you would have worn if you were on a date with him. Would you have put in this much effort and shown this much skin? Would you have laughed at all of his jokes to boost his damn ego, or knocked him down a peg? Would you have ordered something light so you could have sex afterward, or would you have eaten something hearty and called it a day?

He pretended to think for a while, all before he gently touched her hand, and his fingers caressed her soft skin. "Who am I?" He teased, his voice slightly deepened as he gave her a playful once-over. "I'm hurt. After all these months, you still don't know who I am?"

"Why don't you refresh my memory?" She tilted her head.

Your stalker sighed and he looked around briefly. This place was intimate, for high rollers only, and he could just imagine how much of his money was going to go down the drain. The tiny candle on the table, the white clean cloth, and the vase with a single rose was still too romantic for his taste. His thumb traced circles on her hand, and the other grabbed for his steak knife.

“I'm an up-and-coming artist,” He replied with a bit of a shrug.

“An up-and-coming artist, huh?” She echoed, her fingers now interlocked with his. “Do you come often?”

Lord, please have some mercy and shoot me. Do I come often? Wouldn’t you like to know, you slut. Is this the type of person you really want to spend your time with, y/n? Daniella is not you, and she could never be you. She parades herself around for anyone and everyone to ogle at—she is the epitome of what’s wrong with the dating scene. No wonder she doesn’t have a boyfriend. No wonder she’s desperate enough to entertain me—of all people.

I know the type of people you like, Daniella, and it’s not me.

“You know what you’re doing when you ask me that.” he brought her hand up to his lips and he kissed it. “I can tell you can make a man come often.“

Daniella giggled and her chest puffed out. She leaned closer to him, and he can practically drown in her scent of vanilla and cake. “I have an art piece that I think you'll appreciate. It's back at my place… wanna see it?”

Fuhhhhhck no. Your stalker slipped the knife into his pocket.

Your stalker smirked and he leaned in closer as well. He could see the makeup on her face, the gloss on her lips, and he could see a glimpse of her ample breasts. “I don’t know… is it one of a kind?”

Underneath the table, her leg started to caress his, and her foot slowly found its way to his crotch. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, and he held onto her hand tighter. As much as he hated this, he would have been lying if he had said that the attention wasn’t nice. He felt the pressure around his groin tighten as she pressed her foot onto it, and she gently rubbed it up and down while maintaining eye contact.

“It’s an original piece…something that can’t be replicated. I’m sure you’ll love it.” Daniella said coyly, and she bit down on her plush lips.

She knew when to strike when the iron was hot. A taxi was called, and she made out with him in it. Her body was pressed up against his, and she felt his hand grip on her ass. His hand then slid up her thigh, his fingers ripped her black sheer stockings and two of them found their way to her entrance. He bit down on her bottom lip and his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She's a fun girl. She knew exactly how to inflate a man's ego and pride. He heard her sweet, light moans, and her hips started to grind onto his hand. His thumb played with her clit, and they only pulled away when the cab arrived at her house. He grabbed her hand and tossed a couple of bills at the driver. He slammed the door shut, and before she could unlock the door to her house, he pressed her against his body.

"W-We're in public...!" Daniella's face was flushed and she tried to close her legs, but your stalker was quick to pull them back apart.

He narrowed his eyes and tugged down her panties. "So? Don't tell me you have morals all of a sudden." he snorted.

He wished that she would just shut up. She opened her mouth to rebuttal but he wrapped one hand around her throat to keep her still and quiet, and he shimmied off his pants just enough for his cock to be out. "I didn't come here for you to talk all the damn time. Shut it, before I put that mouth of yours to good use."

Your stalker lifted her up and made her wrap her legs around him. His dick then entered inside her, and he groaned at how wet and ready she felt. It's been awhile since he felt actual warmth, and her walls started to clench around him. His breath is ragged as he fucked her. His eyes were closed and he couldn't help but bite down onto her shoulder. Daniella cried out, and her body was tense as his teeth broke into her skin.

"God... you needed this, didn't you?" He purred as he licked up the puncture wound. Your stalker then looked down to watch his cock disappear into her. "You need someone to fuck your brains out." He sharply thrust into her again, and his hands dug into the plush of her ass to help with the momentum.

Your stalker dragged his tongue across her bleeding shoulder, then pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. With one hand still gripping her body, he used the other to shove his fingers down her throat, silencing her whimpers."You're the prettiest whore I have ever seen. Isn't that right, y/n?"

Your stalker truly believed he was being intimate with you. Daniella, who? All he knew was you. All he ever wanted was to feel you, to taste you, and to be able to hear you mewl around his cock. He wanted to see your eyes roll back into your skull, to paint your skin with butterfly kisses, and for him to finally come inside you again and again. It actually pissed him off to no end that he had to be stuck here with her.

When he felt himself getting closer to the edge, he unceremoniously pulled out of her, and his white stream of cum dripped down onto the ground. He sighed as his dick softened, and he gently helped her stand on her own legs again. His hand dipped underneath her body, his fingers playing with her wet folds, and he spread them apart to furiously rub at her clit. Daniella gripped onto his arm to keep him firmly there until she felt her leg shake.

Your stalker watched with a bit of fascination as what seemed like an endless amount of juices squirted out of her. He got onto his knees and helped her to sit onto his face. After he cleaned her all up, your stalker suddenly remembered something and his hand patted down his pockets.

"Hey... I think I'm missing my phone." He started his little lie. "Can I borrow yours? I forgot that I had an important call--"

"Bag." She just said and pointed to the one that was tossed to the side.

He muttered a "thanks" before he went over and rummaged through her purse. "What do you think about doing this again?" he kept an eye on her as his hand aimlessly tried to look for her phone. "I had fun tonight, and I'd like to see you one more time."

He could feel the various items in her bag. A packet of cigarettes, two lip products, house keys, a whole perfume bottle, but fuck where was her phone?

He watched as Daniella rolled down her scrunched up dress. The woman then raised her brow and she crossed her arms. "I'm pretty sure you said another woman's name."

"I didn't." He said rather quickly. "You drank a lot of wine--it was almost like you were trying to bankrupt me." He joked, and his hand firmly gripped onto what felt like a smooth case. He pulled it out of her bag and there it was. "What's your password?"

"Trying to change the subject, are we?"

"I'm pretty sure your phone is the subject, unlock it pretty please?"

Daniella pulled back her hair and she stared at him expectantly.

"I said give me your password, not a blowjob." Your stalker frowned.

She gave him an exasperated look. "It's my face dumbass." she then snatched her phone back from him.

"You don't use your thumb? What kind of update is that?"

"God, you're so poor." He heard her mutter.

That was so unwarranted, and sort of hurt.

Though it made him feel a lot better when he finally decided to slit her throat. Now that she was distracted, he discreetly pulled out the steak knife from his pocket before he dropped her bag and roughly yanked her back to him. His hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams as he dragged the serrated blade across her neck. The knife sawed through flesh, muscle, and sinew, blood spurting and gushing with each desperate pulse of her heart. It took him a while to sever her head completely, his arm burning with exhaustion as he hacked away, the blade catching on bone and gristle, her life draining away in a torrent of crimson.

Your stalker wiped his bloodied hand on her dress, he grabbed the phone off the ground, and he groaned when he saw that the screen was cracked. He tried his best to work the damn thing, his finger poking at the messaging app multiple times before it decided to open. Daniella had a plentiful amount of unsaved numbers but they had weird emojis next to them. One number was from a different country and had the eggplant emoticon.

Then he found the only saved number: y/n.

You're apparently a good girl and shared your location with your best friend. How adorable, you even share every given moment with her too. You even talked about how you were thinking about going back to your serial cheater of an ex.

Your stalker gasped, his head reeling back in shock. You were about to go back to your ex? Your ex, of all people? You couldn't have, what—moved on like a normal person? You couldn't have gone out and fucked around with someone new? Someone like him? It's like you purposely make the wrong choices just to be saved. Before he could be your little personal super hero... his eyes slowly made its way back to the body on the ground, and then to the keys that were in her bag.

Have you ever heard of cuteness aggression? The rush of impulsive behavior that you get after seeing a cute and defenseless puppy? I get that when I see you. I think you're so adorable that it makes my heart burst. Your stalker stared up into your apartment, and the car windows were rolled down to air out the perfume he dumped into the body bag.

However, there was nothing cute about this ugly pig-like fuck that touched your waist. That man had no redeeming qualities, and boy, did I want him to start squealing in pain. I wanted to pinch his body until he had yellowish-brown bruises all over. I wanted to crush his skull with my bare hands and feel his pulse drop. I wanted to be able to drink the blood shower that would come from their body and bathe in it. I want them to realize that you’re off the market, and that you’re solely mine.

They’re not good for you, love. You have seen that time and time again, and they have disappointed you before without fail; so why do you welcome them with open arms? It hurts to see your legs over their shoulders, and to see a bit of your face contorted in pleasure and ecstasy. Is it the sex? Is it the way they give you a fleeting moment of what could have been if they weren’t constantly cheating on you?

That’s pathetic, and you know it. But it’s okay, I’m willing to look past this little transgression. It’s not completely unforgivable. They must’ve broken you down and made you vulnerable enough to pull your pants down. It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.

Your stalker continued to stake out your house, patiently waiting for your ex to come down to the lobby. The moment he did, your stalker would be ready. He might not have been able to get your blood, but killing your ex and taking his was like killing two birds with one stone.

Allure: This is the first fic I wrote that actually has y/n in it! And it's pretty unedited, so if there is mistakes I will probs fix it later on. This dragged on for waaay longer than it needed and tbh, I am never writing a long fic like this again LMAO

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ratatouillewastakendammit · 6 months ago

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HEAR ME OUT 😭 toga!reader who grew up with katsuki and izuku, she was always insecure about her quirk bc ppl told her liking gore was weird etc and ofc kats bullied her bc of that… until she grew older, realised how much her quirk can do, joined league of villains alongside dabi… maybe dabi takes a liking to her ^^ and he understands the need for revenge all too well… 🙂‍↔️ THATS ABOUT ALL I HAVE RN!

Wait this is so fun!! I usually try to keep the readers quirk undefined because I know some people want to insert their own but tbh I loveeee gory quirks and stuff

I'll Kill 'Em, You Hide the Body

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Warnings: language, slightly suggestive, bullying, violence, blood (ofc), also it's been a while since I've written less dialogue heavy stuff so let me know if you have any critiques!

Word Count: 2.1k

Dabi had never been a fan of Toga.

The blonde was nothing short of psychotic, which he usually didn't mind by itself. Still, she possessed an undeniable creepiness about her that had him keeping as much as possible.

Seeing that she had wormed her way into his room to jab him for blood once may or may not have exemplified his dislike.

You on the other hand?

It was interesting how you and the blonde shared similar quirks, powers of seperate sides of the same coin with minor differences on how you used them.

It was even more interesting, however, with how much different the two of you actually were.

He remembered how you acted when you had first been introduced to the League, quiet and eyes glued to the floor, words slurred from the subtle way you tried to keep your mouth closed as you spoke. Still, your efforts seemed to be in vain, the soft whites of your sharpened canines becoming revealed the second you had joined them for a meal.

In all honesty, Dabi had thought it was dumb, how insecure you were of your quirk. He had seen mutant-quirk holders with features much more abhorrent than your barely noticeable fangs.

Spinner, the giant lizard man working along with you both was an easy example.

Shigaraki had accepted you, seemingly already knowledgeable of whatever powers you possessed when Giran had brought you to the hideout, leaving everyone else in the dark.

And while the others hadn't seemed to mind, accepting your soft spoken demeanor and mystery with open arms, Dabi wasn't exactly elated to have another weakling on the team.

How the hell would he be able to trust that you wouldn't fuck up if he didn't know what you could do?

So when Shigaraki had assigned you to his group for a mission, he had scoffed, grumbling about how you were just going to get yourself killed.

You, however, had been quite the surprise.

Drawing a small knife from your boot, you slid the blade over your palm, the metal leaving a thin line of scarlet behind. He watched as the liquid pooled over your fingers before rising in the air, leaving your skin clean and untouched.

He watched, cerulean eyes wide as he took in the horrific beauty you possessed.

Blood continued to slip from your cut, each drop falling upward to amalgamate into your dreadful creation, a vine of vermilion that trailed around a group of your opponents.

When a squeeze of your fist, the ruby liquid clotted together, wrapping around the men and pulling them together into a makeshift prison. The blood, now miraculously hardened, poked at their skin, pulling at their own plasma until it was also under your control.

You used your other hand, careful not to mix the substances, before forming the material into a scythe. If one listened hard enough, they could hear the edge of the blade slicing through the air, just as deadly and graceful as its wielder.

It was almost poetic, the way you cut through your foes with the innards of their comrades.

By the end of it, a gory havoc had exploded through the room, you, just as untouched and pristine as before all of it, standing in the middle of it.

Beckoning a finger forward, you drew your own blood back toward you, the fluid snaking back under your skin and gluing the cut back together.

Toga had been absolutely obsessed with you from that moment on, hanging off your shoulder and chatting your ear off whenever you would let her.

Surprisingly, you didn't exactly seem to mind, expression holding nothing was silent contentment, the way one may look at a younger sibling or apprentice.

Dabi, on the other hand, had only grown increasingly obsessed with figuring you out.

To say you grew up isolated was an understatement.

When your quirk had first been revealed, your parents had been happy, albeit a bit taken aback by the initial grimness of it, hopeful for the unwritten future of success you had waiting.

Blood bending had quite the potential, after all.

Similarly, your friends had been enamored by the creations of your ability, eyes wide in childish wonder as you made inanimate creatures float around the classroom, one of your favorite tricks.

Your life had started to end the first day you passed out in class.

It had been a small turtledove that time, red as rubies and small enough to fit in your hand. The avian organism flying over your head was the last thing you remembered before the world went black.

Filled with panic, your parents had rushed you to the nearest urgent care, voices laced with tension as they explained the situation, even as you woke up. The doctor had done numerous tests, each more exhausting than the last.

A few days passed, filled with fear and anticipation at each time you would faint without an explanation.

'Extremely low iron' was the first thing written on the report, letters big and angry. Still, those that followed were so much worse.

The notion of having to consume some form of blood, not only to sustain your quirk, but to keep you alive, left your family in shambles.

Each of your friends began to trickle away after the news as well, most scared by the rumor that you were secretly a vampire started by some blond a few grades below you. Bakugou was his name, that of which you had learned a few days later as the bullying continued.

Whispers lined the hallway as you walked past, each hushed syllable and scowl following you like a disease.

"She'll eat you if you let her too close."

"I heard she picks people off the streets and drains 'em."

The love for gore and scary movies you had definitely didn't help your case.

Regardless, back then, you would've easily watched some romantic comedy instead of your favorite slasher film, if only it could be done with friends by your side, giggling at the dreamy love interest and cheesy lines.

And despite your desperate yearning for companionship, maybe you would've been fine if it was left at plain isolation.

The worst of it started when Bakugou convinced some of his friends to break into your locker. They had taken your lunch box and dumped the contents out in the nearest trashcan before stuffing it back in, all of which you being completely oblivious to.

When you opened your lunchbox expecting the usual sandwich and bag of chips, your eyes had doubled in horror when they met the dead bird cradled within instead.

Home could have easily been a sanctuary for you, but it soon became just as depressing as school.

Thankfully, your doctor had been able to give you meager rations of the blood donations the local hospital received weekly. Still, you began to dread each time your parents went out to pick it up from the pharmacy.

They would hand you the bag to put in the freezer, fingers barely gripping the plastic like it was a dead animal.

As far as you knew, it very well could've been.

Their complaints ran through your ears constantly, vivid descriptions of the revolted looks the nurses would give him, followed by the scattered glances of pity they might get from other parents at the store.

Once, your mother had to excuse herself from the table, silently gagging at the ruby liquid in your cup. Soon it became a regular occurrence, both leaving in disgust until you were left to eat your meals alone, food cold and room silent.

A few years inched by before they pushed you away as well, lending you money for a small apartment on the other side of town, as far away from them as possible.

By the time you turned eighteen, they had cut you off completely, giving you just enough time for all that sadness and insecurity to meld into hate.

Joining the League was the first thing you did after moving out.

Surprisingly, it hadn't taken a long time at all for Dabi to take a liking to you, the quiet admiration stemming from his initial awe at your power, regardless of how much he didn't want to admit it.

Taunting you soon becomes his favorite activity. You were unexpectedly hard to fluster, but the way your eyes would flit to the ground in embarrassment made it deliciously worth it.

Regardless, the soft blood lust burning in your eyes whenever he would push your buttons too far had his pants tightening.

It was hard to decide which reaction he liked better.

Those were the reactions he was digging for tonight, arms crossed as he leaned on your door frame, smirking at the way you had mindlessly left the entryway to your room unlocked.

It was like you were practically begging him to come in.

He had learned of your past a few hours ago from Kurogiri, the dark mass of mist and fog easily digging out the information.

The knowledge had pissed him off, sure. In all honesty, he would've happily added another U.A. brat to his kill-list, especially once he recognized Bakugou's name, the idiot being in the same class as his darling little brother.

Still, Dabi had enough self respect to consult you first.

Or, at least, he had convinced himself it was 'consulting.' Whether or not it was more accurately 'annoying you until you did something worth the regret' was none of his concern.

And it was all the more motivation if he could worm his way into your good graces.

He definitely wouldn't mind letting you play damsel if it meant winning your affection in the end.

Maybe it was the mention of that blond twerps name, or maybe that of your parents, which had your fingers curling around your pencil, your line of sight glued to the paper in front of you.

"Get out. I'm working," you said without looking up.

"You know, fucking someone up would make you feel a lot better than writing in a diary." He walked over to where you were sitting, a smirk pulling on the corner of his lips. A hand slipped over your shoulder as he bent down, the warmth of his skin kissing your own as he whispered, "Or I know some other ways of relieving stress if you want help."

You scoffed, ignoring the heat building in your cheeks at the insinuation. "Are you always this annoying?"

"Only for you, doll."

Dabi was quite the flirt, and while you were quite masterful at hiding your own attraction to the man, each amorous comment had your defenses faltering.

"I just don't know how you can let that shit fly." His touch slid lower, hands snaking low enough to rest on your thighs, his breath tickling your ear. "If it was me, they would be six feet under right now."

"You really think I don't want to?" The heels of your chair slid across the wooden floor in an unpleasant screech, your pencil slamming against the desk as you stood and turned to face him. "I think about it all the fucking time! I just..." You swallowed. "There's no coming back from that... I don't know if I can."

Silence met your unwilling confession, clashing with the pit of embarrassment growing in your stomach. An attempt to hide from the scrutiny of his stare, you moved over to sit on your bed, resting your face in your hands as the stillness enveloped you.

"Then let me do it for you."

You looked up. "What?"

"I said," Dabi slowly crept over to you, gaze locked on your own. "Let me do it for you."

The way each syllable was enunciated with cruel ardor left you shivering, your skin prickling in goosebumps as the heat radiating off his body swept closer.

"I'll make sure to leave enough pieces behind to drain, if you want."

It was almost as if he could hear the blood thrumming through your veins, your quirk begging for the violent, venegeful release that you were being promised.

That annoyingly excitable muscle in his chest jumped at the way you looked at him, eyes dancing with a mixture of desire and ferocity.

Eventually, you gave your answer, quiet, but certain.

"Okay."

#bnha imagines #mha #bnha #dabi x reader #dabi #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #bnha x reader #dabi x you #mha x reader #mha imagines #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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oceanlipgloss · 4 months ago

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MEAT SHOP

BEELZEBUB.

+ warnings: dark themes, erotic hues, graphic descriptions of horror and gore, inclusion of vore, strong language.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

No restaurant could ever dream of offering such buttery meat—never to be sold in any boucherie.

A precise percentage of fat. A measured amount of muscle. The perfect mix of flavours. Raw flesh softened into dough between his bloody teeth. Dead cells trickled down his smiling lips in strawberry streaks.

Her bones cracked like candy in his mouth, but she didn’t taste sweet.

A once-in-a-lifetime blend. Not flavoured like heaven. Paradise isn’t even a good thing, now is it?

Fuck, how long he had been waiting!

So close. He was so close! And yet, he was losing his fucking mind. Though God had created him a ravenous madman, sanity was still slipping through his feverish fingers and down his trembling hands. Like oil and grease.

There was no time to cut the cake. No time, no time, no time. None at all! None whatsoever. He had to rip a bite out of her.

No, no, no, no.

Hold it.

This is an only chance. Jackpot. A once-in-a-lifetime meal, remember? Even if it wasn’t a full course, lunch, breakfast, or so much as a snack.

He can never indulge in this grade of meat anymore.

Somewhere, in an insignificant corner of his scattering mind, the thought made him sad. What a shame it is for such exquisite food to never be enjoyed again.

Later, later. As for now!

Should he swallow her whole or rip flesh and bone apart first? Choke down meat or savour flavour? Lick blood or drink plasma?

In the end, he didn’t take the time to peel smooth skin back like he would have done with chocolate wrappers.

He couldn’t do it.

Not too long ago he had sent her an invitation into his bathtub. Locked up her hot body between his legs. With every kiss fabric melted off.

What a dirty human. He could smell the fucking arousal on her.

Dumb, clueless bitch.

Everything had to be just right. He did not want to miss the burst of even one particular cell. He hadn’t wanted to risk watering down the palate. So there were no flowers. There was no water. Nothing. Just pristine enamel. And him. It was empty.

His lips had kissed her shoulder softly.

And then his teeth had bitten down.

Gentle.

Hard.

Harder still.

He had torn away a piece of her.

What do humans say?

Oh, but of course.

‘Bon apetit!’

The tub overflowed with blood. Fetid burgundy burst under his weight and pooled onto the bathroom floor.

No difference between candied cherries and blood clots. Ligaments and tendons. Flecks of flesh and bits of bone. Broken fingers and curled toes. Cartilage that’s hard, but much softer than stone. He devoured them all, polished stains off glossy marble.

No crime scene or slaughterhouse could have compared.

His smile shone. He felt a little bit empty. Was it regret? Well, it’s too late! Such pleasure is worth every regret in the world. His guts ached in longing under his grimy nails. So good, though not yet full.

How he wanted more!

He adored the putrid pain, the harmonious flavour, the very gore.

So little remained of her...she couldn’t even be called a corpse.

No more. Not in any meat shop.

Once was not enough.

With trembling fingertips and a strange, twisted love, he stroked the girl’s skull.

Oh, you stupid little human, you.

If only there were more of you.

+tag: @/kanatashinkaifr does a gory jumpscare sound good to u? :P

+notes: Beel is very much thriller material. There is a cold-blooded, unstable part of him. A true gluttony incarnate—lusting for flesh, eating all there is, leaving nothing behind. No matter what resides in his heart and who the victim is, he's a devil and his sin continues to rule him. Even if he does manage to resist eating MC, his desire to devour her is a flame that still burns. Inspired by the in-game screenshots in this post.

This, my people, was a dark pleasure to write. Blood and meat, dear peeps ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I want to write more stuff like this in the future. I kid you not, I almost felt free for a minute. *Rubbing hands like a villain fly* hail horror, hail gore!

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

#whb beelzebub #beelzebub whb #what in hell is bad beelzebub #what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb #the story factory

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dark-side-blog3 · 10 months ago

Note

You ever think about how the effects on the body that Purple Haze's virus has can lead to over a ton of body horror imagery in a Pannacotta Fugo route?

I do indeed.

++++++++++++++

While Fugo is very fearful of his stand, and he tries his best to keep it repressed, he does have moments even he can't get out of without its help. He tries to avoid those moments as much as possible, as the rabid apparition could kill its owner easily; Fugo is not immune to the virus he creates with his stand. Should his manifestation turn towards him in ire, Fugo needs to act fast to repress the spirit again, before buboes of phlegm swell his throat, cutting off air while splatters of blood and plasma erupt from a rash of blisters on his skin, the torn flesh melting and merging with itself as it gets covered in new blisters, each layer covering itself in torn shreds of skin from the previous layer that only emerged seconds before.

If Fugo is unlucky enough to be "saved" by a healer stand before he dies, after suppressing the stand, his skin will carry the scars, stretching and straining under the evergrowing disease under his skin. The disease never left, always mutating at an incredibly fast rate inside of himself.

In mere hours, his body is bloated, and cumbersome, unable to lift parts of himself off the ground and instead dragging them behind, tearing gently at the skin that gets raked over the concrete, oozing viscous strings of colgulated blood and dotted with white, shaving-foam consistency pus. His face is obscured under bulging, beating bulbs of flesh, with thin blue veins visibly trailing clots of blood through his body like threading a bead on a string slowly, and with great difficulty as his cancerous arteries lead back into each other, enough times that some of his- at one time- extremities turn a sickly necrotic purple and black.

You'd barely recognize the shambling mound of flesh as Fugo if it weren't for the fact you'd seen him get attacked by his stand after trying to deter it from you.

And if it weren't for the fact you'd seen birds and dogs die from the same disease as he got close to them, you'd be tempted to offer comfort to the former man. Despite lasting this long with the disease unable to kill him, it seems he's still a carrier for the original death Purple Haze entails.

You'd been running from him for hours now-- though he's not particularly fast, his persistence despite what must be agony is what keeps you moving. Resting in any place for too long will only let him close the distance. The blisters and swelling have no doubt gotten to his brain, killing whatever could have been left in him, causing him to act irrationally and chase you in the open, undeterred by pain, threats, bribes, empty promises, or gunfire. He's not Fugo anymore, unable to call upon his Stand, or even understand his old name (and you've tried to use it to escape before, attempting bargaining with the creature). He's just... A monster. Determined to follow you wherever you go, until it can absorb you with bubbling stomach acid, or infect and fuse with your melted, blistering, corpse.

#i wanted to do a thing with Golden Experience Requiem doing an accidental death loop to Fugo #where instead of healing and getting rid of the poison it accidentally heals it just enough and then a blister inside Fugo pops and infects #him again #leading to a cycle of permanent mutation and collecting of pus and dead tissue that can't be absorbed fast enough to ease the pain but he's #being healed constantly so he can't die from it either #thus turning him into a Cronenberg creature of plauge #yandere exophilia #yandere cronenberg #oh we are so BACK. (disappears after this)#my writing!#yandere panacotta fugo #yandere fugo #body horror tw #yandere jjba #yandere jjba prt 5 #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jojo #yandere jojo x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere x reader

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darkeagleruins · 5 months ago

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Americans Are Being Poisoned

“Suppliers have been caught using a special product known as meat glue to stick together scraps of meat”

Meat glue, also known as transglutaminase, is legal in all 50 states.

It is used in about eight million pounds of meat every year in America

“The hidden ingredient that’s making you sick”

“I've just got some, fine diced beef and my special enzyme. I'm just gonna mix it up a bit.

Why have we got the masks on?

This is dangerous. See that? Don't breathe that in.

This powder is transglutanamase enzyme, otherwise known as meat glue. Meat glues come in a number of forms, some produced by cultivating bacteria, the others, the primary ingredient comes from the blood plasma of pigs and cattle, specifically the coagulant which causes blood to clot. Ours uncooked is easy to spot the difference, but cooked is another story. Okay.

(SEE VIDEO FOR IMAGES)

Meat glue one is on the right, and the real McCoy is on the left.

And it's not just beef. Pork, lamb, fish, and chicken are all stuck back together using this glue.

If this food is sold or represented as a solid piece of steak and you cook it rare, you're really leaving yourself open, um, to get food poisoning. And chances are, unless you're a vegetarian, you're eating it on a regular basis.”

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covid-safer-hotties · 11 days ago

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The Push for Off-Label Rx to Treat Long Covid

Also preserved in our archive

By Tinker Ready

Charlie McCone, a San Francisco marketing specialist, developed long COVID in 2020. Before he recovered, he developed another acute case of COVID, and in 2021 his long COVID worsened. He’s been sick with fatigue and shortness of breath since then, spending many hours of every day in bed.

Only one drug helped his shortness of breath, he said. But doctor after doctor refused to prescribe that drug, Plavix, approved by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) to prevent blood clots.

McCone began asking for it after doing his own research and learning it showed promise. When he finally found a doctor to authorize a prescription, McCone said, he began to breathe easier again.

McCone, now an advocate for long COVID sufferers as part of the Patient-Led Research Collaborative, a group of researchers and patients with long COVID, felt he had to take alternative steps. With no federally approved treatments for the millions of Americans who have experienced long COVID, some patients and doctors are turning to off-label drugs to manage the condition . But patients say it is not always easy to get a doctor to prescribe them. And in some cases, insurance will not cover the drugs, ruling them experimental.

In the case of Plavix, Stellenbosch University researchers in South Africa have published results of a blood plasma analysis that found patients with long COVID had microclots — and Plavix may help relieve them.

McCone and others are asking doctors to learn about and use off-label drugs that show evidence of helping long COVID symptoms. Among them: Low-dose naltrexone for fatigue Nicotine patches for fatigue Rapamycin for immune function Triptans for headaches Beta-blockers for postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, dizziness Paxlovid for viral persistence Plavix and other blood thinners for blood clots

“We don't believe any of these drugs are going to cure patients, but [using them off-label] can be the difference between a patient holding onto their job,” McCone said. “There could be a patient going from being stuck in a dark room to being able to socialize and enjoy their day. This can be difference of a parent being able to take care of their children.”

Not every doctor is going to be comfortable prescribing Plavix, McCone said. But there is some solid evidence to support the idea that low-risk drugs like it can bring long COVID patients a lot of relief, he said.

The Argument for More Aggressive Off-Label Prescribing Julia Moore Vogel, PhD, senior program director at the Scripps Research in La Jolla, California, was co-author on a paper published last month in Cell calling for a stronger push for long COVID treatments. The paper noted that “as patients await evidence-based care, many engage in self-experimentation on the edges of medical science.”

Moore Vogel and others say people don’t need to experiment. They can use safe, existing treatments if they know about them and a doctor agrees a prescription is warranted. She would like to see more professional medical groups do more continuing education on long COVID so doctors can learn about the best off-label options.

Groups like the American Academy of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation have come up with a guideline on how to treat cardiac, respiratory, and other symptoms in patients with long COVID. But Moore Vogel thinks primary care doctors should take the lead.

“Part of what we're saying is a lot of it falls on the primary care physicians at this point because people are waiting so long to get into those subspecialties,” she said.

She would like to see recommendations for the primary care providers boiled down in simple terms about what is known about first-line, off-label therapies that have emerged.

Sterling Ransone, MD, a family physician in coastal Virginia, agrees that primary care specialists need to be educated on how to detect and treat long COVID.

He says he sees about one long COVID case a week, and sometimes his patients don’t know they have it. Patients will come in a month after symptoms, and he will ask them if they were sick and have tested for COVID.

“I literally had a patient tell me, ‘Is that still a thing?’” he said.

He suggests doctors add long COVID to the list of conditions they rule out when presented with confounding symptoms.

“What we need to do is make sure we always ask about the potential for long COVID with this myriad of symptoms,” Ransone said.

He prescribes off-label medication after doing research, if a patient asks for it, he said.

“If it's somebody I know well and they've got questions about something, I'll absolutely sit down and talk with them and tell them the research that I've done,” he said. “I mean, you know, from a physician standpoint, above all, do no harm, right?”

Once patients and doctors decide to try something, they need to get insurance approval. Some of the medicines are denied insurance coverage and are expensive, Ransone said.

“We have to go through prior authorization processes, and that's just another hurdle these folks unfortunately have to jump over,” he said.

One reason patient advocates say off-label medications are key is that clinical trials take too long, McCone said. Many trials of long COVID treatments are underway, but none have led to conclusive findings that have identified effective standardized treatments for the condition. As a result, the FDA has not approved any standard long COVID treatments in the same way treatments for other viral conditions and diseases have received approval and are widely used.

Patient Advocacy by Patients McCone is a patient representative to the National Institutes of Health’s RECOVER-TLC research program, which met this summer to launch a series of clinical trials. He said the organization is making progress, but results from the clinical trials aren’t expected until 2028 — a long time for patients with long COVID to wait.

He noted the upcoming trial of low-dose rapamycin, which researchers hope will address some of the immune or infection-related dysfunction that drives long COVID.

After McCone spent hours in bed for more than a year, he can now work at the computer for about 2 hours a day. His shortness of breath improved after he started taking Plavix.

“That's up from about 30 minutes. I can leave the house occasionally, once to twice a week, depending on the week,” he said.

McCone and others are calling for better continuing education for doctors about long COVID for doctors and more publicly available information to help patients know what drugs are already out there and might benefit them.

“Read the research, provide some low-risk treatment options to your patients, and let your patient decide,” he advised doctors. “I don't think this is asking you too much. This is a health crisis that's impacting every aspect of society.”

#mask up #public health #wear a mask #pandemic #wear a respirator #covid #still coviding #covid 19 #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #long covid #covid conscious #covid19 #covid is not over

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vague-humanoid · 2 years ago

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Just a few days before our interview, Jill’s (Ed: not her real name) immunologist sent her to the hospital to rule out pulmonary embolism, which happens when a blood clot gets stuck in an artery of the lung. In Jill’s case it would be a Long COVID symptom amongst many others she had been battling over the last year: including swelling around the tissue of her heart, memory deficits, sudden heart-rate surges, fatigue and abnormal kidney test results.

By that point, she’d had COVID four times, despite taking stringent precautions. She was born with a primary immune deficiency. And, without a fully functioning immune system she needs weekly injections of human immunoglobulins from plasma donations. A very small viral load can make her sick and she’s at a much higher risk of severe outcomes from COVID than most people.

“Every time I catch it, it adds new layers to my disabilities,” she says. “COVID is slowly killing me.” Her haematologist believes the past COVID infections have further damaged her immune system. She is looking at a possible lupus diagnosis.

Her voice is raspy and soft over the phone. She pauses when I ask how she is doing.

“Well, I got COVID,” she says. “Again.”

At the hospital appointment several nurses were not wearing their masks properly, and one kept pulling it down to talk with Jill, who had to remove hers to get her lungs checked. As someone who is very isolated with her family — everyone works and goes to school from home — Jill believes that the appointment led to her most recent infection.

She’s always been careful with her health but in the past, she worked in the school system. By 2020 she moved to a remote position and at that time still had many options for safely connecting with those around her and she could attend health-care appointments without concern. About a year ago, nearly all restrictions were lifted in Alberta and that’s when she got her first COVID infection.

Three years in, nearly everyone she knows has moved on including — most bafflingly to her — many of the medical professionals she sees. But, Jill says, moving on is not a privilege afforded to people like her.

Recently, PCR testing became inaccessible to health-care providers, who, in the past, were able to test regularly. And while Alberta Health Services (AHS) still requires masks, any health-care settings outside AHS can make their own rules. So, once masking was no longer mandated in public settings, many dropped requirements — this includes many of the specialists seeing immunocompromised people, including those Jill now sees due to Long COVID.

“The variants have been left to run rampant and I have really become more and more scared,” she says.

“Governments are saying: Oh we can re-open because we have all these tools. But they are not available to the immunocompromised population. So, the monoclonal antibodies are no longer effective against the current variants. Because the variants are so immune-based, the vaccines were never particularly effective for immunocompromised people because of the nature of our immune systems.”

As well, Jill says that there are many contraindicated drugs that cannot be taken with Paxlovid, the drug which is used to treat COVID patients in specific circumstances. According to Health Canada, Paxlovid “is used in adults to treat mild to moderate coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) in patients who have a positive result from a severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2 viral test and who have a high risk of getting severe COVID-19, including hospitalization or death.”

She still takes the vaccines with hopes they will help, and while she believes Paxlovid is saving her life with this current infection, she says it is not a guarantee against more Long COVID symptoms. And, for the infection prior to the current one, the drug was not available due to a kidney infection caused by the virus.

“I have to access my medication, my health care. And by people not masking around me, I have no way to protect myself,” she says. “If you don’t want to wear masks as a society then you are going to leave the immunocompromised people behind.” And she says many high risk people are not able to work from home, or have their kids in online classes or maybe struggle to afford masks or air purifiers — many social and financial issues make individual protections far more challenging or impossible. She is currently in a court battle with her ex.

“He wants increased access, in-person school and group extracurricular activities. All things that put me at higher risk of infection,” says Jill.

Recently, she went to her cardiologist to find that no patients or staff were masking.

“I really realize now I have to be my own advocate,” she says.

She has to constantly think ahead. So, she now calls beforehand to see if the appointment can be done remotely or if the staff can mask. She’s also decided to start carrying around a laminated sheet that explains her medical condition as it is often something she needs to repeat at each appointment or in the emergency room.   Like many others, she’s found ways to navigate her way around a harrowing array of risks. And yet, even with all these precautions, she can not control the actions of others which can directly affect her health.

Holly (Ed: not her real name), is retired and lives in a small community just outside Edmonton. She’s currently thinking about her next visit to her doctor, who hasn’t been taking precautions from the beginning.

“It’s exhausting always trying to get around how there is no protection for us anymore,” she says. “I’m thinking why am I made to feel crazy when my own doctor won’t wear a mask? Won’t acknowledge that it’s airborne?”

But the worst part, she claims, was that he minimized the effects of COVID, saying it was rarely an issue and only affects a certain demographic. Holly does not believe that is true, but regardless it is of little comfort when her husband, who’s in his 70s, has chronic health complications.

“I think patients are rightfully concerned, particularly when they go in for health care,” says physician Neeja Bakshi. “I think the medical community should be doing whatever we can to protect those who are coming in.”

It’s true, she says, that hospitals are no longer overwhelmed, and fewer people are dying; there is less of an acute emergency. But COVID is still circulating, people are still dying, and Long COVID (aka post COVID-19 condition) should be on everyone’s radar.

Recently, the World Health Organization announced an end to the global health emergency. But it also said earlier that “one in 10 infections result in post COVID-19 condition suggesting that hundreds of millions of people will need longer term care.”

COVID can cause organ damage — particularly affecting the heart, kidneys, skin. Plus, there’s risk of brain and immune damage, along with increased risks for cancer and autoimmune disease.

And, while no one knows yet how long that damage could persist, a study published in the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine says 59 per cent of Long COVID patients had organ damage a year later.

In 2022, Bakshi started a Long COVID clinic at her health facility Park Integrative Health, treating patients from across Canada. Every week she completes upwards of 20 disability forms for people who need to take time off work due to the debilitating effects of Long COVID.

While certain health complications make Long COVID more likely, anyone can be affected regardless of the severity of their infection or the state of their health. The indiscriminate nature of COVID is one of the things that’s been most shocking to Bakshi. She’s treated a number of elite athletes who went from performing at a professional level to struggling to have enough energy to brush their teeth.

Many patients struggle with stigma not just from medical professionals but from family, friends and employers. It’s an invisible illness, says Bakshi, so patients may look fine and are often misdiagnosed as something psychosomatic.

“I’m immersed in the world. But I don’t feel like you can deny it exists. And I think it’s a bit of ignorance on the medical community’s part if they say they don’t know anything about Long COVID. There are very specific disease patterns and symptoms,” says Bakshi.

There is also a lack of support. The most proven management strategy for Long COVID or even any COVID infection is recovery and rest, says Bakshi. But that’s not possible for many people. Initially, in 2020, there was forced rest through quarantine periods, but that time off has become shorter, as employers don’t have to pay for employees to be off at all.

“We are not a society that is built on support. We’ve already set ourselves up to fail from a recovery perspective,” says Bakshi.

Jill has found validation in Bakshi’s clinic as one of her patients. But that experience stands out amongst a sea of specialists who have given up on precautions.

“Instead of recommending upgraded masks, air cleaners and UV, or working from home, immunologists that manage my condition recommend wearing a mask if you want and enjoying your life—as short as that may be. I am not sure if this is complacency, or giving up… Either way, education and change need to happen or far too many valuable lives will be lost and disabled unnecessarily,” says Jill.

Savvy AF. Blunt AF. Edmonton AF.

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queersrus · 11 months ago

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Gore theme

includes: medical, slasher, cannibalistic, horror and general gore content, feel free to request specifics

meat/flesh - zombie - blood

(nick)names:

gore, gorette, goretta, goretto, gorine, gorina, gorino, gorelle, gorello, gorella, gorer, gory, gnaw, gnash, gut, gutz, gwyar, gruesome, grisly, gouge, guts/gutz, gutsy/gutzy, gutsie/gutzie, gutsee/gutzee, gutsine/gutzine intestine, intes, intine, inn, inna, innard entrail, entra, entrai, eye kill, killer, killian, killien, kid, kidney/kidnee/kidnie mort, morte, morty, morter, mortem, mortemer, mortimer, mortu, mortua, mortuary blade, bite, biter, bitten, bleed, blood, bloody, bleeder, bloodette, bloodine, bloodetta, bloodina, bloodelle, bloodella, brain, brainy, brainette, brainetta, brainelle, brainella, braine, brutal, bloodlust, bloodshed, bloodlet, bloodless, bloodlette, bloodletta, bloodletter, bloodbath, bowel cut, cutter, capil, capillary, cava, claret, clot, carnage, colon thrash, thrasher, tear slash, slasher, slice, splatter, spill, stab, stomach, spleen rip, ripper, rippley, ripley, razor fang, flesh, fleshy venus, vis, viscer, viscera, visceral, viscerally, vei, vein, vendet, vendette, vendetta, vessel, vital orga, organ, organa liver, lung art, arter, artery, ana, anat, anatom, anatomy, arteriole wound death hema pan, pancrea, pancreas, pierce, plasma, puncture

1st p prns: i/me/my/mine/myself

gi/gore/goreself, gi/guts/gutself bli/bleed/bloods/bloodself vi/vie/veins/veinself, vi/ve/ventettas/vendettaself, vi/visce/viscerals/visceralself i/inte/intestine/intestines/intestineself wi/wou/woune/wounds/woundself fli/fle/fleshs/fleshself oi/ore/organs/organself ci/carne/carnages/carnegeself, cli/clot/clots/clotself, ci/cor/corpse/corpseself li/lungs/lungself, li/live/livers/liverself ai/arte/arteries/arteryself pi/pancrea/pancreas/pancreaself sti/stomachs/stomachself, spli/splee/spleens/spleenself, ki/kidne/kidneys/kidneyself

2nd person: you/your/yours/yourself

go/gore/gores/goreself, gu/gutr/gutrs/gutrself blo/bleedr/bleedrs/bleedrself vo/veinr/veinrs/veinrself, vo/vendettar/vendettars/vendettarself, vo/viscer/viscers/visceralself oi/intestir/intestirs/intestinself wou/woundr/woundrs/woundrself flo/fleshr/fleshrs/fleshrself o/or/organs/organself co/cor/corpse/corpself, co/car/carnages/carnageself, clo/clotr/clotrs/clotself lo/lungr/lungrs/lungrself, lo/liver/livers/liverself ao/arter/arteries/arteryself po/pancr/pancreas/pancreaself sto/stomachr/stomachrs/stomachrself, splo/spleenr/spleenrs/spleenrself ko/kidneyr/kidneyrs/kidneyrself

3rd person: they/them/theirs/themself

go/gore, go/re, gore/gores, gu/ts, gu/gut, gut/guts blood/bloods, blo/od, blood/bath, blood/bloody, bloo/dy, blood/dy, blood/pit, blood/vessel, blood/shed, blood/less, blood/bond, blood/pact, blood/lust, blood/bleed, bleed/bleeds, ble/ed, bleed/ing, bleeding/out, blood/clot vi/vein, vei/vein, ve/in, vein/veins, vein/veiny, ven/detta, vendet/ta, ven/vendetta, vendetta/vendettas, visc/era, visc/eral, visc/visceram visc/visceral, viscera/visceral, visceral/viscerally inte/intestine, intest/ine, inte/stine, intestine/intestines large/intestine, lu/lung, lung/lungs, lun/ng, li/liver, li/ver, liv/er, liv/liver, liver/livers small/intestine, sto/mach, stomach/stomachs, sto/stomach, splee/spleen, sple/en, splee/een, spleen/spleens wo/wound, wou/wound, wou/nd, wo/und, wound/wounds fle/sh, fle/flesh, flesh/fleshes, flesh/fleshy o/organ, or/gan, org/an, org/organ, organ/organs co/coprse, cor/pse, cor/corpse, corplse/like, corpse/corpses, car/nage, carn/age, car/carnage, carn/carnage, carnage/carnages, clo/clot, clo/t, clo/ot, clot/clots art/artery, ar/tery, art/ery, artery/arteries pan/creas, pan/pancreas, pancrea/pancreas, pancreas/pancreases kid/ney, ki/kidney, kid/kidney, kidney/kidneys

titles:

the gore, the gored, the gorer, the visceral, the bleeding, the organ, the one with missing organs/limbs, the flesh eater, the wounded, the mortally wounded, the bleeding/bloody corpse, the half eaten corpse, the rotting flesh, the one with missing arteries, the one with bleeding arteries

(prn) whos skin peels, (prn) whos organs/limbs are missing, (prn) who's intestines are exposed, (prn) who brings carnage, (prn) whos flesh rots, (prn) who is gravely wounded

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