#twisted tangle of flesh and nightmares

[legitimatesatanspawn]

I love it when there is an in-setting means for continues.

But wow the devs went hard on making something this grotesque within the 8-bit NES graphical style.

I wish I could say this is the most monstrous thing I've seen with these graphical limitations but it is definitely high up there.

[qwimchii]

𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘱𝘵 3) — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯!𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘤 — 2.2k

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 —𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘺 & 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 <3, 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘴…

note: this is a little preface before pt 1 and before Simon went radio silent for like 2 months…

pt 1, pt 2

the only thing that scared Simon Riley was sleep.

he hated waking up in the middle of the night in an empty apartment more than anything, tangled awkwardly in the bedsheets and mind firing after a nightmare. he’d scramble for the knife in the drawer of his nightstand before realizing, the cool grip of the handle in his fingers, he was home.

home. he slowly put down the knife and ran his fingers through his hair. this didn’t feel like home.

he’d leave the cramped bedroom space to slide into the kitchen, too small for his big stature, as he threw a kettle on the stove to heat up some water. he’d do it to keep his mind busy, to distant himself from the distorted images in his nightmares, but the only thing that’d help was slurping down a scalding mug of tea even if it burnt his tongue.

even then, it didn’t really help. his tongue was numb to the pain anyways.

sometimes, he didn’t see anything in his sleep. just a pitch black, wracking silence and a choking sense of dread in his throat when he jolted awake. pure dread.

that’s all it was, he told himself, moving to the living room and past the front door. past the front door.

his eyes flitted to it from the couch, a worn burgundy red and flecked with chips in the wood.

there was always a second option to quelling the burning hours after nightmares. 

his neighbor.

he swallowed down the chamomile tea, practically slamming the empty mug onto the glass coffee table that rattled in protest. he leaned his elbows against his knees, pitching forward as he rubbed at his eyes. tired. he was so tired, and all he could think of was his neighbor’s pretty eyes. and that pretty, short dress that hung off the curve of her tight ass.

he screwed his eyes shut. the thoughts of his nightmares drifted further from him as he imagined what it’d be like to just reach out and grip the back of your thigh, snagging the hem of your dress so it was tight against your ass, so he could just stare at the flesh of it while you bent over to put a batch of cookies in the oven.

“fuck,” he whispered, rubbing over the stubble of his jaw. 

he could imagine the surprised look you’d give him over your shoulder, wide and innocent as he fondled your ass. adorable.

it was the same look you had given him when you dropped your cardboard box of things in the hallway, cheeks flushed a pink as you scrambled to throw everything back in. he’d had stayed stock still in the elevator, watching you all embarrassed and flustered and hushed little apologies leaving your lips. beneath the mask, he had almost smiled when he crouched down to help you.

it was bad enough to have these sorts of thoughts. his eyes flitted to the door again. it was bad enough that he was corralling you to the bar every other weekend, a low mumbled excuse it was some sort of payment after he had repaired the plumbing in your bathroom. it was bad enough that he was pretending to be your boyfriend, staving off the way you curled into his side when another man approached you, his hand at your waist, squeezing the plush flesh there.

worst of all, he couldn’t see himself stopping any time in the foreseeable future. he trained his eyes on the door.

fuck.

in a swift movement, he stood, snatching a mask from the box of them he kept handy beside the front door and snapping it over his ears before he twisted the front door of his apartment open. he strode down the hallway to a familiar door, pausing when he smelt something on the other side.

he hadn’t expected you to be awake. knocking, he barely had to wait a heartbeat before you cracked the door open, brows raising when you realized it was him. then, there was a shy smile on your face, and his breath went shallow.

he couldn’t help himself when his eyes flitted down to the threadbare shorts and the plush skin of your thighs, then up to the old tshirt that hugged your tits perfectly. 

all for him, he decided selfishly, giving you a barebones grumbled explanation that he was hungry when you let him into your apartment. the smell was stronger now—wafting towards him and thick with the familiar scent of something sweet baking.

“how often you bake?” he asked, nonchalant as you led him into the kitchen. it wasn’t the first time he had materialized at your door on a random night. he knew this wouldn’t be the last either.

“whenever i can’t sleep,” you said softly, yawning on queue as if to prove a point as you moved towards metal trays of parchment dotted with balls of sticky cookie dough on the kitchen counter.

he doesn’t remember what he had said after that—just remembers that he had accepted the glass of water you handed him and your demand for him to sit at the little kitchen table that he dwarfed, watching you with a heavy gaze. watching the bare skin on the back of your thighs and the way your tits strained against your shirt when you twisted around to look at him with that pretty smile to say something sweet.

you shouldn’t be so happy to see him, he thought as he shifted in the chair, fixing his pants around the swelling cock in his sweatpants. you shouldn’t trust him so easily either, he thought dreamily, observing how relaxed you were in his presence. comfortable.

he wondered how easy it would be to entice you into your bedroom, muffling any confused noises with his palm pressed to your mouth as he pat your ass into the direction of the bedroom. how sweet and pliable you would be for him if he coaxed you through it—he knew that you would be.

by the time you brought over the freshly baked batch of cookies, still steaming and sizzling on its iron tray, he was sporting a full, throbbing erection. the first couple of bites always tasted bitter with shame, his eyes trained on the cookie in his hand and avoiding the bubbly glimmer in your eyes before the sweetness of it melted any hesitation from his mind and he finished it in two bites. then a second cookie in three bites.

you would always smile at him over the table, leaning on your elbow and propping up your chin over your palm, tracing the flower designs of the table cloth as you spoke softly about anything and everything. he hung onto every word, grimacing at another burst of sweetness in his mouth with a big bite. 

he didn’t even really like sweets, but when your knee brushed against his under the table, he found himself picking up another cookie to prolong it all. once he’d finished the entire first batch of cookies, feeling sick and too full and satiated, you had rushed to bake another batch.

watching you quickly shape some more balls of dough in your hands, he realized with a twinge of shock that maybe you wanted to prolong it too.

by the time you had both eaten one more tray of cookies, and he was standing at the entrance of your door in the hallway, the pretty smile on your face looked forced. maybe sad, even, as he tilted his head down at you to observe the glossy sheen to your eyes. he didn’t want you crying because you were sad—wanted it for a different reason.

in a moment of impulse, he reached up to brush any flecks of misplaced hair from your messy updo, relishing the way you craned into his touch, lashes fluttering as your eyes drooped. fuck.

his thumb traced down your cheek to hold your chin, your lips parting sweetly and warm breath fanning over him. 

the twitch of his cock was enough to force him to take a step back. “‘night.”

he was so curt that it was almost rude when he ripped himself away from your apartment door, not taking a second to look back because his resolve waned to something small and pathetic as he walked mechanically to his own apartment. he tore the mask from his face, balling it in his fist before tossing it in the trash can, stripping himself of his shirt as he made his way to the bathroom.

immediately, he turned the knob of the shower all the way cold, the water icy cold under his touch when he tested the water. he shucked down his pants and stepped into the water, smothering a sound of discomfort as he tipped his head into the water, abdomen clenched tight as the water ran down his front and trickled off his swollen cock.

he waited one minute, then two, with his hands braced against the wall, waiting for his dick to go down. when it didn’t, he felt like breaking something, a cold fury in him as he crept a hand over his cock and squeezed tight.

he hated the throaty groan that flew from his lips, cock twitching in his grasp, relieved from the ounce of friction. easing his grip, he tugged a loose clutch of his fingers over the swollen appendage, amazed at the way it was so hot to the touch under the icy cold water. 

bracing his forearm against the tile wall, he fucked into his own hand, rolling his hips and twisting his hand at the flushed head of his cock, water running down his back a heady mix of confusing sensations that pushed him further towards a chasmic edge.

it wasn’t long before his thoughts were circling you again, your soft words and soft lips in his mind. soft skin, too, as he imagined what it’d be like to slide his cock between the plush of your breasts, sandwiching the head of his cock nicely as pearly liquid ran down his length. fuck, he could imagine you sticking out your tongue to lap at the slit with every thrust, big eyes doe eyes so innocent as you looked up at him.

he was so pent up. so pent up about you.

then, he was trying to imagine how tight your cunt would be around his cock, thrusting so deep that he hit your cervix before he would pull out, tapping the head of it against your sensitive clit, watching the way your squirmed and mewled in the sheets with a giddy feeling in his chest before burying himself to the hilt again. tight, hot, warm, wet, sucking him in perfectly.

would you beg him with that pretty voice of yours? a soft lilt to your words even when his hand was squeezing around your throat as he fucked you at a brutal pace? every wet smack of his pelvis against yours forcing more glittery tears out your eyes and wanton moans from your lips?

“please Simon,” you moaned, voice thick from the tears running down your cheeks, “feels so good—”

“shh, m’gonna let ya—” he choked around his words, “want you to come, pretty girl.” 

“close,” you slurred, eyes half-lidded as you looked down where his cock was stretching your pussy wide, sucking him in and clenching him in pulsing waves in time with the slam of his hips.

“let go f’me,” he commanded, eyes honed in on the swollen pearl between your folds and rubbing his thumb over it, fast and hard and loving the way your back arched with a sweet keen on your lips.

he watched with a fervor as you came with cute little shakes and shivers, face pinched and flushed with effort.

“tha’s it, sweet thing,” he groaned aloud, eyes rolling back into their sockets when the head of his cock brushed against the icy cold tile wall. “m’gonna come in that pretty, tight cunt—”

with a low groan, he came in ropes down the tile wall, abdominal muscles clenched tight as he rutted into his hand a couple more times before almost collapsing against the wall. panting, his stomach sank as he watched his cum slide down the surface of the wall, washed down into the drain between his feet.

it was barely a release—barely satiated the thrumming desire still sitting heavy in his stomach. ugly and thick and whispering your name.

“shit,” he panted, swallowing down the thick feeling in his throat as he rubbed over his face.

it was bad. worse than he thought it could be, as more images of your pretty face bloomed in his mind, swirling around and rooting there. rotting there.

it wouldn’t last long, he decided, washing up before stepping out the shower and tugging on his sweatpants again. looking at the mirror, he stared into his own eyes, finding a face of something strange and foreign staring back. he brushed his fingers over the scar on his upper lip, feeling over the divot in his flesh with a numbing coldness spreading through his chest. 

he’d be gone soon, and so would his ugly, muddled feelings once he left for work.

taglist: @ivybeeloved @babygirl-riley

[eelnoise]

dawnlight

a/n: a soft continuation of this fic. we luv fluffy zoro and reader!!! c/w: nothin' it's just fluff n cuteness cuz this boy needs to be comforted!! zoro x gn!reader 🥰 🥰  now this one has a sequel!

Zoro stretches, yawning loudly as he slowly finds his way back into the waking world. With a groan, he moves just enough to feel your arm across him, chest pressed to his back and forehead lolled into the conclave between his shoulder blades. You’re still dead asleep, deep breaths falling from your slightly parted lips that ghost the flesh of his back.

Zoro would never admit it aloud, but he likes being the little spoon - the nightmare from earlier ebbing away as you cradle him in your arms. He looks down at your sleeping form, twisting his head just enough to see you curled around him, a subtle warmth blooming in his chest. He’d never even entertained the idea of such intimacy, but somehow you’d managed to sneak your way under his armor. And you fit perfectly.

His movements rouse you, a soft groan of befuddled consciousness followed by a stretch against his body comes from your small form at his side. “Good morning,” You whisper, voice rasp with sleep but a smile clear in your tone. 

Zoro rolls over and reaches across you, pulling you into the crook of his arm, pressing your body against his and replying with a hum. He smiles ever so slightly as he nuzzles your forehead, careful not to jostle you about. The smile keeps up, the heartfelt emotions inside his chest beginning to radiate all over.

You grin - a small, soft, and wispy giggle meeting his ears like a melody composed just for him. These fleeting moments of peace between you both are something to be cherished; that even on this dangerous voyage well within the furthest reaches of the Grand Line can one feel true calm within the arms of another. 

He rolls once more onto his back, shifting you atop his body. In this position, he’s able to fully appreciate all of you. Your beautiful hair, plush lips, soft skin seemingly glowing in the morning sun, your gentle breath tickling his bare chest, and that subtle smile painted across your face - god, it’s all too perfect. A tingle makes its way down his spine, and he’s grateful for your company. No amount of admiration or gratitude could make up for the way you make him feel.

You lie across his chest, one leg draping over his waist as you reach out to entwine your fingers with his. “Did you sleep well?” You ask quietly, eyes on him - twinkling with adoration and gazing into his very soul, cutting through his heart with an affectionately shaped knife.

He nods. “Yeah,” Your eyes, how deep they go. And your fingers, how delicate and soft they are in his hand. Zoro could find himself at this moment very easily letting your bodies stay coiled together and never let go. The knife cuts, but with it comes a pleasant warmth, like the sun’s touch on a cold winter’s day.

You murmur in reply, nuzzling your head into him with a satisfied sigh. You both lie there for a while in a comfortable and cozy silence - the gentle rock of the sea against the ship not doing much in the way of spurring your bodies from the tangle of the sheets.

The moment is almost perfect. One could sit here in eternity, just like this, enjoying the comfort and relief. But Zoro is unfortunately not a creature of patience. He slowly moves a hand in the sheets, working it up under your back and drawing you up toward his face. He softly plants a kiss just to the right of your nose and just above the corner of your mouth. His other hand goes to work and gently tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, better exposing your neck.

His large fingertips leave clear goosebumps in their wake, and he can feel a shiver go down your spine at his touch. Zoro’s breath hitches when you respond with a tender peck of his lips to your own - a gesture that ends far too early for his liking. When you pull away, he locks you in place with a hand to your cheek, prolonging and intensifying the kiss in a wordless proclamation of his love.

Zoro holds and caresses your face, savoring every moment as your lips meet. Tongues entwine, breath deepens, and hearts begin to race. His arm slips around your body, pulling you firmly against him and into a tight embrace. For a moment, every worry, every care, every problem of this grand, vast world falls away. The hand on your back gently traces patterns into your soft flesh. This is where he belongs. With you.

There are times when words fail, and Zoro realizes that this moment is one of them. He breaks the kiss and softly places his forehead to yours and breathes in, sighing in content. With your bodies tightly pressed together, he whispers your name. And that’s all that needs to be said. This is Zoro, a man not so easily coerced into forays of affection even under normal circumstances. In this moment, he’s finally free to truly express himself in his own unique way, the love that fills the pit of his stomach is more powerful than any blade he’s wielded.

You can’t help but melt into his touch. You feel safe with him. Whole. Private moments like this are rare, most nights sleeping next to his empty spot while he’s on night watch and stirring just enough to welcome him into your open arms when he slips into bed in the early hours of the morning. Dawn peers through the cabin, drenching it in the sun’s warm light and catching onto Zoro’s hair beautifully. You consider him for a few seconds, admiring him as if looking upon a work of art.

With the warmth of the sun against your body and his embrace surrounding it, you feel truly at peace. It’s the most calm and serene thing you can seek out on this ship - the serenity always drawing you to him and him to you, even if the most you get outside of the confines of the cabin is his head in your lap while he naps. His way of loving you in the most subtle of gestures is something you had to get used to, but now find yourself unable to live without. He gives you the kind of warmth that not even fire can match, and with no words spoken, you look deep into his eyes once more. A smile paints its way onto your cheeks, and as far as you’re concerned you need nothing else in this life but to wake up by Zoro’s side each morning, to be held by him every night, and to be with him for every day that comes after this.

This intimacy, these feelings for you… it had taken a long time for him to allow them. And now, he feels no need to protect himself, his guard is down with you in his arms, relaxing on the mattress. His arms and legs encase you, body pressing against yours. Zoro softly kisses various parts of your neck and face, working his way up to your ear.

“Let’s sleep in.” He whispers, breath tickling your neck. “Not ready to let you go yet.”

[thesakuragarnet]

The Nightmare (Reverse Comfort Dabi X Fem!Reader)

Summary: Dabi’s outburst causes you to stir in the bed beside him, your vision blurred from heavy sleep, but you can make out Dabi’s form in the darkness, sitting up, hands raking through his hair. You can feel the bed getting warmer…the heat emanating from his body as his Quirk feeds into his emotions.

Tags: Dabi X Fem!Reader, Reverse Comfort, Second Person POV, light angst, bl00d, kissing, cuddling, established relationship, swearing

Word Count: 1,291 words

Tumblr Original <3

Touya Todoroki shrieks, pulling at his hair as he wakes up in an overwhelming fit, overheating and crying...or at least, crying as much as he can with burnt tear ducts. He grits his teeth so hard he’s worried they might crack. His fingernails catch on the scars under his eyes as he claws at his face, wincing as a small yelp of pain bursts from his lips as fresh blood streaks down, sullying the staples that should’ve been cleaned earlier in the week. Truthfully, he couldn’t feel a thing…physically…the small noise of agony was rooted in his heart. He hadn’t been doing well whatsoever; ever since the number one hero spot was just handed to Endeavor after everything he’d put them through…everything he’d painstakingly carved into Touya’s heart, Dabi couldn’t take it. It wasn’t fucking fair. None of it was fair. It proved that hard work meant nothing. All the training on the mountain…burning himself…hurting himself just to prove he was worth a shit. It meant nothing. It was all for nothing. 

Dabi’s outburst causes you to stir in the bed beside him, your vision blurred from heavy sleep, but you can make out Dabi’s form in the darkness, sitting up, hands raking through his hair. You can feel the bed getting warmer…the heat emanating from his body as his Quirk feeds into his emotions. 

“Dabi?” You yawn, rubbing your eyes as you try to sit up. “Are you okay?”

“I’M NOT CRYING!” He shouts angrily, whirling around, making you flinch at the roughness and desperation in his tone. His eyes widen when he watches you shrink back, blood pouring even more down his face as he starts swearing at himself. You know he has anger issues, but this is the first time he’s lashed out at you. His eyes are distant, brilliant turquoise glazed over, and the familiar smell of burning flesh permeates the air as thin plumes of flame begin to slide out of the left side of his face. 

“Dabi, you’re burning up,” You mutter, your tone hinting at your panic. 

He seems dissociated for a minute, acting confused…as if he doesn’t know his own name. He blinks before registering the dull burning sensation that he can barely even feel at this point. He barely registers that the side of his face caught fire. 

“Shit,” He grunts, the corners of his eyes scrunching and his eyebrows furrowing as he takes in a shuddering breath. Ignoring his obvious breakdown, you get on your knees and approach. Your Quirk is Fireproof; it’s one of the main reasons you and Dabi had learned to click so much. You were the only one that could quell his flames. Tentatively, you cup the side of his face, pressing your palm into his skin and snuffing out the azure fire instantly. He closes his eyes, shoulders rolling, breaths staggered and shaking as his chest rises and falls. Your hand moves to run through his tangled black hair, fingernails gently scratching at his scalp, hoping to ground him in some way. Your heart twists at the rivulets of blood seeping down his face, staining the sheets beneath him as it drips down his chin. You can’t stand seeing him so broken like this…especially when he puts up that cold and callous front all the time. It’s such a stark contrast to the persona you’re used to. 

“It’s okay…I’m right here,” You whisper softly, aware of how silly it might sound. Silliness aside, Dabi takes another deep breath, deliberate and slow, as if he’s breathing you in. His hands drop, shaking as he tentatively wraps his arms around you, burying his face into the top of your head. He mumbles something that sounds halfway between a curse and an apology. 

“Can I ask what’s wrong?” You tentatively mumble, and Dabi’s hold on you tightens, his fingernails slightly digging into the fabric of your sleep shirt, just barely grazing your skin. He pulls back.

“Nightmare,” Dabi admits after a brief moment of silence, the word tasting sour on his tongue. A nightmare rooted in memories was the real truth, but he wasn’t ready to disclose that. You gently wipe the blood off his face with your fingers, cradling his jaw in your palms as his cerulean eyes glow at you in the darkness. You decide not to pressure him any further, letting the tense quiet wash over you as you hold each other. His arms are still firmly wrapped around you, eyes flickering from in the moment to staring far away. 

“You wanna go back to sleep?” You yawn, well aware that it’s the middle of the night. Dabi simply shrugs, sniffling. Another beat of silence passes between you two. Carefully, your arms fall, draping around his neck in a gentle hug, awkward but tender. Gradually, Dabi softens in your embrace, melting toward you, body heavy and heart sinking as he lets his exhaustion settle inside him. 

“C’mon,” You whisper, gently falling backward onto the mattress, Dabi’s full weight resting on top of you, arms still vice-gripping your body as he hides his face in your shoulder. Your hands explore further, delicately rubbing his back, being careful not to catch on any staples. Dabi sighs, heavy with unspoken sorrow. It makes your heart pang…you wish he gave you more leeway into his psyche. You so desperately wish you could help him…not fix him. He didn’t need to be fixed; he wasn’t some broken toy that you sought to change. But it was clear that he desperately needed to heal from something…something that was gnawing at his insides until it bled raw. Either way, you were going to stay by his side. You’d already made your decision. You were in love…embarrassingly enough, and, as far as you were concerned, so was Dabi. 

You listen to the sounds of his breathing, intense and quivering, feeling the pressure of his chest expanding against yours. His breaths seem to calm the longer you trace your fingers along the length of his back, grounding him and tethering him to you…to the world…to his world. 

“I love you…I don’t want you to think I don’t…I…I don’t know why I freaked out on you,” Dabi speaks, his raspy voice barely audible, straining as if he’s having to force the words out…as if he’s speaking against his will. 

“I love you, too. It’s alright,” You smile solemnly, turning your head to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He goes stiff when your lips connect with the thin strip of healthy flesh on his cheek, a shiver rolling down his spine before he relaxes once again. Dabi pushes himself up , looking down into your eyes before sweetly connecting your lips. You don’t cringe when you faintly taste the blood. You were used to it at this point. Dabi could keep up the charade that he was a monster, but you knew better…or at least…you were starting to. You were beginning to chip away at the harsh facade. You saw a side of him no one else got to see. The broad smiles. The light in his eyes and the ecstatic repetitive tapping of his feet when he got excited. He let the facade slip around you…but no one else. 

Dabi keeps kissing you, one of his calloused hands brushing against your cheek, the cold staples in his wrist sending a shock through you. Finally, you separate, taking careful note of the way the corners of his mouth just barely twitch upward. 

“I’ll be right here,” You promise as Dabi rests on his side beside you, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. You bring him in to cuddle, draping an arm over his shoulder as he hides his face in your chest. 

“Goodnight, Dabi.”

"Goodnight."

[captain-mj]

Eldritch Sacrifice

Remember how I promised that I had a separate Korangi idea if SoapGhost arranged marriage one? And then I had you guys do a poll because I had two? Well here's one of them!!

Also, CW: dubcon. Horangi is into it, however he is initially agreeing due to a gamble they're making

König stretched and groaned. His little cult were chanting for him again and he wondered what they could possible be about to ask for now. Money? Food? More warm bodies to lay with? They just kept asking and whether he delivered or not, they always had something wrong. 

Destroy the economy so their money is worth more? Bad move. 

Mutate the crops and trees until they were full of, hopefully edible, fruit? Bad move. 

Make fleshy wooden creatures that were warm and had holes to fuck but weren’t completely human? Awful move. He gave some of them “nightmares” whatever those were. Apparently they were like his dreams. But scary. König thought all dreams were scary therefore separating the two felt stupid. 

“Master.” One of them cried and he winced. 

“Yes…… little one?” His voice crashed and croaked and twisted the boards beneath him. 

The brave one continued to speak. “We have noticed your displeasure with us. You are displeased.”

König wanted them to leave. He had half a mind to obliterate them however they were at most an annoyance. “And you plan to rectify this?”

“Yes. Today, we have brought you something to lift your spirits. A rarity.”

This did not pique his interest very much. Humans considered certain rocks to be valuable because they were rare on earth. He had seen planets that rained diamonds. With sculptures that made their small rings look puny. Universes surrounding shards of glass older than the very concept of bones. 

“Maybe he suit your interests.”

“He?”

A small man. Only a little over six foot, which may be big for a human but was only hand sized to him, lay kneeling. Throat exposed. 

He was… a man. It wasn’t until he locked eyes with König so easily, able to look through the shivering, horrid mass of flesh and tentacles and black dripping darkness and see König. Their eyes stayed locked on each other. 

“An abomination. A man able to perceive that which should not be perceived.” The knife was put to his throat. “Horangi. Tiger. May your blood finally give our Master solace-”

“Wait.” König shouted, regretting it when the man’s face became so pained.

A tiniest of sounds ripped from his throat. A tiny gasp of pain that had König’s thoughts scrambling in a way he could only assume was similar to how human’s did when he messed with them. 

“I do not want his death.”

“You are so right sir! It would be too swift.” They backed away quickly. “Is this a pleasing sacrifice?”

Horangi finally showed a hint of fear. Giant brown eyes staring up at him. König could not hear his thoughts, he was an interdimensional being, not psychic. But he could practically feel the anxiety and see the gears turning as he no doubt imagined what König could do to him. 

Horangi had a gift, sure. An ability to avoid those eldritch abominations and to see them for what they were. But it also meant he did not have the escape of insanity. His mind was meant to take the horrors of König. Unable to go fully mad. 

A perfect plaything. 

König reached down, hand gently grasping Horangi. He picked him up, letting him struggle and writhe as the chains tangling him simply snapped. Not an ounce of pressure sat on his skin, König simply picked him up with ease. Horangi stared at him. Breath quickened.

“What do you ask for?”

The Brave One spoke up again. “We ask for fertility.”

“All of you will have happy, healthy children.”

“....human children?”

“Yes, all human.” König sank back into the walls and back into his dimension, taking his prize with him. 

Horangi shivered and König quickly fixed the temperature, making sure it was optimal for humans. 

A sacrifice. 

Finally, something interesting. 

Dead lambs and black cats were all good and well (all of which he put in dimensions perfectly suited for them) but they were… well. 

Not human. 

Humans were interesting. Attractive. And capable of delicious emotions that most other creatures didn’t bother developing. What use does a bug have for anxiety? Existential dread? 

Horangi shivered in his arms again, clearly not from the cold. König dropped him into a pool of soft. Not material that was soft, but the very idea of softness. 

“What do you think of when you see me?”

Horangi hummed. “What do you want me to feel?”

König… folded. From Horangi’s point of you, it looked like crumbling paper as he sank to Size where they were a bit more level. He was still taller, close to seven feet, but his little sacrifice needed to be able to look him in the eye. His hand cupped Horangi perfectly, able to taste the way his body spiked. Full of adrenaline and hormones that puppeted his emotions. 

“Just like every other human, gift or not. Only able to be subservient. How disappointing.”

Anger. An unexpected emotion that sparked his interest again. “What do you mean by that?” 

König shrugged. “You all seem naturally inclined to worship is all.”

Horangi bared his teeth. “Not naturally inclined to worship. Just do not wish to be tortured.”

“Are you suggesting if there was no threat, you would act differently?”

Horangi stilled and König almost assumed he had been right before pausing and thinking. Why would Horangi admit he would act disrespectfully when König could rip him apart atom by atom and keep him alive?

Would König ever do that? Absolutely not. He wasn’t really interested in cruelty. His fellow eldritch beings may love suspending people in eternal agony, but König didn’t. Honestly, he kinda wanted to be left alone most of the time, but Horangi seemed so interesting and he was already there!

“So you feel no need to fall to your knees? To worship? To use your mouth to whisper ancient prayers to me?” König made his voice clear and honest. 

Horangi moved oddly. Legs twitching. “No. I don’t.”

He was lying. Not about everything, but about something. 

König moved closer, bright blue eyes staring into Horangi’s. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Well. I suppose… I should make you obedient.”

“How? If you tear me apart and remake me, I won’t be the same person. I would be no more obedient.”

Well. 

That was a thought. 

König pouted. He didn’t consider it pouting, but Horangi did. 

“You’re right. If I torture you and break you, it wouldn’t really be you either.”

Horangi nodded quickly. “So you can’t exactly make me obedient.”

König hummed. “Not true. You humans have made dozens of studies on positive reinforcement.”

“And what is my reward? Getting to go back to Earth?”

König fell on Horangi, surrounding him and pinning him between the suddenly hard world. “I’ll show you what your rewards will be. Your punishment will be not getting to finish. I know you humans love nothing more than finishing.”

“F-finishing?”

“Oh. Wait. Consent. That is important. Do I have your consent to try this experiment?”

“If I don’t obey you afterwards, will you return me?”

“Sure.” König thought it was a fun wager. “Just endure and stay surly and mean, and then I’ll bring you home.” 

Horangi scoffed. “As if anything you could do would make me listen to your orders.”

König had Horangi on his hands and knees, face pressed to the pillows and ass up. He used one of his tentacles to fuck him and had been doing so for… well, time didn’t really exist. He just knew that for Horangi, it must’ve felt like a really, really long time. Especially since he had not allowed him to cum. 

Horangi sobbed into the pillow when the tentacle stopped again. He did not fuck him with any finesse or strategy, working intently on one thing and one thing only which was getting as deep into Horangi as possible. That and trying to stretch him out. The slick from the tentacles had started to drip down Horangi’s thighs. His hole clenched hard around him as another sob ripped out of his throat. 

“This is cruel. You fucking-AH.” Horangi cut off as the tentacle pushed in even deeper. His stomach bulged slightly this time and König accidentally brushed the bundle of nerves he had been so careful to avoid because Horangi almost, almost came. König didn’t let him of course. It was super simple, just don’t let his body go through the motions. It had the bonus side of effect of letting Horangi get a taste of the feeling but no physical relief. 

König hummed. “I am preparing you. You don’t need to finish yet.”

“This is fucking prep??” Horangi buried his face in his pillows. “I can’t…”

“You can tap out.” König purred. “We can always try again later.” 

Horangi scoffed and arched his back, trying to let him in deeper now. “Fuck you. I can… I can…”

“I don’t think you can take it, but you will.” König finally, finally, fucking finally, pulled the slick tentacle out of him, watching both the relief from no longer being so filled and the frustration of not getting fucked to completion. 

Horangi didn’t fight when his body was moved around but he did look a little ashamed, especially when he spread his legs a little farther for König to get between them. 

His body felt heavenly. Other eldritch creatures were nice and all, but they were just as cold as he was. Humans were among one of the few that could consent to sex and they were also so fucking tight. A vice. He had to be careful though, despite all of his prep, Horangi still hit him to make him stop pushing in. 

“Too much. Too big. Fuck. Can’t you shrink down more?” Horangi whimpered.

“Yes. But I checked already. I’m the perfect size for you like this.”

“No. You’re stretching me out so much I…” He trailed off as König pushed right in, making himself perfectly at home. Horangi’s cock twitched and started to leak. “Fuck.” There was a beautiful blush on his face that made him look dazzling. Fragile and whorish. 

König felt like he was drowning in Horangi’s unabated arousal. The previous nervousness and protests dying out now. He rocked into his prostate, letting Horangi finally get what he wanted. 

The broken gasp that ripped out of him almost made König lose his composure. Of taking Horangi and fucking him like a toy until he finished. But that would hurt him and he didn’t really want to hurt Horangi. 

Not when he can get those beautiful little punched out noises. 

So he did it again. Feeling him clench and moan around him. 

Slow. 

Steady. Repeatedly hitting the same spot over and over again and this time, he encouraged Horangi to finish. Wouldn’t let him touch himself of course, but he pushed the right buttons in Horangi’s brain and let him focus on just the sensations until he felt him convulse and shake around him. The feeling of him orgasming around his dick was addicting. 

König wanted to feel it again. Technically, he probably could’ve just made him do it again. Or kept him just perpetually there, unable to come down and forced to endure wave after wave of ecstasy until König grew bored of it. But something about making him do it himself, watching Horangi realize he was getting close again just from the sensation of being fucked rather hard by something that barely fit… Too delicious to pass up. He finished inside him, kissing Horangi’s jaw as he did but he didn’t stop moving. 

With Horangi so sensitive, it was so easy to get him to finish again and again and again. Human men could come 2-5 times a day but what were limitations like those in a place that simply didn’t have time? 

Horangi tried to keep count, but the effort it took to do so was simply too much. All he could do was feel. His sensitive only increased until it was an exquisite type of torture. Every touch, every thrust, every time it felt like Horangi would finally break from it all, he’d sob and beg for something. 

“What do you want?” König asked gently, a harsh juxtaposition to the brutal way he was treating Horangi’s body. Cock slamming right into him and tentacles and claws alike digging into him to keep him in prime position.

Horangi considered it. This was a way out. There wasn’t even a caveat. Somehow, they both knew the game was over. Horangi could go home if he asked.

“Keep going.” 

König had zero clue exactly how long in any universe that stayed there. Even after he had finally gotten his fill of Horangi’s fluttering body, he kept him to his chest and still filled. Horangi was dead to the world, limp and twitching from after shocks. With a snap, they were clean, but Horangi stayed bruised and a touch sweaty. It was a good look on him. 

“How about we call it a tie and have a rematch later?” Horangi wheezed out, still visibly out of breath and spent.

König hummed. “I never did get to use my tongue.”

[catcas22]

Was trying to look this up to reference in a new theory, and realized I never published it to my main account. :|

Omensmirk Mask

Omensmirk Mask

Mask with long, hideously twisted horns worn by the Omenkillers. Increases strength.

Bears the smirking face of an elder, twisted in wicked delight.

This visage is carved in the image of the evil spirits that haunt the Omen in their nightmares.

Bonny Butchering Knife

Weapon of the greater potentates of Bonny Village. An outsize butcher's cleaver used to dismember human bodies in the making of the great jars stored in the gaols.

Restores a very small amount of HP when it squarely strikes an enemy.

Innard Meat

Scraps of flesh for filling great jars. Rancorous spirits cling to the pinkish-red, ******ing meat.

Throw at enemies to inflict damage.

This is what becomes of the condemned, who get sliced up and stuffed into jars to become saints instead.

Horned Bairn

Doll of a tanglehorn bairn. Uses FP to summon vengeful spirits around the caster that autonomously chase down foes.

Tangled horns are a symbol of spirituality, but most young born bearing the oversized horns meet a frightfully early demise. These fetishes are made to memorialize them.

The hornsent revered those born with many large, twisting horns. They dismembered people and stuffed them into jars in the hopes that they would be reborn (presumably reincarnated) as "saints." Generations later, omen are born with many large, twisting horns, and they all have nightmares about being tortured by malevolent horned beings.

Are the omensmirk nightmares actually residual memories from the omen's past life?

[gwaedhannen]

[Excerpt from Sorrow Beyond Words: Collected Testimony of the War of Wrath, 4th Edition; ed. Elrond Peredhel. Archive of Cîw Annúminas, inaugural collection]

“Simply reaching Menegroth was a struggle. Doriath had become a twisting nightmare of overgrowth and rot and mists, as Morgoth’s power warred with the remains of the Girdle and our old songs. Ai, our home, our haven! I know the name of every holly in Region, before the exile. We found deadfalls surrounded by dozens of animals who’d lain down beside the trees and rotted before they died. Blind moose more antler than flesh staggered towards us even after a dozen arrows. Vines covered in dripping thorns reached for our eyes. The cherry trees were overladen with fruits that smelled like gangrene. Deildhod stumbled into a nest of maddened vipers, and only escaped because their tails were all tangled together into a festering mass and could hardly move. We never saw or heard a single bird. I’m amazed we lost no one in that whole push through Region. No, I speak a lie. I know how we passed through with nothing worse than scrapes. Elrond was with us, and the ghost of Melian’s love still recognized her kin.

“Esgalduin had nearly been dammed by one of Hírilorn’s fallen boles, but the bridge still held. We crossed and reached the ruined gates, wrought twice and broken twice. Within there was only darkness to be seen; we knew not what manner of horrors Morgoth had sent to infest the city, but Ingwion was unwilling to leave them at the rear of his forces as he moved north, if it could be helped. Celeborn stood at Elrond’s right and myself at his left. Far less an honor guard than the heir of Elu Thingol and Melian Besain deserved. Yet in those dark days it was all the honor we could muster. King Dior Eluchíl had known thirty-six summers when he was unrighteously slain. Queen Elwing Nimaew thirty-five when despair took her to the sea. Lord Elrond Peredhel beheld the city of Elu for the first and only time in his twenty-ninth summer.

“Elrond stood before his inheritance and Sang. He sang a lament, for the lost endless years of joy and peace, for deep halls lit by birdsong and echoing with wisdom, for the Forsaken People who awoke the forest and earth with many voices, for the works of beauty never to be seen again on this side of the sea. He sang a promise, that the glory of Menegroth will be remembered in the songs of Middle-Earth for as long as its children endure. He sang thanks, for the protection the halls granted us until it could shelter us no more. As his song at last ceased, I thought I heard nightingales answering him.

“Stars shone on his brow, and his hair glistened as the vault of night, and the memories of our once-eternal bliss in the woods of Thingol’s realm under Elbereth’s gifts arose in my mind. Let Oropher dream of a deep hall for his own; let Celeborn reign where he will at his wife’s side! I knew in my heart, as the echo of nightingale songs faded, that there was no lord or king I would ever stand beside save Elrond Elwingion.

“The living stone in which our kingdom once thrived knew his voice, and at long last laid down its burden and passed. The darkness over Menegroth was lifted, and we went forth into its corpse, and no beast or orc could stand before us. I do not sing of what we found and left behind when we cast down the bridge and gave leave for the river to flood the caves. It is not worth remembering.”

[mykuup]

Of bone and bloom - Cryptid!Eddie Munson AU Part 1

Moodboard + summary + Serie Masterlist

My masterlist

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary : You are an adventurous person, you've always been. But your father and the people form your village always warned you about a monster roamming in those woods. But it's only some old myth, right?

wc : 1,2k

Warnings : monster romance // fluff // smut // MDNI // unprotected piv (wrap it irl guys) // mention of injuries // mention of blood // size gap // no mention of y/n // porn with plot // afab reader (but no description)

A/n : Thank you for being there, you can't understand how much it makes me happy that people are actually enjoying this!

Big shoutout to my bff @saphirmoraitie for beta reading 💜

Taglist (open) : @jasminelafleur @maedesculpaeusoubi

The encounter

The forest was not a place for the faint of heart. It was a world of ancient trees and tangled undergrowth, where shadows stretched long and the air was thick with the scent of earth and decay. For most who ventured too far from the safety of their villages, the forest was a place of fear—a dark, mysterious land where monsters were said to roam.

But you were not like most people. 

You had grown up on the edge of the forest, in a small village that had always whispered of the dangers lurking within. The stories were enough to keep most villagers away, but not you. From a young age, you had been drawn to the forest, captivated by its wild beauty and the sense of freedom it offered. It was a place where you could escape the stifling expectations of your small life and be alone with your thoughts and dreams.

But on this particular day, the forest was not the refuge it usually was. Your heart was heavy, and your mind was clouded with anger and frustration. You had fought with your family—again. They couldn’t understand why you refused to settle down, marry, and live the life expected of you. The pressure to conform had become suffocating, and in your desperation to escape, you had fled into the woods without a second thought.

The deeper you went, the more the trees closed in around you, their twisted branches forming a canopy that blocked out the sun. The forest seemed different today, more ominous as if it was aware of your turmoil. But you pressed on, your footsteps crunching on the fallen leaves, the only sound in the oppressive silence.

You had wandered these paths many times before, but now you found yourself lost, disoriented by the emotions swirling within you. The familiar landmarks were gone, replaced by a landscape that seemed to shift and change with every step you took. The forest felt alive in an unsettling way as if it were watching you, waiting for something.

And then you heard it—a sound that didn’t belong. A rustling in the underbrush, followed by a low, menacing growl that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You froze, your breath caught in your throat, every instinct screaming at you to run. But fear had rooted you to the spot, your eyes wide as you scanned the shadows for the source of the noise.

It was then that you saw him.

He emerged from the darkness like a figure from a nightmare, towering over you with a presence that seemed to swallow the light. The first thing you noticed was the skull—a massive deer skull, bleached white and adorned with twisted antlers that jutted out like the horns of a demon. Beneath the skull, his eyes gleamed, dark and inscrutable, fixed on you with an intensity that made your blood run cold.

His body was covered in fur, thick and black, with muscles rippling beneath the surface. His hands ended in long, curved claws, sharp enough to rend flesh from bone. He was more beast than man, a creature out of the darkest stories you had ever heard, and he was standing less than twenty feet away.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your pulse roaring in your ears as you slowly backed away, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Every instinct told you to run, but your legs refused to move, paralyzed by the sheer terror of the creature before you.

Eddie watched you, his head tilting slightly as if studying you, trying to decide what to do. He had seen humans before, many times in his long existence, but this one was different. There was something in your eyes that held his attention—a mix of fear and defiance, a refusal to look away even as you trembled in his presence.

For a moment, you both stood frozen in time, predator and prey locked in a silent battle of wills. Eddie could sense your fear, the way your body trembled, and how your heart raced. It was a familiar reaction, one he had encountered countless times before. And yet… there was something else, something that made him hesitate.

You didn’t know how long you remained like that, your mind a whirl of confusion and fear. But as the seconds ticked by, something strange began to happen. The initial terror that had gripped you slowly gave way to something else—curiosity, perhaps, or a stubborn refusal to let fear control you.

You had always been drawn to the unknown, to the things that others shied away from. And now, faced with this creature, you felt that same pull.

Summoning every ounce of courage you had left, you forced yourself to speak, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Who… who are you?”

The words hung in the air between you, a question that felt almost absurd given the situation. But you needed to know, to understand what this creature was, and why it hadn’t already torn you apart.

Eddie didn’t respond, but something in his gaze shifted, a flicker of surprise perhaps, at the question. No one had ever spoken to him like this since he had taken on this cursed form. The humans he encountered either ran or fought, driven by fear and hatred. But the girl before him… you were different.

He took a step forward, and you flinched, your instincts screaming at you to flee. But you held your ground, eyes locked on his, refusing to let fear overcome you. Eddie paused, sensing your resolve, and for a moment, he felt something stir within him—something long buried, almost forgotten.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Eddie’s eyes darkened, his features hardened as he reminded himself of what he was—a monster, a guardian cursed to walk the earth alone. You, the human, were nothing to him. He had seen hundreds like you and would see hundreds more.

Without a word, Eddie turned and vanished back into the shadows, his form dissolving into the dark depths of the forest. You stood there, your body trembling with a mixture of relief and confusion, your mind struggling to process what had just happened.

You had encountered the monster of the woods—the creature the villagers whispered about in hushed tones. And yet, you were still alive. He had spared you, for reasons you couldn’t begin to understand.

Your legs finally gave way, and you sank to the ground, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the adrenaline slowly drained from your body. You didn’t know what had just happened or why the creature had let you go, but one thing was certain: your life had changed at that moment. The forest, once your sanctuary, was now a place of danger and mystery, and you had glimpsed the darkness that lay within it.

Even as you sat there, trembling in the aftermath of the encounter, a part of you felt a strange, inexplicable pull toward the creature. There was something about him, something that called to you on a level you couldn’t explain.

A distant horn rang—the signal that it was time to return home as the sun dipped low in the sky. You mustered the strength to stand and make your way back to the village, but you knew this would not be the last time you ventured into the woods. There was something there that you needed to understand, and you would not rest until you found the answers you sought.

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Intertwined - Chapter 14 - Cannibal

Laudna holds the freshly de-scaled fish under the surface of the running river, its underside slit open from gill to tail, dyeing the water around it in crimson tendrils that are shaped by its current, decorated by errant tumbling shining scales, sparkling like stars on a red-skied night, motion fast and twisting so it creates shapes more akin to bolts than clouds, magic-

Blood strikes away from her pallid skin; carries down the river back towards their camp nestled in the alcove of giant tree roots.

Laudna had insisted that Imogen stay on her bedroll that morning, to try and get the rest adequate to fully heal-over the puncture under her ribs. She woke with no nightmares to report, but all of the tossing and turning Laudna watched her conduct in her sleep had her grimacing when her own slumber had abandoned her, fumbling for what to do and ending up paralysed within arm’s length of Imogen in her own bedroll.

Last night was-

well.

Laudna had made a choice. Exposed herself, past how much she already did so by travelling with a telepath; that still felt remarkable in and of itself (Imogen is remarkable).

exposed

like the freshly removed fish guts on the bank of the river

Laudna drops half of them into the stream organ by organ, leaves the other a platter on the floor for whom or whatever finds them.

Out of innards

Torn and bare, bared, raw. Imogen had seen the molars through the ripped flesh in Laudna’s mother’s cheeks, had last night seen her attempt to just peel her whole face off, remove the ability to be a doppelganger for an elf with tan and pink skin. 

Mourning. Veiling. What she had or what she had lost. She was never sure if that was for one or the other or both. Probably more.

Either way, it was inspiring. She kind of enjoys it, actually, now (especially now. Excited, even, at how she perhaps has an audience to appreciate her fine outfitting).

Laudna will make them both breakfast. Fish fried in butter with chickweed - she had seen a fair amount tangled in the vines.

Moss, she should collect and dry out more moss. A lot more.

(bandages)

Silt is disturbed on the calmer slight-bend at the bank of the river.

A larger fish with rough and warted skin like a toad crawls out on hind legs from under flat rocks that are surely slick with algae and moss.

moss

bandages, bandages

rivers of red

It has whiskers like a catfish, though much longer, must have noticed the disturbance in the water with such, using them as rods to lasso swimming organs into its gullet.  

Laudna had scooped the offal out of the clean line of dissection she had made, scraped against fleshy ribs with the tips of her talons.

She could have plunged a finger into the tear in Imogen’s side, the gap was accommodating enough. Could have felt the life and warmth of her insides press around her finger. Could have searched and hooked with nail. Could have pulled out her intestines in one long string and gathered them like rope under her arm-

Not that she would

Someone else, maybe

Maybe her, if she were under their rule

(she can’t have her. she can’t give her the chance.)

It feels like heartburn

It’s not warming

Laudna is always cold, numb.

Last night Imogen's breath came out as mist when she stood in Laudna’s vicinity. Veil covering, buffeting the touch between Imogen's hand and her shrapneled jaw. Warm flesh on bone. Delightful. Laudna does not think on how bone should be able to receive the feel of the touch without the nerve endings-  

Perhaps she muses on it for a moment. Magic. Violent. Violet. Lavender. Lilac. Glowing. Warm-

One of the living-fish’s antennae breach the skirt of the riverbank, smells and touches over the pebbles and foliage and splattered blood with a whisker and soon enough glossy dinner-plate eyes and blubbering mouth are being hiked over the ridge too, webbed feet and hind legs balancing on an exposed root sticking out of the muddy bank.

“I think it’s time to go~” Laudna sings, scooping up both the gutted fish and Pâté - who had been on knife-watching duty on a boulder - under the same arm and briskly walking back towards camp, the toad-cat-fish hybrid scarfing up the remainders of the innards.

(you can read the rest at the link. Thank you as always to @distant--shadow for the illustrations)

[werdlewrites]

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

summary: But he sees her; Autumn. Just a girl with a heavy burden, eyes glossed over by heavy tears she lets fall with ease. He can see her struggle. The fists at her sides and the way her lips part to speak, but there’s only the struggle as she tries to force out the words. “Lie-” It comes as a broken whisper, shaken and falling like a leaf to her feet. “You’re a-a liar. Y-you have been. This whole t-time.” warnings: hallucinations, child neglect, anxiety, BIG YEEEESH wc: 2,389

Reality is an intricate web. Spun out with care to build upon a pre-existing foundation, carving out a delicate path to follow, and creating a place of security for when the hundreds of threads become tangled and confusing. The silk feels like a summer breeze, or the bite of winter. The dew drops reflect the people you know, and the relationships you’ve made as you construct. The vibrations beneath your feet are the very real, and unsteady disturbances to throw you off kilter. The web grows as you do in life, expanding outward to forget what was left behind to wilt like memories.

Reality is what you feel.

What you taste, and what you know. But when those threads become severed, you’re forced to dangle on shredded fibers, praying for the strength to rebuild. And should you fall, the world feels more like a dream - or rather, a nightmare. Unnatural and unfamiliar as you search for comfort along the Earth’s floor in desperation.

Autumn has fallen. Or maybe, she had never truly risen like she had hoped. Thoughts were twisted and mangled, emitting only static as her head throbbed from the hurt. Dreary eyes were locked in a trance, studying the curve of her hands and every line drawn into flesh. In her palms, she sees something much smaller and more frail. Fingers enclosing to touch the hallucination, yet finding only her cold skin. She does this every few moments, lost and trembling with her shattered world. Her sense of reality…was stripped away. Unknown men invade her mind, yet their voices only incite fear she cannot place from something prior. And, the child, who she refuses to acknowledge as her own reflection as she wanders like a ghost. Taunting and tormenting. Begging for the other version of herself to take a deeper look into the visions she’s forced to bear witness to.

She doesn’t remember. Not that room. Not that man or why she screamed at him with such frailty. But some whispers penetrate her soul. The stick of leather or the sound of shattered glass. The muffled scolding and praise in scattered voices or the nails that dig deep as fingers coil into fists. She can almost see the indents, even now. It’s a reality that isn’t hers, yet somehow present and impossible to bury. There was no web to weave with a mind now spinning out of control. Lost in an endless cycle with no one there to give her direction. Autumn was slipping into madness. Or maybe, she had always been there.

Her torso lowers so fingers can sooth along an aching skull, never able to calm the demons that ripped her in two, but still, she tries. The girl has torn open rickety cupboards in search of a little vial with her name printed on the label, and nothing turns up. She stumbles her way through the small cabin in desperation for relief, settling for something over the counter that has failed to dull the pain. How long had it been? Hours? She wandered home after a quiet breakfast with the Wheeler’s, excusing it on simply being tired. It had been somewhere around 8A.M when she departed, and since then has lost count of each tick of the clock. But shadows had shifted across the floor, and she couldn’t bear to raise her eyes high enough to gain more clarity on the time.

He remembers.

From where? How?

Hundreds of questions are swallowed down with a pitiful whine. The pressure in her mind only grows from the frustration of being so lost. But hope is coming - a guiding hand, no matter the anxiety that bubbles up from within. The sound of Hopper’s truck rolls across the Earth with ease, coming to a squeaking halt just beyond the door where her gaze now lingers. Autumn had anticipated this moment. Accusations and demands of truth sitting in her gut like a brick; heavy and difficult to ignore. She bites on her tongue as his footsteps bound up the few steps with haste - almost as if he knew, somehow. Knew what awaited him and was desperate to clear his name. But he barely sees the girl’s red face as the door swings open, and his drifting eyes prove his thoughts are elsewhere.

“Hey, kid. M’not off the clock yet, just-” He’s moving too quickly to focus on through tearful eyes. His figure swept across the small space and weaved between furniture with minimal effort. “M’just stopping by.” He disappears into the only bedroom, now used for storage and she can hear him dig through their belongings with fury. When he emerges, a heavy jacket is folded over his arm. She could push aside her questioning and choke back the sorrows to ask, but he’s already on the move and Autumn finds herself unable to stop the flow.

“H-Hop-,” She can feel every letter tickle the back of her throat, but his name remains unheard by both. Drowned out by his frantic behavior as he continues to search cupboards. “There’s a case I can’t drop,” he mutters as he leans into a low space, plucking out Tupperware from the shadowy depths. “I have t’head back t’work.”

Again, dry lips part to whisper his name with more clarity, though nothing seems to stick. The teen watches helplessly as he pushes through the junk drawer, standing on weakened knees in hopes he’ll notice her plea. “I might be late. I just-I just have t’finish something.” He doesn’t. Not even when his name echoes in her throat once more, watching in frustration as he pockets batteries and pats down his sides.

“They don’t see you the way I do.”

The unfamiliar calls in the furthest reaches of her mind. A memory of someone she can’t recall as he attempts to soothe her tormented spirit. Hopper is speaking nonsense. Drowned out by the throbbing ache just behind her eyes, like fingers pushing and prying their way through and plucking at the strings of long-forgotten nightmares until it consumes her whole. Her palms flatten against closed eyes, forcing the imagery back along with the voice that whispers on repeat. Back into the darkness. Back into the nothingness. “I’ll have the walkie on me at all times. Just call-”

“Hopper!”

It comes, then. Spilling out like a tsunami in the night. No warnings, never seen rising over the horizon. Only the devastation as it crushes through homes and sweeps away all you’ve loved and known. Like Hopper. The unseen waves crash against his chest to force him back against the wall, Tupperware flying from his grip as he wears a pained expression. The couch falls to its back, old windows cracked and near complete collapse. But Autumn can’t see the storm she’s let loose, only the frightened expression on her guardian's face as he understands what she’s done. A once dormant monster now climbing out from its shell. Molting away this human flesh to bear its teeth.

But he sees her; Autumn. Just a girl with a heavy burden, eyes glossed over by heavy tears she lets fall with ease. He can see her struggle. The fists at her sides and the way her lips part to speak, but there’s only the struggle as she tries to force out the words. “Lie-” It comes as a broken whisper, shaken and falling like a leaf to her feet. “You’re a-a liar. Y-you have been. This whole t-time.”

Those words strike against his skin, burning and branding him for all to see. He remains stuck there - not by this invisible wall, but from the shock of her state and sudden awareness. Her jaw is clenched, listen closely and you can hear the cracking of fractured crowns. Her chest is heaving, unable to catch her breath long enough to soothe a rattled spirit. Autumn has climbed to the highest peak of a panic attack, staring down into the abyss where truth and death await. “You know.” It comes out as a pathetic hiss, lips barely moving to form the words as they quiver. With great hesitance, palms of surrender face out toward her, risking it all. “Autumn, I-”

“Traitor.”

“You know!”

The glass at her back finally shatters and falls to the wooden planks, brushing just against the heels of her feet. The destruction goes unheard by the girl, lost in the storm of her mind and the thud of a racing heart. His past self echoes muffled excuses beneath the heavy downpour. He was only checking on her. It was pure dumb luck to find himself at the Reid residence at that hour, and thank God, he had been there. But it was calculated. A plan devised in the dark as his worries and suspicion grew. And once the world drifted into silence, he was anticipating the attack on the vulnerable. Hopper had been waiting for a sign, and it struck with violence.

“He remembers me. He knows me and I know him, but I don’t understand how.” The skies are grey and the world is dim. But his eyes are piercing through the veil, haunting each time she blinks away the tears. “But, I think you do.”

Hopper can feel the drop in his stomach. The warmth he held plummeted and burning up in his gut, leaving only fear behind as the truth danced on his tongue. He seeks relief from the burden, yet attempts to swallow it all down so the girl may remain ignorant. Tortured, but protected from a colder reality. A steady breath is forcibly taken, ignoring the quiver in his chest as he prepares for the unknown. “Autumn, it’s not-”

“Tell me!”

All falls to an eerie silence with her desperate demand. Sleepless eyes are angry and glistening, cheeks tinted and puffy from the tension and sorrow she carries. It pours out from the dam, though the flow is neverending as the ocean fills with rain. But for a brief moment, there’s something else. There’s someone else. She stands in his shadow just across the room, expression vacant with crimson smeared along her cheek. The color is almost painfully vivid in the darkness they stand in. The child comes for her again, and again. A constant plea to be seen and heard and all the teenager can do is look away as bile rises with the tides.

The sudden shift alerts the sheriff, encouraging his own eyes to take in her hallucination, though is only met with emptiness. He studies the way her palm digs into her abdomen, soothing the ache as she works to catch her breath. And with the creak beneath his step, she’s back on him. A wild look in her eyes as if anticipating something other-worldly, though softening as she takes him in and his shaken confidence. A fiery rage simmers into embers, doused in her heavy rainfall, a broken girl emerging from the ashes. “I’m splitting apart, Hopper. I can-I can feel it.”

The man can think of nothing that would bring him more comfort than to console the girl and keep her close until she finds familiar security. But she’s timid under his stare, shying away and giving distance the moment he attempts to reach out for her. Maybe it was too late. Maybe there was nothing left of the trust she had once given him, and that blame was on him. “You told me t’ask for help. If I felt like I was drowning, ask.” He can only give a firm nod in reply, lips pressed to a thin line beneath an unruly mustache. “I’m drowning, Hop. I c-can’t keep pretending that I’m not. That I don’t see him in my dreams - my nightmares.”

Swollen eyes fall back to empty hands, opened and turning in the dim light as she studies with intent. What the sheriff doesn’t see, is a vision of the man's much larger hands entangled with her own. Guiding them back and forth with soothing words echoing in her mind. “That I don’t see him now.” She continues this motion, almost lost in it. Maybe working to reach out and feel what wasn’t there anymore. Fingers curl into a fist, waiting to feel his flesh but nothing ever comes.

“I did lie t’you,” he admits with a heavy sigh. The relief is almost instant, and it leaves him in a dizzying state as he searches for a place to steady his weakened body. An arm bends along the doorway, a spare hand scrubbing along his face and burying himself from her narrowed stare. “I only did what I thought was right. Until I knew-” He chances a look in her direction, and it’s not the scowling, hateful expression he expects. Gentle, and unsure. Weary yet curious as she ignores the hallucination dancing in her palms. “I just wanted t’protect you.”

“Protect me,” she echoes. “Protect me from what, exactly? My dad’s ‘coworker’?” For once, his title holds no weight. The meaning is long forgotten in the time spent far from his presence. Their bond was ripped to shreds and forced into a box, hidden within the closet. Only memories of what once was, and would never be again.

The storm begins to settle, now. No longer bearing violent winds and hail as God casts hatred down upon them. A dark and dreary day was clear, giving him a full view of the broken heart Autumn plucked from her chest, showing the damage done. The way time erodes the surface, leaving cracks and holes and nearly turning to dust in her palms. But she’s forced it back inside, patching up the pieces to stand tall above the wreckage. She wears a face of bravery, no matter the pain that swam through her eyes. She seeks answers - closure, no longer able to hide from her demons and live in ignorance. But the puzzle remains scattered and untouched, only half sorted. A bigger picture laid out before him, yet he was unable to provide what she needed.

Yet he knows who may hold the lost pieces, and it forces his chest to constrict in agony, fearing where his confession may lead. “M’not really the best person t’tell you.”

She scoffs at that, briefly glancing elsewhere to wipe along the underside of her damp nose, sniffling. “Yeah? And who is?”

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Beautiful Blood -- Sadistic Vampire Whumper Keeping Human Pets part 5

TW: violence, blood drinking, intimate Vampire whump, death, forced servitude

He awoke the next morning with a panicked jolt at the solid knock on the door, snapping out of the nightmare he'd been trapped in. His heart hammered with adrenaline, and he was disoriented for a minute before the memories came flooding back. He blinked sleepily and looked around the room.

So... not a dream. He was really here, in a vampire's mansion. There was another knock, and Asher slid out of bed, trudging over and opening the door.

"Yikes... you look terrible. Didn't sleep well, I take it?" Callum noted, seeing the bags under Asher's eyes and his messy hair that was tangled from subconsciously tossing and turning for hours.

Asher just shook his head grimly as Callum stepped into his room.

The servant wrung his hands together. "We should get you looking at least somewhat presentable before I give you the tour, in case we run into Nyx. She doesn't like her pets to look anything less than dignified most days," he said, and briskly strode to the bathroom, opening an elegantly decorated drawer and fishing out a hairbrush that he offered to Asher.

"This is a good start," he teased lightly, hoping to ease Asher's nerves.

Asher reluctantly accepted the brush and used it to fix his chaotic hairstyle, before Callum finally led him out of the bedroom and into the heart of the mansion.

There was a lot more activity now, Asher noticed, as several human servants bustled around, looking to be in a hurry. All of them wore identical shock collars.

"What's going on?" Asher asked curiously.

"Nyx is hosting a large party soon," Callum answered. "It's our job to prepare for it. She's inviting some vampire friends over to this mansion." His expression suddenly darkened.

"It's a dangerous time for us 'fragile humans', though. Nyx likes to indulge herself in all the social activities -- which can distract her from keeping her friends away from us. They are known to attack and feed on servants they catch alone when Nyx isn't looking, and Nyx doesn't care enough to keep track of them. After all, we're her pets. We're disposable. To other vampires, we make for some interesting entertainment. And sometimes Nyx will even intentionally bring out some of her least favorite servants solely so that her friends can play with them as party favors."

Asher's stomach churned at the thought of his throat being ripped out by another vampire, or worse crimes taking place...

"--But usually it's easy to blend in and hide," Callum answered, seeing the fright on his face. "And we are both Nyx's favorites, so we're protected. She won't let anyone kill us. It's mostly the other servants that have to be careful around her friends."

Asher didn't find that to be particularly reassuring.

"This is the kitchen," Callum announced as they reached a giant cooking area. After that he gave Asher a thorough tour of the rest of the mansion, and had just finished it when Asher asked something.

"Are you -- we -- ever allowed time outside?" He blurted.

Callum looked at him sympathetically. "Rarely, only if Nyx really trusts you, and even then she prefers to personally supervise us if she lets us outside. I know what you're thinking... and you shouldn't even bother trying to escape. Believe me... I've tried. It always ends badly." His face twisted, and he averted his gaze, changing the subject. "Uh... so... now that the tour's over, Nyx wanted me to... escort you to her dwelling. Presumably to... you know."

Asher shivered, vividly remembering the feeling of sharp teeth piercing his flesh, the excruciating agony he had been in. But what choice did he have? That was the bargain he'd made -- his blood for her hospitality.

Callum lightly put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he steered him to where Nyx's personal quarters were. The whole way Asher's gut twisted violently with dread, nauseating. Each step was a battle as every instinct told him to run, even if he knew it was pointless. Eventually, they reached the room, and Callum knocked on the door before opening it, ushering Asher inside.

Nyx was already waiting for them with a positively vulpine smile on her face as she sat on the couch in the back, the same one she'd been in yesterday, only this time there were no humans tending to her. Her eyes locked onto Asher with that unsettling intensity like before, and she cocked her head to one side.

"I hope you enjoyed the tour," she drawled in a honeyed voice. "I live in such a wonderful place, don't you agree?"

Asher was rooted to the spot with fear, feeling his heartbeat quicken with adrenaline. Then he felt Callum urgently nudge his arm with his own, and he got the hint.

"Y-Yes!" Asher blurted, his voice coming out a little shaky. "Your mansion is... nice." He swallowed hard, his throat dry and rough as sandpaper as he shifted anxiously on his feet.

Nyx's smile broadened at his blatant fear, she always enjoyed these games, bringing out a person's weaknesses. Knowing how much someone feared her.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it eventually," she chuckled darkly. "Now, be good and come here." Nyx patted the couch next to her, beckoning for Asher to sit so she could feed, her cold silver eyes watching him closely, watching for any slight misstep, any hint of resistance she could fault him for.

Asher hesitated, then forced his trembling legs to move forward. Every step closer was its own kind of agony, knowing what awaited him. He came and sat obediently on the couch next to the deadly vampire, his eyes wide with fear as he kept his distance.

"Leave us," Nyx ordered as she waved a dismissive hand at Callum, who quickly disappeared. Somehow it was even more terrifying now that Asher was alone with Nyx, completely at her mercy and victim to her will. He clenched his fists at his side, desperately trying to hide his shakiness.

"Aww, don't be shy, come closer," Nyx teased, and Asher shuddered as he forced himself to move closer to her. He was highly aware of the shock collar on his neck, the feeling of his own skittering pulse beating against the metal band.

Nyx's eyes glittered with delighted amusement, and she reached out to him, tracing a cold finger along the skin of his neck, right above the thin metal collar. It made Asher flinch as she leaned in toward him, angling her head toward his vulnerable throat. It took every ounce of Asher's willpower not to scream and run as he forced himself to stay still, his breath hitching.

"Mmm... perfect," Nyx murmured. Then she roughly grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close, her breath hot on his skin as she tilted his head to the side. Then, without another word, her fangs sank in -- carefully, more delicate than before as she started pulling blood out. It was so fast Asher barely had time to register the movement before the blasting pain hit him, stealing his breath.

A sharp cry escaped him, that turned into a surprised yelp as Nyx suddenly shoved him onto his back on the couch, her teeth still locked in his neck as she let out a low, possessive growl. She grabbed his wrists and pressed them cruelly into the couch with a crushing grip, pinning them in place and limiting his futile struggles, moreso for the fun of it. He was helpless anyway. The excessive show of force was unnecessary, but oh so delightful.

Nyx was right on top of him, her body pressing into his as he laid beneath her, unable to do anything but breathe hard through gritted teeth, desperately waiting for the pain to end as she drank slowly, sensually, savoring every second.

Asher knew that fighting was useless, she was too strong, even as his body instinctively writhed under her. He groaned as her fangs sank deeper, feeling his body rapidly weaken as she drank, draining his energy. His breathing grew ragged and panting. The world was spinning... nauseating, as the blood was pulled from him until his face was pale.

The edges of his vision started to dim, a tingling sensation spreading through his body. He let out a choked gasp when Nyx finally took her fangs out, licking blood from her lips as she grinned wolfishly down at him, still pinned helplessly beneath her.

Nyx watched the skin heal over again, the color returning to Asher's face as his regenerative gift worked to replenish the blood that was lost. She could watch that all day. It was just so unbelievably fascinating! She would have liked to slice into Asher's skin more often with a blade, simply to watch the process repeat itself over and over again. But alas, she had a party to plan later that would occupy her time.

Going to the auction and buying Asher had turned out to be the best decision she'd ever made. Having a walking bloodbag that never grew too weak, that always healed itself, was the greatest prize of all. She had a nasty habit sometimes of getting too carried away during a feeding, and accidentally killing a few of her servants every so often. But this regenerative was far more resilient.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[vakarians-babe]

Chapter 51: Deep Roads, Dark Places

It should hardly be surprising that, in the Deep Roads, the nightmares come thicker, faster, heavier. They seem almost to stumble over and catch on each other, vying for position in the front of Talvinder’s mind. Some are red, viscous and bloody; some are grey, rotten and suppurating. Others still are white, like bone, like dust, like flesh drained dry. And then there are the ones that are not just colors or sensations, but full scenes, of death and desire and the strange intersection of fear and want, of Tali’s mouth on Alistair’s skin, her teeth in his flesh, his blood on her tongue. Tali wakes abruptly from some such dream with the slimy residue of her own rotted skin lodged in her mind, the breaths of the Darkspawn and the giant bloated shape of something, something twisted and unrecognizable, looming over her. Calling to her, calling for her. Whatever it is, it needs her, as she needs it, as she needs to go to it, needs to find it, to join it. The song in her head is too loud, and it scares her. She tries to sit up, to move. Her palms smack, wet and clammy, against the stone floor next to her, and her tent is so small, so dark, and she doesn’t know where she is. Abarie huffs and then yelps, a small barking noise, and Tali thinks the mabari might have found the exit to the tent somehow. Tali wants to get out, too, has to get out. She thrashes, and her legs, tangled in blankets like gripping tentacles, somehow knock the tent over, bringing the fabric down to wrap around her as well. A scream bubbles up in her chest, her throat, and she kicks and pushes and tries to pull the canvas away— “Tali, Talvinder, Tal—woah, woah, it’s just me, I’ve got you. It’s just the nightmares, just the nightmares.

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[frodoelhobit]

The Scribe of the Dreamless Moor

If you ever find yourself caught inside a bad dream, there are several things you can do. The first option should always be attempting to wake up. The natural connection between you and the body laying on your bed is the most reliable anchor, and if you climb up that silver thread no nightmare will dare to crawl behind you, for even the foulest of them abide by the Law of the realm. You will find yourself back in your room, covered in sweat, maybe a bit disoriented, but otherwise perfectly unharmed.

However, that is probably not your situation, or you wouldn't be looking for help. If that link is damaged and looks too frail for you to hold on, you will have to find a solution within the dream itself. You will have to face the nightmare. Now, keep in mind that you cannot usually outrun these kind of problems. Nightmares are the long, twisting arms that reach for you, but those arms belong to the dream. The realm and your chaser, they are one. You may keep up with its approach, you may be agile and resolute, but each tree, each pebble on the road will be bent against you, the whole landscape nothing but a pulsating organ wanting to digest you. It won't, however. You will always find a way at the last second, you will always be one step ahead of the nightmare. But the chase will never end. It will never end because the dream cannot take you by force, the nightmare cannot jump on your back and start clawing and shredding skin, flesh and bone. You'd need a body for that. No, the dream needs you to comply, it needs your mind to succumb. It needs you to loathe the idea of taking another step, it needs you to embrace your end with tears and bleeding voice, but in total and absolute submission. And you can refuse to do that. You can stop the hunt before it even begins, turn to face the nightmare and command it to stop. In order for it to obey you need a lot of resolution and a little bit of lucidity. The former can be trained, you can build character and be prepared. Lucidity, however, is mainly a question of luck and innate perceptiveness. If you aren't lucky, there is only one option left. Go look for the Scribe.

You will find it in the Moors, beyond the last cypress of the graveyard. The nightmare will not follow you there, the laws of Hospitality apply and it has not been invited. As you go up the hill, you will start to feel lightheaded and more aware of your surroundings. It will feel as if you're finally about to wake up. It is not real. If you gave into the urge, it would just make you faint, you would roll downhill and end up at the feet of the nightmare, defenceless, and it would be your end. When you reach the top the Scribe will come to you. It will approach strolling peacefully under the light of the blue moon, but its body won't cast a shadow. Do not be afraid. When it reaches you, shake its hand and politely introduce yourself. Do not comment on the fact that its face always appears to be obscured by a sudden shred of fog. When it asks you how it can be of help, tell it that you want to make a statement. It will nod and pull out a small notebook from its coat. It will then ask you if you can lend it something to write with. Tell it yes, and try to stay still as it reaches to your side and skillfully pulls out one of your ribs. It will hurt, but it won't leave a mark. After this, it will be ready, and you can begin your statement. Speak about your nightmare, in as much detail as you can. The Scribe needs a complete account for its archive. It will write your words with the rib, tangling it in the silvery thread that binds you to your sleeping body. The thread will melt into ink and slowly be consumed as your statement progresses. When you stop talking, it will all be gone, fixed onto the Scribe's pages.

Of course, this means you can't wake up, but it will make the nightmare stop stalking you. After all, the dream can't feed on someone who doesn't exist outside of it anymore. You will be free here. And you will be able to rest every night, because thankfully for you, dreams do not dream.

[catcas22]

Omensmirk Mask

Omensmirk Mask

Mask with long, hideously twisted horns worn by the Omenkillers. Increases strength.

Bears the smirking face of an elder, twisted in wicked delight.

This visage is carved in the image of the evil spirits that haunt the Omen in their nightmares.

Bonny Butchering Knife

Weapon of the greater potentates of Bonny Village. An outsize butcher's cleaver used to dismember human bodies in the making of the great jars stored in the gaols.

Restores a very small amount of HP when it squarely strikes an enemy.

Innard Meat

Scraps of flesh for filling great jars. Rancorous spirits cling to the pinkish-red, ******ing meat.

Throw at enemies to inflict damage.

This is what becomes of the condemned, who get sliced up and stuffed into jars to become saints instead.

Horned Bairn

Doll of a tanglehorn bairn. Uses FP to summon vengeful spirits around the caster that autonomously chase down foes.

Tangled horns are a symbol of spirituality, but most young born bearing the oversized horns meet a frightfully early demise. These fetishes are made to memorialize them.

The hornsent revered those born with many large, twisting horns. They dismembered people and stuffed them into jars in the hopes that they would be reborn (presumably reincarnated) as "saints." Generations later, omen are born with many large, twisting horns, and they all have nightmares about being tortured by malevolent horned beings.

Are the omensmirk nightmares actually residual memories from the omen's past life?

[jennifersminds]

🫀and 15. blood?

me when i held a gun to your head so you’d request this 🔫 🔫

everything is teeth

He’d dreamt of her hungry. A sick wish, a detestable longing. He found her starving, a macabre reality. Nightmare made flesh. Twisted, wretched, bone-lined flesh. 

He finds her beneath trees, thin limbs on crushed leaves. She doesn’t notice him, red neon lettering flashing in the dark of her eyes. Vacant. She’s a vision of tragedy, draped in loss like silk. Her hair blending into soil, prepared to burrow beneath it like roots, let her hide in the earth like she’s supposed to. 

He supposes it his biggest flaw, his last large transgression where she’s concerned. He’d unearth her, always. Dirt-caked cuticles dragging her from the depths, it's what he promised, quietly with no one to hear him. 

She’s small- below the trees; curled in white- stained with blood and dirt. Cherry-red rivers soaking the cotton of her dress. Caked around her lips and chin- it smells wrong; the blood. Putrid puked notes perfuming the clearing. Bunny blooded bile soaking the recently slain girl where she lies. He steps forward, shoes crushing deceased leaves. She startles at that, springing up in a ruckus of dust and bark. Her eyes find him immediately, bathed in blue. The doe depths still so full of life. Filling with questions like water as she stares at him in the arctic light. She looks cold, as do the woods. He can see now, as faint drops of dew slide along her, winter mornings sloth. Leaving lines in the blood as they run down her neck.

Her face is a fascinating cocktail of surprise and everything but. Mouth O’d but eyes squinted. She doesn’t say his name, that shatters him just a little. Shifting on her knees, pulling them from beneath her to lean against the bark, tucking them up to rest below her chin. She shifts her head to the side, a question to the untrained eye. He sees through her, through the shattered exterior where it truly lies. A demand, an order, a gift. 

He falls alongside her, propped shoulder to shoulder against the tree. He says nothing and waits, as good men should.

He doesn’t wait long as seconds after he aligns himself with the oak she tumbles. Still curled she slides sideways, landing easily in the cradle of his lap. Hair falling over his wrist and thigh to the dirt, strands begging to burrow. He wraps the mass in his hand under the guise of supporting her head. Thwarting her return, keeping her with him. 

She shakes, rattles like a snake in his arms. He lays a large hand on her side, calming, alarming. His fingers sliding between the prominent bones of her ribcage. Too much of her held in one palm. Too little of her left out of his hands. She soothes as he spirals, rage flowing with the blood in his veins. She turns into him, forehead burrowing into the base of his abdomen. He lets her hide, would let her slice him open and stay curled within him if she asked. Let himself grow roots around her. Be consumed by nature as he’s consumed by her. 

He brings his hand from her ribs, taking his handkerchief from his pocket while his hands rattle with stolen shakes. 

“Look at me please,” he says, fury absent from his tone. As soft as the fur on the bunny's still-warm corpse. She obeys, finding him with watered eyes. Misty as the surrounding clearing. His other hand stays submerged in her hair, tangled like dirt in the dark brown roots. He lifts her head, bending a knee upwards to support her torso as he wipes the rejected blood from her chin.

read on ao3

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Preview for Intertwined, chapter 14

Laudna holds the freshly de-scaled fish under the surface of the running river, its underside slit open from gill to tail, dyeing the water around it in crimson tendrils that are shaped by its current, decorated by errant shining scales, motion fast and twisting so it creates shapes more akin to bolts than clouds, magic-

Blood strikes away from her pallid skin; carries down the river back towards their camp nestled in the alcove of giant tree roots.

Laudna had insisted that Imogen stay on her bedroll that morning, to try and get the rest adequate to fully heal-over the puncture under her ribs. She woke with no nightmares to report, but all of the tossing and turning Laudna watched her conduct in her sleep had her grimacing when her own slumber had abandoned her, fumbling for what to do and ending up paralysed within arm’s length of Imogen in her own bedroll.

Last night was-

well.

Laudna had made a choice. Exposed herself, past how much she already did so by travelling with a telepath

That still felt remarkable in and of itself (Imogen is remarkable).

The freshly removed fish guts on the bank of the river

Laudna drops half of them into the stream organ by organ, leaves the other a platter on the floor for whom or whatever finds them.

Out of innards

Torn and bare, bared, raw. Imogen had seen the molars through the ripped flesh in Laudna’s mother’s cheeks, had last night seen her attempt to just peel her whole face off, remove the ability to be a doppelganger for an elf with tan and pink skin.  

Mourning. Veiling. What she had or what she had lost. She was never sure if that was for one or the other or both.

Either way, it was inspiring. She kind of enjoys it, actually, now (especially now. Excited, even, at how she perhaps has an audience to appreciate her fine outfitting)

Laudna will make them both breakfast. Fish fried in butter with chickweed - she had seen a fair amount tangled in the vines.

Moss, she should collect and dry out more moss. A lot more.

Silt is disturbed on the calmer slight-bend at the bank of the river.

A larger fish with rough and warted skin like a toad crawls out on hind legs from under flat rocks that are surely slick with algae and moss.

Rivers of red

It has whiskers like a cat fish, though much longer, must have noticed the disturbance in the water with such, using them as rods to lasso swimming organs into its gullet.  

Laudna had scooped the offal out of the clean line of dissection she had made, scraped against fleshy ribs with the tips of her talons.

She could have plunged a finger into the tear in Imogen’s side, the gap was accommodating enough. Could have pulled out her intestines in one long string and gathered them like rope under her arm-

Not that she would

Someone else, maybe

Maybe under their rule

(she can’t have her. she can’t give her the chance.)

It feels like heartburn

It’s not warming

Imogen's breath came out as mist when she stood in Laudna’s vicinity. Veil covering, buffeting the touch between Imogen's hand and her shrapneled jaw. Warm flesh on bone. Delightful. Laudna does not think on how bone should be able to receive the feel of the touch without the nerve endings.  

Perhaps she muses on it for a moment. Magic.

(you can read the previous chapters here)