#wip: a strange kind of hunger

[hotspurpercy]

BETA READERS CALL !

do you like horror, polyamory and the tense of atmosphere of small towns? then i have good news for you: i'm looking for an unlimited number of beta readers for my 98k words novel, a strange kind of hunger.

SYNOPSIS —

1853. sweetwater, massachusetts, swallows people whole. dr. jonathan fallow thought he escaped its grip four years ago, but he finds himself back in its clutches, as winter creeps in.

sweetwater swallows people whole, but it seems to be in the maw of something else. tracks in the forest; mutilated cattle; a howling chorus. the townsfolk are quick to cry devil, encouraged by their firebrand pastor, gabriel goodwin. jonathan is determined to prove that the creatures lurking in the woods are wolves, nothing more — but a night vigil and a glimpse of something horrifying force him to reconsider.

to expose the rotting heart of the village, he’ll have to form an alliance with a faceless traveller, a disgraced former surgeon — and the pastor’s beautiful younger brother.

( trigger/content warnings: gore, body horror, familial abuse (largely off-page), religious abuse/trauma. a more in-depth list of warnings for each chapter will be available on request )

HOW THIS WILL WORK —

if you're interested in beta reading, DM me here (@wifewulf) or on discord (@/hotspurpercy) to let me know.

beta readers will have until the 30th of september to finish ASKOH. unless you're a mutual, please don't sign up unless you know you can finish it by then

beta readers will get access to a private discord server where you can read ASKOH and give feedback, as well as get some bonus short stories and art pieces from me!

there's currently no limit on the number of beta readers i'm looking for. however, if a lot of people sign up, i may prioritise mutuals and readers of colour

( + TAGLIST UNDER THE CUT ! )

@villaneve / @vandorens-archive / @nallthatjazz / @starshots-blog1 / @cannivalisms / @perditism / @spillme / @upoffringar / @thelittlestspider / @wildswrites / @brownpaperhag / @akoumi / @quilloftheclouds / @absolute-nonsense-scribblings / @birdywrote / @tiredlittleoldme / @strangerays / @ninazeniks / @authortango / @aetherwrites / @caravagest / @chazzawrites / @anavkour / @videsnoir / @karamel-pop / @philocalizt / @cryptidsandqueers / @stephwriteswords / @muddshadow

[bonefries]

Franco must have mad dick and head game to have pulled a baddie like Lizzy

this is the funniest ask ive gotten yet ty anon.

know nobody wants to hear my franco nsfw headcanons but i want to have faith the mans head game is strong because of all tht sucking he does. i pray the man has picked up tips over his life.

but, one of the main reasons Eli wants to keep him around is because she wants to eat him!

wip // and story undercut below tw for cannibalism/death/violence

So to explain this i need to give some back story.

Eli's mother killed her father before she was even born. Her mother was so in love with her father, but he wasnt as commited or faithful. Mom doesn't take that well, kills him because if she can't have him nobody will. She dismembered him, cooked him and used every part of him for mundane and simple things around the house. And from this point forward she would go on to do this multiple times to other people. Her mother was unfortunately not in the greatest mindset and also gravitated towards people that treated her poorly.

Eli would have to help skin human flesh and widdle bone/cut hair and make materials. Nothing was wasted. Not even meat. But her mother would only serve her specific pieces. Over the course of her childhood into her teenager years Eli would grow more and more curious to know what the heart of someone she loved tasted like. But she never felt the right kind of "love" to go through with it. This is a hidden obsession that Eli has. There is a bizarre hunger in her she never really can seem to satisfy. This obsession evolves into the idea that eating the heart of the person she acquires this love with, will cure the hunger.

SO, Franco becomes her chosen for this obsessive belief/ritualistic meal to calm the hunger. Not because the love she feels is one like her mother had for her father, its more of a sad love. Eli knows Franco wants to do fucked up shit, has done fucked up shit, and it attracts her to him in some strange empathetic way. She never discusses this urge amongst friends or people she wants the company of. And essentially my motifs between her and franco are that he is thirst and she is hunger. They both want to do something really fucked upto the other, we will just have to wait and see who does it first. She does tell Franco this way down the line, but here is how she would say it:

"Aw Frankie. If I had it my way, dolly. I'd reach right into that lil'barrel chest'a yours, rip ya'fuckin heart outta ya. And bite it like a fuckin fruit....while it was still warm and pumpin........A girl can dream."

-Elizabeta

[evolutionsbedingt]

WIP Wednesday

Have another snippet from the TGCF fic!

★★★

He returned to the camp to find Xie Lian quietly keeping watch over a small fire and the young woman sleeping wrapped in his outer robes on top of her thin blanket.

“Sit,” Xie Lian said quietly, gesturing at the open space next to him and He Xuan obeyed. “The widow?”

“Excited,” He Xuan reported with a small smile. “Thank you for your help, Xie-daoshi.”

Xie Lian inclined his head. “I hadn’t realised how-” he hesitated for just a moment “-pronounced this aspect of He-dafang’s godly duties is.”

“Mn,” He Xuan said, bracing for the judgement, the questions Xie Lian was sure to have. “This lowly scholar ascended while taking his revenge on those who wronged him.”

“Is that why your blade is so resentful?” Xie Lian asked, glancing at the scabbard resting across He Xuan’s lap. “It must be incredibly strong to seep past the dampening spells like this.”

It took him by surprise and He Xuan thought that it shouldn’t have. He knew how powerful Xie Lian was. “It has also accumulated more resentment since then. The Reverend of Empty Words for one.”

Xie Lian made an intrigued noise and He Xuan found himself handing over the blade for his inspection before he knew what he was doing. He felt foolish, giving this incriminating a weapon to another god but- but he trusted Hua Cheng and if the ghost king intended to show his true form to Xie Lian, he must believe that Xie Lian was trustworthy as well.

“A cruel blade,” Xie Lian muttered, inspecting the jagged edge and the pits rust had eaten into the surface long before He Xuan got his hands on it. “That you’re able to keep it in the Upper Court without causing a riot…” he trailed off, his elegant finger hovering just above its edge. “It’s blunt?”

“I kept it more as a deterrent than anything else,” He Xuan said, staring transfixed at the fingers exploring his cursed weapon so gently and delicately. “I hadn’t- I hadn’t ever planned on using it until they came for my life. I couldn’t-” he closed his eyes, shivering under the strange sensation of having his spiritual tool touched like this. “I went mad. I don’t understand- How could I ascend? I should have died and become a resentful spirit.”

Xie Lian sighed and sheathed the blade to He Xuan’s great relief and dismay. “Fate sometimes has other plans for us. Look at me, twice banished and still I ascended a third time. And as far as I can tell, this time it was for collecting scraps, which is probably one of the stranger things to ascend for.”

He Xuan breathed a laugh at the pique audible in Xie Lian’s voice. “What a pair we make, the god of hunger and revenge and the god of scraps and misfortune. And yet most of the heavens are scared of Xie-daoshi because of his second ascension and wary of me because I’m a scholar who carries a blade.”

“They’re sure to be ecstatic about the gossip,” Xie Lian said drily and pressed the blade back into He Xuan’s hands. “As cruel and resentful as that blade is, it’s a good blade. You’re taller than me, so it fits you a little better and I can tell that it has recognised you as its master.”

He Xuan was surprised, looking down at the scruffy scabbard. “It has a spirit?”

“Very faintly, but yes,” Xie Lian said, stoking the flames and pushing more of the thicker branches into the pit. “I think it’s only still there because it became a spiritual tool. It’s also half-buried under the resentment it holds.”

The last bit made He Xuan feel a little scolded and he ducked his head. “Xie-daoshi knows a lot about blades.”

Xie Lian smiled and nodded. “I like them, all kinds of them. Guoshi was always a bit worried about just how much I liked them. Apparently he thought it might make me equally obsessed with using them.” He shook his head and stroked his thumb over the white ribbon clinging to his wrist. “I don’t mind using a blade to maim or kill if it’s needed. But I’d far prefer admiring their beauty unmarred by blood and dust.”

He Xuan thought of the storage room in Paradise Manor, holding all those swords and sabres and knives, and he understood a little better the protectiveness Hua Cheng had displayed when he'd shown it to He Xuan for the first time. He wondered just how much of Hua Cheng’s personality and his opulent home was shaped by his love for Xie Lian and how he could ever have hoped to be able to compete with it.

[f1-stuff]

hi mal, hope ur having a great day!!

little mermaid au pls ❤️

also sorry about this, i rmbr you posting something about a bi charles au and a mechanic au last year and i was just wondering if ur planning to still write them 👀 absolutely no pressure though, im sorry if it comes off that way

have a great rest of your day 💛

Hi! I hopefully will pick up those two wips again, but I've already shared as much as I can of those and haven't added anything since last time 😭 so I couldn't include them this time...

BUT I can share a little more of the little mermaid one for sure ❤️

Charles pulls uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt, eventually just unfastening some of the ties so it hangs loose across his chest. He isn’t used to being clothed, therefore everything feels tight and abrasive against his skin.

He’d almost immediately tugged off the boots he’d been given once he was alone, much preferring to accustom himself to walking barefoot and feeling the ground against the pads of his feet. What was the point of finally having feet to run and jump and dance if he imprisoned them in those leather cages they called shoes?

He’d been cleaned and clothed and checked over by a doctor, all of which had been a rather intrusive experience. He’d been scrubbed and brushed and prodded and maneuvered about, then deemed healthy enough, although there was some mild concern over his difficulty walking and lack of voice. But the doctor had seemed to attribute the walking problem to sore legs from swimming ashore, as he must’ve done to survive the shipwreck, and his missing voice to shock, which he believed would return in time. 

Charles had then been shown to his quarters, which constituted a lovely, large bed and a window overlooking the sea, until such a time that they could determine who he was, exactly. Charles had almost immediately collapsed into the bed, something he’d dreamed of after discovering humans slept in nests of soft, cushy feathers, and fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep. When he awoke, he had a growling belly and a thousand questions.

What all had happened in that witch’s cave? What had he agreed to? What was it he gave in exchange for legs? Just his voice? Or something else, as well? How long would he be like this? Forever? Or was he on borrowed time?

He’d decided to deal with the hunger first. And somehow, he’d found what he believed was the palace’s place for preparing food. Which brings him to now, standing in the doorway as he watches people dressed in all white, running about, food strewn across surfaces, all kinds of utensils in their hands as they slice and stir and taste.

He feels frozen to the spot, unsure if he’s supposed to be here, but unable to ask anyone where else he can find something to eat. And no one has looked his way, all of them absorbed in their tasks.

Charles is about to venture inside, when he hears a strange sort of roar-like shout, repeated over and over and getting closer. Then, he spots a hairy four-legged creature running toward him at full speed. Charles thinks he’s under attack (he would probably scream if he were able) so that when the creature jumps toward him, Charles trips backward, protecting his face as he’s clawed at.

But after a moment of expecting pain only to be met with a wet, slobbery tongue licking repeatedly over his hands and face, he realizes maybe he’s not under attack. He peeks out from behind his hands to look at the beast, whose hot breath puffs against his chin, and suddenly recognizes it as the creature the man on the ship had nearly died staying to save - the creature Charles had helped onto the boat.

The beast barks again, and Charles startles, but he doesn’t get clawed at or bitten. So he reaches out a tentative hand and scratches behind its ear. The beast leans heavily into the contact with a look of utter satisfaction on its face.

Charles smiles, warmth filling him up with the urge to laugh. He gets a lick to the face that almost knocks him onto his back.

“Piñon!” a voice calls out, and Charles looks up to see a man come around the corner.

Not just a man - him.

WIP Wednesday

[formulaocean]

Fic Writer Interview (Ty for the tag @honeyandthunderstorms 💕)

All under the cut as ever!

How many works do you have on ao3?

On this account 9! A couple are anon (if you‘re seeing this on tumblr I really do not care however) and I did have an old account though.

What’s your total word count?

So far 75,788 apparently. Curious to see what it’ll get to by the end of the year in all honesty!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

On this account-

et circenses

Sweet as Cinnamon

FIA Mandated Work of Public Interest

“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free”

Both But I miss you (I’m sorry) and You’re So Golden are apparently at the same exact count which I did not know!

Strange to see them in this order actually!

Do you respond to comments? Why/ why not?

I try to now- originally I just didn’t want to open up a work again once it’d been posted so I was awful but try to now and think fondly of commentators I recognise but it’s still not all the time. I try to comment on fics I read too (although I’m reading a bit less online now)- it’s just a nice thing to do :)

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I left my multi chap fic on a literal cliff hanger recently so likely that! Otherwise You’re Nothing More Than His Wife as the ending is both ambiguous and depressing and just full of angsty lesbians as a whole.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

But I miss you (I’m sorry). Brocedes healed and Lewis won Silverstone there is no greater joy than that. Plus the mental image of Lewis and Vivian making Nico’s daughters costumes for The Eras Tour? I think about it A LOT.

Do you write crossovers?

I have literally written/ am writing a Hunger Games F1 AU if that counts? Otherwise I have a tennis x f1 crossover in my drafts I repeatedly come back to and will try to finish off over winter- Charles and Jannik become friends and figure out how to woo an emotional support rival over the course of the 2024 F1 and ATP seasons.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really? One person got weirdly angry about writing Charles as a top (they switch for me in general and I was going through a bottom max phase but like I get it). Also I was told that one chapter of a fic was quite similar to a Harry Potter one but we worked it out in the comments :)

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Um. On occasion. Definitely as a way to explore characters and I wish I wrote smut better because the sections are short in comparison to the fics. I have literally gotten writers block from not liking the smut part before in premises which hinge on it being written.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Definitely not. If I had I’d say get better taste.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not other than by me! My drafts/plots are all in German first before they get written.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but there’s a few people I bounce ideas off of and do the same in return! I am not on discord though so when you ask me about what I think about what you shared there I literally do not know 😅

What's your all-time favourite ship?

Oh wow. Probably Percabeth. For nostalgia’s sake. Or Sansa/Margeary for a similar reason.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

There’s a Charles/Lewis Ferrari one which keeps growing but then I realise I need to add more to it whenever it does grow so I’ll say that for now.

Basically Charles seduces everyone around Lewis but to levels that psychologically haunt him during a title fight. Recently Lewis walked in on a garage 16 gangbang but thought he hallucinated it after seeing Charles out for dinner with Fred at the only vegan restaurant in Maranello 10 minutes later. He runs to see Seb in Switzerland to calm down but turns out Charles is already there and eating sourdough and may or may not have had a threesome with Seb and his wife. Nico and Carlos and the fencer are involved. It’s just a bit of a wild ride.

Other than that a Carlandoscar life drawing au I gave up on when McLaren were annoying me. Oscar signs up to be a model to fulfil an art cred for engineering, Carlos is a history of art grad student and the ta, Lando is Oscar’s roommate and a graphic design student with a crush on Carlos and takes the class not expecting to see Oscar in the nude. Mark Webber is there.

What are your writing strengths?

I’ve been told themes and world building!

What are your writing weaknesses?

Time management and general clunkiness in grammar and tenses. Just your classic second language things :)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Occasional words are fine but don’t overuse it. When it’s clunks of text it just reminds me of academic journals that go between English, Latin, Greek, German, and Italian all in 2 pages.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I think it was Les Mis? That or The 100.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

F1 wise something involving Oscar or George as a main character or a stand-alone Sebchal rather than Sebchalmax.

Other than that I have a few tennis mini ideas and lines I just haven’t ventured there yet- f1 is more fandom to me I guess but I’d love to do Sincaraz or Igaryna properly.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free”. I just find it really beautiful. I took a bit of inspiration from it for my vestal virgin au that should be out during winter break and going back into a historical/artsy tone has been really nice.

I’m so bad at matching tumblr users to fic writers but no pressure tagging @f1ggotry @saviour-of-lord @chandelier-s-notebook @f1-giuki @on-sinkingships @toppamplemousse and anyone else who wants 💕

[autism-purgatory]

Writer intro or something

Hey! I’m G.J, I’m an aspiring writer and (kind of) fanfic writer! I wrote Old Republic fanfic when I was 12 and was never the same again. I’m particularly fond of dark fantasy and revenge stories.

current interests: MW2, Dungeon Meshi, Bloodborne, Dark Souls, Fear and Hunger, and Jujutsu Kaisen.

here are some of my WIP’s! (Jfc there’s so many)

Altered_Humanity: The New (and better) version of Augmented Humanity. Post apocalyptic urban fantasy. Humanity already collapsed centuries ago, and whatever’s left is being wiped out by the remnants of a fantasy world that strangely fused with ours when it began to die. An android and a demi-god are convinced they’re the good guy, fighting each other for the greater good. (Inspo: NieR: Automata, Drakengard 3, Dying Light)

Tales of the Sculpted Lands (my magnum opus): A Dark Fantasy anthology, about various stories and myths of the ever-evolving sculpted lands. (Inspo: Berserk, Demon’s Souls, ICO trilogy)

Grayguard: A fantasy adventure story about a group of “elite” knights with three goals in mind

1: rescue their master from an ancient demon with magic robots

2: stop the major kingdoms from imploding after said master got kidnapped

3: Therapy? (Inspo: Aurora, Jujutsu Kaisen, Tears of the Kingdom)

WanderStruck: About a popular knight that gets kidnapped into the regular world and his growing love for the nerd who got him there (inspo: Panty & Stocking, WALL-E, Little Witch Academia. Yeah I know these make no sense)

Shadows Over Novald: An Urban Fantasy story about two peculiar partners in crime when their home, the city-state of Novald, is cloaked in darkness, the only way to lift the curse is to kill the five magic wielding humans that lurk in the city. There’s magic, espionage, a dash of steampunk, and so, so much murder and chaos. (Inspo: Discworld, Inglourious Basterds)

Chaos Travelers: A dragon bard with a southern accent, a necromantic death cult runaway, a cat lady with magic paint, and a knight with a spooky clone get invited to save an island kingdom. The results? Absolute madness. (Inspo: Dungeon Meshi, Belkinus Necro Hunt)

And here’s my AO3 fics!

Little Doll (Bloodborne Fic): about the doll after the events of the third ending. With the reborn hunter in her arms, she goes on a little journey to the physical fishing hamlet and nothing bad happens along the way.

Breathtaker (COD fic): Soap and Ghost didn't get along too well when they first joined 141 (Or did they?) but all that changes when their mission to Alaska goes sideways.

AO3 Original Works (that are actually out):

LunuL: about three bounty hunters in the year 2199. they trek across the Solar System being mediocre at their jobs and accidentally get wrapped up in several conspiracies and near death experiences. (Inspo: Cowboy Bebop, the Mandalorian, Neon Genesis Evangelion, and a bunch of other sci fi shit)

Loop of the Hollow: About four friends reuniting in their hometown of Ciclo, Texas. However, there is much, much more to the town that it seems…

Viscered: About a father taking care of his 10 month old son after the death of his wife, and his past as a bio weapon coming back to bite him in the ass. (Inspo: Prototype, Berserk, The Substance)

Our Lonely Ocean: About a prince-turned squire and his commander, and their many, many shenanigans as they stumble into romance while hunting monsters together. (Inspo: Adastra, Dungeon Meshi…and a little bit of Peter Hart)

[hugsandchaos]

Arthadow concept/AU???

I made this last summer and realized I never shared it. So here you go! While I work on the oneshot! And the rest of my WIPs, which I think is… 3? I’m bouncing between fandoms like a dang ping pong ball machine, so please forgive me for my all-over-the-place-ness.

Anyways, after Little Shadow was launched in the escape pod, his emotions got really out of control and started affecting his chaos abilities. When it all burst out of him, Little Shadow was transported back to Arthur’s time. More specifically, when Arthur was a kid as well. He just sat and cried as the pod crash landed somewhere in a forest just outside of Camelot. After the crash was over, Little Shadow curled up into a ball and cried himself to sleep.

He remained there for days, ignoring the hunger biting at his stomach and relying on the chaos energy to sustain himself, until he finally went outside and started to explore. More days passed and Little Shadow had learned, much to his horror, that he wasn’t on Earth. At least, not that he knew of. Last time he learned, Camelot was a kingdom from centuries ago, and magic wasn’t real. There was chaos energy, but not magic. Little Shadow also took one look at the knights and instantly feared that they’d be just like the G.U.N. soldiers. He didn’t know why they were after him, but he’d heard Gerald saying that he was scared they’d experiment on him or use him as a weapon.

Little Shadow became something of a petty thief, but could you blame him? He was starving! Besides, they’d literally left the food behind, and it was only about 8 times! He always returned to the crash site. The pod may not be in its best shape, but that and the stars were the closest thing the young hybrid had to home now. Every night, he’d look up at the stars and cry. He was supposed to see them with Maria. They’d spent so much time excitedly waiting for the time they’d look up at the stars from Earth, and now, he’d give anything to return to them.

One day, Young Arthur finally managed to sneak out of the kingdom unnoticed and made a dash into the forest. He just had to investigate that fallen object from weeks ago! The knights hadn’t decided whether or not to go yet for whatever reason, and Young Arthur had grown tired of waiting for the news.

He approached the crash site with great curiosity and some caution, but mostly excitement. He looked at the wreckage in awe and confusion. Metal and glass? What kind of strange object had come down from the endless cosmos above? Was it made by unknown divine beings? Young Arthur soon noticed that the cylindrical structure was hollow near the ground. He got down on his hands and knees, something he’d most likely never do if he wasn’t alone, and looked inside.

He came face to face with Young Shadow.

•Shadow has a near irrational fear of thunder and other loud noises, especially sudden ones (Arthur started to cover his ears with his hands if things got loud or if he knew things were about to get loud. At some point, Shadow started going straight to Arthur during thunderstorms for comfort.)

•Arthur is terrified of being submerged in water, so when he has to attend swimming lessons, Shadow tries to be as close as he can be (Shadow is an amazing swimmer as it’s one of his favorite activities, and he once tried teaching Arthur how to float on his back, which worked. When he first saw Arthur fall into the pool and heard him scream, he bolted into the water and got him out as fast as he could. Arthur still hates and fears having to swim, but Shadow being in there with him helps.)

•Most look at Shadow’s obvious, not-so-hedgehog-like features with disgust or fear, but Arthur is fascinated by them (He has so many questions and is one of the few people allowed to touch Shadow’s tail. Shadow also stays still to let Arthur look at his second row of teeth and forked tongue.)

•Shadow is grieving the incident and tends to cry a lot, and Arthur has no idea why because he hardly ever speaks, also thanks to the incident (The last time anyone tried telling Shadow to shut up and that it’s not a big deal because they didn’t know why he suddenly started crying nearly got really hurt when Shadow screamed and lunged at them. They got away with a few cuts on their arm from where Shadow grabbed them and dug his claws in, but they wouldn’t have been able to get away at all if Shadow hadn’t been pulled off. Shadow disappeared for two weeks after that.)

•Arthur is absolutely in love with him and doesn’t realize it yet, but everyone else besides Shadow sees it (The knights made a bet on when he’ll realize it and when he’ll confess.)

That’s all I’ve got 😐

[iwtvdramacd18]

...... wolfkiller directors cut ? >.<

Wolfkiller was made firstly bc I fucking love Claudia as a character, and also when rereading TVL I started thinking about the role of "Wolfkiller" and how it functions in Lestat's story as something that sort of rockets him to this more than human figure: both literally through how the 8 wolf killing feat is ultimately what seals his fate wrt Magnus and also metaphorically within the text. Like much of it IS just Anne Rice having character favoritism and bad writing making Lestat the VC's Most Special Boy ever... but then I got to thinking about what it means to have proximity to the role of Wolfkiller, and how in text it entwines with his vampirism and how his vampirism is something that's both very werewolfish in how he describes how it manifests in himself and how he spreads it, but most applicable to Claudia here something that's also passed down through the blood. And I couldn't get the idea of Claudia as a sort of "heir" to this Wolfkiller title; but Lestat is the wolf. He sees his bloodlust and sharpness and hunger in her but he doesn't really fully comprehend that while Claudia might share these traits she's someone still wholly her own (and that's one of the great tragedies of iwtv-- the fact that Claudia is her own person but is unable to fully live as independent Claudia nolastname, that even in death she is being tied to Louis and described in ways that she explicitly did not want to be used for herself).

There's also a very literal reference to TVL in Wolfkiller:

In her vampiric infancy Claudia developed a love/hate relationship with the bayou. She hated how the mud sucked at her good shoes (and Louis echoed this sentiment, you messin up these good shoes for what, Claudia? ) but she was endlessly, almost overwhelmingly fascinated with its life. A cacophony of countless animal hearts beating in different rhythms. All sorts of strange creatures she could scoop from the ground and turn over in her hands. One night she snuck off to count the toes of every frog she could find, then wrote the findings in her diary.

This is inspired by a passage in TVL about Lestat describing his earlier engagements with his enhanced senses as a vampire (page 106 in this edition I'm looking at right now):

To me, their voices became a mixture of sounds like stew bubbling in a pot. All I could think was that the rat had very tiny feet, and that I had not yet examined a rat nor any small warm-blooded creature. I went and caught the rat, rather too easily I think, and looked at its feet. I wanted to see what kind of little toenails it had, and what was the flesh like between its little toes, and I forgot the men entirely.

But Claudia's interest in animal sciences is something that I originally had planned to explore more in another wip that's been shelved for the moment, a sort of second boat scene between her and Louis where she asks Louis more about his childhood and how he learned he was "Louis" and not the daughter he was originally raised as. There's really only one hint about Claudia being non-binary in Wolfkiller and I wish I added more but I hit fatigue pretty bad towards the end and couldn't figure out a way to really fit in more the way I wanted to.

She could see the faint impression as if she’d looked too long at the picture and now was haunted by its afterimage – her as a grown woman, a human, hunched over her desk scribbling on paper. There was too much wrong with it. He’d forgotten she was a vampire, and not a woman. He’d factored too many of his mother’s features into the equation.

I was really worried about writing Louis and Claudia's moments together at first but in the end I really enjoyed them, and I'm hoping to write more fics in season 2 with them interacting. Here's an exchange that didn't make the final cut:

Last thing I can think of rn is the ending, which was a very last minute addition compared to the process of the rest of the story. And I can't even really remember what reminded me of it in the first place? But the ending is actually inspired by the end of the Killing Joke.

One of my headcanons is that Claudia is also very capable of the Lestat fuck ass laugh that everyone hates, and I liked the unease but also sort of Looney Tunes type violent humor in Claudia hitting her "deer" and then the two of them laughing horribly about it.

THANKS SO MUCH FOR ASKING!! <3

[oxygenbefore1775]

ok, this was bound to appear on my blog - Zeke and misuse of regeneration

pairing: zeke x reader

tags: canonverse, postcoital aftermath (yet again, slightly nsfw)

cw: mentions of sex, zeke is not (very) nice plus loses patience quickly, blood, injuries, knife, it starts kinda wholesome though, the last 2k is just them playing chicken with each other, zeke's having his own table moment kinda

wc: 5,2 k

a/n: so i have this wip i'm writing in my mother-tongue and instead of writing it chapter for chapter, i write only the interesting bits and sometimes translate them for tumblr - thats why the premise and the whole oneshot might seem strange

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This time, you had to admit it. Last night, in a desperate need to satiate your hunger and fulfill desires, you were perhaps a bit too reckless. 

At that moment, something as trivial as consequences didn't concern you. Shapes melted into each other, disappearing in the darkness of his bedroom, just like your sense of judgment. With your patience running thin, waiting another second for the two of you to get into bed was something you just couldn’t bear with. Yes, you pushed him. The many cheap romance novels you’d read always seemed to portray this sort of action in a flirtatious if not seductive way, a testament to the ardency ignited by your lover’s mere proximity. The books were wrong, it turned out. That much you understood the moment a muffled hit sound reached your ear. Such a far cry from the scenes you used to read about so often. Nothing pretty about the way his brows knitted into a tight frown as he took a sharp breath through gritted teeth, that’s for sure. Your next clue should have been the ribbon of white smoke rising up from the back of his head, curling and winding as it dissipated into the darkness. Did it stop you for a second? Not at all. Quite the contrary - you rushed to join him, collapsing on top of him. Stupid, yet there was not a grain of mindfulness left in your head to produce a coherent let alone a logical thought.

But now, as you made your way towards the kitchen to raid the cabinets for any scarce treats, the pale morning light compelled your eyes to confront the consequences (and the cause, for that matter) of your frivolity. 

It was a relief that he sat at the table facing away from you. Normally he’d position himself right across the entrance, ready to meet your gaze the moment you’d walk in, robbing you of any opportunity to see him in an unfocused state. Strange. The treachery of the wooden floorboards creaking under your feet alerted him to your presence at once.

Reluctant to come off as sneaky, you broke the silence first. “Good morning.” It sounded more like a question than a pleasant greeting, but tolerable enough to lay the start to the conversation.

Zeke didn’t answer, his attention fully captured by the morning’s newspaper rather than by you. At least this behavior of his was not out of the ordinary. Without any further attempts to contribute to this incredibly one-sided chat, you reached for the coffee pot - it never hurts to treat yourself to a scarce commodity like this and not that he would mind anyway. Glancing at him over your shoulder as you poured yourself a hefty amount into a mug, your gaze almost drilled into the back of his head, as if he would sense this kind of impertinence coming from you and turn around to look at you. 

There, in the gold of his hair, a dark spot caught your eye. Blonde strands stuck together in a quite small yet still noticeable clump at the back of his head. It’s the same stain that you found on the wall near his bed in the early morning. The same place he hit his head on, courtesy of your behavior. The tips of your ears suddenly got consumed with heat. Now that you think about it, it's quite fortunate that Zeke was sitting with his back to you, otherwise he would have picked up on your embarrassment at the moment’s notice. Should he notice and your composure would not hold against his teasing, no matter how tame.

As you routinely took a little sip from the mug, you couldn’t help but to keep looking at Zeke from a safe distance. At that bloodied lock on the back of his head. 

He would have told you by now, making sure that you know the outcome of your recklessness. There was some sort of distorted glee for him in seeing you all flustered. Yet he stayed silent. And not that you remembered him having a shower in the morning or going into the bathroom for that matter. Could it be that he hasn’t noticed? Impossible. A bleeding wound at the back of your head wouldn’t be something that you just miss. 

Your gaze slid along the lines of his fingers, all too gingerly holding the paper, as if he was listening in on you right now and not paying any mind to today’s articles anymore. Appropriate or not, you still felt obligated to tell him. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a comb?” a slight tremble to your voice, you glued your eyes to the mug in a desperate attempt to appear calm to him. 

Still, Zeke chuckled in response. The sparks of benevolence in that chuckle - usually he’d save them for the nights and that’s why you were surprised to hear them now. He must’ve hit his head really hard to warrant this kind of attitude. Well, again, you had no one but yourself to blame. 

Although seemingly intrigued by your out-of-place question, he still didn’t turn to you. 

“Why exactly?” A hint of mockery laced his thoughtful voice, the one you were so used to by now.

His form, soft and light in the rays of the morning sun, beckoned you as if there was no usual hesitation in disturbing or imposing your company on him. Without further ado, you closed the distance between the two of you by going behind him - an insolent attempt to approach him that didn’t escape his attention. There was no other way to explain the unexpected tension piercing through his body the moment you rested your hands atop the chair’s back. 

Of course he wasn’t fond of it. Any situation leaving him vulnerable to the likes of you (especially to the likes of you) didn’t find any favor with him. The reverse cases were much preferable where you were the one defenseless against and woefully ignorant of his next moves. 

Despite all of that, he let you. In all the time you stood there pondering, never once did he turn around, look at you with reproach, put you in your place with his single word - he froze in wait, if not silent anticipation. 

As alluring as it was, you held back a toothless taunt regarding his less-than-usual antics this morning. Chances are, he’d not let it slide so easily.

“It’s just-” you paused for a second, still unsure if you indeed wanted to tell. 

Rather than responding, your hand reflexively reached for his head, fingers sinking into the blonde strands at the back. A playful smile threatened to break through as you noted the unexpected softness to his hair which was peculiar only to children. The temptation to card your other hand through his hair almost overcame you but was quickly suppressed by the all-too-natural possibility of his discontent with that action of yours. Good thing you found that bloodied lock before another unexplainable urge entered into your head. 

As he continued to show surprising leniency toward your every action so far, you decided to delve into the clumped mess of hair, exposing the scalp beneath. Given the substantial amount of blood that emerged, it indicated a rather deep wound.

Your eyebrows furrowed as your fingers explored, expecting a rough scab beneath a blood-soaked strand. Instead, you felt smooth skin. Untouched, as if the hit from the last night causing the wound had never happened. The very same wound that had miraculously healed without a trace. The regeneration as an explanation completely escaped your mind. No wonder it did, though - sometimes you forgot about the abilities that distinguished Zeke from other Eldians at the zone. 

“Has a bout of compassion suddenly befallen you?” He inquired, taking notice of your bewilderment. “Leave it, I’ll take care of it myself.”

The detachment in his tone clashed with the ease with which he leaned into your touch.

Now would be the perfect moment for your stubborn disobedience (and all the other things you’d done on top of that to cause his discontent yet it failed to do so. As if coming to terms with this unexpected display of concern, he remained seated, unmoving and silent, inadvertently fueling your determination.

“I was only thinking of using a comb to split the strands into the smaller ones so that it would be easier for you to wash out the blood,” you tried to explain, absentmindedly twisting one of his soft blonde locks on your finger. “That’s all.”

Whether it was the hint of guilt in your voice that you sought to compensate for or the inherent allure of your proposition, it managed to fracture his indifferent facade, revealing his willingness to accept your ill-thought care. 

Finally, he turned his head to meet your gaze. The coldness in his eyes gave way to the unusual mellow - the one you’d never seen before but the one that beckoned you to him even more so. 

“Try looking by the washbasin,” he replied after a long pause.

As the comb's teeth sank into the thickness of his blonde hair, your mind relinquished its current consciousness, allowing muscle memory to guide your every movement from that moment on. With trained swiftness your fingers delicately unraveled the clumped strand, careful not to tug too hard and thus disturb him. Very soon dried blood flaked off his fair hair and dusted across the teeth of the comb and your fingertips, sticking to the sweat of your skin.

Somehow, you anticipated his patience would wear thin at any moment. The way he so often and persistently demanded your attention didn't exactly scream patience, prompting you to brace yourself to keep his head in place in case he felt like fidgeting in his chair. Only he never did that. 

How you longed for just a fleeting glimpse of his face in the morning silence. A mere glance to decipher the current emotion painting his features. Were his eyes open, his brows slightly furrowed in a barely palpable annoyance at your sluggishness? Or, on the contrary, did a gentle warmth conquer the coldness of his features, causing his eyelids to grow heavy with each stroke of the comb? You found yourself yearning for the latter, especially as his breathing deepened and slowed - only those on the verge of sleep breathed in such a manner. 

As much as you’d enjoy the endearing sight of him nodding off under the touch of your fingers, you didn’t wish to put him in an awkward position. And not that you particularly fancied the prospect of waking him up later. You couldn’t imagine this particular scenario happening between the two of you - you two weren’t there yet and probably would never be. Rather than carrying on with combing in silence, you decided to speak in an attempt to pry his mind away from sleeping. 

“Did it hurt?” you asked, your fingers casually tracing the healed spot on his head. 

A stupid question, if not painfully rhetorical. After all, you were there to witness his reaction to the hit so you should know better than to ask something like this. Yet you couldn’t help your impudent curiosity. And unease. Maybe. 

“Certainly,” Zeke assumed, as if he could only speculate on the correct answer. “A smashed head usually hurts.”

Again with the facetious remarks. And there you thought that you’d successfully managed to ease the tart-tongued captain into an idle chit-chat. Nevertheless, undeterred, you pressed on with the conversation. Anything to get your mind off of the metallic smell in the air going up your nose from all the combing. 

Memory came to your aid, offering a glimpse into the events of the previous night. As dismissive as you were of the injury, despite being the cause of it, he also didn’t excel at acknowledging the damage the hit brought him.

“Why didn’t you stop me then?” you didn’t mean to appear upset yet that’s how it came off sounding. “Why did you carry on as if nothing's happened?”

Now you remembered how brief his response to the pain was. Allowing himself not a moment longer, wincing curtly before the regeneration process seamlessly kicked in. Before he pulled you in, back down to him, in a hasty kiss. No words of blame directed at you nor the general disgruntlement with the situation.  

“I should ask you the same question.” Rightfully noted yet this evasive answer failed to satisfy you - a sentiment you conveyed through a subtle tug on a strand of his hair. Only then did he change his response. “Would you lay off of me if I say that I just wanted to fuck you so bad?”

So much bitterness to his cold tone - you could’ve easily mistaken it for aloofness were it not for the tension in his body. Instances when his words didn't align with his body language were moments of attempted deception. Even he was susceptible to a minor flaw like this. Normally it would be your sign to back off, stop trying to lure the answers from him yet your insolence blinded you to all the warnings. 

For a brief moment, you let him believe that he indeed had gotten away with his evasive answer. Engaging in the task of combing his hair, your fingers delicately navigated through the strands, sweeping away the last remnants of dried blood. The staining caught your attention, a single lock of his fair hair now tinted with a subtle reddish-brown hue. Cute, even if a bit gross.

Perhaps he was too used to blood to pay attention to the small amount now staining him. Strange that you didn’t come to this conclusion earlier. It was only logical, considering his occupation. 

Sometimes you’d forget you were fucking a Titan holder. You’d never been in a warzone to see him transform into one.

“So it wasn’t that grave of an injury, huh?” your voice dripping with feigned adoration. You hoped that blatant flattery would help you get away with your not so subtle inquiries. “Good thing it wasn’t me hitting my head on the corner.”

Tears would undoubtedly have welled up in your eyes if you were in that situation. Such intense pain is beyond handling with a straight face, not to mention dealing with the aftermath of receiving such injury. You would lose much more blood though, considering the lack of regeneration that’d help with closing the wound up. 

You anticipated a chuckle or a shadow of laughter, any sign that he might entertain the idea of talking to you, but none came. 

The dynamics between the two of you were never defined by lively conversations, or any kind of conversations, for that matter. Silence and sporadic bickering were the hallmark of your shared moments. Considering the transactional nature of your relationship, there was little to complain about. Still, a chat never hurt, especially this morning when he seemed to lack his usual aversion to being nice to you. It was intriguing to hear about the honorary Marleyans - or, more precisely, the abilities that set them apart and distinguished them from the likes of you. It seemed like the perfect time to steer the conversation in that direction. The worst thing he could do was to stop talking.

Tension laced his body as he finally broke the silence. “Unlike you and the others, my injuries are of little significance as I’ve come to learn. It’d take much more for my body to be rendered beyond repair. Speaking from experience.”

The harshness to his voice that he oh-so ineptly tried to conceal with casualness. Too bad you couldn’t recognize it at the right moment. Yet another question was already falling off of your lips.

“What injury would suffice to label you beyond repair then?” The misplaced frolic as you fluffed his hair for the finishing touch, putting the comb down. “Would cutting your body in half do the trick? Or would they need to-” 

“Well aren’t you the one with the morbid interest for my regeneration?”

His sudden remark dripped with cloying endearment, yet the way he said it - oh-so quietly and without seeking to meet your gaze - made you come to a complete stop. The unsettling sight of his lips pursing into a bloodless thread lingered, even as your view remained limited from standing behind his back. You’d rather for it to be a smile or a pout or a grin - something, anything capable of possibly shedding light on his inner monologue.

Your nails dug into the flesh of your palms as you pondered an appropriate reaction to his words. Tacky. Must be the dried blood that clung to your skin during the combing process. His blood. Although you wouldn’t mind if it was your blood at this precise moment, despite knowing all too well that you didn’t have the strength nor the pain tolerance to puncture your own skin. 

As luck would have it, your head remained empty. All the more reason to feel unease.

“It would be quite insufficient if I were only to tell you about my body's abilities when I am perfectly capable of providing a demonstration.” Only then he deigned to cast a glance back at you, his blue eyes as cold as ice behind the lenses of his glasses. “Don’t you think?”  

With that, he gestured at the chair beside him. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” the treacherous tremble in your voice hovered, a dead giveaway of your inner unrest. Summoning every ounce of composure, you accepted his suggestion with a straight face and sank into the chair next to him. 

“You’ll see soon.” 

You hoped you wouldn't. You hoped that he would drop the act soon and return to his usual self. Only, he was already behaving normally, perhaps even more casually towards you at this very moment.

He kept his word; a couple of moments later, you noticed an army knife on the table. Had he brought it here, or was your mind too teemed with thoughts to notice? For a brief moment you let fear take over as you struggled to figure out a reason he’d need a blade now that didn’t include either of you getting hurt in the process. He must’ve noticed your glazed-over eyes hence the encouragement, very much unwelcomed, to his smooth voice.

“Not to worry,” As his warm fingers reached out to touch your palm, their gentle contact served as a very much unwelcome distraction from the enveloping unease. “I’m not allowed to harm civilians, only the military . 

His reassurance failed to provide any relief. If anything, it only made you even more suspicious of him considering his famously non-civilian status in the internment zone. Before you could utter a word - not that you could conceive an appropriate response for this entirely unfeasible predicament - he directed the knife toward you, the handle being the closest. 

“We use it to trigger transformation,” with that, he looked up at you as if pondering his next words. “I won’t transform today I promise.”

Your lips parted as you struggled to maintain composure in view of his insinuation. He arched an eyebrow at the sight of your understandable puzzlement, almost baffled by the fact that you couldn’t comprehend him.

“I thought you understood everything I’d said just a moment ago,” he didn’t mean to sound menacing, evident in the way he tilted his head, almost in an innocent and curious manner, but he did to you. 

On that, you had to agree with him. For a brief moment you contemplated feigning cluelessness, hoping it would spare you from the part he intended for you. Yet, there was little room for misinterpreting his words and he didn't deem you capable of such a fit to actually believe you. 

As quickly as your stiff body allowed, your finger tapped the blade, confirming its metallic nature. How many times must he have used it to draw blood? What difference would yet another cut bring? This time, however, it wasn't to trigger a transformation, as you assumed he regularly does in his position, but to impart a 'lesson' in excessive curiosity. Although “lesson” would be the wrong word to describe the impending punishment. Between the two of you, you still weren’t sure who would be the one getting punished here.

“Would you lay off me if I do it?” this time, you spent no effort trying to keep your voice steady. There was no more dread to your predicament worth harboring. 

He only nodded in response. An air of conceit emanated from him, almost palpable, as if he believed he was graciously presenting a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to you. Well, who were you to deny yourself the pleasure of taking control? He should have answered when you asked first, without pushing you to the point of exasperation.

“Not a lot of concern coming from a person who’s about to be left at my mercy,” your lips curled into a grin as you sneered at him, unconvinced of his willingness to be put into such a compromising position, “And what if I decide to stab you?” 

Again, you failed to elicit any reaction out of him. “By all means, it’d be even more interesting. All the more spectacle for you to enjoy.”

His words prompted you to grab the knife more quickly, pulling the hand he offered closer to you. 

The blade hovered over the open palm of his hand as your troubled gaze scanned his skin in search of the best place to leave a cut. The one that would allow for the deepest wound. The one that would have the most vessels to slit for the blood to spill. The one that would be the most-

The knife twitched in your hand. 

"But it’ll be painful," you couldn’t help but indulge in your habit of glancing up at him, making your stalling painfully obvious. "Will it not?"

What nonsense you began to spew once push came to shove. Compassion is the wrong sentiment to hold at the moment, especially towards someone like him - not only he’d reject it but also tease you for its display. 

He didn’t feel the need to answer. The inquisitive look in his eyes carried enough challenge to make you feel embarrassed, prompting you to look back down at the blade. Among all people, Zeke was likely the last deserving of pity from you. The many years of his service to Marley stripped injuries of any significance other than their role in triggering the transformation, with the resulting pain being merely an unfortunate by-product of triggering the transformation, something one needed to learn to ignore. He was the one to suggest it in the first place, absolving you of any sense of guilt - that’s what you told yourself to uproot the hesitation plaguing your movements. Yet, it didn’t feel that way.

In an attempt to save face, you hastily rushed to press the knife against the palm of his hand. The blade sank into the soft flesh but did nothing to puncture the skin. 

Having observed your struggles, Zeke commented in a patronizing tone, “You do know that you also have to drag it across, right?”

“I know,” you shot back, your voice struggling to convey the sternness you so desperately wanted him to hear, “Shut up before I change my mind and lop off your tongue instead.”

He could only scoff at your empty threat. The likelihood of you following through was significantly undermined by your current inability to leave even a small nick on his body.

It felt awkward to hold a knife clearly not suited for the size of your hand. You realized just how unassuming it made you appear in his eyes and that's why he didn't seem threatened at all. His hand you were clutching so hard radiated pleasant warmth, soft skin in stark contrast to yours, cold and clammy with sweat. No point in trying to wipe it off - he already knew.

A slight drag of the blade, you mused to yourself, as your grip on the handle tightened. Maybe it’ll be painless yet deep enough for him to finally stop with the torment. 

“Right, this is going to take forever if it continues like this,” a murmur just above your ear unsettled you, and for all the right reasons.

The next thing you knew was the cold, sticky dread as you felt him pry the knife from your stiff fingers. 

“No-no-no,” was all you could mutter as you watched him bring the blade to the same spot on his palm you couldn’t bring yourself to injure, cutting short all of your attempts to snatch the knife from him. “Please, I’ll do it.” 

The urgency in your voice was as clear as it was sudden. In every sense, you should have welcomed the relief from such a burden, yet it only managed to deepen the fear within you. An instinct whispered that between the two of you, he would be the least inclined to show mercy to show hesitation.

He effortlessly shook off the weight of your hands tugging at his wrists. Witnessing a smile on his face, whether benevolent or wicked, would have offered more comfort than the serene facade he now wore. It was easier for you to provide suitable answers when you know precisely what plagues his mind.

As your lips moved in futile appeals for him to cease already, an audible sigh escaped them as soon as you watched the blade gliding across the flesh of his palm. Dropping to your knees to draw nearer, you clasped his arm - the one wielding the knife - almost cradling it close to your chest. You could almost deceive yourself, misinterpreting the gesture as one driven by tenderness.

“Please, stop,” you muttered, eyes fixed on his palm. Despite wanting to lock eyes and convey the urgency of your plea, the fear of witnessing his pain held you back. “I’m afraid of blood,” you lied, “I get nauseous the moment it comes into view.”

Unconvincing, painfully so, and he perceived it as such. 

“Probably should have thought about it before deciding to comb my hair earlier this morning,” the twofold meaning seared in his reproach as he pointed to your fingers, his blood caked beneath your nails. 

More words danced at the tip of his tongue, laden with sentiments threatening to spill forth. Bold inquiries forever bound to remain unspoken. It occurred too often for you not to pick up on it. Yet, in this moment, such awareness faded as your focus narrowed to the subtle sway of the knife as it lifted up delicately. The pressure from the blade left a slice in his skin, a pale crack tracing across his palm. No blood. Thankfully, you couldn't help but acknowledge it to yourself.

You had to speak before he had a chance to come up with another rebuke - or even worse, decide to deepen the cut. 

“I’ll do it if you want me to,” you had to assemble all the remnants of composition within you to sound even just a bit assertive as you were still kneeling beside him.

As your touch graced his right hand, his fingers eased into a state of relaxation. There was no doubt in your mind that he was more than willing to surrender the blade - out of the two of you, he wanted you to do the swing. A complacent expression lingered in the cold depths of his eyes, a silent conviction that he had successfully played you. In some sense, he indeed had.

As you resumed your place at the table, your hand reached out for his - the very one he had attempted to harm not too long ago. Your gaze fixed upon the cut, the many layers of skin ruptured and now exposed. While it might have been more sensible to complete the job, to add another slice and breach the blood vessels, your touch redirected to his finger. Precisely on the soft pad of his digit is where you chose to apply the blade. 

The resistance of the flesh intensified as you pressed the metal deeper, each push of the blade causing a nauseating churn in your stomach. The sensation heightened as you felt the skin give way under the blade. It was unfathomable to think that he could do this routinely, let alone in a much quicker and more mindless motion than yours.

You could only be glad that it lasted mere seconds. After tossing the knife onto the table, you observed as blood began to flow, scarlet beads collecting at the edges of the cut. Zeke watched on in silence through all of that, following your gaze. You assumed - and rightfully so - that he expected your tears to follow his blood yet your eyes held nothing but weariness and annoyance - sentiments you made sure to convey to him the moment your gazes met.

“So?” you proded, as you quirked your eyebrow in an inquisitive manner. 

You almost flinched at the sudden feeling of a drop hitting the back of your hand. Pulsing out of the wound and dripping down the curve of his finger, blood blossomed into a splatter upon contact with your skin. Were you not quick enough in putting your hand away, another couple of drops would have followed. Had you not been quick enough to withdraw your hand, a few more drops would have inevitably followed.

Sure enough - just before needing to prompt him once more - a surge of warmth followed by a wispy ribbon of white smoke emerged from the cut. It would be dishonest of you to deny the sense of wonder that overcame you at the sight of the wound vanishing, its pink edges seamlessly melding back into his flesh. Although you couldn’t help but question if it was truly worth it, considering the sheer absurdity preceding it. 

Not a minute later and the cut was no more. Much like the unfounded worry you held for Zeke.  The emotions fueling your actions throughout the morning now condensed into pure exasperation. Perhaps, you mused, you should have reconsidered extending your help in the first place.

The scarlet stains on your hands suddenly felt revolting as you glanced at them one more time. The metallic stench returned, almost mocking you for the events of this morning. A strong inclination to leave seized you - you craved distance from the aftermath and his stupid remarks, should they follow. As well as the persistent urge to cleanse the sticky blood off your skin

“I’ll be away for a while,” you muttered under your breath, standing up and leaving the kitchen under the weight 

Even if he made an attempt to stop you, you would not pay any mind to his whims. It would require an extensive session of scrubbing before you would no longer see the maroon specks on your skin and the lingering scent of metal dissipate from the air.

[gilgamish]

WIP Wednesday - Rafflesia

Another Wednesday with another work in progress :D! And this week, we're writing Dark Brotherhood fic :D! Tagged by friends: @thequeenofthewinter , @rainpebble3 , @saltymaplesyrup , @dirty-bosmer, @paraparadigm and @kookaburra1701 -- Thank you all :D! I will be tagging more friends: @orfeoarte , @tallmatcha , @zomboidatomic , @nuwanders , and anyone else who would like to join ehehe :>

Babette knew many things: the soft, singing of blood through veins, accompanied by the heart; the catch and sigh of a person in a deep, truly dreamless sleep, and the cold, to its most ruthless degree, that halted what flowed in her veins; her tiny body pulled into torpor. These were things that a vampire knew. A knowledge that stitched together an endless stretch of nights; eternity opening itself up to her like skin peeling from a corpse left in the woods, spilt nectar thick and syrupy and unctuous. It delighted as much as it repulsed. And if her appetite did not have her take it, the forest and its animals would, and the cycle would go on. Another corpse would replace that one in time, and so, in a strange sense, she liked to think she shared a secret with these pines of Falkreath, perhaps a sense of companionship: she knew what fed their roots. But they knew day. They knew sunlight, captured it, soaking it up until only a scatter reached the blackened hungry soil beneath. All the while, she had forgotten, and this became a new source of hunger for her. Days in the Sanctuary spent, watching, listening with the keenness only a vampire could have. They were barely worth remembering altogether, but the small talks chafed; simple words gnawed: ‘I need to get there by morning market. Can I take the horse?’, or sometimes, in the middle of the day, ‘Do you feel like getting some fresh air?’ They knew it, all of them, the simple living pleasure of day. Some of her kind could call the sun imposing and cruel, something harmful to be avoided— for what was the worst enemy but something borne out of a place of love and life? That was the sun to vampires, not always the all-consuming, all-destroying rays, and to her especially, it was this and more. The sun was not a glowing orb of light, but another mystery for her to shred open with claws and fangs.

[magebastard]

wip wursday

thank u @coldshrugs for tagging me im NERVOUS abt this 1

im soft writing an if that may stay unreleased forever bc i don’t know if i will have the willpower to consistently post updates but im done w a prologue and half of chapter 1 and it’s been a treat to write about the most romantic place on earth (a tiny beach town in new jersey) here is a scene that I had to email to myself months ago bc I couldn’t figure out how to configure it into actual code properly but this is the first major flirt scene with the ro im in love w the most currently can you tell I started writing this after re-watching the bear

tagging @mrs-theirin @lalizah @darkspawntaxcollectors @grapecaseschoices everyone truly please I need to read my pals beautiful writing

Huh. You think you'd be wise enough to know when hunger is the culprit behind your bad moods at this point in your adulthood. That cloying, constricting feeling in your gut roils in response to Jordan's good-natured accusation and your lips flatten into a smile of surrender. He snorts. You hop up to sit on the counter across from his work station.

Sticking around after close isn't too outrageous of an ask when he's the one offering to make you dinner.

Damn, but it smells good in here. You imagine it'll get old—the smell of diner food permeating the modest industrial kitchen. But now it's only making you too aware that your last meal was a stale cereal bar nearly nine hours ago. Minutes pass. Jordan bobs his head to the music playing from his phone, speakers echoing where it's propped up inside of a clear, Tupperware tub. You don't want to upset the calm of a man's kitchen closing ritual but it feels like you should say something.

"I'm sorry I snapped. I didn't mean to take my bad day out on you," you finally settle on.

His dark eyes flit to yours for barely a moment. It's not too much but it's a strange intimacy. The last two employees on a closing shift, practically basking in the quietened building. It'd be peaceful, if it weren't so bizarre.

You turn your attention to his hands. Quick and certain, he methodically prepares your omelette with an artful precision. Almost more bizarre than sharing this calm moment with your coworker, is the care he measures into each ingredient, delicately incorporated. The effort is so thoughtful, you try to swallow past the sudden tightness in your throat.

"It's all good. I've been here long enough to recognize that ‘I didn’t take a lunch break’ look on anyone," he finally responds. There's a feint, fond smile on his face and it's impossible to deny the warmth of his handsome features. You smile along.

"You know everyone here pretty well?" It's not a question you really need answered. It's obvious. The guy practically has his head on a swivel for the revolving door of coworkers coming in to update him on their personal lives, which he responds to in kind with questions or anecdotes of his own. If there's one thing you've gleaned from your first week back at the diner it's that Jordan is adored as both a friend and a pillar of the business. He's got a singular kind of reliability.

You don't realize you're still smiling until you catch him staring, his hands stalled over pan and fork.

[hotspurpercy]

A STRANGE KIND OF HUNGER — COMPLETE !

this is an extremely belated post, but i finally finished the third draft of a strange kind of hunger! it's been about a week, and i still don't really know what to do with myself. i started working on it at the start of the year, and it's been my mainstay for eight months — through the end of my first year of university, teaching strikes, the death of my granddad and a 10-day sailing expedition... and it's done. wow! it capped out at 98k (19k extra words), 45 chapters and even more tangled, complicated relationships than the last draft.

what comes next?

i've been having a writing break, not only to replenish my writing juices but also because i gave myself slight carpal tunnel in the mad final two days of drafting. when i'm replenished, i plan on:

writing some short stories to submit to student magazines at cambridge

editing my hotspur poem for a mini zine i'm making with a friend

picking a new long-form project to be my mainstay

and querying askoh!!

where can i read askoh?

as always, the very first draft is still available on wattpad, but i would caution against it. i won't be generally releasing this draft, but i will be looking for beta readers, so if you'd like a copy of the improvised ebook you can dm me on tumblr or discord (@/hotspurpercy)

( + TAGLIST UNDER THE CUT ! )

@villaneve / @vandorens-archive / @nallthatjazz / @starshots-blog1 / @cannivalisms / @perditism / @spillme / @upoffringar / @thelittlestspider / @wildswrites / @brownpaperhag / @akoumi / @quilloftheclouds / @absolute-nonsense-scribblings / @birdywrote / @tiredlittleoldme / @strangerays / @ninazeniks / @authortango / @aetherwrites / @caravagest / @chazzawrites / @anavkour / @videsnoir / @karamel-pop / @philocalizt / @cryptidsandqueers / @kingsinking / @muddshadow / @stephwriteswords

[iaus]

5, 6, 8, and 18 for the asks 👀

5: first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

cheating because these lines go together so well. but from hunger pains:

And Jace burns. He wants to shut Porter up, to claw at his revealed skin and tell Porter if he’s not going to feed him the least he could do is fuck him.

6: the word that appears the most in your current draft (wordcounter.net can tell you)

i'm gonna scream. porter is the word that appears most in darling with a whopping 115 uses. which I MEAN YEA. if we ignore the names... back is the most used word with 36 uses. huh.

crying i ran part of the epilogue draft through here and porter is still the most used word. i'm sick.

8: if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

hmmm at the moment i'm pretty content with the endings (and future endings) of my sb stuff.

one day getting motivation/energy to go back to my darkest dungeon fic i'll crawl home (to you) would be so cool. mostly because it would require a lot of world-building and require a re-exploration of damian and tardif (who are leagues healthier than sb when one of them is a mass murderer and the other a literal walking corpse) and how dd2 changes them...

or?? finishing?? the arc i started with my bg3 fic? cute little thing where gale takes care of my oathbreaker paladin after he takes a consensual walloping from that loviatar worshiper in act 1. i actually have two follow up fics for this but. lost interest in writing for bg3 very quickly.

18: if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

so.... i mentioned in the most recent chapter of epilogue that i had to delete/rewrite a scene like 3 times? i'm gonna pull from there. i had to make a separate document for this scene and i just called it INTERLUDES. because i'm as we all know. long-winded i'm gonna share more than a paragraph (teehee) of this big ass cut scene. because i spent SO long on it.

Porter rubbed the curve of his ankle and smiled indulgently. “C’mon, Jace. I’m being a considerate coworker.”

That had made it worse, somehow. “Sober me up. You do it all the time.”

“Tapped out—some of the seniors got rowdy last period.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “Fine. Take me home. One condition.”

Porter hummed, still rubbing circles along Jace’s ankle.

“No. Asking me about.” He waved his hands vaguely.

Porter had agreed, then stood and tucked Jace under his arm. Told everyone they passed: Stardiamond’s cut off. Just looking out for him.

“You,” Jace had announced as Porter fiddled with his truck's climate control. “Did that on purpose.”

Porter grinned at him. “It’s winter break. Everyone will forget about it.”

Jace narrowed his eyes. Porter turned down the music. They drove in silence.

It had never bothered him before how little he remembered of it. The fallout was much more memorable. Much more galvanizing.

“It was an accident,” Jace finally said, head feeling unfortunately clearer. He recognized the streets. They weren’t going downtown; they were still in Tillering—winding the streets to Porter’s house. “It was… like a wild magic surge.”

Porter had stayed quiet, keeping his eyes on the road. Snow was finally beginning to fall (what a strange detail to remember so clearly). Despite the empty roads, Porter signaled his turn and as he was slowly easing onto his street he finally spoke: “Didn’t think you were that kind of sorcerer.”

“I’m not.”

Porter stayed quiet the rest of the drive; uncharacteristically, he did not push—but he did reach over and put a hand on Jace’s knee. He kept it there, an unending point of warmth in the winter chill. He should have asked Porter to drive him back to the school.

He felt sober enough to drive. To go home.

But something ugly was crawling up Jace’s throat—a wave of sudden doubt. If he asked Porter to do that, if he drove home and started the winter break alone in his beautiful, empty townhome…

Would they—

[browneyeddevil]

Twenty Questions: Fanfic author edition

thank you to both @goldenslumberowo and @thesweetnessofspring for tagging me! sorry it's taken me so long to get to this

How many works do you have on ao3?

I have 10 works

2) What's your ao3 wordcount?

85,510 - which is an absurd amount given how irregularly I post

3) What fandoms do you write for?

The Hunger Games. I have thought about branching out but nothing has really inspired me quite like The Hunger Games has :)

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Brightest Timeline - Canon divergent Silence me, Trust me, Love me - Post canon The Elephant in the Room - Post canon The unlikely Coming-of-Age of Katniss Everdeen - Canon divergent Isn't it Strange - Post canon

5) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try my very best to respond to all the lovely comments readers leave. I appreciate them a whole lot and find them very encouraging, I also just like to hear what readers are thinking, especially for multi-chapter works. Although, I admit, sometimes it takes me a while to respond, and there are occasions where I just straight up forget for a couple years.

6) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It'd probably have to be Underground; I kind of killed off Peeta 👀. It's a brief canon-divergent one-shot during Mockingjay that more or less focuses on Katniss and her grief and anger. In retrospect, it's kind of like the evil twin of "The Brightest Timeline" in which Peeta is rescued from the Capitol unhijacked.

7) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ohhh, Full Circle no debate. It's the happiest fic I've written, full stop. It's post-canon. Prim is alive, and Peeta and Katniss find each other again. All quite sweet and fluffy.

8) Do you get hate on fics?

Not to my knowledge. People have been critical of some of my earlier works, sort of disagreeing with my interpretations of a character, but I wouldn't call that hate. I hope I don't ever have to encounter the more vitriolic side of fandom.

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Noooo. I get nervous when describing a kiss that isn't chaste lol. I just don't think I'm very good at it, to be honest. I have considered writing more steamy scenes, especially for my WIP's, but I just don't think I'm there yet as a writer.

10) Do you write crossovers?

No. But never say never.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. I don't think my work is really popular enough to have to worry about that lolll.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I'd be fine with it if I was asked first :) I think it would be super cool.

13) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No, but I wouldn't be against the idea, per se. I'd just feel super guilty, my schedule is very unpredictable and I wouldn't want someone else having to deal with my erratic writing habits, it's bad enough that I do lol.

14) What's your all-time favourite ship?

Gotta be Everlark for sure.

15) What's a WIP that you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oof. I mean... if I'm honest Stop the Clocks, I think for me to be able to finish that I'd have to sit down and plan it out properly. It's also just always been a fic that I've struggled to sit dow and actually write for. In short, it needs a LOT of work and care. It's not badly written, buttt it's also not the best.

16) What are your writing strengths?

I'm pretty good at descriptions and being able to bring a setting alive. I've been told that I write very in-character and that my characters are consistent, which is nice because writing a character's inner monologue comes quite naturally to me.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggled for a long time with writing natural and organic dialogue; it has definitely become easier with time and practice, but it's still something that I obsess over a little. Also, transition paragraphs are the bane of my existence and I tend to avoid them where possible.

18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'd definitely be comfortable with writing in German as it's my second language. I'm currently learning Spanish, so maybe? I think it would depend on the complexity of what the character is trying to say. I think anything else, no. Not without consulting someone who speaks the language first anyway. I've seen first-hand how google translate can butcher simple phrases lol.

19) First fandom you wrote for?

The Hunger Games! My one and only 😍

20) Favourite fic you've ever written?

Isn't it Strange 100%. I put a lot of care and thought into it and it will always have a place in my heart. Rereading it there are some things that I would phrase differently now; and a part of me itches to change it, but another part would rather leave it as a time capsule to display my younger self's writing and how much I've improved since then. Weirdly enough though, it's just one of those fics that never got much attention lol *wink wink nudge nudge*.

This was super fun, so thanks again for tagging me!

I don't know who has or hasn't participated already so if anyone wants to hop on feel free to :)

[simplegenius042]

"Welcome To The Simple Lounge" - Introduction and MasterList Post

Hi there friends! SimpleGenius here, and here's a bit about this and the other blogs.

On this blog I mostly reblog anything that catches my eye and where I post most of my tag games and posts related to my stories. This blog is also where most details on my Original Works Trilogy An Old Ballad Of Chance And Ember Hearts (including its Original Work predecessor, Wings And Horns) and Fallout series A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore can be found.

@the-untitledverse-blog is where I post fics and details related to my The UnTitledverse series. The series is comprised of four sagas; The Perfect Storm, The Omniscient Rule, The UnTitled Ventures and The Ender sagas, focusing on the development of a child by the name of Joaquin Cobalt, who grows and matures throughout the sagas, alongside friends and family against enemies and threats on a multiversal scale.

@the-silver-chronicles is where I post fics and details related to my The Silver Chronicles series. The series is smaller than that of The UnTitledverse, however it is one with several alternate scenarios and AUs, most of which for Far Cry 5. This series doesn't follow a sole character, rather being a kind of anthology, connected but can still be solo, though personally I believe Junior Deputy Silva Omar should hold that title, as she is the most significant and reoccurring character in The Silver Chronicles, especially for the FC5 stories.

@life-despair-and-monsters-blog is where I post fics and details related to my Life, Despair & Monsters series. Like The UnTitledverse, this series focuses on the multiverse. Unlike it's predecessor, Life, Despair & Monsters focuses on the alternate dimensions, the Old Kin and magical aspects surrounding the Multiverse, as well as its fundamental foundations. This series follows three groups of characters; Haoyu Anabuki's rebellious group which act as the protagonist faction, Sir Enigma Malvolio's Ruins of the Midnight Rise scientific progress-obsessed institution which acts as the main antagonist faction, with Aggravor's Chapter of the Occult which is a group of warlocks conserving and preserving all kinds of magic and plotting to return the Old Kin back to power whom act as a rival against Malvolio's faction.

@mycharacterlistandwipdump is where I dump my story related details such as list of OCs, plots and WIPs.

I can be found on AO3 here.

Below the cut are the fandoms these series will include and a number of links which can take you to several masterposts. Enjoy!

The UnTitledverse includes fandoms such as Jurassic World, Five Nights At Freddy's, Transformers Prime, The Walking Dead Game, IT (2017), Stranger Things, Gravity Falls, DOOM (2016), SCP Foundation, Detroit: Become Human, Hellaverse, Pet Sematary (2019), Red Dead Redemption, Yo-Kai Watch, Subnautica, Final Space, Life Is Strange, Star Wars, The Last Of Us, Classroom Of The Elite, Hitman, Inside Job, Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure, Saw, The Hateful Eight, Resident Evil, The Masquerade, The Bone Season, Mermaids of Eriana Kwai, The Priory Of The Orange Tree, The Locked Tomb and Fear And Hunger.

The Silver Chronicles includes fandoms such as Far Cry, Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare, We Happy Few, Welcome To The Game, Six Of Crows, The Bone Season, Mermaids of Eriana Kwai, The Priory Of The Orange Tree, The Locked Tomb, Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure, Bloodborne and Elden Ring.

Life, Despair & Monsters includes fandoms such as Love Death + Robots, Doki Doki Literature Club, Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir, Arcane: League of Legends, Cyberpunk 2077, Guenevere, I Am Not Okay With This, House Of The Dragon, Wednesday, Poppy Playtime, The Invitation, Choo Choo Charles, God Of War, The Legend of Vox Machina and Castlevania.

A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore solely set in Fallout.

However, there are a few fandoms that I may do some unconnected (from my main fics anyway) fanfics on plus some other original works.

Lastly are the links to any MasterPosts and information I have [THIS WILL BE UPDATED (PROBABLY)]:

Masterpost of Fallout OC Protagonists

Masterpost of casted Fallout characters in my The Schmuck Squad's JJK Abridged react fic

[filet-o-feelings]

🚒🚒👻👻 please 💞🦛

My friend, you are a genius. This actually worked, and I finally have written words again!

🚒- new Buck/Tommy

Trying to get your attention has been kind of exhausting. He’d really said that. And hell, he’d probably be embarrassed if it hadn’t worked. If it hadn’t led to that moment.

👻-ghost!Patrick aka basement ghost singing

(this is a rewrite so apologies if this sounds familiar)

It had sounded as if it was coming from somewhere in the building, but he was the only occupant at the moment. He reassures himself that sounds can sometimes behave strangely and it was probably just the radio blaring from a car driving by before rushing out the door. Hunger wins over his need for investigation at the moment.

Send me a symbol and I will write 5 sentences for the corresponding wip and share at least 1.