#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

[illyrianbitch]

WORKS IN PROGRESS & QUOTES !

im trying to get back into writing, so heres a list of all the series wips shoved away in my mind and some of my favorite scenes/quotes from them<3

Cicada Song - Azriel x Reader

The cicadas always came back, no matter how long they’d been silent. Azriel thought it was funny, in a way—how they waited, patient and buried, until it was time to scream.

Anatomy of Dependence - Azriel x Reader

Your hands were shaking when you reached for him. He wanted to tell you to stop—that you didn’t have to touch the ruin of him. But he let you. Because Azriel had never been good at turning you away, and maybe, just maybe, a part of him wanted to see if you’d flinch. If you’d finally see the darkness for what it was and walk away. But you didn’t. Your hands shook and you held on anyway.

An Education in Malice - Azriel x Reader

The words curled in your chest, bitter and sweet at the same time. A part of you, the child who had never stopped wanting his approval, allowed herself to feel something like warmth, like the satisfaction of a long-held desire finally being fulfilled. It made you want to turn your face away, ashamed.

House of Hunger - Eris x Reader

You hated him sometimes—his silence, his indifference, the way he managed to make you feel like you were reaching for something that would never be yours. But then there were moments like this, rare and fleeting, where you saw beyond the arrogance and the fire to the male underneath. And that male terrified you. Because he wasn’t cruel or cold. He was kind, and broken, and so impossibly alone that it made you ache in ways you didn’t want to admit.

One Summer - Azriel x Reader

“Tell me about it,” he said, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned in just enough for your noses to brush. His hand slid to cup your jaw, thumb caressing the curve of your cheek. “I’m over here popping a boner every time you smile at me like some hormonal teenager.” You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, your body shaking against his as you playfully smacked his chest. “Oh my god, Az,” you groaned, half-embarrassed, half-amused. “I better stop smiling at you then.”

Lights, Camera, Action! - Rhysand x Reader

Lucien crossed his arms. “I’m not scared. I was startled, okay? Because you don’t have a dog.” He gestured wildly to Hero, as if needing proof that this isn’t just a strange hallucination. “You never mentioned a dog.” You grinned, giving Hero a little nudge forward as if presenting him formally. “Well, I do now.” “Since when?” “Since about twelve hours ago,” you said casually, as though adopting a dog on impulse is a perfectly reasonable, everyday thing. "Keep up."

In The Wake of Spring - Azriel x Reader x Eris (Azris x Reader)

Azriel had been ready to tear Lucien apart for even a taste of Elain. That was jealousy. That was claiming. But this was different. When he watched Eris lean toward you, your eyes locking in a way that had nothing to do with the others in the room, Azriel didn't feel the fire that once ignited within him. Instead, he felt a space open up inside him, a soft place where you both fit. Warm. Strange.

When Ghosts Call Us Home - Cassian x Reader

Centuries. That’s how long it had been since he'd last seen you—centuries—and yet, when he looked at you now, it was as if the years hadn’t existed at all. You looked different, sure—older, softer, but still undeniably you. There was a quiet strength in you that had only grown, a kind of peace he hadn't imagined possible after everything. He had expected time to change you in ways he couldn’t recognize, but you'd only expanded into yourself, like you were now something both older and more familiar all at once. It made his heart ache. Oh gods, how he wished he could've watched you grow into the female he watched now. He felt robbed.

Hidden Things - Lucien x Reader

Lucien's chuckles faded into something quieter. You caught your breath, wiping a tear from your eye as your laughter died down. And then you realized he was staring at you, his eyes distant, like he wasn't fully there anymore. “What?” you asked, “Do I have something on my face?” “No, nothing," he said as he cleared his throat. Lucien looked away for a second, but his eyes inevitably found yours again. “It’s just… you remind me of someone.” The air around you shifted slightly. You didn't miss the way his voice dipped, or the flicker of something deeper in his expression. Your smile softened as you turned fully toward him, leaning just a bit closer. “Do... do you love this someone?” Lucian stilled. For a moment, he looked almost startled. But then he took a breath, glanced down at his hands, and then back up at you. And smiled. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice tender. “I really loved them.”

im such a deep lover of series y'all. i just love writing the process of falling in love, but i also have soo many one-shots, so i might make one of these for those, too <3

[lousypotatoes]

WIPS

"We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven't you?"

--

Put Your Head On Shoulder - Vox x Reader (Hazbin Hotel)

A Thousand Years - Adam x Reader (Hazbin Hotel)

Cowboy Love - Striker x Reader (Helluva Boss)

Your Love Is My Drug - Blitzo x Reader (Helluva Boss)

Angel Baby Brick x Reader (Total Drama)

The Night We Met - Noah x Reader (Total Drama)

Shameless - Alejandro Burromuerto x Reader (Total Drama)

Golden Hour - Tenya Iida x Reader (My Hero Academia)

Hopelessly Devoted To You - Izuku Midoriya x Reader (My Hero Academia)

Somewhere Only We Know - Shoto Todoroki x Reader (My Hero Academia)

Still Into You - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader (My Hero Academia)

Can't Sleep Love - Ejirou Kirishima x Reader (My Hero Academia)

I Was Made For Loving You - Eddie Munson x Reader (Stranger Things)

Dark Red - Phillip Gallagher x Reader (Shameless)

Girls In Bikinis - Leon Kuwata x Reader (Danganronpa)

We Fell In Love In October - Mondo Owada x Reader (Danganronpa)

Teenage Dream - Kiyotake Ishimaru x Reader (Danganronpa)

I Don't Know How To Love - Byakuya Togami x Reader (Danganronpa)

Do You Want To Die Together? - Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu x Reader (Danganronpa)

House Of Memories - Gundham Tanaka x Reader (Danganronpa)

She's Kinda Hot - Kazuichi Soda x Reader (Danganronpa)

Can't Remember To Forget You - Rantaro Amami x Reader (Danganronpa)

My Strange Addiction - Korekiyo Shinguji x Reader (Danganronpa)

Favorite Liar - Kokichi Ouma x Reader (Danganronpa)

Two Of A Kind - Kaito Momota x Reader (Danganronpa)

Time After Time - Wally Clark x Reader (School Spirits)

Wish You Were Sober - Zach Dempsey x Reader (Thirteen Reasons Why)

Till Forever Falls Apart - Killian Jones x Reader (Once Upon A Time)

Back To Black - Dean Winchester x Reader (Supernatural)

I Like The Way You Kiss Me - Noah Puckerman x Reader (Glee)

Lay All Your Love On Me - Joey Tribbiani x Reader (FRIENDS)

As The World Caves In - Jasper Cullen x Reader (Twilight)

Wicked Games - Peter Hayes x Reader (Divergent)

Say Yes To Heaven - Spencer Reid x Reader (Criminal Minds)

Let's Fall In Love For The Night - George Weasley x Reader (Harry Potter)

Slow Dancing In The Dark - Draco Malfoy x Reader (Harry Potter)

Can't Take My Eyes Off You - Steve Harrington x Reader (Stranger Things)

Just The Two Of Us - Harry Potter x Reader (Harry Potter)

Out Of My League - Ron Weasley x Reader (Harry Potter)

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy - Chandler Bing x Reader (FRIENDS)

Sunflower - Matt Taylor x Reader (Until Dawn)

Bullet With Butterfly Wings - Chris Hartley x Reader (Until Dawn)

Honeypie - Mike Munroe x Reader (Until Dawn)

I Wouldn't Mind - Nick Furcillo x Reader (The Quarry)

Diamond Eyes - Ryan Erzahler x Reader (The Quarry)

How Did You Get So Good - Dylan Lenivy x Reader (The Quarry)

Take A Chance On Me - Jacob Custos x Reader (The Quarry)

Sweet Creature - Jacob Black x Reader (Twilight)

Places We Won't Walk - Peeta Mellark x Reader (Hunger Games)

Cinnamon Girl - Finnick Odair x Reader (Hunger Games)

Heaven Can Wait - Sam Winchester x Reader (Supernatural)

Glad You Came - Sam Evans x Reader (Glee)

Weight Of The World - Cho Sang Woo x Reader (Squid Game)

Falling Like The Stars - Hwang Jun-Ho x Reader (Squid Game)

Disease - Hwang In-Ho x Reader (Squid Game)

Killshot - Seong Gi-Hun x Reader (Squid Game)

Rises The Moon - Kang Dae-ho (Squid Game)

--

"I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just gonna bash your brains in."

--

yes, i know there are so many, but once i get ideas, i write them down, or in this case, type them out.

I GRADUATED GUYS OMG

never thought i would get this far tbh

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

[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

[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 😐

[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

[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)

[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

[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.

[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

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

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.

[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 :)

[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

[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.

[rad-roche]

i was tagged by @perfectlypreservedpie for WIP Wuhfriday! thank you kindly. i always feel a little shy reaching out to individual people, so i'd like to extend this tag to everybody who reads this and would like to participate :>

here's a whole page from dead woman walking, a (mostly!) style-accurate noir adaptation of far harbor, and a part i don't think i've shared here (with some spoilers tastefully excised for my own benefit)

two years after the events of dead man talking, the valentine detective agency takes on a case that may serve to be the death of it.

He lit a smoke. He looked up at the sky, pink with butter-yellow clouds, like frosting on a cake. The smoke was sticky in his head. Acrid. Toxic. It was doing nothing but damage. He didn’t have lungs, capillaries, or whatever those little tubes in them were called. It wasn’t ventricles, that was the heart. He took a pointless drag and mulled. Bronchioles, that was it. And the little air sacs. Aioli? No, hell, that was a sauce.  Nick cursed and rubbed his side. The twisting pain of hunger asserted itself. He thought about Takahashi’s noodle stand, fresh cannolis bursting with ricotta cream, a Maxwell Street Polish buried in onions. A bag of chips you get in a gas station that you eat and never think about again. A coffee. A mediocre egg salad. A lasagna, wrapped in foil, that a friend hands you when you have a hard time. All the food he had never, could never, and would never eat. Nick thought about snakes, the kind with venom so potent that your blood turns to chewing gum in your veins. He wondered if it was a hot or cold kind of feeling. He wondered what it would be like, to have blood at all. The sun was setting. Nick stood up, dusting off his pants, and stretched a little. He made himself walk to the railing and take it all in. Gulls cried softly. He could make out the first of the lights from Far Harbor, the stubborn growth clinging to a wasting body. All that time, all the Fog, and it was still here. That’s all they were, he supposed. Himself included. Strange, new bacteria blossoming over the carcass of the world, growing and intermingling and processing the old into pulp, until nothing but the bones were left. He took another drag. He watched a gull burl and spin in the air, the light catching all its eyes. Another gull swooped at it, driving it from the air with a jerk and an awful cry. It fell in a flash of red and that was it. It fell from the sky and the sunset was pristine and the waters were calm and beautiful and Nick was smoking and shaking his head about it all. A feeling overtook him. The terror, the pain, and, underneath it, in the heart of the world that the bombs couldn’t touch, the beauty and the elation. This was what he lived for. Warm winds for doomed birds. “I'm sorry,” he said to nobody and meant it. “It’s a tough break.”

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

WIP Wednesday

Wasn’t planning on do this, but got inspired by @kayjaydee17‘s amazing teaser, I hope that’s okay.

Warnings for blood, injury, fire, sensory overstimulation, and very brief references to noncon and ableism.

Here's a recipe:

Take a girl. Make her part Na'vi, part Avatar, part demon, part miracle, part future Tsakarem, part future warrior. Make her the daughter of three mothers--one living, one dead, one beyond such categories--and a soldier father at war with a hungry ghost.

Shift her one step to the left, so that she sees the world the way no one else quite can. Give her a brain that haunts her with seizures and strangeness, give her a planet face alien invasion, giving a strange hunger curling in her bones that she can't explain.

Take her home in the woods and send her to a strange land, where the pounding sea keeps her awake every night and the word freak haunts her steps like a shadow. Take her friend, and give him back broken. Take her brother, and give her a corpse. Take her mother and give her a woman bleeding from wounds old and new, struggling not crumble under them all.

Add a bunch of bruising hands, snap cuffs, hungry eyes as she kneels on a deck with her sister at her side. Leave her with enough innocence to only sense how much worse it could have been, how lucky she was, enough knowledge that suspect that others (Monkey Boy) weren't so fortunate.

Stir her up with terror and blood and fear, the weight of pleas on her tongue and in her ears. Send her running through a dying ship with her family and the screams of tearing metal ringing through her skull, grinding her to dust.

Bring past the boiling point, high enough to burn.

Take a deep breath and wait.

They kept Tuk from falling into the darker bowels of the ship, but the access hatch sliced Mom's ribs open. Not as deep as it could be (Kiri can see a flash of someone else's memory, her brother heaving for air on a dull red rock) but deep enough to leave her panting on the tilting deck of the ship, heaving for air.

"Fuck," Spider rasps, hands pressed next to Kiri's against Mom's damp skin. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Blood drips from his own chest, mixing with Mom's cut, and honestly there's probably some kind of metaphor or whatever there, like a song, but right now Kiri's head is too full of screaming to contemplate it.

Besides them, Tuk whimpers. She's curled up in a ball next to them, hands pressed over her ears, and Kiri feels so desperate to do the same it hurts. She wants to curl uptight, wants to rock herself into oblivion as she loses herself in her own head, her own body, reclaiming each fragment of them as her own.

Mom coaks, eyelids fluttering. "Go," she grits out, hand joining Spider's and Kiri's to press against her stomach. "Come back for me."

"We’re not going anywhere," Kiri shoots back. Her tongue is numb with smoke and her head is buzzing with heat and she has never felt as lost as she has today; her voice comes out a smoke-cracked, desperate growl, impossible to recognize.

Everything's loud, everything so loud, fire screaming and crackling until she's terrified of having another seizure. Her hands shake and she wants to press them to her ears, but she'll get blood on them, sinking down the canals and burning up her brain.

Her wrists hurt, aching with the memory of cold cuffs and cold railings, and her throat is worse, a faint sting from the blood crusted on her neck. Not like Mom's or even Spider's, but the knife had been so cold cutting her skin, and the voice curling in her ear had been colder still. 

Hold still, little lady, the demon purred in her ear, voice like rotten honey dripping down her back, and she couldn't breathe. She still can't breathe.

She feels Tuk's fear along with her own, jittering over Kiri's skin. She can pick up on the terror Mom's trying so hard to hide, the grief and pain and sick creeping strands of resignation in that heart which has always been so strong. Kiri's sickeningly grateful she can't feel Spider's mind, too.

She thinks about what Tuk said when they first came to this place: I want to go home. Kiri wants that too, especially now; wants the quiet of the woods wrapping around her like a heavy blanket, the familiar sights and sounds keeping her sane. She wants to go back to the forest as it was before the Sky People came, when it was just her and the people she loved, when being different felt like a blessing instead of a burden growing heavier every day.

"Leave me," Mom insists. Kiri just shakes her head wildly, tears tracking down her face.

Mom's wrong, she is, but there's still no way she's swimming off this ship with her wound. They need something to hold her, they need herbs for her wound before it bleeds out, they need it to be yesterday or two years ago before everything started hurting so much.

"Great Mother," Tuk sobs, little voice shaking. "Great Mother, help us, please, please..."

Please, Kiri joins in silently. She grits her teeth and pushes her mind into the chaos, the endless spiraling noise, struggling to stay grounded as her head throbs and her hands shake. Great Mother, someone, anyone. Help us.

Around her, she can feel the terror of ocean creatures fleeing from the fire, the pain of those caught up and burning. She can feel the flash of Metkayina warriors still battling in the distance, taking revenge for all the terror and grief the Sky People have inflicted on them.

Somewhere she can catch Dad and Quaritch battling, fragments of hate like nothing she's ever known. She thinks she's feeling echoes of Lo'ak and Tsireya, the deep slow consciousness of Payakan, but it's impossible to pin any of them down.

Deeper than all that is Eywa's heartbeat shuddering through her bones, a wild, almost frantic beat, or maybe that's just her imagination. Maybe she really is crazy, maybe there's nothing, but Kiri can't believe that, she can't, or she'll break completely.

Help us, she insists, her mind balancing on the line between ragged need and iron will. Show me the way out.