#I’d imagine his insides would be hot enough to melt and digest it

[semischarmed]

Mine

Many coaches have come and taught the many iterations of our university team. Over the years, these coaches, like players, come and go. Good ones are hard to come by. Great ones are once in a lifetime. That was our Coach James.

He had a fatherly quality to him. There was a warmth in his training, a brightness when he would teach us. When we succeeded, he helped bring us up further and when we failed he softened the blow with his wisdom. Coach was great like that. Strictly professional, of course, but with a layer of genuine friendliness and a desire to watch us all succeed. He really was the perfect coach and we were blessed to have him. Still, in my lust, in my pure selfishness, I knew I had to have him- all of him to me and me alone. One long summer day, I ask for some one-on-one training. Never one to turn down a teaching opportunity, he complies. Like I said, he was a great coach.

I decide this would be the day. I run, but not too well. I throw, but haphazardly. That’s all it took for him to lean in. That’s all it took to get him close. Of course, he came with pure intentions- I did not. 

When he is right above me, when I feel the vibration in the air from his chest, when I feel his raw power and vitality. That is when I strike. I fuck up my throwing position a little more, and he guides it proper. Fuck yeah. Jesus, I could stay like this forever. I feel the resonance of his deep voice within my very soul. Beckoning to me. “Become me. You want this. You deserve this,” it taunts. He was still coaching me, sure, but my mind is preoccupied with dark intent. 

These gentle breaths as he speaks- these steady hands guiding mine to a better position. These would be my truths now. A most intimate of trainings. Coach James would be training me-sure- he would be training me to use that bod. I stare at him with longing. He would never look at me that way. God, I wanted him so bad. We glisten with the sweat of the midday sun. I could melt just like this. And in fact, I do.

In that grasp, in that teaching moment, I decide to teach coach a couple tricks myself. I look up at his face. Earnest. Strong. Patient. I watch his lips- they’re still moving- he’s still guiding me. Good. He hasn’t noticed my body begin liquifying. He continues on, unfazed. Unconcerned. He always did have that humble strength about him. 

I am drawn to those plump lips, to his perfect smile and the void behind them, to the force of his breath over me, and to the very vibration that created them. I am drawn to that body which I would make mine. I wrap his thick arms around me. Those goddamn arms. They pulse and tense in surprise. He finally catches on. “- Hey. What are you doing? What.. What is this?” I pay no mind. A breeze picks up and his scent fills me. I wrap myself in it. Old spice deodorant layered over the pungent, musk of a man. My man. My scent, soon enough. The air was ripe in pheromones. Testosterone. James. I inhale deeply, trying to catch as much of him as I could. His skin is nice, too. It’s a bit damp, a bit hot from the heat, but nice. I feel them stretch taught, struggling to contain the mass of muscle beneath. I draw his shocked embrace even closer, uncomfortably close. I feel him between concern over my melting form and a need to push me away. Works for me. I continue to liquify further. Faster. You will be mine, Coach.

The world stops for a moment- at least for me. Maybe adrenaline, maybe my imagination. I commit this scene to memory, the scene where I become something greater. The scene where the real Coach James is born.

I shoot up his nose and flood his mouth. His body is forced to gorge itself with my mass. With every breath he attempts to draw, he pulls the liquid me instead. He retches, attempting to vomit me out, but I just draw myself further in. Flooding and flooding, I saturate coach with myself. When all but the last of me is a dribbling of slime upon his cheek, I disperse inside him. I drill into his every crevice, swim through his bloodstream, bond with his ever piece. I settle deeper and deeper inside my coach. Until his body no longer recognizes my presence as foreign. Until I am coach. I incubate into him, my pieces dormant. 

Coach James awakes in the grass to the odd sight of a star-filled sky and a cold night breeze. “What the fuck...” he ponders, rubbing his head in confusion. He aches all over, yet he isn’t hungry. He digs into his memory, attempting to piece together the past few hours. I just spent them digesting this afternoon so he would have no success. 

Unclear on the past events, yet unfazed, he walks back to his car and heads home.

———

That first night was magical-for me. As for coach, I’m not quite sure. I am ever present in his dreams. Pleasure, I think, is how I’d describe what being inside James was like. In his dreams, in his deepest thoughts, I lay there to witness them. These were thoughts, these were ideas, these were emotions that only I would be sole witness to, along coach. Ecstasy. This was a piece of him we would share alone. I was like a part of him, and only I would know him fully to this extent. 

In the next few days after the events of that afternoon, Coach appeared a little more vain, a little more irritable. To my teammates he just seemed off. They catch glimpses of him checking himself out. They hear the barely audible moans from his office as he delicately feels his every part. 

“What the fuck was up with coach” They say. Little did they know the real question to ask was ‘what was up’ IN their coach. Little did they know it was the influence of their missing teammate, ingraining himself deeper and deeper into his beloved James.

Despite the changes, my coach resists me. The further I try to bond, the more his body rejects me. It is a 3 day affair. A push and pull. With every push, I gain momentary connection to that bod, only to have that fulfillment ripped from my now non-existent hands. He was a coach, after all. I should have known it would be a battle of wills. Still, there was someone I had that coach didn’t have-yet. My mind. I had a cleverness match-made for that hot bod. A cleverness he deserved. A cleverness that I would utilize to the fullest to make that match a reality. Coach was a happy, content man. I was not. He needed my ambition, my cleverness, my lust. That body deserved better.

I let up the assault on his mind. He feels himself winning, backing my parts into a corner. It’s here where I apologize profusely inside him. He accepts because, James was the kind of guy to pick someone up when they’re down. He accepts my apology foolishly as we decide upon the best way I may leave him. A chance. We decide to do so in the privacy of his home- for my sake, of course. Little did he know, I felt his resistance weakest there. He readies himself for my exit, relaxing so I may flow out of him. I ready myself for one final push. It was in that moment that I surround coach with my psyche, encapsulate his very soul.

 Coach James wakes up making an odd face his body has never made. It was a lustful, sinful grin. It was my grin. I start chuckling. My voice is deep, booming. We moan together as my dormant parts stir. We moan as it starts convulsing. The shaking was harsh. I puppet this body still and eager to accept more of me. It takes some resistance but it finally yields. Nothing good comes easy, after all. I stick my parts take their rightful places. Those bulging, slick arms? Mine. Powerful, vascular legs? Also mine. That thick, veiny cock? Fucking. Mine. I feel them inside me- I alight as his energy becomes mine. We tickle. We feel great. At long last, this body was mine. 

No. Further. I want everything he ever is, ever was. James was gonna give me that. I wanted permanence. No one would ever tear us apart. I decide on his soul. I decide on becoming that as well. I string his soul up, prisoner in its own body, unable to do much of anything until transformed by the poison of my very being. In the meantime, I pleasure my new self to grant him a taste of what we could have, what we could be, once he yielded. I use those thick python arms as my own. I gingerly trace my a newly muscular inner thigh. I shiver in delight. Fuck. We were sensitive. Who knew?

I stare at myself in the mirror. Oh god, oh god this was real, he was truly mine. “Here’s how to use this bod correctly” I mock in that gentle, instructive tone he had. I rush up to the mirror and start making out with myself. It’s cold. It warms up as I continue to lap at it with my tongue, as I continue to smear with these new plump lips of mine. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff, coach” I moan as him. The room is humid, dripping with pheromone, hot from the heat I am emanating in wearing my beloved coach. I touch my new dick for the first time, feeling his soul rile up. I feel his teaching sensibilities corrupt with my desire. As any good coach knows, never let them have a chance to fight back. Before he has a chance to react to my newfound control or my actions, I pump quickly, determinedly. Yeah. Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. Coach’s body was fucking hot. This was a fucking dream- Oh My god. “Oh. Oh. oh” Our moans ring like music to my new ears. And in that final resonance, I release with only one thought: “I’m Coach James”. His hand shakes in resistance. This was it. I force the hand still. Command it. It was my hand after-all. I scoop our cum in my hand. I give my hot new reflection a playful wink. “Bottoms up” I say to us both. Sweet Nectar. My Nectar. With every taste and of his own milk, he perverts own senses, dilutes his very self. He has obviously never tasted himself to this capacity- because I finally feel his soul reflexively bond to mine. He tries to pull back. Like I’d let him. I greedily keep us tethered together. Then, he relents. There’s my James. 

When he finally yields I feel his memories, his feelings, hopes open up. I take them all. Distort them. I take all of him into me, meld them with myself until we were but one soul. They were me, now. My memories, sure. My senses. My feelings- fuck yeah, but inundated, saturated with my lust. Hopes- not a fucking chance. My hopes and dreams for this body are far greater. Coach James was greater that that. I was greater than that. I am the James the world deserves. 

I am left panting by the end of it. Ecstasy reverberates. It’s all me in here, baby. My coach- I was reborn. Tears stream down my cheeks. “Call me James” I say with newfound truth and intent. That name came naturally to me. I was fully him, after all.

———

‘New James’ is fucking kinky. Dirty. Narcissistic. As much as I love bossing around the kids, I love playing with myself even more. I got some great parts. Look at this fucking bicep. Teaching? Fuck that. Fuck the team. New James is ripe with ambition and power. “James Harrison got better fucking things to do that teach some stupid fucking kids,” I spit in the mirror as caress myself. Yeah. This bod’s a fucking power trip. So much more New James can do with his time. 

“New” might be a bit of a misnomer. I am James, in body mind and soul. I am James, in past-present and future. All he ever was? All he ever will be? Me. I am James, forever. And I aint no fucking coach.

-End-

Just a quick one.

#male possession

[alittleoptimistic]

Object Impermanence

A short (horror?) story by me for no reason other than ive been listening to the magnus archives and thinking about how it’s nice to sit on the ground and exist.

__________________________________

Summer of 2004, I’d just quit smoking. I remember because I was pissed off for no reason all the time, and I packed more gum than I packed food. My entire backpack smelled like awful, sweet, artificial grape flavoring.

My little sister is home and she’s been hiking with those rich friends of hers and she’s like, ‘lets go hiking on the weekend.’ I’m all, do I look like I go hiking? But whatever, she was just gonna leave by herself if I didn’t go, and what did I have going on anyway? We were going to leave Friday, hike up the mountain, stopping at various lookout points to camp until we reached the top, and then we’d come home by Monday morning.

It started off fine. My feet hurt by the end of the first day. I was wearing sneakers cause that was all I had, and I couldn’t even complain about it because Sara, that's my sister, said that would happen if I wore them, and I told her to buzz off. It was just the two of us, wandering up a mountain. It smelled clean and sharp. The air was cool, almost too cool for the lungs, and I didn’t say how much I was actually enjoying myself. Yeah, there were mosquitos, and the undergrowth left scratches on my ankles, and Sara laughed at me when I struggled. She had a nice laugh, tough, kind and genuine. But it was all worth it when we reached a peak.

One of the first lookout points sat above the valley. It was a flat, stone outcropping. We dangled our legs over the edge. We ate our sandwiches and sunned on the rock like lizards. It was the first time in a long time I’d truly felt… solid. I was so used to this screaming, crashing in my head. I had too many tabs open at once, and I barely looked at any of them. And now I was just a creature, laying against my backpack in the sun, feeling the clouds pass over. It was good that way. People would be a lot nicer if they just shut their mouths and lay on the ground more often.

I heard Sara get up, but I didn’t bother to open my eyes. I was sort of asleep, and the weight of my body had settled into my limbs. I might have melted into the rock and been content there. It wasn’t until a cold wind swept hair into my eyes that I finally squinted and sat up, groggy from my half-sleep.

Sara was gone, her pink ‘rucksack’ (that was what it was called, according to Sara) abandoned a few feet away from me. I had gravel pressed into the palms of my hands, and I brushed it off as I looked around for her. Something settled into my stomach, a deep ill-ease I couldn’t quite shake. Her boots lay next to the backpack, socks sticking out of the top like little white tongues. Thinking back, I wasn’t really worried. If she’d left her shoes, she couldn’t have gone far.

I looked for her, grumbling. The forest here was made up of tall pines, and not much undergrowth anymore, so I should have been able to see her with relative ease, but when I stepped back into the forest, I saw no one. My steps made no noise on the pine needles. The trees swayed.

I called out her name and heard nothing in reply. Actually, to be honest, I heard nothing at all. No wind, no twittering birds, no crunching leaves. Have you ever heard of those rooms that suck the sound out of them? I had a buddy in high school who used to make music, and he rented a soundproof room to record. I went with him one time, mostly because his sister was really cool, and I’d reasoned she might be there (she wasn’t). The point is, the forest felt like that room. My voice died as soon as it left my lips, right in front of me. In the quietest soundproof rooms, they say you start to hear your own heartbeat, the sound of your digestive system, your pumping blood. Spending too long inside a room like that can drive you mad. I kept thinking about that; about soundproof rooms, and about how I didn’t know what my own body sounded like, not really. How can you live in a body its entire life, and not know everything about it? Do bones make noise when they move? The firing of nerves, do they make a sound? I had no idea. But right then, I felt that if I stayed here long enough, I would find out.

I wanted a cigarette.

A twig snapped behind me. I whipped around. I wasn’t sure what had me so tightly strung. There wasn’t anything to be frightened of. Not really. It was Sara. Of course, it was Sara. She’d pulled her blonde hair into a ponytail, and she gave me an odd look, like I was being weird, and she asked if I was okay. I told her, yeah, I was fine, where did she go?

Sara shrugged and walked back to the lookout without answering the question. I guess that was the first sign that things weren’t alright, but I didn’t pick up on it at the time. I was distracted by the quiet and soundproof rooms and my own hammering heartbeat.

We kept on up the mountain as the day stretched. My backpack dug into my shoulders and neck as I followed behind Sara and her hot pink rucksack.

At some point, I looked at my watch, only to realize it was gone. I’d never owned a wristwatch. Except, I had. I got it for myself as a treat after I managed to keep my job as a waiter at Sonic for a month. I couldn’t skate for the life of me, but they kept me on. I tried once. Skating, I mean. The experience was so beyond embarrassing I refused point-blank to do it on the job again. Have you ever had orange soda spilled on your crotch before? I had to walk around for the rest of the shift with this massive sticky stain down the front of me like I was a two year old with a melted popsicle. Disgusting. The manager on duty thought it was hilarious. It was, I guess. You have to find humor in jobs like that or else you won’t get through the day. I’m getting off-topic again. I bought myself a wristwatch from Walmart after the first month of working there because I could.

And now I didn’t have the watch. I’d… well, I thought I possibly could have just left it behind. But now that I thought about it, I couldn’t picture the watch in my head. Had I bought the watch, or did I just think about buying the watch? Either way, I didn’t know what time it was. We’d been walking for hours at this point, long enough that I’d gone through two whole packs of gum. My stomach growled. I told Sara we should stop, citing the setting sun.

Not pausing, Sara told me it wasn’t much farther. That was it.

I pressed the issue. I complained about how hungry I was, how my feet hurt, how I needed to sit down.

“It’s not much farther,” she said again.

Up to this time, I didn’t think anything was wrong. I was just irritated she was being so stubborn. I told her if she didn’t stop I was going to sit down, and she could go up by herself. I’m not exactly an athletic guy, you see? I never have been. In middle school, kids called me Scrawny Shawny. They weren’t wrong. Mom used to resew my pants because the store never had pants with the right sized waist and length. They were always too short with a waist that fit fine, or long enough with too large of a waist. I wasn’t as skinny as I was at thirteen, but smoking hadn’t helped me gain any weight, and I sure wasn’t used to hiking for hours on end.

I told her I was stopping to sit and eat something. I wasn’t getting bossed around by my baby sister. Sara was already a good distance ahead of me, up a slight hill in the trail. She stopped at the top. From that incline, I noticed the first really weird thing. She was barefoot.

Had she not put her shoes back on? How long had she been walking without shoes? And how? The trail was filled with sharp, sand-stone gravel. The trail wound around tree roots, and boulders. I’d stubbed my toe already from inside my shoe.

I called out to her. Where were her shoes? Was she stupid? What was she thinking?

She looked down at her feet, as if noticing them for the first time.

Then, smoothly, she twisted her neck to look at me. Her face was blank. But that could have been that she was too far away for me to see clearly. I told her to stop messing around and come eat a snack.

“It’s not much farther,” she said.

I felt that twist in my stomach again, a tightness in my lungs that wasn’t from the exercise or the thinning air. Her tone was flat, dull, like… this might not make sense, but like soft wood hitting soft wood. That’s the only way I can think to describe it. I heard her clearly, but the sound wasn’t traveling? It hung in the air for a second before dropping into the dirt.

I had my backpack in my hands, and I realized I was clutching it, my nails digging into my palms. Sweat coated my back from the hike, but I was getting cold.

All at once, I wasn’t hungry anymore.

Also, I hadn’t brought any snacks. I hazily unzipped my backpack, eyes still on my sister, who stared at me but didn’t turn around. When I opened the backpack, the smell of grape candy wafted up to meet me. But there were no snacks inside. No trail mix. No cans of beans. No dried fruit. No energy bars. And you’ll remember I said before, I hadn’t packed much food, but I definitely packed some. Had I eaten it all already? It was only Saturday. Or was it Sunday? I couldn’t remember.

Had I never packed any at all? I asked Sara if she’d taken my snacks. She said, “We don’t need a snack yet. It’s only a little farther.”

I gave in then. I’m not sure why, really. Something in me knew she wasn’t going to let me rest. I walked until I was a few steps behind her. She twisted forward again. And then Sara kept going. Up the mountain.

The sun should have set eventually. But it didn’t. That’s the thing. It stayed half set, not quite gone, but clearly not totally in the sky, for… I don’t know how long. Because it was halfway like that, I couldn't tell if I was imagining it or not. I couldn’t tell if it was moving. The shadows stretched like taffy, and the light was golden. We walked through this striped forest of light up the mountain. My stubbed toe was bleeding. I could feel the stickiness and warmth in my sock. Sara’s feet were bloody too, but she didn’t seem to notice. If anything, she walked faster the longer we went. I didn’t dare say anything. Everytime I tried to make an excuse to stop, I’d suddenly realize that excuse did not exist.

I told her we needed to set up camp.

We did not have tents. We would sleep beneath the stars, when they finally came.

I was thirsty.

We did not have water bottles. We’d planned to drink from the streams.

I told her my shoes were breaking.

I wore hiking boots. Of course they weren’t breaking. My toe was still bleeding, however, and that was the only thing that kept me certain that I had been wearing sneakers before.

A particular strain of fear settled in my gut, a familiar feeling I had not laid claim on in a long time. I used to be terrified of losing things when I was a kid. I couldn’t stand the idea of leaving something behind. I forgot a stuffed animal at a playground once when we were on a road trip. It was a little green bear named Ugly. I left him inside the jungle gym of a grubby Mcdonald's play area somewhere in the middle of Utah. It put this gaping hole in me, a seemingly un-proportionate terror I couldn’t escape. I was five, and I could not keep everything safe with me forever. When I closed my eyes, there was absolutely nothing making sure the world would be there when I opened them again. Worse, perhaps nothing was there when I wasn’t looking at it. At a certain point, you grow out of fears like this because you learn, logically, that there is something holding the universe together. You are not so important that your gaze keeps the world spinning. So I hadn’t felt that fear in a long time.

Walking up that mountain, the fear came rushing back to me in waves. Everything was unravelling under my fingertips, twisting into something else. If I didn’t look at it, it could disappear any second. I didn’t have a backpack anymore. I never had. Sara’s pink rucksack bounced ahead of me, mocking me. It was a rucksack, so it couldn’t be smug, but it was. I felt its zippers and rings and straps all straining and stretching and grinning at me. It was huge, bulging at the seams, certainly bloated with all of the things I lost.

Barefoot, I stumbled over a tree root and tried to catch myself on a tree, but my hand sunk into the wood like soggy parchment. It was rotting away, hollow, not really a tree at all. I jerked back and hurried onward. I couldn’t stop. Something horrible would happen if I stopped. We kept going, and the trees loomed above, taller than they were before. They leered at me, bent in so I could hardly make out the fading light of the sky above. Stretched high into eternity, the mountain would never end. The trail became gradually steeper, slowly enough that I did not notice until we climbed hand over hand up the face of the rocks. Pine needles rained down on me from Sara’s movements above.

As we climbed, I asked one last time, how much farther we had to go.

The silence gripped me. It stole the breath from my lungs. This was what it was like to be in space, where sound waves could not travel. I was stuck breathing sawdust and mud and wood shavings. If you’d like to know, bones do make noise when they move. Mostly when the joints bend. There are soft crackles, popping bubbles, and a wet scrape like a fingernail against a mud covered stone.

Sara paused.

Her head twisted toward me. Her neck should not have been able to turn that far, but everything was just so slightly off that this final thing did not shock me as much as it might have in other circumstances. I stood frozen in mute horror, not daring to touch the trees for support, but barely able to keep my grip. I swiped sweat out of my eyes and tears too, I think. I’d started crying. How long had I been crying?

Sara smiled too wide. Her eyes were too large and they glistened a dull, sickly yellow. Her smile held too many perfect teeth packed inside and her fingers were too long. This thing, whatever this thing was, was not my sister. In fact, I had never had a little sister.

There was just me. I was just me, climbing a mountain into the sky, and I had never been anything, or done anything else. The grit under my fingers, the rough stone under my feet, the salty sweat I tasted on my lips, these were the only things I knew. I would not know them for long, because when I stopped thinking about them, they would no longer exist.

“I think it’s time for a snack,” the twisted thing said.

I wanted to weep in relief. Maybe I did. I couldn’t let go of my hold on the stones and the roots on the path or I would fall, so I did not move. The twisted thing started toward me. It’s limbs moved in a jagged way, like a video played in reverse, as it climbed back. I reached out a shaking hand, hoping for some assistance, some food, some water. Something.

But as the twisted creature reached its long fingered hand to me, its mouth wide and grinning, a jolt went through my skull like I’d been kicked. Before it could touch me, I pulled away. This creature would not give me anything. It could not. I knew what I had to do the moment that clarity passed through me.

I stared up into the eyes of a poor imitation of my sister, and I hoped Sara escaped somehow. I doubted it. After all, I didn’t have a sister.

The creature must have sensed my intentions because it snarled and leapt down to grab me. However, I was too quick. I had myself. I had my body and I had my bones. They existed still. Even if they had not, I existed. And I was not sure it could take that. What was a person anyhow, that they can be taken?

My fingers. Even now, I had fingers. They loosened their grip. That was all it took. I plunged downward through the whistling wind. And finally, the sun set. Or perhaps, I just could no longer see it. I fell and I continued to fall, solace flowing across my skin like a balm. There was nothing around me but darkness. The forest was no longer there. It had been, but my eyes were closed, and the illusion did not need to continue. My heart ached.

Then I realized, I could hear the whistling wind. I could feel the coolness of the night. There it was, the sickly sweet smell of grape flavoring. It flowed through the wind. I smiled with lips I still owned.

#short story #horror #fiction #mine #object impermenance #suspense #writing #writer #the magnus archives

[purrfectstrangers]

A Humble Request

You've wanted this ever sense you first laid eyes on Karkat Vantas.

It was a thought that had been clawing at you for months. He had a presence to him, a certain dominating air that gripped every room he entered. He was shorter than most trolls, but for his presence, he might as well have been twenty feet tall. His voice dominated nearly every conversation he entered, his eyes pierced you with a critical glare that seemed to read into your very soul.

It wasn't as if Karkat hadn't though about it. You saw the way he looked at you whenever you entered the room, the way his nose twitched and reacted to your scent. His inhuman sense of smell picking up on you long before you entered his line of sight. Hell, you'd even once heard his stomach growl as he was looking at you, causing Karkat to abruptly turn away in embarrassment.

You were positive Karkat wanted this as much as you did. Even now though, with the idea hanging out in the open, he didn't easily show it. "YOU WANT ME.... TO EAT YOU." His default snarl didn't leave his face, although you could detect the faint scent of amusement under his tone. You confirmed enthusiastically, a little shyer this time now that his attention was on you fully. His eyes scanned over you, in a way they never had before. A half smirk flashed acrossed his face for an instant before going back too his snarl. 

"YOU KNOW YOU WON'T BE COMING BACK, RIGHT?" His hand slid down too his gut unconsciously, rubbing over it as it poked out from beneath his sweater. It could almost be mistaken for fat, but the occasional sloshing and gurgling suggested otherwise. He'd eaten recently.

Karkat leaned into your face, nose twitching as your scent filled his senses. Just as you could feel his breath on your face, he forced up a slow burp. The smell was at first indescribable, but recognition came in spurts. The freshest smelled like a cool morning breeze, with a hint of gushers and cake. Beneath that, you could smell stale AJ and sweat. John and Dave. 

"THOSE GUYS WERE GOD-TIERS. AND MY DIGESTIVE SYSTEM TURNED THEM INTO SLOP. IMAGINE WHAT IT WILL DO TOO YOU." You could easily imagine it. Quite vividly. The very thought of it had you weak at the knees now. He was looking at you hungrily now. Even with your face, your taste, so close, he wanted you to know exactly what you were getting into. All you could do was nod meekly.

He leaned back, arms still crossed. You saw him smirk before he unhinged his jaws, his drool already dripping between his teeth. His thick, sharp chompers dripped with red saliva like the fangs of a hungry shark. His tongue rolled out like a welcome matt, twitching eagerly to taste you. The message was clear: "GET IN".

You slid your hand in between his jaws, his tongue already lavishing you eagerly. His indifferent persona was breaking down, you could see his arms clench as he contained his excitement. Chills ran down your spine as your hand was occasionally pushed up against his teeth. Slowly, you slip you other hand in. His cheeks bulge out briefly before he unhinges his jaws more and you savour the feeling of part of his body tightly clamped onto part of you while you can.

Karkat's hands clamp onto your shoulders. Now that he had your taste, he was impatient to enjoy it. With one quick shove, his throat bulged out. His eyes rested inches away from yours as your arms vanished from sight. Earlier, he behaved like an impatient lover. Now, he looked at you like a starving predator. His jaws extended and his stomach growled. With a grip around your waist, he shoveled your head in.

His tongue lavished your face like an angry tentacle, his teeth clamped on to your neck. You could feel your hands pop into his comparatively spacious stomach. One more swallow sent them into the slop that used to his friends. His tongue scoured your stomach as his teeth teased your flesh. Your head was being compressed from all angles by hot red flesh. You faintly kick your legs as you writhe in his grasp, pleading for him too swallow you more.

Another gluttonous gulp squeezed your head into his gullet, with sudden powerful scents overwhelming your nostrils. The scent of John and Dave plummed off the colorless soup that they had melted into, the gut gurgling eagerly around the new meal that had been deposited into it. Gurgles and heartbeats filled your ears as the red gut pulsed around you. The stimulus overload almost kept you from noticing how Karkat teased your ass, licking and chewing it as your flavour flooded his mouth. It was nervana.

You soon feel Karkat's head tilt back as he finishes his meal. Your face is dropped unceremoniously into the mixture of Strider and Egbert soup as your thighs enter his throat. You're barely given time to adjust before he begins slurping your legs down like noodles. You're quickly balled up inside the smaller troll's gut, leaving a nice outline in his stomach beneath his sweater. The walls pulse and tighten as Karkat lets out a genuine belch, you swear you can feel someone's glasses crack against you. You feel his hand rub against your head. "THERE. HAPPY?" 

Even with his regular abrasive tone, he can't mask his satisfaction. "I THINK I'M STARTING TO GET WHAT YOU HUMANS GET OUT OF THIS. IT'S PROBABLY A LOT SMARTER TO PUT YOUR LIFE IN THE HANDS OF YOUR GOD THAN RISK FUCKING IT UP ANY FURTHER." You shudder as he begins his spiel. Twisting and thrashing in his guts as they tighten around you. You can already feel acids rising. "I MEAN, FOR FUCKS SAKE. THESE DIPSHITS COULDN'T EVEN BEAT THEIR SESSION. THEY FUCKED THEIRS UP SO BAD THAT THEY ENDED UP SCREWING OURS OVER RETROACTIVELY. AT LEAST THEY'RE DOING THEIR JOB AS FOOD."

Every word punctuates just what it was you'd gotten yourself into. Even gods, beings with power you couldn't begin too comprehend, were nothing but nutrients and padding when put up against Karkat's appetite. You couldn't help it, you moaned. And while you couldn't see it, Karkat had a big wide grin spread across his face. "I'LL GIVE YOU CREDIT, AT LEAST YOU KNOW WHERE YOU BELONG. EVEN IF IT'S ONLY BECAUSE OF YOUR SICK KINK."

A wet belch rings out, tightening his gut around you eveb further. Karkat pats his belly contentedly. "DON'T DIGEST TOO QUCKLY. I DIDN'T ORDER A LIGHT SNACK."

~

For anyone else, the long digestion would've been agony. For you, it was heaven. While Karkat would've grown bored with berating you at all hours of the day, he was more than happy to show you off too his friends. Underneath his disinterested act, he loved turning the conversation back too you. Between detailing your taste to Gamzee as if you weren't even there to egging Vriska on as she mocked you. Besides, it would remind him too check your progress when he was alone, groping your ass through his stomach walls to see how much your form would give.

But, all good things must come to an end. You don't know how long it took. Maybe hours, maybe minutes. But little by little, your squirms began too wain. Your strength continued too melt, the acids continued too rise. The loud stomach gurgles would occasionally drown out his insults and tirades. Soon it was almost time.

You skin could feel nothing. The acids were up too your neck. The goopy remains had been absorbed long ago. His stomach walls held you tight enough to keep you still. Karkat shook his stomach lightly. "ARE YOU ABOUT DONE IN THERE?" You knew you wouldn't be heard if you spoke, so you limply kicked. He snorted at the attempt, seeing as he barely felt it. "WELL, I GUESS THAT'S IT. THANKS FOR THE FOOD. I HAD FUN." He sounded... earnest. Completely earnest, with nothing hidden behind his sour disposition. The last thing you hear as the lights fade and the acids rise is a loud burp.

~

Karkat examined his new physique in the mirror, kneading his claws into his ass. While part of him was annoyed, he'd inevitably get several 'Vant-ass' quips again, he was quite proud of the way he'd managed to stretch his jeans. "WELL, STRIDER. YOU'LL ALWAYS BE A PAIN IN MY ASS NOW. SAME GOES TOO YOU EGBERT." His thoughts wandered too whether they'd come back. In some timelines, God-Tiers simply resurrected after getting eaten, but in others they got... stuck. The image of squishing John every time he sat down amused him. He'd look into the possibility if he didn't see them for awhile.

Karkat flopped back into his chair, letting his belly full of You-soup slosh around as he did so. He picked up a paper titled Human Menu on it and read through it.

Jade Harley

Rose Lalonde

John Egbert

Dave Strider

You

Karkat bolded the last three names on the list to signify completion and leaned back, already imagining how he'd eat up the Alpha Kids. If their Beta counterparts were now sealed inside his ass, they'd probably appreciate the company.

His stomach gurgled around your soupy form, and he rubbed it absentmindedly. Once he'd filled out the list, he'd probably ask Feferi for a favor. Let her revive you. After all, who says you can only enjoy a good meal once?

(I had a Karkat itch that needed scratching and, sense I know you're crushing on him too, I figured I'd share it with you. Grumpy krab makes the best pred.)

--------

//Oh my fucking god, anon. Oh my god. This is divine, thank you so much for sending this my way~♡ I wish I could credit you properly, but suffice it to say that I adore this~♡

#submission #anon #karkat #//vore #//digestion

[frangipanidownunder]

could you do 22 for the prompt thing?? Purdy please

22 I don’t know why I married you.

Angel

This is Rob and Laura Petrie’s second case. Ihave no idea where this came from. It’ a bit weird and no doubt has more plotholes than the spongiest X-File ep. It’s long, so you can keep reading under the cut.

She stood on the thresholdand ripped through his shirt with the pinking shears. The fabric shredded,leaving strands of cotton floating to the ground along with the sleeves, collarand body. When she finished, she turned to the pile behind her and found thedress pants. Charcoal grey, well-cut, heavy. She took the point of the bladesand dug in, snipping a triangular shape out of the crotch.

           “I don’t know why I married you!” she yelled over hershoulder. “You fucking fucker,” she added for good measure.

His footsteps down the wooden staircase were punctuated with the cursewords he favoured. She looked out across the immense front lawn, beyond theupright and sensible white rose bushes, the flowering clematis and trimmedhedges to see the Cartwrights, arm in arm on their own doorstep.

“What the hell are you doing with my Armani?” He grabbed one trouser legand yanked it from her. She held on to the other leg but the scissors clangedto the ground, making a nest in the pile of shirts.

“I’m doing what I should have done years ago,” she hissed. “Cutting youout!”

Fred Cartwright had made it to the front gate, pushed through the ornatemetal and strode to the front door.

“Having a little domestic trouble here, I see.” He smiled and reachedout to take the pants. “Why don’t we head inside and see if we can’t work itout,” he looked over his shoulder as Valerie Cartwright arrived, “privately.”

Scully picked up the pileof clothes and walked them upstairs, placing them on the bed and folding whatwas left into a suitcase. She parked it at the bottom of the closet and headed tothe en-suite for a shower.

           Hot water ran down her back and she relished theslightly-too-hot spray for longer than was ecologically-friendly. There wassomething so satisfying about cutting up clothes and she sifted through hermemories to see if there was a source point for that feeling. She couldn’trecall her mother doing it to her father’s wardrobe. Theirs had been a lovetrue and enduring; she could half-entertain the notion that Tara might havedone it to Bill’s clothes, but she couldn’t imagine him telling her and shehadn’t talked with Tara that closely for a few years. It was a mystery, but anenjoyable one.

           She didn’t hear the door open but she did feel themomentary draught. She turned and rubbed water from her eyes, to see Mulderstanding stark naked in front of the door. He smiled. She shook her head. Hepouted. She rolled her eyes. He opened the door. She stepped aside and took therazor from the side.

“Can I help you with that, Scully?”

“You want to shave me?”

He grinned. “It’s a bit of a kink of mine.”

“You, with kinks, Mulder? I don’t believe it.”

He took the razor and held it up.

“Maybe next time,” she said and pinched it back.

“Always ready to serve you, Scully.”

He laughed, then looked down at her with that expression on his face andshe knew she wasn’t getting out of there without calf-strain, hickeys wherenobody else would see them and at least two orgasms.

He did cook her dinner –one of the many surprisingly good dishes in his repertoire. Chicken filletstuffed with mozzarella and avocado with mushroom sauce on a bed of basmatirice. He poured a pinot grigio and offered her the pepper shaker.

`           “So are the Cartwrights the prime suspects, Scully?”

           “I guess I’d better be on high alert, now that I’ve shownmy true colours, Mulder. Wouldn’t want the neighbourhood to suffer from anunusually high divorce rate, would we?”

           He chuckled over a mouthful of chicken. “No, an abnormallyhigh number of missing persons reports is a much more digestible statistic. Threehalves of couples in five years simply vanishing is more than an anomaly. TheCartwrights, and their neighbour, a Miss Lethbridge, have been here longer thanthe other residents. But there’s never been any evidence against them.”

           The cool wine was going down too well, the comfort ofplaying house, she sat back in her chair and smiled at him, still smug from theshower. “So, what’s the next step? A blazing row on the lawn? Snipping off theheads of the roses?”

           “Only if we can have a very public making-up session,Scully.” He leant forward and planted a kiss on her mouth.

           “I think Valerie Cartwright would have a stroke if shewitnessed that kind of activity. I can’t imagine that pair has so much as heldhands in the past ten years.”

           He smirked. “Then let’s give them somethingstroke-worthy.”

She picked an aqua bluebikini and placed a floppy-brimmed sunhat at a jaunty angle. She donned herlarge-framed sunglasses, slipped on her flip-flops, tucked a Mills and Boonnovel under her arm and stopped at the fridge to pour a glass of sparklingwine. The sun was beating down, the lounger was bright white, the beach towelwas in-your-face red and she’d cranked up the music from the CD player in thelounge room. The French doors were wide open, flimsy nets flying in the breeze.

           The trap was set.

           Two songs in and just as she was getting to the raunchypart of the book, Mulder stalked out, yelling at the top of his lungs.

           “Why are you out here with no clothes on, you floozy.”

           She rolled over and bent one leg up. She tipped hersunglasses forward and winked at him. He tried so hard not to smile.

           “I’ve told you before about this kind of behaviour.You’re embarrassing yourself and you’re embarrassing me. This has got to stop,Laura!”

           He looked out over the fence and back to her, giving hera sly nod.

           “I am proud of my body, Rob. So are you. And I will notcover myself up in my own yard.”

           He bent down and picked up her bikini top, holding upabove his head, just as Fred Cartwright appeared at the gate. He peered overand inspected the situation. When his gaze stopped at Scully, bare-breasted onher towel. His mouth dropped open and she chose that moment to smile.

           She saw out of the corner of her eye Mulder’s tremblinglips and she willed him to stuff that laugh back into his mouth. Fred saved theday.

           “Mrs Petrie, I beg of you, on behalf of the rest of theneighbourhood, to cover yourself up at once. Your shamelessness is astoundingand you are humiliating your husband.”

           By this time, Mrs Cartwright had arrived and she squealedwhen she saw Scully.

           “Fred!” she said, her hands flying up to her face. “Whatis going on here! Why are you looking at this…this tramp.”

           Mulder swung round. “Don’t call my wife a tramp, you oldbattleaxe.”

           Fred’s face reddened with rage. “How dare you insult mywife, you arrogant hypocrite.”

           Scully stood up, her breasts bobbing. It was unbelievablyliberating. “This is my yard and I’ll wear what I like.”

           Veronica glared at her. “You’re not wearing anything.”

           Mulder stood next to Scully, pulling her to him. It wasreassuring in a sexual way and she felt her nipples peak, much to Fred’s utter delight.Veronica elbowed him. “Laura is beautiful, inside and out. You cannot come toour house and say these things to her.”

           “You called her a floozy yourself,” Fred said, his eyesscanning Scully.

           “I can call my wife what I like.” He straightened up,chest puffed.

           Veronica held onto Fred’s elbow as he cleared his throat.“We will not tolerate such louche behaviour in our street.”

           “You and who else, Fred? Are you the deputy? The law?”Mulder moved closer, almost butting Fred’s chest.

           “Mr Petrie,” Fred said. “I’m warning you. There are heavyconsequences for behaviour like this.”

For the fourth time,Scully declined Mulder’s offer to rub moisturiser into her chest to soothe herburnt skin.

           “You need to be careful tomorrow, Scully.”

           “I know, Mulder. How long will you be at the field office?”

           He shrugged. “I need to check those files that are beingsent over from DC. I’ve seen something like this before. I’ll be as quick as Ican but hopefully it will be long enough to see if anyone bites.”

           “Did you see Miss Lethbridge? She was enjoying thespectacle.”

           “You can barely see anything above the monstrous growthof plants in her garden. But she was the one who reported the last victimmissing. In her report to the police she described the woman as an angel whodeserved better.”

           “Did she mean better than Cecilia Burdenstock’s husband?Who was discovered to have had a string of affairs.”

           Mulder shrugged. “Probably. But it’s not about thepartners who remain. I think this perpetrator is trying to save the victims.”

           She looked at him. “By abducting them?”

           “By freeing them.”

She stood in the drivewayand yelled “don’t make me wait until dark to see you again!” and if that wasn’tenough Mulder made sure everybody in the court knew that he was heading out,leaving a tyre streak on the road as he rounded the corner.

Scully waited.

           The knock on the door was light, suggesting that FredCartwright was not her visitor. Standing on her doorstep was Miss Lethbridgewith a tray of cookies in her hand and a kindly smile on her face.

           “I hear you’ve been having trouble with our nastyneighbours. They’ve been telling the rest of us just how awful you two are. So,I’d love to have a cup of tea with you and find out just how awful you are.”

The woman was clearly old– her fingers were arthritic and her shoulders bunched under her loose dress.The back of her neck was unusually downy, grey hairs sprouting out from thecollar. Her eyes were unsettlingly bright.

           “Those Cartwrights are such party poopers. In my day we’dall walk around naked together. No shame. Just freedom.”

           “You were a hippy? On a commune?” Scully asked. Shenibbled the cookie, relishing the sweet white chocolate melting on hertea-warmed tongue.

           Miss Lethbridge smiled and bit into a cookie. “There areso many tales I could tell you dear, but we don’t have much time.”

           “I’d love to hear them,” Scully said. “But you’ve gotsomewhere else to be?”

           “Oh, we both do, my angel. We both do.”

           Scully frowned as Miss Lethbridge stood up. Her visionnarrowed until she saw only black pinpricks. She fumbled for her phone but shecouldn’t see it, feel it or even remember where it might be.

Mulder chatted with thedeputy for a while, went through the files he’d ordered to be faxed to thestation, found what he was looking for and fished out his phone to call Scully.He hated when she didn’t reply. It was an automatic gut-churning response, eventhough most of the time there was a simple answer. He headed for the car andtried her again.

When Scully came to sheknew she was at Miss Lethbridge’s house. What she couldn’t work out was howshe’d got there. The smell of the flowers and plants in the hot-house wasoverpowering, heady and fruity. All around her there were towering grasses withfeathery flowers stretched out and up the roof, like Pampas grass. She was tiedto a rattan chair from which she could easily escape if her arms and legshadn’t felt so heavy and if Miss Lethbridge wasn’t standing in front of her coiledand ready. There was no light, no windows, no air. Scully’s breath came in hardspurts as she wriggled her wrists behind her.

           “My angel, you’re back with me. How lovely you are.” Theold woman ran her fingers through Scully’s hair. The skin of her wrist touched Scully’sface and it felt warm and moist, like it might ooze down her face.

           “Who are you?” Scully asked, her voice thick with fatigue.“What are you?”

           Miss Lethbridge laughed. “I am your saviour. You are myangel.”

           Scully flinched as the old woman stroked her cheeks andchin. Her face felt clammy. “Are you going to save me like you saved theothers? What did you do to them? Where did you take them?”

           “They didn’t have to go far. They are still with us. I ammerely the conduit. I am the giver of life. You are special, Laura. You knowthat. Others have already told you. I am here to make sure their prophecieswill come true.”

           Scully looked around but all she saw was greenery. “Whatis this place? Where am I?”

           “You are in my world of plants, they are the key, Laura.They live for us; we live because of them. What I do is preservation.”

           “What you do is illegal. My partner is looking for me.”

           Miss Lethbridge put a finger on Scully’s lips and shetasted something oily, organic. She tried to twist away but the woman pressedharder, bending to her ear and hissing. “Your partner doesn’t care about you.He only cares about what you represent to him. He cares about the outside ofyou, about what you look like. But he doesn’t care about you.” She wiped her finger down Scully’s chin and something warmoozed down, dripping onto her chest. “Now, if you’ve quite stopped complaining,we’ll begin.”

           Scully whipped her head away and tried to push the chairback. “Begin what? I’m a federal agent, you can’t keep me here. You’ve alreadycommitted a felony and if you lay one more finger on me, you’ll be facing someserious jail time. Untie me and we can end this now.”

           Miss Lethbridge turned away and busied herself behind thetowering glossy leaves of some exotic looking plant. Scully couldn’t see whatshe was doing but a powerful aroma, spicy and piquant, rose on the tepid air. Afew minutes later she brought a bucket and secateurs to where Scully was tryingto free her tired limbs.

           “It’s very satisfying, isn’t it? Ripping and shreddingfabrics, removing the heavy burden of cloth that covers up our true selves.Your husband, Rob, he wore beautiful garments, he is a beautiful man, butinside, where it counts, he was weighed down.”

           She cut through Scully’s blouse, buttons scattering acrossthe floor. “Where is he? What have you done with him?”

           “Shhh,” Miss Lethbridge said. “He went out. In his shinycar.” She cut through the sleeves and let the silky fabric fall to the floor.She pushed her hand into the bucket and brought out a poultice, smoothing it upScully’s arms, over her chest and shoulders and down her back. The smell wasoverpowering and Scully coughed and gagged. “You have so much time left. Timeto fly free.”

           The substance dried and Scully’s skin tingled. MissLethbridge had removed her own clothes and painted her skin and she was holdingher hands up to the heavens, humming and swaying when Mulder burst in. His guntrained on the woman, but his eyes frantically checking on Scully.

           “I’m fine, Mulder.”

           “You’re too late,” Miss Lethbridge said, as the officerswith Mulder launched themselves on her and grappled her to the ground. “She’sgoing to fly high, fly free. Away from you. Away from all this. Just like theothers.”

           Mulder holstered his weapon and freed Scully. He yelledfor paramedics and she didn’t resist. Her body felt sluggish, her skin was onfire, her throat dry. She wanted to vomit and she swallowed the bile down asMulder held her.

           “Scully? Can you hear me?”

           She could, but she couldn’t speak. She let her eyes shut.

When she opened her eyesthere was only bright white. No green, no growth. Just the comforting smell ofantiseptic, clean, safe. Mulder’s voice was dreamlike, outside the curtains.She turned to see if there was water and lifted her arm to reach the plasticcup on the small table beside her gurney. She stared at her arm.

           Mulder pulled back the curtain and smiled that goofygrin, striding in two lengths to lift the jug. “Let me, Scully.”

           “Mulder, my arms…”

           “Here, drink this. Slowly, Scully.”

           She sat up but her head pounded and she sunk back againstthe pillow. She looked down at the gown, falling open to reveal the skin on herchest. “Fuck! What the hell, Mulder?”

           “Hey, it’s okay. Everything is okay. It’s just cosmetic.”

           She ran her fingers over the down that covered her armsand chest. She felt under the back of the gown and the same soft featherscovered her back and shoulders. “What is this?”

           “Your wings, Scully. Your angel’s wings.”

           “Oh my god. Those blooms in the garden. Were they…?”

           “Cecilia Burdenstock, Maxine Jenniss and Carlos Romero.”

           “How?”

           “The old case files, Scully. There were severaldocumented cases where people believed they could become angels and the plants Lethbridge used for the poulticewere several species from South America renowned for their speedy growingproperties, others for their ability to soften and smoothe skin. Records showedshe’s been importing seeds for years.”

           “So there might be more victims?”

           He offered her water and she drank gratefully. “Maybe.Forensics are going over the property. The greenhouse you were found in wasastonishing. It was under the house,Scully. There were plants in there that may not even be documented. Preliminaryreports say that some of the plants may be hundreds of years old. And the onlyrecords of a Dorothy Lethbridge show that she was born in 1878.”

           “None of this makes any sense, Mulder. I have feathers onmy skin. How is that possible?”

           “She was trying to free you from my evil clutches,” hesaid, sitting on the chair next to her. The vinyl creaked. “You were going tofly with the angels.”

           She reached out for his hand and it felt real and smoothin her grasp. “When I get out of here I’ll have to take you up on your kinky offer,Mulder.”

           He lifted her hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss there.“Always ready to serve you, Scully.”

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #msr fanfic #rob and laura petrie #prompt