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cherrysha · 1 month

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Craving

Pairing: Vampire!Phinks x Reader

A/N: this was supposed to be short but it kinda got out of hand...also wanna thank True Blood for the whole 'vampire blood as an aphrodisiac' thing.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning: Blood, Death, Allusions to Sex, (Phinks could be seen as yandere in this piece)

Hunger. Its the first thing he notices when he opens his eyes. All consuming, bubbling and burning away at his stomach to the point he feels sick. It’d only been a few days since Phinks ate, although the meal itself was more of a snack. He hadn't had the luxury of gorging himself, seeing as he was on the road and there were very few people passing by at that hour in the night.

He had resigned himself to emptying the veins of someone in a nearby village; although they were poor and Phink’s meal reflected that. Instead of the nutrient dense blood he was accustomed to, this man’s had the viscosity of water and left Phinks barely satiated.

At the moment, he wanted to roll over and satisfy his empty stomach with you. It was the easiest option, and he knew your blood to be of high quality; ensured it even, but the last time he fed from you, without slaking his overwhelming emptiness on someone else first, was all too fresh in his mind. Your hollowed eyes and exhausted body had shaken him to his core. Even now he can see your gaunt face flicker through his mind in warning.

Slowly, Phinks rose from the bed, whisper quiet as all of his kind were, before leaving your little cottage just as quietly.

The walk into the city would’ve taken a normal man hours. For Phinks it was barely long enough to reorient himself. The moon shone brightly on the weathered path, casting shadow in the ditches that wagon wheels had left in the dried earth. It had to be close to midnight, although the passage of time seemed torturously fast to him, he’d gotten acquainted with telling it through the cycles of the moon. Phinks had one more week with you before he had to report back to the troupe. He loathed leaving you, the easiest solution being to take you with him, but the idea of any other of his kind looking upon you, drinking from you, was abhorrent to him. No, bringing you with him opened up the possibility that he’d be forced to share; An idea he wasn’t keen on.

The routine of finding his first meal was easy enough. The streets were packed on warm summer nights such as this. People eager to partake in festivities that hadn’t enticed him for nearly a century. There were brothels, bars, and other unscrupulous places to choose from; but Phinks preferred to choose from the nearly empty buildings in the city.

A rich apartment complex had been built in the heart of town, over the sea of shantytowns that had, at one point, choked off the streets. Now, all that stood were regal, gilded buildings. The residents weren’t his target, no, they’d draw too much suspicion. He craved a filling meal and knew the guards would be all too easy. They were paid enough to be loyal, and that in turn meant they were fed well. He’d just have to set the scene.

Phinks enters the bar a little ways down the street from his targets as he does all things; with an air of smug arrogance that he’s been unable to shake since before he was undead. He fits in with the crowd, so much so that he’s not even questioned as he asks for an entire bottle of whiskey. As long as he’s got the coin to spare it doesn’t seem that the bartender cares. All to Phinks’ benefit. He empties half the bottle on the cobbled streets before returning to his hunt. He’d only need about half of it anyway, and knew better than to drink the swill himself.

No, the last time he’d tried drinking alcohol he’d vomited so much that Shalnark still mocked him for it. He hadn’t been a heavy drinker before turning, but he’d wanted a touch of normalcy. Food and drink tasted like ash in his throat, yet sweets and alcohol were the worst offenders. The memory makes Phinks grimace, quickening his steps as he heads down the road.

It takes mere moments before two guards are cornered in a dimly lit alley and Phinks snaps both of their necks. He didn’t want to cause any injuries that would spill his dinner onto the dirty cobblestone. He was too smart for that. Instead, he drank his fill before snatching one of their pistols. He aimed, pointing at one guard’s chest and the other’s head before firing. The whiskey was easily dumped into their open mouths and he used the rest to douse them. The bottle clinked against the ground as he admired his work. A late night brawl between the two would draw less attention than finding them dead with their veins sucked dry. The last thing he wanted was a monster hunter on his trail. Phinks quickly emptied their pockets before leaving. You could use the money. Buy yourself something good to eat that, he too, could enjoy.

By the time the moon hung bright in the sky, he’d drank enough to calm his stomach, although his mind was still racing. With his new meal came euphoria, the feeling accompanying the quenching of his hunger. It was during this time that his thoughts inevitably returned back to you.

He knew running full speed back to you was a waste of energy, but he did so anyway. The night was too perfect, the sky too peaceful to want to be anywhere but by your side.

He judged by the moon that he must make it back in record time. Maybe a quarter past one if he had to guess. It’d be around this time that you’d start to fidget in your sleep, maybe even wake yourself up in preparation to fulfill his needs. You did so every night, and although he spurned you by ignoring your requests to feed, tonight he’d indulge.

—

“It’s time.” Phinks calls to you, his curt tone belying a hint of annoyance that he didn’t truly feel. Unbeknownst to you he’d spent far too long just taking in your peaceful form, intent on studying the rise and fall of your chest that felt completely foreign to him at his age. Was there a time when he breathed like that? Out of sheer necessity instead of just having the instinctual urge from time to time? Phinks had copied your movements, breathing in sync with you as you dozed under the clear sky. He found that he enjoyed it, if not just for his senses being assaulted by your smell. He’d even leaned in closer to the juncture of your neck, had breathed in deeply and relished in the scent of blood pulsing just beneath your skin. The smell was exquisite, but what made his mouth water was how he was engulfed in a scent that was undeniably you.

You stir, groaning as you try to sit up, to gather yourself and answer his call. You knew him well enough now that ignoring him and continuing to sleep was not the best idea. Slowly, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before obediently waiting.

“We’re going outside.”

“Why?”

“So many fucking questions. Can’t you just do as you’re told for once?” His answer was sharp, as it always was, but lucky for him you’d just nodded. Gathering yourself before standing.

The night air was crisp, yet still comfortable. You’d even brought a blanket to shield yourself from the dew on the grass. Phinks grimaced at the thing. In truth, he was angered that he hadn’t thought of it, but yet he found the thin fabric to be an annoyance.

He’d made you come outside multiple times, enjoyed the way the moonlight danced along your skin, but to you, he’d always said feeding under the moon was less claustrophobic when he deigned to answer.

You sit, legs folded underneath you as you angle yourself to peer up at Phinks. He, in all restraint, moves slowly to sit in front of you, legs wide and inviting as he reaches for something at his belt.

The knife glints in the light, sharp and dangerous, and you felt your stomach roiling.

“We, we don’t have to do that tonight, Phinks.”

“But don’t I?” He growled, “You always cry if I don’t” there was a stunning truth to his words, a truth that had you nodding along in acquiescence as he pressed the blade to his open palm.

The sharp pinch was nothing to him; a slight irritant in an otherwise perfect night. An annoyance he was willing to bear for your comfort, although he’d never admit to it.

With no words spoken, you kneeled on the ground before him, letting the warmth of his blood slip past your lips and down your throat with moan. It tasted good, fresh. The tang of it reminding you of ripe fruit, of summer and sweetness that belied the stoic expression of the man in front of you. Phinks resisted the moan that was building in his chest at the sensation of your full lips wrapped around him, drinking him in so greedily it caused hunger to stir in his stomach once more. Your desire was his own, magnified and heightened by the blood slipping down your jaw and onto your neck, pooling on the white fabric of your nightgown. Phinks smiles at the sight of you tainted by him. As you should be.

“So fuckin’ messy.” He tuts, his free hand wrapping around your jaw as he pulls you into his lap. It’s quick, as all of his movements are, but he slows down as he licks a stripe up your neck, cleaning you with his tongue before covering your mouth with his own.

It doesn’t take long before he’s prying you away from him, ignoring the whimpers that echo through the cool night air. You land on your back, legs immediately splaying open in invitation. Phinks takes a moment to consider you, soft hair and even softer eyes as you stare at him pleadingly. So well trained. He doesn’t have to cajole you to open up, to accept what he’s offering you, what he’s taking. In part, he knows it to be the effect of his blood, but on nights like this it was easy to fool himself into thinking the searing affection he had for you was reciprocal in nature.

Phinks kisses his way up, following the veins marking the path to his next meal, his lips press behind your leg before stopping at the apex of your thighs. He finds that he quite likes breathing, likes the smell of you in his lungs, just as he likes the taste of you in his mouth. He remembers the first time he’d done this. Taken from your pliant body by force. No, his blood wasn’t necessary anymore but it made these shared moments all the more sweet. When he bites down its with enough force to make your legs shut on instinct, to rip a whimper from your lips. Phinks knows its not painful in your current state, can see the proof of your arousal glistening in the moonlight.

He indulges. Lets his mind wander on thoughts of you as he drinks you deep. Hopes he can engorge himself on the very essence of you. He craves it, an itch in the back of his mind that won’t go away; to consume, to be consumed, until neither you nor him can be separated. He fills his lungs with your scent, ears attuned to the soft whimper of your voice, mouth latched onto your femoral artery and he thinks that this could be enough.

The air around you shivers with the whine that leaves your mouth once he finishes. Over the past year you’d learned to find pleasure in the pain, learned to crave the feeling even. His mouth leaving your bloodied skin was a denial of that pleasure, the hollow ache in your chest incomparable to the mark he’d left on your skin.

Again, Phinks reprimands you for being so greedy, for wanting even when he was willing to give. But right now his prize was staring back at him; lust blown pupils trained on his every move as he slinked his way back up your body.

He tastes himself on your tongue. To him, its a bitter tang compared to the sweetness of your blood, but he enjoys it all the same. Enjoys swallowing your moans, sounds made solely for his ears and his alone. He wonders in times like this if you ever regret letting him through the threshold of your tiny home. Allowing him entry when you were too clueless to know you’d dragged home a half dead, and malnourished, vampire.

He smirks at the memory of it. Of your fear, your helplessness as he pinned you down and nearly drank you dry. The only reason he’d stopped was the severity of his injuries. At the time, he had planned to use you as one does a cow for milk. Letting you rest until you’d regained enough blood to nurse him back to health. He’d hadn’t fallen asleep more than twenty minutes before a stake was driven through his chest, high enough that it wasn’t lethal, but deep enough to betray your courage, and he’d fallen for you just as easily as the stake had been pulled out.

Now you were a supplicant at his altar, open and inviting as the pink stain of your feast on his blood betrayed you. As your actions betrayed you. You were his, in every way that mattered, your spirit was intertwined with his own.

“Please Phinks. I need you.” Your pupils are dilated, breath heaving as you beg for him. For all of him.

His tone is dry, an honest smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he replies, “Of course you do.”

#phinks x reader #phinks magcub x reader #yandere phinks

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mayakern · 2 months

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I thought you'd like to know, I wore one of your viscose minis over a swimsuit while walking on a sand bar in Florida today (they dry so quickly!), and it was VERY tempting to stuff the pockets full of hermit crabs.

omg 😭 i understand your temptation. i can only imagine how many hermit crabs you could fit in them...

#ask #store #carsyn social link rank up

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aviscouscurse · 6 months

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Another Test - Simon

You are unsure of how much time has passed, but you are sure that you hear the sound of Jade’s voice.

It seems to be having a conversation in two different languages at once. Potentially speaking to two different people, but you can only hear the voice of Jade.

You manage to understand the words ‘unusual request’ and your stomach sinks. An unusual request always means more testing. It doesn’t need you for things it already knows how to make.

‘Rush order’ also does not bode well. The lich’s work is always sloppy when it tries to work quickly.

Well, you can only hope that this time it will get its concoction right on the first try.

Or that this one will somehow kill you permanently.

You bat that last thought away. It’s never a good time for those thoughts.

Finally opening your eyes, you sit up. You suppose now would be a good time to start categorizing your new vocabulary words by part of speech.

It thinks it was clever, giving you a journal but no writing implement. Taunting you with a useless prize.

It was mistaken, though.

Yes, blood was sacred to your people, to spill a single drop in vain was heresy. But there are none left to judge you for the things you do.

Distantly you can hear the sound of shattering glass and Jade swearing.

You should have time enough for some writing.

You keep your handwriting as neat as you can, considering you are writing with a sharp bit of rock dipped in your own blood.

Your skill at this has improved over the centuries.

Some words are new, mostly proper nouns, the names of flowers and fungi. Some words are old but you are just now coming into a recognizable context.

This word here, you think tapping the point of your rock to it, should be the word ‘found’ in the context of ‘this object can be found at place’.

You’ll have to go back through your other books and note instances of the word to see if it sheds any new light on things.

As you work you can hear more of Jade’s work going wrong. The bubble-splatter-sizzle of something boiling over, a minor explosion, a series of expletives you’re fairly certain mean ‘ow, the bastard bit me’.

You think that if it did not have eternal life on its side, that Jade would likely not have amounted to a very good alchemist at all. The only reason it manages to get the results it wants is that it has all the time in the world to fail over and over again.

You push that thought away as well.

You know failing is an important part of learning.

It’s just hard to be charitable when it comes to thinking about your captor.

After getting a decent bit of work done, you decide to take another nap. You don’t want to be still working when Jade returns. It might realize you haven’t completely lost your spirit.

Some time later you are awoken by Jade.

“Come on, pet, it’s time to do some work,” Jade prods at you with its staff.

You aren’t even sure which language it is speaking, but the meaning of this phrase never changes. You are always awoken this way.

You’re standing before you even get your eyes open. You don’t wish to be punished today, you’re feeling very tired.

“We have something very new for you to try today, pet,” the lich says, showing off a round stoppered bottle filled with amber liquid. The fluid does not slosh as Jade moves it around, implying that it is quite thick.

Jade removes the stopper and hands you the bottle through the bars.

“I may even have a reward for you if this goes well,” it says, gesturing to the little table it sets things on days where multiple potions are tested. You can see a bundle of cloth. You aren’t sure you want it, but you have little choice in the matter either way.

You shake the bottle a little. As you thought the liquid has a rather high viscosity.

“Go on, bottoms up,” it says. There’s a glint to its eye that says this one is going to be bad.

Might as well get it over with. You upend the bottle completely as you try to drink it, hoping it will run fast enough that you don’t have to taste much of it.

Unfortunately the potion does not want to take part in such plans. It runs slowly from the bottle and across your tongue, tasting of paint thinner and sweet nectar.

The potion is heavy as well as thick. You can feel it crawl down your throat and hit your stomach like mercury.

Jade is muttering notes about fixing the viscosity, but you can’t care.

You look down at yourself to watch as your flesh turns to jelly in a very literal sense. Skin, bones, muscles, veins, all converting into a slimy liquidous substance. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it doesn’t feel good.

The sensation in your stomach begins to abate once you can see you no longer have one.

Jade sounds very well pleased with these results. Your hearing distorts for a moment, you assume that’s your ears converting from flesh to gel, but once it comes back you can hear the cheer in its voice.

“Very good. Yes, of course it is, I made it. Everything I make is flawless, just like I am,” Jade is congratulating itself.

You feel dizzy. Moving is very strange like this.

“Alright, Pet. One more test and then you can have your treat. If you behave,” Jade says.

Ah. You should have known that two treats so close together would mean something was amiss.

You must have been too caught up in your own thoughts to notice the second bottle.

Or maybe Jade concealed it.

It does seem to like seeing you distraught.

“Oh, don’t make such a pitiful face, pet. Don’t you want to go back to normal? Being a slime must be so unpleasant,” it mocks.

Then it seems to have a realization. “You know, maybe this reversal should be the real treat. I’m sure you’d like that much better than the clothes I was going to offer you,” it says with what passes for a grin.

You very much would have liked some clothes, actually.

But you’re sure this is all just another game to demoralize you. It was never going to give you those clothes.

“Come on, pet. Bottoms up,” it says as it hands you the second potion.

It’s a ruddy red with what appears to be quite a lot of sediment in it.

Your stomach would churn if you still had one.

You take the bottle and drink from it.

It’s very gritty, like water taken from the shore with much sand still in it. There is also the tang of blood, still raw.

It is not a pleasant combination, but you manage to finish the last drop.

Unfortunately, other than the bad taste, it doesn’t seem to have any real effect on you.

This could be another placebo trick, but you doubt Jade would play such a game on a rush order.

Indeed, as the minutes pass with no change, Jade’s mood goes from sunny victorious to stormy displeased.

“Why isn’t it working, pet?” it asks, looking you up and down.

You have never managed to convince it that a failure of its potions is not your doing.

“Do you want to stay a slime so badly? How strange. Well. If you want to stay like that I will let you, for now. But you will be punished for snubbing the treat I offered you so kindly,” it says coldly, taking the bottle from you.

“I’ll need to come up with a suitable punishment for a slime. Perhaps being roasted in an oven? Or being dissolved in a bath of acid…” it trails off, getting lost in the joys of finding new ways to hurt you.

That… could have been worse.

It didn’t fly into a rage this time.

And neither potion completely dissolved you into a puddle of insentient goo or killed you. Yes you think you can handle being a puddle of sentient goo for once.

The punishment will come, it always does. But at least it’s not immediate.

You look longingly at the clothes that were set on the table. It really would have been very comfortable to wear clothes again.

But it is not to be.

Wishing for things you know you cannot have will only make you sad.

You’re feeling quite tired now. Transformational potions like that always take it out of you.

You don’t want to sleep, that will just bring the time of your new impending punishment closer.

Sleep takes you against your wishes.

#writeblr #original writing #fantasy

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kylo-wrecked · 4 months

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🥂{💋} It's minutes after some hour she can't really read on her watch because she's lost her glasses.... Again.

And when he saunters into his demesne something like the spirit of Morrison possessing a sleek sort of panther, all swagger that is only really exhaustion attempting to outrun itself ~he learned long ago how to fake it to the very last~ Beth is really glad he doesn't have... company. Instead of boots ten miles too high and a ransom of neon spandex, in place of black glossy vinyl that would be forced to make mountains out of molehills only with the right corsetry, she stands in oversized fuzzy flannel pyjama bottoms and a faded Red Hot Chili Peppers tee-shirt {Stadium Arcadium tour, sixteen years in the past}. She offers him up a little plate, on it toast that is still just that, melted butter and honey dripping down the sides. She thinks it's funny. "Happy New Year."

{ 🎁 You know you want: Music!Ben }

His swagger could be an anthem in faking it till making it or just how drunk he is. He smells like a bar. Tobacco, cedar wood, the bite of something medicinal. Every lacquered plaster wall in his moon desert pad rings with the sound of another all-new year, or that could be his ear. Would be gnarly if that was the ear.

Ben Solo haunts his own apartment, a slow-moving, glitzed-out ghost.

After stumbling into some chalky owl's burrow to drink from a tap, he stumbles into the sight of Beth Riley standing in his living room like a single mast of light, one leg tucked meekly behind the other. Wide-eyed in her flannels and band shirt, with a china doll smile and a china doll's way of presenting a plate, three-quarters turned.

Ben leans the square of an allover sequin embellished viscose shoulder into a surface he knows isn't solid at all. He moves his palm up and down the wall, closes his eyes. Shadows hide the marbles of broken blood vessels.

"Happy New Year."

Could be January first or January third. Special k was a time-bender that way. New year, new moment. He couldn't remember five hours ago—success. But he could still remember the shrill on I-15. The smell, not unlike toast at first.

It is funny.

The little plate is funny. Beth. Funny. Ben doesn't remember inviting her over, leaving her here, but he must have. He must have moved stupid quick and given her his door pin, or she wouldn't be here, in her little PJs, offering him a slab of honey butter toast on a doll-sized stoneware plate in her little hands.

He approaches gradually. There's music in his hesitance, too, though the shine is all shirt, not him. He's death in designer duds, looking for blood.

"Why are you so small?" He considers Beth with a smile in his eyes that has made other women threaten violence. He considers the toast. "Maybe I'm just too much. Just too big."

But he couldn't possibly have said that—it's not something he'd ever say.

Ben bites a crust off the treat; warm honey runs down his lip. He swallows and wipes at it with his hand but misses the bead in the corner of his mouth. Not like he doesn't know it's there.

Till the very last breath could be a toast.

He laughs at the shirt.

"Take that off," he slurs, bends to do away with it, and clumsily yanks it up Beth's stomach, revealing her sleek obliques and narrow belly button, the silver knobs of each piercing. Ben does smile when he spots those. (* He doesn't know if he wants to suck on them or if the desire is a memory. His mind is a tunnel, too.*)

As he and Beth struggle over the hem, the collar pulls a little, the faded iron-on tents and warps in their grappling. Beth's heels lift off the floor. She drops the plate, and it bounces on the space-grey carpeting and rolls and clatters on its face in the dark, but she won't let go of his hand.

They both know Ben could rip off the shirt as easily as he could toss Beth across the room. Still, even in their scuffle, a game is at play. If she won't let him, he won't do it.

Somewhere in that blue night scuffle, their mouths meet with the taste of honey and powdered metal.

@brooklynislandgirl

#brooklynislandgirl #m. au | music!verse ben: nowhere man #seasons greasons #queue de la k #tw: drug mention

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ask-la-squadra · 30 days

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forgot where i left off oops ^_^; but to start off, cryogenic temperatures are defined as temperatures below 123 kelvin (i will be measuring in kelvin because absolute zero (where all molecules are still) is measured as 0, so it's easier to measure cryogenic temperatures that way). "cryogens" are defined as fluids with boiling points below 123 kelvin.

helium is the cryogen with the lowest boiling point of 4.25 kelvin and is also not able to freeze at normal pressure levels. this means it does not have a triple point (where solid, liquid, and vapor co-exist) and it can only be solid at a pressure of 25.3 bars.

when helium is cooled to 4.25 kelvin it becomes liquid helium. when liquid helium is cooled to 2.17 kelvin (the lambda point) it becomes superfluid (it is called the lambda point because when pictured on a graph of heat capacity as a function to temperature, it looks like the greek letter lambda)

superfluid is a state of matter basically exclusive to helium and it is *awesome*. it exhibits zero viscosity and large thermal conductivity. there are also four mechanical properties of helium:

- thermomechanical effect

- mechanocaloric effect

- fountain effect

- rollin effect (yes, spelt "rollin")

the rollin effect is the only one i can explain without a diagram. when a test tube is lowered into a liquid helium bath, the helium will "creep" up the test tube and into the test tube. when the test tube is raised above the liquid helium bath, it is emptied out slowly. this makes containment of liquid helium difficult. the ability of superfluid to flow against gravity is called the onnes effect.

liquid helium is used for the NMR (nuclear magnetic resonance, it is used to study molecular structure), and the MRI. it is also used in some maglev trains.

if u have any questions feel free to ask. i have a lot to share about cryogenics and i think some things would be useful to know because white album!! hope u thought this was interesting or helpful ^_^

wait this is actually quite useful, i will have to take advantage of some of these for white album, do you have more ideas of how i could use this with my stand

-Ghiaccio

(mod - love you nerds omg this is so cool)

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certainlynotthedoctor · 4 months

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hope you both had a good christmas

Thanks! I think you'd be happy to hear that us and Donna spent the day making lemon bars. I may or may not have nearly burnt down the kitchen in the process. Despite this, I'd say they turned out pretty decent. -10

Decent? They were great! Give her some credit, me. -11

Sorry Donna! Anyways, I hope you had a wonderful Christmas. Sincerely, me and the man who is currently placing several bowls of custard on my lap to 'measure the viscosity'. -10

#10 #11

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barrowdowns · 4 months

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character sketch: late 30s white man sitting in cafe on zoom meeting. Using profuse business speak to say "you are all doing well but actually I want you to do it my way"; pauses to grab his pour over from the bar. Wearing wood bead prayer bracelet, polished quartz plugs, baggy viscose slacks & linen shirt. Also birks

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pierce-walker · 1 year

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self-para \ the sand runs out. men’s bathroom, rhee’s bar and grill. approximately 11:20 pm.

trigger warnings: knives, blood, murder, death.

i’m falling through the hourglass and i don’t think i’ll ever make it back so i throw stones at walls i’ll never climb, victim to the sands of time i’m falling through the hourglass, the hourglass.

Pierce would be lying if he said he hadn’t been distracted lately. His father had grown increasingly pushy in the last few months, begging and pleading for money. It was honestly pathetic, but the constant harassment was starting to wear him down. It was getting to the point where he felt he had only two options: either give him the change or cut him off. In addition to that, self-publishing his music had turned out to be a lot more complicated than he was expecting. But he was tired of keeping it to himself, tired of only showing his craft to Kahlan, to Emi, to Adee. It was beyond time for him to finally take the leap.

His phone buzzed again, and he jolted, his leg crashing into the surface before him. The glass of beer resting untouched on the table tumbled, spilling amber liquid all over him. He sighed, staring at the mess for a moment. The beer slowly rolled across the table like a wave, dripping over the side when it reached it, directly onto his jeans—just his luck.

Before cleaning it up, he tugged his phone out of his pocket. The number he’d expected flashed on-screen and he rolled his eyes, setting it on the other side of the table, away from the beer puddle. Slowly, Pierce got to his feet, moving towards the bathrooms as quickly as he could. Hopefully, no one was in there, and he could clean up before anybody noticed he was gone…or saw the mess on the table.

The bathroom was indeed deserted, and he sighed in relief as he moved toward the paper towel dispenser, grabbing a couple to begin the hopeless task of cleaning the alcohol off of his jeans. He patted off his pockets, feeling something stiff below the fabric.

Quickly, he dug out a small, folded-up piece of paper. Unfolding it, he realized it was an old draft of one of his songs. With a small laugh, he dumped it and the paper towels into the trash can. He didn’t need that draft anymore—the final was sitting on his kitchen table, waiting for him to finally deal with it tomorrow.

Grabbing a couple of extra paper towels, he moved to the sink, running the water to wash his hands. He also splashed some on the denim, hoping it would help rid the already-forming stain. As he did, he heard the door click open behind him.

“Sorry,” he said instinctively, not looking up, “I’ll just be a sec. Those tables are super easy to jiggle, eh?” Pierce chuckled. Whoever it was didn’t deign to give him a reply.

Eyebrows knitting together momentarily, he turned off the sink faucet, dabbing the last of the water from his jeans. Perhaps the recent events in the town just had him on edge, but something about the idea of being alone with someone in an enclosed area didn’t sit quite right with him. Pierce took a deep breath, stepping to the left to throw away the towels in his hand.

He never got the chance to step back.

Shooting pain drilled through the back of his abdomen, harsh enough for him to stumble forward, catching himself on the sink. His eyes darted down, red viscosity already mixing into the beer stain on his jeans. He should've trusted his instincts more.

Mouth open in a wordless O, he looked back in horror at his assailant. The masked figure was standing across from him in silence, silence as sharp as their blade; still in their hand, blood dripping from its point. Pierce could already feel the burn in his side, his arm snaking around to press a hand over the gaping hole. The knife hadn't come out cleanly, leaving a ragged tear in his shirt—the edges were already stained dark brown with blood.

Suddenly, urgency ripped through him. If he didn't move, he was going to die in this bathroom. Jerking into motion, Pierce clumsily whipped backward, using his momentum to stagger into the killer—because that's who they were, he was certain. They didn't seem to expect it, stumbling up against the wall. Immediately, he pushed towards the door, trying to put as much distance between himself and the other person as possible.

Foot slipping on the tile quickly slickening with his blood, he fell against the door, banging on the bottom. Somehow, it had been locked—the wood barely moved under his fist. A muffled cheer went up from outside. No one could hear him, and Pierce's heart sank at the realization.

Sharp pain tore a cry out of him as his assailant caught him messily on the leg once more. He blinked, trying to see through tears of pain. He could feel his heart thumping weakly against his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps, and all he could think was this is it. I'm going to die here.

Pangs of regret began to numb the pain from his wounds, closing like a fist around his heart as he lay panting on the tile floor of the bathroom. Regret that he’d never be able to publish a song, and regret that he’d been selfish enough to keep them to himself. Regret that he’d never told Finley he still loved her, and regret that he’d never moved on. Regret that he’d never looked into his birth family, and regret that he’d never cut them off—too much regret for too little time.

The world was already flickering, and he screamed as another jolt of pain ran through his leg, though no noise came out. Through his dim and blurry vision, he could just barely make out the figure in front of him, pulling his leg towards them. They were trying to get him away from the door. He reached out an arm helplessly, every muscle shuddering before it dropped to the ground, the sheer strength needed to lift it already gone.

There was nothing he could do.

#self para #// a bunch of long stupid tags coming up #// i need you all to know i wrote this at the same time as the dae and sita event thread #// going from kissing to stabbing: 0/10 would not recommend #// i already miss my boi. :’)#// please don’t ask how much i cried it’s actually embarrassing #// how many references to past trauma can sen pack into one self-para? place your bets now!#// pls ignore the fact that the gif is a video...i had way too many issues with that thing. never again.#// just realized uh...happy...april fools????

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quirkwizard · 2 years

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Hello quirkwizard! Could you possibly do a review of the following original quirk? Thanks in advance!

Quirk name: Ink. This quirk allows the user to absorb and manipulate ink, paints and other dyes at will. The inks can be stored on the user's body in the form of tattoos. When the body reaches maximum ink capacity, often it will start leaking from places such as the eyes, mouth or nose. They are also more but not completely immune to ink poisoning. The user can change the viscosity of the ink when it is not stored on the body. They also become tired and feel de-energized when they have no ink on their person (it can be carried in jars or cartridges) or in their body.

Would you add/change anything to increase offensive potential?

I think that something like this could work. The core concept is a bit confused, in that the user is both absorbing and manipulating these inks. Wouldn't it make more sense for the user to absorb the inks, change them in their body, and then release them back out? You could have the tattoos been extension of that, the user shifting the ink in their body to. It could make the core concept more cohesive. The biggest issue with it right now is the drawbacks. The Quirk has to rely on a specific substance, one that is not readily available in a lot of places but could be carried around. But then they have worry about their own Quirk poisoning them and cannot function without the ink in their body. Those are some pretty serious drawbacks to contend with for a benefit like this. I would suggest limiting it to just the user needing to refill their body with inks and they can't reabsorb the changed ink, limiting how much they can hold. If you want something related to ink poison, you could just have a drawback that relates to one of the symptoms instead of poisoning them. And if you really want more offensive potential, just have the user fire out ink bullets at people. Barring that, give the user fountain pen finger tips that they use to absorb ink and maybe stab someone.

#My Hero Academia #Quirks #Quirk Reviews

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angelandgypsy · 1 year

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NWT Spell & The Gypsy Mossy Strappy Dress Plus Size XL.

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gazelessmenagerie · 2 years

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Fleeting..

Fleeting

Cloven hooves pranced nimbly..

Their gaited rhythm touching upon the soil in great bounds. Fur as white as freshly fallen snow dashing against the reddened walls of canyon veins, a blinding streak. clack. clack. clack.

Four of a beat. clack clack clack clack.

He gave Chase...

As before.. as before. Recollection of how this went.

Repeated. Repetition. Replicate. Recurrent.

He’d see that four legged creature with its iridescent coat of radiance and pursuit as he tended. Through those winding walls, their jagged mouths and smooth interiors. Clack clack, clack clack.

He couldn’t get that noise out of his head.

clack clack. clack clack.

It needed to be silenced.

Rushing head first, two legs against four. The swiftness of a powerful body skimming through as fast as possible, sliding to duck beneath low hanging obstacles of rock jutting out. Dash through small spaces only to pop out the other side and continue this endless, senseless chase. For whatever reason.. he simply couldn’t utilize his ki. Flight and strength were barred, the walls never broke no matter how many times he crashed his fists into them, leaving him only with what he knew in being nimble and agile. How difficult it was at first.. every thing got in his way, every stumble and snag pulling him back and losing his prey to a fleeing memory of failure.

The more he was Stuck in this... place.. Repeating the actions over and over, he learned better.

How to use his momentum, twist his body in just the right way to skid and leap over what lay in his path. Anger had no part in this. It only slowed him down to get angry. A hard and long lesson but with how many times he’s been here.. it took only long enough to understand it was useless and his prey awaited him.

One goal.. One mission alone.

Catch that which eluded him.

Once more the trial had arrived, the caverns that flew by him as his legs ran tirelessly. Black mane fluttered behind him, whipping tail primed to adjust his direction as a counter balance whenever sharp turns were a must. Glances of white stark against the iron of the Earth’s ribs, echoes clapping with that beat that haunted him. It never came to him what he would do once he caught his prey.. or after it. All that ran through a stubborn head was to overcome a challenge as lungs furiously inhaled and exhaled to keep up with the demands of heart and body. Vanishing into the crevice with dropping his body into a skidding crouch, the sand underfoot served well to propel him further with less energy wasted as he arrived out the other side. A moment lost to straighten his posture, avoiding slippage, however this time he clawed down on all fours to keep his motion going without breakage. He needed to be seamless.. Perfect.

Perfect in every motion.

It felt the only way possible to catch the prey.

Spine bent and curved before snapping with every powerful bound, the quick motions of a tail instinctual to swipe left or right. His body was but a spring collecting and redirecting every bit of kinetic energy. That beast was well within his sights, their hooves striking well against the smooth sandstone beneath as they abruptly careened to the left in the face of an incoming turn within the smooth tunnel. Little time to react as their pursuer snurled lightly, unable to stop himself. Tenacity had him leap to the left before the sharp turn and rebound to the right side; body collapsing against it before kicking off to gain speed as his feet touched on the soil once more.

Closer..

this was as close as he’s been..

He could almost reach out and grab one of those pounding hind legs. Almost..

and something pierced through him..

Gleaming silver, the viscosity of his own blood painting across its edge when he looked upon it with his frame petrified. Anchored in place, searing at his flesh and bone. The ground itself grew teeth and opened beneath. Cherry red cracks marred over the surface, igniting with flames licking incessantly at anything and everything they could consume within their ravenous maws. Skin screamed at the constant agony, entire sections sloughed off the muscle and burned away while the fire dragged him down into the core. Clawing his way proved futile, nails scratched deep into the descent with no hope of salvation as the light overhead closed to leave him beyond help.

Deeper.. deeper.. those fiery colors grew around him with the promise of death. Rocks quaked and crumbled, darkness surrounding everywhere else. Terror struck deep, the simple need to survive screamed to do something. Anything. And yet, there was no power to be enacted. The flames bled to vicious hues of green and yellow, smothering him, choking him of every breath possible. Pressure held a vice grip, as though some giant were crushing him in their grasp, never letting him go no matter how much he struggled to break free. It never mattered how much anguish that was cried out, however much he writhed when he felt trapped in that box as before. Squeezing down on him, denying him anything more than choked breaths while he could only watch what became outside those translucent walls. Agony nailed itself around his head, piercing deeper with unseen teeth. Nails scraped and clawed futilely, fists slammed and crashed without regards to bones breaking beneath their own might, every scream nothing more than silence leaving the extent of wailing jaws--

...

Eyes snapped awake in startlement, heart hammering within the confines of his chest with wild thrashes flailing his arms against a perceived threat. Pelts tore as did woven blankets, the interior of his chosen dwelling quaked with a stray fist impacting against the wall. Slamming his back against the floor, caught in the tanglement of blankets, legs kicked at whatever was in their way and broke them in a cacophony. Fabric ripped apart until the terror finally steadied itself to gulping breaths and sweat drenched brows, widened eyes staring at the ceiling above... Lungs quivered and quaked.. frame unwilling to get up than lie there as a heart threatened to pop out from its place.

However long he’d lay there, the sun eventually rose.. beckoning a new day.

#|| Drabble: { Broly }#GORE TW #( adlsfjg dont read too much into it... or do? i mean i just wanted to do some freaky dream/nightmare bullshit. )#( bc that's fun and gives me some hella creative ways to kinda mess around and play with some possible themes/symbolism )#( something like that. afnljg im not good with it though but its w/e man. this is for fun and to just give me something to write about. )#( almost anything I do to torment this bastard has to be internal in some way bc lmfao there's not much externally that can take him on )

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