it's monstrous

2

The vampire squid, known to scientists as Vampyroteuthis infernalis, looks like something that swam out of a late-night science fiction movie. But in spite of its monstrous name, its is a small creature, growing to only about six inched in length. The vampire squid is an ancient species and is a phylogenic relict, meaning that is is the only surviving member of the order Vampyromorphida. It is a unique member of the cephalopod family in that it shares similarities with both squid and octopuses. In fact, it was originally and mistakenly identified as an octopus by researchers in 1903. (Video)

DEADLIGHTS

One | Bloody Introductions

Summary: It had endured centuries on earth, indulging selfishly in Its desires, never once blinking at Its monstrous ways. Your arrival into Its existence warped the both of you into an emotional chaos of white-hot lust and desire, throwing the both of you into never a ending poignant rollarcoaster of longing and unattainable sensual tranquility.

The clock was ticking. It couldn’t bring Itself to leave you, yet It couldn’t bring Itself to stay either. It hated this love, It hated this lust, It hated this desire, and most of all, It hated that It didn’t hate you.

Author’s Note:  Critique is welcomed. This is the first fic I’ve written in ages. Apologize for any typos or grammar mistakes, I swear I proofread this three hundred times. Typos will be the death of me. I tried. The next two chapters will be posted within a couple of hours. I may or may not have accidentally written 20K+ words of this fic before posting. Whoops. Enjoy!

Words: 5.1K +

Warnings: Very gory. NSFW content. Very sexual. Lots of clown sex. You know, the usual.


The first time It had tasted you was where it began. It had sunk Its teeth into your skin, every intention of getting a quick, juicy meal out of your body. Its eyes rolled to the back of Its head, the endless row of gums and fangs spilling out from Its deformed excuse for a mouth, becoming more monstrous by the second. Your ears were ringing rapidly in your head and you were convinced your heart would burst from fear sooner than you would die from this grotesque being; the organ pounded against your chest like it was a cage, a desperate animal fleeting to escape, your breathing impossibly quick. It had you cornered, there was nowhere to run, and even if there was, the monster had made it clear that It was more than capable of using Its strength to stop you.

You knew one thing on this night; you were sure you were going to die.

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Cold waters

cr.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader / (implied) Namjoon x Reader 

Genre: Merman!Au / Angst / One-shot

Rated T for mentions of death

Word count: 6.4k

Synopsis: Every night, a song crawls from the woods - they say it’s the lullaby of a monstrous creature that has fallen from grace, a beast fiery like fire and ruthless like ice. Yet, his voice is such beautiful one that the cords of your heart quiver with love for each, saccharine note piercing your skin.

And every night, he draws you in a bit more.

Author’s note: Hello my lovelies! This is my second request (Cold waters, warm touches + His beauty could kill you + Merman!Jeon), at first it was supposed to be a fluffy one but, uhm… it accidentally ended up being another angst *sweats*

Anyway, dear anon, thank you for the nice concept, please lemme know if you liked it <3



There’s a legend, whispered among the sunbeams getting lost in the forest at the borders of the village.

There’s legend, one of a terrible, alluring kind, that widens children’s eyes and makes hearts tremble beneath the warnings of worried mothers.

There’s a legend, more like a secret or maybe a dream, deep carved into the memories of your innocent days; one that has your glances wander into the shadows of the woods when you think that nobody is watching, that nobody is judging.

It’s a legend, they say, about a creature doomed to live in the lake at the center of the forest: oh, a ruthless one, with eyes like broken glass and thick blood covering its claws. Murderous are its intents and fury tints its flesh with such poisonous vigour that the water is now no different from the venom running under his skin. 

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In that vast shadow once of yore
Fingolfin stood: his shield he bore
with field of heaven’s blue and star
of crystal shining pale afar.
In overmastering wrath and hate
desperate he smote upon that gate,
the Gnomish king, there standing lone,
while endless fortresses of stone
engulfed the thin clear ringing keen
of silver horn on baldric green. 
His hopeless challenge dauntless cried
Fingolfin there: ‘Come, open wide,
dark king, your ghastly brazen doors!
Come forth, whom earth and heaven abhors!
Come forth, O monstrous craven lord, 
and fight with thine own hand and sword,
thou wielder of hosts of banded thralls,
thou tyrant leaguered with strong walls,
thou foe of Gods and Elvish Race!
I wait thee here. Come! Show thy face!’
— 

Lay of Leithian, Canto XII, JRR Tolkien

Sometimes I wish the entire Silmarillion had been written in epic poem style, because this is AWESOME

Stiles wasn’t stupid. He had ADHD which led to trouble focusing and he might not be the most popular person, but he was far from stupid.

He scarfed down his lunch quickly, ignoring the other teens milling around him as he read on his phone. He’d finish his food quickly so he could leave and go to the library, as usual.

He glanced a few tables down to nonchalantly study the new popular table. Scott McCall was the newest edition, brought up the social ladder by his Disney princess of a girlfriend, Allison Argent. Once upon a time, Scott and he had been inseparable, but then middle school had happened and they’d drifted apart. Stiles missed having a partner in crime—or someone to eat lunch with, hang out with, text, have inside jokes with, or just to call a friend—but he was living. Sure, he got lonely sometimes, but this too shall pass and all of that.

He stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and quickly cleared his table, heading for the trashcan. He meant Boyd’s eyes and gave him a nod, from one loner to another. The other boy rolled his eyes but nodding back all the same. Stiles smirked, social connection for the day completed, and slipped out the cafeteria to spend the rest of his time researching.

See, since he wasn’t stupid, he knew something was going on. There had been a sudden increase in animal attacks lately and the most recent one had been at a video store in the middle of town. Not exactly your typical mountain lion hunting ground. Plus, he’d hacked into the CCTV feed from the parking lot and whatever had been the cause of the video store’s manager’s untimely demise was definitely not a mountain lion.

Stiles frowned, tapping his pen on his notepad in thought. The school’s goddess Lydia and resident douche-bag Jackson had been there, so the rumor mill said, but both were refusing to talk. This was the third death in the past month though and, for Beacon Hills, that was a lot. Like, an insane amount. His dad was barely even home anymore thanks to the whole department being mobilized to try and catch a damn mountain lion. It just didn’t add up though.

The first death had been Laura Hale, torn clean in half on the Preserve. Her brother, Derek, had been brought in for questioning but he’d been cleared and released.

Next was a bus driver, attacked on his bus and then died later in the hospital from his wounds. Messy all around. Again, not the normal hunting grounds of a mountain lion.

And now the video store manager. It all just didn’t connect.

“We’ve got to do something; the Alpha’s getting braver.”

Stiles stiffened, ears perking as he listened to the students milling past his spot around the corner. Here he could hear conversations in front of the stairwell easily without being seen.

Alpha?

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8

GENRE SWAP: Harry Potter as a more Gothic Horror setting

A revision following the same story and details of the Harry Potter universe, but with a Gothic horror spin – where the unknown is an ever-looming presence in the shadows, the ghosts are decaying and have a real presence within the world, dark magic and its users are more monstrous and the wizarding world is all the more terrifying

7

These have been the best years of my life, and they are mine. Tomorrow is promised to no one, Doctor, but I insist upon my past. I am entitled to that. It’s mine.

  • Readers: How is there only one chapter left of BTU?! No way, there has to be more! You can't possibly wrap up everything else in one chapter!!!
  • Me: You underestimate my power.
Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also.
—  Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
Combatants ~ Part 2

A/N: Hello lovelies! You guys made me so happy by all the feedback it really helped me get through this week. I am so happy you guys liked part 1 and really hope you enjoy part 2 too. Usually part 1 are always better than any other parts but I tried to make this one just as good as the first one. This part is kind of sad but it will get so much happier in part 3.

Warning: A lot of angst, intentions of sexual assult. Really sad and depressing (but it will get better in part 3)

Tags: @nadinissavage, @lexi-thechaosqueen, @grey-raven, @alohomagines, @bestillmystuckyheart, @maddyfitzhenry, @astrophileslytherin, @literally-anythin, @fashionlive15

Part 1 Part 3

Originally posted by illtakeyouaway

xx

It has been 2 weeks since you left. No letter, no trace to explain how you disappeared. You even left your clothes in your dorm, your books, photographs, personal belongings, everything.

Nobody knew what excatly happened the day you left. All they were certain of was that you snapped your wand and left, because of one special Gryffindor. Whenever the boy walked by, new rumors started circling around the school and more unpleasent whispers echoed through the corridors. It never stopped for him. The tables have turned for the young Sirius Black.

He never meant for it to happen. The hurtful words he said to you repeated in his head every night. It never skipped a minute of his time and the guilt he felt… The guilt was eating him alive. What you felt, those prying eyes, making you feel so terrible and lost at the time. It’s what he felt after you left. But he had James and the other Marauders. He had people take care of him and it helped him. 

Jack was a different story. You and him have been secretly writing to eachother. Never telling him where you were, you just simply put it that you were safe. It pissed him off. What pissed him off even more was the fact that he hasn’t gotten your letter in 2 days and he was getting worried.

And time passed. Time passed slowly but rather quick. James got himself Lily,  Jack was on top of his class, Severus was doing the dark arts and well Sirius. He moved on.

“Fuck!” you cursed as you noticed you were cornered. ‘Nowhere to run now, might as face them. ‘ you thought before turning around, ready to fight. But something was wrong. They were gone. Not even one of them was on sight and you were completly alone.

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DEADLIGHTS

Two | Poison Dances

Summary: It had endured centuries on earth, indulging selfishly in Its desires, never once blinking at Its monstrous ways. Your arrival into Its existence warped the both of you into an emotional chaos of white-hot lust and desire, throwing the both of you into never a ending poignant rollarcoaster of longing and unattainable sensual tranquility.

The clock was ticking. It couldn’t bring Itself to leave you, yet It couldn’t bring Itself to stay either. It hated this love, It hated this lust, It hated this desire, and most of all, It hated that It didn’t hate you.

Chapter One here

Author’s Note: Critique is welcomed as always. This chapter is pretty slow moving and fades in and out of the past, mostly filling in on the passage of time. Don’t worry, the next chapter is spicy and more action packed.

Words: 8.8 K +

Warnings: Gory, emotional turmoil, explicit language, sexual….I think thats the main gist of it.


You walked down the run down street towards the Neibolt house, tension and uncertainty radiating in every part of your body, alarms shrieking off in your consciousness to turn around. It was hard enough that you hadn’t been here in weeks, but it felt like even longer, ages, in your mind since you’d last come here. You had been trying to block the place from your consciousness, pushing every memory, thought, desire, and longing that had persistently kept arising in your mind, knowing that you needed to move on once and for all. This place was bad for you, you kept telling yourself. A fragile human like you didn’t belong here, and you didn’t have the emotional capacity or strength to cope with the consequences that inevitability came along with you indulging in your lust and tenderness that you felt for the ambiguous being that dwelled here.

You stepped on the first step of the Neibolt house, the rundown wood making a screeching creek under your weight. Your eye winched; it was as if it was announcing your inappropriate arrival. Coming here felt like a failure to yourself, in a way; you were admitting that you couldn’t stay away. The amount of nights you laid in bed longing for his touch, despite every logical reason you had to move on, your vagina throbbing in heat and desire as you thought about the long, slender fingers that used to be pounded into you, while Pennywise snared down your face, his lazy demonic golden eyes full of longing and desire.

You didn’t just desire him and miss him in a sexual way. You felt an irreplaceable connection to the creature, and a love so deep that you were almost persuaded it was otherworldly. You were convinced you would never feel this way again, would never feel a love so complex, complicated, so desirable. Though the clown had his toxic ways, it was his flaws that only made you desire him more. There was something so precious about your time with him, whether it was lying against him in his arms while you tried to sleep, with his breathe lapping against your neck through his sharp fangs, something which had always appeared when he was horny or desiring you, or him fucking you raw near the endless junk pile of dead children’s toys in the sewers. From tender to rough, all were indescribably precious, filling you up both physically and spiritually, and every moment you spent with him had always left you wanting more.

And somewhere along the way you had begun to wonder if the love was requited. Though he would never speak it loud, his actions leaked the truth more than plenty. He would never be able to go more than a day without seeing you. Busyness was out of the question; he always made sure you had time to see him, and if you didn’t, your room would suddenly become much more occupied at night, his labored breathing begging for contact with you while he watched you get ready for the next day and climb into bed, the desire not leaving his clouded eyes until you invited him into the warmth of your legs underneath the sheets, or until he rested his forehead against your shoulder while you focused on your work, his impossibly plump red lips engulfing each bump on spine as he increasingly grew more impatient for your attention, starting from the top of your neck and down your back, and wouldn’t stop until he kissed and chewed on each one, then, with no more neck and back to kiss, would move on to nibbling your ear, his breath tickling and raising every hair on your neck, until you finally gave in to your desires for the night and smashed your lips against his, hearing his deep purr in resonating his throat, knowing he had won.

He had always felt the need to touch you. Not just sexually, but he always felt the need to quench the burning thirst he always felt to be in contact with you in some way when he was around you. He needed to touch your side when standing, tickle or tease the nape of your neck with his breath, intertwine your fingers in his, or softly rest his lips against your cheek while you were sleeping. Contact was always needed. Always. Anything. Though you didn’t know it, when you weren’t with him he would often pace the grounds of his lair, trying to brush off the burning sensation he felt to be near you, to feel you.

The last time you had been with Pennywise was intense, to say the very least. It had started off wonderful, purrs leaking from Pennywise’s throat as he gently gnawed at your neck and shoulders, you stroking his lower back as you took in every part of his more relaxed presence. You were so used to him dominating you, both physically and emotionally, but after entwining in such an intimate relationship with him for the time that you had, you noticed him begin to relax more now and then, no longer feeling the need to assert his dominance or his status as the demonic being he was as often the more he began to be so emotionally involved with you, though he still scared you, and you never knew what he was going to do next. He was like a ticking time bomb; one second he could be completely clingy, purring into your neck, easing his weight onto you like a cat, begging for attention, and the next he would undisturbed, distant, sinister, appearing moody and beastly all at once, and wouldn’t snap out of it unless you stroked his face, called his name, and, if that didn’t work, you would slowly make your way of the sewers, not daring to look behind you, feeling his dark presence watching you, feelings his breath lap against your neck, convinced that if you dared to look behind you you would find a demonic form inches from your neck, ready to sink its teeth into your veins. But you had caught the clown in one of his better moods this afternoon, and you were relishing in it, your vagina soaked just from being so intertwined with him, your breathing becoming slower and more in sync with his.

“Mine,” he whispered quietly, so softly you had barely heard, but you savoured listening to the croak of his voice as he repeated himself, mummering the word once more every couple of breaths, occasionally breaking a little skin to mark you as his. Though you didn’t know it, Pennywise often used this time to devour your scent, for how irresistibility delicious it was, the smell that radiated off your body, the mixture of your skin, breath, hair, the dust of your clothes, only interrupted by the traces of perfume and any other unnatural acetic scents that lingered on you, which he loathed passionately. His fingers traced over your neck, chest, and torso, his long tongue leaving the entrance of his crimson lips, which shined as he graced his tongue over them before licking the surface of your skin, almost moaning in pleasure at the taste of you, the urge to groan over his lust for you only increasing as his mind wandered to the taste of you between your legs, so heavenly and blissful to him, and he salivated even more so when he thought of how exquisitely delightful your skin would taste as a meal, the crunchiness of your bones and meaty taste of your intestines, the blood of your insides, oh how utterly wonderfully appetizing it would be, but since he could not have you as a meal, he would instead devour you in bloodies kisses, sucking the blood from the wounds he inflicted as it mixed in with the warmth of your skin while he trailed his lips across the area of your skin to inflict more. It had been a slow, comfortable afternoon as you relished in each others’ company.

The rich afternoon was only interrupted when you made the mistake of checked your phone, which you did just as you had started to leave his embrace, realizing you had work you needed to catch up on before tomorrow. Pennywise had begun pouting and snarling when you said you had to leave, and you quickly pecked him on the lips, calming him down for a few short moments. A notification had popped up on your screen, pulling you away from the present, and it was only a few minutes of scrolling through the news when an article popped up concerning yet another death in Derry. At first you didn’t think too much of it; deaths in Derry happened far too frequently for each one to be intensely mourned. But as you clicked on the article and read through it, your heart stopped; it was one of your closest childhood friends from when you were little. Though you had lost touch a long time ago, you had kept in touch now and then, seeing each other in the hallways of your school and occasionally sharing about what had been going on in each other’s lives. The friendship had been a precious one to you.

You bit your lip and tears began to flow down your cheeks, and before you knew it you were visibly shaking and sobbing. Pennywise instantly got up and embraced you in his arms, pulling you close. Ever so slightly, he began to leave soft kisses around your cheeks, using his tongue to lick away the salty tears that had begun to run off your cheek. It had taken him awhile to begin to understand the complexity of human emotions and how to deal with them, but through his desire and longing for you, he had started to desire to understand them at least a bit, to gain a better understanding of them and how to deal with them, but solely for your sake. His inhuman, malicious invested mind would never truly be able to comprehend the tenderness of caring for another broken soul the way a human did, but through his involvement with you, he had picked up a few tendencies.

“What’s wrong?” He squeaked in his currently high-pitched and childish voice; his voice could go from sounding like an innocent, excited essence to that of an incredibly deep, rough, almost demonic voice within minutes; you were never sure what to expect. His deep blue eyes were currently attempting to stare at you in the straightest way they could. They were always slightly misaligned, and there was always a disconnect in his eyes that you never truly understood; as if he was attempting to take in the world and interact with it, be a part of it, but never truly being able to find that final piece that made him belong.

You didn’t answer, your sobs were starting overtaking you, and for a few moments you just clutched your hands on his dirty clown suit, taking out the unbearable waves of grief by holding onto him as hard as you could. Your lungs closed up, and you soon felt like you couldn’t breathe for a few minutes, freely giving in and letting the waves of grief come in it’s powerful waves before you could speak.

“M-my friend…S-she’s gone…”

You felt Pennywise tense a bit, and his embrace tightened, but not in a comfortable way. It felt more possessive, as if his intentions for holding you were suddenly stemming from insecurity rather than love. He said nothing, but cupped your face in his and began to to caress your face with his long fingers, catching each tear that fell down your cheek.

You stared up into his eyes, always slightly crazed, and full of more depth and wonder than you could ever even begin to think of. You has always found yourself getting lost in them, and right now they provided more comfort than ever before.

“I don’t know…” You choked on some of your saliva gathering up on your mouth, and forced yourself to swallow before continuing. “What could have possibly happened to her…I saw her just last month and she was…fine. I don’t understand…”

You stroked one of his hands that were embracing your face, and then let it fall. You looked away from his face and instead down on the floor, feeling strangely embarrassed. You stood there for a few moments, surprised at how exhausted you felt from your short weeping session.

Pennywise had stared down at you, his raspy breathing one of the only things that came as a comfort to you. You dared to look back up into his eyes and found that they were unreadable, as usual, but this time they were more guarded somehow, as if hiding something in their endless profundity.

And then, it hit you.

“You ate her, didn’t you?” You spat, your anger coming faster than you could control it, rising up in your chest and leaving sharp pangs in your throat, which was now closing up, making it difficult for you to breath from the rage that was quickly fuming within you. You stepped back, tension and utter manic anger making you shake violently. You started to make your way out of the room and rushed down the stairs, blood pounding in your ears, with every intention to leave as quickly as possible, both enraged and terror-struck.

Pennywise's’ eyes began to dissolve into a bright golden, and his eyes began to look more unfocused, taking on that terrifying animal look that he got when he was furious, starving, or trying to scare an unfortunate victim. In this case, it looked like it was the latter.

A monstrous growl began to form in his throat, and his buck teeth began to transform into millions of small sharp fangs as his body shook violently. Your breathing became quickened and you tried to make an entrance to leave, but he slammed both of your wrists against the wall, wood creaking underneath the pressure of the weight. He lunged forward and bite you down hard into your neck. You let out a wail of pain, tears of pain and fear trailing down your face.

“You think you can do this to me, Y/N? You think you can get up and leave me? You’re mine. You said you were mine when I was fucking you into the sheets, you begging for my touch-ohahahaha!” He shoved you further into the wood, you gritting your teeth together to endure the pain. “And when I held you while you whimpered at night-you can’t take it back. You’re mine forever. Always.”

You tried to fight against his grip but he was too strong, his weight holding you immoveable against the wall. With every word his growls began to become more animalistic, more insane and terrifying. “I saw you kiss your mother on the cheek last night. I see you while I’m watching you in the sewers, you laughing along with your friends and smiling. Those smiles and kisses belong to me, do you understand?”

You let out a squeal of fright and desperation, as his weight pushing you against the wall grew stronger. You began to feel the breath being pushed out of you, and you struggled against his strength like a weak animal, gasping for air.

Pennywise's’ grip on you only grew stronger, and his fangs began to protrude increasingly more out of his steadily increasing gums, and your terror at this sight ceased any struggles you were attempting. You instead froze cold, and waited for your fate.

Instead of launching his fangs into you, he started at you intensity with his ferocious golden eyes, piercing you with his stare. The tension between you grew and more thick, until you were convinced it would engulf you into its depths. A few moments went by, though they felt like ages, with him staring at you like a crazed beast, and then, just when you were convinced your bones would break from the pressure, he released you, gums, fangs, droll and all receding, along with his anger.

“Now you remember who you belong to. I do what I want. You forget, little pet. You always forget. But your mine, and no matter what happens, you’ll always come back.” His voice had deepened into a rough, harsh sound. He then let out a crazed giggle.

Shaking uncontrollably, too scared and weak to think of anything to do or say, you simply raced out of the house and slammed the door of the Neibolt house, not slowing your pace until you made it to your house, warm, familiar, and safe.

Of course Pennywise could follow you here and show up if he really wanted to, but you knew he wouldn’t. There was a certain understanding you two had established, and right now, you could tell he would stay in the sewers, most likely seething and brooding away in anger from your interaction.

Weeks had gone by, and you never made even the slightest attempt to come back to him. Your relationship with the clown was stormy, to say the absolute least; though you were, in a twisted way, infatuated with the creature, it was clear every day what he was; not of the world, a creature that feasted off of the flesh of those of your own kind, a manifestation of some otherworldly energy. If he even was that. You didn’t know. You didn’t know if you even wanted to know. Though you had found your peace with this in your own way through the love you grew for him, seeing him so bluntly disregard someone so important to you that you felt you had made clear would hurt you was destroying you, and confusing you as to how he felt towards you.

Yow knew you loved him. But did he love you?

Though you didn’t know it, somewhere in the creature’s twisted, malicious manifested mind, he had begun to care for you the way he had never before for any creature before, least of all human. You could slightly sense it in a way through some of the things he did; the way he caressed your cheeks with his lips while you worked, the tender kisses you occasionally shared between intercourse, the trance-like state that his face would take when he stared at you for too long, his usually expressive face suddenly becoming smooth and almost placid, his eyes becoming empty and peaceful, reflecting none of the usual torment that you knew was locked somewhere inside of him, a jail for countless caught and tortured souls.

But what convinced you most of all was that he stayed. Though it was wearing on his body, though you could see the labor it took for him to stay as a physical being on this earth longer than he was meant to, he stayed, and, though you didn’t know it, when Pennywise began to flirt with the idea of going into his hibernation, his physical form weighing down on his natural state for far too long, your face began to form in his mind, and all temptation to give in ceased, at least for a short while.

The clown has always known that he would have to leave you eventually. He had been back haunting Derry for almost the two full years, and he had begun to feel his moral body form weakening. His breathing had begun to become more labored, especially when he strained his body to do more trying tasks, even the simplest actions that were tuned to his nature, like a simple hunt for food. He had begun to feel less and less like a being that could exist amongst the physical world, even as a shapeshifting incomprehensible being. He needed to return to oblivion; he had had his indulgent feast. He was full, and ready to rest in nothing but his true form for another twenty seven years. But it was the thought of leaving you that made him stay. The thought of leaving you disgusted him. It mortified him. He couldn’t recognized the feeling or why it was there, but it rested in his consciousness relentlessly like an angry child wailing to his mother, begging and screaming to be fed, to be acknowledged. There was no ignoring it.

One of the harder parts of your relationship had occurred only a short time ago before this last incident that had pushed you to leave him for good. It had happened after a particularly hard episode of his one of possessive tantrums. He had showed up in your room at a surprisingly early hour, his face furious, shoulders hunching, staring at you like you were a piece of meat, or an pet about to be punished.

As a matter of fact, you were.

“Why are you leaving me, pet?” He growled furiously, seconds away from locking his hands around your throat, his the skin tight material of his gloves stretching away as the hint of claws began to grow grotesquely out of his skin.

“Penny, I told you, it’s a family trip. A vacation.” You continued to pack your clothes, trying your best to appeared unfazed, though fear coursed through every part if your body, knowing what the clown was capable of. And he smelt it.

“You can’t leave me. You’ll come back, and you’ll reek of them, just like you do every time you come back to the sewers, you always smell like…” He scrunched up his nose, almost comically, his threatening demonic aura dissolving for a few moments. “Other people.” He shakes in a cringe-esque fashion, as if just the thought of his significant other reeking of the stench of others was the most disgusting thing to have graced his consciousness. Which was saying a lot, for a billion year old entity, you thought with the slightest smirk.

“It’s two days.” You turned around to make eye contact with the monster, whose eyes were currently dissolving into a deep red, angry and unfocused. “Two. Days,” you said, exasperation lining your voice. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He snarled and went up to you, staring you down. You were reminded again of how tall he was; he towered over you, making you feel as small and as helpless as a child, as easily breakable as a toy in comparison.

“Our time is limited, Y/N”, he growled into your face, his cotton candy scented breath wafting into your face. “You know that. I want you here, with me.” He pressed his face closer to yours, until the tip of your noses were touching, then pressed his lips to the tip of your nose, but angrily, in a way that was almost threatening, the pressure of them suffocating. “Mine.”

Before you could respond, he pressed his lips onto your throat, and your breathing hitched in surprise. You felt the sensation of his fangs emerge from his mouth, and he began biting down on you, hard, breaking skin and sucking up the blood, a practice that had become almost a certain ritual in your relationship. You moaned both in pain and even slight arousal, enjoying the feeling of your lover pressing his teeth into your skin despite yourself, yet remaining scared and uncertain at the same time. You didn’t know what his intentions were this time, and you couldn’t resist the urge to run. Your instincts turned out to be right this time; his fangs only deepening into your skin, causing a grotesque amount of blood start to pour down your throat, chest, torso, legs, until it spilled on the floor, staining the wood and making the bottoms of your feet sticky and red with it. Any pleasure from the contact instantly vanished, and you began to feel only deep, incredible pain, and a horrible black fear.

You felt yourself blacking out, and panic began to well up inside of you, as you knew you were far too weak to fight back against him, or even to push him away. Black dots began to paint your vision, and you could feel your legs losing their strength. After what felt like hours, by some miracle his fangs pushed away from your neck for a few moments. You looked up at him, shaking, black spots interrupting any hope for you to see straight, still panicking and too frozen with fear to know what to do. His eyes were thoroughly bloodshot, sent off in completely different directions; he had lost control; he couldn’t resist the delicious smell of your terror or the taste of your blood, so much sweeter to him than any other victim he had ever taken advantage of. You had always tasted extra sweet to him, more than most humans he had ever consumed in his entire existence here on earth, more than any flesh he had ever consumed, making the temptation that much harder for him to fight against not to eat you alive. Every time he was near you it was the equivalent of a starved, insane animal being near the fattest piece of meat it had been near in months, and it was a miracle he was able to resist from consuming you. Especially with how intimate you two were together. He would pound into you, his fangs and dripping saliva inches away from your throat, the irresistible aroma of your scent egging him on insistently, and it was only the overwhelming desire to keep you, hold you, and own you that prevented him from sinking his fangs into a potential juicy meal right then. It was knowing this that provided some of the only comfort you had when he was like this, reminding you that no matter what, though he may mark you and wound you, he would never kill you.

Tonight, you were not so sure.

Finally collecting yourself, you managed to begin to back away from his bloodied face, his painted red mouth almost indistinguishable from the blood that currently covered his entire chin and splashed all the way up to his cheekbones. You almost made your way to your door, reaching behind you for the doorknob, not daring to turn your back on Pennywise, who was currently staring at you more like you were an inconvenience that needed to be killed off more than anything else.

Your fingertips just barely grazed the doorknob when your feet suddenly slipped on the blood that was covering the floor, and you fell back first onto the floor, your breath being knocked out of you. Pain shot throughout your entire body and you gritted your teeth, trying to collect yourself so you could leave. Pennywise began to advance toward you, and through your increasingly failing vision you couldn’t tell if it was threatening or not, but you were already so frightened that your first reaction to him coming towards you was to gasp in fear, quickly easing yourself up on your hands and clumsily getting yourself back on your feet, trying your best not to slip on your own blood, finally managing to get a balance on your feet as you raced through the rest of your house, opened the front door, and sprinted away down the street.

Your thoughts were racing, your mind mudded with unclear intentions as you limped as fast as you could down your neighborhood. You didn’t know where you needed to go, but you knew you needed to get somewhere…Safe? Yes, but also somewhere different. Different from the street, different from the houses that lined the side of it. Somewhere isolated, alone, where you could be with your confused and despairing thoughts in peace.

For reasons unknown to you an image of the woods raced across your mind, and before you made conscious thought about it you found yourself rushing your bloodied body towards the entrance of the woods, its darkness appearing even more haunting in the dark sweep of the night.

You began to make your way down the dirtied path, your breath ragged and shallow, a combination of both fighting the pain of the wounds, the loss of blood, and the long trek it took to get over to the woods. It sounded like you were dying, and, for all you knew, maybe you were. You pushed yourself to keep going regardless.

You didn’t know how long you walked for; to your troubled mind and wounded body it felt like hours. The trees began to melt into one another, the darkness taking you in, and you began to become convinced that there was nothing outside of this, nothing outside of you limping through the woods, hurt and eternally lost.

You tripped on a root, or you thought it was a root, but you weren’t sure, your vision was so blurry and unfocused. You fell to the ground, you knees scraping the unforgiving, damp forest floor, blood beginning to ooze out of your cuts and dirt sweeping in. You fell over to your side, too weak to do anything to help yourself, shivering, wounded, and cold. The wounds Pennywise had left on your body, previously a source of warmth, arousal, and comfort, now felt like just what they were; deep, ruthless, unkind cuts in your skin, and the burning and the pain of them began to feel increasingly more persistent. You pulled your heavy, damp sweater over your shoulders. Your mind was muddled and miserable as tears feel freely down your face. Your body began to shiver uncontrollably, and you began to truly take in how truly damp and muddy it was outside, soaking into what little was left of your shredded clothes and skin. You tried to warm yourself up with your numb, impossibly cold hands, but after only one or two rubs around your arm, you realized it was hopeless. You let out one last shuddered, defeated breath, and then closed your eyes,  accepting your brutal fate for the night.

It seemed like only two seconds went by before you sensed the presence of a large figure standing in front of you. Your eyes shot open in automatic response to movement, your fear being reignited instantly. You didn’t dare look up at the figure, partly because of fear, but mostly because you already knew who it was, as you instantly recognized the pointed white shoes stripped with black, each shoe complimented with a bright red pompom on the end.

Pennywise started down at you, his eyes unreadable. You thought for a moment you saw a flash of grief hidden in those blue depths, but it was gone so quick and was so fleeting that you convinced yourself you must have imagined it through your delirious state. He leaned down and picked you up, your small frame seeming like a child compared to his tall, powerful structure. You didn’t bother trying to fight him; you were already far too weak and damaged to try anything anymore. The walk home was long, the sound of his labored breath being the only noise in the quiet of that still night. You had kept your eyes closed, not wanting to speak, just listening to the gentle wheezing of his breath. It strangely calmed you, and you began to relax into his arms, the harshness of the earlier interaction fading into your mind.

He had ended up placing you in your bed, leaving you on top of your sheets. When you knew he had his back turned and was starting to leave the room, you opened your eyes carefully and ever so slightly, watching as his stood in your room for a few moments, completely still, as if taking it all in. Then you blinked, and when you opened your eyes he was gone.

You had been worried sick all night about how to clean up the blood, knowing one of your parents would walk in and ask questions. Your body was too sore and aching for you to even attempt to move it, and so you laid awake all night, accepting that you would have to admit to seeing to being involved with an alien clown in the morning.

However, when your mom crept in your room the next day, she made no reference to the blood; as a matter of fact she stepped right through it, and never once acknowledged it.

The next few weeks went by in a dazed blur. You couldn’t tell if you were depressed, but after a week of having no signs of the clown in your life, you knew one thing for certain; you missed him. You would go to school in a daze, coming home at night uninterested in accomplishing or doing anything productive. During your walks home you found yourself peeking into the sewer drains, attempting to see through the darkness of them to find him, or even just a whisper of his existence, but they remained as ordinary as ever, emptiness echoing throughout them.

After week three went by you had begun to accept that he may be gone, that he was never coming back, and the hole of heartache began to take form in your chest, making each breath harder than the last.

You had contemplated going back to the sewers, but were too afraid. What you were feeling was an ironic balance between love and terror, attachment and yet uncertainty. Which one did you chose? You hadn’t the slightest idea, you just knew that for the present time being, you were broken.

Then, during one of your usual walk homes from school, you saw it; a single red balloon tied to a mailbox, one that he was sure you would pass. A intoxicating stream of joy coursed through you, and you instantly ran over and untied the balloon to your wrist, determined not to let it go. You had quickly made your way back to your house, feeling the most alive and hopeful than you had in weeks, knowing that Pennywise would return.

And he had returned indeed. While you were lying in your bed that night, staring at the ceiling, thoughts too crowded and heart too anxious to sleep, you had begun to hear a familiar low growl, though this time its sound resonated closer to a deep purr, under the bed. Instantly you leaned half your body out of you bed and looked down, and there you saw Pennywise, his body contorted in inhuman ways, legs stretched over his head, arms twisted and torso contorted, and you let out a squeal of delight.

“Penny!” You squeaked. “You’re here!”

At your reaction his face light up into that buck toothed grin, letting out a shirked, insane giggle. He untangled his limbs from their unnatural state and creeped out from under your bed, crawling onto your bed beside you. You instantly lied down and let him engulf you in his arms, spooning you, and he began leaving soft pecks on your vertebrae. The smell of burnt sugar filled your senses as you began to drift off, happier and more grateful than you could ever remember being.

That was then. Now, your relationship had grown and matured in the slightest, but whether your reunion was for better or for worse was increasingly unclear to you.

His presence in your life consumed you; it was indescribable. His existence deepened through your mind, and his energy coursed through your bones, blood and your veins. You felt intensity intertwined with him, and you felt yourself losing what you once were; you certainly were longer the same person you had once been, a skittish being, afraid to even watch a horror movie at family night with your parents.

You hadn’t felt the same since being involved with Pennywise, and the change went deeper than just personality. You didn’t feel as if you were truly “here”, in the now, on this earth. You felt otherworldly at times, discontent with your earthly life, and felt as if your sense of humanity and earthly consciousness could be snatched away in a breeze. Some days this sensation was incredibly freeing, enlightening you to excitement as you enjoyed this new state of spirit, and would run to the sewers, eager to fall into the clown’s embrace, whose essence started to match your own. Other days your mind raced, and the wall you felt between yourself and other humans could have suffocated you. You never felt more alone or lost on these days, questioning everything about yourself and your life, wondering if any of it was even worth it. Not even understanding your own thoughts. Wanting to escape your human form, somehow. Feeling almost suicidal, in a way, but not truly; you simply didn’t want to be in this form anymore. The ever aging morality of your skin prickled you and teased you, almost as if it didn’t “match” your soul anymore. Was that it?

Perhaps. And the worst part was, you knew you had no validation to feel this way. There was no way for you to leave this human body, and there was no logical sense that you wanted to. Or at least, not as far as you knew.

You knew the monster was capable and even had a consistent history of driving people insane, and you wondered if that was what he was doing to you, slowly but surely. The truth was, though you yourself didn’t know it, was that he was in fact driving you to insanity, but his love for you softened it, quieted it, deafened it. It was true that you would never feel or be the same again even if you were to leave Derry or somehow get Pennywise out of your life forever; his influence on you was one that no human would be able to recover or heal from. But the insanity he left on you was softer than that which he used on his other victims, and even Derry as a whole. And though there was insanity to that bliss, it was traced in love, a twisted, monstrous love, that was incomprehensible to the human mind. You would live out the rest for your days with this foggy, disoriented sense of reality, that you weren’t really “here”, that your life was all but a dream, that your consciousness was just a trick and a game. Though every person in Derry was under his twisted spell, you were more in a state of eternal bliss, though that bliss came with a bittersweet feel; something that he couldn’t control. It was in his nature to have negative effect on humans, and knowing he was doing this to you often drove him a little crazy himself, or at least as crazy as a demonic being, already free from the caged state of consciousness that humans endure, can be. Perhaps “crazy” wasn’t the word; more like he felt discontent, or, if he was truly being honest with himself, though he would never admit it, tormented with what his involvement and influence he was having on you; knowing that it was twisting you, controlling you into something you weren’t. He looked into the future and felt the taste of deep anguish; he saw only that his presence in your life would twist you into an insane, miserable, and disorientated being in your weak and easily twistable human state. No longer would you be his precious little pet, his sweet-smelling, soft skinned precious darling; you would become a mental patient, gripping your hands with your head on the daily, hardly able to hold a conversation, unable to get help, unable to understanding your otherworldly thoughts that consumed your head every second; thoughts that weren’t made for any human to endure; thoughts that they shouldn’t endure, thoughts that they couldn’t endure. Knowledge, it was, knowledge that no small human mind was supposed to be revealed to. They were meant only for outer dimension souls such Pennywise, and he knew this all too well. He saw your eyes become more clouded over throughout the weeks; during these times he would stroke the side of your face, as if in a trace, unable to understand the emotions that came along with seeing the one earthly being he had managed to develop a sense of feelings for succumbing to the toxic effects that he so naturally had on those who were lesser than him.

He knew if he did manage to drive you insane like the other countless victims, the concept that was gradually becoming his worst fear would come true; that he would have lost you, the you that he loved to hold, to feel, to kiss, to taste. Most victims he wanted to modify, to change according to his rich hatred for human nature, to morbidly twist them until they were unrecognizable, until they were a screeching, suicidal, withering mess, begging to be killed. He would then kill them with ease accompanied by a gleeful cackle, smelling and releasing in their fear and torment, delicious and rewarding on his tongue.

With you it was different. With you, he wanted to taste your happiness, as disgustingly bitter to him as it was. During the busier times of your life he would watch you from the bushes, the sewer, the trees, just to get a glimpse and a taste of you, relishing in the stinking smell of your peace and joy, even enjoying the scent of your mundane, ordinary and everyday feelings, simply to taste you at all.

If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was to not taste you at all. There was something about your scent that was so addictive to him that he couldn’t bear to be away from it for long, no matter how much of whatever emotion you were feeling reeked to him. It astounded him. How much he wanted you-needed you.

The inner conflict he experienced with this gradual realization over the months began to take it’s toll on him, along with the natural weakening that came along with his need to take his long rest. It began to weigh on him, and an emotion he couldn’t quite understand began to take shape within him; and though he himself didn’t know the emotion in his consciousness of understanding, that emotion was self-loathing. The ironic twist that came along with loving you, which gave him a certain feeling of utter completeness and wholeness, one that had previously been alien to his simple, malicious and animalistic nature, was the lack of love he began to have for himself. Truthfully, the creature didn’t love himself the way a human did; rather it was that he never thought about anyone but himself, never gave a second thought to what he did to others, and, if he did, he reveled and relished in it, and a dark, twisted, unhinged cackled glee would form in his throat at the thought of the fear he left on the feeble beings of the Earth.. Before you, he thought of nothing but what was best for him; what he needed, what he wanted. In the nights when you were asleep, warm in your bed, he would lie in the orange-lit circus trailer that was in the lair of his sewers, either staring at the dirty, damp walls of his surroundings, or look up to study the grey, floating bodies that eternally circled his den, trying to understand the lascivious draw he felt to you, far more so more than the other lust he had felt for other earth women, this love, this vile consideration, this caring he had for another soul besides his own. Often he would dig his claws into the dirt, hot, heavy, breath seething between his fangs, his eyes wandering in separate directions, more animal by the second, frustration turning to anger, anger turning to hatred, hatred turning to…hopelessness. Yet another alien emotion that the monster was becoming more accustomed to as he learned to love you.

He dealt with his frustrations and heartache in his usual way. His killing in the past month had increased, and you had taken notice. Though you were obviously never comfortable with the idea of him killing off other humans, you knew he was doing it to live, just how a lion killed off antelope to survive. It was in his nature, and he physically needed it to survive, but you knew that his more recent and consistent killings were stemming from something else entirely. It hurt you; you had begun to lost count of how many faces you had met; at school, in the library, in the neighborhood, smiling and friendly, sharing in each other’s company and laughing along with their jokes, making warm, amicable small talk, only to see their face on television a few days later, usually reported “missing”, though everyone in Derry knew in the back of their heads that no one was truly going to put in the effort to find them; that it was all for show, a cruel dance to make everyone in Derry convince themselves they were like everyone else in the world, and not under the twisted spell of an impenetrable monster, twisting and corrupting their view of what was once considered the irreplaceable value of a human life into a simple cheap loss.

As this began to weigh on you you knew you had to try something. You had made a certain “deal” with Pennywise; the conversation had taken place on night in the heart of the sewers, by his giant pile of disregarded toys. You were sitting on a disgustingly old chair, moth eaten and worn.

“I just can’t take seeing people I know killed. Can’t you hunt in another town?”

Pennywise had simply ignored your gaze, snarling disconteinly into the distance.

“Penny?” You waited a few moments. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t leave here,” he finally snarled in reply.

“Why?” You don’t know why you bothered to ask. You had already tried to get this information out of him several times, and had never succeeded at getting an answer.

Finally, after a few short awkward moments of silence, you stood out of your chair and came over to the sulking clown, taking one of his skin tight gloved hands in yours, stroking the top of it gently.

“Penny,” you said quietly. “Please talk about this with me. I love you,” You bit your lip, not sure if this was the right time to acknowledge this. You had rarely ever said it outloud to him, and he had never said the words to you at all.  But his face remained in the same annoyed glare, staring into the distance, and so when he made no reaction to the words, you continued.“I want you to be happy, and healthy. We need to work this out. Please.”

Pennywise had taken up to glaring at the ground now instead, something that apparently had become fascinating to him within the past few minutes. You decided to take it up a notch and moved your other hand to cup his face, pushing him gently to look at you. You stared into his eyes, golden currently, and had to fight not to forget what you were doing and get lost in their endless profundity.

“I need to,” he grumbled, slightly less indignant now, but still persistent in his angry aura.

“I know,” you said softly, your thumb softly tracing his jawline, then gradually up to his bottom lip, always so soft, red, and plump, slight drool slowly beginning to ran off of it at the sensation of being so close to you, of being caressed by you. “But we need to make a…” You bit your lip, trying to find the right word. “A compromise.”

A low rumble formed in Pennywise's’ throat, and you knew you were overstepping your boundaries; he was, after all the dominate one in the relationship, and you weren’t the one who made the decisions. It wounded his pride at the thought of making a “compromise” with you; that suggested there was a certain equality between the both of you. Which was not the case, and, as far as he was concerned, would never be.

“Penny, I’m not asking you to stop feeding altogether. That would be ridiculous.” You dared to lean your head forward and press your lips against his cheek, tenderly. He made no response. “I just don’t want you to feed off of those I have a connection with, alright? Or any type of a….significant relationship with.” You leveled your eyes with his, staring into them, trying to make your communication with him as intimate and clear as possible. “Is that okay with you?”

He started at you for a few short moments, his scowl softened but still present on his face, then grunted. You smirked, taking that as a yes, then snuggled into his arm, which he reluctantly went along with after a few moments of his stiff body being awkwardly next to yours, then relaxed slightly more into your touch.

That was the reason why you had felt so betrayed, so utterly defeated in this relationship when you discovered that he had eaten one of your friends that meant the most to you. Though you knew your relationship and therefore the dynamics of it where rather eccentric, you always knew there was so level of respect to it, some level of old fashioned, classic human love; “I love you and therefore I won’t do what truly hurts you”. Though he fucked you when he pleased, not caring how much he hurt you, though he bite you and swore at you and tried to possess you and control your life, you had always assumed that at the end of the day, at the core of your relationship, he loved you enough to try and compromise who he was for you, even if just a small amount.  When you discovered that he had managed to cross the boundaries of a request asking for so little, that was when you started to truly question why you were so infatuated with a monster. He was never going to stop being who he was, what he was, for anyone, especially not a human being. The grief of discovering one of your most precious friends dying, along with the shock that your deepest love had betrayed you and been the cause of it, was too much for you to bear. So you ran, you went home, and you tried your best to fight through the unbearable pain and your deepest heartache, the loss coursing through you, and you fought to forget and move on.

Yet here you were.

Even during the time you were away, you could sense he was with you. The aroma of cotton candy and burning hot dogs would fill up your senses in the middle of a class. The ominous  feeling of a soft touch of a hand wearing skin tight gloves would tease you, pit-pattering along your thighs while you sat in your room or rode in the car, along with your stomach, neck, and any other body part he wished. Making every hair on your body rise in anticipation and thrill. You couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy these little signs of Pennywise's’ presence, reminding you that even when you weren’t his, you were.

You felt his possessive air following you around, and though you tried your best to ignore it, you knew he was always following you, watching you. Sometimes you forgot yourself and looked around you, even in public places, no longer caring who saw you. You could have sworn that the feeling of demonic eyes against your back were so real that they scorched into you, that your skin could have burned from them, but when you observed every possible space, area, and corner surrounding you, you saw nothing, and the sensation temporarily passed as easily as it came.

It had only been a few weeks until you started to hear his whispers in the wind, sometimes whispering demonic threats, “Y/N, where are you going? You know I could easily snap you in half if you disobeyed me, right? Heueueue…”. Other times, they almost sounded like small whispers of pleading, laced in warnings, begging you to for you to come back to him.

“Silly girl, why do you leave me alone? I’m decaying, you know, you silly foolish girl. Soon I’ll leave this earth and you will be left alone to grow old and wither away, and I won’t be here to lick the saltiness from your tears, oh, no no, no!” Unhinged, twisted choking with an element of giggles would then ring in your ears, pounding in your skull, until they drowned out all your other senses, until you couldn’t think or breathe properly, until you were withering on the ground of your room, holding your head with your hands, rocking back and forth, fighting both desire and terror at the sound his high-pitched, childlike voice begging for you to return.

Coufeyrac

“Seated on a paving-stone near Enjolras, Courfeyrac continued to jeer at the cannon, and every passage of that sinister cloud of projectiles that is called grapeshot, accompanied by its monstrous din, drew from him an ironical comment. ‘You’re wearing yourself out, you poor old brute. You’re getting hoarse. You’re not thundering, only spluttering. It’s breaking my heart.’
His remarks were greeted with laughter.” -  Les Miserables 4/?

2

do you want it? do you want anything i have? will you throw me to the ground like you mean it, reach inside and wrestle it out with your bare hands?

anonymous asked:

31 please :)


I really liked writing this, maybe this will become a full fledged fic someday.

Her child wails in her arms.

A threadbare pale green blanket wrapped around his tiny body to give him the warmth that all newborns need. It was an express necessity in the freezing underground.

She calms him, slowly rocking him in her arms as his cries thunder across the room.

He was all she had left and nothing would change that.

It didn’t matter what deformity he was born with, she would love him regardless.

The doctors are wary but not kind, as they come to deliver routine visits to check on her vitals and her son’s. They try to be as fast as they can, wanting to not rouse the tantrum of a 1 month old manifesting the largest kakuja they had ever seen.

He’s already killed a few nurses and injured one of the doctors delivering him. He was fiercely protective of his mother too, so they would bide their time, separating them as they gain the child’s trust so they can finally test the limits of his destructive kagune.

Touka looks at her son’s scaly skin and heterochromatic eyes, the talon like claws on his hands and kicking feet – the only thing human about him and cradle him close.

It was okay. He was her baby regardless. After all, she was to blame in bringing him into this horrible, cruel world bent on using him.

The V mark etched deep and blotchy on her wrist. He gives her a sharp, dazed smile, crinkling his eyes and wrinkly skin. She smiles back, nuzzling his face with kisses.