carrd + rules. open starters. ask memes (always accepting). wanted plots. wanted opposites. aesthetic sideblog.
trigger warnings: gore, cannibalism, death/murder, mental illness, self harm, tba
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@anthrcpophagi
carrd + rules. open starters. ask memes (always accepting). wanted plots. wanted opposites. aesthetic sideblog.
trigger warnings: gore, cannibalism, death/murder, mental illness, self harm, tba
Referring to a canon character as "my oc" because I put more work into them than the author
tell me your honest opinion of my portrayal
the violently protective … sentence starters lots of mentions of violence and death throughout
the protector
“Of course I killed them. they hurt you.”
“They made you cry…? Where are they?”
“Don’t feel sorry for them, they deserved it.”
“Don’t worry, they won’t be bothering you, again.”
“These bruises are worth it to make sure you’re safe.”
“Why would you want to protect them? They hurt you.”
“Who did this to you? No, don’t lie to me… who did this?”
“If they even step foot near you, again, I’ll take care of it…”
“No, they don’t deserve any mercy. Not after they hurt you.”
“I swear to god, I’m going to rip him/her/them apart for this.”
“Stop? Why? Don’t you want them to pay for what they did to you?”
the protected
“Make them hurt for this… please.”
“Stop! Stop, don’t hurt him/her/them!”
“There. That’s the one who did this to me.”
“Violence doesn’t solve anything, just let this be.”
“They made me bleed. Maybe you should return the favor.”
“I don’t want them dead, I just want them to leave me alone.”
“Why did you do this? Why…? I never asked you to fight them.”
“No, I don’t want you to fight them for me. It’s not that big a deal.”
“I don’t care what you do to them, just keep them away from me.”
“I’m not worth you risking your life for… for what? Getting even for me?”
cont from here @anthrcpophagi
For the most part, Eetu doesn't mind these law school grads reunion-type things — the performance of normalcy is a dance he doesn't mind two-stepping to every now and then and he likes watching people perform their little mating rituals, boasting about things they've yet to do, toasting to memories he hardly remembers. And he likes the scout of fresh meat, new girlfriends of the guys, girlfriends turned fiancee's, articled students, interns, cousins, bartenders and servers they've cajoled into drinking with them, buying their most expensive bottle — renting out the basement space of some chintzy hipster bar so they can all feel broke and relatable again. Eetu was never broke though. Maybe once he was relatable. Not sure.
He doesn't know how Maren factors into this equation. Can't remember if she works here or if she's a friend of a friend of a friend. He just decided somewhere between the first drink and the second bump of coke that she was interesting enough to latch onto for the rest of the night. Watching her curiously between his own bouts of government-mandated socialization. She's quiet and quite evidently not a lawyer. He doesn't know if her thoughts are worth the attention because she hasn't shared many of them.
An offer to get the next round finds them both back at the bar. "Shy runs well with this crowd though. No one likes hearing the sound of their own voice more than lawyers." Himself included. Maybe that's who she is, some docile girlfriend who's greatest quality is listening.
He grins, remembering. "Right, Rick's birthday. Not like it happens every year or anything." Eetu watches as the shots are poured, tequila sploshing over the edges onto the plastic tray, that he'll force Maren to take because he doesn't want to touch it. In fact, he doesn't even wants to put his lips to any single one of those glasses. He redirects his attention back to her, to distract from the fact. "A few more drinks in you and you'll be right on track to participate in the death penalty debate that's been wrung to literal death." He might shoot himself in front of them from boredom if he hears the mere mention of it.
She shouldn’t be here, not really. She doesn’t even go to this college. She doesn’t go to college anywhere. But no one here knows that, and no one is sober enough to question her presence. And no one ostracizes her for sticking to the walls, for sipping at her drink instead of downing it all in one go. They’re all too drunk to notice and too drunk to care, but it means a lot to Maren. Even for a single night, fitting in and blending together with her peers meant the world.
But she needed to keep her wits about her. She told herself she wasn’t going to drink. Not after what happened last time. But that was nearly a whole year ago now. She’s been good since then. Kinda. She’s only eaten four people since then—four living people, at least. Two of them had been dead already when she’d found them, and she merely decided to make the best of a shitty situation. The couple had apparently veered off the road in the middle of the night, hydroplaned into a tree at high speeds. The front hood had crunched up like an accordion, the windshield so shattered that it popped the airbags. There were evn little shards of glass embedded in their skin, and Maren had to spit some out in between bites. But they were already dead, so it wasn’t like she was killing anyone. They would rot if she left them there. It made sense, then, to eat them before they went to waste. After all, she'd been raised not to waste food.
But other than those six bodies, Maren had been good. She’s controlled herself. For the most part. So, why shouldn’t she let loose for a single night? She was still young, and could still pass for a college student. So, why couldn’t she celebrate her own accomplishments with a drink or two?
She felt small beads of sweat form on her temples, the baby hairs framing her face tickled with the perspiration. “You never know when it’ll be your last birthday.” Her words sound more grim than she intended and Maren hopes a weak smile will help. Lawyers could be philosophical. Maybe she’d fit in easier than she’d hoped.
“Death penalty debate?” Maren swallows hard, hoping the stranger doesn’t hear her heart rate quickening. She had a few thoughts of her own about the death penalty, but none that she’d ever dare speak aloud. Especially not with a crowd like this, in front of educated and inebriated rich people. And especially not when she deserved to be on death row herself.
“My Mama would hate it here.” She mutters, cradling the glass in her hand as she scans the sea of faces around them. The thought brings more excitement to mind than shame, a refreshing twist from the heavy weight of guilt she carried with her everywhere. A lot of the things Maren has done, a lot of the places she's been and people's she's met would evoke hatred from her mama.
I could hear you in the night. I did not say anything. I am saying something now.
"I didn't think anyone was listening. I usually try to be quiet." She averts her gaze, unable to look at them. She's used to wearing a mask during the day, of playing the part to get by in society. She knows how to be quiet and polite, how to smile and nod and say all the right things to not stand out. But how is she supposed to pretend to be normal when he admits to hearing her in a moment of weakness? "So, why are you saying something now? Did you change your mind about something?"
You're bleeding through your shirt. Don't tell me you're fine.
Its not my blood, she wants to say. But there was no way to admit that without confessing the rest of it. Max was nice to her, wildly accepting compared to the way the rest of the world regarded her, but everyone had their limits. Maren's own mother had her limits. And if her own mother could get tired of her, what was stopping Max from getting sick of her, too?
She doesn't want to be a nuisance. Maren wants to be anything but an inconvenience, but she can't deny that she likes the attention. Especially from someone like Max. Maren likes having a companion, someone to talk to and someone to take care of her. Even if its its just for a moment, even if its just for show.
"It doesn't hurt, though." She offers, the corner of her lips quirking up in an attempt at a smile. "So, that must mean its fine. It's just a lil' scratch, or somethin'."
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i'm gonna try to rewatch bones & all this week for my birthday so expect maren to come out in full force
He knows she does know, or will at least think on it with real effort because that's how she treats most of his questions. Even the silly ones. Trent never found the teacher's promise of no dumb questions very true, because they'd look at him like he had his head on backwards whenever he asked them — Maren doesn't do that. He gaze contentedly settled on her feet as she thinks about it, the way her toes skimmed the water, curling slightly as the water lapped on them. He loves all of her. Head, shoulders, knees, and toes, just like the nursery rhyme.
Trent doesn't think about ever being alone, which means he never thinks of being without Maren. He has trouble with that, to fully paint a picture of the future in vivid detail. It's more akin to a child's portrat of a family that parents stick up on the fridge (he's seen the movies). Two stick figures, smiling, a sun, and checkmarks for birds. Maybe some water. Quite like what they're doing now. Maybe the future is now, and now the future. All the same to him, as long as he's with her.
"I'd appreciate that. I'd hate to be eaten by a bird. I've seen it happen too. Their legs are all flailin' about. I'd give you the ick right before I die." Which is even worse than the being eaten part. He considers it, a frog having to be a frog. Would he still have the mind of himself, or be burdened with a frog's desires. Lilypad bathing and sticking their tongue out for flies and making little tadpole babies. No, he hopes not.
"I like your overalls." He insists, because he's struck by a little panic that he might, hypothetically, leave him. When she turns toward him, their toes touch, and he looks at her intently, fully struck by her. He doesn't think the city is for him. Trent feels himself when he's with her. It's a funny thing, to be so calm about it. To know. This is what it is to know. "I think you'd know which one was me. I don't know how, but you would. Plus, I would jump higher than the rest of them. I just know I would."
He face scrunches up at the thought, but he still wants her closer, even when he's thinking of her as a spider or a bug with a bajillion legs. And he moves, to sit next to her instead, legs stretched out like her, only longer, more hairy. "Yeah. I'm selfish though. I'd bring you everywhere with me. I think I'd want to be a spider too though. So we could die at around the same time." He rests his head against hers, looks at the tree in front of them with decaying roots, probably ravaged by beetles. It would be a whole other world, to be something so small. He feels uniquely grateful to be human, or something close to it.
He mentions a bird eating a frog, seeing it flailing its limbs in a last ditch effort to survive. And she can picture it perfectly, can almost smell the frog's metallic tang in their air and the grit of the soil between her teeth. The mental image brings to mind, too, all the people she’s eaten, all the lives snuffed out in a moment of unsatiable hunger.
All their names flash before her eyes, scratched into the paper in her own handwriting, always inside the last page of her journals. Next to each name were the dates and locations. When her time to meet her maker came, she wanted to make sure people knew. She wanted to make sure the families she'd destroyed got an ounce of closure.
Because she never forgot. She would never forget; She could never forget.
Each of those names scribbled in ink was a turning point in her life, another descension to a deeper level of a hell of her own making, each death a shovel full of soil as she dug her own grave and paved the floors of her own cell. Yet as their names passed in a flurry of memory in her head, the flavors of them ghosted over her taste buds in their own flash of melancholic remembrance, overtaking the sour taste of guilt and self pity. She could almost perfectly imagine how they all wriggled and squirmed after she'd taken a few bites, legs twitching by and writhing before her teeth even broke through the cutaneous tissue. The screaming usually began after that, as she tore at their flesh with her teeth and sopped up the blood like a hummingbird drinking sugar water. Their tears often came next, when the bloodlust hit her nervous system, when she could no longer hold back, when the dragon reared its ugly head and she became nothing more than gnashing teeth and big brown eyes.
The initial chomp always stunned them. Like a snake's venom paralyzing its prey, like a deer in the headlights, freezing them with a mixture of fear and disbelief. Some smiled, thinking it a game, or a kink. But most just stared at her like she were Death itself; like prey staring straight into the jaws of a predator.
“I like my overalls, too, but..." One hand raises to the single suspender perched near her neck, and the other hand to the one sloughing off her shoulder like the sleeve of a ballgown. They were her favorite overalls. Taken from the dresser of a vacant farmhouse she'd found and treated with love ever since. But they weren't prime real estate.
His words trigger a coy smile and she chews at the inside of her lip. "I think I'd know which one was you, too. And I think you'd known which one was me, but you'd have to find me first. I'd be the one alone, weaving my web as far away from civilization as possible." Her teeth poke through her smile and Maren dissolves into a silent burst of giggles.
“Some female spiders kill their mates. Either during or after copulating.” Just like she had with Lee, she thinks. Just like she was afraid she’d do with Trent. Maybe she already is a spider. Maybe she’s scarier than spiders, or snakes, or sharks. Maybe she’s scarier than every phobia wrapped into one, and yet Trent likes her anyway.
"We'd be like Charlotte and Wilbur. I could be like Charlotte. But I wouldn't want you to be a pig. You're too tall to be a pig. And too nice."
Being a pig was an insult in Maren's mind. Sully had called people he ate pigs, livestock for the taking. She'd heard people call police officers pigs. Men who had nefarious intentions were pigs. Trent, however, was certainly not a pig.
"I think I like us best as humans, though. I like just being people together with you."
✦ ⋆ 𖤓 ⋆ ✦ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄 ··· a collection of injuries tended in silence, pain worn like armour, the intimacy of being seen at your worst. genre: hurt and comfort, angst, romance, drama.
• You're bleeding through your shirt. Don't tell me you're fine. • How long have you been walking around like this? • I'm not going to hurt you. I just need to see how bad it is. • You should have told me the moment it happened. • Hold still. I mean it. Hold still. • This is going to sting. Bite down on something if you need to. • You've been hiding this for days, haven't you. • Who did this to you? I need you to tell me who did this. • Stop being brave for five minutes and let me help you. • I've seen worse. I've also seen men die from worse, so let me look at it. • I found the bandages in the trash. You want to explain that? • Don't you dare apologize for bleeding on me. • Your hands are cold. That's not a good sign. • I'm not angry. I'm terrified. There's a difference. • Come into the light. Let me see your face. • You should have stitches. I know you won't go. So sit down and let me do what I can. • You're white as a sheet and still trying to stand up straight. • I could hear you in the night. I didn't say anything. I'm saying something now. • Don't look at it if it makes it worse. Just look at me. • It's not weak to let someone see you hurt. • You came to me. Of all the places you could have gone, you came here. • Lay back. You're not getting up until the color comes back to your face. • I'm not going to ask what happened. Not yet. First let me fix what I can. • You've been holding your left side since you walked in. Think I didn't notice? • This is going to leave a mark. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. • I've patched up a lot of people in my time. None of them scared me like you do right now. • You could have died out there. You could have died and I would have been the last person to know. • Sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere. • You're allowed to make a sound. Nobody's watching. • I need you to stay awake for me. Just a little longer. Talk to me. • You're lucky the cut wasn't deeper. • Stop apologizing for needing help. Stop it right now. • I've seen what it looks like when someone's used to this. That's what scares me most about you. • Tell me your name. Tell me what day it is. Stay with me. • You're going to be alright. I promise you. • You went back out there after this? With this? • Nobody takes care of you, do they? That ends tonight. • I've been gentle with you. I need you to be honest with me in return. • You're safe now. You're here, you're safe, and I've got you. Just breathe.
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activity update #37373829 I’ve been dealing with family emergencies back to back for the past month and will probably have 2 separate funerals on the horizon soon enough, so I haven’t had any energy to write 😞
But ily all and I plan to work on replies asap
been very stressed irl with family emergencies back to back so activity will probably remain low for the time being