MEANER THAN A JUNKYARD DOG

sel. priv. horror OC. NSFW. 21+. penned by LANI.

[toheel]

#TOHEEL : an independent &&. private &&. selective portrayal of an ORIGINAL CHARACTER in the HORROR genre. 21+ only. dark & triggering content. nsfw. narrated by lani. affiliated with the wonderful @tohilt / @sunbentsky / @hellweep / @khirurg❤️

CARRD.

[soldier-of-death]

im only attracted to worthy opponents

[mashamorevna]

“I didn’t know that the war was still inside you, that there was a war to begin with, that once it enters you it never leaves—but merely echoes, a sound forming the face of your own son. Boom.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous. (via from-books-with-love)

[grimark]

he likes having his autonomy violated and his boundaries overruled it's literally good for him. he likes being given a meaningful task within pre-defined constraints that he absolutely must do Or Else. and he likes being packed up and kept in a box. send post.

[em1e]

what made u guys pick ur url's !

[toheel]

𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒄 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎.

tagged by @laperlina !

tagging: you if you haven't done it yet !

[orpheuslament]

holy shit

[andromedaaap]

"We had so little time."

[mistermachoman]

"are you okay?" absolutely not but i'd rather kill everyone in the room than talk about it

[utopians]

duuuuuude you have GOT to come out tonight we're enacting cruelty upon those who have transgressed so badly that we can justify any act against them... and you KNOW we're interpreting our delight as moral righteousness... Yeah it's fucking crazyyyyyyy get an Uber

[byjove]

autistic knight who is really dedicated to doing his job perfectly because chivalry is his special interest

[behold-a-knave]

They want me for my solemn yet tender acts of service and aura of barely-leashed violent intent

[behold-a-knave]

They keep stroking my armour lasciviously and asking to see my 'other' sword

I don't have TIME I'm literally on a QUEST

[scondstar]

HUNGER WAS AN AWFUL THING THAT GNAWED AT OPEN WOUNDS. she could still remember when she was younger, when her mother's moods would twist like the wind. in the summer when the plum tree behind their house was ripe, star had scraped her knees climbing up to fill an old milk jug. there had been puddings, and pies, and jams in the weeks that followed, because say what you will about awa cantrell; she was a good wife, and an amazing cook.

her father had worked hard to put food on the table too, though to be fair, everyone had in that town. and even when they hadn't had much else, they had always had the plum tree.

she remembered coming home one day to see him cutting it down. after a few days without dinner, star had taken some and hid them in her knapsack on the way to school. she guessed she hadn't hidden them well enough, and when she cried about it, they threw her in her room. each time she shook the door handle, her mother had said, was another day where she'd go without anything at all. star had shook it four times, begging, but bad boys didn't get to eat.

the first time that had happened ( she couldn't really remember how old she was, but there was a vague sense of first ) was definitely the worst. what she hadn't known then is that you just had to make it to the third day, at which point a strange excretion of endorphins would flood your body with a temporary sense of bliss and ease to help you deal with the fact that it was about to eat itself. years later, she would learn that succulents had a similar response. they grew more quickly and frantically as their stress increased, hoping that the extra surface area would be able to draw in enough moisture to survive ── and star thought that was pretty cool, how nature worked like that.

the hunger david had given her was not natural. she knew all the tricks to ignore it, and star had used them admirably over the years, but it never went away. it never broke. she never made it to that third-day rush.

her hand tasted like that plum tree though, and she kind of wondered if ber would taste like chlorine and communion wafers. ever since they'd been little he'd had that kind of dry heat smell, and god she loved it. it was definitely still there beneath the sweat and grim and blood, none of which she minded in the least. he looked so concerned and sweet as he ran up to her ── caught in the act? she guessed. he'd been doing something pretty awful, and she didn't even really know why, only that it didn't make her love him any less.

he ripped her arms down, and her palm came away with a wet, sickly popping sound. the wound closed quickly ── it always did. the sounds that left her in place of it though were anything but reassuring. star started to shake, and twitch. especially when a rough hand pulled at her lip back, and she tasted a little bit of him against her gums.

          " BER ... THAT HURTS A LITTLE, " she said. his grip was so tight that she honestly felt like he was breaking something, even if she couldn't say what. at the same time though, she felt lightheaded, and dizzy. her nails scrapped against his skin ── even punctured it, in her efforts to stay upright. she practically whimpered when she smelled it.

everything about it was way too much. something wet hit her cheeks ── maybe she really was crying. she didn't know. the only thing that helped at all was when she managed to twist her neck enough to catch his thumb against her lips. it wasn't his blood ── and star really, really wanted his blood ── but it was someones. someone who was probably dead on the floor a few feet away from her, but that wasn't her fault. she just wanted to eat something, anything. she had started gnawing on her notebooks at home, just to fill her belly with something. it had only made her sick, but chewing had felt good. mastication ── an exceedingly natural part of hunger. especially a hunger like this.

her jaw opened for his fingers; her tongue rolled over them; and her teeth chewed, but just gently. something familiar, like a dog with a rubber ball, or a snake trying to swallow. she clung to him tighter, because it almost felt weird ── it almost felt like he was pulling away, and she needed him.

where had he been, when her mother locked her in her room? or when her father held her down? probably trapped in his, she guessed. just another mutt inside a kennel, but good excuses didn't make her need go away.

she had to crane her head up at a right angle to see his neck. it was a very pretty neck, with veins popping in all the right places. she could hear it running through him like a river, flooding every cell. she could also see beads sticking out from under his shirt, and that's when star knew she was crying.

she tried to reach up to touch them; she couldn't really move her arms, and she didn't know why. " ber ... you still have that? " her mouth was still all bloody; she sounded like she was going to choke. " god ber ── why? why didn't you run too? "

[toheel]

She is not what he expected to find, and that is no comfort.

In the blood-stained basement of his mind, where only one naked lightbulb flickers defiantly against the dark, he's amassed the boxes full of evidence. An uncomfortable, damp place. He navigates it clumsily and without practice. His elbow knocks into a tower of dusty files, and they come spilling out over the concrete floor. But there he keeps the knowledge he has, the truths that hold up the entire decrepit universe. He's scratched them onto the walls with chalk.

Vampires. Parasites. There is a layer underneath, a world that oozes into your garden parties and graduation ceremonies. The tar drips through. They are hunger incarnate, devil-masked subhuman creatures, hollowing out the body of a host to gestate inside it and feed on blood. No more worthy of survival than the common tick. It has been explained to him; it has been proven. That thing that is the vampire is alien and predatory. They contort themselves in phantom shapes but death strips them clean. Death reveals.

Ber killed a man in Fort Worth that gushed and gushed. He even dug out the heart and the blood kept pouring, bubbling up in the slack throat, as if the dead thing regurgitated all the blood it had drained over its long, wasted life.

Perhaps a disservice, that he thinks of that man now when Star is trapped in some weeping reminiscence. He stares in frozen disgust as her mouth envelops his thumb, her pink tongue swirling, laving his knuckle. Incisors graze his calluses. The sensation tugs on him, some dormant interest. He remembers how pitifully Star used to lick and kiss him, back when she wasn't Star yet, and he wasn't this. Back when they hid away behind the local history museum, him a loyal puppy by heel. His stomach turns to see that innocent mouth so ruined. Might as well punch out all her teeth. What good are they now?

You're mistaken if you think he is frozen in shock. This is not shock. He does not freeze. This is merely a mutation of grief. The path forward is illuminated in bright, uncompromising colors and they all spell out Star's demise. She tries to go for his neck, then, and he grabs her by the wrists, shackles her with ease. This one is not like the others. She is pathetic, really, in her hunger. Some drooling fainting animal, too frail to feed.

Starvation is carving her down to the bone. It doesn't track with the numbers. He recognizes that. But it also doesn't matter, not with her blood-glossed lips gleaming back at him, tears down her face. Hatred bursts in him, a pustule under duress. This thing that snatched her, that replaced her with a mindless open maw, has no right to cry to him about missed chances. "Get away from me," he snaps, a snarl that unfurls in his throat the way a dog bares its teeth. Beraiah shoves her backward as she dribbles her facsimile of sympathy. She cuts such a figure in the lights. He should've known. Should've smelled the blood on her.

"Do me a favor, if you're still in there." Ber's voice rolls out like black water, seething as it rises. He goes for the knife, a serrated beast, glinting with vicious delight as he eases it from its sheath at his belt. He's never considered it mercy before. A good deed. A service rendered. With how she stumbles and chokes and whimpers, with who she is or used to be... Perhaps she'll see it for the salvation it is.

"Hold still."

[toheel]

"A noble sacrifice? How will that help anyone?"

A wave of silence rushes to meet Hanael's scoffed remark. This silence he utters itself relays no meaning. It offers only the emptiness at the center of your eye, an opening for light to burn through. But that is Beraiah Saad's way. The young man by his side is devastatingly human, human against all odds. He stands shoulder to shoulder with the nightmares and licks his chops. It seems to either be of no relevance to him or else a private indiscernible pleasure. Even the prospect of his own demise does not diminish this feeling. He throws the option out, spitballing.

"That's up to you," he remarks with a rough, worn voice, corroded by disuse, perhaps. The man speaks little, prefers instead to clean the gun on the table in front of him. A fine symphony, the clicking and humming of a mechanism as he takes it apart with sure fingers. One of the few instances when the inward absence in his gray gaze abates and betrays some sentiment. He likes to do this. He likes to do very few things.

"You're the boss. I expect you not to waste your resources."

[painstation-deactivated20181026]

[valtsv]

feeling pretty dissociative and alienated from personhood rn if any bad bitches want to exploit me as a living weapon