bigby | The Abomination (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
enblightened) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-01-08 02:58 pm
enblightened) wrote in deercountry2022-01-08 02:58 pm
☣️ the court, the church, love, all left behind | OPEN
Who: Bigby the Abomination, OPEN
What: Catch-all for January! Includes a prompt for the Snake Den and Shedding Ceremony. Prompts will be broken up into comments for ease of finding and tracking.
When: January
Where: Snake Den and other various locations
Content Warnings: References to severe depression, self-loathing, forced transformation/body horror, torture, and religious zealotry. Snakeden is considerably lighter in tone if that's what you're looking for. Crimson curse prompt includes cannibalism, gore, and body horror.
What: Catch-all for January! Includes a prompt for the Snake Den and Shedding Ceremony. Prompts will be broken up into comments for ease of finding and tracking.
When: January
Where: Snake Den and other various locations
Content Warnings: References to severe depression, self-loathing, forced transformation/body horror, torture, and religious zealotry. Snakeden is considerably lighter in tone if that's what you're looking for. Crimson curse prompt includes cannibalism, gore, and body horror.
no subject
It also lends an unexpected urgency (unexpected need) to his self-given charge.
He laces his fingers through his friend's, smile turning coy.]
A song if you wish it, or other talents of hand and tongue; my mind, my body, [with a lift of his chin that bares his throat,] my name--anything save my life, that might keep you with me the few hours I have.
[Not the circumstance either of them wished, certainly, but--]
What do you say?
no subject
[Even if there is that delightfully horrible part of him that wants it all. Pleasures of the flesh, taste of the flesh. To bury his face in and gnaw away at his now beating heart, to watch the life drain from his body. Claim and eat and drink to his enjoyment.
But whatever piece of Bigby still remains inside of him, the truest part of him, reigns in enough control with a shudder before he noses against Illarion's throat.]
And if I cannot stop myself. What will you do then?
no subject
Except this isn't, can't be, about him.
He huffs out a breath of laughter, slipping a hand up to clutch the back of Bigby's head.]
Run, [he says, softly, for his friend's ears alone.] And lead you a merry chase. At the end, you know I can flee where none might follow me.
I would not let my death be on your conscience.
the best plan nothing could go wrong
Be sure that you do.
[His free arm wraps tight around Illarion's waist, and he buries his face against the shrike's throat.]
A taste, then. For I will never have it again.
this will not in any way backfire tragically
He turns his head the fraction he needs to press his lips against Bigby's brand, strange echo of a far gentler gesture months ago.
The future part of him--the memories of a time that hasn't happened yet--knows second-hand that vampires have a bite both anesthetic and euphoric by design. Is it the same across worlds? Will it be worth courting for its own sake...?
His pulse beats faster in his throat.]
A taste. My blood is yours as well. [He mutters the dripping syllables, thick as clots, for the spell to coerce and congeal Darkblood when it spills.]
no subject
And he can feel the pulse faster in Illarion's throat. The blood is there, promising.
Several needle-like fangs sink into Illarion's flesh, the Darkblood liquid by the shrike's magic. There is nothing to numb the way Bigby bites down, sucking and drinking eagerly; there is nothing euphoric or pleasurable. It should feel the way no doubt that any beast's finely sized teeth sinks in. It smells in a way that reminds him of his old laboratory, but it tastes beautifully, so sweet. Oh, that could be horribly addicting, he didn't think how the curse would work with bloodtypes here.]
it was then illarion realized he f***ed up
He's been injured near his great veins before. He's even done it deliberately, now and again--for sometimes the gods demand blood sacrifice. It is only that, that keeps him from bolting in the first instants after Bigby's teeth sink into his flesh. The rush of adrenaline that follows the injury is in no way welcome; it's not heady thrill of battle joined or a near escape but a fear that sends ice down his spine.]
Bigby-- [The shrike's voice pitches up with alarm, fangs shutting with a snap on the last syllable. His grip on his friend tightens, fingers indenting flesh.]
darkest dungeon where the vampires and the werewolves are not what u expect
Ah, but he is not without realizing who Illarion is. He still has those memories, after all. So for a moment again, he debates -- does he delve into his beasthood, or does he resist?
And he can only meet partway. Horns have grown out of his skull, his fingers ending in horrible green claws. Eventually, he does pull back, but not without more greedy gulps; dark is smeared over his mouth, joining the rest of the blood stains he has previously indulged in.
Only this time, there's the tinge of regret.]
Run from me. Right now.
in the grim darkness of the dungeon there is only vore
He staggers when released, blinking and stunned so that he almost doesn't hear what's said to him. His hand goes to his wounded neck, his eyes to the changes warping Bigby's form. The first glittering wisps of sublimating Darkblood that escape between his fingers thicken and coalesce into a beast six feet tall at the shoulder, his Omen as changed as he is. She bares teeth in mute threat but does nothing more, much as Illarion does nothing but stare at Bigby for a long moment in mingled horror and heartbreak.
He'd done this so, so poorly and he wouldn't pay the worst for it.]
((I'm so sorry.))
[The words hurt to say.
It hurts more to turn and run, fast as he can, with Iskierka bounding after.]
i cant believe how many threads i have vored in sa;dlkfh
Stop-- stop, not now, you blasted beast!
[But it's too late.
The abomination transforms, and he howls out his call before he's bounding after prey, following that smell dusting the air.
So the hunt is on, so horribly.]
everyone lining up to be eaten by bigby "the abomination" sadman is extremely DWRP
The shrike's been both hunted and hunter before. Experience from both sides says he can't run for long when he's bleeding as badly as he is, whatever adrenaline and Sleeper endurance lend him. He needs somewhere to hide and staunch the flow, recoup enough of himself to think and have a better plan for what in all the gods' names he's going to do when he's found again--
Because to simply go to ground somewhere out of reach and wait for the abomination to lose his scent is to turn his hunter loose on some other innocent.
Trench at least is replete with places to hide, with dark little alleys and abandoned buildings full of cobwebbed cellars. Illarion ducks into a gap between two dilapidated row houses, nearly stumbling, and takes in his options at an glance: Rickety fire escape, empty basement, empty basement with a crumbling staved-in wall.
He picks the last, stepping through the brick and crumbling masonry into temporary shelter. (The edges of the world kaleidoscope around him, warning him he doesn't have many of these little jaunts in him.) He goes to a knee, digging through pockets for a little bundle of gauze to jam against the wound, and pray.
Iskierka halts right in the mouth of the alley, barring the way--for all she's only smoke and Darkblood--with all her feathers on end and wing-arms upraised to make herself look as big as possible. She screeches an ear-splitting challenge at their pursuer: Fight her!]
i should've known no one could resist
And he will slow down, especially now since Bigby has just fed.
Though Iskierka is in his way, there's no hesitation. For to the beast, it is another meal if possible, and mindlessly he rushes forward with a wild scream, howling. Launching himself, he aims to plow into her, ram her into a wall.]
as bigby is drawn to his tasty friends, so are we drawn...
She still gives it her best try. She doesn't bother to dodge, holding the line as she is; she's thrown into the wall with a hollow crunch and a wave of smoke. Insubstantial teeth snap at the beast's face and insubstantial talons rake at his belly. Each thrashing attack further scents the air with Illarion's blood.
In the basement, the shrike listens to the battle and holds pressure on his throat. The gray haze in front of his eyes makes it harder to see his next move--a stairwell up, maybe, to tree himself higher in the building. A suggestion this basement connects to the next by a boarded-up hall, but would the abomination follow through that small a space...
He's slowing already. The length of this chase will be measured in minutes, not hours, if his stars are with him.]