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#Mangiare
ragazzoarcano · 2 months
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“Ci sono pensieri che hanno i denti.
Che a pensarli fanno male.
Ci sono pensieri che cerchi di non pensare mai, perché, una volta pensati, niente è più come prima.
Ci sono pensieri che hanno i denti,
e quando li pensi cominciano a mangiarti.”
— Barbara Garlaschelli
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ilsilenteloquaceblog · 10 months
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Il Silente Loquace ©
— @ilsilenteloquaceblog
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annapassione · 1 year
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Non ho bisogno di cena quando ho tra le mani il pezzo di CARNE più delizioso...
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popping-your-culture · 3 months
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Check out this blog post for more of the magnificent Monica Bellucci!
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silvirub · 5 months
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National Pasta Day
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boxofbonesfic · 2 years
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Title: mangiare (mangiare) ACT 2
Pairing: Werewolf!Steve Kemp x Reader
Summary: Your name is might have been, your name is never-was, your name—forgotten. And as you search for it in your so-called fiancé’s secluded mountain estate, you find something else entirely.
Warnings: Amnesia, Involuntary Drugging, Cannibalism, Forced Cannibalism, Monsterfucking (Exophilia), Horror, Semi-graphic descriptions of violence, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Murder
A/N: 👀 i’m very, very excited about sharing this second part with you all, and i really hope it delivers some answers, but even more questions. thank you all so much!! divider by @firefly-graphics! as expressed in the warnings above and below, this is a dark fic with dark concepts and a very dark premise. please be mindful of that when reading!
ACT 1
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🩸
The smell of bacon greets you when you drag yourself up out of unconsciousness, your stomach rumbling. You notice that the bedroom door is half open when you sit blearily up on your elbows with a tired groan. The sheets next to you are rumpled and barely warm when you press the palm of your hand to them.
I wonder when Steve came to bed.
You feel as weak and woozy as you did the night before, your knees knocking together as you make your way to the bathroom. It’s early, as evidenced by the clock above the bathroom door, just after seven am. Some of the dizziness passes by the time you manage to drag yourself out of the shower, and as you’re drying your hair, you hear a knock at the door.
“Sweetness, it’s me. How are you feeling?” Steve’s voice is warm and inviting through the door, and you’re not sure why you hesitate to crack it open, peering at him through the sliver. “Sleep okay?”
You make sure the towel is secure beneath your arms before you open the door wider, nodding. “Yes, thank you. Um, did you?” Your skin prickles as a droplet of water begins sliding down your throat, Steve’s bright eyes following the movement almost hungrily.
“Mmm,” he intones, leaning in to brush his lips over your cheek. “How could I not, with you sleeping next to me?” His grin is infectious, a mirroring smile of your own spreading across your features.
“Hey, Steve, I was wondering,” you ask, curling a lock of hair around your finger. “Do we have any neighbors close by, or anything?” Steve goes stock still, his expression unchanging, yet somehow… colder. Darker.
“No. Why?” He cocks his head at you, but the movement feels calculated, like it’s meant to put you at ease—but it doesn’t. You fold your arms over your chest, fighting the urge to drop the subject at the first hint of his discomfort. “Did you see someone outside?”
“N-no,” you say, looking down at your feet as you bounce anxiously on your toes. “I just… I thought I heard someone. Crying. Last night.” There’s a tense moment of silence before you see Steve’s shoulders drop half an inch as he relaxes.
“Oh, baby. No, no one’s here but us. We’re way out in the country, I mean,” he gestures at the windows. “I don’t see any houses. Do you?” You can’t help but frown at his callous dismissal.
“No,” you admit begrudgingly. “But I know what I heard.”
“Babe.” Steve grips your good shoulder with one hand, and uses the other to tip up your chin, forcing you to look at him. “There’s no one here. I think… maybe it’s the medicine. You were probably dreaming.”
“I was awake,” you insist. “And I heard crying.”
“Baby. I promise you, you were out like a light before your head hit the pillow, and I know that because I was in here not ten minutes later, getting ready to do the same thing.” Steve says patiently, squeezing your arms affectionately before letting go. You hate the way the doubt starts to creep in along the edges of your thoughts, the seeds sprouting almost as quickly as they’re planted.
I was tired… and I did just take my meds…
“Maybe the medication is too strong, we’ll have to adjust it,” Steve adds, tapping you lightly on the nose with a small smile. He scoots past you into the bathroom, and you squeal as the palm of his hand cracks against your ass, stinging even through the towel.
“You’d better go and get dressed,” he purrs from behind you. “Or I might find something else to eat for breakfast.” You aren’t facing Steve, but you can feel him watching you from the bathroom doorway, his eyes resting on you with weight you can feel pressing down on your limbs. On the bed is another sundress, a thin cotton one with sunflowers printed on the eggshell white fabric. There are a pair of panties underneath, though there’s hardly enough material to name them as such, but like last night, there’s no bra.
With your back to Steve—who you can hear brushing his teeth as the faucet runs—you slip your arms into the off-shoulder sleeves, and pull the tie at the bust-line as tight as you can to stop yourself from accidentally spilling out. As you’re smoothing out the bodice, large, warm hands encircle your waist. Steve’s stubble scratches against the side of your throat, a contrast to the softness of his lips.
“Love this dress on you, sweetness,” he says lowly, his hand sliding down over your hip. “You know, it’s the first dress I ever saw you in?” Steve’s voice is low, almost reverent, but you don’t mistake the emotion in his voice for anything other than what it is—desire. You feel frozen, unable to move or utter a sound as his fingers creep under the hem of your dress and up your thigh. Your breath hitches as he pinches the flesh of your ass.
“S-Steve!” You’re flushed and warm, your heart pounding as you stare unseeingly at the quilted bedspread. The electric nervousness zipping through your blood stream is blossoming slowly into fear, despite the warmth growing at the apex of your thighs.
“Mm? What’s the matter, baby?” The low timbre of his voice vibrates in your chest as his breath ghosts across your cheek. His chuckle makes your chest tighten with something that feels eerily similar to panic. “Feeling shy?” Steve’s hands grip your hips, and you gasp as you feel him press into you from behind.
“I-I-I j-just, I—” The words turn to ash in your mouth as you feel Steve cup your cunt through the thin elastic of your panties, his fingers sliding along the cleft between your lips.
“You don’t have to be nervous with me, babe,” Steve says in that low, slow drawl. “We’re married, aren’t we?” He doesn’t give you time to protest, tilting your chin up to capture your mouth as his fingers dive beneath your panties. He spreads your slick folds with two digits, circling your clit with another as you huff into his mouth. The pleasure is sickly sweet as it begins curling up from your core, but you don’t want it—his fingers thick and invasive, even as your body tries to ease his way.
“N-nng, Steve, I don’t w—” The words become garbled mush in your throat as he thrusts two fingers in to the hilt. You burn with the stretch of it, and you whine, gasping as your weak knees finally give out. Steve’s other arm encircles your chest, bunching the fabric of your dress beneath your breasts as he scissors his fingers inside you.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I got you.” You feel like a rag doll in his grip, wrung out and limp. “So tight,” he pants into your hair, and you feel his fingers dig into your ribcage. “God, babe, you really are perfect.” Something rings off about his words, but you can’t really place it and you don’t have the capacity to try. Not when you can feel him slowly working you open as his cock throbs hotly against you through your clothes.
A burst of music stills Steve’s hand, and you pant in the silence for a few seconds before it registers—
“Fuck.” Steve grunts, and for a moment you think he’ll just let his phone ring until you feel his grip loosen on your middle, and his fingers slide out of your cunt with a slick pop. You collapse onto the bed as soon as he allows it, and you hear his footsteps recede as he pads over to the nightstand to retrieve his phone.
“Hello? Okay, Okay, slow down—Hey.” Your head snaps up, and you see Steve covering the mouthpiece of the phone. “You go on downstairs. I’ll be there in a bit.” There’s another voice still coming through the earpiece, frantic, almost manic in it’s delivery, though you can’t make out any of the words. Steve looks frustrated as he turns back to the call, listening intently.
“Yeah. No, I can—calm down. I can fix it. Haven’t I fixed things before?” Steve scowls, and continues a little more quietly. “Jesus, Brock. You know, I’ve got things of my own I’m dealing with here.” His eyes flick back up to you before he covers the receiver again. “Go on, baby.”
You nod stiffly, and flee the bedroom on shaky legs, feeling Steve’s eyes on you all the way out.
Your heart is still thundering in your chest when you make your way down to the kitchen, and you see the covered plate Steve left on the stove for you, but the thought of him makes your stomach tighten with unease.
What just happened?
You squeeze your thighs together an attempt to drown out the uncomfortable tingling still emanating from your core. You’re feeling a thousand things, and you don’t know which is true—maybe they all are. Somehow the thought of that is worse, and you swallow thickly. You didn’t want Steve to touch you, but… Even as you try to think, your thighs rub together slickly. I enjoyed it.
And Steve… he had been like an animal. Undeterred by your meager protests, and completely singleminded. You reach forward with a stiff hand, and pull the paper towel from your plate. Like everything else he’s fed you, Steve’s eggs look amazing, fluffy and light—even if they’re cold. Next to them, on a bed of arugula, are thick cut slabs of what you assume must be bacon, greasy and enticing.
Your stomach rumbles, and the hunger is sharp and aching in it’s suddenness. You don’t bother to stick the plate in the microwave, reaching for a piece of bacon. Your mouth waters as you hold it up, and your eyes fall to half mast as you inhale it’s scent. You bite down slowly, savoring the salty, meatiness of it, holding the meat on your tongue for a moment before swallowing.
This is delicious.
You’re reaching for the second piece before you know it, grease running down your fingers as you tear off tender chunks and press them between your lips. You’ve been hungry before, starving even, but this is different. It is hunger but not, hunger but deeper. And there is a soul deep satisfaction that comes with every bite, like it isn’t just your body that’s being nourished, but your spirit too—
Steve’s footsteps on the stairs bring you back to yourself, and you wipe embarrassedly at your grease streaked cheeks as he comes around the corner.
“Sorry about that, work never stops, you know?” Steve is tucking his shirt into a pair of pants, the hint of a frown on his features. “Oh good, you got some food in you. You should finish all of that,” he replies, gesturing at the untouched eggs on your plate.
“Y-yeah.” You can’t even look him in the eye as he comes around the kitchen island. “Thanks.” You watch him putter around, fishing a few pill bottles out of one of the kitchen cabinets before he begins to pop the tops off.
“What’s wrong? You seem upset.” He shakes out two white pills, and an oblong red one into the palm of his hand, before offering them to you. “For you, babes.” You take them from him, but don’t move to swallow them.
“I… well, things, this morning, I wasn’t—” You take a deep breath. “I didn’t… want you to touch me earlier, Steve.”
“Oh?” He grins at you cheekily over his shoulder. “I didn’t think that was so, sweetness. You were so nice and wet for me, I’m sure I could have just slid right in.” His words punch the air from your stomach, and you almost drop the pills entirely. “You’re my wife, baby. You can’t seriously hold that against me, I just wanted to make you feel good. It’s been so long.” He kisses your cheek. “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.”
You’re at a loss. Is that all it was? A misunderstanding? Doubt roils in your gut. Maybe… maybe you were overreacting, a little. And after all, he’d apologized.
“Y-yeah. Thank you, um. For apologizing, Steve.”
“Of course, sweetheart. Now take your medicine, I have to run to the hospital for a few hours, and I don’t want you to forget while I’m out.”
You can’t stop the shock from coloring your features. “You’re leaving?” You almost feel guilty at the tantalizing prospect of alone time, time without Steve and his overwhelming presence.
“Just for a little bit. I wouldn’t go unless it was important. Something… came up. With one of my patients.” Steve wrinkles his nose. “But I shouldn’t be gone long.” He raises a brow and gestures at the pills with his chin. Reluctantly, you lift your hand to your lips, letting them rest on your tongue as Steve hands you a glass of water. Quickly, you stash them in your cheek, trying not to frown at the bitter taste of the coating as you take a few gulps of water.
“Good girl.” You watch Steve grab his keys, shoving them into his pocket. “Love you.”
He doesn’t wait for you to say it back before he heads for the door. You don’t move, not until you’ve heard the lock slide into place, and his car engine rumbling from the driveway. Even though you’re alone, you keep your steps careful and quiet as you pad over to the sink, and spit each of the bitter pills down the drain.
You tell yourself it isn’t because you don’t trust him—you’re not tired, you’re not sick, you don’t need the pills, whatever they are.
At first, you’re too nervous to do much exploration. It feels like Steve will know you’ve been poking around. It’s hard to reconcile that with the repeated insistence that this is your home, your life, even though none of it feels familiar. Beyond the dining room is a carpeted living room. There is art on the walls here, too, various paintings of the moon and night sky. You squint at one, a large painting of the round, full moon.
Now that you think about it… there are quite a few paintings and pictures like this, all around the house.
Strange.
You leave the living room, passing back through the dining room and kitchen, stopping before you pass by the front door, too. Out of curiosity, you reach for the brassy handle—but the door doesn’t open when you tug on it, the knob rattling with your efforts. The windows don’t open when you pry at them either, staying firmly shut as you pull at them with all your strength.
Panic makes your heart beat faster as you move through every room, testing every window and door with growing urgency as you find each of them locked securely, unmoved by your efforts.
I’m trapped here.
Your eyes widen as you follow that train of thought through to the end. Why would Steve trap me here?
The thought is as terrifying as it is sobering—who the hell did I marry? You wonder then if you even are married, if the man who said he’d put that ring on your finger had even really done so. You don’t know what’s true and what isn’t—if there were bits of truth interspersed with the lies he’d been feeding you for two days.
You swallow thickly at the thought of his return—you don’t know how long you have until Steve gets back, and if you can’t find an exit by then… you shudder. You wouldn’t be able to avoid another dose of pills, you know that for certain.
You’re pacing up and down the hallway, when a glint of silver catches your eye. A door—one you hadn’t noticed before. The wood paneling is exactly the same as the wall beside it, the silver handle the only tell that behind it wasn’t just another smooth section of drywall. You reach for the handle, cold shock washing over you like water as it opens.
The stairwell beyond is dark, but a fluorescent light buzzes to life above you as you take a step over the threshold. Steve had left this little tidbit out of his house tour, and probably for good reason. You steady yourself with a hand against the rough hewn rock walls until you reach the bottom, the wood flooring cool under your feet. The hallway in front of you is long, and lined with—
Are those pens? Animal pens?
It’s… familiar here, as though you’ve been down here before, even though you have no memory of it. You don’t like it. Why would this be here? The air smells like blood, blood and fresh meat, and it makes your stomach tighten with strange, uncomfortable hunger as you move slowly forward.
The first door is wide open, and you peek around it into the empty, furnished room. There’s a bed, set into the floor in the furthest corner, a sink, a toilet…Almost like someone was supposed to live there. your eyes fall to the chain and manacles gleaming on top of the neatly made bed. No, whoever occupied these rooms was a prisoner.
Just like you.
You step back out into the hallway. There are other rooms, three, maybe four more, each with the door open—all except one. You take a tentative step forward, and the floor creaks under your weight. You curse quietly, clapping a hand over your mouth as you wait. You know Steve said you were alone, but you can’t help but feel watched, as though you aren’t alone at all.
“H-hello?” Your fingernails dig into your cheeks as you fight to keep silent. There’s a dragging sound, like something heavy being pulled across the floor. “P-please help me, please,” the voice is raspy, pained. You’re shaking, terrified tears beginning to spring up behind your eyes. “It hurts so much.”
There’s a tingling at the base of your skull, something terrifying and familiar that drives you to walk forward. Through the wide bars, you can see a man, crouched in the open center of the room. His face is heavily bandaged, but when he looks up at your approach, you can see one wide eye peering out from beneath the wrappings. He turns toward you fully, and you can’t stop the gasp of shock that leaves your lips.
He’s missing his left leg, and right arm, the bandages around the severed appendages tinged pink.
“You,” he breathes, and all at once, you feel like the air has been sucked from your lungs and out of the room entirely.
“You… you know me?”
The man’s answering chuckle is devoid of humor. “Know you?” He scoffs. “I’m your husband.” It feels like there’s ice in your veins to hear that. Your vision narrows as your pulse thunders in your ears.
You steady yourself against the doorframe. “What? N-no, I, I don’t know you, I—I’m not—!” The words are jumbled together in your head, the emotions too. You’re angry, confused—afraid. The man drags himself closer, as much as the chains will allow.
“You don’t remember? The-the crash, t-that thing…” He trails off.
“N-no.” You shake your head. “I… I woke up yesterday. I don’t remember anything.” Steve has been so stingy with details, hoarding them close and only doling them out to you when you press. You can’t help but search for more. “Wh-what happened? You were there, right?” You’re halfway across the room before you even really realize it.
“We were on our way back from my parents place for the weekend… And something… no. It was in the road. He was.” The man is half muttering to himself, half speaking to you, his eye rolling. “You’ve seen him do it, haven’t you?” He leans forward on his remaining arm, visible eye bright. “How? How does he do it?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Yes you do!” He shouts, and you flinch at his raised voice. “It-it’s like it is him, inside—”
“I think this reunion has gone on long enough, don’t you?” Steve’s voice makes you turn, and you flinch when you see him, his face drawn tight with anger. “Now baby something tells me you didn’t take your medicine.” He clucks his tongue at you. “Bad girl.”
“Leave her alone!” Snarls the man from the floor, but Steve only laughs at him.
“I’ll deal with you later, Trevor. I gotta say, I come down here and tell you to be quiet, and you go blabbing the first instance you get. Not really inspiring much trust, buddy.” He steps into the room, and Trevor cowers visibly. Steve walks forward slowly, squatting in front of him. “I think you’re about done, aren’t you, Trev?” Cruelly, he jabs a finger into the bandage wrapped stump of Trevor’s arm, and fresh red begins to leech into the bandages as he howls with pain.
Steve lifts his hand from the wound, and it comes away wet and red. The coppery scent of his blood doesn’t smell nauseating at all, when it reaches you, and you watch, horrified as Steve lifts his palm to his mouth, licking it clean in long, slow strokes.
Like he’s savoring it.
“And you, sweetness…” he sighs. “You are just a handful.” He cards his clean hand through his hair and heaves a frustrated sigh. “Lucky for you, I like a challenge.” Steve lunges forward without warning, fisting a hand in your hair. You scream, clawing at his arm and hand as he drags you back down the hallway, kicking the door shut behind him.
“Let go, Steve, let go!” Your scalp stings as you try to struggle, but you’re no match. It’s like he’s three men instead of one, his grip iron.
“No, sweetness.” He grunts, beginning to drag you up the stairs. “Can’t let you go yet. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
ACT THREE
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Cosa mangio stasera? 🤔
Disclaimer: tranquilli non mangio solo schifezze, mangio cose più salutari di solito, ma ogni tanto non ci fa niente prendere una di ste cose, poi è venerdì, non c'ho voglia di cucinare stasera e boh, vediamo il popolo di tumblr che dice, basta che non cagate il cazzo coi vostri giudizi da espertoni in cibo, dieta, salute, gusto, raffinatezza e gourmet e altre minchiatine varie, votate a sentimento senza pensarci troppo
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mostro-rotto · 9 months
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La famiglia mi ha dimostrato che puoi mangiare e vivere con il tuo nemico senza nemmeno rendertene conto. La famiglia mi ha insegnato cos'è il tradimento, l'invidia e la convenienza, quando credo che una famiglia ciò che debba insegnarti sia l'affetto, l'unione e il sostegno… e nel mio caso non è stato così.
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illsadboy · 2 months
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Mai fare la pasta quando si è stra fatti cazzo questi sono i risultati, la pasta l’avevo buttata alle 23:00 più o meno e mi sveglio alle 4:00 ancora tutto intontito con una puzza di bruciato e addio alla mia pasta. Robe da dar fuoco a tutta la palazzina ma almeno forse la pentola è salvabile però. 🫠🥹
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mrpolopo · 4 months
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🤭🤭
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ragazzoarcano · 9 months
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“Ci preoccupiamo tanto di cosa sia bene mangiare.
E poi trangugiamo noia... rassegnazione e brutta gente.
Il cibo per l'anima...
Quello andrebbe scelto con cura.”
— Angelo De Pascalis
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Lei: "E come la DESIDERA, Signore?”
Lui: “… in UMIDO, grazie.”
Il Silente Loquace ©
— @ilsilenteloquaceblog
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serenamatroia · 5 months
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mccek · 1 year
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Patria del cibo 🇮🇹 #34 (2)
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lontanodalpanicoo · 2 years
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Alla mia mente malata e al mio corpo stanco,
scusate.
Vorrei potervi aggiustare,
ma non credo di essere sincera quando lo penso
Certe volte mi chiedo
Come sia possibile tenere tutto questo dolore
Dentro al mio cuore
e nella mia testa
Certe volte mi chiedo
se io sia pazza
da rinchiudere in una stanza e buttare la chiave
per il dolore che mi sono causata
senza apparente motivo
certe volte vorrei farmi così tanto male
solo per arrivare di fronte a Dio
e chiedergli: Perché?
Perché hai scelto me?
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darling-stevie · 7 months
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