1. I will always find it weird for an adult to think a child is being "manipulative" because a child quite literally doesn't have the brain development to understand what manipulation is or why they shouldn't be manipulative.
2. Yes, Disabled adults *can* be manipulative, as any adult can be. However, I think it's important to realize that Disabled people are somewhat set up to be strategic in order to get needs met. This can essentially train us to lean into manipulative behaviors. Direct and clear communication is often not only inconsistent, but we are also at high risk if it fails. This means that we can be placed in a similar state of vulnerability as children, where we simply have to be strategic to survive (or at least that is the instinct).
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embarrassment after a burp or belly noise is so cute. and someone soothing the embarrassed person after by lovingly patting or rubbing their tummy to let them know they care about their tummy, want their belly to feel relaxed and comfortable, and kindly assuring them they shouldn't be embarrassed about their digestive system's natural functions, like burps and gurgles. then kissing them on the lips and belly and continuing to comfort their stomach while the person feels all soft, vulnerable, and cared for inside, but even more embarrassed from all this attention on their pudgy little belly and digestive process.
But with the female cast of amphoreus? Gotta give our girlies some love too 👏👏👏
(Hope you're doing well and please take care of yourself, academic burnout is no joke 😭)
Hunger Finds Its Heart
Tags: Aglaea x Reader, Cerydra x Reader, Evernight x Reader, Cipher x Reader, Vampire!Reader, Romance, Emotional Intimacy, Angst With Comfort, Power Dynamics (Safe/Protective), Caregiving, Romantic Tension.
Warnings: Blood Hunger, Anxiety, Emotional Intensity, Dark Themes, Power Imbalance, Faint/Weakness, Trauma References.
A/N: Thank you, I'm trying my best 😭🙏
The scent of gold and laurel fills the room long before Aglaea appears.
Okhema’s air always hums with light, yet in her presence it is unbearable — too bright, too divine. And tonight, your throat burns with thirst so fierce it borders on agony. You’ve gone too long without blood. You can hear heartbeats through the walls, feel every pulse like thunder. But none of them call to you like hers.
When Aglaea steps through the door, her gold-threaded gown glimmers like starlight woven into fabric. You can’t breathe.
She knows. Of course she knows.
“I can feel the tremor in your pulse,” she says softly. “You’re starving again, aren’t you?”
You turn away, ashamed. “I— I didn’t mean to. I thought I could control it. But now I can’t even look at you without—”
Your voice cracks.
Without wanting to devour that sunlight.
Aglaea crosses the floor, each step measured. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t show fear — only that serene, haunting calm that could unmake the world.
Her hand lifts your chin, tilting your face toward her. Her eyes are oceans of green-gold.
“You will not fall to hunger,” she murmurs. “Not while I still weave fate.”
Your fangs ache. The scent of her divine blood is maddening. You try to back away, but she catches your wrist, pulling you back with disarming strength.
“Look at me,” she says. “If your body must feed, then feed as one who honors, not one who devours.”
You freeze, trembling. “You’d really—?”
“I have shared my essence with gods and ghosts alike,” she says. “You are no monster, only one who has forgotten gentleness.”
When she presses your hand against her throat, her pulse thrums through her skin like a hymn. You do not bite. Not yet. You simply breathe. And in that heartbeat, her Coreflame flares — gold weaving into the air, steadying your mind.
You lean closer, trembling against her, and she whispers,
“Do not take. Ask.”
You nod, barely able to speak. “Please.”
Her smile is sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “Then drink… and remember that love is restraint, not hunger.”
You do — just enough to soothe the fire, never enough to wound. The gold in her blood hums through you, not as addiction, but balance — like silk unwinding from her fingers into your veins. When it’s over, you collapse against her shoulder, shaking.
Aglaea’s hands cradle your face.
“I will weave strength into you,” she promises, voice warm but firm. “You’ll never need to lose yourself again.”
And as her golden threads shimmer through the air, you believe her.
Cipher catches you mid-fall — literally.
You hadn’t meant to leap from the balcony. Hunger makes you stupid. Desperate. The moonlight burns your skin, your thoughts blur, and all you can hear is her heartbeat — that infuriatingly bright rhythm that sings through the night like music you can’t escape.
“Whoa, whoa— easy, batling,” Cipher laughs, half out of breath, half amused. “You planning to dive-bomb me every time you get the munchies?”
You groan, pressing your face against her shoulder. “I can smell your blood. It’s like… gold lightning.”
“Flattering,” she says, voice wry. “Also terrifying.”
You try to move away, but she holds you tighter. Her hands are warm — always warmer than you expect. You can feel her Coreflame pulsing beneath her skin: Trickery. Alive. Wild. It calls to you like a storm.
Cipher tips your chin up with one finger. “Hey. You’re shaking.”
“I haven’t fed in days,” you rasp. “Everyone’s afraid to let me close. And you—”
“Am irresistible? Yeah, I get that a lot.”
You glare weakly, but her grin softens. For all her mischief, she looks at you with a kind of fierce understanding. “You think you scare me, huh? I’ve shared tavern rooms with ghosts and outrun gods. If you need to feed, I’ll survive it.”
You hesitate. “It’s not that simple—”
“Sure it is. Just a nibble,” she says, flashing teeth. “But fair warning, I bite back.”
You laugh despite yourself. Cipher always does that — turns fear into play, hunger into motion. She offers her wrist, golden boot catching the moonlight.
When you drink — carefully, shakily — she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she talks through it, teasing:
“You’re shaking like a leaf. Relax. You’re doing fine.”
The taste hits like fire and starlight. You pull back, gasping, dizzy. Cipher steadies you, hand on your cheek. “There. That wasn’t so bad, huh?”
You whisper, “You shouldn’t make it look so easy.”
“Life’s easier when you laugh,” she says, brushing your hair back. “Besides, you need someone who reminds you you’re not just hunger.”
You lean against her shoulder. “And you need someone to remind you to slow down.”
Cipher grins. “Then it’s a deal, bloodsucker. You don’t chase me, and I don’t vanish on you.”
You chuckle faintly. “That’s not fair. You always vanish.”
Her voice drops lower, almost fond. “Yeah. But I always come back, too.”
You’ve seen Cerydra in battle — commanding, imperious, terrifyingly composed. But tonight, as she sits behind her desk with firelight reflected in her pupils, she looks more human than ever.
“You should have told me,” she says, her tone sharp but controlled. “You’ve been starving yourself for weeks.”
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you admit. Your hunger coils through your chest like smoke. “I can’t control it, Cerydra. The scent of your flame— it’s too much.”
Her expression softens just a fraction. “You think I can’t handle your hunger?”
“You’re law and order,” you whisper. “And I’m chaos.”
She stands. Her blue flame crown flickers brighter. “Then let the law guide the chaos.”
She approaches slowly, each step deliberate — regal, measured, terrifyingly calm. When she stops before you, she raises a hand to your chin, her voice low.
“You will not take from me without permission. But if you ask—if you trust me—then I will grant you control.”
Her words are power. Command. Comfort.
You breathe hard. “Please.”
Cerydra removes one glove, revealing her hand. “Then take only what you need. And remember who rules this flame.”
When your fangs pierce, her divine blood floods your senses — structured, precise, burning with logic and fury. It’s not sweetness; it’s iron and justice. You pull back too soon, afraid of hurting her, but she steadies you with one hand on the back of your neck.
“Good,” she murmurs. “You stopped when you chose to.”
You look up, trembling. “You’re not angry?”
“I am proud,” she says, and the words make you dizzy. “Discipline is not suppression. It’s choice. You’ve proven yours.”
Her blue flame brightens, wrapping you both in a faint warmth. “Next time,” she adds, “do not hide your hunger from me. We are not enemies. I will help you master it.”
You nod, breath shaky. “You always sound like a general.”
Cerydra smirks. “And you sound like someone who needs rest.”
She places a hand against your chest, steadying your heart with her Coreflame’s rhythm.
The world is quiet under the sky.
Under her gaze — firm, protective, unyielding — you feel peace for the first time in weeks.
You find her sitting among the ruins, her hair catching the moonlight, eyes like fading embers. She doesn’t turn when you approach — she already knows you’re there.
“You’re trembling again,” she murmurs. “The thirst hasn’t faded.”
“I can’t— it’s like drowning,” you whisper. “I keep dreaming of blood. And yours…”
You swallow hard. “Yours calls to me like a song.”
Evernight smiles faintly, sad but knowing. “Because it remembers. My blood holds memories, echoes of what was lost. And you…” she looks at you gently, “you carry too much longing.”
You sink to your knees beside her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she says. “You’ve always been careful, even when desperate.”
The silence stretches, heavy and soft. Then, Evernight offers her hand — ethereal, trembling like a candle’s glow.
“If it helps you find peace, then let me share a fragment of mine.”
You hesitate. “You’ll fade faster if you do.”
“I’ve faded before,” she says, smiling faintly. “It’s not so terrible.”
When your lips brush her wrist, it feels less like feeding and more like prayer. Her essence flows into you — cool, sorrowful, infinite. It doesn’t burn. It soothes. You see glimpses of her memories: laughter, loss, starlight, March’s reflection in her eyes. You pull away, tears streaking down your face.
“Why?” you whisper. “Why would you give this to me?”
“Because I remember what it’s like to hunger for something that isn’t yours,” she says softly. “And because I want you to remember… that even monsters can be gentle.”
She brushes your cheek with her thumb. “Don’t let the thirst define you. Let it remind you.”
You rest your forehead against hers. “What if I can’t stop wanting more?”
Her answer is barely above a whisper. “Then I’ll stay… until you learn to want the dawn again.”
The stars above flicker — dimming, then brightening. Her shadowy warmth wraps around you like a night tide. And in the silence that follows, you realize:
⚓ - You used to climb the stairs to see them, but they found you crying one day when you were too tired to make it to the top. The sight of you sitting on the stairs and looking so lonely broke their heart. Now they always meet you at the bottom of the lighthouse whenever you visit. They follow your pace, holding your hand and making sure you don't fall. If your little legs get too tired, they'll pick you up and carry you the rest of the way!
You can nap in their arms while they watch for ships, and they'll wake you up if they see anything interesting. Sometimes seagulls land on the lighthouse railing and you can babble at them! Other times, it's too stormy and cold to go outside. They'll make you a warm drink and bundle you up with extra blankets until you fall asleep.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Caregiver burnout is real and it’s not a moral failing.
It’s a failing of all the systems out there that should help people take care of those who are sick or disabled.
When someone’s needs exceed what you can provide, but everyone you reach out to for help puts up red tape and roadblocks to getting care, it gets bleak.
Caregivers die early because we can’t take care of our own needs. Our loved ones are left to the wind sometimes. It fucking sucks. All that work for nothing.
Those of us who survive it are left with ptsd and health issues from the stress of it all.
