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breelandwalker · 1 year

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JSTOR Articles on the History of Witchcraft, Witch Trials, and Folk Magic Beliefs

This is a partial of of articles on these subjects that can be found in the JSTOR archives. This is not exhaustive - this is just the portion I've saved for my own studies (I've read and referenced about a third of them so far) and I encourage readers and researchers to do their own digging. I recommend the articles by Ronald Hutton, Owen Davies, Mary Beth Norton, Malcolm Gaskill, Michael D. Bailey, and Willem de Blecourt as a place to start.

If you don't have personal access to JSTOR, you may be able to access the archive through your local library, university, museum, or historical society.

Full text list of titles below the cut:

'Hatcht up in Villanie and Witchcraft': Historical, Fiction, and Fantastical Recuperations of the Witch Child, by Chloe Buckley

'I Would Have Eaten You Too': Werewolf Legends in the Flemish, Dutch and German Area, by Willem de Blecourt

'The Divels Special Instruments': Women and Witchcraft before the Great Witch-hunt, by Karen Jones and Michael Zell

'The Root is Hidden and the Material Uncertain': The Challenges of Prosecuting Witchcraft in Early Modern Venice, by Jonathan Seitz

'Your Wife Will Be Your Biggest Accuser': Reinforcing Codes of Manhood at New England Witch Trials, by Richard Godbeer

A Family Matter: The CAse of a Witch Family in an 18th-Century Volhynian Town, by Kateryna Dysa

A Note on the Survival of Popular Christian Magic, by Peter Rushton

A Note on the Witch-Familiar in Seventeenth Century England, by F.H. Amphlett Micklewright

African Ideas of Witchcraft, by E.G. Parrinder

Aprodisiacs, Charms, and Philtres, by Eleanor Long

Charmers and Charming in England and Wales from the Eighteenth to the Twentieth Century, by Owen Davies

Charming Witches: The 'Old Religion' and the Pendle Trial, by Diane Purkiss

Demonology and Medicine in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, by Sona Rosa Burstein

Denver Tries A Witch, by Margaret M. Oyler

Devil's Stones and Midnight Rites: Megaliths, Folklore, and Contemporary Pagan Witchcraft, by Ethan Doyle White

Edmund Jones and the Pwcca'r Trwyn, by Adam N. Coward

Essex County Witchcraft, by Mary Beth Norton

From Sorcery to Witchcraft: Clerical Conceptions of Magic in the Later Middle Ages, by Michael D. Bailey

German Witchcraft, by C. Grant Loomis

Getting of Elves: Healing, Witchcraft and Fairies in the Scottish Witchcraft Trials, by Alaric Hall

Ghost and Witch in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, by Gillian Bennett

Ghosts in Mirrors: Reflections of the Self, by Elizabeth Tucker

Healing Charms in Use in England and Wales 1700-1950, by Owen Davies

How Pagan Were Medieval English Peasants?, by Ronald Hutton

Invisible Men: The Historian and the Male Witch, by Lara Apps and Andrew Gow

Johannes Junius: Bamberg's Famous Male Witch, by Lara Apps and Andrew Gow

Knots and Knot Lore, by Cyrus L. Day

Learned Credulity in Gianfrancesco Pico's Strix, by Walter Stephens

Literally Unthinkable: Demonological Descriptions of Male Witches, by Lara Apps and Andrew Gow

Magical Beliefs and Practices in Old Bulgaria, by Louis Petroff

Maleficent Witchcraft in Britian since 1900, by Thomas Waters

Masculinity and Male Witches in Old and New England, 1593-1680, by E.J. Kent

Methodism, the Clergy, and the Popular Belief in Witchcraft and Magic, by Owen Davies

Modern Pagan Festivals: A Study in the Nature of Tradition, by Ronald Hutton

Monstrous Theories: Werewolves and the Abuse of History, by Willem de Blecourt

Neapolitan Witchcraft, by J.B. Andrews and James G. Frazer

New England's Other Witch-Hunt: The Hartford Witch-Hunt of the 1660s and Changing Patterns in Witchcraft Prosecution, by Walter Woodward

Newspapers and the Popular Belief in Witchcraft and Magic in the Modern Period, by Owen Davies

Occult Influence, Free Will, and Medical Authority in the Old Bailey, circa 1860-1910, by Karl Bell

Paganism and Polemic: The Debate over the Origins of Modern Pagan Witchcraft, by Ronald Hutton

Plants, Livestock Losses and Witchcraft Accusations in Tudor and Stuart England, by Sally Hickey

Polychronican: Witchcraft History and Children, interpreting England's Biggest Witch Trial, 1612, by Robert Poole

Publishing for the Masses: Early Modern English Witchcraft Pamphlets, by Carla Suhr

Rethinking with Demons: The Campaign against Superstition in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe from a Cognitive Perspective, by Andrew Keitt

Seasonal Festivity in Late Medieval England, Some Further Reflections, by Ronald Hutton

Secondary Targets: Male Witches on Trial, by Lara Apps and Andrew Gow

Some Notes on Modern Somerset Witch-Lore, by R.L. Tongue

Some Notes on the History and Practice of Witchcraft in the Eastern Counties, by L.F. Newman

Some Seventeenth-Century Books of Magic, by K.M. Briggs

Stones and Spirits, by Jane P. Davidson and Christopher John Duffin

Superstitions, Magic, and Witchcraft, by Jeffrey R. Watt

The 1850s Prosecution of Gerasim Fedotov for Witchcraft, by Christine D. Worobec

The Catholic Salem: How the Devil Destroyed a Saint's Parish (Mattaincourt, 1627-31), by William Monter

The Celtic Tarot and the Secret Tradition: A Study in Modern Legend Making, by Juliette Wood

The Cult of Seely Wights in Scotland, by Julian Goodare

The Decline of Magic: Challenge and Response in Early Enlightenment England, by Michael Hunter

The Devil-Worshippers at the Prom: Rumor-Panic as Therapeutic Magic, by Bill Ellis

The Devil's Pact: Diabolic Writing and Oral Tradition, by Kimberly Ball

The Discovery of Witches: Matthew Hopkins' Defense of his Witch-hunting Methods, by Sheilagh Ilona O'Brien

The Disenchantment of Magic: Spells, Charms, and Superstition in Early European Witchcraft Literature, by Michael D. Bailey

The Epistemology of Sexual Trauma in Witches' Sabbaths, Satanic Ritual Abuse, and Alien Abduction Narratives, by Joseph Laycock

The European Witchcraft Debate and the Dutch Variant, by Marijke Gijswijt-Hofstra

The Flying Phallus and the Laughing Inquisitor: Penis Theft in the Malleus Maleficarum, by Moira Smith

The Framework for Scottish Witch-Hunting for the 1590s, by Julian Goodare

The Imposture of Witchcraft, by Rossell Hope Robbins

The Last Witch of England, by J.B. Kingsbury

The Late Lancashire Witches: The Girls Next Door, by Meg Pearson

The Malefic Unconscious: Gender, Genre, and History in Early Antebellum Witchcraft Narratives, by Lisa M. Vetere

The Mingling of Fairy and Witch Beliefs in Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Scotland, by J.A. MacCulloch

The Nightmare Experience, Sleep Paralysis, and Witchcraft Accusations, by Owen Davies

The Pursuit of Reality: Recent Research into the History of Witchcraft, by Malcolm Gaskill

The Reception of Reginald Scot's Discovery of Witchcraft: Witchcraft, Magic, and Radical Religions, by S.F. Davies

The Role of Gender in Accusations of Witchcraft: The Case of Eastern Slovenia, by Mirjam Mencej

The Scottish Witchcraft Act, by Julian Goodare

The Werewolves of Livonia: Lycanthropy and Shape-Changing in Scholarly Texts, 1550-1720, by Stefan Donecker

The Wild Hunter and the Witches' Sabbath, by Ronald Hutton

The Winter Goddess: Percht, Holda, and Related Figures, by Lotta Motz

The Witch's Familiar and the Fairy in Early Modern England and Scotland, by Emma Wilby

The Witches of Canewdon, by Eric Maple

The Witches of Dengie, by Eric Maple

The Witches' Flying and the Spanish Inquisitors, or How to Explain Away the Impossible, by Gustav Henningsen

To Accommodate the Earthly Kingdom to Divine Will: Official and Nonconformist Definitions of Witchcraft in England, by Agustin Mendez

Unwitching: The Social and Magical Practice in Traditional European Communities, by Mirjam Mencej

Urbanization and the Decline of Witchcraft: An Examination of London, by Owen Davies

Weather, Prayer, and Magical Jugs, by Ralph Merrifield

Witchcraft and Evidence in Early Modern England, by Malcolm Gaskill

Witchcraft and Magic in the Elizabethan Drama by H.W. Herrington

Witchcraft and Magic in the Rochford Hundred, by Eric Maple

Witchcraft and Old Women in Early Modern Germany, by Alison Rowlands

Witchcraft and Sexual Knowledge in Early Modern England, by Julia M. Garrett

Witchcraft and Silence in Guillaume Cazaux's 'The Mass of Saint Secaire', by William G. Pooley

Witchcraft and the Early Modern Imagination, by Robin Briggs

Witchcraft and the Western Imagination by Lyndal Roper

Witchcraft Belief and Trals in Early Modern Ireland, by Andrew Sneddon

Witchcraft Deaths, by Mimi Clar

Witchcraft Fears and Psychosocial Factors in Disease, by Edward Bever

Witchcraft for Sale, by T.M. Pearce

Witchcraft in Denmark, by Gustav Henningsen

Witchcraft in Germany, by Taras Lukach

Witchcraft in Kilkenny, by T. Crofton Croker

Witchcraft in Anglo-American Colonies, by Mary Beth Norton

Witchcraft in the Central Balkans I: Characteristics of Witches, by T.P. Vukanovic

Witchcraft in the Central Balkans II: Protection Against Witches, by T.P. Vukanovic

Witchcraft Justice and Human Rights in Africa, Cases from Malawi, by Adam Ashforth

Witchcraft Magic and Spirits on the Border of Pennsylvania and West Virginia, by S.P. Bayard

Witchcraft Persecutions in the Post-Craze Era: The Case of Ann Izzard of Great Paxton, 1808, by Stephen A. Mitchell

Witchcraft Prosecutions and the Decline of Magic, by Edward Bever

Witchcraft, by Ray B. Browne

Witchcraft, Poison, Law, and Atlantic Slavery, by Diana Paton

Witchcraft, Politics, and Memory in Seventeeth-Century England, by Malcolm Gaskill

Witchcraft, Spirit Possession and Heresy, by Lucy Mair

Witchcraft, Women's Honour and Customary Law in Early Modern Wales, by Sally Parkin

Witches and Witchbusters, by Jacqueline Simpson

Witches, Cunning Folk, and Competition in Denmark, by Timothy R. Tangherlini

Witches' Herbs on Trial, by Michael Ostling

#witchcraft #witchblr #history #history of witchcraft #occult #witch trials #research #recommended reading #book recs #jstor

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aperrywilliams · 1 year

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Pandora’s Box (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer gets called for work on his day off while having breakfast with his wife. He doesn’t know this day will end worse than he thought.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mention to prison. Mention of kidnapping. Cat Adams. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Written for this request. Two parts: this is the angsty one (sorry). How should Spencer make it up to Reader?

Part II

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Reader's POV

I always knew Spencer's job had its quirks. Granted, being an FBI agent is a dangerous job, and with my husband, this statement tends to be yet worse. Spencer has been kidnapped, drugged, shot in the knee, shot in the neck, framed for murder, incarcerated, and so on.

But after everything we've been through, one would expect things to settle down over time. Is it too much to ask?

I knew what was coming when the damn cell phone chimed that morning. It was Spencer's day off, and we had decided to go for breakfast at our favorite coffee shop since I had the day off too. It was rare we could match in our free time, and since we had both been very busy with our jobs, we wanted to enjoy that day.

Spencer gave me an apologetic look before answering the call.

"Reid," he spoke dryly. He wasn't happy about the interruption either.

While Pelenope surely told Spencer he should go to Quantico as soon as possible, I just stared at him—a glint of anticipated disappointment in my eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Spencer said, confirming my suspicions.

"Don't be. I know how it works." My answer was not reproachful, nor did I want to make him feel bad; instead, it was to clarify that I comprehended and accepted how our life's dynamic goes. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to my dad's today and staying there. He's been asking me when I would have a sleepover with him," I commented. I knew Spencer would feel less guilty if I didn't spend too much time alone.

"Okay. That's good. And I promise I'll make it up to you," Spencer stated, getting up from his chair before planting an affectionate kiss on my forehead.

Don't make promises you can't keep, I thought.

Here is the thing. Spencer has good intentions, but time isn't on our side lately, so I only hoped we could have a chance to get at least a day to spend together with no interruptions upon his return.

After leaving the coffee shop, I stopped by the apartment to grab some clothes and headed to my dad's.

My dad greeted me in a tight embrace at the front door.

"I thought you would spend your day off with Spencer?" He asked once we parted from our hug.

I knew he was picturing a bad scenario. I'm not keen on sharing my marriage issues with my father, but he could tell there was something.

"Uh. Well. Spencer got called from work," I explained. My dad hummed, not saying anything. I regretted how I worded it because I hate portraying Spencer as the bad guy.

"What?" I asked.

"Everything is okay? I mean, between you and Spencer?" My dad questioned, concerned.

"Yeah. We are fine. Don't worry about us. Come on inside; you promised me movies and hot cocoa," I smiled at him, lacing my arm with his and heading inside the house.

Spencer's POV

Cat Adams. That name only means disaster. I should have known that. This time I hoped she only had ruined my day off with my wife- something a little more bearable than being framed for murder and incarcerated.

Arriving at Quantico, Prentiss and Rossi explained to me what had happened. Cat's associate kidnaped a family and demanded the release of Cat Adams.

Really she thought that could be possible?

Emily told me they were bringing her in a few hours and that I should talk to her.

I didn’t know if I was ready to do that, but a family was in danger. I had to.

She looked so pleased to see me that I felt nauseous, and my mind flew to Milburn. She knew what she was doing, but I needed to control myself and have the upper hand somehow.

My entire demeanor changed when she voiced her demand: a date with me.

The mention of a 'date' with Cat Adams sounded twisted and insufferable. But not going could have been a mistake. Cat knew I wouldn't refuse, not after she said my wife's safety was in danger too.

Frantically I left the room to dial (Y/N)’s number, and it went straight to voicemail. She never turns off her phone. I called her dad, and he said she left the house for a job emergency without explaining too much.

I looked at Emily, who had already told Garcia to track my wife's location. Minutes later, Penelope told us she wasn't at her workplace and was nowhere to find. Her phone's signal went dead after she left her dad's house.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I didn’t know how, but Cat had her.

Rushing inside the room where Cat was, I slammed the table, demanding my wife's location. Cat, of course, laughed in my face.

"I guess now no one could interrupt our date," she dared with a smug grin.

Against all my judgment, I agreed to a plan I wasn't even sure about.

Reader's POV

After Milburn, we talked with Spencer about the real danger we can be exposed to as a couple realizing the kind of job he had. Not that we didn't discuss it before, but the threat became real after that. We had a plan: if something happened, he would contact me directly - or through someone from the team - and if the communication could be compromised, I should get rid of my phone and not tell anybody my location.

When my phone rang that afternoon, we were watching a movie with my dad on the couch. I stood and answered in the hall. A sternly Spencer spoke: "This is an emergency. Met me at my old apartment. There is a key under the mat. Get rid of the phone and not tell anyone. Don't open the door to anyone, and wait for me there."

When I was about to ask what had happened, the call ended. I doubted for a moment. Spencer sounded so out of himself, but after what he had been through, I knew his job could stress him like that. So I just did what I was told.

I lied to my dad, telling him I had a job emergency, and left.

In my mind, I ran through all the possibilities, and none helped me stay calm. Everything could go wrong, like when Spencer went to Mexico without telling me.

Arriving at the apartment, I noticed the key was under the mat, as Spencer told me.

We always talked about what to do with his old place. Since we married, we got a new home, and Spencer rented his apartment. It happened that the last couple who rented it left a month ago, and we were still looking for a new tenant.

The place was almost empty. But still, some of Spencer's old books remained on the shelves. I took one to pass the time until Spencer could arrive. I didn't have my phone, so the only thing I could do was wait.

Spencer's POV

The last thing I thought I would do was ice skating with the woman who framed me for murder and kidnapped my mom and now my wife. Cat enjoyed every minute of my torture, and I just wanted to end it. My mind ran fast to catch any lead that could help me, but Cat knew me better. I don’t like to say it, but she, indeed, knew me better.

"So, I wasn't shocked when I discovered you married to that girl. I was shocked, though, knowing how neglected you have had her," she said casually, doing spins on the ice.

"You don't know what you are saying," I scoffed, trying to sound calm, but I hated how she dared to talk about (Y/N) and me.

"Don't I? So you will tell me you haven't canceled dates or left her for cases very often? That isn't good, Spencie, nothing good," Cat mocked.

I didn't want to give in that much, but how the hell this woman always managed to get under my skin? It's not that I wasn't aware of my messy schedule, but we always agreed with (Y/N) that it was my job, and she understood. Lately, though, things have been getting worse in that matter, and on that, Cat had a point.

When we married, I promised (Y/N) to slow down my job rhythm. After Milburn, I thought I had had enough, and it was time to focus on my life. It worked initially, but as the honeymoon phase ended, I did not slow down and even started overworking myself.

Everything I have been doing in the past months seemed like a stupid decision that had (Y/N) in danger because of my job now. If something terrible happened to her, I would never forgive myself.

“I know you’re waiting for me to slip a clue. But you will not get anything if you don’t show me your old apartment,” Cat demanded.

Now I was utterly confused. Why Cat wanted that?

The thing with Cat is always this way. She has a secret agenda you can’t decipher until it’s too late. I was afraid of that, but not giving up on her demands would put people in danger. I hadn’t an option.

“Why did you marry, anyway? You know you can be with anyone,” Cat spoke as we were being driven in the van. I snapped my head up. Cat shrugged. “What? I am right. Your job is everything to you, Spencie. Don’t lie to yourself; you can’t have a normal life. Not when we know we are so alike.”

“You don’t know anything. I love my wife,” I stated. Cat scoffed.

“I know enough. Tell me, does your wife know where you are now? Does she knows you are with me?” She asked, looking at me intensely. I averted my gaze. Cat was right, but her reasoning was wrong. I don’t like to tell (Y/N) much about my job because it’s not fair to put that burden on her. Not after we have been through. It’s not a matter of trust.

We got to the building and got out of the van. Cat took my arm as armed FBI agents escorted us—a show worth seeing, and I just wanted to forget.

Arriving at the apartment door, I took out my keys to open the lock, but before doing so, Cat stopped me.

“Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“That you love your wife?”

“Of course I do!” I replied, exasperated.

“Show me,” she demanded. But I didn’t understand what she was asking. My confusion was evident. “Show me how you love her. Kiss me the way you would kiss her,” Cat requested. My eyes widened.

“What? No! I will not do that.”

“You will. If you want to see your wife and that family alive again, you will,” she retorted.

I was about to lose my patience. In the last three hours, Cat had just made me go in circles. But I knew what she could do, and I was terrified that her threats would come true.

I took a deep breath before leaning to kiss her. I knew it was wrong, but I just wanted to end this night and find my wife and the missing family. Before my lips reached hers, Cat stopped me.

“I told you, Spencie. Do it like I’m her. Make it good. I will know if you are pretending,” she warned.

Fuck. What a twisted mind.

I gathered my composure, and I tried to imagine that it was (Y/N) in front of me and not Cat. I cupped her cheeks, the way I like to do with (Y/N), and leaned again. This time with no hesitation. It had to look real.

Reader's POV

I heard a commotion outside; I couldn't determine who was talking in the hallway. I froze in the spot, my eyes fixed on the entrance door. Then I noticed the handle turning and the door opening wide.

What I saw made my brain stop working.

Spencer was on the threshold kissing a woman.

Did I say kissing? Scratch that. He was devouring her mouth. And they were enjoying it, I could tell. She was the one who ended the kiss, and I swore I saw Spencer follow her lips for more. The woman turned to see me. Then Spencer noticed I was inside, witnessing how he- my husband - kissed a woman that wasn't me. His eyes widened, leaving his grasp on the woman's cheeks to walk to me.

“(Y/N)? What- what are you doing here? I thought you- that she has-" he stuttered.

I can't tell if it was for nerves, shock, or the fact he had been caught. It didn't matter, though. I was not in a condition to say anything. I just stood there, looking like a kicked puppy. I hated it.

“Fuck!” He cursed as if he had realized what was going on. The problem was I didn’t know anything, and my mind ran with the worst scenery possible.

"Ups," the girl teased. That's when I truly focused on her. I knew this woman. I'm sure I did. Then it hit me. Cat Adams? Seriously?

"What is this?" I barely articulated, shifting my gaze between Spencer and Cat.

"I - I thought she had kidnapped you! She did it with a family. I was so worried," Spencer explained, reaching to grab my hands, which I snatched away. I didn't feel like being touched by him, not after what I saw.

"I can tell you were worried," I spat. Cat started laughing.

"She has quite a sense of humor. I like her," Cat commented, looking between Spencer and me.

Oh, she was enjoying this. And my rational self told me it was better to shut up until I could understand what all about was, but my emotional side got to win this time.

"And you wanted me here for this? Your urgent case was about her? Jeez, Spencer, I thought you were done with this psycho," I pointed, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Oh, darling. You should know by now that Spencer is obsessed with me. How do you explain what you saw? He was kissing the same woman who got him in jail for three months. Maybe it's a kind of Stockholm, who knows," Cat taunted, shrugging like she was clueless. My eyes shot daggers at her. It was infuriating how her words echoed in my brain.

"(Y/N), don't listen to her. She is playing games right now. She wants you mad," Spencer tried to explain. And maybe he was right. But the smug look on her only fueled my anger. I didn't want to snap, though.

"Yeah, you can tell yourself that if it makes you happy," I deadpanned. Cat chuckled.

“Uh-oh. That sounds like jealousy to me.”

"Stop it! Cat, where is the family?" Spencer grabbed her arm suddenly. Her smug smile never faded.

"Easy, Spencie. What are you going to do? Throw me against a wall again?"

What? When did that happen?

Spencer's face went pale as his eyes met mine.

"Ouch. Someone didn't know that," Cat teased. I didn't know what face I had, but Spencer left the grip of Cat's arm and turned to me. "You should tell her, Spencie. She won't believe me if I do."

"You did what?" I asked in disbelief.

When Spencer was about to say something, Luke rushed inside.

"We got them!"

Them? What the fuck was happening?

"Now that's when we were having fun! Not fair!"

Cat pouted with dissatisfaction.

Spencer's eyes never left mine, pleading for me not to jump and hit him - or her.

"Take her out," he sternly told Luke, who rushed to do so.

"It was nice to meet you, (Y/N). Hope Spencer can tell you more of our story,” she taunted before crossing the threshold. Luke took the precaution of closing the door behind them, leaving with Cat and the other FBI field agents.

And just like that, we were alone with Spencer. Cat wasn't in the apartment anymore, but her words and presence remained heavy in the air.

Spencer’s hands were shaking, and they tried to reach mine again. I didn’t let him, though, as I stepped back.

It was all so confusing. And even if there were a logical explanation for this, the nerves and the anger were too much to try to understand.

“(Y/N), baby. I can explain. It was a trap. Cat orchestrated the whole thing, and I didn’t notice her real intentions until now. You have to believe me,” Spencer sputtered, faster than I had seen him speak in a long time. I shook my head.

“You called me. You told me we were in danger and asked me to come here, Spencer,” I tried to reason with him. He did this; why?

Spencer’s eyes widened.

“No, no, no. No! I did not. I don’t know how it happened, but I didn’t call you. It wasn’t me. I thought you were kidnapped! Cat told me if I didn’t do what she wanted, she would hurt you!”

I scoffed.

“How convenient that sounds, uh?”

Spencer sighed. He didn’t know what to say, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy to help him.

“(Y/N), please. You can ask the team. Penelope tried to track your location. I called your dad! It’s all a misunderstanding.”

I felt bad for Spencer. He looked exhausted, and he was likely telling the truth. But that wasn't enough to erase the image of my husband kissing Cat Adams. That qualifies as cheating, right?

I wanted to slap him across the face. Fucking Spencer Reid!

“A misunderstanding? Not a biggie, right?”

I hated feeling like this, but I couldn't help it. The more Spencer tried to explain, the more my blood boiled. Was I being unfair to him? Maybe. But after months of his work interfering in our lives, I was already fed up. This was the last straw.

"I didn't mean it like it wasn't important. Can we please talk about this more calmly at home?"

No, we can not, I wanted to say.

"Before your phone rings again and you must leave on another case?"

Shit, that just came out of my mouth.

“(Y/N)…” Spencer started to speak, but I cut him off. It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have right now.

“You know what? I think it’s better we take a break for this night. I’m going to my dad’s. He must have been worried after I left,” I said, trying to contain my shaky voice. I grabbed my purse and walked to the door.

Spencer stared after me, pleading with his eyes for me not to leave. I decided to ignore it. I needed to think and cool my head. I believe this is the wake-up call I feared might happen. Maybe Cat Adams had opened another Pandora's box tonight.

Part II

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Spencer Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @thebloomingeagle @pauline5525mgg @maltamurdock @disaster-in-waiting @pebble-has-a-mirgraine @anamiad00msday @chlochlosworld @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @miaxx03 @leahblackk

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfictions #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfics #pandora’s box

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itsclydebitches · 2 months

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Layers I love in the "King Roach" moment:

Roaches are commonly associated with resilience and their ability to survive extreme conditions. Alastor becomes their king right before he fights Adam, nearly being "killed by a hair" but ultimately pulling through

The subject/royalty dynamic given that Niffty is someone Alastor called in to serve the hotel

The reversal too where Niffty is the one doing the dubbing here, demonstrating agency as she grants this title, reflecting how she seems to be on more equal footing with Alastor than, say, him and Husk

We know Niffty has a "collection" of bug-related things (not just the bugs themselves but stuff like bits of Valentino's fur too) so by making Alastor into a bug-thing she's going, "You're mine and important to me! :D"

The crown is made out of literal bugs so this is Niffty presenting Alastor with her conquests. It feels like a cat bringing their owner dead birds if the owner also had a deep appreciation for that because they collected human souls on the side

Niffty has just mentioned putting on "roach puppet shows." Alastor is now a (kinda) roach (kinda) puppet (the threads and strings holding his limbs together when in his demon form)

Alastor has also just admitted that he could get used to staying here. Niffty likes the HH fam because they're nice about those roach puppet shows. It's like a through-line: Hazbin Hotel is good b/c acceptance of roach things + Alastor is now a roach thing = Alastor good for Hazbin Hotel?? You fit! Let's stay!!

The roaches have red eyes so they pair well with Alastor's suit and there are pink flowers that pair well with Niffty's outfit

Big ol' smile from Alastor that comes across as genuine, like those he shares with Rosie

Another file for the "Big bad manipulator becomes a kitten around cutsey, murdery ladies, huh?" folder.

The fact that obviously Niffty is making awesome bug-flower crowns in her spare time. Charlie recruiting her for bonding arts and crafts when

It looks like there are teeny tiiiiiiny daggers hanging off the crown. You know, in case Alastor should ever need one and Niffty stares soullessly into the camera when I finally notice that

Alastor dislikes touch yet (not for the first time) he lets Niffty climb his head while showing off her twisted little mind <3

#Hazbin Hotel #Alastor #Niffty

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dyssonant-skyline · 2 months

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2. What's your favorite and least favorite design in either show?

9. Since you mentioned drawing your redesigns, I have to ask - is there any way I could see Verity having a jolly ol' time on a swing? I was looking over your art again and the thought just struck me on impact out of nowhere.

13. Where does Lilith fit in Hellbound Hostel? Is there anything planned for her yet / concepts you're tossing around?

9. I know this probably isn't what you were imagining but!!! I love conversations on swings and I wanted to draw Eden and Verity together.

2. Favorite and least favorite designs are hard to figure out, most designs I like have glaring details I don't and designs I dislike have potential somewhere in the design. I'll pick the ones from Hazbin that I like/dislike the most as they are, speaking roles only.

Carmilla Carmine is my least favorite design. Her hair completely throws her design off balance imo. I hate the fact none of these characters have ears and I thought Carmilla’s earrings were dangling from her hair at one point. When her hair is down, her design is better I guess… but then there isn't anything that screams hell or sinner in her design. The hairstyle at least alludes to horns, without it she is just a grey human with red eyes and slightly big arms. I kind of wish she kept her extremely long fingers from the pilot, but that wouldn’t tie in well with her fighting style imo??? Eh.

Breaking my own rules since they never speak but, but this design ruins every scene it is in. What an attention grabbing eyesore, it was impossible to watch the overlord meeting with her just sitting on the side orz

Sir Pentious is probably my favorite design in the show, but the story behind his design just makes me sad. I don't like his tail and the eyes pasted all over it, slithering on your eyes?? ow. The hood acting like hair and flaring out is very enjoyable to watch. His palette is also more balanced than most characters. Prefer him without the hat though.

Breaking the rules again, my real favorites are background characters.

13. In Hellbound Hostel, Hellborn are created through a ritual that only requires one participant. Eden is more like a creation to [Lucifer] than a daughter and she has no mother. Sort of an [Adam] parallel. I might shift Lilith's role/traits to one of the Sins, Idolatry.

The Sins are effectively Eden’s family as they are all fallen angels that rebelled with [Lucifer]. A lot of the early/pilot stuff with Lilith shows her as wanting rebellion from sinners and I think Idolatry would also stoke that flame. She is a champion of individualism and finding your own “gods” to worship. She believes that the free will that humans were granted makes them superior to The Creator.

As for the aspect of someone from hell residing in heaven as a potential villain? I have some ideas but most of the conflict I’m figuring out right now is episodic conflicts centering around the hotel, like a power outage and trying to get residents excited for a hellborn holiday.

Thank you for asking! :D

#dys draws #dys rants #ask game #hazbin hotel redesign #hellbound hostel #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #charlie morningstar redesign #vaggie redesign #reblog

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lifewithdavefarts · 6 months

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DaveFarts - Episode 26 “Critical Stink” [Episode List] During a D&D session, Tim insists that he should be immune to poison damage. The gassy-as-usual Dave makes sure he’s gonna regret such request.

POV: Tim

Critical Stink

The evil Yuan-Ti general and his minions had us cornered: the humanoid snake turned out to be a bigger threat than our team expected. Radahm, our Rogue, managed to backstab one of the lesser enemies in front of us, who then bled to death mere minutes later. Ergg, the annoying wizard, quickly casted a defensive spell to protect us but the snake-like soldiers had weapons capable of undoing any form of magic (…something we never heard of before, in our years of adventures, but OK).

I, the brave Paladin Desal, was our team’s last hope: I could attack our formidable foes with my mighty holy sword, getting closer to the general himself, whose venomous bite was just as dreaded as the blade of his mighty scimitar. Yet, I decided to go for it, I had nothing to fear, for The High One has granted me poison immunity many moons ago. This is why The Fate brought us here… why She brought me here.

It was all leading up to this.

I rush with all of my might towards the snake general, who noticed my deft movement, his long neck dodging my sword at the last second. He hissed back at me, his mouth going for my arm.

I felt his teeth piercing through my white armor, but once again, I had nothing to fear, for The High One has granted me poison immun-

“What do you mean I’m losing HP?!”

Me (Desal), Greg (Ergg) and Adam (Radahm) were having one of our D&D sessions, which are getting rarer given how busy we are. Dave was our DM for this Quest and… we didn’t really like where this was going.

First, that whole bullshit with Yuan-Ti weapons undoing Greg’s magic (and magic in general apparently). Never heard of such thing nor we care, even though Dave found our shock quite delightful. And then -and this is more personal-, all of the sudden, my character stopped being immune to poison… because plot I guess!

“Dude!” I scolded Dave. “I thought we agreed on this like moo- I mean months ago.”

Adam and Greg backed me up, just because the wanted to dunk on Dave than anything else.

“Gentlemen.” our DM replied, in a mockingly formal tone. “…and Tim.” he turned to me and took a sip of his beer, then resumed talking. “What I told you back then was that The High One would grant Desal poison immunity in case you rolled a Nat 20 on a Defense Roll.”

I remained silent.

“And, I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t see a 20 anywhere on this table.”

The derisive sarcasm was just as annoying as it sounded, not even considering Dave being utterly wrong about this. If only I could find those papers where we actually took note of this…

“I’m with Tim on this one.” Greg said. “Also if he dies, our quest is basically over.”

“I guess we’re done then.” I said, referring more to the fact that Greg agreeing with me was basically a death sentence to any possibility of being right. “What about you, Adam?” I asked.

“Well, I got my share of EXP by backstabbing that snake guy, so I’m gonna try running away my next turn.” he snickered.

“Team of the year.” Dave commented, amused.

“Disgusting.” Greg remarked.

“Wow the the True Neutral Rogue doing True Neutral things I’m such a bad player.” Adam replied.

“Hey! This is not about Adam’s admirable commitment to role-playing.” I pointed to our DM. “This is about Dave making up the rules.”

“Here’s what I have to say about it.”

Dave, who was wearing a brown hoodie and a pair of dark blue jeans, simply leaned a bit, the wooden chair he was sitting on cracking under his weight. One of my friend’s deafening farts soon followed, the wooden surface making it even louder. Not the first one my bro ripped during our D&D session (we were all high on beer and junk food, so gas was expected), but definitely one of the louder ones. While he still casually does it, I’m pretty sure, considering that evil smirk, that this one time he simply ripped one to, well, startle me, as he knows very well how awkward I (still) get whenever Dave is so chill about my fart kink.

“I guess a storm is getting closer.” Greg commented, after the 5 seconds blast ended.

Dave quickly snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Good call. Let’s wrap it up.”

So our DM quickly made up that those Yuan-Tis that almost killed us are afraid of thunderstorms (ripping another thunder-fart to further prove his plot point) and thus they ran away, scared, leaving us there, licking our own wounds (almost literally, given Greg rolling a 4 when he attempted to heal us).

We survived, but that was pretty underwhelming.

“So Greg managed heal me, no more poison and shit like that.” I commented.

“I’m your DM: I decide if you get to survive tonight.” Dave reminded me, that annoying sarcastic smirk drawn on his face, fully aware of how annoying he was being.

But admittedly that’s part of the fun you know.

“Well that wasn’t fun at all guys, see you in about 6 months for our next session.” Adam said, as he got up and reached for his jacket. Greg did the same.

We had one last sip of beer together and then our friends left, leaving me and Dave alone at our place. It was late, about 1:00 AM, but also a Saturday.

As me and my bro/roommate tidied up the table we just finished playing on, he decided to keep making fun of my strategies.

“The first mistake was choosing the Paladin as your class, as I told you many moons ago.” he snickered.

“Says the Wizard enjoyer. Having fun casting shit from behind the trees?”

“Yes, because I don’t get poisoned from there. Also, I’m more of a Bard you know.”

“I shouldn’t get poisoned, you know it. But our DM got amnesia apparently.”

Dave laughed, rolling his eyes. “Nat 20 on Defense Roll.” he spoke slowly. “Such a difficult concept to grasp!”

We sat once again at the now clean table, opened two more beers and we kept talking.

“Look, I’m not saying that you don’t remember it. But yes, you don’t remember it.”

“I don’t remember it.” Dave insisted. “Because it never happened.”

“Literally the only thing my character is going for is poison immunity.” I stated, perhaps exaggerating, but you get my point.

“Wow immunity against the worst damage type. Congratulations, Desal! You’re a Paladin, start summoning light pillars or some other gay shit!”

“Dave, we agreed on it. I DESERVE to be immune to poison.” I insisted.

“Fine.” my friend took a quick sip of beer. “All kinds of poison?”

“Yes.” I said, satisfied.

“…even poison gas?” Dave said, a faint smirk appearing on his face.

“Well yes of course, especially pois- I know where this is going.” I glanced at him, unimpressed.

Indeed, Dave laughed and once again leaned, another loud blast erupting from his jeans-clad ass, the wooden chair under him enduring that powerful flatulence like a silent hero. 5 more seconds of farting and he was done.

“You g-gotta admit…” I said, bravely, almost shaking for how embarrassed I was. “That’s one type of poison I’m definitely immune to.” I joked, I tried to.

“Shut up.” Dave replied, chill as usual about my fetish. “You’re tough, I’ll give you that, but Tim…” he put his hand on my shoulder, being hilariously serious about all of this. “We’re talking about my farts: one of these days you’re gonna die because of me.”

He finished that short speech by effortlessly ripping one more quick 2 seconds rip, faking a sad expression, as if I truly was risking my life. I managed to laugh, my boner however almost hitting the table for how good those farts were, a faint smell reaching my nostrils as well.

“Come on. Let me have this at least. Poison immunity in real life!” I kept joking.

Dave looked at me, with a smirk, then turned his attention to a D20 dice we left on the table and reached for it.

“You know…” he started talking in a tone of voice that made me think this whole thing turned into a business deal for some reason. “I can grant you your precious poison immunity… if you pass the test…”.

He was fiddling with the dice, now looking back at me.

“Let me guess: another rule you just made up.” I said.

“Not at all! I forced you through this test so many times lately… but tonight I decide if you actually passed it.” he laughed.

I had no idea what he was talking about. Or rather, pretended not to.

“I don’t understand. Are you planning some kind of challenge?”

“Sort of. I’ll just show you how it’s going to work.”

He passed the dice to me and I just stared at it for a few seconds.

“Roll the dice, Tim.” he said, with a smirk.

I played along and mindlessly let the dice fall on the table. It rolled for a few instants and then I read the number facing up out loud. “Meh, that’s a 4. I’m just like Greg.”

In response to what I just said, Dave snapped his finger to gain my attention. As I turned to him, he leaned once again and a thunderous fart echoed in the empty living room, easily surpassing the sounds coming from the TV across the room, the wooden surface of the chair he was destroying with his gas greatly increasing the loudness of the already powerful rip.

The blast lasted around 5 seconds and… that wasn’t rocket science, I knew where this was going now. I was speechless, I had no idea Dave would even think something like this.

“No.” I simply said, shaking my head, embarrassed.

I stood up, leaving the dice on the table, ignoring the fact that my friend could clearly see the tent I pitched through my blue sweatpants and walked towards the couch, as I kept repeating “No”, each time my bro laughing more and more.

“Scared, Desal?” he promptly asked.

“No!” I took a big breath, turning back to my bud still sitting at the head of the table, his eyes glued on me, his smug smirk still drawn on his face. “It’s just… come on man… I don’t want to… of course I…”

Dave stood up and walked towards me, without losing that smile, now looking a bit more chill. “You know you don’t have to worry about this, not with me, right?” he simply asked, and I knew exactly what he meant.

“Alright…” I said. “I’ll do your dumb test.”

He laughed. “This also counts as me getting my revenge for, you know, you doubting my DM skills.”

I figured I’d just give up: Dave was gonna blast me either way, and I deeply appreciated how he wanted to make sure that no, I had nothing to worry about, he knows I have this kink, he knows I was gonna like this… but that wasn’t going to stop him from torturing me with his well-known blasts. A “revenge”, as he calls it.

Truth to be told, as much as my boner tells you other wise… I do have my limits, and my friend’s farts sounded very nasty tonight, fueled by hours of beers and low-quality food. What made it so dangerous (and hot) is that Dave is well aware of his skills, so he knew that this was indeed going to be a test.

My bro sat on the couch and nodded at me, as if what was going to happen was completely normal, so I sat next to him.

“So… roll for initiative?” he joked, handing the dice back to me.

“I hate you so much.” I replied. Dave just never ceases to amaze me though.

I let the dice roll on the small table in front of us, as Dave took a sip of his beer. We both watched it bounce around for a few moments, until it stopped, a big 7 facing up.

The fart I heard when I rolled a 4 was already impressive so… how is a 7 going to sound like? My roommate seemed to read my mind since he elbowed me, smug smile and all.

I clumsily tried to ask how, well, he was going to face-fart me this time. “What do you want me to… you k-know.”

Dave simply put the beer on the table, right next to the dice and, still silent, simply stood up, towering over me, my face already aligned with his sagging denim ass. He stepped in front of me and reached for my head, planting it on that warm ass, still stinky for all the previous farts he ripped, a faint scent of rotten pizza greeting my nose. He held my face there for a few seconds, in silence, as if he wanted me to, well, enjoy that the leftovers of his previous rips.

But now, finally, the test has officially begun: a big fart engulfed my face, my friend barely needing to push it out, ripping that blast almost effortlessly. He firmly held my head in there, as if I was going to move it away, which obviously wasn’t going to happen.

And yet, Dave keeping my face into his roaring butt, letting me take big whiffs, was always a great bonus: whether he did that because he knew my kinky ass would like it or not… I just didn’t know, but I was ok with it nonetheless… as long as he was okay with me.

He raised his left leg a bit, letting his ass roar even louder.

The impressive flatulence lasted 9 seconds: just beautiful, but I knew this wasn’t the worst (best?) my bud was going to hit me with tonight.

Dave let my head go, turned around to stare down at me, and laughed a bit. He then sat back next to me, as if nothing gross and weird happened.

“This is how you get poison gas immunity: you gotta train those nostrils first.”

“I hate you so much.” I repeated myself, as I took a sip of his beer.

He patted my shoulder in response. “No worries, your training will resume soon.”

I reached for that cursed D20 once again and fiddled with it a bit, before going for another roll.

“How long is this test going to last?” I genuinely asked, with a hint of sarcasm.

“We’ll see.” he winked at me, while looking at something on his smartphone.

Still deciding on whether I was or not the luckiest man in the world because I have a friend like him, I went for another roll, the D20 once again bouncing on the small table in front of us. Admittedly, I sighed in relief when I saw a 2.

“Remind me to never take you to Las Vegas…” Dave commented.

Since it was 2, my bro simply spread his long legs, showing off his sagging jeans in the process, and ripped a short (but still loud, despite being muffled by the couch) toot. Small for Dave’s standards, not even 4 seconds long, but still a nice sounding fart overall.

Not that I wasn’t aware of his skills, but the fact that those were all natural, back-to-back, was almost fascinating to me. Fetish or not, I wish I had such powers.

“Still pretty impressive for a 2, I gotta say.” I said, getting more comfortable with openly acknowledging Dave’s talent.

My roommate chuckled in response. “Such a kinky bitch.” he joked.

As my way to challenge him after that ridiculous fart, I quickly went for another roll. The dice spun for a moment until it revealed the number at the top spot, which immediately made me swallow my pride: a 16.

“Looks like you’re gonna get your ass kicked, Paladin.”

“You better shut up or I’m gonna kick yours.”

“With what? Your nose?”

As Dave (rightfully) made fun of me, he stood up once again, this time on the couch, towering over me even more than before (he had no shoes anymore, only a pair of sweaty socks).

“Just… just do it.” I simply said, horny, my heart racing fast.

Amused, my friend managed to directly sit on my head, as if I was a stool.

“You really want me to k-kill me?”

“I’m your FM: I decide if you get to survive tonight.”

I remained silent. “FM…?”

“FM dude.” Dave kept talking, still sitting on me, as if this was such a natural way to talk to each other. “FM!”

“I don’t get it.”

“Too much blood rushing down your cock, fine.” he said, knowing exactly how true that statement was. “I’ll give you a hint then.”

Treating me like the wooden chair he soiled with his gas, Dave leaned a bit, as he pushed the next rip out… but after a few seconds nothing came out.

“I’m brewing a big one, give me a moment.”

And we just remained there, silent, the stench of his ass almost forming a fog around me, the rough surface of his sagging jeans brushing through my hair. I heard Dave laughing, fully aware how weird that scene must have looked.

“Alright, here it comes for real. Ready?”

He didn’t even wait for an answer as an earthquake shook my skull, making my body shake down to my knees. The vibration literally made some drops of pre-cum leak out of my penis, further proof of my friend’s incredible powers. The fart, needless to say, was so loud it almost made me deaf: I wasn’t made of wood, but the sound of Dave’s blast bounced off the top of my head quite nicely, sounding like a loud, low-pitched chainsaw.

21 seconds. 21 fucking seconds. All natural, all as disgusting as it sounds. I didn’t even need to sniff as I was probably trapped in an invisible bubble of gas.

Finally, after wiggling his ass a bit so my hair would completely absorb that fart, Dave stood up, ripping a couple of small toots while doing so, and sat back where he was. He looked at me with a smirk, but couldn’t help but laugh noticing me startled facial expression.

I’ll just never get used to this.

“FM… Fart Master… Fuck you.” I said, shaking my head.

“If it's any consolation… you almost earned that immunity you wished for.”

This is all just a dumb kinky game for him. I couldn’t be happier, but also holy shit, the thin line between kink and torture was getting blurry with a friend like him.

“Just say that I earned it. It’s late, we’re both tired.” I tried to end this, not that I wasn’t enjoying it but come on, I couldn’t force my straight bud to do, well, this, even though it was his idea to begin with.

“Fine. One last roll.” he agreed.

I shook the dice in my fist for a few seconds before finally letting it fall one last time on the table. It bounced a couple of times, I could feel the tension rising.

And finally…

No.

No fucking way.

There’s no way this wasn’t scripted somehow.

“Uhhh… Dave?” I dared to turn to him. He was already laughing.

A Nat 20, a fucking Nat 20, something that I always crave during our D&D sessions, but this fucking dice decided that a FART session was more important apparently.

“That’s gonna be a critical hit, Tim.” Dave stated, standing up again.

“No way you got that much gas already.” I bravely said.

My friend laughed again, that usual smirk drawn on his face.

“I’m just gonna blast you on command for a bit.”

The fact that he said that sentence so naturally made me leak a bit more.

“uhhh… thanks?” I said, my brain now completely devoid of any blood.

“Yeah sure, just lie down so I can put an end to this test.” I obeyed. “And also to your face, obviously.” he added, pointing down at me.

Once again, as if it was something completely mundane, Dave waited for me to lie down, so he could simply sit directly on my face, treating my head as part of the couch. Then, he just sat down on me as he said, the sagging jeans-clad asscheeks basically devouring my face. I couldn’t see anything but some details of the seams and textures of my friend’s jeans; at the same time, I felt the warmness, the stench, the sweat, all at once. I was used to my bro blasting me up close and personal, but this time it felt particularly overwhelming.

He wasn’t crushing me (I’m sure he was doing his best not to), but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t feel most of his weight all over my face. As his ass was resting on my nose, he put one leg on the table in front of the couch and leaned a bit, so he could ease some gas out… or rather in.

As promised, Dave was gonna fart-face me on command for the critical hit. He masterfully sucked some air in, showing off his skills smoothly. I knew this was gonna be a fucking fart concert. I was both horny and scared, because my bro is indeed the Fart Master, as he bragged earlier.

His ass stopped making noises, a sign that what came in was going to be blasted out soon.

“I mean… all of this to earn something you had all along. What a thirsty bitch.”

I heard Dave say, playfully mockin- wait what? All along? But I didn’t have time to say anything back because of the loud fart that pierced through my eyes and ears. It sounded a bit more “airy” than his previous ones, given that it was on command, but oddly enough it’s like there was a mix of natural gas in there as well: the stench of spoiled beer definitely helped prove it.

The fart lasted 11 seconds, way “shorter” than the previous ones, but as I said, this was gonna be a concert, so as soon as the first blast ended, Dave started sucked air in again, faster than before, as another ass-thunder quickly went down my throat, loud and proud as my friend does them.

Basically, this concert was gonna be one long ass fart with many interruptions.

This one was more of a series of 7 loud long rips ripped back-to-back, lasting about 3 seconds each. It was insane: it was like somebody was shooting at my face point blank with a fucking shotgun.

At this point I started to wonder whether Dave knew I was still there, as he kept ripping farts as if there wasn’t anyone lying under his ass.

Now he was sitting full-weight on me, almost making me fuse with the couch. He spread his legs wide again, as much as his sagging jeans allowed him to, so he could easily release an impressive, meaty, loud, almost wet rip all over that sweaty mess that used to be my face. Now that’s definitely a mix of natural and on-command, and the fact it was slightly wet only made the smell burn my nostrils even more.

This one fart didn’t want to end instead, my bro’s ass roared all over my face like one of those beasts we fought earlier during our D&D session. A display of cocky, disgusting manliness I’ll never get used to, given how skilled Dave is.

Finally, after around 20 seconds, his ass went silent again. I heard Dave whistle in relief.

“You ok down there bro?” I managed to heard him say. So he does know I’m still here!

He got up just a bit, his ass hovering (or rather, looming) over me, just enough to let me slip out of that gas chamber. I sat back to my place as he let his ass sit on the couch again, this time without having me under it. I managed to give a quick look at my friend, who had this silly smile on his face. He was visibly disgusted, but also oddly amused.

“Than-“ but he cut me off.

“You know, you totally earned your poison immunity bro.” he paused for a few seconds. “I mean… that’s what I’d say if you didn’t already have one all along.”

Oh, right. “What the fuck does that mean…?” I asked, sounding a bit more rude than I wanted to.

Dave laughed. “I actually found our conversation from months ago.” he showed his phone to me. “This is the part where we agreed on your immunity, but I forgot.” He chuckled.

I skimmed through the messages and, indeed, I was right.

“You sick bastard.” I sneered at him.

He found it hilarious. I found it… well, I too thought that it was hilariously hot as fuck, but I had to fulfil my role of being a pain in the ass.

“So you just wanted to torture me.”

“Not at first.” he admitted. “Then again, it’s not like I need an excuse to blast you, right?” he then said, winking at me. “Plus, I’m a Bard, I can make music with everything.” he then added, patting his ass.

I just didn’t know what to say, so I did what every mighty Paladin would have done: I simply stood up, not caring about my very visible, damp, huge boner, and went beating my meat in the bathroom upstairs.

Honestly, if Dave took his role of DM as seriously as his role of being my FM, our D&D sessions would go much more smoothly.

The End

#eproctophilia #davefarts #fart kink #malefarts #fart story

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deadpresidents · 8 months

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2 and a half weeks until JC passes Cactus Jack!

It took me a little bit to figure out what you were referencing, but yes, Jimmy Carter will pass John Nance Garner as the longest-living President or Vice President in American history on September 18th. And if he is still with us on October 1st, Carter will be the first President or Vice President in American history to celebrate their 99th birthday.

And since I'm a huge dork who finds this stuff interesting, here's the big, complete list of longest-living to shortest-living Presidents and Vice Presidents in American history: (Presidents are in bold text, Vice Presidents are in italics, and those who served as both POTUS and VP are in bold italics.) John Nance Garner: 98 years, 351 days Jimmy Carter: 98 years, 337 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) Levi P. Morton: 96 years, 0 days George H.W. Bush: 94 years, 171 days Gerald R. Ford: 93 years, 165 days Ronald Reagan: 93 years, 120 days Walter Mondale: 93 years, 81 days John Adams: 90 years, 247 days Herbert Hoover: 90 years, 71 days Harry S. Truman: 88 years, 232 days Charles G. Dawes: 85 years, 239 days James Madison: 85 years, 104 days Thomas Jefferson: 83 years, 82 days Dick Cheney: 82 years, 216 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) Hannibal Hamlin: 81 years, 311 days Richard Nixon: 81 years, 104 days Joe Biden: 80 years, 287 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) John Quincy Adams: 80 years, 227 days Aaron Burr: 80 years, 220 days Martin Van Buren: 79 years, 231 days Adlai E. Stevenson: 78 years, 234 days Dwight D. Eisenhower: 78 years, 165 days Alben W. Barkley: 78 years, 157 days Andrew Jackson: 78 years, 85 days Spiro Agnew: 77 years, 261 days Donald Trump: 77 years, 81 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) George W. Bush: 77 years, 59 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) Henry A. Wallace: 77 years, 42 days James Buchanan: 77 years, 39 days Bill Clinton: 77 years, 15 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) Dan Quayle: 76 years, 211 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) Charles Curtis: 76 years, 14 days Al Gore: 75 years, 156 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) Millard Fillmore: 74 years, 60 days James Monroe: 73 years, 67 days George Clinton: 72 years, 268 days George M. Dallas: 72 years, 174 days William Howard Taft: 72 years, 174 days John Tyler: 71 years, 295 days Grover Cleveland: 71 years, 98 days Thomas R. Marshall: 71 years, 79 days Nelson Rockefeller: 70 years, 202 days Elbridge Gerry: 70 years, 129 days Rutherford B. Hayes: 70 years, 105 days Richard M. Johnson: 70 years, 33 days William Henry Harrison: 68 years, 54 days John C. Calhoun: 68 years, 13 days William A. Wheeler: 67 years, 339 days George Washington: 67 years, 295 days Benjamin Harrison: 67 years, 205 days Woodrow Wilson: 67 years, 36 days William R. King: 67 years, 11 days Hubert H. Humphrey: 66 years, 231 days Andrew Johnson: 66 years, 214 days Thomas A. Hendricks: 66 years, 79 days Charles W. Fairbanks: 66 years, 24 days Zachary Taylor: 65 years, 227 days Franklin Pierce: 64 years, 319 days Lyndon B. Johnson: 64 years, 148 days Mike Pence: 64 years, 88 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) Henry Wilson: 63 years, 279 days Ulysses S. Grant: 63 years, 87 days Franklin D. Roosevelt: 63 years, 72 days Barack Obama: 62 years, 30 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) Schuyler Colfax: 61 years, 296 days Calvin Coolidge: 60 years, 185 days Theodore Roosevelt: 60 years, 71 days Kamala Harris: 58 years, 318 days (As of Sept. 3, 2023) William McKinley: 58 years, 228 days Warren G. Harding: 57 years, 273 days Chester A. Arthur: 57 years, 44 days James S. Sherman: 57 years, 6 days Abraham Lincoln: 56 years, 62 days Garret A. Hobart: 55 years, 171 days John C. Breckinridge: 54 years, 116 days James K. Polk: 53 years, 225 days Daniel D. Tompkins: 50 years, 355 days James Garfield: 49 years, 304 days John F. Kennedy: 46 years, 177 days

#History #Presidents #Vice Presidents #Longest-living Presidents and Vice Presidents #Presidential Data #Presidential Statistics #Presidential Facts #POTUS #VP #Jimmy Carter #President Carter #John Nance Garner #Vice President Garner

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giggly-squiggily · 9 months

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Hi! How are you doing? THANK YOU for opening your requests, your writing is so fricking good! I have two fic requests in mind (you can choose one if you're doing one request per person :3).

platonic Lee! Sigma Ler! Dazai (BSD.). Plot: Sigma is 'air ticklish' and cannot deal with any form of anticipation without becoming a giggly mess and Dazai is a teasing jerk who takes advantage of this. That's it, that's the request XD.

platonic OR romantic Lee! Dazai Ler! Kunikida (BSD.) Plot: Dazai is ticklish but Kunikida is not. So, Kunikida finally has something to hold over Dazai's head and thus can get him back for annoying him. Little did he know, Dazai's ticklish laugh is different (read: CUTER) than his regular laugh and Kunikida accidently makes a comment about it out loud. That comment is now something Dazai can hold over Kunikida's head!

I'm not too sure how far you are in BSD, so feel free to ignore my requests if you don't feel comfortable writing it. Have a nice day and stay safe!

EKJEKJRJKE WAA! Thank you so much, anon! I appreciate the kind words! So- unfortunately I don't know Sigma yet, so I can't do that one; but I can do the Dazai and Kunikida fic! :D It's such a cute plot and I freaking love it akjejrkaejkrjaejrk I hope you like it!

Cloud 9 (Taglist peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @cupcake-spice13 @t-wordiiish @rachi-roo

“Oi.” A finger tasered his side, making Dazai shoot up in his seat with a yelp. “Stay focused.”

“I am! I am focused- I just…” Dazai huffed some upon meeting Kunikida’s eyes, turning back to his desk with a small pout. “I’m so boooored~ It’s all paperwork! And you won’t let me have my headphones-”

“Cause you spend the entire day dancing around the office and singing.”

“Hey- I raise the office morale with my incredible performances.”

“If by morale you mean headache risk, then sure.”

“GAH! My heart!” Dazai clutched his chest dramatically before falling against his desk, face down and slightly twitching.

“Paperwork. Now.” Kunikida went behind him, giving his ribs a quick tickle before heading out, leaving Dazai shooting up with a startled laugh.

“Mm…I’ll get you back, Doppo. That’s a promise.”

~~~

Dazai wasn’t kidding around either. He was determined to get Kunikida back.

Since the discovery of his…weakness, Kunikida had been adamant on using it against Dazai everyday. Not doing his paperwork? A poke to the ribs. Explaining his elaborate plan for his newest suicide attempt? Cut off with fingers against his neck. Singing and having a grand ol’ time? A squeeze to the thigh that nearly took him to the pearly gates.

Granted, he really shouldn’t have been dancing on the desk…

The point is- Kunikida was being a tyrant, and Dazai was gonna find a way to break him down!

“Hehehehe, this should work just fine…” The bandaged man grinned as he laid out his trap- like a carrot to the rabbit, he’d lure Kunikida in and attack! “Try to resist this, Kuni. Hehehe~”

~~~ “Where is that moron? First he bails on paperwork, then he has the audacity to dance on my desk-” Kunikida’s mutterings came to a halt when his eyes landed on a particular book lying across the coffee table. “Is that…no way!”

But it was! Upon the table was a brand new notebook! Pristine and shiny- untouched by other’s ideals and just waiting for Kunikida to sink his pen into! It was even by his favorite notebook creator- this had to be for him, yes? Oh how he wanted to touch it…

Just as quickly as it came, his excitement was snuffed out- replaced by suspicion. Was it really for him? Sure- he may be the only one to use notebooks for his ability, but that didn’t mean no one else had purpose for them. He shouldn’t be so bold.

….Surely just admiring it wouldn’t hurt, right?

Giving in to his weakness, he came over to the table, studying the craft with careful eyes. Oh, it was so beautiful! Wrapped in plastic to keep from dirtying and oh so lovely! With that- surely he could touch it? He reached out and…

“HA!” Dazai all but yelled from behind, latching onto Kunikida’s waist and digging in. “Gotcha! Gotcha gotcha gotcha! You can’t escape…me.” The brunette blinked. Why wasn’t Kunikida laughing? He pressed into ribs, wiggled his hands against his belly and sides, even pinched his hip! How…

Looking up slowly, he met Kunikida’s raised eyebrow with a sheepish grin. “H-Hello there. How are you today, Kuni?”

“Fine. Yourself?” Kunikida turned in his arms, gently taking Dazai by the shoulders as he forced him back into the couch. Dazai stiffened some, eyes wide as he leaned away. “You look nervous.”

“Oh no- no, not at ahahhall-” Dazai scrunched some with a giggle as the thumb closest to his collarbone massaged circles into his skin, already ticklish. “Dohohoho you like yoohohohur presehehehnt?”

“Oh, so it is for me? I’d say I appreciate the gift if it weren’t so obviously a trap.” The thumb on his otherside began to swirl, making Dazai scrunch up further, his giggle fits increasing. “Did you really think that would work? I believe I’ve told you before I’m not ticklish.”

“Thahahhahat’s buhuhuhuhuhuhuhull! I sthihihihihihll behehehhet you ahahahhahre- ahhhehehahah wahhahhait whahahahhait!” Dazai leaned back further when fingers began tracing his neck, his shoulders all the way up to his ears as he kicked. “Dohohohohon’t not my neehhehehheck!”

“Is it too ticklish for you, Dazai?” Kunikida smirked as he dropped his hands, giving the other a chance to breathe. “Very well then. I’ll skip your neck.”

“Whahahit reahahahally? Cause I don’t mih-Hhehehehehhehehehehehhehehehend!” Dazai shot up with a proper squeal when his ribs were assaulted from the front, ten fingers finding all the soft spots of his torso as they scratched and scribbled against them. “Aheahhahahhahaha, Kuhuuhuhuhnikihhihihihiihda! Gheahahahhaha, it tiihiihihihihckles!”

“That’s kind of the point.” The poet almost laughed himself, shaking his head as Dazai squirmed and giggled beneath him. Wait- what did he say earlier?

With a curious hand, he swept it up and tickled Dazai’s neck some more.

“AHEHAHAHAHAHHA!” A snort squeal shot out of his lips as Dazai attempted to curl up, falling sideways on the couch as he swatted at Kunikida’s hands. The laugh he let out was startling cute- soft and deep; rich with genuine glee as the brunette turtled up. “KUUHUUHHUNIKIHIIHIIHIDA!”

Oh right- he was still tickling. “Yes?”

“PLEHAHAHAHHHASE!”

“And thank you?”

“YOU KNHOOHOHOW WHAHHAHAHT I MEHAHHAHHAN!”

“Do I really?” He snuck a hand beneath his armpit, making the brunette wheeze into near silent laughter. “Come on- speak up. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

“eheheheheHAHAHAHHAHA!” The sound came back when Kunikida removed his hand, returning it to Dazai’s waist and kneading gently. “STahhahahaap tiihiihihickling mehehehhehe!”

“Heh. Very well. I suppose you’ve learned your lesson.” Kunikida gave him one last scritch against his neck before pulling his hands back, watching Dazai slump. He looked so defeated- it was rather…

“Adorable.” Kunikida found himself saying outloud.

“Huh?” Dazai blinked, face red as he stared up at Kunikida. The poet felt his own flush a rivaling color, stiffening up at what just came out of his mouth. “Wait- Kuni-”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You just called me-”

“No! That was the wind.”

“You think I’m adorable! Is that why you always tickle me?” Dazai didn’t look alarmed anymore. If anything, he was grinning from ear to ear, eyes sparkling. “I knew you loved my antics! I knew it! No wonder you’ve been playing with me more recently!”

“H-Hush your mouth! I most certainly do not!” Kunikida twisted away, willing his face to cool. He was this close to getting away too! “Your antics are ridiculous and your behavior is that of a child! I find you annoying!”

“Say it to my face then, Kuni~”

The poet turned to do just that, but found the words stuck in his throat at the cheshire grin Dazai was wearing. “Oh, you son of a- GAH!” He turned to leave, marching out of the sitting area of the office.

A few seconds later, he came back, collecting the notebook.

“I’m keeping this. It’s my payment for the stress you give me.” He grunted before leaving again, Dazai’s childlike laughter following him out.

Dang…even his laugh is adorable.

Bastard.

Thanks for reading!

#bsd #tickle #tickle fic #fluff #dazai osamu #kunikida doppo #can be read either platonic or romantic #whatever floats your boat :3 #I love them your honor akrjeajkreakjrjkae #they are just GRAND!

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loreleywrites · 2 months

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Loreley's TTRPG Characters: Kalliope Vex

I had y'all vote in a poll to see which of my TTRPG characters y'all would like to hear about first, and it was a clear win for the most problematic one. Good job, Tumblr! (Genuinely, good job; I love playing Kalliope.)

Kalliope Vex is my character in Armour Astir: Advent by Briar Sovereign, a PBTA game featuring magitech mechs called astirs, big-scope faction turns that change the course of your revolution, and narrative-first rules that embrace all the Cool Robots and War Is Bads a fantasy-bent Gundam-vibed game can offer. You can find it here.

ANYWAY.

Let's start with my favorite picrew I've made of Kalliope:

Kalliope (xe/xer) is 37yo, 6' tall, and weighs just under 200lbs. Xe's got lean muscle, a goth bob, dykey combat boots, and xer left eye has a glowing green iris and black sclera to reflect the power of xer patron. I'm playing the Witch playbook, which means in order to pilot xer astir, Kalliope struck a deal with a mysterious entity known as The Deep to access the powerful magic needed to construct and control such a large machine.

Xe's of the opinion that xe shackled this being in order to use its power, but The Deep has its own plans and helps and hinders Kalliope according to its own whims. Classic D&D warlock vibes.

Kalliope's whole deal at the beginning of our campaign is that xe wants to destroy the fascist empire, the Spellbound Republic, by any means necessary. Xe spent about a decade operating as a rogue astir pilot ambushing Republic squads whenever xe could hunt them down. Now, xe's part of the crew of The Adamant, a carrier operating with Fate's Inflection, the largest anti-fascist resistance force.

Xer astir is named Clatterhulk, and it's largely constructed from leviathan bones and obsidian. The cockpit is accessed by ribs opening up and granting entry. It boasts massive obsidian claws, a mounted cannon of focused bioluminescent light on top of its skull, and carries a sniper rifle that shoots bullets imbued with the crushing pressure of deep ocean trenches. Most notably, the upper arms, upper legs, sternum, and spine of Clatterhulk are etched with a series of arcane glyphs.

Kalliope has the exact same glyphs carved into xer upper arms, upper legs, sternum, and spine. These are glyphs associated with The Deep, and they link Kalliope's magical power to the astir and allow xer to do simple things like control the astir and complicated things like sense the heartbeats of every person in Clatterhulk's range while xe's piloting it.

Born in the slums of Glass Harbor, a coastal city built inside the rim of a massive caldera that embraces Crater Bay, Kalliope endured a childhood under rule of Amaurosia, the Goddess of Fear. Ever defiant, xe didn't understand why even adults let fear rule their lives. Young Kalliope reveled in scaring other children, and as a teenager began to truly understand the power one could gain through fear. Xe watched the Spellbound Republic leverage Amaurosia's power to control the populace, so xe joined an insurgent group called the Shatter Fists. When Kalliope was about 18, the Republic managed to capture and publically execute most of the Shatter Fists, leaving xer functionally alone in the world. This is when xer quest for power brought xer in contact with The Deep, xe constructed Clatterhulk, and xe began a bloodthirsty campaign of vengeance and violence against the Republic.

To Kalliope, all that matters is power. Xe's surly, rude, and arrogant (all to a fault), shielding xerself from having to genuinely connect to another person ever again. Xe doesn't do romance; sadistic hookups are all xe thinks xe needs (Kalliope carries a ritual knife carved from whale bone on a thigh strap, and xe does not practice safe kink with it.) Kalliope doesn't just want to kill fascists, xe wants to hunt and humiliate them. Xe wants to sow fear in their ranks the same way they used fear to rule a city.

Besides breaking pathetic women, Kalliope does enjoy live music and frequents dive bars for the music as much as the women and alcohol (Xe is a heavy drinker.) Despite Kalliope's rough edges, xe is a brilliant engineer and a talented scrimshaw artist (Xer ritual knife depicts a whale locked in combat with a kraken.) Xe also loves lollipops. I don't know why. I think I just loved the idea of xer flirting with someone by taking a lollipop out of xer mouth and shoving it into the other person's. Or crunching it in one bite. Mean ladies can like candy too.

ANYWAY.

Since we've been playing (a few months now), nobody in the crew really likes Kalliope any more than they did at the beginning except Captain Archer Mulligan, the captain of the carrier. He understands that Kalliope has turned xerself into a weapon, and so long as he can aim xer, xe'll be an asset to the war effort.

Xe literally broke xer against the wall trying to punch a squadmate who was laying into xer after xe had to retreat from a sortie xe recklessly launched xerself into.

Kalliope is starting to understand that working with other people, trusting them, can be an asset for xer goals too. The more people xe can leverage in combat, the bigger fights xe can win.

Xe's also started thinking about what happens when there's no more blood to shed. It's not a thought that ever crept into xer mind before (I think xe has internalized that xe's going to die fighting in this war, despite how much xe blusters about killing every last fascist in the world.)

The big development happened only last session, as I have declared a rival for xer! There's this sniper working for the council of fascist demigods whose gun can literally take down astirs, Ririka. Ririka has escaped from multiple sorties, so during the last downtime, Kalliope hunted her down to a dive bar and confronted her with the intent to intimidate her before xe inevitably kills xer. This is the most genuine way Kalliope has ever flirted with anyone, but I don't think xe knows it yet. I'm looking forward to seeing how badly Kalliope and Ririka fuck up each other's lives. Maybe they kiss! Maybe they don't. Gotta play to find out what happens.

Well, I think that about covers what I was planning on sharing. I hope y'all enjoyed hearing about this mess of a character I'm currently playing. Happy to answer questions about xer if folks are curious.

#loreleys OCs #kalliope vex #armour astir #ttrpg #wlw #lesbian #sapphic

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