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captain-mj · 8 months

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May tumblr endure the pain of all the angst fics on it's sight for eating your askbox.

Well then, I'm really glad you liked the Selkie!Ghost prompt I sent in :D, I loved what you did with it ^^ -X/3NH

(If you want the old prompt just tell me)

Okay new prompt: Ghost is a monster that lives under the bed and in the closets of children. Soap has been the singular person he's haunted, not by choice, just because Soap won't have a single nightmare related to him. In fact, Soap sees him as a friend.

Ghost's kind feeds off nightmares related to them, so he's latched to Soap until he can get a singular nightmare out of him. But Soap is now in 141 and he still hasn't had that nightmare relating to him.

So Ghost now protects Soap because he's grown attached.

(Do what you want w this concept, but I was thinkin Ghost takes a shot for Johnny, but gets that nightmare he wants so bad, it's about him dying in Soap's arms. Ghost's now free, free to choose another contract, but he doesn't want to get anymore nightmares, he wants to be with Soap. (also his family isn't too nice cause "he's the reason SOap doesn't experience nightmares, he's doing it wrong" (No soap is just a massive fan of monsters and doesn't feel scared around them)))

Wow thats a lot, well enjoy ^^

Hello friend! I want to say, I absolutely adore your asks and I'm sorry for always taking so long to answer them! They usually need to be a tad longer than my normal stuff and I want to do them justice! Also, did some very mild experimentation with some formatting/punctuation. Nothing super noticeable but if you notice something looks weird, its on purpose!

Also, Ghost is also a child for the first portion of this. He matures a bit faster but their age gap is only really a year (felt weird writing about an adult monster under some kid's bed)

Ghost had never, ever heard of a kid like Soap. The kid was... well. If changelings were real, Ghost would put money on him being one.

Soap regularly grabbed spiders and played with him. Not the cruel playing of little tyrants that ripped their legs off, but a genuine, loving little thing. He'd pet them and let them crawl over his hands and set them outside when they started to get agitated.

Snakes fascinated him. The first time he managed to see one at school, he came home, sat on the floor and told Ghost all about it. How the scales moved and reminded him of Ghost's arms. Then he asked Ghost if he was a snake which made him lash out and try to yank the kid under the bed.

However, since Soap feared him no more than he feared snakes or spiders or soft kittens, he just went straight through him. It looked more like he tried to pat him than anything else.

Ghost couldn't believe it. Other monsters his age were back home! Bragging! And here he was, taking way too much time.

"I'm going to kill you!"

Soap sighed. "You're always so grumpy. Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?"

"...I guess." Ghost pouted.

Soap smiled at him, radiant. Ghost wondered if he was made out of the sun.

The tea was delicious. He even got biscuits on the side.

"Why do you want me to be scared of you anyway?"

Ghost refused to talk to him about it, worried it would ruin his chances of ever going home. Soap smiled at him.

"Is it like a grade? If you scare me, you get a better grade?"

"Something like that." Ghost agreed. "I need to scare you."

"I will do my best to be scared by you!" Soap smiled at him and finished eating.

On Soap's thirteenth birthday party, far far after when Ghost should be long gone, he asked for some odd things. Horror posters and books about mythology. Ghost knew he was trying to get more information on him, probably to banish him.

Soap never did anything though. He continued to be his friend with so much ease. He also never told anyone else. At some point, Soap realized this was abnormal and instead of panicking like Ghost had hoped or maybe telling someone, he just moved on.

"We're friends. I couldn't endanger you like that." Soap had answered honestly when Ghost asked.

"We are NOT friends."

Soap smiled easily. "I'll get you to admit it one day. I promise." He gently nudged Ghost's shoulder. Ghost hadn't been touched in a while and the fact that Soap could touch him but he couldn't quite touch Soap was... weird. A little scary.

Soap smiled at him gently.

Ghost hated the day that... man put the idea of the military in Soap's head. He inspired Soap apparently. Sent him on this spiral to try to get into the military.

"Fucking hell, Johnny. The military?" Ghost sat on his bed and stretched out. His shadows had shifted from... well shadows into dark clothing. Recently, he had gotten used to adjusting them to look like a leather jacket, leather pants and dark gloves. If this so happened to be exactly like Soap's most recent movie crush, then it was purely coincidental. And if maybe, just maybe, Ghost enjoyed the lingering gazes from Soap, that was also coincidental.

He cropped up in Soap's dreams sometimes, but it was never frightening. The only reason he even knew was because Soap sometimes muttered his name in his sleep.

"It would be great! Going out there, helping people, good innocent people. Going on missions and adventures."

"Your brains being splattered against the ground. Dying. Fucking up and hurting people that don't deserve it." Ghost grinned, ignoring Soap's scrunched up face.

"Stop being such a bawbag. This isn't going to scare me so you're just doing it to be a dick." Soap hit Ghost with a pillow.

Ghost laughed and laid flat on his bed. He went quite when Mrs. MacTavish passed by, asking if either of them needed snacks. "She can't hear me, can she?"

"Course she can. Why couldn't she?" Soap tilted his head.

Ghost frowned. At this rate, he might as well just become human. He already fucking was. "How long?"

"About two years now. She thinks you're super shy." Soap explained, not understanding how terrible this was for Ghost.

Ghost dissolved, slinking under the bed.

"Wait, Ghost!" Soap looked under the bed. "Come on. Are you sad about your family again?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE."

Soap flinched and sighed. "I'll make you tea, okay?" He left Ghost alone for a bit while he did.

Ghost did miss his family. He couldn't go back until he fucking got a stupid nightmare and he was hungry because Soap's dreams were so fucking devoid of any fear. Stupid asshole.

The tea made things a little better.

When Soap finally got everything together to join the military, he was 15. Too young to actually join, but that wasn't going to stop the asshole. He planned to join and Ghost had to go with him.

The problem? While Ghost was roughly 16, he didn't have any papers saying he existed and he couldn't just wait for Soap to come home on his leaves. So he just made some stuff. Fake documents and different things. he was also very, very fleshy. Soap and him had touched hands and his skin felt the same way.

It disgusted him. He really, really hoped that while they were in the military, Soap would learn fear.

But that didn't happen.

Because Ghost was accepted and Soap wasn't.

"You're clearly too young. Try again next year."

Ghost felt his heart drop.

Shit.

This did not occur to him as a possibility.

Soap immediately started in on the man while Ghost sat there, stunned. He tried to smoke away. Dissolve and reappear miles away and back home.

His body refused. Panic flooded him.

No.

Fuck.

Ghost spent... three years? Time was weird. But he bumbled around the military. For the first time... ever, he ate what he was supposed to. Nightmares. None of them were good enough. They weren't Soap. It was better than the nothing he had been experiencing the past 19 years. That's when they reunited again.

Soap flinched when he saw him before hearing him speak and immediately brightening. "Hello... Simon."

"Hello, Johnny."

So Ghost watched out for him. He had to keep him alive and safe. Both because of his job and also because Soap needed to dream of him to set him free.

Soap still dreamed about him. Ghost could hear him speaking his name in the dark of night. Saying it with a tone that Ghost heard other people use in these scenarios. It was different than the playful manner of when they were younger. For some reason, it made Ghost's chest flutter.

Somehow, Ghost became a Lieutenant and Soap became one of his Sergeants. They worked together well and no one ever suspected it was because they were old friends.

Ghost had long since felt human. Any connection he had to being a monster gone. Even if he fed off the fear of his comrades, they weren't exactly Soap. He still had to eat human food and had human problems like cold hands.

Still felt pain.

The bullet went straight through his chest and the blood from his wound splattered all over Soap's face.

Soap's blue eyes widened. He was finally afraid.

It tasted rather bitter.

Ghost collapsed into him and Soap cradled his body. His blood covered them both.

"MEDIC!"

Soap screamed his little head off. So loud and insistent.

Ghost wanted to dissolve. Wanted to sink back into the darkness and hide under Soap's bed again.

"never wanted to join the military."

"Why did you then?"

"wanted to stay close to you." Ghost admitted, panting. His mask felt tight around his face. "it wasn't just a job for me. hadn't been for a while."

"The military?"

"No. Johnny." Ghost leaned up and kissed him through the fabric.

He finally dissolved.

His consciousness floated somewhere. It felt like home. He could still smell the soap Mrs. MacTavish used on the sheets.

Soap dreamed of him. Ghost was rather violently dragged into it, spectating whatever Soap finally put together.

The fear and adrenaline was intoxicating. Finally rid him of the awful feeling of being hungry that had plagued him for so long.

Soap held his body. It looked much worse than it was. The entire world seemed tinged with Ghost's blood.

"Please. Please. Stay with me." Soap begged, rocking his body.

Ah.

Johnny wasn't afraid of Ghost. He was afraid for Ghost.

How endearing.

The bond between them, the hold, snapped. Ghost felt himself start to spiral away from Soap, his body wanting to spin back into smoke.

But he dug his heels in.

"No." Ghost mumbled. "Got this fucking far. Can't ditch now." He had spent the majority of his life with Soap and he was realizing now that he wanted to spent the rest of it with him too.

It continued to drag him and he struggled and thrashed until his eyes flickered open to see Soap staring at him.

"You're awake."

"Fucking hell, don't stare at me like that. And I'm supposed to be the monster here." Ghost sat up, fully healed.

Soap went to stop him before pausing. "Always forget you're not human. You okay?"

Ghost nodded.

"Do you remember what happened?"

He nodded again.

"All of it?" Soap batted those damn eyelashes at him.

"If you're asking for another kiss, you can just lean down."

This kiss didn't have fabric between them.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #cod #ghoap

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aetheltrythh · 4 months

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You Drive Me Mad, Hob Gadling

7.2k words, Dreamling, Mature (but only slightly :P), Established relationship, Dream's POV, Competence kink, Banter, Teasing, Fluff, Winter hike, Snowshoeing, Light Angst, No car sex - surprisingly, Marriage proposal

My piece for @designtheendless' contest. It is the inevitable fic for that topic. Someone had to :-). You are welcome to the cheesy title too :D. Read it on AO3.

Summary:

On their winter getaway, Dream and Hob have their transportation differences, starting with opinions on snowshoes, and continuing with cars. What could possibly go right? Little does Dream know that he can enjoy confined spaces of glass and steel, that he'll gain a new goth accessory, and that he's doomed by the narrative to be proposed to in the least spectacular way possible (sweet nonetheless).

Excerpt:

"Hob. Stop the car. Please."

Hob shoots him a concerned look. "Right now?"

"At your earliest convenience."

"Okay, hold on a sec. I'll pull over as soon as I can. You can't get motion sickness, can you?"

"No. You need not worry."

Within a minute, Hob stops where the road is wide enough at what appears to be a lookout point. Maybe Dream will admire the scenery a bit later.

As he pulls the handbrake, Hob asks, "So what's going—"

Dream launches himself from his seat across the centre console (or maybe he moved through the Dreaming) and lands in Hob's lap, silencing him with a kiss. His lover tastes after tea and biscuits, soothingly familiar, and when he has to resurface for air, Dream purrs, "Nothing is going on. Only that you, Hob Gadling, are driving me mad."

Fumbling with the key behind Dream's back, Hob manages to turn off the engine. "You're a menace, dove. This the true reason you were avoiding cars? Mortally attracted to whoever's driving?"

"No."

Dream locks his lips against Hob's again, fingers going through his hair, and wriggles in his lap until he can feel Hob's growing interest and hear his heartbeat quickening.

"Whoa, if you keep this on, it might lead to some public indecency. Unless you get back in your seat and I'll just hide my head in between your pretty legs—" Dream just grinds against him with a wicked smile. "—Nnnghh—"

"That will not be necessary, lover. I am satisfied now—"

With one hand on his back and the other on Dream’s thigh, Hob rocks his hips upwards and groans, "Well that was fast."

"—that you will have to suffer for the rest of the way just as I do."

#the sandman #sandman fanfic #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #competence kink #established relationship #winter hike #marriage proposal #fluff #teasing #banter

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rileyslibrary · 7 months

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Okay, I have to get this off my chest, or else I’ll combust. Thank you all for the love on the recent Price’s Surprise Cake fic, but truth be told, it was posted by accident, and it was too late when I found out. 🫣

And if you happen to ask how something can be posted by accident, I’m here to tell you that either Tumblr decided to act out, or I absentmindedly placed it in queue rather than in drafts. Since I don’t like blaming my shortcomings on others, I believe it’s the latter. I’ve started using the queue on my main for reblogging art, and I think my brain acted similarly in this case.

Although the story was finished, it needed some minor editing (that I’ve already done), adding a title or a description, and, most importantly, fixing some inaccuracies that still bug me but can’t be altered cause they’re part of the fic now.

So, instead of crying over spilt milk, how about I present you with the inaccuracies so you and I can laugh together: 😅

I wanted to change the fruit tart to apple pie or something that doesn’t need to be refrigerated because who the fuck leaves a fruit tart out of the fridge for so long apart from the part where you get to eat it? Fruit will go bad (you know how already cut fruits taste/smell when you leave them out for too long), tart (that bottom/biscuit part, I don't know; I’m not a baker) will get soggy, not to mention how candles don’t sit upright when you place them in the cream.

Candles. Where are the candles?? Although we do know Price’s age, I wanted to include a sparkly question mark candle that the reader would hand to Ghost along with the box to hide. I thought it would add more to his irritability by seeing that 👇

The timing, omg that still bugs me. Price wants to meet in an hour, and Ghost tells the reader to return in half an hour FOR WHAT?? Why hide the cake in the first place if it’s just for an hour?? Might as well lock yourself in the broom closet with the cake if it’s for thirty minutes. Not only that, but if the reader were supposed to pick up the cake in half an hour, that means they would have to take it with them in the briefing room and therefore ruin the surprise. They’d either have to do it BEFORE the briefing or AFTER, where the reader would run down to Ghost’s office to pick it up.

See? The maths. They don’t add up.

Phew 😮‍💨 Now that I let everything out of my system, I can relax.

#i’ll delete this later #but i needed to get it out

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ladybisky88 · 23 days

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Hi!! I've a Tumblr exclusive just for you! I wrote this funny drabble (okay, let’s be honest, it’s a crack fic🤪) a while back as a gift for @burnalist. It’s silly, it’s fun, and honestly, I find it hilarious—I think you will too! 😄

Word count: 950

Summary: Hanzo stumbles upon Bisky's unique hobby while killing time during the election wait. (At its core still a hisoillu story)

Warnings: mature with mention of nsfw content. (Nothing explicit, though.)

_______________

The election hall of the Hunter Association was charged with tension. Hunters of all ranks and backgrounds sought ways to calm their nerves and break the monotony of the wait. Some were pacing, others engaged in conversation, and a few, like Biscuit Krueger, chose quiet corners to stay out of the fray.

Another Hunter, Hanzo, drifted through the crowd, sipping on his orange juice. His eyes, sharp and curious, swept over the room, on the lookout for something - anything - to break the monotony. He exchanged a few words with one Hunter, shared a nod with another, but nothing seemed to hold his interest.

His gaze finally landed on Bisky. She was engaged in a stash of papers, seemingly oblivious to the room and the people around her. Hanzo's interest piqued - he had little to no interaction with Bisky, but her reputation as a formidable fighter preceded her.

This could be interesting.

He approached her with light, unnoticeable steps.

"Hey, Bisky, what's so interesting?" Hanzo asked with a playful tone.

Bisky jolted, her hands trying to cover the papers in front of her. Her eyes had a flicker of panic when they met Hanzo's.

"It's nothing, just... just some notes," she stammered.

Before Bisky could react, he leaned in and snatched the papers from under her hands. "Let's see what's got Biscuit Krueger so wrapped up!"

"Give those back!" Bisky said, making a grab for the papers.

With a grin, Hanzo kept the papers just beyond her reach. Bisky made several attempts to retrieve them, but Hanzo easily avoided her, amused by the effort.

It was only then he took in the papers' contents. The names 'Hisoka' and 'Illumi' appeared in a context that was decidedly not for the faint of heart, making his eyes widen. As his brain processed the explicit nature of the story, he spluttered, sending a spray of juice into the air.

"This is what you double-star Hunters do for fun?" Hanzo choked out, trying to regain his composure.

Despite his initial shock, Hanzo found himself unable to stop reading, his curiosity too strong. His eyes widened further with each line, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. He turned the page only to find something even more attention grabbing.

Bisky’s illustration.

In the drawing, Illumi sat in Hisoka's lap, with Hisoka's hands wrapped possessively around him. Their partially unbuttoned clothes left just enough to the imagination: Hisoka's loose shirt revealed his muscular chest and a glimpse of his abs, while Illumi's lean yet firm torso was artfully exposed.

The drawing paid careful attention to details – Hisoka's fingers pressing into Illumi's side, the slight ruffle of their hair, the visible bulges in their trousers.

Sure as hell, Bisky could draw.

Hanzo's mouth opened, then closed, and then opened once more as he struggled to remember how words work.

"Why them?" he finally managed to utter. "I mean, they're... Hisoka and Illumi.��

Bisky sighed, a faint smile played on her lips and her eyes took on a dreamy quality.

"You know, Hanzo, they have a certain... something. They're like two sides of the same twisted coin, perfect for each other," Her voice grew more animated, almost high-pitched. "And, they're so handsome!"

Noticing Hanzo's intrigued look, she continued, "It's not just them. There's something about beautiful men, especially those with power and an edge of danger. It adds a layer of… excitement to the story.”

Hanzo glanced back and forth between the papers and Biscuit. A moment passed as he contemplated the contrast between the tough, no-nonsense fighter he expected to meet and the imaginative woman standing before him.

Bisky, crossed her arms, trying to regain her composure, "It's just a silly hobby, okay? Don't read too much into it,"

Hanzo nodded slowly. The blush on his face faded, replaced by a thoughtful expression.

Bisky broke the silence. "So, what do you think of my story... since you've already read some of it?”

"It doesn't make a lot of sense," Hanzo started, preparing to lay out his thoughts.

He was just about to point out the gap between fiction and reality - explaining that in the real world gay sex involved more practical concerns – safety and hygiene first of all. The passionate scenes she wrote, with all the sweet kisses, caresses and shouting each other's names, didn't match up with reality. And most importantly, the very idea of Hisoka and Illumi together was ridiculous.

But just as he was about to speak, he noticed a shift in Bisky. She looked discouraged, as if all her enthusiasm drained away.

Hanzo paused, the words catching in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to crush her spirit. Instead, he shifted gears, a small, playful smile tugging at his lips.

"It doesn't make sense that Hisoka is the top, though!" he said. "Given his personality, I'd bet he'd love being a bottom.”

Bisky's eyes flickered back to life, surprised and intrigued. "What? No way! Hisoka’s clearly the more dominant type, especially with Illumi being so composed and delicate.” She ended with a dreamy sigh, clasping her hands together.

"Hear me out," Hanzo insisted, "Hisoka lives for the thrill, the challenge. Plus he loves pain. He'd totally get a kick out of being a bottom. "

Bisky considered his words, "Ok, but what about Illumi? He's always so composed, so in control.”

"That's the whole point!" Hanzo responded, more engaged than he anticipated. "That makes him a natural fit. Him being a control freak screams ‘top’ to me.”

The conversation continued, evolving into a light-hearted chat filled with the occasional laughter. As they talked, the initial awkwardness melted away.

It turned out, Hanzo had found himself a pretty interesting way to make time fly after all.

#hisoillu #hunter x hunter #hxh #hisoka #illumi #hisoka morow #illumi zoldyck #hisollumi #hunter x hunter fanfic #bisky krueger #biscuit krueger #hanzo hxh #hanzo hunter x hunter

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punemy-spotted · 11 months

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A Worthy Grave - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - The Dead Become the Emperors of Memory

Pairing: Federal Agent!Ari Levinson x Witch!Reader

Masterlist; Chapter 1; Chapter 2

Pairing: Federal Agent!Ari Levinson x Witch!Reader

Warnings: THIS IS STILL A HORROR FIC; A Whole Lot of Body Horror; Blood and Gore; Harm to an Animal; Gruesome Murder; Religious Iconography; Straight up Heresy; Christ Imagery; Gruesome Descriptions of Organs; Ghosts; Ghouls; Violence Against Women; Discussion of Grief; Witchcraft; Blood; I Cannot Articulate Enough That This is a HORROR Fic; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Seriously so so dead, HEED THE WARNINGS

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: Death was not supposed to visit you in the one place you spent your day speakin’ for it, carvin’ answers out of flesh and bone.

Notes: So yes it took me 84 years to update and I'm SORRY. Please take this update as an apology. (also yes this was on Ao3 ages ago… depression’s a bitch, y’all.)

I cannot emphasize enough that this is a horror fic so things are going to get gory going forward. PLEASE read at your own discretion, I'm begging you.

As always, I crave feedback so please let me know your thoughts! Have questions about the lore? Let me know about those too! As a reminder, reblogging fics supports authors so please let me know you want more by liking AND reblogging!

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The next morning comes with lab results and Ari Levinson bringing you coffee, bright and early.

Good coffee, too, which you note with amusement the moment you take a sip, You convince Janice to upgrade the beans?

Pretty sure she’d tell me asking wasn’t even on the budget. I went to Jed’s.

You go to his restaurant or his house?

You’re teasing him — which you’ll admit is new for you, especially with Ari fuckin’ Levinson standin’ in front of you, sipping coffee and enjoying one of Jed’s famous breakfast sandwhiches — but considerin’ your couch an’ the fact that he slept on it night before last, it’s not like you’re unjustified, is it? A fact which he, to his credit, takes in stride, taking a smug sip of coffee — if such a thing were possible, it would be Levinson to pull it off — and shrugging, Showin’ up unannounced at the ass-crack of dawn’s a privilege I reserve for you, Doc.

You roll your eyes, hide your smile behind the lip of your coffee cup, Just cuz you spent the night on my couch don’t mean I’m gonna be any nicer to you, Levinson.

Shit, Doc, you start bein’ nice to me and I might swoon here and now.

You’d refuse to admit it if he or anyone else asked you to, but that makes you laugh, hidden behind a huff that could be annoyance or amusement, Hope you ain’t expectin’ me to catch you, Levinson.

I learned my lesson last time the Chief tried makin’ us do trust exercises.

Not my fault you didn’t warn me.

He shrugs, you roll your eyes, turning back to the computer as it dings with a message for you to review, You better have ordered me a sandwich too, or I’m bannin’ you from my biscuits for the foreseeable future.

That’s for you to find out in the lunchroom, Doc.

Where the hell’s your apple butter?

In a twist of fate you will not be thankin’ anyone for — least of all Ari Levinson — there is a sandwich waiting for you in the breakroom fridge, labeled and everythin’. You pop it into the toaster oven like you always do with Jed’s takeaway, pouring yourself a glass of sweet tea and taking the time you deserve for yourself an’ your lunch break, having taken great care to make sure there’s not an ounce of paperwork or results to review while you sip tea an’ enjoy a meal to the sound of blessed silence.

Most of the office would be done with their lunches by now, or eatin’ at their desks to avoid traffic in the break room. ‘Course, with your lab, the idea of eatin’ a meal with a frozen corpse in the next room waitin’ for you to finish rummagin’ around in its guts did not whet the appetite.

Least the break room don’t smell like formaldehyde all the time.

So you take your vigil here, disappearing into your thoughts and the quiet joy of pastrami on rye.

Until Ari Levinson, like a bloodhound sensin’ the exact moment you find silence in your life and choosin’ to hunt it down, comes strollin’ in, See you found the sandwich, Doc.

You might’ve been grateful you’d already finished your meal, just sippin’ tea by the time he came by, but you’re already missin’ silence and there’s a good fifteen minutes left before you need to clock back in an’ pretend you’re comfortable ‘round grieving parents, so you’d thank him to forgive you for lookin’ like he made you swallow a lemon. Whole. You bribin’ me with a sandwich to keep talkin’ to you, Levinson?

Is it working?

You open your mouth, poised to continue the time-honored tradition of tradin’ barbs with him, sarcastic quip ready to fly from your tongue, when you see her. Standin’ there in all her spectral glory, mouth open wide in a static scream of horror an’ fury, a livid necklace of purple bruises blooming around her throat, hollow eyes trained on you.

And Ari Levinson, goddamn him and his goddamn training, notices. Notices. Watches you. Makes silent note of how your mouth snaps shut, how your lips fold into a grim line and follows the trajectory of your gaze with a turn of his head, watchin’ the hallway behind him.

Hey Doc, he calls back to you, voice as level as he can probably manage it.

Yeah? You make a valiant effort at doing the same, refusin’ to take your eyes off the specter once known as Jane Doe #117.

I’m assuming you see her?

Sure do, Levinson.

There’s a pause, a moment, Ari’s hands slowly reaching for the gun at his holster and you slowly reaching a hand out to stop him, ears ringing as you try to make sense of the radio static pouring from that endless scream, your daddy’s lessons servin’ you well. Run.

A beat.

Then—Levinson, I need you to get security over to the lab.

The look he fires back at you is pure confusion, hand still poised over his gun and you know in your bones the only reason Jane Doe #117 hasn’t moved is cuz you’ve got eyes on her right now.

Bad deaths. The humanity is rotting out of her by the second, an’ no amount of cornbread offerings an’ promises to do our best are gonna keep her from lashin’ out at the humanity she’s lost, not ‘til the person who took it from her is found and named. Named for her to haunt until they too, turn to rot.

But you don’t got time to think about that right now, not when Ari’s already arguing with you ‘bout leavin’ you alone with an eyeless, bloodless, ghost. Or haint, you ain’t sure what he’ll call it—Doc, I know—

I know I didn’t stutter, Levinson. Security. Lab. Now.

It’s already too late.

Jon Doe #43 is less pleasant lookin’ than the girl whose ID he had hidden inside his flayed jaw — the girl whose radio static warning is still ringing in your ears as you take in the sight of him now, lookin’ leagues worse than he did the first time he showed up on your doorstep… two nights ago.

How quickly things move.

Ari swears low under his breath behind you, both of you frozen in place and trying to make sense of the tableau before you, the sight of a dead man strung up against the wall, arms outstretched and a crown of broken scalpels forced into the exposed bone of his scalp, head hanging low as if looking down at the figure kneeling at his bloody, skinless feet.

Is that…?

It is.

Something sick rises in your gut as you take a look at the blood-bathed figure kneelin’ before the corpse you know she’d been busy trynna put back together into somethin’ buryable, her gloved hands bound into some bastardization of penitent prayer by a line of what you’re pretty sure is John Doe #47’s own large intestine, havin’ been cleaned out after another one of your techs “recovered” it from the tupperware container it’d been found in when the whole mess’d been discovered.

You can’t see her face — part cuz she’s turned away from you, lookin’ up at that flayed Christ, an’ part cuz of the horned thing resting on her shoulders, a shape you wish you didn’t recognize as you take in the sight of cream-white fur stained with drippin’ viscera — but you suspect you know exactly what kinda expression she’s wearin’ underneath that “mask” forced over her.

Blood for blood.

You made a life of it, death. Cornbread offerin’s like your momma taught you the first time you met one of the wailin’ spirits of the woods ‘round your home, let ‘em gorge themselves on the vitality of food the same way a livin’ bein’ might fuel themselves with the actual thing. Tried to make sense of the static the way your daddy would when he stepped off the pulpit and into the graveyard behind your family home, always hissing warnings to the bein’s beyond to keep away from his family.

You made a life of it.

But just like the mountains, the ones meant to keep you safe if you kept ‘em safe, death was supposed to stay way the hell away from you, was supposed to keep its scythe off you an’ yours until they were good an’ ready to travel through that big black door. That was the promise written all over that big ol’ family Bible you spent your childhood copyin’ so you’d be ready for the world outside your homemade Eden, the one you wielded like shield an’ sword against any manner of haint unwillin’ to recognize the darkness in your own blood.

Death was not supposed to visit you in the one place you spent your day speakin’ for it, carvin’ answers out of flesh and bone, woe to you who rend the flesh.

Your lab is now an active crime scene, casting you out to make your calls to next of kin — you know them, you’ve met her husband ‘bout a half-dozen times this past month alone, bringin’ her lunch when her scatterbrain forgot it, got used to seein’ him lingerin’ sheepishly in the doorway and then hollerin’ for her to come out front an’ give her beau a kiss — and try to get used to sayin’ her name in conjunction with, There’s been… an incident.

You’re no grief counselor.

There’s no training for this, but it ain’t right. It ain’t right for someone who ain’t family to call hers, someone who don’t remember laughin’ at her gettin’ giddy over stomach contents. Someone who don’t understand what it’s like to miss the sound of her hummin’ some pop song you ain’t even heard of—

You holdin’ up alright, Doc?

Ari Levinson makes you jump for the second time in as many days, office phone clatterin’ from your hand as you spin ‘round and try not to let your heart beat out your chest, still too busy overthinkin’ to manage a glare, I’ll be fine. You get the security footage from the lab?

Yeah. Got a couple computer guys on it now, trying to figure out what happened.

Well, you sigh, rubbin’ the bridge of your nose as you lean against a metal countertop, We better hope we find out soon enough, cuz I’m ‘bout three seconds from shakin’ this whole goddamn buildin’ apart lookin’ for someone to pin this shit on.

Ari nods, mouth pressed into a thin line as the silence ‘tween you stretches out, eyes wanderin’ over to the closed-off lab, sanctuary swarmin’ with corpse beetles mournin’ the loss of one of their own as they try an’ find out whodunnit.

You know they won’t, ‘course, but it’s enough to let ‘em try.

You’d never admit it, of course — an’ maybe you’d almost forgotten it by now, those childhood truths givin’ way to the kinda truths you needed to keep your callin’ here in these mountains — but it used to terrify you. An’ why wouldn’t it, all ‘em screamin’ mouths an’ radio-static pleas beggin’ you to make sense of the injustices of the world they’d been cut right out of?

Too much, too much pain, too much horror, too much for a girl of tender years to tolerate hearin’, much less repeatin’ to those still grieving.

Problem with the dead is, well, they’re selfish. Don’t care if you’re barely old enough to understand the meaning of death, still meant to be shielded from those things that should long have left this plane of existence an’ passed through that big black door.

Ari Levinson don’t know none of that terror though, don’t know much more’n what you jammed into his head after blowin’ away another one of your ghosts, but he means well. Stands a little to close behind you like he could just peer ‘round an’ see the way your lips twitch as you swallow down blood an’ bile, holdin’ back the shadows of your daddy’s own temper.

You gonna be alright, Doc?

Ah shit.

You’d rather chew glass than tell him you prolly won’t be, tell him you just lost a girl you loved like your own blood, tell him you got cocky and now the very community you called your home was in danger cuz of it.

But there he is, standing in front of you like a fuckin’ sentinel while he waits for you to give him something back. Assurance, more likely, but as much as you’re used to tellin’ lies an’ keepin’ secrets, there are some falsehoods even yoou can’t keep.

Sure, you finally answer, trying to sound convincing and feeling the hollowness bitter itself on your tongue, I’ll live. Gimme a few hours an’ I’ll have somethin’ to say for her.

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson #chris evans #ari levinson imagine #chris evans imagine #chris evans character #a worthy grave

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ashesandhackles · 21 days

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I am in love with your answers for the Non US ask game. Like Tumblr, fandom is also majorly US centric. Have Desi Harry fics and meta stereotypes got something right about your your country? Are there fics you like that get something about your country right?

oh anon, this is a can of worms! So I like desi Harry as an idea (and lot of the art!) - in fact, there are some parts of Prisoner of Azkaban dialogue that almost reads as if Harry is POC. I am referring to this bit:

A few years later, she had turned up at Christmas with a computerized robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits for Harry.

You mustn’t blame yourself for the way the boy’s turned out, Vernon,” she said over lunch on the third day. “If there’s something rotten on the inside, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

Harry tried to concentrate on his food, but his hands shook and his face was starting to burn with anger. Remember the form, he told himself. Think about Hogsmeade. Don’t say anything. Don’t rise — Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine.

“It’s one of the basic rules of breeding,” she said. “You see it all the time with dogs. If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup — ”

of course, the untidiness of Harry's hair etc also feels charged in that context.

It was common to see colonial establishments say, "no dogs, no Indians" in colonial India. So I remember feeling this while reading POA and opening chapters of OOTP - otherwise Harry is of course written as default white protagonist.

However, I haven't found a desi Harry fic I liked? I am open to be recced those of course - it is just a matter of finding the right fic for myself. I just find lot of fics in the Never Have I Ever (I don't like that show) vein of Indian identity in a foreign land and I simply want to ask question and push back on that way of interpreting Harry's family:

For example, Christianity is a minority religion in India: but why can't Harry be from a Christian family? As opposed to having to explain away the anglicised names (which you can do great things with as a story). You can still have Harry celebrating Diwali (if that is what you want from a story and that is seemingly what everyone wants from a desi Harry story) even if he is Christian! Because we all celebrate the big festivals!

I have some issues with caste blindness, which is a vibe I do get with hcs that I am not going to expound here. @sleepstxtic has helped me parse through some of the feelings about that. (in that vein, I like her work and would rec this specifically: Will you send me to Hogwarts?)

This is just me, of course. I have very strong feelings that there is only one kind of Indian identity (there isn't, but prevalence of only kind of Indian identity in desi Harry hcs/theories/metas makes it look there is only one way to be Indian). My realy problem is that I find lot of stories don't engage with how I personally engage with my own Indian identity as a lower caste, South Indian woman. Also, I have traveled within India a LOT. I just want more ways to see interpret Harry as desi because there is a lot of ways to be desi?

I have, however, found stories on Parvati and Padma that I have liked - @broomsticks has recced many of them on @harrypocter server. (nirmal was amazing and it really captured mumbai very well)

#asks

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biscuitdragonwithastick · 7 months

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Minotaur Ranch

cw: cnc, dubious consent, monster fucking, bestiality(?)

Based on the Eggpregtober Fic 3

I keep imagining what it'd be like to work on a Minotaur Ranch.

The beasts mostly keep to themselves, grazing the fields and laying around in the shade. They can act real cute with you sometimes. Nuzzling into your palm when you scratch their head just right. Mooing impatiently to be let out after being cooped up at night. It's easy to forget they're running on primal instinct until one shoved you against a wall and rips through your pants.

That's when you remember the rules of the ranch: Don't pet the Minotaur, Don't feed the Minotaur, and Don't ever present your ass to a Minotaur.

You hadn't thought these rules were that important.

How could you have known that petting and rubbing their bodies with soothing touches would be seen as an act of submission. It never would have occurred to you that feeding them a bit of your lunch every once in a while would be seen as a sign of courtship.

And when you turned around to pick up some equipment off the floor, how could you foreseen that the bull behind you would take it as a sign you were in heat.

Muscular hands hold you off the ground. As your legs dangle below you, you feel the wet muzzle of your Minotaur lick into your neck. It's meant to be a soothing gestures as he lines his bovine cock against your opening, but all you feel is terror at the rough fucking about to take place.

You've seen the ways the Minotaur's fight each other in the fields. It's part of their DNA to show dominance to the weak. You've heard of monster "bitching" before, and you know it's supposed to be an act of ferocious claiming meant to humiliate a subservient other.

You close your eyes, waiting for the pain of being split on Minotaur cock, but instead yelp as they pull you up further off the ground and lick you. Their tongue is long, wet and thick, thicker than a human cock. You can't help but moan as it breaches your hole. That only seems to encourage it, roughly thrusting it's tongue into you as deep as it can go. You writhe in its grip. At the angle its holding you, you can look down and see its tongue pushing your skin taut.

Once it's satisfied you've been opened enough it moves you down, back over its cock and thrusts inside. It doesn't hurt. It's so gentle with you, fucking you like it knows you weren't built for the full force of a Minotaur's strength. You clench down as you cum from the treatment. It bellows loud and low at how good you feel.

It fucks you against the wall like that. Slowly rocking forward into your human frame You can't help but imagine if you had been any other Minotaur. Would it have fucked you harder? Or was Minotaur mating far softer than you gave them credit for? You'll have to answer those questions later. Right now, you just want to focus on your next orgasm.

You know its close when it starts to breathe heavier and thrust a little faster. Wet slapping sounds fill the air as its balls hit your thighs. In one final thrust, it groans and hot cum fills you. You can feel its balls draw up behind you. You didn't realize how long a Minotaur could cum until minutes passed and you were still being filled. Most of it has pooled between your legs and onto the floor, but your bulging tummy is aching from what little can fill it.

But you love it. You loved being bred by your bull. You wished you could be fucked over and over again just like this.

As it pulls out of you and holds you limp in its grasp, it hands you over to another Minotaur. The whole herd had watched you be claimed, now they think your a mare in heat. You can't blame them. As you spread your legs for the next bull, you think about how good it is to work on a Minotaur ranch.

#monster breeding #monsterfucker #terato #monster x reader #minotaur #nonspecified gender #might need to update my banner if I keep up the monster fucking #is it so bad that i want to be held down and fucked by a monster #Biscuit tumblr fic

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tired-biscuit · 6 months

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hi biscuit <3 this is a v random question but how did you tell your bf abt your blog :0 i have a similar blog abt like fandom stuff/art/fics and i wanna show mine but i have No idea how to bring it up :-( i just don’t wanna seem silly. anyways. love your blog, makes my day when i see it on my dash :3

he already knew that i wrote fic before i even made this blog, but he noticed that i was on my phone a lot more than usual when i made a tumblr acc so i just straight up told him about it and sorta tried to explain it to him and that was that, lol!!

we sometimes scroll through my blog while we’re in bed or i show him the asks that i get and he finds the entire thing really entertaining even if he doesn’t like... fully get it? he is NOT allowed to type answers for them though because i just know he’d say something completely whack nsjdjdjd

but yea, other than that he’s super supportive (as he should be)!! he goes out and buys me a piece of cake whenever i hit a milestone and i think it’s the sweetest thing ever, bless him.

dw, enjoying your hobbies and things that make you happy is not silly; if your partner loves you then they’ll have no problem with it <3

#biscuit mail

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willingcannibalvictim · 25 days

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BABY’S FIRST FIC ON TUMBLR :D

Welp here we go

[ao3 link]

Private Donut may or may not be made out of food (but there’s only one way to find out)

TW: Vore (duh), accidental fearplay, and accidental foodplay (??)

Caboose and Donut were sat in the Blue base. Due to Donut’s lack of intelligence, he had recently been captured and taken prisoner by the Blues, having Caboose to watch over him.

“Church told me I have to watch over you to make sure you don’t run away.”

“Yeah. That’s kinda how prisoners work.”

“Oh.”

Donut continued to braid Caboose’s hair, which was longer than his, making it more braid-able. Sure, it was still short, but Donut made sure to not pull too hard on the Blue Team Member’s scalp.

“You know. I guess this is what you’d call the calm before the storm?”

“I call it nap time. And before that is food time! And after that is…” Caboose paused for dramatic effect.. “Food-Naptime!!”

Caboose’s started salivating as he recalled the routine, his face lightening into a smile. It made Donut smile too, finishing off the small braid in his hair.

“Speaking of food time, I’m getting hungry. But Tucker told me I couldn’t leave. You could run away.”

“I know. I probably would haha.”

Caboose turned his head a bit to glance back at Donut, his pupils dilating larger and small bit of drool dripping from his mouth. “Private Donut…that sounds like private biscuit.” He muttered, pondering something.

Donut was confused by who he considered a friend after this interaction’s stare. It was blank and wide like a shark who caught a wiff of blood. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He said, his voice slightly shivering.

Caboose turned his body a bit more to face the private in pink armor, still sitting criss-cross apple sauce, but his knees had stopped their swinging. He repeated the statement quietly. “sounds like private biscuit…”

Donut slowly started to back away a bit more before his back hit the wall, leaving him unable to scramble away from the hungry maws that inched closer to him, soon standing over his body. A small droplet of drool fell onto his head, which he quickly wiped away with a dissatisfied “ew.” When he looked back, he felt a tight grip clamp down onto his head. The wet muscle beneath him licked him all over, relishing in the taste of his flesh.

The private furiously kicked his legs around as his body was further and further down the Blue Team’s Private’s gullet. The wet, pinkish-red flesh encased him on all sides, coating him in saliva and other fluids. His feet were still dangling outside of Caboose’s mouth, but were quickly pushed into with his teeth coming down with a satisfied click. Donut slid down deeper and deeper until the wet slip finally stopped.

The chamber felt a bit more roomy, sure, but still extremely compact. The churning stomach walls hugged him on all sides. It was like his eyes were closed based on how dark it was. He let out a dissatisfied kick of retaliation, displaying his urge to be let out. He heard a slightly muffled “OW!” from the outside. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t help but feel a bit…betrayed. A person he thought he’d been bonding with reduced him to nothing more than a snack. Just to satiate his hunger? He didn’t cry, he didn’t pout. He just…sat.

A couple of swallows later, Caboose rested his body onto the back wall, breathing heavily due to the large meal just taken in. He ran a hand over his stomach bulge, being able to actively feel Donut’s restless squirming, then a violent and agitated kick.

“OW!!” He yelped. Even after the impact, he still felt the sting flutter through his nerves afterwards. Still, his goal had been complete, his hunger satiated. But the private didn’t really taste like how his name described…weird, Caboose thought.

Finally, the squirming stopped, leaving his body still for once. The feeling of the profound weight that dragged him down was soft and comforting. Rather ironic, in a sense. The elastic polymer fibers underneath his titanium armor strained to comply with his form. His eyes became more hazy and his mind became more tired, wishing for him to fall into slumber, something Donut would despise if it found out occurred. But, Caboose didn’t mind this, knocking out with his head tipped back against the wall almost immediately.

#felix writes stuff #soft vore #safe vore #extreme cuddling #v0re #sfw vore #same size vore #red vores blue #swwh #nonsexual vore #no beta we die like church #this is such a cringe fic grrr #it’s ok i guess #trying to improve on vore writing #i love these two together #:3

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winniethepugh · 6 months

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CHAPTER 7 IS HERE

look at me go! updating and shit! like a normal functional person!! its late but it exists. I have to break my silence and speak my truth which is this: I have exactly 11 comments on this fic and everytime I pick up my laptop I have to read them ALL in order to motivate myself to write anything new. that's also why I insist on making these annoying spammy tumblr posts once a week. I'm working up the courage to post abt this fic on tiktok and beg the younger half of gen Z to read it. the ones who think tumblr is an ancient dinosaur. we'll see how that goes... they scare me a little bit

Synopsis: James has never been happier working behind the sticky, crowded bar than when he comes face to face with the most perfect stranger he's ever met. That is, until he realises that Regulus is engaged to Dorcas. Maybe if he spent a little less time arguing with himself about the morality of flirting with someone else's fiancé, and a little more time talking to Remus and Sirius, he'd piece together that Regulus isn't actually engaged at all...

Here's your chapter sneak peak

Regulus’s eyes shifted across James' features for a moment trying to figure him out. Eventually, they settled firmly on his face. “James, is this about Dorcas? That thing you said the other day about her not wanting a stranger to sample the wedding cake, because I think that's kind of crazy.” He deadpanned. The panic in James’ stomach rose to his throat like bile. He stuttered, “I-It's not crazy. She doesn't know me! And she trusts you to be faithful to her and respectful of her wishes.. about cake. And you can’t betray that trust by having cake with some stranger because you made a promise to only have cake with her.” “James... You’re overreacting. It’s just cake.” “But it’s not! If you don’t want to have cake with her anymore that’s fantastic, really, but you need to tell her that before you go and have cake with somebody else. Otherwise, we’ll all end up alone at 83 sitting on our rocking chairs eating ginger nut biscuits because there’s no cake left because someone kept trying to share the cake with whoever he fancied!” James let out a shaky breath. Regulus regarded him with an incredulous stare. Entirely perplexed and troubled. A poorer writer would regard this as a ‘what the fuck’ expression. “James, what the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t understand any of that.”

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tackytigerfic · 2 years

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Take the Moon

Drarry ~ M ~ 15k

Harry Potter has always wanted a family of his own, and when a deadly blood curse forces him into a marriage bond with his best friend Draco Malfoy, it looks like he might just have found one.

Living with Draco (biscuit-lover, no work/life balance, good hair) and his son Scorpius (also biscuit-lover, colour-codes his bricks, proud bearer of plastic swan-shaped garden ornament) gives Harry the routine and companionship he’s always craved. There’s also the matter of the really great sex (because what’s a marriage of convenience without a little fun, after all?)

It's just a shame they’d always planned to break up after a year…

This is my take on a break-up-to-make-up fic, with a little sprinkle of forced marriage, and a look at the realities of being a parent thrown into the mix. Oh, and Harry just happens to be a werewolf who likes how Draco smells. It's not the story of the marriage, but of the before and the after, and in it i wanted to talk about the ways in which people work hard to love each other as best as they can.

Huge thanks to the mods of @hd-wireless for their sterling work on the fest, and to my lovely friends who keep me going. Special thanks to @sweet-s0rr0w for the cheer-reading, summary-wrangling, and patiently listening to me moaning about whether I'd be done on time or not, to @makeitp1nk who read an early draft when i was panicking, sharpened it up brilliantly, and got me over my slump. And to @maesterchill for the beta and the support - as always you are a ledgebag and I am so lucky to have you.

Read Take the Moon on AO3

[Image ID: tumblr banner with a picture of a Sainsbury’s supermarket exterior at night, a row of shopping trolleys in front. Beside that there is a graphic with a misty moon shape and the title Take the Moon in red letters. Image credit to Liviu Florescu on Unsplash.]

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #rowing and writing #take the moon #hd wireless 2022

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drowning-inthe-feels · 10 months

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Team #9 Fic Preview for @codywanreversebang

I am so excited that I was able to write for this wonderful artwork! I can't wait for you to see the whole piece and the fic that I wrote. My artist's tumblr is here, my ao3 is here, and the other author's tumblr is @mymblesbuir and ao3 is here.

“Obi-Wan,” Cody said softly, “time to wake up, love.”

Obi-Wan, normally so awake in an instant, groaned and buried his face in the jacket he was using as a pillow. “Two more minutes,” he slurred.

“Eat and drink something, then you can go back to sleep,” Cody bargained, holding his breath as he waited for whatever might happen.

A blue eye peeked open. “I am thirsty,” Obi-Wan said. His voice was rough from sleep and lack of fluids, and he cleared his throat before grimacing. “It tastes like an animal died in my mouth.”

“Drink this. It’ll help.” Cody handed over a water bottle, keeping a tight grip on it until he was sure that Obi-Wan could hold it by himself. They needed to restock their water supply. Cody had used a lot of it trying to cool Obi-Wan’s body from the fever, and Obi-Wan had thrown up the rest.

“Thank you, darling,” Obi-Wan rasped before taking a small sip. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, Cody feared that Obi-Wan was going to pass out again, but the older man simply smiled. “This is so good.”

“I bet it is. You haven’t had much recently.” Cody surveyed their food, eyeing each item to find something that wouldn’t upset Obi-Wan’s stomach. He finally settled on some biscuits that he’d stolen right before Obi-Wan got sick. “Try this. Eat it slowly. Your body’s not used to food right now.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “I do know how to take care of myself. I’ve been sick before.”

“I know. I just -” Cody stopped, averted his gaze. “Fuck, Obi-Wan, I was worried, okay? I couldn’t get your fever to go down, and whatever you ate or drank just came right back up. I thought - It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

Obi-Wan’s own gaze softened, and he set aside the biscuits to gently frame Cody’s face with his hands. “Cody, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Thank you for taking care of me while I was unable to do so. Again.” His lips tilted in a crooked grin. “That’s twice I owe my life to you.”

“You almost didn’t make it the first time,” Cody reminded him gently, not that he needed to. They were both fully aware how close to death’s doorstep Obi-Wan had truly been that day. If Cody had found Obi-Wan even a minute later… Well, Cody wouldn’t have the love of his life beside him.

“Are you sure you weren’t a doctor in another life?” Obi-Wan asked cheekily. “I think you’d look rather good in a doctor’s uniform.”

“The scrubs uniform or a sexy uniform?” Cody shot back, unimpressed.

Obi-Wan lazily waved a hand. “Both. Neither. You look good in anything or nothing.”

“Eat your damn biscuits,” Cody muttered, flushing. “Flatterer.”

#cwrbb2023 #Codywan #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Commander Cody #vomit tw #nothing too graphic

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