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jarofstyles · 27 days

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Take Me Higher

Happy 4/20 my lovelies. I just whipped this up quickly so I hope you guys enjoy it 🫣

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WC- 2.5k

Warnings- use of marijuana, high users, switch!H, choking, cum play, etc

Picture is not mine, credits to owner

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The smoke had cleared out of the room but it was a bit cold still from the chill of the night. It wasn’t quite warm enough to be spring in her humble opinion, but she’d take what she could get. Plus, Harry had brought her some food stuff for them and she was feeling the effects kicking in as she felt a weight settle on her body. Her eyes were hooded and she was a little giggly as his scent engulfed her, vanilla and tobacco more prominent than the smell she tried to keep from her place.

“Mm… you’re warm.” A cool nose brushed her throat, making her shiver as the man crawled up her body and rested himself on top of her. Harry always got like this when they smoked, but it seemed even more prominent today.

“And you’re a needy little thing.” Fingers carded through his hair, knocking the beanie off his head as he buried his face in her neck. There was no real response except a whine, breath warm on her skin as he tried to warm himself up. The window had to be opened so they’d not get any real complaints from their flat, but luckily they were sure her neighbor wasn’t home today.

Comfortable silence made her melt further into the sofa, the playlist on low as her eyes fluttered shut and she busied herself with playing with his hair. He’d been a good smoking buddy for a while, but she knew why he really came over. It was only a matter of time.

A large hand slipped under her body, wiggling itself under her top to feel the hot expanse of her back. He couldn’t get close enough, needy little thing, and Y/N was fully enjoying being clung to. Physical touch always made the high even better, but that’s just her opinion. Or maybe it was physical touch was better when high? She didn’t know. Her brain didn’t want to analyze that right this second.

“Did you sleep last night? Tired?” Her voice was soft as she didn’t want to disturb the vibe, twirling a curl around her fingertips.

“No.” He shook his head, seeming like he was trying to get into her skin. “Jus’ want to get close to you. You’re warm and you smell fuckin’ incredible.” His voice was a little bit more hoarse, but that was to be expected. “You’re my favorite person... To smoke with.” He added on to the thought hurriedly but she wasn’t going to call him out on it. Fingers trailed down her spine, making her shudder a little.

“Hm, is that because I let you eat my pussy?” She smirked, feeling him pull his head form her neck with a glare. Sex with him was fantastic. Maybe it was because they were usually blazed when they did it and they both felt the sensitivity that went with it along with a more intense orgasm. He was the only one who could match her drive when she was like this, so he’d easily become a favorite person of her. Though she had a feeling that he’d do it just as well without the smoking bit, that would be something to unpack at a later date.

“Hey… don’t make me sound like a lecher.” He pouted, sending her heart to beat a bit harder. One thing she’d give the man was that he was adorable. “Not the only reason. I love doin’ that but… you have the best snacks n’you let me talk about anything. Your cunt is just a bonus… though I really do love it.” Harry wasn’t usually super shy, but sometimes he got a bit bashful when it came to Y/N. There was a slight hesitation as he let their noses brush, ghosting his lips over hers. “Can I?”

“So sweet for asking.” Y/N cooed, smiling n at his request. He wanted to kiss her. She could taste how bad he wanted it when the high had hit him, but now he wasn’t able to hold back much. “Go ahead, pretty boy. Since you seem to like it so much.”

Harry was a little messy with it, smearing their lips together and grazing his teeth over her bottom lip. There wasn’t much to hide his desperation as he adjusted himself on top of her, pulling one of her legs to wrap around his hip. “I do.” He breathed before licking into her mouth. Her lips were so sweet and soft, tasting like the cola she’d drank and mint chapstick. His favorite thing. Pulling apart with a soft clicking sound, he let out a groan as he looked down at her. Her bun was all messed up with some flyaways, lips wet and eyes hazy. His favorite sight. Seeing he undone when usually she was so put together, knowing he’d been the one to get to see her like this… it did things to his “I really fucking do.”

Y/N whimpered as he devoured her. His tongue hot in her mouth and his hand gripping her thigh to keep her close, she couldn’t help but grow hot when she felt him against her. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, but it still surprised her every time. How had she ever fit that inside of her? Tightening her legs around his hips, she heard the hitch in his breathing before he pulled away from her lips to groan. It gave her a chance to pull her shirt off her body, exposing her tits to him.

Harry nearly whimpered at the sight of them, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips before making his way down. “Fuck, the things you do t’me.” He whispered, moving closer to her breasts. “Can I kiss on them a bit, pretty? It’ll feel good.” He pleaded, sighing against the skin as she nodded at the request.

Sponging kisses all over the swells, he gently rocked his hips into hers to relieve a bit of the ache. His cock was thick and throbbing, desperate for some relief. The hear of her cunt could he felt through her panties, making Harry thank whatever higher power that she’d chosen the big shirt no pants combination today. “Gorgeous. You’re so pretty, all over.” He praised, puckering his lips over a nipple for a kiss. She shivered under him, her grip in his hair getting fuller as he brought it into his mouth.

Y/N sighed in pleasure as his hot mouth suckled on her. She’d loved when he did this last time, licking over her tits while he was inside of her. He was still clothed this time but somehow that was just as hot to her. Panties were ruined regardless, but she arched her back slightly as he took more of her breast into his mouth and rolled his tongue around the nipple. “Oh, shit.” The girl whimpered, rocking her hips in return. The stimulation made her head cloudy, or maybe it was the blunt, but she didn’t really care. It all felt so fucking good, it didn’t matter. “Harry… you’re so nice t’me.” She sighed, watching him pull off with a soft ‘pop’.

“I know, sweetheart. It’s what you deserve, yeah? So nice to me too…” he sighed into her chest, placing wet kisses to the skin that glistened in the light, leaving cool spots once he left. “Let me come over and smoke, let me eat your snacks, kiss your pretty mouth… let me taste you, sometimes let me feel that perfect little pussy wrapped around me… have t’be nice to my girl.”

She didn’t have a chance to answer before he repeated the process with her other nipple, making her pant. The grinding was getting harder, her breathing matching it as he rubbed over her clit in the motions. Back and forth, sweet relief as she spread herself out further and clutched his head to her breast as he worshiped them. “Fuck me, keep going like that and M’gonna cum.” She warned him, though she had no real want of him stopping.

“So cum.” He mumbled into her skin. “Won’t be the last time you do it tonight.” And oh- oh. He sounded so self assured and cocky and it did something to her, a zap of electricity to her tummy as she moaned into the air, clinging to him.

His back was firm under her hands, not stopping herself from sliding them unde this tee shirt. His skin was burning under her palms as she dragged her nails lightly down his shoulder blades. “Harder.” He instructed, rutting into her with more force. “Scratch me. S’okay.” He couldn’t help connecting their mouths again, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh as it clung to him.

She did as asked, surprising her when he let out a deeper groan than she’d heard before. His hips quickened, sure his gray sweats were ruined but uncaring about anything else. “Gonna make me cum in my joggers.” He panted against her lips, unable to keep himself from touching her. His mouth was a magnet to her body, his cock throbbing and balls feeling exceptionally full as he dry fucked her.

“Mm… here.” She momentarily reached between them and tugged them down far enough that he was out of them. “Cum on my panties.” Her voice rang into his ears. “Already ruined them. Can’t you feel how wet you made me?” And fuck, could he.

Without the sweats in the way he could feel her soaked through panties wetting his prick, the heat of her through the barely there fabric making him insane. Though the real thing that got him was her request. “You really want that?” He questioned, buttoning their lips together for a moment because he simply couldn’t help it. “You want t’be sticky with my load all over your panties and your skin? I’ve got so much for you…” he wasn’t joking either. It had been a bit since they’d hung out and his hand didn’t do him as much justice as she could. His dick desperately missed her.

“You know I don’t mind a mess, Harry.” She purred, moving a hand to wrap around his throat. “And you’ll be a good boy and lick it off my skin, won’t you? Then you’ll lick my pretty pussy until you’re ready to fuck me. Because you’re always such a good boy for me…”

Oh, fuck. Harry whimpered at the feeling of her hand around his throat, the drop of his guilty pleasure nickname, immediately feeling the shift. He was determined to please her before, but this tone of voice and her slight overtaking made him a bit pathetic. “Yes- yeah, M’gonna do it.” He promised, adjusting them slightly so he tip could brush right over her clit. “Anything you want. Want t’make you feel so good. M’good for you.” He nodded, messily kissing her again as he quickened the pace of his thrusts.

Y/N hummed in pleasure as he got them to the right position. His hard cock rutting against her like the fabric wasn’t even there, thick and hot. She loved feeling him, knowing she’d done that to him. Her stomach tightened as she felt the perfect thrust from him, gasping into his mouth. “Oh- yes, like that. Keep it light that, baby.” She pleaded, mouth falling open as he repeated it. “Mhm… there. Gonna cum.” She had been worked up for a little bit now but feeling his need to please her helped her get there.

“Please, please do it. Want you to cum, want you to feel so good… you’re so perfect, please cum for me. Give it to me, fuckin’ goddess….” He spoke to her like he needed her orgasm to breathe. Whimpery and needy and unlike how he usually sounded, but with his perfect angle and the friction against her clit combined with that, she was pushed over the edge.

“Yes- yes, fuck me.” Head falling further back into the cushions, she dug her nails into his back with one hand while the other tightened on his throat. Sparks igniting her nerves and her legs held on to him like a lifeline as she came. Harry never knew a prettier sight in his life than how she looked when he made her orgasm.

“Give me it too, H. Make me a sticky mess so you can clean me.” She gasped out. “You’ve been so good, I know you can give me what I want. Please?” Her voice shook slightly. “Give me what I want.” Giving just the slightest bit more pressure to the fingers on the sides of his throat, she knew exactly how much to press to make him lightheaded. Choking was a weakness of his, something that made him cum embarrassingly fast a lot of the time, but this time he was grateful as he let out a sob. His prick was slick with her and aching to release but he tried to hold back for her sake. With the mix of the high being at its height, the sensitivity overwhelming him and how she knew exactly how to touch him- The moment she called him a good boy and gave him the head rush he needed, he was a fucking goner.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, M’gonna cum-“ he babbled her name as he found his release. Jerking against her, hot ribbons of the pearly cum shot against the covered cunt and over her tummy. His balls pulsed as he unloaded on her, smearing it over himself and her as his hips sloppily worked him through the orgasm. Face slack in rapture, he let out a hoarse groan as the last of it spilled from his tip, hips jerking a few times before he felt her hand fall and his mouth descended on hers again.

“You’re gonna be the end of me, hm?” He slurred, biting her lip with a hum before he lowered his body onto hers. His prick was sensitive but he made no move to pull back, pecking her over and over again as she caressed his cheek with her choking hand. Y/N was by far the best at it regardless, intuition leading her to know exactly what he liked. “Feel like m’fucking floating. Dunno if it’s the high or your cunt.” He snickered, feeling her return the laugh.

“Probably a mix of both.” She smiled, giving him a few kisses of her own. “But we’ve got plenty to keep it going for a while. Are you up for it, pretty boy?” The girl had no plans but to be blazed and fucked for the rest of the night, and she hoped he was on the same page.

“M’up for anything, you fuckin’ goddess.” He mumbled as he sat up on his knees to look at the mess they’d made. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen, her cunt and little thatch of hair visible through the now transparent fabric and splattered with cum on the ruined panties and her tummy. It made his mouth water just looking at it. “Jesus… look at this.” He mumbled, spreading her further open with his hand. “Seems like I’ve got a lot of work to do, don’t I?”

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ghouljams · 6 months

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dear ghoul a very good evening, may i humbly request for some more ghost!ghost? it's just too adorable man you got the works

The worst part about having a ghost for a roommate is it makes having people over a little tricky.

Your friend comes scrambling out of the bathroom with a wild look in his eye, and plasters himself against the wall, nearly knocking one of your pictures off the wall. You turn around on the couch to make sure he's alright. He looks like he's seen a ghost. Dammit. You try not to look too suspicious when you ask,

"What's wrong?"

"I- there was- in the mirror-" your friend stutters, trying to make sense of... Well you assume trying to make sense of seeing a flash of your ghastly roommate in the bathroom mirror. He tends to hover behind the door when you have friends over, waiting for someone to close it and catch a glimpse of him. You have to hand it to him, Ghost is fairly talented at being a ghost.

You pop a few kernels of popcorn in your mouth. Unbothered. "Yeah the place is low-key haunted."

"Low key?" You friend balks, "Some bloke with a slit throat jumping out of mirrors is what you call low key?"

"What?" He's never done that before. Usually when you've got someone over he sticks to the classics: opening and closing doors, footsteps, cold rooms, glimpses of him in the shadows.

"I'm out of here," your friend grabs his coat off the hook and stalks towards the door, you jump off the couch and are unceremoniously pushed back down onto it by an unseen force. It feels like a weight settling over your chest, forcing you to lay back.

"Wh-" you try to breathe around the pressure and your friend tugs the door open, "Wait!" You manage just as your friend is pushed out, the door slammed behind them and all the locks clicked into place. You push at the air on top of you, as if your fingers might grasp living flesh instead of empty space. You hear the mug on your ghost's alter bubble ominously before your wrist is pinned over your head against the couch.

The temperature in the room plumits, you tense to keep from shivering, grit your teeth to keep them from chattering. The phantom hands holding you down ruck up under your shirt and the dam breaks. Shivers wrack your body, not from fear, but from the chill and you try again to push at the invisible force holding you down.

"Ghost wha-" your breath catches in your throat, you're eyes fix on the black expanse of the TV screen. You can see the shadow of him crouched over you, holding you down. You didn't know he was so big, he hulks over your frame, takes over the couch without trying. He straddles your hips, one hand pressing against your stomach while the other pins your wrist.

"No..." His voice is raspy, guttural and rough, his breath shakes and wheezes, "boyfriends."

You can't look away from the TV screen, too worried if you do you'll never see your ghost again. You don't fight against his hold, your body rigid, breath held. He doesn't touch you, not like this. Despite the chill its gentle, forceful but gentle, and a shive vreaks down your spine that isn't from the cold. The hand on your stomach strokes your skin, almost appreciative. You wonder when the last time he felt living flesh was, if he misses it, if he'll keep touching you.

Then his words hit you, and you have to stop from jerking your head to look at him. You know you won't see him, but that doesn't stop the temptation. "He's just a friend," you press, is that why he's upset? You can't imagine why else he'd be mad, this never happened when you had girls over. "Wha-" you smile a little, "Are you jealous?"

The hands leave you, the specter in the TV reflection disappearing like whispers of smoke. You turn to look at the empty air above you and pout.what the hell are you supposed to do now? Your friend bailed, your ghost bailed, you're all riled up with nowhere to go. You grab the remote and pout a little more forcefully at Ghost's alter as you turn the TV on.

"Possessive bastard," you grumble, watching the mug bubble once for yes.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost!ghost #ghost au #ghost is a bastard but we love hi #its hard being a ghost

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katz-chow · 8 months

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im a ghost girlie but my love for soap is literally incomprehensible and i have this headcanon where its ghost x reader but soap third wheels all the time and its not like in a mean way at all, they’re just a trio that is basically inseparable. i also hc that they make so many jokes about being a throuple to the point where its not rlly a joke anymore lmao. anyway, this is all to ask if you’ll write some headcanons about that dynamic. fluff ofc! if u feel comfortable writing a little bit of poly soap x reader x ghost, i’d be very gracious 🙏🏽 but no pressure!

soap, simon, and the not-so-single parent

warnings: gn!reader, ghost x reader, soap x platonic!reader, my interpretation of ghost & soap, domesticity, fluff, johnny being johnny, simon being simon, reader being the concerned parent, third-wheel soap

a/n: this shit be on my mind constantly that johnny just loves to annoy and thirdwheel reader & simon. some of this is inspired by irl stuff. i'm not really into a poly triangle personally and i just can't imagine them, especially simon, to be okay with it, sorry!

humble beginnings

johnny didn't find out that simon had a romantic partner until you two reached past your 1 year anniversary. it happened by pretty much chance too, here's how that went: simon forgot a file, you were off of work, you drove to base, you dropped off said file using your dependent clearance, he kissed your cheek goodbye right in the doorway of his office (masked), johnny turned the corner, and as simon pulled away, you looked at johnny who was desperately trying to seem busy on his phone as he walked away hurriedly. he was on the calculator app. simon and you gave each other a look and he nodded, knowing that you've been wanting to meet the colorful coworkers (and his closest friends) for a while now. you called him over, soap, as you've remembered, not everyday you see a mohawk. johnny freezes and turned around to see you beckoning him back to the frame of the office, and simon with his arms crossed, staring a bit annoyed actually. he was chill when you two introduced each other, not wanting to embarrass himself. his eyes lit up though, when he heard you invite him over for dinner. "lovie..." simon started out, a gentle hand on your back. you hit his chest with the back of your head playfully, "no, no, this will be good for us. first diner party in our new house" "HOUSE? HOW LONG HAVE YOU HAD SOMEONE" he wanted to scream at simon's face, what came out however was a "i dinnae want to be a bother to you both" you insisted and he felt bad (but also curious), so dinner it was. simon took off his mask to please you and well, it was the comfort of his home. he rolled his eyes as johnny quipped that he certainly was "quite the opposite". from that day forward, it was the three of you against...manchester i guess?

children, the both of them

johnny tags along whenever you two are running errands on leave or on off days when they're both stationed at home. sometimes it's just you and him, or him and simon, or all three of yall. it started with a "we're having brunch, wanna join?" and now it's more like "we're going to the zoo, 9 am, get there" they make up the weirdest challenges and it feels like you're babysitting them both. simon, doesn't see it, he's a grown adult man, he's not silly. johnny says it's just in his nature like how it's natural that wombats poop in cubes (he walked ahead to read that tidbit and walked back to regurgitate it back at the two of you). challenges include: simon and johnny getting into a long debate about which is better, the smoked salmon crepes or the chocolate crepes, and when they mix them together, who can eat it all without puking? who can get to the butterfly sanctuary the fastest without running? who can find your favorite fish in the 30,000 gallon (113562.35 liter) fish tank WHILE holding their breath as if they were swimming in the water johnny telling you that his jokes are the best, simon butting in and using the "i'm your boyfriend, surely my jokes are better" card. you wanted to throw them both out of the car as they kept going back and forth with the most stupidest, tasteless, dad jokes ever. johnny saying he can drive better than simon. simon saying he can fly a broken helicopter and land safely. you're in the driver's seat. simon quipped that he would be a good artist compared to this shit's canvas (picasso) and johnny saying that his cat can paint better. simon said dogs can do it better. johnny said- you get the idea simon threw up after the 8th time on a rollercoaster. johnny threw up on the 9th. you, however, went through a nice scenic boat ride :)

quiet mornings

you three are closer than yall think. whenever they're both away, you always miss the noise they bring in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make muffins or...popcorn. the three of you doing the daily wordle, crossword, and sudoku. "what's c for?" "c4 is an explosive, bonnie" "no johnny, what does C STAND FOR? fucking idiot..." mornings when you both are expecting johnny are never quiet, especially when he announces that he's there by knocking on the front door and saying "it's johnny!" when someone opens it. even when he's not there, you can at least hear simon's almost silent breaths if it wasn't for how close you two were. you miss them when they have to leave, you know it can't be forever, but damnit you missed the buzzing of them both. you don't miss, however, johnny and simon playing drunk monopoly.

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aesethewitch · 7 months

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Spirit Work: The Power of Hanging Out

Elaborate rituals, intense meditations, and huge gestures have their places in spirit work. There's value in putting a massive effort into something for the spirits you venerate or work with. And sometimes, you need to do these big things for a particular outcome or as part of your tradition.

I have a bias against big, elaborate rituals for this purpose, though. In my practice, it's just unnecessary. All of the relationships I have and maintain with spirits are, at their cores, friendships. They're not working relationships, they're not worshiper-worshiped relationships, they're not transactional relationships. My spirits are my friends.

So I approach working with them like friendship. I'll light a candle and set a cup of coffee or tea on their altar in the same way I'd offer a friend a cup of tea when they visit. If I'm working on something, I'm accustomed to body doubling as someone with ADHD, and I like to invite my friends to work alongside me. In the same way, I'll invite my spirit friends to participate or just hang around while I work.

Heck, they hang out while I write these posts sometimes!

Not everything in spirit work has to be intense and serious. Yes, you should be respectful -- in the same way that you should be respectful to your neighbors and your friends. And yeah, not all spirits can or should be treated this way.

But I would like to posit the humble power of Hanging Out.

What I Mean By That

Literally. Hanging out.

Whatever you normally do to "call" your spirit(s), do that. My method is lighting a candle of some sort. Sometimes, I'll choose a scented candle if I'm trying to lure a particular spirit to the area, but an unscented taper candle will do just fine.

And then, you hang out. That's it.

If you're watching YouTube, invite the spirit to watch with you. Ask their opinions on what to watch, if you have an easy way to communicate with them. (One of my spirits loves Ghost Hunting TV Shows. He thinks it's hilarious.)

If you're playing a video game, leave space on the couch for the spirit to settle next to you to watch.

Make dinner, chat about your days. Set aside a little plate for them if you want. Eat together.

The Value in Hanging Out

The idea here is that time is valuable. Time spent with someone else is valuable on its own, even if that time is spent doing little to nothing "productive."

Think about your friends and the people you enjoy spending time with. It isn't always clubs, parties, exploring, hiking, running, traveling, or whatever else you do. Even if that's how you met or your main activity together, there are always casual moments. Easy breakfasts, simple conversations, sleepovers in your PJs, watching movies.

Quality time is powerful. Choosing to spend your time with someone sends a clear message: "I value your presence."

Not everything has to be an elaborate party. Sometimes, all you want is to sit down and hang out.

Why can't it be the same with spirits? The answer is that it can. In my practice, I rarely do anything that elaborate. I'll put extra effort in for special occasions like holidays, but usually, it's a simple act of lighting a candle, saying hello, and then sitting down with the spirit to just hang out.

Not every relationship requires constant, intense focus. Especially if you're looking to befriend your spirits, rather than just work with them, the Power of Hanging Out is a valuable asset to keep in mind.

It doesn't have to be every day, either. I have a sort of open, standing invitation for whichever spirits to hang out whenever they like. They're welcome to chill anytime, unless I ask to be left alone. Because of our relationship, they respect that. (Usually -- the only time they don't is if something urgent has come up or they need something.)

I developed the theory of Hanging Out years ago. Spirit work was where I started, and it's always been Home to me. But it's intense sometimes, and a lot of what I was doing was burning me out very, very fast. So I adapted on the fly, as one does, and it ended up working really well.

Now, Hanging Out is my primary method of doing spirit work. Even with spirits I don't know or in new locations, there's value in projecting an aura of "I'm just here to chill. Feel free to talk to me, or don't. It's cool." Spirits, shockingly, respond to that. I end up with a lot of interesting, casual conversations, light taps on the shoulder to let me know I've been acknowledged by something that doesn't want to talk, and various visual anomalies from shy critters in the shadows.

Think of it like slow blinking at a cat or offering the back of your hand to a dog. Approaching respectfully and calmly in a very casual way attracts things that otherwise wouldn't show themselves. The Power of Hanging Out is alluring to even the shyest spirits.

Again, obviously, this won't work for all spirits. Do what works for what you work with. I've found Hanging Out works best with ancestors, house spirits, land spirits, and assorted ghosties over the years. It's not so good with, say, the Good Neighbors. But hey, maybe your experience will differ.

Extra Benefits of Hanging Out

Aside from the relationship benefits of casually sitting and hanging out, there are even more practical benefits. As a side-effect of adapting spirit work in this way to work for me, my senses for spiritual energy shot through the roof.

I've always been pretty sensitive. I'm that weird kid at the next table over in the restaurant who clocked the spirit of your recently-deceased aunt who left you her necklace which you're wearing under your shirt and which I couldn't have possibly seen. But when I started Hanging Out and just existing in a space with spirits, everything sort of... exploded.

It's like recognizing your family's footsteps coming down the hallway. When I stopped trying to force myself to understand and recognize every scrap of energy, it all washed over me instead. And in the Energy Soup, I started to recognize more signs and signals without effort.

This is, in my opinion, the greatest benefit of Hanging Out, even for people who don't do spirit work at all. There's no meditative aspect to it, really (though you can certainly meditate to enhance it, if that's something you do). It's just sitting and being receptive.

I don't think this method will work for everyone. People who have zero sensitivity to spirits may not see any results. But I think it has value even for those people.

At its core, Hanging Out is a mindfulness exercise. If you can't be with spirits, be with yourself. Put the call out to whoever or whatever you work with, venerate, sense -- or things you'd like to get to know better. See what answers.

Light a candle.

Say, "If you want to come sit with me and watch TV, feel free. I have popcorn."

Hang Out.

If you like my work, consider tossing a tip in my Ko-Fi tip jar! Supporters get extra, early, and exclusive content every week. You can also view this post on Ko-Fi here!

Also, consider throwing a response at my Divination Theory Survey! This is an ongoing research project that needs all the help it can get. Thanks!

#aese speaks #witchcraft #witchblr #witch community #spirit work #spirits #working with spirits #spirit messages #casual witchcraft #easy witchcraft #beginner witch tips #beginner spirit work #deity work #ancestor work #the power of hanging out #spoonie witch

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kikiwritesfanfic · 7 months

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There Are Two Types of Dancers

A oneshot with both Fool and Sol from the renowned @venomous-qwille story - Ghost in the Machine

I've been working on this for so much longer than I expected to pfff- I just wanted it to be perfect for Qwille and all the readers of GITM! A bar has been set with that story and I wanted to at least reach it hahah-

Fool and Sol have become my personal favorites so far (although I'm sure it'll change as time goes on and I learn more about the others). Sol was rather easy to write in my opinion. But my lordy - Fool was a challenge! A fun one, at that, but still! I'm glad I got to challenge my writing and receive some amazing constructive criticism from others as I went!

Also - this is entirely self-indulgent hahah! I just love dancing scenes and I'm too impatient to wait for the possibility of such a scene happening in the story! So here you go, and I hope this lives up to your standards Qwille!!!

Read it on AO3 Instead -> Here

Or read the oneshot under the cut <3 Enjoy!!

*****

Fool definitely fascinated you.

His odd ramblings that always either ended in your confusion or laughter were somewhat... endearing.

Something told you that he didn't spend as much time with the others as he did with you. He seemed to make it a point to bring attention to his loneliness in jest when you would show up to the storage shed looking for different things. He would pursue a conversation with you every time without fail - whether with friendly banter or mocking jests or cheeky jokes all depended on the day. But each instance would still somehow end with you staying longer than you originally intended.

This time had been no different. You had allowed him to convince you to linger and play a game or two of mahjong (although you were pretty sure he only offered the particular game because he knew it had become your favorite). He used the excuse of not letting you walk back the short distance to the house in the rain - which you didn't wholly disagree with. Without your jacket back from Sol (or a replacement, at this point), you really didn't want to deal with the chilling water soaking through your clothes again. So you allowed him to entertain you with a few rounds.

Now you rested within the nest of pillows that filled the resin chariot as light thunder rumbled overhead - watching curiously as Fool shuffled a deck of cards with practiced precision. He was humming a tune you didn't recognize - but it filled you with memories of running around with friends and stuffing your mouth full of pink fluff that melted when it touched your tongue. You made a mental note to ask him about it later, given that you didn't want to interrupt him.

"Hasn't anyone told you that staring is rude, Sweetling?" he piped up suddenly, setting the cards up for a game of solitaire. You scoffed.

"I get told by Sol practically every day." The bot's eyes upturned into crescents, amusement sparkling in the dim lighting.

"My, my, then we'll have to fix that staring problem of yours," he fired back. " It can come across as terribly impolite. Although you are rather lucky I am so gracious as to accept your presence as a most humble apology." You mocked a scoff, fighting the grin that threatened to pull at the corners of your mouth.

"I think the circumstances of my arrangements should allow me some breathing room in that regard."

Fool didn't miss a beat with his response. "Oh, so you find me alluring enough to stare~?"

"Don't flatter yourself. The others are just as interesting as you."

The bot placed a hand to his chest as he did every time you managed to get in a silly insult. "Why must you always be so very cruel," he cried, using his other hand to dramatically scatter the cards on the table as he fell backwards to the floor. You couldn't help the giggle that fell from your lips.

"Oh no, have I broken you finally?"

He lifted his head slightly to peer at you over the edge of the low table. "Finally?" he repeated, sounding somewhat discouraged. "Is that really your harrowing intention? To break me down with your beautiful voice spewing malicious language until I am nothing more but a hunk of wires and metal? All so you can woefully put me back together and claim me as your own charming creation?"

"Who knows?" you asked mysteriously. He dropped his head back down.

"Hm... Would this be the right time to inform you that I've been keeping track of your insults to compliments ratio? I think it tells quite a lot about your character."

"Oh really?" You didn't need to be sarcastic - you were genuinely interested. "And what conclusion have you come to about my 'character'?"

He sprung up suddenly - startling you a bit further into the nest of pillows. He grabbed at his baton - spinning it around a few times before settling on placing the moon side in front of his face. "You're a terrible friend. Naughty. Rude."

"Surprising." You rolled your eyes and resettled yourself on the edge of the chariot, looking down at the mess he'd created with the cards. "How ever shall I make it up to you?"

There was a pause from the jester bot as he dropped the baton from his face and smiled. Mischief sparkled in his expression. "Oh, I thought you'd never grace me with such a question, Sweetling."

Before you had the opportunity to object, you were being lifted from your comfortable resting place to stand in the clear area in the center of the shed (which wasn't very much space, honestly). "Fool," you said, irritation clinging to the edge of your voice as you tried to regain your balance.

"Hm?" he hummed, listing his head to the side in an attempt to feign innocence. "Is something the matter? You're wearing quite the nasty scowl upon that pretty little face of yours." You placed your hands on your hips.

"Fool."

"Have I told you just how much I adore hearing my name from your beautiful lips, Sweetling?" He snatched up one of your hands and brought it to his mouth, ignoring your tone. He bowed his head down and spread his free arm out to the side. "Dance with me."

Seriously?

"I don't know how to dance."

He lifted his faceplate enough to peer at you from the tops of his eyes. "Ah, and neither do I," he whispered, before standing back to his full height and emitting that musical laughter you had come to adore. He tilted his head down and gave you a cheeky smile. "But you, dearest, had so graciously promised to make it up to me~"

"I didn't promise you any- Ah!"

Fool swept you away through the door of the shed before you could protest. Before you knew it, you were standing in the backyard as light rain poured down on the two of you.

"I thought you didn't want me to walk in the rain?" you questioned, quirking an eyebrow up at the bot - already feeling the chill of the water on your back.

"Correct!" he blurted, tugging you towards him with the hand that still held yours. You crashed into his chest embarrassingly. "But I never said anything in relation to dancing in the rain," he corrected, spinning around in a circle with you pinned to his body.

"Fool! Squishy human, remember?! Easily breakable!" you exclaimed. Fool released you immediately - drawing his hands away like a child discovering a hot stove for the first time. You didn't give it much thought, though. You were too busy trying to catch your breath.

"You need to work on your breathing, Sweetling. Hyperventilating in such conditions can give you a nasty bout of dizziness," he tutted, snatching up one of your hands again. He looked at you expectantly.

"You're not going to let me go back inside until I dance with you, huh?" you questioned once you stopped heaving. His smile stretched wider as he shook his head. It must've been contagious, because you chuckled and let a soft smile lift the corners of your mouth. "Fine. But how do you expect me to dance if we have no music?"

The bot tugged you again - gentler this time. You let him spin you around and dip you down so you were leaning back in his arms, looking up into his monochromatic eyes. "Ah~ But we need no accompaniment when the sound of your voice is already music to my ears, Sweetling," he mused. Then he lifted you back up and grasped your waist. "Can't you hear it now?" he called up into the downpour. "I think my sweet is bound to sing again soon!"

A giggle fell from your lips as you watched him. He mocked a gasp and looked back down to you. "Why look at that, the music is back! Now we must dance before it disappears again!"

Laughter overtook your body now as you joined him - dancing lively in the chilly rain. You almost didn't notice the water slowly drenching your clothes. Somehow, Fool was actually a pretty good dancer in your opinion. He kept you moving - swiftly pulling you closer to him and pushing you away with the same precision he had when shuffling cards. It was fun all the way up until you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

When you turned towards the house to investigate, you barely saw the curtains being tugged back to the closed state you were used to seeing them in. The only thing you could make out in the blur was a low, glowing blue. Maybe you hadn't seen anything. The rain was really starting to come down now, and it wasn't exactly like you were standing still.

Fool must have noticed it, too. He had slowed the speed in which the two of you were dancing and pulled you closer to him again - although this time, he brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders and then dragged his own down to rest upon your waist. "There are many a people I've danced with in my lifetime," he started. You swore he shot a smug glance towards the house, but it could have just been your imagination. You were starting to feel the chill of the rain through your wet clothes now that the two of you were merely swaying from side to side, and it was proving to be rather distracting. "But you, my Sweetling, have been the most pleasurable to enjoy such a spontaneous moment with."

A shiver forced its way through your body. "Uh, thanks?"

The bot stopped his swaying, took hold of one of your hands, and dragged you back towards the shed. "Now - if you'd so please - I believe we were just about to indulge in a marvelous game of Go Fish, were we not?"

You rolled your eyes to the best of your ability despite Fool not even looking your way. "I believe you were setting up a game of Solitaire, actually."

"Oh my, was I now?" he asked as the two of you reached the door to the shed. He held it open for you. "How very forgetful of me. I guess my distraction must have been a rather breathtaking one to indulge in for me to forget such an important detail."

You felt your cheeks warm despite your steadily dropping temperature. "I guess so."

*****

The silence between a stare can relay a million emotions even with no words exchanged.

One stared from the window. One stared from the rain.

*****

"I saw the two of you," Sol piped up, keeping his hands clasped behind his back as he watched you work from the other side of the workbench. Your brows knitted together as you tried to decipher what he could possibly be talking about. A moment of silence passed as you hoped he would elaborate, but he didn't.

And then you remembered - the pull of curtains in the kitchen window and the blur of the glowing, pale blue you saw darting behind them. At the time you thought it to be nothing but a funny reflection from the gloomy lighting, but now...

"Are you talking about when Fool and I were dancing in the rain?"

A sound reminiscent of a scoff emitted from the bot as he leaned away from the work table, dragging your gaze from your work to look at him.

"You call that dancing?" he asked, listing his head to the side ever so slightly. The faint sound of mechanical clicks and internal fans emitted from his body - making his tauntingly benign smile take on a sinister shadow. "The imbécile didn't stay in time at all, and you kept tripping over your feet." You shook your head and went back to your work.

"What, thinking you can do better?" you asked, offended by his words. He grew silent, but you thought nothing of it. You didn't have time to appease Sol's unusual sudden interest in your time spent with Fool. You had to finish this, and his questions were only going to distract you and cause some sort of mistake in your meticulous work. So you turned back to your task at hand.

That was, until your wrists were being seized by the bot. You opened your mouth to object, dropping the tools from your clutch as you were dragged away from the table and to the only free spot in the room. What the hell was with these bots and their lack of understanding in regards to personal space? "Sol, what the fu-"

"A basic waltz is simple," he interrupted. He placed one of your hands on his shoulder, grasped your other hand with his, and then rested his free hand on your waist. "It starts with a box step."

Your brain fumbled for words as he gently pushed you backwards. Why was he teaching you how to waltz? Dancing in the rain with Fool had been a spontaneous decision with a rather large lack of judgement - leaving you freezing and shivering by the time the two of you had gone back inside. There wasn't anything proper about said dance, and you especially hadn't anticipated anyone watching it take place to begin with.

"Are you even paying attention?" Sol's voice pulled you from your thoughts as you stepped on his foot.

"S-Sorry," you muttered. Why were you sorry? You didn't even ask for this!

"You're not stepping in the right direction," he said simply. "This is a 3/4 time signature dance, not 4/4. You have to focus."

He started over, pushing you backwards yet again. You let your right foot fall behind you while he pulled you gently to the left, your left foot following suit. When he pulled you forward, you were unsure of which foot to move first, so you hesitated. Ungracefully, you tripped forwards and almost smacked your head against his chest.

A light blush defiantly dusted your cheeks as he sighed. You started over yet again, and your competitive nature made itself known with the bubbling frustration in your stomach. If he said it was simple, why were you struggling so much?

After a few clumsy tries, you eventually understood the rhythm. Backwards, sideways, together. Forwards, sideways, together. Repeat. You were by no means perfectly in time with Sol's feet, but he silently continued nonetheless. The only thing that messed you up was when he brought the hand that rested on your waist up to your chin.

He tilted your face up until you looked into his eyes and were no longer staring at your feet. "Darling, it's considered rude not to look at your partner while dancing."

The same frustration from before returned as you tripped over your feet again. "But I can't know where your feet are going to be if I'm looking at you," you huffed, avoiding his gaze.

"Relax. And focus." His smile loomed eerily over you as you looked up into his eyes nervously. There had to be some kind of trick to this, right? He talked about it as if it were the easiest thing in the world, yet here you were, unable to focus on the movements of both your feet and his at the same time without looking.

You shoved your frustration back down and drew in a breath. Backwards, sideways, together. Forwards, sideways, together. Repeat.

It took longer to get your feet to move the way you were telling them to, but once you ran through the steps three full times without messing up, you smiled.

"I'm doing it!" you said excitedly, almost tripping up at the deviation from your concentration. Sol didn't praise you, though, instead informing you that there was a lot more to it than what you were just starting to get a grasp on.

"You have to turn counterclockwise with every half box," he said, pulling you to the left. You couldn't remember what step you were on, letting out an exasperated breath as you kicked his ankle.

"Gah- Why can't we just be happy that I learned the beginning and leave it at that?" you cried, attempting to pull your hands away from him. But his grip on you tightened enough to make you look up into his eyes fearfully for a moment. Memories of your first encounter with the bot danced across your vision - bringing the ghost of an ache to your wrist. He loosened his grip at your expression, but still refused to let you go.

"There are a lot of things I let slide when it comes to you. But this, I simply will not let go." You felt your mouth go dry.

"What do you mean you let a lot of things slide? You're not my parent," you retorted, narrowing your eyes to accompany an annoyed glare. There was a long moment of silence after that as he just stared at you - perfectly still as his unchanging smile sent a shiver down your spine.

But then he was pushing you backwards again, restarting the steps and ignoring your comment entirely. You gave up, simply redirecting your attention on the steps you had to implement a counterclockwise turn into. You figured that it would be easier to learn had there been music playing or even a metronome sounding off your beats, but you were too stubborn to ask.

It took an embarrassingly long time to relearn the steps with the turn. But once you started to understand the pattern, it seemed to click in your head where your feet were supposed to go and when. You held Sol's gaze a little more confidently after that - even smiling at one point at the realization that you had been going on fifteen or so rotations without tripping or hesitating once.

Sol's blue eyes seemed to flicker for a moment when you smiled, but it could've just been the dim lighting of the workshop playing tricks on you as the two of you spun around. You actually felt yourself starting to enjoy the simplicity of the dance - wondering if there was anything else you were supposed to add.

When Sol stopped and dropped his hands from you suddenly, you frowned. "Wha- Did I do something wrong?" you asked, brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought we were doing pretty well."

"I was doing well," he countered. "You were only following my lead."

You scoffed and settled your hands on your hips. "Why can't you just be nice for once and compliment me?"

There was that silence again. But Sol's gloved hand shifted as he clenched it into a loose fist, filling the quiet space with the soft sound of silk on silk. You swore you could see emotions shifting behind his pale eyes for a fleeting moment, but you couldn't decipher which ones. As the quiet stretched on longer, you felt your frustration dwindle - hesitant anxiousness replacing it.

"Nevermind," you mumbled, pushing past him to your work table. You took your seat again and felt the frustration boil your blood as you fought the blush that warmed your cheeks. There was no reason for it. Sol was just being the same bot he'd been since you showed up - cold and blunt and honest.

So why did his refusal to compliment you make you feel so... bad?

You picked the tools back up and tried to distract yourself from the sunbot as he approached the side of the work table again, hands clasped behind his back once more. You ignored him - continuing with your task. After a bit, you started to hum to yourself while you worked. The melody was familiar, though you couldn't recall where you'd heard it. But soon you became so engrossed in your work - paired with your curiosity as to the tune you were emitting - that you almost completely forgot that Sol was even in the room with you.

"Do you prefer his company over mine?"

The question startled you to silence. You held your gaze to the table, though, as his words echoed in your mind. Was he referring to your time spent with Fool? You honestly hadn't put much thought into comparing the bots with each other besides physical appearance. There just wasn't a need - they were all different to you. Far too different for comparisons.

Your lack of a response must've struck a nerve, because Sol placed both of his hands on the table and leaned forwards. As you looked up at his smiling face, goosebumps erupted down your arms as a small reminder of the lack of warmth in the workshop. A faint click, click sounded from him before he spoke. "You were humming the same dreadful tune he does."

So that's why you'd sworn you had heard the tune before.

"I don't think I can answer your question without eliciting some kind of negative response from you," you quipped, peering back down. "I'd prefer if you would just let me work."

Apparently, that was the wrong answer as well.

Sol rounded the table in an instant - spinning your stool around and pressing you back into the wood's edge as he loomed over you. A gloved finger hooked under your chin and forced your eyes to meet his - that same unnerving smile burning its image into your mind. "Oh mon dieu," he tutted, the disappointment in his tone making unease cloud your mind. It almost felt as if a slow finger dragged its way up your spine, eliciting more goosebumps across your body. "Ma poupette, what ever are we going to do about your poor manners?"

*****

A/N: I wanted to leave what happens next up to your imaginations~

But ahhhhh how did I do?! Is it good?? Or is it GOOD??? I'm literally shaking right now as I'm typing this because I'm so excited and nervous for everyone to read this rahhh-

But as always, likes, comments, kudos, and reblogs are VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!! Stay sweet, my lovelies~!

#gitm #gitm fool #gitm sol #gitm oneshot #tags? what are tags?

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ravenslvt · 9 months

Note

hello shawdy bae 🤠

hope ur having a slay day!! was wonderin if i could humbly request a soap x reader where they’re chaotic besties and one day during their antics soap just….. leans over…….. and kisses reader……. bc it was so natural that it felt like the right thing to do. which leads to the world’s messiest confession ever.

ty!! 🫶🫶

soap x gn!reader fluff!! ☆

summary: fluffy confessions and kissing 💗💗

warnings: alcohol use

(thank you for this request! this was very fun to write:) i changed up the plot a tiny bit)

the team had just come back from a successful mission, deciding to stop by the nearby bar for some drinks of celebration. price ended up having to pay for the drinks.

talking and cheering could be heard from around the bar. it was filled with your teamates along with some strangers who lingered around.

soap and you had grown quite close over the time you’ve spent on the task force. not only were you great in the field together, but as friends you livened up the room.

you two sat in the corner booth beside eachother, laughing at his jokes while sipping on your drinks. he leans a bit close to your ear.

“watch this one” he whispers. his accent pushing through his words. he took an ice cube from his drink and looked around before aiming and shooting it into the collar of ghost’s shirt, causing him to gasp from the chill contact.

you slapped your hand over your mouth, trying to prevent yourself from laughing. soap’s attention went back to you to not seem like the culprit of the cold prank.

“hey- who the hell did that?” ghost looked around, the alcohol making him a little less aware. everyone shrugged, not sure what he was on about while you and soap snickered in the corner.

“you’re gonna get us fired” you playfully slap his large arm. he lets out a chuckle and squeezes your hand that touched him.

“just havin’ a little fun, darling” he smiles, the smell of whiskey on his breath. your gaze focused on his eyes, admiring them silently.

he noticed your stare, sipping on his drink. he shifted in the booth, facing you a little better. your name leaves his lips smoothly.

“got something on your mind?” his head tilts a bit. you found it kind of cute.

you were both in a buzzed haze, not focusing on anyone else in the bar but eachother.

“sorry… i was thinking about if putting nair in price’s beard gel would get me in trouble.” you made up a response, sipping your drink.

he smirked

“oh loads of trouble. but would be quite funny”

you both peered over at price who was deep into a conversation about mustache care with the lower level recruits who looked both scared and lowkey interested.

you turned back to eachother. he was the first to speak.

“it’s starting to get boring. how about we get out of here. i’ll walk you home?” he finishes his drink and looks to you.

lets see… stay around a bunch of drunk soldiers, or go home with one.

“let’s go” you stood up and followed him outside, saying your goodbyes to your team members.

you stood side by side in the dim light of the moon.

“quite the gentleman” you commented. your shoulders brushed as you walked but neither of you acknowledged it.

“least i can do” he replied, smiling down at you.

your conversation flowed casually while you walked. you only lived a few blocks away so it wasn’t too far. the breeze outside was nice. it was relaxing compared to the constant heat that usually the days are filled with.

approaching your front door, you both stood at the entrance.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, jhonny” you don’t move to leave yet. just waiting for his move.

he stared at you, his confidence wavering. you noticed a certain change in his look but when you open your mouth to speak he had leaned in twords you.

his firm hand gently grabs your face and he kisses you softly. you were taken aback, a bit surprised, but not resistant.

his lips tasted of a mix of cigars and whiskey.

you quickly eased into it, but before it could go on for too long he pulled away. you stared at eachother with kissed out lips and soft expressions.

“what was that for?” you were able to utter out.

he shrugged

“felt natural” his gaze hasen’t left yours.

“well, do it again” you cross your arms, challenging him.

he chuckled a bit and one of his hands drifted to your hip.

“what… got a crush on me?” soap teases. you flush and shake your head.

“what? no. you’re crazy” you look away from him.

….

“maybe a little” you mutter.

“what was that?” he cupped his free hand to his ear. you roll your eyes, playfully shoving him. he didn’t get thrown off balance of course. he squeezed your hip and laughs.

you focused on his smile and the sound of his voice.

“i said… i wanna kiss you again” you admit. a bit emberassed.

“can’t argue with that” he leaned in again but stopped himself halfway.

“but, um, you do like me right?” he cautiously asks, looking into your eyes with care, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

“god, yes i do, idiot” you smiled and grabbed the back of his head, bringing his lips to yours once again into a more intense kiss.

you felt him smile into the kiss. he wrapped his own arms around your waist to bring you closer.

“how about you invite me in, lovley?”

💗 i hope you enjoyed this is my first attempt at writing soap. i’m very thankful for all my requests and i’m currently working on them :) sorry if this is messy i haven’t written fics in a long time!

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mo0nfairy · 1 year

Note

Hey! Saw that your requests were open and was wondering if you can do some headcanons about ghost<3!

Have a great day !

🪷 ִ ° ⋆ 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 ˚ ｡ . 🪺

𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 . . .

♫ 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 ⸺ 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐡

𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗿𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘆’𝘀 𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 . . .

𝚜𝚑𝚢, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎, & 𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛

｡ ˚ ⋆ 🫧 🍵 ⸺ 𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗿𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂: 𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿. 𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝗯𝘆, 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗵𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘂𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗶𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗶𝘁𝘆’𝘀 𝘀𝗸𝘂𝗹𝗹-𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿.

( 📁 ) . . . 𝗧𝗪! 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀. 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗽𝘂𝗿𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲. 𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱.

( 📁 ) . . . 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝘄’𝘀 — 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗰 𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀, 𝘂𝗻𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗹𝘁𝗵𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗲𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗺𝘀, 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗳 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗱𝗿𝘂𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗱𝗼𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗻’𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗱, 𝗮𝗯𝘂𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽𝘀, 𝗽𝘁𝘀𝗱, 𝗴𝗼𝗿𝗲, 𝗴𝘂𝗻𝘀, 𝗸𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝘀, 𝗮 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗻𝗽𝗰, 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗮𝘂𝗹𝘁, 𝗮𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗵𝗼𝗹, & 𝗸𝗶𝗱𝗻𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴.

( 📁 ) . . . 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗼 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗯𝘂𝗴! <3

love isn’t real

this belief has lived within simon riley for his entire life; he watched the way his father treated his mother with permeating rage, he endured vile torment forced upon him from a young age, and he lives every day haunted by the blood-stained sights that plague his mind

years of this never-ending sorrow lead this tortured soul to truly believe that “love” was nothing more than blasphemy; it was merely some faux attempt at making life more sufferable

however, somewhere deep within him lay a burning desire for these matters, despite his beliefs contradicting such

with every new day, the sweltering desire managed to subtly disinter its way out from where it had originally been buried

his brief job as a butcher taught him how to love blood, assaulting his father to protect his family taught him how to love violence, and his time serving in the military taught him how to love being violent for something

and a poor, sweet couturier living their dream at a corner shop in manchester taught him how to love

purely and sweetly, simon has found something he had never been granted the privilege of feeling

and as october begins to dance with the muted-colored leaves and chilling winds, you stay huddled in your knitted blanket, patching up some recent orders

your couturier shop, located just beneath your humble apartment, was adorned with numerous halloween items, all crafted by your loving hand

your existence is resplendent, simon thinks to himself, as he admires you from his signature spot on top of the building across your shop

it amuses him to think at first, he condemned these redundant thoughts

there must be more to life, he assumed

there must be more sights to see, more love to experience, more memories he will think fondly of

but, he had soon concluded that the myriad of emotions you’ve gifted him couldn’t ever be quantified

and after a whole year of hiding in the shadows and praying against his weakness, the first day of october would mark the day he would let himself indulge in your presence

the bell dangling upon the door to your shop jingles throughout the residence, and the all-too-overwhelming scent of cinnamon and vanilla envelops simon’s senses

the sweet shock that came from the sugary-sweet intrusion alone was enough to make his knees tremble

he resembled a newborn fawn on legs as his eyes, blown wide and crazed, studied the store around him

sure, he's looked up pictures online of the interior, looking into every detail knowing you blessed this residence with your devotion and care, but, this was the real store

the store he’s spent practically a millennia spying into and hoping someday, this colossal love he has for you would tame itself to where he’d be able to utter even a single syllable to you

it never did, though, much to his dismay

“sir? excuse me, sir, are you all right?”

simon jerks his head to the voice and his heart practically leaps out of his chest, only to see an employee working behind the cash register

he trots over, wiping his mouth of the excess drool that managed to escape and taking a deep breath to steady himself

he mumbles something incoherent, the worker furrowing their brows in response

“y/n” he speaks more profoundly, eyes still glued to the ground beneath him

“yes? what about y/n?”

“i…” his chest heaves with rushed breaths, “i want to see ‘em”

they assumed he was one of your many ardent followers who wanted to meet their idol, but a 6’4 man dressed head-to-toe in black doesn’t really scream “superfan” to anybody

with a glare of sheer judgment, the employee turns tail and begins to tread into the distance, before the thudding of their footsteps disappear upstairs, where you lay

simon’s mind begins to reel with how you’d react to his sudden appearance, assuming you’d be annoyed upon being summoned out of your cozy abode just to greet this lovesick bastard

he considered fleeing, as this wasn’t the first time he chickened out after trying to meet you, but his efforts served him no opportunity as you strut your way closer and closer and closer to him

simon had never been a friend of drugs, considering his family's dark past regarding such, but if he were to imagine what an overdose would feel like, this is exactly it

“good morning!” your smile practically blinds him, and he knows that even if it did, he’d be more than happy knowing you were the very last thing he’d see, “how can i help you today?”

the awkward silence is deafening as stares into you as if you had grown two heads

he’s sweating like a pig, whimpering like a lost puppy, panting like he just finished a marathon

you almost think he may rob the place, considering the balaclava guarding his appearance

however, what makes you resist this assumption is the only feature visible to you: his eyes

they’re so full of raw emotion; love, reverence, adoration, and another emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on fill his eyes that were shadowed with war paint

“i’ve just released our new halloween collection. would you like to take a peak?” you say, finally managing to break through the painful quiet

his lack of response only egged you on further, presenting him with a display case that showcases an array of halloween masks all hand-crafted with the finest materials

you then gift him that sultry smile once again; your elusive nature was intoxicating and simon was practically drowning in it

much to his dismay, he breaks eye contact with you for the first time and shifts his gaze down to your display

without a second thought, he ever-so shakily points a gloved finger to a skull mask, where he can see the true beauty and aptitude within your etchings

you then take said mask from its spot, ringing the item up for your concerningly cadaverous customer to pay

it was quite expensive, considering the quality of the materials used, but simon didn’t pay the concern a single thought

you could ask for absolutely anything, no matter the price, and this man would run to the ends of the universe to provide you such

you could ask him to take the lives of every soul on planet earth and he would do it again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again-

“have a nice day!” despite how ravishing your voice was as it rang all around him, this was the last thing he ever wanted to hear: your goodbye

he doesn’t utter a word, simply taking his wares and leaving the haven that is your famous store

even a blind person could sense the way he subtly lingers by the door, desperate for a taste of you just once more

once he walks through the threshold and disappears into the street, albeit walking straight into a trashcan and stumbling momentarily, your coworker then appears at your side

“i told you: your fans are all nutcases” with a chuckle and a gentle elbow jab to their side, you then go about your day, forgetting about the encounter just a few moments later

and as the october days trotted by, you had forgotten about the man's existence entirely

but simon, oh simon, how could he ever forget the beautiful moment of your benediction?

and despite your negligence of his memory, the markings he had been mysteriously leaving throughout the city for these past few months lurk in your thoughts

a newfound “serial killer,” as reports describe the mystery man, had spread throughout manchester just short of a year ago and you were nothing less than oblivious to who was responsible

the discoveries of corpses in atrocious conditions were ongoing; citizens were beaten to gory messes with numerous weapons and found with missing organs such as their tongue, heart, teeth, and a multitude of others your queasy stomach couldn’t handle reading further on about

with your newfound fame and success, you used your wealth to your advantage by hiring bodyguards and installing high-tech security systems just outside your residence

the comfort they brought was temporary, however, as all the alarm systems and pepper spray in the world couldn’t mend the feeling of someone always lurking in your path, you realized

and no riches in the world could mend the wounds that simon’s father left to his family that will always lurk within him, he learned

early november of the year prior was when he had returned home from his time serving

he had spent the early afternoon with his mother, enjoying her notorious tea she’s made for simon since he was young and conversing about the time spent without each other

like clockwork, his father had entered through the rickety screen door of their home, ruining yet another content moment simon had imprudently deluded himself into believing he deserved to have

in his hands was an extravagant box, adorned with a silk bow and her name scrappily written on the tag

inside was a designer handbag, sewn together with the finest intricacy and care and embroidered into the label was the name of the designer that his mother claimed to be her idol, a name to which simon was oblivious to

the ostentatious sight was merely his father’s phony attempt at manipulating her into granting him a place to stay for the night, but his mother was ecstatic upon receiving the gift, nonetheless

and that name stayed within simon’s mind as the hours of the day further progressed

by the evening, he had finally come to terms with what he had wanted to gift his mother for the following christmas, considering he had been saving up money for the special occasion

grasping hold of his jagged laptop, he jotted the name of the designer into the search bar and haphazardly clicked the first link that came into view

the jet lag and overall exhaustion obtained from his time away had his eyes fluttering shut as the page loaded, but the display of the designer's pixelated face on his screen was enough to make him slam the laptop shut with a rushed gasp

he stares into the bitter darkness of his vacant bedroom, completely and utterly agape from the sight and confused by the sudden intrusion of emotion

shakily, he opens the computer again and listens to the cadence of a heavenly voice pervading around as an introduction video begins to play

it is you… and you are so refulgent the way you simply exist

you expressed the hardships you faced during your time of youth, struggles which were akin to simon, and how they encouraged you to become who you are today

as a young child, your guardian was trapped in an abusive relationship and was always gifted the most marvelous riches to further manipulate them

and you were so infatuated with the blinding diamonds and expensive fabrics, you couldn’t see through their lies

but, as more presents adorned your house and their facade began to spoil, you soon realized this is what life would be: taking advantage of the last slivers of hope in the world to compensate for the everlasting torment

however, as the years went by, you learned how to adapt to fresher, more lively circumstances; you had the revelation that instead of wallowing in your despair and praying for the light to magically find you, to acquire true peace, you would have to take the steps yourself

you wanted to mold the fashion industry into one of integrity without the pain beneath the facade, equivalent to what you had experienced as a child

and simon hung onto every syllable that parted from your lips as if they were a life preserver reaching out to him in a tsunami

and from here on out, this skull-faced man was enthralled with you

you managed to turn life into something good and in the beginning, he resented you for it, claiming it was merely delusional to think life could ever be worth living

but now, a year later, every day is spent ogling at your mere existence and wishing for some brush of luck that he’ll obtain your wisdom

simon wants to be just like you, but more importantly, he wants to be with you

he spends practically every last penny of his on a coat for the holidays and as he wraps the present, he traces his fingers among the etches and stitching you put your everything into, practically gasping for breath from the utter closeness he feels to you

he so desperately wishes he could keep it for himself and indulge in your handiwork forever, but what kind of man would he be if he were to shield the art created by you from the world for the sake of his infatuation?

what kind of man would he be if he were to ever hurt you for the sake of his selfish greed?

but, later on as his father demolishes the bag and coat in another one of his drunken rages, a cry of anguish bursts from simon as the epiphany settles

he has betrayed you

he let something precious to both him and you be destroyed by the disgusting waste of space that is his father

and he will go to the ends of the universe to earn your forgiveness

he will genuflect at your feet until the skin of his knee decays into raw bone, he will take every last sliver of his soul he has tethered to him and mold it to your liking, he will tear the universe asunder with his bare hands and rebuild it with nothing but his blood, tears, and unadulterated devotion

everything and anything for your exoneration

but for now, he holds the only tainted scraps he has left of you to his chest while the envisage of your contempt haunts his mind

he will make it up to you, even if it kills him

fortunately, simon never knew why he always kept a copy of the key for his old job as a butcher, but now, it seems as if the stars have aligned

this is my love for you, he thinks to himself as he busts the lock to the home of a karen who had the sheer audacity to assume she had precedence over you

and this is how sorry i am, he repeats to himself as he strikes a cleaver into her neck, leaving behind the gory sight of her decapitated head and slashed tongue mere inches away to prove himself

this is my love for you, he thinks to himself as he pulls the trigger upon aligning the red dot of his sniper rifle to the head of your security guard stood alone outside your shop

and this is how sorry i am, he repeats to himself as he uses a carver knife to root out his heart from his chest, fatefully preventing the organ from ever slithering itself into your hands

this is my love for you, he thinks to himself as he pummels his father to a crimson pulp when he remarked about how his previous temper tantrum did his mother a favor and rid her of that tacky attire

and this is how sorry i am, he repeats to himself as he tortures his father for hours on end using the numerous weapons provided in the butcher shop, oblivious to the lone tooth stuck in the pavement from when he was dragging his unconscious body

and please, let me show you how much i am willing to do

luckily for simon, this opportunity was elicited amid the same october as he gazes from his signature spot across the street

his heart was still thumping, reminiscing of the interaction he had with you days prior as you clean up the shop from the busy and prosperous day

if only you knew all of the things this man has done for you, then would you finally forgive him?

would you see him? would you love him?

this train of obsession racing rampant in his brain is cut short when he takes notice of a trespasser entering the store: a middle-aged man who exuded nothing but entitlement and libidinousness

the man was a previous customer and had come in earlier that day intending to purchase a gift for his wife’s birthday, emphasizing his partner’s nagging for him to do so

he set his carnal gaze on you, however, and practically drooled at your feet like some feral dog with a slab of meat waving in its face

the wedding ring upon his finger glimmers beneath the gentle haze of moonlight as he grasps hold of your forearm forcibly, flaunting his wealth and asking you once again to join him for dinner at an elite restaurant just around the corner

you take a firm hold of his hand and twist his wrist, sharply informing him as he grimaces in affliction how you had enjoyed a meal there a week earlier and don’t need a single penny from him

his ugly, scrunched face blisters into a red-hot hue as his anger boils over, but just as he opens his mouth to bark more insults your way, the door is practically torn off the hinges as it swings open with fervent haste

all attention is stolen from the unforeseen encroachment, locking eyes with a third party wearing the skull mask you hand-crafted for the spooky season

his tall frame strides over to your assailant, and before you can so much as perceive a thought, he withdraws a cleaver, the very same one you’ve seen displayed on the early-morning news

stumbling back several paces and guarding yourself with a clothing rack, the terrifying scene that now played out before you causes your heart to jump into your throat

you struggle to breathe, struggle to move, struggle to do just about anything as you are forced to listen to the horrid scream echo and watch as blood splatters all around the store

the crimson liquid is all on the floors, the walls, and it envelopes the killer's body as a coat would

the silence after is more deafening than the commotion before, with nothing but your rushed gasps for breath to compensate for the quiet

his heaving breaths, which you assumed to be pants of anger, die down as seconds seem to form into minutes

however, contrary to your accurate judgment of his disposition, you were very incorrect

simon was so happy, being surrounded by all your precious hard work, having your captivating eyes on him, and finally presenting the lengths he is willing to travel to for your sake

and as he shifts his always-lovelorn gaze to your frozen form, you notice a perceptible softening within his deadpan expression beneath the facade of his mask

finally, it is just the two of us now, but before he can come to terms with this realization, you scamper off, impetuously locking yourself in the storage closet mere inches away from the crime scene

as the tears of horror seep down your cheeks, you grasp hold of a multitude of items such as broken mannequins and decayed rolls of dusty fabric to barricade the door from your unwelcome intruder

you sink to the floor, submerging yourself deeper into the abysmal darkness of the closet

it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real-

none of it was real

time feels like a mere illusion as you sit there, unbeknownst to whether or not seconds, minutes, days, or even weeks have floated by

you feel entirely detached from reality in this empty void

it wasn’t real, it couldn’t have been real, you reassure your mind as you feebly clear away the items with frail gesture, thus releasing your hand from the door as it creaks open

letting the luminosity of your store seep back into your vision, your mind is vacant of any emotion as you observe how the space is completely rid of any dismay

no blood, no corpse, no police, no skull-faced serial killer there to welcome you to your demise; there was absolutely nothing

the trauma seeps through your veins and into your head, every muscle in your body is firm as your mind struggles to differentiate what is genuine or what was only a hallucination

you then stiffly plod your way back to your apartment with blurred vision, not even bothering to rid yourself of your work attire before resting on top of your freshly-made bed

it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real

it couldn’t have been…

the cacophony of your alarm clock reverberates as your consciousness drifts into reality

with the morning sun peeking through the expanse of clouds, the final day of october has finally arrived and so has the halloween celebration you host annually

suffice to say, the incessant memory of last night’s delirium still lingers, but drinking the night away with other prestigious designers will mend the pain, you assure

it pokes and prods away at your mentality as you spend the hours of the day adorning your beloved store with ornamentation

you simply brush off the exchange as nothing but a silly nightmare, persisting in those same affirmations once again: it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real

the figment of your imagination had always managed to take a firm hold of your sanity, anyway

the terror you claim to be inconsequential only exacerbates that night once you tread down the staircase and into the previous scene of the crime, which was now brimming with spirit and effervescence

much to your horror, every person within the room had been adorned with the skeleton masks you designed, the very same that has plagued your mind for the past twenty-four hours

as your ears begin to ring, another worker of yours saunters over to you, their squeaky voice engulfing you with praises regarding your attire and the marvelous decorations embellishing the area

with a heavy heart, you were far too occupied to regard the adoring comments sent your way as you studied the faces and forms of each guest before you

a few send a polite wave, raising their glasses to you in honor, while the others remain in their world as their laughter dances with the melodious tunes from the radio

only one thought plagues your mind: could one of them be… him?

no, no! it wasn’t real!

it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real-

a hand on your forearm, the very same place the pervert held you the night prior, breaks you out of the clutches of your inner turmoil

you nudge yourself out of the grasp of your worker, desperate to escape your memories, to where they ask if you were feeling all right with concern lacing their tone

“the masks… what- why would you all do this?” the reality that no one besides you and that demon would be aware of your perceptible dread for the mask fails to occur to you

“what do you mean? you requested this…?” they reply, entirely confused by the look of sheer betrayal and trepidation within your gaze

with a few taps to their phone, they present a copy of the email sent to all employees about how guests would all be given the same skull mask to wear for the special event

and at the very bottom of the page is your name and email address, confirming the request

“what the fuck!? w-why would i… why would i do this?” whether the inquiry was directed to your worker or yourself remained a mystery

“are you sure you’re feeling all right, y/n? if you’re sick, we always have next year to host this party” they respond, placing their hand on yours as a means of comfort, only for you to flinch away from their attempt

with a mutter of a quick apology, you race away from the conversation and gracelessly find your way to the lounge area, where you practically splat against the sofa beneath you

a server arrives at your side, and while you stare into his expression beneath that damn mask, you take notice of a safe tray filled with numerous glasses of champagne in his hand

despite your default composure of propriety, you’ve turned to the comfort of decadence as you eagerly accept a glass from him

and as the night further progresses, this satiating rot remains to practically eat at you as lose count of the number of drinks you had consumed

now, with a fuzzy mind and loss of any coordination, you stand up and attempt to scrutinize the hazy mess of clamoring mask-wearing guests and deafening music to find your way out of this hellhole

on your journey, you manage to knock down one of the decorary pumpkins from its designated place at the front desk, mumbling an incoherent curse to yourself before leaning down to retrieve it

somewhere in the collision, the pesky thing had managed to wedge its way into one of the numerous clothing racks littered around the store

you reach a hand in, your face covered in a tangled plethora of clothing as you attempt to feel around for the piece of decor

the blinding neon lights above you shine before you for just a mere second, and within that second, you take notice of something odd about one of the coats you’ve now been smothered with

inspecting further, you’re puzzled to find a splatter of something dark against the bright fabric

with another flash of permeating light, your breaths then accelerate into gasps for air once you catch sight of a puddle of dried blood hidden beneath the array of garments

all those assurances that invaded your mind were made entirely to soothe you of the trauma you had just endured, you fatefully conclude

nausea sways in your stomach, and the roaring music practically makes your ears bleed; god, how could i have been so fucking stupid!?

with trembling chills coursing through your body, you stumble your drunk self up the stairs and into your apartment, locking the door behind you with one feeble, terrified motion

you then plummet to the ground and land with your back slouched against the door

it was real, the revelation occurs before you fall limp against the flush, yet unforgiving carpet beneath you, drifting off into the arms of oblivion

you wake once again with a throbbing headache as if the severity of the situation was pounding its fist against your mind while your brain tries to garner any slivers of consciousness it can

you feel goosebumps litter your skin from the sudden decrease in temperature; there’s a gentle hum that pervades the room, a far more relaxing contrast to the blaring music from before

nothing was visibly perceptible before you besides an atramentous void, but the further your gaze begins to adjust to the unforeseen altercation in environment, you’re welcomed with the haze of a gentle glow

you have not awoken where you had last fallen asleep; you’ve now found yourself in a compact room with various lit candles scattered about, draped among a lone mattress with a blanket you had knit ages ago cradling your body

looking down, you soon realize you’ve been donned in a shirt you didn’t recognize, while also attaining the halloween costume you wore beneath the garment

at least this serial killer has enough heart to respect my autonomy, you laugh dryly to yourself before departing from the cozy embrace of this makeshift bed

your bare feet then make contact with the gelid floors, your legs wobbling a bit due to the last fragments of alcohol still pumping through your system

you let your hand glide among the tiled walls, halting in your stance when you trace your fingers over what appeared to be a light switch

as your blurry vision adjusts to the newly afresh light, you are then greeted by the horrifying sight of various mannequins littered around the room, as if they were all there to welcome you to your fate

upon closer inspection, you realize the mannequins had all belonged to you, as well, with their bodies adorned in measurements and markings you had made ages ago

you then take notice of the aisles of shelves surrounding you, some empty while others support the weight of numerous tools and equipment you could only assume were used for no good

numerous variations of knives and other weaponry, boxes of ammo for an array of disparate guns, and a pair of jet-black gloves with a skeletal hand sewn upon the fabric

however, all of your attention was directed toward the prominent door hidden in the very back of the room

the fog adorning the window on the door made the contents of the interior unfamiliar, but you push your luck anyway, hoping for some form of escape as you open the door with ease

you can only pray this action wouldn’t be the cause of some chainsaw-wielding murderer to give you a first-class ticket through the gates of heaven

the putrid stench that pervades around you soon after causes your stomach to turn, and upon witnessing the sights within the small expanse, you knew your drunken hysterics aren’t at fault for this nausea

a collage of hooks was strung from the ceiling that supported the weight of several limbs such as torsos, legs, and arms – all bloody, deformed body parts you knew could only belong to the human variety

as you tread your way through the room, pinching your fingers to your nose to block out the atrocious scent, you feel your bare foot step upon something irregular

kneeling down, you take hold of a golden wedding ring as it glimmers beneath the blue-hued lights, the very one you knew belonged to the hand of the debauched victim just a night prior

there was a crack in the metal that had been rusted with dried blood, and as you shift your gaze to the trail of blood on the pearly-white floors, you turn your head up only to find the torso of the ring-wearer

squeezing your eyes shut, you manage to swallow down any excess bile that was tracking its way up your throat and continue to trail forward

at the very end of the nightmare-inducing mess were two items rested upon a rustic table sat at the back of the room: a destroyed coat and ravaged bag that you had made somewhere in the past

only, it seems as though your assailant had attempted to sew the pieces back together with no success, analyzing how the threading was loose and several strands of cheap fabric were sticking out in awkward directions

the gentle click of the door closing behind you causes a gasp to get caught in your throat

whether it was the frigid temperatures or your formidable trepidation, you stood frozen in your stance as you anticipate for the inevitable to occur

however, there is nothing; no ax through your neck, no bullet through your brain, no knife through your gut – there is only a frail, yet bone-chillingly deep voice that breaks through the silence

“i-i… i tried…” his voice trembles as the syllables barely manage to escape from his throat, his sheer infatuation rendering him at a total loss for words

trembling in your stance, you take a deep breath to prepare yourself for where this disaster of a night will soon bring you, closing your eyes and letting the temporary solace of darkness envelop you

you then speak into the air, heavy with tension, “i know you don’t want to hurt me”

never

god, how could he? how could he let anything happen to you?

simon has shredded himself to pieces contemplating all the ways you’ve experienced pain; from the healed scars of your childhood to the perverted monsters lurking around your store, he’d die if he ever let something happen to you again

especially not after he has betrayed you in such a way – the wretched sound of his father ripping fabric still makes him shiver with dread

what truly sent him over the edge was your attempt to speak to a guest about your recent fears in desperation, however, your speech only came out in a drunken slur

he watches the scene play out from the corner, standing in the mask you designed for him as they merely laugh at the state you were in, a memory you had since forgotten upon sobering up

what would appear as a seemingly inconsequential interaction to others had simon drowning in his own satiating trepidation

despite the apprehension rotting within him, there is a sense of gratitude he gives himself for the idea of manipulating the technology used for his time serving to break into your phone and send out an email to your employees regarding the masks

he was able to safely attend the event while hiding in the shadows, and fortunately, he was able to prevent this stranger from ever putting their hands on you again, despite the only intimacy between you two being a playful hand-on-the-shoulder

the mere idea of this absolute nobody taking advantage of a poor, sickened you sends a sharp chill tickling up his spine

and seeing you sway around in a drunken daze only set this overprotective nature into overdrive, to where he would travel to unethical matters to protect the one he loves most

this is my love for you, he thinks to himself as he holds the party-goer hostage in the alleyway beside your shop, his voice turning hoarse as he yells a variety of obscenities before blowing their brains out when they dared to utter your name

and this is how sorry i am, he thinks to himself as his chest heaves with rhapsodies of pleasure, the dreamy sight of you in his arms as he carries you to his car causing his whole body to tremble harshly

mustering enough strength within himself to merely start the vehicle, he drives off into the night, attempting to ignore the all-too-overwhelming euphoria that would come with acknowledging you were right behind him in the backseat, sleeping ever so soundly

like you deserve, right where you belong

simon somehow managing to avoid crashing his car leaves you here, conscious as ever before as you turn your body around, making firm eye contact with this lovesick psycho standing on the other side of the blood-stained room

he perceptibly shudders beneath your newfound gaze, your eyes filled with familiarity and horror

one foot in front of the other, you tread closer and closer and closer to him, his whole body quivering with sharp breaths as his eyes remain adhered to you

the pull of your leg, the nod of your head – every movement you make is all too elusive and has him practically gasping for life

you halt in your stance once you’re stood chest-to-chest with him, where you then begin to lightly trace your fingers among the recesses of his mask

gazing into his eyes which were fringed by blonde lashes, his eyes then begin to well up with unshed tears of exhiliration

any composure befitting that of an active member of the 141 is discarded, to where only this gnawing desire he holds for you remains

you caress every crevice still perceptible beneath the thick expanse of the mask you crafted long ago, almost as if you’re trying to memorize what he looks like

then, you take to scraping your nails against the hem of the mask, and without so much as a beat, the 6’4 man stood before you obediently submits

with shaky breaths, simon pulls his mask off – just for you, only for you

taking note of the ruffled head of blonde hair, the hues within his irises, and every jut and curve of his facial structure, you retain all fractions of his appearance

despite how your lies practically bleed through your weak exterior of reciprocated adoration, his gaze is still shimmering with the same benign infatuation he has always had for you

the light of your attention only on him, the zephyr of your breath fanning his face, your hands, the very same used to create such exquisite art, touching him of all people

simon can’t believe this is happening, he doesn’t believe it

this must be another altercation of the same dream he’s had every night for years now, he assumes

but, he can just almost feel you beneath him, fingers hovering over your form as he itches to indulge in you, but is all too terrified to close the distance between them

you, however, take the leap for him and before his brain can contemplate the sheer enrapturement that may just kill him with its weight, you then kiss him

and simon melts into you

his kiss is weak and inexperienced but is still laced with reverent need and desperation

the taste of champagne on his tongue, the words caught in his teeth, and the permanent residence you own within his tainted heart – he is so in love with you

there is merely no haven in the universe that could match the serenity acquired from this absolute reverie

it is overwhelming to have you so close, god, is it too fucking overwhelming, but this fervent pleasure only you can bring has black dots floating around the edges of his vision

he has been left completely dazed, the crimes he has committed that adorned the room not taking a single thought in his mind, the spot only filled to the brim with you, you, and you

the intensity of just how amazing it felt stunned simon and while he relishes in the sensation, a sharp sting in his gut suddenly startles him, peering down only to see you holding one of his many hunting knives, which had now been buried into his abdomen

the thin facade you swiftly built comes crashing down, to where there is nothing but sheer repulsion in your expression, the very same repulsion he knows he deserves

once again, he had imprudently deluded himself into believing he deserved to have this, that he could ever amount to being worthy of such an exhilarating, honest moment

but, as he falls to the tiled floors, blood pooling beneath him, there is no sense of betrayal or hurt within him

you are the pinnacle of righteousness, after all, and simon begins to laugh softly to himself as the revelation settles once again

love is real, and it is champagne-drunk walking away from the bloodied mess he’s made.

❝ 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. ❞

˚ ✩ 🎈 ｡ ˚ ✧ * ｡ 🌀

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gintrinsic-writing · 5 months

Text

For You

@st-hedge always creates great art but this evening I saw this picture and had to write something for it. hopefully they don't mind i gave it an lu twist for angst (please dm me if that IS an issue)

“They call it the Downfall Timeline,” his husband murmured, features highlighted in resplendent bronze from the sunlight streaming across the balcony. “Those two exist only because of tragedy.”

Link threaded their fingers together. The backs of their hands shined with destiny’s humbling curse. “A tragedy not your doing.”

His husband sighed. Funny, that such a soft sound should come from such a fierce man. “Perhaps. Still, I cannot deny that my soul harbors—”

“We’ve been over this,” Link interrupted. He used his free hand to gently tilt his husband’s face toward him. “You are responsible only for yourself. You cannot control what happened in the past, or in other timelines; only what you choose to do with your life.”

“I want to believe you, I always do. But still, there are times…” His husband trailed off, ashamed to admit what they both already knew to be true.

“It’s alluring, isn’t it?” Link asked knowingly. “That kind of power, just waiting to be picked up? Hells, even darkness has a draw.”

His husband kissed him on the forehead, then the cheek. “Like you’d know.”

Link smiled, then flicked his husband over the heart. “I really do,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Finally, Link got what he wanted; his husband threw his head back and laughed. The world was richer for it. “That’s because you’re some wretched deviant,” his husband teased. “You’re not supposed to—”

“Wretched?” Link interrupted again with a huff, fakely affronted. “You think I’m wretched?”

“I notice you don’t deny your deviancy.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect.” Link poked at his husband’s upper lip, amused by the large canine tooth this revealed. “But I'd argue I have impeccable taste. I’m basically an artist.”

His husband snorted loudly. “If the world depended upon your ability to draw a recognizable stick figure, we’d all be doomed.”

“That’s the rudest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

Link didn’t bother hiding his grin, but his amusement faded altogether when his husband once again glanced at the street below. The Downfall Duo met up with a larger group; nine heroes in total, just like the rumors had warned. They didn’t look like much, but that meant nothing when the goddesses were involved.

“Practically children,” his husband murmured, “yet still they frighten me.”

“Forget them. They’re not here for us.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Gan,” Link said, taking his husband’s face in both hands. “There’s nothing to fear. We turned our backs on that cycle long ago.”

His husband shook his head. “I doubt they’d agree. They’ll sense me soon enough—sense us. The Triforce will see to it.”

Link shrugged. “So what? Let them come. They’ll see for themselves the life we’ve made, how wonderful it is.”

The sun dipped below the rooftops. His husband’s eyes emitted a faint glow when he tilted his head. “And if they decide I’m a threat anyway?”

Link pressed his lips together and hummed, tangling his fingers in his husband’s long red hair. “If it comes to that, I suppose I’ll have to kill them.”

His husband shook his head slowly. “You’d kill Farore’s blessed, your own spiritual kin?”

Link leaned in, his breath ghosting against his husband’s lips. “For you? I’d do terrible, terrible things.”

And Ganondorf could only chuckle as he swept Link up and slotted their mouths together. Everything fell into place as it always did when he had Link like this. “Pray it doesn’t come to that,” he murmured at last, fighting the chill that destiny held over their shoulders.

“They better,” Link told him.

#fanart fic #lu fic #in a very vague sort of way #loz #loz fic #gintrinsic writing #ganlink #ganondorf

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janasrdhr · 5 months

Text

A Night Too Young - Simon “Ghost” Riley

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Warning(s): Slight NSFW, Explicit Language, Possible OOC

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Stuck playing a lovesick married couple for a mission to gather intel, Ghost had his arm looped through yours as he walked beside you. “Don't even think about pulling some dumb move. There'll be hell to pay, angel," he warned, giving you a sharp look before ushering you inside the building.

“Keep it together. I'm dead serious,” he muttered, his deep voice wavering slightly. Those phoney wedding rings you both wore sparkled under the party's strobe lights, a fake sign of love that turned your stomachs.

“What?” you retort with a scoff, a hint of irritation on your face. “Do I look like a six-year-old to you? Watch your tone, Ghost.”

“I don’t need to know how old you are, princess.” He hissed back, keeping a firm grip on your wrist as he guided you through the crowded place. “I’ll be your damn babysitter if I have to. You’ll either play along with this marriage or get yourself into shit.”

His eyes flickered with a dark look as he dragged you toward a private area, away from prying eyes. “There are stakes in this. Do not screw this up.”

You grit your teeth, inhaling deeply. “Fuckin' hell, imagine actually having to be your wife and returning home to you every single day,” you mutter with a sigh.

“You really shouldn’t complain.” He shot back, dragging you into a corner that had a more secluded view from the rest of the party. His eyes were sharp, a slight glare toward you. The way you were acting made him mad. “If you were really in this position, you could be in trouble.”

You scoff and shoot him a defiant look. “Believe me, I won't,” you glare.

“Good.” His eyes narrowed as he pulled you closer to him, your bodies almost touching. He looked you up and down, his gaze making you wonder. “Good, because you may just be my ‘wife’.”

He whispered the last word, his tone slightly sinister as a small smirk spread across his face.

You force a fake, sickly smile and give him a little shove. “You're quite the smartass, aren't you? Don't get ahead of yourself,” you warn.

“Oh, careful, princess.” His eyes flickered with that dark look as he grabbed your wrists, pinning you against the wall of the secluded area. “You’re gonna just get yourself into loads of trouble.”

Your stomach turned as you felt his warm body heat up against yours, and you felt yourself blush as he leaned forward. His deep voice spoke again, sending a chill through your spine. “This ‘act’, is for you and me only. You hear me?”

“The hell are you on about?” you press on with a furrowed brow.

A chuckle escaped his throat as he ran his fingers lightly along your waist, sending even more shivers down your back.

The smile on Ghost’s face grew wide as he looked back at you in the corner of his eye. His fingers still running along your figure in gentle strokes, his smirk growing slightly larger.

“I can see right through you, princess.”

You arch an eyebrow and snort, “Someone seriously needs to humble you.”

A soft chuckle left Ghost’s throat as he looked away from you, his hand still running along your waist as if he was mesmerized by your figure.

“Oh really? And how do you plan on doing that?”

Without letting you answer, Ghost suddenly had your hand in his grasp, gently pulling you close to his body. You were almost breathless.

You gasp, “Fuck are you-”

His fingers traced over your body, sending shivers like electric sparks.

With your mouth slightly ajar, Ghost shot you a smirk and whispered in your ear, “That's it, princess...”

His deep voice gave you chills as he abruptly pulled you close. In the dim, secluded corner, your wedding rings glimmer, the distant strobe lights from the party casting a faint glow.

“Someone's gonna-” you squirm, afraid someone might walk in.

“Stop struggling, princess.” His deep voice was smooth as silk, his hand running along your waist still as he lifted you up against the wall.

“Oh, look at that…our rings match.” He smirked, keeping you close to his body.

You roll your eyes, “No shit.”

A soft chuckle left his throat as his gaze remained on your face and your struggling. “No need to roll your eyes like a brat, princess, I know it’s hard for you to handle this..”

You chuckle, saying, “The only thing that's hard here is you, sweetie."

Ghost smirked at you before suddenly moving even closer, his hand moving even lower on your waist as the other grasped your thigh.

“Sweetie?” He whispered, his mouth almost touching your ear. “Why don’t you show me just how sweet you are, princess?”

“Wouldn't you just love to find out?" you tease, smirking as your finger traces along his jawline.

Ghost’s eyes flickered a bit, his gaze darkening, his lips almost touching yours. You saw the light shine in his pupils before his other hand grabbed your neck, pulling you closer.

The room became silent as he smirked. “Oh, I do need to know…”

The limited space between the either of you, closing in.

You halt him by placing your palm over his mouth. “Forget our little agreement already? No kissing, unless it's absolutely necessary."

“You really are a brat, huh?” Ghost chuckled, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine as he slowly lowered his hand from your mouth.

“Fine, for the mission, right?” He smirked at you and brushed your hair out of your face. “What if I wanted to kiss you, though?” His voice raised a bit, an odd blush adorning him.

You just shrug, giving him a playful grin. “Oh come on, use that military training of yours. Exercise a bit of self-control, Lieutenant," you chuckle.

“…You didn’t answer my question.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“…What if I wanted to kiss you?” Ghost suddenly mumbled, his voice a soft whisper as if he wanted nobody to hear it. “Would you let me…?” His eyes held that same odd look as they stared down at yours, almost looking soft, his expression almost innocent.

Your eyes briefly flicker down to his lips, just for a moment, before lifting back up to meet his gaze. “Only if necessary."

“Right…” His eyes locked in on yours before he smirked, his body becoming more tense as he leaned forward slightly. “What if I tried to…”

Ghost suddenly closed the gap, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss as his other hand grasped the side of your cheek. His lips were soft and his body heat radiated against yours.

Your eyes flutter closed as you try to savour the moment, but he pulls away, prompting you to instinctively follow his lips.

Ghost leans over you, his taller frame creating an encompassing presence. His forearm casually finds support on the wall above your head, creating a subtle but firm barrier. The proximity is intense, his gaze possibly locking onto yours, and the touch of his forearm adds a protective and somewhat possessive quality to the moment. It's a gesture that speaks volumes, blending an aura of intimacy with a hint of dominance.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as you looked at him.

“Why did you-"

Ghost took a moment before his deep voice spoke again, the flirtatious tone making your heart rate spike. “I don’t know…”

“…Maybe it’s because I’ve wanted to for a while.”

You roll your eyes and let out a groan, giving him a shove before pressing on into the crowded bar. Your focus shifts back to the mission, but you can't shake the racing beat of your heart as you try to keep things under control.

He eventually followed you, his hand gently placed on your back as you walked.

“I think we got off to the wrong start earlier. Just don’t do anything stupid and we’ll be fine, alright?”

You stay quiet, but flash a faux smile to keep things low-key, casually looping your hand through Simon's to dodge prying eyes.

With his free hand, Ghost grabbed your hip and nipped it slightly. It was still all for the mission…right?

He looked down at you with those eyes, now staring just a bit deeper into yours. “We look pretty good together.” His whisper sent a chill through your spine.

“…Don’t you think?”

“It doesn't matter," you push out, staring straight ahead.

Ghost scoffed as he let go of your thigh, his grip tightening on your hand. “I think it matters…to me at least.”

You abruptly stop and face him. “Why are you doing this?"

Ghost looked down at you for a moment before speaking, his tone almost sincere. “I don’t just…”

He looked down at your wedding rings, the ones that sparkled in the dim lighting. He was suddenly silent and still.

“…I think I…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence as his eyes looked back up at you, his expression profound. “Fuck- never mind. It’s stupid.”

You grasp his collar and yank him down to eye level. “Did you ever actually care about not acting like an idiot around me?”

Ghost swallowed as he looked right into your eyes, your face inches from his. His voice broke slightly.

“Alright…fine.” His expression was serious as he took a deep breath. “Look, princess…I-...I think I have feelings for you, alright? There, I said it…”

“No, we can't—you-” you begin, but your words are suddenly silenced as he crashes his lips onto yours.

The mission…the act of marriage. It was becoming less and less of a role, and more of an actual experience for you both.

Your heart pounded as you heard a small moan escape from the kiss, his hand holding yours a little tighter. He pulled away for a moment, breathing out hard and fast. “Princess…”

“Shut up,” you whisper before pulling him back in.

He let a small moan escape his lips too as his one hand grabbed the back of your head, the other tensing the grip on your hip. You were both making the mission harder to follow.

The kiss grew deeper and it almost felt like nothing else mattered, except for this moment. Simon kissed you again, his passion growing again as his tongue lightly pressed into your lips. Both so lost in the moment…

You pull away ever so slightly, catching your breath. “The mission, Simon-”

Ghost swallowed the moment his lips broke from yours, his breathing heavy as he looked at you, a deep blush on his cheeks.

He tried to speak, but his voice was slightly rasped as he looked right into your eyes. “The mission…” he started, his deep tone sounding a bit more cautious. But then, “Fuck it.”

He grabbed you close again before pulling you back into a kiss, a smirk on his lips as he gently nibbled your lower lip. God, he wanted you.

“D-don't,” You whimper.

“Fuck, princess,” He rasped, his breaths growing shallow.

You gaze into his eyes, your own glossed over. Your composure wavering by the slow second.

Until...

“Say, Mr. Riley, mind if we skip to the night of our wedding?”

A chuckle.

Simon's fingers glide tenderly to meet the metal of your wedding band. The cool touch of his skin contrasts with the warmth of the ring as he lifts your hand, cradling it gently. With a soft, affectionate kiss, he presses his lips against the symbol of duty, all while burning his velvet browns into yours.

“Your wish is my command, Mrs. Riley”

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masterlist - cod masterlist

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homosexualmorelikehomiesexual · 5 months

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god i fucking love venetia and i wish ppl would talk abt her more

like. the way her response to everything is to watch and laugh. everything her utterly ridiculous family does. because she *sees* it. watching oliver listen in on elspeth gossiping about him, *laughing* as he tries to find an in, laughing because hes doing exactly what she does: *observe*. walking in just as elpseth starts talking about pamelas husband bc she knows her mother thinks shes a whore and doesnt want her to hear about available older men. the box blonde hair with the roots showing and still-dark eyebrows, unlike elspeths perfect dye job. the lived in black nail polish. a discarded toy with chipped paint, a shiny thing. the sequins and glitter on every outfit, looking more like Poor Dear Pamela than a catton. the way she sees pamela be humiliated for not knowing who shelley is, so she tells her a little bit about him. except its fake. a ghost story. but felix and elspeth get chills bc they think its real. the way she may notve felt threatened by oliver from the start, because she wasnt in danger yet, but she was figuring it out. when he came outside in less clothes than her and then made a show of offering her a blanket, playing humble, then making a performance of being cold, playing foolish and charming. the air quotes in her voice when she calls oliver "real" because she can see that hes not. hes faking the way rich people fake being real and down to earth, just like she does. except he does it better than her and better than last years one. a seethrough night dress, knowing oliver would see, but genuinely blindsided by the presumptuous attempt at domination. because suddenly the tactic has switched. hes not weak pretending to be powerful pretending to be weak. now hes powerful, pretending to be weak, pretending to be powerful. playing along to see where he'll go with it, and laughing when he switches tactics again. youve got a little something there. playing humbe again. i see. so you didnt really notice, someone mustve told you. playing along with it again at the table, laughing bc shes just toying with him. glancing at farleigh when she talks about the henries, bc she knows he knows. discarding oliver then immediately sitting in felix's lap. lying on a beach towel with the lesbian flag colors. at the party dressed in sequins talking to an older man. pouring an entire wine bottle out at the table. watching oliver at the funeral and it finally clicking, not for the first time, just everything slotting into place. stranger fucking danger.

the girl who was never trying to seduce oliver, just watching. watching him realize how the family works. watching the moon, because we're all about to lose our minds. the girl who knows her families game, and choses to just watch, her very presence showing their hand at every turn.

the girl who just went to have a look at the moon.

#finnposting #saltburn #venetia catton #rotating her in my mind!!!!!!!#finns saltburn tag

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agentnico · 5 months

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Top 10 WORST Movies of 2023

For every good movie there’s always a dozen stinkers, and 2023 brought out a lot of turkeys, and I’m not referring to all the poor birds that ended up in our bellies this Christmas season. It’s become a tradition for me every year to do a top 10 best and worst movies of the year list, and I tend to leave the top 10 best list till later as I catch up will the awards potentials, however with the bad list I get right on into it. There are of course many bad movies this year I didn’t see, as I don’t actively seek out to watch the bad ones, but I have heard that these following haven’t been the best: Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, The Marvels, Indiana Jones 5, Shazam: Fury of the Gods, Expend4bles, Children of the Corn, Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey…… damn, a lot of films got a bad rep this year. Yet I have 10 other ones that I’ve seen that I thought were crap. Don’t worry if a film you loved ends up on this list, it will simply mean your opinion is wrong and your have to live with that. With that in mind, here’s my humble list of the shit-fest Hollywood had to offer in 2023…

10) ANT-MAN & THE WASP: QUANTUMANIA - Everything that is wrong with the current state of Marvel is exhibited on full display here. Lacking a sense of direction and exploiting the idea of the multiverse just for the sake of it, the movie is a dud. It feels like whilst trying to focus on going bigger and bolder, the movie lost the sense of fun that elevated the earlier instalments in the tiny hero’s franchise. Paul Rudd is still as charming and likeable as ever, however the introduction of Kang as the next MCU Big Bad is pointless seeing as this big baddie can be defeated by a bunch of ants. Don’t make no difference now anyway with Jonathan Majors losing the court case, but who in the first place thought “oh yeah, Kang is a badass who killed many Avengers, but a giant head of Corey Stoll should weaken him no problem”. Look, there’s no sugarcoating it - this movie is bad. Also, Bill Murray appears in this because…?

9) THE BEANIE BUBBLE - Zack Galifianakis without any facial hair is truly a sight to behold, but that’s not enough to make this fluffy yet bland behind-the-scenes look at the famous Beanie Babies toys even remotely interesting. It’s as if this film can’t bear (thank you) to show the creepier side of these toys, as this should have been a more darker and messed up tale, especially with the lightly implied institutional sexism. Oh well, that’s that then.

8) WE HAVE A GHOST - If ever there was a movie that fit more to the phrase “Netflix & Chill” then this is it, as you will be too busy banging your partner or your sock than caring about a silent speechless David Harbour creeping about Casper-like and being all quiet and mysterious. To be fair he’s the only redeemable quality as the rest of the movie is a mishmash hodgepodge of genres that is neither funny, nor effective in its family drama dynamic. At least seeing Jennifer Coolidge jump out a window was mildly amusing. Mildly. Anyway, where’s that sock?

7) THE OLD WAY - It is truly fascinating that after starring in over 100 films, this is Nicolas Cage’s first ever western. Aside from that mind boggling revelation, this movie comes out with less than a bang. I don’t know, I was hoping for something a bit more mad, especially with Cage’s involvement. Heck, in the movie’s opening sequence Nicolas Cage is introduced with a sprawling Poirot-like moustache, and immediately I assumed that I am in for something ridiculous. However following that scene the movie cuts to 20 years later, and with that both the moustache and the hope for something exciting or weird is diminished to singular unseen atoms.

6) FOOL’S PARADISE - The directorial debut from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia star Charlie Day (who also writes and stars), misfiring Hollywood satire Fool’s Paradise wastes a strong ensemble cast that also includes Adrien Brody, Jason Sudeikis, Jason Bateman, Kate Beckinsale, Ken Jeong, Common, John Malkovich and the late Ray Liotta. Look, in a way I feel bad about including this film on this list, as you can tell this is a true passion project for Day and one that has good intentions by attempting to go back to the old-school slapstick Charlie Chaplin-era of comedy, with a lighthearted satire on the way the film industry works. In this case the result is neither sweet nor funny enough, and as such it’s an unfortunate misfire, but easily the most disappointing inclusion on this list.

5) GHOSTED - Adrien Brody’s crappy French accent in this movie I could have forgiven, if only I have not seen John Wick: Chapter 4 a couple of weeks prior where I experienced the most delightful Parisian mouthing of Bill Skarsgard’s villain, so now Brody’s French-ish slur sticks out like a sore thumb. What else sticks out is that Ghosted feels like a film from the early 2000s, featuring every cliche of the genre and with a romantic pairing of Chris Evans and Ana de Armas whom share zero chemistry. Their kissing scenes reminded me of that Andrew Garfield/Emma Stone SNL sketch where they don’t know how to kiss on camera, only in this case it’s unintentional. Also featuring a slew of pointless cameos, and I do mean pointless, this is a throwaway campy spy-action flick that is destined to be forgotten.

4) THE EXORCIST: BELIEVER - Billed as the true sequel to William Friedkin’s original horror masterpiece, it really shouldn’t have strived for that. Ellen Burstyn’s return is a waste. For those excited to see her, she’s only in 3 or 4 scenes total, and the creative choices made with her character are such a disservice to the original movie. Without spoiling, it’s a choice that seems to be inspired by the modern woke culture, with Burstyn’s Chris having being studying the art of exorcism ever since the events that transpired with her daughter, and then when questioned about why she herself did not partake in her daughter’s exorcism she blames the patriarchy. The choice of bringing her into this narrative and then what happens to her…it’s basically taking a classic character and making them dumb. I must say though that the only actual shocking moment in the movie comes in a scene involving her character, and though that moment itself is memorable, the build up towards it is so stupid. Also, with the return of Burstyn it comes as no surprise within the movie when a certain other character pops in for a cameo. Does it add anything to the movie’s story? No, it’s just there for cheap fan service. As for the movie itself, the horror hardly works. It’s not scary at all and you really shouldn’t believe in this one.

3) THE SUPER MARIO BROS. MOVIE - Yeah, I know, my inclusion of this film on the list will rattle some feathers, but I don’t care, as for any of you pricks out there thinking that stupid “Peaches” song deserves an Academy Award nomination, you guys are stupid and must be high on some very powerful shrooms. If so, I hope you’re having a great trip, but the fact stands that this movie is bad. Simply doing fan service for the sake of fan service don’t make for a good narrative. Me and my friend were bored throughout, as this movie is 100% for kids. There are nostalgic elements to it all, but I do believe that Illumination and Nintendo should have followed more in The Lego Movie’s footsteps and targeted the film for audiences of all ages, due to the fact that many who grew up with Mario are now adults themselves.

2) LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND - So much wasted potential. A long drawn-out slow shuffle to Nowheresville. A movie that offers so many ideas, plot points, and thread lines that are never answered or go anywhere. In Leave the World Behind things are truly happening under the motto “just because” and “why the hell not” and it makes the viewing experience immensely frustrating. Especially when the movie is nearly 2 and a half hours long and the anticlimactic abrupt ending is a slap to your face for wasting your time. Oh, and if I weren’t a fan of the Friends show before, now more so than ever.

1) 65 - Right ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to ask you all so kindly to rise up from your seats and give a humongous round of applause to 65 - the 2023 film to exhibit qualities of a top contender of the worst movie of this year. Look, I’m disappointed as you are. Adam Driver fighting dino-dinos’?! You’d be a madman to not want to see that! However here’s 65′s first mistake: there actually aren’t that many dinosaurs, let alone fights with them. I know right, I can sense the resounding aura of you, my kind audience, in unison thinking “what the f***?”. Exactly, what the fudge indeed. No, instead what we get is a couple of somewhat thrilling dinosaurs interactions, but overall the movie is just Adam Driver and this little girl walking. Just walking. Walking and whistling. Bunch of jackasses.

That’s it - we did it! Now I can happily forget I ever watched any of these and mentally prepare for what wonders of stupidity 2024 will bring to the big screen. As for my Best Movies of 2023 list, don’t worry, it’s a-coming. Still need to watch The Boy and the Heron and Poor Things and then all will be revealed…

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crushedbyhyperbole · 1 year

Text

When the Body Says Yes

Pairing: Vampire Bucky Barnes X Reader

Summary: Your hunt for an authentic Venetian mask in Venice leads to a different hunt entirely... one where you are the prey.

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I hope you enjoy this little patch of darkness! And I humbly request your feedback. If you like it at all please give it a 🧡 and a reblog, If you loved it then please let me know in a reblog comment - I will always respond so long as Tumblr doesn’t toss them into the void.

I was inspired to write this fic on a recent trip to Venice. Walking around the city - getting lost is often the best way to find unique things - I discovered the “Dutch Pavillion” which had an art show called “when the body says yes”. This inspired the smut aspect of the fic.

Please note this is not a happy ending...

Warnings: Dark Bucky, Vampire Bucky, angst, hurt/no comfort, stalking/hunting, fear/panic, non-con smut (effectively sex-pollen), explicit sexual content, blood, character death (ambiguous), talk of lost loved ones.

***18 + content - minors do not read or interact***

My Masterlist

The late October air is mild and still. The setting of the sun illuminates the city of Venice in a different way; streetlights and shop fronts bring life to the night. Market stalls and street vendors sell tourists souvenirs and tat, and restaurant staff haunt the steps of passers by, claiming the best pasta in Italy or one-time-only discounts.

The streets are packed with people in costume, and street artists entertain the throngs with performance and song. It is Halloween. How could you not be giddy as you shop for an authentic Venetian mask on a night when the whole of Venice seems to wear one.

In the mass of bodies, some costumes stand out. Your eye is drawn to a particularly alluring devil mask; white with gold filigree and a sinister, red-lipped smile. The person wearing it, certainly a man, is tall and broad-chested, wearing a long black cloak with the hood up. Besides the mask he may as well be a shadow, and he is looking right at you.

His mask is wonderful and you should really approach him to ask where he got it, but the coldness of his eyes - dark and foreboding behind the mask - warns you off. You glance around, aware that you are stood in the middle of the pavement in everyone’s way but when you look back he is gone, vanished into the crowd.

The chill at the nape of your neck cascades down your spine and over your skin as goosebumps. It is probably just the charged atmosphere and the occult connotations that Halloween brings, but you cannot shake the feeling until the smell of fresh pizza fills your nostrils and your tummy growls in appreciation. Tasting the local offerings is definitely on your to-do list but only after you have bought yourself an authentic Venetian mask, of course.

Your hunt for the perfect mask takes you away from the busy central area around San Marco. The streets become less retail and more like narrow alleys between tall misshapen buildings. High-up balconies with flowering planters give way to shuttered windows and crumbling brickwork. The air has taken on a sudden chill as mist hazes the air lightly.

The hairs on the back of your neck bristle, skin crawling uncomfortably as you realise that you don’t quite know where you are anymore; the map makes no sense compared to what you are seeing with your eyes. Behind you, shoes scuff on stone and you whip around only to find the pathway clear. You are alone.

The city hasn’t felt at all sinister until now, but you try to pass it off as a symptom of the night; Halloween is a time for ghost stories and chilled bones, all the more effective to the solitary wanderer. By rights you shouldn’t be here alone, but you are. A promise made to a friend recently laid to rest; you had planned to do this together, to cross Venice off your bucket lists together, experience the romantic city on the water. Lucy. Her bucket list would forever be unfinished, her time cut short, your heart broken in two. You were doing this for her, making good on all the plans you had discussed, all of the things you had both dreamed of. She would laugh at you if she could see you now, quaking in your boots because of a little darkness and fog. The memory of her light laughter carries you forward.

You were hoping to make your way to the Rialto and use the bridge to cross the grand canal to San Polo, but the huge structure remains elusive. Instead, you find yourself passing through some of the more dilapidated parts of the city. You had seen the Cannaregio area in your guidebook and had wanted to visit during the day when shopping for craft and vintage items would be better, but you find yourself on the edge of the old Jewish Ghetto before realising it; a sign of carved stone under an archway tells you Sotoportego De Gheto. You pass underneath and keep going.

There are fewer people here, and the ones you pass are not dressed in costume. No one is wearing masks, which makes the dark cloaked figure in a white devil mask all the more conspicuous. The man from the parade. He is standing in a dark space between two buildings, his mask pale and ghostly in the shadows. He is watching you.

For a moment, you are frozen in place. A step aborted with a slight stumble and a gasp caught in your throat. That prickling feeling at your nape returns with fervour, crawling over your scalp now, making your heart race with fear. He had not been ominous when you first saw him in the crowd but now you feel like you should not get any closer, and you definitely should not cross his path.

Heading in a different direction, you try to put some distance between you and the man. You take turn after turn in the dark, closed-in alleys, crossing canal after canal with their bridges made of steps and no railings. And just when you think you have lost him, the swish of a dark cloak in your peripheral vision sends your panic skyrocketing upwards once more. It feels like he is everywhere you turn.

Suddenly frantic, you run – crossing small, cobbled squares with strange, covered wells and dodging around corners – just to escape. Everywhere you turn the shadows seem to move. Pale masks with sinister red smiles follow every step. Every time you think you have seen a normal person who you can ask for help, it is another ominous shadow that moves just like the rest.

Your eyes are swimming with tears when you emerge from the alley at the edge of another canal. The bridge nearby is larger than the few before it and you take the steps at a run, crossing over onto an open square with a large white building that looks to be some sort of church or museum; the rainbow colours in the circular gothic-style window give you hope.

It is warm as you cross the threshold and a delicate musky scent welcomes you inside. The atrium is clad in dark wood, carved in the gothic style. Its pointed arches and flourishes are highlighted by the cosy orange glow of lanterns that surround a petite lady in a dark orange robe, her shaved head accenting the beauty of her face. She smiles at you and welcomes you to the Dutch Pavillion, a place to explore one’s inner self and beauty. You glance over your shoulder and out into the night. There are no ominous shadows and no pale masks haunting your steps now, and you sigh with relief as you step further inside.

The warm glow of the lanterns leads you to the right, through a large doorway where the wood stops and the same white stone from the exterior continues throughout the rest of the huge chamber. A sheer curtain made of fine filaments of woven threads hangs between you and the rest of the chamber. A projection of some film reflects against it, and you see it from behind, bodies writhing in pleasure as the flickering images reveal an orgy in progress on the curtained screen.

What is this place?

The floor around you is covered with shoes, paired nicely and respectfully, and you realise that beyond the fringe curtain the whole chamber floor is covered in cushions and upholstered shapes that rise and fall like waves. Not just waves, soft peaks and raised platforms too, all comfortable and appealing.

There are people there, watching the film as it plays on the strange fringe curtain. Couples cuddling and others reclining in this comfortable, care-free space. The scent that welcomed you in is stronger here, reminding you of something you couldn’t quite place, stirring emotion in you that could only be described as desire.

You shouldn’t be here, but you don’t want to leave. Whoever was following you could still be there, waiting for you outside. The man in the mask. You don’t know what he wanted but it couldn’t be good. The least sinister motive for his pursuit would have been to talk to you but then he would have called out to you, surely? Your skin crawls again as you stand, caught between leaving and pushing through the curtain.

You decide to peek, fingers twitching as they part the fringe, revealing more than could be seen before. It is a scene in motion, people in various states of undress, writhing and gyrating in pleasure. The scene in front of you reflects what’s being projected onto the curtain, larger than life and unfiltered.

A quiet squeak and a loud thump startle you and you turn to find the door to the outside closed. The petit woman in the orange robes passes you with a dark cloak over her arm and something else you recognise held reverently in both hands. A white devil mask with a sinister, red-lipped grin.

You stagger back, tripping on the shoes, crying out as you fall to the ground but you don’t land. Instead, you are held up and lifted back to your feet by strong arms that cradle you gently. That is when you first see him properly. Styled dark hair that is swept back and piercing blue eyes that smile at the edges. Dusky pink lips that look plush but firm, all the more vibrant against his pale complexion. The suit he wears is dark, as is his shirt. His whole demeanour speaks of strength and power, and he looks more than sightly amused by your panic.

“Forgive me,” he says, voice neither too deep nor too soft. His eyes glint with mischief.

Your panic does not abate. No matter what your eyes and your brain tell you about this man, your gut is telling you something else. This man is beautiful and dangerous. A predator.

As he helps you to your feet his eyes never leave yours and you can feel your head start to swim. The musky scent from before is suddenly overpowering and you feel like you can’t breathe. You stumble against him and he inhales deeply, eyes fluttering closed, mouth falling open slightly as he sighs with pleasure.

“Please,” you beg as your arms start to feel heavy, “please don’t hurt me.”

He smiles softly, tipping your chin up so he’s looking down into your eyes. The breath he blows gently over you intoxicates you even more and you can feel that irresistible pull of desire once more.

“Who are you?” You moan, trying to shake some clarity into your foggy brain.

“You may call me James,” he places his fingertip on your forehead, “now, stay.”

You cannot move, no matter how hard you try, you can only watch as he sinks to his knee and removes your shoes one at a time.

“What do you want with me?”

He looks deep into your eyes once more, the blue of his almost black now and you’re reminded of a predator’s prey drive. Is that what you are? His prey?

“You’ll see.”

He parts the curtain and walks you through, your feet obeying his pull but not your own need to escape. The longer you’re under his spell the less you care, your heart beating fast out of excitement instead of fear now as his control strips you of all the emotions that you felt before. All that was left now was desire, devotion, excitement and a need for this man who had hunted you through the streets of Venice. James.

Other hands touch you as you pass carefully in James’ wake, the light caresses neither satisfying nor offensive. James’ hands, however, they set fire to your nerves and make them sing with adulation. He insists on undressing you himself, glaring at anyone who approaches you. They recoil in fear, seeing something in him that you have no capacity to comprehend in your altered state, and soon it is just the two of you on a raised part that you accept as his bed.

James’ naked body is as beautiful as his face. He is sculpted, strong and pale against the vibrant coverings and cushions of his bed. When he lays you down beneath him you can only watch as he settles between your parted thighs, lust-blown eyes devouring you whole.

His first kiss is at your ankles and the tops of your feet where he nips with his teeth and soothes afterwards with tongue and lips. The path he takes up your body is slow and consuming. By the time he is at your thighs you are on fire, desperately needing more than what he is giving you.

In the back of your mind, the rational part of you screams to escape. You know you should be terrified. You had not agreed to this. You know nothing about him, nor do you want to after he stalked you through the city, hunted and herded you to this place. His place.

The nip of his teeth on the inside of your thigh is sharp, a deep ache blooming under the site, drawing your attention back to him. His lips are sealed around the skin as he moans deeply, lightly suckling and licking. Your head falls back as a wave of light-headedness takes hold of you, just on the edge of bliss, almost like feeling drunk.

James’ face flushes pink and he smirks before he continues upward to your naked core. His kisses are hot and needy as he trails his lips over the soft hair of your mons and inhales the scent held there. He moans as he smothers you with his mouth and licks between your lips causing you to gasp and writhe.

The projection on the fringe curtain shows you both together; you lay on your back with a blissful smile on your lips and him lay between your legs, his cock hard and glistening as he devours you. The red smear on your thigh an afterthought. You watch your back arch as he slides his fingers inside you, and the feeling is surreal; watching yourself as he works you into a frenzy is beyond erotic. You feel yourself cresting the wave of pleasure with his fingers inside you and his mouth working its magic, and when you crash on the rocks of oblivion your whole body shakes with the aftershocks. You pant and moan as you come back into focus and you see James’ eyes on the screen, he looks at the camera with his dark, lustful gaze before returning his mouth to your flesh and beginning the process again.

His teeth nip at the skin of your hips and tummy, lips soothing afterwards as he travels further still, up to your breasts where he lathes one breast with his tongue, flicking and sucking on your nipple until you moan again. Fingers still buried in your core, he has been massaging and teasing enough to keep you close to orgasm but not quite there. His ministrations on your breasts tip you over and he supplies an orgasm for each breast, nibbling your nipples then sucking hard until you climax each time.

“You’re perfect,” he sighs above you with his cockhead poised at your entrance, “delectable, delicious and divine. Just as I knew you would be.”

He penetrates you firmly but smoothly, burying himself in you to the hilt. The solid stretch of him filling you makes your eyes roll back and closed. His thrusts rock your whole body as you cling to him, your legs around his hips and hands grasping his shoulders. It is not long before you pant and beg him to make you feel good again, and he does. He hooks your legs over his elbows and pushes your legs back so you are wide open to him. Open and more vulnerable than ever, weak and at his mercy.

Leaning over you like he does, his cock is buried so deep you can see it pushing against your tummy from the inside; he is hitting your sweet spot every time now, and your eyes water with the intensity of it. James looks ravenous as he watches you come apart under him, grinding his hips against you until the spasming of your core brings him to his own end.

Buried deep and pulsing inside you he drops yours legs and falls forward. His teeth nipping at your neck is harsh like it was at your thigh, a deep painful ache settles where his lips join your skin and his hands are rough as they hold you to him. You can feel a dual throbbing; in your core where he is still buried, hard and pulsing, and in your neck where he bites down on you.

The waves of your bliss start to fade and when James releases you, you look up at him with black tinging the edges of your vision. A cold chill settles over your skin as you see that the redness of his lips is not the flush of his orgasm, but blood. Your blood. And his teeth are not white anymore but tinged with red, and sharp.

“No!” You gasp with panic, and wriggle to get free – his spell seemingly loosened now – but he pins you down by your throat.

“Shhhh…” he soothes, the sinister air about him has returned and so has that scent, “you taste so much better feeling pleasure rather than fear.”

He blows an intoxicating breath over you again and you start to succumb. At the grey edges of your vision you see faces – white with red-lipped smiles – and James doesn’t make them leave this time. Your fear is replaced by desire once more as James bows his head to your neck and kisses over the deep throbbing ache he left there.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let them have you for long,” James smirks, “you’re mine.”

A sharp pain at your wrist makes your eyes water and you close them against the horror. Absently you wonder if you’ll see Lucy again soon. You don’t know whether her fate or yours is worse, neither is what either of you hoped for. Either way you’ll meet again, you’re sure of it. If these creatures exist then surely there’s a heaven and a hell, an afterlife or another form of existence.

You screw your eyes shut as more bites are added to your pain. You feel dizzy now, ethereal and warped all at the same time. Tiredness floods your body and when the darkness claims you, you’re glad.

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