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nidailylife · 8 months

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8.13.2023. I feel like i keep venting too much on my main blog, forgetting i have this sideblog.

My main blog is supposed to be about fandom stuff. ...Unfortunately, a lot of my meltdowns and mental crisises are about famdom stuff. (I dont have too much else in my life. Too much social anxiety.) I must be scaring people on my fandom blog. No wonder even some of my favorite arists blocked me. 😥

Maybe i just need to get back to journaling offline. But it can be a hassel to boot up my computer. And once i turn it on, i often forget to turn it off. It's going to wear out too soon. Sometimes it's just easier to write on Tumblr. It's been so much more dependable than other apps I've tried in the past. Apps that lost everything when my phone died. Like all those notes i took of my symptoms when the pandemic first started. I wish i could still reference those. So many habit trackers that just got bugs and messed up my notes too. Tumblr is just more reliable. And it's not like I'm followed by non-bots anyway (except for maybe like 2 or 4 people). Maybe i should just have a private Tumblr for my journalling and venting. But i never remember the passwords for private sideblogs. And writing my hand is unsustainable for me. There's always too much i want to write and not enough stamina in my hands.

Anyway, i got really annoyed over a fictional character, almost for the entirity of yesterday. I dont want to delete my ranting posts, because those are important personal fandom records for me. But it's also pretty ridiculous, embarassing, and unnecessarily hostile. But you cant Archive tag search private posts. So i went back and hid all my ranting posts under cuts. I just hope leaving my rants posted publically doesn't make me the infamous crazy fangirl they talk about behind my back or on other platforms. ...But it's alwaysba possibikity because I AM a crazy fangirl.

I just feel so stuck as an artist, when all i want to draw and make merch for is my OTP...but Ive probably destroyed my reputation in the fandom. I can't be confident about opening an online shop or selling stickers or especially networking and advertising my art/merch, when i know the fandom i make art for, probably hates me, ON TOP of my illustration skills being objectively bad. But "small business artist" is my only career/financial option right now. And I'm destroying it by expressing my fandom.

The other day, someone poated a list of things to do to have a good reputation online, for small business artists, or maybe it was for people in general. One point was to not post opinions about anything (especially political). I'm a human being. Is that really possible to do?

I keep thinking about rebranding, separating my past fangirl self from my art business. But i hit a wall when i realized almost all my art is attached to my fandoms. Even if i changed my online name brand, it'd be too easy to anyone to find my art also on my art blog or fangirling blog, then realize i eas that crazy fangirl with a ruined reputation. How can i feel confident, sinking hundreds of dillars, making merch out of my fanart, and then advertising it to the corresponding fandom communities, when even a rebrand may not save me. I used to be so hopeful that a rebrand could free me from all my worries. But if you need to advertise your art, it's too easy to use that very art to track my old identity. I really feel trapped and stuck, and unable to move.

...But i guess that's usual with my frequently catastrophizing brain. I still dont know what to do tho. Im still too afraid to open that online shop or advertise my merch.

I think about rebranding to only my original art, cut ties with fandom when it comes to my small art business. But I've watched too many marketing vids to know that not piggybacking off a preexisting community, is the opposite of smart. ...but ive ruined my rep with them...i think...

Just feeling trapped. Paralyzed. Too afraid.

And journalling on Tumblr. Tho even that is stressing me out, in a way, too, i guess.

#journaling #blogs #processing thoughts #artist problems #small business artists #venting #fandomfrictionfracas

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sundanceofapache · 2 years

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A chill wind blew through the otherwise bright autumn day as Baribus marched through the dense woods, his precious boy in his arms. Others said the place was cursed, that those who went in either didn't come out or came out mad. Flying fish, air that ripples, dreams made into horrors, and more. But some, some very few told him of what was there and helped him call to it.

"Shrines" of orange mushrooms fanned out at the basses of trees and logs like the bases of little fountains. From what the witches told him, these were the "wish god's" shrine and that offerings must be made to gain an audience with him. But not just anything could be offered—it had to have meaning.

Four of the wide, half-moon mushrooms were found, and on each one, a precious item was placed. A pin from his wife's hair, a woven leather bracelet made by his eldest son, a child's toy from Mathafew's cradle, and a locket with a picture and two sets of initials inside. But one more mushroom had to be found and a final sacrifice had to be made.

Exhausted, the dark-haired man grunted as he slogged through the sopping mud, the rain-sodden soil clinging to his boots. How hard could it be to find a big, orange mushroom when the first few had been spotted so easily? Hours passed and the rasping of his son's breath grew fainter. Baribus stopped, alarm bolting through him as he looked down at his struggling son.

"No, no, no, stay with me!" he said, taking a knee to hold him better. "Stay with me, we're almost there! We've almost done it!"

But the deathly pallor of his son revealed how few breaths he had left in him. Baribus fell to his knees, clutching his boy as tears ran down his cheeks and nose. Throwing his head back he let out the heartbroken cry of a desperate man,

"Oh, please! Whatever gods or specters or whatever lives in this forest, please! I'll give anything if you would just please save him!"

As he did, a shimmer caught his eye, and there, sprouting from a tiny branch, was the disk of the orange mushroom. But this one felt different as if it were filled with an intent about it—a presence.

'What do you offer me?' The presence asked, silent words pressing into the mind of the man.

Baribus looked at the mushroom and reached out a trembling hand. "My life," he whispered and rested his hand on the mushroom.

"It is accepted," said an echoing voice as the wind began to blow and the grove began to spin.

Baribus flinched but was unable to draw his hand back as the world twisted around him. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was over and brilliant sunshine shone down on him. The trees were gone. The swampy, muddy terrain was gone. Instead, he was kneeling on a vast hill at the bottom of a brilliant green valley. Mountain peaks clawed the skies, forming a natural wall to the outside world while brilliant hues of color radiated all around in the forms of streams, water lilies, fish, and birds.

But what held his eye was the gigantic golden-orange dragon hovering before him. It had a face like a koi fish, scales like a gold fish, and the body of a great ribbon that swayed like an eel in the waves. The great creature flapped its pectoral fins and fixed him with a gigantic blue eye.

"So," the fish-dragon said, "You have given me five offerings. What wish do you want in return then?"

Hearing this, the thin man shuffled on his knees and held out his son to the dragon. "Please save him, my son is dying and I can't help him. Please save him, let him live!"

The fish-dragon canted its head and eyed the sickly lad. "Hmmm, if I revive him, he'll just be killed again. Tell me, what would you do to prevent that?"

Baribus puffed his chest, his blue eyes narrowed sternly. "I would protect him with every skill I possess. No one, human, Fallen or Risen would ever touch him."

The fish looked at him shrewdly. "You would need help," the dragon mused, eyeing the pair of them. "What help would you ask of me to keep him alive?"

The young man paused and thought about it, tucking his chin against his chest. What kind of help would he ask of a dragon? Certainly nothing trivial or in need of maintaining.

"My eyes," he said at last, looking up at the dragon. "Give me the sight to see farther, clearer, and in places no one else can and I'll be able to know and hunt my targets before they ever reach me."

The dragon seemed to smile and lift its head as Baribus made up his mind. "Done," it said and gave a flick of his fins. Rippling light passed over the two like a wave of air, ruffling the father and son's hair—the dragon's gifts bestowed on them.

@leerofthevinegaroons

Mathafew had reached out to brush across his father's mind in search of the man - and found instead a jolt like electricity. It jumped between the two of them and what he had intended to be nothing more than the barest whisper drew him deep inside the man's mind. The dragon had warned him, she had side that the gift of returning the guardian's memories would come from him alone, she had said to be careful, to be standing beside the man to prevent some wrong from happening -

The young man was not there, he was in his own ship searching the skies above to find his father and so go to him. But that faint touch was all that was needed to activate the dragon's magic, to draw him out of his own body so that he fell into a heap -

He was being jostled.

Mathafew heard something rasping above him, ragged breathing. Something was encircled around his body and he was tucked against a solid form, warm. It held him close and that was what he heard. Crunching steps, whistling breath. Heat was seeping from that solid body that he was pressed against but Mathafew himself was cold and he shivered until his body had given up on ever being warm again and he stopped. He still froze, tried to move and snuggle deeper against the thing holding him but he couldn't, there just wasn't any energy for it. Nor could he find the breath to call for help or do anything at all to get the attention of whoever held him.

A hand moved the blanket that was covering him, and Mathafew then found himself looking up at his father. Deep blue eyes like the sky when it had a bit of haze settled over it stared down at him. They were glassy from lack of sleep and shimmered with unspent tears. He heard his father entreating him not to go anywhere and the quake in the man's voice broke over him, followed by a sound so heart wrenching that he thought his own would break with it. Did break with it because he was dying. He could feel it in the shallow breath, in the chill that started in his heart and had covered his entire body, in the way that he had simply given up.

Had stayed as long as he could, had fought as hard as he could with all that he had to give in order to stay with his father and it simply wasn't enough.

Somewhere in a small corner of his mind Mathafew knew that something wasn't right here. This shouldn't be happening... but he couldn't put a finger on why precisely. Something was wrong with this picture... he could feel himself dying, he could feel the desperation of his father as he bargained his own life for that of his son but... what about this whole thing was wrong? The dragon's breath rippled his hair and Mathafew stared up at his father, watched in wonder as the dragon's magic touched him and bled into his eyes. As the whites deepened and gold like dragon scales took over the iris so that they held an unnatural light to them.

He didn't feel any different though. No magic, only like something had shifted slightly and that was when it dawned on him. This was wrong because it had already happened. It had happened over a century ago. He wasn't here in Ashven's den. He was...where was he... he was dreaming. He was in a dream. Mathafew looked up at Ashven's face, the dead eyes of the koi that hovered above them. He looked also at his father, at the adoration there on the man's face mixed with the sinking knowledge of what all he had promised the beast.

Like the realization had freed him from the replay of memories Mathafew found himself able to move. He slipped out of the blanket and stood facing his father. While the man knelt they were nearly on a level to each other. He stared for a moment longer, tears welling up in his own eyes because how long had he been wanting to see an expression like that? Wanting Baribus to look at him with recognition, with knowing beyond just thinking him a friend or a curiosity, but knowing Mathafew was his son? He gulped a breath and reached up both hands to rest them on his father's shoulders, "I promised her the same thing."

Would the words mean anything to a memory? Mathafew wasn't sure. He dropped his hands and then threw them as far around the man as he could manage and buried his face against Baribus. "I just wanted to have you back again, I tried promising her all the life and years Ashven gave I'd rather give it all up-" Give up what his father had promised his own life to have granted... no wonder the other dragon had refused. It wasn't his to give. Still he couldn't believe she didn't want more for something this precious. Mathafew tried to cast his mind about to look for his father, he had to be here somewhere.

Who's dream was this...he supposed it had to be Baribus', he didn't remember anything about this day, nor for almost a week after and, now that he thought about it, now that he tried to cast his mind back - Mathafew realized he had no memories before either. Yes this had to be his father's memory. But Mathafew found he couldn't just look into the man's thoughts, they were swimming all around him like this memory was the calm eye of a raging storm of memories and thoughts from a whole lifetime, too much to try to find the small core of his father in and he screwed his eyes shut, again buried his face against the man and clung tight. "Wake up..." his whispered like the storm might hear it.

#leerofthevinegaroons #muse: mathafew #v: destiny

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the-midnight-slasher-official · 3 years

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vincent sinclair-breeding

WARNING: SMUT. FORCED BREEDING. LYING

you have been in ambrose for awhile now. You cant really remember your life before ambrose. Your positive no one remembers you and or misses you. Yes bo is a huge asshole to you, and vincent is always your saving grace when bo is in a shitty mood. and lester would also be a huge saving grace as well, but hes always away doing god knows what.

Bo was huge on killing you because he didnt see any potential in you. but vincent wanted to keep you, and lester liked having you around also. So bo let you stay with vincent. Bo made it clear that your vincents pet and that your vincents problem. If anything bad happens to you vincent would be cleaning up the mess and dealing with your body. But vincent would never let anything bad happen to you. He always keeps you by his side and never lets you out of his sight.

He fell too deep in love to let you out of his sight let alone going to the bathroom. Vincent absolutely hated it when you sneak out of the room at night. He was extremely paranoid that you would leave the house and run away, and tonight just happened to be one of those nights. you were currently laying in Vincent and yours shared bed. you were locked in the bedroom in the house while Vincent worked away in the house of wax. you couldnt escape through the window because he had bo bolt it shut. you stared up at the ceiling determining whether you hated vincent or not. He kept you trapped here, and would never let you leave his side. But you deep down were very in love him, and you tried to hate him because you couldnt ever deal with the rejection from him.

while you were thinking away your worries and anxiety in the bed at 2:23 am. Vincent was also busy thinking about his worries and anxieties while he was drawing in his wax cave under the house of wax. He stopped drawing a long time ago because he began to focus on the thought of you leaving while he was trying to draw, and now thats all he can think about. So he sat at his desk and thought really hard about what could make you willingly stay without him having to force it upon you. his biggest turn on's he had with you was your size. you were smaller than him and he found that cute and a huge turn on.

He wanted to take good care of you and give you flowers and give you baths. but he already does that. he already gives you a roof over your head and feeds you three times a day, and gives you baths and every morning he gives you flowers. But he also went to bo for advice on how to keep you close, and of course bo being bo said that he doesnt give a shit about what vincent does with you because your not his problem. But bo did suggest getting you pregnant so you could stay with vincent and it would also give him an opportunity to show you that he can treat you well even when your pregnant and be a good father to the child.

Vincent thought long and hard while he sat at his desk. And he chose that he will get you pregnant so you could stay close to him and rely on him. He wants to do it out of love. Because he loves you dearly. he loves you so much that hes willing to kill his own siblings that hurt you in any way or form. He huffed out of exhaustion and closed his sketch book and cleaned everything up, and shut off all the lights. He headed through the tunnels and made his way up to the trap door that opens to a room in the house. he opened the trap door and hoisted himself up out of it and walked through the house to get to his room.

he opened the door to your and his shared and room and noticed that the light was quickly shut off and you quickly got into a fake sleeping position. he sighed and closed the door and kicked off his boots. he walked over to the bed while taking off his wax covered apron and tapped your shoulder. you got scared and jerked and looked up at him, not expecting him to touch you in any way or form.

"what where you still doing up?" he signed to you.

"i was asleep" you said fake yawning.

"bullshit" he signed.

you rolled over facing away from his side of the bed. vincent got into comfy clothes and slid into bed and put an arm around you and played with your hair until you actually fell asleep. a few hours later you woke up and had to go to the bathroom but vincents hand was wrapped around your waist. you knew he hated it when you left the room at night. but you had to pee very badly.

you very carefully moved his arm and slid out of bed. occasionally looking behind you to make sure that hes still asleep. you looked over at his night stand and seen his mask. It made your heart melt and you smile. He was confident enough to take off his mask around you. you looked at the ground and seen his discarded clothes, and that kinda turned you on a little bit, and you looked at him and seen that he was wearing plaid boxers and a korn shirt. his long hair was all over the pillows, and his body was wrapped up on the sheets. you admired one of his strong arms behind his head.

you quickly turned around and tip toed to the door. you quietly turned the knob and realized that he locked it. you felt stupid for forgetting that he locks the door at night as well. you tip toed to his nightstand and opened the little drawer it had and grabbed the key. He doesnt know that you knew the key was in there. you walked back to the door and quietly unlocked it and went to the bathroom. after going to the bathroom you walked back to the room. you stepped into the door way and seen vincent still sleeping. so you took this advantage to go downstairs and get a glass of water since you didnt get a glass before bed.

you walked pass a sleeping lester on the couch to get to the kitchen. you didnt want to wake him up either. not that he would hurt you or drag you back upstairs. you just didnt wanna wake him up from his dream. he looked extremely exhausted. you went into the kitchen and grabbed a glass and opened the fridge to get some fresh filtered cold water. you filled the glass, and took a few huge chugs. you walked passed lester again asleep on the couch and you noticed the front door. sure vincent would be awake for awhile. so you stepped out onto the front porch to have fresh air. and you didnt realize that you were out there for more than ten minutes.

you heard a noise and turned around and seen vincent fuming angry behind you. he was breathing heavy and his eye brows were furrowed. he grabbbed your arm and pulled you through the front door. he dragged you up the stairs while thinking about what to do with you. because you just flared up his paranoia about you leaving. as he reached the top of the stairs, he picked you up and carried you to the room. he set you on the bed and grabbed the key out of your pocket and locked the door. he angrily slammed the key on the dresser. he looked at you wondering what to do.

he thought about what bo said. But he wanted to do it out of love when you were ready and not force. But he realized that he had to get you pregnant in order for you to stay with him. Besides he really wants a kid with you, but he knows that you dont want any with him, at least he doesnt think.

you deep down wanted his kids but you never said anything to him. He stared at you while he thought about how to deal with this, but knocking you up seemed to be the only thing on his mind. fuck he wanted you to have his kids. he walked over to you and pushed you down into the bed.

"vincent. i wasnt trying to leave, i promise. i was just getting fresh air" you said. but he shut you up by kissing you. and lifting you shirt. you swatted vincents hand away. but he slid his hand right under your shirt and groped your chest. the small moan you made was all vincent needed to continue. he roughly slid off your pajama pants and stood back up admiring the way you looked so small and vulnerable for him. he loved how you were so much smaller than him. that makes him feel more confident. He bent down and kissed you passionately. he unbuttoned the crotch area of his pajama pants and took his cock out, without taking off the pants. and he plunged into your soaking wet cunt.

he began at a fast angry pace.

"v-vincent" you groaned. he only thrusted faster. grabbing your thighs and pushing them to your chest as he leans over you and pounds you into the mattress. after awhile he reached down to your cunt and began to rub your swollen nub. making you scream in ecstasy. when he thinks you've squirted enough, he pulled out and signed for your to get on your knees. once you did, he signed for you to open your mouth. you opened your mouth and he grabbed his cock and slid in. throwing his head back as he began to fuck your mouth like he did your pussy. pre cum and spit began to drool out the sides of your mouth and hit the floor and run down your chest. his wet balls were smacking against your chin. every moan you make, made him shove his big hard cock deeper down your throat.

after a few minutes of the wet sounds of his cock balls deep down your throat. he pulled out and laid you down on the bed with your head hanging off the end and he slammed his cock back down your throat. he absolutely loved the way his cock made your throat bulge. he wrapped his hand around your throat feeling the way his cock pumped in and out. he quickened his pace and you felt his balls smack your face over and over. you gagged out pre cum and drool out of your mouth around his cock. he slowed down just to hear the pre cum and drool hit the floor.

he pulled out and flipped you back around facing him and he plunged back in full force making you scream. he fucked you faster than ever before making you see stars. the only sounds filling the room was his balls smacking your ass and your loud moans. he looked down at you signed

"do you want my kids babygirl?"

"yes. yes please. i want your kids so fucking bad. knock me up good baby" you moaned. and that was enough for him to bury his cock deep in your sopping cunt and shoot his seed. he then leaned down and kissed you deeply.

"i love you" he signed.

"i love you too vincent" you said as your forehead pressed against his. he looked surprised that you said that you loved him. but kissed you deeply shoving his tongue down your throat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~the next morning you walked down the stairs and seen bo and lester staring at you and vincent. you blushed and vincent held the small of your back as he walked with you to the kitchen. he sat you down at the table and went to the fridge to get you something. you know they heard you and vincent last night.

"fuck loud enough?" bo said shooting you both a dirty look.

"fuck off" vincent signed.

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair smut #bo sinclair #lester sinclair

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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Hello, idk if you’ll see this, nor do you have to take this request. But I’ve been thinking, and thought up: Dream joined the egg, but not because it offered him world domination or a happy family or any of that; no it offered to treat him kindly, to be affectionate, to be a friend, basically offering him human decency. (With an add on of everyone believing it was for some big reason, but the actual reason gets revealed somehow) if that made any sense. (Idk if this counts as an au or not)

[ask: if dream showed up to the red banquet, that would be very sexy of the writers to make him join the eggpire instead of the pro-omlette]

hehe egg!dream has so much potential ,, this is a ficlet i’ve been working on for a while (writer’s block my detested) but i finally finished it up !! it’s a bit unpolished but oh well - they cant all be winners lmao

tw: body horror, blood, injuries, implied torture/abuse, starvation, possession, dark/disturbing imagery, dark content, pandora’s vault/prison arc

Dream gets corrupted by the Egg, because of course he does.

Sapnap trudges through the vine-filled hallway, his face bundled firmly with a holy-water soaked bandana to keep out the worst of the spores. It’s a shoddy defense, but he doesn’t plan to stay long; he’s only been sent on reconnaissance, to see what public enemy number one is planning and get out as quickly as he can. As much as the entire server wants Dream dead, trying to defeat the man the first time was enough of a feat, never mind with the power of a giant demon egg on his side - to try and fight him now would be practically impossible.

The floor squishes underneath his boots, and his lips curl in disgust; the vines are thick and moist and feel ugly and rotten to the core. He can’t imagine anyone being anything but repulsed by the things, but he guesses it makes sense for Dream to be drawn here - corruption attracts corruption, it seems. It only figures that Dream would be desperate enough for power to let himself get possessed by the living - if you could really call it living - embodiment of decay and deterioration itself. The feeling of the floor giving way underneath his footsteps has another wave of revulsion crawling up his throat, though he’s not sure if it’s directed towards the Egg or his former friend or both.

He reaches the end of the hallway, an itching, pulsing feeling of wrong filling the air in the room just beyond the haphazard archway carved into the stone. With careful hands, Sapnap draws the bandana further up his face, making sure that it is tied securely behind his head - just beyond this wall lies the belly of the beast, the heart of the rot slowly but surely spreading its influence over the entire server. Something hums in the air; whispering, otherworldly sounds pierce through his armor and settle beneath his skin; he pushes on. He knows better than to listen, to try and make sense of the words within the noise - from what he’s heard, by the time you understand what it is saying, it’s too late.

He steps inside; the room feels, for the lack of a better word, red. He’s better suited for the place than most, being a Netherborn and therefore more used to the oppressive heat and heaviness of the air, but there’s something undeniably wrong about how this place feels, something entirely Other having made its home in the room. Every inch of the place feels hostile, angry, hungry, recognizing him as someone foreign and wanting nothing more than his destruction. Unlike the Red Forests, which teemed with life - piglins and hoglins and giant fungus - this room is little more than a twisted mimicry, sucking the air dry, leaving little more than husks behind.

His hand immediately goes to his sword, drawing it with a dull, metallic scrape. The room is eerily silent save for the Egg’s hissing whispers, and he frowns; he’d expected an attack, but the room is still, quiet; a mockery of peace that only makes the uneasy feeling in his gut grow further. He trudges forward, watching against the puddles of lava and smoking magma scattered over the floor, but nothing stirs.

There’s a growing pressure against his skull with each step into the room, and his hand tightens on his communicator; they’d set up a stasis chamber, just in case things went south, his way out of this place only a few button presses away. Still, nothing moves; no Bad or Ant popping out of nowhere, weapons in hand, no Dream driving an axe between his shoulder blades as he’s done so many times before in their spars. There’s only the sound of his footsteps against the rotting growths on the floor and his own heartbeat thudding in his ears and the Egg’s warbling voice, beneath it all - beckoning, almost kind.

He swallows, throat dry, and moves forward.

His feet carry him to the back corner of the room, to the rotting, pulsing core of the wrongness plaguing the entire server. Even through his bandana, the air feels foreign, nearly choking him, and he strains his eyes against the glare of the lava to look up at the vines’ rancid heart, the Egg. Up close, it’s almost underwhelming, only about three times his height, hardly coming halfway up to the ceiling of the room. What it doesn’t have in size, however, it makes up in sheer presence; the hissing whispers in his head grow louder, crawling under his skin and between his bones, and he curses under his breath as he prepares to call for his way back. Dream isn’t here; the mission is a bust.

“Sapnap?”

He freezes.

It takes a moment to realize that the voice wasn’t in his head, as raspy and unsettling as it was, and his eyes traced the edges of the Egg to a dull colored shape at its side, completely overlooked in his initial sweep of the room. He watches, a dull horror rising in his chest, as the shape moves, twists around on itself in an entirely unnatural way like a marionette pulled by its strings. A pale dot rises from where it had been hidden against the bright red of the Egg; it’s a face, Dream’s face, covered in clawing vines, stark against the bone-white of his sun-starved skin, vomit racing up his throat at the sight of the vines having made their homes in jagged wounds all over his face and neck and disappearing into the torn scraps of his prison uniform, each one spilling crimson in the form of writhing vines and thorns instead of blood.

“Sapnap,” Dream says again, his mouth moving with the words but something entirely other having made its home in the air of his lungs, a shivering rasp to his voice that lifts and falls with the same desperate hunger that saturates every tainted inch of the room. His neck tips to the side, shifted over by a twisting vine tangled within his hair and wrapping a crown of blood-red thorns over his forehead, tendrils drooping over his face and framing the gaunt edges. “You came.”

“Dream-” the anger comes back, familiar, at the other’s words - the same red-hot rage that had boiled within him in that first and only prison visit (you took so long) but it dissipates as fast as it comes. Dream - if this remnant, this shade, this corrupted, mangled half that seems more corruption than human can even be called the name of one he had once considered his best friend, his brother - stumbles closer, held up by the vines that twist over his shaking legs, one having the pale, ragged edge of a bone clearly having ripped through skin - and Sapnap does throw up, this time, dragging the bandana from his face and heaving bile all over the floor.

“What happened-” he cries, flames licking up his arms in defense when his friend-turned-monster-turned-this steps closer on a wreck of a leg that should not be able to bear weight, stumbles back to a roaring in his ears-

He is mine he came broken came shattered and I gave him everything I gave him his heart’s desire I am his savior his grace he asked for warmth and he asked for comfort and he asked for nothing but for someone to take his pain and he is mine he is mine he is mine

He freezes, hand tightening over his communicator; Dream stares at him with the one dull-green eye not covered by the vines splayed over his too-pale face, mouth moving but no sound coming out. The roaring, angry sound in Sapnap’s ears grows louder, follows the shape of Dream’s lips come join your friend come with me I will give him to you you have failed him once but not again not again he is mine but you can be mine also and you will be together together together

“-pnap! Sapnap!” Puffy’s words crackle over the communicator, harsh and loud and snapping him out of his thoughts, “Pull the switch, Sam! No, he’s not responding- pull the switch-”

The world dips, and he heaves in a shattered breath, lungs finally full as he breathes in clear air for the first time in what feels like an eternity, hacking coughs pulled from his throat as he tears the bandana off in one sputtering gasp for breath.

“Sap- Sapnap,” Sam pitches his voice low, comforting, a hand rubbing up and down his back, but all Sapnap can see is the skeleton of a man held together by red thread, the life leached from his skin and leaving nothing left, he asked for nothing but for someone to take the pain and he is mine he is mine he is mine-

“Sapnap,” Puffy’s voice is tinny with concern, “What happened? You stopped responding and the time passed so we pulled the switch on the stasis chamber- are you alright? Did he attack you?”

“I-” -you have failed him once but not again not again you will be together- “I need a moment.”

He scrambles away, feet carrying him away from Church Prime, away from the Holy Land, away away away until he’s standing on the Community House roof, staring at his hands at this home, destroyed, this home, rebuilt, this home, empty and wrong and a shadow of house for a shadow of a man, a shadow of a friend found, a friend lost- and sobs.

What had he done?

#tw body horror #tw blood #tw torture #tw abuse #tw starvation #tw possession #tw dark imagery #tw disturbing imagery #tw dark content #prison arc #pandora's vault #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

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dear-yandere · 4 years

Text

[ kinktober day 2 — dying light. ]

yandere! ghostface (jed olsen) x f! reader. oneshot.

summary. they’ll get away. they’ll get away and leave you behind with him—but you want that, don’t you?

— word count: 2108. — prompts: predator/prey + choking + knife play. — warnings: n/sfw (dubcon, slut-shaming). — art credit: 765122.

kinktober masterlist.

“Ah ah ah, keep it down, sweetheart.”

It’s gruffer than you expected, his voice. Mischievous and malicious, airy and curious, the type of tone you’d take with a friend—lighthearted. As if he wasn’t holding you by knife point. His words almost have a musical ring to it, the hum of a killer seeking prey whose hiding spot he’s long been aware of.

He’s playing with you.

“Should I stuff your mouth instead? Wouldn’t want your little friends hearing you moan my name, would you?” His hand is still around your neck, squeezing it tightly between dried blood and old leather, and his other lazily waves a bloodied tactical knife through the air. “Or, would you like that? Your call, toots.” You can feel desire roll from his body, from his blade smeared with the stale blood of unlucky victims. The glint of steel begs to be coated by your blood, but he won’t have that. Not yet. Not until he’s had his fun.

“Cat got your tongue?” He tips your chin using knife’s edge, and you hurry to answer if you know what’s best for you.

“No…” You barely manage to breathe out. Your throat burns with the reminder that your life is literally in his hands, and if his mask had been off, you’re sure he’d be grinning.

“Mm, what’s that babe? Gotta speak up or I can’t hear ya.” He licks his lips and squeezes, a dull chuckle hollowed by his mask. “You said you want me to bring them here?”

“N-no! Please, no.” You sputter, the burning in your throat growing with each second. His grip is loose enough to keep you from passing out, but inklings of black begin to spot your vision. “Don’t… let them see me like this.” Your answer comes quick, quicker than you’ve been answering for the past few minutes. He knows what you were playing at—trying to buy time for your teammates. He should’ve left minutes ago to patrol the leftover gens, but you had the misfortune of piquing his interest after a long chase.

He tilts his head. He’s struck a nerve, it seems, and your tongue scrambles to make you appear less weak. “I—if they saw me with you, they’d never forgive me, they’ll—”

“They’ll think you’re a traitor.” He finishes, lips curling into an impish smirk. What little strength was left in your sore thighs slackened, the ugly feeling of desperation coiling against your tummy. The killer continues, his tone indifferent, nonchalant, as if the prospect of catching one of your trusted friends fucking the enemy is commonplace. “One of them could walk by right now, looking for me, looking for you, wondering why I’m not out and about, wondering why you haven’t been healed yet.” He laughs through his nose. Oh, could you be any more precious? The way fear flits across your face like a dance, the way your lips tremble and refuse to stay still—you’re so easy to read. “What d’ya think they’ll say when they see you like this, sweets?”

“No!” You choke and whine into his hands at the sheer thought. To lose your dignity and your fellow survivor’s trust like that… you’ll never survive another match.

He disregards your pained moans and hums inquisitively, grinding against the swell of your thigh with his hardened cock, shamelessly hidden beneath his robes while you lay exposed against the shack wall. You’re still uselessly trying to claw his hand from your neck, choking and sputtering for air as he tightens his grip, but your attempts hardly make a dent in the thick leather gloves. Precious, pretty little thing you are. He wonders how you’ll look with your mouth stuffed full with his cock and his knife lodged tight in your stomach.

You make it so hard to control himself.

He grins when your fingers abandon the hand around your neck and crawl along his arm, eager to push him off and buy enough time to find a teammate. You wouldn’t get far anyway, consider he’s been stalking you for quite some time. Every weakness and fear is completely exposed before him—did you think he wouldn’t notice that limp in your step from last chase? Poor thing, must’ve twisted your ankle when he chased after your tight ass moments ago. As if teasing you for being so needy—even if it isn’t yet for his cock—the edge of his boots smash into your weakened ankle.

You didn’t put up a fight—couldn’t put up a fight. Your crumpled body would’ve fallen to the splintered floorboards if he hadn’t caught you in time. He squeezes your thin neck harder— rougher—and you swear your esophagus will explode. Screams are robbed from the pleasure of leaving your mouth, all you can feel is dry burning, all you can do is wheeze and cry just how he likes it.

The dull edge of his knife violates your mouth, not quite filling you entirely, but you refuse to flinch.

“I’ve been watching you for a while, y’know, bating my time, fantasizing about all the dirty things I’d do when you’re helpless beneath me.” He holds you the way fire holds what it burns. “I want this to be extra special; the kind of nightmare you’ll never forget. I even made sure one’s gonna interrupt us, sweetheart.” He explains, dragging the blade across your bottom lip. “So, do you still think they’ll try to save you?”

He’s mocking you.

“O-of course!” You draw ragged breaths, the bitter taste of iron stained on your tongue like a tattoo. “One of them has a flashlight”—you realized it’s best to not divulge who in particular—“S-someone will come for me sooner or later!”

He cups your flushed cheek with his free hand, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers. The action brings the insides of your mouth dangerously close to his knife, but he’s careful. Bleed any more and you’ll pass out, and fucking an unconscious body isn’t nearly as fun. “I didn’t take you for such an idiot, sugar.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the finality in his voice.

“How cute.” He snickers and cocks his head to the side. “You think a flashlight save will be enough? All I gotta do is look down, babe.” Oh, isn’t that whimper precious? Makes him want to rip you apart. “‘Sides, I have No One Escapes Death.” He continues, running the blade along your teeth. “Saving you may as well be a death wish.”

A sob weakly leaves your throat. Beneath his mask, his eyes narrow, having grown impatient with your lack of reaction. Shoving the sharp edge of his knife down your throat may as well incite no reaction, at this point.

“You’re hardly putting up a fight now, sweet thing. Give up already?” He loosens his grip on your neck, urging you to speak. “Or am I just that sexy?” He snickers, pulls the knife from your lips and cants your head with the tip. “Go on, lemme hear you say it. Scream my name, sweets, let them hear you all the way at the exit gates.”

Your breaths hitch—just the reaction he was looking for. His lips twist into a wicked smile. “Give them one last thing to think about before they leave you here.��

“No…” Your complaint is hoarse, hardly above a whisper. They couldn’t have left you, not here, not with him. You told them how scared you are—how frightened he makes you. You told them about the eyes watching you, even when the Entity hasn’t called upon you for a trial. You told them about the photographs littering your room—the ones of you, ones you didn’t take. You told them. They couldn’t have left, they wouldn’t.

“You’re lying…”

“Aw babe, you’re too pretty to be this delusional. Your little friends left a long time ago.” He muses, prodding your thighs apart with the swell of his knee. “It’s just you and me now, sweetheart. The Entity can’t force us out unless you somehow get out of arms, or a few minutes pass and the Entity claims you for itself.” He taps the underside of your chin. “Tell me, how does spending your last few minutes alive with me sound?”

You try to hide the tears swelling over your eyelids, but your bones are weary and your limbs heavy. “Please just let me go…”

Poor thing. He has to strain just to hear you—that’s no good.

No good for his patience, either.

“Say my name and I’ll think about it, then.” The blade travels lower, slices just below your jugular—shallow enough to draw a thin line of blood, nothing in dire need of medical attention. Not like you could reach your discarded med kit, anyway. “I can’t hear you princess. Go on, I said. Say. My. Name.” Each word is punctuated by a sharp thrust just above your collar bone. His mouth closes in next to their ear, “Tell me who you belong to.”

Your will snaps.

“Danny!”

The name feels foreign, forbidden, on your tongue.

“Mm, haha…” He’s caught off guard. He wasn’t expecting that, no. A ‘Ghostface’ or even ‘Ghostie’ would’ve made his cock happy, but this… this is unexpected. This is new.

He’s pitying you now, you can still hear the mock in his tone when he speaks. “What a shameless little whore. When’d you learn my name? Who told you?” His voice is playful, and something tells you he doesn’t mind why you know, but rather why you blew your cover. “You’ve been stalking me, haven’t you?”

Your eyes widen. Another nerve’s been struck.

He’s losing breath fast beneath his mask. His heart’s beating so fast—this rush, this thrill is exhilarating. You’re exhilarating, you’re as insane as him.

“Do your pals know how wet I make you? Do you jack off when no one’s looking?” You can’t hide it anymore, the shame and guilt and frustration on your face. He can practically feel the heat— the sexual frustration—rolling from your skin in waves. His cock twitches against his robes, his breaths quick and rugged against your face. “Huh? Do you jack off to me, sweets? Is that why you haven’t fought back this entire time?”

You don’t have an answer anymore.

“Keep making that face, sweets.” He leans closer and drops his voice. “I like it when you’re flustered.”

Your thighs clench, desperate for friction against your cunt—his voice, his voice is what did this. And now he’s using it again you; god you’re such a fucking idiot.

His hand leaves your neck, travels up to your parted lips. He’s hardly surprised when your jaw immediately slackens to accommodate his fingers, dirty leather immediately tainting your tongue. You don’t flinch at the taste; even dirt is above the depths you’ve fallen to.

“Wonder if you taste as sweet as you look.” He mindlessly asks, sliding his fingers over the dull buds of your tongue. “Wonder if your cunt’s as dirty as your mind. Do you go around fucking the other survivors too? The other killers?”

Your draw a sharp breath and change the topic. “I-I’ll do anything, just don’t…don’t tell anyone.” Your suggestions are hardly convincing. In this realm, what else do you have to your name besides your tight little body?

“Mm…anything?” He’s been patient enough with you. “Then beg, princess.”

You hesitate. Begging’s a small price to pay for your freedom; you’ve already fallen so low, what’s a little more?

Your lips don’t move like you want them to.

“Go on, tell me I’m the worst.” He sighs blissfully and pulls his hand from your lips. The shifting of fabric meets your ears; you don’t have to look down to know he’s started palming his erection. Your eyes stay pinned to the holes in his mask, desperately hanging onto what dignity you have left. “Tell me you hate me.” He moans, pressing his knee against your cunt. “I get off on it, princess.”

You’re wet. You wish the shame were enough to kill you right then.

“Just stop thinking, let me fuck you silly just like you wanted.” The knife hardly misses your stomach when he slices downwards, tearing the front of your shirt and leggings. The thin fabrics uselessly falls to the floor—and he takes every opportunity to eye you up and down. The feeling of his eyes on your skin is disgusting, but calling for help is useless by this point. No one will hear, no one will come. Not for someone like you.

“Don’t complain if I leave your pussy bleeding, sweets.” He strokes your dirtied, tear-stained cheeks. You don’t pull away, anymore. “You begged for this.”

You’re a sinner and you’re already in hell.

#yandere ghostface x reader #ghostface x reader #dbd x reader #yandere dbd x reader #yandere dead by daylight #yandere dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight imagines #yandere dbd #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #tw dubcon #kinktober20 #*oneshot #tw not sfw

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failedintsave · 3 years

Text

I tried the MTL pairing generator for rarepair month...aaaand it told me to stay in my lane lol. And then it told me to write some Rachel/Roy Cornickleson which I just don't think I'm ready to take on 🙃 So here's some Skwistok set just before Doomstar that I've been fiddling with.

(gets just a little nsfw near the beginning)

Stages

Everyone handles grief differently.

Skwisgaar groaned as muscular arms pushed him against the wall, the reinforced metal door to his room on the submarine banging shut as they cleared the threshold. Hands tangled in his hair, holding him in place while lips and tongue and teeth worked over his neck. He clung desperately to the body pressed against him, fingers twisting in blue cotton material and yanking it upward. The mouth latched onto his throat pulled away as the t-shirt was hauled over his head and Toki's fevered eyes found his before rushing forward again, mashing their lips together with sloppy abandon. He gripped Skwisgaar by the belt, half dragging him as they stumbled their way to his bunk and collapsed. Breathing came in gasps and sighs as Toki's weight pinned him down into the mattress, the pressure both exhilarating and mollifying, an anchor to hold onto as the life he'd known for so many years turned upside down and twisted away in the wind.

He'd never given much energy to grief. Life was just a punctuated string of losses in the long run. Loss of innocence, loss of trust, loss of opportunities. It was all meaningless, really. In his experience, something new always came along to fill the space so why dwell on mourning what you couldn't have back?

Boots thumped to the floor, kicked off in haste. His shirt was peeled away before sturdy hands lifted his hips to free him of his jeans, calloused fingertips gliding back up his thighs and making him shiver. Toki climbed up to kiss him again, hungrily, as if trying to swallow him whole, their teeth knocking against each other. Skwisgaar ran his hands over every inch of skin he could reach, the hard lines of Toki's shoulders, the raised ridges of overlapping scars on his back, hip bones where they ground down against his own. Heat pooled low in his belly like magma aching to erupt. He wanted this, needed this right now, more than he'd ever needed anything in his life. How long had they danced around this, stealing moments and blaming it later on booze or post-show adrenaline, walking right up to the line and peeking over before backing away again? In the name of preserving band dynamics? A lot of good that had done, they'd still ended up where they are now, Dethklok tipping over the precipice into self-destruction.

Another loss to add to the list.

Toki pulled back, glacier blue eyes raking over Skwisgaar's features with manic light, chestnut locks of hair falling in disarray to frame his face. Skwisgaar reached up and tucked a strand behind his ear and Toki's expression shifted, the wild yearning softened into something gentler, less wolfish. He sat up to kneel between Skwisgaar's legs, hand skimming from his collar bone to his navel and leaving a trail of fire, over the inside of his thigh and dipping beneath, pausing until Skwisgaar breathed his assent, whispered his name.

Fingers tested gingerly, gradually increasing in depth and pressure before he gripped him by the waist and hauled him onto his lap. Skwisgaar canted his hips, lip catching between his teeth at the feel of Toki against him, his pulse hammering in his ears. His head angled back into the pillows and a wordless moan escaped his throat when Toki eased forward, back arching as lightning raced up his spine. Skwisgaar's fingers knotted in the bed sheets as Toki released a shuddering breath over him, rocking into him slowly, building rhythm into a steady push and pull.

Loss of professional boundaries. Definitely not something to be mourned.

The devastating sensation of fullness where they joined drove all coherent thought from Skwisgaar's mind and his eyes rolled back under closed lids, panting nonsense and expletives, begging for release. His toes curled as Toki matched stokes with his hand to the tempo of his thrusts, coaxing him through his climax until tipping over the edge after him with a whining sigh. Call and response, Skwisgaar thought dazedly as his superheated skeleton melted into jelly. When he could open his eyes again, his gaze landed on Toki's face above him, watching him with an openly heartsick expression.

"I… hads to do dat… at least once before dis ams all over." The broken whisper settled over him like a burial shroud.

Skwisgaar shook his head, holding out his arms. "Come heres."

Swallowing thickly, Toki obeyed, winding his arms under Skwisgaar's shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Skwisgaar shifted to find a comfortable position, their sweat-slick chests sliding against each other as he angled slightly onto one side, hand cradling Toki's skull to keep him near.

"Seem pretties stupids we aments been doing dat dis whole time, honestlies."

Loss of time.

Toki held him tightly and Skwisgaar felt the tremor in his grip. He rubbed his cheek against the crown of the other man's head, humming tunelessly as he waited for him to speak, knowing already the fears plaguing his mind. He'd faced them often enough in his younger days, even if the scenario now was more complicated. It was hard to compare wondering where your next gig, your next meal ticket, might come from to wondering where to go after you'd already stood at the top.

Sniffling preceded the feeling of wetness against his shoulder, Toki mumbling against his skin. "What happens now? Ams we all just gonna says 'fucks you, see ya laters' now dat de band ams done? Even now dat dey tells us we gots to plays music to saves de world?"

Skwisgaar fiddled with a strand of brown hair for a moment before answering. "Well, I don'ts know abouts all dis saves-de-woirld business. But whats I do know ams band break ups. And, euughh, ja dat ams a pretty standords opseratings procedures."

"But does it has to be likes dat? We coulds all stays pals, right?"

"Dat ams...compslickateds." He dropped the lock and let his hand fall to Toki's shoulders. "Somet'ing like dis...people tends to ezpecks yous to euughh, picks sides. It ams messy. And it never warks out, t'ings always comes apart in de end."

Loss of the longest working relationships he'd had in his life.

Toki said nothing, so Skwisgaar continued if only to fill the silence. "But it coulds be worse, you knows? We gots more moneys den god, what's so bad what cants be fixed wif dat?" The statement produced a cold feeling trickling down behind his ribs, like swallowing a heaping spoonful of snow. "Nones of it acktualies matters. Just goes on to da next t'ings."

"I just... don'ts know what to does if dere aments a Dethklok."

"Whatevors you wants! You coulds buy de whole stores of airplane models, or you coulds builds you own splasharoonies water parks. Hell you coulds probablies starts a new bands wif dose guys from dat T'underhorse group."

"No," Toki murmured, face still compressed against Skwisgaar's neck. "I don't wants a new band. Dis was da one."

The possessive satisfaction he felt at those words tied his stomach in guilty knots.

"Ja it ams was a pretty good gigs…"

Toki shifted, laying his head on the pillow next to Skwisgaar's, his forlorn gaze searching his face for answers. Skwisgaar rolled so they were laying face to face, legs still twisted under the sheets.

Not everything was tied up in the feud that caused the band to split. What if it didn't have to be a total loss? Surely there were parts here that could be salvaged.

"Okej...so who says we haves to do anyt'ings at all?"

Toki's brows cinched. "What you means?"

Maybe, just this one thing, he could keep.

Skwisgaar's lips curved with the ghost of a smile. "I's already mades it to de top, ams de fastest guitarist alives...coulds be I shoulds just quits while I gots de title, ja? Retires, takes my ball and goes home wif it."

Toki snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Builds mineself a giant house up in de mountains or somet'ing. Or travels and just fucks off on de resgiduals forever, not worries about a deadlines or demos ever again. Plays guitar just for funs."

He saw his grin mirrored on Toki's face as the other man nodded dreamily.

"Maybe you...comes wif me?" Fluttery nerves tickled behind his sternum. "If you wants to."

Toki's eyes widened. "Wait. Whats?"

Just this. He could be happy with this.

"Y-you means it? You aments just messings with Toki?"

He shook his head. "How long dids we waste before nows? For not'ing. I'm sick ofs waitings. Let's just goes."

A heartbeat passed, and then Toki's mouth was on his again. Less frantic this time, hopeful rather than desperate. He cradled Toki's jaw, taking his time as he returned his affections, deepening the kiss and tracing languid strokes over his neck, his shoulders, his chest. Their limbs wound together in a twisted bramble, bodies drawing tightly together, fitting like puzzle pieces.

A repetitive, discordant riff sounded from the pile of clothes abandoned on the floor and Toki's head jerked away. Flashing an apologetic grin, he rolled away to fish his phone from his pocket, sliding his pants up loosely around his hips.

"Sorries, be rights back!" He whispered, pressing the screen to answer. "Oh hei, Rockso!*

"Hows do you even has signals down here?" Skwisgaar called after him as he stepped into the hall, then flopped back onto the pillows to stare at the ceiling, counting the shiny rivets in the metal plating.

This was doable. Tomorrow they would bury more than just a mentor, they would lay to rest their careers as the biggest metal band in existence. The world at large would mourn their passing, but Skwisgaar wouldn't dwell on what's done and over. Not if he had new prospects to look forward to. Something always came along, and he never looked back.

"I tolds Magnus dat I woulds sit wif hims tomorrow." He heard Toki's muffled voice through the crack he'd left in the door.

A shadow passed over his thoughts at the name, like someone walking across his grave. It was uncomfortable to say the least, to have their former guitarist back in the fringes of their lives. Toki had a habit of finding friendship in questionable places, but where the clown was mostly an annoyance and sometimes a financial drain, his relationship with Magnus left Skwisgaar apprehensive. It didn't ease his mind when Toki insisted the older musician was different now. How could he know? He hadn't lived with the man, hadn't walked on eggshells during every rehearsal or songwriting session, hadn't watched as he plunged a knife into a bandmate.

But Magnus had also saved Toki with his insulin. He'd been there for Toki as a shoulder to lean on when the band had started to fall apart, too preoccupied with their own issues to spare a minute for their youngest member.

So maybe Toki was right. Things change; he'd never expected that a wedge could be driven between Nathan and Pickles far enough to end their friendship in such a catastrophic way, but here they were. And if Magnus still harbored any resentment for the band, their breakup was probably a balm to the old wound of rejection. What else could he wish on them? He was probably loving this.

The door scraped shut and Toki slipped back into the blankets gingerly, as if expecting Skwisgaar to be asleep. When he saw that he was still awake, Toki leaned in with a grin.

"Sorries...now, where was we…?" He murmured, capturing Skwisgaar's lips tenderly. "Oh ja, you was tellings me how we's gonna runs away togedders into de sunsets."

"Pfff. Dat am hardlies what I saids."

More kisses peppered his cheek and jaw. "Dats what I heards."

"Well I always knew yous was tone deafs, I didn'ts realize you ams just all de way hards of hearingks." His arm encircled Toki's back as the brunette nestled in again.

"Tells to me about wheres we gonna goes. Tells me about our house on tops of de mountains."

Skwisgaar snorted. Of the two of them, his was not the more vivid and fanciful imagination. But staring up at the blank canvas that the brushed metal panels of ceiling created, he envisioned a future for them to share. They squabbled playfully over locations and home design styles. They named off outlandish things they would fill their home with, like an even bigger ruby metronome or a trampoline room or an indoor pool shaped like a guitar and filled with champagne. They listed places they'd toured that they wanted to visit again, and locations they hadn't been yet but had always hoped to see.

"Can we gets a cat?" Toki asked suddenly, making Skwisgaar laugh airily.

"If we haves to?" He laughed again as Toki nodded against him. "But I'm not cleaningks up after it, dat ams all you, pal."

"Okei." Toki sighed deeply, settling in more comfortably. "Okei. I feels a lots less scareds now about all dis."

His hand glided up from where it had been resting at Skwisgaar's hip to lay warm over his heartbeat.

"I'll miss Dethklok. A whole lots. But now I t'inks I ams acktualies looking forwards to what comes next."

Still staring at the steel plates above, Skwisgaar grinned at the pictures they'd painted in his mind.

"Ja, me toos."

He covered Toki's hand with his own. However much they stood to lose after tomorrow, his heart felt lighter at what they were about to gain together. There was no reason to dwell on what was gone.

Everyone handles grief differently.

Laying on his bunk, Skwisgaar's eyes roamed the scuffed plate ceiling overhead, lingering on rusted rivets and water stains. The imperfections seemed to move and writhe like crawling insects under the influence of whatever handful of pills Pickles had given him. A half-drained bottle of vodka lay cradled against his chest, the mouth stoppered by his thumb. Fire burned in his belly from the alcohol, but cold fury pulsing through his veins tempered it.

He'd been prepared for Dethklok to end, had even accepted the idea that his career as a guitarist was over, diminished to a hobby. Playing guitar was his lifeblood, his purpose, and he'd been about to let that go. What had he been thinking? How had he gotten so wrapped up in fantasy that throwing away his entire self had seemed like a plausible course of action.

Loss of objectivity. Fortunately it seemed to be temporary.

He took a long pull from the bottle, dribbling a little and not bothering to wipe it away. Stupid Toki, needing to be comforted like a child with make-believe bedtime stories. He couldn't just man up and move on like everyone else, like Skwisgaar had been doing since he was a teen, finding his next audition, his next couch to crash on, his next temporary alliance with subpar musicians to make ends meet. It couldn't have been an easier landing for him either, no concerns about hunger or homelessness or deportation hanging over his head. He was set up for success and still couldn't handle it.

Fucking idiot needed so much attention, so much coddling, he'd even run straight into harm's way to try and make a friend. Of all people, he'd had to choose Magnus, that vindictive bastard. Of course he'd still been carrying a grudge, when had he ever let anything go in the past? And they'd known it.

A pair of divots on the ceiling stared back at him, one dark, one catching the light. Glaring back at him mockingly, winking at his impotent rage.

They'd known. They'd known, they knew, they knew.

Skwisgaar knew. And he'd said nothing.

Then he'd watched again, frozen, as Magnus drove a knife into someone close to him.

Skwisgaar thrashed upright, a strangled roar bursting from his lungs as he flung the bottle at the wall. He kicked at the bedside table bolted to the wall, denting it from below, then spun around to tear the sheets from his bunk and hurl them across the room. This wasn't the trade he'd prepared for, this wasn't the deal he'd made with himself.

His eyes fell on his Explorer propped in the corner. He reached for it, wrapping both hands around the ebony fretboard, holding it like an axe and swinging it against the wall. He bashed it into the floor, the dresser, screaming until his throat was raw and the guitar was cracked into useless chunks of wood and fiberglass connected by twisted strings. He dropped the pieces in a heap, sinking to the ground to lean against the side of his bed, his shoulders heaving with labored panting.

The door of his room scraped open, and in his periphery he saw a figure standing, backlit by the dim red glow in the corridor. Broad-shouldered, straight hair dangling about their head. His heart seized for a moment before the figure spoke, shattering his hallucination.

"What are you doing in here?" Nathan's gravelly voice was cautious.

Skwisgaar didn't turn, eyes still focused on the debris ahead of him. The stainless steel guitar strings seemed to wriggle like worms in grave soil, consuming the corpse of his instrument. He waited until he caught his breath before trying to respond.

"What does it looks like I'm doingks?"

Nathan shifted in the doorway. "Losing your mind."

He chuckled mirthlessly.

Loss of sanity? Maybe.

"You've been locked up in there a while. Maybe you should, you know. Come out here. With the rest of the band."

"Fucks off."

Nathan didn't move. Skwisgaar felt the urge to rage at the other man rise in him, to shout in his face, demand to know why it had taken him so long to patch things over with Pickles, why he let it go so far that he'd upset all of their lives so horrifically. But the feeling passed, his body drained from his previous outburst and from trying to filter a pharmacy's worth of substances through his liver.

"We're gonna find him, you know. Charles has people everywhere looking already."

One shoulder rose and fell in a halfhearted shrug. "Whatevers. Who cares."

They could have been a four-piece. If he really wanted to rage at someone it would be his past self. How different would things be right now if he'd never given that gutter rat a chance after missing his audition time? How much of what they achieved would they have really missed out on? How many rerecording sessions and stupid arguments and publicized blow outs could have been avoided? What would they really have been missing?

He certainly wouldn't mourn the loss of a constant source of annoyance. Of an immature tag-along with a hair trigger temper. Of a loud and boisterous whirlwind of silliness and color and sincerity.

Loss of his shadow. Loss of his muse. Loss of his best friend. Loss of his future. Loss of…

Loss of…

He couldn't breathe.

"Just leaves me alone. Please." He gritted out, proud of the steadiness of his voice as his stomach began to roil and his eyes prickled with tears.

Nathan hesitated. "Should I...close this?"

Skwisgaar nodded and after another moment the steel frame clanged shut. His vision blurred as tears welled and spilled over, his breath returning in short gasping puffs which rolled over into sobs that rattled his frame.

They'd had one day. Not even a day. An evening. Hours.

He wept until he was sick, vomiting clear liquor and not much else onto the floor next to the remnants of his guitar. He wept until his tears were spent and his head throbbed in tandem with his heart, even though he didn't understand how the muscle still carried a beat when the rhythm had been taken away.

Eventually he had nothing left. His face felt swollen, his eyes were gritty. Skwisgaar rolled to his hands and knees, avoiding the puddle of sick as he rocked up onto wobbly legs. He looked at the door, wondering if the others were still awake. If they were sitting in the lounge, drowning their sorrows. He felt like he wore a lead weight around his neck, bowing under the pull of it. It might be better just to sleep.

He turned to the naked mattress, but a scrap of blue on the floor near the foot of the bed caught his attention. A faded cotton t-shirt lay where it had been discarded. Skwisgaar stared at it for several long moments. He stepped closer to the bed, to the shirt.

And kicked it underneath the frame and out of sight before turning for the door.

He'd never given much energy to grief. Life was just a punctuated string of losses in the long run. Loss of purpose. Loss of self. Loss of connection. Loss of…

It was all meaningless, really. So why dwell on mourning what you couldn't have back?

#skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #skwistok #dethklok #metalocalypse

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spooky-luvur · 3 years

Note

May I request a Dutch saving male reader after a really bad argument from the Pinkertons and/or Colm and getting really hurt and barley just survives?

tw: violence, language

“Whoo wee, look at him, boys!”

“We got ‘em good!”

“Look at all that blood!”

Their yells make the pounding in your ears louder.

It was a simple run.

Why wasn’t it just a simple run?

You had a single gun when you ran into a few O’Driscoll’s a couple miles from town. You were only passing by on your horse when they started to belittle you and mock Dutch from the side of the road. They said a few things that didn’t quite settle with you, and so you jumped from your horse, smacked his rear to make him run off back to camp, and the next thing you remember is pain.

You weren’t even tied up as they kick you on the ground in front of some cabin in the woods. Your eyes are nearly swollen completely shut, and the entire left side of your body is numb. Were you shot? Stabbed? You honest to god couldn’t tell. There was too much blood.

Someone kicks you in the side and you groan. You couldn’t even curl up to cover yourself.

“Maybe you shoulda held your tongue, boy!”

“Maybe...” you choke out, the word sounding odd on your broken lips. “Maybe I woulda...if you weren’t so...damn ugly...”

There’s more yelling, and an even harder kick to your jaw that nearly makes you pass out.

“Why I outta-“

“Come on! He ain’t bloody enough just yet!”

One of the stinky men kneel down next to your head, using a knife to rip away the front of your shirt. It stings, because he manages to hit your skin as well with every rip. Like paper cuts that hurt like hell, only bigger and all over your chest.

More tears are forced out of your leaking eyes because damn it, you’re on the ground nearly dying, and it makes you so damn angry because you can’t do a damn thing about it. If only you’d taken Hosea’s advice and learn how to control your anger. He always did say it would be what killed you.

“Hell, if you had a cunt, we’d take you right here!”

You mentally throw up and probably actually do a little in your mouth as there’s a boot holding your shoulder down harshly, a knife drawing across your ribs, and a hand pressing and digging it’s nails into the several wounds across your abdomen.

“Go to hell,” is all you manage.

“You first-“

There’s suddenly more blood on you than there was a split second ago, and you feel as if your arm was detached from your body. You can’t even scream, it gets stuck in your throat. Barely managing to turn your head as the other men jump away from you with yelps of surprise, you see you’d been shot in the shoulder the man was standing on. Your eyes trail further up, meeting with the ugly grey ones of Colm. Oh how you wanted to rip his greasy hair from his head-

“Now boys, just what the hell are you doin?”

“Colm! We found one of Dutch’s boys mouthin’ off to us!”

“Well I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Mr. (L/n). Heh. What are you doin’ so far away from your king?”

“Oh, fuck you...”

Colm laughs and kicks you in your wounded shoulder, spurs cutting deep. You cry out, but can’t even lift your head. Cant use your mouth to spit on his boot.

“Save that for Dutch.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Colm.”

The O’Driscoll boys stumble back, immediately going for their guns on their belts. In just a split second, everyone has a gun pointed at one another. Oh, Dutch. My savior.

“I don’t quite like how you’ve been treating our friend, friend.” The controlled anger on Dutch’s face could make the Devil high-tail outta Georgia.

“Well I don’t quite enjoy your boys killin mine, Dutch.” Colm retorts.

There’s a moment of silence, of sharp end grey between the two men, before Colm’s eyes leave Dutch’s and see just how outnumbered he really is. Arthur is at one side of him, John on the other. Bill and Javier had circled around and taken a spot behind Colm and his men, Charles and Micah to the side. He was surrounded.

He realizes this, takes a deep breath, and slowly holsters his guns, quietly chuckling. Dutch does the same.

“Oh, what would you be without your boys, Dutch.”

“A lot more than you’d be, Colm.”

After they had taken off on their horses, you don’t think you’d ever been more grateful of the pain of behind lifted up and standing. You’d really thought you’d die on that spot of Gods green earth.

“Goddamn O’Driscolls,” John scowls from your left, grip tightening on your arm that had been slung around his shoulders. “I’ll kill ‘em. Every last one.”

“Same some for me,” you mutter.

It’s a long, hard trip back to Horseshoe. You can’t even open your eyes and see who gets you up off the back of Johns horse. You can only tell it’s one of the bigger men as you have to be lifted and carried over to your tent. You can hear Grimshaw fussing over you, shooing the others away.

But for Dutch, you can crack your heavy eyes open and look at him the best you can. The man lays a hand on your own, patting it.

“You’ll be just fine, son. Back to your best shape in no time. I’m glad we got there when we did.”

“Me too.”

He laughs a little, and pats your hand again before stepping away and letting Grimshaw work. Your eyes don’t leave his back until he’s out of sight. Dutch has saved your life yet again. You’d honestly do anything for the man.

Anything.

#rdr2 #dutch van der linde #rdr2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #Dutch x male reader #rdr x reader #Dutch Van der Linde x reader #Dutch Van der Linde x male reader

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vesperstalksclones · 3 years

Text

Ok so @captainrexisboo was talking to people about Rex and cinnamon flavored mouth wash, which made this amazeballs art happen by @samrubio and that got me thinking about clones and tasty flavors.... and I'm a dirty hoe... and this fell out of my Brain:

Peppermint Playtime

(or something like that)

*I'm sorry, I cannot for the life of me figure out how to do a "read more" line with my phone. Please forgive me.

*Kix x gender neutral reader

*Filth filth filth, Kix gets his brain sucked out thru his peepee, and things get crazy there is a little finger walking of the dirt trail. Just saying.

Have fun!!

●●●●●●

Kix had excused himself to go search out some food, allowing you the first bit of privacy You'd had in four days.

You'd been dispatched to Torrent squadron after the 501st had discovered a hidden slave camp tucked into the dense jungles of this gods-forsaken planet, the occupants suffering terribly from malnutrition and exposure. Tending wounded troopers as well as suffering civilians was more than he was equipped for, so the chief medical officer had dispatched you and a transport of supplies to fill the need. Kix had arched a brow at the nat-born medical technician he'd been landed with, chuckled at your name, Magik' (left over from university when you could repeat practically all of Magik's Anatomy Atlas verbatim) and within the hour was eye-fucking you from the table where he was irrigating infected wounds. Quite the romantic first meeting.

Truth be told, even the difficulty of a four day grind in the field ward couldn't blind you to how damn beautiful the trooper was. They were all made from the same man… but Kix seemed… more, somehow. His amber eyes seemed to burn with more gold and his hair was an inker ebony… his lips more plush and his lilting baritone voice richer. You might have indulged in a great deal of reciprocal eye fucking.

Now, in the privacy of his little cubby hole, you shed your filthy clothes, adding them to the growing pile and dug out your precious pouch of wipes and a spray bottle of saniwash. Metered showers on the Venator sucked. Wipes sucked far more. But you were sweaty and tired and the massaging of the towel bath was marvelously soothing after the grind. You scrubbed yourself down thoroughly, sighing at the cool air kissing at your skin as you ran your palms over your chest and belly to whisk away any remaining moisture. Stooping, you retrieved the used cloths and straightened, your eyes locking with the wide eyed stare of the medic who had appeared out of nowhere and was watching you a little slack jawed.

Your insides jumped, but outwardly you remained cool, tilting your head coyly at him.

"Kix… how long have you been standing there?"

A look of panic crossed his face and he gritted his teeth, the spell suddenly broken by the sound of your voice.

"Not… not too long…. I didn't see… I…" he stammered. You couldn't help but adore his bashfulness, even as the two of you had stared across more naked bodies in the past few days than you'd care to count.

"Oh, stop. Get over here, you need to clean up!"

He shuffled forward, discarding the food packets he'd brought before drawing himself up in front of you, training his eyes somewhere above your head.

"I can help… If you want me to."

His eyes snapped down to yours, surprise painting his features… but also maybe… eagerness?

"If that's ok…" You continued, nodding innocently as your lips pursed.

He nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small grin.

You tucked your fingers under the hem of his blacks, tugging the shirt up until his navel peeked out.

"Look, Kix… It's been a shitty couple of days and I just… I really want to put my hands on something healthy and … " You shuddered as you pressed your palms against the muscles of his abdomen. "... gorgeous."

He nodded again, the corner of his mouth creeping high into smirk, realizing what you were getting at and immensely enjoying the idea. You pulled the shirt the rest of the way off, and he hiked a booted foot up onto a container, working at loosening the shinguards. Not wanting to waste time you worked at his back, marveling at how the droplets of the wash collected on the rippled bronze muscles and the prickles that rose wherever your nails scraped at him while you scrubbed. He threw up the other boot to be loosened as you kneaded at his shoulders, pulling a groan from the medic's lips. You rubbed the tension away until he straightened and stepped out of the armored boots, now clad only in the black tights.

Grabbing the wash he hurriedly got to scrubbing his chest, eager to get business finished and move on to other things. Never to be the shy one, you cupped your palms over his hips, pressing yourself against his back, and rolling your hips against his ass, eliciting a small noise of approval. He was getting to work on his face when your fingers dipped down the front of his thighs and came together in the front, molding over the growing bulge in his pants.

"Oh hell… " he groaned, canting his hips forward to press against your palms. "That's not helping."

"Then hurry up, Sir."

He growled low in his throat, dragging his pants down to hurriedly scrub himself as your fingers played at his abdominals, scratching little trails around his hips and scooping handfuls of his firm rear.

"Fucking Maker, you're beautiful." You whisper harshly, nipping at his shoulder.

Kix clawed his tights the rest of the way off, with a grunt and spun to face you. His arm slipped around your waist and crushed you against his belly, his other hand fisting in your hair and gripping it snugly.

" What did you want Magik, that you're so damn eager for?" He jerked your head lightly with the fist. "You think I didn't see you looking at me the last few days?" He brushed his lips against yours, holding you back when you stretched to kiss him. "What were you thinking about?"

Your nails were digging into his arms, the tension that hung over the two of you was nearly palpable. You were both exhausted and strung out and really needed something good and mind blowing to force you into a few hours of blissful slumber.

"I want your cock… I want you in my mouth. I want your hands in my hair, and I want you to loose your damn mind."

"Fuck yes." He growled, slanting his lips over yours, groaning harshly as he thrust his tongue in your mouth, caressing at yours and exploring your warmth.

You pushed him away and he let you go, your teeth scraping down his neck as you left. You dropped to your knees, pushing him back against the crates harshly and pressed your lips to his middle, leaving searing kisses and licks as you worked your way towards your prize. You were nuzzling at the crease of his thigh, his hard erection bumping at your cheek when you had a thought. He'd worked so damn hard to save those people… why not make things a bit more special for him. You scrambled to the side and dug in the pocket of your smock. He watched you curiously as you unearthed your tin of peppermints and scooped a bunch on to your tongue. You crunched them quickly, shuddering at the intensity of the mentholated chill they brought. Grabbing one of the cold beverages he brought, you slunk back before him and met his eyes with a naughty look in your own.

"You worried about your breath?" He asked, confusion plain on his face.

You shrugged and smiled sweetly. "No… but you should be."

His brows raised as you dipped your head towards his member, curling your tongue along his shaft, smiling at his moan of defeat.

He ran his fingers through your hair before fisting them firmly, holding you tightly as you set to work. You spread your lips over the head, the velvety softness of the skin dragging against yours. A bead of pre-come had swelled at the tip and you ran your tongue through it, teasing at the tiny opening there as his breath hitched. Wetting your mouth thoroughly you slid him past your lips and on to your tongue, sucking experimentally at the mouthful as Kix shuddered above you.

Flicking your eyes up to his, you found his mouth agape, his golden eyes locked on your face, the point of contact, memorizing the sight of his cock disappearing into you.

"Is that good, Ad'ika? Take more…"

You pull away and plant a sloppy kiss to the head, before enveloping him again and pushing forward, taking more of his length with each bob of your head. His hands gripped tighter, pushing you forward firmly and you knew what he was wanting. You swallowed around him, shoving him deeply into your throat until your head spun and your nose brushed his abdomen and your shoulders shook as your body fought to reject his length. Fortunately a calm head and a lazy gag reflex kept things smooth and you slipped away, only to press forward again, swallowing him whole.

Kix was gasping overhead, watching you have your way with him, satisfying your own craving even as he was the one who would surely benefit more.

"Fuck… Magik! That feels …" his voice cracked in the middle of the sentence. "Stars… that's amazing! It feels… agh!"

You ran your nails over his hips and thighs as you worked and he arched against you. Rolled his testicles between your fingers as you stroked the heavy sack, giggling at the stutter it put in his hips. You fumbled for the odds and ends you had deposited on the floor, dipping your fingers into a bit of oil You'd snatched from the clinic.

Pulling away, you coaxed him to sit on the crates, leaned back and relaxed, and hooked a palm behind his knee, propping his leg high.

He chuckled nervously. "Where is this going, Mag?"

"Trust me, doll. I think you'll like this."

You sunk back down, taking him in your mouth again, your oily fingers smoothed behind his balls and crept back between the cheeks of his ass. He squirmed under your touch, his breaths occasionally turning into little whimpers as you swallowed him down, the sloppy noises of your spit soaked lips making an obscene symphony in the modest space. He trembled when your fingertips brushed against his entrance, the oil making the touch slick and soft as satin. You timed gentle strokes with the motion of your lips, listening closely to his pants and gasps for any hint that he wasn't enjoying himself.

Seizing the moment,, you slipped a finger in to him up to the second knuckle.

"Fucking!... Stars… ah!" He arched up his hands flying to clench the edges of the crate and you felt him tighten around you.

You pull away from his cock, with a wet noise, gently caressing him.

"Do you want me to stop, sugar?"

"N.. n.. no!" He positively whined the word, giving himself over to you willingly.

You kissed his thigh and dove back on his member, fucking him sweetly with your mouth and your hand as he moaned and squirmed under your ministrations.

Maybe he thought he was the one in charge, but the beautiful man was your plaything for the moment and hearing him whimper and cry had your insides twisting, your own muscles clenching around emptiness in anticipation.

"Magik! Kriffing Maker Ad'ika … I need…" the words broke off in a sob as you slid your finger out of him.

"What do you need, Beautiful? Tell me.." You whisper, stroking his weeping cock with your free hand, watching his muscled abs gather so that he could thrust against your fist.

"I need to come… I'm close… please, please Ad'ika!"

You smile at the warmth his words bring, wanting more than anything else to see him fall apart from your touch. You drop your mouth over his head, drawing circles with your tongue as your hand pumps his length, the other dipping into your drinking cup and finding a tiny smooth bit of ice.

If he liked the cool on his cock… well..

You raised your head to watch as your fingers slipped to his ass and pressed the bit of ice inside him.

You heard the creak of the crates as his fingers clamped down, saw his pupils shrink to pinpoints and he exploded against your lips, body bowing into the air as a scream ripped from his chest. The climax rippled through him, setting the great muscles in his thighs quivering as ropes of hot spend splashed across your face and neck.

You'd expected it… just not so much!

Pleasantly pleased with yourself, you sat stroking his thighs as the sensations of release ricocheted around within him, making themselves known with little shudders and breathy gasps.

It wasn't long before he relaxed and quieted, panting softly in the afterglow of his release and he raised his head, searching you with a dazed expression.

"Hi there handsome. Welcome back."

"You…. Kriffing… what the hell are you?

He gasped out, looking half pleased and half afraid.

You shrugged.

"A discerning collector of orgasms. And yours, Sir, was superb."

He rolled from the crate with a groan, gaining his feet slowly, before pulling you up with him. Sharing in childish giggles, he apologized as he helped to clean your face, before pulling you down to the sleeping palette with a grin.

"Two can play at this game, Ad'ika."

#clone trooper kix #clone smut #improper use of altoids #clone wars fanfic #gender neutral reader

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