#murder bravado

[dystopria]

Stained Glass Leather Jacket By Who Decides War (SS23)

#dystopria #fashion inspo #high fashion #cool leather jacket #leather jacket #who decides war #murder bravado #stained glass jacket #fashion looks #fire jacket #cool jacket

[killrandy]

#patron of the new #murder bravado #who decides war #spring/summer #fashion #luxury streetwear

[cuntess-carmilla]

I wonder how Caribbean Latines feel when they hear non-Caribbean Spanish-speaking singers who Absolutely Do NOT Sound Like That when casually speaking suddenly Sounding Like That for their Reggaetón songs. Especially the ones that aren't even Latine aka Rosalía.

#at least chilean reggaetón vocalists sound like chilean flaites for the most part i gotta commend them for that #but i swear to god if i hear yet another one say something about castigarla con el mazo or some variation of it i'm gonna go for murder #is it the misogyny? nah i'm used to that in the genre #is it the annoying dick bravado? nah also used to it #CAN YOU GUYS JUST GET NEW TRICKS?

[b-rainlet]

Not to be a true crime girly but I am so tired of true crime podcasts that add shit like 'spooky music~' or have a voice over that's like 'The Hunter stalking his Prey' shut the fuck up

#Stop fictionalizing real crimes #To make it sound cooler #You can do that with fictional horror podcasts if you wanna but NOT here #I mean you can make a point against tc podcasts in general #But I feel a lot less weirded out and like I am trivializing murder #When I am listening to somebody clamly explain a case to me without added bravado #Then whatever this shit is

[tortademaracuya]

Dev: im gonna add so much foreshadowing

#YUUICHI HAS THE TITLE GUILTY ON THE SECOND DEGREE STOPPPP #maybe Takumi had bad vibes have you considered that? #leave him alone #oh...his skills... :( #he has insincere smile (smile even though you arent hapy) and bravado (be brave even though you arent) #the poor little kid <- ignoring the murders #mars plays stuff

[luveline]

jade if I’m not too late and requests are still open, can you write bombshell!reader and spence’s first kiss? secretly I think it would be funny if the team saw a hickey on her neck or something that she didn’t expect but oh how I love how soft she is for spence

ty for your request ♡ fem, 1.2k

"It's classic, comfortable anger-excitation," you say, hitting the flat of your ballpoint pen against your fingertip, a repetitive tap. "But his geographical profile is everywhere. No one place is untouched, but if he's as practised as we think he is, he'd kill away from home." 

"Then he's not practised, he's an expert," Hotch says in the seat beside you. "He knows to divert our attention." 

Your tapping increases. Spencer takes a few steps back and puts his hand over yours. You glance up at him. He mimes a deep breath for you to copy. You do it without complaint. 

You're so focused on being perfect that sometimes you forget to breathe. You're very good at being perfect, in Spencer's opinion, perfect hair, perfect face, perfect frenetic hands. And you're doubly perfect at whatever this is, smiling at him with an unquantifiable emotion in what's probably the prettiest set of eyes on planet Earth. 

Spencer puts your pen on your notebook and goes back to his board. The locations of each murder are tacked into a map. You weren't kidding when you said everywhere. 

You're in one of the poorest places in America, and the police station reflects that. There's no conference room for you guys to work undisturbed, and the beat cops and deputy alike can hear and see everything you're doing. Most have the manners to leave you alone, but you're you; you tend to draw attention. 

You've taken up the pen again, clicking and unclicking incessantly. It's an annoying sound but you're not aware that you're doing it, too determined on cracking the case before anything worse happens. Your team knows to ignore you, or even to disarm you. Emily snags the pen from your hand with a friendly laugh. "Jesus, you're tightly wound today." 

"Mm," you murmur, struggling to pull yourself from your notes. A few more seconds and you look up with a blinding smile, "That's because Spencer skimped on my neck massage last night." 

"Come on, pretty boy," Morgan says, though his heart isn't truly in it, "I thought you knew better." 

Spencer shakes his head. You and Spencer had very separate hotel rooms and no sensual touching occurred, but he loves how happy this running joke makes you, so he stays quiet. 

"He knows everything," you say, backtracking, "That's why he's gonna make me a cup of coffee. He knows exactly how I like it." 

He leaves to make you a cup of coffee, but he was heading that way anyway for his own. He's thinking to himself that coffee is a bad idea and that he wishes he was better at saying no to you when you follow him in, your arms already open as you close the two or three steps to his chest and hug him over the shoulders. 

"You didn't say anything when you left," you worry, your embrace overwhelming, sweet and soft and with a loving squeeze to round it off. "I wasn't being bossy, was I?" 

You can be, but not this time. "Shut up, you know I'll make you a cup of coffee whenever you want it." 

"That so?" you ask. 

There's an excess energy you haven't managed to kick today racing through you. He can see the restlessness in your smile, no matter how glitzy. 

"Are you okay?" he asks. 

Spencer's poorly kept secret is that he's obsessed with you. You dote on him, you tease him, you torture him, but Spencer wants all of it and more. He likes being the centre of your attention, loves how your fond flirtation has changed to plain affection, and he would do anything you asked him to if it meant you were gonna kiss his cheek at the end. He thinks you're beautiful and electric and a thousand yards out of his league, and he thinks you're the nicest woman they ever made under all your bravado because not once have you encouraged that line of thought —you like him for him. You don't want him to change. You don't need anything from him he can't give to you. 

His simple question transforms you, your glossy lips perking immediately into a smile. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" 

"You seem tense. I've never given a massage before, but I can actually try," he offers. 

Your hand cups his cheek, your voice aglow with a saccharine quality, "You're lovely, that's why. Maybe I'll take you up on it later–" 

"It's not like–" 

You'd been attempting a sweet thank you, and Spencer was brushing it off, but somewhere in the middle of it you'd gone up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Spencer —idiot, uncoordinated, inexperienced, is going to hate himself later Spencer— turned away from your touch to argue with you, directing your lips against his. 

Soft, sticky, pretty lips pressed to his. 

You set back on your heels quickly. Your eyes are wide, beautiful but flared in shock, a sheepishness tugging your brows together as you say, "I'm so sorry." 

"It's my fault," he says quickly, braceleting your wrist in his hand, "I'm sorry–" 

You both lean back in for a second kiss at the same time. Spencer's head angled down and your chin tipped ever so slightly upward, you close your eyes as he closes his, completely silent. It's not often you're quiet. Spencer doesn't mean to, but he kisses too hard, too much, forcing your hand from his cheek as he grabs you either side of the head to keep you in his reach. 

Your breath comes out in a huff that lights his nerve endings on fire, the barest hint of your voice tacked to it like a sigh of relief, like you're taking the edge off in the circle of his arms. Spencer's hand slides behind your head to hook you in, your lips parting at the seam from the pressure. You feel the heat of him and respond with vigour, your hand a nagging demand at the small of his back, pulling him closer, closer, as his other hand trails down your arm. 

Your elbow bumps the coffee mugs, it really is his fault, and you spring away from him like you think you've been caught. Smiling, a kid with her hand in the cookie jar, you throw your gaze around the room to check you're still alone before stepping forward to laugh against his mouth. 

That's a good sound. A great reaction. You have more patience than Spencer, dotting kisses thick with lip gloss up into his top lip, your mouth just open enough for him to feel faint. 

"It was really an accident," he says between shorter, kinder kisses. 

"I know," you murmur, words smushed. You steal a last rather frantic one before you stop, breathing funny, hands smoothing down the hair you'd mussed initially with sorry tenderness. "Was that okay?" 

He puts his hand on your hip, refusing to gratify what feels like a silly question with a response when you can't not know he's been wanting to kiss you for weeks. Maybe months. "Are you sure you're fine?" 

You smile at him like you know something he doesn't. "I'm sure, Spence. I think I just needed to do that." 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

[uhohgottashreep]

trying to collect my thoughts about The Bad Boys (that is, jimmy grian and joel)

like. joel and grian are by far the most bloodthirsty people on the server ("aw i'm not the boogey :(" and grian's 3L murder spree while green). meanwhile jimmy is constantly referenced as the most likely to die. they're all horrible chaotic influences on each other, they're egging one another on -- but then they hasten to warn each other about leaf waterlogging on bucket jumps. they spend their afternoons quietly fishing in their little wooden clubhouse... then go back to doing property damage and stealing things and setting fires

it's two short + one tall, but the one tall is all ineffectual bravado and the two short are these totally unhinged berserkers

"we're the only ones allowed to bully jimmy" + "i love my terrifying murderous besties" energy, is this making sense??? they're driving me mad

#fellas please help me rotate them #solidaritygaming #limited life #limited life smp #joel smallishbeans #grian #trafficblr #the bad boys #of the life series lol #shreep #he asked for no pickles DO YOU GET ME #this is what happens when my partner takes a nap and i'm alone with my thoughts pff

[dazai-ritualist]

The doe darling fic was so sweet! Yan!Alastor is really perfect husband material.. which has me thinking.. How would he propose to his darling and what kind of wedding would it be?? 😳 What are his thoughts leading up to asking and how nervous would he get if he does? Thank you so much! ❤️

LOOK INTO YOUR EYES, AND THE SKY’S THE LIMIT!

— yandere!alastor x fiance to be!reader

— bad day @ school today, this made me feel better HAHAHA

alastor always knew his darling would be the one he’d marry. call it love at first sight, call it an obsession, call it what you want— you were his from the beginning

but now, he’s finally made you fall hard in love with him, as madly in love with him as he has been with you. it’s time for him to pop the question

he’ll create the ring himself out of the shadows of his powers, no ring made by those lowlife jewelers will be perfect enough to have the pleasure to rest itself on his doe’s pretty ring finger; no gem will shine bright enough, no ore will be pure enough, and simply— nothing will ever be good enough.

a precious rose gold ring encrusting a huge diamond, shined to perfection. and, on the inside of the ring; ‘my darling doe’

he’d find it really hard to find the perfect time to propose… after all, this is a once in a lifetime event. everything has to be perfect.

there was no turning back now. tonight would be the night. as he walked with you, arm interlocked with his— his breath heaved. alastor’s eyesight hazed as his muscles stiffened under your gentle touch.

“alastor? dear, are you okay?” you tilted your head at his odder-than-usual behavior. “of course, my doe! why wouldn’t i be?” he said with a bit of fake bravado, the radio static growing with his anxiety.

what if you’d say no? all this courting, just for you to say no. you’ll marry him, that’s the fact. but, it’s up to you whether or not you choose the hard way. he really hopes that you’ll say yes. he wouldn’t want to taint your image of him because of a simple bump in your relationship.

here you are, ducky park— one of your favorite places in hell. the cold iron fence protecting residents from falling into the fiery lava pit as many of lucifer’s ducks follow the flow of the lava.

as you arrived to your favorite lamp post, you took in the gruesome sights of hell, sinners fornicating, murdering, and fighting.

alastor looked down at you, nothing but pure worship in his eyes. you noticed the soft eyes that were gazing down on you, meeting his eyes with your pretty eyes.

“very well then…” alastor sighed, confusing you to no end. he got down on his right knee, pulling a wine-red velvet box from the pocket of his coat.

and then, he revealed the beautiful ring he made for you, drowning in the gorgeous way your big eyes widened in shock, your breath stopping a beat.

he was finally doing it! alastor took a deep breath, calming the nerves that dared to ruin his speech. “my doe, from the very first moment i met you, i have been nothing short of infatuated. i’ve been obsessed with you, from your immeasurable beauty all the way to your sweet innocent heart. i’d like to spend the rest of my afterlife by your side… as your husband. that is… if you allow me that pleasure?” alastor asked breathlessly, taking your left hand in his.

you stood in shock, trying to get the words out of your mouth. “ah… i…” you stuttered. “yes. i will.” you sighed, lifting alastor to his feet.

alastor’s smile grew as he ecstatically placed the ring on your finger, marking you as his darling. you grinned as you pulled him into a kiss, sweetly albeit a bit cliche.

despite wanting to show off his cute doe and now soon-to-be spouse, alastor would only hold a small wedding. close friends of yours, the staff of the hotel, and rosie!

just like your engagement ring, he’d craft the rings himself! two bright gold wedding bands. the initial A carved into the band, boldened by the black ink in the crevice. and for him, a similar band, one imprinted with your initial.

the venue would be just right out of the hotel, within the gates as to make sure you don’t run away or anything! we wouldn’t want that, would we?

he’d let you handle the decor and menu of the wedding, just as long as his darling is happy!

of course, he wouldn’t want you stressing out just before the big day, let your future husband take care of the seating. strange how no men are near your table…

but, don’t fuss over that! you’re finally married to alastor, aren’t you happy, doe?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hasbin alastor #alastor hc #alastor headcanons #alastor hazbin x reader #yandere

[nimanixo]

#murder bravado 👏🏼 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

[the-modern-typewriter]

can you do something about how the hero gets kidnapped and they ask the villain to let them go but the villain makes them beg for it?

"Let me go!"

"Do you ever go fishing?" the villain asked.

"I - what?" The question threw the hero off enough for the snarl to die on their lips.

"Do you ever go fishing?"

"No."

"People don't normally fish," the villain swaggered a step closer, smiling, "just to toss the fish back. That sort of defeats the purpose of capturing the fish in the first place."

"I'm not a fish."

The villain's smile grew. "No." They sounded amused. "You're not. But the point stands, doesn't it? Why should I let you go after all the effort, patience and skill it took to catch you?"

The hero swallowed. Their mind reeled. "Because-" They floundered.

"Hm?"

The hero glared at the villain again. "Because keeping a person is a lot more hard work."

"So I should just kill you?"

"No!" The hero's stomach lurched. "No - I didn't mean - "

The villain laughed. They reached out a hand, trailing their finger up along the soft curve of the hero's belly, over their chest. "Gut you. Salt you. Serve you on a platter to someone willing to pay?"

"No."

The villain nudged the hero's chin, playfully. "Go on."

"Because-" Well, when they'd demanded that the villain let them go, it had been more defiance and the hope of intimidation, than any expectation that the villain would do it. "You'll regret if you don't let me go."

"Will I?"

"I'm more trouble than I'm worth. I'll make you pay for it."

"So." The villain leaned in, closing their fingers gently around the hero's throat. "I should just kill you? Before you get the chance."

The hero closed their eyes briefly. They shook their head. If they'd had their powers, maybe the panic wouldn't have snatched in their throat quite so viciously, but...but the villain's set up didn't allow for powers. The hero was helpless. Well and truly on the hook, so to speak.

"Why did you take me?" the hero managed, a rasp.

"Now that's a better question."

"Are you going to answer it?"

"Are you going to give me what I want?"

"Depends on what you want. I guess if I say no, you'll say, 'should I just kill you?'"

"It's certainly always a question worth asking, isn't it?"

"No," the hero snapped. "It isn't. It should never be!"

The villain laughed again, soft. They squeezed the hero's throat, just once, before letting their hand fall. They stepped back.

"I suppose I want you to know that this is my city." The laughter vanished as if it had never been there. There was no trace of the smile. No humour or kindness in the villain's eyes. "I want you to know that you're safe only because I allow it. I want you to know that I can take you any time I like, do anything I like to you, and there is absolutely nothing that that you can do about it."

The hero stared. Horror coiled, nested, inside them and made a home.

The villain tilted their head. "Do you suppose that message is sinking in? Or do I need to up the stakes in this practical demonstration?"

The hero opened their mouth, closed it, opened it again. They clenched their jaw.

"Judging by the lack of witty, foolish bravado," the villain murmured, "I think it's starting to. Good."

"So you're...this is a warning. You're going to let me go?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Your question?"

The villain's smile returned, slow and mocking. "Fish, little hero."

Why should I let you go?

The hero swallowed again, but there was still a thick lump of ever-growing fear in their throat. "Killing me would be a lot more effort. Messy."

The villain flicked their eyes down to the drain at the hero's feet, raising a brow.

"Because-" The hero tried, desperately, to think. They couldn't think of a single reason why the villain might leave them alive, actually. Not if they weren't a creature that believed in basic things like second chances and people's right not to be murdered and hurt. "I won't be any bother. To you." The shame of it burned. Scorched them. The words were barely a whisper.

"You've been a bit of a bother though, haven't you?" The villain's voice was almost kind. Like they were talking to a small child.

The hero's stomach lurched again.

"I'm...I'm sorry?"

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Convince me."

"Convince you?"

A moment of silence passed between them, before the villain laughed again. They stepped forward once more, and the hero tensed. The villain patted them on their cheek, before seizing a savage fistful of their hair, tugging. "Panic makes you pretty and dumb, huh, babe?"

"I've never - I'm not -" The hero wasn't actually trying to irritate the villain further.

The villain sighed, catching the look on their face. Their grip gentled again, stroking the hero's hair back from their clammy forehead.

"Beg."

"O-oh." Beneath the shame, there was a worse relief. The reassurance of clear objectives. "Please," they said. "Please let me go."

"Is that really the best you can do?"

"...I've never begged before. What more do you want? I can't get on my knees, I'm tied up."

The villain snorted, clearly clocking that it was, actually, a genuine question by then. "Don't worry, you'll learn. I can teach you before you go. I'm nice like that."

The hero's eyes widened, because while they'd never begged before, they could still recognise a threat when they heard one. Mostly. "No - that's not - please don't. I'll beg better. I'll be - be good. No bother. I'm sure you're very busy. You have much better things to be doing. Please."

"Mm." The villain considered them. "A small improvement. I still think you can do better though, can't you?"

They let the hero go nearly three hours later.

The hero couldn't say the word please anymore after that.

#heroes and villains #villains and heroes #writing #story #whump #? #story snippet #writing snippet #villains #heroes

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ NAUGHTY GIRL. ❞

— minors dni, gojo x afab! reader, they’re both sassy, poly! stsgverse, he plays w/ your tits, sequel to “YOU LITTLE THIEF!”

A cool breeze awaits as you burst into mostly darkness. There’s a few headlights in the parking lot, other patrons coming or going. Glancing back, you catch sight of Gojo nearing the shoe rack. You curse his longer legs, and the color of Geto’s car which blends into the pitch blackness outside. You decide to run in the vague direction of where he parked, hoping it yields results that aren’t Gojo immediately catching up to you. Hopefully people don’t find you too suspicious, the way you’re ducking and weaving through cars to stay out of sight. Gojo’s nowhere to be found whenever you peep back to spot him. It raises the hairs on your arms, makes things a lot more suspenseful as if you’re trying to avoid some kind of knife-wielding murderer in a horror movie.

You finally spot Geto’s car, close to the back of the lot, and dive behind it so you’re next to the driver’s side door. Catching your breath takes a few seconds — you’re lucky his alarm isn’t activated to give you away. Approaching footsteps raise your heart rate, but it’s just some gaggle of teenagers walking by. Or a young a couple on their way inside. Not yet a white-haired man looking to do you harm (take his phone back).

Quietly, or as quietly as you can on gravel, you lift yourself up to peek through Geto’s dark, tinted windows. Despite being akin to a lighthouse tower, Gojo is nowhere to be spotted. It dawns on you that he might also be using cars as refuge. Perhaps if you looked underneath, you’d be able to spot him? Alright, let’s see, you think, lowering and regretting the idea as soon as your knees meet harsh rock. You look back, forth, back again. Nothing. What in the hell…?, you rise back to your feet, not noticing the looming, dark shadow approaching with abnormally quiet steps. Where the fuck did he go?

“Gotcha!” And Gojo muffles your terrified shriek with a large hand, other hand on your waist to pin you to the black car. “Aww, were you lookin’ for me down there, gorgeous?”

Brows drawn together, you inspect the place behind him, too concerned with how in the world he got behind you. He lets you strip his hand from your face to question him. “Where did you come from?”

Gojo grins, tilts his head a little to the side. “Can’t go around revealing my secrets now, can I?”

He takes delight in your unamused look, and your scoff. “What are you, a magician?”

“Nope, but you are. So make my phone appear, right now.”

“Or what? Are you gonna pat me down, Mr. TSA?”

Regret, immediately, as he rolls his eyes in thought. “Actually. Yeah, I am!”

You watch as Gojo pats your arms, waist, legs, one bold pat on your behind, before patting at your shoes. “You think your phone could fit in there?”

He looks up, and the sight of Gojo on his knees before you kind of makes you feel powerful. Like a deity. “I have to be thorough.” He pats you a little harder on the way back up, avoiding your chest, and pouts when he still finds nothing. “The hell? Where is it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Brat, he thinks. Gojo’s hands squeeze over your waist, pressing you against the car again. He leans over you until your foreheads are almost touching. “Give it here. Crook.”

That only prompts your giggle in response, e/c eyes never leaving the blues of his. Your hands fiddle with the edge of Gojo’s shirt, and he opens his mouth for another word before there’s a vibration from your chest.

Both pairs of eyes flicker to the faint glow beneath your shirt, and the bravado plummets from your face. “O-oh…”

He looks back up to grin at you. “Found it. I’ll be taking it back now.”

Before you can complain, Gojo slips a hand beneath your top, working his way up until it rests atop your bra, where he finds his phone half-tucked inside. Your breath stutters when his fingers slip underneath, smoothing over your nipple as he pinches the phone and tugs it downward. His other hand glides upwards to take it, and Gojo slips the phone in his pocket, but leaves one hand resting against your bare breast.

“Naughty girl.,” he scolds, thumbing over the stiffening bud. “Why was it in there huh? Did you plan this out?”

You fumble for a response. “I–, no–“

“Because,” a roll of your nipple has you arching into Gojo, where he wraps an arm around your waist. “You could’ve just asked, if you wanted me touch you. Use your words next time, baby.”

His lips make a home on your skin, placing gentle kisses along your neck, jawline, cheeks. It drives a series of mewls and whimpers from you, causes your thighs to clench together around his leg. “G–et off m-me, I’m going back ins-side.”

“Tryna run away again?,” Gojo mocks you, nipping at the sensitive part of your neck. “Cute. Sure, we can go back inside.” He gives a hard suck on the skin, sure to leave a mark, before pulling away to catch your hazy eyes. “You gonna behave for me?”

Even though Gojo can see right through you, needily panting and pushing your chest further into his palm, you still choose to be a little difficult. “Behave? Like some puppy—“

You yelp, him having tugged at your nipple, pinching it between his fingers. “Yep, like my good girl. Play nice, no more stealing or it’s wraps, got it?”

There’s an underlying threat in his statement, one that prods at your curiosity. But you decide to play along for now. “Fine.”

He gives your face another kiss, close to your lips. “Don’t like the way you said it. Again, with less attitude.”

“I didn’t have an attitude.”

“Well, you definitely have one now, so do it again.”

You roll your eyes, catching his expectant stare. His hand twitches at the bat of your lashes, the jut of your lip, eyes widening in an adorable pout. “I’ll be such a good girl for you, Satoru.” The way you purr his name is like gold in his ears. Gojo can feel a throbbing within his pants, but his hands retreat for now to leave you be. You’ll be sure to act up again, and he’s gonna let you have it when you do.

tagz: @staryukis @anthoosies

#poly! satosugu #satoru imagine #satoru gojo imagine #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader

[mllemaenad]

Oh, I do love Karlach. The group really needs her joie de vivre. Everybody is so cursed, so doomed, so conflicted. And it's not like she isn't, but for Karlach THE SUN IS SHINING, THE BIRDS ARE SINGING, AND WE ARE GOING TO SLAY SOME MONSTERS AND THEN GO TO THE PUB. And I really must find the lady a pub that isn't some version of on fire before the game is over.

I also enjoy the intersection between her story and Wyll's. Of course, being manipulated into murdering any innocent would be a problem for him, but Karlach specifically could have been custom built to be his friend. Her boisterousness and his bravado differ, of course, but in another timeline I could imagine the two of them bouncing around the countryside, saving small children and puppies from terrible monsters, and singing all the epic songs other people are writing about them.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #bg3

[cece693]

My Pretty Boy (Michael Myers x Male Reader)

Just something I wanted to try out cause even a murderer needs pampering from time to time :) This Michael Myers doesn't follow the movie, game, or remake (in terms of tragic backstory); he's my own take on the character. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: M/n was a killer who used his good looks as bait to draw his victims in. Yet, you know who wasn't so keen on the idea? His boyfriend, Michael Myers.

In the dimly lit alleyways of Haddonfield, a young man strode with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his piercing [color] eyes scanning the shadows for his next prey. Unbeknownst to those who crossed his path, he was a predator disguised in the guise of a gentleman, a master manipulator who wielded his charisma like a weapon. No one had yet to discover his dark secret, for who would ever suspect an ideal member of society to be a killer?

Pretty privilege was a thing, and m/n knew how to use it to his full advantage. With chiseled features and an allure that could disarm even the most vigilant, he effortlessly manipulated those around him. And that manipulation didn't stop with unsuspecting people, it also included other killers such as the boogeyman himself, Michael Myers.

Their relationship was a rather interesting one—with both men being dominant, it was a challenge for m/n to ease the other into a more submissive role. But oh, when he did, m/n swears he was in heaven.

Michael was a kitten in wolf's clothing.

Despite the blood on his hands, responsible for the demise of countless souls, they possessed a surprising gentleness that could soothe even the deepest wounds. His muteness, a chilling characteristic to any sane person, transformed into a language of intimacy when wrapped in m/n's embrace.

Just the thought of his boyfriend brought a smile to m/n's face, however, his moment of bliss was rudely interrupted. Stopping mid-stride, m/n turned around to see a drunkard leaning against a brick wall.

"What's a handsome man like yourself doing wandering the streets at this hour?" he slurred, his words tinged with a mixture of bravado and flirtatiousness.

M/n arched an eyebrow, smile transforming into a smirk as he replied, "Just enjoying the night. But I'm not as lonely as you might think." The glint in his [color] eyes hinted at something the drunk man couldn't quite grasp.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm here to keep you company."

As the gap between them narrowed, the stranger's arm snaked around m/n's neck, the gesture a brazen display of invasive familiarity that sent a shiver of disgust down his spine. About to push the man off, m/n sighed in relief when Micheal stepped out of the shadows and did the job for him.

Watching with satisfaction as his lover immediately plunged a knife into the man's chest, not stopping until he was nothing but a puddle of mush on the street, m/n felt himself grow aroused. It always pleased him to see Michael in his element; the blood splattering on his lover's mask and suit, painting it a pretty red, never failed to send a shiver down his spine. And knowing this was all for him; that Michael's actions were fueled by jealousy and possessiveness only increased m/n's desire.

When Michael stepped away from the corpse, breathing labored, m/n wasted no time and rushed at the killer. Pushing his lover onto the brick wall, m/n looked down at Michael with dark eyes.

"Impressive as always," he purred, the raw edge of desire evident in his voice. His fingers traced the contours of Michael's mask, feeling the remnants of the stranger's blood. "Did you enjoy the show, pretty boy?"

As the words hung in the air, a subtle flicker of disapproval crossed Michael's mask—his jaw tightened imperceptibly, and a glint of jealousy flashed in his eyes. M/n, ever perceptive, caught the subtle shift in Michael's demeanor. With a teasing smirk, he leaned in, bringing their bodies closer together. "Oh, don't pout, my love. You know you're the only one I want."

Michael remained silent, his gaze locked onto m/n's, the mask concealing the complexity of emotions that roiled beneath the surface. Another thing people seemed to overlook in Michael was his insecurities: yes, he was a stone-cold killer, but he was also a person who harbored deep-rooted issues. With his sister, father, and the town as a whole disregarding him during childhood (where he took matters into his own hands by killing them), Michael didn't want m/n to abandon him either. Beneath the stoic facade that Michael presented to the world, there lay a well of loneliness and longing.

Touching the bottom of his lover's mask, m/n lifted the rubber to expose Michael's lips before kissing them. The kiss was dominating, with m/n pressing Michael further onto the wall, but within the passion, there was a mutual understanding. That each belonged to one another, and nothing could break that apart.

#michael myers #slashers #slash fanfiction #halloween #the boogeyman #x male reader #male reader #michael myers x male reader #michael myers x reader #halloween 1978 #slasher movies #slasher fandom

[ravenyenn19]

Six of Crows future head cannon:

Alby Rollins joins the Dregs.

Picture it: 1920’s-esque Ketterdam, 10 years post Sweet Reef/ Ice Court. Slick Rolls Royce cars line the cobbled streets, a city spiraling toward a new age. Rain drenches the obscure signs & hidden arrows pointing to the Speak-Easy halls. In a time of prohibition… down, down, down must one go in the Barrel to find the most notorious of them all. A slice of sin, six feet under. A crowd drunk off vice served in black tea cups.

The young man walks into Kaz Brekker’s office (after fighting his way there), sits himself in a chair opposite a great obsidian desk. Winded & lip still bleeding from his tousle with the men at the doors, Alby wheezes: “Teach me.”

In turn, A near 30 year old Kaz smirks. “I thought lions preferred their pride.”

Alby, barely pushing 17, gives a smile of a golden boy, nervous but strong enough to hold the gaze of a devil. (He’s practiced.) “I thought Crows scavengers. Here I am, a shine for the taking.”

“Still have that crow, little lion?” A feminine shadow whispers from the corner. Unnoticed by the young man previously, he clicks his teeth but still refuses to show fear. A serpent-like bead of sweat slides down his spine, a shiver chasing after. He holds firm, biting his cheek to hide the startle.

He knows this shadow, this phantom. She haunted him, once.

“I buried it with my father,” the Kaelish prince whispers, “or rather, in place of him. Never did find a body. Pity.” He shrugs.

Kaz’s eyes glint like a cat’s, his smile a loaded gun. A gloved hand stretches halfway across the table in offering. “All right, cub. What do you want?”

Alby reaches forward, feeling the cold black leather of Dirtyhands’ grip between his fingers. The moment is a stormy crossroads, a whip between his shoulders reminiscent of his father’s favorite belt. He smiles, for this is a pain Alby has been walking toward since the day he woke up clutching stuffed black feathers.

(His blood never did bleed emerald.)

More than one answer to Kaz’s stinging question come to mind, nettles along the path of his thoughts. Yet, only one pricks Alby into speaking, the rage in his voice real rather than bravado. “Revenge.”

The Wraith giggles roughly, slipping herself to the arm of Kaz’s chair on silent feet. Alby swallows.

“On me?” The leader of the Dregs rasps, a brow peaked with amusement. His wife smiles with closed lips, knives glinting along her body like hungry specters. For here, her teeth are shown. Alby knows she Captain’s a fleet of the deadliest ships in the True Sea. He drags his gaze from her quickly.

“No.” Alby stutters, but he does not lie. Kaz Brekker bested his abusive father, and he does not care about Pekka’s death. In fact, sitting with the suspected murderers, Alby finds he rather prefers their company.

Kaz reclines in his chair, a hand lazily splayed on Captain Ghafa’s knee. He regards Alby with black eyes, a sharpness that pierces through his strength but doesn’t shatter it. A blade meant to probe. A test of mettle. Alby has waited too long for this audience, he cannot lose it. A moment passes.

Dirtyhands looks to his wife, his Wraith. She quirks her head in the silent exchange. Six heart beats have passed, and Alby Rollins is certain he won’t leave this room. He waits for the snap of a cane to bank his vision, a warm blanket of red to cover him from the jugular down.

He waits for death, but does not invite it. It does not come.

Instead, a voice like choking smoke, “Then let us begin.”

Alby Rollins releases a breath. His knuckles loosen in parts. A tattooist is called in.

The Crow & Cup bleeds as it settles, accepting the fresh skin as it’s master’s tithe.

Alby sits taller, a prince of a different kind, a darker throne.

I don’t make the rules but this is now my personal agenda & important that u agree

Crap now I have to put it in a fic

Should I do it?

#six of crows #kanej #kaz brekker #crooked kingdom #inej ghafa #shadow and bone #grishaverse #kaz x inej #soc #leigh bardugo #dealing with our demons #ao3 author #soc fanfic #six of crows fanfic #pekka rollins #alby rollins #the dregs #ketterdam #shadow and bone netflix #six of crows spin off #shadow and bone season 2

[avatar-anna]

Happy Spooky Season!

i am harry in this, harry is me, y'all will never catch me watching a scary movie. also this feels very professor!yn coded

"Jesus—Fuck!"

Harry flinched at another jump scare, not even trying to be subtle about hiding his face in your shoulder at this point. You tried to stifle your laugh, finding it both cute and amusing that his bravado had lasted all of ten minutes once the plot of the horror movie actually dove into the scary stuff. You offered him your hand, which he took gratefully and held in a tight grip as your eyes stayed glued to the screen in front of you.

"You're doing great, bub."

"I hate it here."

This time you didn't try to hide your chuckle as it bubbled out of you. You kissed the top of his head and squeezed his hand. This was the first time you'd ever watched a horror movie with Harry, every time you happened to watch one during the month of October, he coincidentally made himself scarce, though now you knew it wasn't much of a coincidence. Had you known he hated horror films this much, you never would've made him watch it.

"I can turn it off, babe. It's no problem," you said when he jumped again.

Harry shook his head against your shoulder. "I just didn't realize you were the horror movie type."

You shrugged and paused the movie as you looked around the house. Harry had a point, you supposed. All of your Halloween decorations were more cute than scary, and you bought matching socks with dancing skeletons for you and Harry to wear. The house currently smelled of pumpkin spice from the muffins you made earlier, and you were currently debating on whether you and Harry should be Fred and Daphne from Scooby Doo or Antonio Banderas and Catherine Zeta Jones from Zorro.

"I'll watch a few every now and then to get me in the spirit," you said.

"The possessed, murderous spirit?" Harry griped.

Grinning, you switched to a different streaming service and fired up a different film. You could feel Harry visibly relax against you, but he didn't move, deciding to stay nestled against your side. He puckered his lips against your neck, murmuring his thanks before he turned his attention back to the TV.

"As if I could be anything of the sort," you teased.

"I don't know. Might be sleeping with one eye open tonight," Harry said gravely. "I feel like I've discovered a whole different side to you."

"What? No skeletons in your closet?" you asked, pinching his side.

Harry squirmed away from your grip and avoided eye contact, suddenly very interested in the TV now that the horror film was gone. You didn't mind his sudden lack of interest in the conversation, you knew there wasn't much he liked to hide from you. All his little quirks—that you knew of, anyway—were pretty much out in the open. Some people might've preferred a little mystery, but you liked laying your cards on the table. It meant there was a level of trust between you and Harry.

The opening credits of your favorite childhood Halloween movie rolled, and you couldn't help but grin as Harry stayed glued to your side. "Love you," you murmured, kissing the top of his head.

"Love you," he mumbled back. It was the last time the two of you said anything for a while as you remained cuddled up watching a cheesy Halloween movie.

#harry styles #boyfriendrry #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

[whoistartaglia]

how they act in a haunted house

including: childe, zhongli, scaramouche, al haitham, thoma, xiao, and kaeya.

warnings: gender neutral reader, mentions of some scary stuff, fluff.

notes: happy almost halloween!

childe. 

oh, childe is just so confident he won’t get scared. 

he strolled through the entrance without so much as a frown while you trailed behind him, still wondering if this experience would be worth it, given you both had to sign a waver. but that didn’t seem to bother childe; in fact, he looked completely at ease as you walked down a shadowed hallway, the only light source a flickering light bulb. 

yes, childe was the poster child of “unbothered”—until the first actor came running down the hallway, chainsaw in hand and a slightly too realistic mask on his face. 

that was the end of childe’s bravado, and you, as you correctly predicted, ended up having the be the one to get you two out of there. childe clutched your arm the entire way

zhongli. 

zhongli is bored. 

he’s seen a lot of unpleasantness in his lifetime. and this? twenty dollar entry haunted house, filled with underpaid actors in poorly made costumes? it didn’t even come close to scaring him. 

and that would have been fine, really. you were the one who wanted to go and have a scare; zhongli was just tagging along. but the moment you arrived at the attraction, he just kept going on and on about this thing’s obviously fake, this actor’s mask isn’t on right, this jumpscare’s strings are above. 

when an actor in what you thought to be a pretty horrifying clown costume jumped out at you, zhongli only pointed out how unrealistic it was.

you didn’t make it throughout the entire house. not because of fear, but mostly because you couldn’t stand another lecture on how fake everything looked. 

scaramouche. 

the haunted house you picked out was scary, but scaramouche was… scarier. 

when an actor covered in fake-blood came running at you two, they just kind of stopped when they saw scaramouche’s glower. and then they were turning around and running away; scaramouche had scared them. with just his bad temper and annoyance with nearly everyone except for you, scaramouche was more terrifying than literal killer clowns and chainsaw-wielding murders. 

so there you two were: simply walking through the admittedly-scarily decorated attraction. no actors dared try and jumpscare you and scaramouche, lest they wanted to face his wrath. 

when you got out, you asked if he would consider working at a haunted house. he turned his menacing stare on you, and you understood why the actors didn’t bother you throughout the experience. 

he truly was the most terrifying thing in that house. 

al haitham. 

he, like zhongli, is very undisturbed by the whole ordeal. but unlike the former, al haitham doesn’t say this out loud. 

no, he played his cards right. you were there, shaking after being chased by yet another clown while he looked completely unbothered. but oh, he lent you his arm, promised you get you of there unscathed, nothing would hurt you while he was there. 

al haitham was the picture perfect hero, leading you out of the house while internally scoffing at the cheap costumes and even cheaper jumpscares and tricks. he almost laughed out loud when you reached a banquet table with someone’s head in the middle, but stopped himself when he saw how wide your eyes were. 

when you were both out, you swore you would never go back. but al haitham thought to convince you to try again; he liked being the shining hero, at least for one night. 

thoma. 

thoma is actually lowkey terrified. 

he tries to play it cool, he really does, but you didn’t miss his shaking hand when you had to sign that waver.

you asked him if he was sure he wanted to do this, and he was, so you went inside and…

you didn’t make it all the way through. not you, not thoma. you were both shaking and clutching each other equally tight after an actor chased you down a dark hallway, into the path of a particular gory jumpscare. you could have sworn thoma almost fainted. 

and that was that. you turned and, admittedly, ran back through the entrance, to the car, and away from that abomination of an attraction. 

xiao. 

xiao does not want to go in. 

not because he’s scared. at least, that’s what he told you. xiao would wait for you while you went in and had a fright, and you with some reluctance, agreed. 

but after thirty minutes of you going in and not coming out, he starts to get restless. worried, even, as the group that went in after you came out before you.

xiao tried to convince himself it was fine, you were just taking your time, or whatever. but then another ten minutes went by and, now actually worried, decided it was time to go and find you. 

he told himself this was all fake, the actors weren’t real, this was—

something tackled him from behind and he quite literally screamed. he turned and saw—

you. grinning. ear to ear. 

no, the haunted house didn’t scare him (at least, not really), but you certainly had. 

kaeya. 

please. please. 

kaeya is what childe tried to be. he’s actually confident as he marches into the house, laughing at the poor actor’s sweaty makeup, the obviously fake chainsaws and knifes. 

basically walks right and in and out with you dragged behind him. he doesn’t even pause for you two to look at the more gruesome displays or creepy portraits on display. kaeya literally speedruns the haunted house. 

the only time when kaeya’s bravado falters is at the end, when he realizes that you both paid twenty dollars for that. 

you were out in ten minutes. he realizes you two just spent four dollars a minute on that, and maybe regrets going through it that fast. 

bonus: scaramouche wasn’t even purposely glaring at anyone. he just has an intense resting bitch face.

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin x reader #childe headcanons #zhongli headcanons #kaeya headcanons #al haitham headcanons #thoma headcanons #xiao headcanons #scaramouche headcanons #childe x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #xiao x reader #al haitham x reader #thoma x reader #scaramouche x reader