#so just haunt the fucker <3

[arolesbianism]

Horrible realization that if I go through with recollecting all the oni logs then I'll have to actually find out how to get "a seed is planted" like for realsies this time. Maybe I should just cheat them all in actually. <3.

#rat rambles #oni posting #a seed is planted sucks so bad its like my second favorite log and its been such a pain in the fucking ass to find #appearing then dissapearing so thourougly that I thought I might have made it up somehow making me learn to look into the god damn code to #find out if Im crazy or not only to find it along side all the story trait logs despite it being in the research notes section and Then I #open oni again to chech smth completely different and it fucking reapears out of nowhere and then the game updates and all my logs explode #this fucker has tormented me for so long and Ive seen no one else talk abt it so Im still not 100% convinced it wasnt a glitch somehow #it probably is a real log thats in the game and it disappearing is the glitch but boy do I have no way of knowing #if that is the case I can only imagine it relates to it seemingly having been intended as a story trait log #I assume it was moved to research notes because of how long it is but idk #anyways nails you motherfucker why must you have recorded one of the more lore heavy logs in the game and then made it a bitch to find #like genuinely I think its one of like 3 max logs that directly mention duplicants by name #ok ok there might be 4 I dont remember exactly #but two of those would be by jackie and one by probably nikola so nails mentioning them by name is a pretty big deal #and thats if Im remembering those logs correctly which I am likely not lol #its like 3 am ok #a seed is planted also just gives us some juicy lore relating to the actual tech we see in game #along with. that whole unnamed human subject thing. that still haunts me. #who are you subject whatever your number was and are you olivia specifically to spite me #if it wasnt for the b111-1 thing I wouldn't consider her that strong a canidate but it is a thing so she is #not only is she a strong candidate but shes like. one of like 3 real candidates we have for that #it's a weird case because it could very easily be a complete rando especially given the subject number instead of a work id being given #but also given its relation to dupes itd be weird if it wasnt someone who either worked at gravitas or otherwise got duped #which thankfully does free olivia of some possibility since as far as we know there are no olivia dupes lol #jorge and dr.holland are the other two main options in my minds eye but thats based on very little #dr.holland in particular would kind of vaguely make sense given hes mentioned in that story trait's artifact reward #but ofc given that nails does not choose to elaborate on that whole thing all I can do is blindly speculate #they also mention a name which is fun because its one of our rare complete randos in oni lore #now. he could easily be revealed to be some dupe but Im pretty sure the name was like bruce or smth so I dont consider it likely #also I am deeply curious of what this bruce guy was to nails given nails calls him 'my darling bruce'

[nomazee]

Silly little thing I thought of

Like like imagine dazai and the reader have been friends for years like the reader knew him since his 15 goofer era... and they got used to eachother sm they usually sleep in eachothers beds n stuff :3

LIKE SOMETHING IS GOING ON BUT THEY STILL HAVE THE FRIENDSHIP LABEL.. 🐺🤞

this concept stuck itself in my head like a tapeworm and it has not escaped me for days IM ACTUALLY OBSESSED i wrote SO MUCH for this omfg i had so much fun writing this thank u for this wonderful idea pairing: dazai x gn reader word count: 2.5k content: fluff, vignette-style writing, friends-to-lovers unspoken label type of thing, soft dazai, domestic fluff without the marriage bit, banter, idiots in love im taking requests!

===

Dazai’s toes are still as frigid at night as they were seven years ago. You, of all people, would be the best person to measure this—not in a weird way, but you two have shared a bed at least once a week since your teenage years. You know all of Dazai’s annoying sleeping habits, including his ones of sleeping without socks and digging his feet into your shins for warmth. 

Annoying fucker. You sigh, batting his arm away from its loose hold around your waist. “Get your toes off of me,” you croak out, half-conscious and mind still addled with the remains of your once-deep sleep.

“What toes,” Dazai mutters back, smacking your intervening hand away and returning his arm to its rightful place around you. “I don’t have toes. I got rid of them after puberty, ‘member?” 

“I’m gonna kill you.” You won’t, not really, and the threats have lost their edge after all these years, but it’s fun to throw at him when he annoys you like this. “I know all your weaknesses, Osamu. One wrong move and you’ll be missing more than just your toes.” 

“I’m cold, dear. Would you really let me freeze like this? So mean.” 

You try not to choke up at the nickname. He’s been a fan of those recently, at least in the last year. You think it has something to do with your new places at the Agency. New workplace, new life, and new nicknames, apparently. If you overthink it you might puke on him and fall back asleep. 

“Not cruel. We have money now, you know. Go buy yourself socks. Wool, or something. Stupid ass cold ass toes.”

He goes quiet. Even in all these years of knowing him, half-living with him, you can’t tell if it’s a normal lull in the conversation or a calculated pause. It doesn’t unnerve you as much as it used to, but there’s still a cold chill at the nape of your neck that springs up at times like these. 

“Why would I do that when I have you?” 

Dazai has also been a fan of this recently—strange uncharacteristic moments of tenderness. He peels himself back for you and bares himself raw. The implications make you nauseous. Swathed in the darkness of the night, he can’t see your fingers twitch from where they lay next to your head, away from his sight; or the conflicted expression that crosses your face. 

Easing your breath out into a steady, deep rhythm, you pretend to be asleep. It’s not like he can’t tell, but the message is there. Let’s not talk about this until the morning. Let’s just sleep for the night. Let’s keep what we have and not change it for the worse. 

==

At age eighteen, shaken with the death of his friend and haunted by blood stains on his fingers, Dazai defects from the mafia. 

He doesn’t take you with him—at least, he doesn’t mean to. He expects to leave quietly, or as quietly as blowing up Chuuya’s car can be. He doesn’t expect you to drag yourself along kicking and screaming. 

Dazai doesn’t remember much about specifics, but he knows that one day he was alone in his underground apartment and the next day you were there. The kitchen smelled like melted marshmallows and rice krispies and his dingy counter was covered in sprinkles. 

“Hi, Dazai,” you’d greeted conversationally. “I’m making your favorite.” 

He doesn’t even like rice krispie treats. Hates them, actually. 

In truth, your presence is less the result of you “kicking and screaming” and more like an after-effect of your own quiet stubbornness. Your kicking-and-screaming was done in the passive aggressive way that you cleaned his dishes and made his bed and left big trays of rice krispie treats in his fridge for the next week. 

Neither of you talked about Chuuya. It was better for you that way. 

On the first night, Dazai remembers you holding him from behind, forehead pressed into the stretch of skin between his neck and shoulder. He’s sensitive there despite being wrapped in his stupid scratchy bandaids. His memories for the rest of the night are overrun by a feeling of want, an itch to feel your fingers on his bare skin, a craving for your hand on his stomach to slide beneath the hem of his shirt and press into the tender skin of his abdomen and keep him warm.  

===

“Leave me alone,” you grumble from behind the sleeve of your jacket. “I’m napping.” 

“It’s not napping if you’re still awake.” 

“I wouldn’t be awake if it wasn’t for your annoying ass.” Rotating your body to face the ceiling from your place on the Agency’s couch, you sigh when your view is blocked by Dazai’s ugly stupid face. He’s smiling in that conniving way that he does when he’s about to do something super annoying. Another sigh escapes you when he leans down close enough for the overgrown ends of his hair to brush against your nose. The puff of air from your verbal discontent makes the strands sway slightly. You try not to think about how mesmerizing he looks when he’s this close, with the light from the window casting a golden sheen on the crown of his head. 

Since when did you get this sappy? Must be Dazai rubbing off on you, obviously. 

“So tired already! It’s barely noon.” 

“You came into work an hour ago. I’ve been here since eight. Try being responsible for a change, might exhaust you just as much.” 

“Hmm.” He tilts his head, big stupid shiny brown eyes blinking down at you like he’s observing a specimen. “I think I’m more than responsible enough.” 

“Sure,” you relent, turning back around to shove your face into the corner of the couch and block out the incoming light. It’s the truth—you’re exhausted. A persistent weariness permeates your bones from how much you’ve been working these last few weeks. It’s not like it’s anyone’s fault in particular, not even Dazai’s despite how much he slacks on paperwork. But looming threats from enemy organizations hang over everyone’s heads and there’s no shortage of uncertainty in the Agency. It’s been mission after mission for you, and you’re taking every break you can get. 

Rustling sounds from above you, but you pay it no mind, busying yourself with nestling all of your body into the crevices of the couch and hopefully turning into a piece of furniture yourself. It might be a more peaceful life, really. The calm is short-lived when you feel fingers tap along your cheek—not in a rousing gesture, but something along the lines of placating. 

Dazai squeezes a hand beneath your head and cups the side of your face pressed against the couch, tilting it closer to him before you feel a warm press of lips against your cheek. He lingers. He always does. You can feel the gentle inhales and exhales breeze against your face before he breaks his kiss away. Your cheek is warm for more reasons than one. 

“Take care of yourself,” and oh, god, you’ll never get used to this, never get used to how tender and soft he’s become with you, never get used to how this Agency has fostered something like kindness in both of you. Your stomach stirs with something unnamed and if you were braver, you’d blink your eyes open and reach up and grab the sides of his face and pull him down to you. 

But you’re not brave, and there’s people still behind you in the office, and you wonder what led Dazai to be soft enough to kiss your face like that in front of everyone. You’re sure they’re watching you both. The Agency is full of gossips, whether they admit it or not. 

===

“Dazai,” Ango Sakaguchi grits out from behind the crackling reception of a burner phone. “They were not a part of the plan.” 

“You think I don’t know that, Ango?” Dazai replies, tone more playful than aggressive. “I know they’re not a part of the plan. They knew they weren’t part of the plan, too. But it’s too late to do anything about it. It’s just a minor change.” 

“A minor change?” Ango’s voice is strained with stress, no doubt pulling out strands of his hair as they speak. “I have to deal with not one, but now two members of the mafia defecting. Do you know how much work this was to begin with?” 

The thing is—of course Dazai knows. He knows everything. The minute he found you in his kitchen, his stomach dropped with the uncertainty of the future. Going underground with another person was nothing short of a burden, at least on paper. But, he couldn't find it in himself to think of you like that. Like a burden. 

“We’ll figure it out, Ango. If you don’t, then we will.” 

A gritty sigh sounds from the other side of the phone call. “I’m putting a lot of faith in you, Dazai. Don’t screw this up.” 

===

“Made you lunch. Since, obviously, you’re not gonna do that for yourself any time soon.” 

A closed plastic container is thrown on the counter in front of Dazai. He looks at it, then up at you, eyebrow raised as if he doesn’t have a clue what this could be about. He’s not that stupid, though. You of all people would know that. 

“How nice of you! Too bad I’m not hungry.” His lip juts out in a poor imitation of a pout, and he looks ugly with it. So ugly. Ugly enough to make you feel the need to kiss him all over and then slap him. An incredulous huff escapes you. 

“I don’t care if you’re hungry. Eat. It has crab in it, see, your favorite.” 

“I thought my favorite was rice krispies?” 

You freeze. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might remember that, after all this time. You don’t dwell, because that’s the worst thing to do with Osamu Dazai—dwell. 

“Don’t act stupid. Just eat it. Even if it’s not the whole thing, at least some of it. It would do you some good.” Getting serious with Dazai is one of the most awkward, unbearable things you could ever do. He has a way of making you feel stupid for worrying about him, with all his roundabout jokes and skills of evasion built up over years. You’ve found that being straightforward is the best way to avoid all those blank moments of silence. 

His fingers curl around the plastic lid and pop it open. The container is still warm, having cooked all its contents just half an hour before showing up at Dazai’s apartment with conviction in your eyes. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll have some.” 

You bring out a duplicate container with a serving for you, and treat yourself to a juice box from his fridge. You try not to launch into a lecture at the sight of his barren pantry—that’s best done by Kunikida. The both of you eat in silence, sitting across from each other at Dazai’s dusty kitchen island. 

He only gets through a few bites before pushing the container away and complaining about how full he is. You know it’s not the truth, but it’s the mixed-up signals that his body sends him. It’s not that he’s full, but his persistent lack of appetite has caused a lot of troubles for him in the past and you don’t doubt that it’ll keep causing troubles in the future, too. 

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” you tell him, dragging him up from his chair despite his whining protests. “I won’t make you shower, but you should probably do that tomorrow, ‘cause your hair’s about to get all greasy and disgusting.”

“So crude.” 

“I do my best.” 

You let him change on his own, but not before picking out a nice soft set of matching pajamas from deep inside his closet. You grumble a little in annoyance. The set was a birthday gift you got for him a year ago and that asshole pushed it to the back of his wardrobe and never touched it again. What a brat. You throw a pair of fuzzy socks at him to boot. 

Once he’s changed into proper sleep clothes, you can tell that the exhaustion is starting to hit him. He sways a little on his feet and his blinks last for a little too long, as if he’s chasing sleep every time his eyes shut. With another begrudging sigh, you set him down on the floor of the bathroom and dollop his toothbrush with fruity kid’s toothpaste—because of course that’s the only toothpaste he owns—and brush his teeth for him. 

Dazai dozes off in the middle of it, and you can’t bring yourself to wake him up in the most annoying way possible. You try really, really hard to not think about how soft you’ve gotten. You’re an ex-mafia member, past coated with dark stains and entrails and death, all of those dark things. Your blood is just as black as Dazai’s, if not more. And yet, being a part of this stupid Detective Agency with this stupid man has melted you down into something parallel to good.

Don’t dwell. It’ll do you no good. 

You use a gentle grip with the toothbrush, ensuring that his delicate gums don’t tear with the force of the bristles. A warm feeling stirs in your chest. It feels like you’ve proven something, like you’ve proven to the world that your coal-stained hands can be gentle, too. You can kill and you can nurture. You tap Dazai awake with a little more care, now. 

“Rinse your mouth,” you tell him in a whisper. “Then you can sleep.” And after a pause, you add, “I promise,” because now you’re in the business of making promises to people. 

Dazai rinses his mouth, and you wipe off the remaining droplets of water from his face with a paper towel that you leave on the counter for your future self to throw out. You lace your fingers with his as you walk to his bed. Not that he needs any guiding. Of course he doesn’t. It’s just a little extra insurance, you think. 

“Stay with me,” he mumbles out the minute you lay him down on the bed. It’s a sentence, and not a question, because he’d rather die than ask you something so vulnerable. He’s doing it again—peeling himself back and baring himself raw for you. Your head swims and your vision blurs with either a migraine or with tears, you can’t tell. But your lips quirk up into a stupid smile and he sees it despite his half-lidded eyes, and he smiles back like the stupid dope that he is. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m right here, Osamu. Go to sleep.” 

And he does. Of course, not before he feels you cup the opposite side of his face and plant a warm, lingering kiss on the swell of his cheek just as he did for you weeks before. The faint laugh that he lets out before he falls asleep is enough to tell you that he’ll be making fun of you for it in the morning. For now, though, he’s soft and pliant and warm between your hands, and you sleep.

#dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #osamu x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu fic #bungo stray dogs fic #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs x you #dazai osamu #i forgof how to tag hejkp me #openeing up comissions soon... maybne.... #this was so fun to write like it lived in my brain for a week and i wrote a little bit every day #i had DAYDREAMS ABOUT THIS CONCEPT BRO LIKE

[suiana]

*Kicks the door open again*

It's horny thoughts by 🐄 anon time-

Ngl you have no idea how many times I've had fantasies about waking up and the monster under my bed just Eating the fuck out of me 😭✋

Or just waking up and getting railed by said monster under my bed

🐄

bro that's me with the shadow man in the corner of the room... NEW YAN IDEA WOW (for the horny monster fuckers!1!!1)

✎ yandere! shadow monster headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― unconsensual touching(?), nsfw, possessiveness, murder(?) etc.

(gn! reader x male yandere! oc)

✎ yandere! shadow monster that's been lurking in the corner of your room since how many years ago. learning every little thing about you, slowly falling for you as he swoons at your every action... and his favourite activity! staring at you with big eyes as you turn over to avoid his uncomfortable gaze.

✎ yandere! shadow monster who is content with just watching you so he lurks around, watching you go about your daily activities... wait who's that person you're blushing about? oh no... looks like he has to deal with a problem... look at the news! they've disappeared!

✎ yandere! shadow monster who loves watching you get off. you're so cute you know? trying so hard to cum... maybe he should help you out?

✎ yandere! shadow monster who gets jealous when you bring people over to do anything. be it just doing homework or one night stands, he can't stand the thought of someone other than him touching and looking at you.

✎ yandere! shadow monster who finally makes the first move and pins you to the bed just as you're about to fall asleep. sucking and biting on your neck as you squirm under him, he's just marking his territory! and you don't mind, it's actually one of your fantasies to belong to a hot monster lol!!!

✎ yandere! shadow monster who follows you around, a visible shadow following behind you wherever you go. it scares others away and it makes him so delighted! saves him the hassle of getting rid of others.

✎ yandere! shadow monster who always has his way with you every night. helping you get off, filling you with his seed, fucking you until you pass out... who knew the monster in the corner of your room was so good at sex?! you don't even bring home guys anymore because your monster is practically a fuck machine that fulfills all your needs! he learnt all of your likes and dislikes from watching others fuck you and you pleasuring yourself.

✎ yandere! shadow monster who has an endless sex drive and is touching you even in your sleep. just the tip!!! he says as he goes for a fifth round 💀 don't worry, you consented to this before hand. he's not that much of a monster you know?

✎ yandere! shadow monster who wakes you up by kissing you. he gives you a surprise each morning as he ducks his head under the covers and eats you out/sucks you off.

✎ yandere! shadow monster who visits your admirers in their dreams and haunts them so much that they eventually stop bothering you. being a shadow monster isn't that bad sometimes <3

✎ yandere! shadow monster who is basically a big horny fucker who's super possesive over you. have fun with your horny monster who won't leave you alone!!!

✎ "sweet dreams my love, I'll be watching over you~"

#tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere blog #yandere hcs #male yandere #yandere shadow monster #yandere shadow monster headcanons #yandere shadow monster x reader #🐄 anon #suiana's sinners

[louloulemons-posts]

Bumps and Binx

Eddie Munson X ScareActor!Reader

Summary : You worked as scare actor at Halloween events, you weren’t expecting to make someone jump so much he fell in love.

Word Count : 0.9k

Warnings : Not proofread, halloween-y, swears, blood (it’s fake blood), clowns, eddie hits his head, 3 uses of Y/N, rambles for the spooky season, in true Lou fashion it was written at 1am 🫶🏻

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You’d worked as a scare actor a few times now, loving all things horror, you always enjoyed making people jump. The fact you could dress up and give people a good fight was incredible.

You lurked around the haunted house, well it was actually a haunted big top. Dressed as a clown, you had black paint on your teeth making them look sharp, blood dripping from your mouth, contacts that made your eyes appeared white.

That wasn’t what scared people though, it was your ability to hide in the darkness and appear, screeching as you did so. This made people freak out, not expecting you to be there.

It ended up in screams of their own, hysterical and fearful laughter, and sadly, but rarely, tears. It was a huge mix of emotions. That’s why Binx (your character) had become a favourite of many.

The night was in full swing, many people had already passed through, you terrified the majority of them. Even having one run away from you whilst you chased after them like a maniac - it was fun.

Another group was making their way towards you, you’d heard them scream and laugh as they’d passed your colleague. It sounded like there was quite a few of them, oh this will be a good one.

Hiding in a dark corner, you crouched down, hearing them get closer. It was great, you’d make them thing they were safe and then just appear. A lot of people thought your too was the end of the attraction … it was not.

“No! I don’t want to go first,” you heard someone say, a whine in their tone, clearly scared. “Fine, fine I will. Jesus christ Red this was your idea and now you’re freaking,” another spoke.

The curtains were pushed back, a figure entered the room, turning to face the rest of his group, “Oh I think it’s over,” he said, shrugging. Sneaking closer to him, you smiled, cocky fucker.

More and more people entered the room, around ten in total. A big scare - a challenge you absolutely loved. Following after the first boy, he chatted away, “It wasn’t even that scary, you’d think they’d have one huge scare at the en-“

Leaping out with a screech, the bodies flew, everyone letting out a shriek, especially the first boy. Shouting, and losing his footing, ending up on his ass.

He went down with a thump, hand coming to rest against his head, “Holy shit, that was- oh my god my heart,” he laughed, smile appearing on his face.

You had to stay in character, keeping the scene, but you couldn’t help being concerned for the way he winced as he touched a particular part of his head.

Snarling and snapping at the group, bare and bloody teeth on show, another boy with dark hair helped the curly haired one up off the floor. The younger girls squealed and laughed, the two older ones linking fingers, squeezing tightly.

Making their way to the final room, you heard screams and shouts, another group was coming your way. Your eyes remained on the boy until he was out of your sight.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

The night had been a great one, full of people coming to enjoy the spooky festivities. It was time for you to go home and rest now, which you were thankful for, your throat sore from the work.

Your face was clean of makeup, attire now normal and comfy, you headed to your car, bag full of special effects makeup slung over your shoulder.

You made it to the car quickly, wearing through the few remaining guest, none of them paying much attention to you now. You had to admit you were thankful for it now.

Something caught your eye, or rather someone. It was the boy from earlier, the one who bumped his head. Quickly shoving your bag and costume in your car you jogged over.

He was stood by an old van, it look rickety and kinda creepy. It was actually pretty cool and suited him in a strange way.

“Excuse me,” you called out to him, as he looked up you smiled, “Hey.”

“Uh hi, what can I do for you?” he asked, his head tilting to the side slightly, it reminded you of a puppy.

“This might sound strange, but I wanted to check if you were alright,” you chuckled, playing with your fingers, now realising how weird this situation was. “I’m fine, why do you ask?”

“I play Binx, you know the clown, I gave you quite the fright earlier and you bumped your head. I just wanted to make sure you were all good.”

“No way! Oh man you’re so cool. Sorry I didn’t recognise you,” he said sincerely. Shaking your head, you shrugged, “It’s fine, I look different out of character, Binx is pretty scary and I’m well-“

“Very pretty,” he spoke softly, taking in the features of your face, but his expression soon became panicked, “Shit sorry. That was weird.”

“No no, it’s okay. You’re very pretty too uh ..”

“Eddie,” he finished, “could I get your name or would you prefer Binx?” he joked.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Well Y/N, I think it’s only fair that due to you and Binx scaring me so much you make it up to me,” he grinned. Matching his smile, you questioned, “And how can I do that?”

“Go on a date with me.”

“A date?”

“Mhm, somewhere that I’m not going to become concussed preferably.”

“We can do that, I’ll need your number though.”

“Oh yeah sure,” he moved quickly, opening the door of what must of been his van. He pulled out a marker and an old takeout menu.

Handing it to you, you couldn’t help smiling at the messy scribbles. “I’ll call you then.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Have a good night Eddie.”

“You too Y/N.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading!

Please leave any requests 🤍

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x yn #joe quinn #joe quinn imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie x you #joesph quinn #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joesph quinn imagine #strsnger things #louloulemons #fluff #oneshot #drabble #halloween #flufftober #spooky season

[negativecharm]

Unusual au, roles reversed, where reader is a SAS member and Simon is a civvy.

description: Reader is an impassive a- hole.

warnings: none.

You're home around two to three AM. Half wishing he's awake and half asleep because you know he has work in the morning. You move slowly to the bedroom- at this point you're assured he's asleep because of how still and settled the atmosphere is. You wouldn't have known it at first because he had the lights on for you in the living room. He most certainly gives up waiting after 1 AM or a little longer after that time every night. There isn't a night he's the least expectant of you coming home but he was past worn out this particular evening.

Imagine he works the most blue collar job and always at an edge for you anywhere or anytime of his days at work. If you're thinking you guys ever had arguments about your job, it happened before several times. And we're describing reader as a stubborn fucker who dreamed to be apart of the sas as a child who doesn't give up literally anything at all about themselves until they hit a breaking point. It's the right spirit for a soldier but not when there's someone who waits for you and acknowledges your existence. You never confessed about anything that can be considered as deep so Simon, who considers you as his plus one, wished in his waking hours that one day you would just see through him. He always refrained from bringing up things first because of your nature so there's an unrequited love forming from his side in the actual relationship itself.

The mission took longer months than you expected. Both of you thought you weren't coming back. You believed he would have moved out, leaving the place without a trace and seeing strangers open the door of his apartment. You know he's not heartless like that but you've been that many times because now you see him fast asleep on your shared bed.

His arms sprawled out over the white covers and his leg is sticking out from under the comforter, maybe because it's a little too late and the world is still blurry and unreal at these hours but he looks sad. In his sleep. It's not enough to wake him up but his brows are furrowed like there's an ache he wants to cry out and sleep is the only thing that's stopping him from doing it. His lips seemed to you trembling slightly like he's trying not to let the visions of you haunting him take over.

You're probably imagining things but you almost immediately pressed your lips to his after seeing it. The motion wasn't quiet and gentle enough for him to be asleep but he's still asleep. You're glad he is because the kiss was more of an apology than a greeting. And you don't feel like explaning or doing whatever you're gonna have to do if he wakes up. You know he's more at peace like this for now than opening his eyes.

Safe to say you're not joining him on the bed any time soon before you can have your own little guilty session in the kitchen until the sun come up to wake him. What happens after depends on what he does because you as naturally, will not say or do anything if it's for your own sake. But you still hope it'll be his usual tired smile and the embrace that engulfs you entirely while he asks you when you got back. He'll always play along with what you do to him if it'll be enough for you to stay. ︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵︵

banner image credit to @ /cheriqiss <3

#im sorry its just yearning is my profound daily activity #simon ghost riley #call of duty #simon riley #cod ghost #simon riley x reader #angst #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley angst #cod x reader #simon riley call of duty #cod mw x reader #simon riley imagine #hades writes

[inhuman-obey-me]

I really....really meant to do this way sooner, I’m so sorry, but I'm finally back with the next segment of characters!! Part 3 will come later, featuring the undateables, but for now, hope you enjoy this one!

Click here for Part 1 - Older Brothers

Part 2 - Younger Brothers

cw: mentions of past abuse + sexual assault, body horror, violence, torture, gore

Or, as these tags so accurately put it last time:

SATAN

When you tell Satan that you have something heavy to share, he is the perfect gentleman about it, making sure you feel safe and comforted and giving you space if/when you need it

He memorizes every word that falls from your lips, holding each one preciously in his mind as he holds you in his arms

His heart breaks as you describe what happened to you, and even though he always keeps his own wrath hidden away as much as he can, he thinks guiltily to the times where it has emerged around you

In that moment, he swears to himself he'll never allow it to happen again -- even if you know what he's like, even if you understand him and his rage, he could never forgive himself if he caused you the kind of pain you're describing now

For any anger you may have about it, however, you can express it as much as you want around him, with his own powers helping you let it out safely and absorbing some of it from you when it seems like it's too much for you

On intimacy, he's always been quite shy with you, but he takes care to be a bit more delicate now as well, a little less abrupt and a little bit more communicative about what he wants to do, stopping immediately to check in if you seem uncomfortable in any way

After a few days, though, the wrath in him is about ready to burst, and for all the rage he feels for what this disgusting human did to you...

No, no, he's not going to immediately tear the fucker to shreds, he can't let them die that quickly, no

No, this person is going to suffer for what they did to you

He starts with just a light curse, as a warmup -- invisible barriers just pop up in their path from time to time, causing them to randomly trip and fall whenever they're walking around

While casting the spell, however, he can't help but grow angrier and angrier thinking about what they did to you

He hits them with no less than twenty-two other curses before he collects himself enough to put the spellbook down, each of which would be fairly minor on their own, but which collectively add up to a very miserable existence of constant embarrassments, humiliations, frustrations, and injuries

When he looks in on the damage a week later, he's rather pleased to find them utterly broken down, covered head-to-toe in little bruises and cuts

He's far from done however, and in the dead of night, he whisks them away to an old, abandoned house said to be haunted by vengeful ghosts, much like the stories of the House of Lamentation

There, he immobilizes them with another curse and sets to work with a sharp-tipped pen, carving every last word of what you told him into your ex's flesh

His hand is steady as the pen slices into their body, but each time he reaches a part that especially infuriates him, he can't help but dig the pen a bit deeper in, taking vicious delight in the way their eyes water in those moments, and the wheeze of pain that emerges from their frozen lips

Once he's written out everything you told him across their body, he does what would be unthinkable to an actual book but what he finds perfectly fitting for this human stain upon the world, and sets up a pulley to gradually lower them into a firepit in the backyard

As they are slowly engulfed by the flames, he reads the whole tale upon their body out loud to them, making sure they hear every last word and know exactly what they did wrong before they finally perish

ASMODEUS

The Avatar of Lust, while he perfectly understands and embodies desire, is not forgiving of those who disregard consent

To him, so much of the fun comes from seeing that desire and pleasure emerge from his partner, so what the fuck is even the point if they don't want it?

But, as the beautiful and beloved Asmodeus, it's his job to keep everyone smiling and bright, and that's exactly what he's going to do for you

As you tell him about your past, he alternates between fussing over you to try to make you feel better, and quietly fuming over what your ex did

Over time, he helps you feel more in control of your own body again as well, empowering you to feel like it's really yours and yours alone, mixing fashion with feelings of safety and comfort, and always ready with the compliments to boost your self-esteem

Gradually, only if you want to, he'll help you get comfortable with intimacy again -- with his sensitivity to lust, he can always tell if something starts to feel wrong to you, and he'll stop immediately if that happens

Whether you want to take it slow, or try out some wild kink that might be therapeutic, or anything else, he's just excited for anything you want to do, and he'll make sure it's the best possible experience for you

As for your ex, he's sure they'll land themselves down in the Devildom eventually anyway, but if you want them taken care of sooner than that, he'll have a blast doing it -- it's been a while since he's had to a good chance to really use his scorpion venom!

And if not, hey, he'll have a chance to wreak his revenge when they eventually do arrive, in any case

He'll even invite you along too, if you'd like a turn at revenge by your own hands <3

Though his eyes can charm anyone, sometimes he finds it almost more fun to shrink them with magic and physically string them up like a puppet, and he's happy to hand you the reins if you want them

For his own fun, he manipulates the marionette strings to have your ex dance their way through any number of dangerous settings -- spikes, lava, fire, swamps, ghostly manors, you name it

He makes sure they hit every trap or flame on the way through, and malevolently flings them into those points in the most painful ways possible

With the strings, he also bends their body in impossibly painful ways, contorting them into bizarre and freakish poses and laughing over how ridiculous they look

If you want to participate, he teaches you how to move them around too

When you decide you've had enough, he drags the limp doll that your ex has become through coals and discards the charred remains into a lake of corrosive acid

There, your ex, still just barely conscious, feels their body slowly breaking down until they dissolve to nothing

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub, in his ever-protective way, grows angry as you tell him about your abusive ex, but first and foremost his concern is making sure you're okay

He's quiet -- quieter than usual, even -- but fully present for you, reassuring you in the warm comfort of his large embrace

He holds you gently the whole time you're talking, and even for a while after, making sure you're feeling okay before he lets go

As thanks for being brave enough to talk about it, and for trusting him enough to tell him, he takes you out for anything at all that you'd like to eat, showering you with affection

He's perfectly happy to take it slow if/when you do eventually decide to ease into anything sexual, and he's so, so careful about his strength and size

His excellent sense of smell helps to guide him too, able to pick up the scents of happiness, desire, fear, lack thereof if you're dissociating, etc., and he adjusts himself accordingly to keep you feeling safe

And in general, though he may not have known you back then, he's filled with resolve to at least protect you from here on out

He won't fail to keep safe someone he cares about, not again -- and that means taking care of any lingering threats from your old life, too

It takes a bit of searching for Beelzebub to find your ex, but he goes up to the human realm and manages to seek them out soon enough because flies are good at seeking out rotting piles of trash

It takes a lot of restraint not to gobble them up on the spot and be done with it, but for how much they put you through, he thinks they deserve to suffer at least a bit

He snatches them away to a hidden alley behind a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, long after they've closed for the night but with the fragrant scent of meaty burgers still lingering through the air

If the shot of venom didn't already leave their muscles feeling tender, the incessant hits of the brutal physical beating from Beel certainly does

No part of their body is spared from the onslaught of punches and kicks, as joints pop apart and bones start peeking out from flesh through the wounds

Thin, spear-like tubes emerge from Beelzebub's mouth, piercing various veins across their neck and arms so he can drink up all the blood from their veins before it spills out all over the alley floor -- it'd be a waste of a perfectly good drink, after all

Once they're fully drained, he cracks open their carcass, carving each bone loose with knife-like claws for him to crunch on

Then into the restaurant's industrial meat grinder goes the rest of their body

Beel feasts with a certain satisfaction that night upon piles and piles of cheese-world humanburgers human-world cheeseburgers

BELPHEGOR

As you tell Belphegor about your past and your history with your abusive ex, he gives you his full, undivided attention

His stomach drops, as his prior deception and manipulation of you comes into full focus in light of all you had already been through

Holding you close, he whispers words of comfort and strokes your head gently until you fall asleep for the night, holding his own rest at bay until he's sure you've drifted off first

As a quiet, unspoken apology, he places soft and peaceful dreams upon you that night, filling your dream world with all the things he knows you love

If you're open to it, he also later creates dreams for you where things happened differently, quick to pull you out if anything starts going wrong but letting you get a redo on those traumatic moments where you have more power or where you can watch a cartoonish anvil drop on your ex's head to stop them, whatever works really

Intimacy comes gradually, if/when you're ready, happy to follow or take the lead as you prefer, but communicative every step of the way so that you always feel safe

And as for your ex...

Belphegor already held the opinion for a long time that humans were shit -- but until this moment, he had dropped his desires to destroy them, after everything with Lilith had come to light

But you're still a human, after all, and he loves you, so he'll settle for taking care of just this particular shitstain of a human being

Needless to say, your ex never knows a peaceful night's sleep again

Each time they close their eyes to rest, devilish apparitions appear at the edges of their vision, and menacing claws and teeth rip at their ankles, chasing them across worlds

At times, when the teeth manage to catch them in their grasp, their dreams turn to endless loops of being chewed up and spit out over and over on end

The resulting constant exhaustion is a nightmare of its own, as they begin to fear falling asleep and desperately try to wake themselves any time they feel sleep coming on

However, in their waking hours, too, Belphie twists and warps shadows around them, until the lines between life and dreams blur together

They are practically sobbing for death by the time he comes for them personally, though he's not so merciful as to be quick about it even then

He chokes them to unconsciousness but lets go each time they fall unconscious, dragging the sharp prickly parts of his tail across their face to wake them back up before doing it over again

Once their face has been torn up beyond recognition by these repeated cycles, he finishes them off by trampling across their body in cow form and leaving them to suffocate slowly from their punctured lungs

#thank you for your patience!! #i guess it has been uh like 1.5 years since part 1...WHOOPS #please be mindful of the content warnings because this does get very violent! #obey me #obey me! #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me requests #obey me headcanons #obey me reactions #ask and ye shall be answered #mod chaos in the devildom #abuse cw

[jerzwriter]

Pietro & Azul

Well, I can't tell you how much fun I had with this 3-word prompt. I had no idea what I wanted to do with it, but once I started, I had a ball! Thanks so much for the request @icecoffee90! 😊

Book: Open Heart (Post Series) Pairing: Tobias Carrick x Casey (F!MC) With: Jakie Varma, ??? Rating: Teen Words: 1,100 Summary: Jackie is housesitting for her friends Casey & Tobias. It's been going well until that terrifying last night. A/N: @choicesjanuary2024 Day 13 - Whispers, Mystery MEET PIETRO!

As she moved gingerly through the darkened room, Jackie was grateful she had spent enough time at her friend’s home to know the layout. With the power out and only semi-sober,  getting around would have been a bitch if she hadn’t. Settling into a darkened corner of the living room, she cowered under a blanket with a prized bottle in her hand. Sitting here and emptying it over the course of the night sounded like an excellent plan to her.  

A bright bolt of lightning momentarily lit up the room, and she braced for the deafening clap of thunder she knew would follow. What the hell, a fifth shot sounds good? She thought as she raised the glass to her lips.

“This is the last time I ever housesit for these fuckers!”

A crashing noise echoed down the long stairway, and she dropped her head into her hands. Jackie Varma did not scare easily! She reminded herself of that repeatedly. She was badass! A power outage? A little storm? Sure, that might cripple wusses like, like... Lahela, but her? Pfft. Never her!

But one more unexplainable noise pushed her directly over the edge. What the fuck was that?

This was supernatural. She was convinced of it, and while there was precious little that would flap the resolute doctor, the supernatural? She wasn’t messing with that. Getting drunk and falling asleep had its merits, but then she rethought that choice. What if the ghost upstairs sniffed her out and found her sleeping? Ghosts do sniff? Don’t they. She had to try and stay awake. But the creak of an opening door sent shivers down her spine. It wasn’t upstairs this time; it was just across the room.

Son of a bitch! This is how I die? She thought. But if she was going to die, it wouldn’t be without a fight. She grabbed the bottle of tequila, then thought better of it. Even if these were her last moments, she was not about to waste this precious elixir, so she grabbed a vase from the table beside her instead. She rose to her feet and lurched toward the sound, working up a bravery she didn’t know she possessed. Then, just as she lifted the vase over her head, the light flashed on, and a horrified Tobias screamed, raising his arm to protect himself. The vase stopped just inches away from his skull.

“Jesus H. Christ, Varma! What the hell are you doing! And why are you sitting here in the dark?”

“Because the power went out, genius! Do you think I want to sit in the dark in your stupid house!”

With a blank expression, Tobias kept his eyes on hers as he flipped the light switch on, off, and then on again.

“You were saying?”

“But wait...no,” she exasperated. “I swear I...” She ran to the opposite end of the room and attempted to turn on a lamp, relieved when it did not. “I know I’m not crazy! I was sitting here, and the power went out!”

“It looks more like you blew a fuse.”

“Whatever! Why are you home early, anyway. You’re not due back until tomorrow! And where is Casey and Sam?”

“Casey and Sam will be home tomorrow; I returned early because...”

“Good!” Jackie interrupted. “I don’t know what kind of a man lets his wife and daughter live in a place like this anyway!”

He looked around the spacious, well-appointed townhome, bewildered. “Uh, it’s a pretty nice place? Casey rather likes it?”

“It’s HAUNTED!”

“Haunted?”

“HAUNTED!”

Tobias smirked as a little snort escaped him.  He eyed the discarded tequila bottle in the corner of the room.

“You were hitting my stash of Azul again, weren’t you? Do I need to lock that up when you come over? Or... maybe get one of those things like we have for the cat – you know, a bottle that dispenses a preset amount every hour? Keep you under control?”

“I’m not drunk,” she said, punching his arm. “But your house is haunted. There have been noises coming from upstairs all night!”

Tobias tossed his keys on the side table with a sigh. “I doubt it’s haunted. Why don’t we go upstairs and see what’s going on?”

“Oh, you’re not getting me to go up there. I’ll stay down here so I can help Casey move on to someone better than you after the ghost murders your ass.”

“This isn’t how I’m going out, Jackie. But suit yourself... stay down here alone if you like.”

Alone. Right now, the thought frightened her much more than she cared to admit, so with the vase back in her hands, she followed closely behind Tobias as they crept up the stairs.

“You know that’s an heirloom, right?” He whispered. “FDR gifted it to my great-grandfather. It’s got its own rider on my home insurance. Could you have chosen a less expensive item for a weapon?”

“Yet you leave it on a table, in your living room, with a toddler and a cat in the house. I’m not the stupid one here, Carrick.”

He was about to answer when a blood-curdling scream stopped them both cold.

“You see!” Jackie said, pounding on his back, “You see! Your place is fucking haunted!”

He didn’t want to admit it, much less show it, but he was scared for a moment; then, with a tilt of his head and a little laugh, he nudged Jackie forward.

“Come here.” He opened his study door to reveal a large TV tuned into The Conjuring. “I think this might be the issue,” he said sarcastically.

“But wait! What? I did not turn this on! No!! No!! It’s a ghost! You still have a ghost! You have a freaking ghost in this house that put this on to scare the shit out of me!

“Really?” he scoffed, gesturing toward the plush sette where the family cat was reclined comfortably, with the remote control locked under his hind paw. Tobias lifted him up, rubbing the tuft of fur atop its head. “I think your ghost's name is Pietro. But I don’t think he had malicious intent.”

Tobias had to bite his lip to hold back his laughter as Jackie’s face went from shock to rage. Shooting a terrifying look at poor Pietro, Jackie snapped. “I always liked dogs better!”

“So, given this discovery, is it all right if I allow my wife and daughter to come back home tomorrow?”  

“Shut up!” Jackie spat, stomping out of the room. “I’m going downstairs.”

“What for?”

“I’m getting a bottle of Azul to go! Two, in fact. You and that cat, you owe me!”

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#choices fanfic #open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #tobias carrick #jackie varma #playchoices #choices stories you play #playchoices fanfic

[theconstantsidekick]

no because, supernatural is absolutely a train wreck. it's a colossal accident that is happening in front of you that you can't look away from. it is homophobic and non-sensical and downright laughable at times but you know what? I love it. I absolute love it.

season 1 was absolutely beautiful. you don't understand, really, you don't. they had a piss poor budget, you can see that in every frame. but does that stop it from being fucking beautiful? no. it is stylised and ambitious and a fucking visual treat.

and this is like the first fucking episode. the shots have so much character! and that's nothing to say of the characters themselves. from the first fucking scene you can clearly distinguish sam and dean's character clear as day. their motivations, their dreams, their hopes, all of it. it's established so well. their dynamic is unmatched. does it also have a lot of garbage? yes for sure. because what in the name of hell was that episode with bugs? what glue were they sniffing when they green lit that one? no seriously... I wanna try some.

but then they recovered, cause they did faith. my god, what an episode. WHAT AN EPISODE. that motherfucking reaper haunts my every waking hour

like yeah, I love me some baby dean and baby sam going on their small scale ghost hunts while learning deep lessons about who they are as people and what they want from life.

also that 'laugh I nearly died' needle drop? where sam sees jess? god tier editing, GOD TIER.

then they came back with season 2. and here is my most controversial opinion that should not be controversial at all, season 2 is the best season of supernatural to ever supernatural.

what is and what should never be, hollywood babylon, heart, nightshifter, and the whole fucking season actually. not a single miss in my humble opinion. and that finale? THAT FINALE. beautiful, magnificent. ground breaking character writing, everything comes full circle while simultaneously opening up new plot lines to explore.

and my god, yellow eyes is an epic villain. he is a very viciously written villain like, he's... my god. it ain't a walk in the park writing villains, believe you me patient readers, villains are harder to write than the protagonists, always. well, at least the compelling ones are.

now season 3 suffered because of the writer's strike, but didn't miss much either. like yeah some of the hits don't hit as hard as the season 2, but hey, mystery spot, time is on my side, ghostfacers, bedtime stories are nothing to laugh about. those episodes are fucking solid, like most of the season. and there is so much raw emotion is sam's need to save dean, it just makes my weak winchester brothers loving heart throb a little too hard. also...

need I say more?

does the show did look little more washed out and boring? yes. but it's cool, cause we're moving on to season 4.

listen, I kinda just wanna leave all my season's critique at this. i mean, yeah this. this is it. this is the long and short of it; castiel. i don't think i need to get anymore into it

so season 5 is just—

i'm kidding. obviously i'm gonna talk about season 4, at length.

listen, being able to introduce angels this late in the game and then have them be a such perfectly hidden players is a masterstroke of genius. it just is. i am a writer guys... apart from the relentless fanfic as well lol. and when i tell you, introducing a new big player which is also (not so) secretly the next big bad and playing it off as smoothly as they did in season 4, is beyond hard. but the biggest home run these fuckers hit is castiel and the best part is they weren't aiming for a one lol. and oh oh, the way they use their very VERY limited budget to show wings with just flashing the fucking light? CINEMA! that's fucking cinema right there man. i work on film sets, i am telling you, this is the smartest filmmaking choice they make on the entire show. it adds so much visual intrigue while being so awfully easy to execute. BRILLIANt.

now i cannot talk about supernatural without talking about the deancas romance of it all, which i understand not everyone can see or wants to, which is fine. to each their own. you consume art the way you want to, i don't care much as long as you can acknowledge that castiel and dean's friendship was just some of the best written television that mankind has ever seen. is that too grand a statement? yes. does that make it any less true? no.

they even brought back the moody lighting.

and then there's the episodes this season, most of which are home runs in their own regard. just like beautiful writing, the character development for cas, for dean, for sam, even the late john winchester is wild. anna is a wonderful addition, so is uriel, and alastair? they don't make villains like him anymore, they just fucking don't. AND THAT GODDAMN PLOT TWIST AT THE END? man! the finale was just... too good. Chuck's introduction is absolutely wonderful, even if they ruin him by the end but that happens a decade later so wtv, who cares? But,,,, Jimmy. Fucking. Novak. That's all. that's the tweet. yeah. i'm gonna end the season 4 fan fair with jimmy.

moving to season 5.

subjectively speaking, this is my fucking favorite. this season is a writer's dream while also being their goddamn nightmare. so many WONDERFUL characters to play with and such a grand plot but you get to see it all on a very small, consumable scale which is just... it's too smart for me to not mention. i won't start naming the plot points and neither will i name my favourite episodes because what even is the point? all of it was fucking perfect. you don't understand how hard it is to develop characters to such an extent that they become so familiar to the audience that they know their next move before you even put it on the screen. and supernatural had that. they tied everything together with so much care and consideration, just... AAAH so good.

a special shoutout goes to endverse!cas, crowley and death this season. you all know it in your bones that those three were just the absolute scene stealers. especially death's introduction... immaculate.

they did lose a few points for not being as aesthetically pleasing as the past few seasons but hey, gabriel was enough to make a smooth recovery.

but this... this is the end of the road for me people. season 5 is where it should have ended. in no way shape or form am i saying that there aren't a few good episodes here and there after this, because there are. i think season 5 was so fucking solid, tied up so many goddamn lose ends and then just put a cute little hell shaped bow on top and i just... yeah. this was and should have been the end of the road. do not get me wrong, i love me some jack kline, charlie bradbury, kevin tran, rowena macleod and eileen lahey but were they worth the bullshit ending i had to sit through? not really.

i absolutely think if there weren't more episodes of supernatural I would never have become a destiel fan, because i started shipping them when dean made cas a mixtape in season TWELVE! but my god, the good times were so scattered amongst the horseshit that even when i found those hidden gems, they were so fucking drenched in the stink that they lost their value.

the worst of it all is that, i cannot explain to you what supernatural means to me in a million words, because it is a part of me, heart and soul. i fucking AM castiel. i am a gay little angel you hear me? i love this show. i do. i'm glad it went on for however long it did but i feel like once in a while i need to write shit like this or read shit like this to remind myself of the show that it used to be. of it's beautiful cinematography, of it's clever little storytelling techniques. of it's wonderful cast. of how epic their song choices used to be.

FUcking RENEGADE? iconic. wanted, dead or alive? cannot hear the song without hearing sam's off tune goat bleating that he called singing along.

i need to remind myself of how afraid i used to be of lucifer. of how much i cried while watching dark side of the moon; when dean and sam burst the crackers, and how i learnt the lyrics to knocking on heaven's door just because of that scene.

sometimes i just have to walk through memory lane and look back at gabriel's death, the good one, the only one. it was so fucking meaningful. i have to think of "we are making it up as we go" to be able to breathe properly because those moments were so fucking beautiful.

fuck the big ones, i even remind myself of the small ones, of dean's handwriting being in all caps, just like him. of sam's fucking huge laptop with that weird blue black sticker in the middle. of castiel's tie, that just was the right shade of blue, and hung all wrong but just naturally enough to add so much more to his character than any fucking dialogue could. every small little detail of supernatural that made it so damn supernatural. i miss it all.

idk. i'm rambling. whatever.

#superntural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #deancas #destiel #spn #spn season 1 #spn season 2 #spn season 3 #spn season 4 #spn season 5 #dean #cas #sam #dean and sam #i think it'll add onto this post later #as i think of more things #because you best believe i will

[swampstew]

Kinktober 2023 ~ Raven's Bingo Board is back!

Year 2 let's go! I am so proud of how I jumped into this fandom straight with the kinks and I'm excited to finally show off what I've brewed in my cauldron for October this year. Unlike last time, the blorbos and the kinks have been pre-picked but I have not prepared a single thing! Last time I picked waaaaayyyy too many options and overwhelmed myself and even though I still managed to post over 20 posts, I definitely want get them all this time. I will NOT be posting a bingo story on SUNDAYS, just like last year. I have something far tastier in store for that :)

RULES

Every Monday-Saturday of October starting Monday 2, 2023, at 9 AM EST through the 30th, I'm going to screen record using a Bingo site to generate the numbers to pick the day's blorbo and kink. Then, I have until 11:59 PM to submit a post (ideally in by 8 PM cause I like consistency) - it will either be a one shot, head canon list, small drabble, but I gotta post!

We're playing Black Out Bingo which means we gotta hit EVERY tile in order to "win" the game. Winning the game means hitting every single tile (not posting means I'm fucking myself and everyone over) - and since the Bingo site counts how many calls are made, I've created a list of scenarios that could be the final Halloween Day story based on how quickly it takes to win the game.

The Bingo site can make total of 75 calls, so how many will it take to complete the board? Note: my bingo board's highest number is O-73.

# of calls it takes to win:

25 - 41 calls = creepy graveyard scenario

42 - 58 calls = haunted house scenario

59 - 75 calls = Halloween party/séance gone wrong scenario

The Board: Each blorbo above (or below) a column of kinks is that blorbo's tile. So in this case, BINGO becomes - Law, Killer, Luffy, Kid, Zoro as the respective letters. Law's column is Pocket Pussy, Master Servant, Dirty Talking, Forced Orgasm, Pet Play. And since its Halloween, I'm making an effort to make every story stay in theme for the season.

Bring your monster fucker permits!

Edit: added this post which has a pre-recorded video and clarified explanation of how the game will play out if this post was confusing to understand.

ALL PROMPTS ARE SPICY. MINORS DNI

OCT 2 - Killer & Partner Sharing ft Eustass Kid OCT 3 - Luffy & Anal Beads OCT 4 - Luffy & Roleplay OCT 5 - Law + Pet Play OCT 6 - Law + Forced Orgasm OCT 7 - Zoro & Mirror Sex OCT 9 - Zoro & Collaring OCT 10 - Zoro & Total Power Exchange OCT 11 - Zoro & Stuck in a Wall OCT 12 - Luffy & Stockings OCT 13 - Eustass Kid & Cock Cage OCT 16 - Law + Master/Servant OCT 17 - Eustass Kid & Glory Hole OCT 18 - Luffy & Risky Sex OCT 19 - Killer & Shibari OCT 20 - Eustass Kid & Milking Table OCT 21 - Law & Dirty Talking OCT 23 - Killer & Overstimulation OCT 24 - Killer & Cum Eating OCT 25 - Eustass Kid & Con Non-Con OCT 26 -Roronoa Zoro & Praise Kink OCT 27 - Monkey D. Luffy & Triple Penetration OCT 28 - Trafalgar Law & Pussy Pocket OCT 30 - Eustass Kid & Cockwarming OCT 31 - Halloween Bingo Story - Eustass Kid X Demon Reader, trick or treat bag of kinks.

Since we've made 60+ calls, the Halloween Scenario is going to be:

Halloween party/séance gone wrong scenario

#kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kinktober 2023 masterlist #raven's bingo board #raven's halloween party #one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #monkey d. luffy #trafalgar law #roronoa zoro #tw noncon #tw dark content #swampstew stories #swampstew bedtime stories

[queer-overwatch]

HI can I get uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Venture sticking up for their S/O who's being picked on because they're just a lil bit chubby.............................. fem or gender neutral S/O preferably!!! I need some protective Venture!!! 😭

Also have fun writing!!!!!!!! I hope y'all get lots of requests!!!!!!!!!

- venturelovebot

Protective Venture

Aaaa ty sm for the request!!!! Both of us follow u so we were kinda like "HOLY SHIT" when we saw you send an ask sdikfv d -Frisk

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

bro would 100% beat someones ASS for making fun of you

they know what its like to be picked on! They got a chipped tooth and some of their colleagues make fun of it sometimes, so they are SO pissed if they find out someone's been making fun of you too

They're mad, but their first priority is making sure you're okay, they'll deal with those jerks later >:C

If it happens often, they'll plan a nice little date night and buy you some nice ass clothes that show off your curves because they love you and want you to be confident! And also want to rub how pretty you are in the faces of anyone making fun of you-

Would absolutely be the type of partner to squeeze your tummy, just a lil, they can't help it! They love someone with a lil shape to em <3

After your date they 100% go fuck with whoever was teasing you, they have so many cursed artifacts and will absolutely just slide one into where ever the person messing with you is most to scare the shit out of them and also hopefully get them haunted

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

(blurb written by Xorn <3)

The day has been great, you and Venture having a nice walk around the dig site, that was until you passed some coworkers. Unfortunately you'd heard a bit of a ranking they had going on; the hottest body on site, you heard a couple comments about how your body wasn't particularly favorable. Thankfully Venture had verbally torn your coworkers a new one. But it left you a bit distressed and distracted for the rest of the day. On the way home you fiddled with the belt loop of your pants sighing as you and Venture listened to music on your way back to home. Venture glanced over at you tilting their head briefly before focusing on the road. "Cariño mío , what's wrong? Did what those jerks say earlier get to you?" They huffed a little upset at the thought of you being upset. Especially over something that made you so beautiful to them. "A little, I don't really feel all that great about it though, I thought I would after we started working again but not really" You sighed looking over toward them as you tugged at your shirt, a light attempt to get it to stop hugging the curves around your stomach and sides. "(Y/n), You're perfect. You know what, Surprise date night! We're going out just to prove those fuckers wrong!" They grin, they're all too familiar but oh so cute , chipped tooth front and center in their smile. As you get home they usher you to the bedroom telling you to put on your nicest clothes. As you prepare yourself, still not all too confident in what they might be planning . However when you walked down you caught them in the act of making the living room look rather fancy. The moment they noticed you they scrambled for a fake rose and biting down on it to imitate a romantic man as they leaned on the couch. "Mi amor-" They started though they couldn't fully get it out as they began snickering and laughing at their own actions "-(Y/n) would you do me the honor of eating takeout and watching Prince of Egypt with me?" You couldn't help but chuckle, making your way to the couch as you cupped their cheeks. "Of course I would, thank you" You muttered as they pulled you to the couch, happily settling in beside you as they lightly played with your tummy. "I'll say it again , you're perfect! Like a hidden geode, no one knows how good you are until they've gotten to know you inside and out !"

#venture #venture x reader #overwatch venture #overwatch x reader #sloane cameron #Xornk

[hauntedbubbles]

They're so sassy with it 🤣🤣🤣

Graves: Watch your ass down there Soap: Aye...I'll be watchin' somebody's arse doon ther'👀 Ghost: Fuckin' 'ell

@atombonniebaby here with my secondary blog...wanted to give my cod content it's own home... HantedBubbles = SoapGhost 🧼💀

I'm also doing a one shot, where Soap didn't get the birthday he had planned, and the boys decide to drop in, unannounced to cheer him up. (or Price has the kids for the weekend)

So...I wrote a bit where Ghost is bribed into getting the above outfit when they're out getting supplies 🤣

Have a read 👇🏼 encourage me to finish it 🙌🏼

"You seen this?" Gaz holds up a t-shirt, a mix of black and neon pinks. "It's got a skull."

He should hate it. He knows he should. It's garish and loud and everything he'd usually scoff at. But fuck it all, he sorta loves it? "It's not the worst thing you Muppets have shown me..."

"With them grey jeans and this..." Gaz hands him a light grey garment, a jacket by the looks of it, trendier than he'd ever have chosen for himself. The arms look like they'd cut off circulation to his hands if he flexed too hard. "I think it could work."

"Go on, son, no point speculating, go try ‘em on." Price shoos him in the direction of the changing rooms.

He could complain or try to argue his case, but he knows this is one of those battles he won't win. With a heady sigh he makes his way to an empty cubicle, which is hardly big enough to house a fucking toddler... never mind his 6”3’ arse.

After what felt like the warm-up session from his workouts (and an hour of swearing at buttons), Ghost managed to wrestle himself into a pair of jeans that actually fit him (if you don't look down past his shins) They were just long enough that his boots might reach ‘em. (And spare him the trouble of looking a right tosser.)

They was...a little hugging. The soft, light grey denim, a far cry from his usual heavy blue work jeans and cargos... He almost hates them too, wants to, but even he can admit, his legs looked mint in ‘em, he turned then, to see how they look in the back and— yeah...not on their life... this ain’t ‘appenin’—

"You alive in there?” Price, king-of-choosing-his-moments, knocked on the door.

Fuck! The button's stuck!..."Ye...yeah..." He struggled to breathe out, trying to keep quiet while fat fingers fumbled with the bastard button. "Tha’s it! I-I ain't buyin' 'nout from 'ere— fuckin' ’ell!”

"Simon, unlock it, yeah?”

If that fucker laughed he'd kill him. With a defeated sigh, Ghost opened the door just enough for Price to slide inside the tiny space... He looks down at the captain and debates if he has enough room to hide the body.

“Just help us get these off, yeah? Fuckin' things are stuck!”

"Reign it in...take a breath." He had to give it to the Captain, that smile that nearly broke, stayed away. "They ain't bad on ya, what's the matter?”

He's more caked up than the fucking bakery isle in this here Big Tesco is what's the fucking matter. "They ain't practical, Captain. Soft as shit fabric'll fall apart after a few washes."

"Fifty quid..." Price smiled, arms crossed and smug as he opened the door. "And I'll buy 'em for ya?”

"Why?” Ghost blurted out. "I ain't got anywhere to wear 'em!"

"Because I remember the crazy shit you used to wear back in the day, and this is bloody tame... Why not let Simon have this one, eh?”

He hated the way his cheeks burned hotter... but fifty quid? Outta the Captains pocket? Fuckin' hell. "A'right, fine! But on the small chance I croak it t’night and end up a real fuckin' ghost lookin' like a knob...I'm haunting ya!”

Price laughed at that, clapping him on the shoulder. "That sounds like a yes?"

"A begrudging one."

"Then get to it. We 'aven't got all day."

Bastard.

Ghost double knotted his laces. Nothing pinched, everything fitted, felt comfortable. Fuck. He stood on a deep breath and turned to the ridiculously big mirror and tugged the scarf back down around his neck, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck's sake..."

The skull T-shirt clung a little tighter than he expected. Not quite a second skin, but enough to be noticeable. These clothes were... new and different, and he doesn't know how to process how that made him feel.

He was the kind of guy that could blend into any crowd, could fade into the background and be unnoticed. He liked being invisible. Hated being in the spotlight.

The jeans made him feel like an asshole.

The shirt made him look like a twat.

And yet, who he found staring back in the mirror was a man that could pass for an everyday bloke. One who didn't live on the fringes of society, one who hadn't done the things he had. This was a guy who could be content curled up on the sofa with a book and a cup of tea. The kind of man that had roots, who had friends and family that stood by him...had his back.

Simon stepped out of that cubicle, feeling more naked than he had when he'd stripped down. Yet, a strange sense of security washed over him as he faced his commanding officer with an apprehensive stare.

Price had that stupid, dopey grin plastered on his face, just like when he was congratulating his troops on a job well done.

"There he is," Price whispered as he reached up to ruffle his hair, and he batted the hand away, scowling as he ducked out of the changing room.

"Fuckin' hell, sir..."

"Garrick...I'm warnin' ya..." he growled, shoving the smaller man towards the exit of the store. "Not another fuckin' word."

#If you guys have seen Barry and Sam's banter on lives...I just imagine that's how the whole team are! #john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #ghost mw2 #modern warfare #cod ghost #call of duty mwii #kyle gaz garrick #ghost riley #cod modern warfare #mw2 #captain price #john price #mw3 #mw2 fanfic #mw3 fanfic #warzone screens

[blacklegsanjiii]

I love the warlord!Sanji acesan shovel talk sm <3 also this is really sad but what would have happnd if sanji's execution had succeeded and he really did die? i nkow the warlords prbly wouldve still declared war on the wg and the straw hats would wreak havoc as wle, but do you have any thoughts? how does each parent grieve, how do the crew react upon finding sanji's secret only after his death? can sanji ever be brought back- maybe reiju pulls through again somehow with germa tech that somehow revives sanji- or is he gone forever? these thoughts are haunting me

JESUS OW! THAT HURTS I LOVE IT!

First, his execution if succeeded, would have been taped and possibly broadcasted after the fact, ensuring the fact his death is in fact truthful. The only person up on the platform who looks pleased is Akainu the fucker. Kizaru, usually so unbothered, and Sengoku watched this kid grow up in Warlord meetings but justice comes first and Sanji is a pirate. When Sanji is asked if his parents would be proud Sanji just smiles and in a way similar to Ace and says his parents would be proud, but not the ones the Government wants. After all, he was raised by five Warlords. He's smiling at Akainu, smiling in the face of death and stabbed by the spear/trident things they use in the executions.

The next the newscoo brings reports of Doflamingo and Boa Hancock declaring war on the World Government, the day after Mihawk, a few days later Crocodile and those he rounded up from Baroque Works. Jinbei doesn't but the crew sees how stricken he is. It is immensely heartbreaking to hear Jinbei cry about Sanji, his son, which rocks the crew. They plan a funeral and send out the calls to inform everyone when and where.

Everyone turns up, Law and his crew, Vivi and Karoo, Ace and the White Beard fleet, Perona, and the four warlords who declared war against the government. Law and Vivi are immediately ready for a fight but Jinbei stops them, reminding them they're all here for the same reason. They don't entirely let their guard down and when Zoro asks Perona how she knew Sanji she looks at him like he's dumb.

"We grew up in the warlord meetings together, dummy. He was my baby brother basically." Perona huffs and Mihawk sends a glare at them both.

"Does Moria know you're here?" Crocodile asks her.

"He let me go to Mihawk's for weeks on end to see Sanji, I don't see how his funeral would be different." Perona says solemnly and Crocodile nods. After the "service" if you could call it that everyone parts ways. The crew deals with the fact Sanji was raised differently. Zoro and Nami are angry at the secret, Franky and Robin understand the necessity of such a secret. Brook tries to comfort Jinbei but no parent should have to bury their child. Luffy is angry that Sanji is dead, furious, he doesn't care who Sanji's parents are, doesn't matter. Usopp and Chopper are crying, they've always been pretty free with their emotions so more secrets are just more tears for them.

As for the warlords grieving? Crocodile has always been a workaholic so he's definitely rebuilding his empire while waging war. Boa retakes Amazon Lily and builds a shrine to Sanji that's private, for her and Sanji's fathers. She sits by it every time she gets home and just sobs and lets her anger fester until she goes out again. Doflamingo lets his fury guide him, he's never really had to mourn before. He doesn't understand it and so he just kills whoever is in his way to get to whoever sanctioned the killing of his child. Similarly Mihawk has never really had to mourn before, but he understands the process in theory. He probably calls Shanks up at one point to ask when he stopped crying about Roger and Shanks admits he still cries about it, not as often, maybe a couple of times a year but in the beginning it was a lot and often.

Below is if Sanji is saved, miraculously.

IF SANJI is brought back by Reiju, or in my beautiful world of all the siblings defying Judge because the brothers are learning emotions, 0124 bring Sanji back I can't imagine them bringing Sanji to the Sunny is a safe option. Nor is Amazon Lily or Kuriagana and Doffy doesn't even have a ship which leads to four genetically modified siblings dropping off the least modified sibling in front of Daz, Croc, and a few others as they rush to explain they saved Sanji and revived him and they can't see their brother's crew because of the pact Judge has with Luffy. Sanji is also probably a mess because he died and now he's not dead and is having several issues with that and being away from crew.

Croc's first thought is to get his dumbass kid re-acclimated to being alive first and reuniting him with his crew second. The first does involve some of the best doctors Croc knows running tests on his kid to make sure he's alright because he knows Sanji has been revived before when he was a kid in Germa, also they used Germa tech to do it which makes it worse. But once Sanji is relatively calmed down and used to being alive again Crocodile calls the parents and lets them know A. Sanji is alive thanks to Germa tech and his siblings and B. Is taking him to his crew.

His crew is ecstatic to see him and there's happy tears all over but also he's alive. Reiju explains everything and Sanji is tucked away in a pile of Strawhat Pirates.

#black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #the vinsmokes #shichibukai #warlords #warlord!sanji #perona #one piece au #answers

[grape-eating-vampire]

alright, it's done. i finished it.

this is the third and final part of things that happened in my first bg3 playthrough ever that I found so funny that I put them in my notes (spoilers below)

let me start this by saying I have only cried twice in the 155 hours it took me to complete this shit. however, I have almost-screamed at the characters more times than I'd like to admit. but first here's stuff that happened since the last one of these posts I made:

after killing Orin I went around Baldur's Gate for a while and did odd sidequests, including

clearing out a haunted house and sidelining to kill a stinky man in a wardrobe (and drag his body to a guy two streets over)

entirely ignored Gale's quest to look at a book because I kept getting arrested there after having killed the boss mage guy

I also foolishly though this wouldn't have any consequences. oh boy was I wrong

went to see a underwater prison, got told off by Gortash, decided to explore it after killing him, and promptly forgot to do so

killed Gortash! fuck that guy the only good thing about him is his fancy robe

tried to recruit a dragon called Ansur, found out the emperor is Balduran (????????? honestly I was shocked)

killed said dragon and felt like I was playing skyrim all over again

found a letter ("Dear Ansur") by Balduran/the Emperor. this was the first time I cried. I could still cry.

patch 6 came out! that was yesterday and I spent about 10 minutes trying out new kisses and sitting on Shadowhearts stool in camp (she now says "I'm glad you decided to join me" or something like that when you do)

went pretty much straight to the underground pool thing where the brain was supposed to be

failed abysmally to Dominate The Brain™

got pulled out by the emperor and had to start beef with Lae'zel because I had also forgotten to care about Orpheus and the hammer from the House of Hope

admittedly, I didn't really forget, I just didn't want to spend any more time with Raphael than I absolutely had to

my +14 persuasion saved the day once more and Lae'zel was fine with the one hope in her life getting his brains sucked out

went off to fight the brain once more. my game crashed twice trying to load that cutscene.

met all my allies! I forgot how many there were actually, and I only called on two of the groups later on

fought a lot. like a LOT lot.

got to the Netherbrain and kicked it's ass*

*had to reload about 3 times and try again because Minsc at level 12 was stuck on 100 hp for some reason and kept fucking dying

finally managed to kill the fucker! had Lae'zel deal the killing blow which seemed very fitting

more cutscenes, but this one actually didn't crash the game, I got to look at some beautiful unloaded walls and stuff instead

Lae'zel left right after we got to the haven. understandably so

remember how I ignored Gale's quest? well he didn't blow himself up like he inteded earlier, but he left to becOME A GOD????? I cannot fucking deal with this man

Karlach on the pier. this was the second time I cried, but unproportionally much so

Wyll left with her for Avernus, the little cutscene of them arriving there made me feel a bit better

Astarion had to leg it because of the sun (sorry)

Shadowheart didn't do much of anything during all of this, neither did Minsc, Halsin or Jaheira

decided to go help kids with Halsin, seems to fit my character (eventhough I really didn't roleplay so much)

we got an epilogue! yippie!

caught up there with everyone, except Lae'zel (who was there via the fantasy version of zoom) and Gale (who was there via the fantasy equivalent of a voicemail)

tried to hug Gale, couldn't, almost cried again but managed

also met a tressym who I recognized from fanart as Tara. I don't know why she was there, we never met her before and Gale hadn't mentioned her either

read a LOT of letters the party had received. barely kept my composure at the Gur's letter to Astarion

Withers did a cool speech and the game ended

after all of this and so much more that I didn't take notes about, I can confidentially say that Baldur's Gate 3 is the best video game I have ever played, and within it's genre my favourite ever!

I'm also emotionally devestated, especially after these final parts (but in a good way)

that's all, thanks for reading!

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #orin the red #enver gortash #astarion #gale #wyll #karlach #lae'zel #shadowheart #jaheira #minsc #withers #bg3 spoilers #the emperor #ansur

[brilliantblasphemer]

ends lie still ‘cause you still look good when you lie to me

[one] [two] [three] [four] [ao3]

john “soap” mactavish x afab!enemy!reader | 3.8k | no use of y/n | reader goes by “prong”

cw: mentions of murder, alcohol consumption, imagery of corpses, impolite language synopsis: you unexpectedly find yourself faced with the man you hoped to have killed a year ago. notes: eternal thanks to @50cal-fullauto-astarion and @dotcie, who read over and delivered some heavily needed advice on my first draft <3

title from lady lie by rks

22:47

It continues, this suspicion of haunting, in the company of flickering lights and the ill-fitting sensation of your skin tensing too tightly over muscles that threaten to crush your bones.

It is your habitual companion, the not-quite dread pumping blood through your veins much too fast, much too hot. You have known it for some time now, but were it not for familiarity, you’d be frantic about it; unsettled—you would not be going out in the dead of night either. Worn cobblestone meets the sole of your heels as you step away from the equally weathered door to your apartment, and into the night. Tonight, the sky strikes you as a brilliant maw, a sleek black abyss illuminated by glimmering teeth, interrupted disproportionately by the bigger glowing orbs of the few streetlights that still seem to be working. The flickering reminds you of a Van Gogh; yellow streaks of paint placed in the dark; you allow yourself a moment to take it in. A sight so stunning, and yet you seem to be the only to witness it. Warm breath rises in clouds from where you stand, and you leave your thick wool coat open on purpose, the chilly night air does little to soothe the tension buzzing just beneath your fingertips though.

You thought you’d be rid of the feeling once the dust of your most recent assignment had settled; made way for some light target practice in Sofia; a city buzzing with life, glowing in lights that never quite dim.

The indulgent daydreams of night clubs and fancy hotels had, of course, been just that; dreams.

Low profile targets meant keeping a low profile yourself; a shitty one-bedroom apartment in an even shittier part of the city, but you’re not one to complain. For the most part, at least. You do not think to ever let off any mention of the hardships you had endured in the Siberian tundra a year ago—carrying out the assassination of several special forces soldiers on your own, under supervision of the supposed enemy, had not been an easy feat.

No wonder you failed.

Miserably at that, a fact you are dreadfully reminded of with each new assignment. You consider it punishment—all those low-profile killings, wasting your talent on bagatelles and pest control. A grave digger is what you are; dirty work should not vex you as much as it does. Not when it is all you know. Yet, here you are, cursing the name of four government-leashed mutts with the same ire as you do the Almighty’s. Fucker’s got nothing on you anyways.

If he were to smite you, you’d welcome it with open arms. Drag as much down with you as you could before biting the grass. For dramatics’ sake.

Keeping your head down does have some inevitable benefits—damage control for instance. While the dust of your latest targets certainly did settle, the snow does everything but, and every time you take too deep a breath, you are convinced that you will die of frostbite. You hold your breath each time, uncharacteristically afraid.

Easy work means mindless work; you don’t need to focus on much aside from placing a decent shot. Waste of talent it may be, but the absence of accessing your finesse—of dangerously high levels of adrenaline—has you wasting little thought on Siberia, on the last actual grave you dug. It is since then that the uneasiness refuses to loosen its iron grip on your shoulders. Putting a finger on it, on Siberia, would be too easy—you’d be wrong about it, too. One of the few things you consider yourself incapable of is failure, the dried-blood-circle of repeating mistakes, and you never dared to fear any aftermath.

So you try to ignore it. Walk a little faster beneath a clear night sky and insufficient streetlights. It can’t chill you, this blinding cloud of death-white creeping alongside you. Not when your fingers are kept warm in soft leather gloves. What it does do, despite your much disgruntled attempts at blissful ignorance, is serve as both reminder and premonition. You did not kill him. You scoff, head tucked into an old cashmere scarf, perhaps to cover up the shame colouring your cheeks a warm tinge of pink. You could not kill him. As if it was your fault. Fuck that.

The clicking of your heels is as uneven as the pavement you stride over. One of them had to be replaced a couple days ago, looks fine as far as you’re concerned, but the sound is off; not quite hollow, instead simply lacking sharpness. Like a washed-out sound recording of how it is supposed to sound; to feel. In your state of agitation you notice it all the more; how it holds a slight scratch, an unsure sway that takes up most of your focus.

Not because you have to balance it, but because it is all so fitting. Of course your fucking shoe is the manifestation of your bruised ego. Of course it is ridiculous and so incredibly natural for you to be hung up on the way your heels sound instead of proceeding to hunt down your newest mark.

The sigh escaping your throat is weary and silent enough to be but imagination, were it not for the cloud of breath that escapes you alongside it. The condensation balloons into the cold autumn night, visible only by courtesy of the broken lamp a few steps to your left. It is roughly eye-level with a battered bronze sign hanging from above an equally battered door the colour of old olives. Bingo.

Little else about the particular neighbourhood of Sofia you ended up in is able to lift your spirits as promptly as the chipped, curved letters – barely legible against the dark – of the dive bar you’ve been frequenting for the past weeks. The brassen door handle is excitingly cold against your fingertips, and you relish in the contrasting burn of your palm against biting metal when you reach to press it down, gloves discarded into your coat pocket.

Alas, apart from mindlessly negligible killing, distraction in the form of disgusting foreign alcohol was your favourite pastime.

00:51

Your fingers do not take up the nimble task of tracing the slightly chipped rim of the glass you've been nursing—your nervous habits are long outgrown. Tonight, the urge to do it anyways rests just beneath the blood pulsing violently through your body. The bar feels more stuffy than usual, overheated in an unpleasant, tarry way like you’re about to be slow-cooked into knife-tenderness.

It must be the alcohol; you usually don’t run hot. In the absence of tonight’s mark, you have taken to drinking. He’s a smuggler, this one, Ukraine-based. A low link in the chain of a much larger operation, but not low enough to remember his place. Sneaky fucker considered himself important enough to play revolutionist, and if the company reports you received are accurate, he was about as awful at it as he was at his job. While his work was not nearly crucial enough to warrant you spending this much time in Sofia for one man alone, Konni Group preferred not to let an infestation run rampant for too long, no matter the size of the rat. And Sofia just so happened to have a real problem with pests; concerning enough for you to have to take care of it.

You’re not quite dressed for the occasion of hunting them, though. In your form-fitting dress and the high heels you seems much more docile, much more like prey—baiting that damned mark to you rather than wasting precious time on his pursuit.

Draped over the barstool to your right lays your coat, placed there about two hours ago when you had first arrived. Right on top of it, you find the flimsy jacket you’d thrown haphazardly over a decidedly flimsier dress . Maroon velvet hugs your skin, the sheer mesh cut-out glimmering around your waist. A slit traces up your thigh, exposing even more of your leg. Most days you prefer black, but the way the light catches on the soft material and stitching of the mesh is undeniably stunning. You are here to catch someone’s eye, after all.

Which would make for a much smoother feat were he to even show up. The promise of work can only serve as a distraction for so long, and you are no friend of waiting.

In all your sulking and reminiscing, you have yet to figure out what it truly is that has you on edge. Your intuition is that of a trained hitwoman—not as instinctual as that of the Iranian lieutenant you’d been placed with before Siberia, but you sniff out bad news the same way a hound does blood.

Patience, however—something the lieutenant had much more to spare for you than you had for her—is not a virtue of yours. You want the miasma to creep out, want to sink a shiny blade into it as fast as possible. Really, you do not have time for this. The answer you seek cannot be Siberia—cannot be a grave and the face of Sergeant John MacTavish disappearing beneath shovels full of dirt, one at a time until you were able to trick yourself into believing it was someone else six feet under; anyone but him. Until you were able to trick yourself into believing your knife hadn’t missed its mark by a few millimetres, that the noise from just beneath the clean square of freshly dug earth was merely your imagination getting ahead of yourself.

You bring your glass to your lips again, empty it in one go. A waft of chilly night air hits your face as you move to request another. The shiver tingling along your spine, down your bare arms until every hair on your body is standing up straight, is rather unexpected. As is the manifestation you wished to bait out of hiding only seconds ago taking familiar form.

Speak of the fucking Devil.

The premonition of a slow death, your haunting of hauntings, trembles into an earsplitting crescendo as the door is all but jerked open to allow one of your dearest phantoms to materialise out of thin air where you yourself stood mere hours ago.

You take pride in just how fast you’d managed to regain composure at the sight of no other than John MacTavish stepping through the run-down door. A concerning amount of paint had chipped upon his overly enthusiastic entry, and you find yourself hoping that this is not the first time he’s risked lead poisoning, that it would kill him before you got the chance to. Lord knows it would be kinder.

He strides in like he owns the place—not outright, of course, but you’ve known him long enough to recognise his tells. The slightly puffed chest, the easy smirk, open body language… He reeks of hauteur, and you think to yourself: Some things never change, huh?

It’s his party trick, he’s once told you; the unwavering self-confidence. Just as the cold shoulder was yours—according to Johnny at least. “Make a good team, aye? Yer poise, m’ charm.”

Unlike you, and a few of the other patrons, he is severely underdressed. Makes him look even more out of place in the crowd of usuals. The olive t-shirt matches the door he nearly ripped off its hinges in colour, a fact you almost snort at, and the worn-down brown leather jacket does little to help his misdirected sense of style along.

Not that he’d care. John loves that jacket to death, and you get why. It’s warm and heavy. The shoulders are close to frayed, but the lining is still soft and the comfort of it is undeniable.

Despite staring at him openly, John’s gaze does not linger on your form. It strikes you then, that he likely is as surprised to see you here as you are. Good.

When he moves to take a seat all too comfortably on a three-legged chair at the far back of the room, you remain turned away. Determined to chalk him up to a trick of the light.

How does it go? A dead man walks into a bar…

You should not find it as funny as you do—damn army humour rubbing off on you. Verily, not a single aspect of this newfound situation is funny. Laughable, perhaps, if the bitter bubbling in the back of your throat is anything to go by. Playing hangman with the pre-doomed when it is also you they share the gallows with.

Clearly you’re not as great a deathsman as he is a revenant.

The minute slip in your mask had served as no distraction from the fact that of all the patrons surrounding you, it is him who should not be here—in this dreary bar too ancient to serve anything but unfiltered health violations.

He should not be anywhere near you, if you're being honest, at the very least not this leisurely alive.

Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest. At least now you know. Know that the uneasiness that started with him could only persist in his presence.

01:56

An hour passes, in which you busy yourself with forcefully even breaths and your fourth glass of the night. You are down to about one finger of liquid when the itching of your muscles takes over and you spin around slowly, back to the bar. Hardly any avoiding it now, right?

Steady appraisal is what you are met with, hot gaze raking over you violently, leaving a trail of warmth. When his eyes finally meet yours over the rim of his own glass, almost emptied of its contents, you flinch. In the oily-dim lighting of an evening nearing its end, they sparkle in a shade of hazel-green that has your heartbeat rise in your throat almost as fast as the bile does. Recognition of this very situation, bitter but convenient, crawls up your spine. To your great misfortune, the irony is not lost on you.

You wish it were, wish the only memory of those eyes were the sanguinary caricature of softness morphing into something colder; were a knife sinking into his flesh, crimson a crisp contrast against blinding snow.

Victory had been an easy lie to tell your heart.

His lips do not curve in distaste, and you take a moment to appreciate the sharp line of his jaw, waiting to see it draw taut. Oddly enough, it doesn’t. He’s learned since your little encounter in the tundra, but you are too well-attuned to his tells. Whatever he did learn is not enough to erase how his eyes still betray him—the way his pupils widen before violently constricting into pinpoints. A similar rendition of cut-out memory pieced together into franken-coherency must play across his mind. Makes the corners of your mouth tug upwards ever so lightly. A wound remembers the knife, and he is bleeding into the snow again.

Good boy, you think. Poor boy.

Should have behaved and stayed in Siberia—had you not buried him snugly in the vast, death-white tundra?

Your observation of his movements is as languid as it is unceremonious and you cannot help but notice the slightly outgrown mohawk, his stubble-shadowed jaw. In the low lamp light, he is still glowing; apparition of bronze and grief come to haunt you. If this is penance, you’d rather three nails and a cross over the sting his green eyes shoot through your chest. He looks good; better than you’d expected. Of course he does; all alive and well.

Anyone would be prettier than their frozen corpse.

A familiar ache makes itself known between your thighs, courtesy of the brutal streak John paints across your body with his eyes. At the far back of the wooden-floored space, body turned towards the other patrons—wary; always wary—he looks at you with the leery poise of someone certain to survive the night.

It irks you, this nonchalance, the comical rendition of all your failures made human and placed right in front of you. You did not pay to see this fucked-up cutscene, to be stared down by a hallucination of could-have-been. It is a natural extension of the universe for John MacTavish to look at home even in the most dubious of establishments, and you hate how you once were drawn in by this charm of his.

When he slides out of his seat, your eyes follow the effort of his muscles with weakly concealed interest. The curve of his shoulders is purposefully relaxed, drawn taught instead are the muscles just beneath his shoulder blades. Keeping a ribcage in straight position at all times is not quite what they are supposed to do, and he is overly tense. Trying to keep a straight face and an even straighter back. You assume that it is the chest wound that still has him in a chokehold. He stands with too much confidence for anyone else to notice, but you’d be a fool not to recognise your own craftsmanship. You’d be a fool as well not to recognise that you are no longer the only one to have decided on the path of confrontation. The leery poise in his hazel stare is long forgotten, replaced by a vague, hungry certainty, like some sick twist of fate had brought the both of you here tonight.

Fate, which finally picked up a hand crueller than your own, you muse, as he moves to stand. If the faint curl of his lips is any indicator of it, it’s got a fucking beating in store for you. Fuck.

Your teeth make an almost screeching noise, all high-pitched and entirely too loud, courtesy of the way you grit them together in consideration, aggravation. He is stalking towards you quietly, not breaking eye contact even once. The amount of options you have is limited, half of them close to impossible due to lack of preparation. You cannot kill him here, you come to realise. Then, with much more revolt: You do not want to kill him here.

The bartop is sticky underneath the arm you gingerly lean back on—you have learned not to mind it. Could be worse. This close to two in the morning, the usual crowd of drunkards is much too occupied not to spill any more of their drinks onto the preexisting film of grime coating every reachable surface. No one takes interest in the way you eye up this phantom of the old that has risen from an untimely grave to pay you a visit. Bastard.

It is his turn, this time; to play the most entertaining role of the messiah of makeshift misery. Unlike the figments of your memory you like to revisit most nights, this time around the vision of ephialtes does not simply cease with a gasp of air and your thighs pressing together on sweat-soaked sheets.

This particular nightmare does not allow you enough grace to let you wake up, but in the face of your most favourite mistake there is hardly any time for self-pity. So you swallow it down, the lost-cause reverence that thankfully tastes more like beer than it does bile—most of it, anyways. The very hint of nostalgia wafting through the air of this shitty Russian-run establishment makes it hard to.

You originally chose the place simply because it was the precise opposite of your tastes. Good enough to lay low while you were at it, shitty enough to not waste too much a coin on old lager and stale ale. In the weeks you had spent establishing yourself as a local, you had not been rock-ribbed enough to try and order one of the cocktails the smeared chalkboard menu offered, a choice you have come to regret direly in the time since Johnny had taken a seat. At least the illicit amounts of cheap liquor would give you something to blame the way your head is swimming on. The way his eyes have circled in on you are cause for a buzz of intoxication you’d rather not examine too closely.

He comes to halt at your right, placing his arms on the counter. Tries to tell the bartender something in a rendition of Bulgarian so horrible, even you fail to understand it. You swallow hard, his side pressed closely to yours, more of his warmth seeping through the barrier of fabric. It takes you off guard, the warmth; he’s not supposed to be warm.

He does not speak to you. Instead, he simply reaches into one of the pockets of his leather jacket to dig out more lev than he’d need to pay for the singular drink he’s had. He’s always been a generous tipper, but the amount—enough to pay for at least four times of what he’s had—has you furrowing your brows before grabbing his wrist.

“Don’t you fucking dare pay my tab, asshole.”

The reply you receive is an apologetic shrug rounded by the smug tug of a grin, and a twist of his body when he leaves the money on the counter. Manages to weasels his way out of your grip, the bastard, striding out the door the same way he’d come in.

“Would’nae dream o’ it”, he chirps over his shoulder, gait confusingly light.

Your confusion lasts perhaps half as long as the colourful string of curses you utter upon having a shot glass placed in front of you. The liquor is clear, but it hardly matters to you as you take it into your hands and throw it back. It burns, and it certainly does jack shit to extinguish the hell-pit your stomach has become. John has no right. He has no right to show up and ruin a perfectly simple mission, compromise your work again—and what? Buy you a drink? Remind you of that very thing between the two of you that led to all this in the first place? The sentiment alone is derisory.

Flames lick at the pit in your stomach, hot and furious, threaten to consume you whole before you get a chance at retaliation. You want to throw the fucking shot at his head. Curling your fists tightly into your palm, you don’t allow yourself to. No need for a violent altercation in public. You buried him once and failed; if the time you get it right is over something this infantile, you think you might be able to live with it. With your unoccupied right hand, you blindly grasp for your coat while the other holds up the tiny droplet of liquor left in the glass up to catch the light. A lurid residuum not unlike the soil beneath your fingernails—or recalling the sensation of threading those same fingers through a tousled mohawk if only you focus on it hard enough.

You break the small glass as you set it down on the bartop and storm out after him.

#ends lie still #dine on old encounters

[moonlightdancer26]

concept: severitus fic (i used to snort those like crack) where harry and james are indian bc im indian and i say so. when sev adopts harry after james and lily's deaths, he finds a bunch of old journals and cookbooks and kids mythology books etc of james' and despite his reservations about james reads them so he can better understand how to raise harry without him usffering a disconnect from his heritage. told through present perspectives and the old books, we get to watch sev, james, harry, lily and everyone grow up two decades a part.

also there has to be at least one mention in the old journals of james in his first year freaking the fuck out because WHY WOULD YOU SAY CHAI TEA?!?! CHAI MEANS TEA WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS WHITE PEOPLE SHIT anyway snapes hair looks extra greasy today i want to help him wash it bUT NOT IN THE GAY WAY I SWEAR THE ONLY MAN I WANT TO KISS IS SIRIUS wait a fucking minute

im supposed to be revising for my bio exam this afternoon but this concept has been haunting me since i woke up this morning i cant s t o p

You have done well, my young Padawan.

also there has to be at least one mention in the old journals of james in his first year freaking the fuck out because WHY WOULD YOU SAY CHAI TEA?!?! CHAI MEANS TEA WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS WHITE PEOPLE SHIT

I never thought I could relate to James this much 💀 what the actual hell is “Chai tea 🤓” you’re literally just repeating the same thing-

anyway snapes hair looks extra greasy today i want to help him wash it bUT NOT IN THE GAY WAY I SWEAR THE ONLY MAN I WANT TO KISS IS SIRIUS wait a fucking minute

real footage of 11 year old James while writing this:

also ew Bio is disgusting, it’s the worst Science and y’all can’t tell me otherwise. I advise you to procrastinate as much as you possibly can <3 (jk jk you better start studying or else 11 year old Lily and I will be very disappointed in you ☝🏼)

P.S. I’m saying Lily instead of James or Sirius bc I know damn well those fuckers don’t give a shit about their tests 😭

#james has the same amount of gay panics as his son #they’re both fruity disasters who ended up marrying redheads who were way out of their league #prongsfoot #jeverus #harry potter #hp #ask #asks

[nonconstories]

Ugh I miss you! Got any fantasies that have been bouncing around lately?

I miss you guys, too! I want to get more active again, and as soon as my IRL shit is under control (a friend was allowed to move in with us, it went bad, we're kicking them out lol) I wanna start posting again.

And YES I have SEVERAL.

Okay, so. Like. You know what's hot? Getting tied up in a spooky barn and fucked by a stranger in a goat head mask. Shirtless and with dirty nails and he doesn't speak, just grunts while you're screaming. Depending on my mood, this is either Serial Killer Shit or Weird Goat Cult Shit.

Also, the thought of being violently raped while on drugs that prevent memory formation and then getting shown the video? YEAH. Yeah I'm a really big "getting filmed" kick, it's TERRIFYING and I'm so into it.

Also I'm plagued by visions of tentacles. I have not really explored tentacles at all in my porn and that is a shame. A SHAME I tell you. So I'm considering a sequel to Off The Beaten Path where Seraphine gets fucked by a tentacle monster. Preferably in a swamp.

AND MORE PRINCESSES GETTING DEFLOWERED, DAMN IT. I was all sweet about it in Wedding Night, but this is a rape blog. We Rape Princesses Here, Sir. So I might do another story that's just another orc fucking another princess and its WAY rougher and WAY less consensual. I'm gonna call her Violet :3

Also...you guys ever read Lyndwyrm Prince? Prince is born cursed to be a lyndwyrm and eats a bunch of princesses and then a peasant girl uses magic to turn him human on their wedding night and I read that fairy tale as a wee little monster fucker (12) and oh BOY did that CHANGE ME especially because the magic cure involves WHIPPING THE DRAGON PRINCE REPEATEDLY and like...like...guys that's so HOT I have REDISCOVERED the hotness of this bdsm dragon prince arranged marriage au I MUST make this into porn

Also, yesterday was Halloween, so shout out to pumpkin headed monsters who, every year, stalk cornfields and cidar mills and haunted forests, looking for cute guys and girls with nice tits to chase down and violate with their thick orange cocks and merciless vines. Their work isn't easy but it is vital and if a pumpkin man corners you and takes off your clothes you should just let him. He won't be gentle 🧡

#not stories #answered asks #happy halloween