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b0nten · 1 year

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POLAROIDS & CIGARETTES

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ them finding out you have a polaroid of you in your phone case

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ ran sanzu and hakkai being goofy

hakkai

bro is SO excited

literally the happiest man alive

he just wanted to see what the time was and next thing he knew he was hit by a sudden rush of euphoria, happiness and everything positive

my guy looked at you like you had just commited the BIGGEST, MOST SINFUL crime ever

“what’s wrong, hakkai?”

“are you REALLY asking that 🤨?”

“….”

“UR PHONE CASE IS SO CUTE☺️☺️!!!”

and then he kisses you

literally so wholesome

would URGE you to take another pic for him to keep in his phone case.

boy adores showing you off

speaking about showing you off,,

i think his photo would be REAAAAAALLY similar to yours or maybe even a re-enacted version of yours

matchy king

the photo is of you two on your anniversary, at tokyo disneyland. it’s so pretty — the sky is dark and there’s fireworks dancing on it, and the castle’s towering behind you. you and hakkai are wearing matching mickey and minnie mouse ears and you’re holding a giant koala plushie that the won for you at an arcade. it’s the most beautiful picture ever, especially because you’re both laughing and oozing out that same happy energy through the photo!

ran

ALSO SO EXCITED

HE’S SOOOOO SMUG ABOUT IT TOO

like “what’s that you got there. y/n😏?”

“oh, this?” you lift your phone and show him the back “it’s a polaroid we took when we went to West Walk”

unlike hakkai, he doesn’t keep a polaroid in his phone case, only because he tried to but somehow lost it :(

he likes to show it off SO MUCH THO

like, when he’s with friends every 10 minutes he’s like “btw did you see this cute pic of me and my queen?”

LOVE THAT FOR HIM

get urself a man like ran

the photo is one of you in a bigass fitting room in saint laurent, looking SO extra.

bonus: you actually have two polaroids, the second being one of you two fooling around in a department store.

the picture is of you two, and you’re sitting in a cart, while he’s the one pushing it.

also, both of them are SURELY mirror pics. i will not argue or elaborate.

another bonus:

years later, when he works for bonten, he comes up randomly to you and tells you to get dressed. then, he takes you to West Walk into YSL and you guys take photos like the two cuties that you are. then, he tells you to put it in your phone case. before you leave, you have him unknowingly recreate the department store photo that he STILL doesn’t know of.

sanzu

first things first

let me start by describing the polaroid

your polaroid consists of a drunk, blurry selfie you took with your boyfriend when the two of you had one too many drinks.

he’s leaning against a brick wall on the street, struggling to light a cigarette. he’s got one leg propped up, the other fully out in the street, and his white hair is messy. he looks so grumpy too 🥹🥹

then, in the opposite corner, there’s you! your face is so zoomed in and blurry but your contagious smile ia still noticeable, through the crinkle of your eyes and very very stretched skin around the mouth from how hard you’re smiling (since the mouth can’t even be seen)

i think it’s cute

actually really cute

he’s not really of the same opinion as i

but that’s ok! we don’t care!

“ Y/NNNNN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKKKK”

^ his first reaction

then he actually started panicking

“what if your parents see this?”

“my parents live an ocean and plenty of kilometers away”

“YEAH BUT STILL”

you try to reassure him that the picture is very nice and you’ve actually gotten a lot of compliments on it

“PEOPLE REALLY SAW IT????” now he wants to crawl into a hole and die

almost goes into septic shock when mucho sees the picture and points out that it represents your guys’ dynamic pretty darn good (doesn’t say anything bad or laughs maliciously, genuinely think it’s cute)

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infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

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✨steddie ficlet: switchy energy, eddie tops then steve does, boys in love and filthy about it, face slapping, choking, religious imagery, daddy kink, breeding kink, pet play, brief reference to somnophilia, dacryphilia

eddie munson fucks like he’s reconciling with tragedy, has something septic and lethal clawing it’s way out of his ribs, and needs to beat the odds before doomsday arrives.

his touch is quick. hot. fervent and skimming—reading between the lines so he can drag steve straight to the end with him.

there is no sanctity about the beginning or middle. everything made there is a blur of sticky heat and noise. slicking off their writhing bodies like midsummer rain.

hipbones jagged. ink infecting every available inch of his skin. eddie’s thrusts are punishing. his moans knock the wind from steve’s lungs.

there is a rapid pulse, brief reprise, and the desperate need to be the concrete vessel for each other’s pain and pleasure.

slaps followed by a dirty kiss. gnawing lips. sucking marrow. red everywhere in the dim light of the room.

they dig their hearts out to present as gifts. small thanks for a lifetime of whatever this is. filthy. lovely. reciprocal confessions kept behind teeth.

they touch each other and the world is remade.

“daddy’s little toy,” eddie growls into steve’s ear; biting, licking, choking, and bruising as he grinds impossibly deeper into a place no one else has ever been, “gonna fuck you so dumb you forget your own name, baby. gonna fuck you so dumb, you only remember mine.”

it’s ravenous. starvation. pulling hair. salted tears. lighting matches. naked truth and a reckless fire that burns from within. annihilates everything in its path.

hand in hand; they break flesh only to repair it under the influence of divine creation.

body to body.

face to face.

heart to heart.

violet stains across their skin. graciously erasing the damages done by those who were too afraid to love them back.

“i love you. i’d kill for you.”

steve’s voice bubbles up to the surface like cheap jewelry tossed into the river at the conclusion of a tired romance.

“there’s a monster in you, isn’t there, baby boy?”

“yes,” steve utters like a devestatimg hymn, “and there’s one in you. in your heart. next to mine. vicious and beautiful.”

eddie’s strong. dominant. hands locked into place on steve’s slender waist like it’s life or death or something greater. beyond him. beyond them. hold tight or die trying.

“i love you and your violent teeth. i love you and your bitchy attitude—all the terrible extremes you’re capable of,” eddie’s breath hitches, but his hands never falter as he fucks him harder, “slap me hard, baby boy—fuck—i’m yours. make it so no one else ever wonders if they can have me.”

“they can’t,” steve whimpers brokenly as he slaps eddie across the face with the utmost adoration, “i’d ruin anyone who tried—fuck—you feel so good, daddy.”

when they switch positions, it’s steve’s knees failing to uphold their promise. collapsing face down into sweat, musk, the stained pillowcase, and abundant sensation.

trembling. shaking. pathetic.

drifting off into lust and want and worship.

babbling ‘more,’ ‘harder,’ ‘faster,’ ‘please, sir;’ like those are the only words he knows.

but, no matter how low he gets, no matter how far he slips—steve will not break.

eddie won’t let him.

eddie will sink his own ship, decimate the grounds, throw himself overboard, before he ever lets steve fade to black.

it’s a cruel love.

damned. perfect. edging sin and purity at the same time.

taking them to the brink and yanking the chain back at the final moment.

letting everything oxidize for longer than is ever necessary. torture. agony. young love.

poetry in the making.

“dumb puppy,” eddie berates, grazing a soothing hand over steve’s reddened ass—spanked ruthlessly by the man he loves, “rutt against the bed—rub yourself raw. that’s it—good boy. perfect boy. best boy for daddy. like you dirty. like you messy. so pretty.”

eddie pours salt into steve’s wounds, laughs giddily at his groans, licks them clean. starts again. pretends.

kisses scars and smirks as he bites down on the constellations covering steve’s back.

breaking apart the universe in his mouth like a confectionary gobstopper. shattered into shrapnel. slack at the tease of thick fingers wrapping around his throat.

nothing will ever be the same and he likes it that way.

“daddy, ‘s so good—wanna be your slut forever. would let you use me in my sleep—trust you—love you—need you—“

steve sobs into damp sheets. fucks his ass back onto eddie’s cock. tastes heat and pennies and holy worship on his lolling tongue.

brave boy takes whatever’s given to him. a beating, fist in his ass, teeth to his jugular, cock spurting load after load into his puffy hole. accepts it all with thanks and gratitude and brown eyes as dark and muse-worthy as the midnight sky.

“cumming inside you, pup. gonna fill you until your tummy’s fat and pregnant. gonna make it take this time. promise.”

eddie links their pinkies next to steve’s head on the mattress—the old thing creaks. smacks into the wall. calls out to neighbors and friends and pedestrians that this is where love is being born and made.

raw. wet. obscene and borderline criminal if you were to walk in at precisely the wrong moment.

make no mistake.

this is heaven. this is where they belong.

paradisium. the end all be all. nothing compares. rose colored glasses stay on for the show and ever after. they are blind to any other possibility. bravely human in the midst of something distinctly wild.

“i’m a mommy,” steve laughs deliriously when eddie cums with a roaring moan and a chorus of sweet declarations to his boy, “i’m a mommy. mommy. mommy. gonna get all round so quick—everyone’s gonna know. i’m gonna be beautiful.”

when steve cums it’s quieter. tangled up in innocent delusion and blushing fantasy—he sees stars in the familiar trap of eddie’s fist. stroking. bleating. aching as his balls tighten up and his head feels featherlight as if full of gossamer fabric.

release is near silent. choked out. eddie laps at his stomach in the aftermath. dips the tip of his tongue in his bellybutton. sparks tears of joy and sighs into his neck where he nuzzles and praises the love of his life for every good deed he’s ever done.

and the bad ones, too.

in the bath.

later.

they share dreams. touch for a second time. slow and easy. fingers caressing tender spots and pushing love into each other where it’s needed.

steve with his legs spread wide. eddie moving up and down with a gentle rhythm. rocking his hips to the beat of steve harrington’s golden heart. spit. bubbles. cum. water that finally runs cold.

“i wish i could live inside you,” eddie whispers when it’s over.

“you already do.”

thank you for reading !! please feel free to live feedback, pop into my inbox with your thoughts, or comment here (it always brightens my day to read through 💛)

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @jjoesjonas @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @mcneen @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @rugbertgoeshome @neverlandwaitingforme @anglhrts @swiss-cheeze @livsters @messrs-weasley

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necros-writing-stuff · 28 days

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So I remember reading that Malleus Maleficarum was Dare's favorite book... Would you wanna write about a witch hunter Darius perhaps?

He'd be a terrible witchfinder, he's taking any and all bribes. Oh shit, fresh bread? Not a witch.

But he is absolutely threatening reporting his lil darling when they reject him. No, you say yes to being his wife/travelling companion or you get sent to the torture chambers.

I imagine they're a local healer, likely collecting herbs from the local forest to use as anti-septics for all the farmers who get open wounds. They're well respected, but healers who don't automatically send people to the church are prime targets for witchfinders. And the community is too afraid of being dragged in to interfere with his "investigation".

If he can, he'll impregnate you to baby trap you. If he can't, well he'll make up a rumour that you've been doing sodomy. Smh, the devil is in your head, whispering sins to enact. You should repent by coming with him, he'll bring you to a convent! Or so he says. The reality is that he's keeping you for himself.

#spill your guts #anonymous #not dol #darius radner #gn reader #cw noncon #cw religious themes

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henrypreppy · 1 year

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Barrington Estates: Prologue

Barrington Estates is the gem of the tri-county area for gated living communities. It has everything a member of the upper echelons could want: large, beautiful houses; meticulously manicured landscapes; fantastic schools; and the exclusive Barrington Country Club to rub shoulders with the elite that all but govern the southeast from its private rooms and putting greens. Not many make it here without significant contributions to the HOA. Grant and Jennifer Dean, however, were one of the few exceptions.

The Dean family was one of the founding families of the club and community. They had the house on the hill that was envied by everyone. The late Donald Dean, grandfather of Grant Dean, made sure to keep it immaculate. It was a sort of slap in the face to Truman McMaster, the general manager of Barrington Country Club; the house on the hill—the one all the pictures and magazine spreads loved to showcase—was owned by the board member who opposed McMaster at every turn. Rumors abound regarding their feud. Some speculated it was a result of a business deal gone awry, others posited that they needed some form of drama to keep themselves entertained. Only Donald and Truman knew the truth of the matter, and now one half of that truth was buried with Donald.

Grant was not particularly familiar with Barrington Estates, his father, Don Junior, being the prodigal of the family. Junior let his father’s house at eighteen with a large sum to his name and spoke to his father only two years later when it was nearly gone and Grant was on the way. Junior refused to move back in to the estate, but was funneled money from Donald so that Grant may not have to bear the sins of his father. Junior, ever-bent on regaining what he had, drove his wife Therese away when he began selling drugs.

“I don’t care if Grant is at college!” Therese would scream again and again, “I don’t want to have that dangerous business near me or my son!” After many of such arguments, she filed for divorce and cut Junior off.

A year later, Junior’s hand was cut off for stealing five kilos from the wrong cartel. He didn’t die immediately, though he couldn’t clap as his son walked across the stage to graduate. Only a few short months later, his stump turned septic and the infection withered the rest of him away. Had he less pride, perhaps Junior could have lived. Nevertheless, Grant turned to his grandfather for assistance with the funeral costs—which was all-too-high for the all-too-low head count—and moved in with his grandfather, who died all-too-soon from the grief of having failed to save his only son.

Now, upon returning from their hasty honeymoon and keeping with his grandfather’s request to not cohabitate with his college sweetheart, Grant was helping Jennifer move in with him.

Jennifer was a curvy woman, the areas under which she calculated from the nudes she sent Grant in their senior year. She graduated with a degree in physics and landed a job as a teacher in a high school one district away. She was smart, witty, and had green eyes that seemed dull unless they were in the right light; her hair was a wavy dark brown butterfly cut that flowed just past her shoulder blades.

Grant, by contrast, was plain but not unattractive. He kept his black hair in a shaggy mop and had nice cheekbones covered by a short scraggly beard. His gangly appearance frequently made others think of him as a stoner, which seemed fitting for a political science graduate. Though, a stoner could have never kept up with the stress of his internship as an aide to the governor. So far, that was his only achievement of note, outside of getting to marry the nerdy firecracker, Jennifer.

Jennifer didn’t have much of her own to move in; she was barely out of college. Still, a beat pickup truck packed with boxes is bound to look out of place in Barrington. Jennifer barreled up the large circular driveway to the McMansion, the rusted sides of the old Ford a stark contrast to the immaculate ivory-colored pillars she pulled toward.

Grant had already emerged from the house, having heard the beater booming a mile away. The houses were spaced out well enough, but the sights and sounds certainly brought some attention. He glared at the rustled curtains that indicated they were being watched from neighbors’ windows. As Jennifer approached, he waved and jogged toward the truck to open the door for her.

“M’lady,” he snickered with equal parts irony and sincerity as he opened the driver side door.

“M’sir,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. She stepped out of the truck and slammed the door behind her. Stepping forward, her mild exasperation faded to a wide smile and then to a kiss for Grant.

Grant embraced her, and his hand drifted from her back to her ass as he attempted to go for more than a gentle peck.

Still smiling, she pushed him away playfully. “Babe, didn’t you say your neighbors are super nosy?”

“Yeah, but what are they going to say? We just got married.” Grant planted a kiss on her cheek before breaking the hug.

Jennifer chuckled lightly. “I’d at least like to wait before hearing them ask about kids, though. I can already hear some old heiress down the street: ‘I saw that hussy from the other side o’ town pull up in a rusted out truck and start trying to make love right on the concrete!’” She said mimicking an elderly raspy voice.

“The neighborhood is not like that. They’re older and they’re traditional, but we’re married. So, it’s fine. Either way, you live here now, and they can’t change that.” He pecked her again on the cheek and began leading her inside by the hand, a middle finger raised to the neighbor’s window with the other hand.

Jennifer gave another signature eye roll and followed Grant. “You’re ridiculous,” she chortled crossed the threshold. The large foyer opened before her, decorated with a combination of farmhouse and mid-century modern decor. “This…” she announced, hearing her own echo, “This is also ridiculous.”

“Yeah, my grandfather was a pretty wealthy dude, but not out of touch. He wasn’t stodgy or anything. Still feels weird with him gone,” Grant trailed off and sighed.

“You okay?” Jennifer asked.

“Things have just been moving too fast. Graduation, a funeral, a wedding, another funeral, and a honeymoon all in like four months.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she assured him. “We’ll get settled in and settle down for a moment.”

“I know. I just want to slow down for a bit. You just mentioned it, but can we hold off on baby talk. I know I’ll hear enough of it from the neighbors.” Grant suppressed a grin.

“There’s a smile. I knew you still had some wit in you,” Jennifer prodded. “Now, where’s the bathroom?”

“First hallway on the left, first door on the left. I’ll start unloading your truck in a moment.”

“Thanks,” she cooed before pecking him on the cheek and rushing briskly around the corner. “This place is huge,” she bellowed back.

“Yeah, just like my—“

Ding dong! The doorbell chimed.

“You’re a child.” Grant heard before a door closed.

“Were get already walking up the fucking driveway?” Grant grumbled to himself. He gathered himself before yanking the door ajar. “Hey!” He said, shifting to a bright chatter. “How can I help you?”

Grant was greeted by a man and woman appearing to be in their late thirties or early forties. The man stood tall and was slightly overweight. His chestnut brown hair was in a generic left-parted business cut. A thick chevron mustache rested above his light smile. He wore a white golf shirt with the country club’s logo—a “B” with two smaller “C”s stacked directly to the right—on the chest, and pleated khaki pants that did little to hide the two huge lumps at the top of either leg. The woman had red hair pulled back into a sporty ponytail. Her cheekbones were high on her slender face, and her makeup was subtle outside the fiery red lipstick. She was dressed more casually in a bright athletic top, black leggings, and neon running shoes.

The man spoke in a low tenor: “Hey! Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Franklin and this is Jess. We live just next door to you.” He gestured to his right, even though the next house was a good hundred yards away. “We’re the Mullinses.” Franklin continued, extending his hand, and growing his light smile to a bleached Hollywood grin.

“Thanks for the introduction,” Grant offered cautiously but genuinely. “I’m Grant. My wife Jennifer has just started to move in. She stepped off to explore.” He turned around and called back into the house, “Honey! Come meet our neighbors, the Mullinses!” Turning back to the new neighbors, he gestured, “Come in! Come in!” The couple crossed the threshold and was guided toward the kitchen.

“Why, thank you!” Jess said brightly with a slight southern twang. The Mullinses took an extensive look around the house as they walked, noting the decor and size of the house. “Y’all have a lovely home,” Jess continued as they began to settle into the kitchen.

The small talk continued in the kitchen over some coffee and tea. A toilet flush and sink running announced Jennifer’s impending arrival. As her footsteps approached, Grant approached the doorway, made a grand gesture and announced his wife’s less-than-grand entrance: “Introducing, the reason for hastily closed curtains and prying eyes, my lovely wife, Jennifer!”

Jennifer silently walked through the display to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. She leaned against the counter, took a small sip, and acknowledged the guests in stark contrast to her husband’s introduction: “Hey. I’m Jennifer.” Her face contorted, suppressing a smile that turned into a chortle.

The stark facade broke after the Mullinses introduced themselves and realized the humorous intention behind her introduction. They actually got along quite well, despite worries of stuffiness from both parties. As it turned out, Franklin was an investor and Jess was close to launching her fashion line of women’s clothing with actual pockets. Grant had to fill in the history of his last four months and his relationship with his late grandfather. Grant himself had only dropped off his things two weeks ago and was still settling in. Jennifer, of course, had just arrived that day; so, her few items from the bachelorette pad were still in the truck.

Mr. and Mrs. Mullins helped them bring in the boxes—only around twelve in total. It was light work, but stomachs grumbled by the end of it. Reading the room, Franklin spoke up, “How would you like to join Jess and I for dinner?”

“Someone finally suggested food!” Jennifer immediately replied. “I’m down. Are you, babe?” She turned to Grant.

“Let’s do it. You a good cook, Jess?” Grant challenged.

“I’m awful, but Franklin is worse,” Jess laughed. “We were going to the club tonight.”

“Ohh! The country club! Excuse me!” Jennifer mocked.

Jess shrugged and smirked. “We make due.”

“My grandfather said just a little about the club before he passed. I’m sure you do,” Grant intuited. “We’ll have to change before we go, though.”

“Of course!” Franklin said. “Jess will have to as well. Just come over to our place in a few and we’ll head down together.”

“Hell yeah! I’m down for some bougie food,” Jennifer announced before hoisting a wardrobe box and hiking upstairs.

Grant walked with the Mullinses to the door. “We’ll be over there in just a few. Next house down the road, right?”

“Yep! 127,” Franklin confirmed. “See you soon!” He called, walking out the door with his wife.

Grant waved after them, watching them walk down the driveway before shutting the door.

Grant changed from his regular streetwear to a pale blue dress shirt and khakis. Jennifer stripped her sweats and was in a day dress within three minutes. It was not long before the Deans were knocking on their neighbors’ door, eager for food. Inside, the sound of hard-soled shoes echoed through the hall like a metronome. The rhythm concluded as the door opened and the tall Mr. Mullins stood before them, having only changed into a pair of black penny loafers.

“Come on in,” he said, ushering the Deans over to a couch. He himself sat in a chair opposite them, legs spread, and abnormally large bulge all the more defined. “Jess should be down in a moment.”

Grant and Jennifer had a hard time not sneaking glances at the pronounced moose knuckle in front of them. Grant blushed as Franklin noticed and locked eye contact with him. Eventually, Grant broke the silence: “So how long have you and Jess lived here?”

“I’ve lived here since I was a kid,” Franklin replied without breaking eye contact.

Heels clacked down the stairs as Grant finally looked away, peaking at the bulge again. His eyes immediately darted back up to see a smile and wink from Franklin.

“Sounds like she’s ready,” Franklin said, rising from his seat. Grant attempted to sneak another glance as the bulge settled into place before rising himself.

Jess reached the bottom of the stairs and announced herself, “Ready to go.” She wore a pale green blouse, black skirt, and black heels. She shook her head, showing off her wavy red hair released from its workout ponytail. She impatiently waved the lot to the door as she proceeded.

Franklin took the opportunity to put his arm around Grant and began walking him out, declaring with a grin: “You’re going to love steakhouse Fridays. They’ve got every cut of meat you could want.”

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heavenlyvirtuesarg · 9 months

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Introduction and Information

((ooc post))

Before we even get into the madness of it all, I would like to make sure that there is a baseline for everyone to look back on and be able to reaffirm what this is, and what it's about. That's what this post is. It will be sectioned for ease of finding the info within the post.

Basics::

This is a Mark egos ARG

It's the sister to another ARG, Seven Septic Sins, which was sadly never completed.

This is an 18+ space because of the themes included in this game.

All muns, players, characters, and spectators are and MUST BE 18+

The ARG is a cross-platform between Tumblr (you are here) and Discord.

This game includes secrets, such as multiple routes and endings

Heavenly Virtues part one starts on 8/20/23. Part two will be when the discord link gets dropped.

This game has two muns, both of which are chronically and mentally ill.

Warnings::

This game contains the following themes and topics, some of which are visible to the players as they happen or are brought on by the players. If you are uncomfortable with this, please do not interact.

Death, murder, self-harm, suicide, torture, gaslighting, manipulation, abusive relationships(non romantic), verbal abuse, physical abuse, cult vibes, religion, Christianity, falling into insanity, mental illness, queerness, abduction, unreality, forced abandonment, extreme body modifications, eating inedible objects, corruption.

Topics that will not be included and are not tolerated.

There are certain topics that I do not feel comfortable including, or seeing, attached to this arg. Please do not ask for it, why it is not included, or use it in any sort of fan reproduction.

Sexual assault, incest, mpreg, eye horror, the "dream" smile-- a colon and a parenthesis-- and forced romantic relationships

Game tags::

This section will be updated as the players discover them! If we are not up to date, please send a private ask to remind us.

Found tags:

#HV! out of character -> self-explanatory

#The Person behind the curtains -> The mun(s)

#The bells are Ringing.. -> Important

#The One and True... -> ???

#Questioning the Virtues -> Asks

#Unlabeled Virtues -> Anon function

#HV! out of character #The Person behind the curtains #The bells are Ringing..#markiplier #markiplier egos #markiplier arg

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k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 2 years

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@angels-holocaust tagged me!!! Thank you!!!

Rules: List 5 of your favorite song by your top 3 favorite artists!

Slayer

Spill the Blood

Skeletons of Society

Jesus Saves

Captor of Sin

War Ensemble

Death

Spiritual Healing

Zombie Ritual

Together as One

Trapped in a Corner

Zero Tolerance

Sepultura

Slaves of Pain

Murder

Meaningless Movements

Morbid Visions

Septic Schizo

#me #tag #songs #favourite bands

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doctortwhohiddles · 1 year

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Of course the imaginary V snubbed Olivia Wilde 🙄, it's a septics modus operandi to converge with all the other misongynistic hate trains. Any woman who's committed the cardinal sin of being attached to an "internet's boyfriend" clearly deserves their justified ire.

Any successful and beautiful women are evil according to the sQeptics. It just shows you how insecure and bitter they all are.

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red-shepherds · 2 years

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❝ when i lost you i lost a good love and a hand to bite. ❞

also gonna @arsarcane about this one, since it's a Null Cell thing.

"When I lost you, I lost a good love and a hand to bite." Alistair didn't make eye contact, and Asher didn't really need him to. It was a hot night, the desert heat not yet burned off, and the sky was an endless, moonless kind of black. Alistair was leant on the railing of the hotel balcony, silhouetted by Vegas's many colorful lights, but altogether apart from them. Okay. He could do this. Asher was used to talking to ghosts.

"For the record, you never lost me. You pushed me away. There's some kind of difference." Asher shook free a cigarette from his pack and fumbled for his lighter–and Alistair gave him an exaggerated eye-roll about it.

"Semantics."

"Don't bring out your four-dollar words right now. And hey, look away. Your Beast won't like it, if you don't."

"Didn't you hear? Mom brought me back mortal."

Asher whistled, then lit his cigarette. True to his word, Alistair didn't have any sort of fear frenzy; he watched with large, dark eyes. Asher did his best to remain unflappable, leaning against the cooling stone of the wall and taking a nice long drag of his cigarette. He was supposed to be trying to quit–but everyone involved knew full well that he wouldn't be getting through this conversation without some kind of crutch.

"You've got nothing to say about that?" Alistair asked, elbows on the railing, head cocked imperiously.

"I've got questions. But our mom is a mysterious woman, and she's a mage, so I don't think it's my place to ask 'em."

"Ask away."

"Aight. Are you going to run off and get bit again?"

"Mm? Ah. I'm not sure."

"You're allowed to say yes. If it's a yes." Asher took another drag from his cigarette, wishing desperately that he had something stronger, or that he were anywhere else.

"When I say I'm not sure, I mean it. I've been enjoying the sun on my skin."

"Right. Okay. I'm glad you were an easy case, at least."

"What, Ajax wasn't?"

"Cosmic balance bullshit. No. Aaron was the harder sell, though." Asher blew out a thick cloud of smoke, barely resisting coughing. Fuck. It had been a little too long–he'd lost all semblance of endurance.

"Aaron? What happened to him?"

"I–oh. Fuuuuuck. Let's say…your Crones honestly did care about you. Got their revenge."

"Horrific. Blood and fire?"

"More blood than fire. He was fine, in a way. And then he wasn't. Moose and I had to–"

"Enough."

There was silence for a moment, Alistair breathing deeply and Asher hardly moving. There was music somewhere far below them–the city never really slept, after all. Vegas was a den of sin and poor stage magicians.

"I hated you," Alistair spat, finally, "for taking away our mother. For–for eating through our family like a moth at a sweater. Why couldn't you have been anyone else?"

"I ask myself the same damn thing. You can still hate me. Y'know. If you want."

"I don't–how could I? You took her away, and you did bring her back."

"And now she's fixing the messes that I made–"

"You're arrogant enough to blame yourself for my coven's murderous tendencies? Get a grip."

"Alistair–I really don't think I can do this right now."

"I think it's now or never. Clean out the wound, or let it go septic. Your choice."

"You're still a dick for cursing me, and I don't forgive you."

"Seems it worked out okay. You know. Since it was a love curse, and you're marrying her." Alistair gestured to Asher's ring–still kept on his index finger, since they'd had no time to talk it back over, yet.

"That came later."

"Right. I think I get to call you a dick for orchestrating my death."

"Not my brightest moment, admittedly."

"Thank you."

"Welcome. Is that–is that what we're doing? Admitting we're both unforgivable?"

"Yes. But not…without merit. Like I said. Good love and a hand to bite." Alistair was looking at the black sky now, starless, what with the light pollution.

"I'd prefer you not bite me. Especially if you get your fangs back."

"What, scared of monsters?"

"Scared is a stretch. Wary. My best friend is half vampire, and I'll just say…I don't understand, I don't think I ever will, and you're all going to have to accept my distance. That and mages. They're creeps."

"You almost were one."

"I was! I didn't get there, though. So I can say it."

"They can hear you. Probably."

"Good. Then they know my damn opinions. Nearly got this city destroyed. Nothing I've ever done has been on that kind of scale."

"Point."

"I think that makes four-one?" Asher made a gesture, sort of like swinging a tennis racquet.

"Honestly? Call it game-set-match. I don't have the energy to elucidate right now."

"Right, you haven't slept since being…remade."

"And we've got a family reunion soon."

"And…that. Lots of bad blood is about to be spilled."

"Quite. You're cleaning up your own messes."

"Only if you'll own up to yours."

"I will. God knows you'd throw me under the bus, if I didn't."

"Right! Catching on fast. Go, get your sleep. I'll be out here."

"Mhmm. Don't plan my death again while I'm out."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Asher watched Alistair carefully as he walked inside, and then promised himself he'd be out of town by sun-up. No more of this, and no more of Vegas.

It was done.

#asher #null cell #messy but w/e

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decaf-kafka · 2 years

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In spite of you

I despise this feeling of love that you gave me, a curse so I could never hate you. You abandoned me in so many ways, dying before I could tell you what you had done to me. My grace is in the guilt you felt that ate at you while you were still here. But you know I would have taken it away if I could. Why do I love you? How can I still manage to feel this way while looking at the reflection of the monster you raised me to be. I don’t want to carry this anymore. How can I keep loving you while trying to love myself at the same time? You who let me be terrorized every night by the one person you couldn’t turn your back on. The leach who was only there to fuck you to death. I learned it from you, how to love most the person that is slowly destroying you. It’s what we think we deserve. Was I not enough? You were enough for me. Even now, you're my angel, since I realize I was always destined for hell. You were a child. A pixie caught up in the world of man. You taught me to dream, to escape. To imagine the world from which you came. From you I know pain. Yours was greater than mine. You knew you were harming the children you wanted most to protect, but you were powerless to change. The only thing you could do was sacrifice even more of yourself. Two jobs and sleepless nights to justify the hell you created. Yet I still think, If only I was strong enough. If only I was old enough. If I could have saved you from yourself, maybe you would have loved me like you had hoped too. Even now I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. I still secretly hope I’m to blame. Then I could say at one time you loved me, till I ruined it. That would be so much easier. I could make sure I never act like that around someone else I love. But life’s never that simple, and you’re gone. I’m shouting my anger towards the shadows of a home that doesn’t exist anymore. The wages of sin is death. You’ve payed for them. The greatest cop out. For who could feel justified in their anger towards a ghost. You gave life to my siblings. From them I learned love. I could never repay that gift you granted me. And yet, I’ll never forget the pain you caused them. I still remember the cries of my four year old brother, who’s aching rotting teeth prevented him from sleeping. I felt in my heart I was the one causing his pain for not knowing how to stop it. The backed up septic shit in the shower that covered the toes of my sister as she prepared for her first date. We survived in spite of you, while loving in your image. In death we become that which others choose to see. I choose to remember you as the first one who held me. The one who first spoke my name. The first song that brought me to life. One day, I’ll be able to fully condemn the actions you took. One day, I’ll be able to let go and start forgiving you. But always, no matter the pain it causes me, I will love you.

#writing #mental health #rant #mother #mothers love #neglect #childhood trauma #cptsd tag #cptsdhealing #cptsd coping #alcoholic parent #narcissistic abuse #stepdad #self love #healing #shadow work

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fankayart · 2 years

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The rainbow boys, the sinister sin doodles, the Pride for pride ™

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sinful-sketches · 2 years

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I decided to test out lineless since I rather like the look of it and its been awhile since I've done much with the style. Its fir @tracobuttons's SamGathering2022!

#best ever #not TOO proud of it but thats fine #not every drawing will be my shdjhsjkd #samgathering2022 #sin sketches #my art #fanart #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye community #jse community #jse #septiceye same #septicart #septic eye sam

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ladyoriza · 2 years

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I think Suze having to go through "confession" offers so much in terms of comedy because number one they're going to be there for WEEKS if she has to list all her sins individually

two she is absolutely critiquing john's tattoo abilities because i do not believe that man has ever seen an autoclave in his life

three. She's Into That Sort Of Thing.

"Oh I get it, you kidnapped Zoe cause your dumb ass doesn't disinfect your tools properly and people keep going septic. You can just get an instant pot if you don't want to shell out for an autoclave it works almost the same."

#suze's great time in montana

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sasorikigai · 1 month

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[ undress ] sender takes their time removing receiver's clothes piece by piece (canon!)

PROMPTS FOR THE ROMANCE OF HANDS & TOUCH || @hexsreality || accepting

[ undress ] sender takes their time removing receiver's clothes piece by piece

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || If Hanzo had a flower for every time he reminisced and contemplated about the past and what would have happened if Harumi and Satoshi were alive, he could walk through his garden forever. Shirai Ryu Fire Gardens' indescribable and otherworldly effulgence and splendor stretching forth all the Earthrealm and beyond. But the vines would wrap his legs, thorns would engrave their talons into his skin, turning his wounds septic. He could only sit with his name on it for so long, for the bench would grow scorching hot, even challenging the threshold of his perfected pyromancy. His skin would stick to the metal and all he could do is wallow. Then he would become so quick to be complacent, bending, morphing, and shrinking as the suffocating vines draw blood, and the echoing words would cauterize the wounds instantly.

Hanzo Hasashi is never bound to the past; that much he knows. He has long torn the vines off, for he has seen life even amidst the rigidity and harsh threat of death. Still, missing someone is not about the length of time he doesn't see them, but about the number of things he wants to still do with them. And this exists more as a feeling than a mere thought or emotion; on the days his heart cannot scream back, it metaphorically bleeds and aches. Perhaps falling back in love with someone else have been feeling like an act of betrayal, a grave and mortal sin in his eyes. But against whom? And why?

Hanzo has already suffered exorbitant trials and tribulations ever since he regained his life back. And in the maze of fate's design, his heart sought goodness and betterment ever since Grandmaster Hasashi's souls gradually entwined along with Wanda Maximoff's, bound together along love's sweetest chime. No lie compares to the absolute truth he recites through his vocalizations and body language, as he surrenders to this ruthless scheme of time. However precarious and unpredictable this universe may be (and the next), it did conspire for their two stars to align, and this ardent love is all he needs here and now.

He knows, he doesn't have to drop his walls and show Wanda the darkness buried deep inside him. His fathomless umber gaze may have been significantly mellowed to become the tender light that would breach the fog swirls that cloud the starry skies, as the day's composure melts as his silky raven hair drapes over his broad shoulders. In a yukata of simple elegance, his guise further accentuated by the now-descending gentle rain. There is no need for grandeur or exquisiteness, but the simpleness of a man who yearns to be revered in tender affection. And in this moment, complex emotions blend; a long awaited procrastination finding its end, as a subtle kind of sorrow coalesces with abundant anticipation.

"Sometimes I forget what it is like to be gently touched by the hands of love, caressed willfully with an appreciation that one oneself can see past. It is the passage of action both useless and paradoxical to the minds of sane, yet perfectly calculated to those drowning in a melancholic pool of depression," Hanzo believes that devotion rarely comes with rationality; for ratios were rarely a strong point and love itself was never supposed to hold an answer. Perhaps the shed armor discarded for the night was the very bits of himself left behind, everywhere and always, for he finds the most surprising pieces of the present and the past seamlessly melting to become one. His chest rises, with the gentle ebb and flow of his heartbeat as the last garment slides off his broad shoulders, revealing beaten copper imperfections of his skin. "Perhaps I was meant to live through vignettes of adjacent consciousness, as all the lives I could not live and realities that cannot be pass through me in this life." ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ seeking reconciliation with his own humanity (iii)#hexsreality

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chowpatty-ka-icebear · 3 months

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⚖️ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬/क्षुधाक्रीडा ⚖️

Everyone is out there playin games with eachother, No one wants good for one another (for apparent reasons). Coz if you'll be out here frowning, it's higher probability that people will walk past you... In today's world Nobody wants a Sad Clown who mourns and whines every now and then... Right... They want a brave/dominant guy who doesn't show pain and he's muscular and smart and dashing and he'll have Big D and Ms... Stacks of money dripping Outta his pocket and Jawline soo sharp that it can cut right through someone's skin...

A friend of mine suggested me "The Stoics Methodology" to be a real/alpha male in this skin thriving society... Which only runs behind your money and jumps on your body like a bunny...

A competition for Alpha Male is real... Nobody cares about your calmness and gentlemen manners asshole... Fckk the manners fr... Your Compassion and warm nature won't be respected here... This is a shithole... And yeah you can't dive in a shithole with clean clothes that's for sure...

You gotta have a good physique, endurance, mobility, stability to enter such places right... That's why to get them all you have to be a strong animal son... No one wants to hear how much pain you're in, No one wants to hear how much sins you've done, No one wants to hear how guilty/sad you're... No one cares about your whinning and crying...

I've seen the world my son, And believe me in this world Nobody cares about who you are, where you've came from, where are you goin... This world wouldn't even care if you'll be dead the other day... It only stops when you strikes on it's roots, It's Moneyy, It's Status, It's Power... That's all that matters in this Shithole... With Money the Status will come and With Power the status will rise even more...

The more status you'll acquire the more money and power you'll gain... No one will question your scars if you'll fall in the Septic Tank (An Okeyishh Lifestyle)... But everyone will respect your scars when you'll fall in a Money Pit because it's what the hunger people have... They're aren't hungry for your manners or love or care or compassion... They have that sheit plenty on their hands too... They're hungry for your Money, Your Status, Your Power... That what keeps their spit dropping from their tongue all day long...

Be like a mad man always... It's worth being a man who's sane enough to understand the mess, because that type of man dies every other day in this Shithole (for good reasons)

I was raised by a single mother... But even she didn't knew in what shithole she raised me into... I'm sorry maa but this Shithole doesn't have respect for your morals or teachings, I'm sorry maa but this Shithole doesn't have respect for your Compassion and Feelings, I'm sorry maa but this Shithole doesn't have respect for your Scars and Bleedings...

Those good morals would've ended the Shithole long ago but now it's too late for them to come in handy... Nowadays they're of no good use... Only the animosity and hunger can keep you alive in this pantry of banter of life...

Only quote which stays and runs here is "Either Eat the Whole Crowd, Or be a part of my feast" - SubbRee

#desi dark academia #desi stuff #desi tag #desi teen #desi tumblr #books & libraries #anime and manga #aesthetic #bollywood #trending #desi blr #desi blog #rant #rant post

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