#the two in the painting are planning a murder after the party

[popamolly]

“INTERNAL REDEMPTION” LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

summary. (y/n) finds herself in Lucifer’s grasp, knowing her job is to get close to him in order to figure out his future plans for hell and to ultimately sabotage him by telling the V’s. Though their first encounter didn’t exactly go as planned.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR

warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, eventual smut, mention of death, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder

author’s note. this story has gotten so much love in such a short amount of time! thank you all!

“Change of plans, dollface. Your new owner wants you brought to someone else’s place, apparently you’re his gift.” The shark face man tossed you into a back of a van with a snarl, “How generous of him.”

“Screw you.” You bit back as you pushed yourself up, giving the guy a glare.

“Ouch!” The guy playfully steps back with a roaring laugh, “The dove can bite.” You glared at the man as he slams the car doors, covering you in complete darkness. ‘This sucked’ you thought to yourself, you got caught up in something that could make or break Hell itself when you just wanted to live a simple life, or at least the most normal idea of simple you can get. You wanted nothing more than to just dance to your hearts content while keeping under the radar but because of your damned loyalty to Valentino you had no other choice. Cruel as the man can be, you owed him more than just your afterlife.

Before you knew it, you were in a bedchamber after being scrubbed down from head to toe and put in a quite revealing garment. You did not even have time to admire the walls that would serve as your cage for the time being. The intricate architectural designs had you in awe, it was clear you were far away from the slums of Hell being in such of place of grandeur. Chandelier's adorned the high ceilings, oil paintings decorated the walls, and the smell of it all caught you off guard- it was a clean scent, something that only the rich and those bathed in luxury could afford to have.

"You will wait here, until his highness is ready for you." A elderly maid took your clothes that was neatly folded beside you as you stood in the center of the room feeling oh so out of place.

"Asmodeus is still away?" You asked, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"As-? Oh, no dear, you are in the King's bedchambers." The maid revealed, catching you up to speed on your current situation, "You are a gift for Lucifer."

Your heart sank then. Of course this is what you wanted, this was plan a, but how could have you caught his attention so soon? Your mission was now becoming more real and you realized that you couldn't fail. You couldn't disappoint Valentino because your afterlife quite literally depended on it. But now that you were actually in the King's bedchamber what should you expect? Someone demanding? Someone who easily towers over you? Ruthless in bed? You knew to keep your expectations low if the rumors about the King were even remotely true.

For awhile you sat on his large bed. Swallowing into your own thoughts as you waited patiently for Lucifer to arrive. Your nerves only grew and with that your curiosity as well.

Though Lucifer himself was a ball of nerves just like you. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with nervousness at the thought of a woman in his chamber waiting for him. This was all so screwed, he didn't even want to be at Asmodeus' party nor did he want a prostitute in his room, that he didn't have time to clean due to such short notice. ‘Were you laughing at him and the mountains of rubber ducks? How fucking embarrassing!’ As much as the thought of a night of passion was intriguing, this is not how he wanted it to go. He could be everything people wanted him to be but he wouldn't stoop that low to sleep with someone who was under obligation.

Lucifer returned home to his palace with one thing in mind, and that was to free you from his ownership.

The sound of the rattling doorknob had you shaken from your thoughts, making you hurriedly get onto the center of the bed to make yourself more presentable. Tucking your legs under you, you let a strap of your gown fall from your shoulders as you puff your chest out to reveal your cleavage. You took a deep breath, ready to put on your facade to appear more alluring as you watched the door slowly open revealing the evil, dark, merciless- short king?

You blink once. Then you blink twice.

“I’m sorry,” You scramble to your feet, trying your best to cover yourself with your arms, was this some joke the maids thought would be funny? Putting you in the wrong room? “I must have the wrong room.”

“No, actually this is my room, ha ha.” Lucifer tapped his cane against the ground as he walked further into his bedchamber, kicking a rubber duck to the side, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long, my dear.”

This wasn’t a prank.

“Oh! Your highness,” you curtsy with a bow of your head to show respect, “Forgive me.”

“All is forgiven,” Lucifer tugged on his shirt collar, suddenly feeling smothering in the fabric. He was a bit nervous now that he was in your vacinity. You were absolutely breathtaking up close, “I hope your ride here was smooth.

‘Hardly that’. “It was, my king.”

“Good, Good…uh.” How was he going to go about this? “Well this is awkward, ahaha. I actually was going to release you of your duty to me. Your uh…services, aren’t needed here. This was all just a simple mishap.”

You tilt your head in confusion. He was letting you go? So easily? What of those rumors you heard before, of the man who took and ravaged without mercy? And besides all that, you had a mission to do, you couldn’t fail so easily and so soon. The day wasn’t even over, “Do I not please you, your highness?”

“What?! No, no, no! You are…quite the lovely creature with an,” Lucifer gulped, his eyes raking over your figure with flushed cheeks, “an amazing body but I just—” ‘Spit it out, you idiot!’ He thought to himself. “I-I’m married, you see.”

“Ah,” You look to the floor then, trying to jumble up the words you wish to speak before you were tossed out. How could you convince him otherwise? “I see..”

“Good!” Lucifer clasps his hands together, trying to ignore the fact that he absolutely, positively— what do the young kids say now a days? Fumbled. He fumbled hard on such a pretty woman as yourself. But for good reason. He was married and as lonely as his life may be, he still held out hope for Lilith. He was faithful to her even after all these years…or at least that’s what he wanted to believe, “I will have the maids see you out and pay you handsomely for any inconvenience.”

“No!” You always did want to try acting sometime when you were alive, “Please my boss, would not accept me back. You’re all I have your majesty.” You held onto Lucifer’s arm gently, forcing your eyes to become glossy with tears, “I have no where else to go.”

“Well, that..” Lucifer felt goosebumps arise at the feeling of your fingertips on him, “that…is quite a pickle.”

“If you don’t accept me as your mistress then let me join your staff,” You plead with fake desperation, a desperation so good that even Lucifer was starting to pity you, “I can cook, clean…anything else really just please don’t kick me out.”

Lucifer bit the inside of cheek, trying hard to remain true to his word on releasing you from his leash but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for you, and all it took was you batting your eyelashes at him with a sad look that had him folding instantly. A spark ignited within him, something that he wouldn’t dare even acknowledge.

“I supposed I do have to replace one of my maids.” The King of Hell, gave in without much of a fight. Even if he knew that this was a bad idea, “Fine, fine, fine! You can stay but know that you are allowed to leave whenever you wish, I will not keep you against your will.”

You couldn’t help that your heart all but fluttered as his words. His voice radiated a warmth that you haven’t felt in such a long time. It was surprising and almost distracted you. Almost.

“Thank you, Thank you, your highness,” You bow your head again before raising it to meet his gaze. For a split second the both of you got lost in each other’s eyes at a loss for words until Lucifer finally broke the silence by clearing his throat, turning his back to you with a new found coldness.

“The other maids will take care of you and tell you everything you need to know.” Lucifer made his voice go slightly deeper, “You are excused.”

You nod before leaving the room, silently thankful that your desperate act worked. Which only confirmed that the King of Hell did have a soft spot, a simple crack in that stone wall of his that you fully intended on using to your advantage.

“The King does not eat breakfast but loves brunch, you are to serve him at eleven twenty-five sharp, not a minute early not a minute less—!” The elderly maid you met the day before was walking ahead of you in such speed you were unsure how her little lamb legs could even move so fast. You struggled a bit to keep up, trying to memorize everything she was saying, “—All the windows in the palace needs to be dusted before noon, are you listening to me child?!”

“Ah, yes!” You bumped into her as she abruptly stops, letting an apology fall from your lips before looking up at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows you were expected to clean, “How can you possibly clean all the windows in the palace before noon? How many even are there?”

“Six hundred and sixty-six.” Lysandra states matter of factly, “Now keep up, we mustn’t dawdle.”

The head maid leads you into a the grand foyer, her heels clicking and clacking against the elegant marble floor as she leads you to the center, a large crystal chandelier hanging above the both of you that seemed to sparkle like diamonds under the light. Lysandra points to the bucket filled with soapy water and the big yellow sponge beside it.

“This whole foyer needs to be shining before eleven so you have time to serve the king,” Lysandra raises an eyebrow at you, “Understood?”

You glance around the room, trying your best to understand how in the fuck you were going to clean this whole foyer in under an hour. But did you really have time to complain? At least while you scrubbed you can figure out how you were going to get close to the King, “Got it.”

Lysandra smiles at you, “Good. You remember where the kitchen is? Come there in about an hour to bring the king his lunch.”

“Got it.” You repeat yourself, which makes Lysandra nod in approval before leaving you to your work. You start to get to scrubbing until the floor was so spotless that you could see your reflection through it. Before you knew it was thirty minutes pass ten, making it almost time for you to be done and believe it or not you did better than you thought you would.

Though your mini accomplishment wasn’t celebrated for long because not even a moment later the sound of footsteps echoed through the foyer, and then a loud thud!

“Who in the unholy hell made this floor slippery!” Lucifer groans, holding onto his lower back with a deep frown, “And without a wet sign?!”

You gasped, “Your majesty,” Rushing over you help him, only to be nudged away the moment he got up on his own two feet, “I am so sorry!”

It was already your second day and he had to bump into you again. What are the odds in a place as big as his palace that he ran into you. ‘Fuck, this was going to be hard wasn’t it?’ Lucifer nearly groaned at his own thoughts, ‘Give it another day or two and she’ll just blend in with the other maids.’

“What a unique way to take out the big boss,” Lucifer joked, “Through lower back pain and a dislocated spine.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his words, stopping short when you realized what you were doing. It wasn’t your fault that the merciless Lucifer was funny— and quite charming.

“Please forgive me, I think I got a bit carried away with the polishing..”

“You think?” Lucifer chuckles, The both of you sharing a moment of laughter, “The foyer does look spotless now thanks to you so I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much. It hasn’t looked this presentable in years.”

You wanted to pat yourself on the back. Turns out cleaning could be a bit therapeutic for you. Lucifer couldn’t help but stare at your face, your small smile and honey sweet laugh seemed to take his breath away.

And he didn’t like it one bit.

You stood a bit straighter as Lucifer cleared his throat, “Now if you excuse me.” And with those words he was off into the dining hall. Which reminded you of your next task— which was to help dust the windows. You had all but completely two before you checked your watch and your heart nearly sank at the time. Rushing to the kitchen, you hurried down some corridor steps and make your way down another hall until you heard the bustling movement and hurried voices.

“You’re late!” Lysandra frowns as she hurriedly puts a tray of food in your hands, “You need to go serve the king! Who knows how long he has been waiting? Now off you go!”

With a gentle, yet a bit forceful shove, your pushed toward a hidden stairway that led you right into a hallway near the King's bedchamber. You sighed before knocking on the large door and entering once you heard a simple, "Come in."

You entered the bedroom, letting the door close behind you as you made you way toward Lucifer. The King was sitting on a chair at his desk, tinkering away at yet another rubber duck to add to his growing collection. You wanted to know where this obsession with ducks came from and why it seemed so out of character for the King of Hell to have. The longer you stayed here, the longer you realized that everything you thought you knew was a lie.

"Your highness," You did a quick bow before setting his tray of food beside him, "Your brunch.."

"Ah! Thank you!" Lucifer frowned slightly, not expecting that it would be you to deliver his food this morning. It was as if you were at every corner, constantly reminding him of his physical attraction to you, "That is all, you can go."

"Um..actually! I thought you would entertain my company for awhile sir," You smile at Lucifer, mentally noting that there was an unspoken sexual attraction but you would have to tear his walls down first to even act upon it. You figured that you would have to get him to trust you first, "I've been curious about your...rubber ducks ever since I got here."

‘Why were you being so persistent? I mean I like it but what exactly was your angle here?’ Lucifer squints his eyes in suspicion at you, looking over your face to find any hint of deceit but only found your warm smile instead, "Really?"

You nod with excitement, pulling up a stool to sit beside him. Now that you were slightly lower due to the short stool, you looked up into his eyes with a hidden determination and a new found curiosity that you couldn't help. The King of Hell was a mystery and whether it was your obligation to Valentino or your want to truly look through the cracks of Lucifer's protective barrier himself, you found yourself intrigued by him.

"Well surely, there is a story behind it." You straighten out your maid attire before putting your hands into your lap, "Will you tell me?"

Lucifer clears his throat, a bit taken aback at the fact that someone seemed so interested in his duck obsession. He hasn't had someone even remotely curious since- well since his daughter Charlie. What was this feeling inside his chest? Why did he want you to continue to look at him in the way you are now?

"I suppose I can spare a moment...or two."

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost in any other social media.

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[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister in Law!

Re-upload due to complications.

Chapter 1

Dion x Fem! Reader

Warnings: possible yandere themes, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana,” blood, mention of murder

Nsfw warnings: Lost of virginity (both parties?), fingering, oral (fem receiving), spit, reader does NOT get to finish, vaginal pain, HEAVY DUB/CON.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous actions/behaviors that takes place in this piece of fiction. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog fanfiction dni and don’t span like my posts or you will be blocked.

Overall story summary: you reincarnated into one of your favorite novel-turned-webtoons. However, you didn't want to become the female lead's sister-in-law...

Word count: 4542k

===

“The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother,” also known as “ROXANA” was a rather dark novel that was adapted into a webtoon. And as luck would have it, the webtoon wasn’t finished, and you don’t remember all the details of the fan translated web novel you found online.

Now, why would that be a problem? Simple:

You reincarnated into it. Not as a main character, or even a servant to one of the families. You weren’t a child of Lant’s or one of his many wives. You weren’t a friend to one of his children, either. Instead, it was worse than most of what was listed.

Whatever God you managed to piss off had a silly little, petty revenge plan that was straight out of a third-rate horror novel with teenage girls fawning over it. And truthfully, if written right, the non-existent novel would have been a banger – but no, instead it was anything but. Or maybe you only really think that because of your position in this world, where your birth was simple, but painful for your mother, and you were lucky enough to be born into a family that loved and cared for and about you.

It was a noble family, to boot. Wealthy enough to live a comfortable life. Two siblings – an older sister who was already married at the age of thirty with a child on the way. The other was a 12-year-old boy who made it his life mission to be the most annoying little piece of shit on earth.

But as you lay on your back, hands holding your nightgown in place, all you could think about was how small Dion Argece makes you feel. The wedding ceremony just finished up hours ago, and here you are, back pressed against silk sheets as your now-husband hovers over you.

(Name) Argece.

What a horrible name and cruel faith.

Inky black hair that falls into his carmine red eyes that held indifference. His wedding-tux was still on, even the outer jacket with the silly lone rose in his pocket. Oh, what a shame – to be married to such a handsome man only for him to be obsessed with his sister and emotionally unavailable.

God despises you.

“Close your eyes if you’re uncomfortable.”

He unbuttons his outer jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and tosses it to the side. You should close your eyes, you think, because his face was nothing but stone. Not even a condescending grin. He doesn’t comfort you, either – at least not in the typical sense.

“Keep still,” his gloved hands grab your thighs and you let him open them, creating space for him to get closer. You want to push him away and run. But what good would that do? Why couldn’t the man just slice something and claim that the blood on the sheets was from your first night?

“I’m scared.” You speak without thinking, becoming stiff as his hands traveled from your outer thigh to the inner, creeping underneath your nightgown. His gloves feel cold and uncomfortable, touch borderline rough. “I – I need a moment. Please?”

He tilts his head, giving it thought. After a moment he removes himself, but annoyance radiates off him. Your heart beats faster as the second’s pass. You remain on your back. The ceiling is painted white, no decorations and the room was bare saved for a dresser, closet, mirror and a random chair by the window.

You will be sleeping in here, from now on.

“Can’t do it? Then don’t.” he’s annoyed, surely, otherwise he wouldn’t look at you like you were an insect. What a wonderful way to start the newlywed life. But it’s not that easy to walk away, and while it sounds like he’s giving you a say-so, he isn’t; if you don’t consummate your marriage tonight, then…

“… I’m sorry. It’s my first time and I heard there would be pain.” You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. But Dion wasn’t exactly known for his… compassion. Or basic human emotions, either.

If this was someone else, would you be able to do it? Where did everything go wrong? This didn’t happen in the novel; Dion didn’t get married. There wasn’t a grand wedding with the Five Ruling Families in attendance. Nor was there a steamy scene with this man throughout the novel, not even in the side stories.

How did you end up here?

“Then relax.” If you weren’t scared of losing your life you would have run him over. It affects everything! Then again, it wouldn’t matter to him – this is a duty. Not something he wanted, you’re sure, and even if he did it would only have his best interests in mind.

“… I’m ready.” You don’t answer him, because it would only lead to a one-sided argument. Even a wall listens better. Despite your wishes, Dion does the same as last – settles in-between your legs, and this time, you close your eyes.

“Good. Try to relax or it won’t fit.” Your cheeks burn at that, mind already picturing how it would look. Many men say things like that, even in your old world. It’s just a thing they said, like with many things. It doesn’t really mean anything, because if it did then…

His gloves are still on, cold and grip tight on your thighs. You were hoping he would be gentler. But as his hands travel up and up until they’re pulling at the edges of your underwear to slide them down, you realize he won’t.

There’s no slickness down there, your underwear dry and vagina even drier. You peek through your eyelashes, watching as he inspects the article of clothing. He tosses it a few seconds later.

“I’m only going to ask once – would you rather keep your clothes on or off?” It seems that with every second reality just hits harder and harder. This was going to happen. Nothing could stop it. And if hypothetically, if he were to stop this, what then?

Even if he sliced an arm to fake the night, what about later? A baby, Lant wants Dion to have a child. No. You couldn’t do that to a child, especially yours.

“On. Please.” You expect him to just shove in a finger or two, watching as your body jerks in pain. Instead, he lifts your hips until your bottom was off the bed and flips the flimsy skirt up. And then there’s a glob of something wet and gooey, legs twitching as it lands on your bare cunt.

“D – did you just… spit?” steading yourself on your arms, you look on in disbelief as your husband just spat on your pussy. A string of saliva hangs from his tongue.

Instead of answering you, much less look at you, his thumb comes into play and spreads his saliva over the surface of your cunt. It’s only when his thumb swipes over your clit do you let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he was feeling generous or maybe he was curious. Dion decided to rub the twitching nub over and over until your legs twitch and cunt clenched around nothing. The glove made it uncomfortable, but even so, you just tried your best to focus on the pleasure. You weren’t sure if he would give you pleasure like this again.

“You’re enjoying this,” he retreats his hand leaving your twitching and needy clit lonely.

A pathetic whimper escapes as you watch your husband take his glove off with his teeth. This man is everything you fear and more, a character that you should have never met. Yet the sight of him lowering his head to lick a long stride against your slit has your legs shaking.

His tongue is warm and slimy, causing your hands to clench the sheets as your head falls back. Another lick and another until it’s flicking your clit back and forth, sending warmth throughout your body. However, despite the pleasure he’s giving you, his grip is still tight, almost painful on your hips.

Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down as he continues. Your fear barely dies down in your chest, even as the tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

“It feels – “a pause as you catch your breath, “weird, it feels really weird and – “

Dion repeats the action until you’re a trembling mess, sensitive from your mental state and the current oral sex you’re receiving. It’s hard to focus on either one, your mind constantly reminding you that you’re in a novel, about to fuck a man who’s jaded and possibly has a thing for his sister –

“Ah… wait, that’s a lot…” he decides to go further, bringing his thumb back and rubs loose circles into your clit. He’s still eating you out, but not like a man starved like you read in erotic novels.

Even so, your husband keeps at it. If it was a good or bad thing was up for debate – on one hand, while it does feel good, everything is moving too fast, your pleas for slowing down falling on deaf ears. It really is a lot, tongue fucking you while those loose circles on your clit become tighter, rougher. Should you just lay back and take what he gives?

Your mother would probably say so. Your sister would just pat your head and smile like it was expected. Normal. Take what he gives, especially if it benefits you in any way.

“…?” your eyes open at his tongue leaving your cunt with a saliva trail, his eyes glued to your twitching sex. His thumb also stops rubbing circles, instead going back to grip your hip as your back starts to become sore. Your ass is still off the bed and if he keeps you hosted up like this, then you really will snap in half.

But then he locks eyes with you.

“I thought you were scared.” Dion doesn’t let you respond, either because he doesn’t care or because it would ruin the ‘mood.’ He latches his mouth to your poor, abused nub instead. And sucks.

“H-hey!” one hand supporting you while the other grabs at his hair, you didn’t expect him to throw your legs over his shoulders. “That’s enough, really, no need to – ugh…” his mouth was warm and soft, but it sends your nerves on fire.

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

Good, bad, does it matter anymore?

He sucks harder and your fingers tug harshly at his hair. You kick your legs but are unable to tell if it’s from pleasure or the flight or fight response he’s causing you. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t bat an eye, making it his life mission to suck you dry.

“Ah – wait, Dion – “

It’s at your whine of his name does he finally, finally stop, a ‘pop’ when he detaches his mouth from your sensitive and bullied clit. Your husband decides to lick one last long stripe from your entrance to your clit, all the while making eye contact with you. Your chest heaves as your mind settles, arousal overthrowing your thoughts.

“What is it?” Monotone, his voice is monotone and he’s not even out of breath. Your mother lied, there’s not even a hint of pink across those cheeks. It’s fine, though – no, it’s not, it’s baffling how steady he seems when your back is about to break, and you can’t even breathe.

Your eyes travel from his to his hair, where your hand is still grasping the strands. Mind still catching up to your body, you let go and draw your hand back, covering your eyes with it. Your entire body is shaky and legs sore. You’re not used to this position.

“It – it’s enough.” Your husband lets you pull your legs back, feet pressing against his broad shoulders as you bring them back down. The relief is almost immediate, a pleasurable and relief-filled sigh leaving your chest. You allow yourself to rest for a bit, your sensitive cunt and sore legs screaming for it.

“… O – okay, I think, I think that’s fine. Excuse me…” gently, you pull one leg up until your foot is flat against the bed. With a shudder, you trace your entrance timidly with two fingers, getting used to the touch. You’re not sure of how big he was, but you’ll use three fingers just in case.

You gape like a fish when his hand reaches out, grabbing yours roughly. You didn’t even notice the dip in the mattress as Dion got closer on his knees, face inches away from yours. Oh God, now what –

“What are you doing?” clearly annoyed, Dion doesn’t let you look away – not that you were going to – free hand grabbing your face, pointer finger and thumb on each cheek. It’s barely loose enough to leave no bruises. It hurts regardless.

“I – I was… prepping…” part of you wants to pretend that this man doesn’t know how to comfortably prepare you for pentation with his… but you know better. Because an inexperienced man wouldn’t know how to do things with his tongue like that, or where the clit was because –

“Are you still scared?” The hand that was holding yours releases it, opting to sneak its way to your cunt. His fingers were larger than yours, nimbler as they stroke your labia minora. Are the shivers washing over you from nervousness or arousal?

“… I’m scared of the pain.” By instinct, you knew he meant more than scared of sex – if you feared him. Still.

It doesn’t need to be said.

“Scared of the pain?” His eyes glow in the moonlight, bright red with absolutely no emotion. “Why?” he doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers inch closer to your entrance, stroking the opening, making your legs jolt. What a horrible man.

You remind yourself that this man only felt fear as a child – and even then, it probably wasn’t for very long. Nothing lasts for long, in this estate.

“Because I hate it.” You don’t break eye contact either, breathing in when one finger slowly sinks in, your walls now stretching uncomfortably. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, your wetness mixed with his saliva making it easier. Your nails are about to rip holes in the silk sheets.

Like a curious animal, he tilts his head, curling his finger. It doesn’t feel good, it hurts, but you endure it even when you wince. Dion decides it would be a good idea to spread your legs a bit further, and like a bug, crawls between them even more. You hiccup when he adds a second finger.

They’re bigger than yours, they reach deeper. In your old world, did it feel like this too? You can’t remember.

“It’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let me finish this. Relax your legs before it hurts worse.” Pressure builds in your eyes, but you fight it off. “Save your tears for when it matters.”

You’re tired of him already.

He doesn’t move them, at first. It’s almost like he expects this, because as you adjust to something foreign inside you, he starts to rub at your clit, again. Softly this time, touch firm enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Or maybe you’re lying to yourself because you’re wincing, still.

When he starts to thrust them in and out, you force yourself to look at the ceiling, scared to see the expression on his face. You also don’t want to watch the show, scared it’ll already be bloody. Just a bit.

“It’s tight.” He states it like it’s the morning news. “And wet.” Your cheeks burn with both shame and embarrassment, shutting your eyes.

“… ugh…,” groaning, your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. “It hurts, a lot.” You sit up, back against the headboard, avoiding your husband’s gaze. Unfortunately, by doing this, your eyes land on your messy hole, light blood on his fingers as he pulls them out only to thrust them in again.

“It’s normal. The more you resist the worse it gets.” You give up, letting him do as he pleases, shutting your mouth.

The fingering still hurts as the minutes go by, but little by little the pressure eases down and when he arches his hand, he hits something soft and spongy. He’s rewarded the sight of your head banging against the headboard once, shoulder tense as you bite your bottom lip.

If only you could see that look in his eyes.

“Here?” He repeats the action, faster this time. You only nod your head, lips ajar, tongue swiping over them. Your hips have a mind of their own, raising as the heel of his hand rapidly smacks against your clit with his thrust of his hand.

You’re half there mentally and halfway in heaven, momently forgetting just who was here with you, who room this belonged to, and your entire situation to begin with. “Oh - wait, it’s a lot but – “

A third finger is added, and it starts to sting again. Another wince, another groan, but your arousal helps to keep the pain to minimum. All three fingers curl to hit that special spot that makes you see blacked out stars and pussy clench. All the while light blood coats his fingers, a sight he’s already used to due to his lifestyle.

It’s only when he pulls his hand away completely do you return from the skies, a small layer of sweet coating your forehead. Your hands are shaky as you look at him, only to be drowned back into reality when you’re met with those red, indifferent eyes that glow brighter than the moon.

“If you’re ready, lay on your back and spread your legs.” He undoes his pants while saying this, scooting back to give you some room.

With a heavy heart, you do so, laying on your back and spread your legs. You were fine just moments ago, so why is your heart leaping out of your throat rather than staying in your chest? Maybe it was because of the pleasure, or…

You’re scared, again.

You don’t look when something fat and heavy plops onto your pelvis. You don’t look when he brings you closer by your thighs. You don’t look as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds, catching on your clit.

“Relax or it won’t fit,” he reminds you before pushing the fat head in. At first, it’s a sting no bigger than an ant bite. But then another inch goes in, and you feel like a sword is cutting you straight up open, your legs tensing and hands grasping his forearms in a futile attempt to stop him.

Your nails dig into his sleeves, and you can feel the skin underneath. The tears build up as your face becomes hot, taking in deep breaths like it would soften the intruding body part.

“Big – it’s too big, it’s not going to fit – “

“… You look cute when you cry.” It’s sinister, teasing and everything that makes your stomach drop. His thumb wipes away your tears that’s already staining your skin. But he stops regardless, if only to shut you up if nothing else.

You think a few minutes pass but it’s hard to tell when he’s still inside, pulsing and you could feel every vein on his cock. It’s thick, it’s big and you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it, handle him. He’s everything that ruins your sense of self, that makes your dreams shatter and fear rot you from the inside out.

But he’s your husband…

But he’s your husband.

“Relax,” he inches in deeper, slower this time, but not letting you get a word in. Your nails dig deeper, and if it weren’t for his shirt, you would have drawn blood. Another inch, another gasp that leaves you breathless, grasping for anything that could keep you grounded. The only thing you could grab was him, however.

“Dion, Dion, you’re going to break me, I can’t – I can’t – “

“You can. You have to.” Was his voice raspy, just now? If so, it worries you, because you just remembered one very important detail – Dion Argece was, if nothing else, a sadist. Be it from his childhood trauma, or if he would be like this regardless of, he loved seeing Roxana cried.

It never occurred to you that he would love seeing you cry, too.

How deep was he? It feels you’re being speared open, his cock bullying its way into your virgin hole. You weren’t a virgin in your last life, but it didn’t hurt like this. It had hurt, felt like you were being ripped, but not enough to make you cry and breathless.

You think you can feel blood trickling down your ass crack. “Please tell me you’re almost there, please…” sniffling, you look up at your husband, the man taking your virginity in the name of ‘marriage.’ A mirror shatters in the back of your mind.

There was a flush across his cheeks. Pupils blown wide and a small grin on his lips. He was enjoying this. Your pain, your tears and perhaps even your fear – he was enjoying this.

It would have been better if he didn’t feel anything, you think. Just a stone statue that was performing its task. But even monsters had emotions, you guess.

“I’m not. Just endure it for a bit longer – I’ll stop once I’m at the hilt.” Was he a liar in the novel? You think he was, otherwise, the overtaking of the Argece family wouldn’t have happened. Lant wouldn't be dead. But things haven’t followed the novel to a T – this was proof enough.

“You’ll stop? Like, completely? You – you took my virginity, so that should be enough. Right?”

You hate it when he keeps wiping your tears away. Or when he slides in even more, your blood coating his stupid dick. You hate it when he brings one hand to toy with your clit, granting you pleasure that was just overthrown by the smothering pain traveling up to your belly.

He doesn’t answer. And that was enough for you to rake your nails down the back of neck, drawing blood in return. He’s making you bleed, so it was only fair if you could too, right?

Deeper and deeper until his balls rest against your bottom and pelvic meeting yours. Surprisingly, your husband keeps his word, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It feels heavy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a rod that was stuck. It felt awful.

How long did it take you to get used to it, in the past? No longer than fifteen minutes max, right? No, shorter than that. Then again, it didn’t hurt this much, but that partner was more loving, more caring, gentler –

“Who are you thinking about?”

The question breaks you out of your daze. You blink, once, before you question him back. He only glares in response.

Panic fills you when he pulls out, pain still there, blood still trickling down. “Wait, you’re – “

“I’m what?” he pulls out until only the head remained inside. You try your best to ignore the bruising grip he has on your hips. You’re going to be sore tomorrow. If you survive this, anyway.

God, if you’re listening, please let this night end peacefully.

“B-big. It’s going to hurt, please don’t…” dragging your hands down from his neck to his chest, your fingers dig into his shirt.

“Hm. A shame, really; you still must give birth, eventually. It’s better to get used to it now than later.” Your mind doesn’t catch up with your body, legs tensing when he slides oh so carefully back in, like he didn’t just push your worries aside like nothing. “Relax.”

“Dion,” hiccupping, you brace yourself, head nuzzling into his chest as your hold on his shirt tightens. When he pulls back out, you could feel every detail, every vein trail, his grith truly opening you. He graces you a mercy, going at a languid pace, minimizing the pain. His thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, either.

It goes like that, for a good while. Slow and steady, your hushed sobs dying on your lips, your husband careful with his thrusts, but not his grip. It was almost comforting, in a way. But you were still scared of him, and of what will happen after this.

“… I have a proposition.”

His hips stop and your ears perk up.

“You want me to stop, correct?” Dion pulls back until he’s on his heels, his cock dragging along your walls. You wince before breathing out. He doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic look in his eye as he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. He almost grins in glee.

“Y-yes…” You don’t let go of his shirt. “Why…?” there’s hope inside you, but dread starts to rot it away.

“Jerk it.”

“…what?”

He was different from the novel. Extremely so, because you doubt that Dion would suggest a thing, much less give you a choice in the matter. That Dion would have either ignored you and this night or take you as is, no mercy, no humanity granted if this took place at the beginning at the novel.

When he doesn’t repeat himself, you pull yourself up until you’re resting on your knees. The sight of blood both on his cock and the sheets make you gag and thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it. Hesitantly, you take him into your hands, fingers barely able to close around it.

It throbs in your hand.

Your blood is coating your hands now, too.

Only silence is between you, your hands working him. Your thumb swipes over his head, circling it before stroking his dick up and down. Your other hand plays with his balls, massaging them. You’re not sure how long it would take him to finish.

Your core throbs in pain, and you become worried over the thought of peeing. It would probably hurt.

You want to sleep.

Without giving it much thought, just like your husband, you spit on it, a glob of saliva falling onto the staff. It throbs harder. And when you look at him, tired eyes and drool still dripping down from your tongue, still jerking him off –

“…Ngh…”

It’s almost cute, the way sperm spurts out and makes a mess on your hands. The very small and fleeting look of embarrassment on his feature is almost enough to comfort you. But when there’s barely a sheen of sweat adoring his forehead, unlike you was still recovering, you’re reminded that your husband was different from you.

There are no kisses, no sweet nothings shared between lovers. No stroking your hair or comforting your trembling form as your legs shake. Or even an offer to warm a bath for you, the warm water soothing your body. There’s none of that.

Not even a smile.

“Welcome to the Argece family, wife.”

Instead, all that awaits you is a restless sleep on a bloodied mattress with a husband who left after cleaning himself up.

Which God despises you so much and why?

#dion agriche #dion argece #Dion x reader #yandere dion agriche #deon argece #dion agriche smut #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #twtptflob #deon agrece x reader

[orphicrose]

The Co-Host (Alastor x FemReader) VIIII

< >

Summary: You are Alastors Co host in life, perhaps more. But are separated by a sudden death. When you are finally reunited in the under world, it is up to Alastor to figure out why you don’t remember him.

Warnings ! ! Mentions of SA! Death and Bl00D

Note : I've had a bad fever for almost a week now, but i am better and I promise I haven't ignored you're requests! Working on them as soon as this is posted.

@cannibalcoyote @kahlan170 @sugxryratz @multifandom-superlover @t0xic1vi @saccharine-nectarine

--------------------------------------------------

Y/n didn't know what to do with herself, she was left with more questions than answers. From what she could put together, her and Alastor were colleagues and perhaps lovers in life. But her death sent him into a spiral. Perhaps a murderer. But neither of them know why she is down here. Y/n always assumed it was to do with making a deal with the devil. But she wasn't sure anymore. Everything was a mess. Yet, something was pulling her closer to Alastor. She needed him, his company. Like their atoms were magnetic towards each other. 

"I need to remember..." she thought to herself, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. "But how?"

Knowing her, she would have left some sort of off switch. A backup plan for if things went wrong. Something that would jumpstart her memory. Like the leaflet, but that was too weak. What else? "Jumper!" She shouted. In the memory, she had taken a few of Als jumpers. Perhaps they were lying around somewhere. Digging through her large wardrobe, she found nothing. Clothes scattering her bed and floor. She grunted in frustration, kicking her wardrobe then immediately regretting it. Holding her foot and hopping on one leg till she eventually fell over. 

Y/n felt hopeless on the floor, eyes following a shadow around the room as street lights flickered through her curtains. A crack in her painting on the wall caught her attention. It was off. Her hopes raised as she jumped towards it, lifting it to find a hole in the wall. "Y/n, you're a genius" She mumbled, rummaging around the hole to find a wooden box. 

Nothing particularly useful inside, though. Documents that Satan had given to her when they first started working together that she never wanted to see again. As she rummaged through, a photo fell from one of the pages. A polaroid. Her heart skipped a beat. Remembering that a photo was taken in the memory, as well. "This is it... i guess"

Her eyes sealed shut as she bent over to pick the photo from the floor. Turning it to see the two of them, as humans, in a loving embrace. Dressed in stunning outfits, as if they were at some sort of party. 

The party was the first memory to come back, then little memories surrounding their job, then the first time they met. Before she knew it, everything slotted into place. The good and the bad. The reasons she was down here, the reasons she blasted her memory from existence. And, him. Her feelings hit her like a brick, emotions too much to handle. 

Her Alastor was down here, the sweet man that built her into the person she is today. Sure he had some issues, but now they had an eternity to sort them out. But how could he ever forgive her, after what she did to him. 

"Breaking news, Co-host of Alastor's broadcast found dead near Louisiana swamps" Was the headline of the newspaper that day. After this heartbreaking news was released, some speculated Alastor was the murderer, considering he was the last one to see his Co-host alive. But after autopsies and thorough investigation, his name was cleared. The real killer getting away with their sins. The true story buried forever. 

Y/n sat in her small room in her studio apartment that she could barely afford, reading the headline. Knowing she had gotten away with it. Regret and guilt still circulating her mind, even after the news was blaming her victims partner. But she did what she had to do. 

A week prior, y/n had an encounter with the radio presenter. Not Alastor, his partner. A bitter man he was, selfish and righteous. He owned many speakeasies along the coast, everything being a money grab. Even the radio show, an excuse for publicity. Even with all those facts considered, y/n still didn't mean to kill him. She had bumped into him on the way home late that night, tripping him over. 

"Oh my, sir. I am so so sor-"

"Shut up you little rat" He climbed to his feet, dusting off the little dirt on his blazer. "I'll have my way with you for that"

Y/n sensed the danger and began running the opposite direction, fearing for her life. The man closely behind her. She didn't even make it ten steps away before hands clamped around her neck. Her mind had blanked out completely from that point. Coming to when his body writhed beneath her grip, crimson trickling from his neck like a bloody waterfall. He got what was coming to him, but that didn't make the guilt ease. His body letting out his last breath as the now lifeless corpse lay idle, illuminated by the dim street lights in the night. The shard of glass in her hand was carried with her, unknowingly, her whole journey home. Hiding it under some paper in her bin when she realized. What else was she to do? 

She murdered Alastor's friend. Not out of cold blood. But would he see it like that?

"I don't care what you did" Played in her head from a few hours prior. He knew what she did, surely. He seemed as if he did for him to reassure her with those words. It's not like she particularly had anything to lose in this moment, anyway. Without a second thought, her body ached for him. For his acknowledgement, for his touch. She found herself running out her house, letting her mind go blank. For the first time in her life in hell, she voluntarily used her gifts. Turning into mist under pavement and reappearing at the doorstep of the radio demons radio tower. 

"What are you doing here?" His eyes scanned the woman in front of him in the doorway of his broadcasting room. Standing from his seat at the sound board. She said nothing, closing in on him and taking no time to let their lips meet. Hands finding their way to his hair with soft scratches. 

His eyes widened, not daring to move. Incase she stopped. He reciprocated after a second, his microphone dropping to the floor to free up his own hand. Landing on her waist and pulling her closer to his body.

It felt as if an eternity passed, old feeling mixed with current frustrations and sadness. When they pulled back to finally see each others eyes, Alastor couldn't hold back the tears he had been suppressing for years now. Never really coming to terms with her death. But she was here, all of here was here. Staring back at him with the loving eyes she had oh so many years ago. 

"Do you..-"

"Remember?" She half laughed through the tears she shared with him. Feeling his thumb brush them away from her face. A genuine smile creeping onto his.

"How?" His fingers found themself tracing patterns along the softness of her cheeks. Something she felt familiar with. Something he used to do when she was asleep next to him, and he would watch the calmness of her face. Entranced. Feeling a need to protect her in such a vulnerable state. 

She shrugged, not wanting to talk anymore about it. She just wanted to take him in, breath in his air and be with him. Finally. Not needing an answer, he pulled her in by the waist to plant another loving kiss on her lips. Being careful as to not dig his fingers into her flesh. They stood like that, for minutes. Peppering each other with affectionate touches and kisses. Catching up on how many they had lost. 

"I suppose we have a lot to talk about" Alastor pulled away, pulling her backwards as he perched himself onto a chair. Holding her hands in his as he stared up to her. 

"We have an eternity to discuss it, my darling" she moved to sit on his lap, not being close enough to his heart beat. 

"You do know who i am, yes?"

"Alastor, I knew who you were before i erased my memory" 

He stared at her, bewildered, eyes moving between hers. "Is that why you..?"

"No. Well, it was a shock. But I'm no saint either. I couldn't bare the knowledge that I am the reason I'm down here, and that I would be the reason you'd fall too. There's so many excuses I could give you, Alastor. But the main truth is that I wasn't strong enough to hold that information with me forever."

He stayed quite, sensing more to the story. But it wasn't important anymore. She accepted him for both sides of his life, and he accepted her. What more could he need. Validation had been given and his ears perked up. He put a hand to her face to make her look at him. Smiling so genuinely now. 

"It's ok, darling." he nodded. ""I meant what i said before. I don't care why you're down here. I just care that we get a fresh start together."

A beautiful feeling surrounded the two of them, falling into the bliss of each others company as everything was let out into the light. No more secrets, no more being alone. But there was still the issue of their souls not being in their bodied, surely that won't affect their affection to one another, right?

Bright yellow hues interrupted their confessions, as a strong gravity began to pull them away from each other. 

"Al? What's happening?" Y/n clung to his neck as something whirred her from his grasp. A magnet pulling her back into some sort of portal that had flung open behind her. 

"I'm. I don't know, Don't let go" His nails dipped into the flesh on her arm, holding onto her as if she was being taken away from him again. But the force was to great. Her body flung into the vortex with a screech as she cried for her love to save her never ending lose ends. He was left in silence once again, the portal closing before he could reach it. 

Rage filled his body, replacing his lust. Surging through his veins like some sort of adrenaline booster. "Satan...."

In an abandoned office block, y/n had been spat out the portal like a piece of chewed up gum. Landing not to gracefully on the floor, looking up to see her boss's anger. "What did we say about distractions?"

#fanfiction #x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin alastor #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel #alastor fluff #alastor imagine #alastor angst #reader x hazbin hotel #alastor

[bonniebird]

Billy Loomis x Fem!Reader

Requested by Anon

Halloween 2023 event

Make a request

Request: Anonymous asked: "If I’m the killer why didn’t I kill (Character) when we were alone together?" Billy Loomis with female reader #halloween2023

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Read on AO3

You turned to see the guy from the store he was staring at you. You knew most of the people at the party but you weren’t sure who he was or who would have invited him, at least not without warning the group to a newcomer in the group.

His gaze was so intense that you grabbed the nearest friend’s arm. Billy turned to snap at whoever had grabbed him but stopped when he saw it was you.

"He looks like a serial killer." You whispered to Billy who looked amused as he looked from you to the guy staring at you.

“His eyes follow you like a creepy painting.” Billy muttered. You laughed nervously but gripped his arm tighter. “Watch out he doesn’t get you.”

You looked up at Billy clearly uncomfortable and he smiled at you. He let you cling to his arm as he pushed through the crowd towards Stu and Tatum. You glanced over your shoulder and jumped a little bit as you saw that you’d been followed. 

“Is he following us?” You asked quietly. Billy looked where you were and saw the same guy again.

“Maybe he’s that killer the cops said was on the loose.” Billy said with a cruel tone and chuckled when you gasped and visibly stiffened. You managed to lose him in the crowd and stuck close to the group. It wasn’t until Tatum gave you a ride home and you realised that you’d left your bedroom window wide open all day that you thought back to the creep. There was a sick feeling in your stomach as you rushed to close the window and peered out. You were sure that every shadow was some masked murderer coming for you. Slowly you check each room until you hear the sound of your bedroom window sliding open. You yelled as you grabbed at something leaning against the wall and ran to your room, swinging at whatever it was.

“Ah! Hey! It’s just me!” Billy yelled. You stopped and realised that you had closed your eyes in fright and that you were brandishing a broom. Looking at Billy you could see the bump on his head where you’d managed to strike him. 

“Sorry! I’m a bit on edge.” You said breathlessly. Billy finished climbing into the room and glanced behind him. You saw something move but didn’t think anything of it as Billy turned back to you and reached out a hand, gently putting it on your shoulder as he stared at you.

“You aren’t going to beat me up again?” He joked and you scoffed.

“I only hit you because you snuck in through my window. Why are you even here?” You asked and Billy sighed.

“I was driving over to Stu’s. Saw that creep hanging around down the road. Figured I’d make sure you were ok.” Billy said quickly. You nodded slowly and gestured to the living room.

“Well… thanks. To be honest I was a little nervous. Bing out here on my own.” You answered. He accepted a can of pop from you as you fetched one from the kitchen and sat in the living room on the sofa as you fiddled with the TV to get it to work. “You… you don’t have to stay if you had plans.”

“Oh… I could stay for a while. Till you feel better? I just need to make a call if that’s ok?” Billy asked. You nodded and pointed out where the phone was. Billy headed into the kitchen to make his call as you flipped through the channels to find something interesting. Billy came back after a few minutes and sat awkwardly at the end of your sofa. The two of you weren’t really used to spending time one-on-one. After a few reruns of old shows, there was a banging at the door. You jumped and leapt up while Billy slowly went to see who it was. The door burst open and you screamed as Billy was knocked backwards. You stopped and took a slow, sharp breath in as Syd forced her way in.

“You! You! Get away from (Y/N)!” She yelled at Billy who scrambled to his feet. “You murderer!”

“What?” You asked as you got between them and stopped Syd from throwing one of your mother’s vases at Billy.

“Someone down the road was killed. He did it! I know he did.” Syd accused. Tatum ran into the house behind her, her brother following.

“Well, he couldn’t have done that…” You said quietly. Syd shushed you which made you turn furiously to Tatum and fill her in on what had happened since you last saw her.

"If I’m the killer why didn’t I kill (Y/N) when we were alone together?" Billy snapped at Syd who scoffed at him.

“Syd he’s been with me almost the entire time I’ve been home. He must have shown up… maybe five to ten minutes after me.” You explained. Dewey cleared his throat and stepped closer to Syd.

“If that’s true then Billy couldn’t have done it.” He said quietly. Billy smiled smugly and raised his eyebrows as Syd growled out a noise of frustration under her breath and stormed out of your house.

Tags:

@moonmaidwn1996 @gillybear17 @ravennoore14 @the-caravello-post @killing-gremlin @aegonandaemondtargaryenslut18 @lchufflepuffcorn @savagemickey03 @kaitieskidmore1 @the-troubled-raven @taemyra

#billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #bonniebird #halloween2023

[luimnigh]

Okay, I wanna pitch a Marvel movie.

Now, this is a Marvel movie that will absolutely never get made. They would not allow this. So here's my pitch:

We open on a heist. A group of absolutely Z-list, one-paragraph-on-the-marvel-wiki, single-digit-appearance-count supervillains robbing a secure facility. The villain that hired them narrates the plan as we watch, and while it doesn't go off without a hitch, some of the more bloodthirsty villains cause some unecessary bloodshed, it succeeds.

Our villain protagonists leave the scene in a van, loot inside, and drive off into the countryside to a rural, isolated house in the forest to lay low for a couple days. Everyone's celebrating their success, they're drinking, there's some drugs, a few people sneak off for sex. This is the point where we get to know the personalities of our villains, some are assholes, some are complete monsters, and there's a few people who are pretty decent and are really only in supervillainy because life dealt them a shit hand. We can see factions dividing our group of villains.

Their boss finally arrives separately, sporting some more villains as muscle, and the conversation turns back to business: the division of the loot.

And then someone finds a body outside.

One of the villains has been murdered. Everyone is immediately suspicious of everyone else, accusations are thrown, motives speculated, tensions get higher and higher, weapons get drawn-

A shot rings out. Everyone either opens fire or runs. One or two villains die in the crossfire, others are injured, this goes on until one of the more sympathetic villains calls for a ceasefire.

They're in the middle of trying to talk everyone down when they hear a car engine start, and one of the villains who ran from the fight bursts out of the garage in the getaway van-

With the loot still inside.

A few of the villains fire shots at it, but are soon stopped- they could destroy the loot. The boss explains as the van drives down the road that with his resources, tracking the villain that's double-crossed them would be easy as-

And then the van explodes in the background.

As our main party of villains makes their way to the burning wreckage, flaming dollar bills falling around them, they speculate on who the hell boobytrapped the getaway van-

But are interrupted by a click.

One of our villains looks down to see that nobody boobytrapped the van. Someone landmined the road.

Thankfully, one of our villains is a techie, and after a few tension-filled minutes, they disarm the mine. The villain who stepped on the mine is thankful, and the techie explains that they should be able to clear the road soon enough, right before their head explodes in a shower of gore.

If the landmines hadn't made it clear enough, that certainly sealed the deal: this wasn't a double cross, this wasn't an ordinary murder.

They're being hunted.

This is a slasher movie.

The film continues on, the villains getting picked off one at a time in creative and gruesome ways, some even having their tech stolen and used to kill other villains. But throughout, we never catch a glimpse of the killer.

Right up to the end of start of the final act. By this stage, you've started to root for our supervillains to overcome this. There's a few assholes left you wouldn't mind seeing die before the final curtain, but the killer's will have lost sympathy by this stage, having killed some of the more likable villains. We wanna see them pay for that.

And just as the killer is stabbing one of those likable villains to death, our surving villains, and the audience, finally catch sight of the predator that's been stalking them through the night.

A man dressed all in black... except for big white skull painted on his chest.

And suddenly there's no guarantee that any of the villains you've come to like are walking away alive.

#marvel #mcu

[babygorewhore]

Motive.

Tate Langdon imagine.

On Halloween, you and your boyfriend Tate are on a date. As you talk about his past as the slasher, Ghostface, he comes to realize that he needs to be punished for his actions.

Can you tell Scream is my favorite slasher series? WARNINGS. Sub! Tate. Mommy kink. Degrading. Dom! Reader. Knife play. Blood play. Talk of violence. Oral! Male and female receiving. PnV! Overall filth. Brief Tate POV.

Halloween was your favorite day of the year. Not only was the weather perfect, the best scary movies were released, costumes became creative but also because Tate could go out and venture into the world.

This was your second Halloween together. The first year you went to the beach. A place he admitted used to be his designated spot whenever he needed to escape. You had discussed back and forth before ultimately deciding to have your date at a graveyard.

It filled your gothic heart.

Your relationship was exciting, despite his eternal life as a ghost.

Tate carried the blanket and bottle of liquor you bought on your way home. The walk wasn’t far, allowing you to wear platform shoes that went along with your costume. You were dressed as the Scarlet Witch. Trading in your black clothing for red.

Tate allowed you to paint his face with makeup, skeletal features were his preference. It took you almost an hour but you wanted to be precise. You slicked his curly hair back with product. But he would do anything you asked. He was your good boy. You held your own bag close to your body.

A week ago, you gifted him a cellphone. For reason one, he could contact you while you were working. And secondly, it would make tonight even better. It was secured in his denim pocket. He wasn’t able to hold your hand, so you opted to hold the crook of his elbow.

You stepped through the entrance of the cemetery. The overhanging metal curved over your head as your eyes swept over the hundreds of tombstones. “This way, baby.” Tate gestured with his head towards the left. You allowed yourself to be guided.

Your feet padded over the grass. It was dark, but the adjacent streetlight gave you enough ability to see your path.

Tate led you down the narrow section between a towering tree and a collection of tombstones before he pulled you to a stopping point in front of a smaller one. “Here I am.” He smirked, his skeleton makeup curving, turning to look at you.

The modest headstone was ordinary, without any flowers to commemorate the loss. You nodded as you registered the name.

Tate Langdon 1977- 1994. Loving son.

You chuckled breathlessly at his joke. “This is one hell of an idea, having a date in front of your own grave.”

Tate quirked an eyebrow before pulling you to a seated position, setting the blanket down on the ground and alcohol aside. You both hadn’t bothered with cups, planning on just drinking out of the bottle, something you’d both done several times. He wrapped his arm around you, your head nuzzled on his shoulder.

“What was your motive, Tate? Being Ghostface?” It was before you were born but everyone heard about the killing spree during 1994. It started with one murder, a teenage girl strung up on a tree. Before it escalated to a principal. Those weren’t enough to raise concerns until the last night when the killer was caught.

It was at a party. A curfew had been given but a group of teens threw a gathering anyway. Two more people were murdered. Brutally. One girl was inside a dog door inside the garage. The man’s throat had been slit and he was dragged across the front of a van.

The murderer wore a gown and a mask.

Tate Langdons identity was revealed after he had been gunned down by the swat team. He took too long at the house as the police were called. The term Ghostface had been taken as a joke before it ultimately stuck with him. But he never revealed why he did it. Even during the last seconds of his life. Yet, his soul remained in the very home he was killed in.

He had been shot down in the Murder House.

You’d seen the apparel once. When he played the same game with you after class several weeks ago. Where he fingered you, used the very blade he commented the crimes with. It gave him pleasure to scare you. Or try too.

“My motive?” He asked, glancing down at you. He didn’t like to talk about his past. He hated answering questions because he didn’t want to relive it. He was always paranoid you’d leave him if he explained. You knew the relationship was toxic. But you still loved him.

Besides. He was already dead. What more could he do?

“Yes. Why did you do it?” You lifted your chin upward, watching as he clenched his jaw.

“Who said I needed a reason?” You pursed your lips as he teased you.

“Tate. Be serious. Why? Why did you kill them?”

Several seconds of silence followed. All you felt was the pattern of his breathing.

“I wanted to die. And I wanted to take people with me. I wanted to scare them. I wanted them to think they had a chance to escape me. I wanted my mother to know exactly what kind of monster she created. That’s why I killed her boyfriend. I wanted her to know the pain she made me feel.”

You allowed the confession to hang in the air. It wasn’t fear you felt, more like a realization that Tate had been dangerous. Your loving, doting and obsessed boyfriend had been a killer. He knew exactly how to press the blade down on your skin without breaking it. He knew how to walk without making noise. He enjoyed seeing you beg for him. Beg for his cock. Beg for him to let you finish.

But you wanted him to have a turn. He needed to experience it.

“Mmm. Did you like being covered in blood?” You asked, your voice soft despite the disturbing question.

Tate swallowed. “I didn’t really think about it.” You nodded and pulled your hands in your lap. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead starting at the stone.

“Do you ever think about me, covered in blood?” You withheld a smile when he took a sharp inhale. He blinked.

“Y-yes.” He looked down at you but you reached up, taking his chin between your thumb and pointer finger. You set his jaw straight.

“Did I say you could look at me?” Tate shakes his head obediently.

“Good boy. Do you ever think about…me killing someone?” His lips parted and he heavily inhaled through his nose.

“Yes.” He half whispered, half whined.

“Have you thought about fucking me in the costume? Using the knife on me again? While I’m covered in someone else’s blood?”

Tate shifted on the ground, his eyes glazing as he tried to keep his focus ahead. “Babe-“

“Don’t interrupt me, Tate. Be good and answer only when I tell you to.” You sternly commanded. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” He shakily answered. You needed to push a little harder, just a bit to get exactly what you needed.

“What are you thinking about now, Tate? And make sure you’re honest.” You kept watching him. His teeth grazed his lower lip, despite the paint and his hand started to drift to his pants.

“I want to splay you on the ground, right here. Right now. I want to spread your legs, taste you with my mouth before I fuck you senseless. Until you can’t wait. And then do it all over again.” You quirked an eyebrow before your hand fell to his thigh.

“What about you, baby? Don’t you want me to make you feel good? To suck your dick? Make you cum in my mouth?” He shivered and his fingers drifted to his crotch.

“I’d rather feel you cum. I don’t care about me. All I want is you.” You hummed and your finger tips grazed his growing erection.

“Mmm. You’re such a sweet boy, Tate. Do you like it when my legs are around your head? Do you like that?”

Tate’s hand finally palmed his dick and you smiled in triumph. You lifted yourself from his embrace and you grabbed his wrist.

“Tate. Did I say you could touch yourself? Don’t you remember our rules?” Tate’s eyes widened in response and you shook your head disapprovingly.

The rules consisted that Tate was not allowed to touch himself without permission. Neither were you. Along with a safe word. Mercy.

“I’m sorry-I thought you-“

Your hand raised and wrapped around his neck. You pulled him close as he grunted from the pressure. You squeezed steadily the sides of his throat and you leaned in, hovering over his mouth. “Mmm, my sweet little boy. Getting hard over me being drenched in blood. You’re absolutely pathetic.”

Tate’s eyes glasses over and his lip slightly trembled. “Mama-please-“ He leaned in to kiss you but you pulled your head away.

“I don’t think so, Tate. I think…you need to be punished. Would you agree?” You proposed and he swallowed heavily. Fear prickling his expression.

“Do whatever you want to me. Just let me touch you, please.” Tate placed his hands on your waist, squeezing gently and causing your knee to settle inbetween his legs. “Please, please let me touch you. I can make it up to you. I promise, baby. I can’t stand the thought of you mad at me.”

He laid down, his hair like a blonde halo on the ground as he stared up at you, your hand still wrapped around his neck. He looked so submissive. So willing to make you happy. Ready for you to use him however you fucking wanted.

And you will.

“You’ll make it up to me?” You whispered. Tate started grinding his dick down on your knee, humping like a bitch in heat.

“Yes, anything. I’ll do anything for you.” He encouraged, slipping his fingers down to your waistband, your dark leggings stretching as he attempted to touch your underwear.

Removing your hand from his throat, you slapped him across the face. Tate grimaced from the impact, his head jolting to the side and he blinked at you with watery eyes.

“I didn’t say you could touch me, Tate.” He leaned up, taking his hands off your torso and buried his face in your breasts.

You attempted to push him down but he was a lot stronger than you despite his slender form. His arms wrapped around your hips, making you straddle his pelvis.

“Mama-I’m sorry-I just need you. I want to make you cum. I want you to be proud of me-please let me be good. I promise you’ll be proud of me…” He was begging. You almost gave in, withholding a moan as he pressed kisses on your costume covered breasts but you needed to stick with your plan.

“Tate, if you want to make me feel good. Lay down. Lay down nice and slow for me, baby.” He quickly pulled away, his face paint smudged as he slowly laid his body down on the grass.

You were situated above him, powerful and he was willing to obey every command you gave him. Reaching your hand down, you brushed his cheek with your fingers and he contently leaned in to your touch. “Now, I want you to close your eyes. Keep them closed until you know exactly when to open them.” You instructed in a clear voice.

Tate opened his mouth to protest but you gripped his chin between your fingers. Leaving nail imprints. “What did I say about disobeying me?” He shut them immediately after that. You smirked. Now, the real fun could begin.

Carefully, you brought yourself to stand. Your boots crunching the grass beneath you while walking to your bag. Digging through it, your hands locked around a lightweight but long, black gown. Slipping it on, you then pulled out the last needed item.

The Ghostface mask. And the same blade Tate used on you.

Slipping it over your hair and face, you started walking away as quiet as you could. Then, you tucked the knife to your belt inside the gown. If Tate heard running, he would open his eyes too soon. You disappeared in the bustle of trees across the cemetery before stepping behind the church. Smiling wickedly, you pulled out your cellphone.

Tate was growing impatient. He listened to your footsteps carefully, trying to figure out where you were before they disappeared entirely. Seconds passed, he felt alone. Despite your warnings, Tate opened his eyes and sat up.

You were gone.

Panic set in and he jumped to his feet. What if something was wrong? His breathing grew heavier as he jogged through the area, desperately searching for any signs of you. “Y/n!” He called out but no answer came.

“Fuck. Fucking shit.” He ran his fingers through his mused hair and stepped forward in the direction of the church, but his cellphone started ringing.

Tate frowned and looked at his pocket. Only one person knew of his number. Maybe you needed help. He dug it out of the material and pressed it to his ear.

“Y/n, are you okay? Where are you?”

“Hello, Tate Langdon.” He froze and his eyes widened. The voice on the other end.

Was Ghostface. The very same alteration he used in 1994. The same he used to call Y/N.

He opened and closed his mouth, unable to come up with a response. It was all a trick. It was Y/N. But…how did she sneak it past him?

“Don’t you know it’s bad manners not to respond to a greeting?” Ghostface prodded and Tate cleared his throat.

“Hey. Y/N, is that what you were planning? Where are you?”

“Tate, you’ve been such a bad boy. Dreaming about your girlfriend killing someone.” He huffed out an embarrassed breath and scanned the area around him.

“This-this isn’t funny, asshole.” He muttered under his breath.

“Oh, I’d be careful about calling me names, Tate. You wouldn’t want me to slit that pretty neck of yours, would you?” Ghostface leered. Tate chuckled and started moving towards the trees.

“That wouldn’t matter. I’m already dead.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be punished, Tate. For all the things you did to those poor, innocent people.”

“Innocent?” He parroted.

“Yes. In fact, I wonder if movies influenced you. Movies can be a powerful inspiration. Tell me…what’s your favorite scary movie?” Tate squatted down, trying to see evidence of your boot prints but he didn’t see anything.

“Do you really have to go through the whole speech? I asked too many questions.” He said to himself.

“Is that a refusal to my question? Mmm, Tate. You just can’t listen, can you?” Ghostface teased and he sighed with frustration.

“Where are you?”

“Aw, you look so pretty when you’re desperate.” He looked around, realizing you must be close by, able to see his expression. Instead of answering, he crept closer to the church.

“What happens if I find you?” He asked, excitedly looking for you.

“Then, you get to make me cum. Just like you want.” Tate groaned and quickly looked behind the building.

No one was there.

He went to speak before a hand gripped his hair, yanking him back and a sharp blade pressed against his neck. He gasped.

“You didn’t think it be that easy, did you?” Y/N said, her voice still altered. Tate wanted desperately to turn around and pound her on the ground but the knife nicked his skin.

Blood trickled down and the hand that gripped his hair, traveled down his face, to his throat. Her finger collected the plasma and smeared it across his lips.

“Please, Christ I can’t take it anymore. Please, let me fuck you. I’m begging you, please y/n.” Tate pleaded. Y/N turned him around.

He stared down at her, her gown hung on her body. The mask was secure and she aimed the knife at his chest. “Sorry, I just wanted to hear you scream.”

“Get on your back.” You commanded. Tate fell to the ground, landing underneath you and you smiled behind the mask. Finally, he was listening. With your free hand, you unbutton his jeans and yanked them down.

You lifted his shirt up, exposing his v line and the thin patch of hair. His dick was hard and prominent through his boxers. A wet patch of precum staining it. You shook your head, taking the blade and lightly tracing it across his skin.

Tate inhaled sharply and bucked his hips. Humping the air as you played with the knife. His hand lifted and you smacked his crotch with the handle. He stilled, panting as you peeled off the mask. You set the blade down, hooking your fingers around his waistband and then you pulled it down his legs.

His cock hung heavy, thick and red at the tip. “So needy, baby.” Your voice was back to normal. You lowered yourself on your stomach, wrapping your hand around his dick before licking a single stripe along the vein.

Tate whimpered with a high pitch whine as his hand flew to your hair. Allowing the grip, you pulled the tip to your lips and started sucking gently. His fingers pulled your hair, hard enough to hurt but you massaged his cock with your hand as you bobbed your head up and down.

He was a mess, moaning and shaking as you gave him head. “I’m gonna-I’m gonna cum.” He grunted. His climax rushed through, gushing out of your mouth as you helped him ride out his orgasm.

You pulled back, your lipstick smeared and you wiped your chin with the back of your hand. Before you had a chance to breathe, Tate flipped you over, immediately smashing his lips to yours. As he shoved his tongue in your mouth, hungrily kissing you, his hand frantically felt your torso. You kissed him back feverishly, pulling his hair as he sank his teeth into your lower lip.

You mewled as he ripped himself away and then sloppily kissing your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “You’re mine, all fucking mine.” He pleaded like a prayer as he rocked his hips against yours, his hardening dick against you.

As submissive as he was, Tate could also fuck you like it was his last time ever doing so. You were lost in the growing pleasure as he brushed his tongue against your sweet spot. He fumbled to pull your leggings down and underwear down, any coordination gone as he shoved himself down. You wanted to resist, regain control but he pried your legs apart.

“Tate-“ You started but he shook his head. He opened his mouth, laid his tongue flat against your pussy as he started lapping away at your clit.

“No, no, don’t tell me to stop. I need this, mommy.” He moaned against your cunt as he circled his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to withhold your sounds but he grazed your pussy with his teeth. “No, I want to hear how good this feels.” Tate dug his fingernails into your thighs to keep you still, dragging them painfully but deliciously down. You felt the hilt of the knife against your entrance and you looked down. Tate’s eyes were black as he effortlessly slipped the handle inside you. The foreign feeling pumped in and out as his mouth worked your swollen pussy. You weren’t going to last much longer as he increased the speed.

A overpowering wave of pleasure exploded and you couldn’t make any noise as you trembled. Tate finally pulled back and removed the handle from you. He crawled up, cupping your chin before he kissed you. Forcing you to taste your own cum.

“I need to fuck you,” He moaned against your lips as he shuffled clumsily to line himself up with your cunt.

He nipped your lip too hard, blood pooled from the small wound and he repeated your earlier actions. Smudging your mouth with blood as he bottomed you out. “Fuck.” He growled. “You look so hot with blood on your skin.”

You arms wrapped around his shoulders as he thrusted, deep inside you, hard enough to hit your cervix but you loved the pain. His movements were growing sloppy. “Don’t cum until I say, Tate. Or else I’ll have to punish you again.”

But he couldn’t listen, his speed thudded inside you and you felt him spill inside you, he squeezed his eyes shut from the orgasm as he came to a stop. He ripped them back open in fear as he understood his mistake. “I’m sorry-you just felt so good-“ He pleaded but you wouldn’t have it.

You pushed him off, forcing him on his stomach as you straddled his back. His bare pelvis pressed against the ground as you trailed your fingers down his skin.

“Now, you’re really going to scream.”

Taglist. @howtobesasha @scene-and-dandylover @evanptrss @randodummy @icannot3 @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @alittlesil @fuckedbykai @hyperharlz

#personal #evan peters #evan peters imagine #american horror story #evan peters fanfiction #tate langdon #evan peters x reader #ahs #kit walker #ahs fanfic #tate langdon fanfic #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon smut #tate langdon angst #tate langdon imagine #evan peters fanfic #evan peters angst #evan peters x you #evan peters x y/n #evan peters smut #evan peters characters #Halloween #ahs murder house #american horror story smut #american horror story imagine

[slutforsnow]

His Sunflower

Chapter 4 :3

CW/TW: murder talk

As the next 3 months went by, they were semi-peaceful. Sunni was happy, floating between her friend groups/study sessions and painting in her free time. When Sunni wasn't around Festus, Arachne, and Clemensia or Sejanus and Coriolanus, she'd be painting in her room or the empty art classroom after school.

Coryo and Sej were constantly following Sunni when she announced she was going with the girls, which almost always included Festus. They'd pretend they were doing school work for photography, when in all actuality, they were taking pictures of the 4 together to make sure Festus or the girls weren't getting handsy. It was unlikely for Arachne or Clemensia, but the duo had a feeling they two girls had something going on. If they were caught, which only happened twice, they claimed it was part of a club or taking photos for the art classes to use as references.

On the morning of 4th week's Sunday, Sejanus and Coryo agreed that it was time to tell Sunni why she shouldn't be sound the other 3.

"Morning, Sej!" Sunni greeted, sliding down the railing that led into the foyer as Sejanus trudged his tired body to the kitchen.

"Mornin', Sunni," He greeted with a yawn and stretching. "Listen, we gotta talk."

"About what?" She asked, grabbing a bowl of fruit from the marble and gold lined countertop. She grabbed herself a plate and began to add some waffles to it.

"About your... friendship... with Festus Creed," He told her, grabbing a plateful of pancakes that the Avoxes had made. Sunni giggled as she poured syrup on her waffles.

"I think you mean relationship." Sejanus almost choked on his pancake from how hard he had coughed. Her what now?

"Your... what?!"

"I'm dating Festus!" She exclaimed, beaming up at Sejanus before grabbing a fork and beginning to dive into her breakfast.

Sejanus had never been more horrified in his life. His cousin is dating FESTUS??? He'd rather her date his best friend over Festus.

"Tell me you're joking."

"Nope! He asked me out a few days ago; he asked me not to tell you or Cori—oh by the way, I gave Snow a new nickname! Better than calling him Coriolanus, ya know?" She began to ramble, and Sejanus felt like he was going to explode. He was going to wring Festus' neck like a wet rag.

"She's WHAT?!" Coriolanus yelled before Sejanus cover his friend's mouth.

"Shut up!!" He hissed, looking around to make sure no one heard him

"Sorry, but she's dating Festus?! The dirtbag player?!" He asked, lowering his voice.

"Yes, unfortunately! I'm gonna wring his neck out-" Sejanus began before taking a deep breath to calm himself down. No one needed to hear his murderous thoughts yet.

"I'm getting the shovel," Coryo stated, standing before his icy stare landed on the couple. Sunni was giggling and laughing as Festus was pressing kisses all over her face. Jealousy shot through Coryo's body like caffeine. He was going to kill him.

"As much as I want you to, no. We can't go to jail," Sejanus replied, pulling Coriolanus down again to sit.

"Jail will be fine-"

"Bail fees. Remember what happened last time you went to jail?" Sejanus inquired.

"Shit. Well, what do we do then? Wait it out?" He asked, hoping Sej would have a plan.

"Double down on our... protective measures. But we can't do much without the possibility of Sunni catching on."

"Wait, isn't Clemmie hosting a party next week? To celebrate the end of mid-terms?" Coryo asked, getting an idea.

"Yeah, why? You got an idea to expose them for the phonies they are?"

"Yeah, it'll take a bit to put in motion, though. And before you ask, no, there's no murder. That's plan C."

"What's plan B?"

"Your idea."

"What idea?"

"Whatever idea you think of during midterms."

Tags: @etfrin @hearts4court @snows-wife @delusionalbunni @kiraflowersworld @victory-scream0462 @curled-hair-red-lips @morallygrayboys @phoward89 @xoxo-eyeballs @thereeallink @graciouslyc @acidaciruela @wanda-maximoff-enthusiast @firstworldproblemthings @nowitsmissing

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus smut #coryo snow #coryo smut #coryo x reader #coryolanus snow #coryo x you #coryo #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x you #corio x oc #corio x reader #sejanus deserved better #sejanus plinth #sejanus my beloved #the ballad of songbirds and snakes smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas x reader #tbsosas #tbosbas #tbosas memes #tbosas #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader

[deadvnstudios]

hellooooo fools paradise team:3c i am STILL stuck on the valentines day post LOL & so im curious: what would the romanceables valentines day plans with the MC be? or similarly/alternatively what would their ideal date be in general? 

“Darling, it’s already nine! While I adore your resting face, I’d prefer to be the very first thing your bright eyes happen upon this special morning.”

Ever the romantic, Mona takes Valentine’s to its extreme. Before you’ve even awoken, she’s already matched your outfits for the day, intent for there to be splashes of pink, white, and red adorning you both from head to toe. Breakfast in bed is a must, and though you fear for your tastebuds - she follows the recipe. Flowers, chocolates, cards, gifts - anything you can imagine awaits you once you finally rise from your cell of slumber. After all, this is your perfect day and Mona’s already planned dinner and a murder party for you to solve together as you dine. In the evening, after you’ve had your fill, you’ll attend a couple’s painting class. Though she could instruct herself, she follows protocol, delighting in the shared drinks you two split and the paint spills you mark each other with.

“Oh…this? I painted it because it’s your favorite animal…right?”

Starting with a nice long walk around the park with his partner is an ideal start for Noel. Valentine’s isn’t about grand gestures, or trying to outdo one another. It’s about remembering the pleasure of each other’s comfort that tethered you two to begin with. However, something handmade from him to you isn’t off the table. The day will pass without hurry, the two of you spending hours at a local craft cafe, sampling treats and putting together trinkets for one another. When your crafts come to a close, you’ll pack up and pick-up some takeout that you’ll share while cuddling on the couch back home.

“Holy shit…my retinas are burning just looking at it. It’s perfect.”

Valentine’s, being a commercial holiday, is nothing more than an obvious capitalist scheme to Mary. So, why not indulge in the shopping fever to win over each other’s favor? Mary corrals you into an hour long shopping spree to start, the two of you picking out gifts secretly to surprise each other with later in the evening. Along the way, she’ll demand a fashion show…or a few, the two of you parading down the aisles in glitzy and gaudy outfits meant to shock any who pass your path. When the two of you are eventually kicked out, the two of you will rush home to find that Mary has planned an indoor picnic just for you. The rest of the night passes quickly as you feed each other treats, and take turns thinking about what kind of future you’d like to build together.

“Woah…almost feels like they based that riddle on us! Isn’t that strange?”

Vein + Valentine’s = flirtatious fun! There’s no better way to prove the strength of your relationship than putting it to the test in an Escape Room challenge Vein booked for the two of you. Expecting the space cowboy theme to come to a natural conclusion, you’re surprised that some of the clues needed to find the final prize involve riddles centered around your relationship and inside jokes. Though you press Vein, her lips are sealed. That is, until you find the final prize: a commissioned portrait of the two of you in your favorite game. To celebrate your victory thereafter, Vein takes you to her favorite local pizza joint. After all, you’ll need the energy for the arcade tonight. It’ll be an all out race to see who can win the grandest prize for the other.

“C’mon, sway with me.”

Valentine’s is guaranteed to be a late start for the two of you - and quite honestly you’d be lucky if Tempest opened his eyes before noon. But whenever he should manage to rise and conquer the day, Tempest is determined take you to a concert of your favorite artist that night. But if the date line-up isn’t in the cards, you can be damn sure he aims to surprise you good with the tickets at the dinner table. The dinner itself is relaxed, dim lit with a band in the back where you two can shoot the can. But when you’ve both had enough, you’ll stroll around the city, touring your favorite haunts, ending up at a pub at the end of the night, tipsy dancing to the songs playing through the speaker as you play pool and darts.

“Must we leave our sheets with such haste? I am but the moon, unready to separate from the sun who warms it.”

The virtues of Valentine’s are not lost on Sorin, nor the reason the holiday itself was created. But Sorin doesn’t yield to the standard expectations of the consumerism. There isn’t any need for showiness, time spent in your company is satisfying enough. The day will be spent indoor with activities Sorin has already prepared for the two of you. Cooking together, dancing to your shared songs, and cracking open a candle painting kit are just snippets of all they have planned for the two of you. The night ends, however, with the most elaborate surprise of all — a scavenger hunt, You search the halls of your hall, following the train of notes left by your love. When you finally reach the end, you happen upon a box filled to the brim with poems and other writings Sorin has penned to you.

#fool's paradise #indie games #visual novel #indie game #vn #tempest #vein #mona #noel #sorin #mary

[stray-cat-21]

9. “I don’t know she always calls me dude I don’t think she’s interested in me like that.” “[character] dude come on I’m sure she likes you how could she not- oh.”

for eddie munson x reader omg!! why does this fit perfectly for him tho 😭😭🙏🙏

For @honeeybeezzz and @cryuki-patootie I hope you both like it ❤️‍🔥

*spoiler free completely uncannon canon can’t hurt you here*

“You have one shot, one chance to take him down how do you proceed princess?”

“I creep into his layer raise my poisoned blade and drag it all the way down his fat gut.”

Eddie grinned gesturing for me to roll and take my shot at his latest campaign’s biggest villain. I look around at my team earning a semi confident nod from Gareth and Jeff and thumbs up from the younger boys. Taking a deep breath I lift the die shaking it in my palm. After two months it all lead up to this very moment. Most of my team was already down already slaughtered.

Gareth and I were the last two standing left to face the vile Orcus all by ourselves. He was one of our largest foes yet tearing through our party ten times worse than the demogorgon had in the last campaign. His bloated body towered over us with ram like horns and large wings. Although his character miniature was so small he was the biggest threat we had yet to take on. Eddie the Brave our dungeon master never did like to take it easy on us.

Fighting the urge the squeeze my eyes shut I drop the die to the table watching it bounce once, twice, even thrice. With each bounce it seemed to move in slow motion taunting us. Everyone leaned over the table watching the little numbers move breath hitched, fingers crossed feet tapping. Finally the red splattered white die lands solidly on the table. The number four stares back at us and I could almost hear Orcus’s laugh echoing in my head.

The group howls and cries fists hitting tables chairs flying back. My jaw drops open in defeat, (dnd character name) was done for. Yet another one of my characters lost to Eddie Munson’s relentless campaigns. We had lost, beaten by the evil Lord of the Undead. Eddie leaned forward his most mischievous grin painted on his lips.

“Just before your blade can touch his stomach Orcus’s eyes shoot open his hand flying out to grab your wrist. You struggle but your weapon clatters to the ground. Orcus rises towering over your shaking form. The blood lord reaches behind him pulling out the Wand of Orcus. ‘I will be the last creature when I am done. The cosmos will then be perfect, free of the braying abominations that are all other living things.’ He gloats before pressing the wand to your throat.” Eddie practically beams grinning ear to ear.

“Son of a bitch!” Dustin curses tossing his character sheet to the ground. I let out a disappointed huff slumping in my chair. “Well you guys gave it your all unfortunately for you my little sheep it wasn’t enough.” Eddie sighed. I rolled my eyes tossing a chip from the bag at his head. He just chuckled popping the snack into his mouth.

Everyone began cleaning up gathering their character sheets ready to reevaluate and replan for when we try again. Despite the loss everyone is buzzing with adrenaline from such an intense night. I listened to the youngest boys talking about their new strategies while Jeff and Gareth talked to Eddie. I took a moment staring at the papers of my now dead newest character. The character had given me high hopes with her higher stealth points I thought for sure my plan would have worked.

“Shit Eddie it’s too bad you’re not as good at talking to girls as you are at killing our characters you wouldn’t have a problem getting her to like you back.” I heard Gareth chuckle quietly. Eddie quickly responded by elbowing his good friend in the ribs. My ears perked up at his words. Eddie Munson the freak of Hawkins having a crush? One he didn’t tell his very best friend about.

The information almost made my heart hurt more than getting murdered by Orcus. My crush would just have to remain unrequited. For now I just let it go unknown I had overheard anything returning my focus to Mike’s explanation. “So basically your new character is gonna be based on El?” Dustin questioned a teasing tone to his voice. “Come on man think about it who better than to kick some demon ass!” Mike exclaimed.

“Alright sweetheart you ready to go?” Eddie smiled at me shrugging his leather jacket over his arms. “Yeah dude let’s go.” I say pushing my own jacket on top my Hellfire shirt. The two of us made our way up from the Wheeler basement nodding a quick goodbye to Karen and Holly. Eddie reached his van before I did opening the passenger side for me. “Your chariot m’lady.” He beamed with his Cheshire grin.

With a roll of my eyes I climbed into the van quickly followed by Eddie. “Want me to bring you home or you wanna hang at my place for a bit?” He asked lighting up a cigarette and placing it between his lips. Despite it being a nasty habit it always drew my attention to just how soft and plump his pink lips were. I often caught myself daydreaming about how they’d feel against my own. “Your place sounds great.” I smiled turning up the volume on his radio.

Most of the ride was spent jamming to his metal mixtape and head banging as well as someone can inside a van. Everything was peaceful and carefree not a worry in the world except whether or not Hopper would pull us over for speeding. We came to the very last red light before the road for the trailer park and Eddie turned the music down enough to be heard. “It’s night like these that show me you that we were meant to be best friends.” He smiled his boyish happy smile. “Forever Eddie.” I beamed taking his hand in my own.

🎸❤️‍🔥🎸❤️‍🔥🎸❤️‍🔥🎸❤️‍🔥🎸❤️‍🔥🎸❤️‍🔥🎸❤️‍🔥🎸❤️‍🔥🎸❤️‍🔥

Eddie sat leaned against the headboard tuning and strumming on his guitar while I sat across from him. I couldn’t help but watch the intricate delicacy of his fingers movements across the strings. He had a focused yet relaxed look to him from the comfort of his guitar. A joint lazily sat in his ash tray near by that occasional hits could be taken from. It was just like every other time we’d hang out. Except this time I had a question I needed an answer to.

“Hey Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“Is it true you have a crush on someone?”

Eddie tensed up at the question halting his music his fingers stilling against the cords. I took a deep breath attempting to brace myself for his upcoming answer. He seemed to ponder for a minute about whether or not he would give me the truth his eyes not meeting my own. He cleared his throat leaning his guitar against the wall and picking up the joint. It seemed as if I was completely frozen in time waiting to find out if the man I had been in love with had feelings for someone else.

“Uh yeah actually I do, have for a while now.”

“No shit? And you didn’t tell me! Who is it?”

“Don’t worry about it sweetheart nothins gonna come from it anyways.”

“Uh uh if Gareth gets to know I wanna know you’re my best friend Eds we tell each other every thing.”

“Alright well she’s gorgeous first off all like the kind of pretty they makes you get caught staring at her. And she’s funny like really funny but also has a bad enough sense of humor to laugh at even my dumbest jokes. And her laugh well it makes me never want to stop talking if she’ll keep laughing and looking at me with that smile.”

My heart burned at his description love falling from every word he spoke. My Eddie didn’t just have a crush he was in love with someone. The kind of in love that the cynical non conformist man used to make fun of. I busied myself with picking at a piece of string on my jeans urging the tears to stay put. “So why don’t you ask her out?” I asked swallowing to avoid my voice breaking.

“I don’t know she always calls me dude I don’t think she’s interested in me like that.”

This made my hurt break even more than it already was. As sad as it would make me to see him end up with someone else at least I knew he’d be happy. He didn’t deserve to sit here and fill his own heads with thoughts about not being good enough. I moved myself so I sat right next to him leaned against his shoulder. He rested his head against my own and I swear I could hear his heart pounding.

“Eddie dude come on don’t be ridiculous I’m sure she likes you how could she not I mean- oh.”

As the words spilled from my mouth it gave my brain a moment to catch up. There was only one person who always called Eddie dude. Me. It had started on accident when I got really nervous around him and accidentally called him babe. Even though he had definitely heard me he pretended he didn’t allowing me to lie and say I had said dude.

I felt Eddie stiffen above me shifting his weight a little. My heart was racing now going quicker than I could keep up with. “Eddie I always call you dude.” I whisper. I wasn’t sure why my voice got so quiet whether it was from nerves or if I was scared to be wrong. Eddie let out a nervous chuckle letting his ring covered hand to grab my own. His calloused fingers soothed over my knuckles and he held my hand a little tighter.

“Yeah you do. Truth is I think I’ve been falling in love with you since our first Hellfire campaign together. You were having so much fun and you absolutely fucked up my villains. Or when you surprised me by going to that Corroded Coffin show and you showed up completely decked out for a metal show. You didn’t care who stared but you danced along to every song and even head banged. And when I caught up with you after and you showed me the Corroded Coffin shirt? I remember turning to Gareth that night and telling him that I wanted to marry you someday.”

“Why did you never tell me?”

“I was terrified (Y/n) you’re my best friend you helped me finally make it through my senior year what if I told you and you didn’t feel the same? I’d like to say I could be a big person about it and go back to being your hot best friend and dungeon master but truth be told I couldn’t. I would rather have lived my life being hopelessly in love with you and you never knowing than ever even thought of you not being in my life.”

“For me the first time was when you stood up to Jason for me. I’ve never seen someone recover from a punch so fast. When I knew for sure was when we went to go see Nightmare on Elm Street. As much as I loved that movie it did freak me out a little but for every jump scare scare you wrapped an arm around me and held me closer. I knew then and there that nothing bad could happen if we were together and I wanted to feel that kind of safe for the rest of my life.”

Eddie and I separated our eyes meeting again. It seemed like he was searching for any sign of me lying or making fun of him. This poor boy had a hard time believing that he could truly have anything good. I did the only thing I could think that would show him. I leaned forward pressing my lips to his and from the moment they connected it felt like fireworks in my chest. After a second of shock he was kissing me back.

His other hand moved to cup my face pulling me closer. His lips moved against mine beating every single one of fantasies about this very moment. He tasted a bit like weed and the Yoo-hoo he had been drinking but it was my new favorite flavor. The kiss broke because he started smiling his wide grin against my lips. “Sorry I couldn’t help it you can’t believe how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He whispered pulling back enough to look me in the eye.

“I think I have a small idea.” I giggled. “So uh does this mean I can take you out on Saturday?” He asked still blushing nervously. “I would love that Eddie.” I beamed my chest feeling warm. Eddie’s eyes lit up for a moment and his smile mischievous. “Okay hopefully this doesn’t change your mind but I have to do something!” He exclaimed running out of the room.

Confused I quirked an eyebrow moving to the doorway. I could see Eddie on the phone in his living room waiting for whoever was on the other end. His leg bounced excitedly. I wondered who he could possibly calling in this moment. I mean his uncle was at work and most his friends were asleep.

“Gareth man listen (Y/n) and I just fucking kissed! I know! Hellfire has a new queen boys.”

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie stranger things

[chopper-witch]

Ritual 777 - Chapter 1: How I Get Myself Killed

Eddie Muson x female!reader; Jennifer’s Body!AU

Minors DNI. I will find and tell your parents or guardians.

Story title inspired by Ritual 777 by Temple Twins

Chapter title inspired by How I Get Myself Killed by Indigo De Souza

I will have a full playlist soon

WC: 3,500+

Warnings: underage alcohol consumption, drugging of drinks, sexual assault, literal usage of human sacrifice, no actual murder but there will be actual murder later; if you shouldn’t be watching HBO’s most popular shows you shouldn’t be reading my work. Like seriously. 

This is like the only time I will use (y/n) I am so sorry.

A/N: This chapter has no Eddie in it at all, but it sets up the whole how did reader become tied to a demon thing. It deviates from Jennifer’s Body in several ways but it fits better to later plans. Also, I know some of the details are inaccurate concerning lining up with season 1 but frankly, I don’t care lmfao. Finally, I have like,,, mad bad dyslexia so please forgive all mistakes I put this through grammarly and like regular spell check and did all the other techniques I was taught. I can speak well, I cannot write for shit.

Masterlist

October 31, 1983

There is something about small towns in the middle of nearly nowhere and Halloween that mix just right. Every small town has its own verified monster, according to every citizen who lives there, and Halloween just brings something evil out of the ground that normally just lurks. 

Some small towns refuse to participate. Too worried about that evil that lurks. 

Others, it seems, openly invite it to dance. 

Hawkins is definitely the latter.

Cherie, a friend since elementary who has a penchant for skirts that tend to get her sent to the principal's office and eyes so dark you’ve heard others wonder if she’s got something evil residing in her, slides an invitation on your desk. 

Halloween Party at Tommy’s, apparently.

“It’s a Monday.” You toss the invitation back to her. “Should we really be going to a party?” 

“Hell yeah. It’s Halloween. Come on.”

Behind her sits Ailise, not a hair out of place in her perfectly kept twists, as usual, popping her gum with wide eyes, awaiting your response.

“Alright, alright.” You shake your head. “Fine. You’ve convinced me.” 

Cherie finally slides into her seat right as the bell rings but continues to speak as Mr. Jones begins asking for the weekend’s history homework.

“Yay! I’ll drive there, but there are like… no promises about driving back.”

“Yeah. I know.” You snatch her homework from her to send over to the left as always, and she rolls her eyes. How she stays in the honors classes is a miracle. “I know how parties work when we go together, Cher.”

“Pick you up at ten then.” 

—

10 always means 10:30.

Always.

So you’re leaning against your front door, black jeans on, white v-neck with red dye dripped down the front, waiting for her. Nails have been painted black and red lipstick has been added as a little flourish. 

Because vampires are always in style.

The familiar black Mustang that her brother restored for her after someone crashed it into a tree last year rolls up, blasting music far too loud for 10:30.

Cherie rolls down her window to her car and leans her head out. “Boo. That’s such a lame costume.”

“Vampires are never lame,” you insist, climbing into the car. “You’re just jealous. I look good in blood red, and you have to wear basically underwear.”

Cherie looks to Ailise for back up but she just shrugs. 

“And turn it down. My neighbors will be on my ass again. You know it’s mostly old people here.” 

“Yeah, yeah. We’re leaving.”

For a small town, Hawkins has some of the largest parties, you’re convinced. Maybe it’s just a small town thing. When sent off to live with visiting a cousin in a Chicago suburb a few summers ago, the parties were large but not… Hawkins’ large. You suppose it’s because everyone holds them instead of just the few who actually can. People are spread out over ten or twenty instead of all gathered at the one or two that are happening. 

Someone shoves a drink in your hand the second you cross into the house and you chug it without thought. Better to be drunk than sober at parties you learned long ago. 

Cherie and Ailise are already gone in the crowd within seconds. 

You follow the complaints about drinks to the kitchen, snatching an open bottle of vodka and filling the cup almost entirely. 

Better drunk. Always better drunk.

The parties are all the same anyways. Someone cheats on someone. Someone is hooking up with someone else in the bathroom, the bedrooms, or the forest most of these houses have behind them. Two to five people are bound to get into a physical fight at some point. 

Cherie will pass out on the couch. Ailise will probably walk home.

Some other junior saddles up next to you after a few minutes alone just drinking, some boy you vaguely know from a class last year, eyes trailing from your exposed ankles to the necklace dangling between your tits. 

“No.”

And you walk out of the kitchen, deciding to wander through the crowd. 

Steve Harrington, who hates you for some unknown reason, is dancing like a jackass with some poor sophomore who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. He probably hates you because you let him fail on his half of a partner project instead of picking up the slack. Not your fault, really. You warned him. And given that normally you don’t follow through on such threats, he didn’t believe you. 

But for the first time in his life, someone let him fail. 

As you move into another room, you trip. The vodka that you haven’t had yet goes spilling down your shirt, turning the white shirt with red splotches entirely sheer. You aren’t a complete idiot, however, and it only ends up exposing the red bra you put on underneath, which doesn’t show through very much when it’s beneath sheer dyed red. 

You move on. Somebody has to have some stupid party game set up somewhere. Something to do. It’s Halloween, after all. 

The next room is boring. More dancing, making out, and a game of spin the fucking bottle. 

Jesus Christ. 

You trip again, but this time you can’t blame it on those dang strips of wood some houses have between rooms. Your eyes look down to find what the hell you could have possibly tripped on only to find your shoes doubling and blurring. 

Strange.

When you look up, the heads of people begin tilting towards the right. Slowly but surely tilting. Your body follows. 

Tilting, tilting, tilting…

Until you finally fall over. 

A pair of arms catch you, strong and steady. A sharp contrast to the current cartwheels your head is deciding to do.

“You feeling okay there, madame president?” 

Your eyes narrow to focus. But that voice… you know that voice. The senior who you’ve been sent to tutor for the test he has this Friday. Otherwise, he may fail out of school entirely despite it being only October. And a star athlete can’t be failing.

“Chase?” 

“Yeah. You don’t look so good. You want to go get some air?” 

“I should go find Cherie or - or Ailise. Tell… tell her…” 

“Someone will let her know, yeah? Come on. Looks like you’re gonna be sick. The cold will help."

He hooks an arm around you and helps move you through the crowd of blurring colors. One person bleeds into another, costumes becoming nothing more than an abstraction of their original shapes. 

Sexy zombies are Picasso's of brown and green; people’s faces becoming a surrealist’s wet dream as you near; the whole world spinning and twisting enough to make even Natalia Yurchenko sick.

A sharp wall of cold air burns your face as you finally make it out into the cold of an Indiana Halloween. Nothing gets clearer, but everything definitely gets colder. 

Instead of stopping at the seats you know are set up in front of the fire someone started in the backyard, Chase keeps dragging you towards the tree line. 

“Where are you taking me?” You ask through heavy lips, trying to turn your head back towards the party. But it’s growing dark and no longer are there shapes, just swirls of colors.

Your vision just jumped from Picasso’s Les femmes d’Alger to Benglis’s Baby Contraband.

Figured you’d at least have some more surrealism or another form of vaguely human abstraction before it became entire blobs of nonsense. But whatever hit your system hit it fast. Even the moon, a beautiful crescent, is nothing more than a giant blurry white blob hidden behind just as blurry scrawls of black.

“Don’t worry about it, madame president.”

You try to tell him something, something about wanting to be near the fire, by people, but all your lips do is open and close a few times like a damn goldfish. 

“Her?” A second voice asks through the ever-growing buzzing in your head. 

The crunching of leaves begins to grow distant, miles and miles away. Everything just seems so… so far. Like you are on the moon or maybe even Mars. 

Chase has begun dragging you, your legs turned as heavy as lead but as weak as jelly. 

You expect him to complain, joke about you being careful, but he doesn’t. He just keeps his grip on you tight and drags you through the forest.

“Dude, it’s not like anyone is going to miss her,” a third voice replies.

The top of your feet hit a root, a stretch shooting up the front of your legs. A gasp leaves your lips but it seems not to bother Chase and whoever else is with you. 

“Isn’t she like student body president or whatever? People will notice.” Voice two.

“People won’t miss her though. No one even notices her most of the time and those who do are just annoyed. They voted for her to get her to shut up.” Voice three.

“I know I did.” Chase. 

A barely audible scream rips from your throat before you even feel the electric burning up your spine and through your toes or the crack of your skull. 

The sky clears a little. It’s still hazy, but the moon is a blurry crescent instead of just an out-of-focus light through a raindrop; the tree branches have some shape instead of all blending into each other; you can tell there are indeed four boys hovering over you. 

“Sacrifice needs to be alive, dick.” A fourth voice.

Sacrifice? 

Oh, fuck.

You thrash, the edges of the rock cruelly digging into your spine. While it would leave you terrified and scarred, you know you could crawl to that recluse and drunk of a police chief and explain what happened and something might happen to this group of dickheads if you get raped in these woods. 

There will be no your side if you get fucking murdered.

Your body just twitches, however, and nothing more than a whimper leaves your lips. Limbs too heavy, face too numb.

“Shut her up and tie her down.” Chase.

Something is shoved into your already slightly gaped open mouth. Cottony, salty. 

Hopefully not someone’s sock. Or underwear.

Just work to identify the voices. If you get out, you can identify them in court. Focus.

“Are we sure about this?” Voice two.

“We do this and it doesn’t work, someone who no one will even miss is gone. We do this and it works, we’re into our top choices with early admission, and full rides, we get it all boys. Come on.” Chase.

“Plus how easy will this be to blame on one of those freaks. Demonic sacrifice on Halloween?” Voice three.

“Are we sure about her though? What if she isn’t a virgin?” Voice two.

Virgin? No, you definitely aren’t one. But they don’t know that and there is no way to communicate that while gagged and drugged.

“Have you met her?” Voice four.

Sounds like they wouldn’t believe you anyway.

“Dude, just tie her down.” Chase.

One of them kneels by you, rope scratching against your right wrist first. It stings, burns, but you can’t even wince as your body refuses to react at all to anything. The best you can do is roll your head to where the body is beside you, making quick work of yanking your arms above your head to finish off tying them together. 

Your eyes catch those of Greg, someone whose mom begged you to help him over the summer, as his face nears yours. Voice two you assume. He looks hesitant and you try to hold the gaze, beg him, but he looks away and focuses on finishing off the knots. Your head lolls back towards the sky.

Chase. Greg. 

Which means voices three and four are probably Devin and Seth.

Who you assume must be Greg tries to pull your arms apart at the wrist as hard as he can. Another scream bubbles at your throat, rock clawing into your back and rope rubbing your skin raw as he does so. 

Once again, nothing more than a moan comes out and it is muffled by the gag.

“All tied down.” Greg.

Ripping reaches your ears, ever so softly, through the growing haze you are falling back into. Shivers run along your front. It takes a few seconds, until after one of them has reached to grope your chest, to realize that your shirt and bra have been hacked off from the front.

Hands tied, body drugged, mind hazy. 

All you can do is try to roll your head to see what they are trying to do. 

But the world is becoming like that really shitty polaroid Cherie gave you of her eye, far too close and completely indistinguishable, all over again.

“Cute tits.” Voice four.

“Virgin, Seth.” Voice three.

The hand is withdrawn.

Not that it matters, considering how little you can feel.

Chase. Greg. Seth.

Definitely Devin too.

The four star-athletes on the verge of failing out of Hawkins.

“Alright, here we go.” Chase. “We come here tonight to sacrifice the body of (y/n), of Hawkins, Indiana. In return we ask for our desires to be returned in full - early admission into our choice colleges with full scholarships, perfect grades this final year of high school, for us to find and keep the loves of our lives, and to have rich and successful lives. With the deepest malice and most gracious thanks, we offer this virgin to thee.”

What? They’re sacrificing you to… to do well in school?

Dear god what the fuck.

There is a pause and the sound of leather rubbing against metal can be faintly heard. A knife, dagger, something sharp.

“Alright, how many times do I stab her again?” Chase.

“It says stab her seven times.” Seth.

“Seven times? Not six?” Chase.

“It says seven.” Devin.

“Seven deadly sins, seven kings, seven heads of the whore of a Babylon… seven makes sense.” Greg. “What? Revelation 17, one through eighteen. You know?” 

“Oh, watch out boys, we got a biblical scholar over here.” Devin.

They laugh. 

The four of the laugh as if they haven’t got you tied down to a rock, shirt torn open, god knows what shoved into your mouth, knife or whatever hovering over you.

As if they aren’t just about to murder a fellow student to try and make it big. 

“Alright.” Chase. “I would say sorry but you’re about to make me very rich.” 

It goes through so far that the blade clinks against the stone below you. 

Heat like lava flows from your abdomen and cascades over you.

When did blood become this hot? It’s never felt this hot before. Never like fire leaving trails of desecration on your skin. Never like the devil choosing to dance on your skin in the cold of night, feet leaving a pattern of burns.

Never like burning alive.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

Somewhere else. Anywhere else. What else is there to focus on?

The moon? No. All you can see is one large white blur taking up nearly the entire sky. 

The night noises? No. It seems all the critters scattered as soon as they realized what was going to happen. 

The party in the distance? No. It’s like everyone left when you did. 

All that’s left is you, the rock beneath you, the dagger they’ve now stabbed through you three times with, and the four boys who thought killing a fellow student was a genius idea.

Maybe Cherie and Ailise would at least miss you. That would be nice. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” 

It repeats over and over and over in your head with each stab, the unfamiliar voice soothing you and distracting you from the pain. An angel, you suppose, if they really do exist. Or just a final hallucination to get you through the horror of death.

The seventh goes right through your heart, your body tensing up one last time.

“I’ve got you.”

—

You wake vomiting. 

On your hands and knees, rope burns on your wrist and mud matted to your head. It’s black and sludge-like and covers almost half the clearing. 

When you finally stop heaving, you sit up and tilt your head to the night sky. The crescent moon tickles your skin awake. It feels gentler than a feather and warmer than a midsummer’s sun.

You cry.

Flashes of the night interrupt the clenching in your gut, in your chest, in your soul. A flash of a solo cup, the world tilting, Chase asking if you’re okay, colors swirling, Greg’s eyes as he ties you down, discussions of sacrifices, 

“It says stab her seven times.” 

Reflexively, your hands grab at your stomach. 

No marks. No exposed muscle and fat. The blood is still smeared all over your stomach and even the rock you were left on when you glance back, the knife lazily tossed to the side, half-wrapped in strips of the shirt you had been wearing.

But no stab wounds. 

Not even one.

Forget seven.

But… it happened. It had to have. The dagger is there; the blood is there; you’re here, not at the party.

You crawl and grab the dagger. The tip is dulled where it hit the stone seven times, just as you remembered. It has a few rope fibers from where they apparently decided to untie you once you were… dead?

No. You couldn’t have died. If you did you wouldn’t be here right now. 

And that voice. That voice that spoke. 

“I’ve got you,” it had said, getting louder with each one. Every time you were stabbed, it repeated the phrase. 

“I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you.”

The dagger cuts deep into your hand as you squeeze it tight in frustration. You hiss. Your fingers release their near-death grip to expose a long cut on both palms, running deeper than you expected.

In seconds, it seals shut as if it never existed in the first place.

“What the fuck,” you whisper.

A loud group of cheering echoes through the forest. It’s only 12:35 according to your watch.

It’s only been a little over an hour and a half.

You turn towards the party, where the music is loud and people are yelling in excitement still. Celebrating Halloween despite it now being November. 

Were they right?

Did anyone even notice you were gone?

Did anyone even care that you were just murdered in the woods but a half-mile away?

You doubt it. Cherie would move on after holding some sort of dramatic vigil. Ailise would say she had dibs on your things. But then the sympathy would end and so would their care.

Instead of heading back to the house where your friends are bound to still be, you turn to the right, heading towards the major road nearby to begin the six-mile walk home, the dagger gripped tight in your hand. 

The police chief wouldn’t believe this. Especially not without stab wounds.

No one will.

You’re just a dead girl walking with no proof but the knife and the rope burns. 

Which proves nothing but being tied down and your clothes cut off.

Sexual assault, you could claim. 

But not attempted murder. Not actual murder. No. 

Someone compliments your costume on the way home. Another calls you a slut for having your tits out. A third asks if you’d suck them.

You just keep walking, dagger gripped tight in your hand.

“I’ve got you,” the voice says one more time as you fall asleep that night, buried beneath every blanket you could find after scrubbing your skin raw. 

Only the scar above your heart remains, healed over already with skin so thick you aren’t sure anything could ever penetrate it again.

It’s a comfort. Whatever the voice is. 

The last thing you see as your eyes close is the blade glinting on the night stand, blood still covering most of it.

—

You don’t go to school the next day. No one calls to ask if you’re okay. 

Everything about you looks terrible, sick. Deathly even. Everything you eat turns into that sludge-like vomit. Everything hurts and everyone else seems inconsequential now.

The patch above your heart shrunk slightly. Like a top protective coat fading.

“Hey! She lives!” Cheri laughs when you do return to school on Wednesday.

“Like you would care,” you mumble, angrily switching your books.

“What was that?” 

You tilt your head past your locker door, eyes staring deeply into Cherie’s.

You once thought them to be black. So, so dark. Now they don’t look as dark. There is more to them. A hint of sandy beach in one corner of her right eye and a sliver of burning fire in the left. They’re deep, full of volume. Not dark.

“I said like you would care. You didn’t see me leave the party. Didn’t even bother checking in on me yesterday. I could have been dead on the side of the road and you wouldn’t have cared.” 

Cherie crosses her arms. “That’s not true and you know it.” 

Ailise steps in between you and Cherie. Everything of hers looks different too. One or two gray hairs you never noticed. A stray hair that you would have never seen before.

“We’re sorry, okay?” She begins, the movement in her lips exposing tiny cracks you swore weren’t there before. “We were shitty to you. You know Cher has been way too into that dickhead track runner and I just wanted to hook up with anyone. We were distracted.” 

“We swear to do better,” Cherie adds, voice having a slight quiver for the first time since her dog died when she was eight.

Your eyes carefully assess them. 

For the first time in your life, you can actually tell if they are lying or not. It’s not just a gut feeling that is inevitably overridden by your need to be liked. It’s like a detector of some kind. An aura around them almost.

“Okay. But fuck up again, and I will kill you.” 

You slam your locker so hard the lock bends.

You don’t notice until later, of course, when you return to switch out your books again and for the first time in years, following the first time in years you stayed home, you are late to class.

#ritual 777 #ritual 777 vibes #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #jennifers body au

[seancekitsch]

punk rock girl: an eddie munson x reader fic

this is a shortie, spot the slc punk quote, just kinda fluffy, smot poking activities, punk shit, you take eddie to a punk show, punk metal solidarity love, fem!reader

“Eddie c’mon, you’ve gotta celebrate getting into community college in style!” you call over your shoulder, about to turn another block. He’s been following you for a two town drive, and a walk half a mile now. Through a municipal park, through several parking lots. You said you were bringing him into ‘your world’. 

“Everyone gets into community college, you just sign up,” he laughs, and jogs to catch up with you. His calloused fingers meet the material of your vest; not so different than his, but vastly different still. 

When he met you, post Vecna and pre-graduation, you were a recent transplant. When Robin introduced her cousin from Illinois to the party and now extended party, Eddie thought he was in love. Another metalhead? And a smoking hot chick at that?

Only, he was dead wrong. You were a punk, through and through. Your vest was adorned with sewn patches, like his, but also scraps of lace fabric that he would later find out were ripped lingerie, studs you had hammered in by hand, spikes you’d done something similar with, and chains dangling from the shoulders like epaulettes. Your patches were hand painted: the stooges, dead kennedys, richard hell, x-ray spex, a white axe, one that just read’ taxi driver’, and the cramps. He figured out then in that moment you were his dream girl, he’d follow you anywhere, which led him to now.

“But thank you. Now, is this where you plan on murdering me?” Maybe he shouldn’t be joking about murder after being accused of it, but really, you were approaching a parking garage near the edge of a forest. If anythings going to happen its here.

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’. “Up there.”

He follows where you point, up to the top of the parking garage. 

“Oh, no no no no no, I think I’ve seen this one before,” he shakes his head violently, hair thrashing back and forth with his movements. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t slice and dice,” your voice is like honey, “Thats where were going to see Naked Raygun. Show begins at sunset and I wanna make sure we establish dominance.”

Naked Raygun. He only knows that name because you…

“Yeah I mean, I like All Rise, but I think Throb Throb was their best album.”

You let the smoke drift from your lips as you speak, spread out on your back on Eddie’s bed with a joint for two between your fingers. 

“Naked Raygun,” he tests the name out on his lips, “You think those exist?”

Its a high question, but one you still answer.

“I dunno, maybe? Why, do you wish you had one?” You chuckle and take another drag.

“”I dunno, Maybe,” he mimics your tone, voice rising in pitch and everything, and you snort and choke on the smoke, slapping his denim clad thigh.

“Who’d you use it on?” you ask between coughs, “Me? Your secret harem?”

He chuckles, and fuck you drive him crazy. 

“You first,” he confirms, “and then all the ladies lining up outside that trailer door to fuck the freak.”

You smile at him, something dark in your expression, but then in a second its gone again. 

“But anyway, Eds. They’re playing around here soon. Real underground shit, you wanna go?”

“How underground we talking? Is the whole punk thing actually a cover for cult shit, my lady?” he asks, and fuck, he wants to kiss you. You look so kissable. You always look so kissable. 

You roll your eyes, but smile widely up at him. 

“Like, abandoned property secret show shit., c’mon dude.”

He was in. 

“Establish dominance?” he’s brought back into the moment by that phrase. 

“Oh we’re gonna party, baby.”

He didn’t think metalheads were more tame than punks. He was wrong. The moment a band started playing, you threw yourself into a mosh pit, kicking and shoving, and amidst all the noise he can still hear your laughter. You’ve been at it for the whole set, 

“Fuck it, roll for initiative,” he whispers, finishing his solo cup of swill shitty beer, and flings it over his shoulder and throws himself willingly into the pit as well. He thrashes amongst the other bodies, likeminded punks like you all angry, but jovial. Thats what all this was, he realizes; punk is people angry about the state of their world, coming together to express and enjoy each other. Not unlike how the metal scene is filled with people like him, fantasy nerds who enjoy a complex guitar riff. 

The orbit of the pit brings him back to you, first in passing, where you throw your body into his side, he steadies you and you bounce off of each other. The next time he catches your gravity he holds onto you the way the Earth holds the Moon. He swings you off the path of the crowd, pulling the two of you out and to the periphery. You laugh heartily as you hand onto him, arms around his neck as you catch your breath.

“Having fun?” you pant, and he pulls you upright, his hands never leaving your hips.

“I do believe this is the most insane shit I’ve ever willingly participated in,” he huffs, leaning against you.

“What can I say?” you tighten your hold on his neck, pulling him into a hug, “We punks do it with love!”

You laugh, eyes not leaving his, and then before either of you can think, he’s pressing his lips to yours, crashing together. Has he fucked this all up? Who knows. He didn't even register what he was doing, his body on autopilot. Both of you almost fall over, dizzy from the beer and the kiss. 

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless all over again.

“You mean to do that, Eds?”

He presses his sweaty forehead against your own.

“Yeah, I think I did.”

He surprises himself by admitting that, but with the way you’re looking at him, he doesn’t regret it. 

“Was hoping you did.”

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader

[1st-recon-lylith-blog]

Lylith Embersong, the Songsmith

A watercolor painting of my bard from Baldur's Gate 3

Lylith Embersong was a tiefling child born into a traveling troupe. Her mother (a tiefling) taught her fighting and her father (a human) taught her music. Many years prior, the troupe leader had reneged on a contract with Raphael. The troupe leader hid for years while on the run, but Korilla tracked him down. Lylith is playing in the troupe leader’s tent (he was like a grandfather to her) but when Korilla shows up, he sends Lylith away. Lylith eavesdrops outside the tent, but can barely hear the conversation. Korilla warns the troupe leader that surrendering means only some will perish, but trying to escape again will result in the entire troupe’s death. The troupe leader surrenders. 

Raphael sends imps to destroy the troupe. Lylith is one of the few escapees, but her parents die in the attack, while saving her. The knowledge “This is what happens when you mess with the hells” burns into the brains of the survivors. Lylith is unaware of Raphael’s role in destroying the troupe and murdering her family. Her only clues are that a devil, the troupe leader, and the threatening dwarf woman are connected to the attack. All Lylith has left of her parents are the red earrings she had stolen from her mother’s jewelry box (red scintilla), her father’s violin, and the clothes on her back.

Most of the survivors from the troupe settle in Baldur’s Gate, including Lylith Embersong. She survives by busking on street corners, playing her father’s violin for coin. Times are rough and money is hard to come by. (It's easy to imagine that if she had been unlucky she might’ve crossed paths with Astarion in those rough days.) Thankfully as she grows older, her skills gain her enough recognition that she’s hired to work patriar functions. Lylith’s skill in discerning people’s intentions sharpens working the cutthroat world of nobility.

Lylith is filled with trepidation when she meets Raphael in Act 1, but she dismisses those feelings as her past, haunting her. Her sense of paranoia heightens when she sees Korilla at the tiefling party. Before Lylith can interrogate her, Korilla vanishes. Her feelings intensify, in Act 2, when she meets Yurgir and Lyrthindor and learns about their contracts. Finally, in Act 3, Lylith meets Korilla at Sharess’s Caress. Lylith wants to grab Korilla by the arms and question her, but knows that playing things cool will get her more information. Korilla drops the name of her employer, ‘Raphael’. 

If Korilla works for Raphael, then it was Raphael who killed her family and the troupe. Mind reeling, she goes upstairs and sees the argument between Voss and Raphael. When Lylith speaks to Raphael, she realizes he’s playing her. Either Raphael doesn’t know he was the cause of her parents’ deaths (unlikely that he wouldn’t know the souls affected by that attack), or he is playing dumb on purpose because he thinks she doesn’t know. (Can you imagine how gleeful Raphael would be? To cause a soul’s misery in early life. To be the cause for its burning desire for vengeance? And then to bind that soul in a legal contract? Do you really think he’d ever let her go?)

Raphael offers her the contract. Lylith is upset that Raphael would try to use her after what he did to her family, so she refuses him, but keeps her realization quiet. She is waiting for the perfect moment to strike. In his arrogance, Raphael slips up and grants her the path towards vengeance. He tells Lylith the location of the Orphic hammer. With this knowledge, she concocts a plan. She plans to break into his house for two reasons: to steal the Orphic Hammer and to lure Raphael back to kill him in the Hells (permanent death for Devils). It is a hard fought battle, but Lylith Embersong prevails. She slays Raphael. She’s a tiefling, a child of the hells too, and no one messes with a child of the hells.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 raphael #raphael #bg3 raphael #bg3 korilla #baldurs gate 3 korilla #bg3 house of hope #baldur's gate 3 house of hope #bg3 tav #baldurs gate fanart #korilla #orphic hammer #thank you larian #larian studios #bg3 bard #bard #bard tav #bg3 tiefling #backstory #tav backstory #bg3 tav backstory #tav lore #my tav #bg3 oc #Lylith Embersong

[brexiiton]

UK terror attack survivors warn politicians over anti-Muslim hate

By Arab News 10 Mar 2024 13:35

A photograph taken on March 22, 2022 shows a wreath of flowers laid on Westminster Bridge in front of Palace of Westminster, home to the House of Parliament and House of Lords, in London, to mark the fifth anniversary of the Westminster Bridge terror attack (AFP)

London: A group of more than 50 survivors of Islamist terror attacks in the UK have signed an open letter warning politicians against tarring British Muslims as extremists.

The letter against anti-Muslim hate was coordinated by Survivors Against Terror, a network of people in the UK and British people overseas who have been affected by terrorism.

Signatories include Rebecca Rigby, the widow of Lee Rigby, a soldier who was stabbed to death in London in 2013, as well as Paul Price, whose partner Elaine McIver was killed in the 2017 Manchester Arena bombing.

The letter reads: “To defeat this (extremist) threat the single most important thing we can do is to isolate the extremists and the terrorists from the vast majority of British Muslims who deplore such violence.

“In recent weeks there have been too many cases where politicians and others have failed to do this; in some cases equating being Muslim with being an extremist, facilitating anti-Muslim hate or failing to challenge it.”

The signatories say defeating Islamism and extremism should be a “national priority” and they are “only too aware” of the threat posed by terrorism.

But they are saddened by a series of controversies in which major political figures in the UK have conflated Islam with extremism.

Last month, the former deputy chair of the governing Conservative Party, Lee Anderson, was suspended after claiming that Islamists had “got control” of Sadiq Khan, London’s first Muslim mayor.

Suella Braverman, the former home secretary, also faced controversy after warning that “the Islamists, the extremists and the antisemites are in charge now,” referring to pro-Palestine protests that have taken place in London amid the Gaza conflict.

Their comments are “playing into the hands of terrorists,” signatories to the letter believe.

Darryn Frost, who fended off a terrorist who had killed two people near London Bridge in 2019, said: “I think it’s dangerous when any of our leaders marginalise communities and paint a very broad brush.

“People need to consider the power of their words because they have the power to incite further hatred.”

The letter is being published ahead of the fifth anniversary of the Christchurch mosque killings on March 15.

The attack, carried out by a far-right terrorist, led to the murder of more than 50 Muslims in the New Zealand city.

Brendan Cox, co-founder of Survivors Against Terrorism, said: “Anyone using the issue (of extremism) to seek tactical party advantage risks undermining that consensus and making our efforts less successful.

“The message from survivors of attacks is clear: you can play politics all you like, but not with the safety of our country.”

Among the 57 signatories is Magen Inon, whose parents were killed during the Oct. 7 Hamas attack on Israel.

The letter coincides with UK government plans to update the official definition of extremism, which will allow authorities to suspend ties or funding to groups found to have exceeded the new definition.

Currently, extremism is defined by the government as “vocal or active opposition to fundamental British values, including democracy, the rule of law, individual liberty and mutual respect and tolerance of different faiths and beliefs.”

Communities Secretary Michael Gove, who is leading the change, has claimed that pro-Palestine marches in London have included groups who are “trying to subvert democracy,” and that some pro-Palestine events have been organized by “extremist” organizations.

#terrorwave #terror wave #terror #westminster #uk #britain

[fvck-the-patriarchy]

Murdoch Mysteries characters on Incorrect Quotes generator vol. 2

*The squad's reaction to being told they're the chosen one*

George: I will not let you down.

Murdoch: Sounds fun.

Henry: K.

Brax: No, I'm fucking not.

Watts: Do I have to be?

Julia: Please god, I am so tired.

-

Brax: When I first met you, I did not like you.

Watts: I'm aware of that.

Brax: But then you and I had some time together.

Watts: Uh-huh?

Brax: It did not get better.

-

Meyers: I can't imagine what Pendrick is planning. But I can tell you two things. We won't like it and it won't be legal.

-

Watts: Whoa, Henry, what’s up with that angry face?

Henry: George won’t stop talking about how “Ancient Egyptians were furries”.

George: But they were! Just looks at all their gods-

Henry: Oh my god, SHUT UP!

-

*the squad is at a dinner party but someone has been murdered*

Meyers: You’re acting pretty carefree for someone who’s life’s at stake. Who’s to say you aren’t the killer?

George: It’s a murder, not a tax audit. I’ll be fine.

Brax: What about Murdoch? Nobody ever suspects Murdoch!

Murdoch: Well what about Pendrick? He has a gun!

Pendrick: Meyers has a knife.

Meyers: Yeah, for fun, not for murder! *stabs Brax in the arm*

-

Watts: *texting* Hey can you pick me up I’m drunk.

Watts: Oh you don't have to anymore. I'm home now.

George: Yes, I'm aware of that after dropping you off at home.

-

Rupert, confused and exasperated: Henry, how do you plan on telling a bear to go vegan?

Henry: Politely.

-

Brax: *on the phone* Just snap his kneecaps and he’ll talk, I’m at a parent teacher conference.

Brax: Anyways, you said Bobby is enjoying finger painting! That's great.

-

Rupert: We’re going to a candy store?!

Effie: No! It’s nighttime, candy stores are closed.

Ruth: We’re gonna ROB a candy store?!?!

Effie, sighing: No-

-

Rupert: Lucinda's gonna kill me.

Henry: No, she'll probably make me do it.

#incorrect murdoch quotes #incorrect murdoch mysteries #william murdoch #murdoch mysteries #effie newsome #george crabtree #henry higgins #rupert newsome #llewellyn watts #thomas brackenreid #ruth newsome #ruth higgins newsome #lucinda helmsworthy

[gothamslostboy]

Jervis Tetch w/ Alternative S/O

I know he’s a bad person but I’ve kinda built this blog on bad ppl/villians

I don’t support his creepy ass relationship with his sister

He was a bit shocked at first

He expected his Alice (male or female) to look like

well

Alice!

Light colors, long blonde hair, subtle makeup

You certainly were not that

But he knew when he first saw you

mostly black clothes

face covered in bold make up, particularly the designs made from eyeliner

Your wild hair: one part the brightest red he’d ever seen and the other a pastel pink

Every step you took making countless chains, pins, rings, necklaces, earrings, and whatever other accessories you had clink together

But you were his personal Alice

And he needed to talk to you

To have you

He was surprised at how easily you spoke to him- most people found him rather odd

He knew many ppl in Gotham dressed like you, but they didn’t live in this part of the city

Maybe that’s why you were so friendly

Jervis and you can be odd together

Before he even had the chance to consider well he did think about it a bit hypnotizing you, he had already been asked to go to the local movie theater with you tonight

You told him it was a movie you’re sure he loved by his “vibe”

He didn’t fully get what you meant, but he was fairly certain it was a positive thing

Jervis was delighted you had already been thinking about him, much more so that you could pick up on his tastes so soon

He said yes, hopefully not too quickly for his dear

He had already decided you were more than his Alice, you were his soulmate, future spouse, his Y/N

He was so nervous getting ready that night

He knew you didn’t care he was the Mad Hatter, being as perfect as you are you had figured it out early in the conversation that morning

not exactly hard to figure it out since he had just fled the scene in his full outfit

But he was nervous about someone else telling that murderous Officer Gordon where you two were

He couldn’t have his last shot at love be stripped from him again

So he hypnotized hired some guards

Arriving at the theater, his breathe left his body when he saw you

You had on a white skirt, reminding him so much of the dress Alice wore in the original story

But you’d also made the outfit so very Y/N

A black T-Shirt torn into a crop top, safety pins attached across a rip on the shoulder, your make up featuring the same blue from the Disney version of the tale, black combat shoes, little designs painted on in white that he couldn’t discern yet, and black ribbon earring dangling from your earrings

And his favorite part, embroidered on the skirts hem, was many different things from the story: a pocket watch, a bottle with “drink me” written on it, mushrooms, the Cheshire Cat, and several other little details

Somehow he fell even more infatuated with you

If that was possible

Even though he could tell from your outfit, he was still giddy when you confirmed you’d be watching Alice in Wonderland that night

The night was wonderful and the two of you began your relationship very soon after

You did all the stuff he imagined for the relationship, with a slight twist

Tea parties were had with black dish ware instead of white

Instead of calling you darling you seemed to prefer “love from darkness”

Movie night tended to be horror movies

Or

of course

Alice in Wonderland

you were so perfect, you even helped get revenge on Jim Gordon, though you did talk Jervis out of the murder

No

his Y/N was to merciful & sweet to kill

You just had the beautifully cruel plan to turn those close to him into his enemies

With a little hypnosis here, a little of you playing an innocent shoulder to talk to, and a little help from others Gordon wronged, you two had managed to leave Jim with no one to love him

Jervis couldn’t be prouder of his vengeful Angel

And you did it all just for him? Someone call the church bc I hear wedding bells

The 2 of you introduced each other to new bands and artist to listen to

Jervis even hypnotized convinced one of your favorite artist to give you a private concert on your birthday

Oh, and there is one more thing he LOVED about having an alternative partner

The hair

No matter what you did to it

Shave it? How wonderfully easier it is to see your face and the artistic make up you apply

Dye it? How many colors? What a surprisingly brilliant color combination! He’d of never thought those shades could look so perfect together

Any hairstyle you try has him giddy

And he LOVES when you ask him for help with your appearance; clothes, hair, accessories, makeup, all of it

Eventually he works up the courage to ask you to style him one day

It’s the best idea he’s ever had

It make his Dark Love so happy, practically skipping as you dragged him to your bedroom

Combining some of his clothes, some of yours, and making a small list of things you’d want to buy him to complete the outfit

You were absolutely radiant

He particularly enjoyed how close you got to him while doing his make up

Jervis only got nervous at the hair part of it all

He trusts his Y/N, of course, you always had his best interest in mind

But he didn’t know if he could rock outgoing hair like you could

So he created a compromise

No cutting, and only spray on or pastels could be used to color his hair

You happily agreed, and once you were done, Jervis was surprised at how much he fit the style

So much so he actually let you buy real hair dye

You began to give him trims, and later full hair cuts

The two of you working together became Gotham’s number one power couple

Any one who got in the way or gave you a funny look was hypnotized and had their dirty laundry aired to all

Occasionally the ppl who said especially rude things to you mysteriously vanished

But Jervis Tetch denied any involvement

I mean, all he did was swing a pocket watch at someone

If they happen to get the urge to kill the idiot who had the audacity to insult his Angel

that’s on them

#gotham #gotham tv #gotham tv show #gotham series #gotham 2014 #gotham jervis #gotham jervis tetch #jervis tetch #jervis gotham #gotham rouges #jervis tetch gotham #jervis #jervis tetch headcanons #tetch #jervis tetch gender neutral reader #gotham mad hatter #glb gotham #alternative person #jervis tetch x gender neutral reader #jervis tetch just randomly stole my brain

[faebhaal]

🎲 for Gorty? :)

@juramentum | 35. A kiss against a wall

Parties were always a thing she's enjoyed, which may come as a surprise to some. But in her line of work balls, get togethers, galas and more were some of the best, if not most entertaining, places to commit mass murder --- it always felt like a fairytale; like a dream of painting white roses red.

So when he asks her to go with him to some stuffy soiree, she accepts happily. Of course it's business as usual, with her more than likely just playing the role of guard dog understandably so. She needs him alive and well for their ever-growing schemes. And it's a good excuse for a bit of fun anyways. At worst and least likely, she's just an accessory for the night.

Father isn't too thrilled; that she can tell from the prickling in the back of her skull. Maybe it's because she's yet to make her tenday quota. Unlikely. And either way she'll have to make it right after all is said and done. For now, she gets Sceleritas to style her hair, synch up the corset of her dress, and polish the bit of jewelry she's picked out.

It's a good thing the aspiring Lord Tyrant has brought her (and by extension a handful of her underlings) with him. Ithaca's already had to deal with two goblets of so obviously poisoned wine; placed back on the drink trays of random servants. What a fun roulette it will be to see who gets them this time.

Otherwise, she plays the part well, blending in with high society fuckers. Whether it's from her experience of leading a cult, the natural charm that comes with part of her heritage or even her genuine personality is debatable.

At one point, Ithaca does make him dance with her just the once. It's partially for shits and giggles, but also gives her a good scope of the room. Easily she can spot her disguised assassins, exchanging unnoticeable signals with them. Interestingly, she catches on particular patriar glaring daggers at Gortash. It's not the first time tonight that snob has sent such menacing looks their way. "You should give me an estimate of how many people you piss off on a daily basis." She teases.

Once the song is done, discreetly she pulls him along with her out into a hallway where she's seen a lack of life go to and fro. Yet once there, their hushed words are soon to be interrupted. "Play along," Ithaca whispers.

Against the wall she rests, drawing him as close to her as possible. With little effort she hikes a leg up around his waist and guides his hand to her thigh. It looks sensual, yet it's practical. His hand is in perfect reach of the hidden dagger strapped there. As voices and footsteps grow louder, Ithaca brings Gortash down and in for a kiss. Her arms snake around his neck, her body flushed against his. It's a calculated move to place them both at an angle where their features are hidden.

It's passionate, though softer than how she would normally perform such an act. Tongue runs along his bottom lip while teeth gently nibble. They stay like that till the obnoxiously loud sounds of a gaggle of drunken, noble women fades away, leaving them with silence.

Ithaca can't help but smirk up at him. "You're not too bad of a kisser." she giggles. "You taste delicious, I will say." His hand is removed as they separate, while a few centimeters of space is put between them. He might not be too happy about her last minute plan, however; sometimes you have to employ whatever means necessary, even to be hidden in plain sight. Better safe than sorry.

"You should let me escort you home tonight. I don't think one of your lil friends is thrilled that you still draw breath. Gods know how many others want your head on a platter."

#juramentum #sabbath bloody sabbath (pre canon) #/ thank you for sending this in!! :) #/ I'm only partially sorry for how long this got #/ but this idea ran rampant in my mind and I just had to :'))