#Sisterlucifergraphics

[chimeradragonsyeaaaahhh]

Sonic Characters DATV Polls Conclusion!!!

Sonic - Rogue - Lords of Fortune - Human - Bellara Lutare

Shadow - Rogue - Antivan Crows - Qunari - Lucanis Dellamorte

Silver - Mage - Veil Jumpers - Elf - Neve Gallus

Knuckles - Warrior - Lords of Fortune - Qunari - Taash

Amy - Warrior - Veil Jumpers - Elf - Bellara Lutare

Rouge - Rogue - Antivan Crows - Elf - Neve Gallus

Blaze - Mage - Shadow Dragons - Elf - Neve Gallus

May do other sonic characters, if i do i'll update this post.

DAO Protagonist - Orlesian warden commanders - DA2 Protagonists - DAI Protagonist - DAV Protagonist - Stuff - Reference

[antiquepearlss]

Greetings it tis ✨Pearl✨

✨ She/her ✨ 18 ✨ biromantic asexual ✨

✨Intp, Libra, Whore

✨I’m very dry and people often can’t tell when I’m joking, so don’t hesitate to ask, I don’t mind

✨This isn’t an 18+ only blog, but be warned that sometimes I post artistic butts, and talk a little less artistically about butts.

✨I post about history, the arts, astronomy, fashion, and just general aesthetic vibey shit. But mostly, I post stupid fandom bullshit

✨My current fandom is Tangled and Tangled The Series. I’m gay for Rapunzel and straight for Eugene and that is called bisexuality kids. To a lesser extent I talk about VAT7K. Rose Dewitt Bukater is currently consuming my brain like a disease.

✨I’m physically unable to give a fuck at all times.

✨My only life philosophy is to Be Fucking Kind

🖤I love anything and everything vintage. History is my passion and reblogging aesthetic vintage moodboards is my second passion. Anything historical piques my interest, but I specifically love US history. But if you ask me about the Renaissance era, art history, or ancient civilizations I will not stfu. I also love learning about folklore and various cultures.

🪻Alongside history I love Astronomy. Specifically the moon and stars, but the sun is also very beloved by me. The moon is my wife and Uranus and Neptune are my concubines. I also adore the earth and nature and consider myself pantheist. I love flowers.

🫀Horror is also dear to me. Creepy shit, gothic ambiance, southern gothic, religious imagery… if it’s spooky I love it. 

🎵Billie Eilish, Frank Sinatra, Ethel Cain, Siouxsie And The Banshees, Lana Del Rey, Hozier, Florence Welch, Fleetwood Mac, Heilung, Johnny Cash, and Blackmore’s Night are my favorite musical artists.

🍒I’m a waitress at a shitty lil diner and I make that a way bigger deal to my personality than I should. 🚬 I love gas stations, motels, sweet tea, New Orleans, mermaids, old cars, peacocks n bats, and diners.

🦇I write sometimes so you can check out my ao3 here or my writing tag here for smaller things. I don’t really stick to a genre or write large projects, I mostly write stupid shit when I have time. 

🦌You can check out my Pinterest if you want…

🦚I’m too obsessed with my own face and post fit pics here 

💋Aesthetic posts here, vintage/history posts here, celestial posts here, Tangled posts here.

⚰️My art tag is currently dead and being reworked but it will be here soon. (I’m lying)

🪷Ask box and DM’s are open and appreciated, but I take 3-47 business days to reply. Be patient please and thank you. 

Some stamps made for me by my beloved Draco~

[mandosaur]

Morningstar (The Salesman / Reader)

Fandom: Squid Game

Pairing: The Salesman / Reader

Summary: Extreme graphic content warning. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Read at your own risk.

“My friends and I are about to play a game. One you know well, darling,” he explains. He uses the gun to push a strand of his hair back innocently.

The gun prompts your memory. You feel your hands begin to shake.

Russian roulette.

Of course. He is terribly fond of this one. You’ve played with him on a few occasions, and it doesn’t get easier. Each time he makes you play it with him, you feel the familiar squeeze in your chest of panic.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” your benefactor turns back to the men, “And one. I’m sure you’ve all heard of it, yes? Little star, will you demonstrate?”

Female reader is present during the first Russian Roulette scene.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, canon character death, explicit sexual content, gun play / gun violence, and gore. Dead dove; do not eat.

Word Count: 7,794

Estimated Reading Time: 28:20

At this point, it’s not much of a surprise just how low your threshold for what is normal and abnormal has fallen. Your walls have been forcibly brought down. What might have scared you years ago has become something mundane. You don’t even blink as you enter your apartment to find two people tied up and gagged.

The sound of the door opening makes everyone snap their heads towards you. You hesitate at the entrance, eyes taking in the scene before you.

Two men are tied up in your living room. One is young and covered in a sheen of sweat. He screams as he sees you and looks desperate. He seems to mouth, “Help,” over and over through the gag in his mouth. His hands reach out for you as if pleading with you to do something.

The second man sits opposite of him. He’s older, gruff, and his eyes are full of alarm. He moves his hands like he wants you to back off and he mouths at you to run. It seems he wants you to save yourself from whatever threat is in the room with them.

A low chuckle sounds from somewhere in the back of the room. Your attention is drawn to the man you missed upon your first entry. Understating floods you as he steps into the low light of the room.

“Ah, little star,” comes a cheery, bright voice, “you’re home early.”

In the low light of the living room, you can make him out. Your benefactor. He’s standing in his business suit in the middle of the two restrained men. He holds something up in his hand that glints in the lighting and sends a low shiver down your spine.

A gun.

You close the front door quickly behind you and latch it. A breath hitches in your throat and you drop your coat and bag by the hallway. You hope your neighbors haven’t seen anything yet because you’re not sure how you can explain this one.

The two men make a noise. The youngest is frantic, muffled words and pleas getting lost along the rubber gag, meanwhile his companion is straining against the rope that binds him trying to find a way out. You ignore the way the sight of them makes your stomach heave and instead focus on your benefactor.

He’s turned to you now with the gun still aimed at the ceiling. His smile is wide, too many white teeth, and his eyes have something glinting within their depths. You know that look well. He wears it every time he’s about to play one of his games.

You’ve known this man for years now. You met him when you were just a university student in your second year barely scraping by. He had met you on the subway and his too wide smile had shown razor sharp when he had offered you a red and blue piece of paper.

You’re not surprised at whatever scene you have just walked in on. Heaven knows he’s shown you worse.

“Friends of yours?” Your voice cracks on the last word and you awkwardly hang by the hallway unsure whether to approach or leave.

This happens sometimes. You’re not sure what shady business your benefactor is involved in, but sometimes it follows him home. You’ve grown used to him ordering you to leave when his friends in red show up or when a car pulls up front waiting silently for him to enter. Whenever that happens, he usually orders you to leave your apartment for a few hours until he sends you an all clear message. You’re not sure if your presence has inconvenienced him somehow, and, quite frankly, you don’t really want to know. Despite the way this man has twisted your perceptions of right from wrong, you aren’t too keen to watch whatever is about to happen with these men.

Your benefactor beckons you over with a single tilt of his head. He turns back to the men with a flourish. His voice is still bright, loud, and clear. He takes your interruption in stride as if it was insignificant.

“Come, little star, join me,” he orders.

Silently, you do.

The men grow quiet at the sight of you slotting yourself next to your benefactor. The youngest one sobs and squeezes his eyes shut at the realization that you are with him. The hope of escape evaporates as he sags and cries freely into his lap. The oldest clenches his fists tight and pins you down with an ice cold glare that sends a shiver down your spine.

You look away from them both and instead turn to your benefactor.

“My friends and I are about to play a game. One you know well, darling,” he explains. He uses the gun to push a strand of his hair back innocently.

The gun prompts your memory. You feel your hands begin to shake.

Russian roulette.

Of course. He is terribly fond of this one. You’ve played with him on a few occasions, and it doesn’t get easier. Each time he makes you play it with him, you feel the familiar squeeze in your chest of panic.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” your benefactor turns back to the men, “And one. I’m sure you’ve all heard of it, yes? Little star, will you demonstrate?”

He pushes you forward firmly with hand holding the gun. The cold metal stings as it presses against your back.

You swallow and extend your hands in front of yourself. You also know this one. You’ve played it with him on occasion although it’s usually when he’s feeling more playful in bed. It’s never really done with a weapon.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” he calls out. Your hands move at the beat. At the end, your right becomes paper and your left a rock. He extends his own hand and you see he’s chosen scissors, “Minus one.”

Your right hand falls away leaving your rock. You tap his scissors once and he drops it obediently.

“Well done, little star,” he praises. His voice drops to that low, seductive murmur you like. Despite the situation at hand, you feel a little flutter of excitement singe through your blood.

“When you lose a round, you play a round of Russian roulette. I’m sure both of you are familiar with it. You take a gun and load a single bullet in the revolver. Then you spin it around until you don’t know where the bullet is. The losing player takes the weapon, presses it to their head, and pulls the trigger. It’s a game of a chance. Your odds of surviving are 1 and 6. Those are good odds, yes?” He spins the revolver and presses the gun to his head.

Your mouth grows dry with worry as he pulls the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

A breath releases from your lips slowly in relief. He shoots you a wink with his lips curled up at the corner. He enjoys the moments he can make your heart skip a beat in fear.

“Again.”

This time he sets the gun down and extends both his hands towards you. You do the same.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

Your hands become two rocks. His left becomes a paper and his right another rock.

“Minus one.”

You jerk one hand behind your back and he beats you with his left. The revolver is spun again and he hands you the gun silently.

Fear clenches its cold fingers around your stomach. As always, your hand shakes when you take it from him. You’ve never been a fan of this game, but you don’t want to disappoint him. His eyes are watching your every movement, and you know he won’t tolerate disobedience. If there’s one thing he hates more than anything, it is when you cannot do as you are told.

You press the barrel of the weapon to your temple and pull the trigger before you can second guess yourself. Dying doesn’t scare you. Living without him is far more terrifying.

Click.

A breath of air passes through your lips. You don’t have time to register your relief before he takes the weapon back and gives it another mighty spin.

“See, gentlemen? 1 in 6. My darling and I have both survived,” he taps your shoulder indicating you to step back. You move behind him and press yourself to the wall.

The two men are still shaking. The youngest lets out a noise of pure terror as your benefactor hums and raises the gun. The eldest glares at you from beneath his dark eyebrows. Idly, you wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

Does he see another captor deriving sick amusement from the torture or perhaps just a bystander watching it all from behind his captor’s back? You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought.

The truth is, this dark and dangerous world evades you. You don’t really know what it all means. You’ve spent the last few years dancing across the edges of it but never truly venturing forth. Even now, you don’t really know what it is that is happening or who exactly your benefactor is besides a savior.

Two years ago, you were a college student in your second year with the weight of the world upon your shoulders. Your home life had always been poor, an indebted dead father and an absent, broke mother, but your studies were the area you excelled at. You had managed to win a full ride to one of the most prestigious universities in Korea. The world of poverty you were born in was slowly coloring into rose golds and glimmers at the prospect of more.

Then your world had ended.

In your second year, you lost your scholarship. The burden of all the expectations on your shoulders had broken you beneath their weight. You who had always had good grades had suddenly burned out. Your test scores began to slip and your marks lowered across the board. Emails began to flood your inbox from the academic board warning you that you were now on academic probation and your scholarship hung in the balance.

The stress of being unable to raise your grades made them drop lower. You were so scared to fail that you failed at a faster rate. Eventually, a single email had appeared warning you that you had lost your financial aid.

In a puff of smoke, everything was gone. Your university account was locked, you were dropped from your classes, and the university warned you’d have a month to pay for the tuition before you were permanently withdrawn from the registrar.

You hadn’t had the strength to tell your mother. She was always so fierce and stoic that you knew nothing but reproach would follow. She would berate you until you were in tears then disown you if she found out. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t have the funds to pay for it all off.

You were stuck. You had some savings but not nearly enough. Even the shitty part time jobs you had been able to find waitressing and working overnight hadn’t made a dent in the tuition. How could you possibly pay for a full degree with little to no savings?

The world had seemed so bleak then. You’d fallen into despair and waited until the moment it all came crashing down. When your mother called, you feigned still being a student all while rushing from place to place looking for a way to earn some cash.

And then your benefactor had found you.

Like the North Star, he’d shown the way for you. He had approached you after a long shift at work while you were dead tired. Your fingers had shook at the sight of your bank account still too low to make a dent on anything. Your rent, your loans, and everything else had eaten up what little you had managed to scrape by. The tuition was still too far away. You’d begun to sob quietly when he had cleared his throat and introduced himself.

To you then, you thought he cut a striking image. He was handsome, charming, and his too white teeth stretched into a smile. He had offered to play a game with you. Ddakji.

He offered you a choice. If you won, he’d pay you a sum. If you lost, you’d pay him back with your body.

While a part of you had grown weary, you were desperate enough to do it. The won he offered wasn’t a lot, but it could pay for a few textbooks or maybe a part of your loans to allow you more room to breathe. As for you paying him back, fine. He was handsome enough that you figured it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you ended up on your knees in some alleyway before him. The desperation had killed your pride a long time ago.

Without second guessing, you had taken the red slip of paper from him and played several rounds. During the game, it became apparent you were good. Really good. He never got a chance to win. You beat him at every round.

Every time you won, his charming gaze grew darker and darker. By the end, his eyes were pitch black and his smile was all sharp teeth and razor edges. Somehow, you had beat his challenge without even trying.

A card had emerged from his blazer pocket with an offer of a different game you could play. You had only glimpsed some shapes before he had suddenly snatched it back out of your hand. As if deciding otherwise, he took it back and offered you an alternative to the game. His pupils were blown wide and his fingers had snagged a strand of your hair to play with.

He had offered to be your benefactor. A star like you, he claimed, didn’t deserve to burn out. He had sat down then next to you and explained he knew who you were. Your name and information had left his mouth rapid fire.

He knew your name, what university you went to, and the exact amount needed to complete your studies. He knew you had lost your scholarship and how much your mother was banking on you graduating to elevate your socioeconomic standing. He also knew your rent was due soon and the window to enroll for classes for the next term was growing closer.

It was then he had presented a new offer. He’d be your benefactor. He’d pay for it all out of pocket. Your rent and bills would be paid, he’d pay for your tuition and even any further post grad studies if you wanted, and he’d give you the life of luxury a star like yourself deserved if only you agreed to be his. You were interesting, he claimed. No one had ever beaten his challenge before. He felt like you’d make a thrilling playmate.

Alarm bells had rung in your head then. Every nerve and neuron had fired all at once warning you of this man. No one offered all of the answers to your problems freely. His proposition was also chilly. You were not too dangerously naive. You knew just what kind of “playing” he meant just based off the way his eyes kept picking you apart-

But you were desperate. The weight of it all was suffocating. You didn’t know how to claw your way out of the hole you’d found yourself in, yet here was this handsome man offering you everything you could ever want.

You’d taken his offer. He had extended his hand and you had accepted it.

The very next day, your problems had all disappeared. An email had arrived from the university happily letting you know your tuition had been paid for in full and offering you to re-enroll in your previous courses. Your landlord had sent you a message thanking you for paying for the next year of rent in advance and been very shocked that you had even sent extra to cover utilities. Plus, a big delivery van had arrived in the afternoon bearing several packages. Textbooks for the new year, a new computer for homework assignments, and some nice clothes had been left on your doorstep all with a note from your benefactor.

By the time you had finished unpacking every gift, your doorbell had rung again and your benefactor was outside your doorstep waiting to collect on your end of the deal.

And you had paid him in full.

You’d welcomed him into your apartment with all it entailed. He was fascinating. A thrilling mystery and exciting to be with. It had started small. Little stolen moments here and there in your living room or bed. Then it had escalated.

He’d trained you to be his perfect companion. He decorated you in the clothing and jewelry he liked best. He taught you all the little games he liked to play. Games that made your eyes roll back in pleasure or teeth grit in pain.

Before you knew it, he owned you completely. You’d taken cruelty at his hand. Thanked him for the insults and kissed his hands after the beatings. You’d let him cut you with knives and lick the blood afterwords. You’d played Russian roulette until the gun clicked 5 times and he’d decided it was enough. All of it you’d done for him.

He was a drug. He took care of you at a time when you’d felt abandoned. A light in the darkness. The morning star burning bright.

In the time you’d been with him, he’d broken down your barriers. You’ve learned to take his cruelty and fashion it into love. A part of you yearns for him, aches at the very core of who you are to be his forever. He no longer scares you. You’ve take it all. Played Russian roulette until he’s grown bored, accepted the thought of dying by his hand, and learned to love his rough edges and manic phases as long as he lets you stay at his side.

Perhaps this is what this man sees now. A girl half his captor’s age standing pretty at his back somewhere between cowering and leaning forward into the abyss. Maybe that’s why his eyes grow full of hatred and he levels you with a glare that makes you shirk back into the shadows of the room.

Your benefactor continues after a brief pause.

“Your odds of dying are 1 in 6. Your odds of surviving are 5 and 6,” he calls out. He presses the barrel to his head and it clicks empty a third time. A shrill whistle leaves his lips.

The men cower.

“Shall we begin?” He motions for you to take a seat. You hop onto the table at the back where a record player sits. You turn it on and music floods the room adding a nice backdrop to the game.

Your benefactor shoots you a grin at the top of his shoulder before he takes his place between the two men.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

The men jump into action. The eldest raises his trembling hands. A rock and scissors. You raise an eyebrow as you see the youngest has been paralyzed with fear and hasn’t moved.

Your benefactor clicks his tongue disappointed. You wince. He hates when someone refuses to play.

“You didn’t play. You broke the rules for the first round,” he comments and raises his hand, “Disqualified.”

Muffled shrieks sound from the two men as the gun is pointed at the disqualified player. You bite the inside of your cheek and press your legs together in anticipation. A spark of arousal ignites within your blood. You like this side of him, you realize. It is terrible and twisted but oh so thrilling. Your arms prickle with gooseflesh and your fingers cinch around your clothing wishing desperately you could wrap them around him.

A click of the gun echoes followed by screams from within the gag. Empty.

A silence descends as the younger man hyperventilates. The older man sags against his chair in relief.

Your benefactor offers the gun for you to spin. His eyes are ablaze with excitement. He loves this and he knows you love that he loves it. He can see through you in a way no one can or ever will again.

You spin the barrel for him and the game continues.

The second round, the younger man wins. The eldest screams open mouthed as the barrel is pressed to his temple.

Another click.

You watch with mild interest as your benefactor dabs at the sweat gathering on the oldest man.

“Don’t be so nervous,” he reassures, “Like I said, your odds of survival are 5 in 6.”

You recognize those words. He’d said the same thing to you the first time you’d played the game with him.

He’d introduced you to it early on in your arrangement. You’d sobbed and screamed every time he’d pressed the gun to your forehead. You’d thought him crazy then, absolutely insane, and you’d begged him not to kill you.

He’d licked your tears and groaned at the sight of you so afraid. Danger excited him but fear drove him mad. He’d grown even more aroused with your terror. He’d pressed the gun to your head again and again ordering you to remain still and repeated the odds as if numbers had meant anything to you then.

You’d played ten rounds miraculously surviving each one. When he’d finally had his fill, he’d set the gun down and taken you again. That time, you couldn’t deny that the boneless feeling of the adrenaline crash after such a big fright wasn’t thrilling.

You hated the damn game. It scared you and made you want to faint. Every time you waited for that click felt like torture, but you liked the after. Liked the relief of survival and the way he grew even more excited at your reactions.

You bet he’s excited now. With his back to you, you can’t tell, but you suspect he’s straining against his pants.

It’s not the danger that gets him going, you know. It’s the fear.

And panic runs rampant in this room. It dances around the edges and leaves a hazy sheen. You clench your thighs together again and suppress the urge to make a sound. Perhaps you’re a little too much like him. You briefly wonder if you’ve always been this way, if maybe his presence unlocked some hidden recess of your mind you always buried beneath propriety and morality, or if he has corrupted you to the core and damned your soul through his proximity.

“Let’s play again,” he calls out. He spins the barrel again and his wrist snaps up. He moves like an announcer to a game show. Movements sharp and crisp.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

The men move.

“Minus one.”

Click

Another scream. The youngest squeezes his eyes shut as the gun is moved away from him.

A weary sigh leaves your benefactor’s lips. You recognize the boredom that descends over him. He’s a man of extremes that flicker faster than light. One moment he can be terribly excited and the next terribly bored.

Now, it seems he’s grown uninterested. He moves away and towards the table with the rest of the bullets lined neatly in a row.

“It’s a little boring, isn’t it?” He directs the question at you.

“Hm,” you make a noncommittal noise.

You know what’s coming. Your fingers snag the bullets one by one and extend them towards him.

This is the part of the game you absolutely hate. Russian roulette is terrifying enough with the odds of 1 and 6, but 5 in 6?

The one time he had ever wanted to play it with you, you had adamantly refused. You’d cried and begged him not to terrified at the thought of dying in such a twisted way. He’d watched you cry for over an hour amused as you’d pleaded with him on your knees not to make you.

In the end, he had relented. He’d taken your face in his hands and kissed you humming that he had changed his mind. His voice had been nonchalant as he had remarked that it was better if your pretty brains didn’t end up splattered on the wall after all, and that had been it. He’d abandoned the hope of the game and never brought it up again. You’d played Russian roulette normally from then on when he felt adventurous, sometimes without spinning the barrel every round, but that was the extent of it. He’d never pressed for a more extreme version.

Except now.

Whatever these men have done, he does not care if they live or die. This is purely for his entertainment. It’s all one big game.

“Let’s reverse the odds, shall we?” He takes the bullets from you and loads them one by one except for the last one.

The men beg and plead for mercy. Your benefactor ignores them as if they haven’t said anything.

“Your odds of death are now 5 and 6. Your odds of living are 1 and 6. Let’s continue,” He doesn’t wait for them to agree. He takes his place at the front and looks towards you expectantly, “Darling?”

With a jolt, you realize he’s giving you the honors. You clear your throat and straighten up.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” you call out. You’ve done it a thousand times before, “Minus one.”

A tie.

You blink and the game continues. Over and over, the men tie. Eventually, you get bored of referring the game.

And then the tie breaks.

The men choose different options. It’s a win-lose situation. You and your benefactor lock eyes just as the song on the record hits its crescendo.

The eldest is going to win. You’re certain of it. All he needs is to move his hand with the scissors back. The youngest could win too, but he looks too scared to piece together the fact that victory is so close.

Deciding to close out the game, you call out one final command.

“Minus one.”

The youngest screams and the eldest closes his eyes. You lean forward to see who’s won and then raise your eyebrows.

Your benefactor clicks his tongue in disappointment.

“Too bad, you didn’t take one away. Disqualified.”

It happens before you even have time to blink. The gun is raised forward and a tiny scream escapes your mouth.

Bang

Blood and viscera splash on your carpet and walls. The youngest lets out his loudest scream yet and descends into tinier little screams of pure terror. Your benefactor hums and straightens. Before him, you can see the eldest has died.

5 in 6.

The record ceases its playing and you pause waiting for any indication that someone has overheard. Thankfully, your walls are pretty thick and your neighbor moved out last week. You suspect this is why your home was chosen as the venue for this little game.

Your benefactor hums and removes the remaining bullets from the gun, all but one. He wipes the blood from the barrel and hums a song under his breath.

“Congratulations, you’ve won,” he remarks to the other man.

The man is bent over his chair in agony still screaming. Whoever this man is, he was important. You know he has sacrificed himself for him. Briefly, you wonder who they are.

Bile floods your mouth at the sight of his corpse and you force yourself to look away. Instead, you focus on your benefactor. His fingers trace down your face and you see there’s some blood that stains them. You suspect some of the blood is on your cheeks and hair likely from the splatter.

“Thank you for the assist, little star. You’ve always been very good at this game,” he murmurs. He leans towards you and you adjust yourself to accommodate him. Your legs open for him to slot himself between them and your hands go to the lapels of his jacket.

He presses his mouth firmly against yours. You meet his kiss with a burning intensity. Your fingers card through his hair and his hand goes to the back of your head to press you closer. His teeth snag on your bottom lip and copper fills your mouth. A pained squeak leaves you before he swallows it down and pushes you closer.

It’s a while before he draws back. Your lungs burn and you’re sure your mouth is swollen. This close to him, you can feel something press against your core. He’s hard. The game has given him an edge of excitement. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Good girl,” he praises. His fingers swipe at your bleeding bottom lip. He licks at the blood on his index finger and meets your eyes as it comes away clean. His pupils are blown wide with lust. You imagine you look the same.

He knows what that praise does to you. You hold him close as he leans forward. His hands grip your thighs and he yanks you until you are leaning over the edge of the table. Your legs hang limply before he helps wrap them around his waist.

He is hard. He’s straining against the front of his pants and you automatically tip your hips up in anticipation. A gasp leaves you just as a growl resounds from the back of his throat.

He presses his mouth against a pulse point in your neck and bites down just as hips roll again.

“Did my little star enjoy the game? Is that why you’re so eager now? Hm,” he murmurs it against your skin and his lips tickle.

It’s embarrassing to admit it out loud. You close your eyes as his fingers slip beneath your skirt. They slip underneath your panties and find your excitement already beginning to gather.

He chuckles underneath his breath and offers them to you.

“See that? Taste yourself,” he orders.

You take his fingers in your mouth and swipe your tongue along his digits. The taste of you is sharp and raw. You can feel your core clench against nothing in anticipation.

He forces his fingers back into your throat. You protest as he hits the very back and tries to get you to gag. Your hand goes to his wrist to try to shove him off and he smacks it away.

“Ah, ah, all the way.”

The feeling of your gag reflex being suppressed makes your eyes water. You squeeze your thumbs hoping that old wives tale works.

He likes teasing you like this. His favorite thing in the world is when you cry. He often does whatever he can to get tears to pool at the corner of your eyes. Nothing gets him off quite like it.

A sound registers behind you both. It’s the man from earlier. You’ve completely forgotten about his existence too drunk on the feeling of lust.

The man is bent over with pure repulsion and disgust written on his face. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s gagging. You don’t know whether it’s because of the gory sight of his friend in front of him or from your display.

Either way, your benefactor withdraws his fingers from your mouth giving you a chance to breathe. He tilts your head towards him and you meet his eyes. His eyes are pure black, lust clear as day, and he stares at the thin string of saliva that follows his fingers as he withdraws them.

“Ah, ah, don’t look at him. Look at me, little star. Eyes on me.”

You do.

Your heart is a humming bird in your chest and the way your core is clenching around nothing is uncomfortable. Desperately, you want him. Audience or not, you need him in that very moment or you feel like you will die.

“Please,” the plea leaves your lips before you can think. Your mouth moves to his neck to find a nice spot to sink your teeth into. His skin tastes like salty sweat and copper. He has blood specks all over him. You trace them with your tongue and the taste leaves you reeling.

He backs away a little and something cold presses to your mouth. The gun.

Your breath hitches in nervousness as he motions for you to open your mouth.

“Why don’t we show our guest how we play Russian roulette, hm? Teach him how it’s done?” He smirks and moves the gun further into your mouth.

Fear courses through your veins. The gun tastes of gunpowder and blood. You’d gag in revulsion if you weren’t already gagging from the feeling of it pressing against your throat.

“Put on a show, little star,” he urges, “Show our guest how we play our games.”

You know what he wants. You close your eyes and move your tongue around the barrel swirling and licking at the cold metal. You imagine your mouth wrapped around him and suck your cheeks in the way you would him. It’s vile and dirty and oh so tempting.

With him pressed so close, you swear you can feel him twitch against your core. Still, you continue. Obscene sounds fill the room as you lick and suck alternating between the two in a rhythm that you know would drive him crazy.

Click

The gun clicks empty. You realize with a flash of fear that he has pulled the trigger. So distracted by your actions, you had forgotten you were playing a deadly game.

He mistakes your momentary lapse in attention for fearlessness. He withdraws the gun and puts it in his own mouth tasting your saliva.

Click

It’s empty for him too. He pulls it out and uses it to trace down the front of your blouse. You feel your heart pound against your ribcage as it moves lower and lower.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. The gun traces down and underneath your shirt. The metal kisses the skin and he sinks his teeth right into your neck leaving an ugly mark you’ll see tomorrow in the mirror.

You sigh against him and move your fingers to his front. He lets out a pleased grunt as you slip your fingers into his pants and trace the shape of him. You want him so badly and aren’t above begging.

Still, he isn’t quite done.

He moves the gun down to in between your legs and the metal teases your entrance. He swipes it back and forth a few times teasing you. You moan against it and roll your hips expertly trying to get any sort of relief from the tension.

There’s a coil in your stomach ready to burst. The anxiety from the loaded weapon combines with your arousal creating a dizzying mixture. He’s gotten you hooked on the feeling of danger. He once promised he’d ruin you and by God has he. You’re too far from grace now. You’re so wrecked and damned that you doubt Satan would even want your soul now.

He’s absolutely ruined you for all men. How on earth could any man give you any sort of pleasure now? How could you want anyone else now that you have tasted him and found heaven in the stars he makes you see when he brings you over the edge?

You know what he likes. You want to bring him pleasure, so you move yourself against the damn weapon meeting his thrusts of it.

It isn’t enough, you want him not the damn thing. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and meet his eyes. Both of gazes burn with lust.

He’s panting against you, you realize. Both of your shallow breaths are mingling. He’s as turned on as you are. Still, he doesn’t give in. He wants to show you off, show off the control he has over you.

You won’t run. You won’t scream. You won’t cry or beg. You’ll take the scraps he gives you and obediently play his game. If he tells you to play with him, you will and you’ll thank him for it.

His hands shake as he moves the weapon against you. He’s reaching his limit. You groan out his name, his real name only you are allowed to use, and close your eyes.

“Please, please, please, I need you,” you beg. The weapon provides some friction but it’s not enough. You want more. You want him to take you. Nothing else compares to the feeling of him deep within you. No other man or your fingers could ever make you feel the way he does.

Click

The gun clicks empty again. With a shock, you realize he’s pulled the trigger while it’s inside you. Horror floods your system and you hide your face into the crook of his neck.

He’s pulled the trigger 3 times without spinning the barrel. That’s 3 times either of you could have died. Some more bile climbs up your throat and some of those alarm bells ring again. You had thought he’d gotten rid of your self preservation long ago but every once in a while those pesky instincts swim back to the surface.

For a brief second, you imagine saving yourself. You imagine shoving him off you and bolting. Maybe you’d make it to the door while he gathers his bearings. With the gun only loaded once, he might not be able to shoot you in time.

You could flee into the night and disappear. There’s enough cash in the jewelry you’re wearing to escape. Either you disappear from Korea entirely and forget all about this dangerous incubus in between your legs, or you go to the police station and reveal everything you know. Either choice would let you be free of him. You could run now and save what’s left of you-

But the thought disappears the moment you hear the sound of his zipper.

He’s set the gun down on the table beside you now and is freeing himself from his pants. Your mind goes blank with the promise of pleasure and all thoughts of salvation evaporate.

You widen your legs and move your garments to the side allowing him access. With how aroused you are, he slips in with ease.

The stretch of him makes you sigh. You dig your fingers into his coat and hook your legs together welcoming him in deeper. He wastes no time burying himself to the hilt.

The table rattles and bangs against the floor as he thrusts into you hard. He’s close to his own limit. His eyes are closing shut and the tempo he sets is brutal. You cry out and arch your back at the feeling of him pounding into you.

Whether it’s the game or you, he is close. He’s been close this entire time. You know neither of you will last long.

You meet his thrusts with a roll of your hips and your back arches. Pornographic sounds leave your mouth and you hear his own hisses and grunts in your ear. He’s so, so close. He’s unraveling with every deep, hard thrust.

“Yes, that’s it, little star, yes,” he bites into your ear and increases the force of his thrusts. The table bangs against the wall and you’re sure the damn thing will break from the force. Fuck, he’s going so hard. You can feel the tip of him kiss your cervix with every thrust. Tears well at the corner of your eyes and you squeak at the impact of his every move.

“Please,” you babble. Your vocabulary has been reduced to that one word. You move your leg just up a little and he hooks his hand around your thigh and bring it up higher. The new angle has him hitting a spot deep inside that no one but him has ever managed to find before. You feel yourself begin to shake as stars dance before your vision.

“I’m going to-so tight-“

He bites into your neck and you feel sharp pain. When he moves his head, you can see blood in his mouth. It stains the skin of his lips and runs down the side of your blouse. You know you’ll look ghastly by the time it’s all done. You’ll be covered in bruises and bite marks, but it will all have been worth it once you hit your peak.

“Fuck! You were fucking made for me, fuck,” he swears again. His hips begin to stutter. You know he’s close and your own mouth opens in a silent scream. He hits a spot in you that has your vision flashing white. Your mind blanks of all thought as you arch into him and dig your nails into the back of his neck.

“Daddy,” you gasp.

That word drives him mad. He grips you impossibly tighter and all but folds you over as he looms over you. His thrusts increase into a force that has the wood of the table creaking and splintering. You cry out in pain and pleasure as he begins to falter. His eyes roll back into his head and he groans.

“Fuck-darling-I’m going to,” he bruises your cervix as he begins to fall apart. He’s all but breaking down before you, “Call me that again-fuck.”

You’re about to hit your peak. He’s so deep inside you that he’s all you can think of. Unimaginable pleasure fills you and you babble.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy-“

In the end, that’s what does him in. With a final, guttural sound, he buries himself all the way in and falls apart. His eyes are rolled back and he spills into you. It’s burning hot and painful. You hit your own peak right after and your vision turns white. A burst of feedback fills your ears and you’re boneless.

He rides out his climax making you hiss at the overstimulation. Finally, he stills.

Quiet fills the room except for your shared breaths. The man behind you is shaking and looking away horrified by the display. You must look absolutely wrecked to him. A vile display of psychopaths covered in blood and feet away from a corpse.

You don’t care. No one could ever understand the pleasure that comes from damnation. You don’t mind being perceived as something hideous if only the man before you finds beauty in your darkness as you’ve been able to love the monstrous thing that lurks within him.

The cold barrel of the gun presses against the underside of your chin. A forceful kiss is pressed against your mouth and you meet its intensity and fervor with your own.

“Beg me,” he orders. His voice is gruff, husky with his release, but commanding all the same.

You don’t have to feign the fear in your voice.

“Please don’t,” you gasp, “We’ve played enough rounds.”

You tremble as he presses the gun deeper into your chin. His mouth is curled up in a lazy smirk satisfied and satiated. You’re not afraid as you regard him through the misty tears spilling from your eyes.

He leans forward and licks them one by one collecting the salt on his tongue. The sound that leaves his mouth at the taste is infernal.

He takes your offering of tears and accepts the sacrifice. A trade for your life.

Silently, he moves the gun away and aims at the ceiling.

Bang.

Plaster rains from the ceiling as the bullet goes flying. You scream in terror at the realization that he could have killed you. Some of the haze of pleasure dissipates leaving behind the terror that you feel every waking moment at his hand.

The man before you screams and begins to sob. Full blown hysteria follows and he begins to beg in earnest again pleading to be freed.

Your benefactor tosses the gun down at the ground bored and offers you one final kiss before he withdraws. He slips out of you and you make a sound at the feeling of emptiness. He’s left you feeling hollow and already you ache to have him again. You’re an insatiable thing ruined by his hand.

He zips himself back up and uses his hand to fix his hair. There’s sweat on his face and he moves away to gather himself again. You slide off the table on shaky legs and feel his spend run down your leg.

The table is broken now and you narrowly manage to move before it falls on one side and breaks. You both ignore the noise of the record player shattering as you take a moment to breathe.

In through your nose and out through your mouth. You ignore the scent of gun powder and the way your shoes squelch with the blood on the floor. Your hands adjust your skirt and blouse with shaky fingers.

“You should feel lucky,” your benefactor snaps his fingers, “You survived and you got a nice show out of it too. No one plays this game like my little star, but you managed to beat the odds.”

He’s speaking to the man. The man is still full body trembling and sobbing. He looks so pitiful with tears running down his face and snot dripping from his nose. You look away and make a face at the feeling of more spend running down. You’ll need to clean yourself up.

Your benefactor straightens up and you feel jealous at the way he can always look so put together. If it weren’t for the little specks of blood on his face, you would never be able to tell he was so ragged moments ago. You’re sure you must look like a mess with your clothing in disarray and the bruises already forming on your skin.

He scoops the gun again and offers it to your mouth. You know what he wants. It’s a ritual.

You kiss the barrel as a thanks for letting you live another day then his fingers for introducing you to something so wicked. The corners of his mouth twitch up in a smirk.

“Good girl.”

He slings the thing in his jacket pocket and scoops the bullets into his hand. Nodding his head, he dismisses you.

“Now go clean yourself up, little star. I’ve still got some business with our guest. I’m going to be out late tonight,” he calls out.

You don’t need to be told twice. You move on still shaky legs and whisper out a declaration of love. Like always, it goes unanswered. Shrieks sound from the man as he is hefted out of the chair as if weighing nothing and dragged off into the night.

You watch your benefactor disappear out the door carrying the man out into the chilly air.

You never see him again.

[starkeyvhs]

EDITH GIVE ME ANYTHING BSF!RAFE FOR BLURBS AND MY LIFE IS FOREVER YOURS

bsf!rafe is back better than ever!!! I hope you enjoy this my sweet davi 💘 and thank you for helping me kickstart my blurbchella hehe 😚

glory box

PAIRING: bsf!rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe went out on a date, but just as you had known and predicted, it went horribly wrong. (major inspiration taken from this reblog of mine!)

WORD COUNT: 910

WARNINGS: smoking weed; suggestive content (but no actual smut), so much sexual intimacy i’m irrevocably in love with them && listen to glory box by portishead for this one <3

EDITH SPEAKS: he’s back he’s back he’s back!!! I practically worshipped bsf!rafe on my old blog and I finally had some inspiration to continue writing for him!! I would 100% recommend checking out my other works on them to find out so much more lore on them :) if you enjoyed reading, feedback and reblogs are always highly appreciated! 🍄

masterlist / join my taglist / requests / ‘one of the girls’ universe from my old blog / celebrate blurbchella with me!

You climb up the stairs of Tanneyhill, your steps quiet and almost sneaky as you make your way up. The entire mansion is quiet, and you feel like a ghost in the empty halls. 

You finally make your way upstairs, coming face to face with Rafe’s door. You tap your knuckles against the hardwood, and in response, you hear a groan. 

“I’m coming in,” you announce, slowly opening the door. The room is plunged into darkness despite the evening sun rays outside, which are blocked by the blinds. You can make out Rafe’s figure under his duvet, entirely covered by the heavy blanket. 

“I take it the date went bad?” You say softly as you make your way over to the edge of the bed after closing the door behind you. Rafe’s eyes peek out from under the duvet, his simple expression telling you everything. 

Yes, Rafe went out on a date today. Were you exactly thrilled about it? 

No. 

But could you have been obvious about it? 

Absolutely not. 

Rafe responds with yet another groan, and you roll your eyes at his reaction. You make your way over to the bedside table, where you find his usual bag of weed. You pull it out with the rolling paper, setting them on the table. Turning the table lamp on, you take a moment or so to fill the paper with the ground flower, and carefully roll it up into a neat, tight joint. 

You get his lighter too, and place the joint between your lips, lighting it. The click of the lighter and the soft golden glow of the fire around your face makes Rafe pull the duvet off his eyes to catch a glimpse of you. 

You take a hit of the joint, letting out a soft sigh as you let the smoke roll off your tongue. Holding the joint between your fingers, you use your other hand to remove the duvet off Rafe’s body. 

“Come on, sit up,” you mutter, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and pulling him up. Even though he can easily free himself from your grasp, he chooses not to, and lifts himself up from the bed, sitting right in front of your standing figure. 

“Tell me what happened,” you murmur softly, taking another hit of your joint as you let your fingers of your free hand slip into his hair, your fingernails gently scratching his scalp. 

His eyes almost flutter close at the action, his body beginning to unravel under your touch. You keep up the gentle movements of scratching his scalp, letting him delve deeper into that euphoric feeling. 

“Speak up Rafe, tell me what happened,” you repeat, your words a soft murmur as you tilt Rafe’s head back with a gentle grip on his hair. He looks up at you through his lashes, a soft pout on his lips as he shakes his head. You let go of his hair, simply resting your hand on the side of his face as he wraps his arms around your torso and buries his face into your stomach. 

You let him nuzzle against your tummy, your fingers now winding around the strands of his hair on the back of his head. You blow out a soft cloud of smoke, and you feel Rafe’s fingers gently caressing the sides of your waist. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you feel him begin to press gentle kisses to your stomach through the fabric of your t-shirt, the kisses soft yet still able to trigger the sensitivity throughout your upper body. 

“It was bad, really bad,” he murmurs in the heated silence of the room, keeping up with his gentle kisses. 

“Yeah? It was?” You mumble, now gently scratching the back of his head. 

He nods, pulling back just a little to allow his nimble fingers gently pull up the t-shirt covering your stomach, revealing just a small strip of your skin. His lips now find your bare skin, the kisses still incredibly soft and saccharine. 

This makes you let out a deep sigh, small goosebumps beginning to erupt wherever his fingers or lips brush past you. 

“Mhm, real bad,” he mumbles, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your sides. You take a deep inhale from the joint and tip your head back, releasing another plume of smoke into the air. 

You lean your head back down, watching him leave the most loving kisses onto your skin that you just wish would sink into your body and imprint on your soul. 

“Yeah, and why’s that?” You murmur, trying your best to keep the tremble out of your voice with his mouth on one of your most sensitive parts. 

Rafe takes a deep breath as if wanting your scent to cloud his brain entirely. He slowly looks up, his chin resting on your stomach. A haze washes over his eyes, as if he’s drowning into a deep hole of amorousness. 

“’cause she isn’t you,” he mumbles quietly, his words a gentle promise. His lips resume their action, the kisses still just as intoxicating. 

You let out a deep sigh again, and this time, it isn’t from your creeping arousal. It’s from pure satisfaction. A smile pulls your lips at his words as you feel a high more addicting and blissful than any blunt on this planet. 

“Yeah, and no one will ever be,” you whisper, your words a sharp reminder of what you'll always mean to him.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @inthelibrarybtw / @mccaffreyswifey / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @kaileashiftz / @weirdowithnobeardo / @chimchimjiminie16 / @ursovaine / @mariamadison6-blog / @snowtargaryen / @htlkira / @acidfeens / @cherrys-muses

tagging a few moots: @runningfrom2am / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @nemesyaaa / @ladyinbl00d / @jjsbank444 / @b1mb0slvt / @maddsxfall / @congratsloserr

[ephie-om]

A Gentle Wrath (Part 2)

Part 1

Satan’s hand rests comfortably in yours as you walk slowly down the sidewalk. The late-night air has a slight chill to it, but he made sure to check the weather before walking you home and brought an extra jacket for you just in case. It was lucky enough that you were able to find a job safe for you in the Devildom; he wasn’t about to take any chances that you could get sick or hurt on the way back to the house. His thumb strokes your hand idly as you walk and he matches your pace effortlessly.

You talk about your day aimlessly, wandering from topic to topic and he listens happily. Truth be told, this is his favorite part of the day, finally reuniting with you at the end of it all. The conversation includes anything and everything that comes to mind. Your classes at RAD, the book he read today at lunch, how you need to get new work shoes, plans to sneak a taste of Lucifer’s newest demonus variety. 

He always prefers to listen more than talk during these walks. Back at home, you’re a little too indulgent of his brothers’ whims to walk all over you in a conversation. This is the only time guaranteed to him to hear your voice in the quiet. Every time you trip over your words or laugh at your own joke is another tally in his journal of reasons to love you. 

The front gates of the House of Lamentation come into view all too soon for his liking, but you heave a relieved sigh. “Your feet hurt?” he guesses. You nod and push open the door. The warm air hits both of you like a wall, and he can hear your stomach rumble as you catch the smell of meat from the kitchen. “How long for dinner?” he calls out. Levi’s voice answers him, echoing through the foyer. “Maybe thirty more minutes, if I don’t burn the damn noodles again.”

You chuckle and Satan looks over at you, mirroring your smile easily. “You have time for a quick shower, if you’d like.” 

“Definitely,” you answer quickly. “But he’d better have that done by the time I get back down here, or I might turn into Beel.” He laughs and watches you head upstairs, deciding he had better stay and make sure dinner gets done on time. 

You and Satan find yourselves sprawled across his couch with full stomachs and eyes fluttering shut. He’s propped himself up against the arm of the couch to hold you. The feeling of your head resting on his chest with his arms around you is second to none. He lets his eyes close, reveling in the moment, when you break the silence. 

“Satan?”

“Hm?”

“Do you remember the first time we ever did this?”

He laughs, his torso making your head shake. “Of course I remember. You fell asleep on me during the movie that you picked out and then apologized about a hundred times when you woke up.”

You smile into his chest. “I felt so bad. I really didn’t mean to fall asleep, but that was before I knew how comfortable you were.”

He grins. “Honestly, I was just happy you trusted me enough to sleep.”

You raise your head to look up at him, confused. “Why would I not trust you enough?”

“Well…” he trails off. “I didn’t know if you could. Not after everything I did.” He glances down to see you still frowning. “I mean, I threatened you into making a pact with me, spent most of my free time pissing you off, tried to kill you multiple times, then tried to play nice with you. I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to trust me.”

You huff in annoyance. “None of you liked me when I got here, remember? A lot’s changed since then.” He opens his mouth to agree with you before you cut him off. “Wait a minute. Is that why I saw that stack of books in your room about humans the night I fell asleep on you? You were trying to figure out how to get me to trust you?” Satan can feel the blush rise to his cheeks.

“You could say that,” he mutters.

“Well, what would you say?”

He takes a deep breath, trying to find the words. “I would say that every time you picked me up off the ground when I fell, every time you tended to my wounds before whatever I broke in my rage, every time you tried to cheer me up, there was this… tenderness behind it. It broke me more than being angry. Being angry is something I’m used to; it’s woven into my being. But being cared for is still new to me. And I was so scared that despite everything you did for me, I would never be able to give you the same care. My research on humans yielded almost nothing, which certainly didn’t help. But somehow you still fell in love with me. And more importantly, you let me love you.” He feels his throat tightening as he speaks, and he presses a kiss to your forehead to stifle his emotions. “I know I’m not the most experienced lover or the most romantic, but you’re still here, so I think I must be doing something right,” he says softly, almost to himself more than you. 

You brush your fingers idly over his arm. “I don’t know how I could ever not trust you. You think this isn’t gentle?” He bites the inside of his cheek. You were right. Of course you were. It was so gentle, so caring, the way you relaxed into his body and the way his arms rested on you. “I trust you,” you murmur. “I wish you knew how much I do. And I don’t ever want to hear you say you don’t deserve to be cared for, alright?”

He mutters a quiet “okay” into the top of your head, and you pretend not to feel his chest heave. His fingers run up and down your back, proving to himself again and again that you were here and you weren’t going to leave. 

You fall asleep in his arms again that night. And for the first time, he falls asleep too.

[satisfyingshark]

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　science with shockwave!

[fazbears-warehouse]

SHADOW MILK COOKIE ID PACK

requested by anon!

Names: Barrett, Casimir, Delilah, Elise, Eris, Janus, Jude, Rebecca, Reynard, Ruse

Pronouns: spiral/spirals, lie/lies, deciet/deciets, false/falses, twist/twists, distort/distorts, blue/blues, eye/eyes, deceive/deceives, trick/tricks, laugh/laughs, card/cards, play/plays, puppet/puppets

Identities: omnisdoth, Saintruthlienaic, Lieyoulyrica, Boethian, LIEFOFUN, wolfsheephrasic, FEARGENDER, DESIRSPIRALAVA, Notspiralgender, Puppet+Puppeteer, puppeteer, Manifacetic, dissomanipulative, Tarotine, Cardchoosian, genderbouffon, Neurostt, genderloop, Ennormisse, Jester occuden

[osleeplessflowero]

Multiverse Traveler

Part 3 - A Violent Variant🔪

Previous Part🌼 Oneshot Masterpost💜

If you'd like to be tagged when this fic updates, let me know in the comments/reblogs!

Word Count: 1,413

After that rollercoaster of emotions, Nightmare slowed his chasing pace down a little bit to think. Absentmindedly holding the flower that the previous form of you had left behind in his hand as he moved between spaces. In the end, that wasn't the true You, the one he's looking for. But something about the experience still left him quite saddened..it felt different from seeing variants of those he commonly works with. Maybe because he has good feelings towards you.

He has to keep looking. No matter how many universes he has to cross to reach you again. No matter how many versions of you he has to watch die. If it meant you'd be together..

He comes to a stop, leaving a portal and observing his surroundings. Upon further inspection, it seems to be some sort of variant of the Judgement Hall from the Classic timeline..only much more damaged. Columns are broken. There's cracks in the floor from the impact of some sort of struggle, likely a battle. Monster dust is scattered everywhere. Birds can be heard chirping outside, so it isn't completely silent. But as of right now they're the only sound he can hear..

He pauses. Listening as carefully as he can, he can faintly hear the sound of a heartbeat. A grin stretches across his face as he begins to make his way over. If it isn't you, it's a free kill. If it is, well..he'll see where that goes.

He makes his way through a familiar entranceway, spotting a silhouette at the end of the hall. They stop crouching on the ground as monster dust blows to the side, blowing some of it off of their weapon: a common knife. Too tall to be a variant of the human child from the classic timeline..

"You going to keep pretending like I can't hear you? Or are you going to try and challenge me as well, stranger?" A familiar voice filled with some sort of energy or distortion calls out to him, lightly turning their head. Their eyes glow with your soul's color, one he's all too familiar with. A grin stretches across 'Your' face. Yep..another variation. This one's quite interesting..

You turn around to face the sudden skeleton who'd appeared. You were certain you killed everyone in this area, how could someone that big slip under your radar? Not to worry..you'd make quick work of him, just as you did the other monsters down here.

You brandish your blade, the weapon lightly shining as the light outside the Capital hits it and reflecting your face in the silver. The inky skeleton's grin stretches, his singular eye light narrowing. A mocking sort of expression. Does he think he's better than you? Well, he's wrong!

"..How curious. We've only just met, and you already want to fight me. Rather forward with your advances, aren't you?" His deep voice sends shivers down your spine as the tentacles behind his back seem to almost sharpen, points aimed at you from afar and daring you to approach.

"You're a bit of a strange one if you think threatening to kill you counts as an advance." You narrow your eyes, wondering which of you will move first..

He simply chuckles in response to that, refusing to break eye contact with you. It sends yet another chill down your spine as you stare him down, just waiting for him to move so you can strike. Your grip tightens on the blade in your hand.

..Something about him feels..off. Like he isn't meant to be here. Like he's some sort of..otherworldly entity. And yet..there's a sort of..familiarity. Somewhere deep down in your soul, you feel as though you may have met this skeleton before. Like you know him. ..But that doesn't matter now. What you need to worry about..is getting stronger.

Your soul abruptly leaves your chest as the area is covered in black, any other colors fading away. As soon as the Encounter has begun, you charge forwards towards him. Blade tightly gripped in your hand, you slash at him. He leans back just enough to dodge, a tentacle reaching around and grabbing your leg, tossing you away from him. You hit the floor, before quickly rolling to the side to avoid another tentacle reaching out to strike.

It's almost unsettling how calm he is about this. You can't sense any sort of worry or fear in him, his body language unreadable. The only indicator of emotion you can see is that damn smile on his face that pisses you off more with each second.

Pushing yourself up from the floor, you begin running through the hall again; narrowly dodging the tentacles reaching for you. Jumping over one, your feet make contact with a column as you push yourself abruptly towards him from above. Twirling your blade in your hand, a grin stretches across your face as you aim to strike him from the air..only to be met with two of his tentacles blocking your blade in an "X" shape. You struggle to push past them, legs dangling loosely in the air as you try to keep your balance.

He rests his left cheek against his hand, watching your struggle with amusement. You furrow your brows in anger, glaring into his eyesocket.

"Such anger..why, it's practically radiating off of you in waves right now, Darling." A glowing green tongue trails over his teeth, his eye light glowing a little brighter. Feeling your face lightly darken, you jump back. "A hint of spice to it..makes it more interesting."

You grimace, aiming your blade again. "Take this seriously, fight me properly! This is a fight to the death!"

"Well, the idea of dying by Your hands is certainly a romantic one, but..you're not exactly who I'm looking for right now..and killing you doesn't sound very fun at all." He shrugs, slightly stretching out his tentacles and making them bigger.

You narrow your eyes, a bit confused by what he means. But before you can say anything, another tentacle rushes towards you that you quickly slash away.

"If a fight is what you want, I suppose I'll entertain that for a little bit..but then I must be off."

"Entertain?" You scoff, charging forwards at him with rapid slashes. "You're not going anywhere, I'm going to kill you right here and now!"

"We'll see about that."

With a huff, you continue your pursuit. Attack after attack after attack..he finds ways to block you off, or throw you away. Frustration consumes you, anger spreading further with each failure to strike. Why is this so difficult? What makes him so different from anyone else you've fought?

His smile drops over time as he watches you hopelessly try to strike him down, before he has enough. Grabbing your neck, he slams you against the closest pillar. Your blade falls from your hands due to your surprise, and you blink your eyes open to glare up at him.

Both of you heave heavy breaths, staring at each other for a moment. He stares down at you, looming and unblinking. His hand remains around your throat, holding you still..but not enough to actually cut off your air. You feel your face begin to darken again at his expression, your soul moving back into your body as the Encounter ends and beating rapidly.

For a moment, a look of nostalgia crosses his face..fleeting, but present. He leans his skull down beside your head, whispering.

"You should really work on your aim, Darling. Might help you a bit." He chuckles, the sound giving you shivers as he lets you go, watching as you slide down the column and onto the floor. Covering your face with your hands so he won't see your weakness. "Sorry for letting that go so long..I couldn't resist teasing you a bit."

You can faintly hear the sound of something appearing, only then do you lift your head to see him walking towards it. Abruptly standing up, you hold out your arm.

"Wait- ..why do..why do I feel like I know you from somewhere? I've..I've never met someone stronger than me before."

He turns back to you, giving you a fond smile.

"A form of you knows me quite well. You remind me of them. ..But alas..you aren't them. And so I'll bid you farewell."

With a short wave, he steps into a portal..leaving you behind in the remains of the Hall. You slide down to your knees, exhausted from the day's events.

[shellbells-and-bones]

INTRODUCTION

Hello! My name is Shelly! I'm a fictive of Shelly from Dandy's World! I love fossils, prehistoric animals, and dinosaurs!! This is my own personal blog to do whatever I want with!! Collective blog is @bites-and-crunches!!

I use she/her/herself and it/its/itself pronouns!

My DNI is pretty simple..

DNI: Pedophillia, zoophillia, accounts with adult stuff on them, people who want to ship me (not my source) with others, hate blogs, and trolls

TAG LIST

Bell Rings - any asks answered!

Fact Fossils - rambling!

Shell Shore - reblogs!

Shell Shanty - art!

Broken Bones - vent posts

Scuba Shell - random posts

My boundaries are also pretty simple..

Don't ship me with other people unless I say it's okay

Don't send me Shelly x Vee stuff

If I say no or stop, then stop

I hope you all enjoy my silly little blog!! :D

Have fun, stay safe, and stay curious!!!!!

[gingernut1314]

Inch By Inch

Summary: Kaya Irimi and Enji Koma fought hard to protect Anteiku, it seems death will finally take them both but not before they can speak one last time.

Content: Character x character, slight spoilers for the end of Tokyo Ghoul season 2 and the manga, slight confession of feelings, talk of regret, previous non-serious relationship, talk of death, not super graphic description of death

Word Count: 1.6K

A/N: This is my 1) frist time writing anything for Tokyo Ghoul, 2) first time writing for a character x character ship, and 3) first time writing for these characters. This fic was made for my own personal enjoyment cause I ship these two wayyy too hard, but if someone else enjoys it, nice!!

↞ to Tokyo Ghoul Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

It was probably the hardest start of winter they’d had in a long while. A winter with snow so beautiful it brought a tear to your eye, dead loved ones, and air so cold it bit through your lungs with every breath you took. Breath Kaya and Enji could hardly seem to catch, not when holes had been blasted into their lungs. Not when every liquidy breath brought on another wave of pain that had them thinking “Maybe this will be my last”. 

Though saved by Kaneki, who had long since rushed off to fight the Doves wreaking havoc on their home, the two couldn’t seem to get their feet under them. Couldn’t find the energy within themselves to pull themselves up and get out there so that Kaneki’s efforts wouldn’t be in vain. But their bodies were as frozen as the ground they sat on--bodies so beaten and torn into they hardly thought they could feel them. 

Above their heads stood the bridge they had both walked many times over. A bridge they had never once thought would shield them from the falling snow, keeping it from collecting over those hardly felt bodies. 

They never thought it might be their final resting place. 

Never once stopped to imagine that its white-gray concert was the last thing they’d see before Death herself came to drag their souls to hell. Never once thought of it as something other than a tool used to get from place A to B. 

And maybe it was still being used in such a way…would be their guide to get from this world to the next.

“Hey…Yaya?” Enji managed to speak past the growing heaviness of his tongue.

The frigid air was quiet for a long moment. A moment Enji felt his heart twist at. 

They had sat there for so long--blood slowly pouring from their bodies for so long that he thought maybe it’d gotten her. That sitting behind him, just a few inches of icy concrete between them, was a corpse he’d once known. 

“Yaya?” He tried once more.

“Geez,” Kaya gruffed, blinking slowly against the cold that was seeping into her vision. “What kind of nickname is that?” Enji’s laugh was gravelly, but still held that familiar brightness that was quick to ease Kaya’s heart. 

Enji fought past the heaviness that had moved from his tongue to his muscles, forcing his head to lull to the side and bringing the edge of the concrete railing into his line of sight. 

So close. Only inches and yet his body wouldn’t allow him to move any further then he had already. 

“A damn good one.” He chuckled. Kaya smirked as best she could at the falseness of the statement. It was a god awful nickname. 

Distant gunfire that didn't sound all so distant echoed through the again stilled air between the pair. Air so still Kaya felt her heart still with it.

No way. No way had that idiot called her something so--so stupid just to die before she could even know what he had wanted.

Just so he could die before her. Without her.  

“Enji.” She called on as much of a snap as she could muster past the numbness seeping through her body. 

“Why’d we become rivals anyhow?” Enji questioned, blinking back the swirling fog that had moved from his brain into his eyes. 

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now? Why we hated each other?” Kaya sighed. 

“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout a lotta things.” Enji dully said. A dullness he hadn’t wished to fill his voice but one he had no control over. 

Kaya hadn’t missed it. Could almost feel that dullness shoot right through her like a bullet. 

“Food. Territory. Power.” Kaya answered, fingers twitching against their frozen state. Twitched and powered through to move by an inch. “Pick any one and I’m sure we fought over it.” 

“Yeah.” Kaya heard the desired humor in his voice. Humor that was suppressed under the weight of the looming shadow hanging over both their heads. 

Enji clawed his fingers along where the railing met the ground. Clawed them to follow its nook. 

He blinked. He blinked for a long moment--a moment where he could hardly tell the difference between the cold in the air and in his body. 

“T--tell something else you're thinking about.” Kaya's voice sounded so--desperate. A desperation he had never heard in it before. It tore deeper through Enji’s heart then the hole through his abdomen. 

“I’m thinkin’...’bout how beautiful I thought you were--when I first saw you without the mask.” 

Inch by inch fingers moved along. 

“I’m thinkin’ ‘about when ya first let me walk you home…begrudgingly.” Kaya gave a soft chuckle that sparked warmth through Enji’s heart.

“I was a big girl…didn't need some idiot trying to be my knight in shining armor.” 

Inch by struggling inch. 

“I know…just wanted to talk to ya a bit longer.” Enji smiled weakly at the memory. A memory that tugged at Kaya’s own lips.

“I know…I wanted to too.” 

Another inch gained. 

“I remember…when you slapped me for tryin’ to kiss you.” Enji found himself saying as gunfire sounded even closer than before. Neither ghoul flinched. Neither stop their fingers from inching along like blood covered caterpillars. 

“I remember…” Kaya started, fingertips feeling over the edge of the railing. “Being nervous when you did. I couldn’t help myself…you know how my last relationship ended.” 

“I do.” Enji’s fingertips felt over the rough edge of the railing. “Surprised you even gave me the time of day.”

“You made me laugh.” Kaya said with no hesitation. “You make me feel--appreciated. Cared for. Loved. I should have given you more time.” Kaya felt her first bit of regret then. The first bit of regret for the poor excuse of a life she had led. Regret for not--not living. For letting her past mistakes overtake her soul--haunt her.

“Nah…nah I got enough. Any time with you was a gift.” Enji’s blurred eyes stung and his throat felt even more clogged than it had been before. He felt regret for a lot of things, but this, being around her, bugging her and making her laugh that small yet so sunny sound--he would never regret that. No matter if it had only been for such a short while. 

Kaya’s throat tightened at his words. Words that completely shattered the heart she’d been trying to keep out of this. Trying to keep locked away against him. 

Fingers reached one last shaky time. Fingers that found one another and held on as tight as they possibly could. 

“Damn you.” Kaya breathed past the burning in her eyes. “I was ready to go. So ready. But now--Enji, I just want to talk with you a bit longer.” 

Tears rushed down Enji’s rounded, blood splattered cheeks he hardly could feel. 

Heavy fingers held tighter just as numb ones did. 

“I want to too.” Enji weavered. “God--I was ready too. Real ready. But how can I go when I haven’t annoyed you with more nicknames?” 

Gunfire shook through their bones. 

The roar of some creature more monstrous than either of them rattled frozen pebbles out of their frosty confines.

And still they held on. Didn’t move. Didn’t run away.

“Maybe--maybe there is comfort in goin’ together.” Enji continued, eyes going so foggy he could hardly see the pale fingers holding his anymore. 

“Maybe.” Kaya’s voice wavered then. “Enji?” Enji blinked hard, trying to keep that fog at bay. 

“Yeah?” His voice was weak. So weak he didn’t even think he had spoken. Kaya’s bottom lip trembled viciously at such a sound. 

No--no, not yet. Please.

“I--Enji, I lo--” 

“Boss!” A man’s voice called, cutting Kaya off from saying something they both had longed to say. To hear. 

Blurs of black and white and red cut across their visions as their gangs rushed around them. 

Heavy and numb fingers held tighter against the swarm. Held tight until they were being pulled apart. 

Flesh was shoved into their mouths. Flesh that kept that looming shadow they had been so ready to greet at bay, yet found themselves thankful for its disappearance. 

Hushed explanations of a getaway sounded through their ears that didn’t seem to stick. Not as coffee and hazel brown eyes found each other. 

The flesh they had been fed worked it magic and rapidly began to repair their broken bodies. Bodies that gravitated towards the other like a pair of magnets. 

“Can I walk ya home?” Enji spoke, sounding so far from that haunting voidness his voice had been invaded with just seconds ago. 

“Homes a bit destroyed now,” Kaya started, blood stained fingers reaching for his just as he reached for hers. Fingers that wove between each other, stronger now that death wasn’t knocking at their door steps. “But I think you can walk me out of here.” Enji shared that cocky yet brilliant smile just for her. A smile she gave back, though in her own, personal way. 

“Gladly….Yaya.” Kaya sighed deeply as he laughed like he’d said the funniest joke in the world. 

“It’s still awful.” Their gangs stressed the importance of escaping again, hands greatly trying to corral the pair away.

“I think you mean it’s the most creative and fitting nickname out there.” Eyes never once kept the other out of their strengthening sights. Fingers never once let go of the other as they allowed through followers to guide them away.

“...fine. I’ll allow it. For now.” 

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.” Kaya knew she shouldn’t have and Enji knew he was pressing his luck, but at least they had that. At least they had each other.

[pinkswan2726]

~"I am the Pretty Guardian who fights for love and passion. I am Sailor Mars. In the name of Mars, I'll chastise you!"~

Helloooo !!

I go by Scarlett and welcome to my agere blog !

Here’s what you need to know below !!

•I use She/Her/They pronouns !

•I am 17 years old !

•Please don’t dm me if you’re over 21 !

•My full DNI is at the bottom !

•I have a irl CG who’s my bf ! I love you Cole ! ♥️

•I am slightly nervous talking to people especially when little due to past experiences, so please be patient if I am shy !

•I’m uncomfy with mentions of diapers- I don’t mind you interacting if you use them just please don’t mention them to me in an ask or dm !

•My little age is about 2-4 depending !

•My fav cartoon character rn is Sailor Mars !!

•And I LOVE sailor moon especially when little !!

•While my blog use to be Mitsuri themed please know I still see her as a cg (but not my main one) ! And I don’t see sailor mars as my cg she’s just the character I love most when little !!

•I do love baby talk so if you wanna talk to me in my asks/dms feel free to !

•I love bottles and pacis when little they are my fav ! And and thigh high socks !

•I take stim board requests ! Please just drop them in my asks !

•I love pink and red since Valentine’s Day is my fav holiday !

As a self shipper all of my other f/os I see as my cgs too !! If you want the list I’ll paste it here !

My main cg rn is my main f/o Muzan ! If that makes you uncomfortable please dni !

[chimeradragonsyeaaaahhh]

Sonic The Hedgehog Dragon Age Origins Polls conclusion

Sonic - Mahariel/Dalish Elf - Leliana

Shadow - Tabris/City Elf - Morrigan

Silver - Surana/elf - Mage - Morrigan

Knuckles - Brosca/Dwarf Commoner - Morrigan

Amy - Aeducan/Dwarf Noble - Alistair

Rogue - Tabris/City Elf - Zevran

Blaze - Amell/human - Mage - Leliana

DAO Protagonist - Orlesian warden commanders - DA2 Protagonists - DAI Protagonist - DAV Protagonist - Stuff - Reference

[snugglebugs]

day one of @regressuary ! thank you to @mcschnuggles for their prompt list !

DAY 1: Character A is always taking care of Character B while regressed...

Maybe Character B would like to know what it’s like?

[a-trip-and-a-fall]

``Standing in the yard, dressed like a kid,``

-> Mikhail "Miles" Almos Timehopper

-> He/Him

-> 16 years old

-> Mutant

-> Mutant ability's include;

Jumping back and forth threw time(as the name suggests)

Being permanently stuck at 16, both mentally and physically

Extream durability

Memory Loss

``The house is white and the lawn is dead, the lawn is dead``

- Mun is @mun-gears

-I brought him back. I brought my boy Timehopper back. Dunno if anyone remembers him, but he's back

[litelectrics]

I’m being so nice

[jagnis]

☆｡ RyoWie as animals (⁠´⁠(⁠ｪ⁠)⁠｀⁠）! !

CW for bugs !

I associate them with many critters, so here's a list of them all !!

☆ | Lewie [ OC ] :

In order: maned wolves, foxes, borzois, tiger snails, cockroaches and seahorses !

☆ | Dojima [ F/O ] :

In order: saint bernards, brown bears, bisons, "aruá-do-mato" snails, japanese rhino beetles and walruses !

☆ | Wonky, odd-looking and loner are usually the common traits I look for in Lewie-coded animals, while big, tired and protective ones scream Dojima-coded to me !! （˶′◡‵˶） ☆ | Assigned snails are a bit tricky to explain... I just really wanted to add them, since they are my #1 favorite animals. Tiger snail's stripes and color scheme remind me of Lewie's appearance, while aruá-do-mato's extra "whiskers" reminds me of Dojima's beard hehe. Also they are endemic to Brazil, fulfilling my half-brazilian Dojima hc!