#I found the font and everything

[eastofakkala]

Is this anything?

[wildgorgeousthing]

We can make the world a better place one kind action at a time. It gets better.

[arklay]

DANI HAINES x CARLOS OLIVEIRA / template.

[thewardenofwinter]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖘 x Netflix

*Passive by A Perfect Circle playing in the background*

I saw @coffeeandcalligraphy @encrucijada and @cuntylittlesalmon post edits of their projects and I just had to make my own, it was too tempting!

Let me tell you, I worked on this for far too long trying to find the right fonts and screenshots (damn you, clip studio.) I wanted to make this look like a movie straight out of the early 2000s.

The gif is from the movie Constantine (2005), and the other pics for the episode thumbnails are from Constantine, The Haunting (1999) and Stoker (2013). The rest are just edited pics from pinterest.

The episode titles (AKA chapter titles) and their basic descriptions are subject to change over time but for now, that is pretty much a sneak peek of the first 1/3 of the book.

[beagleboysinc]

goddd i got my computer reformatted which is. awesome actually but now i dont remember all my addons and tumblr font UGLY and SMALL. fuck

[the-trans-dragon]

Hello "use Firefox" entities. If anyone would have fun expanding upon the suggestion, my phone came with like 20 google apps and I would prefer to have 0. I'm doubt that is 100% possible because there are very few default programs. Example: no default calender or photo app--just google calendar and google photo. But good lord there are too many of them

Is there a "use Firefox" suggestion for email/calendar/map/file viewer/anything?

<3

[rubberbandballqueen]

it is becoming Increasingly Clear to me that i can no longer be taken out into public because i will start doing to fonts what jirt would do to the rocks and plants whilst on little walks

[stormxpadme]

I wonder if the next chapter cover will finally get me booted off this site oops

[greyias]

Windows 11 why are you so ugly??

[pionas]

i am honestly so proud of this typography it's probably one of the best works i did in a while

[astrxealis]

i think it's interesting you can tell how people are like deep down by small things they do

[seven-stars-in-his-palm]

analyzing some images (for fun)

so i found this pair of promotion images for good omens season 1 on the good omens reference library server and it’s hooked me so so bad im having feelings about it. we’re analyzing them now. not really for meta purposes just fun to see the parallels and differences :)

everything under the cut !

unique traits

aziraphale:

1) his plank background. its older, its crisp, it smells like wood from the screen. mmmm

2) the pencil shavings at the bottom. he does a lot of writing honestly, so i like this. also adds a messy and cozy vibe he always seems to have in that shop…. i like that blessed shop fr

3) his SUSHI. little soy sauce drops near it too—just the right amount of deliberate mess. our first formal introduction to aziraphale in the present day and beginning the Tomfoolery just happens to have sushi... i watch that scene and i go “yeah, that sums up aziraphale i suppose” very nicely. (they dont have sushi Up There) (im literally never gonna forget that)

4) the ray of light shining on the scene. tiny thing, but a bit of the heaven is peeking through..it also sort of blurs the whole image but i think thats just me.

5) and we’ve saved the best for last: the big whopper. the nice and accurate prophecies of agnes nutter, witch. I LOVE THAT BOOK!!!!!!! i cant remember if that ring stain was there but if it isnt in the show on the actual book i’d assume thats to add that ‘thy cocoa doth grow cold’ thing. ALSO. you know what’s being used as a bookmark in the pages?? a check for the ritz. he bookmarked their one chance for living . with a ritz check . MMMMMM. my GOD. that means so much to me even if i cant convey it in words. he KEEPS THE CHECKS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

crowley:

1) let me get my favorite out of the way. crowley’s glasses have fire in their reflection. we’ll talk about the glasses themselves later but the REFLECTION IN THEM. fucking FIRE, BOOKSHOP fire, PAIN, SRIVING THROUGH THE M-25, HELL, I DONT KNOWIM HAVING FEELINGS!!! i do believe this is a bookshop fire reference though, the flames feel too Familiar. the lengths people will go to to attack others 🤧

2) the leather seat background!!!!!!! probably meant to look similar to the bentley’s seats but i cant recall their texture, exactly. maybe just meant to convey modernness—unsure. still, its there <3

3) the tiny little crisp plant </3 its trying his damned best to stay perfect. it might a specific plant that means something, but i cant tell at thsi angle, so i’ll assume its a mini version of the ficus he keeps in the flat. its so SMALL and sitting in ANOTHER POT i CANT

4) the snake slithering!! black and red (in this image it looks orange lol) bellied scales!!!! slithering there, chilling, being crowley, showing hints. love it

5) QUEEN RECORD!!!!! TRYING TO OVERRIDE IT WITH TCHAIKOVSKY!!!!!! the tape over it does a reminisence to crowley’s handwriting, but in a clean ‘this made made to be a font’ way. not exactly just yet. ive become a fan of tchaikovsky recently. amazing darling wonderful crowley, trying to push the rock up the hill for eternity 😞

6) HIS LITTLE DEMON KEY THING. HOLDING A TINY LITTLE BENTLEY CAR KEY OHHH. thats how he doesnt lose the tiny key despite probably not needing one of those. and he CHOSE that intentionally probably. little wings and red circle….URGHHHHHHH

similarities

mmmmm now here’s the good shit. similarities! i’ll bullet point most of them but ohhhhh. ohhhh these. i’ll go from top to bottom as best i can….

1) one of their shoes, obviously. crowley has them iconic snakeskin shoes while aziraphale has his old loafers like the old loafer he is /pos

2) chateauneuf de pape wine bottle labels! (crowley’s is under his glasses, aziraphale’s is next to his shoe). oh my fucking god theyre MATCHING. the labels are old, battered, of course labeling the drink’s age, but mmmmm its these tiny details that get me going….

3) their respective drinks in their mugs—crowley’s a black mug coffee (or what looks to be coffee) and aziraphale’s angel mug tea (or what looks to be tea). i think about that mug sometimes. where did he get that from?? mystery for the ages….

4) their glasses, of course. crowley’s iconic sunglasses and aziraphale’s reading spectacles. i cant really tell the reflections in this pair, but if its supposed to be fucking fire, im done with this. im giving up forever

5) their own watches! aziraphale’s is visibily older while crowley’s is visibly modern, but they function just the same. also, crowley’s is set to 2:56:59 (presumably PM), which is around the time we see when crowley starts checking his watch at warlock’s birthday party. its almost time for disaster to strike!! 😃

6) and finally….their ties!! they have their own ties!!! or more accurately, neck accessories, but i digress. i mesn i assume its crowley’s neck tie, because the fabric looks… different. either way, crowley’s neck thingie is very whispy and aziraphale has his funky little bowtie i love so much,,,

okay thats it. there’s no canonical implications, any fantheories, none of the sort. just saw a pair of images and my mind went GOD DAMN!!!!!! theyre very important to me. i need to look at more promo material 😔

[illuminiscentboba]

are you wearing my merch?!

synopsis: they walk in on you trying their volleyball merch but you guys haven't confessed...yet(?)

featuring: atsumu, akaashi and matsukawa

ATSUMU:

he ended up walking in on you trying on their merch. "Y/N?!" his loud yell startled you and your quick to cover your atsumu miya headband. "is that...my merch?" he says incredulously. you consider denying it but his eyes are fixed on the font of his name on your shirt. oh no...you forgot to cover that too. "yeah." your embarrassed that he found out you were interested in him this way. but him on the other hand, his jaw is still on the floor, everything and nothing running through his mind. you? wearing his merch? he dreamed of this moment, in fact he was already planning to ask you to cheer for his team, cheer for him but did you think about him too? you started to unravel the headband. "noooo, don't take it off!!!!" he takes it from your hands, shifting your hair, concentrating as he tried to retie it. you find his struggling rather cute, trying to stand still as he fumbles with the knot. "you better wear this at my next match...I'll look for you in the crowd, you hear me?" "theres no way you'll find me with all those fans." you laugh, but he's serious. "i'll have you know, I have great eyesight! theres no way i would miss your cute smile and your cheering!" "he's right." osamu adds and you two jump at the sight of him leaning against the doorway. "theres no way he doesn't know all the details of your face with all the staring he does." "'SAMU!!!!" he sticks his tongue out at his brother who is swinging at him. it wasn't osamu's fault that atsumu has chickened out on confessing to you for what has been the 10th time. at the rate atsumu was moving you would be old and wrinkly before he even got to confess his feelings. "well" the twins still, both anxiously awaiting your response "I think its only fair that you owe me a date if i have to wear your merch don't you think?" they had a practice match to get to unfortunately and so you couldn't keep them for long. "a date?! wait...you like me back?? 'samu!!!! oh my god she likes me back!!" "I heard her the first time, dumbass." "wheres my phone!! i've got to resave your phone number as girlfriend!!!" "here we go..." osamu drags his whining brother away, you know how kita gets when they're late.

AKAASHI

he's apologetic, with the way your hands freeze gripping the shirt around your body its clear that you were changing. "oh, sorry about that. I'll close the door." he's quick to step backwards, already closing the door. "wait!" you panic. how are you supposed to explain the fukurodani headband and worse, the go akaashi go t-shirt you were sporting. did he think it was weird? did it make him uncomfortable? he paused, poking his head in. now he's got a better look at you, finally making out the lettering of the headband and his name on your chest. "is that for me?" he asks the obvious, was there another akaashi you knew of? the fukurodani headband makes him see logic. "that is for me." he corrects himself, inviting himself inside. up until now hes been pining for you, and even the team knew it with how much he accidentally brought you up or the way his eyes would wander to you. he spots another go akaashi ribbon, proving it wasn't an accident. you follow his eyes, laughing sheepishly at the display. "yeah...i told my friend that i thought your setting was cool and she got me all this merch." he smiles at the compliment "you should wear that at the match, it'll make my setting even better" he suggests, giddy at the idea of you in his merch and your cute laugh at his suggestion. "actually..." he gets an idea, slipping off his freshly washed jersey. you yelp as he pulls it over his head, a peek at his muscles and now ruffled dark locks of hair. he holds it out to you. "would you rather try on the real deal?" you try it on, posing in front of the mirror. "it suits you more than me" he admits, slapping a hand over his mouth at the accidental revelation. "maybe i should wear it more often then?" he blushes "maybe."

MATSUKAWA

matsukawa is too smug when he sees you walk out of the volleyball unofficially official 'fanroom', sporting a shirt with not oikawa's name, not iwaizumi's either but his name. he doesn't remember if he had even bids his teamates goodbye before rushing over. "nice shirt you've got there y/n." you flinch, your hands going up to cover the lettering. "what do you mean? this is a regular shirt." obviously no one is convinced, and your bothered by how cute you find his toothy grin and the lift of his eyebrows at your embarassment, he wants to push your buttons even further, "so you're saying that you didn't look for a shirt with my name on it specifically?" every time you turn away from him he comes closer, prying your hands from his face. "yeah, they ran out of oikawa shirts." you lie. you don't miss the way his smile drops and the disappointed slump of his shoulders. "did they really? were lying to make me feel better?" "No!! I...I lied, I was fighting for my life to get my hands on this. you have quite a lot of fans of your own actually." you wince at the memory, rubbing your shoulders that many people were bumping to get the merch. you almost wish you stood on the lie because why was he giving the cheshire cat a run for its money? "Oh? it sounds like you've got competition" "don't make me go back and return the shirt" "fine, fine." he gives in, struggling to keep his hands to himself. "wear that at our next match please." "whats in it for me?" he ponders for a moment, "would a fan be interested in...a date?" "deal." "...wait....wait a second?! WHAT!!! Y/N???" "don't be late." "HELLO?! IS THIS A CONFESSION?!"

[the-winter-spider]

What I Have | B. Barnes

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning: Probably the fluffiest piece ive written lol

A/N: I was listening to What I Have by Kelsea Ballerini and well here we are lol

—-

The year was 2024, over one hundred years since you were born—105, to be exact. Your life hadn’t turned out at all like you had dreamed or hoped it would.

You were supposed to marry the boy next door once the war was done. You’d picked out your wedding dress while window shopping with your best friend, even before he proposed. You made a scrapbook, meticulously curating hairstyles and makeup looks, debating over the choices as if they were the most pressing decisions in the world.

You sketched out your dream house, selecting the colors, the flowers for the front garden, and the vegetables you would surely grow in the back. You even chose the font for your new last name on the mailbox.

You had each of your children’s names picked out—three, to be exact. Two boys and one girl, you had hoped. Everything was a dream, but it seemed so close, so possible, as if it should have been a reality. You should be dead by now, having lived a full life, with your children who should have been walking the earth with their children, your grandchildren.

But everything went wrong. Literally, everything possible went wrong.

Bucky fell off a train and died. He actually fell off a train, and they declared him dead. In reality, he had lost his arm, survived the fall because Hydra had already experimented on him. They brainwashed him, like something out of a twisted fairy tale, turning him into a deadly assassin. Your beautiful, blue-eyed Bucky, your sweet Bucky, became a killer. A Bucky you would never see again, because even though he was still here, and you were so thankful for that, he would never be your Bucky again.

And then there was Steve. Of course, Steve found him, because of course! And let’s not forget that your best friend, Steve, who was once smaller than you, was injected with a serum that not only tripled his size but turned him into a superhero because, yes, apparently those needed to exist. Of course, he went off to war, driven by a need for revenge for his best friend, your fiancé Bucky. And of course, he had to be noble, going down for the cause, leading everyone to believe he was dead. But of course, he wasn’t. They found him, frozen but alive, because he was Captain America, and that’s just what happens.

And then there was you, consumed by grief, first losing the love of your life and then your best friend. You begged, on your knees, begged Howard Stark to use you as his test subject for cryogenic testing. You couldn’t bear to be here without your boys. He hesitated because he loved Steve, and he knew Steve wouldn’t want this for you. But when you threatened that if he didn’t, you would take your own life, he relented. So, of course, it worked because it was Howard, and he was a Stark. But decades passed, and the year he was supposed to wake you up, The Winter Soldier murdered him. So, as usual, you stayed frozen, but alive, until Howard’s son, Tony, found you in his father’s hidden lab.

You woke up to a world that was not your own, a century too late for the life you were supposed to live. The world had moved on, but you hadn’t. Your friends were legends now, mythologized beyond recognition. And you, well, you were the ghost of what could have been.

The years that followed were a blur of new faces, new battles, and new griefs. You tried to adapt, to find a place in this future that had no room for you. But every corner of this brave new world reminded you of the past, of the life that slipped through your fingers.

And then one day, while sifting through old boxes in Tony’s lab, you found something. It was an old, faded book, as soon as you saw the brown cover you heart dropped you knew what it was, it waa your scrapbook. The cover had an old faded photo of you, Bucky, and Steve, taken on a sunny day before the world went mad. You barely recognized the girl in the photo, with her bright smile and unbroken heart. But there she was, a relic of a time that now felt like a dream.

You realised then that maybe you didn’t belong in this world. Maybe you never did. But as long as you were here, you could try—try to make sense of the pieces left behind, to find some small measure of peace in the chaos.

And that’s exactly what you did. Even though you didn’t have the life you had once dreamed of, you still had them. And in what world does all that trauma happen, and you still end up alive with your boys?

You picked up the dusty book, holding it close to your heart, as you navigated through the compound, following the sound of laughter coming from the living room. You paused just outside the doorway, soaking in the warmth of his laugh—a sound you feared you might never hear again after Bucky began recovering from his trauma. But here it was, filling the room, and even though it wasn’t the same Bucky you knew decades ago, his laugh was unchanged, and it made your heart swell.

Rounding the corner, you saw Steve clutching his chest in joy, playfully shoving Sam, who was grinning widely.

Bucky’s eyes immediately found yours; he could always find you in any room. “Hi, doll,” he said, getting up to kiss your cheek and taking your hand to lead you to the couch.

“Hi, Buck. Hi, Stevie, Sammy,” you greeted them, settling in beside Bucky.

Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Bucky glanced down at the book in your arms. “What’s that?”

Steve’s smile faded into something more serious as he noticed the book, instantly recognizing it. “Is that what I think it is?”

You nodded, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “Stark… he kept it. I haven’t opened it yet. I thought… I thought we could do it together.”

“What is it?” Sam asked, his curiosity piqued.

“It’s my life,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “There are a few pages of what I thought it would turn out to be… but after everything happened…” You paused, taking a steadying breath. The memories of losing Bucky and Steve were still fresh, no matter how much time had passed. “I never planned or dreamed of anything else. It just felt silly without you boys. So, I just filled it with photographs.”

“Photographs of who?” Sam asked, leaning forward.

“Everyone,” you replied softly, glancing between Bucky and Steve. “Peggy and Mrs. Rogers,” you said, meeting Steve’s gaze. You saw the emotion in his eyes at the mention of his mother. “Becca and Winnie, Mr. Barnes,” you continued, feeling Bucky tense slightly at the mention of his mother and sister, their faces now distant memories. “I even have Howard and the Commandos.” You smiled a little. “But mostly, it’s us—all of us.”

Bucky reached out, gently taking the book from your hands. His fingers brushed the worn cover, the room fell silent as the weight of the past settled around you all.

“Let’s open it together,” Steve suggested, his voice thick with emotion. He moved closer, his presence a steady anchor as you all gathered around the book. Sam stayed distant, letting the three of you have your moment but still staying there.

Bucky opened the cover, and the first page revealed a photograph of you, Bucky, and Steve, taken in a simpler time. The three of you looked so young, so hopeful. You felt Bucky’s hand tighten around yours as he stared at the image, memories rushing back. It was a photo from your 16th birthday, the day he had gifted you the book.

“I gave this to you,” Bucky said quietly, the realization settling over him.

You nodded. “For my birthday. You wrote…” You trailed off, pointing to the top left corner of the front of the book.

He read the words aloud, his voice filled with emotion. “Happy 16th birthday to my best girl. I hope you fill these pages with your hopes and dreams. I can only hope that somewhere in amongst them, I’ll be a part of it. With all the love, Bucky.”

Sam smiled, leaning back in his seat. “Who knew you were such a romantic, Buck?”

You watched as Bucky’s cheeks flushed a light shade of red at the comment, and you gave his knee a gentle squeeze, feeling the warmth of the old affection between you.

“For y/n, he was crazy,” Steve chimed in, grinning. “You should have seen him—head over heels is an understatement. Try obses—”

Before Steve could finish, Bucky reached behind you and gave him a playful shove. “Can it, Rogers,” he muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Steve just laughed, catching himself before he toppled over. “You know it’s true.”

You chuckled, resting your head against Bucky’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

Bucky’s hand found yours again, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. “Neither would I.”

As you all shared a quiet moment, the weight of the years seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of old memories and the comfort of the present. Bucky turned the page, revealing more photographs—snapshots of moments that had once seemed so ordinary but now felt like treasures.

The pages turned slowly, revealing a life that could have been—a wedding dress sketched out, a house with a picket fence, names of children that never came to be. And then, the photographs—snapshots of moments frozen in time. Peggy’s bright smile, Mrs. Rogers’ kind eyes, the mischievous grins of Becca and Winnie, Howard’s confident stance, the Commandos’ camaraderie. But the most frequent faces were your own, Bucky’s, and Steve’s, from a time when the world was both simpler and infinitely more complex.

Each image told a story. There was one of you and Steve dancing at a neighbourhood block party, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand. Another showed Bucky in his military uniform, giving you a wink as he prepared to head off to basic training. Then there were pictures of Steve and Bucky goofing around, each trying to outdo the other in some silly stunt, and you caught in the middle, rolling your eyes but smiling all the same.

There were pictures of Bucky and you around the campfire on the night before everything changed—before he fell off the train. Bucky paused on that photo, his eyes lingering on it. “That was the night before…” he said softly.

You nodded, squeezing his hand, understanding the weight of those words.

“Night before what?” Sam asked, his voice gentle.

“Before I fell,” Bucky replied, those three words carrying a lifetime of pain and loss. The room grew still, the significance of that moment hanging heavy in the air. Sam didn’t say anything more, sensing the depth of emotion in Bucky’s words.

Bucky’s gaze remained fixed on the photo, his voice quiet as he continued. “It was the last time I felt so much joy… I feel it now, but it was different then.”

Steve nodded in agreement, his expression solemn. “I get it, Buck.”

“Me too,” you added, your voice trembling slightly. “I keep thinking about what was supposed to be, what should have been.” You paused, wiping a tear from your eye. “I don’t understand why it all happened the way it did—why I didn’t get the life I thought I was going to.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky whispered, his hand gently reaching out to wipe away your tears, his touch as tender as it had always been.

The room fell into a reverent silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts, the weight of your shared history settling over you like a heavy blanket. Finally, Sam spoke, his voice soft and full of understanding. “You’ve lived a hell of a life.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you wiped away a stray tear. “It wasn’t what I planned,” you admitted, your voice thick with emotion. “But I wouldn’t trade it. Not if it meant losing this—losing you… both of you.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “We didn’t get the life we dreamed of, but we got each other. And that’s enough.”

Steve leaned back, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “We’ve been through so much, but we’re still here. Together.”

Sam smiled, the warmth in his expression offering a quiet reassurance. “That’s what matters in the end. Not what you lost, but what you’ve kept.”

“Till the end of the line,” Steve spoke, the words heavy with emotion and depth.

“Till the end of the line,” Bucky echoed, pulling you closer to his side.

You glanced around the room at the faces of the people who had become your family—the ones who had stood by you through the darkest of times.

As the pages of the scrapbook turned, the photographs shifted from black-and-white to colour, reflecting the passage of time. The images grew fewer as the years became harder, but each one was more precious because of it.

Finally, you reached the last page, where an empty space awaited a new photograph. You looked up at Bucky and Steve, both of them gazing at the book with a mix of nostalgia and gratitude.

“You should take a new photo,” Sam suggested, his voice soft but certain. “One to mark this moment.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that melted away the years. “Yeah, we should.”

Steve grinned. “I’ll get the camera.”

As Steve stood to retrieve a camera, you leaned into Bucky, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your hand. This was the life you had, and it was more than enough. The empty space in the book was no longer a reminder of what was lost, but a promise of what was yet to come—a new chapter, filled with love, laughter, and the people who mattered most.

Sam took the camera from Steve, ready to take the picture. But just as he was about to snap the shot, you paused. “Wait!”

“What? You don’t have food in your teeth, but your hair…” Sam teased with a smirk.

“Well, I was going to say I want you in the picture too, but…” You trailed off

“No, no! I’m sorry, you’re beautiful… perfect—”

“Sam, watch it, that’s my girl,” Bucky warned, a protective edge to his voice.

Sam rolled his eyes, chuckling. “The whole world knows that, Buck.” He placed the camera on the tripod and took a seat beside Steve. “You sure you want me in this?”

“Of course, Sammy! You’re one of us now,” you insisted, smiling warmly at him.

Sam’s expression softened, and he nodded, touched by your words. As the camera clicked, capturing the four of you together, you knew that this was the memory that would fill that final page—the proof that even after everything, you still had your boys, old and new, and they still had you.

The book might never hold the life you once dreamed of, but it would hold the life you had lived—the one you had fought for, the one you had loved.

And that was more than enough.

[wjchocome]

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[aliidarling]

danny johnson with friendly!survivor

DANNY JOHNSON x fem!reader

— headcanons

nsfw / sfw content below!

imagine danny seeing you for the first time, dressed in a cute black dress with black uggs, your hair with a bow in the back. his first thought is how the hell can you run in those furry boots? they must get mud all over them.

he’s at first drawn by you, your beauty, innocence, and how you’re so god friendly. it’s nerve wracking, how each time he pairs up with you, you don’t hesitate to greet him with a hug. he feels a little possessive, wondering if you do this with other killers. he asks around and they all tell him you’re scared of them, how you run off immediately and how you stick to gens.

he feels prideful at that. you were comfortable around him, safe even. if he wasn’t such a deranged lunatic maybe he’d ask you out like a normal gentlemen, but whenever he sees you he’s caught inbetween two worlds.

imagine danny seeing the other survivors take advantage of your purity, asking you to sacrifice yourself and unhook others, always blaming their generator blasts on you. one time he even witnessed them slamming a pallet in your face, and at that moment he swore he would all gut them and send them up into the entity.

his pretty princess didn’t deserve this treatment. you deserved to get pampered and massaged, get your cute little face rubbed and kissed, not whatever the hell this is.

safe to say, none of the other survivors made it out that round. you, on the other hand, escaped unscathed through the hatch with a kiss on the forehead.

imagine danny witnessing you coming into the match with a tiny pajama set, matching with all your fellow survivors. you have a black oversized tee shirt on that hugs your chest and accentuates your curves(he swears he’s not a creep, he just notices things easily..). your shorts weren’t any better, shaking off that soft skin of yours that glowed. he would rather die then to see that pretty skin all bruised and bloody.

he can quite literally melt into a puddle as he notices what’s on your shirt. it’s a graphic design of him slashing, with his name written in a flashy red font. the entity must of noticed his obsession with you, because no way this was a coincidence. he had never been more happy. he was definitely gonna make sure to give the entity some more sacrifices as a little thanks.

imagine danny slowly becoming more and more obsessed with you, a small crushing turning into a massive obsession over the span of a few months. he can’t breathe with you, can’t think, can’t sleep, can’t do anything. he starts to sneak into the survivors camp just to take photos of you, snapping you in every angle he can get. he thinks you’re the prettiest girl in the world.

whenever he sees someone interact with you while he’s doing his usual stalking he finds himself becoming so angry. why were you entertaining them? you were his good girl, not that dick steve’s or sweet boy dwight’s. his.

half of his bedroom is a mess, cluttered with random little miscellaneous he found throughout the forest of his realm. his house is small and rusty, a little cabin in the woods he stays in outside of trials, where he spends all his time thinking about you. just you. under his bed is a blood red box he hides, full of polaroids of you, some pieces of clothing he managed to snatch off your figure, even some of your missing objects you hadn’t seen in months.

did i mention he loves to break into your cabin?

imagine danny snooping through your small room while you’re out in a trial, shoving his nose into your business and sniffing everything. he goes through your closet, dressers, under your bed, even tries prying open the floor boards. he wants to analyze every part of you and understand how you work, how you function, how that tiny brain of yours thinks.

he can’t help but laugh when he finds your collection of bows and your girly objects. he doesn’t know how you’ve managed to have make up and hygiene products in this realm, but your dresser has them. no wonder he’s so obsessed with sniffing you, you have that sweet aroma of sweet goods and vanilla sweets that’s coming from your perfumes.

nsfw content below!!

imagine danny whisking you away whenever you both are matched up, taking you into one of the rooms in the myers house. he’s quick to push you down onto the rugged mattress and pull your tiny dress up, grinding his hips against your round butt. he cherishes your sweet little moans, how your eyes roll back.

he loves to tug at you, taking his mask off at times to bite and kiss you. you were the only person he’d let see him without it, especially in such a vulnerable moment. he would take advantage of his access to your butt and give it bites, leaving literal red marks on your butt. your loud squeal and annoyed glare is what amuses him and makes him keep doing it.

imagine danny holding you by your waist, his large hands that were undoubtedly covered in your friends blood grippijg you tightly as he rubbed his tip up and down your wet hole. he relishes in the fact he makes you so wet. he doesn’t have to do much, he can rub you and give you a little kiss and you’d be begging for his cock like a needy whore. he’s loves that about you, you’re easy. only when it comes to him, though.

imagine danny humming in relief as he finally slides himself deep inside you, bottoming out in one thrust. his hips snap against you as he focuses on how tight you are around him, how warm you are around his cock. he could not give a fuck about any of the survivors running around like mice, doing generators and opening chests, not knowing one of their fellow survivors were being slutted out and fucked nice n deep like the good girl you are. “shhhh,” he whispers gently, petting your face. your sweet cries make him harder.

imagine danny having you bent over one of the vaults, your head sticking out on the other side as you moan like a dumb girl, tongue sticking out. his hand is in your hair, tugging at it gently as he rolls his cock into you. he knows you’re in a position where anyone could walk across the two of you, but that only makes him more needy for you, more eager to fuck you hard.

he teases you a lot, making fun of you and giving you small jabs each time his fat tip hits your cervix. he listens to each noise you make, wanting to inhale your words. he was obsessed with every part of you, from your head to toes, your insides to outsides.

imagine danny having his days where he’s so pissed off. all four survivors escaped, and he can’t even count the amount of times he got a pallet slammed in his face. he’s quick to sneak into your cabin and push you down onto your bed, not caring about your confused pleas and dumb words about getting caught. he ignores everything you say, pulling your pants off and pulling you forcefully into a face down ass up position.

ramming his cock in your unprepared hole was one of the best feelings in the world, other then gutting his victims. your cries into your pillow are silenced as he keeps a hand on the back of your head, massaging your scalp subtly. his other hand holds you down as he batters your pussy, groaning and letting dirty phrases slip out of his mouth. a part of him feels bad for being so mean to you, you’re just a sweet girl, so pretty and innocent— you don’t deserve this, no, you deserve to be fucked gently and kissed, but that doesn’t matter right now. right now he needs a tight hole to fuck his anger into.