#belle: shape of fear

[graphicpolicy]

Preview: Belle: Shape of Fear

Belle: Shape of Fear preview. Belle "Anabelle" DiMarco's waking world is haunted by the beasts that she is sworn to hunt #comics #comicbooks

[nfcomics]

BELLE SHAPE OF FEAR • cover art • Carla Cohen [June 2023]

[eowynstwin]

This truly is the last thing I want to say on this blog and then I'm done psych I lived bitch, but given how the fucking catastrophe started it's only appropriate this is how I end it—

You have racist bias whether you like it or not. Particularly if you are US American, racism was baked into your worldview no matter what kind of household, liberal or conservative, you grew up in. Racism is quite often far more covert than it is overt. It is not just a voluntary behavior; it is more often the subconscious ways you organize and hierarchize other cultures and people.

In the case of Gaz—sure, you might actively believe that he deserves to be more included. You think he's a good character and people really should think about him more! But you personally headcanon him a certain way, and really it's not a headcanon you're actually all that into, so that's why you don't talk about him as much. It's not because he's black, it's because he doesn't fit the thing you like talking about the most. The fact that he's black is really just a coincidence, you're not excluding him because of that. In fact, you're sure other people like him for exactly the reason you're not all that into him, and you'll just leave it to them to pick up the slack. Or you'll get to him later! In fact, you have some ideas for him. You just haven't gotten around to them yet.

Take that and multiply it by thousands of white women in fandom—not just this fandom, not just Gaz's character, but every fandom and every character of color. It doesn't matter that there's no active malice behind not personally liking black characters and other characters of color. Non-white characters still take a backseat to their white counterparts, because white women in fandom cannot wrap their heads around black, brown, indigenous, and Asian characters as complex, complicated characters worthy of their interest or frankly, their desire.

They cannot wrap their heads around this because they were conditioned not to by decades of racist culture.

Case in point; plenty of white women in this fandom have fallen head over heels for Makarov and Graves. The sins of these out-and-out villains are totally forgiven by virtue of their sex appeal, and because they are portrayed by attractive, charismatic men who put a lot of passion behind their performances.

But can we say the same for Hadir? Can we say the same for Hassan?

The sins of these two Middle Eastern characters do not outweigh those of their villainous white counterparts, yet how many angsty fix-it fics have been written exploring Hadir's complicated relationship with violence and imperialism? How many enemies-to-lovers or even lovers-to-enemies fics have been written about Hassan, the face of whose homeland has been irrevocably marred by US interference?

No one who points out the racism of this trend is accusing these white women of active, militant white supremacy. I'm not saying any of you even have to like Gaz, Hadir, or Hassan. But your preferences have been tuned for you by a culture shaped by slavery, imperialism, and white supremacy. That is not something you can escape merely because you support the BLM movement or reblog vetted Palestinian gofundmes.

The only way you can truly fight your own racism is to be actively anti-racist. It is about far more than who you give money to or what graphics you pin on your instagram. It is an everyday practice of learning how racism has shaped your worldview for you.

This is not work that is done in a week, a month, or a year. Becoming anti-racist takes as much time as it took to make you racist in the first place. For some of you, the work may turn out to be easy. For others, it may be hard. You must do it either way.

Some good places to start:

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Ain't I a Woman? by bell hooks

We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity by bell hooks

A Burst of Light by Audre Lorde

The Body Is Not An Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor

Fearing the Black Body by Sabrina Strings

Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi

Being Palestinian edited by Yasir Suleiman

[wileys-russo]

hot and cold II a.russo

hot and cold || a.russo

it didn't take long after you woke up to see that alessia wasn’t herself.

for starters the girl wasn’t wrapped tightly around you as normal like a second skin, as she always was no matter the weather which caused much the broken sleep for you in summers when her taller form would insist she'd have to sleep practically on top of you.

the blonde instead today had chosen to sleep curled into herself on the very edge of the bed, seemingly as far away from you as she could get.

you'd reached out and absentmindedly began to trace shapes against the soft tanned skin of her back where her shirt had ridden up, but she mumbled something incoherent and shuffled further away from your touch.

assuming she’d just had a bad dream or wanted some space you’d not thought much of it at first still half asleep you'd drifted back off.

but awaking a couple of hours later you rolled over again and tugged softly on the back of your girlfriends top to let her know you were wanting her attention and affection.

but all alessia could do was murmur a quiet no and push your hands away, tucking her knees into her chest curling into a ball of sorts as your eyebrows knit into a concerned frown, pulling yourself to sit up.

alarm bells had gone off the moment you glanced down to see the sweat beading on her forehead and the obvious grimace of discomfort plastered across the blondes face, even whilst still half asleep.

you carefully leaned over and pressed the back of your hand to her forehead, gently knocking away her own as they tried to push you off with an annoyed grumble, frown deepening as you felt the obvious temperature she was running.

"baby you're burning up." you whispered softy, alessia staying quiet but pushing your hand away and shrugging it off as you tried to get her to roll onto her back and she refused.

instead your feet hit the carpet and you were out of the bedroom and downstairs in a flash, hastily darting around the kitchen and bathroom cabinet to grab what you needed.

in your brief absence the striker had now shuffled over into the middle of the bed, arms tightly hugging a pillow to her chest, duvet kicked off and precariously hanging off the edge of the mattress.

“less, baby.” you squatted down beside her, softly poking at her side as the older girl sighed deeply and turned over, cracking open one eye tiredly.

"what?" she muttered as you used a tissue to gently dab away the sweat on her forehead much to the noises of displeasure she let out at the gesture, but rapidly losing her energy to continue to push you off she let you do it.

“I think you’re sick, can I please take your temperature? your forehead is really warm.” you’d requested quietly with a small smile, moving to tenderly brush away the loose strands of blonde hair which were stuck stubbornly to her clammy sweat dampened skin.

“m’not sick, im fine.” alessia had grumbled sleepily, huffing again and rolling back over away from you and it was now your turn to sigh, having feared this would be her response.

there wasn’t anyone more stubborn or in denial when accused of being unwell than your blonde lovergirl, you were almost certain of it.

this behaviour though not new to you, never became any less worrying or frustrating when all your heart ached to do was take care of the girl who everyday would go above and beyond to do the same for you, but who you knew would fight you at nearly every turn convinced you were wrong.

you jumped suddenly and fell backwards, startled by the glaringly loud and shrill tone of your girlfriend’s 8am alarm, hurrying to your feet and the other side of the bed, tapping it off.

alessia groaned and pushed her head under the pillow at the noise, one final kick sending the duvet flying off the bed and hitting the floor with a thump.

a thin sheen of sweat covered her bare legs too, though the goosebumps on her arms as she hugged herself tightly with a slight shiver only further solidified your theory.

luckily for both you and her today was her rest day so she didn’t need to train, and the pair of you had no other commitments lined up.

but the paralysing fear of sleeping through or missing her alarms and being late for training meant alessia never ever turned them off, even on rest days.

“go away!” alessia pushed away your hands with a soft whine as you attempted to stick the thermometer in her mouth, your own frustration levels spiked a little but you were far from ill prepared for her response.

“lessi please just let me check your temperature and then you can go back to sleep. you’re burning up and i need to make sure it isn't too high or else we need to go see a doctor, aren’t you hot?” you asked, biting down on your bottom lip with concern as she shook her head stubbornly, half heartedly kicking your body away from hers as you tried to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

"no i'm cold." she mumbled as you stood and grabbed the duvet, shaking it out and placing it on top of her again, wincing as no sooner did you was it kicked back to the ground. "not that cold." your girlfriend huffed as you paused to take a breath.

“alessia. baby i love you very much and i know how you get when you’re sick better than anyone else. i know you don’t feel good and i know you’re grumpy and i know you're uncomfortable and you don't know why. but i just want to take care of you and try to make it better in anyway i can. please?” you tried again, squatting down to her eye level and pleading with her as unimpressed ocean blue eyes bore back into yours.

“for god sakes i am not sick im tired! we stayed up late watching that movie and i wanna sleep in. just get away from me then if you’re so fucking concerned that i'm sick, which i'm not!” the blonde growled, lashing out and moodily throwing her body to face the other way again, shoulders hunched and body language closed off as you dropped your head in defeat.

“fine, i’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” you pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath knowing she didn’t mean to snap at you, but that didn’t make it hurt any less when she did.

knowing the more you pushed right now the more she would push back you left her on her own as you closed the bedroom door behind you with a soft thud, padding downstairs with a shake of your head at alessia's stubbornness.

despite her insistence that she was fine you knew that she wasn’t, and you were still determined to take care of her even if that had to be from a distance for now.

so leaving her upstairs to rest you called your mum, having her talk you through the soup she’d always made for you as a child when you were unwell, hastily scribbling down notes and rushing around to see what you were missing.

dismissing her offers to come over and help knowing that would only worsen your girlfriends mood with her smothering, you left a quick note for alessia explaining your absence and stuck it on the fridge before ducking out to the shops.

meanwhile back up in bed in the solitude of her own company, alessia was now near boiling.

she’d tried everything to cool herself down not long after you'd left her.

the fan made her nose run, the hum of the air con made her head thump for and forcing herself into a cold shower which only made her nose run even more and her ears feel blocked and sore which then sprinted on into an absolutely pounding migraine as she nearly fell to the tiled floor of the shower.

so tired, miserable, achey and at her limit, the blonde was craving nothing but the comfort of your arms wrapped around her, now feeling even worse for how she’d treated you this morning.

this was always the routine though, alessia hated being sick, hated doctors, hated medicines and hated when there was aspects of her bodys behavior out of her control. so when someone tried to tell her that was the case her instinct was always to lash out and argue the diagnoses.

stripping down into only a singlet she sought out your company with an apology on the tip of her tongue, almost falling downstairs as she did, tripping over her own feet and letting out a cry of surprise as she just caught herself on the railing, stopping from tumbling head first with a shaky exhale.

squeezing her eyes shut with a wince a searing strike of pain shot through her head and suddenly the striker could feel her heartbeat in her ears. though when there wasn't any sign of you, no forever loving girlfriend rushing to her side with a teasing smile and a mocking joke about her two left feet, alessia's heart rate accelerated.

a sudden wave of nausea rocked the strikers body as she sniffled, wiping away at her nose which was running like a tap with the collar of her top, gripping so tightly to the railing her knuckles had now turned white as the dizzy spell eventually faded.

she called out hopefully for you. once, twice, and then a third time, each more desperate than the next as her chest tightened and she stumbled downstairs. did she go too far? did she finally push you away? had you left her? she couldn't blame you for any of those much as she was praying she was wrong.

the blonde let out a sigh of relief as she pressed her blisteringly hot forehead to the cool marble of the kitchen bench, taking a moment to try and collect herself a little as her head continued to pound.

a coughing fit suddenly wracked her body as she doubled over and grabbed at her stomach, throat red raw and throbbing as she staggered her way to the fridge, throwing it open and grabbing a bottle of water.

taking a few cautious sips amongst attempted deep breathes her body seemed to settle, and it was then she noticed the note you’d left for her on the fridge and had you been there you’d have seen her practically deflate as her eyes scanned the page, though she was also grateful you hadn't left because of her behavior this morning.

though her anguish was short lived as she threw herself down on the sofa, arms draped across her face to block out the light as she busied herself counting to 100 and back down again, something she’d done with you countless amounts of time when you’d been anxious on long plane rides, never having been a confident flyer.

but the girl barely made it to thirty before she heard your car pull in with a crunch of gravel and then a door slam shut. but before she could even force herself to sit up your keys jingled in the lock and the front door popped open.

you were so much so in a rush to return and get things prepped that you didn’t even notice the messy blonde head of hair staring at you from the sofa.

though once you did you let out a loud yelp of surprise, dropping a carrot to the ground and clutching at your chest as your heart rate sky rocketed and alessia finally forced herself up and to her feet.

"alessia! jesus christ." you exhaled catching your breath as it was only your girlfriend and not an intruder, rosy red nose and lily white pale complexion frowning at you a few feet away.

“you left.” was all the striker could manage to get out before another coughing fit wracked her body and your eyes widened, hurrying over to her aid and helping her slowly sit back down.

“here baby, small sips.” you encouraged gently, tilting the bottle of water to her lips and crouching down in between her legs as her chest heaved but the coughing fit passed.

“better?” you asked worriedly and your girlfriend let out a deep exhale, nodding tiredly as your heart ached to see the deep bags under her eyes and the broken look of pain behind them.

your legs beginning to cramp you stood to your feet, unable to even fully stand before arms wrapped around your torso and the italian latched onto you, burying her face in your chest as she remained sat on the sofa.

“i’m so sorry.” the girl managed to mumble out as her hands clung desperately to the back of your top, yours rubbing soothing circles into her back and promising her it was okay before gently pulling her off.

though that was to no use as the striker once more grabbed onto you, arms wrapping around the back of your thighs now as she bent forward, the blonde looking uncomfortable as she did, easily the taller one of the two of you.

“don’t go. please i didn't mean what i said earlier i want you, i need you.” she croaked out, chin resting against your stomach as she looked up to you, tears beginning to well in the corner of her eyes as your face softened.

“hey hey hey, love i just need you lay down here for a few minutes, i'm not going anywhere but to the kitchen. i’m gonna make some of my mums soup so we can try to get something good into your stomach, and i know you hate it but i need you to take some medicine. then i’m all yours lessi, i promise.” you once again tenderly brushed away a few matted strands of hair which clung to her forehead, taking the opportunity to check her temperature with the back of your hand, sighing in relief that it seemed to have lessened slightly from before.

“i’m not hungry or sick. i don't need soup or medicine, i need you.” the girl managed to get out, her voice incredibly raspy and fading fast with the ongoing coughing fits as she stared up at you, absolutely exhausted.

“i know baby but you are sick. so i need you to eat something and take some medicine to try and fight this so you aren't sick for very long, i just want you to feel better. then like i said i promise i’m all yours, i won't leave your side.” you reassured, nails gently scratching at her scalp as her eyes fluttered close in pleasure and she nodded, unwinding from you and laying back down on the sofa.

"thank you lessi, i'll be right back." you promised as she nodded, eyes slowly closing as exhaustion took over.

you darted away for a moment to grab the cough medicine and cold and flu tablets from the shopping bags, eventually encouraging your girlfriend to begrudgingly take both much to her disagreement.

“i’ll be as quick as i can, do you need anything for now?” you knelt down to press a loving kiss to her forehead, lips lingering there for a moment as you felt her shake her head, feebly mumbling for you to hurry making you smile.

within twenty minutes you had the soup going and had been making frequented checks on the blonde sprawled out on the sofa, sleep seeming to have caught up with her as she dozed on the couch, once more curled into a ball and coughing every now and then.

“you’re taking too long.” but a few moments after checking her temperature again it would seem you spoke too soon.

you felt the taller girl hunch over and press her face into your back, arms tightly wound around your mid section and you felt her overwhelming body heat suffocate you.

“i’m almost done baby, just go lay back down and i’ll be with you soon.” you tried to unwrap her from around you but were only met with a quiet grunt no and her refusal to let you go.

"i told you to hurry. i'm not leaving, i need you." she croaked as you melted, feeling her straighten up a little as her chin hooked onto your shoulder. "okay. i love you." you whispered, kissing her cheek as the blonde nodded, eyes closed again making you smile and tuck her hair behind her ear.

at least grateful she was back to her normal clingy self you gave into her demand to stay latched firmly onto you, softly murmuring for her to move with you every now and then as she clung on from behind and you stepped around the kitchen, finally finishing the soup and dishing up a bowl for the blonde attached firmly to your back.

you had her sit down again on the sofa, taking a seat beside her as the italians head slumped tiredly to your shoulder and she instantly melted into your side when you declined sitting on her lap like she tiredly tried to pull you to.

you flicked on the tv and threw on something light and funny, knowing the girl curled into you had always appreciated background or white noise but lowering the volume as to not further aggravate the headache she'd been complaining about the last half an hour.

with soft encouragement and coo’s of praise you managed to feed the blonde at least half the bowl of soup before she pushed it away with a shake of her head, mumbling she was full as you nodded in understanding and set it aside on the coffee table.

“cuddles?” the older girl croaked out, tilting her head back from where it rested on your shoulder and opening her arms, and you swooned at the girls soft nature. "i told you i need you." she added on with a grumpy scowl when you didn't answer her fast enough

“yeah baby, cuddles.” you promised, assisting her to switch positions with you as the two of you now lay down on the couch, alessia sprawled out half on top of you as her head thumped down tiredly on your chest, her arms locked around around you.

switching the movie over to something you knew she was more likely to settle down and watch you threaded one hand through her hair and snaked the other up the back of the thin singlet covering her, rubbing soothing circles into the slightly damp skin of her back, her temperature lowering but still very much not back to normal yet.

“kiss.” the blonde moved her head to look up at you expectantly and you smiled, pressing one to her forehead as she frowned. “proper kiss.” your girlfriend croaked out, puckering her lips expectantly as you again smiled but softly shook your head.

“you’re sick baby, not today. i can't look after you if i get sick too.” you tried to explain gently as her frown only deepened and you felt her pinch at your sides, adjusting on top of you so she could somewhat push herself up a little more.

“if you get sick i’ll just take care of you. so give me a kiss!” the grumpy blonde ordered as you sighed, knowing there was no way you could possibly win this with how cute and how stubborn she was.

"better take good care of me, germy." you teased pressing a quick kiss to her awaiting lips, following up with several more pecks before she could protest as her face slowly melted into a satisfied smile and she settled herself back down on top of you.

“you’re such a big baby when you’re sick alessia, honestly.” you teased quietly, sighing as once more the striker moved herself to sit up slightly and glare down at you.

though before she could argue her body convulsed as she coughed and darted to be out of your way, you rubbing at her back and pressing gentle kisses to her exposed shoulder before helping her to take a few sips of water.

"don't call me alessia." she grumbled out once she'd calmed, sending you an unimpressed look and you lay back down. “sorry lessi baby, i love you.” you corrected softly as she nodded, grumbling that was better and settling herself on top of you again.

“do you want me to put your hair up?” you offered a few minutes later, feeling the back of her neck start to rise in temperature where you’d been massaging it gently at it as the taller girl nodded.

slipping the hair tie off of your wrist you scraped her hair up into a messy bun, the blonde pressing a grateful kiss to your jaw as she scooted up your body, settling down again.

"thank you babe, i love you." the blonde mumbled as you echoed the words back. pushing up the back of her singlet your nails scratched absent minded patterns into her bare back, feeling the blonde sigh contentedly and tighten her grip on your top, material balled in between her fists as she pressed herself impossibly close into you.

mumbling sweet nothings to the italian your lips lingered on the crown of her forehead, feeling her eventually doze back off, grip onto you never loosening even as she did.

throughout the afternoon anytime you tried to move she would awaken, grumpily ordering you to stay and shifting on top of you, pressing a kiss to any inch of your skin she could find in the moment as you promised you weren’t going anywhere and she would once more doze off.

and stubborn, grumpy and soft as she was when unwell, you wouldn’t change her for anything in the whole entire world.

[sugar-phoenix]

cowboy, you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly. ✦

synopsis: Boothill doesn't do things quietly. He's loud, and messy, and he likes doing things his way. Even though these all annoy you somewhat, the cowboy starts growing on you. And then one day, he does something unexpected. tags: f!reader, f/m, no smut, fluff, light angst, mentions of Boothill's past a/n: 2.5k words, this was a lot of fun to write. hope you guys enjoy it!

ao3 link here!

Your heels clacked as you walked down the halls, the ground littered with bodies and empty bullet shells. You sighed. Unlike Boothill, who left the remains of IPC soldiers and his mark everywhere in the form of bullet holes dotting the walls, you preferred to do your work neater, quieter. His loud whoops and hollers echoed down the corridor from ahead, making you cringe.

There were many things Boothill was in excess of. Too fierce. Too exposed. Too gleeful. Too loud.

You were not fond of loud.

“I got the place cleared for you, ma’am.” Boothill’s voice rang out like a bell.

“I noticed,” you responded, turning into the server room. In front of you, server towers loomed overhead, blinking with a million eyes. “You’re not very subtle, cowboy.”

“Subtle? Why would I wanna be subtle when I could strike fear into the heart of the IPC?” Boothill chuckled.

“Being subtle can be pretty scary,” you mused, going to the main terminal and typing the code you were given. “What could instigate more fear than an invisible threat you can’t see?”

“I dunno. I like to think that knowin’ who your enemy is and knowin’ that nothing can stop him is way more scary, lady.”

Boothill sank his pistol into his holster, then strode over to where you were standing, the sound of his body moving like oiled machinery.

“After all, ain’t knowin’ how you’ll die the most terrifyin’ thing of all?”

“Touché,” you conceded, scanning the database for the folder you wanted. Boothill waited at your side, and you felt a little shock that the man who was, only minutes ago a whirlwind of gunmetal and gleaming sharp teeth, could now stand so still.

Finally, you found the folder you were looking for, and you loaded it into a drive you inserted into the terminal. Boothill had offered the use of his own ports as a way to store the data, but you had refused. Data was no good to you if you could not parse through it with your own eyes.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you said as the download finished. “Let’s get out of this place.”

The cowboy at your side said nothing but smiled, flashing his razor teeth. You both stepped out into the hallway, only to be met with a new squadron of IPC guards.

“Looks like they sent the calvalry,” you remarked.

“Yeah? Well, if you know anythin’ about cowboys, you’ll know that we don’t take kindly to calvalry.”

And with that, he was off, shooting and hollering and kicking. You ducked back into the server room, letting the cowboy have his fun, and shook your head. When the sound of gunfire had stopped, Boothill leaned around the corner.

“‘S all clear! I took care of ‘em.”

You stepped out to find a pile of bodies and more bullet holes in the walls. Well, I guess this time it couldn’t be helped.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like my handiwork?” Boothill commented at your slightly dismayed expression.

“Cowboy,” you sighed, “you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly.”

He only laughed, a rough raucous sound that reverberated down the hallway as the two of you made your exit.

✦✦✦

You stood in the middle of the ballroom in a shape-hugging red gown, fanning yourself with a paper hand fan. Eyes searching the surrounding crowd, you looked for the familiar cowboy hat. You found Boothill standing against the back of the room, looking absolutely miserable in his suit. A smile creeped up your lips. It took a lot of hemming and hawing to get him to wear that suit.

“I need my body bare, otherwise I’ll overheat,” he’d said.

“Boothill, darling, it’ll just be for the night. You’re going to cause an uproar if you just walk in with that sorry excuse for a jacket. It would be absolutely scandalous. We need to be subtle tonight.” You had adopted the pet name after a few missions with him. The two of you were slowly becoming fond of each other.

“What’s wrong with a little ruckus?” Boothill had asked. “I like ruckus.”

“I know you do, but just this once we could do without it. Come on. You get to cause ruckus every other mission we’ve had so far. You can live without making noise just this once.”

To your surprise, he conceded, taking the suit from your hands and walking to a room, muttering and cursing under his breath.

Now you felt a little sorry as you watched him. He looked like a dog that had been forced into a humiliating outfit just for its owner’s enjoyment.

Your eyes met, and you flashed your fan over your face. The signal. You had gotten what you came here for. Relief flashed over Boothill’s face, and he made his way through the crowd to you as you started walking towards the exit.

You stopped abruptly when you saw the exit.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Boothill asked, then, “oh,” as he saw what caused you to pause.

The archways were lined with more security guards than either of you had remembered when you first came in.

“They know we’re here,” you whispered. “They’re waiting to catch us on the way out.”

Boothill said nothing. You saw the calculations happen in his crosshair eyes. Slowly, he smiled, revealing his shark teeth in a devilish grin.

“Oh Boothill. No.” You said with dread.

“Oh but we don’t have much o’ a choice, do we?” he whispered. “Just let me do what I do best, darlin’.”

You looked at him, and he caught the worry in your eyes.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I always get out, don’t I?”

You sighed.

“Fine.”

Boothill smiled wider than he had the entire night, and stepped away from you, making his way back into the crowd. You reached under the slit in your dress, hand on the dagger strapped to your thigh. The feeling of the hilt under your hand grounded you. It wasn’t long until you heard three deafening gunshots, and glass raining down from above. Chaos and panic erupted, and over all of them, the familiar laugh you’d grown to love. You watched as the archways were flooded, and the guards rushed towards the cause of the ruckus.

Taking the chance, you merged in with the panicked crowd streaming outside the ballroom, as more gunshots echoed behind you. Once you were out, you rushed to your sports car, and got into the driver’s seat. It roared to life as you turned the ignition, and you took it out of the car park and drove it to wait in front of the entrance. Panicked partygoers ran around your car, but your eyes were focused on the entrance. The way you white-knuckled the steering wheel would definitely leave imprints.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered. “Come on, cowboy.”

A beat passed, then two, then ten, and Boothill was nowhere to be seen. You got anxious, watching the large golden arches that led into the ballroom with the giant crystal chandelier that hung above them outside.

Just when you were about to accept that Boothill had been captured, or worse, dead, he emerged from the entrance, a crazed grin on his face, his expensive suit torn in shreds. You sighed in relief. Just before he reached the car, he turned around, aiming upwards, and pulled his trigger. Five bullets flew through the air, severing the chains of the giant chandelier. The guards chasing Boothill were trapped in the ballroom as the light fixture fell to the ground in front of them, shattered glass scattering everywhere. Boothill cackled, then leapt over the hood, taking his seat in the passenger side. You wasted no time flooring the gas pedal, the car screeching away from the ballroom.

“Should teach those muddlefudgers not to waste money on showin’ off,” Boothill laughed.

You rolled your eyes, smiling.

“Hard time wrapping things up neatly,” you said.

“That’s just my trademark, darlin.’”

The two of you glanced at each other, grinning wildly, as your car sped into the night.

✦✦✦

You gazed out the windows of the Astral Express. The endless expanse of space unrolled before you, a landscape of endless opportunities.

Boothill had been called to the Astral Express for a favor, and he thought you should tag along.

“They’re a pretty cool bunch, you should come meet ‘em. Who knows, they might come in handy for ya in the future.”

You didn’t need the cowboy’s persuasion to come and meet the famed Nameless. You were more than happy for a chance to come face to face with these trailblazers, to converse with them and see how they operated.

The Astral Express crew surprised you at first. They were less of an organized team and more like a ragtag family of people from all different walks of life. Pom Pom, the little conductor of the express, scrutinized you for a bit until they sniffed (disapprovingly or approvingly you couldn’t tell), and announced, “Pom Pom welcomes you aboard the Express.”

Soon after, you got to meet the rest of the Express crew. There was March 7th, the cheerful girl with bubblegum-pink hair. There was Dan Heng, the quiet, reserved young man who often kept to himself in the Astral Express' database archives. There was Stelle, the mysterious gray-haired girl who was apparently a repository for a Stellaron. She kept quiet at first, but soon you learned she had a joke for every occasion and didn't hesitate to crack one even at the most inopportune moments, to the chagrin of her companions. Then to the two stewards of the Express: Himeko, the red-haired, confident navigator, and Welt, deep in thought and with a walking stick he kept close to himself at all times.

 Boothill seemed to fit right in. He was the one who introduced you excitedly to Dan Heng, cackling and talking about how they were “best buds.” Despite Dan Heng’s embarassment at first, you could tell he enjoyed the presence of the cowboy. In that way, you felt a sort of kinship with him.

 The two of you hung out on the Express for a few days, as Boothill helped them with one of their trips. They were currently orbiting a planet named Jarilo VI. Boothill had encouraged you to stay aboard the Express and take a break, but today, Himeko saw you watching the window.

"If you want, you can go down with the rest of them," she said.

"I think I might,” you responded. “Forget what Boothill said about taking a break, I'm at my happiest when I'm working on something anyway."

She smiled knowingly.

It wasn't long before you landed on the cold planet, and it was an even shorter time before you found the crew. Stelle, March, Dan Heng, and Boothill were in a clinic, accompanied by a small child with bright yellow hair and a doctor who wore a large apron. You'd soon come to know that these two were Hook and Natasha, respectively.

Boothill made a show of being upset that you weren't on the Express, but you could tell that he was very happy you had decided to join them after all.

Apparently the crew had been on a wild goose chase, and to your mild disappointment they were finished with the whole affair. Stelle, March 7th, and Boothill all attempted to explain the situation to you, and Dan Heng kept sighing and correcting them every five sentences, so in the end you understood very little.

As the four of you walked out of the clinic, Hook caught up to Boothill and tugged at his pants.

"You aren't leaving, mister, are you?"

Boothill turned around, and in a manner you'd previously thought uncharacteristic, he crouched down and ruffled the young girl's hair.

"I am, sweetheart," he replied.

 "But, but, you're a member of the Moles now! You have to stay with us."

"Oh, and I'm only an *honorary* member?" Stelle asked, in mock anger. Hook giggled mischievously, then turned back to the cowboy.

"Also, I need your help with something," she added.

"Oh? What's that?" Boothill asked. Hook produced a strange trinket from one of her pockets.

"I wanna give this to my daddy, but I dunno how to wrap it up."

Boothill chuckled, ruffling her hair again.  “Your daddy sure is lucky to have a little girl like you.”

Then he did something that was so unexpected, the action of it was seared into your memory forever.

Slowly, he took off the bandana from around his neck, and laid it flat on the ground. Then, he took the trinket from Hook's hands and put it on top of the bandana, in the center. Deftly, and with a gentleness you'd seen from him very rarely, Boothill wrapped up the object with careful folding and gentle knots, then presented the object to Hook.

"There you go. And once your daddy opens it, you can wrap the bandana around your own neck, and I'll be there with ya and the Moles in spirit."

Tears sprung to Hook's eyes and she surged forward, hugging his neck and wailing loudly. Boothill chuckled, patting her back tenderly.

✦✦✦

The crisis with Jarilo VI solved, you and Boothill bade the Astral Express crew goodbye and went on your way. In the small spaceship you sat in, you gave Boothill a look.

What Hook and the Astral Express Crew didn't know was that the bandana he wore around his neck was very dear to him. A remnant of his past, a past that he had talked very little about with you, even though the two of you had gotten very close with each other.

Boothill sighed, feeling your gaze on him. "You wanna ask me about what happened with the girl, I can tell."

"Well, I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, I guess that's fine with me--" you started.

"No, no it's fine. It's somethin' I should've told ya long before. It's just painful for me is all."

You wanted to tell him that it was okay for him not to tell you, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak.

"What I never told you before, darlin’, was that I used to have a little girl of my own."

You raised a hand to your mouth. Never in your life would you have thought that the man in front of you—loud, brash and reckless—was ever a father.

"Before I was a Galaxy Ranger, before I got this metal body that I have now, I used to be just a cowboy. And one day I found myself with a daughter. Precious thing, loved her to death." He paused, taking in a deep breath, then let it out. "The IPC, they came to our planet... and they took her away from me. Took her and my whole family away from me. Razed everything I had to the ground.

 “That bandana I wore, well. It was my only reminder of her."

"Oh," you said, understanding why he was so guarded about it in the past. There was a long pause as you waited for Boothill to talk again.

 "But that girl, Hook," he started again, "she… reminded me of my daughter." Boothill took a shuddering breath. He had lost his ability to cry a long time ago, and you knew this, but sometimes he did things that told you he was weeping, invisibly. Until now you hadn't known what about.

"They would have been friends," he said softly.

"I'm sure they would have," you agreed.

You thought about the way he wrapped the gift for Hook.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" you asked.

"Do what?" he replied.

"What you did with the gift. How you folded it."

"Oh, that," he chuckled. "Some things you pick up being a dad."

There was another pause before you decided to speak again. "Well, I'll admit I was wrong about you then."

 "Wrong about what?" he asked, and you chuckled a little before answering.

"Turns out, cowboy, you do know how to wrap things up neatly."

Boothill laughed then, a soft, light sound, and you smiled.

comments are also very appreciated!

dividers by @cafekitsune

[alexawynters]

Mommy Knows Best - w.m x r blurb

Summary: Wanda convincing R to let her to all the thinking for her

Warnings: Ehhh... allusions to manipulation, kidnapping, stalking.

A/N: So ahhh... I wrote this in 15 minutes while at work in a part of the office I very much didn't want to be in. This isn't connected to anything. I don't intend on expanding this bc I have no spoons and the plot bunnies won't settle on anything definitively. But if anybody wants to take a crack at it, pleeeeaaase do! Just like.. link me so I can read it because I am thirsty. Also all of this was typed up on my phone so sorry for any typos, or formatting issues. I left my laptop at home today like a dumbass..

Wanda's hand cradled your face with a gentle yet possessive grip. "I knew that you needed me the moment I laid eyes on you in that coffee shop."

Your eyes widened at the older woman's confession. Out of all the times you had met up with Wanda, it had never been at a coffee shop. Her implication that she had been watching you sent a bolt of fear down your spine.

"Such a sweet little thing, so easily flustered." She appraised you with a keen eye, searching for any hint that you might try to run. "You were just trying to substitute the milk in your coffee order, yet you couldn't even do that without nearly breaking out into tears. Poor thing. You just needed your Mommy to do all your difficult thinking for you, huh?"

The older woman's voice had taken on an almost saccharine quality, while simultaneously dripping with condescension. You couldn't have explained it if you tried, but something about her tone, her words, turned your head all fuzzy.

Alarm bells that should have been clanging loudly were but a distant detail in your peripheral, not worthy of your attention when the alternative was listening to Wanda's honeyed voice. You should be concerned. A normal person would be leaving this crazy woman as fast as their legs could carry them. Yet instead, you practically meted into Wanda's touch, almost craving it.

The witch gave a subtle smirk at the way your eyes glossed over when she talked down to you. This was going to be even easier than Wanda had thought. She might not even need to use her magic if you were already this responsive to her. Frankly, Wanda was delighted.

"Use your words, kotenok. I know you're just a dumb baby, and words are hard, but when Mommy asks you a question, I expect an answer."

Her grip turned firm, border lining on painful. Glassy eyes snapped open.

"Y-yes, Mommy. I just needed you to do all the thinking for me."

Your face flushed bright red as you spoke the words, but you couldn't bring yourself to take them back. Now that they had been released into the universe, the words rang true for you. They simply felt... right. Your trusting gaze met Wanda's domineering one, seeking any sign of her approval.

The older woman gave a salacious grin, very much reminiscent of a cat who caught the canary. "There's my good girl," she cooed, caressing the apple of your cheek with her thumb.

Lulled into a false sense of safety and security, you tilted your head. Leaning into her touch, you were practically simpering from her praise and touch. Why had you ever been concerned, you wondered? This was Wanda. She would always take care of you. She would never even dream of harming you. If only you knew the extent of the very real danger you were in, you might have tried to run. Not that you would have gotten far, but Wanda might have enjoyed the thrill of the chase.

Nevertheless, she had you right where she wanted you and why make it unpleasant when you were so... willing? The witch reveled in how pliant you were. Like putty in her hands, ready to be shaped and molded into the perfect plaything for her.

"Now kotenok," she said softly. "Why don't you go get changed into something comfortable and we can watch movies? I took the liberty of bringing over some of your clothes from your apartment as you won't be staying there anymore."

The former Avenger patted your cheek gently, sending you off on your way. It was only a few feet you had made before hesitating, turning to look at the older woman.

"Mommy...." You tried the title, and it rolled off your tongue surprisingly easily. "Why. won't I be staying at my apartment anymore? I'm still paying rent on it for another seven months." Uncertainty rolled off of you in waves.

Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, reigning her temper in. She needed to be understanding, but firm with you if she planned to get you completely under her thumb without scaring you off.

"You let Mommy worry about all of that. Those are big girl thoughts, and you wanted Mommy to do all the thinking for you, isn't that right?" Her voice was filled with exaggerated patience and condescension.

Part of you wanted to push the question. If you weren't going to be staying at your flat anymore then Wanda must mean for you to stay with her. Unfortunately, you couldn't afford rent in both places, so if you needed to sublet your flat, the sooner you knew for sure, the better. Not once did you question how, when, or why the redhead had picked up your clothes, being so focused about this rent situation.

Still, as you caught Wanda's steadily hardening gaze due to your lack of immediate cooperation, you could have sworn you almost saw a subtle flash of scarlet in her eyes. Opting not to upset the woman you were quickly falling for, you promptly turned on your heel, intent on doing as she had asked.

Unbeknownst to you, Wanda Maximoff was observing your trailing form with a razor-sharp gaze. She felt triumphant, everything was going according to plan, and you were honestly making it too easy on her. Soon you would belong to her, and by the time you realized, it would be too late.

A/N 2: What are we thinking? Bin it? Try to write it from the beginning? Or maybe keep going and only have the beginning appear in flashback format? I know I need to update Scarlet Whispers and I'm gonna, I swear! Just... effort. lol

[bloddysnow]

I want to feel it …Please

Synopsis: You have a pair of leather gloves. Zayne has thoughts he'd like to do with them

warnings: nsfw minors dni. Sub! Zayne, mean!dom! reader. Gn reader. fingerfucking. handjob. slight bondage. mention of masochism. prais kink. humiliation. possessive behaviour

"Put your hands above your head"

Zayne leaned back, feeling the mattress bend slightly under his weight. Deeply breathing, he raised his hands above his head. The skin on his palms was covered with evaporation, and his fingers tremored slightly. A breath got stuck in his throat, and he barely swallowed, feeling fear squeeze his throat. Zayne was afraid of what might happen, but he wasn't going to retreat. He had to step over his honor when he asked you for something.

Your gloves are made of black leather, tight so tight that it clearly hinted that they were made to order, by hand, to perfectly match the shape of your fingers. They looked elegant and refined, every detail was made with careful care. Paper-thin sheepskin that passed heat.

"I want you to put your fingers inside me. Without taking off your gloves. My mouth or my ass, or whatever you want. I want to feel it, Please." he said calmly, without stuttering. Apparently, rehearsal and repeated repetition of these words helped him.

Zayne had to watch you take off the rings one by one and throw them into a small glass bowl. Every sound with which the ring touched the glass was in his chest like the ringing of a bell. You took the black leather gloves and carefully put them on, slightly pulling down your fingers so that they sit perfectly. When you did it, Zayne's imagination had nothing left. He could see every detail - the protrusions of your knuckles, translucent through the thin skin of the gloves, and the pale back sides of your hands. The gloves had a neckline leaving the tendons going to your wrists open.

His hands immediately began to shake when his mind plunged into fantasies. He couldn't hold back the flow of thoughts about where you could touch him with these gloves and what you could do with him. Images clearly surfaced in his imagination: how your fingers squeeze his skin, how gloves slide over his body. He imagined you slapping his ass, and how the pain of the blow increases because of the leather covering your palm. He saw a red imprint in front of him slowly proming on his skin. Desire overwhelmed him, leaving his mouth dry and causing a burning need for your touch.

The belt was leather, just like the gloves. You tied them Zayne's wrists, tying them to the head of the bed. Carefully, you put your finger under the belt to check if it was tight enough for the blood to circulate. One touch of your glove to the inside of his wrist was enough to make his heart beat so hard that it didn't matter anymore. You could tie his wrists so tightly that it would cause pain.

Your hands rushed forward and grabbed his jaw. "Zayne, honey, I'm tired of you and your perversions," your words sounded sharp and cold, and he moaned in response to them.

"I'd ask you to shut up, but I know you can't. What will the neighbors think, huh? Don't you think they're tired of listening to your moans?" - you leaned closer, and he felt your breath on his skin. "You're such a needy whore, Zayne."

His sob was muted by your palm. He felt a drop of sweat flowing down the back of his head and back. And then two of your fingers pressed on the seam of his lips. Zayne didn't think for a moment - he just opened his mouth and let you press his tongue.

"Get them wet, slut."

You didn't have to repeat it twice. Zayne immediately closed his lips around your fingers and started sucking. He fantasized about the feeling of your ice fingers tightened in leather, imagined what they would taste like, but reality exceeded all his expectations. The thin leather of the gloves glided over his tongue, leaving behind a piercing feeling of cold and smoothness.

It was much better. Not only because of the taste, but also because of the way you looked down at him. Your eyes were closely watching his every move. His fingers clenched and opened at the head of the bed, desperately trying to find something to grab. A drop of tears slipped out of the corner of his eye and left a wet mark on his cheek, which found its way to his lips stretched around your gloved fingers. A smirk touched your lips.

His chest was red, as were his cheeks. He was all wet from sweat that his dark hair stuck to his forehead. You could see his pupils widen to the limit, so wide open with pleasure that they seemed to fill his whole look. His body was tense, every muscle trembled with desire.

You removed your fingers, and he immediately whined at the loss. He tried his best to grab them again, suck them, but as soon as he could push your fingers through teeth, you had already removed your hand.

Zayne could see his saliva on your gloves, it covered the leather, making it shiny and slippery. You held your hand in front of his face, turning your fingers as if you were checking the quality of his work. Zayne caught his breath while he was waiting for the verdict. He understood that if he hadn't done well enough, you could have denied him what he wanted so much. You could slap him and leave his cheeks burning.

You nodded, and the warmth bloomed in his chest. "Good," you said, loosening the tie around his neck with one hand. You gave him a second so that he could clamp the knot with his teeth, and then tightened it around his mouth.

"Spread your legs". He tried his best to do what he was told. When his legs were spread out, you slaped him on the hip, and it made his head buzz.

Your gloved finger, slippery from saliva, suddenly penetrated him. Wet leather and an unnaturally hard finger are completely stuck in his hole, causing a sharp burning sensation from stretching and a burning sensation of the leather on such a sensitive part of his body.

"Do you feel it?" you asked, and he nodded, his eyes were closed and his lips were trembling. Zayne threw his head back from the feeling.

The second finger joined the first, slowly but surely forcing his body to make place for you inside himself. His breath got stuck in his throat, and he held him, trying to hold back his scream. He remained in this tense state until he was dizzy and both of your fingers were completely inside him. Zayne could feel your leather knuckles on his ass, feeling them pressing slightly. He could also feel the stitches on the fingers of the gloves, thinly sewn and raised, so palpable that he could not distract from the way they pulled his hole when you slid your fingers in and out.

Zayne was crying. Tears flowed down his cheeks and soaked the silk fabric of the tie. He inhaled sharply through his nose when those leather fingers wrapped around his dick. Your thumb ran over the liquid gathered at the tip.

You rubbed there, and the heat blossomed in the deepest corners of his body, making his dick pulsate in your hand. He wanted to keep his eyes open to see your hand running up and down his dick, but it was so hard when he was so depressed by the sensations. Something was growing inside him, twisting in the lower abdomen, and this feeling became stronger and stronger. His dick was pulsating, ready for discharge. When he finally cum, it was so strong that he felt it in his throat, and his mouth was burning with the intensity of feelings. He couldn't help it. All he could do was bite his tie and cry while you kept working with him until he had nothing else he could give. And then the tie was taken out of his mouth. You unbuttoned belt and freed his hands. The gloves disappeared - when did you take them off?

"You did so well" You gently kissed him on the lips.

[satangcrush]

the wise sorcerer, solomon

✦ PAIRING: solomon x reader ✦ SUMMARY: reimagined first meeting with solomon & dark!solomon brain rot goes crazy lol ✦ WC: 2.8k

| MASTERLIST

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There is no reassurance in the Devildom, at least not for you yet. The fear is always there, an underlying current that thrums through your veins whenever a demon comes in range of you. Sometimes, when you lie awake at night, you wonder if they could smell your distress, if they could hear how your heartbeat races despite your brave front. You often mediate if the promise from the current Devildom ruler would hold strong and you know the fear in your heart does not abade even with his ressurance.

That was when you met Solomon – the Wise Sorcerer as people call him. The demon prince introduced him as a human, but does humans smile the way he does? In your opinion, you don’t quite think he was human at all, his lips curled in a way that made your skin crawl with unease. His eyes bore into your soul and it makes a question rise to the tip of your tongue. You almost want to ask him, what do you see there? 

You don’t ask your question. Instead, you reluctantly accept his handshake. A voice in the back of your mind noted that when his steady hands wraps around yours, the callouses that forms the shape of his life, burn where he touches. And when you look up to meet his perceptive gaze, his laughter, lilting and incomprehensible, fills the room and rings in your head as it encompasses your entire being.

You swallow inaudibly, and unable to hold his stare, you turned to look at the demon prince. From your peripheral vision, Solomon’s gaze darkened almost imperceptibly, as he waits for a reaction. You just don’t know if it’s yours or the demon prince’s that he’s looking for.

Your first meeting with him only left an unending question in the depths of your mind.

.

Time was the only constant in the Devildom, as well as a haunting reminder that you didn’t belong there, that you were ripped away from your own reality. Even as you fought tooth and nail to carve your space into the demon brothers’ lives, you still felt hollow as if something was missing. You often come up blank, confused at this feeling that you can’t quite place your finger on.

You sit by Asmodeus’s side on the bed in his room. Both of you have finished doing the skincare routine that he had prepared – a long time ago, and the now familiar nasally voice of his relaxes your mind as you sink further into the mattress, careful to not smear the product on your face lest he admonishes you.

The soothing voice of his washes over you with a fog, a tell-tale sign that you don’t have the slightest clue of what the Avatar of Lust has been telling you for the past hour. Your thoughts remain hazy and when he asks you that damned question, you mistakenly told him your thoughts on Solomon.

“Hm,” Asmodeus says cordially, a serene smile placed on his porcelain-like face. He stares down at you as he crawls over to pat your face patronisingly, “I can’t have my two favourite humans disliking each other, can I?”

A flicker of panic rises through your haze but Asmodeus tempers your resistance down with a coo. Your gaze only magnetises towards his face and your thoughts fade away as you bask in the full attention from the Avatar of Lust. Only an afterthought stayed in your head, something that sounds suspiciously like a warning bell.

.

Solomon could tell you didn’t like him. Maybe dislike was too strong of a word, but you certainly weren’t pleased to be around him. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Whenever he was around in your vicinity, you always made an excuse to disappear on him. 

He didn’t get it. Weren’t humans like you and him supposed to stick together? He found it amusing and a little audacious that you much preferred the company of a demon over him. He supposed that humans nowadays are much more interesting than he had given credit for previously. 

The very first time he met you, he could see the reflection of his younger self staring back at him, the expression on your face so painfully human that it had lit a fire in the dark crevices in his heart. The more he interacted with you, the more he wanted to bury himself in every nook and cranny and explore every part of you. Thus, he tries very hard to set himself up to be a trustworthy and reliable character that you can rely on.

Yet, you had deviated from his grand plan and chose to instead find comfort in the brothers. He didn’t understand why. Wasn’t he trying enough? And when he found out that you had done something that he was unable to do – making a pact with the Seven Rulers of Hell, gaining their trust and even becoming their family, he couldn’t help the selfish desire to know more.

 Solomon had lived a very long life and this was far from the first time that someone had caught his interest, but something was different this time. You were an enigma that he wanted to unravel. The burning air in his lungs as he exhaled whenever he was around you tells him so.

He knows it’s fairly evident that he’s selfish and he wants to ruin you. You’re a blank canvas, covered in sin, the honeyed allure of your pact marks drips down your back and marks your descent to hell. The sin sings to him, and he wants to watch the honey trickle through his fingers.

Solomon wonders just exactly what about you intrigues him. It plagues him throughout the day, in his waking moments all the way to when he is in bed. These days, he just couldn’t seem to remember the faces of the people who he had once taken interest in. 

He wonders if the taste of you is as sweet as he had imagined.

.

You bristle lightly at Solomon’s laugh, the sound seeming delicately deceitful falling from his mouth.

Damn it, Asmo. You scowled softly as the Avatar of Lust’s pout popped up again in your mind. If it wasn’t for the promise that Asmodeus had coerced you into making, you would have already made an excuse to leave. Solomon is unsettling and you already feel discomforted by having to be in his presence much less spending a full day with him.

Yet, Solomon was nice. Unnervingly nice to you. This only made the case of him even more puzzling to you. You supposed the reason why you were so on guard around him was because you couldn’t get a read on him. 

Why does he seem inhuman to you? What are his goals? Why, and why on earth is he so curious about you?

You felt vaguely disconcerted in this warm atmosphere, apprehensively glancing around to take in the establishment from where you were seated in the corner booth that the sorcerer had chosen.

A flash of the cafe light falls down the curve of Solomon’s face and you begrudgingly admit that he was sort of pretty, in a sick and twisted way. You sort of want to gag at that admission. In this view, he looks less like the demon you have made him out to be and more like the human that Diavolo had introduced him to be.

A shiver ran down your back as you desperately dug your nails into the palm of your hand to try and starve off the nervousness that you must be sure is rolling off in waves around you.

“So… how are you coping in the Devildom?” Solomon suddenly asks cheerily. You almost jump out of your skin to hiss at him, despite it being your fault for being so over in your head. 

His expression twitches into a frown as the silence continues to extend, voicing your displeasure at the sound of him speaking. Unluckily, he waits for you to answer instead of disappearing from your sight. The itchy urge to talk builds up and finally, you bit out some pleasantries as you nursed a cup of coffee that has now gone cold during your silent wage of war against the sorcerer.

There’s a hint of shiftiness in the set of Solomon’s mouth, and it irks you to no end. You straighten up with a sniff, thoughts running wild with all the despicable and borderline criminal things you want to do to wipe that irritating smile off him. 

“I saw a cat on the way here.” Solomon abruptly announced as he picked up a napkin to wipe at his mouth while offering you the other piece that he had kept at his end of the table. You ignored his outstretched arm, as you raise your gaze from your cup to stare at him.

“Cat?” You repeated, perplexed by his revelation. You hadn’t taken him to be an animal person – you would have believed him if he told you that he was luring cats into his dungeon instead to use as sacrifices. And why was he telling you this? You were convinced that he must have found out from someone that you had a soft spot for strays.

His eyes brighten as he latches onto your response. You watch warily as he digs through his multiple coat pockets to bring out his D.D.D, fingers moving dexterously across the screen to pull up something.

“Her name is Coffee.” He offers as an additional piece of trinket that he waved in front of your face. You suppress the urge to hurl and gingerly take his D.D.D to peer at the picture closer. It was a horrible photo. Unfocused and blurry, you could only see a vague resemblance of a brown creature at the edge of the screen.

“Do you want to see-” 

“No.” You quickly cut him off, anticipating the end of his sentence. You did not want to spend more time than necessary with him, and you already had plans with Levi for an anime watch party back at the House of Lamentation.

You vowed to yourself that you would never spend time with the sorcerer alone again.

.

“Isn’t she cute?” 

You look down at the fluffy lump at your feet, squinting at the sorcerer who is currently petting the brown cat. Unfortunately, you had to acknowledge that the sight was rather cute and you had to fend off the urge to take a memento from your perspective.

“...Yes.” You similarly squatted down to start scratching the cat under her chin. It’s beside the point, that yes, you had lamented at the thought of spending more time with Solomon but here you are, knocking knees with him in a picture of domestic bliss with some stupid stray that he had seen on the street.

In some sort of incredulousness at your situation, you paused in your movement in petting the cat as your mouth opened. And before any sense of self-preservation could kick you in the face, you blurted out, “Why do you keep trying to get close to me?”

Solomon pulls his hand away from the cat as if he were burnt – shifting his weight to face you as you backed away from his gaze until you hit the wall behind you. “Am I not allowed to?” Your face scrunches up into one of confusion and you could see it mirrored back on his stupid pretty face.

A few moments of silence stretched out between the two of you as you floundered for a response. “Do you not want me to talk to you?” Solomon repeats, and in the corner of your eyes, you faintly register the furry brown creature yawning and stretching out behind him.

He looks at the wall behind you, giving you time to think. You bit your bottom lip as the full intensity of his gaze falls back on you, making you wish that the ground could open up and swallow you whole. “I don’t know.” You finally admitted as your face burns with the unadulterated idiocy of your statement.

“Have I done something to you?” He questions distantly, a far-away look in his eyes. He looks at you with something akin to uncertainty, and he shuffles a step back to give you space. This time, you forced yourself to deliberate slowly before you could bark out something stupid again.

“No.” Your voice was strained as you answered, “No, you did nothing to me.” This time, the awkwardness was palpable in the air and you could almost feel the guilt start to set into you with that awful feeling as if you had stepped on a puppy’s tail and it was now whining for help.

In silence, Solomon stood up while dusting the front of his black slacks which were littered full of cat fur. On a regular day, you would have taken this chance to shove this image into the corner of your mind that you reach for when you need something to laugh at. But now, you kept your downward gaze on his loafers as you are once again reminded of the fact that you had caused this situation and why, oh why, did you not shut the hell up when you had the chance to.

“Do you hate me?” His voice, full of doubt, cuts through your self-depreciation haze and you immediately cringed at the almost-near truth. Your hands immediately flew up to grab onto the fabric of his pants, as you paused to give yourself the chance to come up with some justification.

“N-no!” Even you could tell that your tone wasn’t convincing in the least and you could also see that Solomon doesn’t believe you either, “It’s my fault, I’m sorry.” You glanced to the side, face pained as you wrangled the apology out from your throat. Another minute passes and you force yourself to look at Solomon, giving your best impression of a wounded puppy, in hopes that he would actually accept your invitation of a peace offering. 

He frowns down at you instead, “I don’t understand why you dislike me, especially considering we are the only two humans here,” He admits, and that actually sent a pang of guilt straight to your heart. “I was hoping to get to know you better so we could rely on each other.” His voice had shifted to a softer, sadder tone and it made you writhe in discomfort.

You groaned, letting go of his pants in favour of shoving a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry, okay! I know I’m messed up for disliking you without a reason, but you’re just… so weird!” This time, you fully stood up with your lips pressed together into a straight line as you once again avoided looking at him. 

“Are you trying to apologise or insult me?” He said sourly, brows pinched together as if he had smelt something bad. When you turned to look at him, he had his arms folded across the front of his chest with one hand brought up to his chin.

“It’s unfair for me to feel this way, I know! I’ll fix it okay, I’m seriously really sorry for judging you,” You winced, before hurriedly adding on, “I’ll pay for the next outing! Don’t be mad at me, I know I was wrong,” Your plea trailed off into a mumble as you fixed him with a hopeful gaze.

You held your breath as another few seconds passed before you heard him sigh, “Apology accepted, next time don’t avoid me and just… talk to me okay?” Solomon brings his knuckle up to knock on the side of your head, ignoring your insulted gasp. “Do you want to see another stray?” 

You nod animatedly in agreement, desperate to make up for your misgivings. You peered past him only to realise that the brown cat you had initially come here for, had long disappeared into the dark alley behind Solomon.

As you tried to walk past him, the sorcerer stared at you with an unreadable smile and offered his hand for you to hold. For some reason, your heart started to beat faster and you couldn’t help but question yourself.

This was the right thing to do, right?

.

Solomon almost wants to laugh. He certainly didn’t think that you would bring this up by yourself. He had long crafted a plan to get closer to you but surprisingly, you had flipped that metaphorical table upside down and started playing fetch instead.

He hummed. You really were interesting, and that made him crave you even more. Whatever he has with you – It’s not nearly enough to curb his curiosity. He wants to breathe you in and learn exactly what makes you tick.

And maybe, just maybe, he could finally learn why exactly you intrigued him so much.

══════════════════

a/n▸ i was too ambitious writing this without a plan and now im tired. (note to self to have an outline before writing anything concrete 🫠)

[wanderingcas]

so i saw this gifset which reminded me about the events in 15.09 and just about lost my mind so i wrote a fic about that whole "dean almost confesses his feelings to Cas in Purgatory but Cas cuts him off because of the Empty deal" thing. here's the first part mwah

---

“Okay, Cas, I… need to say something.” 

He’s brave enough now. 

Well, okay, not brave—but the fear of losing Cas before Dean can ever spit the words out is bigger than what’s on the other side of admitting his feelings. 

That prayer was apologizing. Getting on his knees and begging Cas to forgive him—for the way he was shaped, the way he was raised, the way he can’t seem to do anything but attack a problem by yelling and punching. That prayer was an explanation. An explanation that Dean would never dare tell anyone else. An admission to everything. 

Well, almost everything. 

Now this moment: this is his confession. Where he doesn’t apologize. Instead he boldly proclaims. Something he didn’t want to do in his prayer; something he wanted to look Cas in the eyes and say to his face. 

Three little words. That’s all it is. 

They poise on his tongue. Dean opens his mouth, to let them fly—

“You don’t have to say it.” 

Dean shuts his mouth, wings clipped. 

Cas pauses; then: “I heard your prayer.” 

Dean stares at him for a long, terrible moment. Cas doesn’t smile; just looks… sad. Like always does. And Dean knows him well enough to know what Cas is saying between the lines. 

You don’t have to say it. 

Don’t say it.

Clear as a bell, Dean hears it in his head: He’s rejecting you. 

So Dean pulls in. Frowns. Blinks himself back into reality; the reality where Cas doesn’t want Dean to cross that line. Doesn’t… want that. He swallows hard, something in his throat ticking. 

Don’t say it. 

Dean nods. He thinks that his lips uptick in something of a fake smile. An admission. And then Cas walks away.

And Dean feels like his chest is going to split into two.

---

(this is going to be a longer fic so let me know if you want to get tagged when I post it)

[warrioreowynofrohan]

A few different people have been observing that Scrooge begins to change more quickly in the book than is often shown in adaptations. The Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come isn’t the one crucial factor breaking his obstinacy, but rather a final message to drive home a point that Scrooge had already become receptive to. I want to trace the shape of Scrooge’s progress over the course of the book and see what it reveals. (There will be some ‘spoilers’ here, since the story seems fairly universally known even among those who are reading the book for the first time.)

After Marley’s appearance, he is disturbed and discomfited, but still trying to hang onto denial and not face what he’s been told.

With Chistmas Past, adaptations often treat it like a psych session - see, you hate Christmas because you were so miserable during it. But in the book, that isn’t the point at all. Scrooge sees times when he was unhappy as a boy, but he also sees what comforted him during those times - reading and imagination, which his adult self would dismiss asfrivolous and unprofitable - and recaptures his joy in those things. He sees times when he was happy, like at Fezziwig’s Christmas party. And he sees how he’s become the kind of person who made his younger self unhappy rather than happy, and how easy it would to be otherwise.

He sees himself asan unhappy child, and wishes that he’d been kinder to the young boy singing carols at the door. He sees himself happily employed with a kind, generous and personable employer, who could create a vastly more pleasant workplace climate at trivial expense, and wishes he’d been nicer to Bob Cratchit.

And then he sees Belle, and is shown that his unhappiness is of his own making and the consequence of hus own choices. His being the selfish, avaricious person he is is not the consequence of Belle breaking up with him; it is the cause of it. She saw him already becoming that person, and chose not to follow him in that path. Her choices left her a happy, loving and loved woman; his left him unhappy and alone. Scrooge cannot bear this, and rejects and fights the spirit rather than face it.

But he has nonetheless already begun to change. Whereas he initially did not want to go with Christmas Past (“a night of unbroken sleep would be more conducive to [my welfare]”), he willingly goes with Christmas Present and expresses the desire to learn and benefit. He sees people in all manner of circumstances, good and bad, choosing to take joy in each other’s company and the comforts, small or great, around them. Many adaptations fail in this, focusing Scrooge’s attention on the idea that people dislike him (Mrs Cratchit; his nephew’s joke) but in the book Scrooge clearly greatly enjoys his nephew’s party, the nephew is being good-humoured and generous and expresses his goodwill towards Scrooge, and Scrooge doesn’t mind the joke at all. He sees the Cratchits making the best of what they have, and how he is making their lives harder than need be. He sees, in many ways and places, how he could be making others happy and being happy himself, rather than making evrryobe miserable, and it is an appealing picture. And Present calls him out, several times, on his past words and sentiments, and Scrooge repents them.

By the time he meets the Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come, he is already willing and prepared to change, and making deliberate plans to do so. The thing that I think is emphasized through the scenes with Yet To Come, as a driving home of the point, is that Scrooge’s actions up to this point have not only made him and others unhappy - they are an utter failure at getting Scrooge the one thing he had prioritized: wordly security, respect, and dignity. In Belle’s words, his turn to avarice in his youth was in hopes of avoiding the “sordid reproach” that the world has for poverty. He was fine, and even pleased, with being feared rather than loved - what he did not want was to be patronized, despized, looked down on.

And now he sees where that got him! His business partners don’t even care to attend his funeral. Men whose respect he hoped to have gained don’t even give him a second thought, and for the brief moment they do, think ill of him (“Old Scratch” is Victorian slang for the devil). His chambers and even his body are plundered (tomorrow’s reading is even more graphic about this, in some lines, than most adaptations). He’s buried in an obscure, untended, weedy churchyard, because no one cares enough about him to make other arrangements. He has none of the worldly respect, regard, dignity for which he turned to money as a protector. Past and Present showed that he was wanting the wrong things; but Future shows him that he wasn’t even achieving the things he thought he did want, amd was in fact achieving their opposite.

The point of Future, then, is not to convince Scrooge to change. He has already chosen that he desires to change. Future alone, without the earlier spirits, would be supremely ineffective; showing Scrooge that his servant and the people around him hate him, without first showing him that he can be happy and make other people happy, would only make him more of a misanthrope. This is not a “scare ‘em straight,” as some adaptations play it. The point of Future is as a final guard against backsliding, against regret: you are losing nothing by changing, because your current path is losing you even the paltry things you sought to gain by it.

Also, I hadn’t really registered this on previous reads, but this is the very near future - the Christmas one year after the period of the book. This is never stated outright, but Christmas Present says of Tiny Tim, “If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my race will find him here” - meaning, no future Christmas. And, in the visions with Christmas Future, Tiny Tim has died only a few days ago. In the words of Dante (paraphrased) “the time was perilously short for turning.” The Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come doesn’t teach the lesson - that’s the previous spirits - but he makes sure it sticks.

[gildedkrone]

I'm the boy next door, let me come in🔞

Part 2 to this fic

Relationships: Ghost x verse!Male Reader Synopsis: You meet him years later and he still can't forget you. Master List

Simon doesn't text back anymore. You aren't so much surprised as disappointed to know it would end this way. He has a wife to go home to, and your next client wouldn't wait for you to get over the very one-sided heartbreak.

The chat ended on a single message from Simon.

["Take care, luv. Hope this helps you with your dream."]

A transfer of ten thousand pounds into your bank account. You don't want to know how he acquired said information, given he is a military man, you wouldn't put it pass him to have used his clearence to search you up. Would it have killed him to do it in person? No. But anything, is better than nothing from a man you should have never gotten attached to.

It's a bittersweet end and the end of your "relationship" with the man.

---

A cigarette between his lips and his moment of peace was interrupted by his secretary entering his office after two knocks.

"Mr Riley, you have an upcoming meeting at two with the Mr Decartes, should I arrange for him to wait in the conference room?"

He flicks two fingers (yes) and snuffs out the cigarette. The Riley family always had a name in the military business, and the newly retired lieutenant returned home to Manchester to hold the reins to his family empire. Post military life is mundane, he supposed. There's no threat of being knived or shot when out bumbling about the streets of the city and most people give him a wide berth of space, if nothing but fear of his size. The skull mask is gone, replaced by a simple black mask concealing the bottom part of his face.

---

The train to Edinburgh is packed to the brim and per his request, the entire business coach is booked out to give him some semblance of privacy. The online meeting is rotting his brain with the incessant business partners and their multitude of requests. Eventually, the meeting ends not before the train is slowing to stop.

"Dear ladies and gentlemen, due to a railway signalling fault, we are unable to proceed to Edinburgh and the train will be stopping at Carlisle. Please speak to a train attendant if you have questions about transfers and continuing your journey."

Fuckin' hell and now even the train is conspiring against him. The attendant is apologetic and informs him of his choices. Return to Manchester on the train in three hours or wait for an unspecified time for the next train to Edinburgh. Either way, he isn't reaching his destination within the same day.

---

He has hours to burn, and he begins with getting coffee. Carlisle isn't a big city and he spends some time walking about the place and looking at things. Whatever British people did for fun. His mindless walk brings him to a flower shop and before his mind could object, he was pushing past the doors and the sweet chime into the cool and empty shop. There is nobody at the counter and he rings the bell.

"Coming!"

Sounds of shuffling as a man returns from the rear of the shop and you stop behind the counter.

"Hey, is there anything I can do for you?" You flash him a smile and he is taken back by the sight. It's the man he's had a fling with five years ago but there is no recognition in your eyes. Was it the mask?

"I'm looking for something for a business deal."

"Oh, do you know what arrangement you would like?" He looks confused and you continue. "We can make it in different sizes and shapes if you have any in mind?"

"Not really. Do you have pictures?"

"Sure do." You grab the folder of pictures and flipped to the business section. When you looked up, the man has an unfathomable look on his face. He takes his time reviewing through the photos and asks several questions about the shop. How did it come to be etc. You tell him about the ten thousand dollars a man left for you once and he knows, confirms it is you.

"So I moved from London up north here to settle down and open my shop. Business is doing well and I've just received a giant order for a wedding. Might need to hire some people to help me out there."

He doesn't know what his traitorous mind was on when he mouth blurts out how willing he is to help. He is dressed in some formal attire and clearly not a contract worker but he is insistent, so you relent and tell him to meet you after dinner. Especially knowing how difficult and costly it is to hire rush work.

---

Edinburgh is the last thing on his mind when he shows up to your shop at eight in the evening. He opted for a large hoodie and some sweats and you usher him into the back of the store where the greenhouse is. His mask is still on and the hoodie is drawn over his head and you crack a joke about dressing correctly since it's cold in the greenhouse.

You make the first of many bouqets and he examines the shape and quantity of flowers in it. The silence is amiable and the man is a fast worker. Precise and controlled, his first bouqet is beautiful and well made. You disappeared into greenhouse to get more flowers and he follows you back in. Midway through the gathering of some flowers and he speaks.

"You don't remember me."

You give him a puzzled look and set the flowers back down. Did you know him?

He sighs and pulls back his hoodie and removes the mask on his face. It's him. It's Simon.

---

"What are you doing here, Simon?"

He sips his coffee and the both of you are seated behind the counter.

"The train broke down and 'm was exploring the city. Stumbled upon your shop and …"

"Are you no longer in the military?"

"Left the job. Had to go home and run the business."

He is still an absolute looker even five years later and his fingers gently brush against yours where it stays.

"Simon, your wife--"

"We're divorced. She's no longer my wife." He elaborates something along the lines of a falling out between the two families over business.

"Oh."

His hands are rough and calloused, and they hold yours.

"It wasn't a possibility then, but … I--"

"Simon, we can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Did you really love me? We had a fling, not a real relationship. I am past the age of flings and I want a real relationship."

"I can give yer that. Only if you would let me."

"Si--" And the rest of the sentence was stolen by his lips against yours. He is insistent and all of the walls you imagined comes crashing down at the taste of him and the hand on your thigh.

"Luv, fuck, missed yer fuckin' lips." And your moan is breathy as his touch crept up your thighs.

---

You weren't sure how it happened, but the kiss ends with you and him in the greenhouse and his hands in your pants. He is pleasure incarnate and his hands move with an urgency to feel you. They roam across expanses of skin before digging into flesh and unbuttoning your jeans. Your mind is drunk on the pleasure and your dick is aching to be touched, with the way it bobs up and down.

The touches are something clandestine, and you used to be his illicit affairs. Now, you are his partner? Lover? The definition is irrelevant as he turns you around to face him before pushing you into the wall. His dick is freed from his joggers where they tented the garment obscenely and he hands rest at your hips.

"If yer asking how serious I am, 'm fuckin' serious about this." The whispers of past encounters are strong and he gives your dick a few strokes before he hugs you tight and your dick pokes against his ass.

"Fuck, Simon, you sure about this?" His response is a sloppy kiss and a muffled yes.

"Have you done this--"

"Nobody. There's nobody after you." Fuck, if that doesn't send your desires higher to know he saved himself for you all these years.

You finger him gently to loosen his rear and gently slide into him until he is moaning and spasming around your dick. He is impatient and tugs your hand but you refuse to fully bottom out, knowing this is likely foreign to him and unwilling to hurt him. Tight, warm heat hungrily swallows your length and you fight off the urge to slam your hips into him—to show him who controls his pleasure. Gruff and gravelly moans get louder with each thrust and with eyes lidded in pleasure, he takes dick so beautifully and you reward him with kisses and bites to his neck. He chokes at the feeling of skin breaking when you leave a hickey. The sudden imagery of domming him and making him beg to cum is fire in your veins and you slow your thrusts.

"C'mon, fuck, yer heathen, stop teasin'." He gets another kiss and he whines.

The great Simon whining like a pup and trying to get himself off on your dick after years of abstinence is making your head all muddy. His hips squirm and he grumbles when you pull out of him only to turn him around to face the wall. The smack of his hands against the wall is loud when you enter him without warning and he is practically clawing at the walls to remain standing under the onslaught of pleasure.

"Fuck, not gonna last if you keep doin' this," and true to his word, his greedy hole tightens around you as he tipped his head back into a moan. Your hand guides him through his orgasm as the wall is coated with pent up ball batter and you are finishing in him with a whine and whimper.

He felt as divine as ever, even when he is below you and twitching from the aftershocks of an orgasm. Mercifully, he doesn't fight your attempts to clean him up even if a clench of his core meant more of your cum is dripping down his thighs. Your dick jumps at the creamy sight but Simon is fully sated and you are content to wait.

Here in the shop, everything feels right. Hearts aligned in a bow drawn taut towards love are yours and his.

---

"Simon, the dog is fighting the mailman again."

"Fuckin', luvvie, its your decision to get a dog."

"You didn't say no when we were at the shelter."

He groans when you shift on his lap while keeping him warm and cozy as the dick in your ass pokes against your prostate. Pre spills from your dick and he swipes a finger through the milky substance for a taste.

"This is, all your damn fault," you choke out between pants when his dick juts into further into you.

"Can't blame a man for wantin' more, sweetheart. Now sing for me," and those hips are determined to be the death of you. Ah, the joy of pleasure and to die from it, you think you could die happy in the lap of your man.

Raspy growls and a man possessed to chase and seek pleasure after years of draught is a dangerous combination. Your head rests against his shoulder amdist thrusts jostling your body.

"Fuck it, he can deal with that damned dog while I make you cum, darling."

[yandere-writer-momo]

I just wanted to make something cute. Something about yandere platonic Pickle gets me going

@fangurlzrul3 and I were talking in discord about giving Pickle Dino nuggies with honey bbq sauce the other day so I decided to make some cute head canons

Yandere Baki Head Canons

Teaching Pickle the modern way of living (platonic)

Pickle x researcher reader

Pickle

Now being Pickle’s caretaker wasn’t something you ever expected to be, but here you were… taking care of Pickle

You wouldn’t look Pickle in the eye for the longest time in fear that he’d attack you so you’d hand him little trinkets to get him to leave you be. His favorite was a little bell you handed him. You’d hear him jingling in the other room

But as time went on, Pickle became more comfortable around you.

Pickle sits in the doorway of the lab and just stares at you. He’s kind of like a cat or a dog with his curiosity

Pickle brings you small gifts he finds around the lap. A bottle cap, a mouse trap, and some paper clips have found their way into your desk drawer for you ‘Pickle collection.’ You didn’t have the heart to throw anything away that he gave you

Pickle would stare longingly at your lunches so you began to share your meals with him. Pickle loves the little octopus shaped sausage and he was especially fond of chicken nuggets

Pickle is a chicken nugget fiend. He will eat all of them from your lunch, even the crumbs

You introduce him to honey mustard and honey barbecue sauce and he’s starstruck. Pickle begins to love eating. He comes over to you and points at his mouth every time he sees you

Pickle hates vegetables. He spits them out every time. Even if you cover them in sauce, he will spit them out (and suck off the sauce)

Pickle loves candy and sweet! He adores cotton candy and bubble gum. It took him awhile to figure it out, but now he knows how to blow bubbles. You always hear them popping when you walk past him

You give Pickle a spoonful of nut butter (specifically peanut butter) whenever you need to get your paper work done. He will sit on his haunches and lick at the roof of his mouth for a couple minutes

You’ve tried introducing toys to him but he doesn’t understand. Pickle eats the checkers, chess pieces, cards, and even the hot wheel cars. He’s a monster

Pickle threw the baby doll you gave him across the room when it started crying so you ruled out interactive toys too

[moonyasnow]

Blank TWST Logos / Character Icons

Individuals + guide tips for how to use them under the cut!

( Please tag (@) me if you use them for a post; I really wanna see what everyone makes ^^ )

Just like with the blank Birthday Boy Card templates I made, I decided I wanted blank ones for these...whatever these icons are called. So I made them!

And again, like before, please tag (@) me if you end up using them!

First of all!

Here's two transparent ones, so you can sandwhich your drawing layer between them without fearing messing up the frame.

I added two because not all drawing programs understand the whole 'transparency' thing with pasted images, and will make any transparent part of an image black, which would kinda ruin it

So with the white you can just remove the color. Or alternatively, since I made the frame with a pixel tool, while it might be time-consuming, you can still remove all the white by hand without messing up the frame at all

I made two for Heartslabyul, so you can either have a Card Soldier one, or just a blank one

With the details on Octavinelle and Pomefiore's, I suggest copying them, placing them to the side and covering up the holes with the background color, so you can place them wherever you'd like once you're done with your own drawing

So you don't have to work around where I placed them 👍

And if you want differently-shaped bubbles, the bubble color is the same grey as in the frame

The Scarabia one is sadly pretty empty :/ but meh, they didn't give me a lot to work with, and I wasn't gonna add something 'just because'

Bright blue one is obviously Ramshackle. I have a feeling people are gonna get a lot of use out of that one haha

And the NRC Staff ones are...a bit of a special case. They're all slightly different, but it seems the general theme is grey background with some sort of beige pattern. I just used the square as a placeholder so you can eye-drop the color

I also added Vargas and Crewel's ones by comparison, kinda like a 'this is what it could look like' thing

And here's a Noble Bell College one, too. Just because I could

If there was any kind of RSA one, or if Fellow Honest had one, I would 100% have added them.

Actually, please let me know if they do somehow have them, and I just missed it!

Anyway bye!! ^^👋

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Aufhocker

An Aufhocker (top sitter), also called Huckup, is a pressure spirit and shapeshifter in German folklore. It is a kind of goblin, who jumps onto the shoulders or backs of hikers who are still out at night, becoming heavier with each step.

The hiker is paralyzed, suffers from feelings of oppression and anxiety and is unable to turn around. The Aufhocker remains sitting on the hiker until he is released by the approaching light, a prayer or the ringing of a bell.

The nightmarish experience often takes place in three phases. The hiker is first approached or accompanied by a sinister being, then the demonic companion grows to supernatural size and finally jumps onto the back of the victim. The Hackestüpp from Düren is one such Aufhocker, who initially accompanies the victims as a playful little dog, then jumps onto their backs, cannot be shaken off and becomes heavier with each step.

Typical haunted places such as streams, bridges, lakes, forests, ditches, crossroads, ravines, churchyards and sites where murders or executions happened are the usual places for an encounter with an Aufhocker, which can result in physical and mental illness and sometimes even death for the hiker. The Bahkauv ("stream calf") of Aachen is an Aufhocker who is said to frighten drunken men at night and ask them to carry him on their shoulders.

Sometimes an Aufhocker first appears as pitiful old women; but they can also take on animal forms such as a bear, a calf (as in the Bahkauv), a werewolf (as in the Stüpp of the Western Rhineland) or a dog (as in the Sürthgens Mossel of the Hürtgenwald forest). Elemental beings such as mermen or will-o'-the-wisps also act as Aufhockers. What is important is not the shape of the Aufhocker, but the oppressiveness of the situation. Aufhockers are not limited to German folklore. An Aufhocker in the shape of an old man is also mentioned in the oriental fairy tale collection One Thousand and One Nights, in which he meets "Sinbad the Sailor" on a deserted island.

The figure of the Aufhocker has its origins in the fear of the revenant, the undead. The oldest reports of Aufhockers clearly speak of "haunting corpses" and not of goblins or ghosts. Unlike Nachzehrers, who did not have to leave their grave if they wanted to harm the living, other undead, like vampires, rose from the grave and stole people's vital force. This could happen in a tangible way by sucking out blood, but also in a more abstract form. As recent research has shown, this also applies to vampires, who are said in the oldest reports to have a damaging effect through "strangling" and "emaciating", but not through bloodsucking. In the western Rhineland, the Aufhocker merges with the werewolf to form the Stüpp, a dangerous monster that unexpectedly jumps on people's shoulders and forces the victims to carry him around, causing trepidations, anxiety, feelings of oppression and panic attacks until they die of exhaustion.

[hederasgarden]

May I please request "You heard me. Take. It. Off.” with Mafia Jake Seresin? (make it as dark as you'd like!)

This got…wildly, unexpectedly dark guys. 

Pairing: Mafia boss!Jake Seresin  x F!Reader  Word Count: 1.3K Warning: Threats of violence (sexual and physical), mafia themes, and a very not in character Jake (basically just a dude wearing his face). Some themes are not tagged. A/N: I’m gonna need you guys to be gentle with me on this one. It is my first foray into writing darker content. I have zero idea if this is the vibe you guys were wanting or not. 😅 Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

You can tell something’s wrong when Rooster arrives to collect you from your desk at reception. He usually greets you with a joke and a smile, leaning over the divider to flirt with you, but today his expression is all business.

“The boss wants to see you.”

If his demeanor wasn’t enough to raise alarm bells, his choice of words certainly is. The Boss— not Jake or Hangman. A wave of anxiety rushes through your chest, settling like a stone in your gut. 

“Of course,” you reply brightly, trying to mask your nerves. “Let me just grab my phone and notepad.”

“Leave them,” he instructs. “Just you.”

“I’m not getting fired, am I?” you ask, letting a hint of genuine anxiety slip into your voice. You school your expression into that of the wide-eyed, ditzy front desk girl whose only concern is keeping her job. They can’t discover who you really are. 

“I know I lost that package last week, but Bob said it was okay,” you lament, trying to stall. “Am I in trouble?”

“I was just told to get you,” Rooster replies tersely. 

As you round the desk to pass him, he grabs your bicep with a tight grip. You stumble to keep up with his brisk pace in your heels, but he doesn’t slow down, almost dragging you across the bustling warehouse floor. Though none of the workers look up as you pass, you can feel their eyes on you. By the time you arrive at Jake’s office your hands are shaking and you feel like you might actually throw up. It’s a struggle to push through the panic and remember your training. But eventually you do, plastering on a pleasant but confused expression. You have to play your role, your life could depend on it. 

Jake watches you from behind his desk, his dark green eyes cutting over your figure before moving behind you. He jerks his head and the door closes. You’re alone with him and you swallow, throat bobbing in instinctive expression of fear. 

“Mr. Seresin…” your words trail off when he raises his hand. 

“I’ll admit, it took me a while to see it,” he says, his attention focused on unbuttoning his cuffs to roll up his sleeves and reveal inked skin. “Do you want to know what gave you away?” he asks. 

Something, somewhere went terribly wrong you realize. He knows who you are.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t understand what’s going on. If this is about the package…”

He fixes you with a withering look, the tick in his jaw at odds with the calmness of his demeanor. “Don’t,” he says softly. 

You fall silent and hold your hands together in front of you, toying with the bracelet on your left wrist. Hidden within the heart-shaped charm is your panic button. You press it and force yourself to stay still; it won’t take your team long to respond. You just needed to keep things from escalating.

“It was your eyes that gave you away,” he continues. “You fluttered your lashes and swayed those hips with the best of them, but it’s hard to mask that kind of intelligence.” 

When you don’t react to his words, his grin disappears. “I’m paying you a compliment, sweetheart. Say thank you.”

Years of training urge you to maintain your cover, but deep down, you know it's pointless. The past three months with Jake Seresin have taught you that he doesn’t like being deceived. You know keeping up the pretense will only make him angrier.

“Coming from you, that’s no compliment,” you say, sounding more composed than you feel.  

As a slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Something is very wrong. Everything about this conversation feels off —from his calm, measured tone to the deliberate, unhurried pace of it all.  He should be worried, even scared, at finding a cop in his operation. 

“Let’s skip over the part where I ask if you’re wearing a wire and you lie to me,” Jake says, moving to stand in front of his desk. You instinctively take a step back but he simply looks at you, making no move toward you. Instead, he casually leans back, crossing one leg over the other. “Take off your dress.”

The abrupt shift in conversation and his tone have your mind spinning to keep up. “What?” you ask uselessly. 

"You heard me. Take. It. Off.” You stand rooted to the spot and he sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’ll do it for you if you prefer.”

You glance at the clock on his desk. It’ll be at least another 10 minutes before backup arrives, and a lot could happen between now and then, none of it good. 

“No, no. I’ll do it,” you’re quick to say, desperate to maintain some sense of control over the situation. 

With trembling fingers, you reach for the zipper on the back of your dress, moving deliberately slow to buy yourself a few extra seconds, though you know you can't delay the inevitable. You hunch forward, raising your shoulders to let the fabric slip down your arms. As the dress pools at your feet, you step out of it, leaving yourself in just your undergarments. Goosebumps spread across your skin as you stand there, shivering and exposed.

“There’s no wire,” you tell him, jutting out your chin. 

Jake grins, reaching into his pocket. “I know. You’re far too clever for that.”  

One by one, he pulls out the tiny bugs you had hidden in his office and the warehouse, letting them fall to the floor. As he grinds them under the heel of his Italian loafers, you can only stare at him in stunned silence.

“Right about now you’re trying to figure out how to stall me long enough for your team to get here. Am I right?” He asks.

You shake your head, terror swimming in your veins.  If he knew about your panic button, then—

“It’s shockingly easy to get a cell phone jammer these days,” Jake tells you. 

He pushes off his desk and you scramble back, body coiled and ready for a fight but, to your surprise, Jake stops a few feet in front of you. He picks up your dress. 

“I want you to remember this feeling,” he says, gaze wandering over your exposed skin. “I want you to remember that I can do whatever I want with you. You’re powerless here.”

He tosses your dress at you. “Put it on,” he demands. You stand frozen and unsure of what game he’s playing. “Or not. I don’t mind.” He adds, his smirk making your stomach flip unpleasantly. 

You scramble to redress. Once you’re clothed again, you still feel vulnerable. 

“Now that you understand the score, let’s talk about how you’re going to help me.”

You stare at him in confusion. 

“LAPD’s personnel files are shockingly easy to hack into,” he reveals, picking up a folder on his desk and thumbing through the pages. “Rooster’s on the way to pay your grandmother a visit,” he informs you.

The anxiety and fear you experienced before pales in comparison to the overwhelming terror that grips you as you come to a horrifying realization: it’s not just your own safety that’s at stake. You’ve damned your poor, sweet, elderly grandmother who thinks you still have a desk job at the precinct. 

“I wonder if she’ll offer him those same homemade cookies she gave me when I stopped by,” Jake asks with a smile. 

Send me a request

[the-kr8tor]

Horror/slasher movie actor hobie x actor reader whose the protagonist of the story 💳💳💳💥💥💥

Silly actors that meet for the first time and falls in love on a silly horror movie set

ACTOR AU!!! LET'S GOOOO!!!! (Thank you for requesting ly bestie ❤️❤️❤️)

Pairing: Actor! Hobie Brown x Actress! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, fem! Reader, no specific physical description of the reader, R is mentioned wearing make-up, Actor AU, Fame AU, CW food mentions, Pretend blood, pretend violence, Pretend death, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You run on the soft soil, sweat dripping off your brows. Your trainers sink under the earth with every step. The wet squelch behind you tells you to run faster, but your curiosity gets the best of you. With a quick look behind your shoulder, you instantly regret it as the tall masked man has gotten closer to you with his long strides.

He walks the same path you've taken like he's on a stroll in the park. His leather punk jacket and clown mask is drenched in warm blood— the blood of your fellow camp counselors, the blood of your dearly departed friends. Even with his casual movements, his entire demeanor sends a shiver down your spine. Heavy footfalls and a bloodied knife makes you run faster than your own feet could take you.

With the moonlight as your guide, the fog blanketing the dense woods, lungs burning, you trip on nothing.

“Fuck!” You shield your chin with your hand to avoid the hard impact. Hands braced, eyes closed, your face meets the moist forest floor. Dirt in your fingernails, grass in your hair, a warm hand flips you around by your shoulder and you scream loudly. The sound echoes around the dark woods, eyes wide, the killer raises his sharp knife to plunge it in your heart.

Your eyes meet the killer's eyes behind the mesh of the mask, gorgeous mismatched eyes greets your own. To your surprise, he winks and your terrified scream falters in your throat. Eyebrows knitted, hands on the villain's broad shoulders, he stabs you in between your ribcage.

“No!” Cold blood splatters out as you try to wrench away the mask from your murderer's face. With your last breath, tears in your fear filled eyes, his name falls out of your lips without a second thought. “Hobie?”

Hobie tilts his head with a playful smile, sticky blood smeared on his chiseled cheek, blue and hazel eyes staring at you fondly.

“Cut!” The director yells, and you audibly groan at your mistake. A bell rings, spotlights suddenly click open, the lights almost make you blind. The crew murmurs around as the director puts his hands on his hips. “The character’s name, darling! Not his real name,” he kneads at his temples. “Everyone take ten!” With one last frustrated groan, he walks away, entering his tent with a stomp and grumbling about changing the villain's name.

“I fucked up, didn't I?” You ask, still under your favourite co-star. “I'm sorry.” Frowning, you ready yourself for a berating.

Instead of a glare and a passive aggressive comment, Hobie wipes your cheek free of muck with his warm thumb. Eyes staring softly, his touch lingers.

“There, I just did the makeup department a favour. Not like you need it anyway.” He flashes his signature smirk, the same smirk that has people falling over themselves just to get a glimpse.

Your heart pounds loudly as he gets back on his feet, leather squeaking, he reaches down to help you up. Taking his hand, he lifts you up effortlessly, not even breaking a sweat or straining his muscles.

“Thank you.” You say fondly. The numerous spotlights above make your heart-shaped eyes sparkle.

“No problem. And you didn't fuck up, it happens to the best of us, yeah?” He pats your shoulder, and you think all the friendly late night talks in your trailer are just that, friendly. “You were doin' good, the best fuckin' scream ever. Thought my eardrums were about to burst.”

“Thank you.”

“Stop sayin’ thanks, I was just statin’ a fact, love.”

You hide your flustered face with a nod, cheeks hot. You make your way towards the wardrobe tent to get changed for the next scene where your character resurrects to help the remaining survivors. You've seen better scripts but money is money.

“Thank—” you correct yourself, chuckling as he follows you. Walking side by side, his hand brushes over your own. Hobie smiles, eyes trained where you're walking in case you unintentionally decide to method act and fall flat on your face. “You did great too, you were really scary.”

He snorts, the sound that fills you with endearment. “With this face?” Pointing at his chin, you laugh.

“I guess that's why they made you wear that god awful mask, no one would run away from you.” You push him playfully with your shoulder. “They'd run towards you instead.”

Hobie ignores all the crew scrambling around on set and the numerous cameras pointed at your back. He imagines that you're strolling at a park after a nice dinner where he bravely held your hand underneath the table.

Maybe it shouldn't remain in his mind, maybe he should just ask you, and maybe you'll say yes.

It's long overdue anyway, after two horror movies together and one comedy special, he thinks it's time to try to star in a romcom. Preferably with you.

Stopping in front of the tent, you look at him. “This is me, unless you need to change too—?” Hobie gingerly reaches for your cool hand, index finger lacing around your pinky carefully like he's able to snap it in half. “Y-yes?” You can hear your pulse quickening, you fear that your hand is sweaty and that his finger would slip away from the moist.

“Have dinner with me? A proper one where we don't eat take out in your trailer.” Hobie fakes a cough that's Oscar worthy to hide his nerves. “If you're not busy.” If you want to, he wanted to add, but he wants to remain suave in front of you. He'll save all his hidden awkwardness during the date. If you graciously accept anyway.

Your smile is brighter than the spotlights above. “I have to wear my best disguise then. Y’know, so we don't end up in a gossip mag in the morning.” Pinky lacing around his finger, you stand closer to him, toe to toe, smiles mirroring each other.

“Let me guess, it's a baseball cap with sunglasses innit?”

You giggle, “yep.”

“Leave it at home, you're not gonna need it.” His heart skips a beat at the realization of your closeness. Hobie now knows why you're the lead in most projects you're in.

Eyebrows knitted together, you tilt your head, eyelashes fluttering in the breeze. “Why?”

“The paps don't know where I live.”