#HUNGRY ENTITY RIGHT HERE

[mystic-mae]

aside from all this booping, im here mostly to talk about the tx2 music videos

since ive entered spring break, i said fuck it and decided to do some binging

that binging consisted of good omens, tx2 music videos, and game/film/food/style theory

but since im mostly here to talk about the tx2 music videos, we focus on that

because my GODS theyre on a whole other level and i love them

im glad to see that evan's style has just always been so fucking edible like my gods

i want what he has omg

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 6: 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

title: haunted bang synopsis: when you decided to explored a haunted mansion, all you wanted was to gain more knowledge for your grimoire. you never expected it to be habited, even less for all the residents to agree that sharing is caring. [1.8K] cw: wizard!reader, teratophilia, monster fucking, gangbang, voyeurism, size difference, manhandling, mind connection, scent kink, oral (f!receiving), pet play, pussy drunk, overstimulation, you know that post about "would you fuck your clone?", f in v, monsters included are a eldritch creature, a werewolf, a vampire and a shapeshifter.

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There is so many rumors about the mansion. Some believe it to have been built on top of an ancient cemetery, ending the ghost’s slumber. Others, that a coven filled every room with protection runes to preserve the soul of the late owners. A journal published a profile for an architect that died a day after the construction was completed, but quick research showed he had nothing to do with it.

Lies and gossips spread easily, but those brave enough to walk into the dead-end street can see the truth by themselves. Whoever chained those doors did so sensibly, since nothing sane could ever come out of them. A darkness spreads from within the house.

After making your way in with an old pliers, you explored the first floor. There were many chances of turning away, all of them ignored willingly. At the end, all you had were two options: to stay at home safely, or possibly learning a new spell for your collection.

Wizards aren’t known for making the obvious, easy choice.

Since the moment you sensed the darkness this mansion casted, nothing would’ve convinced you of not coming back to explore the secrets within those walls of bricks and stones. You feel it even better now, this great deal of mana. It isn’t a cursed mansion, only a heavily enchanted one.

A relieved smile appeared on your face when you finally found a library. You invoked flames in the remaining candles on the chandeliers and sat down on a large armchair. With the books floating from their shelves and surrounding your body, you analyzed them quickly in search of something worth your time.

In a few minutes, you found it. Holding an old grimoire in your hands, you blew the dust away. Walking through the library, your excitement blinded you. You put the book down on a table, opening your own to copy any fun spell.

As you begin to read the grimoire, your eyes widened. It takes strength from great old forces, eldritch entities incomprehensible to the average mortal. Based on entropy, it alters the fabric of reality itself.

Ancient magic. Its use is highly forbidden, and usually punished with death. Cleaning your glasses on your skirt, you bended over the table and read every line with an unending curiosity.

The first touch went unnoticed. A soft, quick brush against your arm. As your thigh got pinched, you assumed it to be the work of a hungry insect. But when a cold aura surrounded you, embracing your body and soul, there was no doubt left.

Whatever old force empowers this place; it was right here. Right behind you.

Your quarterstaff materialized between your hands. Your grimoire floated, pages turning as you recite your strongest protection spell. Changing your posture, you were ready to fight.

The quiet nature of this threat shifted.

Something forced its way inside your mouth, putting an end to your attempt of using radiant magic. An invisible force, but not less palpable because of it. As you bit down, trying to stop it, you felt it pressing down on your tongue.

Intruder, a voice spoke inside of your head. Low and strident, all at once. Thief in the night.

A limb embraced your waist, leaving a gelid trace as it fit beneath your shirt. A hand grabbed your left thigh so roughly you had no reaction but to whine with your mouth full. Little by little, there wasn’t a muscle of your body free to fight back.

It lifted you from the ground, forcing your hands open. The quarterstaff disappeared in the air before hitting the floor. Higher and higher in the air, your body trembled. Fully involved by this coldness, you had no way of moving.

Usurper, she hissed inside your mind. Or was it a masculine voice? You couldn’t quite picture it. But thinking back about it, didn’t it groaned and roar? Was it even human? Nothing will harm my home.

Nothing will, you thought. If you could hear its voice, then it could hear you too. You hoped. I mean no harm. I swear.

LIAR.

I want to learn, you tried to bargain. I have no intentions of hurting anyone. I didn’t even know there was someone in here to harm. All I desire is to know more than others. Nothing more, nothing less.

The silence gave you an opportunity to look for your grimoire. Alone on the ground, it was so close and yet so far away. Even if it was near, with you unable to speak or move there were few spells you could cast. And none of them would be of any real practical help now.

A soft caress on your cheeks took you from your hushed thoughts. As your feet touched the floor, you stumbled trying to regaining your balance. It held you in place, the feeling soft and rough.

I can teach you everything I know, it whispered. For a cost. This time, the voice came with pictures in your mind. Do you want that?

In them, you saw yourself. Lips hanging open, forehead covered in sweat, eyes half-closed. You saw tears running down your face, legs spread and trembling, fingers closed tightly around the same table you used before.

And in them, you saw glowing eyes still hidden by darkness.

Yes, I want that.

The same careless limbs bended you over the table, but this time it was gentler. Less worried about safety, more worried about you. Holding your hands behind your back, it placed your legs apart.

Something cold touched your inner thighs. It moved against your skin, lingering. Once more, you invoked flames. Contorting your body, a gasp broke the silence. Kneeled down, eyes fixated on your thighs, you found a werewolf.

“Your scent”, he groaned. His face rubbed against you, inhaling shamelessly. His yellow eyes raised to yours, and in them you saw desperation. His muzzle went away from you and he smiled, displaying his sharp fangs. “Hold her still.”

Once he closed his mouth, you tried to move away. Not because you wanted for him to stop, but because how couldn’t you when he says that? You were forced down, back caressed and head scratched. Like a pet, you were kept still and quiet.

Your skirt was thrown away from your body and he… sniffed you? Half of you bare to whoever there to witness, with a monster between your legs. To know that you’re being watched only makes you desire this more. A huge tongue licked your pussy, you moaned. It was real, just a tad louder than it needed to be.

Putting on a show, it laughed inside your head. Keep on this good work and I might not let you walk away.

Your eyes closed as he continued to ravish you. Restless, he simply continued. Tongue deep into you, teeth sinking into your skin, lips sucking around your clit. Your legs were covered in drool, and you could feel it dripping from your aching core.

A hand grabbed your hair, forcing you to look up. A real touch this time. The candles showed you the tall woman in front of you, nails so long they could be mistaken by claws. Looking into her red eyes, you felt a primal urge inside you.

Everything inside you told you to run.

Nature is such a disappointing force. It is not your fault that you were born a prey, that ancient being spoke. Its voice oscillated, as if it was too far away and suddenly right against your ear. And it is not hers to be turned predator long ago.

“This delicate sparkle in your eyes”, a velvet voice made to your ears. Elegant, but sharp. She smiled, and the fangs weren’t a reason to act surprised. “You won’t allow it to dissuade you, will you? Don’t struggle. There is no use.”

Her free hand closed around your neck. A movement faster than you could see, but delicate enough for you to know she didn’t want you to break apart.

“You are mine now, puppy”, she smirked. “Put your mouth to use.”

As she put her knee on top of the table, moving the black dress enough for you to see her strong legs, the vampire pulled your hair again. “Yes, mistress”, you said.

Satisfied, she forced your head between her thighs. As the werewolf continued to torture your poor pussy, you treated hers like a wine you had to enjoy every little sip. It was easy to get eager, to get lost on your own never-ending pleasure, but you made sure to treat her nicely.

Every whimper of hers made you weaker. Every bite from him made you weaker. Every hold onto your skin, whispers inside your head, made you weaker.

It was no surprise your orgasm would break you in pieces. It was no surprise every single one of you would continue despise it.

As you breathed in, trying to get your legs to work, a hand came back to stroking your skin. It put you on top of the table as if you weighted nothing. Before you could flutter your eyes open, those skilled fingers were inside of you.

Touching in the right place, with the right pressure, at the exact right moment. It was perfect. Did this creature read your mind in a way or another? Or is this fate, and in this wretched place you find someone that really knows exactly how to fuck you properly?

“What a delight”, the vampire spoke. “May I drink from her now?

The werewolf hummed. “Look at her legs. Those pretty lips”, you heard him doing just that. “You can’t. Not yet. I need my plaything strong and capable for the night.”

“But do you really, old dog?” She argued. “No one will judge you for admitting you need to rest. No one but me, of course.”

Her mind is far more interesting, it spoke again. Apparently, everyone could hear it. Her memories taste even sweeter. What a fine thing found us this evening.

“How luck we are”, you said.

But you didn’t.

Opening your eyes, you saw yourself. Fingers deep into your cunt, mouth displaying the most annoying smirk. Eyes glistening with fake innocent.

“Fuck”, you babbled.

The smirk seemed to grow. “Your mind is a interesting place”, that thing said. Even her voice was the same as yours. “But I need to say, your body if far more comfortable.”

Looking into your eyes, all you could do was take it. Let this being have its fill of you. Watch for your tits move. The strechmarks on your waist. Your soft thighs. Those freckles on your skin.

Being used, watching yourself, its voice came back. You want this to stop?

You giggled. “Don’t tell me it’s over already?”

Not at all, the voice came back. Let’s move to the next floor.

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi

© all rights reserved to MADWOMANSAPOLOGIST

[heartfullofleeches]

Fast Food Reader being forced to deliver pizza like that one episode of SpongeBob, but the customer is either an agent of the secret organization that's been monitoring the restaurant or a person in town that's definitely not a vessel for some other dark entity that both have or have yet to have fallen for them like the supernatural catnip they are. Or it's just a prank call by the ballpit cult because they're dicks.

-

Fast Food Reader: Here's your pizza...

Yan Agent: You forgot my drink - but I'm looking at a tall glass of water right now;)

Fast Food Reader: .... Please just throw me in the back of your van already.

-

Yan "Neighbor": Come in, Come in! You must be so tired from your travels and hungry too! You may have whatever you like and more~

Fast Food Reader: I'm good.

Yan "Neighbor": Did I mention the hot tub

Fast Food Reader, kicking off their shoes: Say no more

-

[The surviving cult members cower beneath booth tables and in bathroom stalls as Fast Food Reader walks around welding a dented baseball bat]

Fast Food Reader: Three hours... You made me walk three hours... in this weather!?!

[Their coworkers watch from the kitchen as they chase cultists around the dining area]

Bathroom Succbus: Well this is the horniest I've ever been on shift. Should be stop them?

The Janitor: Never thought we'd have anything in common, but if I went over there in this moment I'd probably ask them to step on me.

[The mascot pulls the engagement ring off one of the unconscious cultists and follows after Reader as they run outside]

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Supernatural Slasher ////

Thinking about the small-town serial killer rumored to be killing anyone apart of the underground ring the town had recently blown–up for. With so many hungry journalists and news reporters flocking to a usually quiet peaceful place the deaths skyrocket and the coverage is immense. No one has privacy and in the frantic search for this killer, no one is safe, which makes the police force that much more desperate to put an end to this killing. 

“You need to come with us.”

“As the last person to see Allen Faulkner alive, we believe you can help us find the Justice Killer. So if you please come with us…and do it quietly.”

“If you’re going to pay for my rent than sure.”

A detective, a sergeant, a nosy journalist who blackmailed the police force to be there, and the mayor’s son who's concern they're poor parent might be next. Strange group. You’ll comment on it and they’ll ignore you. But unraveling the case file by file ensues a time-sensitive chase that somehow links you to all the murders.

“What an odd pattern, care to confess Justice Killer~” Says the ‘journalist’.

“But I was working all those days, it can’t be me!” 

“So? Some of the killings were set up on a timer! It very well could be you!” Says the Sergeant.

“Or it’s someone very interested in who comes across you.” Says the Detective.

“Like a stalker?”

“Just like a stalker.”

As the detective closes in on the truth, the Supernatural Slasher seems to get…agitated. The killings are getting wilder and more frantic. Almost as if they were incredibly angry about something. The detective suspects that your stalker is the Supernatural Slasher and the more time they spend pulling you from your usual routine results in someone getting the blade. Even the M.O begins to weaken as the detective tries to egg on the Slasher by having you get closer with the journalist and the mayor’s son in public.

“I don’t know why I agreed to this!” Says the Mayor’s son.

“You weren’t helping otherwise.”

“While we’re here care to tell us why you are so worried about the slasher’s motives when it comes to injustices in the world? Surely you should be exempt as the mayor was all about having a clean record during his campaign?”

“No comment.”

“Don’t clam up, come on! (Y/n) why don’t you tell your date to spill the beans?”

“Seriously stop it. I just want to enjoy my free meal.”

“Why not lean into it a little (Y/n)? After all, if his slate’s anything like his father’s he might not be around much longer.”

Turns out that was true…not only for the mayor’s secret playboy son but majority of your entire group. The journalist had exploited a wrongly accused family until they fell into ruin. The sergeant had harassed hundreds with their power, eliminating everyone who tried to speak out. The only ones exempt from the Supernatural Slasher’s judgment are you and the detective, both of you cornering the Justice Killer.

“Give it up, you're under arrest! While you insist that you maul for justice, your judgment is skewed.”

“Uh yeah, if you try escaping I do have a gun and I will shoot it.”

“Oh (Y/n), detective, that’s not really a concern for me.”

In a shadowy wisp of movement, the bullets that are shot are stopped mid-air, falling to the ground as metal stumps. The detective is unphased as he launches himself in the direction of the slasher where he falls right through. You try to run but the door you enter is closed by that same shadow-wisp. 

“W-what are you?”

“I am…utterly in love with you!”

Turns out your devoted stalker was an unknown entity. Spoken partially in many ancient texts and cultures—The Supernatural Slasher is on a mission to cull a magnitude of people at a given time. All check off boxes that only the Supernatural Slasher knows but a new box has been added and it has to do with you. 

“I fell for you the day you inconvenienced the scum I was meant to extinguish! You were so brave!”

“You mean the guy I ran into? That was an accident.”

“An accident that placed you perfectly into my non-existent heart!<3”

Unfortunately unlike Supernatural Slashers with a vengeance with a mission or explicit weakness, they do not. They just exist. The detective is at a loss and the Supernatural Slasher is no longer keen on keeping their distance from you. Clinging their tangible–not tangible body onto yours as they hum something completely inhuman.

“Uhm by any chance would you let me arrest you?”

“Not unless my nexus goes!”

“(Y/n) will you–”

“Forget it!”

“Fine then I’m settling for some witness protection and maybe a home arrest—”

“WHAT?! That’s not fair!”

“Fully funded by the town.”

“Oh…okay!”

“As long as uh you decide not to constantly kill anyone with any mistakes who comes near (Y/n).”

“Hmm I’ll tone it down and expand my reach.”

“Uh…thanks?”

Your Supernatural Slasher is an unrelenting force that you find new things about all the time and as far as they’re concerned you’ll be doing that for all eternity. Just don’t go outside or run into anyone who’s committed any atrocity, which is going to be hard. Because all humans are prone to error whether that’s now or in the future.

[theendorisit]

apropos of nothing, I made Tape-E

Who is Tape-E?

During one of the TMA livestreams (trying to remember which one), a fan question was asked ‘Is there a mascot (for the Archives or the show itself not sure)?’ One of the team suggested ‘Tape-y?’, to which everyone else responded with ‘Oh no!!’. So I thought, oh yes! So yeah, this is your fault 😘

What is Tape-E?

As Mr Bonzo is a parody of Mr Blobby, Tape-E is a parody of Clippy (these last two names rhyme).

Who is Clippy?

Clippy was a microsoft office assistant, introduced in 1997. He was a little virtual paperclip (officially called Clippit, but that name never caught on) who sat on the bottom right corner of the page, and was programmed to give advice in popup speech bubbles when certain actions were taken. For example, if you wrote out an address and ‘Dear’, Clippy would say ‘Looks like you’re writing a letter. Would you like help?’. The name Tape-E in the livestream seemed to be referring to Clippy, as there are many similarities in the behaviour of Clippy, and the actual tapes/ tape recorders in-universe:

always on by default

appears at inconvenient times

provides help you do not want

hated by (mostly) everyone

watching you with cold dead eyes

enjoyed by nostalgia and retro seekers

Why make Tape-E?

As I am of the same generation as some of the RQ peeps, I unironically loved Clippy and Mr Blobby as a child, and it gives me great joy to imagine, in the TMP universe, Sam getting a little pop up: ‘Looks like you’re trying to code a case file! Would you like some help with that?’ In our world this would be impossible - Windows NT (as the official name) was dropped in 1996, one year before Clippy was born, BUT there is voice recording on TMP’s ancient computers, so it’s not totally impossible! 😅😁

What are cassette tapes?

Just a little recap for those who didn’t grow up with tapes: Cassette Tapes contain information embedded in magnetic tape, wrapped around one spool and attached to a second spool. When played, the spools are turned by the machine and the magnetic tape is wound onto the other spool, the information read out through speakers as the magnetic tape moves through sensors. As the magnetic tape can contain different information depending on the direction of tape movement, you can flip the cassette tape over in the machine, and play the tape again, hearing another load of information. This concept is never utilised in the show, but it does mean that cassette tapes have A-sides, and B-sides (as Vinyl records do). Here, of course, this stands for Archivist-side, and Brutalpipemurder-side. On occasion, the magnetic tapes would become damaged, or bent, and could be pushed out of the cassette, causing a horrible noise, and terror to small children who were only trying to listen to their Just William tapes. When this happened, a pencil (or in my case, my little finger) could be jammed into the spiky spool ‘teeth’, to rewind the magnetic tape back into the cassette. Maybe that’s why the eyes are red? 🩸 I am very glad that the TMA tapes are magic, and record endlessly, never need flipping, and never get chewed up by the hungry machine.

Why is the name Tape-E?

Canon answer: the name stands for Tape-Eyes. Possibly Tape-Entity? Undecided.

Actual answer: Tape-y, Tapey and Tapie spellings look weird to me. I think Tape-E looks best.

Why a tape and not a tape recorder?

if you can crochet a tape recorder, you’re a genius and I love you.

What gender is Tape-E?

I might refer to Tape-E as male sometimes because that’s how people often referred to Clippy. But Tape-E is whatever gender Tape-E feels like being.

Why now?

Why not? also now is a good time because TMP episode 15 is an excellent episode

What’s going to happen to Tape-E?

I’m going to gift it to Jonny sometime, if we get more liveshows or book signings. It’s his fault this exists after all. Plus you can write whatever you like in the speech bubbles! Hopefully I can give it calmly? But maybe Tape-E will be yeeted in his general direction in a fit of ADHD-fuelled social anxiety. Only time will tell.

Tape-E is a pattern and design created entirely by myself. The inspiration and world building from whence it came, is entirely the genius of @jonnywaistcoat Jonny Sims, Rusty Quill @rqbossman and The Magnus Archives, which is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a creative commons attribution, non-commercial share alike 4.0 international license.

Clippy was invented by Microsoft and Kevan Atteberry, who now illustrates children’s books.

Mr Blobby is an adorable abomination, created from a fevered mind.

[angelofsmalldeaath]

Hi!! I hope you’re doing well love! 🥰 just imagine staying in with Andrew and cuddling all day with him playing with your hair. Little kisses happen here and there, but nothing too steamy. Just laying with each other perfectly content.

sorry i've been gone for so long but i have some free time today. it rained all day and this request is speaking to me very much haha because i would have loved to spend the whole day in bed (with andrew) alas... there is work

cw: sappy as always!!!

“do you think we could have one day utterly undisturbed?” he poses the question as soon as he’s awake. well, alert at least. beside him, i turn, still half-asleep, and bury my face in his chest. 

he’s sleep-warm and soft, yet to move and disturb our perfect little cocoon. 

“i am not the famous one here,” i snicker and feel him exhale. 

his fingers trail up my arm. it’s not intentional, i realise, he’s deep in thought. if i were to open my eyes (a herculean task) and look up at him right now, i’d see that all-too-familiar expression on his face—brows pinched, lip caught between his teeth, eyes faraway. 

“darling boy—”

“we should have a day,” he interrupts, and i crack an eye open, coming face to face with his white t-shirt. “to ourselves, i mean. you and me.”

“and your phone callls?”

“i’ll turn it off!”

“would you?” i smile at him lazily, finally open my eyes too. 

he looks exactly as i’d predicted, with the addition of soft sunlight on his face, lightening his green eyes some more. the red in his hair looks gorgeous like this—messy and unkempt. without much thought, i thread my fingers through it. he closes his eyes and smiles. 

“for you?”

“no,” i thumb over the crinkles around his eyes, “for you.”

he wrinkles his nose, like a child being told to finish his vegetables. “things feel better when i do them for you.”

“alright, then,” i relent and continue threading my fingers through his hair. it’s a languid movement, and yet he leans into it. “would you turn it off for me?”

“but it’s all the way over there!” he almost whines, pointing somewhere behind his back, at his phone that’s barely a foot away. 

i laugh. “and if it rings?”

“you have my full permission to chuck it out the window,” he declares, pulling me closer until we are one tangled entity, limbs intertwined—his leg between mine and my face tucked in the crook of his neck and his chin on top of my head. 

“what should we do then?” i giggle. it’s funny how much he doesn’t want to get out bed today, not to make coffee or use the loo, not to get a book to read and pass the time, not even to think about having breakfast. i let it be. it’s not often we have this. 

“stay like this?”

“for how long?”

“hmmm,” the vibrations from his voice pass through my whole body and send tingles down my spine, “the entire day maybe, the night too. i don’t know, forever.”

sluggishly he shifts, until his hand is right by my head, fingers weaving through my hair. it’s gentle, tender, so much so that i feel sleep coming over me once again, but i strain my eyes and stay awake. 

“i could get behind that,” i speak into his chest, voice muffled. a moment later, he tilts my chin up for a kiss—featherlight, barely-there, and yet it leaves goosebumps in its wake.

it doesn’t go unnoticed either. a moment later, he lets go of my lips and trails kisses up my arm—sweet, chaste kisses that somehow do the opposite of what he intends. or perhaps this is exactly what he intends. 

“and what happens when we get hungry, hmm?”

“is my love not enough for you?!” he grumbles and i snort, unable to keep it in at his exasperated tone. it takes more effort than i’m happy with, but when i kiss his nose in response, he smiles again. 

we stay quiet after that—maybe for a minute, maybe for an hour—but when i open my eyes, he’s already staring at me. 

“hi,” i giggle.

“hi,” he copies my tone. 

i feel a little shy then. there’s no reason for it. we have done this before—stolen mornings and tiny moments rescued from the clutches of busy afternoons, swamped evenings that still somehow hold pockets of quiet for the two of us—but he’s right here now, holding me so close like he never intends on letting go. 

i hope he doesn’t.

“sounds like a good day in my head,” i confess in a whispered voice, “to be here with you and do nothing.”

he nods and kisses me again, a little longer this time, a little more fierce. “sounds perfect to me too.”

[azsazz]

Might Bite Back

Vampire!Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: "how do you think vamp az would react it he lost control of his blood thirst and accidentally hurt reader?" and "OMG a fic where Vamp!Az loses control and accidentally hurts reader and then he realises what hes done!! I LIVE for those fics, we need more vamp az!!!!!!!"

Warnings: Biting, blood, vampire things.

Word Count: 2,544

Notes: This belongs on the vampire Azriel timeline.

_________________________________________

Something startles you awake.

It isn’t a noise, it’s the lack thereof that startles you awake. 

There’s an eerie silence to the black consuming the room. You curse yourself for falling asleep when you’ve been so desperately aware of the fact that he lurks at night, watching, waiting.

Your body is rigid, heart stuttering loudly in your chest, and the only part of you that moves is your eyelids as you blink wearily, sleep still clinging to your body, your mind searching through a hundred scenarios, trying to pinpoint what is going on. 

This is different from the silence you’ve slowly become accustomed to, when you were taken in the dead of night by the undead. His fangs had gleamed in the moonlight and you’d screamed so loudly that the trees surrounding the secluded home shook. Crows cawed in warning, flocking from trees and night creatures startled from the woods. Your blood wooshed in your ears like the wind pulling your hair from your nape, carrying your sickly sweet scent to his parted, hungry lips.

Your heart pounds in your chest exactly like that night. When you had felt like nothing more than prey.

Turning your head slowly, as if the slightest movement might make the darkness snap, you look towards the door. The chair you’d stuffed beneath the knob is still in place, and though you know the flimsy construction of wood would not withstand an ounce of his force, it serves as a piece to make noise should it shift, in case you’ve fallen asleep, much like you had tonight.

You force your rampant heart to calm, ears straining over the waves of blood rushing through them as you listen for the silent entity sharing the home with you. You’ve picked up on the noises that you could, trained your ear to hear the signs of the vampire that has locked you in this gothic tower. The whisper of fabric on cold skin, since his silent steps are impossible to pick up. The shifting of the air in the rooms as he moves, growing colder with his menacing presence. The rustle of his wings when he stretches them in frustration. The shivers crawling up your spine whenever he’s near.

But right now, there’s nothing. 

“Azriel?” you ask into the darkness, and you sound nothing more than a terrified child. There are no monsters lying beneath your bed, waiting to snatch you up by your ankles. No, this monster roams the large home freely, sharp teeth on display so that you know exactly what he can do. The only time you’re even a smidge safe is when the sun blinds through curtains you force open daily, but even the sweltering rays are not here to help you now. You are petrified beyond all belief, despite the softer instances you’ve seen of the slightly unhinged vampire who’s trapped you in what you know will be your grave.

There is no answer to your call, but you don’t expect one. He’s a predator first and foremost, and he thrives off of the quickening pace of your heart, the sound of your blood rushing through your body, the shuddering of your bones as you tremble. You catch him sometimes, when you quiver before him, how he licks his lips, fangs pressing into the soft skin of his unfairly luscious lips.

Your mind is screaming at you not to move, not to get up and find out what’s awoken you and has you feeling this unease. Surely, Azriel cannot be in danger. He is the danger. 

No one has tried to breach your room, the chair hooked up against the door, and you wince at the scrape it makes when you pull it away and turn the knob.

The door gives easily, almost swooping in on a phantom wind. It’s not him. Your body is too accustomed to his presence by now. And the lack thereof a darkness that rattles you so deeply it makes your thighs clench, you know he is not near.

The hall is long and dark, freezing cold. So much so that you can see your breath puffing before your face. Azriel doesn’t understand that you need heat to survive in your inferior human body, and you won’t tell him. Maybe it will become so cold at night that you’ll fall into a peaceful slumber, each shallow breath icing over until your heart freezes in your chest. Then, you won’t be trapped anymore.

But there’s a part of you that’s driven down the hall, seeking him out. A part of you that you shove away when you wonder if he’s alright. A part of you that likes knowing that he’s there, watching you when you’re doing the most mundane things to keep yourself from getting bored to death in this hell. When you read in front of the window, or cook yourself something in the kitchen. When you put on a particularly expensive dress for what? For…for him.

Your footsteps are silent against the carpets but to him you know you sound as if you’re stomping around the corridor, making as much noise as possible. It’s normally your tactic during the days, wanting him to know your displeasure for this place. The thought of him being able to hear your soft steps, your hardly there breaths makes you quake in both fear and excitement, knowing how he always knows your location, and can seek you out no matter where you run.

“Azriel?” you call again, softly. It’s hardly a whisper at all, and there is no response.

Your fingers tremble where they’re pressed to the wall, following the darkened corridor. They brush over the frames of artwork curling at the edges, paint dusty and faded with time. You caress the wooden railing, following it down the staircase, ignoring the nagging in your mind that’s telling you to run.

A fire crackles in the hearth and you pause, confused. All this time Azriel has never kept a fire going, not even per your request with chattering teeth and bluish fingers. He doesn’t like them, and you don’t ask why. You don’t care why. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

You don’t know what possesses you to move closer to it when the popping of logs is a clear warning sign.

Pausing on the last step, foot hovering before the floor, the hair at the nape of your neck prickles. It winds down your spine like an icy rope, settling into the very marrow of your bones. It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right.

Before you can whirl around, race back up the staircase to your room, a voice sounds softly in your ear. “You smell impeccable, crow.”

You whirl, a scream tearing from your lips as you tumble from the stair. You catch yourself on frozen toes, staring up at Azriel with wide eyes, who is shrouded in shadow. He’s standing with preternatural stillness, spine tall. His wings are tucked tightly behind his back, and the talons stick high above his head like horns. 

“Azriel?” you ask, taking a step back. Two.

He doesn’t answer, he follows. Azriel takes one step forward for every one you move away, towards the sitting room with the fire. Orange light bathes him, and you can feel it roaring hot at your back.

As the firelight washes over his stoic face, your stomach roils in horror. This is not the Azriel who had stolen you away, who had given you dresses and your own space, who tried to make you feel less like you were robbed of your former life and more like this had been a choice.

But none of it has been a choice. And you are reminded just what he is capable of at the sight of red-rimmed eyes, the lack of color, the baring of sharp fangs that call your name. 

Bloodlust.

His pupils have swallowed the stroke of hazel completely. You watch as his fingers curl and his nostrils flare when your heart triples in pace. His unfocused gaze sharpens on the column of your throat where your pulse pushes through your skin. 

“Please,” you beg, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. Azriel is no longer there, instead, the very beast that lurks inside of him has taken control and is thirsty for blood.

Azriel lunges and you scream, pivoting on your heel. If you can make it to the iron poker by the fire you may be able to slow him down, stun him as you claw at the front door to try and get away. It’s no ashwood, which would kill the vampire who is much too fast for you to even take a step, grabbing you and pulling you back into his chest.

You thrash, screaming, but your efforts are futile. No one can hear you in the depths of these woods. Your strength is no match for him.

Azriel must be in there somewhere, as he is not crushing your body into dust. No, he wants you otherwise unharmed except for holes in your neck. That, he doesn’t mind seeing, tasting. It’s exactly what he’s taken you for, isn’t it? Just when you’d begun thinking that he might not be as bad as the stories you were told when you were young, tales of bloodthirsty creatures who would tear your throat out to taste your pretty blood.

Now is your time.

His grip is strong around your wrists. You kick back with your leg but can hardly reach him. He is immune to your weak hits. You can feel him leaning over you, closer and closer until his fangs are a whisper against your skin, a tease pinpricking right over your thrumming pulse.

“Devine,” he whispers, and the sensuality of it rips through your body like a lance. As you part your lips to exhale another beg, he bites. You scream.

You tremble in his iron hold. His fingers feel like icepicks as they dig into your flesh. Your scream melts into something long as heat courses through your body, the adrenaline and sting of his teeth burning you to your core. It feels…good. 

It feels like you’re walking on flames, yet they aren’t burning you. They’re caressing you in the best way, holding you, cradling you like a babe. For the first time since you’ve arrived at this horrible place, you feel warm. Like Azriel is embracing you, and he is, because you’ve stopped fighting. His hands are around your waist, holding you tightly, and yours are buried in his thick hair. Heat courses through your bones, pooling between your thighs. Your mind whirls with pleasure as he suckles, the hot press of his tongue lapping your skin, mirrored in the pulse of your throbbing clit.

You relish in the feeling. His body pressed tightly to yours, the strain of his cock through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You can feel the way his muscles loosen the longer he leeches from your neck. 

And you enjoy it until you become woozy, when the euphoria seeps from your blood back into his mouth. When his grip feels like each individual finger is imprinted on your bones. Your neck throbs painfully, and your vision is blackening with shadows in the corners. Your head lolls a little, unable to keep it up.

“Azriel,” you choke, but it’s hard to get your lips to form the words. It’s difficult to do anything except lean into him, to let him take his fill. But you have to try, because this is not how you want it all to end. “You’re…” you huff a painful exhale, “You’re hurting me.”

He goes still, bones popping with the effort. His hold on your falters and you sway, and as badly as he wants to pull away, to run and hide in a whisper of darkness, he catches you, because he’s harmed you and the bloodlust has been wiped away by your words alone. Words he swore he’d never pull from you. Words that will haunt him for centuries.

You’re hurting me.

His vision clears, goes sharp, staring right at the two holes in your neck, thick, red blood still dribbling from the punctures. The beast in him rages to lean down and lick you, keep sucking at the marks until your already slowing heart stops completely. He wants to feel the last beat of your heart beneath his hands, his lips, but he forces himself to do the one thing he hadn’t been able to do tonight: focus.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in horror, when his mind catches up to what he’s looking at. You, looking so broken and fragile in his arms, pale. Your head rests against his chest, eyes fluttering with the strain to keep them open. Your mouth parts but no words come out. 

Azriel wants so badly to drop you, to get away from you, because he’s so stupidly allowed his bloodlust to consume him. He selfishly thought that he would be okay for a few more days, that he wouldn’t have to hunt in the aftermath of a brutal storm because all of the animals would be hidden away. He’s been stupid to think that, and the worst has happened.

He shoves the couch closer to the fire with a shove of his boot. The logs pop and he winces, hating the sound. He’d started the fire as a way to lure you down, the warmth calling to you. It was as much of a present for you as it was a distraction for him. A warning he was giving himself, not to enter the room with the fire roaring in the hearth. He hates the way the flames taunt him. You hadn’t made it to the room before your scent had stuck in his throat and his beast caught a whiff. 

Your body looks frail when he sits you down. Your eyes have closed and your lips have lost color. Azriel knows that if his heart was capable of pulsing, it would be a pounding drum in his chest, beating with worry. He races to your rooms, ripping your blankets from your mattress and is back by your side in a matter of seconds. He tucks you in tight, worrying over you as if you are a sick babe. But you’re not, you’re a pretty little thing that he’d taken in the dead of night for his own selfish reasons. For company, for your heart. But never for your blood. 

This is not how any of this was supposed to go.

Azriel’s mind races with thought. The wounds on your neck have stopped leaking, and they’ll close up quicker if he just licks over it one more time but he can’t force himself, not when he’d violated you like this, hurt you. He needs to leave. He needs to get as far away from you as he can. 

The lethargic beating of your heart tells him that you’re going to be okay. You will be wobbly for a few days, throat in pain, but you’ll live. He didn’t go too far tonight. He didn’t drink you dry.

So Azriel does the only thing that he can. The only thing that he’s ever been good at. 

He leaves.

[umemiyan]

OOOOOOOO FUN FUN

Okay so let’s do 54. “Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch.” from the smut asks with Choso!! You get to choose who’s watching 😈

𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗢 𝗫 𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗕!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / masturbation / implied virgin!choso / based on prompt #54 from this list

HEHEHEHE okay it took me a while to decide on this actually but here we go <3 i haven't written for choso in forever so thank you for giving me the inspo to do it. ily!

“what do you want, choso?”

pulling away from his lips, your question hangs in the air alongside anticipation, frustrations and desires higher than both your heart rates. his lips hover below your jaw, breath a warm breeze against your neck. there’s a lump in his throat, and he audibly swallows it.

“well?” you ask, probing the man as his hands establish dominion over your waist, clutching for an inkling of stability.

you’d riled each other up before, kissed until your lips became numb, even gotten rather raunchy over a series of text messages, but that had been the extent of it. you aim to change that, right here, right now, with arousal pulsing like a drug through your veins.

after a few more moments of silence and heavy breathing, he finally answers, “lay back and touch yourself. i want to watch.” choso immediately regrets that it comes out sounding like a demand, so he quickly softens it with an amicable ‘please.’

he had dreamed of seeing your pussy spread out before him, wet with excitement like the girls he'd researched on the internet. he could only imagine how much prettier you would look in the flesh demonstrating to him how you liked to please yourself, and he only hoped you'd be willing to entertain his fantasy.

with an enthusiastic smile, you crawl down to the end of the couch and situate yourself against the pillows, wasting no time in slipping your clothes off from the waist down and exposing yourself to him. choso watches intently, hair plastered to his forehead with the glue of sweat and his jaw going slack when you spread your legs wide in a grand reveal. it's even better than he could've imagined.

you present a slick cunt that clenches when you slip a finger over your clit, the look on choso's face causing you to wonder why you hadn't done such a thing much sooner. saliva pools in his mouth, eyes fixated on how you glisten, and he wraps a hand around your ankle to steady himself as his mind becomes a spinning whirlwind of lust. your scent reaches his nostrils and it takes every ounce of strength for him not to dive forward and instinctively latch his mouth to your heat.

choso is the one who moans when you push two fingers into your hole, the squelch competing with the low sound deep in his throat. you grin in response, amused with his reaction, but he doesn't see it—he's too busy imagining how hot your pussy must feel, gaze never once straying from it.

you nearly giggle at his sheer intensity, but choso's other hand reaches up to squeeze your knee without apology, taking this moment as seriously as anything else in his life.

"do that again," he requests, no longer ridden with uncertainty but instead hungry for the visual of you sliding two fingers into yourself. he yearns for his cock to take their place, but he first needs to appreciate your body as its own entity before he inevitably becomes a part of it.

[mayasaurusss]

In your arms.

Contains: angst sprinkled with a little bit of fluff, dissection of animal that can be read as gore (not intended to be read as such).

A/n: I channeled my anger and sadness into this, I hope you'll enjoy it.

Her heels dig in the cold coat of snow that covers the earth, breath quick and laboured from the fatigue that heavies her body.

Natalie wields the gun in her hands, eyes closed against the force of the wind. Her prey has just gotten away from her, leaving it's footprints in the snow; but the dark is descending and with that goes away the last possibility of a meal. Her hunger precedes her thoughts though, and before she can stop herself from dying of hypothermia, she continues.

The snow pools at her ankles, making it hard to continue walking, but she's hungry. She's so, so hungry. A branch breaks, resounding in the dead silence of the forest.

'There it is' something screams in her brain, 'to the right' and before she could hear the sound of the bullet firing, the body has already fallen on the ground.

A stag, a young one. Good enough to feed them for three days. Heavy, too heavy to carry all at once. Could make something out of it's fur and bones.

All the information floods Natalie's brain, the cold calculating matter helping her understand how to move, how to plan.

She drags the deer's carcass on a nearby tree, posing it at its roots. With her knife she carves an 'x' on it's bark; she reaches for a rope and ties it to the animal's corpse, heavies it with rocks so it can't be taken away by other creatures or entities.

She wants to tell herself that she doesn't believe Lottie's bullshit, but begin alone in a dark unknown forest at night sure does make a shiver run up her spine. With her knife then she separates the femur from the pelvis and cuts, propping the leg up her shoulder.

It feels heavy on her shoulders, but she must continue to walk. They rely on her, you rely on her.

When she finally sees the lights of the cabin Natalie is almost prompted to fall back into the earth, to finally let her life be taken by the Wilderness, but she continues. It feels like ages but finally she steps inside. Snow melts at her feet and wets the wooden floor of the cabin. It's hot inside, a welcomed feeling on her tired skin.

"Natalie!" you are the first to notice her, as you always were. Natalie falls to her knees, her bish exhausted beyond imagination. She's quickly embraced in your arms as people around her move and she falls asleep.

Hours later she wakes up in your arms. You're near the fire, everyone else is asleep around you two. You are the only one who is still awake. Your hand is combing knots out of her hair, drying them of the snow as best as possible. "Baby..." she mutters, snuggling near you.

You immediately look at her as soon as you hear her voice. "Natalie!" someone near you stirs at the sound of your loud voice, so you whisper to her ears. "Natalie, how are you? Is everything alright?" you notice a blush spreading on her cheeks as your hands check everywhere for wounds of any kind. "Y-yeah I am fine" she whispers, looking at you with adoration and love in her eyes.

"How did everything go?" you ask her and at your words she remembers the left over carcass in the snow. "The... The body is still there. We got to-" she is already about to move from the safe nest that is your arms, but you pull her back within you. "No, stay here".

"But we have to-!" she tries to fight against your hold but you're stronger than her and she falls right back into you. She's about to protest but you interrupt her before she can say anything, "No one requires anything out of you, Natalie".

As soon as she hears your words, something snaps and she collapses, limbs heavy as lead and heart wounded. All the muscles in her body have become soft and moving an inch proves to be a far difficult task than she imagined.

You are so nice, so lovley to her, and she doesn't deserve this.

"For tonight you can rest". She presses her nose into the cavity of your neck, searching in any way to be as close to you as possible, to melt into you.

Her stomach grumbles and all at once she's hit with hunger. Now she's conscious enough to take in the state of the cabin and the others. Everyone is asleep, only the sounds of their snores echoing in the space. Wooden spoons and bowls are scattered around the floor, not one drip or crumb of dinner left. The mouthwatering smell of meat shimmering on a pot filling the cabin from the outside.

"Has everyone already ate?" you move so that Natalie can sit up on her own. "Yes, but I wanted to wait for you" her grey eyes peer into yours, darkned by the dim light of the room. She looks worried, scared.

Scared that you might put her in the first place, scared that you might die of hunger, scared of everything. And you can see that hurt, that fear in her. The mask she has created these months is slowly crubling, revealing a terrified and tired person behind it.

"You didn't had to..." once again, her worries are shut by your words, "Of course I did". It's almost like she can't fully comprehend why you do this. Why you act like this.

You get up and get outside, where the wind is whipping at your skin. You fill two makeshift bowls to the brim with the remaining meat.

You give one to Natalie and sit back next to her, already dipping the spoon in. Meat floats above the surface of hot water, making Natalie nauseous.

"There were no mushrooms left, right?" she asks, reciving a small hum from you. She sighs, setting her hopes and complaints aside and digging her theet in the first bite of meat. It's cooked, no ounce of pink left inside, but flavourless. It tastes of wild, untamed animal. It's crude, it's hard, but she's hungry. The only source of flavour is the water, salted by the blood.

She would do anything right now to eat a god damned hamburger, or anything else for that matter, but her hunger is too hard to battle.

She could do with this. She has eaten worse.

"It tastes like shit!" you comment with a laugh, but neverteless continue to eat.

As the last drop of water falls into her mouth, Natalie sets the bowl aside, looking into the shades of the window. She can see the reflection of the dying fire outside, smothered by snow and wind. It looks so much like me, she thinks to herself.

Natalie would do anything in the world to be as far away from here as possible. She seeks refuge in her mind, in a made up world where there's just the two of you. She imagines a small house, in the countryside. It's just you and her, and maybe one or two cats. She'd name them after her favourite band's members. She's finally free from her addictions, no ghosts of the past haunting her or you. No father, no mother, no Jackie, no death. She can finally let that mask fall; she can finally feel like herself. She wakes up in your arms, hot and cuddled up against you. It's spring, there's no cold and the house is full of food. She is happy and safe.

"What a beautiful life would that be..." she sighs, running her hands over her eyes. It's surprising how quietly she falls, unable to stop the tears and hiccups coming from her. "Why isn't it true...?" the dark room is closing in on her, leaving her breathless and empty. But your touch becons her, like a warm light, like the north star guiding sailors into the vastness of the sea.

You look at her eyes: nothing needs to be said. Both of you know that the situation is dire, that it's unlikley you will see the end of winter. Natalie breaks when you kiss her, so tender and sweet that it makes her heart cry. She's the first one to talk; "I love you" she says, crying as you hold her face in your palms. "I love you too", it's the first time she ever heard you say those words, and even in the pain and hurt, she smiles. A feeling of relief, happiness, washes over her.

Maybe she will be okay. Maybe you will be okay.

"As long as we have each other, everything will be fine".

[inkeyjay]

🫀 Eucharist of the Ravenous 🫀

It started out as a bellyache, guts rumbling after two days of barely eating. An unfinished visage, featureless, fixing the blurry sockets it had for eyes into his soul.

The humble priest dropped his brush onto the cold floor of the chapel and stumbled backwards. The walls, towards the ceiling, all full of still fresh perfect faces framed by golden halos, that he had been carefully painting non stop for days. Faces of dead saints and prophets, long gone, commissioned by the high church as a display of power and opulence in an age of religious and political crisis. And this last saint, the one that still had some loose and tired brushtrokes for it's face. There was something about it that made the priest flinch out of his creative trance. He swore the paint moved, vibrated with anticipation at the touch of the brush.

He laid tired in the center of the chapel, exposed to a hundred pair of eyes that almost felt judgemental, knowing of the priest's internal thoughts. "Why am i doing this" "Why do i have to over exert myself with work to survive while i use pure gold to embellish... You. This" "Why"

And the faces remained still and silent.

"Why all this for long gone martyrs that had the fortune to die for their for their beliefs, or to let their God speak through their lips, bestow miracles through their fingers"

"Why this for a God that let them die at the heretical hands of the non believers. That leaves hundreds if not thousands of people to die of the pestilence outside this golden, rotten, WALLS"

The bottle of turpentine exploded and its contents dripped down the wall, dragging hours of work with them, dissolving like acid false flesh and gold leaf alike. And then blood, through the priest's hand, holding the neck of the bottle. He panicked and kneeled towards the wall, trying to undo the mistake with cloth, only to make a bloody mess. Red running through the gold, ichor like.

The priest cried holding his hand, a deep wound running through his palm, burning because of the chemicals. But the pain was not the cause of his tears.

"A sign" "I just need a sign"

But the faces remained still and silent.

The priest got up, slowly, and turned around towards the door. Why be here then. Why remain hungry, at the mercy of a dying church that kept their riches safe in mausoleums and layers of paint upon gold leaf upon stone, while its believers died in the streets famished and sick. The priest saw it clear now. If God did ever exist, it was long gone, uncaring for its creation. He might as well die outside, with his people. It would be like inviting the sickness into his chest but at least his last breaths wouldn't taste of incense. His steps echoed through the chamber, determined, reaching for the doors.

But the faces opened their lips. And with a cacophony of voices, each one vibrating with a torrent of beating wings, It spoke. No.

It sang.

Super happy to finally be able to show you this illustration i made for Tome of Pacts, a zine about warlocks, patrons and their pacts! There's a leftover sale going on right now! This is Pantheon, a shapeshifting entity that impersonates long absent gods and feeds on the faith of their followers, always hungry for more. But it's not for me to tell you.

! First of all, credits to @/gothhoblin, the writer of our team, for helping shape out this Patron "...and it spoke with a cacophony of voices, each one vibrating with a torrent of beating wings, a thousand or more." Is a marvelous line of her creation.

Tome of pacts has 11 more patrons and 24 warlocks for your enjoyment, all beautifully depicted by teams of artists and writers. Im super proud to have been able to participate in this project 💛

This short story is about an original character i created after the patron, just as an appetizer, pun intended. You get it right??

Hungry for a copy?

[abstract-crossverse]

helloo! I love your writing so much, and saw you were taking requests for doors so I decided to slide in!

if I may, could I request a Jeff x Reader thing? only if you want to, I just haven’t seen much of him and I think he deserves more attention :)

Helloo! Im glad writing is enjoyable! I’m still getting into the hang of things again, so do excuse me, its about time I get to doing my long ass how you meet/dating headcanons with fic intervals again One Jeff comin’ up!

===========================

Jeff x Reader [Hc/Fic, fluff]

Jeff, the sweetest entity and friendliest one in the Hotel.

Surprise surprise, he's not one of the Human turned Entity ones

Genuine supernatural creature right here

Unlike Jack and Shadow, the founders of the hotel, he’s just here for business, and was also hired as the hotel’s chef, he makes one good pasta I’ll tell you that

Also he’s not a maniac who loves to torture people for funnies like the other two… well, at least that Jack’s whole spiel, Shadow… is too reserved, and we don't know his motives with the hotel, he only helped with the furniture and keeps knocking down bOOKSHELVES

Jeff never really leaves his room after the Library, it's a good room, and he got a pretty good deal with Jack to make his room unavoidable for players, poor things must be famished

Which means if you come over to his room hungry and mentioned, you bet he’s going to sit you down and make you some food, in exchange for some coins of course, this ain't free dining

Most players just stop to take a breather in his room, have a chat with Goblino and buy something they need from his wares

Flashlight? Lucky for you, he has one with a full battery today! Cross? Skull key? Lighter? He has it all, being a shadow like entity has its perks, he slithers around the shadows at times and snatches anything he can get his hands on unnoticed, nothing on drawers though, it's too risky to be seen and Timothy doesn't quite enjoy visitors too much… and Jeff himself is not the biggest fan of spiders

Anyway, you meet like everyone else meets him, get past Figure, get to his room, take a breather from the adrenaline dying down.

He greets you from his stand with a wave of his tentacle as Goblino also greets you, and Bob couldn't even be bothered to look your way

You’re a regular, technically everyone is, but some don't spare too much time to chat or even tip, how rude!

You, however, stick around for a while to talk to either Goblino, buy a snack or one of the things on his stand, and you always tip, because of course you do.

Your friendly nature draws Jeff to you, looking especially happy whenever you come around, waving excitedly, he shakes your hand when you approach as a greeting as he keeps himself in the shadows, the lights hurt his eyes so he’s not crossing his stand ever.

He watches you from his stand as you talk with Goblino, something warm cooking in his heart, he gets flustered when you talk with him, how odd, he’s never felt this before

He doesn't talk, he can, but he doesn't aside low rumbles or clicking/chattering, you're not too sure what those sounds are, he can't speak English or any other language aside his mother tongue, which is cryptic and hard to understand for anyone else who doesn't speak it, though the other entities seem to understand him, even Goblino, you wonder if it's just players who can’t.

He can write, crudely, but he’s trying, after all the S on his sign is backwards, he’s learning, give him a moment.

You two can keep up conversations sometimes, he writes on a notepad you gave him once, and you speak, he’s glad you try to adjust to make him comfortable and include him

His sentences are broken, but you get the gist

You sighed before opening the door to the “Store” room, a familiar tune filling your ears and your heart with relief, Figure had been more aggressive today for whatever reason, you wondered if something upset it or if it was just in a bad mood?

You didn't have a clue, but that didn't matter now, you just hoped they would calm down until you reach the warehouse, for now, you can breathe again. Jeff looked over from his stand, visibly lighting up in mood as he waved an arm at you, turning towards you as Goblino greeted you from his seat.

“¡Oye, amigo! Good to see you in one piece!” the goblin yelled, counting the coins he had snatched from drawers, you waved, about to say something before the goblin turned to the skeleton beside him “what’s that? … HAHAH! Yeah, Bob says you sure don’t look alive!”

It made you chuckle a bit, you knew you didn't, you were getting tired of all these runs and repeated cycles, the adrenaline only fueled you so much, and the runs you actually got to the elevator weren’t feeling as satisfying as they used to be. You silently agreed with the goblin as he went back to counting his coins, sitting on the chair Jeff pulled up next to his counter

Noticing how tired you looked, he moved the radio across the room to the table next to the duo, lowering the volume a bit more to make it ambience noise for you both, you appreciated the small gesture, as much as you liked his music it was starting to give you a headache

He pointed at the items on the counter as his head tilted with a chirp, you shook your head

“Not now at least, buddy, I’m just-... tired…” you said leaning against the counter, he nodded in understanding, moving the items behind the counter, leaving only one of the pillows he previously had set a crucifix on.

His arms pulled a notebook from behind the counter and a pen, gifts from you, it made you smile a bit as you faintly remembered the day you gave him that to talk with you, he looked so happy, though you were brought back to reality when he turned the book to you

“Figure angry tonight, because of Ambush I thinks, you okay? They hurt you?” as you read, he made worried rumbling sounds at you with worried eyes, seeming to look you over for any injuries. His gentle concern was appreciated, smiling warmly at him despite your tired eyes

“I noticed, they didn’t hurt me, I’m alright, I just… I dunno… just tired, this cycle is getting exhausting, I might be starting to realize I won’t ever be able to leave this place…” you let out a couple sad laughs, looking down at the counter, it was true, the possible harsh reality was setting in, and you didn't know how to take it, but it wasn’t well, you may never see your family again, if you even had one, you barely remembered, this place fucked with your memories and you hated it.

Out of your view, Jeff seemed saddened by your mention of leaving, he tried not to think about it much himself, but the idea of you leaving made him scared, sad. He didn't want you to leave, but he knew that this place wasn't built for your survival in the first place. Silence hung thick in the air for a moment before you heard scribbling again, the notebook sliding into your view, “Have you eaten? Drink water? Want anything, friend?” The hospitality made you scoff a fond laugh, shaking your head again, “I'm fine, Jeff, thank you though.”

You heard him chirp again, closing your eyes just for a moment, you felt his arms gently tug at your arms up, you looked surprised as he silently asked you to raise your arms a bit, pulling the pillow still on the counter to you before scribbling again, “rest head, tired friend, you need it. May I play with hair?”

You laughed, warmth rising to your cheeks as he put an arm on your shoulder, gently tugging you down, “sure buddy, god how I am so lucky to have met you?”

He let out a happy thrill as you laid your head on the cushion, sighing as he played with your hair, another arm gently rubbing your back as you crossed your arms over your head, slowly slipping into sleep, he wouldn’t mind if you took a nap, would he? Nahhh…

Jeff looked over your relaxed form, completely forgetting anything else around them as he focused solely on you, your hair, your face, your mannerisms, looking over you softly, love struck as ever, letting out gentle thrills and almost purr-like rumbling, he knew he was completely infatuated with you, he knew his kind’s mannerisms regarding love, he just needed the perfect time and words to let you know

El Goblino and Bob had long moved on, figuring to give the two of you some privacy, despite Jeff completely forgetting they were there in the first place. The lights in the room dimmed with a flick of an arm before gently wrapping around you, pulling another cushion for himself as he laid his shadowy head beside yours, glowing eyes gently casting light on your face for a couple of moments, seeming to either have really fluffy, long hair or fur sprawling on the makeshift balcony as he slipped into sleep himself

I was very tired and sleepy when I wrote this, can you tell I think falling asleep near each other and cuddling is the biggest sign of trust? It's also my favorite thing in couple scenarios, I think it's so cute

Anyway, his shop room is completely off limits for other entities, really only Rush kinda breaks that rule sometimes, he just has no other way to go through, Jeff understands but it's a pain to replace the lamps

Jack can’t do shit if he finds you two being sappy with each other, Jeff isn’t someone he can control like that, he’s a business partner, and he can't just kick the guy out because of something so “petty” in the eyes of other entities, also too much paperwork

He CAN however make the entities go nightmare mode on you out of no where, increased difficulty mf good luck

But he won’t find out, why? Because Jeff is very good at hiding things, including other entities and players, so you’re the only one allowed behind his counter

He’ll hide you behind there if he feels Jack’s presence approaching, it's so dark in there that if you make not sounds he wouldn’t have less of a clue you're even there

I’ll be honest I don’t feel like writing how he confesses atm, so I’ll be owing y’all this one, but let's get into the dating hcs before those ideas cease existing in my mind

Jeff is the softest coziest entity to cuddle with, he goes neck to neck with Rush in that department, with Rush only being a bit tougher due to whatever he is, meanwhile Jeff is all soft all around, squishy

Like the other he has two forms, I like to think as much as he may have smooth tentacle arms and shit, he’s a fluffy ball of shadow, and in his humanoid form, that fluff goes to hair

It's long too, like that shit almost drags on the floor, he loves when you play with his hair just as much as he likes playing with yours

He’ll actually melt in your hands if you play with his hair or trace his face

Usually he wears a long coat in his humanoid form, like a cartoonishly shady seller on the street, not much under it aside black pants and, oddly enough, a ruffled white shirt, he doesn't even wear shoes

He likes cuddling with you in the dark of the room he stays in, it's a comfy little room just like the other bedrooms you can find, it's just different in ways that it's personalized to Jeff’s liking, it’s also connected to the kitchen

Cooking? Amazing. With you? Even better. He’ll call you over to help him cook you anything if you want to, give you a headlight and batteries for it, and get to work!

Best cook for sure, he’ll cook and bake you anything you’re craving, just give him a name and maybe a recipe and he’ll do it

Gift giving and quality time are his love languages, for sure, he adores listening to you ramble about anything you like, explain lore of any media you like for hours, he’ll listen and write down questions for you to answer, sometimes he’ll tune out and just look at you with the dumbest love struck expression ever.

Anything he finds in the hotel floors and stuff that remind him of you are going directly to you when you get to his room, even of how he found it is… less than conventional

“Hey Jeff, how are you, hun?” *happy chirping as he gives you a shiny brooch* “oh that's cool, thank you so much!- why is there blood on it.” *confused thrilling*, he thought he cleaned it well enough, ofc he got it off a corpse

You are not immune to receiving comfy knitted sweaters and scarves from him, he knits as a hobby too, anything he makes for you will be to your preferences and sizes, it can get pretty cold in the hotel sometimes!

Surprisingly, Guiding Light is not a worrywart if you ever tell them you're with Jeff, they like Jeff and knows he’s a good… entity, so he gives you both their thumbs up of approval

The other entities, though? If Jeff ever tells them, it's a lot of mixed feelings

“Oh hey Jeff what's going on?” *chattering and chirping* “oh that's cool glad your business is going we- FUCK YOU MEAN YOU'RE DATING A PLAYER?!?!?!”

BUT LIKE, THEY CAN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT, I mean, this guy is associated with Jack so for all they think, they work under him too, they sometimes fear what he could do if they dare fuck around with him, as much as he’s a sweetheart. Don't hold it against them, though, they're not used to constant niceness from entities like him

Regardless, he’s honestly the best one to date in the hotel, sure Jack would make your runs a nightmare, but he wouldn’t touch you with a 10-foot pole if he can help it, as long as it doesn't hinder Jeff’s job then you’d be fine in theory

[heartfullofleeches]

Hopping Ship

Yan Rival Restaurant Mascot + G.N Reader + Yan Restaurant Entities

Slow day....

Right in the middle of lunch hour too-

Scarce to see the restaurant so empty like this nowadays. After starting the new shift, you genuinely began to ponder if you'd finally lost your hearing due to the one-sided shouting matches from customers before realizing there had been a single since you clocked in and the silence surrounding you was very much real.

With so much free time, you finally got around to completing some tasks you'd be putting on the back burner for a while and a few you picked up while the janitor was out on personal business. They were gone every other week of the month, but you stopped wondering where they went after seeing them crawl into a black van one night after closing shit. It's impolite to watch coworkers who appear to be wearing your missing coat drag trash bags into unmarked vehicles after midnight.

You swept the floors, decorated the back office with some of the flowers the mascot left you and read a couple of their letters, created a sign out for the bathroom succubus to please at least put a towel beneath the door when she went on of her many "mandatory smoke breaks", and other duties which staked your claim as the establishment's most valued, living employee - all accommodating in the treat you rewarded yourself with once your break rolled around.

Sitted at the back of the fridge, behind the cooler you kept your gifted deer kidneys from the crying figure in the woods - a single fruit cup shined in all its syrupy glory. You tended to avoid eating coworkers food until their names appeared in the papers, but this little delight was stapled with a friendly letter for whoever came across it.

"For you~ (yes, the one reading this)"

That in itself should've been warning enough, but you were too hungry to care and not really in the mood for greasy fast food or ice cream from a bastard ghost. It was the perfect snack. Tiered with fruits representing all colors of the rainbow separated by rich, fluffy cream you assumed to be whipped frosting or some type of yogurt.

Snagging the cup and a spoon from the dispensery, you head back to the front to eat just in case anyone shows up. First bite in and you immediately notice something off about what you've just willingly ingested. What should've a sweet, succulent strawberry tasted exactly like strawberry cheesecake. The creaminess of its taste compared to its snappy texture threw you off entirely. You nibbled on an apple slice which tasted just like pie. Not exactly what you were going for, but you needed something on your stomach. Mindlessly chewing away, a faint hiss comes from beneath the counter.

"Psssst."

Must be another gas leak.

"Y/n - down here!"

You almost wish it had.

Peering underneath, you make contact with the frantic eyes of a former coworker. His face was caked in mud and his lips cracked from the clear signs of dehydration. You grab a cup of water from the soda machine which he near inhales, plastic and all. You take your seat back at the counter, poking around at your cup. "Hey, Noah. What happened to you last we I thought you the storyteller told you to go get lost in the forest and get eaten by bears."

"I was a boyscout growing up and all the predator animals in this area are dead. Get down - it'll see you!"

"What will?"

He tugs on your sleeve. "The rabbit thing that's been throwing everyone into that van! It's right outside!"

"Mm?"

Sucking a cube of peach cobbler off your spoon - you you peer outsife where another mascot stood - gloved hand extended a with flyer to the customer approaching the the door. The anthropomorphic rabbit was dressed in a red and white hybrid of a nurse gown and a 50s waitress outfit down to the pastel skates it wore on its large feet.. When the customer ignores the paper and went out of their way to walk around the strange figure, the creature dropped the flyer as it clasped its hand around their neck and hurls them into the open van beside it. Slamming the door on their ankle - the rabbit suddenly bends backwards with an audible crack facing the register as its ears dangle at its feet, waving at you with its Cheshire grin. You chase a grape around the container with your spoon.

"They seem friendly."

Noah pulls harder on your clothes. "Quiet! We need to call the police."

"Mmm... nah, they never respond to any of our calls anyway."

He groans into his hands. "Ughh- Ojay, we'll figure something out - just, don't make look that thing in the eye.

Bit too late for that.

The rabbit mascot had scaled the restaurant floor in about the same time it too you to swallow the bland frosting that served as a palate cleaner for the tooth rotting sweetness. It contorts to match your height, button nose inches from yours.

"Hello, hello, he-llo - where have you been hiding?~ I was looking for you. "

".... Hey, Noah? Can you actually try the police to see if they'll show up this time?"

The rabbit chuckles. "Funny too. I knew you were a catch from the second I laid eyes on you. That's why I had to make sure our first meeting was special and there were no..." Its eyes fall to the counter." prying eyes... Anywho! Did you enjoy the fruits I left for you?"

You shrug, mouth full of sugary melon. "I guess."

"Fantastic! Those at my establishment prioritize a healthy, and tasty lifestyle. I certainly hope you don't mind us treading on your territory, but it was the only spot in town fit for our dream. If all things go according to plan, you won't have to worry about the competition at all! Onto my big question - would you care to join our team? An experienced crewmate like yourself is just what we need and if you start this afternoon - I'll even make you manager! Even deal, wouldn't you say?"

"....not really."

"Great!-...." Its ears fall flat against its skill. I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I kinda like it here. Bring manager sounds like I'd have to do more work than I do now, and the the ball pit is a big factor to why I stay.

Soft clapping sounds from the play area. Confused, he mascot looks between your face and your half eaten cup. "Are you sure?"

You shrug again. "Pretty sure I am."

"Maybe take another bite and think about it harder?"

LYou shove the remaining bits of fruit in your mouth, using the time to chew as your grace period. "Positive."

"I see...." The rabbit's whiskers twitch as it snaps back to full height, spinning on their wheels towards the door. "No matter. I will be back for you another day with an offer you won't be able to refuse. Until then."

You look at the floor as they skate away. "I think it's leaving, Noah.... Noah?"

"Help me!"

You glance back up in time to see Noah being dragged outside and flung into the van as his captor grumbles something about just using sleeping pills next time. You official cross him off the schedule as you throw the cup away.

"If they'd just offer me their skates - I probably would've said yes."

You lick the spoon clsan as the ice cream machine whirls to life.

"Cheater!"

"Oh shut up."

[hussyknee]

International news outlets are predictably parroting whatever they see the government-run news media propagandizing, so the foreign commentators who have never met a Sri Lankan even by accident are announcing that we have elected a Marxist leader. We have not. It's a coalition of mild social democrats lmao. Even the main JVP entity hasn't really been Marxist in decades. It's all neoliberal hysteria.

Here's some necessary context for what's going on, and by far the best summation of the situation as it stands. I've highlighted the parts that the leftists of other countries will probably find salient and deeply relatable lmao.

It was always going to come to this. The first Sri Lankan election in generations where even a remotely leftist party stood a chance of winning was always going to end with an almighty Red Scare. So it is that the presidential campaign of National People’s Power (NPP) candidate Anura Kumara Dissanayake (AKD) is inspiring lurid visions of an impending violent, dystopian regime, splayed across news and social media. This is the prophecy of the Sri Lankan elite establishment, a select cross section of the country’s businesspeople, policymakers, professionals, journalists and academics who have been proximate to state power, especially in the last two years. Scrutiny of them and their crescendoing hysteria reveals much about how power and privilege work in Sri Lanka, and what happens when their wielders are threatened. Mythmaking

The pre-election Red Scare is the culmination of a two-year-long project by the elite establishment to sustain the regime of Ranil Wickremesinghe. This project is founded on a number of myths which rewrite recent history, chief among them the idea that the Aragalaya suddenly turned violent due to its ‘infiltration’ by the NPP’s lynchpin party the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) and other leftists. This myth, just like the one that Wickremesinghe stepped in to become Prime Minister then President “when no one else would”, only serves the elite establishment’s attempts to justify and sanitise Wickremesinghe’s power-hungry scheming.

Wickremesinghe was the only person shameless enough to accept Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s offer to become Prime Minister without any conditions. Likewise, the question of violence only became a problem after Wickremesinghe used the Aragalaya to manoeuvre himself to the Presidency. As always for elites, the spectre of left-wing violence is more serious than actual right-wing violence. Thus, NPP politicians standing on the banks of the Diyawanna is apparently far more alarming than the security forces ruthlessly dismantling GotaGoGama and brutalising its inhabitants on the very same day Wickremesinghe was selected as President by Parliament.

In the mythologisation of Wickremesinghe, we are further meant to forget that he has presided over a striking series of rights violations and undemocratic measures. Recounted partially and briefly: arbitrarily detaining multiple Aragalaya activists; violently repressing numerous protests by student and trade unions; passing the Bureau of Rehabilitation Act and Online Safety Act; deliberately preventing scheduled local authorities elections; continuing to obstruct memorialisation events by Tamils; and the ongoing Sinhala colonisation of the north and east.

As Wickremesinghe completed his transformation from supposed champion of liberal democracy to illiberal autocrat, establishment elites, especially the self-styled liberals among them, found themselves tongue tied about these issues for more than two years. If Ranil Wickremesinghe violates a human right, does a Sri Lankan liberal make a sound? ‘Stability’ and ‘Recovery’

It is not that these establishment elites merely promote Wickremesinghe’s government; it’s that they have been deeply and intimately involved in crafting and enforcing its policies, whilst often passing themselves off as impartial commentators. This particularly pertains to the Government’s economic agenda, and the idea that it has created ‘stability’ and rescued the country from the abyss to lead it to ‘recovery’. From the start, ‘stability’ and ‘recovery’ have been built on the backs of working class and poor Sri Lankans, who have literally paid for it with increased taxes, deteriorating public services and severely slashed welfare under the extravaganza of austerity mandated by the IMF.

The elite establishment’s espousal of this ‘stability’ and ‘recovery’ turns on a rabid, evangelical belief in neoliberal economic ideology. This tethers the unconditional acceptance of the IMF and its dictates, with any deviation from them held as ruinous. Similarly, neoliberalism manifests as identity through a strict belief that all wealth and success within a capitalist economy is gained through personal virtue (discounting inheritance, aid or luck), and inversely, anyone who is unsuccessful must be lazy and stupid. Such thinking is an apt glaze for the naturally patrician worldview of most establishment elites’ social class.

As a result, establishment elites are indignant that working and poor Sri Lankans are not grateful enough for the ‘recovery’. In truth, the only real inconveniences they suffered were the fuel shortages and power cuts of 2022. So, they cannot and do not genuinely contend with suffering of many over the past two years—including the still unbearable cost of living, rising child malnutrition, falling school attendance and millions still disconnected from electricity to name but a few ongoing calamities. Consequently, working and poor Sri Lankans must be too stupid to understand the ‘recovery’, the necessity of the IMF’s ‘bitter medicine’ forced upon them and to even vote. In the same breath, of course, these elites ignore and obscure the fact that corporates and the wealthy—which is often to say they themselves—are spared any similar medicine, and get to freely evade taxes, enjoy generous state subsidies and concessions and hoard their wealth offshore.

Contours of a Scare

All this exposes such deep contempt by establishment elites for working and poor people. This is what fuels their wholesale disgust at anyone voting against Wickremesinghe, or not even settling for the Samagi Jana Balawegaya’s Sajith Premadasa (to the great dismay of many elites, the two could not set aside their blood feud and combine forces). Buried within this is a deep fear of a political reality they do not know and cannot control. Thus, the maniacal scaremongering about how democracy would be subverted by an AKD regime due to the internal intricacies of communist parties—as if the JVP and particularly the NPP qualified as such. (And as if Premadasa and the SJB, and especially the unelected, election-cancelling Wickremesinghe, were paragons of democracy.)

The Red Scare is also founded on bringing up the JVP’s violence during the two insurrections it led, particularly the second. Certainly, there needs to be a complete accounting for the horrendous violence the JVP instigated, which the JVP has failed to do itself. But it cannot be done in any honest sense by the elites who ignore or deny that the UNP government and its death squads (under Premadasa’s father) killed and disappeared far greater numbers of people than the JVP (by estimates of three to up to ten times as many), or that Wickremesinghe oversaw an actual torture camp.

In addition to these many hypocrisies, the Red Scare is also founded on the elite establishment’s striking political illiteracy. Words like ‘Marxism’, ‘socialism’ and ‘communism’ are thrown about with wild abandon without any serious evaluation of them against the NPP. Elites regularly conflate the JVP and Frontline Socialist Party, despite them actually being mortal enemies; and believe all trade unions are controlled in hivemind-fashion by the JVP, despite the wide range of trade union political allegiances. Acknowledging spiralling social deprivation in the country is “cosplaying poverty” and any critique of the government’s economic agenda and neoliberal dogma in general inspires a virulent derision for “commies”, in dizzying, barely-coherent invective and memes imported straight from the US and the gutters of far right social media. These ignorant, imbecilic displays would be amusing if they weren’t being bandied about by actual adult journalists, lecturers and professionals, speaking to the country’s depressing level of intellectual discourse. The Endgame

The real irony here is that the NPP does not warrant any of the elite establishment’s hysteria. Certainly, it stakes out an actual difference with the existing political hegemony by physically embodying change. AKD, just like his government in waiting, promise a halt to the endless game of musical chairs that characterises government-making in Sri Lanka. This contrasts with Premadasa and Wickremesinghe’s politics which evince more of the same, in the latter’s case even more nakedly and shamelessly with the most corrupt and criminal figures on offer. (This, too, is another inconvenient fact shrugged off by establishment elites as necessary realpolitik.)

Of course, many of those prospectively voting for the NPP to “give them a chance” reveal the Sri Lankan predilection to go with the ‘rella’ or wave. But embedded in there, too, is the idea that this chance is being given in desperation, against a political system which has brought them nothing but economic ruin. That system could not be characterised more effectively than by Wickremesinghe himself, who makes little attempt to hide his disdain for ordinary people.

Yet it’s easy to overstate such change. In substance, even a cursory glance at the NPP’s manifesto reveals not a plan to usher in full-throated communism but a milquetoast, deliberately vague social democratic program. Most tellingly, it promises to maintain the country’s economic settings, including the current IMF program, as well as its deeply majoritarian state structure. The establishment should in fact be thrilled that the supposed biggest threat to its existence accepts the very core tenets of its modus operandi.

What this also means is that if and when any substantive change fails to materialise for many people—particularly in living conditions, as will certainly be the case under continued adherence to the IMF program—any NPP government risks spectacular collapse. That will leave ample space for any new, reactionary force to step in, including Wickremesinghe who will be waiting, cockroach-like, or another dispiriting shuffling of the current deck. In such a scenario, the elite establishment could find multiple avenues to attach their hooks to, for they are nothing if not the most talented grifters.

This election is unlikely to spell a definitive end to the political establishment or the deranged elites who uphold it. But for anyone sickened by the elite establishment’s hypocrisy and degeneracy, one night of them losing their collective minds over the Red Scare they have convinced themselves can only be a fleeting, pleasurable treat.

[call-sign-shark]

Hi Shark 💓 I saw your post with the three word sentences and I'd like to request 6. "Be gentle, please." with Tommy. If you're more comfortable with writing for a different character then you're obviously free to do so! 🥰

Hi Daisy! Here we go dear 🥰 Finger crossed, I hope you'll enjoy that Tommy x Reader blurb! Honestly, I really enjoyed writing it.

Words: 993

TW: Smut content but no actual pornographic descriptions, mentions of murder, ambiguous ending (the ending is up to you), reader is nicknamed Hera.

Fire spread under your skin as his strong and calloused hands ran down your naked back to grab your hips in a bruising grip. How did you end up here, laying on the giant fur carpet in front of a fire place with Birmingham’s most infamous gangster touching you? The question had been playing on repeat in your buzzing skull the moment he had laid his fingers on you. A feverish sigh escaped from your quivering lips when Tommy’s hips crashed against yours. The wet caress of his tongue left goosebumps in its trail each time you would feel it on the sensitive flesh of your bosom. It was like the dancing flames of the fireplace, whose hungry tongues of blaze licked the logs that were feeding them until all remained was ashes. You clenched your fist in his dark hair, squeezing your eyes shut and throwing your head back at ocean of pleasure that was drowning you each time his hips moved. As you made love in his living room, the melody of your sighs and flesh snapping filling the room and swirling up to the ceiling, you still tried to gather all your remaining strength to hang on the reason behind your meeting.

“Hera…” He moaned against your breasts, the vibrations of his hoarse voice echoing in your whole ribcage and shattering your bones in a sensual earthquake. Your toes curled as his pace, slow and gentle at first, quickened. Lost in a maze of feelings and lust, your hand left his hair and joined the other one on his broad and muscular back.

“Deeper.” You hissed through your teeth as your nails dug in his skin and pierced his flesh. Your voice, eternally collected, was now shaken by a light tremor you hated to hear. You sounded begging. You sounded desperate. You sounded weak. And only God knew how you despised weakness. Well, not only God but also Luca Changretta, to be true. When the godfather of the American branch of the Sicilian mafia took you under his protective wing, he called you Hera — queen of gods, and furious dishonored wife of a monster. Besides him and a few capo, no one knew where you came from and why Changretta had a soft spot for you. Yet, the story behind your relationship was tragic.

He saw you one dreary summer night, crying outside of the church in your magnificent white dress stained with little crimson droplets. From what he had understand, you had caught your future husband cheating the day of your wedding and he was so enraged you found out about his secret affairs that he had beaten you until your legs collapsed and until your body was black and blue. When Luca Changretta cupped your face and laid a protective kiss on your forehead, he made you a promise: no other men would hurt you again, for he would make the most terrifying and beautiful monster out of you. Luca dived in your eyes and smiled, and as he did Y/N vanished in the aid of this new fierce entity that was now inhabiting you.They said Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and how right they were.

“Fuck —“ Tommy swore, at the edge of climax. All of his muscles tensed under the coiling and maddening pleasure that was consuming him — but Thomas Shelby was as stubborn as you were, and he hated to show any sign of weakness even more than you. That was why he choked his moans against your mouth and let his tongue force its way between your juicy lips. You scratched his back in response, small beads of blood darkening your nails. His pace was now frantic and brutal, turning your love making into more a battle than anything else. Sex was a fight you were both fiercely decided to win. But if Tommy had the rage of winning, you had the disgust of losing.

“Let it go, little boy…” You whispered against his mouth, waving your hips like a dancing succubus willing to milk him from his life. Your victory became evident as you felt Tommy’s legs shaking. He sunk his teeth in your lower lip and growled like an animal as he gave in — blown away by the fiery blaze of his little death, the gangster felt tears dawning at the corner of his turquoise eyes when he came. The burning sensation was so unbearable at some point he thought he was in hell. But was it really hell if he liked the way it burned?

You smirked, enjoying the end of the war you’ve just won.

Tommy and you were now sharing a cigarette, both naked and sitting on the comfortable rug while watching the dying flames that were flickering in the hearth. But despite the doubt that had started to plague your cold mind, you mentally repeated the mantra you lived by for years: You have to rise above the squabbling and chaos, and keep believing. You have to always keep your goals in mind… And your goal was to murder Tommy Shelby.

Why?

Because you were the most terrifying and skilled hitman of America, and someone had paid you to kill him.

And you were heartless.

You had not always been like this though… But the young eighteen years old crying princessa Changretta had almost raised had met the same demise as her savior: she was no longer alive. All remained was the still smoking ashes of a maimed heart and an empty body only animated by pure anger.

Tommy had barely stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray nearby when you pressed the cold blade of your knife against the fragile flesh of his throat. Yet, he did not seem surprised. Nor afraid. Quite the contrary, Thomas Shelby was tired. Just… Tired. He looked at you, his sky blue eyes staring into the void that constituted yours, and parted his lips to speak.

“Be gentle, please.”

That was all he said.

Somehow, he did not mind to die if the last embrace given to him was soft — even if it came from Death herself. You could kill him, it did not matter anymore, as long as you were as no one else since Grace had been with him: gentle.

You pulled him in your arms, hugging his exhausted frame in a final clasp, and tightened your grip around the knife.

Fine, you thought, I’ll be gentle then.

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness (2)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

People really liked the first entry😲

I don't know what to say, thank you all for liking the first one so much?? I can only thank you by getting down to business!

I wasn't too sure on the majority of the rankings so I won't be mentioning them unless it's Dottore, Scara, Childe and Signora as theirs are already in the game/confirmed!

Reader is Gender Neutral!

"Unbelievable, this is utterly risible!" Sandrone shouted, fuming while pacing the pavement back and forth.

"I see... Because the nature of this world is not directly controlled by another existing entity, the co-ordinates weren't inputted correctly and polluted the portal. I wonder, are the co-ordinates still viable? I need materials."

"Dottore, shut your damned mouth and get us out of here!"

"Sandrone, dearie, calm down. I'm sure the Doctor has a plan. If he didn't, he'll be facing the wrath of 10 other harbingers." Pulcinella remained calm, sitting on the park bench he found behind him while leaning on his wooden walking stick.

"I knew I should have continued with collecting the Gnoses instead of agreeing on a side mission." Signora sighed to herself, staring at a different park bench covered in bird shit.

"Even in this world, pigeons continue to be a nuisance."

The harbingers watched as Dottore quietly picked a circular gadget from his pocket and began to pick at it with a screwdriver.

"Dottore, what would that device be?" Capitano questioned the shorter man, admiring the green trees surrounding the group.

"A solution." He continued to tinker, earning questionable glances his way.

"Hey Scara, I think he has no idea what he's doing." Childe whispered to the puppet, leaning down to his ear.

"For once I agree with you." He nodded, grabbing the rim of his hat and hitting the ginger in the face with it.

"You two aren't very discreet." Dottore shook his head, showing the gadget to the other harbingers.

"I created this Compass just in case a situation like this would occur. Once I input the code Her Majesty helped me discover, it will point the way towards our Descender." He explained, pressing the button on the back of the gadget.

A small, glowing, white line soon emerged from the north point and followed a trail.

"Found you."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Fuck me!" You cursed, jumping back-first onto your bed when seeing a familiar death screen.

You were stuck. Despite spending all your extra-savings, you still couldn't defeat floor 12.

Not to mention you couldn't use one of your strongest characters, Childe. He was fine yesterday, but when you tried to use him today he was very glitchy and even froze your game!

At first, you didn't really mind since who would want to use the crit-less bastard anyway?

Now you were regretting that mindset because you forgot he was your strongest hydro character.

"Y/N, get your arse down here! It's restaurant day." You heard a voice from downstairs.

Ah, the family-favourite tradition. It's no lie nobody in your family can't cook for shit.

To balance our unique curse, we go to a restaurant together every now and then.

"I'm coming down. Just let me finish studying this page!" You shouted back, lying smoothly. Great, now you can attempt this pesky floor one more ti-

"Y/N, NOW."

"Fine, fine! I'll leave my page blank."

When you came face to face with your parents at the bottom of the stairs, you saw your mum aggressively tapping her phone.

"Darling, you're aware that you don't need to press the screen so hard, right?" Your father asked, putting his hand on your mother's shoulder.

"I am not in the mood for your jokes. My sister said 10 minutes ago she was outside waiting in the car, she's still not here and is sending me stupid animoji's!"

Yikes.

"Mum, you're not you when you're hungry. You can have this cereal bar, it'll probably be awhile before Aunt 'Never-Show' turns up." You said, handing her a Granola bar.

"I don't see how this helps, we're going for lunch soon anyway." She muttered, taking it from your hands.

Works like a charm every time.

Sorry for taking so long! So much for 'getting down to business :/ (I have written down solid plans though)

Pierro will be PLATONIC, I tried writing a couple scenes for him and I only see him as an oppressive grandpa rather than a romantic yandere...

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

Some people asked to be tagged! Never done this before so sorry if I get this wrong:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff

Thank you for supporting me thus far!

[the-butch3r]

alright, i’ve been holding onto this for a while as i wrote it a few months back, but im not really in the fandom anymore and i dont want to finish this as i originally planned to break it up into 3 parts (in the forms of act 1, 2 and 3) but i dont have the.. *anything* to do that. so, i'm going to post most of what i have of act 1, seeing as i won't finish it and i do not want this to go to waste lol so enjoy if anyone wants to continue this (i doubt it) lmk, i really dont care as long as credit is given

DEFAULT DARK URGE X READER (TAV): ACT 1

good aligned playthrough, spoilers for act 1 ahead here (obviously) tav is more of a ‘sweet and caring’ type of person, fyi 😕

You both met right after the nautiloid crash, on the beach. You spotted him facing away from you, seeming discombobulated and disoriented. Seeing the opportunity for any help, you approached and greeted him enthusiastically.

To you, he was another survivor; a potential friend who could help you get out of this mess.

To him, you were just another sheep among all others, your soul to be eventually ripped and shredded from this world one way or another. He wants to rip you apart as the bloodthirsty, vicious wolf, to make you bleed and shriek by his accursed hands. At least, that is what his mind tells him - His own flayed heart feels different. He is confused as to why it is this way, or better yet, who he even is, but he stays vaguely quiet about it for now.

Your minds lock together, as yours did with Shadowheart and Lae’zel just earlier – you sense something hungry, locked deep inside of you, yet you know not what. You are confused, puzzled, but there’s more to it than that.

He groans, rubbing his fingers on his skull in an attempt to ease the pounding blood in his head. You explain that it’s the tadpole’s doing, and you then introduce yourself. He reciprocates, but takes a pause as if deciding on a name, and subsequently landed on ‘Durge.’ It was a strange name, but you didn’t judge. You invited him along on your journey to seek out a healer, and seeing as he had no other choice, he accepted.

As he travels with you, it’s easy to tell something in his head has been twisted, other than what the tadpole might have affected. looking into his eyes deep enough gives you the sensation as if they contain a malicious hunger deep inside them – he perks at the slightest mention of anything within the nature of obscene violence, and it’s almost like he changes into someone completely different during combat. You sense that the nautiloid wasn’t the only unfortunate occurrence he’s suffered, but you didn’t want to pry now, so you decided to yourself you’d stay quiet until he’d ever wanted to confide in you, assuming you two would be able to get that far.

When you make it to the grove, you stumble upon the cutest squirrel you’ve ever seen! You kneel down and admire it, holding a hand out to it before it bites your finger. You recoil and curse under your breath, not even able to react before Durge straight up kicks it splat into a tree. His eyes go wide and he glances around as if some invisible entity were responsible for this incident, seemingly perplexed that he could be the one to do something like that. Your other companions go wide-eyed as well, taking a subtle step away from him. You figure that now may be a good time to ask him about, well, his wellbeing.

You question him, not wanting to pry too much out of respect, but also curious about whatever just happened. You make a funny comment about needing protection from things other than squirrels, but he doesn’t laugh with you. You correct your tone and ask sympathetically, is everything all right?

He answers honestly. No. He’s not alright. He confesses he has amnesia – he does not remember who he is, and his mind is just spinning with what feels like a raging headache.

You lay a hand on his shoulder, attempting to console him to your best effort, to which he smiles softly and expresses his appreciation for it. You offer a healing potion to see if that might make him feel better, but he declines. He assures you that he just needs some time to adapt to his condition. He should be fine as long as he takes it easy, for now.

There are more various encounters you note over the course of a few long rests, such as the Arabella incident. You always take a glance at him once in a while, to see if he has that crazed look in his eye. Usually he does, but you can tell he tries to subdue whatever is inside of him. You start to quietly question yourself about who he is – could he be lying about his amnesia? No, surely not. He seems genuinely befuddled. There is definitely more to his situation than amnesia. You sympathize. You want to help him, somehow.

You and Durge grow closer together, over time. He deeply appreciates how you show your concern for him, and he expresses that. You could soon call yourself friends after knowing him only a few days to a week. He was always by your side on your adventures, attached right to the hip. You were the person he was most comfortable around, so far.

You enjoyed his presence as much as he did yours. He was mostly quiet, but you of course didn’t mind. He was smart, and he listened to you, and valued your comfort just as much as you valued his. He respected you, and you respected him in turn.

And that’s where feelings grew. A fondness resonated between you two, and you felt safe in his presence, despite how intimidating he may stand out to be. But that only increased your attraction for him. Even better, he was gentle with you. It feels like you had unlocked a secret softness inside of him, reserved only for someone like you, which made you feel very accomplished.

On his end, he was distraught. Overwhelmed by this emotion. At first, he recognized his fondness for you, but hadn’t seen it as a romantic emotion. The thought hadn’t even so much as brushed against his mind. But now? He is in such denial, and so many confusing feelings are buzzing around his head that he could not even comprehend or interpret. It is as if his bitter heart were never made to dispense emotions such as this. He doesn’t even know how to feel about it. Is this a good emotion for him? He doesn’t know. He has never recognized the soft feelings he gets when he’s near you. For now, he tries to learn how to live with them, if he cannot decipher them, hoping these may go away soon. Unfortunately, they only get worse.

Just as much as he recognizes his feelings for you, the urge only grapples its talons on you like a target. Two halves of him either want to kill you, or protect you. Seeing as you’re still alive, he’s doing a better job at protecting you, but whatever deplorable evil is inside him scares him. He knows, beyond any doubt, it will unleash chaos within him, sooner or later.

As a result of the urge to both keep you alive and kill you, he tries to spare at least a bit of distance from you. He moves his tent all the way to the other side of camp, away from you and everyone else. He purposely lags behind, just a bit, whilst you’re exploring. He stays away from you in combat, using his sorcery on enemies from afar. He slightly avoids you, just in the hopes it will keep you a little bit safer.

Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice. Until it gets worse. He seems to grow only more and more distant to you every day and you’ve been noticing it for the past week, and you don’t know why. It gets to the point where he only speaks in short monosyllabic words to you, if not outright ignoring you. He even stays in camp most of the time, refusing to come along with you anymore. Did you do something wrong? No, you can’t think of anything you could’ve done recently to upset him. Perhaps he just needs space, and you can understand that. But still, you want to know. So you ask him, on the night you prepare to raid the goblin camp with your other companions.

It doesn’t go as well as you would’ve wanted it to. When you approach him and sit next to him, he blatantly ignores you as if you were not there. You start speaking, expressing your concerns about him, until he snaps at you. He argues with you, telling you that you wouldn’t understand. You let him yell at you until he’s done. You say nothing, and try to lean in for a hug, but he pushes you away. You tell him that you care about him, and you want to help him. You sympathize with him; you want to help him find out who he was as well. You then wish him a silent goodnight and head to your tent. You don’t see him come out of his tent the next morning.

He feels remorseful for pushing you away, but if it is what he has to do to keep you safe, then so be it. He wants to be near you, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. He tries to fall asleep quickly afterwards to avoid the guilt, but he can barely sleep thinking about you. And when slumber does take him, he’s only tortured by more gorey nightmares. And of course, they are of you.

The next day, you left to raid the goblin camp, and emerged victorious. You returned to the grove to inform Zevlor, and he rewarded you gratefully for your effort. He asked you if he and the tieflings could throw a party at your camp, and you, being the generous hero who initially saw no problem with that, accepted.

Everything was great. You were celebrating your victory. Everyone seemed to be having fun, and you mingled happily with your companions. But you noticed that someone was missing… Until you realized that you hadn’t seen Durge anywhere. You asked all your companions if they’d seen if he went somewhere, and Astarion observed that he “saw him slink into the woods.” You thanked Astarion before he could interject you, and ran off into the woods with a torch. (Unless you have darkvision.)

It wasn’t hard to find him, considering how bright his scales were, glistening in the bright moon above. He sat on a log facing away from you; to the lake, gazing at the moon. You quietly sat next to him, and he slightly flinched, as if lost in thought and then taken by surprise.

You greeted him normally, and he reciprocated.

You couldn’t bear this anymore. You admitted to yourself in the moment, you felt something intimate for him. You couldn’t bear having him push you away anymore. You wanted him to open up, so you started to confess your worries about him. You knew there was something else about him. Something diabolical, writhing within, something that he harboured inside. You wanted to help him, but you didn’t know how unless he opened up to you. You reassured him, he didn’t have to now, but you just needed to know what was happening, why he was pushing you away?

He takes a deep breath, before explaining it to you in the best way he could. He disclosed to you about the urge. Something inside of him continuously filled his head with dreadful thoughts that he seemed to be somehow desensitized to. He looked at you with fear in his eyes as he expressed how he knew, deep inside, something bad was destined to happen because of this urge, and he was frightened of it.

You inquired him; why push you away?

He hesitated before answering, but filled his words with emotion: “Because I care about you.”

He avoids eye contact, embarrassed, as you absorb his words. He expects you to get up and leave, to turn your back on him, and tell him you wish never to see him again.

Yet you lay a hand on his bare shoulder, giving him the most doting smile he’d ever seen as you comfort him. You will get through this with him, and you will get to the bottom of this.

Even as he exposes the truth of his vile nature to you, you still look at him the same way you did before. You didn’t see him as a monster. And that’s when he admitted to himself, as well, he loved you without consequence.

He’s taken aback when you lean in for a kiss, but he doesn’t pull away, his body acting on its own accord. You quickly pull away, a blush corroding your cheeks. You apologize, but before you can say anything else, he gently caresses your cheek and leans in for another kiss.

You spend a few minutes in silence together, subtly placing your hand over his as you admire the scenery of the lake together, leaning your head on his shoulder.

In this moment, he forgets about everything. The tadpole, the absolute, the fear he holds onto… Everything. But the urge is still there, always. It sickens him like a parasite dug deep into his soul, far worse than the tadpole.

You face him and smile, offering to head back to camp and get a good night’s rest. He accepts, and you walk back to camp together, hand in hand, as you spend some time in his tent reading books together, talking, or just sitting together, for a good hour or two.

You yawn, feeling drowsy, and rub your eyes. You bid him a goodnight as you walk back to your tent, and he smiles, feeling the warmth in his chest bloom, embracing it. He was still afraid of hurting you, but now, less so. He fell asleep that night dreaming about you. Not in the pleasant way most would expect, but he was used to it by now.

fin. this is probably going to be discontinued. again lmk if anyone wants to continue this for me or smth