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theworldofotps · 5 months ago

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Call in the Night

Pairing: Damian Priest x Reader Word Counter: 1,321 Description: Y/n gets a flat tire in the middle of the night so she calls her last hope for help.

Requested by @madhatterbri hope you enjoy love!

________ Tag list: @omg-im-such-a-masochist @melissahausen @new-zealand-chic @writtingrose @99hook @madhatterbri @sassymox @mrsacklesevansmgk @xladyxfatex @adamcolesbaybay @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @rebellious-desires @surdelcielo @letsgivethisonemoreshot @ava-valerie @shortyiceheart @serpantscorpio8497 @thatpanpal @wrestlersownmyheart @vebner37 @seeingstarks @whenimakeitshine1234 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @blaquekitty @ironshamelessyouth @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @ripleyswhore @moonrosekk @xbreezymeadowsx @terrortwinunicorn @alyyaanna @elevennbloom @melblacc @alliwant456 @mcreignsera @auburnwrites @aews-four-pillars @thatnerdwriter @sjwrites22 If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. ______ Rain hammered against the windshield in thick sheets coming down almost faster than the wiper blades could handle. The road stretched ahead in shadows and flickering reflections, illuminated only by the sweeping beams of Y/N's headlights. She hadn’t planned to take the backroads tonight, but after nearly two hours on the interstate in bumper-to-bumper traffic, she took the first exit onto a winding, narrow path that carved its way through the thick woods. It would be faster, she’d told herself; besides, the quiet was a relief. But now, as thunder cracked overhead, and a chill seemed to settle into the car despite the heat blaring, she regretted it.

Then came the bump—a sudden jolt that yanked the steering wheel sharply to the side. She cursed under her breath, clutching it with both hands to regain control, the car slowing to a stop as she drifted to the shoulder. The dashboard light flashed up at her, mocking: Low Tire Pressure.

“No, no, oh come on!”

She groaned trying to push back the wave of defeat creeping up on her, y/n’s breath fogging up the inside of the window. Leaning forward she tried her best to catch a glimpse of the front right tire, but the rain made it nearly impossible.

She sighed, grabbing her phone from the passenger seat.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

She thought, scrolling through her list of contacts, unfortunately this wasn't the first time she'd had to deal with car issues on her own. But it was certainly one of the worst places for it. With no jack, her usual independence was out of reach. One by one, she called her friends hoping that one of them may be able to come to her rescue.

Straight to voicemail. No answer. Or, in one case, a quick text back: “Sorry babes, too far from you. Stay safe!”

She dropped her phone on the seat in frustration, leaning her head against the steering wheel as she tried to figure a way out of this. Midnight was approaching, and here she was, stranded, with no way to change her tire and not a soul in sight. The rain was relentless, pounding against the roof as if to mock her situation. Sitting there in silence for a few minutes she picked her phone up again and reopened her contacts. Her thumb hesitated over the list, drifting down to the name she hadn’t let herself think about in months. Damian.

Her ex.

Calling him would be a mistake, he didn’t owe her anything, the thought that he would pick up was almost laughable after everything they’d been through. But there was that persistent memory of him coming through whenever she needed someone. Reliable. Capable. Even after things had ended between them. Before she could talk herself out of it, she tapped his name, listening to the dial tone ring, she wasn’t sure if he’d even be awake this late. He may not even be in town since his job took him on the road a lot. The weight of their memories crashed over her. But just as the fourth ring started, she panicked and ended the call.

She stared at the screen, her heart racing, a mix of regret and something warmer, unbidden, just underneath. Her thumb hovered wanting to redial again, but instead she locked the phone, pushing it onto the passenger seat.

“You don’t need him y/n, you’ve handled worse it’s not fair to drag him into your problems.”

She told herself, closing her eyes and leaning back against the seat as she tried to figure out how to get out of this. The silence in the car stretched thin, filled only by the heavy patter of rain on the windows. Her breath fogged up the glass, the rain was making it much colder than when she left work a few hours ago. The only options she could think of was wait there until someone hopefully passed by, or sleep and call a tow service in the morning. Neither idea was very appealing, but she didn’t have much of a choice.

Across town, Damian dropped his keys onto the table he was just getting home from the road after a few grueling weeks. He glanced at his phone, still lit up from her missed call. His brows furrowed as he glanced at her name, his instincts kicking in before he could process the urge. He hadn't spoken to Y/N in months, and yet, the sight of her name on his phone stirred something in him. It wasn't like her to reach out, especially now. A quick call? He could brush it off as an accident but the unusualness of it nagged at him.

With a sigh, he unlocked his phone and decided to check her location this one time. It wasn’t something he ever did, at least not since they broke up. But they'd shared it during their relationship, and neither had ever removed it. He told himself he was just checking to ease the faint worry he could feel growing in his chest. When the map pinged her location on an empty stretch of road, miles from anything and anyone, that faint worry turned into something sharper.

She was out there, alone, on the backroads, in the middle of this storm. Without giving it really any thought, Damian grabbed his jacket and his keys again, shrugging against the wave of hesitation. It’s just checking on her, something had to be wrong for her to just be sitting there. That’s all, he reasoned, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline kicking up inside him. As he slipped into his car, he couldn't shake the feeling that something about tonight would be different, that the familiar path would somehow feel like new ground between them.

The rain had turned the roads into slippery rivers, but he didn't care all that matter to him was getting to her. His headlights cut through the sheets of water as he drove, the sound of his tires slicing through puddles as he made his way to the blip on his map. Back in her car, Y/N rubbed her hands together for warmth, the car was completely fogged up. She didn’t want to run the heater out of fear that the battery would die. The solitude, once a comfort, was starting to wear on her, a reminder of how isolated she was out here. The battery on her phone was at 15% now and she needed to save it to call for help in the morning.

When a set of car headlights appeared in the distance, lighting up the road with a glow that grew stronger as it approached. Y/N squinted, shielding her eyes from the brightness, her heart leaping in a confusing mix of hope and anxiety. It was well after midnight now and any hope of a car appearing had vanished a while ago.

As the car pulled up behind her, she watched the driver’s door open, a tall, familiar figure stepping out into the rain. She felt a strange pang in her chest as Damian came into view, silhouetted against the headlights, his gaze intent as he walked toward her door. He hadn’t bothered with an umbrella, and the rain poured off him as he approached her car, tapping on the driver’s side window. Y/N rolled down the window, just enough to see his face, a surge of warmth spreading through her chest despite the cold air rushing in.

“Thought you might need a hand.”

He said, his voice steady, unaffected, as if this wasn’t strange for him at all, that it was natural for his ex-girlfriend to call him in the middle of the night. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, she just nodded, the warmth of his familiar voice chasing away the lingering chill.

“You came?”

“Of course you called that’s all I needed.”

#damian priest #damian priest x reader #damian priest fanfic #wwe

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heartfullofleeches · 2 months ago

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Besides the supernatural harem and some of the other already established groups, which of your yanderes would work well together or be willing to share a darling? Follow up question, let’s say the darlings could date or be friends with each other, who do you think would like each other?

I don't want to make this too long so here are a few off the top of my head. There are plenty more that could work with each other, moreso speaking with the Darlings because my Yans are greedy and want their darling to themselves.

Spencer and Miller would be a good pair. They both like to mess around with their Darling so they'd act like they didn't have an interest with one another while flirting with their Darling, and pretend to be shocked when Darling doesn't know they're already an item.

Aspen and Selene would keep tabs on their separate darlings while they're out and about because that's what friends do, and they enjoy chatting over tea.

D.Kay and Laughingstock would butt heads often, but with the androids need for making people smile and the slasher's desire to make people laugh they'd be a match in hell - competing to see who can make Darling happier.

Calliope and Sammy cover each other's tracts with Callie doing the dirty work of killing whoever touched their darlings and Sammy getting rid of the bodies at the family funeral home. The murders are usually an "accident" because her anger gets the better of her.

Several higher profile Yans such as Saber or Honey would have Adonis on speed-dial since he's an expert at cleaning crime scenes.

Puppyboy and Bunnyboy streamer Darlings were implied to be friendly with each other at some point. With Puppy's fitness focus and Bunny's love for cooking I could see them as a cute couple/close friends with Bunny making meals fit for Puppy's diet.

Jester, Clown, and Mime darling also had a blurb were they were all friends. These silly dorks will escape the most elaborate traps their yans set up to keep them contained just to see their best buds.

Hybrid Cafe Worker Darling could help "Sheep" Darling with their insecurities. The least they could do is give the wolf Sheep a well needed hug.

Sleepyhead and Nightlight Darling would be inseparable. Android who's basically a walking sleep aid with a person who sleeps majority of the day. Jellyfish Darling would also like Nightlight because of their glow. Moth Darling too.

Everglades Darling could befriend nearly any hybrid/animal coded monster Darling.

Incubus Darling, specifically the one deprived of relief by priest yan, would give Loser Darling a run for their money.

Groundskeeper Darling admires Taxidermist Darling's craft and would bring them the bones/skin of dead things they find lying around.

Creep Darling, the one secretly likes cute things, would have a crush on Bunnyboy and "Sheep" or at least like to keep them as pets.

FFR is besties with all the strange or "human?" darlings like Groundskeeper or Mime. Stoner Darling is their plug

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere x you

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undiagnosedcruelty · 23 days ago

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Bound By Mistake | k.seungmin

Chapter 4: Congratulations, You’re Cursed.

Sypnosis: you accidentally summon Seungmin, a high ranking demon with an attitude problem, you find yourself bound to him by an unbreakable contract.

Pairing: demon! k.seungmin x afab!reader

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Bound By Mistake masterlist here.

Content Warning: supernatural elements, mild profanity and sarcasm, banter, demon presence, seungmin being a menace.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: sorry for the late updates. I my files crashed for this story so I had to re-write some of the lost chapters😬..

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | next chapter coming soon..

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EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION──NOTHING DIRECTLY RELATES TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

Okay. So. You were officially losing your mind.

Between the whispering voices that slithered through your walls at night, the shifting shadows that darted just out of sight, and the flickering lights that made your apartment feel like a malfunctioning horror movie set, you were one more creepy incident away from marching into the nearest church and demanding an emergency exorcism.

Not that you actually believed in exorcisms before now, but desperate times called for holy water, salt circles, and maybe a priest on speed dial.

Honestly, if someone had told you two weeks ago that you’d be living with a demon—a very sarcastic, very rude, and questionably attractive demon, at that—you would’ve laughed in their face. Hard. Maybe even snorted a little.

Now?

Now, you were torn between screaming, crying, or just accepting that this was your life now: haunted, tormented, and occasionally insulted by a creature from the underworld.

Because, of course, your uninvited guest wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill demon. No, that would be too easy.

He had to be infuriatingly smug, lounging on your couch like he paid rent, one arm draped over the back as if he owned the place.

His sharp, angular features were the kind that could belong to a fallen angel—elegantly dark tousled hair, full lips curled in permanent amusement, and eyes like polished obsidian reflecting just enough light to make you question whether they were truly black or something deeper, something endless.

He rolled those very eyes now, exhaling long and slow as you stared him down from across the room, your fists clenched like you were actually considering throwing something at him. The fact that he was taller than you, stronger than you, and definitely more supernatural than you did not deter your rising frustration.

Spoiler alert: You were the main character in a horror movie. And possibly having a mental breakdown in real time.

It started subtly at first. A feeling.

You were lying in bed, curled under the blankets, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling through social media. The soft glow of the screen reflected in your eyes, illuminating your face in the dimness of your room. The world outside was quiet—too quiet.

No distant car horns. No wind rattling the windows. No muffled sounds of late-night television from the neighbors next door. Just a deep, unnatural silence that made your skin crawl.

You shifted, adjusting the pillow behind your head. Your body was at ease, but your nerves? They were coiling tighter with each passing second.

Then—

A flicker.

Just at the edge of your vision, in the farthest corner of your room, a shadow shifted.

Your entire body locked up.

It was subtle, just a flicker of motion against the wall. But it shouldn’t have been there. That corner was empty—no furniture, no hanging coats, nothing that could cast a shadow like that.

Your breath hitched in your throat. Slowly, pulse pounding in your ears, you lowered your phone, the screen dimming as you turned your full attention to the thing in the corner.

The shadow stretched long against the wall, its edges jagged and wrong, like a distorted silhouette.

Like something was standing there.

A sharp chill licked up your spine, sinking deep into your bones. The air felt heavier, thick and suffocating, pressing against your skin like an unseen weight. Your fingers clenched around your blanket, heart hammering.

You could feel it.

That unmistakable sensation of being observed, like something unseen was crouched just beyond the veil of darkness, studying you.

Your instincts screamed at you to move, but your body refused to obey. You sat frozen, a cold sweat prickling at the nape of your neck.

Then—

The shadow twitched.

Too fast. Too sharp. Like it had noticed you noticing it.

A strangled noise caught in your throat. Your fingers, suddenly numb, fumbled for the bedside lamp. Every movement felt unbearably slow, like wading through honey. Your breath came in short, uneven gasps.

The shadow shuddered again.

Your vision blurred at the edges, panic clawing up your chest. And then—You slammed your hand onto the light switch.

Click.

Warm, golden light flooded the room.

The shadow jerked. And then—It was gone. Like it had never been there.

But the feeling remained. That thick, suffocating weight in the air, the ghost of something unseen still pressing against your skin.

Your pulse roared in your ears, your entire body still locked in place, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

And then—

“What the hell are you doing?”

You screamed. The sound that left your throat was somewhere between a strangled yelp and an outright banshee wail. Your phone flew from your hands, hitting the bed with a soft thump as you whipped around.

Seungmin stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised in deep, judgmental disappointment. He was barefoot, clad in loose sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, looking like he had just woken up and instantly regretted it.

His dark eyes flicked from your face, down to your death grip on the blanket, then to the very empty, very normal corner of the room.

Then, slowly, deliberately—he looked back at you. And rolled his eyes.

“Oh no,” he deadpanned. “A shadow. How terrifying. Want me to hold your hand?”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, struggling to find words.

He tilted his head, expression flat. “No? Should I tuck you in, too?”

Your jaw snapped shut. Your brain finally rebooted, and heat flared in your face, chasing away the cold terror from moments before.

“I hate you,” you blurted.

Seungmin exhaled, the most exaggerated sigh you had ever heard. “Yeah, yeah.” He waved a dismissive hand, already turning away. “Try not to die of fright before morning.”

The soft patter of his footsteps faded down the hallway, his presence retreating like a ghost.

Silence settled over the room once more. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look back at the corner.

Empty. Like it had never been anything else. But you knew better.

Shadows shouldn’t move…

…Right?

The next night, it got worse.

You stood in the bathroom, lazily brushing your teeth, staring at your reflection with the dead-eyed exhaustion of someone who had officially given up on understanding their life. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed faintly, flickering just enough to make your skin crawl. The off-white tiles underfoot felt colder than usual, as if the chill in the air had sunk into them, making its way up through your soles and into your bones.

Two weeks ago, you had been a normal person with a normal apartment and zero supernatural problems.

Now? Now, you were soul-bound to a demon who treated your ever-growing terror like a mild inconvenience.

You spat into the sink, gripping the edges of the porcelain as you exhaled sharply. Maybe if you ignored the flickering lights, the shifting shadows, the feeling of something watching you, you could—

“...Mortal...”

The whisper was low, warped—like a voice speaking through cracked glass and static.

Your toothbrush slipped from your fingers, clattering against the sink before rolling onto the floor.

A chill stabbed down your spine, sharp and immediate. You froze, fingers twitching, breath caught in your throat. The air in the bathroom thickened, pressing against your skin, dense and suffocating, like unseen hands were trying to push you down.

Slowly—so, so slowly—you turned your head toward the mirror.

Nothing.

Just your own wide-eyed reflection staring back at you, the fluorescent light above humming faintly, casting sickly shadows under your eyes. The dark circles under them were almost bruiselike at this point, a testament to your steadily unraveling sanity.

Your stomach twisted. And then—

A second voice. “...You should not be here...”

The words slithered through the air, sharp and echoing, as if something was standing just behind you, breathing down your neck.

Your heart exploded against your ribs. You did the only logical thing your panic-flooded brain could come up with.

You screamed.

Loud. Embarrassingly loud.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. Half a second later, Seungmin appeared in the doorway, his lean frame backlit by the dim glow of the hallway.

His dark eyes, sharp with irritation, scanned the room. His expression flickered between concern and sheer exasperation.

He took in the scene—your wild eyes, your trembling hands, your death grip on the sink—and groaned, dragging a hand down his face. His shoulders slumped slightly, an indication that, once again, he had to deal with whatever nonsense you were losing your mind over.

“Are you—” He exhaled through his nose, his voice flat. “Are you kidding me right now?”

You whirled toward him, pointing aggressively at the mirror like it had just committed a crime.

“IT TALKED. THE MIRROR. IT TALKED.”

Seungmin stared at you. Then at the mirror. Then back at you.

He blinked once. Slowly.

Then, with the most exasperated sigh known to mankind, he rolled his shoulders and muttered, “Oh my god, it’s too early for this.”

“TOO EARLY FOR DEMONIC WHISPERS?!” you shrieked. “THERE IS NO GOOD TIME FOR DEMONIC WHISPERS.”

Seungmin squinted at the mirror like it had personally offended him, tilting his head slightly. His gaze held no fear, just a kind of distant annoyance, like someone who had seen this before and found it tedious.

Then? He just. Shrugged. “Oh, that. Don’t worry about it.”

You stared. DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT?!

Seungmin yawned, rubbing the back of his neck lazily as he turned on his heel. “Happens sometimes. Just ignore it.”

“IGNORE IT?!”

But he was already walking away, mumbling something about how mortals overreact to everything.

You stood there, pulse pounding, eyes still locked on the mirror like it might try to swallow you whole.

So.

That was it. That was your life now.

By the third night, you had fully accepted that you were, in fact, cursed.

You had watched enough horror movies to recognize the warning signs— • Flickering lights? Check. • Ominous whispers? Check. • Moving shadows that shouldn’t be moving? Biggest check of your life.

And yet, every time you tried to bring it up to Seungmin?

He just shrugged. “Not my problem.”

You were going to combust.

After the kitchen light flickered for the third time that day, you finally snapped, slamming your hands down on the table hard enough to rattle the salt shaker.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!”

Seungmin, who was very comfortably drinking your coffee, barely even looked up from his mug. He took a slow sip, watching you over the rim with unimpressed eyes.

“Nothing.”

“You are lying.”

He raised an eyebrow, setting his mug down with infuriating ease. “Am I?”

You jabbed a finger at the ceiling light, which was going haywire like a strobe at a haunted house. “EXPLAIN. THAT.”

Seungmin sighed, stretching his arms over his head, his posture so relaxed it was as if he had personally never experienced fear in his life. “It’s just lingering energy from the summoning. It’ll go away.”

Your eye twitched, the last fickle of your sanity felt like it was slipping off by a single thread. “How long?”

“Dunno.”

“DUNNO?!”

Seungmin rolled his neck with a lazy pop, his tone utterly indifferent. “Relax. At least nothing’s tried to kill you yet.”

And the moment those words left his mouth—

Your window shattered.

The explosion of shattering glass sent a spray of shards across the room, the sound so sudden and violent that you barely had time to react before—Something huge lunged into your apartment.

It landed in a crouch, limbs bent at unnatural angles, claws clicking against the hardwood floor like nails tapping on glass.

Your blood ran cold.

It was tall—too tall. Its body was stretched thin, its fingers elongated, tapering to razor-sharp points. Its head tilted at a wrong, inhuman angle, black veins twisting under its pallid skin.

Its eyes—pure black voids, dripping with something thick and inky—locked onto you.

And then It grinned, rows of jagged teeth stretching impossibly wide, black saliva dripping from its maw.

Your stomach plummeted into the abyss.

Seungmin groaned, rubbing his temples like he had a migraine. “Ugh. This guy.”

THIS GUY?!

The demon lunged like a hurled football aimed towards your head. Your brain malfunctioned. You did the only thing your survival instincts could come up with—You grabbed the nearest object and hurled it with every ounce of desperate strength you had.

A fork.

It bounced off the demon’s head like a rubber toy. Absolutely useless.

You were so, so dead.

But before you could even think to do anything more stupid—Seungmin moved. One second, he was leaning against the counter, unbothered.

The next? He was in front of you.

The air rippled. Like an electrifying crack through the atmosphere conspiring against the natural laws of nature.

The demon froze mid-attack, its entire body convulsing, eyes bulging in shock. Seungmin tilted his head, watching it struggle like a bored cat watching a bug. “Do I know you?”

The demon let out a guttural snarl, struggling against something unseen, something invisible to the naked eye. Seungmin’s expression flattened. “Oh. Never mind. You’re just some low-level idiot.”

Then, with a flick of his wrist, almost like he was swatting an irritatingly annoying fly away—The demon collapsed in on itself.

It let out a horrible, distorted scream that was loud enough to shake the walls and quite possibly rupture your ear drums if you hadn’t instinctly moved to cover your ears before it vanished into nothing.

The silence that followed was deafening. You stood there, still frozen, still processing. Seungmin dusted off his hands. “Well, that was annoying.”

You turned, slowly, painfully.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Seungmin smirked, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Still think I’m the worst thing that’s happened to you?”

You glared.

“Yes.”

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Series taglist: @maisyyyyyy @hyeon-yi @chuuyaobsessed @alisonyus @eastjonowhere @sseastar-main @sweatyracoon @keiizzx @s3ungm1nxxl0ve

#skz x reader #stray kids #skz #imagine #straykids x reader #kim seungmin #straykids seungmin #seungmin x reader #crack fic

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astra-ravana · 2 months ago

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Acquiring, Keeping, and Caring For Cursed Objects

So, you want a cursed object? Maybe you're a collector of haunted artifacts, a chaos witch who loves a challenge, or just someone who thinks “possessed” is a selling point. Whatever your reason, handling cursed items is an art—one that requires knowledge, caution, and maybe a good exorcist on speed dial.

Where to Find Cursed Objects

If you’re looking to acquire an object with questionable spiritual history, try:

Thrift Stores & Estate Sales

• Old mirrors, antique dolls, and Victorian jewelry are prime candidates.

• Look for items with a strange energy or eerie backstory from previous owners.

• Cursed objects tend to feel either cold or warm.

Online Marketplaces

• eBay and Etsy occasionally feature items labeled as “haunted” or “cursed.”

• Be wary of fakes—if it comes with a certificate of authenticity, it’s probably a gimmick.

Abandoned & Historical Sites

• Be very careful when taking objects from old buildings, cemeteries, or battlefields. Some spirits don’t appreciate being relocated without permission.

Occult Shops & Witch Markets

• Some practitioners sell intentionally hexed, haunted, or enchanted objects.

• Check the seller’s reputation before buying something that might decide to rearrange your furniture at night.

How to Identify a Cursed Object

Not all creepy antiques are cursed, but some red flags include:

Unexplained Bad Luck - After bringing the object home, things start breaking, people fall ill, or your cat suddenly hates you.

Disturbing Dreams & Nightmares - If an item gives you visions of past tragedies, or whispers in the night—it’s probably cursed.

Strange Physical Reactions - Feeling cold, dizzy, or heavy near the object? That’s a sign of a strong energy attachment.

Moving or Vanishing on Its Own - If the object relocates itself, refuses to stay put, or vanishes and reappears, congratulations—you have an active one.

Electronic & Environmental Disturbances - Flickering lights, draining batteries, and objects falling for no reason are classic signs of spirit activity.

Safely Keeping a Cursed Object

If you want to coexist with your new haunted acquisition (without getting hexed into oblivion), follow these guidelines:

Set Boundaries-

• Speak to the object (yes, really). Tell it:

“You are welcome here, but you will not harm, scare, or disrupt my space.”

• Reinforce with protective symbols (salt, runes, or sigils).

Keep It Contained-

• Glass cases help contain energy.

• A dedicated altar or place of honor makes the spirit feel welcome and appreciated.

• Iron boxes can trap aggressive spirits.

• Mirror boxes can function as a trap for many spirits.

Regular Cleansing & Offerings-

• If the spirit is sentient, occasional offerings (coins, incense, or flowers) can keep it calm.

• Empower the spirit through regular acknowledgement.

• Smoke cleansing, bells, or singing bowls can balance energy without removing the curse/spirit.

• Marshmallow root makes spirits happy and calm.

Have a Backup Plan-

• If things go wrong, have banishing components (like black salt, rue, or black tourmaline) ready.

• A witch, priest, or medium can help if the object becomes too hostile.

• Consider 'rehoming' objects that become too dangerous to a more willing collector.

• Burying, throwing into fast moving water, or burning will neutralize most objects. Some spirits may just be made furious by the disrespect, however, so be wise.

Owning a cursed object is like having a supernatural roommate—you need rules, respect, and an exit strategy. Whether you’re collecting for curiosity, magickal experimentation, or sheer thrill, just remember: some spirits are happy to stay dormant… until they’re not. Happy haunting!

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tteotlma · 6 months ago

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MASTERLIST: last updated - 1/14/24

*18+ MDNI

Steve Rogers

Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes

> Midnight Mischief* > Dangerous Affection* > Craving Control* Series: > Sugar and Skin: one two

Deadpool

> Dialed In*

Wolverine

> Panic and Proximity > Blurred Lines & Bright Screens > Whiskey and Wishful Thinking* > Missed Every Inch * > Silk and Submission * > Tastes of Temptation * > Body and Soul * > Unspoken * > Edge of Redemption * - Priest!Logan > Trust in the Tension *

Multi.

> D&W: Katana & Claws*

Sam Winchester

> Brewing Emotions

Soldier Boy

> Corrupted Obedience*

Chris Evans

> A Lesson in Longing*

Steve (Fresh 2022)

> Hunted Desires*

A/N: if you don't see a character/group you wish you saw feel free to let me know! I'd be more than happy to challenge myself

#finally got around to it #Masterlist #Masterlist 2024 #Masterlist 2025

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bloodibambiidoll · 2 years ago

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Dolly’s Fic Recs 🖤💭

✨Just wanted to show some of my fav fics from my fav writers some appreciation✨

All blogs are 18+MDNI

Eddie Munson:

By @bettyfrommars:

I’m On Fire (Older!Biker!Eddie x reader) - Series

Death Becomes Us (Vampire!Eddie x Supernatural!Reader) - Series

My Friend Goyle (Gargoyle!Eddie x Reader) - Series

By @andvys:

We’ll Burn The Sky (Rockstar!Eddie x Rocketar!Reader) - Series

For Me It’s Always You (Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!Reader) - Mini Series

(Also just any of her work is amazing)

By @storiesbyrhi:

Burning Yarrow (Bat/Vampire!Eddie x Witch!Reader) - series

By @corroded-hellfire:

As You Wish (Dad!Eddie x Babysitter!Reader) - series

By @strangelysupernatural

Corruption And Sin (Priest!Eddie x Reader)

By @munsonology:

Praise Him (Biker!Eddie x Nun!Reader)

By @lesservillain:

On The Outside (Inmate!Eddie x Teacher!Reader) - series

Strange Lights (Vampire!Eddie x Reader x Werewolf!Steve)-series

By @bimbobaggins69:

Heavy Metal Parking Lot (Eddie X MetalHead!Reader)

Dial A Thrill -(Part 2) (PhoneSex!Operator!Eddie x Reader)

Stave Harrington:

By: @katyswrites:

Don’t Call me Baby (SugarDaddy!Steve x Reader) - Series

By: @dr-aculaaa:

Sunday Morning Series (Dad!Steve x Mom!Reader)

Werewolf!Steve x Reader

By: @loveshotzz

Colors (Older!Steve x Reader) - Series

Whatta Man- Steve’s Night (Bouncer!Steve x Reader)

By: @andvys

It’s Just Us (Steve x Reader) Part 2 (Steddie x Reader)

By: @bettyfrommars

Candy Necklace- Breed (Biker!Steve x Reader)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic recs #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson smut #fic rec #eddie munson x fem!reader #steve harrington fic rec #steve harrington x reader smut

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swordbisexual · 4 months ago

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Does anyone have a priest on speed dial I need to confess some things

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dramioneasks · 4 months ago

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Christmas Fics (2024) (Part 4):

A frosty Encounter by tomfelton4ever69 - T, one-shot - A Christmas Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger story

Beneath the Hogwarts Snow by pizzalsalamino - not rated, 12 chapters - When Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy stay at Hogwarts over Christmas, they never expect their frosty rivalry to melt beneath the castle’s enchanted snow. Seeking refuge from their families and the world’s expectations, the unlikely pair find themselves crossing paths under mistletoe and moonlight, uncovering vulnerabilities they never dared to share. Amid snowy duels, stolen dances, and confessions by the fire, their connection grows—but so do the shadows of their differences. As the holiday magic fades, they must confront the harsh realities of their divided worlds. Will love born under the mistletoe survive beyond Christmas?

Five years later by Frau_weasley - M - A Dramione Advent Calendar Story - Set five years after the war, this Advent calendar-style story delivers 24 chapters of slow-burn romance, sharp wit, and heartfelt moments between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. Each day unveils a new chapter filled with evolving emotions, humorous banter, and glimpses of healing and redemption. As they work on a Ministry project during the festive season, sparks fly in unexpected ways.

Once Upon a December by angelicaghoul - M, WIP - Hermione Granger finally accepts to meet the parents of her current boyfriend, Michael Parker over the Christmas holidays. Only to find out that the significant other of her boyfriends sibling is her ex, Draco Malfoy, whom she left over a decade ago. Can they survive the few days under the same roof and be civil with each other?

Merry Christmas On the Line by SaltyOrange - M, one-shot - It’s Christmas Eve and Draco Malfoy dials a number.

Sanctuary by neilistic - E, one-shot - It's Christmas Eve. Darkness has fallen across the land, splintered howls ribbon through the wintry air, and Hermione is being hunted. In a quiet church she looks for sanctuary... just one small moment of peace before the end. What she finds is a dark-eyed priest, and maybe the answer to the bitter, hopeless prayers she's offered to the stars since the day that He left.

Candy Cane by callhermalfoy - M, one-shot - Hermione has a Christmas wish for Santa to fulfill.

Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Owl by induetimemydear - not rated, one-shot - When the holidays taste like a cup of grief ribboned with the nauseating aroma of what could have been One-shot : On opposite ends of life now, Hermione and Draco both reluctantly reminisce over the tragedy that was their relationship and the memories that cling to their souls. Nothing brings up longing more than the holidays

The Curse of the Past by TotalBookNerd99 - M, WIP - Fate hates Hermione. it threw her into a world that hated her for things she could not control, it took away her family, and now her daughter is marrying the son of the man who broke her... The only upside? She will be dead months after the wedding, so it's not like she will have to sit through a lifetime of awkward Christmas dinners. Oh right, another way fate hates her...she's dying of a curse no one can break because the sociopath who gave it to her is long dead. New downside? The man who broke her has crashed back into her life with a refusal to let her die and brought a bunch of past slytherins along with him.

icebreaker by ninepiecesofcrait - E, one-shot - On his way out of the office for Christmas break, Malfoy accidentally grabs the horrible present Ginny gave Hermione instead of his own, unraveling Hermione’s plans for a quiet, relaxing holiday in a single, vibrating moment.

Merry Christmas from Azkaban by Stephydfab - not rated, one-shot - The singular ghost of Azkaban is obsessed with Christmas and the only person that can see him is Lucius Malfoy, who is strikingly devoid of Christmas Spirit. Let's remedy that, shall we?

The Ghost of You by TaintedEmbrace - G, one-shot - Sometimes the ghosts we carry aren't just memories - a Dramione Christmas Eve story set in the aftermath of war. [WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH]

Cat in a (Santa) Hat by AccioPeaches - T, one-shot - After Theodore Nott's Christmas gift sparks chaos in the Granger-Malfoy household, Draco finds himself locked in a battle of wits and wills with a none-too-pleased Crookshanks. With Hermione determined to capture the perfect holiday photo, and the grumpy feline’s demands growing ever more absurd, all Draco wants is a moment of peace and a relaxing bubble bath. But in a house where Theo’s mischievous influence lingers, Christmas was never destined to be easy.

#christmas #dramione

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violetmuses · 2 months ago

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Don’t Go Screamin’ - R. Reigns (Part 8) 🖤

Fandom: WWE

Character: Roman Reigns (ft. Damian Priest)

Love Interest: Female Reader

Part 7

@episodes-ff @expert-texpert @persethegawd @adriennegabriella @fearlesschimera @secretlifeoofmarpessa @mytribalnightmare @adoresmiles @blackgurlnhermoods @dabratzchronicles @luvrsluxe 🏷

=====

During another episode of “Monday Night Raw,” exhaustion hit one of your matches this evening and professionals helped out during the commercial break.

Even your opponent Liv Morgan stopped messing around. She even scrambled in the training hall to join Rhea Ripley for this unexpected situation.

“I’m calling Damian, this isn’t funny.” While Rhea looked for you, Liv turned her call on speaker as ringing echoed in the medical room.

“Liv? What’s wrong?” Damian’s New York accent picked up within seconds of Liv Morgan dialing this phone.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but she almost fainted during our match.” Thinking of you, Liv clutched this phone, genuinely nervous.

“What the hell? Don’t hang up! I’ll be right there.” Leaving that hotel, Damian would stay with you on the road if scheduling didn’t lock other broadcasts.

________

Once the commercial break ended, experts figured out what happened and this moment changed your world forever.

“I have an announcement, everyone.” Gaining clearance from professionals, you joined another episode of “Monday Night Raw, joining Damian and Rhea in the ring. Even Liv covered her mouth through countless emotions and waited for this news to drop on live television.

“What’s going on?” Waiting behind the table, commentators held their breath with each passing moment. Thousands of people could listen to you no matter what.

“Due to recent events, I will no longer be able to compete in Wrestlemania this season.” As you revealed this heartbreaking statement, voices gasped from the audience.

“Oh, no!” Announcers pulled more and more shock with the crowd as Damian held your hand tonight.

“I’m only leaving the company again because I’m pregnant!” You finally offered the news and this building erupted with outright happiness

“My goodness! Congratulations to Our Former Champion and Damian Priest.” Commentators almost jumped up, overwhelmed for you and Damian of course.

Credits stopped the television program. Of course, you and Priest shared a group hug with Rhea, absolutely thankful.

*****

“Hello everyone. Thank you for watching as we kick off Wrestlemania 41!” Announcers pulled joy for the biggest occasion in sports entertainment.

“Jey!” Seated as your pregnant belly veiled ringside, you cheered next to Damian with the biggest smile on your face.

Your brother Jey Uso returned to Wrestlemania and planned to defeat Gunther at last!

“Before I start everything and kick Gunther's ass tonight, congratulations to my sister! We love you so much.” Jey pointed to you and Damian. Even fans would cheer again.

While thousands of people shrieked around the large-scale building, cameras zoomed inward and Damian stood behind you, floating on Cloud Nine.

“Thank you, Jey. Let's go!” You cheered until this fight began.

It's time! You thought.

______

“Jey climbs our top rope looking for another Uso Splash and points to his battlefield sister: The Former Women's Champion!” Professionals called action while Jey shared this incredible moment with you.

“Do it!” Nearly crying, you can't help beaming for Jey as Damian holds your stomach.

“See you soon, princess!” Subtitles picked up the movement of Jey's lips.

This time around, his grin revealed that you would have a daughter with Damian Priest.

When your brother Jey landed this spot and hooked Gunther's leg, one official hurried to count. Thousands of people yelled right along.

“1-2-3. Jey Uso is the new World Heavyweight Champion!” Many voices chanted.

Sooner than later, vibrant confetti rained down as the chimed bell rattled this long-awaited ending!

Ditching Gunther, Jey turned from the ring and found you both, whispering as production cameras welcomed this special moment.

“Thank you.” Jey still nodded by you with quiet tears.

“You did it, Jey.” Your smile brightened more and more.

“Thank you. Get back safe, but I'll see y'all tomorrow.” Security turned your brother away as the celebration kept raving in this audience.

*****

“Ladies and gentlemen, here is the blockbuster conclusion of Wrestlemania!” Commentators would open another segment of history.

This evening, Charlotte Flair also lost that Women's Championship and Tiffany Stratton prevailed, winning her first chance on the stage.

But now, war picked up one last time during the final event.

Two men would cross paths for The Universal Championship.

“Wrestling has more than one royal family.” Loud thuds pulled strong percussion and thousands cheered over one familiar voice.

“Adrenaline in my soul!” Screaming turned in all directions when hopeful rock pulled strings. The upbeat crowd lost their minds for Cody Rhodes.

“Cody Rhodes: The Universal Champion has arrived!” Commentators welcomed this moment.

Greeting joyful viewers and marching down the large entrance ramp, Cody paused and stood across from you, grinning toward Damian as well.

“Congratulations.” After known subtitles returned for the program, Cody squeezed your hand and joined that ring, prepared for another big event.

“Who could possibly challenge Rhodes for this Universal Title?” Announcers panicked through questions. “Jey Uso became the World Heavyweight Champion against Gunther and Kevin Owens lost Cody's ladder rematch during the Royal Rumble!”

Once spotlights turned blue from heaven, three roaring drums pulled thousands of viewers near chaos and heroically ominous music returned.

“Are you kidding me? The Tribal Chief has just returned to Wrestlemania!” Announcers can't believe what's going on.

As you palmed your belly for obvious reasons, Damian Priest stood, lifting one finger in the air when fans acknowledged Roman Reigns.

“Let's go!” Even your brothers Jimmy and Jey Uso helped out, almost sizing up the cameras to welcome this unbelievable experience.

Flagged by Paul Heyman once more, Roman marched down the entrance ramp, but slowly paused after noticing that you sat down for once.

“Hey.” Roman's Southern accent nearly whispered. You smiled, but Damian gently shook his head.

“We'll talk later. Go kick his ass!” Damian pointed to the ring and Reigns looked up, noticing that Cody stood for war.

“Getting my shit back. Watch!” Reigns pulled his well-known attitude, never asking personal questions.

“Then do it.” Damian nodded, watching how Roman joined the ring at last.

_____

“Roman just cornered this turnbuckle to measure Cody….” Announcers held their breath.

“Get it back, Chief!” Damian yelled from the crowd. “Go.”

As if fate pulled his speed, Roman charged forward and aimed the most diabolical Spear against Cody, locking Rhodes straight down.

“Spear to Rhodes!” Commentators scrambled all over again. “Reigns could begin his second chance as the Universal Champion.”

“1-2…Cody kicked out!” Announcers relayed more details, but Cody turned away from the cover and helped Roman stand out of nowhere.

“Try to beat me now!” Cody offered mind tricks near Reigns, but glanced across the ring and smiled in your direction.

“C'mon!” Roman barked, fed up without gold for the first time in quite a while.

“Cody lands with a flying Superman Punch from the Tribal Chief!” Commentators shouted once more.

“Cover that punk!” Even Damian shouted, almost jumping from his seat as Roman grounded Cody.

“Here we go again: 1-2…Burn it down!” While Announcers could end the match, Music woke up the place once Seth Rollins showed his face again. Thousands wailed in bewilderment.

“Hell no!” Damian climbed over that ringside barricade and sprinted near this large entrance ramp, fighting Rollins himself on live television.

Despite witnessing chaos, you smiled when Roman found Cody once more and locked another Spear, bringing thousands right up.

“For the second time in his amazing career, Roman Reigns will stand tall as Our Universal Champion!” Announcers pulled genuine excitement once Roman defeated Cody.

Leaving the ring, Reigns stood over Seth while Damian knelt.

“Be glad it's not me, you piece of shit!” Roman almost swung the belt on purpose. “Fuck Cody Rhodes. You took this from me!”

“Stop yelling at me, Ro! She's pregnant…” Rollins sought mercy while almost crawling near this ramp and mentioned you.

“What?” Roman scrunched up his face when Damian stood up. Even Cody jogged away from the ring and beamed, pointing toward you.

“Yeah…” Damian nodded.

“Pregnant?” Roman broke character and offered the biggest smile, sending this place toward an incredible fit of cheers.

“Yes.” You expressed happiness while credits rolled to close this special event.

#part 8 #roman reigns #black!reader #wrestler!reader #reader insert #my writing #💜💜💜#violetmuses #Don't Go Screamin #fanfiction #au fanfiction #slight angst #strong language #pregnant tw #tw pregnancy

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beautification-tales · 7 months ago

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The Corruption

Part 2 of The Confession

Debra ran to her car, her heart racing as the cool evening breeze caressed her flushed cheeks. The engine roared to life, and she sped away from the church into the bustling streets of the city. The honks of impatient drivers and the rhythmic thrum of the tires on the asphalt formed a stark contrast to the intimate silence she had just left behind. In her pocket, her phone buzzed with an incoming text, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the road ahead. Her thoughts swirled like the dust kicked up by her tires as she tried to make sense of the tumultuous emotions coursing through her veins.

The scene replayed in her mind as the sound of Father Thomas’s groans of pleasure repeated . She had done it. The thrill of power surged through her, mingling with the guilt that was already starting to set in. It had been a wild ride, but now she was racing away from the consequences, hoping they wouldn’t catch up. The tingle was so strong she could almost feel an urge to pull over and scratch that itch.

“You are a slut my child.” The words from her priest replayed in her mind. The sound from her heartbeat filled her ears. She was going to hell for sure. But she couldn’t deny the excitement she felt as she recalled the forbidden encounter in the confessional booth. She bit her bottom lip, tasting the sweetness of power. It was intoxicating, a feeling she had never experienced before.

Debra finally made it home and collapsed onto the couch, the fabric sticking to her sweaty skin. She couldn't believe what had just happened. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her. The walls of her living room seemed to close in around her, and she realized she hadn't even turned on the lights. She buried her face in her hands as she imagined her family finding out.

She imagined her mother scolding her for her impurity, her stepfather's disappointed gaze. She knew her sister would be surprised but supportive. Debra smiled, thinking how her sister would respond in predictable profanity. “Whoa sis! At church? You fucking naughty girl. I’m fucking proud of you bitch.” Debra laughed, “You would be proud of me.”

Debra sighed as she realized how badly she missed her older sister. They hadn’t talked for what seemed like a year now. She needed to tell someone about what had just happened. Her sister had always been the wild one, the one who didn’t give a damn about the consequences. Maybe she would understand.

She pulled her phone out and dialed her sister's number, her hands shaking with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The line rang over and over and went to voicemail. "Of Course," she whispered, feeling the first waves of disappointment wash over her. Her sister was the one person who could make her feel normal again, who could laugh with her about the absurdity of her situation.

“Hey sis it’s me. I want to tell you something… I know it’s been a while but please call me back. I… miss you.” Debra left the message with a tremble in her voice and tossed her phone aside. The room felt eerily silent without the echo of her own voice. She stood up and went to bed.

The next morning, Debra woke up feeling as if she had been hit by a truck. She smelled the breakfast her mother was cooking and realized… it was Sunday morning. Church. The very thought made her stomach churn. She threw off the covers and stumbled to the bathroom, her legs shaky from the night's events. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw the reflection of a woman torn between the thrill of the forbidden and the weight of her guilt. She showered and put on her Sunday’s best, trying to hide this new desire within her.

“Ah good morning Debra! You seem a bit more sluggish than usual this morning are you feeling ok?” her mother’s cheerful voice called from the kitchen. Debra's stomach lurched at the thought of facing her family. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a bit tired," she called back, hoping her voice didn't betray the tumultuous night she had just had. She descended the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the hallway. The aroma of pancakes and syrup filled the air, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of guilt in her mouth.

“Whoa you definitely do look tired! Did you not sleep last night?” Her stepfather’s words hit Debra like an open accusation. “I’m fine Phil! Just a bit of a headache, probably too much sun yesterday.” She lied, trying to keep her cool as she took her seat at the breakfast table. Her mother looked at her with a concerned expression, but she quickly turned her attention back to the stove, flipping the pancakes with a practiced ease.

They drove together to church as they usually do. Debra couldn't help but glance at her mother and stepfather, their mundane conversations about the weather and weekly chores floating over the car's speakers. She felt like a fraud, like at any moment they would be able to see through her carefully crafted facade and expose her for what she had done. But they remained oblivious, and she was grateful for the illusion of normalcy.

The illusion was destroyed when they arrived to the church. The crowds and whispers indicated that something was wrong. She saw the furrowed brows and heard the hushed tones of the congregation as they passed by. Her stomach sank. What if Father Thomas had said something? What if someone had found out?

“Hey Phil! Did you hear the news? Father Thomas isn’t feeling well, they say it’s some kind of emergency. Won’t be leading the service today!” A family friend whispered, her eyes wide with curiosity. Debra felt a knot form in her stomach. Emergency? Did he have a heart attack because of what they had done? Was it all her fault?

“They said he was passed out in the confessional booth. The weird thing is they say his pants were down. What the hell was he doing in there?” The friend’s husband spoke in a whisper loud enough for Debra to hear. Her heart skipped a beat.

“He probably was fucking masturbating! That’s what these priests do in their spare time, right Debra?” A new voice joined the conversation but an unfamiliar one. Debra’s eyes went wide, realizing that this woman could feel her distress. She was also strikingly beautiful with bright orange hair. “It’s so fucking good to see you Debra!” She hugged Debra tightly and whispered in her ear. “I know what you fucking did last night. If you don’t want everyone to know. Play along!”

Debra’s heart nearly stopped as the woman pulled away. She looked into her eyes and realized they glowed. “Umm yeah good to see you too.” She stuttered, her cheeks burning with a mix of shock and embarrassment. The woman's smile grew wider, her teeth gleaming as she released Debra from the embrace.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your parents?” The woman with the orange hair winked at Debra, her eyes still glowing mischievously. Debra’s heart raced as she awkwardly made the introductions. Her parents seemed oblivious to the tension, engaging in polite small talk. Meanwhile, Debra’s thoughts raced. Who was this woman? What did she know?

“Yes of course this is.” The mysterious woman interrupted “Phil and Sophie! Debra talks about you two all of the time!” She lied through her teeth, her grip on Debra’s arm tightening just enough to remind her of the secret she held. “Is it all right if I took your daughter out for coffee? We need to catch up and it seems service will not be happening this morning.”

The knot in Debra’s stomach grew tighter as she looked at her mother and stepfather, hoping they would decline. But to her horror, her mother beamed back. “Of course! That’s such a lovely idea! Go on you two, have fun!” The woman hugged Debra’s parents. “You two are the fucking best! I wish I had parents as great as you two.” Debra’ parents smiled at the compliment.

“Well umm your language does remind us of our eldest daughter.” Her mother giggled awkwardly, looking at the woman. Debra looked down missing her sister again. “Well she sounds like fun! How come I never see her?” The family got quiet as Debra felt a coldness creep into her bones. Phil finally answered after it seemed like an eternity. “She went away for college. We don’t get to see her much these days.”

The woman nodded as she grabbed Debra’s hand. “Well it was nice meeting you. I’ll make sure she’s home nice and safe bye!” The woman turned and led Debra through the crowd as they made it to the parking lot. The woman stopped in front of a red Lamborghini and opened the impressive doors. “Get in slut.” The woman whispered to Debra.

Debra obeyed as the car sped away from the parking lot. Debra turned to the woman and unloaded her questions. "Who are you? How do you know about last night? What do you want from me?" she demanded, her voice shaking. The woman kept her eyes on the road as she pressed the gas pedal with her high heeled foot. “A friend, I was there last night and I want to talk about it.” She replied with a knowing smile.

They arrived at a fancy café on the outskirts of town. The woman parked the car and turned to Debra. “So, tell me, how does it feel to be a sinner?” Her eyes gleamed with a mischievous light that sent chills down Debra’s spine. She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please you act like I didn’t hear everything.” The woman’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and she turned to Debra, her eyes still gleaming. “But you know what? I like a little game of pretend. So, let’s keep up the charade for now, shall we?” She opened the door of the Lamborghini with a flourish, and Debra followed her into the building , her mind racing with a hundred different scenarios of what this could mean. Debra took a look around at the fancy hotel lobby as they reached the café on the side.

“So what’s the deal with your sister?” The orange-haired woman took a sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving Debra’s. The café was bustling with the usual Sunday brunch crowd, but the noise faded into the background as Debra’s anxiety grew.

The woman noticed Debra’s puzzled expression and clarified. “When I asked about her you all got quiet like there was a secret there.” Her voice was like a siren’s call, sweet yet hinting at something much darker. “She … she’s an atheist and it caused a lot of fighting before she left.” Debra said, trying to keep her voice steady. The woman nodded as if that was the answer she was expecting.

“Mom was an alcoholic before she got saved. Sister went off to college and wanted to live life free of the guilt of a judgmental mother?” Debra looked up from her cup of coffee, surprised by the orange-haired woman’s insight. “How do you know all this?”

“I know a lot of things. I know you miss your sister and that you can’t stop thinking about last night. How good did it feel? This time don’t lie.” The woman leaned in closer, her breath smelling faintly of mint and something darker. Her eyes held a hint of a challenge. “It felt so good and I can’t get the sound out of my head. The sound of him.. cumming” Debra admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Debra felt the woman’s foot rub against her leg. The warmth from her skin sent an electric jolt through Debra’s body. She was not used to being touched in such a manner. "You know, I've done bad things but making a priest cum is next level," the woman said, her hand now gently stroking Debra's arm. "But tell me, did you feel powerful?”

Debra took a deep breath, her chest tightening. "I did," she admitted, feeling a strange mix of pride and fear. "But I also feel so guilty. I don't know if I can do it again."

The woman’s expression changed, a flicker of something dark crossing her features. “Guilt… so gross. It’s time we got rid of that pesky barrier. Don’t you think so?” Debra shivered as she felt the woman’s foot go up her calf. “How do I do that?” Debra asked like she was under a trance.

“Easy, just give in to it. Embrace the darkness within you. It’s a part of you, a powerful part. Just like your sister did.” The woman’s hand slid up to Debra’s neck, her thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “Your sister was like you once, you know. A sweet, innocent little thing, practically invisible. But she found her power in the shadows. And now she does anything she fucking wants.”

Debra’s eyes widened at the revelation, and she felt a strange yearning to be like her sister. To feel that power, to be seen. “Do you know her?” she whispered, her voice trembling. The woman leaned in closer, her breasts brushing against Debra’s arm. “Better than you think. She’s like a sister to me.”

The woman’s hand slid down to Debra’s waist, and she felt the heat of the woman’s touch through her dress. “What do you mean?” Debra’s voice was barely a murmur now, lost in the cacophony of the café. The woman now was so close as Debra got lost looking at her red lips. “Why don’t you come upstairs to my room and let me show you.” The woman whispered in Debra’s ear.

They walked through the café, the woman’s hand guiding Debra to the lobby of the hotel attached to the cafe. Each step was a silent scream of excitement and fear. The walls of the staircase seemed to close in on her as they ascended. What was she getting herself into? The woman’s grip was firm, reassuring, yet Debra felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

When they entered the hotel room, the smell of incense and something else, something darker, filled the air. The room was dimly lit with candles placed strategically around the space, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The bed was unmade, the sheets a tangled mess of passion. Debra’s heart raced, her breathing shallow.

The woman pounced on her, wasting no time. She kissed Debra’s neck causing Debra to yelp in shock and pleasure. "Shh, it’s okay," she murmured as she pushed Debra onto the bed, her hand sliding under her dress. "You want this. You know you do."

Debra's body responded despite her racing thoughts. She felt the woman's hand on her inner thigh, moving upward with a gentle insistence that made her legs quiver. "This is wrong. she managed to say, her voice trembling. "Wrong? Or does it feel so right?" the woman teased, her teeth grazing Debra's earlobe. The heat of her breath sent a shiver down Debra's spine.

The woman's hand found its way to Debra's core, and she gasped as the fingertips circled her clit with a slow, deliberate motion. "You're so wet," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. "You liked it last night, didn't you? The power, the control." Debra nodded, unable to form words as the woman began to unbutton her dress, revealing her naked body to the dim lit room.

The woman's touch was unlike anything Debra had ever felt before. It was as if she knew every inch of her, every sensitive spot that made her tremble with pleasure. Her mind raced with thoughts of Father Thomas, the confessional booth, and the power she had felt then. Was this the same kind of power? Or something entirely different?

The woman kissed her way down Debra's body, her tongue tracing the lines of her collarbone and the swell of her breasts. Debra couldn't help but arch into the kisses, her body responding despite the war raging in her conscience. The guilt was still there, but it was becoming harder to focus on it with the building crescendo of pleasure.

"Relax," the woman murmured, her hands deftly removing Debra's dress and panties. "Let go of your fears. You're safe here." Debra's eyes searched the room, looking for an escape, but all she found was the seductive dance of the woman’s alluring eyes. Her resistance was fading with every touch, every whispered word.

Debra finally relaxed sinking into the bed as the woman kissed her body. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions - fear, guilt, excitement. But as the woman’s mouth closed over her nipple, she couldn’t help but let out a moan. The sensation was exquisite, a feeling of pleasure that seemed to consume her from the inside out. The woman groped Debra’s breast as she continued to kiss lower and lower.

“Your sister had a taste for the taboo too. She taught me everything I know. You’re more like her than you know.” The woman’s voice was a seductive purr that sent waves of desire through Debra’s body. She didn’t know what to make of that revelation but she didn’t have much time to think as the woman’s tongue slipped between her legs.

Debra moaned loudly as she felt the tongue deep within her. Her hands tangled in the orange hair of the woman, pulling her closer as the pleasure grew more intense. The woman chuckled, the vibrations sending shocks through Debra’s body. The woman's tongue was like a serpent, slithering around her clit, teasing and taunting her. Debra’s legs quivered as she felt her orgasm approaching.

The woman stopped suddenly as Debra opened her eyes. She looked at the woman staring back at her. “Please… don’t stop. I want to cum.” The woman’s smile grew wider as she licked her lips. “What are you Debra?”

“I’m a slut! I’m a bad girl” Debra shouted, feeling the release of her pent-up emotions. The woman’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “That’s my girl. Now imagine how much fun it would be to seduce Phil.” And with that, she went back to her task, her tongue working its magic as Debra’s body responded.

“Wait… Phil? No..” Debra protested weakly, her eyes widening in horror. But the words were lost in the whirlwind of sensations as the woman’s tongue flicked and danced around her clit. Her mind was racing with images of her stepfather, her mother’s kind smile, and the house she had called home for years. Yet, the woman’s touch was too intense to ignore.

The thought of her mother disappeared as she imagined riding Phil’s cock. She imagined corrupting her loving stepfather and making him hers. The thoughts were so taboo yet exciting. The woman’s tongue was relentless and Debra felt her orgasm building up. The woman pushed her head deeper between Debra’s legs as she felt her hands grasp her thighs.

“Oh God yes! I’m going to cum!” Debra screamed as the orgasm ripped through her body. The room spun around her as the woman’s tongue lapped up her juices. The woman didn’t stop even as Debra’s body convulsed with pleasure. She kept going until Debra begged for mercy.

Debra lay there panting, her mind reeling from the intense experience. The woman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grinned. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she said, her voice thick with satisfaction. Debra nodded, unable to form coherent words.

Debra laid back and looked at the ceiling trying to make sense of what had happened. She just had sex with a woman and it was amazing.

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Hathor.”

#beautification #transformation #beauty is power #corruption kink

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would-they-listen-to-that · 4 months ago

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Dc lover is back…… sighhhh……

Liked your last one!!!! My playlist for eobard has grown🫶 could I get a John Constantine (dc comics/DCAU) x reader playlist❓(especially if it has some punk songs in it😼 as he was a previous punk singer lmao)

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ welcome back, caller! Mod Cupid is also a dc lover, there's nothing to be ashamed of! <3 heeeeeeere's Johnny!

Should I Stay or Should I Go - The Clash

Breaking the Law - Judas Priest

I Wanna Be Sedated - Ramones

Ballroom Blitz - Sweet

All the Small Things - blink-182

About a Girl - The Academy Is...

Ocean Avenue - Yellowcard

Beer - Reel Big Fish

She Loves Me - Descendents

He's My Thing - Babes in Toyland

thanks for dialing in!

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changelingsandothernonsense · 2 months ago

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Sujamma on a Tirdas

Got tagged by @skyrim-forever sorry it's taken a few days, migraine attack was brutal. Anyway tagging @sulphuricgrin @nyarevar @snowy-weather @redyn-nerevarine @saltymaplesyrup

Today, Sujamma wants to know about your OC's moral compass. What God do they worship and why? Do they engage in any illicit activities (drugs, etc?) Any holy activities, like healing in the name of a certain divine? Have they committed any crimes, or are there any crimes they actively despise? Feel free to talk about anything and everything along these lines.

Teldryn Ensirhaddon-Sero and his vibes based moral compass.

Josh has never really been one for "worship" in the traditional sense. He grew up singing hymns to ALMSIVI as any Dunmeri kid in the 3rd Era did, but none of those sermons stuck. Josh caught the looks the priests gave him at a very young age, and parsed their meaning. When the overall message seems to be "All are welcome but your ilk" you tend to become disillusioned fairly quickly. Safe to say, Josh, as the child of a Velothi was not made to feel welcome. He started skipping out on these services at age ten and hasn't looked back.

Given how Josh grew up, he has a hard time understanding the worship of the Aedra. To him the gods should be present, visible, contactable! If he's going to seek out the divine, he wants their name on speed dial. He doesn't want to go through any third party.

Now, Josh will admit to having worked in the service of two separate Princes in the past. He is still considered the Champion of Azura after all, and that won't change until he dies. That wasn't a decision he made himself, mind you, that was predetermined way before he could have a say. He likes to think that he abandoned Azura after she took his husband from him. He cringes at the thought of ever doing her bidding again.

There's also his time spent with Sanguine, that he has mixed feelings about. He took on the priesthood during a time when he wasn't quite sure which way was up and he doesn't remember ever quite saying yes to the Prince in the first place. He doesn't like talking about it.

However, Josh does openly practice Ashlander styles of Ancestor Worship once he's welcomed into Urshilaku. It makes the most sense to him, having that direct contact to his loved ones. Just don't make the comparison to necromancy, lest you want to send him into an hour's long tirade.

Josh is well known for being a somewhat functioning alcoholic. He drinks to get rid of the memories, he drinks to stop the pain, and he drinks because he likes the way it makes him feel. He has his preferences for drink, matze being his overall favourite and ale being amongst his least. He's been partial to the intake of skooma, though this was strictly during his time as a Priest of Sanguine. He still commonly makes use of Telvanni cultivated mushrooms. He likes the hallucinations they give him. Josh eventually gets hooked on Sleeping Tree Sap during the Dragon Crisis, finding that not only did it treat the pain he had from his broken leg but it also eased his hip and insomnia as well. It takes a long withdrawal period before he kicks it officially.

Josh is also known for being a chimney, and tobacco is probably his earliest vice. He got hooked on it when he was doing forced labour on a Cyrodiilic Tobacco Plantation in his early 20s, though he'd had it on and off before that. It's the one thing he can't kick, and going without it is like torture to him. He likes to mix other herbs in with his tobacco, and since smoking alchemical remedies is a relatively common within Dunmeri culture, he has easy access to such herbs.

As far as his criminal record, it is...extensive to say the least. He started as a runner for Orvas Dren's Camonna Tong, eventually finding himself being sold to an outfit in Cheydinhal. This is where he gets arrested and sentenced to execution (though this gets changed to 50 years hard labour and then switches to conscription). He's about twenty-two at the time and was selected by the wider gang to be their fall guy. He's the human equivalent of a sixteen-year-old and has no idea just how badly things were about to get.

His official rapsheet lists Assault, Arson, Murder (4), Treason (by way of murdering imperial agents). Eventually he adds "Drunk and Disorderly conduct" to the list. Interestingly enough, though Josh commits a lot of robberies, he's never arrested for it. He finds that to be ironic.

He is not above doing criminal acts in service of doing what he considers to be the "greater good" and you see this most when he takes the role of "Molag'Shaln". If there's one thing that Josh values above all else, it's freedom, and he abhors the practice of slavery as a result. By 3E 428 most of the Ascadian Isles know why the Suran Slave Market went down in flames. They know why the plantations burn and they know why all of a sudden the price of saltrice has tripled in price.

Josh cannot allow the practice to exist. He also cannot allow the Camonna Tong who facilitate the practice to exist. So he makes that rejection of all the Tong stand for one of his reasons for breathing after everything is said and done with Red Mountain and Dagoth Ur.

Josh will see the end of the practice on Tamriel, even if it kills him.

#sujamma sundas #danger!josh #teldryn sero #nerevarine #dunmer #morrowind #the elder scrolls #skyrim #tesblr #my art

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eldar-of-zemlya · 6 months ago

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A few days ago, I realized that I’ve spent my last three birthdays in three different countries—each one a temporary home, but never quite the real home. And since today is my birthday, it feels like the right moment to share my story—a story about growing up queer in Russia, navigating an absurd system, escaping it, and constantly being on the run. It’s a long journey, but one that I hope will offer some insight as I reflect on where life has taken me so far.

Illustrated by yours truly.

I was born in Russia, in a small countryside town that sits right on the border between Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus. Like many families in this region, mine is a chaotic blend of Slavic identities, plus a bit of Tatar heritage on my father’s side.

We come from a long line of Orthodox priests who were repressed and executed by the KGB during Stalin’s regime. The only branch of our family that survived had to be constantly on the run, changing towns and professions to avoid persecution as the children of “enemies of the nation.” I guess that’s the family curse I’ve never been able to escape—always searching for a homeland and always running away from it.

My father was an artist and my mother a university professor. My father was so absent from my life that when my parents separated when I was five, it took me two weeks to notice he was gone. My first question wasn’t even about him—it was about our dog. “Mom, where is Julie?… And where is Dad?” After that, my mother had to return to work to provide for me, so I spent most of my early years at my grandmother’s house, left to my own devices.

In pre-school, I was obsessed with Michael Jackson, rewinding the same VHS of his music videos until it barely played anymore. In primary school, I had a bunch of Tokio Hotel’s songs burned onto a floppy disk by my mother’s colleague, who had access to the new wonder of the time—the World Wide Web. I’d wait eagerly for their music video to play on some random music channel, glued to the screen in our cramped, Soviet-era Khrushchyovka apartment. That’s when I stumbled upon something that started a chain reaction that, in hindsight, brought me to where I am now.

The lower third of the screen briefly flashed a title: “LM.C — Ghost†Heart (Japan).” At first, there was nothing particularly strange about the music video, except maybe that it was from Japan. But when the two “girls” began singing with a voice that was unmistakably male, I realized they weren’t girls at all. There was something captivating about how they embodied both masculinity and femininity so beautifully at the same time. I didn’t even know the word “androgynous” back then, but I instinctively recognized that the same thing that had drawn me to my previous interests was now pulling me toward them.

As soon as we finally got our first slow dial-up connection, I searched for LM.C. That’s when an entirely new world opened up to me—J-rock, Visual Kei, a genre of Japanese music that focused on extravagant stage costumes where musicians often wore dresses and makeup. I was immediately hooked.

And I wasn’t alone. There was a small but growing community of J-rock fans across Russia, even a few in my small town. Some were teens, others pre-teens like me, and even a few adults. We would gather on Lenin Square—the heart of our little town—dreaming and talking about Japan, anime, and J-rock. My mom often came with me to our local meet-ups—not just to show support, but for safety. We were what others called “non-formals”—subculture kids. Our high platform boots, chains, band shirts, and unconventional looks made us stand out in our post-Soviet town, often attracting unwanted attention. People would make snide comments, and the police would sometimes chase us off. Once, one of the guys in our group got ambushed by gopniks, and they ripped chunks of his long hair out of his scalp. Being different was dangerous in the Russian countryside.

I was always open about the bands I listened to, which earned me the label “the weird kid who listens to Japanese transvestites and watches cartoons for kids.” (Honestly, I was ahead of my time. Nowadays, kids get bullied if they don’t watch anime.) Through all of this, my mom was incredibly supportive. I would sew Visual Kei-inspired outfits from fabric scraps and even dyed my hair red once. That might seem normal now, but back then it made me the laughingstock of the whole school. Even the teachers thought I was strange and probably wished they could get me in trouble. But there was nothing they could do aside from making the occasional snarky comment about my looks. Our country didn’t enforce a school dress code, and I was at the top of my class, so they had no grounds to discipline me.

Naturally, discovering anime led me to yaoi and slash fanfiction. At the time, our country was still relatively free, and LGBT stories weren’t illegal yet—considered strange, disgusting, and perverted by some, but not illegal. Somehow, I could relate to the characters, even though I was a straight teenage girl, which was incredibly confusing. I wanted to be a man, have a male body, and yet I was also attracted to men. My confusion with gender and sexuality was overwhelming, and I was stuck in a linguistic bubble, trying to make sense of myself with whatever scraps of information I could find in Russian. I read about “tomboy,” “butch,” “femboy,” and even “fag hag,” but none of it quite fit. Then, one night, I stumbled across the Wikipedia entry for “trans man.” I’d heard of trans women from scandalous Russian talk shows and the occasional foreign film, but trans men? At that time, the Russian Wikipedia article on “trans man” was just a single, pathetic paragraph. I could hardly believe it was a real thing, but deep down, I knew this was the answer I’d been searching for.

People often ask trans individuals, “When did you realize?” But for me, there was no single moment. It was a process of piecing together feelings I’d never had the words for—kind of like that scene in The Man From Earth when John Oldman, a man who’s lived for 45,000 years, is asked by a therapist, “When did you realize you were a caveman?” and he responds, “When I heard the word ‘caveman.’”

As always, I turned to movies to understand myself better. I found a clunky Russian website called KinoPoisk (Film Search), typed “LGBT” into the search bar, and watched every movie that came up. That’s how I discovered Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Breakfast on Pluto, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, and many more. Seeing LGBT characters on screen—characters who felt what I felt—was everything to a lost, confused teenager in the Russian countryside.

Over time, my obsession shifted to TV series fandoms like Doctor Who, Torchwood, and Star Trek. And when Sherlock BBC came out, my mom joined me, and we both dove headfirst into fandom life. She also started reading fanfiction, and before long, she was writing it herself. After all, who better to write fanfiction than a middle-aged Russian literature professor who knew everything about storytelling?

Gradually, my fixation shifted from Japan to Great Britain, and my mom was right there with me. Despite not knowing a word of English, we watched everything we could find featuring our favorite British actors. It became our shared dream to visit England someday, but we didn’t have the money. My mom’s salary was $250 a month, and she was supporting me and our elderly grandmother, who had a pension of $80. But that didn’t stop us. I remember surviving on instant noodles and cheap yogurt for an entire year just to save up enough to travel to the West and see it for the first time.

In 2012, we finally made it happen. We signed up for a cheap bus tour that went through Europe—Poland, the Czech Republic, Germany, Belgium, France, and the UK. It was life-changing. We saw a completely different world, cozy old towns that Russian cities had lost in WWII bombings, and we saw freedom. The first time we flew to London on our own, we bought tickets to a theater play featuring Mark Gatiss. Who would’ve guessed that on that very day, David Tennant, Steven Moffat, and his wife, Sue Vertue, would also be there! I awkwardly approached David Tennant and, in broken English, told him, “You are my lovely Doctor” (I meant to say “favorite” but didn’t know the word back then).

We ended up returning to London every year, going to theater plays with Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hiddleston, Andrew Scott, Rupert Grint, and others. We stayed in cheap hostels and survived on McDonald’s, but we were living the dream.

As time went on, LGBT rights in Russia only got worse. Books, movies, and TV shows that even mentioned LGBT topics started getting blocked under the guise of protecting children from “LGBT propaganda.” But what these government suits failed to understand was that if I hadn’t discovered all those things as a confused teenager, I might have ended my life. When the repression began affecting fanfiction writers, we had to be cautious. One girl in our town was sentenced under the new law simply for having a photo of two guys kissing in her VK (Russian Facebook) photo album. My mom was a university professor and the sole provider for me, an underage kid. If it was discovered that she wrote slash, she could’ve lost her job, gone to prison, and I could’ve been taken away. It was terrifying. I watched our vibrant community being slowly choked out, and I knew it was now or never. I had to transition while it was still legally possible, and I could only do that if I moved to Moscow, where the only trans center in the country was located.

After graduating, I deliberately skipped one of the mandatory exams, which made it essentially impossible for me to get into any university in Russia. My mom, always understanding, accepted my decision, but the rest of the family was devastated. I was one of the best students in class, scoring 100/100 on my Russian and English final exams—something that seemed like science fiction (well, I learned my English from science fiction, so…). And here I was, with these grades, choosing not to apply to any university but instead to work in a shop.

Transitioning was expensive—around $1,500 for all the tests and evaluations—but I knew that if I stayed in the countryside, I’d be tempted to give up, settle down, and try to “fix” myself. As Dr. Frank-N-Furter taught me, “Don’t dream it, be it.”

As soon as I turned 18, I moved from the countryside to Moscow. To receive the official F64.0 diagnosis—“transsexualism”—I had to endure a grueling year-long process of psychiatric evaluations and tests, just so I could change my documents and flee the country. By then, I was already passing as a guy, which made job hunting infinitely more difficult. I tried toy stores, cosmetic stores, hotel cleaning… but no one wanted to risk being prosecuted for “LGBT propaganda” by hiring someone as gender-ambiguous as me. After endless rejections, I finally found a place that didn’t care whether you were gay, straight, or trans. That’s how I ended up working at a sex shop.

I could write a whole TV show based on that year of my life—armed robberies, kidnapping attempts, constant workplace drama, and a psychotic manager who was stealing from our salaries. None of us were even officially registered as employees. I’d work 24-hour shifts back-to-back, sometimes spending more than 48 hours at the shop, sleeping on the floor during the three-hour break we got at night. There were zero regulations, but despite everything, I made good money, and most importantly, I finally felt like I belonged.

Our team was a ragtag group of rebels—kids fresh out of high school or from poverty, who had come from all over Russia to the Capital, searching for a better life. What united us was a shared desire for freedom in a country that was becoming more and more totalitarian.

While working, I was constantly attending the “Center of Personalized Psychiatry,” where I felt like a guinea pig for doctors who knew nothing about gender identity issues. It seemed they had simply found a vacant spot to make money off devastated and depressed trans people. At the time, there wasn’t even an official document format that could be submitted to the government to allow a legal sex change. So, I had to jump through every hoop they put in front of me—filling out ridiculous questionnaires that asked whether I preferred pink or blue as a kid or if I played with dolls or cars. They explicitly told me to answer “how I thought they wanted me to answer” if I wanted to get approved for hormone therapy. So, for them, I liked blue, played with cars, and watched football and boxing.

When I finally got approved for hormone therapy, I ran into another obstacle: the financial burden of getting a prescription from the center for every testosterone shot. The prescription itself cost almost as much as the medication. Desperate, I turned to sketchy websites from “pharmacies” that constantly changed their URLs. That’s how I started getting testosterone through drop-offs, which we called “bookmarks.” I’d pay for someone to leave it under a bench or behind a tree. It was risky but much cheaper.

After enduring the year of evaluations, I finally received the long-awaited free-form paper from the center stating my diagnosis and the basis for changing my documents. But just as I was preparing to submit it, the government decided to overhaul the process. They introduced an official format for the document—good in theory but disastrous for my timing. Worse still, they added a new requirement: you had to have had top surgery before you could legally change your gender.

I was devastated. Top surgery had always been a dream of mine, but I was sure it would take years to save enough money—it cost $1,200. That’s when my mom stepped in and offered to cover it with her savings. I cried so much. I wanted the surgery, but I knew we didn’t have the money to spare.

At that time, my mom said something that has stuck with me ever since: “We never have money, but at least we have the life we want.”

So, I did it. But my happiness was overshadowed by guilt. I felt guilty for spending so much money, for leaving my job, and for being incapacitated during my recovery—unable to even help my mother around the house. By then, my mother had already started working at a university in Moscow, and after being able to provide for myself at 18, I suddenly felt like a burden. My mother, however, never saw me that way; she was incredibly happy for me. We agreed not to tell the rest of the family about my transition just yet.

Returning to my hometown in the countryside to change my documents was an experience in itself. I fully expected to be treated with hostility, but to my surprise, the civil workers made no comments. I later learned that I was the second person to transition in my town—the first female-to-male—but they acted professionally. The only comment came when I visited the citizen registry center, where old women, who had probably worked there since Soviet times, were running the show. My mother went with me for support. When I silently handed the new-format document to the elderly woman at the desk, she studied it carefully, then looked up at my mother and, smiling, said, “You have a boy now? Congratulations!”

This all happened during the summer. I was jobless, with new documents, and the next step in my plan was to flee to the West. Around that time, a friend sent me a random ad for a filmmaking program at Tallinn University in Estonia. I had never even heard of this tiny Baltic country before, but it was part of the EU, and the tuition was surprisingly affordable. I never pictured myself making films, but I knew I wanted to do something creative, so I applied the day before the deadline, not expecting much. To my shock, I soon received an invitation letter.

But there was still one more step—changing my foreign passport. In Russia, we have a national passport (in Cyrillic) and an international passport (in English), which allows travel abroad. To change the international passport, I needed a paper from the military conscription office, stating that I, as a newly-registered male, didn’t have to serve in the army and was free to leave for studies. Of course, I didn’t have such a paper, since I had never been registered for conscription in the first place.

This led me to our local conscription office. As soon as I explained the situation to the lady at the desk, she told me to stay quiet and led me to her boss. The military commander, sitting in his shabby countryside office under a portrait of Putin hung on a wall with peeling paint, was utterly confused.

“But I can’t issue him this paper because he was never registered as a conscript, which should’ve happened when he turned 15!”

“But he was a she when he was 15, sir…” his young secretary chimed in, causing the commander to spit in frustration and slam his fist on the table.

They were in a real bind. If I had transitioned from male to female, it would’ve been easy—they’d just throw my case out of the archive. But there were no regulations for how to handle female-to-male trans people.

“Okay, I think I have an idea of what we can do. When can you come back to my office?” asked the commander.

“Um, maybe tomorrow…” I hesitated.

“No ‘maybe’!” the commander shot me a stern look. “You’re a man now, so be specific.”

Suddenly feeling like James Bond, the commander deemed my case his secret mission. The next day, I returned to his office and was briefed on his plan: he was going to falsify my conscription record, making it look as if I had been a biological male my entire life, complete with medical exams and military training. He assigned one of his lackeys to follow me through the necessary medical evaluations, ensuring no one asked me to undress. The doctors, who were in on the plan, discreetly noted what they were supposed to.

Eventually, I was invited back to the commander’s office for the final round of evaluations. With the blinds pulled down and the door locked, I stood in the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of white-coated doctors—urologists, proctologists, allergists, you name it.

“Take off all your clothes,” the commander ordered.

“Well, I’ve seen a film or two that started like this…” I thought to myself.

“Now, spin around—slowly,” he continued.

And there I was, with my ass naked, turning in a circle like some Frankenstein’s monster as the doctors scribbled notes in their notebooks.

“Did everybody see everything?” the commander asked, and the doctors nodded quickly. “Okay, dismissed.”

In the end, I was issued a military ticket marking me as category “B”—not suitable for mandatory military service (probably due to having a cunt, according to their reports), but eligible for drafting in case of war or a military operation.

With that, I received my new international passport and was off to Estonia.

I was incredibly happy. Every day, I would go to the old town square just to sit there, gazing at the medieval towers and thinking, “I made it… I finally made it!” It was everything I had dreamed of and more. No one cared how anyone looked, LGBT people had no restrictions, and I saw same-sex couples walking hand in hand on the streets. This was the “Western dream” I had been chasing my whole life. Yet, something seemed off…

Over time, I started to notice a certain level of hostility from the locals when they found out I was Russian. That surprised me, especially given that Estonia had been part of the Soviet Union and still had a population that was about 30% Russian. Slowly, I came to realize the harsh reality—in the history books I studied at school, there was only one mention of Estonia: “1940—Estonia, Lithuania, and Latvia join the USSR.” One sentence in a history book, which meant nothing to me at the time, encapsulated this entire country’s national tragedy. They tolerated the remaining Russian population, but the deep-seated resentment was clear. However, they failed to understand one important thing—most of those Russians were also victims of the regime, just like the Estonians, Latvians, Lithuanians, Tatars, and countless others.

I vividly remember a moment when I was having a meeting with my new coworkers. After learning I was from Russia, one Estonian girl said, “My grandfather was repressed by Russians during Soviet times.”

“Mine too,” I replied, dumbfounded. She seemed confused. As I later found out, while our governments had their own agendas, their government had theirs. She was never taught that millions of ethnic Russians were also arrested alongside millions of national minorities.

This was something I had never anticipated. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t discriminated against because of my LGBT status, but because of my nationality.

I learned to live with it. I tried to adapt, not speaking Russian in public. Fortunately, my studies were in English, and my course was international, filled with people from all over the world—the U.S., Egypt, Germany, Nigeria, Latvia, Turkey… Honestly, the three years I spent studying film there were the best years of my life. Our professors were amazing, outgoing, incredibly creative, and they became our friends.

Yet, no one in my course, not even my closest friends, with whom I spent every day, knew that I was trans or the real reason I left Russia. They simply thought I was a biological male. After what I had been through in my own country, I still hesitated to share this part of myself, unsure of how they would react. It took a toll on my mental health, constantly coming up with stories to fill gaps in my history. Eventually, it became too much, and three years into our studies, I told everything to my four closest friends. They were surprised, to say the least, but endlessly supportive. I can’t even begin to describe how much I love them for that.

For my graduation film, I made a documentary—something I never imagined I would be interested in. Initially, I had ambitions to become a fiction director, but once I discovered that documentaries weren’t all just talking heads and British-accented voiceovers, I became captivated by them.

My graduation documentary was about my family—specifically, about my grandmother. My family, aside from my mother, still didn’t know I had transitioned. It had been four years at that point. I had a beard, a deep voice, and yet they still didn’t know. Every time I called them, I would try to make my voice sound more feminine (the story was that I got sick, lost my voice, and it permanently damaged my vocal cords). I love my family, and it’s precisely because I love them that I do this. I don’t want them to be ashamed or ostracized from their community. They live simple, rural lives. When my grandmother was born, Stalin was still alive. She had survived famine, unemployment, and disease, so she would never be able to understand this whole “transgender thing.”

The documentary did really good, with this idea, I got to attend pitching with BBC, Al Jazeera, CBC, Vice and many more industry giants. There were so many promises from big film festivals, so many opportunities. By the time I had graduated and was working a well-paid job, I was hoping to settle down in Estonia after four years of living there. Despite the country’s mixed reception towards me, I loved the place. It finally felt like home. A small, cozy home where I knew everything and everyone, with both personal and professional connections. I was learning Estonian, aiming to get citizenship, and dreaming of the future—the entire European Union would be open to me.

And then, on the 24th of February 2022, the war started. I can’t begin to describe what I felt—fear, grief, confusion. It’s too dark of a topic to delve into.

While I was scared and cried every day for my friends in Ukraine and my family on the Russian border, the war began to affect me directly, as a Russian living in the West. Deals I had with film festivals fell through because they didn’t want to seem like "Russia sympathizers" by screening a documentary directed by a Russian. The fact that my film was about the struggles of LGBT people in Russia, and clearly anti-regime, didn’t matter.

One of my friends was spat on while on the tram for speaking Russian to her mother on the phone. Another was refused entry to a thrift store because she was Russian. A close friend of mine, a well-known Russian-Estonian actor, was assaulted in a café while speaking Russian with his girlfriend. A man approached him, demanding that he kneel and beg for forgiveness for “starting the war in Ukraine.” When my friend, in perfect Estonian (he came from a mixed family with an Estonian father and Russian mother), reminded him of the Estonian constitution and its protection of freedoms, the man scoffed and said, “All Russians should have been deported from the very beginning.”

And it seemed like the government shared his beliefs. First, my residence permit was terminated due to my Russian citizenship. When I applied for a worker visa instead, I was handed a notice saying, “You are denied an Estonian visa for the reason of posing a danger to international relations, inner security, and the health of the Estonian population.” It felt like they thought I was carrying some sort of “Putin virus.” And this happened right after my documentary had been featured in the national competition at a local film festival, where I was representing Estonia...

It was the 27th of December 2022. I was given three days to leave the country—to sort out everything from the past four years, my entire life there.

It was then that I fully realized how fragile safety and belonging can be when they rest on the whims of politics and nationality. The dream I had spent years building crumbled in days. I was lost. I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t return to Russia—especially not after making such a personal documentary. The new laws there equated "LGBT movement" with extremist organizations. It wasn’t even safe for me to visit a doctor as a trans person. If they supported the regime, they could easily report me to the police, and I’d be arrested simply for having the body I have. Worse, I could be sent to the war—ironically, I was still marked as a biological male in Russian military records.

With no options left, I packed a tiny suitcase with essential items, left the rest of my belongings with friends, and bought a one-way ticket to Serbia—one of the few countries that still had visa-free entry for Russians. After the war began and the regime tightened its grip, Serbia had become a haven for hundreds of thousands of young Russians fleeing.

I met the new year of 2023 alone, in a strange country, watching fireworks from the balcony of a tractor driver named Stefan, who had rented me his Airbnb in the Belgrade suburbs.

Serbia turned out to be a completely different world compared to my experience in Estonia. I was still hesitant to reveal that I was Russian, but to my surprise, when I did, people mostly hugged me and invited me for a glass of rakija. Serbia has a long history with Russia—we were “brother nations,” and the Russian Empire had helped Serbia a lot in the past. That sentiment carried into how the locals saw Russians. Now, with so many of us in trouble and seeking refuge, they welcomed us with open arms.

The country itself wasn’t prosperous; it reminded me of the Russia of my childhood—shabby, torn apart, politically charged. I loved the people, and they seemed to love me back, but I knew I couldn’t stay. There were still many conservatives, and when I asked a bartender at a local underground gay bar about the situation for LGBT people, he laughed and said in broken English, “Like Russia, but small better.”

My plan was to apply for a German freelancer visa—I was making some money from video editing and color grading on the side, and I had a solid portfolio. I knew political asylum wasn’t an option. When the war began, I had tried to apply for asylum in Estonia, only to be told, “Have you been stabbed for being trans in Russia? No? Then call us back when you are.”

In Serbia, Russians were allowed a 30-day visa-free entry, so I joined what fellow expats called a “visa-run.” Every 30 days, someone would drive a packed minivan to the Bosnian border. We’d cross, stay in Bosnia for 15 minutes, smoke, and listen to stories of fellow Russians who had escaped. Then we’d return to Serbia, and our stay would reset. The local police knew about it and didn’t care—nothing illegal about it. I remember one time when we arrived during the border patrol’s lunch break. A young lady leaned out of the control booth, sandwich in hand, and asked, “Visa run?” When we nodded, she smiled and said she’d finish her tea before stamping our passports.

I lived like this for a year and a half in Serbia. It was nearly impossible to find a job without knowing Serbian, so I picked up small freelance editing gigs. Meanwhile, I was on a long waiting list for a German visa. Serbia had become a temporary stop for many Russians, especially LGBT people, trying to find a way into the EU.

However, after what I experienced in Estonia, my rose-colored glasses were off. I no longer viewed the West as a utopia. Every country has its problems, and there’s no true freedom anywhere in the world. Sadly, I had to learn this the hard way.

Throughout that year in Serbia, not much happened. I was extremely depressed and isolated, unsure of where my life was headed. So, I turned to what comforted me most—movies. I fell back into Star Trek. There’s something about its retro-futurism that helped me cope—I could lose myself either in the future or the past and forget about the present. I also started drawing again. I used to draw when I was a teenager and active in fandoms, but it had never really worked out for me. I still remember the first time I posted my art online—the first comment I got was a bunch of crying-laughing emojis.

Drawing helped me escape. Even while I was posting K/S smut, there were times when I had no money for food and was late on rent, all while my hometown was being bombed almost daily by Ukrainian forces. Immersing myself in the fandom helped me cope with the harshness of reality.

I had almost resigned myself to the idea that I would never be able to enter the West again. But then, one fateful day, I received the email I’d been waiting for—I was asked to pick up my visa. I cried and laughed; I couldn’t believe it.

The move to Germany was difficult. It’s a huge bureaucratic country, but I made it. My story isn’t finished yet—I’m still waiting for my residence permit, and God, I hope I get it. I know a bit of German, and I feel safe here, so I hope to settle down for good. For now, I work on my small business and draw K/S fan art on the side, finding solace in the creative space I’ve carved for myself. I’ve spent years running, surviving, and rebuilding. Where fate will take me next—I can’t be sure. But I know that whatever comes, I’ll face it as I always have—one step ahead, always moving forward.

#lgbtq community #queer #trans ftm #star trek #lgbtqia #life stuff #transgender

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