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theworldofotps · 14 days 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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bloodibambiidoll · 1 year 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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lieutenantabrudas · 4 months ago

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[ID: a drawing of a salarian from mass effect scowling at something off to her left side on a light turquoise background. her skin is bright yellow on her head and back, and bright blue on her limbs and front, with black spots all over. her right horn is tall and thin, the left has been broken off at the base. one eye is cybernetic with three glowing red optical lenses. her right half is covered in burn scars, her face has three diagonal claw scars, her right foot is skeletal and missing webbing with scraps of skin where the webs used to be, and both legs are wrapped in support braces to help her walk. she is wearing a sleeveless green hoodie with a mesh window over her heart, black shorts, and three animal teeth on a leather cord around her neck that have been stained with green blood. one hand is holding a smoking blunt. end ID]

today on disabled exdiff major characters im drawing for disability pride month, the second-most complex design i have for a main character, the bad reverend serial killer aka gurji taeja! taeja first appears in chapter 41 of broken mirror and sticks around for 3 chapters to help shepard and company, then reappears in blood in the water as a deuteragonist dragging shepard into an adventure against their will to go save terra nova. shepard doesn't like her but too bad, i the author do, and so do my readers. she's off doing her own work at the moment in in the land of giants, but she'll be back soon!

the blunt isn't weed btw it's a hallucinogenic drug called naenoda used by salarian priests to commune with the gods. taeja was trained as a priest of the death gods and still follows the god of just deaths and revenge, even though she's otherwise cut all ties with organized religion due to backstory reasons, and smokes a bit of naenoda from time to time for fun and also pain relief. come read my fic i'm very normal about this oc.

her legs were mangled by a predator attack when she was young, and due to her shitheel brother who lured her into it in the first place (it's cool those teeth around her neck are from the predator that tried to eat her and that's her brother's blood on them, don't worry about it :) ) she was left for dead and had to drag herself back to civilization, so they uh. didn't heal right, exactly, and struggle to support her weight. nowadays she alternates between standard braces, special braces that were built into her armor's endosuit, and sometimes a walking stick for short distances if she's already taken them off for the day but needs something from the kitchen.

things got dialed up to 11 after she fled to omega, joined eclipse, had a falling out with eclipse, and was beaten most of the way to death (intentional) and nearly burned alive (accidental) - note her toes on the one side, there's scraps of what used to be webbing attached to her toes, but the fire effectively seared them away and now that foot sinks lower and spreads further than the other trying to support her weight. her eye was completely unsalvageable, and the surgeons offered her a clone replacement, but she opted for the cybernetic robot eye partially because it's cool and partially because she got recruited for the spectres in the process and wanted a cyborg eye for combat advantages. not pictured are all the additional cybernetics under her skin to rebuild her arm and leg and keep her organs working, and the extra stuff wired into her brain to control everything (especially the eye) and, ah. fix some brain damage. she's fine it's fine. the right half of her face is also paralyzed, and her vocal chords were burned, so facial expressions and speaking are difficult, but it's fine, that's what a few extra apps on her omni-tool and a vocoder implanted in her throat are for. she's fine!!

also she successfully completed spectre training and promptly went back to omega, killed all the eclipse mercs who tried to kill her, and also killed her shithead emotionally abusive father and sealed his bones in her armor so he can never enter the reincarnation cycle and will be trapped in limbo forever, it's fine, she's doing fine, she's definitely stable and does not need therapy about anything she's fine she has hallucinogens and a VI in her brain and batarian friends who are better family than her own she's FINE

#mass effect #salarians #salarian oc #mass effect oc #gurji taeja #drawing #digital #exdiff #drugs cw #fought for my fucking life with this one. burn scars are really hard to do in my style without painstakingly outlining every inch #did it like 5 years ago. dont like how it looks now. spent like 3 hours trying to figure it out last night #i literally spent 12 hours on this yesterday please clap

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beautification-tales · 3 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

38 notes · View notes

wannab-urs · 9 months ago

Text

Outtakes - Monsterfucking

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Here's a list of fics I've read where either the Pedro boy, the reader, or everyone involved is a monster of some sort.

Summaries and tags are, in most cases, provided by the author - please be sure to read them as some of these fics may have content you do not wish to read.

Pedro boys currently included are: Joel Miller, Ezra, Din Djarin, Dave York, Marcus Pike, Dieter Bravo, Jack Daniels, Frankie Morales, Oberyn Martell, Max Phillips, and Tim Rockford.

updated 5/24/2024

Demon

Met the Devil Last Night

Joel one shot by @pedgito

I made a joke about wanting to screw dirt-covered Joel even if he was deep in the trenches of hell and...well, yeah. This is pure filth and nothing else. Porn with minuscule plot, if you will

fem!reader, demon!joel, no specific age gap since dude is a literal demon, but reader is early 20s and I picture Joel to be his younger self (around 36), mentions of su*cidal ideations, this all a completely made up concept pls don't come for me about rituals, ect i will cry. virgin!reader, reader's father is a priest and horrible (just a total douche)/mother isn't alive, spitting, oral, unprotected piv, blood drinking, competency kink, innocence kink, mutual masturbation

In Every Lifetime

Ezra series by @xdaddysprincessxx

It’s fall of 1974 in your quiet small town of Chesterfield when everything falls apart. Or is it the beginning?

Reader is mid to late 20s, witchcraft, tarot, yes the witchy things depicted in this is real witchcraft things, use of Latin

Common Courtesies

Din one shot by @juletheghoul

Pride and Prejudice vibes but Mr. Darcy is a sex demon

**pussy-eating** language, age-gap (legal, reader is of age) dirty talk, supernatural elements, sexist society, sexist comments from readers father

Solum

Dave York one shot by @ezrasbirdie

Are you lost?" Your heart seizes with fear at the deep rumbling voice, head jerking to look in the direction it came from. It’s too dark. You can’t see anything. "Who’s—who’s there?" You ask, hoping you sound braver than you feel. "You didn’t answer my question,” it said. “Are you lost?' You swallow. You shouldn’t be here. You’ve never stepped foot in this building before today. You have no business here. But lost? No. You’re exactly where you set out to be.

SMUT, dubious consent [reader wants to be with him, but he's a demon so you know—it's a little influenced]—dead dove, this is horror and Dave York is an actual demon who kills people, graphic violence, body horror, a dash of blood kink, oral sex

Sell My Soul For You

Marcus P one shot by @absurdthirst

During girls night out, you accidentally dial your boyfriend, Marcus Pike. He hears you complain about how vanilla your sex life is and that you need to him to be more dominant. Marcus proves he’s willing to do anything to please you, even if the cost is his soul.

Angst, hurt feelings, demon possession, dominant!Marcus, oral (male and female receiving), face fucking, spanking, pussy slapping, spitting, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, bondage/handcuffs, anal play, double penetration (fingers and cock), soft aftercare.

Incubus

Crawling Back to You

Dieter one shot by @prolix-yuy

Have you no idea that you're in deep?

religious corruption kink, bastardizing prayers, brief drug use, mentions of alcohol consumption, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, breaking a hymen, descriptions of blood, biting and drawing blood, pheromone incubus anatomy, size difference/kink like whoa, monster transformation, monster fucking, PiV sex, wildly unrealistic sex, kind of dubious consent in the way that she has no idea what she's getting into so Dieter checks in A LOT, consent is sexy and monsters especially should ask for it, Reader has no idea what she's doing when it comes to summoning an incubus.

Dream Within a Dream

Ezra one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Your dreams have become the escape from your draining life. When you discover you are not alone in your dreamworld, will all the aspects lacking in your waking life be fulfilled by your handsome companion?

dream fucking, loss of virginity, depictions and deviations of supernatural lore, erotic gore

Cryptid

Mothman Fever

Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

You and your friends head to Point Pleasant, West Virginia in late September for the Mothman Festival. And that’s where you meet Joel Miller, a fellow Mothman enthusiast. But once you spend some time alone with him you realize that he’s not who he says he is.

Smut, canon divergence, semi-public sex, alcohol, no outbreak, pet names (luna), oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, PiV sex, sex pollen, dubcon, monsterfucking

Oh, Honey

Joel series by @lincolndjarin

you’ve been given a gift. a fresh start in a brand new place, the sleepy little town of Honey, WV. a distant aunt has passed away and left you a little plot of land and her camper, the stars must be aligning for you because the local mortician is looking for an assistant and you’re desperate for the work experience. your new employer even offers to set you up with her brother-in-law! things are looking up, you’ve got a brand new home, a new town, a hot date, (and thanks to a series of bear attacks that started immediately after your arrival) you have more than enough work to keep you busy!

Soulmates AU, eventual smut, teratophilia, graphic descriptions of violence, explicit descriptions of menstruation, graphic descriptions of the mortuary process, horror, depictions of extreme fear, body horror, graphic depictions of death, eldritch horror. this is a monster fucker fic, proceed accordingly

Sanguine

ˆEzra one shot by marisferasiop

since being turned as a boy into- whatever liminal state of cryptid he is now- Ezra has walked this earth ageless and alone, never finding his place or a partner for long. He interrupts your meal in the city one evening, and brings you home to strike up a deal; feed from him, alone, and keep one another safe from discovery. The fact that he finds his purpose under the soft graze of your teeth and home between your thighs is a nice side effect.

lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.

Tentacles

MDKT Sex Pollen

Joel one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings

Your patrol with Joel goes a little sideways

Dead Dove Do Not Eat/DDDNI, noncon/heavy dubcon, body horror, tentacles, mouth r*pe, double/triple penetration, bondage, non-consensual bondage, choking, deep throating, pheromones, sex pollen, tentacles, mind fuck/mind break, brainwashing, guilt, trauma, trauma bonding. Let me know if I missed anything.

Taungsdays, am I right?

Din one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings

You awaken to find yourself and Din in an alien position.

Smut, dubcon/noncon, pheromones, tentacle sex, bondage, mind-fuck, alien sex, unprotected PiV, anal sex, double penetration, dirty talk

The Stranger the Better

Dieter one shot by @seventeenpins

Dieter gets tentacles. That's the fic.

uhhhh this one has a whole lot: importantly--TENTACLES!, lots of viscous body fluids, slight dubcon due to tentacles with a mind of their own??, buckets of cum, piv, tiv 👀, dieter is a switch, sex parasite, anal, masturbation, body horror, idk they're freaks and it's great, reader has a vulva but gendered language is not used

Dragon

Promise

Ezra one shot by @criticallyacclaimedstranger

You are taken from you village by a dragon, and he has an obscene proposition for you.

Human/Monster Romance, Monsterfucking, initial dubcon (sort of a damned if you do damned if you don't deal), dragon fucks reader, Breeding, Oviposition, Stomach Bulge, PIV Sex, Loss of Virginity, Painful Sex, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, dragon!ezra is really good with his tongue, Squirting, All's well that ends well though, seriously I don't know how to warn for this fic guys, dragon biology is weird, DON'T LOOK AT ME! Light Bondage, drugging, pet names

Werewolf

Bad Moon Rising

Jack series by @wardenparker

When a handsome stranger called Jack shows up on your struggling ranch looking for work, you’re more than happy to take him in - and into your bed, as well.Death of a parent, loss of a spouse, general family drama.

Vaginal sex, oral sex, rough sex, Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy is basically a life motto here, Gunshot wound, first aid things, blood mention, raw meat mention. Vaginal sex, oral sex, rough sex, so much cum, size kink, squirting, anal play/ass eating, monster fucking.

Shifter

SNAFU

Frankie series by @theywhowriteandknowthings

You’ve done this thousands of times, brought new teams to heel, be it in Britain, Japan, Korea, yet the States are always the hardest to wrangle, the mixture of over-hyped masculinity, the general military bravado, whatever it was, you always ran into trouble. But nothing has ever come close to the new Shifter Charlie Team, and boy, are you in for the biggest challenge of your life.

Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shifter AU, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, eventual Frankie x reader, former Jason x Reader, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Military, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Pack Dynamics, Pack Cuddles, Pack Building, Strong Female Characters, strong female lead

Alien

Kudzu

Ezra one shot by @beskarberry

a familiar stranger shows up at the doorstep of your infirmary with unfamiliar wounds. You're no doctor, but masquerading as one makes you the only one in the position to save his life. Can you win out against his extraterrestrial illness, or will his new abilities stake a claim in you as well?

NON-CON/DUB-CON, human/alien hybridization, forced breeding/impregnation/birth, rough/feral sex, sex pollen, body worship, cervix penetration, cum inflation, knotting, a wisp of a/b/o. Nonsexual: wound care and dressing, hurt/comfort, a little whumpish, shootouts, blood, dumb jokes, cheesy ending

Jizz Fingers

various boys series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

An intergalactic creampie love story.

Smut, alternate universe, aliens, crack fic, penetrative vaginal sex, creampie

Mermaid

Rises the Moon

Joel one shot by @psychedelic-ink

As the man responsible for operating the lighthouse, Joel lives a solitary life on the isolated coast. He has no complaints, enjoying the hauntingly beautiful songs that echo from the sea at night. One stormy night, he rescues a mysterious mermaid tangled in a fishing net. As you recover in the lighthouse, the two form an unlikely bond and find comfort in each other's company.

mention of joel from time to time visiting a brothel, loneliness, mermaid anatomy things, oral (fem receiving), piv, touch starved!joel and reader, mild breeding kink, squirting

Swamp Creature

Beneath the Mire

Ezra one shot by @bonezone44

You're a human-turned-swamp monster and a man crashes into your corner of the bayou.

DDDNE, Non-con somnophilia. Blowjob. Unprotected p-in-v.

Vampire

Sated

Joel one shot by @softlyspector

Joel just wants you to eat well

love as being consumed, blood drinking, smut from start to finish (piv, f!receiving oral, fingering), Joel's praise kink, talk of eating, consuming, drinking, hunger, etc, vampires you get it.

Attraction Spell

Joel one shot by @jksprincess10

Vampire Joel finds witchy reader in her shop asks her for a love spell

DDDNE, noncon/dubcon, stalking, blood play, using blood as lube, ambiguous ending, unprotected p in v, fingering, praise kink, choking, pain kink, rough sex, minimal editing.

Bleed for me

Din series by @saradika

When it's revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you're hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.

vampires, alternate universe, canon divergence, blood/drinking blood, shared memories, angst, death/violence, biting, body worship, possessive!pleasure!dom!din, implied aphrodisiacs, mind meld, praise kink, oral, piv, marking

The Special One

Joel one shot by @toxicanonymity

You meet a handsome stranger on a night out with friends. The last thing you're expecting is to be chained up in his basement.

Smut, age gap, alcohol, drugging and kidnapping, chains/restraints, blood and its consumption, oral sex (female receiving), period cunnilingus, dubcon, held in captivity, reader can menstruate, male masturbation, vampire!Joel, alternate universe, dark!Joel

Vampire!Dieter

Dieter one shot by @chronically-ghosted

Interview with a vampire, gatsby style

flirting, a bit of blood, maybe dubcon due to The Thrall but i think it's safe to say we all want It from vampire!dieter, unbeta-ed because i needed to write something or someone was going to die

vamp but it's you

Everyone at this party's a vampire

Dieter one shot by @idolatrybarbie

"you look so pretty like this."

briefly discussed necrophilia, innuendo, heavy petting

Sanguine

Ezra one shot by @marisferasiop

lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.

vamp but it's everyone

a court of fangs and foxgloves

Oberyn/Max P one shot @psychedelic-ink

After you left the court and hence Oberyn, no one is eager to forgive you for your betrayal. Especially those closest to you.

Smut, MMF threesome/orgy, voyeurism, mlm dynamics, Dom/sub dynamics, sub!Max, switch!reader, dom!Oberyn, rimming, ass play, anal sex, penetrative vaginal sex, biting, mentions of blood, vampirism

I Bite Back

One shot by me

Max Phillips is seemingly always in command, always domineering, always on top… except when he’s with you.

Dom!Reader, Bratty Sub!Max, pegging… duh. This is technically monsterfucking also lmao. Aftercare is implied because I'm implying it here, I didn't write that in. Oh also vamp!reader if you want but I don't really make that explicit

Red Right Hand

one shot by me

You and Max have dinner and then you get freaky. It’s almost too much for poor little Maxxie to handle.

Pure porn, pwp, Blood drinking (they’re both vampires), minor character death (your victim lol), murder… obviously. sub!Max, Dom!reader, unprotected PiV (they’re vampires, you are not), uhhh blasphemy probably, face riding, cum eating, Max’s vamp face, oral m! and f!receiving, overstimulation m!receiving, multiple male orgasms, refractory period nonexistent due to vampire fuckery, ass play m!receiving, praise kink, use of pet names/titles (Mistress for reader/ baby boy, pet, Maxxie, and one surprise for Max), aftercare, no use of y/n.

Only Lovers Left Alive

Joel Series by @atinylittlepain

He offers her another option between life and death. How could she refuse?

Smut, dubcon, gore, blood and bloodplay, dark themes, cowboy!vampire!Joel, set in the past, alternate universe

vamp but it's max phillips

With Cherries on Top

series by @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa

After countless late nights and giving up important things in your life for a job and a man that refuses to promote you, your family begs you to quit when you break it to them that you have to miss your grandmother’s 85th birthday. Max Phillips may have left the country an American citizen but he came back an undead vampire, meaning his status in the States is no longer valid. In order to not get deported to Romania, he tells immigration that the two of you are getting married and he strikes a deal to make it worth your while.

Smut, language, adult themes, sexual innuendos, workplace harassment, family issues, angst, hurt/comfort, manipulation

A Little Lipstick Never Hurts

Reader/Max/Dieter series by @max--phillips

Max tries to skip his morning inspection, but gets caught breaking one of the rules you set for him anyway. A punishment is in order. / Max realizes a fantasy, and you enlist Dieter Bravo to help you deliver. / You receive a very hot video from your boyfriends while you are at work. The making of said video requires Max to break some rules you'd previously set out for him. He and Dieter make it up to you very easily.

Forced Feminization, but it's consensual, Femdom, Chastity Device 24/7, D/s dynamic, Sex Toys, BDSM, reader referred to as Mistress and Ma'am, Impact Play, Riding Crop, Bondage, Anal Fingering, Pegging, Butt Plugs, Degradation, Deepthroating, face fucking, gagging, spit, ruined orgasm, Nipple Clamps, Cum Play, Cum Eating, Oral Sex, Aftercare, there is NO misgendering, Max's ass does get referred to as his pussy and his dick his clit, but that's as far as that goes, MMF, threesome, PIV, double penetration, cock cages, ball gag, choking, max is a vampire, blow jobs, sex tapes, cum swapping, rule negotiations, fluff

Reflective

series by @prolix-yuy

His management style is effective AND refreshing. And as his executive assistant, you’re partially to thank. But as your professional relationship blurs, are you getting too close to the middle manager monster of nightmares?

horror elements and themes, graphic descriptions of blood including drinking, background character un-death, violence, fingering (f-receiving), vomiting (not descriptive), descriptions of a panic attack, a dabble of sleazy coworkers, playing fast and loose with vampire lore. mirror shenanigans, fingering (f-receiving), oral sex (f-receiving), PiV sex (don’t be a fool wrap your tool), playing fast and loose with vampire lore.

Lust for a vampire

one shot by @idolatrybarbie

A lot of oddballs and strange characters visit a vampire strip club in a tourist town on the border. Max Phillips is unlike any of them.

Smut, mentioned drug use, background sex work, dubcon, supernatural stalking, blood, pussy slapping, orgasm denial, spit, physical altercation, vaginal fingering, pet names (sweet thing, honey, sweetheart)

The Impaler

Tim Rockford/Max/Reader one shot by @kiwisbell

Chief Detective Tim Rockford makes a breakthrough in New York City’s latest serial killer case. The mysterious culprit is in the mood to share more than information.

vampires, gothic architecture, slightly dubious consent, implied mind alteration/control, murder, death, blood, threesome, lots of biting, spanking, spitroasting, masturbation, DVP, fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap ur vampire dicks pls), wife sharing, free use kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), exchanging fluids, spitting, disgusting and filthy, max using cringey nicknames for reader’s pussy but it’s charming bc it’s max, handcuffs, light bondage, hair pulling

I cannot get you close enough

one shot by @leslie-lyman

“You have to invite me in, sweetheart.” Oh. Right. Vampire. “Come in, please,” you say demurely, and Max’s smile widens as he steps over the threshold into your apartment. He reaches for you again immediately, kicking your door closed and pulling you close. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Such a polite little Omega.”

A/B/O dynamics; one small scene of men being creepy and threatening towards reader (but, perhaps surprisingly, one of those men is not Max); extremely self-indulgent Halloween costumes on the part of your author; a bit of angst; fEeLiNgS; absolutely way too much plot and character backstory for what was supposed to just be porn; Alpha!Max is his own warning; heat sex; biting; blood-drinking; breeding kink; many, many creampies; Max has an absolutely filthy mouth; look, it’s heat sex with Max, it probably (hopefully?) entails exactly what you think it does

All Mouth

one shot by @idolatrybarbie

max phillips and prompt no. nine— "you look so pretty like this." with a twist!

reader is not American/not an "American vampire", porn with mild plot, pet names (honey, baby, sweetie, Maxxie), all the usual vampire genre warnings, including but not limited to - graphic blood and gore, cannibalism, mention of scars, horror themes, love as consumption, smut - mommy kink, degradation (max gets called a slut), cock slapping, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, handjob, alcohol mention, fluff.

It Will Come Back

Max Phillips one shot by @beskarandblasters

Against your better judgment, you let Max drink your blood.

reader is able-bodied, blood sucking, unhealthy dynamic between Max and reader, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (baby), dark ending kinda???, idk maybe a little out of character for him but fuck it we ball, no use of y/n

Crawl

one shot by @proxima-writes

Gym owner Max Phillips offers to let you use the sauna. In return, he uses your mouth.

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), no use of y/n, able bodied reader, dirty talk, crawling, oral (m receiving), no aftercare, semi-public sex.

Happy Reading!

#i meant to set this to post on my birthday oops #fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #the spreadsheet outtakes #the spreadsheet digest outtakes #outtakes #monsterfucking

106 notes · View notes

deepsix-writing · 10 months ago

Text

Fix You. Chapter 1 of 5. (BEGINNING)

After the events of Marble Hornets, Tim is left to pick up the pieces of what is left of his old life. One piece in particular has him haunted.

(NEXT CHAPTER)

When Tim had first seen the hooded figure lying motionless on its back after falling off the balcony, he'd thought, good. Another puppet of the Operator down… one step closer to putting an end to this nightmare. He hadn't realized it was, instead, the beginning of an entirely new one.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message… or don't. Here's the beep.'

Never had Tim known the sound of a dial tone so well. His devotion to that voicemail inbox was as a priest to his god; He knelt in prayer morning, noon, and night, begging and pleading with whatever force it was that looked down on him from heaven to let him hear his best friend's voice just one more time. Steadfast in faith, he never stopped calling, never stopped hoping, even as the seasons changed and he did too. Even as the police came in search of missing persons, and went when they found nothing, Tim remained. His razor collected dust in his bathroom. A beard as thick as his misplaced hope had cropped up on his face.

The investigations had been particularly difficult for Tim, especially when detectives had shown up on his doorstep. For Brian's, he'd easily been able to shrug them off and convince both them and himself that the college student must have been off visiting family out in the west, or enjoying a break from classes by the coast. It was summer, and the benefit of the doubt was his seldom hope. He called Brian's number and let the voicemail play for the police once, then a million times more for himself after they were long gone.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message… or don't. Here's the beep.'

Then came Alex's. The film student had worked up a track record of unexplained disappearances already (something Tim relayed to the cops word for word), but Tim didn't have much else to say about him. The man had already painted the walls of Tim's mind with a noxious crimson; he couldn't bear to lose another shred of his regards to him. The detectives said they would keep in touch with Tim if they discovered anything new, and they went on their way. Tim let the sound of Brian's canned voicemail message fill the empty space in the meantime.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message… or don't.'

Time marched on. Tim marched on. In the mornings, he took his medicine, listened to the voicemail, and afterwards he went to work. Admittedly, the job he worked was a crappy one, but it was the first he'd managed to hold down in years. It would do. Tim would keep to himself and do just enough to get by until he was let off in the evening. Stopping by a gas station for cheap junk food on the way home was a mandatory part of the routine; he would do anything to prolong the inevitable sight awaiting him in his apartment.

He wades through the garbage of his overgrown and messy apartment after he wedges the door open and carefully locks it back up again. It is welcome procrastination for when he makes it to his bathroom and looks in the mirror. When he looks at himself, all he sees is blood.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message…'

His god is dead. Tim isn't sure how long he's been praying to a corpse, but now he's able to smell the rot. It fills his nose and makes it hard to think. When he looks in the mirror, all he sees is death.

A tidal wave of blood replaces the ringing in his ears. He grips the edges of his sink. He stares down a murderer. A brutal killer that single-handedly delivered the end to all of his closest friends. People who'd had rich lives and bright futures ahead of them.

Alex's last moments replay in his mind. His hands, the same ones that had gone white with how tightly he gripped the countertop, were the ones he had used to stab the film student in the throat and the image would never ever fucking leave him. Over and over, again and again until Alex was coughing and hacking and drowning in his own blood. The sound of a punctured windpipe was not one he would ever forget. The scene had smelled like metal and victory at an impossible cost. His hands had been stained red ever since.

It was a microscopic change, one Tim hadn't noticed at first, but he was certain the skin on his hands was a shade redder than the rest of his body. No amount of hand-washing or showers or even bleach would fix it, and no one at his crappy job had known him long enough to see the change like he did. But Tim knew. Tim could hold up his hand against his face and be able to tell. His hands were cursed by a near-transparent shade of crimson, and any time he looked at them, guilt burnt a hole in his stomach. His anxiety would be remedied with another replay of the voicemail that never changed.

It had taken Tim longer than he could proudly admit to figure out what that had meant for his former friend. Combing through Jay's online archive of footage to find out exactly who the hooded man was had taken even longer. It was like watching his brother's last moments on video after finding out he'd died the same night. In comparison, the voicemail was like hearing the voice of his patron saint.

Tim's faith dies in the middle of the night, when he lies in bed with a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other. The device is perched over his head, shining down on his face as he calls Brian's number, listens to the voicemail, and hangs up.

'Hey. It's Brian…'

It's a neurotic dance he repeats until his eyes grow tired and he's just on the verge of sleep, and then…

"Uh, hello? Who is this?"

Tim dropped the phone on his face before he knew how to react. It fell in the crevice between his side and the bed, and it took him a frantic moment to wrench it out.

"Brian, Brian! Holy shit, are you okay? It's Tim. It's me, Tim! Are you okay?? What, What happened–"

"Woah, hey!" Tim realized it wasn't Brian's voice. "-I'm not – I just found this phone on the side of the road earlier. It's not mine."

Then it set in. Then something withered inside him. When his lips moved, it was a miracle.

"…Where on the side of the road?"

"Oh, just by Rosswood Park. So are you friends with this Brian guy? He probably wants his phone ba–"

Tim snapped his phone shut and never called the number again. Sleep did not come to him that night, and in the next few weeks they were as lovers on thin, frayed ropes. Circles as dark as his guilt weighed down his eyes. Thoughts he'd put behind himself years before came running to catch up with him.

Tim was dead. His hope was a flickering candle that had been tossed into the ocean. It hadn't stood a chance. He hadn't stood a chance. He only knew of one thing left to do.

He found that one thing in his car keys and in his drive to Rosswood Park and in the loaded handgun he'd stuffed in his pocket. He parked his car sideways in the lot overlooking the forest. The front end of the car dipped past the painted dividers, and usually he'd hate it when people left their cars parked like that. Every time, Tim would grimace and regard the sight as a result of the driver lacking common decency. But in that moment, it was the last thing he could have ever thought to care about.

It was funny, how one simple piece of knowledge had changed Tim's entire perspective on life. He had decided that morning would be his last, and just like that, the world had flipped on its head. The rising sun was brighter, the morning sky was prettier, and his bed had been warmer. He even felt like cooking a meal for himself that day.

Tim went to the store after showering and dressing himself in his cleanest clothes. He bought just enough ingredients for this one recipe, and he even bought dried rosemary. It came in a little glass bottle, and was a dollar and sixty cents more expensive than the store brand spices he usually bought. Every time before, his eyes had passed over it. He'd excused the idea of buying it despite seeing it as an ingredient in countless recipes because it wasn't worth it, the dish would taste just as good without it, it was a waste of money. But when he used it to cook his last meal that day, it was like finding the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle he'd tried to put together years ago. It was the best food he'd ever tasted.

In the park, the birds chirped like an orchestra catered to Tim's ears. It was late fall, and the golden hues of falling leaves orbited around him. Before he joined the barren trees ranks, he sent a text to his former manager. Dead men can't work.

For a dead man, his feet were sure and steady. He knew exactly where he was going: the same place he'd died once before. Its once pristine white walls were peeling, and it was covered in graffiti now, but it hadn't changed any more than Tim had.

At the hospital, Tim had learned how the world worked. You start out whole, and every time the world beats you down, it takes a piece of you. With every friend he'd lost, Tim lost a chunk of his soul. And when he'd killed Alex, he'd lost a bigger chunk than he could have ever anticipated. Tim knew he wouldn't have enough of himself left afterwards to survive losing anyone else.

He'd always tried to find those pieces. It was the only reason he hadn't split town the moment he'd had the chance. Tim's eyes had always been full of stars and the against-all-odds hope that one day he could find those pieces again. Or maybe, he'd thought, he could find them again in someone else. But that someone else was gone, now.

Whatever pieces that had left him had rotted and decomposed. They nourished the soil that crept up from the floor of his old hospital room and grounded the lichen that hung from the ceiling. Time could put the very foundations of the room to ruin and Tim would still feel the years he'd spent locked away here like the ache in his feet from walking all this way.

It was as fitting a place as any to die. Tim envied his younger self: back when his mind was his biggest problem, and not his actions. As he closed the half-hinged door and trailed his hands along the peeling paint of his coffin, he hoped and prayed no adventurous teenagers would come and run into his body until the next summer, when wild animals had taken the pieces of him that would be left behind. He didn't want this place to harbor any more trauma for anyone else. He would end that legacy here and now.

Tim pulled the handgun from his pocket. It was warm from resting against his thigh. He brought it up to his chin, then thought better and let the tip of the barrel press against his temple. But it felt wrong. Too dramatic, too highschool. The warm metal slid to the center of his forehead instead. But he couldn't grip the trigger as well, he started to think that instead he could-

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Tim assumed it was the dead man's manager, replying to the dead man's lukewarm resignation text. But why not read a dead man's phone while he still could? He let the gun rest against the side of his head as he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.

'Hey. I know it's been a while since we've talked and you're probably pissed at me (understatement I know) but I need a ride. Really really need a ride. I'm supposed to be gone by 4, so if you could be here by then, I'd owe you my life.'

The text was from a number he didn't recognize and was accompanied by an address for some place in downtown Tuscaloosa. Tim was just on the verge of clicking his phone closed, excusing it as meant for someone else, when the unmarked number sent another message and suddenly there was no air in his lungs.

'This is Brian btw. Lost my old phone.'

Tim's grip on the handgun's trigger turned to wrought iron in his surprise, and a loud BANG made the last piece of himself jump out of his body. His ears didn't have enough time to stop ringing before both his phone and gun clattered to the floor. His fingers shot up to his head and he felt dizzy when he pulled them back to reveal blood.

Tim fell down on his ass and suddenly there was a fire in his body that burned hotter than the pain in his head. He wanted - no, needed - to stay alive. Even if that text wasn't actually from Brian…

No, it had to be. Needed to be. Tim brought his hands back up to his head, clasping his temples and crying out in relief when he realized his skull was still intact. Blood and heat still poured from his head, but he'd managed to isolate the unknown injury to a graze mark along his left temple. It was enough to sting like a bitch when his fingertips met the open wound, but wasn't deep enough to reach the bone.

It was the second most profound miracle of the day.

The third was how he'd managed to get back to his car without anyone seeing the state of his face, and fourth was the first aid kit he had stuffed in his car. He'd bought it impulsively about a month after he'd started listening to Brian's voicemail recordings, just in case he ever ran across his old friend on the side of the road on his way to the store or work. He had always held out hope for that man.

Tim checked the clock. 3:24pm.

The address from the text message had to be at least twenty minutes away. Shit.

Tim's work of patching up his temple through the foldout mirror in his car was sloppy, and no neater was he when he stuffed his handgun into the glove compartment and jammed his keys into the ignition. The ringing in his ears was the only accompaniment to his wild thoughts as he sped down the road to meet the man behind the text that had given him a new lease on life.

The address turned out to lead to a neat little building just a few blocks from the not-abandoned, non-psychiatric hospital in downtown Tuscaloosa. The sign out front seemed medical, but through Tim's stinging temple and his racing thoughts and the fire in his gut, he couldn't read past 'rehabilitation'. Tim pulled his car into the lot by the front doors and his parking job is just as crooked as it was in Rosswood Park's lot.

He's about to leave the car, but confronting whatever lies in wait for him suddenly wrenches his heart back to the park. His head lurches and he is in his bedroom with his phone, hearing the stranger's voice through Brian's number.

A cigarette would help ease his nerves, he's sure, but a sign by his car advertising a 'smoke-free facility' discourages him. He settles with rolling down his window and alternating between resting his arm on it and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. It's an ineffective compromise.

Tim looks at the front of the building through the film of grime on his windshield and watches as people filter in and out of the front doors. Some are in crutches, others have casts. All are accompanied by medical staff in clean uniforms, all accompanied by smiles and kind, encouraging words. Tim wonders which of the staff fake their smiles, and which of them see their patients as less than human. He averts his gaze as he locks eyes with one of them, too scared he'll find thinly-veiled hatred for him, too.

When a skinny figure in a wheelchair exits the building with a nurse by his side, Tim does not make the same mistake of not recognizing his best friend. He is bumbling along the paved concrete at a snail's pace, struggling to get the wheels to move smoothly. The chair goes sideways every other inch he advances, but his clothes are clean and he is smiling.

He is smiling. Brian is alive and well and smiling and Tim is launching himself out of his car without so much as turning off the engine. Brian says something to the nurse and laughs and only has a fraction of a second to throw his old friend a surprised glance before Tim snaps up the space between them like a greedy animal and holds him tight. His arms squeeze Brian with no mercy until an awkward chuckle from the man threatens him to burst.

"Gh - uh. Happy to see you too, man." Brian's words are choked out through strangled breaths. "I'd hug you back, but uh– ok. I can't breathe."

Tim relents only a moment later when Brian starts wheezing, and when he peels himself away, his hand still lingers on Brian's shoulder. Wayward priest, meet your angel. Here to reunite you with your maker.

Brian is glowing, at least in Tim's mind. His clothes are cleaner than he's ever seen them, and even as Brian says something to him that he doesn't make out, he's smiling. It's that same stupid, cheeky grin he'd wear whenever he'd tell cheesy puns and jokes to Tim in highschool. Those upturned eyes that always looked towards the sun and would exchange glances with him that said a million words regarded him now with joy despite it all. The same fiery passion in his gaze and ice water in his veins was there now, even now that Tim had completely blanked out on his words.

"Uh… Tim? You alright?"

Brian's voice carries all of the same, and Tim is undone. A weight melts off his shoulders, but something holes itself up in his throat. All he can manage is a nod.

Brian exchanges a look with the nurse and looks back at Tim. Then, he laughs. The sound is a fire that burns away Tim's fear and anxiety and gives way to a giddy feeling he can't remember the last time he'd felt. He moves a hand up to wipe his face and sniffs. He hadn't realized how wet his face had gotten.

Then, he smiles back. He isn't sure if his words will hold, but he tests the waters anyways.

"I missed you, Brian."

I thought you were dead. I mourned for you. Grieved for you as if I'd watched the soul leave your body with my own two eyes.

"I missed you too, Tim."

Brian just smiles. And it's more than Tim could have ever possibly hoped for.

#marble hornets #tim wright #brian thomas #fanfic #writers on tumblr #mh

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yippeeometer · 1 day ago

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May you do four corners for the ship headcanons?

i hate them

i need them exploded in a big bomb theyre soooooooo skrungle

first off everything is a group activity for them thats just the way it works. theyve perfected turning jobs like folding laundry and washing dishes and making them needlessly complicated to suit their codependency

thanksgiving ft nev threatening four losers bc theyve broken every plate in the house trying to make sure they can all take part in dish washing

dont lie to yourselves though they do suck. everything takes at least 8 hours to do thats just their way of life now. mostly bc ari wastes half their time playing devils advocate to everything new mex says to try and get him to physically fight him so he can impress colo. unfirtunately colo hasn't had a thought since the 60s and there is a second, more major issue in utah finally abandoning his peaceful ways and finally going apeshit.

oh and theyre losers. they just suck they never win the win to lose ratio of their lives is crazy. yet every time they get into another scheme new mex just goes 'oh remember how well we did last time' and they all collectively forget theyre idiots

many people think that what ut brings to the table is just pure kindness WRONG hes got endurance baby. he can put up with three people chanting 'say the f word' at him for hours and not even blink'

also hes not that pure fellas him and new mex are talking so much chisme it would make ur ears bleed. they try and explain it to the other two but theyre not well versed enough in brainrot to translate

coco and ari are getting sooooooooo cozy watching their subway surfers brainrot. yk ari is super duper warm and coco is sooooo cold theyre doing well together. they must do this in secret bc new mex has been thrown into violent rage at tiktok rizz party and quandale dingle.

they just stand there guys i dont know how to describe it to you. it would fill you with rage the way these four are so akward and strange in their weird little line

tell me they wouldn't fuck the slopes up though guys. tell me they wouldnt. theyre doing 360s n shit trying to show off (no one cares and it makes ari SO upset)

their house is such a nightmare new mex is sooo super scary and paranormal that utah has a priest on speed dial to sort out this shit. the closest they ever get to ut dropping the f bomb is when new mex starts bringing his collection of haunted aritfacts into the house and ari starts trying to piss off a ghost.

i hate them can someone kill them with a hammer? please? theyre such odd little bugs i just think the either a) completely matching outfits in slight color variations bc theyre all absolutely colorblind but no one can tell them or b) dressed for 8 different occasions in just 3 and 1/2 outfits is bizaree. strange guys.

#wttt #welcome to the statehouse #wttsh #wttt headcanons #wttt colorado #wttt arizona #wttt utah #wttt new mexico

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south-of-heaven · 1 year ago

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Rhea and Damian where reader’s terrified of thunders but they’re making a show and reader is home alone and they grew worried because they know that you were scared

Thunder || Rhea Ripley x Reader x Damian Priest

Summary: You're home alone when a thunderstorm breaks out, your partners, who know how scared you are of the loud thunderclaps, go through every option possible of what they can do to comfort you from a distance, but in the end they can't resist coming home to you.

You were home alone when the first rumble of thunder echoed through the skies. Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel the anxiety creeping up as the storm intensified outside. Thunderstorms had always been a source of fear for you, but you were trying your best to stay calm. Both Rhea and Damian were away at the arena, busy with their appearances and wrestling commitments.

As the storm grew louder and more intense, your anxiety skyrocketed. You considered calling one of them, seeking comfort and reassurance, but you didn't want to bother them during their busy schedules. You knew they would worry about you, and that made you hesitant to reach out.

But Rhea and Damian knew you well, and they were always attuned to your emotions. Despite their own busy schedules, they couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. They exchanged worried glances, their concern for you evident.

Finally, Rhea picked up her phone and dialed your number. She waited anxiously as the phone rang, hoping you would pick up. On the other end, your heart skipped a beat as you saw her name on the screen. You took a deep breath and answered the call.

"Hey, babe. Are you okay?" Rhea's voice was filled with genuine concern.

You tried to sound strong, but the fear was evident in your voice as you replied, "I'm... I'm okay. Just a bit scared of the storm."

Rhea's heart ached hearing the fear in your voice. "Do you want me to come home? I can leave the arena and be there with you."

"No, it's okay. I don't want to ruin your schedule," you said, trying not to let your anxiety overwhelm you.

But Rhea was having none of it. "Don't worry about that. Your well-being is more important to me. I'll be there in no time."

Damian, who had been listening to the conversation, nodded in agreement. "I'm coming too. We'll be there soon, just hang in there."

You were torn between wanting them to be with you and not wanting to interrupt their work. But their reassurances were comforting, and you felt a little less alone knowing they were on their way.

As the minutes passed, you could hear the storm intensifying outside, and your anxiety continued to rise. But then, you heard a knock on the door. Your heart leaped with relief as you rushed to open it.

Rhea and Damian stood there, soaked from the rain, but with expressions of love and concern on their faces. They didn't waste any time and enveloped you in a warm embrace, holding you tightly.

"We're here now. You're not alone," Rhea whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"We won't leave you, okay? You don't have to face this storm alone," Damian added, running his fingers soothingly through your hair.

Their presence was a balm to your anxious soul, and you felt yourself beginning to calm down. The three of you huddled on the couch, Rhea and Damian on either side of you, providing a comforting shield against the storm.

As the thunder boomed outside, you squeezed their hands tightly, finding strength in their support. They stayed by your side, offering comfort and reassurance until the storm finally passed.

"Thank you," you whispered, looking at them with tearful eyes.

Rhea smiled and kissed your cheek. "You don't have to thank us. We'll always be here for you, no matter what."

Damian nodded, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "We love you, and we'll always be here to help you through the storms, both the literal and metaphorical ones."

And with that, you felt a deep sense of gratitude for having Rhea and Damian by your side. Their love and care were a constant source of strength, and you knew that no matter what challenges you faced, you could always count on them to be there for you.

#wwe fanfiction #wwe x reader #pro wrestling #wrestling #wwe #damian priest #damian priest x reader #damian x reader #rhea ripley x reader x damian priest #damian priest x rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #rhea x reader #rhea ripley

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eldar-of-zemlya · 2 months ago

Text

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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