#im writing MASH

[variousqueerthings]

Your thoughts about kinky ace Hawkeye are GENIUS YES YES YES

look, I have an endlessly long post on ace and aromantic Hawkeye that I may eventually finish, but for now shortly:

the idea of not knowing what it is you want to ask for, and even approaching the ideas of it from the fringes is taboo (YES ALAN ALDA I WILL RUN WITH YOUR "HAWKEYE HASN'T BEEN TOPPED BY A WOMAN DESPITE ALL EVIDENCE TO WANTING SOMETHING ALONG THOSE LINES" AND DO WITH IT WHAT I LIKE)

I say "topped" and not "dommed" on purpose, because that's what I mean about not knowing what to ask for and even the fringes of the idea of it being taboo

and heck, the idea of sex without love is taboo as well -- thinking eternally about Erika shooting Hawkeye down on the marriage front as an awakening of some kind (but likewise one that doesn't have words to go along with it)

and will also run with later-seasons Hawkeye having less sex, but also less touch, and think about how touch-and-sex-and-sex-and-love-and-love-and-monogamy are so intertwined even today, so sex isn't the worst thing in the world, but the attraction is somewhat to the left of what has always been described as something innate

there's a drive for... something, but it's getting out of his head, getting rid of stress, getting into his body, and what other ways are there than sex?

and also the feelings Hawkeye has for his friends are far deeper than any feelings he might have for a respective sexual partner, but there are rules about how close you're allowed to get to your friends -- especially the married ones -- even in a place outside of Society, like the 4077th

something about touch and who is allowed to get close to him and who he wants to have close to him and the general air of "this is good enough -- it's not right, but it's not the most wrong" which imbues a lot of the story in many ways

and also something about sex as a convenient joke to shock people -- in this case taking the "when is a joke a joke" and running with it (versus "when is a joke real," which is also a continuous question with this show....)

I just think he'd enjoy subspace. I think it would be a nice place for him to be. and I think he'd like being cuddled afterwards by the right person, whom he could trust.

[loopnoid]

more mash nonsense i've been accumulating. yes i can draw things that are not bj and hawkeye sometimes. that being said nsfw(?) beejhawk under the cut

[kyoghurts]

LOVER ACTS. mashle headcanon 𞥙୧

˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ being your lover and being in love comes with a habit, sprung from the ground and grows like a flower. MASHLE VARIOUS CHARS have a habit of . . .

ᥫ᭡ MASH BURNEDEAD

. . . resting his chin on your palm at any chance he sees. this guy is so tenderly and quietly affectionate especially in the physical aspect. you might say he’s a bit of a touch starved. he won’t say it, though if you ask him he won’t lie to you either. so whenever you’re both alone and doing insignificant things, you offer your hand for him to plant a small kiss and he’ll just keep his lips on your palm, or rest his chin, looking into your eyes with intensity that tells you so much. you need not ask the gods if he’s meant for you or you’re meant for him. he only has eyes for you, only you.

ᥫ᭡ LANCE CROWN.

. . . playing with your hair. or simply making it a routine to tend to your hair: comb, trim (if it gets too long), braid, and if he’s in the mood to dive more intimate: he’ll wash your hair. he’s like your personal hairdresser, he might as well be, with how good he is at taking care of them. when outside or at class, he’ll absentmindedly brush a few strands off your face or slightly ruffle them. but sometimes it gets annoying for you, and when you try to pry off his hands you’ll have yourself blessed by the airy chuckle you hear from lance. mind you, getting this kind of reaction from your boyfriend occurs once in a blue moon, so, you’ll say nothing. instead, you’ll savor every breath of it and how his hands can be so good to you (and your hair.)

ᥫ᭡ FINN AMES

. . . sending small trinkets. handmade letters, doodles from only half spending his attention to his lecturers, paper cranes, stickers, you know it. you’re pretty sure your room is going to be full with his little stuffs, and he’s not going to hide the sheer happiness he feels whenever he visits you. he’ll ask you where you put them or if he sees it displayed out in the open, he’s going to get all misty about it. and he would want to create more for you for this purpose: to show the contents of his love for you.

ᥫ᭡ DOT BARRETT.

. . . singing you crappy & cheesy love songs. oh i know this man is going to be super annoying and loud but but but— you can tolerate it. why? this guy can sing like he’s destined to step on the stage. it can also be the sole reason why you fell for him, he’s not afraid to express himself. not to you or anyone, whether you’re out in public or private, he will sing to you all the love songs he knows. and from the way you playfully shut him up with light jabs (or if you’re feeling confident in yourself, a quick kiss to his lips), it will be the key that gives way to your feelings. and well, its okay, you’re not afraid to express yourself, either.

ᥫ᭡ LEMON IRVINE

. . . recommending songs & films. even better, you both could listen/watch to it! she’ll be over the moon, painted by glistening stars of happiness, bonus points if you tell her in a novel detailed way on your thoughts after, does it remind you of something? a memory? a feeling? how and why so? you could ramble until the sun comes shining, she’ll never get tired of it, never of you.

ᥫ᭡ RAYNE AMES.

. . . spoiling/treating you with gifts. he’ll come home and there’s not an ounce of surprise written off your face as you see literal shopping bags and what’s funny is that he won’t look at you in the eye, he’s just going to shove it to you and walk away. you could go shopping together and, granted that he is perceptive, he will buy anything that catches your eye for a minute longer. never say no. you will regret it. he’s going to sulk, he’s going to ignore you until you apologize. (in the form of taking and accepting his gifts so yeah, he still wins in the end.) also uh, he also has a habit of nuzzling his head on the crook of your neck hehe :3

ᥫ᭡ ABYSS RAZOR.

. . . gazing at your eyes and complimenting them. i’m pretty sure he’ll also slip a few flowery words on every part of your face, but i will emphasize on the eyes. they’re so captivating to him, they tell a story about a kind soul such as yours, and it reminds him how he’s so loved and seen. and when you tell him he’s the reason the sparkle in your eyes exist? how it softens whenever it connects with his? the world will never know the feeling that abyss has in his heart, and it’s immense—but never heavy, its full, its floating, its beautiful. you’re beautiful, inside and out.

ᥫ᭡ ABEL WALKER.

. . . taking you to a romantic and fancy dinner on a very well-known restaurant with candle lits and everything because he is the absolute elegant of a man and he will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. like the goddamn queen/king that you are. like the goddamn your highness that you are. and when he takes you home, let the moonlight grace your face but let him kiss your lips like the world is about to end. i cannot imagine him acting otherwise. take this hc or leave it.

notes. pops in randomly hi :3 pops out and become inactive for the next few days

© kyoghurts. ★ reblogs & likes are well appreciated!

[rendevok]

The sensation of waking up next to you ❤️💙

+bonus doodle:

…and they mimir’d happily ever after the end. ❤️

(ID under cut!)

Miles is roused from sleep by sunlight shining on his face. Slowly, his eyes adjust to the light, until finally, his scope of awareness broadens to a body he had been sleeping on.

Page 2

Miles looks up to the figure that holds him, and upon seeing, his eyes widen in recognition.

Miles looks up to the figure that holds him, and upon seeing, his eyes widen in recognition.

The bottom panel of the page shows minimal details of a window shedding light onto the bed and blankets as seen from a higher view in the room.

Page 3

On the other side of the bed, Phoenix rests, his head propped by the headboard. His hair is messy from sleep, and his expression is thoughtful. The light of the morning highlights his features.

The sun shines through the blinds of the window.

Phoenix finally notices his observer, and turns to look at him.

Page 4

Phoenix takes Miles’ hand in his, and lifts it to gently kiss the ring on Miles’ finger. They both move to share a kiss, and their hands shift to hold one another. Miles’ ring sparkles in the sunlight.

Page 5

They link their fingers as they kiss, and the morning creates a quiet atmosphere around them.

They part, but remain close, their fingers fully interlocked. Phoenix greets “Good morning,” with a tender, loving expression as he looks at Miles. Miles’ own expression is soft, unguarded, and fixed on Phoenix.

Page 6

Phoenix and Miles settle back into their shared bed; the morning sun illuminates them. They both smile softly, seeming happy and at peace. Miles rests his head under Phoenix’s neck, and his hand on Phoenix’s chest. One of Phoenix’s hands rests over Miles’ own on his chest, while his other hand holds Miles closer, revealing a matching ring of his own. Both rings shine softly in the sunlight.

Bonus image

A small simple drawing of Phoenix and Miles having fallen asleep again while holding each other as in the final page of the comic.

End ID.]

[hballegro]

the clock is here. all hail.

i forgot to turn antialiasing to the right settings with my pen so it is. the little numbers are chunky. thats life sometimes. just dont zoom in too hard. if i fix it, i wont make a new post abt it ill just edit it on to this one or something [and state that i did so in the post]

prev post with noclock version

and as promised here is also progress pics, harvested from when i sent screenshots to friends as i worked. as a bonus ive also included various layer names and the 5 different names the file went thru. the parts i [very lazily] painted over with dark blue had not been done yet, ergo anything with dark blue over it is just the picture itself so do not regard it

i will now be nice to myself and work on my fanfic and smaller drawings for a while. i will do eye posts sometimes still when i get a slow day and wanna do some peepers for 3 hours, i have collected many eyes [klinger, fr mulcahy, trapper, margaret, charles, hawkeye, bj. ive been busy stealing eyeballs to paint on. theyre all on one document its pretty funny]. i will be doing my best to force the cast into my style so i can do quick stuff.

i also WILL do more paintings of full shots again, but. fellas. ive done 3 back to back full paintings with no other digital art projects in between.

this has been NOT good planning lol

not sure if i should tag everything again so i will just. do so? idk i have not been on tumblr hardcore since like 2018 and have never regularly posted so idk proper etiquette. im gonna leave off characters for this one ig

[freakvampire]

someone needs to write a hawkahy fic where they share a bed for the first time ever. a real bed, in a house or a motel or something, i don't care, but something that's not an army cot in a tent. something plush that they both sink into. where they can lay and look at each other and savor every second of it. counting eyelashes and studying the wrinkles by Pierce's eyes and how the light shines on Mulcahy's cheeks. you know what i mean? laying in silence, Mulcahy's glasses crooked from being on his side, Pierce's hair falling around his head; being able to breathe, to relax, for one hand to reach out, slide up the other's arm, to rest there and cherish the warmth of that touch. together. safe. able to hold one another, but still wary, because they've never been able to share a bed before, to be so close before. and then they fall asleep, and they sleep peacefully all night, and wake up in each other's arms. neither of them remember reaching out and grabbing the other during the night but neither of them will complain. and it takes them ages to get out of the bed, because it's so warm and the blankets so soft and why would they ever want to face the day when they could stay curled up, nose to nose, sharing breath. someone should write that. not me tho

[hazbinhoe-tel]

prompt: Husker gambles with Valentino and wins Angel Dust

This could mean a: he wins him for a week or somthing

b: he owns his soul now

or c: Val tricks him when they make the deal, and uses a loophole to give him angel dust the drug instead of Angel Dust the person

[amusedphan]

the benefits of being mexican and adhd means you're always late to a party (@phanniemasquerade ) 🤪

i'm mando, and i'm half a month from being exactly a decade younger than dan. first mask is a nod to my area of study, second is based off alebrijes. i'm gay as fuck and in an inchresting Situation that is extremely similar to phan except we're somehow not technically together. i started watching dnp (+listening to muse) a decade ago and even did a few phandom meetups back in the day, thought they were cringe for a while, and now i'm back to being cringe <3

i might want to do some music stuff if i ever get off my ass, but mostly i want to get back to writing rpf now that i have dnp's blessing... and to not let whatever i wrote in grade 8 be the only phan stuff i have out there :/

[godzillatalks]

When Ryomen Sukuna had first heard Gojo tell him about The King Of Curses, he'd had a hard time not believing it. After all, giant monsters and creatures manifested from negative energy were real. He wouldn't have doubted that Gojo's description was accurate.

"Itadori Yuji is described as a benevolent imaginary God by his worshippers. He lived a over thousand years ago, and, though human, he was stated to be some kind of divine being. An angel, in some texts, and the incarnation of whatever heaven was believed to exist in others. But his deeds were far from angelic. In the Golden Age of Jujutsu, sorcerers from all over gathered up all their might to challenge him.. and failed." Gojo had explained nonchalantly. He didn't seem bothered by any of this.

Sukuna stared down at his hands as they walked, eyeing the faint, scar-like marks on his skin that had appeared after he had eaten the cursed finger. (He suspected they looked different when Yuji was in control.)

"Though many used to call him Sukuna for unknown reasons," Ryomen's gaze momentarily turns to ice as he redirects it at Gojo, a 'You're kidding me.' hanging in the air, "Nobody really does that anymore. He's usually called 'The King' in most texts. Anyways, we couldn’t even destroy his grave wax as he traversed the ages after death as a cursed object. Without a doubt, he is the king of curses."

And Sukuna believed that. Yuji didn't deny or even confirm anything, only opening an eye on Sukuna's cheek to glare at Gojo. So Sukuna assumed it was the truth.

They barely talked. Yuji stayed mostly silent, observing through Sukuna's eyes, watching the world and building an understanding of the current era as best he could. Sukuna ignored the presence behind his eyes that gave him double vision, just glad that he wasn't stuck in Yuji's place- unable to do anything but watch and make a rare comment.

He didn't think they'd get along anyways.

—

Sukuna felt like he wanted to give up. He was doing his best. And he was losing. He hadn't helped a single person yet, and he was going to die. He was missing a whole hand and he had a feeling he'd bleed out before the battle was over. He wouldn't come out alive and if he did Yuji would be in control. He didn't even have a choice if he wanted to live.

But he had to stall. He had to make sure Fushiguro and Kugisaki got out.

Tears streamed down his face as he screamed in agony, the Finger Bearer cackling as it sent surges of cursed energy at him. Pain shot through his veins from his hands as they were burnt away by the cursed energy being thrown at him like a wall of flame.

The pressure behind Sukuna's eyes intensifies, Yuji's cold gaze making him feel insignificant even if it was directed at the special grade that was currently rending Sukuna's hands into stumps. No emotion radiated from the second presence that was rooted into his being like a disease.

The Finger Bearer just laughs, shaking like a child high on sugar. He- he was tougher than this! So why was he so weak all of a sudden? Sukuna grits his teeth and steps forward, but falters as a howl rings through the halls of the incomplete domain.

"The.. The signal." Sukuna's vision blurs as he sways back and forth, eventually deciding to take multiple steps backwards. Cold hands wrapped around his consciousness, frost crawling across his vision as his eyelids fluttered. Yuji's voice when he spoke was.. bored. Bored.

"My turn. Go to sleep."

Sukuna doesn't wake up to anything other than flashes of fighting until he's outside, in the rain. Pain whispers through his chest like venom, and he coughs. Warm blood drips down his chin.

Fushiguro is there. Angry red scratches and bruises blossom on his neck and head. He's sure there's more, judging by the cracks in the concrete around them. His expression is pained, worried. Yuji must have done something. No, he did do something.

He notices there's no pressure on his eyes as Fushiguro speaks, the words muddled. He can make some of it out, something about being selfish. The last line is what he hears clearly.

"I’ve never once regretted saving you." Fushiguro stares at him, a blank expression on his face. Sukuna blinks slowly. He acknowledges Fushiguro's statement with a grin, and then makes his own.

"You're smart. You've planned your words. I think you'll be okay without me, though. Thanks for saving me." Blood drips to the ground. "I think I'm done, now."

"Live a long life." He falls forward and the world turns black before he hits the cold asphalt.

[variousqueerthings]

The fic in which BJ isn’t normal about Hawkeye’s relationship with Trapper, featuring BJ also not being normal about Peg’s relationship with... anyone 

In which I give BJ a cuckolding fetish I guess?

Rating: Explicit

@jerottblyth no pressure, but this is what I was writing

[kidpickarus]

is it too early for christmas fics?

[kyoghurts]

oh my lord— mash burnedead, known for his supernatural strength and plain face, would absolutely just stammer whilst holding his cream puff and reaching it towards you and is clearly shaking under the weight of his ardor feelings and as if proposing his love, he says "w-will you please go out with me...???"

[hawkeyeslaughter]

it would be SOO funny if i got turned to being a bj liker on this rewatch because growing up i always had to listen to my mother ( trapgirl ) complain about how she couldn’t stand bj but my grandmother LOVED him and this was always a sore point of debate .

[hunnicute]

“Hello! You there, in the cot. I know you’re feeling sleepy, but I wonder if you’d mind taking a brief survey. I’m sure it will make you feel right as rain. Five questions.”

There’s a crackling over the speaker. Or maybe it’s in his head. Everything feels at once itchy and gloopy. He tries to sit up as the speaker fizzes, there’s mumbling on the other side but it’s indistinguishable as language.

“Where am I?” The man asks, pushing up from the bare cot, looking around the room which seems to be made up of concrete walls and little else.

“Close, the first question is actually: who are you?”

Where was it coming from? The voice seemed to echo off all of the walls, its source at the moment unknowable. The man jumps off the cot, barely that - it’s only some green canvas stretched over a metal frame, an intense prickling filling his brain and sinking down his spine. What was that called? Anxiety. This wasn’t right.

“What is this place, where am I?” He asks again, pacing the room. There’s one exit. A metal door set into the concrete walls. Beside it a black panel with dozens of tiny holes. The speaker. Beside the cot he woke up on there’s a chair made of metal. Florescent lights beam from the ceiling causing the man to squint as he zeros in on the speaker grill. He nearly trips over his feet reaching for the door. He tries the handle, it doesn’t budge. He pulls. Nothing. Pushes. More of the same. Not even any give in the hinges or lock. Whatever was holding it in place wasn’t something he could get past.

“Who are you?”

Calm down, breathe. The man tries to order his thoughts into rationality, fighting the building rage and stress that's filling his entire body. Find out what they want, if you can give it to them then you may make it out alive. If you can’t… convince them you can. The man analyses the voice. Young, most likely male, tone what could be called chipper. It doesn’t seem threatening, or deceptive. Still best to be cautious.

“Who are you?” The voice comes once more, some of the cheerful edge is dulled this time, like it expected an answer by now and doesn’t know why it’s not getting a response. Like turning on the radio and expecting a song but only getting static when everything seems to be in working order.

Play along for now, the man thinks. He goes to answer, only to find out he can’t. Nothing’s physically stopping him, there’s air in his lungs and his lips are free to move. But he can’t answer. The simplest of questions, he reaches for the information in his brain and it’s just- gone. He clamps his jaw shut, teeth clicking together. His veins turn to ice.

What the hell is going on here.

“If you can’t answer, feel free to say unknown.”

He needs to get out. He needs to get to- Make sure- Is safe- It’s his job to- Home is-

There’s only one way out of this room, built of concrete and smelling of freshly printed pages and antiseptic (how does he know that?) and it’s through that door. Whoever is talking through the speaker can open it. He picks up his hat and runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair.

“I don’t know.” The man says, voice floating out of him like it doesn’t even belong to him. Maybe it doesn’t, how would he know?

“Unknown. Okay. Second question, in which US state or territory were you born?” He reaches for it. Nothing again. The ice in his veins spreads again, as the anxiety builds. His breath speeds up and his fists clench. He takes a step back from the door. Stay calm. He shakes his head. They must be watching him because the voice goes on.

“Unknown! Great.” Some of the chipperness has returned. He didn’t notice the round black bump above the door before, like a beady eye staring him down. How does he know that it’s a camera? He’s never seen one before, but he knows exactly what it is and what it does. The urge to run begins to overwhelm him the longer this goes on. His stomach twists with nausea. Commonly caused by motion sickness, intense pain, early pregnancy, food poisoning, various enteroviruses or in this case emotional distress.

“Question three, please name any US state or territory.”

“Uh- I don’t know… Delaware.” Delaware? Where did that come from? What else? Georgia. Iowa. Alaska.

“Delaware.”

New York, California, Virginia, New Mexico.

“Question four, what is Mr. Eagan’s favourite breakfast?”

Illinois, Rhode Island, Texas, Idaho. There’s another voice in the background, one he hasn’t heard up until now. It’s deeper, exasperated. God, he thinks it says. The chipper voice ignores it. So there’s someone else there. Maybe someone higher up, someone in charge?

“I don’t know who that is.” He reaches for the handle of the door again and jiggles it futilely. “Maybe we can have a conversation and you can tell me face to face.”

“I’d love to chat with you, after we finish the survey.”

He lets out a terse laugh, a smile tightening his lips - but not with amusement. The action feels familiar.

“And would you look at that, we’re on the final question! To the best of your memory, what is or was the colour of your mother’s eyes?” Does he even have a mother? He must. Everyone has a mother. The nausea threatens to take over and the man turns around looking for a bucket or a trash can. There’s nothing but the cot and the chair. He stumbles towards them.

“I don’t remember.”

“Unknown! Wow!”

“What the hell is this?”

“Unknown, unknown, Delaware, unknown and unknown right?”

“Look if you don’t tell me what the hell I’m doing here I-“

The door swings open and out of it comes a kid who can’t be older than 17, holding a clipboard and grinning behind large circular glasses.

“Gee sir, you got a perfect score! And quicker than most too, that first question is usually what really trips people up but you done it just swell.”

[hballegro]

i present; my first viewing of MASH, heavily condensed

all said by me in a server with my friends where they give me a channel where only i speak, because i speak to much

feat; a snip from a real story about alan alda that my anthro professor told me [story happened around the time the movie The Aviator was in the casting stage]

[5eraphim]

Your monster mash au is so cool!! i love when writers go up and beyond n arent afraid to get creative with the canon. Do you have any hcs for how they met their S/O?

i currently have a 3 characters per request limit goin on rn, and i used RNG to pick the characters for this request which wound up being Werewolf Scout (BLU), Satyr Demo (RED) and Bogeyman Spy (BLU) hope thats ok with you! (but i have requests open currently, so if u were hoping to see someone else, here's a link to the monster mash AU. these were pretty fun to write and i'd love to do more!) thank you so much for the request, I hope you enjoy!

Characters: Scout 🐇, Demo 🐏 and Spy 🐍 (Team Fortress 2)

Content Warnings: Yandere, toxic relationship dynamics, possessive behavior, implied sexual relations, somnophilia, reader is gender neutral

Rating: M (MINORS DON'T INTERACT, GO PLAY OUTSIDE)

Word Count: 2.3k

MASTERLIST

TIP JAR

Werewolf Scout (BLU)

Wild, savage, fearsome, and brutal, Scout is the living embodiment of what a proper wolf ought to be. Once the runt of the litter transformed through sheer determination and force of will, Scout would do anything to maintain his position as the leader of the pack.

All his life, Scout's possessed the primal need to be accepted as well as applauded by others by other wolves as well as by other mortals and monsters desperate to convince himself it will somehow be enough to purchase the childhood trauma of being known to all as the weakest of the family.

Consider Scout falling for a friend from childhood who hasn't seen him since his days as a weakling, only to move away and disappear for years and years and return to see a radically different Scout, practically the opposite of what he once was.

Scout always had a soft spot for you but never had the nerve to confess his feelings to you before on account of his certainty you would reject him, as well as generally being much less assured of himself when he was a child. But to meet up with you again now that he's stronger and more dominant than before, it's like getting a second chance too good to be true. If he were to let you go again, he knows he'd never forgive himself.

Initially, Scout's ready to start making moves on you without hesitation. There's no way you'd forget about him or all the time spent together, and he believes with all his heart that just seeing the man he's become would be enough to convince you to start an entirely new life together. And when you inevitably refuse such an outlandish proposition, Scout's left heartbroken, confused, and unable to control his jealousy and wrath.

But he knows if he really wants to impress you to prove he's worthy of becoming your mate, Scout knows who needs to do something drastic to get your attention. Nothing less than taking the life of another in a bloody brawl, where only one will live to see the end of the fight. But not just anyone. It must be someone close to you, so when you see as a protector. Surely, if he were to kill someone close to you, you'd have no choice but to accept him as your lover, your guardian, you're everything.

Scout's never been one for subtlety; he doesn't care if taking you as his lover by force leaves you terrified and resentful. As a leader of the pack, it's his responsibility to handle tough choices like this and watch out for the well-being of the rest. Whether or not you wanted to join in the first place hardly matters to Scout. He did what he had to, and you're his living reward

Satyr Demo (Red)

Like almost all the monsters in the monster mash AU, satyr Demo never really imagined himself with the idea of a single "true love" kind of partner, though not for the same reason as the others. While many of the other monsters view themselves at odds with humanity and, by extension, incompatible with the notion of human monogamous romances. Demo, on the other hand, is more hung up on the monogamous part of these relationships rather than the human part.

Satyr Demo is seldom alone, spending his days leisurely indulging his desires for sex, wines, feasting, partying, and whatever other whims cross his mind. In a realm populated by other satyrs, nymphs, centers, naiads, primordial gods, titans, and other similar creatures in a utopia beyond human perception.

Despite his physically off-putting appearance, drawing in mortals has never been an issue for creatures like Demo. Humans are such easy prey, with fragile minds so easily swayed by temptation and eyes so easy to deceive. All it takes for Demo to get in bed with another mortal is to share a bit of wine of the gods and to only appear late at night, using the cover of darkness to his advantage to hide his inhuman appearance. And the look on the mortal's face after realizing they've given into the ethereal temptation or hypnosis and made love to a half-goat creature is priceless to Demo.

In Demo's leisurely existence, life is nothing but an endless buffet of lovers; to limit himself to one monogamous relationship forever would be self-cruelty. The idea of a mortal retaliating against him for his treatment of them never even crossed his mind, but the day that happens if his entire world shifts.

Consider yourself a mortal living in the world near Demo's realm, where mortals are endlessly tormented and played with by gods and supernatural creatures like pawns. While you can do nothing but keep your head down and try not to invoke their ethereal wrath.

Imagine yourself in a situation where a close family member of yours has just been lured by Demo. Her chastity broken, and left in a compromising position in the woods. What little garments she has left desecrated with his seed, the goat hair left around the scene of the crime, making it obvious to all around town who was the culprit. With her reputation ruined and her family disgraced, she goes catatonic. Unable to leave her own bed, practically dead to the world, unable to cope with the suffering and shame of living as one of Demo's conquests.

Her despondence fuels within you an anger you kept bottled up all your life. You could no longer live in a world where mortals were used and discarded at the discretion of the supernatural creatures. You were willing to do whatever it took to fight back, to get even a fraction of justice for all the harm they'd caused.

Against the wishes of your loved ones, you sought the help of an ostracized spinster at the edge of the town, said to know the ways of witchcraft, and willing to make bargains with mortals for supernatural favors so long as they were willing to pay the price for it.

You came to her asking if there was some way to bind the sexual appetite of the monster who hurt your loved one beyond repair, offering her the still-desecrated clothing of your loved one, knowing some trace of the beast was likely necessary to enact the hex. You wanted to end his predation of the mortals of your town no matter the cost, even if that meant invoking dark magic to do so. Offering as payment everything of value owned put the clothes on your back. While you didn't have much, the old witch smiled, assuring you this was all payment enough and that the prospect of attempting such a powerful curse was enough of an incentive, though she accepted your belongings all the same, asking again if you were really willing to do anything to put an end to Demo's reign of terror. And without a second thought, you replied yes.

The witch held up her end of the bargain, binding Demo's lust and desire, but what she didn't tell you was the actual cost of finding one's heart to perform her ritual, specifically requiring a willing volunteer to bind Demo's lust to. She needed a token of a physical object of significance from the bound one and from another, which you offered as unknowingly as payment to bind in the victim's desires to.

The night you meddled in the affairs of the supernatural, you unknowingly offered up your own soul to the witch, which she bonded with Demo's successfully. And from that night on, cursing you to bear the burden of all Demo's desire.

Demo awoke the following day with a hole in his heart and a mind-numbing need to find another lover in the mortal realm, but not in a way he'd ever felt before. Demo felt like someone was waiting for him, someone he needed to find desperately but had no idea who it could be. In a town as small as yours, it was only a matter of time until you were discovered. And the moment he set his eyes on you, he knew it had to be you.

In the following days, you had to come to your own realization of what it meant to bind someone's heart. To understand it wasn't a hex to do no harm but to force one person alone to endure the entire weight of his desire.

Living as Demo's' sole lover was a paradise, but not from your perspective. Bestowed with eternal youth, food of the gods, orgiastic dances with supernatural creatures, the suffering of humanity far away, and the undying devotion of a god. You had no choice but to comply.

You were given all you could ask for so long as you never long to stray from Demo's side, or god forbid, ever asked to go home.

Bogeyman Spy (BLU)

No one knows the meaning of need like Spy. He's watched the rise and fall of empires, the brutality of war, and the skirmishes between mortal and the supernatural. The only thing he's never found was another creature like himself.

As long as Spy's walked the Earth, and for as long as he's interacted with humans, he's known nothing but hunger for human fear and pain, seeing them as merely a food source.

This life of isolation and callousness is all he's ever known. Perhaps existence is a lonely one, but Spy fails to see the value in a human emotional connection. He never had a heart to hold.

But just because he doesn't believe he has a heart doesn't mean one never existed at all. Despite his years upon years of emotional repression, he too yearns to be understood and cared for like the mortals he claims such dominion over. Still, he refuses to admit it to himself.

He may be immortal, but despite what he would like to believe, Spy is no god. And he was just as susceptible to the strings of fate as any other, and it was only a matter of time before the gods fated his heartstrings to be pulled by another ordinary mortal, the last kind of person Spy would've ever expected to foster sympathy for.

He couldn't even comprehend what was happening the night that finally happened.

It was just another night like any other Spy approaching you while you slept soundly, the optimal time to put you into a deep nightmare. But something about the sight of you, a vision of tranquility made beautiful by the moonlight and mysterious by dark shadows, he couldn't help but hesitate to disturb you.

Nevertheless, Spy was prepared to do what he must to get his nightly fix, but before he could enter your dreams, Spy realized your psyche was already charged with sexual energy, the sign of a dream already in progress. Nothing he hadn't seen before, but in the moment, he was paralyzed and entirely captivated.

More cautiously than ever before, he dared take a taste of the energy flowing through you, and after just one sampling, he was hooked.

Hours stretch on, but Spy can't bring himself to leave your bedside, watching your energy waxing and waning as you fall in and out of a state of deep slumber. Before he realizes it, daylight comes, forcing him to concede he's out of time.

Deep within, Spy feels a different kind of hunger awakening, but something more complex, more akin to a yearning. A hunger that cannot be satisfied with a full stomach.

For the following few days, he couldn't bring himself to feed as he normally would. His hunger was there, as it always was, and he could feel the pain of an empty stomach but couldn't work up an appetite for anything but you.

By day three, he could stay away from you no longer and caved to the desire to feed, finding himself back at your bedside, his hunger for you as strong as ever. 

He will try to convince himself he's better off without you, lying to himself that it's only a matter of time before his obsession fades and what he feels now won't last. After all, you were only a mortal, though it's impossible to ignore the instant panic he feels thinking of you passing away. Not only because this would mean the end of you as a food source but as that pesky yearning perks up, and he can't help but fear you dying before he could properly commune with you.

Being an immortal shapeshifter with immense psychic power meant Spy had more than a few friends in high places, powerful and indebted friends.

It isn't long until he strikes a bargain with a powerful witch, granting you immortality as well as keeping you in a perpetual deep slumber, forcing you to become Spy's own personal little sleeping beauty. Eternally preserved just for him, keeping you alive by nourishing your spirit with safety and fear.

While in this state, it isn't long until the confusion sets in. You feel alone, have no idea where you are, and can't shake the feeling of being watched. You feel like you're trapped in a cage, a comfortable one, but a cage you can't escape from. Stuck in a dream you can awaken from.

Spy knows he could awaken you at any moment and might even understand some level he will have to eventually, but he still intends to keep it like this as long as he can. He's too addicted to the high of his hunger, finally satiated, and too sullen to bring himself to truly meet you in the real world. For the time being, he's content flirting with you in the dream world, stalking from shadows, always watching it, keeping just a step out of reach.