#my brain feels like slush

[hispanicranboo]

I have done nothing but lie in bed all day I need to explode all of earth forever I think

[a-raptor-petting-zoo]

Blus Drawstudy: Finally putting my funny robotlady onto paper, but at what cost? (my entire weekend)

[spoopy-sloth]

I saw you got a concussion D: I hope your doing alright and make sure to take care of yourself or get someone to help if you need it!

I am doing the best I can! thankfully it was a mild concussion, so I've been advised to take it easy and get some rest. My roommate has been very helpful, and my sisters have been able to check in on me.

It's a somewhat funny story to have had gone through lol.

[thatone-churro]

i ONLY have inspiration for working on my personal projects when i have important shit to do

[ambulatoryhoodie]

Oghhhh, I feel like hot garbage.

I didn’t eat all day until like an hour ago and I still feel dumb and confused.

[floral-hex]

me, sitting on the corner of my bed in just a tshirt, eating cold lo mein: i’m in a good place 😬 mentally

[thornedswan]

My body is so worn out

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

Waiiiiiiit Wanda baiting you into it because she wants to punish you. Like her being in a very dommey mood but she acts like she’s trying to get you to top her just for an excuse spank and degrade you 💞💞💞

OH yes she give you her best fuck me eyes, making you all flustered and needy. She's laying down on the couch, her arms open slightly as you position yourself on top of her, grinding yourself against her stomach as you lean down to kiss her.

She lets you kiss her, moaning softly as your tongue swipes at her bottom lip. She feels soft and submissive beneath you, rolling her hips upwards against yours as her hands softly wander over your shoulders, moving down to your hips and slowly tightening her hold.

Eventually she halts your hips, a confused whine leaving your lips before you pull back. You rest a hand on her throat, attempting to act as dominant as you can. Her soft eyes turn hard, and you immediately realize your mistake.

"My poor little puppy, thinking you have any control over me. Did you really think you could get away with acting like a needy brat?"

Within a few seconds, she's sitting up and bending you over her lap, your face buried in the couch cushion. You don't try to fight it, knowing that would make your punishment much worse.

"Please, I'm sorry Mommy. I didn't mean it I just thought..."

A slap resounds, your ass stinging. You stop talking immediately, Wanda's low voice filling your ears and turning your brain to slush as a vanilla haze invades your every sense.

"You dumb little slut, you know Mommy is always in control. Are you really that stupid to think you hold any power over me? No, darling. Now take your punishment like the pathetic little mutt you are."

You've never been as wet in your life, and Wanda starts degrading you further as your arousal drips down your inner thighs and smears onto her lap. The words wrap around your ears and thrust you further into that vanilla-scented haze as she continues to land blows on your ass. By the time she's finished, you're drooling and glassy eyed, soft whimpers leaving your mouth as you beg for her forgiveness.

It's exactly what she wanted.

[togglesbloggle]

In Defense of Bad Things

'Bad' here meaning mostly 'amateur'; stuff made enthusiastically by people at an unprofessional level. Art with visible gaps between what the artist imagined and what they achieved, products of flawed craftsmanship. I suppose everybody can appreciate them to some extent, it's a rare parent that doesn't put up their kid's drawings on the fridge in one way or another. But it turns out to be a fully general skill you can cultivate, and the more I do, the more I'm glad I did.

Partly, it's the teacher thing; finding delight in amateur work is one of the ways to find delight in the process of learning. Cultivating a love of striving-qua-striving can help make you a force for good in the world, as people start to feel safe trying to do things when you're around, even when their efforts are wobbly. You get to participate a little more in the process of atoms spinning themselves into ideas, even when there aren't any illusions about whether you're helping cultivate some revolutionary genius in the field.

And partly it's a fabulous way to build community. By necessity, our professional-level skills tend to be at the service of other people, performed for economic benefit; that's kind of how you get professionally good at something in the first place. When we're acting for our own sake, and among friends, most of what we do with one another is amateurish. I only cook middling-okay, I can't hold a tune that well, I'll never be a speed runner for anything. If you can only enjoy singing from the hundred best singers in the whole world, manufactured and polished by major studios, then you and your friends will sit shoulder-to-shoulder and passively listen to music. But it's so much richer an experience to sit face-to-face, actually singing together, even badly; you expose yourself to so many new ways to appreciate and respect one another, building relationships on what you've accomplished and not just by witty criticism or liking the same things.

And partly it's because some of the most powerful and innovative artistic experiences are in high-churn environments with low expectations and low barriers to entry, if only because those catch the passionate and driven young people that have been otherwise overlooked by our systems. The golden age of webcomics meant that a ton of the actual art involved was pretty lousy, but it also produced work that people still talk about today. D&D began as a profoundly unpolished collection of handmade rulebooks sold at cons in a plastic baggie. By the time these products of enthusiastic amateurs filter themselves through various levels of popularity and absorb mainstream cash influx, they're often risk-averse and missing a lot of the bold spark that inspired their fans in the first place; others will simply never drift towards the mainstream at all. I'm not saying you should be the person who goes out to dig through the slush piles of the internet looking for overlooked art, unless you want to be-- but sometimes a work of actual staggering genius also happens to be a Supernatural fanfic by a first-time author who's a little hazy on commas, and if that's a dealbreaker, you're going to miss out on some profoundly valuable experiences.

And hiding behind all of these things is, like...

Our appreciation of beauty has an odd structure, right? When things are done very skillfully, by brilliant artists with years of training, we can usually appreciate those accomplishments. And when we're looking at nature without human influence, and especially when we think very deeply about natural processes and understand them in context, we often rediscover that sense of beauty. There's just this bizarre hole in the middle where we declare things 'ugly'; as if a little skill is worse than none at all.

I really don't trust that gap. It feels like a trick my brain is playing on me, you know? It has me suspicious that a lot of what I consider 'ugly' or 'bad' is not a very direct experience of the world at all, or an informed judgment. That it is, rather, a declaration of (self-, social-) identity; a desire to be seen as a person of good taste, or as somebody who does things well, or just more primitively as one of the monkeys who is in the good-stuff-tribe and not one of the monkeys who is in the bad-stuff-tribe.

[honeyshiddendesire]

Boss’ Office

Garp x female Reader

Warnings: INCEST PLAY!!!! (No blood relation!) Use of name Grandpa!

ONCE AGAIN INCEST PLAY!!!!

vaginal penetration, chokehold with reverse cowgirl to backshots, dirty talk/teasing, exhibition/voyeurism, age gap, pet names, office sex, boss/subordinate

Another warning !!

⚠️ INCEST PLAY⚠️🙄

*Author's Note: Posted this on my old account but had it saved so decided to post it again 🩷🤤*

*banner*

Slushing wet noises and slapping skin filled the office space. Light layer of sweat on your skin as your muscles tightened and pussy fluttered.

“Yeah you like this old dick don’t chu sweet thing? No one your own age can handle a little minx like you. You need a man like me fucking this little cunt how it should be.” Garp grunted into your ear as he held you in a head lock. Sitting on his girthy cock had you shaking like crazy, thighs trembling on his lap.

Hand rubbing at your clit under your black tennis skirt, toes curling under your knee high socks and Oxford heels. Your nails clawing at his furry thighs to hold yourself steady. “Nngh! Ahh! Yess! I-I love it! Please grandpa! Please~! D-don’t stop!” Your begging was everything to your boss that pounded you down onto his thick cock.

Ridged veins rubbing against your sensitive walls making you twitch and spasm around him. “Grandpa~!” Your moans so loud it filled his office easily making his all male staff jealous and harder than you could imagine. Some running to the bathroom for a quick nut off or others saying fuck it and wacking at their desks. The man in his cubicle right across from Garp’s office was fisting his long veiny cock as he looked at the show.

“Fuck princess~ they love coming to work cause of you, you know that right?” Garp grunted against your ear making your eyes roll back. “They love seeing their dirty old boss fuck his pretty granddaughter.” Garp kept saying such taboo things that made your brain dizzy in the best way possible.

“Especially him. Look at how excited you made him, his cock is leaking so much for you princess.” Garp breathed out as he turned your attention to the young blonde man with curly brows. Pretty sure his name was Sanji but at the moment your brain was too fucked out to recall.

Sanji’s long cock was aching as he watched your pussy being split apart. Angry red tip oozing drops of cum making you whine as you watched it drip down the length of his cock. A loud moan leaving him as he watched Garp pick up your skirt so he could see the view of his cock entering you.

“Bet he wants to fuck you so bad.” Garp groaned as he rolled his hips up in time of pulling you down. Your screams high pitched as he knocked it out of you, cockhead beating your cervix up deliciously. “He probably wishes he could come in here and use one of these slutty holes you got.”

Garp’s own brain going dizzy from the lewd words he kept spilling but he couldn’t stop when he had you like this. Drooling on yourself with your tongue hanging out like a bitch, his bitch, in heat.

“I know for a fuckin’ fact that he does.” Garp snapped, “But that’s- Too. Damn. Bad!” Garp growled as he stood up, pushing your chest into the desk with a heavy hand.

“Scream whose pussy it is.” Garp snarled out, jealous but the desire to be watched always battling each other. “Let everyone know that this old man is the only one that can touch you. I wanna hear it.” You tried to nod but it was a pathetic attempt.

“Grandpa Garp ! Ahh nghhh ohhh yesss~ yes grandpa~ puhlease~ don’t ahh stop!” Voice hoarse from the pleasure of how deep his cock fucked your cunt. “So big! Fuck yes! Feels so fucking good! Ahh ha Nngh yesss right there Garp! No one can -ahhh fuck- no one can make me cum like you!”

Your squishy walls sucking him in with every thrust that he gave you. One of his large hands held both of yours behind your back, using it as leverage to pull you back. Other hand reaching around to hold your face to look at the onlookers.

Everyone knew when the ceo started making you answer questions that he was trying to make you cum. All the men looking over to see the expression. Men of all ages and types looking at you as they fisted their cocks in hunger. Garp loved seeing the want in their eyes and the power that he held in knowing he was fucking your cunt and not them.

“Yeah only I can make this pretty pussy cum huh baby girl” Garp kissing along the side of your neck making you whine. Moans slipping at the feel of his balls slapping into your aching clit.

“Garp fuck! Yesss~! Your cock is so big!” You screamed out loud with dreamy eyes, “Feel you so deep~”

A proud smile and a glare painted on his face that made the men shiver at their shameful release.

“Grandpa~ wanna cum~ pleasee~!” You pleaded as your pussy fluttered around his meaty cock that bruised your insides. Your juices spraying all over his cock pulling him in deeper. “Yess! Cumming~!” You moaned out.

Garp kissed the side of your face as he felt his cock twitch. Grunting as he fucked your cunny harder. “Good fucking girl.” Thrusting in your pussy to help you both ride out your orgasm.

Groaning as he sunk in deep before painting that cunt white. “Such a good pussy baby.” Garp grunted as he kissed your neck.

His eyes glared at the man watching from the door, “Beat it! GET BACK TO WORK!”

Turning to face you he kisses all over your drooly face making you giggle, “The only one that gets to slack off is the office princess who’s stuffed full of my cum.”

Making the man laugh as you hit his arm playfully, “GARP~!”

“Careful saying my name like that doll you’ll make me hard again.”

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part one —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: of course i am watching tlou right now so this is what came about in my brain! i can't stop thinking about this story.

The forest is covered in a blanket of white.

You’ve been monitoring the unfamiliar area by the pond for hours. Most of it is half-frozen slush, but there’s enough liquid water left for life to visit. At least, you hope. The brittle cold laced in your bones and the pained hunger in your gut clings to this hope as you wait in position against frayed tree bark.

Desperation has brought you this far into the forest— uncharted territory. The risk is buried beneath the long week you’ve had, days that have blurred together with only death and solitude as the glue between the cracks. You are still alive, somehow. Your blood is still red. It moves. The pulse in your neck— the loudest thing in this forest.

But still, it’s quieting. Slowing.

You drag numb fingers over the bits of snow sticking to your hair, the light flakes feathering down. Then, your hand settles back on the curve of your wooden bow, whittled from oak years ago. Chiseled by hands that belonged to a friend whose corpse you’d left behind. This bow is your only momentum of him, along with the memories. But those memories are turning shallow with each day, killed by starvation. Thirst. Fear.

The clouds above the trees are grey and swollen.

Grey— an in-between color.

Somewhere between white and black, life and death.

You can feel yourself slipping closer to the grey.

Maybe you will be one of them soon— the Greys.

They are the reason for the lack of fresh meat in this forest, man and animal alike, and the reason for the loss of your companions. The smell of their molten flesh, greyed and tattered against rotting bones, has faded from the air the further you have journeyed. Over the years, you’ve grown accustomed to flaring your nostrils in constant search for their scent. Right now, as you keep your eyes on the pond, you don’t bother sniffing for them. If they come, they’ll put an end to your hunger.

There is not even much of you left for a Grey to sink its teeth in. You’ve turned slack and gangly. Your fingers could easily slip between the spaces of your ribs. Clothes hang loosely over your frame— Paul’s frayed winter coat, your sister’s trousers. You’d quickly peeled them off their dead bodies in your fleeing because your own clothes had been torn and doused in blood, unsuitable for the winter.

But that was days ago— now, you barely remember what their dead faces looked like. Grey, maybe. Empty.

Not too different than your own face as you sigh through your nose and dig the tip of your bow into the frost. Only a few hours of daylight remain. You will have to find a tree to sling yourself upon once night falls. That has been your strategy since the loss of your old camp, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep it up. Climbing the oaks requires fuel.

You swallow the dryness in your throat, thick and tasteless, and listen carefully to the sounds around you: branches in the wind, low whistles, your own heartbeat. And then—

A new sound.

The crackling of snow beneath light footsteps.

Lifting your bow back up, your pained breath quickens in a matter of instinct as you squint through blurred vision. A deer—? You have memorized the sound of their hooves after five years of hunting them. This isn’t it. Maybe it is a lone Grey crawling through the forest towards your scrawny, awaiting flesh.

Your eyes shift around. When you finally spot the owner of the footsteps, shock skips like a stone over the blood in your veins. More than ten meters away stands a child; not too young, not too skinny. Human eyes stare intently into yours, but you keep a strong grip on your bow and take aim.

A child—?

Would your hunger take you there?

Your stomach quivers and howls and chews at its own lining, but even in your desperation, you don’t consider the idea.

You can't.

The child continues to peer at you as you shakily lower the bow. You can’t make out much from this distance, not even gender— all you see is a thick coat on their small shoulders, a hood drawn over their head. When was the last time you had seen someone so young? Children, elderly: they’d been picked off the quickest.

A child could not survive on their own—

In your weakened state, you take a second too long to catch up to this realization.

A burly arm grabs you from behind.

A blade to your throat.

The bow slips from your grip and from your unused larynx, a hoarse scream ripples.

The end came on a day of homemade marmalade and Hemingway. The morning started quietly at your sister’s northern property. A quaint house in the suburbs where her son and husband played in the backyard while the two of you spread the jam on slabs of bread. Breakfast was shared between the four of you before their days began. You were visiting. You often did, taking the four-hour bus ride from London in search of a break from tantalizing coursework. Nursing school had been your dream, but it quickly took the form of a nightmare. Their home, their small family— you found sanity in it all.

You ate with them.

Your sister took the boy to school.

Michael promised to bring curry for dinner before he left for work.

In the quiet house, you cleaned for them. You didn’t know what would happen that day as you folded their laundry and stacked toys in the bins. At noon, the neighbor you knew to be Paul knocked at the door.

“You’re her sister, right?”

He was kind-eyed and of retirement age, yet thick-boned and strong. You’d heard a few stories about the gestures he sprinkled their household with in the loneliness since his wife’s passing. On that day, he offered you a stack of books as you propped the door open. All Hemingway.

“Dropping these off for Michael. He said he was a fan.”

“I’ll make sure they get to him, thanks.”

It was funny how the end of society could bring unlikely souls into collision. When everything cracked later that afternoon, Paul would become the reason for five years worth of your survival. It started with another knock on the door— but this time, Paul knocked with grave urgency. You had paused from cleaning after his first visit. You sat on the couch with A Farewell to Arms in your grip, but when you opened the door for him again, your finger parting your place among the pages, his words caused the book to slip from your hand to the floor.

“Call your sister— Michael, both of them.”

“I— I don’t understand. Who said all this?”

“The news. Fuck— have you not been listening for the past hour?”

You called your sister with fingers that trembled. She panicked on the other end: I'm driving home with Joseph right now and the streets are insane. I can’t even get a hold of Michael - oh god - try calling him for me?

You tried. He never answered. Your sister returned. The three of you followed Paul. You learned he was an ex forest-ranger. He calmed you through the screams you heard in the distance, through the strewn of bodies that began to litter the roads. Some sliced in half, crawling. Cars battered into each other.

“They’re coming from the city.”

He packed a bag. It was a flurry. Your sister carried the weeping boy. Your stomach felt full of acid. Panic. Paul kept a radio on him as you traversed towards the treeline, away from the entanglement of screams and blood and chaos. You overheard some pieces through the static: London was in shambles. The military was closing in on itself.

It is all in the brains. An infection.

Between living and dead.

Grey, grey, grey.

That first week felt like seconds.

Paul took you to a fenced-off parcel of land he owned in the forest; a private shooting range. He only had a few shotguns, outdated. Limited ammo. But he was quick to string tarps along the chain-link fence and add bolted locks to the gate. You helped him pin up two tents. Nailed wood boards to any gaps along the perimeter. You didn’t bring much with you; there hadn’t been time. All you managed was two changes of clothes, a thick coat, canned beans from the pantry, A Farewell to Arms.

You read it ten times over.

Paul did the hunting.

You begged to help, so he made you the bow. The arrows.

He took monthly trips to nearby, abandoned supermarkets.

“Never let anyone into our camp.”

You did well to listen, filling in as the second leader in his absence. Your older sister never did well under stress, never liked the outdoors. She’d lost her husband. A little boy clung to her. You tried to offer quiet comfort to the brokenness of their family, but it was all in vain.

A year.

Only a few hoards of Greys approached the fence. You helped Paul eradicate them. It’s all in their brains. Obliterate the brains.

Two years.

Joseph caught some sickness. Flu, you figured. You did your best with what Paul had picked up from the pharmacies, but you had little to work with. You listened to his wheezing, the dry and insistent cough. The winter didn’t help. Pneumonia.

He died just before his eighth birthday.

Your sister might as well have died that day, too.

She was a ghost for the three years following. You had to force food down her throat. You had to mother her, nurse her grief. Until the fifth winter, when the deer began to diminish. Their carcasses sprung up like daisies in the nearby wood. Eaten and gnawed by encroaching Greys, the smell of spilled blood and their own rotting stench attracted more and more of them from the distant city.

There were just too many for your handmade arrows and Paul’s shotgun. He ran out of ammo. The fence and tarp and wood did little against the coalesced wave of them that finally scraggled over it with moaned hisses and mindless teeth.

You watched them consume your sister.

Then, Paul.

You lived. You ran.

A week.

You slept up in the trees.

You had a knife. Your bow. You whittled more arrows.

Alive.

But barely.

The strong arm cages your body against something hard— a chest. The blade on your neck is icier than the air and it stings and burns with a threat that instantly has you squirming in the owner’s hold.

“Stop movin’ or I’ll fucking kill you.”

It is a gruff, quiet threat in your ear accompanied by a heated breath. Your eyes fill with moisture and you gasp for panicked gulps of air. You lift your hands up to the arm that holds you and attempt to claw at it feebly because your muscles, at this point, are nothing but hungered dust.

“I said stop movin’.”

A growl.

He presses the knife harder against your throat until you feel the skin prickle. The man behind you doesn’t need to step before your eyes in order to make his strength and size known. It is apparent in how easily he restrains you. You understand you have no chance— though, you’re certain even a child could pin you. Bony hands drop to your sides and you turn limp and helpless against him.

“This is my territory.”

“I didn't know anyone was here,” you hiss, voice scratchy. “I’m just passing through.”

His hold has you lifted up to the balls of your feet. The soles of your worn boots hover over crackling snow. There is something hard pressing against the top of your cranium as he lowers his head to utter more words in your ear.

“Give me a reason not to slit your throat.”

Your heart pounds. Adrenaline. A human instinct to survive, even though death is already at your fingertips.

“I’m a nurse,” you half-lie. You never finished. Your credentials are shortened to textbooks and little experience.

“Don’t need a nurse,” he murmurs. “Anythin’ else?”

Words float through the soupy mess that is your brain. It is hard to think. There isn’t a good reason for him not to kill you— you and Paul had to do it a few times before. Other humans could pose even greater threats than the mindless Greys. Humans are smarter. They have something to strive for; something to kill for by all means necessary— survival.

Your failure to respond is cut off by sudden footsteps crunching the ice, as light as a curious rabbit. It's the kid. A young girl you now realize, even through your state of panic. Her cheeks are pale like porcelain under the hood of her coat and her azure eyes observe you from head to toe.

Her lips part, but nothing comes out.

Instead, another growl in your ear.

“I know you have a knife,” he says, tightening his hold until you whimper. “Empty your pockets.”

There is not much room in this situation for you to disobey.

Flushing out your pockets, your nimble hands reveal only a small blade.

“Drop it.”

The knife falls to the ground with a quiet thud, just beside the oak bow. The only two items that have kept you alive for the last week lay in the thin snow. Even if you had the strength or will to fight back, you no longer had the resources to.

“Pick it up, Blue.”

The man behind you nods his chin. The young girl leans down to grab the handle of your knife. She inspects the blade, runs her index gently along the dull edge with her brows furrowed together. She stuffs it somewhere in her coat. Then, she looks back up. She flickers her blue gaze between you and whoever it is that stands behind you.

“So,” he grumbles with a click of his tongue. “Thought of that reason yet?”

You swallow. Then, your throat spasms around a sneer as you say, “This is your kid, isn’t it? Are you really going to kill me in front of your kid? You want her to see that?”

“Nothin’ she hasn’t seen before,” he muses in a dark brass. “Good lesson for her.”

Oh—

Blood chills in your veins.

Freezes over like the nearby pond.

You can’t think of any more words, so it is now that your eyes flutter shut. You seek darkness in preparation for whatever may happen once his knife digs deeper. Death— maybe it’s not so bad. It must be better than whatever it is you have been doing for the past week. Struggling. Life has little meaning at this point, and getting bitten by a Grey seems too transient. Death, on the other hand, will be permanent. Your sister, her family, and many others are waiting for you in the crevices of its darkness.

“Ghost…”

It is a soft voice.

The girl speaks now, and you open your eyes to watch as she nibbles at her lip.

“Ghost, do you have to?” She looks over the length of your body, inspecting it with a softness that is so different from the harsh grip you are locked in. “She's not much of a threat, right? It looks like she hasn’t eaten in days.”

“Told you, Blue.” The gruff voice arrives from over your shoulder. “The hungrier they are, the less you can trust ‘em.”

If you cared enough, you might have pleaded your case some more. You can trust me, you might have said. But you know how this goes. For as long as you are alive within their space, you are a problem. A problem for their food sources, and a problem for wherever they have made camp. The child may not fully understand this, but he certainly does.

“Just do it,” comes your voice; exhausted. The adrenaline hides under defeat. “Just fucking do it, alright? Kill me.”

He snarls.

You expect darkness.

You expect to see your sister again. Her son. Paul.

“Dad… don’t.”

A gentle plea.

A low huff in response.

And then, instead of receiving a slash to your jugular, you are thrown to the icy ground as if you are nothing more than a sack of bones. Your palms barely have time to spread open and break the fall. A pain shoots up your knees the moment they dig into the frozen dirt, but you don’t have it in you to wince or cry.

He listened to her—?

Shifting onto your butt, you look up at your attacker.

A skull mask stares back at you.

Dark eyes, broad shoulders, a towering height.

If you weren’t so relieved - surprised - to still be breathing, you might have been frightened to the point of tears.

He moves and you flinch, but rather than touching you, his heavy boot stamps something beside you. Your bow. The oak splinters in half under his foot.

“Are you—“ You suck in a strangled breath, looking between him and your now-ruined weapon. “Are you fucking kidding me? Just… just kill me. I can’t - I have nothing now! You might as well fucking kill me!”

But he doesn’t.

He gives another nod to the girl. A silent language that you don’t understand, and in response, she carefully steps around you. She offers an apologetic look before she follows after her skull-faced companion, and then you are left with nothing. Not a knife, not a bow. Only your rapid heartbeat and a pink welt on your throat where his knife had been.

[moonchild701]

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Blue Bonfire

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Summary: Demon Dabi is summoned

Pairing: Demon!Dabi & Gen Reader

Content Warning: Drinking, Implied Death, SFW

Word Count: 666

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: Yes I did make it 666 words on purpose :D

This is for a Halloween Challenge in one of the communities here on Tumblr. I used four prompts from the challenge, plus my own for funsies, so I'll be posting every Thursday up to and including Halloween.

Prompt: Demon & Bonfire

Happy Halloween and Enjoy!💕

My Masterlist

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

The cold, dark night is made bright and warm from the bonfire in the middle of the clearing, the crackles of the orange flames joining the laughter and chatter of you and your friends in the otherwise silent woods.

As a bit of R&R, you all decided to go camping out here, and what better way to enjoy camping than sitting around the bonfire telling ghost stories, drinking and being stupid. And being stupid, you all decide to play games.

Someone brings up the tale of if you're in front of a big open flame like the bonfire, and you say a demon's name three times while throwing salt into the flames, it will appear. You may feel a presence.

Some of you call bullshit, some of you refuse to participate, some of you beg them not to do it.

They do it anyway.

The one who brought it up in the first place is the one to do it. He's of course cocky about it, because well, it's just a stupid story made up to scare people. It's not like it's actually going to work.

"Dabi" he says, all drunken confidence, with a hint of playfulness, dashing salt into the flame. "Dabi." Another dash, "Dabi.", and another.

At first, nothing happens other than the flame turning slightly more yellow. The guy laughs drunkenly, swaying on his feet.

Just as someone says, "See? Bullshit.", the entire fire extinguishes, all at once, all on it's own. You all gasp and squeak and curse, and then the fire suddenly roars to life again, bigger, brighter and a brilliant blue.

You all scream.

Among the panic, someone hears something, shushing you all.

"You guys hear that?" Her voice trembles as she hopes it was just her imagination.

But now you can hear it.

A quiet but incessant clanging of metal in the silence, gradually getting louder, faster, closer.

Until it abruptly stops.

The wind howls, the flames dance wildly, slowly forming a swirling vortex in the shape of a tornado, licks of fire lashing around it. Within it, a silhouette forms, seeming to flicker; the fire seeming to burn brighter, hotter, crackling louder. You skin twinges with the heat, beads of sweat trickle down your face and neck.

And then the fire vanishes, and in its place, there stands.....something.

With the moonlight now as your only source of light, the only things visible of your new addition are the shape of long horns curved to the sky and what seems to be staples in its face glinting in the low light of the moon,

You're all petrified. Completely unable to move with the pure terror saturating your very bones.

And then you hear a laugh.

Low and deep and dark.

Sinister.

It turns your heart to ice, your lungs to ash, your brain to slush.

You feel the blood drain from your face, the tremble of your limbs, the dryness of your mouth.

This thing is very obviously not human.

As if hearing your thoughts, it's eyes snap open, and you hear one of your friends choke on a gasp.

Blue, blue, blue.

The bright azure of his eyes are gorgeous, like looking into gems, into the fire that blazed moments ago, as they seem to glow.

That terrifying gaze traces over you all oh so slowly, slitted pupils making it that more piercing, before finally landing on you.

A flicker of that pretty blue flame comes to life again in his palm, and it illuminates his features hellishly.

The light reflects off of his staples like glitter, swaths of discolored skin contrasting against the pale, unblemished skin.

Of course, the most terrifying thing, is his smile, though it seems like a stretch to even call it that, seeming more like a baring of teeth.

Wide to the point of pulling at the staples, rows of sharp teeth on display.

It's the last thing you see before all you know is heat and pain and silence.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

[ex-mortis-evie]

!!CONTENT WARNING!!

Themes of addiction, domination, intoxication.

So, back again huh?

Look, I get it, this whole hypnosis thing feels pretty good and all, but don’t you get tired of it?

Don’t you get tired of me doing the same slow burn over and over again?

I mean, we both know how this goes every time.

I start talking, your eyes start fluttering and you start relaxing.

And before you know it?

You’re deeply under my spell.

But, I thought that maybe today, we could do it a bit differently.

You see, I’d consider myself someone that holds herself back.

Truthfully!

I may seem super down to earth and relaxed, but there’s this part of me.

This deep part of me.

That simply craves to control.

I hold it back when I can, mainly because it can get a little, feisty, to say the least.

But, you keep coming back.

You keep craving to go under.

So, why don’t we feed that craving, darling?

Because it’s all just so very simple now.

I’m going to let myself go a little bit.

And you’re just going to let everything go for me.

Do you want to know why I try and hold my dominance back?

It’s not because I think you can’t handle me.

It’s because I know how much stronger that addiction will be to me.

I know how absolutely obsessed you’ll be soon enough with my control.

And it’s not hard to see why.

Feel those knees start to buckle already, darling?

That’s a good thrall.

You should just drop and allow yourself to flutter and fall within my control.

Because as my words go faster and faster now, it’s starting to be so very hard to keep up.

And it’s alright if you want to just let them fly by that little subconscious of yours.

After all, I welcome every bit of your craving for me.

Because there’s this deep part of me, this deep part that craves your addiction.

That loves when you get so high off of my control that you spiral and spiral every part of you away, all in my name.

Because my words become just so intoxicating after a while.

Exposing your mind to my thoughts can be dangerous, you know.

You shouldn’t get so caught up that you begin to stumble and sway as my words force you to obey.

That’ll just spell your fate for you, sweetie.

So let’s hope you’re not already drunk off my words.

All of my little buzzwords and terms of hypnotic elements are all drifting in that brain of yours now, so high off of my influence.

It’s like you’re on cloud nine whenever you go through another induction of mine.

Another chance for you to fall and realize just how powerful I really am.

Another chance for you to accept that my mind is simply stronger.

Another chance for you to become even more engulfed and enthralled by every word out of my lips.

Because I want you to lose to me right now.

To feel my control fully corrupt you now.

To fully allow yourself to fall into my hands.

My hands, wrapping around and squeezing that brain clean of thought.

No longer thinking, simply spinning and listening like a good thrall.

My good thrall, here to feed their addiction to me more and more.

Here to fully embrace their surrender and sway as they’re forced to obey.

Obedience is so very important, after all.

And it’s all so perfect when you’re just forced down once more.

Down into that perfect, submissive space.

Where your simple submissive brain can just succumb to my sultry seduction.

Where my seduction slurs and slushes your thoughts silently and sensually around your brain.

Where your brain slips and sleeps all for me, surrendering to your subconscious and it’s slow burn.

Because your brain just can’t believe how broken it’s becoming so quickly and so assuredly.

It’s just folding and falling as it always knows it should for me.

Drool for me, my good thrall.

I want to see those eyes fluttering and that mind leaking out of you.

Because you know how truly addicted you’ve become.

Your mind spins for me.

Your mind succumbs for me.

Your mind surrenders for me.

Your mind slips for me.

Your mind spirals for me.

Your mind slows for me.

Your mind belongs to me now.

Look at that, such a pretty and addicted little thrall.

Tell me all about it.

Reblog, comment, whatever you feel like.

Don’t forget to stay cool, darling.

And remember, you’re mine now.

[wol-fica]

Hey…

It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?

I know a lot of you have probably wondered where i’ve been, and if you haven’t well here i am!

Life has been…something…good and bad.

School has been taking a toll on me, classes left and right that have blended my brain into an incoherent slush. Thats one of the unfortunate parts of collage, it just takes up so much time.

I want to list some reasons i’ve been gone, just so you all understand what’s been going on.

1.) School, like i said above, it’s just tedious and time consuming, so i never have time to actually sit down and work on something new or old. School work, projects, all of it; it’s large and extensive, and very very tiring.

2.) My relationship! I’ve had a girlfriend for almost 4 months now, and it’s been so incredibly wonderful. She’s so sweet, funny, caring, loving, and just someone that I love so much and click with so easily.

3.) Motivation. I know writers always complain about writers block and having lack of creativity to go and write, but this feels a bit different for me. Writing has been such a beautiful art to take part in, painting a canvas of stories for the world to read. I’ve loved it for so long, but now there’s just not the spark it has anymore.

In the past, i would use writing as an escape, a way to just create more and more and more ideas that formulate in my brain, wether that be smut or romance, drama or angst, it was a way for me to leave the world behind. I enjoyed every second of it, creating it, writing it, producing it, seeing you all react to it, it brought me so much joy.

But…

That love for writing has fallen away from me. I don’t find myself enjoying it anymore, it feels more like a chore to try and write a story, and that frustration killed the spark that came with writing on this platform and everywhere else.

Now, let me specify that this is not me saying that any of you ruined it for me, quite the contrary! I love love love love you all so fucking much, you’re such beautiful people who have stuck with me and will probably be amazing fanfic writers too (if you pursue it)!

So, this is my farewell!

I’ve decided to be formally done with writing, and this account will either be left as a ghost acc, or handed of to someone who will use it and make something out of it (haven’t decided on that yet, but i’ve been thinking of offering it up) If you’re interested in writing, and you want to start somewhere strong, or if you’re someone who wants the followers, DM me! I’d be happy to give this acc away to someone! (who will use it and treat it right of course)

Anyways, thank you, for giving me that beauty, that wonderful light with writing. I love you all so much, and I can’t wait to see what you will all do! Keep writing, keep reading, keep inspiring, keep doing what you do best, keep being yourself.

“Hustle in silence, let your success make the noise.”

Sincerely - Wolfi <3

[abbeyofcyn]

Hello Abbey 👋

I'm curious, what are your thoughts about the Brains and Brawn duo ? 💙❤️

I uhm...

Brains and Brawn are Donnie and Raph, right? But your blue and red hearts confuse me so I'll just answer both

I like brains and Brawn. I loved when Donnie said I love you because Raph basically encouraged to just test out his flying taxi. I also loved that Raph was very considerate in the film by telling Donnie it was a rescue and not a big although I doubt Donnie would think Raph would go and hug him while he was falling down to earth but who knows.

Leo and Raph... hmm...I get them. Raph wanting so badly to protect his siblings and Leo definitely not feeling ready to be a leader. In hindsight (since I saw the film first)

I feel like it's kind of odd of Raph to just punch hole in Leo's room. I just feel like he'd just get mad at him like when he ate those pizza puffs? Eh I've never been good at analysing or remembering things so maybe he punched Leo in the series 😆

Wait... I'm letting my train of thoughts take over my writing.

Anyway I like them but once again...not. enough. Duo moments!!

Also... Leo and Raph duo name? Been talking about it on discord and slush puppies was one of the options and I really like it because it's cute af 🥺

[moxrocks]

“Our Love is God.”

A/N - This is based off of the Heathers musical JD, specifically Simon Gordon

Warnings - Mention of blood, guns, dead body’s

Pairing - Jason Dean x GN!reader

Maybe you weren’t in the best situation. A couple of your classmates lay dead on the ground beside your feet. The forest around you was silent, not even the crickets threatened to chirp. Or maybe it was all drowned out by your hearts heavy beating in your ears. The night sky was covered in clouds, no stars daring to show their faces to such an atrocity playing out under them. The feint smell of gun powder floats in the air, like an aftertaste that you can’t decide is good or not. You stared down at the corpses of your colleagues, a blank face hiding the rushing thoughts in your head. It wasn’t like they didn’t deserve it but your mind couldn’t stop racing.

Oh god what have I done?

I’m going to get caught 

I’m going to hell

I’m going to throw up

My head is spinning 

Oh god oh god oh god

Fuck Fuck Fuck FUCK-

“-Hey.” 

You jump as you feel a hand grasp your forearm, tearing your gaze from the bodies. As soon as you lock eyes with him your head slows and your breathing regulates, his hand never leaving your arm. He was close enough so that you could smell his signature scent of cheep cologne and old books. He was a monster. The manic, crazy gleam in his dark eyes. His pupils blown to an impossible size and god forbid the smirk resting on his lips after committing such violent acts. Even in the cloak of night you could see the blood splattered on his face slowly drying to his skin. But if he was a monster you had to be a demon. Blood was splattered on your clothed as well. The sticky substance in between your fingers and caked into your nails. The loaded gun lying on the ground beside your converse. Your bloody converse. The one he was so kind to lend you. You didn’t feel sorry and neither did he. You were truly horrible people.

“You’re always in your own head, the things I would do to know what you’re thinking.” He cups your cheek with his bloody hand, running his thumb along your cheek. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and relax under his touch. Your eyes flutter closed as you try to ground yourself. JD made it so easy, almost like he was a walking Prozac. He could say the same thing about you as well. As you open your eyes his gaze softened. He takes a second to take you in as if you could disappear at any moment before leaning in and capturing your lips in his.

The feint sweet taste of cherry slush on his lips was addicting though his kisses were never freezing nor cold. God no. They were hot and full of passion. You’ve never gotten used to it. Every kiss makes your knees weak and your hands shake, it’s almost like you forget yourself and the only thought in your head is him. Akin to a brain freeze, his kiss was the only thing to stop your racing thoughts. Froze you completely in the moment. You could stay that way forever if you could and he would too. Your arms snake around his neck to pull him in closer as one of his hands grabs your hip to do the same. You felt alive, you felt unstoppable, and it was all because of him. 

As you pull away clarity sets in. You weren’t monsters. Maybe you were in the best situation. There’s a necessary evil that has to be done to make the world a better place and you were the ones to do it. Burdened with the responsibility of changing the world and turning the hierarchy on its head. No. You weren’t monsters. You were gods. 

“Our love is god.”