#nacht poll

[hellfirenacht]

Writing Master List

Request Info

Isekai Chronicles: OPEN (see rules)

WON'T write: shy!reader, popular!reader, cheerleader!reader breeding kink, parent!Eddie or parent!reader, pregnancy

WILL write: Eddie Munson x Reader, smut, fluff, angst

***Requests are subject to approval and aren't guaranteed.

Stranger Things (Eddie/Reader)

Isekai Chronicles: Through no powers of your own, you end up in Hawkins 1985, in a tv show that you once saw on Netflix.

Wing Man: (AO3) Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie. COMPLETE

Crit Happens: (AO3) You are who’s Dustin’s favorite cousin from out of town who is staying with him for the summer. Eddie finds himself jealous as he's suddenly been pushed aside as Dustin’s favorite dungeon master. When Dustin insists that Eddie join the campaign, you and Eddie quickly butt heads about how Dungeons and Dragons should be played.

Clean: (AO3) After the battle in the Upside Down, you and Eddie try and get clean. SMUT

Candygram: (AO3) It's Valentine's Day and you shoot your shot with Eddie by sending him a candygram.

Water Balloons: (AO3) You and Eddie agree that you aren't interested in having kids.

Meet Me At 4:20: (AO3) It’s hard to be the new kid in a small town during senior year, and there’s only one person you actually want to be friends with. So you do the only logical thing, and set up a drug deal.

Dress Code: (AO3) It’s too damn hot to be wearing your Hellfire Club shirt, unfortunately the rest of the club disagrees. One Shot. Reader x Eddie if you squint (Part 2)

C'More, It's Just One Night: (AO3) (Two-Shot) After getting a fake love note in your locker, you ask Eddie to help you mess up some bullies plans. (Part 2)

Splash Zone: (AO3) You and Eddie go to Gareth’s Pool Party

Anomaly: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson. (Part 2) (Part 3)

This Machine...: (AO3) Your birthday is coming up, and Eddie makes you a present.

Corroded Coffin Friendship Bracelets Trend HCs

Being in Hellfire Club HCs

HIATUS

Players Wanted Master List: A series of one-shots about various Readers asking to join Hellfire Club (HIATUS)

Plus One: (AO3) (HIATUS) Once upon a time, you made a deal with the school freak that if he ever got famous then he'd invite you to be his plus one at a red carpet event. Now a decade later an invite shows up at your house asking you to be the +1 to Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin. (1 2 HIATUS)

Upside Down to Inside Out: (AO3) It has been four months since anyone has heard from Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. After the Events of the Upside Down, he skips town, leaving you to reflect on the fallout and how your relationship changed during the battle for Hawkins. (1 2)

Sally Face (Sal Fisher/Reader)

Can't Be Unseen: (AO3) Flirting is fun, but flirting with Sal Fisher is the most fun of all.

Beetlejuice The Musical (Beetlejuice/Reader)

The Convention Fic: You were a mod for one of the biggest YouTube gamer, Beetlejuice. Now you’re finally going to meet him in person. Shitpost AU got Wild (Discontinued)

Snapchat: You’re on vacation and to your surprise, your favorite demon sends you a friend request on SnapChat. 18+

Haunt Me: Possession, haunting, rough sex, consensual scene, respecting safe-words, after care. 18+

The Conglomerate (Demon OCs x Reader)

The Ciarog Cockwarming Fic: Exactly what you expect. 18+

**Dividers by @strangergraphics

[maniacparrot]

My fellow ladies. Please answer me something.

[the-black-bulls]

[whoishotteranimepolls]

"Who's Hotter?" Black Clover Fandom Wars

[shouldtheydivorce]

Reason for divorce:

Their relationship history: Frenemies > Partners > Exes > Ex-exes (only because their joint gayship is so powerful they needed it back to beat fuckin' "lucifer") > Unclear but they're co-parenting a bunch of unwanted misfits and have likely went through ten divorces in the past year, take this however you want.

[polldermodel]

Heb jij ooit een nacht doorgehaald om een opdracht voor school (of werk) op tijd af te krijgen? Ja, en daarna gelijk door naar school/werk Ja, en daarna gaan slapen Nee, in slaap gevallen aan bureau/op de bank Nee, want ik laat opdrachten niet tot het laatste moment liggen

[polish-art-tournament]

paintings* round 1 poll 2

[no propaganda has been submitted]

[vilandel]

Black Clover Modern AU

Fourth Main Couple Poll

Looks like that I will write a fourth main couple for my Modern AU. Alongside Nozel x Vanessa, Yami x Charlotte and Fuegoleon x Lital, let's who will get the most votes 🥰

In the poll, there will be the couples that will also appear, as secondary couples except for the winner:

I might mention or make shortly appear other couples, like Gadjah x Lolopechka, Mars x Fana and Fanzell x Dominante. But those couples in the poll, plus the ones I've already decided to main, will have more roles in the story.

[loosesodamarble]

Love me Nacht and the Bremen devil quartet. I love that Nacht just has Little Guys™️ with him all the time. But their dynamic is always changing in my mind. Or perhaps it’s that I view the dynamic to be multiple things at once.

But let me ask you folks.

[mysteryofvampires]

Elegant, sophisticated, well-dressed vampire all the way!

[hellfirenacht]

Hey, so because work is driving me crazy about this I have a question.

[the-black-bulls]

QUEEREST BLACK BULL - Final Round!

[violettduchess]

"doubt thou the stars are fire // doubt that the sun doth move // doubt truth to be a liar // but never doubt that i love (you)" x gilbert (or whoever you feel fits this best)

-revassierum

A/N: Gilbert won the poll so the first fic belongs to him.

This is the fic that comes before this one but I think that you can read this on its own.

Gilbert x Reader

WC: 2.3k

Full quote:

"Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love you. I love thee, I love but thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old. -William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act II, Scene II

His knuckles, hidden under his black leather gloves, are white as he grasps the cold gray parapet. His eye, red as a hellish comet streaking across a midnight sky, surveys the shapes he can make out below, the ones revealed by the twin luminance of moonlight and torches: the shadowy lines of the encampment tents in front of the castle; light winking weakly off the metal of soldiers’ helmets as they move around. Beyond them the ribbon of pale gray road that disappears into the imposing darkness of the treeline, so dark it drinks in all the light without leaving a single drop.

The road holds his gaze, has every ounce of his attention so thoroughly that he doesn’t react to the man who joins him, the one who is silent as he stares at Gilbert, his expression as stoic as the stone Gilbert’s gloves are so tightly clenching. 

After a moment, he speaks.

“Yes, Doctor?”

Walter reaches up, adjusting his glasses.

“The night is chilled. You should be abed, resting for what is to come.”

Few people in the world can speak to Gilbert in such a way, telling him what he should be doing. But Walter is one of them. The man who carries the weight of Obsidian on his broad shoulders doesn’t answer his physician but the tightness of his jawline is enough of a sign that he has heard.

Walter finally turns his head, his pale gaze following Gilbert’s line of sight until he too is looking at the place where the road vanishes into black forest. He remembers a whispered conversation with Roderich, hushed and hurried, quick as a sparrow nervously jumping from branch to branch lest it be snapped up by the jaws of some far-quicker predator.

“If I may speak freely….”

Gilbert waves a hand. “As if that would be something new.” Though there is a faint glimmer of humor in his voice, his gaze is as intensely focused as ever and he does not glance at the doctor.

“You sent her away. Quite….forcefully, if I recall the story.”

That gets his attention. He turns away, a movement as quick and sleek as silvery clouds sliding across the face of the moon.

Walter knows him well enough to read his face. He sees the miniscule flash of surprise in the depths of his crimson eye, the slight drawing of his shoulders. Anyone else would think Gilbert had no reaction. The doctor knows that this particular subject has just set off a cascade of emotion within the Obsidian leader.

“I won’t ask how you know this or else I would be forced to deprive Obsidian of its best healer.” Annoyance lines his words as he turns back to the parapet, as if he cannot help himself, as if staring at the line between the encampment and the forest is necessary. Agitation dances across the tight line of his shoulders, the straight rod of his back.

Walter clears his throat, stifling the urge to place a hand on Gilbert’s arm. 

“Rhodolite may be the enemy. But it is where she is safest.”

His statement is met with silence, as cool as the night breeze winding its way across the battlement, Gilbert’s black cloak dancing in its wake.

“I’ve taken my tonic. I believe your presence is no longer required tonight, Doctor.”

The dismissal doesn’t bother Walter. He knows Gilbert has heard him. His dark head bows in deference.

“Gute Nacht,” he murmurs, casting one last look at the man whose life he is charged with keeping safe. He may be responsible for Gilbert's body but there is no doubt that his heart is within someone else’s hands.

Gilbert waits until the doctor’s footsteps fade into the other sounds of nighttime, the ebbing murmur of his soldiers as they retire for the evening, the faint clanking of armor as guards patrol the grounds, the lone, mournful hoot of an owl. Only when he is certain he is alone does he allow his head to drop, eye closing for a brief moment.

There is little that escapes Gilbert von Obsidian. He is three steps ahead of everyone, always, the human mind a complicated puzzle he is adept at solving. And yet, when he sent you away from his tent, you with your starlight tears and petal-soft mouth, when he watched you flee, eyes as wild as a fearful rabbit, when he told you to return home to your roses and your pale-haired king…..he was not entirely certain you would listen.

The doctor is right. It was the more rational choice. But it was not the one that his heart wanted, the one it is still screaming for. You belong with him. You should be his. 

He has tasted you, knows the sound of his name when it escapes your lips on a wavering sigh of want. His teeth have sunk into the soft skin of your shoulder, his tongue has traced the line of your neck. He has felt the waves of desire as they ripple through your veins, all because of him. All for him. It is all he has wanted for so very long, all that has consumed him….

And yet he had smiled, sharp as the edge of his sword, and told you to run. Sent you away even as your scent of lavender and roses lingered in his tent, settled across his black mantle like a ghost unable to find peace.

What is he even looking for, out here in the night, as the tents darken one by one like candles blown out by the wind. You are halfway back to your kingdom of roses. You chose home and you chose Chevalier.

So why can’t he tear his gaze away from the darkening road?

It becomes a phantom as the torchlight dims and the moon excuses herself, stepping behind a barricade of clouds. And still he lingers, even as the night air turns cold and unwelcoming, and he feels his muscles contracting in response, struggling to support the cry of his heart to stay….just in case.

Teeth clenched like a beast on the edge of growling, he is about to turn and head inside when he sees it. A shadowy shape bursting out of the black treeline, a spectral horse and rider charging down the ribbon of road. 

And he knows.

The castle walls blur as he flies down the spiral stone steps, down down down and then out, past the startled guards. He is a tiger honed in on its prey, eyes flashing with resolve and hunger. 

You’re already off your horse, speaking in that voice to a soldier with his sword raised in your direction. You are, after all, a stranger who has just flown into their camp like a banshee.

When he arrives at the scene, the soldier immediately lowers his sword and drops to one knee. Gilbert does not hear any of his stammered words. Instead he reaches out, his gloved fingers closing around your wrist as he pulls you towards the nearest tent.

“Raus,” he orders the soldier who was just getting ready to bed down for the night. The word is iron, undeniable and final. The man gathers his things quicker than he ever has before in his life and exits, the tent flap falling closed behind him with a soft whooshing sound.

It is a simple foot soldier’s dwelling with an oil lantern still burning next to the untouched bedroll. The wan light throws your shadows across the thick canvas walls, moving like images inside a zoetrope. 

Gilbert is breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath, but there is nothing unsteady about the way his eye, the color of wine in moonlight, is fixed on you. With trembling hands you push back the hood of your cloak, white with small red roses embroidered along the hem like drops of blood. Your cheeks are flushed with the urgency and speed of your ride. Your skirts and boots are splattered with mud.

“I know….you warned me to go and I started to.” Your voice is airy but uncontrolled, a tornado forcing its way past your throat. “I got just past the border and stopped at a tavern to rest the horse. Rhodolite soldiers were there, several tankards in, and they were bragging…they’re coming, Gilbert. At first dawn they’ll be here.”

You step forward, your hands reaching to gather the soft folds of his black cloak, fingers curling into it as it could steady you, a bulwark against the storm of information you need to tell him.

“They have weapons. They intercepted an Obsidian transport and they have guns.” He hasn’t said a word yet, hasn’t had a chance in the face of all the words you’re hurling at him but now you pause, searching his face. “Gilbert, did you hear me? They have-”

He finally moves, twisting his leather glove off his hand and tossing it aside fecklessly. The next thing you feel is the cool touch of his palm against your cheek, his fingers curling to cup your face.

“You’re here.” 

The words are husky, maybe because he is still catching his breath. Maybe because he can’t believe it.  Or maybe because he can and he’s basking in the confirmation of his prediction.

“I…..” You need him to understand the urgency of what you are telling him and yet his hand feels so good. The last time he touched you that hand was at your throat. Now it is cradling your face with a gentleness just as dangerous.

Your words drop to a whisper. “Gilbert…..they’re coming and they–” And then, as he raises his other hand to his lips, biting into the tip of his glove and removing it with his teeth, the truth hits you like an avalanche careening down a mountain. The encampment here. Gilbert occupying a castle so close to the border and not heading home.

“You already knew.”

And now he’s holding your face in both hands, the coolness of his skin paradoxically sending waves of something unbearably hot through your limbs. 

“But you didn’t. And you came back, risking everything to tell me.”

The world begins and ends in the red of his eye, the fall of dark hair across his pale forehead. Something inside you breaks, shatters like stained glass struck by stone. You reach up, curling your hands around his wrists.

“I….I couldn’t live with the thought that something could happen to you….I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to stop it, even if it meant-”

The rest is stopped by the savage press of his mouth against yours. He will not even allow you to finish that sentence. The grip of his hands tightens as he hungrily swallows any other words you wanted to say, as he drinks deeply from the gasps of your lungs and the moans of your throat. Over and over he devours you while still holding you between his hands, your own having gone slack at the very first kiss.

He kisses you until your lips ache from the crush of his mouth, the sting of his teeth. Your tongue is full of him, the rich, cool taste of him. It is the sweetest nectar, ambrosia as heady as the starlit sky. It leaves you spinning with satisfaction, dizzy with content. And yet, it leaves you parched, always seeking more and more and more of him as the hot winds of desire blow through your veins.

Gilbert is the one to break away, to gasp a lungful of air, feeling the absence of your lips as keenly as any ache. His eye burns like a singular star, swallowing up the darkness.

“Retreat to the castle.” His hands roam your body as he speaks the order, as if he can’t help but touch you even as he demands you to leave him. “The cellar is safeguarded. My men will go with you-”

You shake your head vehemently, capturing his hands in yours, holding them hostage in your own tight grip.

"I have turned against my country for you. I was ready to face whatever hell awaited me here if it meant keeping you safe.” Your voice is low, trembling as it skirts the bedrock of emotion in your chest. “I'm damn well not leaving your side now."

He recognizes a mind as sharp as his own, a will as iron. As much as he has craved your gentle heart, your kind spirit, those soft, beautiful parts of you, he is equally as drawn to the steel in your nerves, the forge of determination in your bright eyes.

He could have you sent away, dragged by his soldiers down to the underbelly of the castle where you would be safe. But as he reaches up, cradling the nape of your neck with one hand, he realizes you are right. After all, who could protect you as well as him? Who but him would trample the world for you? Would set the night ablaze before allowing anyone or anything to harm you?

One arm winds its way around your waist and pulls you close. He leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. His voice is hushed, but rough, gravelly with emotion.

"When all this is over, my brave Häschen, I will reward you.” He catches your earlobe between his white teeth, his heart fluttering at your gasp. “Over and over until your voice is hoarse with the sound of my name." 

There is no time to catch the breath his words have robbed you off. The distant warning of cannon fire fills the night and the encampment is coming awake, following the carefully laid-out plan in preparation for what is coming.

“Come.” And with your fingers linked with his, you step out of the tent together, into the foreboding night.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @nightghoul381 @joiedecombat @ozalysss

[polldermodel]

Ligt jouw mobiel 's nachts in je bed?

Ja, onder/bij mijn kussen

Ja, maar niet bij mijn hoofd in de buurt

Nee, maar wel naast mn bed (bijv. op nachtkastje)

Nee, wel in mn slaapkamer maar buiten bereik van mn bed

Nee, en ook niet in mn slaapkamer

[polish-art-tournament]

minigame IX

theres soooo many green paintings and it was extremely difficult to choose which ones should go in the poll, so i put the ones that didnt make it under the cut - make sure to check them out too :)

[none-ofthisnonsense]

Polls for:

Act I (part 1)

Act I (part 2)

Act II (part 1)