#please don't 'suggest' freaky stuff for me to write

[rissynicole]

I’ve been wanting to get back into writing on a larger scale

I mean, I never really stopped. But it’s been little one-shots and collaborative pieces between close friends.

I want to write something on the scale of A Parade of Indignities, which was a bona-fide longfic and had a posting schedule for AO3 and FFN.

In case this came across your dash, and you're like "who the fuck is this lady and why would I care about what she writes?" my name is Rissy. I enjoy writing stories for the Invader Zim fandom, and I've been around for several years, writing stories and just kind of vibing. I mainly write gen fics. I used to post regularly on AO3 and FFN, but after I finished my longfic a couple years back, I took a bit of a hiatus.

I’m going to put this poll up to test some waters and use the results to help me make my decision. If there’s any one option that has overwhelming popularity, it might give me some pause for thought.

1) inALIENable. Very Zim-centric and Gaz-centric. Here’s a post that explains this fanfic pretty well. I would probably take the outline back to the drawing board and heavily rewrite the sections I have for it (I'd written about 1/3 of it in 2018, then I put it waaaay on the back-burner). Fair warning, it involves a major character death that occurs before the story begins. It also includes an OC that doesn't dominate the story but plays a key role in the story. I think part of the reason I’ve been hesitant to post it is because I don’t anticipate it gaining much readership. I just envision the major character death/OC acting as deterrents for readers. Stupid to concern myself so much over readership, I know. I get it. I should write for me and me only. I'm going to be transparent, though: if I'm going to devote my time to my hobby after 50+ hours of work a week, and I'm putting in the effort of polishing it up so I could post it publicly, and I'm looking forward to talking about it with people and engaging with the fandom more...then it would be incredibly demoralizing to receive nothing but dead air. I'm sorry. I have no other way to explain it.

If not inALIENable, I have a couple other ideas of stories I could write and post on AO3.

2) An expansion of a one-shot I’ve written and posted on Tumblr. I’m thinking either this prompt or this prompt.

3) Something else entirely. I'm open to suggestions.

[dolicekiss]

Hi I'm not sure if you're taking requests (i don't know how the request work so sorry)

Could u write a one-shot, where Reader and Duncan have a mission and them go to the place but before do the work, they arrive at a hotel and them only rent a room with one bed (obviously) Duncan tells her that he'll take the bed and she'll sleep on the floor, then he go to take a shower and she doesn't care about his request and takes the bed, Duncan comes out and them start to fight because she didn't listen him, until she suggests that both take the bed (Duncan don't like the idea but don't decline and just does it) after a while she stars to tempt him at first he's angry bout all the situation, but the moment takes another path and u alr know (smut) if u r comfortable with ofc. (And sorry my english isn't great sorry for the type errors)

This is an idea of one chat with a bot of c.ia but the bots r not as good as a writer <3

♡: anon i know about this bot and i have done some freaky stuff w it 🤭 i love this request

Contumacious

PAIRING: Duncan Vizla x Bratty!Reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni), unprotected sex, age gap (reader is in her twenties), bratty reader, dominant duncan, tension, oral (male receiving), duncan calls reader ‘little girl’, overstimulation, choking, hair pulling, biting, slight blood, degrading, talkative duncan, slight (very minor) fluff at the end.

SYNOPSIS: On a mission, Duncan decides to stay at a hotel room for further planning and to rest. But when he orders you to take the floor and decides to stake his claim over the bed, things become heated between the two of you.

Duncan didn't expect to see a single bed in the room when he stormed in, along with you, who carried your own bag of basic necessities.

Frustration was as clear as water on his rough features when he realized he'd have to sacrifice a good night's sleep if he were to allow you slumber along him.

So he didn't sacrifice shit.

The man dropped his duffle bag over the bed, in a way branding it as his. “I get the bed, you get the floor.”

You couldn't even oppose because he'd already left for the bathroom, assuming to take a shower. Your lips formed a frown, brows furrowing. Just who did Duncan Vizla think he was? You both were equals on this mission, sent by Damucles to strike down a Mexican mob boss.

Duncan being older didn't mean he could do as he wished. You stood firm on give respect in order to receive it, age had nothing to do with it. You also placed your bag on the bed and slipped off your boots, sprawling across it.

If you had to take the bed forcefully, then so be it.

When Duncan was finished with his shower and came out, he was the least bit pleased with the sight afore him. You on your stomach, laying on the bed, feet up in the air and oscillating.

His bushy eyebrows scrunched in irritation. The man stormed towards you, standing right in front of you and you lifted your gaze up fron the pistol in your hands. Only to acknowledge him before going back to toying with the weapon in your hands.

That only worked to raise his anger more.

“I told you the bed is mine. Get your little ass off it.” You lifted your head, to face him and then slid off the bed. Now standing right in front of him — gaze unwavering and posture strong. Duncan knew you were one hell of a stubborn brat. He'd come across you before and he hated every bit of it.

You placed your hand on your hip.

A pose that struck him with a lash of irritation.

“It is a big bed and who are you to claim it first? Just because you're old, you think you can come in here and order me around?” Duncan’s eyes flared up. Nostrils expanding and the anger on his face was like embers swirling in lava.

He took a step forward. “Listen here, little girl. I might be old but you could never reach the amount of missions I have been successful at, nor do you know real struggle. Try sleeping in the Siberian Winds with no clothes, not a single thread to cover your damn body.”

You couldn't believe it.

He was rubbing his life experiences in your face as if he didn't himself chose to work for Damocles.

He became the black kaiser because he wanted to.

In the heat of the prickling anger, you also stepped forward. Your chest brushing against his. “You chose that for yourself but I won't let you choose the bed. Either we both sleep on it together or you take the fucking floor. There's no way in hell I'm sleeping on the floor.”

Duncan groaned.

He knew of the abundance stubbornness you possessed. There was no way you would back out, knowing that the way you got yourself snuck into his mission was by being completely adamant and demanding money if not allowed in.

But he too couldn't retreat, as his pride was on the line. “I could easily throw you on the floor, little girl.”

You snickered. “I'd like to see you try.”

Duncan stared at you. Drinking in your petite form and how small you were in comparison to him. Primal and dark was what stirred within the base of his abdomen when his mind finally grasped on how pathetic you were. Indeed you were a trained killer, amazing at martial arts too but Duncan knew against him you stood no chance.

Due to the diligence of your work and mission, Duncan never really focused on your features.

Your challenge nearly caused him to pick you up and toss you on the damn floor. Duncan raised his hand — fingers opening to wrap around your throat. The inside of his fingers brushed across your throat and you swallowed tightly, waiting for him to act out his aggression.

Duncan’s hand fell.

Your brow raised at his defeat. “Fine but you better keep at your side. If I see a damn leg or arm of yours on my side, you best believe I'm choppin’ it off.”

You dismissed him with your hand and Duncan’s hand formed into a fist. He really wanted to teach you a lesson. Hating how you paraded around Damocles like you were the only one, an egoistic but skilled assasian.

Just for the sake of the mission, Duncan let it go.

He settled on the bed on one side and watched you take out your own clothes from the duffle bag, making your way to the bathroom. In your hand were some panties and a loose, button up shirt. It was what you'd managed to pack in a hurry when you were told about your mission with Duncan.

Honestly, you sort of looked up to him.

No one was as heavily respected in Damocles as he was.

The Black Kaiser.

Aim perfect and sharp. He knew so many ways to discard the enemy and you'd only witnessed a few of them on this mission. It filled you with unbridled excitement when you'd finally landed yourself with him.

Your shower was relaxing. Warm water soothing all your strained muscles — the combat sure taking its toll on you. Slow hands caressing the skin, ridding of it any dirt that lingered. After done shampooing your hair and washing your body, you dried yourself and changed into your clothes.

The outfit was sultry to say the least but you knew Duncan was a man who would never find you attractive.

You knew of his irritation and annoyance aimed at you. It was honestly adorable at times how he got pissed, finding joy in pushing at his buttons.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, Duncan’s head snapped into your direction and his expression hardened. There you sauntered towards the bed with bare thighs and plush breasts peeking out from within the confines of your shirt.

He swallowed, his adjustment of himself not slipping past you.

You laid down on the bed and let out a sigh, finally finding peace. A good night’s rest was surely needed and this bed could provide it all. As you shifted to find a comfortable position, your shirt rose up in the friction exposing the black lining of your panties.

Duncan caught a glimpse of it.

His eyes darkening.

“Could've worn something warmer.” Duncan said, not looking at you. A scowl made its way across your face as you sat up, body strength on your palms. Leaning forward made your loose shirt fall by your sides, cleavage revealed.

“You got a problem with everything, old man.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Is that your only retort? Calling me old?” He snapped, staring at you. For a moment his gaze lingered to your lips and then back up to your face. Eyes filled to the brim with frustration and something – dark too. Lust or maybe anger.

“Are you not old? I bet you can't even get it up anymore.” You chuckled and that seemed to have crossed the line. Duncan reached for you, hand entangling in your hair. You felt him tug on the roots and pull you closer, face only a mere inches away from yours.

Your breath hitched.

Fighting him right now could get really dirty and you wanted to see how far Duncan was willing to go. His action only working to entice you. “You really should watch your damn mouth, little girl. I don't take nicely to such disrespect.”

You let out a chuckle. “Accept it. You cannot get it up, old man.”

Duncan’s fist tightened, nostrils flaring at your impolite words. You stared at him, your tongue slithering out like an enticing snake and running across the plump of your lips in an attempt to seduce him. “Or can you? I've heard older men fuck better. Is that true, Duncan?”

Duncan growled.

He tugged you down, to between his legs. Duncan nuzzled your face against the tent in his trousers. His bulge protruding as he shoved your face against it. “Does that look like I can't get it up, little girl?”

You shook your head slowly, hands hastily moving to pull down his trousers, paired with his briefs. His cock sprung out, nearly hitting you in the face and a soft gasp escaped your lips. It was big — fucking massive and you hadn't expected a man of Duncan's age to have such a big cock. Precum sheened over his tip.

It was thick and you knew the pain of the stretch inside you would be delicious. Veins ran from its base, disappearing underneath the pink tip. Your mouth watered at the sight, fingers gently wrapping around the girth.

A sweet hiss fell from Duncan’s lips.

You parted your lips and pushed out your tongue, running it in little licks over his tip, managing to taste his salty precum. Duncan’s breath grew heavier along each lick — chest moving in a slow rhythm.

His fingers still drowned in your hair. Duncan tugged harder, an indication for you to pick up. So you did, wrapping your lips around his tip and sucking it in, taking his fat cock all the way into your tight mouth until it had fully disappeared. You could feel it slip past the little uvula hanging in the air of your mouth, the warm flesh feeling like embers over your tongue.

“Jesus, you're pretty good at taking a cock.”

A giggle almost slipped — you attempted to breath through your nose and salvated around his throbbing dick. Your eyes met Duncan’s drowsy ones and as you whimpered, the vibrations from your throat shot straight through his abdomen.

His hands guided down your head furthermore, burying your nose into his neatly trimmed pubic hair.

Duncan pulled you up, only to slam his cock back inside your mouth. A repetitive action, his thighs shaking and flexing whenever the wetness and constriction of your throat welcomed him. Panting like a hungry beast, he fucked himself into your mouth.

Hips snapping up in desperate thrusts to gain his release.

“Good little girl. This is what your mouth is made for—what it's supposed to do.” He grunted when your struggles began in the form of small hands lightly punching at his thick thighs. “You're only a cocksucking little bitch.”

Tears stung your eyes from how horribly you gagged all over him. His tip repeatedly hitting the back of your throat while moaning out loud. Divulging his pleasure to the people outside the hotel room.

Duncan loved the way you gagged around his cock. Tears sitting prettily in your beautiful eyes and he couldn't help but feel himself come near at the sight of you, this weak and pathetic underneath him. If he'd known sharing a bed would lead to this, the man would've given up in one single breath.

“Fuck—fuck. I'm close, I'm so fuckin’ close, my little girl. Keep suckin’ my cock like that, like the filthy bitch you are.” Duncan was vocal.

That was for sure and you enjoyed every bit of it.

After fucking your mouth for quite some time, Duncan finally shot loads of warm fluid down your throat. You struggled, kicking and thrashing everywhere but he didn't let go. He only continued to ride out his orgasm, feeling his own cock lubing up in the process of fucking his cum down your throat.

When he let you go, you promptly pulled back with a loud gasp. A sharp intake of oxygen. Cum and saliva dribbling in rivulets down your chin, tears wetting your cheeks. Duncan watched as your tits rose up and down, bouncing down slightly whenever you dragged in air.

Your eyes widened when you saw how Duncan’s soft cock suddenly became hard again, rising up. Curved and strong — tip caressing his abdomen. It was embarrassing for you because you'd called him out for not being able to get it up, here he was. In his late fifties, ready to fuck you dumb.

“Fuck you lookin’ at? Hop on.”

Your pussy throbbed. An insatiable ache that only his delicious cock could satisfy. You tossed one leg over his waist, while holding his cock with your hand. Aligning it at your hole, you finally sunk down on it. Duncan and you groaned in unison.

Feeling his cock enter you was such an indecipherable feeling. He filled you all the way, his tip reaching your womb almost. You placed both your palms over his chest, running your nails into the grey and black hair on his chest. Your lips parted, eyes rolled as you fully consumed him.

“Such a hungry fuckin’ pussy you've got. Taking me all the way in.” Duncan raised his hand and smacked your ass. “Cmon, move now.”

You obliged — beginning to grind your hips. In a slow back and forth rhythm. Duncan’s head was thrown back, pressed into the headboard while both his hands settled at your hips. Helping you grind down on his cock. You didn't even want to move, that's how much you fucking relished in him filling you up but then he lifted you, slamming you back down on his cock.

“Yeah, just like that.” He growled when you started to slide up and down. Hopping like a damn bunny in heat, feeling his veiny thick cock rub at your sensitive walls. Your whines were loud and prominent through the room as you held tightly onto his broad shoulders.

Lips agape and hair wet from the shower, it made you appear ten times prettier than you were. Duncan’s cock only hardened more, if possible inside you. The tremor in your whole frame was slowly becoming known to him and he scoffed, a breathty grunt leaving his lips. “Can't even fuck yourself on my cock and you have the audacity to speak to me with disrespect.”

“I'm sorry,” came a whimper from you. Nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, dragging them down into tiny slits.

Duncan helped you ride him, both his hands tugging at the flesh of your rear. He drove himself into you, in and out, in a fast rhythm. It was all too hot. Your body felt like it was boiling up and Duncan’s hands moved up to hold your breasts, thumbs flicking the nipples.

Dark brows furrowed and lips fallen apart, he let out aggressive grunts like some hounddog that couldn't have enough of you. “Pathetic whore. Jus’ a pathetic little whore who needed to be fucked. If—fuck,” he grunted, balls throbbing. “If you craved a cock this badly, you could've said so.”

Your eyes squeezed shut and walls gripped him like a vice. Duncan leaned forward and bit down on your shoulder, teeth digging into the skin hard enough to draw blood. He continued making you ride him, loving the way your tits bounced in his hands. A feeling driving him delirious.

The sound of skin against skin grew.

A languorous heat spread in your lower stomach. An indicator of your upcoming orgasm. Duncan’s hands kept playing with your soft mounds — his teeth littering bite marks at where your neck and shoulder became one and the way his hammered his cock inside your cunt was enough to push you over the edge.

Your arms flew to his shoulders, holding him tightly. “Duncan, ‘m gonna cum. ‘m so close, please.”

He looked up at you, loving the warmth you produced when you'd clung onto him like a koala to a tree. He pressed his lips over yours, something he himself was in shock at. His teeth tugged at your lower lip, sucking on it and as the kiss warmed, so did your cunt.

Duncan groaned as you slammed down on his cock repeatedly. A strong and soul chilling orgasm tearing through you. Eyes rolling back to your head and whimpers of sensitivity echoing in the room. He held you tightly as you came, enjoying how your little frame suffered from convulsions under his hold.

Duncan didn't give you a chance to even register your climax. He'd already began thrusting up your cunt, arms wrapped around your waist in a bone crushing hold. “Wait—wait! I still— oh my god.”

He didn't let you relax.

After all he too needed to cum.

Duncan could feel the throbbing sensation in his balls and the pulsating of his fat cock inside you. With a few, harsh strokes delivered inside your pussy, he released himself and your head buried in his neck from the feeling of being filled to the brim. His hot cum shot out, rope by rope, decorating the gummy walls of your pussy.

You could feel all of it.

Heightened sensitivity.

Your body went limp over his, leisurely dropping and Duncan held you. Both of you panted like wild animals who'd just got done finishing their preys. Your breathing was uneven and your throat was parched. Duncan heaved out, his low groans sending waves of sparks to your aching cunt again.

Thick fingers running up and down your bare back, with his other hand he caressed your hair. He wasn't rough when it came to sex but at times he felt like destroying your cunt whenever you'd speak to him in that stuck up, vicious little tone.

Duncan’s hand that played with your hair suddenly tightened, fingers pulling on the soft locks and you whimpered.

You were thrown off his lap on the bed. Appalled at his actions, you turned to look at him but Duncan only pressed your head further into the bed with his large hand. His other hand pulled your lower body, bending your knees.

“Wh-What are you doing?” You gasped out, the question coming out muffled.

Duncan let out a chuckle. “You thought we were done, hm? There ain't no way we're done with one round, little girl.”

You couldn't even resist as Duncan sunk his cock into you. Back arching and spine curving, a muffled whine of need and satisfaction echoing. He held you down as he thoroughly fucked you, his hips colliding with yours. Balls hitting the swollen stripe of your cunt.

“Look at you.” His bated breath increased your libido, as you were also speechless at his. Duncan was still ready to go on meanwhile you were struggling with staying still. Tired and drained from all his harsh strokes.

His grip on your hair tightened as he pulled you up to his chest, locking you firmly. Duncan pulled out then pushed right back into you, his tip reaching your womb. A small bulge forming on your stomach everytime he slammed back into you. Tears of overstimulation dropped like pearls on your face and Duncan moaned in your ear.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He praised.

Your walls clenched.

Duncan hissed and felt his strokes become steady, dragging across your spongy walls to feel them. Then he climaxed inside you, filling you up again once more. This time his cum dripped out of you, making a mess on his own cock and your thighs. Pussy glistening from the slick, cum and your own climax.

Duncan pulled out and pushed you back down on the bed.

He also collapsed next to you.

Chest rising up and down, breath a broken rhythm. You sniffled into the pillows, thighs shivering the overstimulation you'd suffered at the hands of Duncan. He wasn't as cruel as you'd depicted him to be. Duncan reached for you, pulling you closer to him and wrapping an arm around your waist.

His large arm covering the expanse of your chest.

“Sorry, little girl. You piss me off a lot.” He whispered and you flipped to face him, burying your face in his chest. “And I'll continue to piss you off.”

Despite the fact that he'd pretty much blown your back out twice, you still held on to your defiant traits. He let out a laugh, reaching over to grab a cigarette and light it up.

Dragging in a smoke, he brought the cigarette to your lips and your parted them, allowing him to settle it between them. You pursued his actions and released the smoke through your nostrils.

“That feels good.”

Duncan smiled. “Better than my cock?”

“Oh shut up.”

[shiveringgroovy]

I'm taking requests for BSD or Elder Scrolls drabbles :D

I'm very particular with what I'm comfortable writing, so please read these before requesting in my inbox! Bolded ones are my favorites or ones I feel I write well for.

I can do character/reader or character/character. Requests can be something like:

"Character with a [blah blah blah] s/o" "Erm can I cut open Character please?" "Can these Characters be joyous and happy together?" Etc.

WILL WRITE

Masc reader

GN reader

Gore/Whump

Drabbles

MAYBE fem reader. MAYBE.

Genderbends, Trans headcanons, etc.

Headcanon lists

Fluff

Platonic

Suggestive content (but only a little you have to get through my 500 layers of evil ass metaphors before you get to any freaky stuff in my works.)

WILL NOT WRITE

Sexual content/Smut

Hateful content (I would assume that's a given but yk)

Romantic content of underage characters

SHIPS I WILL WRITE FOR (Defeat my EIGHT evil fyodor ships)

BSD:

Fyozai (my first love my everything i love them so much you don't get it)

Fyovan (pleasepleaspleasepleasepleaseplease)

Fyosig

Shibufyo(zai)

Fyolai (sometimes. if i'm in the mood. not always.)

DoA3

Fuku(chi)fyo

Fyoran

Siglai

Souheki

Steincraft

Kunizai

Atsulucy

Kunisano

Sigzai

Moncott

Suegiku

Ranpoe

Fukumori

Fukufuku

If I missed any, don't be afraid to ask!

TES:

Nerevoryn

Nerevehk

Any variation of ALMSIVI

Sheskillmyna (Sheskill, Shelmyna, Hasmyna as well!)

Sheogorath/Sanguine

Namira/Meridia (collect my daedra yuri rarepairs)

Boethiah/Mephala

Janus Hassildor/Vicente Valtieri

(Modded) Lucien Flavius/Inigo

Azura/Vaermina (collect my [gets shot])

Eletuli

Vannimarco

Syl/Thadon

Always ask! I love rarepairs and crackships :D

SHIPS I WILL NOT WRITE FOR

SKK

Koumori

Dazatsu

Dazaku

Fyoatsu

Don't take any of these as personal attacks, I just don't vibe with these ships. Sorry!

TES:

Molag Bal/anyone

That's it I think

CHARACTERS I WILL WRITE /READERS FOR

BSD:

FYODOR!!! FYODOR!!!

Sigma

Ivan

Shibusawa

Ranpo

Nikolai

Poe

Yosano

As always, ask if I haven't blacklisted them

TES:

Any daedra except You-Know-Who or Peryite bc I don't fw Peryite

Astrid

Cicero

Nazir

Almalexia

Sotha Sil

Vivec

Cutter (Shivering Isles DLC)

Divayth Fyr

Lucien LaChance

Martin Septim

Sapphire

Mannimarco

uhhrrmm ask????

CHARACTERS I WILL NOT WRITE /READERS FOR

BSD:

Any underaged characters

If you love me you will not ask me to write dazai or chuuya/reader or I will die on the spot

Akutagawa

Paul Verlaine

Kunikida

Tecchou

Tanizaki

Tachihara

Fukuchi

Fukuzawa

These are characters that I can't write for shit, not because I dislike them !!

TES:

Molag Bal

Peryite

Serana. You know why.

Ulfric Stormcloak

OTHER NOTES

This was super long and annoying. Ugghhmm good for you if you made it all the way!!

[000marie198]

Fanfic Writing Challenge

The imagery of Sonic, Rouge and Tails being the most annoying and skilled little team of pickpocketers/thieves and their gold dynamic inspired this but I can't write at the moment bcoz my right hand is on a vacation.

So anyways, here's your challenge:

Take three of your most MOST FAVORITE characters in a franchise, any three. Make them a team. Make them the antagonists of your story.

Also take three to five of your LEAST FAVORITE or MOST HATED characters in the same franchise and make them the protagonists. Of the actual story or just the world in the story? That's up to you.

Rules:

No nsfw, suggestive, incest etc. Keep the freaky stuff away please.

OCs are welcome but as side characters

Aside from the fandoms I'm in and greatly looking forward to (Sonic, Httyd, TMNT), any franchise is allowed

You are free to make the ending in the Protags' or Antags' favour

The length of the story is also unlimited. It can be a drabble, it can be a novel. And everything in between

Make a Tumblr post with the link to the story (or with the story if you decide to publish it here) and tag me so I can read it. I'll be making a separate blog for reblogging the stories in and sharing them on main too.

Tag your post with 'alignment switch challenge' (yes I know your favs can be morally grey or villains in can and vice versa for least favs but I needed a tag and this one works.

AUs are welcome, feel free to place your characters in any setting and run with it

No reader inserts or ' x reader' please.

The main characters (both protagonists and antagonists) must be canon characters

This challenge has No Time Limit, so feel free to finish or start it whenever . Have fun!

P.S. Reblog this so more people can see it even if you don't plan to participate.

[creepyjealousy]

I don't really post much and neither do I really know how posting works. but I felt like a further explanation about this was needed.

THIS IS LONG! TAKE YOUR TIME TO READ!

My name is Keith, and I'm a long member and a moderator of the "Bully Breasts" server.

PART 1

Recently there has been a, i suppose you can call it, "call out post" about our server. I would like to begin with the fact that the information said account has given is very misleading.

see image below.

The owner of the server, and close friend of mine, has already posted an explanation after trying to reach out to the account. Their user is @emrekchu, please check the original post out.

see images below of Emrekchu contacting them.

as you can see, we've waited several days for a message back. after we didn't get one, we decided on making a post explaining the situation (Emrekchu's post)

PART 2

Now I would like to explain stuff myself.

Yes, we do have a channel where we discuss topics that go beyond mature humor. Yes, I myself have done this. Yes, I've said stuff that contains sexual topics. But none of this had the intention of putting someone in danger. most of us in the server are teens and have mature potty humor, but whenever we went too far we've been called out for it and we didn't do it again, with MYSELF as a big example.

I would also like to say our "NSFW" channel, does not contain any actual NSFW content, there's no porn, no body pics. none of that. and we STRONGLY are against that.

We also have rules in our server that DIRECTLY says that we do NOT tolerate sexualisation of a minor.

see images below.

We've had situations where these rules have unfortunately been broken and set minors in danger, but we quickly take action and have banned such people.

PART 3

(we had a response this exact moment I've been writing this.)

I would like to also say that I am very disappointed by how this was handled. The original poster, bullyworthlol, hasn't even joined the server. they got screenshots sent by a different party. so not only is there no ACTUAL context or explanation, but they didn't even have any experience themselves.

see image below.

I think this is extremely unprofessionally handled for an "exposing" account.

PART 4

I am by NO MEANS saying the actions we've done, that made people uncomfortable without our knowledge, are valid. But I am trying to tell you to reach out, we are a very welcoming and understanding community. we listen, we change, we improve.

But I'm also saying that we do not force you to interact with our community if you don't feel comfortable with how we act. I highly suggest you don't interact with us if this is the case. yes, we will listen to feedback, but we still have dorky crude humor.

Also I literally have an introduction which says "if I make you uncomfortable, please tell me"

see image below.

I am now 17, by the way.

PART 5

I would like to inform everyone reading this that we have already discussed this situation and made changes and improvements.

we decided to change the age limit to only people of 14 and above. We've also decided the "freaky channel" (actual name) can only be accessible by asking the owner or moderators, we have age roles to check who's allowed in or not. (were not gonna ask for a fucking ID that's wild)

We also decided to make the channels; "cosplay" and "face rev" private and only accessible if you've been in the server for longer than a month (we manually check this) to provide more privacy.

We will not be kicking any adults out of our server, Bully is a game from the 2000s, ofcourse it has fans that are adults now. Plus, Bully itself has mature humor, sexual topics, and more. (again, not justifying weird behavior)

CONCLUSION

Me and Emrek are taking accountability for this, and the blame if needed. you can contact me on discord @keithcobain, Emrek @emrekchu and Sushi (other mod) @isushik for further discussion.

[writing-whump]

Sorry, if this is rude.. but I'm really curious.

Why is puking such a large theme in your writing? Is it more of a whump fixation like 'emptying' oneself of their turmoil or is it more of a fetish fancy?

Again I'm sorry if this is a weird ask and please, feel free not to answer if it is.

Hmm, that is a good question.

I consider my writing to fall into the emeto category of whump. So it's like whump in terms of emeto?

I'm not entirely sure what fascinates me about it. But I feel like the biggest draw for me is the hurt/comfort potential.

Like feeling sick/puking is just incredibly vulnerable uncomfortable state, where you basically don't have control over yourself, you can't help what's happening, you can't really stop it...but it has so many causes and is so mundane in a sense? Everyone goes through it?

And it's gross. So I feel like whoever takes care of you during a sickness like that has to really really care, and you have to be comfortable and close for that comfort/intervention to not feel humiliating?

And it's exactly in this kind of state where genuine care, real friendships, close family or significant other come through to help you with what you need and can't help?

For me its like the ultimate expression of selfless, non-profit, not doing it for sex or attraction or good looks or "to look good" kind of love. And it's not something breezy and easy like a fever or a cold where you do something half-heartedly and it's done, it requires real overcoming yourself and your comfort zone?

Other thing is the whole caretaking like bellyrubs and gurgles that might have a sort of sexy/kink quality for me? The buildup and stuff? I'm not entirely sure, I explore this aspect of it more on other blogs, but it has a bity bity part of it in my fics too.

So it's kind of a mix between super selfless care and kind of sexy build up tension and vulnerability and a kind of exploration of sex and sexuality (in romantic smutty context! Not all fics are about this!!It isn't as high on my priorities in writing as the platonic aspects for example) that just feels a lot safer for me?

I'm not a fan of sex without a deep emotional connection, I'm super afraid of it, actually (which is not a trendy opinion right now). Casual sex is sort of a personal squick. My environment was very "sex bad! Sex unpure! Sex dangerous! It's a way people will use you!" (It took me a long time to figure out that sex itself isn't what bothers me. It's the casual kind of sex that does. Ergo why my world and OCs are so sensitive about touch and can't do casual hookups at all lol.).

So connecting this selfless kind of care with sexy kind of context creates the right comfort level for me.

Honestly, I don't know for sure. I think for me this ties into the debate of "is whump inherently sexual or not" and "where are the lines between whump and kink" and "are there kinks that are freaky or are they alright as long as it's consensual" and "is whump or h/c just an expression of desire for connection and care/being taken care of/caring"?

(I have read studies that suggest whump can be a substitute for vulnerability for asexual people or for people not currently having/being wary of sexual relationships).

Basically, the pure hurt/comfort and care and vulnerability is my favourite whump content. I'm here for the comfort, not for the hurt (not that there is anything wrong about the hurt itself I think). And emeto nicely ties into that.

[youngjusticeslut]

Writing suggestion: everyone congratulates Supermartian at the wedding reception, toast the happy couple and someone gives a heartfelt speech about everything they’ve been through especially their time apart in season 4. Pretty Please with a Cherry on Top. I will love you forever if you write this!

Given the circumstances and the haste of putting together a ceremony, it was a miracle that the wedding turned out as well as it did.

The catered dinner that M'gann and Conner had carefully tasted months ago was replaced with a mountain of pizzas. No dance floor, but their friends had managed to finagle a couple of speakers. Virgil and Cassie immediately shot up and dubbed themselves DJs for the night, so with all the drama out of the way, everyone could finally let loose and breathe again.

Though, the copious amounts of alcohol (generously donated by several leaguers, Artemis, Roy, and one brooding billionaire) certainly helped a bit.

"So, no speeches?" Dick asks, sipping from a dangerously pink concoction that Bart had dubbed 'the Supermartian'.

Conner raises a brow. "Did you write one?"

"Wait, wasn't that Gar's job?" Will asks, nodding at the green boy who seemed a little preoccupied with getting Lian and Amistad to stop chasing his new Corgi.

"I am afraid it was mine," Kaldur says, his cheeks a faint shade of cherry. Whether it was from the three glasses of champagne, the embarassment from not having a speech made, or from Wyynde perched across his lap, he couldn't tell. "You asked me to speak, and I admit I forgot."

M'gann laughs. "He asked you months ago. I think you're forgiven, Kaldur. We kind of nixed the whole speeches thing when we put this together."

"Uh, yeah, we kind of had other things going on." Artemis tips the rest of her drink into her mouth and sets the glass down. "I think it's a miracle we all just made it here."

"You're one to talk. Weren't you supposed to give a speech too?"

Artemis shoots a glare at her brother in law. "Again, months ago. I dub myself forgiven."

"Don't think that's really your call to make, 'Mis."

"She's forgiven." M'gann leans her head on Conner's shoulder. "But I'll take a toast, if any of you feel in the mood."

"Lord knows you guys need it," Zatanna giggles. "That's how many tragedies in the span of ten years?"

Raquel grins and raises a glass. "Zee's right. We need some good juju up in here."

She stands from the table, but before she can even begin to make her way to the front of the dance floor, the music stops. Everyone turns their gaze, only to be met with a frightening proposition: Icicle Jr. with a microphone.

"As the resident worst-man and the person who witnessed the official creation of this union, I want to give a toast!"

Horrified looks fill the room, and Icicle Jr.'s security guards quickly get up, but Conner waves them down. "Let him speak!"

"Thank you! Now, as I was saying... even though I totally met her first, and I thought she was your sister and you guys were into some real freaky stuff, I guess you guys are kind of a match made in... whatever! Though, I still think she would look way cooler with me."

The pun is met with audible groans, and from a distance, someone (Bart) questions the 'sister' part.

"Alls this to say is that I wish you guys every happiness in the world. A toast to the happy couple!"

[goodluckclove]

you still answering asks with virtue and goodness in your heart? if so i have a writing question. i wanna get more into writing short horror/psychological/surrealist/ whatever the hell. MODERN GOTHIC that's what i mean. i love doing it and thinking of monsters or situations and i love messing about with descriptions and levels of detail and limiting the narrator's perspective etc etc. but you've seen a ton of horror media - do you have any tips ? or fun little tricks/tropes you love to see ??

Okay this is where I am no longer your punk Aunt and I am now reverting to a troubled older brother who smells like cigarettes even though I never smoked nicotine. I get a majority of my writing inspiration from movies, especially for visual and tonal elements, and while I don't really know gothic horror I do know surrealism and psychological intensity.

So I'm going to make a list of all the movies I've personally seen that fall into that category, some horror, some not. Please, please read into these films before you watch them. I'll try to warn about what I remember but like. Holy shit take care of yourself.

I do feel very weird suggesting these movies to young people but I was between 12-18 when I saw these, and I can't pretend like you don't have easy access to this stuff online already.

Here's something for your next movie night if you're looking to make people uncomfortable in new and creative ways through writing and art. Enjoy!

Uzumaki (2000) - based on the Junji Ito manga, released before the manga finished so it has a different ending. Pretty wild effects.

Requiem for a Dream - deeply uncomfortable, deals with addiction in every form, beautifully shot and immersive, didn't breath or blink much near the end. Immediately read the book. Fucking wild and I refuse to watch it again.

Eraserhead - slow but worth it. Really unnerving. A classic take on the fears of parenthood. People still don't know how he made the baby prop and that's pretty cool.

Videodrome - cronenberg is a classic. This movie is deeply fleshy and not in the way you think. There's probably some boobs but honestly a man's hand gets melded into a flesh gun and it's fucking awesome. Definitely look up more content stuff because cronenberg is...an odd one.

Donnie Darko - it occurs to me that a young person might not realize this movie kicks ass

Vivarium - genuinely cool. Looked rad. Not all of these are freaky.

Berberian Sound Studio - mentioned sexual assault, but other than that go in blind because it fucking kicks ass and the soundtrack is so cool and it's such a fucking vibe

Skinamirink - genuinely had to walk out of this one because it is both Nothing and Too Scary For Me

Infinity Pool - I think this is Cronenberg's kid and he does his dad right. This movie was fucking wild. Triggers for things I - don't know how to put into words out of context? Look this one up first.

The V/H/S series is really interesting as a chronology film and each one has at least one good short and a few cool concepts.

I personally love analog and digital horror (walten files especially) for it's unique tone but they're also usually too scary for me so I watch other people review them instead

Stopmotion (2023) - after I left the theater I looked at my friend and said that I was going to go home to my wife.

I have other, more niche/extreme suggestions, but I think this is a good baseline for weird/surreal/psychological horror. You also have to tell me if you watch any of these because I'd love to talk about weird fleshy nonsense with someone else.

[thesillyguyscorner-askblog]

hi!! welcome to the corner :3

this is an oc ask blog run by @sigmxnd for the sole purpose of no purpose, i'm very bored and figured i'd find something to do. so here i am :3

pretty much if yknow how an ask blog works, go ham in the inbox, but if you don't, essentially there's gonna be a cast of Wacky characters you can just send in asks for, and i'll (try to) draw out their responses and maybe even make something cool of it. i genuinely don't feel like drawing anything for this intro post so i'll just write down stuff

the ones avaliable for asks are:

sigmund

leo

aaron

pebble

sleepy

malcom

if you know nothing about a character, send 'em an ask. they'll be more than happy to fill you in on themselves :3 (more characters may be added in the future)

technically you can also ask me questions ooc (referred to as the creator. i am a free cringe man) but i figure it's mostly gonna be about the characters

RULES:

• don't be weird please, this is a sfw blog and the most freaky it's gonna get is just suggestive jokes. im not okay with very nsfw questions being directed at these characters (or myself), even if they all are adults

• you can send in multiple asks (such as one ask per character), but don't spam the inbox obv. im just a little guy

• (if i think of any more rules i'll add them)

the inbox is open. be free my gremlins

[repo-net]

Hi there, Monaca! 😁 I’ve got a question for you (or for Repo-net about you). How would Monaca rank her friends/the other Warriors of Hope? I’ve always gotten the feeling that Monaca and Kotoko actually don’t get along very well even if they act like besties and that Monaca isn’t nearly as close to Masaru as someone might think, for instance. Is that really the case? Thanks in advance & enjoy your blog takeover! 😉

(A/N: Happy April’s Fools too! I’ve gotten such a great laugh about this! Your Monaca post was so spot on that I thought it was some sort of suggested Tumblr post from a Monaca rp blog at first. And gosh you changed your blog theme and colors and everything! It’s impressive!! 😊 Given the current Monaca theme, I thought this would be a good time to ask this but please don’t feel obligated or anything. Cheers!!)

Hello, friend from another land! Thank you for taking the time to write such an interesting question to Monaca.

Hmm, it's been some time since I spent my day thinking about the other Warriors of Hope. My goal is a little further from theirs; and Monaca just has too much on her plate to worry about what antics the four of them get up to. That, and ranking them feels a little trivial and 'gossipy'. But, since you asked so nicely, I'll be happy to indulge you in a few secrets!

4. Jataro Kemuri

Mmm... I don't really have much to say about poor old Jataro, unfortunately. He's just... kind of there. And Monaca feels like he's happy with that role. He says a lot of super strange and random stuff, going on suuuuper long tangets, and all he ever talks about is us hating him.

Which, if he really wants us to believe that? Then Monaca will! It makes him happy, for some strange reason. You can blame his mother for that. Jataro's honestly just really gross and weird - like a worm! But one with value, at the very least. You can never have too many throwaway pieces at your disposal to buy time for yourself, after all.

3. Masaru Daimon

'Monaca's in love with Masaru and how cool, strong and brave he is!' ... That's what Masaru thinks our relationship is, anyways. I get the feeling he does a lot of the stuff he does in an effort to impress Monaca, which I don't particularly mind. But he just feels so needy for the spotlight and to be a 'hero'. He's really reckless and gets himself into trouble so very often.

Frankly, Masaru has his 'redeemable' qualities, if you'd like to call them that. He does care for everyone else in the Warriors of Hope and the other kids in the city in his own arrogant and boastful kind of way, but his motivations are just so fueled with pride of being the best. Monaca can see why he turned out the way he did, but really, I just think he's a little bit too plain.

Still, he's a devoted boy who will never back down from a fight. Monaca could ask him to go out there and fight every adult in the city with his bare hands and he'd probably be silly enough to do it. The 'bravery' and supposed 'courage' he has can be turned into a selfish foolishness quickly and easily.

2. Kotoko Utsugi

If Monaca had to be blunt about it, there's quite the gap between this poor girl and the boy sitting at number one. And even then, she's only up this high anyways because she entertains me in ways the other boys can't. Having someone I can actually talk to about girly girl stuff is a nice way to breathe and relax for once, y'see?

But Monaca knows what Kotoko is. She doesn't love Monaca because she thinks she's 'totally adorbs' and 'so kyuuute'. She loves me because she knows that I know everything that can set her off and turn that freaky facade of hers into a shattered mess in mere seconds. She might be able to fool everyone else, but not Monaca. I know what she really sees me as in the depths of her mind.

But she's more cunning and serves more uses to the grand scheme of things compared to the two pieces below her. Monaca still thinks she's a fraud of an actress, but she wouldn't say that out loud and break poor Kotoko's heart; unless the time finally calls for it and she needs to be disciplined for stepping out of line. Heeheehee...

1. Nagisa Shingetsu

Oh, pitiful Nagisa. It's a travesty; Monaca can see so much potential and talent in him to be something more than what he already is. He can be Monaca's smartest and most reliable soldier, able to handle any task his princess assigns him to because she knows he's capable of it. She expects him to pass every assignment she gives him. But Monaca just can't feel that way about him.

If nothing else; I do... feel amused and charmed by Nagisa's devotion. Out of all the Warriors of Hope, it's super easy to tell that he's more focused than anyone else in our group about the paradise. But his heart is too fragile and too easily manipulated. And that's... dangerous. Monaca knows Nagisa's one heartfelt talk with an adult away from possibly turning against us - and worse, against Monaca.

So... as endearing as Nagisa's obvious feelings for Monaca are and how much he'll do for me to shower him with the praise he's so incredibly reliant on... all I see are the makings of a potential traitor who can't see the world the way Monaca sees it. A shame that him being so obsessed with me is going to be what leads him to break. It'll only be a matter of time though, and he'll finally help me to realize my dream. Doesn't that sound nice, Nagisa? 💚

[meltedbluecaterpillar]

Yay..#hydration af 🔥🔥 I'm...having a smootie!

AHH...im so glad..I was shy to bring it up. I really wanna play the game bc usually when smth is a game first its better than the anime? (I think the game was first..) yea..I see all the content subbed bc the eng anime js..kills me. They sound uncannily like teenage white boys that all have mushroom hair and wanna hit ..

Ahh? You write? Smirk???

From what I know it really is just dark fantasy. Like..what dark vampire content HASNT been considered problematic? Even like. Twilight LOL.

Hhhh i don't know his lore..Laito where are you..Laito...Id giggle at a crossover. Laito looks like a Trey Cater with the Ace mindset. And Kanato,,I love him he's a sweety. A little loco but he's so sweettieee..I..only know the brothers..and the mom. That is my last memory of dialovers..was the mom?.. - 🐍

Hello Viper, I’m excited about your smoothie! Yesterday I had a veggie one. I don’t eat vegetables… I usually drink them.

No need to be shy. I am… A lifeless dork. A shut in. So, I know about a lot of animanga related things. Otome especially. The anime was horrible, but I love the music they used. I used to sing along with the opening of the first season. The game is phenomenal. Again, a bit problematic because it’s… Mildly sexist. I actually like The Great Ayato and his bullying… I’m sorry my breasts are tiny… I’ll pray for them to grow so you’ll be happy my lord… Ahem… The English voice acting is horrible. I watched it only in Japanese because I couldn’t stand how lifeless they sounded in English. To my knowledge, and I may be wrong, the game is fully voice acted. You just need a translator.

I do secretly write for DiaLove. I was planning to only post it on Wattpad. I wanted to make a big story called ‘Juice Box’ but I never figured out who I wanted to be the main interest. Since the anime follows Ayato’s storyline heavily, it didn’t feel fair to the other potential routes. But I do sometimes write little oneshots. I just never post them since DiaLove is so niche now. I hope it stays niche. If TikTok discovered it and some of my other favorite games I would rip my heart from my chest and cannibalize myself.

I actually like Twilight a lot. I have a friend who owns the books and I want to finish reading soon. I watched the movies! I say problematic because the boys are pretty sexist and there is a lot of nonconsensual harassment and touching. Also the neck biting scenes are very intimate and have been suggested to be an allegory for sex depending on the scene. Again, usually nonconsensual because Yui/MC has no backbone. There’s also the Mukami brothers + Shin and Carla but usually I focus on the Sakami family… Ahhhhh but no one will stop me from moaning about Yuma. I want to be his stupid sow… I don’t mind… Treat me like livestock and feed me sugar cubes… Ahhhh his abuse feels so good~ Ah- I mean… I don’t condone this stuff outside of fantasy. But USA Nintendo doesn’t want their image ruined by horny vampires.

There are… I think… Three moms? Karl had a few wives, some at the same time cause he’s freaky as hell. One of them actually… The reason Laito acts the way he does… His mom was doing things with him that she shouldn’t. And she does not feel bad about it. But she dies so��� We win… Sorta… I love Kanato’s bad ending he’s so odd and sweet at the same time. The game is just one giant rollercoaster of ‘please don’t let me die here I forgot to save again’ and ‘oh the moaning sounds are making me excited…’

I apologize for rambling… I really do love Diabolik Lovers. And because I discovered it at an impressionable age… I’ve turned into a SadoMas. Please tell me… Who your favorite is when you start getting into it… Naturally, The Great Ayato is mine because we act the same and share a birthday… But I want to kiss many of the characters… Ahhhh… Save me…

[obsessed-bunnies]

Rules

Greetings and salutations everybody! My name is Katniss and here I will write Yandere-related content for many fandoms!

What I will respond to:

Headcanons

X Readers (male, female, and gender neutral)

Fluff and Romance (kisses, cuddles, etc.)

Reactions ("You're scaring me!")

General yandere obsession things

Maybe some suggestive freaky content, we'll see. ;)

Please note that I may need to go lore digging for certain characters. I want to make sure I stick to canon as much as possible. Also, please specify which character you are sending.

What I won't respond to:

Threats directed at the characters.

Parental role prompts. (Everyone here is an adult... Just don't.)

Over-the-top actions are created by the character or the reader. (Taking undergarments, collecting trash that they threw out, breaking and entering, drugging, kidnapping, etc.)

General Things:

Responses will be mainly in text form. I run 3 other ask blogs and they are for Identity V(@idv-asktheconsigliere, @idvask-hunterfinn, @idvask-survivorfaust). I want to spend most of my art energy there and on my own art projects.

The reader will always stay gender-neutral unless specified from a request/ask.

I won't write for the femme/lady characters. It just pokes me in the wrong way.

I will write for anyone else, though it really depends on the character.

Depending on the circumstances, the characters will use their abilities.

ALSO PLEASE SPECIFY IF IT'S THE NORMAL CHARACTER OR YANDERE VERSION!!

Fandoms I will write for:

Genshin Impact

Dislyte

YuuriVoice

Error143

Identity V

Castlevania(Netflix)

Diabolik Lovers

Morfosi/Therapy with Dr. Albert Krueger/Vincent the Secret of Myers.

If you send me a fandom, a good chance I'm in that fandom.

If I don't answer your ask right away, that's because I'm running other blogs.

I will try to respond as I am open with most ideas.

With that being said, have fun! Don't be afraid to send requests and stuff, we're just here to have fun.

[divinefireangel]

Being in Quarantine with Justin H Min will include:

Disclaimer: This is just a work of fiction. If this piece of fan fiction is offensive to any celebrity, fandom or culture please let me know so I can take it down. Also note that this is my version of a character or celeb, which will vary from person to person.

Author's Note: I'm back with my 2nd Justin HC 🥳. I know a few of you wanted me to write more so here you go! I hope you like it!!

Copyright: Please note that this is my work and if you want to publish this on any other platform, take my permission before doing so. Taking an author's work and posting it somewhere else without any intimation is just disrespectful. I readily welcome suggestions and criticisms. That being said, Happy reading! 🤍

Warnings: A little bit sensual, but I've mentioned it as "NSFW" where it starts. Nothing explicit either way. 15+ and female readers TwT sorry (nothing specified with respect to appearance, etc of reader). It's mostly the NSFW part tho.

Fuck this man got more hot okay

I didn't even think it was possible lol

Yeah so you both go to Toronto for his work because you don't wanna be separated from each other 🥺

Literally all you do is sleep and eat and read

You cook new things everyday

You have to make the best of the time you have anyway

It's mostly him cooking cuz god knows if this man can cook or not lmao

Daily routine may include but not necessarily limited to :

Waking up late

He wakes up early to workout

Sometimes you pretend to sleep just to see him workout ;)

Then you both shower together

And read while cuddling on the couch

When the sunlight shows up you both move to the sofa and continue reading

Running your hands through his hair which is now a lil longer than the buzz cut tg

Giving each other massages

Mainly you giving him massages

Napping together

Tracing his biceps

Cuz he has never had them and you just wanna appreciate the effort he put in to make them bigger

Making his protein shake much more consumable than what ever the hell he does

You try and bake stuff for the cast and crew to take once the quarantine is over

How well it turns out is all you and your baking skills sis

You try to make boba

Doesn't come out great cuz it's difficult to make

You try and distract him from his zoom table reads lol

And you fail 💀

Cuz he ignores you :(

But as soon as he closes his laptop he runs to you and kisses your face all over till you start to giggle cuz this man's is a simp for you

See. You are young people with needs

NSFW

He has more needs 😉

So he tries to get his freak on as many times as he can

Before going to bed

On the sofa

The couch

The kitchen table

The shower

The fucking floor (pun intended)

Whenever he gets bored from reading or wants to take a break,

Make out sessions

sO MANY of em

Even if all you want is a kiss, he's like no, no you don't

And BAM

Y'all make out till you can't breathe anymore

Biting his lip

Biting his ear

Chewing on his gold chain

Pulling his gold chain

Are a few highlights 🤤

And just imagine him running his hands up and down you

Like your waist and hips and butt and back and boobs and stuff uk

That freaky shit XD

He just can't get enough of you

Watching movies before falling asleep

Well trying to

Because he can't keep his hands to himself

Lingering touches that seem innocent but are not

I feel like his fave cuddle positions are when either you or him are laying in the other's lap

Or when your back is pressed to his chest

That's mainly when he gets handsy

Runs his fingertips through your hair and shoulders and down your hand till he reaches you palm

Pulls it back and kisses the back of it and intertwines his fingers with yours brb crying

Kisses and licks your neck when you are sitting like that

You can literally feel those fangs scarping your skin

It's just plain hot

NSFW over

Tries to put his face in the crook of your neck often

You whine cuz his non existent beard is prickly

But he does it anyway cuz it's cute and he knows it

Taking tons and tons and TONS of selfies

Sending them to his fam

Them being oh so adorable and loving your relationship

You kiss his jaw a lot

Cuz it's sharper now and that's also probably the height you can reach anyway (Calling all short ones out here ✌🏽)

Having deep talks too if you have time left after all of this lol

And everyday falling in love all over and over

If you've been dating for a while, he probably decides to propose as soon as he finds a ring worthy of you 🥺

Since he wakes up before you, he will definitely stare at you while you sleep

Baby boy might even tear up thinking that he can never love anyone as much as you 😭

And you feel the same way

Screen shot credit:- Me

Honestly all this is that goddamn insta story's fault.

Look at him 🥵

Update: He can't cook even if his life depended on it 😂😭 It's okay babe I can cook for you XD.

Gifs/any media belongs to rightful owners.

[lalainajanes]

Hi! idk if you're still taking prompts but can you do one where klaus and caroline are coworker's who are always getting into heated screaming matches during team meetings and everyone who works with them is just used to it, but the new girl is like wtf??? and then later finds out that they're actually married and don't hate each other?? thanks!! your writing gives me life

Obviously I could not resist fluff day! For Step Two of @klarolineshippersclub 12KCXmas event!

With Friends Like These

The office is deserted – its 7 PM on a Friday – so Caroline’sstartled by the sound she hears coming from the hall. It’s a staccato series oftaps. Heels, eating up the distance quickly, and she rolls her chair back,grabbing her phone from the corner of the desk just in case someone’s bleeding.

She’s about to go and see what’s happening, when Kat barrelsin. Her eyes are wide with what Caroline suspects is glee, her hair a wildwindblown mass of curls. Her jackets only half buttoned and she tosses asideher purse, rushing towards Caroline. “You will not believe what I just heard!”

Caroline lets herself be shaken, taking another confusedlook at Kat’s dishevelment. “Did you run from the bar? Thought you were goingto try to seduce the new guy.”

Katherine looks offended. “Try? Please. Mason’s a sure bet.He’ll keep until next week.”

“Wow,” Caroline drawls. “Something came up that’s kept youfrom guaranteed sex? Must be big.”

Katherine lets go of her, tossing her hair over her shoulderand letting out an irritated huff. “Yeah, yeah, mock me. We don’t all get to scheduleregular freaky married sex.”

It takes a fair amount of willpower not to tear her eyesaway and Caroline lifts her chin stubbornly. Katherine might know far too many details about her and Klaus’ sex life butthat was only because Caroline gets a little over share-y when tequila’sinvolved in a girl’s night out. Klaus is shameless enough not to care, evenwhen Kat’s comments get overly pointed. If anything, he leans into it, lets hishands linger and does his best to make Caroline blush. Caroline is working onbuilding up the same aplomb in the face of Kat’s suggestive smirks and taunts.

“You seem to do just fine in the freaky sex department,” shesnipes back.

Katherine grins, slow and very pleased with herself. “Ireally do.”

Caroline groans, walking over to the couch that lines onewall of her office. “I do not want to have this conversation with you.”

Her dry spell is hours away from ending and she’s really looking forward to it.

Klaus has been gone for ten days, dealing with inspectionsfor the new hotel the company is opening in London. Caroline’s team is busy puttingtogether room concepts so she hadn’t been able to justify taking the time awayto accompany him.

She likes phone sex as much as the next girl whose husbandhas a hot accent but it got old after a few days. She misses having a warm bodyto roll into at night; the way he wakes he scrapes his morning beard againsther shoulder when she grumbles about the alarm.

“Someone’s cranky!” Katherine sings. She circles Caroline’sdesk, helping herself to the bourbon that’s stashed in the lowest drawer. “Mynews might not help you.”

Oh joy.

Caroline slouches low, letting her legs flop ratherungracefully, “And yet, you rushed all the way back here to tell me about it?”

“It’s just too hilarious. I couldn’t not.”

Katherine’s sense of humor is a weird thing, an acquiredtaste, so Caroline braces herself. “Alright, hit me.”

“Uh uh. Let me set the scene.”

“And people say I’m dramatic.”

Kat ignores the complaint, lifting the bottle high. “There Iam, in the ladies room…”

“Taking off your panties so you could stuff them in Mason’spocket?”

“Please. Like you’ve never used that move.”

Caroline could honestly say she hadn’t (Klaus likes toremove her lingerie himself) but Katherine’s already continuing her tale. Sheperches on the edge of Caroline’s desk, wiggling in an effort to getcomfortable.

So it’s not going to be a short story. Caroline presses herlips together, holding in a sigh, glancing at the clock. She’s supposed to grabKlaus from the airport at eleven and she’d planned go home and change intosomething easier to remove beforehand. Hopefully Katherine can resist the urgeto embellish too extensively.

“I’m minding my own business, about to flush, when I hear afamiliar name.”

“Yours?”

“Nope, yours. Preceded and followed by some very colorfuldescriptors.” She pauses expectantly, eagerly watching for Caroline’s reaction.

Only to be disappointed when Caroline shrugs, emitting onlya dismissive, “Somehow I’ll survive.” The last time she’d really been overlyconcerned with other people liking her she’d owned pom poms.

Katherine, however, isn’t finished.

“Really? Even when I tell you that our little bathroomgossiper had very complimentary things to say about your hubs?”

Her hands curl into the couch’s cushions, a teeny flare ofjealousy flaring bright.

She’s an only child and she gets a little possessive, okay?Klaus is into it. He’s also no stranger to getting growly and shooting murdereyes and staking a claim and, since he’s got a bajillion siblings, he doesn’t evenhave the same justification for being bad at sharing.

Those incidents usually result in an immediate need forprivacy (or the reasonable facsimile found behind a locked office door or thebackseat of a car). The next day they’ll sleep in, there will be hickies on herthighs and scratches on his back, and they’ll eat dessert for breakfast.

Honestly, Caroline kind of loves that particular ritual,knows very well that Klaus does too.

“Not everyone thinks Klaus is awful,” Caroline points out.

“Because most people are dumb and lack my excellent taste.”

Caroline eyes the bottle, seriously considering chugging abit and just calling a cab when it’s time to collect Klaus. She really doesn’twant to be drunk for their reunion but, if Kat doesn’t hurry up and get to apoint, it might be her best option. “I love you so I’m going to ignore the factthat you kinda just called me dumb.”

Katherine scoffs, “You’re not dumb, just dickmatized.”

It’s probably a good thing she’s not drinking because shewould have choked. Caroline’s laugh sputters out, grows in volume, and she hasto cover her mouth when it becomes hard to control herself. Her eyes water alittle as she finally manages to stop giggling, “Yeah, I’m totally tellingKlaus that you said that. He’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Literally the only nice thing I’ll ever say about him isthat you’re far more bearable and less uptight than you used to be. I creditthe regular orgasms.”

She and Katherine had been hired at about the same time and,in the beginning, hadn’t gotten along overly well. Kat now headed The MikaelsonGroup’s marketing team, was a wizard at luring in celebs and influencers andmaking their hotels a coveted destination. Caroline had worked her way up torun a design team. It’s how she’d met Klaus (and they’d butted heads too in theearly days) coordinating with him and his architect minions.

“I, too, am a big fan,” Caroline admits. “Though, honestly,you should really give cuddling a try. Totally relaxing.”

“Ew, pass.”

It’s an argument they’ve had before.

“Anyway,” Katherine says, so loudly that Carolineinstinctively glances towards the door. “Back to my story. Greta Martin thinksyou should stop being a total bitch to Klaus in meetings. Oh, and she’s alsoplanning on banging him.”

Caroline sits up, now outraged. “I am not…”

Katherine cuts her off, “You have been a little snippy thisweek.”

Only because Klaus has been baiting her.

“That’s just how we are. He pokes, I prod. He’s annoyinglysmug, all ‘oh, aren’t I the cleverest?’ and I like to knock him down.”

“Verbal foreplay is your thing,” Katherine says, adding aknowing nod.

She throws her hands up, collapsing back again. “Exactly! Mymarriage is freaking great and if that…”

Again, she doesn’t get to work up to a proper rant. Superannoying.

“That’s the best part!” Katherine crows. “She has no ideayou and Klaus are married! Talk about dumb people.”

Well, that’s mollifying. Slightly. Caroline will just haveto make things clear. Plans begin to form. She discards the racier ones (unlessGreta proves to be unwilling to take a hint). She twists her wedding bandabsently, “How has she not noted the rings?”

“Forget the rings. How she hasn’t noted Klaus’ doofybesotted face whenever you walk into a room is the bigger issue. Maybe sheneeds glasses?”

Maybe Caroline will get her assistant to shoot Greta anemail detailing the company’s excellent insurance coverage on Monday.

She hears the bottle clink and she shakes off her mentallists, shooting Katherine a glare. “You know, it would have been easy for youto clear up her misconceptions in that bathroom.”

Kat’s brows rise and she shoots Caroline a look like she’ssaid something totally insane. “And deprive myself of prime workplace drama?Please. You know how bored I get on Wednesdays when I have to sit in those dumblegal meetings.”

Caroline’s displeasure must read on her face because Kattosses her a bright smile, leaning forward and offering the bottle. Her toneturns placating, “Oh, relax, Cupcake. It’s harmless. You’ll probably forget allabout this little snafu over the weekend.”

Caroline’s does have big plans.

“Maybe,” she allows grudgingly. She stands, straighteningher pencil skirt. “Speaking of, I should go home and make myself pretty.”

“You’re going to do that gross airport make out thing, aren’tyou?”

Caroline smiles, not trying to hide the slightly mockingedge to it. “Usually, yeah. But Elijah’s not a guy who tolerates a scene.”

She relishes the freezing of Katherine’s body, the wideningof her dark eyes. Her hand flexes, looking for the bottle that had recentlybeen clutched there.

Caroline withholds it, setting it down and out of reach.

She’s not entirely sure what had gone down at the Christmasparty last year (Katherine was way better at keeping secrets no matter how muchliquor was applied) but she knows Kat’s red lip had been rubbed off and Elijah’svest had been buttoned incorrectly when she and Klaus had met the odd couple atthe elevator bank.

Kat had twitched a little at the mention of Elijah’s nameever since.

She adopts her sweetest expression, “Maybe the legalmeetings will be more exciting when Elijah’s leading them in person, hmm?”

Katherine’s mouth opens. Closes. She wiggles her toes to gether heels back in place before hopping off the desk. “I need to…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, stalking out of the office.Caroline watches her go, both satisfied and bursting with curiosity. A speechlessKatherine Pierce? Caroline never thought she’d see the day.

She makes a mental note to tell Klaus, to wheedle until heagrees to pump Elijah for info. She didn’t often get bored at work, not whenshe could just pop into Klaus’ office and poke around in his projects. But hehad another trip on his calendar next month.

She won’t turn down a little in office entertainment whilehe’s gone.

[thelazyeye]

'Ghosts don't exist' Stanlon (no one dies, leave my boys alone)

I’m so sorry this took me literally a month to write. But here you go. Some Stanlon Ghosts

Read on A03 the formatting is better there

Tag List:

@richardtoz @aizeninlefox @chocolatemangoose @godtozier@jem-carstairs-is-perfection  @studpuffin @oldguybones @its-stranger-than-you-think @reddiepop

“Stan, come on! Please! You know I’ve been dying to do this!”

“Then do it by yourself.”

“No way! You know it’s always so much better if there’s more people.”

“Lay off, Richie. I’m not going with you.”

“Don’t make me get on my knees and beg, Stan. We all know you’d rather have Mike down there than me.”

“You are on thin fucking ice.”

“Come on! We all know how this is gonna end. We’re gonna bicker for twenty minutes and you’re going to give in. Let’s just cut the shit early. What do you say?”

“No. Fuck you.”

“Come on! Mikey, help a boy out!”

Mike looks over from his place on the couch to where the two boys are standing. Stan is leaning against the wall while Richie is practically tearing his hair out in desperation. Mike offers no more than a shrug at them both, keeping his vow to stay out of it. If Stan agreed to go Mike would go. But if Stan said no they were going to stick to the plan on watching B-list horror movies with the others until everyone passes out.

“Fuck you, too, Hanlon.” Richie shoots before turning his attention back to Stan. His light tone betrays his harsh words. Richie is nothing but jokes and unabashed love for his friends. And stubbornness. Which is how they’ve ended up in this situation: Richie begging Stan to explore an old, supposedly haunted house with him while Stan adamantly refuses.

“Richie, give up. This is a stupid idea and we all know it. We could get hurt!”

“I’m going no matter what, Stan. It’s just your choice of whether or not you want to be there to help me when I inevitably fall through the floor.”

It was a low blow and they both knew it. Stan, despite his standoffish nature, is extremely protective of his friends. He would rather do something he knows he’d hate than watch one of his friends get hurt.

And just like that, Richie wins the battle.

At a quarter to midnight the three boys find themselves walking along Neibolt street to the old, abandoned house near the trainyard.

“Rumor has it this is the house where Bob Grey killed all of his victims back in 1989,” Richie says from his spot between Mike and Stan. “They caught him on Halloween night, exactly 29 years ago. It’s kind of funny that we’re going there tonight. I mean, its 29 Neibolt street and it’s the 29th anniversary of his death.”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie. Nothing about this is funny,” Stan cuts. He can feel his nerves creeping in the closer he gets to that damn house. Everything about it is freaky, even during the day. The windows are all boarded up and the outside is practically falling apart. He doesn’t want to know what the inside looks like but he’s going to find out anyway.

“One of the kids was Denbrough’s older brother, George.” Richie continues, unphased by Stan. “Grey killed him when he was only six and Bill was nothing more than a twinkle in his father’s eye.”

Mike groans from the left before delivering a quick elbow to Richie’s ribs. Richie just staggers and grunts in response before pressing on. “They say that when they caught Grey they found all kinds of fucked up shit in his house. There were bones in the basement and body parts in the fridge and –”

“Alright, Richie. That’s enough,” Mike sighs. Nothing seems to deter Richie, though. He’s like a little boy on Christmas day as they turn onto the property and begin to climb the steps of the porch. He takes the lead, leaving Mike and Stan together on the steps as he runs up to the door and tries the handle. Because Richie possesses some kind of terrible, dumb luck the door opens without a problem other than the loud, screeching creak it makes as it swings in.

That sound makes a shiver run right through Stan’s spine. He honestly didn’t think they would get this far. He can feel the weight of the situation settling in the pit of his stomach, making it flip and turn in the worst kind of ways. There’s no reason for them to be out here right now. It’s late at night, the trick or treaters are long gone, and everyone who is sane and normal is inside watching movies or sleeping. Which is where they should be right now.

“You okay?” Mike asks, moving into Stan’s space and resting a large hand on his shoulder. Stan jolts slightly at the sudden touch, too caught up in his own thoughts to hear Mike approaching. He recovers quick, sending Mike a curt nod in a vain attempt to fool them both into thinking he’s okay.

“Let’s just get this over with. There can’t be that much to see in this place. The quicker we get in, the quicker we get out.”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Richie exclaims, stumbling into the main room. His face lights up like a firecracker and he practically skips around the center to look at the old, decrepit furniture. Everything is either falling apart, covered in a once-white bedsheet, or both. The dust is thick and coating everything in sight. Stan can see the way it dances in the streetlight that leaks through the boards as they disturb it from its thirty-year sleep.

Altogether, the house is unremarkable. Stan thinks it could have been a beautiful home once. The stairs lead up to a second floor with a banister that wraps around the landing. He can see two, maybe three doors at the top that might be bedrooms, closets, or maybe even a bathroom. The downstairs living room leads into what might be a kitchen and there’s a door at the far end of the room that probably leads down into a basement. Maybe this place was beautiful once. Maybe in another life he could have lived here.

Stan feels another shiver roll through his body. This is not the house of a well-loved family. This is the house of the damned.

Ahead of him he can see Richie sifting through an old bookshelf lining the wall. Stan watches as he continues to disturb the dust. It dances up, up, up in the streaks of moonlight until he can’t see it anymore. A vague part of his mind wonders where it’s going, where it’s going to settle next.

A loud crash sounds to his left that sends him practically out of his skin. Reflexively, he yelps and jumps to his right, knocking into Mike who wraps his arms around Stan and effectively steadies him from toppling over to the ground.

“Hey now, it’s okay. It was probably just some old furniture that gave out. It’s probably been so long since this stuff has been touched that our footsteps alone are knocking them down,” Mike says, voice low and soothing in Stan’s ear. Stan relaxes gradually, muscles loosening at the feeling of Mikes hands rubbing gently against his side and shoulder.

“Yeah,” Stan agrees, voice shakier than he wants it to be, “you’re probably right.”

“Let’s go check it out. Maybe it’ll help calm you down,” Mike suggests and before he has any time to process Stan’s being led through the doorway and into the kitchen. “See, nothing to worry about. It was probably just that chair in the corner giving out.”

Stan looks to where Mike gestures and sure enough he sees an old, rotten chair collapsed in the corner. Instead of responding, Stan just wraps his arms around his body and nods. It makes enough sense but it does nothing to ease his anxiety. Mike pulls him closer, tucking him away under his arms and making himself a temporary shield against the darkness in the house. The hug is tight and comforting and it instantly relaxes Stan.

Mike releases him too soon for Stan’s liking but the warm smile he sends is comforting on its own. Together they make their way back to the living room. When they get there the find the room surprisingly empty. Stan glances around a few times before looking at Mike.

“Where’d Richie go?” He asks, voice quiet in the still room. Richie was just here a moment ago and now he’s gone.

“I’m not sure. Maybe upstairs?” Mike says, voice equally quiet but firm. Something about the way Mike is standing puts Stan immediately back on edge. He’s tense and his shoulders are squared off. He’s looking over the room as if he’s searching for something other than their friend.

“Mike, I don’t –” Stan starts but he doesn’t get the chance to finish. Another loud crash comes from the second story of the house. Stan jumps back again, backing up and frantically pressing his back against the wall. The house is eerily silent following the noise. Neither boy moves for a moment, the air hangs like static between them and the rest of the room.

“I’ll go check it out,” Mike whispers, carefully walking forward. Stan goes to try to stop him, ready to beg the other boy to please, please not leave him alone when Mike continues. “That was probably Richie. Who knows what he’s up to up there. I’ll bring him right down and we can get out of here.”

Stan goes silent at this. Any protest he has on his lips dies. Mike is right, it’s probably Richie. Their combined weight would probably be too much for the old structure of the house. He just nods solemnly in Mike’s direction before Mike starts up the stairs, disappearing from view.

And with that Stan is left entirely alone in the ground floor of the house.

He tries to keep himself calm. He swears he can feel the house breathing. The floorboards seem to shift and the doors move from left to right. Its disorientating and alarming. Stan can’t tell which way is up or which way is left. The door to the kitchen that he swears was on his left is suddenly behind him and it doesn’t even look like a kitchen anymore. Who knows where it leads but Stan feels himself being drawn there. As he turns to move something from the corner of the room catches his eye. The door to the basement, the one Richie was standing by when they last saw him, has a faint glowing light coming from beneath it.

Suddenly, the house rests beneath his feet.

“Richie,” Stan grumbles beneath his breath. He changes his course and walks to the basement door, stopping directly in front of it. As he reaches his hand up to the knob he feels a chill run up his spine.

There’s no way he’s stay in this house longer than he has to.

He grips the handle and slowly pushed the door open, peering down the stairs into the dim light. He could have sworn it looked brighter from under the door but now, staring down at it, there is nothing but a faint glow. He can see the floor and some of the surrounding area but nothing else.

“Richie?” Silence answers his soft call. He listens for a moment but he can’t hear anything, not even a footstep. “Come on, Rich. Games over. Mike and I wanna leave.”

Nothing. The feeling that follows the silence is nothing short of unsettling but Stan shucks it off in favor of his annoyance. Richie really is going to make him go down there, isn’t he?

Stan weighs his options. He can wait for Richie to come up from where he’s hiding or Mike to come down from his fruitless search. Or he can take matters into his own hands and go get Richie himself and end this early.

He takes the steps slowly, one at a time. His weight on the old wood makes an unforgiving sound as he descends the steps into the glow.

When he reaches the bottom, he looks around. There is an open door in the far corner leading to a dark room, several decaying boxes and crates, and a large slope of coal leading up to a window. The room itself is rather unimpressive but Stan finds something captivating about being down here. As he moves toward the center of the basement he can feel the weight of the situation lifting off of his shoulders. Each step he takes is another pound that he doesn’t feel. Soon, he thinks idly, he’ll be weightless.

A soft squishing sounds from beside him that draws him out of his thoughts. Its faint, nothing more than a squish, squish, squish from the darkness of the other room. It catches his attention, bringing him back to the moment. The moment proves to be exactly where he wants to be. He finds himself acutely aware of the smell that lingers in the room. It can’t be but it is. It’s impossible, yes, he distantly knows that, but it’s also so very real. The smell of popcorn, the kind you would get at a carnival, wafts from the darkness.

Squish, squish, squish.

It’s just enough to lure Stan’s natural curiosity out. He finds himself drifting toward it. He isn’t aware of the way his feet hardly move. He all but glides across the floor and when he reaches the doorway the smell is so intense its clogging up every other sense Stan has. He can taste the thick butter on his tongue, feel the grease of it on his fingers.

Squish, squish, squish.

His arm raises, hand floating through the space that separates him from whatever is on the other side. When it passes through the darkness, shadows slowly consuming his fingers, hand, and wrist, he feels the faint touch of ice.

Squish, squish, squish.

Startled, Stan pulls his hand out and stumbles backward. The smell in the room instantly changes. The sweet, buttery scent he had smelled just a second ago is suddenly rotten. He coughs twice but it overwhelms his system. Its putrid, burning up his nose and down his throat and choking him from the inside out. It smells like garbage mixed with rotting meat, decaying flesh, rotting fish.

It smells like death.

Stan could feel his breath getting shorter. It comes in and out in quick, shallow huffs and no matter how fast he tries to gulp the air down it still feels like he’s suffocating.

The noise sounds once more before the room settles into silence yet again. Out of the darkness steps a little girl no older than eight. Stan can’t take his eyes off her. He can’t look away from how the flesh of her neck hangs open and the dried blood soaks her chest and stomach. She stumbles on one leg, the other mangled from the shin down and dragging behind her. Her mouth hangs open in a constant gape and her eyes – fuck.

Stan found himself staring at with a grim, sick sort of fascination.

Her eyes were the worst part. Stan could come to terms with the gore of it all. He could understand the way her body was broken in some senseless, horrific murder. But he could never unsee the way the whites of her eyes were actually pitch black. They framed bright blue irises that were glinting in the soft glow of the room the same way Richie’s would if he were down here.

Suddenly, Stan remember why the fuck he came down here in the first place. She starts to amble toward him, leg dragged against the hard ground behind her and Stan knows he needs to get the fuck out of here right now but he can’t. His legs are rooted to the ground. It was like the air around them was frozen cold. The flesh of his arms and legs rose in the sudden change of the room and time ticked slowly to his inevitable death in this dark, musty basement.

His mind was screaming at him to move! Run! Do something you honey roasted shithead! but he can’t. All he can do is watch her move. He can feel her getting closer, invading his space. When she’s close enough to reach him, she does. One bloodied, gashed open arm lifting from her side and reaching out toward him. Her fingers feel like ice on his skin, slowly dragging up the side of his face and tangling almost tendering in his curls. The horror of this situation contrasts with the stupidity of her gentleness. She brings herself impossibly close to him, dark, dead eyes devoid of all emotion baring into his soul as she moves her face toward his.

“Where’s my shoe?” She asks, lips all but pressed against the shell of his ear. Her voice is rough, grating against this skin like an old knife might be and it’s just enough for him to break out of his trance, stumbling backward and causing her to yank strands of hair off of his head.

Once he’s far enough, he turns on his heel and full on sprints to and up the staircase. The door is in sight and he feels relief flood his system. He’s so close, only a few more steps and he’ll be free. He’ll be safe.

When he reaches the top he practically throws himself against the door and turns the handle. He’s lucky he has enough awareness to hold on, though, because the door does not budge and Stan feels the reverberation echo through his body. He almost falls down the stairs but his grip on the doorknob saves him.

He frantically wiggles the doorknob, the rattling sound mixing with the squish, squish, squish he now knows in the dead girl approaching him from beneath. It won’t budge. It’s like someone locked it from the outside but he doesn’t even remember closing it behind him. He can’t even really remember how he got down here, though, and it doesn’t help him now so he shucks the thought from his mind. He has to get out of this basement, now.

“Mike!” He screams, voice desperate and shrill, “Help! Please, for the love of God!”

He gets nothing in return. No one is on the other side of that door. No one is coming to save him.

Squish, squish, squish sounds from below him again and he knows, he knows, he’s going to have to decide or die in here.

He tries the door one more time, throwing his whole body against the wood, before he turns and flies down the stairs. He doesn’t look for the girl but he knows she’s here, waiting for him. He looks around twice before seeing another door on the far end of the room, opposite the door the girl came out of. He takes his chances and runs. He can feel the ice on his skin, something grazing his arm and warmth splitting his arm, but he doesn’t pay attention to it. He can’t. He makes it to the door and this one opens for him. He doesn’t think before he throws himself through it and slams it behind him. Distantly, he hears a screeching noise and then the room settles into an uncomfortable silence.

Stan looks around, taking in the room he’s now in. There’s something oddly familiar about it but he can’t place it. He doesn’t spend too long trying to and instead he moves to the center to get oriented. There are no other doors but there are no dead little girls, either.

Stan closes his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath as he weighs his options. He could stay in here and wait for the sun to come up or he could turn around and fight the good fight. He remembers the window at the top of the coal pile and he knows he has an out if he gets there fast enough. Ultimately, it’s the idea that his friends are still somewhere in this horror house that has Stan opening his eyes with a new determination. He has to find them and get out.

Stan looks around the room again before his eyes settle on the door. It’s almost as if the room had changed while he was thinking. Nothing seems to be how it was. There are new boxes and an old table that he knows wasn’t in here before. There’s still only one door but he swears it was behind him. Now, it is immediately in front of him.

He doesn’t have much else of a choice and he doesn’t waste time weighing the one option he has.

Stan is ready to run as soon as the door opens. Or fight. Or scream. Really, he’s ready to do anything it takes to survive. His eyes are wide, alert, as he watches each inch of the other room come into full view. Unlike before, there is no glow. There is no nothing. Instead, there is only a long, strip of hall laid out in front of him lit only by several dim overhead lights and a quiet, unidentifiable sound coming from the other end.

Stan hesitantly steps through the doorway. There is nothing in the other room for him to go back to, no other exits, no way out of this hell he’s found himself in.

Stan can hear the noise getting louder and louder as he makes his way down the hall. A quarter of the way down he realizes he’s listening to someone crying. And not just crying, its full out wailing. That feeling from before creeps up his spine again. It makes its way into the base of his neck and creeps all the way down his shoulders and into his hands. His sweaty palms are numb with fear, a dull tingling sensation crawling all the way to the tips of his fingernails.

The walk down the hall seems never ending. Stan steps carefully, slowly moving from foot to foot to keep his steps as silent as possible. This could be a trap. This could be the monster he saw in the basement luring him into his death. The cries only get louder and louder until he’s standing right outside of the doorway to the room at the end of the hall.

He peers in, careful not to expose himself to whatever is on the other side. He’s surprised when he doesn’t see the bloodied, beaten corpse of the young girl. Instead he sees a figure practically crumpled in the middle of the room. Their dark skin glints off the soft moonlight coming in through the window and. Wait. Holy shit.

Holy shit. It’s Mike. He’s folded over himself, face practically buried in the hardwood floor. His hands pull desperately at the hair on his head as he rocks back and forth on his knees.

Stan doesn’t move at first. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never seen Mike like this before. Mike is strong, fearless. He’s faced down Bowers with more courage than any of the Losers ever have but he’s also soft and kind. Gentleness flows through his veins and courage roots his feet to the Earth under them. What the fuck happened to him?

Mike’s head suddenly snaps up and suddenly Stan’s they’re face to face and Stan gets a good look at his face. The skin below his eyes and nose are shiny with tears and shot. His eyes have a hazy glaze over them and arm framed by red, swollen rims and his lips are red and almost bitted through.

“Oh my god,” Mike gasps, sucking down air between his broken sobs. “I’m so sorry, Stan. I couldn’t save you.”

“Mike, I don’t – what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry,” Mike repeats, shaking his head and grasping blindly at the floor under him.

“Mike, I’m fine. I’m right here,” Stan says, grabbing Mike’s face and forcing him to look Stan in the eye. After a moment his eyes seem to clear.

“Stan, oh my god.” Mike says, throwing his body full force against Stan’s and wrapping his arms around Stan’s shoulders.

“I’m right here, Mike.”

“I swear to god I saw you, Stan.” Mike says, voice too loud and too desperate. His hands are clutching at Stan’s shoulders and his body is shaking so hard Stan’s scared he might fall apart. “It was you. I thought it was your ghost. You were so mangled. There was blood all over your hands and face and your entire stomach was wide open. You screamed at me. ‘How could you let this happen to me Mike! I thought you cared! Why would you leave me down there!’” Mikes voice crumbles again, breaking off into heaving sobs between his words. “You walked through a wall and disappeared.”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Mike!” Stan screams, voice shaking despite how desperate he is to remain calm. He wants to believe it, he wants to be so sure of himself, but the dead little girl he saw standing in the basement has him questioning his own beliefs.

Mike quiets against him. His body still trembles but his sobs fade until there is nothing but the gentle sounds of their breathing. Slowly, Mike pulls back. His brown eyes dance in the soft light of the room. He looks at Stan as if he wants to say something, mouth hanging open slightly and eyes darting between Stan’s own in a searching way.

“I thought I lost you,” he says as he brings a hand up to Stan’s face. Stan closes his eyes automatically, leaning into the warmth. Mike’s palm is huge on his face and cover most of his cheek, his fingers reaching up and touching the tips of Stan’s curls.

“You didn’t,” Stan whispers back. A beat passes between them before Stan hears a gentle inhale and then the soft press of lips against his. It’s over as fast as it begins. Mike pulls away almost immediately and Stan opens his eyes but the weight of it lingers between them. It’s a mixture of please don’t let me go and escape escape escape.

“There is a staircase over there,” Mike says, clearing his voice with a quick cough and gesturing toward the corner of the room. He stands up and takes Stan’s hand in his, pulling Stan to his feet gently. Together, they take the stairs one by one. Stan doesn’t even realize he’s back on the ground floor until they’re in the kitchen, practically back where they started.  

“Mike. How – I never went upstairs,” Stan says quietly, hand still in Mike’s. “I went into the basement to look for Richie and I – fuck. Mike. Where’s Richie?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t upstairs.”

“We need to find him!” Stan cries, spinning around to scan the kitchen. Panic begins to cloud his head again. He hasn’t seen Richie since they got here. Neither of them have. Both of them have gone looking for him but neither of them managed to find him and, logically speaking, they’ve searched the whole house. But logic went out the window a long time ago and he knows if they don’t find Richie soon they never will. He can feel it in his bones.

He slips his hand from Mikes and before he knows it he’s sprinting out of the kitchen and into the last room they were all together in. The living room.

“Richie!” Stan calls, frantic and desperate and scared. He can feel his heartbeat all the way in the roof of his mouth as he calls for his friend.

Mike is on him again, arms holding him from behind and grounding him. He hears Mike suck in a breath to start talking, probably to chastise him for trying to go alone, but it never comes. The sudden absence of air by his ear hangs heavy between them. Stan cranes his neck back to look at Mike but Mike isn’t looking at him. His eyes are trained on the far corner of the room, wide and shocked and confused.

Stan goes to follow Mike’s eyes when he sees it. A thick, viscous red trail leading to the corner. There isn’t a doubt in Stan’s mind that it’s blood. The trail starts in the middle of the room and moves in the direction of a larger puddle in the corner. And in the center of that corner is none other than Richie himself.

Stan doesn’t move at first. He doesn’t even breathe. All he does is stare at the crumpled shape of his best friend. Richie has his back propped against the wall, head lolled to the side and arms dangling from either side of him. His shirt is torn open and stained a deep red. The rips frame two deep gashes across his chest running from his right shoulder to his left hip. From what he can see, blood is drenching practically every inch of Richie. His hands are slick with it, his arms are dripping, and the legs of his pants are splattered, likely from him crawling to his current position.

He looks like a shell of the boy Stan saw only an hour earlier.

He looks dead.

Mike moves first, releasing Stan and rushing to Richie’s side. Stan watches as gentle hands take hold of Richie body, one on the side of his neck and the other on his chest.

“He’s still alive, Stan!” he calls, moving his hands to take his shirt off and press it against the wounds.

“Mike, we have to get the fuck out of here,” Stan says, voice wavering with the effort it takes him to stay composed. He comes up behind Mike and presses his hands to Richie’s face, choking down a sob as he feels it roll to the side lifelessly. “Richie, come on man. Please. We gotta go.”

Mike grabs Richie’s shoulder and pulls the body to his chest. He then hooks his right arm under Richie’s legs and lifts him up, cradling him close to his body and motioning toward the door. Stan gets the hint immediately and runs to the exit, grabbing the handle. Just like in the basement, Stan finds himself unable to get the door open. No matter how hard he twists and slams his shoulders against the door nothing budges.

Just as he feels like he’s making progress, he feels the ground of the house begin to vibrate under his feet. He can hear metal rattling in the kitchen and furniture collapsing around them from the force of the vibration as it turns from soft to violent. Stan braces himself against the door and watches, wide eyed, as Mike kneels to stop himself from dropping the unconscious boy in his arms.

“Come with me, Stan. Float with me. With me, you can stay children forever,” a haunting, broken voice sounds from above them. Stan whips his head around, desperate to figure out where the voice is coming from but it echoes throughout the house from every direction. It comes from the basement, the kitchen, the stairs. It’s everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Stan!” Mike screams, voice dulled from the sounds shaking house. His eyes are wide and terrified as he holds their friend. “Stan we have to go!”  

A bright light flashes and suddenly they’re not three anymore, but four. Across the room, no more than ten feet from the boys, is a tall, hellish figure of a man. His red hair stands at every angle and his smile is painted on in a bright, bloody red. Brightly colored pom poms dance up the center of his silvery, tattered clown suit. He resembles the kind of clown in they might see in a horror movie.

“You’re not real,” Stan says. His voice is laced with terror and nothing but a soft squeak.

“Yes, I am, Stan. I am real and I am going to kill you,” the clown says, stepping slowly toward where Mike and Richie are. His eyes train on the boys and Stan knows that this is it. This is how they’re going to die if he doesn’t do something.

“No!” Stan says, more defiant this time. He steps between the clown and his friends, squaring his shoulder and puffing his chest out in an act of pseudo-bravery. “You’re not real! I don’t believe any of this!”

Stan steps forward and, to his surprise, the clown steps back. “Ghosts aren’t real!” He says, voice rising with each word until he’s screaming. “Houses are just houses and they don’t move around! Dead little girls stay dead and they don’t live in basements! This is real! This isn’t happening!” When he finishes, Stan lets out a scream he’s been holding in the entire night. It comes from deep inside his chest and it rattles the house in a new, frightening way and when he’s done they’re left alone in the quiet, empty, decrepit house.

Two weeks later

Stan watches from his place on the couch as Richie attempts to do a cartwheel for the second time.

“You’re going to fuck up your stitches, Richie,” he drawls, only mildly concerned.

“No, I’m not. Doc said I’m almost fully healed!” Richie shoots back, chipper as ever. For someone who was on medical bed rest less than a week ago, Richie was as energetic and spry as ever. Despite his argument, Richie relents and towers over Stan. The bandages he’s still required to wear poke out from under the collar of his blue Henley.

“Yeah. Almost. If you keep dicking around you’ll never get there.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I saved both your asses from that fucking bear.”

“Yeah,” Stan says, eyeing Richie has he grabs a bag of chips off the counter. “We’d be goners if it wasn’t for you.”

“Tell me the story again, Staniel. I still can’t believe I can’t remember anything.”

Stan rolls his eyes and launches into his rehearsed script, grabbing the handful of doritos that Richie offers him. It’s a tall tale of out they came out of the house in the backyard and decided to fuck around in the woods due to sheer boredom. They’d encountered a bear and Richie had jumped in front of Mike and Stan, taking a near fatal paw to the chest. His scream alone managed to scare the beast away and save them all. Stan and Mike carried Richie to the closest occupied house and called an ambulance.

The doctors said it was a miracle Richie survived the hit and they all weren’t killed then and there.

The last part is the only true part but Richie doesn’t need to know that. No one does. No one needs to know how they tumbled through the front door, faces soaked in tears and snot, and ran as fast for their lives from 29 Neibolt street.

As Richie listens intently, Mike saunters through the front door of the Tozier household, settling on the arm of the couch next to Stan and gently combing his fingers through the gold curls on his boyfriend’s head.

“And I can’t believe I missed this! I was out for two days, two days, and all of a sudden you two are macking all up on each other. I can’t believe all it took was a near death experience for you two to finally get your shit together.”

Stan feels his face flush as Mike chuckles and pulls him close. He feels the warm press of lips to the crown of his head and hums in appreciation.

“We just figured we should stop wasting our time. Life’s too short,” Mike says, fondness in his voice. Stan looks up and catches Mike’s smile.

“Yeah,” Stan says, echoing the sentiment. “You never know what could happen.”

Mike catches his lips in a chaste kiss but it says all the things they almost don’t get to say.

I almost missed you.

I almost lost you.

I love you.