#skull face tober

[casualtydept]

i come bearing a very silly announcement

so you may remember a little thing where i spent several months working on skull face fic for all 31 of last year's whumptober prompts. turns out i had so much fun i wanted to do something like that again. but i didn't want to repeat myself, and finding other -tober events with prompts that clicked with me was a struggle.

so i made my own - all derived from quotes, lyrics, mission titles and general ideas/themes from mgsv

like last year the odds of me actually finishing all of these before the end of october are slim but i'm already ahead of last year because i have ideas written down for every single one of them (and i am Very Very excited about each and every one). there's no theme on the overall tone/content so you can expect the usual from me (angst, fluff, silliness, and yes, there will be a little bit of smut). and plenty more guest appearances.

i'm mostly posting this as a silly way to announce what i'm gonna be working on for the next little while and with literally zero expectation of anyone wishing to join me but if any of these prompts do take your fancy (as many or as few, and in any creative medium) i'm certainly not going to complain :3

also psst here's sources for each of the prompts

Nine Years - "i'm afraid it's been... nine years"

Mess - "any mess you made, i was there to clean up"

The Other Side of Your Coin - "i've long been the other side of your coin"

Going Way Back - "your boss and i go way back"

Close - "very close... to you"

Repay the Favour - "i owe him my life. i'm bound to repay the favour... any way i can."

That Agony is Your Triumph - lyric from here's to you

Weapon - self-explanatory but i suppose "a weapon to surpass metal gear" might be the most prominent reference

Throat - self-explanatory (parasite stuff)

Fixation - "as a boy, skull face's life went up in flames... perhaps that is what fuels his fixation with fire"

Mask - self-explanatory

Hellbound - mission 12

Punished - punished "venom" snake

Tossing Problems in the Fire - "they certainly seem to like tossing their problems in the fire"

The Garden - "and now that i know you're no longer interested in the garden..." (this is how he refers to cipher's parasite research facilities)

Hiding the Evidence - "skull face must have found some secret place to create his precious few english parasites, hiding all evidence like a man cheating on his wife"

Means to an End - "let the world fear us all, it's just means to an end" from sins of the father

Can’t Go Home - "you mean i... i can't go home?"

Of Use to You - "you see, my being here's made me realise i can still be of use to you"

Rain - self-explanatory

Hospital - self-explanatory

Out of Sight - "this 'pain' is ours, and no one else's. a secret weapon we wield, out of sight"

Will - self-explanatory/too many mentions to count

Truth - mission 46 (truth: the man who sold the world)

Flesh - "the word became flesh"

Weakness - "that ignorance is a weakness - the downfall of a need-to-know system"

Regret - "my regret... is this misunderstanding between us"

On the Same Page - "my organisation has many arms. it's... just going to take a little longer before we're all on the same page"

Voices - mission 20

Face to Face - "you're face to face with the man who sold the world"

Free - "i've never had the freedom to choose for myself. but you, right now, are free. do as you will"

[mattmurdocksscars]

Tuna-Tober Day 1

Hello everyone! As the title suggests, this is Day 1 of Tuna-tober! We're starting the month off with a new character! I hope you all enjoy!

Tuna-tober prompt: Falling asleep in a hospital room

Word count: ~850

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

It all happened so fast. The fight breaking out, Logan unsheathing his claws to scare them, you seeing a man with a gun pointed at Logan. In the moment, you panicked. You forgot about Logan's healing factor and you just moved. You tried wrestling the gun from the man but then it went off and that was really the last thing you remembered. 

Now, you're slowly joining the realm of consciousness. You hear a steady beeping and the sound of someone's soft breathing. Opening your eyes, it takes you a second to recognize where you were. 

The hospital. Being shot. So much blood. A fuzzy face above you. Logan! 

You immediately try to sit up but pain lances through you at the motion. You hiss out in pain and it causes the person beside you to shift. It catches your attention and you turn your head to see who it is. A smile immediately grows on your face as you realize it's Logan asleep in the chair next to your bed. He looks a little rough, his beard grown out and bags under his eyes. He's in sweatpants and a hoodie and his massive form barely seems to fit in the little hospital chair they've given him.

“Oh, Lo.” You whisper, aching to reach out and touch him. But he'd made it clear to you in the past that he wasn't to be touched in his sleep. He didn't want to risk hurting you. So you leaned back in the bed and watched him for several minutes. You knew he would've wanted you to wake him up but you couldn't resist getting to see him so at peace.

But your time watching him was short lived as the door to your hospital room opened, waking Logan and startling you. Charles rolled through the door and he smiled when he saw you awake.

“It's good to see you awake, my dear. You gave us quite the scare.” He told you. You felt your cheeks warm and you looked down at your lap.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make anyone worry. Is everyone else okay?” You asked. You hadn't been out with just Logan, after all. Jean, Scott, and Ororo had been there too.

“Everyone is fine. Don't you worry about them. For now, your concern should lie with yourself.” You nodded slowly. You could feel Logan's stare burning into the side of your skull, but you steadfastly ignored him for the moment. 

“Right. Am I okay? I know I was shot but things get fuzzy after that.” You tell Charles. He nods and moves a little closer.

“You're going to be just fine. The bullet didn't hit anything vital, thankfully. You'll just be spending a few days here in the hospital so you can heal.”

Charles looked between you and Logan and smiled.

“I'll leave you two be. We'll see you soon.” And with that Charles wheeled himself out of the room. Now, you couldn't ignore Logan's angry stare any longer and so you slowly turned your head to face him.

“Lo-”

“What the hell were you thinking? Huh? Have you lost your mind? Is that it?” Oh, he was seething. You looked down at your lap again and tried to ignore the stinging in your eyes.

“Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you. This is important. You don't ever do something like that again. Do you hear me?” 

“I can't promise that.” You tell him. 

“Why the hell not?” He stands, towering over you. It's as if he's trying to intimidate you into doing what he wants and that's what finally pisses you off. You whip your head up to glare at him, tears stinging in your eyes again.

“Because I care about you, Logan! Fuck. You're right, I wasn't thinking. I just saw the gun pointed at you and I panicked, okay?!” 

“Not okay. What if you'd been hit somewhere vital? You don't heal like I do! You could have been seriously hurt. Or killed. You think I want that to happen?” 

“Of course I don't think you want me to die. But Logan, I don't want anything happening to you either. Logically, I know you can take a bullet and be fine, but that doesn't mean I want you too.” You tell him. His face softens a little at that and he sighs, sitting back down and scooting the chair close to your bed. 

“Just don't scare me like that again, okay? I can't take it.” He tells you. You reach for his hand and you're pleasantly surprised when he gives it to you. You lace your fingers together and give him a squeeze. 

“I'll try not to. I didn't exactly enjoy being shot.” You tease and are happy when he smiles. 

“All the more reason not to do it again.” He tells you. You two stay like that for a while, bantering back and forth. Something you were more than happy with. He may not have confessed his feelings to you, but he did admit he cared. And that was enough for you.

[httpscomexe]

Little Witch

Day 6 of Kink-Tober - Praise

Summary: You’re not sure where you wake up or how you should be feeling, but Beck know exactly how you should feel.

(Find What I'm currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Quentin Beck x Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, drugging, mentions of violent, manipulation, mind control, forced feelings, praise kink (Lmk if I missed any)

Tags: @cellyx33 @shybluebirdninja

Word Count: 2001 (Find my Kink-Tober list here)

P.S. If you would like to be added to the Kink-Tober tag list, just let me know.

P.P.S. We’re gonna pretend Quentin has actual mind control powers without technology.

You don’t exactly know how it all happened.

One second you were drunk at a halloween party, dressed as a witch, pretending to cast spells on other drunks just to get a laugh out of them. Then the next second, you're strapped to a chair, cold concrete walls surrounding you, and probably the worst headache clouding your head. In this situation, most people would immediately freak out, start squirming and screaming for help or yelling for someone to ask questions, at least that’s what they did in horror movies. But you don’t. Instead, you blink down really hard, it almost felt like a boulder was shoved into your head and was pushing against your skull. It was basically unbearable, with every move of your eyes was a reciprocating feeling of pure agony. Now you’ve had hangovers before, but this was nothing like anything else you’ve experienced. This felt more like someone dropped an anvil on your head after you had run enough marathons to make your legs fall off.

Well.

That might be a bit exaggerated.

You move your body a little, your ass hurting from sitting so long, and you try to scream in pain, but an unnoticed strip of duct tape silences you. Nope, you weren’t exaggerating. You were in genuine bone crushing pain. Even your fucking toes were hurting.

You take another look around the cold room, it felt like you were stuffed in a room sized cooler, all to protect you was your dirt stained witch robe, the sleeves ripped in some places. You didn’t buy it ripped, where did the dirt even come from? Were you in a fight? The thoughts run wildly through your mind, not a single one making sense as you look down at your costume, newly discovered rips and tears found at the bottom of your coat, near where your thighs are. Cuts and bruises visible through the cheap fabric. Maybe you were in a fight. But judging by your current setting, it was more likely a struggle.

Okay, so you were tied to a chair, with an incredibly itchy rope tightened around your sore wrists behind your back. The same rope was used to tie your feet together and around the legs of the chair you were seated on.

So you rule out a majority of situations. You definitely weren’t home, unless you got a basement upgrade to your apartment, and you weren’t at any friends houses, mainly because you didn’t have any friends.

Ouch, self burn.

You chuckle to yourself, your inner monologue tells you to shut up, but a little laughter never hurts. Especially in your current situation. You know, tied up in only God knows whose basement, your entire body set aflame on the inside, and feeling like a boulder fell on only your organs. Fuck. You were in so much pain.

You begin to look around again. There wasn’t much to see. There wasn’t even a door to the fucking room. It was just solid concrete walls, and some annoying dripping sound that you didn’t hear before, it was becoming increasingly annoying.

You try to move again, your kidnapper didn’t exactly give you the most comfortable of chairs. Just a cheap metal one that would numb anyone's ass after about 2 minutes.

Minutes.

How long have you been like this? You wonder. You didn’t smell bad, your clothes still smell like your ‘Pistachio Cloud’ perfume that your ex gifted you before he cheated on you with a slut. Language. You chuckle again, and you lean your head back with your eyes closed, face towards the ceiling.

Where the fuck are you…?

You sit like that for a while, not a single thought running through your head. If you had friends, they’d probably be yelling for help and freaking out by now. You looked lunatic. Calm, collected, and even laughing at the occasional joke you play in your head to make yourself feel better.

You actually start to wonder why the fuck your kidnapper hasn’t come to check on you yet, at least that is until you hear a voice.

You would definitely survive if this was a movie though. You weren’t stupid.

You look back down, letting your entire body go limp again, as if you were dead. But fuck you’d be lying if it didn’t pain your neck to look down.

“You’re still asleep?” A somewhat familiar somewhat not so familiar voice approaches you, his shoes scuffing on the ground in front of you as he stops. “Are you allergic to chloroform maybe? Did I kill you by accident?” His voice is calm as he speaks to your ‘unconscious’ sitting form, a little too calm to not be an absolute maniac. Then you feel cold fingers against your neck, two to be exact. “We still have a pulse. Mind waking up?” He suddenly lightly slaps the side of your head twice, and it makes you open your eyes in pain, and annoyance. Mainly pain. “Oh!” He chuckles, but it’s not so exciting as you look up at him.

At least if you die, the captor was hot as fuck. You chuckle to yourself again.

“You think this is funny?” He asks, more like declares honestly.

You look around the room again, and your eyes squint in confusion. You weren’t surrounded by concrete walls anymore. Instead, you were still tied to a chair, but it was placed in the middle of an open space in a bedroom, but it was still fucking cold.

“Here, I’m sure you have a lot to say. You wouldn’t shut the fuck up last night.” He tells you, still no clear memories coming to your head as he rips the duct tape off your lips, a reflection in the mirror of your face showing a red rectangle of irritation around your lips, along with your leaked mascara.

Well that’s embarrassing. You cried in front of this dude?

“And to think you couldn’t get any hotter.”

“So are you gonna like… kill me? Or something?” Your voice is gravely, you were screaming?

“Not yet.” He chuckles, pushing some of your hair behind your ear, and you notice your witch hat lying on the floor behind him.

“Well that’s nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yea, I mean honestly, I’m surprised I’m not dead already.” You chuckle again, and the vibrations start to hurt your ribs.

“You’re tied up in a strange mans chair and you-”

“Nuh uh-” You cut him off. “A very attractive man's chair. I mean what took you so long to come in here anyways? How long have I been sitting in this chair?”

“Two days. And sorry, but you wouldn’t wake up. Apparently you’re sensitive to chloroform.”

“Two days?” You tilt your head in surprise. “Did you at least save me some halloween candy?”

“Where did I put my tape…?” He asks himself, then begins searching through some drawers.

“Wow, you forgot about me, and your tape?”

“Shut up. I didn’t come check on you cause you were waking up. I was waiting for you to start screaming.” He admits, continuing to look for his precious tape.

“Why would I automatically start screaming?”

“That’s what they do in movies.”

“This ain’t a movie bud.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Wait, are you implying you’re new to this?” He stops searching and looks back at you. “Hahaa, that’s funny. Do you even know how to tie ropes?”

“I’m new to the sex slave part, not the kidnapping part.” The smile drops from your face.

You weren’t sure why you didn’t think of it before. At least he’s hot. You chuckle again. Fuck. You couldn’t just stay in one mood for five minutes.

“Why is this so funny to you?”

“Oh it’s not. I’m just in so much pain, I can’t decide whether to care or not anymore. I mean you’re the most affection I’ve gotten since I turned 8.” You laugh at yourself. “Honestly, thank you for being so nice. I mean, you chose me? Out of however many billion people there are?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at you, still strapped to the chair before taking a deep breath. If there was an ocean nearby, you were sure he would’ve devoured every last sea turtle. Now that would be a disaster. You chuckle again. Fuck.

“Okay, let's see if you’re laughing after I’m done with you.” He swooshes his hand, and the two ropes that were keeping you still quickly disappear from your body. “Stand up.” You try to listen, slowly attempting to bring yourself to your feet, but the pain is enough to make you want to crash down to the floor and take a thirty year nap. “Come on, if you’re well enough to be making jokes and laughing, I’m sure you can take two steps forward.” You wobble, only listening cause the absolute brute of a man standing in front of you could fold you in seconds.

Still though, your movements felt forced.

Like you weren’t in control of your legs. Naturally the pain would’ve been enough to make you stop, tears running down your face but you don’t even trip as you make your way to stand directly in front of him, and his hands reach out to cup your face.

“You feeling dizzy?” His voice is deeper, not as comforting as before. If you were a dog your ears would’ve been pinned to the back of your head in fear. The sudden mood change making you back down from him, along with your ears, your tail would be tucked between your legs, you wanted to run.

And yes, you felt dizzy.

“How about now…?” He takes a step closer to you, and you close your eyes, groaning tiredly. “Feeling a little… tired?” He whispers against your ear, you expect goosebumps to run down your skin, but there’s nothing.

“Feeling a little warm?” His hands ghost over your costume, the feeling of his skin touching yours makes you shake, and yet you felt as if you were on fire, you entire body made you feel like you could just melt into a puddle and be stepped on like rain. “How about cold?” Then you were freezing, your teeth literally chattering as a cold mist comes from your warm breath.

What the fuck was going on?

Then you felt…

Warm, comfortable, and… really fucking horny.

A random, almost misplaced moan emits from your throat as you involuntarily lean into him, and his hands find your waist before trailing down your body, pulling your dress up above your hips, revealing the black lace panties you had worn to ‘match the witchy vibe.’

“What the fuck are you doing to me…?” You whine. Every emotion and feeling was almost forced.

“Just a bit of mind manipulation…” He tells you, holding your head and turning it as if to inspect your scalp.

You felt hot and sweaty, but also cold and dry. He was manipulating your senses.

“How does this feel?” Another moan leaves your mouth. It was honestly embarrassing. But you couldn’t help it, the feeling of arousal was overbearingly painful, and you could only instinctively collapse against his chest, non-verbally begging him to stop. “Shhh… you’re okay.” He whispers against your ear, another wave of arousal coursing through you.

“P-please…” You moan, your hips rocking against his as they seek some sort of pleasure or relief, and your eyes rolled like a crazy woman’s in your skull.

“You’re okay…” He tells you, gently pushing your panties aside. “You’re doing perfect my little witch.” “You moan louder, the feeling of him shoving two of his fingers into was enough to turn you on even more.

“Doing so good for me…” He groans.

“Perfect little witch.”

“Fuck… you’re amazing.”

Praise after praise, all fallen unto deaf ears, the body of your hearing practically plagued by pleasure.

“Fucking perfect… knew you were the right choice… walking around in your slutty little dress all drunk… so glad I chose you… My Μικρή μάγισσα…”

[mandrakebrew]

Skull Face-tober Day 20: Rain

following this post here

Words: 513 Rating: General Content Warning: oc x canon

“Rain.” Dr Palmer spoke as soon as they saw a droplet hit their glasses. It took only a few moments for it go from a few rain drops to pouring buckets. Skull Face ducked under the awning of a shop that had closed hours ago. The doctor dutifully followed him.

It was a brisk night that was made even darker with the clouds blocking out the sky. Palmer had asked their commander to join them in running some errands. They both just got off work, so neither of them had an umbrella.

Considering Skull Face's “situation” you'd think he'd have one. The doctor smiled to themselves. They walked out into the rain towards their destination before they turned and spoke loudly to be heard over the rain.

“What's wrong, Commander? It's just rain!” A cheeky grin spread over their face.

That earned them a sharp glare, which only made them laugh. They ran back under the awning. ”Sorry, that was mean.“

”I know you're not.“ He continued to glare. It's hard to take an apology seriously when they're still smiling.

”Okay, okay. I can go run and bring my umbrella back here, or I can just wait with you?“

”The rain may be stopped by the time you even get there.“

“We could also end up waiting here a long time. Besides, I'm already drenched.” And starting to freeze.

He let out a small laugh through his nose. ”Serves you right.“

”I was only teasing. I am sorry about that.“ Palmer never meant for their jokes to hurt, especially not him of all people.

”I'm fine, you don't need to coddle me.”

Palmer sighed. ”Alright, I'm going. The rains not letting up at all it looks like.” Before they left they grabbed their commander's hand and kissed the back of his gloved fingers. They didn't look at his face before they sprinted out into the storm.

They had kissed him before, on the lips and face, but for some reason the simple gesture stunned him. He just starred at the back of the doctors white coat as they ran. Catching him off guard seems to be one of their favorite things. Even if they didn't seem aware they're doing it half the time. It made Skull Face uneasy. It felt like indulging in something he shouldn't be. Like eating an endangered animal. Still, he couldn't help himself when Palmer asked him to join them in running a couple errands after work.

He looked at his hand, frustrated that even without the glove he could never truly feel their lips on him.

It took a few minutes, but eventually he saw Palmer round the corner, large black umbrella in hand. No longer running but walking at a brisk pace.

“Your umbrella, Commander,“ They offered it with a small bow. ”I'm already soaked so you might as well use it.“

Even so, Skull Face kept close to them so they stayed under the umbrella as much as possible on the way back.

[nemiravens]

OC-tober Day 1: Your OC introduces themselves

Feat. Aiden Galloway from The Anonymous Four: Side Mortal World

CW: Uncensored cursing, violence

Dull footsteps echoed eerily throughout the enclosed space, followed by a startled yelp coming from a man trembling like a frightened mouse on the filthy alleyway floor. Shadows cast above his face as his perpetrator slowly closed the distance between them.

"My, my. Look at how pathetic you look," the male above spoke darkly, his voice dripping with venom. He regarded the man with a predatory gaze, his face barely visible save for his icy glare.

"Y-You broke my fucking hand!" the man on the ground barked ferociously.

Such expression was a perfect mix of anger and fear—a wounded animal backed into a corner. His stutters were betraying the courage he struggled to put up.

"What about it? I don't think you deserve the privilege of having a hand."

Almost in the blink of an eye, the male slammed his foot against the side of the man's face, instantly sending him colliding with a nearby dumpster. The sheer force was enough to rattle him out of focus. He quivered like a worm on the dirt and grime.

"You fucking psycho," the man grunted as he was lifted off the ground, his collar bundled.

"If that makes me a psycho, what does that make you?" the male murmured. His voice was quiet, but the malice was palpable.

"Who the fuck are you? Do you have any idea who-"

The man's words were instantly cut when a hand tightly clasped itself around his throat.

"Aiden Galloway," the male hissed, his breath already hot against the man's face. "And I want you to drill that name into that fucking skull of yours."

The man was dropped back into the ground, wild coughs erupting from his constricted throat.

"Remember that name the next time you lay your filthy hands on my girlfriend."

See the full list of OC-tober writing prompts here.

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

OC-tober Day 18: Vintage

I’m about two weeks early, but @cobaltash is doing a nifty little event for @oc-growth-and-development‘s Oc-tober prompt list, and I figured I’d go ahead and get my entry out in the universe. 

In one of the last sessions we did with my Wednesday game, the would-be worldsavers traveled into the Underdark to find out what happened to the entire population of our cleric’s aerie. Zephyr has the distinction of being the only one in our group without dark vision, so Mira cast Light on a bottle of wine that she had stolen from the aerie. And, unfortunately, Zephyr is a monk.

~1000 words, set during the trials and tribulations of The Tea Party Trio.

------

Zephyr couldn't see much by the strange, glassy light of the glowing wine bottle in her hand, but she could still make out matted fur and sharpened teeth and the searing red eyes of something that wanted her dead, and really, what more did she need to know?

She staggered back as a clawed hand the size of her head shot out of the gloom and bit into the rock wall on her left. The tiny ring of light given off by her sloshing torch made it impossible to see the full scope of the creature assaulting her, but it had reached across the entire width of the cave without putting so much as the tip of its gnarled black snout into the glow and that painted a picture enough. She swore under her breath and scrambled back another few feet. Zephyr thrived in a melee, sure, but her opponents were usually somewhere around half that size, only moderately armed, and - if she had her way - stumbling around blind drunk. Big, snarling, hairy beasts with teeth as long as her fingers were better suited for someone who could set them on fire from a full city block away.

She stole a glance over her shoulder towards where she’d last seen Fàilbhe, and caught the tip of his staff disappearing into the darkness as he backed further out of sight. She swore again, louder, and spun to face a tunnel that she’d seen Mira sprinting for. Clerics could send unholy abominations like this one fleeing on command, couldn’t they? What use were they otherwise? Besides, she had sworn that she’d seen Mira tangling with a couple of drow a second ago, and they were more the moderately armed sort, with senses that Zephyr could baffle and faces at fist-catching height. If she could beg a trade - 

Something moved on her right before she could chance a look, and Zephyr had just enough good sense to still be waiting for it. She threw herself to one side as the beast surged past, swinging out with one claw, then another, then another.

Four fucking arms. 

Zephyr caught herself against the cave wall, seething. Of course she would be the one tangling with some mad science experiment gone wrong! Failbhe got to play trebuchet from the back while Mira toyed with some common foot soldiers, but Zephyr had to manage the swollen, four-armed drow monstrosity that looked like it pulled the legs off of spiders for fun. She turned just in time to see it wheel back towards her, a wavering silhouette of coarse white fur and bulging muscle that filled the width of the cavern. Its eyes snapped to the light of the bottle in her hand, and she watched with mounting dread as its snout pulled back into a wide, wolfish grin.

Oh, they were going to owe her much more than wine after this, glowing or otherwise.

Snarling, the beast lunged, its smaller arms clawing wildly at the air as Zephyr staggered out of the way. One of the heavy limbs grafted onto its shoulder flashed out with enough force to whip her hair into a storm, missing by mere inches as she ducked around it. In a real fight, she thought, she could dance circles around even something this big; hell, in a real fight, she could dance circles around anything. But a real fight required seeing, at least, or room enough to move, or an opponent that couldn’t clear five strides for every one of hers -

Something jolted hard against her waist, and Zephyr looked down just in time to see the enormous hand suddenly clutched around the tassels of her belt.

It yanked her backwards before she could think to scream. She scrabbled instinctively for the sword still clattering at her waist, but the creature’s other hand snapped around the offending arm in a vice grip as she collided with its palm, its claws digging points of brilliant pain into the flesh as it wrenched her around. The messy streaks of light and dark and rock walls suddenly became a vision of red eyes and inch-long teeth streaking towards her, snarling, vicious, triumphant -

And right at fist-catching height.

The beast’s jaw cracked at the same moment her bottle did, a wet pop mingling hideously with the sharp splinter of glass as wine and glowing shards exploded sideways across its snout. Zephyr reeled back as the grip on her arm vanished, watching in mingled fascination and horror as the creature howled and clutched at the stinging lines of blood. She hadn’t meant to break the bottle. Hell, she’d barely even meant to take a swing. She had been running on instinct, a flash-pan sort of panic that had moved her arm without quite asking for her mind’s permission. Her eyes drifted down to the scattering of silver glass that now lit the cavern floor from below, and then slowly back towards the neck of the bottle still clutched in her hand. Turned towards her on the label, surrounded now by thin hairline cracks, was a date.

Zephyr read it. Then she blinked and read it again, just to be sure.

The creature had just managed to claw the last of the glass from its eyes when Zephyr’s fist plunged into the fleshy skin of its throat. It wheezed in sudden, breathless agony, then took another blow across its jaw, which broke audibly in the opposite direction. 

“Do you see this?” Zephyr snarled as the beast stumbled backwards. “Do you see what you’ve done?”

It didn’t, clearly, so she whipped around and laid a bone-shattering kick into its bleeding face. It staggered against the wall with a dull thud, just managing to catch itself on one massive arm. Its lips curled back into a watery snarl as Zephyr stepped forward and thrust the remains of the still-dripping wine bottle in front of its swollen eyes.

“Look at this!” she hissed. “Do you see? Do you see that date, you hellish mongrel? You ruined a vintage!”

[spacedoutwitch]

Spooky McBun-Face has the perfect Halloween aesthetic!  And drawing a skull from this angle was fun!

And that's it for OC-Tober!  Will I post again soon?  Who knows!  I'm still on the fence about No-Content November, because it’s obviously important to highlight the impact of creators on the Internet, but deliberately going without posting stuff for a month seems like an easy way to fall into not posting at all...  Then again, I've been posting stuff almost every day for July, August, and October, so maybe a break is warranted?  I dunno, we'll see. Maybe I could figure out commissions...

[heartfullofleeches]

Oc-tober Day Eleven – Hayride

Yandere Doll Maker Entity/Living Doll – Pin

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning: very brief blood/death mentions

-

Soot covers a needle as unsteady hands attempt to thread it with a red string. Thrown out of frustration, the spool bounces onto the table; rolling into a stand of which a new creation lied. Burlap skin. Yarn string hair. Each of the creature's eye sockets were fitted with smooth, textureless buttons - the combined look creating the image of a farm field scarecrow. All it needed was a stitched smile to complete its look.

"Damn it." Its creator rubs at a group of its many eyes; reaching a shadowy limb across the table to retrieve the spool. The Doll Maker looks at its opposite hand, watches as darkness seeps through the fingers of their gloves. Silk was such a lovely material, but dirtied the quickest. There was a reason why they saved them for special occasions.

The Doll Maker searches through one of the drawers of its work bench and pulls out a pair of leather gloves. It discards the old ones and puts them on before continuing their work. Stitch by stitch, a mouth is birthed across the face of the mask; arched in certain angles akin to a smile jack-o-lantern pumpkin.

Snipping the excess string, the Doll Maker stands. It picks up the mask from the stand and walks over to the mirror. It stares at itself in the mirror. Grey flesh, blackening the further it reaches their palms. Strands of fog branch out from its neck like the twigs on a dead tree; eyes as plentiful as the fruit of a fair harvest. It feels nausea as a dozen of them blink. How disgusting.

The Doll Maker lifts the mask as high as possible. It pulls it over itself once the mask hits the solid area of its head. The tendrils of smog slither beneath it, shrinking and wrapping around its skull for better fit. With this piece, its body is finished. Its hair resembles the color of a broom and strung over its head like a mop; dressed in a tattered old shirt and pants kept up by a string. It wears a with hat with a corner of it patched with another fabric and the rim torn. The Doll Maker touches its face. It feels horrible.

This thing is quite hideous - just like itself. The texture of its skin makes them ill. They want to tear it apart and put on a better looking body, but this form was ideal for its intended purposes.

Standing there, the Doll Maker wonders if the object of their affections could love such a face. It was only meant to lure them home until they had the chance to switch - but what if? That means there could be a chance for them to love underneath, right? For them to find beauty in such a horrid creature?

The Doll Maker's eyes fall to the soiled gloves on the floor. What a silly idea. No human could love this creature, and so it would become something its not - for the sake of love.

The Doll Maker plucks the flyer in the corner of the mirror down; picking up a gardening tool by the front door as it exits.

-

The warm autumn air envelopes you as you step out of the car. Spices and the smell of baked goods carry on its winds. Children laugh in the distance; jumping from behind hay bails to scare one another and picking apples from buckets of water. A larger, technically mature-aged adolescent springs from the rear seat of the car, wrapping his arms around you as he jumps half way onto your back.

"We're finally here. That ride was so long. Good thing I have my favorite armrest to stretch out on."

The man's sibling climbs out the passenger seat; glaring at her brother with judgement eyes. "Would you stop doing that? I don't want their legs giving out before we get to the maze."

Twin, Michael and Mika. Your two closest friends, and guide to the night's festivities. Since you all moved into their hometown for school, they wouldn't shut up about the annual Calloway farm's fair. A festival themed around the pumpkin patch the family grew and managed.

They had it all. Apple cider, fresh pies, games, a maze, and of course - pumpkins. It was the best time of year according to the siblings, and there were rumors of a hayride being adding this year. It would be a crime not to bring you along with all of the hype.

Micheal unchains himself from you and marches a few steps ahead. "Ah, whatever. Let's hurry up. I'm finally old enough to have some of the moonshine without having to sneak away into the barn."

The tree of you venture to the gates of the farm. There, you're greeted by Mr. Calloway himself to welcome faces both new and old. To held with the flow of the fair, you were given a set amount of tickets to use for each activity on hand. The man wishes you a good time before you're all ushered inside. Before you can walk through the gates though, Mr.Calloway asks you to let him know if you see a young man wearing wearing t-shirt with the fairs logo. It's his son, and the twin and him don't have the best history, but he hasn't seen him all day.

"What should we do first?" Mika speaks. "There's the apple picking, pie eating contest, maze..."

"What about the hayride?" You chime in.

Michael chuckles at your naivety. "Gotta save the best for last, Y/n. It apparently Come on, let's go take a picture by the booth over there."

Over the course of the next few hours, you all enjoy the fair. Putting zoo, face paint, eating the various novelties. You eventually decided to do the maze, splitting up to see who gets out first. You overhear Michael's frustration, laughing at his blight. You giggle so much, that you don't notice when you bump into another guest.

"Sorry about that! I- Oh!" Upon second look you realize the figure to only be a scarecrow. You excuse yourself from crossing its path before continuing on. The bushes rustle behind you as you walk away.

-

Winner decided and a few more activities, everyone's down to their final ticket aside you which you have two. It was time for the main event. The hay ride sits near the maze, and right beside the farm's back entrance. With the day nearing it's end, the line strangely wasn't that long. There was barely one to begin with, but that may have been due to the ride's apparent shortness. As it reaches your turn, you walk up to the carnage's driver. They're dressed just like the scarecrow you had seen before; wielding a scythe with a crimson dipped blade. They look at you. Only you.

Michael steps between you. "We'd like to take a ride, please."

The scarecrow turns to him. It shakes its head - pointing at the wagon. There are already a few people inside, room enough for one more person. They then point to you.

"Me? You're saying I should go?"

A nod. Mika grabs your arm. "We'll just wait for the next turn. Thank you.

The scarecrow lowers their wrist.

Michael elbows his sister. 'Eh, just let them go. They still have two tickets left anyway."

Mika scoffs, but lets you go. The scarecrow holds out its hand. You place your ticket in its palm, but it shakes its head again as it retracts it. It points to your own, before holding it out again.

"You want me to take your hand?"

"Yes..."

You hesitant grip its hand. The scarecrow runs its thumb over your pulse as it leans you to the wagon. Instead of seating you with the rest, it sits you right up front. Your friends start to notice something odd, but the wagon speeds off before they can say anything. Mika screams as someone slumps against a hay bail.

The ride begins. It leads off to the crops just outside the main area of the farm; corn and other vegetables growing in the land. Jack-o-lantern's light the entire row. Halloween cut outs are tapped to each fence - bloody hand marks stamped into various ones. The gate that leads completely off the property is blown open and it seems like that's where you're head. You think nothing of it at first; till you see the red sign pointing the other way and hear another body fall over. You feel the scarecrow's eyes on you.

Looking behind you, you see someone laid flat on the hay bails. Their limbs are completely spread out and they remain motionless. You glance at the scarecrow. Something doesn't feel right. Why was everyone so quiet about this?

"Excuss me? I think there's something wrong with them..."

No response. You tuck on their arm. "Hey...-"

Your mouth goes dry as you look behind you once more. A red circle had begun to bleed softly into the hay, centering from the person's neck. You can see a smiling pumpkin on their shirt; the logo of Calloway farm.

"What.. no..."

The wagon picks up speed. Looking at the other bodies, you see more dead people, but there's more - dolls. Human sized puppets crafted so well it was near impossible to tell the difference from afar. You try to pull the ropes from the scarecrow, but they don't even flinch. You think to jump, but at this speed you'd be lucky if you only had some broken bones.

The farm quickly grows further and further away. You scream for help, but it's swallowed by the roaring winds. You come to the horrible conclusion the best option is tempt fate and jump over; an arm shooting around your waist before you can take the dive. A black mist leaks from the seams as you struggle. The scarecrow seems surprises as it reels away, but the smoke quickly ties around you and pulls you to it.

"What tbe hell are you?!" You sob.

The Doll Maker merely cradles you to its chest as you cry-- hoping you'll someday find enjoyment in the ride along the way.

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Hi Moosh!

Can I make a request for some DMC Vergil content for Kink-tober?

#31: Consensual aphrodisiac use (Vergil receiving)

#4: Heat

#23: Mutual masturbation

Sorry given the schedule change this took so long but anyway hope you enjoy... I think I maaaay have gone a bit to horny with the idea sub!Vergil in this scenario 😅

Day 31: consensual aphrodisiac use

(This work includes gender neutral!reader)

(NSFW under the cut as always)

Vergil likes taking challenges, he likes personal improvement and proving himself capable, even in his older age, that he can keep up and keep passing himself - no matter what the set target skill is he will surpass himself no matter what.

...that is how he finds himself responsible for the predicament he has currently set himself in; face hot and sweat as slivery hair practically clings to his forehead, his eyes are tear shot yet they're strained as they just about rolled back into his skull as your hand presses him face first into the battered mattress below, his hands sprouting into devilish claws shredding the sheets below him... a very much different sight to behold compared to when you had begun; when Vergil, neatly prim and proper as always, is who first suggested trying out the small blue bottle he held in his hand, which it in itself surprised you, given what the contents of rose colored liquid contained within... it's origins and exactly how and where you obtained such a demonic aphrodisiac a long complex in itself best to left in the dark, but what catches you off guard most about it is the moment when he downed it himself, cocky grin just radiating that Sparda trademarked confidence as he licked at his lips at the rosy leftovers dripped from his lips and already tugging off his vests followed by a cheeky flick of pointer and middle fingers luring you over to test and see what you could do.

Vergil on the other hand didn't expect it to be so... effective. During he's traveling days he's messed with relics and spells with similar effects all in the motivation of his curiosity of his research but nothing really have much effect on him than just the subtle flushing of skin or briefest of erections but this to Vergil was certainly... different. No matter what he can do there's this sense of burning shuddering all throughout his core pumping into him constantly making him aware of just every single part of him that can only be relived by your hands on his skin, your touch, even if normal circumstances he won't admit to it out loud of bring so touch starved now its multiplied a hundred fold but now he's not afraid to admit out loud as he practically is sobbing out for you to touch him everywhere.

His brain is practically fired as you rest over top of him, the skin on skin contact of your chest pressed up against his back and you're sweet warm kisses and bites litter his shoulders and neck with every move you make of you fingers thrusting right into him hitting his sweet spot over and over where your practically abusing it gets him screaming underneath you. Your other hand that isn't occupied with his hole leaves the son of Sparda's messy hair to travel down his back and then around his waist to reach between his legs and inch slowly towards his cock, which amusedly he doesn't seem to notice until his whole body jerks up with a loud hissed out curse than evolves into a sobbed out groan when immediately your head leaves his twitching prick to shove him back down into the mattress where you had him - with a bunch of jumbled apologies you just know if Vergil was in unhorny sober state of mind he would be practically cringing to hear himself utter, which you take pity on him and return with going right back to wrapping your fingers around his begging cock.

"You're doing so good," Your voice sounds so heavenly above him each word he clings onto with each pump your fist, already wet with his leaking arousal, he feels so spoiled. "Do you think you can come, just like this?" You ask with an extra prominent thrust of your fingers pressed right against the sweet spot of his hole. It takes a whole lot of of him to get out his answer but you patiently wait on him.

"Y-yes." He practically wheezes out, not giving a damn about the flashes of intrusive thinking of how pathetic and small he must look right now. Suddenly a sweet kiss is up against his lips before you show him a tender smile. "Good, I'm glad." His heart flutters in his chest as he looks back at you, almost deer in headlights like before everything cutting off the moment you start fucking harder into him.

It turns incoherent, whimpers and cries of curses mixed with your name but nothing exactly tangible besides the noises encourage to go on - harder, deeper, faster, anything to bring him to that end and the second he does he almost triggers completely with how the sudden compulsion of air radiates him with light blue demonic embers catching the air, but in the end he doesn't and manages to hold on - though with claws instead where human and should be finally pushing along the final stretch to decide that you definitely need a new mattress after this.

Still the burning scorches his being although not as much as his climax drips from his cock onto ruined sheets, giving him a brief nice cooling period before he ultimately gathers himself (well, at least best he could) to look back at you. You give him a cheeky grin as you pull out of him.

"I think I win that one." This earns you a genuine round of laughter from your love, him pushing him up a bit to rest him on his knees.

"Oh... is that what you think?" You're eyes flicker over and around to inspect your work.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I think so."

"How long did you say it'd last?"

"A good several hours, give or take." The son of Sparda give you a subtle nod before immediately tricking over and pushing you down on your back, your wrists pinned and his face still red and siam with sweat only inches away from yours as his hair falls down to tickle your forehead and his conniving smirk oh so prevalent.

"Then I think we have plenty of time to make up this score."

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

Tagging list

@blacktalonsb @lokilover476 @emeraldpearls

How to be added to the tagging list + additional info

[mattzerella-sticks]

Supernatural Crack🩹tober

Day 5 - Now That’s an Angel Blade 

           Sam comes to, blinking, staring at Dean’s door. He chokes on a gasp, stumbling backwards. Away from his brother’s room. From what he heard.

           “Now that’s what I call an angel blade.”

           He presses flat against the wall, jaw working hard at producing no sound. Stopped by the knot in his throat, clogged by the possibility of what might have been. Had Sam, not catching the panted moan, barreled through the door. Dean and Cas in such a compromising position Sam would be struck blind from the sight of their naked bodies –

           “No,” he wipes the thought with a flick of his twitching hand, “No. We are not thinking about that right now.”

           Recovering, somewhat, Sam stands without aid on shaky legs. He shuffles towards the door again, only for the book he dropped. Nothing else. Sam lifts it, scanning for any damage. The page he bookmarked was lost, but nothing else happened to the ancient tome. Luckily. Tucking it under arm, Sam spins on his heel. Body telling him he should run far from Dean’s room.

           He lingers, though. Stuck because of some light ruffling from the other side of the door. Curiosity betrays him, and he leans closer. Listens more attentively.

           Dean chuckles, “Come on, let me play with it.”

           “No Dean,” Cas says, “you wouldn’t know how to handle it. Just… let me do all the work.”

           Shame rushes down his back like cold water, every nerve in his body raw and sparking. He sprints through the hallway at a record pace. No set destination in mind. Perhaps he’ll snag an extra set of keys for one of the many cars sitting in the garage and drive. Drive until the tank empties and start a new life, with a new name. He’s always liked Jared for some reason.

           Jared Peterman. Normal guy, with a normal past and family. Tragically he has no siblings, not even a brother that any angels can romantically entangle with. Tragic.

           “Sam?” He trips over his feet, almost steamrolling over Jack. The younger boy steps aside, avoiding his large frame. “Sam, what’s the matter? Is there an emergency?”

           Not a real one. Years of memories being torn to shreds and restructured in a more accurate understanding would mean little in Jack’s opinion. But for Sam… it’s shaken his worldview. Up there with all the others. Angels being real, Chuck being God, and now Dean and Cas fucking.

           “No, it’s not –“ Sam winces, pain scratching at his skull. He rubs his temple, “I, I’m not feeling too good. Think I need to lie down…”

           “Oh…” Jack holds up his hand, brows furrowed, “do you want me to –“

           “No!” He jumps, Sam’s voice echoing in the hallway. “No, no you don’t…” Sam continues, softer, “that’s not necessary.” Tempting? Sure. If he asked, Jack could definitely wipe his memory of the discovery. Leaving him in blissful ignorance for when Dean and Cas actually reveal their new relationship in a manner that won’t scar Sam for the remainder of his life. But for such a clean slate, he’d be ratting them out to Jack. And while the boy might think of them as his dads, he’s not sure how he’ll explain them being his… dads. “I think some sleep might do me some good… or I’ll take a painkiller, or ten.”

           Jack worries his bottom lip, not sold on Sam’s excuse. Still, he relents. Hand resting at his side. “If you say.” He glances behind, frown deepening. “Hey… have you seen Dean?”

           “Dean?” Sam panics, stiffening. “No, why would I have seen Dean, I don’t think I’ve seen him at all. Ever. Never seen him.” Coughing, he hides behind his bangs. Avoiding Jack’s searching expression. “Why are you looking for him anyway?”

           “I have a question,” he says, “I thought he’d be helpful in answering.”

           “Okay. But, if I can’t find him he’s probably busy,” Sam tells Jack, “maybe he’s in the middle of something and – uh… doesn’t want to be disturbed?”

           Jack huffs, “It’s kind of important, and I haven’t found him in his usual places… the garage, the kitchen…” His face brightens, though, despite Sam’s dismissal. “I haven’t tried his room though!”

           “Jack, wait -!”

           “Thanks Sam!”

           He disappears around the corner, bounding down the hallways. Sam watches leave, too weak he cannot prevent the unfortunate series of events and conversations that will entail. Instead Sam shuffles towards his room. Hopefully, when he wakes up, the storm will pass.

           Hopefully.

🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹

           Jack barges in without knocking, Dean’s grip on the sword faltering. “Holy hell, Jack,” Dean yells, catching it before the blade sliced through his foot. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

           “Sorry, sorry…” he says, wincing, “I wasn’t sure you’d be in here.” Glancing between him and Cas, the latter lounging on Dean’s bed. Feet crossed at the ankles, perfectly relaxed while Dean swung the relic around like a toy and not the heavenly prototype of the standard angel’s weapon with an enriched history that Cas spent the last three hours explaining to him.

           “Jack,” Cas speaks now, “did you need something?”

           “I… I wanted to ask Dean a question.”

           Dean hands the sword off, Cas accepting it. Laying it on the other side of him. “Ask away.”

           Jack wrings his hands, nerves making themselves known. “Okay,” he says, pacing at the entrance of Dean’s room. “So, I was in town earlier, and I ran into this guy. We started talking and, well… I think I like him.”

           “That’s good!” Dean nods, smiling. Faltering as Jack’s smile doesn’t mirror his own. “What’s the problem?”

           “I don’t know what to do next!” Jack throws his hands in the air, “What should I do?”

           Snorting, Dean closes the distance and wraps an arm around Jack. Guides him into the hallway, “Listen, talking to boys is real simple.”

           “It is?”

           “Yeah,” he says, “what you need to do is hang out with him, maybe get him talking about something he likes. That he’s interested in. Show interest, even if it’s fake. And, then, at the right time, ask if he wants to make out.”

           Jack arches a brow, “That’s all?”

           “Well, I mean if he says no then you’ll have to live through an awkward few minutes,” Dean admits, squeezing Jack’s shoulder. “But I doubt that’ll happen. I’m sure he likes you as much as you like him. So go and make plans, already.”

           “I will!” Jack yells, dashing off, “thanks!”

           Dean waits for the younger boy to disappear, closing the door as he re-enters his room. Locking it for extra measure. When he turns, Dean notices the critical stare from Cas. “What?”

           “That’s your advice?”

           “It’s good advice!”

           “When has it ever worked for you?”

           He grins, swaggering towards Cas. Leaning close, their noses brush. “Hey, Cas, d’you wanna…”

(Day 4: Cutest Curse Ever)

[mable-stitchpunk]

FNAF-TOBER Prompt- 3: Lobotomy

Gabe stepped into the light spilling out of the bathroom and saw his younger brother standing inside. The young man wasn’t doing anything at the sink, he was just standing there, staring into the bathroom mirror, turned just enough that Gabe couldn’t see his face. Something was wrong.

“Marion?” Gabe asked groggily. He rubbed a hand over his eyes to try and clear his foggy vision. “What are you doing up this late?”

His brother turned his head slowly in his direction, but didn’t look directly at him. The lingering silence was beginning to make Gabe uneasy, and it wasn’t like he was willing to leave his brother just standing here.

“What’s up? Did you have a nightmare or something?” he asked, his exhaustion a little more apparent on his voice. 

Marion slowly turned back towards the mirror to stare at himself again, saying not a word. Maybe he was looking at his scars; the thought made Gabe uncomfortable. 

He sighed and reached for his arm. “Come on, I’ll take you back to bed.”

Marion gave a sigh, grabbed ahold of the porcelain of the sink-

-and proceeded to smash his head into the mirror with a gut-twisting crunch.

“Marion!” Gabe choked. He watched in horror as his brother began to twist his head into the glass, causing more cracks to spread across the mirror. “Stop! What the hell are you doing?!”

Gabe grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back only to have him collapse into his arms. Marion’s head rolled back against his chest and revealed the horror of what he had done to himself. Large shards of glass were lodged deeply into his forehead and blood was already pooling around his eyes and leaking down his cheeks. 

Through swears of panic, Gabe managed to get his brother into his arms. He knew he needed to get help, but he wouldn’t survive a drive to the hospital like this. He had to get the glass out, quick, and he carried him over to the bathtub and laid him inside.

“Okay, okay, I’m going to fix this. You’re going to be fine,” Gabe said with the panic very evident in his tone. Marion’s head rolled limply, but he said nothing. “...What were you thinking?! Were you trying to get yourself killed?!”

Marion opened his mouth to explain and blood leaked past his lips. His words were too slurred to be understood, just like when he had his accident- so much blood.

“Okay, just... Don’t talk. Just- Just let me- Let me get this out...” 

Gabe reached down and took ahold of one of the shards. For some reason, he knew this was the only way, and he pulled the shard out. Blood spurted out and oozed down along his eyebrow. With the second shard, a large peel of skin followed, revealing white skull bone underneath. 

“O-Oh God,” Gabe choked and swallowed deeply. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Gabriel...” Marion’s voice was slurred as his eyes became more unfocused. “Feeellls wrroong. Caan’t- Caaan’t- Caaan’t-.”

“Don’t try to talk. Just let me do this, okay? I got this. I can handle this,” Gabe pleaded. He reached for a deeper piece and began to slide it out. Much to his horror, inch after inch began to slide out but the shard never seemed to end. When it finally came loose, there was a fleshy matter coating the tip. He knew it had to be brain matter and his blood ran cold.

“Gaabe...” his brother slurred. Now half of his mouth wasn’t moving and the left side of his face seemed to be sinking. He gagged and something thick and coppery spilled from his mouth. “Why?”

“I didn’t mean it,” Gabe choked. He frantically continued to pick teeth out of his brother’s head and tried to stifle to torrents of blood. “We’ll get you a blood transfusion and you’ll be okay. Let me just- Let me just fix this, please.”

His brother gurgled as his eyes grew from pale to white, with the fluid- brain fluid- pouring out of his mouth and the blood down his face. Suddenly, a hand grabbed ahold of Gabe’s shoulder and forcefully turned him around.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

And suddenly, Gabe’s eyes shot open and he found himself looking at the dark ceiling of his bedroom. His heart was pounding like he had just ran a mile and he was sweating through his clothes. He slowly sat up in bed to orient himself and wipe off his face. It had just been a nightmare. A terrible, horrible nightmare.

...He had to check on Marion.

In mere seconds, he was hurrying down the hall and let himself into his brother’s room. It quickly became apparent that he was still asleep, so Gabe hesitated a second before stepping back out and beginning to shut the door. He hesitated again before heading inside again. He wasn’t going to get back to sleep yet anyway. 

Gabe sat on the end of the bed cautiously as to not make any noise and risk waking his brother. The only thing that would be worse than the nightmare was then having to explain to his younger brother what happened in it. Because he knew what it was: the same thing it always was, distorted memories of the accident. 

With a tired sigh, Gabe rubbed over his face. He would never forget that horrible day, and he would never forgive himself for what he did, but at least his brother was here and he could take care of him. At least in that way he could try to make up for it.

But God- he reached out and laid a protective hand on his brother’s box- how he wished he would’ve lived.

[casualtydept]

art vs artist for the year!

despite all the ups and downs i've had with my art this year i've never felt so proud looking at it all. and this doesn't even begin to cover how much i've written this year, and all the other stuff i haven't shown on here - most notably painting two tiny foxes, putting together cosplays, making a plushie from scratch, and slowly chipping away at a very extensive mgs fansite i hope to finally launch in the next year.

so thanks for being here and for being patient with me while my brain pulls me in every direction at once, here's to a year of more art, weirder art, better art, and most importantly: more skull face.

[susperfectus-a]

@americanasitgets

Gotham on fire. The old slut disturbed from her sleep by the hog that’s crept into her bed. He rages, he wails. Cue the limelight. He’s on a stage, the tober omi of the circus, the emcee, the star itself. In his best suit and all spruced up, he smells of roses, vomit, and whiskey. The drug roams his system like a disease, putting him on top of the world. He ascends the ladder made of living, swarming bodies, straightens his bow tie and sweeps over his audience. There isn’t a face that wouldn’t be a masterpiece in Picasso style. Broken into squares, ovals, green and yellow shadows, red smudged over the ugliness, they all heed his performance. He begins by treating the goats to the tantalizing sight of his the scarred canvas that is his body, he’s bare down to the waist and isn’t ashamed of it. The music blares from the speakers, turns the cogs in their subconscious. He smiles, coquettish like an aging Hollywood actress. No, he’s a pop star! Boys and girls’ beloved, they’ll crucify his images on the walls of their rooms and masturbate. A couple of pas make them all his slaves, no substance needed, he just knows it. Love him, hate him, die for him! He grabs the mic, and a deafening screech turns all heads to him.

“Ladies, gentlemen and others! I am your master of ceremonies tonight, and I am also the star!”

Their mouths contort, he knows their skulls a cracking from pain, and they will do anything, anything to make it stop. There is no Bat to ruin this number, and he knows it will be a hit.

“Are you suffering? Are you in pain? Does your spouse not satisfy you in bed? Well, tonight I am kind enough to present you! The change booth! Where you can be freed from your agony! At the very little price of a surgery performed by a professional! Hold onto this chance, feed and be fed, ask and be given! Perfection awaits you!”

The limelight seizes the booth where his fair ladies are standing ready. Busy little bees, they are fussing about, setting up the operating theatre.

“Once again, tonight you can… Now what the fuck is that?”

First comes the smell, an unfamiliar one. Something alien, something inhuman, and Pyg has had a lot of experience with that, but this one he can’t recognize. Though when the figure appears in the sky splashed with dirty orange, his regal snout is turned upwards. It’s not a god, he soon realizes, though many would call him that. It is not an angel either, because angels terrify. This one merely exasperates.

“Oh I know you, America’s darling. Mommy sees across the universe, and she’d spotted you before you came into this world.”

Something has to be done about this. This spawn of Satan is raining on Pyg’s parade.

“But I have too many suitors already, I don’t need another one. I’m the hottest shit in Gotham, handsome. So fuck off and die.”

[mandrakebrew]

Skull Face-Tober Day 8: Weapon

alternate title: Advanced flirting tactics

following this post here

Words: 632 Rating: General Content Warning: oc x canon

AN: Not entirely happy with this but I wanted to post on time and I'm off my medicine so I can't focus enough to edit so RIP

The inside of the shooting range was empty. It was closed at this time of day but the XO had access. Dr Palmer had recently asked him if he'd teach them how to shoot. Specifically, to shoot the sawed-off rifle he always carried.

They approached one of the tables, and set the target relatively close. The gun wasn't going to hit anything accurately long range even with an experienced shooter. While Skull Face did that, Palmer put earplugs in.

Skull Face pulled the gun from its holster, cocked the lever and handed it over to the doctor. They slipped their fingers into the lever and used the other hand to grip the barrel a little too close to the front.

“Hold it here,” Skull Face put his hand on the part of the barrel they should be holding. They moved their hand to the spot as instructed. Palmer took a moment to look at the gun and various personal touches Skull Face had given it. An antler of some deer served as the stock, the side plates had been fire treated. Unique, beautiful, and deadly. A perfect fit for their commander.

“Alright, keep your arms straight, but don't lock your elbows.“ He began his instructions. ”Look down the barrel at the target. Dominant eye, and don't pull the trigger, squeeze it.“

The doctor pointed the gun at the target. Palmer opted to use both hands unlike the commander. The last thing a surgeon needs is a sprained wrist.

“Inhale, and exhale as you fire.”

They inhaled, and fired as their lungs emptied out. The bullet missed the target, leaving a hole in the white surrounding the black silhouette of a person. It also kicked a lot more than Palmer was expecting. They barely managed to hold onto the gun to keep it from hitting them in the face. Suddenly, the name “mare's leg” made a lot more sense.

Skull Face sighed, “Try to hold onto the gun.”

“Okay, okay,“ They responded, adjusting their grip a bit.

”Try again. Push the level forward to cock it.” Palmer did as told, and fired the gun again. Another miss. They cocked and fired another round which barely grazed the black they were supposed to be aiming at.

The commander must have reached the end of his patience, because the next thing Palmer felt was his hands covering theirs. His chest flush with their back and head looking over their shoulder. They felt the hairs on their arms stand up and their knees nearly gave out.

Fingers almost interlaced, they aimed and fired the gun together, the bullet hit the target dead in the center of its chest.

There was a pause, before the commander broke contact completely. As if just now realizing what he'd done.

The doctor turned to look at him, and if Skull Face hadn't been so flustered he might have noticed the way the doctor's face had turned pink. He cleared his throat, looking down at the floor.

After Palmer recovered and their heart stopped racing, they turned back to the target, and cocked the gun before firing a round directly in the center of its head. They smiled, glad that they haven't actually lost their aim.

When they return to Skull Face, holding out the gun for him to take it back, he's looking back and forth between the target and the doctor.

“Oh! Didn't I mention I've been shooting since I was a kid? My dad said I shot my first rifle when I was five, though I'm not sure how true that actually is.” Palmer explained with a large, coy grin on their face.

“You-” Is the only word he gets out before taking the gun, and storming towards the exit.

They follow after, failing to hide a laugh.

[starliighting]

6. dragged away (oc-tober) creation story

The waters will prevail time and time again, but when will we the survivors get to stop learning? Maybe the better thing to ask is why we will forget the lessons we have already been taught. We will feel the eyes of martyrs in the back of our skulls, and they will never leave us, and we will sail and settle and forget again, and slowly they will begin to feel no different than the hands of gods. From deep in a half- flooded village somewhere, the survivors’ tenacity will give out. The bard will scream and not realize the weight in his diaphragm. He will have only ever seen himself through someone else’s eyes, only ever heard his voice from a distant room. outside himself. We will learn that the essence of being a vessel is living in someone else’s memory, and that that is not a noble life but a drowning one. In some ways, we did not survive the flood at all. We learn that there are no prophets left, but

maybe it is for the better when we learn not to look to the future for answers when the present is so desperately inundated. The tide returns and the water does not prevail, because even if we are forced to change, this is another one of nature’s metamorphoses, not a death, and we do not need stagnancy to be people. We learn that we are never allowed to really rest, and we feel the eyes of martyrs in the back of our skulls, and the best we can do is find some small pool of standing water to wade in. Have you ever felt the water like this before, like liquid silk around your ankles, weaving in and out of itself like a tapestry? Have you ever stopped sailing to become a sail yourself, to feel the breeze bare on your face? When the floodwaters settle down and you are home again, let the eyes and the waters fade into white noise and put yourself in the line of sight of the living and loved and pour yourself out of your thoughts out into the open world and shout for it to chase after you.

[vegetacide]

Whump●tober -  Unconscious

Veg-notables:   For whumptober. I’m doing this out of order and I don’t know how much I am going to be able to produce for this but I am going to give it a go..  Thanks to @gumnut-logic for all her help.  She beta read this for me and enlightened me about my subject matter.   You rock!  

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning:   Just a heads up for migraine sufferers this post deals with them. 

Characters:  K/V, Scott

Whumptober - TaG universe 

10. Unconscious

Enjoy...

oOo

The silence in the cockpit of Two was a drastic contrast to the days events. It was almost numbing in its entirety and the muteness in comparison to the past forty-eight hours sent a shiver of discomfort down Virgil’s spine.  

As the adrenaline ebbed and drained away a twitchy feeling settled over his tired frame. He scrubbed angrily at his face and roughly sank his hands into his jet black hair, leaving it in complete disarray.  

Slumping back in his seat, tired brown eyes glanced over the displays and absently took note of the post flight checks. Just a few more minutes and the data would be uploaded to the island servers leaving him free to debrief, shower and hopefully fall into the much needed oblivion of sleep that his body seriously craved.

Watching the information continue to scroll across the screen as the program verified each of Two’s systems, Virgil felt an even deeper lethargy settle over him and he allowed his head to fall back on the padded rest.  

Call outs had been on an uptick lately and Virgil was having a hard time remembering when he’d last managed to a solid eight hours of rack time or even when he’d had a full meal.  Trying to recollect the last thing he’d consumed; other than coffee and stim’ tabs, had a sudden stab of pain flare in his temple.

Clenching his lids tight against the agony as the overhead control panel blurred out, he flung his arm across his face and buried his head in the crook of his elbow. Effectively blocking out and hiding from the glare of the panels around him that seemed to be lighting the place up brighter than the sun.

Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it out his nose, he waited for the discomfort that had started to throb through his head to subside to a manageable level. In. Out. In. Out, repeat.  The pain didn’t abate in the slightest but grew in intensity.

Rubbing at the growing ache, he hissed out a curse as his comms pinged with an incoming transmission.  Forcing his posture upright, he plastered an acceptable expression on his face and flicked the line open, praying that it wasn’t another mission.   

“Hey Scott, what up?” 

The holo of his eldest brother floating blue and transparent above the control console frowned at him. “You coming up?” Virgil blinked a couple times as the image before him doubled and shifted back again. 

Virgil gave a nod and held back a wince as the movement of his skull drove a railroad spike through his cerebral cortex. Quickly schooling his features and hoping the eagle eyes of his brother hadn’t noticed, he flicked a few random switches. “Ya, just finishing up the post flight.  Had an odd reading from the aft thruster and had to run additional diagnostics. Be up in five.” 

“Okay,”  His brother replied back but didn’t sign off.  He hung there, arms crossed a moment and the intake a breath told Virgil that the commander of iR was suspicious.  “V, you okay?”  

Virgil cursed to himself as an aura flared in the corner of his eye,  “Ya, I’m good. Long day” He added a casual shrug before continuing.  “Almost done, meet you in the lounge in a few.” He forced a smile he hoped would reassure his brother that he was just busy and closed the line down.    

As the muted light of the holo dissipated Virgil all but folded in half, head dropping into his hands with a groan.  Biting back the nausea that started rolling his stomach and swallowing as his mouth started to salivate, Virgil fought his gag reflex and gruffly ordered the sun shade down over the view screen, plunging the cabin into darkness.  “Fuck..”  He moaned out, pressing his fingers into his eyes as the world went sideways. 

8-8-8

Scott sat back in his father’s desk chair and frowned as he watched the time tick by on the open data screen that was scrolling stock market details in front of him.   Something felt off,  he knew  his brothers were tired and worn from yet another rescue. They’d been busier than normal lately and it was started to wear but his big brother senses were tingling.

Fingers steepled, his frown grew as another minute past and still there was no sign of his Second.   Sitting up, he flicked the statistical data away and brought up an overhead blueprint image of the island. With another quick flick, coloured numbers appeared and overlaid the island villa floor plan. 

A couple of the numbers were moving about the island, going about their business of relaxing and enjoying the down time.  Alan; Scott could hear from where he was sitting, was down in the kitchen searching for something edible and singing horribly off key.   The red number three on the screen blipped merrily on the map before him in correlation.

The next closest numbers were his own and the submarine yellow four that indicated Gordon in the pool but the verdant number two was what drew Scott’s eye.  It blipped slowly and unmoving in the bowels of their island home, right where his brother’s ‘bird was berthed.  

Narrowing his eyes, Scott took only a moment of contemplation before double tapping the motionless number.  The screen shifted, flipping the island to a side view  and zoomed in on the hanger. The side profiles shrank as the screen split and tabled, moving to the top, left corner.  Mission data along with Thunderbird Two’s status flashed below, all scans showing green. The opposite half of the screen filling with the audio channel info and flight suit bio readings. 

On a whim, Scott blew the bio readings up for closer inspection and drew in a concerned breath.  The numbers were way off base line.  O2 levels were crap,  pulse was quick and thready and body temp readings wonky.  "Shit…" 

"What's up?" Came the lilting voice of their security expert from the base of the landing stairs, her eyes zeroing in on the screen as she stalked across the room.  

Scott spared her only a brief glance as he flicked back over to the house schematics and punched in a series of commands.  Instantly the storm shutters started trundling down over the villa windows and the over head lighting reduced. 

There was a yelp from Alan downstairs followed by something shattering, Scott ignored it as he turned his attention back to Kayo.  “Down in Two.” It was all that needed to be said.

“Another one?” She asked even though Scott knew she really didn’t need the answer.  

“Looks like it.” 

She mirrored his earlier expletive.  

8-8-8

They found Virgil in a shivering heap on Two’s flight deck fading in and out of consciousness and Kayo held back her panic as she sank down on her haunches beside him.  

Gently brushing his hair back from his forehead, she sighed at the sight.  His skin was sallow and damp with perspiration and he quaked as his body temp kicked up a notch.  “You idiot, what have you done to yourself?” She questioned softly as Scott settled down at her elbow and passed a med-scanner over his sibling.  

“This is a bad one.”  He whispered as he finished and pressed an IV kit into her hands. He pushed to his feet and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m gonna go grab a stretcher.  We gotta get him up to his room and it doesn’t look like he’s gonna move otherwise.”

Kayo nodded in reply and Scott disappeared through the access hatch.  

Sighing as she looked at the pained expression on Virgil’s face she set to work unbuckling his baldric, relieving him of the top half of his flight suit and went in search of a viable vein. 

Swabbing the inside of his forearm clean she tried not to let how unresponsive he was to her prodding bother her but she was having a hard time of it.  She knew the corded muscle under her hand intimately and seeing it so slack was more disturbing than she cared to admit.  

She gave her head a shake and shut the thought process down, now was not the time and cursed as she failed yet again to breach a vein.  Damn it, his veins were a mess and she was having a hell of a time trying to find one that wouldn’t collapse as soon as she touched it.  

Squaring her shoulders, Kayo tried again with a smaller gauge and the sting of the needle fishing around roused Virgil from the darkness. His foggy eyes flickered open. Unseeing and blood shot they scanned around blindly. “..Tin..?”   His voice was rough and barely audible through the clattering of his teeth.

Kayo shushed him softly and comber a hand gently through his sweat soaked hair. “It’s ok,  I got you.” She whispered, bending down to skim a kiss over his brow before returning her attention to his shot circulatory system.  

“..S..s’rry..”  He groaned out as a wave of pain pulsed through him.  

She couldn’t help the confused chuckle and a soft, worried smile tilted her lips. “What for?”  She questioned nearly pumping her fist when she finally hit pay dirt.  Catheter in place, she grabbed a line and with little fuss set up a saline drip to replenish his depleted system. 

“Worrying..you.  Can see...see it in your..”He stopped abruptly, the colour bleeding out of his face as he took on a decidedly green cast. ..”oh god...” 

Kayo swore and steady him as he lurched to one side and proceeded to lose the contents of his  stomach all over the decking.  Grabbing an emesis bowl she held it out for him before too much damage could be done. Not that Virgil had much to bring up. 

As he dry heaved, all Kayo could do was rub a gentle hand on his back in slow, steady circles and try him couch him through the retching. By the time he was done,  Virgil was a weak, quivering mess and needed help to settle back down on the cool, diamond plating.  

“That sounded like fun.”  Came a voice from behind her as Scott returned from the medbay and crouched down beside them, his eyes glancing over the IV bag hanging off the back of a seat, “Hey Virg, how ya doing?”  

Virgil just grunted by way of reply, not even bothering to open his eyes and rolled over onto his back, his chest heaving with the movement. 

“That good, huh?” he turned to Kayo and pulled out a veil, speaking softly  “I’ve got Alan just outside to help get him upstairs but if he is at the yacking phase of the ride we gotta get this into him first or the trip is going to be rough.” 

Kayo took it from him and read the label.  It was a fast acting cocktail of painkillers and anti-nauseants that she knew Virgil hated with a passion but options were limited.  He was too far gone and they couldn’t very well leave him here on the deck of Two while they waited for the migraine to pass. 

Grabbing a sterile syringe she handed the lot back to Scott to deal with and lent down to Virgil’s ear.  “We’re giving you the cocktail,  I know you hate it but we don’t have much of a choice and you need it.”  

Virgil sank the heel of his palms into his sockets and with bared teeth clenching down as a new wave of torture attempted to make his brain explode.

With tender fingers, Kayo wiped an errant tear from his cheek and waited for his nod of approval.   He was lucid at the moment and due to that they couldn’t just pump him full of drugs unless he agreed to it. 

“Virgil?”  She questioned again, laying a hand on his heaving chest. “Let us help..” 

A small, brief nod from him spoke loudly of how much he was suffering.  

She looked to Scott who was already sliding the syringe into the IV injection port. His eyes meeting hers, he depressed the plunger and Virgil was lost to the black void of drug induced oblivion and she was thankful for it. 

8-8-8

TBC

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