#someone tell the horsemen

[away-ward]

[oneroomjestershow]

Introducing the four hors- i mean the four band members that i made to bother Sol

the situation bro is in, i filled some templates below

I found the worldbuilding interesting in the game it kind of remind me of home so i wanted to make other characters to play in different places (i have been silently playing the sims in my head these months).

Cicada is supposed to take the role of the MC and share details of the backstory, the other are just to add drama and experiment with different dynamics. But they are all part of a band called Unknown Infestation. (to clarify those aren't their real names, they are just nicknames, also i have their stage names and real names somewhere else).

thisis a lot im sorry im almost done bear withme a little

the credits of the template are on the image but this is the post

the post it's getting too long i will leave it here;;

[theonevoice]

Have a gold star...

I swear, I started this as a wholesome innocent comment on how when Crowley has to think of a prize, after 6000+ years, his sweet head still goes to stars as the ultimate symbol of something beautiful and cherished.

But then I was struck by something: sarcasm.

Both times, when he tells someone to "have a gold star," he doesn't say it with a tone of affectionate irony, like the cool-but-sweet uncle with a rough personality but a soft heart. He says it with a tone of bitter sarcasm, of painful disenchantment.

Because it's not a prize that he is offering; it's a sop, a cruel joke-gift, something that will get you excited at first just because you have a stupid, naive, innocent soul, and you will later realize that it means nothing to the one who assigned it to you, and that they are ready to take it away whenever they want, while the rest of the world laughs at your ridiculous gullibility.

Because this is what stars were for him.

They were his beloved, exciting creation. The star-factory nebula was his cherished task, assigned to him by God, and he believed that it was meant to be a thing of beauty and splendor, and hold value in the grand scheme of the universe... only to discover, immediately after he created it, that it was never intended to have any value at all. It meant nothing to God. It wasn't even planned to last enough to fullfill its purpose. It was a joke, a cruel prank. 

The stars were God's bad pun of giving angel!Crowley something to do, and love, and have hope and expectations for, and then taking it away. Revealing that it was just a shiny piece of gold cardstock that only a simpleton could consider valuable. Of course he can only say "have a gold star" as a dry snarky sarcastic comment on someone who thinks they have achieved something meaningful when it's actually nothing. Be it the Them defeating the Four Horsemen. Be it Muriel being noticed by the Metatron.

Great, sure, have a gold star, be all excited and squealing with happiness, it will turn into ashes before you even know it.

I am not sure that Crowley's snake eyes were ever intended to signal that he cannot see the stars because snakes have bad vision (even ignoring the zoological fact that they are sensitive to UV light though, so they should still see astronomical objects, in the book it says that demons must be able to see at night, and that's why Crowley doesn't need to turn on the lights on the Bentley), but for sure the Fall and Heaven's cruelty has ruined the stars for him, in a way.

Now, in his mind, they are the ultimate symbol of delusion, of naivety, of foolishly investing your love and passion and hopes in something, of stupidly ignoring that the things you cherish will be ruined or taken away from you or leave you on their own accord.

That's also why Aziraphale's "nothing lasts forever" cuts him so deep. That's why his "no... no, I dont' suppose it does" sounds so much like a truth that he is remembering instead of one that he has jsut discovered.

Here you go, you did it again, you thought you had something significant and instead it was just like your stars, you should have known that whenever you find something beautiful it's just a matter of time before you lose it, you shouldn't get too attached.

In s1e6 he says it to the Them, in s2e6 he says it to Muriel. I do hope that in s3e6 he will get the chance to say it again, but this time it will be honest and out of joy, because whatever is going to happen will make him able again to believe that you can be happy, and can hold onto the good things that you love. You can have all the gold stars, for real. They don't always have to disappear and leave you in pain. They can stay with you.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok this is very random but how do you think Ghost would deal w an s/o who is still a virgin at a very big girl age 🥴 maybe they’d be seeing each other for a while, and when things heat up and she confesses, how would he deal? Would he be honored and accept being her first or would he reject her altogether bc she is inexperienced?

(Because I’m in my 20s and safe to say on top of everything else in my life except this, I haven’t come across anyone with whom I’d like to be intimate with yet and though I try not to let it get to me, some part of me sometimes feels like a freak or like something is wrong with me)

I hope I did not cross any boundaries or make you uncomfortable by sharing this, if I did I apologize and please feel free to delete this ❤️🕊️

Ghost x FVirgin!Reader Word count: 2,9 k Tags/warnigs: Mild smut, light angst, fluff, comfort, praise & size kink Summary: Reader tells Ghost they’re a virgin while things are about to go down. 

A/N: Oh anon!! No boundaries crossed here at all! Your request (or at least I took it as such and got inspired to write a brief oneshot about it) was very sweet. This of course is my HC but Simon would only and only take pride in being your first. He would get a huge ego boost from this and feel absolutely privileged to hear he's worthy of such trust.  I think he would want to imprint himself in your head as the best man and the best sex partner you will ever have – he would do his all to eradicate even the very thought of wanting to try others after him. Again, an ego thing, but also a desperate wish to please his partner and make them feel safe. This man screams service top to me. I think Simon has a wild side – not mean, just wild, as in he might be into rough sex and certain types of kinky stuff every now and then but only if his partner is willing. He would be very gentle and considerate (passionate as hell though), knowing you're inexperienced, he would make you feel as safe as possible and wait until you were ready and willing to explore things further.  Also, I can't help but be moved by what you told me in this message. I understand where you're coming from with these "is there something wrong with me" thoughts, because gosh, I feel you! And speaking from experience… it's 110 % worth it to wait for the right person to come along! Sex can be awesome, mind-blowing, one of the best things – with the right partner. Not worth it with just whomever, imho. Stay safe and trust yourself! And I hope you like this short drabble I made for Ghost x Virgin!Reader ❤️❤️❤️ much love 😘

Simon Riley was a one of a kind man. 

He put every guy on every dating app to shame, and not just with his size. He was manly, in a word, even if you never knew you wanted such an overly masculine man. At least, not until you met him. 

Simon was not only sturdy and mature – he was armed with calm rage and dark humor. Just one look in his eyes told you he was not the life of the party. Actually, he was Death himself: one of those four horsemen that heralded the Apocalypse.

Perhaps unintelligibly, the same man was also extremely considerate. A true gentleman if there ever was one. He always placed you and your needs first. But underneath the calm, cynical surface you sensed fierce intensity: fire and smoke, something that screamed Danger, high voltage.

And you could not keep away. Quite the opposite, really. The combination of a wildfire and a tornado roaring upon this solid bedrock of a man was simply alluring.

Things had gone a little too far without you meaning them to. You were not a woman of one night stands, actually, you had never had a stand. But Simon changed that, too. Because now you were thinking about sleeping with him. 

After years and years of waiting for someone sensible to come along, you had begun to lose hope, especially when people seemed to fuck left and right while you wanted something real.

A bedrock. 

With that wildfire. Perhaps a tornado thrown in as well.

After weeks and weeks of flirting, the man asked you out, and after weeks and weeks of going out, you came to the conclusion that if someone deserved to be your first, it was Simon Riley. If there was any guy you wished would take you against a wall until you begged for mercy, it was him. At least in your fantasies, which were starting to get out of hand.

In real life, things were not that breezy.

Because what would he say if – no, when – you told him you were a virgin at this age? What if he would be bothered, what if things would get awkward between you two? 

What if he decided you were simply too much trouble than you were worth? 

It seemed like a miracle that the guy was still around, having been left blue-balled date after date. Either he was hellbent on conquering you, or then… Well, you didn't even dare to think about or's and then's and what if's. Especially when your own feelings were getting equally out of hand as those fantasies.

He probably had plenty of experience, and the thought certainly didn't make you feel any better. How would you compare, being not only inexperienced but a whole goddamn virgin? And it would probably hurt on top of everything. This man must be pretty damn big downstairs if 6 '4 feet and large hands were any indication.

Still, all fears flew out the window in record time every time he pulled you into a kiss. Your body molded into his already: the broad shoulders closed in around you, and it only felt thrilling. His warmth, his arms and scent enveloped you like the sweetest prison, and you held onto him as tightly as you could. Not because he wasn't clutching you with the same–if not greater���fervor, but because you wanted to make sure he was real.

And you realized what the allure of Simon Riley was. 

He felt safe.

In fact, he was safe. He represented safety in all its aspects. 

Who would've thought that death and wildfire could feel so good, so reliable?

You wondered if he thought this was some game; that you kept him waiting. The unwritten rule seemed to be that it was ok not to jump into bed on the first date. If anything, it was only a decent move. But what did the rules say about the second, third or fourth date? Not to talk about tenth? 

Things were starting to resemble some prudent high school romance. Well, perhaps not prudent, the way you two practically ground against each other while making out after every date. Without being vocal about it or pressuring you in any way, you could tell he wished for things to go further. Hell, every fiber in this man begged for more. He would soon burn your clothes off simply with that searing gaze alone. 

Watching the door close on that heated stare after at least 15 minutes of wanton, wicked kissing followed by clumsy Good night's and shy, apologetic smiles just wouldn't do anymore. The poor man was left breathless and puzzled in the cold night with nothing but a hard-on and the crumbs you gave him to keep him warm. 

Things were getting ridiculous, criminally so, and you felt pity for those pants trying to keep him in confinement. You felt pity for your own soaked underwear as you climbed to a lonely bed all hot, bothered, and wet.

Which was why this evening would end with you asking him to come inside. 

.  .  .

Lately, his hands have started to roam; they even cup your ass as he moans in your mouth – and hearing that raspy, low sound leave him forces the final decision. It's the final prophecy that tells you he is the one. You should’ve known it was only a matter of time with him.

The man hides his surprise well as you invite him in.

"Thought you'd never ask," he gives you a soft chuckle before stepping over the threshold to not only your apartment but also your life and privacy. 

You barely get out of your shoes before his shadow engulfs you and strong hands lift you in his lap like you weigh nothing at all. You instinctively reach for support by clasping your hands behind his neck. 

"You really know how to torture a man, don't you?" The brown in his eyes is nearly swallowed by warm darkness as he carries you to the bedroom. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and he gives a short laugh of gravel.

"Don't be. This has been fun." 

He sets you down next to the bed, and your heart is thumping so bad you fear he can hear it banging against your chest. 

"But it's about time I torture you, right?"

Oh God…

Things happen so fast that it’s hard to tell who undresses who, but somehow, you find yourself standing in your bedroom with nothing but knickers and a bra on while he's taking off his pants. The man has definitely waited for this to happen for god knows how long, and it only makes your stomach lurch.

He thinks you know what you're doing, your brain offers when it should know when it’s time to shut the hell up. You can see the generous bulge this man is packing, and while perhaps compelling to other women, to you, it mainly looks intimidating. Threatening, almost.

He doesn't take his boxers off, seeing you're just standing there like some statue, still in your underwear and almost shaking from thoughts running rampant. 

His form swallows you as he steps closer; wide hands slide up your arms, then draw you against him – against that demanding pulse that gets trapped between you two. Even through the black cloth, you can tell he's thick and big, just like you feared.

The man is blazing, and seems to have grown another foot in height as he towers over you with all that muscle. His shoulders are almost the size of your head, and you already know the hand that runs down your spine is experienced in crushing windpipes. It makes you breathe in shivers, and of course he notices something is wrong.

"Everything good?" He's eager and breathless, the erection pressing against you like a threat. He’s a man who has fashioned a weapon out of himself, so it shouldn't be a surprise that everything in him speaks violence.

"Yes," you try to assure him – a lousy lie only punctuated by the audible gulp that leaves your throat as you try to swallow your nerves back down.

"You afraid…?" 

"Just a little nervous," you tell him, a half confession.

"Mm. That makes two of us." 

He draws down into a kiss, the hands of a soldier and a killer nearly drawing you up from the ground as he pulls you close. You don't really buy his claim of being nervous too: you can feel how he throbs between you, heavy and impatient. 

Hesitantly, you reach to hug him as well, and you feel so small, so insignificant when wrapped around this… giant. The knowledge that you're about to be trapped under all this crushing weight leaves you both faint and needy. 

He’s a good kisser, but as he moves to devour your neck, you start to freeze from the middle.

"Alright… Come here."

He half carries, half lays you down on the bed, then crawls between your legs and changes his tactic a little. Gentle kisses are ghosted down your throat, and soon, he's at your breasts, soft as a whisper. But as he draws the fabric of your bra aside, your nipple is caught inside a hot, wet mouth, and the wildfire surges forth. There’s no way out from under him anytime soon, and you realize the colossal body is already spreading your thighs wide. 

The way he already looks so damn good there between your legs: big, the epitome of raw, masculine power… It's almost sinful that a man like him is here with a virgin. It's a whole new hell how he's kissing you gently as fuck while blazing like a bonfire about to engulf and devour you. You want to wrap your legs around his middle, attach yourself to him in any way you can, but your thighs are weak pudding. 

You feel both lost and found with him. In him.

He sucks and kisses your breasts like they're the only thing he's here for – and it feels good, heavenly, to be honest. But then he starts to travel down.

Shit… You need to tell him – and soon, or else there will be no time to say anything before the last of the shielding fabric is gone.

"Simon…?"

"Mm-hm?" 

He doesn't even stop with the kissing, merely hums on your skin as his mouth reaches your stomach.

"You're my first," you finally force the truth into the night; a soft and desperate fact. It's only the faintest breath, but he halts abruptly like he has been stabbed between the ribs.

Great… 

Here comes the awkward.

He rises. Softly, slowly, like a shadow, just a second away from getting to what's between your legs.

"Is that so?"

His voice is hoarse and dark from arousal. The whole man is intoxicating, and your heart is hammering in your chest, both from hunger and dread.

"Yes…?" 

A broad hand comes to rest on the dip of your waist; gently, like you're some frightened animal about to dart off from under his touch. 

"Love… Are you sure you want to do this?"

Are you? You almost ask, then bite your lip.

He just called you love, something he has never done before. You can see your breasts rising with the breaths you try to calm down with sheer willpower. 

He lets out a small sigh, then crawls beside you and takes you in his arms. The bed sags and wails under his weight before your body is pulled into a delicious bear hug.

"Sweetheart."

His voice is so smooth, so different from the intense, rough smoke that has followed you up until this point that you feel vehement tears burn your eyes. First love, and now, sweetheart…

"There's no need to rush things," he says while keeping you close. Ever the gentleman, but you fear that you've ruined everything.

"We haven't exactly been rushing," you mutter somewhere in the plates of his chest. You both feel and hear how another sigh travels up his throat and is breathed into the crown of your head.

"Now… listen to me, ok? I've wanted you ever since we met. Can't deny it. But the last thing I want is to force you to do something you don’t wanna do."

You squeeze your eyes shut from what he says. Ever since you met… You can remember the lingering gazes, the way his eyes lit up with something hopeful and pure, how it drove away the exhaustion that seemed to have made a home in this big, brooding man. You remember how he stole a few stares up and down your body, too; remember the hunger he never even tried to conceal – not until now.

He is the most enthralling being you have ever seen, a mystery and a force of nature, an indomitable man, and to say that you haven't thought about him that way ever since too would be a lie.

"But I want it," you look up at him slowly, feeling much safer now that he's holding you like this.

I want you.

You realize you're pouting when the warm look in his eyes gains a playful glint as he laughs softly.

"You want it?"

"Yes."

That little twinkle turns into a downright gleam as he looks at you like you're the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

“You want it with me?”

“Yes.”

"How much do you want it?" The charred voice is so soft now: it washes over you in generous waves. His hands keep you in safe custody – and you're the most willing prisoner there ever has been.

"Pretty badly?" You breathe into the air between you and see the corner of his mouth tug.

"Well, in that case…" His hand sweeps down your back and comes to reside on the swell of your hip. "I'm glad I'm here to help."

Pale eyelashes drop to your lips just before he kisses you again. You arch in his arms, like a flower leaning towards sunlight; your mouth, your whole being unfurls under his leadership. He rolls partly on top of you, then moves to kiss you all over as you lie on your back: he kisses your chin and neck, your collarbones and the hollow little crevice between them. The hand on your hip brushes down your thigh, then back up, up, until his fingers meet the folds already soaked through the fabric of your underwear. 

His touch is soft, but gains more weight as he sweeps slowly up, then brushes a thumb over the exact location of your clit.

"Oh–" 

He knows what he's found, even without the evidence of your voiceless shake of a breath. He brushes another stroke over it, and it doesn't matter that you still have your undies on – you can feel his weight, the gentle pressure he applies as he draws a circle to usher another soft moan out of you.

"You like that?"

"Mhm," is the only thing you are able to answer.

"That's it…" he cheers you on with calm assurance. "Gonna make you feel good. And that's a promise."

You catch a hint of ego in that promise, but there's something else, too. A fervent devotion, a bottomless need to please you no matter what. The right man, definitely: not someone who is only after their own satisfaction. You don't exactly need the answer anymore, but you ask the final, burning question nonetheless.

"Simon?"

"Speak your mind, love."

"Are you disappointed…?"

He stops again, a breath away from you. 

"Disappointed?" He sounds quite shocked, almost appalled. "...Disa–"

He huffs, then reaches to cup your face. You raise your eyes to his and see that he's…ardent, and very, very serious.

"Love, I'm honored."

You can only blink at the solemn vow, and he slowly shakes his head.

"Silly little thing…" 

It's something he muses almost to himself before he drags his fingers over your sternum and down your stomach, reverently, like you're a piece of precious porcelain. But the heat in his eyes is back, and your fingers curl to grasp a fistful of sheet as his hand disappears underneath the cloth, when he finally touches you with nothing in between.

You suppose it's his middle finger that sweeps over your clit this time, then slips between your folds without effort. It coaxes your thighs open to give him better access, and access he has: he curls the finger until it almost dips inside. Your lips part with a quiet sigh as your chin climbs toward the ceiling.

"Look at that… All wet and sweet for me already."

The way you expose your neck is like an invitation: he buries his face in your neck, tries to drown in the scent and feel of you while gliding across the wetness down below. He spreads moisture on the tight bud, and you jerk a little from how sensitive it is – he huffs a smile in your ear. It makes you release the sheet and reach out to grasp him by the neck, to make him stay precisely where he is, close like this, so close…

"Do ya even know how bloody sweet you are?"

The last of your wits make a vanishing act as he breathes more praise on your skin. You're languid in his arms, feeling both weightless and heavy, like you're sinking into the mattress, and then his hand moves lower; one thick finger is plunged slowly inside. 

Oh God oh God–

You feel him, all of him, filling and spreading you. And it's not enough… not nearly enough.

"We'll take it nice and slow, alright?" He whispers in your ear, and you tighten around him like on command. "Got all night to make a mess of you. That sound good?"

You can't help it: your lips draw into a smile when thinking about all the things he will do to you, all the sweet things you've always waited to happen. 

"Yes."

[gaylilgremlin]

Why do people think being fat and trying to be healthy are polar opposites, and done together are close to a war crime???

Yes, I'm fat, and I will not have a diet to be less fat, but I will work out to help my body support my weight. And I'll eat healthier, more protein, vitamins, but that won't make me eat less sugar either, I don't care about getting smaller

I feel like I only just realised how bad this gets now that I frequent a gym, people all around me are talking about their diet plans because "every workout needs a diet", which is nearly fully false. You can get stronger and happier and healthier without having to change anything in your meals. Additional protein ofc doesn't hurt

And when I tell someone I do not check my calories, I don't have a stable diet or any weight loss plans they look at me like I'm pestilence from the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse

Anyways, hope people get better at cognitive thinking and at minding their own business

[strawchocoberry]

DISTORTED DEVOTION 

I’m about to take you back to church

kinktober 2024 — day five

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ featuring. togame jo x fem reader

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ content warnings. smut, size kink, corruption kink, virginity loss, cunnilingus, voice kink, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm denial, nipple play, dacryphilia, breeding kink

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ synopsis. confession from the old cathedral — word count. 2k

The silence in the cathedral this late hour is both calming and unnerving. Your friends had dragged you to participate in the Devil’s Night event organised by the Horsemen, but if you were honest, you weren’t that interested. So, during a split up, you got separated from them, claiming that your favourite Horseman was rumoured to be hanging out in the cathedral. Of course, none of them got in your way. 

And now you’re here, sitting silently inside the confessional, waiting out the event. Time seems to be passing slowly, until you hear footsteps. Your breath hitches and you remain silent, thinking that someone just came by to check if there’s anyone here. They’ll leave once they notice “nobody” is here. Yet instead of leaving, the footsteps only seem to be getting closer to where you are. The door to the other side of the confessional opens and you feel a strong presence entering. 

Your first instinct is to run. Who other than yourself is so crazy as to come to this old and forgotten cathedral? However, your body is glued to your seat, unable to yield to your brain’s command to “move”. 

“I know you’re there,” you hear a low, featherlike male voice. “You don’t need to pretend you’re one with the confessional.” A small gentle laugh. 

You fumble with your skirt, not quite sure whether you should reply to him or not. You didn’t expect anyone to show up; what you told your friends was a mere lie to get yourself out of the game. Is this some sort of twisted divine punishment? Mentally, you pray for him to leave time and again. 

“You’re not going to reply? How rude.” He laughs. 

Seeing as he doesn’t seem to be leaving any time soon, you decide to be the first one to see yourself out. When you stand up, the wooden floor underneath you creaks a bit. 

“Oh so you really are there.” There’s a shift from his side. “And here I was thinking you might be a ghost.” 

“A ghost?” you ask. “That’s stupid.” 

“While that might be stupid, you’re still rude for ignoring me.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “On. Purpose,” he enunciates. 

You narrow your eyes, looking through the thin wall separating you, as if you’re trying to put a bullet to his head with your gaze. “I’m leaving,” you announce, your hand stretching to reach for the handle. 

“Not even an apology. I guess I found myself a rude girl tonight.” 

There’s something in the way that man is speaking so slow and chill, as if he’s in a constant state of nirvana, that irritates you. Who is he? Buddha? 

“Sorry for ignoring you,” you blurt out curtly. “There, happy now?” Your voice betrays your impatience to leave. 

“Mmmm, no, not quite.” 

“Huh?”

“You were going to leave without apologising. And then you apologised so forcefully. Your words didn’t have an ounce of honesty.” 

He is literally getting on your nerves. You could easily walk out and sprint your way out of the cathedral, but you can tell he’s now messing with you. And you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he makes your skin crawl; even if he does. Letting go of the handle, you sit back down, pressing your back against the wall and looking at his direction. 

“What do you want? An honest apology? Sorry, can’t.” 

He laughs, again. 

What’s his deal? How can he be so laid-back? 

“If you’re just going to laugh, I’ll leave.” 

“So feisty. It makes me wonder what secrets you hide.” 

There’s a change in the atmosphere. You cannot see his face, but you can feel that something about him has changed. You just can’t put your finger on it. 

“So, will you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“One of your secrets,” he replies. “Think of it as your honest apology for being rude earlier.” 

You cannot tell if he’s joking or if he genuinely expects you to share something so personal to a complete stranger. 

“Why do you want to hear one of my secrets?” 

“As I said, it’s your apology,” he repeats. “Besides, we’re inside a confessional. Don’t you think this is a proper setting for you to confess a secret?” 

You remain silent, losing yourself in your mind, trying to think of something, anything, that you can tell him. As long as it’s true and harmless. You won’t see each other again anyway. And yet, the more you try to unearth the safest secret to confide to this stranger, nothing comes to mind. 

The words leave your lips before your brain can even register what you just said. “I’m a virgin.” 

You don’t even know why from all the things you could have said, you blurted that one out. You could say about how you stole candy from your cousin when you were kids and he wasn’t paying attention. Or how you had cheated on one of your exams. Anything, anything, would have been better than that. 

There’s a long, extended silence between you, before you hear him sigh and stand up, the wood underneath him creaking. He opens the door and you close your eyes, relieved. He’s going to leave. 

Or at least that’s what you thought, before he swings your door open. As the dim light of the moon illuminates his face, your eyes widen in recognition of the “stranger”. Togame. Togame Jo. 

You watch him come inside the confessional, trapping you into the cramped space, and drop to his knees. He spreads your legs as much as he can, hiking up your skirt to reveal your panties. Togame kisses your inner thighs, goosebumps erupting all over your skin. You’re looking at him like a buffoon, unable to move or think. 

“I can change that,” he whispers with a dark smirk on his lips. 

Before you even realise it, his fingers hook around your waistband and pull your panties down. He takes them off your ankles and stuffs them in his pocket. You flinch when he runs his long digits up your folds. His smirk only grows bigger as your slick coats his fingers, your cheeks blushing when his eyes meet yours. 

“Hmmm…” he murmurs. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this soaked for me?” 

His words make your blushing intensify. You avert your gaze nervously, looking anywhere but him. “I-It’s… your voice…” Once again, the words leave your lips without permission. 

“My voice?” Togame asks, licking his fingers clean of your arousal. 

“I-It’s turning me on,” you respond, trying to press your thighs together. 

But he doesn’t let you, holding them nice and spread for him. 

“Too bad, because I’m dying to hear your voice.” 

Before you can decipher his words, Togame dives between your legs, his tongue darting out to lick a fat stride up your folds, getting a better taste of you. Quickly, you bite down on your lip to muffle your moan, then cover your mouth with your hand. Looking at him, you see the displeasure written all over his handsome face. But that doesn’t seem to deter him, as he starts making out with your pussy. 

“You taste so sweet, little one,” he says, taking a moment to bathe in his reflection in your eyes. “I could eat you forever.” 

Togame sucks on your clit, toying with it and sharing open mouthed kisses with your cunt. He manages to earn a few muffled cries and moans from you, but he’s nowhere done yet. His lips focus on your clit, while he stuffs your pussy with his fingers, pumping them in and out, curling them up and repeatedly hitting that one specific spot inside you that makes you clench around him. And as much as you try, ultimately, you can’t help but shamelessly moan. 

“So pretty,” Togame murmurs on your cunt. 

He continues eating you out and you feel a strong feeling building up inside you, about to snap any moment. And when you’re so so so close to it, he steals it away, pulling back away from you. He observes you, the flushed cheeks, the heaving chest, the parted lips, the mess he’s made of your sweet pussy. And that’s nothing. He’s about to make an even bigger mess. 

“I-I…” 

“Hmm?” he responds, standing up. 

But you close your mouth, embarrassed. “I-I didn’t cum…” is what you were going to say. But it doesn’t matter. How foolish of you to think he’ll actually fuck you. Of course, he was just messing with you. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, yet you’re stubbornly holding them back. You want to ask him to give you your panties back, although you doubt he will. So, you just sit there, in the confessional, feeling overly self-conscious and so damn sexually frustrated, praying once more that he leaves. 

You squeal when Togame wraps his arms around you and lifts you up, taking you out of the confessional. You cling to him, afraid that you’ll fall off. You feel his taught, broad shoulders flex underneath your delicate touch. He carries you all the way to the altar, where he lays his Shishitoren jacket and then lies you down on your back on top of it. You must be looking at him with a mix of awe and fear, because he bursts out laughing. 

“Don’t be scared, little one,” he coos, pressing himself between your legs. 

Only now do you realise just how much bigger he is compared to you. His hands lift up your shirt and pull down your bra, revealing your perky nipples. He takes one in his mouth, biting it and making you whimper. 

Togame looks up at you and leans closer, his soft lips capturing yours in a sheering kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck, keeping him close. You bite his lip as revenge for him leaving you hanging earlier and he groans against you. You try to pull away, yet he grabs the back of your head and forces you on his lips. 

And then you feel it. He’s so slowly pushing himself inside you. Your entire body tenses at the intrusion, tears springing free from your eyes. You hit and scratch his chest, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t badge. Only when he’s fully inside you does he break the kiss, looking down at you. 

“You look like a wounded kitten,” he says, wiping away a tear. 

He remains still for a few moments, giving you time to adjust to him. But the way your pussy is clenching around him, throbbing with so much need to be fucked, he can’t stay in control for long. Togame runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back, as he looks down at you. He grabs your waist and starts thrusting inside you, slowly, yet hard. 

“Fuck… Sorry, I can’t resist pounding your little cunt,” he jokes, your whimpers and cries about it hurting filling his ears. 

Togame shuts you up by kissing you, his thrusts only becoming harder by the second. And at some point you cannot differentiate pain from pleasure. Upon this altar, you willingly offer up your body to this demon, who hasn’t even shown you his true colours yet. Your moans are chants meant only for him. He can’t help his smirk when you start begging him to let you cum. Because unlike before, you feel like you’ll die if he denies you this time. 

He loves the way you look at him, as if he’s God. Grabbing your hair, he leans closer to your head, resting his forehead on yours. “So pure… Yet already so corrupted by desire.” 

His thrusts are impatient, his own orgasm nearing. You scream his name as you feel yourself coming undone all over his cock, the sight of your face etched in blissful ecstasy triggering his own orgasm, hot ropes of cum spilling inside you. 

Togame leans closer, his lips brushing over yours. “You’re mine.” It’s not a request. It’s an order. One he seals with a kiss. 

© strawchocoberry — do not copy, repost, translate or reuse my work

[imagine-darksiders]

I’m having a really hard time right now. I just found out that my boyfriend of 2.5 years has been cheating on my physically and emotionally. Can I please request something fluffy and comforting of the horsemen reacting to finding out this news or just something fluffy with death? If not no worries, I hope you have a lovely day.

Oh my god that's awful! What a horrible, horrible thing for someone to do to you. I'm so sorry, I've channelled a bit of my own indignation into Death, War and Strife in these responses. I hope they bring you at least a little bit of comfort while you're going through so much. <3

Death:

This is… definitely going to be a problem for you.

Death never liked that sorry excuse for a human anyway… Never liked the way their eyes wandered in a crowd, even when they had your hand clasped possessively in theirs. The eldest Nephilim is an observer first, choosing to watch and wait for information to reveal itself, and after just a few days of watching you and your life-partner interact, he can already tell that there’s immeasurable love on your part, but very little on theirs.

Not that Death is any kind of expert, but he’s fairly certain love doesn’t involve draping oneself over another human while you’re still very much in the vicinity, a human who keeps shooting you quick, spiteful glances and grinning as they cling to your partner and bury their nose in their hair.

From his spot in the shadows, Death would watch your happiness wane, then vanish entirely. You’d turn away, and the Horseman had a sneaking suspicion that you were trying to convince yourself you were just being paranoid.

He had to stand there and listen, fingernails digging crescents into his palms as you quietly asked your partner about it later, politely mentioning how you weren’t sure it was appropriate for them to be all over each other like they often are. The subtle flirts that could easily be misconstrued as friendliness, the lingering touches on each other’s arms, the secretive rendezvous they’d tell you nothing about… You’d noticed it all.

Of course you did. They had the gall to be obvious about it. Death noticed too, and it was only because you told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to interfere in your love life that he didn’t pluck the little wretchs' souls from their bodies right then and there.

You were in love. You wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, but the old Horseman wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand by and watch you be treated with so much cruelty.

Your partner’s response to your observations?

‘You’ve been spending too much time around that Horseman. He’s making you paranoid. Are you looking for an excuse to leave me? I bet he wants that, doesn’t he!? Are you two fucking? Is that where this is coming from? Guilty conscience much!?”

If you hadn’t asked Death to take you somewhere outside the city at that very moment, he couldn’t have promised your house would be blood-free by the time it took your partner to finish speaking.

Since then, things have only been escalating. You found out your partner had their ‘friend’ over to stay the night while you visited the Forge Lands. You'd even asked them to join you on the trip, citing that the makers were dying to meet the lover of their favourite human, but of course, they'd brushed off your invitation as if it were an insult.

They’d neglected to tell you of their own plans, of course, and you’d only found out when you came home, crawled into bed with your partner and discovered a pair of shorts under the sheets. A pair that didn’t belong to anyone in your household…

Nothing came of it right away, save for you withdrawing completely, even from Death.

He was just about to stage an intervention when it happened.

It was, of all people, Vulgrim who alerted him. ‘That human of yours didn’t look well,’ he remarked casually when Death passed one of his Serpent Holes near the old Maker Tree, ‘Did you do something? I’m fairly sure they slept all night on that bench…’

It was all Death needed to hear.

Despair careens to a halt outside your door, his hooves kicking up sparks as they skid across the tarmac. Death has already leapt from the saddle by the time the horse stops, and wastes no time storming up the steps towards your front door, only to be given pause when Despair lets out a haunting whinny, drawing his rider to a standstill.

Twisting his mask around, Death squints over his shoulder and finds the steed’s big, skeletal head has pivoted to the right, ears pricked towards a streetlight that keeps its lonely vigil on the path opposite your home.

There, laying on a bench underneath its buzzing glow, Death spots a small figure trying to huddle into their coat for warmth.

Spitting out a curse, the Horseman turns and marches straight for the bench.

You’re startled by an ice-cold hand grabbing you roughly by the shoulder and hauling you over onto your back. Blinking back tears, the blurry image above you focuses until you find yourself peering straight up at the last person you wanted to see tonight. Well… Second to last.

A baltic chill rolls off the Horseman in waves as he glares down at you. “What are you doing out here?” he hisses, beating back the relief that threatens to dribble into his voice, “This is no place for a nap!”

Despite his gruff tone, he’s gentle when he pulls you into an upright position, kneeling down in front of the bench to bring himself to your level.

For several moments, you merely sit there and watch him check you over for injuries, your face a picture of bleakness, damp and sticky with tears. “I found their texts,” is all you offer him in the end.

Death goes very still then, darting his gaze to your face as a low hum starts up in the depths of his chest.

“They’ve been lying to me, Death… This whole time…” Crumpling forwards, you bury your face in your palms, shoulders heaving, “I …. I’m such an idiot! I knew! I knew, I just didn’t want to believe it!”

Almost at once, Death scowls, reaching forwards to slip strong, chilly fingers around your wrists and tug them away from your face. “You are many things,” he tells you sternly, “Hopeful, yes. Optimistic? Certainly. But an idiot? Never. There’s nothing foolish about expecting better from people you trusted.”

“I can’t believe it took me this long to-…” Sniffling, you let your arms go floppy in the Horseman’s grasp, shaking your head. “They’ve been going behind my back for months… They’ve been sending messages to each other… They said they can’t believe I still haven’t figured it out.”

“Do they know you’ve figured it out now?” he presses. If they haven’t yet, they soon will after a livid Reaper comes flying through the front door wielding a scythe…

Giving him a tiny nod, you whisper, “Yeah. Yeah, they know… Kicked me out… Told me they wouldn’t have had to cheat if I wasn’t being so suspicious and clingy…”

If he hadn’t spent so many eons practicing self-control, Death is sure the whole block would be levelled by now, with only you and the Horseman left standing. As it is, he isn’t the young, volatile force he used to be. He is, however, struggling to maintain that carefully concealed composure, for your sake. He knows it’ll only dampen your already dour mood if he were to start collecting souls…

Instead, he closes his eyes and focuses on the warmth of your wrists under his palms. Peeling his eyelids apart again, his gaze bathes you in a warmth of his own, the only kind he can give. Golden, ethereal light spills from his eyes and softly illuminates the tears on your cheeks.

“They… ‘kicked you out?” he puts tentatively, aware of the rough growl tinging his voice, “Of your own home?”

“…Technically it’s their home too.”

At that, the Horseman suddenly scoffs, sharp and cold. “Hardly,” he bites out, “You found it first. You had me check it for demon stragglers. Thane and Valus came and made sure it was structurally sound before you moved in! Your partner wasn’t around for that.”

With a grunt, he heaves himself to his feet, ebony hair swaying in front of his mask as he turns to stalk back across the street in the direction of your door.

In a flurry of limbs, you struggle off the bench, calling after him, “Death! Wait!”

He doesn’t, marching straight up the steps and curling his fist around the handle of your door.

“Oh god, what’re you doing? Stop!”

The Horseman’s shoulders rise and fall with a sardonic chuckle, and to your astonishment, he actually does stop, right on the top step, arm braced to rip your front door off its hinges. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he poses, “I’m taking you home.”

“I’m not-!” Shaky hands rake through your hair. “I don’t want to be in the same house as them right now, okay?”

“Oh, you won’t be,” he replies simply, a dark edge lacing the bass of his voice, “Not for long…”

And before you can stop him, before you can say another word to deter your apocalyptic friend from doing… whatever it is he plans to do, Death squeezes the door handle and wrenches the whole thing out of its frame, dropping it to the ground and sending splintered wood scattering across the steps.

You can’t bring yourself to go inside after him.

Like a wraith, the Horseman disappears into the darkness of your hallway, flitting through the house whilst you hover nervously at the bottom of your porch steps, heart in your throat and your elbows clutched tightly in sweaty palms.

It isn’t long before you hear a familiar voice exclaim, ‘What the Hell!?’ though it’s soon drowned out completely by a low, threatening rumble that sounds more like an earthquake than a Horseman’s vocalisation. The whole house even seems to shiver as the noise rolls through it, rattling the shingles and causing the windowpanes to wobble in their frames.

Your stomach drops like a stone when a shadowy figure emerges from the doorway moments later, holding another, far noisier shape aloft by the front of their hoodie.

“Death!” you blurt in shock, gawping up at your partner as they flail and beat their fists uselessly against the Horseman’s fist keeping them airborne, “Oh my god! Put them down!”

“In a moment,” he snarls, hauling your fellow human down the steps and out onto the street. For a brief moment, their eyes connect with yours, and you’re hardly surprised to see their pupils have shrunk to the size of pinpricks, delirious with terror.

“C-call him off!” they bark, earning a rough jostle from their tormentor, “What the fuck did you tell him!? Make this asshole put me d-ack!”

Letting out an inhuman growl, Death jerks to a halt and hoists your ex-partner higher into the air above his head. His arm doesn’t even quiver from the strain of keeping an entire human aloft.

Slowly, dangerously, he lowers your ex down towards his mask, fist twisted into the hoodie’s fabric with a silent promise to do the same to their neck. “You have no idea what you’ve brought upon yourself,” the Horseman seethes, “You will leave this place. You will leave this city. You will never return here unless you’re prepared to face the consequences.”

“What!?” they choke, giving up on hitting his impervious arm and instead trying to pry his fingers out of their hoodie, “Y-you can’t kick me out of Haven! Who the Hell do you think you are!?”

Hackles raised, Death keeps his head tilted back to glare up at them with wide, piercing eyes. “Who am I? Do you really need a reminder?” he laughs but it’s an ugly sound, dark and filled with the promise of pain, “Perhaps I should tell you exactly how and when you’re going to die, see if that jogs your memory.”

You can only watch on as your partner goes several shades paler than normal, shaking their head and begging Death not to tell them.

Cocking his head to one side, Death just shrugs a massive shoulder and says, “Suit yourself.” And with that, he promptly drops your ex on the road with a sickening ‘thud,’ turning his back on them as they writhe about, clutching at their coccyx and wailing in agony. It was quite the tumble.

As he passes you, Death catches your elbow in his palm, pulling you gently away from the human in the road. “Come on. Inside, now…Before you catch a chill.” Sparing a brief glance at the broken door as he guides you inside, he adds, “I’ll get that fixed…”

The night is still in its early hours, but you hardly feel like you’ll be getting much sleep. So, it’s with a heavy heart that you drag yourself into your bedroom, watched all the way by your ever-vigilant companion.

By his very nature, Death isn’t a comforting Nephilim. He’s grateful you don’t ask anything more than for his presence. You don’t expect him to hold you and stroke your hair while you cry against his chest, nor do you ask him to fill your head with pretty words about how you deserve so much better than your ex.

You don’t need to ask him for that. He does it of his own volition.

Instead, you’re content to sit on your bed with the ancient Horseman occupying the space beside you, an ever-constant presence, watchful and protective.

And if, after crying all of your tears out into the quiet night, you slouch sideways against Death and end up with your cheek pressed into his cool, bulbous shoulder, well… he’s not complaining.

War:

War was riding towards your home when he spots you stumbling in the opposite direction down the dark, empty street with a hand clutched around your mouth and your shoulders jumping with harsh, rapid intakes of breath. He’d been on his way to conduct another ‘welfare check,’ as you’ve recently taken to calling them, where he drops into your home just to make sure you’re safe.

So, to see you staggering outside without any visible protection has him spurring Ruin into a loping canter to pull up alongside you. Swinging a leg from his saddle, War drops heavily to the ground beside you with an almighty clang of steel, causing you to jump a foot in the air, as if you hadn’t even noticed him coming.

You really must be out of it to miss the largest Horseman’s approach.

What are you doing out in the city at night? He’s told you until he’s blue in the face how dangerous it still is for humans to wander around alone in the darkness, where demons could be lurking around every corner, sympathisers of the Destroyer or enemies of the Horsemen.

When you whirl around towards him, throwing your hands away from your mouth in shock, he catches his first glimpse of your face.

All at once, the titanic Nephilim goes from disgruntled to downright frenzied.

You’re crying. You’re alone, in the dark, with tears cascading down your ruddy cheeks, and he doesn’t know why.

His famously short fuse bursts into flames, whittling down to an explosion you can see coming from a mile off. Apoplectic with outrage, War surges forwards, crowding you against the faded brick of an old, tumbledown building as he darts his icy glare over you from head to toe.

You must be hurt, he concludes. Once he’s brought you safely into your home, he’s going hunting…

A wall of warm, unassailable muscle keeps you pinned as the Horseman surrounds you with his huge, encompassing gauntlets, their metal fingers splayed just inches above your arms with barely contained agitation. His anger only grows tenfold when you start to cry even harder, turning your face to try and hide from him.

“Who did this?” he rumbles, his voice rolling through you like distant thunder, warning of the storm to come.

“N-Nobody!” you blurt out in a sob.

The Horseman’s jaw clenches shut, canines poking out through a gap in his curling lips.

You know how much he hates being lied to.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you hang your head, lips pursed to hold back another miserable whimper. Under War’s attentive stare, you finally admit that your partner, the person you thought you’d spent the rest of your life with, has been cheating on you.

After an awkward moment spent explaining that cheating means seeking the affections of another behind your back, War’s lips peel back into a ferocious snarl, and the heat he exudes climbs higher and higher until it feels as though you’re standing in front of a burning furnace. Shyly, you tell him that you’d come home to find a stranger in bed with your partner, and you’d simply turned around and fumbled your way out of the house again, though not before taking an axe from the basement and destroying the fridge you’d just fixed, the television you’d scrounged up from a junkyard of course, the front door.

You were always busy in that house with a hammer and nails, fixing what the Apocalypse had broken. They were… good at telling you what needed to be fixed. Now, they can do it themselves. Ought to teach them some goddamn self-sufficiency now that you’re gone.

After willing his Chaos form not to burst out through his skin at the injustice of it all, with wild-eyes, War twists his hood in the direction of your old home, shoulders rising like the hackles of a beast.

He cannot allow this… this disrespect to go unpunished. The coward who did this will pay for his transgression. War’s scowl darkens. Behind him, Ruin throws his head back and bellows out a guttural whinny, pawing a molten hoof at the road until the tarmac starts to turn soft from the heat.

“War?”

Small, quiet, a far cry from the human he knows so well, you sound wounded though he can’t see any blood. You always told him the people who love you are supposed to protect you, to keep you safe and try to make you happy…

It had brought into question his own feelings on more than one occasion…

War knows how much you love the human you called your partner. He’s seen you sacrifice much for their happiness, not least agreeing to limit your exposure to the Horsemen solely because the Four made them so anxious. In War’s eyes, your loyalty to them was always admirable, even if it came at the cost of your closeness to he and his siblings, but now your partner has betrayed you in a way that’s cut you down to your core, spilling sadness out like a severed limb haemorrhages blood.

First thing’s first though… He has to get you somewhere safe. He knows without asking that you won’t be going back to your home… He’ll have to return in the near future to gather some of your belongings, but for now… Well, he’s been looking for an excuse to move you somewhere more secure. Somewhere off-world, perhaps. Like a fortress that he’s been fitting out to suit a very specific, very human set of needs…

Strife:

When he invites himself into your home in the typical, jocular fashion, only to find that you’ve locked yourself in your bedroom, sobbing under the covers, Strife’s first thought is ‘point me at the idiot I’m gonna murder.’

You don’t tell him what happened, not even when he wrenches your door off its hinges and throws it into the adjoining hallway before hauling his armour through the narrow frame to get to you. You know for a fact that he isn’t bluffing when he snarls, “I’ll kill ‘em. Just tell me who, and they’re dead.”

He’s killed plenty of people for lesser things than the unforgiveable crime of hurting his best and only friend.

His trigger finger twitches on the leather of Redemption’s holster.

It takes several minutes before he manages to coax the truth out of you, and when he hears you choke through a raw throat that your partner has been unfaithful, he’s…

… Conflicted.

First, there’s a surging upsweep of excitement. You’ve been spending less and less time with the Horseman lately, something your partner implemented after complaining that Strife would end up getting you killed someday. The nerve… You’re never safer than when Strife is at your side. Of course, there are times when he brings you to places where danger is present, but he’d die before he let said danger touch one, precious hair on your head. Now though, with your confession that you’ve left that cowardly human for good, Strife realises what that really means.

You’re free. You’re no longer tied to the arm of another, and he can finally have you all to himself!

Then, comes the guilt.

Selfish. How could he possibly be happy that your heart has been broken. Death always said Strife was sicker in the head than the rest of them…

Finally, every other thought he has is promptly buried by an uncontrollable, white-hot rage.

How dare they…

How DARE they!

Quick as a flash, he’s ripping Redmption from its holster and storming towards your bedroom door. His jagged edges are too sharp, too barbed and bristling to try and console you right now… He’d only end up hurting you…

“Strife! Wait!” you choke out, scrambling out of bed after him as soon as you realise his intent, “Stop! Wait, w-wait, wait! Don’t!”

It’s only the feeling of your tiny hands wrapping around his gun arm and clinging to it with feverish desperation that the red mist of rage starts to lift, leaving him huffing and snarling like an injured wolf in the doorway to your room.

“Please…” Your watery voice calls him back from the edge he’s teetering on, and he stiffens when you press your forehead into the swell of his bicep, as if to push your plea directly into his body. “Please. Don’t give me something else to have to cope with.”

It’s the only way to reach him.

Appeal to the trigger-happy Horseman’s soft spot.

You.

He loves causing trouble. But he hates when that trouble circles back to you.

With a deep, resonant exhale, Strife’s shoulders slump and he reluctantly slips Redemption back into its holster.

Then, in one, sweeping motion, he spins on his heel and bends down, scooping you off the floor, never minding the yelp of shock he draws from your chapped lips. You’d been crying for a while before he arrived.

The knowledge sets his temper flaring.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he forces the fire in his belly to quell, focusing on the cooling balm of having you held close to him.

With you in arm, he ventures into your living area and plonks himself down in front of the television on your sofa, causing its wooden frame to creak pathetically under his weight. Still bridling, he takes care in nudging a set of controls into your hands.

“Wanna watch somethin’,” he says churlishly, hoping you don’t think his mood is aimed at you, “Somethin’ funny… Cheer me up.”

‘Cheer you up,’ he doesn’t say, because that would invite a level of vulnerability that he isn’t ready to address just yet.

For you, it feels as though you’re sitting in the lap of a ticking time-bomb, though the both of you know that so long as you’re here, he won’t explode.

You’re still crying though, startled by a Horseman sweeping like a hurricane through your house, but at least you’re not alone with your thoughts anymore, nor the doubts or insecurities that keep scuttling like little bugs inside your head. Instead, you can focus on Strife, who eases his hissing temper back bit by bit, tipping you into his chest and curling his chin over you as he glares unseeing at the television screen.

There’ll be Hell to pay, owed by the human who did this to you. Of that he has no doubt. Oh, they’ll suffer, but sadly, he won’t kill them. Anyone who would look elsewhere for love when they had someone like you in their corner is the biggest fool in the Universe, and Strife intends to make sure they know it.

But for as long as you still draw breath, he doesn’t plan on letting another soul try to take you away from him again.

[rekino2114]

How did the " I am a devil/ one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse" for Makima and Fami and how long did it take

I was curious about how this situation played out ever since the Asa/Yoru relationship headcanon, given it was a requirement for the relationship to continue/start and anyone who has a speck of emotional intelligence involving romance would tell you honesty is key to a long lasting healthy relationship not to mention dating one of the most powerful devils in the world is something you should be given a heads up about going forward.

Makima revealing her identity to you

A/n:sooooo I might have gotten a bit too much into writing this for makima and wrote more than usual i feel like what I had in mind for fami was kinda shorter than this and that it wouldn't have been fair in my head (also I didn't have that much time to finish it anyway) I'll do the fami part of this tomorrow in another post. Sorry for the inconvenience and if that's not what you wanted.

As much as she hated to admit it, makima was scared.

Fear was a rare but not new emotion to her, the only times she felt it was when you were fighting a strong devil like a primal one or when you were close to death in general. But all of those instances of her fear had something in common: she was scared that you would die that you would be ripped away from her in an unfair way, she never consider the fact that you would leave her of your own volition.

Makima took for granted the fact that you would love each other and be together forever, after all she loved you more than anything she could ever do could describe and you loved her too, she would literally give you the world if you just asked for it, as long as you would be with her you would get anything you could have possibly ever wanted in exchange of just continuing to love her. She had never thought you would have a reason to leave her...until now.

She had tried to delay this conversation as long as possible, only deciding to tell you after months of you dating (close to a year),the reason why she decided to reveal her identity to you was simple: it was better to tell you than you finding out some other way, you would have felt betrayed by her if you had found out without her telling you beforehand, the last thing she wanted to do was make you feel like she didn't love you.

The reason she waited so much before telling you was because she had no idea what would happen to her if you left her. Maybe she would have gone back to her old self, but she doubted it, the her from before was someone who had never loved and never been loved, and the hypothetical her was someone's who had that loved torn away from her because of nothing but herself. She would either become an even worse version of the emotionless control devil or she would have just asked denji to eat her to end her pitiful existence.

"Hey makima you called me right?"

You entering her office snapped her out of her thoughts, she put on a fake smile and started talking to you

"Yes darling,please sit down"

You did as she said and looked at her, the way she was smiling felt forced and you could see that.

"Is everything alright? You look worried"

".....you really understand me... I have to tell you something it's....really important"

"Sure what is it?"

Seeing you smile so innocently and warmly at her made her heart skip a beat. She could never hurt you, and that included lying to you.

"I want to tell you something that will definitely change your view of me in many ways but before I do that please know that I love you I always have and I always will, none of the loving words I told you were lies and none of the actions I have done have been made to manipulate you in any way, what I feel for you Is love at the purest state"

Makima stopped and you nodded at her as a sign to continue

"I.........am the control devil"

She gave you time to process what she said before starting to speak again with her head lowered as to not see your reaction.

"I am one of the four horseman of the apocalypse, some of the strongest devils that exist, I have the ability to control anyone who I feel is beneath me, please know that I have never used it on you as I both can't and despise the thought of"

Makima could feel her heart sink deeper and her face sweating more with every word she uttered she was so afraid of your reaction she still could bring herself to confront you face to face.

"I-i have just one request for you, I understand if you hate me for lying to you but let me explain myself, I have never been truly loved in my life until I met you you have made me feel emotions for the first time in my life and.....I can't lose you it would mean losing the part of me that i value most...s-so-"

Makima finally raised her head to look at you, tears that she never even realized were there ran through her cheeks.

"Please don't leave me"

Makima had never cried tears that were of true sadness all of the times that tears were present in her eyes they were ones of happiness caused by you, she had never felt sad enough to cry.....until now, she also felt very embarrassed that you saw this vulnerable side of her so she quickly lowered her head again expecting you to insult her or run away. What greeted her were not harsh words but your warm hands wrapping themselves around her body.

"It's fine I forgive you, what you did just now proved to me not only that you love me but that you are as much of a human as everyone else"

Makima was so shocked at your answer: You not only forgave her but considered her a human? She opened her mouth to speak, but as if you could read her mind, you answered her question even before she could ask it.

"You were worried I was gonna leave you, so much that you cried, you were worried that the person who showed you what love and emotions truly are was going to reject you just because of something you were born as and that doesn't define who you are now. That's an incredibly human thing to feel. Your tears were real, I'm sure of that, I've known you for enough time to know when you're faking emotions and that....was probably the most real display of feelings I have ever seen, you are a person makima, a person that I love and will continue to love forever"

Makima fell silent for a moment she needed a moment to fully realize what was happening but as soon as she did she hugged you just as you were doing to her, she raised her face to look at yours and even if the tears were still in her beautiful ringed eyes, a wide smile was now present on her face.she was crying tears of joy

"Thank you, just thank you so much, i promise i will treasure you forever I can't tell you how incredibly happy I feel right now"

"It's nothing, you treated me with nothing but love ever since I met you, I would never leave you"

You kissed her lips to once again affirm your love to her, she did the same and what resulted was a kiss filled with nothing but pure unfiltered love between the two of you.

"I love you"

"I love you too, more than words can describe, just....thank you for loving me"

[verdemoun]

Fun fact, Kieran may have been originally supposed to live longer, at least judging by his many unused voice lines (found on YouTube) and a longer hairstyle which I actually think looks better for him (found on rdr wiki of cut content). Maybe he was supposed to go to Guarma? The voice lines to me suggested going on hunting missions with him but I’m not too sure.

spoilers. obviously

fun fact i have listened to the 2+ hours of Kieran's cut voice lines so many times even my housemates know it and groan when they walk in and i'm listening to it. Did you know one of his cut voice lines for a near miss in a shootout is 'whoo, nearly took my head off!' to foreshadow his eventual demise? And he has several variations of lines telling Arthur to rest with the gentlest tone suggesting he would have been one of the few characters to show concern for Arthur's illness in later chapters? And slightly less relevant but there is a cut interaction in where he asks Jack to sneak him some food only for Arthur to threaten to kill him BUT CALLING HIMSELF UNCLE KIERAN???

screenshots by cad5150

About Guarma, all but confirmed. Here is one of his cut outfits, which I think very obviously suits the vibe of what most of the gang wore in Guarma like compare it to Micah's Guarma outfit in particular. Additionally he has this hood as an outfit accessory: some people think it was intended that when he rides into camp Horsemen Apocalypse there's a moment of the hood being taken off and then the characters having a much more visceral reaction to his eyes being gauged out but personally I think it makes way more sense that he was meant to be in Banking, the Old American Art 'replacing' Sean as an extra gun. Which would have been really cool because I would have loved a conversation where they bring up they're a gun short and it spiral into more reflection on how they're not just a gun short, they're a man down, they lost the 'joy in their lives' Sean Macguire and they were still hurting instead of just NEVER MENTIONING HIM AGAIN other than a few rare character lines.

Side tangent also his scarf is different in his guarma outfit which is it's own essay because if you're going off the blue high honor red low honor theory this so strong implies we could have seen some really cool character development. looking at what the gang were wearing in banking and then in guarma there's no obvious explanation as to where he got it. how cute would it have been if we got a scene where mary-beth gifted him a scarf?? but the also terrifying implication that we might see kieran become less high honour good boy blorbo to someone a bit more morally ambiguous?

I think the question really is how he would have fit in in Guarma, which of course we will never know and considering how much cut content there is about Guarma. Like everyone else in Guarma makes sense: Dutch's descent into immorality being so clear even Arthur questions it, Bill being the one trusted to look after Javier following his rescue, supporting their friendship in rdr1, Micah reaffirming his position as an actual piece of shit in his lines responding to Hosea and Lenny's deaths and complete lack of empathy. Maybe a kieran who is slightly more ruthless and active in shootouts in guarma but also shows compassion for arthur as arthur gets sick? Maybe the attack on Hanging Dog Ranch was meant to be more a revenge for Kieran's death assuming he was taken and killed similarly to his death in chapter 4 (given how much much foreshadowing there is for his death), but just another misery in chapter 6 that hits harder because we have more time to grow attached and see him develop?

Except. Except then we get to cut outfit kieran.

first. hellooooo sailor. but who is this man. who is this man who looks older. and wears a very, very low honour red scarf. and is obviously dressed still as an outlaw, and didn't go live a happy life with mary-beth. is it. is it possible. kieran was not always meant to be doomed by the narrative??

is it possible we would have seen kieran become more loyal to dutch and micah, true to his army abandoning, gang jumping, choosing to ride with the o'driscolls rather than die, immediately 'loyal' to the vdls despite torture because being alone meant certain death, coward nature? or would he have just been a character john could encounter in the epilogue? perhaps shaken by knowing arthur, as one of his very, very few friends, died trying to be a better person and abandoned any effort to be more than an outlaw?

but. but kieran. shirt all buttoned up. scarf on. thick coat. hair slightly feral and wild. why does it looked like you're all dressed up for the cold, buddy? like- like you might have been hiding out up mount hagen.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt V good omens S1E1 summarised but i understood nothing but the queer

this is me back to summarising because if i think too hard about crowley and aziraphale watching each other i'll break down and i've only watched three episodes what does this say about me

without further ado, good omens episode one:

It opens with narration by God who is morally grey and tells us Earth is a libra. I see tarot cards. It could be a hallucination.

Cut to the garden of Eden. Crowley is a snake. I assume Adam and Eve ate the apples, but I am too busy looking at David Tennant.

They talk and say important things, but I am too busy looking at Michael Sheen. Aziraphale gives fire to the humans and adopts the gaslight gatekeep girlboss method of explaining it to Crowley and the folks at heaven.

Heaven consists of uncomfortable close-ups. I hear nothing they say any time a scene is set in heaven because I am counting skin cells on the angels. They like Sound of Music. I am growing to hate Sound of Music. Thanks, heaven.

Cut to modern day but not the present, 11 years ago. Zombies emerge from the ground, but they are not zombies, not yet. One of them looks like a dead blobfish. His face decomposes later.

Not-yet-zombies hand the Antichrist baby to Crowley, who catwalks through the graveyard with the basket swinging on his hand.

God starts talking about the ol' switcheroo, intercut with an American politician who loves the Y chromosome, as one does.

There are Satanic nuns, and they are bad at their job, but they really like toes. Not in a sexual way. We think. We hope.

There is a lot of baby switching and inaccurate wink interpretations. I understand nothing. It is fine. The plot is unimportant.

The Antichrist does not raise tropical fish. An easy mistake to make.

Crowley and Aziraphale try to balance the Satanic tendencies of their adoptive son Warlock, who is not the Antichrist. Crowley serves us more gender as she becomes the nanny. Aziraphale is the gardener. I hope it is not him. I hope it is someone else.

I hope in vain. It is him. It is always him.

They raise not-Antichrist for eleven years.

A scheduled dog delivery from hell does not arrive on time, which makes Crowley and Aziraphale realise they did not raise the Antichrist. Contrary to sensible interpretation, this is not good. They abandon their adoptive son, which is normal.

Cut to the Antichrist, whom I immediately want to adopt. There are friends, and I am told they are important, but all I know is Brian is just Brian and the others are foils for the horsemen of the apocalypse.

There is an apocalypse upcoming. I do not realise it until this point.

The Satanic dog delivery arrives as scheduled to the Antichrist, and becomes a puppy. The Antichrist, with boundless creativity, names the Satanic dog delivery Dog. I continue to love him.

Contrary to sensible interpretation, this is not good. The Antichrist naming the Satanic dog delivery Dog is such a tragic blow to the world of scientific nomenclature that the apocalypse is now set into motion.

The end.

[asteriarancia]

Now all the horsemen of death are in place:3

If you're interested in someone, post a name and I'll tell you a little bit more about them, nothing to do anyway

[away-ward]

i cannot for the life of me make a decision about this, so do you have any headcanons on opinions on what banks would've been like if she had gone to high school ?? what tropes or clichés she would've been closest to embodying ?? because we know em was a nerd, that winter struggled for the obvious reasons but ultimately was fine in hs and fairly normal, rika was decently popular but far from the cheerleader level... but banks, i can't place what she would've been like if she'd gone to high school. we know she's very smart, but i can't see her as someone holed up in a library. then, we can also probably deduce that if she had gone to high school, damon would've been crazy protective but i still can't really make a set decision on much else regarding how banks' storyline/personality would've gone if she did indeed attend Thunder Bay prep or some other high school, minus these small details.

i do think she & emory would've got on like a house on fire if she attended TBP as they would've been in the same grade and probably had similar opinions on high school hierarchy and the horsemen and general thunder bay weirdness and extravagancy. they would've dissed people so thoroughly and easily with their quips and banter, for sure.

Ohh I have thought about this.

It can go so many ways, because as same with Emory, the debate is "was she naturally someone different and the circumstances made her this way? Or is it that she survived the circumstances because this is who she is naturally?"

Did Banks do so well in Gabriel's house because that's who she is, or did being in that house make her that way. In Hideaway, she mentions that she never cut her long hair because it was the last part of "Nikova." Additionally, her struggle with Damon is wanting to be her own person and to experience things other teenagers - normal teenagers - experience. But if she were a normal teenager, would she still value those experiences, or would they be mundane and expected?

I chose to think High School AU Banks would fall somewhere in the middle. She'd still be a bit of a tom-boy, and a bit of a rebel. In my AUs, she still lives with Lucinda, but Damon wants her close, so Gabriel pays for her to attend TBP. She's smart, but not without effort. She's not afraid to get involved throw down if she sees something she doesn't like. She's careful, though, and never throws the first punch, so she can always claim self-defense. It's helpful that she's a bit of a sarcastic smart ass and naturally skilled at goading people.

In school, she'd appear to be generally nonchalant about stuff, but she actually has a lot of opinions. It comes as a surprise to the teachers, who were not expecting Damon Torrance's younger sister to be so... outspoken. And argumentative.

Having a bit more freedom, and hopefully a healthy relationship with her brother, she’d probably be known for fighting with Damon in the halls over how protective he is. Like, he can’t even let her project partner talk to her without going all big brother on her.

Seriously, get a life, dude. Maybe if you had as much confidence talking to your little dancer friend as you do telling me what to do, you’d actually have a girlfriend. Newsflash, bro, there are certain things I can’t and won’t do for you.

I don’t see her wanting to participate in any extracurricular activities, but with a school like Thunder Bay Prep, it would probably be expected. I can’t see her wanting to be on a team, so Girl’s Basketball probably isn’t a good match…

Oh. You know, with her being a bit of a sleuth in Hideaway and tailing Kai to get his routine, she’d probably make a good Yearbook photographer. Or maybe working on their school paper. Maybe something along those lines that keeps her out of the spotlight. Though, I don't know what Banks would want to do growing up. Maybe she does go into student government, wanting to make changes that actually make sense and benefit the students, instead of planting a tree as the senior gift for the fifth year in a row (do these people even know what they could do with this much money, or do they only know how to add when it's involving cases of beer and tits?). Maybe she does it because she's tired of seeing Chloe get everything and wanted to challenge her, and then sort of accidentally ended up class president.

Actually, I like that...Emory makes fun of her for it all the time.

Speaking of Emory, they are best friends. Both come from more humble backgrounds, which would naturally make them targets for bullies, but not this time. Because the whole school knows wherever Emory goes, Banks is close by. And wherever Banks is, Damon is close by. And wherever Damon is, the Horsemen are close by. Not to mention, Will is a horseman, and he’s always close to wherever Emory is…

Not that Banks and Em need them. They're pretty good with the tongue lashings, themselves.

Without a doubt, Banks goes to every single one of Emmy’s activities to show support. She hangs out when Emmy’s working on her projects, and helps when she needs a hand. They both have a crush on a Horseman, but they only talk (read: tease each other) about that when they can guarantee no one can hear them.

I headcanon Banks, Emmy, and Elle are a pretty solid trio. Emmy's smart and artsy, Elle's a soft-hearted romantic, always talking about dating but never taking her own advice, and Banks plays the rebel without a cause who loves her two friends.

Anyway, have some pics that would definitely be in Banks' friend's (so Emmy and Elle) camera roll.

that last one's from Banks of will and emmy. (i've never seen love, rosie, so I don't know context. but I know in a willemmy high school au that has yet to be written, this scene will happen)

Let me know what you think! Or if my headcanons helped inspire some of yours. This was really fun, thanks for the ask.

[heliads]

I would like to request a one-shot where the female reader is a paramedic and Jack from Now You See Me has a crush on her and keeps doing things that result in minor injuries in the hopes that she will be the one to patch him up

i will love now you see me (and dave franco) until the day that i die

masterlist

If you were going to thank the Four Horsemen for anything, you’d owe them a great deal just for getting you out of yet another boring workplace training. Other people across the world can love the magicians for the money they scatter across their performances, or the thrill of getting into one of their exclusive shows, or just to appreciate someone getting one up on the FBI. There are many reasons to be a fan of the Horsemen, and yours has to be the most mundane.

In your defense, you’ve been hideously overworked for what must be years at this point, and at least this is one afternoon you can relax. You knew what you were signing up for when you decided to become a paramedic, but that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate a bit of down time when it comes to you.

The marvelous performances of the Four Horsemen don’t usually involve a whole lot of injury, but ever since one of the original shows ended with an FBI agent getting tackled by fifteen people under deep hypnosis, it was determined that having a few paramedics around couldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Usually, the shows are in lavish places across the planet, but this time, they announced that they’d be putting on a display right in your city.

You were excited when you first heard the news, much like anyone else. Even if all tickets sold out within a few minutes, just the thought that the world famous magicians would be so close to you was thrilling. There could be magic right in front of your nose and you wouldn’t even know it unless they snapped their fingers. Maybe they’d cross your path without you realizing it. Maybe they’d even stay next door to your home.

Your schedule was filled during their performance, so you knew there wasn’t a chance that you’d actually get to see a second of their show. There will always be YouTube videos, someone uploading a grainy video from the nosebleeds of whatever venue hall the Horsemen have decided to occupy, but it wouldn’t be the same as being there in person.

You’d assumed you’d be distracting yourself from thoughts of whatever exquisite show was going on down the street with some lovely mandatory trainings. Unless your squad was called upon for an accident, you’d have to content yourself with lackluster meetings and the like. 

That was the case until you got the call that you’d actually be at the event hall. In a professional capacity, of course, but still, it was closer than you thought possible. The city had decided that it would be a good thing to have a few medical professionals on hand just in case something happened. There had been a handful of faintings and a small stampede at the last show, so you can understand why you and a few of your coworkers were called out here.

Most of you will be staying outside near your ambulance, parked just out of view. One or two paramedics are stationed inside, but you’re all going within the venue now just to get a feel for how the place is set up. Odds are nothing major happens, but it’s still fun to peer around and imagine what might be going on later that day.

The show won’t start for another hour or so, but the Horsemen are still kind enough to greet you and point out the major entrances and exits. You aren’t allowed to look around too closely, of course; half the fun of the magic is that no one knows it, not even the medical staff, but you can guess at the areas they’re keeping from you and what that might entail.

In all honesty, you’re kind of distracted from peering too closely behind various curtains by one of the Horsemen. Although you’ve never been to one of their shows before, that didn’t stop you from picking out a favorite:  Jack Wilder, the cutest, or so you tell your friends between bouts of laughter and over drinks.

And, by all twists of fate, he seems most interested in you. He stutters twice over his one-syllable first name, and tries both to shake your hand and hold it, too. He got distracted when you smiled at him, you think, but that didn’t stop the rest of the Horsemen from shooting each other knowing glances, especially when Jack insisted that you be one of the paramedics to stay inside the venue. Just in case, you know.

The rest of the Horsemen file away to their dressing rooms or wherever they go to practice their tricks one last time, but Jack sticks around a little longer. The other paramedic staying in the venue with you opts to scout out the surrounding hallways, but you take the seat Jack offers you and he sits down too, grinning like he’s the audience and you’re the main attraction.

“Don’t you have to go back with the rest and rehearse your show?” You ask, teasing him lightly.

Jack shakes his head a little too quickly. “No, no, I’m good. Always good. Besides, if I did that, how would I get to know you?”

You laugh. “I suppose that’s a good point. Do you flirt with all of the paramedics you meet at your shows or just me?”

“Only the prettiest ones,” Jack grins, “although you’ve blown any competition out of the water, I can assure you that.”

You can feel your cheeks heating up when he says it, and you look away quickly to regain your composure. “That’s nice of you to say.”

You can still see the ghost of Jack’s smile out of the corner of your eye, blinking in your mind like you’ve stared too long at the sun. “I only speak the truth, of course.”

He looks like he has plenty more to say, but Daniel Atlas appears at the corner of the stage, looking irritable and tapping the watch at his wrist. “We need you, Jack. Quit flirting and help us, will you?”

Jack groans. “Always such a control freak. I hate to leave you alone like this.”

You swat him lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll survive somehow. Go handle Daniel.”

Jack grins again, but he’s still looking disappointed. “Can I talk to you after the show, at least?”

You make a face. “I don’t know. We’ll probably handle any injuries, if there are any, then head back pretty quickly.”

Jack’s brow furrows, thinking something through. “Alright. Okay. That makes sense. I’ll be sorry to miss you, though.”

You smile up at him. “It was nice to meet you, Jack.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he says in a rush, standing up quickly when Daniel shouts for him again.

You let yourself sit there for a moment or two longer, giddy over the undivided attention of one of the prettier boys you’ve had the pleasure of meeting, then head back out of the performance hall to go find your other paramedic. They’re a friend of yours, have been for a while, and so they greet you with a raised eyebrow and a question about if you’ve managed to secure a second date with your little magician for later that night.

You roll your eyes, but inside your heart can’t help but do a slow loop in your chest. He’s certainly charming, the Horseman, you only hope that his affections were genuine and not him trying to set up a trick for later that evening.

You’re able to peek through a window to see most of the show, which is as stunning as all the critics claim. You head back to the ambulance once the performance, tending to a few minor injuries like people forgetting insulin or getting their hand stuck in a door on the way out. You’re assuming it’ll be another ordinary day until you look up and see Jack standing in front of you again.

He grimaces at you, embarrassed. “Managed to slice myself open a little during the show. Would you mind patching me up, Doc?”

You reach for some bandages behind you with a grin. “Too cocky with our tricks, were we?”

Jack nods, feigning sadness. “My pride may never recover. Can I get a kiss while you’re here? You know, to help with the healing process?”

You arch a brow. “I don’t think that kissing an open wound would be all that sanitary. I can’t recommend it.”

“What about here instead?” Jack asks, tapping his cheek. 

You laugh at the hopeful expression on his face, then, in a rush of adrenaline you expect just as little as Jack, lean forward and do as told. The look in his eyes could trick any girl into falling for him, and if you hadn’t already had an inkling of feelings for him, perhaps you have a little more now than before.

He’s pulled away soon enough, but you don’t think you’ll ever forget that day. It’s certainly a memory you’ll treasure for a while. All’s well that ends well, though, and you’re in the ambulance driving back soon enough, staring out at the road zipping by you like you’ll be able to sight him again if you just look hard enough, just want him enough.

You don’t know how long the Horsemen will be staying in town, if they haven’t already left, yet one week later, the news starts blaring headlines about how the magicians’ next show will be here again. Here, in your city. In your reach. It seems impossible– they don’t repeat locations without a good reason, but yet so it is.

You insist a little quickly on being a part of the paramedic team to cover the new venue, even though the times don’t quite line up on your schedule. A few days’ time finds you waiting by the ambulance after the second show of the by now very famous Horsemen, looking around with too much foolish hope. 

You’re about to give up on the idea that you’d ever see Jack again– who were you kidding, after all, thinking that he’d be interested in you more than a passing crush on a pretty face– and then there he is, heading quickly down the stairs, walking directly towards you.

He holds up his hand, and you can make out a small dash of blood before he’s excitedly telling you about how he managed to cut himself again, can you believe that, and how are you anyway? Jack didn’t see you in the venue, only two other paramedics, and he was starting to think that you weren’t coming until he looked out and saw you.

You listen to his delighted wave of words, then speak once you’re able to. “This is a pretty small wound, Wilder. I’m assuming you would be able to patch it up by yourself.”

Jack’s face falls. “Shoot, you’re right. Wait, I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

You laugh when he turns to run, grabbing his hand so he can’t leave. “Are you going to go back inside so you can make a worse wound? That’s absurd, you know that.”

Jack’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, caught in the act. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. No magician would ever fake an injury.”

“Not even to talk to a paramedic they like?” You ask, the picture of innocence.

Jack chuckles. “Well, maybe in those circumstances. I feel like it’s understandable, though. I don’t want to distract you from your work, you know, but I do want to see you. A lot, actually.”

You haven’t let go of his hand yet, you realize, but you find that you don’t really want to. “Alright,” you tell him, “How about something else? I’m free for dinner tomorrow night if that works with you.”

Jack’s eyes light up, fireworks in rowan wood. “That’s perfect, actually. I’d love that.”

Someone appears behind him– Henley, fresh from their show. “Are you two finally going out? Good, he insisted on switching the location of our second performance to be here again because he couldn’t ask the first time.”

Jack turns around, expression dawning with horror. “You said you weren’t going to do something like this. You said.”

Henley just grins. “I couldn’t resist.”

“I’m just glad you moved the second show,” you smile, “I was worried we wouldn’t be able to talk again.”

“We’re going to talk a lot,” Jack promises, “I just need Henley to apologize for interrupting.”

“Not a chance,” she says gleefully, much to Jack’s dismay.

They’ve been lingering for a while now, so you’re not surprised when Henley starts to head away again. Jack looks between her and you again, knowing that it’s time to go.

“Text me,” he pleads, “we’ll set this up, alright?”

You watch him go, and it takes a few minutes before you realize that you don’t have Jack’s number. When you reach in your pocket for your phone, though, you notice a playing card stuck to the back of the case. It’s the Queen of Hearts, and there’s a number scrawled hastily on the surface. 

You laugh to yourself. Falling in love with a Horseman certainly won’t be boring, but who would want that? You have Jack. The best trick was winning him, and you’ve come up with the best hand. Nothing could make you happier.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

now you see me tag list: empty for now!

[monsterkin-culture-is]

10 Monster & Mythological Kintypes You Might Not Have Kinsidered!

Quick intro! I want to do some more monsterkin related original blog posts & content to make this blog more of a community hub for the monsterkins of tumblr. I'll be using #thebitingblogger for these posts! TW for some very mild mentions of gore in the context of mythology.

10. Haunted Dolls: There is definitely a large dollkin community on Tumblr but I haven't seen many haunted dolls/plushies. They're such a staple of horror media & spiritual subcultures - I'm so surprised by their absence!

9. Werecats & Other Werebeasts: The werewolfkin community on here is already limited but the werecat tag is tiny (and I don't think there even are tags for any other werekintypes)! Maybe the concept just hasn't been explored enough yet but given the popularity of other feline kintypes I wouldn't be surprised if there were some undiscovered werecats. I'd also like to add on about hellhounds & hellcats! Plenty of mythology there but a rather empty part of the kin community.

8. Revenants: Revenants are reanimated corpses revived to haunt the living. They're most prominent in Western European & Norse folklore. I can see some similarities to ghost & zombie kins but given we already have other subtypes & related kins (phantomkin etc) there is definitely a place for them in the kin community. Honestly as I'm writing this I'm starting to kinsider whether my skeletonkin might be a revenant...

7. Headless Horsemen: I suppose this is technically a human but I'd consider them a potential type of undead or spirit! The headless horseman is a recurring myth in a lot of Western Europe & America. My favourite version is the Dullahan from Irish folklore. The Dullahan is a mysterious omen, causing death whenever he stops riding. He carries his head in his arms and wields a whip made of human spine. The most famous media depiction is probably Disney's "The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr Toad." I think you can tell I'm a little bit in love with the horseman mythos...

6. Minotaurs, Centaurs & Fauns: I'm not sure I'd consider these monsters but they fit with the themes of the rest of the list! A minotaur is a man with the upper half/head of a bull, a centaur is a man with the body of a horse and a faun is a man with the legs of a goat or deer, often accompanied by horns or antlers. Man is being used without gender here. I originally was only going to write about Minotaurs as I've seen plenty of centaur & faun kins but there's no harm in including everyone! I'm not going to type out the entire mythology of these creatures but a fun fact for you is that the Minotaur of Crete's real name was Asterion!

5. Selkies: Again, not sure if these would be monsters but they fit the list & some retellings portray them as such! Selkies are humans (by appearance, not species) that can take the form of seals using their fur coats. If their coat is stolen, they can be forced to marry the person who has it.

4. Gorgons: Just talking about these as a species rather than their specific Greek mythos. Gorgons are humans with hair made of snakes. Often different interpretations give them patches/designs of scales, snakelike markings and/or fangs. My favourite modern depiction of a gorgon is Viperine from Monster High!

3. The Grim Reaper: I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been kinsidering this for a while! There are hundreds of personifications of Death throughout the history of humanity but the Reaper is probably one of the most recognisable in modern times. The Grim Reaper is most frequently depicted as a skeleton in a cloak, suit of armour or robes, bearing a farmer's scythe (it harvests souls like crops). I've been talking about media interpretations of these throughout so shoutout to Discworld Death, one of my favourite comfort characters! I love the animated version of Soul Music.

2. Shade: Finding information on this one was a little challenging! Shades are the spirits, ghosts or apparitions of someone currently residing in the underworld.

1. Custom Monsters: Got a bunch of phantom limbs that don't match a different kin? Have memories of being/feel like a cryptid that doesn't currently exist as a legend? Be your own monsterkin. Be a kin of your own species. I have one! I just need to actually draw them...

That's all folks! 10 more niche monster & mythological kintypes for you to kinsider! Please send me an ask (anon is enabled) or reblog or whatever if you're any of those kintypes, I'd love to hear from you! As always, please do your own research on these species & their folklore, I've only done some brief googling to add some more context to this list. This blog is for entertainment purposes, not educational! Let me know if you guys like seeing this sort of content though, I've really enjoyed researching this so I might start doing some more in-depth and well-researched posts on some of these.

[psshaw]

The one downside to Joking About A Video Game In Public is that occasionally, you hear from gamers... and I don't mean the typical people who are telling me things I genuinely didn't know, or who are just happy to joke around and chat! I mean that so far my sideblog has accrued 3 of the 4 horsemen of missing my joke so hard that I end up feeling a little insulted:

Person who acted like I was failing ethics for saying "awww I wish I could have adopted him" about an abandoned egg that I'm pretty sure you can canonically adopt

Person who thought I needed them to explain that a character who was being tortured into madness doesn't "consent" to the torture

Person who saw me say "I would love X if she had a different voice" and went into what I can only assume was a simp fugue explaining why she HAS to sound like that

And I never know what to say... I always wanna give someone the option to re-read everything and realize I'm not taking this as seriously as they are, but then they keep going and by then it's WAY too embarrassing when I stop them

[moodymisty]

Hello! Hope you had time to rest :) I'm kind of in a mental health gutter at the moment. Can I request anything with Strife? I just really would like something wholesome and comforting.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Hey friend! I know it's been a bit so I hope you're feeling better, and if not, that this makes you feel better.

Relationships: Strife/Gn!Reader

Warnings: None

"You said you wanted to see the Makers realm, and here it is. Don't go getting sleepy on me now."

Mayhem rocks underneath you as he walks, Strife's chest firmly against your back as he holds the reins with his right hand. You've been riding for the entire day now, and as the sun starts to set, you find yourself leaning back into him more and more, like sinking into the back of a chair.

"I didn't think it would take this long... Can't you all just teleport?" Strife takes his left hand that was resting against his thigh and nonchalantly gestures outward, before returning it to his leg.

"Using Fulgrim's wormholes, yes. But I'm not taking you in one of those if I have anything to do about it."

Whatever he's afraid of happening to you in there might be worth the risk, if it means having feeling in your bottom again. Besides you've met Fulgrim; Despite him being the embodiment of the adjective sleeze, you don't think he'd be stupid enough to do anything to a human close to the Horsemen. At least you would hope he'd have the foresight to realize that would be a terrible idea.

"Then don't get mad at me if I fall asleep because you took the long path to get here."

You hear him let out an overly exaggerated sigh, but continues looking forward as Mayhem strides through the thin forest path. You assume the horse must be dreadfully bored at this point, though you have no way to tell.

"We'll get there soon, and then I'm sure the Makers will be happy to give you a bed to sleep on. They'll love having a human to dote on."

You wonder how he assumes that, though you don't have enough mental energy to inquire if he's brought other humans here before and knows from experience, or if the Makers will simply be overjoyed to meet members of a smaller species.

One thing you've leaned quite quickly over the course of the apocalypse and post-apocalypse: Humans are by far the smallest of all the species. Even Death, the shortest of the Nephilim, towered over you with ease the few times you'd ever seen him.

Shifting slightly on the front half of the saddle, you sigh and decide to rest your eyes for a bit, leaning your head back onto Strife's chest.

Only for a bit, but you ended up falling asleep moments later, sliding to the side until Strife suddenly catches you with his arm as he notices you drifting. He wraps it around your middle, and only needs to take one look downward before he realizes you've fallen asleep, head resting against your shoulder.

He shifts his arm up to wrap around your chest and his hand cradles your shoulder, so you'll stay better upright against him while his other hand still lazily holds Mayhem's reins.

Strife finds your sleepiness completely, overwhelmingly adorable; But he also finds himself almost in awe of the fact that you were able to so easily fall asleep near him. He's not the most trustworthy Nephilim. It's endearing to find someone who trusts him so readily to fall asleep in his arms without so much as a second thought about it. He keeps looking down at you, before talking into the quiet evening air.

"Pretty cute, right Mayhem?"

The horse shifts his head just enough to look towards Strife, before looking back forward and giving a snort. He assume the horse is just upset that he said his name after making him walk so long in such a boring, straight line.

The sharp metal of his gauntlet shifts against your clothes, as he intentionally tries to avoid ripping your clothes or worse- cutting you. Even if it's a silly, unlikely thing, he doesn't want to risk it. Strife has learned many times how fragile you are, and doesn't want to take even the slightest risk.

The one time he realized he bruised your wrist he still isn't entirely over, and it worries him to think of all the times he's hurt you and you managed to hide it from him.

Feeling you shift against him Strife looks back down at you again, watching you fidget in your sleep and grasp the edges of your armor with one of your hands. He wonders what your dreaming about, if anything.

He knows that there isn't much longer until he makes it to the Tri-Forge, but he doesn't mind taking it a bit slower provided he gets to feel you sleeping in his arms just a little bit more.