#these bloody writers

[dgct2]

SPOILER ALERT

These bloody writers for FBI Most Wanted. I don't think I've ever felt so slapped in the face. The reason for Kristin leaving.... is because there was a rumour about her and Remy having a relationship outside of work. Yes, I shipped them. I spent HOURS making gifs for each of their episodes. I even told the writers that. The writers said they loved exploring their depths. How do you go from loving a couple to telling the actress not to come back when the season ends? How do you tell loyal fans that they're the reason why a character left? I just didn't expect this to come back to bite me in the arse like this.

[sterifels-blog]

warnings ⚠️

•nsfw! 🔞 please do not interact if you are not 18+ ❤️ you are not my responsibility.

creepypasta

REQUESTED: how they'd react if you ask them what their favorite (body) part of you is.

bloody painter

•he would say your hands. he's intrigued by your fingers, as odd as it may seem. not so much the looks of them; but instead the power they wield. "you have such delicate hands for someone so strong... makes me wonder what they could do if they weren't holding a brush." the implication is there— and, it's more of an invitation then a question. he knows what you're capable of- but he thinks he's being smooth about the fact he wants your hand wrapped around his cock.

•soft, but possessive touches: he'll hold your hand in his and trace the lines of your palm with his thumb, enjoying the way your skin feels against his rougher hand. he's not always filthy- infact, he washes his hands more that you're around. he knows you can't stand the feeling of blood smearing all over yours off of his.

•places gentle kisses on your knuckles. he'll press a kiss to your knuckles after you've done something for him, silently showing gratitude in his own way. alternatively; as he's bumping his hips to snap his pelvis tight against your own— more-so panting onto your fingers as he holds them to his parted lips. he's grunting at how good you feel, his brows tight-- and knitted together while placing soft kisses to your fingertips. bro loves you.

•admiring the art of your hands: if you paint (hopefully, with normal supplies), he'll watch you carefully, entranced by the way your fingers move across the canvas. "i like how you create... i like how you touch things."

•okay brother. calm down.

•handcuff scenario: if he's feeling possessive, he might tie your hands just to keep you close, though it's always with a Iight touch, as if savoring the moment. it's that, or he's got you in his lap- your back pressed to his chest as one of his hands keeps your wrists pulled together, and the other is brushing hair out of the way so he can kiss your neck.

•earning affection: "i know these hands could do so much more, if i let you." a quiet invitation to explore.

clockwork

•she'd say your eyes. clockwork has a dark fascination with them, and she isnt shy about making that clear: "your eyes... they've seen more than i can imagine, and yet they still hold something innocent about them." she has no issue with tainting that innocence- although she chooses to cherish it for herself, opting to keep your mind safe and away from others. your eyes only on her.

•intense gaze: she'll lock her eyes on yours, not breaking contact, as if studying you. it's like she's searching for something deep within, and it makes you feel exposed, yet strangely desired. she'll be kissing from your sternum down to your pelvis, her nails dragging along your bare sides as she relishes in the feeling of your fluttering skin against her lips.

•her lip gloss paints your stomach in a shimmery raspberry hue as she kisses your skin, her thumbs digging into your hips as they massage in slow circles.

•she's huge on teasing: "i could lose myself in them, but you'd never let me. you'd just pull away, wouldn't you?" she won't give you much of an option to pull away. she'll have you on your knees in front of her, her hand cupped under your chin as she admires the tremble of excitement that rushes down your spine.

•gentle, longing touches. she gently cups your face, forcing you to keep eye contact "i could make you see things- things you don't want to. but... you trust me, don't you?"

•when you inevitably agree with her— saying that you do trust her, her hands are parting your thighs, shamelessly sighing as her tongue traces lazy drags against your clit and labia. (she's definitely the type to write her name with her tongue, over and over until you're whining for her to do something other than tease. you're not talking at all after that)

•behind-the-scenes power: "if you look away, i'Il only make it worse. keep looking... you're mine, aren't you?"

eyeless jack

•thoughtful to say your throat. jack has an intense interest with your neck/throat. he can't stop staring at your throat, where he knows your pulse beats, so close to the surface- so easy to cut off if he so much as squeezed you hard enough. if he so much as twisted your head quick enough to cause dissection. not that he ever would- no, no. such horrific things are only reserved for his victims- but his medical knowledge often gets the better of him when intimate with your body.

•gentle but dangerous touch. he'll graze his fingers lightly along the curve of your throat, his thumb brushing the side of your neck as though testing your response. he'll hum— his nail digging softly into the prominent vein on the side of your neck, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against it as though smelling the metallic flow from the outer-shell of your skin. he doesn’t say anything, but the way his hand squeezes is word enough. jack loves you, he's made it clear over and over again- but often, he still finds it necessary to remind you that you both are different. un-alike.

•dangerous affection: "i know the veins here so well... it's almost like could just.." he might trail his fingers over your throat, his mind going to darker places as he tightens the grip he has on you to just beneath your chin, tilting your head back with a little groan into your ear. he brushes your baby hairs away from the base of your neck, leaning in to place a kiss against the base of your skull, panting with hearty breaths whilst his hips rut slow, sloppy grinds against the cheeks of your ass.

•alternatively, he’s got your legs kicked apart, his own feet placed between yours as to ensure that you don't try and squeeze them shut. pinned to him, your back against his chest— jack doesn't let you loose as his fingers swirled wide circles around your clit. his teeth graze at your ear, murmuring quietly about how easy you were for him. predictable. and you were.

•teasing whispers: he'll lean close to your ear and murmur, "your pulse is fast... what's got you worked up? it's just me.."

•holds your throat while he's fucking into you from behind.

hoodie

•your ass. zero shame, zero hesitation: hoodie doesn't even try to hide it, "you've got the best ass i've ever seen. why wouldn't i look? you should be flattered."

•he's hands-on at all times. whenever you walk past him, his hand is right there. sometimes, he gives it a playful squeeze, other times a sharp smack that makes you jump. "what? you're the one who walked by me like that."

•you, in fact, didn't even walk by. he's the one who walked by you. too many times, will you give him silence in return for his tomassery– and each time, he does the same thing. he'll come up behind you, apologetically (🤥) sliding his hands down your waist to cup your ass as he presses a kiss to the back of your neck. "you know i'm just teasing.."

•favorite pose? you straddling his lap. he loves when you sit on him, especially facing away so he can rest his hands on your hips— or further down. "you're making it really hard to focus, you know. not that i'm complaining.."

•and he isn't complaining, especially when he’s able to bend you over the counter later that night, groaning and grunting as he 'thanks' you for the meal you'd cooked for him after a long mission assigned by the operator. he's tired, sure; but he always has some extra stamina stored away for times like this. seeing your ass bounce on his hips as his dick bullies against your g-spot is worth every bit of energy he has left.

•constant touching: if you're lying on your stomach, he's lying next to you, his hand lazily draped over your lower back and sliding lower.

•pulling you closer: if you're standing in front of him, he'll wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back against him, hands wandering. "c'mere. you're too far away. yeah, that's better."

jason the toymaker

•your hands

•craftsman’s admiration: “your hands... so delicate, yet so full of life. they could create so much beauty... if i allowed you.” his voice carries both fascination and a subtle possessiveness, enjoying how wrapped around his fingers you were. the innuendo is there, integrated in his words. why would you need to touch yourself when he was there to do all you wished for you?

•very gentle with his touches. he loves to take your hands in his, running his fingers over the smooth skin, almost as if memorizing every line and curve. the type of guy to intertwine your fingers with his own as he keeps your wrists pinned to the bed— huffing against your neck with steady, deep thrusts. loves kissing behind your ear, grumbling about how good you take him- make him feel.

•kisses to your palms. jason has a habit of turning your hand over and pressing slow, deliberate kisses to your palm. “such beautiful hands… wasted on anything but me.” definitely prompts you into giving him a hand job, obsessive over the way your fingers feel curled around him. he thoroughly can't get enough of you, and arm wrapped lazily around your waist as he sits you in his lap for a slow makeout.

•mild.. obsession: he’ll watch you when you’re doing anything with your hands—writing, sketching, even cooking. “it’s mesmerizing, really. i could watch you all day.”

•into playful (but freaky ass) control. jason likes to guide your hands when you’re working on something, his larger hands enveloping yours. “here, let me show you how to do it properly. not that you’re bad at it… i'm just better.” this applies to the bedroom, where he's guiding your hand; curling your fingers only when he allows you to.

•possessive comments: “these hands belong to me, no? no one else gets to feel them, hold them, or be touched by them.”

jeff the killer

•dangerous attraction to your thighs: "your thighs... they look so soft. i bet they'd feel even better wrapped around me." and they do— whether they are clung at the sides of his head, or straddling his hips as he helps you ride him after a particularly high stress day. he loves them more than anything else in the world.

•gentle possessiveness.. he'll casually run his hands over your thighs, his fingers lingering just a little too long as if marking territory. does it especially when you are all sitting in a group. if given the opportunity, he'll have you tucked between him and the arm of the couch, your legs slung over his own so his hand can rub up and down yours.

•plenty of flirtatious teasing: "how tight do you think those legs could squeeze, huh? show me, and i'II make it worth your while."

•when you go about showing him- he makes it a point to keep you at his disposal until you're too satisfied to complain about anything. his tongue is useful for talking— but it is just as skillful when it's dipped between your thighs, running between your folds until you're squeezing his head so tight, he was sure his skull would crack.

•loves giving you kisses to the inner thigh. on a whim, he might press a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, just to feel the warmth of your skin. after a particularly strenuous night of.. events, it's a subtle gesture of appreciation

•"i can't help it. your thighs are just... perfect. i think i could spend all day here, don't you?"

•mock care: if he's feeling particularly mischievous, he'll gently squeeze them and say, "relax. i'Il be gentle. for now."

jane the killer

•playfully seductive: "these hips of yours.. i could write a book about how perfect they are." she smirks as her hands glide along them, leaving goosebumps in her wake. by far, they are the most favorable thing on your body in her eyes- apart from the obvious sentiment of your breasts. she thinks the proportions of them match you perfectly.

•possessive hold. jane has a habit of gripping your hips firmly, puling you closer until there's no space between you- mainly around the others of the household. there is no denying that you're hers- but it is still in her nature to be competitive over that fact, especially with her other-sex counterpart being present. "you feel so good against me. don't think i'Il let go anytime soon."

•slow in admiration. her fingers trace the curve of your hips, almost reverently. "every inch of you is stunning, but this.. this drives me insane." you're hovered over her- sweat dripping down your spine and dampening the roots of your hair as her hands guide you in a rocking motion. they are clasped tightly to your hips, nails, digging into your flesh as she encourages you to tuck in your core. she doesn't mind doing the messy work of bouncing you on her strap, so long as numbs you into that blissful state.

•dually stimulates your clit just to see them buck.

•sultry whispers while standing behind you. she'll lean in, lips brushing against your ear as her sleek nails tickled your hips with repetitive strokes. "these hips were made for my hands, don’t you think? hm?"

•when things heat up, her focus always finds its way to your hips, her kisses trailing along the curves as her grip tightens. "you have no idea what you do to me." jane's eyes linger on your hips like they're the most captivating thing in the world.

kagekao

•your mouth and messy kisses. kagekao loves kissing you- rough, messy, and without warning. he thrives on the way he can leave you breathless and completely flustered. it comes of good use when you two are arguing. you'd been rambling about something- not that he was listening; but he captured the gist of you bitching about how he was leaving the house a mess. guilty— of course he was; but he wasn't going to acknowledge it. "can't talk now, can you?"

•shutting you up: secondary to a kiss, if you're rambling or talking back, he'll cut you off with a hand against your mouth; putting you into momentary silence. it is only when his hand moves to tug at the buckle of his belt do you understand where he is truly going with it. your mouth, around him- is as good as it is while talking. as skillful as your insults- just more quiet apart from the occasional gag to fuel his ego.

•playfully dominant. he's a master of teasing you into silence, brushing his thumb over your lips and smirking. "these lips of yours are dangerous... but i like the way they feel under mine." he's cheesy because he knows it gets you going. you'll cuss him out, commencing a back-and-forth between the two of you. and as much as he enjoys shutting you up— it is, unfortunately, your 'arguments' that get him swollen and tight in his slacks.

•messy control: if you're mid-argument, he'll pin you against a wall and kiss you hard enough to stop the words from coming. "i don't care what you were going to say." he's a bit of an asshole— and when it comes to an actual confliction, you're often pushing him away as to voice your opinion.

•obsession with your voice: he's addicted to the way your lips move when you talk (+ the sound of it), and he often stares shamelessly. "keep talking- let me watch those pretty lips of yours."

•if it's been a while since he's last seen you; and you have the chance to speak to him over the phone, he's 100% not opposed to rubbing one out with you on the line. he'll go silent, listening to you ramble on about something that seems insignificant compared to the raging throb of his erection. mindlessly hums in agreement to something he shouldn't have— and gets startled when you begin scolding him over the phone.

laughing jack

•jack has a shameless fixation on your legs, especially if you're blessed with some extra height. "your legs just go on forever, don't they? makes me want to see how far they can wrap around me." his words are said with a wicked grin, no shame in his tone. if you're smaller, no worries about it— he's still intrigued about how many positions he can wrangle you into, especially with your smaller size being an accommodation.

•loves, loves, loves having you up against the wall. it's not the most practical position- but he has the strength to pull it off. at no point in time will your feet be touching the ground. your legs are slung over his hips, and mercilessly, jack is giving you no time between breaths as he fucks in and out of you. he'd been worked up over a dress you'd worn out with jane; the gap of time from which you returned— to then being railed furiously almost nonexistent.

•the stupid cunt is constant teasing: he'll comment on how your legs look in any outfit especially if they're bare. "oh, you're just showing them off today, aren't you? that's just cruel." he especially loves seeing you in skirts or short dresses. a tight pair of pants will still do justice- outlining your figure, but seeing your skin is an entirely different experience for him.

•obsessive attention. runs his hands along your thighs and calves, almost like he's worshiping them, while making playful, almost mocking comments. "so soft.. are you sure you're strong enough to be here?" he knows you are, he has no sincere doubts that you've earned your place amongst the bunch; but it intrigues him how someone as hard working as yourself could have any aspect of a gentle physic leftover.

•payful biting: he'll nip at your legs from your calvee to your thighs, just to watch you squirm. "what? can't handle a little attention?"

•restless fascination: loves having his head in your lap, running his hands up and down your legs, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "how am i supposed to behave with these perfect legs right in front of me?"

•a good smack to the head will do it.

masky

•masky has an obvious fixation on your breasts. he won't even try to hide it. when you're in close quarters, his eyes are always drawn to your chest, and he'll casually glance at them before meeting your eyes, smirking. "could you be any less distracting?"

•shameless touching: he's the type to casually rest his hand on your chest when in private, grinning like it's the most natural thing in the world. if you're not paying attention, he'll give them a slight squeeze and say, "couldn't resist, sorry." which, is a lie. he's fully capable of resisting- but with you, he doesn't care much to.

•throughly enjoys having you ride him. if not only to see the way your face twists up in pleasure; then, to see the way your breasts bounce with each desperate thrust you chase after.

•loves seeing you in workout clothes— especially something like a workout bra that cups your breasts exceptionally. he'll come up behind you, hands wandering from your sides, and against your ribs to your breasts, his fingers fondling with the under-band of your bra appreciatively. places soft kisses on the back of your neck, humming in approval as he relishes in the sight of his palms engulfing your chest in the gym mirror.

•unapologetic flirting: "look real fucking good in that top. deserve some attention, don't you think?" he'll lean in close, just to make it clear that he's very aware of what he's doing- not that you had any doubts.

•although secondary pleasure wasn't normally accommodated on his schedule (nor does he have a high drive for it)– when you gave him a tit job for the first time; he swore he was knocking on heavens door. he could hardly keep himself from giving in too early- grunting and huffing as he dragged on his cigarette, prolonging his climax for as long as he could. cusses the entire time, groaning about how good you were.

•proximity: when he sleeps, he'll have his face tucked against your collarbone, his arms wrapped around you as his nose divets to your sternum.

slenderman

•control obsession: he’s drawn to your wrists, knowing just how delicate they are and how easily he can take control. he loves— and definitely gets off on the feeling of holding them tightly, guiding you however he sees fit. “your wrists are so fragile... better reason for you to listen"

•possessive in his grip. slenderman will sometimes just stand behind you, his long fingers brushing your wrists in a possessive, almost ritualistic manner, ensuring you feel his presence without him saying a word. he might even trace your veins as if marking them as his own— otherwise, silently reminding you of your merciless place beneath him.

•soft yet firm restraint. if you’re not paying attention, he’ll slip his tendril around your wrists with a cold, firm grip, keeping you in place. his touch is both controlling and almost comforting, as if trying to stake a claim over you that is inevitable. keeps you from moving too much, because it “makes it easier to work with you.”

•tying you up: there’s something about restraining you with ropes or simple threads that bores him. he's more into using his tentacles— wrapping them around your wrists slowly, ensuring it’s just tight enough to restrict movement. it’s a methodical and precise act. “you’ll stay still. you can handle this, can you not?"

•borderline sadistic during intercourse with you. overstimulation is a guarantee— his tentacles cuffing your wrists together as you squirm on the silk of his bedding. relentless. your breaths heave in desperation as his thumb circled your clit for what felt like hellish hours on end, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes that he brushes away with little care- only after they'd began to trail down your cheeks.

•fingers that linger: when he’s guiding you through a task, his fingers press against the soft skin of your wrist, sending shivers up your spine. it’s a constant reminder of his dominance and the way he can bend you to his will with little effort. sits you between his legs and has you ride his fingers, kissing the flat surface of your inner wrist.

•silent manipulation: whether you’re walking or sitting, his hands will often find their way to your wrists. the way his fingers curl around them feels almost hypnotic, leaving you unsure if it’s affection or an underlying threat.

ticci toby

•possessive grip: toby's hands will find their way to your chest, casually gripping them as if it's the most casual thing in the world. he's not gentle, but not rough either— just firm enough to feel like he's marking his territory. "i like having you close. ganz in der nähe" the words may seem innocent enough, but they are the furthest thing from it.

•soft, but intense. if you're in his arms, he'll keep you pressed against him, his hands roaming under your clothes to gently feel and play with you. his breaths hitch as he does, clearly enjoying the closeness more than anything. not being able to feel much- it's intriguing for him to see how you react to something he assumed would feel so insignificant.

•when he figured out you enjoy it- quite a bit, he'll find himself stroking your ribs more often, tracing over your collarbone.

•huffs of approval: when he feels the soft weight of your breasts in his hands, you'll hear him let out a pleased sigh, followed by a low chuckle. "you can't help making these noises when i touch you, hm?" he enjoys them, thoroughly. in fact, it's something he favors, doing whatever he can to pry the sweet sounds from your lips.

•missionary— classical. he's got your back pinned to the bed, one arm wrapped around your spine as he lay a series of open-mouthed kisses to your throat, trailing down to find one of the pebbled nipples of your breasts. the sound of your breathy moan is almost enough to make him brick up again, a low groan leaving his throat as his lips engulfed your tit with gluttony. he could worship you like this for hours- but not without his own share of enjoyment.

•light teasing: if you react to him touching you, even just a little, his grin widens. "i know you like it. you don't need to hide it." he'll lean in close, letting his breath ghost over your neck. there's nothing he enjoys more than getting a reaction out of you— and it severely agitates him when you silence yourself.

•insecure softness: as unhinged as he may seem, he can get a little soft about it, too. "i just... i need you close, okay? don't push me away." he's not one to beg, but there's something desperate in his voice when he holds you like this. loves having you against his chest, feeling your bare skin pressed against his own.

[z-nightshade]

Me to my ocs: I love you so much, you are everything to me

Also me: *puts them in the blender*

[diana-andraste]

The Bloody Chamber, Angela Carter, 1979 (read in English)

La cámara sangrienta, (read in Spanish, trans. Jesús Gómez Gutiérrez)

Illustrations by Alejandra Acosta

[feggaroneira]

Μου λένε απόλαυσε το γιατί σύντομα τελειώνει.

Τους λέω ίσως αυτός να είναι ο λόγος που με αγχώνει.

Novel 729, Bloody Hawk - Λίγο ακόμα

[deansbite]

TOM HANNIGER holding you close to his body as he thrusted forward — in a harsh and quick movement, far faster than any other time you’ve slept together, causing you to yelp.

“Sorry baby, I thought when you told me you could handle it.. you meant this.” He murmured, softly before he returned back to his much softer thrusts from earlier, planting kisses on your shoulder blade.

You let out a whine, shaking your head. “No — no, it’s okay just surprised me.”

Tom trailed his hands up your body to eventually rest on the curve of your waist. His rough and calloused fingers curling around your skin.

Then he increased his pace, eventually his thrusts became harsh and fast — causing grunts and groans to bleed out his lips. “Oh, you feel so good.” he basically growled out.

You couldn’t see him, but you’re sure he threw his head back. You had your head in the pillows as he kept it up. Usually, he was the softer type in bed.

But you guess he wanted a change for a bit. “Can’t believe I haven’t done this sooner.” he was back to kissing your the skin on your shoulder blades, he nibbled and gave you bite marks here and there before having his tongue run over them to ease up the pain when he noticed you hiss in pain. “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah.” You moaned out when Tom went and gripped your hair — he usually wasn’t this kinky in bed, but you weren’t complaining. It was a good different.

Tom eventually tugged on your hair, pulling you back to meet his thrusts whenever he went deeper, the tip of his cock probably bruising your cervix at this rate.

special tags: @pearlzier

i dont know who else wants to be tagged but this 's boring anyway i literally just wanted to write a small drabble to make up f'my unintentional break

[evvyyypeters-fics]

Forbidden Fruit

William ‘Spike’ Pratt x f!reader

Word count: 5k+

Warnings: smut, pnv, period sex, Spike is a munch, porn w/ plot (sort of), absolutely feral shit, filthy, toe-curling bloody sex with the slutty bad-boy vampire himself, cringe, very specific characterization of Y/N, possible OOC Spike? (idk it's kind of hard to write a British accent lowkey), lots of banter, only like two uses of Y/N, mentions of Xander Harris, idk what else to add--that's it ig. It's some down-bad aah shi ok?

Author's note: My first fic in a whilleeee, hyperfixations always get me motivated. I’m back for now, but only to rant about my latest obsession. I'm actually surprised there was no period sex in BTVS. I mean for a pretty progressive y2k show about sweaty vampire romance and killing and there's not even an implication of periods let alone period sex? Not even a little quip or comment? Either that was too taboo even for BTVS or the writers weren't creative enough to think outside the box. (Either way, I come to serve the people).

It’s already been three days since Spike had that muzzle installed in his head. He refuses to stop complaining about it, and I don’t entirely blame the guy. Technically speaking, for a vampire, being physically modified to prevent the most natural of their instincts is like being forcefully castrated like some wild animal. Sure, it might be for the better and greater good, but it’s still sure to cause some discomfort and distress to said subject. Especially if they are a malicious, murdering monster and not a horny puppy. Though, when it comes to Spike, two things can be true at once.

Having to hand-feed the bound Spike with a mug of blood decorated with a straw was not on my list of things to do this month, that was for sure. But spending time with Spike turned out not to be all that terrible after all. If I just ignore his whining about being hungry because Giles and Buffy only allow him to eat a cup full of animal blood every day, he becomes quite the personality to be around. Specifically when he’s threatening what he’ll do when he eventually gets the chip out of his head and comes back to murder us all in cold blood in that casual, suave British tone that he makes sound so serious. But I know that he’s just bark and no bite now. The Scoobies agreed to keep pathetic Spike around for now since he has some information on the strange men who have been popping up around demon-hunting-related rendezvous, which of course cursed me with the duty of watching and taking care of him while they were off and living in their separate worlds. Separate from mine at least, as I practically lived at Giles’s house now to make sure the new pet dog didn’t get loose from his leash.

Today would have been just like any other day had I not conveniently gotten my period around the time I began babysitting the blood-sucking fiend. A few more days and I may have been relinquished of my duties from the bloodsucker, but alas, I would just have to hope that vampire senses were also a misconception, just like sleeping in a coffin during the day.

“Leavin’ you all alone again with the big bad, eh pet?” He croons, an all too familiar sly smile on his face as I enter the bathroom and pull up a chair a few feet away from him. He jokingly lunges forward and reaches his hands out, trying to scare me. But I barely jump before the chains holding them tight to the clawfoot tub hold him back.

“Funny,” I reply sarcastically, bemused by his behavior. “Are you going to do this all night? Or shall I ask Giles if I can chloroform you for a few hours just so I can get you out of my hair for once?” Crossing my arms as I sit back in the highly uncomfortable chair.

“Well, if you’re looking to shut me up, I have a few ideas on how to…remedy the issue.” Devious as always.

“And that would be?” I question, subtly quirking my brow.

He scoffs and flops back dramatically into the tub, rolling his eyes. “Well, what do you think, love?” He turns his gaze back to me, seemingly a little annoyed I couldn’t pick up on his non-obvious signals.

I continue sitting silently in the chair, my face scrunching into a more scrutinizing look as he stares me down, waiting for me to figure it out and answer. “What?” I ask offendedly as he scrutinizes me with his eyes.

“Blood you nitwit! I’m bloody starvin’ here!” He sighs exasperatedly, a slight growl in the back of his tone. “No pun intended—” His face drops softer as he quickly chimes, adding as he raises one finger in a dramatized gesture.

“You look fine to me.” I mock him, flickering a smile. ���I mean, besides looking a little pale, but that’s just your regular Tuesday, now isn’t it?” He grits his teeth and turns his head, acting as if he wanted to strangle me with the way his hands flexed.

“Besides, we ran out. Xander was asked to pick some more up from the butcher’s earlier, and he probably won’t be back until way later like the others.” I added, though not kindly. “Seems you’re always hungry and sucked your own supply dry. You’re lucky any of us even bother to feed you.”

“Well, I am your hostage, love. Not a torture victim.” His annoyance is almost as amusing as his failed attempts to intimidate me now that he can’t actually hurt me.

“I mean, you always could be. That is if you don’t start talking.” I shrugged.

“I told you guys, I’m not talkin’ until I’m ensured that the chip will be removed.” He leans his head back against the edge of the tub defeatedly.

“Well you know that’s not happening any time soon, so you might as speak up now before we change our minds and kill you for it. I’m sure Buffy would love to do the honors.” I smirk at him, and I can see the flash of fear in his eyes as he foolishly tries to hide it behind his indifferent and sarcastic demeanor. “Though, at the end of the day, we might not need you after all. So, might as well make yourself useful.”

He groans with a slight growl in defiance, rolling his head against the edge of the tub before sighing exasperatedly. Finally convinced, he turns his head back to me and nods in my direction.

“Al’right, I’ll talk. But I want somethin’ to eat first.” A hidden grin appears on his face as if he’s caught me in some sort of loophole.

“I just told you we don’t have anything right now. You’ll have to wait until Xander gets back.”

“Well that’s not entirely true, now is it, love?” He says, a strange puppy-dog-eyed gleam in his look.

“What are you even talking about? I just told you we don’t have any blood left. It’s not like you can bite me or anything, you little chip-thing-a-ma-bobery will give you a nuclear headache.”

“That’s not what I meant, love.” He smirks at my innocence.

Oh.

I go still and silent when the realization hits, my confused and slightly offended expression drops and I stare at him blankly. He looks back at me with another sly smile on his face, enjoying my flustered reaction and waiting for me to respond to the inappropriate request.

“I was hoping the whole wolf-smell thing was another written exaggeration.” I finally spoke out, breaking the moment of silence that was a little suffocating to me.

“You hope or you wish?” He asks, raising a curious brow back at me, still beaming with that stupid smirk.

“Does it matter?” I ask rhetorically, aggravated and annoyed with him now.

“Not to me.” He shakes his head and purses his lips. Liar, of course, he said it to piss me off. Trying to convince me that I wanted him to know as if it wasn’t the farthest from the truth. But a part of me was somewhat grossly keen on the idea. But only faintly.

“Well, seems you’re just going to keep starving until Xander gets back. I can wait as long as we need for you to either talk now or be patient. And by that point, Buffy and the gang should be back in time to hear what you have to say too.” I put my foot down, smiling a silent proud grin as he gives me a look that mimics if I had just stuck my shoe in his mouth.

He rolls over in the tub defeatedly again, and I take the time of his moping to grab a magazine and flip through it. Making sure that I turn over each page with an annoying crinkle so that he knows my presence is still there, even as he attempts to nap, which most likely is just his attempt at pretending to sleep so that I’ll consider not breaking the silence with the annoying slice of loud paper wringing through the not-so-cozy acoustic bathroom. Which of course didn’t work on me.

For some reason, it began to feel like the Scoobies had been gone forever, and it was still dark outside. I kept checking the clock every few minutes even though it had felt like an hour each time. Normally when I babysat Spike the time seemed to go by quite quickly. It must be the subtly charged silence as I keep praying the minutes start passing quicker. Not even the books and magazines were helping it drive by. At the same time, I realized that my cramps were starting to worsen and I wanted to cry. Partially from the pain, but mainly because today felt like the worst day. The timing is so perfect it’s painful. Having to watch Spike the neutered dog while everyone is away, getting my period a few hours earlier, the worsening cramps, the hours seemingly taking forever to pass. Maybe it’s another demon who's playing tricks on me to drive me crazy with my worst nightmares. I’m sure something like that exists.

Spike hears the soft hitch of my pained breath as I clutch my abdomen, cupping my angry uterus lashing out at me. I try to keep the book in my hand steady and pretend I’m not in an infuriating amount of pain, focusing my eyes away from Spike as he turns in my direction.

“You alright there, pet?” He asks in a tender, concerned tone. But as I raise my eyes to him, I catch the shit-eating grin on his face that’s just dying to tell me ‘I told you so’.

“Yes, I’m fine actually. No thanks to you. I don’t need any of your help.” I grit my teeth to keep my voice from wobbling and revealing the absolute pain clawing at my insides.

“You sure? You seem to be strugglin’ a bit. You know, I heard that—”

“Just shut up, Spike! I know what you’re trying to do.” I hiss at him, stopping him before he could finish the sentence. I could feel the burn of my cheeks a little as they flushed.

“And what is it exactly that I’m tryin’ to do, love?” He asks, a faux offensive tone as he sits up a little higher and leans against the tub.

“Don’t play coy with me, Spike.”

“Your pouty face is so cute, Y/N. Do you know that?”

“Stop trying to be charming. It’s not working.” I slide away the magazine and cross my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the burning pain still coursing through my lower body.

“Oh, it isn’t? Well, my bad then. Excuse me for sayin’ anything.” He says sarcastically and annoyed, defeated again, giving up as he turns over once more and sinks deeper into the tub.

“Good.”

“Fine, then.” He pouts.

“Fine.”

I nod, pepping myself to refrain from talking with him anymore about this. Moving my focus to the boiling pain that is becoming harder to ignore. I think of every remedy I can to relieve the pain without having to get up because I have a feeling if I tried, I would keel right over. And then Spike would take his most glorious opportunity to run away, and I couldn’t risk that. So I sat in a longer and drawn-out silence than before trying to persevere through the pain.

My gaze flickers to Spike occasionally without thought, catching glimpses from the back of his radioactive blonde hair before dropping once more to the book in front of me. As waves of pain crashed through me I start to wonder if it would truly be that bad to take up on his offer. I mean, he says he will talk if he has some food, and Xander obviously won’t be here for a while. Alongside the rest of everyone else, so if I indulged him, it’s not like anyone would catch us. And say he didn’t give the information up, well I’d still benefit, and we’d probably kill him anyway. It’s a fully ensured mutually beneficial deal, well, swinging towards one way more than the other—but the schematics of it all doesn’t really matter. Not will the sharp throb of abdominal pain making my thoughts stutter and my brain swirl.

Frustrated, I throw the book to the floor and stand up, raising myself above Spike.

“Alright,” I state sternly. “You say you’ll talk if you have something to eat?” I question him–more like interrogate.

He turns his head to me, slightly startled by my jumping up, and possibly the fact that I seem to be agreeing to his terms. He doesn’t have that shit-eating-want-to-punch-him-in-the-face-bastard-smirk on his face, and that makes for something.

“Just a snack is al’right.” He says eloquently, shrugging. “Then I’ll tell you all you want to know. ‘Swear on my grave, love.” He peers up at me through his brow bone, his eyes latching onto mine with their dark depths. Something in that look makes me fold, it seems so genuine and raw.

“Oh well that’s promising,” I scoff sarcastically.

Nerves swim in my stomach as I become flustered with the realization of what I’ve just agreed to. I stand there for a moment before him, nearing close to the edge of the tub.

“You just going to stand there, pet? Y’know, if you unchained me I could help you a little—” He offers, a small grin hidden on his face as he snaps me out of my trance.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. We’re doing this my way.” I scold him as I start to unbutton my jeans. Spike catches my hands with his gaze as soon as they pop open the metal button and his eyes flash. I try to pretend that his gaze isn’t burning through me as I begin to shimmy them down to my ankles, but it’s no use.

“Are you just going to keep staring?” I ask, gritting my teeth a bit to hide the shyness, despite my obvious flushed cheeks.

“Well, what else am I suppose’ to do, love? Not watch the show? Besides, there are more embarrassing things that—”

“That’s enough from you.” I stop him mid-sentence, pressing my index finger to his lips and he smiles quietly against it. God, he’s just thoroughly enjoying this isn’t he? I’d regret to admit it’s turning me on. Especially with that look in his eyes, watching me like I’m the best thing he’s seen in weeks. Which technically speaking, could be true.

It was difficult to find positioning given the small space of the tub that he was totally overtaking.I was starting to regret not taking off the cuffs for him, but I knew (hoped) it would be better in the long wrong. Who knows, maybe that’s what he wanted me to do all along. Though, would it have mattered at this point? My mind was too far stretched to care even if he did, but I was too preoccupied with the look on his pale face to bother removing them anyway.

Positioning my bare, bleeding core over his mouth, his eyes are locked onto it hungrily. Something in his gaze made it unclear if he was entranced by the blood or my body, and regardless it was making my skin feel slightly hot. His lips drained of color from his forced diet, parted readily as I hovered, his tongue practically lolling as he begged silently for me to lean closer. Cautiously, I tempted him. Lowering myself closer towards his lips, it was a warm and inviting feeling, surprisingly gentler than I expected from him. Soft, experimental kitten licks as he explores the fleshy fat of my labia majora, wiping away any mess as he circled closer to my engorged clit. My whole body felt like it was pulsing, I could only watch him from below me with blown, wide eyes. Skin flushed and rosy from the sensation of his tongue darting out and licking stripes, as if savoring the taste. Seems he likes playing with his food after all. I found myself subconsciously pressing closer into his mouth and I only notice when he lets out a low moan in response, his lips pursing to press a kiss to my clit, making sure to catch my eyes as he sucks on it gently. A gentle popping sound rings as he removes his lips and licks a fat stripe with his tongue across my entrance, blood lingering across it. His lips were already stained from drool and arousal, mixed with the faint hue of blood.

I always thought vampires were disgusting, evil creatures, I couldn’t imagine how blood could be enjoyable. Even for a vampire. Especially when it came to Spike and Angel. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, which is why it’s already so confusing for me as to why I’d agree to him like this. But seeing the look of my blood covering his mouth, and the expression painted on his face of pure bliss. I understand a little more now.

Spike grins against me for a moment when I shudder after he flicks his tongue on my clit aggressively, becoming a little more bold.

“I thought you were going to eat my blood, not mess around.” I accuse him, trying to keep my voice steady and stern as before, but it still cracked anyway.

“I’m just enjoying the moment, love. You agreed because you want to feel good too, isn’t that right, pet?” He asks cheekily, his voice vibrating against me and I almost fall over from the trembling that shocks my knees, finding balance in gripping my hands in his gelled hair. Wait, did he say ‘too’?

“N-No more talking,” I say breathily and Spike beams once more, even more amused than before as he goes back to his ministrations.

He doesn’t seem to mind as I claw into his scalp, messing up his meticulously done hair. If anything he seems to enjoy it as he laps faster into my cunt, sucking out any of the blood that leaks forth, dribbling down his chin. My legs start to feel sticky as the blood starts to dry down them, which prompts Spike to lick stripes up my thighs to wipe it away, savoring every single drop as if he couldn’t possibly waste it.

I can feel the waves of pleasure reach higher inside of me as he focuses on my clit every few moments before plunging his tongue into me, twisting it and moving it in ways I didn’t know were even possible, and making me feel in ways I hadn’t even imagined. I couldn’t help the progressive yelp of moans that slipped past my lips, melting into the pleasure. I hadn’t even noticed that the cramps had almost completely subsided from how quickly I had gotten caught up. My hands went from gripping his hair painfully tight to massaging his scalp, and he purred just like a cat about it. The vibrations of his voice and breath against me brushed just right, pushing me closer to the edge. He looked even more like a puppy, being helpless bound, chained, and all, trying so hard to please me and get his fill.

“S-Shit…” I gasped quietly, my eyes squeezing shut. I could just feel the cocky grin on his face. But when I open my eyes to look, his expression is anything but. He looks almost dazed, mindlessly focused on lapping and kissing me clean of blood, utterly lost in the taste of me. His eyes were practically glittering as he stared up at me, his gaze unbreaking. Sweet blood mixed with arousal that made his skin tingle warmly. It was driving him mad, he looked more starved than he had before. As if he had been holding back how badly he wanted it, or maybe as soon as he had a taste he was overcome with the full extent of his hunger.

The look alone was getting me closer but mixed with the quick flicks and broad stripes of his tongue working closer, harder, faster against me. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I clasped a hand over my mouth as I cried out a little louder, my hips stuttering as they shook against his face, a gush of arousal I hadn’t known I had in me came out and he relished it.

He didn’t stop, continuing to slurp away, a little more intensely now. Overstimulating me with a purpose. I squealed, gripping tighter onto his blonde hair, now a mess. I don’t know how I kept my balance with the way my legs shook as wave of orgasm after orgasm crashed into me before he finally gave up, slowing down with gentle licks and kisses around my clit and upper thighs. I was heaving and on the brink of breathlessness, my throat becoming sore from the cries I rang out.

He leans his head back farther to gauge my expression better, darting his tongue to the corners of his bloodied lips that he licks away. “That better?” He asks, still being cheeky. I just nod silently, basically speechless.

“Good.” He tilts his head. “You should have told me sooner how delicious your blood is,”

“I hadn’t realized ‘til now,” I respond in a breathless tone.

“Still catty after all that, eh love?” The idiot smirks. Though, I couldn’t hate him for it. He was looking exceptionally prettier than usual. I chalked it up to the hormones coursing through me, still blissed from the consecutive orgasms.

“So…did the pain stop…love?” He asks, slightly shy. Which was a little surprising. Spike, a vampire who attempted to suck me dry of period blood, getting nervous over asking me about my cramps? Or maybe he wasn’t shy. There was something tender about his expression.

I shake my head. A lie. But one couldn’t hurt. Technically speaking, the pain had stopped, or at least numbed to a dull ache, but I still ached over something else.

“I see…” He responds his voice a low drawl that sent a shiver down my spine. “What shall we do about that?” He asks rhetorically, thinking. Something about the way he says it makes me think he’s already caught onto my lie but doesn’t want to call me out. However, it could just be my guilty conscious making things up.

“Aren’t you full though?” I ask, my lame attempt at segueing smoothly.

“Could it be you’re needin’ something else, love?” He asks, cracking that same grin again I had been waiting for, dragging his lips over my thighs as he places a tender kiss. His stark gaze continued to stare deeper into mine, not allowing me to break away from it. His tone is clear with innuendo.

I finally break free of his eyes, glancing away nervously, not knowing how to respond to him without sending pathetic.

“Well, if we’re going to do that, you’re unfortunately going to have to unchain me, love.” My eyes quickly snap to him.

“Absolutely not. You know I’m not doing that.” I say sternly.

“You might not have a choice.” He says, pulling at the chains that bound his hands close together and prevented me from getting anywhere close to him comfortably and I sighed to myself. Having to decide between giving up or risking unchaining him for a while. Weighing the pros and cons for a moment, I conclude that if he tried to escape it wouldn’t matter, but from the visible strain in his pants that I noticed, I recognized that he likely wouldn’t try. Regardless, I still didn’t trust him when I began to unshackle him.

He flexes his wrists for a moment, rubbing at the chaff marks. Before I can say anything he pulls at my waist and drags me into the tub, keeping me from hurting during the fall. I gasped before I landed and when I turn my head I catch a new stupid, cheesy smile on his face. He doesn’t speak or make any taunting remark, instead, he presses a tender kiss to my lips and I meet the mingling taste of cigarettes mixed with what I assumed was my own blood and arousal in his mouth. The soft, playful kisses turned into something more hungry and we were quickly meeting each other at a desperate pace. He was practically eating my face as I kissed him, and I returned the same energy. Allowing myself to let go and lean into his touch, turning myself and splaying my hands over his chest, my hips hovering over his as his hands explore up from my waist to my back. The hands running up and down the hot flesh trail their way into the base of my hair, cradling my head closer. I had underestimated the lack of breath vampires had when I had to fight to pull back to gasp for air between kisses.

We mutually grind ourselves together as the kisses become passionate, my hips roll against the thankfully black fabric of his pants (though I’m sure he wouldn’t care to begin with), and his buck up and grind against me in return. The bare friction of my core against the coarse fabric of his pants became a mix of pain and pleasure that left me searching for more. Impatience took over me, and Spike latched his kisses onto my neck and jaw as I reached back and freed him from his briefs. His hands were too busy squeezing my breasts and flesh to help me, holding me close.

Wasting no time, I sink onto him, my cunt swallowing him whole with a mutual sigh between us. My breath hitches in my throat again as I feel the full stretch, reaching to my cervix with a gentle kiss of his tip. Our chests heave against each other rapidly, my breasts pressing against his chest and rubbing against my shirt with their hardened peaks, sensitive to the softest graze. I lift my head from his shoulder to kiss him again, catching a glimpse of his dazed expression. He looked even more drunk on arousal than he had earlier and I questioned if that was even possible. I didn’t spend time staring, holding a hand to his cheek to pull him into another fiery kiss as I began to grind my hips. He groans into my mouth, choked moans leaving his mouth gaping for me to slip my tongue in. He responds and our tongues battle as he wraps his arms around my waist, his hips gradually bucking up into me without abandon.

It only takes a few minutes before we’re both completely worked up and he bullies my cervix, his tip aggressively hitting all the way back with each thrust. His arms held me in place to keep me from running as if I would even want to or could with the way that my head was completely numb. Zero thoughts running through my brain other than the intense pleasure coursing through every nerve in my body that was painfully active. He lets out multiple erotic sounds from deep in his chest, especially so when we break from kissing occasionally so we can nibble on each other. I pull at his earlobe while his tongue slides over my neck, desperately wanting to bite me for sure. Despite the clear loss of his inhibitions, he doesn’t attempt it.

The blood that continues to leak from my cervix only acts as extra lube, and causes a mess on both of our thighs, leaking down from his cock and splattering with each slap of our skin. The smell of blood and sex begins to linger in the air, even more so with the bathroom door closed. The sounds coming from us were filthy and if I weren’t lost in lust, it’d be embarrassing. But for the moment, it was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, music to my ears. I was feral, and it seems that so was he.

I wasn’t even fully aware of what was happening until I clawed into his shoulders, my hands slipping from the back of his hair as a new orgasm crashed over me. I don’t even remember when our shirts fell to the floor, but I had wasted no time clawing up his back apparently as the skin was almost scratched raw. Sweat glittered on our skin, shining from the bright white light in the bathroom. He hadn’t stopped at the clear cry of my orgasm, continuing to buck up into me madly, reaching his own high. I finished once more, this time he followed pursuit, feeling the warmth of seed flowing into me. His thrusts pausing in a staccato pattern. Post-bliss buzzes through us and I lean my head into his shoulder as I find my breath once more. I don’t want to move, feeling too limp to attempt to get off him.

Though, I quickly change my mind when I hear the familiar sound of the front door opening. My body jolts out of its daze and I quickly fling myself off of Spike, throwing him back his clothes.

“Shit!” I hiss, half-hazardly pulling my clothes back on, my pad still attached to my underwear as I slide them up. During the quick minute, we were lucky no one came in, and I take the extra 30 seconds to make sure I don’t look too disheveled before I step out of the bathroom. Hoping that I can distract everyone from checking on Spike before he can put his clothes back on the way they were. As well as fix the mess of his hair I had made.

Everyone seems to be distracted and discussing something when I step out of the bathroom and gently close the door behind me, guarding it a moment before stepping forward when everyone turns their head to my presence.

“Y/N!” Xander chimes with a stupid friendly smile. “How’d it go with fangless? He bore the shit out of you again?” He asks, taunting me a little.

I nod, smiling and trying to act normal. But it feels as if they can already tell something is off. “Yeah, definitely! Man, how I hate that guy!”

There’s a moment of awkward silence between everyone as we pause, unsure of how to deal with the clear tension in the room.

“So, I’m guessing you guys were fighting and that’s why you look like that.” Anya points out bluntly.

I can feel my cheeks burn a little as I realize why everyone is looking at me so confused, trying to keep my face from turning too red.

“Yeah. That’s what happened. Don’t worry, I took care of him. I think he might actually be willing to talk now.”

“I’m sure you did,” Buffy added with slight suspicion in her tone. “Make sure to talk to him then if he’s ready.” She nods, changing the topic as she goes back to talking about whatever it was they were discussing before that I had no interest in at the moment.

As soon as Buffy says something I notice a flash of held laughter on everyone’s faces, even if they do know, nobody seems to care too much. Though, I can feel the judgment, only a little. But at this point, I don’t have the energy to care.

Taglsit (you can be added or removed at any point. If you used to be on my taglist and don’t see your username, let me know so I can update it. Same goes for if you want to be removed):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @americanwh0rerstory @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch @n0tonlin3

[carvinglies]

Soulmate au part two: Creepypasta

part 1 || part 3 || part 4 Requests are open!

tw: mentions of flesh eating in EJ’s part

Sharing tattoo’s: Jason the toymaker

Jason didn’t think he would ever have a soulmate but desperately wanted someone to be with him and play for eternity. In that desperation, he stole many soulmates from their other half which went on for a while until Jason was tinkering with his newest doll adding on his “special” additions, when he felt a stinging sensation on his upper thigh. Pulling up his pant leg, he stared at the new ink on his leg confused before it hit him– he had a soulmate! A playmate for eternity was destined to meet him, that overjoyed Jason. He dropped his project to go find this soulmate of his, the blue door in his workshop beckoning him as he stepped inside to search. Days long searching ensued before Jason found himself standing in front of his destiny bound soulmate.

“Would you play with me forever?” The burgundy haired male asked the person as they stared wide eyed.

First words to soulmate written on their body:Bloodypainter

Helen never had time to worry about soulmates when he was younger but when he found his passion for painting the idea of being bound to another inspired him to no end. Ever since he was a kid Helen had the words, “Do you have a bandaid? I just scraped my knee falling for you.” Written on him, anyone he showed would laugh at it but Helen just found it confusing who says that to someone they just met? Well that’s what he thought before knocking over someone in the street when he went to go buy art supplies.

Before he could get out a sorry the person grinned bashadly loudly speaking, “Do you have a bandaid? I just scraped my knee falling for you.”

Words that describe their soulmate are written on them:Jeff the killer

Jeff honestly never gave two shits who his soulmate was thinking they just had some weird words scribbled on them due to their method of connection. He had no reason to go out looking for his soulmate. Thinking and I quote, “if destiny really wanted us to be soulmates they would meet me themselves.” So that’s exactly what destiny did. Jeff was forced to go out for snacks by BEN grumbling through his mask he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Turning around he glared at who disturbed him. “Sorry to disturb you but you kinda look like my writing,” they looked around before continuing, “I was wondering if you were, y’know, who I think you are?” 

Gravitational pull towards their soulmate:Laughing Jack

It pissed Laughing Jack off when it began the constant feeling of being pulled in a direction even if it’s easy to resist gets annoying. He can’t even escape it inside his box! Jumping around from house to house especially is harder if you no longer can stay long from the pull forcing you away. Laughing Jack was relieved when the pull wasn’t as harsh anymore when he was at the nearest carnival looking to terrorize kids, well that was the case before the pull suddenly ramped it up and flung laughing Jack colliding with someone else who seemed to have been thrown too.

The person held their head as they awkwardly waved blabbering out the first sentence that came to mind, “So hey soulmate? I guess?”

Ink marks that move towards your soulmate:Eyeless Jack 

It was hard looking for your soulmate while being swamped with work from medical school, and even harder after being sacrificed and turned into an unwilling flesh eating demon. While past Jack would have loved to meet his soulmate the one that’s here now feared the possibility of eating them accidentally the ideas of the what if’s flooding into his head as he stared at the smoke like tattoo’s decorating his arms. Sometimes when Jack was a child he would play this game where he would walk forward watching as the tattoos reached out towards the direction his soulmate was curling around his arms before receding when he stepped back. Eyeless Jack while a recluse craved normality so he finally exited his cabin towards the nearest store. While checking out his items, ones he didn’t really need but anything to feel normal he supposed, the cashier's hand touched his tattoos burned as the burning sensation spread all the way to his hand. Jack assumed the cashier felt it too watching they gawked.

Regaining their composure they began to tease him, “what took you so long?”

Seeing the world in black and white till you meet your soulmate :Ticci toby

Toby was always curious about how colors looked, what if he was wearing a horrendously color matched outfit and couldn’t tell because he couldn't see it? What if his favorite knitted sweater from when he was little was a piss colored yellow? So many questions have gone unanswered it still annoys him that he can’t see colors what if yellow was a whole different color then what he thought it was, well Cupid decided today he would find out as leaves crunched under his foot as Toby walked the woods coming across someone sitting on the cliff looking out at the city below them, when he stepped on a particular damp twig they whipped their head around locking eyes with Toby. Colors flooded both of their senses overwhelmingly so, Toby swore he could smell them too at the beginning.

Overwhelmed with shock his soulmate jumped up running towards him stopping halfway before beginning their sentence feverishly, “Nice to meet you!” They extended their hand for a handshake, Toby cautiously stepped forward before recorpirating 

[carmelica]

the leather jacket

read on ao3 | masterlist/s

description: you’re having a bad day and spike runs into you, a conversation sparks and you realise you might actually feel something for him.

relationship: spike & reader

a/n: in my mind reader is fem, but idk if i specified it anywhere? they are wearing a dress, but that’s mentioned once, in the beginning.

wc: 1140

You sat down on a bench, it was dark, there was only one lantern a couple meters away from where you were. You felt the cold air caressing your bare arms and calves, as your skirt reached a little below your knees. It was hard, adjusting to living like this, living and haunting demons while you had your own demons haunting you, for a good while now, life was just, too much. Buffy’s life seemed to be piecing together, Willow met Tara and was obviously in love, Xander started to work and had Anya, you were just… there.

Wishes and what ifs filled your thoughts, you wanted to go back to high school, when it was just the Scooby Gang, when you had Cordelia, who you were close with at the time, you two were always outcasted to an extent, she was especially after Xander cheated on her, that’s when you distanced yourself more from him, while Willow always seemed honestly sorry, he never did. It was never the same after that, while you enjoyed spending time with them, you just never got that close again and your life seemed to go down hill from that ever since.

You watched people passing by in distance, you felt so empty, like someone cut a whole in you that could never be filled, today was especially bad and all everyone cared about was demons and other strange creatures of the dark to fight. A set of footsteps caught your attention, it was getting closer to you, you looked over to see a face you recognised, but haven’t seen in a while.

His hair was still platinum, combed back, he had his leather jacket on per usual and a funeral like — all black — outfit. Your eyes stopped at his face, he tilted his head, as he just stood there for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, you could swear you saw his eyes soften for a brief moment, before they went back to being cold as usual.

“What’s wrong?” He said and the question took you aback for a second, you parted your lips ready to answer, but ended up biting your own tongue in time.

“What do you want, Spike?” Your voice was calm, almost emotionless, a chill run down your spine as the wind blew again, creating goosebumps on your skin.

“What? What do I want?” Spike let out a scoff, as he relaxed more, now standing in a less of a dull position. “Do I always have to want something?”

“Well, you usually do so… What is it?”

He scoffed again, you could feel your hands clenching slightly at that, he was bothering you and now wouldn’t even say what he wanted.

You just focused back on the people you could see in the windows of the dorm rooms, those passing nearby or those going out, probably to party. You kept a mental note of the fact that he was still there, his gaze was lingering on you and you could feel it. He eventually moved to sit down next to you, you glanced at him, your gaze paused on him, as you noticed his eyes softened again.

“If you’re hoping to see Buffy, she’s not coming.”

“Oh right, the slayer…What a loss.” He said, his tone more playful now, you just glanced between him and the passers by.

Silence fell between you two for a moment, he was just… sitting there and so were you, you didn’t really mind or care as long as he didn’t annoy you too much, it was quite nice, having company wasn’t so bad, even if it meant his company.

“Something is wrong.” Spike said, catching your attention, you turned to him, this time focusing on him. “What’s wrong, hm? Maybe I can help out.”

“I don’t need your help. Or want it.”

“Gee, no wonder you’re sitting alone.”

Ouch.

Your lips lightly pouted, it was instinctual, your head moved down as you looked at him with hurt in your eyes.

“Well, you’re sitting with me. So…”

“So what? You’re not alone? You’re in my company, a bloody vampires and not your ‘my little pony’ friend group?”

You let out a sight answering with a simple, “No.”

He took out a flask bottle out of his coat, he took a long sip, moving it towards you with a raise of a brow.

“What is it?”

“Apple juice— What do you think it is?” He scoffed.

“God you’re insufferable.” You mumbled taking it from his hand and taking a huge sip yourself.

It didn’t take long for you to get more talkative, you had a pretty weak head when it came to alcohol, you were shivering by then, the cold becoming unbearable. You began to think how cool was the fact that the cold couldn’t affect him, he was dead after all and probably cold himself as well… you stopped your train of thought there, because why on earth were you thinking if he was hot— warm or cold.

“You’re shivering.” He noticed, his voice was deep, he took his jacket off. He moved it onto your shoulders, allowing you to adjust it, so you did, doing your best to cover up as much as you could, it just ended with you putting it on fully.

You smiled lightly at him, your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, “Thanks.”

“So you were saying…” He clears his throat as he takes another sip of the drink.

“Right… Um… What was I…” You frowned your brows, your mind was fuzzy, each thought went in and out within seconds, not letting you to focus on anything. He seemed to notice you struggled with putting it together so he just spoke for now.

“Well truth be told, the… whatever you called them gang… they are not as half as cool as you are, I mean, think of that prat Xander.”

You just nodded in an agreement, there was something in common between you, a human, struggling mentally and a blood thirsty, old as time vampire — your hate for Xander Harris.

“I— I don’t know…” You shook your head, drinking more, the flask was almost empty. “It’s all just… I’m just… Tired.” You looked down as you spoke, voicing it all felt a little too real.

“God this is so depressing.”

“Is it? I think that’s just you, love.” He smiles lightly at you, making you smile, he had a pretty smile… wait what?

God.

“You know what… I- I need to go.” You got up, giving him back the flask, unable to say much you just… took off. You could hear him yelling a couple of “hold up” after you, but you kept on walking, you eventually reached your dorm room, you walked inside.

You took your leather jacket off, but it wasn’t yours, was it?

[witchthewriter]

@dream-bee-baby.

[smolwriter]

My first ever WIP that i had hoped to turn into a novel, looking up from this dark hole as a light shines through: I haven't seen you in over a year.

Me: Some internet strangers liked you, so get up. we have work to do.

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

if Ashley's for some reasons ever mentions/explains some human torture methods what would the cons thing of it ? Like are we more brutal then them ?

Well... this get dark. FBI Agent, I'm a writer I promise! This is all hypothetical! There is worse out here in the internet wilds!!!

I think for the most part, it's a game of orange-and-blue morality for a bit. There are things the Decepticons pull (Shockwave just existing) that immediately make human prosecutors start prepping the war crime cases and some things that humans do make the cons pause for a minute. At the same time, certain things the cons do, while horrible, just make humans nod because of course they would do that, and most human torture techniques just don't translate well to Cybertronian biology.

Like, the Decepticons would do things that are definitely against the Geneva Convention (and I think they would find our concept of a Geneva Convention laughable) so they would shrug off a lot of similar precedents humans have. Removing limbs, sensory depravation, experimentation, and electrocution are all familiar concepts so it is just a shrug of shoulders and a "why not?" attitude.

And then they look deeper.

In my mind, Cybertronians above all are efficient. Unless it's personal, or you are with someone who has a truly skewed brain module (Yes, Airachnid I am looking at you) the point of torture is to get information as fast as possible. Tortured to death, unless it's an accident, isn't efficient.

Humans, unfortunately, don't always care about efficiency.

They see the Human Centipede and the Terrifier, and bots are praying to primus like they've never done it before. It's entertainment, its art to mankind and it is some of the most protective vomit-worthy levels of shit they've ever seen. They see the Jigsaw franchise and Shockwave is joining discords and emailing directors to get notes.

It's fictional. It's fake. It's an unhinged level of creativity completely separated from ethics and morals, or in some cases leveraging those ideas to better stamp in some emotional torment. It's not just physically taking apart a victim, or trying to manipulate them mentally; it's full-on destruction. Complete evisceration performed in the name of delusional curiosity, sadistic glee, or self-righteous theatrics.

But, again, it's all fake! So what does it matter? Soundwaves says to himself as he bans any vore content from the Nemesis' servers and scrubs his drives

And then someone brings up Vlad the Impaler.

Imagine the horror as it just clicks. While Cybertronains may not produce excrement, they do have scraplets, so the concept of leaving someone in a tub to slowly rot or forcing rats to dig through bodies just sings a song of pain they are vulnerable to. Of slowly dying in a painful, inevitable method that's meant to leave a lasting mark.

And then a human starts thinking.

Art isn't efficient, but a masterpiece is never meant to be so mere as efficient.

Why not remove t-cogs? the element that helps these creatures transform, a crucible of their identity and self-worth?

Wait, that's not meant to be torture, that's just containment.

No. Torture is using small limbs to unwind and peel back layers of wiring. Torture is leaving portions of a frame to decay and rust, poking at the open wound, and flinging acid inside. Torture is pulling limbs off and reattaching them only to do it again. Torture is removing optics and turning sensors to maximum sensitivity before turning them off again.

Torture is taking those old methods and being creative enough to apply them on a blank canvas with new rules and no precedents.

The issue is not our brutality, it is our cruelty and creativity. And that's something that even the most vile Decepticon can respect.

They might even help you find a new muse, or canvas, to practice with.

[sterifels-blog]

creepypasta characters – how they’d react to you being upset over a small inconvenience 🤏

BEN drowned

•mocking sarcasm: “oh no, did the big scary printer jam again? total apocalypse. truly.” what became clear in his death, was he did, in fact, take his childish personality with him. he is no better than jeff when it comes down to teasing you for your dismays.

•playful teaser. he glitches around the room, mimicking your upset tone in a distorted voice, just to annoy you. it's spiteful, a little ignorant, but it's something you've come to grow used to. some things were just inevitable with BEN, and his torment was one of those things.

•offers digital comfort. BEN hacks a random game to create a hidden message for you, like “cheer up, loser.” if you don't reciprocate any sort of reaction back- you best believe he will be petty enough to rig a match for you. not so you can win, no. so you lose. just to agitate you again.

•awkward, awkward softness: if you’re seriously upset, he stammers, “hey, uh, don’t cry. i… don’t know how to deal with that.” very likely, he panics and goes to grab someone like jack or jane.

•weird with distractions. he'll float around, humming the zelda theme song until you laugh or throw something at him. if it works, it works. either way, you're too focused on smiling, or trying to hit him.

•over-the-top suggestion: “want me to corrupt their computer files? that’ll show them.”

•king of small gestures. leaves a pixelated heart drawn in a game you’re playing, then pretends it wasn’t him.

bloody painter:

•he observes quietly. sits in eerie silence, studying your emotions like he’s painting a mental portrait.

•when he is finished staring (although, admittedly, he does quite like the sight of you), he will offer some deadpan advice:

•“if it doesn’t matter in five years, it’s not worth ruining your eyeliner over.”

•if verbal reassurance doesn't do it for you, willingly, he'll engage in a paint-based gesture for his angel. he draws something comforting or silly (alternatively, absolutely crude) on a scrap of paper and hands it to you without a word, hoping it makes some difference.

•dark humor (where it is, and isn't appropriate.) “want me to take care of whoever pissed you off?” half-joking. maybe. if you say no, there is some genuine disappointment left lingering in his eyes. a missed opportunity to stock-up.

•unexpected comfort. gently touches your face and says some cheesy bullshit like, “the colors of sadness suit you, but i’d rather see you smile". he knows he's succeeded in making you feel something other than upset, when you are pressing your palm against his face and pushing him away with a groan of annoyance.

•will go extreme measures to make you a distracting gift. offers to paint you something. it’s his way of saying sorry.

•serious effort: if you’re really upset, he’ll spend hours creating something meaningful to cheer you up. although you'd clearly specified you didn't want him to maul the poor man who'd taken the last pint of your favorite ice cream flavor; the red coating of the little house he'd made you (in respect to the small abode you will "most definitely have" together), spoke otherwise to him listening.

•it's fucking disgusting, but don't discard it. it's the.. 'sweetest' way he shows that he cares.

clockwork:

•chaotic comfort. immediately threatens to stab whatever inconvenienced you. “who do i need to ‘fix’ for this?”

•pactical help (or a lack thereof): she does actually try to solve the problem for you, but gets frustrated if it’s not instant.

•(unhelpful) teasing: “aww, does my little clock need winding? let’s fix your mood.”

•joking aggression: “you’re upset? try getting stabbed in the eye and tell me how you feel". she soon after realizes this probably wasn't the best way to get through to you, and instead resorts to gently carding her fingers through your hair, sitting in an awkward silence after.

•when the silence gets to be too much, the most rational conclusion she could come up with was a random distraction. tosses something shiny or makes a loud noise to snap you out of it, almost, most definitely getting a sick kick of amusement when you jump in a startle.

•clumsy affection: roughly pulls you into a hug afterwards and says, “you’ll be fine. i’ve seen you handle worse.”

•this is shortly after followed by a soft admission. “i don’t like seeing you like this. it’s weird.” no sympathy on her face, just her nose being scrunched up in discomfort. but you can tell she means her words.. more for her sake.

eyeless jack

•jack is a quiet observer. he always has been, and will be. he notices you’re upset but waits for you to bring it up, not wanting to push you down a further slope than you were already on.

•when you finally begin to talk to him, for the most part, he simply listens. but if he notices it's getting to be too much, he'll offer some gentle reassurance: his voice is calm, almost nonchalant as he says, “it’s okay. you can talk to me.” he means it.

•words aren't easy for him. he's used to being silent, tucked away to the confines of his laboratory. it's why he chooses a more physical approach. cooking comfort. jack makes you a meal without being asked—though you might not want to know the ingredients. just eat it, and thank him.

•when he does speak, he offers the most practical advice out of the bunch: “you’ll survive. you’re stronger than whatever this is.”

•he's cold, but caring: “if it’s not life-threatening, it’s not worth worrying about. but... i get it.”

•soft-spoken comfort: stays close by, quietly grounding you with his presence. he'll offer you a spot in his laboratory for the time being, leaving you to watch as he hustles and bustles about. he isn't a fan of people in his space- in the slightest. but for you, he doesn't mind the company, so long as it helps. he won't directly admit it, but seeing you upset does something to his heart.

•it unfortunately, wouldn't be jack without some out of pocket, and highly untimed dark humor. he's working on his current 'patient', his scalpel against the lining of their abdomen when he would pause, as though an idea surfaced.

•“would harvesting an organ cheer you up? no? worth a shot.”

hoodie

•takes a more casual approach compared to the others. nudges your shoulder and says some nonchalant shit like; “what’s got you so down?”

•followed by some super-chill reassurance: “it’s not the end of the world. i’ve seen worse.”

•says it in a tone that makes him sound like he genuinely doesn't give a fuck, and is instead saying it in prayer god gives him a second chance for being 'kind'. he does, genuinely care however. he wouldn't have asked if he didn't.

•when he realizes it's something 'trivial' (in his mind), he'll give you some lighthearted distraction. hoodie offers to hang out or go on a random drive to take your mind off it. if you accept to hang out, you're both watching some rag-tag channel that your old, boxy ass television could pull up. it's absolutely shit. if you accept the drive, the radio is on, playing some old song that helps you clear your mind. the two of you definitely get going.

•if it's not the radio you're focused on, it's his singing. it's either god awful, and it makes you want to die more than whatever inconvenienced you at first, or he should have been a choir boy.

•snack attack: you two pull into a gas station along the way to fill up the old piece of rust. he goes in, comes back out with a pack of cigarettes and some chips in hand. he'll carelessly throw the bag of chips at you and say, “here. don’t say i never do anything for you.”

•soft teasing: “you’re cute when you’re mad, but let’s not make it a habit.”

•followed by some subtle care: puts his hoodie around your shoulders if you look especially down, or you're out late on your drive and it's getting cold.

jason the toymaker

•100% makes a toy bribe: instantly offers to make you a custom toy to cheer you up. “what’s your favorite color again?” it's cheesy, but it does have it's odd way of working it's magic.

•jason can get into quite an overprotective mode, often getting himself frustrated when he cant disect the root of your problem. “what caused this? tell me so I can fix it." .. "am i going to kill them..? what does it matter?"

•the answer is yes. yes, he is.

•soft-spoken comfort: “don’t worry. i’ll always take care of you.” he has a way of reassuring you even when you have your doubts, almost with an expertise that surprises you. if you were ever questioning his genuinity, he's answered for you.

•possessive guilt-tripper. “i don’t like seeing my favorite person like this. smile for me, will you?” he's sweet, in the worst of ways. jason knew all he had to do was flash you that charming smile of his, and you'd bend to his will. it was both a curse and a blessing.

•makes up some distracting hobby. he invites you to join him on a whim in making something to calm your nerves. (he definitely ends up taking over your craft.)

•encourages gentle insistence much like bloody painter. “you’re allowed to be upset, but not for long. it doesn’t suit you.”

•creepy but.. comforting? reassurance: “nothing bad can happen to you while i’m here. i'll make sure of it.” you aren't allowed out of his sights for a while.

jeff the killer

•mockery overload. “aww, you’re upset? should I call the waaah-mbulance?” he's a fucking asshole and he knows it, but his emotional boundaries hold no shame. if you knew any better, you would think he didn't care if he made you feel better or worse.

•teasing to comfort: purposefully annoys you until you either laugh or yell at him. he is 100%, more than likely aiming for the latter, getting a sick sense of satisfaction from knowing you're wound up now because of him. “see? you’re not upset anymore!”

•he's a twat with territorial anger: if it’s someone else’s fault, he’s immediately ready to fight, thinking of the most irrational ways to kill someone for your sake (though there is already nothing rational about him). “who do i need to carve a smile into?”

•though a selfish sod, he does have some genuinely surprising softness when it comes to you. if you’re genuinely upset, he awkwardly wraps his arm around your shoulder and says, “it’s fine. just... chill, okay?” he's rubbing your back until his hand is numb, or you become agitated.

•clumsy reassurance: “you’ve got me, so who cares about dumb stuff like that?”

•even throughout the comforting, his offer of violence still stands. “say the word, and i’ll make it disappear. permanently.”

•jeff is the absolute fucking worst for guilt deflection. if he caused the inconvenience, he’ll deny responsibility, but quietly try to make it better. he sees admitting to his faults as a weakness, but a few hours later, when he‐ again‐, sees your mood hasn't improved— he's begrudgingly coming over and taking your hand to apologize. his words are lazy sounding, but they are true. it pisses him off that he has to go such lengths to make you feel better, but in the end, it's you. so he'll cope.

jane the killer

•she is a direct comfort sort of woman: “what’s wrong? talk to me.”

•when she notices its an re-occuring issue bothering you more than usual, she'll go into problem-solving mode. jane listens carefully and offers solutions, even if you just want to vent. she loves listening to you talk, even if it's under more unfortunate circumstances.

•has a protective streak much like her male counterpart: “if it’s someone else’s fault, i’ll handle it.” and she means it

•queen of tough love. it's her kingdom. “you’re stronger than this. don’t let it get to you.” she's seen too many people react irrationally because of minor inconveniences (jeff), and she would hate to see you deliberately get into trouble because of something as 'simple' as frustration.

•silent presence: if words won’t help, she stays with you until you feel better. if your room is a mess, she'll clean your clothes off the floor, fold, and carry your laundry to the washer while you relax on your bed. she won't let you leave until she's positive you're at least feeling a little better about your situation, and even then, she's by your side for most the day.

•though she can be just as stubborn as anyone else, jane does make a soft admission: “i hate seeing you so upset. tell me how to help.”

•makes some gentle distraction (unlike clockwork): she suggests watching a movie or doing something fun together to lift your spirits. she will likely end up doing your makeup, the two of you on the floor together until your spirits start to rise.

laughing Jack (i hate this motherfucker)

•over-the-top antics because he's just like that, unfortunately. he's a piece of shit, but tries to make you laugh with ridiculous jokes or obnoxious pranks. a for effort, i guess. he's giving it his best shot.

•much like jeff, being a complete dick, there is that aspect of mock concern: “oh no! we must alert the circus of your sorrow!” sarcastic cunt.

•there is some aspect of unexpected sweetness with him, i would think (hope). if you’re genuinely upset, he tones it down and says, “hey, I don’t like seeing you like this.”

•he's crouching down onto his knees as you sit on the edge of your bed, his large, ugly ass hands cupping your face the best he can without shanking you with his gross, long fingers. his thumbs 'gently' rub your cheeks as he let's you breathe your frustration out.

•clownish ass distractions: pulls out a random toy or silly object to cheer you up. from out of fuck-all nowhere, he pulls a doll out from behind its back. it's even more hideous than him, which is difficult. it's stuffing is gruesomely ripped out, instead, packed full with grotesque looking candies. he'll awkwardly discard it on the floor when he sees it's only made your mood worse. what an idiot.

•chaotic energy: “let’s go do something fun! or dangerous! or both!”

•you don't feel like doing anything

•gentle honesty: “i'm not good at this comforting stuff, but I’m here for you.”, even though you already knew that. though the semblance is appreciated.

kagekao

•you're still a victim of playful mockery. "you look adorable when you’re mad. like a tiny storm cloud". he's mocking you while you want to punch him into a smear.

•teasing distractions. he pokes at your cheeks or steals something of yours to make you chase him. he genuinely does not care that you feel murderous tendencies towards him at the moment. it's his life mission to torment you eternally.

•jovial comfort: “don’t worry, i’ll take care of everything. or, at least, pretend I did.”

•surprise gifts. when he knows he's pushed you too far, he will opt to leave you a random (sometimes unsettling) trinket to cheer you up. he knows he's the source of your agitation, so he tries his 'best' to make up for it.

•more lighthearted annoyance. “you know i can’t take you seriously when you’re pouting like that, right?”

•unexpected wisdom from someone who is such a cunt to deal with. “life’s too short to stress over these things. laugh it off.”

•silently lurks nearby until you calm down, offering his silent presence as comfort.

masky

•masky will often show a reluctant concern, not outright admitting he's worried about your fluctuating attitude, but instead inviting you to chat. “what’s wrong now?” his tone is gruff, but he genuinely cares.

•practical help: masky fixes the problem (if possible) without saying much about it; especially when it comes down to it being an issue with anything containing an engine. if you're frustrated by an issue you're having with your vehicle, calmly, he'll tell you to give him the keys, and if he's feeling nice enough, he'll invite you out to hold the flashlight for him. just make sure you keep it steady.

•vaguely annoyed, but supportive: “seriously? you’re upset over that? fine, let’s deal with it.” he's the type to teach you about fixing your own issues, so you'll know how to deal with it next time.

•protective side: “if you need help with this, come to me. you don't need to be going to.. random guys to fix your car."

•he's definitely jealous at the thought of you going to anyone else for help but him.

•silent comfort if it's anything else that physically, he cant fix. he sits near you, not saying a word but making it clear he’s there for you.

•backhanded affection: “you’re too stubborn to let this keep you down, right?” he knows you'll take it as he's doubting you; and that you'll smarten up quick.

•masky gives you grudging hugs. awkwardly, he pulls you into a hug if you’re really upset— often on the porch as he's having a smoke. you'll be sitting on the steps, tucked up to his side. if he feels nice enough- his jacket will end up slung over your shoulders.

slenderman

•i'm going to be flat with you, he does not care.

•but if he did, he would be calm and composed. it doesn’t affect him, so he has no reason to reacf but to calm you down. “you’re letting this get to you? that’s beneath you.” he sounds unamused.

•stoic support. slenderman offers silent reassurance with his unyielding presence. sometimes he's there, sometimes he isn't. but, you always have that lingering feeling of him being close by. it's both comforting and frightening.

•intimidation tactic: “shall i remove the source of your distress?” he’s deadly serious, for the most part.

•he's slightly patronizing. he doesn't really grasp a sense of confliction about this like you do. he doesn't really get why you're making such a fuss over something so blatant. “this is not worth your energy. focus on what truly matters.”

•both helps and frustrates you more. sometimes it's pointless to explain to him.

•..somewhat gentle understanding. if you’re truly distressed, he places a hand on your shoulder and will tell you to excuse yourself from any activities later in the day.

•eerie distraction: creates a serene yet unnerving environment to take your mind off things. the effort is.. there.

•cryptic advice: “all things are temporary. even this feeling.”

ticci toby

•dry sarcasm “wow, the world’s ending because of this. guess we should all panic.” his tone is teasing but not mean-spirited. he just doesn't understand that it's truly bothering you to that extent, until you breakdown to him.

•gentle understanding: “yeah, okay, I get it. sometimes the little stuff just… builds up.” he leans back and listens without pushing you. he knows you're already overwhelmed, and makes it a point to give you some space while still being there.

•subtle comfort. he offers you his jacket or quietly sits beside you, muttering, “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. i'm not going anywhere.” like masky, he keeps you close to his side, whether sitting on a log or walking down the path. he'll encourage you to hold onto his arm.

•toby has a protective streak: “tell me who or what caused this. i’ll take care of it.” his voice is calm, but there’s an edge that means he’s serious. he doesn't like the idea of anyone pushing you around— only he can play around with you like that.

•gounding presence: if you’re spiraling, he places a hand on your shoulder or holds your hand. “breathe, okay? just focus on me for a minute.” too many times he's had to do this by himself. he understands the complications of losing yourself— and if you don't have to go through it alone, he won't allow you to.

•dull humor to lighten the mood. "if it makes you feel better, i've probably done something way stupider than whatever you’re upset about.”

•quiet reassurance: “you’ll get through this. you always do. it’s not as big as it feels right now, i promise.” he speaks softly but firmly, making sure you know he’s in your corner. he always is and will be. he's a bit more gentle than the rest.

[mple-selhnhh]

Μου λένε απόλαυσε το γιατί σύντομα τελειώνει.

Τους λέω ίσως αυτός να είναι ο λόγος που με αγχώνει.

Novel 729, Bloody Hawk - Λίγο ακόμα

[sotc]

the fact that bioware wrote in a line from harding mentioning sera by name about her being part of the inquisition despite the fact that you can choose to not recruit her which effectively overwrites a player's canon and establishes a bioware canon that sera joins the inquisition????? meanwhile zevran cannot even be mentioned by name at all !?!?!?

[thewhumpyprintingpress]

High Stakes and Bloody Business is open for submissions!

Bring out your vampires! For WPP's fourth anthology, we’re looking for stories that involve vampires. Your vampire(s) can be the whumpee, whumper, and/or caretaker. We will also consider stories about vampire-adjacent creatures such as dhampirs, succubi, etc.

Word Count: Up to 17,500 words

For this anthology, we are looking for stories in the following categories:

Micro-fiction: 250 words or less

Flash fiction: 251-1,000 words

Short Story: 1,001-7,499 words

Novelette: 7,500-17,500 words 

Each author can submit one story per category. So for example, you can submit a short story and a micro fiction but you can’t submit two micro fictions. 

Compensation: ebook contributor’s copy, one free paperback OR $10 USD, and discounts on additional paperbacks

50% of proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to charity.

Submissions Open: November 1, 2024

Submissions Close: July 31, 2025

Expected Publication Date: October 2025

Submit here!

The Nitty-Gritty (aka more details about submitting)

Simultaneous submissions: Allowed, but let us know immediately if your story is accepted somewhere else.

Multiple Submissions: One per category. So for example, you can submit a short story and a micro fiction but you can’t submit two micro fictions. 

Reprints: Allowed, but please indicate where your story was originally published. This includes if your story was originally posted on AO3 or Tumblr!

Rights: Nonexclusive worldwide English language electronic and print rights. All copyright remains with the author. A simple contract will be provided.

Compensation: One ebook contributor’s copy, one free paperback OR $10 USD, and discounts on additional paperbacks

Submissions are open to residents of any country.

You must be 18 or older to submit.

No explicit torture of children under the age of 13. No sexual content of characters under the age of 18. No torture or sexual content involving non-sentient animals.  

No fanfiction, for legal reasons. No stories generated partly or in whole by artificial intelligence. 

Formatting: Please submit your story as a Microsoft word document with 12pt, Times New Roman font, double-spaced. Indicate scene breaks with ###.  

Edits: Stories will be lightly edited for spelling and grammar. The content of the story will not be changed, and all edits will be sent to you for approval.