#tw bull skull

[thesilverlock]

Been trying to figure out what on earth C!96 was modeled after fgshjk

After now having the ref sheet, it seems it might may be potentially a bull skull?

Idk how that correlates to the whole Regular No.96 (mouth) and Malicevorous deck (silverware feeding mouth) relation, it might not at all

Could just be more solo. Like leaning into the satanic/demonic ish symbolism of bull skulls － echoing Chaos 96 jumping into that whole “I Am A God” nonsense lmao

Either way, if nothing else it seems like a cool headcanon, so I’m accepting it xD

[cowkillerrr]

Nearly six foot from tip to tip what a massive long horn

[spinnysocks]

my wolf doing the animal version of showing their mate a rock. look at this cool skull, they say

[hmtaxidermy]

Customer brought in this skull for repairs.

When moving, the horns had been removed completely!

After a lil TLC, he’s ready to go home.

[miss-dollette]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is a very big boy.

So, my husband is quite a tall guy (6'4"), so I have first-hand experience of what it's like to be in a totally different atmosphere with a lover. Since Ghost is such a huge guy, I decided to write some little headcanons of what it's like to be so much smaller than him.

Anyway, who else is putting serious overtime at work for Christmas??

TW: Unedited, a little spicy, size kink.

Big boy.

Very, very, VERY big boy.

Big boy, in every way possible.

Requires half an hour of foreplay before getting to the main course. Sometimes, even that's not enough.

Hands so large they could practically wrap around the back of your skull. He'd grabs you there, sometimes, and move your head to face him as he thrusts.

His fingertips can touch the tips of each other when he wraps his fingers around your throat.

Silver scars and sores from war litter his hands, and they're calloused like hell, too. Don't worry, he'll touch you so softly you won't even notice.

His whole hand covers the entire valley of your ass and upper thigh. God forbid he uses his full strength to slap your ass 'cause you won't be surviving.

Muscular but with a layer of fat. This man doesn't miss a meal, and theirs definitely no leftovers for the next day.

Works out like a bull. Before the sun even rises, he's in the backyard, lifting 50 pound/23 kilo dumbells over and over until he's practically dead. Then comes the mini marathon he does every day. By the time you make breakfast, he's already finished his Olympic level workout routine.

Playfully flexes for you when you compliment him.

He can definitely do this to you:

He loves holding both of your hands in his palm.

Veiny forearms that are to drool for. Ugh, seeing him with rolled up sleeves...

Doesn't fit in the shower. Has to lean down to wash his hair because he's practically touching the ceiling.

Has back pain. He will lay on the floor and tell you to walk on his back to soothe his sore muscles.

Would be arrested for attempted murder if he ever tried to do a trust fall with you.

[atoltia]

The Need to Indulge

You arrived with an injury again. Only this time, there's a certain snow-haired man waiting for you when you get home.

In which Sylus buys you groceries and tends to your wounds.

TW: injury, blood, some swearing Tags: hurt/comfort, danger is their love language

Sylus x fem!MC

-0-

You've grown accustomed to the pain.

Being broken over and over and over again, to heal and to mend, to spend days, weeks in the stark white of a hospital room enveloped by the all-surrounding scent of antiseptic just to get up and work the moment you were medically cleared - you were used to that life.

Eight years on the job and you've conditioned your body to suppress it, ignore it. You didn't need it, not when there were Wanderers causing harm to the people you've sworn to protect.

Even if that meant constantly coming home in the dead of night, exhausted, a dull thrum pulsing at the base of your skull as you staggered to your apartment.

Today was particularly bad.

You weren't even supposed to be involved. It was end of shift, and for once you were excited to be able to go home on time for the first time in months. Just get out the door, just get the hell out before you were pulled into another mission.

You managed to get to the train without a hitch, managed to sink into the bench without a blip. A smile tugged at your lips. Maybe tonight would be the right time to eat that tub of ice cream you got over a week ago, maybe you can even start that new show you promised Jenna that you'd watch over three months ago. Maybe you can finally get some decent fucking sleep.

But of course you weren't that lucky.

The cold wave of dread washed over you when your hunter's watch signaled, the incessant beeping heating up your blood so fast it alerted not just you but the people around you.

Alpha Team B requires assistance. All units nearby NH-Zone 7 please respond. Alpha Team B requires assistance. All units nearby NH-Zone 7 please respond. Alpha Team B requires immediate medical assistance.

You racked your brain as you hit the emergency switch on the cart you were on, the sharp wind snapping at your cloak when the window opened enough for you to leap out the moving train as you swore, leaving the Linkon City citizenry gawking. You jumped down from the track and into the busy street and bulled your way through the mass of bodies as you dove deep into your memory as to who the hell was Alpha Team B this week.

Skylar Morrison, age twenty-one. Edward Fleming, age twenty. Cormorant Kurr, age twenty. Rookies straight from the academy. Rookies that had just fucking graduated two months ago. If your memory was correct, there was no team assigned to patrol NH-Zone 7 today and tomorrow, seeing as the association was testing out the new surveillance technology that they've recently acquired.

You glanced up at the sky, ice in your veins as you watched the sunlight slowly fade. If they get stranded there while hurt the moment the light is gone, they'd be dead. If you didn't get to them soon, they'd be dead. From the fast chatter and reports from your watch, you were the closest hunter in the vicinity.

It took you a considerable amount of time to find them, even with the coordinates sent out by your watch every thirty seconds. You were already so deep into the forest that you'd know the medical unit would take a longer time to get there than those on foot. There were medical supplies on your person, as was required by protocol, but you were sure it wasn't enough for three people.

The rapid fire sound of gunshots made you quicken your pace, slowing when the tree line opened up to reveal the violence still occurring. Eyes scanned the scenario, clocking one hunter laying by a smatter of boulders. Bleeding, unmoving. One other hunter stayed by their side, one hand limp as the other barraged three winged Wanderers with bullets. The third one - Fleming, you were sure - was in close combat with another.

Shit.

You didn't have time to think, didn't have time to dwell on it. You unsheathed your sword and got to work.

-0-

It was already dark when you managed to get home.

You didn't track any blood on the floor this time, but only due to the fact that Jenna managed to drag you to the on-site medical unit and ordered your injuries to get cleaned and dressed even though you could do this your damned self once you've gone home and took a shower.

You just wanted the quiet, damn it, just to ease the ringing in your ear that stemmed from hearing your superior officer rip a new one into the three rookie hunters. You were grateful for it though, even if the kids had to take the brunt of it. You knew full well just how scathing Jenna tended to be when her hunters went out of their way to ignore association guidelines and nearly get themselves killed - as well as the fact that it gave you the window you needed to slip out and away before you got shipped to the hospital. You'll just take the hit of her wrath about ignoring protocol tomorrow, after you've passed out cold in the middle of your bed.

The door opened with the soft hum and beep of the fingerprint scanner as a sigh of relief puffed out from you chest. Finally within the confines of your home, finally within your sanctum, with the softness of your bed in reach. You'd take a shower first, of course. No matter how many times you come home half-dead and tired to the bone, cleanliness is a must.

With the shaking of your hands, the tremble of your breath, you slowly, gingerly, took your boots off. Arranged them neatly against the wall alongside your other footwear. The automatic light that you received more than a year ago was dark. Hm, you might have to replace it soon, or at least see if it's just the bulb. You were rather fond of that light, with its silly bird shape. It was something that Jenna got you as a joke for your birthday, before handing you her actual gift. Something to liven up the place, you remember her say. Neither of you expected that you would like it more than just a silly trinket -

Your hands stilled as your breath halted, your once relaxed eyes going into full alert as you reached back for the gun strapped to your thigh. The emptiness that usually met you was gone, the still air that you were accustomed to wasn't there.

This place has been your home for nearly a decade now and you knew it like the back of your hand and would be able to silently navigate it even with the absence of light. Silent as a cat, you kept your position low, legs ready to spring up, your body braced for any assault. Not a peep, not a single pin drop could be heard.

But you didn't dismiss it.

Listen to your gut, that's what you learned through years of experience, the instinct that you polished kept you alive, kept you whole. You weren't about to break that streak now.

Could it be a Wanderer? No. If it was, it would have attacked you by now. A person, then. A person stupid enough to break into the home of a highly trained hunter.

Not wanting to break the stillness, your exhaled. Focused.

When you first entered the academy, you were deemed to be someone that had to be constantly paired with another Evolver. Your evol was meant to be for support, they told you long ago. It would be most useful if you had another person with you.

But that won't do. That won't do at all. Not all hunters had the privilege of going into battle with a partner. You were not going to allow yourself to become a liability.

So you trained, thought of other ways to use your Resonance evol.

And in the darkness of your apartment, you focused your mind and exhaled. A wave, unseen by anyone but you, emerged from you. Reaching out, reaching forth into the shadows, trying to pinpoint any living creature in the room.

It pinged.

The warmth of it surprised you, the initial prickly sensation of the other person's evol slowly enveloped you with a slow, burning heat. A familiar heat that you were damned sure you've resonated with many times before.

You hissed, bracing yourself against the wall from your crouched position as you strapped the gun back in its holster.

"Sylus, what the fuck."

The low rumble from his laugh came from the living room, and even with the absence of light you could see the way his ruby eyes glinted at you with mirth.

It was an interesting display, one that he would be thinking about for a long time. Those eyes of yours that were drowning in exhaustion only moments ago was quick to fade as it flattened, emotionless and alert. The slow, practiced moves of your hands that reached for the weapon, the impressive use of your evol to sense where he was.

He knew you were competent at your job, and to see the evidence of it firsthand always gave him a burst of satisfaction.

Sylus lounged at your sofa, a glass in hand as he regarded you even in the darkness. You sighed and set your lights on ten percent, not needing the harshness of the overhead lights washing over the both of you. You continued your routine, pointedly ignoring the man as you stripped your body of the weapons you always carried and gently placed them on side table by the door just before you peeled your ripped jacket from your body to leave you just in your sleeveless tank, your hands automatically smoothing it out and hanging it on the hook as neatly as it could be.

It was odd, Sylus thought as he watched your body automatically move to keep your items in order, that he found this sort of sensual. The precision of it, the cold methodology of it - there was no deliberate sexuality to your movements, no conscious attempt to make yourself desirable in front of him. There was just a single-minded purpose in your brain right now and it was just to get it done.

It turned him on.

"You could make a show of that, kitten." There was a chuckle in his voice, making you take a glance. The warmth of the low light washed over his features like a blanket, the shadows perfectly highlighting the contours of his face.

He really is beautiful, you thought as you strode to where he sat, face impassive as you bent down, those bruised hands of yours gripping the backrest of the couch to cage him in. You didn't mind playing his games, didn't mind the teasing, the insinuations. The soft, lingering touches he sometimes used in an attempt to scramble your mind was not lost on you. The way he would slink so close to you, so much that you would be able to feel the emanating heat from his body wasn't at all unpleasant - it was nice, even.

You were so close, so close, humming when the the spice and musk of his cologne wafted through your nose. "You should have told me you were coming over," you murmured, mouth hovering over his. It pleased you to see the way his eyes dilated ever so slightly, his fingers that were comfortably resting on his lap twitching to touch, aching to feel you. "I would have made myself look more..." His eyes sharpened onto your lips, the desire evident as you moved them close, mere centimeters apart, about to do something forbidden. "...presentable."

Those large, strong arms whipped forward to grip your waist when you moved back, sharply pulling you in so you fell on his lap. "You're not getting away that easily." There was a groan in his voice, almost an octave lower, reaching, demanding, as those long fingers rubbed gentle circles on your hip.

"If I asked for a kiss," he matched your tone, the low murmuring of his voice a gentle vibration in the air around you as his eyes glinted. "Will you grant it?"

You searched his eyes, smiled. This was a dangerous game, a possibly fatal game. He was so... thrilling, so exciting. You've already sunk yourself lower into his games, played along of your own free will. If the Association knew of your connection to him, they'd have you hunted with no mercy.

But he was just so warm. And no matter how much his life differed from yours, no matter how much his past deeds was a dark smear compared to yours, you knew that he wasn't a liar. Not once, in all of the months you've... rendezvoused with him, has he ever harmed you except for the first few days of your meeting.

And was it so wrong to want someone like him? To have a man like him want you? To have his strong hands on you? To possess, to be possessed, to be coveted? It's been so long since you've been intimate with someone, been so long to have had someone want you and never in the way that he does.

He gave you moments of respite, whether it be here or in the N109 Zone. And that's what you wanted, right? You wanted time, you wanted rest, you just wanted to goddamn sleep.

You traced a finger down his cheek, rubbed under the hallow of his eye, smiled as you pushed away from him to stand.

And immediately felt the wave of exhaustion hit you.

He was behind you in a heartbeat in a shower of feathers, the energy of his evol radiating off of him in a steady thrum, that simple and pure strength of him held you up as you drifted away for a second. You blinked as your senses flooded back into you, huffed a breath when you noticed his hands gripping protectively at your waist. You smiled.

In a blink of an eye, you whirled in a speed that even he didn't account for. Even as your muscles screamed, you had your face upturned to his, the blade that was hidden in your belt nicking the skin of his neck.

He regarded you, amused, as his hands still palmed your hips. Sylus definitely understood your reputation wasn't just for show, even when he felt warm liquid drip from where your knife pointed at his throat.

"You're so gosh darn pretty," you murmured when he said nothing, your other hand carding through his snow-white hair, your other letting go of the blade, letting it fall on to the floor with a soft thud just so you could wipe the thin line of blood that dripped. He swayed you, his chest vibrating as he purred a soft tune as you tilted your face up, up, and pressed a soft kiss on the wound. "This one should do it."

You slithered away from his grasp, grinned as you ambled towards the bedroom, leaving him standing in the middle of your living room with a smirk on his face.

He watched you pitter patter around yet only the barest of sounds could be heard, and Sylus was sure it was because of his own training that he could even hear you. You were definitely interesting, quite unlike the people he's had dealings with before. And definitely more amusing that some common grunt.

Sylus strode past to follow only to stop when your phone beeped once, twice, three times, the screen lighting up to show a simple reminder: 10:00 PM Eat Food. He frowned as he picked up the phone, sighed when your calendar showed that reminder set to everyday.

He's been in your apartment for several hours already, so much so that he finished quite a bit of work and managed to get an afternoon nap while he waited for you. You stopped questioning how he got through your biometric lock, at this point you don't even care.

He did some snooping, of course he would. Sylus didn't rifle through any of your drawers nor any papers that laid in neat stacks on one of your bookshelves, but he did check the titles of your books, how you arranged your furniture, the things in your refrigerator and cupboards.

He was not at all impressed.

Multipacks of nutrition jelly and economy packs of energy bars dominated your fridge, neatly stacked at the far corner alongside bottles of water and energy drinks. There were fruit cups, at least, but still it didn't and couldn't justify the amount of artificial sustenance you were consuming for your daily intake of nutrients. Beside the fridge were bottles of vitamin supplements, one nearly empty.

It should be alright now as he ordered Luke and Kieran to get you supplies and groceries that could at the very least last you several months. Your cupboards that used to be devoid of anything but dust were now cleaned and filled with grains, rice, pasta, spices, and tinned food that cost more than half a month of your salary. Both dried and fresh fruit were now part of your inventory, as well as other non-perishables.

Eggs, bread, cured and fresh meats, vegetables - anything that you could possibly need for proper nourishment now packed your kitchen, barring any of your allergies that he was aware of. He was aware of your habits, watched you fumble through your apartment day in and day out through Mephisto's eyes and not a single day has past that he hadn't felt the need stop himself from just plucking you up from Linkon City and making you live with him instead.

With all the things he wanted to do with you at first, the amount of luxuries that he wanted to pile on top of you, right now the dominated desire that enveloped him was to make sure you were fed.

And that was a challenge already.

It wasn't that you wanted him to worry. It was just you didn't have the time. The energy you could use to cook could be used to cleaning your weapons and the sooner you could drag yourself to bed, the better.

But still, you didn't like the way he looked at you whenever you meet and you've spent another two days awake, didn't like the way he would hover when he felt like you weren't eating properly. Oh he stilled teased you, still provoked you, but beneath it all there was an underlying concern that you just didn't have the energy to push away.

The hot spray of water was a relief, as proved by the groan that left you when you felt the blood and grime wash away from your battered body. You looked down, hissed at the sight of the gash that ran from your hip to your stomach. It wasn't deep enough to be concerning, but you knew you had to get it cleaned and dressed quickly.

You washed, let the warmth of the water soak in your bones, before you stepped out and dried yourself off. As you thought, your left arm and half of your torso were already blooming with bruises. Well, you chuckled to yourself, at least your face was unscathed this time.

With a hum you put on your underwear and strode towards the medicine cabinet, listing off all the supplies you knew you would need.

"Fuck," you hissed. You ran out of bandages.

You closed your eyes, slowed your breathing as you thought of a possible solution to this. You could just go out and buy some, but the nearest convenience store didn't even sell the type of bandages that you needed. Not to mention that you could just aggravate it more and possibly get it infected.

But Sylus... Sylus was here. Maybe you could -

Hm. It was worth a shot.

You stood, firmly secured the towel over your chest as you peeked out the door, tilted your head to the side at the sight of him wearing your summer yellow apron with tiny embroidered flowers over his expensive shirt, his capable hands tossing what looked to be pasta on the pan. This was not something that you quite expected, but he looked so cute to your that you couldn't help but lean against the doorjamb as you were enthralled by this sudden act of domesticity from the leader of Onychinus.

And yet.

The stinging at your side made you inhale sharply before sighing. It needed to be dealt with now.

"Sylus." Your voice was soft, just above a whisper, but it was enough to make him turn. It amused you when he raised his brow, those sharp eyes of his wandering from your face, to your bare chest, to your legs.

"Sweetie," he said as he set the finished pasta aside. "If you're trying to lure me to bed, you're going to succeed."

Your laugh drew a smile out of him as he took a few steps towards you, his arms folded over his wide chest. "So?" There was curiosity in his eyes, just above the simmering heat. "Was there anything that you needed?"

You stayed by the door, your hair falling to the side of your face as you tilted your head once more. There's no beating around the bush with this man, so there's no point in playing coy. Especially since you might get yourself in an even worse position that could medically incapacitate you for a few days. Or worse, be medically incapacitated for a few days at the hospital.

So.

"Could you use your evol to stitch me up?"

There was an unreadableness to his face, one that you've seen only a few times before. He just stood there, still as a statue, the only change to his expression was the furrowing of his brow.

"Show me."

If you didn't spend a long time trying to decipher this man, you would have missed the slight hitch, the small change in inflection in his low voice at the command. You reached out, took his hand into yours, and pulled him into the bedroom.

Sylus didn't wander in here while you were gone, preferring to do so while in your presence. Your bedroom wasn't all that different to the rest of your apartment. A bit sparse, but not Spartan in decoration. Although the place leaned more towards function over aesthetics, there were little nick knacks that popped out in their tidy, little spaces. Small figurines dotted your bookshelf, soft plushies placed neatly on various tables and furniture. Pictures of you and what he assumed as your captain, Jenna, and a few of your colleagues rested on a table next to your bed.

He sat on the edge of your bed, his hands folded neatly over his lap, tapping as he watched you slide the towel off of your still damp body, your calloused yet gentle hands folding it with practiced ease and placing it next to you as you sat. You peered at him, muffled a laugh when you saw him shamelessly studying your nude torso.

"Like what you see?"

"Hm." His eyes were sharp as they regarded you, regarded the strength that showed in your physicality, the gorgeous swell of your chest, the stray water droplet that fell from your bruised shoulder down your arm. And zeroed in on that massive slash, still red and puffy, on your side.

"I didn't know we were already at that stage where you would show me your body without my prompting."

"Please," there was mock derision in your voice. "You've already seen my tits when we got linked. Don't tell me the incredibly intelligent leader of Onychinus already forgot what they looked like?" There was a grin on his mouth but the laughter didn't reach his eyes. You didn't like that one bit. "Sylus." You reached over, cupped his face. "I'm okay."

"It's going to hurt." His voice was so soft, so tender as he leaned into your touch. The gruff elegance that always seemed to exude from him was gone in this moment, wherein focused contemplation reigned instead.

"I know."

Your eyes locked for a moment, and then another, and another, before he yielded. Taking your hand on his cheek, he pulled you closer and rested your head on his shoulder. "If you need to bite something, just bite my shoulder."

"I don't think this is the time for your kinks, Sylus."

"Sweetheart, we all have to get our fun somehow."

You laughed as you leaned into his touched, the scent of his cologne sending comfort throughout your body. "Go ahead."

Those gentle fingers of his trailed your skin, heat following wherever it went. It wasn't so bad, it was almost like droplets of the hot water you used for your morning coffee, feathering over your bruises as if kissing away the wounds.

But the heat quickly turned into a sharp flame, searing, slowly searing into you as you felt you skin stretch, connect, stitch itself within itself before dissipating into particles of red ash.

You didn't see how much Sylus was monitoring your breathing, searching for any minute reaction that you could be doing to hide your pain from him. With a click of his tongue, he pulled you back, those beautiful carmine eyes of his burning into yours.

"Darling," there was a warning edge to his tone as the black and red ink of his evol swirled around you. "Talk to me."

But you weren't afraid, weren't at all in pain. You bumped your nose to his chin. Smiled. "Keep going."

You could see how much he wanted to stop, how much he wanted to just swaddle you in his arms. There was a tightness in your jaw, a twitch in your eye, your fingers clamping onto his thigh.

And still, you kissed his neck, to comfort him more than for your own benefit.

"Sweetie," his voice was rough as he massaged your leg. "Most people would be screaming."

"I'm not most people now, am I?"

"Now I'm not quite sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing." But he kept going.

It was quicker, much quicker once he's gauged your pain tolerance. Every single mark and injury that marred your skin scattered to ash, to nothingness. The stinging that annoyed you during your trek back from the forest was gone. Both of you sighed.

"Thanks, Sy."

"Don't ever ask me to do that again."

There was a petulance in his voice, a deep annoyance that was more than irritation, leaned more towards fear. Your lips met his in a quiet apology. "No promises."

He clicked his tongue as he shook his head at you, those wide shoulders shrugging in temporary defeat. "You will be the death of me."

"Oh yes," there was an innocence in your voice, one that was met with a snort. You pushed yourself from your seated position on the bed and sat on his lap, not minding the way your legs straddled over him. You cradled his face, massaged his scalped, stared deeply into his eyes. "If you are going to die," you whispered, your lips once again hovering over his luscious ones. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to give in. To give yourself to him. "It's because I've killed you slowly." Fingers traced his bottom lip, the curve of his chin. "Thoroughly." A kiss to his well-defined nose. "Because you are my quarry, as I am yours. Do you understand?"

Sylus' eyes shined like polished rubies and you swear you could hear the hammering of his heart even when his face gave away nothing.

He gripped the back of your neck, caressed the base of your skull as he cocked his head. Smirked wickedly. "I agree to those terms."

"Good." And before he could do anything else, because the bastard would definitely do something else, you maneuvered yourself out of his grasp and into the kitchen in one swift, playful move. "Food's getting cold."

Your laugh tinkled out when you moved away from his reach, winking at him when he just watched you saunter away.

Oh he'll accept the loss this time. Next time, however, he's not going to let you off that easily.

From the confines of your closet, he quickly grabbed one of your nightshirts and followed you out the door.

--

Check out my other Sylus fics here!

Also please send me ideas, I am running out lmao (｡•́︿•̀｡)

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 4

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samojede (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts and personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; slow-burnish; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff/domesticity; humour; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

Whenever Simon spares you a glance to remind himself that this new and strange arrangement is real, he finds you staring right back at him somehow.

Always making eye contact; holding his unwavering gaze with a silent expectation that makes his chest feel tight and his brain go numb, grappling for answers. Multiple times he's caught himself biting the tip of his tongue harshly to refrain himself from barking “What?” at you, demanding an answer in exchange for his cluelessness: What do you want from me?

He's building a mountain of expectations in his mind involuntarily while lacking the gear and a strategy in how to climb it properly. It's too high, and he knows he can never reach the top unscathed.

How can he possibly take care of you if he can barely take care of himself outside of what is required of him? He keeps himself fit, alive, able to function, always ready to follow an order and go in for the kill. That’s what he knows, what he’s comfortable with, but this?

Simon doesn't play house, doesn't know how to handle something so... domestic and delicate. He never experienced it growing up, never witnessed normalcy. If he would care about such things now, he’d have a wife or something akin to one, but he doesn’t–never even had a partner before, never bothered to believe himself fit for dating, for letting someone in like this.

Even the soft clothes you're wearing make him recoil; pastel colours having the opposite effect of red to a bull–so odd and out of place to him, and he knows the callouses on his fingers would simply catch on the fabric if he were ever to reach out to you for whatever reason, like a sheep’s fine wool catching on a thorn brush, scratching and tearing.

“What would you like for dinner?”

Simon blinks twice, thrice, before the question comes through his thick skull, vision slowly clearing despite him having stared at you for the past minutes while you were sitting on his couch patiently the whole time, eager as ever now that he willingly took you back to his flat again.

Why did you even sign the handlership without knowing him at all beforehand? Are you really that oblivious? That naïve? Or did the brass coax you into signing it?

“Simon?”

The way you keep saying his name so casually, makes his chest ache, makes him inhale sharply each time. What would he like for dinner? It should be such a simple question, but it seems like a puzzle to him–a thousand pieces, all in the same bloody colour.

“Why? Ya offering to cook for me, lass?” He snorts humourlessly. It's ridiculous. No one cooks for him unless he goes to the mess hall to get some grub.

“Of course, I'd love to!” You answer immediately, flashing a genuine smile. His eyes flicker to your tail when it starts to wag again and he curls his lips under his mask. Isn't he supposed to take care of you? What even is this bloody handlership? His brows draw together quizzically, making that deep crease reappear between them. Perhaps he should’ve read it before putting his signature on the damn paper.

Then he sighs in resignation. “Do whatever you want, just stay out of my room,” he replies and makes a half-hearted gesture towards the kitchen. “Not sure wha’s in the fridge. Been a few days since I went to the store,” he admits begrudgingly, kissing his teeth in annoyance when his stomach grumbles.

“Well then,” you say tentatively, tail stilling on the couch, “–why don't we go shopping for groceries?”

It’s already late afternoon, when Simon pulls up to the parking lot in front of the local supermarket in town with a truck he borrowed on base, deciding it’s better for his own nerves to take you somewhere else but the stores they have on base. He just can’t bring himself to keep you on a leash around his peers, to parade you around wearing a pink collar around your neck with his rank and military ID number stitched into its leather–a ‘gift’ from the bloody gift basket Price had delivered to his flat along with the initial shock of your presence.

And, by god, he wants to drop the leash and run in the other direction as soon as the automatic sliding doors swoosh open and his boots step foot into the store with you in tow–a red shopping basket clutched in his other hand.

What an absurd picture it must be to other shopgoers–a behemoth with a skull mask and cargo pants buying veggies and snacks with a gorgeous hybrid woman on a pink leash and matching collar. Kinky, he muses unintentionally and grits his teeth, cringing at his own stupid thought. It’s then and there Simon decides to murder Price next chance he gets.

“Mummy, look!” A toddler exclaims, pointing at you as he peeks his head into the produce aisle. Simon’s eyebrow raises beneath his mask as the little boy approaches shyly, his wide eyes fixated on you. Civilians, especially kids and women, usually avoid him like the plague whenever he’s out and about in public, looking like, well–himself.

“Hello there,” you coo at the toddler, crouching down to his level while Simon keeps as much distance as the leash allows him to, knowing better than to interfere. “Are you looking for your mama?” You ask attentively, ears twitching as you look past the boy, already searching for his parents.

The boy shakes his head with a big smile, rocking on his feet. “Nu-uh, she’s–”

“Noah!” The frantic voice of a woman calls out. “I told you to stay by–” Her eyes widen, steps faltering briefly as she catches sight of Simon, who has already anticipated the reaction, slumping his shoulders to try and make himself look smaller, less threatening.

“He’s okay,” you chime in swiftly, straightening up to be on eye-level with Noah’s mother. “We were about to help him look for you, madam,” you assure her, and the boy giggles when you ruffle his brown unruly curls briefly. “Isn’t that right, big man?”

The conversation fades into the background just like Simon’s whole presence seemingly does as you go on to hold a friendly and effortless conversation with the mother and her son. Meanwhile, Simon doesn’t quite remember the last time someone approached him so casually and jovially, and he gets lost in his own rotten mind with flashbacks of the past again–seeing the ghosts of Beth and Joseph in these strangers in front of him, and his heart is gripped by icy tendrils of grief and melancholy until your laugh breaks through the vision, pulling him back to reality at once.

“Oh, no worries! I’m sure it is strange to see someone like me in a quaint town like this,” you chuckle softly, giving a small wave with your hand while Simon’s pale lashes flutter as he tries to follow the conversation once more after what he’s missed. He notices how the toddler is giggling, petting and hugging your fluffy tail while you continue talking to his mum like it’s nothing unordinary. “But working for the military has brought me to the strangest places where hybrids are either a common occurrence or completely rare and more like a myth,” you explain patiently.

And the woman smiles coyly, already smitten with your charms. “Well, you certainly are a looker if I dare say so, miss.”

Once Alice, as she'd introduced herself, and Noah go about their own shopping, Simon catches the odd look on your face, something akin to sadness or longing hidden behind your smile, before you rapidly blink it away as a grumpy-looking elderly man approaches you, asking for help as if you'd know your way around while Simon groans internally, already despising all the attention.

You really do turn heads in a rather positive way if you manage to make the most grumpy old geezer smile in a heartbeat.

“You always this chipper?” He gruffs as he watches you add a pound of butter and coffee creamer to the overflowing basket, not that he'd care about that. You've been nothing but mindful of prices and proper nourishment while strolling through the aisles.

“Hm?” Simon snorts, in amusement this time. There's no way you didn't hear him; he saw your plush left ear swivel in his direction. “Ya heard me jus’ fine, lass.” He mutters, grabbing a box of his favourite biscuits as he walks past them and shoving them in between the other goodies, feeling like a child sneaking candy into their parent's shopping cart.

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, keeping your eyes trained on the shelves with different brands of toast before grabbing a packaged loaf. “I guess I am.” Then you stop, glancing up at him over your shoulder, and Simon nearly bumps into you. “You don't like people coming up to us to chat?”

Simon's brows furrow. Us? “They wanna talk you, not me. 'm basically–” He shrugs, making a vague gesture at himself as the leash clinks in his hand.

“A Ghost?” You quip, beaming at your little joke while your tail swishes proudly.

“Right,” Simon huffs quietly. “Smooth.”

He's rather thankful for his balaclava as he continues trotting after you through the store, hiding the tiniest crack of a smile underneath the black cloth.

There’s a match on the telly, an ice cold bottle of his favourite ale on the coffee table on a coaster he didn’t even know he owned, though all Simon can really focus on is this bizarre situation he finds himself watching as you go about doing your own thing in his kitchen.

It’s almost mesmerizing, the way you rummage through the cupboards and drawers, taking out pots and bowls to your liking as if you own the place already, preparing a side salad while the steaks sizzle in the pan–all while you’re wearing that frilly, pale pink apron that you’d fetched from your suitcase earlier, the one that makes Simon wonder if one of your previous handlers is responsible for your peculiar wardrobe, or if pink simply happens to be your favourite colour.

He takes an absentminded sip of his drink when another thought pops into his head: What if you wear all of this hyper-feminine bollocks because people forced you to like it? What if they manipulated you into enjoying stuff to state their own perverted fantasies? Would you rather wear something else?

And Simon imagines it briefly–you wearing something cosy, perhaps one of his hoodies that would most likely swallow you whole. He takes another swing of ale and his nose wrinkles, though it’s not the bitterness making him squinch.

“Dinner is ready in five,” you croon suddenly, popping your head into the living room from the kitchen as the savoury aroma of steak and chips wafts through the flat, engulfing the usually sparse space like a warm, comforting blanket.

With a soft groan and a cracking knee, Simon gets up from his seat on the couch. The least he can do is set the table.

@lucienofthelakes @kakashiislut @jggykhug09090 @edgarapoecolouredglasses @kerst666 @whos-fran @d1zzy-r1v3rs @userinaliel666 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @vmaxis @tessakate @dneicjefx @sushiumex @yourfavreggie @cmbghost @brokexintroverted @mysterygrl555 @bunnybeaches @fmlmf @teapartydreams @nachofriess @slut-lmao @sweetnanah @kodzukenwhore @thefutureastronaut @arael-asuka @oliver-1270

[starlit-writer]

the kindest devil, pt. 2 - simon riley x fem!reader

This is your dead dove: do not eat warning. This second part deals with incredibly hard, graphic topics. tw: murder, familial violence, fauxcest, gore, smut, implied sexual abuse from an authority figure, and just general dark themes. it is also worth noting that both Simon and reader are aged down (18 year olds in their last year of high school) THIS IS AN 18+ FIC. there is explicit sexual content in this part. please do not read if this will be harmful to your mental health. that is more important to me than anything else.

listen, the brain worms took over. this was supposed to be a quick little one-shot drabble but the brainworms demanded a sacrifice and it devolved into this. but seriously, do not read if dark themes are triggering to you or if you are not in the right headspace. unbeta'd, bc we die like phil real men. thanks for reading!

pt. 1 here

word count: 2149 masterlist ao3 link

The bullet was earth-shatteringly loud as it ricocheted off the wall and grazed Simon’s thigh. His yell of pain, of rage, that sounded in your ear felt like a nuclear bomb going off. As Simon rolled off of you, you sat up on your elbows, feeling dazed and confused. That’s when your gaze fell on Phil. His cheeks were ruddy and swollen, his eyes were unfocused, hazed over with alcohol. But, in his shaking hand, was a gun. Simon was standing in front of Phill now, his hand clutching at his thigh. You glanced down at the wound and watched as thick arterial blood poured out of Simon’s thigh, painting the light blue jeans he was wearing with the sticky redness. Simon’s breath came out in ragged puffs, his eyes narrowed and filled with rage - he looked like a bull, and Phil was waving the red flag.

“You two have always been fuckin’ disgusting. That’s why I started fuckin’ her, you know that, right? I started fucking her because I wanted her to grow up and be normal, not craving her brother's cock,” Phil spat out, glaring between you and Simon. Quickly, you glanced away, feeling nauseous at Phil’s words as heat coated your cheeks, the blush matching the blood blooming down Simon’s jeans. It didn’t matter how untrue you knew the words were, that you and Simon weren’t truly siblings, it didn’t matter in Phil’s eyes. In the eyes of society.

Before you could blink, let alone formulate a response, Simon was lunging at him. He knocked Phil to the ground, the mass of the two men hitting the ground enough to make the ground shake. Simon looked absolutely vicious as he started throwing punches. His eyes gleamed with a murderous rage that you had never seen before. It didn’t take long for the crack of a broken nose to sound through the room, blood pouring down Phil’s face. Phil’s reaction time was slowed from the alcohol flowing through his head, but you watched as he raised the butt of the gun, the matte black back strap of the gun catching in the light as he attempted to crack it down on Simon’s skull. Simon, with his ever-keen senses, felt the movement, and quickly knocked the gun out of Phil’s hands.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ talk about her like that again! She never deserved what you did to her, and, for the record, neither did I!” Simon raged as his hands shoved at Phil’s chest. Tears were streaming down Simon’s face, droplets of grief mixed with rage to form a dizzying concoction of conflicting emotions, mixing with blood that had gotten smeared there. Who knew whose blood it was at this point.

But Simon’s words were little more than background static to you as you watched the gun spin to a halt in front of you. You could save Simon and yourself from the abuse - you could set the both of you free.

It took less than a second to make your decision.

You jumped off of the bed, but at this point neither of the men were paying attention to you. With shaking hands, you picked up the gun. You didn’t even say anything. You aimed the way that you had been taught, and you squeezed the trigger. As soon as the trigger was pulled, you looked away, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt the viscera of what was once Phil’s skull land on your skin.

What felt like hours passed, but logically, you knew it couldn’t have been more than seconds. Simon’s hands were still coated in gore as his hands grabbed onto yours, removing the gun gingerly from your shaking grasp. He dropped the gun on the ground and kicked it away before his hands came back up to your cheeks, forcing your gaze to meet his warm brown one.

All you could think about was the pieces of skull, brain matter, and blood coating his fingers as he touched you.

“I- I had to,” you whispered, your voice shaking as your eyes darted wildly between his, almost as if you were seeking forgiveness from a god.

“I know,” he replied simply, his fingers digging into your cheeks ever so slightly, desperately trying to keep you grounded. You were in shock, your body trembling under Simon’s touch. Your eyes were darting desperately between his. You felt untethered, your body going hot and cold and hot and cold and hot and cold in a nauseating cycle.

Simon sighed softly as he watched you start to disassociate. His hands slipped down from your cheeks, down your shoulders, your arms, until finally they came to rest on your hips, leaving streaky trails of blood and brain matter all over your body. He hauled you against him so that no space was left between you, and did the only thing that he could think of to keep you from going off the deep end, from completely getting lost in what you just did.

His lips met yours in a fury. It was all teeth and tongue, Simon licking desperately into your mouth in a vain attempt to distract you. When you didn’t melt into him like you normally did, a short growl left his throat as his hands dipped beneath his sweatshirt that covered your body, his blunt nails digging into the flesh covering your soft hips as he continued to kiss you.

“Baby, c’mon. Focus on me, love. Just on me,” he muttered between kisses, desperation coating his tone. It wasn’t until he bit your lip, your own blood bursting into your mouth as he bit just a little too hard that you gasped, your shaking arms coming up to wrap around his neck. Simon grins a little sadistically against your lips. “‘Atta girl, there’s my pretty angel, huh?”

You whimpered out an affirmative as Simon picked up and pressed you into the wall, the plaster sticky and bumpy from the gorey spray of the bulletwound. But, with Simon’s hands dipping beneath the waistband of your leggings as he pressed you into it, it was hard to focus on anything but the skipping drag of his bloodied fingers as they skated across your smooth skin.

He was still kissing you, as if his lips alone could absolve you of all of the sin you had just committed. His fingers dipped lower, lower, lower until the rough pad of his thumb swept over the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex. Your back arched off the wall, the sweatshirt making a noise similar to tape ripping off of paper as it pulled against the quickly-drying scarlet and pink decorating the plaster. Simon smirked, bringing his face down to mouth at your neck. “That’s it, baby. I’ve got you. You’re okay. Just focus on me,” he whispered between kisses and bites.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your head coming back to rest against the wall as his hands continued their warpath of distraction across your body. His thumb refused to let up against your clit, and between the adrenaline, the kisses on your neck, the whispered words of praise, and the perfect pressure against your sensitive bud, it wasn’t long before you were tumbling over the edge. You pushed at Simon weakly, trying to move him off of you as tears started to form in the corner of your eyes, but Simon shook his head. “No, no, love. You’re okay. No tears, no tears. Keep your eyes on me, pretty girl, and tell me what you need, yeah?” Simon mutters, bringing his hand up to your cheek and wiping a tear away, smearing bloody gore mixed with your fluid across your cheek.

Your mind was reeling, but Simon kept your focus entirely on him. Your entire existence boiled down to this exact moment, with Simon in front of you, your cunt still spasming from his ministrations, and all you could reply with was: “you. I need- I need you. Please, please, Si. Let me have you.”

So, Simon did. With a devilish smirk, he pressed one knee against your core and kept one hand on your hip to keep you pinned in place, as his other hand tugged at his belt and the fly of his jeans. You heard the clink of the metal as he pulled his belt apart, the sharp grinding noise of his fly being opened quickly following it before he was pushing his boxers down just enough to free his cock. Then, his hands were quickly tugging down the waistband of your panties and leggings, pulling them down just enough to allow your cunt to meet the cool air.

You glanced down at him as he ran his own hand up and down his own length a few times. You watched as the unholy combination of blood, viscera, and your own slick mixed together around the head of his cock as he continued to jack himself off. Something was wrong with you. Something had to be wrong with you, because no normal or sane human being would have heat curling in their stomach at this sight. But you did.

You didn’t have long to think about the implications of this though, as Simon glanced up at you, that signature cocky smirk plastered on his plush lips as he leaned his hips forward, the head of his cock nudging against your clit. “So. Fuckin’. Perfect for me, angel. Such a good girl for me. Such a perfect cunt,” Simon praised as he ran the head of his cock up and down your slit a few times. This was one of his favorite parts about fucking you - watching your face contort as he teased you, the way the wanton moans fell obscenely and unabashedly from your lips.

Without warning, he pushed into your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your pulsating walls. You were tight, the adrenaline ensuring that Simon would have to work to fuck you properly. He groaned and leaned his forehead onto your shoulder as your nails scratched down his back. You were babbling nonsense from above him, and he lifted his head slightly to seal his lips over yours. “Shhh, baby, shhh,” he crooned against your lips. “It’s okay, I got you. Relax for me, love. Go ahead, use those pretty little fingers to circle that perfect clit for me, huh? Help me fuck you, baby.”

It was all you could do to obey. Your fingers skated down the blood and gore that covered your body from the wall and Simon’s touch until they reached your aching clit, and you did exactly as he asked. You moaned, the sound an obscene warmth that settled right over Simon’s ego, and he grinned against your lips. “There you go, angel. That’s it. Let me in that perfect fuckin’ pussy, huh?”

Simon quickly shifted your hips against the wall, pulling them further towards him for a better angle, and loud groan punched past his lips as he finally bottomed out.

But it wasn’t enough for you. Not right now, not after all of this. You didn’t have time for soft, for slow, for gentle. You needed Simon to make you forget.

“Simon,” you gasped out. “I need- I need you to move. Please, please, please, fuck me, baby, fuck me. Make me yours.”

A small gasp of surprise left Simon, but what was he supposed to do, deny you? So, he just nodded, and set a punishing pace, his heavy balls slapping your ass repeatedly, the force of his thrusts pushing you further up the wall.

“This what you needed, love? To get so fuckin’ cockdrunk off of me that you can forget everything, hmmm? I got you, angel, I’ll make you forget,” he growls out against the skin of your throat, his teeth catching on the delicate flesh.

It doesn’t take long before you are tumbling over the edge again, your fingers and his cock making you see stars for the briefest of moments before the adrenaline and taboo pleasure of falling apart on Simon’s cock caused you to fully black out, your twitching cunt still spread open over Simon’s cock.

You came to a few minutes (seconds? hours? days?) later, wrapped up in Simon’s arms. You blinked in confusion, not understanding why there was so much wetness all around you. It wasn’t until you felt Simon’s hands in your hair, massaging floral-scented bubbles into the strands that you realized what was happening. He had brought you into the shower to clean you off. You couldn’t bring yourself to look down at the drain, to watch the deep red of Phil and Simon’s blood circle the drain.

As Simon noticed that you had fully came to, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead with a muttered promise. I’m gonna take you far away from here.

[silly-inky]

Luigi beats Bowser's Ass

So I came up with this scenario in my head while daydreaming, @skulls-soul told me it would be a good idea to share it. Do forgive me for any poor writing I'm not used to describing/ writing fight scenes

TW // violence, Minor descriptions of blood, mention of swords

Bowser is fighting Mario and all out and Bowser is determined not to loose this time. Mario mostly has the fight under control when out of no where He gets hit by Bowser's tail and Smacked into a wall, this knocks him out and causes his head and nose to bleed which sends Luigi into panic mode.

Luigi was getting Peach free from her cage while Mario was battling Bowser. Luigi sent her to go check on Mario so he could go over and fend Bowser off. Bowser ends up knocking a pillar over to try and crush the defensless Mario, unaware Peach had rushed over there to help him out. Thankfully Luigi was quick on his feet and used his powerup to make himself bigger, he then drop kicks the pillar so It would fall a little ways away from them with a thunderous crash, cracking the stone floor Beneath them.

Now Luigi was Pissed. Bowser tried to crush not only Mario but Peach as well, he didn't care he didn't mean to harm Peach, but he still wanted to kill Mario and it would have ended up crushing both of them if he didn't act fast enough.

Luigi turns to Bowser fury in his eyes, the true definition of death stare. Bowser was distracted, still a little taken aback by the fact he almost actually hurt Peach, so he was late to process that the green plumber had just boosted himself towards his head, he had jumped from wall to pillar to any other surface he could use to eventually launch himself at the massive behemoth himself.

He Strikes Bowser right in the nose to disorientate him as he results himself to land on the turtles shoulder to steady himself, grabbing onto both of Bowser's horns like a bull rider. Bowser growls as he tries to get Luigi off of him but is unable to grab ahold of the man, but he was to fast. Luigi leaps off of Bowser's shoulder, horns still gripped firmly in his hands, with enough force to throw the King forwards and body slam him making the floor rumble and stone rattle and crack as dust fell from the ceiling, if it wasn't for the fact he had seen his brother do this so many times before, he would have assumed the floor was about to give way.

Bowser was laying on the floor for a moment before Luigi grabs hold of his tail and swings him around, throwing him into a wall just a he did to his brother, however he ended up going straight through the wall forcing and Luigi follows quickly after him.

Bowser's troops were outside the exterior of the castle so as Luigi is making his way towards Bowser he now had to fight of the guards, which he does with ease at this point. He headbutts, kicks, dodges and punches his way through them, at one point he's surrounded by so many he waits until they are all close together in a tight crowd before he grabs a few of them and uses his Thunder hand, schocking all of them. This doesn't kill them, but it did leave them incapacitated for the time being.

After he deals with them he returns his attention to Bowser who is starting to get back up, albeit winded. Luigi runs up and kicks him in the gut knocking him onto his side, using one of the guards shields laying on the floor to shield himself from the fire Bowser spews out in an effort to stop Luigi and defend himself. The flames licked at the edges of shield, watching as the metal slowly began to glow red from the heat, but it did its job well at protecting the plumber, by some miracle the metal didn't burn Luigi.

Luigi keeps wailing on Bowser to the point he doesn't try to get up anymore, he waits until enough of his strength returns to throw him off. And when he does it just pisses Luigi off more. Luigi grabs a sword from another guard he landed near and charges towards Bowser. He uses his Thunder hand to shock him enough to put him on the ground again.

Luigi climbs on top of him and is screaming at the top of his lungs as he holds the sword high above his head glistening in the shine of the lava around them as he planning on swinging it down on Bowser's head. Bowser has genuine fear plastered across his bloodied face as all he can do is stare and watch as this once very meek plumber was about to kill him. Everyone watches on, the guards that have come back to consciousness can only look on, and Peach looks on in horror from the other room. Was Luigi really about to kill Bowser? No.

Luigi screams again and as he brings the sword down Bowser closes his eyes, waiting for the metal to slice through his scales and flesh. Then he hears the clanging of metal next to his head. He's almost to scared to open his eyes until he just hears Luigi's harsh and heavy breathing. He opens his eyes to see Luigi still stood above him on his chest, but no sword in hand. He was seething, but he was also scared. Luigi got off of Bowser and walked back towards Peach and Mario, still trying to control his own breathing, but before leaving Bowser he said "please don't make me do this again." and then walks off to go help Peach and Mario. Bowser doesn't chase after them, he only watches, his eye's never leaving Luigi as he helped his brother stand up, his right arm swung around Luigi's shoulders while his left was swung around Peach's.

How come he has never seen this side of Luigi before? He can't decide if he wants to fight him again, or not to test the man in fear, what if next time he didn't throw away that sword. He took the blade that was left laying on the ground next to his head in his hand. He almost killed him.

[georgierre]

for the goretober prompts, 12 + george, please?

send me a horror prompt + george and maybe i'll write it !

12 ; sacrifice + george

tw: murder, horror, blood

it is in between the day and the night, and george stands firm under the geometric steel and aluminum of the statuesque bull.

it tells him one of two things. one: you crashed earlier. the engine of your teammate failed at the worst corner, and somehow, marcus also failed to tell you it was up ahead. pathetic. incompetent. two: the paddock murmurs sweet things. george, perceptive and keen, hears them all. they're booting checo if he doesn't finish top five next weekend, they say. it's delicious.

one thousand two hundred triangular, steel panels tell him it's quite the tale. george stares at it with his prey-like eyes. i know, he whispers. the bull's head arches further. has it always been this close to the ground? i'm hungry, george adds.

i'm hungry too, the bull tells him. its eyes open, slits of pure crimson, and george gets it.

oh, he gets it.

“jeez,” someone huffs from the bottom of the little hill george's stood on. “people have been looking everywhere, mate.”

george does not reply. he waits for the x-time world champion to near him, but he dares not to bat an eye. even then, he notices that the man had the audacity to bring his trophy, lowering it down on the grass between them.

“toto's worried,” max tells him. “and here you are, looking at the damn bull statue.”

said bull statue's eyes only redden further, puffs of smoke exiting its nostrils. it passes through george like clouds parting through a tall mountain.

“it does look kind of majestic as this time of day— or is it night?” he says. “i feel kind of proud looking at it.”

the bull seems happy to see him as well, and that— oh, george's stomach wrings uncomfortably.

if there's one thing george's learned in f1,— from all those family empires who paid for him to lose, from claire who pulled him back for all those years, from all the w1x's he's crashed into walls— it's that he knows how to fight harder.

thus, he decides: checo's seat is not enough.

he swiftly bends down to grab max's trophy like it's his— because it's supposed to be fucking his— and thwacks the hard edge of gold against max's skull. from its weird shape, the metal only collides from the bottom of max's cheekbone to the top of his eyebrow on the opposite side, and of course, george thinks, what a waste of a cathartic moment, and grabs the trophy by its base and slams it against the side of max's head.

and laughably, max is out cold already, head cracked and bleeding, falling without a sense of defense or a groan. george strikes the trophy against max one more time, his black fireproofs draining all the red that splashes against him.

when he gazes back at the bull, he can tell it's seething.

you killed my best player, it huffs, head swiftly closing in on george. standing firm, george raises his bloodied hands and pushes the bull back by its horns, and he dares. he keeps his gaze with it steadily, maybe even forcing it upon it. his vision is starting to fizzle, but blindness be fucking damned, because he needs the bull to know that—

“he's your biggest fucking mistake,” he tells it, voice rasping. his lips edge at a maniacal smirk. “let me prove it to you.”

[ghostboisdead]

Fuck it, making a character out of this guy cause I think he's hot

SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL!

⚠️TW: MEDICAL MALPRACTICE MENTIONED, CANON TYPICAL VIOLENCE.⚠️

Name:

He only referred to himself as "The doctor" in hell. Real name is "Lenus strychnine"

First name meaning: Healer

Last name meaning: a poison often used in poisonings

Death year / age

Late 1800s, 1880-1890.

Status

Dead (?) ((Depends))

Rank in hell

A past overlord of hell before being toppled by Alastor. Known as the doctor demon.

Reason he was sent to hell

Was a doctor that would kill his patients through poisoning them, neglect and mistreatment.

How he ran his section

He would help injured sinners so they were in his debt, forcing them to either work for him as medical staff or as a test patient. His section was a massive hospital building and grounds, wasn't gigantic but it was large and infamous.

How he collected souls

He would send teams of nurses and lower ranking doctors to scout out sinners or imps after extermination day and treat them in his hospital. Then if they got better, he would force the sinner to pay up with their service through a role in his hospital either permanent patient or medical staff. Had connections with (at the time) a small county of Cannibal town to offer them dead bodies in exchange for help and deals.

Personality

Pompous, inquisitive, medically adventurous, risk taker, apathetic to most, soft spot for young sinners, reserved, composed, reasonable, firm. (Basic personality)

Looks

A round headed figure with three eyes all on one side, his left eye being an X to hint at his death, long doctors coat that doubles as a face mask, rubber protective gloves, horns petruding from the side of his head like a bulls, a red skull with orange eyes which was how his organisation was recognised.

His appearance came from how his patients would draw him as they were dying and hallucinating him.

Relationships

Me (/j).

Knew of Zestial and was acquainted before being overthrown.

Had tried to treat Alastor as a patient to force him to work which resulted in his demise.

His relationship with the public: they feared the doctor as he was known to turn people you knew into a form of their former selves if working for him while there were only rumours about his patients. Reports from lurking sinners say his staff were found dumping sinners near the cannibals residence but never confirmed. Lives as a myth now to most sinners.

Songs he reminds me of

(yes very inspired by MLP infections, not ashamed)

⚠️Can be upsetting/unsettling. They aren't scary BUT If you don't like creepy music, skip. Take care⚠️

Basic, classic creepy. Not very creepy ↓

Can be unsettling, sounds like a tune you'd find on a record. ↓

Mostly feels like strange nostalgic. ↓

Classic creepy, be respectful as it is an album trying to portray dementia ↓

Classic creepy, be respectful as it is an album trying to portray dementia ↓

Mostly just unsettling warnings for this one though not bad ↓

(posted about him on tiktok too LOL)

This is just the basics, I like him a lot.

These are all headcanon's. I don't own this character or design. All rights reserved to spindle horse.

[strangebiology]

Ask the Animal

[A/N: I read The Best of Robert Service and then wrote this on the plane. I'm happy to hear feedback! TW for themes of death and bodies. Also no, none of this is true.]

Above my cabin door a boar’s head hangs upon a nail, A taxidermized grin as in the midst of raging roar,  Tends to alarm or charm my guests–the squeamish, without fail,  Will claim it cruel or ghoulish but they never asked the boar. 

Above the fire, hung some higher, horns sharp as a knife,  A hold, a jolt, a captive bolt left hole in angus’ skull.  The abattoir that marred him claimed he gladly gave his life,  But who can say when there’s no way they ever asked the bull. 

My windowsill hosts a bed still post feline’s life upended,  And her, my pet, the guests upset most often point to that.  For in a jar, now safe from cars, my darling floats suspended.  Did she want this? Well, that I missed–I never asked the cat. 

And there’s one more, behind a door which guests may never pass,  Behind the locks a bone-filled box where this dark hoard began.  Human remains, to me the same, as any beast in grass,  See, I did ask, and did the task, on the wishes of the man.

[pall0r-mortis]

'Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.' ~ Mary Shelley

Sidney Lawrence Phillips

Nicknames: Sid

Pronouns: He/Him/They/Them

Magick Status: Magick - Sorcerer (Out as an abomination sorcerer, actually an alchemy sorcerer)

Nationality: American/Boiling Isles

Ethnicity: White

Accent: Mix of American Midwestern and Boiling Isles English

Height: 6"1'

Build: Skinny, sharp edges, but stronger than he looks.

Complexion: Pale with visible scars.

Eye Color: Icy blue

Hair Color/Length/Style: Black, naturally straight, worn short and rarely styled but when it is it's usually slicked back.

Tattoos: (CW: skulls, medical imagery) Has a multitude covering his upper arms, ribs, part of his chest and shoulders, primarily in a minimalist or geometric style centering on medical illustration. He designed all himself, did most of them himself as well; his casting scars from spellwork are part of the designs. Full tattoo post link can be found below.

Piercings: Ears, left nostril but rarely wears it.

Daily Jewelry: Always has some collection of metal rings on both hands, it varies from day to day, as he uses them as conduits for his magic, and most are variations of poison rings that he stores Humors in small powdered amounts in. Typically has at least one silver, gold, copper and steel on each hand, but the amount changes depending.

Occupation: Delivery and general staff at Pizza Planet, and mechanic at Gadget's Garage.

What would you find if you Googled them? 

(TW: Illness)

Nothing about him, but his father Paul Philips is a well known plastic surgeon who catered to high end and rich clientele for the past twenty or so years, predominantly working in the US. There was a small scandal mentioned in some tabloids about his wife having an affair, and their divorce in the years after.

Most recently the Philips name was known due to Paul's sudden decline in health that forced him to mostly retire and relocate to an unknown small town. The circumstances of the sudden illness are still considered a mystery to the public.

What natives would know about them:

Very little. Sid doesn't make a habit of being too friendly. He, his father, and his father's live-in caretaker Lavenza moved to town recently, to the Southern Isles neighborhood. The family wealth is obvious, the house had remodeling going on for several months before they arrived, but overall they all seem fairly secretive.

Boiling Isles transplants would, however, know the Philips family, depending on how well they knew Sid or his father when they lived there.

Other:

Sid's dog Scud, a white and black bull terrier, is often spotted around him or sometimes roaming around the neighborhood. He's friendly but becomes very aggressive at hostility towards Sid. Otherwise he may roam up to strangers for attention, but is notably uncomfortable around older men and shies away from them due to his fear of Paul.

Sid always wears some variation of black, fingerless gloves to cover his crafting circle scars. If they are seen he just lets people think they're scarification tattoos. As an OOC note though alchemy has become so forgotten over the years that they wouldn't be recognizable for what they actually are to most. Some very old sorcerers or those who study magic history/magic overall intensively might though. (just ask me ooc and we can discuss who would know)

At this point Sid is openly approaching powerful sorcerers for reagents under the false motives of trying to break a curse that has resulted in his father's condition.

[Full Bio] [Tattoo Post] [Alchemy] [Coven of the Divine Exchange]

[areumxmp]

The gentle tone Yanluo returned to Areum with, and the way his hands brave the ex con's scalding skin, is the only thing tethering the only capable part of his mind to trusting the God of death. Even as the silent voice he knows too well pierces into his skull, stabbing the fleshy parts of his memories and cognate abilities with each word. Trying it's best to confuse him, to keep him from allowing Yanluo to truly help him. To get him home. As sad as it is, the fear he felt from the slap previously was what kept him most docile. The way Yanluo seemed to cradle his face was simply the blanket that kept him from completely crumbling into himself, right here in the grass. Right here in front of this God who is trying so hard to help him and- Inhale. Exhale. Areum opens his glossy eyes, the smell of burnt flesh finally hitting his sense's. Which is nostalgic as well as shocking. The bulking, shaking, man couldn't remember the last time he could even notice that scent. It used to fill his nose so much that it smelt of nothing anymore. If someone had started burning next to him, likely he wouldn't have noticed if he didn't hear it. But now... the smell fills his nose like it had the first time and then those big round eyes that were still trained on the God's, glossed over with a sheen of emptiness yet again as he falls into his brain. (TW: Death, ptsd, manipulation)

~”You know what to do, Bull. You have to do this for us, you know that. Otherwise they will hunt us down one by one. Taking away your only family and where would you go?” His ‘brother’s’ voice is paired with hands that sit heavy on his 13 year old shoulders. Not yet developed and without the power they’ve learned to harness from Areum, would crumple under too much pressure. The poor boy only needed a few more words to manipulate his brain into thinking what he was doing was for the better. A few words and a shove in the right direction. “They’re the same breed as that bitch of a mother you had. You can’t let them hurt anyone like she hurt you right? You have to do this.” They had always used the right words to toy with the young ‘bull’s’ mind, pushing him to do their dirty work, all while convincing him they were helping people. They were not. They were not helping anyone but themselves when they had Areum scorch his way through the tattered house on the outskirts of town. Pushing flames through the broken glass windows until the screams were mixing dreadfully with the crackling of flames. Only when he boldly walked the hot embers of rubble did that nauseatingly sweet smell fill his nostrils. It felt like it seeped down into his mouth; coating all his taste buds, only to drip down his throat and coat the inside of his stomach in bile. The bile rose up his throat as he looked at the now… faceless bodies. Two women, in their equally as charred bed. The smell even burnt at his eyes but he couldn’t stop looking at what he had done. What little they had in this small house.. What little he had taken from them. Yet it had been absolutely everything to them. Not even his ‘brother’s’ heavy hands ripping him from what was left of the burning house kept the rising bile from feeling like he was being eviscerated. Later that evening, his doubts of the women’s harmfulness had escaped from those lips as well. Only to have been beaten back out of him until only spit and blood poured from now shattered lips. He was awarded the family ring the next day for ‘saving’ his family, proving his loyalty, but that smell still stung his eyes and throat.~ The God’s words were cloudy but they pushed past the dam’s of Areum’s flashback, carefully picking him right back out of it. Twice he blinks for his eyes to have color returning, his mouth working to form words while his throat contracts to hold down the taste of vomit he thinks he still feels. “A-Areum..” His words are just as shaky as the hand that fumbles to fish his keys out. His movements were delayed almost and it almost looked as if he forgot what he had been doing before his scalding hand held out his keys. A little Sanrio wrist strap lanyard connected to an O ring with a teenie tiny print out of his boyfriend, Bes with floral washi tape around the edges, and a key to the Huay Chivo apartments. “Door t-two?” The hulking man was still coming to, and as he did, his heat calmed down at least a few degrees. This man would help him. He needed to believe it. He will trust him.

Areum was on the verge of completely combusting, having not had an accident without his meds in so long it would have broken him to have hurt anybody or anything; because there is a piece of him that is always still in there that knows what he sees is wrong. That the emotions he's feeling are from another time. But everything else is just too fucking strong and the as his world had almost crumbled to the last morsel- SLAP.

Seemingly everything in the son of Tohil stopped. The bulking body that still felt too many degrees too hot could be mistaken for not breathing if Yanluo wasn't currently feeling his pulse through his hands. Even his eyes that weren't quite as hollow anymore were instead opened round and unwavering. In a way, the choice Yanluo made had been good for Areum. It brought him back to where he was, truly seeing the man that was in front of him for the God he was rather than the ghosts that haunt the backs of his eyelids. In other ways though, it had pushed Areum right into the idea that if he didn't do what Yanluo said, there would be consequences. Just like before. Especially with the way the God's voice ripped through the air at the passerby's, causing the hulking man to flinch. So just like when he was young, that slap had allowed the silver tongue living withing his mind to break free. To curl around the recess' of each idea and thought. Preying into the mind of a fearful child. A malleable child. One that doesn't want to hurt anyone but can be promised of the torment that will happen if he doesn't end it before it starts. He hears those words hiss through him, doing their best to try and drown out the voice of the God before him. A few tears fall from the corners of his eyes. Sizzling up on his skin the salty things don't stand a chance as he has to force himself to nod. He knows he needs his meds. He knows he needs help. He wants to trust this Wang Yanluo but he's so fucking terrified. "Okay." The word is barely above a whisper, offered up as if the word itself were his hands guarding his face from impact.

[apiculturegal]

Some concept art for a possible future webtoon, 12/3/22

[p033umfac3]

I now have the 1.5 bovid skulls in my collection.

Main image is the .5 in question, cut in half but includes the horn sheath which can be taken off. the coloration on said piece makes the horn stand out even without the skull.

The second skull I’m holding [damaged] was gifted to me and is one of my first ever pieces as a whole. it’s insanely brittle but because of its condition very unique and appealing to the eye.