#where's Riley though?

[gomzdrawfr]

Dissociated and we got a whole canvas of my fav

[sentientsheepdog]

Yipyip < this was a brainworm turned festering pest and I was gonna rework it but now its resting here in its baby shoes to rot while I reanimate its corpse in a fucked up way at a later date.

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Reader adopts a big fluffy dog that's very opinionated, when and where walks happen is entirely the dogs decision. It's a good dog, perfectly pleasant but thick headed as a bull. Demands pets with authority a dog has no business having.

They love that mutt, got it from a shelter and doesn't have the heart to take charge when being a bit bossy is the only 'misbehavior' the dog ever shows, until it's walkie time in the middle of the night, new moon and cloudy, pitch black. Resigned you get the harness, leash and treat bag and bundle up. In a hurry to get the head of the house their wish you forget any kind of light, left your phone on your bedside table when you heard the grumbles of demands.

It seems to be a night for adventure, leash pulled taught in a direction you've never even walked by daylight and nose glued to the floor. The gates to a park at least let you know where you're going, not that you recognize the name, its far out of your usual range especially in the middle of the night. You cope by clinging to the 'scary dog privilege' even though the mutt never showed an ounce of aggression towards anything.

Looking around to not get caught off guard by a malicious stranger you miss your dog perking up, fixating a direction and taking off, the "STOP" leaves your mouth the second your body is jostled but its no use. You're dragged to the floor, into the mud, thankfully mostly grass but it still hurts. Digging your feet in is no use, hopelessly outmatched by the dog the shelter told you was perfectly sized for you. "Manageable my ass you stupid dog stop pulling!", you scream no care for time of day when you come to an abrupt halt, sliding a little on the muddy ground until someone grabs the leash and is immediately crowded by the traitor. All wags and tip taps, it'd be adorable if you weren't on your ass god knows where thanks to him.

"Bad dog thief if you can't even train one.", you can't place the tone, or read the strangers face through his balaclava. Thief? You would never steal someones beloved pet. "Fuck you, I'm no thief. He's from a shelter, if I wanted a free dog I'd get a stray." The amount of awkward eye contact that followed made your skin crawl, you shivered in discomfort from your mud cake clothes to the scary stranger starring you down. Was he not going to react at all? Your attitude had always been your biggest flaw. Why couldn't the floor just open up and swallow you whole? You were going to die for mouthing off for sure, or worse. "C'mon boy, home.", he was looking at you but definitely talking to the dog, voice even as he yankes you up by the leash and herds you after the dog happily trotting the way it came. Oh no, your dog was going to YOUR home, backtracking through the park, mindful of the grooves he, or rather you, left. Caring about tripping you now, between treating you like a crash dummy and a lamb to the slaughter.

The streetlights flickered back on one by one, the silent man at your back cast eerie shadows over you every time you passed one. You could barely breath, fear clogged your throat, choking you. Running was out of the question, he would catch you, no doubt in your mind. You didn't dare think about what your- well, his dog really would do. He might even be trained to bite, maul you to bits for the crime of displeasing his master. Tears threatened to spill over your lashes at the thought, you blinked them away as hard as you could, whatever he thought of you now wouldn't be improved by turning into a sobbing mess. No crying about whatever this was, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you dissolve, if he wanted to he would crush you either way.

Your front door looked like a guillotine, the slanted window that once charmed you now made your stomach turn. You fumbled with the keys, hands shaking in helplessness. When they slipped your grasp, a gloved hand reaches out from behind you and catches them, palm up, the keys to your doom cradled in the hand of death. Slowly, you lifted your hand to take the keys back. The thought to stab him with them crossed your mind, but you had no follow-up. You stretched your fingers towards the house key. The next moment, you were crowded against the door and heard the keys jingle. The hinges protest when the door swung open. Unsteady legs carry you inside, mechanically taking off the harness and hanging the gear up in the dog corner.

The door clicks shut, and you refuse to acknowledge it in any way. Frozen in place, no useful thoughts in your head, your mind was screaming to do something anything at all. Time trickled by you in slow motion, for the first time you heard footsteps that weren't yours on your living room floor, the clicky noise of dog paws soon followed. Sounds from the kitchen startle you back into thought. That's where your knives are. He could take the damn fridge for all you cared right now, but you were not getting stabbed by knives you had picked out and paid for without a fight.

The sound of water hitting something metal had you confused, that weirdo did not follow you home to fill his dogs water bowl, that would be insane, and yet a few seconds later the water is being gobbled up loudly.

Something fills with water again, you're still looking at the slow swinging leash on the hook.

The stove beeps, the glasstop clinks quietly, something was placed on it.

Nails on the floor tell you the dog is scampering towards you, probably dripping water all the way. Soft fur brushes your fingers accompanied by the wet nose and tongue licking your hand. "You broken, pet?", leaning against the wall as nonchalant as the question he asked. The nickname had you glancing at the dog for a second before it clicked - this fucking guy dragged you around on a leash and called you pet like it was a normal thing to do.

You turned to give him a piece of your mind, freezing again when you saw him in the light. He'd been scary outside, dressed entirely in dark clothes and towering over you like a bad omen. In the light he looked downright terrifying, the skull print balaclava blending with his eye black, equally dark eyes looking at you with a bored expression, you had to guess. Good thing you hadn't tried anything, he looked perfectly able and willing to really hurt you. Not like how your bruised body ached from being dragged, real agony that would rip through you and fray every nerve you had. You were once again starring at each other, him waiting for a reply and you desperately trying to keep it together, whether you'd laugh or cry or attack him you didn't dare guess but something was boiling over.

The kettle whistles - you burst into a fit of nervous giggles.

[tojisun]

wip wednesday: forgotten war god simon au

“Say your prayer,” he says. Tell me what I am owed. 

Your eyes are thin rings of your greed. 

“I offer you my blood. My body.”

Not even his sisters’ priestesses have looked like this. So devoted. So trusting. So loving. 

“In return, I ask for their deaths.”

So sure in your prayers. So hungry for the plunder that he will give. Your lips did not even wobble as you uttered the beginnings of their undoing. 

He burns with pride. 

“So it shall be.”

[machveil]

as much as I love an angsty “FriendsWithBenefits!Ghost x Reader - Ghost keeps his distance and it creates angst with Reader. he doesn’t want to get too attached because what if he hurts them?” story… what about the goldmine that is “FWB!Ghost x Reader - Ghost keeps Reader close because they are friends, and he doesn’t want to push them away because… yeah, he needs Reader. he can’t imagine them not being in his life so he treats them like they’re his everything”

FWB!Ghost who still has trouble taking the balaclava off around you, but is comfortable doing it if you flick the lights off. as your friendship deepens he switches from the balaclava to a simple, black medical mask. that he’ll keep the lights on for. he’ll lean into your touch, eyes closed because he trusts you, as you run your hand through his hair. he’ll let you trace over the scars on his skin, maybe he can be convinced to let you dip your fingers under his mask

FWB!Ghost who cares for you all the same, if not more, after you’ve been together. he can’t imagine being cold towards you after sharing an intimate connection. you’ve been by each other’s side, pushing you away or leaving you alone sounds alien to him. he understands if you need some space while settling down, but he’s never out of sight, his warm, fond gaze on you. unless you need him to step out or leave he won’t, he doesn’t have the heart to go of his own volition

FWB!Ghost who doesn’t need anything more than friendship out of your relationship because, as he sees it, this has just strengthened your bond. your relationship with him was fine beforehand, but it’s perfect now. you’ve genuinely grown closer, and he values your friendship beyond anything else. he’s heard the 141 make remarks over, “Oi, when are you finally gettin’ together?”, but it genuinely confuses him because… you’re both genuinely happy together as just friends, and there’s nothing wrong with that in his eyes

[imababblekat]

•CW: food, reader eating a lot, slightly suggestive•

The guys have never seen a sweet thing like you eat before. It’s Friday night, y’all just got back from deployment, and ofc Johnny suggests going to a bar as a way to cool off from everything. And ofc, the guys can’t wait to get some actual real food in their guts. Naturally they’d say the same for you, only they could have never foreseen just how badly you craved for some real food. The waiter just dropped off your third basket of wings, you’re nearly done with your second, and the guys can’t stop staring at the way you just stuck a particularly meaty wing into your mouth, pulling it out bone fucking clean. Your eyes scour the small round table, and the guys think you’re about to get all shy and excuse yourself, except you just point at their own unfinished meals, with a “ya gonna finish that?”

Price is quickly thinking of every holiday where he can make you the perfect meal to make sure you’re good and wonderfully full.

Simon’s already got a whole wedding menu set up for the two of you, despite neither of you dating.

Kyle is somehow so flabbergasted and so enamored all at the same time.

Johnny has never wanted to be a chicken wing so badly in his life.

[cod-dump]

Teen!Ghost, staring at the tray of burnt cookies: I followed all the directions… I took them out when the timer went off!

Teen!Farah as Teen!Gaz coughs while fanning the smoke out the door with a towel: Simon, that was the fucking smoke alarm!

[tarmac-rat]

"Were you ever even happy here?" "Once, I think."

[seekingthestars]

giant-ass snake in the driveway, guess i'm never going outside again _(: 」∠)_

[appalachianapologies]

could not tell you where this came from. i was simply eating my rushed lunch and was gripped with the idea. bone apple tea have a snip with absolutely zero context ily <3

“Hey man, you alright?”

Mac shivers when he looks up, pushing wet bangs out of his eyes. Most of the blood is on the back of his hands, but Mac imagines that it still isn’t a great look.

“Oh. Wait, Angus, right?”

“Mac,” he replies, coughing as soon as he rasps out the word. “I go by Mac, now.”

“Oh, cool. I’m-”

“Bozer.” Nevermind the fact that they happened to be in the same grade in a town with barely 5,000 people—Mac’s pretty sure that everyone’s heard of Bozer. 

He gives a sheepish smile, as if he could read Mac’s mind. “You okay? Stupid question. Can I like… call someone for you?”

That’s a big part of Mac’s problem. Not that Bozer would know. “No,” Mac shakes his head, swallowing anything else. “I’m okay.”

“Do you like… want a ride or something?”

This time, Mac shakes his head with more fervor. “I uh, I appreciate your concern. But I’m good. Really.”

Bozer stares at him for long enough that standing out in the rain has probably gone from annoying to uncomfortable. “Look, for my own peace of mind, could I at least do something? I don’t feel great about leaving you here. Seriously. No ulterior motives.”

It’s almost funny how much it seems that Bozer hasn’t changed one bit in the five years since Mac’s seen him. Despite the fame, he’s still the same person who would wait long after school with someone when they missed their bus, or share crackers from his lunch. 

Mac couldn’t imagine still being the same person he was in high school. Not after everything.

Without asking for permission, Bozer moves, squatting and joining Mac on the side of a wet and dirty curb. 

“You don’t…” the words are lost on Mac as he tries to get them out. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not gonna leave you on the street when it’s raining.”

“I’m a stranger.”

“We spent twelve years together at school,” Bozer counters, though ‘together’ is a strong word. They existed in the same space geographically, but outside of study hall and the one off literature class, never saw or interacted with each other. Bozer was the type of person that everyone knew for all the right reasons, and Mac for the wrong ones.

Bozer pulls his phone from his pocket after a few seconds, but just barely glances at the screen before stuffing it back. “I haven’t seen you around here for a while.”

Mac raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t the only one who left Mission City. Last Mac heard, Bozer was getting calls left and right from Hollywood. Reporters, magazine owners, the whole thing. 

He’s right, of course. Mac hasn’t been back here for five years, but Bozer is the last person that Mac would’ve expected to recognize that. From Mac’s rough understanding, neither of them have called this town their home for a long few years.

“I haven’t been here for a while,” Mac eventually replies. There’s still a part of his brain that can’t quite comprehend the conversation he’s having right now. The fact that he’s even here to converse in the first place. 

“How’s your grandpa?”

A hollow laugh nearly escapes through Mac’s chest. “Dead.”

“Oh, shit. Fuck, I didn’t know.”

Shaking his head, Mac looks down at the rainwater beginning to collect in the divots of the road. “It’s fine. Just happened.” It’s the only reason Mac’s back here.

“Hey, listen, I know you’re probably going to say no to this, but just hear me out, okay?” Bozer doesn’t wait for Mac’s approval to continue, “Come back to my house with me.”

“Boze-”

“Just warm up, eat some food. My parents always cook too much, and I know they wouldn’t mind.”

This time, a laugh does manage to get out. Nobody’s parents want to see a sopping wet, road-rashed Mac. Nobody’s parents would even want to see a Mac that was put together- his own included. 

“I’m not leaving you out here. Just- please, man. I don’t want to wake up to my dad saying that they found your body tomorrow morning, okay?”

“You won’t.”

“Please.” Evidently, Bozer’s not above begging. “If you don’t come with me, I’ll end up telling my dad anyway, and you’d end up spending the night in the station anyway. You’ll at least get a home cooked meal this way.”

Mac bites the inside of his cheeks hard enough that he tastes blood.

“Mac-”

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

Exhaling, Mac gives him a nod. “Yeah.”

[kayvsworld]

god fatws is NOT a good show it DOES make no sense but it COMPELS me though

[sweetestflow3rs]

I wanted to do some fanart with my pc and Noel- and now after ur rambling, I HAVE to ask. Would Noel be proud of pc if they ended up killing the person that hurt them the most? With mine I can imagine them buying a weapon from Noel and coming back to her after the deed is done, asking if they got rid of the body properly (probably buried in the woods) and what they should do now. Gimmie low, mid & high love reactions <3

YOUR PC AND NOEL.... my eyes are sparkling...

which!! to answer your question!!

LOW LOVE

Noel would be silent at first, before suddenly asking why the PC is telling her of all people about this. They aren't very close so she doesn't undertstand why the PC saw her as a confidant. She'll say though that the forest is fine, as long as it wasn't too close to the town ( ++ Stress ) and that they can do whatever they want know, she can't tell them what to do.

It's very callous, but for some reason, the PC will get -Paranoia on Noel.

MID LOVE

Noel would ask if the PC feels okay, assuming this the PC's first time killing someone. She would check to see if there are any bloodstains, either giving the PC a rag to wipe it away, or a new set of clothes. She asks if knowing they are dead now feels nice, knowing that the source of their burden is gone. She says the forest is a decent enough place to bury bodies, there's already multiple there. ( +Stress ) She'll tell the PC they are now free to do as they please, that the burden is gone so hopefully their days will become easier.

Noel is caring in this instance, but not so much so. Like a dad who doesn't want to overdo it on the praise. The PC gets +Love from Noel.

HIGH LOVE

She'd be silent, at first. Before saying "Don't you feel great?" Noel doesn't smile, but the PC can glean there is a sense of almost joy in her eye. Similar to mid love, she will check to see if there any bloodstains on the PC, but rather have the PC do it themselves, she'll do it herself. Very soothing as she gently dresses the PC into new clothes, praising them for finally committing to doing the deed; it's almost maniac, despite her soft voice, how she says "Isn't it liberating to get rid of your problems permanently? This should be celebrated," stroking their head in her hands. Very much implying that the PC shouldn't just stop here, subtle encouragement that they should now kill anyone who hurts them. She says the forest is a fine place to bury, that it's where she put her first bodies.

Noel is more receptive to handing out praise and caring hands personally, even if she doesn't show it expression wise. It is immense ++Love from Noel.

( BONUS ) HIGH LUST, HIGH LOVE

Noel would ask the PC if they could see the site where the PC buried them, wanting to make sure everything looks good. Which, if it does, she will say a "good job" before planting a simple kiss on the PC's lips. Which if the PC takes it further, they will start a consensual encounter with Noel, but it'll just be Noel giving the PC head, kneeled down with her knees digging into the freshly moved dirt of the buried corpse. She's pulling a Mary Shelley ( but instead of her mother's grave, it's the PC's buried victim )

[howtotrainabraincell]

This is mine! Thanks for the tag bestie!

@a-little-buggy 💕

[beheadedcousins]

can we talk about the fact that farrah thought that if she were to be herself again that she would be a hopeless loser girl that no one understands

[ltsghostriley]

Well I hope the news I'm about to deliver makes you like me more I finally finished making that meal for you big guy -🪴🤎

Cheers. Still bit weary how it’ll get here but I’ll make room for it in the kitchen fridge.

[maelstrom007]

I've got the @ghouljams Fae!au brainrot, and I needed to write more about my OC Mal. This time, featuring ghoul's OC Love, and Fae!Ghost. Thank you so much for letting me borrow them! I hope I do them justice, and they're not too out of character. While it's implied that Mal already knows Witch (I think their friendship started well before this) I thought this was an interesting way to bring Mal into the darlings and 141's sphere of influence.

I hope you enjoy!

Mal stood at the far wall of their crafting space, studying their old leather bound notebook. It was an account of every project they’d ever undertaken here at the shop, filled to the brim with notes. Currently, it was open to the last commission on their list for this quarter, someone wanting a garment that would fill them with confidence after a particularly difficult time in their life. Before them stood several cones of yellow and orange cotton that they had dyed with this intention in mind. Now to decide what it would become. Mal closed their eyes, imagining the customer in their head, how their shoulders had hunched and neck sunk involuntarily. They needed something to straighten up, bring some height back into their frame. A jacket would do them nice. 

Mal took the cones to their warping board, a square frame with pegs hanging on the wall, and readied the yarn. Before they began Mal closed their eyes once again, taking deep breaths and pressing their bare feet firmly into the floor as they grounded themselves. Once they were settled, they imagined in their mind what their customer would look like in this new jacket. How their face would be full of warmth and joy, how much taller they would stand, the swagger and spring in their step as they walked. Mal let the feeling wash over them, filling themselves up with the giddy confidence. Full of energy, Mal began the warping process, tying an orange yarn to one peg and wrapping it around sequential pegs until it was as long as their fabric needed to be, then doubling back and following that same path back. 

Maintaining this confident headspace Mal continued on, occasionally switching between colors to create a shimmering ombre across the warp. This warp will act as the vertical threads when they weave the fabric later on tonight. Already they could see the gentle halo radiating off of the threads as the intent gets buried deeper and deeper. By the end it’ll be radiant like the sun. 

The slight jostle of someone attempting to open the front door made Mal accidentally skip a peg, breaking them out of their concentration. Immediately the halo of the current length they were working on dimmed, forcing them to backtrack and do their best to bring themselves back into the confident headspace. They didn’t really care if someone was at the door, there was no reason for anyone to be there and thus no reason to give them the time of day. Pick up was always reserved for the last week of the month, and they hadn’t pulled aside the heavy curtains hanging from the gutters that prevented humans from seeing the shop, and warned Fae from entering without an invitation. No, those get pulled when Mal’s commission list was empty and ready for new customers. Which it wasn’t. 

The jostle returns again and only a well timed breath keeps the bubbling anger from making its way into the warp. They tied it off and stepped away with a sigh. They couldn’t afford to keep having their concentration disrupted by the mystery person at the door. 

Opening the door reveals a girl, smiling brightly, “Hey, I think your doors locked.”

“It’s not,” Mal replies. Not in the physical sense anyway. Witch’s wards are strong and clever like that. Although they will have to check up on the curtains outside. Nobody should have been able to find their shop with them pulled shut, although now there was a clear section that was pulled to the side where the girl seemingly forced her way through. Those damn Moth’s were probably nibbling on it again. 

The girl stares at them for a moment, as if expecting them to say more. Evidently the silence becomes too long as she presses on, “Aren’t you going to let me in?” 

“Why would you want in?”

“Because you’re a business? And I’d like to do business here?” The exasperated look on the girl's face is enough to set Mal’s teeth on edge. 

“Pushy aren’t you?”

“Yes. Now come on, I want to get something nice for my boyfriend and he’s going to pick me up any minute now.”

Something about the girl’s big, insistent eyes made Mal’s resolve crack, “Fine. You’ve caught me in an indulgent mood.” Mal turned around, walking back towards the counter, “What are you thinking of?”

When the girl didn’t immediately follow they turned around again, only to see her seemingly stuck mid stride, foot unable or unwilling to touch the hardwood floor of the storefront. Curious. The girl seemed perfectly human to them, but looks could be deceiving. 

“You’re welcome in, for this transaction,” her foot fell with a solid thump, and she continued walking in as if nothing had happened.

“So I’d like to get something for my boyfriend.”

Mal settled in and flipped their notebook to a new page, “So you’ve said.”

“Yeah, well I know that he likes to cover up a lot, but recently his gloves have been falling apart and what with Winter coming up I don’t want his hands to be cold-”

As the girl talked, Mal kept a close eye on her chest, watching for any tethers that shone brighter than the others. Humans, and sometimes Fae, had a hard time deciding what their real intent was for a gift, and sifting through their tethers was always easier than getting it out of them through words. Except that the more this girl talked, the more her chest started to light up like a god damn christmas tree. She was tangled and pierced and snared on so many hooks it was almost distressing, and one in particular burned so bright it almost hurt Mal’s eyes to look at.

“Excuse me,” Mal interrupted her, “but may I?” they said, pointing towards the brightly glowing tether at the center of her chest. 

“Uh, sure,” she said, slightly confused but trusting all the same. 

Reaching out they gently snagged the tether with the tip of their pinky finger. Even with that small amount of contact all they could think of was LOVE LOVE LOVE. So much love, and passion, and desperation, and protectiveness. 

Within the next second, Mal’s ears popped as air that used to be in the space behind the girl forcibly vacated in favor of someone apparating there in its place. Mal stumbled back, eyebrows raised in shock as the absolutely massive fucker came into focus. Piercing brown eyes peered out through a pale white skull mask, with one hand wrapping protectively around the girl's chest and the other landing solidly on the table creating an effective barrier between them and Mal. 

“What’s wrong, Love?” The man's voice was deep, and although he was addressing the girl, (the capital L was obvious in his tone) his eyes never left Mal’s. 

“Well I was going to get you a surprise gift, but I guess that’s not happening anymore.”

“Why were they touching you.”

Mal straightened, “I received permission, if that is your concern. I was only attempting to see what her true intent was for this gift.” Despite the way he was glaring, Mal could tell this man didn’t think they were a threat, at least not physically.

On closer inspection the guys gloves did look as if they were threadbare, ready to fall apart if a stiff breeze came through. He was fae, no doubt about it, and even his human form commanded respect. Mal could see the shimmery effect of the fae’s obscura, hinting at a much larger and much more. . .sinister silhouette. They could do better, break up the outline of his body like camo on a soldier's fatigues, but something told them that he wouldn’t appreciate being upsold at the moment.

“And what was my intention?” Love looked almost giddy to know, leaning over the counter top with a manic grin on her face. 

Mal quickly looked between Love and the man, trying to gauge the pro’s and con’s of this whole interaction. 

“Go on,” he said. 

“Well, it seemed like Love here wanted to stake a claim on you. To possess and protect you as much as you do her.” 

Like a seesaw, Love rocked backwards into the man's embrace, wrapping her arms up around his neck and giggling, “Yeah, I guess I am a little obsessed with you.”

For once he looked a little bit out of his depth, and once again Mal almost had to shield their eyes from the sun that seemed to light up between the two. Jesus these two were co dependent as all hell. 

“So,” Mal said, desperate to get this conversation over with, “any design you want in particular?”

“Oh, right, I think his gloves should be dark black, with white details that look like finger and hand bones. And can you make them really warm and soft? Am I asking for too much? You’ll tell me if it’s too much right? Also-”

Mal dutifully took notes, not even attempting to get a word in edgewise as Love rambled on. Briefly looking up, Mal saw the masked man curled contentedly around and over top Love’s much smaller form like a mountain sized cat. It was hard to find him intimidating now that his eyes were full of love and adoration. 

What a strange pair indeed.

[ivorydragoness44]

Looking for the motivation to write at the moment...