#why the fuck is it so difficult to find pictures of black people

[froginamoodboard]

Jason nerdy jock moodboard

Requested by: me

x x x x x x x x x

[lizardkingeliot]

Who wants to read an entire ~600 word scene from the upcoming sequel to my Loustat reunion fic? Because I'm 12k-deep into writing this thing and I'm getting so antsy to get it out into the world already but it's not even close to being done and I could perhaps use a bit of cheerleading so I'm just gonna drop said scene here lol...

Putting most of this under a cut I hope you all enjoy Louis and Lestat bickering about home decor. 🥰

—

The sun had only just set but they’d already been up for an hour. They were standing in the living room on the rug that had been delivered while they were sleeping. The thick pile soft and plush against Louis’ bare feet. Lestat was splitting his time between frowning down at it and frowning over at Louis.

“This won’t do, mon cher. It’s too…” He gestured airily with one hand, sharp nails gleaming in the artificial light. “French country. Were we not going for coastal?” “I’m gonna ban you from watching those home reno shows on the iPad if you don’t—” Louis drew a breath and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Thought you hated coastal.”

Lestat hummed, tipped his head to one side, scowled down at the rug. “Even so, is it not the aesthetic we are striving for here in our coastal home?”

“You picked out the rug, Lestat. You—”

“It looked different in the online pictures, cheri.”

“Buy another one, then.”

Louis sighed with his whole chest. He didn’t care about the rugs or the curtains or the lamps. Not really. Though he was starting to get antsy about picking art for the walls. Had been itching to pull pieces from his collection since the first night the realtor sent him the listing. As soon as Lestat decided to stop being difficult on purpose, he could make it work. Lestat let out a sound. Tiniest hint of a growl in his throat. Louis watched him gazing down at their bare feet nestled into the pile. “We need to find a proper boutique. Better yet an auction house. Why are we scouring web pages on an iPad for pieces for our home?”

“Easier that way,” Louis said with a shrug. There was an ache in his stomach he couldn’t give a name to. “We can always just hire someone to do this shit for us, Lestat. I know designers, decorators. Artists. I can call some people—”

“You don’t care about our home.”

Louis’ stomach twisted itself into a knot so quickly it nearly doubled him over. “What the fuck—” He couldn’t help it when the words flew out of his mouth. Seriously—what the fuck. “Why would you say somethin’ like that to me, Lestat?”

Lestat set his eyes on Louis. The set of his jawline was hard and tense. He had that look in his eyes like a cat about to do something very, very stupid. “You cared so much back at Rue Royale. Firm opinions on every piece of furniture. The art on every wall—" “I got art lined up. You know that. You know I’m gonna handle the—” “Do you remember that lamp you hated? Wanted to throw it in the incinerator the moment I—" “Don’t see what point you’re tryin’ to—” “dared to bring it home to replace the one—” “I don’t remember the lamp. I remember you—" “that had been badly damaged—" “being impossible about everything exactly the way you are—” “when we knocked it from the table—” “right now.” “making love. And I—” “Lestat!” “Louis.” Louis drew a long deep breath and huffed it out. The tension in his chest abated just a little, just enough. “I don’t remember the lamp,” he said. And clenched his jaw. And shook his head. Lestat was gazing at Louis with wide eyes that didn’t blink. The centers of them huge black voids Louis could have tumbled down into in seconds. He leaned close. So close the ends of their noses brushed together. “How convenient for you,” he growled, one corner of his mouth twitching up. Louis growled back, showed his teeth, tiniest hint of his fangs poking out. “You’re insufferable, you know that.” He reached forward at once and let his mind go dark. Took Lestat by the hair with both hands. And crashed their mouths together.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Marpessa Dawn (Black Orpheus)—She's like. fairy tale princess etheral pretty. truly eurydice realness. AND she's a singer AND she's a dancer. she used to be a governess/nightclub dancer, which isn't hot per say i just thought it was an interesting job combination. If you want to hear her sing just look up the Black Orpheus soundtrack

Marilyn Monroe (How to Marry a Millionaire, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Some Like It Hot)— Ngl I thought you all were lying about sexual attraction until I saw Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Marilyn Monroe:

She's amazing!!! A classic bombshell, as well as a strong women who overcame so many obstacles. She also advocated for others, like Ella Fitzgerald.

That fucking saxophone that cuts in whenever she appears on screen in Some Like it Hot

I mean, it's Marilyn Monroe. She's adorable. She's gorgeous. She funny. She's the total package

She's the original American sex symbol, an iconic beautiful woman with eyes you could get lost in, legs for days, gorgeous hair, and a cute tummy. Her voice! Just listen to her voice!!!!!

She is considered one of THE sex symbols of the 1960s and one of the greatest actresses of all time! She HAS to be on this list!

no vintage movie woman is more iconically hot

People are most familiar with pictures of her in the white dress or the Happy Birthday Mr President one, but imo she is at her most beautiful and looks most comfortable when she is photographed by women like Eve Arnold

It’s Marilyn Monroe. If Aphrodite was an actual person, she’d be Marilyn. Do I really need to say more?

What can I say that hasn't been said? Marilyn's legacy is so much bigger than she was in life. She's a defining symbol of 50s and 60s Hollywood sex and it's obvious why. She was absolutely stunning and the camera loved her.

Marpessa Dawn:

Marpessa Dawn was an filipina/african american who became well known as an actress, singer and dancer in France. She is most famous for her role in 'Black Orpheus' in which she played Eurydice. It's difficult to find a picture where she and her husband, the actor Eric Vander, aren't kissing or hugging or laughing together, they are incredibly cute (and hot).

basically everyone and their mother will agree that marpessa dawn was one of THEE og vintage black women working in cinema (even if it was mostly in french cinema! the cross language barrier slay). mostly did her work in french cinema, and her smile in black orpheus is literally like the sun breaking over the sea

[allzelemonz]

Bruises: Arthur Morgan X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 18, Spanking Pronouns: None Mentioned, masculine implication Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: M/Mild sexual themes Warnings: Mentions of violence and injuries sustained, marking, spanking, bruising, fantasizing, masturbation, anal fingering, cuddling, kissing, aftercare, sex put off in favor of cuddling Summary: Arthur loves being put over your knee and this is the longest you’ve been apart. A/N: This was supposed to be an angst day but Arthur decided he deserves better. I didn’t plan on this being as sweet as it turned out, but here we are. Consider this a tooth rotting warning.

Arthur always has bruises. They litter his body from the many times he’s been shot, hit, generally roughed up, or thrown off his horse. Those bruises, he doesn’t like. However, as he stands in front of the hotel mirror he finds himself frowning at the bruises on his ass having faded. Normally when he looks in the mirror he averts his eyes away, not finding himself all that appealing, but he will check to see if his injuries are healing when he can’t see them. It was only his intention to check on a bullet wound after having his bath, but now he knows why he hasn’t been hurting while he sits.

He’ll have to see you when he gets back to camp.

Of course, he’s impatient, touching himself to memories of bending over your knee while he lies in the plush hotel bed. Spanking was something he asked you to do after realizing how much he liked when you gripped at his ass to spread his cheeks or simply knead the muscle. Ever since then, he gets bent over your knee and spanked black and blue at least once a month. The rough fingering that follows is always nice, and exactly why he’s snaked a hand under himself and now struggles to find that nice spot you always manage to get on the first try.

The days that follow his spankings are always sweet and Arthur loves them about as much as the actual sex. You pamper him to say the least, insisting to the gang that their workhorse is due for a break and they back off to give him a lazy day. You fetch him food and water, Arthur only stands to sneak out of his tent with a limp so he can piss. And if you’re not wrapped up in doing Arthur’s chores for him, you fuck him again, this time gentle.

So when Arthur cums onto the soft sheets, he relaxes and smiles at the thought of the next few days.

Camp is busy, bustling even. Arthur hitches his horse and realizes why, the weather is actually nice for once. People are easily going about with their chores, everyone seems in a good mood. But Arthur’s falls when he speaks to Dutch.

“He’s out on a job with Micah, got a stagecoach route they’re spending a few days on.”

Arthur laggingly does his chores, giving half-hearted smiles to people that say hello. It has been a week since he’s seen you, the longest he’s gone without. And ever since you started sharing his little cot, Arthur has found it difficult to even sleep without you. Not to mention, he never likes when you pair up with Micah for jobs. Every time he goes out himself with the crazy bastard, he nearly gets shot, so it makes him worry for you. Not to mention the need, but that hardly matters when Arthur just wants to see you.

He spends the first night lying in his cot for a few hours, eventually deciding to grasp at the picture of the two of you he managed to get developed. He stares at it for a moment, his eyes looking over your somewhat annoyed face in the picture, before his hand digs into his pants and he strokes lazily. He’s not usually this needy, but his fantasies from yesterday being unfullied make him annoyingly hard. The orgasm helps him nod off at least, his dreams turning to nightmares rather quickly and making him get up to change his pants and head off to hunt in the woods around camp to keep his mind busy. He doesn’t want those scenes in his head, every negative thought circling around.

The next day he distracts himself with dominos, shifting in his seat every few seconds to see if he can feel any of those bruises still. He can’t and it irritates him enough to lose to Sean of all people. Then a boasting voice catches his attention.

“Six-hundred, fer the family, Dutchy.” Micah grins, handing the large stack of money over. “An’ a couple jewels an’ such.”

Hosea takes the bags that you hand him, Arthur watching all the while. Dutch puts his hand on your shoulder, giving you a proud smile and a nod before sending you off.

As you walk away, Micah steps closer to Dutch. “Ya proud a’ me?”

Arthur tunes it out, focusing on you instead of Micah’s annoying attempts at sucking up. You find him easily and Arthur excuses himself from Sean and the game to meet you halfway. He takes your hand swiftly, pulling to his tent where he can kiss you like he wants in private. Your lips are chapped and dry but he hardly cares, kissing you hungrily and holding you close.

“What’s that all about, darling?” You smile, your hands resting on Arthur’s hips and making his heart skip.

“Been waitin’ for ya is all.” He sighs, kissing you again.

You stop him after a few seconds. “Go ahead and tell me what you want, Arthur.”

Arthur glances out at camp, finding most people minding their own business. Even Dutch is over by the fire for once, chatting with Hosea. Arthur moves to tug at the fabric of his roof, letting it drop down to cover the sides to enclose you. As he finishes the last tug, he feels your arms around his waist and he relaxes back against you for a moment.

“I want ya ta put me over yer knee.” He says, much less shameful that he’s sounded in the past.

“Bruises healed?” You question, kissing his neck softly.

“Uh-huh.” Arthur hums, turning in your arms to face you. “Need new ones so I ain’t missin’ ya so much.”

You smile, taking his hand in yours and pulling him back with you. You sit on his cot, your legs spread a bit as you pat your knee. Arthur scrambles to undress himself, thankful when he hears the music start up from Dutch’s tent. With his body bare, he situates himself over your lap with his back arched and his ass presented up for you. It’s a position he used to find embarrassing, but with no one to see him he doesn’t particularly care anymore.

He feels your hand run over his cheek, rubbing it softly for a moment before it disappears. Then it returns with a hard slap, making the excess skin jump from the contact. Arthur groans, hardening against your leg as you rub the  presumably reddening skin. You give his other cheek the same treatment and Arthur shivers with every blow. You continue for nearly half an hour and Arthur holds back asking you to stop despite the numbness because he feels so good with the slight sting and the little ruts against your leg.

“Arthur?” You say gently, your hand giving soothing circles on his skin.

He hums, his mind slightly fogged with pleasure and comfort.

“You alright?”

“‘m fine, darlin’… just…” He wiggles his hips slightly, smiling to himself. “Just happy.”

Your hand runs up along his back and Arthur sighs in comfort. He feels so nice, satisfied without being touched or taken.

“Can we lie down…” Arthur mumbles. “‘m tired.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” You say, your hands helping him sit up. “Not in the mood anymore?”

He shakes his head despite the erection he has. “Ya can still fuck me if ya want, darlin’. I don’ wanna disappoint… ‘m just…”

“You don’t have to explain.” You press a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “I’m happy just to hold you, okay?”

Arthur nods. He moves slowly, laying himself down on his side with his back pressed against the wagon. You follow suit and Arthur melts into your arms, his submissive side coming out even more as he mumbles little thanks and nuzzles your chest.

“You’re gonna get cold.” You mutter and Arthur realizes he’s naked.

When you lie down after sex you both usually put on something to cover your lower halves, but now Arthur lies bare while you’re fully clothed. He knows there’s a blanket folded up on the crates, but he doesn’t want you to leave.

“You can keep me warm, darlin’.” He mutters, hugging you tight. “Don’ leave.”

Arthur knows his words are double edged. He doesn’t want you to leave the bed, he doesn’t want you to leave him alone for so long again. Not just to keep those bruises he likes, but because he can’t handle it when you’re gone for so long. So he hides his smile against your chest when you kiss his head.

“I won’t.”

[artificial-transmutations]

Two sides of the same coin - Officer

Buck and Tony were the perfect gay couple. They lived together since years, almost never argued and, most importantly, loved each other unconditionally. Their relationship was so close that they often said they were practically married anyway. In fact, their parents even got along quite well with each other!

They shared the same interests including a love for video games, so today, as usual on a Saturday evening, they were lying on the couch together, playing and played some relaxing video game. They had ordered pizza before and were happy they didn't need to leave the house anymore today. It could have been an evening like any other Saturday evening, but it wasn't.

Tony felt a bit uncomfortable and shifted around in his seat before he reached under himself, fishing out a small sparkling coin.

"Ha! Thought I was sitting on something! Look at that." He showed Buck the shiny piece of metal.

"What is it?" asked Buck curiously.

"I don't know, it just appeared out of nowhere," Tony answered. As he took a closer look however, the coin just vanished into thin air. "Huh, weird!"

"Maybe it was just some cookie and it crumbled apart when you picked it up", suggested Buck.

"Perhaps...", Tony said, not really convinced and tried to get back to his game. However, he was finding the video game increasingly boring. He glanced over to see if Buck was still concentrating on the screen, but Buck's eyes were focused on him instead.

"What?" he asked, feeling embarrassed.

"Nothing," Buck replied quickly.

"No, tell me what you're looking at."

"You," Buck said simply.

"Me? Why?"

"Because you are sexy," Buck admitted shyly.

It seemed like Buck was in the mood today. Well, why not. "How about we watch some porn", suggested Tony.

Since a few minutes ago, Buck was feeling increasingly horny. He was rarely in the mood for sex, but today was different. So, when Tony suggested to put on some porn, Buck agreed quickly. After all, watching two men fuck each other was pretty hot stuff after all.

When they turned on the TV and found a nice gay movie, they settled down onto the couch again and watched the scene unfold. It was about a cop controlling traffic who forced a speeding man to suck his cock instead of paying. The guy obviously liked sucking cock and sucked on the officer's hard dick while getting fucked from behind by his partner.

Buck was already rubbing his own cock through his jeans when he saw how the two guys kissed passionately.

Tony also found concentrating on the porn movie much easier than the game before. Somehow, he had found the game a bit too difficult to follow today. His eyes were glued to the police officer on the screen, and he also massaged his cock in his sweatpants.

Without looking to his boyfriend, he asked: "Do you think a police uniform would suit me?"

"Sure," Buck responded at once, picturing his boyfriend in a police uniform. Both of them weren't exactly fit, so he had to use a bit of fantasy to imagine Tony as a burly policeman, but yeah, it could definitely work.

"And then there's my hair," continued Tony, stroking his medium black hair. "I should cut it shorter, right?"

"Yeah," Buck nodded enthusiastically, thinking about Tony as a cop with a short buzz cut. It would certainly make him look more intimidating.

While they were both fantasizing, the movie had come to an end. Tony immediately started a new one and discarded his shirt and pants. Now only in his boxers, he fished out his cock and started stroking it slowly.

"And if I were a cop, what would my uniform look like", he asked.

Buck found this whole conversation oddly erotic, so he answered without hesitation: "I think it would be blue."

"With golden buttons", added Tony, imagining himself being dressed in a tight uniform. He couldn't help but feel excited at the thought of having a big bulge in his pants. He imagined how people would react if he walked past them in such clothes.

Buck was so into the conversation that he didn't even notice that on the tv screen, the scene had turned into a mmf threesome. Tony was still watching it but found it oddly exciting. How had he never noticed that bouncing boobs excited him?

Buck was feeling light-headed. The mental images of Tony in a police uniform didn't seem so far off, actually. He had a good fit build and wore his hair in a short buzz cut already. He just needed a bit more muscle, and of course, a uniform. He briefly imagined how it must feel to be his uniform? To cling to that muscular body, to cover that firm ass.

"You would go commando of course", Buck fantasized, "Nothing between your dick and me..."

"You?" asked Tony and switched the porn channel. Straight porn. A busty blonde being fucked by a cop. Why not? "You want to be my uniform?"

Buck didn't mean to say it out loud, but the question alone made him stroke his cock even harder. "Yes! Think about it! I could be your vest, and your pants, and even your boots!"

Tony wasn't sure what to think of that idea of being this intimate with another man, he was no fag, after all. On the other hand, that wasn't a man he was talking about, but a mere object, a bit of fabric, leather and metal.

Buck didn't know what hit him. He was a human being, but right now, nothing felt righter than being just a set of clothing, wrapped around this man’s chiseled physique. The large muscles that danced when he stroked his cock to each moan of the girl on tv, the heavy balls that made a sweaty slapping sound, the muscular butt. With a cry of ecstasy, Buck came, shooting cum all over his body. At the same time, he deflated, like a balloon losing air. His feet were the first to change, becoming black combat boots. His legs followed suit and turned into a pair of blue police pants, while his cock and balls elongated into a black leather belt with a weapon holster. The cum quickly dried into his chest, as it turned into a blue vest with badges on them and a white undershirt. Finally, his head turned into a black leather police cap, as the last remains of his human mind faded away.

The last thing he sensed was that the police office on the couch finally came, spewing cum all over himself. A big strong hand grabbed his undershirt body and wiped away the cum with it. The uniform part gladly absorbed all of it, adding one more stain to the numerous ones that were already there.

Tony, the police officer sighed. He needed that break. There hadn't been any hot woman speeding today and he had felt blue-balled. Perhaps he should just start stopping hot babes for no reason. Yeah, he grinned. That sounded like a great idea. He quickly got dressed, not caring about the wet cum stains on his undershirt. Of course, he went commando. He always did, he just loved the thought of not having anything between his large cock and his uniform pants. And the bulge was a real eye-catcher for the ladies, too.

If you enjoyed this story, you might like my other ones in this theme. Also be sure to check out this cool blog!

[heartririmuarchive]

SHU YAMINO X READER ; Not This Time

shu should’ve perfected his time traveling magics before inviting you to tag along.

angst & fluff! tw: shu losing you (briefly)

“So, this spell can take us back to the past? As in… any time, any place we want?” Your brows are raised, a skeptical look making your features scrunch up (rather adorably, in Shu’s opinion).

“Within reason, yes..” Shu states, his usual catlike grin sweeter somehow as he gazes at you. His hands are clasped in front of him, and he might’ve been the picture of innocence if it weren’t for the way his eyes glinted with excitement and mischief as he watched you. He tends to be.. Softer, when you’re around. It’s something you’ve only just noticed, though you’re pretty sure Shu doesn’t even realize it himself. That’s just as well, if you ever brought it up to him, you’re sure he’d deny it completely.

Shu clears his throat, continuing. “Like, we can’t go anywhere where our past selves were in that moment. Something.. Ah, something about..” Should he make a Doctor Who reference? He shouldn’t. But he does. “Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey—” You groan and smack his arm dramatically, and Shu can’t help but chuckle as you glare up at him in mock annoyance.

“I will forever hold a grudge against Vox for showing you that fucking series.” You grumble halfheartedly. Shu shrugs, an easy smile curling on his lips as his right hand comes up to pat you on the head absently.

“Not sorry for being a geek, and it will happen again.” Shu says teasingly, eyes twinkling with joy. Mere moments later, he’s whispering an incantation under his breath, one that is foreign to you. From a poof of purple smoke appears a large black leather bound book. The large tome falls into his awaiting hands, and the sorcerer presents it to you with a flourish.

You raise a brow, eyeing the book suspiciously. It’s not as though you don’t trust Shu… You just don’t trust a spell that he’s never tested out for himself. Still, the way his eyes sparkle with excitement and anticipation makes you want to forget all of your apprehension and just roll with it.. So, begrudgingly, you do.

“Alright. Alright, fuck it!” You laugh. Shu’s grin sharpens into his natural smirk, and he taps the page with the pointed nail of his index finger.

“Then,” Shu breathes pausing for dramatic effect, “let’s do this thing.”

This wasn’t the plan. You weren’t supposed to get separated during the time traveling process, not in a way that would make it difficult to find each other. Shu has been searching for upwards of an hour now, and he’s starting to get antsy. The panic is creeping up on him like a cat playing with a mouse, shooting sharp little sparks of anxiety through his bones with every passing second. You two hadn’t jumped that far in the past, just into the late 90’s to test the spell out for safety purposes, so why—?

“Shu..? Shu!”

Upon hearing his name in that oh so familiar voice, Shu immediately turns around to see you making your way through the bustling crowd of people and closer towards him. When you’re finally at arms length, Shu reaches out and grabs you by the wrists, tugging you into him and wrapping his arms around you protectively. You choke on a cry, leaning into his hold as you desperately seek out his familiar touch. Unbeknownst to you, he’s using his magic to check you over for any injuries or trauma you might’ve sustained during time traveling.

“I’m.. Really glad that you’re okay.” He exhales, his shoulders sagging in relief when he finds that you’re mostly unscathed. You nod your head against his shoulder, trembling slightly. There’s so many people around the both of you that nobody really seems to notice nor care that you two are there, or perhaps they can’t see you due to Shu’s magic? You aren’t sure. You don’t really care enough either way. You cling to Shu, fighting back tears that had been threatening to fall.

“Mm. Me too, I really.. I didn’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t find you. I thought I was gonna be lost here forever!” You let out a watery laugh, sniffling as one of shu’s hands comes up to rub comforting circles into your back. He nods, sighing with a guilty smile.

“I guess this is my bad. I’ll give this time traveling spell a solid 50% on its success… and I’ll test it on myself a few more times before inviting you to tag along again, okay?” He says softly, still keeping you close to him. You nod, feeling the air around you shift as Shu begins to chant the incantation that will send you both back to present time.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

would you describe this image for me frank

Gosh, I can't believe you asked me this. This is a very important and difficult question which has occupied the greatest minds of our age since the first image was ever drawn on clay tablets at the dawn of humanity. You are asking for my opinion on something that has been debated by people much greater than myself -- in fact it has never even occurred to me before now whether I have an "opinion" about anything, let alone such a weighty matter as this one!

I suppose if pressed I would say that yes, this image does contain some amount of what we call "artistic value." But its artistic value is completely orthogonal to any meaningful attempt to understand or describe why humans make things like this; this image is not like other images because while the rest of us may be able to talk (or at least try to) about why we draw pictures, this picture goes beyond mere representation and description into the realm of pure invention, a thing that no amount of rationalization could ever encompass. Whenever I see this image it makes me want to cry out "it's all so terrible!" but when I open my mouth to do so I find only a black hole where words should be. So instead of being cynical you should just go fucking insane

[notalittleatall]

Goatfucker Steve always introduces himself as Sir Steven, although it isn’t his true name. He most commonly appears frequenting nightclubs and bars in cities, and always after dark. He is always dressed smartly, in a nice fitted suit, carrying a cane, and would sometimes be seen wearing a top hat, although he has begun to forgo that more and more in modern times. The first time he’s seen, he’s unfailingly polite. He’ll introduce himself to any group that catches his eye or is close enough to him. Often he will be rejected or occasionally mocked, as he is a middle aged man attempting to strike up a conversation with much younger people. It doesn’t particularly matter if they’re polite or rude.

Later that night, when most of the drinking is done and the streets are emptier, once of the groups who encountered him before will likely find him again. By investigating strange noises, or by spotting something he left behind, they will find him doing something terrible. He might be masturbating into a bowl of soup in the kitchen, or tying a gag around a waitresses mouth in the bathroom with his pants around his ankles, or sometimes fucking the odd goat. Whatever it is, it’s immoral and highly embarrassing. He doesn’t want word to get out. He can’t let word get out. So he gives chase.

If you want to imagine Goatfucker Steve, the best thing you could do is picture a man, impeccably dressed in black tie from the waist up, and fully nude from the waist down. He is holding a cane in one hand and an unusually wicked and sharp knife in the other. This is how he looks as he chases the witnesses, which is perhaps the time his true self is showing the most. He will chase them through the building and through the streets of the city doggedly. He doesn’t show any pleasure while chasing, rather appearing panicked and on the verge of sobbing even as he hunts them down. If he catches one, he will slice their neck with shocking speed and competency while gagging them in some way so as to not make too much noise. He will then cast around looking wildly for a place to stash the body. He will drag it over and heave it into a hiding spot, like a dumpster or a closet, and then go on with the chase. This pause gives the other witnesses time to run, but not quite enough time to get away. He’s cleverer than he lets on. The witnesses will find it unusually difficult to find other people while Goatfucker Steve is in pursuit, and mobile phones will fail to make contact with anyone else.

The number one mistake made by his victims is seeking sanctuary. Even though most of them are caught and killed by Steve, a couple almost always manage to get away by making it to a police station or any other place that has plenty of people around. Once they are safe, Goatfucker will stop chasing and disappear into the night. When the police go to investigate, they will find no trace of any wrongdoing that night. The trails of blood where their friends were killed are cleaned away, spotless. The dumpster that the bodies were unceremoniously dumped into are emptied. The waitress at the original establishment has no recollection of anything strange happening. The case goes cold. Rarely, if this is the outcome, the surviving witnesses will see Sir Steven again if they are out at an establishment he frequents. He will make eye contact, smile, and wave with an unbearably smug look. This is the last they see of him. He has gotten what he wanted.

The way to actually beat him is to target his most obvious weak point, which of course is his secret. If one can reveal his secret before being silenced and killed, he can be defeated in a much more lasting manner. This is why he must introduce himself to the witnesses, always. If someone can find a newspaper office that still has people in it in the night, and they can burst in and yell out loud for all to hear “Sir Steven fucked a goat!” (Or something along those lines, as naturally it should be adapted to the situation) then the pursuit will end. Goatfucker Steve will retreat off into the night, running scared. He will drop back into the Abyss shortly after being beaten in this way, and will find it harder to leave the next time. Nothing else will hurt him nearly as much. Physical attacks will only delay him for as long as it takes you to look away. He is driven by the mad fervor of a gentleman with something to hide, and in certain cases thats enough to walk off being impaled with a knife through one eye. It isn’t possible to kill him before his hunt has ended, or at least not without extraordinary resources.

[crmsnmth]

A Letter to Someone I'll Never Talk To Again: Part One

Dear "Muppet"

Most people start off a letter by asking how you are, but I don't want to waste words on something that doesn't affect my life. I hope you're doing well, but it's really none of my bsiness in the end. I wish like hell that that wasn't true, but wishes are for wishful thinking. You know me, always the life of the party.

I haven't changed all that much since our time. Okay, that's a lie. I've changed a lot. See after you left, and everyone watched me go down, I vowed to change. That I would someday change back into the person I was at my happiest. I thougth that's what mattered, being happy.

The problem with this fool proof plan was that I was a fool with guesses. I was at my happiest with you, so that means I'll never be that person again. That person is officially dead and buried and his rotting corpse is why my breath stinks to badly in the morning. It leaves a foul taste too.

I knew you were with him during the last month of our relationship. I always wonder if you ever figured out that I figured it out, playing Sherlock Holmes but with a far less interesting story that you already know. I knew he was there while I was at work. And I bit my tongue because I loved you so much. I loved the person I had fallen in love with.

That person I fell in love so deeply with, was different than the one you were at the end. And I guess that's kind of a given fact since you were fucking someone else while we were in our relationship. I've had some bad relationships, the one after you especially difficult, but one thing i can say is that I've never once cheated on any partner I've had. Even if I wanted to, I never did it. Not even has payback. I didn't really give all thought about it.

Why would I? It never mattered what you did. From the very first time you stepped into that bar to the very last time you walked away from me, I knew I was yours. I was yours and I would do anything for you. So I even forgive you for all of this stuff too.

That doesn't mean I wasn't a problem too. I was caught in a delusional world I had built in my head, and I wouldn't get out of it until you left me. I think that was the shock that snapped everything into place. The catalyst, you could say. I was a liar and a con artist with the charisma of Charles Manson. I could get anyone on my side before you. I used those skills. I did it constantly. Tell a lie, something so far off and unreal that was obviously lie, and I'd wait for sometone to take the bait. Once they took the bair, the game was on and I ould try to convince someone that I was right, even when they knew I wasn't. It worked more often than not, and looking back, that frightens me so much. I was so good at it. Either that or everybody was somehow in on the joke. I did it too twice that I can think, but that number should be higher.

I really lost it after you left. And you saw it. The last phone call I ever got from you was the morning after a very awful evening. I don't remember the evening. I was mixing cocaine and being black out drunk. Somehow, I managed to piss everybody off and was taken outside to get the shit kicked out of me. You called the next morning, after hearing abot the beating and my awful behavior. Yout told me your roommate was super pissed at me. I tried to apologize on Facebook and maybe find out what happened, but he read my message and proceeded to block me/ That was it then. That one less than a minute long phone call.

They'll be letters soon, but for now I'm tired and my eyes itch behind my glasses. Time to start the ritual you loved so much in the beginning but by the end hated. And that's how it goes. People change, and there is absolutely nothing one could do. Our time together meant and still means almost everything to me, and at the way it's going, I'll be seeing you when my eyes close for all of eternity. Even without well-respected no contact clause. I almost broke when I came across your picture in a box of random papers. But I didn't. And the number I refuse to delete from my sim card may not even be your number anymore. I've probably gone through 100 different numbers since yo split.

I have to stop now, or I never will.

Love You Until the Sun Explodes, "Peanut"

[valkyriellis]

Your art is super satisfying to look at. The way you simplify form into shape and chisel details into life (especially the face and folds) is very 'crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.' I especially admire the different values—The almost black graphite lines and shadows are my favorite haha.

How long have you been studying art? What do you think of and prioritize when drawing a picture? Is there anything you find especially challenging to draw?

(Sorry for the rant your art is just like super cool to me.)

Wow, thank you so much!! I love the way you described it haha, and I love these questions! They're some real thinkers... Sorry in advance for my response-rant because you really got me reflecting on some things lol

I've been drawing since I could pick up a pencil, but taking art seriously through classes and commissions and all that started at about 11/12 years old. (I'm 23) I honestly don't know what anybody saw in my art at that age but I can certainly say the few that encouraged me that early are the reason I'm still at it today!

I mean this in the least pretentious way possible, but I've noticed that when I draw I kind of enter like a "trance" state and barely even realize what I'm doing until it's over. I can't say that I'm thinking, focusing, or prioritizing anything, really! When I do start a piece with the explicit goal of *practicing* however, the focus/priorities change depending on what I'm trying to improve. It's probably obvious looking at my art, but I love the look of sharp angles and heavy contrast. My fav part of drawing is the delicate balancing of values. If that's helpful at all

For what I find to be challenging in art- two things. Inorganic shapes, and color. Starting with color, it's not enjoyable for me to use color in art and I therefore find it difficult to use effectively. It goes beyond just my art actually! I don't hate ALL color by any means, but I just truly do not identify with it. Clothes, accessories, home decor, the personalization of my phone case and the home screens of all my devices are all in grayscale, but I'm totally into it my partner wears the rainbow, for example. I could dig into why I think this is, but it'd all be theory. I am well aware of the power color holds in the perception and final product when it comes to art and sometimes wish I could harness that, but it's like it causes me psychic damage to use it lmao. And with inorganic shapes idk it's like a whole different ballpark to me. Buildings and cars are hell lol but flowers trees animals and people rock! You probably won't ever see me draw the former it's genuinely embarrassing haha.

Oh, and backgrounds. Fuck backgrounds all my homies hate backgrounds.

That was a LOT of yapping... Thanks for the questions and I hope I didn't bore you!!

[cowboyemeritus]

Picture Perfect (Mary Goore/Reader)

Mary's on the road again. You give him a little something to remember you by. (18+)

Read on AO3

i'm projecting here because i, too, am working on a term paper rn. if anyone wants to listen to me rant about the Royal Cemetery of Ur, hmu.

“Fuck, the things I’m gonna do to you when I get back.” Mary’s voice is slightly fried through the phone, but you can tell he’s riled up. You smile.

“I see you found my gift.” The jingling of a belt buckle sounds through the speaker and you bite your lip. Briefly, you consider ditching the computer and making your way over to the bedroom. This will, in all likelihood, be a quick affair, a way for Mary to blow off some steam after a long day on the road. You know, however, that once you get up, you’re not going to want to touch that paper again for the rest of the night. You certainly miss Mary, but thirty percent of your grade is on the line.

“Do you like it?” You find yourself asking. Mary grunts in response, and you hear the telltale sound of fabric sliding down their legs.

“It’s wonderful, babe. Very thoughtful of you.” He groans and you can tell he’s stroking himself already. “You know I love how you look in black.”

You sigh wistfully, recalling how difficult posing for the photo had been. Your arm is still sore from holding up the camera for so long. In retrospect, you suppose you could have just texted him a picture. It would have been a lot easier, now that camera phones are all the rage. However, there’s just something about a polaroid, about having it physically in your hand, that feels more meaningful. It’s the permanence of it, you suppose.

“Glad you like it,” you purr, squeezing your thighs together. “Figured needed a little something to keep you occupied.” On the other end of the line, you hear Mary snicker.

“You just wanted to make sure I didn’t forget about you, didn’t you?”

“No!” You cry indignantly. Mary laughs out loud this time.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, baby.” They grunt, and you start to hear a wet sound as they presumably coat their length with pre.

“Of course I’m not!” You huff. “It’s just… Some of the people who come to your shows can get a little… bold.”

“What, you don’t trust me?” His tone is playful — this is just fun and games and the both of you know it. You smile, knowing that what you’re going to say next will make Mary’s brain melt.

“I just want to make sure you remember who you belong to.” As predicted, he moans loudly through the receiver.

“Fuck,” they sigh. The wet noise is louder and, well, wetter now, and Mary’s breaths come deeper and quicker. “Course I remember. You think a bunch of tweaked out groupies have got a thing on you? Don’t make me laugh.” You’re glad Mary can’t see you blush, or the way your nails are digging into your thigh as you fight the urge to blow off your work entirely and rub one out.

“Wish you were here,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I know, baby. I miss you so much.” You can feel the wetness gathering in your panties and let out a heavy breath at the thought of what Mary must look like right now. The image of them, flushed cock in hand, flashes in your mind’s eye, and the plastic of your flimsy little flip phone creaks as your knuckles turn white. Mary gives you another small moan, and then chuckles softly.

“You wanna know why this is a particularly great gift?” There’s a pause; his strokes get slower and his breath begins to even out. They must be getting close. “Now I can take you with me wherever I go. The next time the guys ask about you, I can just whip this out and show them exactly how well you’re doing.” The thought of Mary showing his bandmates, who you only vaguely know, such an explicit photo of you makes your breath hitch.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” A fresh wave of arousal hits you, and you have to cross your legs to give yourself just a little pressure. Mary huffs out a laugh when a quiet moan erupts from deep in your chest.

“Wanna get my hands all over you,” he grumbles.

“You sure that’s the only thing you wanna get all over me?” Mary groans, and the tempo of the slick sound builds once again.

“Shit, baby.”

“Give it to me, Mare. C’mon.”

It doesn’t take long before Mary reaches his climax. They come down whining, breathing hard and heavy into the receiver. You can’t help but wonder if he’s biting his lip like he usually does. Immediately, you have to banish the thought as your blood begins to quicken. Once their breath settles, they let out a contented sigh.

“You must be exhausted,” you say, moving the mouse around to wake up the computer. Mary hums in agreement.

“Yeah,” they yawn. “You’re a total knockout, babe.” Though you roll your eyes, you can’t help but let out a little laugh through your nose.

“Get some rest, then. You’ve got another long day tomorrow.”

“What about you? Gonna get off for me?” Your shoulders slump as your paper reappears on the screen. Already, the light makes something behind your eyes ache. 

“Wish I could.”

[fanfic-obsessed]

Vet Bar

This is a scene I started to write that wants to be turned into a larger fic but I just can't seem to get further. So I release it to all of you, may it find it's forever home.

For thse of you who do not know this is from Umbrella Academy, season 1. It's an AU of the Vet Bar Scene after Klaus comes back: “This is a vets only bar, fella’s”

“I am a Vet”

“Yeah, where’d you serve”

“None of your business”

Klaus heard the other man step forward, in the corner of his mind he was impressed with the amount of menace the soldier was able to imbue into the rustle of cloth. He still couldn’t take his eyes off of the picture of Dave, even as Diego started to step in. 

A new voice cutting his brothers' apologies off, actually drew Klaus' full attention, “Come off it Craig, look at the way he moved. The one in green definitely saw action somewhere.”

Klaus was finally able to draw his eyes away from the picture. Craig was peering at him, defensiveness slowly draining from his frame.  The other man was a little older than Craig, not old enough for Vietnam, but maybe the tail end of Korea. When he saw that he had Klaus’s attention, he smiled. “Sorry about that. We usually don’t care, but there have been a couple of stupid kids about your age in lately. They keep bugging people with questions about ‘shooting bad guys’.”

Klaus snorted, “Worse than the FNG’s”

The rest of the tension drained from Craig. He gestured with his head towards the bar. “Yeah, I‘ve had to talk a few friends down from the ledge after the bastards stirred some shit up. I'll buy you both a drink. To apologize.”

Klaus shrugged and didn’t even look at Diego as he stepped forward. Diego followed with an air of suspicious menace. 

The man who had intervened returned behind the bar, pulling the liquor to make three drinks. “I’m guessing however you served was fucked up and difficult to explain.”

Klaus jolted, he was having a hard time focusing on anything. His hands still felt tacky with Dave’s blood. As he rubbed his hands together he caught the eye of the unnamed barman. “Why do you say that?”

The man smiled, something sad and understanding pulling across his face. ��Didn’t know until I got a good look at your face. I bought this bar from another Vet. Got all the way through fighting the Nazi’s intact before leaving half an arm in ‘Nam. He insisted that picture,” the bartender gestured at the picture of Klaus’s squad, “stay up. I’ve spent more than a few nights using it to block out the memories.”

The physical burn of the liquor was helping to ground Klaus in the here and now, though everything still felt jagged. It took a few moments for the bartenders words to parse, “Fucked up is probably the least of it.” 

The bartender hummed, but thankfully didn’t ask any of the questions that must have been going through his mind. Or perhaps they weren’t. Maybe this man knew who he was outside of being an anachronism in a picture from fifty years ago.  Maybe he assumed it was some strange Umbrella Academy thing.  

“How long have you been out?” Craig asked, his voice softened into something careful. The pitch and tone just so to pierce his fugue, without startling him or making him defensive. It was impressive since there were days when the only thing that Klaus knew he was was defensive. Even without the war.

From the corner of his eyes he saw the flash of black that meant that Ben had caught up with them from whatever wandering he had done. The ghost was staring at the picture with Dave intently. Klaus wondered what he was seeing. If he could see the important parts without having to be told. 

“Uh…a few hours, I think?” Klaus answered. From the look on Diego’s face Klaus may have missed some parts of the conversation. He could almost see Diego mentally listing what Klaus could be on.  

“I’m guessing you didn’t even get the piss poor discharge speech and directions to the local VA?” Craig asked. 

An ugly sound that resembled nothing so much as laughing through a mouth of broken glass escaped Klaus. “I won’t exactly have discharge paperwork, will I?” The world was going wavy again, the air starting to thin. “Not sure if there are any records of me at all, save that picture.” 

Ben was moving closer, a concerned look on his face. Diego was starting to move as well, his concern masked by a facade of rage like usual. Klaus was actually surprised how long the shorter man had held off on demanding answers. The demand on Diego’s lips halted when the door to the bar flung open. Klaus was not the only one to start, hand shooting to the pistol that was not there.  Craig shot to his feet, as defensive and angry as he had been. Even Diego spun to face the door, a knife in each fist.  The only one who didn’t jolt was the bartender, and his hand drifted below the bar. 

Green threatened to overcome his vision for a moment. Waves of camouflage creeping closer, threatening to drag him back into the jungle. Except his hands. His hands were the brownish red of drying blood all over again. Even after the washing that he had already done. His vision narrowed to a small white square on the far wall, a picture he had only discovered today. As far as he knew, the only picture still in existence with Dave’s face. 

In the time it took for Klaus to clear his vision, four young men had burst into the bar.

[skzhocomments]

Mafia Book #2 - PART I - The Black Iris - Chapter 6 - Revenge

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

General masterlist

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

---

PART I - THE BLACK IRIS

Chapter 6 - Revenge

chapter word count: 3.5k words

~Minho's POV~

Finding those three scums was easy.

Kidnapping them and confining them in one of our abandoned buildings was easy, too.

What was difficult, though, was to not knock the teeth out of their mouths myself. I wanted to be the one to put a bullet through their heads for hurting Iris. I respected her too much, though, and knew she had her own plans with them, even if she wouldn't vocalise them.

It's been shy of six months since we spoke about it, and I regretted moving so slowly with her revenge, but as they say, good things come to those who wait, and patience is a virtue. I needed to plan everything carefully before kidnapping them, since they were influential people and we didn't want anyone actually finding them, or even worse, us.

Anyways, the only thing that matters was that now we're there, with these bastards tied against some chairs, their hands cuffed, and their eyes and mouths covered.

I was reluctant to bring Iris here at first, would it just trigger her bad memories? Would it actually do her any good?

But still, it was not my call to make. I just did what she asked, and brought them here, and seeing the way her eyes sparkled when she poured boiling hot water on their genitals made me realise I made the right decision in suggesting she gets revenge.

She first started with hurting them. She cut them up, pushed them, punched them, then she took care of them and nursed them back to health, just so she could do it again. She kept that up for weeks, making sure to feed them and give them water once every few days; not too much, for she didn't want them to become spoiled, God forbid, but just enough to survive.

She would sometimes only watch them and listen to their conversations without them knowing she was there, her eyes blank, devoid of any sympathy.

After a few weeks, her approach became more extreme. She started doing all sorts of CIA level torture tactics on them. She would watch them obsessively and even asked Seungmin to make a device for her that would pour water droplets on their foreheads every few seconds, just so that they can never fall asleep; she would take their blindfolds off after turning on a bright lamp, which was a shock to their eyes that have been deprived of light for weeks.

I started worrying she could be more of a psychopath than I was, which would definitely be another first, but Iris never failed to surprise me. It was clear she grew up watching true crime.

"Who are you?" One of the men cried.

"Hmm," Iris started. It was the first time she was speaking to them ever since we took them. The idiots realised all three of them are together but couldn't connect the dots to figure out why they were there in the first place, not when Iris let them speak for only short periods of time.

Just how many vile things did they do in this formation, for them to not realise it was Iris?

"Just tell us what you want! If it's money... just tell us how much!" Another man shouted. The fact that she took the covers off their mouths at the same time meant she actually wanted to listen to what they were saying and talk to them.

"Did you press on record?" She chuckled.

"Record? What do you mean? Record what?! You fucking bitch, just so you know, after I get out of here-"

"She looks like such a slut like this." She interrupted the guy and sent a powerful slap his way, making his head turn. The sound of the impact resonated in the whole room, making the other two guys squirm in their chairs.

"I'd enjoy it more if she stopped crying." She continued, slapping another guy – probably the one who said it so many years ago.

"Look, I don't know what you-"

"Should we write something on her and take a picture?" She slapped the last dude just as hard. "Do you want to know who I am?" She chuckled again. "Fine."

Iris made her way behind the guys and undid their blindfolds, and I just watched the show with my arms crossed in one of the corners of the room.

"Ahh, three pairs of beautiful eyes!" She laughed and put her hands on her hips.

"It's you..." one of the men spat at Iris, but she just laughed harder.

"Missed me?"

"She's fucking crazy..."

"How dare you do this to us?! Don't you know who we are?! Once we get out-"

She went behind them and put a cloth in his mouth, tying it at the back of his head. Then, she did the same to the other two, just to make sure they're quiet.

"Minho." Iris turned to me, her mouth in a slight pout. She was so damn cute. "They think they're gonna get out of here."

I laughed. She was simply the devil reincarnated, and I remembered when my eyes first locked with hers all those months ago. Fuck, she's even more beautiful now than she was then.

"Poor them." I replied, watching her sway her hips in my direction, completely enchanted.

"But you won't." She turned to them just as she reached me in the corner of the room, and they looked at her, their eyes hopeless. I knew that expression all too well. "You won't get out of here, because I can't forgive you, and I'm bored of you. Since you all loved watching me so much, to the point of filming me, I'm gonna give you one less show. You can thank me in hell. Now, stop squirming around and watch."

Iris grabbed my collar and pulled me in for a kiss, her tongue playfully licking my lips as her fingers worked on the buttons of my shirt.

"Is this why you asked for a bed in here last week?" I chuckled.

"Mhm. You're quick." She continued kissing me, and I broke the kiss and moved down to her jaw.

"I thought you wanted to let these guys have a good night's sleep for once."

"As if." She chuckled.

"You're insane. Remind me to never get on your bad side." I whispered in her neck just as I started kissing and biting it.

"I'm insane? Minho, baby, you haven't touched me ever since that night six months ago. I craved for you every single day, but I was too scared... Hand holding, kissing and dates aren't enough for me. I want all of you. I'm greedy." She moaned as I bit her neck.

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but trust me, there's nothing more I want to do than fuck you, Iris." I took off her blouse and she folded in my arms. Fuck, her skin was so soft, her hair smelled so good, and she was just as sick in the head as I was.

"I love you so much." She confessed.

"Fuck, love, me too, I am obsessed with you. How did I find someone so perfect for me?" It was true. I was utterly consumed by Iris, and I wanted her so badly, it burned.

She grabbed the gun from my leg holster and put it in my hand, her fingers then working on opening my zipper.

"Hold onto that, baby, I'm gonna need you to use it later."

She took off my pants and took my dick in her mouth, licking from top to bottom skilfully, her tongue swirling around my tip. I was already rock hard, and couldn't help but roll my head back when she deepthroated me. She was way too hot like that, on her knees in front of me, wearing just her bra and a skirt that should've come off ages ago.

Blowjobs became a common occurrence after my last mission four months ago, but in this scenario, it was giving me the thrill, and I felt myself wanting to burst immediately. It was hard to control myself.

The three guys were helplessly watching the gun in my hand, their faces stained with tears and some dried blood from Iris' previous shows. They were watching me, their gaze all too familiar, beginning me with their eyes to stop this madness and save them.

They didn't seem to realise that it was futile, I was as fucked in the head as Iris, if not more, as I've been doing this for so many more years compared to her, and if they wouldn't have made any sounds, I would've probably completely forgotten they were there.

The only thing I cared about right now was the way her lips felt around my cock and the vibrations from her muffled moans when I bottomed down deep in her neck.

I've always been sort of a closeted exhibitionist, so this scene was simply exciting, unlocking a fantasy I didn't even know I had.

I grabbed Iris' chin and made her look at me as I pulled out my cock from her mouth, then I helped her stand up and get on the bed, and the fire in her eyes let me know these guys held no power over her anymore.

I took off her pants and returned the favour, eating her out as her moans filled the room. I finally got to taste her, and oh, fuck, how sweet she was.

Unexpectedly, she raised her hand in the air and pointed to the dude in the middle.

"That one." She whispered, rolling her head back, and I understood what she meant immediately. I continued kissing her thighs while I looked back to aim properly, and without missing a beat, I painted the room red.

Entering two fingers inside, I curved them upward and focused on Iris' moans, which was not an easy task with the other two pigs squealing for their life as they watched their friend's life slip away from him due to the bullet hole in his forehead.

Iris grabbed a fistful of my hair and kept my head in place. I was sure she was close, so I continued licking her clit as my fingers worked tirelessly in her, and she let go.

"You're so pretty cumming on my fingers like this, doll." I praised her, watching the hearts in her eyes as she looked at me.

"Doll again?" She chuckled. "Fuck, that was so good. Please fuck me. I need you so badly."

I complied, putting my body on top of hers and entering her quickly. I've been patient enough.

She put her hands around my neck and pulled me closer, kissing my mouth and tasting herself on my tongue. We kissed for a while, when she pulled back and pointed to another dude, the one closest to us.

"You're taking advantage of me." I chuckled.

"Of course. Aren't you mine to take advantage of?"

I changed our positions and put her on top, thrusting into her while pointing the gun at the poor guy and shooting. The last guy that was left was now crying harder than ever, realising he has no way out of his fate. If Iris played with them until now, giving them false hope that they might get out of this, it was now certain for him that there was no hope left. He was a dead man.

This must've been the guy that hurt her the most, considering she kept him alive the longest and let him live his last moments in distress, knowing what's sure to come.

Iris fucked herself with my dick and bounced up and down as she pleased, coming for a second time. I loved seeing her use me like this, I loved her body, the expressions she made, and her beautiful, fucked up mind. I loved everything about her.

I loved her.

"I'm so close, doll." I told her, beginning to thrust myself into her again and keeping her body pressed against mine.

"Fuck, Minho, fill me up baby."

Music to my ears. She must've not been aware of the effect she had on me. How could I not listen to her every command, when they sounded so appealing?

In just a few thrusts more, I released myself inside of her, feeling the way her walls squeezed me tighter and listening to her breathe in my ear.

"I love you." I kissed her for a long time, just enjoying her presence. "Do you want to kill the last one?"

"I'd like to, but I don't know how to work a gun, and I don't feel like hurting my hands anymore. My palms still hurt from slapping them earlier." She said, so I took her palms in mine and kissed them ten times, making her chuckle.

"I'll teach you. Come." I stood up and helped her up as well, and we got dressed. I then put the gun in her hand. "You have to hold it tightly with your right hand, and secure it with your left-"

"You didn't secure it though, did you? You held it with only one hand."

"That's because I'm a pro, love. You'll learn." I kissed the side of her head.

"Will you teach me this as well?" She looked at me hopeful, and I nodded. She was already so good at close body combat, why not teach her this as well?

"Of course. I will do anything you want, my love. But until then, safety first, hm?"

"Okay." She nodded happily. "Now what?"

"Your legs, move them like this." I showed her the way you properly assume the Weaver stance, as it was the most stable one, also providing a slightly better accuracy, even if you needed to have some aim to use it properly. Oh, well, it's not like it mattered if she missed his head once or twice.

"Like this?" She turned to me, her eyes glowing.

Fucking hell, I am obsessed with this girl.

If this is what Chris felt for Emilia, no wonder he's so devastated even two years later.

But if it ever came to it, would I kill Iris if she betrayed me? Would I just cast her away? Would I still love her?

Fucking hell. My feelings are too much.

"Yes, doll, exactly like that. Where do you wanna hit him first?"

She smirked and pointed the gun down, towards that man's groin. I chuckled.

"Wasn't the hot water enough?"

The poor man started shaking his head vigorously, as if begging Iris to reconsider, but she was dead set on taking this dude's manhood before taking his life.

"What, dude? You made her the sociopath she is today!" I went over him and kicked his leg, as he hopelessly watched me, still pathetically pleading with his eyes. "The audacity some men have!" I spat, then went once more behind Iris and hugged her from the back, my hands guiding the gun in the right position.

"What, do you think I'm a sociopath?" Iris asked, as If offended.

"No, love, I don't think so. I'm sure of it."

"Mean." She scoffed, then chuckled slightly. "Now what?"

"Now, pull the trigger." I whispered in her ear, and she did with no hesitation, the bullet hitting the guy straight in the manhood.

"Okay, that was quite fun!" She spoke triumphantly as the dude cried out in pain. His companions sure had it easier.

"Yea? Do you like shooting guns?" I kissed her neck.

"I'm not sure. I like shooting this trash."

"Should we kill him now? I'm quite hungry. Let's go on a date and celebrate. Eat something good, drink some champagne..."

"Sure." She moved away from my grasp and turned around, giving me the gun. Her hand was slightly shaking. I gladly took it from her, not wanting her to rush into doing something she was not ready for or that she could regret. For me, it was another story. I could've killed 1000 of these dudes with no remorse, especially for her.

I would've done any crime for her, and she seemed so aware of it, it was dangerous.

I hugged her again and grabbed the back of her head with my hand, guiding her to my shoulder. She snuggled against me, and I didn't let her watch as I pulled the trigger and killed the last guy.

~

After seeing her shenanigans, it became crystal clear to Chris and to everyone else in Stray Kids that Iris would be the best person to gather intel on others through physical or psychological torture. Her knowledge on psychology was extremely valuable, and on one hand, I was glad the team finally started acknowledging her more, but on the other, I worried.

I.

I.

I worried about her well-being. How fucked up was that?

I was so afraid of her being uncomfortable and feeling guilty for torturing people, especially since it was different from the three guys. She had a personal vendetta against them, but other people she didn't care for or know were a different story.

I voiced my concerns to Chris, and the only thing he did was laugh in my face.

"Wow, you really care about her." He said, his eyes cold. "But you know better than anyone that no one stays here unless they are valuable in some way."

"Do you really want me to leave?" I asked him, my eyes even colder.

"Leave?" He raised a brow. "You? Would you ever leave this life – everything you've ever known – for a mere woman?"

"Be serious. You know she's not a mere woman to me. I love her."

"It hasn't been that long, how can you love her?"

"Don't be a dick. You and Emilia started dating after way less time." I was never one to bite my tongue.

"Don't you dare-"

"All I'm saying is, don't be a hypocrite. If she were alive, wouldn't you have left this life behind if she asked you to?"

"But she's not." He replied bluntly.

"But you would. So, either you finally accept Iris as my partner and let her stay here without her needing to do anything about it, or I'm fucking gone, man." I turned around to leave, but his next words stopped me dead in the tracks.

"What if she's the one who came to me and asked to let her take on this role?" He chuckled slightly.

"... what?"

"I already accepted her as part of our team, man. She wants to be useful to us, to you, but I appreciate your love outburst. I'm glad you found someone."

This fucker.

I left without saying another word.

~

I knew Iris wanted to join me on missions, but how could I possibly be okay with that, when I cared so much about her? Last month I accidentally hit her too hard when teaching her a move and she fell, taking a vase down with her, which broke and cut her left wrist. She bled for a long while, and I almost cried, for fuck's sake.

Needless to say, she had to get stitches, and we never trained inside the house again.

I made my way to the gardens and saw Hyunjin reading something on a bench.

"Hey man, what's up?" I asked, watching him flip the pages quickly.

"Not much, waiting for your girlfriend to finish up."

"Finish up what?"

"She's in the greenhouse."

I nodded and left in a rush, wanting to see her and ask her about her conversation with Chris. She was indeed in the greenhouse, painting a field of flowers – black irises.

"Hello, doll." I said, kissing her right temple.

"Minho. I'm almost done here. Wanna go on a date?" She smiled.

"Of course. Should we go see a movie?"

"Sounds good."

"Iris, can I talk to you about something, though?"

She put the brush down and looked at me.

"Did you talk to Chris?"

"You figure me out too easily." I chuckled. "Why do you want to put yourself in danger so much?"

"I just want to... be part of your universe, you know?" She smiled.

"But coming with me anywhere is way too much." I frowned. "It's dangerous, and-"

"Chris said the same thing actually." She chuckled.

He did?

"So we reached a compromise. I'm just going to do what I'm good at – I'm gonna work with Han and find out everything we can about our targets, and I can come with you if you're going on gun trades."

"Gun trades? Hmm... I see."

True, those were not as dangerous, especially ever since we started selling them throughout Europe. Whenever we had to seal a big deal, it felt just like travelling for a business meeting.

"What do you think?" She asked, and I initially thought she was talking about the compromise she made with Chris, but after watching what her gaze pointed to, I realised she meant the painting.

"It looks beautiful, Iris. But why black?"

"I figured black suits me the most. Doesn't it?"

"Isn't black associated with depression and pessimism?" I frowned, and she started laughing.

"It is, but it's also associated with power, strength, and authority. That's what I want to be..."

"Then yes, it fits you well." I kissed her cheek, and we both stood up.

"Also – don't you always wear black? What is this double standard?!"

"Yea, but it's different when I do it." I protested. "Although I can't lie – you're hot as fuck in black."

"Hmmmmmmmm." She frowned and then chuckled slightly. "So, to the movies?" She grabbed my hand and looked at me, and watching her beautiful eyes, I just knew that the word 'love' was too simple to describe how much I cared for this girl.

"Yes. Let's go." I nodded lazily, focusing on the way her hand felt in mine. My thumb brushed over her knuckles and my grip was tight, for I never wanted to let go.

"Damn, I crave some nachos and popcorn... and even that washed out drink..." She mumbled, and so we went to our date night.

---

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

[oldtvandcomics]

Ranking my Tarot decks because why not

I don't do any witchy things, but I do love Tarot, mostly for the art. Those cards are frikking expensive, but I did build a small collection over the past... fifteen years or so.

Deck 1:

It came with a box. And a book of instructions. I lost both, because I was like twelve at the time. Unfortunately, the name of the artist was lost with them. (Don't ask where the little bag is coming from, I believe my sister got it with something or so? But it fits the cards perfectly, great little bag. 10/10 for the bag.)

The cards are nice enough. The Big Arcana is pretty standard, the Small Arcana for some reason is just the number of the name of the colour. So, like, Five or Cups is five cups. Six of Cups is six cups. Seven of cups is seven... You get it. This makes it very difficult to know which card means what, and all the symbolism is lost for most of the deck.

3/10

Deck 2: De Tarot Boek-Box, artist Juliet Sharman-Burke

Pretty small cards, that came in a cube-shaped box that I still have, manual included. The pictures are all VERY pretty.

It's my favorite deck, and if I ever use Tarot cards, then I use this one. So I have an emotional connection by now, and also, I repeat, I frikking love these pictures.

10/10

Deck 3: The Welcome to Night Vale Hayworth Tarot Deck, artist Jessica Hayworth

(I am just seeing that there is a second Welcome to Night Vale deck?!?!)

Based on the podcast. Some of the cards feature characters, but most seem to just aim for The Vibe. Which it's doing a pretty good job at.

Not my favorite Tarot deck, but that is mostly just a matter of taste.

8/10

Deck 4: The Literary Tarot, created and designed by Dani Hedlund, card artists Shan Bennion, Isabel Burke, Bradley Clayton, Sam Dow and Ejiwa Ebenebe

Behind this deck is the Brink Literacy Project, a nonprofit promoting literacy. They had famous authors pair cards with works of classic literature. They did replace the traditional Small Arcana colours with colours that fit better to the theme of literature: Quills, Ink, Parchment and Light.

Oh dear, do I have conflicting feelings about this one.

First, this deck is objectively speaking GORGEOUS. Very beautiful, both because of the golden elements on every card, and because the drawings are nice to look at. Second, some of the matches made between the work of literature and the Tarot cards are just perfect (I'm still not over Don Quixote as The Fool). However, I don't actually like the idea of replacing the Small Arcana colours. Also, I had to import the deck, and it cost me a fortune. Not saying that I regret it, buuut...

My real problem however is that it race- and culture lifted quite a few of the cards, presumably to look less white and eurocentric, but... No. Just NO. There are moments when you can play lose with skin colour in your adaptation of classic literature, and then there are times when you absolutely CANNOT. If you are making a deck of cards with just one picture to represent a book, then you need to stay true to that book, and this includes things like the race and the culture of the characters. Doing otherwise does injustice both to the culture in which said work was created (and if that culture was racist AF, then we STILL CAN'T IGNORE THAT), and to the people of colour you were changing the characters into. Non-white people have their own classic literature. Countries from the global South have got their classic literature. FUCKING INCLUDE THOSE WORKS INSTEAD OF DRAWING JANE AUSTEN CHARACTERS AS BLACK!

This deck had one, self-appointed job, and it failed it.

4/10

Deck 5: The One I Put Together, artist Thiago Corrêa (and me, I guess?)

I bought the entire pack as stickers from Amazon. There was no artist credit as far as I could find, but this is the same deck as they sell in the shops that is designed by Thiago Corrêa. It's all cats. I then spent two very fun days cutting black paper into card shapes, drawing little doodles on them fitting each card, then stuck the stickers on the cards and wrapped the whole in bookwrap foil.

Also, I included an ace Pride card sticker, because I had bought a pack of ace Pride stickers at the same time and I love the idea of a Tarot deck with a bonus wild card.

First of all, Corrêa's art is gorgeous.

The finished cards are very small, but they do look good. Most importantly, I've had a blast assembling them. However, I don't think that I would dare to use them as actual cards, because I would worry that they get damaged while shuffling.

10+/10 art project 1/10 Tarot deck

[pondslime]

find the word wip game

rules: search your wip(s) for the words given to you and share a sentence, then assign words for the people you tag

@visceravalentines MEG TYSM FOR THIS TAG this was so SO fckn fun. what an electric concept!! I shared more than a sentence for each bc I'm a fiend

my words were mouth, fall, dirt, teeth, and open!! cracking my knuckles like wooooooooo let's GOOOO

MOUTH;

from sacramentum (midnight mass // father paul hill x reader)

What happened to Mary in that cave? Alone, having stripped herself of all other pleasures—nothing but her thoughts and the one book she’d allowed herself. Wandering the seaside and building crucifixes out of sticks and roots, tied together by some stray fishing line. Had she looked down on his face, whittled crudely out of stone, and wished for steadier hands to carve his likeness? How many times had she woken with the sound of the sea in her ears? Perched by the mouth of the cave, watching the sky turn from gray to blue to gold to black?

Did she ever see ships on the horizon? What did she think of them? Had she ever thought of flagging one down? And what was the punishment she’d given herself for that?

When did you stop feeling hungry? You couldn’t survive on tears alone.

FALL;

from dancing in the moonlight (an american werewolf in london // david kessler & jack goodman x reader)

“We could’ve gotten frostbite.” Jack mutters.

“In the worst case scenario, yes, I suppose.” David replies, helping himself to a bagel.

“We almost got trench foot.”

“We did not!” David exclaims, laughing.

“That’s why I said almost, poindexter.” Jack counters. “One more night of wet socks and my toes would’ve fallen off. One by one—” He flicks his index finger three times, making a popping noise with his lips. “And it would’ve been all your fault. Good luck explaining that to my mother when we get back in the states. Oh, sorry Mrs. Goodman, I had Jack trekking through miles upon miles of soggy moorland and now he’s toeless. Those socks you knit him, forget about it. Maybe give it ‘til next Hanukkah and he’ll regrow his toes—oh, wait…”

“You’re ridiculous.” David shakes his head.

“Oh yeah? I’ll remember that when I’m decomposing next to you. Toes gone. Rotting.” Picking up the tongs, Jack wavers above the platter of croissants. “Sure you’ll find me real funny then, you schmuck.”

DIRT;

from sometime after midnight (house of wax // bojangles sinclair x reader)

The dull blue glow from the keypad barely illuminates the ground, but you can make out the unmistakable sign of cherry red fluid leaking onto the dirt. A steady trickle of it drips from the underside of the car—and it's not stopping anytime soon.

Your transmission is fucked.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You exclaim.

TEETH;

from serotonin (house of wax // carly jones x reader)

She pictures her tank top, bloody and tattered, stuffed into a plastic bag labeled with EVIDENCE in bold letters. The prosecutor clicks to the next projection slide and there she is, another picture.

“Who are the women in the photographs? Are they still alive? It’s difficult." The detective on the screen grimaces. "We only have remnants of them. We’ve found teeth…clothes. The trophies they kept of these women will hopefully lead us to discovering their identities. I don’t know how long it’s going to take. But they deserve to have their names given back to them.”

“Carly?”

OPEN;

from a handful of bluebonnets (tcm // thomas hewitt x reader)

He’d been young. Young enough to still show his face, but old enough to know that it was the reason people were staring. He didn’t remember much from that day, just open-mouthed stares and the cow at the county fair with big watery eyes. Black, shining irises eclipsing the thin white sclera, framed with long lashes. She was a regal old thing, standing with her neck held high, ears twitching.

He thought he saw her again once, years later.

Her coat was duller, her head dropping. She’d traded her blue ribbons for slippery red blood, splattered along the wall and running down the grate. You use up all your usefulness on pride and this is where you’re bound to end up.

Maybe she’d been the first one. Spoiled with the heartbreak of a life that never came to be.

tagging @possumteeths, @f1nalboys, @pretty-possum, and aaaaaaa I'm blanking on who else might have wips fdjshjhfdsjhsdf

so!! whoever else wants to do this!!! pls consider urself tagged!!

your words are blood, eyes, sleep, skin, & break 👀👀👀

[lordarsonizzzzt]

I would like to read what you wrote about Ghoul

-Cat dad anon

pipipi

Chapter Text

Agent Shadow, known to be a heartless agent of the GOC, he neutralized many anomalies and it never seemed to faze him, he was quick to do his job and he did it right.

Then why... was this time different?

His team separated, and he found them, a family of reality benders. Two mothers, two kids, one of them reminding him vaguely of his sister, he tried to wash the thought away., no time for simpathy.

He grabbed his gun, ready to shoot the parents, so then the kids would be an easy target but he couldn't bring himself to do it when he started hearing sobs from the little ones, his shotgun almost fell from his hands and he almost thought about sparing them...

Almost.

His team mates found him and therefor, the family., he never felot this insecure before, but this was his job, he had to do it... Then why couldn't he bring himself to just shot them? 

He was too distracted, but that faded quickly when he heard an ear piercing scream, one that almost made him drop to his knees and try to take his ears away, one of the mothers was laying on the floor, infront of her daughter who tried to shook her awake, he felt like he couldn't move. He killed so many before why was this difficult? His mind was screaming at him, blending with the screams from reality, to just do it, do it, do it, do it for her.

And he was the one to finish the family, he had to stay there a little more tho, thinking of what he did.

That day when he went home he saw his little sister, the only reason he still fought for his life and he couldn't help but remember the face of the little girls, looking at him with fear and horror while he held his gun to their heads, he remembers saying 'it will be quick'.

He ugly cried that night, and puked at morning, he then took his sister to daycare and went to work. The image of the girls still fresh in his mind, and it felt like it was never going to leave.

Everyday, for another year he would cry, he would wake up, he would vomit, he would spend less time with his sister, he felt like a monster. What if his sister was the one being killed? And when that image came to his head it was hard to not feel like he never changed. 

He was no longer a safe place for her, he knew that much. So one night he just left her at their uncle's place and went to work, only he didn't come back to take her home.

Not that day Not that week He never came back.

He was reported missing, then dead when they found his old phone and clothes with some blood stains.

Did he felt guilty? Yes, for a lot of things actually. But he couldn't just quit the GOC and expect a happy life, that's not how it works. Besides, he wanted to find a more 'safe' option for anomalies to be far from society...

So he started working at the SCP Foundation, where he wouldn't carry the guilt of killing families that didn't chose to be born like that, he just had to run experiments and sign shit, thanks to his brains he went from 'Researcher Anderson' to 'Doctor Anderson'.

While working there was just as dangerous as working for the GOC, it was way better, his coworkers were nice to him, they had mental health workers, and he never had to feel the blood of others in his hands again.

But he felt alone and empty, he wondered how was she doing, hopefully she forgot him and is being spoiled by their uncles, the thought of his little sister always broke him. It didn't help he carried a picture of both of them everywhere.

Apart from that, everything was going great... Until that day, that fucking day.

He and a few other doctors and agents where on a van, transporting an anomaly that was shaped like a rock. The van stopped suddenly and the back doors were opened, people on a suit he once wore got inside, something he thought would never see again. A few GOC Agents grabbed him and threw him out putting a black plastic bag over his head making it hard to breath, but sadly not to hear.

He knew his coworkers were dead now, and he just wondered what was going to happen to him. He was thrown into another car and he passed out, his mind decided he had enough.

And there it began, the horrible days that would lead to his death.

Day one was fast, he was too out of it to notice anything. They left him in an old house, tied up and with the threat of going for his family if he even tried to scape.

Day two was rough, he was starting to get hungry and that's when the agents came back, he never felt so much pain in his life. He got punched over and over again in the face, his nose broke and it wouldn't stop bleeding, his glasses broke with the first hit and some of the glass fell into his eyes, making everything more painful.

Day three is when he got cut, the pain and blood loss kept making him fade out of reality only to come back to more pain. That night was cold and all he could do was wish for death.

Day four is when he would get humillated, they would throw rotten food at him and force him to eat it, he would throw up everytime.

Day five was the end of it all.

He was already weak when they came in, he was waiting for another day of pain but was rather surprised when they took off the restrains. He knew better than to run tho.

But he should've at least tried it, maybe it would have saved him.

He was bathed in gasoline, the smell of it made it hard to breath.

And then he just remembers pure pain, the flames covering his body and burning everything he once was, he screamed until he couldn't, he rolled on the floor and eventually his body made him pass out. He would be able to open his eyes sometimes, coughing and crying. He was never going to see her again.

Weeks had to pass until foundation staff that was tasked to recover the bodies from the 'missing doctors' found him, or what was left of him.

They didn't have any family to call, they were just going to cremate him and make a small ceremony with some close friends.

But what used to be Anderson didn't die... Not completly. Staff found him sitting on the bed they put him on to start the process the next day, he was looking at everything a little confused.

"Hey, why am I here? I should be on my office right now"

He was allowed to keep his title as a doctor after others explained to him that he wasn't supposed to be alive. He didn't remember his name, and when presented with his last name he didn't felt any bond with it, so he started going by 'Ghoul'. A nice way to not forget, and also get used to it.