#write and draw them getting mutilated

[cheesecake-bich]

guys im kinda cooking something up

I'm giving Meridian have sigma rizz bro is going to be so alpha skibidi

perhaps even a madlad, as the kiddos call them

or something i don't fucking know. I'm just making this loser even more of a lunatic

perhaps even whacky, bonkers one would say.

[hadesrise]

murder for you, baby !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ➾ a justifiable serial killer on the loose, and jason finds himself being enamoured by him.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➾ jason todd x dbd!ghostface!male reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➾ nsfw content, serial killer themes, dead dove do not eat, sexual arousal in response to violence or torture, murder, blood, deaths, gore, foul language, bottom!jason, top!reader, reader’s physique is described as tall and broad ( the slasher build ), possessiveness, choking, praise kink, blood kink, knife play ( reader carving his initials on jason ), toxic!reader ( ? ), sorta toxic relationship but also not, unprotected sex, love-making, pet names, overstimulation, dumbification, degradation if you squint, lil’ bit of manipulation, creampie, doggy style, mating press, biting, marking, oral ( r. receiving ), voice kink ( ? )

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ➾ not me coming back with halloween themed fic after halloween days have passed lol. i’m alive, y’all !! hope you enjoy this one that took a fucking month to write 😭

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ; this post may contain disturbing contents that may not be suitable for every reader — a reader discretion is advised. MINORS DNI.

Gotham’s been terrorized by the worst people you could ever imagine, the kind that’ll stick with you forever and take residence to your nightmares if you were unfortunate enough. Many were hurt or even murdered as a result of the villains’ terrorization, with vigilantes running through the night to capture and send them to Arkham Asylum.

With the existence of a Psychopathic Clown, his equally psychopathic girlfriend with PHD’s that’s been wasted down the line, the Mother Nature freak, the ridiculously huge man with a gas mask on, the green coloured living question mark, and many others, no one would’ve ever thought anything could get any worse.

Until some criminals’ bodies turn up across the streets in such disturbing manner that haunts the witnesses to death.

One, a criminal who murdered young and homeless boys, gutted deeply to the point of their intestines hanging out. Another, a criminal known for kidnapping and selling people’s organs, mutilated with their torso torn back to expose the organs settled inside of them. Another one, a priest-turned-criminal who’s been violating women and children, crucified naked in his own church with his eyes gouged out, a Bible verse carved in his chest; ‘And if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.’ Matthew 18:9; his penis cut off and body seemingly violated as well. Another more turns up, a governor-turned-criminal who’s been feeding into the rich despite their oath of generosity towards the poor, severely tortured with the skin on his back cut open, ribs severed from the spine and broken to the sides in order to create the illusion of wings, fluttering lungs pulled out from their chest cavity to resemble an eagle’s wings, with the word ‘traitor’ carved on his forehead.

The brutality and gruesome nature of the murders has set an alarming panic and fear across Gotham City that forced civilians into locking their doors at night. Criminals who were unidentified and not found by Gotham Police Department were also turning up in a form of miserable, tortured soul, along with the evidence and proofs of their crimes being carelessly laid beside their lifeless corpse.

The killer taunts those who are in charge of justice within their city each time the damned were unfortunate enough to be hunted down; pigs of failure written in the criminal’s blood right beside the drawing of a police’s logo.

However, despite how gruesome and disturbing the murders were, most people couldn’t deny that it was doing the city a favor. Justice System has failed more times than one could count to the extent of victims yearning to exact revenge themselves against their perpetrator, which causes most to react rather positively to the wrongful, unlikely hero who had seem to suddenly appear out of nowhere. The haunted finally getting the chance to slay the traumatic demons with the help of another psychopath on the loose.

Another justified monstrosity shouldn’t be the counter against one inhumane monstrosity that caused so much pain, trauma, and misery. But kindness could not vanquish one’s tainted blood. Forgiveness could not suddenly wash away the sins engraved deeply into one’s soul.

Imperfect, the victims muttered. An imperfect yet perfect way to save our burning souls wrongfully condemned by the criminals.

Red Hood has heard their murmurs.

Silent whispers of gratitude that fell on deaf ears, their previously dim soul brightening in relief and sanctuary with smiles on their faces as the Universe had finally took mercy on them and sent a Fallen Angel to slay the Demons away. He’s watched their spirit uplift, no longer chained down by the trauma and fear of the monsters that once ruined their lives, able to walk the streets carefree of tormentors. He’s watched their stiff posture visibly loosen, lively peacefulness settling itself at last within their haunted eyes. He’s watched them glow with happiness not feeling the presence of their perpetrator every couple of seconds, finally capable of living without needing to constantly look over their shoulders in paranoia and fear.

Ghostface is what the serial killer’s called, nickname born out of the mask that resembled a ghost always being left behind in crime scenes, each slightly different.

Jason has seen you. He didn’t mean to, really.

The temptation to get at least one look at you was great every-time he patrolled, wishing to just catch glimpse of an immoral hero who could make sacrifices no actual heroes could — who’s doing exactly what he wished before for Batman to do.

The Universe seems to have granted his wishes when his eyes catches the void of ghostface’s eyes, your mask tainted in splatters of blood from the dead criminal below you. Jason feels his world come to a stop as you slowly rise from crouching position and reveal your unnaturally tall height, broad shoulders visible under the black hooded leather. You hold silence and calmness despite being caught, tilting your head slightly to the side.

His heartbeat quickens yet he doesn’t feel fear. Jason idiotically steps closer as if he was in a trance, burning your existence within his eyes to engrave in his memory. Your bloody knife barely grazes his neck to stop him before using it to tilt his chin up, your figure looming and towering over him while seemingly staring into his eyes through his helmet.

A sense of peacefulness overcomes Jason being in your presence despite the absolute brutality and mercilessness that surrounded your entire being. You were deadly, silent, certainly creative with your work that it deems almost artistic, as if the criminals’ bodies were your own canvas to paint on — and Jason finds solace in you. A man he always needed, someone who’d be willing to cross the line and get rid of the actual evil for the sake of victims that’d be forever haunted if it continues to exist.

“I’ve heard things about you, Red Hood.”

Low, raspy, monotone voice speaks, sending shivers down his spine. It sounds cool and handsome regardless of the obvious use of voice changer, somehow littered with tiniest hint of flirtatiousness.

It takes him quite a while to answer, barely managing to let out a “yeah?” as he feels you drag the knife slightly closer to his pulse. His heartbeat quickens, but slows down when the cold metal was finally pulled away.

“Pleasant things,” You hummed, before your voice lowered a few octaves, “Can’t say the same about Batman.” Anger seems to seep through your tone that felt a little more than just sympathy for victims of villains Batman refused to put six feet under. Jason wondered if you’re also one of the victims his father failed.

“You… You know him that much?” Jason’s voice shakes from the nerve, your presence somehow greatly affecting him.

“I think everyone knows him enough,” You chuckled, but it sounded so empty that Jason can’t help but feel the goosebumps rise on his skin. It was quite chilling to meet someone who shows only a certain amount of emotion which could even be felt expressionless due to the monotonous pitch. The ghostface mask certainly did its job of making you seem more less human, the unmoving expression of ghost being horrified to death adding to the eeriness of your toneless mechanic voice.

Jason’s breath hitched when you took one step closer.

“But I know more about you. Your little past and the sufferings you’ve endured,” It’s spoken as if his life was one of your necessary investigation in your twisted justice. “It’s unfair, don’t you think? I would’ve gutted the Joker like a fish if it were to happen to my son.” There’s a condescending way in which you spoke, not directed at Jason but to Bruce.

“How—” Jason swallowed. “How did you—”

“I can make your dreams come true,” You interrupted him with a tempting offer, shutting him up effectively. Wide grin plastered your face despite not being seen behind your mask. “I can kill the Clown for you, Red Hood. If it means it’ll silence your troubled spirit. If it’ll bring you peace. I can hurt him on your behalf just like he deserves.”

It was like a whisper from the devil, slithering its way into Jason’s heart and mind to possess his soul, mirroring the one which whispered on Adam and Eve’s ears.

He’s been wanting — needing — to hear those words come out of Bruce. His suffering and death seemingly being brushed off as a cruel accident shattered him more than he’d ever admit, Bruce’s unhealthy coping mechanism and morality getting in the way of showing his love for Jason that left the younger man feel lesser than he was. Bruce was a complex person that’s sometimes difficult to understand, his impressive ways to stick to his morals being exactly his character, but Jason wanted for once, to actually feel how important he was to his father.

Was that too much to ask for, or was he just unworthy of the entirety of it?

“Why would you do that for me?” Confusion and subtle suspicion filled his tone as Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out your intention despite the rush of hope that shot throughout his chest. He forced himself to feel nothing when you leaned in closer.

“Because you were wronged, of course.” You simply stated. “You are a victim. Not more, not less. You deserve a little more than just empty justice. And I’m a man who got tired of vigilantes that are afraid to make sacrifices for the greater good.” Then, you tilt your head slightly to the side in a way that’s somehow alluring. “But I can also say I’m intrigued by you.”

Jason’s heartbeat quickens again when your big hand seems to wrap perfectly around his throat, fingers resting just above his pulse points. It makes such filthy thoughts flood themselves into his mind, your long and quite thick fingers falling victims to his tainted imagination, and he had to give everything in himself not to bare his throat more for you. You seem pleased of his lack of disobedience and bite, having expected him to shove your hand away or flinch back before you could touch him. You’ve seen Red Hood once and how his uncontrollable rage resulted in violence, heavy burdens and extreme trauma turning him into a ticking time bomb that could explode any minute with the wrong move. He was absolutely lethal, the bullets serving as the evidence of his wrath and resentment towards the underground scumbags. It’s amusing that you have the man of violence himself now somehow completely under your control, surprisingly quiet and shy and obedient. You wondered if this is how he was before he was ruined by the cruelty of the world.

“You want it, don’t you? For me to kill the Joker.”

Jason feels as if you know everything he wants. Is this what it feels like to be important?

It takes a little while for him to answer, but he eventually came up with a “You’ll do that?” which sounded vulnerable and weak for the first time in his second life. Your heart clenched at the doubt and seemingly child-like vulnerability in which he uttered the words, as if he was afraid to trust something after being betrayed countless of times, reminding you of the sole person you’ve even began doing all of this for. They were quite similar yet so different — your older brother and Jason.

You hadn’t meant to cross his boundaries and unknowingly step into the empty hole that made home in his heart. Unconsciously slithering in like a snake by touching the subject his heart was longing for, not realizing his childhood’s still remaining within his spirit.

All he wanted was love and to feel safe again. You didn’t know the Red Hood was so adorably pitiful. A smirk plastered your face.

“I will,” You reassured and leaned your face inches away from his, the hand on his throat lifting his helmet slightly.

Jason doesn’t retaliate, blinded by a meat of hope dangled in front of him. He doesn’t move as the lower half of his face was exposed, and you lifted your own mask the same using your other hand. Jason willingly, obediently closes his eyes before your lips attached to his — a kiss of death, tasting like blood and cruelty. Warm and soft despite your rough, cold-blooded, corrupted soul. A kiss from the devil.

When Jason opened his eyes, you had already disappeared into the darkness with blood stains on the ground you stood before, a single note left behind; Hell will reopen for the Clown.

After neatly tucking the note inside his jacket and making sure no evidence has been accidentally left on the crime scene, Red Hood smiles for the first time in a long while and reaches for the comms without a heavy heart.

“Batman, I found another body.”

Whatever happens, he’ll have no knowledge of the following misfortune that’ll befall on the Joker. It’s the righteous serial killer’s doing, after all.

What was used to be a maniacal laughter turned into screams of agony and pain. Strong stench of death and blood makes euphoria rush within your mind, the feeling of slicing through flesh with your knife bringing pleasure and ecstasy that made your pants tight. There’s a certain amount of satisfaction in the way your own actions cause serious harm and scarring to criminals who once deemed themselves powerful, being reduced into nothing but a powerless prey that could easily be gotten rid of.

You feel increasingly powerful the more you strip them of their dignity and arrogance as they shed blood on the holy ground. Your existence alone striking them with crippling fear and anxiety feeds into your ego, yet you never stray away from the sole purpose or reason for your murders — making them taste their own medicine.

From what you found on countless deep dive and research, Joker preyed on Red Hood when he was still a young child full of life and joy, having been under the name Robin at the time. Second Robin to be exact, considering he was a lot different from the first one. It actually surprisingly pained you when you’d seen how much of an adorable, dorky, nice kid he was before misfortune cut his life short. You would’ve never thought you would find a kid adorable in your entire life, the little menaces often being nothing more than a headache to be around with that caused a certain dislike to grow towards them within you, but Jason was everything a cute kid was. Just excited to be there, to be fighting alongside Batman, to be relevant.

Such a precious boy ruined for the sake of shits and giggles for the Clown. For the sake of getting under Batman’s skin. And the Bat couldn’t even make fucking amends to his flaws as a father and mentor.

Well, he didn’t need to anymore.

You’ll give Red Hood— Jason Todd —what he wants. Yearned for. Perhaps, even what the other civilians who have fallen victims to this vile criminal want. You would stop at nothing until every criminal is gurgling and choking on their own blood.

Joker’s scream shoots a jolt of electricity within your body as your knife pierce through his skinny thigh and to the ground, pinning his leg down. You had been doing an effective job of reducing the maniac into nothing but a screaming, cowering average victim by torture. Bruises, burns, gashes, and stab wounds littered his body that was done carefully enough to not be life-threatening. Fucker was laughing maniacally at first, of course. It irritated you so much that you might’ve went a little overboard.

Watching Joker heave and struggle to breathe from the pain, you tilted your head and roughly grabbed his throat. It catches him off guard and he grips your wrist, barely even having the strength to fight you off. You’re amused by the entirety of Joker’s nature, how he’s still just an average man that can easily be overpowered — nothing that makes him special enough to not be killed, becoming proof of Batman’s selfish willingness to let the victims suffer than bring them actual peace.

You’ve never uttered a word since you captured him and it unnerved Joker from the beginning, but then, words finally come out of your mouth in a form of monotonous, mechanical, emotionless, eerie voice as you lean over him; “Laugh it out, Joker. Why so serious?”

It sounded like a death sentence.

He’s right in a way, because another of your knife pierced the corner of his mouth soon as you uttered the words. Your other hand tightened on his arteries to choke him while you drag the knife to slit the side of his mouth into a grin, following the lines of his red lipstick. It was certainly not a clean cut, but an artist has their own creative ways to make their art. Tears mixed in with blood that gushes out of his face, complete horrors written across Joker’s eyes which boosts your satisfaction. You go on and do the same thing to the other side of his mouth, before finishing your art piece by carving ‘J’ on his painted cheek.

You resist the urge to moan at the sight of blood coating your fine piece, always finding it to be an amazing finishing touch.

From then on, Joker was brought to literal Hell.

Jason flinches when a playful knock sounded from his safe house’s window, cautiously approaching to see ghostface waving at him through the glass. His eyes widened and immediately opens the window to let you in, not wanting anyone to see you — your sudden appearance distracting him from the fact he’s never given anyone the location of his safe house.

He stops in track at the blood splatters across your mask, and just then had he noticed you seemed to be hiding something behind your back with one hand. It definitely strikes his curiosity, but he somehow didn’t feel like you were holding something that could harm him.

“You got something for me, ghostface?” Jason feels you grin under your mask.

“Got you a present,” Your raspy, rough voice enthusiastically quipped.

Jason’s breath hitches when you show what you were holding — the Joker’s decapitated head in a square glass container tainted by its blood. You obviously had planned to bring it barehand, but you considered the possibility of its blood dripping down on his safe house and becoming a false evidence to point him to the murder, which prompted you to put it inside the container. An unbelievably sweet gesture for a fucking psychopath like you.

Jason could feel his heart beat rapidly as he takes in the animal’s state, carved up grin and the letter J and the horrors seen in its lifeless eyes proving the absolute misery and suffering it went through before being put down. The monster was finally, finally slain and gone forever from his life. Nightmares detangles from his spirit and the past unwraps away from his soul, utter peace and relief spreading throughout his chest. Tears gathered in his eyes at the feeling of being free at last from the life long torment, breath shaking as his knees wobbled.

The child in himself, the innocent Robin that was killed unfairly, finally rests in peace.

Then he sees you, his hero, waving your seemingly new knife playfully in the air with your outfit splattered in blood without a care that you actually saved him, and Jason feels a sudden surge of arousal and will to submit. To give you everything, anything.

“Do you love it, Red Hood?”

Without answering you, Jason grabs the glass container with shaky hands and sets it aside on the counter before stepping back closer to you again, blood rushing to his veins from arousal. He removes his helmet with a thud on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, lustful and yearning emerald eyes looking up at you.

“Let me thank you, please.”

It makes you groan as your pants significantly tightens more.

You slide your knife back into the holster before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, and thank fucking Heavens there wasn’t any blood on it that would taint his face, because he’s a sight to behold. He’s truly a gem, something precious you had never seen before. “So beautiful,” You whispered, making Jason flush. “Baring yourself to me for such a simple present, doll?”

“Not a simple present,” Jason mumbled as he snuggles on the palm of your hands. “You saved me.”

You hum appreciatively, getting the itch to bare yourself to him as well. “You wanna thank me by what?”

Jason looks back at you, face flushed with a little hint of uncertainty and embarrassment, doubts. “I— uhm,” He stammers, but encouraged by your thumb’s gentle stroke on his cheek. “By… by becoming yours.”

Your cock throbs. Fuck, he’s so fucking adorable, you just wanna fuck his guts out. You’re usually tempted to gut people, not fuck their guts— which is funny to say the least— but you weren’t going to say no when the Red Hood’s so willing to offer himself up.

“You wanna take my mask off, doll?” He seems surprised by your question as if he hadn’t thought of it, making you chuckle. “If you wanna be mine, I gotta be yours too, don’t I?” It was dangerous to reveal your identity to him, but you couldn’t care less, especially when you could just fuck his brains out to shut him up. That’s the plan, first time that didn’t include butchering or cutting a body up.

Jason fucking Todd and his effects on you.

The emerald eyed male hesitantly grasped your mask when you led his hands to it, slowly lifting it over your head. He’s met with a fucking luscious feature to ever be adorned on a man and dark, lustfully murderous blood red eyes that makes a whimper slip past his lips. You merely widened your eyes at the sound he made before immediately grabbing his jaw and smashing your lips against his, swallowing Jason’s surprised gasp.

He reciprocates the insatiable hunger you displayed, tongue dancing along with yours and moaning into the kiss when your fingers lightly tugged on his hair. You pull him up in amidst of making out and squeeze his ass, encouraging him to wrap his legs around your hips. You detach your lips from his to trail kisses down his jaw and neck as you walked towards his bedroom, questionably knowing where it is, and Jason tilts his head back to give you more access with closed eyes. Letting him stimulate both of your restrained cocks by grinding down, you sat down on the bed and sucked on his throat as Jason moaned.

“Please, please…” He whimpers, uncontrollably moving his hips in a perfect rhythm yet he seemed to want something else.

You pulled away and traced his lips with your thumb, watching as he naturally took it in and sucked, giving you a desperate look. Swiftly turning off the voice changer attached to your neck in a form of choker, you chuckled when his hands fiddled with the belt on your hooded coat. “So needy, aren’t you?” Your real voice sends shivers down his spine.

An alluring, low, slightly rough pitch and somehow more emotionless than when you were using the voice changer. It makes his cock twitch and empty hole clench down on nothing, the need to be stuffed full of your cum swarming in his belly. You’re fucking bewitching, a man made up from every guy and girl’s fantasy, wet dream, and your attractiveness mirroring the Devil’s that would tempt and lure others to sin.

How the fuck were you real?

“Speak up, pretty bird.” You smirked, “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” Jason mutters, cheeks tinted in pink. “Wanna suck your cock and make you feel good.”

“Fuck…” You shifted in place, “You’ll do that f’me? Get my cock nice and wet to take you apart? To fuck your guts out?”

Jason shakily inhales and nods, climbing off your lap and kneeling on the floor. You lean back on your hands as he unstraps your belt and slide your zipper down, slightly raising your hips to help him get rid of the excess clothes. Your thick and lengthy cock smacks against your clothed stomach, making Jason’s mouth water. Thick veins throbbed on your big shaft, the tip angry and red from arousal leaking precum. It wasn’t just big, it was long, and Jason squeezes his thighs together to keep himself from just riding your cock all day.

His hand wraps around the base, starting to stroke it with a content rhythm. God, you were so fucking big. It’d definitely split him open if you shove it in so suddenly and fill him up nice. It’d make him scream his head off from the unbearable length and girth, almost too much, and Jason wants you to force him to take it. Pin him down and fuck him despite his pleas to stop.

Jason swipes his thumb over the slit, smearing precum, pumping it for a good amount before licking a stripe up the underside of your cock. You shudder, removing your gloves to slip your bare fingers through Jason’s hair, encouraging him to take you in. He obeys, relaxing his throat first before sliding your cock inside his warm mouth, and you groaned at the warmth that surrounded you. It almost didn’t fit from how big you were, but Jason braced himself and took it in further until he gagged as the tip touched the back of his throat. Wrapping his hand around your shaft that he couldn’t take in, stroking gently as if to apologize.

A moan slips past your lips when he starts bobbing his head, tongue brushing against the underside of your dick. “Fuck… Doin’ so good,” You roll your head back. “Such a pretty face to fuck, ain’t ya?”

Jason whines, tears gathered in his eyes as he sucks and fastens his rhythm. Curses, grunts leave your lips that left him feeling all hot and bothered, his other hand moving to skillfully pull his pants down and free his aching cock.

You see him touching himself and a smirk adorns your sinful face, gently scratching his scalp with your nails which earned you a whimper from him. “Go on, fuck yourself. We both know it wouldn’t fit that easily without proper prep,” Expression twisting into a cocky one, your grip on his hair tightened. “I’ll do as I please with your mouth until you’re done.”

Without waiting for his approval, you roughly shoved your cock deep down his throat and moaned loudly, throwing your head back. Jason gagged with a loud whimper as his eyes rolled back into his skull and cum shot out from his throbbing cock, hips jutting forward and twitching due to the sudden orgasm. You chuckle lowly, amusement and lust glinting in your bright red eyes, before you pull back and ram on his throat again.

Jason’s cries and moans were muffled as you ruthlessly use his throat to gain pleasure. His mind has already turned into mush from your assaults, white cum and precum staining the floor yet he doesn’t put up a fight. Taking it all like the good, obedient boy that he is. He’s reached behind him to insert two fingers in his awaiting hole, walls clamping down on the digits from the arousal of his throat being utterly wrecked.

Yesyesyes, please. He chanted in his mind. Use me, mark me, cum in my throat, make me yours.

The moment you fulfilled your promise and delivered him the head of his enemy, he was already yours. It’s all he ever wanted. Unquenchable thirst that always gnawed on his throat and hunger that left his stomach restless, his soul practically teared in half from being battered and beaten. He matters now — mattered enough to you, that you went ahead and killed the source of his misery. The love exploding in his chest was almost unbearable; he was already high on cloud nine from the moment he’s seen you present the head so cheerfully.

You see how he looks up at you, emerald eyes almost displaying hearts with how much he was melting. He’s taken your murderous act as an affection, and you couldn’t be more happy, because it’s what you intended.

“Shit, baby… Gonna cum soon,” You panted, thrusting vigorously. Jason hums and flexes his throat to provide you more pleasure, making you tighten the grip on his hair. “You want me to cum down your throat?”

You earned a desperate whine from him, closing his eyes to prove he was waiting for it. His fingers kept their own assault on his prostate, scissoring and stretching the squishy walls, muffled moans escaping him.

God, he looked so fucking gorgeous. He’d look even more gorgeous with your dick ramming inside him.

Jason feels your big cock throb in his mouth and his fingers move more aggressively to pleasure himself, wanting to reach his high at the same time as you. Stimulating your tip with the back of his throat a few times, you moaned loudly with a curse when Jason slightly flicks his tongue over your sensitive underside, forcing an orgasm out of your body. White, thick, warm seeds spurt out from your slit to his awaiting throat as Jason whimpered in delight and shot another layer of cum on the wet stained floor, hips thrusting in the air.

He greedily swallows every drop that spilled down his mouth despite the euphoria making him feel dizzy as his body slightly trembles.

You chuckled, breathing heavily, pleased expression spread across your face. “Good boy. That was such a good throat-fuck.”

The raspy, sultry tone of your voice makes electricity and chills run through Jason’s spine as his walls clench down on his fingers, yearning to be filled. Jason certainly doesn’t have a womb — it’s anatomically impossible — yet he couldn’t help but feel like it’s there, waiting and aching to be fucked and bred. He needs your cum to be pushed so far inside him. Need to be marked entirely as yours inside and out. Need you to rearrange his guts, fuck his brains out, breed him full, then fuck your cum further back into him.

Jason pulled his fingers out, whimpering at the loss of contact, before looking back up at you with begging eyes. “Can you-?” His voice cracks as he swallows, “Take me apart, please. Make me yours, fuck, I wanna be yours.”

You noticed tears gathering in his eyes, as if being rejected of his want to be your possession would be an ultimate heartbreak in his life; a life-threatening, gnawing thorn in his heart that’ll tear him apart piece by piece and shredding his soul. Jason thinks he can’t live without becoming yours, his savior’s. He can’t live without the source of his safety, the man that fulfilled his silly little dream and sacrificed his own sanity for it.

It absolutely amuses you that he’s become so attached just because you’ve driven him away from harm’s way. A little dumb, but he was your little dumb doll.

You gently caress his face and Jason leans into your touch, making your lips curl upwards into a smile. “Of course, doll.”

It leads to Jason being pressed face first on the mattress as you rail him from behind, sinful and alluring noises leaving his lips stained in drool. Your name escapes him like a chanted prayer, hands gripping the sheets, electricity sparking within his mind that left him dumb and unable to think coherently.

“Fuh-fuck! mgh, ah- yes, oh my god—!” He cries out when you pulled almost entirely back and rammed your cock roughly into him, almost seeing stars in his vision.

The roughness in which you handled him, the perfect angle of your hips allowing you to force pleasure out of his body every-time you thrust, the way you push his back down on the mattress to make him arch more into your merciless tactic, leaves Jason absolutely delirious. You didn’t just fuck him good; you fucked him with absolute vigor and violence, occasionally biting strongly on his shoulder to draw blood, showcasing your natural instincts as a serial killer. He feels your big fucking dick throb and gets impossibly bigger inside him each time his blood seeps out the broken skin, and Jason’s head spins at how much it drove arousal in his core.

“Good fuckin’ sex toy,” You grunted, roughly slamming your hips against his and causing a sharp moan to erupt from Jason.

“B-big—! s’too big- fuck!” Jason whines, tears spilling endlessly down his cheeks.

You smirk as you feel your ego skyrocket at being able to reduce a rather muscular man into nothing but a whining, blabbering bitch. “Yeah? I do split you open, don’t I? But you love it since you’re such a fuckin’ slut.”

“oh- aghn! y-yours— hnngh! Your s-slut! No one else’s-!” He chokes out, desperately reaching for you behind him.

“So fuckin’ adorable,” You chuckled and grabbed his hand, pinning it back to the mattress as you hover over him. You seem to fit against each other perfectly well, your large and tall body able to encage him that left Jason’s stomach fluttering. He’s taken a lot liking of the fact you’re bigger than him, considering he’s never been the smaller one when he was with others. It gives him a sense of shelter.

“p-please— pleaseplease- oh! cum— fuck… cum in me again!” Jason blabbered.

You can’t help but comply to his request, fastening your pace and drilling more into him. Incoherent sentences spill from his drooling mouth when he feels your cock pulse within his walls that signified your soon release. There’s a purpose in which you thrust your hips now — more sharp and angled yet a little sloppy, aimed to brush against his prostate and make him feel utterly good.

“Shit… Cummin’, doll.” You grunted right in his ear before shoving him on the mattress by the back of his nape and slamming all the way down on his already gaping hole.

Jason nearly screams, voice cracking, as his orgasm hits like a strong tide of wave at the same time you spilled thick layer of white semen into his fucked out guts. You ride out your orgasm by thrusting slowly a few times as Jason’s body violently shakes from the aftershock. He subconsciously whines in annoyance when some of your previous cum seems to overflow and replaced by your recent one, bucking his hips as if to use your big cock as a plug to keep them all in. His belly felt full from how much you’ve been filling him with your seed yet it still didn’t feel enough. Jason wanted more; he knew you weren’t going full on him yet.

You swiftly turned him around on his back without pulling out and kissed him roughly. Jason mewls into the kiss when the position makes you push more deeper into him, his hands immediately clasping at the back of his thick thighs to pull them up and make it easier for you to fuck.

“My cute little thing,” You murmured against his lips and bit the skin to draw blood, Jason’s hole squeezing down on you from both the pain and pet name. He greedily whimpers your name, holding onto you for life and yearning for more of you despite already receiving what he wants.

It was so fucking adorable and arousing to see him desperate for not just you, but your entire being as well, willing to welcome such darkness with open arms and tearful smile. You weren’t really a desirable person; so many people have thrown themselves at you for your conventionally attractive features and masculine body type that swoons hundreds yet cower away in fear and speak of you in disgrace when shown the demons living inside of you. No one could seem to look past your murderous, cold-blooded psychopathy — some have attempted to, which only resulted in your darkness growing bigger when they break their own promises. You weren’t meant to be loved. Your destiny was written in the stars and the Gods have cursed you with eternity of living in loneliness and madness without cure. You were meant to be feared, a lonely and violent soul that couldn’t be tamed, your sole purpose of existence being a destroyer; nothing more or less.

Jason, however, seems indifferent to your fate.

Instead of running away in disgust and fear at your acts of violence around the city, he was seeking for you. He’s seen what you’ve done, what you could do without feeling remorse, what monsters lie beneath your existence — and still, he graciously opens his heart (and legs) for you. There’s love and desire within his eyes where distaste should be, touch so soft and warm it baptizes your tainted skin. You’re soaked in blood yet Jason takes his time with you to clean them up. Born with thorns yet he willingly prickles his fingers on them.

You’re a danger everywhere you go, but to him, you were home.

It makes your heart clench; he’s broken the Gods curse and it costs him his freedom, because now he’s caught up in your webs. You wouldn’t let him go, like a snake that’s wrapped itself around its prey in a death grip.

Jason wanted to be yours. What better ways to fulfill his wish if not possessing his body, soul, and spirit?

“Sweet dumb thing,” You purred, hips thrusting slow and sensual, unable to forgive parts of his walls that weren’t touched by your cum. “Mine to fuck, ruin, or make love to. That’s right, yeah?”

Jason nods, moaning softly. Your hands now replaced where his were on the back of his thighs, bending him almost in half as you roll your hips to gently brush against every weak spot he has. The sudden shift in rhythm and atmosphere confuses Jason for a bit, his fogged mind unable to comprehend the situation at hand, but the intimacy strikes a further pleasure that was nearly mind-breaking. He’s been reduced to a moaning mess, blood, sweat, tears and cum coating his body.

“p-please,” Jason keened, like it felt agonizing to be loved ever so gently. “I— ah… I want- I want you,” He stuttered out between moans.

“You’re having me, aren’t you?” Replying, you nipped on his neck and sucked, leaving behind a purple bruise.

He nearly cries, shaking his head. A waterfall of tears streamed down his face, and you find yourself captivated by them. It was almost ethereal despite being one of human’s responses to most things imaginable; your victims always shed one or two accompanied by begs of mercy, but all you’ve ever thought of them was amusing. It’s been used as an escaping tactic from you before, which was never successful due to your lack of morality and sympathy towards your target. They were pathetic, but Jason was divine. Tears suited him— not tears of fear, but tears of pleasure and utopia.

Your focus snaps back on reality when Jason suddenly pulled you down by the nape and bit down hard on your shoulder. A pleasured groan leaves your lips at the pain, hips bucking, making him whimper.

“Jason—”

“Please,” He cuts you off and finally murmurs; “Wanna f-feel how… mhm-! how you actually love…”

It strikes something in your core. Despite your perfect skills of hiding your true nature and never being caught, Jason saw it right through you, how you were holding yourself back for his sake. Quite ironic to witness a cold-blooded killer care for someone enough to go soft, even though it looked like you were going rough on him, and it warmed Jason’s heart. But he was a greedy, fucked up human being who wanted all of you. It wouldn’t be enough until he knows he’s taken you fully.

An amused laughter erupts from your chest. Eyes darkening in lust, Jason feels one of your hands wrap around his throat warningly as the other pushed his torso flat down on the mattress. “You… You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, Todd.”

You pull all the way back before ramming in, making Jason let out a loud, choked up moan as his eyes rolled back into his head. Your thrusts relentless and powerful, slamming against Jason’s body with an intensity that made his head spin, your hand holding his throat as a leverage. Your name spills from his lips like a prayer, something that seems to ignite a possessive feeling within you. Jason can’t help but mewl when your grip tightened on his arteries, throwing his head back to let you gain fully control.

The way he’s so obedient and putty in your hands despite knowing you can kill him if you truly meant to makes you love him even more, fucking him and taking away his ability to breathe wasn’t enough. Greediness turning overboard with the darkness and psychopathy that lies within your existence; you almost wanted to cut him open and crawl inside his guts so you could truly claim Jason, inside and out. You wanted to be more closer to him, see how far you can go without Jason pushing you away or getting disturbed.

Jason’s eyes widened when a cold metallic silver touched his cheek, seeing you holding your signature knife through blurred vision from his tears. However, he doesn’t flinch away like you expected him to, instead his walls squeezes down on your cock and his own twitched against his stomach. The unexpected reaction pulls a loud groan out of you, your hips bucking.

“Shit, Jay… You lettin’ me kill you or somethin’? Good fucking cunt just tightened on me,” You rasped, thrusting your cock against his prostate.

Jason gasps, his hands grabbing the mattress and holding it in a tight grip. It’s so shameful how turned on he was at the danger that lurked around you, his usually sharp instincts relinquished to be replaced by naiveté and stupidity for love. He must’ve gone insane; getting killed was one of his triggers because of his past yet his soul yielded nothing in retaliation to the possibility of your blade slicing through him. All of him seems to have come to love and trust you too much just because you’ve decapitated the beast his entire existence feared, which a part of him found utterly ridiculous and idiotic, but not enough to stop.

He wouldn’t stop himself from loving you — not when you’ve given him the love he always yearned for.

You lean in and ghost your lips over his as you dragged the knife on his torso, lightly scraping him. Jason’s breath quickens, his pupils blown wide in lust and need, anticipation seemingly running through his body as his moans turned into desperate whines.

“p-please…!” He chokes out a whisper, rolling his head to the side and whimpering when you snapped your hips warningly on his. “feels— fuck! feels g-good—! c-carve me… hngh! carve me u-up-! shit… make me fuckin’ bleed…! please,” Jason nearly cries for you.

Groaning out a curse, you reflexively bite down hard on the crook of his neck and push more of your cock inside him, causing a loud keen to erupt from Jason as he squirms and cums on his own stomach at the addictive sense of pleasure and pain shooting through his body.

You licked the blood that seeped out from his skin, satisfied at the clear bite mark you’ve left visible before sensually grinding your hips. Jason whimpered quietly, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“That’s it, doll. Let go, feel good. m’not gonna hurt ya, sweetheart. It’ll all feel good,” Whispering sweet words, you slowly press the tip of the knife just above the v line of his hip and drag it down. Jason hissed at the prickle of pain and tensed up, but the pleasure of your cock stimulating his sensitive walls was too great that forced him to relax. “It’s alright, doll. Jus’ carving you up with my name, so you’ll be mine forever. Isn’t that what you want? Be fuckin’ mine?”

Jason moaned softly, nodding his head. Series of pleasepleaseplease blabber out of him accompanied by heavenly noises he’s been making since you started taking him apart, his brain too fucked out that forcibly twisted pain into pleasure as all he could think about was becoming yours. You, his savior, his God, claiming him by marking him up with your name. Jason feels like he could fucking squirt from just that thought alone.

His blood seeping out from the letters of your name arouses you to no end, your cock throbbing inside him while you continue to move, the darkness within you being thoroughly fed of its bloodthirsty hunger. This is the first time it doesn’t gnaw at your skin to drive your knife deeper, pull the guts out, and splatter redness everywhere; instead, it wanted to be gentle, as if Jason was a significant existence too precious to hurt even for the Devil. A proof that Jason was always meant to be yours, the only one who the monster inside you would rather love than kill.

Carving the last letter, you laughed breathlessly in satisfaction and stabbed the knife on the headboard before slamming your lips against his, devouring his pleasurable noises. Jason whines, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you impossibly closer, arching his back when you switched into a much faster and rougher pace.

“Cummin’, fuck!” You grunted, to which Jason wrapped his legs around your hips to make sure it stays in.

“I-in— in me… fuck- oh my god— please… please, cum in me. Make me full again, p-please…” He begs, clenching his walls around you to push you over the edge, his own orgasm nearing.

Seeing him covered in his own tears, sweat, blood and drool fills you with nothing but pure ecstasy knowing it’s all because of you. The most appealing, ravishing man being a slutty mess right beneath you, begging to be bred and full of your cum, does feed too much into your ego. No one can do anything to take you away from him now, because you’re wrapped around his fingers as much as he is around yours.

“Anythin’ for ya, doll.” You chuckled, thrusting a couple more times before shoving your twitching cock deep into his guts with a moan and releasing your load. Jason mewls, his hole throbbing and squeezing down on you as he throws his head back, tainting his abdomen once more.

Riding out both of your highs, you let out a raspy groan and kissed his lips again, Jason weakly reciprocating due to the overstimulation. His body trembled hard, mind almost shutting down from the exhaustion and too much euphoria. “So good, doll. Took me like a good fuckin’ boy. Fuckin’ amazing.” You praised.

Jason could still see darkness in your eyes, the murderous devil, but there’s a hint of happiness he didn’t recognize before. Love and adoration filled your expression despite the violence engraved in your soul, and Jason finds himself smiling against your lips lightheadedly.

He whispers your name like a forbidden secret, then a curse that completely binds you to him; “I love you.”

You could get used to this, you suppose. There’s nothing more poetic than violence meeting love — two opposites can’t coexist with each other, but perhaps it’ll be forced to. After all, the Devil in you decided he was an untouchable divinity no one shall ever harm, not even yourself, despite its never-ending monstrosity towards humanity.

“I love you too, my Jason.”

When Joker’s decapitated head on a makeshift spear turned up that night, stacked upright in front of Arkham Asylum with blood splattered across the ground in words ‘True Justice for the Tortured Souls’ and a bloody ghostface mask laid aside for everyone else to see, Jason knew he was now in safe hands.

People say, never make a deal with the devil.

They never said he couldn’t love one, did they?

© all rights reserved to hadesrise. stealing, plagiarizing, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.

[bobafetts-princess]

Nightmares and Daydreams

Summary: Logan has a nightmare and he needs you.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Smut. Logan has nightmares and they’re violent. PiV (unprotected) (no condoms on this blog) fingering. Logan loves to bite. Logan has a pain kink.

A/N: This went opposite how I expected it to when I started writing it. It’s so much softer and sweeter and one of my current favorites. I hope you like it 🫶🏻

Logan has nightmares, almost every night. Sometimes they’re violent nightmares, ones where he’ll wake screaming and ready to attack. Ones where he’ll relive the horrors he’s committed and think about all the lives he’s taken. He’ll wake with his claws out, drenched in sweat as the guilt courses through him. Then the guilt will course through him again as you watch him from across the room, fear etched into your features. (He doesn’t realize it’s fear for him, not fear of him)

The guilt eats at him some more as the two of you make your way back to the local store and buy even more bed sheets because his claws tore them to shreds. But Logan is a selfish man and he loves you too much to release you from himself. And that makes him feel even guiltier.

Other nights, they’re paralyzing nightmares. He imagines what it would be like if they tried to take you from him. He can’t keep the thoughts of what Stryker would do to you out of his mind. If Stryker knew that you were the key to getting Logan to do almost anything, it would be his worst nightmare come to life. Thinks about the pain deep in his chest that your death, your torture, would cause him. He doesn’t want to, of course, but he can’t stop the racing thoughts as images of your mutilated body flash in his mind.

Those nightmares are the worst kind because he can’t move. He can’t break the spell himself and he can’t wake you and ask you to break it for him. He silently prays for you to wake and release him from the torment. It usually doesn’t take long but any amount of time to be trapped in those nightmares is too long.

Other nightmares aren’t paralyzing but he still gets flashes of your death. At least he’s not pinned in his agony, but they’re still horrific. He wakes with a gasp, reaching across the bed to make sure your body is still there, warm and soft. He breathes a sigh of relief as his fingers skim your skin, warm and soft. The need hits him almost immediately after he realizes it was just a nightmare. He imagined all those horrible things, they didn’t happen to you. You’re here with him, snoring softly, spent from your activities before bed.

It’s a common occurrence for Logan to wake and need you so desperately that he can’t do anything until he’s buried inside you. He’s long been given the authority to wake you in the middle of the night if he needs you.

He tries not to let the guilt eat at him that he’s waking you for his own needs. He tries so hard. He almost always fails.

So that’s what happens tonight. Logan wakes with a sharp gasp, trying to clear the image of you impaled on his claws from his head. He takes a few breaths as the image of Victor’s claws drawing across your throat flits into his brain. He hears a heavy breath from your side of the bed and relief floods his veins as he reaches for you.

Your skin is so soft under his rough fingers, the calluses that decorate his skin such a contrast to the smooth softness of you. The sheet has dropped while you sleep, exposing your back and Logan trails a finger down your spine. You jerk, only slightly, but it’s enough for him to know you’re waking. His lips brush the skin of your shoulder, a palm reaching around to cup your breast. A soft sigh leaves your lips when his thumb brushes your nipple and you reach back for him.

“A nightmare?” You ask.

“Yeah,” is all he gives you in return.

Rolling, you pull his face down to yours, running your fingers through his hair as he grabs at you. His knee spreads your legs, one hand slipping down to brush your clit. You arch up into him, gasping, and his mouth trails across your neck.

“Need you,” he says before his mouth finds a nipple. His fingers press into you, savoring the feeling of you gripping his fingers.

“Want to talk about it first?”

“No.”

That was always his response. When he woke you like this he never disclosed his nightmares, even after he’d worked out all his fears and desires. You thought it was because he didn’t want to scare you with the thoughts he had. You also thought that he didn’t want to relive them anymore than he had to.

You were right about both.

“Logan,” you sigh out as he presses two fingers inside you and curls them so you see stars. “Logan!” His teeth sink into your shoulder as you arch up against him. He’s so needy when he wakes like this and you’re happy to let him take, take, take, from you. You’re soaked, your pussy aching for more as he works another finger inside you.

When Logan wakes you up in the middle of the night like this, he usually never speaks. At least he doesn’t use words, he speaks with his body. Which is unlike Logan, who is usually a vocal lover. He loves to grunt and growl in your ear as he rails you. He’ll tell you every dirty thought that pops into his head. When he finally comes he usually gives you this deep growl that sounds almost beastly before he sinks his teeth into your skin.

But on nights he has nightmares he’s the exact opposite of that. He flips between needy and desperate, two sides of the same coin. Some moments it’s like he can’t get enough of you, his mouth covering your entire body in his kisses. Other times it’s like he doesn’t want to live another minute without being inside you and if he doesn’t take you right that second he’s going to burn up.

That’s the point he’s reaching currently, less lips and more teeth with his kisses. It won’t be long before the head of his cock is pressing into you and you gasp when you feel him.

“Logan,” you cry out, fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders. He grunts, he likes the feeling of pain even if it doesn’t last, and snaps his hips forwards to enter you fully. His lips twist into a snarl before a nightmare passes in front of his vision and he softens. He leans down to kiss you, full of need and desire. His thrusts are still strong but not as sharp when breaks the kiss to breathe heavily in your ear. That’s almost the only noise you’ll get from him until morning, the strained breathing in your ear as he savors the feel of you. The feel of you under his hands. The feel of you gripping his cock. The way you taste on his tongue.

“I love you, Logan,” you whisper, pressing kisses along the beard on his jawline. Just because he doesn’t talk during times like this doesn’t mean that you can’t fill the empty space. He gives you a soft grunt, his hand running down your leg to hike it up his back. This new position gives him an opportunity to go deeper and he does. His hips are snapping up against a spot that makes your eyes roll back into your head every time he thrusts forwards.

He’s calm, quiet, very unlike himself so you know this nightmare must’ve been bad. Or the flashbacks, or whatever images he’s seeing when he sleeps are still happening right now, even though he’s inside you.

“I love you,” you whisper again in his ear and he presses his face against your neck, breathing in your scent deeply. “I’m here,” you tell him, thrusting your hips down onto him, taking over from the bottom as best you can. “I’m safe,” you say, “I’m fine. I’m here with you.”

His hands haven’t left your body, gripping at you as if he’s trying to make sure you actually are underneath him. Taking him. He gives you a small nod as you speak, you feel it, you don’t see it because his face is still tucked into your neck. Your hands traverse his back and shoulders whispering sweet nothings as the two of you fuck. It’s not really like fucking, it’s closer to making love, but it’s not that either. There’s too much need to be considered making love, but there’s too much adoration and passion to be considered fucking. Either way, the two of you move like that for what feels like hours, Logan pressing up into you and you pressing down onto him. You talk the entire time, telling him how much you love him, how you’re safe and happy to be here in his arms.

Eventually, his thrusts pick up speed and you know he’s getting close. His lips find yours again, his hand curling around the back of your neck to keep you in place but also to anchor himself. His breathing gets heavy as he shoves his tongue in your mouth.

“I love you, Logan,” whisper to him when he breaks the kiss, arching up as his thrusts get sharper and more powerful. You’re close, you’ve been staving off an orgasm for a good while now so that you can come together. Logan growls deep in his chest, the barest hint of your name can be discerned from the sound and when he reaches between your bodies to stroke your clit, you both break.

“Oh my god, Logan!” You shout, body tense as he fucks you both through it, his teeth sunk into the skin of your shoulder. It hurts but it toes that beautiful line between pain and pleasure. You don’t even realize it until Logans eyes roll back into his head that your fingernails are gripping his broad shoulders so hard that you’ve broken his skin. It doesn’t take but seconds to heal of course, but it helps Logan draw out his orgasm just that little bit longer.

The two of you lay there together, panting and connected for quite a while, just enjoying the presence of one another. Eventually he rolls off you, moving to the bathroom to gather a washcloth and clean you both up before he curls back into bed with you. His body, long and strong, curls around yours and you tangle your fingers together.

“Was it a bad one tonight?” You ask, thinking about how needy and off he seemed. Logan only gives a nod, his eyes far away. “I’m safe sweetheart,” you tell him and he nods again. “Nothing is going to hurt me as long as you are around,” you tell him, bringing his hand to your mouth and kissing the tips of his fingers. “Not while these are here to protect me,” you smile, turning your hands over so you can press soft kisses to the knuckles where his claws come out. He gives you a soft smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and leans in for a kiss.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he says but you shake him off. “Go back to sleep,” he kisses you again and then tucks your face into his shoulder. You can still sense the fear on him but you don’t press your luck and do your best to fall back into a fitful sleep, tucked against the love of your life.

Logan never falls back asleep.

[phntmeii]

♡ Dating Bo and Vincent Sinclair Headcanons:

❝ She always said your talent would make up for what God took away from you. ❝

[SFW Headcanons]

Pairings: Artist!Reader x Vincent Sinclair. FemBimbo!Reader x Bo Sinclair.

Warnings: Slight pervert!Bo Sinclair, Mentions of kidnapping+murders, Manipulation.

A/N: Sinclair Twins are some of my new favs. They are so delectably made I can’t- So here are headcanons BUT with describing what their specific types are instead of keeping it vague. Also, I view Vincent as a selective mute who’s vocal chords are a bit fucked up so he only speaks a few times a day so not a complete mute.

Vincent Headcanons:

✎ Vincent hasn't had any dating experience so much of what he knows is from what Bo has told him which didn't make it interesting in his eyes. But when he sees you, all he wants to do is admire you for whatever reason.

✎ He’d specifically go after you and be the first victim he’d kidnap rather than outright kill.

✎ He tries to convince you he isn’t dangerous (to you) and does little things to prove it. Showing off his drawings, playing music for you, writing notes and letters to you.

✎ Vincent would honestly come off strong because he doesn’t understand how fast or slow a relationship to go. The moment he spotted you, you were already his in his mind.

✎ When you fall for him despite his masked face and silent behaviors, you adjust and get used to him. After all, he wasn’t bad at all. He’d keep you in his room which was tidy and neat as his mother taught him, he’d make sure you were completely taken care of and he was sweet in his little notes.

✎ Vincent’s handwriting is perfect as he was taught to do. His notes would be a little formal but adorable things to find before he slinks away to his studio. “Hello, Y/N. I hope you are adjusting well. :) I wanted to know what foods you like so I can tell Bo to make them. Please write back before lunchtime.”

✎ When he discovers you were an artist as well, he was giddy and excited! Someone who knew what it was like to cycle through ideas and fixate on a project for hours on end.

✎ His few words he’d speak a day would be regarding your own art. No matter what it was, he’d tell Lester to get you the supplies for it and watch over you as you worked.

✎ His ragged and hoarse voice spoken into your ear. “Beautiful…”

✎ He’d randomly gift mini wax sculptures of your favorite animals each week that he worked on between sculptures. Each one better and better than the last.

✎ Vincent thrives on your praise. Sweet boy can’t help but lower his head and blush under his mask at each compliment.

✎ His favorite thing about morning routines were when you’d touch and brush his hair. The massaging at the scalp and tingly feeling he’d get as the brush ran down his black strands felt all too good. He’d also let you do whatever hairstyle you wanted.

✎ Vincent would draw you constantly in his sketchbook. He has pages and pages of different angles of your face, what clothing you wore on a certain day or how you posed during breakfast.

✎ Any and I mean ANY sketches you give him in return? He’s holding onto it like it’s pure gold. He hangs it in his studio where he’s at the most to view it all the time.

✎ Trusts your critiques and observations more than anyone else’s and often asks for your opinion on his pieces.

✎ Doesn’t believe that you like his face without the mask but when he sees you present him with a sketch of his half-mutilated face, he’s stunned. To see him, the truest version of him, as something you deemed worthy to spend time depicting absolutely melts him. He starts to become more willing to remove his mask around you especially if it means he’ll get more drawings like that.

✎ Bo would want so badly to tease Vincent for how he acts around you since Vincent is absolutely infatuated but Bo and Lester find it adorable and are happy Vincent found someone despite everything.

✎ He would definitely want to do those heart hands or hand holding wax molds with you and keep it on his desk.

Bo Headcanons:

> This man’s perfect woman has to be a bimbo, I’m sorry. Someone who is perfectly stupid to overlook some toxic qualities to him and won’t suspect any of his more… violent hobbies.

> Doesn’t have to be the stereotypical busty, all-pink wearing bimbo but just a pretty but airheaded girl.

> He’d originally plan on killing you when you showed up saying your car broke down. You were pretty but so were some other victims who had come through Ambrose. But that dumb factor? Oh, now he’s all in.

> Absolute charmer and reels you in and away from the rest of your group. He’d keep making up reasons as to why you should stay for longer than lie about where your group went.

> He’d keep you sat in the gas station, seeing you so easily entertained. He’d put on that charming smile and tuck your hair behind your ear. “Seems like everyone left you behind, sweetheart. How about you stay jus’ a bit longer, hm? Still need to fix up that car a’ yours, don’t we?”

> He does absolutely use your ditzy and air-headed nature to his advantage to tease because who is he if not a teasing charmer?

> “Aww, sugar, there ain’t much goin’ on in that pretty little head a’ yours, is there?”

> He has purposefully done something to make you trip so he can catch you and make it into a whole romantic scene.

> Absolutely brags to Vincent and Lester about how perfect his girlfriend is.

> He cannot get enough of you at the end of the day. He may have gone into it looking to just use you but consider yourself a charmer as well because he’s soon completely enraptured.

> He enjoys watching you get ready in the morning. Bo will get distracted himself and end up just watch you do your makeup for ten minutes, admiring how pretty you look for him.

> NOTHING BUT PRINCESS TREATMENT!!! He can be toxic and a tease but he likes to be a gentleman too.

> He’s kneeling to put on your shoes on for you, kissing up your leg as he does. He keeps a hand on your back to guide you as you two walk together. Don’t even think about paying for anything because his hand is already in his pocket, ready to pay.

> Bo spoils you rotten. He can’t help it when you smile so sweetly at him that it’s honestly unfair. Sometimes it’s stuff at the store other times it’s stuff he stole from a victim before they met their end. You wouldn’t know, of course, so it’s always a sweet thing.

> If he’s buying you clothes, he’s picking out the tightest options so he can see your body constantly. He’s already turned on constantly by you but he wants to have you all dolled up for him always.

> Although sometimes it can be annoying to have you be so oblivious, he resists any direct insults or rude names since he knows you’ll take it to heart. He never wants to see you upset.

> He knows how much you love his Southern accent and dials it up to 11 with sweet pet names when he needs you for something.

> “Sweetheart, do me a favor an’ pass me the wrench? S’got the blue handle, honey, you know which one.”

> Favorite thing he’s seen you do is when you stole his clothing and became a mini-Bo. Wearing his hat and a jumpsuit all proud of yourself and he couldn’t help but chuckle and claim you should dress like that more often so people know you’re all his.

⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune

[dietcokegirly12]

Hey!

Im sorry to disturb you, but can you do a horny PM (18) Dazai, like even though he’s crule and cold he still has a soft spot for reader.

HIHIHI OMG i’m so sorry this has taken soso long i’ve been busy with kinktober stuff, but i hope you like thiss, it was fun to write!!

“PM Dazai”

featuring pm dazai osamu 18 ૮₍⇀‸↼‶₎ა

─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿⌖☠︎︎ ─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿⌖☠︎︎ ─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿

(found on pinterest :)

─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿⌖☠︎︎ ─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿⌖☠︎︎ ─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿

tags: slight mention of murder, violence, torture, blowjob, lots of cum ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝), boot humping, degrading, daddy kink, unprotected sex, etc etc

word count: 1.8k

⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ┈⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺┈ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅┈⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺┈ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅┈⁺

Osamu Dazai, Port Mafia executive at eighteen, and one of the coldest men to ever exist, stood in front of a cowering, mangled heap of a human, the air heavy with the metallic tang of blood and sweat.

They were in the infamous Port Mafia torture chamber, known for its innumerable amount of uses over the years to make its victims talk, whether it be for enemy information, or what they knew about the Mafia's plans.

Today was no different, as the heavily mutilated man that was chained and spread for Dazai to play with, let out loud sobs that wracked his beaten body.

"Please, sir! Have mercy!"

Dazai scoffed, examining a glinting dagger before pressing it to the man's neck. "Mercy? You knew what you were doing when you came here to steal information. So tell me, what exactly was it that you were looking for?"

His sobs grow louder, choking and dry-heaving pathetically as Dazai presses harder on the dagger, enough to draw out a steady stream of scarlett blood, the thick scent cloying the stale air.

"We were looking for classified information! Just.. please no more!"

Dazai cocks his head at that, before putting down the weapon he had been brandishing across his neck, the man exhaling with relief, thinking he was getting off the hook.

But his respite is short-lived as Dazai trades the dagger for a loaded gun, cocking and reloading it to point it at him directly.

"You know, you should consider yourself lucky. I'm going to have to cut our session short, because I have places I'd rather be than to waste any more time on useless scum like you."

Bang!

Not sparing a second glance back, Dazai rinses his hands of the blood staining them in the small, rusty sink before shouldering his long, black overcoat on again, and leaving the room, the door closing with a soft click.

His footsteps echo down the quiet of the Mafia's hallway, shadows covering every corner as the darkness of the night outside peeks in.

He looks down at his watch. Shit. He's late.

Increasing his pace, he makes it out of the Mafia building, and a couple blocks down to a small apartment building. You.

Unlocking the door, he comes inside, and begins to shrug off his coat, noticing you, prettily laid out for him on the couch.

"You're late, 'samu," you whine, watching as he carefully removes the bandage covering his eye, before coming over to his favorite armchair and sinking down into it with a sigh.

"I know sweetie. Had to work long hours today."

You come closer, to take your place between his spread legs, nuzzling your way between them to gaze up at him adoringly.

He widens them further for you, his head falling back as he breathes deeply, exhausted from a long day of dirty work.

You inch yourself closer, tugging the black tie hanging around his neck to loosen it, before tossing it to the side. Your hands come to his thighs as you knead them softly, whispering a soft, "Let me help you relax," to which he nods, eyes closing with a soft exhale as your hands begin to slide up further, exploring him eagerly.

Expertly, your nimble fingers work and rub over aching muscles, trying to give him any form of relief you can, for his day's stress, hands venturing dangerously close to the apex of his thighs, but never quite reaching it.

And as your touches grow more and more bold, but always retracting before you can give him what he truly wants, he starts to get impatient.

"Darling..." His voice holds a bit of warning as his cock fills with life, beginning to strain against his black trousers, heavier and heavier, and just begging for any amount of attention you're willing to give. "Don't tease."

It fills you with pride then, the control you held over one of the deadliest mafia executives, the fact he so clearly needed you, and your touch.

"Be good for daddy, he just had a hard day at work." He spreads his thighs further apart as his hips lift slightly, the tent in his pants impossibly large now.

Your cheeks flush at his words, finally giving in and burying your face between his legs, pressing your face right against the bulge in his pants, making him practically sigh with relief as he melts into your touch, cock twitching erratically.

You nuzzle against him, tongue flicking out to trace over the outline of his cock through his pants, leaving a wet trail along him, his breathing becoming heavier as he tries to arch his hips further into you.

You quickly unzip his pants to reveal his long, throbbing cock, slightly curved, and leaking pre-cum, velvety soft to the touch.

You finally take him into your hand, pumping gently and making his head fall back, hips thrusting into your hand eagerly.

You shift into a more comfortable position, bending to suck on his tip gently, enough to taste the salty-sweet of him on your tongue.

He moans softly, large hands coming to tangle into your hair and push you down, a small choked sputter leaving you.

"That's it... be a good girl, and take every inch for daddy."

Encouraged by his praise, you allow him to push your head down further, until your nose is bumping his pelvis, small gags and whines leaving you as drool seeps out of your mouth. He pauses, tilting his head back with a moan as he just holds you there, for what feels like minutes, every muscle in your jaw strained and jumping with tears streaming down your face from his sheer length.

But you can't deny how unbelievably turned on you were, arousal seeping into the lace of your panties and soaking through to glide down your thighs, cunt throbbing as he finally lets you go with a small pop!

But your reprieve doesn't last long as he immediately begins to fuck your mouth at a steady pace, your jaw slack and sore as his tip bruises the back of your throat, choked sobs spilling out of you.

You shift, trying to press your thighs together for any form of friction to relieve the throbbing, and Dazai instantly takes notice, nosing the tip of his boot between your legs to rub it gently over your needy pussy.

"Fuck... is this turning you on, darling? Sucking my cock like the good little girl you are?"

You whimper in reply, rutting against his foot desperately as you continue to suck him deeper, hollowing your cheeks out and bobbing your head with renewed vigor.

He grunts, hips thrusting sloppily as he gets closer, the squelching of your cunt dragging along his boot almost obscene in the quietness of the room.

"You like when I use you like this, hm?"

You nod in agreement, movements becoming even faster and more erratic as he moans, fingers weaving tighter through your mussed hair.

Dazai's stomach is beginning to scrunch into tight knots, contracting and shuddering, as he barely holds back from the tips of white-hot pleasure clawing into him.

Desperate to push him over, you trace the underside of his cock head gently, running your tongue all around the outline of him, and as you brush a particularly sensitive vein, something almost resembling a whine leaves the throat of the cold executive, before he's forcing substantial ropes of warm, salty cum down your throat, hips shallowly thrusting in and out.

Pulling yourself up, you're unable to wait any longer as you clamber over his lap, clumsily pressing your mouth to his, his hands coming to pull you closer, closer, until you're straddling him, sopping cunt pressed against his already hardening cock.

You're only wearing one of Dazai's baggy shirts, so all you have to do is lift it up before you're almost bare in front of him, your perky breasts in his face.

He groans at the lewd display, instantly surging forward to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly as you arch upward at the feeling, moaning.

He pushes you back onto the couch, and quickly tugs off your panties in one harsh motion, revealing you fully, his hands roaming and exploring as if this is his first time seeing you, rough yet eager in his quest for more of your warm skin.

He quickly lines up his long cock to your entrance, unable to wait another second, as he pushes into you, wedging himself in inch by inch.

You mewl, gripping onto his shirt tightly as he stretches you out impossibly on his length, the tip prodding your cervix just barely.

"My baby has such a pretty, tight pussy f'me, doesn't she?" He groans, eyes squeezing shut as he finally manages to bury himself all the way into you, your soft moans being your only response aside from your squirms of pleasure.

He immediately begins a brutal pace, holding you down firmly as his hips piston in and out ruthlessly, showing his rougher side as he pants above you, sweat covering his forehead in a glistening sheen.

You whimper, cunt gripping tightly around him as you feel him prodding all the way to your stomach, his hands coming to grip roughly onto your breasts, squeezing slightly.

As he shows no sign of slowing, only going rougher, your whole body moving with the force of his thrusts, you feel your stomach coiling tighter and tighter, the warmth of your release fast-approaching.

"S-samu.." you cry out, burying your face into his neck and breathing him in deeply as you feel yourself clamping tighter around him.

" 'S okay baby, you can come. Wanna feel you gush around my cock. Can you do that for me? Can you come all over daddy's cock?"

As he speaks, you can't hold back anymore, stomach finally snapping as your vision turns white, your thighs clamping tightly around him as wave after wave of your pleasure crashes through you, warmth soaking him.

He follows close behind, moaning softly as his grip on you tightens, cock shooting spurts of cum into your velvety walls, so much of it that it seems to never end, filling up your abused cunt so completely that it drips onto the couch under you, staining it with white.

As you both pant, coming down from your highs, he nuzzles into your cheek softly. "Did so good for me, doll." He plants a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, making a warm blush creep across your cheeks at the praise, arms wrapped tightly around him.

Cheekily, his hands come to cup your breasts, and you feel him smile against you, his still hard cock beginning to glide up and down against your stomach. "But I'm still horny."

[gallusrostromegalus]

My drawing skills suck are very unpracticed but I have a mighty need to create fanart of the garbage tarot. I don't even know anything about the source material but I am in love with these idiots.

Actually... I do a lot more mixed-media than I do drawing........... Hmm...

As a Completely Unrelated Thought, what do you think Zaraki's handwriting would look like?

I'm glad you asked because there's na specific answer for AEIWAM fic! Zaraki!

(Note: in AEIWAM, Kakiyo was Tousen's adopted sister, not an unrequited crush, and she raised money to go to the academy by working as a travelling schoolteacher for a while)

---

The first time Yamamoto gets a report from Zaraki, it genuinely throws him for a loop. Its a thorough if somewhat gruesome report about the 11th dealing with a pack of hollows that had been attacking isolated villages. Nothing Yamamoto was not already used to, but reading descriptions of mutilated villagers is somehow more unsettling when the descriptions look like this:

(a stylistic example)

Yamamoto takes him to task next meeting.

(continued under the cut)

"I know you're still learning the job Zaraki, but you can't foist your paperwork off on Miss Kusajishi." Yamamoto growls.

"I... Didn't? What?" Zaraki looks extremely confused, but the Captain-General is not fooled.

"You mean to tell me THIS is your handwriting?" Yamamoto snaps, throwing the report on the table, sheets spilling out as it slid down the length of it, so everyone could see the bizarre cutesy hand it was written in.

Zaraki's face darkened, jaw clenched. "Yeah. What about it? You goin' blind as well as senile?" He growled.

"THIS IS THE HANDWRITING OF A LITTLE GIRL, ZARAKI, DO YOU HAVE THE SAME HANDWRITING AS YOUR DAUGHTER?" Yamamoto slammed his hand on the table, temperature sharply increasing around him.

Zaraki began to arch his back and crackle with Reiatsu as well, but was stopped by loud ringing chime and a hand on his arm.

Yamamoto blinked in surprise to see Tousen, of all people , holding the giant back. There was a click as Tousen fully re-sheathed his sword. Suzumushi's chime wouldn't effect either of them, but it redirected their attention very effectively.

"My apologies, Yamamoto-sama." He bowed his head before turning his ear up at Zaraki. "Kakiyo wrote about this to me. You could only afford for one of you to receive schooling, right?"

Zaraki huffed and shook himself before answering. "Yeah, I was a broke-ass bastard before this." He grumbled, scratching his neck in a de-escalation feature. "Yer sister was a fuckin' saint and a genius. Neither of you have any business tellin' the whole world though."

"I think it was an exceptionally brave and difficult thing you did." Tousen shrugged. "Even when she used that method, less than one in a hundred parents actually stuck to it, much less achieved what you have."

Zaraki started looking everywhere but at Tousen, thinking. "... wouldn't call it brave, it was just makin' sure she was doin' good in school." He muttered.

Tousen kept listening intently at Zaraki. May I tell Yamamoto-sama so he doesn't cause another scene?"

"You're going to tell me what you're muttering about whether you like it or not." Yamamoto menaced.

"My sister taught Zaraki-taicho and Miss Kusajishi how to read and write." Kaname sighed and took off his goggles to rub the bridge of his nose. "It's extremely common in the Rukongai to have to teach children whose parents have never had any kind of schooling. Many of the parents would like to go to school too, but can only afford to send their children- actually , usually only one child. It's not usually an issue of money, but time- the parents can't afford to miss fishing season, or spare any siblings because they're needed on the farm. But, when you have a parent who is as attentive and caring as Zaraki-"

"Tttch!" Zaraki huffed at Kaname, who pointedly ignored him.

"-You can get around the schooling fees and scheduling problems by telling the student that their homework is to teach their parents what they learned in school that day. The homework you give the students is for their parents to do after they pass the lesson on and grade them on how well they taught their family." Kaname explained, putting his goggles back on. "Kakiyo was in awe of Miss Kusajishi's dedication to teaching you, and immensely proud of your efforts."

Zaraki still refused to look at Tousen, but his ears were bright red.

"...ohhh." Ukitake realized. "Wow, that's... I thought it was impossible to learn how after a certain age, that's - well, I don't think it's something I could have done!"

"What?" Glared Yamamoto.

"Zaraki-taicho and Miss Kusajishi have the same handwriting because he learned how to read and write by learning her school lessons from her." Unohana translated. "-An exceptionally difficult way to learn, and commendable for even trying." She continued, arching an eyebrow at him as a warning.

"Yeah and with all due respect Yama-ji? You're not exactly in a position to be complaining about anyone else's handwriting-" added Shunsui. "Zaraki's handwriting is odd, but it's perfectly legible. Nanao-chan framed your last memo because she thought it was an abstract painting."

Yamamoto turned to Shunsui with an aggravated glare.

"I'm afraid I have to second Kyoraku-taicho." Tousen said, without an ounce of chagrin in his voice. "The kido spell on my glasses can translate nearly everyone's hand, but the only person in the ninth who can read your memos to me is third-seat Maegawa, and mostly because she's had several centuries practice."

"Wait, we were supposed to be getting memos?" Mayuri squawked. "Dammit! I thought that squiggly garbage was the fax machine breaking every other week! I disassembled that thing three times trying to fix it!"

"You can all shut up now." Yamamoto snarled, and everyone did, but there were still a lot of pointed looks around the table, and Unohana's eyebrow had not resumed it's usual curvature yet. "Please consider my complaint withdrawn."

Unohana's eyebrow arched further and she cracked her eye open to reveal a coal-black iris, going from Warning to Threat.

"...My apologies, Zaraki-taicho. That was. Inconsiderate of me." Yamamoto muttered.

"Ya gonna shut up about it now?" Zaraki asked, not quite facing Yamamoto, but back still arched.

"I will hold my judgment in check in the future." Yamamoto acquiesced, watching him.

"Sure." Zaraki grunted, shaking his shoulders to drop the subject. "Right, what the fuck were we doing?" He asked, returning to the agenda.

---

After the meeting, Tousen took a minute to stand in the late afternoon sun, exhaling and releasing the tension of the day, when someone grabbed one shoulder and plopped something heavy on the other.

"Yeh didn't have to do that." Zaraki grunted just behind Tousen's ear, his forehead resting on the small man's shoulder, half gratitude, half grumble.

"One of the responsibilities of a captain is to keep the general in check, and I had a particularly good opening to stop that nonsense for good." Kaname hummed, hand reflexively coming up to touch the giant's head on his shoulder, fingertips tracing over the scarred visage and peculiar hairstyle.

"Didn't read that in the employee handbook." Zaraki grunted, grin in his voice.

"Yamamoto wrote those handbooks, and he'd rather we let him do as he pleases. You have to learn how to read between the lines, Zaraki." Kaname teased.

Zaraki gave his strange, low clicking chuckle of amusement and affectionately mock-bit Kaname's ear before standing up, still holding his other shoulder.

"...Thanks. " he muttered, giving his arm a squeeze and stepping away. "Gotta go pick up Sensei, you talk to her if you think I need more tutoring!" Zaraki waved, striding off to collect Yachiru in completely the opposite direction from her school.

"ITS THE OTHER- oh, he'll figure it out." Kaname sighed.

The sun was low in the sky, but it was still warm, and the first Cricket of summer started chirping, startling him. Suzumushi chirped with it, singing her mournful loss of her original wielder, but not so despairing this time.

"Kaname?" Sajin asked, heard before he was felt as usual. The lieutenant's meeting must have wrapped up late.

Kaname smiled and put a finger up, indicating he should listen. Sajin did, helmet tipping slightly to hear.

"Crickets!" Sajin realized, and offered Kaname his gauntlets hand to lead him home. "...I miss Kakiyo too." He sighed.

"You're not really gone if some part of you lives on in someone else." Kaname hummed. "I realized she is not so far gone today."

"Oh?" Sajin asked. "Where does she live on?"

"Have you read any of Zaraki-taocho's reports yet?" Kaname grinned. "His hand is not his hand alone."

[i-cant-sing]

This is going to be interesting fr, like how much differently do your Theodore treat the reader if they were childhood friends

Yesss, but like imagine Theodore being a platonic yandere for his childhood bestie Y/n. He knows you inside out and knows every struggle you've been through, all your secrets, even the ones you've never disclosed to him (yes, he was outside your window on October 12th, 2008 when you didnt come to school because you were "sick" as you had told him but had actually started your period).

Imagine just how overprotective he is, and he's so mean about it too. Its in his nature. He's glaring at you as you tell him that he had no right to beat up your date just because that man had his arm around your waist because you were okay with it. Ofc he just rolls his eyes and tells you that you're too stupid to know what guys are actually like, that you dont know about the "locker room talk" and he's just trying to keep you safe from pervs but ofc youre too "dense" to see it. You could've thought that he might be doing it because he's interested in you like that, but no, he violently cringes at the mere suggestion of your friends that you two fight like a married couple, not to mention how he treats you more like a sibling than your own. Bullying you constantly, messing up your hair, putting you in headlocks as often as he could, kicking the back of your knees to watch you flop on the ground, anything he could do to annoy you.

But he's also very helpful, yknow? He pretends like he couldnt give a rats ass about your existence but will just scoff and yank your assignment from your hands and complete it. Working on your college essay? He reads it, insults you at how stupid it is, then write one for you in one sitting, actually writing about your personal experiences that moves the admission officers to fucking tears at the pure raw emotion it draws out of them. About to leave for a date and you ripped your dress? Signs to you that this is just universe telling you to ditch the guy but then one look at your sad face and he's pulling out an emergency needle kit from his pocket and sewing it up. He'll think of another way to end your date <3

Theodore is also very possessive of you. Even as kids, he would throw sand in other kids eyes just so that theyre too busy crying to approach you and try to play with you. In highschool, he's already built like a transformer and with him having this mean look on his face, people definitely hesitated to approach you, especially when you have this brooding man standing behind you, intimidating everyone who dared to step within 5 feet of you. Now that you two are adults, and Theo is still working as a spy, he would use his skills to take out people that become a little to important to you.

I feel like Theo isn't an animal person, he is definitely not a people person, but he also doesn't care much for pets and it's not even cause his work doesn't allow him to care for pets properly but I still think that he would get a dog trained specifically to keep you out of danger. Or more particularly, keep you in home and bark (and bite/mutilate) anyone who is not him. So if you got a date, make sure he's not picking you up from home.

Definitely definitely finds a way to make you move in with him, if not live next to him. Of course, he has a different place where he keeps his work stuff and gear hidden, but he needs to live with you for his own sanity. And even though he has trackers hidden all over your clothes and belongings, he still likes to ask you where you are, what you're upto, etc, just to see if you'd lie to him. And if you do, be prepared for a very pissed off Theo who is just huffing and puffing all day because how dare you not trust him, your best friend???? Offensive.

But also, when he finds out that someone, anyone made you cry, or even is causing you to stress out, guess who's pulling out their murder gloves?

[theabysss]

Dance

pairing: sagau!Arlecchino x Reader

summary: The performance is over, the hall is empty and only the two of you are dancing on the stage.

warnings/tags: gn!Reader, religious + cult themes, possessive & obsessive thoughts, yandere.

word count: 1k.~

note: This lovely lady knocked down my entire fic-writing schedule and shamelessly got into the queue, but I forgive her. After all, she is my wife.

The performance ended and the sound of loud applause still hung in the air. The audience had already left, the actors had gone to their dressing rooms, and the hall was completely empty, except for the two of you.

Arlecchino followed you as a shadow as you descended from your loggia and ascended to the stage. You looked around the hall with interest and turned your gaze to her. She managed to keep her outer composure under your scanning gaze, but inside her, anxiety began to slowly rise. Is there something wrong with her looks? Before she had time to get completely flustered, you walked up to her and smiled as you held out your hand to her.

"Dance?"

Her heart skips a beat and she peers into your face in amazement, her mouth slightly parted and she tries to say at least something, but the words freeze on her lips. You looked at her so tenderly, waiting for her answer, Arlecchino swallowed hard, your kindness was often sung in songs, but the encounter with this, amazed, shocked, stole all the air from her lungs.

You did her such an honor with your invitation, here on the stage you stood patiently waiting for her answer, as if you thought that she could refuse you. She would never do that, Arlecchino never refused the gifts of fate.

You were too kind a god, graciously distributing your grace to everyone, even those who did not really deserve it. Arlecchino clenched her hand into a fist, digging her nails into her palm, these disgusting miserable creatures, none of them had the right to bask in the rays of your strength, enjoy your attention. To tear them apart, mutilate them so that the thought of meeting with you would not dare to come to mind.

She shook her head to drive away bad thoughts and finally carefully put her hand in yours, as if afraid that it would melts like dew in the morning.

When you pull her to you, goosebumps go down the back of Arlecchino, you were so close and it clouded her mind better than any wine or fire water from Snezhnay.

You were the Creator of Teyvat, the God she prayed to as a little girl, standing in the cold with numb fingers that she didn't feel at all then. A weak child who spent hours in front of your statue on the street in the small village where she lived. Then it seemed to her that a wild cold settled right in her bones, but Arlecchino did not stop, whispering the words of prayer with her blue, cracked lips.

Your hand on her lower back, burning heat penetrated through the layers of clothing and seemed to reach the heart in a warm wave. Arlecchino put her hand on your shoulder and licked her dry lips. As you gently intertwined your fingers, she bit her bottom lip with force almost to the point of blood.

As a child, she could not even dream of the opportunity to see you live, to stand so close that she could feel your breath on her face. She tries to snuggle even closer to you and draws in the air next to your skin, enjoying your natural scent. Bliss.

You start dancing and Arlecchino obediently moves with you in the same rhythm, adjusting to your pace. Another step, turn, the hem of her tailcoat develops behind her, following the movements. The sound of Arlecchino's heels echoes through the empty hall. Her body was filled with a weightlessness that she had not felt before, as if she had wings growing behind her back. Next to you it has always been like this, life is usually gray and tasteless filled with colors.

She keeps her eyes on you, absorbing every change of emotion on your face. Greedily, inextricably as your faithful follower shouldn't have done, but she just couldn't stop. Closer, get even closer to you, until she becomes the one you trust the most, get rid of all the annoying insects spinning around you. So that your warmth, your tenderness, belong only to her.

Music begins to play softly, gradually becoming louder, sounding from all sides.

"I think it will be better with music."

A playful smile appears on your face and Arlecchino wants to kiss it. Right now, press her lips to yours, steal your breath and never breathe out again, keeping a part of you in yourself.

Seconds pass adding up into minutes, the time of your closeness that Arlecchino burns into her memory, stores like gems in a cache. The awkward movement leading up to a brief contact of yours thighs sends shivers up her back and leaves her legs weak.

Your shadows under the harsh spotlight look inseparable, merged so strongly and completely that they are unable to part.

The last chords that put a bitter taste in Arlecchino's mouth and mark the end of her happiness. The footsteps slow down and you freeze under the ensuing deafening silence. Arlecchino's back arched, supported only by your hand, your faces so close to each other that she could count your eyelashes. The smallest distance between your lips beckoned to reduce it, to succumb to passion, to let go of control.

You close your eyes and gently touch your lips to hers. Cautiously, as if Arlecchino were an expensive crystal that threatened to break from any careless movement, tremulously like the touch of a butterfly's wings. Arlecchino deepens the kiss, her hand moving to the back of your head. You were like spring water, your taste was sweet and refreshing, only making her want more. No matter how much she try, there will always be little, a thirst that could not be quenched.

Arlecchino wasn't about to let you go, not after she got so close. She will convince you that she is the best, that she is more worthy than any of your followers, be they archons or ordinary owners of vision. Anything for you, just be close to her, save all your smiles and tenderness only for her. All you are only for her.

Reblogs, comments, are always greatly appreciated! ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ

[midasfantasy]

Sonder & Soul Ties

synopsis : every action has its equal opposite reaction. it wasn’t your fault society failed you, turning you away at every turn for matters outside of your control. for a world built on fighting evil, people suspiciously had a way of ensuring there would always be more of it. so, you can’t really be blamed for ending up surrounded by and helping japan’s most wanted criminals. or for wanting them yourself.

content : BNHA villains x fem!reader

warnings : blood/gore, mutilation, graphic descriptions of murder, manipulation (of all kinds), torture, violence, psychological horror, brief cannibalism, alcohol use/intoxication, stalking, foul language, nightmares, unreliable narrator, nosebleeds, unhealthy dynamics, yandere tendencies, death threats, near death experiences, and SLOW BURN.

general info : MC, or you, is 20. Toga has been aged up to 18, this is for my own comfort, i don’t feel comfortable writing a child.

this story is available on ao3 and quotev under the same title. my user on both is floatingfantasy.

weekly updates! typically, every thursday.

extra : i will be doing a very deep dive into the characters of this story and their dynamics with each other. i’m doing my best to research mental illnesses and how they can impact people, so that i can make an accurate portrayal of what it might look like to interact with people who suffer from them. 

the character’s mental illness are not what make them villains, their actions are. none of them are good people, they all actively make bad decisions and this story is about the consequences of those actions. i do not want anyone to villainize them for their mental illnesses though, or push negative stereotypes because of them. for this reason, i will not be explicitly stating what diagnoses i’ve given them, and will allow you as an audience to draw your own conclusion. if i see anyone in my comments being ableist, you’re getting blocked, no warning. we do not tolerate that behavior in this space.

additionally, since this is a story where the villains are your main love interest, i feel it’s important to state: i do not condone how MC is treated by them, especially not in a romantic context. their behavior is never condonable, and certainly shouldn’t be romanticized. i know that sounds counterintuitive, but please, do not seek dynamics like the ones you read in this story in real life. they are unhealthy, even though it won’t always be explicitly stated, as this story has an unreliable narrator. 

one, hamartia

two, red herring

three, black sheep

four, …

[redgoldsparks]

July reading and reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut.

Practical Anarchism: A Guide For Daily Life by Shuli Branson 

I picked this up after listening to the author's excellent interview on Gender Reveal. I'd never read an explanation of anarchy before and found this one accessible, intersectional, and rich with references to follow up on. Branson's basic argument is for recognizing that the state exists only to perpetuate its own power, and aids citizens only incidentally and when doing so doesn't conflict with maintaining control. In light of this, citizens should seek to gain as much freedom in daily life as they can by supporting community and mutual aid, by refusing hustle culture and separating self-worth from productivity, by spending as much time as they can on things that bring pleasure, joy, peace, and stealing from corporate workplaces among other things. Many sections of this book I found myself simply agreeing with, while other chapters (especially the sections on Work and Art) really challenged a lot of my internalized beliefs. I'm very glad I read this and imagine I will return to it in the future, especially when I'm able to read more on this topic.

How I Attended An All-Guy’s Mixer vols 1-6 by Nana Aokawa (fan translated) 

College students Tokiwa, Asagi, and Hagi are invited to a mixer with some college girls, but when they arrive they are greeted by three handsome boys at their reserved table. It turns out the girls they planned to meet at all work at a cross-dressing bar! Suo is a devastatingly charming and confident prince; Kohaku has a prickly exterior but a soft, shy interior; and Fuji draws smutty fan comics in her free time and is constantly on the lookout for new models. This goofy premise turns into a very sweet and funny slice of life comic as three couples with very different dynamics begin to develop. Sadly, I cannot find these books available in English so I am reading them at a sketchy online site, lol. I hope they get translated at some point because I've been completely sucked in and read four volumes in like 24 hours :3

Barda by Ngozi Ukazu

Barda is the captain of a soldier unit from a torture/hell world called Apokolips. Her backstory includes being kidnapped as a child and tortured into serving as the perfect weapon in a very black and white interplanetary war. Her torturer is an old woman named Granny Goodness. They work for a classic evil emperor named Darkseid, who has the son of his major enemy locked in his dungeons. At the beginning of the book, Barda is told to investigate how this guy, named Scott Free, keeps managing to almost escape. This is challenging material to make something out of. It feels so ridiculous, so campy, so over the top, I had a hard time taking the premise seriously- especially as this torture world has to obey PG-13 movie rules about not showing any blood or actual human mutilation. All that being said, I think Ukazu wrote about the best modern take as you possible could with these characters. The writing is quippy, smart, empathetic; I enjoyed the page layouts, color palette choices, and the emotional arc she takes Big Barda on through the book, even though I wanted it to go a little farther at the end.

We Deserve Monuments by Jas Hammonds

Avery is a queer biracial teen, uprooted from her DC home just before senior year of high school by a family emergency which relocates her and her parents to Bardell, Georgia. Avery's grandmother, Mama Letty, has cancer and the prognosis isn't good. Avery is also fresh from a breakup with her first ever girlfriend. Her early years of high school were ruined by Covid, and she doesn't want to waste her last year as well in a back-woods town. But despite herself, Avery is drawn towards the people of Bardell and the ways she learns their histories tangle with her own. There's Carol, the woman next door, who was Avery's mom's best friend in high school but who know barely speaks to her. There's Carol's daughter, Simone, whose colorful locs catch Avery's eyes immediately. There's Jade, Simone's best friend at school whose family is linked to more than one tragedy in the town's history. And there's Mama Letty herself, who Avery wants to get to know, but time is running out. I read this book in just under a week while on vacation and really enjoyed it! It felt refreshingly grounded and real after some of the YA I've tried and DNFed recently.

Yotsuba vol 10 by Kiyohiko Azuma

Utterly charmed by the entire chapter that's just Yotsuba learning how to cook pancakes. What a good reminder that fine motor control is a learned skill! I also liked how Yotsuba's dad handled a lie about some broken dishes. This is such a great series.

Sunhead by Alex Assan 

In Tel Aviv, teenage Rotem spends her free time hanging out with friends and obsessively re-reading her favorite book, Sunrise, a vampire romance. She doesn't know anyone else into the series and has to wait for the next book to come out in Hebrew. But she does meet another reader, Ayala, who sits out of gym class every single week, sometimes with a Jane Austin novel. Rotem lends Ayala the vampire book and suddenly she has a fandom friend. This book very delicately, and at times wordlessly, explores the way a fictional story can act as a lens for teen questioning of gender and sexuality. The book feels almost memoir like with its groundedness in very real teen emotions and relative lack of external conflict. It's a simple story but beautifully illustrated and relatable.

Witch Hat Atelier vol 12 by Kamome Shirahama

This is an action packed volume that sticks more closely to Coco, which is what I want out of the series. I'm still frustrated by the overload of new characters who I'm struggling to keep tract of. But the art is so stunning I'll probably keep reading.

Otonari Complex vol 1 by Saku Nonomura (fan translated)

Akira is a tall tomboy who befriended a shorter, prettier boy named Makoto in elementary school. In college, they are still inseparable, and many people mistake them for a straight couple- though usually they think Akira is the boy and Makoto the girl. Makoto only adds to this confusion by frequently cross-dressing. I enjoyed the friendship and gender mix-ups, but I don't love how every single secondary character either wants to date one of the two leads, or whats to separate the two leads because their close friendship might prevent them from dating in the future. Get out of their business, randos! They are clearly on a very slow friends to lovers arc, leave them alone to figure out their shit.

Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen read by Vikras Adam 

At the start of this book, in 1959, Andy Mills is at rock bottom. The former San Francisco cop was fired after being discovered in flagrante with another man at a gay bar. He is seriously considering suicide because he can't see any other options. Then a well dressed older woman, Pearl, sweeps into his life and asks him to solve a weeks old murder that occurred on her private Marin estate. Pearl is a lesbian and widow; her wife was the owner of a well known floral soap company and she died under mysterious circumstances. Pearl was unable to call in the police at the time because nearly everyone who lives on the soap flower farm estate is queer. A small group of biological and found family has made a safe, gated community for themselves- safe, that is, until one woman fell to her death from a second floor balcony. Andy isn't too hopeful about solving a case with little to no evidence, but he gives it a try, and he is blown away by seeing multiple queer couples living opening together in the same household. This was a solid story, though it didn't have that magic spark that sometimes captures me in murder mysteries. I was all ready to say I probably wouldn't continue the series, and then a 15 minute sample of the second book played after the end of the first in the audiobook. The second one already sounds MUCH more fascinating than the first, in part because Andy starts the sequel in touch with an intriguing queer community and setting up a new PI business. So I might try the next book after all!

Mabel McKay: Weaving the Dream by Greg Sarris 

A wonderful, lively memoir of Pomo basket weaver and medicine woman Mabel McKay, as written by Greg Sarris, who knew her for most of his life until she passed in the early 1990s. Sarris is currently the chairman of the Federated Indians of Graton Rancheria based in Sonoma County which serves the local Pomo and Miwok populations. Sarris is very much also a character in this story, which lays out many conversations had on long car rides up and down the California coast, while Sarris drove McKay to give talks at universities and museums or to visit her relatives. The story is non chronological but still immersive, telling of McKay's childhood, her early years doctoring and making baskets, and her life-changing friendship with Essie Parrish, another basket weaver and important figure in Sonoma county. I'd highly recommend this book, especially to anyone interested in West Coast history, and very especially if you grew up in California.

[sirfrogsworth]

I have two best friends.

Which is not an apt description.

Best friends is too small a term to describe what they are to me.

Chosen family. Ride or die. People I would drop everything for if they needed me. People I would protect with my last breath. People who know embarrassing details they will take to the grave.

Now that my mom and dad are gone, they are my lifelong companions. I trust them with my life.

I talk about Katrina all the time. But I tend to keep my friendship with Delling a little more private. I don't love either of them any more or less. There is no ranking system for my besties. But Katrina and I are basically like an old school comedy duo, so we have a lot more shenanigans to share. Shenanigans are easy content for a blog.

Delling is disabled like me. We have a lot of the same consequences from our health issues. Extreme fatigue most of all. Delling was unable to get disability benefits though, so they have to work a 9 to 5 job. And it exhausts them to the limit. They often will work and go straight to bed. If it were possible, I would talk to Delling every single day like I do with Katrina, but circumstances don't always allow for that.

So we have less shenanigans, but the same amount of love.

I'm also a little more protective of Delling at the moment. They are trans and for some reason a large portion of the "very online" people have decided to hate my best friend. And sometimes I worry about drawing attention towards Delling from the few trolls who still hate follow me.

Delling is almost always in my thoughts when I write about trans issues or argue with transphobes on Twitter. But I refuse to invoke "I HAVE A TRANS FRIEND" most of the time. For one, I don't advocate for trans people just because I have a trans friend. Though it does make the emotions I feel very intense sometimes. A lot of tears and anger. But I also don't want to sound like those conservatives who justify everything they say because they have a friend from a marginalized group.

There are certainly times people will be like, "Why would you mutilate someone and cut off healthy breasts??" and I wanna be like "Delling is much happier without boobies and I can see a huge difference since their surgery and you don't know what the fuck you are talking about with that mutilation nonsense. FIGHT ME!"

But I don't think I need to announce my bestie's private top surgery details just to win an argument on Twitter.

I'm just really happy for them and I am glad it helped. They struggled to get the surgery for so long and fought like hell to make it happen. People acting like it is this horrible thing make me so angry. When it finally happened it was... a relief. A weight lifted off their shoulders... err... chest.

After my dad died, Katrina was unable to get away from Florida to help me out. She was dealing with her disabled dog, Lucy, and her end-of-life care. That just isn't something you can ask someone else to look after for a few days. So Delling got permission to do remote work and drove down from the top of the country to help me. They came on the weekend of my dad's service and stayed a few days after to help me get the house sorted.

I'm honestly not sure I could have made it through that experience on my own. During the service, Delling just clung to my side as I tried to act normal when long-lost relatives offered similar grief platitudes over and over. And I kept introducing Delling and saying they were from the wrong state for some reason. I do actually know where Delling lives, but I guess my brain was not functioning in that situation.

Delling also helped me finish my eulogy literally hours before I gave it. And they helped me print out a bunch of photos of my dad that almost no one looked at. I'm so glad we spent all morning frantically doing that. *sigh* Though I'm hoping the photos will come in handy when I do an online memorial for my parents, so it was not all for naught.

There was a moment when a certain someone gave an impromptu speech at the end of the service about how she let my dad see his granddaughter for a couple of hours a year ago and how special that was, and Delling tightly squeezed my hand to help channel away my anger.

Ya know, those totally normal *yearly* visits all grandpas get to have.

Sometimes friends just know, ya know?

Delling and I also revamped the kitchen for my needs, which I have already turned into absolute chaos. And we had a fun shopping trip to Sam's where I bought tender beef jerky that was the toughest to chew jerky I've ever experienced. I guess the "tender" on the label was sarcastic.

All I know is that casually shopping with my friend was this beautiful bonding adventure where we just got to hang out and be together. It's weird the experiences that stick with you. Trying to pick out wholesale sushi with my bestie will be a treasured memory for the rest of my days. And I think that is kinda perfect in its simplicity.

There are not enough thank yous in the world for what Delling did for me. I wish they could have stayed a few months instead of a few days. I miss having them here in person. But they had a foster bunny to take care of and a job and a family. So I had to give Delling back to the top of the country.

I just wanted to write this in appreciation of my other best bestie. I love them more than anything. And I can't tell you all how special it feels to have someone who will drop everything, drive across the country (through tornado weather, no less), and keep you company during a very lonely time.

[jaspersreprise]

Laughing Jack retrospective and rewrite

(WARNING:) This content BRIEFLY mentions of interpersonal situations, negligence, implied misanthropy, deaths and gradually worsening hallucinations! I am not here to GLORIFY real life misfortunes as that is viewed derogatory and disgusting towards people that had fallen victim to the content here that I state down; if it turns out that way, I am so sorry.

This is quite inspired by @freezingmcxn and @seireitonin! I recommend following them, they both make great content, analysis, and hcs.

I do not really like the sound of his backstory as it doesn’t make sense. I wont lie, every Creepypasta stories does need a retrospective and a little rewrite considering that they’ve been made from years ago, and especially when its mainly published by minors! So I do not blame them, haha

also, I am not supporting his creator. I just like his character. And I’m glad that I’m not the only one that thinks his story and creator share some similarities.

Apparently, Isaac was so, so lonely that a guardian angel had to manifest an IMAGINARY FRIEND for him. That is embarrassing!!

Well, lets change a few things here, in this version, Laughing Jack had still been manifested by a divine being and had been sent to Isaac; but to add more sense to it, lets just say that Isaac had developed a profound fascination with whimsical clowns when he was still a youth, especially a clown he called ‘Laughing Jack’. In his time of solitude, he’d usually draw the brightly colourful man to convey a more joyful demeanour. Which he wore suspenders and baggy pants, and is perceived to be excessively tall. To Isaac, Laughing Jack served as a comforting and solacing figure, providing entertainment in the midst of Isaac’s hardships. 

Isaac’s inability to form true bonds made him yearn for more, the absence of love and affection in his life made him crave an interpersonal relationship. And with his parents becoming more preoccupied with hating each other rather than loving their child, Isaac felt an increased sense of loneliness.

As Isaac’s longing for affection grew, he began incorporating Laughing Jack into his drawings as a replacement for the familial bond he longed for. Soon, these illustrations caught the eye of a divine being, manifesting the being Isaac wished to be real. The angelic figure sent him as a jack-in-the-box on Christmas,  and then you know how it goes. Isaac rotated the crank as it plays a familiar nursery tune, playing ‘Pop goes the weasel’. Then, once the tune hits ‘Pop’, nothing came out. The box just opened, but there was nothing in there which led Isaac to release an exhale of disappointment. He left the box in his room for now, doing whatever shit he does instead of staying in his room, then coming back to see Laughing Jack. (I am so sorry you can tell that I’m not writing all this stuff 😭) 

You know how it goes here. They played pirates, sometimes hide and seek, and share some laughs!!! His parents took him for an overactive imagination that later manifested when Isaac began to get completely immersed in the fantasies he made up, and once Jack had accidentally killed a cat, Isaac used his imaginary friend as an excuse to the cats death which his parents responded with skepticism. And as to discipline this child, they somehow managed to get Isaac enrolled into a boarding school despite being poor af?? Lets just be ignorant of them being poor at this time and say they gained money somehow. Blah blah blah you know how it goes again, 13 years of solitude in Jacks box, his brightly coloured attire gradually faded, got insane and adapted the same way Isaac did when coming back to inherit his aged home. 

Then Isaac died 😂

Few of these statements are not canon but it is how I depict Laughing Jack. As a result to how he mutilates and disembowels his victims, he would develop an extensive understanding of human anatomy and utilises it to inflict agony upon his victims. Not only that he is interested in human anatomy to efficiently harm people, but because he doesn’t have his own internal organs considering he is a stuffed clown. This one is quite inspired by @freezingmcxn! He would be ‘an organised-disorganised killer’ according to the FBI’s Crime Classifications! This means that he is someone who plans his crimes very meticulously and is driven by fantasies, but also is somewhat disorganised, messy, and leaves a lot of evidence behind at the scenes of his crimes. He would have become more methodical and cautious in his approach, learning from past mistakes and using his intelligence to plan out his killings with greater precision. He is often portrayed as incredibly intellectual and skilled in the art of psychological manipulation, able to prey on his victims’ fears and weaknesses before striking. The the idea of him being an organised-disorganised killer is greatly pertinent to his cunning character. 

He would scrutinise his victims demeanour and/or appearance to perceive if they have traits that were pertinent and ideal conditions of manipulation, most commonly seen in children he comes across to murder. A technique most killers use to lure their victims’ to their death is what we call ‘insincere’ or ‘superficial charm’, which works efficiently as people still remain naïve and don’t possess self-preservation when they are unbeknownst to the fact that a killer is in front of them. This technique is most helpful and advantageous towards killers as it doesn’t let people apprehend their truest intentions. 

This is a headcanon I made up! When he was first manifested, he did not have bandages around his waist, wrist, and palms. He started wearing bandages after a few situations with the involvement of sharp murder weapons he used to disembowel his victims. He is a stuffed clown with porcelain skin, but he had been created to be physically strong as to not make him very frail. So, when few of his victims have not been prevented from moving, they took that as an opportunity to swiftly grab the nearest object and slice Jack in the wrist, palm or waist. Mainly on the waist, though. It did inflict harm but it wasn’t enough to make Jack stumble down, this simply made Jack furious as his psychological state ever since was very unstable. After finishing off with his victims, he sewed up where he was imperceptibly torn off at; additionally using bandages as to prevent the fluff from getting out easily. 

Jack resents the guardian angel who created him. He has a profound grasp of the impurities inherent in mankind, and his sole predestined purpose was to provide assurance and company to those children who have been hurt. The first child his purpose was made to look after for was a child who left him for a decade before returning as a morally bankrupt and deranged person. He was exposed to violence and perverted behavior, which initially left him adapting to the behaviour as well. He spent his life amongst children, which instilled a childish demeanour and an immunity to emotions like remorse or guilt when manipulating others. He lacks empathy and finds fulfillment in pursuing his own desires as he does possess Machiavellian tendencies. Whilst he finds his life’s purpose worthless, he sets his own meaning and prioritizes his needs. Still, Jack questions the purpose of his own existence, his motives, and why he was created. Although he tries to ignore these existential thoughts, as he continues to pursue his ongoing goals (which is literally murdering people)

—

The hallucinations

From a psychological perspective, hallucinations are typically a symptom of certain mental illnesses, such as schizophrenia. In such cases, the person experiencing the hallucinations may experience sounds, sights, or sensations that appear to be real but are not. The brain may create these hallucinations as a way to make sense of its surroundings, or as a result of an underlying condition that affects the brain's processing abilities.

Being familiar with Laughing Jack’s character and the made-up stories of him, the experience of hallucinations would likely be particularly intense and jarring. Laughing Jack is a demonic entity that is originally known for causing a variety of disturbing and unsettling experiences, including hallucinations. His presence would likely create a sense of confusion, disorientation, and fear, which would be compounded by the distorted perceptions and experiences that the hallucinations would cause. These distorted perceptions would likely include distorted sounds, sights, tastes, and sensations, which would be further warped by the presence of the demon.

Example: 

The visual hallucinations would often depict an antiqued-like jack-in-the-box. It would suddenly appear out of nowhere, often leaving behind a ghostly silhouette that can be sighted at any moment. His claws may leave scratches on tables and walls, an ominous reminder of his presence.

The auditory hallucinations induced by Laughing Jack's presence are even more disturbing. Macabre and piercing, his laughter is a haunting echo that is often heard. A distorted rendition of Pop Goes the Weasel periodically plays, further escalating the fear and tension. Cries of suffering children, voice boxes of crying dolls and messages sent to the subconscious mind are intended to drive the victim insane, sometimes the messages could be like this: „Oh, poor little lass.. not even psychological institutions can help you with your situation. Well, boohoo, that’s too bad now!! Ehh off you go then. I’ll come back another time.” ☠️

This is all the information I could provide you guys with for now, I am thankful if you had perused all of this. I hope that there are no mistakes here, and I’m aware that it is not as perfect, but I had fun writing all of this down! It’s enjoyable delving deeper into complex characters.

[uzumakiji]

heyyy so I'm planning things and here's my notes on the au so far!! definitely going to go more in depth and I'm drawing some stuff rn but this is just to give yall an idea of what the au will look like,,, with my mediocre writing and storytelling skills. lmk if this is awful I haven't fully watched the show in so long,, I need to rewatch it. all the names are stand ins I WILL take suggestions pls help me I'm so bad at naming things

anyways fiddleauthor I saw the tv glow au!!

-after fidd falls in the portal instead of immediately leaving Ford shuts down the portal and convinces him to stay and help take it apart

-Ford realizes that somethings wrong and feels betrayed, +++ his lowkey crush on fidds makes him desperate to try and fix things

-fidd is,,, traumatized. a little. but he's coping!! his friend/old roommate/definitely not gay awakening makes it easier

-bill hates all of this. as soon as Ford falls asleep that night he loses his shit and in a fit of rage absolutely mutilates Ford before taking him to go harass fidds. fidd realizes it's bill cause of his eyes and freaks out even more,, and maybe hits Ford with a frying pan (surprisingly this works and he wakes up)

-Ford feels even MOREEE betrayed after talking to bill in the mindscape + getting possessed and used like a punching bag, starts making plans with fidd to get rid of the mf (this is when fidd makes his memory gun, instead of using it on himself the plan was to use it on Ford in case he was too far gone). in the process, starts the apocalypse. whoops. (bill possesses Ford, gets past fidds and turns on the portal long enough for the rift to form, kind of leads to weirdmegadian but if bill was less bitter about his ex?)

-while fighting him, Bill overpowers them long enough to throw them into a bubble, his own version of the nightmare realm (idk I dont want to call it midnight realm in the au so mini nightmare realm it is!!)

-Ford is born "normal" (5 fingers only). he's also born an only child. he always feels the phantom presence of something missing but doesn't know what. fidds is born is a higher class fancy family and always feels like an outcast, not able to act like the rest of his "family". both are smart but are forced away from things like science and math.

-they start watching a show together about 2 scientists discovering odd creatures in "pines rising". Ford doesn't have a TV at home and has to sneak over to fidds to watch. they watch the season final, remembering who they are and what bill did. Ford struggles to believe it more than Fidd.

-Learning about his true self, Ford blames himself for everything that happened with Bill (its ok bestie I've been gaslighted too it ain't ur fault). he doesn't want to leave the bubble, he's scared and kind of hopes that if he stays everything will fix itself? that he can bury his head in the sand.

-fidds meanwhile, even with some previous lingering resentment can't even imagine Ford blaming himself.

-also yeah they're in love guys IN LOVE

[terrence-silver]

Jack Blaylock with a detective!beloved 👀

---

I can envision Jack convinced that if his Detective (emphasis on the his) has been tailing him for as long as they have, it is entirely with a reason.

That their paths were meant to connect. Converge.

In the infinitely complicated pattern of life, with every murder, assassination, unresolved case or mutilated carcass Jack Blaylock leaves in his wake, his beloved, who has been on his track for months, maybe even years to no avail, keeping on eye out on his handiwork with every newly opened police file his killing sprees puts up for investigation, coming so close to catching him and connecting the dots, but never quite managing, following in his shadow dragged forward by the red thread of fate and not even realizing that same piece of string leads back to him every time. How could they, after all? They don't know him. Not the way he knows them, having observed them and the devoted work they've been doing. As a result, I almost imagine Jack killing with the intention of keeping his beloved hooked on these cases. On bringing the perpetrator to justice. Playing a one-sided game of cat and mouse. Case shut.

It's his profession, but it can't mean it cannot prove to serve multiple purposes.

He wants them to come forward. Research crime scenes he leaves behind. Take photographs. Pin up newspaper clippings of the incidents. Write meticulous reports. Swap notes back and forth with Forensics. Dedicate time and effort to uncovering the culprit. Work overtime. Be passionate. Be frustrated when there's no clear-cut answers. Get drawn into the gruesome mystery. Get drawn into him long before they ever even know it's him who's doing all of this. Long before they have a name or even a face to go off of or any sort of concrete evidence. He supposes it's meant to be. A karmic connection. That they know each other from somewhere and that's why they're drawn to each other like this. That's why Jack feels he has the compulsion to do this. That's why he's convinced beloved wants to bring him to justice as badly as they do even before he started remotely encouraging that trait in them.

Instant recognition. From a past life, it seems. Regardless of circumstances.

Every slice is for them from there on out. Every beheading. Backstabbing. Shot at point blank range, execution style. Jack does it with beloved in mind, envisioning their shock at his brutality, their abject sadness, even their professional facade suppressing their personal feelings so they wouldn't lose their mind when faced with the gore --- everything --- he ponders the diligent hours dedicated to precise analysis, lab results, their antiseptic latex covered hand lingering on every slash he made. Every wound. Every scar. It'll be as close to touching him personally as they can get. It's like being together, in ways. It's a love letter to them. He might tactically meet them at some bar downtown as a perfect stranger once they're tired from all the work he's been putting them through needing a weekend break and he might just introduce himself, offering to buy them a drink, no strings attached. Everyone needs to blow off some steam, right?

The evening will blur into a fog of pleasant, noneventful conversation.

Fueled by a little bit of alcohol (his treat, of course), slow swaying on the club's dancefloor and a lot of unwinding (after all, Jack knows what he's been dragging them through), they could just share a tiny kiss or a little bit of affection because Jack seems to say all the right things at all the right moments, getting under beloved's skin seamlessly, appearing like not much more than an entirely normal guy. He might even disappear before the night is over and leave beloved wondering where that guy they just met has gone off to without a goodbye or without leaving any discernable contacts behind now that the weekend is drawing to a close and they have to get back to the usual routine of their job tomorrow morning at the station, never even catching on to how close they got to the man who has possessed their every waking work hour of the week or the person who's been leaving a trail of blood behind engulfing the better portion of beloved's career.

Naturally, Jack will never stop.

At least not until he decides he and beloved should meet face to face.

Without pretenses this time.

Or at least until beloved figures everything out on their own.

After all --- if it's meant to be, it's meant to be.

[lary-the-lizard]

When I was a wee child, abouts the age of 8, my elder brother and his friend had taken to bullying my friend group. I don’t exactly remember when I decided that I would always defend them, no matter the humiliation and pain but that is my conviction since before then. I would do whatever I had to in order to protect my friends (and my younger brother who was a part of the friend group) and that often meant becoming a ball on the ground receiving all types of violence, including being beaten with wooden swords. Though I was agile and fast I wasn’t bigger than either of the bullies and my goal wasn’t to beat the bullies, it was to protect my friends.

Sometimes I couldn’t draw the bullies away from my friends and get them to focus just on me and I’d have to fight. I remember the rage and helplessness that came with only being able to hold off one person. The vengeance I felt growing in me - it was so intense I couldn’t think. If I couldn’t defend all of the group in the moment, if they actually got hurt, showing my brother and his friend what happens when you harass or assault my chosen ones became my obsession. I was sure I could endure any pain if it meant keeping my friends safe.

I became such a pain in the ass to these bullies that they eventually gave up bullying us because beating me was no fun as I didn’t cry or complain and I’d often taunt them after they got tired of chasing us. It got to the point that if they saw me they turned around.

(“Where were the adults,” you ask. They didn’t believe us when we told them and we were hurt worse for telling on the bullies so it was legit up to us.)

I write all this to say that I am not into committing violence just to commit violence. Any violence I’ve committed was to hold off worse violence. I am even willing to take all the hurt to prevent it from spreading. The problem isn’t that we are willing to commit violence to get our way, it’s that police and governments and alt-right organizations are. Their agenda is to shut us up and make us invisible if not eradicate us entirely. And the only way centerist and liberals will support our liberation is for us to be sweet lambs that don’t ask for much. That doesn’t fucking work when those in power and those that worship that power are willing to display our mutilated bodies to show us what happens when we want to live honestly. There is hate thrown our way when we show any signs of who we are. We don’t have to be “loud and proud” to get it. We don’t have to stand by other causes. Many cishet people have been bullied for being perceived as one of us. And that torment and suffering grows when we decide to be open. But forced silence is violence too.

I have learned that I should not be treated like I’m lesser, and that my instinct to sacrifice my safety for others is not good. No one should be suffering and that includes me and those causing the suffering. But the only way to truly stop the violence is to make it more difficult to commit. You do not chase someone when they have a gun because they could shoot you. You do not kill someone when you know they have an army willing to hurt or kill you. Many people have given up their lives for peace and the only reason their lives were given up was because someone killed them. That sacrifice is not the honor and glory we treat it as. Because someone had to die. Because someone else refused to not kill. And no one should be willing to die, no one should be willing to kill, and no one should be pushing anyone to either extreme. But we got here because others decided that the way I exist, the way BIPOC exist, the way disabled people exist is worth killing us for. We are not violent people, we do not want to hurt anyone. We want to live in a way that doesn’t hurt so bad. And for that, many decided that we should sacrifice our loved ones, our comfort, our health, and our lives.

I do not want to hurt anyone. The only times I have wanted to hurt someone was when they thought my pain was entertaining. When I lashed out against them, when I made consequences, they stopped. I did not choose to be violent. Others chose to hurt me and mine so I made that difficult. The only way to do that is to fight back.

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

Ficfinder finds: The Lemonade Leak

Chapter 16: The Twin

Chapter 16 Summary: No summary

The Twin: Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is only available to those who have an Ao3 profile. This fanfic is written by @turtleinsoup, so go show them some love and support!!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Plot is five out of five!! Oh my gosh, so many things happen in this chapter!! This is the key turning point in the story!!"

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Suspense/Mystery is five out of five!! As this chapter focuses heavily on action scenes, I'd say the suspense is crazy!! It gets intense, and you wonder what's going to happen, like every few seconds!"

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Angst/Hurt is five out of five!! The angst is jarring, intense, and incredibly prominent during this chapter!! A lot of bad things go down."

Fluff/Comfort: 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is zero out of five! This chapter has zero comfort whatsoever, and instead is full of cold hard angst and hurt!! ^^"

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Emotions Conveyed is four out of five!! The action scenes in this chapter were filled with so much tension and suspense!! I'd say this chapter is certainly a stressful read, but the good kind of stress ^^"

Drama/Tension Level: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Drama/Tension Level is five out of five!! The tension between the twins is incredibly thick. In fact, the overall tension levels of this chapter all together are wildly high!!"

Triggers: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Triggers for this chapter are five out of five. Ok, this chapter is a very triggering one. As stated in the authors note, this chapter contains; Graphic Violence, On-screen Mutilation, Destruction of Public Property, and Sibling Abuse (!!!). This chapter has a few more triggers to it, so remember to read the tags, and stay safe!!"

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Reading) is five out of five!! The writing style really moves incredibly smoothly for most of the chapter being action scenes!!"

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Audio) is five out of five! Due to this chapter being a high intensity one, I'd for sure recommend listening to it, as it hypes up the experience!!"

Length: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Length is three out of five!! Chapter 16 of The Lemonade Leak takes about 20-21 minutes to listen to!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter ->

<- Previous

The Lemonade Leak: Story Ratings and Chapter List

Personal thoughts on chapter below cut (Contains Spoilers)

Leo chuckled, drawing in a shaky breath, calling out loud. “Donnie!” he warned. “Catch!” Leo hurled his blade at the body of his twin. Donnie’s hand caught Leo’s sword by the hilt in pure reflex. Which was exactly what Leo wanted.

Ooh man, this is so massively clever!! Leo knows exactly what Donnie would do in this situation. He could chalk it up to knowing his twin incredibly well, but it’s clearly the soldier in his brain. Organizing and compartmentalizing Donnie’s “useful” traits in his mind.  

Then he smashed Chocolate to pieces on its brother and watched as a hundred little metal shards exploded above the pit, across loose tar and limp veins. The monster reached Leo and aimed for his only surviving sword. (Oh, so you want to teleport out of here?) Leo vanished. He re-appeared on a shard-speck behind Donnie’s body and attacked.

This is such an insanely wild concept!! I love how creative Leo is with his swords. Creating new ones, shattering them as he pleases. I find it interesting, that the swords are made of his soul, and that he treats them so roughly. Like a reflection of how he feels about himself. 

Donnie was good. Donnie was an old bite scar on Leo’s shoulder. He was the gloves protecting Leo’s arms. Donnie was the knowledge in Leo’s head. Donnie was Leo’s. Donnie was not Krang.

I find it interesting that the first positive memory that Leo pulls up, is Donnie hurting him. A scar he carries around, all the time. I wonder, if Donnie sees that scar at times, and feels ashamed, or upset. 

The monster opened Donnie’s mouth, and closed it again, before saying. “You- actually meant that? In my lab. That we’re... not twins anymore?” Leo’s hand closed around the plastic barrel. The monster didn’t seem to notice. “Because of what I am now- What I-“ It blinked. “Because you’re not my leader anymore?”

This is literally going to kill me. They’re both now understanding each other so horribly, it just hurts my soul!!