Warnings: Sexual references, biting but we’re mature (I hope)
She’s back! I’ve kissed 4 guys in my life, and all these headcannons take that into account. It may be obvious which are inspired by the same men. I’ve been with good kissers, bad ones, and awful ones. What’s life without the good, bad, and awful, though?
Headcannons below cut!
Superstarbur: This man can kiss. Always a little too rough or strong, though. You get the sense he’s kissing you purely to drink in your lust over him, and you can tell this turns him on. Superstarbur’s hands are never still when kissing you, preferring to rest in your hair as a handle to yank your head back and cover your neck in love bites and hickies.
Simpbur: Simpbur is a nervous kisser, always too much tongue, forgetting to breathe, or accidentally biting your lip. He’s so desperate, so horny for you that he doesn’t care how bad the kissing is, His mouth is on yours, your spit glistening on his chapped lips. He’d dart out his tongue to taste you, still on his mouth, and dive in for more. His hands never stop moving, grasping at your chest, between your legs, your butt, any inch of exposed skin.
Incelbur: Let’s be honest. Incelbur is a terrible kisser. His mouth tastes like nicotine, the sharp bite of cigarettes overriding the breathmint hastily swallowed before he saw you. If you can put up with that, you might get lucky and he’s cum in his pants within 30 seconds.
Dadbur: Dadbur kisses like it’s his sole purpose in life. Soft, tender, the edge of his tongue tracing the inside of your lower lip before giving it a gentle bite. His hand would gently caress your cheek, the other pulling you in by your waist. He’s a tall man, and if you’re shorter, he loves you sitting on his lap so he can look up at you as you kiss.
Beardbur: Another Bursona who’s surprisingly good at kissing, Beardbur loves how your smile feels against his when his beard tickles your face. He’d only trim his beard so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable, as he loves kissing, Honestly? He could probably just go the rest of his life without sex if he got to make out with you on the daily.
Vampirebur: Vampirebur cannot kiss without his teeth being involved. He’s either biting your lip or tongue, tearing clothes anyway from your neck to sink his teeth into your sweet blood, or nibbling on your chest. He’s not a great kisser, but oh boy does that man have a biting kink. If you do too, you’re in for a treat. Your skin is never unmarked by his teeth.
Princebur: As we all know, Princebur isn’t very experienced. The only person he’s ever kissed is his wife. He hasn’t quite got the knack of using his tongue, and prefers tons of quick pecks over long, unbroken kisses.
“Smeg,” Rimmer clenched the bed sheets, knuckles white, practically biting his tongue as he stifled a moan. The figure behind him thrusted more rapidly, gripping at his hips and kissing the back of his neck softly. The hands on his hips flipped him almost effortlessly, a pair of lips meeting his before his eyes could adjust to the sudden light; Rimmer closed his eyes, practically putty under a man he was yet to identify. His lip was bitten at playfully, teased by the tongue of the man on top of him; Rimmer dared to run his hands up the stranger's back, resting in the back of his neck; he felt the stranger’s hair drape over his hands. Realisation struck Rimmer as he pulled away from the kiss, staring at the man inside him. Oh god, he thought, familiar brown eyes gazing back at him, Lister?
A gasp. He bolted upright: awake. Breathing rapid, he attempted to calm himself though he couldn't find his breath. It had been a week since these dreams had started, a whole smegging week of dreams, or rather, to Rimmer, nightmares, about Lister sodimising him: immaculating him. He threw back the covers, thankful he didn't sweat anymore as a hologram, deciding he should consult Kryten. There must be something wrong with his light bee- a glitch or defective programme.
He made his way down the corridor and to the kitchen; Kryten was bound to be up, preparing Lister's breakfast as usual.
—
“Kryten,” he called, almost relived at the sight of the mechanoid, “I need your help with something.”
“What is it, Sir?” the Mechanoid complied.
Rimmer considered how to answer for a moment, not willing to give away too much information at once, “I think my light bee is acting up.”
“And what makes you say that?”
Smeg.
“I uh- I keep having the same strange dream,” he admitted vaguely, “the dream itself is not important. Can you help me?”
“I can try,” Kryten said, certain the hologram was just in the midst of a Rimmer-typical neurotic episode.
—
Lister flitted through the dream recorder, giggling at Rimmer's recent dreams, dancing with Kryten, tea with his father (sadder than expected), and others of the like. He laughed as looked through, continuing to scouring for anything he could possibly make light of when he stumbled across dreams from a month ago, a solid week of… oh God.
He shut down the dream recorder; cheeks tinted rose, he pushed back his chair, stumbling as far away from it as he could. There was no way that was true. There's so way Rimmer's… like that.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Nygmobblepot drabble for @riddlebirdweek, day 4!
***
The nightmares Oswald was plagued with were more than descriptive of how he felt: Edward breaking the ice off, coming for him, spectral and scary, thirsting for blood.
They had Oswald waking up soaked in cold sweat, trembling and fighting with the sheets that had trapped him in his tossing and turning, enveloping him in vines that felt ever-tightening.
The fact was: he loved Edward, but he knew that if Edward ever broke free, he'd come after him.
It was as simple as that.
Edward loathed his guts and instead of talking with him, trying to make him reason and explaining why he'd done some things that seemed completely insane to an external observer, Oswald had trapped him in ice.
Forever beautiful.
Forever faithful.
Forever his.
Frozen in time and place, unable to hear Oswald's confessions of love and hatred.
in Serial Experiments Lain they translate 'kami' to 'god' for the english sub and dub, which i think might lead to a misunderstanding about the godly section of the series
'kami' can be translated to 'god', but it's not an accurate translation for a variety of reasons. when non-japanese ppl watch SEL they might not know what kami are. when you think about how kami can be the souls of the deceased and can inhabit inorganic things (like rocks or, for SEL, computers), it adds to the interpretation imo
i just watched SEL for the first time so if this is well-established already, my bad. i just really like studying shinto and think you should look into it for SEL interpretation
I wrote most of this while drunk last night so if it's shit thats why LMAO
TW// deadly car crash,slightly detailed description of car crash, guilt, spiraling,
It all had happened so fast, in a blink of an eye, a sneeze, before an ‘Oh fuck’ could even cross your mind. The rain had been coming down hard, it was dark, and of course, the street lights had been barely working. The other car had their lights turned off, they had been swerving. You might have seen them, if you hadn’t been laughing at a joke your brother had said. You might have seen them if your focus wasn’t on the song that had just turned on. You might have seen them if the rain wasn’t coming down as hard, if the street lights were working, if the road hadn’t come to a bend. You might’ve been able to swerve out of the way, might have been able to break, might have been able to maneuver the car just the right way, a dozen might haves…
It all had happened so fast and now you were waking up with a gasp for air, like it was the last one you might take. You could hear distant fighting, shouting, gun shots. It wasn’t raining anymore, you weren’t in a car anymore, the worst part was that you were alone. Your eyes darted around quickly, standing and looking around. The dark red sky was one thing to signal you weren’t awake, or maybe even alive. Then your heart stopped, your stomach dropped, and you stumbled forwards as the memory of your death came crashing down around you, literally.
The car had hit the drivers side, your side, and sent your car spinning. The water on the road caused both cars to hydroplane, and the car hit again, in the back passengers side, and nearly flipped the car upside down. The glass shattered, the radio still blaring, the rain hitting the broken dashboard, the blood, then nothing. Blackness. Then, this. What was around you. You weren’t sure if you were dreaming or not. If this was the afterlife or not. All you knew was you needed to wake up, you needed to go back, to wake up, to go back. That was the only thought other than was he okay? Was he still alive, was he hurt, you needed to get back to him. You were supposed to protect him, to keep him safe, and you failed.
You stumbled forwards, nails digging into your palms as you took in deep breaths, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. If you were dead, if the crash killed you on impact, then you were in Hell. That had to be the only explanation. Or some form of Hell, whatever religion had it ‘right’ in the end. You didn’t even have time to try and figure out what you had done that warranted your soul to be sent downwards instead of up. You needed to make sure he was okay.
You looked up and down the dirty street, a car was on fire, there was someone just casually stabbing a corpse, people where fucking in a building next to you, the window wide open and you could practically smell them. You stumbled away from the window and grimaced, how the hell, or where in this case, were you supposed to find a way to get back up topside? Back to Earth? Even for just a moment? A minute? To make sure? Was that even possible? It had to be possible, it had to be, it had to be, it had to be.
You promised, you promised, you promised. You promised to keep him safe, to make sure he’d always be safe, to be okay, at the bare minimum keep him alive. What kind of older sibling were you if you couldn’t even do that? You fucked up in the most catastrophic way and maybe that was the reason you were in Hell. The reason your soul was sent down. Because you failed to keep him safe. You got him killed. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the car. He wasn’t supposed to be with you. You had asked him to. Asked. Begged. You didn’t want to go to the store alone that late at night. You bribed him with buying him whatever he wanted, within reason, you weren’t a millionaire after all. You didn’t even need to go to the store. You just wanted to. You wanted to and you didn’t want to go alone. This was your fault.
You jumped as you felt a hand on your shoulder and instinctively moved away by taking a step to the side, your head snapping towards the person, eyes wide. You had to look up to see the others face, his appearance giving a starch reminder of where you were, if you were dead, if this wasn’t a dream. Hell. This person was a demon, condemned for eternity, for sins you weren’t aware of. But you were in Hell too, you were condemned, just the same as he was, and maybe, maybe he wasn’t as bad as he could be. You studied the demon briefly, looking him up and down once, taking in the red suit, the long microphone staff he held, the smile that seemed to stretch too far that reminded you of the Joker, the bad hair cut, the way he looked at you like you were prey.
“You seemed troubled, dear!” His voice was distorted, like it was coming through an old antique radio, one that would’ve been considered trash about five years ago but now since it was trendy would be far too expensive for you to even imagine owning. The same thing had happened with records, and now any old good quality record player was only affordable for the rich. “Perhaps I can help?”
Every nerve in your body told you to run, your stomach had dropped and twisted, you felt ill just standing near the taller man-demon-whatever he was. Your body just wanted you to flee but he was offering help. The worst he could say is no, he couldn’t help your situation and you’d be stuck at square one. You were desperate, and that desperation was coming off you in waves. “I need to go back to Earth. Now. Or rather like, five minutes ago. I- I need to. I’ll do anything.”
You put it out there instantly, how desperate you were. You currently didn’t care about logistics, about how this might end up with you completely screwed for the rest of eternity. You couldn’t care less, if you were honest with yourself. If this was Hell, if you were dead, there wasn’t a single thing that you could care about. The demon-man-thing could have you do almost anything at this point and you wouldn’t care. If he asked you to kill someone, could you die in Hell, well you saw that corpse and a demon-person-thing stabbing it, so surely you could die a second time, and that only brought up more questions-
“Anything?” The demons voice, still glitched and filtered through an old radio seemed to have been enhanced in that very way. His smile stretched further across his face, his head cocked to the side ever so slightly in interest as he took a step forwards towards you.
You instinctively took a step backwards, just to keep distance between yourself and the stranger. You were both demons, you realized, if you were in Hell. Or maybe there was something else that defined a demon and you were just a poor unfortunate soul. Either way, you decided to keep the assumptions to a minimum until you learned more about what the fuck was going on. You cleared your throat and nodded in response. Anything. You’d do anything at this point.
He again took a stride towards you, holding his free hand out, the microphone cane held behind his back as the smile on his face continued to grow. Antlers grew from his head, expanding and twisting in sharp turns. A dark green aura enveloped the both of you as he spoke, “I can give you two minutes back on Earth. Two minutes for your soul. I feel like that’s a fair trade!”
Two minutes. Two minutes would be all you had to make sure your brother was alive and okay. Two minutes to try and make sure he got the help he needed, two minutes to help him, support him, tell him everything would be okay. Two minutes for your soul. Two minutes was more than enough time. You grabbed onto the strangers hand and shook it once, your face hardening in seriousness. “Deal.”
The green completely overtook you, nearly choking you before it dissipated and you felt the cold rain hit your skin. You weren’t in the car, no, you were standing next to the car. Smoke rose from crumpled hood, the driver side was nearly non existent, the door crushed into the seat, no wonder you had died on impact. It would’ve been impossible, a miracle if you hadn’t. There was no saving you, you knew that much. Your eyes darted to the passengers side. It looked better but not by a large margin. You called out your brothers name and rushed forwards, prying the passenger door off with a strength you didn’t even realize you had.
His head rolled to the side, blood was trickling down his forehead, his arm looked bent at an awful angle, but his chest was rising and falling. He was still breathing, he was alive, he had a chance. You swallow thickly and search through the broken car, pushing past the glass covered seats and grabbed onto your phone, your hands shaking. As you go to turn it on, it was the first time you saw yourself after death. Your refelction staring back at you clear as day in the black mirror. You no longer looked like yourself, a demon, a monster, stared back.
Your brother groaned, quietly, and coughed, your fingers quickly dialing 911 and explaining the situation and the road you were on. Your voice was shaking, tears were streaming down your face, you were begging the responder to get there as soon as possible, to save your brother. They responder told you that an ambulance was on its way and to stay calm.
Your brothers voice pierced your ears as you looked down at him. You give a shaky smile and knelt down, grabbing onto the hand that didn’t look like a mangled nest. “I don’t know where we are, but it’ll be okay. It’s going to be okay. Everything will be okay. I promise.” You told him, wiping the blood off his cheek and sniffling. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know I’m not who you wanted me to be all the time, I wasn’t the best older sibling I could’ve been, I-I fucked up a lot, but it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” Your voice was shaking, breaking every other second, you felt like you were going to sob. But you couldn’t you had to be strong, for him, to make him feel safe. That was your job, to protect him, from everything. From yourself.
“Tell mom- tell mom I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry… Tell her not to blame herself, not to blame you. We both- fuck we both know you’ve always been the strongest one out of all of us. I’m so fucking sorry… You deserved so much better. Than to be strong. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. You… fuck… You don’t have to be strong all the time. You’re allowed to be weak and scared and sad and frustrated. I’m sorry.”
The sound of sirens in the distance filled your chest with hope and the sight of the flashing lights coming closer signaled that help had arrived. You stood up from beside the crashed car and waved your hands, calling out for the first responders, crying out for them to hurry, to get over there and save your brother, and just as a flashlight shone in your direction, you saw the green smoke start to overtake your body. Just as you heard the shouting from the first responders telling the others where the car was, you disappeared in the green smoke.
You were back, standing on the street with the burning car, the two demons fucking in the building behind you, with the tall red demon in front of you with the sinister smile across his face. “Well I sure do hope you spent those two minutes being productive!”
You felt like he was mocking you, making fun of what you had just done, what you just went through. You felt like the tears that had dried on your face gave him amusement, that your misery was fun to him, and that gave you chills that ran down your spine. You wouldn’t give him the amusement of a reaction however. You knew how to suck up your emotions and break down when you were alone. You knew how to disguise your hurt, frustrations, anguish, by laughing and joking and brushing it off until you couldn’t anymore. And now you had all of eternity to perfect it.
“Oh, it was super productive, started a business, worked hard, had it become a billion dollar idea, made some bad investment choices, crashed the stock market, got married, regretted that, divorced, had a midlife crisis around a minute, went to the Bahamas and bought a sports car far too expensive for me to reasonably pay every month-” You went on rambling, having no intention on stopping any time soon.
You wanted to see how long he would let you ramble, listing off more and more bizarre things, you were going to talk about trading the sports car in for an elephant but had been cut off as a chain appeared around your neck and you were tugged forwards. Your eyes widened slightly as your hands reached up to pull at the chain, uselessly it seemed, before you looked at the stranger. His ears twitched slightly with annoyance, you knew that much from the years of owning animals. It’s hard to hide emotions with ears and tails, easiest way to read an animal. His eyes were narrowed, but his smile remained the same. “Well worth your soul then!” The radio waves coming from his voice seemed to shake slightly.
“Half a mint and a toothpick would’ve been worth my soul, hate to tell you that it wasn’t worth much. Definitely scammed you.” You say and wince, gasping out as the chain around your neck tightened and he pulled you forwards again, causing you to trip and fall onto the ground straight into a puddle of what smelt rancid.
He stood over you, towering now that you were on the ground in front of him, and he looked down on you. You couldn’t see the expression on his face, it shadowed from how he stood, but you could feel the power radiating off of him. You swallowed hard once, your jaw clenched as you took in a sharp breath, immediately regretting it from the putrid smell of whatever puddle you laid in.
He took one step forward, his shoes inches away from your face. Instead of green smoke, shadows seemed to encase the both of you and when they disappeared, you were in a new location. Still on the floor, beneath the demon, he took a seat and rested the microphone cane against a console panel. “Welcome to Hell, darling! You’re about to learn who you made a deal with.”
You can call yourself a trans ally and say "protect the dolls 🥺" but you can't even searh the word "trans" on the account of the womans hecking based misandry tweet you're about to repost to see that they're fucking insane
