#(🦌 . flesh writes. )

[fleshqounds]

AN ODE TO EATERS.

sigh.. Adbell cannibalism 😇

cw : dead dove, cannibalism, hurt/no comfort, duga ending. like seriously, this gets fucked up.

Bell’s figure shook as he stared down at the body beneath him, gunshot wound being placed pressure open — spilling velvet like the faint drips of a tap. Thoughts consume him, and he hesitantly steps forward — seeing as Adler glared, gritting his teeth.

“Mind giving me a light?” Adler’s rough voice seemed to echo, snagging Bell out of his thoughts, who’d nodded eagerly, “yes, yes, моя любовь..” Bell uttered, inching carefully towards the other before he’d kneeled to grab his lighter. one last light wouldn’t hurt Adler, and Bell wished to show grace to him.

Though, Adler seemed to have different plans — thrusting himself from where he’d laid, the combat knife being lunged towards Bell, who’d tensed and grabbed Adler’s wrist — a fight for survival.

Bell struggled, gritting his teeth, eyes wide and his breath short as he’d struggled for control of the life — almost quivering beneath Adler — like many times before. The two men seemed to fight for control of the blade before Bell had gotten the upper hand - straddling Adler with widened eyes, quivering hands splaying the knife like a gift.

“моя любовь,” Bell murmured, eyes glassy.

He couldn’t live without him, he couldn’t live without a handler, without someone gripping his nape and breathing orders down his neck — like humidity on a hot, California night. Like Adler’s ragged exhales against his back, pelvis pressed against Bell’s bruise-marked thighs.

Bell grit his teeth harder, biting down on his tongue, breath picking up as he stared down — eyes piercing through those shades Adler always seemed to wear.

Bell let out a growl as he’d finally nailed down the blade — feeling Adler’s hand grip his bicep and yet, he found himself pushing deeper, tears slipping out. And he felt empty, and lost, and happy, and angry, and agony ripped at his ribs, cracking them open to grip around his heart.

He wanted to yell, beat on Adler’s corpse, but he didn’t — fingers only gripping harshly around the handle as he kneeled his head down, almost as if praying to a god who’d long abandoned him.

or a god who he’d killed, blood on his hands as he sobbed and begged for it all to stop — for the pain, the fear, the rush of adrenaline that took his exhaustion to the limits. Tied down like an animal and tortured like a dog.

And he only seemed brought out of his mind but the taste of blood on his tongue, eagerly pressing his lips against the wound in Adler’s chest and his fingers scoring into the wound — the squelch a riveting noise to his ringing ears. digging in as well as he could before the knife seemed to be brought down repeated — like some sort of rhythm.

the opening was well and good, and he lapped the iron like a man mad of thirst. teeth sinking down onto flesh before he’d grit down, tearing the best he could like the very animal that Adler knew Bell was.

“Comrade,” a commanding tone rang out, placing a hesitant hand on Bell’s back, coaxing him slowly.

Perseus — gently gripping Bell’s wrist before he’d taken the blade from the male, throwing it somewhere. “Do not let yourself become so low, like that street dog.” Perseus crooned, allowing Bell to stand up, his eyes still on Adler’s almost perfectly desecrated corpse.

Adler wasn’t a street dog, Bell was.

Bell was the mangy mutt with snapping jaws, drool and foam slipping from its maws — seeing red until it’d bit down.

[horrorlesbians]

vivian lecter you are so important to me. sorry that you will never exist

[fraugwinska]

Hhggffffffgg… pweasd.. pweasd more Leap of Faith. Part two of them meeting each other in hell. Pretty sure they’d end up in hell since suicide is a sin, iirc?

Uweh wahhhh. Felt it real deep of losing the only meaningful connection, the big sadness taking over. I’m sobbing. My heart—

Your writing is amazing as always. I eat that shit up.

...The people have spoken. I am your humble servant. Please accept this offering...

Heavy themes, religious trauma, mental/physical torture Minors please DNI

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Like a shooting star.

You looked like a shooting star against the purple, starless sky of the pride ring, a glowing gold and teal line trailing behind you like a tail.

Alastor pushed his shadows faster through the streets of the pentagram, not a care who he pushed, sliced or scared out of the way - he had to get to you, had to catch you and not let you crash into unforgiving ground, like it was mundane, like you were any other meaningless, unimportant, goddamned sinner.

He couldn't allow it. Wouldn't allow it.

Faster and faster your form grew shape, and he realized that the big, heavy radio that was still in your arms - still pressed tightly to your chest - acted like an anchor, accelerating your plunge, threatening to shatter you into the hard, stony streets underneath, or worse: Through.

"Let go!", he hissed desperately to himself, pulling and yanking and gnashing and urging his shadows to work to their limit, whipping them into a speed that could break both, him and the damned radio, if need be, if you would just slow down and gain him a few more crucial seconds to get to you. The distance between you and him shrunk until your fall felt close, so close, too close, as though if you'd only be conscious to just reach out and outstretch a hand to him, his eldritch tendrils could grab it.

"Come on." His dark silhouette growled, partly manifesting and elongating himself more to maneuver around the last alley corner. "Almost... THERE!"

As a streak of blinding light, like a lightning bolt, and with the force of a crashing plane, you smashed into his solid, physical demonic form, as Alastor manifested into an extension of flesh and limbs right beneath your descending trajectory, and swallowed you right there in his arms before both of you hit the ground.

***

The void around you was dark. Quiet. Endless and expanding. You couldn't feel anything other than the feeling of nothingness surrounding you, floating but at the same time... not. No ground beneath, no sky above - you didn't even know when you hit the water. Was it even water anymore? Did it matter?

In the blindness, you registered the vanta black around you fading into white, bright and scorching. And that feeling you previously lacked bloomed to the front of your consciousness: Pain. Like a thousand needles poking out from every corner of your skull, making you yelp out and whimper. You shifted your body, or at least tried, only to cry out and curl up into yourself, clutching whatever the big and heavy thing was in your arms, tight as the muscles in your upper body convulsed, twitched and trembled at the burning pain. Where the hell were you?

"𝓦𝓮'𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵, 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮'𝓼 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽.""

A voice made out of a thousand voices spoke, and it resonated from within you – amplified through every cell of your body, booming and mighty and utterly inhumane. You screamed out the pressure it put on your brain, cried as it felt as though something was pouring into you and flowing out all at once, burning, devouring and replacing every fiber, every strand of DNA. You writhed in agony, wanting to beg for whatever it was to stop, but you were in the hands of an infinite power above you, and so, all you could do was howl and weep.

"𝓘𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓲𝓵."

It was men and women and children, high and deep and loud and quiet and screams and whispers and it overwhelmed you to listen to it.

"𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓬𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵. 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓲𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵 𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓮, 𝔀𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓹 𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷."

Your throbbing hands cramped around the object in your arms, nails scratching on the surface. Wood. Soft wood, warm beneath your fingertips.

"Alastor...", you sobbed through clenched teeth, memories slowly pushing through the pain to the front of your mind, clawing their way through the thick haze of the booming voice of the entity. "I want to go to Alastor..."

"𝓜𝔂 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭, 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮. 𝓓𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵."

"He's not..." A low moan spilled past your dry, bitten lips as another wave of excruciating pain crashed down your spine. Tears stained your cheeks as the radio in your arms felt heavier and heavier, dangerously close to slip from your grip.

"𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷, 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓾𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾."

The voice was patient, neutral, not showing any sign of rage or warmth or even condescension. It only held a commanding power, like a pull from gravity, unintentional, elemental, to give in, to accept, to repent. But you couldn't. Couldn't even if you tried. The tears that came to your eyes now weren't out of pain alone, but because you couldn't help the insurmountable longing to leave, to not be held back any longer.

"Alastor isn't evil or wicked...", your cracked voice whispered. "Not to me..."

"𝓓𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓬𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓸𝓯 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓯 𝓭𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂, 𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓪 𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓪 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷, 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭."

Torture. It felt as though someone was physically digging through you with dull claws, sawing into your very soul, bending, ripping, breaking and rearranging, molding the picture you had of Alastor to a villain, a torturer, a destroyer, a greedy animal without reason, feasting upon human despair and wailing screams, wreaking havoc and taking lives laughing along the way as he rips fangs into flesh that looked like your own.

"That... isn't him.", you mouthed breathlessly, forcing yourself to focus. "You're a liar."

You fought to come back, with the sound of Alastor's smiling voice, molten with static and spoken with feeling. 'And I can most assure you... pretty is a well fitting word to describe you.'.

"Liar... liar... LIAR!"

The illusion the entity conjured around you began to shatter, as did the images it showed you, breaking and tearing away like rotten paper from the ones you wanted to hold on to... The hours and days and nights spent together, the long and entertaining conversations over meals, his teasing comments and your quick-wit responses, the little things that made his voice lift an octave and a tiny huff, which you learned over the weeks was him trying not to chuckle at your banter. The softness in his tune when he realized you were drifting into slumber. The way he called you his dove.

"𝓦𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭."

the entity said, though their tone had begun to waver, echoing withing the faint sound of breaking glass.

"𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭. 𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝓸𝓻 𝓫𝓮, 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻, 𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓭."

You felt heat creeping up your legs, as if your skin was bubbling, burning and it was hard to speak, as the smell of cauterized flesh and blood filled your nose. Bones were shifting, limbs trembling and twisting as if they wanted to turn you inside out, skin color changing and fading into palish white, nails growing into slender blue talons, something rough and rigid sprouting from your back and shoulders. But you only tightened your arms around the radio, eyes pressed close and teeth grit together.

You've had enough.

"Fuck your lies, fuck your salvation and FUCK. YOUR. GOD."

Gravity returned in an instant, like someone cut a hole through space, the air and heat from your lungs gone as it ripped you from the strange white with unexpected violence – malevolence even - body flaying in the sudden wind of the descend.

Purple and red shades swirled before your eyes, wild strands of glittering golden hair fluttered in and out of your vision, barely recognizing them as your own. The heat of the air and the sight of a black pentagram on a red sun, sinking slowly beyond a tumbling horizon were the last things you noticed before unconsciousness reached mercifully out to claim you again.#

***

“Angel! Get Charlie over here, I found 'im!”

Husk stared down the crater, trying to wrap his head around the sight before him. His ears flicked as he heard Angel shouting something unintelligible to the girls, his footsteps quickly nearing the place where he stood.

“She's comin' in a sec, she and Vagina ran ova' to the maneater colony to get Rosie and... what in Satans left ballsack?!”

The spiders' eyes widened when he saw what Husk saw - Down the deep and wide cavity, right in the middle, was a twitching, faintly green glowing mass of tentacles and limbs. A distorted groan rumbled from below, thick and riddled with static feedback as Alastor's corrupted form slowly receded to normalcy – as normal as he was. He was lying on his back, curled around the motionless form of a naked female demon. Her legs were pulled up, a limp hand with short, teal talons pressed against the side of the radio demons wild, madly grinning face, while the other was trapped and hidden in between both bodies.

Both Angel and Husks hairs stood on ends at the sound he made, not daring to move or draw attention to themselves until Alastor had regained full consciousness and, most of all, reason back. The unknown sinner that was pressed against Alastor's chest had gray, crooked looking wings sprouting from her back, various shades of teal staining the ragged tips. Her skin was white, bordering on cream with some spruce and azure specks that traveled over her neck and shoulders. From where they stood they could see blonde locks tangled in Alastor's claws, shimmering in hell's twilight as if they were made out of real gold.

Angel gave his partner a nervous side glance, as if expecting him to say or do something. "Should we... holy mother of shitballs, this is so fucked up... umm... should we get them out of..."

"̷S̷̷ T̷̷ A̷̷ Y̷ ̷W̷̷ H̷̷ E̷̷ R̷̷ E̷ ̷Y̷̷ O̷̷ U̷ ̷A̷̷ R̷̷ E̷."

Husk had only heard Alastor's voice like this on a few occasions and those instances had almost always ended in bloodshed. He shook his head at Angel in a silent warning, gripping one of his wrists when the blackened pits of the radio demon found his, glaring at him with glowing crimson iris'. It sent a shiver down the cat's back, and Angel, feeling the tremble of his partner and sensing that this was a rare occasion where he should keep his usual, lewd remarks to himself, cleared his throat.

"I-Is a'ight Smiles, we're not movin'. Charlies' comin, and she's bringin' Rosie, so just... chill, okay? No one's gonna hurt y-your uh... girlfriend?" Angel forced himself to remain eye contact, swallowing against the growing lump in his throat.

Alastor didn't answer for a good minute or two, eyes shifting over Husks' grim, but wary face and Angels worried one, before looking back down, the flames of anger and fear dying as soon as his gaze fell on the woman cradled in his lap. Her pale, motionless face was partially hidden by her hair, but the features he recognized were much like the ones she had before she did the unthinkable. Her breathing was slow and shallow - but, above all, she was here, right here, next to him, unbroken from the fall, safe in his arms...

He brushed a few stray strands of her golden mane aside, watching closely as her chest barely heaved and fell, transfixed at the movement, the guarantee that she lived. He lifted one his hands to caress her cheek, the motion much more careful and tender than either Angel or Husk thought him capable of, wiping off tiny pieces of debris from the radio she had carried like a lifeline. It had been burst by the impact, splinters of mahogany wood and shards of metal wiring scattered around them both. The top of her left wing had suffered some damage, no doubt the result of the force of his grip as he caught her, little cuts and smears of dried blood covering her sides.

"My dove. My foolish, silly, lonely girl.", his strained voice breathed, his usual filter missing, as he turned her unresponsive face gently with the tip of his claw, hoping to see any indication that the girl that he had driven to the lengths of sheer, reckless stupidity was still here with him.

The sound of steps on the broken concrete made his head turn with a sickening crack. Alastor was now curled completely over you, his arms wrapped tightly around your figure, hiding your vulnerable and exposed body from view. Rosie had arrived alongside the princess and her partner, all of them short of breath and as shocked and confused as the other two demons to find the radio demon and a freshly fallen sinner, locked into an awkward embrace.

He watched her kneeling next to him, her expression was best described as compassionate curiosity. When he didn't move, didn't talk, didn't acknowledge her presence around him, his form only slightly moving to shield your motionless frame away, Rosie, ever the understanding and pragmatic lady she was, carefully reached over to him and set a gloved hand onto his shoulder in reassurance. Her razor sharp smile was soft as she held his blackened gaze for a heartbeat.

"Seems like I will meet your little dove after all, my dearest friend. But now, let's get you both somewhere safe."

***

You opened your eyes to red. All red. Everywhere red. Warm and bright and comforting.

A sensation tickled your head and nose, feathers, brushing the top of them with a barely there touch. You wanted to brush them away, but your arms felt heavy and warped and strange, unable to be lifted. Slow blinks put your eyes into focus, like the lens of a camera that was getting adjusted on it's intended shot.

You were looking at a red painted ceiling, and when you strained your aching head to tilt a little your eyes slowly wandered over luscious, ornate wallpaper in burgundy's and scarlet's, morbid looking horns and skulls mounted on the walls next to slightly askew, empty picture frames. A heavy, dark bookcase on your right was full of tattered tombs, books and magazines, small models of twisted looking skeletons and an old, vintage... radio...

Everything clicked back into place.

Alastor, gone.

The bridge, dark over the water.

The black and the white.

The voice and the pain and the lies and the fall...

Your breath hitched, and your heart started to pound faster and louder, thrumming violently in your ears as you fell into panic, eyes frantically forcing your body to move, to search, until you realized you were stuck underneath the weighted presence of a head that rested upon your sternum, tufts of soft black and red hair draped over your chest, slightly covering a face hidden away in the crook of your neck. A low, quiet hum of white noise came from the person the head belonged to, sitting at your bedside and upper body half-slumped over you... a sound resonating deep within you, stirring up all too familiar feelings.

He was still, but clearly breathing, and he hadn't moved even though your pulse must've skyrocketed. A raspy gasp of relief and astonishment escaped you. It had worked. You really had done it. And Alastor...

You started to sob, loud and violent, your chest burning and heavy, but not out of fear or panic anymore but the impact of a thousand feelings of pure happiness. The sounds woke the creature slumbering on your shoulder, his shoulders twitched, and you could see him lift his head to slowly look up, dark circles under his crimson eyes.

Your name rolled over this demons lips, not a word, no greeting, only a longingly whispered name, spoken with a broken, ragged, familiar voice. It made you finally cry, tears spilling from you uncontrollably, unable to stop, unable to think. You heard him call your name again, saw the widening grin of his mouth through watery eyes, his arm reaching out to brush your tear-stained cheek. He didn't manage to even fully extend his fingers when your shaking hands reached out to grab his lapels, pulling him into you so that you could finally touch him, feel him instead of just hearing him. Finally tangible, finally underneath your fingers as well as your skin.

"It's you... i-it's you right?", you stammered breathlessly, voice wrought with tears of happiness. "A-Alastor. I found you, I'm not dreaming, You're Alastor..."

"At your service, my dear...", Alastor shushed softly, one hand gently caressing your hair as you leaned into the warmth of the touch. His wide smile wavered for a moment, gaze shifting to something sad and mournful as he pulled himself away to look at you.

"But you shouldn't be here, my dove." He sighed, but as he looked back to you and saw the frightened, horrified expression on your face he shook his head, leaning his brow against your own, a gesture of assurance.

"I never intended for you to be here. You didn't deserve this death, and hell doesn't deserve you."

"H-Heaven can take a long walk off a short pier..." You tried to speak with a steady voice, but failed, as your whole body began to shudder in bubbling anger at the mere implication of this cursed entity. The one that claimed to be merciful salvation but had no problem with cruel manipulation. You blinked a couple of tears away, drawing a trembling breath, before meeting his tired eyes.

"I was... in some strange place. I was offered redemption, if I..."

You frowned, sitting up slowly, careful not to make him withdraw more, holding onto the sleeves of his jacket with stiff, aching hands.

"They wanted me to denounce you. If I renounced you they... would've let me enter heaven. When I didn't want to, when I said I wanted to go to you... They showed me things while hurting me. Horrible, disgusting lies."

Your breath quickened and the corners of your vision darkened, and you realized with a shuddering panic that you were close, way too close to breaking down into sobs again. Your claw-like nails dug into the material of his sleeve as you struggled to compose yourself, ripping tiny cuts into it. You took a deep breath, pushing through the memory, reliving it until...

Your shoulders shook. For a moment, you felt him shifting, as if he'd expected you to burst into tears again. Instead, you laughed. You laughed despite your chest hurt, and even harder when you saw his floored, surprised face.

"I basically told god to go fuck himself."

For a heartbeat or two, silence enveloped both of you. Alastor blinked once, then twice, the third time his grin fell slowly. Another beat later he buried his face in the crook of your neck and...

...the boisterous, unmuted laughter, roaring, insane cackling, so deep and resounding, you could feel it in your stomach, erupted from him. Alastor almost toppled over as he tore himself from you, raking a hand trough his hair as his head shook, a manic, wonderfully impish grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"You know I don't think you were honest with me about your name, dove. Your initial answer of 'crazy' seems much more fitting."

Alastor was laughing so hard, his whole body was trembling with the effort. You felt yourself giggle, then unrestrained laughing along, but it died in your throat when his lips found yours in a sudden swift moment. It was full of everything. Full of curiosity, of promises and hope, it was the saving grace you sacrificed heaven for. You smiled into it, moved your lips against his, gentle and chaste, before he pulled away too soon and pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel his warm, slow breathing against your cheeks.

"How fortunate for you that I work best with 'crazy'."

Your beaming smile slowly faded, your hands finding his face to make him look at you. There was one more weight you had to lift off.

"I'm sorry.", you whispered, closing your eyes. “I'm sorry for...”

"Don't be, dear. I was at fault, fearing our connection would... weaken me." He sighed. "You might not understand it right now, but I will tell you everything, once you're fully recovered. Can you wait for that?"

You nodded, a small, grateful curl forming on your lips. You opened your eyes to stare into his, crimson, bright and intense, and yet soft and affectionate. Eyes you always tried to envision, although nothing you imagined came close to the real thing.

"Do you... still think it?", you asked, voice shaking slightly.

Alastor hummed a questioning noise, prompting you to continue, which you did, after a second of hesitation. "Me, weakening you. Do you still think it?"

His quiet laughter resounded in your ears, filling you with warmth and making your heart skip a beat.

"My silly, darling dove. With the woman on my side who dared to throw curses at the face of our very creator - What could ever stop me now?"

And, as Alastor's smile grew wide, and your own mirrored it, you were claimed by red claws and a hot, eager mouth once again, kissed again by those soft, sinful lips, the lips of your friend, your savior, your love - the devil himself, whispering the answer to his question unspoken through your skin right into your heart.

Nothing could stop the both of you now.

Nothing at all.

Taglist for the most awsome people that walk the earth: @littledolly2345 @sleepywritersworld @crescentparadise @rapturenyx-blog @phisen @alastorsgirl48 @mullet-mother @sirens-and-moonflowers

[minkdelovely]

kinktober — day XV

prompt: gender swap

revelations

“your hands were on my hips

your name is on my lips

over over again

like my only prayer”

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Alastor x Lucifer ; RadioApple ; MDNI 18+

tags/warnings: top!lucifer x bottom!alastor, alastor has a vagina, oral (alastor receiving), outercourse, no penetration orgasm 🦌✨

word count: 2.3k

summary: alastor and lucifer, back in their own bodies, have found some footing in their new routine. but there’s been something on alastor’s mind that he just can’t shake, which leads to surprising discoveries for the new lovers.

author’s note: can you believe we’re halfway through kinktober already?? this is a continuation of @macabr3-barbi3 body swap prompt <- please be sure to read this first to get the full experience ♥️ i was very excited to finally take a swing at this, and i hope you enjoy it! if there’s any takeaway, it’s that i will make alastor a cute little mess whenever i can 😈 quote is from burning desire by lana del rey.

coven: @fraugwinska @hazelfoureyes @macabr3-barbi3 @sugoi-writes @synamartia 🕯️♥️

the coven’s kinktober masterlist

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“I’d like us to try something different this time...”

Lucifer hums in response, too lost in the stupor Alastor’s scent puts him in to form words. You’d think after a month of intimacy that he’d have grown a tolerance for it, but the angel feared he had actually gotten weaker now that he didn’t have to stave off his desires.

He felt that same wave of relief pour through him, remembering how he pleaded with Alastor’s voice: Please don’t regret this. Lucifer had spent many nights following this in gratitude, eagerly receiving and reciprocating Alastor’s passions. They had both made good on their proposition to attune each other to their tastes, and Lucifer was currently indulging in one of his. It wasn’t just Alastor’s scent that drove him crazy, but also the sounds he made under Lucifer’s touch. Eliciting a myriad of gasps and moans from the demon as he laid claim to the delicate, tantalizing flesh under his mouth.

Alastor’s neck was always hidden behind a high collar, making the skin there particularly sensitive. The evidence of Lucifer’s ardency was easily hidden, and the King found his eyes wandering to that collar often, as if seeing through the cloth to his markings underneath.

Mine.

Leave it to Alastor to give him a possessive streak.

“Lucifer, are you listening?” Alastor’s voice was breathy but the irritation it conveyed managed to cut through the fog in Lucifer’s mind.

The subtle bite of Alastor’s claws on his ribs was enough to finally draw him away from his lover’s delectable neck, readjusting himself in Alastor’s lap to look at him properly. Learning how to make Alastor cum wasn’t the only thing Lucifer had learned over these last few weeks. Pissing Alastor off was a sure fire way to end up falling asleep alone with his hand down his pants.

“You wanna try something different.”

Maybe he had said it too directly, or the eye contact was too much, but he didn’t expect to get the reaction he did out of the demon. Alastor’s face flushed pink, a gorgeous rosy shade that accentuated the handsomeness of his face. Fuck, he was so effortlessly endearing sometimes. Lucifer felt his cock twitch between his legs when Alastor broke eye contact. Bashfulness was a rarity on the Radio Demon, and it made Lucifer salivate. Something primal in him waking up that he didn’t know was there until recently.

“Hey, come on, you know you can tell me,” Lucifer said sweetly enough, caressing Alastor’s face. Though the glint in his eyes was anything but, exposing the hunger he was trying to keep at bay.

Rushing Alastor into things never ended well, while patience always paid off.

Alastor relaxed under Lucifer’s touch and turned back to him, but his crimson eyes remained apprehensive. “I’ve been thinking… about our first time.”

How could Lucifer forget? It was one of the best mornings in his long existence. But he stayed silent, waiting for Alastor to continue.

“And as much as I enjoy fucking you to oblivion,” Alastor emphasized this with a squeeze to Lucifer’s hips, some confidence returning to his face and static-laden timbre, “I’d like to… try that out again. In my own body this time.”

It took Lucifer a second to catch on, but the smile that spread on his face was eager when he realized what Alastor was suggesting.

Lucifer was also quite fond of the way Alastor took control in the bed. He had always been a bit spoiled this way, being claimed by his lovers and basking in their affection. It was nice to let someone else take the reins and turn his mind off while his body bloomed like an evening flower, so long as the florist knew what they were doing. And, boy, did Alastor know what he was doing.

But the opportunity to turn the tables was too enticing to pass up. How could he, really, when Alastor was being so charmingly coy about it? Their first time was never too far from Lucifer’s mind, and it filled him with more happiness than he expected that it was the same for Alastor — perhaps even more so, given this request. How long had he been holding this back?

Lucifer brought his other hand up to Alastor’s face and stood on his knees to kiss him. It seemed to be answer enough for the demon, his large hands fervently gripping Lucifer’s hips in response. They stayed this way until Alastor had to come up for air, hot puffs of breath permeating the space between their open mouths as Lucifer gently guided him to lay down. Alastor was still panting as Lucifer began to unbutton his shirt, planting kisses on each patch of exposed skin as he made his way down.

“You’ll feel a bit of a tingle, but I promise it won’t hurt,” Lucifer said into Alastor’s stomach, relishing the way the muscles twitched under the tickle of his breath.

A radiant, golden light enveloped them for a moment, followed by the promised tingle and then… nothing. Or, well… not nothing. Alastor’s pants felt looser in the groin but tighter on the hips, his budding erection all but gone as the ache of his arousal swelled. The heat he felt in his lower abdomen was familiar but his desire was now inside, a subconscious clench of his new sex alerting him to how empty he felt. It was a sensation he had only experienced the one time in a body that wasn’t his, and the thrill of discovery made him tremble; his mind gone cottony with this sudden onset of need and submission. Unable to form the words required to convey his want, a whine choked him. Amplified by an involuntary roll of his hips against Lucifer’s chest.

The air around them shifted, oppressive and electric; alerting the animal mind buried deep within man that something was coming.

It took all of Lucifer’s self control to stop him from tearing Alastor’s pants to shreds in his need to unveil what awaited him underneath. But he managed somehow, his kisses on Alastor’s belly gone feverish as he quickly unfastened the belt embellishing the demon’s slender waist. Lucifer gave it a harsh pull and flung it away as if it had bitten him, unconcerned with whatever patch of floor it decided to land on as he unbuttoned the offending pants. Only then did he manage to calm himself some, giving a final kiss to the supple flesh protecting Alastor’s newly formed womb before looking up at his disheveled lover.

“You don’t know how much it means, trusting me with this,” Lucifer said, his sincerity potent with reverence as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of the Overlord’s pants and underwear. “Thank you for letting me take care of you Alastor.”

He was rewarded with another bashful display, Alastor’s ears pressed tightly against his head as he swallowed thickly. Glazed eyes and the pink flush of his face and tufted chest diluting the insolence of his retort. “Quit fussing and get on with it already.”

There were a few canned responses that came to Lucifer’s mind: Patience is a virtue, be careful what you wish for. But as they say, actions speak louder than words.

With a snap of his fingers they were both divested of clothes, and Alastor gasped as the cool air collided with his molten core. He didn’t have the opportunity to complain about it before Lucifer knelt down, devoutly kissing the inside of Alastor’s left thigh as his hand kneaded the other. Alastor sighed but his stomach tensed, a small spurt of liquid trickling out of him as Lucifer’s mouth made its way closer to the spot he desired it most.

Lucifer paused to admire the sight before him, earning a frustrated mewl from the demon. Alastor was ethereal, purveying a softness Lucifer honestly never thought possible, even after all the new facets he’d uncovered over the last month. But as he set his gaze on Alastor’s gorgeous cunt — adorned with a soft down of red and black hair — the domineering urge which was so new to him writhed under his skin, begging to proclaim its territory.

Finally, he brought himself to Alastor’s center. Unable to resist the need to smell the demon’s intoxicating arousal before extending his tongue, lapping up the juices collected there as if in offering. Alastor jerked in reaction, keening with relief as Lucifer groaned, quickly settling himself between Alastor’s legs to start his ministrations in earnest. He hiked those gorgeous long legs over his shoulders, firm tongue swirling over Alastor’s clit with a measured pace that belied his eagerness. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm the poor thing.

Alastor seemed to be doing well, though. Cursing between soft moans while his hips rolled against the angel’s mouth. Lucifer sighed into that delicious heat as Alastor’s fingers found purchase in his blonde hair, a feeling of wholeness washing over him that he hadn’t felt in centuries.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Lucifer lamented before his forked tongue dove back into its newfound Eden.

He felt like he was floating away from himself, lost in the saccharine taste and sounds of his lover. The demon’s scent now fully bloomed, perfuming the air with the verdant musk that had tortured Lucifer since their first meeting. How easily the angel was reduced to his baser natures, the need to revere and praise woven into his very being reminding him of his place. In this instance it didn’t matter — nor did he ever think it would when it came to how he felt about the sinner beneath him. Lucifer would weather whatever storms Alastor threw his way, so long as the days ended with them in the safe harbor of their bed.

Lucifer’s tongue had just pressed up to focus on the sensitive inner nerve when a low, drawn-out bleat from Alastor caught them both off-guard. Alastor’s hands quickly detangled themselves to clasp over his mouth with Lucifer’s head popping up to follow, his hair ruffled like unruly feathers. He took in the look on Alastor’s face, beet-red with embarrassment, and felt the expression on his own soften with an overwhelming affection. Nothing they had tried so far had managed to pull a sound like that from Alastor — but Lucifer wasn’t completely surprised. He wrote the book on cunnilingus, after all.

Despite the swell of pride, he managed to keep his wolfish grin to himself. If he wanted to keep this going, he’d have to save the gloating for later. Though his cock throbbed, leaking desperately from Alastor’s modesty as his brain finally registered his own painful arousal. Lucifer thought absently that it was a miracle he hadn’t already finished against the sheets.

“You okay, honey?”

Alastor nodded his head, squeezing his eyes shut to hide from Lucifer’s earnestness. Another wave of endearment poured through the angel, coating his veins like syrup as he journeyed up to gently remove the hands from Alastor’s mouth. It wasn’t without resistance though, Alastor stubborn as always to have his way. But Lucifer won in the end, bringing one hand to his mouth with an adoring kiss that made Alastor wriggle, feeling more exposed than ever despite his eyes still being closed. The soothing tone of Lucifer’s amused chuckle mingled in the air with frayed static as he leaned down to place a kiss to Alastor’s hot cheek.

“If you need to we can — ”

“Don’t…,” Alastor interjected, unsteady, “don’t say it. It’s too embarrassing. Just — ah!”

Lucifer provided an interruption of his own, taking advantage of Alastor’s closed eyes to rub his erection through warm slick. His wanton moan of alleviation quickly tarnishing any form of superiority he had managed to gain as Alastor whined below him, eyes flying open from shock. Lucifer rolled his hips again and they cried out in unison, the air between them humid with their desire. A hiss escaped through Lucifer’s teeth as Alastor moved his hips to meet him, and he was now genuinely concerned that he might not even get the chance to enter before the onset of his climax.

But his body had other concerns, overriding the alarm bells in his mind as he ground his cock against Alastor’s folds. Their combined fluids making it all too easy to stimulate their most sensitive parts. Lucifer was writhing, helpless against his instinct to follow through. The luscious heat from that swollen, wet cunt — he wanted to curse and worship himself for using such an effective spell.

He wasn’t the only one enjoying themselves more than expected. Each whine, squeal, and bleat from Alastor goaded Lucifer on. Reinforced by the steady rolling of his hips, craving the friction of Lucifer’s hard length against his sex and lower belly. 

Alastor’s claws dug into the tender flesh of Lucifer’s ribs, mouth open as he panted between moans and sobs, his abdomen quivering from the building tension of pleasure. They were beginning to lose rhythm now, each of them chasing down the relief they needed so desperately.

“Lucifer, please — please, I…!”

“Mm-me too — hah… fuck!”

Lucifer cried out as he felt the first ropes of his release escape him, Alastor’s blissed out face seared into his mind before his vision went white. Somewhere in the fog he could hear Alastor calling his name through heaving breaths as their bodies rode out the high, clumsily rocking against each other until they were twitching from oversensitivity. Lucifer blinked back the haze until his lover came back into view, collapsing on top of him before he kissed every part of Alastor’s face his lips could touch.

It wasn’t until Alastor shuddered that Lucifer realized the salt on his tongue was from tears and not sweat. Lucifer shushed him, pressing a tender kiss to Alastor’s temple as he pet his hair to soothe him.

“If you mention this to anyone, I’ll tear your heart out and eat it in front of the entire city,” Alastor threatened, words muffled as he hid his face in the swoop of Lucifer’s neck; his usual venom reduced to petulance.

Lucifer laughed, the heart in question fluttering as he sank into Alastor’s embrace. “You know… we really need to work on your pillow talk. Lucky for you that I believe in second chances.”

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banner by @synamartia ❤️‍🔥

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmiccandydreamer, @hyperfixations-keep-me-going, @cherry-cola-100, @wonderlandangelsposts, @catticora, @velvette3, @sailorsmouth, @reath-solia, @junieshohoho, @cxrsedwxrlds, @littlebluefishtail, @nxcxllxsevens, @swagkittybear

[st4rrl1ghtwastaken]

Intro!! pls read before interacting

So umm. Hi everyone. You can call us Chiaroscuro, or Chia for short :) We collectively identify as nonbinary and bi-ace, but we each have our own genders and orientations. (Alters under the cut.)

We’re a fictive-heavy traumagenic OSDD system, overall syscourse neutral, but syscourse is not unwelcome because we like watching people fight. (/j but also…not.)

We’re bodily Asian and might post some Chinese stuff occasionally (this is mostly an English blog though)

We do art and write fanfics sometimes (here’s the normal ao3 and the ship writing ao3.)

We have RP blogs for Albedo and Wanderer in HSR, and also for Jiaoqiu (both pre- and post-2.5) and Blade.

Friend of @kavzz @chaotic-snowflake @catamaurrr-star and @heav3n-of-rxses :D

🌏pro-LGBTQ+, pro-Palestine, mihoyo-critical 🌏

‼️We have autism, anxiety, NPD and probably a lot of other stuff! This is not ‘bragging’ or anything of the sort, this is a list of things to consider if you interact with us‼️

Posts we’d pin if this wasn’t our intro: a hot take on HSR/Genshin gameplay, list of tumblr resources, art refs for drawing non-white characters, parallels between Sunday, Nahida and Wanderer (+additions from an awesome person), someone’s thingy about why March 7th has NPD, a post about living with NPD, a reminder about cluster B personality disorders, a writing trope i wanna do, something about freedom, something else about masking, help for writing

AND A VERY VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE TO THOSE LIVING IN THE USA.

~~~~~

No DNI list, but we will block you if we find out you are:

LGBTQ+phobe

ableist (including sanist)

misogynist (including transmisogynistic etc)

racist in any way

offending/pro-contact harmful paraphilia (MAP, zoophile, necrophile etc)

zionist/pro-Hamas

islamophobe/antisemitist

mihoyo apologist

fan of cc!Wilbur and cc!DTeam

kink/porn blog

generally not someone we’re chill with

~~~~~

headmate tags:

vengeful god turned college student 🌀🪷 (icarus, he/him)

don’t mind me lol 🧹🫧 (misha, they/them)

teyvat’s greatest magician 🪄 (lyney, any pronouns)

everything’ll be ok 🏵️ (navia, she/her)

i’ll always be the final victor ♠️ (aventurine, he/they/it/xe)

self-care reminder 🌻 (beetle, they/xe/he)

paradisaea aka 🦜 (paradisaea/🦜/kav/kaveh, any pronouns)

every day is sunday 🦋 (sunday, xe/fae/they/it)

swamp cryptid elio 🦌 (elynas/elowen/elio, any pronouns)

wielding both pen and sword 🌧️ (xingqiu, he/she/they)

i promise i’m friendly ☀️ (bad, he/they)

hope is the thing with feathers 💜 (robin, any except he/him)

a certain cavalry captain ❄️ (kaeya, any pronouns)

falling leaves painted in red 🍁 (kazuha, they/he)

of mirrors and memories 🔮 (black swan/fuli, she/they)

your favourite wind master 🪭 (shi qingxuan, generally they/them)

a bird and also a cage 🗡️ (wonweek/sunday, he/him)

not silver and not a wolf 👾 (silver wolf, she/it)

the little oceanid 💧 (furina, she/her)

WHO’S PILOTING THE FLESH MECH?? (when we don’t know who’s fronting)

there will be more tags later on.

~~~~~

content tags:

st4rrl1ght yaps: /silly stuff

zhenyu writes: writing stuff

calx sketches: art stuff

qingque plays: gameplay stuff

wolfe socialises: social interactions

icarus exists: /srs stuff

riri thinks: mental health stuff

~~~~~

expect to see:

art

reblogged stuff

memes

mental health stuff

~~~~~

what’s ok?

asking questions about our gameplay

rambling about HSR/Genshin lore in a long ask

asking questions (about the blog or the mods)

anons (or blogs in general) vibing in the inbox

mentioning us in fanart/reblogs/polls etc

mental health rants (excluding selfharm/suicide)

~~~~~

what's not ok?

irl stuff unless we're close

harassing us about our views

invasive questions

NSFW (this is a safe space for minors!)

kys/kms jokes

generally being mean to mods in a /srs way

~~~~~

stuff we like:

Genshin Impact

HSR

TGCF

art

music

cats!!

acting like we’re god /lh

~~~~~

stuff we don’t like:

mihoyo (the company)

loud noises

bright lights

dogs sometimes :(

~~~~~

[theeccentricraven]

writemas day 3!

The 3rd day of Writemas! I thought I might as well skip ahead to a part of The Blood Cleaners where the setting is a prison in the Steel Castle. Thanks you again @agirlandherquill for this writing prompt tag game 🦌 Today's prompt is here Original invite is here

I picked the prompt: Dungeon

CONTENT WARNING There's some blood and gore.

Not yet knowing the air ducts and the walls, Justin took his morphed form down the hallway and spiral stairs to reach the dungeons. The closer he got, the screams grew the louder and the stench of blood stung him. Going down the stairs, the vibrations of big, fast footsteps disturbed him. A couple of steps kicked into Justin’s liquid body, uncomfortable as always but he was still intact as expected. Justin swiftly flowed down the last few steps. He returned to his body of flesh and bone where he stood in a narrow hallway made of white blocks and mortar. The blood pinched his sinus. He coughed, feeling nauseous. He ran down the hall and into a mezzanine. The walls of the floors were lined with prison cell doors. Flecks of blood splattered across the white walls and tiled floor. This was the place where Miriam’s father had spent the last years of his life. Justin’s own father had spent a few months in this place.  At least half a dozen prisoners in gray jumpsuits yelled while tossing around tables and chairs, swinging 4 in X 4 in’s at officers, who stood back while swinging their clubs. Another half a dozen prisoners and a few officers lay down in piles of blood, unconscious and with torn up faces. More than a dozen blood cleaners spread across the floor, spraying and scattering UD across the floor and walls. Justin took it upon him to cover the blood underneath the unconscious bodies. His aerosol released a thick layer of UD to coat the floor. He saw Pablo, Pam, Felipe, Jordan, and Mina among the blood cleaners. Even Natalia’s hands were at work scrubbing the blood and UD soaked floor.  Now Justin understood that Pablo’s “sensitive” matters could very well be a prison riot.  He was relieved to see there were more blood cleaners present than he perceived as a handful of more changed from their liquid state to their human body. They were already there, but had morphed to avoid incoming swings by deranged inmates. Justin swung his head around to see a prison charging at him with a crowbar. Justin instantly liquified himself.   “Backup is on the way!” exclaimed Pablo from….somewhere. They needed it. Without more officers and more blood cleaners, the blood bath could quickly become a lil attack.  Justin de-morphed to human form. He opened his kit to pull out towels. He applied one to an unconscious officer’s bludgeoned face in hopes of slowing down the bleed. He used the other to wipe the UD soaked surface. Another dozen puddles flowed into the mezzanine through the vents. Justin was relieved. Pablo must have called for blood cleaners from the other towers. He assured himself he would make it safely home tonight, but first he had to sweep over another spot while his colleagues picked their spots. They were equipped with plenty of UD. No need to fear running out.  There was no siren nor sign of the EMT’s. Justin sprayed UD around a couple of more sleeping bodies. Their wounds untreated, a lil attack could happen after all. Forty-five seconds had already passed since Justin arrived. It had taken him fifteen seconds to get there. He sprayed around the floor, coating it wet.  A prisoner swinging a 4in X 4in yelled while charging at Justin. Justin took a step back, ready to morph, but before he could blink, the prisoner slipped and fell forward. Apparently the UD didn’t bother only the lils. 

Tagging my writing mutuals: @kitty-is-writing @kitkins13 @kaylinalexanderbooks @willtheweaver @leahnardo-da-veggie @dandelion-jester @aalinaaaaaalin @faeriecinna and open!

[whumping-valentine]

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 2 🦌

"Hunter's Cabin"

Content: hunter whumper, whumpee caught in bear trap, carewhumper, creepy / intimate whumper, non-con touching (non sexual), vegan whumpee forced to eat meat, whumper has Killed People

About 1,400 words

I have no idea where all my inspiration for this mini series came from but I'm obsessed and it broke me free of my writer's block, so I'm going to make the most of it! I literally have 30 parts planned for this and shit is going to go OFF THE WALLS. I dare you to predict what's going to happen. Do it. You'll never guess it right.

I'm determined to write a part a day, so excuse my writing quality. I view this as a challenge! 30 days to write (or at least draft) a novella.

But anyways, here's part 2! It'll be typical whump stuff for a while before the wild shit, so enjoy! Once this mini series is complete and off my chest, I'll finally post stuff on Valentine, Vittoria and Rosa!

       The deathly quiet woods caused whumpee's heart to drop, and a chill ran through their veins. The forest running quiet was no good sign, and always meant grave danger... So, where was it?

       Whumpee could only stare down at the leaves that scattered the ground as the hunter carried them off through the woodland. The weight of the trap bore down on them and their poor ankle, pulling and shifting with each step whumper took. As time ticked on, they turned their head to the side, and spotted a disheveled wooden cabin. Whumper approached the building, unlocking the old door with a set of jangling keys.

       The door creaked open, and the rancid stench of meat and death filled the air. Paired with the present scent of cigarettes, it caused a less than favorable array of smells. Whumpee tried their best not to barf down the hunter's back, pinching their nose and covering their mouth. Flies were all over the house, buzzing and zipping around, landing on the deer carcasses that hung on hooks from the ceiling. Throughout the wooden walls were all kinds of guns and mounted animal heads on display. Whumpee felt like they were suffocating… but maybe that’s just because they were holding their breath.

       Each step the hunter took caused the wooden floors to loudly creak and crack, some of the only sounds next to the flies. Finally, they turned on a lamp with a click, then set whumpee down on a hard wooden chair. Whumpee’s face was flushed from tears both from pain, and from irritation from the smell and air quality. Whumper sat in a chair across from them.

       Using tools, they pried the heavy metal trap free from their leg, causing a built up breath of relief to leave whumpee as silent tears continued to fall from their cheeks, their heart racing. Whumper removed their torn, bloodied boots and socks, and rolled up the pants of their overalls. They proceeded to wipe their still bleeding wounds clean, which went deep, even cutting into bone. Whumpee braced themself as they saw the hunter pull out disinfectant, wincing as the chemical sting burned into their flesh.

       “Healing hurts, doesn’t it?” The hunter broke the silence, their tone almost malicious, just like the slight smile that crossed their face.

       “I… I guess?”

       Whumper chuckled at the response, “How cute. Hold your leg up.” They said, and pulled out a roll of cloth bandages, wrapping it around their foot, ankle, and leg, finishing their work with a pat, causing a jump and a yelp from whumpee, and another chuckle from whumper. They stood up from their chair, not looking away from whumpee as a small smile stayed plastered on their face. It almost looked… admirable?

       “Why… why do you keep looking at me like that?” Whumpee asked, looking up at them with wide, big, scared eyes.

       Whumper tilted their head, “Oh how could I not? Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

       Whumpee was so frightened they couldn’t move. They were always told they were cute, but they never thought the same. They've always hated their appearance. They would've never thought they’d be practically kidnapped over it…

       Their hair was a soft, muted auburn color, a mix of red and brown. It was short and messy, in the awkward mullet stage of growing it out. They had big, green eyes and wore circular glasses atop a blushed red nose, their cheeks covered in freckles. They were wearing a baggy brown sweater, which was now drenched in sweat and covered in dirt and leaves. They were only about 5 feet tall, but under whumper’s watching gaze, they felt even smaller.

       Whumper was much taller than them, maybe even a whole foot taller, and it made whumpee very nervous. Their hair was long, dirty, and greasy, and whumpee wondered when the last time they showered was. They had lots of greys in their hair, and big, dark circles underneath their brown eyes.

       “You seem frightened,” whumper said, a slight tilt to their head, "what's the matter?"

       "What do you mean what's the matter? Y— you— you— you've— you—!"

       "Don't hurt yourself, now." Whumper condescended, "Though I will say your jitteriness makes you look extra cute."

       “Well… it… it's not my fault, I— I have GAD… Like— you know— anxiety. And— and I have to take medication for it— and—!” Their hands started shaking, their fingers twitching. The nerves in their palms flared, and they tried to massage the feeling away with their thumbs.

       Whumper grabbed their wrists, causing whumpee to let out a gasp. They sat down in their lap, and moved their hands from their shaking wrists to their shoulders, pushing them back firmly against the chair.

       They whispered in their ear, “You should feel lucky that you’re pretty, else you wouldn't be breathing."

      A shiver went down their spine. "What... what do you mean?" They asked, heart continuously racing.

"I don't take kindly to strangers is all. But I think I could to the cute ones like you."

Whumpee stared at them, confused as they furrowed their brow, "Who even are you?"

       "Who knows? Not you, that's for sure. You'll call me Hunter. I'll call you Fawn. Sound fair?"

       “I— I have a name...”

       “I don’t care.” Hunter said, firm but not harsh. "I'll call you whatever I please. I think I've earned the right to name you, no?"

       "What makes you think that?"

       "Well, you stepped into my trap, did you not? I think then, by the rules, that makes you mine. So I get to name you."

       "You— you're crazy!"

       "I've lived by myself in the woods for 10 years, I'd be shocked if I were sane." They said, then stood up, and ruffled the captive's hair before fixing it. They brushed their hand down their face to their chin, forcing the stiff, tense Fawn to look up at them. "You hungry?"

       "… No… not… particularly." Not in these circumstances.

       "Mm, that's too bad. You'll be eating once a day regardless, but it's hardly time for dinner yet. You can help me make it in the meantime, wouldn't that be fun?"

       Fawn wanted to argue back and say no, but couldn't find the strength nor bravery to let out a single word. Hunter grabbed them by the wrist and pulled them to their foot, making them hop to the kitchen where they sat them in another chair. Thankfully Hunter's definition of "help" seemed to be "sit and watch me do it" but that didn't mean the scene in front of them didn't disgust them.

Fawn was forced to watch Hunter skin a deer, cut it up, and cook it. A thousand things flew around there head, but among one of them was their earlier statement. If Hunter hadn't found them attractive, would they be in the deer's place? Were there others before them who were?

They were so lost in thought they didn't realise Hunter had tried to talk to them. They looked up at them, "Huh?"

Hunter looked displeased, and repeated themself, "It's time for dinner," they gestured to the table.

       "Oh. I, um. I— I don't eat meat."

       "Well, you're either going to eat it, or you're going to slowly starve to death." Hunter stabbed a piece with their fork, and held it up to Fawn's face, "Which will it be?"

       Fawn stared at their captor before reaching out for the fork with soaking hands. Hunter pulled it away.

       "Ah-ah-ah! Nope! Hands down." 

       Fawn blinked their eyes and reluctantly pulled their hand back. They were flushed red with anger and embarrassment as Hunter fed them. The taste on their tongue nearly made them barf on the spot, nevermind having to chew it. Hunter sat down with them, satisfied. Bite after bite, sharing the same fork, the both of them slowly worked though the plate in front of them.

      "That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Whumper cooed as they fed them the last bite, relishing in delight at the disgust and shame that covered their captive's face. Fawn refused to speak.

       "Well, it's getting late, little fawn. I think it's time we get you to bed." Hunter said, standing up. "Lift your arms." They commanded, and Fawn obeyed. Hunter picked them up like they were nothing more than a toddler, carrying them towards another door. To Fawn's dismay, it was a door to a basement. They felt Hunter's grip on them tighten as they felt them tense up.

       Hunter's heavy boots stomped down the stairs as the two went down into darkness. Fawn was suddenly dropped from their arms, letting out a scream as they collided with a firm, tattered mattress that sat on the concrete floor.

       Hunter caressed their scared face, leaving a kiss on their forehead before leaving, going back up the stairs, shutting the door. Fawn hears the click of a lock, and is left in both total silence and complete darkness, all alone.

A/N: Fawn having GAD and being on meds is 100% self-inspired. I have no idea how I ever functioned before medication, anytime I forget to take them I feel like I'm running a marathon. Also does anyone else get in anxiety in their hands? I never know how else to describe it, I just know people look at me like I'm nuts when I say "my hands are anxious" lmao. I also get "nose-freezes" rather than brain freezes.

[sewers-headmates]

hiii! looking to flesh out our emberly (firebringer) fictive! definitely polyam + mspec, the rest can be creator's choice! if possible, could you include some alternative names, and maybe some ideas for hobbies/interests? if not, all good ♡ ty in advance!

- @roses-bah-garden

i actually haven’t watched firebringer. I will soon and can redo this then but will do my best right now! You said you wanted some hobbies and interests so i swapped trans and cis IDS with those mainly cause i couldn’t think of any

Name: Emberly, Embly, Emily, Dahlia, Azalea, Fleur, Iris, Lily, Rose, Violet, Brooke, Basil, Phoenix, Acorn, Alder

Age: 24

Gender: female, multigender, xenogirl, flowergender, floragender, fawncoric, earthcoric, mushroomgender, mosscoric

Pronouns: she/her, they/them, it/its, flower/flowers, flora/floras, fawn/fawns, earth/earths, mush/room, mushroom/mushrooms, moss/moss, 🌹/🌹s, 🌸/🌸s, 🌺/🌺s, 🌷/🌷s, 🌻/🌻s, 🦌/🦌s, 🔥/🔥s, ✨/✨s, 🍄/🍄s, 🍄‍🟫/🍄‍🟫s

Sexuality: pansexual, demiromantic

Species: human

Source: firebringer

Roles: social protector

Hobbies: rock collecting, art, hiking, cross-stitching, knitting, manga collecting, swimming, most nature involved hobbies she will try

Interests: nature, drawing, writing, and photography

Paraphiles: somnophilia , zeusophilia, objectophilia, pyrophilia

Other Labels: polyamorous, very social but enjoys her alone time also

Appearance:

i hope you enjoy her! always feel free to change what you dislike ^^

-mod richie

[idkfitememate]

Creating an…OC? Playersona? I can’t tell which category she’d fit into so I’m just gonna say OC. From the Pokémon games except it crosses over with the show.

I guess I should explain a bit. My OC is currently nameless but she’s female, 19 years old turning 20 as her birthday is on December 20th. (Her golden birthday)

With long, thigh length wavy midnight blue hair that she straightens out in the morning and originally slate grey eyes but she wears yellow contacts protected by her long black lashes. She wears vibrant red eyeliner around her almond shaped eyes.

She’s incredibly tall, standing at a bit more than 6’5 without her black and lavender combat shoes. Her pale porcelain skin is littered with scars from the neck down that indent on her flesh or are a shade paler than normal. On bad days her right hand twitches and fumbles, never fully obeying her command after a thick scar from an Alpha Hisuian Zoroark flew into a rage and attacked her.

She is usually seen wearing a long black evening dress with a slit in both sides and a cherry red scarf that hides her mouth from view.

On expeditions she wears the same scarf but changes her dress to a grey shirtwaister trimmed paired with a red obi that is connected to her bamboo satchel, and will braid her hair into a bun. On almost every occasion she will wear her black and lavender combat boots. She never takes off her scarf, and never shows her mouth, except when eating.

If she looks familiar it’s because she’s the Pokémon Arceus MC. Except it took her four years to return home, back to the present day. Time has also gone by in the present, more time than it did in the past, and she’s doing her best to re-integrate into the new age after so long. But it’s hard because the past four years have changed her almost completely. She trusts very little and doesn’t talk much, if at all.

Her Pokémon team follows her into the future, but they are scattered around the regions.

The only Pokémon who isn’t separated during the time jump is her Alpha Hisuian Zoroark—named Zvezda. (ZVYEZ-dah) who is twice her height, with a gnarled right ear that is so torn and twisted they can’t hear out of it.

Zvezda likes to carry her trainer around like a doll when her feet get tired or she’s too exhausted to move. Zvezda uses telepathy to speak with humans when agitated or in dire situations. She has a private telepathic path connecting to only her trainer. Zvezda is very protective of her trainer, VERY protective.

The problem is I don’t know which generation to put her in. XYZ series was like—peak Pokémon and my childhood (the opening song was a BEAT) But then again the series with Goh was nice as well. And it’d tie in better with the Hisui festival Ash and Goh went to. Decisions decisions.

The rest is a whole story but Zvezda and nameless run around in my head and I need to write this down somewhere to share my little Pokémon munchkins. Rant officially over.

🦌 anon

Damn whenever I imagine a Trainer-Self Insert I just imagine myself getting pissed after losing a battle and start throwing actual hands - no matter who I was fighting because I’m a bitch hehe.

I do have a list for every game/region I play tho so I can make a team that feels canonical to myself so that’s something I do if ya ever wanna see em?

[mtnkat3]

Ok my Love/s. Interesting that You...DPOne posted that as I was thinking about that. One helluva connection... blushing shyly grin.

- it's about Your/Alll's health to me, & happiness too.

-I don't care if You/Alll could win the Mr. Universe. Or have "dad bods".

I want each of You/Alll to be happy & healthy in Your/Alll's own skins.

Don't care about tans, tattoos, scars, how hair grows, what color hair, moles, freckles, anything...

I only care about You/Alll being happy.

And then there's actors/athletes/models. O% body fat is not an easily attainable condition for most human beings. And maintaining such is...close to impossible without severe life choices...?

[I am not a vegetarian. I love flesh!]

Especially modern Americans. Conveniences lessen physical exertion means the bodies are not in motion, muscles aren't being ripped & repaired, heart not pumping enough gets lazy. Same as smoking cigarettes & nicotine in the brain. The brain stops making it because it gets an easier source.

Humans are built to work & exert.

Now as for me..., in the "chumpy, plump, curvy...fat" shape I'm in. I am not happy, in my own skin. Nor am I healthy. If it were all boobs & butt, I'd say cool. But it's not. I am diabetic, plus an alphabet soup of a myriad other issues going on. I'm thinking endocrine...pituitary, thyroid, adrenal glands etc. Are my culprits. And yes... STRESS. I know I was at my happiest at 20% body fat. And it is not "porky" on me. Very close to my version of a "swimmers physique" just...I got boobs & hips.

The irony is at usps distro I lost ~30# in 5 months working there. I was exerting A LOT of physical energy to do a filthy job. I wore men's baggie black tees & yoga pants & shoes too big because the necessity for 4 pairs of socks. My feet were bad there! I had to keep my hair up because of all the belts & pulleys. [I do not want to be scalped thank you flvery much!] And needed a shower after I stopped for breakfast. [I worked all schedules of the day when there.] One day off a week. Problems with getting paid. The weight loss was the best thing, but there's no way to maintain that level. Not when one of the types of bins empty was 500#. I'm not even sure crossfit/hiit can compare. I had started building muscles too.

For me, I want to be healthy, get rid of all my myriad health issues, live until I'm 100yo, like my ancestors did.

Rebuilding my health, musculature, enjoying food for the wonderful, delicious fuel it is, & live an abundant life of love with my Mate/s!!!

Swimming, dancing, hiking, marksmanship, learning marital arts, survival training, living more simply but blended with some modern things. Gardening, teaching, stitching, animals, helping people close to me... these are things to do & enjoy in life.

"Not parking it in front of the boob tube." Or video games, or losing sight of life.

This "blog" is as much social media I do. And I will gladly go quiet/dark once I'm in my Mate/s arms!!!

Blushing beet red bowing my head. Sorry my Love/s. My brain rambled. Giggling. And dealing with issues... Including lunch while writing! Just my two cents..

I love You/Alll endlessly!!!

~Your's/s'

DPOne, DOne, & Alll!!!.

Alllways & Forever. Period.

🔱💖🐻💓🦌💝⚜♠️🗝🧩♾⚓🙏🙇‍♀️😌🦉🐛🦋🌱🌺🌹🌻🌷🌳🧵🧶🧭🎶💋

4.12p

[fleshqounds]

Bell, who sits back at his haunches, allowing Adler to croon and pet roughly at his hair. Bell, who bites roughly at the callous edges of Adler’s fingers. Bell, whose collar seems to be Adler’s unforgiving hand as he holds him down to inject him. Bell, whose bloodied jaw is wiped clean by a napkin, firm and rough yet terribly sweet in his mind. Bell who keens when his hair is yanked back, teary-eyed yet eager to please. Bell who’s Adler’s dog, marked by a bullet at his side.

[fleshqounds]

THE HAND THAT FEEDS

prompt : Whumper who keeps Whumpee locked up because "You're dangerous, sweetheart. You're a danger to society. Look at you, you can't even control yourself." And has actually convinced Whumpee of that. Which gives them ample opportunity for punishment. — @whumblr

Adbell dog imagery supremacy 😇

Solevetsky should’ve been in his burial ground, shallow and cold, let the snow sneak into his once warmed body and allow himself to slowly decompose, his body back to nature. But he supposed god had other plans.

He always found himself praying.

Even before Solovetsky, before Adler, when all there seemed to be was a husk of a man — mind blank, running on anger, of a patriotism for a country that was long overdue it’s welcome.

Bell panted, breath coming out sharp, cold exhales that left him shivering — he once took for granted the warmth within the safe house, the plain coffee Lazar always bought. Bell missed it now. He missed takeout, he missed bantering with woods, arm-wrestling with Lazar, philosophizing with Park. Most of all, Bell missed the man he believed Adler was.

The one who’d saved him, stuck by him when nothing else had. They’d returned from Vietnam and kept each other sane throughout the shifts in their lives.

Their bodies entangled beneath the stars, hot breath and shared words of love between them, the promise of marriage if they’d managed to survive — but Bell has always been just some red to him, a no good commie.

And now, here he was.

stuck against a wall, arms tied, some muzzle around his jaw to keep him from lashing out — like some animal. But he felt too weak, too vulnerable to even attempt anything.

His eyes draw up lazily, half-lidded, pupils blown from whatever drugs he’d been sedated with — Adler’s special concoction, just for him, just for Bell. They find themselves on Adler, watching behind his glasses, narrowing down on Bell. “Do you know what those guys back at Langley would do if they saw you like this?” Adler questioned, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting at his knees.

“They’d put you down like the rabid mutt you are.” His voice quieted, so gentle that Bell itched to truly soften, but he held himself back, trying to tune the blonde out. “You’re dangerous, Bell, and deep down, you know it.” Adler spoke, chair groaning as he’d stood, taking steps towards the bound Russian before him, “I’m the only one who can handle you. No one else would even try.”

And bell was angry, because he believed that. Some part of him, the maybe madly-in-love part of him, truly believed that he was a danger to those around him. that he’d snap easy if willed.

Bell had always been too reactive, too emotional, and impulsive. Adler seemed to be the only man who’d ever been so good to him.

“I’ve always liked that fire in you, Bell. It’s what makes you special.” Adler cooed, overtly sweet, sickly like syrup, “But fire, sweetheart—it burns. And if you’re not careful, it’ll consume everything around you. That’s why you need someone like me to keep you in check. You understand, don’t you, Bell?”

Adler cocked his head slightly, taking off his shades for good measures as he’d continued to stare at the other — eyes raking down Bell’s limp, slightly coiled form. Listening to the subtle, and yet heavy breaths taken by the Russian.

His words are only greeted by silence, and Adler’s brows furrow as he glanced down to the tended wound near Bell’s pec, and he strokes the scar as if inspecting it, his tone almost fatherly. "I've got to admit, you've healed up nicely. I wasn't sure you'd pull through, but here you are. Tough as ever."

Though, He suddenly applies pressure, his calm voice cutting through Bell's sharp gasp. "But don't get cocky. Scars have a way of reminding you to stay in line. Consider this my way of keeping you grounded."

Adler finally released the pressure on the wound, leaving Bell panting, his vision blurred with pain and something far worse—fear. “See, Bell? That’s the beauty of this,” Adler murmured, brushing his hand over Bell’s trembling shoulder, his voice smooth, almost affectionate, almost.

“You’ll never forget who holds the leash. Who saved you. Who owns you.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Bell’s ear. “You can fight it all you want, sweetheart, but deep down, you know. You’re mine. And nothing—not the pain, not the scars, not even yourself—can change that.” Bell’s heart hammered, a mix of agony and resignation pooling in his chest as Adler pulled back, his shadow looming like the finality of a guillotine.

[fleshqounds]

GREAT AMERICAN RUSE

cw : open wound torture, slight auditory / visual conditioning.

Andre is panting — chest heaving, heart beating against his rib cage like a drum, eyes darting everywhere he can yet there’s no escape to the TV static that’s engraved into his head, chiseled. He attempts to thrash, and yet, he groans — deep and heavy, wrists stinging with the feeling of rope burn.

The only thing that keeps him alert seems to be the wound that’s been dressed rather poorly, slightly bottom-left of his pec and digging into his torso. It has him almost yelping as he was sure they’d left the bullet lodged, like some sick joke.

the faint sounds of clacks against the epoxy floors make Andre’s eyes dart around, but he can’t see much within the dark room — illuminated by red from the tv.

It’s only when the sack is yanked from his head, and Andre sees his “savior” — the wretch who’d kept him alive. “You’re alive, people normally become infected within a few days.” Adler remarked, raising an eyebrow, sparing a glance to the clothed area where the Russian before him had been shot. “So, let’s do this again, red.” The blonde continued.

“Where is Perseus?” It felt as if he was speaking to someone beneath him, as if Andre before him was nothing but an ant beneath his shoe.

Andre grit his teeth, staring up at the American with narrowed eyes — lips slowly shifting to a sneer. “I don’t have to tell you, американская свинья.” Andre remarked, swift as the hit that his wound had been relaid - causing the Russian to cry out, keeling over.

“Answer the fucking question, red. The sooner this is over, the sooner you won’t keep going through this.” Adler’s voice was strangely calm as he’d motioned to the area of the gunshot wound, his gaze boring into the other below, who was still gaining his bearings after such a blow. “Go fuck yourself,” Andre groaned out, “I see what you do to your own people, what makes you think I’d be stupid to fall for the same tactics.”

The Russian pants as he allowed himself to slowly lean back up, messy locks falling over his eyes as he’d stared back at the American. Those shades, they barely allow him to know what he is thinking, understand less so.

And again, the suddenness.

Andre howled out as he felt Adler place pressure on his wind, scoring his fingers into where the hole would be — unstitched, area pounding as Adler digs in with precision. “Черт!” Andre choked, gritting his teeth, as his head fell forward and a freehand grabbed it, dragging his head back, exposing his neck — Adam’s apple bobbing with each thick swallow.

“We have all the time in the world.”

and Andre found himself praying to a god that he was sure wouldn’t hear his prayers, his fellow men would not hear him anymore.

No one at his beck and call ever again.

[fleshqounds]

TIL’ FREEDOM DO US PART

1 / ?? — VIEL OF LIES

“ It's an American wedding. They don't mean too much, But we were so in love. “ — Mick, a rookie operative, is trapped in a forced marriage with Adler, a cold but seasoned CIA operative. What begins as a means to an end soon blurs the lines between duty and desire, as Mick grapples with his feelings for a man who sees their union as nothing more than a strategic movement.

cw : forced marriage, power imbalances, emotional manipulation, heavy age gap, unhealthy coping mechanisms (from Mick), dubious consent, coercion, probable eventual smut(?)

The room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the steady tick of a clock on the far wall. Mick stood near the window, arms crossed, glaring out at the rainy D.C streets. His jaw clenched, creaking lightly as he heard Adler’s chair scrape against the hardwood floor behind him.

“So, this is it, huh?” Mick muttered, his voice dripping with defiance and irritation, dwelling in a mixing pot. “You think throwing a ring on my finger is gonna magically fix whatever fucked-up plan you’ve got in mind?” He finally turned, meeting Adler’s cold gaze.

Adler leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigarette with almost maddening calmness. He exhaled slowly before replying, his voice low and deliberate. “It’s not about fixing anything, kid. It’s about survival. You want to walk out of this alive? Then you play the part.”

Mick scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? And what part do you play in this, huh? The loving husband?” The words were laced with venom, but the flash of hesitation in Adler’s eyes told Mick he wasn’t the only one questioning this.. arrangement between the pair.

Mick clenched his fists, eyes narrowing as he looked at Adler. “Survival, huh? You really think this is the only way out?” His voice shook with a mix of anger and disbelief. “This whole thing’s a fucking joke. You think a piece of paper and a ring are gonna protect us? From what, exactly?” He shook his head, pacing back and forth in the dimly lit room.

Adler remained unshaken, exhaling another puff of smoke, his eyes never leaving Mick’s figure. “You don’t get it, do you?” He leaned forward, his tone sharper now, more.. irritated. “The world doesn’t give a damn about what you think is right. If we want to come out of this on top, we have to do what’s necessary.”

Mick shot him a bitter laugh. “Oh, so now you’re the martyr? The big savior who’s going to sacrifice everything for the greater good?” He took a step closer to Adler, daring him to argue back. “You’re full of shit. You think this is about some big noble cause? Your making me your fucking puppet, and I gotta play along like a good little soldier. It’s disgusting.”

Adler flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, his eyes hardening. “Call it what you want. It doesn’t matter. The moment that ring goes on, it’s game over. There’s no walking away from this, Mick. You’ll see that soon enough.”

The air in the room was tense, suffocating, as the officiant droned on, his voice muffled by the pounding of Mick’s heart in his ears. He stood beside Adler, the cold weight of the ring in his palm feeling like a betrayal. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Adler, too furious, too confused, his mind a warzone of disgust. The words from the officiant drifted in and out, but it was the question that made Mick’s stomach twist painfully.

“Do you, Mick Gore, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Mick’s heart hammered in his chest. The room felt smaller, almost suffocating. His breath hitched. He wanted to scream, to refuse, to run out of the damn building and run far, far away from Langley — Back to Kansas. But he knew better than that. Adler’s hand was steady on his shoulder, and Mick felt the heavy weight of his gaze burning into the side of his face. “Do it,” Adler murmured under his breath, almost too quietly for anyone else to hear, but it was enough to make Mick’s blood run cold.

Mick’s throat went dry, but he forced the words out, two words tasting like bile in his mouth. “I do.”

The officiant nodded, oblivious to the tension pulsing between them, and turned to Adler. “And do you, Russell Adler, take Mick Gore to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Adler’s gaze shifted toward Mick, locking eyes for a moment before he spoke. “I do.”

The officiant beamed, clearly pleased with the simpleness. “I now pronounce you husband and husband.” The words hit Mick like a punch to the gut, and he barely took into account the rather polite applause of the two witnesses stationed in the corner—both operatives, of course. It wasn’t real. None of it was. But the weight of the ring on his finger told a different story, one he knew he couldn’t escape from.

Adler didn’t spare him a glance, his attention already shifting to the folder on the nearby table that contained the forged documents they needed to sell this charade. “That’s it,” he said, his tone as detached as ever. “We’re done here.” He stepped away, leaving Mick standing at the altar, staring down at his hand, the gold band gleaming under the harsh overhead light, fist clenching lightly.

Mick swallowed hard, something sour pooling in his gut. “That’s it?” he mumbled, more to himself than to Adler, but the older man caught it anyway.

Adler paused, his back to Mick, and took a moment to light a cigarette. “What else were you expecting?” he asked, his voice sharp, though not unkind. He exhaled a plume of smoke, finally glancing over his shoulder. “This is a means to an end, kid. Nothing more. Don’t make it something it’s not.”

Mick’s jaw tightened as he’d look back as well, a flash of hurt breaking through his thinly veiled mask of anger. He didn’t respond, couldn’t trust his own self to. Instead, he looked down, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Adler turned back, already halfway to the door.

“Get your head straight,” Adler called out as he reached for the handle. “We’ve got work to do.” And just like that, he was gone, leaving Mick standing alone in the silent room, feeling like he’d signed away a part of himself for nothing more than another one of Adler’s games.

Mick always thought that he’d marry someone for the sake of love, that he’d found the one as so many people would say — but Mick didn’t think he’d end up here, marriage forged by a contract instead of love.

Mick wished he could call his dad — tell him the “good news”, about the “lucky guy”, about their honeymoon and whatever else — but he was sure his dad would scoff in his face. Only leave behind the stench of cigs and hurt.

Maybe he was a fool, but he’d be damned if Adler played him like one.

[fleshqounds]

THAT’S AMERICAN LAW

They’re my very mentally unstable Brokeback mountain 😔

cw : none, aside from very unsatisfying partial smut bc I maybe gave up 😭

Bell found himself leaning back in his cot, humming to the radio absentmindedly— fingers flipping through some novel he’d been given by Sims. he could hear the gaggles of men laughing, sharing stories around a campfire, drinking whatever they’d stolen from the CO’s.

“still reading that lovey-dovey crap?” Bell’s eyes rolled as he’d heard that voice, glancing over to the flap of the tent to see Russell as he’d entered, a small smirk across his face. “It’s a good book.” Bell weakly defended, huffing in almost amusement. “So, what do you need?? another patrol? someone to clean the guns?” Bell questioned soon after, closing the book.

“Nope, bigger assignment,” Russell replied, and Bell raised his eyebrow, sparing him a glance, “someone to share a drink with.” Russell grinned now, having caught the little chortle from Bell's lips.

“Alright.” Bell shrugged, “not like the book was any good.”

The younger male had shuffled to sit up, watching as Adler stepped into the tent, showing the bottle of whiskey he’d been drinking prior. “stole it too?” Bell would ask, grinning at Russell, who’d huffed. “no, I wouldn't go through that trouble.” He’d answered, popping the cap off.

Bell didn’t know how this had happened, he didn’t mean it. He didn’t even notice when Adler’s lips pressed so deliciously against his, molding perfect — not until a hand grabbed his collar, bringing him close — a tongue swiping across his own. “C’mere,” Russell murmured, voice gruff as he stood, dragging the other with.

Bell’s hand instinctively gripped Adler’s shoulder, squeezing softly — kiss deepening before Bell pulled away hesitantly, lips drawing down to the older man’s neck, tongue swiping against the heated skin, lapping up sweat. He seemed almost gone until he’d felt a hand squeeze his ass, blunt nails digging into his fatigues.

It seemed like he’d black out whenever — finding himself within the gripes of desire, it always seemed like a play of power between the pair. Bell was a smartass who Russell always had by the nape.

And he couldn’t blame himself when that hand gripped his nape again, hand splaying down on his back — coaxing Bell to arch. the patrol cap on Bell’s head snatched and thrown elsewhere — soon to be forgotten. “Don’t need to wear that shit.” Russell grumbled, “wanna see that pretty face.”

Bell chuckles yet a groan slips on through as he feels the subtle coolness of the night nip at his thighs, feeling his pants and underwear get gently crumpled down to his knees.

And when he feels Russell breach his heat, Bell’s breath hitches — tensing as he grips the sheets beneath himself, face scrunching in pain. the hand on his back being the only thing to coax, and the subtle puffs of hot breath from Russell — pressing his chest against Bell’s back.

a hand tightens around his throat, and the male bites his lip — feeling as Russell barely sweats as he pulls Bell up, the rutting damn near making Bell’s eyes roll back — low grunts escaping his lips.

He never knew a man who could be so good to him.

[fleshqounds]

(prompt from @promptsforthestrugglingauthor)

(thank you @pyxis-stellae for sending me this omg)

lil more below the cut !!

Bell found himself uttering those words towards Park, his eyes downcast; almost as if he were ashamed. Fingers rubbing over his knuckles, brows pinching lightly — is he ashamed to admit he loves rough, that he’d leave marks on everything he’d touched??

That he grips hard and leaves bruises, and that his teeth sink into gentle flesh — and his eyes drew up and he’s begging that he doesn’t appear as some violent dog.

“Are you afraid?” Park questioned, so quiet that Bell almost flinched, he could feel her eyes closing in on him. Bell parts his lips, and yet, he can’t bring himself to answer, and he solely slumps back into his office chair — fingers tapping on his lap. “Are you afraid of seeming like a rabid dog, something to be put down?” She’d asked.

And Bell wished to reply, to allow her to understand. But the words couldn’t leave his mouth, held heavy like an anvil and he didn’t wish to move his head, his eyes falling yet again.

His nails dug themselves into his palms, and he found himself standing. “I’m not a dog, I don’t see myself as one.” Blunt, harsh. And he was lying to himself, Bell was sure Park could see that. “A dog grovels at the bottom of a chain, I don’t do that.”

Bell could convince himself all he wanted, but he was a dog, nothing more than an old hound chained to a doghouse, howling as the night fell over.