#Sex Drugs and Immortality

[mirrorhouse]

the lamb smiling up at the wolf with unsettling passivity etc etc

[nc-vb]

I will never~ be the same~ after watching Mignon~ that shit was beautiful~

[no-1-rosalind-lang-apologist]

hello chloe gong people. for science can anyone think of any if i had a nickel for every time that happened in a chloe gong book i would have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's kind of weird that it happened twice moments? and if so may i include them in a coldwire predictions poll?

[thirdfor]

thirdthirdthirdthirdthirdthirdthird

[gracerings]

daniel molloy character of all time once again: like imagine you’re a 20-something drug addict and a terrible journalist on account of being 20-something and a drug addict and you randomly meet a vampire at a gay bar and you think wow I might get drugs, gay sex and a story out of this and instead what you get is psychologically and physically tortured by his husband and your memories of it all erased and then 50 years later you’re DYING and those vampires show up in your life again to ask you to write the story of their happy marriage and your memory might be fucked but ON GOD you WILL ruin that marriage if it’s the last thing you do. and then not only do you succeed and walk out of it alive, but also with a bestseller, millions in your bank account AND immortality AND the knowledge that your annoying human ass was somehow the one thing that made that 500+ year old predator so mad that he broke his lifetime vow to never turn anyone. AND, on top of that, you’re out of the CLOSET.

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (ii)

SUMMARY: When Soldier Boy doesn’t return from Nicaragua, Vought creates a bullshit lie, talking him up as a hero who died in a devastating, world-saving accident. You’re handed down the mantle of leader as Payback, and spend your time trying to live up to how Ben had lead them, while also attempting to figure out what truly happened to him.

WORD COUNT: 2945

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Vought’s corrupt behaviour, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, death, gore, vomit, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sexual content, smut; descriptions of sex.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Ben didn’t come home from Nicaragua.

Blown to pieces by some Russian laser weapon (what the fuck?), the.. chunky remnants of his body were taken away in a helicopter. Presumably to be experimented on.

It made you sick. Ben might’ve been an asshole, a deep rooted cunt, but he didn’t deserve to have his corpse be defiled like that. Maybe you’d just gone soft for him, that’s all. Maybe his hushed, sweet words and gentle touches, in his last few days, had softened your heart.

But you spent nights grieving your loss, hyperventilating in your room as you felt his fingers tracing your hips again. If you closed your eyes tight enough, you could see him.

You’d never planned for Ben to die. Hell, he hadn’t even planned to do. He was supposed to be ageless; a man who didn’t die. Vought would hide him away when it became suspicious, and he’d live peacefully… as peaceful as he could get, anyway. That was what was supposed to happen.

But his guts were strewn across the base camp in Nicaragua, and you’d never see him again.

It only took Vought three months to create a bullshit cover story.

After all, they couldn’t tell America their beloved Soldier Boy was actually at the site of a cocaine smuggling operation when he was blown to bits. No, that’d taint his image that Vought had spent literal decades moulding. He needed to die a hero. A man that would live gloriously in textbooks and stories.

A nuclear reactor meltdown is what they came up with.

Fucking bullshit, really.

The man was practically immortal (which did raise the question of, how the hell did the Russians kill him in the first place?). Some radiation wasn’t going to take him out. You’d watched him take two full magazines from an assault rifle, and get back to his feet like nothing happened.

And now he was dead. You didn’t know how. You wished more than ever that he’d let you accompany Payback on this godforsaken mission. Because you were utterly clueless as to what had gone down, and no one was answering your questions, tearing up whenever you mentioned the place.

You wanted — needed — to know how this was possible.

You knew Ben, better than anyone else on the team, even Crimson, who stood up on stage, talking about how good of a man Ben was.

Ben was a good man — to those he thought deserved to see that side of him. He was reserved and harsh and rude. And, yes, he was naturally an asshole. But, there was a part of him capable of respect and kindness and love. It was just stuffed deep within.

You’d been drawing it, slowly and carefully. You’d dug your hand in and grasped onto it, worming that side of him out of his heart with every night you’d spent cuddled into his chest. And he’d been warming. His touches had been gentler, his words softer, his eyes more admiring. You’d made him that. You were the only one he’d deemed worthy of his love and trust and respect.

Crimson had never seen that side of him. She’d never even come close to opening him up, seeing who he truly was.

As she talked fake stories of their blinding romance, about how he was such an incredible boyfriend, you just rolled your eyes in the audience. The only time Ben spent with Crimson outside of the public eye was when he was balls deep inside of her. And, even then, he liked to say she was a terrible fuck.

He also liked to say you were a good fuck. It was his favourite compliment; as funny was that was. As he railed you against his mattress, his hands keeping you firmly where he wanted you, he muttered praises.

That was different to the Ben the other women got. He’d degrade them: call them every name under the sun as he practically broke their pelvises. With you, sure, he was rough, but he complimented you; whispering and grunting softly, making sure you felt pretty and loved as he violently fucked you into unconsciousness.

And he always made sure you were okay afterwards. Ben giving aftercare was not something you’d expected, but he was damn good at making you feel safe and secure. He was a man of many talents.

The country was honouring him, as you begged for any kind of rational answer from Payback, from Edgar, from Vought. You were close to falling to your knees and pleading. But they didn’t care. Too busy basking in the boost of popularity that came from Ben’s death.

So, they upped their game.

And, when Vought erected a statue of Ben outside of Vought Tower, you threw up in the bathroom. The night you were named the new leader of Payback, you threw up again.

Apparently, it’s what Ben wanted. Which was bullshit. He wanted you in his kitchen with a dinner plate (lovingly, he’d told you that night. How could something like that be a compliment? You didn’t know, but it was Ben, so you guessed it was possible). But, you couldn’t fight it. So, nearly exactly three months after the last night you saw him, you took his place.

It felt wrong, and disrespectful, and you were lost and out of place. You had no knowledge on how to lead a team of asshole supes, that didn’t respect you or really like you that much.

Ben did this so easily. He lead Payback like a natural born leader. You lead like a baby giraffe learning to walk.

But you did it anyway.

“Soldier Boy was a national icon.” You held the microphone with shaking hands, willing them to stop, staring out at the gathering of civilians. It was wrong; America was mourning a death they’d all been lied to about. You swallowed your bile and pushed on. “And I am honoured to be taking his place as the leader of our brave and dedicated superhero team, Payback. I will be leading in his image, and his honour, and I hope that my work would make him proud.”

It was all bullshit.

You hadn’t written a word of this shit.

Edgar had shoved it into your hands and pointed you onto the stage. No warning. No cooperation. No opinion. Just… here you go, now go put on a show.

But, the audience was eating it up, and Edgar and your PA were giving you a thumbs up from backstage. They liked your performance. Ben, however, would be gagging in his mouth hearing this. He’d probably mock you, and claim you’d be better off just blowing his dick. He’d be right. Every word that was coming out of your mouth was corporate propaganda.

Your hands curled tighter around the microphones, knuckles whitening. You didn’t want to be here. You wanted to be home, as far away from Vought and these grieving people as fast as possible. “Soldier Boy was a respected, beloved hero, within your hearts, and Vought’s.” God, what cliche, sappy horseshit. “He was a good man, who lost his life saving millions.” You held back your scoff. “Vought will forever live in his shadow. We ask that you give us time and space to grieve our loss. Thank you.”

The audience applauded, loud and roaring, as you walked off stage.

The rage bubbling up in your chest was ready to burst, overflowing. This was all fucking sickening. No one was telling you anything. And they expected you to get on stage and do these speeches? To sit, cry and look pretty as you grieved the mighty Soldier Boy?

Fuck that. You were going to get answers.

There was some dark shit happening behind the scenes, and it had Vought’s grubby handprints all over it. The cover story. Payback’s silence. Edgar’s lack of care. None of it was adding up.

The moment the audience could no longer see it, your mouth curled to a scowl, heels clicking as you stormed up to Edgar. You were going to get answers, even if you had to physically get them. You’d find out what happened to Ben in Nicaragua, even if it cost you your head.

Stan Edgar, despite knowing he was now on the receiving end of your anger, stood tall. Cocky bastard. You could kill him with ease. But, of course, he didn’t care. There was only one person you’d ever seen Edgar cower from — Ben. To be fair with the guy, though, anyone would cower if Soldier Boy was screaming at you, inches from your face.

“What is going on?” Despite your rage, you kept your voice to a low hiss, not wanting to attract attention to your anger and frustration. “Can someone fucking explain to me, what is happening?” He began to walk away, and you followed. your words still flying out. “Why am I taking Ben’s place? How did he even die? You were in Nicaragua — what happened? Why did it take you so long to come up with that shitty reactor meltdown story?”

He turned to face you. You abruptly stopped, almost smashing into his chest with the suddenness of it, taking a stumbling step backwards. “I understand you’re upset.” You rolled your eyes at his professional tone, hands linked behind his back. Typical. “But I cannot answer those questions.”

“No, I deserve to know” You demanded. It was a losing battle, and you already knew that, but it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t try your hardest. “What. Happened?”

You weren’t getting an answer from Edgar. And that became clear when he turned his back to you, engaging in a conversation with his secretary, and leaving you in the dust. Glaring at the back of his head, you muttered obscenities.

If you weren’t getting it from Edgar’s lips, you’d get it another way.

Namely, breaking into his office that evening.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Now, you weren’t a seasoned criminal, but Ben had taught you a thing or two. He was, very much, a criminal, and knew things you were never too curious to ask about. Like picking locks. Which was the most normal of his odd knowledge. (The fact that man has known the recipe to make a bomb was… terrifying.)

Picking a lock wasn’t in your expertise, but you remembered enough from what he’d shown you. Enough to kneel down in front of Edgar’s office door, and use a bobby pin to turn the lock until it clicked.

You grinned, internally thanking Ben for his… strange teaching techniques. Glancing down the hallway, both ways, you ensured it was empty; that no one was about to see you going against every rule in the book. Once it was cleared, you slipped inside the door with practiced ease, and shut the door behind you.

The sun was setting over the horizon — the golden hour hue lighting up the room enough for you to make your way over to Edgar’s shelves. You were determined to find something. Anything.

Something was going on. Something sketchier than Vought’s usual dirty work. And you were going to figure it out.

Your index finger skimmed the folders, peeking at the names. Until you found Ben’s — a cream folder with ‘SOLDIER BOY’ written across the front. Pulling it out, your eyes locked onto the bright red ‘DECEASED’ stamped under his name, your heart squeezing.

Swallowing thickly, uncertain, you flipped it open. Reasons over the contents, your eyes narrowed in concentration and then narrowed further in frustration.

It was nothing you didn’t already know. His past. The human trial experiment. Comp V. Ben had already told you all of this.

You glared at the deceased marker on the front of it, and then slid the folder back into the right spot. Alphabetical order, you noticed. You continued flicking through the files, trying to find something that could be labelled as suspicious.

Your ears perked at the sound of sudden buzzing from across the room. Like a dog to a squeaky toy, you rushed over, watching a piece of paper print out of the fax machine.

You snatched it up the moment it came out.

BCL-RED was the title word.

What the fuck was that?

You’d never heard of it before. It had to be an acronym, but your mind came up blank, as you racked it for any familiarity. Cursing internally, you scowled — damn fucking code words.

Before you could read ahead, a voice floated into the office from outside.

“Shit.” You hissed under your breath, suddenly very panicked. Returning the paper to the machine, you dashed for the door, poking your head out just enough to peek down the hall. You spotted Edgar just a ways down, facing away from you, talking to Black Noir. Quickly and silently, with expertise learnt on the field, you crept out of the office, taking off down the hallway in the opposite direction.

All the way back to your room, you muttered the words to yourself.

BCL-RED.

… BCL-RED.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

It wasn’t in any folders documents anywhere. Not even your PA knew what a BCL-RED was.

You felt like a dog chasing its tail. Going in circles, trying to find any clues as to what happened to Ben. Every day your suspicions rose. Something wasn’t right. Edgar was having hushed conversations. Payback was having meetings that excluded you.

Your trail lead you to Grace Mallory.

The young woman handed you a cup of coffee, hands scarred and calloused from her days at war. Quietly, you thanked her, sat comfortably on her sofa, cradling the coffee. “I have to respect your strength. Putting up with Soldier Boy every day.”

You cracked a smile, sipping the steaming coffee. “He was a… acquired taste.” Your laugh was breathy and quiet, thinking back to Ben and his unique personality. “What happened in Nicaragua?”

Grace sighed as she settled back. She was pretty. No doubt Ben tried to get in her pants while he was there. “It happened quickly.” Your brows furrowed, sitting forward, elbows on your knees. “We were ambushed. Your team couldn’t find their guns from their asses.”

“Sounds about right.” You murmured. “I told Ben he needed me out there. The stubborn dick wouldn’t listen. Looks like it bit him in the ass, eh?”

“Big time.” Grace agreed. “There was an explosion. It knocked me out.” You listened attentively, frequently sipping the coffee. “When I came to… your team were in ruins. Half of ‘em were dead, the other half injured.”

You chewed your lips for a few beats. “Black Noir still hasn’t recovered. Doctors said he’ll never be able to talk again.”

Solemn, she nodded. “Not surprised. His face was more hole than it was skin.” You grimaced at the imagery. “Crimson Countess told me Soldier Boy was dead. He’d been killed by some… laser, his body taken by a helicopter.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You sat back. “Huh.” You murmured. “She’s lying.” You decided. The story wasn’t right. Sure, it was feasible, under different circumstances. But, in battle? When Ben was on his A-game? No way.

Grace looked confused. After all, why would Crimson lie about something like that?

You didn’t know.

But you were going to fucking find out.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

That night, you didn’t return to your room. Instead, you slipped into Ben’s in the dead of night. It hadn’t been touched since he left for Nicaragua. Since he’d railed you against the mattress and left you bed-bound for two days.

The air was musty, with dust covering each surface. Crawling onto the bed, you tugged open the curtains, letting sunlight in for the first time in months.

Every surface was covered in dust. And there were still drugs laid about. Half snorted lines of cocaine on the coffee table. Empty pill bottles decorating the floor. An ash tray that reeked of marijuana. God, this man had been like a teenage boy.

Flicking on the light, you gathered your bravery, and spent a few hours cleaning his room up. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to feel closer to him. Feel like you were doing something for him. Ben hated it when things were messy. And he loved it when you cleaned up after him. You hated feeding into that old, sexist mindset he had.

But, god, you’d do anything right now to hear him demand you fetch him a drink.

After you cleaned his room, you stripped his sheets, gagging at the old stain. Definitely your cum. And his. Gross. You stuffed it into a basket, kicking it away from you.

Okay… remember to not touch that again without gloves.

As you finished the last, final touches, a glint of metal on his bedside table caught your attention. Curious, you padded over, expecting a pistol.

Instead, you found a chain.

Your heart leapt into your throat. Delicately, you placed the necklace in the palm of your hand, brushing your thumb over the metal surface.

His WW2 dog tags.

Swallowing thickly, you blinked back your emotion. Why the fuck were even so sad? You weren’t even dating the man. Sure, you’d been his friend for years. You’d been protecting him. He’d been protecting you. You’d been his right-hand man practically.

But, still!

With a lump in your throat, you carefully placed the dog tags over your head. The dog tags were cold against your chest. You tucked them under your shirt, inhaling shakily.

With one last look around the room, you turned around and walked out, with a basket of laundry balanced on your hip.

You weren’t going to rest until you found out the truth. That was for sure.

A/N: sorry for the lack of soldier boy in this chap :( he makes his grand return next chapter !!! in all his sexist glory lmao. he’s so fun to write, tho i do feel like a horrible person writing some of the shit he says. definitely fun to explore this universe and all its fucked up possibilities. thank you guys for the support on chap one :’) <3 next chap will also be longer promise

banners in use by @cafekitsune

TAGLIST: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity @mostlymarvelgirl @aaronhotchnerlover @delaynew @let-me-luve-you @yvonneeeee @livsh20 @thej2report @lostin-jensenseyes

[stvolanis]

TOO SWEET

PAIRINGS: the vampire Louis De Pointe Du Lac x Fem! Mortal! OC

WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of blood, blood consumption, alcohol consumption, mentions of killing, mention of Lestat, no Claudia, reader is perceived as innocent, age gap, OC being turned into a vampire, inaccurate timeline probably, YES I USED LINES FROM THE SONG DONT HATE ON MY GRIND.

NSFW WARNINGS: light choking, biting, sir kink, manhandling, blood, fingering, making out, p in v, creampie, praise, overstimulation, power play, slight corruption kink? Idk

The year was 1925, 15 years after Louis had been turned into a godforsaken vampire, doomed to the harsh life of an unwilling immortality of lies and betrayal.

The dark gift was taking, the worst of its flaws and punishments being that every night you woke and walked amongst the living. The bitter feeling of no longer being mortal, and forgetting what it was once like to be a regular human amongst the crowd, rather than a predator picking out its prey in the sea of flesh.

Day after day, party after party, body after body—to be short, it was a routine. A boring one, at that.

He noticed her dress first, long and drug behind her. Baby pink in color, with periwinkle and a flamingo pink shade of flowers adorning the fabric. Diamonds glistened under the light of the expensive chandelier, and her white gloved hands reached for a deep red champagne—the vibrancy he imagined her blood would be.

A long white feather sprouted out from her mass of curls, a dark chocolate with an odd singular strip of white rooted at the front of her hair, framing her face. Where her white strand of hair was rooted almost melted down onto her face, a pale patch of skin on her forehead stood out.

Her face was decorated in moles, almost perfectly hand placed by God herself. Lips plump, parted as his enhanced hearing heard every soft breath that passed. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she scanned the room, oblivious to the bright eyes staring at her.

She was out of place. He knew that she knew she didn’t belong in a place like this, but that only lead to the question of why she was here, in a room of people money and sex hungry. The complete opposite of her.

Her voice echoed in his head, and he couldn’t help but let out a laugh. ‘I wonder if there’s cake. This drink is awful.’ How sweet. In a room of smoke and drunken men, she’s worried about eating cake.

The dark angel lurked against the walls of the extravagant room, looking at the beauty in every angle possible. A lamb. His lamb. So pure, unbeknownst to the evils around each corner she turned. ‘What is your name, girl?’ He spoke, using his mind as communication.

He visibly saw her freeze. Like her heart stopped beating in her body—not yet. Her heart would not yet stop beating. “What?” She replied, aloud, desperately looking around the room to match the voice to a face—till her eyes stopped on him.

Their eyes connected. Heat rose through her in a fiery roar, curiosity and conflict dancing in her eyes with the smallest hint of fear. Fear was normal. Humans lived off of fear, it’s was the reason for everything if you peeled away enough layers.

‘You’ve found me’ Louis smiled. She felt her heart begin to beat again. Her hands balled into fists against her dress, a wad of fabric curled into a ball. ‘How are you doing this?’ She asked, eye contact between the two never once being broken.

‘Come.’ Was all he replied. He left the large room full of lousy people, around the corridors, and out through the back. He was met with a dark alley, a rather clean one—still boxes scattered around, though. Humans we’re filthy. Like toddlers who didn’t know how to clean up after themselves.

She followed behind him till they were standing mere feet apart from each other outside in the privacy of the night. “Who are you?” She finally spoke after a long moment of silence.

“I am whatever you perceive me as. Most call me the devil.” He chuckled. The first few years after his changing, he took offense to it. Hated being called it. Pondered if he really was the Devil. He knows he isn’t now. Farthest from it.

“You’re too handsome to be considered such” she smiled, two dimples. She was genuine, not a hint of lie detected in her speech. “I ain’t got nothin’ on you.” He replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets nervously—nervously? How peculiar.

Louis felt like a schoolboy all over again. Giddy at the compliment she gave, flush rising to his cheeks faintly over her eyes pondering over his existence. “What is your name?” She asked, her head tilted ever so slightly.

“Louis De Pointe Du Lac.” He said, pridefully. She thought for a moment—“my daddy used to go to that place you own, I’m not sure what it’s called?—” she said, urging him to finish her thought. “The Azalea. My money maker.” A charming smile graced his face.

“Maybe I should go sometime.” She said, a cheeky smile playing at her lips. Louis let out a breath of air as he softly shook his head. “Nah, that’s not the place for you, baby”

“Yeah? then what is the place for me, Mr. du Lac?” She whispered, glancing down at the bottom of her dresses as she nervously fiddled with her fingers behind her back. His hand found her chin, lifting her head to do their eyes could once again meet.

“Bright as the morning, aren’t you?” He whispered back. His voice was laced with desire, yet he was holding himself back. Louis was in fear, for the first time in a long time. He was fearful to taint the aura of innocence the damsel carried around with her. He didn’t want to have to be the one to burst her bubble. But somewhere inside of him did.

“What are you, Mr. du Lac?” She said, her tone more serious than before as her eyes swirled with curiosity. But after all, it was curiosity that killed the cat. “I’m a vampire.” He replied calmy, like it was an every day occurrence. She giggled.

“Oh yeah, then where are your fangs?” She teased. Louis quirked a brow, taken aback for a moment. His mouth opened large enough for her to watch as his fangs protruded—white, and sharp. She brought her finger to the tip of his tooth, pricking her finger.

Crimson spilled from her small wound, and her scent clouded his mind. He couldn’t have her like this—not yet. It wasn’t her time still. Louis couldn’t help himself as he gently grabbed her wrist, holding it in place as his tongue met with the pad of her finger, sufficiently licking up any traces of blood.

“Fuck—you taste like pineapple.” He mumbled, placing a soft kiss against her wound before forcing himself to pull away, again, in fear of harming her. “My name is Thérèse.” She let out a shaky breath. He knew it wasn’t from fear, but rather arousal.

His hand reached for her waist, pulling her close to his body. Her chest was flush against his, and her cleavage was on display. She looked like an angel, sent down just for him. He knew he didn’t deserve her, shouldn’t have even been able to be in her presence—yet the way she felt against him felt so right, and that feeling wasn’t something he could deny or dismiss.

Their noses brushed against each other, and their lips were mere centimeters apart. One move and they would be touching. “Thérèse.” He said. Her name sounded like velvet on his tongue, and she longed for him to say it for centuries to come. To hear him call out for her. To her.

Their lips crashed together, the kiss desperate. The metallic taste of her blood lingered on his tongue, yet it only made her all the more eager to have him. Their tongues danced together, a fight for dominance that Thérèse easily gave up. He explored her mouth, and she allowed him.

This would be the first of many things she would allow him to do. She allowed him to hold her hand delicately as he guided her through the busy roads of their town. He had a certain way about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Enchanting, almost. Alluring, maybe. Possibly a word non-existing.

His hand was cold to the touch, which Thèrése found odd, yet she had not comment to give. She was aware he was not quite human, but she wasn’t ready to accept what he was yet. Just a few moments, maybe days longer, she’d like to live in a carefree bliss. He respected and supported her unvocalized wish.

“How long have you lived here, Louis?” He sighed, glancing around at the town he’d known all his immortal life. “Forever.” He replied. “The white people are ignorant. Greedy liars, most of them. They feed off of the red district, and all the people in it.” He said.

“I made the Azalea to counteract them. Get the white mans money.” He finished. She hummed in acknowledgment.

Thèrése was Hispanic, and immigrant from overseas. A land conquered by natives with the white people invading like the Huns invaded Rome. It was tragic, being forced to move far away from all she’d known since she was 17. She was now at the ripe age of 22 years old, standing at 5’5 without shoes on.

“Was it hard?” Louis asked, glancing over at her. She quirked a brow in confusion. “Was what hard?” She asked. Louis looked up at the sky. It was dark. The way it had been for years. Darkness was now the only thing he’d ever be able to see. “Leaving your home. To travel such great lengths.”

She decided not to ponder on how he knew, in fear of messing up the content atmosphere they had created. “Yes. I left many family members and friends behind. But, I endured. For my family, I endured.” She responded, almost as if robotically.

“I was going to be forced to marry a white man named Humbert had I not left. The life I saw before me was not what I had planned, but I am grateful for the freedom I have now grown accustomed to.” She responded. She looked up at the sky with him.

“They’re beautiful.” She started. “I wish to see space. To feel the heat of the stars.” She whispered, pausing her walking with Louis next to her, close enough to have their shoulders bumping. “The stars get exhausting when you look at them long enough.” He whispered back.

“I think I could spend a lifetime looking at them.” She said, a smile gracing her lips. She looked beautiful like this, and Louis wished to remember this exact scene before him for the rest of his life. “Be careful what you wish for, Thèrése.” He responded, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his clean slacks.

They walked throughout the night, hand in hand. The moonlight created highlights that emphasized their alluring features, and for the first time in a long time, Louis was in love. And for the first time ever, Thèrése was too.

They stopped at a gated entrance, and beyond it, was Louis home he hadn’t showed anyone who lived to tell. Thèrése would be the first mortal he brought to his home without killing, and she would be the last as he opened the gate, allowing her to go in first.

A small hand was placed at the small of her back, guiding her throughout the house she had entered after walking through an outside area of the house. “You live here? By yourself?” She asked him, glancing over her shoulder as her eyes wandered over the antiques of the house.

“Yeah, I live by myself now.” He said, shrugging off his expensive jacket and hanging it on a rack. Thèrése felt an unfamiliar heat spread throughout her body as she watched him loosen the cuffs of his sleeves and collar of his shirt. “Now?” She asked.

“Had a roommate. We didn’t work out. He was a cunt.” He said, walking to a table and picking up a wine glass, pouring some for himself. “I know you don’t like wine. I’m afraid I have nothing else to drink, but if you would like some then tell me.” He said, taking a sip.

Thèrése watched the way he swallowed it, visibly seeing it travel down his throat. Her eyes zeroed in on the droplet the fell from his lips—and her head was suddenly spinning with thoughts of him consuming her blood.

It must’ve been the wine she had drunken before she arrived. That’s gotta be it, right? Why else would she be having such vile thoughts?

He didn’t give her time to linger on the thought much longer as he began to unbotton his shirt, ever so slowly walking closer to her. Almost like he was hunting her—but he wasn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself to hunt such a pure being.

Thèrése fiddled with the rings on her gentle fingers, watching, unsure of what to do as his shirt was swiftly removed, displaying his body. Slim, yet fit. She longed to trace over every piece of him, to memorize Louis inch by inch so she wouldn’t forget this very night.

His hands reached out to her. One placed delicately on the base of her neck, and the other, roughly pulling her body to his by her waist. Her breath got caught in her throat, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself from glancing down at his lips.

“Louis…” She said breathlessly. He could feel her heat radiating off of her, especially from where his hands were touching her body. He could smell the slick between her thighs he knew were meaty under her dress. “Need this off of you.” He said, tugging at her dress.

“You gon’ let me take it off you, mama?” He asked, gently as he searched her eyes for an answer. “Please.” She said, almost desperately, making her face flush in embarrassment. Louis laughed at her eagerness.

He removed her dress from her body, following with her gloves. She covered her breasts with her hands shyly, laced panties still on. Her dress was pulled at her feet and Louis removed her hands from covering herself.

Thèrèses’ nipples hardened under the rather cold air of his odd home. Louis hands cupped them, inspecting them with such admiration. “So pretty. So fuckin’ pretty.” He said, kissing a mole above her areola, down to where her perk nipple was.

He suckled it harshly into his mouth, massaging the other with his free hand. Thèrése whimpered at his assault on her nipple, watching as he switched to the other one. His tongue reached out to kitten lick her nipple as he held eye contact with her.

Thèréses’ thighs squeezed together as the burn between her thighs grew uncomfortably. “You gonna let me have you?” He asked, trailing one of his hands down to her panties. He kissed along her neck, all the way up, till he was at her mouth again.

“Yes, Louis.” She mumbled. Louis clicked his tongue. “Try again.” He urged. He pushed her panties to the side, slowly sliding in one of his slender fingers. Years of pleasurable experience revealing itself as he worked at her cunt.

“Y-Yes, sir. Oh—Oh god.” She whimpered out as she felt another finger prod at her entrance. Two of his fingers slammed into her sopping hole at an alarming rate. Thèrése felt herself grow weak in the knees, and Louis knew as he held her up. “Shh.” He whispered, his breath fanning her ear.

He slipped out his fingers and slightly bent down just enough to reach her bottom as he slightly tapped it. “Jump” he said. Thèrése jumped, wrapping her legs around Louis slender waist, and her arms around his shoulders as she buried her face into his neck, leaving small opened mouth kisses.

“So needy, aren’t you? You all needy for me?” He asked, even though he confidently knew what the answer was. Thèrése nodded her head against him, afraid her voice would betray her if she spoke and said anything.

He threw her onto the couch—not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to make her bounce slightly on the cushion. He wanted to see her bounce on him. The imagine of her on top of him trying her hardest to ride him while her breasts moved with each of her bounces made his cock twitch.

Thèrése was more overwhelmed than she had been her whole life. No one had ever seen her this bare as he took her panties off. She was ashamed to be letting him to these things to her, but she was more ashamed at the fact she grew aroused from it. Aroused from the power difference between them.

She might not have known to what extent his strength lied, but she knew he was strong. Strong enough to probably lift her with just a finger. The idea that he could bend her and use her to his liking sent a shiver down her spine of want. She needed him in every way she could have him.

Louis spread her legs apart, revealing her aching, wet cunt that looked almost painfully in need to be taken care of. Two of his fingers found their way back inside of her, working at her gummy walls as she whined and whimpered under him.

“Shh, I know. I know.” He whispered, his fingers growing more erratic. “Want you—in me, please.” She said desperately, a hand cupping his face. He was breathtaking. His thumb skillfully rubbed her clit at a slow pace, almost as if he was trying to sooth whatever pain Thèrése might’ve been feeling.

“Gonna make you feel fuckin’ amazing.” He said, pulling out his fingers. He unbuttoned his slacks and pulled them down along with his undergarments just enough to reveal his cock. Thèrése couldn’t help but just stare at it in a mix of emotions of fear, arousal, and excitement.

Fear from how intimidating it looked; long and uncut with a patch of curly hair at the top. Thèrése felt nasty as she realized just how badly she wanted to lick his happy trail. Arousal from his mushroom tip that was pulsing with desire, and pre cum leaking from his tip. Excitement bubbled as Thèrése thought about the events that were mere seconds from unfolding in front of her.

He slapped his meaty cock onto her pussy tauntingly, a wet, heavy sound, loud and prominent. She clenched around nothing, but slowly felt his tip enter her. It was a painful stretch as he slid himself in, inch by inch, trying his hardest not to hurt her.

Louis restrained himself as she clenched around him tightly. He knew this was the closest to heaven he’d ever get, with the angel under him at his mercy. His to do with whatever he pleased and saw fit. His in every aspect of her mortal, and soon immortal, being. Soul tied and bound to the earth together for eternity was the way he wanted to spend his days with her.

“Oh my God—oh fuck—” she gasped out, mouth hung slightly agape. Pain shot through her first, eyes watering as evidence, but was soon followed after with an immense pleasure she never knew she could feel. “Not God, Thèrése—Me.” He huffed as he gripped her thighs, throwing them over his shoulder.

Louis began to move his hips against her, slowly at first—then, in the blink of an eye, he snapped. The self restraint he forced himself to have was gone, and a seemingly sweet and charming man was replaced by a domineering beast.

At an inhumane pace, his cock hammered into her. His hands dug into her thighs in a tight grip—a grip so tight, his sharp nails broke skin. The scent of her blood filled his senses, and he went feral. His lips found her neck as he leaned down, leaving desperate kisses to subside the pain he was soon going to inflict on her porcelain throat.

“Louis—wait—” she pleaded, but made no movement to stop him. The pleasure was overwhelming as she arched her back into him, grasping onto his skin—still cold to the touch. Why was he so cold? She felt something sharp pierce the side of her throat, but oddly enough, the pain was overruled by the way he fucked her.

Thèrése wouldn’t be living much longer. “You’re to sweet for me.” He groaned, licking at the wound on her neck he had created. He watched blood ooze out of her, enjoying the crimson that decorated her neck. The familiar taste of pineapple was nothing if not addicting.

Thèrése felt weak, her body unable to hold itself up any longer as she grew light headed. The room began to spin, and Thèrése now knew she was no longer seeing things as his fangs poked two more holes near her wrist. Blood poured out of her and into his mouth.

Was this the way she would die? At the hands of the most charming man she’d ever met? The vampire who sealed her fate stopped sucking, slit his own wrist, and brought it to Thèréses’ mouth.

He fucked her harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the room. Her moans got caught on his wrist as his blood trickled down her throat. Thèrèse, pupils dilated and on a high, felt her end near as she clutched his wrist to her mouth like she would never be able to drink the forbidden liquid ever again.

Louis snatched his wrist back from her mouth quickly before she made herself sick. He knew she would want more blood, so he instead flipped Thèrése onto all fours, arching her ass into the air. Thèrèse cried and begged for Louis wrist—his cold blood back in her mouth.

“Shhh, shut up. You’ve had enough. Don’t be greedy, baby.” He scolded, grabbing her by the back of her hair and shoving her face into the cushion. “P-Please—Louis, M’gonna c-cum. Need you.” She begged as she pushed her ass back onto him, meeting his hard thrusts.

Her words began to slur together as his brutal pace never faltered. The grip he had on her waist was bruising, but Thèrése couldn’t even feel it. Her body felt as though it was on fire from head to toe, and the unbearable heat and pressure of her cunt was all too much for the young fledgling.

“You said you wanted to see the stars forever, right?” He asked, his breath grazing the shell of her ear. He didn’t sound like he did earlier—calm and alluring. He sounded gruff and disheveled—and every word he spoke almost came out in a growl.

He felt his balls tighten, and ever muscle in his body tensed. “Gonna stuff this pretty ass cunt. You ready, darlin’?” He said, his southern drawl laced with every word. “Y-yesss.” She groaned out through clenched teeth as his hand found her clit.

He played with her clit like he had been doing this for years, expertly. An overbearing wave of pressure was what made Thèrése snap as juices poured out of her. Louis never once slowed down, and his fingers continued to help her ride her high.

Louis didn’t stop, still chasing his end. Thèrése mindlessly took everything he gave her as her pussy grew sore and overstimulated from the relentless of the top of his cock hitting her cervix. “Can’t—I can’t, sir—“ she choked out, her words sounding almost as if her mind was in a distant place.

“Take it, Thèrése.” He urged as he bit down onto his lip, trying his hardest to resist sinking his fangs into her again. Thèrése listened, and the only sounds that escaped her drying lips were moans and whimpers of pleasure. Only Louis would ever be able to see her this way—this desperate and in need for him.

“Good girl. Just like that.” He said, stuffing her pussy full of his cum. His head was thrown back in bliss as he fucked his seed into her, deeper and deeper as his high subsided into a dull aching feeling. “Did so well, baby.” He said, his voice shaky.

He slid himself out of her, and watched as his cum spilled from her used hole, and onto his expensive foreign furniture. Thèrése laid there, legs sore and head still spinning, now in a painful manner as Louis scooped her up into his arms bridal style.

“S-so you’re really a vampire, huh?” She asked through a long and drug out yawn. He chuckled as he gazed down at her small frame in his arms. “Yes, and come tomorrow night, you will be too.” He replied, walking up the stairs of his old home.

“I’m scared, Louis.” She whispered, blinking slowly. Thèrése grew tired, her eyes heavy with sleep. “You won’t be for long.” He said reassuringly. “You have me now. Forever.” He muttered as he pushed open a door.

A singular coffin was placed in the center, right in front of a fire place. Thèrèse was laid in the coffin by Louis, and she watched as he left the room to grab a warmed wash cloth. She was in love. She died in love. And now, for the rest of her dead life, she will continue to live in love with the man who swooned her in the alley.

Vampires say the worst thing to experience from immortal life is a simple thing; loneliness. A feeling Louis knew all too well, and how would never feel again. Thèrése wasn’t Lestat. She wasn’t cold, and manipulative. Calculated in every wrong doing. No, Thèrése was kind and gentle. Thoughtful with every word she spoke and every action she took.

Never again would Louis ever have to worry about being alone.

guys this took me like 3 weeks to write I’m obsessed with this show rn. I worked so hard on this so istg if it flops I’ll be so sad 😭🙏

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request stuff!!

TAG LIST: @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf @littlehoneyposts @luxuriouslokistan-3 @sapriao @xiyingly @jazminsjaz @likeits2002 @www-interludeshadow-com @khxna @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @floredaqueen @lemonadygirl @newavenger @bloobewy @vogueprincess @theoraeken @scintilla-morningstar @liv-n @armandosbabymama @axailslink @cosmixstar

[trappolia]

such a sucker for doomed religious devotion in media that i’ve begun to manifest them in the touchstarved cast. leander and mc are teetering on the edge of unhealthy co-dependence with the reverence mc has for leander for being the only person they can touch freely (salvation, perhaps?) and leander soaks up their doe-eyed gaze like a drug.

ais has only ever known the being he shares a vessel with as the closest thing to divinity despite the fact that that, while it provides him power and protection, is undoubtedly not— and comes face to face with mc, a person afflicted by such a nasty curse and yet so, so good, and suddenly he’s reminded that there are genuine good things in the world besides that of his own creation.

mhin is afflicted with their own curse, nearly forgetting their humanity while playing vigilante in the dead of the night, and then suddenly brought forth a mirror image of themselves: cursed, hurt, and yet mc is not as bitter as them, mc still has hope— not just for themselves but for mhin, and they don’t know what to do with something like that’s so good, so hopeful.

and god, vere; he's had people throw themselves at his feet before, but there is something that is so pure and genuine about mc's fondness for him. not devotion, and gods forbid he dares to call it love (it sounds like a confession, like admitting to his own weakness), but the way they hold his face in their hands, the way they curl against the curve of his spine even when he sleeps with his back to them after sex. he thinks about the people who once revered him as a god, wonders if this will one day be a satisfactory replacement to it.

kuras, kuras, kuras. fallen from the heavens and damned to love his father's dying people for the rest of his immortal days. religion is no mystery to him — he is perhaps the only one to truly understand the depth of it — and yet again and again, he finds himself doomed to the same star-crossed love. he knows how this will end. he's seen it through before. only this time, he knows it will be you he will lose in the end.

[multch]

Art the Clown head cannons.

Art has no definition of cleanliness. He gives off racoon vibes where he'll live in absolute trash yet still do his laundry regularly.

Favorite holiday is Black Friday. He finds amusement in seeing people rip each other apart for sales. (He also participates in the violent holiday as he has very little spare change to spend on snacks)

Since he's immortal, I imagine he has picked up a few languages over the years- Russian, Dutch, etc, etc..

Art doesn't need to eat but regardless, he loves to. He tried sugar cookies once and killed 4 people that day from the sugar rush he felt (super festive…)

Definitely drinks Alcohol often but never takes drugs since he has no idea how a stimulant might affect his occult powers.

During the festive season, Art drinks almost exclusively eggnog, whereas, usually he drinks cases of cheap beer before going out on murderous killing sprees.

Art is crazy about Christmas- If Halloween didn’t give him a great disguise, he would go around dressed like Santa all year round. (Unfortunately going around commando all the time makes being a Mall-Santa quite conflicting..)

NSFW BELOW CUT OFF [18+]

Art is 100% into torture porn and doesn't refrain from using violence on the person he loves to get himself off.

If his partner has boundaries against kinks like knife play or blood, Art settles for small bites instead.

He loves leaving his mark on you.

If he's allowed to hurt you, he will. He loves creating small cuts along your thighs and smearing little hearts out of the blood that spills out of your wounds.

If you're a romantic partner (maybe even a partner in crime…) he shapes both your sexual and romantic experiences to your preferences. He doesn't care- but if you do, he would do anything to make it a reality. Even if it is a bit unorthodox…

He definitely DIY’d sex toys to use on you and they definitely broke. 

Art's the type of guy to pull up with a dildo duct taped to a drill that's still covered in blood from the last time he drilled it into someone's skull and still give you that cheeky grin like its attractive.

[the-quiet-youve-been-longing-for]

Okay so I need to get some analysis done about Daniel and his relationship with sex (and drugs) because I'm rewatching both seasons and oh man

Starting with Young Daniel

- "I can be on my knees in a second" "Bartering with desire, is that what makes you fascinating?"

This could be a way to get out of dodge in an extremely dangerous and scary situation, or the way out he goes for when also scoring for drugs

- Pulling off his shirt and calling it "fulfilling his side of the social contract".

It could be a joke, it could be a way to get *that* out of the way as if he was indebted to Louis in that way now, he doesn't have any money so that's how he goes

- "You said to a girl that you'll only do her if she had a paper bag over her head. She agreed and you did it, even as she cried"

(A small note about Armand, he's so twisted on how sex is handled due to his past that he calls this humiliation of an unnamed girl a "splinter of coldness". Dude, that's more than a splinter)

To this Daniel doesn't react, maybe out of fear for Armand, but it's interesting the way the gremlin plucks out that memory in particular. Maybe it's to see why he wasn't killed immediately by Louis?

There is no remorse on Daniel's part apparently, so that begs the question as to why he did that. Cruelty, a joke, a way to target that girl in particular? To lash out? We'll probably never know.

On to Old Daniel:

- "I really... I really thought we did."

This is the scene that saddened me the most, especially Eric's facial expressions as Louis says "do you want to now?". A tiny bit of hope that then gets crushed by disappointment, regret, shame. Maybe for the fact that he feels old, or he feels played by Louis?

- "[The gay bar] was a good place as any to score. I did what I had to do."

Score drugs, someone to listen to, something else? We saw that Daniel in the past was interested by Louis, which leads me to believe he is currently "hiding" that part of himself, showing it once more as an obligation.

He also wrote a book on the AIDS epidemic ("A shadow on the skin") when he was young, and another publication called "Searching in the Dark: One San Francisco clinic's fight against AIDS". There is no year added so it isn't clear if they were published before or after those nights in 1973.

It's also a midly worrying situation, now that he is a vampire. He's talking like his younger self, he's dressing like he is having a midlife crisis, and I fear that from there the step against relapsing into addiction will be close by, adding to that the fact that he's super strong and immortal. He wouldn't be bartering with desire to get what he wants anymore.

[covenofthearticulate]

Been thinking a lot lately about how Akasha calls Louis "the most predatory of all the immortals" because he kills "without regard for age or sex or will to live." but then later in TVA, Armand describes him as this:

"Louis, an indiscriminate killer, because he cannot satisfy his thirst without killing, though he is too weak to risk the death of the victim in his arms, and because he has no pride or vanity which would lead him to a hierarchy of intended victims, and therefore takes those who cross his path, regardless of age, physical endowments, or blessings bestowed by nature or fate."

Like on the surface Akasha seems totally right, Louis doesn't hunt the evildoer, he preys on innocent victims despite his devotion to humanity and that is what makes him dangerous because he's a hypocrite.

But I'm so intrigued by Armand's re-framing because on the surface sure it makes sense that Louis hunts indiscriminately since he doesn't have the same tools to weed out the evildoers. Only there's another factor on top of that— Louis also doesn't have the pride that it takes to pick and choose victims!!!!! Like, it absolutely takes some level of pride and righteousness (and dare I say narcissism) to kill based on your personal, subjective perception of evil. It also takes work to hunt down a drug lord or a gang leader. Like Armand says, their victims exist in a hierarchical system and to get to the top of the food chain, it takes intention and pre-meditation and a level of conviction Louis just doesn't have.

And honestly I think looking at it from that perspective highlights such an important part of who Louis is as a character because vampirism, for Louis, has never been about power. He just has no interest in living above humans. That's not to say he's completely free of vanity or narcissism (don't get me started there lol) but like I do think Louis' lack of discernment when picking victims ultimately stems from a rejection of playing God and a rejection of self-importance, rather than some feral predatory instinct.

[thirdfor]

i need shrooms

[corspepointvision]

A New Pelle Interview from Death Power!!! From DeadFromMayhem.ru Dark Hel

Interview with Dead, done by Scottis Kriss-Toff.

LITTLE STORY ?

It’s always the same hard to give a brief history and to shrunk down about 6 years. So, I tell of the line-up of MAYHEM. After that MANIAC (ex-vocalist) and MANHEIM (ex-drums) left (straight after the recording of "DEATHCRUSH"), I joined MAYHEM in the early spring 1988 and HELLHAMMER joined about a month later. We’ve got terribly hassles with rehearsal places, somewhere to live, money, etc etc... But we don’t feel for give up only to continue when the band is the reason of our existence.(We would be dead without MAYHEM, eh ! ! !) We’re still trying to get enough of material together for the L.P. We do only songs that will last for years, not the shit songs that becomes a short-time trends,...I hate trends !

STYLE ?

We’re a Black Metal band!!

INSPIRATION ?

We're trying not to copy other styles, but every band has got inspirations even if they don’t think so by themselves. We’re still VENOM Heads (old VENOM of course) and VENOM created the music. I’ve got personal influences by different singers of course and to mention some: MANTAS/early DEATH, SARCOFAGO, POISON (german of course), PARABELLUM (the first demo) and early SEPULTURA.

PRODUCTION ?

By all these years, it has not been much of discocraphy.There have been "PURE FUCKING ARMAGEDDON" in 1986 limited to 100 copies, DEATHCRUSH in 1987, our second demo, our mini-L.P. DEATHCRUSH in 1987 limited to 1000 copies + some rehearsals tapes given out by MANIAC’s "MANIAC PROD".

ACTUAL LINE-UP ?

-DEAD (but still not buried) (vocals)

-EURONYMOUS (greek name for prince of death) (lead guitar)

-NECROBUTCHER (bass)

-HELLHAMMER (drums)

ACTIVITIES OUT OF THE BAND ?

-DEAD : immigrate to Transylvania, castle mania, cut deeply in myself and others, torture humans and animals.

-EURONYMOUS : dangerous expriments with chemicals, weird science.

-NECROBUTCHER : guru and pot-smooker.

-HELLHAMMER : hellish drunks always and then sings sailor songs.

REASONS OF THE NAME MAYHEM ?

It sound cruel enough we think. But as the most people who’re reading this now, there has been lots of other "MAYHEMS" all over the world, but we were the first ! The name is from 1982 when EURONYMOUS had a band then.

CAN YOU SPEAK ME ABOUT YOUR LYRICS ?

At "PURE FUCKING ARMAGEDDON" the lyrics were pretty VENOM clones. "DEATHCRUSH" had more slaughter, insanity, Eating corpses style over it. As for the new ones, I make them far and I’m possessed of transylvanian legends and its castles, satanic coven meetings, black art and nice animals as vultures, bats and goats. So that, I write of Evil ! I’m inspired by evil in everything I do. When I make a drawing, it’s to express evil, when I talk, when I dream, when I’m thinking... and when I create lyrics.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY IF I TELL YOU THE FOLLOWING WORDS ?

Alcohol : Nothing left. Drug : Against. Cigarette : No smoking. Sexe : Violence and death. Politic : Crap! Religion : Evil, ancient, Satanic! Money : Broke always... A.I.D.S. : Marcin Wawreynzak (of "ETERNAL TORMENT"). Torture : Nice to do. Noise : Children’s bands!!! Dream (hope) : Transylvania, Immortality. Death : Peace. Life : Stupid mortals! Rain : By the night. Wind : In the dark forest. Thunder : At the darkened sky. Evil : Evil weather, castle. NAPALM DEATH : Trend! Earth : No hope. Wizard : Black arts. The end : Crossover, straight edge and Grind. You : The superstitious mortals in Transylvania’s dreams came true...

YOUR TEN FAVORITS BANDS ?

(this is not in order) PARABELLUM (R.I.P.) from Colombia, SARCOFAGO from Brazil, MASACRE from Colombia, DEATHPEED (R.I.P.) from Japan, POISON (R.I.P.) from Germany, DAMNATION (R.I.P.) from Canada, TORMENTOR from Hungary, IMPERATOR from Poland, GROTESQUE from SWEDEN, REENCARNACTION from Colombia.

Do you know MAYHEM, the MAYHEM from U.S.A. ? What do you think about what they do.

I hate them !!! How can a records company releases such crap, even if they are a commercial label !?! We gave out our mini-L.P. "DEATHCRUSH" a half year before they released their excrement compilation ! I suppose you’ve heard the Brazilian MAYHEM (?). They’re now splitted up but that was at least a Death Metal band and I liked their music. There has been also other MAYHEM’s in the history but they don’t exist no longer. I know of two other still existing MAYHEM’s : from Hungary and from Uruguay.

HAVE YOU ALWAYS PLAYED IN DEATH/BLACK/EVIL/ FROM THE DOOM BANDS ?

The two bands I’ve singing in are MORBID and MAYHEM, the both of them are Black Metal.

WHY DID YOU LEAVE MORBID ?

‘Cause the original guitarist of the line-up left the band and the others didn’t know if they wanted to continue like before and to remain a dirty and a Black/Satanic band. There had been too many hassles of the gigs and between the members, so, after my opinion, that band didn’t exist after the first demo "DECEMBER MOON". Later, they recorded a second demo with another line-up, new logo and completly different style than before. Something I think I have to add here is that we’re thinking of having one, just one more MORBID gig of the old style as MORBID was (and also should be) and we also think of the finish song "DEATH EXECUTION" that the "DECEMBER MOON" ends with (on the demo it’s only the la-la version slowly of the refrain and the opening riff). It was a whole song but a not finished such coz we were changing it the time during MORBID’s existence and then, have one or two more songs and then, give it out as a demo… some dark day.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT WHITE METAL (METAL FOR THE BIBLE, METAL FOR JESUS) ?

First of all, I don’t think it’s Metal. Then, I think as long as it can be called Metal it comes originally from VENOM… Even if there is Grindcore, fun-noise, straight edge-anti-everything or yucky white metal. To me, only Black is true and only death is real !!!

THEY ALWAYS SAY THEY WANTS TO MAKE GIGS WITH BANDS LIKE VENOM OR SLAYER. WOULD YOU LIKE TO MAKE A GIG WITH STRYPER, VENGEANCE OR HOLY SOLDIERS ? WHY ?

It seems like the white « bands » believe Black Metal is only for fun… We’re a serious black band. We take this mortually serious! The « white » bands don’t deserve to exist.

HAVE YOU EVER HAD PROBLEMS WITH THE CHURCH OR ANYONE WHO FOLLOWS A RELIGION ?

Well, the chritians, new-boru christians, the mormons, hare-krishnas, Jehovas witnesses and more have tried lots of their methods of turn me into it, without success of course. The most of them, especially the christians and fanaticals but do not believe in it cos so many of them have been forced by their parents and their family to « believe » and, after that, they’re going out trying to make others join them… of the more limited believers who chose it by themselves and have got a belief in it, I use to scare them up (and to them it works almost every time) most of the cases. The all I have to do is to talk with them and they’re getting corpse pale in their faces and then realize I’m lost and impossible to turn over. One guy even tried an exorcism on me......

WHAT DO YOUR MOTHER THINK ABOUT MAYHEM ?

She (and also my dad) thinks it’s good for me that I’m in a band, so I don’t start with something stupid instead. It’s hell a work to play in a band, whatever someone might think. Only the letter writing is a full-day job. What she do not like is when I sometimes gets ideas of cutting myself up and when I lived at my parents home, none of them liked when I had parts of animals in my room (from some animals they used to start to rot already at the second day).

CAN YOU SAY A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE SONG « BURIED BY TIME AND DUST »

Not the best lyrics I’ve done.

YOU SEEM TO LIKE BLACK SIDES OF THINGS, WHY ?

It simply is my way of thinking. The only that feels as the possible right to me. I search for the Evil and Black in all matters and I don’t give a dawn of what others are saying of that !

WHAT IS OCCULTISM FOR YOU ?

It sounds too mystical only, to me... I’m into the pure Evil and right on Black ! But with that I don’t mean I’m a great sorcerer. I mean of a though and a style of living.

I just don’t really know why I’ve hated all the fucking christans the whole life of mine and I’d search for the Evil darkness. I totally ignore those who are telling me I sicking my head I better go to hospital. Occult can be just anything that people think sounds strange to them. There is no actual limits of what is the occult… Yes mystic, it can be anything from practice. After my opinion, that word occult doesn’t say anything !

IF i TELL YOU "SATAN",WOULD YOU LIKE 95% OF THE TRASHERS, RUNNING AWAY DO A STRANGE FACE, SHIT ON YOURSELF, SAY "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOT SATAN",AND GET ANGRY AFTER HAVING CALLED YOUR MOTHER ? WHY ?

Of course, I won’t run nor put shit on you. Mainstream people of clone bands used to fuck with the very few existing anti trend Black Metal bands when crossover-straight-edge-vegetarians ruled the trends… then grindcore was "in" and people used to refuse listen to anythong else than NAPALM DEATH, and so on... It’s not actually NAPALM DEATH who created this awful fashion actually, it was the children who then had to try playing fast. How I hated all the demos with hundred of second-sings and lyrics talking of how many animals that get killed coz of hamburgers and do not vegetables either coz they’re also living. AAAAARRGH !!! As what happens sooner or later with all trends they’re vanishing completly and everybody forget about it really fast. Even Death Metal became trend. At least, it’s on its way. So, what did happen to all the "important" lyrics bands that blamed all the others for not been "in". Did they went designing new fashions that everyone had to follow ? Hell no ! AAAAAAARRRHHHHGGHH-death, the mother fuckers jumped on Death Metal !!! How dared they make Death Metal to something normal that wimps are starting to play to await something new to appear… Next trend ! I will guess the most of the true BM heads (who’ve been into it since Venom) can understand what I mean here. It feels like something is really wrong when serious bands that wanna create something own musically are in ‘zines that also feature noise bands that have been existing for a week but already have released 3 demo’s or something like that and are playing in 25 differents "bands" only for fun. Bands that are sending picture of theselves who are supposed to be funny, strange glasses, toilet paper and a shirt on the head and so much other childish and above it all boring bullshit, I think those have misunderstood humour completely! I refuse to laugh of this! I cannot understand why everything has to be so fucking funny and how people can laugh at this, and if someone might laugh of this interview, I can tell him that he has misunderstood the whole point of this and the rest of this interview, read it again more carefully and he won’t find this funny at all! It’s not funny and I refuse to say something funny or laugh, everybody would misunderstand everything only. There’s so much that stupid people only seek for a good time, so they can laugh don’t understand by the music so I should even refuse listen to music... But that would be too hard to do and it needs more self control for that. The most of the new demo’s sound all the same, the originally is gone it seems. I can’t see why so many self-condemned bands have to exist. One weird thing is that when a band almost is formed they have to record a demo and straight after that, they "have to" give out something on vinyl... and then only after a few weeks they can’t understand how they could record this when they’re sounding much better now if they haven’t already forgot it.

DO YOU LIKE BLACK SABBATH (OLD ONES, WITH DIO AND OZZY) ?

Only with Ozzy! By dio I can listen to « Holy Driver » but nothing else.

DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE A HEAVY METAL KIDS ?

Hey, I’m lucky I’m not a NAPALM DEATH/CARCASS kid. Well, then the most Evil, "Occult", dirty and the worst are BLACK SABBATH, KISS,IRON MAIDEN, AC/DC and MOTORHEAD, they were my faves. When I heard VENOM and MERCYFUL FATE, it felt like I lost an important part of my brain and I worshipped them.

WHY ARE YOU ANTI-MOSH ?

Cos I hate that word !!! I wanna hear an explanation of what the moshers actually do when they’re moshing...

LAST WORD...

"Antiquus Malum Cruentus Scriptum De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas" : It’s a book I recommend.

CREDITS:

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[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Undercover in a Skin Tight Skirt

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: The BAU Chief isn’t fond of sending his scantily clad wife in as bait 

Warnings: Misogyny, mentions of rape and murder, near sexual assault, suggestive language, provocative clothing, description of gore, alcohol, religious allusions

Work Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

“The unsub is hunting within what seems to be a pentagram,” Reid explained. “Each club creates a point on the star while the bars have already formed the circle.”

“What is he sacrificing virgins?” Garcia rhetorically asked over the phone. “I don’t know about you but night clubs and bars isn’t where I’d be hunting virgins.”

“Maybe he’s trying to point to the immortality of these types of places. You know alcohol, sex, drugs,” Emily suggested.

“So he’s kidnapping these girls and then he’s raping and murdering them to what? Punish them for their promiscuity?” Morgan suggested.

“Or he feels entitled to them,” I suggested. “Maybe he’s taking them because he believes in polygamy because he’s a man but isn’t receiving the female attention he feels he deserves?”

“Or he feels he deserves as certain woman. Given that every victim was between the ages of 20 and 30, had H/C hair, E/C eyes, and a S/T (skin tone) complexion,” my husband, Aaron suggested.

“Okay so we’ve got a religious man who feels entitled to women, shouldn’t be too hard to find,” JJ said sarcastically.

“Well we need to find him before he finds another girl tonight. If he follows his pattern we’ll have Phoebe Simpson,” the girl who was currently missing, “show up dead tomorrow.”

~

After some research from Garcia and more talking through the profile we found the unsub, Pastor Daryl Richardson. Now the team was just trying to figure out how to catch him since we knew we’d need to catch him in the act. Unfortunately everyone was dancing around me going undercover since no one wanted to suggest putting the boss’ wife in danger.

Finally I had had enough. “Why don’t I just go undercover? Everyone knows I perfectly match the unsub’s type.”

“Y/N,” my husband’s voice immediately warned, not happy about the suggestion.

“Why not?” the local sheriff asked. “Seems like a good plan to me.”

“Because this is an increasingly unstable and erratic unsub and I won’t put my wife in that kind of danger. We’ll figure out another way to catch him. End of discussion,” Hotch declared before storming off.

“Aaron,” I called after him, getting out of my seat to follow. “Aaron what the hell?” I asked once I caught up with him. “Even before I even got into the BAU we both agreed we wouldn’t let our personal lives interfere with a case. Now you’re letting our marriage get in the way of catching this unsub.”

“I am not making this personal,” Aaron insisted.

“Then why’d you say you wouldn’t let your wife do this?” I challenged. “Why didn’t you say my agent or team member?” Aaron was at a loss for words. He knew the ‘that’s not what I meant’ argument wouldn’t work on a profiler. “Look me in the eyes and honestly say you wouldn’t let JJ or Emily do this if they fit the unsub’s type.”

Aaron couldn’t lie to his wife. Truthfully he would be hesitant to allow this with any of his other agents but he wouldn’t forbid it the same way he did with his wife. “I can’t,” he admitted. “Fine you can go undercover but there will be cameras on you at all times, you’ll have a weapon, an agent or officer within ten feet of you, and your outfit won’t be too revealing,” he listed. I rolled my eyes at the final command but agreed nonetheless. Seeing my eye roll, Aaron switched to my lighthearted husband that I rarely saw at work. “What? I have to keep some things just for me.” I let out a laugh at that, heading back into our workspace as Aaron returned to the stoic BAU Chief.

“Agent L/N will be going undercover to be picked up by the unsub. Officers and agents will be stationed throughout the club keeping an eye out for Richardson and my agent. Agent L/N will also have a weapon on her in case of emergencies but there will be cameras on her at all times. When Agents Prentiss and Reid tell us to move over the comms we all move to apprehend the suspect. Is that clear?” Aaron command the room. He wasn’t going to allow any slip ups while his wife was the most vulnerable person in the room. “We’ll reconvene in an hour to give everyone their positions.” The officers all agreed, splitting off to get ready while the sheriff and the rest of your team began looking at the layout of the club.

“Y/N, do you have something you can wear that would attract the unsub’s attention?” Derek asked.

I thought for a second, considering what was usually in my go bag. “No it’s all t-shirts and business casual outfits.”

“There’s a mall just a mile up the road,” the sheriff offered.

“Reid, JJ, go with her to find something for tonight,” Hotch ordered.

“Why am I going shopping?” he protested.

“Because you have sense and will make sure whatever she wears isn’t too bad,” he explained, the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

So Spencer begrudgingly followed JJ and I to the Suburban, with me in the drivers seat. “Do you need something too?” I asked her.

“Probably, I don’t travel with a lot of mini skirts,” she joked.

“Can you believe Aaron actually said my outfit can’t be too revealing?” I asked with a scoff.

“Oh I believe it,” JJ laughed. “He sends death glares to every officer who looks at you a little too long.”

“He does not,” I dismissed.

“He does,” she insisted. “You seriously haven’t noticed?”

“No, have you Spence?” I asked, glancing at him through the rear view mirror.

“He does sometimes,” he agreed.

“Oh my god how did I never notice?” I wondered as I pulled into the mall parking lot.

~

After a few minutes I found a leather skirt and a bustier top. An outfit similar to the ones many of the girls were last seen wearing.

“What do you think?” I asked JJ, stepping out of the dressing room.

“You look great! Hotch is going to lose his mind when he sees you in this.”

“Yeah he definitely will. I’ll make it up to him,” I shrugged. Walking out into the public area I found Spencer in a seat, tapping away on his phone. “What do you think, Spence?”

He glanced up, his jaw dropping open. He had never seen me dress like this, usually I stuck to business casual or field gear. “Wow, you look…” he couldn’t even stutter out the words.

~

Later that night I was doing my makeup in my hotel room, having already gotten changed and done my hair. I heard the door unlock, alerting me to Aaron’s presence. “The cab is here,” he announced walking into the bathroom. Through the mirror I could see him freeze as he caught sight of me. “This is what you’re wearing?” he asked carefully. What he really wanted to say was that there was no way in hell he was ever letting another man lay his eyes on his wife like this.

“It’s similar to what most of the other girls were wearing,” I explained nonchalantly, standing to face him. His gaze immediately slipped down to my chest before settling on my face again. “I’ll make it worth your while tonight,” I promised, sliding my arms around the back of his neck.

Aaron pursed his lips, considering your prospect. “Fine,” he agreed. “C’mon, we need to get you and JJ in the cab.”

Once I got downstairs the team was waiting for me. Derek immediately wolf whistled. “Damn.”

“Wow, you’re really gonna let this happen, Hotch?” Rossi asked.

Aaron shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it now.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay in the field? We’re gonna have to let this get fairly far before we can give the order to grab him.”

“I’ll be okay,” he insisted. “I’m not letting her go into that club without me. We made vows to not let our personal lives interfere with our professional ones.”

~

JJ and I rode in the cab together acting like already tipsy friends. She almost immediately split off with one of the officers, leaving me at the bar alone. Everyone had a comm except for me, leaving me in the dark about where Richardson could be. The only protection I had as a tiny gun strapped to the inside of my thigh, just barely hidden by the skirt. It was the only place I could conceal it given the tight and revealing nature of my outfit.

It wasn’t long before the pastor slid into the seat next to me. “Can I top off your drink?” he asked, a southern accent detectable in his voice.

“Um sure,” I agreed shyly. “Thanks.”

“I’ve never seen you around here. And I’m sure I’d remember you,” he flirted, his hand already on my knee.

If I didn’t know what I knew about this man I’d honestly be charmed. He didn’t seem to hate women like we profiled but given his level of violence and dominance towards his victims I knew he was picturing all kinds of fucked up ways to torture me. “Oh I’m visiting a friend but she seems to have found a new friend for the night,” I nodded over to JJ who was still dancing with that officer.

“Well maybe I can be your new friend?” he suggested, his fingertips now grazing the hem of my skirt.

“I’d like that,” I smiled brightly, downing my drink before slipping off the stool, leading him to the dance floor.

We danced for a little while, letting him put his hands almost anywhere he wanted. I caught glimpses of my teammates but they were always gone in the blink of an eye and I was a little disappointed to not see Aaron. But nevertheless I let this guy grind on me for a few songs before he pulled me close to his body. “How about we go somewhere quieter? So we can get to know each other,” he suggested in my ear. I nodded eagerly, whirling around to take his hand.

He led me through a series of back doors and hallways. We went so far into the building I began to fear that the team would lose sight of me on the cameras.

Eventually we ended up in a back room. He held the door open for me, forcing me to enter first. “Finally, we can talk,” he said through a creepy smile, locking the door behind him.

My alarms were going off. I knew I was in serious danger now as I tried to back up a little. But he advanced quicker than I anticipated, dragging me onto the floor with him already straddling me. Surely this was enough evidence and my team would come to the rescue. “Get off of me,” I insisted, trying to push him away.

“Girls like you dressing like fucking sluts, just asking for it. You need a Man of God to show you how you should behave,” he said, pulling out duct tape which he began putting over my mouth. He began placing the tape on my arm when he froze. I was still struggling against his weight, all of my FBI training useless against this beast of a man as he put his full weight on me. He reached his hand underneath my skirt when his fingers met the metal of the gun. “What the hell is this?” he yelled angrily, ripping the gun out. He immediately pressed it to my temple. “What are you? A cop?”

“It’s just for protection!” I insisted. “Please I’ll do anything you want.” That was a genuine plea for my life. I had no clue if the team knew where I was or if they had even seen me leave.

“Take off your top,” he ordered angrily, pulling the gun away from my head but still pointing it at me.

“Okay, okay,” I agreed, my trembling hands immediately going to the fasteners of the top. Based on what we profiled this was a major deviation from his routine. But before the man got too frustrated by my genuine inability to undo the top I hear Derek’s scary voice.

“FBI!” he yelled before the door burst open. It all happened so fast Richardson didn’t even have time to react as the door swung open. Several agents and officers were immediately on top of him, pulling him off of me. The next thing I saw was my husband’s face. His rough palms were immediately holding my jaw asking me if I was okay, gently pulling off the duct tape.

“Y-yeah, I’m good,” I agreed, standing up on shaky legs with his help.

Reid and Prentiss ran in, Spencer already holding out his jacket for me. Hotch took it, wrapping it around my shoulders as he tucked my head under his arm as he led me outside. There were already news reporters eager to get a shot of the man that had been terrorizing the city but they became equally interested in “the lone survivor” being escorted under the FBI agent’s arm.

~

Back at the police station I had been given hot coffee and a blanket as Aaron sat beside me on the couch. “He didn’t… touch you, did he?”

“No, the furthest he got was reaching the gun,” I tried to shrug him off. I hated feeling like a victim. I’m an FBI agent who did the job I signed up for.

“He won’t talk,” Derek said, exiting the interrogation room. “We’re not going to be able to intimidate him.”

“Let me try,” I immediately suggested. “We profiled him as a narcissist. The fact that he didn’t get to hurt me will drive him insane. He won’t like that a woman has power over him either. Especially one dressed like this,” I said, gesturing to my outfit.

“No, absolutely not,” Aaron immediately disagreed. “Y/N you just went through a major trauma. He was a second away from raping you.” He was basically begging me to understand how afraid he was.

“He’s in cuffs, I’ll be fine. Aaron, this is the only chance we have if finding Phoebe Simpson alive.”

He sighed deeply. “Fine,” he relented. “But I’m in the room.”

“He won’t talk to me while you’re in the room, I have to be in there alone.” Aaron didn’t like it but he he knew I was right so he just nodded before following me towards the interrogation room.

As I entered the room I could immediately feel Richardson’s eyes rake down my body. “You know for a ‘Man of God’ you sure do have a habit of looking at girls like they’re pieces of meat.”

“It’s your job as a woman to fulfill me,” he shrugged, leaning back in his seat.

“Isn’t one of the Seven Deadly Sins lust, Pastor?”

“It’s not lust to look at what’s mine. God told me that you’re mine.”

“A little late for that,” I mocked, wiggling my ring finger to show off my wedding rings. “Married.”

“Your husband lets you dress like a slut for other men to see? This is why you needed me tonight to show you your place below men, satisfying men.”

“Well I know you’re unsatisfied. They’re already calling me the lone survivor,” I bragged, taking a seat finally. I crossed my arms under my chest, revealing even more cleavage.

Richardson’s eyes immediately went to my chest and stayed there. “What do you mean lone survivor? I haven’t done anything wrong. Except apparently showing you the consequences of your actions is against the law.”

“You know, we have profilers here. That’s how we caught you, they figured out that you kidnap, rape, and murder women to have control over them.”

“I do have control over them.”

“So you are the one that has been kidnapping and murdering these women.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are you just tried to do it to me.”

“No I’m not!” he yelled lunging across the table. I didn’t even flinch, knowing he was restrained, something I was proud of until I heard the door bang open.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Hotch storm up to Richardson, trying to intimidate him. “Hotch, it’s fine. He’s restrained,” I said, never taking my eyes off the unsub. He opened his mouth to protest but I cut him off. “Leave.” Closing his mouth again he complied, storming out of the room.

Outside every member of the BAU had their jaws dropped. Even if it was part of the plan they’d never talk to him the way Y/N just had. Hotch was fuming, not at his wife but at the man who was looking at her like a piece of meat.

“We already know you’re the one hurting these girls, tell us where Phoebe is and I’ll tell the prosecutor you were compliant.”

“What so my sentence gets reduced from five life sentences to four?” he spat.

Establishing my dominance wasn’t working anymore so I stood up. “Among other privileges in prison,” I coyly suggested, sitting on the table next to him. I was keenly aware of how high my skirt was riding right now.

Outside Hotch was screaming in his mind for his wife to not get within reach of the very dangerous man she was interrogating. The team nervously observed his angry expression.

“So tell us where Phoebe is and maybe I’ll make an appearance in your life again once or twice. I’d be so grateful.”

His hands were now straining against the cuffs to touch me but I was just out of reach. Unable to let the idea of sex with a woman he wanted to control go, he relented. “I brought all the girls to a friend’s farm.” With that I quickly hopped off the table, strutting out of the room. “Hey! What do I get?”

“Nothing, you get nothing,” I promised, exiting the room. “I’m coming with,” I said to the team already grabbing the bag of extra clothes and heading for a bathroom. I changed the fastest I ever had in my life and soon I was running out to the Suburban, my team and field gear already inside. Hopping in we took off as I strapped on my vest and boots.

“Never knew you were such a temptress,” Derek laughed.

“Men are so easy to manipulate when you take away what they want.”

We caught up with the rest of the SWAT team just as we pulled up to the farm. “We’ll take the house!” Aaron ordered and we followed him. Morgan kicked down the door and we were immediately confronted with the most putrid smell.

We went through clearing the rooms until I entered the bedroom. The smell became so strong I nearly gagged and I was horrified to see the already decomposing body of Phoebe Simpson. “We got a body in the bedroom,” I announced.

“Is is Simpson?” Rossi asked as he entered.

“Yeah,” I sighed dejectedly.

As Aaron came in he was horrified to see the state of the body. Aside from the decomposition she had been left in an abused state, cast aside like garbage. He became disgusted realizing that could’ve been Y/N. He knew she was safe, there was more law enforcement surrounding that nightclub than the White House but he still couldn’t help but think of the worst case scenario. He immediately reached for his wife, pulling her into his chest to assure himself she was there. Breathing in the scent of her hair as they exited the room.

Masterlist

Smutty follow up

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 17: This One's For You

Word Count: 541/Rating: T/Pairing: None/CW: I cried writing this, canon-compliant, breaking the fourth wall/Tags: Eddie Munson, love letter, fanfic writers

Divider credit to @silkholland

Hey. It’s me.

C’mon…don’t be coy. You know who I am. You’ve been with me for days, weeks, months, years. I’m your rockstar, your mechanic, your dad’s best friend, your best friend’s dad. I’m a vampire, a werewolf, an ordinary guy from small-town Indiana. I’m a virgin, a sex god, a daydream, a nightmare.

I’m Eddie Munson.

Ironically, I started on a page, just some dialogue and vague gestures. A drug dealing freak with his wild curls, a love of heavy metal, and a penchant for creating sadistic D&D campaigns who somehow got dragged into a government-sponsored alternate dimension–as if one Hawkins wasn’t bad enough. But when my story was supposed to end, a chapter quietly closed amongst a sea of loss, you had just begun to pick up the pen.

Suddenly, I found myself thrust from death back into life. So many lives, as a matter of fact. Lives I never even imagined living during my long, lonely nights in the trailer park. 

From the safe haven of your hearts, I watch as you weave tales where I fall in love and achieve my wildest dreams. I cocoon myself in a light that you’ve turned on as you let me succeed, fail, and learn from my mistakes. Where I’m untethered from the judgment I’ve faced my whole life, finally free to be myself.

Some parts change: my profession, my age, my location, my sexuality, even my middle name. Other parts remain constant: my gratitude for my uncle Wayne, my love of pretzels (you eat a snack one time…), my kickass guitar playing skills. I never have to choose, because every opportunity is finally within my grasp. 

I thought it was all over on that fateful March evening. As I laid on the ground and took my final breaths, all I could think about was how I wouldn’t be able to look after my little sheep. Jeff, Grant, and Gareth would be without their lead guitarist. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas would be without their Dungeon Master. How could I leave them like this?

But then I saw it. I saw you all, a herd of lost little sheep that became shepherds. You tended to your flocks by unspooling stories. Stories that began as a whisper in your ear but found immortality because of the life and love you breathed into them. Just as I pored over song lyrics and meticulously planned campaigns, you write your stories. You write my story. My existence was never futile because it brought you all to each other.

And I’ve come to realize this: there is life after death. That cheesy saying about not truly dying until the last time someone says your name? I never understood it until I saw my name written millions of times, across one thousand universes. 

Now, my uncle may have raised a drug dealing, Satan-worshiping freak, but he also raised a gentleman. I know how to say thank you. And since I have a lot of time on my hands in the afterlife, I figured I’d learn your favorite song. All you have to do is close your gorgeous eyes and imagine my voice, just as you do when you write me. 

You ready, Sweetheart? This one’s for you. 

--

[nicosraf]

what do you believe is the biggest difference between the love angels feel towards one another and human love? do angels love in a way that can never be accomplished in mortality? do humans have the gift of love in spite of end?

You have to be careful asking me questions like this because I can ramble for hours, I fear

One of the more interesting part of writing ABM, from a meta perspective as the author, is the unconditional love angels have. This is especially because I was writing ABM after spending a while writing very real-life fiction (my most recent pieces were mexican drug war short stories and the book I abandoned for ABM was a mexican speculative fiction). You read ABM and the angels don't really feel like people. They don't act like the people at your family dinner table or in a classroom because angels don't have any societal bigotries or politics or economic inequality or have much sense of authority beyond God and archangels. Things like lying and unconsensual violence (outside sport) aren't even known until after the war. The immortality of angels affects their love in the way that they don't get bored easily and are pretty happy with routine — but I think the most important aspect here is actually societal.

Angels express so much unconditional love because... what's there to be conditional about? They live(d) in a moneyless, sexless, deathless society with no culture differences, no bigotries. No "sin". It's the same reason children are unconditional about love: they don't have really anything to want besides love.

If you think about human love, its compounded by all of these societal things — money, sex, death, gender, procreation, culture, bigotry, etc, etc. These things that angels don't have. In A&M, the biggest issue that the Watchers run into with human love is not the immortality vs mortality aspect, but how complicated human society is to them. One of my favorite scenes in the book is where a Watcher tells a woman that she doesn't need to worry about what do after sexual violence because a man... shouldn't do that in the first place. The Watcher just doesn't get it. They all encounter the systemic oppression of women and are totally baffled; (even if angels in Heaven are developing a more complicated society and have started their own societal oppression, that oppression is still directed at angels that have committed an actual act of "sin" with their own hands). The way war eventually happens in A&M, through tribalist conflict, is almost completely incomprehensible to angels.

This doesn't mean humans can't love, obviously. They do, but it's complicated by the human condition, which is about way more than just dying. They have to love despite money/death/sex/gender/sickness for it to be unconditional. And that exists! It's a different kind of beauty to love in despite. But, for an angel, whose probably lived longer not knowing sin, and a typical human, who was born ready to sin — that's where the incompatibility is. A (not-fallen) angel loves unconditionally because there's no other option, but a human has to make the conscious choice and keep choosing it.

I think A&M is a lot about how human love is compounded and difficult and falls apart easy, but Angels 3 is a little more about human love despite all the absolute worst of societal issues.

Basically, angels fell out of a coconut tree, but humans exist within a context.