#and closer to gnc thing

[vvhorebound]

hahahahahaha getting legitimately upset that i dont look the same way i did at twenty anymore…

[matoitech]

someone rbing my post abt it being shitty to say smth like ‘lio is nonbinary cuz he doesnt Look Like A Man’ to comment on how they think lio is a trans man but probably was Intended to be cis but ‘galos amab and kinda cis but not rly cuz he doesnt care abt gender’ like ok but now is not the time man! what did i JUST say! im not talking abt Triggers Intention To Make Them Cisgender (as if we even know that. like who says?) im talking abt the ways in which ppl can be transphobic abt why they think a character is xyz gender based off their appearance/presentation/what they think a Man Looks Like. it rly sounds like ur doing the exact thing i was talking about being shitty. 

and since i have to make this massively clear i guess, even tho u all know what i mean so idk who im even talking to im talking to ppl who dont even follow me and know what i meant. i am not saying its homophobic to say lios nonbinary oh my god. this is why i didnt tag that post i knew i would need to be a lot clearer w my wording if i didnt want ppl to completely miss the main thesis statement. whether ur sticking trans man in place of nonbinary for lio and saying u think he has to be xyz bcuz of how he looks, whether ur saying u think galo cant be a trans man bcuz of how he looks. THATS whats shitty is saying u believe a character has to be xyz gender bcuz of their appearance or presentation or maybe even how they Vibe to you (like yeah i wonder why ppl who arent trans men love saying galo doesnt have the ‘vibe’ of a trans man to you. i Wonder what u could think or believe abt trans men and how we look that would make u assume the Masculine Manly Man Guy CANT b a transgender man). of course it is not bad or transphobic or homophobic to say u think lios nonbinary or a trans man or galo is a nonbinary guy who was amab, ofc those things r not Bad! it is entirely HOW U DISCUSS THIS STUFF AND WHY SOME THINGS MIGHT BE UR GO-TO AND WHY U MAYBE THINK LIO CANT BE A MAN OR GALO CANT BE A TRANS MAN.

[greenfiend]

Are we ready to have an honest discussion about Will and El’s dynamic and possible ending yet?

Two characters sharing a similar narrative in this story. How will things end for these two?

It hasn’t occurred to me until recently just how little we discuss these two.

Over the course of the show, the development of Will and El’s co-existence has less to do with their relationship but more to do with Will’s character arc.

In the beginning (seasons 1 and 2), Will is so hidden that El takes over. Will “hides” in the upside down, and is again hidden when he is possessed. El takes the spotlight in his place.

Then in season 3, Will is physically present but in the background. He’s the side character. El is the leader. They barely interact.

In season 4, Will is starting to come out of his shell. He’s still a side character, but he’s closer to being on an even playing field with El. He’s not in the background as often, and is actually seen conversing with El, and he even confronts her on her lies to Mike. Which is also foreshadowing his lies to Mike later on in the season.

I’m going to be quite frank: El and Will are not actually very close in canon. The “wonder twins” idea is beautiful but very fanon. These two had so many opportunities to grow closer, especially since they were separated from the others in California… but they just don’t? They both seem lonely and disconnected in the other’s presence. But yet, they are connected another way: El is Will’s saviour/protector. She is like his security blanket. I mean this literally (textually), and a sub-textually. Obviously she helps him while he’s trapped in the upside down and when he’s possessed- making her a textual, and literal saviour.

But… what do I mean by a sub-textual saviour? Well, she protects him from having to take the spotlight. He is able to hide behind her in many ways.

For one, she takes the brunt of the bullies in Lenora. Will is able to go around unnoticed even as a GNC guy that he is. Back home at Hawkins, he is, unfortunately, very visible to bullies. Visibly different, visibly gay. But in Lenora? Bullies are too distracted by the girl who’s different instead.

Now when it comes to Will’s love life… El also is protecting him in a sense. He desires Mike, romantically, sexually, and intimately. Due to the rampant homophobia that surrounds him, these desires scare him. El is a safe barrier from these desires. Will is also able to safely express himself through her.

If El weren’t in the picture, Will may have been more bold in expressing this side of himself to Mike. He may just let his feelings slip out more. Perhaps he’d let his eyes linger a tad longer, or he’d be tempted to be a bit more tactile with the boy he’s overflowing with affection for.

El shields Will from having to confront many aspects of himself. That’s the problem. Because of her protection, he isn’t able to challenge himself and grow. This is why whenever El saves the day, it never lasts. She merely puts a “bandaid” on the wound. But this wound will grow and fester if the source of the problem is not addressed.

El’s Possible Origin

This is the first time in the entire show that El is mentioned. The context of this sounds like they’re implying that El also “came from” the upsidedown; precisely where Will was at the time.

Now, I’m aware this is a fairly unpopular opinion, but I do believe El was created from Will in a supernatural sense. I suppose in a similar way to how Eve was created from Adam, minus any romantic undertones.

Our very first sighting of El is of her emerging from the forest, barefoot, in a hospital gown, with very little hair on her head, and a limited knowledge of the English language. Not unlike an infant child. Now, please don’t take this the wrong way… I’m not implying that everyone with limited language skills are babies, there are many possible reasons for it. But within this show, it is implied that her lack of language skills are due to her experiences within the lab, and lack of experiences outside of it.

I do have to ask though, why do the other “lab kids” we have seen have no obvious language difficulties? Unless… El actually was an “infant” in a way…

This quote is interesting for multiple reasons. One I’m focusing on here is the mention of life starting that particular day. Of course I’m not referring to Mike’s life starting that day- I’m talking about the person we are shown in this particular shot- El.

Now, I know what everyone is thinking: how does El have memories that predate this day then?

Well, what I’m arguing is that many of her memories could be an altered version of Will’s memories. I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility that his memories could have been transferred to El.

This “fake” script of the episode Papa tells us that Will recognized Brenner. There’s a history there! Will likely could not quite pinpoint how he recognized him.

It’s important to note that Will only vaguely recalls aspects of his childhood. There’s gaps. Just like there’s gaps in El’s memory as well.

El’s Possible Ending

I’ve always been surprised just how little people dig into El’s possible ending in the show. I feel like people are somewhat aware of this possibility but choose not to give it any further thought. Truth is- El doesn’t feel like she belongs anywhere.

I need to remind everyone of this last shot in ST4. Yes yes the couples, we have heard it a million times already… but look where El is standing. She’s on the other side. She’s in the upsidedown. Where she initially came from. Now, I’m not saying she’ll end up in the current unpleasant upsidedown- she will likely live on in a peaceful version of it. An entirely new environment one that exists…

[In Will’s mind.]

I do think this is an important foreshadowing quote- but not in the way most people think. They won’t work together as twins- they will work together as one person. What I’m saying is…

They will combine. Just like what this hug visually foreshadows… El and Will will become one again.

I can honestly make a whole separate post regarding references made in ST to other media involving two characters being one. There’s a lot…

[radfemfox5]

Hi there - I'm trans and Jewish and I'd like to share my perspective on the "trans genocide" thing. I don't think we're experiencing active genocide in the US; that's definitely an extreme and offensive statement to make regarding what's happening. However, I do think that the increasing legislation attacking trans rights and autonomy as well as an increasingly polarized public view of trans people points to the potential for a worse situation that moves closer to genocide.

Now, personally, I live in a state where no laws limiting trans rights have passed. I was able to legally begin my medical transition when I was 15, I've never experienced transphobic violence, and the majority of people around me are supportive of my transition. My experience is similar to most other trans people in my area, with varying degrees of familial support.

But nation wide, we have seen an increase of trans people being murdered, and a massive increase in anti-trans legislation. This legislation aims to strip trans people of their autonomy and privacy. It seeks to put trans children in danger, remove information about what it is to be trans or queer from children's access, and enforce archaic ideas about what it means to be a man or woman.

Most of this is happening because right wing politicians can capitalize on moral outrage and fear to win votes. They're scapegoating trans people instead of trying to improve the lives of their constituents. This is kind of politician's thing, so it's not surprising in any way. However, when those policies successfully do win these politicians support, they'll have to make them more extreme. They'll want to make it illegal to exist as a trans person in public.

Now I'm not saying that that's genocide. I think we're an awfully long way off from trans people being mass arrested for being trans, and then murdered by the state. But we are in a rising climate of fear, and I don't think the trans people calling this the seventh stage of genocide are doing so out of bad faith. I think they're doing that because they are terrified of having their right to take life-saving medication, or have protection in the workplace, or be able to use a bathroom, or have children, or wear what they want to wear taken away. And they're terrified of those things because the bills on the table in states across the country put those rights in jeopardy. And if calling this a genocide makes people pay attention? I'm not super mad about it.

Hi, thank you for sharing your perspective on this. I appreciate it.

Your fear is primarily based on sensationalist headlines and interpretations of the law that are unfounded. I can assure you, you are not even in the early stages of a genocide.

But nation wide, we have seen an increase of trans people being murdered

In 2021, the Human Rights Campaign recorded 50 deaths of trans, nonbinary and GNC people.

In 2022, the HRC recorded 38 deaths (source). So. If we take these numbers at face value, that's a decrease of nearly 25% in one year, in a growing section of the population.

Taking these numbers and the size of the transgender population in the US (1.6 million), in 2021, trans people had a death rate of 3.1/100k, and in 2022, this dropped to 2.4. Again, the numbers provided by the HRC include nonbinary and GNC people, and accidental deaths.

Some of these aren't even murders or intentional homicides. They just say they were killed. I wouldn't consider these numbers reliable whatsoever, but they're the only estimate we have for now. There are so few trans deaths that they can fit on a single Wikipedia page, along with a little blurb about their life and who they were. It would be impossible to do something similar with victims of femicide, since there are too many to count. This page lists victims of femicide, only in Canada, only in 2022, and it is nearly as long as the Wikipedia page I listed above.

This is a perfect segue to my next point, which is to compare trans genocide to femicide, which is actually real. Women are killed so often that the UN has to categorize female murder victims as either killings (unnatural deaths), intentional homicides or gender-related killings (hate crimes, therefore considered in femicide statistics).

The intentional homicide rate for female victims in the US is 2.9/100k (data from 2021), and it is steadily increasing after having been on the decline since the mid-90s.

That only includes the pink and red circles shown in the UN's chart, not accidental deaths or unknown deaths like the HRC includes in their counts. Some countries have as many as 10.6/100k women die a year.

TL;DR: The murder rate for trans people in the US is not increasing, it is decreasing. This isn't indicative of a trans genocide in the slightest.

But nation wide, we have seen [...] a massive increase in anti-trans legislation.

As I was saying earlier, this idea stems from sensationalist headlines. It's concerning to me how widespread the misinformation about anti trans legislation really is, when house bills are publicly available online. You can literally do a quick Google search and find that most of these bills are nothing burgers.

Unfortunately, it's easier for you to just go on a website like translegislation.com and have them tell you what these bills say. I'll do some of the work for you and go through how these sites lie to you.

Alabama imposing criminal penalties on providers of trans healthcare? Sounds scary. Let's see what the source they linked, the HRC, has to say.

Ah. So it's specifically regarding transgender youth. As in, minors. This is after going through an insanely long title detailing how bad the bill is. The trans legislation tracker essentially lies by omission, implying that all trans healthcare is being criminalized.

Going to the bill in question, AL SB184, we can see that it actually acknowledges the existence of dysphoria in children.

However, they also acknowledge that this feeling may be fleeting, and that making permanent changes to a child's body solely on account of the child's personal sense of identity is unwise.

I won't go through every single bill here, as this post is already very long, but you get the idea. Feel free to send another ask if you would like me to look at specific bills.

Back to your ask: the way you speak of these bills shows that you've never read them for yourself or know how legislation works, since you're acting like it's the beginning of Armageddon.

This legislation aims to strip trans people of their autonomy and privacy. It seeks to put trans children in danger, remove information about what it is to be trans or queer from children's access, and enforce archaic ideas about what it means to be a man or woman.

I'm assuming by autonomy and privacy, you mean the choice to undergo medical transition and the bathroom/locker room/women's sports issue respectively.

Bills limiting "gender-affirming" care are focused on children, since puberty blockers like Lupron are now known to have very negative and permanent effects. The bills don't ban adults from choosing to take HRT. It's extremely profitable for doctors to continue to prescribe HRT and for surgeons to continue to recommend expensive plastic surgeries. Legislation won't go that route unless there's a massive shift in public perception.

The "Save Women's Sports Act" literally just limits participation in women's school sports to females only. That's it. The trans legislation tracker even acknowledges this.

Most of these bills are copy pasted from eachother, which is why they're all dubbed as "Save Women's Sports." Here's a snippet from HB61 in Ohio:

If someone's sex is brought into question, a simple blood test is all that's needed. Contrary to what the media may have led you to believe, there are no forcible genital inspections. No trans person is being forced to undress for this. Only 6 trans "girls" are affected by this in Ohio, out of 400k total athletes in girl's sports. So I'm not sure why this feels like a precursor to genocide to you.

remove information about what it is to be trans or queer from children's access,

Personally, I don't think children should be aware that medical transition is even a remote possibility unless they are in extreme psychological distress related to their sex. Even then, therapy is usually the best solution. I don't think the "Gender Unicorn," a surprisingly complex graphic created in part by an alleged violent rapist and groomer, should be used in classrooms to teach children about gender ideology. Gender ideology should be taught to college students who are better equipped to form their own opinion, not children who barely know how to read.

There are better, more useful things to push in our education curriculum, like compulsory comprehensive sex ed. That way, young men don't learn about sex through violent pornography, and young girls don't accidentally get pregnant without knowing what it means. This would also be a good time to teach them about sexual orientation. Leaving it up to the parents or focusing on abstinence evidently doesn't work.

enforce archaic ideas about what it means to be a man or woman.

The lack of self-awareness here is pretty astounding. The trans movement actively enforces these archaic ideas of gender by telling tomboys that they might actually be a boy. This implies that femininity is what makes womanhood, which is objectively untrue.

By telling masculine women that they are men and feminine men that they are women, you're literally enforcing the gender roles you say you're destroying.

They'll want to make it illegal to exist as a trans person in public.

You can speculate about this all you want, but you can't see laws limiting child transition and keeping sports sex-segregated as writing on the wall. We're not even close to that.

Now I'm not saying that that's genocide. I think we're an awfully long way off from trans people being mass arrested for being trans, and then murdered by the state.

I'm glad to hear you are moderately sane.

But we are in a rising climate of fear,

Your phrasing reminds me of US politics in the wake of 9/11. When people act out of fear, decisions are made in haste, and wars are started over made-up WMDs. Being fearful clouds your judgement.

Look around you. You're safe and accepted. The trans flag is flown almost everywhere in June. A trans woman won the NCAA National Champion title just last year. For International Women's Day, multiple companies featured trans women. Time Magazine featured many trans women as Women of the Year. Language is now inclusive, so women don't actually exist anymore. We're just uterus havers. This is all to cater to trans people.

Yeah. It's getting to be a bit much, isn't it? Don't you expect the least bit of pushback, especially from women? We aren't living in fear of some invisible boogeyman. We are angry at how rapidly our hard work has been undone.

We're pissed that after decades of feminist progress, we've regressed to being considered non-men once again.

and I don't think the trans people calling this the seventh stage of genocide are doing so out of bad faith. I think they're doing that because they are terrified of having their right to take life-saving medication, or have protection in the workplace, or be able to use a bathroom, or have children, or wear what they want to wear taken away.

Puberty blockers and HRT do not save lives. They actually haven't been proven to have a substantial enough effect on mental health to consider them an adequate treatment for gender dysphoria.

2. Trans people have the same basic human rights as any other human being.

3. Many places are adding gender-neutral bathrooms in order to accommodate the growing trans population. No one is checking your genitals at the door of a bathroom, no one cares that much. I care about girls being assaulted at school by boys in skirts and the school boards covering it up in the name of trans acceptance (x).

4. Trans people remove their own ability to have children by going on puberty blockers, HRT and even eventually physically castrating themselves. If you mean the ability to adopt or foster children, I don't know. Gay and lesbian couples still have a hard time adopting to this day, so progress can be made in that department.

To conclude this hodgepodge of various facts, screenshots and links, I'll leave you with this:

I fundamentally disagree with you that crying "genocide" is in any way helpful for your community. It's not. Most of Western society might have forgotten what genocide looks like or doesn't even know what the word means anymore, but you should know better as a Jew.

The attention trans people get from saying that they're going through a genocide is overwhelmingly negative from people on both ends of the political spectrum at this point. People are annoyed at trans people for making shit up, which ruins your movement's credibility.

When you have to lie to get someone's attention, you've already lost.

[onlinekitsune]

LOST IN A ROOM

“boy, what did I tell you? love makes you a dead fool.”

— #RAFAYEL: LOVE AND DEEP SPACE

— PAIRING, GENRE, WARNINGS: rafayel x gnc!reader, mainly fluff, with a bit of flirting and banter, implied nsfw things but nothing specifically stated, no warnings!!

— SYNOPSIS: after a work trip, you return to a pouty and dramatic rafayel. you attempt to make up for your absence by surprising him with a sudden visit. but end up… having a different way of catching up.

— WRITER’S NOTE: long time, no post. hiii besties, i found this in my google doc’s and decided to finish it. i haven’t been too inspired to write lately so my bad. i stole the title from a song by rome hero foxes. uhhmmm not proofread per usual. enjoy and take care of yourself, mwah mwah ♡

It had been a while since you were able to go to Rafayel’s studio. It wasn’t intentional, it had just been a busy week. A week that was quickly reaching two and he wasn’t shy to remind you almost constantly.

“Aren’t you my bodyguard? You’re supposed to be checking up on me too.”

You rolled your eyes, hearing his voice vacant your head again. To make up for your absence, you decided to surprise him with a visit. You quietly opened the door, trying your best to sneak through. It was hard to do since it was so silent, the only sound being a soft flutter of a curtain from an opened window. You searched each room, anticipating Rafayel, but was met with disappointment. It wasn’t until you reached his living room where you saw him. He was laid out on his couch, his breath slow and calm. You walked closer, making sure you stayed silent. Your hands hovered over him before caressing his face with your finger tips.

“Hm… you’re cute even when you’re sleeping.” You scoffed, brushing your hand down his face. You moved a stray hair from his face, taking another second just gazing at him. “I’ll let you get your rest.”

You let out a soft breath, going to turn towards the door. You didn’t even make it a step further before, Rafayel quickly grabs your wrist, pulling you back into the couch causing you to fall into his arms. He wraps them around you before gently placing his head into the crook of your neck.

“Y-You were awake?” You gasped, flipping your head towards him. His eyes were still closed, with the same calm expression as before.

“Mm... no need to be so loud.” He grumbled, pulling you even closer. You were basically just his plushie at this point. “Surprised you even remembered that I’m alive.” His eyes remained closed but now accompanied by a pout. Your hands moved towards his, now realizing they were placed on your waist.

“Rafayel… I was busy. I did tell you this time. And I came here to surprise you. Surely that counts for something.” You softly sighed, brushing your thumb across his hand.

“Hmph.” He continued to pout. “What are you going to do to make it up for me?”

“Was coming over not enough?”

“Not at all.” He whined, finally opening his eyes. “That’s your duty, a long awaited one at that.” You shake your head and let out a small laugh.

“Fine. What can I do to make it up to you then?”

“Prove that you're sorry.”

“And how do I do that? I already apologized to you.”

Rafayel huffed, before slightly shrugging. “That’s for you to figure out. It wouldn’t be genuine if I told you what to do, now would it?”

You stayed there in silence for a moment, contemplating on what to do. You managed to turn around to face him. Rafayel made a face at you but continued to look at you curiously.

“You’re such a baby, you know?” You laughed, reaching towards his face. You slowly leaned in to kiss him, but instead placing it on his cheek.

“Now you’re just mocking me.”

“You’re so dramatic, Raf. Do you want a kiss that badly?” You teased, half joking. He suddenly pulled you even closer. You were almost on top of him at this point. Your leg rested on the top of his thigh.

“I do. Is that so wrong?” He asked, sliding his hand underneath your chin to the back of your neck. Your words were caught in your throat, unaware of this side of him. “Can I kiss you, Miss bodyguard?”

Your words continued to be stuck, only able to nod continuously. Rafayel slowly leaned in, placing a soft kiss against your lips. You melted against his softness and the warmth coming from him. You came to after a second wrapping an arm around his neck. You were hungry for more. His kiss was too addicting, you would have gotten mad if you could think straight. The soft kiss evolved into desperation and need. You softly bit his lip, in hopes that he’d slightly part them. And he did. He knew your body language all too well just from the encounters with wanderers.

“Now who’s so dramatic?” He chuckled, pulling away. You pout, looking up at him. “Come on, don’t you wanna tell me about your trip?” Rafayel smirked, sitting up straight. Your brows slightly furrowed. You’d forgot how cocky he could act.

“That can wait… stop acting so unaffected. I can see how flushed your face is! We have… catching up to do.” You muttered, pulling him back towards you. He returned without a second thought. Chuckling on his way down seeing your sudden switch.

[pikonv5]

Happy belated tdov! my partner and I, a trans couple, need help. 😥

Me and my gf, Kat @translesbo have been mostly unemployed and trying to find work for almost a year now, are very much still struggling.

The things of most priority, is needing to replace our dying vehicle that we were never able to fully repair, replace Kat's beat up, slow to run 8 year old phone, money in order for Kat to meet with her therapist again, get myself new glasses for too worsened vision that's been postpone for a couple years and for myself to pay my phone bill.

And paying off our debts, from credit cards, to medical bills, to $1,000+ owed to others. I know Kat has pretty much maxed out her credit card, but I am currently almost $3,700 in debt from needed/emergency expenses, screenshots of my balance, that is getting closer to its line of credit to max out on.

It's been almost a year since we have been knocked off our feet from the apartment building fire that led us to losing our jobs, that also coincided with Kat's birthday, April 9th. We were really hoping things would get better financially by now, and I just want Kat to be able to at least get to enjoy her birthday a little this year.

We have struggled to find employment for almost a year now- and especially Kat, who has the extra trouble of consistently facing plenty transmisogyny during the hiring process and and during jobs, while also being a poc and gnc.

Cashapp: $dottybot

Venmo: $dottybot

Paypal: @huronk499

Any amount, if you are able to is very much appreciated ❤

[self-loving-vampire]

There's a common narrative (not exclusive to transphobes or even cis people) that people transition specifically for the sake of entering a different gender role or stereotype. For example, starting HRT because you really liked playing with dolls growing up and want to be stereotypically hyperfeminine.

This is the narrative that medical gatekeepers latched onto. In many places you had to at least pretend this is how you felt and present in extremely gender-conforming ways (much more so than cis people) in order to access HRT. It also doesn't help that there's additional pressure for trans people to conform in daily life as well.

It's more than a little awkward if you are not even slightly like that. If you're like me then the actually relevant goal is the physical state of your body rather than your social role or your clothing, so you might want to continue wearing pants and playing Rome: Total War as before, but with a physical appearance that more closely matches how you want to look.

And for other people it's not as straightforward as either of these possibilities either. There's a big post going around that went like "I need to look like a man so I can dress like a woman" or something like that because that is closer to what they want to express, sometimes playing on the fact that people tend to make different assumptions about the exact same things depending on whether it's a man or a woman doing them.

For example, I don't like that people do this but they do infer different things if you're a woman who likes martial arts rather than a man who likes the same. It's a whole other character archetype to them and so it communicates something different.

GNC trans people are kind of overlooked in general and often pushed to suppressing these aspects of themselves, so you sometimes see tags like this:

[weebsinstash]

Suprised you havent mentioned what Val wears in episode 6(he's maybe wearing the same in ep 8?)

Like those fucking boots and the fact he's wearing a skirt makes me think he does it for easy access.....👀

I think it probably is the same outfit! I'm thinking the whole "moth shaped boob window" little black dress is like, the default one he keeps under his coat? He also has a different hat in that scene (no stripes, heart button)

Ughhh I just noticed that even though he isn't talking to or looking at her he's still engaging Gasmask Girl in the conversation or she's part of his recruitment because he has his hand on her hip like that 😩❤️ also isn't it SO diva of him that he already has forearms that become black further down but he'll still put on black gloves with this dress. I guess because his black dress shirt has sleeves and this dress doesn't and he just prefers that fashion wise? Idk

I wonder how often he prefers the pants and how often he prefers the dress? True Valentino simps know he's BEEN hoein' in these streets for a while but I'm still a little surprised they made him dressing gnc a canon thing. I wonder if in season 2 we'll ever see Angel in drag or anything since that's something he enjoys?

Just like. UGHHHH I can SEE him being such a catty bully to force Reader to dress/present themself how he wants them to look. OR he'll manipulate your insecurities and try and be your ""friend"" to get closer to you that way, helping teach you how to 'look nicer' (and some of it IS helpful stuff like say makeup or certain styling tips but 8 times outta 10 he's using you like a doll). He's complimenting you and calling you pretty and he DOES mean it but it's partially because in his mind you're already his property and thus he wants his arm candy to be nice n pretty looking their best. You two are showing up to show out at any event Val drags you along to.

Shit happens like Angel gets a text from Valentino to bring him some food "because I'm busy so chop chop babe" and Angel walks in with the grub and Val is just... sitting there, very obviously definitely not busy, and in fact, he's doing your makeup, applying your eyeliner all sing song and playful, "i swear to Lucifer, mami, if you keep tearing up and ruin all the hardwork I just did on your eyes again, Daddy's gonna have to punish yooou~" and he just glances up to Angel with the most disinterested, "oh, hey. You can set that down and go"

Anthony is over here, having a SOUL CRUSHING MORAL CRISIS, because he's wished and hoped for Valentino getting a new favorite toy FOR SO LONG, but now? Angel's deathly afraid that Val's new favorite to play with might be YOU because Valentino's over here suddenly having you spend your whole shift where you're usually serving drinks to the Overlord now instead just, sitting cuddling up to him, or sitting so close to him your sides are touching and he puts his hands on your sides and waist...

Also um. On the subject of Val's dress and episode 8 and all that can we talk about Vox having the strength to be able to dip this man and how Valentino has hands large enough they can fully wrap around Vox's thigh

Look at these evil WHORES, and the way Val stroked Vox's face, like... UGH I can just see Val making Reader cry and he forces you to look at him, stroking your cheek and cooing about how it's good he got you waterproof makeup this time so that you "can stay nice and pretty and still look so cute while you're whining like a little bitch" like seriously I definitely see Valentino and Velvette as sadistic possessive yandere who would even get off on you crying and all the Vees are seriously the best of the worst 😩❤️

[mewsmagic]

Alright I did say I’d bring my infodumps and fantheying here to tumblr instead so lemme actually do this for once!!

Spoiler warning for Alrecchino’s animated short!

If you haven’t watched it yet, here’s the link!

Alright first things first! It looks like Clervie and Bulle Fruit girl were Alrecchino’s closest friends/sisters, which’s just so cute 🥺

From the visual storytelling and just how we saw Arle and Clervie together much more often than with Bulle Fruit girl, it also appears like Clervie was much much closer to Arlecchino, which’s so interesting!!

I love how Arlecchino is all about blacks, whites and occasional reds, she was always quiet and doing her own thing, and SHE HAD ACTUAL SHORT HAIR UNTIL RECENTLY ACTUALLY!!!! Gnc nation won!!!!

Anyway ahemmm LOL and Clervie was the opposite. A pink, outgoing girl, full of life and wonder for the world she lives in. Also, she was “girly” and wears dresses, while Arlecchino doesn’t seem fond of them (like me omggg)

Like, they’re literally opposites in everything, yet they were so close and so important to each other. Thinking about what comes next hurts my heart like nothing else just because of this.

Another thing I wanna bring up before we move on is: in this part, we learn that Arle’s deal with the black hand is indeed some kind of curse. And that’s probably why she was able to tell Furina’s also cursed, she had experience with one since birth after all

I LOVE THAT THEY HAD THEIR OWN PLUSHIES MADE IN THEIR IMAGE!!!! Arlecchino’s plushie is so cute!!! I wonder if she kept Clervie’s after all these years 🥺

In this part we also learn that their “mother” usually “argues” with her daughters, and for some reason Clervie has quite some injuries. From this, it’s not hard to assume she’s literally beating them up, which’s nasty.

A full grown woman beating up literal kids who cannot defend themselves? As a survivor of parental abuse, I felt this so hard, and I hate that hag so fucking much already.

This part I didn’t get at first, probably bc I didn’t pay attention to the beginning; when I watched it again, I caught it however. Their “mother” not only physically abused them but also made them battle each other to death.

Resulting in Arlecchino being the very one that killed Clervie, and potentially Bulle Fruit girl too.

Naturally, she was full of rage. I would be too, if I were in her shoes.

And that’s why I love her battle against “mother”. I didn’t take many screenshots because it’s a fast moving scene, but “mother”’s dialogue seems to hint that she’s the kind of mother that pretends to be caring and gentle but is actually cruel and ruthless in her actions. Which’s tbh the worst kind of mother probably.

Another detail that caught my eye was that Arlecchino was no match for her without her curse. But as soon as she released and embraced her curse, she not only defeated her “mother”, she blew up the entire building. Which’s epic as hell and I love that for her LOL

I find it interesting that Arlecchino was actually pretty close to becoming a criminal because of killing “mother”. Which’s so tragic when you think that she had already killed Fatui members before (Clervie and Bulle Fruit girl), but they weren’t ranked enough for it to be a big deal, like their deaths didn’t mean anything. But to Arlecchino they did… Aaaaanywayyyy.

For some reason I thought the Arlecchino title succession was much more automatic, like 1. Kill your parent 2. You’re now king. I think it’s because I’ve seen this in other shows before, but here she was taken to Snezhnaya to be judged by the Tsaritsa herself.

Luckily, the Tsaritsa not only pardoned her crimes but also promoted her to Arlecchino. Also I gotta say, her words… “My poor, mad, cursed Knave” hit me so hard. The Tsaritsa does seem to not be that cold and to empathize with her. Based of her tbh.

And at the end, we see a seemingly orphan child. At first I thought this was Freminet, but he has a more yellowish tone of eye color, so maybe this is a random kid?

Anyway, the thing that matters here is that Arlecchino says that she’ll be his strict and unfeeling “father”, which immediately stood out to me against her “mother”’s “kind and caring” approach.

Looks like she decided to be a “strict and unfeeling father” to not become like her own “mother”. This is so real of her tbh. I already knew the previous Knave was nasty, but with this animation it really hit home to me, as a survivor too.

I wanna pull her even more now LOL may all Arlecchino wanters become Arlecchino havers!!!!! I’m so excited!!!!

[monathedefiant]

yall tell me why i had a dream about armand + armandaniel? i like them enough. i'll like a post every now and then. but i don't even read their fanfic like that.

but at the tell end of my last dream armand suddenly pops up and is just Visibly Upset with daniel trying to soothe him. i mean armand is in Literal Tears and he's gasping for breath and he's covering his face while frantically shaking his head. meanwhile daniel is trying to pull him closer by tugging on his belt loops. but armand just keeps saying "i don't deserve it i don't deserve it" in this really weepy voice.

and now all of a sudden i kind of wanna see what this ship is about because apparently the ship distribution system is a thing now??

anyone drop the post + fic recs in the replies. mama's (gnc) got some research to do.

[doublekanble]

dead meat

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 11.1k

Or, the progress of going down and deeper. (please treat this as if theyre a bunch of drafts coupled together (they are) this read so much funnier if you keep in mind the fact alastor have genuine feelings/genuinely cares for you but he’s just batshit insane) its 13min til 2am if theres an error no theres not tw: gorish talks and imagery littered thru specifically 1, 5 and 7. alastor chased you down in 7.

1. Because you listen.

When you finally came back — frayed at the seams, run-through you with a headache and a rock in hand. You looked down, the warm wetness oozing from him and seeping into your pants quickly turn cold. You couldn’t tell what you’re looking at for a minute, adrenaline still running through you and your head ache just a tad. When you finally see the pink bits and the leaking blood, your breath runs ragged and your thought run miles. You try to remember all the warning your mother gave you about getting involved with a man like Alastor, you don’t know how you’ll tell mom she never gave you any advice or warning about this.

“God… Oh my God what did I—What—“

Not a single book warned you about the way you physically feel ill touching a body growing cold. So with guts churning and the prickling on your skins, you scrambled to throw yourself off and backing away from the body on all four. Desperately, you called out to whatever is there and beg in your head to wake you up from this nightmare of a show. And when you hit something distinctly warm and alive from behind, you call out to it, thinking it’s your mother, coming to save you from this, to tell you that it’s alright and that everyone make mistakes and this is nothing more than a bad dream. You’ll wake up from this soon, in your childhood bed, in your childhood room, in your childhood house and you’ll be anywhere else and not here.

But when the warmth embraces you, and you feel a warmer breath by your right ear, pressing a soft smile and a bliss-filled chuckle into it, it hit you that your mother would’ve hated you if she sees this. If she sees him.

“Oh, mon Chéri, I knew you’d have it in you” You hate the way the voice swallowed and a take a breath, as if mesmerized by the sight, like you but so wholly unlike you, it whispered in your ear, “What a show. What a show.”

Your eyes is focused on him, but not on him, not a person. That couldn’t be a person at all. Saliva tasting bitter, the bile rising in your throat hurts as you desperately tries and tear your eyes away from it. But enraptured by the intricacies inside his head, you only do so much before finding yourself looking closer for something you couldn’t understand.

“Don’t worry,” setting his lips on your temple, he sigh into your skin, one hand held onto yours and gently rubbing the red from your fingers onto his, as if helping you clean up, “It’s your first time, everything will be so much better once you’re used to it.”

Your eyes flickered between the thing and whatever of yourself visible to you. It’s all red, so much red. Its head, his head was caved in, you can see the front of his skull, everything else is everywhere. How could this ever get any better if it’s going to be this red? Was it going to be this red every other time too? You can feel your fingers going numb from the grip you have on that rock, you can feel the dent from where it dug into your palm, you can feel clearly the traces of well-kept nails running down your left arm from where he tries to pull you away. And every bit of it is red. And suddenly your clothes and his grip and the night air and your skin felt just a bit too tight, too suffocating. Your brain pulses and compressed against your skull. It hurts to think, it hurts way much more to speak.

“I—I don’t want to – I can’t-“

“I thought I couldn’t too, until I did it again, and then again. And then I realized that this,” raising the hand he held onto so kindly, almost like guiding your eyes to the sight. While the pain in your stomach is almost unbearable, he couldn’t sound any more ecstatic. “This, is freedom. Our freedom”

You were sure that the freedom that you’ve been yearning for wasn’t supposed to be associate with a corpse. No type of freedom will ever be going to drive someone to cracked open a skull in the middle of the night. There’s nothing but pure malice that will drive someone to bring a rock onto another man’s head and refuses to stop even when his ears bleed and he stop fighting and started begging. Your mother hated Alastor, and she never break his skull open. You hated your mother, and you never break her skull open.

You want to open your mouth and tell him to shut up. You want to say your mother was right, you shouldn’t have gotten involved with him, no matter how inviting his offer is. You shouldn’t have run off night after night chasing the daylight with him. He is a scoundrel, he is disgusting, he’s the worst type of delusional criminal there is, the most pretentious man in all of Louisiana. But you can’t, because you just maimed a good man and refused to hear his pleas. With nothing left to you, you all but break down into his arms.

“There, there~” he coos into your hair as your wailing get swallowed up by the cold night air, “I’m right here, aren’t I?” if only he’s anywhere else but here with you, mouth spewing reassurances one after the other.

(It’s alright, he’ll take care of it today. It’s ok, he’ll teach you about some other day. From now on, you’re going with him, whether liking it or not.)

2. Because you wouldn’t

“Isn’t he one of those highbrows you like to rub shoulders with?” her tone accusing and upset, you almost choked on your tea when she slapped the papers down in front of your food and walk out the living room. Even though you have an idea about what she talk about – the news came out just in time for it to be covered on the radio first, you still pick it up and scanned your eyes along.

“So I’m supposed to remember every face I came by now?” you glowered to yourself, “How do you know who I’m ‘rubbing shoulders’ with anyway?”

Over the sounds of your heart beating wildly in your ears, over the humming in your head, you hear her mumbled something about “that boy” as she starts to vacuumed the carpet. It’s a ridiculous thought, but for a brief second, you were sure she’s going to ask you about your numb fingers.

‘SON OF FAMOUS MUSICIAN, REPORTED MISSING AFTER NIGHT OUT-’

It’s so odd to you, how much he worth, yet how little people care. Name printed in bold font atop news about the fast declined of the economy and crashing stock markets a full week after he disappeared. He never told you his full name, nor does anyone around him ever make mention of it despite their occasional jeering and jokes. You didn’t bother with it at the time, you two weren’t the most talkative person in the room, let alone together.

Then again, it does make sense. He told you before that he’s not proud of what he came from or what he became, under drowsy lights and forced to sit side-by-side like all the other night. You still can’t drink, he still can’t dance while being miserably drunk, and nobody else wants to babysit a miserable drunk. You don’t get why anyone needs you to look after him, despite being so out of his head, he seems perfectly well with handling himself.

Your lift the tea cup to your dry lips and take a sip, the tea tasted bitter.

A voice loudly called for you, irritation written clear in it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and all but jump to her spot in the small hall, unwilling to let the two talks for more than necessary. Your mother stand with a huff to her posture.

“It’s him again.”

You laugh dryly, “It’s always him, mom.” tugging the receiver from her hand, you bring it up to your ears. The moment you do, a chuckle rang out. You shivers.

“There’s the lad of the hour! Why, I almost thought your mother was trying to stringed me along before shutting the line off again!” the mother in question grunt and grumble about how annoyingly persistent he is, you agree. Last time she did so, the phone kept ringing until she relented. “In any case, I hoped you’re all up and ready today!”

“We have nothing planned today.” Your reply was immediate and flat, hoping he would leave you alone, but Alastor only laughs in an almost affectionate tone.

“And I’m here to changed that!” he exclaimed, you run a hand down your face and try to keep your calm.

“Alastor, John’s missing. This is not the time.” you whispered sharply into the receiver, hoping to whatever’s true he’ll shut his trap for once. You’re not interested in getting caught by the neighbours over the phone of all thing.

“John? Now that sounds familiar…” he pauses, you can almost see the way he turn a brow up and pretends like he’s lost in thought, it’s almost endearing, “Why, isn’t that the lad I named on the radio yesterday?! What a horrible case! Some people are saying he finally throw himself onto a train and-“

“Alastor!” at the sound of your own voice scrapping in your ears, you pauses. You relax your grip and lower your voice, doing your best not to pay attention to the figure peeking out from your kitchen, “Listen, I don’t have the time to play around. Get to the point.”

“Clearly, you’ve the time for nothing, you and your mother…” sighing heavily, he dropped the act. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop kidding. We’ll talk once I get there. Be ready in twenty.”

“Wh— Alastor!“ The phone turn dead in your hand and you’re left standing in the hallway.

You stare at the receiver in shock, then, you grip it. Holding back the urge to break it open over the table it sits on, grinding your teeth, you place the receiver back. You clutched at the end of the table and count to ten, jaws aching and head spinning from anger. Even with your head hanging low, you can hear footsteps falling along the hallway. Your mother red house slippers stand in view from the side, you wondered if you can burn it and buy another pair.

“You’re going out with that creepy radio host again.” she’s standing with her hand crossed and an exasperated look, you just know it.

“Mom, please,” heaving a sigh of your own, you don’t want her to rub it in your face, even if she doesn’t know it, “Alastor’s not creepy. He’s a good man, I promise.” you have to believe he’s a good man, after everything. If you don’t, you’ll lose the rest of your mind. You prayed that she leave you alone, but she kept pressing.

“You keep saying that, but I know he’s nothing but trouble. I mean- look at you!? You looked so exhausted every day. Every time you leave with that scurf, you came back looking more lost than before!”

Turning to her, you have a retort at the tip of your tongue, you always do. But the looks on her face was nowhere near what you thought it was, so you stumbled. For a second, your vision blurs and your head spins. When it cleared up, your eyes met.

“That good for nothing man, dragging you out every night! Have he ever asked what you want before?!”

Standing like a cornered rat, you try to find your voice.

“I-“ you swallowed again, “I don’t mind it, mom. I like going out.”

Have your mother always looked this tired and worn beyond her age? It almost as if she’s been holding the world alone. She said your name, and you feel all lost again. Like a small child with bare knees stripped red and wailing for her to come and save you.

“You don’t even like parties.”

You remember how much she always scolded you when you got yourself into troubles, but your mom always patches you up while she does so. In the time frame before your home became more of a house and your front door is a front door without any sort of implications. And then it hit you just how old mom looked now. She used to be so tall compared to you, but now you’re over her slightly hunching figure, a little bit or a lot, it’s just enough to look down on her. Suddenly, the world feels too constricting and your skin feels too tight.

All this time, she wasn’t angry at all, was she? Your mom haven’t been angry for a long time now. But it doesn’t change you, it doesn’t change anything else. You closed your eyes and push a breath through your nose.

“Maybe I’ve changed, mom,” you walk past her into the living and tug on your overcoat with fingers stained red, fighting against the waver in your voice and hoping she won’t hear it, “maybe you should be happy for me.”

Alastor always take less than twenty to show up, but you didn’t know how long he was watching you for before clearing his throat. You didn’t bother to respond, only lifted your head up to make sure it wasn’t some random prude before shifting aside. He have the decency to stay silent and sit down with you on your front porch, offering a sympathetic smile at your sorry state and gently wiped away your tears with his red handkerchief when you refused to move and take it yourself. It wasn’t the first time you sit out and wait for him on the porch instead of listening to her outburst, but it was the first time you ever cry over it.

You wanted so desperately to turn back and tell her that you haven’t change, that you’re still her little kid. The same one that want to sit out the parties and the smokes and the dancing and the jazz just to spent the days working on something with her nearby, in the kitchen working on something or sleeping in the armchair, always in the old set of red house slippers. You want to show her something you make, only for her to not get a single part about it. You want to fall at her feet and begged her to tell you you’re still the same kid. You want her to go back to closing the front door and locking you away from the world again.

But you’re nothing but a rat, fresh off from a murder. You’d soon throw yourself in front a running train than to ever let mom know her child will ever do anything wrong. So you swallowed everything back, stand up, and walked away from her porch with Alastor hot on your trail, smiling all the while.

(you want to tell her you haven’t changed at all, but you know better than anyone else. you thought you know better.)

3. Loosely, you’ll fall.

The show was an utter bore, you’ve concluded. The allure of watching history made quickly died out when it pertains to dancing, something you’ve been watching people do with much more grace. It might’ve been much more interesting too, if the dull drums in your head invites itself out. But even when you step outside into open air outside the theater, it remains.

“Well, that certainly was… something.” Walking after you in a leisured pace with one hand behind his back, another going back and forth on brushing off his coat or adjusting his glasses, to anyone else, he looked completely normal. But you know him long enough. “I could’ve sworn it’s a musical show.”

Usually, it’s fairly hard to catch Alastor in a flustered state, facial or demeanour wise. You supposed years of practice couldn’t really stamp out personal discomfort. You would’ve felt bad, but you don’t have enough strength to bother.

“There is musical, alright,” you grumbled, a hand to your temple as you walk on without waiting for him, “I’d say it’s too much even.”

Obediently, silently, Alastor traces your footstep as you seethe to yourself. You were supposed to be back in bed and sleep away this headache and your free day at this hour. It’s a shame you just can’t help from talking back to your mom and chased yourself out of the house, onto the street, and right into his games.

You wish you could rub those kissing scenes into his face and mocked his offbeat timid nature and tell him to go shove it. For once, the mere thought of intimacy itself reminds you of that night and forced you to think about how Alastor always stands just a bit too close to you, always just behind you. It takes everything in you to not scratch at your wrist and tears your skin open, so you opted for patience and sympathy, no matter how much the image haunted your eyelids said otherwise.

Before you know it, the voices and the hollers and bumping shoulders traded itself for a single bell chiming, then hushed murmurs and echoing clinks of porcelains and glasses filled the space. You invited yourself to a small spot off in the corner with a lone seat and hunched over with your left hand over your face, while Alastor comes up to the counter. When he came back, he pulls another chair from the table right next to yours and all but covered you from everyone else’s sight. You stare at him in between the webs of your fingers while Alastor rest his chin in his right hand and hums all softly at you.

“You should’ve told me it’s still there, dear. I wouldn’t have bother dragging you out.” His free hand brush against yours in a gesture you can blindly guess as benign and kind. Unlike the Alastor from this morning, unlike him in the theater. Unlike Alastor from the broadcast and unlike the man holding onto you that night. You’ve seen this so many times before in so many people, it’s just make-believe for adults and you’ve already seen this in him. You thought you have, anyway, so you take your hand away from him and look at the approaching waitress. It must’ve been a trick of the light, the way his eyes grows just a bit darker. But you still think hard about what you would’ve said back then.

“I need to get out anyway, better here than there right now.” You would’ve been fine with the idea of going back in, but by the time you do, Alastor was standing in front of you, and you would rather let him think whatever he wants than to pissed him off even further somehow.

“Better with me~” When push comes to shove, he is a bitter man with a silver tongue, you’ve seen him pour drinks onto people and getting away scot-free. It’s always funny to everyone else in the group, until they’re at the direct end of his bitter temper.

Alastor have never even so much as raising his voice at you in anger, but you also thought he would never kill anyone, so you refuse to take any chances. As long as you stay cordial and don’t step past your line, Alastor won’t ever have a reason to. So long as you keep to your leash, he’ll be pleasant and let you go home soon. It leave a nasty taste on your tongue, how you know exactly what to do with him.

“Whatever you say, Alastor.” Gently nursing your headache, you sits a bit straighter. You really couldn’t tell what’s worse, the oddly plastic smell of the café, or the light from the bulbs burning your retinas. “You never told me why we’re out here in the first place.”

Clapping his hand together, he grins. “Oh, yes! Terribly sorry my dear, I figured we shouldn’t talk about it over the party line. Who knows what else is lurking, yeah?” you stay seated despite your instinct telling you to run. You know this was coming anyway, “See, we didn’t get to celebrate the other day. You got so sick, after all-”

He kept on talking, seemingly perfectly fine with you tuning him out. Even if he’s not fine with it, he can’t do anything to stop the almost freakish way statics filled your head and washes your entire body in a cold and numbing wave of sweat, electrics ran through your head while you grips your hair. And it’s almost like he knows what’s going through you, because he wiped away a drop of sweat running from your forehead with a knowing smile.

“Be careful now, if you get sick, I’ll have to take care of you.”

“As if you can take a step into my house.” As if she’s ever going to let him take a single step inside after today. But he kept that irritating look on him, if only the thought of tearing it off his face doesn’t hurt you so badly.

“Who said it’ll be at your house~”

His chuckle right after shuts you up. Right, you forgot. Of course you did. He have a lodge somewhere near a bayou. You weren’t sure whether Alastor meant it as a tease or a threat, you don’t really want to think about it. So you forced a laugh when he grows just a tad silent. Tilting his head, he looked at you with something you couldn’t tell, and like aways, he switch topics without a bat of an eye while you sat there with sweats running down your back in the middle of winter.

You reach for your cup and bring it to your lips without bothering to know what’s in it, trying to follow along while Alastor rattled off a to-do list he made without your consent for today’s hangout. A visit to a confectionary shop, a trip to the tailor, quick stop at a small dinner he discovered recently and, if there’s still time, he can take you to your book shop. As your vision blurred for a second, the bitter taste of coffee hit your tongue, and it took everything in you to bite back a swear and to hold your mask of politeness. Accidentally flitting your eyes up, you catch him smiles. But it isn’t the kind of smile friend gives to one another, it isn’t the type where two people love and care for each other. So you keep your gaze low and keep drinking the coffee he ordered, at least they do a decent enough job at taking your mind off of John.

(somehow, it felt so familiar, it wasn’t until the moment you crawl back into your warm bed after a cold dinner that it hit you. it wasn’t against your ear this time, but it was the same smile. you swallowed the acid in your throat and thought about how many people saw it just before they lay six-feet under.)

4. And when you finally fall,

John wasn’t that much of an asshole, but he lives like he’s the most wretched man in all of Louisiana. A shadow of a person, beyond that of a ghost. Alastor told you that the only reason anyone ever stuck around is because John have more money than anyone could ever understand, and as long as you can withstand the awkward silent and the sneers, you can count your worries for the night’s drinks goodbye.

Coming from a long and well-known line of gifted artist, John was set for life, even with his less-than-responsible lifestyle. His great grandfather wrote plays, his grandfather paint, his father plays the piano and John drink himself blind. He stop touching anything that even insinuate the idea of creating art on his twenty birthday. Ever since, he wanders the night, going from place to place to emptied his family’s wealth into pretty floozies and drink away his own shame.

With an eerily out of place grin, just close enough to his normal happy demeanour to count, just a bit too wide to be normal, Alastor show you off to John like an exotic pet while his friends already dash off to dance.

“Oh! And how could I forget, this one might not be able to play it, but they have a fantastic taste in music!” then, he turns to you with a friendly hand on your shoulder and a sympathetic look, “If only you ever have the means to pick it up, you’ll be the talk of the town for sure!””

“Surely.” John reply with an odd laugh and look you up and down, suddenly the idea of sitting back with him and watching the others felt just a bit too much for you. But you only brushed their comment off with a wave of your hand. Acting like you didn’t pick up on how John down his drink with just a bit more fervour and Alastor smiles breached the border of normalcy before he pats your back gently, as if encouraging a shy dog to socialize, before inviting himself out and leaving you alone with a man you’re not sure was all there.

You tell yourself you just won’t go with Alastor to his night parties next time, but you pick up the phone every time. And every night you have to sit right by John’s side in complete silent when everyone spreads across the bar.

At first, it was somewhat scary and unpleasant. Then, it was awkward and uncomfortable. Every time you sit right next to him, he would scoff and chuff at you under his breath. Refusing to ever talk or look at you. Unless it was time to leave, John will never do anything more than call for a drink and then sip on it until he needs another one. Every time Alastor came to check up on you, he would smile at you sweetly and make a jab or two at John. You figured by now it’s a show of sort to him, but sometimes you still make a small effort to shut Alastor up and direct him back to whatever he was doing before. It became your new normal for half a year at least.

And then one night, completely worn out and tired with the day and the loud jazz inside a loud room with lousy lights and lousy companion, you stand up without a word to anyone and went out the back door. Outside in the cold air of October, you huddled by a wall inside the back-alley and pulled your knees to your chest. Staring at your hands, you can only sigh and ruffled your hair, digging the palm of your hand into the base of your skulls and wishing you can break it open.

“If you’re so tired, then why not haul yourself back home?”

Jumping up with a yelp, you clutched at your heart, completely missing the door creaking open the first time. You forgot how John even sounded like for a minute, voice low and gruff, completely contrasting everyone else in the group.

“…” halfway peeking through the door and staring impassively, you wondered why he even bother when he seems so done with you. Words right on the tip of your tongue, you him a passing glance, debating whether this worth an excuse out of your pocket. He cut you off before you even begin to open your mouth.

“What? You’re deaf now?” John shouldered the door and step outside fully, standing in front of you.

“…And if I am?” You frown, this feels too much like being scolded. At least his voice is kinder to your ears . “Better off if you are.” He chuckled, “…So?” You would be upset, but you’re too tired and he’s not leaving you alone, so you shrugs your shoulder apathetically.

“Horrible day at work, fight with my mom, then got dragged out here again.”

“Heh, figured.” You glare up at him, he raises his hands up in defence, whiskey with a single ice cube in its glass clinking as he does so, “You seems miserable whenever the lot isn’t around to see.”

You want to spat at him, what would he know about you? But you know he’s right. It really does feel miserable, going all the way out here just to sit and having nothing to do. So you dropped your head into your palm and groan.

“Ugh-…Is it that obvious?”

He cackle, you take it as a yes and sink your head a bit lower at the sound.

“Why not just—not come?” taking a sip from his whiskey, he sat next to you without invitation, “You can just say no to him, y’know.”

“As if I haven’t tried.” You grumbled, but stop when he raised a brow at you, motion for you to keep on. A bit clueless, you shrugs again, “What? You know him for longer than me. You should know that.”

John looks at you as if you’re stupid, and you’re beginning to think you are. Pointing a finger at you, he asked you about your job. Then with a nod, he stated outright.

“But you don’t do anything for him.”

You sputtered, the irony of a drunkard basically calling you useless and being right about it doesn’t escape you at all.

“What does that have to do with anything? He’s a persistent guy, that’s it.”

“That bastard doesn’t bother hanging around anything that isn’t useful. He’s not that type of guy.”

“Then what type of guy is he?” you ask. He looks at you, licked the top row of his teeth, then heave a heavy sigh.

Dowing the rest of his whiskey, John stand up and offers you a hand. You hesitate before slowly taking hold of it and nearly fell over when he pulled you up. He mumbled a half-hearted sorry with a look.

“Not whatever you’re thinking of him, that’s for sure,” he drag you inside by the shoulder, snickering when you try to keep up and failing miserably before slowing down for you, “Now common, I need another drink.”

It’s all John ever told you about Alastor, it’s all you ever need, but you never listen.

-

John didn’t change fully after that night, but he still change somewhat. The John that was so drained and empty was still there, but he sits up a bit straighter, as if managed to confirmed whatever else he have in his head. For three months, you two never talked about what happened in the back alley, nor do you talk at all. He still down enough drink to kill an elephant and lost his balance to the point someone needs to take him home. But he nodded his head whenever he’s not tipsy enough that the ceiling spins like a globe and you catches eyes, and sitting beside him felt a bit less draining and off-putting.

You told Alastor about it later, the conversation you two have in the back alley, because of course you do, telling everything to your good friend. Alastor would then look over whenever John’s acting friendlier to you, because of course he does, and joked about it. You saved him five years of his life, he laugh. You laugh along because his tone seems just a bit off. You sometimes think about who Alastor is, whenever you have a moment to sit back and contemplates everything between you two. But not for long, because like clockwork, Alastor would pull you away to do whatever he wants for the day, and like always, you would follow along with little to no complains.

Sometime before John went “missing”, you break the thinning layer of ice between you two and tell him out of the blue that you never actually touch an instrument in your life, but you wished you have the chance to. You thought he would’ve laugh at you, but he sat through your recount of younger you being enthralled by a street musician, seeing it as a form of liberty you can only hope to capture through any other art you made. He asked why, you said there was no space in your life for making music. Not then, not now. He asked if it’s ever a regret, you stay silent.

You asked him to play you something, he huff a laugh behind his glass, but shut up when you didn’t laugh along. A false police alarm got the place empty enough for your group early that night, and the owner was desperate enough for extra cash, enough for him to mousey up and play a song you remember by heart. He played really well, you told him. His playing is the bare minimum, it lacks the souls his father have, he sneers at you. He doesn’t need to have a soul in it, just get used to being mediocre while having fun instead, you reply, leaning against the piano and staring at the group chatting away from you two. He didn’t bother with a counter, but he kept playing, this time it’s a melody you’ve never heard before. You saw Alastor turning his head to you two, but you pay him no mind and turn back to John. He looked so calm playing something like this.

John trips over his fingers and curses a lot, you tell him to keep playing. Until the song’s finished and you left standing in silence for just a bit, waiting for the other to say something. Turning the word over in your mouth, you’re a bit speechless, like you’re face-to-face with a kindred soul. But there’s no real comfort in telling a drowning man he can breathe, so you say his melody felt like home.

Worn beyond his age and exhausted in a way that’s so out of place for someone who have the world in his hand, his smile was genuine, facing towards you, like an old friend and a warm meal. The bar dives and the social circles Alastor loved pulling you along have always made you feel so out of place. Their grin’s too perfect and their voices too pleasant, all with an oddly rotten attitude. It’s like watching a picture show, it’s not how people genuinely act, it’s the semblance of one.

Maybe that’s why you and John never got along too well, he was too busy hiding his face behind glasses of gin and whiskeys, you’re too busy hiding in Alastor shadows. But you both never play along, and you both never faced each other fully before that night. You hope John never have that realization, the fact you’ve never faced him at all.

Then before you knew it, his face to the ground, all red, turned from you. That’s all you knew about John Holloway, that’s all he ever get to tells you.

(deep inside, you want to say that it wasn’t your fault. but the difference between getting swept along with life and standing in a back alley with blood on your hands is that somewhere in your empty head, you did register his scream. there’s a reason you can’t see his face and there’s a reason the rock was in your red hand, sitting in your red palm.)

5. so far down, you won’t know the way home

The forest floor was red, by the time you realized it.

It wasn’t by your hand, but it’s enough for you to step back and breathe. It always so odd to you, just how easy it really is to see in the dark, even when the moon hides away behind strips of clouds. In the dark, at the dead of night, your eyes should’ve been blind to the red that’s bleeding all over, but it never does. It took you a second to remember what you’re supposed to be looking at, and you turn the light towards the main figure, standing so proudly in the middle of this. In through nose, out the mouth. Don’t focus on the thing below, look at him and smile. He smiles back, genuine joy stiches itself on every corner of his face. If only this flashlight is weaker.

“Sorry darlin’. This one have more fight in him than I thought he would,” he strides towards you, the familiar metallic stench overwhelms your senses when his red hand came up to tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear, “Good thing we got it done before he find his way out, huh?”

Good thing he got it done at all, you thought. You can only bother to hide your exhaustion with a mute nod and a grim grin. Knowing exactly how this will plays out again, you remind yourself to be ready. Alastor laughs and pat your cheek affectionately before pulling you by your hand towards the corpse quickly growing cold amongst the grass. As he does, you try to ignore the echoing in your eardrums.

It was gut wrenching at first. The panting, the gasping, frantic steps that echoes through the empty woods, devoid of bird calls, devoid of life. Just a hound, chasing its prey, and a vulture perched on a tree waiting, watching. The choked exhale when they fall, eventually tired out and tripped over themselves or getting a bullet to the thigh. The way they all looked so confused, then they bargain, then they get mad and calls him every name under the sun before shutting up and look at him in the eye. You weren’t sure just how he looked to them, but perversely, you’re glad you never get to see it.

They scream and yell and beg for someone to please come and save them until they can’t anymore, but it felt like they never stop at all.

“Come here.”

He sits you down by the body, open and ready, still holding onto your wrist while you fight every bone in your body to keep your hand still and keep your foot nailed down. His face, flushed with excitement and sweat running down his forehead as he rattled on about how soon, you’ll have enough guts to do this with him instead of only ever following after and picking up the scraps.

“Remember that feeling? Remember the rush?” lifting your clenching fist up to his lips, he smiles and chases your gaze, you stare back, “Etch it into your brain, don’t ever forget it.”

With that, he plunges your fist into the open cavern of flesh and red and it feels so incredibly blasphemous and wrong. While Alastor knitted his fingers atop yours and guide your hand through the process, you feel your senses grows fuzzy around the edge. Half of you wish that headache didn’t die after the 3rd time, at least then you have something else to focus on other than the sopping wet red mush slipping in and out between your frozen fingers. The idea that someone’s inside would immediately cool off after their death is a farce to you, their warmth still so tangible and so fragile it takes everything in you to stop the burning acid from bursting in your throat. He told you on your fifth time that if you vomit on the body, he’ll have you cleaning it with him, sounding just a tad bit considerate, as if the idea of forcing you into doing something you dislike hurts him.

It's almost too much to think about, how you’re becoming something so different, something that’s just enough to his liking, to the point where all you have left are instincts and the alarms in your head. It felt like years ago when your weekdays are filled with nothing but sitting inside your cozy home and looking out the window, hoping one day you’ll be able to experience that high life and being cared for by someone who love you with everything they have, even if it’s the worst experience of your life. It’s almost like decades ago when your thoughtcrimes are no more than passerby on a long day and your smile is a sham but it’s ok because everyone bought into it and you do too. Now you spent your days looking behind your shoulders for excuses while pinprick runs up your neck, waiting for the day you’ll be buried with the people he hate.

You hope when, not if, you do have to, you’ll manage to come up with an excuse to mom for the body in that alley way. You clenched your fist, only the red squelching and spongy inside of a man you barely know respond.

(the hound stare up at the vulture and leave with a red maw, it watches the vulture from the shadow of the trees. the vulture learned to ignore the hound and feast away at leftovers.)

6. I hope you’ll call out for my name.

Unconsciously, you tap your index finger to a rhythm a man showed you some years ago. One you called beautiful, and one that made him smile. Like always, your weary and sunken eye catches red painting your left hand, but you only sigh and return to penning out your letter. A ringing echoes throughout your bleak and empty house, but no voice call out for you. There’s no point in picking up, you simply let the call die on its own. If it’s him, he’ll crawl his way to the front door with or without that call either way.

When the noise abruptly ended and didn’t pick up again, you put down your pen and hold the letter in hands that never lost its stain. Staring down at the words you’ve painstakingly poured over since her funeral, you crumbled the page and held your head. Over and over again, you write and write, hoping that some way, somehow, something can change.

But like always, nothing is enough, so you throw the paper into the small bin next to your seat, holding back the urge to throw everything else on the table with it too; your mom raise a murderer, not an ill-manner rodent. There’s no longer a point in lamenting things that can never be change in your lifetime. You can do this tomorrow, or the next day, or the day next to that, you’re considering how to go out still. As long as he’s not here, that is. You check the clock, eleven and a half, you have around fifteen minutes before he’s here.

Alastor was always suffocating, you thought, dragging yourself to a wardrobe that haven’t felt familiar for more than half a year now. Nosy and meddlesome, it’s something you picked up on even when you were a doe-eye little rat running across the night without realizing you were walking with a hunting hound, but you always thought it was simply how Alastor cares about people. Your mom was right, you were so naïve about him, thinking he can care for anyone else aside from his mother and himself.

He was always suffocating, but ever since the funeral, he all but latch onto you.

The pure black outfit he gave you was something you would wear to mom’s funeral. But coming from him, it makes you feel like a stranger was staring back from the mirror’s view, out of your own skin. So you boxed it and hid it under the sofa after the whole thing.

And of course, Alastor knows this. So whenever he browse through your wardrobe on his own accord, he would always make sure to make a comment about how these plain and boring clothes never look right on you with a good-nature smile. You no longer have the mind to bother with a reply, so you let him do whatever he wants. As long as he get his digs in, you get your peace of mind. The things in here means the world to you, but what use is there to defend something you’ll soon have no use for.

Clicking your tongue, you pulled out something that looks decent for the street and locked the door to your room. You fixed your clothes until it fits right on you and sat on your bed, wondering if you should just stay inside and make him take some couple extra steps. But decidedly, being in your own room with him will always be so much more unnerving of an experience rather than just letting him shuffling through your stuff on his own. So, the door to your room open with a click, and you step out into long familiar but distant hallways. You wish you can unlearn the concept of loving something that isn’t tangible anymore. It’ll make the hallways a bit brighter.

Like usual, you peek into the empty, almost sterile kitchen and walk up to her armchair. After confirming that you’re alone today also, you found yourself back on the sofa with nothing else to do, simply waiting for Alastor. Checking the time again, it’s exactly mid-day now, so his mother must’ve needed help with something, you’ll have to wait for a bit. Gulping down the uncomfortable heavy weight that settled over your heart since a year and a half ago, refusing to ever die, you lie down and close your eyes.

A year, a half, two week and three days, it’s really a wonder how you work. Maybe that’s what Alastor sees in you, a walking list of contradictions, or maybe this is how everyone works, and you were just cruelly kept out of the loop. Even though you never bother to consider her in your own life, ever since a year and a half ago, you wake up staring at the ceiling with bleary eyes wondering what’s she’s doing every day and why you can’t hear her. Then, remembering that she won’t be doing anything from now on, you get up and make yourself breakfast. Sometimes you would still hear someone calling for you, along with the constant ringing from the phone, but then one day, you forgot how she sounded like, so you starts to ignore the calls.

The day you realized you can no longer hear her voice, calling out to you from the door to your house, you’d tried to trace her footstep by opening her cookbook and making the dish she love. One moment, you were staring down into the pages, the next, you’re seated at the counter, surrounded by Alastor’s companions. You’d call for a  whiskey. Everyone find it absolutely hilarious and jokes about your new life while you held the glass in your hand and stare down into the amber-colour liquid. Just as Alastor laugh and reach out for your hand to take it away, talking about how you simply won’t be able to handle the aftermath, you knock your head back and the glass ran clear in one gulp. His friends all cheered for you and shoving another glass into your hand, assuring you’ll get used to this soon, but you don’t know how much you can trust them.

Quite frankly, the whiskey was beyond repulsive. As if you just swallowed flaming charcoal, your throat burns so badly, it’s stopping you from forming a single coherent sentence. You can’t stop yourself from tearing up over it, either, vision blurred and unsteady while a beginning of a headache started creeping up on you, so you down whatever’s in your hand again in the hope of becoming familiar with it fast enough to never have to think twice about it. Before a pretty dame in the group can pass you a third drink, you were hauled up by the shoulder and drag out the door, Alastor hissing a goodbye to the group through his teeth.

Storming off ahead and ranting about how utterly irresponsible you are while you stumbled behind him like a fawn, Alastor would slow down and stare when he can’t hear your soft footstep anymore. You remember walking by a closed tailor shop and flopping yourself down, back against the glass window and weeping without a word. He walked back and sit next to you after a while. You know he’s waiting for you to say something on your own, but you only shrink into yourself. You don’t know what was worse in that moment, the burning in your throat, the head splitting ache slowly brewing or the fact you never know your mother favorite food. How are you supposed to grief someone you don’t know anymore?

In the midst of it all is Alastor, who seemingly lost all of his previous anger. You’ve seen a lot of him over the years, you know he sees all of you. But this is the first time you break down without a word or a reason and you wondered if he feels just as lost and confused as you are. It as if he doesn’t know what to do with you once you actually breaks in a way that doesn’t serve his vision of you, in a way he never have to fix before.

“…Tough day?” with an oddly shy tone, he nudge you from the side, “Didn’t know you’re this much of a sad drunk, honey. Guess I was right to keep you off the bottle after all.” He chuckled, then trail off when you stay silent and stare off into nothing.

It must’ve been no more than ten minutes, but it felt like years before you gave up and open your mouth, voice breaking and quiet. “He made it look so easy.”

“He? Michael?”

He perks up the moment you speak, mouthing off the names of all his associates in hope of finding the one that raises your ire. You would’ve found him endearing if things were different, but you cut him off.

“John,” Then as if it’s not enough, as if Alastor never remembers anyone else, you try to keep your voice even while rubbing your eyes “John Holloway. He made drinking look so easy.” Even without looking, you can see his lips pulled into a taut line.

“Ah, right, John Holloway,” rolling his eyes and shuffling that much closer to you and pulling out his handkerchief, he sneers, holding your wrist still while wiping your face, “No doubt he does. If you didn’t take him out, that chump would’ve drink himself to Hell on his own.”

“At least then he gets to pick his own way out…” You huff.

“It’s been years, honey!” done with cleaning you up, he stuff the handkerchief in his left pocket, “I can’t believe you’re still hung up on him!”

With every word out of his mouth, Alastor’s fake and chipper accent gets just a bit firmer, as if finally knowing what to do. Sitting up straight and pulling his glasses off, he wiped it on his vest and ask dismissively.

“When did he die again? Was it 1928?”

“1929,” you breathe and lean your head against the glass, “Remember that musical you called innovative and new?”

“If only I can forget.” He blanch at the thought of it, you smile wistfully.

“The music was nice, it’ll be nice to watch it again.” From the corner of your eyes, you catches his. You hated how he look so content with this.

“That makes one of us…”

After that, a blanket of silence fell onto you two. With a headache in full swing, you recalled asking whether he ever remembers how they look. Chuckling, he only leans close until your nose almost touch and say that he does. You ask if he’ll ever remember you, he froze and stare into your eyes with an almost incomprehensible look. Standing up, he brushes himself from dust and give you a hand, you take it.

Before you two departed in front of a door that no longer lead to a home, he tells you in an almost too quiet voice that he hope he never have to remember you. You hate his everything in that moment. From how his stands was just a tad bit different from his usual tall and confident poised self to the way he looks so abnormal with the corner of his lips dipped down. You hate how you’ve grown fond of his smile, so you turn and closed the door with a good night.

In the morning, sounding like you just dragged yourself from hell back up, you asked him for a clipped picture from the old newspaper and leave it under your pillow. And ever since, you’ve been rewriting the same letter. To everyone that you ever have a hand on, and to John and your mom. But specifically to John and mom.

John was a good man. It’s a shame he drank too much and care too much in one night. It’s a bigger shame that you can’t keep your thoughtcrime as exactly that, a thoughtcrime. He was right, too. You never knew the man you called Alastor, you don’t think you’ll ever do and you’re happy for it. You only ever find the cowardice to take another man’s life with his help, and you’ll only ever find yourself in more trap than being free from it.

You still bought yarns and cookbooks that you think your mother would’ve love. You come back with enough groceries for two people and the kitchen table are always set for two. You check every day in the kitchen for her still. You still crept up behind the armchair just in case she’s sleeping. Her red slippers still sat patiently just in front of her door. You know she never will be there, but it’s a nice thought. And since mom won’t ever going to be there again, you’ll take a nap. Alastor can have fun dealing with half-asleep you once he’s here.

(you’re woken up by the sounds from your kitchen, the smell familiar. as if finally escaping a bad nightmare, you sprang up on your feet and peek in like a child. Alastor stood at the stove, smiling at you. for the first time in years, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.)

7. we’re going to hell together, after all.

Left, right, right, left.

The silent always puts you on edge, as if there’s something out here, biding for it’s time. If only it’s a beast you can take down with a shotgun. You try to recall the forest trail that you know is somewhere out here as shadows of trees covered you from the moon. But you know Alastor, and you know for a fact that if he wanted to, he could herd you out of New Orleans with just a couple of words and a smile. So you uselessly try to focus past the thundering in your ears, you can’t hear a trace of him anymore. So on the count of three…

Throwing yourself to the right, you almost slammed into a tree as a bullet lodge into the trunk of another just right ahead. A soft chuckle rang out from behind, you kept running. Left hand clutching your right wrist, a sob bubbling up from your aching throat, it’s between running like this and letting the hand ram itself into whatever’s there in the forest. Even if you’re blessed with the chance to get out of this alive, you’ll never have use for your right hand ever again. Bones doesn’t heal right when they sit past five days, but you’re not sure you can even hold a pen with a mangled thumb and a pinkie barely hanging on. You  lost a bit of your will at that, but the silence of the woods draws you from your thought. You want to die by your own hands.

Right, left, right.

But you know you won’t be able to. The moment you let him take you here, you already lost. Alastor knows the woods better than you. He knows hunting better than you. And you’re sure he knows he can outrun you at any time. You refuse to dwell on the meaning of it and push your left hand against a tree.

Another shot rang out, this time hurling right by your head and nicked the tip of your right ear and went into the night. You don’t know where it goes, but you staggered just a bit and nearly launch yourself forward when a small bush snatches the end of your clothes.

“Sorry honey!” his voice gets further and further away while he stand still and yell out to you with a casual tone, as casual as he can keep it, “Frayed nerves and all~” he laughs, the rest of his words intelligible, and then suddenly, the forest went silent again. You can’t afford to stop and think anything through, so you push on ahead.

When you’re stuck with only the breaking and crushing of leaves under foot and your own winded breaths filling your ears, you cursed. Your throat starch, your lungs burns. With every step you take, your visions blackened around the edge and breathing alone hurts so horribly. It’s a blessing you even lasted for this long, you never have to chase anyone like he did. You wishes you burn that letter instead of dropping it in the bin, you wish you burn that house down instead of living with a ghost you can’t see. You wish you burn him. You know something was off with him that day, Alastor couldn’t shut up to save his life ever since he gets the key to the house. But he didn’t so much as uttered a word to you while staring down at the cutting board, but you didn’t care enough to ask him. Biting back a curse when a stinging pain shot up from your ankle, you feel your head spin as a short and pained chuckle escape your dry lips, he was thinking about how he wants you dead, surely.

Left, left? Right. L-

You can’t help but cry out the moment the bullet sink into your right upper thigh and sent you down. You crashed sideway onto the forest floor and black out for just half a second when a rock dig into your left temple. Clutching at your thigh with a broken hand, your laugh sounds unfamiliar to your own ears, almost choking as it drags nails and spikes through your throat, like that of an animal, like you’re an animal. The loss of oxygen is getting to you, the irony doesn’t escape you.

While your body winds down and the pain and exhaustion settles in, you go into the most horrible aftermath you’ve ever have to endure. Your head pulsating with every beat of your heart and your limbs grew heavy and cold. Vividly, you pick up on leaves breaking and sticks crushed under heavy footstep and you abandoned all sort of dignity to scrambled and try to drag yourself away from him, fingernails dug into dirt and grass to pull your lead like body away. But another clink, another shot hit your lower torso from behind as your choke scream got swallowed up by the earth, left to clutch at your wounds with face buried into the earth and tears streaming from your eyes.

“Oh honey, why so sad?” a heel sit on your bullet wound, dancing in circle before he slowly press his whole weight onto it. Your suffocating wail isn’t enough to amused him, but he still laugh with such gentleness in his tone. “I thought this is what you want? Weren’t you writing to dear old John about leaving? Well, here it is!”

The relief he granted you last for all but half a second before he bring his foot down. Stinging, numbing pain spread through your entire body and you’re left gasping for air while he held your shoulder and set you to face him. Hunching over your shivering body with a hand on your face, he smiles. Or at least you think he is, there’s not a point trying to make out a single thing over the agonizing pain that’s making a home in your body. You wanted so badly to just black out and die right here, you pretty sure you did black out at some point, but Alastor slap your cheek lightly and calls your name with almost a whine to his tone. The warmth from his hand stand out amongst the incomprehensible burning of your flesh and the blood rushing through your head, why are you here again?

“Oh come on, don’t leave me hanging like this. You know I hate it when you ignore me.”

You’re not, you want to scream. If there’s anything you can ever say for him to get off of you and leave you alone, you would. You don’t know if it’s the blood lost or the pain getting to you, but your already waning visions of him blurs beyond recognition while he coos at you.

“I guess it really do hurts that badly?” he laughs, “One question solves then!”

At the mention of it, your blood ran cold and the forest felt just a bit more freezing than it already was. Right, he did say something about John, didn’t he? Almost like it was yesterday, when you’re sitting alone in your room at eleven in the morning. Although barely able to remember the exact wording of every letter, you know by heart the concepts and questions in all the letters you’ve written and rephrased a thousand times and over. But the question wasn’t in that one, it was at least several drafts before it, dropped because it was too presumptuous to ask your first and closest victim such a horribly him question. All of it, sitting neatly in the bin right by your writing desk. All of it, he could’ve read in the hours it took you to wake up.

You want to stick to what’s left of you and die raising your head just a bit higher than when you live by not letting him hear a word out of you, either the fact your throat still hurts so badly just swallowing or the fact you know it’s all but useless talking now that’s keeping you. But from the corner of your eye, you saw his right, red hand gripping tightly onto something that you can’t properly make out, and then you remember the reason you never anticipated any of this occurring within your lifetime.

“Th-the letters…” you groaned, “it’s not-you-“

Right, the reason you were caught off guard by him breaking your fingers while pinning you to his car, the reason you couldn’t even begin to make head from tail when he pressed you for the name of whoever it was that makes you do this. The letters that is, for all its intended purposes, your suicide note.

“Yes, yes,” with a draws to his voice, as if he’s tired of this, “Your lovely letters, to dear old ma and John. We both know I read all about them.”

“No-“ you cough, it’s hurts just to breathe, “I wasn’t going to- tell them-“

“Oh, that. I know.”

For just a moment, you’re void of anything. All the pain and the blistering heat and the cold night air leave your body for just a second and left you with nothing at his words. You’re aware of his every movement, even through the darkness of the night. Suddenly, everything is too much, too loud.

“I thought you’re smarter than this, love.” you can’t see him properly at all, but you can’t see him smiling and it scares you,  “It never was just about the letters.”

“Then what-“

Shushing you, he leans down until your forehead nearly touched, you try to focus and find his eyes at this awkward angle but it only worsen the unbearable pounding in your head.

“This, is what you want,” he pauses, you can see the outline of his jaw shifting, like rolling words on his tongue. You want to call him a madman, but you don’t even know if this is him anymore. This isn’t the Alastor you know for years. He would’ve never talk to you without that stupid accent that’s everywhere on the radio. The Alastor you know doesn’t need to considers his words talking to anyone, always with an excuse on his sleeve. And that Alastor would never gotten so close, wouldn’t have sounded so personal. “You said you want to leave. To get to that ‘freedom’, right?”

He sounded so hurt, as if it’s him that’s being crushed under weight with bullets in him and two broken fingers, as if it’s not you writhing on the forest floor, as if he’s the one dying tonight.

“You can’t bear to live anymore, right? You can’t do this with me anymore, can you?” you’re painstakingly reminded of the fact he still have his right hand on you, casually moving it down to your neck while he raises his left. You aren’t sure why, but you still try to claw at the hand clasping gently around you. You think this happened before, but you weren’t sure where the idea came from, the loss of oxygen getting to you quicker than you thought it would. Somewhere in the back of your mind, your fingers, two broken and eight dirtied with dirt and your own blood, it lost the red that have been clinging onto you like a disease.

“Al-“ in that moment, your vision suddenly cleared, like a last-ditch attempt at life. The grip he have around you is like that of a snake, too. Coiling gently and kindly, with a thumb digging into your skin while the inners of your ears felt like bursting open.

“It’s alright, mon Chéri, I’ll help you. I always have, haven’t I?” he always have been helping you, but that was Alastor, your friend and the demon on your shoulder. Not the man that’s staring down at you with such a look and speaking to you with such tenderness and love you can’t begin to dissect.

Desperately, you stare up at the image of an unfamiliar man with voices you’ve never heard before. He smiles a smile so painful, as if losing his mind too, but you can’t tell who he is anymore. Your mom was right, John was right, you’re right, but none of it matters when you’re running out of breath and the rock in his left hand fits so well into his palm.

“I’ll come see you when I’m down there, wait for me.”

Your vision bloomed and blurred away. You stay awake for long enough to hear the first crack of skull, reverberating through your eardrums. You’d stay awake for the second hit, and the third. And you stay awake for just long enough to grow envy of John for never having to faced you that night.

(the hound leaps, sharp fangs breaking tough skin and tearing veins, the vulture, without a mind to think of god, only knows how to cries out.)

[mggsv]

hey!! could I request smut with gnc reader (afab) and spencer? basically it’s the reader’s first time bc they’ve had lots of dysphoria in the past and spencer is just super gentle and loving but also gets dirty af as they get into it! and reader has a praise kink!

thank youuu!! :):)

His green sweater

afab!reader x spencer reid (18+)

warnings: first time!, talks of body discomfort and dysphoria, talks of past sex acts, slight aggressive spencer, eventual smut, praise, oral (reader receiving), sassy reid (inappropriate words)

“I can’t- fucking breathe Spence.” you grunt, taking the binder off. You throw it at your lover huffing as you stood naked in front of his equally naked body.

He frowns, nervous hands itching towards his thighs. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable baby..” You shake your head, taking a small breather. “I’m fine i just- it’s different than..usual.” you swallow and move to cover your chest. You felt yourself sinking into a small headspace, feeling self conscious. “Baby..?” You hear Spencer’s soft voice call out to you. “Spence i’m fine-“

“You’re not.” He was closer now, you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. His nervous hands touched your bare shoulders making you shudder as he pulled you into his embrace. “You’re..very beautiful. I want to do this but only if you’re comfortable with it.” He murmurs, kissing the side of your head. Still you kept your eyes closed, arms tightly shielding your chest.

You feel Spencer pull away, followed by something being pulled over your head. Warm and slightly fuzzy on the inside. “Slide your arms in, i won’t look okay?” he says. You peel your eyes open to see green. A sweater. You pull it over the rest of your top half seeing that it stops right above your sex. “Spence?” you look down at the green sweater in confusion. He turns back around and smiles. “I uh- i figured that since you’ve had your daily limit of the binder that something else could keep its place for a while. I remember you used to always wear sweaters when we first met.” He opened his arms out for you, but you only stared at him with wide eyes. His green sweater- He made sure you’re comfortable. Fuck you loved Spencer Reid so much.

“Okay..i’m fine.” you cough and let him pull you into his arms, straddling his lap. “Let’s uh, let’s have sex..? How do i-“ he chuckles and kisses your nose. You shy away in embarrassment. It was already a disaster. You don’t know how to ask for sex. You’ve done..things with Spencer but it was never the big stuff, so when he laid you down and spread your legs the only thing going through your mind was how much would go inside of you.

He kissed your thighs lovingly, staring up at you with his eyes low. He hummed softly, tongue darting out to lick after every kiss. You squeezed your hole as he got closer and closer to your wet sex. “You’re absolutely beautiful baby.” He breathes, taking in sight of you. You were flushed, legs open and wet with Spencer’s tongue. That sweater however, stayed where it was and you were all the more comfortable. “So beautiful..god what am i gonna do with you?” He whispers, making you whimper. Your legs shifted to close but he placed a hand on your inner thigh. His thumb rubs over your sex slowly, picking up on just how wet you were. “Fuck..” he breathes.

You stared half lid at the ceiling, back slightly arching as his finger slipped inside of you. It went in with ease, Spencer’s fingered you before… “Spence..” you moan, “more please.” He pressed deep into your sex, another finger slipping in to stretch you. Spencer watched your lips part as another moan slipped out. You shuddered at the feeling of his fingers pressing that spot deep inside of you, it went even further at the thought of his thick cock filling you..and pressing it instead. You could feel yourself squeezing around Spencer’s fingers, but that didn’t stop him from adding another. “So beautiful..” he whispers. You groan softly, hand clutching the hem of his green sweater.

Spencer’s other hand finds your sensitive bud, giving it a few strokes before his tongue is on you. “Shit-“ you gasp. He lapped at your wet cunt while his fingers fucked you open. “You’re going to take me so well, i just know it.” He hums, taking your bud between his lips to suck while his fingers fucked you faster. “Spence..” you moan, feeling your stomach warm. You shudder, trying to close your legs. “I’ll cum please-“

“Cum for me then.” He raises a brow at you, though you couldn’t see it. It made you smack his head in return. Your eyes rolled slightly, back arching even more as he tried to hold you down and eat you just the way you liked. “i’m..” you whimper, hips twitching as you came. He pulls his fingers out, but he kept devouring you. Your legs shook just a bit, his tongue flicking over your sensitive bud.

“Do you..want to continue?” He says softly to you. Spencer hovers above your body (not before licking his fingers clean however). His hair fanned over your face. You make out his concerned eyes and smile. “Mhm..” you reach up to bring his face down to kiss his lips.

It wasn’t long before Spencer had you beneath him. The way he whispered praises into your ear, taking him inch by inch felt like a fever dream.

“Big-“ you gasp, hand scratching at Spencer’s back as his cock slid into you. Your legs were around his waist as he held you in his arms best he could. Spencer fucked into you slowly, not even going in all the way. You didn’t miss how sweetly he whispered to you- how he talked your through it. How he held your hand..how he kissed your tears away.

“You’re doing such a good job baby.” He coos, “So good..taking me like this.” You feel your hips beginning to rock with his, your hole relaxing against his cock. You moan as he slips further inside of you, hands finding anything to hold on to- scratching his back, pulling his hair- anything, to hold onto while he fucked you.

[cer-rata]

Fic WIP(maybe): "World's Okayest"

"So," Conrad started, eyes bright and excited, "I think the three of us are like, a thing."

Jon slowly turned away from the diner’s window to look at him, mostly in horror and confusion. Mostly. "...W-what? You...you're not suggesting...what?"

"Like, you know, Batman and Superman and Wonder Woman. The big three."

Jon let out a sigh of relief. "Oh. oh okay, I thought you were trying to say--"

Damian snorted. "Yeah, considering what Conrad writes in his spare time, maybe you shouldn't relax so quickly."

"DAMIAN!"

Jon blinked. "...Conrad--"

"Don't listen to him! He's evil and he lies and--"

"He's quite prolific." Damian laughed as Conrad missed him with a thrown French fry.

Jon shook his head. "I don't even want to know. Um. Conrad, where were you going with--"

"Oh! Right! Before SATAN took the wheel--I dunno, I just think we work together pretty well, maybe we should do it more consistently.”

“I’d like that.” Jon really did enjoy spending time with them, even when they were getting shot at.

Damian shrugged. “I mean, I don’t think we need to imitate those old bags and Diana, but sure.”

“But I don’t think it’s imitating, it’s pretty natural. Jon is ‘Angry Superman--’”

“Hey!”

“You’re ‘GNC Wonder Woman--’”

“Wh-wait--”

“And I’m ‘The Batman Who Fucks.’”

Damian stared at him. “...Are you insane?”

“Yes, that is exactly why I’m Batman.”

Jon snorted and covered his mouth.

“Conrad, there is no way--” Damian leaned in angrily, “How the hell am I not Batman?”

“Batman is scary. I’m scary. You’re not scary.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“If both of us are dangling someone off of a roof, which one of us might actually drop them?”

Jon looked mildly alarmed. “...Neither of you? Right?”

Damian groaned. “...Okay, but that’s not a good--Batman doesn’t kill people!”

“I never said I’d allow them the release of death. But see, right now: You’re even-tempered, relatively normal, patient even though I am going out of my way to irritate you--that’s Diana, bro.”

“Are you saying I’m Diana because you think I’m boring?!”

“No, Diana’s not boring, you being boring has nothing to do with it.”

Damian sighed and leaned back in his seat. “Oh, Conrad. Conrad, Conrad, Conrad…”

Jon looked back and forth between them a couple of times. “Wait, are you guys actually arguing or--”

Conrad turned to make eye contact with him and smiled. “The trick is to get him ready to kill you. He won’t, so he has to resort to something else and--hey, no, D, your side of the booth is over there, across from me where I’m safe--”

Ah no, it was flirting then. Again.

Damian slid into the booth next to him, and Conrad scooted over into Jon, who didn’t budge at all and just watched with amusement and maybe something a little more…sour.

Conrad laughed and curled up against him. “Damian, I’m sorry!” 

Damian slid closer, appearing perfectly relaxed and normal when compared to Conrad’s giggly hysterics. “What’s wrong, beloved? I’m not doing anything.”

“Oh no! You only call me that when you’re worried or I’m in trouble!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Conrad squeaked and pressed his cheek into Jon’s shoulder. “Sammy, help!”

Conrad was the only person Jon would let call him by his middle name. He even liked it, actually. He tried not to ponder that, but failed, and his smile started to wilt. His guts felt tight. “Eh, I think…I think you’re fine…”

Conrad sat straight up so quickly that he and Damian knocked foreheads. “Fuck, my bad--”

“Ow! Why!?”

“Sorry, I just…” He turned to look at Jon. “What…what happened?”

Jon stared at him. “...What?”

“You just uh…you got a little…uh…” Conrad suddenly looked trapped and Jon couldn’t figure out what on Earth that was about.

Damian leaned over to look at him too and raised an eyebrow. “That’s...just a Midwestern thing, Conrad, they always look a little lost.”

“I’m not from the--” Jon made eye contact with Conrad again, and caught the violet flash of his irises. Then Conrad nodded gently and turned back to Damian.

“Ah, I guess you’re right. You can go back to mauling me if you want.”

Damian shook his head. “No, you killed my momentum, I’ve added it to my bank of cruelty and spite to be spent later at my leisure.” 

The lunch went on from there, their rambunctiousness settling some. Still, that look Conrad gave him, combined with the glow of his eyes unsettled Jon a bit. Did he get a vibe from him? What would he even have felt that would alert Conrad? Sure, he was a little queasy for a moment but…

“...Okay but the problem is, I wasn’t planning to make my next moniker a front-facing one.” Damian explained. “The ‘Trinity' thing is mostly for the public to have something to cling to, and well, frankly to make my father seem less…like a terrorist.”

“But I’ve seen the costume you’re thinking of, babe, if you’re trying to be hidden, why the red and white and the big yellow ‘I’ on your chest? And it glows?”

“Symbols are important--” 

“But it all suggests that you want people to be aware of you.”

Damian sighed. “It’s a complicated…thing.” He paused. “I don’t want to scare civilians, but I also don’t really want to be paraded around as some symbol of morality. I don’t think I can be that.”

Conrad shrugged. “I mean I’m on lunch boxes now, and I’m…maybe a little less…restrained than you are.”

“Which you’re working on.”

“It’d be easier if you’d start restraining me inst--”

“Jon is sitting right there!’

“Fuck, right, sorry buddy.”

Jon waved them off and took a long drink of his soda and desperately wished it was socially acceptable to anxiety crunch on glass in public. 

Conrad’s gaze lingered on him again before he continued. “...I’m working on it, yeah. But like…my point is that no one has a problem with me, why should you need to be sneaky?”

“Because…because I’m good at it, I was trained to be precise and quiet and--”

“You really should lean more in Dick’s direction.” Jon said. “He’s still intimidating and civilians love him.”

Damian looked away and Jon heard him swallow. “I…I’m not inspiring like that.”

Conrad growled and angrily called Damian a word only he could say, which caused Jon to gasp and Damian to flinch. “--please, if I weren’t so inspired by you, I’d have probably turned into hotter, more effective, cooler, funnier, more stylish, significantly scarier Red Hood.”

“Well…well…we can’t rely on the general public being bewitched by me.”

“Cause you’re too much of a little bitch for a crop top--ah! No! Stahahahahp! Damian!”

Jon closed his eyes and sighed while the ‘Lovebirds’ went at it again. He found himself wishing that Jack or even Lor was there, and then with horror realized that not going for Darla instead probably implied something. He could only be so avoidant, he wasn’t Damian. Ugh. It wasn’t even that he couldn’t see her that way, on occasion he did--but it wasn’t the same energy, which was probably good, because having some form of distracting emotional entanglement with everyone he worked with sounded like a horrible time. Still, watching Conrad giggle while Damian’s hands roamed around with a playfulness that Jon had apparently never earned from his best friend made him feel some sort of way. He acknowledged that was maybe…a little gay. 

Maybe he was a little gay. 

Jon groaned loudly enough that the couple stopped what they were doing and looked over at him.

“...Jonathan, is something actually wrong?”

“No!”

Conrad managed to steady his breathing. “C’mon dude, we’re your friends, I can’t have two emotionally constipated--”

“I think I like boys!”

Damian looked completely blindsided, and maybe a little afraid. Conrad looked kind of…guilty?

“Oh. Um.” Damian’s eyes flicked around rapidly like he was desperately searching his brain for something. “Uh…exclusively?”

Jon dropped his face into his hands, muffling his words into his palms. “I dunno! I don’t think so! I think Darla is really pretty, and Devyn, and Kathy--”

“Still?” Conrad didn’t manage to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Shut up!

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Who is Devyn?”

“Oh, she’s just a girl at my school. So like, I think girls are pretty, and I think if any of them asked me out, I’d probably say yes, but also--”

“You’re somewhat attracted to all of your friends, and the the intensity varies.” Conrad finished quietly, sounding ashamed like he was revealing that he’d eaten the last cookie after all.

Jon bit his cheek and looked away. “...Something like that.” 

Damian sat with that for a moment. “...So you’re actually ‘Disastrous Bi-Panic Superman.’”

That was dumb enough to snap Jon out of the beginnings of a spiral, and he laughed. “I hate you.”

Damian smiled. “So Kathy is the last one of us to only do things as God intended.” 

Jon pursed his lips. “Uhhh…no, I think she’s ace, actually.”

Conrad shook his head. “No, no, Kathy just doesn’t like humans.”

Jon blinked. “Wait, really?”

Conrad nodded. “Yeah, she said she’s ‘not a monster fucker.’”

Damian nodded sagely. “Wise.”

Jon squinted. “I don’t…Kathy looks just like us--well okay she’s really green, but otherwise--”

“I don’t think you mom’s a monsterfucker, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Conrad offered. Jon was impressed that it sounded like he genuinely thought that sentence would be comforting. 

“Okay! Okay violently moving on--”

“Oh. OH!” Damian sat up a little straighter. “That’s why you always wear skinny jeans, despite them being a number of years out of fashion! It’s an expression of your flammable nature.”

Jon blushed. “Wh--flammable--”

“Babe, skinny jeans are coming back.”

“You lie.”

“It’s kind of a ten year cycle for popular items.”

“But skinny jeans? Really?”

“You’d look great in skinny jeans.”

“I look great in everything. I could wear Vandal Savage like a coat and make it...what, make it fashion? That doesn’t mean he’s valid.”

They both startled at the loud crunch Jon made when he bit directly into his glass.

[ricky-tiki-tah]

Ego Headcanons: The Ipliers

Pt. 1

Iplier Manor is home to most of Mark Fischbach’s egos, the Ipliers.

The Actor-Marc(he/him): doesn’t live at the manor. No one knows where he is or much about him. Dark is the only one who recalls what Actor did, and Host knows due to their powers. His body was dead before and during the entirety of WKM (explaining the amount of maiming that Abe listed). He considers the egos made from AHWM and ISWM to be his children, except Engie. He doesn’t like Engie. (More on that in another post). None of those egos know he calls them his children/creations. He cannot be seen as a failure/the bad guy. (In the words of Mark himself, a narcissist asshole). All of the films he was in disappeared without a trace when he died for the first time due to interference by the HE, leaving many film buffs confused (many people thought the movies, and even Marc himself, to be mass hallucinations and there was later a documentary done on the phenomenon)- Powers: can harness the power of the House Entity to create pocket realities(and stay alive).

Wilford Warfstache(he/him): gnc pan Pink and yellow whirlwind of a man. Cries bubbles. Is more powerful than Dark but content letting him take the lead on most things while co-leading the egos. In a relationship with Dark. The events of WKM haunt his dreams, but he very rarely remembers them in the morning. His mustache and a strip of his hair are naturally pink, he doesn’t dye it. (The color loses vibrancy the closer he is to William. Some mornings, his hair/mustache will be entirely brown. On those days, Dark will sit quietly with him until Wilford finally slips back into place.) He feels a special connection to Dark, but is unsure why (he stopped questioning it after they started dating, assuming that’s why). His bouts as William can be triggered by Damien/Celine so they tend to avoid the bubblegum man when in control. - Powers: reality bending (telepathy/telekinesis/teleportation/ ect.)

Darkiplier-Dark/Damien(they/he): nonbinary ace fusion. Is the designated Head of Iplier Manor. While Dark is their own consciousness created as a byproduct of the twins having been stuck in The Upside-down for a time, they only exist when both Damien and Celine are in the body(they can only separate when in Actor’s stories). Dark specifically is the one in a relationship with Wilford, not the twins. Who is in control can be determined by the color of their aura, with Dark having both red and blue, Damien having only blue, and Celine having only red. (Damien will go by both ‘Dark’ and his own name when in control, while Celine chooses to only go by ‘Dark’.) Only a few of the older egos actually know the difference. Dark himself is usually in control of the body with the twins keeping a running commentary in the back of their mind. Celine is the strongest, due to having been a seer, and can force the other two asleep if she so wishes. Feels a sort of parental responsibility for Engie despite them not being a ‘young’ ego. - Powers: blasts of raw telekinesis like power, shadow bending(possibly more, undiscovered)

King of the Squirrels-Artie(he/him): a physically younger ego (roughly 12). Was pretty much adopted by Dark/Wilford. Has a treehouse connected to his bedroom through the window where most of his squirrel friends have built nests. Always has one or two baby squirrels in his pockets. Has named all of his squirrel friends. Doesn’t usually have his peanut butter beard(Dark banned it in the house and he ushers almond butter instead when a Crank is over). Likes spending time with Engie, who is fascinated by all types of animals. - Powers: higher agility, can talk to animals.

Engineer Mark-Engie(he/they): an ego made from Dark, specifically Damien (like how Marc considers certain egos his children). Due to that, he feels a special connection to Dark and has adopted them as a parent. He likes hanging out with Wilford. They love animals of any type and can often be found with Artie, helping him take care of his squirrels. Loves hugs and will find any excuse to hug someone. They are basically the physical embodiment of Mark’s love for space. He has those glow in the dark stars on his bedroom ceiling and a telescope. - Powers: unknown

The Host-Isaac(he/they): demiaroace nonbinary. uses his narrations as a sort of echolocation, able to see what they describe. Doesn’t technically need a service dog, but sometimes wishes they had one (more so when Mark and Amy visit with Chica)- Powers: visions, low level mental suggestion, and limited reality warping through narrations.

The Author-Oscar(he/him): aroace agender. Wrote actual books. Lived alone in a cabin. Loves dogs. Does not like large groups of people. Keeps to himself. - Powers: low level mental suggestion, limited reality warping through written word.

— Host and Author are siblings OR the same person depending on how I want to write them. (There is a separate post for these 2 as well)

Dr. Edward Iplier-Doc(he/him): demiaroace in a relationship with Host. Watches those medical dramas. Consistently running on 2 hours of sleep and way too much caffeine, but somehow always pretty chill and looks well put together. Pretty much adopted Eric. Dislikes when Mark is off his ADHD meds because it effects all the egos. - Powers: can see how people will die. (He’s very glad egos don’t stay dead)

Eric Derekson(he/him): anxiety boiTM. One of the younger egos (about 18-19). Has chronic bad luck. Has two prosthetic legs. Showed up at the Manor one day and was practically adopted by Doc and Host by the end of the day. Enjoys spending time with Oliver. - Powers: unknown

Bim Trimmer(he/him): theatre bi, not a literal cannibal. Does enjoy very rare steaks though and was mistaken as one by the Jims. Runs a game show in Wilford’s studio but often helps Wilford with interviews as well. Hangs out with Murdock the most and has taken Yan under his wing. He sees Yancy sort of as a younger brother too. - Powers: ramped up charisma

Murdock Malarkey(he/him): murder man with a plan. He’s the older of the two Malarkey brothers. Murdock has a job as a paranormal investigator(the Drowned Man). Keeps an eye on Yancy most of the time. Has a flair for the dramatic and enjoys spending time with Bim. He definitely gives murder tips to Yan. He helped Yancy with the murder of their parents but got away while Yancy got caught. He still blames himself for not watching his brother close enough. Write poetry in his free time. Sometimes hangs out with Author. - Powers: can see and talk to ghosts.

Yancy Malarkey(he/him): theatre kid all the way. The younger Malarkey brother. Best friends with Heapass. Very good with anything that could be used to stab. Regularly spars with Yan to keep their skills up. Got a job at the local corner store after he got out of Happy Trails on parole. Wants to someday hit Broadway. Does not blame Murdock for ending up in jail and constantly tries to explain how it’s not his fault. - Powers: Magic tattoos that he cannot control.

Yandereplier-Yan(she/they): transfem demigirl. Physically younger ego (about 15-16). Hangs around the Malarkeys and Bim to the point that she’ll call them her uncles. Has their own katana. She and Yancy made a secret club called “The Yan Gang” and they meet up every Monday to play dress up and make plans for the week. - Powers: heightened agility, instant mastery of weapons techniques.

The Iplier egos are all open to questions.

Part 2

[punkeropercyjackson]

Ages ago @floof-ghostie sent me an saying 'I'm humbly asking for Perlex headcanons🤲' but my inbox got piled up so now i can't find it :/ Thankfully i remember it clear as day so here's your Perlex food Sola!!

We got an New York raised monoracial afro-dominicano and a San Francisco raised blasian(chinese)dominicana.They're both audhd dyslexic and bptsd,punk,femmes in ways that come across as masc to normies and share the same yet opposite personality and life experiences.Match made in Elysium and not to kiss my own fat ass but i'd pay to watch a black love movie about that

Their nicknames for eachother are 'Blue' and 'Bubbles' and 'Princesa Azul' and 'Strawberry Pop' are added on when they finally end up together.'Blue' duh,'Bubbles' Lex has a boba tea addiction,'Princesa Azul' 'Principe Azul' translates to both 'Blue Prince' and 'Prince Charming' and 'Strawberry Pop' Lex is bubbly and sweet and so fucking pink and they met on the strawberry fields when Lex made blue strawberries with their Demeter kid powers for Percy when he jokingly asked

Gf who is so babydoll x Bf who is so trans gamer girl

Lex is pint-sized but thick(think Fionna Campbell)and Percy is a tank transfem.4'11 vs 6'4

Both sweet tooth people but Percy's favorite flavor is bluestrawberries and Lex's is cotton candy,fast food is a love language for them and they learned to make chinese fast food together and they're burger lovers-Percy loves double cheese burgers while Lex loves loaded burgers and they even eat the same ones together like The Lady and The Tramp😭

Lex has a 2000s Barbie flip phone they use exclusively for Percy and Percy only lets Lex touch his gaming equipment because they're special :3

Percy's love of blue is only rivaled by Lex's love of pink and they buy/make eachother goods in their fave colors

Percy does have their own unique style but they took inspo from Lex's ultimate earthy black aesthetic(by which i mean their mom is literally fuckin' DEMETER and they're her strongest mortal kid)subcounciously.There's leans into the type of darker/muter bohemian and traditional afropunk that gets confused for goth by normies

Lex on their end looks like a punk Polly Pocket and has been dressing pastel punk/solarpunk since freshman year Goode High by Rachel's helping hand.When dating started,they got Percy to participate in their femmehood and he became their gnc af bi boyfriend until The Krak(and not en)

They diy'd her estrogen,lended her their clothes she refused not to wear even though they didn't fit and did her iconic black base with a white streak mermaidcore dye job for her in an intimate moment where Percy gripped Lex's waist tightly in dysphoria at possibly looking ridicilous and they reassured her with compliments,gestures and kisses to her face

They hate regular books but love comic books and were insecure about being stupid over it until they met and bonded over it

Lex has a flavored lipgloss collection with a huge variety of increasingly out there flavors and a couple of them were gifts from Percy.NIGGA THINKS HE'S SLICK LMAOOOOOOO but yeah they make out so often

Percy has the cocky flirty punk dude thing going on but it's a Lex exclusive.You couldn't have threatend him into doing that with Annabeth and not just because she'd beat his ass for it.But back on topic,this is the type i was picturing,Perlex core:

The Outcast Godlings relathionships graph:Nico and Percy are canon compliant up until Hoo where there were no retcons so they're closer than ever,Lex briefly met Nico when Percy was showing him around camp and grew lavenders to hand to him and sweetly asked him to be nice to Percy and he happily agreed and later they found him sobbing his heart out in the mess hall's kitchen over Bianca joining The Hunters so they offered to be his new big sister and he accepted and they chugged strawberry milk tea together,the three of them rebuilt their connection inbetween Botl and Tlo,Hazel instantly approached Lex in Moa's Argo || landing on New Rome as Percy had been yapping about them ever since he bit into a Camp Jupiter strawberry that didn't taste quite the same for some reason he couldn't remember just yet that made sadness he didn't understand wash over him and invited them to the cat cafe for coffee and chatting and kitty playing and they were besties by the end of their visit and fell into Tartarus together as opposed to Percy and Annabeth and the four of them are best friends,the Dead Sea Siblings are legally siblings by Sally's post-Boo Nico and Hazel adoption,Lex is Nico and Hazel's big sister figure and Perlex are the Team Parents aka Sea Dad and Plant Mom

Nico and Hazel are punk kids and baby afrogoths who were radicalized by their punk pseudo-parents and mentors.They taught them all about actual punk culture and never let them set a foot in Hot Topic in favor of diy lessions and they all go on petty crime sprees and tagging together and ofc charity events and once the kids aren't kids anymore,they're comfortable bringing them to riots and protests too.The Outcast Godlings are well-known on the underground NY parties and shows scene and have adventures and episodic drama with it and they frequent marts for shoplifting and poc owned food trucks for paying.The skatepark is a hot spot for them too,Lex and Nico are rollerbladers and Percy and Hazel are skaters(like mother,like son,like father,like daughter)and they go thrifting a lot

They also go out for froyo every sunday as family bonding.Percy's flavor is blue raspberry and her toppings are gummy bears and rainbow sprinkles,Nico's flavor is vanilla and oreo pieces and his toppings are gummy bears once in a blue moon,Hazel's flavor is strawberry and her toppings are chocolate chips and cookie dough and sometimes fruity pebbles and Lex's flavor is s'mores and strawberry caramel swirl and their toppings are cookie dough and boba pearls.Whenever Perlex have a froyo date they get cotton candy with brownie bits and m&m's.The four of 'em also frequent the local cat cafe and are the only reason it's still in bussiness and actually helped it's publicity once by putting Percy in a cat fursuit and Lex in a catgirl maid outfit(Nico and Hazel have blackmail photos saved on Hazel's camera)

They're so autistic about video games of all kinds,from indie,to the classic Pokemon and Animal Crossing,to time management,to tamagotchis and unironically do 'gamer couple' things

Percy has a special sparkly sunflower hair charm to represent Lex he saves for special occasions(like their wedding)and Lex is a clothes thief as Percy's sea salt scent and portable heater ahh temperature is comforting

Matching Ichigo Kurosaki and Orihime Inoue/Ichihime secondhand figures,matching Bubbline icons on The Second Argonauts group chat and matching Flutterdash synergy

Also Percy's username is 'Blue with no Clues',Lex's 'Pink Hot Girl Breaker',Nico's is 'Oreos Lessreos' and Hazel's is 'Princess of The Underworld and Nunya'

Lex wears the one pink hibicius flower in your hair look for subliminal messaging

They also remind Percy of Brandy's Cinderella aka his first ever fictional crush(*subliminal messaging intensifies*)

Mixtapes,homemade pins and patches for the other's battle jacket,sharing energy drinks,carving love messages into barks,Lex playing the kalimba as Percy's head lays in their lap

Percy's piercings are an eyebrow piercing,forward helix on both ears,a spider bite and a tongue ring and Lex's piercings are industrials on both ears,a lip ring,a belly button ring and an eyebrow piercing

Teezo Touchdown bf x Frank Ocean gf.Uuhh and Pink + White are Perlex songs

As are Blue Dream by Jhené Aiko,Strawberry Mentos by Leanna Firestone,Self-Love but the pearl nightcore cover specifically,Fairy Type Girl by Yunglex,Kool by Meet Me @ The Altar,Eres from Soy Luna,Somewhere only we know by Keane,Head above water by Roll for it aaaaaand Cheeseburger Family by Jack Stauber's Micropop is an Outcast Godlings bonus!!

Their biokids are a girl named after Sally who goes by Sal because she's a tomboy and looks almost exactly like Percy but with Lex's eyes,followed by Theodoros aka Theo,Xiomar,Penelope aka Penny and the twins Helena and Rosabela

[onlinekitsune]

LET ME IN: SAEYOUNG CHOI (PART TWO)

"make your way to me through the waves"

PAIRING, GENRE, WARNINGS ─ saeyoung choi x gnc!reader, not proofread, this is mostly comfort?? kinda just on saeyoung's side sorrryyy

SYNOPSIS ─ after a bit of an argument played out, between you. saeyoung returns back inside of the bedroom. unaware that you're actually awake, he begins to talk out his feelings.

WRITER’S NOTE ─ a handful of people requested a part two of the original!! which i honored and very gratful for!! i have a hard time liking my content, so when others tell me they enjoyed it, it means a lot! i tried my best with this but, kinda lost where i was going with it. again, a bit of dialogue is taken directly from the game. (day 8/9 iirc) i hope you enjoy! and again, thank you for all your kind words and support! i know i am off and on about posting content on here, but know that your words aren't just ignored!! so erm... anyways. do you think i could do a part three lmao

Your dreams were hard to recall as you continued to lay still in bed. Perhaps that was for the better, a dream about the argument prior or even recalling happier times in the chatroom would haunt you. You took a deep breath, not bothering to even open your eyes or get up. You felt exhausted, mentally and physically. It was ironic to you how crying provided the same effects as if you were to actually do something straining. Your hand slid through your sheets, blindingly guiding you to your phone. Before you could even reach it, you hear the door creak open. You laid completely still, unsure of what to do. Footsteps gently got closer, stopping as they reached right in front of you. The sound of fabric brushing against each other filled the room. Your heart raced, not sure what to expect. But you continued to stay still.

“You’re… asleep? Good.” Seven sighed, breaking the silence. He reached out his hand, brushing against the sheets. "You’re really quiet while you’re sleeping...” The room returned to its silence for a moment. You felt him lean his upper body on the bed, only being able to assume that he was kneeling before you. “You’re something, you know? I… must have hurt you by saying all those things, but you somehow manage to still be so bright. Even now. You remind me of the 707 I pretend to be in the chatroom. You have more in common with him than… Saeyoung.”

Your face slightly furrowed, hearing his voice become soft and vulnerable. You so desperately wanted to sit up and comfort him. But, you knew that if you did he’d immediately retreat. You continued pretending to be asleep, allowing him to continue. 

“Saeyoung is dark and pessimistic. His cold and complicated personality is the true me. I-I can’t wear the mask of the happy-go-lucky 707. I want you to realize that and be disappointed. I’m not a fun and cool person. I can put you in danger. So, don’t waste your feelings on me. I know telling you this won’t stop you. You’re so strange.” He continued. Hearing him talk bad about himself made your heart ache. If only he knew. If only he could see himself from your perspective. His hand hovered over yours before gently placing it on top, dissipating your thoughts. His touch was gentle, as if any friction could cause you to crumble beneath his fingers. “No, it's not you that's strange. It’s me. You’re actually… so nice and warm. You know, I… I sometimes dream about you accepting the real me. It’s a ridiculous dream, I know. But, thank you for allowing me to dream, at the very least.” His thumb brushed against the back of your hand before slipping away. 

The silence filled the room again, accompanied by your heartbeat in your ears. The weight on the bed returns to how it was, as he gets up. “Please, remember in your dreams that you can’t trust V… or even me. Be less nice to me, so that when I disappear, you won’t be hurt. Don’t trust anyone, and promise me you’ll stay safe. Allowing me to protect you is more than enough. It’s more than I deserve. It’s enough for Saeyoung.” He uttered, slowly turning away from you. You snuck a glance, seeing that he was now facing away from you but stood still.

“Saeyoung.” You let out, softly. You shifted from the bed, sitting up against the headboard. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just leaving-”

“Saeyoung. Please. Just wait a second.” You pleaded, looking up at him with soft eyes. He winced, hearing his name come from you a second time. He took a deep breath, and turned around to face you. He kept a straight face, but you could see the ache in his eyes. “Can we sit and talk?” You added. He hesitated, but ultimately gave in. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

“So, I can assume you heard everything?”

“I…Yes, I did. I didn’t want to pretend to be asleep but, also didn’t want you to run off.” you answered, grabbing onto your wrist. Your gaze met him as he turned his head to look at you. “Listen, I know how you feel. Pretending to be this happy-go-lucky person. I have experience with that, clearly. I don’t know how much you actually found out about me but… just know we have that in common, okay? I like yo-”

“Even if you say you like me, my life can’t embrace anything. You don’t know how it feels to live this kind of life. You shouldn’t be nice to me when you don’t know anything. The person you truly like is the 707 in the chatroom, just… forget about me. About this.” he interrupted, turning away from you. He was mere moments from leaving out the door, you felt it. And if he did, it’d return you back to where you were. In a moment of desperation, you bolted forward, hugging him from behind.

“Then please, help me understand the person in front of me…” You muttered, resting your head on his back. Saeyoung didn’t pull away, or even try to. He stood frozen, unable to comprehend what his mind was going through.

“You!” He let out, stunned. His eyes shut, slowly giving in to your affection. “Why are you doing this to me? You’re making this harder than it should. I live a dangerous life, one you don’t need to be involved in. I couldn't even protect my own brother… I have to abandon the person I adore. My life is good for nothing.”

“I’ve been through a bomb and a hacker, it’s a little too late for me to not be involved. I like the you that’s in front of me. Regardless of how complicated anything else is, I want to know you.”  

Saeyoung shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I… cherish you. I want to make you happy, but I can't! Why do you want to be with me when my life is so dangerous? Why do you… even like me?” He asked, his voice trailing off ever so subtly. You break off the hug, and sit beside him on the edge of the bed. 

“It’s more complicated than that. I can’t give a simple answer. I just like you, Saeyoung.”

“You’re impossible. What are you going to do if something happens to you because of me? What then?”

You gave him a soft smile, before reaching out to grab his hand. He didn’t bother to stop you, or even pull away. “No matter what happens, I won’t regret my feelings for you.” you uttered, now brushing your thumb across his hand. Another sigh, and again he shut his eyes for a moment. 

“I don’t know anymore. You’re so strange. I.. feel like i’m going strange too. No matter what I do… I can't seem to get rid of your feelings for me. Nothing good will happen by being close to me, you know. It’ll be too late to regret it later.” He muttered. You let go of his hand, placing it on his shoulder. You slightly tugged at him to turn. You two faced each other directly. You saw the sadness, the despair, the anguish in his eyes. Up close this time. 

“There’s no way I'll regret being with you, Saeyoung.” you softly replied, gently cupping his face. He stood there, as if he was afraid to touch you. To give into the affection. 

“You shouldn’t say that too easily. Ugh. I always told myself that I wouldn’t ever want to grow close to someone. But you’re making that so… complicated. I- I can’t believe you’re getting to me. Gods, what am I supposed to do now?” He asked, reaching to hold your forearms. You let out a soft breath, before leaning closer to him.

“First, just take some time and think about accepting my feelings. We can figure out the rest from there, alright?.” you answered, tilting your head slightly. You wanted to be his light, especially now.

“Alright… I’ll need some time.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll wait.”