#death glare???? i guess??

[mango-mya]

I feel like if Peepers ever got into a relationship, Hater would be like "lmao simp" any time Peepers would show his s/o any sort of affection, and Peepers would just. Glare. With the most judgmental expression. Because HE has the nerve to call HIM that as if everything regarding Dominator (or any woman, really,) wasn't a whole thing. Idk I think it'd be funny‼️

[5hrignold]

aarrggggg

[sysig]

Just a few favourites, only a couple, I swear (Patreon)

[kakashihasibs]

I have, not counting the big one, 21 granny squares made to give out. I can make, it seems, at least 6 in a day. I think i can get to 50. Is that a reasonable to amount for one random guy to give out at a pride event?

[sealrock]

gate - for the generator drabble prompt!

cw: discussions & depictions of blood, violent death

(ty for the ask @gatheredfates!)

Two tombstones sat before me, weathered by harsh rain and blistering heat. This is my last stop for the week. I need not look at the faded inscriptions, for I knew who lay underneath the baked earth of the High Seraph's acre. Another tombstone in a forgotten corner of the field belonged to someone I once knew, someone who had gotten too close to my sister. I already gave my respects to him; I told him that his son, my nephew, was growing into a beautiful young boy who took after him. It's such a shame Nestor never got to see him. Father murdered him. Nestor was never a family member, but Mother treated him like one of us. I convinced Father to allow him a proper burial here, for it was what Mother would've wanted. Briseis will thank me later when her time comes. In about a week, that is.

Since I was a little girl, the vision of five empty graves troubled my thoughts. My father stood in front of them, shovel in hand. I gingerly knelt in front of my mother's grave and let my parasol rest beside me now that noonday sun had passed, the clear blue skies now a rich and vivid mix of reds and oranges. I emptied my bag of supplies, no longer heavy enough to strain the muscles in my shoulder now that I offered services to every tombstone. No one in the family would dare travel here during the dryest part of the day since the trek to the graveyard was taxing enough on the body without running the risk of heatstroke. But the threat of dehydration never stopped me. It's my duty to tend to the graves of the dearly departed, all seven and ninety of them. I clean the graves, offer food and drink, and weekly prayers for each, even if I only know a handful. Most have been here since before I was born.

"Hello, Mother," my words came out in a hushed tone, as if not to disturb the eternal rest of long-gone strangers, "I brought more Galbana lilies for you, fresh from your favorite florist. This year has been good for the flowers, I believe. They're much redder than usual."

I pushed the thought of how much they reminded me of blood from my mind. I used to see visions of blood as a child, gushing waves of blood that flowed from the grand entrance of my home towards the gilded gate that separated us from the outside world. My loved ones walked through that gate, not knowing what fate would hold for them, no matter my attempts to stop them. It became an unconscious habit of mine to walk through the gate first as if to spare someone else I care about the pain of death. People have called me overly superstitious, but they'd fail to understand the reasoning. It's futile of me to try, but try I must.

My mother, a beauty beyond compare with the name Hecuba, was ready to storm through that gate after one final argument with my father before he shoved her down the staircase. Her long and thick black hair obscured the disturbing crookedness of her neck. I was only eight years old when that vision, a 'shimmer' as my mother called it, troubled my dreams a few days before the incident. My mother knew what was about to occur, for she also had the gift. She accepted her death with a sad smile as I sobbed the tale to her, gathering me up into her arms and squeezing me tight. If I focus hard enough, I can still smell her elegant perfume of citrus and spices, and suddenly I'm a little girl again, safe from the outside world as long as I stay close to her.

I brushed away the dust and dirt from her grave and uprooted stray weeds. It's the least I could do for her, for she could rest assured knowing that her only surviving daughter was tending to her final resting place. I placed the lilies on the surface of her grave and lit a few incense for my prayers. My elder sisters lay next to her—well, one sister did. The body of the eldest remains missing from the wreckage of her final voyage at sea. My father fell to his knees and unleashed a deep, mournful wail at the gate of the manor when the tragic news reached him. My sister's treasured medallion necklace, a nameday gift from our father when she was twelve, was all that remained of her. His tears were genuine then, and he was beside himself more than he was at his wife's funeral.

I knew she wasn't dead, for I receive visions of her to this day. Even all these years later, my father refused to believe me. After a harsh slap to my cheek from his heavy hand one night, I was told to never speak of Andromache again. Andromache was dead, that much was certain since we had the memorial service, even if her grave held an empty coffin.

Andromache... My dear sister. That was the name she chose for herself. The inscription over her empty grave holds an identity she discarded, the identity our father spoke of with swelling pride and affection. The firstborn of our family, the spitting image of Priam, Andromache had our father wrapped around her finger the minute she came screaming into the world. Deiphobus and Idomeneus were too young to remember her, but Briseis and I idolized her as children—she could do no wrong in our eyes. As much as we adored our sister, Andromache ran away soon after our mother died. Her death had the worst impact on Andromache, and I caught glimpses as to why as I sat through my piano lessons the day leading up to the accident: fleeting images told me that Andromache witnessed everything. Father had forced Andromache to make it seem like our mother took her own life by leaving her to hang from the balustrade. Poor Deiphobus, just five summers old, found her body an hour later; his scream rings clear in my head to this day.

For two years, Andromache couldn't take the guilt of her actions, and her vow of silence ate away at her insides. She assumed we would hate her for participating in the act, for not saying anything about how our mother died. I didn't blame her; I told her what I knew and that Andromache had nothing to fear. But she left anyway. In the dead of night, she slipped through that rusty iron gate with nothing but a saddlebag of meager provisions and kissed my heated forehead goodbye. Andromache wouldn't look at the stream of tears that stained my distraught face as I frantically begged her to stay, my trembling hands pulling at her tunic with all my might. I told her she would die in deep water; she just smiled at me—the same way our mother did. She whispered this to me before vanishing into the inky blackness of the night, her hand gently pressing against my ribs, my racing heart pulsing against her palm:

"I will always be here with you, little sister."

Barely a fortnight later, we learned of a boat to Limsa Lominsa capsizing after a treacherous storm, a boat my sister was last seen boarding. My father would rest his tortured brow against the gate after each search party ended with empty hands. I never thought she had survived. The fact my vision turned out to be wrong gave me hope that Andromache would return someday. I wish to see her again. I desperately wish to see her push open that gate and pretend nothing happened. I want my big sister back.

"Forgive me, Andi, for I did not bring anything for you this time. Please accept my prayers of safety and good travels in exchange."

I conducted the same routine with the empty grave: I brushed away the dirt and pulled the weeds. I poured the drink and prepared the food. It's methodical and mechanical work. I forgot when I stopped crying. It must've been once I married my good husband and welcomed my beautiful son into the world. I no longer have time to cry. All I can do is sigh over how the two most important people in my life missed out on two wonderful moments I couldn't share with anyone else. Most people in my family believed me spoiled, that I clung to my mother's apron strings too tightly or hid behind my sister's towering form the older I grew. I can't help that I miss them. My brother Deiphobus, my equally clingy younger brother who thinks himself wise, chides and chastises me like I'm still a child. Idomeneus has no recollection of the people we talk about—they're ghosts without a face to him. 

Once I cleaned the graves, I began my last prayers, my hands squeezing the meat of my thighs beneath my dark-colored dress. The desert birds and insects seemingly fell silent around me in respect. A cool summer breeze fluttered through the low-hanging branches of a great willow tree, the scent of mourning incense tickling my nose. I prayed to the High Seraph that my loved ones were at peace; I failed them because my warnings were unheeded. A task like this would've fallen to the eldest child—that would be Briseis now. I'm not as close to Briseis these days, as much as it saddens me to say. We drifted apart through the years as I became a second mother to our brothers while she pursued other interests. Briseis wasn't ready for the strain of responsibility. And so she fought back against our father's rules at every turn. That's how she ended up with Evander. That was one of the many nails in her coffin.

I've become more of a surrogate mother to Evander and his brother Patroclus than an aunt these last few moons. It's in my nature to care for others—it keeps me from rattling my mouth about my 'hallucinations,' I suppose. Despite how far we've drifted, I still care for her. She's the only sister I have left. There's a patch of dirt next to Andromache's fake grave, and soon, it will be home to two more coffins. The images disturbed me: my sister and brother-in-law assailed by an unknown intruder. Black blood poured from their gashes and wounds, their faces twisted in terror. The trembling form of a shell-shocked Patroclus nudging them to wake up rattled me the most. He would be witness to the bloodletting.

I cannot do anything to stop it. They will come through the gate within the week and argue about something to Father. Father would punish them with death. I cannot warn Briseis, for I know what she'll do. Briseis will smile at me, half sad and half patronizing, and hug me gently. She's oblivious to what would happen to her. Her children will be orphaned and made to fight each other like dogs. The murders will never be solved, for I do not know who killed them. 

I sighed as I got to my feet, my dress covered with sand and clay. It's dusk now, I've tarried long enough. My husband will grow worried if I arrive home after dark. I must prepare myself to look after more graves of the ones I love soon. I have no other choice.

[mugzymiik]

normalize having REALLY FUCKIN DESPISABLE ocs

[curiosity-killed]

writing patterns tag game

tagged by @veliseraptor which makes this a little funny for me bc it's like 'wow one of my favorite writers has influenced how i write. shocking!!' anyway this is also cheating a little bc I didn't want to just do all the one-shots from 'in the orchid hour'

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 posted fics and see if there’s a pattern.

Hua Cheng whines a little, already breathless. (Cinnamon and cloves)

“I’m going to say it,” Zizhen says abruptly. (a truth universal)

Her brother was easy to love and difficult to know. (non nobis nati)

The first thing Amelia learns after her life ends is that it is very clear when her husband is in the room and when it’s the angel wearing his body. (where you go (i will go))

The first time he meets Crimson Rain Sought Flower, Mu Qing barely makes it out alive. (til my feet are memory)

Wen Qing has never liked Lan Wangji. (sixteen stitches)

When he was a child, Xie Lian knew every gentle touch a mother or friend could offer. (for saints have hands)

All silk begins with death. (mori)

When he drives the dowel into his master’s heart, Lang Qianqiu does not remove Fangxin’s mask. (wolf trees)

He did not come back to her all at once. (this, this)

...yeah I basically tend to either start in the middle of Things Happening or with like...a central idea, I guess? I like to keep first lines relatively short and to the point and ideally have some irony in them + some establishment of The Sitch. I tend not to stew over first lines as much as I do last lines but that's partially because usually they've been percolating in the back of my mind for a few hours/days while the fic concept (and words) slowly coalesce so. ????

[petrifiedcrange]

❝ Fffuck off! ❞ Izzy slurs as he is jerked to hazy consciousness against his will by what feels like too many hands touching him at once ( or maybe it's just one pair of hands and his perception of touch is all over the place ) and he tries to bat those hands away so they would let him sleep in peace - he feels like he's having a very bad hangover and he really doesn't want to be conscious right now - but is alarmed to find his hands refusing to cooperate too badly for him to be suffering from a simple hangover, not to mention the flare of pain in his side as one pair of hands presses something there and he emits a choked sound between a gasp, a groan and a "fuck".

He tries to open his eyes to see what's going on but immediately shuts them when a bright light that meets them feels like taking a saw to his already aching head.

Next, he tries to remember what happened but the last clear memory he is sure of is them creeping through the forest full of Navy soldiers, dressed in naval attire, him leading that royal ponce at a knifepoint... after that everything is a blur and urgent questions immediately arise in his head - did they get to the safety of their ship? were they captured? was the crew okay? were Stede and Edward okay?..

But no, if he thinks a bit harder about it, he thinks he vaguely remembers them all reaching the shore without being captured and taking a dinghy or two to the Revenge and if he focuses really hard he remembers the familiar wooden deck under his back before everything goes black.

Was he injured?

It would certainly explain the fucked up way he felt right now and the pain and the missing memories and the hands that were touching him - was it someone from the crew trying to help him? Roach? Jim? Frenchie?..

Edward?

Forcing his eyes open once again and immediately squinting against the glaring light he tries to focus on the blurry figures... figure?.. above him.

❝ Th'f'ck's goin'n? ❞

[ OPEN for anyone who can be on Revenge post-S2 and helping Izzy ]

[ultravioart]

General personhood Headcanons I have for the WoY main 5. warning: long text ahead :')

Wander: Pronouns: Any! Just like names, Wander uses what is gifted to him by others. He/him is most common, though neutral pronouns are often used, too.

Identity: Canonically nonbinary. (Wander existed before the concept of gender/Wander's people had no concept of gender. Wander is without gender.)

Phenotype: Since Wander's species lives SO LONG and it seems life expectancy is based off of outlook (optimistic = staying young), plus the "existed before the concept of gender" thing, my guess is that there are no distinct male or female members of Wander's species. This would allow Wander's species to travel great distances without having issues with maintaining a population. However, Wander seems to be the last of his kind.

Orientation: The friendliest ace in Outerspace! Asexual Wander is panky positive but tends to offer cartoonishly silly educational seminars covering various love languages (gift giving, PDA, etc) instead. imo Wander would definitely get tons of squishes (platonic crushes) way more often than any romantic crushes. His naive outlook on romance (boy meets girl = all is fixed and happily ever after) might be a hint that he doesn't personally experience romantic attraction/romantic relationships often enough to fully grasp it. Regardless, I head canon he can fall for anyone (squish, or crush on occasion), but he finds himself falling towards masculine folks quite often. Cool, strong Sylvia is super amazing, Lovable Lord Hater has so much potential, and Squeaky Peepers is so cute he can't stand it!!!

Relationship status: Sylvia is a platonic life partner. Otherwise, Wander is "single" and would happily marry… well, for one, Lord Hater--that's literally canon, but really Wander would happily marry anyone that's a good match! Even if it's multiple people at once! Woo, marriage party! lol.

Sylvia: Pronouns: she/her Identity: Woman, butch or gnc butch (Note: gnc is gender non-conforming)

Phenotype: female Zbornak anatomy, with hormonally influenced "male" characteristics developed during her bounty hunter days. Examples: extra strength, temper (From a Zbornak headcanon based on chickens: When there are no roosters left, a hen can go through hormonal changes that makes the hen act "like a rooster" within the pecking order. Crowing, more aggressive behavior, mock mates, patrolling, etc. It's all fueled by a naturally programmed hormonal change. I headcanon that zbornaks go through something similar without a group, they physically change to become a leader for a new group: stronger, more abrasive, tougher, etc. Especially so with stressors from living a rough life as a bounty hunter).

Orientation: ???? (idk, but imo she is past her prime anyhow, so it doesn't matter. She is into naps, karaoke, jellyfish pie, and fancy drinks on the beach these days!) She definitely gets a "despite herself" kind of crush: flarpnarffilin' cursing one moment, cutely worrying over the crush/questioning herself the next. Relationship status: Wander is her big squish, her PALtonic soulmate, her platonic life partner in not-crime but love and understanding. She would die for him in an instant. (Wander voice: Please don't.) Otherwise, she's single. She's not actively looking for romance or someone to date, but if it happens, then it happens. Either way, she's content traveling with and protecting Wander.

Lord Hater: Pronouns: he/him Identity: Manchild (In all seriousness, Man) Phenotype: Skeleton lol, but probably from a male space-ape of sorts in a previous life.

Orientation: Canonically likes The Ladies(tm). I head canon he likes THE LADIES(tm) with "(and cute guys)" written in small text below. Therefore, Bi!

Relationship status: Single and malding about it. He wants a girlfriend that he can smooch and marry and have a bunch of kids with, but I doubt he actually wants the reality of that fantasy. Life ain't a fairy tale! Besides, he needs to learn to love himself first. He gets so ridiculously nervous around pretty ladies that his still-awkward-yet-fumbling nature when dealing with cute guys feels like a breath of fresh air in comparison. Still totally weird and scary, but somehow more bearable than the monsoon of butterflies he gets with girls. With girls he likes he can't control himself, he melts and falls apart. With guys he likes, he can at least bluff or say he's joshing before dipping out. A babe's a babe is-a-babe but he'd never admit that out loud (currently) because both Wander AND Peepers fit into "cute guy" territory. He does NOT want to open that can of worms, because if he did he knows he would NEVER hear the end of it! Mr Sunshine BanjoFace over here can't keep a flarping secret, and CPeeps… would probably explode or something. Peepers would be heckin jealous about him liking Wander, he knows that for sure. And the idea of them bickering over him… with their soft voices… vying for Hater's affections… with little smooches and gifts and cozy hugs… because they both think Hater's the cooliest… hmm… okay that does sound pretty nice--WAIT NO! No it doesn't! Not at all! It's not cute not cute not cuuuuute!!!!!! He has to preserve what he has with peepers, their totally-not-friendship is on thin ice as is! And WANDER?!? Eugh!!! NO WAY! What was he thinking?!? Hater: "Besides… who would ever want to date a looser like me." (Again, Hater needs to learn how to love himself before he's ready for a relationship.)

Commander Peepers: Pronouns: He/him Identity: Tall man Phenotype: male

Orientation: Consistently avoids answering personal questions, because regardless of gender, anyone big and strong and scary with electrical powers IS his type. He's hopeless. He's sappy. He's adorable about it and he hates it. He truly is an achillean king… (Lord Hater is Peepers' Achillies' heel)

(Note: The term "Achillean" is like "Sapphic" but for MLM/men-aligned attraction.)

Relationship Status: Technically "single" but he'd happily spend the rest of time itself by Lord Hater's side. Does that mean Peepers sees himself as single? Well, yes, ...maybe. eh? Wait, YES because if someone was his type and asked him out (unlikely) he'd love that. But otherwise, nah, he's in a committed relationship. Friendship. Employment…ship--skullship! What? It's not weird to be single and not single at the same time, unspoken guy-love between two guys is just like that! What's with the face-- OH Who needs labels anyways! What they have is enigmatic! Translation: Peepers' one and only is Lord Hater, in spite of himself. Hater is Peepers' Turk (scrubs soulmates ftw) but it's unrequited. Peepers is beside himself about it. It's not what you think. Or maybe it is. Oh, it definitely is. (>Insert scream cry sob yell repeat.) Peepers is Hater's jilted, stay at home malewife #confirmed, grobspeed you little eyeball man, grobspeed. You deserve the karma.

Lord Dominator: Pronouns: She/her Identity: most hilarious evil woman who is also very sexy and epic (red stamp on forehead reads "chronically alone") Identity: Woman Phenotype: Female Orientation: Canonically lesbian. I head canon her as aromantic. Relationship Status: Single, doesn't want a girlfriend, but is down to clown and dominate.................. planets. with a bamf lady by her side, of course. Aka the embodiment of """Just gals being pals!""" with the HEAVIEST quotation marks humanly possible and also a lot of blood and broken teeth. Dee's motto: Be gay, do crime! It's hilarious!

[six-of-ravens]

I have reached my very Canadian limit for confrontation. I had to....stare at a woman for 30 seconds until she moved her car that she'd weirdly parked blocking my dad's driveway.

[blunderpuff]

i am once again reading the first chapter ("Turnips") of American Girl book "Meet Molly" to my wretched cat because she would rather scream/cry/throw up (literally) than eat her dinner

[owlmond]

i’ll take words that rhyme with boring and make me want to kill myself for 800 please alex

[queen-scribbles]

#look I'm not saying they can't make it work but boy do they have their work cut out for them#at least let's hope it gets handled better than star wars

@prettypajamassuitedsoldier HARD agree

[jinjeriffic]

What if Danny Fenton and Billy Batson become fast friends. Danny is annoyed at cultists trying to send "brides" to the Ghost King. Billy is weirded out when adults try to flirt with Captain Marvel. Danny hits upon the idea that they should be each other's beards. If the Ghost King and the Champion of Magic are very publicly dating, that should keep unwanted suitors off their backs, right?

Of course they are both absolute Chaos Gremlins about it.

Cultist: We offer you this sacrifice, oh great king!

Danny: One moment please *whips out fenton phone* Hey honey, guess what? Some idiots are trying to tempt me away from you again. You got my coordinates?

Billy: *Kool Aid man entrance* Who dares?!

Cultists: Run awaaaaay!

***********

Captain Marvel takes a hit while fighting a villain. Phantom out of nowhere with a steel chair!

Danny: Nobody hurts my schnookums!

Everyone: ???

************

Captain Marvel brings Phantom to the next JL potluck as his plus one, with Danny in full creepy ghost mode.

Billy: Oh yes, we've been on again, off again for the last thousand years or so. We have our differences, but nobody gets me quite like he does! *exaggarated dreamy sigh*

Hal: That's nice...

Meanwhile Danny is shoving an entire burger in his mouth, displaying multiple rows of sharp teeth.

Danny: Man, I love the 21st century! Food sure has changed a lot since I died. And the technology!

Ollie: Oh? When did you die?

Danny: *glares* It's incredibly rude to ask a ghost about their death

Nearby Leaguers are edging away, nervous about being on the menu next.

Flash: Hotdogs! Who wants hotdogs?!

Danny: Oh, me! As long as they don't fight back

Everyone: wtf is going on here

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Wife!Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Lucifer gets a little too brazen with Alastor's darling wife. Guess the Ruler of Hell would just have to learn a lesson about who you belong to.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, jealous!alastor, soft comforting shower sex, knotting, alastor has a tail, consent, making out, soft kisses, biting, marking kink, alstor laps up the readers blood because he bites a liiiitle too hard, creampie, banter between alastor and lucifer, as well as banter between the reader and angel

☒ Word Count: 1,972

Alastor was quite the jealous type. 

You were his wife in life and death. To say he was protective of you was an understatement. So, it only made sense that Alastor would lose his composure when the ruler of hell himself arrived at the Hazbin Hotel. 

Lucifer was a rather charming man, but you were spoken for. So when he grasped your hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of your palm, your hand yanked away in the blink of an eye. You could have sworn you heard a crackling growl escape your husband's lips as he watched Lucifer offer you a lustful gaze- and that was simply unacceptable. 

"I see you've met my wife!" Alastor let out a forced chuckle as he looped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. You let out a sigh of relief. All thanks to your husband's rescue. Lucifer gave Alastor a pointed look before he blurted out, "You're joking... right?" He scoffed. 

Your face scrunched up in anger at Lucifer's rude remark. "Oh, he's as serious as a heart attack." You spat, snaking your own arm around Alastor's back. You squeezed his waist, a habit of yours that let your dear husband know when you were livid. 

"But- look at you! You're gorgeous, sweetheart, and he's just... freaky." You were about to snap back before your husband's maniacal laughter tore through the room. "Ha Ha! That's rich coming from the short stack!" Alastor quipped, grip tensing around your waist. Lucifer's chest puffed up in defense before he let out an airy laugh. 

"Aha! The height I lack up here, I surely make up for below the belt! Maybe I can show your wife sometime." Lucifer shot you a playful wink, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. Alastor tensed beside you before he let out another forced laugh, ducking low to get in Lucifer's face. "Ha Ha! Fuck you." Your husband spat, voice missing its usual radio static tone. 

Before the situation could escalate further, Charlie intervened. Pushing her father away from the tense atmosphere while mouthing a sympathetic "Sorry!" your way. The aura in the room was stiff. You could certainly cut the tension with a butter knife. "Damn, smiles! Looks like lil' Luci himself has got eyes for your girl!" Angel stated before taking a swig of his cocktail. 

You turned your head in Angel's direction. Shooting him a warning glare. The last thing you wanted was for Angel to get caught in the crossfire of your husband's anger. Alastor remained quiet before he slowly began walking toward the staircase. You could tell he was seething with how his ears twitched atop his head. Your husband flickered up the steps without a word, making you worry. 

"Damn it, Angel! You knew he was pissed enough as is, no need to poke the bear!" You sighed, rubbing your temples as you made your way over to the bar. Husk poured you a drink, shaking his head in agreement. "Dont'cha mean poke the deer?" Angel chuckled, patting your back in a lighthearted manner. Husk cursed under his breath at Angel's remark. 

"Cut that shit out, or he'll put you on his next fuckin' broadcast," Husk grumbled, cleaning a glass with a worn-down rag. You sipped your drink before rubbing your temples once more, shaking your head in annoyance. "I should probably go check in on him..." You spoke to yourself before turning on your heel, waving a small goodbye to your two good buddies. 

"She's in for a loooong night!" Angel giggled, causing Husk to flick his forehead as a warning to "Shut the fuck up."

You took a breath before carefully opening your shared bedroom door. "Darling?" You called out, descending further into the space as you scanned the room for your husband. You peacefully made steps toward your private bathroom, having heard the shower running from beyond the door. To your luck, the door was left unlocked, making it easy for you to slip inside. 

The bathroom was full of steam as your eyes trailed to the red tufts of hair reflecting through the clear glass shower door. Alastor heard you come in, but he still remained silent. Trying his best to cool off. He hated losing his composure more than anything. Carefully, you began ridding yourself of your garments, leaving your clothes in a pile beside Alastor's. You slid the glass door open, stepping into the shower with your husband. 

Alastor's ears were pinned against his head as he stood underneath the shower head, allowing the water to cascade down his face. His back was toward you. Your husband's hands were placed in front of him on the cold tiles. Keeping him stabilized. "Al, my love? Is it alright if I touch you?" You whispered softly from where you stood behind him. A moment passed before he nodded in agreement, still remaining silent. 

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him. Allowing your hands to caress his midsection all the way up his chest. You rested your head in between his shoulder blades, pressing your chest flush against his back. Alastor let out a deep sigh, your touch bringing him much-needed comfort. "That impudent man.." Your husband muttered, ears twitching in annoyance as he did so. You rubbed circles into his chest, placing gentle kisses against his back. 

"He's a jerk, Al. I'm all yours, forever and always," Your lips curled into a smile toward the end of your sentence as you felt his tail wagging, brushing against your lower tummy. Your husband's shoulders eased up from your words. He let out a breath before turning on his heel. Alastor's hands immediately cupped your face, doubling over to capture your lips with his. Your eyes fluttered shut, hands rubbing your husband's sides lovingly as your mouths molded perfectly against one another. 

Your shared embrace lasted a few beats longer before your husband pulled back, half-lidded crimson eyes gazing down at you. "Indeedy, my doe. You're all mine! I suppose I'll have to make it evident to the short stack... and anyone else who dares to court you." His voice dipped low; as did his wandering hands. Alastor's pointed nails dug into the back of your thighs as he hoisted you up. On instinct, your legs wrapped around his slender waist. 

A pleasant gasp escaped you as you felt your husband's hard length brush against your core. Alastor let out a deep growl against the nape of your neck as he nipped at the sensitive flesh there. "Alastor..." You whined. Tipping your head back so your husband could have better access. A shiver ran down your spine when your back collided with the cool tile walls. Alastor bit a little too harshly between the juncture of your throat and shoulder. 

A bit of blood trickled down your collarbone, but your husband was quick to lap it up. A deep groan from him sent a rush of heat down to your core. "Divine, my little doe. Absolutely delectable," Alastor mumbled against your sternum before one of his hands slipped between your bodies. He rubbed the flushed tip of his cock between your folds, groaning at the feeling of your slick. "May I, my darling?" Alastor whispered, lips ghosting over yours as he waited patiently for your approval.

"Yes, please..." You sighed, burying your hands into his soaked two-toned locks. Your husband slowly pushed himself past the tight ring of your pussy. Capturing your lips at the same time, drinking up all of your moans as he stretched you open. Your eyes rolled back into your head when Alastor bottomed out inside you. Slowly, you caressed his sensitive ears. Pride pooled in your chest when your husband twitched wildly inside you from the gesture. 

Your lips pulled back from his when Alastor began thrusting into you. His movements were sharp but shallow, not wanting to pull back more than he had to from the warmth of your pussy. Your husband's head fell forward, forehead resting flush against your shoulder. Alastor groaned against your damp skin as your walls clenched tightly around his throbbing cock. All you could do was moan in pleasure as your husband fucked into you perfectly. 

"Mine, all mine..." Alastor huffed out before suckling at the base of your neck. You could feel your husband's knot begin to swell inside you as your own release approached rapidly. Apsentmindly, Alastor's thumb dipped between your bodies. He rubbed at your clit expertly as he jackhammered up into you. Your legs tightened around his waist as the coil within your tummy was only moments from snapping. "I'm yours, all yours..." 

Your words sent Alastor over the edge. He moaned loudly into your neck as his hips stilled, emptying his load deep inside you. The feeling of your husband cumming inside you was enough to trigger your own orgasm. Alastor hissed as he felt your pussy gush around his cock, squeezing him like a vise. After a few moments, you felt Alastor's knot begin to deflate. Allowing his now softening cock to slip out of your inviting heat. "You truly are just darling. How did I get so lucky?" Alastor chuckled as he lifted his head to gaze into your eyes. 

A bashful smile crossed your features as Alastor slowly lowered your thighs from off his waist. Being sure to hold your hips, stabilizing your trembling legs. "Oh, hush! I'm the lucky one." You giggled, untangling your hands from his hair. Allowing your palms to cup his face, pulling him down for a chaste kiss. Alastor kept his eyes open as you kissed, admiring your lovely visage. After a moment, you pulled back, nuzzling your nose into his. "Now, let's get washed up before heading back out there, yeah?" 

Alastor and you emerged from the room a little while later. Meeting up with the group from where they gathered in the foyer. Charlie cheerfully waved you and your husband over, and you didn't miss the way Lucifer scowled at Alastor. "We were wondering where you lovebirds wandered off to," Vaggie stated, scooting over on the couch to allow you both to sit. Swiftly, Alastor sat on the sofa before pulling you into his lap. A smile etched into your face as your husband's arms looped around your frame, large palms caressing the tops of your thighs. 

You heard Lucifer grumble under his breath from the public display of affection. Your friends, on the other hand, had their jaws on the floor. Alastor rarely showed his physical admiration toward you in front of them. So, to say they were shocked was an understatement. "Told ya they snuck away to fuck! Look at her neck, haha- Husk! You owe me that hundred bucks," Angel blurted out. Laughing his ass off. Heat rushed to your face from your friend's crass words. Alastor, on the other hand, glared at Lucifer. His smile stretched from ear to ear as the ruler of hell fumed. 

"Angel-! Husk-?! You made a bet on whether or not Alastor and I would... ah, you fuckers!" Embarrassment flooded your entire being, hands darting up to cover your face. Alastor let out a loud chuckle from your adorable reaction. "No, toots. We're not the fuckers! You're the one who got fucked, aha!" You quickly got up from your spot atop Alastor's lap, storming over to Angel. "Husk, you're next!" You shouted, chasing Angel around the lobby. "Leave me out of this! That dumbass wouldn't shut up until I accepted the bet." Husk grumbled, not entertaining the bullshit. 

All the while, Alastor was giving Lucifer a sharp look with that shit-eating grin still illuminating his features. "As you can see, there's no need for you to show my wife your little chum below the belt. My darling is more than satisfied in my care!"

[1shadowhole]

Alright alright I have a question.

Footloose... About Following the Beast...

If Thomas Eliot Osmond of the Canterbury Osmonds is Tommy

And Reginald Worthington III is Reggie

And Olivander Laird is Ollie.

Does that mean...

That Arthur Pendragon is Artie?

AND IF THAT IS THE CASE

How did Arthur's friends get to call the antichrist Artie?

And how do they react to the news of who exactly Arthur is when he eventually takes over the world?

I love these three psychopaths so much that I'd read a whole book about them.