#had the weirdest encounter

[james-wilsons-mommymilkers]

german racists? in my social furry fishing game? it's more likely than you think

[unionizedwizard]

randomly remembering that i spent like. 10 years? 5/6 to 15/16 yo. wearing literal 19th to early/mid 20th century nightgowns on a daily basis in the warmer months (april-september). for some reason. like floor-length white gowns with embroidered collars and all. there were various models and colors and lengths and shit. they were passed on to my mother by the 10000000000 Ancient Italian Ladies she was learning her italiaboo ways from and like, all of these gowns were genuine period pieces their mothers and aunts and even grandmas (!) had worn when they were my age. (you know like. the eternal condition of "children's clothes get less worn down than adults' clothes since they usually grow them out pretty quickly"). and since they ALL had heaps of Old Unwanted Clothes in their attics (acute case of "never throw anything away" syndrome) they were ELATED to have found a victim period clothing enthusiast and dumped entire suitcases worth of various Ancient Attire on my mother (and, relatedly, on me). and then i wonder why everyone thought i was WEIRD!!! i was talking like urianger AND dressing like him too!!!

[avionvadion]

Me making a joke about how I am confirmed a "Ken" because of my middle name (it has "Ken" at the start) and that my sister is a "Barbie" because she has a bright pink "Funeral Director Barbie" shirt:

My sister's poc partner: "Wait, that's your middle name? I know so many black girls with that name!"

Sister: *proceeds to inform him of ALL our siblings first and middle names*

My sister's poc partner: "For the whitest family ya'll have the blackest names."

Me: "Our parents thought they were being "original"."

*Several Months Later*

Sister: "So, I was talking to this black lady at work, and she's writing a book. She said you have the blackest first and middle name and that she's stealing it for a character, you have to choose a new name now."

Me: "...Okay?"

Sister: "I said I don't think you'd mind about the middle name, but she might have to fight you for the first name."

Me: "I mean, I don't mind sharing?"

Anyways, I hope that lady wasn't secretly a fae and my sister didn't actually hand over ownership of my name because I'm too lazy to pick out a new name. Although to be fair I do usually just answer to nicknames. People rarely actually use my real name. Hmmm, maybe I'm the fae??? I am apparently a bat cryptid.

[thriftdyke]

I’ve been in the fucking trenches emotionally these past two weeks and The Problem is still not resolved but I had a fun time at an amusement park w some friends 2day :)

[realjoehours]

so i’m currently walking down the street to pick up a library book from the library and i hadn’t even made it out of the scheme when this man who’s a related to one of my brother’s friends just stops me and says “why do you look so scared when you walk down the street? you’re always looking scared whenever i see you. are you okay?” and i just say yes because i don’t know how to respond to a situation like this and then he just goes “if anybody says anything to you fucking tell me.” and then he walks away

like thanks? i think? i haven’t even gotten my book yet

[seeker-of-peace]

.

[slothinginorbit]

The whole article is a hate piece on not only sanderson but also SFF fan culture. Jason kehe tries to paint the people in a bad light as much as possible: smelly, man-child, cultish, omg they have sword replicas and the swords have names??? Oh and why is there no sex in sandersons books, apparently that is a big sin. I would like to ask why are you so obsessed with having sex in every book sir? Why is it a must?

Why did they write this bs article? Many people are butt hurt in the industry for sandersons kickstarter being immensely successful and making him a lot of money. And that's the connection to this, me thinks. Publishing couldn't pocket all that money like they usually do.

[et-u-motherfucker]

On the opposite end of this, during the early days of the pandemic I was the first one at my job to wear a mask (Chick-fil-A is a dark place... And my dad had cancer) I had recently changed my name tag to my preferred name, and was called a t-nny f-g by a customer after he had tried to convince me to take my mask off, at that point my brain turned off (I was a senior in highschool who Usually dealt with this type of shit by telling whoever said it to meet me somewhere at midnight if they wanted to square up, but I needed the money) I just looked him in the eyes and said "bibbi bobbiti boo, the gay flows through you too." AND HE BROKE DOWN CRYING BECAUSE APPARENTLY HE WAS AND ASKED HOW I COULD TELL???? LIKE BITCH???? So my gaydar is the strongest, and I can make old homophobic men cry with a single line...

[erythristicbones]

you know, i always sit here like "oh wallflower bouquet is my self-indulgent feelgood story that i'll probs never publish, it's just for me when i need a break from irl stress"

and then i never actually develop it. i go "hehe silly lesbian polycule in a post-apocalyptic world" and it makes me smile but like.....what was the apocalypse? how long ago was it? how do belle/cam/holly meet? i need to actually figure out what's going on instead of thinking about girl being tender and getting distracted akdjdks

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

[magiccath]

The Ring

tenth doctor x f!reader

Summary: In which the only way for you and the Doctor to get out of this one is a fake marriage. But how fake is it really?

You keeled over, your breath coming out in short pants. You weren't as good at this running thing as the Doctor was. 

Sensing you weren’t behind him, the Doctor turned to check on you. You threw your thumb up, signaling that you were okay. You didn’t like the Doctor worrying about you. 

“I’m sure we’ve lost them for now,” he assured, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. It was a nervous tick that he had.

“What are we going to do?” You asked once you had caught your breath. You allowed your legs to fold underneath you, sitting in the grass. The Doctor crouched down next to you. 

It was supposed to be a nice vacation, a break from the hustle and bustle of time traveling. You had explicitly asked for a relaxing trip, one where you didn’t have to save the world or run for your life. You should have known that was never how it was with the Doctor. 

Everything was fine at first. The alien town the Doctor had selected for your trip was throwing an elaborate festival. You were more than happy to partake in the dancing and sample the foreign foods. What you failed to notice was the ritual behind the festival. The village selected an unmarried woman each year to sacrifice to their gods. In retrospect, it wasn’t the weirdest ritual you had encountered over the years. What made it so uncomfortable was the fact they had selected you. 

“I would rather not be a blood sacrifice,” you admitted, pushing your wayward hair out of your face. 

“I won’t let that happen,” The Doctor said seriously, taking your hand gently. He had the duty of care, something that he didn’t take lightly. 

“I’m not sure how much good we are against a whole village of bloodthirsty aliens,” you laughed, burying your head in your hands. You should have been scared, upset even. Instead, you found the whole thing funny. You supposed that was a side effect of traveling with the Doctor. Everything could always be worse, and everything in front of you could always be funny. You just had to frame it the right way.

“I have an idea,” the Doctor murmured. You looked up at him, confused. He only whispered things when he knew you wouldn’t like them. 

“They only want to sacrifice you because you’re unmarried,” he stated. You stared at him, unsure of the point he was trying to make. 

He groaned, running a hand down his face in frustration. 

“I’m gonna need you to spell this one out for me,” you laughed lightly.

The Doctor swallowed anxiously, his Adam’s apple bobbing aggressively. “We could get married,” he said matter-of-factly, with the same tone he used to ask if you wanted tea or coffee in the morning. 

“What?” you asked, wide-eyed. The Doctor swallowed again, his eyes diverting from yours. 

You loved the Doctor, in every sense of the word. He was your home, your comfort. He was everything and more to you. But he only loved you as a friend, and you were more than willing to accept that love. It was better to love him like this than not at all. 

“They can’t sacrifice you if we get married.” 

“No, I got that part,” you rushed out, waving your hands about anxiously.

“You,” you sighed, pausing before continuing, “marry me?” 

“To save your life, yes,” the Doctor said like it was the simplest thing in the world. He would walk to the ends of the universe for you. He had.

“Can we do that?” you laughed, squeezing your eyes shut. The whole thing felt too good to be true. 

“I can’t think of anyone else I would rather fake-marry,” he smiled, taking your hands in his again. 

You grinned, the smile taking over your whole face. The Doctor loved it when you smiled like that. He loved it even more when he made you smile like that. 

“Let’s get fake married!” you laughed, jumping up from the grass. The Doctor nodded in agreement, standing up next to you. 

“How exactly…” you trailed off. “Are we going to get fake married?” The Doctor had a habit of making plans without a way to execute them. 

It wasn’t like you could just walk into the village church and get married. You certainly couldn’t go back to the TARDIS, or that would have been the plan before suggesting a falsified marriage.

“There was a little cottage on the outskirts of town, we can hope that there’s an inhabitant there who can serve as a witness?” He suggested. 

You couldn’t come up with a better idea so you agreed, following the Doctor as he walked off into the distance. 

You tried not to read too much into the whole marriage thing. The Doctor was doing it to save your life, nothing more. Still, the mere idea of it left your skin tingling and your heart racing. 

You were so lost in thought you hardly noticed the cottage creeping up on you until you were standing on the front steps. 

The Doctor rapped his knuckles against the wood softly before stepping back. You waited in silence for a few moments. You could hear the blood pumping in your ears. What if this didn’t work? 

The door flung open, revealing an old woman. 

“What do you want?” She barked, clearly disturbed by the visit. 

The Doctor cleared his throat, searching for his words. You frowned, he usually didn’t have any trouble talking to strangers. 

“This is a bit of a strange request,” he laughed lightly, his hand drifting towards the back of his neck subconsciously. 

“Spit it out, young man.” 

You bit back a giggle. The Doctor was far from young, even if this face was youthful. 

“We need a witness for our wedding,” he rushed, his words coming out in hurried clusters. 

The woman remained silent for a moment, her eyes darting between the two of you. You could see hundreds of questions forming in her mind before she shook them away. 

“I don’t want to know,” she murmured as she opened the door. 

You exchanged a look of relief with the Time Lord before following her inside. 

She bustled about her cottage, sorting things out while the two of you fiddled anxiously in the corner. 

“Well, let's get on with it,” she finally sighed. 

The Doctor nodded timidly, holding out his hand for you to take. You slipped your hand into his, your fingers interlocking instantaneously. You had held hands hundreds of times, yet it felt different.

With his other hand, the Doctor rifled about in the pockets of his coat. You frowned, wondering what could possibly be in there. Did he really need a jammy dodger from the depths of his pocket right now? Finally, his hand slipped out of the pocket holding two silver rings. 

“Why, on Earth, are you carrying around wedding bands?” you laughed. He only shrugged, handing the simple rings over to the old woman. She examined the objects in her hand wistfully, turning them over in her hand. 

“I can’t say I’m a professional at this,” she warned. It didn’t really matter to either of you.

The Doctor took your other hand in his, standing face-to-face with you. You laughed at the domesticity of it. 

“Do you,” the woman paused, looking at the Doctor. 

“John Smith,” The Doctor smiled. You shook your head at his fake name. You had told him hundreds of times that he should change it. No one was really named John Smith, that's the kind of name you only ever found in books. 

“Alright,” the woman said, not even blinking. “Do you, John Smith, take this woman to love and hold blah, blah, blah?” She finished, looking back to the Doctor. He wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were glued to you, studying every single aspect of your face. He never wanted to forget this moment. From your end of things, you were left with a sickly feeling that you had food on your face. 

“I do,” He smiled brightly. 

“And you?” she turned to you, repeating the process. 

“Absolutely,” you grinned. 

The woman handed you each a ring, which you placed on the other’s hand. You noted the slight shake in the Doctor’s hands as he slipped the silver band onto your finger.

You had always wanted to get married. Sure, you never imagined it like this. Standing in some random cottage in a pair of worn-out jeans exchanging wedding bands in order to save your life was never your plan. Even still, you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“You may kiss the bride,” The old woman chided, looking at you two disapprovingly. You were so busy looking into the Doctor’s eyes that you completely forgot about the whole kissing part of getting married. 

A scarlet flush overtook your face, but the Doctor pretended not to notice. Instead, he cupped your face in his hands gently, angling it upwards towards his. Slowly, he dipped his way down until his lips were inches away from yours. 

You could feel his breath on your mouth, you noted each and every twitch of his lips. Your eyes fluttered closed as he eliminated the gap, his mouth crashing into yours. 

He very well could have given you a chaste kiss, the kind you give your gran on Christmas Eve. Instead, he kissed you like his life depended on it. Like he had been thinking about kissing you for eons. 

His mouth fit against yours perfectly. There was no other way to describe it. 

He pulled away slowly, leaving you stunned and breathless. Your eyes remained closed for a moment, taking it all in. When they finally opened, you saw him. Your Doctor. The impossible, magnificent, loving creature in front of you. It was foolish to claim that such a being was yours alone, but you couldn’t see it any other way. 

“Congratulations,” the old woman smiled, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“Thank you,” you smiled meekly, pushing your hair out of your face. 

-

You didn’t keep the ring on long. A few days after your wedding it came off with the rest of your jewelry before bed. You just never put it back on. It was a fake wedding after all. 

That didn’t mean that you threw it away though. Quite the opposite. The ring sat on your bedside table, occasionally glimmering in the light. 

Sometimes, you would run your fingers over it before bed. You relished the idea of it all. The memory of his hands holding yours, the feeling of his lips on yours. It haunted you.

The Doctor, however, never took it off. Not after the wedding. Not before bed. Not when he fiddled with the wires under the TARDIS console. 

You noticed this one evening, the dimmed lights of the control room catching on the polished metal. 

“Why do you still wear that?” you asked, gesturing to the Doctor’s left hand. His eyes traveled to the band on his finger that he had been idly spinning. 

“It’s my wedding band,” he shrugged as if it was as simple as that. 

“I’m not sure you can call it that,” you laughed, “I’m not even sure our wedding was legal.” 

“It doesn’t have to be,” he frowned, still looking at the ring. 

“I can take it off if it bothers you,” he suggested. He didn’t want to take it off, not ever. But if you wanted him to, he would. 

“It doesn’t,” you whispered, staring at the space where your own ring used to be. The feeling of his lips came back to you, and you had to push it to the side. 

“Did it mean nothing to you?” He asked, his voice hardly above a whisper. If you hadn’t been listening you might have missed it. 

“Not at all,” you said, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“You don’t wear yours,” he commented, taking your left hand in his. You stared at your interlocked hands, not trusting yourself to meet his eye. 

“You married me to save my life,” you stated. 

“And?” 

“It was a fake marriage.” 

“Not to me,” he whispered, running his thumb over the back of your hand. Your eyes drifted up to his face. He was looking at your hand with a pained expression. For the first time, it occurred to you that perhaps the absence of your ring was upsetting to him. For so long, you had assumed that he just wanted to forget the whole thing. 

“I love you,” he whispered, “I always wanted you to be my wife.” 

You didn’t know what to say. For a minute, you hardly believed the words coming from his mouth. 

“I always wanted you to be my husband,” you whispered, leaning in towards him. You paused, your breath bouncing off of his lips. It reminded you of your first kiss, the familiarity of it shocking. 

You learned in and kissed him gently, a tender kiss to test the waters. You pulled away, unsure if this was what he wanted. The Doctor gripped your face, crashing his lips against yours in a much more urgent matter. You smiled against his mouth, melting into the kiss. 

“My wife,” he chuckled between the kisses he planted all over your face. 

“My husband.”

[11rosebunny]

How they are crushing

Haruka Sakura

He is the shyest person you'll ever be around. Once finally bumping into him in the street, he immediately recognized you from the other day, and till then, the two of you continued to bump into each other to the point where it became so normal.

The others caught on how Sakura was the one who began to constantly reach out to you first, after having exchanged numbers.

He usually stutters every now and then but quickly covers it by simply speaking faster. When he speaks faster it's easy for one to just assume he only stuttered because he was talking too fast. He surely just wasn't nervous. or anything like that...

For the most part, he's able to keep himself together, while at the same time trying to give hints. Very poor hints though.

Nirei and Tsugeura tried to give him advice, but coming from those two, was his worst decision ever yet.

Aside from communication, his body language is a dead give away. He tends to shift a lot and move around in hopes of shaking off his jitters, that's when people noticed his behaviour whenever you were around and ultimately, that's how Tsubaki was the first one to know.

Hajime Umemiya

He's not as obvious as you think he is. Many people didn't catch on but very few people did like Hiragi and Tsubaki.

Everyone is aware he treats everyone with the same respect and with that friendly manner of his, even so, Hiragi noticed whenever you came around in a large group setting, Umemiya would drop nearly everything to come greet you first and reel you into the place. He tends to get more talkative when you're around which caused others to notice but brushed it off.

When speaking to you, he forces to make eye contact with you in his head. He might even stare so hard to the point where it becomes awkward and you end up looking away. He remains keeping eye contact whenever he's speaking to you, if you're speaking, or if you're just doing something when he's around.

Sometimes, a tint of blush can be seen if you focus on his face close enough.

When it comes to his body language, he is oddly always around you it's very interesting. The weirdest part is, he doesn't even notice it half of the time until Hiragi had pointed it out for him.

"Umemiya, is something wrong?" You asked the tall male.

He looked back at you confused, "What do you mean?"

"...Why're you... watching me eat?"

He also has the courtesy of carrying any of your belongings, either it being your bag, books, laptop, groceries, anything.

Toma Hiragi

Everyone finds it odd how it looks like he's a guard dog protecting you everywhere you go.

Since then after saving you, the both of you began to hang out after school, till it turned into hanging out on weekends to hanging out at any chance you two have.

He may not show it, but he becomes more playful when it's just you two alone which no one has ever seen him act like. Instead of his hardcore language, he tones it down for the sake of you which you didn't even know yourself until you saw how he began to scold the younger grades from his school.

This a secret but he began regretting how intense his looks are, because of that, he turned to hair care, shaving properly, and dressing nicely. It even came to a point where Umemiya laughed at him causing him to roughly yell at his friend.

It's rare for him to get shy, because of that his communication with you seems normal when he talks with anyone else.

Having said that, nearly nobody found out he was crushing on you.

Ren Kaji

After meeting him being separated for years apart the two of you finally calmed down, and instead of your old bickering, the two of you were unexpectedly awkward with each other for the first few weeks of seeing each other.

Believe it or not, the both of you eventually went back to your rivalry.

To the others, they thought you two kept flirting.

Even so, the others would notice how much quieter he'd grow when he would spot you from across the street or had caught up in a close encounter with you.

Hell, even when he had to speak to you, a light dust of pink would cover his ears.

But because the both of you lived right next to each other, your families didn't make it better.

The both of your families constantly chatted and exchanged items if they needed it, and sometimes, they'd send you to give them what they needed and they'd send Kaji to your doorstep to hand you an item. The both of you hated it.

Taiga Tsugeura

He is very embarrassing.

He is the worst one out of everyone when keeping it a secret that he likes someone. The moment he asked for your number, they all knew.

The moment he sees you he instantly drops all his attention and throws it onto you. He becomes more lively if he wasn't before and tends to smile a lot.

What's even better for him in his opinion, now he has another better reason to workout.

He doesn't really understand how physical and louder he gets when he's around you, always being the first one to sit beside you, get you whatever you need, do whatever you say, it's almost amusing for the others to see. Nirei makes notes on the way he acts sometimes because some of them are unbelievable.

Needless to say, his a pocket full of sunshine.

Mitsuki Kiryu

Lover boy out of all of them. He's so smooth it's very attractive at how he's able to swoon you.

He turns to be more gentle with his words and body language, even when touching you, he does it ever to lightly to be respectful. It amazes you how a teenage boy like him knows how to be gentle.

Extremely well with his words, he likes to make you feel included whenever speaking to you, even if you're not generally in the conversation.

He does the same thing as Umemiya, taking hold of your bags and anything you're holding when he's around you, he's a gentleman after all.

Hayato Suo

Nearly everyone that knows the both of you are shocked at how well you treat each other.

On the side note, Suo had already been comfortable talking with you in any manner and touching you in any kind manner, you two had known each other since kids so it wasn't awkward. It wasn't until Highschool where he began catching feelings and sadly, you failed to notice them due to already being very close to him.

He started to wait for you everyday to walk you to school, which you thought was just a kind friendly gesture, especially because you two didn't see each other as much as before.

He began to occasionally ask you to go out for a small hang out which ended up turning into weekly hangouts at least once or twice a week, this is when his group of friends had spotted you two in the wild.

This boy dresses in clothing that he think will charm you, and tends to tidy himself up to look more presentable in front of you.

Small things like cleaning up after your mess when you go out to eat, ordering for you, paying for your things, holding your items, listening to you speak.

[beefrobeefcal]

what the hell is wrong with tim feat. Tim Rockford

Summary: Tim is not acting like himself...and there's a coffee shop with only one bathroom.

Tim Rockford x f!cop reader | Rating: 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,565

Content Warnings: sex pollen, bathroom privilege abuse, handsy Tim - willing reader, consent is given to the needy man, scared coffee shop worker, talk of crime scene, police, public sexual encounter, high-as-ball oral sex, tim is a cunning linguist, oral (f receiving), eye patch required, gross bathroom floor, forced orgasm, squirting

Author's Notes: This is only a thing bc of the potential badge i could have earned from @pedroscouts... I am not sorry for my vanity. This fic is dedicated to @goodwithcheese - i hope - if nothing else - you enjoy my take on Tim.

Thank you to @strang3lov3, @noxturnalpascal, @bitchesuntitled & @weregirlbyknight for their eyes and love. dividers made by @saradika-graphics

One line is dedicated to @covetyou. I'll let you find it.

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Tim had felt hazy and off since he’d left the warehouse. That was one of the weirdest drug busts he’d participated in, finding the offending parties sucking and jerking each other off and barely noticing that half the city’s police force was watching.

He was a reserved man. Many of his coworkers, past and present, had learned that his rough, quiet exterior was just the outer shell to a pensive, shy, overthinking loner. His routines kept him in line when a case had others wanting to pull their hair out, and his isolation and limited social life had him solving said cases quickly and without distractions.

You weren’t that much different from Tim, but you understood the inherent value of networking and getting to know your fellow officers. You had more of an extroverted nature, and seemed to be one of the few who could hold a conversation with Tim that wasn’t solely about whatever case either of you were working on at that moment – sometimes you discussed past cases and different kinds of coffee. Because of this, he’d developed a slight affinity for you that he kept deeply under wraps. 

He tried to shake off the weird, hot feeling that coursed through his body, as he walked down the hallway to his office at the precinct; his hand rubbed the back of his neck. He’d barely noticed you coming from the copy room, and you in turn had your head down as you reviewed files.

“Whoa, Rockford! Walk much?”, you exclaimed as your shoulder collided with his. He looked up and you could see something was off, placing your hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Hey, are you okay?”

He looked at you, feeling the heat in him crank up to 11, and swallowed like his mouth was dry. He nodded and responded in a hoarse voice, rubbing his eyes. “I’m… yeah, I just… I just need some coffee.”

“Uh-huh.” You didn’t believe him. Tim was a man of few words, but not normally were those few words also stilted. You moved your hand to his chin, forcing him to look at you.  “Are you drunk?”

Tim’s eyes met yours and there was no differentiating his pupils from his irises. Despite this, it still made your body react to his intense eye contact. He smiled although it seemed more loopy and intoxicated than what he normally offered you. “I wish. Might… might feel better than this. I… I jus’need some coffee…”

“Let’s get you some coffee.”, you said with a crooked smile. Your hand, after making direct contact with his skin on his chin, felt a slight tingling sensation. You wiped your hand on your jeans and lead Tim down the hallway. 

You’d ushered Tim out of the precinct and over to a coffee shop located in a hotel lobby nearby. This place had won out over any other coffee shop, given it was the closest, it was usually quiet this time of day, and he looked like he needed to get out of the office entirely.

Tim’s head was swimming, and he was sweating profusely even though your table was directly under the AC vent; your skin was erupting with goosebumps and Tim was practically melting, a flush creeping up his neck and sweat beading on his forehead. You felt for the guy, you really did, but you knew this wasn’t a case of him just needing coffee.

“I’m not trying to be mean or anything but… you look like shit. Are you on something?”

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, groaning. “I’m not on nothin’.”

You nodded, giving a non-committal uh-huh, not believing him, and the two of you continued to sit and sip in silence. The fingers that touched his chin still tingled, and you mindlessly rubbed the pads together, making the tingling extend up into your hand. You didn’t give it another thought; carpal tunnel syndrome was something you knew could come with desk work and it’s what you assumed this was. When you finished your cup and saw his was empty, too, you walked over to the counter to grab a second cup for Tim; even if coffee wasn’t the solution, he looked like he needed it.

Tim’s eyes followed you and as your back was to him, his mind swarmed with dark, delicious, and depraved thoughts as he stared at your backside. His feet were moving towards you before he realized he’d even gotten out of the chair; his hands gripped your waist and pushed you up against the counter, your back flush with his front.

“Tim!”, you yelped, trying to turn around to push him away, but his hold on you was firm.

He buried his nose in your hair and inhaled deeply and breathed out a deep growl, his hot breath cascading over your scalp, neck and shoulders. The woman behind the counter just watched, wide eyed, holding your two to-go cups of coffee. You offered a sheepish and awkward smile, trying to act as casual as you could manage and took the cups from her.

“Thank you!”, you said, cheerily, dragging Tim behind you. You wanted to leave, but with Tim all over you, the few steps back to the table were all you could muster.

You put the cups on a side table and pushed Tim off you. He fell back onto the chair heavily, still looking dazed.

You sat down on the other side of the table and glared at him, then your phone buzzed. You held a finger up to Tim, who was looking like he was starting to move towards you like a drugged bear, and hissed, “Stay put!”

A message from the precinct’s administrator, Sally, read:

You have Rockford with you? Is he acting weird? Daniels saw you leave with him. Other cops at the bust are being treated for non-lethal aphrodisiac intoxication. He should be fine but just watch out 😉

Closing your eyes and groaning, you tried to calm yourself; you couldn’t lose your cool when Tim was clearly so out of it. While you were deep in thought, your eyes still closed, you tapped the rounded corner of your cell phone on your head. And upon opening your eyes, you saw that Tim was gone. You looked around and heard a grunt from under the table.  

You leaned down and got a good look at Tim crawling over around the table’s pedestal. His wild and fried eyes met yours and before you could take control of the situation, Tim grabbed your ankle, his hand moving up under your pant leg.  

The cashier behind the counter cleared her throat and looked at you, silently asking if you were okay. You gave her a forced smile and nodded. “I’m… we’re fine!”

The cashier gave you a slow confused nod. Clearly, she didn’t believe you and was seconds away from probably calling the cops on this deranged man getting too handsy with this poor woman. You couldn’t let Tim be seen like this by your coworkers; the embarrassment would kill him.

“We’re… we’re rehearsing a play… and he’s drunk - he’s supposed to be drunk.”, you quickly spit out, forcing a laugh, as you tried to pull your leg away from his out-of-his-mind determination.

Another buzz! from your phone and the screen lit up with another message from Sally:

 And don’t make direct contact with his skin. 

You paused and stared at the screen, feeling a wave of warmth start from your head and roll down your body. You were brought back to reality for a moment when Tim’s hands tried to take off your shoe. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”, you hissed at him, keeping your voice low as to not draw too much attention. His blown out and dopey eyes looked up at you and you could see a bit of drool in one corner of his stupid grin. “Tim. What. The. Fuck.”

“You just… you smell… you smell so good…”, he groaned, biting and mouthing your knee through your pants.

You froze, your eyes wide. You couldn’t help the fuzzy sensation that was starting to grip your mind, making that heat bloom in your core. His hands were on your bare skin as he soaked your pant leg with his drool. Even though your brain felt like it was beginning to fill with marshmallows, you still had enough senses to realize what was happening and you tried to diffuse the situation. “Tim, did you take or ingest anything…  anything at that drug bust – “

“Need…”, he grunted, interrupting your questioning. His hands slid up your thighs and gripped your hips.

Tim’s head was getting dangerously close to your lap, his loud huffing and inhaling making it apparent where he was headed, his mouth leaving a drool path up your pant legs, and you needed to get control of the situation. You pulled yourself from his grip and stood up, stepping away from the table. You offered another sheepish, fake smile to the cashier, and leaned down to pull Tim up off the floor, eventually dragging him as he held on to your leg to the washroom near the backdoor of the coffee shop.

Getting into the washroom for you was one thing; trying to cajole Tim into standing up so you could get a better look at him under the fluorescent lights while your body was trying to pull you into a frenzied, horny abyss was completely different. 

Similar to a sedated toddler, Tim’s body was like a balloon filled with cooked spaghetti. No matter what hold you had on him, he seemed to be drawn to the floor like a pile of wet laundry, and eventually, he was trying to pull you down with him. 

“Tim, I need you t-”

“I need you, too…” he grunted, pulling himself up onto his knees with his grip on your hips.

His eyes were wild and fully black. You couldn’t help but see a bit of Mr. Burns when he’s drugged up on that episode of the Simpsons with the X-Files tie-in. As you were distracted in thought, he pushed you up against the sink counter and buried his face in your lap, the sound of his inhale obscene.

You squealed out, “TIM!”, and tried to shove him back, making contact with the bare, clammy skin of his neck. Your fingers tingled and your head felt light and fuzzy. Tim’s face contorted to that of a wild dog fighting for the last scrap of meat and he growled. Your body froze but your hazy brain didn’t give you the signal for fear; instead, you felt cautiously optimistic. His huge hands gripped the back of your thighs, pushing his face back into your crotch, and you seriously considered not stopping him this time.

Until your phone dinged repeatedly, bringing you back to reality. You managed to get your foot on Tim’s broad shoulder and kick him back while you fumbled in your pockets to find your phone. Tim landed on his back with a grunt, but, undeterred, he pulled himself up off the floor. You didn’t see it as you scanned the continual messages from Sally, telling you to bring him back to the precinct ASAP -  demanding to know where you were and telling you that this could become a volatile situation. Your brows furrowed, confusion at the messages still coming in, asking for a response…

You need to come in with Rockford NOW. He is not stable.  RESPOND NOW I PROMISE YOU THIS IS NOT THE TIME OR THE PLACE TO BE A HERO ROCKFORD IS COMPLIMENT FJCK FUCK I MEANT COMPROMISED. ROCKFORD IS COMPROMISED. YOU NEED TO TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE

Reading through the messages left you unprotected from Tim, as he stumbled towards you with a classic Kubrickian stare, grunting and panting and sweating. Before you could look up, he had you pinned up against the counter, his forehead against yours, his breath hotly washing over your mouth, and his hand planted on either side of you on the counter, caging you in. 

You stared at him, your wide eyes so close to his that he looked like a cyclops, your own breathing becoming more of a pant as his sweat dripped down your face. He smelled like he was sweating a high end cologne with a hint of pine needles.

“Is… is it getting ho-hotter in here?”, you croaked out, trying to say something - anything - to diffuse the situation.

Tim only grunted back, one of his large hands moving to your side, clumsily gripping your waist. He dug his fingers in and groaned as if this was the only thing that was going to get him through whatever psychotic episode he was currently in. 

You needed to get control of the situation. You cleared your throat and spoke in the most authoritative voice you could muster. “Offic-”, you squeaked out before lowering your voice. “Officer Rockford. This is inappropriate on so many levels and I must ask tha-that you k-keep your hands to yours-”

“Wanna eat your fucking pussy.”

Although the words he spoke came out clearly in a grunt, it took you a moment to realize that THAT was what came out of his mouth. You silently mouthed the words back to him with a furrowed brow, trying to relay the message to your brain. Your pussy, despite having no ears, heard the message loud and clear, and chose violence by deciding to clear house and flood the basement.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, his forehead pressing into yours, and let out a deep grumble of a grunt. 

“I can -”, he shuddered out in a growl. “Fuck me gently, Jack - I can smell her…”

You could only let out a whimper and watch helplessly as he grabbed and pulled you to the floor, The slightly off-white tiles with stained grout were of no consequence once he had you down there. He crawled up your body like you imagined a drunk crocodile would lumber across a beach and his feverish body heat radiated off him. You felt like you were under a heating lamp, or under the spotlight during an interrogation, and he was trying to sweat a confession out of you. Your brain swirled with ideas and thoughts - all of them major HR violations - but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Tim sat up on your thighs and hands were sluggishly - yet deliberately - pulling at your belt and your standard issue detective dress pants, trying to get them open. You didn’t stop him, Instead, you gazed up at him; he was a vision. His white dress shirt was translucent with how drenched in sweat he was and the perfectly coiffed curls on his head were limp and dangling, wet and dripping. His face was flushed, and his neck - oh fuck, his neck - it was glistening; you watched one bead of sweat make its journey from his patchy beard all the way to join its brethren in making his shirt wetter. 

Your head felt like it was under water, sounds muffled, but you did hear the sound of fabric ripping, and you watched his hands rip open your pants, no longer able to wait for the slow burn of a zipper being pulled down. 

Everything moved in slow motion for you, like whatever had affected Tim had seeped into your bloodstream and you were both on a magical journey together on a hotel coffee shop’s bathroom floor. In a whirlwind that moved at a snail’s pace, Tim managed to stand up and pull your pants off, but didn’t make it over your shoes. Much like Peter Pan’s shadow, your ripped open pants laid on the floor, inside out, still covering your feet. Your underwear didn’t fare any better as he balled up the front of them in one fist and yanked them off your body, leaving deliciously red welts on your hips. If you cared, you didn’t realize it. 

He snarled and brought the shredded remains of your panties to his face and inhaled. He grunted and mouthed them like he was a man starved, and the sounds he made were euphoric. 

His large palm came down and clumsily stabilized himself next to you as he knelt down between your open thighs, grunting and snorting. Your hands shakily moved to his head and you felt his wet curls pull through your fingers, leaving your hands slick from his sweat and melted hair wax. His head moved down between your thighs as his hands brutishly pushed them up and apart.

The sound of his breaths panting out against the wet crux of your thighs was obscene and loud and so insanely hot, and above his sounds you swore you heard the angels weeping in envy as soon as his nose pushed against you into your folds. He groaned through his open mouth as his wide, flat tongue laved over your fluttering hole; his nose pressed tightly against your twitching nub, and you squeaked out a whine in response. 

“So… fucking… good…”

His timbre and tone was deep enough that the vibrations alone pushed you closer to the edge and you let out a gasping moan. Tim pushed you, gripping the underside of your thighs, up onto your upper back as he got up on his knees, butting them against you. He shoved more of his face than should have been possible between your legs and opened his mouth wide and licked his tongue in your hole, like a teenager French kissing for the first time. If anyone had walked in, you swear they would have assumed that Tim had the most perverse-looking bong and he couldn't stop taking hits off it. The sounds you made were muffled and distorted from the angle he had you at as his nose repeatedly pressed against your clit, bumping and smashing it as he sucked the life out of you through your pussy.

“Tim!”, you panted out. “Oh fuck!”

He groaned a response, unintelligible due to his tongue being out and his face being buried, but you could have sworn he said, “I know, right?”

The white hot coil that had been slowly tightening over the past hour suddenly snapped and you screamed out, involuntarily trying in vain to arch your back. Tim held you firm and kept pressing his fucking nose into your clit and fucking you with his tongue. It was almost too much, and you screeched and writhed as much as you could, your hands gripping his arms and digging your nails in. Your whole body felt like it had been set on fire and it was consuming you. 

But he didn’t let up. There was no respite, no chance for you to take a breath and reset. Another orgasm came crashing through you and then another one right on top of it. Through them all Tim kept going. And going and going, and you didn’t know any longer when one climax started and another began. 

Tim held you firm in his arms, his large hands splayed out on your belly as your legs tensed and flexed over his shoulders. All you could do was hang on and scream while he devoured you over and over and rocked his hips against your back.

You swore you couldn’t handle anymore. Whatever drug or intoxication Tim had gifted to you was wearing off and you didn’t think your body could handle another mind altering orgasm. But he kept going, forcing another one out of you as he grunted and bucked and rutted against you faster and faster. 

He let out an animalistic groaning growl into your pussy

The feeling in your lower belly was different this time. The build up was greater than before as his nose pressed harder and he panted into you while tongue fucking your hole. You felt the urge to let go as that coil released again and Tim simultaneously pressed his crotch to you and wailed out as a warmth bled over your back. He lifted his drenched face from you just enough with a high pitched moan that when you squirted, it got him square in the eye.

You don’t know how long you both laid on that bathroom floor. Your limbs felt heavy, like they were filled with concrete, and Tim didn’t seem to be faring any better. When you were finally able to catch your breath, you groggily sat up and looked at the carnage that was Tim; his whole body was shaking and the front of his navy blue dress pants were wet - not damp, not moist -  and there seemed to be liquid pulsing still from his crotch.

“Tim - .”, you called out, but your voice was hoarse. 

His head rose and he looked at you, dazed. 

“What in the heck - “, he groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eye. When he brought his hand down to wipe his face, his eye looked red and irritated. 

You both looked each other over and no further words were said as you pulled yourselves together. You left the coffee shop still straightening your clothes, not making eye-contact with any of the employees.

After taking a desperately needed long weekend, you returned to work. Walking in, you saw your coworkers and everyone behaved as if nothing had happened. Until Tim came into the morning meeting with an eyepatch on.

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[thydungeongal]

So like D&D isn't great for producing a conventionally satisfying narrative because in modern Western storytelling stories of the action genre (where D&D is firmly planted in) don't generally feature the main characters having an unbroken streak of victories against their opposition (a feature of modern D&D) but feature defeats and setbacks. When D&D is the most highly opinionated about combat and rules as written death is the main consequence of losing in combat and what you want is characters being able to suffer meaningful losses while not always being at the risk of death, you have tension between the needs of the narrative and the game mechanics.

But more than that, when a group does patch the rules to be more conducive to that and fudges the rules and manages to somehow force the game into producing a conventionally satisfying narrative, given that a lot of that was done in spite of D&D it feels like it would be giving credit where none is due to attribute that story to the game and not the group's efforts in spite of the game.

None of that is to say that D&D played on its own terms can't produce good narratives. In fact, I think the best stories related to D&D are not the sort of stuff you see in actual plays, but the sort of perfect alignment of system, fiction, and chance that can only happen in a medium that utilizes those three things. "A player figured out how to utilize the rules of the game in a way that made perfect sense in the fiction and produced an unpredictable outcome that significantly altered the course of events" is a much cooler story in the context of D&D than "The GM funneled the party into an encounter with the bad guy and the bad guy had an epic speech prepared."

And this applies to pretty much any RPG, to be fair. Even the weirdest, most obtuse RPG can produce lots of really cool unique narratives if taken at its own word. What that sometimes means is reconsidering what kinds of stories you think are good, and instead of forcing a game to produce the exact types of narratives you want letting the game take the driver's seat.

[lizardsfromspace]

The weirdest DVD special feature was alternate camera angles. Bc they were hyped up so much to the extent that some DVD remotes had a designated button for it, but I never once encountered a DVD that used it, bc they would typically just put alternate takes in under deleted scenes instead of making people hit a button in the middle of a movie. The only time I ever heard the feature mentioned was in a few reviews of concert films or box sets of music videos, and it was noted then that it was rare to see a DVD use it. Anyway today I looked it up and learned that apparently that feature existed mainly on DVDs of porn

[circeyoru]

Demonic Companion

[Alastor x Human!Reader]

Let's switch it up, this time you're the human and Alastor's back to his demon self

Part 1 (here)

Part 2

Others have an imaginary friend, and you think you got a demon from Hell

You didn’t even do anything, at least it wasn’t your fault. It was your friends’. They wanted to try summoning a demon after watching it on the internet since it looked fun and scary. It doesn’t actually happen, summoning an actual demon, so everyone was fine with it

Except you, of course. You objected, screamed and shouted ‘no’, even saying that there will be consequences. Though guess since everyone was a kid, no one really thought ahead, even when one did -aka you-, there wasn’t much of an arguable point to give out. You’re a kid, they’re a kid, so no authority, that’s the problem

So when an actual demon was summoned, what’s the next step? The demon, or Alastor, as he introduced himself was also known as the Radio Demon. Now Alastor offered a deal in exchange for whatever you and your friends wanted, he’d have your souls. Your friends were quick to agree, except for you, again

What did your friends want? The newest dollhouse, the toy car his parents wouldn’t buy for him, a giant fluffy soft toy bear, and a makeup set. Children, right?

You had unknowingly become the sole survivor of the weirdest and most nerve-wracking kidnapping in the city. How did 4 kids vanish, yet only one remained in an apartment? Your answer that no one believed was the work of a demon from Hell

You tried convincing your and your friends’ parents that, even the police, none believed. All the while Alastor would watch from the shadows and laugh at your attempt. As you grew up, you learned that there was no use and the suvivor’s guilt changed to numbness and indifference. It was your friends’ idea to summon a demon and accept deals without question, so it was never your fault

Though surprisingly, Alastor had stayed by your side since that summoning. He’d pop up from time to time to offer a deal to you, only later on did he give it a break and the two of you got to know each other

When you were of age, you got curious and asked Alastor about your friends’ souls that were in his care. Alastor causally stated that they weren’t worth your time, though he answered, that they were turned to his many shadow minions that serve him. You had asked him kindly if you could see them for a while moments

The second you did, you scolded them and shouted at them. Not caring they couldn’t even react or say anything back. In the end, you dropped to your knees and cried, because deep down, you still missed them. They weren’t bad friends but that stunt they pulled was not worth losing them

Alastor comforted you in his own way until you got over it. “Smile, my dear! You’re never fully dressed without one!” 

You lost count of how many times he said that to you and you questioned it once, well, more like snapped at him that a smile was just a smile, nothing more. Then the moment after had to be one of those intimidating ones. A smile, in his opinion, is a weapon, lets the people around him and his enemies guessing and thinking that he has the upper hand

Still though, above all else, he was the only person that was constant around you, never changing and always by your side. To that you’re grateful for

The relationship between you two was labelled as beneficial. The first time you heard it, you thought he was waiting for you to mature and do things to you, his radio track scratched so hard glass could break. He immediately denies it and says he has no interest in the romantics or sexual side of things. No, he was interested in entertainment, dark ones that would sate his boredom, and that’s what you were to him

At least, until you find yourself a romantic partner

A dainty soul that you had a crush on from middle school. You’d talk to Alastor about them for hours with the shy blush you had whenever you mentioned encounters or moments between the two of you. Your interest grew when you were of aged, being more confident -thanks to your intimating demon friend- and talented.  You had already caught the eyes of other individuals, both men and women, you were just that good!

The radio glitch moment came again when you told the joyous news to Alastor

He had been patiently waiting your return home so the two of you could have that movie night to start off the weekends, something he loathed but managed because you were there. He thought you were in trouble since you were late, but he waited since if you were in danger, he’d know. While you didn’t sign a contract with him, he still protected and cared for you. You would have questioned if he didn’t always say, “Oh, the entertainment you provide. You’re also my gateway to Earth! The poor souls around you for the taking.”

He opened the door for you that night when he heard you dropping the keys, you thanked him quickly and got in, locking the door behind you. You were surprised he was here since you thought you had time to calm down from excitement! Oh well, now that he’s here, no harm done! He’d be happy for you, maybe even relieved, since you wouldn’t be treating him like your diary to rant

“Ohh!! Alastor! The best thing happened to me just now, well, not just now, just now, it’s more like after school.”

“Did someone die?”

You paused in your smile as you froze, “What? No! Gosh, no!” Your mood returned as you grabbed his clawed hands, cupping them as you got close to him, “I have a partner! Like those ones from the ‘picture show’, you know!? Oh, right, no touchy.” You let go as quickly as you held him, missing his outreached hand that tried to hold your hand again, he loved your warmth on his. You turned your back to him as you ranted on, “My crush, now, lover! It’s like those cheesy movies! This is the best day of my life!”

Didn’t you say the best day of your life was Alastor coming into your life? Alastor’s smile was more forced as he listened to you. He hid his hands behind his back, clenching them hard as voodoo symbols appeared around him, more and more as your attention was away from him

“Isn’t it all great?” You had turned around with the biggest smile, oblivious to the rage your demonic friend was hiding. “Oh, I should ask, how’s your situation with Mimzy? You guys a thing?”

Ah, that lie he told you. He wanted to learn more about your romantic preferences but disguised it as him asking for advice on how to woo a demon girl with modern taste. He honestly never even thought about expressing feelings, not after spending so much time with you

“A work in progress, my dear!” Alastor lied. He’d never love that demoness that only came to him when she was in trouble. Not like you, the good and the bad times, you’d go to him, share with him your thoughts, and he can talk his mind to you. It wasn’t like you could betray him with another demon, you weren’t even in Hell! So he felt more at ease with you

“That’s good to hear, I’d love for you to find your happiness since you’ve been helping me so much.” Your heartfelt words melt his dark heart. Just why did that crush of yours hold your heart instead of him? His thought paused as you let out a sigh of relief, “After all, you must have better things to do than visit me up here, without a contract and all that. I think I can handle things from here.”

Were you cutting him off? 

“I have a date tomorrow and I need to be super super ready! It’s a date with my crush now lover!” You hyped yourself up, “So we don’t need have movie night for tonight, or ever. No need to put you through torture, watching a picture box and all.”

Alastor’s silence was a sign of his rage and disbelief. He didn’t think it was torture, it was just masking his excitement to sitting beside you. How he could hold you close when the time pass, how he could feel your warmth beside him, how he could actually relax from his persona and facade

“Is the news too much for you?” You got in front of him, tilting your head. So cutely

“It’s late but, congratulations, my dear!” Alastor beamed, a clapping soundtrack played from his microphone cane. “I knew you would have any soul you wish with that personality of yours! Why, if you could convince a demon such as I to stay by your side without a contract, no one alive can resist your charm!”

“Flattering as always.” You laughed along. You were entirely oblivious to his growing jealousy and envy, and he wasn’t even from the Envy Ring! “You can go back to H-”

“You know what we should have? A feast in celebration of you, my dear, finding love!” Alastor interrupted when he sensed you trying to push him away. Not on his watch. “Now, while you take a nice long bath, I’ll prepare us a meal fit for the occasion!”

“Really?” You asked while Alastor was pushing you to your bedroom, “But you don’t have to.”

Alastor’s shadow twisted as he fought back the urge to scream at you, to take it back, don’t cut him off from your life. “I insist, what are friends for? It’s only fair that I, your long-time companion, share your joy in this delightful surprise.”

Note: There's part 2 cause it was way too long. In the making so will be up later on~ Question, do you guys like fluff or angst or both?

〚Ծ_Ծ〛

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST