#horror films to see before you die (maybe)

[cmrosens]

Here for the Horror #2 - Films 51-100

Part 2! The post on the first 50 films for my challenge can be read here, and this post covers films 51-100. To nobody’s surprise, there is… more family horror on this list! And more Welsh Horror! Wow. Who could have foreseen. I’ve made these themes deliberately broad so that it fits all the films in! Family Horror (Films 51-65) Welsh Horror (Films 66-68) Trauma/Existential Dread (Films…

[supermenz]

one

summary: One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do; two can be as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one. Or: you're two years old when you lose your parents. Your brother, a kid himself, is unable to give you the love you deserve, and you end up at twenty being as burn out as only a Gotham University student can be. So, what do you do? Change scenery, of course.

pairing(s): clark kent x wayne!reader, bruce wayne x sister!reader, eventual platonic batfam x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: genius kid trope, kinda doomed siblings, language, there are reference to what happens in "the batman" but there will be a merge of both comics and films, written with david!superman in mind cuz he's my pookie 😞, bruce is so pathetic i love him sm

word count: 2.2k

author's note: my first ever fanfic for the dc universe!! constructive criticism is welcomed as english is not my first language,

next | series masterlist

Gotham has left you feeling more claustrophobic in the last few months than it did all your life. 

Maybe it’s because you’re seeing your brother slip into his work — aka beating criminals in the night as a hobby — more and more, or maybe it’s just your brain playing tricks on you. It’s probably the latter. 

You’ve never been good with emotions — it comes with being a Wayne, and surely, having your parents die before you were three didn’t help your situation. Bruce spending most of your childhood abroad with barely any contact with you also probably didn’t help either. 

“But I’m here now,” he had said once, “Am I not?”

He is, but even if you love him with all your heart, sometimes you think that you’re more like colleagues rather than siblings. Your bond is strained, with him being so closed-off and spending most of his free time cosplaying as a bat, and you having just entered your twenties, trying to get your second degree in biology after an early graduation and an even earlier PhD in engineering. And since his first big case four years ago, neither of you has been the same. 

Your relationship has never been easy. The flood and the Riddler’s case basically forced you to trauma bond over what you both had experienced, as surely no therapist would’ve wanted to hear about all the horrors that you two experienced, even for all the money in the world. Besides, it’s not like Bruce could just enter a therapist’s office and tell them that he’s the fucking Batman. 

As of now, you tend to have your… ups and downs. Both prefer to just hide behind paperwork, projects, cases or research rather than just talk some things out. Because yes, Bruce’s your brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s easy to love. There are some days where he seems to be barely able to talk to you, others where you know he just wants to scream at you for whatever reason, others where… others where you think he might just crumble at your feet and start crying. 

You don’t have a lot in common. Maybe that’s why he manages to stay in Gotham even after all that’s happened — combined with the fact that he’s spent ten years or so abroad. Maybe you need that, too. 

“I’m thinking of moving out,” you tell him during one of your rare dinners together. You have already talked about your plan to Alfred, who has shown his support towards the idea and urged you to get out of Gotham as soon as you could, but you also wanted to tell Bruce — just to be honest with him. 

Yes, he left you to study abroad all those years ago without any kind of goodbye or anything, but you have no intention of leaving him behind like he did to you — you may be grown adults now, but that doesn’t mean that being left behind doesn’t exist anymore. You doubt Bruce would ever feel left behind by you, of all people, but still. “Found a faculty in Metropolis that will be able to transfer all my credits and studies and a nice flat downtown near the Wayne Enterprises’ site there. I think I need a breath of fresh air– I need to go somewhere where the sun actually shines and not everyone has hidden agendas.”

You’ve heard good things about Metropolis, and you think that the Martha Wayne Foundation could be expanded a bit more — somewhere far from Gotham, where surely there are other orphanages, other people in need that could use some help. “I could handle Wayne Enterprise’s gestion and settle our matters there while continuing my studies in a more… calm environment.” calm is a big word for a metropolitan city as big and populated as Metropolis, but every city is calm in contrast to Gotham.  

Your brother doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, wide-eyed, fork still raised to eat the potatoes Alfred cooked, his face blank. Is he having a heart attack? You didn’t think that you moving out would’ve been such horrendous news for him. Yes, even if you are not that close he’s still very protective, but he went to live abroad at ten. You’re twenty and you’re just… moving to Delaware. It’s not like you’re going to the fucking Himalaya mountains as he did. 

(Meanwhile, Bruce is spiraling. He wonders when the hell did his little sister grow up, how it can be that she isn’t the little girl he used to sway around anymore, and why would she ever want to move out. Is it because of him? Did something happen? 

Isn’t Metropolis in another state? Is he so tremendous that you have to move states in hopes to forget about him? Is he too overbearing? He thought he had always given you enough space to do your own thing–)

Instead of saying all of the things he’s thinking, he tries to muster up a smile, even if it comes out as a grimace. “Alright.” 

He nearly jumps out of his seat when you beam at him — is he really that obnoxious that you can’t wait to move out and have him out of your life? “Oh, I’m happy that you’re taking it well! I was afraid you’d freak out.” you get up from your seat and move over to hug him, and he chuckles nervously. “Why would I? You’re an adult, you can do what you want.” 

(What do you mean?!, his conscience screams in his head, She isn’t even twelve! Just yesterday she was talking about going to the homecoming dance with her friends–

But time has passed, and even if Bruce feels that it was particularly hard on him, he didn’t think it’d affect you too, somehow. It’s weird acknowledging something’s — someone’s — changes in the years in… so little. He had gotten so used to you being his little sister that he didn’t even think about you becoming a full on woman. He still remembers the pink bundle of blankets your parents had given him that day at the hospital, telling him to be careful with her, she’s your little sister.

When have you grown this much? Where did the time go? He swears it was just yesterday when you were admitted to Gotham University.) 

“But… a flat? Are you sure you’ll be comfortable there? It’s not exactly as big as a manor.” 

You avoid his gaze, scratching the back of your head. “Yeah, about that…”

He raises an eyebrow, “Let me guess, you bought the whole building?” 

You snap your fingers, “They don’t call you the greatest detective for nothing!” you sit back down, cutting the meat on your plate, “I plan on making the floors I won’t live in into a laboratory of sort– almost like the Batcave, y’know, so I can continue working on the models I designed undisturbed.”

When Bruce had started his crusade as Batman, you had just gotten your bachelor’s degree in engineering, and were working on your master’s degree. You had basically given him the head-start, creating the software of the Batcomputer (or of the computer, as he calls it), designed and adapted a sport’s car to the Batmobile (just call it the car, Bruce always insists) and basically modified and created every single one of the gadgets and systems he uses. 

You just hope he won’t let the Batcomputer get hacked as soon as you land in Metropolis — you spent weeks programming her and years perfecting her system. You spent so much time on her, she might as well be your firstborn by now. 

“I’ll always be a call away,” you murmur when your brother’s eyes get a little dazy, unfocused– like he’s in another world, always thinking about the worst that could happen. “You know that, right?”

Bruce blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, I– I know that.” 

(He isn't sure about that.) 

You pat his hand, mustering a smile. "Maybe you should take a break, too. Why don't you book a vacation in, let's say... the Bahamas? Just to get a bit tanned and remember what the sun actually looks like."

He shakes his head. "Can't. Batman doesn't go on vacation."

You raise an eyebrow, sighing in defeat. "Well, I'm sure the GCPD could handle Gotham for a few days, but do as you like."

Your arrival in Metropolis is, of course, followed by an unhinged swarm of journalists and press that surround you as soon as you land.

You can already see the headlines — THE PRINCESS OF GOTHAM NOW IN METROPOLIS or some other corny predictable shit like that — as they shove their cameras in your face, screaming and trying to grab you, as your bodyguards try to contain them. You're much calmer than they are, having already endured years and years of invasive journalists.

“Miss Wayne, would you care to tell us the reason for this abrupt change in scenery?”

“Has your move got anything to do with your relationship with your brother?”

“Miss Wayne, look here! A smile for the front page–”

“Miss Wayne, why Metropolis, of all places?”

“Miss Wayne, a word for the Daily Planet?”

The guy for the Daily Planet catches your attention– he seems far too nice and isn’t elbowing anyone; he must be either new at the job or is too nice for it. He’s got a mop of curly, black hair atop his head, thick glasses perched on his nose, baby blue eyes behind them. His posture is a little crooked — he’s getting squeezed by reporters on both of his sides — but, even as disheveled as he is, you notice a thing. 

Ohh, he’s pretty. Like, jaw-dropping pretty, the kind of pretty that makes you want to bite his cheek and never let go for the rest of your life. 

You stop in your tracks, lifting your sunglasses to your head, bodyguards panicking at the swarm of journalists that suddenly all point to one direction; you reach for the pocket of your jeans and take out a business card that you pat on the pretty reporter’s chest. “Another time, pretty boy,” you promise as he takes the card, his fingers brushing yours, the other journalists speechless around you. “I’m kinda busy right now.” 

You don’t stay long enough to see him blush and hold the business card tight in his palm so that the other reporters don’t snatch it out of his grip — the bodyguards urge you forward, towards the SUV with obscured windows that is waiting for you right in front of the arrivals’ exit of the airport. One of them opens the door for you, and you don’t hesitate to get inside, the car speeding off as soon as everyone’s inside. 

“Never seen anything like this,” one of the men mutters.

You shrug, “I’ve had worse.” 

The ride to your building is short, mostly because it’s late in the evening and there aren’t many people still around. You leave a generous tip to both the bodyguards and the driver, thanking them but assuring them that you can walk alone the thirty steps that separate you from the entrance to what’ll be your home for the foreseeable future. They help you take out your trolley and duffle bag, which you swing over your shoulder right after taking the keys of the building out. 

You open the front door, carefully closing it behind you, taking the elevator right in front of it. You press the number thirty out of thirty-four, which turns green with a ding, and wait for the doors to open back up. And once they do, you’re not disappointed. 

The loft is arranged just like how you asked the movers to — it would’ve been hard not to, as you sent them the 3D interior design plan you had made, but still. You’ve been raised with the idea that if you want something done well, you have to do it yourself, so you’re pretty happy about how it turned out. 

Still, something’s missing. 

You check around the loft for any pieces of missing furniture or something like that, not finding anything. You even go back to the 3D model to make sure that everything got here safe and sound, only to find that yes, everything is in the colour you ordered and exactly in the place you asked for it to be. 

You sit on the U-shaped couch that sits right in front of the giant windows that let on the skyline of Metropolis, eyebrows knit in deep thought. The house is nice — for fuck’s sake, you bought a whole building just for you and your projects — but it’s weird not having anyone else around. There’s no Alfred to welcome you, no half-asleep Bruce roaming without an idea of where he is, no squeaking and creaking of the floor when you walk. 

You sigh. “Maybe I should get a cat.” 

[ceoofsammonroe]

Wake the Dead - Sam Monroe Smut

Summary: You meet Sam during his shift at the local video store on a search for something to make you feel alive and decide to drag him to the old cemetery.

Warnings: sexual acts in an open grave, mentions of murder, talk of the dead, handjob (Sam receiving), public sex, fingering (reader receiving), defiling a gravesite, smoking, reader is kinda “manic-pixie-dreamgirl” coded my bad.

Masterlist

Sam Monroe hated his job.

Well, okay, maybe it wasn’t the worst in the world. He could’ve been made to wear a ridiculous uniform and flip burgers at the local diner down the street. Still, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be restocking the same ten family movies all day every day.

Nobody ever came into the video store for anything interesting. It was always middle-aged moms with their whiny children, asking him where some shit Disney film was located while giving him disapproving glares.

Sure, maybe he always had vulgar music blaring through the speakers while some gory slasher played on the television, but what did they expect? He’d drive a stake through his own eye before he’d be forced to listen to some nonsensical bullshit about princesses and happily ever after.

The new Deftones record was his current pick, the music filling the silence of the vacant store as he leaned against the counter and sorted through the returns.

The excruciating sound of the bell above the door chimed through the grunge rock, making Sam cringe and curse underneath his breath. He didn’t even bother turning around as he mumbled, “We’re closing in five minutes.”

“Guess I’d better get to looking quickly, then,” you said, shrugging and smiling to yourself at the grumpy store clerk. You could only see the back of him, but he piqued your interest.

The sound of your melodic voice made Sam’s ears perk up and he finally turned around. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of you, not expecting to see someone his age. Especially not someone so pretty.

Your eyes traveled over the length of him as he turned to face you. He was cute — in that “I’m a total punk” kind of way.

Sam’s throat felt scratchy as he swallowed, his tongue fiddling with his labret piercing. He quickly turned down the music, giving you a sheepish half-smile.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably as a flush creeped up his neck and said, “Yeah, I guess so. I can help you search for something. We have a pretty big selection, though, so you might have to narrow it down a bit.”

His eyes scanned the length of you, hoping against hope that you wouldn’t ask him for the romance section or something equally as disgusting. He knew you’d never been in this store before, at least not when he’d been working. He definitely would’ve remembered you.

“I’m looking for a good scare,” you said, hooking your thumbs through your belt loops as you grinned at him. “Something to really get your pulse racing, ya know?”

Sam’s eyes lit up with excitement as he beamed at you. You were hot and into horror? He nearly came in his pants right then and there.

“Well, the horror section is right over there,” he said, pointing over to the corner. “You like found footage? I’d recommend that if you wanna get a decent scare. Unscripted, unedited, pretty terrifying.”

“Ah, so you’re a Blair Witch kinda guy, huh?” you asked, your lips quirking up in amusement. “Good to know.”

Sam’s grin grew as he nodded and said, “The Blair Witch Project was groundbreaking for its genre. It really had the entire population convinced that they were watching these kids die right in front of their eyes.” He leaned forward against the counter, trying to play it cool as he added, “I’m Sam, by the way. Sam Monroe.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam Monroe,” you grinned, repeating his full name.

You couldn’t help but notice the soft blush on his face that brought out the bright blue of his eyes. The color nearly matched the vibrant streak in his black hair. He had the whole look going for him — the eyeshadow, the painted nails, the clunky rings.

Sam felt flustered under your gaze, shifting nervously as he asked, “So, you got a favorite horror flick, or is this your first time diving into the abyss?”

You smirked and said, “Ironically, considering your whole ‘what’s your favorite scary movie’ question, I’m a sucker for a good slasher. Scream, to be exact.”

“Scream, huh? Classic. You’ve got good taste,” he said, raising an impressed brow. He pushed off the counter, walking around to stand next to you. “Let me show you some of my favorites, then.” He walked toward the horror section, gesturing for you to follow. “You’ve got your classics like Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween. Oh, but one of my favorites would have to be Saw. There’s something about the torture and games that just gets me.”

Sam’s hands gestured wildly as he spoke, his excitement evident in his eyes. His heart raced, both from his love of horror and from being so close to you. He searched one of the shelves before deftly flicking one of the cases out and holding it up for you.

“The original Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” he said, presenting it to you. “This one’s something else. Give it a watch. It’ll make your skin crawl.”

You stuffed your hands in your back pockets, shrugging coyly as you stepped closer to him.

“I saw the 25th Anniversary in theaters,” you smirked, beaming proudly.

Sam’s eyes widened and he whistled, impressed.

“Damn, you’re a true horror fan,” he nodded.

He nervously licked his dry lips, trying to think of something to say next.

“So, what do you think? Are you gonna pick up any of these tonight, or should I recommend something else?” Sam asked, his eyes searching your face as he hoped to find interest in his suggestions.

You leaned closer toward him, glancing down at his lips before grinning and reaching around him to grab a movie from the shelf.

Sam’s breath hitched, his eyes flickering down to your lips before following your gaze to the movie you pulled.

You held up a copy of Creep, waving it back and forth.

“Found footage, right?” you winked, turning around to walk back to the counter.

“Found footage, exactly,” he croaked out, releasing a shaky breath. “Good choice.”

He quickly followed after you, going back around the counter to ring you up. His fingers fumbled clumsily on the keyboard as he said, “Your total comes out to $4.50.” He took the money and handed you the bag with the movie inside. “If, uh, if you ever need more recommendations or anything, just let me know. I’ll be around.” He licked his lips, giving you a small smile as he added, “It was nice meeting you.”

You took the bag from him, letting your fingers brush against his as you did. You nodded with a smile and said, “You, too, Sam Monroe.”

You turned around and began walking toward the door, but you stopped short. You shifted back toward him, gazing at him curiously.

You cocked your head and asked, “You wanna get out of here?”

Sam’s eyes widened as his throat went dry. He nodded, vehemently, and said, “Uh, yeah. Sure.” He glanced up at the clock, grinning sheepishly. “We’re technically closed now, anyways.” His grin grew as he stepped away from the counter. “Just give me a second to lock everything up.”

You nodded and walked outside, leaning against the hood of his car as you lit a cigarette. You took a drag and exhaled the smoke into the air, leaning your head back with a sigh.

Sam quickly locked up, the bell above the door jingling as he stepped outside. He caught the sight of you sitting on the hood of his car, cigarette in hand, and thought he must be dreaming.

He walked over, his gaze drawn to your lips as he asked, “You smoke?”

You opened your eyes, gazing up at him as you blew a puff of smoke in his direction.

“No,” you grinned, bringing the cigarette back to your lips to take another drag.

Sam’s lips curved into a grin and he raised a brow as he said, “Liar.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing your face as he took the cigarette from your lips. He brought it to his mouth, taking a long drag before exhaling and handing it back.

“So, what do you want to do?” Sam asked, moving to lean on the hood next to you. “I know a few bars that are still open.”

“Bars are boring, Sam Monroe,” you groaned, dramatically, throwing your head back. You inhaled the smoke again, releasing it in a sigh as you looked up at the full moon. “Why do you think I showed up here tonight?”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head in confusion as he answered, “Because you wanted to rent a horror movie?”

He took another drag from the cigarette, his curious gaze never leaving your face.

“That’s just the surface of it,” you told him, turning your head to face him. “I wanted something that could make me feel alive. I wanted to feel a spike of adrenaline, to get my pulse racing. A horror movie is a quick, easy fix — but a night of spontaneity with a stranger? That’s the ultimate risk to take.”

Sam’s heart thudded in his chest, his mind racing as he stammered, “Y-you want to take a risk with me?” He swallowed, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “Where do you want to go?”

His eyes searched yours, trying to gauge your intentions, but the excitement bubbling within him was undeniable.

You grinned, taking the cigarette back from him and drawing in one final breath before putting it out with your foot against the pavement.

“C’mon, Sam Monroe,” you said, grabbing his keys out of his hand and walking to the driver’s side of his car. “I know just the place.”

Sam blinked in a daze as he watched you get into his car. He walked, dumbfounded, to the passenger seat, climbing in as he gazed at you.

“Lead the way,” he said, shrugging as he shook his head with a small laugh.

You flicked on the radio as you pulled out of the parking lot, a low grungy melody playing through the speakers.

“Tell me, Sam Monroe,” you began, reaching over to play with the rings on his fingers, “why do you like horror movies?”

Sam’s breath hitched and he glanced down at his hand. Your fingers felt soft against his skin and he cleared his throat as he glanced back up at the road.

“Horror movies are about more than just gore and jump scares. They’re about the human condition. They’re about fear itself, a primal state, and there’s something so raw and real about that.” He looked over at you a smile tugging at his lips. “The adrenaline, the suspense, the sense of danger…it’s all just an escape for me. A way to feel something real when everything else around me feels so fake.”

“Spoken like a tried and true broody punk,” you grinned, glancing over at him. “I get it, though. Sometimes you’ll do anything just to feel something.”

“I guess so,” he shrugged. “It’s better than feeling nothing, right?” He leaned back in his seat, watching the passing streetlights. “So, what about you? What gets your heart racing?”

“Picking up random strangers from sketchy video stores, obviously,” you joked, trailing your fingers up and down his arm.

Sam smiled, looking away as a blush tinged his cheeks.

“This place you’re taking me to,” he said, glancing back at you, “is it a secret or can I know where we’re going?”

“See for yourself,” you smirked, pulling off the road and parking the car. You turned the lights off and got out, walking around to where Sam stood by the passenger side. “C’mon, this way.”

You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers through his as you led him through a small trail in the woods. As you walked through the clearing, a grin pulled at your lips at the sight of an old, dark cemetery.

Sam followed, his heart pounding as his eyes darted around the darkness. He swallowed thickly, squeezing your hand a little tighter as he stared up at the rusted gates, warily.

“A cemetery?” Sam questioned, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a deep breath before steeling himself and nodding. “Alright. I’ve never been one to turn down a dare.”

“That’s the spirit,” you grinned, tugging him further inside. You winked at him, pulling him closer to you as you whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the scary ghosts.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sam smirked, feeling his heart stutter as he was pulled into you. “So, what do we do in a place like this?”

His eyes took in the graves, the headstones, the darkness encompassing you. He couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine as he leaned closer to you, seeking comfort.

You pulled out a small flashlight and turned it on, shining it on the headstones. You saw one that called to you and you drug him towards it, reading the engravings.

Sam followed, his eyes drawn to the flashlight beam. When you stopped at the grave, he crouched down to get a better look.

Mary Hester

1934-1976

“What do you think her story was?” you asked Sam, nudging his shoulder.

“Who knows?” Sam shrugged. “Maybe she was a victim of murder. Or maybe she was the killer,” he mused, a grin playing at his lips. He glanced up at you and asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you smirked, leaning forward to dust off the stone. “There’s no way that death is just a done deal, especially if you had unresolved dealings left on earth.”

Sam nodded, listening as he picked at some moss stuck in the writing.

“Besides,” you sighed, staring at the engraving, “if my entire life was reduced to a tiny dash between dates, I’d haunt the shit out of this world, too.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “I guess we’ll never know until we reach the other side, huh?”

You laughed and shook your head, pulling him off to venture further through the old graves.

As you walked through the cemetery, occasionally stopping to check out the headstones, you kept spouting off different theories and stories of these lives past lived.

Your eyes widened as you saw a fresh pile of dirt near an open hole, and you pulled Sam toward it.

“Holy shit,” you gaped, looking down at the six-foot rectangular hole in the ground. “It’s a freshly dug grave.”

“That’s…that’s morbid,” Sam shivered, leaning closer as his curiosity got the best of him. “Do you think it’s for a new burial?” His grip tightened on your hand and he glanced around, his eyes flickering between the trees and the graves. “We should probably get out of here.”

“What’s wrong? Scared?” you teased, inching closer toward the grave. You shined your flashlight down into it, seeing nothing but dirt. “Relax, there’s nothing in it.”

“I’m not scared,” he scoffed, though his voice shook as he spoke. “I just don’t wanna get caught trespassing.”

He stepped closer, his eyes following yours as you shined the light into the grave. When he saw it was empty, he let out a sigh of relief and loosened his grip on your hand.

“Let’s go before someone sees us,” Sam said, tugging on your arm.

“Live a little, Sam Monroe,” you laughed, squeezing his hand playfully. “We’re not gonna get caught—”

You stopped mid-sentence, seeing the lights on a police car slowly patrolling the cemetery.

“Shit,” you cursed, smiling amusedly. “Spoke too soon, I guess. Hurry, let’s hide.”

You pulled him toward the vacant grave, crouching down before jumping into the hole.

Sam’s eyes widened, his heart racing wildly as he looked between the grave and the police car. He held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he jumped into the grave after you. You turned off the flashlight, bathing the two of you in darkness as you pulled him close to hide.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “I can’t believe we just did that. Do you think they’ll search the graves?”

“Not a chance,” you laughed, breathlessly, as you felt your adrenaline pumping. You placed your hand on his chest, grinning as you said, “You feel that? Feel how your heart is racing? It’s crazy. The irony of feeling so alive while standing in an open grave.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of exhilarating,” Sam breathed, his bright eyes never leaving yours. “Now what? Do we wait for the coast to be clear, or do we climb out and hope they don’t see us?”

You gazed up at him, biting your lip as you studied his face in the pale blue moonlight. You tugged on his arm, pulling him closer until his body was pressed against yours.

“Tell me, Sam Monroe,” you said, your voice low and playful. “Have you ever kissed someone in a cemetery?”

“Uh, can’t say I have,” he said, swallowing thickly as he released a shaky breath. His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips as he added, “I guess there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Right you are, Sam Monroe,” you grinned, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him down to you.

You pressed your lips against his in a steady, sure kiss, letting one hand trail up to the back of his head.

Sam’s lips met yours eagerly, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him as the kiss deepened.

He moaned against your lips, the taste of you intoxicating him. He broke the kiss, his breath coming out in heavy pants.

“I think we should climb out of here,” he whispered. “We could get caught down here.”

“That’s half the fun,” you smirked, pushing him back against the wall of dirt and kissing him again.

You moved your hands underneath his shirt, feeling the taught skin of his abdomen as you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth.

Sam groaned, his lips parting as his mind grew hazy with lust. He didn’t protest any further, his body arching into your touch as he kissed you, hungrily.

You moved your hands up to his chest, kissing across his jaw. You nipped at his earlobe before trailing open-mouth kisses down his neck.

“What do you say, Sam Monroe?” you breathed, trailing your tongue along his pulse point. “Wanna defile a grave?”

Sam’s breath hitched and he bit his lip, gripping your hips tighter. He tilted his head back as you kissed his neck, breathing out a soft moan.

“I…I’ll defile a grave for you,” he nodded, swallowing thickly.

His body was trembling with adrenaline and desire. He wanted nothing more than for you to keep touching him, the fear of being caught a distant thought.

“Good,” you grinned, leaning forward to kiss him again.

You let your tongue push past his lips, exploring his mouth as a soft moan sounded from your throat. You pulled him away from the wall of dirt, turning the two of you around so that you were the one pressed against it.

Sam’s moan echoed your own as his hand roamed over your body, his tongue tangling with yours. He stumbled back, allowing you to turn the both of you around, his body following your lead.

“Kinda poetic, isn’t it?” you panted, breaking the kiss to look up at him. “Performing a ritual of fertilization in the place where the dead will be laid to rest?”

“I’m all for some poetic justice tonight,” he breathed, leaning in to claim your lips again.

You could feel your heart pumping as you kissed him, fueling that need for something to make you feel alive.

You bit down on his bottom lip, soothing it with your tongue as you slid your hand down over his jeans to cup his erection.

Sam gasped against your lips, a needy groan sounding from his throat as he pressed his hips into your hand.

You reached down and undid the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper and pushing the material down his thighs. You pulled him out of his boxers, slowly stroking him as you grinned at his impressive size.

Sam whimpered as he felt your soft hand wrap around him, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Oh…” he moaned, dragging his teeth over his piercing as he looked at you with hooded eyes. “I need you.”

“Yeah?” you breathed, squeezing your fist around him as you stroked him faster. You swiped your thumb across his sensitive tip to gather the precum that had beaded there, causing him to hiss.

Sam’s hips bucked into your touch, his body trembling with desire. He gripped your hair, his head spinning with pleasure as he whispered, “Fuck, yes. Please.”

You used your free hand to guide his fingers to the button of your jeans, smirking at him as you continued to touch him. You leaned forward and kissed his neck again, sucking a sensitive spot until it left a deep purple mark against his pale skin.

His fingers fumbled with your jeans as you sucked on his neck, a groan escaping his lips as he tried to undress you.

“Touch me, Sam,” you panted, squeezing him tighter as you let your tongue trail up his neck, stopping to kiss the spot just beneath his ear.

“Anything for you,” he breathed, reaching his hand inside of your underwear to touch you. He moaned as his fingers made contact with your slick folds, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispered, “You’re so wet, fuck.”

You let out a soft moan into his ear, arching into his touch as he teased you. You grabbed his face and turned him back to you, kissing him with fervor as you stroked him.

“I guess cemeteries really do it for me,” you joked, laughing into the kiss.

“Mm, definitely,” he groaned, his hips bucking into your fist.

His fingers slid inside of you as his thumb stroked your clit, his free hand grabbing your leg and hiking it around his waist.

You whimpered, quietly, against his lips — his fingers striking all of the right chords. You used one hand to tug on his hair while the other moved faster over his length.

Sam moaned loudly, his breath hitching as his hips stuttered.

“Shh,” you grinned, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes. “You’ll wake the dead.”

“I don’t care about the dead right now,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss your neck as he curled his fingers inside of you.

You tilted your head back, moaning as you rocked your hips against his fingers. You held his head as you stroked him, twisting your fist over his tip each time.

Sam’s eyes rolled back as he moved his fingers faster, repeatedly brushing against that perfect spot inside of you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as he whispered, “I’m close. I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too,” you whimpered, feeling that knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. The adrenaline was coursing through your veins, your heart racing as you chased the edge together. “Come with me. Let’s make these souls roll in their graves.”

“Fuck, yes, I’m right there,” he panted, moaning against you as he neared the precipice. He flicked his thumb in fast circles against your clit, his voice breaking off into a string of whimpers as his hips bucked. “I’m gonna…fuck.”

You pulled his head back, looking into his eyes as the band finally snapped. You clenched around his fingers just as his release spurted out of him and onto your hand. He voiced a strangled moan as he came, working you through your own high as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

You both milked every last drop from each other, your bodies sagging together as you came down.

Sam leaned against you, panting heavily as he rested his forehead against yours. You leaned back against the wall of dirt, grinning lazily as you said, “Well, that was a much better method of getting my heart racing.”

He trailed small kisses up your neck before kissing your lips softly as he whispered, “I’m glad I could make your heart race.”

You smirked up at him, bringing your hand up to your mouth to lick his release off of it. He watched with lust-blown eyes, biting his lip. You grabbed his hand, pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them up to your lips as well. You opened your mouth, sucking around them and moaning at the taste.

You pulled him into another kiss, letting him taste your combined flavor on your tongue. He groaned into your mouth, pulling you close to him.

You broke the kiss, glancing up out of the grave.

“I think the cops are gone now,” you giggled, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Good,” he grinned, laughing softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

He gave you a boost before climbing out as well, the both of you brushing the dirt off and adjusting your clothes. You walked back through the trail in the woods hand in hand, strolling peacefully in the moonlight.

When you got back to his car, you tossed him his keys back with a grin and got into the passenger side. He laced his fingers with yours as he drove back toward the video store, occasionally bringing the back of your hand up to his lips.

“This has got to be the strangest night I’ve ever had,” he laughed, softly.

“You’ll never forget it, though, will you?” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

Sam shook his head, smiling as he said, “Never.”

He pulled back into the parking lot of the store, dimly lit by the flickering sign. He parked the car, turning toward you with a tender look.

You leaned forward and softly whispered, “Thanks for making me feel alive, Sam Monroe.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he felt your lips press against his.

“Anytime,” he whispered. “Can I get your name—?”

He opened his eyes, but you were no longer there. He glanced around, frantically, trying to see where you could’ve gone.

It was only then that he realized that his car had been the only one in the parking lot the entire night.

[golbrocklovely]

headcanon: sam comforting you during a horror movie

sam is a very busy man, and also doesn't like to sit in and veg out

but when he's free and you're able to, sometimes you guys stay in and watch horror movies

sam doesn't watch horror movies all that often, so you're usually the one picking them out

"at least i'm good at making popcorn"

he's very quiet when he watches movies, taking in every detail that he can

occasionally he will get scared, but it's rare that he does

but it also depends on whether or not the movie is paranormal

you, on the other hand, almost always gets scared in some capacity

once you get too freaked out, you like to get as close as possible to sam

he, of course, doesn't mind since you're his

you like to bury your face into his chest when you get scared, or hold his hand

he does his best to comfort you, rubbing your back the entire time

after you've reached your quota of scary movies, he loves to dissect them afterwards

sometimes you guys will talk for hours after just going through the actions of the characters in the film

you love to tease him that he would be the first to die since he's always calling out "hello?" during investigations

he argues and says that if he was in a movie he would be smarter than that lol

even though hours might have passed, you still feel freaked out by what you watched

sam usually talks to you while you get settled into his bed, helping you forget about what was upsetting you before

"you know all of that was fake. you're safe here. nothing's gonna harm you."

he'll hold you close while you start to fall asleep. he loves feeling your head on his chest when he sleeps.

in the morning, he asks you if you had any nightmares or if you're still upset from last night

and if so, he tries his best to explain to you just how not real all of that was. maybe even sending you some bts stuff from the film so you can see it through different eyes

once he knows that you're okay, that's when he starts to joke with you about how scared you were

"honestly, that little scream you let out yesterday was kinda cute." "you're sick in the head." "and yet, you're still dating me."

[merakiui]

Adding onto step bro Skully (✦ ‿ ✦) imagine step bro needing to talk himself in and out of peeking into the wash room while she's bathing. That would be creepy right??? B-but seeing the outline of your naked form would be really nice. Putting a body image into that lingerie would quell just enough...surely. And finally he sneaks a peek, just opening the door enough to see in without you noticing too much, to see you in the submerged in the bath chest barely covered and legs propped upwards out of the bath only bubbles covering part of your body while your head is laid back clearly enjoying your time.

WAAA YES!!! >w< he thinks it’s such a delightful sight. The bubbles allow his very vivid imagination to fill in the blanks, providing him with all kinds of lewd thoughts. You look so peaceful relaxing in the warm bath. If only he could be there in the bath with you… aaa,,, but maybe that’s too weird. You’re both grown and he’s way too tall. >_< he’d take up too much space with his awkward, lanky limbs. But it’d be so romantic to bathe together, to take turns washing the other, to enjoy floral scented baths, to have you lean against his chest and fall asleep right there, comforted in his embrace!!!! AAAAA OTL he has to turn away from the door before he accidentally falls in or makes any sounds from the amount of swooning he’s doing. ;;;

Skully doesn’t intend to become a thief, but he can’t help swiping some of your panties for himself. You’ll never notice they’re gone. He just,,, needs them. He likes how soft they are wrapped around his dick; he likes thinking about how these same panties definitely touched that soft pussy of yours…… in a way, isn’t this just indirect sex?!?! \(//∇//)\ sometimes he’ll spray your perfume on his sheets or pillows just to fall asleep in your pretty smell, imagining you spread out on his bed, inviting him to join you…. it’s a dream that’s so delightfully intimate that he wakes with an aching hard-on. :( the sad reality is that it’s only just a dream.

Sometimes he creeps into your room just to watch you sleep. Maybe he even sleeps under your bed or in the closet… tucking himself away so that when morning comes he can watch you do your daily routine. He can watch you dress yourself, do your makeup, bend over to pick up dirty laundry……… he knows it’s poor manners and he knows you’ll think he’s a gross, pathetic creep, but sometimes he gets hard watching you and one time it was so bad he just had to slowly pump himself to the sight of you going through pretty outfits for a night out with friends. The lacy panties, the lewd bras, the dresses and skirts, the cute tops… you’re so pretty,,, such a beautiful darling. His dear stepsister… he could admire you forever, burn this image into his brain and let it remain there for all of eternity.

Skully wants nothing more than to plaster you to the bed and fuck into you slow and sweet, watching your tits jiggle with every thrust, watching your hazy expression twist with pleasure, listening to the soft gasps that spill from parted lips!!! He has to bite down hard on his lip so you won’t hear his whimper when he cums into an old pair of panties he found lying haphazardly in the back of your closet.

Or when the two of you watch movies together!! These are the moments Skully looks forward to the most. Movie nights with you are special, sacred times. You bond over horror films and, of course, the nightly rewatch of his favorite: The Nightmare Before Christmas. But sometimes you’ll watch a movie and a sex scene will come on, and he’s so incredibly awkward throughout the entire thing. He keeps stealing glances at you, wondering what you’re thinking about. If he lets his mind wander, it’s you he sees on the screen. He imagines himself in those positions with you: pressing you against a window, bending you over a surface, lying back and watching you lower yourself onto his dick…… he fidgets with the pillow placed over his lap. He’d die if you saw his erection straining against his trousers. >_<

But sometimes he just wants to take you to dinner and court you properly like a gentleman from Victorian times. He probably writes lots of poetry about you. You’re his favorite thing next to Jack Skellington and everything NBC. He idolizes you. <3

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: The Killer Always Comes Back For One Last Scare [Yandere Haruta Shigemo x Reader]

Title: The Killer Always Comes Back for One Last Scare [Haruta Shigemo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're the last one alive--or so you think.

Horrorfest prompt: When I saw you post wanting to write a Mean Thing for Haruta JJK, my mind immediately jumped to now requesting "reader-chan thinking they killed him and got away, but surprise! His luck technique" in the way slasher films trick you

Word count: 2010

Notes: yandere, reader is female, descriptions of death, gore, groping, sexism, Haruta being Haruta

The blood–oh, the blood. You’ll never get the blood out of your clothes. They’ll have to be burned.

No–they’d be burned no matter what. Because even if the soaked-in red could be removed and laundered and done away with, you would always see it. You would always smell it. You would always feel it, warm at first and now dry and tacky, damp against your skin. 

Most of it wasn’t even yours, after all.

It was theirs–your colleagues–your friends–

Nao, her body sprawled face-down, neck sporting a boot print; blood soaked through the stab wounds through her chest, her back and the highest part of her thigh. The last was close to her backside, and the killer had laughed about it. “I almost got her cute little ass!”

Kei, killed the simplest. Killed first. Stabbed through the gut. “I’d rather play with you girls alone,” the killer said. He wasn’t lying. Because Shika–

Shika, flat on her back, eyes wide in horror. Her face was a canvas of pain, stab wounds on her cheeks, one of them flayed and flapped open, hanging down her jaw. Her hands–what was left of them, they were stubs of missing fingers now, defense wounds–were splayed upwards. In desperation, in prayer. In growing rigor mortis. 

A glance around you only makes you want to tear at your hair, your skin, to collapse on the ground and die alongside them. Hell, with your blood loss, that might still be an option.

Fuck–This was supposed to be a simple mission. An easy one. The plan was to meet for dinner and drinks afterward. Nao would get too drunk on cocktails and Kei would ask her out again and Shika would slap him and you would laugh and laugh and–it’ll never happen now. Not ever again.

You are the only one left alive. And it’s not fair, really. It’s not right.

Your colleagues–your friends, after years of working together–weren’t any stronger than you. They weren’t any weaker, either. You were the reconnaissance team. Trained in basic combat so you might hold your own until actual help arrives, but your techniques were defensive, strategic. 

It was always the next wave of sorcerers who were meant to do the real fighting, while your team got the information, relayed it to just the right people, then got the fuck out of there. And today? Today, you did get the information, and you did relay it to just the right people. 

But just as you were planning to make your swift and necessary exit, everything went to shit. The single curse user that you were meant to be tailing (a weaker man, you’d noted; his sword held his hand for him, of all things) turned out to be two. And the second had a technique that hid him from your sight until just the right moment, unleashing a barrier that kept you contained–an ambush. 

The second curse user didn’t even bother coming inside, and there was a brief sense of relief that rippled through your team. You could deal with one low level curse user. This other man, blonde and thin and wearing a stupid outfit and a stupider grin, could surely be fended off until help arrived.

Or so you thought.

He’d grinned widely before counting the lot of you with his sword in hand–

“One, two, three… four.” 

His gaze lingered on Nao, on Shika. And then on you. Longer than the others? Maybe. It was hard to tell, then and especially now, with the adrenaline. And the blood loss.

Speaking of–

You grunt and rip off a piece of your tattered suit, then another, and another. You’ll have to wrap your wounds yourself, now that you’re–now that you’re alone. Help will arrive soon, and since the curse user is finally dead, and the barrier is gone (perhaps his second simply gave up, when he died?) all you have to do is survive until someone comes to help you.

Which should be any minute now, surely.

They will come before you finish wrapping your wounds, even; there’s a hope you cling to, while you carefully gauge which of your injuries is most at risk for killing you. Probably the stab wound in your side. It went in deep. It hurt–it still hurts–and blood is still seeping out. There’s a strange sort of pain with this wound. Something that almost tingles. Perhaps he hit an organ. Or an artery. Or both. 

The cuts on your arms and legs, no, that’s superficial. Meaningless. You don’t bother with them, instead going for the deeper wound, wrapping it with as many pieces as you can. Blood seeps through, despite the efforts. But that's all you can do. 

A pained sigh, more of a whine, escapes your lips as you lean against the old fountain in the center of the square. On the off chance that the second curse user came back, sitting here was an awful idea. But you were tired. You were dying. And sitting here gave you the best chance at rescue.

It also gave you the best sight of the curses that had seeped their way out of your body, that of your friends as they died. They were nothing much. Bitter, scared things. Whining and whimpering, much like you were doing; much like the rest of them did as they died.

But it would be over soon. You could go home. Call your parents and tell them you love them, consider how to pick up the pieces, and maybe in time you–

“You’re still here! I’m so happy!”

The warmth of slowly bleeding out is cut through with ice that runs up and down your weary limbs, stopping at your chest to make sure your heart begins to race so hard that the pain of it has you leaping to your aching feet.

“You…” The words come out of your lips without energy. It’s impossible. You’re dreaming. No: you’re dead. That must be it. Dead and this is what you hallucinate as your brain fires off all those lovely synapses. 

But it’s not a dream, and you’re dead. Not yet.

The curse user is standing in front of you, looking almost cheerful. His sword is back in his hand–back to holding his hand–and the wound that should have killed him, the ragged slicing of his neck that you managed with a broken pane of glass, is healed up. The only sign of it are dried rivulets of blood covering his neck and chest.

He glances down at it, following your gaze.

“Weird, huh? I’m just really lucky, you know!” When he looks back up, his eyes are wild. But not with anger, as you might expect. No–his eyes shimmer with glee.

There’s only one thing your brain can think to say to him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His eyes widen. His lips get thin. He seems to be thinking seriously, perhaps for the first time in his whole damn life. And then, his face begins to shake–a little at first. His lips twitch into a smile. Then he throws back his head and laughs. Loud, giddy. It hurts your ears and you long to cover them up.

“I like to have fun,” he says, taking a step closer. 

Your eyes dart here and there, but where is there to run? You’re exhausted. Bleeding profusely. You wouldn’t make it around the corner.

When your pathetic gaze makes it back to him, he grins wider.

“And I really like weak things. You’re a weak thing, aren’t you?” He licks his lips as his eyes travel up and down your weakened, bleeding body. “All women are.”

There’s a retort somewhere in you; some indignity that might flare up and have you glaring, spitting at him, all defiance and swollen anger. But that retort has been stabbed out of you, chased out of you as your legs twisted and turned within the barrier. 

The retort is blubbering in the blood seeping out from underneath your torn suit bandages. 

“Aw,” he coos. “See? You can’t even speak.” He makes an awful noise, a gleeful little moan. “I want to hear you scream again, though.” His gaze flicks at Nao and Shika. “They made wonderful noises as they died. So pitiful.” His voice cracks at the last word, like a boy in puberty. 

At this, your body does finally try to run away. It has to; you can’t just stand here and die, no matter how tired you are. So your gaze hovers to the left before your bled-out mind decides it’s the best direction to go, carrying your weakened, jelly-like legs a few steps. 

A stupid thing to do, but since when were primal instincts always smart? 

“Oh!” He croons, just in time for your knees to buckle, for your body to hit the pavement hard. 

His footsteps sound too loud against the ground as he approaches you. You’re about to die. He’ll either kill you quick or slow but either way, you’re dead. 

Well, you think. At least I won’t have to live with survivor’s guilt. But mom-dad-sis-friends-neighbors-my-dog–growing-up-on-a-quiet-street-the-time-I-fell-down-at-the-playground-my-first-kiss-and–

All bittersweetness, all those momentary flashes of your life before your dying eyes are replaced with blinding hot pain searing through your ass. His sword–

“Bull’s-eye!” The laughter from behind you is too giddy for the blood-stained scenery. “Ah, should I try your tits next? Women always squeal when I…”

Whatever he says next is lost when the world gets topsy-turvy. The pain in your side and ass and body sears hot as you’re turned around by the curse user. You’re too weak and he’s not exactly strong–if only the second team had gotten here–but he’s strong enough to manhandle you, to hold you up by your wrists and fling you back to the ground so that you land on your back.

He straddles you, pressing his knees into your open wound. You scream–it must be you screaming, everyone else is dead–and he rolls his eyes backward lewdly. 

You hear the sword clatter to the ground and there’s almost relief in you, before you feel his hands roughly groping your breasts. It hurts. Not because he’s particularly rough, though it’s entirely possible; but because your entire body hurts. 

And maybe because, despite the knowledge of your imminent death and the gaping wounds on your body, you can still feel shame. 

“These are so cute,” he murmurs, voice half-laughing. “I wonder if I could cut them clean off.” His eyes glance towards his sword just as you whimper.

A pitiful sound. A small sound. A sound that attracts this vulture-like predator as readily as any mouse in the desert.

He leans forward, cooing softly. “You don’t want that?” 

You shouldn’t. It wouldn’t matter. It’s not going to change anything. But you can’t help it; fear of even more pain wins out.

“Please don’t,” you croak. “Please.”

The sigh that escapes his lips is practically sinful. 

And then–worse than death–you can see an awful thought blossom behind his eyes.

 “You know, I’ve been thinking–” He leans in close, breath hot and stale on your face. Spittle flies onto your cheek. “Since you’re so weak… and since you’re really the prettiest one… I might just keep you alive…”  

His tongue sneaks out like a worm and licks a trail up your cheek, catching tears and blood in one go. Your body jerks all too feebly, a blow to your dignity and primal desire to get the fuck away from him. 

You don’t want to die. But do you want to live, when this is the alternative?

He doesn’t care to find out your answer; instead, he licks another trail down your face, dragging blood–some yours, some not–into your mouth. You sputter, and he bites your bottom lip when you try to jerk your head away.

You whimper again–soft, pitiful, trapped. 

He only grins, and you can hear the sharp slice of the sword dragging against the pavement as it finds its way back into his hands. 

“It’s like you were made for me, right? Poor thing.” 

[neechees]

How is the cult from Midsommer white supremacist? Because they are swedish and borrow from paganism? The nazis appropriated Norse culture, they even misused different runes and symbols, and Scandinavia is one of the most tolerant regions in Europe.

There's Nazi imagery throughout the film, & the fact that all the poc die first is no mistake. Ari Aster himself has said that the Harga are White Supremacists:

Defying an outdated horror trope, Aster does not kill off Josh (William Jackson Harper) — the only black character for miles — first. As Aster points out, though, the Hårga are racist, a callback to “a part of Swedish history and European history,” and all of the “outsiders” or “new blood” recruited for mating are purposely white.

“He’s thrown away in a way that the other members of the main cast are not," Aster notes. “And that is because these people have no further use for him.”

The Harga, when not inbreeding with each other, go out and groom new members to either 1. Be sacrified or 2. Introduce new genes by manipulating people into the cult or drugging & raping them (what they did to Dani & Christian), & they ONLY pick white people for this. There are no nonwhite Harga & that's not an accident.

The script also makes it crystal clear that the nonwhite couple were specifically chosen (bc they are not white) & brought there to be sacrificed & were never going to live. The member that brought the nonwhite couple displays hatred & malice towards them when they're not looking, but doesn't do this with the other white outsiders

(Ingemar is the Harga that brought Connie & Simon, the nonwhite couple). Connie & Simon didn't do anything wrong, they didn't do anything outright to insult the Harga. The only thing they did was be shocked about seeing the ritual suicide & express desire to leave (and they weren't the only ones who did this, Dani also did). And yet they were some of the first to die.

Even the visuals-- the Harga wear all White, it's always in blinding daylight. Whiteness is a GLARING theme. There's also foreshadowing early on in the film, where a book titled "The secret Nazi language of the Uthark" featured in Christian's room just before they go to Sweden.

There's also other Nazi ideology present within the Harga, such as the strict gender roles (the women all wear dresses & cook & clean & care for the children together but the men butcher the bear together), eugenics & ableism (the elderly are killed off at a certain age because they see disability & needing to be cared for as an elder "shameful", which is what one Harga states at the ritual suicide scene, & of course killing off the nonwhite characters), the "return to tradition" ideology (there are NO modern technology in the community, & it's in the countryside).

You see a cult full of ONLY White people, using Norse paganism (something VERY popular with Nazis) in an isolated area, who routinely murder poc, don't intermix with poc, kill off their elderly, Dani (the blonde, light eyed white girl) is praised for her beauty & made their May queen by the Harga, with strict gender roles, & this film was made by a JEWISH MAN to show the Harga as the bad guys, & you don't have a hunch that the Harga are maybe supposed to be white supremacists/nazis? That doesn't raise any red flags for you?

& let's not forget how Scandanavia committed genocide against the Saami, the Indigenous population who were there for hundreds of years before anyone else. That's a little off topic, but as a First Nations Canadian I aint gunna let that just go unacknowledged. Scandanavia has a white supremacy problem too, & Ari Aster is right for pointing it out

[actuallysaiyan]

Waiting For The Miracle(Villain!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader)

I dreamed about you, baby It was just the other night

Let's see if we're that strong Yeah let's do something crazy, Something absolutely wrong

warnings: Dark themes, murder, violence, abuse, blood, smut, unprotected sex, weapons, swearing, choking, rough sex, Yandere themes pairings: Villain!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader word count: 3.5k summary: Nanami Kento has a rage that builds deep inside of him for years. The minute he finds out that you are the victim of abuse, he snaps...and what ensues is the madness that you both descend into. taglist: @beneathstarryskies @seireiteihellbutterfly @an-ever-angry-bi @benkeibear @namikyento @adharadotcom @anonimusunnoaniswriting @erebus-et-eigengrau

I cannot stress this enough, this is a VERY VERY VERY VERY dark piece of writing. I do not condone these actions, but I just want everyone to know that this isn't for the faint of heart. If you cannot deal with any of the warnings mentioned above, please you should skip this. Heavily inspired by the film Natural Born Killers.

Nanami was outraged. He’s been holding these feelings deep inside of himself for years. They threatened to spill over so many times, but he was so good at keeping himself in check. So many times he clenched his fist and bit his tongue. Losing his best friend and watching his upperclassman defect, it made the fire deep in the pit of his belly become even more heated.

Kento took lots of comfort in knowing he always had you. You, the bright eyed smiling girl of his dreams. You worked hard to become a sorcerer that was at his own level. Both of you became Grade One sorcerers in no time. But what Kento never knew was that you were hiding your own secret. He had no idea that you harbored just as much pain as he did. Maybe you harbored even more pain than him.

For years, you endured the abuse of your family. The minute they found out that you could see curses and that you weren’t just mentally ill, they found it so repulsive to keep you around. During the summer vacation, you always wished you could go somewhere else but home. They tried to hide you like some dirty secret, but you always found solace in coming to school.

Meeting Kento and Haibara has been your saving grace. Having two best friends who would do absolutely anything for you made you feel like a normal person. It’s why you hid your secret from them for years. Neither of them had any idea that your family was treating you like some sort of pariah.

After the loss of your sweet friend Yu Haibara, something broke deep inside of Nanami. You watched him shift from calm and collected to sullen and deep inside himself. Then both of you felt so helpless losing Suguru as well. You, Satoru and Kento tried to pick up the pieces, but it all just seemed to be too hard. Gojo became too strong for any of you to match him, and Kento grew increasingly angry at the world.

It started with one mission gone wrong. Kento found himself in a conundrum where he could save someone at the cost of losing the curse. The curse taunted him one too many times, and so he allowed the victim to be hurt to be able to exorcize the curse. 

The blood that splattered from the victim ended up on Kento’s face. He shuddered at the way it suddenly excited him. His eyes rolled back and he smeared that blood. The victim watched in horror before their life was snuffed out. He used his Ratio technique, hitting them right in their weakest point.

From that moment on, Kento finds himself growing addicted to the spilled blood. He knows it’s wrong to allow innocent people to die, but he also knows he can’t stop the anger that fuels him. He’s gone too far down this path, and he doesn’t think he could ever deviate from it.

So the moment he found out that your family had been abusing you, Kento grew even more angry. It was like his whole body was crying out to end this madness. You were his everything. The apple of his eye. His sweet angel. He knew he’d kill for you if he had to. And he would stop at nothing to keep you safe…

It’s late one night when he knocks on the door of your family home. You open it to see him, and you swear you’ve never seen this look in his eyes. It’s pure rage that you can see. It excites you in a way that is confounding and eerily comforting. 

“Are you home alone?” he asks, his fists shaking from being clenched so hard. 

“N-no.” You reply in a quiet voice. 

You know that you shouldn’t let him in, but you feel it in your heart that this could be your way out. As you shut the door behind him, you hear your father calling out from his spot on the couch.You wished that he would just leave you alone for once in your life. 

“Who the fuck is here?”

You shudder and cower when you hear that tone of his voice. Tears sting your eyes, and Kento is quick to notice the way you’re reacting to this. He gently cups your face in his hands and he leans in closer.

“I’m here to deliver you from this pain,”

His words make your heart skip a beat. Your eyes widen and you try to understand just exactly what he means when he says he’s going to deliver you from this pain. What does he plan to do? Your heart races as you watch Nanami pull the carrying case from his back and unsheathes his blunt blade.

“K-Kento, what are you—”

But you’re interrupted by your father coming in to investigate what’s going on. His eyes narrow at the blond standing in front of you. You can tell your father is beyond pissed off at this point. You make no move to intervene.

“I knew it! You really just let any man into this house,” your father spits out. “Who’s this scumbag anyway?”

Kento sneers, “You’re never putting your hands on her ever again.”

Your father is about to laugh in his face, but you watch in surprise as Kento uses his ratio technique on your father. There’s a split second where your father doesn’t quite realize what’s just happened. Then the blood begins to gush from his throat.

You blink and squeal in surprise when some of the blood splatters on your face. With shaking hands, you try to wipe it off your face. Yet all you manage to do is smear it, and just like Kento some time ago, something changes inside of you. You look at the man you love.

“You…you killed him,” you say in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I did it for you. Nothing’s going to take you away from me. Never again,”

Kento wraps his arms around you, ignoring the gurgling noises that your dying father makes. Then you feel Kento’s lips on yours in such a heated kiss. Neither of you know where this passion has come from, but it feels like it’s growing with every second.

“I don’t know why you hid this from me,” Kento says as he rests his forehead against yours.

“I was ashamed. I was scared you wouldn’t see me the same way.”

Kento growls, “You are my one and only, do you understand me?”

You’re about to reply when a blood-curdling scream interrupts you both. Your mother is pointing at you, trying to convince you to move away from Kento. Then her eyes widen in horror as she sees the blood splattered and smeared on your own face. You begin to laugh as she’s piecing it all together.

“Oh sweet mother of mine,” you coo mockingly. “How many times did I ask for your help or for you to lay off me?”

“I-I-I-” she tries to get the words out, but she’s so terrified.

“I-I-I…what? You’re too scared to fucking talk to me now? After all this fucking bullshit?!” You cry out. 

Then you grab Kento’s blunt blade, imbuing it in your own cursed energy. It glimmers with red energy, pulsing and glowing. You spin it around, catching it with a scary precision. 

“Go on, darling. Show her just how strong and powerful you are,” Kento coaxes you, knowing you’ll do what you need to.

Your eyes flare with rage as your mother begins trying to reason with you. She tells you that she never meant to hurt you. She gets down on her knees and begins to beg for forgiveness. You slowly slide the blunt blade down her cheek, making a cut from the imbued cursed energy.

“What kind of mother hurts her own flesh and blood?” you ask her, tears in your eyes. “What kind of mother lets her little baby become the victim of years of abuse?”

Your mother tries to defend herself, but it’s too late. Kento watches you proudly as you slash the blade. Blood pours out of her wound, and she grasps at her neck pathetically.

“You let him hurt me for years. You let my own father— you let him touch me. You let him do anything he wanted, and all you did was watch.” You finally tell her.

You hand Kento his blade back, and he can see it on your face. You never knew that you’d be capable of doing something like this. But after being hurt so deeply by the two people who were supposed to protect you and raise you, your heart had been filled with so much rage.

“You’re free now,” he whispers softly before kissing you.

“We’re free.”

You hold his hand, and he leads you out of the house. You look at your childhood home one last time before Kento lights a match and throws it at the building. It goes up in flames within seconds, making you cheer loudly. 

Then he guides you to the car he managed to acquire. You jump into the passenger side, and Kento gets behind the wheel. He starts it up, winking at you. You never knew you could feel so liberated in your entire life.

With the music cranked up, Kento drives you far far away from all of this…

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

In the hotel room, Kento’s hands are all over you. After a long shower to clean the blood from your skin, you feel new. He kisses you hungrily. His tongue wrestles with yours for dominance, his saliva filling your mouth sweetly. You moan at the taste of your lover. When he pulls away you watch the strings of spit keeping you both connected.

“You’re my angel,” he whispers gruffly. “Nobody will ever take you away from me.”

Your eyes widen, “Nobody will ever take you away from me either.”

His hands pin your wrists above your head. You let out such a cute moan for him as his knee spreads your legs. Kento’s eyes are alight with passion as he leans in to kiss you once more. Your lips meld together with heat and desire. Your whole body shudders as he tightens his grip on your wrists.

“I fuckin’ mean it, angel. Nobody’s taking you away from me,”

Your heart races at the sound of his voice. His words are genuine and true. He’d do anything to keep you safe. One of his hands comes up to your throat, squeezing just a little to have you gasp for him.

“You are all mine,” he growls in your ear. Then he squeezes your throat harder. “I’d rather fucking die than to be on this earth without you.”

You let out a strangled moan as you feel his hand dragging down your naked body. He smirks as he tweaks one of your nipples, then the other. Then he presses a kiss to your breast, his teeth gently biting down on it. 

“Shit!” you cry out, your hands gripping his hair.

Nanami chuckles darkly as he licks the deep bite mark he’s left on your sensitive flesh.His eyes flicker up at you as his large, calloused hands cup your breasts. You let out passionate gasps and whimpers as he begins to suckle on your nipples. His teeth graze them, making you jolt into his touch.

Eventually he gets fed up with waiting. He spreads your thighs wide, spitting onto your already wet cunt. Using two fingers, he smears your arousal and his spit all over your weeping hole. Then he stuffs you full of his fingers, making you buck up.

“That’s it,” he coaxes you. “Think you’re ready for me?”

His cock rests against your mound and he pulls his fingers out of your cunt. You nod eagerly, begging for him. With one fluid movement, Kento bottoms out inside of you. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, slamming into you over and over.

The air from your lungs is forced out, making you gasp and pant from the intense pleasure. You’ve never seen him look at you like this. It’s like he’s trying to bound your souls together. His hands grip your hips, pulling you down with each harsh thrust. 

“Don’t worry about anything,” Kento growls against your ear. “Never going to let anyone touch my fuckin’ angel ever again.”

You cling to him, wrapping your arms and legs around him. “I love you so much. I never want to let you go.”

Kento picks up his pace, nibbling at your neck. With every thrust, he tells you about how he’s never letting anyone come near you anymore. You’re always going to be right by his side where you belong.

“You belong to me, and only me…” he pushes his cock deeper inside of you.

The coil inside of you snaps and your orgasm comes crashing down over you. You cry out, your nails digging deep into the muscles of Nanami’s well-toned back.

“Fuck that’s it,” Nanami grunts as his hips go faster. “Good girl, my good girl.”

He grips you even harder, his fingertips surely going to leave bruises into your skin. His eyes are boring into yours, a flame of desire building between the two of you. It’s going to consume you both.

“Nobody’s taking my baby away from me!” Thrust. “All mine, you got it?!” Thrust. “Gonna claim you and keep you safe!” Thrust.

And with the final thrust, his cock is nestled bruisingly against your cervix. Shots of his thick potent cum begin filling your awaiting womb. You let out another sweet cry of love, making Nanami growl loudly.

“Mine!”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The days and weeks that follow are a whirlwind of pain, pleasure and killing. You and Nanami find yourselves unable to contain the bloodlust that seems to have infected the two of you. The rage that built so deep inside both of you has become uncontainable. It grew so fast.

Each and every little village you go to, you find yourselves unable to stop killing. With you seducing the worst types of people, Nanami is right there ready to attack them. Doesn't matter if they are men or women, you two get your fix together.

One night you’re in a small bar together, enjoying each other’s company. To anyone looking at you, nobody would be able to tell you’re the infamous curse users. Nobody knows who you two are. 

The music starts up on the jukebox and your eyes light up with excitement. You get up from your seat, getting closer to the source of the music. 

“This is my favorite song!” You exclaim, losing yourself to the music.

Nanami watches you, his eyes full of nothing but pure love. This soon turns into something else as a few men begin to take notice of you. His eyes are narrow and precise as one of these scumbags approaches you and tries to place his hand on you.

“Hey fuckface! I’m just tryin’ to dance here!” You spit out, pushing him off of you.

“What’s your fucking problem!? Stupid cunt!”

He’s about to hit you, when you slam him into the wall. The man’s eyes are wide as he notices how you are much stronger than you appear. Everyone is looking at the display, but Nanami’s got his eyes locked on just you. He thinks to himself how proud he is that you’re his girl.

“Now, now…let’s settle this calmly, little miss.”

You spit in the man’s face, “I told you, I was just dancing. You’re the one who got fucking handsy with me!”

The man’s eyes widen when he sees you pulling back his fist. Nobody in the bar can see the cursed energy imbued in your fist. The guy tries to reason with you, but it’s much too late when your hand connects with his fist. Everyone screams in horror as the blood comes flying out of the guy’s nose and eyes.

“Holy fuck!” Someone from the crowd exclaims.

Before anyone else can do anything, you watch as your true love pulls the blunt blade from his harness concealed beneath the cream blazer. Everyone watches you both as you begin attacking the people in the bar.

“Think you can just watch as a couple of scumbags try to take advantage of a young woman?” Kento asks the scared patrons. “Is this really what you want to see happen right in front of your eyes? How disgusting!”

One of the men comes over and tries to reason with him, which makes Nanami swing his blade while pairing it with the Ratio technique. You squeal in delight as you watch your lover dispatch these evil people.

Soon it turns into an all-out brawl. The bar was packed with so many people, and here you and Nanami are trying to teach them all a lesson. All you wanted was a night out for fun, but they showed you their ugly side. 

“Don’t even think about touching my pretty little angel,” Nanami sneers as he grabs someone by the back of their neck.

And he holds the person steady for you, causing you to use your cursed energy to set their nerves alight. They foam at the mouth from the intense shock to their system. Their eyes flutter shut, and then you strike them with your fist.

The last person alive is a writer named Genevieve. She pleads for her life, telling you she’s nothing but a lowly writer. You look over at your lover, smirking playfully. Then Kento sheathes his blunt blade back into the holster.

“Take your swing, honey.”

The last thing the writer sees is your fist coming straight for her face…

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The car slows down on an empty bridge. You’ve been driving for a long time. Kento looks at you when he cuts the engine. Then he gets out of the car, coming around to open your door. He takes your hand in his, leading you towards the railing.

“Look at that beautiful river,” Kento whispers in your ear. “The water flows endlessly…just like our love.”

Your pupils are blown wide with love. Kento cups your face gently, kissing you so tenderly. It’s been such a wild ride already, but you’re ready to continue this life with him. You know you’d happily die for him. You’d happily kill for him again and again and again…

“Let’s do this properly, yeah?”

You nod your head. Kento leads you back to the car and you gather up some stuff from your past life. He helps you push it off the side of the bridge. Mementos, pieces of clothing you’d never wear again and even family photos scatter in the water.

“Goodbye bitch,” you say to your former self. “I’m a free woman now!”

You climb onto the railing, raising your arms up and letting out a loud cry. Kento looks at you like you strung the stars in the sky just for him. He places his hand protectively on your back, keeping you steady.

“Let’s get married,” Kento finally announces.

You look back at him, your eyebrow cocked when you finally take in what he’s just said. You laugh wildly.

“Right here? I mean…we got no priest. No officiator. No church…no temple.”

Kento helps you down onto your feet, pulling you into his arms. Your face nuzzles in the crook of your neck as he begins to play with your hair. He then leans in to whisper in your ear, his voice deep and full of desire.

“No need for any of those things. Our church is right here. We are our own officiators. Our own redeemers.”

You look deeply into his eyes, your heart thumping wildly in your ribcage like the wings of a hummingbird. Then you nod, unable to properly form the words just yet as you are overwhelmed with so much happiness.

“Give me your hand,” Nanami asks, and you do as he says.

You watch as he pulls a small buck knife. Then he makes a small incision in his hand. You gasp when you feel the cold metal on your palm next, whining softly from the pain. Then Kento clasps your hands together, holding it out over the flowing river.

“There we go,” he whispers huskily. “Now we’re husband and wife.”

You tear up, “Y-yeah! Yeah we are!”

Kento then uses his other hand to cup your face. He kisses you with all the love he can muster. Then he leans his forehead against yours, keeping your hands together and dripping blood into the river.

“And there we go…flowing in all the rivers and oceans and lakes and seas of the world. We’re everywhere all at once.”

You look into his eyes, then you wrap your arms around him completely, kissing him so sweetly. You never knew that life could be so free. You know that things aren’t going to be the most normal with this relationship, but you wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

“I love you forever, Kento.” 

He smiles, “And I love you forever, darling.”

[lyricswrittenbythesecretdreamer]

Haunted

“You remind me of a man I used to know.”  

I was watching the embers in the fire die, and the thought just came, out loud. The Ghoul chewed an unknown meat off the stick he’d skewered it on, not looking up to dignify my statement with even so much as a grunt. Maybe not then, I thought sadly. Maybe all the men like Cooper had died when the bombs dropped. I certainly hadn’t met a man like him since we’d said goodbye to each other at that party. Still, I continued.  

“He was a lot friendlier than you – though I suppose actors are predisposed to high levels of charisma.” I smiled to myself from behind the handkerchief covering my face, thinking of how simple the past now seemed in comparison to the present.  

“Actor?” It was first word I’d heard him speak since he told me to put out the fire that had cooked our dinner and it brought me from my daydream of my old life.  

“Yeah, actor. One of the good ones, most of the time anyway.” I chuckled to myself, remembering the tantrums he used to have on set if something wasn’t entirely accurate.  

“How would you have known an actor?”  

“Well, if you must know, I was-”   

I was cut off by a knife flying past my face and narrowly missing my eye, and then there was a body on top of mine, all flailing limbs and trying to stab me, grabbing a hold of my neck and head to hold me down. I grabbed the pocket knife hidden in my coat and wounded my attacker, before rolling the both of us over and pushing his face into the dying ashes. Their screams echoed out against the darkness of the wasteland, and I heard several gunshots. I took my pistol from my belt and shot whoever had tried to jump me in the back of his skull, letting him fall limply beside me.  

I look up through the dying light to see the Ghoul surveying our surroundings, before looking down at me and I realised with horror I didn’t have the handkerchief covering my face anymore.  

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Rosie Ryder,” he let out an audible laugh, “What are you doin’ out in the Wasteland?”  

My face went bright red, and I huffed.  

“Even after the apocalypse, people still just know me as the girl who played the hooker that got her titties out for Cooper Howard,” I rolled my eyes and sighed, “I’ve done other movies, you know.”  

“Yeah, you were great in Under the Covers,” he chuckled again, “although for you that film must have mostly been about shooting all that kissin’ you did to the poor bloke. I bet his lips were chapped at the end of every day!”  

“You a fan of Cooper Howard?” I asked, looking him up and down, “this get-up of yours seems pretty inspired by his work.”  

“You could say that, Little Miss Ryder.”  

I laughed bitterly and gestured down at the three bodies around us.  

“We should probably find somewhere else to sleep tonight, in case anyone heard the gunshots.”  

I checked the pockets of the bodies but couldn’t find anything other than a couple of caps and a gun with some ammo still left in it.  

“No chems?” he asked, and I shook my head.  

“No chems.”  

*** 

As we continued in our direction, the Ghoul became more talkative.  

“So, if you were Little Miss Rosie Ryder, you must be at least two hundred and something years old,” he began, “So how are you here right now?” 

I shrugged.  

“It’s a long, long story. We don’t got that much time, Ghoulie.”  

Eventually we came across a shabby-looking shack that looked just about safe enough for the night and might potentially keep us safe from any radstorm that might decide to descend onto us. And maybe from any raiders, too.  

The Ghoul went in first, checking the inside whilst I set a bear trap up in front of the door, before following him inside. It seemed as if someone might have been living here for a bit – there was a sofa and a little table, as well as a small counter with what looked like to be a broken-down hob. No signs of life anymore, though. Everything had a thick layer of dust coating it, and any essentials seem to have been hastily removed when the last occupier had left. 

“The walls seem pretty sturdy and the roof’s secure,” he said, “did you put a bear trap outside the door?”  

“Yeah, don’t wanna take the risk we did earlier.” I sighed. “Still, can’t help but think we’re still sitting ducks if someone breaks in. We’re not exactly in the safest area – I know at least two Raider groups who have bases nearby.” 

“They’ll break in and come face to face with my pistol aimed at their skulls, sweetheart.”  

“Oh, I’m ‘sweetheart’ now, am I? Now that you know what I look like under all these clothes?”  

The Ghoul stepped closer to me, the shadow of his hat towering over me.  

“Maybe I jus’ appreciate those actin’ skills of yours,” he murmured, “on top of that fine figure.” He stepped back from me and sat down on the sofa, slouching.  

“I’ll take first watch, Little Miss Rosie. I’ll wake you in a few hours and when the light comes, we’ll continue, and you can tell me that long, long story of yours.”  

*** 

Susie Wellington was coiffuring my hair for my first scene, as I sat tugging on my cotton skirt trying to psyche myself up for the scene ahead. We’d rehearsed it a bunch of times in table reads but this was the real thing – closed set and all.  

“Susie, I think the leading lady’s hair’s done up enough for now,” came a voice from the corner, “and you should be making your way back to the dressing rooms. I’m sure Little Miss Rosie Ryder here doesn’t want another cast member staring at her tits.”  

I looked up in relief as Cooper appeared beside us, cigarette in hand. Susie didn’t look to happy about having to leave her creation as it was, but only pursed her lips and bid me goodbye.  

“You excited for your first scene, Little Miss Rosie?” he asked, and I felt a strange sense of deja vu come over me at his words. I ignored it and put a shaky smile on my face.  

“I’m excited to get the nudity outta the way, that’s all I’m gonna say!” I giggled a bit, and he laughed alongside me.  

“Well, there’ll be a barrier in place of everythin’ and that dress of yours ain’t comin’ off completely. Gotta keep them perverts on their toes.” He winked at me, and I tried to keep the smile on my face, but under it all, I felt as if this was very dangerous.  

As he kissed me softly in front of the cameras and rolled his eyes playfully as the director asked him to push my dress up to show more of my skin, I felt something lurking in the shadows. Once this was shot, there was no going back and for some reason, I felt completely doomed.  

*** 

I woke up with a start, flinging my body forward. From the sofa, the Ghoul shushed me, holding a gloved finger over my mouth.  

I could hear something outside, and I assumed that was what woke me up. It was a strange sound, of someone dragging their feet through the dirt and the mud. We sat there in silence for a full half an hour, until the dragging sound moved away from the hut and back out into the darkness.  

“You mind takin’ the next watch, Sweetheart?” he said, “I need to get a couple hours kip in before we set off tomorrow.”  

“Sure,” I say tentatively, pulling out my pistol. “I’m glad you finally trust me.”  

“Well, I’m a huge fan.” He laid heavy emphasis on the ‘huge’, winking at me through the dusk light. I rolled my eyes, but inside I felt a little proud for some stupid goddamn reason.  

Back when I started acting, I didn’t think I’d have any living fans – never mind a half-dead irradiated man from 200 years in the future. Is he half-dead? It’d never been explained to me at the brothel – I’d just done my service and taken the RadAway. None of the others had ever stuck around to tell me their life story.  

We switched places, I sat myself down on the sofa and the Ghoul lay down on the bedroll on the floor.  

“Damn, this shit is fuckin’ uncomfortable.” I heard him say, and I let out a laugh under my bed.  

“I didn’t complain,” I whispered, and he made a grunting noise. I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be an insult or not, but I just chuckled quietly and pulled out my pistol, aimed at the door ready for anyone who tried to force their way through.  

The sun rose quickly after that, and by the light of the sky, I was able to get a better look at the Ghoul’s sleeping face. There was something so familiar about him, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I decided it was the cowboy look – it reminded me of the niche I’d almost fallen into after my three-month contract with Cooper’s team. The audience had loved our chemistry on screen in The Man from Calabasas, and the studios knew they’d get a lot more money if we came as a package deal – so we shot Under the Covers, City of Starlight and Valley of the Gun together. It took me back to the last film I’d shot, the one I hadn’t finished shooting.  

I looked down at my clothes – the same clothes I’d been wearing 200 years ago on set. The ‘Western Hooker’ dress, of which there had originally been five different versions. The hat, which I’d stolen from my co-worker as a joke, but had still been on my head when we’d been told to start running. For a moment, I could still smell the food that they’d made us on set. I could still smell the horse manure, and the flashing of lights.  

I looked back at the Ghoul, awake now, and almost came to a realisation.

Part 2

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Family Video

steddie, omegaverse, mdni 🔞

Eddie’s putzing around in the horror section at Family Video when the bell over the door jingles. He glances without thinking, shocked to see Robin Buckley lead Steve Harrington inside.

He’s nosy, wants to know what the hell is up with that. But he also doesn’t want to attract Keith’s attention. Eddie’s taking his time to hang in the A/C as long as possible, nearly an hour already.

Not that Buckley is capable of being quiet, so he hears plenty.

How they’re job hunting and how Robin probably knows more about film than Keith does. How Steve Fuckin’ Harrington likes Return of the Jedi! Even if he can’t remember the title and calls ewoks teddy bears. 

Color Eddie surprised.

Add in Steve’s bright, colorblocked outfit and his swoopy hair, the way he absolutely takes out the Fast Times promotional standee and hurries to fix it, resume in his mouth like an enthusiastic labrador retriever.

Embarrassingly, Eddie realizes he’s been pumping out his campfire and marshmallow scent, too charmed to lock down his sudden interest, subconsciously trying to draw in the stupidly endearing omega.

He figures he should go before he actually catches any attention, dipping around the counter and out the door, but not before he hears Buckley and Harrington get hired on the spot.

It’s easy enough for Eddie to memorize Steve’s schedule, only going to rent movies while he’s working. Sometimes he drags the guys with him, or maybe just Jeff, giving more cover to surreptitiously stare at the moles on Steve’s neck.

“You aren’t being nearly as sneaky as you think,” Jeff mutters on more than one occasion . “Just go talk to him.”

“Can’t.” Eddie keeps Jeff between himself and the counter, eyes on the slasher movies like he’s agonizing over his decision.

“Why not?”

“Cuz I’ll say something stupid like, ‘Please, sit on my face, I wanna drown in your pussy.’ That’s why,” Eddie whispers, risking a glance towards Steve.

“What? Seriously!”

“Have you seen what a mess he is now? And add in that apple pie scent—my mouth is watering and my dick is—”

“Christ! I’m sorry I asked. But I still think you should talk to him.” Jeff turns his attention to the shelf in front of them. “Nightmare on Elm Street?” he asks, reaching for the case.

“Yeah…” Then Eddie stares as Jeff brings the tape up to the counter, his best friend effortlessly making small talk and laughing as he rents the movie. Like a coward, Eddie hurries out of the video store, waiting for Jeff in his van.

When Eddie goes to return the tape the next day, he’s surprised when Steve looks at Robin and says, “I’m going on my break,” even as he accepts the tape from Eddie, their fingers brushing.

“Yeah, whatever,” Robin answers, flipping through a magazine.

Broad fingers wrap around Eddie’s wrist and drag him back to the Family Video break room past the “Employees Only” sign.

Steve smiles at him as he closes the door behind them. “Sorry. Just got tired of waiting for you to make a move.”

“What?” Eddie has never known Steve Harrington to be the kind of omega who waits for an alpha.

“You aren’t doing a very good job of controlling your scent.”

Eddie gulps, cheeks heating.

“And your friend said you were super into me, which… Yeah, definitely picked up on that.”

Nodding, Eddie waits for his tongue to untie, pretty sure he’s gonna die first when Steve steps closer, presses his hand to Eddie’s chest. “You surprised me,” he manages to say.

“Sorry about that.” Steve doesn’t look sorry at all as he leans in, sniffs at Eddie’s neck. “I’m too used to Robin, bad at personal space with pack.”

“Not what I meant—the ewoks—I mean. Shit. Wait.” Eddie closes his eyes, Steve’s scent filling his nose and making him warm. He smells safe. Familiar.

“Yes?” Steve murmurs, hand moving up to touch the skin above the collar of Eddie’s shirt.

“Not pack, what do you mean bad at personal space with pack?”

“Can tell you should be pack.” He nuzzles at Eddie’s cheek and whispers, “Want to be your pack.”

Eddie gives into his instincts then, whining and holding Steve’s face still, bringing their mouths together. He has no idea what he’s doing, but Steve clearly does as he gentles the kiss, grinning as he pulls away.

“My shift ends at seven. Meet me at my place at seven-thirty.”

Eddie nods. “Uh-huh, yep, whatever you say.”

Steve glances up at the clock. “But we’ve still got six minutes before my break ends, and you need to practice,” he teases, pulling Eddie back in for another kiss.

[another-lost-mc]

Hii, first of all, i love your writing 💕 and I hope you're doing well.

How do you think the bros would react watching the movie Se7en?

I think it would be interesting to see their reactions since the theme surrounds the seven deadly sins.

a/n: I love this movie! I re-watched while I worked on this since it's been a while. I wrote the blurbs in order of the sins as they're portrayed in the film.

➤ watching the movie se7en | the demon brothers

1k words | x gn!reader | nsfw | violence and dark/disturbing themes, demons thinking about demon things, movie spoilers

BEELZEBUB | the gluttony scene

Any other time, he'd be joking that if he had to die, he wants to die eating. He understands that now's probably not the best time to tell you that.

He feels a bit sad for some reason. He's not sure if it's the poor bloke's death on screen or the movie's gritty atmosphere in general.

Ravenous hunger has its downsides, but most of the time he enjoys eating food. He can understand why being forced to eat would be emotional and literal torture for someone.

He knows he could eat that much pasta without breaking a sweat, but he doubts it would be comforting to you so he doesn't say it out loud.

He wonders how much he'd have to eat for his body to break down in protest of finally being too full, but he keeps that to himself too.

MAMMON | the greed scene

It's not a horror movie but the dark vibe still gives him the creeps.

He hasn't had to look away (yet) but he tucks you closer to his side so you can cuddle. You can hide your face in his chest for the gross parts if they bother you, he won’t tease you.

He sorta gets an inkling about the greed motif— something about a scummy lawyer and money trading hands is his first guess about why this guy was targeted.

Eh, close enough.

There are a lotta ways to kill someone with greed without actually killing them, y’know.

(He doesn’t wanna talk about ‘em though. He doesn’t want you to think badly of him.)

BELPHEGOR | the sloth scene

What the actual fuck.

He was feeling a bit sleepy watching the movie up to this point, but he's not anymore.

He understands the interpretation of his sin, but he's surprised to see such an ugly version of it in a human world movie like this.

If he senses that you're uncomfortable, he tries to distract you until the scene ends.

Now seems like a great time to pause the movie so you can both get up and get a drink, or stretch—or maybe go for a nap if you're tired and don't want to finish it right now.

(He's going to make sure you don't have bad dreams after this.)

ASMODEUS | the lust scene

He's had custom sex toys made before, but something like this? Yeesh.

Literally fucking someone to death seems so brutal, so unromantic. This isn't how he would do it, but he doesn't tell you that; he doesn't want to scare you.

(If he had to kill someone using his sin, he'd fuck them before ripping them open from stomach to sternum.)

(If he had to kill you with his sin, he’d make love to you until you eventually fall asleep. Your death will be instant and painless before he cuts out your heart and eats it.)

He notices that this part of the movie made you squirm in your seat more than the others so far.

Maybe a warm bath and cuddling in his bed will help you relax once the movie's over. He’s suddenly overcome with the urge to hold you.

LUCIFER | the pride scene

It feels anti-climactic compared to some of the other portrayals of sin so far, but he appreciates the simplicity. He was afraid it would be needlessly gruesome like the others.

Pride is insidious, the mother of all sins, the first deadly bloom that causes all others to fester and rot on the vine.

He can’t help the way his mind wanders after this. As an angel, he tried to resist sin. As a demon, he embraces it. Humans are weak and he knows for many, pride is their downfall.

You might not believe you could be pushed to make such a fatal choice, but Lucifer senses the way your own blend of pride lingers within you too.

He keeps silent about those thoughts and he wraps his arm around you for the rest of the film.

LEVIATHAN | the envy scene

He’s unusually quiet. He doesn’t complain or whine about how boring it is, and he doesn’t reach for his handheld either. Sometimes he looks puzzled by what’s on screen, and other times he seems contemplative.

He’s a little surprised by the ending. Speechless almost. He understands envy, but to do all this?

And the part with the wife, well...he thinks it's just a bit of an overreaction, don't you?

He can’t help but glance at you once the movie's over. He thinks about life before you and life with you now; he can't imagine life without you in it anymore.

Would he be capable of that type of jealousy if you didn't choose him? If he had to watch someone else live their own happily ever after with you while he suffered alone?

Huh.

When the movie ends, he distracts you with an impromptu game night in his room and he cuddles with you in his tub after.

His tail curls around your leg as you drift off to sleep, and he realizes he'd do so much worse just to keep you by his side.

SATAN | the wrath scene

For the most part, he's been less interested in the portrayal of sins. He's totally wrapped up in the mystery aspect of the movie instead.

Throughout the entire film, he's muttered under his breath about certain things he noticed or his guess about what might happen next.

(He’s read all the books mentioned in the library scene too.)

He figured that the cop with the short fuse was going to be involved somehow with wrath. He actually thought the character was a bit annoying.

He does sympathize with the cop's behaviour at the end—all he has to do is think of someone hurting you and it makes him seethe with rage.

The reveal about the wife caught him completely off-guard but thinking about it later, it seems so obvious.

[moki-dokie]

You know what I'm disappointed in Tumblr for not collectively being down tremendously bad for Nosferatu. It's the most Tumblr movie to hit theatres in years and y'all are sleeping on it. Fucking SHAME

It's got EVERYTHING!!!

The most respectful homage to daddy king of horror movies/silent films in general for the film nerds

Some of the most beautiful shots I have seen in literal decades for the limited color use and spooky fantastical light sources for all the camera/techy nerds

Extremely intricate and detailed and drop dead gorgeous costuming that I'm going to assume was like half the budget bc holy SHIT. Best period accuracy for that time and place maybe I've ever seen. Costume hos where you at on this??

PHENOMENAL practical effects and prosthetics.

RATS!!! LIKE FIVE THOUSAND RATS!!!!

Extremely homoerotic bloodsucking like you cannot even imagine. I could have watched sloppy bareback gay porn and it would not have been half as erotic as THAT scene was.

The most pathetic "I love my wife!!!!!" man to grace my eyeballs in such a long time. He's wet. He's traumatized. He's a poor damsel in distress. His only focus is to get back to his batshit wife. After meeting the most terrifying and creepy walking corpse he complains at the guy for taking the locket his wife gave him. He's so wet. So often. Just. Sad sad dripping wet blorboest blorbo. I love him.

Horror that is not just jump scares and gore. Horror that makes you profoundly uncomfortable. Horror that makes you think. Horror that's disgusting. Horror that's psychological. Horror that is an open interpretation for a lot of different things.

It's a fucked up love story. Seriously. The cast referred to it as a love triangle. A toxic one - even better.

That score??? Goddamn that was some majestic scoring.

Ride or die bff's!!!! Sapphic vibes even!!!

The most insane woman ever who could do 0 wrong. Her performances are so good and weird and intense. I wish she could have like burned down a village full of evil people or something she deserved it.

I frankly don't agree with the folks that feel like she got fridged. She took control of the narrative as soon as she realized what would kill him. She made the choice before any of them. She used the vile power that had haunted her so long to destroy it - for good

Willem Dafoe being a lovely unhinged madman, as usual.

Size difference like holy fuck size difference!!!!!! Nosferatu BIIIIIG!!!!

Nasty ugly gross creepy proper monster!!

MONSTER DICK. FULL FRONTAL MONSTER DICK!!!!!!

It has EVERYTHIIIIIIIING GO SEE IT!!!!!

[thewinchestah]

Strawberry Fields (sonhei com campos de morango) - Alastor X Reader fic

Summary: On a dreadful night, Alastor goes to collect one of his contracts. Something goes terribly wrong. He finds you.

Warnings: fem!reader, Human!reader, smut, 18+, period sex, overstimulation, light cannibalism, blood, A LOT OF BLOOD, general creeppiness, Alastor is in hell for a reason, oral sex, alastor kind of hunts reader down, possessive!Alastor

A/N: Soooo!! This was a long time coming but here it is. This idea has been on my mind for a long time now and I wanted to test the waters before i commit to a long fic. I hope you guys like it, i'm kinda on the fence about it. I'm working on the requests and they should be out soon I PROMISEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Also I got a little carried away, i'm sorry. Hope you guys enjoy it. It's always a pleasure to write for you. The visuals and the title for this fic are heavily inspire by this music video. Not the lyrics tho, i always felt like the singer did a poor job with this concept and i wanted to do it justice.

Taglist: @markster666@jyoongim@stygianoir @pepperycookie@fraspent @aether-th3-enby  @lady-valtieri @karolinda007-blog @jesi-pinkman@polytheatrix If the tags aren’t working or you wanna be tagged, let me know.

You curse when another sharp stone cuts your feet.

You regret it a second later when you hear the ominous sounds that reverberate through the trees. They are closing in on you.

You don’t know how you got here, you just know now you are running for your life inside these woods now. The only guiding light, a full moon that looks weirdly otherworldly.

Adrenaline burns inside your bloodstream, the forest seems devoid of any living thing. It’s only you and whoever is chasing you. You wish you could hear gunshots, you wish you could hear screams. Anything besides the occasional twig snap or wind caressing the pine trees’ leaves. The eerie silence is deafening, and worse: the eerie silence makes you even more aware of your situation. 

It’s incredible how everything gets clearer when you’re about to die.

Maybe you shouldn’t have traveled alone, maybe you shouldn’t have decided to go somewhere where the closest thing to civilization is the village’s old-yet-charming dinner. 

You just wanted a little bit of quiet, a place that made introspection inviting. Next time you should go for a beach vacation.

Next time? why does next time sound so… far away? Somehow your feet carry you away from the forest’s well marked path and deeper into the thick vegetation, hiding behind a large tree. You gained a few minutes on them by taking a detour.

Breathe. Remember to breathe.

Right, your mind remembers. You’re being hunted down like prey in the creepy horror film woods, time to focus on surviving again. You can overthink later.

You assess your options: you can keep going into the woods, a deadly game of hide and seek. Zig-zag through the trees, keep them guessing. There’s a good chance you will find wildlife as you go deeper. This could be a problem, it’s too dark to make anything out, an encounter could cause enough of a distraction, you could take advantage of that. Or you could end up mauled. Plus, you are absolutely positive there are bear traps somewhere. If you're gonna die, make your death less dumb. Quite an embarrassing topic of discussion in the afterlife, saying that you died like horror film pretty girls making dumb decisions that you clearly would never make in a situation like that. You just know they are incredible hunters, you need to take them out of their element, expose them.

So yeah, going deeper isn't an option. 

Something catches your eye, there’s a big opening in the thick vegetation, there’s a clearing ahead and… sparks? You definitely see a light. You were told by the locals how the population is scattered across acres and acres of practically untouched wilderness, there’s also the park’s rangers stationed on specific places that grant them a visual advantage in case of emergencies. A big clearing is perfect for that. Maybe, just maybe there’s hope. 

Of course bolting there will make you terribly exposed, they will know your position all the time, and they can still hunt you hidden by the edge of the trail.  Besides there’s no guarantee of what awaits you when you reach the promised land, they could have a partner waiting, there could be nothing at all there. Taking this risk for nothing sounds worse than being lured into a trap. You just have this gut feeling that’s where you should go. Your brain starts to pick the plan apart, this doesn’t sound good. Hesitation can be fatal. But you are all adrenaline and primal flight intistic - 

The decision was made for you, you start running again. Taking advantage of the final stretch of cover you still have until you hit the trail again, you take several deep breaths. Oxygen needs to keep coming, so you can make decisions, so your limbs can respond quickly. Your peripheral catches something that’s also running. It’s a stag.

He’s also prey. He’s an omen. He’s your cue. 

You leap across some fallen branches and your scratched feet land on the main trial. As soon as you complete your first step you hear movement and hurried voices. They are onto you. “What do we say to the good of death? Not today” you give yourself a pep-talk as you keep running. Maybe thinking this is all fiction will help you survive this, detach yourself from the situation, don’t think about the consequences, just act. 

And like that, you don’t stop running. You sing your abcs to focus and stop spiraling. Evolution is truly amazing, the cuts you suffered don’t hurt anymore, precious shooting adrenaline, adrenaline that makes you tunnel vision towards your objective. By now you know where to step, when to dodge, when to slow down and when to go faster. Millennia of sheer force of survival catching up to you.

breathe, remember to breathe.

You inhale a good chunk of oxygen and look ahead. There’s a man on the edge of the tree line and a few meters left. Your mind wants to sing in victory, but you refrain from that, you know better than that it only ends when it’s over-

You’re positively sprinting towards the man right now, like he is your assured salvation. Something inside you screams louder and louder guiding you to him and you follow the sound. 

You hear gunshots. 

So noooooow they bring out the guns? That’s low. 

But that’s a good thing right? If they are shooting they are getting out of time. A single gunshot can take you down and they can smoothly and swiftly carry you away, like it’s a normal hunt. No one will question shooting something they didn’t see getting shot so deep into these woods. But shooting a girl in front of a witness? that’s for amateurs right? So, the man is not a partner you decide. 

remember to breathe, you are not breathing. 

You are so close now, you see an outstretched hand coming your way only a few more steps

breathe. 

You don’t, instead you leap towards your loosely established finish line and take the hand an-

 Dirt greets your face as you fall face first into the trail,  and you crawl like a zombie that just rose from its grave. You have a collection of new cuts and scrapes now, it hurts and you can’t bite your lip to suppress the pain. Still, you intertwine your fingers with his, your other arm aggressively seeking for leverage, clinging to your flesh lifeline. You blur out a bunch of incoherent things as he effortlessly lifts you up  in one swift motion. 

“Get behind me, my dear.” he asks. He has a weird voice almost like it leaves something in the air that caresses your skin, an inviting voice nonetheless. You hide yourself inside the crook of his arm, giving you the ability to witness just a little bit of the action there’s about to happen. You never let go of his hand. Your prince charming feels awfully cold.

Alastor waits, rather impatiently, for his clients to arrive. Making a deal with a human is his ticket topside and Hell is still terribly boring, even with the hotel. The Radio Demon was no stranger to contracts with humans, they were a win-win situation. Those who seek him always have a taste for the wicked and deranged, so it’s easy to figure out what they want and twist it for his own benefit. When they inevitably die, be it death by old age or death by occupational hazard, Alastor gets useful men from the moment they manifest in Hell. They always know exactly where they are and why, they are not confused sinners, petty crime or moral crime sinners. They are, most times, skilled killers who take no trouble doing Alastor’s bidding. An accomplished killer in life makes an even better prolific hellish soldier, someone who will continue indulging in their desires without the constraints of society, but eternally tied down by Alastor’s constraints. With the right incentive, they can rise in the ranks and become treasured resources for the overlord. Plus, the camaraderie isn’t all bad. Takes one to know one, they say.

However, humans these days are getting careless, sloppy. This entire display is proof of that, they should be over to kill and cover their tracks alone. The basics, for hell’s sake. 

 Alastor only takes care of the details. Tampering with some evidence here, getting a victim on the right place at the right time there. The occasional final encouragement to give into the darkness and finally kill, some advice. A self respecting killer should be able to kill and get away with it without the demon’s aid. He’s there for consulting and making sure there are no loose ends. 

But never this. Having to intervene in the middle of a kill because his client made a very very big mess that screams “you’re getting caught!” is below him. Amateurs are not worth Alastor's time.

The two men approach the tree line, clearly worked up from the hunt and shocked to see him there. If Alastor is withholding a victim, something went very, very wrong.

“Good night my good fellows!” the greeting leaves his lips in an overly-chirpy tone. Is that static in his voice?  Radio static? Is that what’s leaving goosebumps on your skin? The stress and the adrenaline are making you imagine things. You took the “pretend this is all a fantasy and you the main character” too seriously. Because now you are hiding behind Darth Vader’s skirts. That’s impossible, right? right?

“Great.” you can see the sarcasm dripping from one of your aggressors. “You’re here to watch?” the question asked all passive aggressive with an edgy tone. That’s definitely a teenager. What the fuck? you were being chased by a high school kid? This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, how can a teen pull this off? And you almost died? What? Your mind starts spirling. 

Alastor ignores the son, is the father he cares about. They’ve known each other for years now, and he’s underperforming to say the least. He waits for the father to address him, it’s his mess after all. The older man gives his son a stern look and finally breaks the silence. 

“Goodnight. We didn’t expect to see you here tonight, to be honest.’”

 The second voice is much older. That doesn’t quiet your thoughts at all. Is this a cult initiation thing? Hunting girls down like they are prey? WHY DID YOU TRAVEL TO THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??? OF COURSE THERE WOULD BE CULTS HERE, DUUUUH. IF I WAS IN A CULT THIS WOULD BE THE PERFECT PLACE TO HIDE. There are so many voices screaming inside your head now, you are shivering. With anger, anticipation, fear. Your inner monologue overrides your brain and you are not sure you can cope with everything that’s going on. The voices, all the voices, sound wrong. They land weirdly inside your ear and you need to think hard to understand the words, you know how crucial every piece of information is. They could make all the difference when you talk to the police. They could help a conviction when you are on the stand, giving your official statement. You are surviving this. You are going to watch these fuckers get life in prision or worse.  You are surviving this right? There’s so much you haven’t thought through. Whose hand are you holding again? 

“Oh please. Don’t act all coy now, it doesn’t suit you old friend” Alastor is starting to cross the line from nuisance to anger. He twirls his microphone in annoyance, and makes sure to sink it deep into the moist ground. “Let me remind you about the terms of our agreement. For each 2 kills you make, one soul is mine to take. Or am I wrong?”

“No. You aren’t”. The father answers through gritted teeth.  “But I never thought you would want to collec-” Alastor tilts his head, his grin widens and he snaps “Never thought what? That I would claim what I am owed at my leisure? That I would stop waiting patiently for you, acting at your whim? You earned the privilege of killing unbothered by my vigilance. Because you always delivered your side of the bargain with excellence. I can revoke said privilege whenever I want. Especially after this pitiful performance.” The seasoned killer seems to slightly cower at Alastor’s words. Good. He always regarded the demon without fear or trepidation. His work was meticulous, spotless, basically perfect. And that gave him the justifiable confidence for going toe to toe with the Radio Demon during conversations, a bargaining chip during dealings of his contracts. Few could say that. 

You feel nauseous. Reality is crashing down at you hard and fast. How many people have these people killed? They are trading lives like it is the stock market, and yet you can’t let go of your prince charming’s hand. There’s no rational thought to justify it, actually rational thought is also being slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb tonight, because despite the gigantic red flags you are not letting go of this man’s hands. Everything about him screams danger, everything about him screams your safety. He’s the type of paradoxical that messes with your primal senses, that makes a moth go to the lights that will kill it. 

From the crook of his arm you finally gather the courage to open your eyes. You try to look up to your prince charming, but his face is concealed by the shadows of the night. Actually, everything of importance seems to be conveniently hidden from you. Your aggressor’s faces look distorted, recognizable traits melting together like watercolor painted by 100 shades of darkness, voices and words fuse together creating only cacophony. You hear things, you see things, but you can’t discern them. The three men keep going back and forth, but their conversation seems to dissipate into the air. Everything about this feels like a dream. 

Of course you can’t register anything of importance. Alastor makes sure of it. You are a potential victim after all. A liability, capable of making a positive identification. It’s wishful thinking that someone would take your account of what’s happening on this dreadful night seriously.

 Alastor has no shame in using the prejudices of your world to his advantage. If you were to tell, everyone would make the assumption that you are “just another hysterical woman, thinking too much about folktales”. You had too much to drink, partied too hard. Hallucinogens are a common party drug and this is the result of a bad trip. At worst, “someone tried to spike your drink, but nothing happened. You should be thankful, not getting in the way of important police work”. Alastor also knows that injustice is no real crime, and yet he decided to spare you. It doesn’t feel fair for you to perish in such crude ways, a practice run for a post pubescent, obnoxious serial killer in training. A precious thing like you should be honored, savored. In the odd chance that your voice was heard, the Radio Demon  guarantees that no reliable information will come out of your mouth. His clients might be lacking, but in the dealmaking business your words are your worth and Alastor has a silvertongue. Surely that pretty mouth of yours won’t be a problem. 

“I’m afraid I have to insist, my good friend. The pair of you caused enough damage already with these sloppy, impetuous spree killings. Your law enforcement is already on your scent, tracking the pattern and by the looks of it tonight’s mess will send quite a message. A message that I will have to make sure is delivered faultlessly. I will uphold my hand of the bargain, you will uphold yours. The girl will be spared. There’s plenty of prey out there, plus her death would only act as an aggravation, she’s not your type, and trust me, they will know you made a mistake, you will be exposed.” The Radio Demon’s patience is wearing thin. He shouldn’t have to justify his actions to humans. There’s no compromise to be found here, they went to him and the deal is always on his terms. You squeeze his hand really tight during the discussion of your scheduled demise, like a reminder that you are still there. Still afraid. 

 How cute. Alastor thinks. Your adrenaline is starting to wear off, dissipating into the cool forest breeze and opening space for a strong sense of false security, equally as inebriating. The smell of your sweet fear laced blood is unmistakable, assaulting your savior’s nostrils. Your knees buckle, and you struggle to keep yourself on your feet, clinging to prince charming’s hand for dear life. “Breathe darling, you are forgetting to breathe” He turns quickly towards you, his voice impossibly soft, shooting. You try to look up at charming’s face again, the only new discovery made is that he's awfully tall, and his face is still hidden by opaque darkness. You work really hard on breathing normally again, but you want to keep looking. Their faces are a monstrous distortion, vacant eyes that seem to cry blood. Your entire body tingles, you feel weird goosebumps. It takes all of your willpower to keep standing. You won’t lay yourself at their feat, defeated, like the corpse they would drag from these woods. But you just can’t keep looking, so you shut your eyes and grip the hand that has become your lifeline even tighter.

“You won’t even truly use the bitch, she’s no use for you” The entitled brat opens his mouth again. That’s the trigger.

The Radio Demon grows as tall as the native pine trees, his antlers furiously expanding and casting a shadow so dark over the two serial killers that the moon is completely obstructed. The only source of light in the forest now is the burning red dials of his eyes. The father sees the burning inferno of Alastor’s eyes and for the first time he is speechless. Maybe the realization of where destiny is sending him finally happens. The son sees raw, untamed power for the first time in his life and cowers like a scared puppy. Pathetic. 

“Now let’s get something clear here. I’m only tolerating your insolence because of my decade long relationship with your father.” You shut your eyes harder, your eyelids a shield from whatever is about to happen. Foreboding making the forest air too thick for you to breathe. You finally break down and start crying, too fucking much.  Alastor’s face meets the son on eye level. His teeth are bared, static picks up around the group to the point both men are struggling to breathe. A clawed hand traps the father’s face, a trail of blood dripping from the older serial killer’s cheek.“He’s as close to a professional as our kind gets. Shame the same thing can’t be said about you. This juvenile outburst does not make you more feared nor does it assert your dominance. It displays how weak you are, inept to succeed on this because you can’t keep your entitled demeanor in check. You are not owed anything in this lifestyle, if you want something you need to prove you’re worthy of it by taking it yourself. Whining like a petulant child won’t get you anywhere” You feel dizzy, the earth beneath your feet quakes,  whoever, whatever is holding your hand is sheeting with rage so consuming the ground shakes with the intensity of their emotions.

Alastor’s attention is now focused on the father, the red inferno from his eyes making the man feel genuine fear for the first time in his long, violence-filled life.  “Teach your spawn some manners and proper work, otherwise get him out of my sight. This was a courtesy. Fulfillment failings lead to contract termination, and contract termination means a lot of details appearing. You do not wish to make an enemy of me” Alastor delivers his last threat with a snarl. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the intensity of his words, you feel a powerful rush of wind, leaves ruffling, hurried steps and suddenly the world is at a standstill. The forest seems devoid of life excluding you, your mysterious prince charming and your two aggressors. All of your senses are assaulted with an overwhelming feeling of wrongness… darkness. Darkness that feels like the most luxurious silky dress on your skin, the most intense look of a passionate lover. It feels dangerously alluring and your will power is being gladly tempted by it. 

You feel like you’ve been holding your breath for hours, the rollercoaster of adrenaline inducing hyperventilation and conscious calming breaths making your brain enter some sort of high. Is that what people felt after a battle in ancient times? Is that what It means to stare death in the face and come out victorious? You don’t understand what you are feeling, but when oxygen finally feels normal again, tall, dark and handsome is escorting you deeper into the woods and you don’t even care.

 You’ve just slayed the dragon with your bare hands. You don’t care. You just want to bask on the feeling. To fucking feel. To remind yourself that you are still alive. 

Alastor is drunk on something that he rarely indulges in. Desire. Pure, raw carnality that makes him antagonize one of his greatests clients. Someone Alastor awaited his inevitable death with anxiety and hopefulness, someone he could actually call more than a partner in crime when in hell. A friend. A friendship born from blood and gore but bathed in kinship and inexplicable understanding of one’s dark nature. And the Radio Demon almost killed the man and his useless spawn and fucked everything up because when he saw your running for your life something ignited inside him. When you squeezed his hand so tightly, with such abandon and trust, like he was an Angel sent from heaven to protect you when reality was the most wicked antonym. 

Alastor spared you because you were prey. Beautiful, delicious prey that defied your destiny by accepting the nature of your condition. You didn’t dare to fight, you didn’t dare to think you could stand a chance against your hunters. You just fled. You fled and was perfectly lured into another trap, you doubled the bet when you held his hand and didn’t let go, serving all of your vulnerability on a silver platter to someone you deep down knew was way worse than any serial killer. 

Prey, that will chew its own leg to get out of a trap. Prey, that will offer herself to the most ungodly creature around if it means she can survive a few more moments, just to spite those who started the chase. Prey, that now holds his hand completely carefree and all giggles while she is led to a much more final and insidious type of slaughter. Prey that he was now going to claim.

Your wounded feet start to land on soft squishy things, a familiar scent invades your nostris. From the scent of sweat, blood and gore now to the scent of juicy, plump strawberries. 

“Hey, are we on a strawberry field?” it’s the first time you addressed him directly. You trail behind him, hurried steps crushing the strawberries on your way. You look up and for the first time you can see open skies. “You don’t need to worry my dear, you are perfectly safe now”

Are you? 

You decide that he doesn’t sound like  Darth Vader anymore, his voice is impossibly staticy, it prickles your skin and it feels like goosebumps that accompany butterflies on your stomach. He sounds like someone you would meet at a ball and have a cinderella moment with. The blanket of stars that illuminates the clearing you ferociously fought for grants you a better vision of his figure: scarlet red, snug tailcoat, perfectly tailored. Long legs and trousers that fit like skinny jeans. He dresses like the lead singer from a classic emo band. You can’t say you are complaining, you always loved the idea of a tall dark and handsome prince charming. 

“So, you have some weird friends don’t you?” you ask him. You can hear him chuckle, it is a very pleasant sound. Suddenly the twirls you, a fucking disney princess’ musical number twirl, and you find yourself in front of very big bed. 

With impeccable white sheets, you mind adds. Must be really hard to maintain white sheets in the middle of a strawberry field. Wait, what is a king size bed doing in the middle of th-

“Ah, I don’t really do friends, more like reluctant colleagues” bootleg brandon urie is the melancholic type, then. 

Alastor finally takes a good look at you when you take your seat on the bed with a contented sigh. You look marvelous. Your hair is messy and wild, your cheeks and neck flushed red from the effort. Your eyes big and pliant, waiting for his answers. You look so human, so deliciously alive. He desperately wants to be the cause of your disarray, to make the blood rush to your face under his materfully wicked touch. To feel your pulse fluttering when he touches your neck. 

You still can’t see all of him though. There’s stars, a big full moon whose light outstretches far, bathing the clearing in ethereal silver. The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows, your savior is always in the shadows.

By now you know he is purposefully hiding his identity from you, but you always liked a game.  Plus you don’t really have anything to lose now, you just want to forget everything that happened to you tonight, you just want to inebriate yourself, and charming really looks like someone who could show you a good time.

Either that or you are having a psychotic break after enduring life threatening stress. 

Anyway, you decide to bite. One possible psychotic murder, funny, charming murderer is better than two lukewarm ones.

“Do you always take random women to a creepy bed  with impeccable white sheets in the middle of the woods or am I just special?” not a chuckle now, a laugh. A beautiful, full laugh. The residual static on your skin making you shiver. 

Alastor completely understands what you are trying to do, and it’s truly hilarious. Your petulance and sarcasm towards him means to an end. You’re so precious, talking to him like this, thinking you could take him at his own game. What a beauty! Seeing you think you are succeeding in this only for him to take that conviction away from you at the last minute is going to be so entertaining. He wants you to dig your own grave, lay yourself at his feet.

He doesn’t indulge you, instead he takes a thick, silky strand of your hair and inhales deeply. You smell like sweet innocence and summer. It makes Alastor euphoric. 

His head tilts down as he smells your hair. You don’t that’s creepy, it looks creepy, it sounds creepy, but you feel reverence in his action. 

And then out of the shadows comes a revelation, you see his horns. You suspected his unhumanity, but the confirmation of it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes widen, you simply cannot make sense of this night, everything feels too surreal and raw reality at the same time, it’s giving you whiplash.

“Are you the devil?” you ask him without much consideration of the weight of this question. You do your best to keep your voice from failing but it’s impossible. You never dropped his hand, in fact you feel like you are permanently attached to him, like a marble statue. Your fingers open and interlock again and again, reflecting your anxiety, but you don’t let go.

You can’t see it, but Alastor’s grin is as big as a cheshire cat’s.

 “Do you seek the devil?” answering a question with a question. Smoke and mirrors. Alastor waits for you to answer, but you don’t. You don’t know what to answer, you try to contemplate if enganding further could mean eternal damnation, or if you are already damned. Is he going to make you an offer you can’t refuse? an offer you aren’t allowed to refuse? Alastor will blame it on lack of patience, but the fact is he can’t wait anymore to taste you, there’s a burning desire inside him, that only gets more and more ferocious as he tastes the inebriating smell of your fear blessing the air he breathes again. 

He removes your interlocking fingers, his hand quickly trapping your tiny wrist inside. You hear heavy breathing. 

“Or do you seek a taste of the forbidden fruit?” The demon licks the long cut across our open palm. His tongue is sensual and cold, the sensation of it slowly dragging across your wounded skin a soothing balm. You moan, he growls. “Forbidden fruit it is.” he announces, delivered like a sentence. 

You are completely free of his touch for the first time since it all began, but it feels like you just suffered an enormous loss. You feel taunted, like someone just dangled a shiny new thing in front of you and took it away. It’s like your entire being has become tunnel vision and you need to get to the bottom of this, whatever this is. Consequences be damned. 

You watch closely as your paranormal paramour moves towards the bed, he is completely concealed by the darkness. Darkness deep and palpable, he morphs within it. The visuals are beautiful, it looks like one of the art’s greatest masters is painting a watercolor in front of you. Darkness from absence of light floating and mixing with otherworldly opaque darkness, flowing like a river. You wonder if it would run through your fingers like water if you touch it. 

Antlers. He has antlers, not horns. 

The not-devil settles himself behind you, back against the headboard. He quickly maneuvers you onto his lap, grabbing you by the waist. You squeal in surprise as more of him touches you, now pressed flush against his hard chest you feel something you shouldn’t be feeling, nonetheless resistance is futile, you spread your legs giving him more access. He has barely touched you, and yet you are completely surrendered to him. 

Alastor wasn’t joking when he established that a woman like you should be savored, slowly consumed so he can extract everything you have to offer. He knows your mind is exhausting itself trying to discern what is happening, how the body and the spirit get more susceptible to succumb to desire after surviving imminent death, and he intends to take full advantage of it. Alastor wants to see you writhe under his touch, pain and pleasure. He wants to torment you and make you pay for existing near him, for making him careless. For making him indulge in carnality and arousal. But mainly, he wants to punish you, because you battled so hard for your survival against them. When you should fear him. 

The Radio Demon touches your neck, exactly where your pulse is, where he can feel your beating heart, full of life pulsing. Life that taunts him and seduces him. The thump thump thump of your heart beneath his fingers like a moth going directly to the light that will kill it. He holds your entire life, your entire existence under his clawed finger, it makes him delirious. 

You feel a sharp sting on your neck, fangs that break your skin and spill your blood, red and ready for his taking. Holding your breath while he sucks the life out of you, your head swims,  and you drown on the feelings. You feel pleasure, forbidden pleasure from having something hurting and feasting on you. 

“If you are not the devil, are you a vampire?” It might be a dumb question, but it’s the logical one. Sometimes the obvious needs to be said.  He laughs again, a full deep laugh,mockery dripping from it.

“Why? If I were a vampire would it make you feel better about spilling your blood for me?” he dodges the question again. Bait and switch. He’s feeding on you and you are enjoying it.. You don’t know what he is, you don’t know his name. It only spurs the burning desire in the pit on your stomach.

Alastor licks the entire length of your neck, his other hand applying light pressure on your pulse point. He bites down on you again, harder, going deeper. You roll your eyes and moan obscenely  as he sucks on it. This is going to leave a mark for sure, but you don’t care, because whatever he’s doing to you feels delirious, it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. 

Your blood is dripping from Alastor’s lips, he licks it not wanting to waste a drop. He can taste your eagerness, your fear, your essence, your soul. The red liquid is solid proof of how alive and defenseless you are, completely at his mercy. You keep moaning and melting on his lap at his ministrations, a finger starts tracing your arm, feather light touch that leaves you shivering in anticipation. 

He’s gently scratching, teasingly. It’s a claw, you realize. Another part of his unhumanity making you scared and deliciously trembling in anticipation. It’s Alastor’s turn to moan now, his clawed finger comes to torment your clothed nipple, he makes sure to do it tantalizing slow to give you just a taste of what it could be. He wants to hear you ask for it, beg even.

 “I’m afraid I’m way worse than the Devil, little doe” his low, threatening tone makes you close your legs together and rub, desperately seeking friction, some relief. 

“Re–really? You don’t sound that bad” A lie. You just want to say something back.

Your paramour laughs again, he takes your hand in his and starts making his way downwards. 

“How precious are you, lying like that to me” He stops both of your hands on your lower belly, threatening to cross the point of no return. You squeal and struggle on a desperate attempt to raise your hips and get something more, anything.

Delighted in seeing you writhe this badly when he has not even properly touched you, Alastor squeezes your neck tighter, inflicting just enough pain and pressure to make you sing. The Radio Demon finally makes the decision and drops any pretense of moderation, hastily dropping the band of your panties and guiding your joined hands to your slit. “I can taste the fear in your blood, how your sense of pleasure has been forever skewed”.

The two digits tease your entrance that is coated with arousal and something more, his touch is masterful, like he knows the ways of the human body the same way a talented musician knows their way around an instrument. He makes you moan, he makes you sing with only the possibility of his actions. The idea of being taken by something unholy. 

At last, Alastor finally enters your  tight wet pussy, his finger guides yours as he undoes you in ways that should not be allowed. He pumps your cunt mercilessly, gone are the careful, calculated touches, he wants to make you crash and burn as quick as possible, he wants to make you understand that you crossed the most important line of your life. There’s no going back now, your pretty mortal body is forever tainted by unholiness, by his darkness. 

“You spread yourself like this for me, a wanton little thing while I choke and feast on your blood”. Alastor curls the fingers inside you repeatedly making you move your hips in the maniac rhythm he has set. You ride your joined digits, moaning like a whore while your lover’s grip on your throat tightens and releases making your brain short circuits in pure unknown carnal feeling. “You are not the demure, feisty thing like you desperately tried to prove earlier. It only takes the slight touch of something forbidden to make you moan like a common whore” he adds another one of his huge fingers and starts scissoring inside you, the combination of two of his digits and your little one only adds insult to injury. You will never be able to replicate these ministrations, the feeling of being this full and stretched, you had a taste of the forbidden fruit, you are high on it and you will never get another hit on your own. 

Alastor alternates between choking you and curling the fingers inside you, your lightheadedness combined with the assaulting pleasure making you feel feverishly delirious. Your body is hot from desire and adrenaline combined, a starking contrast to your mysterious lover’s touch, ice cold. The two of you distinct seasons, distinct stages of existence mixing together, life and death tethering each other, blurring the lines of worlds that shouldn’t exist together. 

Orgasm building quickly, you grip the white sheets tighter and tighter and tighter but your fingers feel wet, you look down to see a mess of redness leaking from your core. 

Oh fuck, you are on your period. You completely forgot about it. In normal circumstances you would feel mortified about being fingered like this while bleeding, but right now it makes things even more erotic, you’ve learned that your lover may not be a vampire, but he definitely has a thing for blood and something inside you ignites at the idea of letting him feast on your blood, eat you out while you bleed for him. 

Your pussy flutters with the fantasy of that tongue working your pussy and with a particularly harsh pinch on your clit you are off. Waves of pleasure spread across your entire body like wildfire, he chokes you merciless making the urge to scream to the universe how fucking good you feel impossible. You want to scream his name, but you don’t know who he is, what he is. You just want more.  

While you ride the waves of your orgasm unbothered Alastor takes the opportunity to take fingers from your pussy to his mouth, red with blood and slick with arousal, he moans audibly as he tastes you, the most intimate parts of you. Only a little bit of it inebriates him, this is better than 70% of what he does in Hell. This feels better than closing a new deal, watching the princess of Hell fail miserably at rehabilitating sinners. You taste so sweet, so alive and afraid. He’s hard with the conviction of how scared you are, of how he has permanently tainted something so innocent and pure. How you stupidly threw yourself to his mercy. Perishing at the hand of those serial killers is more merciful than him. And now you will know. 

You must have babbled something while you came, about wanting to scream his name and not knowing it, because now you find yourself completely lying down, the bed feels soft like a cloud and you are sprawled like an angel, and he finally reveals something about him of his own volition.

“The name is Alastor, my dear. It has definitely been a pleasure meeting you.” Alastor, now you know, settles himself between your thighs and the pooling redness from your core. You feel him running his claws across the impossibly soft flesh of your inner thighs, you cover your face with your arm.

“Alastor I’ve never… No one has ever…” you trail off, you shouldn’t be embarrassed at this point, but nevertheless you feel your cheeks burning. Is he really going to eat your bloody pussy? fuck.

Alastor’s name on your lips sounds so soft, so pure. He wants to ruin it. He wants to destroy the careful constructed cognitive dissonance that makes you feel safe and comfortable around him. He wants you to be completely afraid and craving being scared of him, disrupting your sense of pleasure so he can ruin you completely, getting you hooked on him and delirious for more, willing to do anything for another taste of the forbidden fruit.

So, he makes you look.

“Look at me” you don’t want to. You feel a lot of things right now, but mainly you feel as if you really take a look at your dark lover tragedy is going to happen. Eros and psyche all over again, but bloodier. 

He claws your thighs, you hiss at the delicious pain, but still disobey him. 

“Look. At. Me” he snarls, definitely a threat. You feel yourself getting wetter. 

Alastor slaps your ass, hard. He’s losing patience, his temper turning quick at the realization that you not knowing who he is isn’t a perfect plan.

You moan from the pain, from the sting. It feels wickedly erotic. You almost want him to hit you again. Since when pain felt so fucking good?

So you do, you finally look at him. 

Red. The first thing that your brain fixates on is how much red there is. Scarlet red hair, red blood running down your core and staining the white sheets. Red claws that pierce your skin. 

Red eyes. Burning red eyes that entrap you. It’s like you can see the blazing fire that tortures the damned inside those eyes. 

If this is why people fall from grace, you totally understand the appeal now.

The second thing, the thing that makes you transfixed at the sight of him is how wrong he looks. His antlers are beautiful, growing from his scarlet hair beautifully adorning ears that look extremely soft, non-threatening, like a crown. His eyes are big and sharp, close together 

while he stares at your soul, eyes of a predator in the middle of softness of prey. His grin is completely predatory, dangerous, sharp teeth that hurt and maul, but at the same time bite you just the right way to make you moan in raw carnality. The skin is pale, not in a michael-jackson-thriller-way but in an ethereal way. His voice is static that seems to tickle your skin, sometimes more than others. He’s paradoxical, everything you should be afraid of and the comfort you should seek at the same time. A force you shouldn’t meddle with. Primal and raw. 

You may not know what exactly he is, but one thing is certain: he’s dangerously alluring, and you completely fell into his trap. But it hardly matters anymore, because he is about to drink blood from your pussy with that marvelous silvertongue of his.

“Fucking beautiful” you blur out, not realising he’s going to hear you.

One of Alastor’s eyebrows shoots up. He’s not regarded as beautiful often. Alluring, maybe. 

He wants to make you pay for all the soft ideas you have about him.

You soon learn how hard it is to hold the gaze of your lover’s eyes, his burning red irises entrap you. It's impossible to look away but overwhelming to stare into. 

“If all the mortal men you’ve been with are weak and pathetic enough to decline the dark gift of your bleeding cunt, then I’m honored to be your first” and without much more warning you feel a delicious cold tongue licking your entrance and you are off

 Alastor isn’t eating you out, he’s feasting on you like you are his last chance of salvation. His face is completely buried deep in between your legs as his tongue assaults you at a merciless pace. He makes sure not to waste a drop of anything your gushing pussy gives him. His tongue enters you and the contrast between your tight heat and his coldness makes you delirious. Exquisite carnal pleasure, you could cum from it alone.

Alastor is having a hard time navigating this double edged knife: you don’t know who he is what is capable of, which means your aren’t near as scared of being this vulnerable with him as you should be, a literal cannibal delighting in your soft flesh, drinking the warmth of your sacred blood. You must taste delicious terrified. But the silver lining is that the fear he inspires would make any woman who knows more compliant to this, even offering this to him freely. You have no idea about his exploits, he can and he will tarnish you with all of his unholy darkness, wrecking your world during the eleventh hour when you realize what you’ve done, who you’ve so easily corrupted your morals and your spirit for. You’re so beautiful, so naive, so trusting, so alive. You moan “Alastor, Alastor, Alastor” soft ohhhs and aaaahs as he polishes your cunt, every sound you make, every twitch of your legs and roll of your lips reminding your ungodly lover of how delicate and rare you are, aiding him on his mission. Gripping the sheets isn’t enough anymore, you instinctively place your hands on his antlers, the texture indescribable. Again, the contradiction of the softness of his velvet and the sharpness of his teeth, wickedness of his tongue giving you whiplash. You start rubbing them furiously, trying to mirror his ministries on your swollen folds. It definitely is doing something to him because he drags his teeth along your inner tie, breaking more skin, drawing more blood, hissing. You scream at the heavenly pain mixed with unholy pleasure.

Normally, Alastor wouldn’t let anyone near his antlers, arguably the most sensitive part of his body. If worked right, the sensations take him to another level of desire, insane carnality. But you taste so sweet, rich blood mixed with erotic arousal on a soft flesh platter, he consumes your innocence as he coaxes another orgasm from you. You hold on to dear life on his antlers, his velvet shedding and bloodying your hands, running through adding to the painting of reds that connects you two. Something ignites on you and it’s the most intense orgasm of your life, you feel every nerve burning from everlasting fire, that transforms and transforms until it explodes in a supernova. You don’t have the strength to scream, so you whisper Alastor’s name like a filthy prayer. 

He looks up grinning like a devil. Something makes you open your eyes as you ride out the waves of pleasure. There’s so much blood, blood dripping from his lips, blood on his nose, blood cascading down his bewitching face mixing in a flowing current of red, it ends in a glistening red pool where you meet each other in immoral sin, so inviting you could jump in. It’s like what would happen if the killers had caught you, but twisted into wicked, ungodly pleasure, it’s almost worse. Because well, if you’re killed you’d be dead and would never have experienced this, but now you have and the ephemerality of this night crashes on you and you feel conned, betrayed. 

 He licks his lips and stares right at you, a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes, you almost cum again. 

Alastor feels delirious from the bloody mess in front of him, carnality so powerful it makes him insane, he needs to finish this. He needs to sink his cook deep into your slick cunt. Pushing himself up, he starts to position his cock on your entrance. He’s so tall, the shadows of his bloodied antlers cover you and hide the welcoming silver lighting of the moon. The stars look so different today, and the welcoming sight of a full moon looks merciless, devoid of warmth and hope.

“Women like you are not meant for mortal men. They cannot honor you, they cannot savor you, they cannot satisfy you. Once you take a bite of the forbidden fruit you understand your place. Pliant and submissive beneath me. To be ravished and tamed by something beyond puny mortality. You are made to me fucked, to be owned by the better man who defied destiny and transcended what the hands of fate enforced on him. You are Helen of Troy, tailor made to fit my cock, satisfy my thirst”

He teases your entrance with just the tip, making you greedly roll your hips towards him, a primal response to the ravishing words. Alastor laughs mockling at you attempt of getting him to fuck you on your terms, your time. You may not be aware of everything but by now you know you can’t outfox and fox on his own game. 

“please. please. PLEASE” you scream the last word, you can’t take it anymore. A second without him touching your body feels like an eternity. 

“Tsk. You look so pretty when you beg” the condescending compliment lands like music on your ears and he finally enters you. Inch after inch he spreads your tight walls open, practically breaking you. You understand now why people in times before yours had sex after battle. It’s the most rare and coveted feeling in existence, to greet imminent death, escape her fatal calling and then do the thing that undoubtedly proves you are alive. Only to meet her again at the finish line of carnal sensations and no rational thought. Primal need to feel, to live.

Alastor finally bottoms out with an animalistic growl, making your shiver under him. He fucks you at a merciless pace, he fucks you with haste, with urgency and abandon. He knows what he needs and he is going to take it. 

“Hoooooly FUCK Alastor” you scream. 

“There’s nothing holy here. Everything that’s holy has abandoned you. There’s only me, your wicked god who has you completely at his mercy, to fuck, to break” he takes it all out and enters you at once. You try so bad to look at him, to hold his piercing gaze with adamantine conviction but you can’t. It’s too much, overstimulation creeps on you and everything hurts. You shut your eyes. 

“Look at me. Fucking look at me or I will stop” it’s not an order, it’s a threat. You should be scared, you feel scared, but tonight fear is diesel to your desire, and the pain makes you enter a mind numbing stage. The lines of torture and relief blurring together until you can’t discern a thing, you feel. 

You do as you’re told. You look at him as he fucks you, thrusting like a mad man, obscene sounds reverberating throughout, you are being so loud you are sure they can hear you back on the village. The village, your cabin. You had a life before tonight. Will there be life after tonight?

You don’t have time to have an existential crisis because what Alastor does next gets your undivided attention. 

“You will look at the demon who is ruining you, fucking you. You are no immaculate maiden anymore. You are a common whore for the Radio Demon” your eyes widen at the revelation. He is not a vampire, he’s not the devil. The fact that he is a demon and not satan makes you even more mortified, like you’ve settled for less. Just a little demon is what it takes to completely undo you. 

Alastor keeps thrusting at a breakneck pace, feeling vindicated. He did exactly what he said he would do, he took the last fiber of comfort, of dignity away from you. He can see your  entire world shattering on your beautiful doe eyes, making you finally feel the right amount of horror on the edge of a rapturous orgasm. 

You feel true terror now, there was still a slimmer hope that he wasn’ evil incarnated, that he had a redeeming quality. After all, he saved you. Didn’t he save you? Or did you start something you are not even close to understanding? You feel terrified because there’s a demon fucking you, biting you, feasting on your blood and you fucking love it, you want it every night. You really took a bite from the forbidden fruit and ruined yourself.

“It’s too much, Alastor I can’t” the words leave your lips and feel like confession, like somehow if you admit your complete surrender it will absolve you of something.

“Too. Bad.” Alastor punctuates his point with delicious sharp trust after each word. He finally tainted you with his darkness and made you aware of it. He feels delirious, he feels like victory incarnated. Your moans grow louder and louder, now pleasure means pain, hell means rapture. Things that should not exist together making you feel the best you have ever felt. Tears spill from your eyes, the overstimulation something you’ve never felt before, mind numbing and life-altering.

In an act of paradoxical mercy, your demon lover rubs your clit and you’re out like a light. Your walls tighten around Alastor’s cock, and white hot pain, blinding red pleasure overcomes you. You feel like falling, you feel your literal fall from grace as your body tingles and burns with ineffable, forbidden pleasure. Alastor howls and cums inside you. 

You land on silky, comfortable, alluring darkness. 

-

The cool forest breeze greets your abused skin, it stings but feels soothing at the same time. Paradoxical, like everything from this night. Alastor holds you tight, cradling your head on his chest, petting your hair. He draws lazy circles on your hip bone, featherlight touch, careful and coy. You turn on your side to face him.

“Can you see it now? It’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful” your mind asks you. You agree.

You start giggling, laughing. It is also so funny.

“What’s so funny, little doe?” Alastor asks you, genuinely amused. He feels elated from this night. He feels satiated, contented. It’s a very rare feeling for him. 

“For a while I seriously considered you are an alien” you tell him, you can’t contain your laughter now. You are so silly. Alastor’s eyebrow shoots up, quizzical. He chuckles and indulges you. “Alien, is so mundane. You could never be an Alien, it’s way too easy”. What your giddy minds means is that now you know Alastor is anything but easy, actually there’s nothing like him. He’s something else. Something entirely different, a delicious mystery that creeps inside your heart, haunts you forever. 

You stop laughing when realization hits you.

“Will I ever see you again, Alastor?” you ask him, your voice failing, nothing more than a whisper. You feel the ephemerality of this night, you feel daylight closing, ruthless sun rising that ends this everlasting dream. 

Alastor stares deeply into your eyes, he sees your wanton desire, your trepidant expectations. “That depends entirely on you, my dear doe. It’s time to make a decision.” his voice is so soft it fucking hurts. 

You look at the fading moon on the horizon, the distant stars judge you, the earliest of birds sing for you. 

Yet from those starts, no light but rather, darkness visible.

-

You open your eyes, you feel impossibly rested. Your bed feels soft and you want to visit dreamland again, but the noise stops you.

Songbirds and blazing sirens mix together a cacophony of urgency. You get up fast, trying to remember little bits and pieces of the crazy dream you had and run to the big window across the room. 

You look down, you see ambulances, police cars, lab coats and tall guys in FBI jackets.

Something definitely happened here last night.

 That explains it then, the nature of your murderous dreams. The sirens creeped their way into your subconscious making that murderous, dreadful dream. You take a quick look and your hands and see nothing. Perfect, unblemished skin. 

It felt so real. Strawberry fields and blood. 

Your neighbor from across the street gestures manically at you from her window. 

Fuck, it must have been really bad. There’s a lot of people at your doorstep. 

Hurrying to put your robe on, you fly down the stairs towards the bustling crowd outside. 

You are dying to know what happened. You were always a vivid dreamer.

You reach the hall and open the door, a polite officer starts talking to you.

You don’t notice the old radio on your vanity, or the opaque darkness that followed you from the corner of your room to the world outside.

[ivystoryweaver]

The Only One

Episode 7

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Summary: The last time you saw Poe was right before he blew up Starkliller Base - a huge victory for the Resistance. Things go to hell after that and you are separated from Poe, needing to rely on your instincts...and the Force. A huge secret starts to be revealed.

a/n: This Episode glosses over the events in the film The Last Jedi. You don't have to be knowledgeable about the sequel films to continue the story - everything that relates to Elia is summarized here. She is a bit separate from Poe during film events, so this is not a re-telling.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x female original character. Fic is written in second person, but the female "you" has a name (It reads basically the same as any other xreader)

Word Count: 1.6k

Content: violence, action, little angst (no more than in the films), not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on "The Only One"...

He turned around one more time, granting you another sweet smile. “Wait for me, Ells. I’ll be right back.”

Somehow his humor and good nature gave you hope. Poe always gave you hope.

“May the Force be with you,” you whispered to no one really. Or, to all of them.

The next week was hell.

Which was, perhaps, what a demon like yourself deserved.

At first, the Resistance buzzed with the thrill of victory. Poe and his team destroyed Starkiller Base after Rebel legends Han Solo and Chewbacca worked together with the stormtrooper who defected and a young woman named Rey.

But before you could celebrate or have much of a reunion with Poe, the stormtrooper, who you learned was named Finn, was sent to medical in critical condition, while Rey supposedly flew away to find Luke Skywlaker.

Kylo Ren had murdered Han Solo.

You thought taking out Starkiller Base would give the Resistance a huge advantage in the uphill battle against the First Order, but the New Republic had suffered tremendous losses, crippling, if not obliterating support for the Resistance.

Your assignment kept you apart from Poe for days, so you hadn’t seen him since that fateful moment directly before the Starkiller Base battle.

...where he kissed you and asked you to wait for him.

So many had been lost since then - the chaos, nonstop. After the most recent attack took out most of Resistance command, someone named Holdo took over.

You were dying to see Poe, desperate to see for yourself that he was okay. Every time something else exploded, you felt sure you’d receive a report of his death. The stress piled up as you worked separately from Poe, thinking he might die, or you might die.

To make a desperate situation worse, the attack on the ship's bridge left Leia seriously wounded. And directly before Holdo took command, Poe was demoted, which infuriated you.

And, aside from the fact that you were (thankfully) able to focus, or hyper focus, as it were, on computer programming and other computer tech needs, the news of Commander Dameron's demotion was all you could think about...

...or talk about.

Thankfully, Perrha was with you for the past few days and was a wonderful grounding force for you.

Now, the Resistance was trying to safely land transports on the planet Crait.

Everyone watched in horror as one after the other, the First Order blew them out of the sky. You kept yourself busy working, tears streaming down your face at the thought of Poe being on one of those obliterated ships.

Poe felt the same way.

After maybe the worst week of his life (aside from when his mom died), Poe woke up from the little nap Leia's stun gun gave him. He listened patiently as Leia explained Holdo's plan, then watched in horror as transport after transport was obliterated.

"Where's Elia?" He asked Leia, as if she might somehow know. He had lost too many today, not only on the bridge, but when some of his closest friends died in the hangar explosion.

Leia shook her head, unsure.

Poe stared out into space. "Which one is she on?" He murmured, thankful that his new friend Finn was at least safe for the moment. Hopefully.

The planet's surface was so close. You and Perrha might make it through this. But who could be sure what awaited you on Crait, with the First Order bearing down hard?

As you entered the planet's atmosphere, the transport closest to yours exploded - near enough to your own that the blast and debris wreaked havoc. You were taking serious damage - hit hard enough to crash, just not to explode instantly like the neighboring transport.

Everyone around you was astoundingly calm, focused and professional, but a crash landing would not be avoidable.

Perrha's eyes met yours frantically as fire, debris and smoke filled the transport.

"We're not gonna make it," they gasped, coughing from all the smoke.

Panic gripped your heart. You didn't want to die. For once in your life, you really wanted to live and not just in terms of survival. You wanted to help the Resistance. You wanted them to win. You needed to learn about the Force, and ascertain from Leia if you were truly doomed to be a servant of the darkness.

Perrha was your friend and so was Poe. Your very best friend. Your heart broke as you thought of never seeing him again. It couldn't end this way.

So instead of giving in to despair, you opened yourself up to the flow of energy - no. The Force. A wall of fire swept through the transport.

"No." Your voice could barely be heard over the commotion. It wasn't a plea but a command.

Perrha cried out your name as you stretched out your hands and literally pushed the fire backward.

Your breathing steadied, your countenance - a mask of serenity. Your eyes fluttered closed as the Force surrounded you, flowed through you.

The fire would not touch you. Nor Perrha.

The remaining Resistance fighters watched from their transports, in awe, as a transport-on-fire gently touched down on the planet's surface.

You heard nothing. You only felt.

Calm.

Finally, you heard Perrha screaming your name. "This thing is gonna blow, come on!" They quite literally jerked you away - your boots thumping on the planet's surface as you ran for your life.

The ship exploded, knocking the survivors to the ground with a concussive force - dangerous, but not fatal.

Your ears rang, dusty salt filled your lungs, but Perrha hauled you up. You ran again, as fast as you had ever in your life.

The First Order had entered the planet's atmosphere and took up position at the mine entrance - the old Rebel base. Unfortunately, your transport's crash left you quite far away on foot. But thankfully, the First Order would assume your exploded crash site would leave no survivors - giving you time to run.

A battle raged overhead and in the distance. Blaster and cannon fire, and boot prints turned the ashy, salty surface blood red.

Your group finally made it to the mine, but there was no getting in the front entrance. The huge blaster door was sealed, but under heavy attack.

"Is there another way in?" You wondered aloud.

"Is there another way out?" Perrha countered, panicked. "Are they trapped in there?"

Your ragtag team rallied, determined to find a way to either get in to the safety of the mine, or help the remaining Resistance fighters escape, if they were trapped.

Suddenly you saw an old rust bucket ship zoom overhead and land at the edge of a shallow cliff.

Your team arrived just in time to see a young woman...making dozens of piles of rocks...float. This action served to clear a blocked path, allowing the Resistance fighters to escape the mine.

You saw the stormtrooper, Finn. The young woman must be Rey. You were so distracted by her dazzling display of the Force, that you almost didn't notice that just beside Finn...

was Poe.

Finn raced into Rey's arms for a hug, but it was Poe who noticed your ash-covered, singed, rag-tag crew, confused, for a moment, as to why you would have appeared with Rey.

"Elia," he breathed, pushing his way past anyone and everything in his path, including the huge boulders Rey had lifted moments before.

You were an adorable mess, most of your hair had tumbled out of your twin buns. Soot tarnished your cheeks and clothes. By some miracle your unlaced boots stayed in place while you ran for your life.

As Poe clambered toward you, your hands anxiously grabbed for your backpack straps…only to come up empty.

“M-my backpack,” you gasped, frantically touching your arms and chest.

Okay, people were dead.

Your transport crashed and exploded.

You only survived because you wielded the Force and ran for your life.

The First Order was bearing down.

Poe was alive!

But your brain?

“My backpack,” you repeated, desperately, craving the familiar soothing touchstone of its frayed straps.

“Here, sweetheart,” Poe gently offered, reaching for the fallen strap, to pull it back onto your shoulder. “Looks like the other one got burned.”

Which meant…

You grabbed for the other strap urgently, realizing the little pack might have been destroyed, leaving your wings out in the open.

Poe, so relieved to see you alive, wishing with all his heart that the could throw his arms around you, tried to understand…

“No, no no …” You shook your head, eyes wide with horror.

“Ells?” He asked, confused, holding up his hands in a supplicating manner, trying to show you he wouldn’t touch you if you didn’t want him to. “Baby, are you hurt?”

“I can’t…my backpack,” you gasped, short of breath. “I can’t…” Shaking your head rapidly, you backed away, running into Perrha…who got a look at your exposed back.

“Oh, Elia. A-are you - w-what happened…” they trailed off, glancing at Poe, confused at the sight of your tightly furled, dark wings. Perrha wasn’t sure if you were burned, or what was going on.

“What is it?” He demanded. “Is she hurt?” He reached for your arm to turn you around, but before his hand made contact, you clenched your fists and cried out.

“No!”

…sending tiny bits of rock flying outward from you body in every direction.

This got Rey’s attention.

As far as the young Jedi trainee knew, she and Leia were the only ones capable of this sort of thing.

Poe backed away, stunned, brushing bits of gravel from his face and hair, exchanging worried glances with Perrha, but determined to make sure you were all right.

He thought to approach you, but stopped short at a miraculous sight.

Your hair had tumbled down, beautiful and wild, your eyes closed in concentration.

Hands clenched by your sides, you held yourself still as bits of rock and earth circled you slowly.

And behind you, dark, slick wings unfurled.

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Wait does Eureka have its own established lore for how different supernatural creatures work?

Yes, it does!

(I’m going to preface this post by saying that just about everything I’m talking about here, and more, is available FOR FREE for you to read in the free pre-release version of the Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy rulebook that you can download from our website. Go to Chapter 8 to start reading about the supernatural lore. The rulebook itself will do a lot better job of explaining all this than I will, because it has the exact details of how each one works, and I’m just hitting the highlights and going over what those details mean.)

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is a game about very human and believable investigators digging into dangerous (often supernatural) mysteries way over their heads, and sometimes those very human and believable investigators will be supernatural creatures themselves.

These supernatural creatures are every bit as human and “normal” as their mundane investigators counterparts, they have jobs, friends, families, hobbies, etc. They live among mundane society, not outside of it.

Most modern fantasy settings have some kind of separation between normal society and magical society, like you see in Harry Potter where there is normal society, and then a separate, secret magical society hidden away from it, or Vampire: The Masquerade, where vampires all have an agreement to keep themselves a secret from normal society despite acting within it.

In Eureka’s world, there is no “masquerade,” but that doesn’t mean that magic and monsters are well-known and well-documented phenomenons. Supernatural creatures such as vampires, wolfmen, etc. are exceptionally rare. Don’t take this as an exact number, but you can probably assume there’s about one of these per every 3.3 million normal people.

This rarity, as well as the fact that each individual has little to gain and everything to lose by revealing themselves (try “coming out” as a person who regularly assaults people and drains their blood), has led to them going largely undocumented in the modern day. Sure, this is the digital age, there are videos, but viral videos are not exactly scientific evidence. For every real vampire caught on camera, there are a thousand hoaxes and horror short films.

There is no secret vampire government controlling things from the shadows—most vampires don’t even know any other vampires, let alone enough to form a secret society with any effect on national politics.

As for how they work, well, that’s one of my favorite parts to talk about.

There are five playable monster types in Eureka (The Vampire, The Wolfman, The Fairy, The Witch, and The Thing From Beyond) plus two extras that are Kickstarter stretch goals (The Dullahan and The Gorgon), but in the interest of time, I’m only going to really go into detail with one of them.

Most playable monster types in Eureka are very, very old-school, with an emphasis on actual historical folklore over just making up all our own lore. That doesn’t mean Eureka doesn’t have a unique approach to the supernatural, though. Little of it is “new,” but it is certainly unique, because to my knowledge no other RPG has ever taken the old stuff this far before. A PC being a monster in Eureka isn’t just a few +1s here and there and maybe a little extra damage from silver weapons, it means playing by an entirely different set of rules from fellow investigators.

The vampires and vampire lore you see in movies are not folkloric vampires, they are mostly a 20th and 21st century pop-culture creation. Eureka’s vampire abilities, weaknesses, and other traits are based on pre-1900 vampire legends, with older traits usually taking precedent over newer ones. Thus, a lot of assumptions you might have about vampires going in could end up being very wrong. For instance, in movies, vampires instantly die when exposed to sunlight, but the first ever instance of a vampire in a story being killed by sunlight was in the 1922 film Nosferatu. In Eureka, sunlight is still awful for vampires, it strips them of their vampiric powers, but it doesn’t do any real damage to them. Sunlight is an issue vampires have to deal with, but it is far from instant death. That doesn’t mean being a vampire is inherently easy though, because in addition to having all the powers that folkloric vampires have (which is a TON), they also have all the weaknesses, and it is the emphasis on weaknesses that really makes the moment-to-moment playing of a monster PC in Eureka the most interesting. A few of my favorites for vampires are the refusal to enter homes without a direct invitation, and the compulsion to count large numbers of small objects. I think most vampire media these days considers these to be “silly” weaknesses and don’t want to acknowledge them in the lore of their “serious” scary horror vampires, but honestly I think that the “sillier” vampire stuff can still be used to great effect in horror. Imagine knowing that the only reason a vicious killer at your door hasn’t stormed in to rip your throat out is because they’re being polite.

A vampiric investigator will need to work around these weaknesses, and more, in their daily life, all while being sure not to reveal their true nature to their more mortal friends. It’s something that really changes how a character behaves and goes about problem-solving.

For instance, the rest of the party may be able to break into a house no-problem, but the vampire cannot. They need a invitation. That’s a problem. That’s a puzzle. It makes me excited just thinking about it.

This was originally going to be a much longer post where I went into more of the themes of monsters in Eureka, but I have decided that that would be most cohesive as its own post, an upcoming essay titled "How Eureka Handles Disability." So stay tuned for that.

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is kickstarting from right now until May 10th! Back it while you still can!

If you want to try before you buy, you can download a free demo of the prerelease version from our website or our itch.io page!

If you’re interested in a more updated and improved version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy than the free demo you got from our website, subscribe to our Patreon where we frequently roll our new updates for the prerelease version!

You can also support us on Ko-fi, or by checking out our merchandise!

Join our TTRPG Book Club At the time of writng this, Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is the current game being played in the book club, and anyone who wants to participate in discussion, but can’t afford to make a contribution, will be given the most updated prerelease version for free! Plus it’s just a great place to discuss and play new TTRPGs you might not be able to otherwise!

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[sebastianstanisahotmf]

Overlooked

Steve Rogers x reader

A/N This fic is about how overlooked Steve's trauma was in the films. It's just my opinion since he definitely would have had struggles but they weren't really seen in the films. Once again this is just my opinion. Idk if I like this though so I might delete it. I'm not sure though. Also, all mistakes are my own so if you see any feel free to comment them and likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

18+ MINORS DNI, THERE'S NOTHING EXPLICIT IN THIS FIC BUT IT DEALS WITH HEAVY THEMES

Summary Steve is struggling and you convince him to get help

DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER APPS/SITES. THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR.

Warnings Fluff, angst (a lot), allusions to being suicidal kinda (if these things trigger you in any way then please don't read it)

Steve was your everything. He was the reason you woke up with a smile every day. You trusted him with your deepest secrets and he does the same with you. That’s how you got into the position you were in. 

Steve was lying on your chest while you ran your fingers through his soft hair as he sobbed. It broke your heart to see him in such a state but, there was nothing you could do but hold him until the crying stopped. 

This wasn’t an unusual situation for the both of you to be in. This broke your heart when you came to that realisation since it made you think of how much you saw Steve in such a state.

It was because of Steve being misunderstood by everyone. Everyone saw America’s golden boy who bravely fought in WWII and continues to fight for justice. They saw his best friend -formerly the winter soldier- fighting his inner demons and PTSD. 

What they didn't see was the man who was scared to admit he was tortured by memories as well. They didn’t see the man who had nightmares almost every night. They didn’t see the man who would cry for hours on end thinking about the people he watched die, the people he was too late to save, the people he thought he should have swapped places with. 

They might not have seen that, but you did. You saw the look of pure horror on Steve’s face after each nightmare, you saw the way his hands trembled and you saw the way Steve would try to fight back the tears. You saw everything. 

Steve was so thankful to have you in his life. You brightened his day and made life worth living. Especially in moments like these.

His arms were wrapped around you as he snuggled into your chest. The blanket was over his head; a cocoon of safety, protecting him from the outside world. 

As his sobs turned into whimpers and his breathing evened out, you slightly lifted the blanket so you could look at your boyfriend.

“Do you wanna talk about it baby?” you questioned.

“Could y-you just hold m-me for a bit l-longer?” he replied.

“Of course I can,”

You stayed like that for a while before a thought entered your mind.

“How about we tell Dr Cho or Banner about this Stevie.”

“W-why?” He stuttered, trying not to panic.

“Because babe it hurts me to see you in such a state, especially as often as it has been happening lately.”

“It’s not that bad doll. Bucky’s got it worse,” he responded.

“Maybe he has, but that doesn’t take away from your struggles.”

“B-but what will everyone think? I’m supposed to be Captain America, the man with a plan. Their symbol of hope,” he said, starting to hyperventilate.

“Look at me, Steve,” he lifted his arms so he was resting on them and facing you, “Breathe with me,” you took slow, deep breaths in through your nose and let them out through your mouth.

Steve started to copy you and in no time, he was back to breathing normally.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time baby. Nobody is,” 

“B-but-”

“It’s okay to have struggles. You have every right to ask for help. You went through a war, lost your best friend and then woke up seventy years into the future. If anyone deserves to get help it's you.”

Steve looked at you with pure admiration and love in his eyes. 

“I love you so much, doll.” He leaned in to kiss you, it was so gentle and full of love.

“I love you too Stevie, that’s why I want you to get help. Please. I’ll go with you if you want and I’ll be there for you. Every step of the way.”

“You’re perfect darling,” Steve replied, laying back down on your chest.

“So does that mean you’re going to ask Dr Cho or Banner for help then?” you asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I will do it tomorrow,” Steve looked up at you and then continued in a voice so small and innocent it almost didn't sound like him, “Will you still come with me?”

“Of course I will babe,” you responded with a smile.

_________________________________________

The next day, you woke up to Steve kissing you on the cheek and smiling at you. 

“Good morning, doll,” he whispered.

“G’morning baby,” you replied, kissing him.

“I already booked an appointment with Banner at 1:15pm.” He told you with a smile on his face.

You pulled him down to kiss you, “I’m so proud of you Stevie,” you kissed him again, “so proud.”

Steve’s cheeks had gone red from the praise. Then, he got up and went into the bathroom, leaving you alone in bed with a big smile on your face. 

Once Steve came out of the bathroom, you went inside while he went into the kitchen to make the both of you some coffee and pancakes.

Maybe Steve was struggling but he had you and that’s all that mattered. You gave him purpose and someone to love and he would forever be thankful for that.

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