#humans- she's learned- aren't good enough to take her down

[umbrellamedic]

Not all vampires are the same; this is a fact stove people can't appreciate. Michaela can appreciate it only because killing them is how she makes her way through the world. A fisherman knows there are many types of fish; a huntsman knows there is more than one type of animal, and Michaela knows there are many studies species of vampire.

Her latest encounter was with a kind more human than most. Not just in appearance, but in ability. Resilient, fast, and strong, but lacking in some of the qualities that made other types of vampire much more difficult to kill. All they took was the liberal use of fire. Most of the work was done by the vampires themselves when they picked a cave with only one exit to nest in.

"I had really hoped for better," the hunter grunts to no one but the bones of her prey as she removes what's left of the heads from the charred, truly dead corpses and stuffs them into a sack. "With how many of you there were, this really should have been it. My final hunt. My glorious final stand."

The final one has the same opened mouth expression as the rest. A final scream that keeps their jaw pried apart after whatever animated them has left. The skin that should have formed lips burnt away, and in her sour mood the hunter is sure it looks like some kind of mocking grin. She stomps on the thing, damaging it. It's intact enough, she'll still get paid when she brings proof of death to her client.

"Oh well; maybe next time will be the one I do not return from and I will finally get some rest."

[ask-spiderpool]

Hey mod, are you okay? It’s been a while since you posted (no judgement!) and I just wanted to see if something was wrong. Love you and I hope you stay strong🫶🏼

Bless you anon! I appreciate you checking in! I don't post a lot of personal updates here, but I have been going through the wringer lately... hough.

Lately I've been battling with anxiety, you know, same as everyone. It's kind of made things that I used to enjoy kind of stressful for me. Everything becomes stressful for me. Even not having things to stress about makes me stressed. I'm at my most Peter Parkeriest, in the worst sort of a way.

I thought it was a brain thing – that it was all in my head. I have a new, stressful job, and a stressful living situation, and some family issues I'm dealing with. It'll pass. So I kind of tried to power through, until my body shut down on me last year. And as it turns out, when I got checked out by the doc, it's not just a brain thing. I have a tumor (her name is Lamar, and she's benign, buuut...) she's producing 5x the normal amount of stress hormone in my body. The doctors think it's insane. I think it's hilarious. I feel like it's some kind of joke.

I've been battling this ridiculous chronic stress for years, thinking it was all in my head, but actually, biologically, I'm an overflowing reservoir of stress, and it's something that can be measured in my bloodstream. And it's been going on for years!

So, lately I've been devoting a lot of time to forcing myself to relax. Doctors orders. I can't get stressed about things. Every day I have to effectively diffuse a bomb. And the bomb is me. I'm so pumped up with involuntary stress, and I have to devote my time to keeping it at a manageable level. And so there are a lot of backflips I have to do to keep myself human right now, and not turn into a bomb.

See... posting to the blog doesn't exactly calm me down. It makes me anxious, most of the time. So I've been telling myself it's okay. Only post when you feel good. You have enough things to worry about, and the blog can't be one another thing to worry about. It can only be for fun. If it doesn't feel like fun, don't do it.

I need to do a million little calming activities to function. The blog used to calm me. But it doesn't, anymore. I still love it, and I still have so many scripts I'm excited to do, but... I just have to be patient with myself, right now. I can't bug my head over something that can wait. It can wait. Right now isn't the time. My health is the most important thing. I can't get that back, if I lose it.

Right now I'm about keeping my head above water. Keeping calm. Doing meditative things, that aren't necessarily productive... (trust me, I am SO upset about not being productive. I miss it a lot) but they force me to take it slow and force me to not worry. I'm learning the banjo (she calms me), and I spend a lot more time in nature, having staring contests with ducks and pigeons, and befriending beetles and bugs.

I'm a very positive person, and I know I'll make it through, and I love myself for all the effort I'm making to keep myself from breaking. Because I know if I didn't force myself to calm down, I could snap like an elastic band. I – I don't want to break, like I did last year. I need to be good to myself. And relaxing is an effort. It takes a lot for me. And certain calming routines work for a little while, and then stop working, and I need to make the effort all over again to find something new. It's kind of insane how much time I need to calm back down again. I remember, once upon a time, it being baseline.

Luckily there's a surgical solution, so hopefully I'll be normal again soon, and there won't be any more bees buzzing in my brain!

I hope you'll all be patient with me! And hopefully I'll make it out alive and stronger than ever, soon.

[inkskinned]

there's this video you've probably seen already where a woman is shaking in front of a microphone and delicately tries to ask - how can i make my husband listen to me, i've tried everything, i don't want to seem ungrateful and the other man laughs - the problem is that you married a man, we're only listening 25% of the time and we only understand 5% of that! and the audience laughs and the woman laughs and you just sat there, phone in your hand, letting the sound of it echo

and the thing is that people make think-pieces about it (isn't this one of them) and satire versions and "flipping the script" which is good and fun but at the end of the day, there's some truth in that man's response about men-not-listening. and you have tried to language that feeling for years, this sense that you can only take up 33% of a conversation before others view it as being "dominating".

it's not that they aren't listening, it's that the action they're taking is purposefully silencing. it's different. you accidentally-don't-listen a lot; just because the world is loud and you're distracted. you don't mean anything by it. and the truth is that the man who spoke is relying on that to be true of you; the way it's true of everyone. but there is a different undertone to his kind of not-listening. what he means is they don't respect you and you shouldn't expect them to. there is a difference between oh shit i forgot to take the trash out and why didn't you remind me to do it, just like there is a difference between i didn't realize you wanted to go out this weekend and why do you expect me to plan things why can't you just tell me where we're going.

and the thing is that it isn't just him, and it's actually not just because of your gender - your skin, your class status, your weight, their ableism - it happens often. so often it feels like a tightness around your throat and a weight in your stomach. you're not even "really" allowed to be upset about it, because to them it's a joke. and they laugh. and you know exactly the amount of work that goes into every conversation. how you have to work to condense down your thoughts into intelligent, crisp soundbites; worried someone will try to swoop in and cut you off. and there's this sense from everyone else - oh stop being so sensitive, are you really upset just because they weren't listening and you don't know how to say the way that feels when it happens constantly.

there's that video of the science summit where a woman in the audience finally says let her speak please! and the whole crowd bursts into applause and the man leading the summit holds up his hands and bows his head and says oops, sorry! like what he did was awkward and embarrassing, a little social gaffe that happens easily. later in your meetings, you're asked to take notes, and you don't say anything, you just hear let her speak please! ringing in your head and know that you'll never be brave enough for that kind of thing. and besides. think of all the people who agree this was a one-off, he just got excited and all of the people who say one man is not indicative of all of society

at the dinner table you're talking about someone you don't like and how he's not good to his girlfriend and how she always has to remind him to put the effort in and before him, she was glowing with curiosity and passion but now she just seems... tired, unhappy. that he likes the way she burns out; she stays home and takes care of him and their 2 kids. and your father sniffs and says that men take a while to learn those kinds of things. and you just stare at him and think about your childhood and are like - no wonder i turned out like this

and you want to say - there's no fucking secret school or mystic form of communication. i was not sent to Rearing a Child University. i did not graduate from Getting Chores Done College. i ask questions and i listen and i pay attention, because that's basic fucking human decency. it stems from respect, and how i respect others and their agency. i clean the house because someone should clean. not because it comes "naturally".

hell, you had to google "how to boil an egg" the other day, just because you usually make them scrambled. you can never remember which of the 2 bathroom cleaners make chlorine gas, only that two of them definitely do. you've accidentally bleached your clothes. it took you like 3 years of self-teaching before you figured out how to actually cook things correctly - for that whole time, you burnt or undercooked everything. but you did teach yourself; just like you taught yourself how to listen with empathy. just like how you taught yourself to think before you speak. to be kind first, to be better at communicating. it seemed like a good thing, an adult thing.

the joke the man in the video makes is that women say i'm fine! when they are not fine. and you think about the 150 conversations that happened around that; about how she probably has had so many arguments with her husband. how she said i'm upset you don't take me anywhere and he got mad at her because of course i do, you made me go to that stupid restaurant like last week and she probably said that's not what i'm saying and he said now i'm supposed to be psychic or something and she said no of course not and he said how am i supposed to know what to do when you don't even like everything and she said i do like things and he said well how am i supposed to win? and her pastor probably told her to be more grateful because they do things at all, even if she has to plan them and her mom probably told her that's just how men are honey and she probably cried over her journal, trying to figure out why the fuck she "has everything" and is still so bitterly, horribly unhappy

and how, in your life, for so many reasons, you looked down the barrel of another argument; of explaining yourself and being vulnerable and begging for help again. how many times you just said i'm fine because it was better than doing that again; it was better than wringing yourself out when it's literally easier to just pretend. because he wasn't going to listen. your father wasn't going to be better and your boyfriend wasn't going to be better and your boss wasn't going to be more respectful.

and you sit in front of a video of a woman shaking, looking horrible and guilt-wrought that she's even asking this question. and you know; deep in your heart - that's you. in a different life, you are her. you've stood in her spot. and you had to listen while someone else cackled - why would we bother to notice when you talk?

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You���d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

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[reallyhatethiswebsite]

read this post by @bitethedevil and ended up writing this idk don't take it too serious

Read on AO3

-

Tav's fingers skittered over the red skin of Raphael’s naked back. It was always hot to the touch and smooth, its texture almost like leather. Patches of tiny scales grouped together in different spots, especially around the big joints connecting his wings to his body. Raphael fascinated Tav - not quite in the same way she fascinated him, but they were birds of a feather, so to speak. In fact...

"I've been wondering about something," she said, breaking the sleepy silence that had settled between them some time ago.

"Mm?" Raphael was utterly relaxed, the laziest Tav had ever seen him. On his belly in his (their!) bed, shirtless and shoeless - the scandal! He'd been enjoying her aimless touches. His Majesty, indeed.

"Can you fly?" She ran her palm across the thin membrane of wing she could reach, then the sturdy bone. "You've got these huge wings, but I've never seen you use them." She'd witnessed them fully stretched out once or twice, but otherwise he always kept them folded close to his body. A shame. They were magnificent. Heavy as anything, though - especially when he was dead asleep. Tav had almost been suffocated a few times trying to spoon him, and he refused to sleep in his human glamour just to let her be the big spoon. Waste of magic, he said. Spoilsport.

"What an inane question." Raphael didn't even open his eyes. "Of course I can. My wings are not for show, little mouse. No more so than a bird's are."

"Well..." Tav chose her next words carefully. She'd learned through trial and error how much she could prod her devil and when. Most of the time he was amenable to light teasing, but sometimes, when he was in a good mood like this, she could have some fun. "There are some birds out there who have wings but can't fly, you know. Peacocks, for example. They're kind of like big chickens, if you think about it."

Raphael slowly lifted his head, turned it so he could look at her over his shoulder. Tav bit her tongue in a futile attempt to squash her impish grin. His orange iris burned in the inky depths of his black sclera. A few locks of his hair were free from his usual coiff.

"Big chickens," he repeated flatly.

"Yes," said Tav, her voice strangled by the giggle she was trying to suppress. "How do I know you aren't an infernal peacock?"

"I can fly, you insipid little gibbon," he snapped, but he wasn't angry. She could tell by the twitching at the corners of his lovely mouth. Tav coughed, choked on a laugh.

"I think you should show me."

"Do you."

"For posterity's sake, of course."

"Of course."

Tav waited, watched, moved to make space for Raphael as he sat up, languidly stretching like a big cat. Accidentally whacking her with those wings she was so obsessed with.

"Apologies, dear," he drawled, about as sorry as a horny kobold in a bathhouse. He smiled when she scowled. He stood to his full height, preening as she ogled him. In nothing but a pair of trousers, he truly was a sight. Without warning he beat his mighty wings and took off, soaring across the room to land on the other side, where he nonchalantly poured himself a glass of wine. Tav spluttered in the wake of that massive gust of air. Raphael sipped his wine, staring at her as if to say, "well?"

"Good distance! You looked a little wobbly with your execution, though," Tav said. It wasn't true. He was majestic in flight, but he didn't need to know that. His ego was big enough. She combed her fingers through her rustled hair, grinning when Raphael’s eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps you're right." He put his glass down and sauntered towards her. Tav's heart leapt into her throat, fear and excitement together. "I need a counterweight."

"A what? Hey!" She didn't struggle when he picked her up, shifting her in his arms until he was holding her bridal style. It was a thrill to be held by her devil, and yet. She giggled nervously, her cheeks warm. "What are you doing?"

"Why, showing you that I can fly, of course!" He declared, making a scene of looking around. "But we simply cannot do it here. There's hardly enough space. Hm...ah, perfect."

He walked them to the balcony overlooking the endless landscape of Avernus. Tav sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of what he was about to do. Now she began to try and wriggle free, but his grip was iron.

"Okay, you've proven your point! There's no need for a second flight, your technique was perfect!"

Raphael had no mercy. He smirked down at his little mouse, showing teeth. His eyes alight with dark mischief. "Big chickens, Tav," he said, and leapt off the edge. She shrieked, clung to him like a limpet, feeling and hearing his chuckles as he effortlessly flew them around.

After the intial spike of shock, Tav relaxed, just a little. This wasn't so bad. Raphael was an adept flier, and if she ignored the monumental height she was suspended at, it could almost pass as romantic. Soaring about the hot skies of Hell in the arms of her underworld Prince. Feeling every powerful flap of his wings. His strength. Avernus, from a distance, was beautiful in a devastating way. Unfortunately for Tav, she'd forgotten quite how fiends liked to play.

"Oh dear," Raphael said, stoic. He'd been waiting for her guard to lower. Tav's stomach lurched when she sensed his grasp on her slacken. "I seem to have lost my balance."

"RAPHAEL NO DON'T- AAAAAAHHHH!"

He dropped her. Tav screamed as she plummeted to the ground, terrified and betrayed. Raphael was rapidly becoming a shrinking red blur as she fell. He was probably watching her with sick satisfaction. She cursed him. She cursed herself. Mostly she cursed him. Bastardbastardbastard -

"Fret not, little mouse," he purred, hideously amused. She was in his arms again. "I've got you."

Tav couldn't speak; could only tremble, dig her fingers into him. He laughed the entire flight back to the house, deep and rich and raw. Tav planted herself on stable ground the first moment possible, glaring at him.

"You're horrid," she hissed. Raphael cackled.

"Oh, come now. You didn't truly believe I would allow you to fall to your death, did you? Such little faith. Ah, but how sweet your screams were...I shall be hearing them in my dreams for weeks."

"Horrid," Tav muttered again. She wriggled between the bedsheets and buried herself under the covers. It didn't take long for him to join her, surrounding her with his cloying heat.

"You'll forgive me, won't you?" He murmured sweetly into her ear, raising goosebumps all over her skin. One big clawed hand slipped beneath her shirt to gently rub her stomach just the way she liked. Wordlessly she pressed into his touch.

He played her like a fiddle, always.

[taxidermycanine]

Hey not sure if this is the right place to ask this but I'm looking for whoever might be able to offer advice. My wife just told me she's therian today (wolf). I'm completely supportive of it of course. As another wolf therian, do you have any suggestions for things I could do to help her feel more comfortable or support her better?

(Anon ask to protect her privacy because she's self conscious about it)

hi! this is absolutely the right place to ask, welcome :o)

this is very sweet of you to do, and i'm sure your wife appreciates you looking more into therianthropy so you can understand her better!

i hope you enjoy this post, and thank you again for this ask! the tips are under the cut

species affirming 101: wolves and other canids

hello there! struggling to figure out ways to affirm your therianthropy because you don't know where to start? or maybe you're someone who knows a critter personally and want to learn how to make them more comfortable around you? then sit down and get comfortable because this is species affirming 101 (with me, the dog).

before we go into it, please note:

not all of these things are for everyone, and that's okay! do what feels right for you.

i will try my best to provide alternatives for any food recommendations for those of you with dietary needs, but apologize in advance if i fail to do so.

that the most important thing to affirm your species is through taking good care of yourself and spending some time outside to ground yourself. sometimes these things take time, they'll come to you eventually.

with that in mind, let's begin with the first tip!

NUMBER ONE: clothing

whether you have shorter or longer fur, this point can help you either way! the human body doesn't grow nearly enough hair to feel comfortable sometimes, which is why i wear clothes that are fuzzy, warm, and the same color as my fur. this is especially helpful in the colder months.

as for the warmer months, i recommend purchasing things such as tail keychains, trimming your nails into claws, drawing paws on your shoes. even meditating in a wooded area can help somewhat (at least in my own experience).

NUMBER TWO: snacks

usually when people think of species affirming snacks their mind immediately goes to something like jerky, and whilst that can help a few folk, in my opinion it's much too gritty for me to enjoy comfortably. i prefer eating slim jims for the saltiness and fall-apart texture. if you can't eat meat for whatever reason, i recommend experimenting with different types of mushrooms. a popular choice for meat imitation is the lions mane mushroom. when cooked a certain way, it's crunchy, filling and has a tender texture.

NUMBER THREE: ambiance

something as simple as putting on a video of nature sounds can make you feel more at home. i recommend mixing this with den making (making your bed feel more like a den by adding lots of blankets, going under them to sleep for coverage, maybe a chair or two to keep the entrance visable. i find having some sort of floor mattress works best for this sort of thing)

NUMBER FOUR: comforts

stuffed animals of your theriotype are always a nice way to feel less lonely, especially if you feel like you're meant to have young. acting like they're your pack, your litter, or simply just your belongings can provide heavy comfort during times of feeling isolated.

if you feel like you shouldn't have stuffed animals because you aren't a domestic breed, you shouldn't worry about that. One, you can do whatever you want forerver. Two, there have been many cases of animals finding things like stuffed animals and playing with them, look at this guy!

NUMBER FIVE: socializing

as canines are social animals, it's important for you to spend time with others, therian or non-therian. if you have human friends, or a human partner, great! if they're comfortable with it, you can have them pet you if you'd like. maybe ask to go on a walk with them for a more discreet option.

i'd also recommend making friends who are also therian so you have others to relate to. it's important to realize that you are not alone in this, and there are so many who feel the way you do right now. if you make some irl, go to the forest together! play in the river! if you're stuck to being online friends for however long, make moodboards! play online games where you can be an animal together! roleplay if that's more your speed! there's plenty to do with loved ones.

for now, that's all i can think of. for the anon though here's a little more just for you, i wish you and your partner the best.

be there for her, tell her that her being a therian doesn't make you love her any less and that you find her therianthropy beautiful. ask her about what she'd like you to do to help with species dysphoria, if she has any. research about her theriotype with her to show her that you care about it. as another wolf therian myself, the thing that helped me the most is having my own partner be there for me. canines are social animals, be social with her.

my love to you both,

bandit

[crystal-moon-101]

A while ago I had made up a Zak for each day of the week to match Zak Saturday and Monday for fun, and because I wanted to give Zak some more AU similar to how Ben gets a lot of them. So not only do they all have different last names, but each have their own backstories and colour theming! So I hope you enjoy my little AU concepts.

-Zak Saturday-

Classic original Zak. I decided to draw them all when they're 11, start of the series vibes. So that's why he doesn't look like the ways I normally draw him currently, since those are when he's 14. Nothing different with his design here, beyond still giving him those vivid orange eyes.

-Zak Sunday-

Also known as Zak Argost, having been taken in by the man after he had a certain encounter with Zak's parents, resulting in their deaths. When Argost found the young toddler, seeing the start of Zak's power, he was happy enough to take the child with him and use his powers to his benefit. Due to being taken when he was very young, Zak doesn't remember his parents at all, fully believing in anything Argost tells him, the only family he has. So he happily helps his guardian in keeping cryptids tamed during Weird World shows, or during trips to learn about them, even if Argost puts Zak in more danger than he should. Due to his appearances on Weird World, Zak is a celebrity of sorts, even if he doesn't get to go out often. Argost also gives him a lot of gifts, keeping the child in a positive mood to keep him under his thumb. So Zak truly believes that Argost cares about him.

Though things start to turn when Argost finally decides it's time to hunt down Kur and take his powers, hiring Van Rook and Doyle on the mission. This leads to Zak and Doyle getting to know each other, with Doyle feeling protective over this random kid for some reason. Eventually this leads to him taking Zak away when this whole Kur business gets out of hand. While Doyle can't seem to convince Zak that Argost doesn't care about him, the pair do at least agree to try and find Kur first, Zak worried that even Argost shouldn't handle such powers. However, only time will tell if the pair discover the truth behind their unknown family history.

-Zak Monday-

The good old twisted gremlin of a child, Zak Monday and his family were a result of the smoke mirror. They come from a world that twists the very nature of people, a poor reflection of their negative aspects. If you're naive, then your mirror self is incredible dumb. If you're a bit of a perfectionist, then your mirror self is a control freak. And Zak Monday represents the twisted doubts of Zak feeling like a monster, so why have any doubts when you can be the monster?

I decided to change Zak Monday a bit to have the green eyes and green shirt with his own logo, cause I liked the idea that after his first appearance, they switch back to what they're suppose to look like. But other than that I kept the concept of him looking just like Zak, minus the inverted hair colour.

-Zak Tuesday-

The young naga is the son of Rani Nagi. Born solely to have Kur's soul enter and be a host, but whoops! Looks like Kur's memories aren't there, but that wasn't going to stop Rani Nagi, who thinks if she keeps at her plans, eventually her son will become the old cryptid king she once knew. Even going as far as to solely call her child Kur, who secretly calls himself Zak due to him often watching humans in the shadow, curious about them and wanting a name for himself. Zak Tuesday has a lot of identity issues, not helped by his mother's teachings towards him, ignoring all his dreams and personal thoughts. Eventually he just got really good at lying rather than convincing Rani Nagi.

However, the young cryptid prince is suddenly kidnapped by Argost one day, as he figured out where Kur's soul was currently living. Zak knew he would have died that day if not for Drew and Doc recusing him, having been chasing Argost over this Kur situation. Though they're a little surprise that upon meeting the new Kur, they find it's just a young naga who really doesn't know who he is. At first Doc and Drew didn't know what to do with him, but Zak begged them to not send him back home, and let him stay at their place until he could figure things out. He wasn't foolish, he knew the nagas were planning a war, and he wasn't keen on being the face of it all. So now the Tuesdays just have a snake living around the house, but they can't exactly complain as he is a well mannered guest at least. And perhaps the house doesn't feel so lonely with him around either.

-Zak Wednesday-

Some of you might recognize this one, but this Zak is from my old Zur AU, where Kur was reborn via the Kur Stone due to it being an egg, and Zak is a dragon that shapes between human form and dragon form. I decided to update him, making him Zak Wednesday now, with a pink theme! I also decided that instead of Kur being reborn, I wanted to shake things up a bit and have it that Zak was directly Kur's son. His mother is unknown, and as Kur saw how the world was at the time, he put Zak's egg into a stasis situation until it was discovered again. After saving it from Argost, the egg hatched among the secret scientist, leading to them chasing the child of Kur. But upon using his shapeshifting abilities to look like a child of Drew and Doc, they just couldn't help but adopt him on the spot, siting there was no sense in blaming Kur's son over what happened years ago.

The growing dragon is very playful with a cheeky personality. He exhibits a lot of draconic behaviors, with a wild and free spirit. He is aware of his family history, but he doesn't like to think about it, unsure in how to view his father based on the stories he's heard. Besides, Doc and Drew are his parents, and that's all that matter to him. Though perhaps this sudden appearance by Argost, claiming he was going to far Zak's father, has been a bit rattling to deal with.

-Zak Thursday-

When Kur knew he was going to die, and also knew his soul wasn't able to live the mortal realm, he made plans to make it so his reborn self would both be born in hopefully a better time, and be without his memories. It was better that way, so that his new self could live a lovely life without the sins from his past. But that didn't exactly pan out properly, as Kur was reborn and sadly remembers everything. It took him a while to understand this growing up, his young human mind not processing it until he was roughly 7-8, and even then he needed time to think about it. And now he's a depressed 11 year old who now has to be stuck with the fact his plan didn't work, unable to run away from the person he once was. Doc and Drew found out the truth when Zak tried running away one day, their son sitting them down and telling them the truth in hopes they'd just leave him, it would be better that way. But to his surprise they disagreed, as he was still their son, Kur or Zak, and it would be too dangerous to leave him alone.

So now Zak lives with his parents? Are they really his parents? The family keeping this dark secret to themself, even from the other scientists. Doc and Drew still reach out to their son, doing their best to connect with him, but he can't help but push them away. He doesn't deserve this, and they deserve better. However, their secret might come out after Argost stole the Kur Stone and now hunts for Kur, not realizing the truth right in front of him. So now the family tries to get the stones back, wanting to protecting Zak/Kur from others finding out. Doesn't help that he has to go through being a child again with such dark memories lingering in his head, feeling tired and overwhelmed with the world. Hasn't he suffered enough?

-Zak Friday -

In a world where Kur and cryptids successfully wiped out humans, the king ruled the lands for a while after, before one day he mysteriously vanished. Many concluded that he had died somehow, the details unknown, but this lead to a prophecy that one day their king would return, leading to many claiming to be him, or praying that they will be him for the power and wealth. In this universe, Zak and his family are all cryptids, with Zak being a a Chuvash Dragon, Drew and Doyle are Epimeliads, and Doc is a Gargoyle (Other characters are also cryptids in this timeline). Zak is a serpent like dragon that breathes fire, as a very twistable body, and can freely shapeshift. He's heard about the legend of Kur returning, but frankly he thinks they don't need him, even if the cryptid world has been shattered without a king for years now.

But when a yeti named Argost claims that Kur is back, being backed up by the Nagas, everyone starts to gossip and run around trying to figure out who the new Kur is. So maybe it's best that Zak doesn't tell the whole world about his sudden new powers to control and communicate any fellow cryptid is walks by.

[sweetandspicy]

Sorry this is a long post, I had to rant a bit.

The thing that bothers me the most about the ACOTAR series is the fae. I love fae, I love stories with fae in them, there are so many interesting things you can do with them. So many ways you can make them unique and yet still retain the basis of what fae are. And yet Sarah J Maas just... doesn't.

SJM really just took everything interesting about the fae and threw it in the bin. The fae to me have always been fantastical, "other", they just don't feel human, they feel different, they feel strange. But ACOTAR's fae are just so bland and boring. They don't feel different to the humans. In fact they feel like humans but with magic and pointy ears. It genuinely pains me how SJM threw everything interesting about the fae away.

I personally love the concept of the fae not being able to lie. There is so much fun and interest in that concept. It is something that is challenging to navigate. Every fae character cannot directly tell a lie therefore you have to get creative with what they say, you have to twist words around so that they can lie without actually lying.

That idea is initially presented to us but Feyre learns pretty early on that that isn't true. That the fae in ACOTAR can lie. Even if SJM wanted to take away the concept that fae can't lie, she didn't even play around with Feyre's misconception about them. Feyre could've gone through part of the first book believing everything that the fae said to her to be true. To me, that sounds like an interesting concept and i would've loved to read about it. I can't remember exactly how quickly Feyre is told the fae can lie but it's not even slightly an issue.

Another thing about the fae is that they're mischievous. They love playing tricks, whether it's something mild or completely cruel. But ACOTAR's characters lack that mischievousness, the cunning. They aren't tricksters like fae usually are. Correct me if I'm wrong but I can't seem to remember a time when someone attempted to trick Feyre. Amarantha made a deal with Feyre, but it was straightforward, there was no trick to it. Rhysand didn't trick her into the bargain either. It would've been interesting to see the fae attempting to trick Feyre, to get her to enter into a bargain that seems good but they worded it in a way that it is actually bad.

Instead the ACOTAR characters, specifically the males, are all presented as your typical "alpha male". Rhysand is presented to us as cunning but to me he doesn't feel like that of a cunning fae but a cunning human. Tamlin can literally shapeshift and yet SJM doesn't do anything of interest with that. Luicen was slightly mischievous in Book 1 but even then it is how you expect any normal character to be, he does not play tricks like that of the fae. I might be nitpicking with these but i truly wish we had gotten more trickster like characters.

As much as everyone likes to hate on Book 1, there were interesting fae in that book. The Bogge, the Naga, the Puca (I suppose this one did trick Feyre), the Suriel. Alis was interesting, she was described as having bark like skin. I want more diversity in the characters looks. Our main cast and most of the major side characters all look normal, human but with pointy ears or wings.

Their appearance isn't necessarily the issue. It's the fact that the fae are meant to be seen as difderent to the humans and yet they barely are.

So many interesting things about the Fae, from their behaviour to their culture and magic and rituals, all the funky little things humans do to ward off or stop the fae, down the drain. And if I'm being completely honest, I believe SJM isn't a competent enough writer to pull off the complexities that make the fae, fae. It feels almost disrespectful to call these characters fae.

(I am no expert in fae mythology. But from all that I've seen and read, these characters just aren't it.)

[lemotmo]

Ask box opened! I wanted to copy the question because I think it's a good indicator as to a lot of that fandoms thinking but it was way too long. Basically they were asking about chemistry differences between O/L and O/R. And what the show wants being different from what Oliver and Ryan want. Anyway, enjoy!

A. Hello anon, haha I know, we will see how long I last with it open. There were several parts to your question so I will try to hit everything but forgive me if I don't. First of all the show already tried less Buddie and it backfired spectacularly on them. The beginning of season 6 was very minimal for Buddie scenes, by far the fewest they've had. And the audience hated it. Complained loudly and often about it. It's what I mean when I say they are an audience favorite. That's not an exaggeration. The audience complained after every single episode. The ratings went down. They're a real thing. They have many, many fans that are not part of Tumblr/Twitter fandom. Less Buddie is not an option for the show and the show knows that. Tim definitely knows that. It's why he doubled down on them this season. It's why ABC used them as basically the entire marketing campaign for the entire season and every episode. And look at the results. 911 is the network's number one show. 911 is number one in their timeslot against every other network. Those are unarguable facts. Kristen was well aware of all of this as well, btw, but she's an incompetent brat who used separating them as part of her temper tantrum throwing that was season 6 as a whole. And why she absolutely should no longer have a job anywhere near the show. She purposely hurt the show by actively going against what she knew the audience wanted. Knowing it would hurt the show and doing it anyway should have absolutely gotten her fired (sorry for my mini rant, lol, but I hate her).

I don't know anyone who is saying they hate Lou because he doesn't have the same chemistry with Oliver that Ryan does. That's not what people are saying. Chemistry is tricky. It's either there or it's not. Yes, sometimes when it doesn't exist naturally it can be manufactured, but that's difficult to do, and, no offense to you, Lou's not a good enough actor to pull off manufactured chemistry (it's fine he admitted himself action is his preferred thing). And frankly the show isn't invested in Tommy enough to help him learn how to do it. But what's insane is that somewhere along the way anyone pointing out that their chemistry is off a bit somehow meant you all had the right to blame Ryan for that. That Ryan, along with Oliver were somehow sabotaging Lou. Listen when I say, there are several voices, loud voices in your fandom you all have got to stop taking direction from. The nonsense of going from ask box to ask box pointing out that Oliver and Ryan had a falling out at one point was childish. Yes, Ryan said a stupid, hurtful, ignorant thing and was, rightly, called out for it. But he publicly owned the mistake. He worked on himself, got out of a particular relationship, and seems to be a better person for it. That's called human growth. It's what you should want someone to do. He and Oliver made up. They're friends. They don't owe you an apology or explanation for that. Also, sorry to point this out, but Oliver basically has the man tattooed on his body (gunshot arc crawling rescue). They're close. Get over it. Oliver and Lou aren't required to be friends. It's fine. You don't need to belittle other friendships to make you feel better about that.

Asking if Oliver and Ryan have maybe backed the show into a corner they don't appreciate is I think deliberately naive. Yes I think by now it's pretty obvious what direction they think things should be going. And yes, I think their natural chemistry adds to the scenes, but scripts come with stage directions. They're told how close to stand. They're told what the mood of the scene should be. Now I do think Oliver and Ryan probably add their own spin on certain things, but not enough to change whatever the meaning of the scene is intended to be. For instance I think the thumb to the neck with the gentle rub is one hundred percent an Oliver and Ryan addition. It's been in too many scenes now, and no way in hell is a writer like Kristen capable of coming up with a touch like that, and working it into her scripts. So I think that's their thing. But again it doesn't change a scene overall, it's just their addition to the scene. The show knows what it's doing. If the way Oliver and Ryan were acting was not what they wanted they wouldn't use the scene. They would make them redo it in a different way. It's that simple. And the show is definitely not showing signs of doubling down on Tommy. I have no idea where you all are getting this. If the show meant for the audience to root for Tommy as far as Buck goes, they would not have released that deleted scene. That clip did Tommy zero favors. And your fandoms reaction to that clip proves how poorly he came across in it. You all just can't decide who to blame for it. My favorite are the ones blaming Aisha. I mean there's twisting yourself into knots to not acknowledge the writing meant for it to come across as a bad look, and then there's whatever the hell you have to do to arrive at it's Aisha's fault. I'm going to say something and I genuinely don't want it to come across as mean because I never want to purposely hurt anyone's feelings. The reality is if Buddie goes canon 95% of your fandom will become, or revert back to, Buddie shippers. That's the basic truth. The chemistry is there. The history is there. The two actors the show cares about are there. The majority of their audience is there. The hard-line remaining 5% are the hardcore Lou shippers, and, again not to sound mean, the show doesn't care about that 5%. The true numbers size of your fandom, when you take out repeat comments from the same blogs and duplicate accounts from the same people, seems to be in the mid thousands. That is tiny. That's not even enough to move a neilson rating. It just feels bigger on here because you're all on Tumblr, but many of you have admitted that you run multiple accounts so even mid thousands may be too generous a guestimation. And the majority of the fandom would be soft shippers, meaning they'll follow the relationship that is canon. The hard liners are Lou shippers and the show doesn't care about Lou shippers. I'm sorry anon but unless the show does something in CANON to show a shift somewhere Tommy is a plot point. I'm not going to pretend he's anything else.

Well...

I have just one thing to add here:

Thank you for putting this in my ask box Nonny. It's appreciated!

Remember, no hate in comments or reblogs. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of the anonymous OP’s posts, you can find all of their posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[thethingswedotomorrow]

Aziraphale and Crowley are both idiots, with a severe lack of common sense on any given day.

But these idiots were both tasked with watching and guiding the new humans God had created, for better or for worse. What they didn't realize was just how unprepared they both were for this task.

Before being sent out to Eden, they were BOTH given a crash course on the newest creatures, (humans??) roaming around the garden. Just the essentials, don't poke here, this does that, avoid this bit, this part leaks, etc.

Aziraphale's lesson was much more formal, only highlighting the parts of the humans that were deemed 'essential' by the Archangels

Having to sit through Gabriel explaining the purpose of a tongue for hours was enough to make anyone zone out, let alone a principality who had just been told that the place he was being sent to would be full of creatures that were filled with an odd combination of liquid at all times. Good Lord, how was he meant to protect these humans when they could explode at any time?

Aziraphale had checked out mentally by the time they started covering exactly what the eyebrows were for

Hell decided to take a more hands-on approach.

By hands-on, they meant having Dagon draw what they assumed a human might vaguely look like, and then explaining the best ways to torture the squiggly bits

Crowley spent most of the class trying to decide whether the drawing looked more like a horse or a soggy blanket crumpled into a pile

(Crowley had only recently learned about the 'horse' idea, and he was decidedly not impressed by them.)

(He could get behind this blanket idea, however. He'd have to check that one out in a few years.)

So once they'd both reached the Garden, and checked the place out for themselves, they both came to the same conclusion.

They had some SERIOUS questions about what was going on here

Naturally (and reluctantly for one of them), they gravitated towards each other. They both knew asking either of their sides would imply that they didn't pay attention to the classes. And neither of them wanted to have a repeat lesson, thank you.

"Ah, yes, hello, Crawley was it?"

"Obviously, still me. Be odd for me to be someone else, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, well. I was wondering..if you had..perhaps....noticed anything about these humans?"

"Noticed what? They're awfully boring. Told me 'get up there and make some trouble', but all they do is sleep and eat things and walk around. Made 'em trip a few times, but it got old by the 5th time around honestly."

"Well I don't think they're meant to do much more. If they were, then they would have. As is God's plan. Oh there is no need for dramatics Crawley."

It was at that point Crawley sighed VERY aggressively, flopped down onto a rather soft looking patch of grass, and looked up at Aziraphale.

"Was there a point here, Angel, or have you just come to preach?"

"I do wonder, however, if God was perhaps made aware of the issues in the hardware, as it were."

"What are you on about?"

"Yesterday, I saw Eve walking around, admiring all the plants and such. They really are truly beautiful, you know. Have you seen them yet?"

"Nah, haven't gotten over there yet. Mostly been hanging around on the rocks, very warm there. Why? What'd she do?"

"Well, she walked up to the flowers, and..then she just..sort of...." Aziraphale trails off, very hesitant about how to describe the situation.

"Sort of what?" Now Crowley is curious. Always been his downfall, that sort of thing.

"She just... she stuck her face into them."

"She WHAT?"

"Exactly! Stuck her face into them, no warning or anything. That poor, poor woman could have been killed. Who knows what those flowers will do to her tongue."

"HER WHAT?"

It was at this point that they both realized that they may not have gotten the same education on the humans and their anatomy.

"So, they aren't actually going to explode? Oh thank God."

"Well, I mean they could, I suppose. If you poked them enough, or shook them up really hard. Y'think we should try that?"

"Crawley, no."

Between both of them, they gathered enough information about the humans to have a general idea of what they should and shouldn't do to help them survive

(Crowley might enjoy watching them trip, but he's a Demon, not a monster. There'd be no point going and killing them right after they launch the whole program.)

It turned out that what they had gathered between Heaven and Hell was quite literally the bare minimum of human physiology.

They stuck together from then on, determined to find out everything they could about the humans.

The first time Eve sneezed after smelling the flowers, Aziraphale jumped up so quickly that he broke the rock he was using as a seat clean in half

Crawley and Aziraphale stood perfectly still on the wall, waiting for something else to happen.

All Eve did was sniff a bit and walk away.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, eyes wide and full of terror. They both stared at each other for a few minutes before they both silently sat down, contemplating what they had assumed was a very near-miss explosion.

The next day, when Adam stepped into the pool of water at the edge of the Garden, the angel and demon watched with the utmost attention.

"D'ya think they can breathe in there?"

"In the water?"

"Yeah, those slimy things at the bottom seem to be doin' just fine without coming up top. Maybe the humans can do that too."

"Crawley, those are fish. The humans need the air to live. I think."

"Fiiiiiish? Fsh. Fiisssshhh. Nah, don't like that. Slimy things works better, who names these things? Was it you?"

"I'm afraid that was not my department, unfortunately. I like to think I would have gone with a different choice than 'fish', if I had any say in the names."

"Mm. He's been down there for a bit, yeah?"

"Who? Oh, him. Has he? Oh. Oh Lord, he has. Adam? Adam?"

One small miracle later, the humans and the non-humans had both learned that they did need the air to live.

The day Eve and Adam laughed together was a good day.

'What're they even laughin' at?" Crowley wiggles/walks* his way over to where Aziraphale is sat on the edge of the wall, watching the humans.

*He's still figuring out the whole leg thing, far too complicated if you ask him

"If I had to guess, I'd say they're laughing at the state of Adam."

"How'd he even get like that? Last I saw, he was running around near that pond, how's that happen? They were on your watch, Angel."

"Ah, while you went to look at the plants, he fell. Apparently when dirt and water mix, it becomes very sticky. Mud, I believe it's called."

"Blegh. Way to go Angel, I left for five minutes and you let him get all mud-ed. Looks awful, don't see why they're laughin'. They've always got somethin' stuck to em."

Despite his words, Crowley couldn't help but smile at the humans. Something so ridiculous and they stood there laughing at it, having all the time in the world to explore and find out new things.

Aziraphale noticed this, and smiled as well. Mostly because of the humans and how fond he was already of them

But also, at Crowley and a new type fondness for him, as well.

(Though it would take many, many years for him to admit that)

Crowley and Aziraphale sat and laughed, watching these new humans bumble around and laugh, being happy to just exist and discover everything there was to discover. If Crowley snuck glances at the angel while he was laughing, he'd never admit it.

Maybe tomorrow, Crowley thought, he'd see what the deal was with that big apple tree.

[hazbin-a-helluvamagines]

Hello ! I have a request for you so I hope you can do it ! 🩷 (no rush obviously, take your time ☺️💓)

I wanted to request for Verosika mayday and (she's my favorite gal) with a cute idol reader (they're in a relationship)

example for idol reader: (basically They're cute as hell)

Can be any gender you want

Verosika Mayday With A Cute Idol S/O

Now, I'll start this off with the obvious: before you start dating, she sees you as competition. I mean, how dare you come onto her turf and steal her fans?!

However, it doesn't take long for her to meet you with intent of threatening you away, only for her to begin swooning over you soon after.

You're just?? So sweet??? Like??

She's enamored with you, but she thinks it's suspicious. Soon after, though, she learns that it's not an act, that you really ARE that sweet and that cute.

It isn't long until you two start dating, and she makes it VERY clear to her posse that you're off-limits because you're HER sweet little S/O.

She'll also actually refrain from fucking people, either on earth or in hell, as long as she has you. She adores you beyond belief, viewing you as just too sweet to do that to.

Now, she's got that pop star money. So anytime she sees anything that even SLIGHTLY reminds her of you, congratulations, you've got twelve.

You two would bond over music, definitely. No matter what kind of music you sing (I assume pop based on the term 'idol'), and she'll even suggest karaoke dates for the both of you.

Plus, she'll integrate herself into your professional life, too, with collabs! Interchanging, switching vocals, with one of you singing your part of the main chorus and the other doing the backing vocals, and vice versa.

Another thing: she'll have you help with writing songs and everything! It's nice dating another musician, because you both know how to support each other endlessly.

If you're a succubus and you're interested in seducing humans together, perfect, she'll do that with you! But if not, that's okay, she only needs you.

Because you're so sweet and cute, though, it'd be a long time before she opened up about her psst relationship with Blitzø and how he broke her heart.

That said, she'll write a diss track about him with lines along the lines of "fuck you, got my new boo". She's petty, even if you aren't, and unless you say you're uncomfortable, she isn't gonna stop putting you in her pettiness anytime soon.

She'll help you with outfit coordination and ask for the same in turn, figuring that if you're both coordinated, it's a sly way to show everyone that you're hers.

PDA is a must, but it'll be lower than if you weren't an idol, because she doesn't want to risk you being made upset if it's in the tabloids. Anything that can be construed as 'friendly', she'll do in public. The kissing and stuff is saved for later. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

That said, if anyone ever flirts with you in public, she has no shame in making out with you or grabbing your ass right there in public, just to show that person that you're hers and only hers.

And likewise, if anyone ever flirts with her, she'll grab your hand and offer a cruel smirk while she turns them down.

"Yeeeeeah, no. I already have a fucking amazing S/O, who's most definitely better in bed than a lame fuckstain like you ever would be."

She'll try harder to get through rehab entirely for you. She wants to see that sweet, adorable smile on your face when she tells you that she's done with the Beelzejuice...

Basically, contrary to what you'd think, your sweetness an innocence inspires her to be better.

Although...

There's always a small part of her that wants to corrupt you more than anything else.

"Aww, S/O, you look almost good enough to eat~."

"Are you saying I'm sweet? :D"

"...Yeah."

She would never do that of course, but the thought is kind of just... there. But she loves you too much to ever try to do that to you.

All in all, Verosika is a good girlfriend to you, and both your professional and personal lives are filled with love and laughter together.

And she'll be damned if she lets anyone keep you apart...

Ever.

[whumperstorm]

Supressing Fire - Part 3.5

Content: vampire whumper, defiant whumpee, mild violence, begging, crying

Two scenes from Keegan's captivity that aren't quite long enough their own chapters. Featuring Keegan trying to rebel however she can, and Kane earning his "Not As Much of a Jerk as You Could Have Been" Award.

Part 1/Previous/Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One evening, as Kane feeds, Keegan's eyes wander over his shoulder. She just barely suppresses a gasp when she sees it. Her little art project, taped to her punching bag and crumpled from numerous bouts of abuse by Keegan's fists. It was an excellent improvement to her self care routine, in her opinion. After Kane's generous donation of fresh bruises after she “sighed disrespectfully" last week. But one that should not have been left out after use.

Keegan rips her gaze away from it and stares a hole into the floor instead. Maybe he won't see it?

Of course he sees it.

"What is that?" he demands, stalking toward it and ripping the paper off--a crude portrait of what looks to be him. Scribbled in crayons.

"Um-" She says dumbly. "You weren't supposed to see that."

"It's not supposed to fucking be in my house!" Kane tears the paper in two, crumpling it and tossing it to the floor. "I thought this punching bag was supposed to make you better behaved, not a sneaky, disobedient little brat. Maybe I should take it away after all, if it's doing you no good!"

The best way Keegan knows to get out of this mess is to apologize. To show respect and beg Kane for forgiveness so he doesn't get angrier. That is not what she does.

"Oh come on, It's just a drawing!" She huffs. "I've been good haven't I? This wouldn't have bothered you at all if you hadn't seen it!"

Kane storms over and backhands her across the face.

"I will not tolerate disrespect!" he screams. "This is not what being good looks like! You will learn your place!"

The strike hurts. Keegan's head snaps to the side and she lets out a shout of pain, but she doesn’t back down. "My God, grow a fucking spine!!" She spits, standing up to tower over him. "I've been your perfect little pet for months! Since I can't knock your lights out, I used what I got. At least this Kane was nicer to look at!"

Kane shoves her, sending her toppling to the ground, then lands a hard kick in her side.

"You've improved. I'd hardly call you perfect," he spits. "This is exactly the problem with you. Nothing works. You know what? Say goodbye to the punching bag. Clearly, this isn't working." He goes to take it down.

For some reason, that sends a jolt of panic through Keegan's chest. More so than the abuse. She fights to get air back into her lungs and reaches out towards Kane.

"W-wait!"

It's not really about the bag. She has other amenities. But they're all generic. The bag is the only thing that's hers. A piece of her personality to light up her dreadful little prison.

She can't bear the thought of losing what little she has.

Keegan pulls herself up to kneel respectfully. "Don't take it, I-I'm sorry." It may not be enough now. Not after her outburst.

It's fake. So obviously fake, how she only deigns to respect Kane when she has something to lose. It only fans the fire inside him further. He needs to break her foolish pride.

He glares down at her. "Beg."

Keegan glares a hole into the floor. She hates him. She hates him with every cell in her body. But punching bag or not, she can't back out now. Any more rebellion and she'll be black and blue for days.

She hangs her head, face burning in shame. "Please... sir. I'm sorry. Please give me another chance... No more disrespect, whether you're present or not."

"Hmph. I'll believe it when I see it. Watch it, human. I'm the one in control here."

And with that, Kane leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Keegan lets out a breath when he leaves. Never has she felt more helpless and tiny. She can’t even exist in peace without the threat of Kane’s interference. Everything is a fight in this place. A fight she's bound to lose each and every time.

But, well... she glances up. At least she still has the punching bag.

She groans, flopping miserably back down into bed.

------

Things continue as normal from there. Kane still needs to violently discipline his human on a regular basis, but the frequency has gone down a bit. He wonders if it's really the punching bag, or just a coincidence. The fact that it seems to be making her behave better is the only reason he doesn't go through with taking it away.

Many months pass and they fall into a routine. Some days are bad, with a defiant human he needs to correct, and some days are good, with the human coming out and playing chess or watching movies with him, countering his debilitating loneliness. 

One such good day, while they're watching a movie, the protagonist goes to celebrate his birthday. Kane usually skips this part, hating the sour reminder, but he doesn't want to raise questions from the human. He lets it play without comment.

In all honesty, Keegan hasn't thought about her birthday at all. She's had too much on her mind and no one around to remind her that it's coming up. But the movie scene has her realizing what month they're in. Her birthday is in three days. She’s hit with a wave of depressed bitterness. 

It was nowhere near her birthday when she was kidnapped, so it's yet another reminder of how long she's been here. Not only that, but she's turning twenty-one. That's a pretty big milestone and she gets to what, sit in an empty room and sing happy birthday to herself? She won't even get a hug from her sister. She knows her hunting guild enjoys throwing surprise parties. She wonders if they'd have planned one for her. 

Her thoughts spiral, and to her horror, she starts to cry. She hardly ever cries. She hates crying in front of others, and here she is sobbing in front of Kane of all people. She tries to hold it back, silent tears falling down her cheeks. She can't even excuse herself. She has to ask to do anything around here and he'll obviously notice her tears if she asks to leave. She sits there rigidly, until eventually a tiny, involuntary sob escapes.

Kane is so wrapped up in his own birthday-adjacent pity party that he doesn't notice the human crying until he hears her sob. He turns to her, caught off-guard. "What's wrong?" he asks. He hasn't been disciplining her, so he's not sure why she's upset.

Keegan is mortified. She hastily scrubs at her face to wipe away the tears, like that'll somehow make it less obvious. God he's actually asking what's wrong? Like he'd care about a human's birthday of all things. He'd probably get mad that she's even making a fuss about it. She can already hear his cruel comment. ‘You’re not a person. You’re food. You don’t have a birthday.’ 

"It’s- it’s fine." She dismisses. "Can I go back to my room?"

Kane turns off the movie. Something isn't right here. The human's never acted like this before.

"Tell me what's wrong and then you can go," he compromises. Maybe he's feeling soft because of the feelings thinking about his birthday dredged up, or maybe it's the disappointment at a nice night spent not on his lonesome being cut short. "You won't be in trouble."

Keegan puts her head in her hands for a moment, sighing. Even her own sadness doesn't belong to her. But, at least he said she won't be in trouble, and Kane has yet to lie to her. "It's not important. I just... realized my birthday is in three days." Her voice grows quieter as she speaks, mumbling by the end and looking away as fresh tears bubble up. "Can I go now?" She wants nothing more than to get away from this humiliating situation.

For the first time, Kane feels some sort of connection with his human, some sort of guilt for his actions. Here she is, unable to celebrate her birthday- because of him.

"You may go," he concedes, trying to process the unfamiliar emotions.

Keegan wastes no time, scurrying back to her room. She spends a while in the bathroom, calming down and washing her face. She doesn't even feel like using the punching bag, instead lying in bed wallowing in self pity the rest of the night. The conversation isn't brought back up in the following days, so Keegan hopes that's the end of it. The evening of her birthday however, she wakes up in an awful mood.

Kane, for the life of him, decides to do research. It's embarrassing, going to the library and asking for books on human celebrations, but he does it anyway. Most of what he finds is anthropological research on human religious practices, but he does eventually find something on birthdays. Human birthday celebrations seem to be similar to vampire ones in many ways, except for the cake. The cake is apparently a very big part of it, a large, sweet human food. Other than that, the customs of parties and presents are similar. 

On the night of Keegan's birthday, Kane comes in and feeds from her as normal. Just because it's her birthday doesn't mean he doesn't need to eat. But after that... "I have something for you. Come on out." He turns to exit the human quarters, gesturing for her to follow him out.

Keegan endures the bite. Same bullshit as always. When Kane invites her out, she follows, curiously. She'd rather stay holed up in her room today, but Kane doesn't usually get her things she hasn’t asked for.

Waiting on the mug table is a large, elaborate birthday cake, the kind that must have cost hundreds of dollars. Next to it is a medium-sized gift wrapped in shiny paper.

"Happy birthday," Kane says awkwardly.

Keegan stares in utter shock. "You- what?" She looks at Kane, then back at the table. Is he serious? It can't be a prank. She can tell from here that the cake is real. But this is a man who has stolen her life away, and her blood, and abused her countless times over the past months. And who's now celebrating her birthday?

"...Why?" She asks quietly.

Kane glances briefly at her, then realizes he's far too embarrassed of his own sincerity to make eye contact, and stares forward at the table instead. "It's your birthday. It deserves to be celebrated."

"oh..." Keegan is tearing up again, but controls it better this time. It feels like a piece of her humanity has returned. She might be nothing but food here, and constantly referred to as "human" instead of by name, but she's still deserving of a birthday? That's a better gift than anything that could be in that box. She still doesn't understand why he cares, he’s the one who put her in this situation after all, but it’s something.

“Thank you…” She steps hesitantly towards it, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when he doesn't stop her she kneels down next to the table. "Can I open it?" She asks, reaching for the gift.

"You're welcome. Go ahead," Kane encourages. This is weird. Vampires aren't supposed to celebrate their humans' birthdays. She's food. But... he can't deny her this. He just can't.

When Keegan opens the gift, she finds some very fancy hard cider inside.

"I wasn't sure... um. This was one thing I knew you liked that you didn't already have," Kane explains. "Just for your birthday. No refills."

She's not sure why, maybe the way he awkwardly explains himself, or how ridiculous the whole situation is, but it has Keegan bursting out into laughter.

She doesn't want Kane to think she's mocking him so she quickly sputters out, "This is great, thanks." She takes a breath to get control over herself then adds, "You gonna be able to survive my nasty alcohol blood?"

"I'll manage," Kane says, unoffended. In his eyes, she's only insulting herself.

The rest of the night is a peaceful one, spent doing whatever activities the human wants. Though Kane grimaces at the taste of her blood on occasion as she makes her way through the cider in the coming weeks, he makes no comment on it. It was her birthday gift.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @whumpsday @not-a-space-alien @anomalys-taxonomy @what-if-i-just-did @dragonqueenslayer6 @jumpywhumpywriter @writereleaserepeat

[yanderes-galore]

Romantic Yandere! Connor/RK800 (Detroit Become Human) with Fem! Darling? He’s smitten by her kind and caring personality, yet she only sees him no more as a good friend. While he’s been taking out “competition”— she had to witness him killing her android crush, a unfortunate PL600. (Not Daniel or Simon, just her household android who’s got a crush on her too— much to Connor’s dismay)

From your prompts!

12.) "You were never meant to see that! Oh, what have I done...."

20.) "I've been waiting too long for this...."

24.) "Don't you believe in fate? Fate wants us to be together...!"

OOOOOO! I'D LOVE TOO :D Nothing quite like writing a yandere caught in the act ;)

This was meant to be finished way earlier today and not at 3 AM but I got distracted when writing the end so... whoops 🤷‍♀️ Not proofread, it's all mostly raw.

Yandere! Connor (RK800) Prompts 12, 20, 24

"You were never meant to see that! Oh, what have I done...."

"I've been waiting too long for this...."

"Don't you believe in fate? Fate wants us to be together...!"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Murder/Violence, Blood/Blue blood mention, Jealousy, OOC sadism, Kidnapping implied, Forced relationship.

It wasn't all that hard for Connor to get his hands on a weapon. Working for the police allows him basic access to weaponry such as small handguns. Although androids aren't typically armed, Connor has been smart enough to smuggle one.

Connor never thought of using violence unless it was absolutely necessary. Admittedly his thoughts have been rather selfish lately but that doesn't seem to stop his plans. What he plans to do with this gun is... necessary.

You and Connor have been very close in the recent few months. You're a girl cop who works under Hank. As a result you and Connor have been in contact due to you being a rookie.

Connor has always admired your kind and caring personality. You get coffee for everyone out of kindness and don't take insults from anyone. Connor has admittedly... fallen for you despite the circumstances.

Even though androids have been newly accepted into society, Connor knew not every human would be open to have a relationship with one. Despite this Connor at least tried asking. That is... only to hear rejection as he expected.

"Connor... that's flattering and I'm happy you're learning human emotions but I just don't feel that way."

The entire time you looked at him with a soft gaze, holding his hand momentarily before departing. You say you don't love him but it feels like you do. Despite his rejection... Connor looked more into you.

That's how Connor learned of your PL600 unit.

Connor had done some snooping to learn more about you, even though he shouldn't have. He had looked through records and even remembered where you lived. Under your name and in your house he saw a PL600.

Not just that... but he could tell what this PL600 unit felt towards you. Connor knew it was unprofessional to act on his feelings by watching you... he can't help it. Seeing you with that PL600... broke him.

Connor had seen how careful you were with your PL600. You allowed him to be his own person and often encouraged it. You allowed him to express his feelings and not feel like a servant.

In return Connor saw his attempts at intimacy.

Connor felt himself get worked up when he saw your PL600 hug you when you get home. He hated seeing him cook for you, he hated seeing him so domestic with you. At first it just seems like what he's programmed to do.

Until he tried to kiss you one night.

Connor had enough, now he knew why you turned him down. This was the reason he has the gun he smuggled, just in case his original plan didn't work. While you were away from home, Connor had planned the perfect crime.

Connor had slipped into your home quietly. Your PL600 unit was cleaning and barely even saw Connor coming. Not until it was too late.

Connor didn't mind the mess. The blue blood from your PL600 was quickly spilled and splattered across your home's walls due to his strength. He had damaged the unit's processors with a quick bullet to the head. All just so he could grab a knife from the kitchen to finish things off.

"I've been waiting too long for this...." Connor mutters, digging the blade into the android's chest as he takes his pent up jealousy out on him.

It was meant to be the perfect crime after Connor had his fun. Unfortunately it appears Connor got too caught up in the act. He didn't notice that you'd come home about this time.

It was quite the sight to see for you.

Connor didn't snap out of it until he heard you drop something with a gasp. It was not quite a scream but it was enough to make Connor stop, the blade still lodged in the artifical skin of your PL600. Connor almost didn't realize what he did until he turned to meet your gaze.

"You were never meant to see that! Oh, what have I done...." Connor panics in his voice, eyes wide and processors calculating as he watches you stare at him. Connor can see you look him over in an attempt to rationalize. You're trying to see if he is indeed Connor and not some other rogue RK800. Sadly, you begin to realize it's Connor covered in the blue blood of your PL600.

The dread quickly overcomes you.

You pull out your phone and run out the door. Connor calculates possible ways to cut you off and executes them. As you run and dial for back up, Connor chases you. He tries to corral you into a dark and out of sight corner of the street...

Due to your frantic frenzy he succeeds.

He hates the idea of hurting you but he hits your arm hard, causing your phone to clatter to the ground... completely useless. You groan in pain due to how hard Connor hit you before Connor cages you against a wall. He can read your vitals and he knows you're terrified due to how fast your BPM and breathing rate is.

You struggle against the android, cringing at the amount of blue blood on his clothes. By this rate you're both covered in the stuff, the chemical smell infiltrating your nose and making you ill. Connor hears you begin to plead with him and he tries to mediate it.

"You know I won't hurt you... please don't be scared...." Connor whispers, using a hand to caress your cheek in a soothing manner. You turn away quickly and grit your teeth. He's stronger than you yet you fight for your life....

"Am I supposed to believe that after you killed my PL600?" You spit. Connor gives you an uncomfortable look before his gaze goes darker.

"He was a poor stand in for me." Connor answers bitterly. "I'm supposed to be in that role for you!"

"What's that even supposed to mean!" You yell back, causing Connor to slam his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

"Don't you believe in fate? Fate wants us to be together...!" Connor coos, his tone full of delusions within his code. You struggle against his hold and shake your head. Connor only frowns.

"That PL600 can't do what I can. I can do so much better. If you just accept me... I can show you!" Connor reasons despite your reluctance to listen. You plead for him to stop this madness from behind his hand but he doesn't listen. The android is too focused in the fact he has you trapped as his to care.

Competition has now been dealt with and is out of the way...

Now all Connor has to worry about is stopping your struggling and screaming until he can move you to a more suitable location.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I'm planning on publishing my written fiction online in both Portuguese (my native language) and in English (the other language I speak which might help to share the story with more people), but something is worrying me.

I watched a movie where the a main character (a writer) had a book that wasn't popular and another character "translated" into her language (what she actually did was rewrite it as an erotic novel) and the book was super loved there (the readers didn't know the book was supposed to be different)

Sometimes I see artists who allow fans to share translations of their comics, but I'm concerned on what could happen if someone asked for permission to translate. Do you think it's worth the risk of someone making my story popular with something that goes against my values, like supporting disregard to a human right or making it erotic when it was supposed to be family-friendly?

Worried About Fan Translations

I want to be clear that this advice is specific to fiction published online versus e-books or print books, which are a different matter entirely. First and foremost, if you post a story online, give permission to a fan to translate it, and then they rewrite it into something else, that is plagiarism and a copyright violation, and you have every right to ask them to take it down. If they refuse to cooperate, you can threaten them with a lawsuit, even if you don't really have the means to follow through. That could be enough to get them to take it down. If not you can report them to the platform for stealing your work. You can also let your fans know that this person has stolen your work and to please block them or refuse to engage with them.

If you post a story online and are approached by a fan who asks to translate it into their native language, there are some things you can do to potentially protect yourself:

1 - Do not give them permission to post the translation on their own account. Thank them for their offer and let them know you're happy to let them translate the story, but they will need to e-mail it to you so you can have it vetted and post it on your own account with credit. Be clear that you do not give them permission to post a translation on their own account. That way, not only does it dissuade people who are only interested in plagiarism or benefiting off your hard work, it also means you keep full control of your story and its translations.

2 - Do your best to vet the translation. You can try to find a beta reader who is fluent in that language who can read it and make sure it's a good translation, though you'll likely have to pay them, which is worth it to make sure the translation is accurate. Or you could copy chunks of the story into Google Translate, which isn't a great translation service, but at least you'll see right away if the person has added erotica or written anything that's drastically different.

3 - Do your best to vet the translator. Another thing you can do is try to vet the translator. Ask them if they've ever translated a story before, and if so, ask them for examples. Look at their account and see if they have posted other translations or have posted links to translations. Investigate the authors of the stories they translated and see if there are any complaints. Read through the comments of the original story and the translation (you may again have to use Google Translate if it's a language you're not familiar with... not perfect, but just fine for this application...) are similar. If a lot of comments on the translation mention elements that aren't mentioned in the source story comments, that's a potential red flag.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

��� Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[actual-changeling]

ellie learns how to draw, and, if she might say so herself, gets pretty damn good at it, especially faces. it helps her ground herself to see happy memories physically stare back at her from her sketch book, her walls, the fridge, and wherever else joel puts up her drawings. he loves all of them, even the very first ones that aren't much more than vaguely human scribbles.

the first year in jackson is a pain, and she spends most of it holed up in their house, drawing, painting (she has no idea where joel gets all the paint from and he refuses to tell her), and once they make it through their first winter together, she feels comfortable enough to show them to other people, too. mostly tommy and maria, and in a weak moment she even gifts them a drawing she made of them and their baby.

she's over at their house a lot, it's a lot more lived in and settled than theirs but they're working on it, and notices some actual pictures, the kind you take with a camera, decorating the living room. it's obvious that they're prized possessions, framed and front and center on the walls. a handful of them show maria and what must have been her family before the outbreak, others are newer. jackson does have some cameras saved for special events, and there are two pictures of them on their wedding day, and even one from a few days after the baby was born.

she doesn't think much of it until their second summer in jackson when she notices the way joel stares at the baby pictures and realizes that all he has to remember sarah by is the broken watch on his wrist. the only tangible memory and it's one of pain and death.

ellie mulls over it a lot, it keeps her up at night and while joel picks up on it, he doesn't press the issue when she refuses to talk about it, though she assures him she's fine.

it takes her another two weeks after her realization to catch tommy alone one afternoon with joel safely away on patrol, oddly nervous and unsure how to phrase what she wants to ask. eventually she manages to explain her idea and the positively soft, distantly heartbroken look he gives her makes her breath catch in her throat.

do you think he would be okay with it?

i think he would love it, sweetheart.

they sit together for hours in his kitchen, ellie is determined to make it look exactly right and urges tommy to not hold back his criticism if something isn't accurate, and by the end, they have missed dinner and her wrist hurts like hell, fingers stained with pencil lead and color, but her chest is brimming with a warm sense of accomplishment.

tommy gives her a frame and she wraps it as well as she knows how to. he insists that she gives it to him alone, but ellie draws him into an uncharacteristically tight hug before she leaves and hides her smile in his chest when he presses a hesitant kiss to her hair. family, she realizes, is pretty damn great.

the waiting is the hardest part. she puts her gift on the coffee table and paces the living room for at least half an hour while she waits for joel to return from his patrol, switching between chewing her lips and biting her nails. by the time he finally walks through the door, she has almost convinced herself to abandon the whole thing and just pretend it never happened, but then joel's there, gaze immediately softening when he sees her, and suddenly she can't wait to give it to him. it's a pretty big frame and the best paper she owns, rivaling some of her larger paintings on actual canvas, and joel has to sit down to open it without running the risk of accidentally dropping it.

i hope you like it.

the quiet tremor in her voice makes him stop halfway through unwrapping it, but she just gestures for him to continue, rocking on her feet.

tommy helped.

when the last of the paper falls away and joel sees her work for the very first time, they both hold their breath at once, even the summer breeze stilling, air brimming with something neither of them have the words for.

joel is looking at a vibrant water color painting of sarah, face at a soft angle as she wonders at a small purple butterfly resting on her finger, hand raised in front of her, eyes and smile shining brighter than the sun, hair a shimmering cloud of brown and gold. a frozen moment in time, sarah forever fourteen, capturing the love ellie feels pouring out of joel whenever he talks about her, a wave of affection and distilled joy that makes her miss a person she has never known.

i thought you might want a happy memory of her to look at, too.

ellie points at his watch, broken glass fracturing the light falling in, hand shaking.

i hope it's okay that i- if you don't want it-

joel's arms are around her before she can finish, cutting off her stuttered attempts, frame safe on the table as he hugs her so tightly her feet lift off the floor and she clings to his neck, relief bringing air back to her lungs. he holds her with his face buried in her hair, and ellie only notices he is crying when she can feel a few stray tears run down her neck. when he sets her down again, eyes glassy even after he dries his cheeks, her knees buckle under his gaze. they're both bad with feelings, bad with words, love shown through touch and gestures, through don't forget to eat, i'll stay with you until you fall asleep, fresh cups of coffee left on his nightstand before she leaves for school, hands searching for each other in the crowd again and again and again, never letting go.

love brought to life by a painting of the daughter that taught him how to be a father, made by the one that helped him find his way back to the light.

thank you, ellie.

they both know it means i love you, too, sarah immortalized on their living room wall where the morning sun illuminates her face with every sunrise.

more rambles in the tags

[azure-cherie]

Some astrology observations part 5 💗

Helloooo the year is about to be over I've been so absent since some time how are you doing, hope the season has been giving you a good time , please note that I'm not an astrologer and all of these are observation based and for fun, some of the stuff could be wrong please take into account what you can relate to . My observations are based on sidereal measurements :)

Base your skincare routine on the basis of your mercury and Venus placements.

Though mula is supposed to be very agressive they are are actually quite feminine, they usually forgive people very easily but don't fall into their bad books or else you're done i swear 🤡.

Uttara Phalguni's are literally those women who hype other women up so much in ngos and for women empowerment they are always down for helping us lift up.

Chitra women have so perfect lips and jawlines omg 😭.

Shravanas love to talk , at times they talk too much and regret it , get ready for long rants if they feel comfortable around you .

Moon or Jupiter dominance might give you a romantic or a theatrical romantic body type. (Kibbe). where's Saturn or sun will give you a dramatic one .

Shatabhishas are usually the classic or gamine .

Angelic essence can be found in gemini , saggitarius women.

Sun sextile moon : cooperation towards fulfillment of dreams , balance between mind and soul , this will make you a very nurturing human and very intuitive, will make you kind and very giving to the people around you.

Jupiter square Saturn : since jup is about expansion and is in square with Saturn the planet of restrictions . This could give one old Hollywood type of melancholy, as well as beauty, although I'm not sure about this but , this aspect is shared by : Marilyn Monroe, Lana del rey , Cindy Crawford, Janet Jackson, also to point out the tragic trajectories of their life , sensuality that arrives with placement.

Venus trine saturn : it can give one broad shoulders, A line body too , it is a very it girl placement , bad bitch placement , could also cause karmic relationships and transformation and learning through relationships.

Node conjunct moon : it can give you wide eyes , you will be intuitive as well , with this placement you can easily see through anyone , their darkest desires , however if you aren't stable enough this might make you conscious paranoid etc.

Sun conjunct Venus : Happy go lucky people, often others fall in love with them because of their friendliness, they are the personification of a sunshine , it makes one very known among the peers too . It could also indicate having a warm skin tone , high cheek bones.

Neptune trine mercury: i have a friend with this aspect she said when she studies too much during exams , she recalls stuff in her dreams . This could also be a placement for creativity, you could be into surrealism, dream interpretation as a hobby .

Pluto trine moon : often have an isolated childhood, although some people love them , they love them with conditions and due to them being so intuitive they get to know it , which makes them feel lonely, however as they grow they get used to it , or find friends like them , they're very good at comforting sad and traumatized people , could go into field like therapy.

Rohini women really don't give a fuck i swear they have this thing of their thinking being higher than their feelings, they definitely do have feelings but they dont let it over power them being in control keeps them above . They believe in home made remedies for skin and healthy life , very much into self care .

You are going to attract the sign in your 7H a lot but i don't necessarily think that is the sign you are going to marry so don't mistake it , sometimes it could be karmic as well your spouse is kind of a mix of your darakaraka , 7H lord placement and your D9 7H lord placement, that doesn't mean that you should avoid people with sign in your 7H but it means that see for yourself for me personally it doesn't work . But i do have a lot of people in my life with my 7H sign as their moon sign in my life .

It you're feeling creatively blocked you could share or tell about it to the someone with the sign of your 5th H as your moon sign or the sign of your 12th H as your moon sign ( 12 as it's an indicator of our subconscious and your daimon aka creative genius ) it may help you , if you're feeling spiritually blocked someone with your 8th H placement or 12 H placement as their moon placement could help you , your Jupiter sign could also help you in some way or other now it doesn't mean they would come and heal things for you , but the healthy act of sharing concerns and seeking help and genuine communication also works wonders.

Mercury dom people i met say they feel guilty it they don't study 😭 damn can't relate 😂i can go on for days without studying academically.

Not people with Rahu placements telling everyone they are selfish like 💀.

Libra moons love buying stuff like stationary and makeup but they know how to carefully buy without wasting their money , they invest in the right places.

Jupiter retrograde in 5H can teach people creative arts for remedy , oftentimes they might feel delayed in love and they feel people don't love them or 😭 they are undeserving of love , please it's not like that , give this some time .

Krittikas are some crazy people , very poised but very crazy it's like they have barriers you need to cross but once you do omg it's a rave party going on in their mind .

Oftentimes the women with moon Nakshatras in their big three feel they're not pretty like I've seen their faces look different at different times , a camera can't really capture the beauty of a moon placement person , the same can be considered with a sun nak person . They will compliment everyone but not take their own compliments 🤡 .

Once you have fallen in the eyes of a Purva Bhadrapada you're done expect nothing, you did what you did now they will either ignore or use sarcasm to end you . Jupiterians don't really seek revenge .

Hecate(100) is the Greek goddess of wealth , daily life blessings , magic , witchcraft , mediumship , divination , she's capable of both good and evil and your placements may show where you can accept the evil side of yours and develop it with correlation to your light side of yours to tap into your gifts and take their help as you March forward in life.

Sun in your hecate persona chart relates to your gifts you acquire as you clear up your karma , as you connect more to your soul purpose the more you realise that you have these issues and you have to deal with them , as you do more shadow work , if you have this asteroid aspecting your sun in your natal chart the placement in your persona chart could show how you develop/ embody the gifts , for example mine falls in Saggitarius 2nd H it means i should share my gifts while i travel , gain more wisdom , teach others to connect more to my gifts , it could also mean i could connect easily to the elemental power of the sign , i always loved fire so much (⁠｡⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠｡⁠) . Likewise in Taurus it could mean you can develop your abilities by connecting more to your feminine essence , skincare , being in your receptive energy etc , in gemini engaging in valuable discussions with people , communicating your feelings, connecting to your throat chakra , heal it you have underactive or overactive chakra energy points . Moon in your hecate persona chart reveals about the gift you already have , what is the type of intuition you have , how you feel about your gifts, the basic things you can acquire through your, gifts , how you can achive daily emotional balanve with it , like someone with moon in 1H may be good at spells related to appearance change and manifestation, 2H /4H protection , nurturing healing, 6H reiki , 8H sex , revenge, 12 H could relate to transcendence and connecting more to spirits.Mercury in your hecate persona chart represents your approach to your craft in terms of initiation, it could relate to your items that you use , your affirmations that you say , the text that you write down , someone mercury in gemini or 3 H might place a sigil in their hands for better and faster protection or other purposes, similarly 8H might be helpful with affirmations that are related to sex and magic .

If you're pursuing photography asteroid 443 photographica might be something you should look for , go for micro photography if aspecting mercury or pluto, for professional high definition photography look for aspects with sun and Saturn , blue Aesthetic photography would be good with moon or Jupiter , etc .

Thank you so much for reading 💟 have a great day ahead ✨.