#idk if they could have a happy ending with each other
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lonesome-pear · 2 days ago
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Ok but like. This post got me thinking. I think life’s purpose is both something we will never know and something we can create for ourselves. What if my purpose was purely to bring joy? What if I made the universe empty and uncaring for the sake of longevity, which was not just not my purpose, but the complete opposite? What if life really is just about those little fleeting moments of whimsy? I think it is. I truly believe my one purpose here is to bring joy to other people. Not in a “I’m gonna be a doormat who does nothing but people please” kind of way, but in a “life is hard enough, let’s make it easier for each other” kind of way
The thought of going against that for the sake of. What. Not being forgotten? Not dying? What does that do? Does it prove something? Does it fulfill me? Why would I do it if there’s no reason. Out of curiosity? I don’t think I could justify that, and I do many things just for the sake of “what would it be like?” So idk. Maybe I’ll go laminate a paper towel. Because the universe imploding and leaving only me feels like a very specific kind of hell
I live not for the sake of living, but for the things that happen in life. I decide to get up in the morning not because it extends my life, but because maybe I’ll get to see my friends that day. Hell, maybe I’ll even make them laugh. Maybe they’ll see me and immediately run over to me just to talk for a few minutes while they wait for a ride home. Maybe I’ll bring them a small moment of joy. Maybe that little moment of joy came at a time where they didn’t know those happen anymore. And maybe they’ll do the same for me, because we love each other and we want to make our lives easier for each other
Maybe my friends will make me laugh. Maybe I’ll see them and immediately run up to them just to talk for a few minutes before I go home. Who knows. Maybe the universe continues to exist because I decided to get up and go have moments of genuine connection. Even if they don’t last. Even if they are fleeting. It still mattered. I had a purpose. I might come to end, but the impact those small moments had won’t
Because then my friends will keep going. They’ll get up in the morning and decide to go spread joy to their other friends. And those people will bring happiness to their other friends. And it just keeps going. And some of them will have kids and teach them to do the same. And it just keeps going
So maybe the universe isn’t cold and uncaring. Because how could a universe so uncaring have people in it that are so loving. How could a universe so cold have moments and smiles so warm. How could choosing to be immortal preserve your longevity any more than being remembered for the comfort you brought to others. If you were left alone in the universe, all that would be left is you and it would be a self fulfilling prophecy of having no impact on anything, at least not anymore. But if you choose to live life. Then you could have such a great impact that changes the course of everything forever for the better, even if it’s only a little bit better
Anyway I don’t really have a point here, it’s late at night and I’ve been feeling very existential lately
Or maybe it’s just a laminated paper towel
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I laminated a paper towel
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signanothername · 8 hours ago
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Do you have any tips on how to study an artist style because I haven't been able to find a video on YouTube to help me☹️💔
Oof yeah Youtube usually just has the “how to find your artstyle” vids (which are all bullshit tbh but I digress)
Ok tbh I barely do art studies, so I would try and explain how I would do an artstyle study myself and hope that helps dhhxhxhx
The thing about an artstyle, is that it’s a bit unique to each person, and not just in terms of one single thing, but everything from how they do their lineart, to coloring, shading, etc
Not only that, but an artstyle changes and grows with the person as they learn more and more about their preferences, no artstyle stays the same forever
Not only that, but depending on the artist’s artstyle, it could be really easy to study cause the artist is consistent with their art, or really difficult cause the artist has no set artstyle and they change constantly
That’s why I’d say the best way to approach it is to study it bit by bit, and not to overwhelm yourself trying to take in how an artist does something all at once during practice
But the biggest thing that I’d say would make you understand another artist’s artstyle is observation
Take multiple artworks from the artist you wanna study and just take them in, observe everything about them
Do they use lineart or are they lineless, if they use lineart are their linestrokes thick or thin, is their lineart clean or is it messy, if it’s messy, how messy? Is the lineart angular or round generally? Or maybe they use both angular and round edges?
Are their lines curved or very straight? Does their line weight change in the same linestroke or does it have the same line weight throughout? Do they tend to do their lines in one single clean stroke, or do they tend to re-emphasize their lines by 2 or 3 more strokes in the same place?
What kinda brush do they seem to use? Is it a very textured brush or is it a very clean inky brush?
How do they color? Do they use bright and saturated colors or do they go for muted and dark colors? Maybe something in between? How do they shade? Do they use cell shading with hard edges, or do they use soft shading, do they blend it in or keep the edges of their colors bold and sharp? Maybe both?
How do they shape certain things? Maybe their artstyle relies heavily on rectangular shapes, maybe their artstyle shapes certain things to be round and others as cubic in the same artwork
And so on
Then after observing as many artworks by eye as you can, go for actual practice
Take a shot at trying to replicate their artstyle, it doesn’t have to be perfect, just as close as you can
Again, try it to take it one step at a time, at first try to focus on the lineart for example and nothing else, just try replicating that, just so you won’t overwhelm yourself with information and end up thinking it’s way harder than it truly is
Hell maybe you aren’t really interested to understand their lineart, maybe you like their coloring, and so just focus on how they color and try coloring the same way they do with your own art
Sometimes you get really stuck with something, or you try and replicate something and you genuinely couldn’t at all, in that case, I would say, if possible, try contacting the artist you’re trying to study the artstyle of, many artists would be happy to help where they can and give you a direct response and instructions to how they do a certain thing in their artstyle (I definitely would)
So, with all that out of the way, Imma give you an example, it’ll be a very quick example without much depth, but just to give you the general idea to use as a basis
(I’ll be using my own artstyle as an example cause idk if other artists would be comfortable with me using their art without permission dggdgdggd)
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Again, this is just a very quick example, you can actually take one artwork and study it to every little detail, then work your way up to multiple artworks at a time
Uuuh that’s all I can honestly give, hope it helps, good luck with your artstyle study <3333333
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neteyamssock · 2 days ago
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Not so bad, after all.
╰┈➤ PART VI.
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pairing: agedup!Neteyam x Fem!Metkayina!Reader
summary: when neteyam and you met each other for the first time, they were overwhelmed with feelings they have never felt before.
word count: 2.5k
tags: violence, fighting, crying... (idk what else, please tell me if I left something out!)
a/n: unedited! rough draft straight from gdocs. i promise i'll revise this series once i finish it huhu. feedbacks is very much appreciated! thank you very much 😘💜
text divider credits to @/enchanthings
masterlist
part v | part vii (end)
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It was one bright morning when you visited Ronal’s marui, seeking her out. Although the older woman was surprised that you were actively seeking her, she didn’t think too much about it and let you in. The tsahik and olo-eyktan’s marui is the largest marui in awa’atlu, the most intricate and grand, with decorations that represents the couple’s authority in the clan. You roamed your eyes inside and remembered how aonung would often say that once the two of you mated, he’d build one bigger than his parents’ marui.
Your stomach flipped at the thought. You know he doesn’t love you, but unlike you, he’s ready to settle if it means his parents would be happy.
“Why look for me, girl? Is there a bottleneck in your learning?” She beckoned you to sit in front of her, busying herself with her weaving. You didn’t fail to notice the changes in her stomach. The babe in her womb is growing, and its beginning to show in her body.
Noticing your gaze, a small smile graced her lips fleetingly before returning to her usual stoic expression. Caressing her stomach, she good-naturedly said. “You’re also going to experience pregnancy when you mate with my son. So it is good that you’re taking observations.”
You felt your throat getting blocked as you fidgeted, feeling of dread overturning your previous calm thoughts. When you didn’t respond as optimistic as she expected, Ronal’s eyes narrowed. “Why show such a look? Are you perhaps against the idea of getting pregnant right after mating? That’s fine. Both you and aonung are still young—”
“It’s not because of that, Tsahik…” you forced yourself to speak up, afraid of meeting her gaze. You saw her finally put down what she was weaving and looked at you with a scrutinizing gaze. You can feel her sharps dissecting you, trying to see through you.
“Then what? Speak up. Perhaps I could give you some solutions for whatever’s bothering you. This must be the reason you sought me out, am I right?”
You bite on your lip so hard it hurts. Your hand was clenched tight, you wanted to flee. Your resolve is crumbling bit by bit. It’s no secret that you are afraid of the Tsahik. You knew her ability, and knew what she could do. For a moment you considered backing out, but Neteyam’s face appeared in your mind, reminding you what you must do.
And you must do it now. Now, or never.
You never wanted to mate with Aonung. From the moment you learned how to think, you just saw him as a brother. It never once crossed your mind that you’d mate with him, even when your grandfather arranged you with him. Instead of facing the truth, you pretended the arrangement wasn’t real and cowardly hoped everyone would change their mind. Everyone seemed content with it, it was only you who cannot accept it.
“...I came here to express my desire to break my arrangement with Aon—”
“PREPOSTEROUS!” 
BANG!
A small stone jar broke into several pieces in front of you. One grazed your cheek, causing it to bleed. It stings, but perhaps the pain in your heart was a lot stronger. You closed your eyes when Ronal pulled you to stand up roughly.
“What are you saying now, child?! Have you lost your mind?! You cannot easily dismiss an arrangement you worked hard for so many years!”
Before you can even reply, she pushes you roughly, making you stumble a few steps back. You can no longer control your tears as the Olo-eyktan, Aonung, and Tsireya came charging in the marui.
“What is causing all these commotions, Tsahik?” With a loud thunderous voice, the olo-eyktan questioned. At this moment, everyone noticed the commotion and was watching with confused eyes. Aonung and Tsireya were looking at you and Ronal back and forth, trying to decipher what could have led to these confrontations. You cannot look them in the eye, feeling ashamed.
Ronal sneered and pointed at you, voice shrill as she said. “This foolish girl wants to break her arrangement with Aonung! An arrangement approved by great mother Eywa!”
You can hear gasps and murmurs of your clansmen, looking at you with unapproving eyes. You almost wanted to laugh. Eywa’s will? No. The great mother would not be so cruel. You are also her child, she would not force you in a loveless arrangement, would she?
In your peripherals you can see Aonung bowing his head, clenching his hands into fist. You cannot see the expression he’s making, but you know he’s furious. At you, maybe. Tsireya was trying her best to not cry, looking at you with a sympathetic gaze. It makes you feel better, giving you air to breathe. You avoided her gaze and looked back at Ronal and Tonowari with defiant eyes, even more resolute in your decision.
“Is this true, ____?” Tonowari’s jaw tightened, his gaze held disappointment and disapproval.
“Yes, Olo-eyktan. That is true.” You were surprised at how calm your voice is, the conviction in it so palpable as if you have finally found your voice after all those years of being mute.
Tonowari closed his eyes, trying to control his temper while Ronal got even more furious. “Girl, it would do you well to remember that it was your grandfather who begged us for this arrangement! How ridiculous of you to throw all that away for your nonsensical whims!”
You understand Ronal’s anger. Of course she’d be furious, all those years of preparing you to be the next Tsahik would be put to waste, and she’d start all over again. But you’re done with always thinking about others. Of putting everyone’s happiness before yours. At least at this moment, you want to be selfish. You want to choose yourself, even if it means hurting others and yourself in the process.
“Indeed, it was my grandfather who begged for this arrangement. All he wants is to make me happy, but I am not happy, Tsahik. I have finally gained confidence to say that this is not the path for me, and Eywa can bear witness. All those years I remained silent, but I can no longer do that. Not when—”
“It’s Neteyam, isn’t it? You wanted to break the arrangement because you have fallen for an outsider!”
You froze, staring wide-eyed at Aonung as he did the worst thing he could ever do in this situation. Bringing up Neteyam. You knew things would get far more complicated once Neteyam got caught in the issue. All this time you’re treading carefully, hoping not to get Neteyam involved, but Aonung just has to ruin it for you.
“That’s not—” 
“I’ll kill him!” Aonung ruthlessly pushed Tsireya away when she tried stopping him. As you were about to run after him, Tonwari pinned you at your place with just his gaze. You could only shoot Tsireya a begging look before standing back in place. Tsireya shot you a small supportive smile before running after aonung.
“You have fallen for the Sully boy? Don’t try to lie, child. I have watched you grow up, like you’re my own child. So you must tell us the truth.”
“ABSURD! I knew taking in that fam—”
“Tsahik you must calm down, you are with a child.”
Ronal scoffed, turning around in anger. She refused to look at you. Perhaps too disappointed to even spare you a glance. 
You have no choice but to admit it. “Yes. I wish to be with Neteyam, but it is not the only reason why I want to dismiss the arrangement. I do not see Aonung as anything more than a brother. It would be unfair for Aonung if I force myself into this arrangement without my heart in it.”
“My son is will be an excellent man, I'm sure you'll learn to adore him when he becomes a man. You—”
“My decision is final. Begging the Olo-eyktan and Tsahik to consider my plea.”
Tonowari regarded you with a searching gaze. He had always known you as silent, reserved, and obedient. Someone who would immediately follow orders in silence. At this moment, he’s seeing you in a new light. Seeing your determination and sincerity, he waved his hand. “Are you certain of this, _____? Once you let go, you can never get it back.”
You smiled, appreciating Tonowari’s care for you, but you don’t want to go back. Not when freedom is near, almost within your grasp. “I am certain, Olo-eyktan. I will stand by my choice until the end.”
Ronal sneered at your words, glancing at Tonowari, telling him to wake you up from your delusions, but Tonowari avoided her gaze. Instead, he said to you, “I’ll give you an answer soon, but you must tell your grandfather of your plan yourself.”
“Tonowari!” Ronal shrieked, but Tonowari only motioned you to leave as he said. “Leave us, I’ll talk to the Tsahik.”
So you did. With your heart singing in joy, you ran towards Neteyam’s marui, only for your excitement to turn into horror as you saw Aonung being held back by others and Neteyam standing in front of him with bleeding lips.
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“You!” Aonung’s furious shout immediately caught everyone’s attention. He was heaving, anger so palpable that everyone quickly backed away from him, afraid of attracting his ire.
Neteyam was standing in front of their marui when he saw Aonung charging at him with a furious expression. His eyes narrowed and was about to ask what’s his problem when Aonung approached him and...
SMACK!
“Woah woah woah! What are you doing?!?”
Jake immediately pulled Neteyam behind his back as Neteyam’s ears buzzed, cheek and the corner of his lips stinging. Aonung had slapped him hard enough for his head to turn. Hearing the commotion, Neytiri, Kiri, Lo’ak and Tuk had also emerged from the marui, standing behind Jake and Neteyam with sharp eyes. Seeing Neteyam’s bloodied lips, Neytiri hissed at Aonung. 
“You fish  lips! How dare you hurt my brother!” Lo’ak angrily shouted, planning to teach Aonung another lesson when Neteyam pulled him back. Although unwilling, Lo’ak shook his head and glared at Aonung as he stepped back. 
Neteyam gave his mother a glance, telling her he’s fine and he can handle it. Although worried, Neytiri took a step back and took Kiri and Tuk’s hand into hers,  allowing Jake and Neteyam to take control of the situation. 
It is clear to Neteyam what that slap meant. The reason why Aonung is so mad at him, as if ready to murder him any second. It was your face that appeared in Neteyam’s mind, your promise to him in your secret place. He closed his eyes and let out a laugh, joy filling his heart instead of anger. The pain in his cheek faded. It’s all worth it, because Aonung’s presence here only means you have made your move and fulfilled your promise to him. 
Neteyam’s laughter seems to provoke Aonung as he begins cursing, trying to hit Neteyam. Jake on the other hand looked at his oldest son, incredulous. Did he just laugh after getting slapped?
“This is between me and your son, Toruk Makto! He must fight me!”
“Dad, let me handle this. This is something I must do.”
Jake’s jaw tightened, when Neteyam motioned for him to step back, he hesitated. Neteyam had to urge him again before he stepped away, still worried about Neteyam. 
Neteyam stood face to face with Aonung, chin held high as he regarded that other man, not afraid to meet his furious eyes. “Let’s talk, brother.”
“I am not your brother!” Aonung hissed as he delivered another slap, but Neteyam dodged it easily. Seeing him unscathed, Aonung launched another hit but Tsireya had also arrived, pulling Aonung back with all her strength. “Aonung, stop! You must not resort to violence!”
“Let go sister! I must teach this kurkung a lesson!”
Tsireya cried out when Aonung accidentally elbowed her. Lo’ak seeing his girl being hurt, almost went forward again, but was glared at by his mother. Seeing Tsireya struggling, their clansmen finally regained their senses and held the flailing metkayina successor. Aonung hissed angrily at his captors, regretting that he lost focus a moment for hurting his beloved sister.
Finally held down, Aonung was no longer flailing as hard as before, but was still glaring daggers at Neteyam. The latter merely wiped his lips with his hand, not caring about the sting, seemingly in cloud nine.
“Tell us boy, what is the reason for your anger? What did my son do to get such a reaction from you?” Neytiri’s ears were pinned back, tail swishing side by side. She's displeased that her son got hurt when they didn't even have a clear idea of what warranted that slap. 
Aonung huffed, pointing at Neteyam with a vicious snarl. “He stole my mate! He stole ______ from me!”
Silence. For a moment, the breeze and the waves are the only noises that can be heard, before everyone breaks into a myriad of reactions. Jake closed his eyes as he groaned, feeling a headache coming. Neytiri merely sighed, having been aware of her son’s relations with you. Kiri muttered up a few “what the fuck”, Lo’ak nudging his brother with a triumphant grin, and Tuk who looked a bit confused.
Neteyam cleared his throat. “Aonung, calm down and listen to me. She’s not your mate yet. You haven’t made tsaheylu before Eywa. She also told me that you do not desire each other, and are merely fulfilling your duties to the clan. Now that she wants to dismiss the arrangement, you must respect her ideas. Whether it's me, or any other man, you must allow her to choose.”
Aonung sneered,  shaking his head as he started laughing uncontrollably. Tears began falling from his eyes as he stared at the sky. Whispering he said, “What does she even know about what I feel for her? She knows nothing! You hear me? She knows nothing!”
At this moment, Neteyam’s chest tightened. A sense of foreboding from the depths of his mind. His doubts that he tried to deny began surfacing again. “What do you mean by that?”
Before Aonung could say anything, you came running towards Neteyam’s side, shaking as you examined him all over. When you saw the bruise on his face, the tears you have been trying to control fell freely. Pain eroded your heart as traced his wounds with your fingers.
Seeing you, the panic in Neteyam's heart settled. He held you close in relief as he said, “I’m fine, ocean girl. Do not cry, for it makes me want to cry too. Shush, I’m fine.”
Looking at his solemn eyes, you nodded and took a deep breath. You wiped your tears and turned towards Aonung. He wasn’t looking at you, tears still falling from his eyes. It hurts you to see him like this, for Aonung has never shed tears all his life. You hurt him. You betrayed his trust, broke the promise the two of you made. 
But it must be done.
Walking towards him, you took his hands and held them tightly. It made him look at you, but you cannot read his eyes. “Aonung, I know what I did is something that cannot be easily forgiven. I threw all the grace that you and your family had given me, but I know in my heart that I do not regret what I did, and will never regret it for the rest of my life. I just want you to understand.”
He stared at you for a long while, taking in your features. You looked at him with pleading eyes, hoping he’d understand where you are coming from. 
“You’re so selfish, ______.”
“I’m sorry, Aonung. I truly am.”
“I do not need your apologies, _______. A broken trust cannot be mended by simple apologies.”
Wrenching his hands from your grasp, he pushed everyone away, not once does he ever look back. You stared at his back and sobbed as Neteyam took you in his arms silently, warm hands cupping your face as he wiped your tears with his thumbs.
“Hush now, ocean girl. We're still far from being done. You still have to face my family.” He teased, smiling at you as he pressed a kiss on your forehead. 
“Shut up, skxawng. I’m having a moment and you ruined it.”
Laughing, he shrugged. “I can’t just watch a pretty girl cry y’know? Makes me want to cry too.”
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A/N: screaming crying punching kicking— ahhhhh last chapter remaining! this series has a lot of holes i have to mend after i finish the last chapter. but it's a rough draft so it's expected. anyways, feedback is very much appreciated! thank you very much, mwah!
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raphaerolo · 13 days ago
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This is how i hold obitine in my mind: mostly untraumatized (mostly), silly lil cutie patooties and yet moments away from an incredibly catty argument at any given time
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minkdelovely · 3 days ago
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I am jet-lagged and emotionally wrought, but nevertheless so fucking thrilled to have finally gotten the time to sit down and read this absolutely IMMACULATE chapter.
Hazel… I feel like I say this all the time, but how you manage to keep weaving this magnificent web of yours week after week is truly awe-inspiring. We’re getting close to the end, but you still make sure to impart as much emotional impact as possible. I believe this is the first time we ever got a solid block of Alastor’s POV, and if I’m being honest, idk if I would survive more 😭😂♥️
The mood of this chapter was so needed — they’ve been going through so much, and something was bound to snap. So to see them get closer on the other side is just so rewarding. I just want them to be happy god damn it! 🥲
I know you don’t typically foray into angst, but I’m not surprised you knocked it out of the park Hazel! I hope you’re just feeling more and more proud of yourself with each chapter! ♥️
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
Where had she walked in New Orleans? Where did she meet Alastor’s father? You had to wonder what he had looked like. Surely he was handsome. Was he kind to her, like Alastor was to you? Or had it been a one night stand?
A small smile, she didn’t look like the type but looks could be deceiving. Alastor didn’t look like the kind of man who kissed bloodied cheeks and tossed heads into holes.
ruminating on Alastor’s mom is gonna get me every fucking time tbh 😩 and the second part with Alastor’s deceiving looks… that pretty face and charm will take him everywhere!
You knew he wasn’t a virgin, and he’d mentioned before he’d been happily coupled with others before his preferences became their frustrations.
BABYYY OMG THIS WENT STRAIGHT THROUGH MY HEART 😩
Did they properly express their gratitude? Doubtful. How many times did he acquiesce to his partner’s wants and then be treated like it was the expectation and not an exception of his affections?
no one will care about him the way we care about him — it’s simply not possible
The closer you got, the more nervous you were to see him. Not knowing how he felt, be it angry or worried or a mix of the two, was doing you in.
imagining him angry is honestly so scary; my anxiety just ticked up 😩
From insulted to panicked, you realized you’d forgotten about your face. Pushing the heavy wooden door open to the bathroom, your reflection caught you off guard. Your eyes were encircled in black, scleras red, blush smeared into your hairline, and your lips were soft around the edges from misplaced lipstick. You looked like a wreck in human form.
HONESTLY MY WORST NIGHTMARE
With one more glance at your disheveled appearance you sheepishly returned to the entrance and peeked into the dining room again. Everyone was dressed so nicely. You could imagine Alastor fitting in quite well.
WHY DID THIS MAKE MY HEART CLENCH?? 😩♥️
“I thought you’d be more fatale and less femme. Anyways, your deadweight’s in the alley.” 
MIMZYYYY!! tbh this is such a perfect introduction for her ❤️‍🔥
He turned, smiled, and rushed towards you. Taking your head in his hands he kissed you on the lips, and when you pulled back he leaned in, tongue pressing into your mouth.
BRUV WE ARE IN PUBLIC!!
Parks were different. Parks were made for such things. 
not only for kisses 👀 hehehe
He was drunk. Completely smashed. Normally you wouldn’t care, drunk Alastor could be quite cute. But you’d been prepared for and in need of someone to talk to. Someone to ease the mess of feelings in your gut. Instead you were handed a job as caretaker and impromptu driver. You’d have to wait until the morning for any kind of sympathetic comfort.
the way I immediately feel the frustration and disappointment. he’s not even just drunk, but SLOPPILY so 😩
Alastor pulled his arm from your hold, “At that little park. Audubon.” He pointed west, saying it with a perfect accent. “Anyway, I’m gonna kill him. Maybe right now! Did I tell ya? I know where he lives.” He crossed the street without looking. 
LET THE BABYSITTING COMMENCE 🫠
“Alastor, yes. He’s got two kids, a wife. He stays out late, obsessin’ over us no doubt.”
my cortisol has spiked, but there’s something about this line that just makes me smile 😂🙈
“Who are you to stop me? To tell me,” a pause as he lost his balance and leaned too far to the right, catching himself with a sneer to his own legs. He turned back and continued on his way, “what I can and cannot do.” You stopped. The sound of his mother’s shoes no longer snapping behind him made Alastor pause his clumsy march and look back at you. “Are ya really not comin’?” His sharp tone had shifted down to a whiny, almost pleading one.
so much here… the hurt from his words, but also just how clearly we can see that he’s barely keeping it together. wonderfully executed, my love 🥹♥️
Hiding yourself from him felt like betrayal, so you’d abandoned it some time ago. Your chin quivered, hands gripping the sides of your dress in stress. Your eyes were pleading with him to not do this. To not throw you away so easily. Diminish you with one slurred sentence. It felt like a dare to your pride. A choice, your self respect or his attention. It was a rhetorical question, as the answer would be a revelation to an entirely different quandary. 
UGHHHH IT HURTS SO GOOD!! he really is coming off as so callous right now — it’s brutal 😩
Alastor stared you down, his height finally mattering in a way you didn’t like. 
SHIVERS
The only way he could ever truly hurt you was with that cutting muscle behind his teeth. 
HAZEL OH MY GODDDD 😭🫠
Turning around, you walked the way you’d both just come because truth be told you had no idea how to get home from where you were. You just needed to get away from him before you said something you didn’t mean. Before he said something you couldn’t forget. 
as heartbreaking as this is, I admire that Autumn is walking away before it gets worse and not like~ digging in from the pain. i don’t know that i’d be that strong 😭
You’d barely gotten five steps when you heard a clank to the ground. Turning just enough to see behind you, you noticed the car door key on the sidewalk. Alastor’s grin wide and childlike.
BITCH!! 😭
He slumped against the passenger side window the entire car ride home. You struggled with the shifting stick, and he didn’t offer any help. A petulant brat pouting into the glass.
tbh nothing I hate more than a tense car ride… ALASTOR GOD DAMN IT!! 😩
“Suit yourself. I don’t have patience for this, Alastor. You’re acting like a brat when I’m the one who had the hard night.” You turned to go upstairs before coming back, something your mother always did in arguments that you hated, “And I really don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me. We’ll talk in the morning.”
THE TURNING BACK IS ALWAYS SUCH A KNIFE IN THE GUT
It wasn’t until you were under the covers, alone, did you begin to cry. It was mostly anger, if you were honest. But a good dose of self pity mixed in. Practically running to find him, after thinking about just him for hours before, and to be met with a drunken child was disappointing beyond measure. And the disrespect of tossing his keys…
THE KEYS!!! IT WAS SUCH A SLAP IN THE FACE!! 😩
You could remember the uneasy feeling you had when your mother would leave you with friends when she had work. How every inch moved felt like you were brushing into poison ivy, it wasn’t your space, you didn’t know the rules or the norms. Now you felt you no longer knew your place in Alastor’s home. 
this is truly such a horrific feeling… i hate that we’ve all seemed to feel the sting of it 🥺
Which was fine, you lied to yourself. You just needed to know the parameters so you could stay within them. Not take things too seriously. Not expect too much from him.
Not give too much of yourself. 
this is such a specific form of fear of rejection… I can relate only too well 😩
You couldn’t believe you had wanted to tell him you loved him. How long had you choked back those words for your own personal safety, just to be in a man’s home far from your own with no real way back.
I’M WRITHING OH MY GODDD THE HURT AND THE SHAMEEE WHYY??
A shiny and sunlit movie played of him slipping off your shoes and putting yours on his feet. 
I am honestly never not thinking about the whole thing with the shoes…
Lying down again, you tried to take deep breaths. He’d said he wasn’t mad at you. Was he not allowed to make mistakes? Could he not be angry around you without you taking it personally even when he said it wasn't for you? That was unfair of you. You were expecting a drunk man to speak clearly and with well thought out perception of how he’d be heard. The reasons for his drunkenness were unknown, and when you stopped to consider things more, you’d never just out right told him how you felt. Until you were upset and going up the stairs. Admittedly, to your defense, he was very drunk. 
this is genuinely one of the most emotional mature things I’ve ever read in my entire life — and something I’m gonna try to keep in mind the next time I’ve lost my temper
The idea of him waking up to an empty home and a migraine almost brought you back to tears. Alastor’s distaste for being alone had become clear, in the way he used to go out often just to have dance company, how he so quickly pulled you into his home and lap. You’d feel his heart break from across the river if you up and left while he slept. 
and I’m full circle to wanting nothing more than to cuddle this man… Hazel I swear to fucking god 🫠♥️
The best way to find out if someone was worth trusting was to trust them. Alastor had been worth so much more than you’d expected a person could be. This was just a hiccup. 
NO WORDS JUST MY HEART WEEPING
Alastor, what more could he do? What on earth could he possibly get away with? He had no interest in stepping out, and he couldn’t easily date when his hobbies and home were crime scenes.
GETTING BIG FEELINGS AGAIN FOR OUR LONELY, MURDEROUS BOY 🥺♥️
He would make it better. He would say whatever really happened in the morning and fix it. You could trust that and let your eyes finally close. Alastor hadn’t failed you yet, and you believed he wouldn’t start now. 
Alastor, darling, for the love of god please I’m begging for clarification 😭
When you woke up, it was early. Unnaturally early for you. But stress did that. Whatever the opposite of Christmas morning, that was the mechanism pulling you out of bed as the sun was just beginning to rise. 
BEEN THERE AND IT SUCKS
He was still asleep on the couch when you crept down the stairs. He looked like shit. Which made you feel a little good. If he looked perfect it’d be immensely dissatisfying.
this was such a glorious way to humanize our otherwise ethereal husband 🙏🏻✨
You heard the creak of the screen door and felt the old wood bend behind you as he finally stumbled out. He plopped down beside you, before lowering himself to his right side and resting his head on your lap. He stared out at the greenhouse like you did. Your hands twitched to touch him, but you kept them to your sides. 
AUTUMN I TRULY ADMIRE YOUR STRENGTH
“You are my darling.” He said with a raspy voice hoarse from an intoxicated dehydration. You finally looked at him, but he didn’t meet the gaze. “That’s who you are.”
“You sure didn’t make me feel like your anything last night.” Your tone was cold and sharp, spoken like a stranger scolding another. Stay strong, you thought. Make him understand how he made you feel before, even if you were already cooling off. 
You saw the fabric of your white slip turn a storm grey beneath his face, tears tumbling across the bridge of his nose before seeping into the night dress.
LIKE GENUINELY SO FUCKING STRONG — I WOULD HAVE FOLDED LIKE A WET NEWSPAPER JESUS CHRIST 😭
He nodded, slick and smooth face gliding over the silk. A sob, choked and broken as he buried his head again into your lap. “I’d never felt so helpless, I just…I responded very selfishly. I’m sorry.” 
The heavy and hot indignation finally began to cool in you, and you let yourself run your fingers through his hair. 
AHHHHH THIS IS PRECISELY WHAT I WANT: TO PET THIS SAD LITTLE MAN
You thought for a moment. The safety in Alastor’s killings were the degrees of separation between him and his targets. The plausible deniability. The lack of obvious motive. If you could find that same safety net when killing Brady, then, sure. “When he’s no longer a threat to us. When no one will be shocked to hear he’s dead.” 
YOU BAD BITCH OMGGGG Kenneth must be feeling a chill down his spine as we speak!! 😂
“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.” Alastor inched his body closer to you. “I’ve never been a bigger failure in all my life than last night. In every way. To myself and to you.” His head turned, the soft and sharp features alike of his face burying into your lap. A gentle shake of his shoulders as he lost his fight to not weep openly into you broke your heart. He let out a weak and muffled series of sounds, followed by a louder and clearer, “Do you want to leave me?”
I ACTUALLY CAN’T FUCKING HANDLE THIS. THE FACT THAT I CAN’T COMFORT HIM MYSELF IS A FUCKING CRIME!!
You pulled his head up by the back of his collar. With your first good look at him in the crisp orange morning light you could see his lips were red and raw from nervous chewing, his hair lacking its usual shine or form. The right side of his face was wet. Tears new and old began to reroute and slide down his high cheeks and pointed jaw. They met at the very bottom of his chin, for the first time in their short lives, and dropped onto you in little couplings. Falling like they were made to always do just that. Just now. Just for him. A fate you could understand so naturally it was bordering on unnerving. A love story you were sure you were playing out.
HAZEL SHAKESPEARE IS GETTING US GOOD Y’ALL HOW I’M STILL CONSCIOUS DEFIES SCIENCE
How rarely you’d seen a man cry. In the past perhaps you’d have been put off. Cringed. Considered it a pathetic show of weakness and lost respect for them. But all you could feel now was a pain so deep and all encompassing it felt as if your skin was cracking off. A dry river bed in the heat of summer. What had been there before? Disgust? Indifference? Even his tears were of a magnitude more important than anyone else’s. Every piece of him mattered more to you. 
this whole paragraph is a baseball bat to my psyche
You were in that worst kind of love; Unconditional. 
SLAP MY ASS AND CALL ME MEGARA
“Give me a little time. I’ll show you how stupid of a question that is over our first fight,” Your thumbs wiped away his tears. The handkerchief came back to view, so you gingerly took it and dabbed the sacred lacrima from his cheeks. You took his head between both hands and stared unflinching into the sweet, sun kissed brown of his eyes, “I never want to leave you. Even if I do, even if somehow I’m convinced to go, you’ll have to rip your heart out of my cold dead hands or I’ll take it with me.” 
I’VE LOST ANY AND ALL ARTICULATION
Another torrent of tears from him and a reply so earnest and so sure your body leaned back with surprise, “But, it’s not mine anymore. Isn’t that obvious?” He half whispered it into the ether.
HAZEL PLEASE I’M SO WEAK IT’S TOO BEAUTIFUL OH MY GOD
“If you ever speak to me like you did last night again, with that sharp tone and cruel words, sober or not…” you trailed off, begging him to not make you say it. Don’t force you to make threats you didn’t want to keep. Things you’d be ashamed of not following through with. Little self failures you were genetically predisposed of committing. 
“You can take my heart with you.” 
AAAHHHHH I CAN’T BELIEVE I GET A SECOND DOSE OF THIS THROUGH ALASTOR’S POV — I am floundering and grateful all at once 😩♥️
- — - — - — - — -
A trickle of fear dropped down his spine. Worst case scenario didn’t quite exist as some ladder of concerns, he just felt tremendous fear you were dead. That was the only rung. Had someone been watching you, that he didn’t notice as he was too preoccupied with watching Brady? 
ALASTORRR I’m not strong enough for this!! 😭♥️
Alastor didn’t move. Hand still in the air between them. Johnny registered the distinct lack of light in Alastor’s eyes. He took a deep breath in, Alastor looked like a photograph of a man before him. There but, just a facsimile of human.
he’s in such disbelief omggg 🥺 this paints such a visual!!
Alastor’s mouth opened and then closed. He swallowed, then smiled, and his head did a little tilt. Ruth looked from him to Johnny. Alastor’s rolodex of canned responses spun infinitely around in his mind. Nothing was catching. There wasn’t a facial expression or comment or body posture in existence he had prepared for this conversation. Because he hadn’t ever predicted such a situation.
baby got the rug pulled out from under his feet 😭
The man he punched? What was his name again? No. He didn’t know where you worked. He didn’t know your name. 
William, for good measure, my darling buck
He was in disarray, a tremble in his hands making him pause and stare at his own body with a loss of recognition.
I love how he’s so immediately ready to pay whatever price while he’s literally floating away from himself… THE WAY YOU MAKE ME LOVE THIS MAN 🥲
“Hey, I was there that night you cornered Tommy into the booth. I saw you two. The night he hit her. Tommy was a real piece of shit. And I’m glad he’s gone.”
JOHNNY!! 😭😭😭
“Well, go have a drink, try to just… try to stay calm.” Ruth’s words barely entered his mind as he stumbled out into the night. Thoughts came so quickly and in such a multitude that Alastor found his head entirely empty, unable to latch onto any single one.
he’s in such shock; I know we’re going through it with Kenneth but damn this is pulling at my heartstrings 🥺
Long fingers gripped the steering wheel, knuckles an uncomfortable white with the force. How much would it take to snap the wheel? Had anyone ever tried before?
blacking out on the drive and now just so fucking angry… he really knows how to get me scared (for him) 😭
There was no fear you’d say anything. It simply didn’t exist. Even trying to conjure the idea of you telling anyone who he was and what he did was ridiculous to him. A dark part of him knew that notion was born out of a blinding fear and not out of true trust. Because if you did such a thing, it’d mean he’d been wrong about everything. That he couldn’t trust his own decisions anymore. What would he do if you did confess?
WHY ARE THEY SO SIMILAR AND SO NERVOUS ABOUT COMMUNICATING?? 🥲
Alastor made a beeline for the bathrooms just past the entrance of the Grano D'oro. His hair was mussed, his pupils constricted. He drew his bottom lip in and began chewing it nervously, hands pushing his hair back into some form of style. A cough to clear out his tightening throat, he straightened his bow tie and suit jacket. Staring at his reflection, he flinched. An unsettling feeling in his bones that if he stared long enough, it would take on a life of its own.
THE PARALLEL WITH BEING A MESS IN THE BATHROOM AHHHH!!!
Alastor offered passing pleasantries to a few people and smiled as he was escorted past them to the private dining section of Grano D'oro.
picturing him going through the motions is honestly so painful 🥺
Through the kitchen, with a smile and another nod to the staff who all sang his name as he walked by, Alastor made it to the barely visible door to the side.
but I am absolutely not surprised the kitchen staff adores him 🥹
“Little late for you isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be at home with your heart.” She dragged out the word, eyes rolling not at the idea of you but at the idea of someone being more important than a night out.
THIS IS SO FUCKING LOADED — HOW MANY TIMES HAS HE COME TO MIMZY TO TALK ABOUT READER AAAAHHHH!!!
“Oh fuck.” Mimzy added two more fingers to the glass. “What for?”
this feels very me for some reason lmao
Nervously he chewed on his bottom lip, biting red lines into the soft pink flesh. Mimzy stared, unnoticed. She couldn’t remember the last time he looked sad. He did sometimes open up when drunk, perhaps smiling through a pitiful story. Or dancing when she knew he was bruised in either his ego or his heart. But, normally, for Alastor, he kept the obvious and plain emotions kept tightly buttoned up. 
I LOVE THEIR FRIENDSHIP SO MUCH — the way she sees him is just… I can’t put it into words!
“And you can’t just,” she made a fist with her thumb stuck out and dragged it across her neck in a cutting motion, “get rid of the issue?”
Mimzy you rascal!!
Killing Brady would solve everything. And it’d feel good. It’d feel….ah, he leaned back, letting his chest open and fill with the shadow of satisfaction, it’d be the best kill yet. How would he do it, he wondered. It’d have to be special. Slow. Perhaps even over the course of days. Oh, or better yet, perhaps he could show Brady exactly how he disposed of his targets. Piece by piece, taking from him and letting him watch as he buried his parts in deep holes. Giving him all the answers to his questions before snuffing out his nagging life. 
as much as I belittle Kenneth, I am no match for the way Alastor wants to belittle Kenneth
No one would believe Brady, he considered. If someone pulled him back into the shadows of his tree lined street with a blade to his throat and gave him the warning of what was to come if he kept this up….Did he have any allies in this at work?
MUAHAHAHAHA I LOVE ME SOME PARANOID KENNETH! Go get him honey 😂❤️‍🔥😈
In fact, as he took a slower sip of his somehow still full glass, he thought she was quite right. Brady was testing his pride. Hurting the closest person he had to get at him. This was villain activity. 
I just love the irony of Kenneth “Clutching Pearls” Brady being painted A VILLAIN (and it’s not untrue)
Either Brady thought Alastor was all bark and no bite, only attacking men alone at night, or, worse, he thought Alastor was using you.
I can’t lie, his masculine pride is really doing something for me lmao
“Don’t try to distract me. I’m in no mood for such trivial things, Mimz. My love was arrested. At work no less. I’m useless.”
ALASTORRRR I CAN’T WITH YOU SAYING THIS SO CASUALLY!!
You looked different than she’d expected. She wasn’t really sure what she was expecting…actually, on second thought, she had just imagined a female Alastor. Alastor with a perm and an empire waist dress. A little out of fashion but classy. 
why is this so endearing to me? 😭♥️
He’d translate his determination into lavishing you. When you made a yelp and pushed him away, he was confused. Why weren’t you happy to see him? 
and the miscommunication begins 😭🙈
Your breath against his body when you and him first entertained affection came to his mind so intensely he thought maybe he had been pulled back in time.
HEHEHE Alastor I was thinking the same thing earlier 👀
Brady had done this. You’d never– He was just trying to clean up his mess. Why did people think they could dictate his life so freely? Why did what he wanted to do not matter, even though he was just trying to be a good man?
I know it’s drunk brain, but I’m so sad that he’s so quick to believe we would buy into some BS from KENNETH FUCKING BRADY 😭
Alastor paused to stare down at his legs. Et tu, crura? Even his own body was betraying him.
An ‘et tu’ will always get me good but this is also just so adorable to me how offended he is by losing his balance 😂♥️
What an odd question. Had you used your stage name so long you’d forgotten your true one. He laughed, what a silly thing to ask! “Now who is drunk?”
omggg he really didn’t realize what else came out of his mouth!! 😭
Your turning and walking back forward the restaurant made his eyes roll. Oh, the keys still. He pulled them from his pocket, fine, have them. I give up. Failure pile growin’ every minute.
Reminder that pity parties are not cute — our guy fucked 👏🏻 up 👏🏻
But when you turned around, he could feel the rage rolling off of your body. Alastor couldn’t pinpoint what it was about your face that was different than usual, but just beneath your skin he could see a you he’d never met before. One he didn’t care to meet. 
case in point 🫠
The pain behind his sternum was akin to a splintering rod; stiff, solid, and biting every time he moved. No one had ever made him feel this way before. He couldn’t put his finger on the feeling though, it was sadness, and it hurt, but there was something deeper. Something underneath these shallow reactions that dredged up a vague sense of mourning.
oh darling your drunk brain got you so focused on the wrong thing 😭
He slammed the car door behind him and fell into the sofa as soon as he could. Nothing went right. The day had started so wonderfully… you’d felt like a part of himself he’d finally found. And now….
SOBBING
He thought it and immediately winced. Not alone alone. Please, if anyone had been listening, please disregard it. That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t mean that at all.
HE CAN’T BE ALONE AND I’LL NEVER BE OKAY ABOUT IT
His thoughts and the room were liquid and floating up into the atmosphere. Alastor was confident he would follow them up. 
we all float here Alastor 😂🎈
Patience… there it was. You’d lost patience with him. And you’d been so patient for months now. Waiting in bars and cars while he killed. Waiting for him while he threw body parts into holes and snapping jaws. Waiting for weeks beside him for inspiration to strike and for him to seek your intimacy in more serious touch.
I thought I’d be okay in the second round but IT HURTS EVEN MORE??
The yellow pillow was pulled to his face to muffle his scream.
this being one of his coping mechanisms when he feels embarrassed/ashamed of himself just… really cuts through me for some reason. There’s an innocence to it that just makes my heart swell 😭♥️
For all he knew, you’d made up your mind already. How odd. He himself was the cat in the box. He could already be dead and not even know it.
WE GET LATIN AND SCHRÖDINGER’S CAT ALL IN ONE CHAPTER?? IT MUST BE CHRISTMAS
The handle of your bag peeking out from under the dresser. It had been in the closet, he had emptied it and put it there for you so he knew that to be a fact.
OH GOD OF COURSE HE WOULD NOTICE THE BAG
He couldn’t find the courage to check. Rushing past it like it could come to life and grab him by the ankles, he went to the nightstand beside his side of the bed and opened the drawer, the bright yellow of your handkerchief calming him just a sliver. If he kept it, you’d have to come back. He could call you and remind you to come back for it. And then he could convince you to stay. His mother always said he was good with words. If you forgot it at his house when you left he’d have a way to bring you home again. Fresh tears welled, the backs of his hands smearing them into his hairline.
I AM A WRITHING FUCKING MESS ON THE FLOOR!! HAZEL!! 😩😭
Sitting on the second to last step of the house, he took a moment to collect himself. Being so frazzled, so undone, wasn’t like him. That foreignness just added to the panic. Bringing a hand to his chest, he opened his shirt to run his fingers down his sternum and to the left. A beating heart, evidence he was the survivor in every encounter he’d been in. But now, half a house between your and his back, why did he feel the most in danger? Rarely did fight or flight kick in, the last time he felt it was rolling around with that man who’d tried to choke the life out of you. 
No strange man here now. Just strange feelings. 
Hazel I actually really fucking can’t with you right now… ♥️
If you didn’t accept it….Alastor had never begged a day in his life, but he could see himself begging you to stay. Perhaps hugging your ankles and promising things he didn’t have. There was no longer an impossibility in what he would do, which was alarming. The idea of him being so pathetic and pitiful was nauseating, however there was no one and nothing that could stop that if you got up and left. 
OH MY GODDDDD
But that was what made you worth the risk. It began as entertainment, but soon enough the dome of your stage extended out and around him, sheltering Alastor in the warm light of your presence. And now as he looked around the railing of his stairs, he was scared to see the exit lights flicker on. 
AAAAAHHHH!!!! AAAHHHHH!!!!!! I AM A MESS!!! AAAHHH!!!
And he’d made you feel like nothing to him. The mountain of derelictions crumbled under the weight of perhaps his biggest failure of the evening, an avalanche of embarrassment and shame washed over him and he didn’t try to impede his tears. Men were only supposed to cry on their wedding day and at funerals, but he supposed this day could still go either way. Could still be as pivotal to his happiness.
ahhhh you’ve gone with the baseball bat again, I see. Excellent choice, my love 🫠
‘I’m sorry’ was just crystals of salt dropped in the gulf.
HAZEL!!! I CAN’T!!!
“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.” He pulled himself closer again. Brady was nothing compared to the threat of losing you. “I’ve never been a bigger failure in all my life than last night. In every way. To myself and to you.” What a joke he was. How high and mighty and curated he tried to be that he forgot the point of it. A shield he turned to you was just a barrier between what he desperately wanted by his side. His tears returned with renewed vigor, the complete breakdown of his manicured image was a tell tale heart he couldn’t smile away anymore, the greatest weakness he was never so happy to call his own. Muffled by your clothing and inviting lap, “I just love you so much…” he choked and then sucked in a deep breath to try and get control of himself, shifting his face to the side again to watch your face for an immediate reaction to his question, “Do you want to leave me?”
A MUTTERED CONFESSION!!! YOU KNOW WHAT HAZEL YOU WIN THE WAR OKAY?? MY CASTLE HAS BEEN SUFFICIENTLY PLUNDERED AND YOU CAN RULE OVER MY SOUL AND DOMAIN AS YOU PLEASE — I WAS A FOOL TO EVER KEEP UP THE FIGHT!
He couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t keep that little yellow fabric in his hands even after you parted, but he could swear to not try and guilt you back into his arms. 
I really don’t know how I’ve made it this far… I’m being pummeled into DUST
Take his heart back? His mind finally processed the words. It was yours. The morning had proved to him he couldn’t claw it back if he truly wanted, and if he was further honest with himself, he didn’t want it. It was better off with you. He felt the air cooling the once body-warm tears, he whispered what he felt was too vulnerable to say at full volume, “But, it’s not mine anymore. Isn’t that obvious?” His eyes looked down at your feet pointed in towards his own. Was this pathetic display not making it glaringly evident he was a man turned inside out? Guts in his hands and heart in yours?
transforming from dust into vapor…
His body was a tool, and he’d use every tool he had available to make you understand what you meant to him. Would you feel different now, now that he knew you loved him? Would he find your body warmer, more inviting… Could he make you scream your love for him?
Later, he would have to bookmark that idea. The confession was too fragile still, a crystal figurine too precious to even take out of the box. 
AND THEN YOU END THIS FUCKING MASTERPIECE WITH TWO PARAGRAPHS THAT MAKE ME WANT TO FLING MYSELF INTO THE OCEAN (AFFECTIONATE)
A Doe in Fall (Part 13)
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⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall
A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.
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 13 - The Release 📍
Late? Yes. Buuuuut
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If ya missed it:
Oct 19th Kinktober Day 19 - Proffer smut💦 Oct 13th Kinktober Day 13 - Handled smut💦
Where we left off: Autumn got released from the station to learn Alastor is at an unknown place called the Golden Dish.
Part 13 The Release
Two idiots meet on a sidewalk, one is drunk and one is stressed. Angst ensues. First Half is reader’s POV, second is Alastor’s POV.
「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, two parts in one, still not smut cuz we’re waiting for the special moment, surprise Latin, Alastor drunkenly remembers his accent, angst, first fights, muffled confessions, bare feet, too much alcohol, Mimzy is her own tag, I promise she’ll be back」
MDNI 🥃 😵‍💫
The Release (Autumn)
Your relief Alastor wasn’t there was clouded by the slight hurt Alastor wasn’t there.
Any ability to mask your true feelings left you with the exhaustion of being arrested at work, in front of customers and companions alike. This was made obvious by Johnny’s slight pat to your shoulder, “Want me to walk you there?”
You shook your head. Everyone already knew too much. 
“It’s not too far, I think… I’ll be fine.” You could imagine Alastor’s panicked face. Had you ever actually seen it though? 
With a wave, you left Johnny and began the walk to, presumably, the Golden Dish. It was cold, already the night bringing a chill. Eyes to your feet, you realized you were still in her shoes. 
Where had she walked in New Orleans? Where did she meet Alastor’s father? You had to wonder what he had looked like. Surely he was handsome. Was he kind to her, like Alastor was to you? Or had it been a one night stand?
A small smile, she didn’t look like the type but looks could be deceiving. Alastor didn’t look like the kind of man who kissed bloodied cheeks and tossed heads into holes.
Flipping the card over again, you lifted it to the light. 
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Tentatively you brought it to your nose and gave it a sniff. No perfume. 
The list of possibilities ran wild. 
You knew he wasn’t a virgin, and he’d mentioned before he’d been happily coupled with others before his preferences became their frustrations. But you’d never stopped to really imagine it past a fleeting image. Alastor kissing someone else. Alastor going down on someone else. Did he enjoy it as much as he enjoyed you?
It wasn’t necessarily jealousy, but your stomach did a little flip. Did they properly express their gratitude? Doubtful. How many times did he acquiesce to his partner’s wants and then be treated like it was the expectation and not an exception of his affections?
It wasn’t as late as you had thought and the streets were busy. It made you feel a little safer. Not having a purse helped that.
You weren’t entirely sure where Rosseau was, and after stopping a very lovely looking couple, you got hastily pointed toward the water. Anxiously, you kicked up your pace. The closer you got, the more nervous you were to see him. Not knowing how he felt, be it angry or worried or a mix of the two, was doing you in. Turning left, you practically jogged down the street in search of The Golden Dish.
On the first pass, you didn’t find it. You crossed the street and tried again, getting more of the buildings into sight. Nothing.
Crossing back, you found the door with a shiny golden number three.
The restaurant looked nice, but it wasn’t the Golden Dish. The name above the door was Grano D'oro.
You leaned into the alley, hoping maybe there was a man waiting with a secret door. It was pristine; no men, no trash, no mystery liquids.
Taking a moment to smooth your hair and adjust your dress, you walked in.
The entrance was lavish, the floor a black and white marble and fixtures that shined like gold. A man stood behind a host stand, looking at you expectantly. When you were within a few feet, he asked if you had a reservation.
“Uh, no. I’m looking for Alastor.”
“Does Alastor have a reservation?” He looked down, presumably at a paper of names, and then back up at you.
You looked past the parted red curtains into the dining room. “I don’t think so…ah! I have a card.” You handed it over and he gave it a look, flipping it over before nodding. “Just a moment, miss. Please wait here. You’re welcome to use the ladies room to clean up.”
From insulted to panicked, you realized you’d forgotten about your face. Pushing the heavy wooden door open to the bathroom, your reflection caught you off guard. Your eyes were encircled in black, scleras red, blush smeared into your hairline, and your lips were soft around the edges from misplaced lipstick. You looked like a wreck in human form.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” you grabbed a tissue from the nearest stall and wetted it under the faucet, removing every bit of make up you could. The skin under your eyelashes still had a darkness to them and nothing could be done for the bloodshot eyes, but you let that go. You did away with the lipstick entirely, and most of the blush was out of your hair and off your cheeks. Now you just looked tired. 
Mortified, you remembered the couple you’d stopped and asked for directions from. They must have thought you’d had a fight or were some loon. Hell, maybe that was why no one stopped to bother you.
With one more glance at your disheveled appearance you sheepishly returned to the entrance and peeked into the dining room again. Everyone was dressed so nicely. You could imagine Alastor fitting in quite well. The host returned, not saying a word and sans Alastor. Before you could find the courage to ask him anything, a hand smacked your arm from behind.
“I thought you’d be more fatale and less femme. Anyways, your deadweight’s in the alley.” 
A small woman with bleach blonde hair had snuck up behind you, seemingly from the outside, “He’s got his card back. He’s your problem now!”
She brushed past you and disappeared into the restaurant.
“Have a nice evening.” The host dismissed you. A confused pause, the series of events had been so fast you were left quite literally spun around. 
When you tentatively turned back to leave, you saw Alastor stumbling onto the sidewalk. 
“Hey! Alastor.” You half shouted, Alastor seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Apparent in how he nearly collided into a group passing the restaurant.
He turned, smiled, and rushed towards you. Taking your head in his hands he kissed you on the lips, and when you pulled back he leaned in, tongue pressing into your mouth.
You screamed into his mouth, pushing him off. Looking back briefly before dragging him away, you saw the host staring at you through the clear windowed door. He was not impressed. As much as you enjoyed his kisses, it was out of character and out of class to make out on the sidewalk. 
Parks were different. Parks were made for such things. 
“What has gotten into you? You taste like a fucking distillery.” You reached the corner of the street and stopped, “Where’s your car?”
He was drunk. Completely smashed. Normally you wouldn’t care, drunk Alastor could be quite cute. But you’d been prepared for and in need of someone to talk to. Someone to ease the mess of feelings in your gut. Instead you were handed a job as caretaker and impromptu driver. You’d have to wait until the morning for any kind of sympathetic comfort. 
He hadn’t even mentioned the arrest yet or asked you how you were. Yes, he looked elated to see you. Eyes wide and adoring when he took you by the face. But you needed more than adoration now. And instead you had a mess of a man struggling to maintain his balance.
On the safety of his porch, or perhaps together at a bar, it’d be just fine. 
But this was neither safe nor fine. 
Alastor pulled his arm from your hold, “At that little park. Audubon.” He pointed west, saying it with a perfect accent. “Anyway, I’m gonna kill him. Maybe right now! Did I tell ya? I know where he lives.” He crossed the street without looking. 
You had to run to catch up to him, his long legs carrying him further and faster than you. It took a second to understand who he was talking about, clearly he’d been having a silent conversation until now. “Alastor. You’re drunk. No.” You managed to get in front of him, eyes surely begging.
“Alastor, yes. He’s got two kids, a wife. He stays out late, obsessin’ over us no doubt.”
“Alastor!” He stumbled past you and toward the park. “Hey. You can’t-,” 
He wheeled around on his heels, hand pointing a sharp finger at you. 
“Who are you to stop me? To tell me,” a pause as he lost his balance and leaned too far to the right, catching himself with a sneer to his own legs. He turned back and continued on his way, “what I can and cannot do.” You stopped. The sound of his mother’s shoes no longer snapping behind him made Alastor pause his clumsy march and look back at you. “Are ya really not comin’?” His sharp tone had shifted down to a whiny, almost pleading one.
“Who am I, Alastor?” In the past you’d try to hide when you were wounded, as prey animals often do. But you were different from who you were before. Already, you were changed. Hiding yourself from him felt like betrayal, so you’d abandoned it some time ago. Your chin quivered, hands gripping the sides of your dress in stress. Your eyes were pleading with him to not do this. To not throw you away so easily. Diminish you with one slurred sentence. It felt like a dare to your pride. A choice, your self respect or his attention. It was a rhetorical question, as the answer would be a revelation to an entirely different quandary. 
He laughed, “Now who’s drunk?” Your arms crossed your chest and your eyes narrowed further into slits. 
“I thought you’d stop if I asked. I thought I was your equal in this.”
“Well!” He gawked, “This is different. He isn’t like the others. Mister Detective Kenneth Brady is-,” he practically yelled it into the night.
“Shhh!” You hissed, a couple crossing the street to put distance between you both and themselves, “Give me your key. You can’t drive like this.”
Alastor stared you down, his height finally mattering in a way you didn’t like. 
Your eyes narrowed further, Alastor. Unspoken and yet screamed across the sidewalk. You weren’t scared of him, of his height or his sharp eyes or the fact you knew he so often carried a knife beneath his vest. No. Because he was a smart man and a smart man would never be so stupid as to physically harm you. Not unless he planned to kill you. And Alastor wouldn’t do that unless you were honestly bad.
The only way he could ever truly hurt you was with that cutting muscle behind his teeth. 
He tried to straighten his back to gather some kind of dignity and perhaps a show of dominance but stumbled backwards. He caught himself again with the brick wall beside him. 
Mind racing, you had to think of alternatives. Fight him for the keys? Cut into his tires? Just leave him to his own selfish devices? 
He could afford to fix the rubber tires, you thought. You couldn’t afford him running off the road. 
“If you want me to come with you, I am driving. Make your decision now.” You put your hand out, an indication there was only one answer you expected. When his eyes flitted from your palm to your face and stared blankly, you closed it. “I won’t let a man waste my time when I’m just trying to help him. You’ve got me confused with someone else.”
Turning around, you walked the way you’d both just come because truth be told you had no idea how to get home from where you were. You just needed to get away from him before you said something you didn’t mean. Before he said something you couldn’t forget. 
You’d barely gotten five steps when you heard a clank to the ground. Turning just enough to see behind you, you noticed the car door key on the sidewalk. Alastor’s grin wide and childlike.
Never had you felt true anger for him before. The water rising in your chest raged against your ribs and you were sure you’d drown in your own fury before long. Another second of imagined possibilities — kick them into the storm drain, throw them into a bush, take them and leave entirely.
Before you could pick one he stumbled over while bent in half the entire time, scooping the keys and holding them out for you to take.
A list of names flew over your tongue but stayed behind your clenched teeth, snatching the keys from his hand and leaving him to struggle behind you. 
The walk was silent, Alastor several paces behind you with his hands in his pockets.
He slumped against the passenger side window the entire car ride home. You struggled with the shifting stick, and he didn’t offer any help. A petulant brat pouting into the glass.
As soon as you’d gotten into the house Alastor made a sloppy beeline to the sofa and fell face first.
“You’re mad at me.” You said from the doorway, dropping his keys into the bowl beside the door. It felt odd, you were the one who had every right to be pissed. But he was showing it in a much more egregious way. His anger made the least sense to you. 
“No. I’m mad.” He grabbed a pillow and tucked it under his head. “Full stop.”
Obviously, but why? Not an ounce of compassion could be managed for you? When you were the one who’d been humiliated and dragged from your place of work in handcuffs? 
“You’re acting like a child. Go to your bed. I’ll sleep here.” Sleeping alone in his bed didn’t seem right.
“You’re talkin’ to me like a child.” He closed his eyes, apparently in a fake sleep.
“You really don’t see the connection between those two things?? Atleast— go to the guest bed.” His mother’s old room. You absolutely didn’t want to sleep there. 
“No.” He didn’t look at you. 
You stared for a moment, disbelief painted on your face as your own frustration swelled again.
“Suit yourself. I don’t have patience for this, Alastor. You’re acting like a brat when I’m the one who had the hard night.” You turned to go upstairs before coming back, something your mother always did in arguments that you hated, “And I really don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He didn’t even stir.
After placing his mother’s shoes at the end of the bed, you got undressed and properly washed your face. It wasn’t until you were under the covers, alone, did you begin to cry. It was mostly anger, if you were honest. But a good dose of self pity mixed in. Practically running to find him, after thinking about just him for hours before, and to be met with a drunken child was disappointing beyond measure. And the disrespect of tossing his keys…
The bed felt so big and so foreign now. Just sitting in it made you feel like shit. A stranger, unwanted in someone else’s home. You could remember the uneasy feeling you had when your mother would leave you with friends when she had work. How every inch moved felt like you were brushing into poison ivy, it wasn’t your space, you didn’t know the rules or the norms. Now you felt you no longer knew your place in Alastor’s home. 
If you weren’t scared you’d never see him again you’d have just walked the several hours home. Knees to your chin, you didn’t bother with wiping away your tears. It added to the wallowing you were experiencing.
What did he mean? Why would he say it like that? Had it been a lie the whole time, that he’d stop killing if you asked him to? Alastor had never hissed quite like he had then. 
It felt like a lie, and now you questioned everything. Maybe while you worked he was out killing people. You never pushed him much about what he did while you were away.
A secondary thought simultaneously played with that one. No, you’d have noticed him at night taking care of the body. Your face slipped past your knees and pressed into the tops of your thighs, as quickly as the fear receded your melancholy swept back in.
Fine, but if he lied about stopping then you didn’t mean as much as he claimed.
Which was fine, you lied to yourself. You just needed to know the parameters so you could stay within them. Not take things too seriously. Not expect too much from him.
Not give too much of yourself. 
A second wave of tears, chin trembling.
Idiot. 
Maybe Brady had been right. Were you just some dumb dame? You’d done so much for him and now with some liquor you were just another person to him.
Then a sickening feeling made your throat tighten. Had getting arrested made you no longer attractive? Perhaps he blamed you. Being publicly dragged into a police station was the closest he had ever been to being found out and it was your fault. Fuck, even his name. That had been you who said it so casually. 
You didn’t want to be somewhere you weren’t welcomed.
Slipping out of bed, you pulled your bag from the closet and sat it on the dresser.
You couldn’t believe you had wanted to tell him you loved him. How long had you choked back those words for your own personal safety, just to be in a man’s home far from your own with no real way back. You pulled your dresses from the closet, and paused.
Alastor had been lovingly removing your stockings just a week or so ago. 
After tossing innards into the water. He’d showed you where he buried the only evidence of his expansive crimes. He trusted you with things he’d never shown anyone, something you felt sure of given his freedom. 
Glancing up through tear-heavy lashes, you saw your reflection in the mirror and remembered how he kissed your shoulder and undressed you. His promise to keep you warm.
A shiny and sunlit movie played of him slipping off your shoes and putting yours on his feet. 
Your mother had always said you were too quick to give up when things didn’t come easy. You resented that, but now it was ringing painfully true. 
You put the dresses back, tossing your bag to the floor and kicking it halfheartedly under the dresser.
Lying down again, you tried to take deep breaths. He’d said he wasn’t mad at you. Was he not allowed to make mistakes? Could he not be angry around you without you taking it personally even when he said it wasn't for you? That was unfair of you. You were expecting a drunk man to speak clearly and with well thought out perception of how he’d be heard. The reasons for his drunkenness were unknown, and when you stopped to consider things more, you’d never just out right told him how you felt. Until you were upset and going up the stairs. Admittedly, to your defense, he was very drunk. 
He owed you an apology, that was absolutely expected given the way he’d spoken and tossed his keys, but he’d done enough to earn the right to explain himself before you just up and left in the middle of the night.
The idea of him waking up to an empty home and a migraine almost brought you back to tears. Alastor’s distaste for being alone had become clear, in the way he used to go out often just to have dance company, how he so quickly pulled you into his home and lap. You’d feel his heart break from across the river if you up and left while he slept. 
Johnny had said he was a mess before, clearly he did care to some degree. You’d trusted him this long. You’d killed a man for him. You could give him a night to be an ass and hear him out in the morning.
But if he didn’t apologize, if he didn’t seem to understand how selfish and unkind he had been to you… You rolled onto your side and tried to straighten your legs but felt vulnerable like that. Pulling them up again you curled into a ball and focused on deep calming breaths. It would be fine. The best way to find out if someone was worth trusting was to trust them. Alastor had been worth so much more than you’d expected a person could be. This was just a hiccup. 
Thinking back on past relationships, you realized most first fights were also your last fights. If you and someone had friction, it was easiest to walk away and try again. There was no expectation of a picture perfect romance, not at all. But once someone disappointed you, it was hard to see them again in a positive light. Throwing things away had always been simpler than putting in the work to fix them. Once you’ve done that, you’ve shown someone your hand. You’ve shown them they mattered and they could use that against you. 
People who knew they were important to you could hold that over your head and push just how much they could get away with. 
Alastor, what more could he do? What on earth could he possibly get away with? He had no interest in stepping out, and he couldn’t easily date when his hobbies and home were crime scenes.
The person with the most to lose was him, you realized. Maybe not lose you, you didn’t pretend you were that important to him. But his life away from iron bars and cuffs was now dependent on you. If he had always been a few too many drinks away from fucking that all up, he’d have been caught a long time ago. 
He would make it better. He would say whatever really happened in the morning and fix it. You could trust that and let your eyes finally close. Alastor hadn’t failed you yet, and you believed he wouldn’t start now. 
When you woke up, it was early. Unnaturally early for you. But stress did that. Whatever the opposite of Christmas morning, that was the mechanism pulling you out of bed as the sun was just beginning to rise. 
He was still asleep on the couch when you crept down the stairs. He looked like shit. Which made you feel a little good. If he looked perfect it’d be immensely dissatisfying. You tried to open the back door quietly but the old hinges whined and the swollen wooden door snapped against the frame when you let it go. 
Sitting on the top of the porch steps that led to the backyard, if you could call such an expanse that, you tried to take in the wet cool air. It was officially fall. Soon you’d have to pull out your coat. Your toes wiggled against the flaking paint of the steps, you still needed to go home and get your shoes. 
A groan and you doubled over, you were assuming so confidently that you’d still be staying with Alastor. That was a good thing, right? Or…. you weren’t sure. You had no healthy relationships to look to for guidance. Rolling your back up, you looked up at the dark cobalt sky fading into baby blue, a color that matched the ceiling of the porch above you. 
You heard the creak of the screen door and felt the old wood bend behind you as he finally stumbled out. He plopped down beside you, before lowering himself to his right side and resting his head on your lap. He stared out at the greenhouse like you did. Your hands twitched to touch him, but you kept them to your sides. 
“You are my darling.” He said with a raspy voice hoarse from an intoxicated dehydration. You finally looked at him, but he didn’t meet the gaze. “That’s who you are.”
“You sure didn’t make me feel like your anything last night.” Your tone was cold and sharp, spoken like a stranger scolding another. Stay strong, you thought. Make him understand how he made you feel before, even if you were already cooling off. 
You saw the fabric of your white slip turn a storm grey beneath his face, tears tumbling across the bridge of his nose before seeping into the night dress.
“I know. I’m sorry. I was so,” he sighed and you took your opportunity.
“Drunk.”
“Enraged.” He whined, eyelids coming to act as a poor dam, “And drunk.”
“And disrespectful.”
He groaned now, shoulders tightening in shame, “That too.”
You understood he was angry. Did he think you weren’t? You’d been humiliated. You’d been interrogated. 
“I want to split his skull with an ax.” His fingers were playing with something beneath his closed thighs, hands pressed between them.  “I’m sorry. I— you were not wrong.” You caught a glimpse of the bright yellow handkerchief being wrung between sweaty palms with nervous fingers when he finally opened his legs. “I didn’t know what to do with myself when your manager said you’d been arrested. I almost drove my car into the station doors.”
“So getting zozzled and shouting the personal details of a New Orleans detective into the night seemed… the better option? When I had already had a difficult evening?” You felt a flame in your chest again. “When I needed your support? Comfort?”
He nodded, slick and smooth face gliding over the silk. A sob, choked and broken as he buried his head again into your lap. “I’d never felt so helpless, I just…I responded very selfishly. I’m sorry.” 
The heavy and hot indignation finally began to cool in you, and you let yourself run your fingers through his hair. 
“Will you ever let me kill him?” He asked your thighs.
You thought for a moment. The safety in Alastor’s killings were the degrees of separation between him and his targets. The plausible deniability. The lack of obvious motive. If you could find that same safety net when killing Brady, then, sure. “When he’s no longer a threat to us. When no one will be shocked to hear he’s dead.” 
His arms came to hold onto your legs, soft pads of his digits stroking the skin beneath your clothing.
“He went too far.” Alastor muttered, moving his head enough to look at you from the corner of his eyes. 
“And he knows your name.” You added, the arrest being of equal importance if not less. 
“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.” Alastor inched his body closer to you. “I’ve never been a bigger failure in all my life than last night. In every way. To myself and to you.” His head turned, the soft and sharp features alike of his face burying into your lap. A gentle shake of his shoulders as he lost his fight to not weep openly into you broke your heart. He let out a weak and muffled series of sounds, followed by a louder and clearer, “Do you want to leave me?”
Wincing, you remembered how close you’d been to doing just that. It was good though that he asked. Indicating Alastor knew how serious you took the way he had acted the night before. 
You pulled his head up by the back of his collar. With your first good look at him in the crisp orange morning light you could see his lips were red and raw from nervous chewing, his hair lacking its usual shine or form. The right side of his face was wet. Tears new and old began to reroute and slide down his high cheeks and pointed jaw. They met at the very bottom of his chin, for the first time in their short lives, and dropped onto you in little couplings. Falling like they were made to always do just that. Just now. Just for him. A fate you could understand so naturally it was bordering on unnerving. A love story you were sure you were playing out.
How rarely you’d seen a man cry. In the past perhaps you’d have been put off. Cringed. Considered it a pathetic show of weakness and lost respect for them. But all you could feel now was a pain so deep and all encompassing it felt as if your skin was cracking off. A dry river bed in the heat of summer. What had been there before? Disgust? Indifference? Even his tears were of a magnitude more important than anyone else’s. Every piece of him mattered more to you. 
Leave him? Of course not. No matter what he did, dead or alive, monster or man, you would never hate him enough. And that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. No, that absolutely wasn’t a good thing. A dangerous something he could never fully be told. 
Oh.
Ruth’s words on the roof crawled from their grave and tugged at your ankles. 
You were in that worst kind of love; Unconditional. 
Fireworks were out of the question but you could manage something for him. You had to tell him. Things were too far gone now and you couldn’t be sure how much time was left now that Brady had a name.
“Give me a little time. I’ll show you how stupid of a question that is over our first fight,” Your thumbs wiped away his tears. The handkerchief came back to view, so you gingerly took it and dabbed the sacred lacrima from his cheeks. You took his head between both hands and stared unflinching into the sweet, sun kissed brown of his eyes, “I never want to leave you. Even if I do, even if somehow I’m convinced to go, you’ll have to rip your heart out of my cold dead hands or I’ll take it with me.” 
“What have I told you? Don’t mention those things. The spirits are listening.” He attempted a gentle smile through his tear stained cheeks and you couldn’t stop yourself from kissing him. How could someone so good with a knife be so soft?
Another torrent of tears from him and a reply so earnest and so sure your body leaned back with surprise, “But, it’s not mine anymore. Isn’t that obvious?” He half whispered it into the ether.
Please, you begged whoever listened when you prayed, don’t weaken my self respect. Straightening your back to summon some form of resolve, you voiced it.
“If you ever speak to me like you did last night again, with that sharp tone and cruel words, sober or not…” you trailed off, begging him to not make you say it. Don’t force you to make threats you didn’t want to keep. Things you’d be ashamed of not following through with. Little self failures you were genetically predisposed of committing. 
“You can take my heart with you.” 
A wonderful reply.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
The Release (Alastor)
When Alastor didn’t see you at the side door or back street, he dared to walk around the block to the front of the theater. He was surprised, like many others, to find the doors locked.
A trickle of fear dropped down his spine. Worst case scenario didn’t quite exist as some ladder of concerns, he just felt tremendous fear you were dead. That was the only rung. Had someone been watching you, that he didn’t notice as he was too preoccupied with watching Brady? 
“Alastor?” 
His eyes snapped from the marquee to the young man poking his head out of the doors. 
He nodded, “Johnathon, right?” Alastor moved on autopilot, hand coming to shake your manager’s.
“Johnny. Come inside.”
Alastor didn’t move. Hand still in the air between them. Johnny registered the distinct lack of light in Alastor’s eyes. He took a deep breath in, Alastor looked like a photograph of a man before him. There but, just a facsimile of human.
“She’s okay. Come on.” He gestured firmly, Alastor blinking back to life and slipping in.
Ruth hopped from her seat at the sight of the tall paramour. 
“The bastard arrested her! Prostitution.” 
Alastor’s mouth opened and then closed. He swallowed, then smiled, and his head did a little tilt. Ruth looked from him to Johnny. Alastor’s rolodex of canned responses spun infinitely around in his mind. Nothing was catching. There wasn’t a facial expression or comment or body posture in existence he had prepared for this conversation. Because he hadn’t ever predicted such a situation.
“He did it in front of everyone. He made a real scene of it.” Johnny leaned against the bar and tapped a cigarette, “I told her I’d fill you in.”
Brady had arrested you. You’d been arrested. 
“Prostitution?” Alastor finally spoke.
Ruth shook her head, “Yeah but absolute bullshit. She doesn’t have any want or need for extra money.”
Alastor nodded. It wasn’t his worry. His eyes quickly flitted around the air to the concern of the other two, searching his memory for any sense.
The man he punched? What was his name again? No. He didn’t know where you worked. He didn’t know your name. 
But, perhaps— no. He blinked away his runaway errands list.
“Any idea of the bond? How much should I bring?” He patted his pockets, fingers fumbling when he fished out his wallet. “I could get more, but I’ll need to go—,”
He was in disarray, a tremble in his hands making him pause and stare at his own body with a loss of recognition.
“I’m not sure…” Johnny said it slowly, “Ruth could you grab her bag from the back for me.”
When she was out of ear shot Johnny set his hand on Alastor’s, who was still staring in confusion at his own limbs, and made him lower the wallet.  
“Hey, I was there that night you cornered Tommy into the booth. I saw you two. The night he hit her. Tommy was a real piece of shit. And I’m glad he’s gone.”
Alastor’s eyes met Johnny’s and he wondered what he looked like to the other man. He felt the corner of his frozen smile twitch but he managed to keep from reacting otherwise. How many missteps had he taken?
For a moment, time stood still and he imagined dragging Johnny into the alley by his neck. Then Ruth. Who else needed to go? He’d carry them all away into the dark. 
“I'm no rat! I didn’t tell anyone anything.” A beat as he tried to read the face Alastor was making. A small tight smile and wide eyes that made Johnny’s skin crawl. Was he angry? No, his brows weren’t scrunched up. Was he suspicious? Maybe. Whatever feeling a trapped fox feels when the hound is close. But Johnny didn’t register that. “Just, ya know, I’m glad someone told him off. He was shaking like a leaf after. Anyway,” a nervous clearing of his throat, “I don’t think you should go to the precinct. I’ll go, I’ll pay the bail with some cash from the safe. You two can pay it back.”
No response. Alastor’s thoughts a tangled ball of red wool yarn, every time he tried to pull out a coherent reply the knot seemed to tighten and stiffen. He leaned back a little, trying to fit more of Johnny into his view. Wanting all of the smaller man to be seen.
“I feel kinda responsible. I should have spoken up when I learned what he was doing.” Johnny offered a smile of his own, something about it made him look younger than he was. “Just tell me where you’ll be, I’ll send her that way when she’s released. Maybe in the morning.”
“Responsible for what?” Ruth smacked Alastor’s arm with your small black handbag.
“For her arrest. I should have done more.” Johnny thanked her for the bag. “Where should I say you’ll be?”
“I’ll wait in my car.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll go crazy like that, just find somewhere quiet and have a drink.” Ruth turned Alastor around and pushed him towards the doors. 
“The Golden Dish. I’ll be there. Just,” Alastor stopped to pull a card from his wallet and hand it to Johnny, “Tell her to give the host this card and ask for me.”
“Well, go have a drink, try to just… try to stay calm.” Ruth’s words barely entered his mind as he stumbled out into the night. Thoughts came so quickly and in such a multitude that Alastor found his head entirely empty, unable to latch onto any single one.
He was unlocking his car door and then he looked up — he was across the street from the station. How he got from the theater to here was unknown to him. Clearly he had driven, but with what mind he had no idea. 
Long fingers gripped the steering wheel, knuckles an uncomfortable white with the force. How much would it take to snap the wheel? Had anyone ever tried before?
A deep breath, he didn’t remember holding it until his head began spinning. In the mess of thoughts, he saw flashes of what he could do. Questions to narrow down his options. Did the rooms have windows? Could he climb in one and drag Brady out?
But he didn’t know how many people there were. How many rooms. Where Brady was. Where you were.
Deep breath, he was holding it again and the thought of you being grilled by a cop made him involuntarily gasp for air.
There was no fear you’d say anything. It simply didn’t exist. Even trying to conjure the idea of you telling anyone who he was and what he did was ridiculous to him. A dark part of him knew that notion was born out of a blinding fear and not out of true trust. Because if you did such a thing, it’d mean he’d been wrong about everything. That he couldn’t trust his own decisions anymore. What would he do if you did confess?
Well, he was quite sure he’d die. Perhaps not literally. But Alastor as he was would wither and disappear. He’d be someone —- something entirely different.
But he didn’t stop to think about that. Because it wasn’t a possibility. 
With a full body tremble, Alastor leaned back into the seat and ran his fingers through his hair. He felt torn down the center. Half of him was marching into the station and doing…. He wasn’t sure. The rest was just black.
Half of him was driving away to go hide in a glass of whisky until you were released.
What would you want him to do?
He started the car and headed toward the river’s edge, hoping to find a parking spot not too far from the illicit bar.
Alastor made a beeline for the bathrooms just past the entrance of the Grano D'oro. His hair was mussed, his pupils constricted. He drew his bottom lip in and began chewing it nervously, hands pushing his hair back into some form of style. A cough to clear out his tightening throat, he straightened his bow tie and suit jacket. Staring at his reflection, he flinched. An unsettling feeling in his bones that if he stared long enough, it would take on a life of its own.
Something wasn’t right. His nightmares were back and following him around in his waking hours. Terrors of losing his control over himself. Deep seated insecurities about his work.
Alastor approached the host and explained his card was on loan to someone who would be by later. Normally it didn’t work like that, no card meant no entry. But Alastor was a regular. The man nodded and led Alastor into the main dining hall.
Alastor offered passing pleasantries to a few people and smiled as he was escorted past them to the private dining section of Grano D'oro. Separated by another large but closed curtain, the host moved it aside and let Alastor enter. The hall had a few doors but two large doors swung out from the kitchen.
Through the kitchen, with a smile and another nod to the staff who all sang his name as he walked by, Alastor made it to the barely visible door to the side.
Finally, he descended the stairs to the very lively and very lovely bar of his dear friend, Mimzy.
She clapped her hands enthusiastically at the sight of him, taking him by the arm and dragging him to the counter.
“Little late for you isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be at home with your heart.” She dragged out the word, eyes rolling not at the idea of you but at the idea of someone being more important than a night out.
Alastor plopped onto the stool and came to rest both elbows on the bar, “Should be.”
“Fight?” She was already wiping down a glass for him, his head was in his hands which was… a new sight. Sloppily, with some splashing out and onto the bar top, she poured two fingers and slid it to him.
“Worse. Arrest.” His hands curled around the cup and he considered not drinking it at all. His mother warned him to never drink alone and never drink when upset. He fudged the first rule often. But he really did follow the second. 
“Oh fuck.” Mimzy added two more fingers to the glass. “What for?”
He stared into the whisky before taking a large mouthful and forcing it down with a burning gulp, “Prostitution.” He croaked.
“That’s not illegal.” 
Alastor’s stress was momentarily broken and he looked incredulously at who could be called his closest friend, “Yes, it is, Mimz.”
With a hand on her hip she looked up in thought, “Huh…. Well, ya learn something new every day!”
Alastor held the glass with both hands now, “You do know alcohol is illegal, right? Production and consumption?” He watched her face sour, hand moving to gesture at the windowless room they were in.
“Duh. Why else would I be in this makeshift box?” It was rhetorical, Alastor rolling his eyes and lowering his face to his glass. 
Nervously he chewed on his bottom lip, biting red lines into the soft pink flesh. Mimzy stared, unnoticed. She couldn’t remember the last time he looked sad. He did sometimes open up when drunk, perhaps smiling through a pitiful story. Or dancing when she knew he was bruised in either his ego or his heart. But, normally, for Alastor, he kept the obvious and plain emotions kept tightly buttoned up. 
“So, why are you here all long faced? Did you arrest her or something?”
Alastor’s fingers found their way into his hair again, “I might as well have. It’s my fault.”
It was, without a doubt in his mind, his fault. He pulled you in. He killed your boss without any care for what you thought. He made you a shield and a target, stupid. Alastor couldn’t argue against it. 
You’d been forced to lie for him. To sneak and hide from police for him. He was no better than the spineless men he often chased. How could he be so selfish? It stung his chest and his eyes, the thought of you so sweetly sitting beside him just to be dragged into a police station. It was his fault. 
Mimzy hummed, pretending to wipe down the counter, “Then fix it. If you fucking did it, then make it better.”
Yes, obviously, but, “I don’t know how. I-,” Another forced mouthful of whisky, “I roughed up her former guy. For mistreating her. He’s been going around causing trouble now, lying about her. He doesn’t know it was me.” A lie that roughly summed up the trouble. Enough that he could vent, perhaps get third party insight. Though, admittedly, Mimzy wasn’t his first person to turn to for advice. 
“And you can’t just,” she made a fist with her thumb stuck out and dragged it across her neck in a cutting motion, “get rid of the issue?”
Killing Brady would solve everything. And it’d feel good. It’d feel….ah, he leaned back, letting his chest open and fill with the shadow of satisfaction, it’d be the best kill yet. How would he do it, he wondered. It’d have to be special. Slow. Perhaps even over the course of days. Oh, or better yet, perhaps he could show Brady exactly how he disposed of his targets. Piece by piece, taking from him and letting him watch as he buried his parts in deep holes. Giving him all the answers to his questions before snuffing out his nagging life. 
Lost in thought, he didn’t see Mimzy walk away and come back with a different bottle. The big guns, she thought. 
“That a no? Weeell,” She poured herself a glass, “Maybe go talk to the guy. Put the fear of God in ‘em! Let him know if he tries anymore shit,” she waved her finger around, “he’s gonna eat dirt.”
A threat….scare him? 
No one would believe Brady, he considered. If someone pulled him back into the shadows of his tree lined street with a blade to his throat and gave him the warning of what was to come if he kept this up….Did he have any allies in this at work?
“But you can’t do nothing. She’s your gal, right? Arresting her is like….it’s like throwing a drink in your face. He’s embarrassing you.”
A lump rose in this throat, the two large gulps of drink metabolizing and carrying away his ability to remember not to take advice from Mimzy. 
In fact, as he took a slower sip of his somehow still full glass, he thought she was quite right. Brady was testing his pride. Hurting the closest person he had to get at him. This was villain activity. 
If he didn’t reply, he’d be saying he didn’t care at all about you. He’d be the man Brady told you he was. A coward using you until you weren’t convenient anymore. Alastor’s leg began to bounce against the stool’s foothold. Yes, yeah, he had to act. Someone was challenging him. Someone was swinging you around in front of him, taunting how weak he was that he couldn’t even protect you. 
Either Brady thought Alastor was all bark and no bite, only attacking men alone at night, or, worse, he thought Alastor was using you.
Alastor stood quickly, but paused as his head sloshed to the left and he leaned with it. Steadying himself on the bar he looked down at Mimzy.
“Ah, he’s at work.” He stated it plainly, as if Mimzy already knew this. 
“Oh, then just enjoy some drinks and jazz while you wait! When is he off?”
“I don’t know…but, she’ll come get me when she’s released. So….after that?” Alastor was already losing sight of the lie he had told her earlier. He didn’t notice her top up his glass for a third time. 
“Perfect! Now, gossip. You gotta fill me in with the trashy news. You haven’t come by in so long.” She leaned across the bar, swirling her glass clumsily, big eyes blinking.
“Don’t try to distract me. I’m in no mood for such trivial things, Mimz. My love was arrested. At work no less. I’m useless.”
The very notion of thinking about anything but you made his stomach turn. 
As the time ticked on though, that turning was quickly becoming more of a reaction to the liquor and less to do with his stress. 
The only person who knew how much he’d downed was Mimzy, who kept track on his tab with an out-of-character diligence. When the host knocked on the door, she opened it to receive Alastor’s card and knew you must have come for him. 
Getting him up the stairs was difficult, but he was too drunk to let him go through the restaurant. The fine people upstairs had no idea liquor was being served in their fancy dining hall. So Mimzy let Alastor lean on her as she pushed them through the back doors and to the storage room. Opening the trash shoot, she pushed the man out and let him trip through the small opening. 
“This way, big guy,” She tugged him by the lapel through the alley and toward the street. 
She saw you standing there, looking into the restaurant expectedly, and told him to stay put. Mimzy slipped his card into his suit pocket and bee lined to you. You looked different than she’d expected. She wasn’t really sure what she was expecting…actually, on second thought, she had just imagined a female Alastor. Alastor with a perm and an empire waist dress. A little out of fashion but classy. 
She smacked your arm with the back of her hand and left you to him. 
Alastor stumbled onto the sidewalk, the lights blinding compared to the dark and smokey illicit club down he’d just fallen out of. He’d never used the back door, and he decided, somewhere in the mess of his thoughts, he didn’t particularly care for it. 
“Hey! Alastor!”
His head swung around at the sound of your voice, it was you. You were free. Shrugging off his panic like a heavy fur coat he rushed to you, taking your face in his big hands to kiss you. Grateful. He was so grateful you were back. He couldn’t let Brady take you again. How could he show you how seriously he felt?
What did people like? Kisses. People liked kisses. And passion. And touch. 
He’d translate his determination into lavishing you. When you made a yelp and pushed him away, he was confused. Why weren’t you happy to see him? 
Icy cold fear dripped and trickled down his ribs that Brady had said something to make you believe you were just collateral. You pulled him by the wrist, not looking at him, and he felt sure he had made a mistake in not going to the station. 
In the mud that was his thinking, he was sure this was the issue. What an idiot. He never let others tell him how to act or live, and yet he let some manager keep him from seeing you? He let a pissant like Brady take you and whisper poison into your ear. 
He had to fix it. He had to make it better. 
“Where’s your car?”
Ah, his car! Yes! Alastor had the power to make this all better immediately. Why didn’t he do this an hour ago? He couldn’t remember…. Alastor took his arm back, pointing you toward the park, “At that little park. Audubon.” It was a lovely little park, he thought. 
Your breath against his body when you and him first entertained affection came to his mind so intensely he thought maybe he had been pulled back in time. He paused, remembering the last park you both sat in, covered in blood and trembling. 
He needed to make it up to you.
“Anyway, I’m gonna kill him. Maybe right now! Did I tell ya? I know where he lives.” The stalking and studying was part of the fun, it made the meal tastier. And he had been sure to study Brady. When his work ended and you were busy still, he learned everything he could about the nosy cop. 
Unfortunately, most of what he learned was that Brady rarely went home at a normal time and he was relentless in his pursuit of information about you both. Many nights he shadowed the detective and heard Brady pestering and questioning locals about missing people and illegal going-ons at your theater. It wasn’t because he wanted to clean up the streets, that was obvious. Those nightly walks were a pig sniffing around in the mud for a kernel. All he needed was a good enough accusation to rush in and shut shit down. 
“Alastor.” Your voice saying his name pulled him back to the present, he paused for a beat to figure out where he was, he had thought you’d both been in front of the restaurant just a second ago. 
“You’re drunk. No.”
You slipped in front of him, making him nearly collide into you. No? Yes! What did drunkenness have to do with anything? Perhaps you didn’t understand. He did the work! He knew exactly what to do and where to go. Ah, of course. You didn’t know. How could you? He never told you what he did while waiting for you to finish up at work.
“Alastor, yes. He’s got two kids, a wife. He stays out late, obsessin’ over us no doubt.” Raising his head, he felt a swell of pride. Don’t worry, dear. I’ve not made mistakes this time.
You hissed his name as he moved past you, if he was quick he could catch the bastard before he got into his house. His road was lined with trees, shady and quiet. It’d be so easy. Fuck, it was even better suited for his hobbies than alleys and parks. How odd. 
“Hey. You can’t-,”
The word set something off in him. Can’t? Why do people keep telling him what to do or not to do?! Why were people always fucking giving him limitations? 
Brady had done this. You’d never– He was just trying to clean up his mess. Why did people think they could dictate his life so freely? Why did what he wanted to do not matter, even though he was just trying to be a good man?
“Who are you to stop me? To tell me,” He whipped around, losing his balance as he tried to recorrect. Alastor paused to stare down at his legs. Et tu, crura? Even his own body was betraying him. Saying his desires were moot points. Fine, fuck it. He barely needed legs to drive anyway. If he could just do things the way he always did, you’d see how capable he was. Brady would see how fucking stupid he was. Tommy could rot in hell harder if that was an option. 
Ah, it was quiet. How long had he been in his head? Had you said something and he didn’t hear? Oh you had stopped walking. “Are ya really not comin’?”
You had told him to not go alone, to always have you nearby when he killed. You not coming made no sense at all. 
“Who am I, Alastor?” Your voice was high pitched, he could hear your throat constricting. The reason wasn’t known to him though. People often did that before he killed him. 
What an odd question. Had you used your stage name so long you’d forgotten your true one. He laughed, what a silly thing to ask! “Now who is drunk?”
When your arms crossed and you glared back at him, his head cocked to the side. He wondered if you were playing around. You often pretended to be cross with him to make him pull you close and make you smile. 
“I thought you’d stop if I asked. I thought I was your equal in this.”
Not a joke. Well yes, of course you were. But this wasn’t that. 
“Well!” Alastor searched the sidewalk for the words, “This is different! He isn’t like the others. Mister Detective Kenneth Brady is-.” He was getting mad. Not at you, persay, but at the entire mess before him. 
“Shhh!” You seethed, “Give me your key. You can’t drive like this.”
What? 
Oh, so now he can’t drive? Your trust in him had been so eroded with just one private meeting with Brady. And did you shush him? 
Alastor, don’t go to the station. 
Alastor, don’t clean up the mess you made for me. 
Alastor, don’t drive. 
He didn’t want to fight with you. To argue or assert dominance, but…he stood up straighter to simulate sobriety. It failed, his hand jutting out to brace against the wall for stability. A failure that added to a growing pile of failures.
He caught himself and stared back at you. No. It was his car. Alastor was putting his drunken, clumsy foot down.
“If you want me to come with you, I am driving. Make your decision now.” 
When your hand came out for the keys he looked down to it and then back to you. What was that? What were you doing? 
You closed it,  “I won’t let a man waste my time when I’m just trying to help him. You’ve got me confused with someone else.”
Your turning and walking back forward the restaurant made his eyes roll. Oh, the keys still. He pulled them from his pocket, fine, have them. I give up. Failure pile growin’ every minute.
He tossed them into the space between you both, smiling to himself. You wanted the keys, he thought, there you go.
But when you turned around, he could feel the rage rolling off of your body. Alastor couldn’t pinpoint what it was about your face that was different than usual, but just beneath your skin he could see a you he’d never met before. One he didn’t care to meet. 
Fuck. 
He’d fucked up.
A flash of embarrassment sizzled in his stomach before he lurched forward and grabbed the keys, offering them to you properly.
He followed behind, too stubborn to show you the way but unwilling to be without you. 
Leaning into the window, he stared at the city as it rolled by, until it turned to water and then to woods. The air was stiff and suffocating. He hated it. Why were you so mad at him?
Alastor couldn’t understand what had happened. He was so happy to see you but immediately you pushed him away and dragged him off like a child being taken to the headmaster. What had happened at the station, he wondered. There was no way to ask now. The mood was too heavy, and he was too insolent to be the first one to speak. You were mad at him. You didn’t trust him. You, probably, we’re fed up with the complications of his company.
The pain behind his sternum was akin to a splintering rod; stiff, solid, and biting every time he moved. No one had ever made him feel this way before. He couldn’t put his finger on the feeling though, it was sadness, and it hurt, but there was something deeper. Something underneath these shallow reactions that dredged up a vague sense of mourning.
Regret?
He slammed the car door behind him and fell into the sofa as soon as he could. Nothing went right. The day had started so wonderfully… you’d felt like a part of himself he’d finally found. And now….
“You’re mad at me.” He heard the keys hit the bowl. Thank you, he thought. 
Yes. No. Not at you. Not with you. Just, mad. Mad at Brady. Mad at Tommy. Mad at liquor as a general concept. And, the most upsetting, mad at himself. Had he ever been mad at himself before? 
“No.” He sucked in a breath, “I’m mad. Full stop.” He hugged a pillow, he just wanted to be left alone now to wallow in the expanse of these new and awful sensations bleeding into his guts.
He thought it and immediately winced. Not alone alone. Please, if anyone had been listening, please disregard it. That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t mean that at all.
“You’re acting like a child. Go to your bed. I’ll sleep here.” Your voice was stern, talking down to him. 
“You’re talkin’ to me like a child.” He felt small and stupid. Closing his eyes, he sighed and tried to settle mind. Everything was swimming. Literally. His thoughts and the room were liquid and floating up into the atmosphere. Alastor was confident he would follow them up. 
“You really don’t see the connection between those two things?? Atleast— go to the guest bed.” 
Connection? Yes! You were treating him like a naive child, talking to him like a confused child, pulling him like a disobedient child, holding out your hand to him like he was a selfish child.
“No.” If he opened his eyes he was 90% sure he’d vomit. If he could just bear through the spinning he’d be okay.
“Suit yourself. I don’t have patience for this, Alastor. You’re acting like a brat when I’m the one who had the hard night.” 
He turned his head into the pillow to conceal the frown. 
Patience… there it was. You’d lost patience with him. And you’d been so patient for months now. Waiting in bars and cars while he killed. Waiting for him while he threw body parts into holes and snapping jaws. Waiting for weeks beside him for inspiration to strike and for him to seek your intimacy in more serious touch.
He heard you make it three steps before returning, “And I really don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Alastor’s eyes welled with tears that soaked into the soft yellow pillow. He held his breath until he heard the floor creaking upstairs to let his body shiver with the sob. He’d had you all morning. And he’d kissed you goodbye at work… and then he came to get you. But you were gone. 
He was scared, and angry.
And he got angrier and angrier and now— he couldn’t piece anything together.
Rolling onto his back he held the pillow to his chest. 
Eyes fixed on the ceiling he listened to you prepare for bed. The water ran. The bed groaned. As the liquor took him away the floors creaked again and he hoped maybe you’d come join him on the sofa. Even in silence. Even angry. Just be there so he knew you weren’t done with him entirely. 
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
When Alastor woke he was alone, the sound of the back door shutting startling him into consciousness. The only evidence he had slept and not just shut his eyes for a couple minutes was the light through the curtains. 
For the briefest, sweetest second he felt excited to see you. It was eclipsed near immediately with the nauseating reality that you’d had a fight the night before and you’d told him…. It was hazy. Clenching his eyes shut he searched through the drunken darkness of the night before.
He had to work backwards. You said you’d lost patience. He was treating you poorly. You’d driven him home. He’d thrown his keys at you.
Alastor groaned, feet kicking the end to the sofa in anger. He had tried to make you pick up the keys off the ground, when all you had done was try to take care of him. 
He remembered you tugging him along the sidewalk, before that… you kissed. No, he kissed. He could distinctly remember trying to lick his way into your mouth. On the sidewalk. In front of a very nice restaurant. The yellow pillow was pulled to his face to muffle his scream.
Drinking was the first mistake, continuing to drink was the second. And now you were upset with him.
He was to blame. It was so obvious now. Not just for the arrest and the negative attention but for the entire evening going tits up. 
Throat tightening, a tingle began in his fingertips and worked its way up his wrists. 
Stupid.
Selfish.
Useless.
Throwing the pillow into the chair opposite the sofa he tossed his legs over and sat up. He couldn’t breath, chest heavy. As his lips began to feel like they were stung with tiny needles, he spread his knees and lowered his head between them.
Not now, he yelled at himself, you’re making this about yourself again. Just like last night.
He’d wanted to fix the problems he’d made so badly but stupidly he’d just burdened you further.
There was no future in that moment. All the little daydreams of you and him were suspended and in jeopardy. Until he spoke to you, had the talk you told him was required, he had nothing. 
For all he knew, you’d made up your mind already. How odd. He himself was the cat in the box. He could already be dead and not even know it.
Alastor couldn’t stand another second of not knowing his fate. Lost in the panic he hadn’t considered at all what Brady had said to you. Taking the steps two by two he found the bed empty. Before turning, vaguely remembering hearing the screen door earlier, something caught his eye and made the world spin again with renewed terror.
The handle of your bag peeking out from under the dresser. It had been in the closet, he had emptied it and put it there for you so he knew that to be a fact.
He closed his eyes, bile rising in his throat. Was it full of your things? Were you just waiting to tell him to take you home?
He couldn’t find the courage to check. Rushing past it like it could come to life and grab him by the ankles, he went to the nightstand beside his side of the bed and opened the drawer, the bright yellow of your handkerchief calming him just a sliver. If he kept it, you’d have to come back. He could call you and remind you to come back for it. And then he could convince you to stay. His mother always said he was good with words. If you forgot it at his house when you left he’d have a way to bring you home again. Fresh tears welled, the backs of his hands smearing them into his hairline.
The handkerchief smelled faintly of you still. His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth and the skin picked and pulled. Still carrying the piece of fabric, he leaned over the stairs railing to see you as you sat on the back porch. 
Sitting on the second to last step of the house, he took a moment to collect himself. Being so frazzled, so undone, wasn’t like him. That foreignness just added to the panic. Bringing a hand to his chest, he opened his shirt to run his fingers down his sternum and to the left. A beating heart, evidence he was the survivor in every encounter he’d been in. But now, half a house between your and his back, why did he feel the most in danger? Rarely did fight or flight kick in, the last time he felt it was rolling around with that man who’d tried to choke the life out of you. 
No strange man here now. Just strange feelings. 
The pounding under his fingerprints became sonorous. It was becoming harder to ignore the obvious. 
Deep breaths, he had to prepare his responses. The only way to begin was with an apology, but after that he wasn’t sure where things would go. So he had to make a plan. 
Alastor hoped you’d forgive him, and accept the apology. At which point he would love to imagine himself doing something respectful like kissing your cheeks and thanking you for your mercy. 
If you didn’t accept it….Alastor had never begged a day in his life, but he could see himself begging you to stay. Perhaps hugging your ankles and promising things he didn’t have. There was no longer an impossibility in what he would do, which was alarming. The idea of him being so pathetic and pitiful was nauseating, however there was no one and nothing that could stop that if you got up and left. 
There was no way to run his lines for this. Like many other interactions with you he couldn’t bring the usual tools with him to battle. Either with your wit or point of view, or perhaps today your wrath, you always disarmed him. 
But that was what made you worth the risk. It began as entertainment, but soon enough the dome of your stage extended out and around him, sheltering Alastor in the warm light of your presence. And now as he looked around the railing of his stairs, he was scared to see the exit lights flicker on. 
Walking out the backdoor, he wondered if he would be allowed back in or if the door would lock behind him. 
He knew the exact moment he fucked up, and knew he had to begin there. Barefoot, still in yesterday’s clothes while you were in your night dress, he let himself drop to the space beside you before tentatively bringing his head down to your lap. He avoided eye contact, not yet ready to confront his adjudicator.
The pain in your words from last night were just now beginning to sting his eyes. 
‘Who am I?’
“You are my darling,” It wasn’t until he said it that he realized he hadn’t opened his mouth and spoken yet, his voice was harsh and throat dry. Who were you? It would be easier to list who you weren’t to him now. “That’s who you are.”
No unit of time existed small enough to measure the pause between what he said and your reply, but it felt like a gorge separating his breaths. 
“You sure didn’t make me feel like your anything last tonight.”  He couldn’t remember ever hearing you take such a tone; cutting and cold. Was there no longer warmth in your heart for him? He had been so drunkenly blinded by his own feelings he hadn’t stopped to think about how you were viewing his little tantrum. Maybe he hadn’t ever really had anyone around whose opinion mattered very much.
And he’d made you feel like nothing to him. The mountain of derelictions crumbled under the weight of perhaps his biggest failure of the evening, an avalanche of embarrassment and shame washed over him and he didn’t try to impede his tears. Men were only supposed to cry on their wedding day and at funerals, but he supposed this day could still go either way. Could still be as pivotal to his happiness.
“I know. I’m sorry. I was so,” what word could sum it up?
“Drunk.”
“Enraged.” a high whine caught in his throat, clenching his eyes now as the embarrassment took over stronger than he had thought possible. He felt stupid now saying he was just angry, “And drunk.”
He couldn’t entirely blame the alcohol, but he wouldn’t disagree with you now. 
“And disrespectful.”
Alastor folded in on himself, shoulders drawing in to try and curl up small enough that he ceased to exist in any meaningful way. Disrespectful. He had, he’d disrespected you in public and in private. The stunt with the keys came back and he thought he may just die from the mortification of what he’d done. 
“That too.” His hands nervously wrung the handkerchief beneath his closed thighs. What a terrible morning juxtaposed with the prior day’s bliss. A sigh, soft and weak. He remembered who was the catalyst for his buffoonery. “I want to split his skull with an ax.” 
Argh, it wasn’t about him. “I’m sorry. I— you were not wrong. I didn’t know what to do with myself when your manager said you’d been arrested. I almost drove my car into the station doors.” He was beginning to wish he had.
“So getting zozzled and shouting the personal details of a New Orleans detective into the night seemed… the better option? When I had already had a difficult night?” He flinched at the rising anger in your voice, the rhetoricals were scolding and biting his pride like a nun’s ruler to his knuckles. “When I needed your support? Comfort?”
Perhaps the death blow. All he could do was nod and accept his mistakes. But, it hurt. Not to admit them, but to confront them. Another tidal wave of emotion hit and he had to bury his face back into the cool silk of your nightwear. He couldn’t understand how he had fucked it up so badly. 
No, he had to find words. “I’d never felt so helpless, I just…I responded very selfishly. I’m sorry.” Two words did nothing, they tumbled from his mouth like feathers. Weightless. When the heavy guilt in his chest was threatening to drag him to hell with one misstep, ‘I’m sorry’ was just crystals of salt dropped in the gulf. Actions were all he had left and he wasn’t sure yet you’d give him the time to show you. 
When your fingers grazed his scalp and combed his hair from his ears he shook with relief. A tender touch that promised you didn’t hate him, and his cortisol levels immediately plummeted. He felt safe again, enough to ask what was pestering him still. 
“Will you ever let me kill him?” his lips ghosted over the mercy of your thighs.
As you thought, his fingers ran along the edges of your handkerchief. Feeling the stitched edges with precision as a distraction from the stress of waiting. 
 “When he’s no longer a threat to us. When no one will be shocked to hear he’s dead.” 
No longer a threat… what did that mean? When Brady moved on from you both, or was simply made incapable of doing you harm. He could expedite that, somehow. He was sure of it. 
His arms wrapped around your legs and caressed your thighs through the silk, “He went too far. Turning his head up, he got you into his peripheral. 
“And he knows your name.”
Oh. That … was expediting, wasn’t it? It was bound to happen. 
“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.” He pulled himself closer again. Brady was nothing compared to the threat of losing you. “I’ve never been a bigger failure in all my life than last night. In every way. To myself and to you.” What a joke he was. How high and mighty and curated he tried to be that he forgot the point of it. A shield he turned to you was just a barrier between what he desperately wanted by his side. His tears returned with renewed vigor, the complete breakdown of his manicured image was a tell tale heart he couldn’t smile away anymore, the greatest weakness he was never so happy to call his own. Muffled by your clothing and inviting lap, “I just love you so much…” he choked and then sucked in a deep breath to try and get control of himself, shifting his face to the side again to watch your face for an immediate reaction to his question, “Do you want to leave me?”
He didn’t want the answer. He knew better than to ask. But – if you did, he didn’t want to keep you there. He couldn’t let the moment pass without finding out if you were just putting up with him. If you felt trapped, like Brady promised you that you would. When you told him those things, the silly things the detective had said before, you always laughed. You said it was so ridiculous. But, now, there was nothing funny about the idea. He couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t keep that little yellow fabric in his hands even after you parted, but he could swear to not try and guilt you back into his arms. 
When you lifted him off of your body by the collar he couldn’t understand the emotion behind it. You were inspecting his face so carefully, but there was no sign of disgust or anger or even adoration to signal how he should feel. The teardrops tickled his cheeks and chin and fell unimpeded to your legs. 
Your eyes kept moving over his features, until a small tug of your lips to the side crept into a smile. Soft and obviously natural.
“Give me a little time. I’ll show you how stupid of a question that is over our first fight,” The pads of your thumbs were soft as they slid down his cheeks and gathered the moisture there. When he pulled the handkerchief to his lap, you took it and used it to further dry his face. He exhaled a broken breath when you took his face in your hands and stared into his eyes. “I never want to leave you.” His body again trembled with relief, blinking away the nth torrent of tears, “Even if I do, even if somehow I’m convinced to go, you’ll have to rip your heart out of my cold dead hands or I’ll take it with me.”
Stop. Don’t say that. “What have I told you? Don’t mention those things.” Death. Leaving. Goodbyes. “The spirits are listening.” They were always listening, watching, hoping to grab a hold of anything you said without precision and deliver you the reality you mused. He didn’t want to lecture, but he couldn’t let it go. Shh, don’t say such things. He could feel the dried tears crack as his eyes crinkled with his smile, a smile that he nearly failed to switch up to return the kiss when you pressed your lips into his. A first fight? He’d never had one of those. Typically he never got that far. Things fell apart the second someone was unhappy or unsatisfied. 
Take his heart back? His mind finally processed the words. It was yours. The morning had proved to him he couldn’t claw it back if he truly wanted, and if he was further honest with himself, he didn’t want it. It was better off with you. He felt the air cooling the once body-warm tears, he whispered what he felt was too vulnerable to say at full volume, “But, it’s not mine anymore. Isn’t that obvious?” His eyes looked down at your feet pointed in towards his own. Was this pathetic display not making it glaringly evident he was a man turned inside out? Guts in his hands and heart in yours?
You sniffled and sat up straight, bringing his attention back to you. 
“If you ever speak to me like you did last night again, with that sharp tone and cruel words, sober or not…” Your words got slower until you stopped, an almost wild look in your eyes he could read as pleading. He shook his own head subtly, unconsciously swearing he wouldn’t. 
If he ever forgot himself and you again, like he had let his rage and weakness do the night before, he didn’t deserve your forgiveness or grace anymore. A woman too good for him.  
Because he couldn’t ever get it back now, “You can take my heart with you.” 
A sickening fact. 
His body was a tool, and he’d use every tool he had available to make you understand what you meant to him. Would you feel different now, now that he knew you loved him? Would he find your body warmer, more inviting… Could he make you scream your love for him?
Later, he would have to bookmark that idea. The confession was too fragile still, a crystal figurine to precious to even take out of the box. 
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:・
˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖
@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx
@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98
, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,
@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies
@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum
, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000
@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain
@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,
@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby
@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12
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thelilylav · 8 months ago
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He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
(He Ain't Heavy He's My Brother, The Hollies)
My art, The World at Its Beginning (Dustin Pearson), The Tyrant's Tomb (Rick Riordan), The Fall of the House of Usher (Steven Berkoff), The Tower of Nero (Rick Riordan), Leto and her Children (William Henry Rinehart), The Moon Had No Light of its Own (Imaginary Future), My Love Mine All Mine (Mitski), Untitled (Lyra Wren), The Tyrant's Tomb (Rick Riordan), Electra (Sophocles), To Forgive (The Smashing Pumpkins), Unknown, The Tower of Nero (Rick Riordan), The Sun is Also a Star (Nicola Yoon), Doomed From the Beginning (@/veniennes on tiktok), On learning to write professionally (Interview with Jazmine Hughes by The Creative Independent), The Tower of Nero (Rick Riordan), My art
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I feel bad for Starlo. (pt. 7)
Staroba is... not my cup of tea.
Still can't get over the fact Ceroba showed so little empathy for Star. It becomes even worse when you remember she started lecturing him ALL while wanting to take Clover's soul herself and lied to his face just so she could later betray the kid. At least Star tried to fix things. She started digging deeper and deeper into her plan and in the end got forgiven really easily.
I keep thinking Ceroba sees Starlo as a childish little bro or smth and even mentions how the reason she chose Chujin was because he was "mature." Yeah he WAS more serious in terms of personality but everyone's different. Chujin wasn't morally perfect anyway
'Back when I was a naive kid, kinda like you' and 'hey, it's science. your brain is still developing' rub me the wrong way. Basically what I got from this is how she thinks only someone childish and emotionally underdeveloped would consider a relationship with Starlo
Ceroba seems to view Star as a "poor naive manchild" who needs babysitting. She feels so bad for him that she'd sometimes tag along with his antics but won't hide the annoyance most of the time.
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She'll also spare him from his feelings getting hurt, which is nice but it's not her honest opinion:
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She seems to show little appreciation for what he tried to do for her even though they're supposedly best pals. She says how she's been burying her sorrows in the saloon but not how spending time there even slightly cheered her up.
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She envies Star's optimism but imo it sounded more like an adult envying a kid's naivety than one adult admiring the other.
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And APPARENTLY the time she spent with Clover in Steamworks cheered her up a little but not what Star's been doing for her for months.
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heck she didn't even notice he had been doing it for her. too stuck in her sorrows, probably
I think the reason for this is because the Steamworks reminded her of Chujin and Kanako and the life they used to have. Btw, she loved Chujin waaaay too much (and even though he's gone now she still doesn't think she'll ever be with anyone else except Chujin, she's proud of Chujin for a useless award, she still calls Chujin 'her love,' she keeps talking about Chujin's legacy and how Asgore and everyone else never believed in him), to the point she stubbornly supported him without question, only (maybe) seeing him more realistically at the end of pacifist. I just feel like Ceroba doesn't take Starlo seriously. It's not that she doesn't care about him at all, but… she definitely doesn't get him.
For these reasons, I'm not a fan of staroba.
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mocksyoucondescendingly · 3 months ago
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I don't understand this marchil thing what's the appeal
I JUST wrote about this haha
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and knowing that you may not get to see the rest of someone's life doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy the moments you will get with them.
overall, I like their dynamic and chemistry...
at the start, it feels as though marcille is not very knowledgeable of the world outside of academics. she isn't comfortable in most of society because she's always seen as an outsider. she does her best to put up this image, and she cares a lot about it. but it's all based on this Fear that she's not enough or too much, and nobody will ever understand her. that she will always be alone.
I think Falin helped crack that in Marcille (og farcille truther); she showed her that it's okay to just slow down and notice the moment. to breathe it in and not even worry about the passing of time.... but Marcille was young and caught in her fears still... hard to shake them. so she took it more like a challenge, like, "how can I let everything I love slow down so much that I don't have to notice that it's left me???" so desperate to capture the things she loves.
...
And Chilchuck is just like. this guy ??? and he could die so young ????? he had a life and a family and a moment to enjoy, and he's out here risking his precious short life ???? she's shocked she's concerned she's invested.
but we know Chilchuck has experienced loss. he's most likely experienced it so much that he doesn't even consider it *should* phase him. his parents are likely dead, his wife doesn't want him, his children are adults out living THEIR lives. halflings don't live that long, so what ?? it's his life and He is living it 🙄 he is an Adult and he can do what he wants !? who knows when it will end anyway !...?
and you know,, it's that. where they connect. like. you can't get too close to someone; they could die! they could leave you ???
Marcille wears her heart on her sleeve, yells,and fights and kicks for them. she can't say it but you Can See It. she can't leave a friend behind she can't stop herself from wanting the best for others.
Chilchuck cages himself in iron. he runs, and he hides. he can't stand to be responsible for others wellbeing, it only hurts. he can't let them know he cares because then he would have to acknowledge it himself.
but we SEE the group becoming more comfortable with the idea that they Do care about one another. and we see all of them get closer and worry for the others. opening up and saying as much.,
chilchuck sees the way marcille cares Whole-Heartedly, and he can't look away. he can't believe someone would be so foolish and has lived that long. has she not been hurt enough? how could she lay her heart out so willingly? it makes him curious, and it makes him concerned. it gets him too close in a way he doesnt usually let himself get. scary...
marcille sees chil closing himself out from others and can't help but want to know what's on his mind. can't believe someone could have NO time at ALL with their loved ones ?? and not want the most of it...? he loved! how could he not want to keep that??? he's running from something she would love to have. but she doesn't know the complexities of it all,
they have to learn how to change, how to grow as people. they gain a wider understanding of the world through each other (and the rest of the entire group and through the events of the manga OBVIOUSLY) ! !! ! and through their differences they find the same root fear and that same root love.
is this coherent I do not know. love and light ✨️🥰✌️
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strandnreyes · 2 years ago
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thinking about Carlos and TK moving out of downtown when they get a little older and they have a little bit of land so they have a big garden that they can pull from to make dinner and fresh herbs in the windowsill and wildflowers everywhere for the bees and occasionally TK will cut a few down to give to Carlos and Carlos can go back to his horse boy roots and teach TK to ride and maybe they get a dog or another lizard and one day TK suggests chickens to have fresh eggs so Carlos builds him a coop and they have friends and family that can always come watch over everything when they leave for a week to check another place off the list of things they want to see together and maybe TK starts to get up earlier with Carlos or maybe TK finally convinces him of the beauty of staying in bed a little longer instead and they still have stressful jobs and hectic lives but they’ve carved out this little bit of peace for themselves and they’re happy :’)
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moeblob · 7 months ago
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Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.
Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.
#my characters#waiting on some info on the next commission so i indulged in ocs today bc i doubt i will have as much time for lil comics for a bit#deacon is so devoted hes like yeah i would kill for a deity that could easily kill anything himself but yknow teehee#and fulj just did you tell him you needed therapy also does he even know youd murder in his name#deacon caught red handed haha no of course i havent told him it should be obvious enough haha.... and its in his defense not his name :c#man really does have some issues but i love him so much and hes so devoted but like. unhealthily after a while#he does in fact need a chill pill and therapy but to be fair#ymber has needed therapy for centuries and yet he just bottles it all up and suffers so#its pretty unhealthy until they yell at each other one (1) time bc they are so insecure about things and get mad over very valid reasons#but then theyre like you know what that was necessary and i still want to stay by your side if you let me#and then fulj is like dude hey sorry you seem really happy did you fu- and ymber is like no please stop there we have not#fulj just squinting cause have not is very different than will not but whatever she doesnt wanna think about that with deacon involved ew#and eventually fulj is like hey ymber im sorry to say but i really do hate deacon and i dont even know why but he makes me uncomfortable#while deacon is just. in the room. hearing this and thinking how he knows she thinks hes weird but wow that wording hurts#and ymber doesnt wanna fill in memories better forgotten by fulj which she had forcefully removed#so he just says oh well his hair and clothing are black and you had someone in the past that you might see in him and its not a pleasant en#so you know maybe its that idk#and fulj is then WHATST i was rude to him for someone i cant even remember? lame im gonna try SO HARD to be nice to him now#and deacon just still sitting there with some food like this is v awkward and i wish i could not be here for it#and later he asks ymber about who he resembled and as ymber is descibing her it clicks in deacons head and he gets really sad#that he might somehow remind fulj of the woman she loved before she was punished for loving a mortal#and he feels kinda bad pestering her so much with his curiosities about deities and he kinda gets it#the fact hes close to ymber might remind her at the core that she was once that close with a mortal if not closer#anyway story time in the tags again#im so obsessed with these peeps and i have made them suffer so much but they do all end on a happy note#its still funny and nice to me that while fulj is creeped out by deacon and doesnt like talking to him#he still expresses the most emotions to her - he tries hard to remain serious around ymber and collected and obedient at all times#and when out and about with ymber he has to be intimidating and refuses smiling but fulj?? all sunshine and smiles and emotions easy to rea#and she is just that is so weird go away i hate you
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nullians · 3 months ago
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It’s actually insane how fandom in general has become so scared of making weird and dark and ugly works. Like I look at myself and see how I have also subconsciously adapted this instinct to self censor and make things “marketable” and it’s making me want to crawl out of my skin. I need to get weirder and worse and more off-putting hello
#I need to write a proper Spectra&Gus meta bc it’s been cooking me how people don’t Want to see the insanity in them#argh#d0 stuff#negative#d0 smashes the keyboard#like yes#Gus’s devotion and loyalty are extreme and these feelings make him do stupid things that he is absolutely aware of being stupid#but let’s not pretend that these feelings go both ways in their relationship#Spectra (for like. the majority of the New Vestroia except the maybe last 12 eps?) sees Gus as a convenient tool#like Yeah he is like. a person and all that but Spectra doesn’t Interact with him when it doesn’t concern his business so#and also yes. he gives Gus a level of autonomy that one might not exactly expect from how usually these relationships go but#one Has to question if it’s bc of his goodwill or bc he is safe in his knowledge that Gus would never leave him#which. fun and sick and makes them sooo compelling#I would also argue that Spectra/Keith don’t even miss Gus when he ‘died’ as a person at first#but as the second pair of hands for work#like it was quite funny to see Spectra give instructions to air only to be reminded that his minion died#but it does rise the question of why hasn’t it happened before or in any other situation#(which I must say I really dig because yes. Spectra has always been centred around his ambitions so ofc this is where it would hurt first)#but yeah. sth sth Spectra only starts his journey of Actually giving a shit about Gus and acknowledging his importance to him as a person#by the end of nv#you could still argue it was partially (or maybe wholly) motivated by convenience that Gus presents but#it really was the first time Spectra has personally expressed his tie to Gus gah#all of this to say#they are sickos; each in their own way; and I think we can really make this more sinister and insane than we’ve allowed ourselves#throughout the years so far#like yeah. can I see them as a happy couple? sure! but also can I see this as a very codependent (more so from Gus’s angle) relationship#that’s being sprinkled with Tons of manipulation from Spectra? also yes#actually sorry for this wall of tags idk what got me thinking about them again#but it’s so so biting the bars day bc these guys are so fun!! we just have to let them be and maybe read canon through less good intentions#ok uhhh
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good-beanswrites · 1 year ago
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Hello!! If you're still taking requests for that drabble game, might I request either Strength with Kotoko + Mikoto or Weak with Amane + Futa? It's fine if you aren't doing it anymore, of course
I've been in this fanbase since trial one and out of all the things I've read, your writing is probably amongst my favorite! (Even if I haven't finished going through it all yet...) I hope you have a splendid day! <3
!!!!! You are so kind waaahh this completely made my day, thank you ;---; I'm so glad you're enjoying omg ✨And thanks for these, they were really cool and fitting combos!! I tried to do a dual-perspective of Kotoko and Mikoto's pre-T2 fight, and I posted the one for Weak below.
Strength can manifest in a variety of ways, not just physically. Kotoko had a strong determination, for example. Mikoto had a powerful way with people. She showed solid self control and willpower. He held to strict deadlines and routines. She maintained a sharp intelligence. He upheld an unshakeable resolve.
Also, they were both ridiculously physically strong.
The pair came to this realization around the same time. They’d gotten a taste of the others’ power when clashing in the interrogation room, but it had begun suddenly and ended just as quickly. This time was different. They stood in the center of the panopticon, with the echoing space to themselves. As Kotoko swung a punch toward Mikoto, and he caught her against his forearms, they had a moment to gauge the other’s muscle. 
Kotoko stared into his eyes, which had a different sort of awareness to them now. He’s more coordinated, she thought, he must not be the same one I faced before. He’s leaning on the strength in his arms -- he’s not using his legs to their fullest potential. It doesn’t matter, given the raw force of his blows. Has he trained for fights, or just built his muscles in general? 
Mikoto stared into her eyes, returning her fiery gaze. Fuck, this lady’s strong.
She wound up again. He retaliated quickly. She shoved his back into the guard’s tower. He sidestepped her next attack. 
He didn’t really care why his fellow prisoner had come charging at him swinging, but she made sure he knew.
“The warden may not be able to administer punishments,” she said in between timed breaths, “so they entrusted me with that responsibility. This is justice, for the lives you’ve taken. You won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”
He broke into harsh laughter. “You’re one crazy motherfucker! You’re the only person hurting anyone.” He tried to grab her, but she slipped from his arms. His eyes narrowed, laughter dying away with unsettling speed. “But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you hurt me.”
Kotoko was struck by the way he said it. Her voice had shaken with the very same determination when putting herself between an innocent citizen and some creep. It was how she felt now, trying to keep his violent hands away from the other prisoners. There were children here, weak and scared. Es themself was just a child, and had already suffered his violence. She refused to let this villain cause any more pain. “I’m doing what needs to be done. You’re nothing but a murderous monster.” She swung her fist.
Mikoto caught her by the wrist, forcing her to look at the blood caked in her hand. He didn’t know whose it was, but it wasn't either of theirs. “You’re the fucking monster!” He shoved her backwards. “And I’m gonna kill you for it…!”
He didn’t know how she could think she was the hero in this whole situation. He was the one protecting someone else. 
Neither held back. Mikoto wheezed as her boots connected. Kotoko cringed as Mikoto landed a solid hit on her face. There was some shouting from the hallway. Their resolves hardened. Mikoto wasn’t going to let anyone else threaten him. Kotoko wasn’t going to let him threaten anyone else. They were strong, they reminded themselves. They had to end this now.
The two charged at one another. A moment before they were set to collide, they both cried out in pain. Blinding white light flooded the dark panopticon. They clutched their eyes, stumbling away from one another. A figure shoved through, planting himself between them.
“Stop this, both of you!” It was Kazui.
“Get outta my way,” Mikoto growled.
“This is not your concern,” Kotoko said, blinking in the light. 
The spotlight in the guard’s tower had been switched on, pointed directly at them. Kazui remained in place. “That’s enough. Look at yourselves, for god’s sake!”
Under the harsh light, they now saw the sort of state they were in. Mikoto’s uniform had torn in new places, blood seeping through. He could taste some in his mouth, too. Kotoko’s face was cut. Her leg ached. They stood covered in bruises, panting. 
“Go back to your cells,” Kazui commanded. “We’ll sort this out in the morning.”
Kotoko squared her shoulders. “There’s nothing to sort out. He’s a murderer. I won’t lose to him.”
“This bitch tried to kill me. I’m not letting her get away with it.”
“I don’t care.” Kazui said simply. “Call it a draw. You’ll both tear yourselves apart if you keep going.”
They continued staring at one another as if their gaze alone could take them to the ground, but neither moved to fight. 
Mikoto felt a pang of guilt. Lost in adrenaline, he didn’t realize how banged up he was. He thought of how much pain he’d experience in the upcoming days. The whole point was to save himself from harm. 
Kotoko cursed Kazui for interrupting her. As one of the forgiven, he was supposed to be on her side. Even if he wasn’t honorable enough to see her as an ally, she’d have to be the bigger person. She wouldn’t threaten him. 
Neither was happy about conceding, but couldn't think of a better option given their end goals.
Kazui remained between them as they stalked off to their respective cells.
“A temporary draw,” Kotoko muttered to Mikoto. She flashed a grin that felt more like an animal baring its teeth.
He returned the smile. “You won't be so lucky next time.”
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fishnoodles · 2 months ago
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when im weak to the devil it whispers to tell me to do an entire strokes fanzine. ok
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llycaons · 3 months ago
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one of the prev posts I was like oh cql? on the url and they WERE cql...but their top tag was...bad....but I don't even have the energy to refute their nonsensical arguments for it because like that's not what shipping really is about but also THEY REALLY THINK JC IS *THE ONE* TO MAKE WWX HAPPY AND LWJ IS BORING???? incest aside like jc makes wwx MISERABLE jfc canonically yeah lwj does make wwx happy and jc is left miserable and alone due to the consequenves of his actions including actively tormenting and mocking and humiliating and trying to kill wwx. go die mad about it 😭
#like 'wow their love for each other is so crazy and all-consuming its insane to thibk some boring lan cultivator could do that for him'#WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!!!!! their relationship is so unhealthy and marred by debt and obligations in the FIRST PLACE#and even without that yeah there's love there but they also just don't see eye to eye on so many things and jc actively impedes#wwx in things he wants or believes in and also treats him like shit like this is fully a sector of the fanbase who are just making things u#in their own head to enjoy#which would be mildly annoying if not for the fact that it's 1. INCEST#and 2. between two characters with THAT kind of history. wwx needs someone he can like...trust..#okay I guess I donhave the energy. I'm less angry at them calling lwj boring. yeah he is kind of boring but that's fine#wwx canonically doesn't think so and canonically is very happy w him#these bitches think his arguably abusive extremely immature and volatile pseudo-brother who tortured and tried to kill him is BETTER FOR HI#?????? brother jc is not better for ANYONE. there's loving someone and there's wanting to be around them and shit. like there's so much#history there it's lucky if they can even be friends again#like 🤢🤢🤢 what the fuck are you on. the narrative was pretty clear. media comprehension -100000#I don't even think this person is unintelligent or anything they just have incredibly bad and nonsensical taste#or at least used to. idk how old those posts were I fully admit#wwx with anyone besides lwj is a hard sell but jc is beyond insane for multiple reasons#even if you 'don't see them as brothers' which is an interpretation I guess they still have a horrible relationship#and jc makes wwx feel terrible bc he has a bad personality and blames wwx for all the most painful things that happened to him and he lashe#out constantly. like he canonically makes wwx miserable and forces him to prioritize jcs own emotional and physical needs. by the end he's#a little better. but he's also not the moral beacon wwx gravitates towards. he's pragmatic and callous#wwx NEEDS someone he can trust someone who shares his principles someone who will take care of him and not demand him to crush inconvenient#parts of himself and play nice. to cater to someone else's feelings#like...structurally they're so well matched this post was insane I hate c/x shippers so much 😭#cor.txt
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note-boom · 2 years ago
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Okay but after watching and hearing about Untold Origins, I am....actually slightly hopeful for a happy-ish ending for BSD?
I know we're years away from the manga actually ending, should all go well behind the scenes, but even so, the way the ADA - the organisation that Atsushi (our protag) is involved with - was created gives me hope.
Because you have these two loners, one alone by his own will and his fear of himself and others. And the other alone all of a sudden after a secluded but happy life with loving parent, growing slowly to fear the world. Yet in each other they find a family and find a new present, find meaning and colour in each other.
Fukuzawa learns to overcome his past, and Ranpo grows to look forward to his future. And together they create a place where their present will be safe, where they can help not only themselves but a very cruel world.
In addition, at the start, they are both (in essence) extraordinary but completely ordinary people. As in, Ranpo doesn't actually have a special ability despite his unusually high perception and deduction skills, and Fukuzawa doesn't yet know of his own ability and only has his near inhuman swordsman skills. And in that ordinariness disguised under extraordinariness, they affirm each other's humanity.
It's just so seriously special to me, as much as it's funny, that the founders of the supernatural-based agency weren't special in the sense of having supernatural powers. I can't quiiiite articulate it into words but there's SOMETHING in there about how the ADA was founded on a baseline of finding the extraordinary beauty of just being your own weird kind of human being, no powers needed. That, actually, being extraordinary was still being human.
And where I'm going with all of this is to say that...well, look at all the members of the ADA. And look at the way the agency was founded, by whom, and what it represents. The ADA was started on a basis of actually helping someone who felt alienated from the world find their place in it while also protecting them from it, and we SEE in Ranpo and Yosano and Kunikida - even in Katai, honestly, though he left - how it did exactly that. Helped someone perhaps not find meaning in their future, but definitely find love and hope in the now.
So why can't I believe that given what the ADA stands for - a family, a bright present, a place where one can rediscover their humanity and find a place in a seemingly meaningless world - the manga won't end with something like the way Untold Origins ended? People coming together and fighting their way through the everyday, just content in the fact that at least for now, they're alive and together?
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floralovebot · 9 months ago
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Could you share more on your thoughts about Vampire!Florelia??
YES OF COURSE
god dude i have SO many thoughts about vampire florelia but the one sort of au i keep thinking of is the whole "one of them is turned into a vampire first and now they have to deal with their lover aging without them oh no". it's so juicy,,,
cause obviously sappy florelia thoughts make me go "well both of them would be okay with turning into a vampire for the other", however!!! i just love the initial angst of it yknow,,, what if the first one to turn hides this from the others because they're scared,,, vampires aren't exactly treated as Good in the winx universe yknow? what if they're scared of turning evil? of hurting the others?? what if they run away instead???
the winx and specialists would naturally want to help them and i can see them looking for a way to reverse the vampirism, but what if they can't find anything? what if that person Does lose control and hurt someone?? THE ANGST POTENTIAL IS SO GOOD DUDE
i do also think about addams family vibes (a la morticia and gomez) vampire florelia too though,, no angst there just them being obsessed with each other <3
#see the thing is... both of them would immediately be on board for turning for the other#but also both of them would fully be aware of what life as a vampire would be like and they would want the other to think about it first#cause do you really think either of them would be Okay with seeing their friends and family all pass away...#BUT ALSO neither of them would want the other to have to deal with that alone#its just SO GOOOD!!!!#flora would be worried that helia just wants to turn for her and that he would end up regretting it#helia would be worried that flora wouldnt be able to handle seeing everyone else pass and age while she stays young#and sure we could definitely make this an everyone turns and lives together forever and theyre all happy au#but ough the angst.....#something about florelia sticking by each other no matter the hardships...#would sky turn into a vampire for bloom????? i don't think so.#adlkghlj#there is also the classic vampire trope of the vampire turns the human because they were dying or something#which like. yeah yeah but idk its not as juicy to me as them choosing it and the vampire being like. are you sure???#helia self hate moment: flora you'd have to live with me forever are you sure you want that???#flora heart eyes: yes <3#aldhgldhag#the sillies#answered#honestly if flora got turned first i have no doubt that if she asked the wi.nx theyd say yes too#of course they would!! thats their baby girl they can think about the consequences later#i do Not think the specialists would do that for helia ajdghl#maybe timmy... maybe even riven... but sky?? brandon??? hell no aldgl
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