#kinda. vaguely. but tagging just in case.

[midnightkens]

thinking about colt and his relationship with his father.

his father is a megachurch pastor in florida. colt grew up surrounded by religious fanatics, and he was eager to escape. it got a little better once his mother took him and fled to seattle (not by much because his mother is only slightly less extreme), but colt knows that his father resents him.

seventeen year old colt isn't afraid of him anymore. he's bisexual, and damn proud of it. there's nothing wrong with him, and he refuses to hide it for his homophobic parents' comfort.

he doesn't speak to his parents much. he has nothing to say to them. but when his father finds out that he's married to ken? to a man?

he gets hounded by almost his entire family of origin, and all colt can think is this is why i fucking left.

[mugwot]

sometimes you sound bit too mean, it happens

it was Supposed to be in colour, and them the bw version Just Looked better

this is mostly based on this meme

[snickerdoodlles]

there's a lot of things people blame for why fandoms feel like ghost towns these days, but no one's really talked about the way discord's contributing to it

[cuteniaarts]

Behold, my latest and most enamouring new obsession:

Malina, Lady of the Chief of the Northern Water Tribe. As if Red Lotus child OCs weren’t niche enough

[autopsytableromance]

One funny thing to me is that sometimes my bestie will send me reels like this one

And I have to be like. Bestie I appreciate that you’re on my “side” ig but 1 I’m just having fun and 2 in no way did he treat me like his bf and our FIRST text conversation he was like “hey I don’t want you to get the wrong idea bc I don’t want a relationship”

[steampunk-raven]

every fandom ive been in always has people who engage in so much fandom discourse and like 9 times out of 10 I fully agree with their opinion but they’re just. so mean about it

[rabbitprose]

sometimes i think about the year-long (or longer, i asked people not to talk to me about it) adventure of "you don't really have a dissociative disorder" anons and meanwhile i'm sitting here pouring my absolute heart out regarding d.oma's own troubles with dissociation. no, d.oma and i don't have the same relationship with dissociation - d.oma experiences severe dissociation as a symptom of a disorder that is not catagorised as dissociative in nature (me on the other hand is a different story).

but like, do you really think there's not a hint of self reflection within what i write? no processing of my complicated relationship with dissociation? do u really think that? do you think i write so extensively about his pain and hardships and strained relationships as someone completely separate from intense dissociation? do you think i'm just writing about it without a single shred of "this has actually happened to me"?

d.oma's dissociation will always be an expression of my own - that's the truth.

[graviticdeeds]

I was having a discussion with a friend about certain lore implications in AC6, esp regarding the NG++ events and the final boss.

We couldn’t quite figure out what Kate’s deal was, so that bears more investigation I think, cus for our playthroughs she more or less got doomed to obscurity after the coral supply mission. So there’s likely something to scope out from there.

Had to explain about the ending song, ie: FreQuency, since nothing else in the AC6 OST is remotely like it. Which was pretty entertaining for me, given the added production quality to a scrappy garage band sound from ~10 years ago.

Still got some ‘oh no’ vibes from NG++. Still trying to wrap my head around the theory I have… At a glance, it seems like it’s a happy end, but that’s highly debatable to me, given that Armored Cores are basically war machines.

[atticcreationz]

The more episodes of Neverafter I watch (I'm only half way through episode 4, no spoilies please 🙏) the more I can hear my old college thesis about retelling and adapting stories rattling around in my head like a pinball (in the best possible way)

[bittersweet-mojo]

Ok so Barbie was a fucking blast and you should all go see it, I was delighted by the entire thing. I do not feel different though, it did not make me emotional like some reactions I’ve seen. I wholeheartedly agree with other trans people who’ve said that this movie is earth shattering to cis people who’ve never put any thought into the performance of gender before. If you are trans it is going to be old hat. The points made felt just so obvious but that’s because we’ve done this thinking before. Cis straight people mostly have not. Artistically tho I think it’s magnificent the commitment to the bit they were doing was spectacular. The only comparable thing I can think of is But I’m a Cheerleader. Like this movie is Weird I had such a good time

[the-acid-pear]

I have yet to keep inspecting the sweepstakes, I need some air and food first, but I might as well share what I've been thinking about Mike today, because I heard of an interpretation saying Mike was a camera man for Spamton which ... Is very interesting. Like for me this makes me think of Mike as someone who admired Spamton, someone way smaller than him, definitely younger imo, who simply excitedly followed along with the orders given. I mean, up to a certain point. I mean this feeling is reinforced in the q&a when asked about Mike, that makes Spamton get very defensive, almost protective. In my eyes it almost creates this almost platonic familiar bond dynamic whatever. But like this is just a shot in the dark, bc what we know is, 3 lines, period. But if when chapter 3, 4 and 5 come out and Mike is there and I'm right about these things then I'm gonna feel like a god tbh.

[medicinemane]

I don't know, I get tired of a lot of positivity

Like yes yes, the world's wonderful and I'm so strong or whatever generic thing is being said (because it's always so generalized to the point of meaningless), but you know shit is what it is, and the only way forward is with changes I manage to make... which you're not helping with at all

And as for like... my internal mood, I'm deeply isolated, sorry if hollow platitudes don't sooth the gaping maw inside me

It is what it is, and I probably get my shit together enough to do stuff like teach out of my basement like I'd like, it's just I believe that I'll be alone in a crowd like I've always been

But positivity... I just... I kinda get sick of it. There's this guy on youtube I watch who talks about economics stuff, he's recently started doing positivity and... I just fucking know his personality enough where it's like sorry mate but I'm not interested in hearing you spout Secret light kinds off drivel

...I don't know, I suppose it boils down to this

One, I can barely fucking take in positive things said directly to me, about me. Generalizations don't help even a little... I'm a mess, I'd really like someone to toss me a life preserver instead of always tossing confetti at me while I struggle to stay afloat... doesn't help

Two, the world is a terribly imperfect place, and rather than taking a mentality of "everything will work out", I think it's important to acknowledge that sometimes good people live alone, die alone, and they never got the break they needed and slowly bled out

I think it's worth knowing that if you can't step in and help yourself, then maybe no help'll come at all

...I don't know, I suppose in the end the core of what I'm saying is a lot of positivity seems like self help tier stuff and... I get tired of that, and I see so many good people struggling and... eh... either I can at least come in and say something positive custom fit to them, or I can keep my mouth shut

Just fucking let me rot. Help or let me fester on my own, you know?

I got rid of the trailer, I maybe did something like cleaning though I can't tell... at what point will my pace on trying to make things better be good enough for people, and I'll be able to stop having people tell me to fix my life... as if I hadn't thought of that already

...everyone means well, it's just tiring

[wisemins]

0 days since i cried over a dumb pirate. i had a good streak there for a while, a good like-- 6 months or so. Woof.

[syd-djarin]

private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

 “I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”. 

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too. 

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness. 

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story. 

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time. 

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude,  adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him. 

Or you. 

Whatever. 

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night. 

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open. 

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes. 

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that. 

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving. 

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to. 

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop. 

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry. 

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips. 

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity. 

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment. 

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth. 

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely. 

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again. 

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

[l0v3tast3]

do you think we could get the 141 bois with a military!reader who had a guard/attack dog with them, and went out on missions with reader, and the dog got KIA’d, and reader is taking it harshly, because they grew attached to said dog?

My dog recently passed away and I kinda just.. need some 141 bois.

🥃-

✎ i'm so sorry to hear that honey :( losing an animal is a horrible pain and i hope you're doing okay!!

✎ tags : gender neutral!reader, angst but i tried to keep it vague, otherwise pretty much just platonic fluff, not proofread

♡ to put it mildly, the 141 guys thought you were a bit weird when you first joined, along with your dog. you spent more time with the animal than you did with humans, training, doting, just generally being in the same space.

♡ eventually the team came to understand your bond together, and who doesn't love dogs? while it was always yours, it also kind of became the team's dog.

♡ so when price had to haul you over his shoulder while you screamed at him to let you go, to let you back in that ruined building, they all felt it. they felt it the entire way back to base, the absence of the waging tail and you cooing at it on the entire helicopter ride back.

♡ you try to pretend like you're doing okay for a couple of days afterward. brief smiles that didn't fit right on your sunken face, exchanging polite greetings that sounded so dull. they walk on eggshells, always unsure of what to say to help you.

♡ they wait for you to break, and when you finally do, they send kyle in first. they figure he has the best shot of conveying their empathy to you (he's just as awkward as the rest of them, he just volunteered himself to try to help you first because they were all just staring at each other when soap brought it up).

♡ he brings you a case of bottles of your favorite drink and snacks, dropping them on your desk before sitting next to you on your bed. he asks you faintly if you want to talk about it.

♡ he lets you get it out, lets you cry and rant and whatever you need in that moment while he sits with you. when your tears finally run dry and the weight in your chest doesn't feel as empty, kyle gives you a hug and rubs your back for a few moments.

♡ the other three men are waiting when he comes out, and kyle shrugs and says he thinks he helped. soap snorted and asked him "what's that mean?" and kyle explains briefly what happened.

♡ they manage to coax you out of your room the next day. ghost and price were somewhere else on the base, and kyle had taken over soap's attempt at cooking eggs (i sincerely believe soap can only cook well enough to keep himself alive while kyle is actually pretty good). they sit you down and make you eat. soap takes the credit for the eggs even though you obviously saw kyle finishing them, and it makes you laugh a bit.

♡ they drag you to sparring practice, despite your many, many protests. you find that that's where ghost and price have been. they put you up against ghost first, and you're convinced that they're trying to make you more depressed now.

♡ as soon as he's coming at you, you're in "soldier mode" again and just focus on trying not to land on your ass too hard when he throws you down. usually you're a good sport and always shake hands after the rounds, but frustration was bubbling up quick today with every time you got pinned. you found yourself putting more and more into it, until you were actually fighting, clawing, biting, doing whatever you could. ghost let you and he took it easily. it was exactly what he would have needed if he were in your position; he still didn't just let you win, though.

♡ soap doesn't really know how to help you in a big way, so he just makes sure the little things are taken care of. he helps you clean your weapons and makes sure kyle buys the right drinks for you when he sends him out even though kyle knows what to get. he sticks around you but doesn't make it seem like you're on suicide watch or anything, just that you don't have to be alone for too long. he makes sure you eat, and you always answer "yes" because you don't even want him to offer to cook for you.

♡ it takes a couple of months before you're almost back to your normal self. there's always something missing, and you still reach down to your side on instinct, but the pit in your stomach stops opening quite as wide. you learn how to remember the happy memories again.

♡ when you're ready and if you feel like it, price is the one that takes you to start looking for a new furry friend. you know everything there is to know about dogs, and he knows you know it all, but you still get lectured about what to look for and what to avoid and not to get too close in case they try to bite. basically, he just becomes your father.

♡ "not that one, 's lookin' at me funny," he'll say once you start looking at them. "that one won't even make it through the heli ride!" basically, he thinks none of the dogs here are good enough for you, even though they're all wonderful in their own ways. he almost walks away when you kneel down and start giving scratches to a pomeranian that hadn't stopped yipping since you'd walked in.

♡ while they may all be emotionally-stunted men, they know what loss is like. they'll be there for you in the ways that matter.

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter five

“camouflage so you can feed the lie that you’re composed.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: descriptions of fear and violence, alastor is going through it, victorian inspired flustered pining, flirtation but vaguely threatening, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 3.3k

author’s note: apologies if this is a little mellow, but i figured it would be a nice change of pace considering the last couple chapters have been kinda tense. and if i’m being honest, i’ve been feeling inspired by some of my cozier writings - it’s about time some of that energy made its way here! lol

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It had been a long night. 

Despite how hard you tried, sleep came in small doses that only served to make you more restless. The sounds you heard in Alastor’s room rang in your ears as if they had never stopped. It had been guttural and animalistic, but unmistakably him. Cold dread sank into you as your mind lingered on what happened, the terror in you not yet subsided.

His bath was drawn and you had just finished lighting the candles on the fireplace mantel, but sensed a shift in the air when you began turning down the bed. Dismissing it at first as a draft or just a lingering trace of Alastor’s general spooky energy. That shadow of his was always up to something. If only that had been the case.

The fit of rage that came from the locked part of Alastor’s suite was so deafening and sudden that for a moment you were disconnected from yourself, until it all came crashing down on you like a wave in a storm. You fell to your knees and tried to catch your breath, your heartbeat pounding in your throat so violently it felt as if you’d choke on it. Mixed in with the howling was the clear sound of destruction, but of what, you couldn’t be sure. Absently, you thought of a tree being felled, but dismissed it as shock.

Snarling, thrashing, ripping.

It seemed never-ending and you were frozen in place, though desperate to be anywhere else. As the shock began to fade, a separate fear sank in: what if he found you here? Yes, he had sent you up here in the first place but this was… vulnerable. You found yourself on both sides of the coin. If you stayed here, he’d either harm you by accident or on purpose, neither of which you wanted.

Your arms were shaky but you managed to start crawling towards the door, not trusting your legs to be strong enough to stand. That would have to wait for the hallway. With every inch of progress you made toward escape, the cacophony from the other room began to fade, soon replaced by ominous, heaving breaths. Shit. He was winding down…

Panic gnawed at you, urging you forward, and you hissed at the sting of a rug burn blooming on your knee. A small price to pay. Whatever Alastor could do to you would be far worse. Instinct kicked in and you rose to your feet, nearly rolling your ankle as you closed the gap and pulled the door open. You were turning to close it when you saw him. 

Even in the relative safety of your bed, you felt your breath picking up, chest tight. It was an image you’d soon not forget, if ever. Alastor stood in the doorway of the connected room, his shadow huge and glowing green, looming behind him, both of their faces wild. Blood was running down the sides of Alastor’s mouth and he was dirty and unkempt, his eyes were their usual red but with a mania you hadn’t seen in him before. He was still panting, his body shaking in the doorframe with each breath from the strain.

Every hair on your body stood on edge as your blood turned to ice, feeling his menace even from your place just beyond the door. You should have just closed it or ran away but you were paralyzed in his gaze, barely managing to breathe in his stifling presence. His mouth opened but you didn’t hear whatever he said over your pounding heart. Before you could register the movement, Alastor’s shadow materialized in front you, leering down with a ghoulish, fanged grin and shrieked in your face. Its cackle echoed off the walls as you fled.

The clock in your room chimed and you shuddered against the early morning light seeping in from behind your curtains, the pit in your stomach hardening.

It was time to get up. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You had gotten yourself ready with as much time to spare as you could allow, knowing you’d need it. The door to Alastor’s room had never been a welcome sight but today it was downright threatening, practically daring you to knock as your knuckles hovered over it. A shaky breath escaped you as your arm fell to your side. You couldn’t do it. Not yet. 

It was hard to decide which fate was worse: being late or being here at all. Not that you were late, but he wouldn’t know that you’ve spent the past ten minutes fretting outside his room (with ten still to go). So yes, late is what you’d be if he so chose. As for showing up in the first place, considering the circumstance, he might wonder where you found the nerve and not in a way that’d be rewarded with praise. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

Fuck it, you thought, inhaling through your nose as you steeled yourself, bringing your closed hand back up to the door. It wasn’t your best, but you managed a couple decent taps. And waited.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor didn’t sleep often, but he was unable to fight the wave of exhaustion that bore down on him after the adrenaline from his outburst wore off. Though to blame it all on that would be skirting the truth. Ever since the battle with Adam, things haven’t exactly been going according to plan for the Overlord. The scar on his chest and broken microphone a constant reminder of how close he had come to a true death. 

He would never admit it, as he barely could even to himself, but being without his microphone was becoming truly unbearable, picking away at his self-image as each day without it passed. It pained him like a phantom limb and despite several attempts so far to mend it nothing had worked. Another blow. If the others had noticed him without it — which they definitely had — they had wisely kept their mouths shut regarding its absence in the weeks that have passed since the assault.

The problems just seemed to compound on each other. Losing to Adam, breaking his mic, the Vees knowing about all of it, Rosie forcing you on him, you killing Donny, which in turn put him right in the palm of Valentino’s hand. Valentino, for fuck’s sake! Even in his deep state of sleep Alastor’s brow furrowed, clawed hands puncturing the sheets as his subconscious worked through all of this again.

But before collapsing into bed, there had been clarity. If there was anything in the world one always had control over, it was perspective. And while things could surely be going better, Alastor had definitely suffered through worse in the past. These were just… growing pains. Any and all who underestimated him now would regret the day they ever crossed his path. The Radio Demon chuckled, still sleeping, with the scent of smoke slowly coaxing him back to consciousness.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Something was wrong. Alastor normally opened the door within seconds of your arrival, but minutes had passed since the third round of knocking. Maybe he wasn’t there? It wouldn’t be shocking for him to have gone somewhere, considering the night before. But something inside you didn’t feel satisfied with that. There hasn’t been a single morning so far that Alastor hadn’t set up some kind of task or errand for you just to press your buttons. Would he really have missed an opportunity to lay into you about seeing him like that last night?

You found yourself gripping the door handle. There’s no way it wouldn’t be locked, right? Then again… who would ever be stupid enough to walk into Alastor’s room without permission? It was a double-edged sword of sorts; his ego and other’s audacity. A nervous laugh escaped you as the knob turned in your hand, easily as a knife through butter. Apparently you were stupid and audacious, pushing the door open just enough to poke your head in. 

“Oh shit,” you groaned, clenching your jaw.

The room was dark, save for the candles that were burning low on the fireplace. It was a miracle it hadn’t gone up in flames. You bit your lip, considering your next course of action. You’d just snuff the candles and get out of there. He’d never have to know you had been here alone.

You made your way to the lounge area where the fireplace was and got to work extinguishing the candles with the snuffer, pleasant-smelling smoke wafting in the air as you made your way down the mantel. You were just about to put the last one out when you heard a low chuckle somewhere behind you, the snuffer nearly slipping through your fingers at the shock from the sudden noise. 

Cold sweat prickled your forehead. He was in here. Your eyes scanned the darkness, squinting, eventually settling on the bed. All you could see was a lump of duvet, his form indiscernible underneath, but it was the only place he could be. If seeing him lost to rage had been bad, catching him whilst asleep was much worse. There was no doubt that plenty of people had seen him the way he was last night, it had just been your first exposure. But you knew there wasn’t a single soul in Hell who had ever seen him sleeping, and you didn’t want to find out what the consequences would be for that transgression.

You turned back to the mantle, saying a silent prayer to be able to leave before he woke up as you snuffed the final candle. A sigh of relief escaped you as you gave a quick look over your shoulder, Alastor seemingly undisturbed, and began to tiptoe towards the door. You welcomed the coolness of the brass doorknob under your fingers, freedom blossoming in your chest.

“And just where are you off to?”

Your shoulders scrunched up and you faltered, the authority in his voice undeniable despite being coated in sleep. He was destined to always get the best of you, wasn’t he? You straightened and turned to face him, feeling slightly off-kilter at the image of Alastor sitting up in bed. Eyes having adjusted more, you could make out messy hair and the drowsiness that still clung to his eyelids. Somewhere in the worry, the word cute settled in your mind, followed quickly by a scolding. You didn’t have the luxury of admiring him when he was undoubtedly preparing a verbal lashing for you.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” you said, clearing your throat a little as your eyes moved away from him, flustered. It was hard to keep your mind straight seeing him like this, something you didn’t think would ever be an issue. “The candles were still burning, so I just came in to put them out. I’m sorry I woke you up, I’ll come back later if you need to sleep more.”

He hummed as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the action so innocent and foreign it made your pulse spike. How was this the same man you had seen last night — or any day since you first met, for that matter? In this moment he just seemed so… soft. It was disarming, to say the least, and you were doing your best to keep your wits, finding it to be a more difficult task than expected. Even with how uneasy you were for fear of being in trouble.

“You’ve caught me in quite the compromising position! I don’t believe anyone besides my mother has ever seen me in bed,” he said soberly, pinning you in place with his stare just as he had the night before. He was clearly not pleased, but the wrath you had been expecting wasn’t there. The filter in his voice dropped. “I expect you back here in fifteen minutes. With coffee.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

When you returned you found Alastor staring off into the horizon, sitting at the small table on the balcony in his housecoat. You were very familiar with it, usually picking it up off the floor or the back of a chair, but never had you seen it worn. You also noticed he had combed through his hair, but there was still just a hint of unruly bed head that remained. The tingle crept back up your throat and you swallowed, needing to focus on keeping your expression neutral. His ear twitched at your approach but he didn’t move to look at you until you were setting down the coffee, reaching out for his mug with an un-gloved hand. You had never seen his hands before, you realized, the high collar of your dress suddenly feeling too tight.

He inspected you, the cogs of his mind working as you stood there, and you tried not to fidget. You’d like to take his dissatisfaction with as much grace as you could muster. A minute passed before he finally smiled, the familiarity of his expression a relief despite the calculation you knew was behind it. 

“Have a seat. We need to talk.”

You don’t say, you thought apprehensively, but did as you were told and sat across from him, folding your hands in your lap. You felt like you were trapped in the most vexing cycle possible of deja vu.

“You have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, don’t you?” he jeered, chuckling into his mug as he took in the quick flash of shame on your face. He could be speaking to quite a number of things now, and you felt the scorch of a blush spread up your face. “Did I frighten you last night?”

He seemed pleased to think so, his close-lipped smile triumphant as always, and he wasn’t wrong; he had scared you senseless. You pursed your lips, turning the question over in your mind as you considered your response. “Yes,” you said tentatively, drawing it out. “Of course I was. I hardly slept, if that’s what you want to hear. Though I think this is scarier.”

Alastor tossed his head back, laughing heartily after you motioned at him with your finger. Seeing him in his housecoat and pajamas — and slippers?! Your nails bit into your palm as your mind went momentarily blank, and you feigned a cough as an excuse to turn your face away. This was beginning to feel worse than if you had walked in on him naked. It was so much easier to remember his authority when he was in his usual pomp. This felt way too intimate, borderline domestic, and it was making you restless.

You found yourself wishing you could be impaled on Vaggie’s spear as his laughter died down, the look he gave you now heavy-lidded, provocative, and smug. Without meaning to, you had played into stroking his ego. Perfect.

“I didn’t realize I was such a horror in the morning! Though to be fair you ensnared me, so I never stood a chance,” he sulked, letting out one of the most melodramatic sighs you’ve ever heard. “But once the fear wears off, I hope you can appreciate what an honor it is to bask in my presence like this. There are some who would kill for the privilege, you know.”

He gave you a wicked smile over his mug then, yellow fangs radiant before disappearing behind his lips as he took another loud sip of coffee. Something about the way he said it gave you a thought almost too absurd to consider but… he couldn’t be… flirting? Alastor always had an air of playfulness, which normally conflated with his twisted, sometimes sadistic, sense of humor. It was very possible that he was trying to lure you into a state of vulnerability just to knock you down a few pegs. He had been so upset last night. How was he in such light spirits today? A pattern that was beginning to exhaust you. You couldn’t — wouldn’t bite.

Besides, you had been fully prepared to be punished this morning. And within a matter of hours you had managed to see him in not one, but two very private situations. Though last night’s tantrum was something he probably felt no shame in as it could be perceived as a show of strength. Which, for the record, you were fairly certain you had been witness to a meltdown. But managing to walk in on him sleeping? If there was anything you thought he’d consider a killable offense well… that had to be near the top of the list, right?

“Well it’s certainly not something I ever thought I’d see — nor had I planned to,” you said, absently running a hand through your hair as you worked up your nerve. Here goes nothing. “But in my defense, the door wasn’t locked and you told me not to ever be tardy, so I don’t see how this is completely my fault. And anyway, now we’re even. We’ve both been in each other’s room without permission while the other was sleeping.” 

Or had he forgotten? You wouldn’t comment on the rest.

Alastor hummed pensively, the expression on his face almost impressed as he laced his fingers together to rest his chin. “Ahhh, there’s that cheek I’ve grown so accustomed to! Good morning, Sylvie.”

You bristled, but reciprocated with a sigh of defeat. “Good morning, Alastor.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The rest of the morning passed without incident, a welcome reprieve from recent mornings. After getting past the incident from last night and this morning, Alastor had finally told you about Charlie’s wish to have you join in on daily activities with the other residents. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t gratified at how nervous you seemed at the change in your routine, though it didn’t surprise him. Adaptability wasn’t quite your strong suit; you were a creature of habit.

When you had asked about what happened with Angel Dust last night, well… he told you all you needed to know for now. His meeting with Valentino was none of your business, anyway. Above your pay grade, he had joked, earning a nice glaring pout in return. As if it wasn’t enough fun teasing you, your scent was especially floral when you were embarrassed, almost akin to cherry blossom. A fact he would be keeping at the forefront of his mind.

As Alastor gave himself a once-over in the mirror, he caught sight of the bed behind him, now made to perfection. He had never paid you much attention while you were cleaning, typically preoccupied with grumbling at the news and nursing another cup of coffee. He laughed a little recalling how meticulous you were when it came to making the bed. You took it rather seriously; he had never seen your face so set in concentration as you went back and forth to ensure the top sheet was even before tucking it in. Whether that was by choice or duty, he knew it was his fault, but he didn’t mind. Why argue with such great results?

In fact, he was nearly tempted to sleep more because of how you attended to the task. Though he didn’t remember much of what happened in his cool-down the previous evening, he could still feel how secure he had felt under the taught sheet. Combined with the weight of the duvet, it was as comforting as his mother’s embrace. So it was no wonder he had slept as hard as he had.

Though it was a bit troublesome that he hadn’t known you were in his quarters until the candle smoke had woken him up. But seeing you trying to hide your unease as he lounged around in his nightclothes had been a worthy trade.

Satisfied with his appearance, Alastor took a deep breath and sighed, donning his trademark grin. It was time to see what that pestilential fool of an Overlord wanted.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

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