#kit cries

[redfoxwritesstuff]

I love you pretty flower, and your work is amazing 💜

Thank you <3<3

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Look! I found more CRACK!

Fuck meeee.

I've got problems. This stupid little cartoon has made me mad. And now you've made me an addict.

»»------► 𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚖 (18+)

Pairing: 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗; 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝.

Word Count: 𝟸.𝟼𝚔

Warnings: 𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝙱𝙳𝚂𝙼, 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜, 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎, 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜, 𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

A/N: 𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚕, 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚘!! 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚗𝚘 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝, 𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚑<𝟹𝟹𝟹

“You do remember our safeword, don’t you cherie?”

His voice was dripped in a sweetness that contrasted the frustration he had etched onto his face, and oh was he agitated. You knew of Alastor's ridiculous possessive behaviour over you, so why on earth you decided it would be a good idea to accept a custom made rubber duck from a blushing Lucifer was beyond you.

Alastor hadn’t taken the acceptance well; almost immediately he had ragged the duck from your hands before he groaned a murmur of disgust as he looked at it, only to light it afire on a green flame that disintegrated it into mere dust. You felt incredibly bad as you took in the king of hell’s saddened and gaping expression as Alastor cynically destroyed something he had spent so much time on; and before you could apologise on behalf of your husband’s behaviour, Alastor had shadow warped you into your shared room.

You were planning on berating Alastor, but as soon as your vision cleared from the shadowed warp, his voice had beat you to it as he had asked you why you would dare accept a gift from someone that was not him himself; why you thought it appropriate. You attempted to explain it to him, elucidating that it would have been incredibly rude to not accept the gift, only for Alastor to interject your speech, suggesting you had a thing for the king of hell.

A smack was what he deserved after implying you were attracted to another man that was not your Alastor; a smack is what he got.

“Yes.” You responded to the handsome demon before you; this was your punishment. Surprisingly, it wasn’t for the strike you had forced against his face; Alastor had deeply apologised for even entertaining the idea after you reprimanded him for questioning your love for him. No. This punishment was to remind you not to accept anything from anyone that wasn’t your husband ever again. 

Looking directly into his eyes, you stood in front of your husband whilst he seated himself in the armchair behind him; his eyes, although blacked out with radio dials replacing his pupils, easily exhibited his true emotions as excitement glimmered through them; the same excitement that made your cunt clench around nothing. As Alastor offered you his hand, you gladly surrendered your own hand into his clawed palm as he had non-verbally requested, allowing him to pull you towards him before he placed a soft kiss against your dorsal.

Though, despite the sweet gesture, the green chain that proved who your soul belonged to conjured around the delicacy of your throat; reminding you that not only did your heart belong to Alastor, but your entire being too, before he dragged you to stand between his legs.

Choking as the phantom chain grasped your neck, you moaned. Alastor knew how much of a masochist you were, and he, not only your husband, but your sadist, loved to please you into screams of pain. Clenching your thighs together as you waited for your husbands next move, one of his clawed fingertips ran up your thigh, teasing up until it pressurised against your clothed folds, and before you could softly cry out in pleasure, Alastors finger retracted, only for it to shred your clothes in two pieces from a single swipe.

Without reacting, your body became flushed as Alastor admired your nude form; you were very used to your husband ripping your clothes off like he had a kink for it. Stilling in your position, you panted as you contemplated on what he would do next, what his course of action would be. “Would you like your husband to spank you like the little promiscuous wife you are?” He asked you with a shit eating smirk, as if he had access to the thoughts that swarmed your mind. His eyes were still blacked out, waiting for your response as arousal flickered within them; you didn’t need to see the bulge growing underneath his clothes to perceive his growing intoxication.

“Yes.” You whispered in a moan as your thighs rubbed against one another, begging for your red and evil husband to inflict any type of pain onto you for your own sexual pleasure as you looked at him with pure lust; pure love.

His smile etched further, almost condescendingly as his eyes narrowed in on you, giving you a look that indicated you were forgetting something. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.” You mumbled ever so seductively as it clicked in your mind; Alastor had always had a fetish for you screaming for him as you called him Sir, you knew how much he got off on it as you prayed for his divine punishment to embrace your skin, flesh and soul. 

“You know what to do, my perfect little wife.” His words echoed into the room, commanding you to bend yourself over in his lap without explicitly saying it; and you did. And as always, you purposefully made sure to face your ass in the direction of his dominant hand as you crawled into his lap sideways. It gave your husband the ability to admire the backside of your body, the same body he loved to pleasure with pain. 

Whining ever so softly, his hands gently caressed the skin of your ass, massaging the succulent and luscious part of your body; and without warning, Alastor’s hand struck against your rear, jolting a sharp pain through you that had you moaning a gasped whine as pleasure consumed you from the infliction. “Sir-” The word slipped from your tongue so erotically as Alastor’s hand hit down against you again; you could feel his cock prod against your stomach as he continued his assault, your cries of pleasure echoing throughout the room as each hit increased in harshness, the sounds of his hand coming down on you shrieking through the room, exceeding your own pants of cries in volume.

Suddenly, his other hand gripped the front of your throat as he made your spine arch backwards, forcing you to look at him in the blackness of his eyes as he continued his beating on your sore rear. “You’re such a good wife aren’t you darling? And all mine too; say it.” 

As he slapped over the imprints of his previous inflictions, a sharp pleasurable pain echoed throughout your body as you moaned out his request, crying out in pleasure how you were his; all his, only his, always his. You could hear how proud he was, how elated he was from hearing those words leave the chambers of your mouth as he landed a final harsh slap against you that had a scream ripping through your oesophagus.

“Thank you, sir.” You moaned with a pant as Alastor caringly smoothed his palm over the harsh imprints on your ass, soothing you ever so softly before he lifted you body up by your neck; forcing a choked gasp to be ripped from you as he forced your form to sit on his lap, compelling you to face him with the help of his black appendages that he conjured from the floorboards.

“You’re very welcome, my beautiful wife.” Alastor whispered as his hand clutched harder around your neck; his dominant hand forcing you to moan as his fingers suddenly teased your clit, circling it with the exact same sensation that Alastor had learnt was your favourite; the same one that made you moaning like a common whore.

Leaning into you, Alastor placed his lips against yours, kissing you with passion as he massaged your throbbing bud, it was sweet, a sweetness to be short lives as he began to squeeze your clit with such pressure it had you gasping in the kiss, unknowingly giving him the opportunity to shove his tongue down your throat; purposefully prolonging it as to make sure it went down into the gummy flesh of your oesophagus. 

You became lust drunk; the afterglow of having your rear assaulted, the mind numbing pleasure your husband was placing onto your clit as he held your neck tight, all whilst fucking your throat with his tongue. It was almost too much; but you were a good wife for Alastor, you always would be, and you would take everything he gave you with pleasure and enthusiasm. 

Groaning as your husband’s fingers left your clit, only to tease the folds of your opening, you vibrated his tongue deep into your throat, earning a sexual growl to emit from Alastor as he continued to overwhelm you. Pulling away, you began to pant as he retracted his tongue from you, only to penetrate his overly sharp claws into your cunt; the sheer intensity of his talons began to wound you from the inside, causing streams of blood to soak your husbands hand as he causing physical scars within your core. A balance of pain and pleasure cried from your lips as tears emerged from your eyes, threatening to leave the contents of your visual organs as he continued to purposefully cause infliction within you.

“Be a good girl and ride my fingers, darling.” His smile never faltered as he watched your tears slowly stream down your cheeks. Slowly, you obeyed as your hips began moving, gyrating against your husbands hand as you relished in the painful pleasure he fucked into you. Stabilising yourself, your hands reached out to his growing antlers; something you knew was pleasurable to him, attempting to balance yourself as you rode yourself against his hand.

“Yes, sir.” You managed to moan as you complied, the dials in his eyes flickering to your cunt as he watched you bounce on his palm; your blood smearing against his metacarpus, as well as your own folds and thighs as you continued to allow him to create new wounds inside you with every bounce you made. 

Your rhythm hastened as you savoured each painful infliction made against you as Alastor’s hand that previously was placed on your neck began to grip onto your chest; his claws tearing into your flesh as he dragged his talons down; forcing slightly deep open wounds to rip your dermis apart. You screamed, not only from the pain, but from the sudden forced orgasm that ejected from your cunt; your husband's hand milking it out of you as it mixed in with the fluids of your blood. It was something you weren’t expecting at all, especially since you hadn’t even felt a build up of your release before it was inevitably ripped from you. 

A true masochist; cumming from your husband’s assault over the pleasure he was enacting on you.

You could feel Alastors grin tighten in glee as he watched your face contort whilst you cummed all over his hand; your eyes rolling back as your mouth gaped, his fingers still inside of you as you halted your bouncing to experience your orgasm, twitching your hips and thighs ever so slightly as you did. Although he was a sadist, and loved inflicting pain on you, your pleasure was much more desired. He craved to see you so prettily satisfied. 

As your orgasm ended, his fingers retracted from your cunt before he licked the stream of blood from his weaponised fingers; your eye half lidded as your face flushed from watching him lick up your blood and cum before he kissed you ever so slightly with red stained lubricated lips; smearing your own fluids against your mouth. As you allowed his tongue to enter your mouth once more, tasting your own essence on your tongue, black conjured appendages gripped the contents of your body from your thighs to your biceps, only to throw you against the blankets that covered the bed you shared with your husband.

Looking over to him, you watched as he began the process of taking his suit off his build. Biting your lip as you watched him undress himself to inevitably fuck his heavy sex into you, you opened your legs wide so he could witness the bloodied crime scene he had created inside your cunt; his breath hitching as he watched you display yourself for him.

Unzipping his suit pants, he allowed his heavy and large cock to weigh down as it erected from the confines of his clothes. You could only anticipate him as he etched himself closer and closer toward you, your vision only fixated on your husband’s very throbbing, very angry sex as it leaked spouts of his acidic precum before his arms entrapped you form into the bed.

As he looked at you longingly, asking for permission to ravish you, you wrapped your arms around his neck before pulling his body against yours, giving him a soft kiss as you encased his hips with your legs, securing him against you before you guided him to enter you.

Using your blood as lubricant, he slid his member inside of you with ease, filling your cunt up with that ridiculously fat cock of his that always hit every nerve within you, always making you cry out a moan; yet this time, his cock scraped against the raw wounds inside you, adding a new found painful pleasure into the mix as he began to pound his cock inside you without remorse. It was so contrasting but so good; his cock sliding in and out of you with his rough pace, each thrust causing your open wounds to shriek in pain as he pummelled you. You felt so dizzy, so sexually satisfied as he fed you with not only the pleasure of his cock, the pain you desired immensely. 

Alastor fucked you into the mattress, forcing the bed to creak with every relentless thrust. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose, and when the bed began to bang against the wall from his intensity, you knew he was; the slamming of the bed conveyed to everyone you were his, only his.

His pace was unforgiving, harsh and rough, you genuinely believe he was planning on breaking the bed with how purposefully hard he fucked you. You couldn’t prevent the screams that ripped from your throat as his cock pushed against the opening of your cervix with every thrust he made, massaging each little wound as he pummelled himself inside of you. “That right; scream for me as I fuck you.” His words were laced with pure ownership, dominance, the need to consume who you were and let everyone know that you were his and his alone. “Scream so that stupid king of hell knows who you belong to.” His voice glitched with static as his eyes began to bleed whilst he fucked you hard.

As you began to scream for him to go harder, to hurt you more, his form began to grow ever so slightly as his weight, along with the sheer force he was fucking into you made the bed to snap in half, causing a loud and awkward amount of noise to echo throughout the hotel; but Alastor didn’t stop. No, he continued to fuck you as though it had never happened.

Crying out from his size, your thighs began to shake, and before you could be graced with a second orgasm, Alastor’s cock left the confines of your cunt, only to groan out as his cock squirted your stomach, chest and face with his acidic cum.

Whining from his cum that covered you, and the disappointment of not being able to cum on his cock, your husband only chuckled at you.

“Don’t worry, my beautiful wife, I’ll make you cum as many times as you want; just keep telling me you’re all mine.”

Sorry if it's bad I was in a rush OKAY BYEEE

[izzystizzys]

There is a scratch mark on the floor of the Council chambers that Mace has never noticed before. Not a deep one, mind, quite shallow. This matters because it’s making the white-hot pulse of agony stabbing through his eyeballs ebb momentarily. Then, he chances a glance upwards at the fidgeting Knight in front of them, and it returns in full force.

Huh, he’s never seen Oppo Rancisis’ face turn that colour before.

“Hmm”, Master Yoda hums, deep and scratchy. His expression is unreadable even to Mace beyond a baseline gremlinness, and the force with which he grips the edges of his seat is making his bones creak. Master of the Order you should become, they said. Follow the calling of the Force, you should. A fulfilling purpose, it will be. Mace is going to hunt the little goblin for sport when this is all over, and he’s going to laugh the whole time.

“Show us the livestream again, could you, Knight Parvo?” Yoda asks. Mace bursts a capillary, he’s pretty sure, and so does poor Knight Parvo, whose orange Mon Cala skin tips all the way into blood red with stress. “Most unusual, this is.”

“Absolutely not!”, Ki Adi intervenes before Mace has to, thank the Force for little mercies. Plo Koon’s tusks tremble slightly with either suppressed laughter or abject horror, maybe both, and Stass Allie has her head in her hands. “The holo stills should be enough”, Ki Adi proceeds to add, and Mace has to reconsider all feelings of grace he just felt towards his fellow Councillor.

He never wants to watch Yoda zoom in on someone’s abs again. Or Depa raise her eyebrows at the curve of thighs bent over the dripping front of a speeder.

“Speeder Wash For Our Troops”, his former padawan reads out loud from a still of what has to be hundreds of the things gathered in the public senate parking lot. “Fund Our Boys And Get A Wet Seeing-To!” The series of images features dozens of Coruscant Guard troopers in various stages of unkitted, gleaming and shining with soap suds and water. The fact that the whole thing is also massive shatterpoint after massive shatterpoint is, quite frankly, insulting.

“Well hello- oh dear”, Obi-Wan’s blue form crackles to life in his chair, followed by several sounds of choking that are definitely not him. Good, Mace thinks acidly. If he has to deal with this, then so does kriffing Skywalker. “I’m sorry, why am I looking at Commander Thorn using a washrag like a lasso on top of a speeder?”

“Oh, the Guard’s little fundraising project”, Bail Organa says, as he steps into the Council chambers. Normally, Mace likes the man well enough. Now, he just smiles and adds on, “I’ve already donated, in mine and Breha’s name. Remotely, of course.”

“The Guard’s fundraising speeder wash?”, Obi-Wan repeats, edges of his holo form flickering with what Mace suspects is Skywalker very unsubtly trying to edge in. Force, but the man really is horrible at any and all stealth, like kissing his secret wife in an open arena in front of his Master. “And they are fundraising for…?”

“GAR budget allocations have to come from somewhere”, Organa shrugs. “And with the tide of public opinion turning, they’ve been tending towards cuts. The Guard feels them more keenly than any other sector - they’ve been reduced from half to quarter rations, and medical supplies have not made more than a token appearance in the last draft. The Chancellor has cancelled three consecutive meetings on the matter, and thus it was agreed that a more hands-on approach was needed. Any surplus will go into the Army fund.”

“Surely it can’t be that dire”, Oppo protests, a slightly less concerning shade of purple now. Senator Organa shrugs again, jostling the smattering of cracks slowly building around his person in a way that makes Mace wince quietly. “It’s all publicly available data, Masters.”

It really can be that dire, as it turns out. And quarter rations is only scratching the surface of how dire, considering the Guard has apparently never had access to bacta in all their posting, and also includes requisitioning forms available to the Senate for reconditionings and decommissionings, two words Mace has only heard Ponds whispers amidst shuddering in the early days of the war before Shaak Ti went off and just about tore some throats out over it.

“Alright”, he concedes, rubbing at his temples. “Fair enough, we have failed to tackle a massive blind spot in the Guard’s well being. There is no Jedi assigned to Coruscant, and that’s an oversight on our behalf. But how in the everloving kriff did this get past the Chancellor and Commander Fox?!”

Who have both signed, black on white. Bail Organa smiles cryptically. “Well, if you scroll a bit past that one image, up to the industrial speeder in the back - Commander Fox is currently having credits stuffed into his codpiece in the back, I believe.”

“HE’S WHAT IN THE WHAT NOW”, Commander Cody screeches through the speaker of Obi-Wan’s holo image, and Mace has to summon every bit of Jedi-serenity he possesses in his body to keep from dropkicking a cackling Yoda through the chamber windows.

[blink182times]

Ugh but kissing is so fun! (2x01)

[monotone-artist]

[id in alt]

some idw redraws

[wikitpowers]

yeah i require a scene where kit trusts tessa enough to tell her about his feelings for ty like that would be so emotional, him finally opening up <3

[marenwithanm]

And here's my designs for the other four fallen humans in the undertale yellow style! It's a super fun style to draw in, although I definitely struggle with figuring out how to do the shading 🤣

First four

[marchioness-of-the-flowers]

You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

[knight-princess]

Get you a show that’ll have canon sapphics say “totally, ridiculously, desperately” in their love confession, which also includes “and in about ten seconds I’m gonna kiss you, so if you don’t want that…” and “yes I would. I mean. I would be very into that” and “are you sure? bc if I do, if I kiss you, I may never stop” and in other words, get you a Willow series because they did that

[plutoarts]

bro took "hitting the griddy" a little too seriously

bonus:

[redfoxwritesstuff]

I'm not crying, you're crying

I just wanna shove *all* of what you said in my mouth and just... UGH. It gives me the feelings and I eat my feelings so we're eating the words.

You're too kind. Like beyond kind kind. So kind.

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 1 (Alastor x Reader)

Banner Alastors done by @blobin456drawz <3

Human Alastor x married reader Rated Adult for adult themes, triggering content and sexual content. I wouldn't say this is dead dove but it's dead dove adjacent. Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut of undetermined sorts, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, Alastor is a serial Killer, there's murder, there's angst, there's dark content. If you know me from my old days you'll know this warning: Kit's up to her old shit again.

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

A note from Kit: First, before anything I want to credit my friends @blobin456drawz, @nyx-umbrakinesis, @wendigonamecaller and the rest of you (you know who you are) for doing the heavy lifting during the outline phase of this project and being so eager to hear everything about it as it consumes me. Eventually I'll shut up about this project but it'll be a few more weeks at least. I love you guys.

Onto more important matters- Please be mindful. This story is dark and triggering at times. I've written portions to elicit an emotional reaction. As you should always do with dark content, even if you're not at risk of being triggered, please step back and take a breather when needed. The story will always be here when you get back. I am so tickled by the excitement this story has generated ahead of its release. We're looking at tentatively between 20 and 30 chapters posted once a week on Wednesdays. This day will change WITH NOTICE as other series finish and my more traditional posting days open up again.

Come along friends and learn why I had my own trigger warning in the Marvel fandom.

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord. And my friend runs a Hazbin Fic Community

Audio by Nyx Productions, Part 1, part 2

Your sensible black heels clicked against the sidewalk as you walked through the town, a relaxing rhythmic click clack with every step you took. You could have taken a bus but you would rather walk, or at least that was your story but it wasn’t totally true. You tried to focus on the positive, a lesson your parents had instilled in you from an early age. If you couldn’t focus on the positive little bits of your life, what else was there?

It was nice to get out of the prison of your home. That is what you’d tell anyone that asked, though you wouldn’t call it a prison to anyone but yourself. They would smile and nod, like was polite and they’d make small talk about how mundane the life of a homemaker was and assure her that as soon as little ones landed her days would be filled with excitement and joy. 

What wouldn’t be said was how you wished she could brave the bus because your simple heels hurt your feet or how the idea of falling pregnant terrified you. You couldn’t, wouldn’t really, brave the bus because it would jostle you and you’d surely bump into someone or something. This time of day, the bus would be crowded and people would bump into you.

Today you couldn’t have that. 

Today you needed to protect yourself.

Stepping into the tailor shop you thanked the man on his way out, holding the door open for you on his way. With a sigh, you let the relief of an errand half done wash over you as you stepped up to the counter. Behind you, the bell above to door jingled, announcing another new arrival to the small shop.

Glancing over your shoulder, you hardly registered the tall man with tan skin and fluffy brown hair as he held the door open for his short blonde companion. An odd pair, you thought before turning back to the counter, showing the woman where the sleeve on your dress was torn, seam along the shoulder ripped and explaining your fabricated story of how it happened. 

She smiled at you with pity. This was injury to clothing she knew well though she would never be so bold as to talk about it. You were not the only woman in town to frequent the tailors with ripped shoulder seams or dark rust colored stains. These were the secrets she kept, a professional curtesy that was expected from her but always unsaid. Did the people of the city even realize the things she knew?

“It’ll be ready in a few days, Mrs. Latimer.” The shopkeeper was quick to take the dress from you, doing the work of holding it up and examining the rip. 

It was a small mercy, to not have to raise your arm much at all. The woman folded the dress neatly away and slipping it below the counter before motioning you aside while she wrote out your ticket. She was a master at multitasking, finishing your ticket as she greeted the newcomers who seemed less eager to step up to the counter than the shopkeeper was to serve them.

“What about that one?” the blonde woman whispered to her companion as you thanked the shop keeper as she handed you your ticket. The newcomers lingered, taking their time making their way to the counter. 

“Mimzy, we are here to pick up your dress,” the man’s rich voice sounded familiar but you couldn’t place it. Glancing at him, you tried to place where you could know him from but came up blank. That was just as well, Laurence didn’t let you really socialize much outside of your day to day tasks.

The blonde, Mimzy you had gathered her name was, wiggled her fingers to you in a wave as she caught you looking their way before directing her attention back to the man she was with. 

“Yes, yes. And you need the lining of your coat restitched,” She made a show of rolling her eyes, performing for an audience of only a handful, “You’re no fun sometimes.” 

“A dreadfully dull time, that’s me,” the man laughed lightly.

“I’m just saying,” Mimzy continued as you stepped toward the door, “You’re a good man. A decent man. You should find someone, is all. You don’t gotta settle down but you don’t gotta be alone all the time either.” 

You cringed, struggling to push open the heavy door, trying to not listen in on the pair’s clearly private conversation. You had been too eager when you pushed on it and your shoulder didn’t hold up to the stress well, pain flaring. It was easy enough to forget how painful your shoulder was in the moment. 

It wasn’t so bad, as long as you didn’t overdo it. Pushing open the heavy door yourself was clearly enough to count as overdoing it today. 

“Here, allow me.” The man pushed open the door for you, holding it open with a palm high along the edge of the door, giving you plenty of space to exit. 

You ducked under his arm with a mumbled word of thanks. It didn’t matter, he didn’t seem to really be listening for it anyway as he directed his attention back to his companion as he let the door begin to fall closed as soon as you were out of striking range of it.

“And why should I-” the rest of his words were lost behind the closing door. 

Alastor sat in the empty lounge, sipping his rye as Mimzy talked on and on while she changed. The dress surely would fit her just how she wanted, it was custom fitted but that didn’t stop her from putting on this whole production every time they got back from the seamstress. 

He knew the song and dance well enough, having known the woman for the past few years. She would change. He would complement. She would complain. He would reassure. She would blush and call him a flirt. He would move on with his day. 

“Oh!” Mimzy interrupted herself, earning a raised eyebrow from Alastor. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what, my dear?” 

She popped her head out from between the curtains, “I think I found myself a new juice supplier. You’re off the hook.”

“You think?” Alastor downed the rest of his drink in one smoothe gulp.

“Ya- Laurence’ll be able to take over soon and you’ll be off the hook again. I know you ain’t eager for that amount of risk. Told you it was only temporary.” 

Alastor hummed in acknowledgement as Mimzy went on and on about Laurence. He was tall, not as tall as Alastor, she assured him, but still tall and handsome. He tuned out her ramblings, mind instead turning back to the woman Mimzy had pointed out at the tailor shop. Such a timid little thing, fashion just outdated enough to stand out. 

Mimzy smacked his shoulder with a bar towel, leaning across the counter to look him in his eyes as she demanded his attention, “Yes?”

“You’re distracted,” she stated simply. 

“Just thinking about tomorrow’s broadcast.” Alastor answered simply, running his finger over the rim of the empty glass. “That’s all.” 

“Mhm,” she narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned back from her. “You sure you ain’t thinking about a pretty face?” 

“Haven’t seen any prettier faces than yours today.” 

Mimzy laughed loudly and teased, “Flirt! But I know it ain’t my face that’s got you distracted. Was it the doll at the shop? She was cute!” 

“She’s got a man,” Alastor countered. 

“And how the hell would you know from not speaking to her at all?” 

Alastor shrugged, “Just got a feeling about her.” 

He could tell Mimzy that she had that hollow look in her eyes that a woman got when she had a partner that got a bit too rough with her. Hell, he could point out the way she couldn’t manage to open the door to the shop, her shoulder weak from strained muscles. Did the man that called her his toss her around by the arm last night? Yank her a little too roughly?

He wouldn’t though because it didn’t matter. It wasn’t worth having Mimzy ask questions about his past or worse, assume the reason he had no partner of his own was due to any reason beyond him not desiring to be weighed down. 

“I bet a charming lad like yourself could sweep her out from under whatever man she’s caught up with anyway. Want another?” Mimzy pointed at the empty glass as melting ice settled in the bottom. 

“I’m good, Darling- It’s early yet.” 

Your feet were killing you as you made your way home. Still, you couldn’t help but take your time. If you were out, you were not home cleaning, cooking or waiting for your husband to return. While you were out, you could pretend to be your own person and it was alright, you had to keep up appearances as long as it was the right appearance. 

Lingering in front of the newsstand, you let your eyes run over the papers and magazines each with bold words on the covers, fighting for the eye’s attention. 

The headlines were polar opposites in many cases. Some celebrated the progress and change made in the 24 months since women had been granted the right to the vote. Others bemoaned the change and the influence women could now have on the world around them, pointing at any little thing as a sign of the doom this would spell for society as a whole. 

The idea made you laugh. Two years and while you did your best to learn, you hadn’t even come close to a polling center. Your husband wouldn’t allow it. Whatever change there may have been for better or for worse, you had no part of it. 

You knew which of the papers your loving husband would pick up and celebrate. It wasn’t the same ones you would but that didn’t matter. Women may have had the right to vote but you knew you were little more than an accessory in the world you lived in. 

Moving on with your walk home, you tried to force yourself to relax your shoulders and back. The pain was starting in from tensed muscles, telling you that while you hadn’t been watching your posture well enough, you had curled in on yourself. 

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your parted lips, slowly as you pulled your head up and your shoulders back, trying to ignore the way the muscles screamed in protest. You forced your spine straight and winced at the pain in your shoulder as you worked your fingers into the tense muscle, trying to convince it to relax. 

It would pain you for a few more days yet and if you were lucky, that would be it. You just needed to be good until it had a chance to heal. 

“Good Day, Mrs. Latimer.” A man you should have known tipped his hat at you in greeting, startling you out of the thoughts you hadn’t realized absorbed you as you walked slowly down the sidewalk. 

He was closer than you had expected when he snatched your attention, causing you to gasp and flinch back, shoulder twinging in pain. You didn’t like people in your space, at least not without warning. All it would take was someone saying you were getting too close to a man to your husband and hell would rain down on you regardless of the truth of it. 

Your shoulder banged into the light post behind you. You didn’t know it was there, having lost track of your surrounding as you walked in the haze of thoughts. A gasped yelp slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Appearances. You had to keep up appearances. Swallow the pain, don’t let anyone know. Don’t let anyone see. 

“You alright?” The man asked as he steadied you, large hand gripping the outside of your shoulder only making the pain flair more. 

Shrugging out from under his grip, you painted on a false smile as you willed the tears in your eyes back. 

“I’m fine,” You looked away as you saw pity cross the man’s face. How much did he see? Surely not more than what was normal, what was acceptable?

“You be careful ma’am,” the man nodded wisely to you. “Didn’t you hear? There’s a serial killer running around. Probably not good for a lady to be out alone till they catch the bastard- pardon my language.” 

“Oh my,” you tried to play the unsteadiness on your feet as being from the terrifying news. Would be believe it? Did be believe it? “I’ll be sure to be mindful, thank you.” 

You didn’t need his pity but what you needed even less of was him seeing any real reason to pity you. Forcing your hand from your shoulder, you tried to ignore the pain, to will it away. 

There was nothing to see here. Just Mrs. Latimer making her way home from the tailor shop. There were no bruises. No torn dresses. Nothing wrong. 

Life was perfectly normal, a storybook where you were married into a family of means with your family having so very little to offer. 

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[beck404]

who else cried?

[sleeptokenpuppy]

i just ran into some videos that made me have really big feelings so i want y'all to imagine something with me for a moment.

imagine you've been making music with someone. for quite a while, actually. long enough that you've seen him Go Through Some Shit and come out the other side of it. those deeply personal lyrics he writes? i bet you were there for at least some of what he wrote those songs about.

and when he sings those songs in front of a crowd, he cries.

your other bandmates could go comfort him, because they're out there walking around the stage with him. you respect why they often don't - either they're playing their own instruments, or working the crowd, or giving him the space to have those feelings, which is important.

(you know their hearts break for him too. all of you know it's healthier for him to cry it out than it is to bottle it up. you let him, even though it hurts.)

but they, at least, can comfort him. you? you can't go comfort him when he cries. you don't have that option. you are stuck behind your drum kit, watching your close friend and colleague cry his heart out. you were there for the reason he's crying, and you can't comfort him. your loyal fan base considers you the greatest drummer of your time, you have to keep playing. and you do. but you have to watch him cry.

all this to say shout out to ii for being a much stronger man than me, i would never survive being in his position, oh my god i would destroy the whole drum kit to hug the shit out of vessel are you fucking kidding me.

[potato-jem]

heads up: this blog will be inactive after october 3rd. the gay british teenagers are to blame xx

[okayclaryfray]

Is it called 'heartbreak' or just 'Livvy my baby, please sweetheart, open your eyes, it's Jules, I'm here for you, I'm always here for you, please,please -'

[zoyavnikolai]

did you read qoaad on 2018? were you also destroyed because you thought certainly kitty plot line would be solve in this bible of book? AND THEN YOU HAD MAGNUS BE LIKE “HE’S ALREADY GONE” “HE DIDNT WANTED SAY GOODBYE TO ANYONE BUT ESPECIALLY YOUUUUUU” “REMEMBER HIM LIKE THIS” AND THEN YOU DIDNT EVEN KNOW TWP WAS GONNA HAPPENED