#the animation of this man is unparalleled

[deadlyflames]

[wildsaltair]

let’s mix things up a little. guys say hello to one of the other fellows who occupies my brain 24/7

[beejunos]

ANIMAL INSTINCTS | Alastor x f.reader

Summary: An unexpected rut makes you and Alastor act upon your feelings. Desperately and intensely.

This story was requested by @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog. The idea for the story is completely theirs; I just had the pleasure of putting it into words, and hopefully, I did a good job. Enjoy, darlings!

Tags: Dom!Alastor, rut, biting, smut, doggy style (the position is actually called prone bone, but that's a weird name if you ask me), creampie

For the most part, life in Hell mirrored life on Earth. There were homes, stores, libraries, work and gyms. Sinners went to restaurants with their friends and bought flowers for their lovers. Life in Hell could be quite pleasant if one could ignore all the violence and chaos.

Alastor revelled in the stark contrast between the underworld and Earth. Here, he found that everyone had shed their masks, revealing their true nature without the façade of modesty or fake politeness. The freedom he felt in Hell was unparalleled. Here, he didn't have to suppress his instincts; he could openly embrace them without fear of judgment or reproach. In this realm, he no longer needed to lurk in the shadows or carefully stalk his prey. Instead, he basked in the unbridled power and control he had meticulously crafted for himself, relishing in the unfiltered expression of his true self.

There was just one thing that put a wrench in his otherwise perfect afterlife. His demonic body.

In the depths of Hell, Alastor had encountered a multitude of sinners over the years, each with their own unique and otherworldly appearance. Some exhibited minor demonic features such as pointy ears and sharp teeth, while others had undergone a complete transformation, like the sinner whose very essence had been twisted into a demonic couch. At first, Alastor had felt a pang of sympathy for the unfortunate soul trapped in such an unusual form. However, as time passed, he found himself more amused by the bizarre and often tragic circumstances of the damned. Such encounters became a part of his daily routine in the underworld.

Alastor considered himself among the fortunate few with a body almost identical to a human's. Despite initially struggling with his large and overly sensitive ears, he was still considered quite handsome by demonic standards. However, it was not just the ears that were new to him.

When alive, Alastor quickly realised that while others did not share his murderous instincts, he lacked some of the instincts others seemed to have. For all his life, he never sought to do the devil's tango, as one of his old friends used to call sex. He had tried it a few times, mostly just to see what the fuss was about and because it seemed to be expected of him to want it, but after it all, it just seemed more trouble than it was worth. For most of his short human life, Alastor never desired the human body but the blood that pumped through its veins.

However, this all changed the day he woke up in Hell.

It quickly became apparent to Alastor that he had woken up as some form of demonic deer-man, something he had initially been quite disappointed in since he didn't feel like it conveyed a strong enough message to the other sinners. However, when his shadow had manifested with increased powers, Alastor embraced his new, formidable body with contentment. For years, Alastor revelled in his new body and his new life in Hell.

He was strong. Stronger than his human body had ever been before, he found that he could finally live entirely after his compass with Hell's lack of rules. But Hell is still Hell. Meant to torment the souls of the damned, and torment did strike Alastor after a few years in the afterlife.

As he would later come to name it, the Need crept into Alastor's being like a shadowy predator stalking its prey, stealthy and deliberate. It didn't strike all at once, but rather, it sank its insidious teeth into his tender flesh slowly, so slowly that he barely noticed at first. Like a venomous serpent, it released its poison in measured doses, corrupting his thoughts and warping his desires, turning his own body into an alien battlefield. Once sharp and disciplined, his mind began to fragment under the strain, waging war against the primal urges that had begun to claw their way to the surface.

The first time the Need truly manifested within him was nothing short of a revelation. It started as a faint tremor in his gut, a gnawing sensation that he couldn't quite place. It was an ache, a deep, pulsing hunger that steadily grew, coiling tighter and tighter within him until it felt like a living thing pressing against the confines of his very skin, desperate to break free. The hunger wasn't for food, though; it was something far more dangerous and primal. It was a desire that went beyond the physical, a craving that no amount of flesh could satisfy. This hunger wanted more—to hunt, chase, and devour. It yearned to sink its teeth into the tender skin of another, to drink deeply of their essence, to taste the raw, pulsing vitality that lay beneath.

At first, Alastor was bewildered by these new sensations. He had known hunger before, of course, but this was different, more intense, more consuming. It felt as though a part of him had awakened that he hadn't even known existed—a part that was wild and untamed, a beast that had slumbered deep within him, only now rousing from its ancient sleep. He tried to dismiss it, to ignore the insistent, throbbing ache that had settled into his bones, attributing it to the peculiarities of his demonic form. Perhaps, he thought, it was merely a quirk of his new existence, a strange dietary need that would soon pass.

Driven by this belief, he made his way to Cannibal Town several times, drawn by the tantalising scent of fresh, raw flesh. There, in the beautiful shops, he indulged in every manner of meat, tearing through pounds of it in search of relief. He savoured the rich, iron taste of blood, the texture of muscle and fat, and the crunch of bone between his teeth, but it was all in vain. No matter how much he ate, the hunger remained, gnawing at him from the inside out, growing stronger with each passing day. It was as though the food he consumed simply vanished into a void, leaving him more ravenous than before. The Need was insatiable, a bottomless pit that could not be filled by any earthly sustenance.

As the days turned into weeks, the hunger grew stronger and more demanding until it became a constant, aching presence in his life. It whispered to him in the dead of night, its voice seductive and dark, urging him to give in, to surrender to the primal urges that coursed through his veins. The Need was no longer content to simply lurk in the shadows of his mind; it wanted out. It wanted to take control, to drive him to the brink of madness. Alastor could feel it in every fibre of his being, a relentless, thrumming pulse that matched the beat of his heart, pushing him ever closer to the edge.

The realisation of what the Need truly was hit him like a bolt of lightning on a stormy night, sudden and terrifying in its clarity. It wasn't just a hunger for food, for flesh—it was a hunger for something more profound, more intimate. The Need wasn't just physical; it was carnal, a desperate, all-consuming desire for connection, for the raw, sensual meeting of bodies. It was a hunger for a mate, for the sweet release that could only come from the merging of two beings, from the surrender to the primal dance of desire.

With this revelation came a new kind of fear, one that gripped him tightly and refused to let go. Alastor was a creature of control, a being who prided himself on his ability to remain composed and detached, even in the face of the most extreme temptations. But this…this was different. The Need was something he couldn't control or suppress, no matter how hard he tried. It was a force of nature, a storm that raged within him, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out.

In his desperation, Alastor withdrew from the world, retreating to the safety of his own home, where he could hide from the prying eyes of others. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone seeing him like this, of anyone witnessing the raw, unbridled Need that had taken hold of him. The isolation was a double-edged sword—it gave him the space he needed to think and regain control, but it also left him alone with his thoughts, with the dark, twisted desires that refused to be ignored.

The Need gnawed at him day and night, a relentless, insistent presence that demanded to be satisfied. It filled his dreams with visions of flesh and heat, of bodies entwined in a desperate, frenzied dance. He could feel it in every touch, every breath, every beat of his heart—a yearning, a craving that consumed him utterly. He was starving, not for food, but for the touch of another, for the sweet, intoxicating release that could only come from the union of two beings.

As the days stretched into weeks, Alastor found himself on the brink of surrender, teetering on the edge of a precipice from which there might be no return. The Need had become a living thing, a beast that demanded to be fed, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he could no longer resist its call. The hunger was too strong, too all-encompassing, and he was only a man—demon or not—trying to resist the inexorable pull of nature.

Ultimately, Alastor knew he could only hold out for so long. The Need was a part of him now, a dark and twisted companion that would never leave him, never allow him a moment's peace. It was both a curse and a revelation, a reminder that even in the depths of Hell, even in the heart of a demon, the most primal of instincts could never be wholly denied.

And then, just as it had once been there, the Need disappeared, and he was himself again. However, that did not comfort him, for he now knew that this new existence was just a part of his new body, his new life in Hell—a seasonal rut.

Life at the hotel often teetered on the edge of sheer chaos, like a tightrope walker balancing precariously above a roaring fire. Yet, in its bizarre way, it maintained a strange sense of peace—well, as peaceful as one could hope for in a place that served as a rehabilitation centre for wayward souls in the depths of Hell. The air itself seemed to hum with the constant tension between serenity and madness, as if the very walls of the hotel were alive, listening, and waiting for the next outburst. But despite the madness that swirled around you, you found solace in the routine of it all. You had a roof over your head, work that brought a sense of purpose, and friends who felt like family, albeit an unconventional one. In a realm where despair could easily consume you, in your humble opinion, these small blessings were worth more than all the riches in Heaven.

As a hotel maid, your days were usually filled with mundane housekeeping tasks—dusting off ancient chandeliers that hung like eerie spectres from the ceilings, scrubbing the seemingly endless floors that stretched out in labyrinthine corridors, and changing the sheets on beds that often bore the remnants of restless nights. The hotel itself was a monstrous, sprawling structure, its architecture a twisted blend of grandeur and hellish decay.

Occasionally, a guest or someone connected to the guests would lose control of their composure and attack the hotel. You had witnessed more than one instance where someone's emotional outburst resulted in a massive hole being blasted through the wall, or worse, through the roof. Alastor, the enigmatic and unsettling overseer of the hotel, would then swiftly summon shadowy, spectral figures to repair the damage. These figures moved with a ghostly grace, their forms flickering like candle flames in a drafty room, and they worked with an efficiency that was both mesmerising and unnerving. You had learned early on not to question it. Alastor had an aura of menace about him that made the others shy away from him, but to you, there was something intriguing about him. Something that pulled you to him. It could, naturally, be that he was a deer type of sinner, just like you, and you had never seen someone else like that before him.

Then there was Nifty, your fellow maid and a whirlwind of energy. She was small in stature but mighty in her work, flitting from room to room like a hyperactive sprite, cleaning with a speed and precision that was almost supernatural. She had a knack for tidying up even the most disastrous of messes in record time, leaving rooms spotless and gleaming as if nothing had ever been amiss. In the beginning, you had tried to keep up with her pace, but it quickly became apparent that this was a futile effort. Instead, you decided to focus on another crucial aspect of the hotel's operations—cooking.

In a place like this, where the boundaries between reality and nightmare were often blurred, food became an anchor, something tangible and comforting in an otherwise unpredictable existence. You took it upon yourself to prepare meals for the staff and guests, finding a strange kind of peace in the rhythmic motions of chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and seasoning dishes. The kitchen became your sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself in the art of cooking and crafting meals that provided a brief respite from the chaos outside. You would experiment with recipes, combining ingredients in ways that were both traditional and wildly unconventional, catering to the eclectic tastes of your infernal clientele.

Each dish was a labour of love, an offering to those who, like you, sought comfort in the small pleasures that life—or the afterlife—could still offer. And when the day was done, the last plate was washed, and the kitchen was quiet, you would sit back with a cup of tea, savouring the calm that settled over the hotel in those rare, precious moments of tranquillity. Ultimately, it wasn't just about surviving in Hell; it was about finding those fleeting moments of peace and holding onto them for as long as possible.

On a day much like any other, you awoke in your bed, the soft rays of early morning light filtering through the gaps in your heavy curtains. The light seemed to dance as it crept into your room, casting delicate patterns on the floorboards and chasing away the remnants of sleep from your eyes. The air was still, with only the faint hum of a distant world waking up beyond the confines of your room. You lingered for a moment, savouring the stillness, before reluctantly pushing back the covers and rising to meet the day.

Your feet touched the cool wooden floor, the sensation both grounding and invigorating, pulling you further from the grasp of sleep. You moved through the motions of getting dressed, slipping into your familiar work clothes—soft, well-worn fabrics that wrapped around you like an old friend. The final step before heading downstairs was the comforting weight of your apron, slung over your neck and tied at your waist.

The Hazbin Hotel, usually alive with the bustling energy of its residents, was enveloped in a rare, profound silence. With its long, winding corridors and grand, if somewhat faded, décor, the building took on a different character in these early hours. The ornate walls, adorned with tapestries and portraits, stood still as if holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable stirrings of life to resume. Yet in these moments, before the chaos of the day began, you found a certain peace that was otherwise elusive. The quietude of the morning allowed you to appreciate the old hotel's charm—the way the light from the grand windows caught the intricate patterns of the wallpaper, the scent of old wood and polished floors, and the echoes of footsteps long past that seemed to linger in the air.

Descending the grand staircase, your hand brushed along the polished bannister, the cool surface smooth beneath your fingers. The echo of your footfalls on the wooden steps was a comforting, familiar, and constant sound. Each step brought you closer to your favourite part of the day—those first few moments in the kitchen, before anyone else stirred, where you could begin your morning rituals in solitude.

The kitchen was the hotel's heart for you. The dark wooden cabinets stood tall against the walls, their surfaces worn from years of use but still sturdy, holding all the secrets of your culinary endeavours within them. The floor, a classic checkered pattern of black and white tiles, was cool underfoot and always spotlessly clean—a testament to your careful attention. And then there was the range, a magnificent maroon beast that dominated the wall opposite the kitchen entrance. It was more than just an appliance; it was an old friend, a companion that had seen countless loaves of bread, pastries, and roasts emerge from its fiery belly.

You approached the old pantry to the left of the entrance, its door creaking slightly as you pulled it open. Inside, shelves lined with jars and tins, spices and dried herbs greeted you with the promise of a thousand possible dishes. But this morning, as with every other, your hand reached for the small, hand-cranked coffee grinder and the tin of coffee beans. The grinder was a cherished antique, its wooden body smooth from years of use, its metal crank polished to a dull sheen by the countless hands that had turned it. The beans rattled lightly as you poured them into the grinder, their rich aroma already beginning to fill the small space.

With a steady rhythm, you began to turn the crank, the gears inside humming quietly as they crushed the beans into a fine powder. The scent of fresh coffee intensified, mingling with the faint smell of cinnamon and vanilla that still clung to the air from yesterday's baking. You allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the fragrance, the anticipation of that first sip bringing a small smile to your lips.

Once the beans were ground to your satisfaction, you carefully emptied them into the percolator, setting them on the stovetop. As the percolator began to bubble and hiss, filling the room with the comforting sound of coffee brewing, you turned your attention to a small plate on the counter. Nestled on a doily were some cardamom buns—a remnant of yesterday's efforts. The buns were golden brown, its surfaces dusted with sugar, and the scent of cardamom was still strong.

You took one of the buns in your hand, breaking off a piece and savouring the soft, fragrant dough as it melted in your mouth. It was smooth, buttery, spicy and comforting, the perfect balance to the strong coffee that was nearly ready. You knew that starting your day with only coffee on an empty stomach wasn't the wisest choice, but with the cardamom bun in hand, the morning felt just a little more right.

As the last drops of coffee dripped into the pot, you poured yourself a cup, the dark liquid steaming gently. You took a deep breath, savouring the aroma before taking a cautious sip. The warmth spread through you, a quiet joy. This was your moment, a small piece of serenity before the day began. And in this stillness, in the gentle light filtering through the curtains and the soft hum of the hotel around you, you found contentment.

As you sat perched on the kitchen counter, your legs gently swinging back and forth, you sipped your coffee and savoured the last bite of your cardamom bun. The comforting warmth of the cup in your hands and the sweetness of the bun created a perfect start to the morning. The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of the early light, was a tranquil haven, and you felt a sense of peace that was rare in the Hazbin Hotel. Your thoughts were only on the present moment, relishing the quiet solitude that these early hours afforded you.

But then, the serenity was gently disrupted by the soft creak of the kitchen door swinging open. You glanced up to see Alastor enter the room. His presence, though familiar, always sent a slight thrill through you. Today was no different. Clad in his trademark red and black striped suit, he appeared every bit the dashing and enigmatic figure you had grown to love. His posture was impeccable, as always, with his shoulders square and his back straight, projecting the image of effortless composure. But you noticed something others might not—a slight lethargy in his movements, a subtle delay in his usual brisk steps. Though still glowing with that unnatural red intensity, his eyes seemed to carry the faintest hint of weariness. He looked like he’d had a restless night.

It was a knowledge that only came with time. You had spent countless hours watching him, learning his habits, his idiosyncrasies, how his smile would linger just a fraction longer when he was genuinely amused or how his voice would drop ever so slightly when he was tired. These were the details that no one else noticed, the hidden truths you cherished as a testament to how well you knew him.

"Good morning, Alastor," you greeted him cheerfully, your voice light and melodic, not unlike the chirping of birds heralding the dawn. The words slipped out with ease, a reflection of the joy you felt in these quiet moments alone with him.

Alastor's eyes, as crimson as freshly spilt wine, turned towards you. Though sharp and intense, his gaze softened slightly as it met yours. And then came that smile that never failed to send butterflies tumbling through your stomach. It was a smile that could charm or disarm, depending on his mood, but to you, it was simply Alastor, the man who had somehow captured your heart.

"Good morning, my sweet," he replied, his voice carrying the remnants of sleep, a slight rasp that added an unexpected intimacy to his greeting. The nickname, one he had affectionately bestowed upon you, never failed to make your heart skip a beat. It had originated one evening when he had wandered into the kitchen in search of the bottle of rye Vaggie had hidden. Instead, he had found you, elbows deep in a mixing bowl, powdered sugar dusting your nose and cheeks as you prepared a batch of cookies. The moment had been simple, unremarkable to anyone else, but it had marked the beginning of something special between you.

A faint blush crept across your cheeks as you recalled the memory. The warmth of his words mingled with the warmth of the coffee still cradled in your hands. Alastor's presence always had that effect on you—an intoxicating mix of excitement and comfort, of familiarity and mystery.

"The coffee is ready, just as always," you said with a smile, nodding towards the cup you had thoughtfully placed on the counter beside you. It was a small gesture but one that had become a part of your morning routine, a quiet act of affection that you performed without fail. You knew how much he enjoyed his strong and black coffee, and you took pride in ensuring that it was ready for him the moment he stepped into the kitchen.

Alastor's gaze followed yours to the cup, and his smile widened, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice now smooth and warm, like honey. He reached for the cup, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments—a touch so fleeting yet so charged with meaning that it sent a shiver down your spine. He lifted the cup to his lips, inhaling the rich aroma before taking a slow, deliberate sip. You watched him, your heart swelling with quiet happiness as you observed the way his eyes half-closed in contentment, the weariness in his expression easing ever so slightly.

As you sat there, the two of you cocooned in the quiet of the kitchen; you couldn't help but reflect on how these small moments had come to mean so much to you. It was in the stillness of the morning before the rest of the hotel awoke that you felt closest to him. These were the moments where you could be yourselves without the pretence or bravado that often accompanied life at the Hazbin Hotel.

You had long since discovered that Alastor, for all his flamboyance and charm, was a creature of habit. He liked his routines, and once you realised that he preferred to have his morning coffee around the same time as you, it became a shared ritual—a way to carve out a small piece of the day that belonged to just the two of you. It was a subtle dance, a quiet partnership, and you cherished it more than you could ever express in words.

As he took another sip of his coffee, you found yourself lost in the simple pleasure of being near him, of sharing these unspoken moments. There was a comfort in the routine, in the knowledge that, for this brief time each day, it was just the two of you against the world. And in that thought, you found a sense of contentment that made the early mornings all the more worthwhile.

As you sipped your coffee together, the familiar comfort of Alastor's presence mingled with a growing, unbidden sensation deep within you. The fluttering butterflies in your stomach, which had always been a pleasant reminder of your feelings for him, began to stir with a new intensity. Their delicate wings, once only a source of lightness and joy, now seemed to brush against something more profound and primal. The tingling sensation spread through you, igniting a warmth that travelled lower, coiling deep within your core. You blinked, startled by the sudden realisation—the butterflies had transformed into something else entirely, a throbbing ache that could only be the unmistakable stirrings of arousal.

Startled by the intensity of your own desire, you quickly jumped down from the counter, your feet hitting the cool tiles with a soft thud. In a hurried attempt to mask your flustered state, you downed the remainder of your coffee in one swift gulp, the liquid scalding your throat but distracting you momentarily from the heat pooling in your lower abdomen. The sudden rush of movement seemed to amplify the blood pounding in your ears, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

Desperate to avoid Alastor's gaze, you rushed to the sink, your hands trembling slightly as you fumbled to place your cup and plate inside. The clatter of dishes rang out, the sound unnervingly loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen. Words tumbled out of your mouth in a clumsy attempt to divert his attention, to keep him from noticing the flush that had crept up your neck and settled on your cheeks.

"Well, this was truly wonderful, Alastor, as always, but now I really must get back to work!" you stammered, your voice higher than usual, betraying your anxiety. Without daring to look back, you spun around, intent on making a hasty retreat from the kitchen and the overwhelming tension that had suddenly thickened the air.

But instead of the open space you expected, you found yourself colliding with a solid chest. You gasped, the breath catching in your throat as you realised that Alastor had moved completely silently and now stood directly behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat as you tilted your head back to meet his gaze. His crimson eyes, usually so playful and full of mischief, were now darkened with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Alastor's right hand was hidden behind his back, his left still holding the coffee cup, though it seemed to have been forgotten. He studied you with an almost unnerving focus, his gaze piercing as if he could see straight into the depths of your soul. Yet, something was distant in his eyes, as if part of him was lost in thought, grappling with something unseen. His breaths came slow and deep; each inhale seemed to draw the air from the room, leaving you breathless in his presence.

You instinctively backed up, the edge of the counter-pressing into the small of your back as you tried to create some distance, though your body betrayed you by leaning forward, drawn inexplicably closer to him. The air between you was thick, charged with a tension that felt almost palpable as if it had a life of its own. You could feel the energy crackling between you, something heavy, potent, and utterly intoxicating.

Alastor's eyes bore into yours, and you could see the flicker of something carnal, something raw and unrestrained, within their crimson depths. The intensity of his gaze sent a wave of heat coursing through you, settling deep in your belly, where the ache from before had grown into a full-fledged hunger. His laboured breathing mirrored your own, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic as you matched his rhythm, each breath filling you with a heady mixture of anticipation and longing.

For a moment, the world outside the kitchen ceased to exist, the only reality being the charged space between you and Alastor. The very air seemed to hum with the unsaid, the unacknowledged desires that had long been simmering just beneath the surface. The silence stretched out, heavy and loaded, thick with unspoken words and the magnetic pull of mutual attraction.

And then, as if on some unspoken cue, Alastor took a step closer, closing the small distance between you, his body heat enveloping you like a warm, intoxicating fog. His free hand, the one hidden behind his back, suddenly appeared at your waist, fingers brushing against your side with a touch so light it was almost imperceptible. Yet, it sent a jolt of electricity through your entire being. The delicate caress was enough to draw a soft gasp from your lips, a sound that seemed to hang in the air between you.

His touch lingered, the pressure of his fingers increasing ever so slightly as he held you in place, preventing any thoughts of escape. You could feel the power in his grip, the barely restrained strength that lay beneath the surface, and it thrilled you to no end. Your pulse quickened, each beat echoing in your ears, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving more of the sensation, more of him.

Alastor's eyes darkened further as he noticed your reaction, a slow, predatory smile curling at the corners of his lips. His head dipped slightly, his breath ghosting over your ear as he whispered, voice low and laced with a dangerous, seductive edge.

"What is it, my dear? You seem… restless." The sound of his voice, so close and intimate, sent a shiver racing down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, couldn't suppress the desire that was rapidly spiralling out of control.

"Alastor, what are you doing?" Your voice, though quiet, held a steady resolve. Even as your heart raced with the thrill of being this close to him, a flicker of concern danced in the back of your mind. This behaviour was unlike anything you had ever seen from him before. Alastor had always been composed, a master of his emotions and actions, yet now there was something different in how he looked at you, wild and untamed. The intensity in his crimson eyes stirred a mixture of excitement and trepidation within you. You didn't want him to stop, but you needed to understand what was happening and what that look in his eyes truly meant.

As if your words had snapped him out of a trance, Alastor blinked, his expression momentarily softening. He seemed to realise how close he was to you, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he withdrew his hand from your waist. The absence of his touch left a cold void where his warmth had been, and a strange sense of longing settled in its place.

Without a word, he turned slightly, reaching over to place his cup in the sink. But to do so, he had to lean forward, his body brushing against yours most tantalisingly. Your breath hitched as his face came mere centimetres from your neck, and in that moment, you felt his breath warm against your skin. Then, he inhaled sharply, his nose grazing the curve of your neck as he took in your scent. The intimate gesture sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your entire body tingle with awareness.

The soft sound of his inhale, almost a sigh, was filled with a hunger that sent your heart racing, and before you could react, the sharp clatter of the cup hitting the metal sink broke the spell. You flinched slightly at the noise, your startled gaze flying back to his face. But before you could form the words to ask him why he had done it, why he had drawn so close only to retreat, he was already moving away, his form dissolving into the shadows that clung to the edges of the room.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you stared at the space where he had been, your mind reeling from the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The air still crackled with the remnants of his presence, heavy with an unspoken desire that had hung between you like a charged storm cloud. You could still feel the ghost of his breath on your neck, the faint warmth of his body against yours, and it left you yearning for more, craving the touch that had been so abruptly withdrawn.

For a moment, you remained frozen in place, your senses still overwhelmed by the lingering traces of his closeness. His scent—a mix of dark spices and something uniquely Alastor—still clung to the air, wrapping around you like an invisible cloak. Your skin tingled where his hand had rested, your neck burning where his breath had touched. The memory of that fleeting moment was enough to set your pulse racing once more, the ache in your core intensifying with every passing second.

You couldn't shake the image of his eyes, the way they had darkened with something raw and primal as he had leaned in. It was as if a dam had cracked within him, and for the briefest of moments, you had glimpsed the depth of his desire—a desire that mirrored your own. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to the mere memory of his touch.

But then, just as quickly as it had all begun, it was over, and the kitchen was once again empty, the shadows swallowing him whole. You were left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest, your body still humming with unfulfilled need. You knew that this encounter had changed something between you, and you had opened a door that could never be closed. And even though he had disappeared into the darkness, you couldn't help but feel that this was only the beginning, that whatever had ignited between you was far from extinguished.

The hunger in his eyes and the way he had inhaled your scent as if trying to memorise it were not things that could be easily forgotten. And as you stood there, the silence of the kitchen pressing in around you, you realised that you didn't want to ignore them. You wanted more. More of the closeness, more of the heat that had flared so suddenly between you, more of the man who had just vanished into the shadows but who, you knew, would never be far from your thoughts again.

The encounter with Alastor in the kitchen earlier this morning had left you confused, yet you couldn't deny the raw energy that still coursed through your veins. His touch, the way he had leaned in so close, his breath on your neck—it had all been so brief, yet so intense. The memory of it lingered, simmering just beneath your skin, a constant reminder of the hunger that had been awakened within you. It was a sensation you couldn't shake, a burning need that gnawed at your insides and left you restless. You tried to make sense of it, to understand what had transpired between you, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that understanding was not what you craved. What you wanted, what you needed, was to find him again, to confront the tension that had sparked between you and see if he had felt it too.

With a sense of determination, you decided to channel that restless energy into something productive, something that might draw him to you. Alastor had always had a peculiar taste when it came to sweets—he wasn't one for sugary confections. But you knew he had a weakness for rich, decadent chocolate, the kind that was bittersweet, with just the right balance of indulgence and restraint.

The idea struck you then, sudden and insistent. You would bake something for him, something that would carry the weight of your unspoken desires, a message wrapped in layers of dark chocolate and anticipation.

In the quiet of the kitchen, you set to work, your movements purposeful and precise. You gathered the ingredients, each one a piece of the puzzle you were crafting for him: dark cocoa, rich butter, a hint of espresso to deepen the flavour, and just a touch of sweetness—enough to balance the bitterness without overpowering it. As you melted the chocolate and mixed the batter, your mind drifted back to that moment in the kitchen, the heat of his body so close to yours, the intensity in his gaze. The memory only fuelled your determination, adding a particular fervour to your work. You poured the thick, glossy batter into the pan, smoothing it out with a spatula, your hands steady despite the wild beating of your heart.

As the brownies baked, the aroma filled the kitchen, rich and heady, curling around you like a dark, enticing promise. You found yourself imagining how Alastor would react when you presented them to him, how he might lean in close again, his sharp eyes studying you with that same hunger you had seen earlier. Would he be able to sense the emotions you had poured into every step of this creation, the longing that had driven you to seek him out?

Once the brownies had cooled, you carefully cut them into neat squares, arranging them on a plate. The sight of them, so dark and tempting, filled you with a strange sense of satisfaction. You could only hope that they would have the desired effect on Alastor, that he would understand the message hidden within the folds of rich chocolate.

With the plate in hand, you made your way through the winding halls of the Hazbin Hotel, each step bringing you closer to the man who had left you in such a state of turmoil. The hotel was quiet, the usual chaos subdued in these early hours, allowing your thoughts to swirl unchecked. The closer you got to the radio tower, the more your anticipation grew, your heart pounding in time with your footsteps as you climbed the stairs to the roof.

Finally, you reached the door to the radio tower, a place that was as much a part of Alastor as the suit he always wore. You hesitated momentarily, the plate of brownies warm in your hands, the reality of what you were about to do sinking in. But the memory of his closeness, the tension that had crackled between you, pushed you forward. You raised your hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor.

The door creaked open, and there he stood, Alastor, with that ever-present smile that could be both charming and unsettling. His red eyes glinted in the low light, and for a moment, the two of you stared at each other, the memory of the morning's encounter hanging heavily between you. Then, with a graceful tilt of his head, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter.

"Well, well, what have we here?" he asked, his voice smooth, with an undertone of amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. He eyed the plate in your hands with interest, his gaze flicking back to you, curiosity—and something else—lingering in his expression.

"I thought you might like something to go with your coffee," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady even as your pulse quickened, ignoring the fact that he’d had his coffee over an hour ago. You stepped into the room, the door closing softly behind you, sealing the two of you in the intimate space. He took the plate from your hands, his fingers brushing yours in a way that made your breath hitch.

"Chocolate brownies?" he mused, his tone almost teasing. "You do know me well, my sweet." His smile widened, though there was a sharpness to it now, a glint in his eyes that spoke of a keen awareness of the game you were playing.

As he placed the plate on the small table near his desk, you couldn't help but notice the way his movements were deliberate and overly controlled. He turned back to you, his gaze once again locking onto yours, and you felt the air between you grow thick with the same tension that had crackled in the kitchen. Only this time, it was more intense, more charged with the unspoken desires that had brought you here.

Alastor stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with each measured step. You could feel the heat of him, the magnetic pull that had drawn you to him this morning. His presence was overwhelming, and as he leaned in, his voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble, darling. But I must say, I'm flattered."

There was no mistaking the intent behind his words, the way they wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the web he was weaving. Your pulse raced, your body reacting to his sheer proximity, the dark allure of his presence. You could feel the same simmering heat that had driven you to seek him out, now burning brighter, hotter, in the confines of this small room.

He reached out, his fingers trailing along your arm, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"What are you really here for?" he asked, his voice a soft purr laden with meaning. The question hung in the air, heavy and expectant, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from your lips.

Your mouth was dry, your thoughts a tangled mess of desire and uncertainty. But as his hand came to rest on your waist, pulling you just that little closer, the answer became clear. You had come here not just to deliver brownies but to confront the tension that had been simmering between you, to see if he felt the same electric pull that you did. And as his eyes bore into yours, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own, you knew he did.

The radio tower felt both intimate and suffocating as you stood before Alastor, the heavy air around you thick with the tension that had been building all day. You had come here intending to confront him, to get answers about the strange encounter in the kitchen that morning. But as soon as you stepped inside, you realised that something was terribly wrong. The room was filled with his scent—rich, intoxicating, and overwhelmingly powerful. It invaded your senses, curling around your mind and body, leaving you feeling dizzy and unsteady.

You had heard of this happening before, this surge of uncontrollable desire, but you had never experienced it so intensely. An instinct and power that overwhelmed sinners with certain animalistic traits, and since both you and Alastor were sinners with deer traits, it was only natural what had come to pass. Your heat had begun, and the sudden realisation sent a wave of panic through you. The heat in your body was growing unbearable, every nerve alight with a desperate need you couldn't control. And here you were, standing so close to him, your body betraying you, pulling you toward him as if he were the only thing that could satisfy the fire raging inside you.

You tried to focus on why you were here, trying to form the words that would explain your confusion about what had happened between you this morning. But the scent of him was all-consuming, clouding your thoughts and driving you mad with desire. You could barely speak, your voice catching in your throat as you looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and need.

"Alastor, I… I need to go," you stammered, your voice shaking as you stepped back. You couldn't let him see you like this, couldn't let him know what was happening. It was too humiliating, too raw. But as you turned to leave, you felt his eyes on you, sharp and intense, and you knew he had already figured it out.

The flicker of understanding in his crimson eyes sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the silent acknowledgement of what was happening. He knew. And worse, he understood because he was feeling it, too. His rut had started, and the primal part of him, the part that thrived on dominance and control, was warring with the more civilised side that knew it wasn't right to keep you here, wasn't right to let the Need within him take over.

You could see the conflict in his eyes. His muscles tensed as he fought to hold himself back, his breath coming in slow, controlled exhalations. For a moment, you thought he might let you go, that he might allow you to escape before things went too far. But there was a hunger in his gaze, a dark, consuming need that made your heart race even faster. And you knew that if you didn't leave now, you might not be able to at all.

With a burst of adrenaline, you turned on your heel and fled the radio tower, your heart pounding in your chest as you bolted down the stairs. The corridors of the Hazbin Hotel twisted and turned as you ran, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. But no matter how fast you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched, that something was stalking you from the shadows.

The presence was palpable, a dark, looming force that seemed to close in around you, even though you couldn't see him. You knew it was Alastor, that he was there, following you, watching you. The knowledge sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, your body reacting to the chase, to the danger of it all. The thought that he was hunting you, that he could catch you at any moment, only heightened your desire, the heat in your core growing unbearable as you neared your room.

You slammed the door behind you, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you leaned against the wood, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. But it was no use. The room felt small, the air thick with the remnants of his scent that had clung to your clothes and skin. Your hands shook as you fumbled to lock the door, knowing deep down that it wouldn't matter. If Alastor wanted to get in, no lock would stop him.

For a moment, there was silence, the kind that presses in on you from all sides, heavy and oppressive. But then, as if summoned by your thoughts, the shadows in the corner of the room began to shift, twisting and writhing as they took form. Your breath hitched as Alastor stepped out from the darkness, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made your knees weak.

He was in front of you instantly, moving with the fluid grace of a predator closing in on its prey. You backed up instinctively, but there was nowhere to go and hide from the desire radiating from him in waves. His scent was overwhelming now, intoxicating, filling your lungs with every breath you took. It clouded your mind, pushing aside any thoughts of escape, leaving only the raw, primal need that had been driving you since this morning.

Alastor's gaze locked onto yours, and the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you. The tension between you crackles like electricity in the air. His hand found your wrist, pulling you closer with a firm, unyielding grip that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. His touch was searing, his presence overwhelming, and as his other hand came up to cup your chin, tilting your face up toward his, you knew there was no turning back. The need in his eyes mirrored your own, a dark, consuming fire that threatened to burn you both alive.

You trembled under his touch, the last remnants of your resistance crumbling as you looked up at him, your body screaming for the release that only he could give you. And as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, you knew that you would give in to that need, would surrender to the fire that burned between you, no matter the consequences.

"Tell me to stop. One word and I will, but tell me you desire me as I desire you, and you will be mine for the night and all the nights to come," he whispered his voice a low, dangerous static that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. But you couldn't, didn't want to. You were too far gone, too consumed by the lust that had been building inside you since the moment you entered the radio tower. Instead, you leaned into him, your body arching against his as you gave yourself over to the heat, to the need, to him.

"Alastor, don't you dare stop," was all you needed to say.

His lips were warm and soft against yours. The kiss was only gentle for a split second before the desire, the Need, overtook both of you. Hands clawed at your clothing, and it did not take long before you could feel his skin against yours. His body heat felt scolding against your skin, making you wonder if he was leaving marks all over your body. His hand travelled down your back as the bottoms of your shirt were opened and pushed down your body. The feeling of his fingertips against your spine felt almost sinful in nature, and you wondered if you would ever be the same.

Alastor pressed you against the wall of your room as he stopped kissing your swollen lips and turned to rain kisses down your neck. In between every kiss, he would stop and drag his teeth or nibble your flesh, making your skin feel raw and hot. Having enough of his attention directed towards your neck, you buried your hands in his thick hair and pulled him back towards your lips. His ears laid flat for a second against your hand but sprang up again after he realised that you did not pull him back in rejection but to encourage him to kiss you again.

As you continued to make out against the wall, you continued to strip each other clumsily. There was no way of being gentle or structured in the heat of passion, and some clothing pieces could be heard ripping, but none of you cared at that moment. However, everything seemed to stop as you felt Alastors hand sneak into your underwear and drag a finger slowly against your wet pussy. You tried to inhale, but your breath was ragged and hitched at your throat.

"My sweet, sweet little dear, are you desperate?" Alastor teased as the tip of his finger slowly started to circle your clit. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you looked back up at the radio daemon. To someone else who did not know Alastor, it would look like he was unaffected by what was happening, but you knew he was far from untouched. His smile ever so slightly wider, pupils blown wide, his shallow breath hot against your skin, and the feeling of his erection pressing against your hipbone.

"Tell me, do you want it here against the wall," he asked, pressing you closer to the wall, "or do you want us to move to the bed?"

"Bed, please." The words whispered against his cheek, but Alastor heard you clear as day. With strength you didn't know he had, he helped you jump up with your legs around his hips as he carried you to the bed behind him. He softly put you down against the soft and cool navy bedsheets, following closely as he laid down over you, encapsulating you between his arms that leaned against the bed, his pelvis pressing against yours between your legs. The meer pressure from his cock against you made your legs shake, and your body feel all tingly.

His lips, his hands, they are all over you, and it’s almost too much. Every touch leaves a feeling behind, almost like a mark, and you revel in the thought of Alastor leaving something behind on you that’ll show everyone that you are his just as he is yours.

Alastors skin is warm, almost scolding hot, under your fingertips as you help him strip from his clothes. You kiss him with desperation you had never felt before as you buck your hips to put pressure on his cock, making him moan against your swollen lips. He presses you down against the bed as you drag your fingers through his soft hair, pulling his head back as you trail wet kisses down his neck. His breath hitches as you find a sensitive spot where the neck meets the shoulder, and as you suck on his tender skin, leaving a small purple mark, you can’t help but feel pride. You pull back and look up at the man above you with smugness. His cheeks had darkened in a soft blush as he panted above you, red lips swollen and eyes almost black with desire.

As if the final mental blockade fell away and all inhibitions flew out the window, you and Alastor tore away each other's clothes. Leaving only tattered pieces of cloth on the bed and claw marks on your bodies. Later, you would wonder if the pulsing and desperate neediness that had built between the both of you had just enhanced what was already there, but for now, you revelled in the warmth and tingling sensation of arousal. You were wet, and you could feel the slickness of your pussy as Alastor removed your underwear at last. The cool air shilled you at the same time it sent waves of pleasure down your thighs.

“Look at you,” Alastor said, his voice husky and laced with desire as he looked down at you. “Such a sweet delight you are—sweet enough to eat.”

As he said those words, Alastor slowly pushed his finger into your vagina, coating his finger in your essence before slowly pulling out. You could not help the moan you let out turn to a gasp as you looked up at him, who started to lick his slick finger clean. His eyes blazed with uncontrollable heat.

“Truly delicious. Come, my sweet, have a taste of yourself.” Alastor put his other hand behind your head and pulled you up from the bed to meet his lips in a messy kiss. His tongue forced itself between your lips, mingling with yours and effectively leaving the taste of yourself on your own tongue.

“Stop being such a tease, Alastor.” You said against his lips when the kiss ended. Your hot breath merged with his as you dragged your hands down his torso. You could feel every muscle jump underneath your fingertips as if they were shocked with electricity as you pulled your hands lower and lower. His pants, opened and barely hanging off his slim hips, weren’t difficult to pull down and made a soft sound as they hit the floor across the room. You gently pressed your thumbs down between his underwear and skin as you slowly pulled them off him. You could feel the goosebumps covering the man above you as your finger glided over his hot skin.

The first time you felt Alastor’s cock against your heated pussy, it made you believe that there was never going to be anyone else after him who could match the feeling. Hot liquid pooled between your legs as you instantly lifted your hips to get even closer, effectively pulling a low moan out of the man's trembling lips.

“Naughty, naughty little doe of mine. Control yourself,” he chuckled as he pressed open mouth kisses against your neck, but you didn’t want to control yourself. You wanted the passion, the heat, the feeling of Alastor pounding inside you as your legs shock from pleasure. And so, letting the instincts take over, you grabbed his cock gently, making Alastor let out a gasp against your shoulder as he gently moved his hips to make his manhood glide back and forth between your fingers. Desperate for the touch and the pleasure you could give him.

“Alastor, please, my dear, I want you inside me. I can’t wait anymore. I need you so badly,” you mumbled against his ear right beside your head, and with every word you said, you could feel Alastor’s teeth and nails dig a little bit deeper into you.

 With one single thrust, Alastor entered you after you had aligned him right in front of your opening. It has heaven in Hell, this moment when you first felt him inside you, and your legs instinctually closed around his hips to press him as deep within you as he could go. Everything was heightened. Every touch felt electric, every breath a heave, and every thrust sent a feeling of fullness and belonging inside you. The feeling was addicting, like the sweetest of wine, the nectar from the gods, and it begged and begged for more.

“More, more, Alastor, give me more,” you chanted against his skin as your fingernails dragged long red lines along your lover's back.

“Greedy, oh so greedy, my sweet.” you could feel his smirk against your cheek as he kissed your temple. “You deserve the world.” Was the last thing he said before he pulled away to sit up on his knees. His band quickly found your knees as he prided your legs open and started to slowly and agonisingly thrust into you. You could feel everything. His eyes roaming over your body, the cold air against your heated skin, and his thick cock slowly pushing in and out, filling you, teasing you. It was as if Alastor wanted to drag out your pleasure for as long as possible.  

In an instant, Alastor pulled out and flipped you around on your belly with a strength you didn’t know he had. Two strong hands took hold of your trembling hips and lifted them high enough to shove one of the thick pillows underneath. With your hips resting against the pillow and chest against the mattress, Alastor sat up further on his knees, towering over you, as he dressed your legs together with his knees so that your legs were now snuggled together between his thighs. You could feel your cunt flutter in excitement as you bit your lips, waiting for Alastor to enter you again. And he didn’t disappoint.

With one thrust, Alastor buried himself within you again as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

“Is this what my sweet little doe wanted? To be bent over, used, fucked till there isn’t a single thought in that head of yours? Do you want me, my darling? Do you want to be mine?” Every word he whispered was further emphasised with a slow and deep thrust. Pressing you against the pillow. Your finger dug deep into the bedsheets as you pushed your mouth to the mattresses to disguise your primal moan in desperation. But Alastor would have none of it. Instead, his hand snuck underneath your chin and bent your head back, effectively filling the room with the sound of your moans and the slapping against bodies as Alastor continued to fuck you.

“Don’t hide for me. I want to hear every pathetic little sound you make. I want to hear how good I can make my little mate feel.” Those words were the drop that made the goblet overflow and the last thing you need before an orgasm ripped through your body uncontrollably. Your pleasure seemed to snap something inside Alastor, too, for he quickened his pace. Chasing and intensifying both of your pleasures as you pulsed around his cock.

“Yes, yes, yes, your mate. I want to be your mate,” the words came tumbling out of your mouth as your whole body chook from the orgasm that beat within you like stormy waves against a cliffside. Nothing had felt more right than Alastor within you and the thought of being his as he was yours.

Alastor kept thrusting at a quick pace as your orgasm started to subside, but a new pleasure hummed with pride within you as you felt him come inside you. With every throbbing of his cock, Alastor’s nails dug deeper and deeper within the mattresses until he tore them apart.

Shaking, sweaty and tired, you let out one last moan as Alastor put all his weight against you as he lay above you, pressing you against the mattresses. You could feel his hot lips against your neck as he said,

“Well, aren’t my sweet little mate full of surprises?”

Well, would you look at that! I'm back! Did you miss me?

Jokes aside, I hope you enjoyed this smutty little story!

Hazbin gen. taglist: @reath-solia @everwolf-20 @alastorthirsty1

[smokinghorse]

LOYALTY The unparalleled devotion a Satellite has for his officer would make even the most well-trained guard dogs jealous. And if you couldn't follow him, you would wait at the end of that tethered leash until he either came home, or you died. You'd follow him to the afterlife. I feel like this one's pretty obvious. The lengths Jean goes to to check on Harry are incredible. Putting on a stupid wig every day in public for a week minimum to make him laugh, making Judit drive him all the way up there every day, pacing the jetty with anxiety, checking his mailbox religiously, waiting by Jule's station for him to call. You'd follow that man to the ends of the earth, wouldn't you? The trust you put in him is like that of a dog following his caretaker off a cliff. And you're both happy to do it. He's a guide dog, a hunting companion dog, a guard dog, an emotional support animal. Even in the "worst" ending, he still gives Harry another chance to sober up and work with him again, and the look back he gives Harry before leaving is truly dog-like. A dog, a loyal companion, leaving his incapable caretaker. It hurts him in ways he can't even verbalize

[octuscle]

Spring Break Party Animal

Kristján Egilsson had come from Iceland to Santa Barbara three years ago to study marine biology. He had completed his bachelor's and master's degrees in record time, graduating at the top of his class. Nevertheless, he found it difficult to get a job. Perhaps it was because of his appearance: to call him slim was an understatement. Kristján was a beanpole. And he looked like he was 18. With a bit of blonde hair on his upper lip and the thin, blonde hair that fell on his shoulders. For his fellow students, it was always a wonder how a person who lived in California and spent a lot of time at the beach could stay so pale. Perhaps it was all due to his lifestyle: vegan, feminist, impeccable carbon footprint. And yet: unemployed!

The offer of a research assistant position with the possibility of a doctorate at New College Of Florida in Sarasota was anything but his dream. But still better than returning to Iceland. Kristján found it hard to admit, but somehow he liked the American way of life. The university had promised him a place in a hall of residence for post-graduate students, but had asked him to stay in a motel near the campus for a short time in the meantime. The previous tenant in the hall of residence had apparently been quite a party animal, so the place needed to be redecorated first, the personnel officer had told him with a mischievous wink.

Kristján arrived in Sarasota three weeks before the start of the spring semester. The bus ride had been long and exhausting. But a flight had not been justifiable in view of the CO2 emissions. He had left Atlanta very early this morning and finally arrived after changing buses in Tallahassee and Tampa. He had been on the road for over 70 hours. He was dead tired. The place was quiet. He checked into the somewhat shabby hotel, got into his room and, finally back in a real bed, fell asleep immediately.

His alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. He wanted to go to the beach; he hadn't seen the sea in ages. He would swim, wash off the dirt of the bus ride and then explore the campus. There was no one in the breakfast room yet. The waitress looked at him blankly and said that breakfast was not served until 8:00 a.m. Kristján was starving. He smiled his disarming Scandinavian boy's smile. “I'll see what I can do,” said the waitress, and disappeared into the kitchen. Kristján checked the weather conditions on his cell phone. He wanted to familiarize himself with the currents at the beach. And then he was served a huge portion of scrambled eggs and bacon. “I can't make you anything more, the cook isn't here yet,” said the waitress. Kristján didn't have the energy to argue about vegan nutrition. And he was starving, to be honest. A few bites wouldn't kill him. The scrambled eggs were delicious. He wolfed them down. He asked if he could get a coffee. The waitress brought him a Coke, apologizing that the coffee machine was still off. Kristján downed the 26-ounce bottle of sweet swill almost in one gulp. This was followed by an unparalleled belch. The waitress grinned and said that maybe there was a man in the boy after all. Kristján smiled, feeling both embarrassed and bewildered.

Kristján had spent the whole day by the sea. Near the city, the ecosystem was of course not particularly exciting. But he had gathered a few ideas about how to make simple improvements. Establishing protected zones, artificial reefs, things like that. He wanted to put his ideas on paper. But the mood in the hotel had changed considerably. He had seen the “spring break” posters everywhere. Tonight was the opening party. And now the first guests were arriving, crowding the reception and the lobby, making noise. This could be great. Kristján sighed and went to his room. On his minibar was a note saying “Have a great spring break, the first sixback is on us”. The minibar was stocked with beer.

At some point last night, Kristian had lost the desire to develop his ideas. There had been loud music coming from the pool and he could no longer concentrate, so he had taken a beer from the fridge, drunk it and then fallen into bed. He had ignored the alarm clock today. But there was no breakfast before 08:00 anyway. And when he was in the breakfast room at 08:00, he was still alone. A few students were lying by the pool, snoring. Kristian grabbed some scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages and wolfed down his breakfast. He wanted to finish before the students woke up. The plan for today was to get a bike. He had to be mobile in the city somehow. And he also wanted to explore the city and take a look at the campus. So far, he had only seen it on the internet. He had found a store for second-hand bikes on the internet and got a bargain there. Cool guys there, he had talked to them and got tips for the city. He had only been on campus for a short time; apart from a few construction workers, everything was pretty deserted. At the beach, he had only seen the crowds of people partying there and quickly turned back. Back at the hotel, he was happy that it was relatively quiet. He lay down by the pool. At some point, someone asked him if he wanted a beer. At some point, Kristian got himself a second beer. At some point, the party was also in full swing here by the pool.

Damn, that was one beer too many... at least. Christian threw up mangily in the bathroom. There was a full condom on the floor. He looked in the mirror. He looked like shit! Maybe a shave would help. He just left his moustache. Yes, that was better. Now breakfast, then a nap by the pool, then he'd be fine. Logan, Todd and Chad were already eating breakfast. With their first or second beer. Hey, what better way to have a real man's breakfast. Logan asked if the plan with the tattoo artist at lunchtime was still on. “Sure thing,” said Christian, half the scrambled eggs falling out of his mouth. He'd always wanted a tattoo. The sluts were into that kind of thing! But now he really had to piss. Damn it, he wasn't used to four beers for breakfast Shit, he wasn't going to make it to the toilet. He pissed on a palm tree on the terrace. To the jeers of the other boys. Now another burp. And then off to the sun lounger. A nap and a tan!

As Logan and he rode along the promenade on their motorcycles after the session at the tattooist, they could hardly wait for the evening to arrive. Their cocks were longing to finally be used again. Christian had already gotten hard during the tattooing session. His tattoo artist was also a guy after his own heart. Every now and then he really liked to fuck a tight man's ass. He would never tell the boys. Although... Todd had also sucked his cock before. Without making eye contact, of course. Otherwise it would be totally homo!

Shit, the party the night before had been awesome. The only sensible reason to go to college was really Springbreak! Cris took the last bottle of beer out of the fridge, lit a cigarette and went into the bathroom. His hair looked like shit. But one of the boys had brought long hair clippers. He would be able to trim his mullet for tonight. He trimmed his belly. Shit, Coach was going to give him another lecture when spring trimester started. But the diet of spare ribs, burgers and beer was working. And training would start again in April!

Shit, the trimester would start again in a week. Chris really wasn't a friend of the campus. But without a bachelor's degree, no money from his parents. And without money from his parents, no spring break. And without spring break, no sex. Who the fuck was he kidding? He was one of the hottest guys on campus. He would always have sex. And with the bitch at the other end of the pool. Chris let himself slide into the water. Thank God the water was warm. His hard-on would remain stable until he reached the other side of the pool.

Chris' pic found @boysgettingbigger

[bouncybongfairy]

Werewolf Ghost looses control on the full moon and fucks the new recruit. New recruit doesnt know who it was cause they were face down in the dirt the whole time getting the best fuck of their lives.

Brainrot

Animal Like Rage

Werewolf Ghost x Fem Reader

Summary: As a new recruit you hear alot of tales and stories about Ghost on the feild. You chalked it up to overexaterations based on his intimidating apearance. After being paired for a mission with him, you see first hand these account, if anything played-down.

Word Count: 1.0k+

Ref Account: @kaionyx

TW: Rough Smut, Sex in Forest, Masocistic Ghost, Blood Kink.

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Everyone knew that there was some underlying reason why they called Simon ‘Ghost’. As a new recruit you heard stories about seeing Ghost do remarkable things on missions. Ripping a man's throat out with his teeth. Beating men twice his size into an unrecognizable pile of messy flesh. While hanging out with other recruits, they would exchange rumors heard about him. After hearing all the tales you came to the conclusion that it was all just over exaggerations. Maybe you were just telling yourself that in order to comfort yourself for the upcoming mission you had with Ghost. All your friends were making a big deal of it. 

As if he was going to chew you up and spit you out or something. The two of you were driving towards the perimeter you’d be guarding. It was actually quite a picturesque section of forest. Lots of trees and wildlife living among them. The mission was to simply look out for the assailants if they fled in your said direction. The two of you both knew it would be a boring night. The sun had set about an hour ago, and the moon was beautiful. Full and completely illuminated the sky with its burnt yellow tone. 

“It’s really nice tonight right I mean, look at the moon-” you started to make conversation but then realized Ghost was no longer with you. 

Your initial reaction was that he was fucking with you. Trying to pull a fast one on you so he could entertain his friends with a story of a gullible recruit. You called out his name a couple times over coms but got no response. Yelling his name out wasn’t an option, seeing as that could give away your location. For about 20 minutes you continued to check the perimeter of the area but to no avail. Eventually you decided to go into the forest to look for him. Starting to get uneasy, feeling like you were seeing things out of the corner of your eye. You stumbled across both of Ghost’s guns placed upright against a tree. 

Immediately you bend down to investigate the scene. As soon as your knees hit the ground, you felt someone on top of you. Hitting the ground so hard, it knocked the wind out of you; rendering you completely disoriented. The taste of copper started to flood your mouth. Immediately you assume it’s one of the target’s men. Especially when he ripped the radio off your vest. You reach down for your knife and go to fight back. However, he uses his palm against your back; shoving your upper body against the dirt. You tried to get up but the person’s strength was unparalleled, like a cement wall. Heavy breathing and growls could be heard from above you. 

Ghost’s mind was wrapped in a fog of lust and greed. Ever since he first saw you,  he knew he wanted to lay much more than his eyes on your body. He had so much pent up sexual aggression that he’d been carrying for weeks. He was practically shaking with anticipation, he ripped your pants off. His claws leave abrasions on your hips and upper thighs. Blood starts to create droplets along the vertical lines. Only to be smeared by his hands gripping your sides, lifting your body and forcing you to change positions. Grabbing your hips and forcing you onto your knees. The dirt and mulch from the forest floor cutting up your skin. 

He grabs your ass and spreads you apart, watching as you desperately try to get away. Not wasting any time, he shoves his cock into your entrance. Loving the way you squirm and clench around him; not used to the burning and stretching. Most of you was scared but there was a small part that found this exhilarating. Being bent over in the middle of the forest while you were supposed to be on guard. Apart of one of the deadliest task forces to ever exist but still being used like a bitch in heat. 

He began rocking his hips in and out of you, loving how your tight pussy hugged his length. Like you didn’t want to let his member go. His bloody hands grip onto your ass, his claws digging into the soft flesh. He was growling and snarling; drool dripping from his mouth and onto your back. He’d been watching you for a while, walking around the barracks practically half naked. He’d been waiting for an opportunity to get you alone and when he found out you two were together on this mission… It was like fate was trying to satisfy his hunger. He loved watching you, completely in submission for him. Your face was buried in the dirt and your blinks were slow. Gradually becoming more braindead and pliable. So cock-drunk that you were pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. 

“Such a little pain slut, you want more?” he asked, voice raspy and low. 

His thrusts were so hard his thighs were spanking your ass, starting to leave the skin reddened and raw. His hip bones leave bruises from them assaulting your skin. You were going in and out of consciousness, his tip hitting your cervix is what brought you back whenever things went black. He was starting to get sloppy, losing rhythm and frantically groping your body. Pushing your body flat against the ground and pile driving you. You never felt someone so deep inside you, like he could literally rip through you. 

Having no control of the situation but loving every fucking second of it. The burning feeling in your stomach boils into your climax. Holding your breath while trying to rub yourself against the ground; overstimulated and desperate for any type of friction. Seeing you becoming so disheveled and desperate made him cum. Letting his body weight fall onto you, bucking his hips and growling into your ear. Once he’d finished up, he got the both of you dressed and carried you back to the safe house. Where you were treated for injuries sustained by a ‘animal attack’.

[gringolet]

GAYEST ARTHURIAN TEXT BRACKET ROUND 2:

propaganda:

The Wedding:

-“gender role fuckery”

-bi4bi t4t text ever? scholars say yes

SGATGK:

- “kissing”

-“Gawain getting kisses from Bertilak’s wife and kissing Bertilak is very bi”

- “I'm back with another answer. Obviously the kissing game is iconic. The scholarship about this poem is unparalleled. The people cannot get enough of submissive kissy face Gawain & frankly neither can I. He definitely fucked that couple. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say, they fucked him. Easy litmus test for a retelling is how they handle adapting this. Only cowards write around the kissing. Real ones make it even gayer.”

- “Gawain kisses a man in this”

- “3some, poly, bi conduit, gay kiss, gawain”

- “i'm going to kill myself i had a few paragraphs of propaganda typed up and accodentally deleted it all. holy ahit. anyways i have no doubt that this has been submitted before but it is my moral duty to say so again. even excluding the fact that lord bertilak sets up this game of exchange of winnings and sends his wife to seduce gawaine—knowing that gawaine will have to return whatever he recieved unto bertilak—and their kisses and embraces (which are technically 'excusable' under medieval homosocial behaviour), there's a sort of erotic fascination with the green knight everpresent throughout the text, the author, the pearl poet, even taking, what, five (? give or take a few. my memory fails me) verses to describe how green and big and beautiful the green knight is. the green knight kneels before gawaine, letting gawaine take the blow to cut off his head, and later, the green knoght takes a blow to cut off gawaine's head. it's all about reciprocity and exchanges and submission. it's SO erotic . i just. yeah :)”

- ill also say the way gawain is framed in parallel to the lords hunting scenes making him a pursued animal and the wife the pursuer who has him at her mercy is very interesting gender dynamics and role reversal

[roseistifosi]

A Night in Monaco (part one) AS 12

-------------------------------------

Words: 1.4K A/N: This is the first fic I ever wrote so please be nice loll, BTW

TW: Pregnacy ?

Monte Carlo, Monaco, 1993

The opulence of Monte Carlo sparkles under the starlit sky, an endless expanse of luxury and extravagance that feels almost otherworldly. You, a young bartender working in one of Monaco’s most exclusive venues, navigate the bustling bar with practiced grace. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of animated conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter create a vibrant tapestry of sounds that is both exhilarating and exhausting.

It's the weekend of the 1993 Monaco Grand Prix, a time when the city’s usual glamour is amplified tenfold. The streets are packed with racing enthusiasts, celebrities, and high-profile guests. Your bar is no exception, brimming with a mix of excited patrons eager to celebrate the high-octane event.

With your striking (your hair color) hair and penetrating (your eyes color) eyes, you move fluidly among the patrons, your uniform crisp and your demeanor friendly yet professional. Your days in Monte Carlo have been a whirlwind of bright lights and fast-paced social interactions, a sharp contrast to the quiet life you left behind in Solna. The energy of the city is a double-edged sword—thrilling yet overwhelming.

On this particular evening, as the bar’s atmosphere buzzes with excitement, a man walks in who immediately captures everyone's attention. Ayrton Senna, the Brazilian Formula 1 racing icon, enters with an aura of intense charisma and unparalleled skill. His dark suit and the confidence he exudes seem to amplify the allure of the Monaco night.

You notice him as he approaches the bar. The usual commotion seems to fade into the background as he steps into your space, his presence commanding attention. His dark, contemplative eyes meet yours with a warmth that contrasts sharply with the cool demeanor of his public persona.

“Champagne, please,” Ayrton says, his voice carrying a soft, melodic accent.

Your hand moves instinctively to retrieve a bottle of champagne, your mind momentarily distracted by the celebrity in front of you. “Of course. It’s quite the night for champagne,” you reply with a smile.

As you pour the drink, your conversation starts with small talk—questions about the race, the city, and each other’s lives. Ayrton’s charm is evident, but it’s his genuine curiosity and thoughtful responses that draw you in. He speaks with an intensity that makes you feel as though you’re alone, despite the busy surroundings.

Hours pass, and the bar begins to empty. The crowd thins, leaving behind a quieter atmosphere that feels more intimate. Ayrton, noticing the change, suggests you take a walk outside. You hesitate for a moment, then agree, feeling a mix of intrigue and anticipation.

The streets of Monte Carlo at night are a far cry from the daytime frenzy. The city breathes softly under the moonlight, and the calmness of the night provides a stark contrast to the earlier excitement. Ayrton and you walk through the serene avenues, your conversation flowing with an ease that comes from genuine connection.

You end up at the Hôtel de Paris Monte-Carlo, an establishment as renowned for its elegance as for its exclusivity. Ayrton leads you to his suite, and the opulence of the surroundings only enhances the sense of intimacy between you. The night unfolds with a blend of passion and tenderness, your connection deepening with each shared moment.

As dawn begins to break, the reality of the situation settles in. You wake alone, the suite’s luxurious furnishings starkly contrasting with the emptiness you feel. The bed beside you is neatly made, and the silence of the room is punctuated only by the soft rustle of paper.

On the pillow next to you lies an envelope, meticulously placed. With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, you pick it up and carefully open it. Inside is a letter, written in Ayrton’s elegant script.

“Dear Y/N,

Thank you for a memorable evening. I regret that I had to leave before you awoke; my schedule demands I return to my responsibilities. I hope the night was as meaningful for you as it was for me. Enclosed is a small token to ensure you are well taken care of.

With warm regards,

Ayrton S.”

Along with the letter is a sum of money, not as compensation but as a gesture of respect and care. Your emotions are a tangled mix of gratitude, confusion, and a sense of loss. The night was both exhilarating and ephemeral, a fleeting connection that has left a lasting impact.

You read the letter several times, each reading stirring a new wave of emotions. The words, though simple, carry a depth of sentiment that makes the experience all the more poignant. Ayrton’s departure, while expected, leaves a void filled with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia.

You carefully tuck the letter away, deciding to keep it as a memento of a night that has transformed your life in ways you haven’t yet fully understood. The money, though practical, is secondary to the emotional significance of the letter and the night you shared.

Then, about a month later, something happens that will change everything. You begin to feel unwell—persistent nausea, fatigue, and an odd sensitivity to smells that hadn’t bothered you before. At first, you dismiss it as stress or perhaps a lingering flu. But when the symptoms don’t subside, you decide to visit a doctor.

Sitting in the sterile, white-walled clinic, you fidget nervously, your mind racing with possibilities. The doctor, a kind woman in her forties, conducts the examination and then asks you to wait while she runs some tests. The minutes tick by slowly, each one filled with growing anxiety.

When the doctor returns, she has a gentle expression on her face, one that conveys both understanding and seriousness. “Mrs Y/L/N” she begins softly, “I have some news for you. You’re pregnant.”

The words hit you like a freight train. Pregnant. You’re pregnant with Ayrton Senna’s child. The reality of it all is overwhelming. You sit there in stunned silence, your mind reeling as you try to process the enormity of what you’ve just heard. The news is a shock, and your mind races with questions and uncertainties. The reality of raising a child, especially one conceived during a brief encounter with someone as famous as Ayrton Senna, is daunting. You grapple with the implications of your situation, trying to come to terms with the fact that you will be raising a child on your own.

[limbobilbo]

Guilty Gear Themes Summarised:

Dont fuck with me I have the power of god and anime on my side READYORRRRRRRRR

Im having a breakdown please somebody give me a hug my catholic guilt is overwhelming

Why do I have to love my adopted father figure

I may be from the 1990s, miss my girlfriend, have time powers but I dont let it get me down :)

I CAN NEVER LOSE IF I NEVER STOP FIGHTING!!!!

Society - 🤡

WhydoesithurtwhendoesitstophurtingWhydoesithurtwhendoesitstophurtingWhydoesithurtwhendoesitstophurtingWhydoesithurtwhendoesitstophurtingWhydoesithurtwhendoesitstophurting

Self actualisation is good for me

Why must I feel these feelings that I am trying to feel?

Borger stopped my hatred of people

I know the name of every man who has died on my watch

Dont think about eating people, dont think about eating people

I am a side character

I love her so much

I am fucking depressed (sick guitar solo)

I hate my job (because I cant be gay)

Quirked up white woman (the song)

Im literally neurodivergent and immortal

Im a demon of vengeance (metaphorical)

I am no longer a demon of vengeance (literal)

Im a woman (yay)

I dont see the haters words (im illiterate)

I am dead

The universe is a fucking horrible thing (i love it)

I am him, i will continue to be him, I have always been him, I have an unparalleled ability to be him, for the rest of time I will be him.

Im kinda silly and goofy even if im sorting things out still

I am a woman (ahhhhhhhhhh)

Life is cool and funky you just gotta be cool and funky

I love my husband and everyone.

[ampreh]

[TRF] Norma II

• Related to this : The Rust Factory - Norma (<- comics)

• Related to this : The Rust Factory - Norma (<- comics) I had SO much fun doing the vintage style of flash backs and imagination: I would have kicked myself for ignoring this very impactful style for its time.

Audrey pic: Context - Extract from the 2022 RP "It was the story of a corporate that had made a great scientific revolutionary invention! It was called D-Sire, a simple, medicated, fabulous everyday object that people couldn't live without. But during the process of improving the product, which was intended to target wider markets to make more profit, the D-Sire had unfortunately gone awry, causing a great catastrophe unparalleled among mankind. All cities had been wiped off the map, leaving only willless mutant humans and animals. The heroine had to flee her city, survive and fight her way back to the creator of the D-sire, who had abandoned his company and changed his identity. Coal was terrified of this cheap soap opera with its terrible special effects made of modelling clay and the saturated offbeat sound of the black-and-white picture on the small TV screen." A more than obvious reference to the AU Truffula Flu. And a huge reference to @audtreegrace, @miru667 's character. So of course, I don't have all the context since it's a vast AU with lots and lots of details, but I've got enough of a basis for my friends to recognize and that's good enough for me :> Nathan has already confused Audrey Grace with Audrey, the actress from their series HAHA. Alas, the Audrey and Ted of his world won't be born for several years. He didn't find the actress, but he did find a good friend with whom to talk for hours about anything and everything ♥

Norma Bellini pic: Well, Norma pin-up, because why not! In vintage calendar mode, because I love vintage aesthetics. And yes, those are the right dates I went to check on good old calendars haha. At first I wanted to do it in a swimsuit, but then I preferred the picnic. I love picnics.

Too big to fail pic: I had to do it! Of course I had to! The only time I've redone such an iconic portrait was for the first version of Cashtea-ler in the Let It Flow fanzine, in 2022 (I should do a new one with his new head). Nathan Cole (@1940s-onceler | @nalak-bel 's), in black and white in his best soot-colored suit!

Compilation : Just Normaler, to appreciate Normaler. On a more serious note, I like the idea that Nathan was guided throughout his first times by ladies, and not the reverse. I love this not-so-little whining man.

[morbidology]

On 5 December, Louie passed away peacefully at home with Joe and myself by his side. He has left a void that words simply cannot fill.

From the moment we rescued Louie from the pound ten years ago, he became our best friend and the centre of our universe. Wherever we went, he came with us, and he lived like a king because that’s what he deserved. From long walks every single day in forests, parks and beaches, to road trips around the country, and sleeping in our bed every night.

We showered Louie with love, and he reciprocated that with an unparalleled loyalty. To say that Louie genuinely made me a better person would be an understatement. He never met a person or an animal that he didn’t like, and was the best ambassador for such a misunderstood and stigmatised breed.

Our home feels so quiet and empty without the patter of his little feet and sassiness. Rest easy, we’ll love and miss you forever, our big man.

[wildsaltair]

me: I don't understand why people think I'm unapproachable

my face at all times:

[ensemburl-straws]

SONIC ENSTARS STRIKES AGAIN

SONIC ENSTARS MAYOI??? yes. Alkaloid sponsors extreme gear races in my Sonic × Enstars AU. Tatsumi is a danger to society as soon as he touches the flying devices... The shenanigans are unparalleled.

I've got EDEN concepts, too

Nagisa and hiyori are looking silly because they're based on Sonic X anime!

Nagisa is actually a hobidon (weird... space lion aliens??) and hiyori is a seedrian (Space PLANT aliens with GIANT FUCKIN MECHS that CAn turn into FUCKING DINOSAUR. Seriously why do i never see seedrian ocs....)

....if you wonder, Hiyori's mech would be called Green Lettuce. Don't question it.

Oh, and Mary is a chao obv.

As random as it sounds, I made Ibara and Amy related (they do not know). It's not relevant to the plot whatsoever, but I had to do it. The idea of Amy being tied to the mafia by blood without knowing is very silly

I've got most of the cast down and very weird fanfic in the works that I have absolutely ZERO CONFIDENCE to share!!! 😭 I'm being bullied (affectionately) into posting it,,, so,,, err weee,,, maybe just maybe I'll share! MAYBE!!

BONUS: Mika concept that I'm struggling to make work... why can't Sonic characters have complex hairstyles or pants ⚰️ I mean, I tried to imply the hair silhouette using the feather 💀 Hes a husky! Husky are a graceful dog breed, but man, are they goofy.

Considering making shu a spider tbh... but man, sonic insects look weird. I'm interested in other suggestions.

[maniacwatchestheworld]

When there's something strange in the neighborhood, who you gonna call? Probably not John Constantine...?

I'm still pretty new to these DPxDC spaces, but as I've been exploring it from the perspective of someone currently deep in the throes of DC hyperfixation (and Danny Phantom being a past hyperfixation that I sometimes relapse into) one trend that I find kinda odd (but not necessarily unexpected) is just how prevalent Constantine is in these spaces that are largely dominated by BatFamily AUs and headcanons. Like, I do get it (kind of). Constantine does occasionally show up in Batman stories where Bruce encounters something supernatural and needs consulting on the case, and Constantine definitely appeals to the fandom audience in some pretty clear ways. Yeah, he's a handsome, charming bastard with a secret heart of gold. He's British, witty, cool, and an asshole. He may be one hell of a messy bisexual disaster, but he's OUR messy bisexual disaster, dammit! So we forgive him for being a cynical jerkass sometimes. I haven't consumed much media with him in it, but like... I get it and why out of all the mystical characters that DC has in their roster, why you might choose to include him over other characters. However I do find it kinda odd because like... Constantine is NOT the kind of person that I would see Batman nor anyone in his family particularly going for when they need help when something supernatural comes up... In fact the biggest reason that I haven't seen much from Constantine is that... He just does not appear in a lot of media that Batman is in! So I haven't seen much of him! (In terms of media that I've consumed for the sake of Batman being in it, he's only appeared in Justice League Action. No other animated series for Batman. And he hasn't really been in any recent comics that cross over with Batman that have caught my eye! He didn't even have a story in Knight Terrors!)

Of course there's no shame in using Constantine for your stories. He's popular for a reason, and if he happened to be in the area, then sure, the Bats might grab him to help them with their latest case. But for magic-users that the BatFamily might go to for assistance, he isn't always going to be the best choice. So for anyone who needs a magic-user in their BatPhanfiction, here are a few alternate suggestions.

(Suggestions under the cut for length)

Jason Blood

For people with magical expertise, I would expect the Bat Family to call Jason Blood before anyone else. Jason is old. How old? Old as balls. He's actually been around since the time of Arthurian legend. Apparently he was a scribe for Merlin before being bound to the immortal demon Etrigan which made him immortal too. Having worked for Merlin himself, having some level of innate magic from being bound and therefore sharing a body with a demon, and having been around for hundreds of years, this means that Jason has had plenty of ability and time to learn and practice magic and to perfect his craft. He knows his stuff and has a level of experience that is practically unparalleled on Earth. He's not a man to be trifled with and Batman has worked with him on many an occasion! The biggest reason that the BatFamily would call on him before anyone else? Location, location, location. Jason actually lives in Gotham City, so not only does he have the requisite experience and knowledge, but he's also easy for the BatFamily to get ahold of too! And as a bonus, with a simple rhyme, he can turn into the demon Etrigan who can kick ass on his behalf! Jason may seem to be a bit grumpy and stern on the outside, but he's a reliable ally to have and desires to protect others just as much as Bruce does.

Zatanna Zatara

Zatanna is a stage magician by trade, a master of tricks, illusion, and slight of hand... But she also happens to be among the most powerful actual magic-users in the known DC universe! Honestly, if you know of her and still choose to use Constantine over her in a story when either will do? You're doing yourself a bit of a disservice. Just look at her! She's gorgeous, radiant, optimistic, always has a fun trick up her sleeve, knows how to have a good time, and unlike Constantine, doesn't have the kinds nor number of enemies that he does! And best of all? She's actually buddies with Bruce Wayne! They're good friends! In fact, Bruce trained under her father for a time to learn escape artistry! Honestly it's a bit of a shame that people forget how good of friends they are... They might have dated in the past? But ever since Bruce mastered escape artistry, they've kept in touch! The two honestly would have an unspoken trust with each other and ability to rely on each other that few other characters could have with Bruce. Zatanna is usually on the road performing, but if she's available, she'd likely be more than happy to pop on over to Gotham to help Brucie out with a case! Superman may be Batman's best friend, and Harvey Dent may be Bruce Wayne's best friend... But honestly Zatanna Zatara is a close second place on both accounts! She's GREAT! I crave for her to be included in more stories! WHERE ARE MY AUNTIE ZATANNA AUs!???

Xanthe Zhou

[Image from this post.]

Honestly this is a personal suggestion that I want to see because it's just a damn shame that it doesn't already!

Are you hesitant to use a comic character with a huge backlog of stories that you couldn't possibly hope to get through for fear of messing them up? Do you want to use a canonically LGBT character? Do you want to use a character that's a person of color? What about a character that specializes in interacting with the spirits of the dead for your Danny Phantom crossover fics? Because boy howdy do I have you covered! Say hello to Xanthe Zhou! A nonbinary Chinese-American spirit envoy within the DC universe who first debuted in March of last year (2023)! So guess what! There is no long, confusing continuity to follow! If you want to catch up on all you need to know about them, go ahead and read their 6 issue miniseries Spirit World and you should be covered! And heeeey~ Guess who else is in Spirit World~~~?? One Cassandra Cain and one John Constantine! Plus the art is drop-dead gorgeous!

[Image from this post.]

So please! I beseech you! Check out Spirit World and get to know Xanthe! They are literally everything you are looking for in a character to add to your Danny Phantom and Batman crossover story and are brand-spanking new and it is just a DAMN shame that they aren't already in any DPxDC stories!!! And guess what! They live in Gotham City to boot! (Gotham's Chinatown to be specific.) So please! Do yourself a favor and check out Spirit World and add Xanthe to your stories! If nothing else, I'll certainly read them!

In any case, that's the list and all I can come up with for now! If you have any further suggestions, please don't be afraid to add them on in a reblog! My comics knowledge is very limited and am always happy to hear about other ideas and characters that I've missed! I've actually seen some usage of Klarion the Witch Boy in this phandom which was a pleasant surprise! But sadly, I don't know nearly enough about him to actually say anything about him. But please! Go ahead and tell me about other magic using characters that you think would be suited to the DPxDC universe! And if you make anything of this sort with Xanthe in it... Please send it to me! I want that shit pumped directly into my veins!!!

P.S. I just wanted to say... Batman miiiiight call Santa Claus before he calls Constantine for help on an investigation lol (apparently Bruce apprenticed under Santa for a time :p ).

[ilovedthestars]

Hello Tumblr friends, apropos of nothing, I have a book recommendation for you.

If You Think You Would Enjoy:

First person narration that Does Something Cool With It

Urban fantasy that really leans into the urban aspect. The mundane beauty of the city made magical

London Man Investigates His Own Murder While Committing Several More Murders, more at 8

A protagonist who is just an absolute wet pathetic paper bag of a man and knows it

A protagonist(s) who are the exuberant and unhinged personification of telecommunications technology with an unparalleled zest for life and also sometimes murder

Both of those characters are technically the same person

The most breathtakingly gorgeous prose that has ever been used to describe a magically animated pile of garbage

A tone that I feel can reasonably be described as “gritty,” with its refusal to shy away from the blood and grime of reality, but that is also suffused with a deep unflinching love for everything that humanity is

A supporting cast that includes many of the world’s weirdest and most badass women

The protagonist getting beat up and/or stabbed and/or shot and almost dying at least twice per book

A reading experience not quite like any you have seen before or since

Then You Should Read:

The Matthew Swift series by Kate Griffin, starting with A Madness of Angels

If you love the city of London, you will love this book. If you have never been to the city of London, this book will show you what it looks like through the eyes of someone who loves it.

(And also what it looks like when embodied as a giant dragon made of street signs.)

I cannot emphasize enough the gorgeousness of this prose, the geniusness of the urban magic system, and the amount of love for London and for humanity that oozes out of this book. I am also fully convinced that Matthew Swift would be a tumblr blorbo if his books were not mostly out of print and very niche.

It can be a bit hard to get your hands on a physical copy—try thriftbooks or another online used bookseller, or call your friendly neighborhood bookstore and see if they can order it for you. Or just go for an ebook (maybe your library has it on Libby). It is absolutely worth the trouble.

Brief content note while I have you here: There is a fair amount of violence and it is sometimes very lovingly described. Also...don’t get too attached to side characters.

Go read it and then join the approximately 3 people on tumblr who know this book exists and are obsessed with it!!

[talonabraxas]

“Om Namo Narayanaya“

Lord Vishnu ॐ Talon Abraxas

Lord Vishnu - The Protector of Universe

The appearance of Lord Vishnu

Some scriptures, texts, and stories define Lord Vishnu as the supreme energy of the universe that has no form and limit. The energy is beyond the limit and cannot be comprehended by the human eyes and the human mind. However, Lord Vishnu is mostly depicted in his chaturvuj form.

In his most depicted form, the lord looks like a human with blue skin. He has four arms and each of the arms holds something that is a dear or integral part of the lord. The raised hands of Lord Vishnu hold the eternal disc Sudarshan and the conch Panchajanya. The lower left-hand holds the Kaumudiki mace while the right hand is always in the giving gesture of boon position.

Lord Vishnu wears the golden jewelry in his body and wears golden clothes. He is always residing in his bed that lies in the eternal cosmic sea and is made with the body of Seshnaag. Seshnaag the hundreds of thousands headed snake who is the greatest devotee of the lord makes the bed with his body so that the lord could sleep and rest on it. On the snake bed of Lord Vishnu, he is always seen with his concert goddess Laxmi. Goddess Laxmi is always at the side of Lord Vishnu in most of his depiction.

This is the most known form of the Lord. There are many forms where the lord appears to be very different and in some unrecognizable. The lord also takes many reincarnations as humans or animals further altering his appearance and form. However, Chatur vuja form is still the form, which is used in idols, pictures, paintings, recognizing and imagining Lord Vishnu.

Garud Vehicle of Lord Vishnu

All the gods and goddess in Hindu mythology has one or multiple animal companions who represent them or they reside on the back of those animals. Garud is a bird-like being that carries Lord Vishnu in his back. Garud is a very strong bird that’s strength and power are unparallel. He is the sworn enemy of the snakes and snakes tremble even at the name of the mighty Garud. He has a powerful beak, with two sets of powerful wings. The wings make him fly at the lightning speed from one place to another. It is said that Lord Vishnu resides at the back of mighty Garud when traveling from one place to another.

Goddess Laxmi

Goddess Laxmi is the wife of Lord Vishnu. It is said that the goddess is the energy and the feminine form of Lord Vishnu. All the three Wives of the trinities are the energy required by them to complete their universal duties in the feminine form. Goddess Laxmi is the goddess of wealth, prosperity, fertility.

Goddess Laxmi is depicted as a beautiful woman wearing a red dress covered in Jewelry. She holds a lotus in one hand and gifts wealth and prosperity with her right hand. She is worshipped for prosperity, wealth, happiness by human beings. To run and protect the universe, wealth, materials, and equipment are needed. So, these two roles are fulfilled by the god and goddess as the husband and wife.

Creation of the Universe

Lord Vishnu has a very flexible character. He is often depicted as a charming man who can enchant everyone with his magic and charm. Lord Vishnu existed before time and everything and as per the mythology, he will be here when everything in existence succumbs to time and new life and universe will rise in its place.

The universe begins when Lord Vishnu awakens from his Yog Nidra. Before the creation, Lord Vishnu is in eternal sleep. However, when the time of the birth of creation comes. The lord orders Devi Yog Maya who is residing in his eyes and making him sleep to let him open his eyes. When the lord awakens the birth of the creation begins. From the navel of the Lord emerges a lotus from which Lord Brahma comes out and begins to create the universe as we know it.

In the beginning, there was nothing just the vast space. Then the supreme god Brahma started the wheel of creation. First, he created the elements, then one after another from the elements combined to form the nonliving aspect of the universe. One after another planets, celestial bodies, and other things started coming into existence. Then was the turn to create life. Lord Brahma then created life and one after another everyone and everything in existence were created.