#you’re erasing her humanness

[you-can-be-what-you-want-to-be]

with the note that invisibility isn’t privilege I’d like to remind people how erased aro people are

like I work with several queer people, gay and bi and such. Not one of them knew what aro or queer platonic was before I told them

during pride month you know what flag they don’t have in general stores? Aro

Even at pride itself when I went last year, there were four aro things. That’s it. Do you know how depressing that is to go to the queer place specially and you have to stop at every single stall to scour for a single thing to represent you?

we need to normalize aromantism. We need to stop more than friends and “you laughed at what he said you’re in love!” Or “you spent the night with her just admit you’re gay” attitudes. Romance is not required to be a human and it’s not required for intimacy. It should be just as known and accepted as being gay.

[dadsbongos]

5 times laios almost says he loves you + 1 time he does

2 k words / warnings - momentary lead up to smut (foreplay/roleplay), modern au w fantasy elements

summary - laios wants to tell you he loves you, but keeps getting interrupted.

~~~

When Laios was a kid, he'd imagined a tri-headed beast crossbred from reptiles, mammals, and birds attacking all his problems. Recently, that image has been… tweaked…

Now when he's afflicted by demeaning nightmares or stiff social situations, the power he summons to crush all which is dark sided is, surprisingly, a human.

A mere person.

His partner.

Every time you appear in his dream, Laios wakes up in a massively good mood. Whenever Laios pictures you over the unpleasant sight of strangers, he can suddenly bear unwelcome conversation. Whenever Laios so much as spots you, his whole day elevates -- swirling into something brighter and sweeter. Misery to melon juice, he’s absolute goo as soon as you’re in the room.

And everybody except him knows what his deal is. Similarly, they know it’ll take a miserably long while before he can spit it out.

the time where you’re naked

“I wanna learn human anatomy, can you pose nude for me?”

You choke on your water, trying to laugh off the awkward question with a couple chest-pats, “Can't you just look at porn for that stuff? I don't mind, you know?”

“Nah, I wanna draw you.”

“Oh! Uh, okay…” you cross the floor, drawing the curtains to your living room before stiffly beginning to disrobe, “Like… right now?”

“Mhm,” Laios nods excitedly.

“‘kay then.”

Sweat practically oozes down Laios’ forehead, shoulders knotted towards his jaw as he obsessively studies each roll and dip along your body. Trying to copy you down on sketch paper that’s now marred with charcoal and eraser strokes. Drawing has never been something Laios cared to prove himself for, he knows what he’s skilled with and doesn’t fret over what he isn’t. Until now, now he feels the utmost need to prove himself.

To prove how devoted he is to perfecting your body on paper because how else will his adoration be known?

Because trust: he does adore your body. So pretty. And tender. And so very welcoming to him, just like you. Laios adores your personality more than your body -- you’re nice and funny and understanding and, most importantly, you like him. You seriously like him. His rants about monsters, his social ineptitude, his shameless nature: you’re verily into all of it.

And, in turn, he’s into you. He’s so into you it makes him want to choke himself in excitement whenever you lock eyes.

He’s so into you he thinks he loves you.

Laios pauses mid stroke on your thigh: it’s a little skinnier than the fleshy counterpart. So he erases again and lets the realization fizz over him slowly.

He definitely loves you. Unfortunately the sudden thought makes him so emotional he’s tearing up.

the time you’re on a date

Flickering overhead fluorescents are hideously unflattering to customers and staff alike at the diner. Not you, though. Somehow you make them work, even though everytime Laios catches his reflection in a window he looks absolutely ghoulish. The pale wash of sickly light almost makes you seem like a varnished painting.

You’re not even aware of his obsessing, too busy scanning the menu, “I’m looking at the breakfast for dinner options, but I dunno what I want…”

Laios wants you, and he figures the best way to get it out is just saying it.

“I lo- !” he’s silenced by a woman cheerfully greeting the both of you.

Her broad grin tackles him like a personal slight.

“So, what can I get started for you guys?”

Laios swallows his frustration with a wash of chilled water, letting the rhythm of your voice soothe him. Now the mood is ruined. Too stuffy with this onlooker.

Oh, well, he sighs quietly before ordering his own dish; paying no mind to how the server silently questions his moody demeanor.

There’s always more chances.

the time where you’re naked pt. 2

When you’re genuinely asleep, your lashes consistently flutter against your cheeks with each jerk beneath your eyelids. Your lips are parted to let air puff between, and usually you’ll curl your arms towards your chest -- which Laios finds so cute it makes him want to bite you. Sweetly, of course. Not enough to draw blood, unless you say he can.

Either way, he’s fully aware you’re not really sleeping. Which he considers preferable since the secondary act of roleplay doesn’t work if you aren’t awake.

Suddenly, you roll onto your stomach and stretch along the bed -- perking your ass up with a faux drowsy mumble. Laios can register you’re trying to spur him on, a more emotional exhaustion gnawing your spirit the longer he goes without touching you.

Laios has never been able to fanatically explain Incubi mating before he met you (well: he skimmed through it with Kabru, but that didn’t feel impactful), and furthermore, he’s never been able to act it out. Nobody before you seemed the type to accept his interest in portraying a sleeping body about to be bred by an Incubus.

Nobody before you is even worth remembering, Laios steps forward with fingers trailing up the bed and teasing your ankle. Mouth opening, he’s gearing up to confess when suddenly a voice not his own breaks the scene first:

“Laios, please,” you mutter, pouting so adorably he feels like his chest is about to explode, “I don’t wanna be mean, but I need you to hurry it up.”

“Now we have to restart,” Laios steps back until he’s pressed against the bedroom door, “Okay, I’ll go faster this time,” then he grins, “That’ll be even more realistic if I rush in! You’re so smart!”

By the time Laios re-enters the room, his confliction of pure love has been stifled in favor of lust.

the time you’re out with friends

Earplugs are snug in Laios’ ears, cushy and pressing against every crevice of his ear, as he slouches into the booth across from Senshi. He’s sliding a mug of beer from hand-to-hand, leaving a condensation trail along the shiny veneer of the table. Beside him is a gaping hole he laments, belonging to you, as does the margarita saucer. Melting ice chips and an olive Laios promised to eat are the only remnants of your drink.

Otherwise, it all seems to be pumping through you like hot blood. A beaming grin alight on your face as you and Chilchuck bounce around each other on the dance floor. You’re holding hands in the cramped throng of guests so as to not lose each other, and Laios shocked Marcille by not getting the least bit jealous.

“I trust them,” he reasoned, “It’s not like I’m the only person allowed to touch their hands now.”

Not that he’d like to be, either. Laios thinks everyone should touch your hand at least once: it’s soft and warm and you’ve got the perfect grip strength. Just holding your hand makes Laios want to be a better, more upstanding citizen that votes and volunteers. That sort of inspiring spirit is something he couldn’t dream of caging.

You’re like a human morphine injection confounded with pure sunlight, and Laios is already a baked sucker.

“Don’t wanna join?” Senshi slides along the black leather seat until he’s squeezed out from their booth, “You won’t be so young forever, you know? Best to take advantage while you can.”

Laios can barely make out what his friend says, combining muffled gibberish with the shape his lips made and praying he’s assumed correct, “I like just watching them.”

Senshi’s gaze follows Laios’ pointing, he nods slowly and pitters off with another few mumbles.

Laios cannot handle anything outside the safety of your group’s booth. Music too loud and air too hot the further he crawls along the dance floor, so he leaves that to you. And Chilchuck. But mostly you.

Life has many opportunities for him to sway with you to music: in your shared apartment, at friends’ weddings, and fairs. He can handle not taking this particular once to dance with you, and besides just watching is enough.

He whispers affection into the club, naturally you catch none of what he says.

the time where you’re naked pt. 3

Your nails scratch over Laios’ scalp, rinsing bubbles from between sandy strands of hair. His head is tilted, neck beginning to ache from the angle as you finish scrubbing his hair clean. Fingers snatch him by the chin, forcing his head back until water is trailing down his spine and shaking out his head with finality.

“There,” you push onto your toes to kiss his cheek, making him hurry to stabilize you by snagging your hips, “All clean!”

“Thanks,” Laios fails to release you, instead letting you spin in his hands towards the wall for your body wash -- the brand he bought you for your birthday once and you always kept going back to.

“If you’re gonna keep groping me, wash my back, yeah?”

“I’m not groping,” Laios protests weakly, frowning at the perverse accusation. Though he doesn’t pause before uncapping your soap and squirting a heap into his palm, then yours when you hold your hand out expectantly.

You scale down your legs, from the inside of your thighs to your shins as Laios lathers your back. He shifts a step aside to let water coax soap foam down the curve of your spine. Then he’s stepping back entirely, eyes lingering inappropriately. If he was able to die staring at you, then he’d take that certainty in a heartbeat.

Now, right? Now is the perfect time for him to get it all out there. Nobody else is in your apartment. It's domestic and quiet and so, so peaceful.

“Hey,” he calls over the thrumming showerhead, and you hum sweetly in reply, “I lo- !” he bravely takes another step, a lost bar of soap slotting perfectly under the arch of his foot, “Fuck!”

“Huh?” you turn in time to gasp as Laios tumbles forward. Yanking down the shower curtain in a feeble attempt to catch himself before his skull thuds loudly against the tile wall, “Oh my God, Laios!”

His body collapses against the wall before limply sinking into the shallow tub. Your petrified face blurring out in favor of deep,

rich

black.

+1 - the time Laios had a head injury

“Can you see straight? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Laios smiles at your flagrant concern, enveloping your shaky hand with his own and bringing it toward his thigh -- still damp from the shower and barely covered by the boxers you hastily dressed him with, “I can see fine. Let’s leave the doctors to do the testing stuff.”

“I thought you were done for! I was so scared,” you don’t fare much better than Laios in the clothing department: shorts he knows are his wrapped around your waist, and shirts clinging uncomfortably to both your wet bodies.

“Aw,” he coos, leaning closer to peck your cheek, “I wouldn’t go down from a hit like that. My head’s a lot sturdier than some shower wall.”

“I know, but still! How terrifying, you just- !” you slap a hand against your thigh, “Boom!”

“Well, you got me to the hospital pretty fast,” Laios squeezes his hand around yours, “So even if I was dying -- which I wasn’t -- I definitely would’ve lived with how fast you were going.”

“I almost didn’t dress us, and then I spent the whole time you were asleep wondering if I got you killed by wasting the time.”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t die like that,” he shrugs, “I can’t die before I tell you I love you.”

“Huh?!”

“I love you, by the way,” he sighs, a hand splayed over his chest with apparent relief, “Now I can die.”

You laugh, head throwing back in glee before you can catch your breath, then patting his thigh with a smile, “No, you can’t die. Because I love you too, so you can’t just die on me.”

Laios’ cheeks flush, he nods curtly, “Cool.”

“Cool?”

“I spent so long trying to get it out that I never planned what to say when you told me you loved me back.”

Laios is so cute you want to bite him in half, and you’re unbelievably relieved to hear he feels the same.

[delaware-lemme-smash]

Hii! May i request some headcanons were mt. lady, sir night eye, present mic, eraser and all might react to their s/o wearing their clothes after sex? Like if they didn’t have any clothes with them what weren’t… dirty so they stole some! Sorry if this is boring but I thought it was kinda cute :)

Hope you enjoy these, lovely!

Characters: Takeyama Yuu/Mount Lady, Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye, Yamada Hizashi/Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead, Yagi Toshinori/All Might

Contents: gn!reader, mild nsfw

Takeyama Yuu/Mount Lady

Perhaps it was an impromptu tryst, because you’re at Mount Lady’s apartment and your only clothes are dirty. Perhaps your stuff got torn up in a fight with a villain and now you’ve come back to hers to ‘celebrate’, you find yourself left with nothing but your underwear. Perhaps not even that. 

You could sleep naked, but it’s not the most comfortable situation to be in. So you wander over to Yuu’s wardrobe (really a walk-in closet). She might only be a debut hero, but she’s very popular and spends a lot of time in the limelight. This translates to making absolute bank, and she spends a lot of it on beautiful clothes. Obviously, you’re not going to wear a gala dress to bed, so you grab a t-shirt that looks pretty old, and maybe a pair of yoga pants. 

Depending on your size compared to her, they might be fine, or they might be a tight fit. When she comes back into the bedroom, her skin gleaming from her nightly skincare routine, she stops in the doorway and pouts at you.

“If you stretch those out, you’re going to have to replace them.”

“...says the woman who turns into a titan?” The irony is too much for you.

“Only my hero costume stretches with me, duh.” A pause. “Your butt does look good in those yoga pants, though.”

Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye

It would seem that if you’re dating Sir Nighteye, you’ve at least got some sense of planning and responsibility. But you’re only human, and sometimes you’re going to find yourself caught short. Short on clothes, in this case. Even if your clothes are clean, you couldn’t fathom sleeping in your work clothes.

You wait until Sir Nighteye is in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, before sneaking open one of his drawers and grabbing something at random. You end up with…

A pair of boxers and a vintage All Might t-shirt.

It’s hardly the sexiest of nightwear, but you make it work. He leans back into the doorway to tell you to borrow some clothing, and you’re lounging on his bed, all “Paint me like one of your French girls”. 

“I’ve been waiting for you~” you purr.

He nearly spits out his mouthwash, and disappears back into the bathroom to gather himself. You distinctly hear him chuckle under his breath, then clear his throat.

“If you want to entice me, darling, don’t wear the face of my former boss on your torso.”

Yamada Hizashi/Present Mic

Hizashi’s always trying to get you to wear his clothes, anyway! He drapes his little moto jacket (the casual one, not the studded one he wears as part of his costume) over your shoulders a lot and tells you how great you look. 

Seeing his partner wear his clothes just gives him this little kick and makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. 

You’ve got a variety of options in Mic’s wardrobe. In the t-shirt section, you’ve got a lot of band t-shirts, weird, bright coloured ones covered in fruit or English slogans, a few rare Eraserhead merch t-shirts he got done to piss off Aizawa, and if you want to borrow some boxers, you’ll be hard pressed to find some that don’t have a loud, zany pattern on them. 

If you want to be (moderately) sexy, grab a vintage band t-shirt and a pair of his black boxer briefs. If you want to make him laugh, grab the stupidest t-shirt you can find and pair it with an eye watering set of boxer shorts, especially if they have bananas on them. 

Hizashi grins wide enough to split his face in half at the sight of you in his clothes. It doesn’t matter if you went for sexy or stupid, really, because he’ll just try to get you out of them again, if you know what I mean~

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

This is one of those things that Aizawa doesn’t know he likes until he sees it for the first time. He’s probably dragged himself out of your post-coital snooze to get you both some water or feed the stray cat on his balcony, leaving you to ponder your clothing situation. 

When you open Aizawa’s wardrobe, it’s 75% loose black shirts and pants, with a few non-black items crammed at one end, including those infamous pink sweatpants. 

It seems he’s not totally averse to colour, just not when he’s working. He has a few t-shirts (gifts from Hizashi) covered in cats (as opposed to just covered in cat hair, like the rest). 

If you’ve cuddled him at all, which you have, thoroughly, you know that all his clothes are surprisingly soft and comfortable. He tends to end up with raggedy cuffs on his sleeves, but even so, the shirt has that soft texture clothing gets when it’s been washed many times. You dig out some random black shorts he has, though you’ve never seen him expose his pasty legs in public, so they must be old.

Shouta shuffles back into the room to find you asleep, curled up in your borrowed finery. There’s something about the sight of you lying in his bed, wearing his clothes, looking so warm and comfortable. It’s like a little gut punch of domesticity. 

“You’re meant to ask, you brat,” he says fondly, flopping onto the bed next to you. 

Still, he reflects, as he pulls you closer, that shirt’s gonna smell like you now. Maybe he should make you wear it every time you sleep over.

Yagi Toshinori/All Might

All Might’s still pretty nervous about being in a relationship so he’s not 100% sure of the protocol, especially when you’re at his place and you don’t have any clean clothes to wear to bed. He gets flustered and goes to see if he can quickly wash your clothes, forgetting the entire wardrobe of clean clothes right there.

All Might or Small Might, his clothes are going to absolutely drown you no matter what size you are. Toshi’s a titan. Any t-shirt you try to borrow is basically a giant nightshirt. 

Toshinori splutters a little at the sight of you swimming in the fabric of one of his shirts. Once he’s done coughing into his elbow, he offers you a toothy grin, his eyes crinkled up.

“That…might be a little big on you,” he says, tugging playfully on all the excess fabric. “Are you sure it’s going to be comfortable?”

You tell him that you like the feeling of the soft, loose fabric, and the fact that it smells a little like his cologne, even after being washed. He’s chuckles at that, wrapping his large hands around your waist, the fabric cinching in against you.

“Well, never thought one of my old shirts could look so adorable.”

[tatorthots]

— promise you’ll forget me

featured: liyue men x fem!reader

cw: generally gn but uses she/her (an itty bit), pet names, angst, hurt/comfort, a sliver of fluff, mention of character death, a little wholesome if you’re delusional enough (me)

synopsis: “When I die, promise me you’ll forget me. Erase me from your memories, bury me in the past, and live.”

a/n: my 3 babygirls + if I caused anyone any distress from this soft angst then let me know !! so I can continue wrecking havoc :)

── ꨄ︎ Xiao

Xiao stared at you, frozen in place and eyes widening as those words fell from your lips. He was in shock, completely baffled at how casually you uttered those words. As if they meant nothing… he grimly thought, As if you could ever mean nothing. His hands trembled, balling them into fists and digging his nails into the back of his palm. Had his silent affection, loving kisses, acts of devotion, and fierce protection not been testament enough to the impact you had on him? Had you not realized that you wielded the same amount of power over him as his previous master had with his true name? The Yaksha was almost amazed at your ignorance. “How dare you speak so carelessly…” he growled. Xiao was already fully aware of the reality of your inevitable death; it’s a truth that even the Conquerer of Demons, himself, adamantly refuses to revisit. He was bitterly aware that your time in Teyvat — your days together — was on borrowed time compared to his. That’s just the fate of a human's life in comparison to an Adeptus. He knew that the day will come when he would be forced to confront the tragic cycle of life and death once again, and if only for the sake of his Archon, he’ll grit his teeth and face it when the time comes. But to ask him to forget you, to erase you from his memories? You, who he cherishes most of all. You, who stealthily slithered into his heart and made a home in the remnants of his damned soul. You, who he foolishly fell in love with. There was no force in this wretched world that could ever submit him to abandon the little joy he was given in his life. And to ask that of him was to condemn him to a far crueler fate than that of the karmic debt he harbors on his shoulders.

Glowering at the wooden floorboards of the Wangshu Inn, Xiaos piercing eyes flickered up at you. “Do not make such absurd requests of me again.” He sneered. Flinching in surprise, you questioningly glanced at your lover. Shifting your gaze down, you noticed the deathly grip he held on the patio's railing and the cracking lines spreading beneath his fingertips. “Xiao… wait, I didn’t mean to—“ but your words were cut short by the solemn glint in his yellow stare. “There are many things I struggle to comprehend about you mortals, so tell me,” attentively, your ears perked up and your breathing paused as he spoke, “could you forget me so easily if I asked you to? Is your affection for me simply…” biting the inside of his cheek, his expression shifted to one of sorrowful hesitation, “temporary?” Your entire body tensed. Xiao had made a bad habit of hiding his less ‘acceptable’ emotions in an attempt to not burden you — no matter how many times you reassured him — so to glimpse at that fragile vulnerability and find the newly seed of doubt you had planted, it made your heart wrench in your chest. You blinked a few times as each flutter of your lashes only gathered more and more wet droplets onto them. “No! Xiao! I would ne-.. ver….” and that’s when you realized the weight of what you had asked him. Rejected.. I made him feel rejected, You internally groaned. Sighing you carefully took a few steps towards him, “Listen to me,” you softly spoke, “I don’t want you to live in mourning after I pass. You don’t deserve that, Xiao,” and his eyes widened, “I want you to be happy,” softening your gaze, you continued, “I want you to continue enjoying the gifts life brings, no matter how big or small they might be!” Standing in front of him, you reached a hand out to gently caress his cheek and dotingly smiled when he instinctively leaned into your touch. “I want you to keep spending time with humans, and one day you may even find new companions who’ll add to your happiness.” Nonsense, he thought. The Adeptus revers you almost as highly as his Archon and you think some feeble companions could ever compare? Xiao placed his hand atop yours and gingerly kissed your palm. His eyes reflected a tender intensity as he peered down at you, “Our connection is too strong, y/n.” his arms wrapped protectively around you, holding you tightly as if he wasn’t careful enough you’d disappear and be gone forever. Xiao hovered his lips above yours as he rested his forehead on you, and closed his eyes, “No matter what challenges time brings, or what you, yourself, try to do to sever our bond,” pressing his lips on yours, he kissed you as he quietly whispered, “I will love you, always.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

417 years have gone by since Xiao last held you in his embrace. And although he was pleased he was able to offer you a long, happy and loving life, Xiao would be blatantly lying if he said he’d moved on from your death. And if not for your last — somewhat reasonable — request, he likely wouldn’t have intervened with the lives of mortals, or reluctantly accepted their friendship. If that was what you truly would’ve wanted for him then he’ll hold his complaints and trust your judgement. It was bittersweet, really. If you were still alive, he knew in his heart you’d be fascinated by these mortals' new technology and inventions; he wonders what you’d say of this new era. And he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips as he thinks of how you’d fawn over these silly contraptions, There’s no doubt you’d be foolishly fascinated by such simple trinkets, he thinks, but archons what he wouldn’t do to see your eyes sparkle with wonder again. And although Teyvat has undergone infinite changes, there is but one acre of land that the Yaksha has ensured remains untouched by humans, Adeptus or demons alike. It was a sort of sanctuary for him. A place of refuge, meditation, reflection, and heartache; but above all, it was where Xiao would religiously visit to honor the love he had, and continues to have, for you — his one and only. The area was radiant, nothing less than one of Liyues hidden gems. The ground was vibrant with lush grass, lively wildlife, and blanketed with all your favorite flowers; flowers Xiao had helped you plant and nurture. What once started as your personal garden ended up flourishing with vines, plants and new ecosystems. It could honestly be described as a mini forest, and the Adeptus wonders if it’s prosperity is because of you. Either way, you would’ve loved it, and that thought alone was enough. Thinking back, Xiao couldn’t believe he was so ignorant. Initially, he thought the whole custom was silly when Morax first casually mentioned it one day. ‘Marriage, is a unity humans practice as well here in Teyvat. It is a unity between lovers — a ceremonial alliance, if you will.’ To him, the idea seemed pointless, but the thought never left his head since. He’s already submitted himself to you in every way, but if his Archon had advised marriage was also a custom between mortals then perhaps you would like to marry as well. So this sacred area is where you both wed. The beaming smile and buzzing excitement you showed that day was forever engraved in his memories. Xiao still keeps the silver ring you slid on his finger with him. Though as of recent centuries he hasn’t worn it as much in order to preserve its integrity, but sometimes, when he’s laying amidst the swaying grass and reminiscing of times gone past, he’ll slip it on and think of you. On rare occasions the Yaksha would even stage a performance, the way he used to when he danced beneath the moonlight as you watched in awe. Whether sunlight warms his skin, rain splashes on his hair and wets his clothes, or strong currents of the wind whistles loudly through the air, he’ll dance to the natural rhythm of Teyvat. A performance reserved only for you. Other times he’ll rest on a bed of soft moss as his honey eyes gaze at the starry sky till morning illuminates the world once more. Simply remembering the sound of your voice, your touch, your laugh, and he’ll wonder, wherever you are in this vast universe, if you think of him too.

── ꨄ︎ Zhongli

The sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the mountaintop of Mt. Aocang. The traditional, delicately crafted teacup Zhongli held was now shattered into pieces in the palm of his hand, and the tea previously filling it was now spilled all over the god's lap. Unaware that his sudden vise-like grip was to blame for its broken state. He saw your lips move and your body apprehensively patting his clothes dry with a cloth, but he couldn’t hear a thing. Zhongli simply stayed in place as his golden eyes stared at you. Yes, it’s true that the former Geo Archon has encountered countless tragic fates and lost several friends and close relationships to the erosion of time. And it’s only been recent, with the reawakening of Azhdaha, that he had to reluctantly reevaluate and reaccept his cursed fate of eternity until the last remnants of his body eroded back into the stones of old. Azhdaha reminded him his future was pitiful. Doomed to solidarity as punishment for being a God. It was for that exact reason that Zhongli heavily contemplated the idea of entering a relationship with a human for a very long time before officially committing to you. However, it was also through that slow-burn romance that an unexpected love blossomed. Its tender passion awoke a primal instinct that had long laid dormant in the depths of Morax’s innate desires — it caught the Archon, himself, off guard. The love of a God cannot be easily earned or discarded. It entails complete submission, adoration, and devotion. Then again, it might be the reason Zhongli wasn’t avoidant of the inevitable outcome of this relationship. He fully accepted the consequences of his decision if it meant enjoying just a moment of tranquility in your embrace. He’d be willing to endure a thousand years of heartache if it meant hearing your voice just once, and he’d suffer through thousands more if even to kiss the fabric that clung to your body.

Zhongli, blinked from his trance and looked down to see you patting his clothes dry with red fingertips and scathed palms from the burning hot tea. Swiftly, he took hold of your hands and took the cloth away from you. He felt a pang of guilt as he carefully cascaded his thumb across the searing flush of your warmed skin. “I do apologize, my love.” shifting his gaze up to you, he continued, “It seems that your request has taken me aback.” Tightening your hold on his hands, you knitted your brows in worry, “Oh.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” you pouted. Zhongli removed his gloves, and your attention trailed to the geo marks decorating his golden skin. So pretty, you thought. “There is no need to fret, darling.” His voice was deep and affectionate. An obvious difference compared to the usual somber and nonchalant tone he speaks with, and it made your heart flutter knowing it was only ever exposed to you. But then suddenly, his expression turned serious. “However, that request would be a breach of contract, and I simply, will not break it.” Your eyes widened for a moment before quirking an eyebrow up in question. You momentarily tilted your head in curiosity, and the Archon couldn’t help but feel his gaze soften, just a little, in response to your small habit. Fluttering your eyes on him, you asked, “What contract?” What contract? He silently mused, as if the answer itself was blatantly obvious — which to him, it was. Lowly chucking, he wrapped his large hand around your wrist and slipped his fingertips up to caress your palm. Raising your hand up to his lips, he languidly met your gaze with his adoring one. “If you do not recall, then allow me to remind you.” Closing his eyes, he placed a kiss on your fingertip, “I have sworn myself each time I touch your skin.” He placed a kiss on another, “Each time my mind had been desperately surrendered by thoughts of you.” Then another, fluttering his long lashes, he peered at you with half-lidded eyes as his pupils dilated to slits “In every moment our bodies intimately intertwine together amidst the heat of our love.” Gasping at his sudden confession, your heart sped up in a fervent fluster. He leaned in close, “I am bound to you, my love, for all eternity.” Zhongli kissed you once, and then twice. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you in, almost urging you to sit on his lap. Deepening the kiss the Geo Archon could only pray his kisses could hope to portray even a sliver of the love he has for you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

And so a millennium has passed, he hums. 1,231 years to be exact. Since your passing, Zhongli counted each year that came and went. Placing an incense down on the shrine he built in your memory, the Archon kneeled before your golden statue and prayed — he’s not quite sure to who, and he’s not sure if there’s anyone listening, but if there is, he hopes it’s you. Today had been an unusual day given that he doesn’t normally visit your shrine so late in the evening, but no matter what he did it seemed like unforeseen circumstances kept getting in the way of his preplanned visit. And after several attempts of trying to untangle himself from piling responsibilities, he sighed and decided it was best to just visit you by the end of today no matter what or who dared get in his way. Which brings us to now. However, shortly after he started his peaceful meditation, he was disturbed by someone’s quiet shuffles behind him. Fluttering his eyes open, his sharp gaze glared in the direction the noise was coming from. Even though it’s location wasn’t necessarily private, this shrine was his personal alter of worship, a private haven, who the hell was foolish enough to intrude on its sacred premises? Snapping his head around, his menacing gaze immediately widened into one of pure shock. It surely.. can’t be..? He muttered in disbelief. “Oh! I’m sorry I-um- I didn’t realize someone was here!” The voice awkwardly spoke, and as they turned to leave, his lips moved before he could realize he was talking, “What’s your name?” Blinking in surprise, the woman sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck, “Ah. I’m h/n, heh.” Walking closer she carefully inspected the handsome man as he stared at her like she was some sort of ghost. “Is this your shrine?” Looking up at the statue she softly smiled, “I’ve been coming here for weeks.” she confessed, and Zhongli slowly stood from his position. It’s her. The depths of the dragons innate need for his mate had violently awoken from its slumber, and he felt the bond he mourned for centuries, suddenly call out to each and every one of his senses. It’s her. Your reincarnation. Lighting her own stick of incense and bowing, the woman — you — glanced back at him, “I found this place by accident, and I bring my own incense to pay my respects as well. But honestly, I don’t know why I come here.” You chuckled. “Maybe it’s because her statue looks similar to me, or maybe … it’s because I can’t help but feel like this place calls to me.” Shaking your head, you bashfully looked away, “Sounds crazy, right?” “No.. no, not at all….” Softening his gaze, he offered a smile. There’s no mistaking it. I can sense her soul, years of longing and heartache clutched his heart, I could recognize it anywhere. And so the both of you spent the evening chatting away over tea the man you came to know as ‘Zhongli’ had prepared, and when nighttime shadowed the streets you both politely took your leaves. Zhongli deeply considered whether or not he should look for you again, but he soon realized he couldn’t bring himself to disrupt the new life you had built — even if it didn’t include him. He told himself he was happy, satisfied knowing your soul had returned even if every cell in his body painfully yearned to be with his lover again. Being given the opportunity to drink tea with you should be privilege enough. It wasn’t until you visited the shrine early one morning that you finally found him. After a brief catch-up, he noticed you nervously shifting, “Is something the matter?” He worriedly asked. With a deep breathe you confessed what’d been on your mind since your last encounter. “Have we met before?” You began, and his entire body froze, “I know this might seem strange but…” and unconsciously his body leaned in closer as his primal instincts begged him to caress your skin once more, but he forced himself rooted. Until you uttered a single sentence and momentarily tilted your head in curiosity that he felt his heart struck, and daresay, even gave the god hope. “I can’t help but feel like…. I’ve met you before, a long time ago.”

── ꨄ︎ Childe

Strumming his fingertips, Childe hummed in contemplation. He’s well aware of the repercussions that come with being 11th of the Fatui Harbingers, and he’s hyper-aware of the vile leverage his enemies would try to obtain when discovering the infamous Harbinger has taken a lover. However, the thing about Childe is that he actually openly welcomes his enemies to try to even get remotely near you. Honestly, your request is just straight-up hilarious to him. But he supposes he can’t blame you. After all, you haven’t a clue of the extent your lover has and, even as you ask, is taking to ensure your safety. It’s stressful, really, but the man loves challenges — “Let them come, let them ALL come!” He manically laughs, before lowering his head, “I’ll kill them all where they stand.” he snarls. Every loud and flamboyant confession, every playful kiss, every subtle caress of your skin, and each lingering touch holds an ulterior motive aside from just affection. It’s a warning. But you never noticed, have you? While you’re pushing him away in a flustered daze, you don’t notice how his cheeky smile and crescent eyes fall the second you turn in a huff and his gaze narrows to a sinister glare — directly locking eyes with the spies creeping atop rooftops. How he never directly answers your questions when he disappears for a few minutes only to return scathed and sometimes even bleeding. Brushing away your worry with a tender smile as he pinches your cheek, “Heh, don’t worry so much!” He’ll coo. Your request isn’t even an option. Childe would die for you, kill for you, live for you. He’ll do whatever it takes to stand above a pile of bloody corpses if only to force them to bow before you. You, the promised ruler of the world he’ll craft. And should you fall, he would build his empire on the blood of millions just to keep his promise.

Childes eyes glimmered in amusement as he threw his head back and laughed. “Hahah—!! You really do have an active imagination babe!” Playfully ruffling your hair, he chuckled, “C’mon now, don’t say such nonsense.” His lips curled into a beaming smile, but you could tell by the edge laced in his words that he meant what he said. Huffing, you smacked his hand away, “I’m not joking, Ajax!” Sighing, you turned away in embarrassment, “I’m being…. I’m being serious, alright?” Pausing, Childe furrowed his brows, “You’re serious?” Rolling your eyes, you marched away feeling flustered and annoyed by your lover's reaction, “Yes! I’m being serious!” Normally, the incredulous stare Childe gave you would’ve made you tease him in any other situation, but as of now it only added to the searing burn on your cheeks. Following behind you, he grabbed your arm to stop you and delicately tugged you to look at him. “Hey, what are you saying?” Turning around, you were met with narrowed blue eyes and a frown, “Are you calling me weak?” And as much as you wanted to stay mad at him, you couldn’t help but crack a smile at his accusatory tone and pouty lips. Intertwining your fingers with his you stepped toward him until your face was only inches away from his pretty glaring eyes. Running your fingertips against his jaw, you lightly traced them across his freckled skin until you reached his messy, orange hair, “The only thing I think you are is dumb.” You lovingly purred. Scoffing he averted his gaze from yours. “Listen, Ajax,” you started, “I know you worry about me, and yes, even though you’re the strongest man I know—“ “Ever will know.” He corrected. Giggling you flicked his forehead, “Ever will know~” you repeated, before you cleared your throat and steeled your gaze, “If I do pass… promise me you’ll live for yourself, okay? Take care of yourself, and no matter what, don’t let my memory hold you back.” Hold me back? He chuckled. Gently placing both hands on your cheeks, he guided your head to fully face him, “Your life makes me feel alive, y/n, and if the day comes — which it won’t,” he sternly emphasized, “your memory will only serve as the reason I fight to survive.” Pulling you into his protective embrace he buried his face in your soft locks, “I’ll keep you safe.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

720 days. That’s 720 archon-forsaken days, and sleepless nights. It was clear to all, that a part of Childe never quite recovered the day he found your lifeless body lying alongside the jagged edges of stone slabs resting beneath a mountain cliff side. The image of your body lying still as a pool of your blood gushed from your mutilated wounds onto the unforgiving surface of the rocks became a memory deeply embedded in the Harbingers mind. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t something inside him that had shattered, but instead completely disappeared. Even now, he still feels likes he’s quietly being haunted by the agonizing screams he cried and tears that he endlessly shed as he held your bloody corpse in his possessive and shaky embrace. However, all of that paled in comparison to the unsettling numbness that nestled within his bones and tainted his heart when he caught sight of the item that dropped from your hand as he cradled you. It was mocking. Taunting, even. “The pendant…” he spoke, barely above a whisper. She protected.. the pendant I gave her? His azure stare darkened as the very last of his compassion died right there and then. Now they only harbored hatred and desolation. Reaching to pick up the pendant, Childe carefully brushed the blood staining it with his gloved thumb. This was the gold entwined, jade pendant he had gifted you during the firework showcase of your first Lantern Rite with him. It was intended as a good luck token — a marker of sorts. He promised you that so long as you held this pendant, he would always come to protect you; your lover vowed this. His breath trembled, and his jaw clenched as he glared at it with blurry eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder, Was she waiting for me, choking out a sob his fingers combed through your hair as he rested his forehead on yours and salty tears dripped down your cheek, to protect her? And that thought alone was enough to sever the remaining domestic threads of his heart. For the next two years, Childe spent every waking moment tracking your killer. His obsession only further manifested as time went by. Even his work as a Fatui Harbinger strained, yet none were brave enough to tell him otherwise. Either because of fear, or because the Tsaritsa ordered it so. During that time there were those who argued that Childe had gone on a blind rampage, and others argued the Harbinger became the vengeful embodiment of a man of focus, commitment, and sheer will. To be honest? Neither were completely right or wrong. He never hurt bystanders, yet he never hesitated slaughtering anyone who got in his way. As for those foolish enough to mislead him or hold information? Well, they suffered a fate worse than death. It wasn’t until he found himself deep within the shadowy crevices of the chasm that he finally met your murderer. It was a wretched demon that had ripped you away from him, a crime even death was too good for. The accumulated rage of a fallen God was nothing compared to the murderous hatred he harbored. In the end, Childe came victorious — albeit at the cost of his own life. Sliding against weathered stone, he sat down and aimlessly stared at the curvatures of the chasm. “Seems I couldn’t keep my promise, huh?” He chuckled, “Don’t be too mad at me.” Wincing in pain, he slipped out the pendent he gifted you from his Foul Legacy’s armor as he felt his eyelids grow heavy. Kissing it’s cold exterior, he took a breathy sigh, “Please, wait for me,” fluttering his eyes shut, a line of blood dribbled from his lips as he smiled, “just a little…. longer..”

side note!: new format ! let’s goooooooooo

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[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

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

Part 7 Recognition

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

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

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or the wrong person.

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

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

A record Brady could claim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’d be ideal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never said sorry.”

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

“For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know who I am?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hush.” You cooed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something like that, yeah.”

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

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

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tsk, wrong.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

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

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

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

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enough games.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  , @fizzled-phoenix ,  @phobophobular  , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo    , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl 

[letoasai]

dp x dc Chronos Part 4

Part 1 - Previous - Master List

Danny woke up confused, stiff, aching. He didn’t know where he was, but he got the distinct feeling of déjà vu. Honestly, he was used to waking up dead tired. Heh, dead tired. For the last year or two it had even been his normal. 

The bone deep pain however was something he only had every now and then. He had gotten hurt often while trying to protect Amity Park but being seriously injured seemed to be left for special occasions. 

Memories came back sluggishly, and he didn’t exactly delight in them. His father breaking his ribs like he was a twig... Relishing in the pain he supposedly didn't feel...

His mother trying to pin him down like a butterfly on a board was an image he’d like to have erased from his mind forever.  Her weapon trained him him was almost underwhelming. When did he become used to it?

Unfortunately, he needed those horror driven moments. His parents' reaction to him had never been a sure thing before. Only speculation at best. He’d hoped their love for him would override their hatred of ghosts. It was what kept him under their roof. That hope that they’d still love him. 

He’d grown up with borderline mad scientists for parents and he’d always put that notion aside. It was its own box in his head. The Fentons and their questionable science. They’d been mom and dad first. Always, mom and dad first. He’d hoped to be Danny first to them. 

He wasn’t. Now he knew though, and he could free himself from that house and their neglect and dangerous excentrics. When things were safe he’d contact his sister, but he didn’t have parents anymore. Not living, human ones. 

He did have Clockwork though. Clockwork who had been at the right place at the right ‘time’ to save him one more time. He had Frostbite too, who would fret over Danny’s injuries while in the same room, and rage later, away from Danny’s senses. 

There was something overwhelmingly kind about that. Frostbite put Danny first and didn’t make him feel badly about his attachments. He worried more while Danny needed him. His anger could wait for later. 

His human parents hadn’t been much, but at least he had ghost guardians. 

It took a moment, but alarm slowly settled in when he didn’t know where he was. He couldn’t move well, a blanket tucked in tight around him. It was the slowly quickening BEEP BEEP BEEP that spiked his adrenaline but when his eyes cracked open, he wasn’t met with a white ceiling and a very obvious ghost shield. 

The room looked more like a barely used guest ro-.... That déjà vu again. 

Danny looked around, the door had been left cracked open, on his other side… Oh… The curtains were open. Even in his human form, his obsession could easily take root. Space. Was the bed closer to the window than it had been before? Did it matter? He had such a good view. Looking out into the vastness of space could hardly be considered comparable to looking up at it from Earth. It was beautiful and distracting… 

Danny reached up on reflex alone and grabbed the oxygen mask someone had put on him at some point. With a flicker of power he turned it intangible and pulled it off of his face before dropping it on the floor. 

He…ached. It was a literal, bone deep kind of ache and it occurred to him all at once that it was just because he was an idiot. He’d just… transformed. Just like that. Like that was a good idea. Like he wanted to impress Wonder Woman and instead came off as immature doofus with a death wish. 

Death wish… Funny… 

Danny inhaled slowly, feeling the air fill his lungs that were tender around bruised ribs. Bruised but maybe not broken anymore. Healing left him exhausted but the open curtains and the expanse of space before him would help with that. 

“Highness. Danny. You’re awake.” Diana was pushing the door open, looking fairly relieved. He wondered if he’d have even been able to tell if she didn’t have the same stress markers that Jazz had. The small tics and twitches of a woman who was normally so poised and put together. Someone unflappable who in some cases had really seen it all. 

There was the squint to her eyes, the way her shoulders lowered when she walked in and saw him awake. The octave of her voice betraying how tightly wound with worry she’d been. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so weird to introduce Diana to Jazz some day. He’d probably regret it instantly. They’d likely get along a little too well. 

Wonder Woman came in, dragging the seat closer again and the bed was definitely closer to the window than it had been before. 

“You gave us quite the scare. How are you feeling?” 

“Like i got hit by the GAV.” Danny muttered, inhaling carefully again. “I’m…sorry. That was stupid. I knew better.” 

“I’m quite certain you did, but the concussion you’ve recently sustained probably did not help that.” Diana said, and he was weirdly having a hard time deciphering if she was just politely giving him an out for acting like an idiot or if she really thought a concussion would alter his decision making. 

“I have a concussion?” he asked slowly. 

“You do. Among a myriad of other injuries all in various states of healing.” She gave him a firm nod. “I apologize for bringing medical personnel in here without your permission but you were losing quite a bit of blood and we had very little knowledge to work with. Chronos did say one of your forms healed faster than the other. I understand that better now.” 

Danny winced. “Sorry about that.” He did have a headache but he attributed that to passing out from pain. That and the fact that it was easier in his living form to focus on Diana and not just the space beyond the window. “As long as there’s no experiments or intentions of ripping me apart molecule by molecule, then it’s okay.” 

Judging by the way Diana’s expression darkened, that wasn’t the thing to say. “Is that something you’ve had to worry about in the past? Chronos did say you were removed from your home. Is there anything more you can tell me?” 

“Eh…” Danny made a face. He wanted to sit up properly in bed but he knew that was going to set off a chain reaction of pain and he wasn’t interested in that yet. “Clockwork really didn’t say anything? Figures.” 

“There was one thing he said.” Diana said, after a short pause between them. “He said that you would ask for help if you wanted to.” 

Danny snorted. “Brillant, CW, thanks.” He reached up and rubbed his face tiredly, he could still just barely feel the marks on his cheeks from the mask. “Yeah, it’s a worry. It’s a worry for everyone like me. I’m not a person after all. The US Government says so.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Danny blinked slowly and hopefully hid the way his body tensed. He wasn’t a fool, he knew that tone. Sam had that tone. Val definitely had that tone. It promised hell for someone. “Uh, yeah? The Anti-Ecto Acts? The Ghost Investigation Ward? Did we cross wires somewhere?” Danny paused. “I don’t remember. Did we talk about the fact that i’m dead? You know, Ghost King?” 

Diana’s lips tightened unhappily, and she was sitting more rigidly then he remembered during her last visit. “Yes, Chronos called you the Ghost King. I recall you as well mentioning ghost guardians. It was also impossible to miss your lack of pulse when you arrived, and your sudden pulse returning when you switched forms. Is this normal for ghosts?” 

Danny appreciated the way she kept her voice calm and curious despite the bits of anger he could taste in the air. She wasn’t trying to make this an interrogation but the need to know details would eat at anyone. 

“No. There’s only two others like me. To my knowledge.” he amended. “I’m something else. Half dead and half alive. It’s… yeah, that’s probably why i’m here. I can be in the Infinine Realm no problem, but my living human half needs, you know, a living realm from time to time.” 

He plucked at the blanket around him, not sure where this own nervous energy was coming from. “I’m meant to be a balance. Something like that anyway. I can’t go home so Clockwork…was trying to be helpful by finding me a new one.” 

“Which you have.” Diana said gently, hesitating for only a moment before laying her hand on top of his. “You still have your home with me. That has not changed. If you are in danger however, you are in the right place.” 

“Am i?” Danny asked, trying to make his expression as blank as possible. “You’re the Justice League. You follows laws and…stuff. The law says i don’t feel pain. Says i’m not a sentient being. Says it’s completely legal for me and others from the Infinite Realm to be hunted. That we are free game to be caught, tortured, experimented on and exterminated. Legally, you should be turning me in.” 

“Hah?” It wasn’t a happy sound. “I understand a few of your fears, but Justice will come first. You are talking about the genocide of an entire species. An entire realm.” 

“They did try to nuke us once…” 

Diana’s free hand tightened into a fist. “The Anti-Ecto Acts, yes? We will be looking into them. I’ve little doubt that it is already on the immediate docket. You are obviously an intelligent being. I have witnessed myself the pain you are in. Not only are you a king, and a child, you are my family. I would never turn you in.” 

Danny averted his gaze and looked at the wall, hoping it hid the way his bottom lip trembled. His own mother was happily planning to hand him over. She believed her own biased research. 

He’d known Diana less than a day. Less than a couple hours? “I…” His voice was clogged. 

“You focus on healing.” Diana whispered, squeezing his hand. “Resting. Let me have a turn with this mess.” 

He hiccuped, but he didn’t dissolve into tears. That meant he was holding himself together right? “Y..yeah. Sure.” 

“Are you in pain now?” She asked. “We weren’t sure of your exact biology for all you appear perfectly human. Only mild pain killers were given to you while you were out. Small doses in case there was an adverse reaction.” 

“I dunno.” Danny said quietly. He tried twice to clear his throat. “Maybe. Yeah. I’m so used to it, i don’t know anymore.” He laid there for a moment, too afraid to even move and find out what would tug and pull. “I am, you know, perfectly alive right now so i think i would like a little more pain killers. It was never an option before.”

“I’ll call for a nurse.” Diana said with a nod, hitting a button on the side of his bed that he hadn’t noticed before. 

Danny heaved a sigh, overwhelmed with the direction his day had taken. “Probably better that way. Frostbite says i can’t just hide in my ghost form and expect my human form to heal naturally. He says that should be for emergencies.” The problem with that train of thinking was that it was always an emergency. He couldn’t have just bled all over his bedroom in Amity Park. His parents were oblivious unless it would be a headache for him. He wasn’t going to explain to them that he was bleeding because they’d shot at his ghost form two hours prior. 

“Frostbite?” 

“He’s my doctor. He’s chief of the Yetis.” 

There was something…hilarious about Diana just nodding and mentally filing that information away for later. She didn’t raise a brow or question the existence of yeti’s or anything. She just took him at his word. “Then i imagine he knows what he’s talking about. I wasn’t sure since you were brought to us in your white haired form.”

“Probably because i was brought from the Infinite Realm. I’m obviously liminal and that changes a few things but Frostbite still doesn’t like me to depend on that alone. He treats me like i’m normal.” 

Diana smiled weakly, but the upturn of her lips did express her amusement. “I’m starting to think i will have a new question to ask every time you open your mouth, Highness.” 

“Danny.” He corrected with a small smile of his own. 

“Danny.” Diana agreed. “Your usage of the word liminal?” 

“Oh, uh. Basically death adjacent?” Danny shrugged. “A lot of people in Amity Park are liminal because of their proximity to the portal my parents made. My sister and three of my friends are very liminal. My parents are liminal too though they’ve never noticed. It’s spread through the town.” 

“Portal.” Diana sighed a little. 

Ah, yeah. She was probably right. It was a lot of information when it was only passed on in bits. “Yeah…” Danny muttered. “Maybe you should get a notebook. Write this down…” 

He paused when a nurse came in after knocking. Her smile was friendly but she was clearly there to do a job and not loiter when Wonder Woman was right there. She did greet them both and told Danny how relieved she was that he’d woken up while setting up his IV that would double as both pain control and hydration. 

She didn’t even notice Danny taking the glowing green post-it off her back. He instead just held it in his fist until the nurse finally excused herself. 

It’s a good view. Frostbite will come to you. 

“Cool.” Danny muttered dryly, suddenly exhausted before deciding to eat that note too.

“Yes?” Diana just raised a brow at the action. It was kind of funny how that was the thing that threw her off. She’d been observing the nurse the entire time with a keen eye and had only moved herself to pull out her cell phone.

“Clockwork often communicates via vague ass post-its. I’m taking that one to mean i need to heal as much as i can by my obsession with space before Frostbite shows up to scold me for stupidly hurting myself like that.” Danny heaved a sigh. Frostbite’s disappointed looks could be weaponized. 

“And eating it?” She asked and if Danny wasn’t mistaken, she’d be laughing if she wasn’t so composed.  

“Ectoplasm. The reason the post-it glowed. It’s good for the dead. No sense in wasting it.” Danny offered a one sided shrug, and relaxed back against his pillows. He sagged, rubbing his face tired and glancing out the window. 

He’d love to get some paper and chart out what stars he could see. 

“I guess you have questions? If you really think you can help with the Anti-Ecto Acts and all…” 

Diana had her phone on her lap, ready to take notes. “I think the most pressing question i have…” She leaned a little closer. “How did you sustain your injuries? Who hurt you?” 

Danny frowned, his entire body almost closing in on himself. He should have expected that, but somehow hadn’t. “My parents…”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging started to get difficult but a bunch of people recommended a master list that i'll update. It's linked at the top ^__^

Also i never planned past part 3 so we're in uncharted territory now.

[nawoken]

   Yes, because I got bullied by both of the games I played so... I'm here to rambling some stuff that has been stuck inside my head since forever.

How about... Reader with cute aggression, especially for those small, fluffy creatures, like... cats! (Ơ w Ơ).

You can't help squeezing, kissing, and biting (lightly) those cuties. Yes, you have Grim, but he won't let you pet him since you're too much, his words.

And TWST boys that by some accident, maybe from alchemy class or their clumsiness. They, unfortunately, have turned into those mischievous creatures.

   You don't know that. You just walking around, minding your own business or headmage supposed to be business. Then, you saw it, a cat with the fluffiest fur and cutest eyes you've ever seen run by. And you know, you've fallen in love :)))

   TWST boys, now in cat body don't know that they're in danger, roaming around freely with the hope that someone they know will realize and help them.

   Oh, is that our calm and kind prefect? Surely, they can help our poor boy, right? No! They're deadly WRONG!!!

   The next thing our boy knows after approaching prefect is that he's trapped in your embrace, being kissed, squeezed, and petted while you compliment him on how smooth and healthy his fur looks.

   Damn it, prefect! He is not an actual cat, can’t you see it?! The answer is… No, you can’t. You’re busy admiring his cuteness.

   He is struggling, embarrassed by your doing. Some of them might feel ashamed since it feels like he is taking advantage of you… or the other way around, some just aren’t used to being pampered. But, the worst thing is… prefect, please don’t rub your face on his stomach! Mmraooo!!! :’)))))

   After a while, you finally stop, he sighs out of relief, … but why do you look at him like that? D..do you finally realize that he is not a cat?

   You stared at the poor creature in your hand, thinking. And, this made him concerned, what are you planning to do?

   Before he can do anything, you chomp on his face, more specifically, his muzzle … Yes, you do it without your teeth. But... YOU BITE HIM!!! ON HIS FACE!!! C...CAN THIS COUNT AS A KISS?!

He is panicked and stunned while you're in heaven. This might be the sweetest cat you've ever seen, he doesn't even bite or scratch you when you do all this to him.

Suddenly, pink smoke emitted from the cat, and with a "pop" sound, it turned into a human. Not to mention, you know him. Is it a good or bad thing? You don't know, the only thing you know is... you're DOOM!

You should know that this is a magical world, so you can't just hug any stray cat on the street, it can be anyone, not to say this is your crush. But you got tricked! By those sparkling eyes! And those fluffy ears! And now you can die from embarrassment.

Now, you're the one who panics while he just stands there, not knowing what to do or to say. The cure for this potion, it's a true love kiss. (Another version of the "The Princess and the Frog" potion but instead of a kiss from the princess, it's a true love kiss, why not? :))))

You two end up looking at each other for a whole minute before he decides to speak up but are cut off by you. "Please, just forget everything, this is so messed up of me, I promise I will try to make it up to you somehow, but please just erase that shameful thing I have done from your mind!" (QAQ)

Then you ran off, left him there with bewildered expression.

~~~~♡♡♡~~~

That's longer than I expected :'D

But, yeah, this has been stuck inside my head for too long, finally it can appear under the sunlight...

You know, I want to make a request for that idea. I've followed so many good TWST writers. But, well I'm shy and don't really sure how to, so I just keep it in.

The idea for this post is... I have a cat, she's been suffering from my cute aggression. Ehe, poor her, but she never bites me when I'm chomping on her muzzle. So sweet of her.

But yeah, I can't stop laughing when I think about TWST boy turning into a cat and being chomped on. That must be terrifying for him, but they still tried their best to not scratch you, their dear prefect. Except: Riddle, it's just his reflection, and he feels regret right after. And maybe Leona? Or, he just shows his claw to threaten you but doesn't actually do it.

Nom nom :3

MY ANGEL!!!

[calisources]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences and quotes have been taken from different media about starcrossed lovers or forbidden love, full of angst, some bold words, some nasty ones, possessive nature and letting someone use you as a replacement. So, some toxic energy in this one. Change pronouns, locations and names as you see fit.

I love you,and I will love you until I die,and if there's a life after that,I'll love you then.

Do people always fall in love with things they can't have?

And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.

I'm falling in love with you.

I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. I have waited for this for such a long time. Consequences be damned.

These violent delights have violent ends.

 I’m only human. And you are …all-consuming.

Don’t go into this lightly. If you’re mine, you need to understand I will burn the fucking world to the ground for you.

I will never let you go, do you hear me? 

 will keep you safe. And I will find a way for us to be together.

If you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.

If you were any less the man you are, I would beg you to take me with you.

If you were any less the woman you were, I would beg you to come with me.

I've known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

This is lust.

She’s your very own forbidden fruit.

You said you didn't want this.

We all desire what we cannot have.

Have you noticed how the boy looks at you?

Do you think I didn’t notice? The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?

You are dangerous desire, and I am your prisoner.

We can’t do this on so many levels.

I can't even whisper her name, my heart would burst out of my chest.

But I would fight against the stars for you.

I have ruined your life.

Some lines you just don't cross. 

I want to take you under the moonlight.

Having something forbidden is exciting, don't you agree?

The closer we get—the more I let you in…the more dangerous this gets.

Don’t you get it? You’re what everyone wants! But I’m not going to let them win.

Make it so I never have to dream about this again—make it so we can have this…forever.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

We were doomed from the start. 

Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.

But this kiss? It's ruined me. This is the type of kiss I never knew existed. 

You sure about that, Dad? Because he's done everything to me.

Are you scared of me now?

You loved me - then what right had you to leave me?

I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.

One moment, you give me everything that I want, and in the next, you snatch all of that away.

It's hopeless. We can never work out.

The world didn’t want us together so I forged a new one where we would.

How could a peacock lust for a lion?

You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.

I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you.

It's absurd how crazy love can make you...but even more absurd how stupid jealousy can make you.

 That you and I are meant to be together, but never meant to be.

Why does fate seem always to conspire against us? To deny us life's simple pleasures?

We'll meet after this war. I'll certainly find you wherever you'll hide. 

War makes fools of men and women wanton.

What offends you most, Father? That she's Catholic, or that she's poor?

If my father discovers you here, he'd cut off your little nuts and eat them. He can't stand you.

You tempress, I see you once and all I can think of is having you.

Feelings are forbidden, does not mean we cannot enjoy one another.

The more you deny me, the more I desire you. You are a plague in my mind.

Ever since we met, no one else can compare. 

How can I be with someone else, when I’m with them, it’s you I see.

You can have me, think of whoever you love. For tonight.

You can pretend I'm her/him. I don't care. I just want you.

[luvzshy]

Hiiii. What about Billie being insecure about her tics, thinking reader would like judge her and reader is like super comforting and understanding

a/n: I hate how easy it is for me to write this kind of thing but when in real life I am in the position of the yk reader like here, these words of reassurance do not come out so naturally ugh. Anyway enjoy ml 💕

Unspoken Comfort

The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed the room in a warm light, but for Billie, the atmosphere felt heavy. She sat cross-legged on the bed, a notebook lying open but untouched, her mind racing far beyond the words she usually filled the pages with. As she absentmindedly traced the outline of a sketch, the familiar tics began to surface, a subtle reminder of her ongoing struggle.

“Ugh,” she muttered under her breath, a wave of frustration washing over her. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if willing the sensations away. It was the last thing she wanted tonight, especially with you here.

You entered the room, a soft smile on your face that faded when you noticed Billie’s tense posture. “Hey,” you said gently, sitting down beside her. “You okay?”

Billie opened her eyes, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach them. “Yeah, just… trying to concentrate.” But her fidgeting hands betrayed her, and you could see the unease simmering beneath the surface.

“Billie,” you began, your tone soft yet firm. “You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right?”

A shadow crossed her face as she looked away. “I just… I hate feeling like this. Like I’m not normal or something. It’s embarrassing.” Her voice wavered as she fought to keep the emotion in check.

“Why would you think that?” you asked, genuinely confused. “You’re amazing, just as you are.”

She sighed, frustration bubbling up again. “I don’t want you to judge me. I know it can be a lot… and I just wish I could turn it off sometimes.” The vulnerability in her words hung in the air, palpable and raw.

You reached for her hand, intertwining your fingers in a gesture that felt both reassuring and grounding. “Billie, listen to me. Your tics don’t define you. They’re a part of you, yes, but they don’t take away from the incredible person you are. You’re talented, passionate, and so loving. That’s what I see.”

“But what if they annoy you?” she pressed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What if you think I’m… weird?”

You could feel the weight of her insecurities pressing down, and you leaned closer, wanting her to feel the sincerity in your words. “I could never think that about you. I love every part of you—quirks included. If anything, they make you more relatable, more human.”

Billie shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “It’s just hard. Sometimes I feel like I’m this broken version of myself, and I worry you’ll see me differently.”

“Billie, I promise you, I will never see you as broken,” you said firmly, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “You’ve shown me strength in vulnerability, and that’s something I deeply admire. It takes courage to be open about what you go through.”

She inhaled sharply, the weight of her worries feeling a little lighter. “I don’t want to burden you with my insecurities. I want to be strong for you.”

You shook your head, urgency in your voice. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel vulnerable. We all have our moments, and I want to be here for you through them.”

Tears slipped down Billie’s cheeks, and she leaned into your embrace, the warmth of your body wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against your shoulder. “I just needed to hear that.”

“I’m always here, Billie,” you murmured, holding her tighter. “You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to hide any part of yourself from me.”

In that moment, as she let herself be vulnerable, Billie felt a sense of relief wash over her. It wasn’t about erasing her insecurities but acknowledging them, knowing that with you by her side, she could face anything. Together, they sat in the quiet, embracing the unspoken understanding that filled the room, hearts intertwined in a bond that only grew stronger with each passing moment.

[temis-de-leon]

Solomon x Insecure fem!S/O

Characters: Solomon x fem!MC

Main Masterlist

Requested by @kirshimadenkisero: hello! may i please request solomon with a fem! s/o who’s very self conscious about her appearance, such as her slight belly fat, the stretch marks on her inner thighs, her acne, etc? i’ve been struggling with my appearance lately and solomon is my go-to comfort character, so this would really help. thank you! drink water!

A/N: I didn't go much into detail with the self-deprecating thoughts or the body descriptions, but they're still there, at plain sight. I hope you like it and I deeply hope it makes you feel at least a little bit better. To Romance Anon and M. Anon, don't worry, I'm writing your requests too :)

CW: the mental struggles of being chubby and the physical struggles of being chubby in summer. Comparing your body with someone else's isn't good. Also, the sadness of being immortal

.

“Aren’t you hot?”

MC blinked at the question, moistening her eyes after several minutes of staring at the screen before turning to the side, but her body had slouched so far down the couch that she had to look up to talk to Solomon.

Her favourite fellow human had a mixture of emotions on his face: fondness, worry and surprise. His arms were completely spread out over the backrest, initially to offer her a place to rest and later to make more space for him to sweat. The air was sticky with warmth, blinds closed down to give them the full cinema experience and not a window open to keep the mosquitoes out.

To her greatest pleasure, Solomon had accepted defeat by the time the second movie started and took his shirt off. MC, on the other hand, although dying to do the same, was still wearing an oversized t-shirt and some ugly, worn down, capris pants. Every piece of fabric stuck to her skin like a punishment and beads of sweat travelled along the curves of her body to stain her clothes.

It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t comfortable, but she didn’t want to change. They had a dinner party the night before and MC had the atrocious idea of wearing a long summer dress. When they finally got home, her inner thighs were red and hurting and the embarrassment had persisted for the next day and the entirety of their movie marathon.

So, not wanting to make him feel bad for her own insecurities while they were having a good time, MC chuckled and faked an excessive sultry look.

“Is that an actual question or a compliment?”

MC felt like her body was seconds away from exploding, breaking skin and searching for fresh air. The cooling spell he’d casted earlier must’ve slowly worn off while they were immersed in the beginning of the trilogy.

“I would say you’re hot, yes, but it was a legitimate question” he softly laughed. “Why don’t you take your pants off? Else, you’re going to get sick”

“I’m going to get sick from being too hot?”

A flick of impatience crossed his face, but he quickly erased it by laughing again.

“Well, I hope not. Otherwise you’d be bedridden”

His flattery made her genuinely smile and she noticed her face warming up from something significantly different than the high temperature in the room.

“You spend too much time with Asmodeus”

“Look who’s talking”

Solomon kept his mouth open and MC stared in apprehension, keeping a few uncomfortable seconds between them until he finally shook his head and turned to continue watching the movie. She tried to mask her relief, doing the same, but she could tell that he wasn’t as engrossed anymore.

Minutes passed, almost half an hour, until Solomon finally cooled down the room again with a wave of his hand. Her body eased and she almost broke with a satisfied groan, letting herself fall against his body and momentarily forgetting about her previous discomfort.

The darkness of the screen and the haunting chanting of a woman dragged her to unconsciousness, but she forced her eyes open, paying excessive attention to the plot. It was a sad scene, one of the saddest by far, and it wasn’t too long before Solomon’s hand creeped behind her back and grabbed her shoulder. At first she was confused and then, making her heart stop for just a second, she recognized what had suddenly worried her boyfriend.

“Do you think that’s how she felt?” she asked, trying not to see their relationship portrayed in the movie. “Lilith, I mean”

Solomon hummed, not letting her go, and slowly, but surely, started to nod. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes and she immediately wished things were different.

“Most probably, yes” he stayed silent for a few seconds, staring at Arwen crying on her father’s shoulder with great despair. Then, he said what MC desperately wanted to avoid hearing “That’s how I feel too”

A familiar sting closed her throat. The consequences of dating an immortal man, she supposed.

“I imagine going to your burial more often that I would like” he continued saying in a hushed, dark tone. “But I don’t think I would be able to leave after”

“What? You’ve never told me this!”  

“Well, it’s not the happiest of conversations”

“Don’t be like that” MC pleaded, sitting straight to look at him directly. “We don’t even know if that’s how it’s going to go. Maybe I'll turn immortal too”

He let out a humourless chuckle, pulling her close until she was sitting on his lap before pausing the movie. A heavy silence settled and MC became painfully aware of everything. It wasn’t the first time they had been so close to each other, but she didn’t feel happy about it this time, her body glued to his in such a way that the possibility of him not feeling every inch of her was almost non-existent.

The fateful end of their relationship, the depreciating thoughts about herself and the immense love he was looking at her with made her feel nauseous.

“Do you really think that?”

“If life has taught me something, is that anything can happen” she shrugged, brushing his hair before kissing his forehead. “Who knows? Maybe we’re not Aragorn and Arwen. Maybe we’re Gandalf and Galadriel and we’ll stay together until you grow a beard and I become pretty”

“You’re extremely beautiful”

Solomon looked like she offended him, which made her laugh, but she didn’t feel like she was lying. With fair smooth skin, long silken hair and a body resembling a dream, it was impossible to look at the elf and not feel disappointment.

“And I’m not like Gandalf”

“What do you mean? He’s a wizard and he’s an old man”

“Do not call me an old man” he begged with a heartbroken face, but she only laughed harder.

He smiled at her giddy expression, putting her hair behind her ear before making her head rest on his chest. MC thought he would play the movie again, but he didn’t move.

“Aren’t Gandalf and Galadriel just friends, anyway? I don’t want to be just friends with you, MC”

“He’s in love with her, though”

“Is he?”

“Are you serious? Look at her!”

“I don’t want to look at her, I want to look at you!” he laughed, sneaking his hand under her shirt and caressing her back. She thought of rejecting his touch, but with the way he was keeping her so close, that would’ve been a stupid decision. At the same time, his words made her heart beat ridiculously faster. “I don’t want to be Aragorn and date Arwen and I don’t want to be Gandalf and be in love with Galadriel. I want to be me, being in love with you and dating you. And no one is going to take that away from me, not even you”

Her throat closed again and her vision became blurry. How could she even answer that?

“Your tastes are messed up” she finally said in a wobbly voice.

“Your perception is messed up” he refuted, pushing her away to dry the tears and kiss the corner of her eyes, then her cheeks, the tip of her nose and, finally, her lips. “Let’s turn off the movie, I have something much better to look at tonight”

.

.

[dollysilena]

no grave can hold my body down

(i’ll crawl home to her)

ryoumen sukuna, before he was a curse, was once a man.

genre: female implied reader but can be read as gender neutral, reincarnation au, unrequited feelings, unedited ngl, inspired by work song by hozier, angst angst angst

long before ryoumen sukuna was a demon, the king of curses with four arms and two faces, he was once a man.

though, that has been long forgotten in history. sometimes, he even forgets it himself. the habits of being a cursed spirit had erased whatever was left of his mortal self from hundreds of years ago. he only enjoyed the carnal desires of blood, lust, and revenge. he had long forgotten what human emotions were, jealousy, anger, love. 

atleast he thought he forgot what all those were, up until he looked at you through the eyes of his new vessel.

ryoumen sukuna was once a man, who had a lover.

he swears his blood runs cold and he wasn’t even aware that could happen anymore. there you are, standing before him, hundreds of years after you died. 

over the course of a millennium of carnage and curses, your once distinct face had become hazy with time, until eventually he chose to forget you completely. he had no use for the memories of his once-human self. he was a demon now, afterall. but what a twisted curse chance of fate it was, that the reincarnation of his past lover had manifested infront of him, no, rather, it was infront of his new vessel. 

you had no idea who he was, much less that he was inside of yuuji itadori, watching you from afar.

he hadn’t even realized that curses could still feel and it repulsed him. what use could he have for you now? a mere human had no value to him. you don’t even remember your past life.

but he remembers it all.

it was easy to chose to forget, but there’s still an echo of you in his mind. the memories still crept through him like unrelenting roots to a tree. 

he remembers the way his hands, before they were covered in markings and his nails became claws, roamed your skin under the silk of your robes, as the cicadas buzzed outside and the first petals fell from the trees above you. your skin was illuminated by lantern light as he recalled the shape of your lips, stained like they bit into ripe fruit. but the memory that sears so deeply into his mind was the way you looked at him without fear.

there’s a bittersweet taste washing over his tongue, and it isn’t blood. he almost thinks it’s sorrow. it’s too similar to fear, for his liking. he swallows it back down, and buries it deep somewhere in himself where he hopes it will rot away.

he doesn’t act, no, that would be impulsive and too human. something he used to be. instead he watches you from the eyes of his vessel. 

and from his glimpses of you, even after hundreds of years, countless reincarnations, you’re still the same. for once, his focus isn’t on the simple demonic pleasures he’s grown accustomed to, they’re on you. a foolish human, the kind he so despises.

he wishes that it was as easy to despise you.

he feels you creeping through him, and not just in memories this time. it’s like webbing ivy, slowly but surely growing and entangling him. 

he recognizes the crinkle by your eyes when itadori gets you to smile, the familiar lips he begins to crave again, and worst of all, the tenderness of your eyes when you look at him without the thought of evil whispering in the back of your mind.

he wonders that if you’re still the same now, then maybe your love is still the same too.

but no, you’re not looking at him, you’re looking at the brat he’s trapped in.

he buries the grotesque thoughts of longing deep in the chasm of what used to be known as his heart. but he realizes it was never quite gone. 

it’s sickening really, he has no use for menial things like feelings, and he has no use for you. atleast that’s what he tells himself when he sees, feels, you press a chaste kiss onto itadori’s lips.

he tries to ignore the dull ache in his bones everytime you kiss itadori afterwards. but like your feelings for the damn brat he’s caged in, the dull ache grows into kindling, and slowly burns into a fire. 

it’s been so long since he’s felt anything that he almost can’t place his finger on what it could be, but he reit’s undoubtedly hatred. it consumes him like a fever.

it’s hatred for itadori, for making him watch this stupid puppy love from his internal cage. it’s hatred for himself for being foolish enough to degrade himself, the king of curses, into yearning for a human. it’s hatred for you, for making him feel again.

then came the deal.

“one: when i chant “extension,” you’ll hand over your body for one minute. two: you’ll forget this promise– i’ll promise that i won’t kill or injure anyone during that minute.”

of course he struck the deal as a means to his greater plan, but there was a whisper of a thought… he could see you again.

it’ll only just be once, he tells himself, just to finally put an end to this idiotic pining. it’ll be the means to an ends, and once it’s over, he’ll simply find a way to get rid of you. either from his thoughts or just entirely. he ignores the way he actually can’t bear the thought of that happening.

“extension.”

he then finds himself in a memory. the one he keeps replaying over and over.

the image is nearly identical, you laid beneath him with a flushed face as your delicate eyes gazing up at him without a trace of unease. he only realizes it’s not a memory when he realizes he’s in the modern age, where you aren’t outside listening to cicadas as cherry blossoms fell, but to whatever music you have playing as you laid snugly in your bed.

“yuuji?” you hum from beneath him. your voice makes him snap back to reality.

you seemingly hadn’t noticed the switch between the two. though, there would be no way to, considering that the markings strewn out over his body were only noticeable to himself and itadori. you, stupidly and thankfully, were blissfully unaware.

“what are you doing?” you giggled from beneath him, the sound too familiar for his liking. “kiss me already.”

he’s taken aback by the brazen request until he realizes you still think he’s itadori, your lover. for a brief moment, he’s repulsed to say he considers it. he should refuse, and extend himself back to his domain. while he’s done worser things than a simple kiss, kissing you seems too… vulnerable. it would anchor him too deeply into what he thinks is human. but you, laid beneath him, pliantly and unmistakably beautiful, makes him crave it too badly enough to reason anymore.

he finds his way to you, and the craving develops into a hunger. you’re warm to the touch, the once forgotten taste of your lips now familiar again. he feels the hairs on his neck rise when your hand gingerly comb through his locks as you melt beneath him. you’re consuming every inch of him and he feels as if he’s being burned away in a fire.

no bloodlust, carnage, or other carnal pleasure could satisfy him anymore. now that he’s remembered how it was like to touch you, to be touched by you, he couldn’t go back. not now, not ever again.

but the minute is over in the blink of an eye, and he finds himself in his domain, now left with only a pit in his stomach, and the feeling of you still ghosting on his lips.

ryoumen sukuna was once a human. but you still are. and you could never love a demon.

[nerd-artist]

Horizon Rock Bands AU: Alpha Prime

This is heavily inspired by the animated series Jem and The Holograms (I’m sorry if you know the reference because it means you’re as old as me 😆). There will be posts about other bands. Ereloy implied 🧡.

The band

Alpha Prime is a synth-punk rock band that performs songs about the struggles of social life and humanity's downfall. Aloy and her twin sister Beta started the band to take down Nemesis, the evil group that was winning every contest through dishonest ways before Alpha Prime showed up. Petra, Alva, Zo, and Talanah also had their own personal discordances with Nemesis, so they teamed up with the sisters to bring them down and make the world a little brighter with their music.

Unstoppable on stage, they've been number one since their first appearance at The Proving, the most prestigious battle of the bands in the music scene. There, they met the band Rock Breakers, who are not only their competitors but also great friends and allies against Nemesis.

With their manager Ersa, they’re getting ready for the competition by touring across the country. Their shows are called epic, thanks to their magical computer GAIA, which adds awesome visual effects and illusions to their performances.

Character profiles under the cut

Aloy

She's the leader of the band and their main songwriter. She plays her guitar ‘Outcast’, and her soft voice mixed with her feral screams make her the perfect backup vocalist. When she and her sister Beta were little, their mother disappeared, which shattered Aloy's trust in others. This caused her to become closed off, and now she struggles with social interactions. She seeks revenge on Tilda, the leader of Nemesis, because she suspects her of being involved in her mother's mysterious disappearance. When the weight of her mother's legacy and her own frustrations become too much to bear, she turns to her best friend Erend, the leader of Rock Breakers. Being by his side makes her feel more at home than anywhere else, sparking emotions she doesn't quite understand—emotions that end up fueling her songwriting.

Zo

Fans describe the soothing tone of her voice as healing, so it’s no surprise that she uses her ‘Fa’ mic to take on the role of the band’s lead vocalist. Always looking out for the other girls, it’s common to see her setting up meditation sessions before shows. As an environmentalist, she’s determined to take down Nemesis to stop the pollution caused by the companies owned by their members. She’s also (very) openly in a relationship with Varl, a member of Rock Breakers.

Beta

Even more isolated than her sister after their mother disappeared, she found solace in sci-fi movies and video games, completely avoiding social life. She’s a tech nerd who spends most of her time planning new shows with the computer GAIA. For her, forming Alpha Prime has meant gaining a new, bigger family that’s slowly helping her come out of her shell. Though she keeps a low profile, the deep beats of her bass, ‘Matrix,’ make the crowd feel the tremble and are essential to completing the band’s sound.

Talanah

Her cultural background made her believe all her life that guitars weren't meant for women—until she picked up "Khalis," the guitar passed down from her father, who was said to be the greatest guitarist under the sun. It felt like she had finally found herself. She made it her mission to become the best guitarist out there, regardless of gender—and she did. Now, she shreds alongside Aloy to take down Jiran, a member of Nemesis and the one responsible for her father's death.

Alva

CEO, a member of Nemesis, controls the town of Alva from a distance. Both he and his predecessors have erased music from existence there, repressing the creative minds of its inhabitants and keeping them submissive. Alva is determined to recover musical knowledge and bring it back to her people, across the world, along with her beloved Federa. With her keyboard 'Ancestor' in hand and performing alongside Aloy, she feels capable of freeing her people from the torment of living without music.

Petra

It's no coincidence that the crowd's cheers grow louder whenever Petra shows up. The power of the rhythms from her drums, 'Forge’s Breath,' combined with her strong personality and physique, make her a favorite, especially among women. She's an amazing musical engineer and has crafted all the band's instruments in their players needs. She's not here seeking justice or revenge; she's here to hit hard and push the rhythm of their songs to the max.

Thank you for reading! What do you think they would sound like?

If you want to know more about Rock Breakers check this post ✨🤘

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Space Oddity, Part 2

“Fuck the rest of them. Fuck ‘em all. Fuck ‘em all, but us.”

Word Count: 4,509 words (gahdamn)

Tag List (please lmk if you want to be added!): @melodymunson , @ali-r3n , @amandahobblepot , @twihard28 , @hiimjulie

[Chapter One]

Author’s Note: Fuck me Freddy, at last I have completed fanfic. This chapter was so much fun to write, especially after watching Dinner in America and feeling so seen and validated about the weird, off putting girl and the badass boyfriend relationship.

Interesting fact about this chapter, I actually did have two friends who decided one day to randomly exclude me from their friend group. They wrote me two actual, dumb ass letters I pretended to read about how they thought I was weird and they didn’t want to be my friend. The first one they put in my locker and I pretended I didn’t get it. The second one they handed to me in PE where I proceeded to laugh at them, rip it up, then throw the pieces in the trash. People think that only happens in bad 80’s movies, but some high school girls can actually be that stupid and comic book villain mean.

*****

“Mike! Jesus Christ, don’t just throw her!”

You and Eddie were fumbling with the spilled contents of your trapper keeper, trying to collect each sheet of xerox and graph paper. Every so often, Eddie would accidentally bump your shoulder or accidentally knock into you, and when you both went in to pick up a caricature you’d done of Angus Young, his head hit your nose.

Hard.

“Augh! Sorry, buttercup!” He said, quickly reaching out with his hands, “You okay?”

“My nose hurts…” you mumbled.

“Come here, lemme see.”

His hands were on your cheeks, you were in too much pain to realize Eddie Munson was actually touching you.

“Owie… Yup, I can see where I bonked you.” He winced in sympathetic pain as his thumb brushed your injury, “But you’ll be alright, it’s not broken. Come on. Upsy daisy.”

Mike and Dustin were at each other’s throats. Dustin was reprimanding Mike for turning you into a human football, while Mike was defending his actions for making sure you “stopped acting like a tool”.

“Knock it off, assholes!” Eddie snapped.

Mike and Dustin immediately ceased their caterwauling, and looked like scolded chihuahuas, ducking away from Eddie who looked like he was going to throw a chair.

“God dammit, you’re giving me a headache.” He hissed, then turned to you.

All you could do was stand there, awkwardly digging the tip of your shoe into the carpet. Avoiding any and all eye contact.

“You look real familiar…” Eddie said, pointing a ringed finger at you, “I know you… Where do I know you from?”

“… I sit behind you in Mrs. O’Donnell’s Economics class.” You whispered.

Pure, unapologetic joy made his face bloom pink, a dimpled smile gracing his features as his dark brown eyes sparkled with stars. Eddie clapped his hands, jabbing a finger in your general direction and then pacing side to side with his arms crossed.

“I knew it! I do remember you! You’re the funny chick who drew Figment the Dragon on the chalkboard, and then did the T. Rex thing with your hands when The ’Donnell tried to erase it!”

Eddie tucked his arms to his chest and made a terrific mimic of your high pitched screech, causing his friends to laugh hard and their eyes to light up in recognition. Your eyes widened, and you wanted to immediately die. Naively you didn’t think anyone had remembered your stand against O’Donnell and her dislike for Disney related media. She told you this wasn’t Mr. Miller’s art class. Of course, you let her have it, and it almost cost you a detention — and permanent placement in Hawkins High School’s joke of a Special Education program — until your mother came down to the school with her attorney from Indianapolis and raised hell, both of them threatening Principal Higgins, Mrs. O’Donnell, and the school Superintendent with a discrimination lawsuit. Since then you’d done even more outrageous shit to make everyone forget and keep away the bullying, surely this one time would have been buried in the numerous instances of other out of pocket things you did?!

Nope. Evidently the Figment Incident was the talk of Hellfire Club, and your crush could replicate your noises to a T.

“Oh shit! You’re the Dragon Lady!” said a guy in a Black Sabbath raglan with blue sleeves.

“The Badass herself in the flesh!” interjected one with curly hair.

“You’re a goddamn legend, dude!” laughed one guy that was eating Doritos by the handful, “We even made you into a character in one of our campaigns! She’s a wizard with a purple dragon — of course we named it Figment — and they communicate in Draconic Tongue to one another!”

“Like this!”

Eddie screeched again, and the guys burst into laughter.

You couldn’t help but cover your face with your trapper keeper. If there was a God, you wanted him to burst out of the sky in a puff of smoke and smite you and everyone else in the room with lightning bolts.

“After that time, you didn’t ever get out of your desk chair again.” Eddie said, crossing his arms after he stopped laughing, “Always sitting in back, keeping to yourself. I don’t think I’ve even heard you say more than three words to anyone all semester.”

Stepping lightly, Eddie began to circle you. Looking you up and down, cocking his head to the side and doing a little bit of an arrogant head waggle.

“Didn’t peg you for a D&D nerd, buttercup.” He said, his voice gaining a sudden confidence as he stepped to you, “By the look of this dandelion yellow sweater, I would have guessed you’d be more the Seventeen Magazine and like, naked slumber party pillow fights with fellow screamers kind of girl.”

You shook your head. You stopped buying Seventeen Magazine when your attempts to apply their makeup lessons to your everyday routine made you look like a KISS reject. And you’d never even had enough friends for a slumber party.

“You like to draw, huh?” He asked.

He was fishing for a reaction. Trying to make you talk.

You nodded.

“What else?”

“… I like to read…”

His head tilted to the side.

“Yeah? What do you like to read? You ever read anything by Rose Estes or Fritz Leiber?”

“Are you two gonna stand there flirting all night, or are we gonna roll some dice?” Cried out one of the boys, the one with the curly hair.

“Yeah man, does the lady even have a character?”

“Oh she’s got a goddamn character!” Mike interjected confidently while Dustin nodded.

“The best character, a tanky character, real hardcore shit.” Dustin said.

Eddie chuckled darkly, looking at you with a menacing grin as he got in your face.

“What’s your character, buttercup? Level one human fighter?” He teased.

“A cleric…” you whispered.

Eyebrows raised. He looked up, thought for a moment, pursed his lips and shrugged.

“Okay. Yeah… yeah I can see that.” He nodded, looking you over, “A little tough tootsie badass, but you’ve got a soft spot as a healer for a holy order. I can dig it.”

Rapid fire, he then began tossing a million questions your way, so fast and in a run on you had to stop to listen to keep up.

“You didn’t tell me your race though. What is it? Hengeyokai? Gnome? Half-orc? What domain did you choose? Life? Arcana? How about your weapon, did you pick a claymore?” With each question, his sneer grew.

Mike and Dustin looked on fearfully, worried that you could not answer him. They knew Eddie was sizing you up, setting a trap with his trick questions. The claymore was a clever way for him to catch you on your bullshit, to see if you were even paying attention.

Suddenly, as if possessed by a cambion, you began to unload on him in a trance-like monotone. Pulling out a character study where you’d spent all last period drawing the same Siouxsie Sioux-esque vamp beauty of a character that made up your D&D creation, you waved the character sheet in his face while you began monologuing.

“Um no… so, Shadowmoon is a level ten half-elf cleric of Shar — I picked Trickery domain for her — and she’s like cursed by the Lady of Sorrows so her morals are like, super flexible and kinda fucked up. And she’s got like, a Sharran morningstar because I know that clerics in Advanced Dungeons and Dragons can’t have any other weapons besides a morningstar and it’s really useful for her, and I wanted to make her a healer for the party because Dustin said everyone else mainly tanks but no one wants to play support, and I think a cleric could be useful because then maybe she could help be the face of the group — do you already have a group face? Shadowmoon would make a good face because she’s gothic and really pretty. And then like, Shadowmoon would be good at lying because she could like… cast Guidance to help with her high charisma modifier-…”

“How did you end up choosing Trickery?” Eddie interrupted, snatching your character sheet from your hands.

You paused, thought it over carefully, then tried again.

“Uh… Shadowmoon was already part of my story I’m writing, so, I thought Trickery fit her personality best because she’s like, pretending to be this honest healer to everyone when really she’s on a mission to deliver an artifact to her temple on a mission from her dark goddess. She’s um… she’s a Chaotic Neutral so like, she could get along with everyone and either murderhobo her way through encounters or maybe she can change into good halfway...”

You trailed off when you noticed that Eddie hadn’t really reacted at all to your lore dump. He wasn’t really paying much attention to you at all. Nose pressed to the paper, he was engrossed in your character sheet.

Immediately you panicked, thinking Dustin and Mike had been bullshitting and lying to you about Eddie liking girls who knew what they were talking about when it came to Dungeons & Dragons. He almost had that look on his face: the one you dreaded where the eyes would glass over, and you could tell someone wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying. As if they were bored of your rambling. Bored of you. It was the look that made you want to scream and cry, and lash out.

But to your surprise, Eddie handed you back your character sheet, and smiled.

“Not only do you have your backstory mapped out, but you’re making connections to your own story setting… You’re a full on closet nerd, aren’t you, buttercup?” He said.

“… I like fantasy and sci-fi.” You muttered.

Pause, and then he laughed.

“The cyberman fighting the chimera you drew in the corner near the Special Abilities area kind of tipped me off to that.” He smiled, pointing to the drawing on your sheet.

Quickly you snatched Shadowmoon’s sheet back. Tucking it into your body, you shrunk in on yourself and avoided looking at Eddie.

“So you wanna join Hellfire, yeah?” He asked, once again crossing his arms and pacing around you.

“You think you can handle sitting with the freaks at lunch? Take a couple hits to your social life? Maybe even take a few blows…?”

You nodded eagerly. Of course you wanted to join! Your heart was pounding, and your mouth started to salivate. He’d even offered to let you sit at the lunch table with him and his friends!

“You certainly seem like you’re okay with it, but let me ask this…”

Eddie got right into your face. So close, you could smell the lingering notes of Old Spice deodorant and Sea Breeze. Hell, you could even see the areas of his chin that were lightly spotted with acne and the blue of his incoming beard. His breath was warm on your face. Steaming even. A waft of sweet tobacco hit your nostrils.

“What makes you think a mousy little buttercup like you would even fit in with a group of degenerates like us?” He asked, voice so low you had to lean in to hear him better.

“We’re not the chess club, and we’re not the Doctor Who club. This is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. We’re the freaks, the underdogs of Hawkins High. The losers with too much time and imagination on our hands to do shit else.”

You gulped. He was pressing almost nose to nose with you. Staring you down and following your gaze when you looked at the floor.

“We are the weirdos your momma warned you about, little miss. You think you can handle us?” He murmured.

“… ‘malreadyweird…” you mumbled.

Immediately he pulled back, blinking.

“Huh?”

“I said: I’m already a weirdo.”

The rest was automatic. Shoulders up, arms and trapper keeper tucked further to your chest as you turned away from Eddie, insecurity creeping up into your heart as you grimaced.

“I’m the weirdo bitch who doesn’t have any friends, and who according to Shelley Warab in first period is ‘a fucking lunatic who is always drawing attention to herself’.” You said.

Eddie had looked confused, until the weight of your words sunk in.

“Drawing attention to yourse—… oh, hell no…”

“Drawing” attention to yourself, that was Shelley Warab’s attempt at a double entendre. But it was the furthest thing from the truth. If anything, you hid your drawings after the Figment Incident, and only drew during lecture on your own paper, when no one would talk to or look at you.

“And because Shelley Warab thinks you’re “drawing” attention to yourself, the other girls pick on you too, don’t they?” Eddie asked softly.

Your silence was all the confirmation he needed.

A large hand engulfed your shoulder. Shaking, with righteous fury. You looked up at him.

Eddie looked ready to burn down the school.

“They’re jealous. You know that right? Those jealous bitches are lost souls.” He hissed, “All they know how to do is steal daddy’s money to pay for acid, because they can’t come up with one goddamn original thought while sober. You can conjure up these elaborate, creative pieces like magic, and they hate it. Your talent makes them feel inadequate, so they try to drag you through the horseshit to make you stop. Don’t listen to them.”

You didn’t know what to say. You looked down shamefully, the Bitch of Hawkins High had her walls ripped down at last.

“Come on Eddie… look at her.” Dustin said softly, “You told us to look for the little lost sheep who didn’t fit in.”

All of your classmates said you were worse than the freaks. To them you were a mean girl. A bitch. The weird asshole who screamed at people and didn’t let boys like Tommy Hagan or Billy Hargrove come within five feet of your person before you started throwing sharp things at them.

“You’re damn right, Henderson.” Eddie responded, his voice just as soft as the fluff on a kitten.

“She’s exactly what we’ve been looking for: a shivering, lost little lamb… with no flock of her own to follow.”

His grip loosened, and he began to gently massage your shoulder.

“What say you, buttercup?” He asked, voice sweet and smooth as mulled honey wine, “You wanna be my little sheep?”

…

It had taken four years.

Four long, arduous, horrible years… Four years of screaming meltdowns. Uncontrollable rage bubbling up in your throat at the frustration of being excluded. At the lack of understanding. Nobody ever invited you to anything. No parties. No sleepovers. Not even to go to the bathroom together in solidarity.

Four lonely, long, miserable years… and someone had finally invited you to their group, saying you could belong…

The tears spilled out of your eyes in microseconds.

“Hey, hey! Sweetheart, don’t cry…”

Calloused ringed fingers were immediately wiping tears from your soft cheeks, patting you softly to calm you down. Eddie’s expressive, dark cognac colored eyes looked almost watery — like he was going to cry too — his brows furrowing into a frown as his facade of an intimidating freak immediately dropped.

“No…! None of that, sugarplum. You’re alright. There’s no crying in Hellfire Club, okay? You belong here, don’t cry…”

“R… really?”

His dimpled smile was so genuine, it made you ache.

“Really. You’re one of the black sheep now, buttercup. Welcome to Hellfire.”

The leather of his Schott jacket squeaked as his arm wrapped around your shoulders, free hand rubbing your deltoid as you instinctively pressed closer to him. You would have never guessed, but Eddie was particularly touchy. It was as if he wanted to be close to you at all times. Even if you pulled away a little bit to readjust, his hand came right back to the same position.

“Come on, let’s introduce you to the rest of the weirdos.” He said, leading you towards the others.

You rode the high of the night. You made new friends in Jeff, Frank, and Gareth, as they were chomping at the bit to get to know the infamous “Dragon Lady” who had doodled a near perfect copy of an obscure Disney character. Frank was in the middle of asking you to design a tattoo for him of Maleficent in her draconic form when Eddie called the session to order.

“So we’re going right into our main campaign for tonight, and I’ll give everyone an opportunity to introduce themselves to our new party cleric…” he looked at you and held out a hand from behind his DM screen.

“Shadowmoon.” You corrected him.

“Ah yes, the ever so cunning and duplicitous Shadowmoon; our very own half-elf Cleric of Shar, the shadowy seductress that is Our Lady of Loss.” His voice took on a low, deadly tone, as if evoking the name of Shadowmoon’s goddess would provoke divine wrath, “Hope you and Shadowmoon can handle a few good curveballs tonight, might be overwhelming… but any girl who can pick Lady Shar as a patron can handle my brand of freak.”

“I’ll work hard.” You nodded.

“Good girl.”

The campaign’s overall atmosphere was a success. You asked genuine questions, feeling comfortable when you noticed Dustin was right. No one had all the answers. The boys still looked at their character sheets and flipped through the handbook if they needed to look up an effect (even Eddie did it a few times when a player question gave him pause).

You got to name the party. Gareth had drawn a rather regal coat of arms for your ragtag group, and because he’d added the silhouette of a game bird that Frank argued looked like a chicken, you began to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asked, his serious facade slipping when he saw you smile and show teeth.

“We… it… with that chicken on our coat of arms… We’re the Band of the Cock!” You shrieked.

Immediately there was a cacophony of screams, chaos, laughter, and a few d4’s launched at your spinning, grinning head as you laughed into your hands. Playing with the boys, belonging to a group… it was all so fun!

Eddie laughed at your jokes, even when they fell a little flat. With the group’s combined social awkwardness and typical behaviors, your own tics didn’t even phase them. If you popped your mouth in a certain way, it would set off the person next to you until everyone was doing it. The guys helped you with math if you fucked up adding modifiers, but they did it in a way that didn’t make you feel stupid. Even Eddie helped you look up spell effects if you didn’t know offhand.

Hellfire Club was fucking fun.

And you were having a blast showing off and earning the affection of Eddie the Freak.

You were sorry when the two hours were up, and everyone was packing their things up and heading home for the night.

“Do you need help cleaning up…?” You asked.

Eddie looked up from rolling up his butcher paper map.

“Hmm? Nah, I got it.” He said, shaking his head as he continued, “You did good tonight, you know. Your timing was perfect, you did well managing your spell slots for Healing Word, and you even took Cornell Notes for our party. None of my little misfits even writes down their damn inventory, let alone takes Cornell Notes for the party.”

You shrugged, chewing on a hangnail.

“I just wanted to be of help… to really try.” You said.

“You didn’t just try, you killed it out there! Now I know I can rely on you to mother hen this gang of muppets that makes up our party.”

There was comfortable silence between the two of you. Even though it was late, you were willing to walk home in the dark if it meant you could just be around Eddie for a little while longer.

But something had been nagging the back of your mind… Ever since you had found out that Eddie Munson was DMing this campaign, the memories of the inception of your middle school crush on him had come back in full force.

“Um… Eddie?” You ventured.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He looked up.

“Um… do you… in middle school… do you remember finding a note in your locker…?” You asked softly.

“… I do, yeah.” He said cautiously, “Why do you ask…?”

“Do you… do you remember the poem in it?”

He stopped what he was doing, looked up at you with wide, dark eyes.

“It um… it was about light and stuff, and uh… it didn’t have a name signed on it, but there was a picture on the bottom of a fairy holding a lantern…”

“How the hell do you know about that!?” He asked.

He began to approach you, his chest heaving.

“I never even told anyone about that poem-… Did… did you write that note? Is that how you know about it?” He demanded.

“… yes…” you whispered.

“Why didn’t you sign it?!” He asked.

His face was contorted. A desperate look. As if he was going to cry.

“… because I was scared…” you said.

“Scared of what? Of me?!”

“No…”

Never. You could never be scared of Eddie. He was amazing. He was the definition of cool. You desired him biblically.

“No… I was scared that… that you wouldn’t like me…” you said softly, “I loved your performance at the talent show so much… and I wanted to talk to you after, but then you got sent to Mr. Coleman’s office for playing Exciter. So I wrote the poem for you, and… I didn’t ever find out if you liked it because I was too shy to ask if you’d read it. Then you went on to high school, and I didn’t see you anymore.”

There was silence. Backing away from you, he wiped his mouth, exhaling a deep sigh.

“I can’t believe it…” he said, shaking his head and running his fingers through his shaggy hair, “I thought about that poem for years… First I thought it was someone playing a prank, but it wasn’t mean. It was so… it was earnest, and heartfelt… and you didn’t even sign it.”

He looked back at you.

“How could you think I wouldn’t like you after you wrote something like that for me?” Eddie asked.

“You always stared at every other girl but me.” You said, “And then I heard a rumor you almost left for California with this punk rocker chick during senior year, and I thought… Well, I knew I didn’t stand a chance because I’m not stylish. And when I heard you got held back, and that you’d be in my year, I wanted to talk to you. But… freshman year I tried making friends, and because I fucked that up, all the rumors started and everyone called me a creepy, angry bitch...”

It all in the end came back to Shelley Warab. She had been the first person you’d tried to make friends with. Moderate popularity, middle class, dirty blonde hair, she should have dominated in the halls as the queen bee. But the cheerleaders hated her because she always tried to hang off the arm of the nearest quarterback or point guard, and the cheerleaders happened to already be dating said sportsmen when Shelley tried to get in their pants. Her locker was often decorated with the word “WHORE” written in red Maybelline lipstick.

So Shelley decided to form her own clique if no others would accept her. That included you: a bright eyed freshman from the middle school that everyone overlooked because you never talked to anyone, along with several other girls of varying degrees of loneliness. She ruled over all of you with an iron fist. Trying to mold you all into her own idea of a clique that would make mean girls like Carol Perkins (the main culprit of the Maybelline insults) kowtow to her self-made band of bitches.

One day at lunch forever changed your fate. Shelley decided to go through each girl’s knapsack and dump out the contents on the lunch table, judging her subjects on the personal effects they kept within. A particularly timid friend was being dressed down for balled up gym socks, and you stood up and asked how Shelley would like it if you took her Avon tote bag over to the garbage, tipped it upside down, and dumped every single bit of its contents into the slop created from a mixture of coleslaw and uneaten sloppy joes.

Justice was swift. Carol Perkins overheard your threat and laughed at Shelley for “getting gutted by a freak”. Shelley told you to leave, and the next day at lunch had the audacity to present an honest to god manifesto written in purple pen about how no one at the table wanted you to sit with them anymore, complete with signatures. Carol had of course laughed at you next for this rejection, so you lunged at her and screeched like a pteranodon in her face, ripping up the letter like confetti and dumping it all over Carol and Shelley’s watery cafeteria spaghetti, before turning over their trays in their laps.

It was a chain reaction of outbursts afterwards. Then the Figment Incident happened, making you untouchable, because the students knew your mother wielded her attorney like a sword. Even bullies like Billy Hargrove who didn’t care about any authority figure or law enforcement officer avoided you like the plague because you weren’t afraid to threaten to use your pencil to blind them.

Your rage kept everyone away. The one armor you possessed.

“You think I give a shit about rumors?!”

Eddie once again had you by the shoulders, his grip tight as he almost shook you with rage. His eyes burned with hurt, betrayal…

And… desire?

“Those rumors… that’s all just fucking bullshit!” He snapped, “You’re not a creepy bitch. You’re funny, you’re exciting, and you make all these adorable noises-…”

“… I am angry and bitchy all the time though…”

“Okay maybe a little, but I am too.” Eddie conceded, “But that’s because everything and everyone in this town sucks. But you don’t suck. You’re smart, and sweet, and kind… and… damn it… you’re beautiful.”

He was so close… So indignant, his righteous fury lighting a spark in his eyes that made you lean into him.

“All of that hellfire in you, that anger… god, it makes you a bonafide badass.” Eddie said, pulling you in close to his chest and rocking you side to side.

When you felt his fervent kisses pepper your scalp, you began to cry again. He pulled you in tighter, his kisses trailing down to your forehead, thence to cheeks, thence to capture your lips in a fiery, passionate make out session where he bit your lower lip to slip the tongue. You both pulled away breathless, and he kissed you one more time before pointing a finger right in your face.

“You’re the most metal fucking girl in all of Hawkins High. And anyone who says differently is a goddamn moron.”

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

I think the thing I find the most interesting about MonoTV is the fact that, for some reason, it seems to possess an almost...care? Trust? In Teruko that it does not show with any other character. Even though it literally just got its screen broken, it still trusts Teruko enough to stay with it after insisting she go back to her room, trusts Teruko enough to almost...confide in her, its own strange way of confiding in her anyway. When Teruko asks if the deaths of the killing game are her fault, MonoTV answers her genuinely and tries to give her advice when it really doesn't have to.

(x) MonoTV: I cannot answer that question for you. MonoTV: All the decisions I make were already decided by whatever entity created me, because I am a robot. MonoTV: You’re human, unlike me. MonoTV: You have to decide the answer for yourself.

And like...my question is, especially if that second line is true: If you are going to create a murder robot with the sole purpose of acting as the de-facto antagonist and ensuring that every single participant here perishes to a fate of becoming another corpse to add to the numbers, why would you give it the ability to care about someone...at all? (Let alone the ability to feel pain and guilt, but that's a whole other discussion) And if you are going to give it the ability to care about people, why seemingly only Teruko and nobody else? What's so special about Teruko? The only real answer to that question I can think of is that someone in their erased Hope's Peak memories had some form of connection with Teruko that was so strong that when conceptualizing MonoTV, they couldn't leave that out. But the only person that we know had a connection to Teruko pre-killing game during that point in the timeline is Mai Akasaki, and like...let's be honest here, there's like a 96% chance she is dead, and I'm pretty sure necromancy does not exist in this series. Other than her, there's no one else we know of that could've had a strong connection to Teruko before the death game... Right?

...

Right?

[vermont-writes-fanfic]

Getting Hurt While Protecting Them (Deviant Edition)

Request:No

Warning:Burns, Zlatko’s Death, injuries, blood,cursing

Characters:Kara,Alice,Marcus, Connor

A/N:This is the deviant version of a post I did a while ago which is linked here

Deviant Kara + Alice

You came with Kara and Alice to Zlatko’s house where you met Luther and Zlatko, after the mans true intentions were revealed and you tried to keep Kara from losing her memories,but Luther was instructed to take you away and he did so. After freeing yourself with the help of other androids in the basement you made your way to where Kara was having her memories erased. As you were trying to figure out what to do, Zlatko found you and the two of you bagn to fight. You had thrown a water body between the two of you to distract him and gotten wet in the process, when he grabbed on of the snapped wires, which allowed Kara to fall to the ground and retain her memories, you sustained a nasty burn. You powered through it despite the shock in your body and knocked him out with a near by pipe before grabbing Kara.

“Are you okay?” She asked as you pulled her up.

“We can check later, we need to find Alice.”

After doging both Zlatko and Luther you both managed to find Alice and in a remarkable turn of events Luther swapped sides and rose up with the experiments in the basement to kill Zlatko.When the four of you finally got a chance to settle down in an abandoned amusement park, Kara checks Alice and then goes straight to you.

“You are hurt, did Zlatko do this?” She questions, the caoncern is evident in her face.

“Yes and no, I was dumb and threw a bottle of water in a room full of electrical appliances,so he took his shot,” 

She pauses searching for the right words to say before running water over it it and wrapping it up to the best of her abilities.

“Thank you…you saved Alice.”

“No, I saved my family.”

Deviant Marcus

Marcus didn’t make a habit out of trusting humans, but you had helped pull him from the android graveyard and help piece hisself back together again with your own two hands and he knew he could trust you.He knew that at anyone you would put your life on the line for the safety of another androids whether they had deviated or not, and you had in the past, not to mention you treated his goal almost as seriously as he did.

The incident happened when you joined him for a hesit of thirium and biocompenents, he had been shot in a vital component during a chase. You took his arm over your shoulder and helped him escape, but in the process of fleeing over a gate you were bit in the thigh, your jean shorts soaked in your own blood the wound seeping blood the entire journey back to Jericho. It was here, after he assessed the other adriods and you finished helping others replace their components, that he noticed you were wounded.He places a hand on the wound, his eye scanning it with a look of concern.

“Why didn’t you get that taken care of?”

“Others needed their components replaced,” You respond shrugging as he removes his hand, the artificial skin covered in an alarming amount of your blood, “I didn’t sit down until just now, so I never got to it.”

The moment you finish speaking, he hoists you up on a broken interface and takes a closer look. After inspecting it, he cleans the wound and bandages it up, all the while he is telling you how human and stupid it was.

“You’re not even listening are you?”

“Half-way, that’s gotta count for something,” You smirk as he looks up at you.

“Why didn’t you just leave me there?” His eyes narrow as he asks you the question, as if expecting something different than what you say.

“Well,” You sigh dramatically, “Jericho just wouldn’t be the same without Markus, the big, bed, fearless android leader, now would it?” You tease, nudging his shoulders as you slide down and off the interface.

You only chuckles a little and shakes his head.

Deviant Connor

Hank wasn’t answering his phone and everywhere you and Connor turned androids,devaint or not, were being executed in droves. No where was safe until you and Connor stumbled across an android named Markus who gave Connor a single mission: to collect soldiers for the andriod army. You refused to leave Connors side as he carried out said mission and he had no choice but to let you. An android entering a human made it much less suspicious anyways, and it worked up until the second model of Connor approached. You could always tell the real Connor, for the longest time he didn’t believe he had a lick of human emotion or deviancy in him until it was nearly forced out of him.

You watched in anticipation and fear as Hank had the gun trained on you, then Connor, then Fake Connor. He wouldn’t let you move an inch, assuming you were a replica to,as he questioned the two androids. You didn’t think twice when you stopped infront of your Connor when you heard the gunshot.You didn’t even stop to look where the bullet when when Hank shot the right Connor as you turned around and gave Connor a once over, looking for any kind of injury that would indicate he was damaged. 

It wasn’t over yet, with all the commotion and the trouble in the elevator before hand the three of you had to move fast. And move you did, you made it to the frontlines with Markus and had the honour of standing beside him as you watched history unfold infront of your eyes. Overtime, Connor had developed a habit of observing his surroundings visibly but now he is dead still and his hand gun equiped is steadily rising. You gently hold the gun in your hands and call his name, your voice prying him from Amamnda’s grip. The alarm of nearly killing you sets in, and as he looks to where you have the fun pointed his LED flashes red. Your shirt is covered in blood, with the adreanline of a possible Civil War on your hands you hadn’t noticed that you had been running around with a bullet embedded in your side.

The moment the standoff had ended, Connor rushed you to the hospital where you were taken care of. He sat on the bed next to you, his LED pensively blinking as he stared at the ground, before he finally spoke, clearly still trying to wrap his processors around what had happened in the past 48 hours.

“You let him shoot you…”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Why?” When he asks this, he turns to face you his eyes scanning your face for any signs of unwell mental stability but he finds none. You’re heart rate is normal, your respiratory rate is pristine, no signs of PTSD or early truama, yet you’re lying in a hospital bed with a hole in your side.

“Because I didn’t want you to die, Connor.”

“He was aiming for a non-vital component in my body, I had a 96% survival rate even if he shot me.”

“I didn’t like that 4%.”

“Oh…thank you.”

“You can thank me with a kiss,”

Hank walks in the room hears this and laughs talking about how someone owed him 50 bucks and a bottle of booze.As the two of you share a gentle kiss.