#i just think they’re neat and should be studied more.

[safination]

Partners in Death…And Life

Part 4: The Radio Stars’ Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes

|Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted| Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Parings: Alastor x wife! Reader. Tags: fem!reader established relationships, hopefully not but just in case ooc!Alastor (I'm trying my best, guys) Reader is in hell for a reason, Warnings: Very brief dissection of the human body. Kidneys It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me. I am sorry :D. These past *checks notes* three weeks (yikes) have been really busy for me. But I’m finally posting?

The light from the bus stop illuminates Alastor’s block handwriting. Smiles are drawn on the edges of note with different colored ballpoint pens. Dear God, it was like looking at kindergarten art, but you appreciate it nonetheless. Alastor’s instructions tell you that his house is a ten-minute walk from the bus stop.

You flip the note, studying the map Alastor drew.

A bird caws from the patches of trees across the road. There’s no living soul out here besides your own for miles.

You tighten your grip on the straps of your bag, and walk until you find yourself standing before a wooden gate. The hatch unlocks easily, and you hike up the path until you’re stepping on to the porch. Alastor’s house isn’t much—well, it’s much more than the tiny apartment in the city that you call home, but besides that, he has a very normal looking house. You don’t know why you expect anything different. The flowers on his windowsill brighten the place, and the rocking chairs by the edge makes it homier.

You smoothen your hair, fiddling with the note. A deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another—

Fuck it. You knock on the door.

A beat passes, and then another beat passes, and then another. Oh God, did he not hear your knock? Should you knock again? Your father always said that it was rude to knock twice, but you’re sure the knock should have been heard. Alastor was probably at the back of the house. You’re just going to knock again.

Alastor swings the door open, smiling at you. “You are right on time!”

Soft music plays behind him. The lights inside make his living-room look warm. “You said to be here by eight … so … Here I am!” you say with a light laugh. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “I’m very fond of being punctual.” Okay…hmmm…why did you say that?

You smoothen your hair, and fiddle with the straps of your bag.

 “I admire punctuality.” Alastor smiles at you.

You smile back.

He opens the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

‘Yes.’

‘Right.’

‘Of course I would!’

All proper responses to his question. It’s a shame you don’t say them. You reach into your bag instead, and shove a paper bag into his arms. “It’s raw.”

Alastor lifts the paper bag, studying it with careful eyes until they flicker to the wet patches at the bottom. “…I’m almost afraid to ask who it came from.”

You step through the door, and take off your coat. “My father, actually.”

Alastor tilts his head. “This is your father—am I supposed to cook him or something?”

“It’s venison!” you say, and run your hand through your hair. “Dad went hunting last week, and he gave me a bunch of meat and well…well, I thought you'd appreciate it more than I do. There’s too much for me to eat alone. And it’s always polite to give a gift when you’re visiting a home.”

Alastor secures your gift around his arms, and takes your coat. He’s smiling. You think he’s being genuine—you can’t really tell. “Thank you.”

He hangs your coat on the rack, and ushers you deeper inside his home. Alastor disappears into what you think is his kitchen, but you stay planted in his living-room floor. His house is nice for someone who lives alone. Things all have a place, they’re not necessarily organized, but it’s neat. It makes you smile.

It’s easy to see Alastor between the walls.

This is a home that’s been lived in. You count at least three portable radios in the living-room alone. There are books on the coffee table by the window, and the spines are creased as if it’s been read over and over and over again. There’s a chair next to the window as well. It has stains, and the cushions sink as if they’ve been loved for decades. You can practically see Alastor in that chair, a warm drink in his hand. He’ll reach across, and twist the knob of the radio that already has his favorite station tuned.

Alastor strides out of the kitchen, your gift probably inside his freezer. “Follow me,” he says with a wave of his arm. “I have something to show you.”

“Oh…okay.”

There are photo frames lining the wall of his stairs. You observe it as you follow deeper into this house. Some are photographs of what you’re going to assume is Alastor, and some are certificates. You don’t have time to poke around and read each and every one of them.

Alastor opens his arms, shaking them as he presents you with a door.

A single door…One door at the back of the house. A door you don’t know where it will lead.

You stare at him, and take one single step back. “You’re not going to kill me in your basement, right?”

Alastor laughs at you, wiping a tear for the sake of showing you. “Good heavens no! Why would you ever think that?”

“Because I’m inside a man’s house, and he’s currently leading me to the basement. A man, might I add, dumps bodies in the forest,” you tell him with a wonky smile. “I hope you don’t go around asking every lady to your murder basement.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“My goodness, you really know how to make a lady feel extra special.” You fiddle with the straps of your bag, tightening your grip to stifle the urge to smoothen your hair. “So, how do you want to do this?”

Alastor tilts his head. (It’s kind of cute.) “Do what?”

“You know…uh…. You’ll  tell me to run,” you say, then motion to the china vase behind. “Then I’ll grab this really nice and expensive looking vase and smash it over your head.”

“Please don’t.”

“And then I’ll make a run for the door.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You weren’t interested in running last time.”

“And I’m still not,” you say. “So there’s no point in killing me.”

He chuckles a bit and his glasses slide down his nose. He pushes it up. “Think of this as a gift! Or more like an offer of partnership.”

“A gift of death?”

“I've already told you I wasn’t planning on killing you anymore,” he says, sighing. “Just…just follow me, and you’ll see!”

You huff and cross your arms. “I detest being lied to.”

Alastor opens the basement door. The hinges creak. It appears as if darkness itself lives inside, swirling and eating up whatever light that passes through. “Yes, that’s good to know.”

You take another step back. “That’s a really creepy basement.”

“You haven’t even been inside yet,” Alastor says. He places a light hand on your back, practically pushing you down. “Now, now, don’t be so stubborn.”

You grab the door frames, and push against him to resist. “I’m not going without knowing what’s down there.”

Alastor presses on your back. “If you go down there and see what I’ve prepared, you will feel very silly for causing such a ruckus.”

You push back harder, using the door frames as support. “As first dates go, this is giving really mixed signals,” you say, trying to smile. “I hope you don’t treat all ladies like this.”

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Just the stubborn ones.”

You and Alastor are at a stalemate. He pushes. You push back. The classic dilemma of an unmovable force versus an immovable object. “If you kill me, I will haunt you,” you say, digging your feet into the wooden floors. “I will haunt you, and hide all your tacky bow ties.”

Alastor stops pushing, and you fumble backwards from the lack of his opposing force. He points his nose to the air, straightening his bow ties. “It is not.”

You frown at him. “Oh…I’m really sorry.”

“You should be.”

Taking this opportunity, you press against the wall like a hissing cat. “I’m sorry you actually believe that!”

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes one deep breath. He strides to you, and the world goes upside-down when he flips you over his shoulder. Alastor carries you like a common sack of worthless potatoes.

“I really don’t like this!” you shriek, angling your head to glare at him. Alastor has a surprisingly really nice back. Like…a really, really nice back.

Alastor meets your eyes and smirks. “You’ll like it in a second.”

He tightens his grip around your hips, and his boney shoulders dig into your stomach. You keep your eyes ahead. “You have a really flat butt.”

He pauses for a second. “Stop looking at it.”

“I will do as I please,” you say with a huff, and go limp in his hold as you accept your fate. “It’s just all pointy. Maybe some squats will be helpful?”

“If it’s such a horror to you, stop ogling my buttocks like a pervert.”

“Now you’re just putting words into my mouth,” you say with a weird giggle. “These pants suit you well.”

He shakes you like a wet noodle. “I will drop you.”

“Please don’t.”

Alastor flips you, and your feet land safely on the ground. His basement is totally not creepy, totally not creepy at all. The fluorescent light bulb swaying around totally does not add to general horror. The blacked-out windows, and the spiderwebs on the wood make you not want to sprint to the top.

The cadaver bag on the table makes you stay.

It’s filled. You walk to the table, and observe the lump. Grasping the zipper, you pull it until the face of a dead man greets you. He’s fresh. Killed less than a day ago.

Alastor opens his arms, wide, as if to present to you. “Your studying can all be done right here!”

You stare at him, accepting the smile that creeps on your face. “Really?” you say, and trace this man’s nose with your fingers—his skin is cold. He is cold and dead, and full of organs you can poke around and observe. “You’re going to just allow me to dissect this body?”

Alastor smiles at you. “See?” he says. “You were making all the fuss, and now your smile could light up this very room.”

The laughter starts as a soft giggle that builds into excited glee. “I could kiss you right now.”

Alastor takes a step back. “Please don’t”

You roll your eyes then observe the person lying on this table. He wasn’t as big as the one before. This man still has the colors on his face, a bit pale, but he looks like he could just be in a sickly sleep. “Did you like this person?”

“Not at all,” he says. “He’d be alive if he was.”

“Then do you like me?” you say with a grin, placing a hand on your hips. “All this to get my attention, I see. I prefer being dined first, but not the worst first date I’ve ever been on.”

Alastor glares at you as he makes a face. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“So quick to answer that it’s almost insulting,” you say. “Well, it was your decision to keep me alive.”

There’s a glint in his eyes that pierces your very core. The lightbulb makes a shadow pass over his eyes, and you swear his eyes glow. Every single cell in your body screams as Alastor looks down at you from his glasses with a smile and darkened brown eyes that match his well-kept brown hair. “And I’m currently debating my choice,” he says. “I do not like being mocked. I can still change my mind if I find you a weak link.”

“Oh…I…oh….,” you say dumbly, coughing a little bit.  The words aren’t doing their job.

“Do you understand me?”

Basements are supposed to be cold—you definitely don’t feel cold right now. “I’m sure you can—I don’t doubt that at all.” To break your gaze on him, you turn to the dead man between you and Alastor. “This man didn’t suffer.”

Alastor’s eyebrows raise. “And?”

“I’m not a total idiot when it comes to… uh… hunting,” you say, tilting the dead guy’s chin to see his neck. It was a bit stiff. “There’s a single deep slice on his neck. He was probably still high on adrenaline when you killed him, but with the other body, you took your time. That guy suffered—this one didn’t”

He crosses his arms. “I don’t see your point.”

“Nevermind…just…,” you start and smile a bit. “Thank you for preserving this body so well, but unfortunately, I think I’ll have to refuse.”

Alastor’s eye twitches as he takes a step closer to you. His shadow towers over you. “You’re refusing?”

You zip the man back into his bag. “You don’t need a partner,” you say. “If anything, bringing him back into your house is risky. If it’s my silence you want, you already have it. There’s no need for all this.”

“I never asked for your silence.”

“Yet it’s yours nonetheless,” you say. “Thank you for the gift or offer for partnership, but I’m not interested in going into business with you.”

“Is this not beneficial for you?”

“It is…it really is, and every fiber wants to give in but it’s not wise for me to get mixed up with you,” you tell him. “I think you’re mistaking my sin for gluttony. I know trouble when I see it, and I’m not afraid to flee from it.”

Alastor’s face twists as his smile turns into a snarl. “All you could ever want right here.”

“You obviously want something from me,” you say. “I know you’re not above using tricks to get what you want. Although, I don’t understand why you take such time out of your day to do such consuming things.”

He glares at you. “There’s always the chance that you’d say no,” he says. “And I can’t have that happen.”

“I decide if something is worth my time or not,” you say. “I will only ask once: what do you want from me?”

Alastor exhales, and pushes his glasses. “I’d like to watch you work. There’s something I want to confirm.”

You study him for a second. “That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Then hand me a pack of gloves please,” you say. “I can show you all the things I’ve learned.”

Alastor tosses gloves to your face. It whacks you and lands on the table. You curse at him, and roll your eyes.

There’s a large container of formaldehyde under the table. You don’t know where he got it or how, but still, you take a stray brush forgotten on one of the tables, and brush the skin with chemicals. The sharp smell stings your eyes, but you’ve learned to tolerate it. Alastor scrunches his nose, taking a step back.  

Opening the window would probably be wise, but you could do that later. Your father always did hope that you’d grow out of your bad habit. But with such an exhilarating opportunity, caution is at the back of your mind.

The scapple fits into your palm as if it was made for you. Throughout this Earth, no… not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

Alastor laughs, not the breathy and light kind, but in a loud and triumphant way. His eyes bulge out, looking like they could pop out any second “It seems I was not wrong,” he says. “You have the most precious smile I have ever seen.”

“Okay?”

Alastor leans closer to you, jerking your chin to face him. “All this time I’ve seen you; I have never seen your smile as true and honest as now.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The bristles of the brush tangle on your feathers. It’s a struggle to smoothen the feathers at the back of your head now that you live alone.

The clock strikes an hour past noon, and work will call for you soon. It would be nice to be one time if this motherfucking brush would do its fucking job! You tug on the handle, cursing when it jerks your scalp. The smack of your forehead on the vanity table echoes around the room. The feathers bundled on the floor make you screech. That’s it. It’s over. You are not taking another second of this.

Discarding the brush, you head to the kitchen.

You grab two mugs, and take two spoonful of coffee ground and feed it to the coffee machine. With only a press of a button, you make the most perfectly perfected perfect cup of coffee. You take both mugs and take a seat on that little side table inside the kitchen.

The second mug steams with coffee.

You plop your chin on the table, unable to draw your eyes aways as you stare at it. Making a second cup is a waste of your money. Deep down to your very core, you’re aware that it’s a waste. It strikes you with the gentleness of a plane crash every single morning you make it, and every single night you have to throw it away.

Silence is your companion in this empty house. Where are the days when soft music plays on the radio? Where are the days where light footsteps walk around the carpeted floors? Where are the days of stories over dinner?  These days watching television is the only way to fill that silence.

A knock breaks your pathetic moping.

The knocking starts out soft and hesitant, until it’s replaced with loud banging.

Swiping your mug from the table, you stride to the front door and swing it open. Charlie and Alastor stand in front of you, big smiles on their faces.

Your husband pushes a small ugly statue right up your face, presenting it to you with a self-satisfied smile. “I was told it was polite to bring a gift to a person’s home,” Alastor says. “Do you like it?”

“Oh no…,” Charlie says, frowning a bit. “I didn’t bring anything.”

Alastor places a hand on her shoulder. “No worries then! This gift shall be from the both of us.”

The mug slips from your hold. Charlie catches it, not a single drop spilling, and plops it back on your hand. You blink at Alastor and frown. “Why are you knocking?”

“We’re here on super serious business talk,” he says, wrapping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders to bring her closer. “Charlotte here has something to ask you.”

Charlie smiles. “Just Charlie, actually.”

You shake your head, tightening your grip on the mug. “No.”

Alastor tilts his head. “No?”

“No, this is your home,” you say, opening the door wider. “There’s no need to knock.”

Alastor and Charlie step inside, and you take a sip of your coffee—a long, drawn out sip. Alastor walks to the shelf nearest the door, placing your ugly little statue on the shelf that’s meant for all other ugly knickknacks. It blends in with all the other gifts Alastor’s given you.

Charlie’s eyes bounce around the walls, eyes wide as she looks around. “Wooooaaaaah,” she says. “This is a really nice house you guys have!”

Alastor glares at the television. “Why, thank you!” he says. “I put in a lot of care into how it looks. It seems you’ve redecorated—I don’t like it.”

“Oh, you never do,” you say. “Let’s move to the kitchen, shall we?”

Alastor’s ears straighten. “The kitchen?” he echoes. “Oh yes. Let’s go the kitchen.”

Alastor hooks his arms around yours, pulling you to the kitchen. There’s determination set in each step. You and Charlie take your seats by the kitchen table. Charlie continues to look around. You see it in her eyes as they flicker around to count each radio.

It seems you’ve made a mistake.

Alastor goes straight to the refrigerator, and swings it open.

With horror, you watch as his gaze observes each level meticulously, humming as he does. There’s not much to look at, considering the only thing inside are a couple of eggs, empty plastic containers that you’ve been too lazy to wash, last week’s takeout, and a couple of sauces and condiments.

When he finally closes it, your shoulders sink as you exhale…until, of course, Alastor wraps his fingers around the freezer’s handle.

“Would you like anything, Charlie?” Is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. “I think we have juice or lemonade—”

“We don’t have any of those,” Alastor says, and his gaze bears down on you. “It makes me wonder what will be inside our freezer, my love.”

Charlie smiles brightly. “I don’t need anything,” she says. “I had tea with Rosie this morning, and Alastor and I had lunch on the way here.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” you say, chuckling nervously. “You know what? It’s such a hellish day today, and it would be a waste to spend it here. Why don’t we move to the garden?”

“No.” Alastor crosses his arm. “We are staying right here.”

You sulk in your seat, drooping a little. “…okay.”

Finally, Alastor opens the freezer door. His twitching eyes and pursed lips tell you everything you need to know about how the next fifteen minutes will go. Carefully, with the tips of his fingers, Alastor pulls out one of those microwave meals you buy at the grocery. He glares at the frozen chicken nuggets and pork cutlets, and all the processed frozen food you store there for easy meals.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say, giving him your most innocent smile. “And I barely eat those anyway. Those microwaved meals are just there for the occasional meal, I swear!”

Without uttering a single word, Alastor opens the cabinet under the sink where the trash can stays, and pulls it out. Empty microwave meals fill the brim. He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Oh dear…” Charlie winces. “That’s a lot, even for me.

You sulk deeper into your chair.

Alastor inspects the cabinets above the sink. The only things that greet him are a bunch of pots and pans. Relief pours into you…until of course, Alastor grabs the largest pot at the back of the cabinet and opens it, smashing any sense of relief with a metal bat.

Alastor pulls out a large pack of instant noodles. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asks. “I remember telling you that I don’t like you eating these.”

“But they’re delicious,” you say, pouting a bit.

“These aren’t healthy,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They’re full of chemicals!”

“Everything is full of chemicals!” you counter. “And I only had a few. The dosage makes the poison.”

Alastor opens the trash can and tosses what was supposed to be your dinner. “The plastic said it was a pack of twelve?”

You cross your arms. “And? I don’t see your point.”

“There’s only two left.”

You fiddle with the handle of your mug. “I…I was busy…?”

“We’re all busy,” he says and you could pick out the faintest sound of static. “Not a single fresh fruit or vegetable, or any proper meats. Have I taught you nothing?”

Your pout deepens. “Do we have to do this in front of Charlie, my deerest?”

Charlie raises her arms in surrender. “Don’t look at me,” she says. “Aren’t you a doctor?”

“Yes, one would think….,” Alastor trails off. His eyes land on the second mug of coffee on the table, and his neck tilts to angle until it snaps. Static scratches that air until it warps. His eyes darken to reveal radio dials. “Expecting a guest today?”

You blink at him a bit dumbly, and take a long and drawn-out sip of your coffee to try and compose yourself. It doesn’t work. “I don’t make coffee for guests.”

Charlie panics a bit. “There, there Alastor,” she says. “No need to get all crazy!”

Alastor’s antlers grow. “I’m aware you don’t. So, who is it for?”

“Oh….” Dumbly blinking at him continues, and the words don’t seem to be doing their job.

Alastor leans closer, his voice morphing a bit. “I’d appreciate an answer, my love.”

“It's yours,” you find yourself saying. “…If you want it, that is.”

He blinks at you. You blink at him. Charlie blinks at the both of you.

Gone are the growing antlers, and the static that buzzes your skin. Alastor stands before you with that never ending smile, perfectly normal—well, as normal as he can be. “You weren’t aware I’d be visiting.”

You frown at him. “It’s not a visit if it’s your own home.”

“I didn’t tell you I’d be coming home,” he says. “Why make one for me?”

The heat on your face makes you turn away. “Just take it, deerest.”

“Taste lovely as always!” he says, taking a swig. Your frown turns into a soft smile as your watch him drink. “But don’t think you’re getting away from this conversation.”

“It really isn’t my fault.”

“Oh, really now?” Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I’m positive I taught you how to cook nutritious dishes.”

You flick the mug, and a soft clink echoes a bit. “I still cook proper food for myself,” you tell him, showing him your saddest smile. “But…I find myself hating the dishes.”

Alastor twirls his microphone, and it strikes the ground with a soft thunk. “And you think saying this will get you off the hook?”

You stick your tongue out. “Is it working?”

Alastor sighs at you, and turns to the ticking clock. “We’re wasting time—go talk to Charlotte.”

Charlie smiles awkwardly. “Just Charlie, actually.”

With a triumphant smile, you turn to Charlie. “So,” you begin, “what business are we going to talk about today?”

It’s Charlies turn to sulk into the kitchen chair. “Extermination is a month away,” she says. “And Adam is heading straight to the hotel first! It’s just one bad event after another because Heaven refuses to listen, and I’m running out of options.”

Alastor steps behind you. Suddenly, a brush combs through the back of your feathers, smoothing those parts of your head that you’ve never been able to reach by yourself.  Sometimes, you think Hell gave you feathers so someone could brush it for you. A part of you warms at the fact that you didn’t even need to ask your husband to smoothen your feathers. It’s a job he’s been doing since you first spawned in hell, and it seems it’s work he’s keen on continuing.

“Extermination,” you echo. “I love the extermination. There are so many desperate and poor souls who want to keep their limbs. I get rather busy—prime deal making opportunities right there.”

Charlie winces a bit. “Oh dear…um…okay. That sounds fun? And a little violent.”

Alastor speaks up from behind you, still running a brush through your feathers. “We can from Cannibal Town! Charlie was able to convince Rosie’s people to take arms.”

“Then, what brings you to me?” you ask, stiffening your back as you try not to lean into the brush that combs through your feathers. Alastor always was better at preening you. “I’m not much of a fighter.”

“Alastor suggested that I ask for your help,” Charlie says. “He said you’re one of the few people who knows how to fix wounds that come from Angelic Weapons.”

You bat your eyes at Alastor. “Spilling all my secrets, I see.”

Alastor glides the brush over your hair, leaning close to your ear. “Oh, not everything.”

You laugh and glance at Charlie. “In front of a guest, my deer?”

Charlie cringes with the most hilarious frown.

“It’s just a matter of counteracting the holiness of their weapons,” you say, clearing your throat. “After that, it’s purely medical.”

“How is that even possible?”

Alastor trails through your feathers, and it tingles and flutters. You keep your expression emotionless. “I’m surprised you don’t know this,” you say. “Did Belphegor never tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Well, eons ago, Belphegor found out that angelic weapons are considered holy, and that’s very bad for a Sinner,” you explain. “So, she and a bunch of her team found out that if you cut off the holy site or embed a large amount of Sinner energy, one will be able to treat it.”

Alastor leans closer, butting into the conversation. “I prefer it when you cut it off.”

“Of course you do,” you say with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“Embedding the wounds with your magic takes too much energy from you, and because of that you always come home to me with sunken eyes. That is, if you don’t pass out before you reach the front door,” Alastor tells you. “I don’t understand why you go out of your way when they’re not worthy.”

“Worthy?”

“Yes, worthy,” he says. “Had they been competent, they wouldn’t need to go to you in the first place. It only proves that they’re weak.”

You smile at his words. “I guess I never thought of it that way.

Charlie rolls her eyes at the both of you. “So, you could help us?”

You twist, turning to Alastor. “I think you’ve gotten all my feathers straightened out,” you say. “My love, can you do me a favor?”

Lightly, Alastor taps your head with the tip of his cane. “Of course, how can I help?”

“I think the plants need some watering.”

The brush on Alastor’s hand dissolves with a poof. He leans closer once again, trailing your cheek with his finger until they hook on your chin. He captures you with his stare, and you allow him to trap you. He presses his lips on your cheek, and disappears into his shadow.

You take an even longer sip of your coffee.

Charlie massages her forehead, eyes twitching. “Dear Satan, it’s like watching my parents all over again! I can leave, you know,” she says, snorting. “Give you two a little privacy?”

“Oh, don’t bother,” you tell her. “There wouldn’t be enough time.”

Her brows furrow. “Time?”

“After all, extermination is in a month,” you say, brightening your smile. “We’re going to need at least two.”

“What the fuuuuck,.” Charlie whispers underneath her breath, her voice a pitch higher.

“Every couple of years, there will be certain seasons where it takes six!” you say. “Sinner bodies are just so exhilarating.”

Charlie chokes on her spit, and her eyes bulge. “Are you serious?”

“Hmmm, I could be—who knows?” You raise your mug to toast, and take a drink.

“You’re joking,” Charlie says. “…Right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“My dear, is that a question you would want an answer to?” you ask. “Would you be prepared if the answer happens to be no?”

Charlie sinks deeper into her chair. “Okay, then! Moving on, now.”

Leaning on your palm, you laugh. “My deerly beloved husband wouldn’t give all this information for free,” you say. “What did he ask for?”

“We made a deal.”

Your hands drop to the table. “Oh Charlotte,” you say. “That was a foolish mistake. You don’t know what Alastor does to the so—“

“I still have my soul!” Charlie exclaims, balling her fist. “From Vaggie! From you—his own wife! I did what I needed to do to keep my people safe…Sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be so reliant on Alastor,” you tell her with a small smile. “You can’t trust him.”

“He’s given me no reason no to trust him, and…,” Charlie trails off. “And Alastor is my friend.”

Your smile brightens a bit. “Friend?”

“Yes?” Charlie says. “Everyone at the hotel is my friend, and he’s been a tremendous help.”

You place your hands over Charlies and give it a squeeze. “Convince me to help you.”

“W-what?”

“Alastor isn’t asking me to go play medic in the middle of a warzone.” Your brush your feathers out of your face. “If he was asking, I would say yes without a second thought because that’s who we are, but he isn’t asking me, Charlie, you are.”

Charlie hums, placing a finger on her lips as she thinks. “I heard from Angel that you and Alastor got married whe—“

CRASH!

She grips the table, eyes wide as she looks around. “What was that?”

You take a long and drawn-out sip of coffee, contemplating your choice for marriage. “Nothing to be worried about,” you say. “That was just my television.”

“Your Tv?” Charlie frowns a bit. “Did…did Alastor just throw away your Tv?”

You laugh, swatting your hand in the air. “Not at all!” you say. “It probably tripped out my window—those picture boxes are always so clumsy.”

Charlie raises her eyebrows. “You’re saying that your Tv…just tripped out the window.”

You smile at her. “You were saying something?”

She sighs, massaging her forehead. “You got married when you were alive, but continue to stay together. It’s very rare for Sinners to do such a thing,” she says. “And with all of that…uh…Alastorness.”

“It’s alright, you can just say bat-shit crazy.”

“I’d prefer not to,” she says with an awkward laugh. “So, how were you able to stay together for so long

“Are you…,” you trail off, blinking. “Are you asking me for relationship advice?”

“A bit? If that’s okay,” she says. “Rosie already helped but, well, she did eat her first husband.”

“I don’t think I can be of much help.” Your lips purse. “Alastor and I don’t exactly have the most conventional marriage.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1927

“Do you like it?” Alastor offers you a spoonful of the simmering sauce.

You lean closer, shifting from your seat on his kitchen counter. Alastor dips the spoon in your opened mouth. “It’s spicy,” you say, lips twisting when you cough. “Is it supposed to be like that?”

Alastor tilts his head. A lock of his hair falls to the side. “No…it’s not.” He takes back the spoon and dips it into the pan. Alastor coughs as soon as it hits his tongue. “How many peppers did you add?”

Your legs sway, and the heels of your foot tap the cabinets below you. “I added what was written on the recipe! Exactly twelve peppers.”

Alastor twists the stove’s knob, killing the fire. “Take a look at the notebook again,” he says and reaches over your legs, grabbing his book full of recipes. “If you use these things called ‘eyes’ and ready, you’d be able to see that it says, ‘one to two’!”

“No, it does not!” you huff, grabbing the notebook from him. You read through the list of ingredients. There, near the bottom, pass the four cloves of chopped garlic, half a shallot, and a pinch of pepper, ‘one to two peppers’ is scribbled with blocky letters. “Oh…that’s my bad. Yeah, that’s on me.”

Alastor adjusts his sleeves, pulling it back up his forearm. (Hmm, not a bad look.) “There’s no point in teaching you how to cook this if you don’t know how to read!” he says, eyes twitching. “Go…Just go over there and let me fix this.”

“I already said I was sorry!”

“No, you did not!” Alastor says, throwing his hands into the air. “What you said was,‘Oh…that’s my bad. Yeah, that’s on me’, actually.”

“Yeah, that’s on me,” you repeat with a snort. “That’s my bad.”

“Get out of my kitchen before you ruin dinner.” He leans on the counter, crossing his arms. You hum to yourself. Alastor should pull his sleeves up more. “Go set the table or something. And wash your hair when you get home—it smells like chemicals.”

With a huff, you do as you're told.

You slide off his counter, opening the cabinet and grab two bowls with one arm and reach for the table placemats with the other.

Two sets of utensils, glass cups, and paper napkins. It’s one more set than what you prepare when you’re at your own home. Two…Two. It’s becoming quite the word in your vocabulary.

There’s a proper table waiting to be used in the other room, but this smaller one you’re setting, with its fraying edges and turmeric stains suit the both of you much better.

Three ice-cubes bobble at the top of Alastor’s water. It’s how he likes it. It’s funny. You don’t remember Alastor disclosing this particular information. It’s just something you noticed one day, and you’ve never stopped noticing. What else have you unconsciously learned about him, and what have you unconsciously taught him about you?

Alastor walks to the table, a large steaming bowl in his hands. He places it between the bowls, and you reach into the drawer for a ladle.

The taste tingles your tongue. It’s good. Better than anything you could possibly make for yourself.

You reach into your pocket and toss a handkerchief at Alastor’s face. It lands on between his hair. He tilts his head, shaking it, and the cloth slides on the table. “It’s yours,” you tell him, taking a spoonful of your food. “Thanks for dinner.”

Alastor studies how his name is embroidered in near letters, thumbing the music notes framing it. “Dinner was a way to thank you for this week’s meat.”

He tosses back the handkerchief. It smacks your face.

You peel it from your skin, and trace the letters you’ve threaded during your very scarce free time. “I can’t go around with a handkerchief that has your name on it.”

His smile widens. “Why not?”

“People would think I’m a fan.” You hand Alastor the handkerchief this time. “Just take it as a gift then.”

Alastor takes it from you, and places it into his pocket.

You hum into your spoon with a pleased smile. “Hey Al,” you say. “Tell me what you did today.”

Alastor takes his time chewing and swallowing his food. “As you can see,” he tells you, “I’m eating.”

“I’m bored,” you say. “Eat while you talk.”

He reaches across the table, and his fingers catch on the knob of the radio to turn it on.

Classical music plays out of the speaker. It was correct to assume that Alastor pre-sets radios to play his favorite stations. Although, you didn’t imagine that each of his many radios would have their own specific station. A different radio for different stations. You questioned Alastor about it, but he didn’t say much.

Once the bottom of the bowls has been scraped into your stomachs, you take the dishes and go to the sink.

Your nose scrunches at the sight of the piled dishes. Alastor watches you with a smile. You turn away when you notice.

Alastor takes a container from the cabinet above your head. He’s warm. Always warm.

He takes two containers, placing the leftovers inside. And there it is again, that word—Two. Not one, but two. One for him. One for you. You didn’t ask for leftovers. You’ve never asked at all. Alastor will just hand you the container like it’s the most automatic thing in this world for him to do.

You take the first of many bowls, and rinse the stubborn pieces with your hands. “There’s too many dishes,” you say. “It’s like you have one for every ingredient. Did you really need to use separate ones for each and every ingredient we used?”

He leans on the counter, slotting himself next to you.  “I don’t like mixing the flavors until it’s time to add them.”

Alastor adjusts his pulled sleeves and crosses his arms.

The bowl slips from your grip.

“Oh…I…uh…sorry,” you say, picking up the bowl. “I mean, you really didn’t need one for the salt and pepper. They already come in containers—why couldn’t you just, I don’t know, eyeball it?”

“Eyeball it?”

“Yeah, or feel it with your soul or something,” you say and pick up the measuring spoons to show him. “You had to measure three pinches of salt instead of actually just pinching it.”

Alastor laughs, and strands of his hair slide down to his eyes. “And how did it taste?”

Your shoulders slump when you sigh. “Good.”

He bumps his shoulders with yours. “That’s just the way I was taught.”

“Well,” you start, “your way creates more dishes for me to clean.”

Alastor pivots from the counter, and takes his place in front of the second sink. He grabs the dish you’ve already rinsed and sponges it with soap. It’s quite the system you’ve created. You grab a dirty dish, rinse it, and pass it on to Alastor who cleans it with a sponge.

The next minute goes something like this:

Alastor flicks water at your face. You ignore it.

Flick. Ignore.

Flick. Ignore.

Flick. Ignore.

The water damps your hair. You kick his leg. “Stop that.”

Alastor drenches his hand under the faucet, letting his fingers accumulate water. He flicks it at you.

The grip you have on the plate tightens. “I am going to smash this on your head.”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. He glares. You glare back. He cups his hand under the faucet like a bowl. The water pools between his hands. He throws the water at you. It hits your eyes, blinding you. That does little to stop you.

You grip the plate, swinging it in his direction.

The plate doesn’t connect with anything… Sadly. You rub the water out your eyes, and find Alastor kneeling on the floor with a triumphant smile.

Alastor stands up, brushing dirt from his pants. “You missed.”

“You ducked.”

“I can’t believe you actually did that,” he says. “What if you actually hit me?”

You pass the plate to Alastor before you scratch the urge to swing at that smug smile of his. “Hey Al,” you say. “Tell me what you did today.”

Alastor closes the faucet. “You always ask me that.”

“That’s because you say it in entertaining ways,” you say. “It’s boring to wash the dishes without something to distract me.”

Alastor soaps the dish. “Your lessening attention span worries me.”

You roll your eyes at him, and flick water at his face. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says. “I find myself having no reason to deny you.”

Alastor’s glasses slide down his nose. He leans close enough for you to smell his perfume. He’s warm—always warm. It takes a second for you to understand. You dry your hands on a stray towel, and fix it in place.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1928.

The metal bench cools the back of your neck.

The sun blinds your eyes, but you keep a steady gaze on the afternoon beams. When was the last time you felt the heat of the sun kiss your skin? As the seconds tick by. As the birds fly above you. As the leaves fall from their stem, melting on this bench seems like a heavenly idea.

But as the clock will eventually strike. But as the birds will eventually find their nest. But as the leaves will eventually land. So, too, must you eventually go back to work.

A shadow blocks the sun.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Alastor’s upside-down face smiles at you. “Good morning to you!”

With a yelp, you swing your forehead forward.

Alastor leans backwards, narrowly missing your head by centimeters. “Not the greeting I imagined, but hello to you as well,” he says. “The receptionist said I could find you here.”

You twist, turning to him with a frown. “Are you okay?”

Alastor slides over the bench, and takes the free seat next to you. His legs cross. “Why would I not be, okay?”

There’s some bag slung over his shoulder, but that’s not important right now. Your eyes trail his body. Hair? Fixed. Smile? Wide. Clothes? Perfect. “You’re at a clinic.”

Alastor swats his hand. “I was in the area.”

That classic city stench attacks your nose, but it’s just nice to feel the way your hair sways from the breeze. “You’re not going to kill me, right?”

Alastor nudges his leg with yours. “You say that every single time!”

Your smile turns smug. “I’ll stop saying it when it stops becoming funny.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, showing it off to you. “It never was.”

“It is to me,” you say and wave your hands in the air. “Just imagine this, the great Alastor had to stalk me!”

“I am great, but remind me again,” he begins, propping his arm on the bench to lean on it, “how long did you have to follow me?”

Sighing, you lean your head on the backrest to count the clouds. It’s nice to be able to see actual clouds for once instead of the drawing of children who wait. “…Three months.”

“Exactly,” he says, and you hear the smugness in his words. “And I didn’t need to do any stalking—you led me straight to your house.”

You blow a raspberry at him. “Why are you even here then?”

Alastor props his legs on your lap. You push him off. He brings it back. It’s not worth fighting him right now. “I actually was in the area,” he says, and hands you the bag slung over his shoulder. “The director thought it would be a grand idea to bring the staff out to lunch.”

You unzip the bag, and packed lunch greets you. And there it is again. Two. Two. Two. One for you. One for him. Maybe both for you? “Al, tell me why I’m currently looking at two packed lunches?”

Alastor beams at you, and slides his legs off your lap. “I accidentally cooked too much today,” he said. “I thought it would be a grand idea to share.”

Your frown. “But…you already ate.”

“Oh…I was already planning on dropping by,” he says. “It was quite the stroke of luck that you’re only taking your break now, and that we happened to have lunch nearby. I thought I’d bring you a treat.”

Questions bubble on your throat. “Thank you, Al,” you say instead. You open the container and take a bite, savoring the taste. “It’s delicious.”

Alastor leans closer, and picks a leaf off your head. “That’s because I actually followed the recipe.”

You point your spoon at him. “That was just that one time!”

He smiles at you, chuckling softly. “Three actually.”

Before the clock strikes, it will tick. Before the birds find their nest, they will fly. Before the leaves hit the ground, it will fall. And before you eventually go back to work, you will eat on this bench, Alastor to your side.

He stares ahead. As you eat, you watch his eyes flicker. It goes from the kid then to a plant then to an old lady. This, you don’t question. You’ve stopped wondering what he could possibly be thinking years ago.

Alastor leans closer to your ear. “Do you see that lady?” he asks, voice low. His breath tickles your skin. “That one over there with the feather on her hat?”

You scan the people around the area, spotting the lady old enough to be your grandmother. A scarf wraps around her neck, despite the sun beaming with the afternoon heat. She lazily walks around. “What about her?”

“Do you think her name could be Edith? She looks like an Edith,” Alastor says. “She probably had three children, and married young when her parents forced her to marry this ugly but rich man she could never love.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. It’s like a mantra that plays in your head. There’s no reason not to play along whatever nonsense he’s spouting. “Sure, why not?”

“But no!” he exclaims into your ear. You jerk away and shove him with an elbow. “Oof….Edith just had to defy all expectations, and she chose to elope with her childhood sweetheart. He’s not the richest man, but they survived.”

“That’s sweet.”

“And to this day,” he says, “everyone still calls her, ‘Edith the Penguin’.”

“Edith the penguin?” you echo. “Now I’m just confused.”

Alastor’s eyes shine. “Because she walks like a penguin with their ass on fire,” he snorts. “Your turn, now.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. And you would love to be brought lunch again.

“Fine.” You place your spoon down, and look around to the first person who grabs your attention. “That little kid over there—His name is Thomas, and he likes balloons.”

Alastor blinks at you. “And?”

You take your time chewing and swallowing your food. “That’s all.”

He gawks at you, and rolls your eyes. “It must be so boring to be you.”

“It is not!” You huff at him, and kick his leg. “I am a very interesting person, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh really, now? Thomas, and he likes balloons?” Alastor says,and points at the kid with twitching eyes. “He’s holding a balloon!”

You wave your arms, the spoon still in your grip. “So, he probably likes it!” you say. “Thomas wouldn’t get a balloon if he didn’t like it.”

“I pity your sense of imagination.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. And you would love to be brought lunch again.

You swallow what remains inside the container, and pack it up. “Is this what you do when you zone out as I’m tal—and you’re doing it again, aren’t you?” you say. “You are an incredibly judgmental person.”

“It’s called using my imagination. Something you apparently don’t have,” he says with a snort. “So…tell me what you did today.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “That’s my question.”

Alastor shrugs, taking the closed container and zipping it inside his bag. He hands you a tissue. “Well, I’m asking it now.”

You prop your arm on the bench, leaning on it. Alastor’s hair spikes out in odd places today. It must have quite the trek to the clinic. “I’m not as good a storyteller as you are.”

He props his arms on the bench, mimicking your pose. His eyes stare straight into yours. “ I don’t need a story,” he says. “I just want to know what you did today.”

You press your palm on his face, pushing him away from your face. The sun’s heat is really getting to you. Alastor’s nose crinkles as he rubs it. “Why would you even want to know what I do?”

Alastor props his elbows on his knees, observing the people around him. “You always ask me what I did,” he says. “I want to know if there’s something special about it.:

“There’s nothing special about it,” you tell him. Was there actually? You’re not sure. “I just like knowing, and it always entertains me.”

Alastor meets your eyes with a wide smile. “Then tell me what you did today,” he says. “Entertain me.”

The clock ticks closer. The birds are already close to their nests. The leaves are already floating to the ground. You are already close to going back to work, closer to this moment becoming nothing but a distant memory. “That was my first meal of the day.”

Alastor’s eyebrows furrow and his lips twist into a hard scowl. “That’s not healthy.”

You shut your eyes and sigh. “I never said it was.”

“How would you live without me?”

Remember, Alastor brought you lunch, and it would be nice if he could bring you lunch again. “I’m going to hit you.”

Alastor bumps your knees with his. “Lovely,” he says, and you can hear the smile he’s wearing. “I’m sure it will be very painful because you’re so full of energy right now.”

Eyes still shut, you bump his knees back. “I’ve been busy,” you say. “And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Alastor hesitates for a second. “First of all, we’re all busy,” he says. “Second, I didn’t roll my eyes.”

“You did—it was audible,” you tell him with a soft chuckle. “Anyway, there’s nothing new with my day. It’s just the usual, people to see, files to file, blood to draw, pee to get on me.”

Alastor digs his finger into your cheek, twisting it as he presses down. “Wow, you really are a horrible storyteller.”

You know what, maybe you don’t need Alastor bringing you lunch. You peek open an eye to stare at him. “I’m going to smash a plate on your head once we start doing the dishes.”

Alastor mashes your cheek like some button. Over and over and over and over again. You swat his hand, and he rubs it with a grimace. “Were you planning on dropping by today?”

You place an arm over your eyes, blocking out the sun. “Will I have to do the dishes?”

“You don’t have to specifically do the dishes.”

You comb through your hair with your fingers. “That wouldn’t exactly be fair to you.”

“If you're so insistent, we can find something else for you to do,” he says. “I mean, if you hate it so much you don’t have to do it.”

“I don’t hate it,” you say with a sigh. A church bell sounds. It echoes through the buildings and through the trees. “Al…I’m tired.”

“I know,” he says, and you hear how softly he chuckles. “Your eyes are drooping so low I could fill the entire ocean in them.”

“I want to sleep, Al.”

“I know.”

“I hate this job.”

Alastor pauses for a second, and he bumps his shoulders with yours. “You don’t.”

The clock hasn’t struck yet. The birds haven’t flown to their nests. The leaves haven’t reached the ground. And so too will you stay in this moment of time.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1929

Footsteps creak on the wooden stairs. The sound is ignored, just like every other thing that isn’t relevant to you.

The dead cadaver under you has weird kidneys. The one on your palm is too small for a kidney that belongs to someone of his size. You take your scalpel, slicing it to observe the cross section.

“It’s time to stop,” Alastor tells you. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Him and his smile is not important right now. “You’ve been here all night.”

“Leave me alone,” you mumble. The human body continues to be amazing. The medulla is clearly outlined. The colors of its cells were so different from the cortex. “…Kidneys, Alastor. He has weird kidneys. Hehehehe weird kidneys…”

Alastor says your name in a way that forces you to listen.

“…Oh…yes?” you say a bit dumbly.

“It’s nightfall,” he says, and the tone of his voice buzzes your skin. “Come on now, do as you're told. Be upstairs in fifteen minutes.”

It’s not an easy task to do as Alastor says, especially when this man’s left kidney is a whole different size from the right. However, with a frown, you slot the kidney from the opened chest cavity, and pack up the body.

You step out of the basement, and walk to the kitchen.

There’s a plate waiting for you on the table. It’s still hot. Muffled music plays from the porch, and you see Alastor’s outline through the windows. Taking your plate, you step out the front door and into the outdoors. (Something you really need to start seeing more.)

And oh…he’s not listening to the radio. Alastor plays the recording of his show. It was a present you got him a few months back.

You take your seat on the matching rocking chair.

Alastor watches you settle into your seat. He turns the volume down. “Tables were invented for a reason.”

The chair rocks when you swing your legs. “It’s nice out here,” you say, and take a bite of vegetables. “The sky is much clearer. It helps that there’s no stench of piss.”

He turns to you with a small smile. “That’s because you live in the city.”

The wind blows your hair into your face. You push it out of the way. “Hey, Al,” you say slowly. “Tell me what you did today.”

“Why should I?”

You lean back into the chair, letting the rocking sway you. “Well, you got home late,” you say. “I had to use my keys.”

Alastor leans back on the chair, using the tips of his shoe to rock himself. “Yes, that was the point of the keys,” he says, humming. “It would be a shame to come home to another broken window.”

The taste of the vegetables mixed with the meat makes you smile in delight. “Are you still holding on to that?”

“Always.”

“I paid you back, eventually,” you tell him, pointing your fork at him. “Why are you still holding a grudge for an honest accident?”

On his cheek , where it’s always been and where it’ll always be, his smile strains. “You expect me to believe that a rock smashing my window was an honest accident.”

You offer him your most innocent smile. “Yes.”

“Well, I hope your windows are much sturdier then,” he says, mimicking your smile. “One of these days, I might cause an accident.”

The stars twinkle in the sky. There’s a vast amount of knowledge those gassy balls hold. Maybe your life would be less horrific if you were interested in the stars instead. “In my defense, you were late.”

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t wait fifteen minutes?”

You take another bite of your meal, and sway happily to do a little dance. “Just… okay? Just tell me what you did before I finish my meal.”

Alastor reaches into his pocket and tosses a keychain at you. It lands between your legs.

You set the plate on the coffee table between you, and hold the keychain to the light. It was a cute, little cartoon alligator. “What’s this?”

“It’s yours.”

“I can tell that much,” you say, twirling the gift between your fingers. “You never give me nice knickknacks. It’s always the ugly ones

Alastor huffs at you. “That doesn’t sound like my problem anymore,” he says. “I thought you would appreciate something that looks halfway decent one and for all.”

“I find the ugly ones really charming, actually. They’re very funny to look at,” you say. “So, where did you get this?”

Alastor clasps his hands, resting it on his stomach as he rocks himself. “Saw an advertisement. Went to the zoo.”

You scrunch your face. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“Go finish your meal.”

You pocket his gift, and grab the plate on the table. “Master of storytelling right here, ladies and gentlemen,” you say, barking a laugh. “I figured you would love the excuse of hearing yourself talk.”

Alastor ignores you, reaching for his notepad instead.

You watch Alastor as he writes on his notepad. The breeze sways a strand of his hair. His lips twist when he thinks, just like he’s doing right now

Your eyes fall on your plate, to where vegetables and meat were carefully tossed together. Alastor cooked today— he always cooks. When you finish, you’ll grab the plates, and begin the mountain of dishes. Even when dish soap stings your fingers, even when the feeling of wet food grosses you, and even when thousands of dirty dishes wait for you…it’s something you don’t mind..

Once this meal is finished, you and him will step inside. He’ll properly tell you about his day, and you’ll take the pan and scrub it.

Ah…there it is again. That word—Two.

But it’s not two of anything. It’s simply just two. You and Alastor.

“You’re frowning,” Alastor says. He stares at you from the corner of  his eyes. “Why?”

It’s weird.

Very weird.

You don’t…You don’t understand. How do you say the words you do not know how to explain?

It’s almost as if… “We should get married.”

Alastor’s laughter rings across the open land. “No.”

The inside of your cheek stings from how you bite it. You turn away to hide your flushed cheeks. “I…It just came out, okay?” you mumble. “I’m really trying not to be offended that you turned me down without a second thought, and with a laugh as well.”

Alastor turns back to his notepad. “Don’t be,” he says. “I’m nothing you want.”

The moonlight reflects off his brown eyes. “Sometimes…,” you begin, and a small smile appears on your lips. “Sometimes I wish you see yourself the way I see you.”

Alastor laughs at you again. “You’ve been having such thoughts about me?” he says. “What an absolute honor! I’m deeply flattered.”

“And then you say words like that, and I immediately know it’s not worth it

Alastor lifts his eyes from his notepad to peek at you. He fixes his eyeglasses. “You don’t actually think we should get married.”

To be infuriating, you take a bite from your plate, savoring each flavor with drawn out chews.

“I have no idea,” you say. “But…I mean, why not? There are many good reasons for me to marry you—it’s advantages for me, and everyone already thinks we’re dating.”

Alastor turns back to his notepad, shaking his head. “That’s the most absurd idea I’ve ever heard.”

“What, being in a relationship with me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s twice you’ve managed to offend me.” You laugh to hide your frown. “But that friend of yours. The feathery one from the lounge you like taking me to.”

Alastor tilts his head. “Mimzy?”

“Ah yes, her,” you say with a hum. “She asked me if you um…uh… well, if you liked vanilla or hot and spicy.”

“If I had to answer, Id say hot and spicy?” Alastor says, and you laugh at the confusion on his face. “I got a bottle of this pepper flakes infused with old. It was quite the treat.”

“That’s exactly what I figured you would say,” you tell him.“Unfortunately for you, Mimzy was talking about sex.”

Alastor scrunches his face.

Oh don’t make such a face, there is absolutely no need to be afraid of the prospect of such activities.” The final bite of your meal bursts with so much flavor that you revel it for a second. “Al, let’s get married.”

Alastor glares at you. “No.”

You place the plate on the coffee table. It can be  washed after this conversation. “Why not?”

He points his pen between you and him..“We aren't even dating,” he says. “And…I can’t express such passionate displays of affection.”

You rock the chair with your shoe. An owl hoots from somewhere beyond the trees. Huh, you weren’t aware owls lived in this area. “Don’t be a child—just say sex.”

Again, his face scrunches. “I will not.”

“It’s a really good thing,” you say, sighing, “that no one’s asking.”

Alastor searches for your eyes. He holds it. It was only ever his to hold anyway. “I’m not even sure I’m interested in romance.”

You look around, whipping your head. “I think I’m missing the part where someone asked.”

“Be serious.”

“Okay fine. This is me being serious because I am when I say that all I don’t need your romance—Al, you accepted me for who I am, and to me? That is enough,” you say with a soft smile. “You are all I could ever ask for.”

Alastor stares at the stars, his eyes capturing each one. “I can’t love you like a husband should.”

The stares are really beautiful.

Each shines in their own way. Alastor sees the beauty in them, but you aren’t going to be beaten by a gas ball. Tomight, you will be the only star Alastor should keep his gaze on. “Alastor, look at me.”

He keeps his eyes on the stars.

Huffing, you stride to his chair, and block his view of the night sky.

You plant your arms on the armrest for support, and inch your face so close that you are the only thing he will see. “Alastor,” you say his name, voice oh so soft, “look at me.”

Oh…his eyes are browner than you thought. It’s a deep and dark brown that pulls you in.

“You can love me in ways that matter.” You press your forehead against his, and close your eyes.

There are more words to be said, but right now you and him stay in this moment of time. Just…for…a second.

“I will never force you to love me in ways you cannot,” you whisper. The ends of his hair brush against your skin. “Alastor, I could never reject the type of love you can offer me. I can never deny you.”

Alastor caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Friends don’t get married.”

Impulsivity was such a bad habit of yours. It’s a fact that makes you bear the consequences, but consequences be damned. You take his hand, holding it in yours. The pads of his fingers have different textures. Some are smooth. Some are rough. But the whole thing warms you to the touch. It’s unfair. He’s unfair. How could something as simple as taking his hand intoxicate?

Your lips hover over his skin, brushing it a little. Alastor doesn’t pull away. With a smile that Alastor always seems to put on your lips, you plant a soft kiss on his ring finger.

“We aren’t normal people. There’s no reason to force ourselves into a conventional relationship.” You meet his eyes with a smirk. Every word you utter brushes your lips yo his skin. “This marriage will be defined however we want. You offer me a partnership in death…This is me offering you a partnership in life.”

You press your lip on the back of his hand, one final time, and return to your chair.

Alastor doesn’t speak.

You rock yourself with your foot, enjoying the sway of the chair.“There is that added benefit that the police won’t be suspicious of a doting husband.”

Alastor scrunches his face. “Doting husband?” he echoes. “I thought we wouldn’t be having a normal marriage.”

“That doesn’t mean a lady doesn’t want to feel special,” you say, snorting. “I’ve always dreamed of a doting husband.”

Alastor rips a page out of his notepad. He folds it with his hands.

His vets match his shoes today. The hair on the back of his head sticks out and curls. Did he take a nap today? “I could be like this every single night,” you say softly. “You and me. The two of us under the stars until our hairs turn gray.”

Alastor’s gaze stays locked on the piece of paper he’s folding. “Why me?”

You stare at him with a smile, and lean your face on your palm. “Does it need to be said?”

Alastor glances at you with those brown eyes of his. “I’m asking.”

“It’s because…It’s…I…,” your trail off. How do you summon the words to describe something you don’t understand?

There’s a smug smile on Alastor’s lips. “What, is it because you love me?”

“Would it be so bad if I did?” you say, chuckling into your arm. “But…well, I don’t exactly know how to properly say this.”

“Just open your mouth,” he says, rolling his eyes, “and let the words do it’s job.”

“I wouldn’t mind doing the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” you tell him, and your cheeks tingle. “Maybe even past life. Can you imagine that? You and me in hell, doing our dishes together.”

There’s an odd look on his face. “Sure.”

“We can listen to the radio,” you say. “And I’ll ask you about your day, and you will tell me the wildest and most grandiose story while we clean a pot.”

Alastor smiles at you. “You hate doing the dishes.”

“I do not.”

“You do. I see it—I always do,” he says with a soft chuckle. Alastor taps his nose. “Your nose scrunches every time, yet you never ask for help.”

What expression are you making right now?

You bring your legs to your chest. “I’m willing to give up everything for dirty dishes if it means I have you as a companion for the rest of my life.”

Alastor turns back to whatever he was folding.

You hide your face in your legs, face flushed and warm. “Say something…please,” you say, whispering. “I just poured out my heart for you

You hear Alastor rise from his seat. He places a hand on your head. “Today’s dinner…,” he says, and his voice is the softest it’s ever been. “Did you like it?”

You smile even if he couldn’t see it, and lean into his hand. “It was one of the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.”

“I wouldn’t mind making it for you for the rest of my life…if you’re willing to wash the dishes with me for the rest of yours,” Alastor says, and you think this is the most honest thing he’s ever told you. “It’s yours. Even if you don’t want it, this is yours now.”

You peek out of your knees. Alastor’s smile is soft. He opens his palms and your eyes flicker to them. He shows you what he’s been folding. It’s the paper of his notepad folded into a ring—a paper ring.

“Do it again,” you say with a beam that could rival the stars. “Ask me again.”

Alastor caresses your cheek, the back of his finger brushing down your skin. “Doting husband?”

“Exactly,” you say with a laugh and lean into his touch. “You catch on very quickly.”

Alastor takes your hand in his, and his thumb brushes over your ring finger. Does he feel your skin the way you feel his? He kneels on one knee and the paper ring is presented to you. “Would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

You insert your ring finger into the paper ring. “The honor would be mine, my dearest.”

Alastor stares at you.

You stare back.

 The moment your eyes settle on one another, laughter echoes across the land. It’s loud and breathy, and it echoes so far that the local wildlife gets disturbed. Alastor settles back on his chair, rocking himself.

Alastor calms down first. “Oh…uh…Should we share a passionate kiss?”

The stars shine above you. Not a single gas ball can beat the brightness of your smile. “Do you want to?” you ask. “Be honest, my dear.”

Alastor hesitates for a second. “Not particularly—Do you?”

“Maybe? Sometimes?” you say with a shrug. “I could live a happy life without such passionate kisses.”

“Really?” he says, and the surprise in his voice makes you laugh. “You would be fine without one?”

“Well, since you’re so insistent, I’ll allow a kiss.”

Alastor snorts into the air. “And where and when would you want such a kiss?”

You hold him in your gaze. There’s so much to learn, so much to figure out. It’s alright. There will be time. “Anywhere and anytime, you want, my love.”

“You’re going to give me control?” he asks. “Is this not something you would want as well?”

“I’ll make this easy enough for you to understand,” you tell him, tracing the paper ring around your finger. “I demand a kiss whenever you are completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.”

Alastor hums, looking away to study the woodcarving on his chair. He picks on them. “I supposed if you need anyone to fulfill your needs I only as—”

“Just say sex, my dearest,” you say, and Alastor sinks into his chair with a huff. “That will never happen. This isn’t a friendship, my love. I am entering a relationship with you. No matter how unconventional, it is still ours.”

Alastor locks your eyes with a pleased smile. “Good.”

The rocking chair rocks you into a small lull. “My dear.”

“Yes?”

“My love.”

Alastor sighs. “Yes?”

“My dearest,” you say. “Would you want to share a bed?”

Alastor stays silent. There’s hesitation on his face. You see it in the way his lips twist. You see it in the way his eyebrows furrow. You see it in the way he leans back on his chair to stare at the stars.

“Okay then, we can circle back to that later,” you say with a soft chuckle. “How about a room—Do you want to share one?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows, staring at you with silent judgment. He is a book that you are allowed to learn. There’s so much to read, and so much still left to be read. That’s okay. There’s time. No matter how long. You have time.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, we can share a room without sharing a bed,” you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air. “We can even have bunk beds. That would be cool. I’ve always wanted a bunk bed.”

Alastor rests his face on his palm to look at you. There it is again, the breathy and light laughter. “We are not sleeping on a bunk bed.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie’s smile slowly morphs into a frow that you cannot decipher. It makes sense that you can’t. Afterall, she is not the book you’ve spent your life learning to read. “You…You don’t actually love each other?”

There’s a frame hanging on your kitchen wall that says otherwise.

It holds an art piece you embroidered for the sole purpose of giving it to your husband. The color of the wooden frame compliments the colors of the thread, as if it was carefully chosen to match. The one here in the kitchen is but one of many frames around the house. Alastor keeps every single item safe beneath the glass to to be admired.

There’s a shelf standing on the living-room carpet that says otherwise.

It holds ugly knick knacks that Alastor bought for the sole purpose of giving it to his wife. It’s a pain to dust the shelves, but not a speck of dirt touches its surface, as if it was carefully taken care of. The one in there in the living-room is but one of many shelves around the house. You keep every item spotless to be admired.

“We’re not heartless,” you say. “Alastor and I don’t have the same relationship you and your girlfriend have.”

Charlie sways in her seat, a hand rests on her chin when she hums. “ I am so sorry,” he says. “I think it’s great and all that, I’m just having trouble understanding.”

“It’s not exactly for you to understand.” You take a sip from your mug.

“So it’s not a relationship,” Charlie says. “Sooooo, is it like a really really deep friendship?”

“The lines between us are so blurry that it’s become deeper than friendship,” you admit with a small smile. “I just know that my soul is connected to him in ways I do not know how to tell him.”

“Is that really possible?” Charlie asks. “To just…love each other so differently?”

“Can our relationship not just…exist?” You lean on your palms. “Do you really think it’s so impossible for two people to just…to just look forward to cooking and washing the dishes together?”

Charlie’s eyes brighten. “I think I’m starting to understand,” she says. “So like—”

“Charlie…if I sit here and answer all of your questions, we’re going to waste time.” You play with the fiddle of your mug. “You didn’t come here for relationship advice.”

“Oh…yes.” Charlie sits there. Her smile slowly falls into a frown. “I’ve been thinking of how to convince you to help me, but…I can’t think of a single thing to say, and I don’t want to force you either.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You haven’t exactly asked for my help either.”

Charlie blinks at you. “…Huh?”

You raise your mug to toast to her. “If you want my help, just ask for it.”

Charlie grabs your hand with a tight grip. “Please, help me,” she says, voice shaking. “I don’t want to drag Cannibal Town into an all-out war without knowing there was a way to keep them safe.”

“Sure, why not?” You pull your hand away.

A loud squeal bounces off the walls.

Charlie pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve ever experienced. She hauls you with all the strength of a hellborn princess.  Your feet drag against the floor as she pulls you out of the kitchen and into the living-room.

Charlie drops you with a wince on her face. She stares at the broken window, and the obviously missing television.

You trip out of her hold.

Alastor wraps his hand on your shoulders, steading you against him until you find your balance. His touch lingers on you.

The television shaped hole on your glass window makes your eyes twitch.

Alastor steps away from you, twirling his microphone. It strikes the floor with a harsh thunk. “Oh, yes that,” he says. “It seems there was an unfortunate accident.”

“Oh, really now?” you say, placing a hand on your hips. “I would love to know exactly how that happened.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and his arms wave the air. “The clumsy boxed tripped right out the window.”

Your smile strains. “…That is rather unfortunate,” you say. “What a shame, I rather liked that television. It’s been a constant companion, and never has it once disappeared on me for several years.”

Alastor glares at you.

You glare back.

“I would love to help you clean this mess,” Alastor says with that triumphant smile of his.

Would a second broken window be worth trouble if it means there would be an Alastor-shaped hole?

“Perfect!” you say. “I’m sure you still remember where we keep the broom.”

Alastor boops your nose. “Unfortunately, the cannibals will be meeting us at the hotel,” he says. “I think it’s time we take our leave. Say goodbye to my wife, Charlotte.”

Charlie opens her mouth to correct him. She changes her mind at the last minute, choosing to sulk with a wave instead.

Alastor opens the door, allowing Charlie to step out first. She strides to the flowerbeds, kneeling to observe the plants.

Alastor stills by the door frame.

He inches close enough for you to reach him. The fabric of his lapels smoothen as you adjust its fit on him.

A breeze tussles Alastor’s hair. You swipe the stray locks, brushing his hair away from his forehead, until…until the x that marks the gunshot catches your eyes. Frowning, you thumb the mark, caressing it with oh so soft touches. There was a time where you believed that you and him had all the time in the world. Death laughed at you that night.

Alastor watches you, taking your wrist to pull it away.

He leans closer, and picks a feather on your head. “Will you indulge me?” he asks. “There’s just something I want to ask of you before I leave.”

“Say it, and it will be yours.”

Alastor pokes his cheeks, mimicking a smile. “Just one of these from you will do—Something to power me through the day.”

With a soft chuckle, you widen your lips to show him the brightest smile you can muster. “Is that much better, my love?”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “Indeed,” he says. “You’ve been frowning for a while now.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Have I?”

Alastor boops your nose. “You have,” says. “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

“It’s nothing serious to you,” you tell him with a shake of your head. “It’s nothing worth listening to.”

Alastor taps his fingers across his microphone. “It’s not nothing. Especially when you frown like that,” he says. “If it’s serious to you, it is worth listening to.”

“Sometimes…I still find myself wondering how you feel,” you say, smoothening the feathers on your head “Even after being married for so long, there are times where I still do not know

“You’re not a mind reader,” he says. “If you want to know, you should just ask.”

“Alright then,” you say with a smile. “How are you feeling today, my love?”

Alastor caresses your cheek. The back of his fingers brush down your skin until it hooks around your chin. You tilt it to the side, offering your cheek, ready for him.

Alastor tugs your chin, adjusting your face until your eyes are drawn into his own. And oh…Has he always looked at you like this?

Alastor inches closer, his nose nudging against your own. Your heart thumps in your ear.

A minute has never felt so long as you stay frozen. It’s a whole minute  if his lips brushing inches above yours. It’s a whole minute of his finger stroking the skin of your chin. It’s a whole minute of feeling his breath on your skin. It’s a whole minute where inches of space separate your

Alastor tortures you with the simplest of sensation that intoxicated you to your very core. You don’t move away, not from him—never from him.

Your eyes close when Alastor presses his lips across yours.

The taste of this morning’s coffee is dizzying. The soft tickles of his breath make your fingers curl around the fabric of his coat. You were never a poet. It’s Alastor who was better with his words. You cannot describe the way he kisses you with sweet metaphors or soft analogies.

Alastor pulls away.

You inch closer to chase him, until self-control takes over. It splashes you with the warmth of a bucket filled with ice.

Oh…oh.

There are words to be said, questions to be asked. The heat tingling of your cheeks and the electricity buzzing your lips make it hard to find the words.

You bury your face into the fabric of Alastor’s chest, curling into him to hide how red your face flushes. The back of his coat crumples when you grip it.

Alastor wraps his arms around you, tightening the hug. His finger stroke your shoulder blade. “Does that answer your question?”

You inhale into his clothes. It’s warm. He’s warm. So warm that int transfers to you. “No, not at all,” you mumble. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Alastor leans back, pushing you away to search your face.He stares at you.

You stare at everything but him.

Alastor squishes your cheek, giving it a light shake. “Stop demanding things from me when you’re not going to remember.”

“I did no such thing.” You swat his hand away. “Will I be seeing you soon?”

Charlie catches your eyes. She quickly glances away before eventually looking back. You bring out your hand, folding your fingers to indicate the number two. Charlie cringes so deep she creates a double chin.

Alastor brushes feathers out of your face. “You wouldn’t need to ask if you accepted Charlie’s offer to stay at the hotel,” he says. “ I was given a room there. I think you would like it…but, there’s still thousands of unused rooms if you wish to stay somewhere else.”

“My deerest, are you asking me to stay at the hotel?”

Alastor’s silence makes you chuckle.

With the tips of your toes, you reach to press a kiss on his cheek. “I will see you soon.”

“You always will.”

Charlie and Alastor leave with a wave. You close the door before they reach the gate, leaning on the door. The wood does little to settle the way your skin buzzes. Demand a kiss? You would never do such a thing.

The clock strikes. It’s time to leave for work. You take your coffee mug, scrubbing it with soap. (If you drop it twice, then that’s your business.) You open the cupboard, placing your matching mug next to Alastor’s clean one.

Today…Today will be a good day.

For today, there’s no need to throw away cold coffee mugs.

First of all, you will never catch my Alastor cooking jambalaya. It’s a great dish, I know. But I refuse to fall into the curse. Part of the reason why this chapter took so long to publish, besides work getting in the way, was because I didn’t know how I would want Alastor and Reader to love each other. Like do I make it purely romantic?  But I like keeping this as canon as possible. And I know that Alastor is only canonically ace. This problem struck me until I realized that to be accepted is to be loved. So I decided to write a story that will make me happy to show you. There are so many other fics with pure romance, and I wanted to respect Alastor’s asexuality and everyone who relates to him. This is my love letter to him and to you. Also, I’m just going to put it out there, just in case someone might ask why there’s a kiss on the lips? This is a reminder that you can define a relationship any way you could want. I debated whether that kiss should be on the cheek or on the lips. A cheek kiss isn’t inherently romantic, so I could have just done this. The lip kiss just felt…correct. I wanted to showcase that the relationship between Alastor and Reader isn’t a conventional one, and that it’s fine to have one that differs from what is considered normal. So the best way would be to take something that everything thinks is very romantic and twist it in a way that it could mean something different. And thus, any kiss before and after this chapter really just means that Alastor is completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.

Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @holymusicialmothman @lyralibra @alastorssimp @aestheticglas-blog @slaggylemon

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x wife reader #Alastor #radio demon

[pochipop]

＃MYSTIC MESSENGER !! ♡ — A LITTLE LITTLE MORE LOVE.

#. synopsis! — sweet gestures from them to you .

#. characters! — hyun (zen), jumin, saeyoung (707), yoosung, jaehee .

#. warnings! — none .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — back in the mm pit because it's summer and it's time for my annual redownload <3 i've also been thinking about opening a discord, so if anyone has thoughts on that, i'd love to hear them! PLUS, i played the free demo for this indie otome-esque game on steam called homicipher, and i am begging for the release of the first chapter, idk if any of you have played it, but i am way too addicted for having only played like half an hour of it. anyway lolol, enjoy!!

＃ HYUN (ZEN) !! ♡

Hyun, who buys bouquets of flowers every now and again on his way back home from rehearsals. He does his best to match the colors to your needs, —yellow on sad days in hopes they might lift your spirits, blue when you’re frustrated so that it might calm you down, etc.. They always smell so sweet, and you cherish them deeply. They always live longer than they typically should as a result of how well you care for them, and he loves to see the bashful smile tug at your lips as you accept them gracefully, even if you always tell him that he “really shouldn’t have” or that he “didn’t have to.” He does it because he loves you, and he thinks someone as beautiful as you should be presented with something just as gorgeous every now and again (even if he admittedly thinks you’re worlds prettier than flowers could ever be.)

＃ JUMIN !! ♡

Jumin, who writes little notes on the corner of the napkins he rests your coffee or tea on each morning, delicate and elegant handwriting in black ink sinking so perfectly into the ivory material. They’re never the same, always a different expression of his love or his admiration. You like to tear them off and keep them safe in a little box, and you open it up to read them when you’ve had a hard day or when you’re just not feeling your best. He always tells you that you don’t have to keep them, that he won’t be offended if you simply toss them away after you’ve read them and they’ve made you smile, —but you can never bring yourself to do it.

＃ SAEYOUNG (707) !! ♡

Saeyoung, who folds little origamis for you when he gets the chance and leaves them somewhere around for you to find. It started with a tiny paper star he was folding for the heck of it, but you liked it so much that he decided to do it again, and again, and again. So now you have a neat little stash of different animals, shapes, and otherwise cool-looking creations (all of which have silly, blank expressions drawn onto them as faces that really add a sweetness to their personality.) You like to sit and fiddle with them every now and again, just to feel the sharp edges of the crane’s beak against your fingertips or to split the little heart apart and see the “i love you <3” written on the inside.

＃ YOOSUNG !! ♡

Yoosung, who buys sticky notes for his studies but ends up using most of them to leave you little notes with cute messages and silly doodles. He likes to think this is a better usage for them, especially when he watches you spot one out of the corner of his eye, and you hold it in your hands like it’s some kind of love-stricken poetry from a wordsmith he knows he’ll never be. They might be simple and straightforward, but there’s not much room for stanzas of prose on these little post-its, and reminders that you’re doing a good job or that you look cute are so much more than enough.

＃ JAEHEE !! ♡

Jaehee, who bakes you little desserts for you to eat when you get home, often heart-shaped or dusted in romantic colors, —always in your favorite flavors. Cookies with little jam hearts in the center, cupcakes with heart sprinkles and a cream just to your liking filling up the inside; each and every one made with so much love that you can practically taste it on your tongue. There’s no one else she’d rather bake for, and no one else she’d rather spend the rest of her days with. Sometimes words are hard to come by, and she worries she won’t always get it right, but when you kiss her on the cheek before taking a bite of her treats, well. . . She thinks things will be alright anyway.

#mystic messenger #mm #myseme #mystic messenger x reader #mystic messenger reader insert #mystic messenger fluff #mm fluff #mm reader insert #mm x reader #jumin han #han jumin #707 #saeyoung choi #choi saeyoung #707 x reader #707 x reader fluff #jumin x reader #jaehee x reader #jaehee kang #yoosung kim #yoosung kim x reader #yoosung kim x reader fluff #myseme x reader #mysme x reader fluff #han jumin x reader #jumin x reader fluff #hyun ryu #zen x reader #zen #zen x reader fluff

[wowieeitsisa]

I THINK SOME OF THESE ARE REALLY OOC BUT AUGH

POLY SITUATIONSHIP ELEVATOR YURI SAVE ME.

WATCH ME RAMBLE IN TAGS

I get to imagine a whole thing here ok, we going step by step

BIVE AND SPLIT: these two just aren’t an official couple cuz Bive’s severe paranoia, she thinks she WILL put Split in danger. AND OOOHFG, Split has always been so patient and understanding since the start so she let that slide, she does yearn for a proper relationship (thought everybody assumes they’re dating)

DRRETRO AND BIVE: THIS IS MY FAVORITE FUCKING THING. I like to think DrRetro guided Bive through a lot of things cuz they definitely study the fucking Elevator™️ together (in my own personal hcs, DrRetro saved Bive from wherever she’s from)* I think I get to have treats of some kind of sparkle here. Anyway DrRetro overall encourages Bive to go beyond her, they’re nothing serious

*implied she’s artificially made in a lab for now

MACH AND DRRETRO: ALSO take time to study the elevator, it’s somewhat from cooperating with each other (+hating MR) to something(?). I just think they’re neat and there should be more of them together

DRRETRO AND SPLIT: GOOD TERMS OVERALL, DrRetro is forever thankful for Split being there for Bive, helps with her mental issues A LOT, Split is a silly thing sometimes joke-flirts with the doc :3c

MACH AND PILBY: CAN I SAY MORE? THE LAST OF THEIR OWN KIND THEY GOT TO BOND ALRIGHT. Also Mach is extra gentle with them, DrRetro might not have that soft spot but PILBY GETS IT + helps them gain courage over time

SPLIT AND PILBY: Performer Friends! They’re quite close, there’s no doubt they’ve experimented things together, never really worked out as a couple and it’s okay :) Split gets to work on getting Pilby show their personality more

PILBY AND DRRETRO: I didn’t have a good doddle of them, but they’re pretty chill, they talk about Mach a lot since the deity have some kind of spot for them (more for pilby than DrRetro really)

MACH & BIVE, MACH & SPLIT and BIVE & PILBY ARE ALL SELF EXPLANATORY FROM THE DOODS :3c

#IsaArt #Roblox #Roblox Art #regretevator #roblox regretevator #regretevator roblox #Bive #regretevator bive #bive regretevator #split #regretevator split #split regretevator #DrRetro #drretro regretevator #regretevator drretro #Mach #mach regretevator #regretevator mach #pilby #pilby regretevator #regretevator pilby #spive #spilby #DrRetro x Bive #Bive x DrRetro #Mach x pilby #Pilby x Mach #Mach x DrRetro #DrRetro x Mach

[hwsing]

nsfw alphabet for germany and/or prussia? thank you!!!!

germany nsfw alphabet

notes: 18+, reader is gender neutral and i don’t think genitalia is really mentioned. includes: germany (ludwig). as always, reblogs are appreciated!

cws: mostly top + dom! ludwig; cockwarming, power dynamics, restraints/bondage, piss kink, pet play, size difference, toys, overstim + edging, pet play. let me know if i forgot any through replies, anon or PMs. wc: about 2k words. not really proof read.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

king of overthinking so trust that he’s likely to go above and beyond, especially at first. it’s also partially because he’s pretty deep in kink culture, but not quite porn dead brained; instead, he’s like… really conscious of being mindful. he’s not really the type for pillow talk and he can get pretty flustered after sex, so he’s gonna busy himself with getting you what you need.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

for him, it’s probably his overall physique since we all know this madlad works out like the world is about to request him to singlehandedly carry it on his shoulders. as much as he can be self critical, he’s pretty proud of himself!! he likes the confidence he can have in his strength and health and all that good stuff.

on his partner’s, he’d probably say something like their smile in an almost bashful way, but in reality it’s going to be their chest/hips/thighs/butt; whichever catches his attention the most, really. he just feels a bit bad that he’s that perverted, but you’ll know by how much he pays attention to that spot. i think he’s a boob guy (regardless of size/gender) though

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

ludwig is nasty in a way that should be studied. for someone who is so neat, he is very messy with cum — *both* yours and his. the type to kiss you after you swallow his cum, to stuff his fingers into whatever hole he creamed into to ensure it doesn’t leak, make you suck his fingers after getting you off with his hand. he likes to cum in you, but he does like how demeaning it is to cum on your body

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

what isn’t a dirty secret of his would be easier to answer… everything is a dirty secret to him. he’s a private person, okay! god forbid you somehow find his private tab. regardless of if you’ve been dating for years or a short time, he’s so embarrassed that he’ll go red.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s not super experienced because 1. he has little to no game, ESPECIALLY with feminine presenting people and 2. he’s always been pretty busy. by modern day and age he’s by no means a virgin, though. he’s gotten around enough — but he still is pretty awkward and tense at first. knows what he’s doing, but can find it hard to actually go through with it is all. give him a second to hype himself up!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

anon stop it you’re embarrassing him with these questions :( LOL no but he’s pretty versatile, probably likes positions you’ve never even heard of but … maybe the seashell is his favourite. overall, likes positions where he can more or less go to town and put some weight on you, because even when bondage isn’t involved he’s inclined to pin you down.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

please do not make a joke while his dick and balls are out they’ll literally shiver up inside him and never come out again

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

when he has a partner he’s extremely well groomed. shaves by default but if his partner makes it known they like some bush he’ll grow some out

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

intimacy is something ludwig struggles with a bit. he worries he’s too awkward and just butchers it, completely ruining the mood; still, he definitely tries, especially when things are still just starting. he’s not very smooth with sweet words, and he knows he isn’t either. so, this intimacy is going to come from what he’s doing — the way his strong hands carefully hold you, how his lips kiss up your leg while he undresses you, the feeling of him holding your hands tightly while fucking you.

he does find cockwarming to be extremely intimate. ludwig does like it quite a bit; he’s not easily overstimulated either so he can handle it for a good period of time as well. he likes to big spoon for peak intimacy… holding you makes his heart almost give out

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

this isn’t terribly uncommon for ludwig. his sex drive is high, and he doesn’t get game often. he will use his own imagination, but only under the condition that something is inspiring him; for example, his crush or partner. otherwise, he has plenty of porn saved.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

we would be here all day if i said all of them. so lets just unpack a few

power dynamics: he kind of needs a sub/dom dynamic in the bedroom. he greatly prefers being the dom, but he can find it a bit hard to bring himself to actually act on his desires. and so, he really, really likes when you play up the submissive thing; the more pathetic you are, the more he’s gonna feel the urge to make you a mess. his mess though! he’s likely to manhandle you since he’s… probably stronger than you.

restraints: he’s not super picky with this one because as long as you’re at his mercy he’s satisfied but, he REALLY likes bondage benches. loves them actually. be warned because he’s gonna go to pound town with this one

piss kink: very into humiliation and he’s not above purposely making you piss yourself. the more embarrassed you are, the better, really; he’d entertain the idea of pissing on or in you as a punishment. would understand if you are not into this though because he is self aware enough to know it’s nasty

pet play: feel like this one is a given but anyways, he does like the kitty thing but he especially likes the puppy side so he can train and discipline you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

anywhere around his or your house/apartment. “risky” sex would spike his anxiety in ways that should not be apart his foreplay… overall prefers a bed but he’s not above fucking you bent over the counter or smushed up against the wallz

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

unfortunately for him, just about anything. he’s horribly down bad. the lingering scent of your perfume/cologne/etc after you leave is enough for him to get him stiff.

i would say his biggest turn on’s though are; times when your size difference (if there is one) is prominent, when you’re struggling physically with something (the small groans/moans/whimpers… his mind travels FAST), and if you wear makeup. he likes the idea of ruining it

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

this is hard because i struggle to imagine him having a big no other than, like, surprises/not respecting boundaries and things of that nature. he’s pretty open minded because he of all people has no room to judge…!

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

here

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

prefers fast and rough for obvious reasons.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

does not like quickies. ludwig can see the appeal but… he’s only going to do it if he gets caught up in the moment enough to. not a common thing to expect from him

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

now you already know. he’s pretty open minded. the main times he’d be hesitant would be if the idea includes him bottoming or subbing, but he’s usually still down to at least try once

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he generally lasts a decent amount of time, but the first few times he sleeps with his partner he tends to take forever to cum because he gets SO nervous he cannot let himself. he prefers 2-3 rounds generally, but he does draw them out as much as he can. generally, he makes you cum at least twice before he does at all.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he’s easily one of the most into toys out of the cast in my opinion. he doesn’t like them on himself as much as he likes using them on you. he does have a handful, but will expand the collection with his own money if he discovers more online or his partner shows interest in a new one. i wrote a bit about this here

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

him being a sadist is well known i think 😭 he’s nervous to do it at first, as he is with everything, but once he feels comfortable prepare yourself because this man will not be your peace in the bedroom. whether it’s edging or overstim, making you get off on his boot or thigh, keeping you restrained with one of those fuck machines… he’s awfully creative.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

ludwig isn’t very loud and isn’t very talkative. unless he’s in enough of a headspace to degrade you anyways……. he groans quite a bit when he gets close but he’s not much of a screamer. even when he does talk during sex, it’s pretty much to the point and without many filler words. he does check in pretty often though, just to see how you’re doing.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

gets a lot of dom drops/post nut clarity after particularly intense sessions but he’s very reluctant to share this. he just feels embarrassed/ashamed about reaching out for reassurance or comfort. it’s pretty easy to tell when he’s feeling like this though, he’ll be extremely quiet and have a tense look on his face while he goes extra with your aftercare while completely neglecting himself

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

now rarely do i give a man the credit of being well endowed but… i have to say that he is. i simply cannot picture him without a massive dick. i personally would guess around 8”, thick AND veiny; most certainly struggled to know what to do with it at first but he discovered the power of it soon enough!! actually kind of shy about it because he’s had a notable amount of experiences with a partner being iffy about how big he was. lmao

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

clearly pretty high. he’s also pretty well disciplined though, so it’s not enough to like.. take over his life or anything. ends up sexually frustrated often because of this… he has a poor habit of ignoring his needs

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

ludwig doesn’t usually fall asleep after sex unless it’s like just before his usual bed time. and even then, he probably will fall asleep after you since he’s busying himself with aftercare and whatnot. sleeps the best after getting to empty his balls once or twice though!

#sorry this one is a bit nasty #my in my defence so is he #my work #germany x reader #ludwig beilschmidt x reader #hetalia x reader #hetalia #aph germany #aph hetalia #hetalia hc #hetalia headcanons #hws hetalia #hws germany

[francesderwent]

since apparently in 2024 I’m just saying stuff

I do not want fictional characters to go to therapy.

therapy is a great way to begin to see yourself more clearly, to pinpoint the ways you’re self-sabotaging and make changes which will allow you to strengthen and deepen your relationships. and obviously, we here at redemption.com want to see our favorite characters do that. after a while a character with no self-awareness starts to grate; we usually want them to figure out what they’re doing wrong and have some positive forward motion.

however. therapy is not the only way to have these epiphanies about yourself, or the only way to learn a new way of living, trusting, being a friend. sometimes a series of coincidences will put you in the one situation which will throw a mirror up in front of you and allow you to see and recognize yourself. sometimes you meet just the right person at just the right time who will love you in such a specific way that you’ll realize how wrong your old understanding of love was. it’s less purposeful and less sustained a method of growing than therapy is, it’s more of a winding road with occasional lightning strikes.

and I don’t know how to explain why I only ever want to see characters growing in this way, except to say that when they aren’t, then precisely what you’ve failed to create is a cohesive story. at best you have a story going on while the character privately sorts out their issues at the same time, with themes and climactic moments occurring in neat parallel. (I think Ted Lasso does something like this in season 2.) at worst, you don’t have any story at all, you have a character study in the form of a soliloquy, which happens to be delivered to a therapist. (a lot of fanfiction is like this.) it might be a very good character study! but it’s not a story.

it seems to me that fiction should be a window into the way we can learn from our experiences in the world and from our relationships with others, by being open to seeing ourselves anew and being open to change. and I’m not saying I want all the supporting characters to therapize the protagonist. I’m saying I want my protagonist to listen to the supporting characters and glean the truth of what they say as if they were a very good therapist—even if what they say is delivered in an incomplete way or in the middle of an argument. I don’t want an oracle to appear and point-blank tell the protagonist their fatal flaw. I want the fatal flaw to become exquisitely, inevitably clear in a moment of terrible dramatic irony, when the knowledge seems to come too late. and personally, I want this to happen always in the most dramatic way. I do not want my friends to reach rock bottom in order to start learning and changing. I do, sometimes, want to see fictional characters reach rock bottom. why? well. because there’s a story there.

I don’t just want to see characters changing. I want to see a story about characters changing.

#‘Carmy belongs in therapy’ I am biting you I am biting you I am biting you #he belongs in the restaurant because that’s where the story takes place!!! #’oh he needs to go to therapy and sort himself out before he gets in a relationship’ ma’am this is a STORY #the relationship is WHERE and HOW he will be sorting himself out!!! (or not!!) #‘he’s causing harm to everyone around him because he hasn’t healed his own damage’ he sure fucking is because. that’s the story #in which cate tells stories

[chocotonez]

skz love languages: acts of service

a/n: I have so many ideas yet none exist in my head,,that’s not meant to be poetic it just means I struggled with some of these

genre/warnings: I don’t think there’s any, gn reader (should be, pls tell me if there’s anything implying otherwise!!), swearing, guys I promise I know my grammar I just like casual language for my hcs

chan

-okay these will be short and sweet because I have so many thoughts

-folds your clothes along with his, or washes your laundry with his

-remembers your schedule so he can remind you of important events

-gives you tips if you ever go to the gym together and shares his water with you

-blows on hot food before he gives it to you

-takes photos of things he remembered you talking about when he’s at the store and asks if you want it

-holds your hands in his when it’s cold and rubs them to warm them up!!

-brings you water/snacks if you’re studying/working with little notes on them saying ur doing a good job <3

-brings extra tissues or lip balm or hand sanitizer just in case you need it

minho

-okay this is kinda niche but like clearing out your phone tabs or compter tabs and scolding you if you have a messy layout or smth like that

-texts reminders to you regularly, drink water, eat, take meds, clean your desk when you get home…

-sends you cute gifs to cheer you up

-always checks in with your feelings in his own way “hey u big baby, are you okay? do you need anything?”

-pretends to laugh at the videos you send him because even tho they’re usually kinda lame it’s from you and that makes him smile but he’ll never admit that </3

-organizes any mess you left behind, puts your dishes away or puts your shoes away and then makes fun of u for being “messy”

-wipes away food you got on your face

-begrudgingly lets you have more blanket when you sleep/cuddle together because he doesn’t want to see u cold or uncomfortable :(

-takes your glasses/jewelry off if you fell asleep with them on

changbin

-opens jars/wrappers/bags for you

-lifts you into his shoulders at festivals

-because it’s October here’s a lil Halloween inclusion of him holding your hands at haunted houses and yelling at the scare actors for you <3 (also because it’s his way of coping lol)

-turns lights off/closes doors if you forget

-if you’re in the bathroom before bed he fluffs up your pillows so ur all comfy and cozy

-reads messages you got out loud if you’re preoccupied with something else, or alerts you if something seems important

-tells you stupid bedtime stories to help you go back to sleep if you had a nightmare

-begins to buy larger umbrellas so you both can stay dry together

-if you wear makeup he wants to help you by either by blending it or just straight applying it and giggling like a kid because “it’s fun”

hyunjin

-brushes your hair and styles it

-this might be also niche but holding onto your shoulders while you walk rather than your hand because it feels more secure?? also because he feels like he can bring you closer to him

-I never really write idol s/os but the idea of him looking over to you during an awards show to periodically make sure ur okay makes me melt

-feeds you and then pinches ur cheeks while laughing

-usually lets you choose the movie/show you want to watch, same with places to eat (unless you don’t know what to pick, then he’ll help you figure it out)

-runs you weekly bubble baths for you two to relax in

-holds/opens doors for you

-always wants you to relax, back rubs or nights off and doing face masks together

-he applies ur face masks for you :)

han

-he’s more of a receiver than a giver for this love language, his is mostly mixed with gift gifting

-making you playlists or untitled songs or coded titles so only you can find them on his Spotify :)

-he adjusts ur clothes, I feel like he’s the type of boyfriend to pick lint off of u without being promoted

-he’s a bit messy so he’ll tend to throw things into your drawer so it at least has the appearance of looking neat, he’ll help u organize if that’s what u want tho!! U just need to ask <3

-always checks in on you unprompted tho, makes sure you’re doing well at any hour of the day and whines

-he either spam texts u or shows up at your house with no warning to check up on you

-stands up for u but subtlety (English is not my first language it took me like seven tries to get that right pmg)

-BUT as I was saying, if you want to go to a restaurant but ur too shy to say it in front of the ppl ur hanging out with, he’ll be like “I WANNA GO TO ____” until they relent <3

felix

-kills bugs for you

-teaches you how to bake and if he’s alone, he’ll bake extra treats for you (his fave thing to bake u r cupcakes !! )

-helps you build furniture and never teases u if you don’t get something <333

-if you play online games together he’ll try to always watch your back and fight off enemies for you

-or if you prefer taking the offensive, he’ll simply cheer you on :))

-sends flowers to your workplace/leaves them on your kitchen counter

-stargazes with you or plans out meaningful dates where he treats you

-makes you playlists

-sings you lullabies if you can’t sleep or just wanna hear him

-stays up after you to make sure you went to bed okay

seungmin

-plugs in your phone for you before bed

-he always listens to your advice or at least takes it into heavy consideration, makes sure you feel heard

-asks if his jokes ever go too far

-“excuse me, they asked for no pickles”

-alway thanks you for acts of services that you do for him, leaves sweet texts or letters expressing his gratitude

-weirdly sweet remarks about how you’re so pretty it’s annoying or “who gave you permission to look so good tonight?”

-covers your eyes during scary parts of movies

-unless asked, he always lets you sleep in on weekends but never fails to be a human alarm clock if your digital one isn’t working

-wakes up before you 99% of the time so he can at least start a cup of coffee/breakfast for you

-pesters you into taking care of yourself (laying on top of you until you brush your teeth, tickling you until you relent to drinking water…)

jeongin

-never breaks pinky promises, and always tells you in advance if there’s a schedule conflict so you don’t have to wait

-if he pays you back for anything he adds a little message “thanks for lunch, love you so much”

-tries new things for you because he trusts you, and encourages you to step out of your comfort zone as well

-asks if you’d like anything before he goes to the grocery store, and always remembers it

-thanks you randomly for being such a good partner or if you did something nice in the past few days

-always gives you a comfortable space to express yourself in, lets you talk and never interrupts you

-makes sure you stay uninterrupted as well, glares down anyone who speaks over u lolol

-makes a special handshake between the two of you

-very playful acts of services but they r still acts of services <3

#stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #uhhhh #yay #I’ll probably do Blackpink but I might do other love languages first #this series is honestly more challenging than I expected but it’s a lot of fun

[t0ast-ghost]

Episode 14 (The Conscience of The King). This is the reason I didn’t use the titles, you think I know how to spell concience?

Anyhow:

- oh neat mackers

- that was a weird and sudden transition for the theme

- WHY as the daughter of the actor playing mac would you play lady m???

- I also see dead men when trying to kiss women..

- “Mr. Spock, the man on top walks a lonely street. The chain of command is often a noose.” “Spare me your philosophical metaphors, Doctor.” They hate each other

- “my fathers race was spared the effects of alcohol” “oh now I know why they were conquered” WHAT THE FUCK BONES

- “did it ever occur to you that he actually just might like the girl?” “It occurred. I dismissed it” “you would”

- this scene is just Spock trying to get Bones to agree with him and Bones trying to get Spock to sit down to have a drink with him. They’re married and you cannot convince me otherwise.

- Spock is worried :((

- NOT THE MILK!

- “you should be told the difference between empiricism and stubbornness, Doctor” DAMN. damn.

- God, I hope they don’t spoil hamlet for me

- I like how her story is actually similar to lady m, trying to protect a terrible man’s actions, killing, going insane because of it

- “but you’re safe now father” could you say that MORE like a creepy doll

- her performance, smiling and laughing and crying, wow. Just, wow.

- WOAH BONES WHAT? She doesn’t remember her father’s death?

- I may be an actor but this is not my favourite episode so far…

Episode 15 (Balance Of Terror):

- if I dressed like that on my wedding day I’d cry. This is why we love Garak

- the first look at Romulans and everybody is looking at Spock and Spock is surprised as fuck

- the navigator for this episode (it’s not Chekhov, I don’t care what his name is) being disgusting towards Spock and Kirk going “what was that?” Like you better fucking not

- Spock is biting his lip and not defending himself, he was/is scared that Jim will think he’s with the Romulans

- “this is the hardest substance known to our science” *proceeds to break it* McCoy then goes into *studying Spock* mode

- McCoy and Kirk watching as Spock gets verbally attacked. I cannot describe the laugh I let out after saying “guess who’s going to die”

- They are the angel and devil on Kirk’s shoulder but not who you’d expect is who. And they’re married. And they literally hate each other.

- “Bones, what if I’m wrong?” Then Bones gives a great speech. It consists of what he’s essentially been trying to say this whole episode, which is, “Stop trying to end up in my med bay. You idiot.”

- not sure why the Romulan captain was so ready to say they’d be friends but it was a good speech

- of course Tomilson died. And now there’s another person hugging Kirk when sad. He almost never hugs back, he cannot be that comforting.

Wow already finished episode 15, and it feels like I’ve barely just finished 10. I am excited for 20 though, I read a couple episode descriptions…

Continuing this thread is honestly just fun for me. A lot of the time I find I don’t make exactly astute observations.

Here’s the master list :)

#garak mention #Star Trek #star trek the original series #star trek tos #star trek kirk #tos kirk #captain james kirk #star trek spock #tos spock #spock #star trek mccoy #tos bones #leonard bones mccoy

[brianwashere]

if your requests are open, could i have benrey with a s/o who's also part of the science team ? i love your writing and thank you !

Uhhhhh YURRRRRRRR. Benrey Benrey Benrey. Love that little freak (affectionate). I wanna put him under a microscope and study him.

Alrighty I did HCs bcc it just felt right and I wanna work through my inbox.

You uhhhh need a player 2?

-you first met bcc you were a scientist and when you checked in he asked for your passport.

-you were confused, but luckily you got the company email so you had your passport on you

-xe was immediately enamored by you

-less in a “man I love him” and more of a “man he remembered his passport. I should give him my PlayStation tag.”

-so it nervously asked for your PlayStation tag

-you had to explain you were an x box user

-he nearly considered losing interest in you then and there.

-anyway

-you’re good buddies with Gordon, you’ve even met Joshua

-so when you and Benrey start dating he’s pretty off put

-he expressed his concern to you but he never even brings up breaking up with Benrey bcc it’s your life and obviously Benrey makes you happy

-even if they’re very very weird

-Coomer and Bubby knew from the beginning that Benrey liked you—he didn’t tell them—they just knew

-they just watched it happen and said not too subtle things

-“oh young love, don’t you remember those times, Bubby?” “I can’t even remember what I ate last night.”

-Tommy was very similar

-“oh look at that, Benrey’s sweet voice is red and pink around you! Red to pink means ‘I think you’re pretty neat!’ :DD”

-even Sunkist knew what was up

-before you got together he’d catch you as you walked into black mesa and say “I don’t think you uhhhh now where you’re going there, pal.” And he’d walk you around black mesa, purposely misleading you so they got to spend more time with you

-when you do get together it’s probably a very awkward and confusing confession

-Benrey’s like “so uh…I need a player two”

-“Benrey, I already told you I have an x box…”

-eventually you two get there though

-Benrey constantly uses sweet voice around/on you (if you’re ok with it, obviously)

-it’s xer love language

-when you first see him in a form that’s not his human-ish one you’re obviously alarmed but after the initial shock you’re very curious

-you are a scientist after all

-it actually makes xem feel really good about themselves

-it is startling to wake up in the middle of the night and see some humanoid figure in the top corner of your room with 30 fluorescent eyes all staring at you

-“you alright, babe?”

-“hm? Oh, yeah. Just watchin you..”

-you figured out they actually don’t sleep

-all in all it loves you to Xen and back

#benrey x reader #Benrey x male reader #hlvrai benrey #hlvrai x reader #hlvrai x male reader #science team #fanfic #fanfic writing #science team reader #science team x male reader #male reader #benrey hlvrai #benrey

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Day 5

Race

Unfortunately this is short and late but at least it's out XD, both the sixth entry for Linktober Shadow and following this one should be regularly posted if I'm not too sleep deprived because I am having way too much fun writing them.

Shout out to the Four fans because they are extremely based, and a small love letter to the Minish Cap, I adore the Minish to death and they're really neat, shame we don't talk about them more.

Can be read as platonic or romantic and in or outside a LU context.

If you had to say anything about the Smithy’s Hyrule, is that it was heartbreakingly charming.

It wasn’t as vast as any of the others, not quite the reclaimed and untamed nature of Sky’s anymore but not yet the most concrete form to the rigid Hyrule that stood on it’s own feet by Warriors’ time for as long as it could with the unyieldingness of granite, that didn’t mean you didn’t adore it to death, with it’s growing oaks and flourishing May lilacs and cerise autumn shades that came dancing in with all it’s cicada laughing whimsy and kindness with the raw and unapologetic stubbornness of a hunting Lynel, inviting and goading and jeering you into exploring every little crack you could until there wasn’t anymore left to see. Fitting for Four, the Hero as kind as he is stubborn and arguably the most clever and rational of the Chain (well, as rational as any of your boys ever were, can’t be the Hero of Courage without being some mix of crazy, genius, a bit of na oblivious fool or all three) on sheer account of the way he looked that challenge right in the face and decided to double down and apply it to his life in general, it was charming and you all adored him for it.

“-Alright, so you stick close to me ok? The other’s can’t see you but as soon as they’re asleep-“

... Which was why you were rightfully worried when you seemingly walked in on him talking to himself when going to get him from a water fetching run, the line between insanity and genius was really fine and something in you just knew Four would be the type to stumble headfirst into shenanigans caused by his own hubris and then not tell anyone about it unless under threat of death because prying anything out of him was like trying to pull a lynel’s teeth out.

“Link?”, he jumped, frantically hiding his hands behind his back and looking so incredibly suspicious you couldn’t help but look around already, “Look, I’m not judging or anything. But I’d like some forewarning if I have to hide a body because I didn’t bring a shovel.“

He chokes, startling into a laugh, it’s warm and startled, you think you spot verdant and crimson in his gaze and can’t help your own smile, “Wha- Why would that be the first jump you made?!”

You gestured to him, skipping closer to his personal space, not too close, you knew that he could be like a feral cat about his boundaries, but enough that he wouldn’t be able to run away, “I mean you are looking suspicious and talking to yourself. Pardon me making some leaps in logic with the information I have at hand.”

He gives you a look, a small ‘Hah’ escaping him, deadpan, before he leans back a bit, looking away, “You’re ridiculous, I was just... Practing some acting? For the upcoming Picoto Festival?”

Now it was your turn to give him a blank look, raising an eyebrow for good measure.

He winces, shaking his head, shifting onto his feet and pointedly not looking at you, “... In hindsight that’s not my best one.”

“Not by far, but I’ll let it slide.”, you place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and he relaxes into the touch with a sigh, some times he’s glad you can see through him, other times he’s not sure he shouldn’t be a bit concerned, “Now, what’s bothering you? How can I help you?”

After a second, he looks at you, considering amethyst warring with the prism of his gaze, studying, analyzing like he would a weapon, before finally speaking, “Can I trust you not to say anything? And to not think I’m crazy?”

“Really not helping with my running theory you killed someone and need help disposing of the body.” You snipe back drily, but nodding anyway, “But you can, promise.”

He nods, then finally draws his hand from behind is back, reaching into his hood with a quiet, soothing murmur of ‘it’s alright’, you swear you hear a small sound, somewhere between a high pitched squeak and a chirp.

You gasp softly, the little being’s tail swishes, squeaking up at you, Four smiles a bit crookedly. Slumping shoulders betraying his relief, “I’ll take it you can see them?”

You nod, gently waving to the small, ivory colored mice like creature, “Mhm, hello. What’s a Minish doing here all alone?”

Four tilts his head, ears twitching as the Minish squeaks up at you, waving back, feathery tail swishing as they gesture animatedly, their leaf cloak swaying with the movement, “You know of them? And they got stranded here after it rained, I was going to help them get back to the village since we’re close by and well...” He trails off.

“I do, never thought I’d be able to see one though. And you didn’t think anyone else could either.” You smile apologetically at the Minish, “Sorry buddy, I can’t understand you.”

They squeak, ears going down, then perk up gesturing to their head as Four chuckles, “They ended up losing their hat, wanna help me look for a new one before we set off?”

You grin back, nodding, “Of course! Do you mind translating? I’d love to know more about them if you're up for sharing and they're okay with talking.”

“It’s a bit of a long story, are you sure?” Four asked hesitantly, placing the Minish on their shoulders, they squeak from their new perch, giving you a little nod.

“Well, it’s a good thing we have time.” You smile, locking your arm with his.

#linked universe x reader #linked universe four x reader #Maybe more tags will be added later #time for a nap now lol #summer writes linktober 2023 #summer writes

[chibishortdeath]

Ok, I’m sick of seeing only Netflix posts lately so I’m ranting about Simon lol

Unfortunately I had some nice paragraphs written for this but tumblr crashed while I was writing so this is my second time making this post (TwT)

TL;DR with the rant under a cut for easy scrolling, I am deranged and have studied all of Simon’s outfits, here’s some fun tidbits and I guess kinda a guide about his fashion sense :3

Oh boy, where to start XD. Castlevania has a lot of intricately detailed usually gothic and/or visual kei inspired fashion designs, usually with some amount of historical accuracy, thanks to Ayami Kojima, that the series is known for. But before this, the character design style was very different. From the very 90s shonen anime inspired Richter, to Christopher being deadass shirtless in a skirt at one point, to John Morris being in basically casual clothes, there’s a lot of variety in it.

Well, being the silly Simon super fan I am, I’ve studied all his outfits a ton over the years I’ve been a fan of the series and oh boy they are INTERESTING :3. I’ve noticed a lot of elements are consistently reoccurring, specific to him, and some are very much not specific to him lol. Anyway, just trust me on this one, overanalyzing the closet of an NES barbarian to be able to make new outfits for him is FUN >:3c.

So, I’ve seen him not wearing pants thrown around as a joke before, but it’s actually the truth! Besides the Haunted Castle wedding suit (an outlier that should not be counted lol), I actually have never run into a design where Simon is wearing full length, proper pants. The closest he ever gets is black tights in Simon’s Quest and occasionally shorts, but on that topic, shorts aren’t even his most common choice! Let’s look at some of his oldest designs:

This one is really hard to tell, but based on the angle of the lines, the shadows, and context clues from other art for CV1, I don’t know if that’s actually supposed to be shorts 💀💀💀!

In both his cute little manual doodles and his almost more adorable teeny 8-bit sprite, his outfit is a belted tunic of some sort! So like, the equivalent of a really tiny dress or a long shirt XD. And really, his cover art design is kinda just a more detailed version of these. They both have a distinction between a top and bottom part of the upper half, they both have big belts, they both have the tall boots and arm guards, they both have teeny skirt part, and Fun Fact! They both have red in the hair! I color picked a nice high res scan of the CV1 cover art, and yes, there’s red in his hair!!! It’s like a nice mix of dark reddish blond, it’s a very fun hair color :3.

However, that’s not where CV1 ends in tunic vs shorts debate:

THAT’S A SKORT— DO YOU SEE THAT DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE HALVES, ONE IS DEFINITELY A PANTLEG LMAO. So yeah, skort Simon is also a thing thanks to this particular magazine scan lol, thus leaving us with the possibility that it is both a skirt and shorts on the CV1 cover that he’s wearing X,,,,D. Never change, Simon, never change.

Besides the tunic, there’s some other interesting details to his CV1 era designs! :D In a lot of depictions he has this neat cape, something that returns in some Simon’s Quest art and Smash Bros lol, but he’s never shown wearing it in game. What’s interesting is that Trevor actually gets a cape in his game’s opening as well as Christopher in Belmont’s Revenge if I’m remembering correctly. It’s very neat seeing Simon character design details rubbing off into other characters :3. I like to think lore wise that it’s the same cape that’s been passed down to Simon from those two.

He also has the headband! Iconic! But have you noticed the little ball shapes at the ends of the tails? They’re either knots or, infinitely cooler option, beads :D!!!!!!! And I wouldn’t be surprised if they were because that leads me to another design: X68000–

Now this one is one of my favorites :3. It’s kinda like a forward facing version of his original design but with some new details! And his headband gets this cool lookin, intricate distinctly metallic design on it, something I’ve seen a lot of artists simplify to a general crescent moon shape. But it is kinda similar to the shape on his belt buckle, something that I still have no idea what it’s even supposed to be. Also, his arm guards and the thing at the end of his necklace (which may or may not have vampire teeth on it, they could just be metal spikes though) are similar; it makes me wonder if it was an attempt at a tortoiseshell pattern? Filigree? Whatever it is, they’re all matchy matchy about it.

This design also gives him the staple left shoulder pauldron, of which has these huge stitches holding it on and an added belt that connects to his other belt armor. Get used to belts, he has a lot of those X,,,D. What’s really neat about this one’s belt is that he has both a hilt for the family sword but also one for the whip on the other side, and they’re on the wrong sides for drawing the weapon properly 💀💀💀💀. Which is also funny considering his CV1 cover art has the sword on the other side, which is kinda wrong too? Who knows, maybe he’s ambidextrous and just doesn’t care what sides they’re on lol.

The biggest thing I can say about this design though is that a lot of these accessories and armor pieces look homemade, like as if he just took teeth as a trophy himself and strung them on a cord or made a shoulder piece and put it on an already existing belt he had. Adding onto this, there’s also the possible beads on his headband and the cords around his boots (which could be an attempt at a certain actual historical type of shoe that I cannot remember the name of for the life of me rn, in which case would make these not boots and actually corded shoes with very nice big fluffy socks hehe, I am forcing you to imagine him with big fluffy socks—) and yeah! I can see him making his stuff on his own :3. Which is so cool! I love this idea so much, it makes for a lot of things to imagine him doing hehe. Also gives him a hobby??? Yeah :)

No indication of if he’s got shorts or not in this one, maybe I’ll count how many have skirts or shorts and put that at the end of this lol.

But shorts get another point again cause we’re looking at Chronicles:

Oh Chronicles. Well, the first thing I wanna mention is that, this is Ayami Kojima’s design for him, so here we are seeing a very interesting mix of the visual kei style and 80s barbariancore in a way that honestly slays (figuratively and literally). And, surprisingly, there is something historically accurate about this design, and it’s not what you’d probably expect. Based on the width, material, cross rivets, and the buckle on the front, Simon is wearing an actual dog collar. Like, for dogs. Like it’s dog armor used primarily for hunting dogs I just— Again, never change Simon, never change 💀💀💀.

We also see Simon preferring to put his armor on his left side again with the torn in half coat. It’s also somewhat similar to 1600s coats, not really of any specific country in fashion that I can tell, however the sleeve being that short is not accurate, leading me to believe that he probably tore that off too lol. Very Chrom Fire Emblem of you, Simon, and another example of him D.I.Y.—ing things. The basic elements still stay similar to past designs. Shorts, distinct upper and lower half of shirt, belts, armor on said belt, sword and whip hilts, arm armor and tall boots (shout out to the heels on this one), and armor on the left, unfortunately no headband though. But that distinct bottom half to the shirt part of his outfit in this one is defined with… a corset? Yeah!!! That’s a corset!!! Though the proper name for the time period might be a stay or a girdle, but Simon is straight up wearing a belt over a corset. And said corset over a coat. Half of one. Don’t question him—

But the main entries to his 80s bara-barian half of the wardrobe, let’s get to some knightly aesthetic outfits, of which he does have a good amount, starting with SCV4:

Simon’s knightly outfits are usually a similar silhouette as his original tunic look, just in metal this time and in various colors. SCV4 has his armor as gold on the cover, blue on the Japanese cover and manual art, and green in game! And they’re all pretty much the same with mild variations. On the cover art, his shoes are corded sandals with nothing under them, but in game and in most other artwork they are these metallic boots with the classic X shape of the cords baked into them. Some art gives his middle belt armor section this cross with snakes on it, which is an odd thing to be referencing here. It’s either a staff of Mercury, usually associated now with medicine but was an alchemical symbol before that, or something else I can’t find any info on. There’s also a big ab window because these are all proper half shirts lol. Straight up a metal breastplate with nothing under it, a pretty bad idea tbh 💀.

All in all, these are generally really simple, but there’s one more thing before I stop talking about SCV4:

I LOVE this design. It’s this really nice blend of the older CV1 era style and the metal armor of the later ones, very cool. Shout out to the eye creases and the dead stare shadow over his eyes too, they really conveyed the effects of witnessing the horrors well lmaoooo.

Again, tunic, belt, arm guards, headband, the usual, but, speaking of symbols, there’s something about this one that’s been driving me nuts forever: I cannot find out what that symbol on his paldrons and belt buckle is!!! It’s this upside down triangle with a bent rectangle missing the bottom line over it and it LOOKS distinctly intentional, but I can’t find it or what it means anywhere!!! I tried searching through lists of alchemical symbols, religious symbols, nothing so far has been close (TwT ). Regardless, great design, definitely in my top 5.

And what else is in my top five? Oh yeah babey, it’s Simon’s Quest time:

Ah, Simon’s Quest with his fuck ass bob and the stolen Ravenloft image— but unironically, that armor fucks fr. Again, similar silhouette! If there’s any take aways from this post, it’s definitely that Simon is a little shirt, little pants kind of guy. A severe lack of long sleeves and long pants legs until now, and even then, these are skin tight. Heck even his boots(????) are vacuum sealed, just look at those fabric creases by his ankle!

Now, it’s honestly really hard to tell if his “gloves” and “boots” are supposed to be in some parts metal due to the shading on them and the base armor being very similar. I personally like to depict the forearm and calf parts as metal and the hand and ankle parts as not, but eh. Like most things regarding Simon, I suppose this too is up to interpretation XD. There’s some variation in color in some scans having the underclothes be white, dark blue, or black, and the armor be any range of red to purple to brown too. But towards red and black is probably the most accurate due to his sprite being those colors.

But this is a shockingly rare case of Simon being fully covered in one of his outfits, and I’m inclined to think that there’s probably a reason for that. Not only does he have a rotting curse right now and drawing straight up gore on the cover of an NES game was just not an option lol, but he’s not letting his guard down anymore after being hit. Which would also explain the sudden change to all metal armor as that can’t be cut through as easily as leather.

Speaking of all metal armor, oh I looooove the detailing on his. The gold accents to his byzantine (a nice in between color of red and purple, a color that is also reused in Smash Bros again in the middle corset section of his outfit) are what I would call stylized floral patterns, kinda in the way that fleur de les don’t really look exactly like flowers but still are supposed to represent one. Not sure what kind exactly, but possibly some sort type of angel’s trumpet? Very neat regardless. The gems inlaid in it are all green on top and around the belt, but the center belt buckle is bright red. It’s a very jewel tones color scheme!!!

Well anyway, if tumblr will let me have more images, I’d like to show off a few other random examples of outfit elements he’s had before I close this off with something :3

This was a pretty recently found scan of Simon wearing get this: a pleated miniskirt. Probably Roman armor inspired, as some of his other magazine scans have depicted him as such. One ad for SCV4 and another (live action even) for Simon’s Quest has him even wearing like a Roman helmet and everything, it’s odd. Add helmets to the list of things Simon might wear. Hmm maybe I should make a tier list of things based on how often he’s worn them…

Moving on!

This one goes for the bold choice of giving Simon not only an expected tiny belted tunic, but side slits on the legs! And uh um a little too much detail but uh— It’s also this kinda white, kinda bluish, kinda silverish color? Add this to Simon’s color palette I guess lol.

Which reminds me that I didn’t mention colors very much until now whoops. Throughout all of hie designs he primarily seems to wear neutrals like various browns, greys, and metal tones. But he also has a lot of color. Like as in there’s enough different colored designs to make a whole rainbow of Simon outfits. Common combinations like dark green, gold, and wine reds; blue and silver; brown, gold, orange, and kinda purplish greys; etc etc. And his HAIR. Oh boy, would this guy love modern hair dye X,,,,,D. He’s had it various blonds, reds, browns, even black at one point, blue, green, unnatural red, pink, and in one concept design white! Personally, I like depicting it as a nice in between of red, blond, and brown, it encompasses the most I think.

The final thing I wanna mention is the Smash Bros design, which I unfortunately can’t show because I’m on mobile and have met the 10 images limit whoopsie— (_ _ ;). This design is really a good culmination of a lot of elements. Not really definitive or anything, but very good :3. And it has something I didn’t mention earlier that I’ve noticed in some Simon designs: random belts or metal around his upper arms and thighs lol. The Smash Bros design in particular has the arm band things on both sides, Chronicles has it on the not half coat one, but this is another thing I’ve seen other characters (Christopher in particular, but his are just gold rings) have. The leg thing is less common, but yeah, that exists lol. Thank you Simon for uh bending two pieces of metal around your leg…? It’s cool XD. The corset also makes a return, as well as, once more, the same basic silhouette with the armor only on the left side, the belt armor pieces, etc etc. He’s very particular about that—

Well, anyway, Simon definitely has a vibe going on, but here’s a brief summary of things he seems to like:

Skirts, tunics, long shirts, and shorts (and skorts I guess), but nothing past about half his thigh, generally over the knees.

No long sleeves or pant legs (unless it’s tights when absolutely necessary).

Armor primarily to the left, unless it’s metal, in that case usually a full plate or paldron set.

Belts, hilts, belts on his arms, and neck, and hanging off of things, and legs, yeah belts—

Boots/tall socks, corded or not, and something on his forearms or wrists.

Headband! Seriously out of every Belmont he is the most dedicated to these lol.

Necklaces and beads and other little accessories and adornments are also cool.

Alrighty then, have fun Simon-ing and I encourage you to look through his or other characters’ designs and pick them apart a bit sometimes, even if it’s just through what’s on the wiki :3. If anything, I think it’s a good exercise in character design and consistency! But yeah, I wrote all this late at night and can’t think of anything else rn. If I do I’ll do a sequel I guess hehe. Either that or I might rant about another character hmmmmmmm—

#oh god I am sleepy #how the hell did I rant about Simon clothes for uh three hours uhhhh— #castlevania #castlevania games #castlevania chronicles #castlevania x68000 #x68000 #Castlevania 4 #scv4 #super castlevania iv #castlevania ii #castlevania ii: simon's quest #castlevania simon’s quest #simon's quest #Castlevania 1 #Castlevania nes #akumajo dracula #akumajou dracula #simon belmont #text post #incoherent rambling #does this count as character analysis #eh let’s just throw it into the theory posting tag #theory posting #analysis posting #but fr tho like it is so fun making him clothes #my dumbass wants to learn how to sew just so I can make a Simon plushie and then make him little outfits #barbarian man I am forcing you to match with me no if ands or buts— #but it will be within your boundaries and likes and nothing that would be uncomfortable :3 #I also love how this is just an extremely long rant all just to say ‘he doesn’t wear pants or long sleeve shirts’ help me 💀💀💀

[obligatoryidolblog]

Pilgrimage

Genre: Smut? Weird? I’m not even sure what to call this

Pairing: Seonghwa/reader

Warnings: unprotected sex, lots of references to mental instability, lots of religious references?

Summary: When your midlife crisis comes a few decades too early, you run away from home and into a man who steals the last bits of your sanity.

A/N: This is a complete rewrite and rework of a blurb I wrote before.

Masterlist

Steam wafts up from your coffee mug. You have no idea where the hell you are. That should worry you. Normally it would worry you. But tonight is anything but normal.

You think people can tell. Or it could just be that you are alone, doing nothing but drinking coffee and scribbling on a piece of shitty scrap paper from the bottom of your bag. You swear you’re not looking to be ‘picked up,’ man down the way. You’re just here because here is where you’re at. And no, young ladies next to you, you are not crazy, a prostitute, or an addict.

Well, to be honest, the crazy part is debatable. Like, you’re in your early twenties and you just ran away from home. Guess your midlife crisis came early. But let’s not think about that. Let’s think about the waitress.

Probably your age, but she looks tired, old. Cute, bobbed hair of a flat color obviously obtained from a box, a neat row of short bangs brushing her brows. She looks like a throwback to another era, her precise black eyeliner speaking to the mid twentieth century.

You want to talk to her, but she’s busy. That’s what you tell yourself, anyways. You could never actually strike up a conversation with her. ‘Painfully shy’ has never been a more apt description of a person. So here you sit, watching the waitress through the curtain of your hair, her plump frame hazed by lank strands.

She has an odd, almost imperceptible rhythm to her movements behind the long bar you are seated at. Water dispensing, coffee, check the window to the kitchen, take a breath, hitch her smile back up and do it all again. It’s hypnotizing. You want her to stop and just… scream. You can see it there, in her eyes. She wants out.

You want to tell her that you understand. You wanted out, too. You’d take her with you. Ride off into the sunset. Hit the dusty trail. Thelma and Louise, reborn. But things like that don’t happen in your life. You are having your breakdown, but that doesn’t mean she is, too. Maybe she is perfectly happy working the bar at this diner. Maybe you’re just trying to find some connection.

Your rational side is trying to emerge again. Can’t have that. This is your break from reality, and you won’t have sanity infringe upon it. If you stop and think, then all the running is lost. You have to keep moving, keep looking ahead, don’t stop, don’t think, don’t let feelings sneak up on you. Watch the waitress and dream. Everything else is behind you.

Yeah, that’ll work.

As you sweep your eyes over her stained uniform once more, you hear the ding of the door. You don’t turn, don’t look, lost in your wandering imagination. But you’re dragged from your downward spiral by the form that slides to the stool next to you. Glancing over, you find a sharp profile and incredibly soft looking hair framing it. This creature almost seems to glow with ethereal light. His eyes swing over to you for a moment and in that moment you feel… salvation.

He gives you a brief smile, then turns back to order a coffee from the now-forgotten waitress. You study him, no part of your sanity remaining to remind you not to stare at some stranger in a diner in the middle of nowhere like some kind of freak. Thankful to whatever god had sent him your way, he doesn’t seem to notice your intense stare.

His lips are full, softly flushed. You bet they’re soft. You bet all of him is soft. You bet he’d laugh at you if you hit on him. Hell, you’d laugh at you. Why are you so awkward? You have no clue how to even smile at him without looking scared. Dammit, you want to smile at him. You want to pull his glorious attention back to you and ask him question after question until you know everything about him. You want to touch him and see if his skin is as soft as it looks. You want to kiss him. You want to be bold.

But you’re still sitting there, mentally stripping him and running your tongue over his skin as he sips his coffee and looks at his phone, unaware. Good job. Even in the midst of your early midlife crisis you’re a pussy. You wish you could say you’re surprised by your cowardice, but it’s nothing new. This escape to the unknown is the biggest step you’ve taken in a long time, and even now you’re barely an hour from home.

You are apparently bad at having a breakdown, even. Again, no big shock. Your life has been one big string of failure and you suppose you can’t break that lovely streak. You guess that’s one thing you didn’t fail at. Should that be comforting? It really isn’t. Time to stop dwelling on this and focus on the matter at hand.

The man. He’s looking at you.

“Yes?” you rasp out, wincing mentally at the curtness your nervousness created.

“Can you pass the sugar?” he asks, his deep voice soft, just as velvet as you imagine his body to be.

“Oh… yeah,” you mumble, feeling your face deepen in color as you slide the container to him.

You have to get a grip on yourself.

Ha. As if.

Taking a long swallow of your own cold coffee, you set your eyes back on the waitress, trying to grasp the remaining frayed ends of your decorum, and fail immediately upon setting the cup back down, turning once more to the magnetic draw of the man beside you. You choke slightly as you find him still looking at you, his eyes catching yours and that feeling of ease washing over you again at the genuine interest in his dark eyes.

Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird. Just smile at him.

A shaky smile curls your lips, and you raise a hand to wave lamely. Good job, fantastic, not weird at all. You feel the inward cringe only distantly, though, as the heavenly man leans closer with a chuckle, and your insides go to mush just as much as your brain has been. He waves gently in return and you feel your mental state topple sideways. No one should be that pretty, it simply isn’t fair.

“Are you okay?” he asks hesitantly, his brow wrinkling slightly, glancing at your bag.

Dragging your eyes away from him is way harder than it should be but you manage it. Oh. Oh yeah. Your bag was overflowing with the clothes you’d stuffed in it in your haste to get away. From what you still hadn’t determined. You had a nagging sensation that what you were trying to get away from was yourself, but you weren’t going to unpack that.

Instead you turn an embarrassed smile to him again and shrug, realizing that you’ve been staring at your bag for what must be a good thirty seconds. He must think you’re absolutely batshit. Which you couldn’t blame him for since you were pretty much coming to the same conclusion yourself. His voice and his eyes go even more soft and compassionate and boy, does that do a number on your heart rate.

“I’m… I guess?” you finally stutter out, “Are-… are you?”

A wide smile bursts across his face at your complete buffoonery, and the breath is knocked from your lungs. That perfect face, meant to be canonized in every holy work, cracks into something pained, his bright teeth shining as his eyes crumple. A glimpse of humanity infuses this divine being, and you weren’t sure what was worse - being in the presence of an earth-bound god or the knowledge that such sublimity could be contained in truly mortal flesh. Time slows, the frame rate of the universe moving at the pace of your broken, idiot brain as you simply bask in the mushroom cloud glow of this angelic man’s laugh.

Record scratch halt, the moment is fractured, and that mesmerizing smile ends as the waitress leans in to refill his cup. He flashes a small semblance of the world-stopping smile at her and you are momentarily numb, reminded that this celestial being doesn’t reserve its smiles for you.

He’s a stranger, you freak. Calm down. He could be an axe murderer for all you know.

His gentle, graceful eyes turn back to you, and all thoughts flee as he lifts his mug to you in mock salute and finally replies, “No. I’m pretty sure I’m not okay.”

White noise overtakes your consciousness for a moment, the thought that he just so brazenly told you, a complete stranger who was (you were pretty sure) clearly going through Some Shit, that he wasn’t okay… the bravery. The honesty. The pure terror of how to respond without letting him know that you are currently completely off your rocker.

“Er?”

Well that certainly didn’t do the job.

His smile widens back into that lovely grimace and you quickly look down, lest you lose your goddamn marbles again at the vision.

“Sorry, I’m being weird,” he says, embarrassment leaking into his husky voice, and this draws your amazed eyes back to his.

“Weird is kinda my thing right now,” you shakily reply, your own lips curling into what you hoped to god was a normal smile.

Turning fully to face you, he holds his graceful hand out to you, and feeling like an alien doing this for the first time ever, you reach out to shake it as he says, “I’m Seonghwa.”

“_____,” you reply, dimly aware that giving your real name to some rando in the middle of the night probably isn’t wise, but the ability to care is somehow lost to you, so you throw all caution to the wind. “Are you running away as well?”

He raises a sharp eyebrow and you can practically feel little cartoon hearts popping up and circling your head. The flash of his teeth as he smiles is doing a number on your pulse, and you can feel the first genuine smile in months stretch your lips in return.

“I’m not running away from anything,” he leans in and whispers confidentially, making your pupils blow wide and your pulse thrum in your ears. “I’m looking for something.”

Meeting his eyes much closer to yours, you are pretty sure you’re either falling in immediate, deranged love with this guy or you’re about to have a stroke. Odd how often those feel the same.

“Scavenger hunt?” your entirely cockeyed brain manages to force from your lips, and you’re simply glad you’re able to form words when the mere fact that he moved slightly closer to you sent the last few of your firing neurons into a frenzy.

With a cocked brow that could hold up the heavens, he pauses a beat, likely reevaluating the choice of speaking to someone clearly completely out of marbles to lose, he then replies, “Of sorts. If the scavenger hunt list consists of pieces of myself.”

And with that the last bits of your wits scatter like the dandelion fluff that currently seemed to have taken the place of your brain. His reality-altering smile breaks again and you have fallen so deep into the well of his starlit eyes that you can’t tug your gaze away to reduce the psychic damage taken by viewing such human artistry full on.

Shit. Here comes that love/stroke feeling again.

“Maybe you could help me,” he slyly adds, as if he hadn’t just slithered into your crisis of self like the serpent into the Garden of Eden.

“Uh,” you feel your lips fumble out, unable to even muster embarrassment at being struck dumb by this brash demon or angel or whatever the hell this man was; certainly not mortal, no matter what his deviously human smile indicates.

He had to stop looking at you like that, you simply wouldn’t survive it. With a devastating narrow of his eyes, the cunningness of Lucifer himself imbues this being, this self proclaimed Seonghwa, and your soul turns fully from any god ever worshiped. This man, if he could be demeaned to be reduced to such a lowly state as human, could require any act of you and you’d acquiesce with the devotion only known by the truly devout, or the fully deranged. Either of which could now be true of you, if the hallelujah chorus in your brain was any indication.

“I… yes?” you stammer, completely unable to give anything but full consent to the compelling creature, not even needing the quite possibly very important details of what he requested of you.

Seeing your immediate and unhinged acquiescence, Seonghwa’s face softens once more, and you feel absolutely none of the self consciousness that you should at his concern for your lack of self preservation. Who were you to preserve your lowly self from such a blessed being?

After a moment’s perusal, which felt like an eternity to your fractured mind, he leans closer to ask in a confessional booth whisper, “Do you know what it’s like to live solely for other people?”

His words flow over you like the preface to a homily that would drag you to your knees for eventual communion. Happily, devotedly, zealously would you live your life solely for him. But no, this was not his intent, and he continued on in his liturgy. 

“For years now, I have given every part of me to other people. I’ve sacrificed myself for everyone else in my life, and where has it got me?” he clarifies, looking down into the depth of his shitty, overly sweet coffee. You could practically see the wreath of thorns adorning his crown, wanting to ask to see his palms, to view his personal marks of stigmata. Not in doubt, as Thomas had, but to kiss his wounds, to bathe them in tears as Mary Magdalene had washed the feet of her savior. 

Raising his eyes once more to meet yours, the hymns of gloria return and you struggle to hear his low voice as he asks again, “Do you know what that feels like?”

Unable to defy his words, you hear the confession slip from your lips, “I’m not sure I know what it feels like to live at all. For myself, or anyone else.”

Rocked with the realization of what you’d just avowed, you still your breath, waiting for your penance for interrupting his gospel. But instead, his hand slides over to grasp your own, a benediction for your transgression against him. 

“That’s the same though, isn’t it?” he asks, his canon hard to follow through your crumbling sanity but you listen on as this prophet gives his revelation, “You aren’t living for yourself. Is it so bad to want to be selfish from time to time?”

The cardinal sin of greed could never touch this seraph, you were certain of that, so with a shake of your head you denounce the mere idea, “Of course not.”

The martyr smile breaks over his face once more, and you’re convinced that the flickering fluorescent diner light behind him is now a halo, enwreathing his pained visage. How did this radiant being come to find you in this dump of a pitstop on a side road of perdition? How did you, your piteous, splintered self come to be so blessed? Was it blasphemy to question such a consecration? How long have you been staring at him in adoration, like some sort of lunatic?

The agonized smile had fallen from the grace of Seonghwa’s face, and he now looked almost hesitant, his beatific lips twisting to the side before forming yet another question, “Do you have somewhere to be? Where are you running to?”

The question of the night, surely. The hymns fall to silence in your mind as you are reminded of your own trials. A manic giggle nearly bubbles up inside you as you weigh his words. Running to somewhere? Certainly not. Only away. Always away. The burning itch to escape chokes you once again, panic nearly closing your throat. You meet his eyes, and you know that he sees the answer before you can speak. 

“I’m just… I had to get away. I don’t… I don’t know,” you mumbled out, unable to order your disorderly thoughts, but of course he divined your meaning clearly. Of course this Seonghwa could look directly into your soul, know your inner workings before you know them yourself. 

A tilt of his head dims the harsh glow of the light behind him, his halo diminishing to something less holy, something less angelic as he takes you in for a moment. You want to curl in on yourself, realizing that you had rushed from your house in naught but sweatpants and a stained tank top, no thought of a bra or underwear even. Great, just like you to meet divinity in your fucking pajamas, your hair a mess, the sweat of the dread of eternity in your own skin still drying on you. 

“Then…” he slowly begins, the wily glint taking hold in his eyes once more, his purity darkening with infernal intent, “would you join me? I have a room. Allow… allow me to be selfish. Just this once. Perhaps even allow yourself to be selfish.”

As if taking off in the middle of the night wasn’t already your foray into the selfish, but that's beside the point when Seonghwa’s long fingers were now slipping over your wrist, trailing with promise of joyful sin, his now devilish eyes sliding down to the gleaming, damp meeting of your breasts peeking over the top of your soiled tank top. Oh. Oh, that’s what he wants. Again, the familiar sense of logic tries to take hold of your brain. Are you really going to go to a hotel room with some dude you just met and had a weird bonding moment with for like five minutes in a dilapidated diner in some podunk nowhere town? Is this what you’ve come to? Have you finally really gone around that particular bend? Is your rationality truly completely obliterated? 

More importantly, do you give even the slightest damn? Because truth be told, you already knew the answer. Yes, you were going to go with Seonghwa to this chapel he so graciously invited you into. Sanity be damned, long forgotten consequences be damned. The burning trail of his fingers over your wrist brings a doxology roaring through your mind that silences the voice of reason. This being could do as he pleased with you and you would give an acclamation to his hallowed self in response. So in your ecstatic trance, you feel your head nod.

Seonghwa stands, and your center of gravity follows the pull of his orbit, nearly tugging you off your seat. As if immune to your complete ridiculousness ever since he entered stage left and stole the scene of your mental breakdown soliloquy, he ignores your wobble, and holds his hand out again. The alien motoring your brain once more takes the controls as you stare at his outstretched hand in confusion, flabbergasted in your stupor to the fact that he clearly wants you to take it in your own. Levers finally pull, and your arm reaches out like a ventriloquist dummy hand, puppeted with a stick by the last shard of lucidity in your stupefied psyche.

The angel choir roars to a crescendo again at the returned touch of his skin on yours, and then falls immediately silent as you meet his eyes. Supernova consumes your body, and you are pretty sure he has to feel the way your body rocks with the sensation of acceptance of your fate, but he has the continued grace to not point out your overt strangeness tonight. What a guy. What a man. You could fling yourself into the sun, immolating yourself from either embarrassment or sheer manic joy, you can’t decide which. But for now, you settle for letting him lead you from the diner, your haphazardly packed bag left orphaned and forgotten by your seat, now a shrine to the moment of your newfound zealotry.

With the blind faith of a new convert, you allow Seonghwa to lead you out the door and towards the shitty motel in the next parking lot over. Thoughts of axe murders and caution now wiped clean from your stricken brain, you find no place for doubt in this creature as he leads your form behind him, stumbling with scarecrow grace to a hotel room door. Like a cartoon character trailing toes along the floor, carried aloft by the scent of a delicious meal, you inhale the mere presence of Seonghwa as he unlocks and opens the door and leads you in.

It is at the same time not your finest moment and the best second of your entire existence.

The door closes with a finality that resounds with every decision that had led you to be sitting in that shitty diner tonight. You, like Seonghwa, had not been running from something; fate had driven you with the crack of a whip made of panic, out of your room, out of your house, into your car, and to the exact place that would bring you into the same realm as this divine man. Hazily, you decide to check later if that diner was somehow a holy site, drawing unknowing pilgrims.

But this thought is blown completely from your brain along with any other semblance of lucidity when Seonghwa’s hands grip your hips and his full, rose petal lips touch yours. This sensation is what turns sinners into saints, what razes mountains to the ground, what made the prehistoric seas boil and churn until life emerged.

The stroke of his fingers are the brush of a divinely inspired artist on the canvas of your skin. His palms press into your waist as in prayer, rucking up the hastily thrown on tank top in their quest. A soft sigh escapes your afflicted lips as he removes his own, looking down to once again meet your gaze. A flicker of doubt passes across his eyes and you repent for causing such a man any duress. Trailing your hands up his chest, over his neck, and tangling your fingers into his hair, you give a Mother Mary smile. 

“Please Seonghwa, continue,” your absolution dissolving the confessional screen that hazed his eyes, “be selfish.”

A soft grunt escapes his flushed lips as you tug gently on the hair entwined in your fingers, pulling him back into the joining of lips, his tongue now sweeping through your mouth as the sense of exaltation returns. His legs step forward, driving you back to press against the door, fervor now taking him as he licks into your mouth, one hand slamming to press against the door beside your head as the other tightens on your waist, his nails digging penitent crescent marks into the plush of your skin. The flames of hell itself consume you as you press your body fully against him, returning his kiss with full devotion. 

His lips slip from yours, beginning a pilgrimage down your jaw to the crux of your neck. Turning your head to allow him more room, you distantly see the hand by your head has balled into a fist, dragging a moan from your lips as he spreads a burning need throughout your body, sucking a deep bruise into your skin. More, you want more of the proof of his presence left on your body, evidence of this miracle to profess to the world. Your grip on his tresses tightens and a guttural groan vibrates from him to you. Seonghwa’s hips press forward, the length straining at his zipper rocking against your hip. One of your hands tugs at his hair harder, the other traversing down, wriggling between the flush of your bodies together to slide over Seonghwa’s twitching, confined cock.

His teeth sink into the bruised skin between them in response, and you cry out, a sharp jolt of pleasure rocketing to your core at the sensation. He quickly pulls himself away from you, and you pant, forsaken, turning pleading eyes to him as he stands staring at your trembling form, begging for him to return his grace to your body. Heavy breaths escape him as he appears to attempt to gain control of himself, to seek for the return of self sacrifice and restraint, to return to sanctity. 

Oh no, that won’t do. You will not allow Seonghwa to nail himself to a cross for your sins. Stepping forward, you pull the ugly, filthy tank top over your head, baring yourself to him. His gaze drinks in the bared skin, his fear for his mortal soul wavering as you take his hand and bring it up to cup the weight of your breast. 

“Stop thinking, Seonghwa,” you murmur, running the fingers of your free hand under his t-shirt, savoring the smooth skin hidden beneath, “Take my offering.”

If your strange verbiage caught his attention he did not show it, though you guess it was no more strange than anything else you’ve said tonight. Instead, he makes a pained sound in the back of his throat, then drops his mouth to the peak in his hand. You suck in a sharp breath as he laves his tongue over your nipple, his hands once more placing a firm hold on your hips as you wind your fingers into his hair again. Your head tips backwards, cries of pleasure leaving you as he pulls your pearled nipple between his lips and sucks. Dampness collects in your folds, slipping down to sully the sweatpants that you had tugged on merely hours earlier in your fervent haste to run. 

“Heavenly,” Seonghwa mumbles around your flesh, “You taste like heaven.”

And he would know, wouldn’t he? Your soul soars at his words, and you tug his head away, your hands now at busy work pulling at his shirt, desperate to remove it and see the skin cassocked away from your sight. He quickly divests himself, and you are unable to refrain from darting forward to run your tongue over his collarbone. He hisses in a breath between clenched teeth, and you have a vision of his head tipped back, gleaming teeth bared as his eyes tense shut when you glance up from taking in the planes of his chest as you run your mouth over every inch you can reach. Pressing your breasts against him, you nip along his neck, putting your wandering hands to work now on the opening of his jeans. 

“Wait,” he pants out, a rough grip on your wrists now, “wait.”

You look up, frozen at his sudden return of repentance. But instead of a look of contrition or doubt, you find him tilting his lips into a devilish smile, his hands on your hips maneuvering you to stand before the bed as he drops to his knees before you. 

“Your turn,” he says, his tone now the reverent one, his eyes shining with wicked idolatry, “I want you to be selfish too.”

As he begins to slide your sweatpants down your hips, you feel a rush of sanctity infuse you, no longer the acolyte, but now the priestess in this mass. His covetous gaze follows the descent of your ratty sweatpants, as if watching the wonders of the creation, eyes locking on the glistening folds he uncovers and the slide of honeyed dampness coating your inner thighs. When you step out of the sweatpants, he leans in and presses a kiss to your thigh, then pushes your hips backwards. 

“Lay down,” he says, looking up at you with carnal intent, and who are you to deny him?

Placing yourself slowly on the scratchy, cum-stained comforter topping the stiff bed in this dusty motel room shouldn’t feel like laying a cloth atop an altar, but should and shouldn’t have no place in your fractured mind tonight. Draping yourself back, Seonghwa moves to the bed, spreading your legs with a smoothing of his palm over your sticky thighs and settles himself between them. Normal you, sane you, would be mortified to have a gorgeous stranger raking eyes over your bare cunt like this, but you are not that person now. You are Seonghwa’s version of you. God help you, you hope to never return to normal if this is what madness brings. 

“So ready to do anything I ask,” Seonghwa says, still gliding his hands up and down your inner thighs as his eyes drink in your form, “What if I were to hurt you? What if I wanted to do evil things to you?”

There’s a moral quandary in there, still tickling the back of his saintly mind, but honestly you are positive that in your current state you would acquiesce readily, no matter. Coherent thought had long fled the building, and you were fully immersed in your fallacious worship of this man. Nothing he could do to you could ever be evil, because he himself is wholly divine. He could make a sacrifice of you and it would still be an act of devotion. 

“I’m yours to do with as you please. Be greedy, Seonghwa,” you tell him as much, watching the racing emotions over his face at your words, first shock, then a deep seated hunger. 

“Be careful with your words, lovely,” he growls, leaning over you to prop himself on a hand, his lips over yours, “I’m likely to believe them tonight.”

You meet his intense gaze steadily, firm in your faith in him, and reply, “Take whatever you want, Hwa. I’m your disciple tonight.”

His lack of comment on your endless oddity continues as his eyes blaze and he drops to press a hot, spit slicked kiss to your hungry mouth. You return it with ardent devotion, and gasp in a lungful of musty motel air when he begins to work his mouth down your body, his destination clear as he makes quick work of devouring the skin of your neck, your chest, your stomach. He pauses when he reaches the juncture of your thighs, trailing his nose over your mound, inhaling deeply, bringing a shudder up your body and your fingers back to his hair.

The licking flame of his tongue between your legs is a pyre built to consume every wicked woman known to man. It slips between your folds, dragging over your clit as your back arches and a cry escapes you. His arms slide under your thighs, his hands wrapping up over them to hold them open as he delves his tongue into your hole, and a trembling takes over your body, yanking wildly at his sweat-damped strands. As he fucks his tongue into you, licking out the wet that is now gathering even quicker in your core, you chanted to the heavens, both curses and prayers, a creed of your worship of the tongue driving you to ecstasy. 

Moving to draw your clit between his lips, he gives a hard suck and the breath is driven from your lungs. Your walls clench around the lack of his tongue, and you gasp out a silent plea, looking down to find his eyes closed in avaricious joy as he flicks his tongue over the nub he is still suckling at. Writhing, you finally draw air back into your lungs, and cry his name out, pulling a moan from him that vibrates through your clit and sends shocks up your spine. An ache forms in your walls, yearning to be filled, to clamp down on more than your own juices. 

“Please,” you beg, caught in limbo and viewing heaven from afar, “please Hwa, I need more!”

He growls, pulling away with another long lick over your hole to your clit, then sitting up to yank open his jeans. 

“That’s right, want it all, don’t you?” he questions, shoving at the waist of his jeans and boxers at once, revealing a quivering cock, red at the tip and anointed with glimmering precum, tumescent in the low light of the hideous lamp on the dingy bedside table, “My impatient little plaything.”

The covetous note in his voice is matched by the way you eye his cock with eager desire. You want nothing more than to shove him back and lay his dick on your tongue like the eucharist, to take the communion of his heavenly body and worship him fully. But he clearly has other ideas, as he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and grips the base of his cock and drags the tip over your folds. This draws a long moan from your lips, and you drop your eyes closed at the heat of his precum mingling with yours on your folds. 

“So wet, so ready for me to take and take and take,” he releases on a deep breath, tipping his head back and screwing his eyes shut again as he coats the head of his dick with your juices, “All for me, right?”

His eyes dart back down to yours, commanding your response, which you readily give, “All yours, Seonghwa, anything for you.”

His moral dilemma seems to have ended as he gives you a look of fierce infatuation, all doubt gone, and you drink in the lust pouring off of him. He leans over you once more, planting a hand by your head as he positions himself at your entrance, leaning down to feather his lips over your jawline. 

“I told you to be careful with those words,” he mumbles into your neck, “Anything?”

You are resolute in your conviction as you breathe out, “Anything. Make me yours.”

You gasp in a deep cry as Seonghwa pushes his way into you, moaning against your shoulder, “And if I want to cum in you?”

“Give me every drop,” you cry out, palms finding his back and your nails turning in to rake marks down his shoulders.

“Fuck, lovely,” he shudders out, drawing his hips back to drive into your heat with force driven by maddening desire, “Say it again.”

The thrust of his cock is a divining rod directly drawing every drop of essence from your core. He sets a fervent pace, the sound of your wet folds slapping against his base filling the room. He grunts with the effort of his passion, and you repeat a catechism of need for him, for his seed to fill you to overflowing, to be possessed fully by him and only him. The heavy stroke of his thick cock stretches the limits of your neglected pussy, and the fire building in your loins is only fueled by the thickly slurred whisper of his desires and passion in your ear, a rosary prayer that would serve as penance for Satan himself. 

“God, beautiful, you’re so tight, so hot around my cock,” his words flood your senses, driving you nearer and nearer your peak, “My own little toy to fill with cum, going to fuck it into you so deep…”

He trails off into soft moans, pressing blazing open-mouthed kisses across your shoulders as you drag your nails down his back harder, arching your hips as much as you can to meet his rough thrusts, so close to paradise, but just out of reach. You cry out, begging him once again for more, and he pushes himself up, hooking an arm under one of your knees, the new angle making his harsh thrusts now batter that spot inside you that stole the breath from your lungs. As a final blessing, he brings his other hand down to press his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles on it, the fires of damnation in his eyes as they met yours. 

“Fuck, cum for me, please cum for me,” he grits out between his beautiful teeth, his hips stuttering as he twitched inside you with each snap of his hips, “Squeeze me while I fill you up, beautiful.”

The last clear thought you have, as Seonghwa imbues you with his gracious self, suffuses your mind and body with every bit of himself, fills you to overflowing both literally and metaphorically, is “this must be what miracles are made of.” And the consummation, the sparkling moment of orgasm, your trembling body drinking in the baptismal font of his seed, is the purest form of communion. You quake with your release, clamping down around him as you buck and cry out to the heavens you have now reached. He jerks his hips against you, teeth clenched as his cum streams into you in hot torrents. 

The sacrament of your joining overflows, and he collapses against you, still deep in your leaking cunt as you both catch your breath. Your once flagellating hands now sooth over his rent skin, and he draws in a deep breath then rolls off of you, bringing a sigh to your lips as you feel him slip out of you and his cum begin to flow out onto the filthy comforter below you. His head turns to look at you, and you see the same satisfaction you feel matched on his face. 

“Are you… was that okay?” he asks, propping himself up on an elbow and cupping your face in his palm.

A laugh bubbles up from your chest and you pull him into a kiss. How do you explain that “okay” is not even close to what “that” was? You were born again, baptized and given new life by this man. 

Feeling him settle against you, pulling you close, you close your eyes and whisper, “That was glorious, Seonghwa.”

But this transcendence can’t ever last forever, can it? Certainly not for a half-crazed dumbass like yourself, letting a crack in your sanity widen to the point of idolatry. The early morning light streaming through the ratty curtains of this shitty hotel room wakes you to find an empty bed, the deity you had gifted your entire soul to the night before gone. No note. No traces of him to prove he existed aside from the marks on your body.

Figures, right?

Stumbling your way into your clothes, you try to be angry. With him or yourself, either would do. But mostly, you feel renewed, as if his cum drying on your thighs had glued back together the shattered pieces of yourself. Exiting the chapel of a ratty flophouse room, you see the waitress from last night exiting the diner across the parking lot. She glances over then waves at you, and dimly you are aware of the pity in her eyes. It would bother the you from last night, but this morning you simply smile and jog over, this new you absolved of the sin of shame.

“Hey,” she says as you approach, “I set your stuff behind the counter for you. Are you okay?”

You consider her well-intentioned question for a moment, then reply with the beatific smile of the resurrected in spirit, “Never better.”

#park seonghwa smut #seonghwa smut #ateez smut #ateez fic #seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #seonghwa x y/n #ateez x reader #my writing #under 50 notes lmaooo y’all really hated this one #but it’s my pride and joy #gonna go sit in the corner and cry a little lol

[sweetest-honeybee]

could i ask for some miscellaneous hels facts in these trying times? :3

Ohh! I wonder what I haven’t said yet because Ecto and I still talk about all of them and I have no clue what y’all know 😂

How about these? :3

Hex (Oblivion Mumbo Hels) despises being human and often resorts to augmenting himself with his own technology. He finds value and strength in machinery and the human body is quite disgusting! He will simply sit and stare at a plate of food until it grows cold or spoils if he’s given one. Chewing and swallowing and digestion- Augh! He hates it so

I like to think a Gealach (Grian Hels) is actually most similar to a Life Series!Grian as opposed to Hermitcraft Grian. And the lil guy sure loves his pranks, of course 😌

Similar to Gea, Lesion (Original Scar Hels) is most similar to both Tycoon!Scar and Last Life’s Red Life!Scar

Sic actually has shorter hair now! He doesn’t have the long braid like he used to

The realm/dimension of Hels itself tried to replace Tango before Waltz was considered code-wise a resident of Hels and Tangos Hels at that. This other tango is named Tempo and he is very Creechur and is much like a roach 😂

Speaking of roach! My Helsknight’s name is Roach :) Both referencing his stubborn nature and, yes, Geralt’s horse

The districts operate much like a regular government. The Ridge specifically has tight borders and getting in and getting out is difficult. Being run on a dictator-partnership, there is actually propaganda, censoring, and economic rules in place to keep citizens inside the Ridge. Walls surround the district and the people are separated into classes. Hard work is valued and people will work on large projects for Clap or Bach until they quite literally drop. People who used to work in the mines would smuggle others out of the Ridge before the mines were blown up to get rid of Sic and his spiders

Sic probably babies his little spiders, to be honest

Hmm…Oh! Sever is a vex because he is a vex clone of Scar meant to be a replacement of Scar for the Vex. Lesion has and will continue to study the vex and worship them just as Scar and Cub did

The vex clone of Cub that was sent with Sever lives in the ridge. He’s worked with Patho (Etho Hels)

Hex has a body farm under his lab. He studies respawn mechanics and can now repeatedly use Oblivion’s inconsistencies to create more Mumbo Hels. This is how he creates lives to use to bring him back to life, should he die permanently. Unfortunately this lead to a Mumbo escaping and this is how Odon was created. Odon is uh. Another Mumbo Hels of mine 😂

Hels when they’re created go through a brief period of time (different for everyone) where they’re much like their counterparts or otherwise seem quite innocent. After that period, it kicks in that they’re Hels and they behind to act out and develop their individual personalities

Vespa did try to take the Dead Islands after he killed Lesion but it failed because of the shrink in his own district- people leaving and his reputation being nearly ruined. If that shrink hadn’t happened, he would currently own the Dead Islands

The Dead Islands is the only district in Hels other than the Depths where citizens use elytra. I would say Vespa’s does but only his soldiers can fly to distinguish them from other people

Genuinely, Vespa is a Dick™️

I have a Biffa Hels named Alpha who used to run the Hills (which at the time were not call the hills) with Vespa. Sever to Vespa now is much like how Vespa was to Alpha

Alphas design is heavily based on Ultron and I just think that’s pretty neat

Hmmmmmm….Gea would like the End and The Void. The Void is so kind to him and there are faces in it that recognize him for some reason

#evil hermits

[tricktster]

so I’ve wanted one of these little dudes for a few years now, this is Ptychognathus barbatus, aka the freshwater pom pom crab, aka a tiny lil funny lil guy.

Curious to learn more about the freshwater pom pom crab? Same! Not really an option! Like, don’t bother to look it up on wikipedia, because the only reference on there is that the page has not yet been created. And yet, should you be so inclined to put a very very small crab in your very very small aquarium? There are a not-insignificant number of websites will ship one right to your door for roughly 18 bucks, even as they acknowledge that nobody has really bothered to study them yet, but that people think they’re neat!

Okay, I was exaggerating by acting like we don’t know ANYTHING about the freshwater pom pom crab, people have been keeping them in aquariums for a while now, and they’ve gathered some data. Specifically, we know that:

they’re good in tropical tanks of 5 gals and up,

they eat algae and detritus,

they get about an inch at the absolute biggest if they stretch their leggys out real far but usually they’re somewhere between a standard issue and peanut m&m in size,

they have lil hairs on their claws that look like pom poms,

and most importantly we know that - unlike every single other freshwater crab species in the hobby - they not only do not try to eat or harm the other animals in the tank… they appear to be entirely unaware that there are any other animals in the tank. Even if one of those other animals is directly interacting with said pom pom crab, the crab will just not notice.

Now you know me. I love a vacant little dude that is entirely oblivious to what’s happening around him even when it is very literally touching his face. That is why I own Taako the axolotl. So a peaceful oblivious little crab that won’t fuck with my nano fish or shrimp, even the tiny babies? As a concept I am into it. But something has always held me back, as I explained to my blackworm hookup at my local fish store today.

“Hey, did you see we still have a freshwater pom pom crab in stock?” he asked. “Those guys are so cool, I wish I had a tank going where it wouldn’t get eaten immediately.”

“Yeah, I keep on thinking about getting one, it’s just like… my nano tank is pretty heavily planted so there’s a ton of places for one to hide, and I keep asking myself ‘can I really justify spending $18.00 on an extremely small crab that I will put in the tank and then never see again?’’ I replied. He shrugged.

“I dunno, can you?”

So naturally I have a pom pom crab now, and to my complete surprise and delight, it seems like my concerns were entirely unwarranted! Check it out:

If you look really closely behind the I’m so sorry I’m just fucking with you to make me feel a little better about spending $18 on an extremely small crab that is technically somewhere in there and that I will never see again.

#aquariums #shrimpblr #fishblr #planted nano tank #freshwater

[fierceawakening]

You know, looking back at the empathy discussion of years back with the benefit of 1. Good old hindsight and 2. A better awareness I personally was interested because as a child I despaired of my mom ever fully grokking that I wasn’t motivated by the same things as her, I’m struck by something:

People argued a lot about the idea that people can perform altruistic actions without fuzzy feelings. “I’ve studied the best way to optimize the money I donate and decided malaria nets do the most good.” Which is… true? People can sometimes approach morality like a math problem and come up with the right answers. There can be multiple good reasons to perform a virtuous action.

But the thing I never really saw was any kind of curiosity about high empathy people and HOW we look at moral dilemmas. It always seemed to boil down to just “emotions are fickle, the consequentialist calculus is not.” Or, always and ever, research that showed empathy means you only care about your in group, without rigorous examination of what in groups are or how we form them or if they’re fixed or they can change/expand if we work at it.

Which is odd. If other people are doing things wrong, shouldn’t it be important to study why? To develop ways to talk to them and help them to shift their paradigm a bit?

If they’re not doing things wrong, shouldn’t that be fascinating? There are multiple ways to arrive at the same answer! How are they? That’s neat!

And of course if they’re more frequently right, “let’s study that” goes without saying, as it would help you to optimize.

I dunno. I’ve just been thinking about this and just really intrigued by how incurious people seemed. Wondering if that might itself have been a product of low empathy, even. Why should I need to know about your flawed reasoning system versus wow, I want to better understand how you see this, it’s fascinating.

I dunno, the further I get from EA the more it seems like it was… kind of culty is part of it, yeah, but honestly like people were using it as a way to aggressively reassure themselves “I’m autistic and that’s okay and maybe even makes me superior” rather than “I’m studying moral choice and motivation and have decided after much study that this is a better motivational system for all humans, including the neurotypical ones.”

And having something that aggressively helps you feel your neurodivergence is okay is good! I’ve got several! But it’s important to not confuse “this is an emotional security blanket that soothes my Big Feelings when others put me down as crazy or creepy” with “this is a rigorous rational analysis of human motivation that leads me to think there’s one best system for all.”

[schrijverr]

I Dig You 2

Chapter 2 out of 8

Robin is tentatively excited for her first internship: an archaeological dig in the Netherlands, where she has been studying. However, when she gets there, Steve is there too. The dick of their uni that she now has to work with. Great. But being stuck digging for six weeks makes people bond and maybe he isn’t too bad. Maybe he can be her friend.

AKA an archaeology interns, modern, enemies-to-friends stobin au

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

Chapter 2: Cohabitation

Oppositely to what Robin had feared, Steve isn’t a douche!

It’s nearing the end of week two of digging and Robin has to admit that Steve has become her friend and favorite colleague.

As the two on the bottom of the ladder, they stick together, arguing about who has to walk back to get the forgotten picture board or who should dig in the area with all the iron that is horrible for their shovel.

However, they also delight together in being on an actual dig. Put six has proven to be more fruitful than put five and they’re actually finding shit there. Honestly, it’s not until Robin frees a sherd from her spoor and excitedly turns to Steve to exclaim: “Look at this big guy,” that she realizes that they are friends.

Steve immediately looks over and his eyes grow wide: “Wow, that’s the biggest sherd we’ve gotten so far. I have the find bags and cards here.”

Robin rushes over to him, sherd still in hand. As she gets a ziplockbag, she hands Steve the sherd so he can look. Most of the others aren’t that excited about it anymore, but Steve is.

She rambles: “I’ve been working at that thing for forever now, honestly. I almost got scared it was so big that it would be stuck there, since it’s still the first part of the coup, you know, so then it would be very difficult to get the surface neat. And it would have to be stuck in there until we were finishing the coups. What if someone took it?”

“I mean, they probably would have covered it, right? Or drawn the coup immediately so we could finish it and remove it,” Steve says, though he doesn’t sound completely sure.

“It could have broken,” Robin moves on to another worry she had, her previous anxiety soothed.

“Don’t worry about that too much. If you break it, you just increase the amount of finds,” Bas interrupts, startling them both. “Do you know how to fill in the find card yet?”

“Uhm, spoornummer, putnummer and date right? I don’t think the coup has multiple sporen,” Robin replies.

Bas nods, but says: “Don’t forget to tick off during what stage you found it and fill in the level and material,” he smiles kindly. “I’m assuming you gathered it was ceramic?”

Robin smiles back, though she’s sure it’s more awkward than she’d like. “Yeah, I had. I’ll go fill that in now.”

The find cards or vondstkaartjes, though Robin has a hard time pronouncing that, are pre-printed with a find number, so there won’t be accidental doubles with so many people writing them and have the project number pre-printed too. The rest have a blank space to fill in.

Robin fills it all in with the waterproof fine liner, very aware of Bas, who is leaning over her shoulder as she does. On one hand she is grateful that he’s checking that she doesn’t mess up the administration of the dig that will be used to interpret the site, on the other hand it is very stressful to have him there.

Relief courses through her when she is done and Bas nods: “Well done.”

Once Bas is gone, Steve leans over her shoulder to look at the card. He comments: “Your handwriting is shit, Buckley.”

“Oi,” she exclaims, pushing him a bit, but being careful, since he’s near his coup and she doesn’t want it to crumble.

Steve doesn’t even move, just gives her a wide grin, before handing back the sherd so she can put both it and the card into the bag, before she returns to clean up her coup. He’s still an annoying twat, Robin thinks, but it’s fond now.

On Tuesday of the third week, Robin arrives late, apologetically telling Jeroen: “I am so sorry, my train was delayed.”

“Don’t worry about it, OV screws everybody over from time to time. Not like you could help it,” Jeroen replies casually, like it’s alright and Robin recognizes OV as the Dutch short way of saying public transport. Living here for two years has her under the impression that public transport is amazing, especially compared with the USA, but she has heard a lot of Dutch students complain about it.

“Still, I’m sorry,” she repeats, unsure if she’s alright to go to work now.

“It’s no big deal, it’s not like you did what Sjors did,” he says, then calls out to one of the workers: “Ey, Sjors, tell Robin about that time your bus didn’t come and you decided to walk instead of wait for the next one, because you didn’t want to be late.”

“Fuck you, Jeroen,” Sjors calls back, though it’s goodnatured. Everyone seems pretty relaxed with one another, Robin has found, the camaraderie is nice.

“He was two hours late. If he’d taken the next bus, he would’ve been half an hour late,” Jeroen tells her with a chuckle. “Now I’m sure you know what to do?”

Robin nods furiously and is grateful when she’s dismissed, hurrying to grab a shovel from the shipping container functioning as storage shed, before hurrying to where the others are digging.

When she gets there, Steve immediately asks: “Where the hell were you?”

“My train was delayed,” Robin answers, trying to find a spoor to coup.

“Your train?” Steve frowns, confused. “You’re getting here by train?”

“Yeah, of course, dingus, I have to come all the way from The Hague, that’s a bit far by bike,” Robin rolls her eyes. “Not all of us have money for a car.”

“I don’t have a car,” Steve says.

“You don’t?”

“Nah, it’s actually more inconvenient when trying to navigate through the city. I’m glad cities back home were built for cars, those Dutch streets are small,” he shudders.

“So how the fuck are you getting here?”

“I bike?”

“What? All the way from your house? That’s on the other side of the country,” Robin exclaims, he must be pulling her leg.

“Of course not,” Steve says in an ‘are you stupid’-tone. “I’m staying at the camping nearby in one of those vacation homes.”

“Isn’t that like massively expansive?” Robin asks, not able to fathom doing that, even though it sounds way more convenient than what she is doing.

“I mean, a little bit yeah. Out here it’s less expensive than by the coast though, that’s for sure and it would be cheaper to stay in a tent, but with all the digging it’s nice to have your own shower, you know,” Steve shrugs. Then asks: “Have you really been coming by train every day?”

“Yeah. What else would I do?” Robin shoots back.

“Don’t you have to get up like crazy early then?” Steve asks, sounding horrified.

Robin can’t believe this: “Yes!”

“No wonder you’re so grumpy in the mornings,” Steve mutters.

“I am not grumpy,” Robin exclaims.

“You’re a little grumpy,” Astrid interrupts them, mortifying Robin. “Now you can dig and talk at the same time. If we go on like this, we might clear out put six a little ahead of schedule.”

They both quickly apologize and get back to digging as Robin silently mourns how unfair it is that she has to travel so long every day.

Once the break rolls around, she has gotten over the injustice a little, though she is pretty sure she’s never going to get fully over it. Steve won’t be a jerk anymore in her eyes unless he does something big, but she is reminded of their different wealth status again, something that has annoyed her about him in the past.

Which naturally means that Steve is going to surprise her again, since he lives to thwart her expectations for some reason. Because when he sits down next to her to share her sunscreen, since he always forgets, he offers: “You can also stay at the vacation home if you want. It’s not like the height of luxury, but it’s like half an hour by bike from here.”

“What?” Robin asks, unable to have a different reaction from the shock.

Steve blushes a little: “It already has two bedrooms, one is just empty right now, so it’s not like I would have to switch or anything and it’s way more convenient. But you obviously don’t have to, I just thought I’d offer, since I have the space.”

“I- uhm, I appreciate it, Steve, but I- well, I can’t really afford to pay half,” Robin admits, hating that fact, because money and her lack of it has always made her uncomfortable.

“You- you wouldn’t have to,” Steve tells her. “Uhm, I have a trust fund, which is such a douchy rich person thing, I know, but I mean, I don’t care if you don’t pay. I’m paying the same amount anyway. If it bugs you that much, you can help pay for groceries and help clean up so I get my deposit back.”

Unsure why she’s arguing with a bad thing, she says: “You don’t hate having people in your space?”

Steve looks a little pained and Robin is convinced he’s about to take it back, but then he squares his shoulders and replies: “Nah, and it’s just for a few weeks. No biggie.”

Robin considers it for a moment. If you’d asked her if she’d ever consider that offer two weeks ago, she would have called you crazy, but digging in the sun together is a bonding experience, especially when you’re the only two there that don’t speak the language.

Getting to stay in the vacation home would be super convenient. She’d get to sleep in more and not have to deal with public transport at ass o’clock in the morning. On top of that, she’d be able to shower off all the dirt sooner and not have to do all the housework alone.

However, what if she read Steve wrong? What if this is a move he’s pulling on her? She hasn’t known him that long and she thought him a dick before this, is sharing a small vacation home and thus being stuck with him 24/7 a smart move?

But she knows that’s not Steve. She can admit that she was wrong about him. He’s been nothing but nice and he seems to be genuine. If it all sucks, she can always pack up and leave, it’s not like she’s signing a contract.

“If you truly don’t mind me not paying, then that would be really nice, Steve,” she says after a small silence.

A big smile breaks out on Steve’s face, like he’s actually excited about it, but not in a creepy way. It is a bit like a puppy honestly. He says: “Great. I think it would be smart if you brought your bike with you on the train tomorrow and a bag for at least this week, you can always pick something up in the weekend if you forgot.”

“I will, thanks again,” Robin smiles back. Maybe this will be good for her. You know, making a closer connection to someone than ‘I see them around at the faculty’.

“Course,” Steve says, before starting up an inane topic and leading the conversation in a different direction.

The next day, Robin is a little nervous as she goes to work with her bike and big backpack with all her stuff. It’s early enough that the trains aren’t filled to the brim, so people aren’t that annoyed with her taking over the designated biking area in the trains.

She had to go earlier, because she can’t take the bike with her in the bus, so she has to ride her bike from the station instead of being able to take the bus and walk the last part. However, she doesn’t mind that much, since this will be the last super early morning of the dig (she has decided to be optimistic about living with Steve instead of listening to her anxiety. It’s not fool proof, but she pretends it is).

Still, she is still a little nervous when she arrives, fearing that Steve changed his mind or thinks she’s weird for even taking him up on it.

But when she gets there, Steve is also just arriving, giving her a big grin as he calls out: “Like your bike, Buckley, hope you can keep up with me on the way back.”

���I can bike faster than you, Harrington,” Robin yells back, unable to stop her smile. Steve is good at making her not worry, she hasn’t met many people, who can make her stop worrying.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, locking his bike and accompanying her to the shack – or keet as the others keep calling it – so she can put her bag down and have it be safe and locked away for the day.

Despite the moment, Robin feels a little awkward all day, somehow expecting Steve to tell her that of course he doesn’t actually want her there and that she is really weird for accepting it and packing a bag and bringing her bike all the way here.

So, when they finish out the day, locking everything into the shipping container to prevent theft, she hangs back, grabbing her bag slowly, so she won’t have to wait for Steve and be marked as weird and just know she was tricked, because he has already left.

However, that doesn’t happen, he’s happily waiting for her by their bikes, grinning: “Hopefully you’re not such a slow poke on the bike, you still have to out-bike me.”

A weight is lifted off her shoulders at that and she replies: “Don’t get too cocky over there. I’ve been biking to school since I was eleven.” It is not that big a flex, since most of the Dutch students she has met have been biking to school since they were four or five, however Steve is also American, so it might be impressive.

“You might have me there,” Steve agrees, like he didn’t used to be a star player back in high school (Robin knows, she has heard the bragging, though most of that was Tommy, another American student that she has pleasantly avoided for the most part, since he is studying law instead of archaeology).

But she ignores that and gloats more as she gets on her bike, speeding away from the construction site as Steve yells that she’s not playing fair and that they have to go left at the end of the street there.

She’s completely out of breath and only half a meter a head of Steve when she pulls onto the camping.

“Okay, okay, I concede, you bike fast,” Steve says, panting a little, before locking up his bike and chaining it to a tree next to a very small vacation home with a small little terrace.

“I am the reigning bike champion,” Robin exclaims, pretending to receive cheers, before going to lock her bike and get her bag.

Steve has already made his way to the door and is unlocking it, saying: “I have kind of given up on leaving the sand outside, so don’t worry about that. I’m just going to give it a good clean before we leave.”

Robin does like that he said I instead of we, however, she is raised better than that, so she says: “We are going to give it a good clean. I’m tracking way more sand.”

And it’s true. Robin doesn’t know how all the others manage to have a bit of sand on their legs while hers are always covered from the top of her work shoes to the bottom of her cargo short. But they are and she can’t figure out why only hers are when they’re all sitting in sand the whole day.

“Oh, you don’t have to, but thanks,” Steve smiles, before holding the door open for her, a move she would protest, had she not a heavy bag with her.

Steve follows her in and points to the doors as he rattles off: “My bedroom is there, bathroom is here and your room is there. We have a small kitchenette in the living room over there, but it’s so cramped that I usually chill outside. If you dump your stuff, you can have first dibs on the shower.”

She just nods along and thanks him again, not protesting the offer of first dibs, because she always feels gross and sweaty.

What Steve goes and does in that time, she doesn’t know, but she quickly liberates a towel and her shampoo as well as her body wash and a clean set of clothes, before going into the bathroom, which is as tiny as the rest of the vacation home.

The toilet practically touches the shower stall and the sink takes over most of the space outside the shower, so it’s very cramped. However, the water pressure could be worse, so Robin doesn’t complain.

She leaves her shower products on the little shelve in the shower next to Steve’s, a little surprised and curious to see his shower regimen, which is more elaborate than she’d expected out of him. But then again, he’s been surprising her all summer.

Robin finds Steve outside at the table there sans shoes and socks, just soaking in the air it seems. “I am done, shower’s free,” she tells him.

He startles a bit, but plays it off well and disappears into the home to take his shower. While he does that, Robin explores a little more.

As Steve had said, the living room is cramped as fuck. There is a small couch that can’t really hold two people and one counter, sink, oven-microwave and a mini-fridge. Nothing great. But taking a look inside, it does seem that Steve has actual meal ingredients, not microwave ones, which is good, because Robin’s parents have always stressed the importance of eating as much unprocessed and homemade food.

With her exploration done, she makes her way outside after grabbing her laptop. Steve is right, it’s way too nice to try and sit in that living room there.

When Steve is finally done with his shower, Robin is halfway through her daily report. Steve wordlessly joins her outside and opens up his own laptop, starting on his own work and checking the pictures he took that day for reference. Robin has to admit she hadn’t expected Steve to take it this seriously and she feels a bit bad as she realizes how judgmental she had been towards Steve.

That night Steve makes dinner, asking if Robin likes pasta. Robin can be picky about food, but isn’t going to make a fuss, fortunately Steve dissuades her fears as he says: “I am a picky eater, so it’s not going to be a culinary masterpiece. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I’m a picky eater too,” Robin says, a bit softly, because she has been taught to be embarrassed about it, though she feels a bit better about it when Steve deflates in relief and smiles at the comment.

“Twins,” Steve jokes, holding up his hand for a high-five.

Robin has never been the kind of person people want to high-five and she feels like there is a wrong answer as she slaps his hand, mercifully not missing. It feels weird, but nice to be included. Robin is really starting to like Steve. She hopes this whole cohabitation thing works out.

~~

A/N:

It sucks when you don’t do a university internship and then you have to travel pretty far, I got lucky that I was able to borrow a car and I have family all over, but some people I know did camp, but in a tent, not fancy enough for a vacation home lol

#rr writing #stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #stobin #archaeology #archaeologists stobin au #stobin au

[lets-get-kraken-boys]

Do you have any tips on writing yanderes? I would love to write for them, but I don’t know how to.

Sure thing!!

First off, I want to say thank you for asking me for advice! ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚ I can’t believe people trust my opinion enough to ask me for tips!!! That means so much to me. Thank you.

Secondly, I am so sorry for the late response 😭 It’s been a hella busy week! Work and school have been kicking my ass LOL. All this to say thank you for your patience!

Okay, without further ado, let’s get into it! 😋

✩࿐

✩࿐ Learn about the different types of yanderes there are! Experiment writing for more than one type to find which ones you like to write about.

Now, obviously there isn’t a study guide to yanderes, and I’m not saying research them religiously either. But, to write for them, you should know about the different types of yanderes out there in the fanfiction world. Some of them are sweeter, gentler, and maybe more lenient with their prey. Others…not so much!

Examples of the differences can be found in the fics tagged below! [Of course, these are based on my personal opinion. What is considered “soft” to some people, is “hard” to others. ‼️Read with caution!‼️]

Softer 🖤 🌹 🖤 💌 🖤 🌹 🖤

Harder 🖤 🔪 🖤 🥀 🖤 🔪 🖤

⚠️ WARNING: The “Harder” stories all contain violence, dubcon/noncon, and threats of death both to others and to the reader! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!! ⚠️

⚠️ WARNING: The “Harder” stories also all contain varying levels of 🔞 smut (the last one has a full on rape scene). Do not read them if you aren’t of age or are not comfortable with the topic! If you are unable to read the linked stories for whatever reason, contact me and I can give other options! These were simply the best fics, in my opinion, that fit the subject. ⚠️

Different creators are better at writing different subjects. You just have to feel out writing for some of them and see which feel more comfortable to write about. Yanderes don't have to be kept inside the box of being 24/7 off-the-rails crazy. They can be patronizing, manipulative, scary, adorable, sweet, kind; everything under the sun! As such, “soft” and “hard” yanderes aren’t the only ones out there. They all are on a scale that weighs on craziness, delusionality, manipulation, obsession, and more. Yanderes don’t all love the same amount, some are more in-touch with reality than others, so they don’t all have to be head-over-heels for (Y/N) [unless you wish to write them that way! And to that I’d say PLEASE GOD YES! 🤤 I love being worshiped teehee 🤭].

Your are setting yourself at a disadvantage if you only know how to write yanderes in one specific way. I mean, who wants to read multiple different stories that have basically the same yandere character who has the same goals, the same flaws, and the same downfalls as the previous ones? And to read it over and over and over again? Exactly, no one wants that. It gets repetitive, boring, and, worst of all, forgetful. Try to make your yanderes/the way you write your yanderes memorable.

✩࿐ Think about the thousands of different ways people express love. Now, think about how horrifically you can twist them to become yandere~!

That came off REALLY strong, but hear me out!

One way people express their love is through letters, yes? It's normally seen as sweet, adorable, and even innocent. Just an doe-eyed person in love who’s too shy to share their feelings face-to-face with the person they care about. So, they jot everything they want to say down on a neat clean piece of paper and leave it for their infatuation to find. Simple, right?

Now, imagine the contents in that letter being disturbing and possibly morbid in the worst way. The words inside give worrisomely detailed descriptions of how the author adores the smell of the darling's shampoo/perfume/cologne/natural scent, how cute the darling looks when they’re at home and think they’re alone, about how good the darling looks in red because that was the color of the underwear they were wearing today (which subtlety lets the reader know that that specific letter was wrote recently which is even creepier!). Not so cute anymore, right?

Everything is about context!

Maybe the letter had miniscule specks of dried dark red liquid dotted around the page. Maybe a photo or two (or dozens) of the victim that are obviously taken when the darling was unsuspecting/alone were stuffed alongside the letter. Maybe the yandere continues to write about how they would say anything, do anything, hurt anyone, for the darling, if only it made them show their captivating smile.

Doesn't even have to be a letter! Maybe its a verbal conversation between the yandere and the darling, a not so playful chase through the woods on a dark night, a proclamation of love through kidnapping, or drugging the darling so they can steal them away to somewhere safer; anything!

Let your creativity have room to breathe. Try new things out! Not every story is going to be perfect, but no idea is a bad one (unless it is. Then stop. LMAOOOO jk jk).

✩࿐ Yanderes are allowed to be interested in more than, and have goals that aren't related to, (Y/N).

At the end of the day, yanderes are still people too. Many writers fall into the trap of writing yanderes who solely revolve around (Y/N); hell, I do it too! But, as easy as it is to write the characters in that way, that is not how real people work. Even fictional characters.

The best example I can think of is Katsuki Bakugo from My Hero Academia. Bakugo is a very driven individual; he is stubborn, determined, and a headache. He is in your face all the time, and he is unapologetic for it. He knows, or pretends to know, that he is the absolute shit. And, subsequently, his goals match his cocky energy exquisitely! He wants to be the #1 Pro Hero among thousands of incredibly talented individuals. But he knows he’s got the stuff to be the #1. He’s a great cocky character.

The problem is, when people write him as a yandere, they make him so focused on (Y/N) that the goals that align with how the character was truly wrote evaporate into thin air. It is unrealistic that the thing he's wanted most in the world for his whole life, his dream above literally everything else (to be the #1 at everything), gets tossed away like that. It would take a literal world-ending event to stop that boy from getting what he wants.

You have to think about the character's needs as well as your readers'. Your readers want the character to have an obsessive love for them in a way no real sane person can, but the character you write has their own goals and dreams they strive for in their personal lives. You need to find the balance between the two to make a better story.

And it isn't only Bakugo! This applies to every character you write as a yandere! It can Gojo, Diluc, Genos, Rengoku, Hawks, Beelzebub, Mikasa, Yor, Erza, Yumeko, Robin; any of them! Every character has goals, even tiny ones, so make sure you include them. Give the characters life and real development besides the fact that you are changing them to be "yandere".

✩࿐

That is all I can think of at the moment! Thank you so much for asking that question, I had a lot of fun answering it. If you have more question (or, if any others reading this have more questions you'd like me to answer), please fell free to send another ask or message me privately. I hope you have a wonderful day!!! 💖💋

↓↓↓ Some of my favorite yandere writers! ↓↓↓

Please support these writers! They are incredible, and dedicate a whole bunch of their personal time to making amazing stories for their lovely readers. Thank you; both to my readers, and to the talented, wonderful people tagged below!

@yanderemommabean /// @writerbyaccident /// @yandere-daydreams /// @sugarfairychan /// @i-cant-sing /// @anxiousnerdwritings /// @another-yandere-writer /// @minnie-mei

#kraken chats #ask #thefa11enange1 #yandere #yandere imagine #yandere scenario #writing #writing tips #mha #bnha #yandere mha #yandere bnha #bakugo #katsuki bakugo #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugo x reader