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camarocarfight · 4 months

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Alastor's Bloody Valentine

Human Alastor x Reader late Valentine's Day special

Rated very mature with sexual content, murder, blood, and gore. Set in the 1930s with human characters. I suppose you could look at this as being a little Alastor back story.

Maybe there'll be a part deux?

It's kinda edited, but I got lazy and lost interest, and I just wanted to finish it. I hope all of you dear readers enjoy!

New Orleans, 1932

There was a chill in the air, carried in on a breeze that whistled through the old willow trees, and rustled their long, spindle-like branches. The trill of grasshoppers and crickets and the occasional screech of a night owl were customary of the bayou. Only interrupted by the nightly steam train, whose whistle echoed for miles until it faded like a whisper. There was no moon - only an ebony sky accompanied by its thousands of starry hosts.

As serene as it all seemed, the bayou was one of the most dangerous places to be in 1932. Not just because of the alligators, snakes, and venomous spiders. The neighboring town was full of talk about the Louisiana serial killer, who lured their victims into the darkness of the bayou to slaughter them, leaving no trace or remains. People simply vanished, though it seemed to be mostly men of diverse age and status. Innocent and not so innocent. The most recent being a younger gentleman who had just gotten married. The papers did fail to mention that he'd nearly beaten his new wife within an inch of her life not long after the wedding, but news traveled fast. He was the thirteenth person to go missing.

With Valentine's Day came the fear of who the next victim would be. Mothers and wives kept tight leashes on their sons and husbands, and the police put in place a mandatory curfew. Temporary police sentinels were stationed on street corners, keeping watch over the streets day and night. Which subsequently made it more difficult to get to and from the only speakeasy in town. The police were happy - killing two birds with one stone.

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, don't let this curfew get you down. Take your gal out on the town for some swing and make the most out of your Valentine's Day. Ladies, keep your gents close, and stay safe-”

“Y’see,” Mimzy turned the cathedral radio off with a huff and crossed her arms over her voluptuous chest. “This curfew is ruinin’ everything!”

You rolled your eyes and leaned your elbow on the bar and rested your cheek in the palm of your hand. Mimzy had been on a tangent for the last week for having to close the speakeasy. Being that it was in the basement of an old sugar mill, it was too risky to keep it running with the police snooping around. In one night, with the help of Husker, all of the liquor was moved under the cover of darkness to the crawl space of Alastor's hunting cabin deep in the bayou. The liquor would at least be safe if the police felt it necessary to search the sugar mill. The only thing they'd find would be an empty stage and bar.

With no speakeasy, the regular meet and greet for you and all of your friends was the cabin. It was a comfortable space, at least. Alastor had used the extra money he made from his radio show to install new, polished wood floors, a nice bar, and even a loft with a decent sized bed when he would stay for the first week of hunting. It also had a decent kitchen, which was Alastor's favorite feature. As for you, Alastor made sure to give you your own bit of space. In the corner of the main room was a stone fireplace with book shelves flanking either side. The shelves were filled to the brim with books of every genre. Hanging above the fireplace was Alastor’s prized Stag - previously occupied by Alastor’s portrait from when he was in the service. You never did tell him just how creepy you found the stuffed creature. Alastor loved the hunting sport, but you appreciated wildlife as just that; alive.

Mimzy sauntered over from the radio and sat herself on a rickety barstool, her brows pinched. “How am I gonna make money? Who knows how long this whole thing will go on for. And where's Alastor? His show ended an hour ago. His ass better not be dead too.”

You sighed and stood from your barstool to round the bar. There was a bottle of, ironic enough, Red Stag that was already open. It wasn't your first choice, but prohibition made everyone less picky. You poured yourself a generous glass, only for Mimzy to swipe it from you, and gulp it down in one swig. Your eye twitched in irritation as you glared at the woman through your lashes. The relationship between the two of you was decent enough, but as of late, she'd been grating your nerves and testing your patience. Mimzy's flamboyant personality didn’t jive well with your own in an enclosed space. You were more reserved, shy, and softly spoken. Not to mention that the cabin had always been an intimate space for you and Alastor. It didn't seem so intimate now - being that it was now shared space with Mimzy and Husker.

“Would you like another drink before I pour my own,” you asked, your voicing clipped.

Your head was pounding now, with a migraine blooming behind your eyes. The little grin that slid over Mimzy's lips told you that she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Actually, Doll, I would,” she flashed you a grin with her nose wrinkling as she did so. “You're such a good friend,” Mimzy cooed and thrust her empty glass in your face.

Your grip on the bottle of Red Stag was white knuckle, and you opened your mouth to give her a piece of your mind, but the words caught in your throat when the cabin door opened. Both you and Mimzy looked over to see Husker coming through the door with Alastor trailing behind him. Your shoulders visibly deflated when your gaze met Alastor's.

Mimzy put her glass down on the bar and threw her arms up in glee. “Alastor! I'm so glad to see you!”

“And I you,” Alastor grinned. “Thanks for holding down the fort and watching over my darling for me.”

“I don't need a babysitter,” you grumbled and nodded your head at Husker when he gave you a sympathetic smile. “Hey, Husk.”

“Cher,” Husk greeted in that deep, baritone voice.

Alastor laughed boisterously and leaned on the bar in front of you. Upon meeting his gaze, his chocolate brown pools started to melt away all of the tension in your body. It was so easy for you to get lost in his eyes.

“I jest, my dear. Husker here is going to drive Mimzy home, and we are going to celebrate!”

Mimzy quirked a brow and made a sound akin to a high-pitched scoff. “I ain't ready to leave yet. I want to celebrate too! We could have a round of drinks!”

Husk had noticed that you and Alastor had yet to tear apart your gazes and were seeming lost in each other. Alastor flashed you a dazzling smile and leaned over the bar to press a chaste kiss to your lips. That was enough for your cheeks to flush and become a brilliant crimson.

“C'mon,” Husk grabbed Mimzy's fur coat off the coat rack and all but threw it into the woman's face. “Before I drag your ass to the car.”

Mimzy put her coat on in a huff, then fussed over her hair, throwing insults at Husker as she did so.

“Thank you,” you mouthed to Alastor and waved to Mimzy as she was all but pushed out the door by Husker. You could hear her nagging as she walked all the way to the door. “Poor Husker.”

“He'll live,” Alastor hummed and gave you a wink. “Mimzy, however,” he chuckled.

“That would be too good to be true,” you mumbled and grabbed the bottle of Red Stag to pour yourself that long awaited glass. “How was work?”

Alastor set about removing his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress. Your gaze was drawn to the newly exposed, tan flesh of his forearms. “Same as always, my dear. I'm sure you were listening?”

“Until Mimzy turned the radio off,” You walked into the main sitting area and sat in your favorite rocking chair.

In your left hand was your glass of bourbon that you then took a sip of. From over the brim of the glass, you continued to study your partner as he made himself comfortable. Alastor's bowtie was now untied, and the top button of his dress shirt undone, exposing a delicious expanse of his neck. Being that it was Valentine's Day, you hoped that it meant that Alastor wouldn't mind taking everything farther than usual. The man would tease you here and there, whispering dirty things in your ear, because he knew it riled you up. The act of sex, however, just didn't fit his idealism. Any affection from Alastor would include kissing and touching, maybe heavy petting, but the two of you had only had penetrative sex a handful of times. Each time it happened was mind-blowing, leaving you craving more and waiting on bated breath to feel him the same way again. You could feel yourself beginning to flush just thinking about it - the heat slowly building up in your chest and rising until your cheeks were crimson. At least you could blame it on the bourbon, which you quickly threw back and tore your gaze away from Alastor.

“So,” Alastor sat down on the couch and crossed his legs, and draped his left arm over the back of the couch. “Quiet evening with a shared drink, my darling?”

Honestly, the man was entirely too distracting. It didn't help either that the bourbon was affecting you far sooner than you anticipated. Your mind blanked, seeing Alastor sitting there - sleeves rolled up, bowtie undone, the red vest that matched his trousers that fit him entirely too well. Alastor was your perfect definition of a sex-god that had a distaste for the very thing that you craved. His smoldering gaze and satisfied, closed-mouth grin told you that he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.

“Are you alright,” he cocked his head to the side. “You look bothered.”

“You're a tease,” you swallowed.

Alastor’s brows rose in surprise. “Me? I'm just sitting here,” he laughed and beckoned you over with his finger. “Come here, my darling.”

A bolt of red-hot arousal shot right up your spine, and your body moved automatically, seemingly out of your control and under Alastor’s. Alastor moved to uncross his legs and seized you by the hips with his strong hands. You now stood in between his spread thighs, looking down into his brown eyes as he gazed up at you. His lips quirked in a crooked grin, making him look like the cat who got the cream.

“Tell me how I'm a tease,” Alastor whispered huskily.

You brought your hands up to cup his face and ran your left thumb along his bottom lip. “You know what you do to me, Alastor.”

Alastor grinned and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Oh, I'm well aware,” the man's pupils were now blown with his own need. “Would you like me to do something about that?”

Relief flooded you, and you nodded eagerly. By now, the bourbon was really beginning to have an effect on you and how much you needed the man before you. “I've been waiting so long, Alastor.”

“The wait makes it worthwhile,” he growled.

Before your tipsy mind could even comprehend what was happening, Alastor stood, effortlessly hoisting you up by the hips, and bounded towards the spiral staircase of the loft Your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his slim waist. Alastor’s arousal was very noticeable against your own pelvis. The heat from his girth radiated through his slacks. When his lips met yours in a fevered kiss, your mind blanked with arousal. Your senses quickly became overwhelmed by his touch, his scent, and his taste as his tongue coaxed your own in a scorching kiss. Alastor eagerly devoured your mouth and every subsequent moan he drew from you. He broke the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip as he did so. His lips then trailed down to the column of your neck where he sank his teeth into the supple flesh. You hissed from the pain and carded your fingers through his brunette hair until you had a handful and tugged, earning a groan from him.

“Fuck it,” Alastor growled and sat you on the steps of the spiral staircase.

Alastor’s hands snaked up your dress to pull your panties down your legs, leaving the silk garment dangling from your left ankle. You gasped when he cupped your dripping sex in his left hand and breathed against the side of your neck.

“I’ll have you right here,” he growled and claimed your mouth once again.

You moaned wontanly into his mouth when he penetrated you with two fingers and curled them against your g-spot. Even though sex was a rare occasion, Alastor had memorized your body from the inside out. Knowing every sensitive spot to kiss, lick, or bite. Alastor groaned and pulled your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, ripping the most delicious moans from your throat. Each and every sound you made went straight to his cock that was now straining uncomfortably in his slacks. With a tweak of his fingers, Alastor had you coming with his name falling from your lips like the most beautiful prayer.

“Alastor,” you were breathless, chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath. “I need you inside me.”

Alastor’s eyes darkened, and he carefully withdrew his fingers from your quivering sex. “You’ll have me,” he whispered and kissed you chastly.

The sound of Alastor’s belt buckle was like music to your ears, as your body was finally getting the attention that it so badly craved. With your left hand, you reached between you and Alastor and took his now freed, sizeable length in your hand. You bit your lip and looked up at Alastor through your eyelashes. Alastor held your gaze as he guided himself into your tight heat, slowly splitting you open and seating himself inside you. Both of you panted, attempting to adjust to the almost foreign sensation. No, you weren’t a virgin, but Alastor had been your first, and since sex wasn’t a regular occurrence, it took both of you longer to adjust. You, more so than Alastor.

He was thankfully patient, waiting until the pained look on your face was no longer before slowly pulling out and thrusting back into the hilt. The man clenched his teeth painfully and screwed his eyes shut, completely drunk off of the feeling of you fitting around him so perfectly.

You held onto Alastor tightly, with your nails digging into the flesh of his back, even through his dress shirt. Alastor’s hands had your hips in a death grip, and you hoped that you would have bruises left in their place. You wanted Alastor to claim you - mark you - so that everyone knew you belonged to him.

“Come inside me, Alastor,” the words fell from your lips in a pathetic whimper before you even realised what you said.

The look Alastor gave you startled you, and his hips stuttered to a pause. You stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity, Alastor’s eyes searching your own as if looking for truth behind that request. You feared your moment of intimacy with Alastor was ruined until he started moving once more. This time, he moved slower, taking his time pulling all of the way out and sinking back into you. He continued to hold your gaze and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Is that what you want,” Alastor asked, but it was barely above a whisper. “To be mine, forever?”

Of course it’s what you wanted. Alastor had been your first, and you wanted no one else. It was difficult for you to imagine your life any different. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about starting a family with Alastor. You brought your hands up to Alastor’s face and looked into those chocolate pools.

“Make me yours, forever, Alastor.”

~~~

You awoke the next morning, nestled in the king-sized bed of the loft alone. Alastor was nowhere to be found, with his side of the bed neatly made. Between your legs was an ache and a stickiness in the inside of your thighs that served as a reminder of the previous night's activities. What little bourbon you had, had also left you with a slight headache that settled over your temples. Coffee would be a good fix, and you wondered why you hadn't smelled it perking if Alastor had already been up.

There was a fire going in the fireplace when you made your way down the staircase, confirming that Alastor was around, but nowhere to be seen. You thought nothing of it and went over to the kitchenette to get coffee perking and breakfast ready for whenever Alastor returned.

You sat down in your rocking chair by the fireplace when the coffee was ready to enjoy your cup. The chair rocked rhythmically on the hardwood floor, nearly lulling you to sleep until you heard a god awful noise coming from the crawlspace under the cabin. Your first thought was that a stranger or the police had found the liquor stash, and you bolted out of the chair to get the pistol hidden among your books.

The door to the crawlspace was in the kitchenette and was flung open, revealing a blood covered Alastor. The man looked up at you with blood splattered across his face and chest, staining his white dress shirt. There was enough blood that you couldn't tell if it was coming from Alastor or not.

You dropped the pistol that was in your hands and rushed over to him, and hooked your arms around his arm. “A-alastor, what the hell? Are you-”

“It's fine!” He laughed and looked down at you with a grin. “It's not mine.”

Your eyes widened, and you took a tentative step away from him and shook your head. “Then, whose is it?”

Alastor ignored your question and casually walked over to the pot of coffee on the stove. He poured himself a mug, all the while humming a song with that same grin on his face.

“Alastor,” you demanded. “You're scaring the hell out of me.”

“I'm sorry,” he put his coffee mug on the counter and turned back to you. “This,” he pointed to his stained shirt. “Is just the latest victim.”

“The latest…,” you paled, with the details finally coming together. “You're him.”

Alastor flashed you that dazzling grin and opened a drawer next to the stove. Without even looking, Alastor pulled a massive knife out and studied it.

“Did you know, my darling, that in order to inflict a fatal wound, you need at least fifteen inches of penetration?”

“Please put the knife do-”

You gasped. Before you could even react, Alastor lunged forward, plunging the knife deep in your abdomen. He stood in front of you, holding the blade in place with his smile never faltering. Pain blossomed throughout your body, and you began to choke on the blood that bubbled up through your throat. You coughed and watched the blood mixed sputum splatter across Alastor’s already stained shirt. Tears fell freely from your eyes, staining your cheeks, and your trembling hands grabbed onto Alastor’s arm that still held the knife inside you.

Blinking up at Alastor through your tears, you saw no remorse on his face. Just that twisted grin that you had fallen in love with so many years ago.

“You should know I'm too much like my father to have children,” Alastor said darkly. “That's a risk I cannot take.”

Alastor pulled the knife out of your abdomen and stepped back as you crumpled to the floor on your knees. The pain was white-hot, but it was nothing compared to that of your broken heart. Your body screamed for his closeness and wanted to hate him for everything. Even after the previous night, after telling you he would be with you forever. In an attempt to stop the bleeding, you held pressure on the wound, but you knew it was no use. You were dying. At the hands of your lover.

“It won't be long, my love,” Alastor got down on one knee and brushed your hair out of your face. “I'm sorry I had to do this.”

“F-fuck you,” you gasped and choked.

Your vision was beginning to fade in and out, along with your hearing. The weight of your body suddenly became too much and you fell to your side. Before your head hit the floor, Alastor had caught you and laid you down gently. The last sensation you felt, other than the pain, was Alastor kissing you. It was a passionate kiss, similar to that of the kiss you shared while making love. He didn't care about the blood that pooled from your mouth, but seemed to enjoy it more than anything. When he broke the kiss, you met his gaze, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“I'll see you in hell,” you spit, using every ounce of energy you had left before going still.

Alastor smiled down at your now lifeless body and ran his fingers through your hair. A single tear ran down his cheek, and his smile grew into a grin.

“It's a date.”

Part Two

#alastor x you #alastor x reader #human alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader

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tropetember · 11 months

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Enemies / Friends / Strangers To Lovers

Police / Detective / (Super)Hero // Crime / Mafia / (Super)Villain

Hurt/Comfort / Sickfic / Whump

Coffee Shop / Tattoo Parlour / Flower Shop / Other Retail AU

Rockstar / Actor / Model / Famous AU

High School / College / University AU / 80’s Teen Movie AU

Historical (Regency, Ancient Greece/Rome, Prehistory, etc) / Modern / Futuristic AU

Time Travel / Time Loop (eg. Groundhog Day) / Amnesia / Coma

5+1 / 3+1 (Five Times + One Time)

Accidental Confession / In Vino Veritas (Drunk Confession/Drunk Dial)

Business Partners To Friends To Lovers / Competitor Businesses / Office AU

Huddling For Warmth / Sharing A Bed / Touch Starvation

Slice Of Life / Domestic / Found Family

Monstrous (Human/Monster Romance) / Cultural Differences / Language Barrier

Marriage Of Convenience / Arranged Marriage / Matchmaking / Blind Dates

Future Fic / Reunion / Childhood Friends / Friendship Centric

Getting Together / Love Confession / First Kiss / Break Up/Make Up

Body Swap / Psychic Link / Soulmates / Bonding (eg. ABO, Sentinel AU, etc)

Apocalypse / Zombie / Locked In Together / (Natural) Disaster

Science Fiction / Fantasy / Space Opera / Horror

Genderswap / Rule 63 / De-Aging / Age Changes AU

Canon Rewrite / Fix-It / Everybody Lives / Everybody Dies / Major Character Death

Mythology / Supernatural / Fairytale / Wingfic

Accidental Baby Acquisition / (Single) Parent AU / Babysitting

Mutual Pining / Requited/Unrequited Love / Angst With A Happy Ending

Fake Dating / Didn’t Know They Were Dating / Accidental Dating / Accidental Marriage

Repression / Emotional Constipation / Sexuality Crisis (Gay Panic)

Holidays & Celebrations / Proposals / Prom

Fusion / Crossover / Harlequin / Rom-Com (eg: Hogwarts, Pacific Rim, Daemons, Hunger Games, The Princess Bride, Pride & Prejudice, Love Actually, 10 Things I Hate About You, etc)

FREE SPACE

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everythingelseisextra · 11 months

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The Women Of Birmingham

Request: No Description: After years of ruling alone, your power comes into question with the return of the men from war. An attempt to bargain goes awry. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, sexism Word Count: 1999 Author's Note: Similar story, just edited and improved

Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it was burnt in one. There’s a certain precarious paranoia to leading, a kind of constant worry that the life you built for years will be taken away. At the same time, there’s pride. Strong, running through your veins in a way you hadn’t felt before you took power. That a woman, low-born and considered hopeless, had taken over Birmingham, ran the streets without mercy. The underworld belongs to you, Hades or Anubis or Hel, and you live as judge, jury, and executioner. Finally, for the first time in your life, you feel as though you’d made it.

Your women creep along the smoggy and filthy streets, sentinels in the constant tide of petty criminals and broken promises. It’s a small circle of trust you’ve created, one you regulate with an iron fist, because if someone questions you, tries to take over, they need to be gone. They need to be dead. Your reputation precedes you, and people bow their heads as you pass, murmuring greetings. Police avert their gaze. Drunkards stumbling away, worried they’ll disrespect you.

Before you took power, your mind was filled with fantasies, with helpless wishes of romance. The pattern on your wrist seems to match no one, and you’ve given up on checking. You don’t need a soulmate. You need the bloodthirsty stain on your soul, the lack of mercy in your hands, you need to be a bullet in a gun. Sometimes, while you’re sleeping, you get flashes; sooty, pale skin, terrified blue eyes, and claustrophobia.

During the war, your rule was unquestioned. The remnants of the Peaky Blinders focused on staying alive in the brutality of Birmingham. Your women kept the city moving, culling the wild edges of personality, succeeding without fail at maintaining order.

Then the men came home.

Thomas Shelby demands respect in silence. He’s done nothing to earn it but expects it regardless, seeking the same treatment you receive without doing any of the work. He knows you from afar. His movement within the city has so far been respectful, keeping to himself, twisting the thoughts of others and slowly building his reputation. Now, though, you watch as his meddling fingers toy with the edges of your territory; the racetracks.

You could lose them without taking a hit. That’s not your concern. As soon as he sets his sights on your territory, a war will start. It blossoms on the horizon, curling dark clouds into a hurricane, and you sit in silence and wonder to yourself how to nip it in the bud.

“Kimber still follows your orders. You don’t need to do anything. It’ll take care of itself.” Mary, a small woman with eyes like a falcon’s and a mind like a steel trap, leans on the table you sit at, looking down at you. Your eyes flick up to meet hers, and she looks away, stepping back, realizing her mistake.

“You don’t understand the Shelbys. If it’s not this, it’ll be something else.” You lean back, toying with the knife in your hand.

“Okay. Yes. Sorry.” She bows her head and you smile faintly, running a finger along the edge of your knife.

“Speak with Grace. Confirm that tomorrow is Black Star Day. I don’t trust Campbell.” Your lip curls at the name. “Send me Rose on your way out.”

Mary nods and steps back, leaves the room without another word. You sigh, return to carving out symbols on the table, turning the dark wood into hollowed out flaxen. This restaurant you sit in, abandoned past sundown, appears ghostly in the hanging lights. All wood and smooth edges, grain hardly smoothed from the dark oak. The Dog House, it’s called, and it sits away from the chaotic ebb and flow, a station of rest for someone like you. Here, attention can shift from you, and you can blend into the shadows, sit away from the sights of those looking for guidance or orders. Usually, that is.

Rose wanders in. Of your women, she is most eloquent. A poet by nature, a liar by choice, she serves as your ambassador, your spokesperson, and your dealer. Talented and highly valuable, but fear backs even the bravest off their own skills.

You speak to her without looking up, stopping her in her tracks. “How afraid are you of Thomas Shelby?”

She shakes her head, eyes respectfully on the ground in front of her. “I’m not.”

“You will meet with him tonight and request a meeting before daybreak. You’ll have backup hidden around you. Might be able to prevent a gang war.” You flip your knife around your hand, spinning it thoughtlessly.

“As you want.”

You smile faintly. “Always as I want.”

Afterwards, you wish you could’ve heard them speaking. Wish you would have listened in, been close enough to hear the words exchanged. Tommy, standing there, hands in his pockets, head tilted, lips slightly parted, cap pulled low over his brow. Mary, sturdy as always, dress swirling around her ankles, pale cream coat loose on her shoulders. Feet inches away from a brownish puddle of Birmingham muck. And, you, in an alleyway behind them, knife clutched in your hand, ready. The weight of a gun on your hip, touching your thigh, consoles you, protects you, assures you. Ready. Across the road, two more sit in wait, ready to defend your sister in crime, as she speaks to a giant of the city.

It happens quickly. Mary finishes a sentence, Tommy nods, says a few words. Mary’s hand drifts to within her overcoat, where a gun sits in ready, slow, methodical, as though he wouldn’t notice if she was casual.

A gunshot. Tommy’s hand, clutching a gun, raised at his side.

A small body dropping, splashing, covered in mud and sewage and the stench of the city’s outflow. Pale dress splattered with ruby and earthy brown and stinking gray.

Without thinking, without planning, you dart out from the alleyway, come up behind him, and stab your knife into his shoulder, hard. Yank it out, go for another hit, then shoot back when he swings around. He takes two steps towards you, hand on his gun, then jerks back. Your backup has him by both arms, holding him almost off the ground in their grip. You pull your gun, prepare to shoot, line it up with his forehead. Stare without blinking into bright blue eyes.

His eyes widen, he squirms, tries to thrash out of the grip of the two women holding him, and fails. Then, he goes deadly, horrifyingly still. Not limp. Not a surrender. A steady, threatening wait, a predator biding its time, hunting. His eyes settle onto yours. You expect terror. You expect the flare of self-protective adrenaline to spark at you from the blue, expect something like begging for repentance in his expression. Instead, you meet ice. Your blood goes cold along with it, affected uncharacteristically by the lack of fear of death. What could push someone to stare the reaper in the eyes and not blink, even smile, prepared and ready?

By the time you find yourself, he’s speaking. “Listen.”

You laugh and press the cold barrel to his forehead. But, out of sheer curiosity, you stay quiet.

“If it’s war you’re looking for, you’re in the wrong place.” Blood drips from his back, but he stays steady, his eyes staring straight into yours.

It would be easy, so easy, to slit his throat. Watch the flesh separate, the blood spill out, all that brilliance inside of him wasted in seconds. You push your gun to his forehead, tilting his head back, and stare down at the vulnerable skin, pale and smooth, untouched.

As if reading your mind, his low voice speaks, and you feel you have no choice but to listen.“The Shelbys, the Lees, whoever is left from France…Lot of enemies you’d be making.”

You pause, then, in one breath, speak. “Drop him.”

His body hits the ground, hard, and you watch as blood billows out of his shoulder, stains the fine blue suit he wears. You step forward and kick him hard in the ribs. He grunts, curls into himself, stays down.

“An eye for an eye,” you say, just loud enough for him to hear it. “Don’t fuck with the women of Birmingham.”

“You’ve been meddling.” Campbell’s nasally, horrible voice bounces off your ears and hits hard against the cold walls.You stop in your tracks, stare at him in front of you, hair on the back of your neck raising as he speaks. “I thought we had a deal, though, I couldn’t expect the likes of you to understand loyalty.”

“Collateral damage.” You widen your stance in the alleyway as if prepared for a fight, blink through the fresh light of the dawn and focus on his silhouette darkening your path out. “Won’t happen again.”

“Oh, but it will.” He wags a finger at you, patronizing. “You… ladies have no self control. You understand me when I say, except for Grace, you aren’t meant for men’s jobs.”

You nod slowly, a sick feeling of disgust twisting around your spine, curl your hand into a fist, then relax it. “What do you want from me, Campbell?”

“‘Sir,’ to you. I’m doing you the justice of giving you a warning.” His smile turns his lips into thin slices of flesh, bulging where they meet the rest of his face. “I am tired of playing games. I plan to clean up this city and rid it of gangs and wild women like you once and for all.”

To a man who thinks himself a god amongst mortals, a warning and a threat are the same thing. You walk forward, continue your way through the alleyway, knock into his shoulder as you pass.

“I expected nothing less than a thank you!” He calls after you.

You let his words roll off your shoulders, continue on. Down the filthy sidewalks, eyes on your destination, only a few blocks ahead. Building upon building, all the same gray, square formation, cobblestone roads and children running and playing, horses spooking, men heaving hammers in niches. Clanging, laughing, vomiting, yelling. You block it out, set yourself in order, start to try to focus. A plan settles in your mind without much thought, a child of the panic throbbing your heart in extra beats, toying with your perceptions.

Your stomach flips when the risk dawns on you, the gambit you’re preparing to perform. As always, an iron grit pushes you forward, stubbornness of making a choice urging you towards the building you’re quickly gaining on. Rather roll the dice, put your life on the line, gamble with everything you have, than wither away, sit and watch, give up the ground you’ve taken. Women nod at you from enclaves, smile through their work to greet you, stop and wave as they hurry their children around. You return their salutes, though never offer a smile.

You open the front door without knocking, slip under a curtain, make your way up into the betting house, where gamblers make their shout and squint at papers and talk in loud, unhinged voices, and a blackboard chalks horse’s names in mediocre handwriting.

You find a man, any man, wearing a suit and pull him aside. He yanks his arm away from you as though you bit him, and you hold back a smile.

“What?!” He speaks as though his mouth is full, though you know for sure it’s empty, given how gaping it becomes.

“I need to speak with Tommy Shelby. Now.” You look past him into the bustling room, full of shouting, sweaty men, grinning and excited to throw away their money.

“Give me one reason not to throw you out.” The man steps closer to you. “Didn’t you stab him?”

Your hand slips into your pocket, toying with the hilt of your knife. “An enemy of his enemy is his friend. We have an objective in common, I believe.”

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby #peaky fucking blinders #peaker blinders fandom #peaky blinders #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #cillian murphy

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airu27-rkgk · 1 year

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Kaishin One Prompt Challenge 2023 by @dcmkkaishinevents 💙

~Soulmates

Guide [Edogawa Conan] and Sentinel [Kaitou KID].

Kuroba Kaito, a self-proclaimed Neutral, moonlights as Kaitou KID to look for Pandora, a jewel that grants immortality. (His backstory follows canon, more or less.) Kaito is actually a Sentinel.

Kudou Shinichi is a Guide whose guidance is too complex for most Sentinels to follow through. He uses facts and logics to build mental sanctuaries — where Guide communicates with their Sentinel, calms them when they’re on the verge of Zoning, etc.

Their first meeting is during a heist. Shinichi’s first impression of KID is that the thief is a show off who wastes police resources for his own entertainment. A clever, tricky entertainment, filled with his favourites — riddles and mind games, puzzles, pranks, traps, oh how witty, he just escapes, which gives him a great rush of satisfaction for being able to decipher them — and are harmless enough, a refreshing break from murder cases he encounters daily, but still, show off.

Kaito’s first impression of Shinichi is that the detective is a nerd. Who even counts — himself not included — the number of cards that were used and draws conclusions based on that to pinpoint his disguise… The cards are from a dozen pack…??? Plus the guy uses a voice changer — in the form of a red bow tie — to redirect the officers Kaito had fooled with his own voice-changing abilities… This guy is not to be messed with. Definitely a nerd, though. He looks good with those glasses.

Anyway, on their nth showdown, Black Organization shows up and they were forced to work together. Their Sentinel-Guide soulmates connection forms an unbreakable bond, accidentally.

Thus, Shinichi recognizes Kaito when Ran and Aoko bring them for a meetup.

Gradually, Shinichi comes to know why KID steals. With Shinichi holding the Spades and Kaito the Clovers, the pair traverse the world to search for Pandora. Their connection of Hearts are tested, again and again, all for the sake of one Diamond, which shall end this game of cards once and for all.

#DCMKKSEOnePromptChallenge #thanks for hosting mac!#happy birthday kaito!#opc23 #opc23works #kaishin #shinkai #kudou shinichi #kuroba kaito #kaitou kid #soulmates #sentinel and guide au #secret identity #feel free to take in the idea if it inspires you

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soberscientistlife · 6 months

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Louisa Jenkins smoking a cigarette as the police try to question her at a protest in 1957.⁣

—Louise Jenkins Meriwether, a novelist, essayist, journalist and social activist, was the only daughter of Marion Lloyd Jenkins and his wife, Julia. Meriwether was born May 8, 1923 in Haverstraw, New York to parents who were from South Carolina where her father worked as a painter and a bricklayer and her mother worked as a domestic.

After the stock market crash of October 24, 1929, Louise’s family migrated from Haverstraw to New York City. They moved to Brooklyn first, and later to Harlem. The third of five children, Louise grew up in the decade of the Great Depression, a time that would deeply affect her young life and ultimately influence her as a writer.

Despite her family’s financial plight, Louise Jenkins attended Public School 81 in Harlem and graduated from Central Commercial High School in downtown Manhattan. In the 1950’s, she received a B.A. degree in English from New York University before meeting and marrying Angelo Meriwether, a Los Angeles teacher. Although this marriage and a later marriage to Earle Howe ended in divorce, Louise continues to use the Meriwether name. In 1965, Louise earned an M.A. degree in journalism from the University of California at Los Angeles.

Meriwether was hired by Universal Studios in the 1950’s to became the first black story analyst in Hollywood’s history. Beginning in the early 1960’s, Meriwether also wrote and published articles in the Los Angeles Sentinel on African Americans such as opera singer Grace Bumbry, Attorney Audrey Boswell, and Los Angeles jurist, Judge Vaino Spencer. In 1967, Meriwether joined the Watts Writers’ Workshop (a group created in response to the Watts Riot of 1965) and worked as a staff member of that project.

Her first book, Daddy Was a Number Runner, a fictional account of the economic devastation of Harlem in the Great Depression, appeared in 1970 as the first novel to emerge from the Watts Writers’ Workshop. It received favorable reviews from authors James Baldwin and Paule Marshall. Daddy Was a Number Runner, is a fictional account of the historical and sociological devastation of the economic Depression on Harlem residents.

Meriwether followed with the publication of three historical biographies for children on civil war hero Robert Smalls (1971), pioneer heart surgeon, Dr. Daniel Hale Williams (1972) and civil rights activist Rosa Parks (1973). In addition to numerous short stories, Meriwether published novels, Fragments of the Ark (1994) and Shadow Dancing (2000). Louise Meriwether has taught creative writing at Sarah Lawrence College and the University of Houston. She is a member of the Harlem Writers Guild.

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love-islike-abomb · 26 days

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Steel commanders

Cyborg!Roman Reigns x Esme (OC)

Credit to pic owner

For the rest of the cyborg series (this is number 3) Mr. Roboto (1) and Iron man (2)

Warnings: angst, smut, SciFi, errors I may have missed.

Word count: 1.8k

Tag list: @reignsangel444 @acknowledge-reigns @mzv11 @marchm-langdon @mandeelemons @pittieprincess22 @romanreignshairdresser @wrestlingprincess80 @vebner37 @reignsxlove

____

K6 had everything we needed. A breathable atmosphere, water, and plant and animal life for food. Humanity had found its new home. The sentinels had been destroyed by the black holes in the titan quarter, and our daughter was born 4 years ago! She had her daddy wrapped around her little finger! Finding them playing tea parties and him with a tiny little tea glass was adorable.

He also protected her from the dangers that were lurking around every corner. Human men were jealous that cyborgs were getting whatever woman they wanted even though they weren't totally human. The rise of the "I'm all man" movement made women fear for their safety. Their cyborg mates were being destroyed to get them alone. After a while only about 400 cyborgs remained. Their population had been reduced to 1/10th of its original size.

In an attempt to save the cyborg population, the powers that be introduced 500 more cyborgs into K6, and waited. In the wave of the "I'm all man" movement, some.cyborgs took it upon themselves create the equivalent of the cyborg police. They became known as the steel commanders!

______

"Elana! Come on we gotta go!" I yelled , our daughter was always late, having no sense of time. I loved this little girl with all my heart, though she tested my patience more often then I'd like to admit. Her dad spoiled her! Whatever she wanted he got her! Toys, food, candy, you name it but I had to be the voice of reason a lot of times. I was the boring parent while he was the cool one.

I had almost finished packing her bag when her dad walked in the room "daddy!" She yelled. I put her down and as fast as her little legs could carry her she ran to him "Elana! Are you behaving for mommy?" He asked, and she giggled.

"she gets her onriness from you!" I laughed.

He put his hand on his chest, trying to add dramatic effect "me?" He said "I'm not onry!"

"shall I remind you?" I said, trying not to laugh "of the time you pretended to be in shutdown mode just to see me in the shower?"

He wiggled his eye brows "we can always try that again, only this time-"

I put my finger over his lip "not in front of our daughter!"

He rolled his eyes, giving me the dramatic "ugh!" As if he did nothing wrong "is daddy in trouble?" Elana asked.

I held back a giggle "not yet, but he's pushing it!"

"daddy behave!" She said pointing her little finger at him.

"yeah daddy! Behave!" I winked at him, his eyes giving away how much it turned.him on when I called him daddy but he was controlling himself. Our 4 year old was still in his arms after all. He put her down and she ran off to her toy room to play for a moment. I knew I was in for it! He walked up behind me pressing his bulge against my ass "you feel what you do to me?" He growled "I love it when you call me daddy!" I bit my lip, I loved him being romantic but there was something about his dominant side that made me want to let him ravage me!

"what if I have Danny come and take Elana to her place for a few hours? I'll have you begging for mercy by the end of the night!" He growled, kissing up my shoulder.

"daddy?" Elana said, running into the kitchen. Roman looked up at Elana and saw 2 men behind her "Elana who are they?" Roman asked, his guard going up.

"they're looking for mommy!" She said.

I immediately went into mama bear mode "Elana go to your room! Now!" I yelled, watching her run off. I'm so glad I had taught her to lock he door just in case situations like this arose.

"you stay away from my daughter!" I yelled, the men laughing in my face "Esme it's not your daughter we want!" He said, a twisted smirk forming on his face "it's you darlin! See your man here isn't like us! He's only half human!"

"and?" I scoffed "he's three times the man you'll ever be!" I could see irritation forming on his face "look bitch! You're coming with us whether you want to or not!"

Roman and I had been through this before. He stays behind making them think that he's harmless. This time however, they knew he was a cyborg. That wasn't to our advantage anymore. The only option I had left was Danny! Danny was next door to us. All I had to do was hit the wall hard enough and she would hear it but that would be to obvious at this stage. I had to be suttle and quick!

And then I remembered, the panel to my room had a panic mode. Danny would hear it and come rushing over!

I felt the man tug at my arm pulling me away from Roman. He may have known Roman was a cyborg but he was still clearly afraid of him. Roman could tear the man to pieces before he even knew what hit him.

"Let her go!" Roman yell.

"Or what, bolts? You gonna kill us?" The men laughed. I felt instant relief when they said that.

"I'll rip your limbs off and shove them down your throat!" Roman said, his tone was sinister, yet oddly calm. In a split second I heard screaming and the man let go of me. I ran to Elana's room "Elana it's mommy! Open the door!" I heard the bolt unlock and the door opened "come ere, cover your ears and shut your eyes!" She plugged her little fingers in her ears. I shut my eyes, waiting for the screams of Terror and pain to stop.

I heard Romans cyborg voice take over him and I knew it was almost over "you'll never touch my wife or daughter again!" He yelled, before I heard the mans muffled gargled screams. Eventually they stopped, and I heard a loud thump. Roman had dropped his body to the floor.

I pounded in the wall to let Danny know that we needed her.

"Elana, Esme!!" Roman yelled, letting us know it was safe to come out. Elana hopped off my lap and walked to the door, slowly pulling it open "Elana! Are you alright, princess?" He smiled, opening his arms, embracing her as she ran to him "don't ever let strange people in again princess, ok?"

"I'm sorry daddy!" She said.

"where's your mother?" He asked.

"right here!" I smiled, walking towards him. All three of us stood there for a moment, wrapped in a giant embrace "I love my girl!" He smiled, kissing Elana on her forehead.

"I love you to daddy!" She said, as he turned to me, giving me a kiss "ewww!" Elana said, making us both laugh. A knock on the door brought us all out of the moment "Esme? It's Danny! Is everything ok?"

I walked over to the door, putting my hand on the panel. Danny's worried face met me when the door opened.

"esme you had me worried! I tho-" she stopped when she saw the limbs of the men scattered around "y'all don't get any peace do you?" She asked.

"on that note!" I said "you wanna have auntie night with Elana?" I smiled. She rolled her eyes at me, knowing why I had such a massive smile on my face.

"Elana! You wanna come stay the night with auntie Danny?" She asked. Elana went running over to her "i take that as a yes?" Danny smiled. Elana nodded her head.

"don't be to loud!" Danny laughed, making me cover my face. The door closed and I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around me, pulling me against a hard body. He kissed up my shoulder, moving my hair away from my neck. Slow, gentle kisses up the side of my neck, making my body go weak before he reached my ear "you're mine!" He growled, bending me over the couch, ripping my sweatpants off me "I've waited all day to pound your tight pussy! I'm aching to feel you around me!" He growled, sliding his pants down. He ran his thick fingers through my slick folds, before putting his finger to his lips, licking my juices off them "fucking delicious!" He groaned, sliding his thick cock through my slick folds before slowly sliding inside me "uhn! Still so fucking tight, Esme!"

I bounced my ass to his rhythm "you're gonna make me cum if you keep bouncing that ass against my cock like that!" He groaned, running his hand up my back and into my hair, grabbing a fist full and lifting me up just enough so he could wrap his hand around my throat, pounding into my aching pussy even harder. The sound of our skin slapping together filled the room "fuck baby girl! The way that pussy is grippin my cock I think your close!" He groaned, pounding into me harder "uhn!! Fuck baby! That's it! Cum on my cock!" He growled "when I fill this pussy you better keep all my cum inside you! I wanna see your belly swell with our baby again! I wanna fuck my son into you!" He growled. Fuck! He was fucking sexy when he was like this!

I felt my walls clench "ugh! Fuck! Yes!" I groaned.

"that's it baby! Let it go!" He growled, my orgasm rocking my body "uhn! That's it baby girl! Uhn! Milk my cock! Milk out every last drop!" He growled, his cock twitching inside me, filling me to the brim. He stilled, both of us trying to catch our breath "you're incredible!" He smiled,slowly pulling out of me, my legs buckling. He scooped me up before I fell and carried me to the bed, gently laying me on it. He crawled next me, pulling the covers over us "I love you Esme!"

My eyes began to flutter shut, exhaustion from the days events taking over "I love you to, Roman!"

He smiled, giving me a small kiss on my forehead "goodnight beautiful!"

#Spotify #roman reigns #big daddy uce #writeblr #writers on tumblr #roman reigns x oc #wwe x oc #roman reigns smut #wwe smut #smut #roman reigns au #cyborg roman reigns #cyborgs #wwe au

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singingcicadas · 7 months

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Why are Autobots just as bad as the Decepticons?

Why? Some people seem to be under this impression that the Autobots have some kind of original sin that makes their cause morally inferior to that of the Decepticon 'revolutionists', for Reasons:

1. Autobots are bad because they were part of the old oppressive government.

Okay but it was literally Optimus who came up with the name, when he stormed the Senate demanding for autonomy? Sentinel took it for his own use. Optimus was a fugitive under Sentinel. He was doing vigilante work against the government.

2. But Optimus was a cop and served Zeta. Cops are bad and Zeta was bad so Optimus was just as bad.

Well Optimus only worked with Zeta because Zeta hid his true colours at first and seemed a decent progressive guy. He and Megatron killed Zeta when that turned out not to be the case, thus ending the oppression of the old government.

What did he do as a cop that’s so unforgivable, besides the occupation itself? He wasn’t making political arrests for the government (he treated Megatron with respect and lauded his polemics, he sided with rebel bomb planter Hot Rod) or persecuting people based on their class or function. He threw the cops who did that in jail (sorry Whirl), he got help for the people on the streets instead of arresting them as per government protocol (Drift). The only arrests he was shown to make were either thugs harassing defenceless citizens (the guys beating up Drift), illegal drug and arms dealers (Swindle), murderers, and terrorists. Notice how they’re all Decepticons. Because that’s what the Decepticons were to Cybertron’s society.

— Like it's important to note that there's never been a sweet point in Decepticon history where they were true upright freedom fighters, dedicated to nothing but emancipation of the people. That idealized version only ever existed in Megatron's writings. The Decepticons didn't start out well-meaning and turned bad somewhere along the way, they've always been a ragtag gathering of degenerates from the dregs of society looking for a venue to excerise violence and embrace their pursuit for chaos and power. They were warmongers. Terrorists. Thugs. Weapons traffickers. Opportunists. Sadists. Bloodsport enjoyers/profiteers. It’s those people who were the targets of Megatron's recruitment speeches when he promised them that he'd turn the planet into their gladiatorial arena. It’s those traits that were coveted, sought, valued by the Decepticon ranks. Revolution of the oppressed lmao, aside from Megatron himself, there's not one honest-to-god true proletariat or bottom class in the Decepticons' upper echelons. Soundwave, Ratbat’s lackey. Starscream, criminal tax swindler. Shockwave, mad scientist (with a specialization in body experimentation) and former sketchy Senator. Honest work got you as nowhere in the Decepticons as in the Cybertron social ladder.

This is an example of political persecution. By a team of sanctioned torture police created for this explicit purpose. For literally every bad thing the government did, the Decepticons have done something to one-up them. Think functionalism is bad? How about let's conscript everyone into a combatant and if you don't want to fight you can die. Painfully. Social stratification? How about a military hierarchy for the entire society based purely on might makes right. Empurata and shadowplay? Forced frame alteration and body experimentation. Lobotomy. Grooming. Vamparc ribbon that sucks the life out of an entire city's worth of people? Burn up the planet and massacre half its population. Unlawful treatment of prisoners? Pick from the menu of anti-personal bombs, live incineration chambers, multi-year torture marathons, or a DJD custom treatment. Persecution/neglect of the unfortuate mechs who ended up on the streets? Just throw them straight into the smelting pool to make into something useful instead. Expansion and colonism? Imperalism and genocide ftw. The Decepticons were worse than the old government in practically every concievable way.

3. But Optimus was violent as a cop.

Yes he was violent towards the Decepticons, a Decepticon specifically, Swindle, an unrepentant repeat offender, because they were using innocents to bomb cities and conquering citystates and Megatron must be stopped before the situation got any worse but Swindle just won’t spit any info. Like obviously his actions were wrong but they weren’t completely unfounded considering the circumstances, certainly not comparable to an equal level with the Decepticons who regularly torture prisoners for the entertainment. The most he's guilty of is paying evil unto evil and meeting violence with violence.

4. Autobots were perpetrators of the injustices of the society because they didn’t actively fight against it.

That’s not true, Optimus fought against it by using his position to help people as much as he possibly could; a lot of his work went against government orders. Rachet fought against it by running his clinic at Dead End. Impactor fought against it when he stood up for Rung. The outlier vigilante team fought against it, they risked their lives to help the Decepticons with Optimus when they stole the fake matrix bomb. Hot Rod fought for Nyon. They all fought by allowing themselves to grow beyond the societally imposed prejudices, by focusing past the rightful anger at being born into such a cruel world, by trying to become the best people they could under the circumstances and extending kindness to others no matter how difficult their own struggles. It's the entire society that's dysfunctional and has been dysfunctional since the beginning of history, individuals should not be held responsible when they're just trying to make the best out of the life they'd been given and not maliciously harming anyone along the way.

5. But that doesn’t count as actually fighting if they didn't get engaged in outright war.

Uhhh I’m sure that’s the justification Decepticons used when they were doing join or die massacres but okay I guess.

And then there’s the grand finale：

6. “Autobots are bad because wars are bad and they fought a war.”

The Autobots didn't want to fight. It was the Decepticons who declared war on them. They were literally forced into it. It was either that or accept Megatron’s peace through tyranny. And there is a massive difference between deaths/violence/destruction/resource appropriation that’s justified by military necessity and the excessive use of force like killing and torture for the funsies only the latter would be considered a war crime omgggg people please stop spamming the word war crime

Anyways this line of reasoning need to go and duel it out with the previous one because they are contradictory.

The Autobots are by no means perfect but to make them comparable to the Decepticons is just. I dont even know. It's like putting a piece of white paper with a black dot on it beside a piece of black paper and saying they're the same colour. No. The black paper didn't even start out white. Of course not everything is going to be that clear cut in war but acknowledging the presence of those grey areas doesn't mean you can equate the values of right and wrong.

And also associating the Decepticon movement with freedom fighters is buying into their propaganda. Megatron never gave a shit about anyone's freedom other than his own.

'Peace through tyranny' is a pretty self-explanatory phrase come on

#transformers #idw transformers #maccadam #optimus prime #Megatron #The black dot is Prowl-shaped

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