#tagging these just in case even tho it's just discussion

[lewishamil10n]

Re: replies on the consent issues inherent in D/C - I think even if it’s true that after Jimmy’s vessel was initially destroyed, Chuck made a new “Jimmy” body for Castiel, that’s still disturbing in terms of consent. After all, when Jimmy said yes to Castiel using him as a vessel, did he know he was apparently also consenting to having his body cloned for Castiel to continue using it AFTER his original body was destroyed? Certainly not. Did Chuck/the angels ASK Jimmy in Heaven if he would (1of?)

be okay with that? Doubtful, especially since it sure seemed he was done with angels after the events of The Rapture. He had to be threatened with his daughter to even consent to be Castiel’s vessel that time. So even if it’s only a copy of Jimmy’s body, that’s still creepy, and very arguably a violation of Jimmy. Plus - if Chuck can just create empty shell vessels for angels, why didn’t he just do that when he was around for all angels? Especially if these empty shell vessels didn’t (2of?) require the consent of the vessel? What’s the in-universe reasoning for that? Can empty shell vessels only be created based on the real vessel whose consent the angel had to get when said real vessel was alive? Does that mean everyone who consents to have an angel possess them also basically gives away all rights pertaining to their body and their likeness permanently? Because I don’t think the vessels knew what they were signing up for in that case, which still makes the consent dubious. (3of4) Not to mention, the age difference goes along with the species difference. If Castiel’s years aren’t the same as human years, that would be because he is not human. It would mean Castiel and Dean had intrinsically different experiences of the concept of time, and probably also had intrinsically different experiences of other concepts, too. How is that not rife with consent issues? Would either of them have the kind of understanding of what they were consenting to, to actually be capable of (4/5) consent? Destiel shippers shouldn’t be shamed, but they shouldn’t act like their ship, when held to real-life standards, isn’t inherently problematic just like other ships are. Which is why fictional characters and ships *shouldn’t be held to real-life standards to begin with.* Sorry for this lengthy ask, but being so invested in your ship being non-problematic so you can feel okay with judging other ships is exactly why fandom has gotten so miserable, and why I’m not active in fandom. (5/5)

whoa anon, clearly a lot to get off your chest XD i do agree though. discussions of consent (and lack thereof) under the cut.

i just had this discussion in the notes of a previous ask, and i said pretty much the same thing. jimmy's consent, dubious as it was, was only for his body to be used for castiel's heavenly duties. he did not intend for that body to be used for intercourse or anything else.

assuming he really did die and his soul left the vessel... his wishes should still have been respected. even in the real world, you can't just do whatever you want with a body after the soul has departed. you have to respect that person's wishes re: what they wanted (or didn't want) done with their body. even without the soul, the body has rights, and in jimmy's case, i am damn sure he did not consent to his body constantly being reanimated and then used for whatever the hell castiel felt like. in fact i kind of find it icky how castiel just began treating it like his body. it never was. i guess that further demonstrates how removed angels are from humanity; i don't think castiel could ever understand what a violation it is to have something done to your body against your will. for him it's just a vessel after all. perhaps that's why he was so cavalier about inviting lucifer in, about using that body to engage in sexual activity, and everything else he did with it. maybe it's also why he constantly compared his experience of possession by lucifer with sam's, even though it's not even close to the same thing. castiel chose to share the vessel he was in with lucifer, even though it was never his choice to begin with since it was never his body. perhaps that is why he never quite grasped why it was so traumatic for sam, both times that he was possessed by an angel. the first time was dubious consent, and the second... there was no consent.

but i digress.

coming to the age thing, i'm inclined to agree here as well. castiel was not human. i'm not saying that no one on the show has had a relationship with a non-human... but it's different when it's an angel, and different when it's, say, a werewolf or whatever. a creature that was born on earth and lived on it and participated in any kind of society, exercised their own free will, will always have more in common with humans than an angel could. they are immortal creatures, millennia old, with no understanding of humanity and barely any capacity for emotion. the concept of free will confuses the fuck out of them. yes, castiel was the exception, the one with the crack in his chassis, but at the end of the day, he was still an ancient being who had seen much more than any human could even conceive. him falling in love with humanity can be seen as plausible. him falling in love with one specific human... it's a stretch. castiel is not human, he's not going to understand or process human emotions in a way that could be compatible with any sort of relationship. hell, even his love confession in 15.18 left him looking like a villain. he came off as uncaring towards the kid he thought of as his own son, and downright malicious in hindsight towards the human who'd been kindest to him - yes, even more than dean. i'm not saying he actually didn't give a shit about sam or jack... but it sure looked that way because of how out of character and ridiculous that confession was. it didn't fit in with anything we knew of angels or even of castiel. it was pure fanservice and it destroyed ten yrs' worth of character building.

re: your last point about shipping... well honestly i don't see the point in making shipping some sort of moral crusade. i'm not just saying this as a wincest shipper, this was my opinion long before i slipped and fell into wincest lmao. it's just fiction. it's an aspect of a show (or movie or book or whatever) that you enjoy. there doesn't have to be some deep moral meaning to it, and it's really dangerous to try and give it some. a ship is not activism and never will be. a ship is not going to make you a better person or a better ally. that's on you. shipping is meant to be fun, not some substitute for actually being a good person or ally. this entire trend of shipping only the Purest most Unproblematic things is getting out of hand because now you've got people thinking shipping is the same as actual activism. look at how much some destiel shippers moaned when it didn't become canon, saying it was homophobic, etc etc. you'd think destiel was the best thing to happen to queer people since stonewall the way these people kept banging on about it. sorry i'm not trying to be mean, i'm just tired of it, because then you have people hopped up on their own self-righteousness, thinking it's okay to send others death threats and be absolute dickbags just because "our ship is better/at least we don't ship brothers!" sorry but nothing gives you the excuse to be an absolute shitstain, no matter what you ship. and let's not even get into fandom purity culture because that would make this reply even longer than it actually is lmao

tl;dr - agree with it all, anon, you big-brained beauty

#asks #anonymous #anti castiel #anti destiel #tagging these just in case even tho it's just discussion #OH also #consent issues

[todayisafridaynight]

I’ve noticed a pretty sizable portion of this fandom can’t understand symbolism or basic writing techniques sometimes. Sometimes, it seems to be born from not being used to Japanese media but even then…

Also Demyx is the Master of Master because he’s my mom

i can't even seriously respond to this ask after reading 'demyx is my mom' im crying

#snap chats #i will respond to it in the tags tho dont worry <3 #i dont like the excuse that 'people just havent looked at japanese media' because this isnt a problem exclusive to rgg #because symbolism and color theory isn't a Japanese Media thing. lest i remind everyone of The Great Gatsby #A VERY ENTRY-LEVEL BOOK STUFFED with symbolism and all that good stuff. very easy to pick up on even as a dumbass teenager #it's why it's such a common book to teach in high school english classes it's a very simple place to start to understand these concepts #'snap youre being americentric with your media recommendations' blow me i'm watching We Make Antiques 3 in japanese later #that aside its why i refuse to let the whole 'its japanese media' bit slide #ik japanese media is touted as being more symbolic and subtle and i wont lie that does feel to be the case at times #but it's a problem overall even outside of rgg where people just refuse to critically engage with media #or to look at it from a deeper/different perspective. or just look at it LMAO #and thats FINE if you just want to watch or play something and be done with it im not gonna be your mom about it #im not your teacher i dont ACTUALLY expect people to hyperanalyze everything they look at that's annoying #we're all human sometimes we just want our brain to go Unga Bunga and have fun #i just repeat... do not have a serious discussion with me about it LMAO

[trans-leek-cookie]

vague thought but I feel like we and I mean like. Everyone of us needs to learn to like. Idk self reflect and learn not to be voyeurs... Like this is abt myself as well. Specifically in cases of real life tragedy, like, when do we go from learning abt something to using it to feed a sort of entertainment (in a similar way to a horror movie)? How do we learn to identify when something is excessive? Sure, details can be important, but when do they stop teaching and start just being fuel for a morbid fascination?

#Ask to tag #Not abt oceangate surprisingly #In this case I'm thinking abt animal attacks and cults bc it's like. Ok reverse order but I have an interest in cults and am trying to #Specifically focus on stuff made by survivors and such and I found a p good podcast (tho it has Other Issues for sure) that's really helped #Me re evaluate my feelings on a lot of things and I think is genuinely teaching me ways to better my instinctive thought processes (even if #It isn't the exact things the hosts suggest) and I'm interested in a specific incident regarding animal attacks but it does come down to #Like. Do I want to learn or Consume (in the way one would consume media). Esp bc these are p much Offshoots of true crime media. Which is #Complicated because there's probably something to learn from discussion of cases esp ones that aren't necessarily as famous But. Y'know. #That isn't really how it works right? You only hear about the famous ones. And it can also fuel biases just bc of how cases are presented #(idk exact like numbers but like. Missing White Woman Syndrome stuff). And that's just looking at What Is There To Learn From This? Rather #Than the other side of. Is this just for something... Idk. Entertaining isn't quite the right word. It's vague but I would say it's looking #For something stronger. You can remind yourself horror is fiction. But true crime is. True crime. So it's that level of titillating and #Distressing that horror isnt. Idk I just think this is something that could be good to talk abt in general #Last thought on The People Who Romanticize Serial Killers And Shit: I'm about to commit a new True Crime if you don't cut that shit OUT

[cerneterydrive]

//

#praying 2 god that my professor doenst include questions abt daca in the final cause I fr do not understand that shit #like ive had to read all these academic articles and have all these discussions and it fr does not stick in my brain #like ok i know the basis of it or wtv but like. to write a short essay abt it? for my final? #bbg i am not getting that credit i nkwo that #like ok yes ask me to write abt Mexican repatriation or the bracero program or the page act or fucking the johnson reed act and ill write #pagesss and pages abt it i already have man like I can do it #cannot write more than 2 or 3 sentences abt daca to save my life tho #pls dr [redacted] do not include anything abt daca in there pls ill sign up for ur borderlands class even ill do that just please #woah wait thats so cool you can edit tags now?? that's sick as hell what #i googled my professors name just in case and his whole ass university page came up I'm not risking that I had to redact it sorry💀

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

part one | part two | bonus chapter | part three

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 1

WC: 2,6k

Relationship: Pre-relationship SwissAlps

Tags: Transfeminine Mountain, AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, First Meeting, Fluff, Protectiveness, Discussion About Being Transgender, Transphobia  (warning for that if someone's sensitive to it), not from swiss tho he's supportive!!!

Swiss has been travelling for a while. He finally gets to a place he can rest in and meets an unique individual. He's immediately enamored.

Notes: comm for @jazz-bazz, first part of our au! ty bex <3

Read chapter 1 under the cut or on AO3.

He’s been sweating his ass off for three days before something resembling civilization has finally come along. He’s half dead, his chick is half dead, and all he wants is to get a pint of cold beer and a damn bed.

The town—barely big enough to be called such—is obviously sparsely populated. Swiss doubts it’s even inhabited at first, but the closer he gets the more signs of life he’s noticing and the hope in him grows. He leans down to pat his chick’s neck and sighs at the puff of dust coming off of her.

“Soon, girlie. I’m gonna give ya a good brush, you deserve it.” The mare nickers and the pair continue their slow walk toward the town. It doesn’t take that long for them to make their way into the shadow casted by the town’s buildings. It smells like cow’s shit, but the people obviously have more water and food than they really need, which means there is a chance Swiss and his horse will get some. If not given freely, he’ll take it, but he is tired and he hopes their visit in that place will go smoothly.

Swiss doesn’t see any heads peeking out of doors or windows to look at him, neither threateningly nor curiously, as he looks around searching for any sign that would indicate where he can find a bar. He really needs a beer.

His knees crack when he jumps down from his mare. The ground is dry and a cloud of dust arises as his boots touch it. He finds something that could be a spot for travelers’ horses and as he leaves his chick there he hopes nobody will shoot her off if he was mistaken. It’s a solid roof over a spot covered in a thick layer of straw, with buckets full of fresh looking water hanging off of wooden beams and cubes of hay under them. Inviting enough.

Swiss pulled the reins over the mare’s neck and pulled the bit out of her mouth before tying her to one of the beams by the water. He hopes she won't be too picky. “Drink, girlie, I’ll be back soon.”

He pats her on the ass on his way and walks away, heading into the adjoining building. The batwing doors’ hinges squeal loudly as Swiss walks into what indeed is a saloon. It’s nearly empty, only two men are sitting in a corner and talking quietly over drinks. Swiss scans the space and even though it’s empty, it seems nice. The men from the corner don’t acknowledge his presence, but he doesn’t crave attention this time, so it is fine by him. It’s a bit colder there than outside and he already feels some relief.

Swiss goes straight to the bar and just as he’s sitting down on one of the squeaky stools the barmaid walks out from behind a dark brown curtain hanging between the shelves. A gorgeous, tall wo…man? They are a very pretty man, if that's the case. He shrugs, though, it’s none of his business.

They are wearing a long, light green dress—a little old fashioned in style, but it’s a good piece. Little dirty-white apron covers the dress from their waist down to where their knees are under the skirt. The dress doesn’t have sleeves, only straps digging into their shoulders and going down to create a laced neckline that makes their tits look very compelling. Their hair is long and wavy, a beautiful shade of dark amber flowing down their back and over their shoulders.

Their eyes, though…oh, their eyes are what makes Swiss’ belly swoop and his mouth go even drier than it already was. Big—adorned by thick and long lashes—and in the color of the healthiest, most fresh, summer grass ever. Swiss haven’t seen grass as green in years.

“Anything to drink for you?” They ask, picking up a rag to wipe the bar. More to busy themself than because it’s dirty. If anything it’s dusted over from unuse. 

“Well, ain’t ya a pretty thing?” Swiss winks, his head tilted to the side. He knows he most definitely looks like a creep, but he can’t stop staring.

“Oh, me? Uhm–thank you?” they stutter as blush creeps up their cheeks, coloring them a light rosy pink. Gorgeous. “What…what about that drink?”

“Get me a pint of some good ole beer, sweetheart. Pretty please.” 

“Mhm,” they nod, obviously flustered, and turn to disappear behind the curtain again. Swiss sighs—he really is exhausted—as he rests his chin on his fist, his other hand scratching at his stubble. Well, more like a beard, he didn’t have much time or opportunities to take care of it, so it’s a bit unkept now.

Soon enough the bar…person returns with Swiss’ beer and hands it to him with a light smile. “There you go.”

“Thank you kindly,” he mutters, nodding, before pressing his lips against the chilly mug and tipping it back. He moans at the refreshing feeling washing over him the moment beer pours into his mouth.

“Is it that good?” the person chuckles, leaning against the wall with their hands crossed over their chest. Their beautiful, full chest and it’s–Swiss shakes his head. He ain’t seen no tits in ages but he isn’t an animal, damnit.

“Nah,” he snorts before taking another gulp. “It’s piss, but I’ve been dry as a desert, sweetheart.”

The person curls their lips into a little amused smile and turns, grabbing the rag and starting to wipe the bar again. Swiss tries to not be obvious in his staring—looking from under the rim of his hat. The stranger is so captivating, he can’t tear his eyes away. 

“Listen, I don’t mean any disrespect, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta ask–” Swiss starts after clearing his throat, but gets cut off. The other probably expected it to go that way.

“You’re the nicest person I’ve encountered in a long time,” they say with a smirk and Swiss bows his head, grinning. “Phrase your question as nicely and there’s a chance I won’t take out the revolver from under the bar and shoot your hat off.”

“Damn, sweetheart.” He recoils dramatically, raising his arms defensively. “You’re too pretty for me to offend, don’t ya worry.”

“So?”

“Are you a boy or a girl?” The question lands, but no offense shows on the person’s face. Swiss continues. “Cause if you’re a boy, then you’re the prettiest one I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot—and if you’re a girl, then…well, then you’re the prettiest one of those.”

“I’m a woman, kind sir,” she laughs, fully this time, and the melodic sound of it goest through Swiss’ ears right to his heart, “you haven’t proven yourself worthy of permission to call me a girl. Yet.”

“Understood. I'd love to try and prove my worth.” He winks and lifts the mug nodding, as if in a toast. “You’re a gorgeous woman, ma’am.”

“Thank you. I do understand the confusion, though, even my own body didn’t get the memo.” She sighs, fidgeting with her hands and worrying her lip between her teeth. Swiss gets a sudden urge to gently pull it free, lest she breaks the skin and paints her mouth with blood, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, they’ve just met. Swiss doesn’t know what possessed him.

“Huh, that’s so…” He mumbles, staring holes into the already rugged wood of the countertop. With the corner of his eye he sees the barmaid pull up a chair on the other side of the bar and sit on it, right before him.

“Unnatural?” she finishes for him, but her guess of his thoughts couldn’t be falser.

“No, I wanted to say it makes you unique. It’s amazing,” Swiss says—confident—looking up at her again. She is so much closer now and so many more details of her beauty are visible to the man, and if she’d let him he’d count all the golden freckles adorning her face a hundred times over.

“Oh…” she whispers. Swiss doesn’t count her freckles, but he does follow the path of a blush crawling up her cheeks. “Well, uhm, I don’t know. It doesn’t feel amazing most of the time.”

“That must be tough,” he replies, wondering. “Is it like…like you don’t feel right in your body? Like it’s not yours?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” she has no idea why she’s suddenly spilling her innermost thoughts to a stranger she has met not even half an hour prior. There is something about him, though, that makes her feel safe and maybe carries a chance of finally being understood. Even if just a bit. “And sometimes I just feel…wrong all around.”

Swiss hums in acknowledgement and leans down to his mug, swallowing down a few gulps. Once his mouth is unoccupied again, he asks, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“It’s Mountain,” the barmaid says, “but I prefer just Mounty.”

Swiss snorts at that, but immediately regrets it upon seeing Mounty’s brows furrow in confusion and her eyes fill with a tiny bit of hurt. “Sorry, sweetheart, I ain’t laughing at you! My horse’s name is Monty, that’s why!”

“Oh. Oh, okay,” she relaxes and chuckles, too, a bit embarrassed by her immediate defensiveness. “Yeah, that is funny.”

“Nice to meet you, Mounty.”

“Won’t you give me your name?” the barmaid’s eyelashes flutter and Swiss wouldn’t be able to refuse or lie to her even if he wanted to.

“Swiss, sweetheart,” he says, lifting up the mug again. “My name’s Swiss.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Swiss,” Mounty replies, her face lighting up with a soft smile, and if Swiss was standing it would make his knees buckle. Still, his insides warm up and twist and he’s never felt like that; so stupid and…vulnerable.

Swiss feels himself blush and he quickly hides behind his mug.

“Would you–” Mounty is about to ask him something, but a squeak of the doors and heavy steps interrupt her.

“Afternoon!” a stranger calls out, walking into the saloon as if it was his own ground. Swiss looks up at the barmaid and sees her tense up—her lips turn into a thin line and her brows furrow. She knows the man and she isn't fond of him in the slightest.

Swiss doesn’t like that look on her.

“Afternoon, sir,” Mounty mutters, standing up. The man doesn’t reply, just walks over and sits down by the bar next to Swiss. He is alert after Mounty’s reaction, one of his hands close to his gun.

“Get me some whiskey, girl,” the stranger grumbles, spitting the last word out like it burns his tongue, like an insult. Swiss realizes it is supposed to be one and the knot inside him tightens, this time with something resembling anger. How can someone treat such a gorgeous, brilliant and kind creature without utmost respect?

“Hey, she ain’t your girl,” Swiss hisses as Mounty disappears to get the man’s drink. He won’t sit there and pretend he is okay with what is happening right next to him. “Bark orders at your wife like that. If you even have one, it don’t seem like you’ve got a lot to offer.”

“Why do you care?” the stranger scoffs, “he’s a freak.”

One second Swiss is sitting relaxed, sipping on his beer, and then in the next he’s up with his back straight, looming over the other man and staring down at him with fire in his eyes.

“I suggest you either apologize to her when she gets back,” he growls, reaching behind himself, to his revolver, “or get out now so neither of us have to see your ugly face any more. Or else…”

“Or else what!? Ya one of them, too, hm?” the man—clearly an idiot—snarls, craning his neck to look up at Swiss, pretending to be brave. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had no balls on you.”

“Oh, I’ve got enough balls, asshole,” Swiss laughs and that seems to hit. He pulls his revolver out from behind his belt, twists it on his finger and watches the other man hesitate about his next words. “You wanna lose yours?”

The man scoffs as if there wasn’t fear in his eyes. He’s a coward and he storms out accordingly, because it’s unlikely he knows better than to actually challenge Swiss. He doubts he knows who he was.

Just as the man disappears outside, Mounty returns with a glass of whiskey intended for him. There’s no smile on her face and her rather neutral expression turns to confusion as she sees only Swiss by the bar. “Where did he go?”

“Oh, he realized he left something at home.” Swiss shrugs, returning to his stool.

“And what would that be?”

“Respect for women,” he says with a smirk and Mounty returns it, knowing and thankful. She sits again and looks at the glass in her hand before pressing it against her lips and cringing as she tips it back to drink. “Not a fan?”

“Not at all,” she coughs and Swiss chuckles. She is adorable. “All I drink is tea.”

“Tea is good,” he says and looks into his mug—there was still some beer left. He lifts it again and silence falls for a moment.

“You really are nice to talk to,” Mounty speaks after a while. “I get called a freak and other names all the time, usually the moment I come into someone’s view. It’s nice to be treated normally, have my feelings acknowledged…and be protected. You know?”

“I can only imagine.” Swiss smiles at her fondly. It must be hard living like that. Trying to live right by yourself and offending others by simply existing, just because they are too thick-skulled. If he could, he'd sit on that creaky chair every damn day and chase off every single man who'd as much as look at Mounty wrong.

It’s quiet again, Swiss finishing up his beer and Mounty drinking her whiskey—frowning at every single sip. They have just met, but the silence is comfortable. It feels like not only did they know each other for ages, but that they have a…special connection, of a kind.

Swiss snorts at his own thoughts. He’s stupid for them, for thinking this is anything more than…than what, exactly?

“A’ight, sweetheart,” he sighs after a moment, breaking the dead silence. “I should get going, find somewhere to sleep.”

“We’ve got beds,” Mounty perks up, immediately shying away as she realizes she might’ve been a bit too enthusiastic, “if you want…”

“I’d love a bed, but I don’t have much money,” the man shrugs. He’d rip anyone off without any remorse, but not her. He’s never gotten a soft spot for someone as fast as he did for her. “And I’d rather get a place for my horse than myself.”

“And if it’d all be on the house?”

“What, like me so much already you don’t want me to leave?” Swiss laughs, winking.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Mounty scoffs, but her own wink says something else. “You’re clearly exhausted, who would I be if I let you go back on the road without a proper rest?”

“Will you at least accept my help in here and in the stables as a payment?”

“I can consider it,” she mumbles, smiling softly as she stares at Swiss through her lashes.

“Alright, then. I’ll stay, sweetheart.”

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps #hypnone's commissions #swissalps' sundown

[thewinchestah]

Strawberry Fields (sonhei com campos de morango) - Alastor X Reader fic

Summary: On a dreadful night, Alastor goes to collect one of his contracts. Something goes terribly wrong. He finds you.

Warnings: fem!reader, Human!reader, smut, 18+, period sex, overstimulation, light cannibalism, blood, A LOT OF BLOOD, general creeppiness, Alastor is in hell for a reason, oral sex, alastor kind of hunts reader down, possessive!Alastor

A/N: Soooo!! This was a long time coming but here it is. This idea has been on my mind for a long time now and I wanted to test the waters before i commit to a long fic. I hope you guys like it, i'm kinda on the fence about it. I'm working on the requests and they should be out soon I PROMISEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Also I got a little carried away, i'm sorry. Hope you guys enjoy it. It's always a pleasure to write for you. The visuals and the title for this fic are heavily inspire by this music video. Not the lyrics tho, i always felt like the singer did a poor job with this concept and i wanted to do it justice.

Taglist: @markster666@jyoongim@stygianoir @pepperycookie@fraspent @aether-th3-enby  @lady-valtieri @karolinda007-blog @jesi-pinkman@polytheatrix If the tags aren’t working or you wanna be tagged, let me know.

You curse when another sharp stone cuts your feet.

You regret it a second later when you hear the ominous sounds that reverberate through the trees. They are closing in on you.

You don’t know how you got here, you just know now you are running for your life inside these woods now. The only guiding light, a full moon that looks weirdly otherworldly.

Adrenaline burns inside your bloodstream, the forest seems devoid of any living thing. It’s only you and whoever is chasing you. You wish you could hear gunshots, you wish you could hear screams. Anything besides the occasional twig snap or wind caressing the pine trees’ leaves. The eerie silence is deafening, and worse: the eerie silence makes you even more aware of your situation. 

It’s incredible how everything gets clearer when you’re about to die.

Maybe you shouldn’t have traveled alone, maybe you shouldn’t have decided to go somewhere where the closest thing to civilization is the village’s old-yet-charming dinner. 

You just wanted a little bit of quiet, a place that made introspection inviting. Next time you should go for a beach vacation.

Next time? why does next time sound so… far away? Somehow your feet carry you away from the forest’s well marked path and deeper into the thick vegetation, hiding behind a large tree. You gained a few minutes on them by taking a detour.

Breathe. Remember to breathe.

Right, your mind remembers. You’re being hunted down like prey in the creepy horror film woods, time to focus on surviving again. You can overthink later.

You assess your options: you can keep going into the woods, a deadly game of hide and seek. Zig-zag through the trees, keep them guessing. There’s a good chance you will find wildlife as you go deeper. This could be a problem, it’s too dark to make anything out, an encounter could cause enough of a distraction, you could take advantage of that. Or you could end up mauled. Plus, you are absolutely positive there are bear traps somewhere. If you're gonna die, make your death less dumb. Quite an embarrassing topic of discussion in the afterlife, saying that you died like horror film pretty girls making dumb decisions that you clearly would never make in a situation like that. You just know they are incredible hunters, you need to take them out of their element, expose them.

So yeah, going deeper isn't an option. 

Something catches your eye, there’s a big opening in the thick vegetation, there’s a clearing ahead and… sparks? You definitely see a light. You were told by the locals how the population is scattered across acres and acres of practically untouched wilderness, there’s also the park’s rangers stationed on specific places that grant them a visual advantage in case of emergencies. A big clearing is perfect for that. Maybe, just maybe there’s hope. 

Of course bolting there will make you terribly exposed, they will know your position all the time, and they can still hunt you hidden by the edge of the trail.  Besides there’s no guarantee of what awaits you when you reach the promised land, they could have a partner waiting, there could be nothing at all there. Taking this risk for nothing sounds worse than being lured into a trap. You just have this gut feeling that’s where you should go. Your brain starts to pick the plan apart, this doesn’t sound good. Hesitation can be fatal. But you are all adrenaline and primal flight intistic - 

The decision was made for you, you start running again. Taking advantage of the final stretch of cover you still have until you hit the trail again, you take several deep breaths. Oxygen needs to keep coming, so you can make decisions, so your limbs can respond quickly. Your peripheral catches something that’s also running. It’s a stag.

He’s also prey. He’s an omen. He’s your cue. 

You leap across some fallen branches and your scratched feet land on the main trial. As soon as you complete your first step you hear movement and hurried voices. They are onto you. “What do we say to the good of death? Not today” you give yourself a pep-talk as you keep running. Maybe thinking this is all fiction will help you survive this, detach yourself from the situation, don’t think about the consequences, just act. 

And like that, you don’t stop running. You sing your abcs to focus and stop spiraling. Evolution is truly amazing, the cuts you suffered don’t hurt anymore, precious shooting adrenaline, adrenaline that makes you tunnel vision towards your objective. By now you know where to step, when to dodge, when to slow down and when to go faster. Millennia of sheer force of survival catching up to you.

breathe, remember to breathe.

You inhale a good chunk of oxygen and look ahead. There’s a man on the edge of the tree line and a few meters left. Your mind wants to sing in victory, but you refrain from that, you know better than that it only ends when it’s over-

You’re positively sprinting towards the man right now, like he is your assured salvation. Something inside you screams louder and louder guiding you to him and you follow the sound. 

You hear gunshots. 

So noooooow they bring out the guns? That’s low. 

But that’s a good thing right? If they are shooting they are getting out of time. A single gunshot can take you down and they can smoothly and swiftly carry you away, like it’s a normal hunt. No one will question shooting something they didn’t see getting shot so deep into these woods. But shooting a girl in front of a witness? that’s for amateurs right? So, the man is not a partner you decide. 

remember to breathe, you are not breathing. 

You are so close now, you see an outstretched hand coming your way only a few more steps

breathe. 

You don’t, instead you leap towards your loosely established finish line and take the hand an-

 Dirt greets your face as you fall face first into the trail,  and you crawl like a zombie that just rose from its grave. You have a collection of new cuts and scrapes now, it hurts and you can’t bite your lip to suppress the pain. Still, you intertwine your fingers with his, your other arm aggressively seeking for leverage, clinging to your flesh lifeline. You blur out a bunch of incoherent things as he effortlessly lifts you up  in one swift motion. 

“Get behind me, my dear.” he asks. He has a weird voice almost like it leaves something in the air that caresses your skin, an inviting voice nonetheless. You hide yourself inside the crook of his arm, giving you the ability to witness just a little bit of the action there’s about to happen. You never let go of his hand. Your prince charming feels awfully cold.

Alastor waits, rather impatiently, for his clients to arrive. Making a deal with a human is his ticket topside and Hell is still terribly boring, even with the hotel. The Radio Demon was no stranger to contracts with humans, they were a win-win situation. Those who seek him always have a taste for the wicked and deranged, so it’s easy to figure out what they want and twist it for his own benefit. When they inevitably die, be it death by old age or death by occupational hazard, Alastor gets useful men from the moment they manifest in Hell. They always know exactly where they are and why, they are not confused sinners, petty crime or moral crime sinners. They are, most times, skilled killers who take no trouble doing Alastor’s bidding. An accomplished killer in life makes an even better prolific hellish soldier, someone who will continue indulging in their desires without the constraints of society, but eternally tied down by Alastor’s constraints. With the right incentive, they can rise in the ranks and become treasured resources for the overlord. Plus, the camaraderie isn’t all bad. Takes one to know one, they say.

However, humans these days are getting careless, sloppy. This entire display is proof of that, they should be over to kill and cover their tracks alone. The basics, for hell’s sake. 

 Alastor only takes care of the details. Tampering with some evidence here, getting a victim on the right place at the right time there. The occasional final encouragement to give into the darkness and finally kill, some advice. A self respecting killer should be able to kill and get away with it without the demon’s aid. He’s there for consulting and making sure there are no loose ends. 

But never this. Having to intervene in the middle of a kill because his client made a very very big mess that screams “you’re getting caught!” is below him. Amateurs are not worth Alastor's time.

The two men approach the tree line, clearly worked up from the hunt and shocked to see him there. If Alastor is withholding a victim, something went very, very wrong.

“Good night my good fellows!” the greeting leaves his lips in an overly-chirpy tone. Is that static in his voice?  Radio static? Is that what’s leaving goosebumps on your skin? The stress and the adrenaline are making you imagine things. You took the “pretend this is all a fantasy and you the main character” too seriously. Because now you are hiding behind Darth Vader’s skirts. That’s impossible, right? right?

“Great.” you can see the sarcasm dripping from one of your aggressors. “You’re here to watch?” the question asked all passive aggressive with an edgy tone. That’s definitely a teenager. What the fuck? you were being chased by a high school kid? This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, how can a teen pull this off? And you almost died? What? Your mind starts spirling. 

Alastor ignores the son, is the father he cares about. They’ve known each other for years now, and he’s underperforming to say the least. He waits for the father to address him, it’s his mess after all. The older man gives his son a stern look and finally breaks the silence. 

“Goodnight. We didn’t expect to see you here tonight, to be honest.’”

 The second voice is much older. That doesn’t quiet your thoughts at all. Is this a cult initiation thing? Hunting girls down like they are prey? WHY DID YOU TRAVEL TO THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??? OF COURSE THERE WOULD BE CULTS HERE, DUUUUH. IF I WAS IN A CULT THIS WOULD BE THE PERFECT PLACE TO HIDE. There are so many voices screaming inside your head now, you are shivering. With anger, anticipation, fear. Your inner monologue overrides your brain and you are not sure you can cope with everything that’s going on. The voices, all the voices, sound wrong. They land weirdly inside your ear and you need to think hard to understand the words, you know how crucial every piece of information is. They could make all the difference when you talk to the police. They could help a conviction when you are on the stand, giving your official statement. You are surviving this. You are going to watch these fuckers get life in prision or worse.  You are surviving this right? There’s so much you haven’t thought through. Whose hand are you holding again? 

“Oh please. Don’t act all coy now, it doesn’t suit you old friend” Alastor is starting to cross the line from nuisance to anger. He twirls his microphone in annoyance, and makes sure to sink it deep into the moist ground. “Let me remind you about the terms of our agreement. For each 2 kills you make, one soul is mine to take. Or am I wrong?”

“No. You aren’t”. The father answers through gritted teeth.  “But I never thought you would want to collec-” Alastor tilts his head, his grin widens and he snaps “Never thought what? That I would claim what I am owed at my leisure? That I would stop waiting patiently for you, acting at your whim? You earned the privilege of killing unbothered by my vigilance. Because you always delivered your side of the bargain with excellence. I can revoke said privilege whenever I want. Especially after this pitiful performance.” The seasoned killer seems to slightly cower at Alastor’s words. Good. He always regarded the demon without fear or trepidation. His work was meticulous, spotless, basically perfect. And that gave him the justifiable confidence for going toe to toe with the Radio Demon during conversations, a bargaining chip during dealings of his contracts. Few could say that. 

You feel nauseous. Reality is crashing down at you hard and fast. How many people have these people killed? They are trading lives like it is the stock market, and yet you can’t let go of your prince charming’s hand. There’s no rational thought to justify it, actually rational thought is also being slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb tonight, because despite the gigantic red flags you are not letting go of this man’s hands. Everything about him screams danger, everything about him screams your safety. He’s the type of paradoxical that messes with your primal senses, that makes a moth go to the lights that will kill it. 

From the crook of his arm you finally gather the courage to open your eyes. You try to look up to your prince charming, but his face is concealed by the shadows of the night. Actually, everything of importance seems to be conveniently hidden from you. Your aggressor’s faces look distorted, recognizable traits melting together like watercolor painted by 100 shades of darkness, voices and words fuse together creating only cacophony. You hear things, you see things, but you can’t discern them. The three men keep going back and forth, but their conversation seems to dissipate into the air. Everything about this feels like a dream. 

Of course you can’t register anything of importance. Alastor makes sure of it. You are a potential victim after all. A liability, capable of making a positive identification. It’s wishful thinking that someone would take your account of what’s happening on this dreadful night seriously.

 Alastor has no shame in using the prejudices of your world to his advantage. If you were to tell, everyone would make the assumption that you are “just another hysterical woman, thinking too much about folktales”. You had too much to drink, partied too hard. Hallucinogens are a common party drug and this is the result of a bad trip. At worst, “someone tried to spike your drink, but nothing happened. You should be thankful, not getting in the way of important police work”. Alastor also knows that injustice is no real crime, and yet he decided to spare you. It doesn’t feel fair for you to perish in such crude ways, a practice run for a post pubescent, obnoxious serial killer in training. A precious thing like you should be honored, savored. In the odd chance that your voice was heard, the Radio Demon  guarantees that no reliable information will come out of your mouth. His clients might be lacking, but in the dealmaking business your words are your worth and Alastor has a silvertongue. Surely that pretty mouth of yours won’t be a problem. 

“I’m afraid I have to insist, my good friend. The pair of you caused enough damage already with these sloppy, impetuous spree killings. Your law enforcement is already on your scent, tracking the pattern and by the looks of it tonight’s mess will send quite a message. A message that I will have to make sure is delivered faultlessly. I will uphold my hand of the bargain, you will uphold yours. The girl will be spared. There’s plenty of prey out there, plus her death would only act as an aggravation, she’s not your type, and trust me, they will know you made a mistake, you will be exposed.” The Radio Demon’s patience is wearing thin. He shouldn’t have to justify his actions to humans. There’s no compromise to be found here, they went to him and the deal is always on his terms. You squeeze his hand really tight during the discussion of your scheduled demise, like a reminder that you are still there. Still afraid. 

 How cute. Alastor thinks. Your adrenaline is starting to wear off, dissipating into the cool forest breeze and opening space for a strong sense of false security, equally as inebriating. The smell of your sweet fear laced blood is unmistakable, assaulting your savior’s nostrils. Your knees buckle, and you struggle to keep yourself on your feet, clinging to prince charming’s hand for dear life. “Breathe darling, you are forgetting to breathe” He turns quickly towards you, his voice impossibly soft, shooting. You try to look up at charming’s face again, the only new discovery made is that he's awfully tall, and his face is still hidden by opaque darkness. You work really hard on breathing normally again, but you want to keep looking. Their faces are a monstrous distortion, vacant eyes that seem to cry blood. Your entire body tingles, you feel weird goosebumps. It takes all of your willpower to keep standing. You won’t lay yourself at their feat, defeated, like the corpse they would drag from these woods. But you just can’t keep looking, so you shut your eyes and grip the hand that has become your lifeline even tighter.

“You won’t even truly use the bitch, she’s no use for you” The entitled brat opens his mouth again. That’s the trigger.

The Radio Demon grows as tall as the native pine trees, his antlers furiously expanding and casting a shadow so dark over the two serial killers that the moon is completely obstructed. The only source of light in the forest now is the burning red dials of his eyes. The father sees the burning inferno of Alastor’s eyes and for the first time he is speechless. Maybe the realization of where destiny is sending him finally happens. The son sees raw, untamed power for the first time in his life and cowers like a scared puppy. Pathetic. 

“Now let’s get something clear here. I’m only tolerating your insolence because of my decade long relationship with your father.” You shut your eyes harder, your eyelids a shield from whatever is about to happen. Foreboding making the forest air too thick for you to breathe. You finally break down and start crying, too fucking much.  Alastor’s face meets the son on eye level. His teeth are bared, static picks up around the group to the point both men are struggling to breathe. A clawed hand traps the father’s face, a trail of blood dripping from the older serial killer’s cheek.“He’s as close to a professional as our kind gets. Shame the same thing can’t be said about you. This juvenile outburst does not make you more feared nor does it assert your dominance. It displays how weak you are, inept to succeed on this because you can’t keep your entitled demeanor in check. You are not owed anything in this lifestyle, if you want something you need to prove you’re worthy of it by taking it yourself. Whining like a petulant child won’t get you anywhere” You feel dizzy, the earth beneath your feet quakes,  whoever, whatever is holding your hand is sheeting with rage so consuming the ground shakes with the intensity of their emotions.

Alastor’s attention is now focused on the father, the red inferno from his eyes making the man feel genuine fear for the first time in his long, violence-filled life.  “Teach your spawn some manners and proper work, otherwise get him out of my sight. This was a courtesy. Fulfillment failings lead to contract termination, and contract termination means a lot of details appearing. You do not wish to make an enemy of me” Alastor delivers his last threat with a snarl. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the intensity of his words, you feel a powerful rush of wind, leaves ruffling, hurried steps and suddenly the world is at a standstill. The forest seems devoid of life excluding you, your mysterious prince charming and your two aggressors. All of your senses are assaulted with an overwhelming feeling of wrongness… darkness. Darkness that feels like the most luxurious silky dress on your skin, the most intense look of a passionate lover. It feels dangerously alluring and your will power is being gladly tempted by it. 

You feel like you’ve been holding your breath for hours, the rollercoaster of adrenaline inducing hyperventilation and conscious calming breaths making your brain enter some sort of high. Is that what people felt after a battle in ancient times? Is that what It means to stare death in the face and come out victorious? You don’t understand what you are feeling, but when oxygen finally feels normal again, tall, dark and handsome is escorting you deeper into the woods and you don’t even care.

 You’ve just slayed the dragon with your bare hands. You don’t care. You just want to bask on the feeling. To fucking feel. To remind yourself that you are still alive. 

Alastor is drunk on something that he rarely indulges in. Desire. Pure, raw carnality that makes him antagonize one of his greatests clients. Someone Alastor awaited his inevitable death with anxiety and hopefulness, someone he could actually call more than a partner in crime when in hell. A friend. A friendship born from blood and gore but bathed in kinship and inexplicable understanding of one’s dark nature. And the Radio Demon almost killed the man and his useless spawn and fucked everything up because when he saw your running for your life something ignited inside him. When you squeezed his hand so tightly, with such abandon and trust, like he was an Angel sent from heaven to protect you when reality was the most wicked antonym. 

Alastor spared you because you were prey. Beautiful, delicious prey that defied your destiny by accepting the nature of your condition. You didn’t dare to fight, you didn’t dare to think you could stand a chance against your hunters. You just fled. You fled and was perfectly lured into another trap, you doubled the bet when you held his hand and didn’t let go, serving all of your vulnerability on a silver platter to someone you deep down knew was way worse than any serial killer. 

Prey, that will chew its own leg to get out of a trap. Prey, that will offer herself to the most ungodly creature around if it means she can survive a few more moments, just to spite those who started the chase. Prey, that now holds his hand completely carefree and all giggles while she is led to a much more final and insidious type of slaughter. Prey that he was now going to claim.

Your wounded feet start to land on soft squishy things, a familiar scent invades your nostris. From the scent of sweat, blood and gore now to the scent of juicy, plump strawberries. 

“Hey, are we on a strawberry field?” it’s the first time you addressed him directly. You trail behind him, hurried steps crushing the strawberries on your way. You look up and for the first time you can see open skies. “You don’t need to worry my dear, you are perfectly safe now”

Are you? 

You decide that he doesn’t sound like  Darth Vader anymore, his voice is impossibly staticy, it prickles your skin and it feels like goosebumps that accompany butterflies on your stomach. He sounds like someone you would meet at a ball and have a cinderella moment with. The blanket of stars that illuminates the clearing you ferociously fought for grants you a better vision of his figure: scarlet red, snug tailcoat, perfectly tailored. Long legs and trousers that fit like skinny jeans. He dresses like the lead singer from a classic emo band. You can’t say you are complaining, you always loved the idea of a tall dark and handsome prince charming. 

“So, you have some weird friends don’t you?” you ask him. You can hear him chuckle, it is a very pleasant sound. Suddenly the twirls you, a fucking disney princess’ musical number twirl, and you find yourself in front of very big bed. 

With impeccable white sheets, you mind adds. Must be really hard to maintain white sheets in the middle of a strawberry field. Wait, what is a king size bed doing in the middle of th-

“Ah, I don’t really do friends, more like reluctant colleagues” bootleg brandon urie is the melancholic type, then. 

Alastor finally takes a good look at you when you take your seat on the bed with a contented sigh. You look marvelous. Your hair is messy and wild, your cheeks and neck flushed red from the effort. Your eyes big and pliant, waiting for his answers. You look so human, so deliciously alive. He desperately wants to be the cause of your disarray, to make the blood rush to your face under his materfully wicked touch. To feel your pulse fluttering when he touches your neck. 

You still can’t see all of him though. There’s stars, a big full moon whose light outstretches far, bathing the clearing in ethereal silver. The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows, your savior is always in the shadows.

By now you know he is purposefully hiding his identity from you, but you always liked a game.  Plus you don’t really have anything to lose now, you just want to forget everything that happened to you tonight, you just want to inebriate yourself, and charming really looks like someone who could show you a good time.

Either that or you are having a psychotic break after enduring life threatening stress. 

Anyway, you decide to bite. One possible psychotic murder, funny, charming murderer is better than two lukewarm ones.

“Do you always take random women to a creepy bed  with impeccable white sheets in the middle of the woods or am I just special?” not a chuckle now, a laugh. A beautiful, full laugh. The residual static on your skin making you shiver. 

Alastor completely understands what you are trying to do, and it’s truly hilarious. Your petulance and sarcasm towards him means to an end. You’re so precious, talking to him like this, thinking you could take him at his own game. What a beauty! Seeing you think you are succeeding in this only for him to take that conviction away from you at the last minute is going to be so entertaining. He wants you to dig your own grave, lay yourself at his feet.

He doesn’t indulge you, instead he takes a thick, silky strand of your hair and inhales deeply. You smell like sweet innocence and summer. It makes Alastor euphoric. 

His head tilts down as he smells your hair. You don’t that’s creepy, it looks creepy, it sounds creepy, but you feel reverence in his action. 

And then out of the shadows comes a revelation, you see his horns. You suspected his unhumanity, but the confirmation of it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes widen, you simply cannot make sense of this night, everything feels too surreal and raw reality at the same time, it’s giving you whiplash.

“Are you the devil?” you ask him without much consideration of the weight of this question. You do your best to keep your voice from failing but it’s impossible. You never dropped his hand, in fact you feel like you are permanently attached to him, like a marble statue. Your fingers open and interlock again and again, reflecting your anxiety, but you don’t let go.

You can’t see it, but Alastor’s grin is as big as a cheshire cat’s.

 “Do you seek the devil?” answering a question with a question. Smoke and mirrors. Alastor waits for you to answer, but you don’t. You don’t know what to answer, you try to contemplate if enganding further could mean eternal damnation, or if you are already damned. Is he going to make you an offer you can’t refuse? an offer you aren’t allowed to refuse? Alastor will blame it on lack of patience, but the fact is he can’t wait anymore to taste you, there’s a burning desire inside him, that only gets more and more ferocious as he tastes the inebriating smell of your fear blessing the air he breathes again. 

He removes your interlocking fingers, his hand quickly trapping your tiny wrist inside. You hear heavy breathing. 

“Or do you seek a taste of the forbidden fruit?” The demon licks the long cut across our open palm. His tongue is sensual and cold, the sensation of it slowly dragging across your wounded skin a soothing balm. You moan, he growls. “Forbidden fruit it is.” he announces, delivered like a sentence. 

You are completely free of his touch for the first time since it all began, but it feels like you just suffered an enormous loss. You feel taunted, like someone just dangled a shiny new thing in front of you and took it away. It’s like your entire being has become tunnel vision and you need to get to the bottom of this, whatever this is. Consequences be damned. 

You watch closely as your paranormal paramour moves towards the bed, he is completely concealed by the darkness. Darkness deep and palpable, he morphs within it. The visuals are beautiful, it looks like one of the art’s greatest masters is painting a watercolor in front of you. Darkness from absence of light floating and mixing with otherworldly opaque darkness, flowing like a river. You wonder if it would run through your fingers like water if you touch it. 

Antlers. He has antlers, not horns. 

The not-devil settles himself behind you, back against the headboard. He quickly maneuvers you onto his lap, grabbing you by the waist. You squeal in surprise as more of him touches you, now pressed flush against his hard chest you feel something you shouldn’t be feeling, nonetheless resistance is futile, you spread your legs giving him more access. He has barely touched you, and yet you are completely surrendered to him. 

Alastor wasn’t joking when he established that a woman like you should be savored, slowly consumed so he can extract everything you have to offer. He knows your mind is exhausting itself trying to discern what is happening, how the body and the spirit get more susceptible to succumb to desire after surviving imminent death, and he intends to take full advantage of it. Alastor wants to see you writhe under his touch, pain and pleasure. He wants to torment you and make you pay for existing near him, for making him careless. For making him indulge in carnality and arousal. But mainly, he wants to punish you, because you battled so hard for your survival against them. When you should fear him. 

The Radio Demon touches your neck, exactly where your pulse is, where he can feel your beating heart, full of life pulsing. Life that taunts him and seduces him. The thump thump thump of your heart beneath his fingers like a moth going directly to the light that will kill it. He holds your entire life, your entire existence under his clawed finger, it makes him delirious. 

You feel a sharp sting on your neck, fangs that break your skin and spill your blood, red and ready for his taking. Holding your breath while he sucks the life out of you, your head swims,  and you drown on the feelings. You feel pleasure, forbidden pleasure from having something hurting and feasting on you. 

“If you are not the devil, are you a vampire?” It might be a dumb question, but it’s the logical one. Sometimes the obvious needs to be said.  He laughs again, a full deep laugh,mockery dripping from it.

“Why? If I were a vampire would it make you feel better about spilling your blood for me?” he dodges the question again. Bait and switch. He’s feeding on you and you are enjoying it.. You don’t know what he is, you don’t know his name. It only spurs the burning desire in the pit on your stomach.

Alastor licks the entire length of your neck, his other hand applying light pressure on your pulse point. He bites down on you again, harder, going deeper. You roll your eyes and moan obscenely  as he sucks on it. This is going to leave a mark for sure, but you don’t care, because whatever he’s doing to you feels delirious, it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. 

Your blood is dripping from Alastor’s lips, he licks it not wanting to waste a drop. He can taste your eagerness, your fear, your essence, your soul. The red liquid is solid proof of how alive and defenseless you are, completely at his mercy. You keep moaning and melting on his lap at his ministrations, a finger starts tracing your arm, feather light touch that leaves you shivering in anticipation. 

He’s gently scratching, teasingly. It’s a claw, you realize. Another part of his unhumanity making you scared and deliciously trembling in anticipation. It’s Alastor’s turn to moan now, his clawed finger comes to torment your clothed nipple, he makes sure to do it tantalizing slow to give you just a taste of what it could be. He wants to hear you ask for it, beg even.

 “I’m afraid I’m way worse than the Devil, little doe” his low, threatening tone makes you close your legs together and rub, desperately seeking friction, some relief. 

“Re–really? You don’t sound that bad” A lie. You just want to say something back.

Your paramour laughs again, he takes your hand in his and starts making his way downwards. 

“How precious are you, lying like that to me” He stops both of your hands on your lower belly, threatening to cross the point of no return. You squeal and struggle on a desperate attempt to raise your hips and get something more, anything.

Delighted in seeing you writhe this badly when he has not even properly touched you, Alastor squeezes your neck tighter, inflicting just enough pain and pressure to make you sing. The Radio Demon finally makes the decision and drops any pretense of moderation, hastily dropping the band of your panties and guiding your joined hands to your slit. “I can taste the fear in your blood, how your sense of pleasure has been forever skewed”.

The two digits tease your entrance that is coated with arousal and something more, his touch is masterful, like he knows the ways of the human body the same way a talented musician knows their way around an instrument. He makes you moan, he makes you sing with only the possibility of his actions. The idea of being taken by something unholy. 

At last, Alastor finally enters your  tight wet pussy, his finger guides yours as he undoes you in ways that should not be allowed. He pumps your cunt mercilessly, gone are the careful, calculated touches, he wants to make you crash and burn as quick as possible, he wants to make you understand that you crossed the most important line of your life. There’s no going back now, your pretty mortal body is forever tainted by unholiness, by his darkness. 

“You spread yourself like this for me, a wanton little thing while I choke and feast on your blood”. Alastor curls the fingers inside you repeatedly making you move your hips in the maniac rhythm he has set. You ride your joined digits, moaning like a whore while your lover’s grip on your throat tightens and releases making your brain short circuits in pure unknown carnal feeling. “You are not the demure, feisty thing like you desperately tried to prove earlier. It only takes the slight touch of something forbidden to make you moan like a common whore” he adds another one of his huge fingers and starts scissoring inside you, the combination of two of his digits and your little one only adds insult to injury. You will never be able to replicate these ministrations, the feeling of being this full and stretched, you had a taste of the forbidden fruit, you are high on it and you will never get another hit on your own. 

Alastor alternates between choking you and curling the fingers inside you, your lightheadedness combined with the assaulting pleasure making you feel feverishly delirious. Your body is hot from desire and adrenaline combined, a starking contrast to your mysterious lover’s touch, ice cold. The two of you distinct seasons, distinct stages of existence mixing together, life and death tethering each other, blurring the lines of worlds that shouldn’t exist together. 

Orgasm building quickly, you grip the white sheets tighter and tighter and tighter but your fingers feel wet, you look down to see a mess of redness leaking from your core. 

Oh fuck, you are on your period. You completely forgot about it. In normal circumstances you would feel mortified about being fingered like this while bleeding, but right now it makes things even more erotic, you’ve learned that your lover may not be a vampire, but he definitely has a thing for blood and something inside you ignites at the idea of letting him feast on your blood, eat you out while you bleed for him. 

Your pussy flutters with the fantasy of that tongue working your pussy and with a particularly harsh pinch on your clit you are off. Waves of pleasure spread across your entire body like wildfire, he chokes you merciless making the urge to scream to the universe how fucking good you feel impossible. You want to scream his name, but you don’t know who he is, what he is. You just want more.  

While you ride the waves of your orgasm unbothered Alastor takes the opportunity to take fingers from your pussy to his mouth, red with blood and slick with arousal, he moans audibly as he tastes you, the most intimate parts of you. Only a little bit of it inebriates him, this is better than 70% of what he does in Hell. This feels better than closing a new deal, watching the princess of Hell fail miserably at rehabilitating sinners. You taste so sweet, so alive and afraid. He’s hard with the conviction of how scared you are, of how he has permanently tainted something so innocent and pure. How you stupidly threw yourself to his mercy. Perishing at the hand of those serial killers is more merciful than him. And now you will know. 

You must have babbled something while you came, about wanting to scream his name and not knowing it, because now you find yourself completely lying down, the bed feels soft like a cloud and you are sprawled like an angel, and he finally reveals something about him of his own volition.

“The name is Alastor, my dear. It has definitely been a pleasure meeting you.” Alastor, now you know, settles himself between your thighs and the pooling redness from your core. You feel him running his claws across the impossibly soft flesh of your inner thighs, you cover your face with your arm.

“Alastor I’ve never… No one has ever…” you trail off, you shouldn’t be embarrassed at this point, but nevertheless you feel your cheeks burning. Is he really going to eat your bloody pussy? fuck.

Alastor’s name on your lips sounds so soft, so pure. He wants to ruin it. He wants to destroy the careful constructed cognitive dissonance that makes you feel safe and comfortable around him. He wants you to be completely afraid and craving being scared of him, disrupting your sense of pleasure so he can ruin you completely, getting you hooked on him and delirious for more, willing to do anything for another taste of the forbidden fruit.

So, he makes you look.

“Look at me” you don’t want to. You feel a lot of things right now, but mainly you feel as if you really take a look at your dark lover tragedy is going to happen. Eros and psyche all over again, but bloodier. 

He claws your thighs, you hiss at the delicious pain, but still disobey him. 

“Look. At. Me” he snarls, definitely a threat. You feel yourself getting wetter. 

Alastor slaps your ass, hard. He’s losing patience, his temper turning quick at the realization that you not knowing who he is isn’t a perfect plan.

You moan from the pain, from the sting. It feels wickedly erotic. You almost want him to hit you again. Since when pain felt so fucking good?

So you do, you finally look at him. 

Red. The first thing that your brain fixates on is how much red there is. Scarlet red hair, red blood running down your core and staining the white sheets. Red claws that pierce your skin. 

Red eyes. Burning red eyes that entrap you. It’s like you can see the blazing fire that tortures the damned inside those eyes. 

If this is why people fall from grace, you totally understand the appeal now.

The second thing, the thing that makes you transfixed at the sight of him is how wrong he looks. His antlers are beautiful, growing from his scarlet hair beautifully adorning ears that look extremely soft, non-threatening, like a crown. His eyes are big and sharp, close together 

while he stares at your soul, eyes of a predator in the middle of softness of prey. His grin is completely predatory, dangerous, sharp teeth that hurt and maul, but at the same time bite you just the right way to make you moan in raw carnality. The skin is pale, not in a michael-jackson-thriller-way but in an ethereal way. His voice is static that seems to tickle your skin, sometimes more than others. He’s paradoxical, everything you should be afraid of and the comfort you should seek at the same time. A force you shouldn’t meddle with. Primal and raw. 

You may not know what exactly he is, but one thing is certain: he’s dangerously alluring, and you completely fell into his trap. But it hardly matters anymore, because he is about to drink blood from your pussy with that marvelous silvertongue of his.

“Fucking beautiful” you blur out, not realising he’s going to hear you.

One of Alastor’s eyebrows shoots up. He’s not regarded as beautiful often. Alluring, maybe. 

He wants to make you pay for all the soft ideas you have about him.

You soon learn how hard it is to hold the gaze of your lover’s eyes, his burning red irises entrap you. It's impossible to look away but overwhelming to stare into. 

“If all the mortal men you’ve been with are weak and pathetic enough to decline the dark gift of your bleeding cunt, then I’m honored to be your first” and without much more warning you feel a delicious cold tongue licking your entrance and you are off

 Alastor isn’t eating you out, he’s feasting on you like you are his last chance of salvation. His face is completely buried deep in between your legs as his tongue assaults you at a merciless pace. He makes sure not to waste a drop of anything your gushing pussy gives him. His tongue enters you and the contrast between your tight heat and his coldness makes you delirious. Exquisite carnal pleasure, you could cum from it alone.

Alastor is having a hard time navigating this double edged knife: you don’t know who he is what is capable of, which means your aren’t near as scared of being this vulnerable with him as you should be, a literal cannibal delighting in your soft flesh, drinking the warmth of your sacred blood. You must taste delicious terrified. But the silver lining is that the fear he inspires would make any woman who knows more compliant to this, even offering this to him freely. You have no idea about his exploits, he can and he will tarnish you with all of his unholy darkness, wrecking your world during the eleventh hour when you realize what you’ve done, who you’ve so easily corrupted your morals and your spirit for. You’re so beautiful, so naive, so trusting, so alive. You moan “Alastor, Alastor, Alastor” soft ohhhs and aaaahs as he polishes your cunt, every sound you make, every twitch of your legs and roll of your lips reminding your ungodly lover of how delicate and rare you are, aiding him on his mission. Gripping the sheets isn’t enough anymore, you instinctively place your hands on his antlers, the texture indescribable. Again, the contradiction of the softness of his velvet and the sharpness of his teeth, wickedness of his tongue giving you whiplash. You start rubbing them furiously, trying to mirror his ministries on your swollen folds. It definitely is doing something to him because he drags his teeth along your inner tie, breaking more skin, drawing more blood, hissing. You scream at the heavenly pain mixed with unholy pleasure.

Normally, Alastor wouldn’t let anyone near his antlers, arguably the most sensitive part of his body. If worked right, the sensations take him to another level of desire, insane carnality. But you taste so sweet, rich blood mixed with erotic arousal on a soft flesh platter, he consumes your innocence as he coaxes another orgasm from you. You hold on to dear life on his antlers, his velvet shedding and bloodying your hands, running through adding to the painting of reds that connects you two. Something ignites on you and it’s the most intense orgasm of your life, you feel every nerve burning from everlasting fire, that transforms and transforms until it explodes in a supernova. You don’t have the strength to scream, so you whisper Alastor’s name like a filthy prayer. 

He looks up grinning like a devil. Something makes you open your eyes as you ride out the waves of pleasure. There’s so much blood, blood dripping from his lips, blood on his nose, blood cascading down his bewitching face mixing in a flowing current of red, it ends in a glistening red pool where you meet each other in immoral sin, so inviting you could jump in. It’s like what would happen if the killers had caught you, but twisted into wicked, ungodly pleasure, it’s almost worse. Because well, if you’re killed you’d be dead and would never have experienced this, but now you have and the ephemerality of this night crashes on you and you feel conned, betrayed. 

 He licks his lips and stares right at you, a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes, you almost cum again. 

Alastor feels delirious from the bloody mess in front of him, carnality so powerful it makes him insane, he needs to finish this. He needs to sink his cook deep into your slick cunt. Pushing himself up, he starts to position his cock on your entrance. He’s so tall, the shadows of his bloodied antlers cover you and hide the welcoming silver lighting of the moon. The stars look so different today, and the welcoming sight of a full moon looks merciless, devoid of warmth and hope.

“Women like you are not meant for mortal men. They cannot honor you, they cannot savor you, they cannot satisfy you. Once you take a bite of the forbidden fruit you understand your place. Pliant and submissive beneath me. To be ravished and tamed by something beyond puny mortality. You are made to me fucked, to be owned by the better man who defied destiny and transcended what the hands of fate enforced on him. You are Helen of Troy, tailor made to fit my cock, satisfy my thirst”

He teases your entrance with just the tip, making you greedly roll your hips towards him, a primal response to the ravishing words. Alastor laughs mockling at you attempt of getting him to fuck you on your terms, your time. You may not be aware of everything but by now you know you can’t outfox and fox on his own game. 

“please. please. PLEASE” you scream the last word, you can’t take it anymore. A second without him touching your body feels like an eternity. 

“Tsk. You look so pretty when you beg” the condescending compliment lands like music on your ears and he finally enters you. Inch after inch he spreads your tight walls open, practically breaking you. You understand now why people in times before yours had sex after battle. It’s the most rare and coveted feeling in existence, to greet imminent death, escape her fatal calling and then do the thing that undoubtedly proves you are alive. Only to meet her again at the finish line of carnal sensations and no rational thought. Primal need to feel, to live.

Alastor finally bottoms out with an animalistic growl, making your shiver under him. He fucks you at a merciless pace, he fucks you with haste, with urgency and abandon. He knows what he needs and he is going to take it. 

“Hoooooly FUCK Alastor” you scream. 

“There’s nothing holy here. Everything that’s holy has abandoned you. There’s only me, your wicked god who has you completely at his mercy, to fuck, to break” he takes it all out and enters you at once. You try so bad to look at him, to hold his piercing gaze with adamantine conviction but you can’t. It’s too much, overstimulation creeps on you and everything hurts. You shut your eyes. 

“Look at me. Fucking look at me or I will stop” it’s not an order, it’s a threat. You should be scared, you feel scared, but tonight fear is diesel to your desire, and the pain makes you enter a mind numbing stage. The lines of torture and relief blurring together until you can’t discern a thing, you feel. 

You do as you’re told. You look at him as he fucks you, thrusting like a mad man, obscene sounds reverberating throughout, you are being so loud you are sure they can hear you back on the village. The village, your cabin. You had a life before tonight. Will there be life after tonight?

You don’t have time to have an existential crisis because what Alastor does next gets your undivided attention. 

“You will look at the demon who is ruining you, fucking you. You are no immaculate maiden anymore. You are a common whore for the Radio Demon” your eyes widen at the revelation. He is not a vampire, he’s not the devil. The fact that he is a demon and not satan makes you even more mortified, like you’ve settled for less. Just a little demon is what it takes to completely undo you. 

Alastor keeps thrusting at a breakneck pace, feeling vindicated. He did exactly what he said he would do, he took the last fiber of comfort, of dignity away from you. He can see your  entire world shattering on your beautiful doe eyes, making you finally feel the right amount of horror on the edge of a rapturous orgasm. 

You feel true terror now, there was still a slimmer hope that he wasn’ evil incarnated, that he had a redeeming quality. After all, he saved you. Didn’t he save you? Or did you start something you are not even close to understanding? You feel terrified because there’s a demon fucking you, biting you, feasting on your blood and you fucking love it, you want it every night. You really took a bite from the forbidden fruit and ruined yourself.

“It’s too much, Alastor I can’t” the words leave your lips and feel like confession, like somehow if you admit your complete surrender it will absolve you of something.

“Too. Bad.” Alastor punctuates his point with delicious sharp trust after each word. He finally tainted you with his darkness and made you aware of it. He feels delirious, he feels like victory incarnated. Your moans grow louder and louder, now pleasure means pain, hell means rapture. Things that should not exist together making you feel the best you have ever felt. Tears spill from your eyes, the overstimulation something you’ve never felt before, mind numbing and life-altering.

In an act of paradoxical mercy, your demon lover rubs your clit and you’re out like a light. Your walls tighten around Alastor’s cock, and white hot pain, blinding red pleasure overcomes you. You feel like falling, you feel your literal fall from grace as your body tingles and burns with ineffable, forbidden pleasure. Alastor howls and cums inside you. 

You land on silky, comfortable, alluring darkness. 

-

The cool forest breeze greets your abused skin, it stings but feels soothing at the same time. Paradoxical, like everything from this night. Alastor holds you tight, cradling your head on his chest, petting your hair. He draws lazy circles on your hip bone, featherlight touch, careful and coy. You turn on your side to face him.

“Can you see it now? It’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful” your mind asks you. You agree.

You start giggling, laughing. It is also so funny.

“What’s so funny, little doe?” Alastor asks you, genuinely amused. He feels elated from this night. He feels satiated, contented. It’s a very rare feeling for him. 

“For a while I seriously considered you are an alien” you tell him, you can’t contain your laughter now. You are so silly. Alastor’s eyebrow shoots up, quizzical. He chuckles and indulges you. “Alien, is so mundane. You could never be an Alien, it’s way too easy”. What your giddy minds means is that now you know Alastor is anything but easy, actually there’s nothing like him. He’s something else. Something entirely different, a delicious mystery that creeps inside your heart, haunts you forever. 

You stop laughing when realization hits you.

“Will I ever see you again, Alastor?” you ask him, your voice failing, nothing more than a whisper. You feel the ephemerality of this night, you feel daylight closing, ruthless sun rising that ends this everlasting dream. 

Alastor stares deeply into your eyes, he sees your wanton desire, your trepidant expectations. “That depends entirely on you, my dear doe. It’s time to make a decision.” his voice is so soft it fucking hurts. 

You look at the fading moon on the horizon, the distant stars judge you, the earliest of birds sing for you. 

Yet from those starts, no light but rather, darkness visible.

-

You open your eyes, you feel impossibly rested. Your bed feels soft and you want to visit dreamland again, but the noise stops you.

Songbirds and blazing sirens mix together a cacophony of urgency. You get up fast, trying to remember little bits and pieces of the crazy dream you had and run to the big window across the room. 

You look down, you see ambulances, police cars, lab coats and tall guys in FBI jackets.

Something definitely happened here last night.

 That explains it then, the nature of your murderous dreams. The sirens creeped their way into your subconscious making that murderous, dreadful dream. You take a quick look and your hands and see nothing. Perfect, unblemished skin. 

It felt so real. Strawberry fields and blood. 

Your neighbor from across the street gestures manically at you from her window. 

Fuck, it must have been really bad. There’s a lot of people at your doorstep. 

Hurrying to put your robe on, you fly down the stairs towards the bustling crowd outside. 

You are dying to know what happened. You were always a vivid dreamer.

You reach the hall and open the door, a polite officer starts talking to you.

You don’t notice the old radio on your vanity, or the opaque darkness that followed you from the corner of your room to the world outside.

#alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you #alastor fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader #the radio demon x you #im insaneeeeeeeee #baixaria #im sorry everyone #alastor #the radio demon

[nekropsii]

I know the kids in general aren't your thing but what are your thoughts on june egbert as a whole?

I've seen opinions on her existence be pretty varied (tho I guess more recent years its a widely accepted fanon and uh some ppl treat her as canon when.. she's... not lmao..) so I'm curious on your opinion if you have one!

(I personally don't subscribe to the headcanon but otherwise I don't have any strong feelings about it ppl can do whatever they want forever lmao)

I've been vocal about this previously, but in my opinion, all J. Egbert is good J. Egbert. June, John, Transfem, Transmasc, Transneu, Nonbinary, Genderfluid, Multigender, whatever the fuck, I don't care, have fun. Whatever gender people subscribe to the character isn't my business, and I have zero way of telling what it means to people unless they're being super blatant about it, which... Doesn't actually happen often?

I have no way of telling if people subscribe to transfem!June wholesale because that gives them comfort, or transmasc!John because that gives them comfort, or genderfluid!Egbert because that gives them comfort, or even just... Cis Trans Ally John, because that gives them comfort. These are all things I've seen before. I just choose to assume good faith, as is healthier, and respect whatever OP is tagging. If they're tagging art as June, it doesn't matter if she looks the same as she does in canon, or if she's pre-transition, that's June to them, so I'll tag it as June myself. If they're tagging art as John, I tag it as John. I have no way of knowing what their idea of the sex of this character is, and I'd find it weird to "correct" them, when they could very easily just be drawing a headcanon they've had for years and found major comfort and gender euphoria in. I don't know their life.

I think the way people have been using June's confirmation- not canonization to HS^2/HS:BC, she hasn't appeared yet- as a way to be transphobic in any direction is vile. I think if you use June as a way to be transmisogynistic, you're an asshole and a transphobe. If you use June as a way to be bigoted against trans men, you're an asshole and a transphobe. If you're finding a way to use it to be bigoted against nonbinary or multigender people, you're an asshole and a transphobe. I would sure fucking hope this isn't a controversial statement. There's no good reason to be a bigot. A disagreement over gender headcanons is an especially pathetic reason to reduce yourself to transphobia. Come the fuck on now.

More Discussion Under the Cut:

Miscellaneous thoughts include... 1.) She is not canon to Homestuck proper. This is because every piece of Homestuck media outside of literal Homestuck (2009) itself has been very open about the fact that they are not canon to Homestuck (2009). Homestuck (2009) is canon to Homestuck (2009), and nothing else is. HS:BC is canon to itself. HS^2 is canon to itself. The Homestuck Epilogues is canon to itself. Pesterquest is canon to itself. Hiveswap is canon to itself. They are not canon to Homestuck, though. These aren't condemnations of these pieces of media, nor is it a reduction of the meaning of this form of the character to people, it just needs to be stated that they're not canon to Homestuck. This is by design, and is also a well advertised fact about them. 2.) She was not "always intended", or "always canon". I see a lot of people say that June was being intentionally alluded to since 2009, and... That's just... Really blatantly not the case? Extremely magical thinking happening there. I think if June was supposed to happen in Homestuck, and was allegedly intentionally alluded to in Homestuck constantly... She would have happened in Homestuck? There's nothing wrong with an author getting asked to make a certain gender headcanon canon and then, you know, canonizing it because they think it's cool, nor is there anything wrong with an author realizing that an interesting arc for a specific character would be a gender transition in sequel material. It doesn't have to always be a "This was all planned from the start" situation. As someone who is a writer... That's genuinely just not really how writing works, and it really isn't where Hussie's politics were at during the time. Hell, I know a lot of genders, pronouns, sexualities, races, ethnicities, religions, and disability statuses were changed throughout me working on my own writing projects. They weren't all "Planned from the Start", and there's nothing wrong with that. 3.) June fans, I am so sorry. You all deserve so much more than these years of J.K. Rowling-tier """canonization""". This was said to be something that was totally going to happen... On Twitter... Through a magical Toblerone wish... Several years ago. And nothing has really come of it since. Not even a hint!! That sucks so much. 4.) Not to be blunt, but some people are really misogynistic about her. Transitioning doesn't completely change your personality. It doesn't fix all of your problems and flaws. Growing into femininity doesn't magically make you a ditzy bimbo girly girl whose only personality traits are Cute, Stupid, and Female. That's just fucking weird, dog. The way some people treat her status as a woman reads very... Caliborn-esque...

#homestuck #homestuck meta #homestuck analysis #homestuck fandom #june egbert #john egbert #junecourse #june.pdf #john.pdf #nekro.pdf #nekro.sms

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

I feel bad for Starlo. (pt. 2)

Had they just let him get Clover the badge (and literally finish the best day of his life since, again, Clover's gotta go) and then all sat down to chat, everything would have been solved in minutes. Because clearly Starlo's main motivation is making sure other people are happy, right? If they tell him they're not happy, he'd sure as heck care about that. Just look at how he tells the group to have fun with Clover:

btw, this is a human they SHOULD be excited to talk to more since well... they're a human. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, and they are SUPPOSED to be into the western culture almost as much as Star, or at least that's what Star thought. More on this later

But no, gotta act jealous instead, call Starlo's training lackluster...

Then you make a better one, Ed, instead of complaining, Star's mind was too occupied with everything, as it always is. The town needs to be led by someone every day after all. It's all harder than it looks, you've gotta focus on schedules, new ideas, and most importantly radiating positive energy even in the worst of times

...say he's been throwing them around for human business...

huh Moray?? He didn't force you to do anything, you all just went with it. If you hated the training, y'all never said it. Ed also says how he basically doesn't want to participate in the trolley problem which I found sorta.. weird. I mean, it's not very likely that in all the years they've spent roleplaying here, they've never done this before. And even if they hadn't, it really is logical to assume Ed didn't really mean he was terrified and was just acting to make the scene more "dramatic" The five of them ARE sort of actors anyway (why would he be scared tho? it's not a real train that's coming, no real danger here, just harmless fun)

... and apparently call him a meanie and a big-headed sheriff:

HOW is he a meanie Mooch?? How??? He was just trying to be helpful and got too into everything. It's not the same as being mean on purpose. And even if he DID act prouder than usual, he honestly had every right to do it. After everything he's tried to do for the underground, his friends and family, he had every right to lift himself up. All you guys ever did was tag along with him everywhere apparently, never having to worry about anything but your own hobbies, had a secure AND fun job thanks to your boss, a place to live, nap times, PLUS Star was always a nice leader (Ed himself admits this; from my previous blog). How do I know he was nice? Aside from signs in the game, the gang only argued over trivial matters (IDK what exactly but Dina said this)

And Ace... wdym you're following them??

Why??? Star literally praised you and thanked you! What the heck?? Yeah life dealth him a bad hand but you're not doing anything about this situation aside from leaving.

I love all four of them, but honestly, It's not like Star ditched any of you, he didn't ever act angry (besides when Ed insulted his mission, which IS frustrating because: 1) he tried his best to make it enjoyable for everyone 2) this comment Ed made contradicts everything Starlo wanted to feel that day: genuinely proud, happy, useful, important. He wanted to enjoy himself as much as possible and bring as much joy to others as he could. And he was right to want that... especially after all he's already done. Or tried to do. Even though he's too fiery, too passionate, *too much,* why didn't anyone let him know this? Why didn't they tell him he's NOT been making anyone happy, aside from the tourists? Why keep lying to him until his breaking point?

Better explained down here during a discussion in the messages here on tumblr in case ya'll have the patience to read it ↓

Just... After thinking things through, I've started seeing things from a different pov. Yeah, the Four apologise to Clover in neutral, but Starlo STILL has to be the one to come to THEM for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what exactly? What did he do that was worse than what YOU guys did to HIM? (you too Ceroba, especially you, and I'll talk about this VERY soon, in a few days)

Forgetting to tie them off the rails (Ceroba forgot too) because he was too excited to well... feel like a somebody for the first time, like a real sheriff with a real deputy? Putting his needs and feelings first for once instead of walking outside his house at night and whispering to himself and thinking about every single problem he has on his plate? (I think it isn't the sheriff stuff he thinks about) Thinking he was doing the right thing by doing what he thought would be fun for everyone? Being kind to Clover? Not ditching his posse and just... idk, not running off to have an imaginary adventure with the human kid, with just the two of them? What the heck, guys.

Now, I'd understand if he'd been saying stuff like "Alright y'all, you better listen to everything I say, you understand!? Clover is the greatest thing since sliced bread, while all of you all nothing but a drag! Tch. Losers." Or "If you don't do this and that, you're fired for good! Clover will replace you! You're all lame anyway!" Or "Clover, get over here and join me on this and that! Right. NOW."

Starlo literally never said something even CLOSE to this. Only after Ed left did he let him and everyone else go, then blurted out "I was considering firing y'all anyway!" Honestly what I know about Star is that he's fiery and passionate and just snapped because he didn't understand why they left. He had done everything right.. right? He couldn't, no, wouldn't comprehend that his whole life in the Wild East has been a big fat lie. It hurt emotionally and his coping mechanism were always distractions. So he refused to see what he had (accidentally) caused.

In short, what bothers me is that all blame is put on Starlo and he's the only one who has to say sorry when he genuinely didn't know any better. Some folks just aren't introspective enough to notice people's true feelings and Star's one of them. And even if he's good at that, he's been so foused on this whole Wild East thing to think about that too, on top of everything.

He literally had to just stare off into the distance and rethink all his life choices that led him to this point (based on his letter), when instead he could have been a lone entertainer from the start. I mean, he carried all the comedy and charm on his own anyway (imo). He'd get to live his passion, plus entertain the tourists, plus boost his own confidence, PLUS none of his friends would be stuck at a job they hate! PLUS Ceroba, while still staying at Star's, could have gotten a better night's sleep with only the two of them being roommates! It would have been a win win win win win kinda situation if only they hadn't been lying to him for such a long time and just spoke up openly. Simple as that!

#sorry for the long rant #i'm crazy about this game #and these characters #starlo #uty #starlo uty #undertale yellow #uty starlo #i won't stop posting these till i get everything out #I know the ff and ceroba probably wanted to spare him from getting disappointed #But still #It's better to be honest and say it as it is #Both the ff and star had good intentions #But a bad way with dealing with the problem #Everybody and nobody is in the wrong here #Not just star

[clanofjones]

MERRY (late) CHRISTMAS!

I started this on Chrismas Eve and I just finished it five minutes ago, but I think it's pretty good nonetheless! Quality got scrambled tho, so click for better quality LOL

L to R: (I am sorry for the tag if you don't celebrate or didn't want to be in this, I will do my best to change it if that it the case)

@fanatess, @theosb0rnway, @3mutantsinatrenchcoat, @paytato435, @karonkar, me, @delicatechildwitch, @allyheart707, @friskebits, @zeawesomeness, @tinker-the-dragon, @yelenapines, @justletmereadmycomics

There are so many others I wanted to include, but my canvas is not that big! I love you all regardless!

For those pictured, I am feeling sentimental, so have a nice sentiment under the cut ^^

Fanatess: You are always super sweet to me, and you let me rant about silly tropes and fic ideas! Thank you so much. (Fun fact, I own the tree hat in the art, and it gives me 'you' vibes)

Oz: Oh my god, literally where to start. You are absolutely amazing, and I have to thank you so, so much for letting me rant about random crap, even if it makes no sense. You’re like. The best person I could have made an AU with.

Three: Gotta say, I don't really know you all that well, but what I do know is that you are so kind and awesome. Your asks always brighten my day, and it's always awesome to talk to you!

Payto: They say great minds think alike. Regarding Casey Junior, I think we might be thinking exactly the same. LOL. Thanks for letting me bounce ideas off of you regarding the best boy. We've taken over the "au-rant" channel and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Kar: You are like. SO COOL. I stand by that statement. You are one of the coolest people I’ve met online, and my brain straight-up short-circuits when I remember 'yes, we are friends with this guy, and this guy knows we exist. Holy shit.' Weird world, ammarite?

Me: SELF LOVE, you guys! If this many awesome people care about me, then I'm probably pretty awesome too, right? YAY! Friends!!

Ally: If our server had a yearbook, you’d win “kindest person” or whatever the actual title is. You get the point! You are always so kind and inspiring to me, and thank you for the extra encouragement to actually finish this!!

Del: You are so sweet and kind and creative it's unreal! It's been so fun so far getting to interact with you and I look forward to more of it in the New Year!

Frisk: Thanks for somehow always being there. Whenever I shove some janky art or concept into a server, you’re almost always the first one there with encouragement, a compliment, or something to add. Thanks for the extra encouragement on this thing's completion as well!!

Ze: I haven’t interacted with you much, but when I have, you have been nothing but nice and welcoming! If we’re being honest, I was pretty nervous but you’ve been super cool to me, and it means a lot!

Tinker: It’s always crazy when you share fandoms with the gang outside of The Main, Soul Encompassing One, and I find it so fun to have someone else to discuss them with! Hatchetfield and TMNT enjoyers unite! *high-fives you* You've also got such good takes!

Yelena: If not for you, I wouldn't be on Tumblr at all in the first place! For that, you've earned a place in my hall of fame. I know we don't talk often anymore, but it's always so exciting when I see you on my dash!

justletmereadmycomics: (slightly embarrassing, but I don't know a name to call you by ._.) You are one of my closest beloved mutuals! I have loved getting to know you, it always warms my heart whenever I see you in my activity! You are so funny and smart, keep just being you!

You're all so smart and creative, it bewilders me how we met in the first place! Either way, I'm so grateful for it, and I wish you all nothing but the best in the New Year!!

#my art #merry christmas #mutuals #well #like half of you #i love you guys #i love my friends #I hope I got y'all's sonas right- #I love you all so much with my entire heart #discord server #sonas #others sonas #my sona #happy holidays

[akielzx]

Hello, May I request a onshot including cuddles with Johann Chu at night? Ty. <3

YESYESY I LVOE JOHANN VERRY MUCH, OUR 'ROBOT' BOYYY also HELP IM SORRY I FORHOT I HAD THIS IN MY DRAFTS

bro i'm so sorry i had this in my drafts i think for a month, i'll then write the other submission later :sob:

maybe i just wanna be yours ！✦

＃；oneshot, johann chu x reader

tags // just tad bit spoiler (the info abt shavee in the chat n all and only that i think, maybe also abt his dad), comfort, slight misunderstanding but it's fine in the end, understandings, johann bby muah muah, also johann might be a bit ooc so bear with me, this is kinda long [keyword: kinda]

johann chu wasn't the one to be expressive of his feelings, and understand his feelings. hence why he felt bemused about [name], they certainly made a huge imprint on him.

yet shavee had also had an impact on him. but [name]'s case was slightly different. even if he had missed an opportunity to have her, it was okay now. he was healing a bit.

when they were chatting and johann had slipped this information to [name] and some other emotional turmoil, he yet puts training first once again.

nonetheless, all was well in the end. it was night and johann thought of something. [name] was doing quite well in their training, but he heard from a little birdy that they weren't quite doing well in draconic history.

maybe stress was getting to them? either way, as their senior, he felt obligated to help them out. it wasn't in a negative light, but he somehow felt like it.

as they were conversing, he then brought up their history course. [name] surprisingly did mention how they were struggling to understand a little and he offered to help them.

they asked where the both of them should go and he bluntly said at his dorm. [name] was confused at first why they wouldn't be doing it at the library.

he simply said it might be a bit troublesome for them as to referring to the girls that swooned over him, even if some girls do have self-control, he still didn't want to risk it.

and he wanted to spend more time with [name] not in training. he wanted to know more about them. miscellaneous things would suffice.

as the day passed, it was finally the time they decided to meet up that johann proposed. he asked [name] to meet him at the basketball court so he could escort them to his dorm.

when they finally came, he started to escort [name]. it was a bit awkward at first, given how the girls they passed by would look at them in envy.

[name] would try and flip them off by either going to scratch their cheek, getting something out of their eyes, or tucking their hair behind their ear using the middle finger.

but johann caught on and said that it doesn't matter and just ignore them for the best. they slightly grumbled, but begrudgingly complied as he is their senior and they didn't want to hear a lecture from a certain someone.

johann sighed, slightly amused but it went unnoticed. as soon as they entered the lionheart's club base, there susie was. she exchanged words with johann until she spotted [name].

she then asked if they were going to join, but johann answered for [name] that they were just looking around and dismissed susie. that made them confused, but thankful either way for their senior for answering for them.

he then led [name] to his dorm, and there they both discussed where they were struggling a bit. they shyly confessed that even tho they could've said that they would just research it, they were thankful for his help.

they can, but it was much more understandable if someone was there teaching it because they could get their possible unanswered questions answered.

johann nodded understanding. it is preferred that most should have a study group so there's a chance someone knows the subject they're studying and can answer simple questions.

as time passed, [name] started to understand more. they scribbled in their notebook while listening to johann. "so.. only the light king, priest- 'inazami' possessed equal power to nidhogg?"

johann nodded, confirming the statement was true, [name] scribbled again and continued, "but she also failed to rebel and renounce his position.. right?"

"yes. you are correct, i must say i am impressed by you..- not only you are quite the fast learner when we train, but also a good listener." [name] scratched their head a bit, "eh.. haha. it's just that i- wait no, you're a good guide and tutor is all.."

'and i like hearing your voice..' [name] felt a bit awkward and looked at the time, it was getting a bit late. they then start to stand up from their comfortable position.

johann was a bit confused at this sudden action, he still wanted to ask some questions. the not-too-personal ones. he couldn't think straight this time and grabbed [name]'s wrist.

"where.. are you going?"

[name]'s eyes widened a bit and looked at him.

"johann?"

his grip on [name] wavered a bit, his action seemingly getting him off-guard. he then loosened his grip and backed away. he pondered about something.

"..i don't know what this feeling is… i feel a sense of euphoria when i see you or… sometimes everything's better when you're here."

"huh?" [name] looked at him dumbfoundedly.

"i'm really glad you're here, but at the same time, i'm not because i'm scared. i'm scared i might lose you too."

"johann senpai? what are you-"

"i hope you know how much you mean to me. i wish you could see in you what i see in you."

[name]'s eyes widen at the sudden statement. they stood in their place shocked. "i… i don't understand you johann.." they ask, their brows furrowing in confusion.

"i don't either. but.."

"i'll hear you out on this. but i don't want it to be too long."

"..why?"

"…"

johann looked at [name] in anticipation, yet they stayed quiet. he asked once again, and [name] suspired.

"because… i don't want to make more assumptions and fall harder."

"why would you fall harder..?-"

"johann senpai, i've had harboured feelings for you. it feels off sometimes. i don't know if- if it's okay given your circumstance and mine."

he looked at [name] expectantly, yet stunned. he didn't expect his junior to also like him. but his brows furrowed. when [name] decided to speak once more, as he had an unanswered question.

"it's not just an infatuation i have for you, it's not just any epitome that i admire. but the way, you are you senpai. i've never loved anyone the way i love you before..''

[name] then took a deep breath before continuing.

"i'd accept your flaws in any way possible, i'd try and understand you better with how you act and maybe i understand.. but i don't. i don't understand how you feel about me. i appreciate you for you-"

"and i do too."

the sudden intervention has [name] stunned. they decided to look at johann, just to see him furrowing his eyebrows. his grasp went back to [name]'s wrist and slightly pulled them closer, but not harshly.

"i like spending time with you. it's nice. i feel calmer when i’m with you. it’s weird. i never thought i could feel like this, but you showed up. now, it’s like i don’t wanna go on knowing i might lose the feeling. and i might end up losing you."

[name]'s hands slightly quivered as his voice wavered. he felt their hands slightly shaking and he held it with the hand he grasped their wrist with.

"..are you okay [name]?.."

[name]'s breath hitches for a bit before taking a deep breath from their mouth and shaking their head, "yeah.. i'm- i'm fine johann."

"no. you aren't fine, did.. did i say something wrong perhaps..?"

johann squeezed their hand gently and rubbed circles on it, this action made [name] tense but relaxed a bit after they snapped out of their trance.

"wha- no!- no, you didn't. i just-"

johann took both of [name]'s hands and held them close to his chest, making the both of them close to each other, but not too close.

"i'm sorry if that caught you off-guard. i just couldn't-"

he was cut off as [name] hugged him and nuzzled their head close. they hummed to themselves and hugged him tighter,

"i like spending time with you too.."

"..then spend the night with me"

"of course."

-

ok bro i know that wasnt really cuddling but man idk :sob: thats all you get please accept it p;ease. im beiggin you

#aivsqshots #oneshot #fluff #dragon raja #dragon raja x reader #johann chu #johann chu x reader #anon request

[ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa]

Shuichi, Kokichi & Kyoko

[in a silly convo about Kokichi]

Kai: detectives want him

Checkers: kyoko [skull emoji] detectives want him (behind bars)

Sini: Kyoko is sus of him “Yeah, she wants me….In jail”

Kai: Kyoko also finds him quite cute but in platonic way. she's like "yes, cute ittle guy, not going to touch that with a ten foot pole tho"

Fast: He's like a stray cat to her

Checkers: “Shuichi is dating him? Well, good for them. Still not going near him”

Kai: that's his boyfriend's senpai, they've agreed on a respectable truce due to both frequently being in close proximity to Shuichi i imagine Shuichi and Kyoko share a lab if we imagine HPA aus have labs mixed in. Kokichi likes hanging out with Shuichi while he works in the lab, but has agreed with Kyoko that when she comes in to work as well, Kokichi either needs to quiet down or leave

Sini: “Annoying? Yes. But I can’t go anywhere with Shuichi without him tagging along. I trust him enough” She’s like, “Damn, he quiets down just to stay with him? He must really like him….” He’ll leave if Shuichi needs time to himself

Kai: yee or of they're discussing a highly classifyed case

Checkers: He’s there to make sure Shuichi doesn’t overdose on coffee

Kai: also funfact: i like to imagine in hpa aus that Kyoko's tallent is slightly different. kinda in the same vein as how some talents are really broad topics and then there's someone with a more specific version of that topic- i think while Shuichi is the ult detective (broad topic), Kyoko is the ult homicde investigator (specific version)

Sini: YES Cause honestly, that’s how UTDP and DRS make it sound like I’m pretty sure that’s basically canon

Kai: Shuichi has a wider variety of cases he can do, but isn't as good at any specific one as Kyoko is at homicide investigation he sees her as his senpai cause she's so insanely good at that one speficic and very difficult type of case, and she has to remind him that he can do several case types she's never even touched before in her life she wouldn't even know where to begin with half of the case types he can do

Me: I mean, looks at Naegi purely physically he do be kind of her type shorter than her? check baby face? check all wrapped up (multiple layers/baggy clothes)? check silly looking creature? check actually smart? check she would not be able to stand him for long, but like, all I'm saying is she would hit it once to get it out of her system /j?(maybe)

Sini: Oh no….He’s like if Makoto was a unhinged clown- She sees Shuichi’s vision I’m sorry, she is not tapping that- She’s not going that far Unless you mean she’d actually hit him lmao

Me: it is unlikely, yeah, prolly ooc for her to just go for it like that they're both too closed off for something like that, but I was having a silly moment

[this is me, waving a flag "I'm interested in cross-game rarepairs", hello]

#danganronpa #ndrv3 #dr thh #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #kyoko kirigiri #kokichi oma #oumasai #saiouma #rarepair #kokichi x kyoko doesn't even have a tag. I don't think so #talking headcanons

[ajulisz]

Some of my headcanons for Sevika x Reader x Renata

(there's also some SevikaxRenata and Sevika/RenataxReader and 2 NSFW even tho they're not WOW, its tagged dw) OH, and there's a bit of angst in the end, enjoy :)

Renata is domineering with you both, she is the only one that can put Sevika in her place actually;

Sevika moves a lot in bed when she's sleeping. Renata doesn't. So if you move a lot too there will probably be days that Renata will be pissed at you both and go sleep in another room or even in the sofa;

If you have a sweet tooth almost every time Sevika goes to the upper city to get some business done she will buy you some fancy candies;

Renata probably pays one of those air balloons every time she goes on a date. Doesn't matter if its only with one of you or you three. That woman wants comfort and privacy;

If you don't know how to defend yourself or see yourself in a bad situation you can't get out of, you have permission to use the "I will tell my girlfriend" card, that scares everyone and if it doesn't, they better run or Renata and Sevika will find them;

If you study at the piltover academy, expect Renata and Sevika to send someone to walk you home and the person have total permission to beat up some upper class that makes any weird or suspicious look at you.;

You all probably have an open relationship because Sevika still goes to the brothel and Renata probably has some pets around;

But I have the feeling they wouldn't mind cutting those relationships in case you didn't liked the idea or felt uncomfortable at some point, and even with that aside, I think that what would happen is that they would keep this other people more to use for favors, especially Renata;

Ignoring the fact that Silco is dead. I think Renata and Sevika try not to talk a lot about their jobs at home because when they do they probably have an argument, and their discussions are not pretty because they both are really close and strong minded with their ideas;

Even tho they get together when it comes to the "LETS DESTROY PILTOVER" idea, Sevika working for Silco while Renata is the one who wants to be the ruler does not help the case;

But I'm pretty sure if Silco dies and Renata puts Zaun on top of her priorities, or lie about it, because we know she wants the Solar Gates, she doesn't really mind Zaun burning in the process (but Sevika doesn't need to know that... Right Renata?) Sevika will be the number one by her side to put the power in her wife hands;

(NSFW) If you think you are a dom in this... are you really a dom... or are you just so much of a sub that you do whatever your girlfriends like?;

(NSFW) I don't want to speak about sex here cause I think we all know Renata would not be an easy dom much less let's expect Sevika to do that role (unless you ask them nicely), but I'm pretty sure a lot of praise will be present in the aftercare if that's your thing;

Renata is trying her best in all this years go slow to make sure everything go as she planned to...

There's a reason to it and a reason that kills me (thank you brain)

Renata is not a liar, she just... omits some of her plans from you and Sevika because she didn't want to catch feelings in the first place and somehow you both conquered her heart, and she knows it will HURT like hell if one day she really needs to bury all of Zaun and let everyone suffocate down there, but not because of the people that live there, much more because Sevika will probably never forgive her and you... she doesn't know what to expect from you after you see Zaun destroyed because of her.

#arcane sevika x reader #arcane x reader #arcane x you #renata glasc x reader #renata x reader #sevika x reader #sevika imagine #sevika x you #renata glasc x you #renata glasc imagine #renata glasc x sevika x reader #renata glasc x reader x sevika #renata glasc x y/n

[imakemywings]

probably didn't word this right, cause I'm seething so much but

honestly while I do like the "kidnap fam" since canonically the book says there was great love between the twins and maglor, I wouldn't go as far as boasting that as an achievement of the feanorians (like some posts and fics do) seeing as they destroyed doriath and then destroyed sirion, which is full of refugees cause like suddenly saving the twins (sorry elrond and elros, love you tho) absolves them of the sins of the many innocent people they killed like ??? it's a good thing the twins grew up nice tho I never gave that credit to the feanorians, I always assume since earendil was nice af, they inherited that from him

some would even go as far as portray the murderers as the good guys while the mother whose life was destroyed TWICE by these murderers is implied to be the fucking villain like they drove the twins mother into committing suicide (and I know some of y'all wouldn't admit that because despite whining about having less female characters in silm, y'all still hate complex female characters like elwing) and y'all were like THAT HORRENDOUS BITCH And the fact that there are less fic of elwing reuniting with elronds family says so much lol

im sorry for the rant, because as someone who discovered silmarillion recently, this hate towards elwing and earendil was THE greatest disappointment I've ever encountered in the fandom

Oh don't apologize anon, I basically agree with all of this lol

I was stunned to come into this fandom after finishing the book and find out that Elwing and Earendil are controversial characters. Headcanons and AUs all you want, but the book makes it very clear they are heroes and Tolkien portrays them as heroes (albeit tragic ones)--Earendil slaying Ancalagon and Elwing convincing the Teleri to aid the war effort is more proof of that.

The Feanorians are the closest thing we have to true protagonists in the book and they're fan favorites, so there's a tendency to see other characters (Turgon, Thingol, Dior, Elwing, etc.) through the lens of how well the Feanorians like them or get along with them. If a character has conflict with the Feanorians, they're likely to get the villain treatment in certain circles of the fandom no matter how reasonable their actions were.

Under the cut because I rambled also lol

Above the cut I'm just going to link here to my tag for Elwing metas from other people.

There's also in some cases, I think, a discomfort with rooting for characters who have done so much wrong (see: "stanning villains" discourse), so in some places there's an effort to downplay what the Feanorians did because of course you can't like a character who is genuinely terrible! So this is where we get into making Dior and Elwing look worse than they are, so that the Feanorians look less bad by comparison (here we get the "good thing the twins were saved from their shitty and neglectful mother!" ...by the dudes who just slaughtered their entire hometown).

This is made easier by the fact that since Silm is told in such an epic fairytale style, we as readers don't have to confront the personal level of the violence the Feanorians committed. We don't see Elwing's reaction to the twins being taken hostage (besides being told that "great was [her] sorrow" for their captivity), we don't see Dior and Nimloth discussing the decision not to respond to the Feanorians' threats, we don't get a description of what Menegroth looked like after it was sacked by the Feanorians, we aren't told about Elrond and Elros trembling in fear as they're taken away by these terrible, violent Elves who killed their grandparents and their uncles and just now their mother and who may very well kill them also. That makes it easier to gloss over the practical realities of what they did (which is why it's something I'm always interested in exploring in fic).

And you're right--there is a draw in the relationship between Elrond and Elros, and Maedhros and Maglor, just because it is so improbable that they would develop any affection at all for each other. And yet, a relationship can be loving and still abusive or unhealthy, and I just cannot buy that it was healthy for Elrond and Elros to be in Maglor's care. Given where Maedhros and Maglor are at this point, they are unlikely to be doing well mentally/emotionally, and even if they were, they can't just detach themselves in the twins' mind from being the monsters who have been haunting Thingol's line for generations (See: Kidnapping and attempted forced marriage of Luthien, attempted murder of Beren, threats to attack Doriath, the Second Kinslaying, killings of Dior and Nimloth, leaving Elured and Elurin to die of exposure in the woods, threats against Elwing, the Third Kinslaying, driving Elwing to suicide). There's also a significant level of cultural loss with Elrond and Elros, which Maedhros and Maglor simply do not have the knowledge to abate. E/E are deprived of being raised in either their maternal or paternal cultures, and with the virtual extinction of the Iathrim by the end of the Third Kinslaying, much of that knowledge is simply lost, and the few people who still hold it (Oropher and his people) are kept away from the twins. Is it any wonder Elrond becomes fascinated with collecting knowledge as an adult?

Personally, I see Maglor's having kept the twins (for however long you imagine, although most of us seem to picture until at least mid-adolescence, if not full adulthood) as a deeply selfish act. They could have released the twins to Gil-galad or Cirdan or Oropher--but they chose not to, for years. I think he loved them--and I think that's why he didn't want to let them go. I think the best and most redeeming thing Maglor ever did with the twins was allowing them to leave to join Gil-galad.

And I do agree with what you said there that Elrond and Elros grew up kindly and generous more in spite of their childhood than because of it.

The Feanorians' descent into villainy in pursuit of their oath is, imo, key to their arc, and one of the most interesting things about it, so I'm not here to downplay it. Even Maedhros and Maglor realize how far gone they are! Maglor himself calls continuing to follow the oath "evil" and says that "less evil shall we do in the breaking" and Maedhros stands with the Silmaril in the end and sees that all the violence and horror he's committed has been for nothing and finds it so unbearable he is one of only two named Elves to ever commit suicide (the other being his victim, Elwing). He literally kills himself because he can't deal with what they've become (or at least, that's how I read it).

The other fascinating thing about these two is how at the end Maglor makes a couple efforts to turn away, to let go of the oath, to do something better--but he can never quite manage it. He's not willing to do it alone, and Maedhros won't do it with him, so he keeps himself stuck on this path until he's the only one left.

Rewriting them as characters who did nothing wrong deprives them of all their complexity. And honestly, you (not you you, anon) just sound like a clown when you're arguing they were justified in sacking a refugee camp because uwu property rights.

With Elwing especially I think there's also a misunderstanding about how exactly things were handled.

I think people forget that Elwing did not make the decision to keep the Silmaril alone--it was Elwing "and the people of Sirion." This was a group choice, not something Elwing imposed on them.

I think people forget the Sirionites believed the Silmaril was protecting them. This would have been especially relevant in the minds of two refugee groups who had both survived a brutal and bloody sack of their cities.

I think people don't realize that the correspondence between Elwing and Maedhros prior to the Third Kinslaying all seems to have taken place during a single voyage of Earendil's. She tells the Feanorians she can't make a final decision on the Silmaril while Earendil (one of the rulers of this city!) is at sea--but they don't wait for his return, they just attack.

And of course, once she and Earendil reached Aman, they were literally prohibited from returning to Middle-earth, so it's not like they made a choice not to come back for the kids.

Earendil and Elwing are forced to look at the big picture--that after the Third Kinslaying, even if they did return a) How exactly are they supposed to get their kids back from these notably brutal and ruthless warlords?; b) Morgoth is still there. Doing his Morgoth thing. Someone has to make it to Aman to get them to intercede. If Earendil and Elwing turned home instead of continuing West, it would be dooming the rest of the continent--yes, their kids included--to eventual destruction by Morgoth. The fact that Elrond and Elros are able to live so long and raise such prosperous realms is directly related to Earendil and Elwing's decision to keep trying to reach Aman.

You might find it reassuring how in LotR how much connection Elrond is given and expresses with Earendil and Elwing. Clearly he still views them as his parents and if he harbored any resentment (which honestly wouldn't be unreasonable as a child/teenager with a less mature understanding of the situation), it's gone by then.

And finally I just think there's a general fannish fixation on the concept of found family, so people want to force Kidnap Fam into that dynamic so badly they'll completely rewrite Maedhros and Maglor to be E/E's "true" family and ignore all of the horror of what they did leading up to literally kidnapping the twins.

ALL of which is a long-winded way of saying: yeah! you're right.

#asks #hmm maybe I should do an E-squared fanfic rec list #anonymous #mine #meta #elwing defense

[weaselbeaselpants]

PSA but if you see someone say "I don't approve pedo/incest/ect go to jail" who still calls themselves 'proship' -bcuz Idk they like Lore Olympus or Twilight or some villain/hero shit- they are not a pedophile or an endorser of creepy shit just because you want them to be. You are not actually being critical, you are being petty and reactive and not listening to reason

Use your actual fucking reasoning skills, assess what it is they advocate for in fandom and if they clearly are into some Shane Dawson-type bullshit, THEN you can call them out for what they are. Which is a creep. They are a creep. But no a person who just really like Reylo has bad tastes is not an inherent racistpsycho incest lover just because you have decided that's what all the ppl who like that ship are.

This is why I hate the goddamn anti v proship debate; both sides' of this mandated battle line are ignoring the real problem at hand and prioritize their own feelings and trauma over what they're trying to fight for. Understandable? Sure, but that doesn't mean you aren't just running your wheels with other online twits at best:

Antiantis/Pro-shippers: "You're using progressive langauge to be aggressive and gatekeeping other people because of it; let people like what they want stopbeingsosenstive >:( " -> *proceeds to equate internet squabbles to purity culture of the 80s/spends all time shitting on other people's traumas/becomes fandom mom*

Antishippers: "We need to protect vulnerable people and minors and not let vile shit be romanticized! >:( " -> *proceeds to label anyone who don't subscribe to their exact internet standards pedophiles/misuses critical thinking skills to mean 'what I don't like'/becomes fandom mom*

meanwhile, are KiwiFarms or Shadbase or any of those nasty people who post literal csa ab*se and zoo being dealt with? No.

Minors are no safer and boundaries with or about fiction aren't being actually drawn or even discussed. It's just people putting up their own emotional/mental barricades WHILE they throw a nasty blanket on the other side. None of you are gonna believe me anyway and I'm probably gonna get more shit for just tagging both ur guys' tags anyway but I'm telling you:

I've had "antis" who totally admit to loving problematic ships and a lot and really don't like the absolutist dogpiling on Princess Weekes for daring to be a zutarra shipper.

I've known "proshippers" who will block you onsight if they see a hint of incest or legit underage-character advocacy. I know so many proshippers who hate Lore Olympus and Helluva Boss' shipping

You are ALL acting upon your experiences with bad people (probably people going through their own trauma, depression, selfcare, but still) and reacting as tho it's worst case scenario ALL THE TIME. Not cool. I'm not ur fucking mom or telling u how to cope with your own fantrauma and selfcare. What I'm telling you is this is not as mature or brave or empowering as you guys all think it is- you just sound sad.

#unironically why I don't follow Zena and Poppy #simultaneously why I don't follow any blog with 'anti' or 'i hate' in it's name #aggressive antis and apathetic proshippers are two kinds of bad people that I don't need in my life #I'd rather just protect fandoms from actual predatorbigots and MYSELF from Reylos if u don't mind #as a person with rage issues and fandom based trauma this is not productive #proship vs anti cw #anti anti #anti proshitter

[elegy-if]

Hi! ( : are nsfw asks okay? besides what can we get from the intro is there more tags or warnings for your very interesting game?

hi! nsfw asks are ok — just with the caveat that if i’m uncomfortable with the content in it, i’ll delete it. i’m no stranger to writing nsfw tho HAHA

hmm… so far for warnings there’s cannibalism, gore, emetophobia, torture, medical abuse, andddddd theres some brief mentions of the lab weaponizing subjects, specifically transgender/gnc subjects, gender and gender affirming care against them to get them to not “act up”. not glorified obv bc thats awful and its something the Evil Government Lab does but its there if you need to avoid that.

trans or gnc mcs will get a few more opportunities to discuss this, mostly with felix (who is canonly trans no matter what). my ROs are specifically left mostly androgynous or even gnc in some cases bc i personally am not a fan of writing ROs appearances that change drastically depending on gender. m! eden and sable are specifically written to be implied dressing pretty adrogynously, and f! eris and ??? are written to be masculine women! f! eris is even on testosterone :-)

i’ll be updating the tws with every update that requires them to be updated! i don’t see much changing at this point, but who knows!

#anonymous #asks #ty for asking! #and for giving me the excuse to rant abt my charas genders. i <3 my fellow gnc and transgender followers btw #the only possible thing i can see being added to the tws atm is some choking (with intent to kill) from ??? but idk yet!