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birthanon · 4 months ago

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🤰2️⃣🏠🖐️🏳️🦵🐢💦

+bad positions (i don’t have the emoji)

For the build a birth game/prompt

Yay my first emoji prompt! Thanks for this, I had fun with it. I don't really do orgasmic births as I said when I reposted this, but I did try to have at least one more pleasurable moment. I hope that fits your ask well enough.

Summary: to earn money for her twins, a woman and her husband stream the birth with a twist, every twenty minutes she has to switch to a different position decided beforehand by the viewers! Contains: fpreg, willing birth denial, pushing the baby back in, a straight couple, streamed birth.

Rebbecah gasped for breath as her latest contraction eased, then sat up slightly on her bed so she could get a better look at her husband, Drew, as he fiddled with camera equipment.

“You better be ready with that equipment,” she gasped. “‘Cause the baby’s coming.”

“Just a moment,” Drew said.

Another contraction struck, and Rebbecah moaned, pressing her legs together to try and forestall the massive head that was shifting deep inside her. Still it moved, the pressure on her cervix increasing just slightly.

“There we go.” Drew stepped away from the video camera, which was blinking red. The computer next to it showed what the camera was seeing, Rebbecah sitting on the edge of the bed—her long brown hair tied up in ponytail that had seen better days, her face red with exertion and covered in sweat, the tight red dress she wore, which clung to her enlarged chest and her massive torpedo stomach. The amount of live views was already up to nearly thirty people despite having just started, and was continuing to tick up.

“Hello everyone, welcome to our live birth stream. For those who are new, I’m Drew and this is Rebbecah, as she’s been in labor with our twins since last night. Her water broke an hour ago, and I’ve just confirmed she’s ten centimeters dilated and ready to push! We’ve asked for suggestions for birthing positions, and I’ve gone ahead and picked three per child. The way this is going to work is I’ll call out a birthing position and help Rebbecah get into it, she’ll then have to hold that position for twenty minutes. After which, she can get into any position she wants to finish birthing the child. Think you can do this, Rebbecah?”

It had seemed like a really good idea yesterday, now, already exhausted from hours of labor, Rebbecah was slightly less sure. But this was for her husband, for her fans, and more importantly, to raise money for her children. When they’d budgeted having a kid, they hadn’t planned on two after all. “Yes,” Rebbecah confirmed.

Drew grinned at her, a large, brilliant smile. “Good, good, and you remember our safe word?”

“Turtle.”

“That’s right. We want to have some fun, but we value your safety and the baby’s safety first. Use it if you need to.” Then Drew turned to the camera again. “As a reminder, all proceeds we get today will go into a college saving fund for the babies. Let’s start with our first position—lotus.”

Rebbecah slowly shifted her weight to the side of the bed and spread her legs, allowing her long, heavy stomach to sink between them. Then, slowly she rose. Gravity shifted, pulling the baby further down, and she gasped at the sheer weight of the baby’s massive head in her hips. She began to squat down, triggering a contraction, and she couldn’t help but push. The head moved, stretching her, creeping down. So full. She moaned. The contraction eased.

With Drew’s help, she carefully sat down on the ground. The hard tile floor of their playroom pressed harshly against her overly sensitive crotch as she sat. Then she shifted back so she could cross her legs, and it was a little better. On the plus side, her pussy was not touching the hard floor. Her stomach, low with birth, was, however, resting inside her lap. Everything felt scrunched up. She couldn’t lean back in this position, though her body demanded it.

“This is good,” Drew said. “Now rest your hands on your knees like you are meditating, and we’ll start the timer.”

That would require shifting her weight from her hands to her legs, moving everything forward even more. It seemed an awful idea, but this had originally been her idea, so she complied. Contractions lasted for about one minute, breaks lasted for about two. She only had to hold this position for about six contractions. She could do that.

The first contraction came, and she curled up around her stomach, her hands slipping from her knees to hold the firm, contracting orb. She pushed, and gravity helped. The head moved down, still, so deep in her. It eased. She returned to her position, breathing deeply, and making “om” sounds for her audience.

The next contraction struck, and she pushed through that one, curled around herself. By her third, she was soaked in sweat, her dress stuck to her, tugging at her. Everything felt tight. She needed to lean back, to spread her legs fully, to give herself more space. She needed to escape, claustrophobia making it hard to breathe.

“Please,” she gasped to Drew as the contraction died down. “The dress. Take it off.”

“All right,” Drew said. “We’re just under half way through our first position, and we’re going to pause real quick for a wardrobe change.”

He knelt by her, warm hands brushing her thighs as he helped shimmy the fabric out from underneath her butt. Then she held her hands over her head and he pulled it off. She felt instantly better. Then, under her direction, he removed her large, black lacy bra, leaving her completely naked. He resumed his station by the phone timer, and she placed her hands back on her knees.

She looked up at the computer facing her and grinned at what she saw. She sat cross legged, hands resting on her knees, her stomach filling her lap, her large breasts hanging down on top of her stomach. Though she was clearly exhausted, she seemed to glow, like some sort of fertility goddess, a mother buddha.

Then her fourth contraction struck, she watched her stomach visibly sink into herself with the force of her muscles, before she closed her eyes and gave in to her body’s demands, pushing.

She reached her sixth, gasping, sore and eager to move again, waiting eagerly for the timer to go off, but because of the pause to change clothes, a seven struck while she was still lotusing. She groaned, curling into herself. There was so much pressure, the help of gravity, but her legs weren’t spread enough, there wasn’t enough room.

“And that’s time,” Drew announced, and Rebbecah smiled, satisfied she finished the first twenty minutes and made progress. She spread her legs in relief, stretching them, and grinned as she caught sight of her bulging pussy on the computer, hinting at the size of the head waiting just inside her lips.

“Looks like she made good progress,” Drew commented. “Your next position is hands and knees.”

Rebbacah smiled in relief, and with Drews help, managed to get into the position, her forcefully spread legs making it rather difficult to move. She couldn’t see her progress, but she could see her stomach, hanging down beneath her, nearly touching the ground. This was a far better position, and she was eager to make progress in the next twenty minutes.

The first contraction came, and the difference was immediate, there was far more space, and the baby moved forward, stretching her lips for the first time. She gasped at the sting and stopped pushing for a moment, surprised. Then her body’s demand to push took over, and push she did. The stinging sensation grew. “It’s coming,” she gasped between pushes, “it’s coming!” Then the contraction eased, and the baby slid back. Rebbecah groaned, panting for breath.

The next twenty minutes passed relatively quickly, the head slipping out just a bit more with each push, stretching Rebbecah in ways she’d never been stretched before, and then sinking back into her when she stopped pushing. By the time Drew called time, the head had just begun to stay, a messy bit of dark hair peeking out between her pale, stretched lips.

“I think we’re just about reaching a full crown,” Drew announced. “Wonderful job my dear, are you ready for the third position?”

Her knees were sore, so Rebbecah nodded, distracted by the stretching that was happening down below. Balancing on one hand she reached out with the other, awkwardly around her large bump until she could cradle her child’s head. She whimpered when she accidentally bumped it, sending shooting pains through her body, but smiled as she cupped the emerging head gently in her hand. She was so distracted she didn’t quite process the next position Drew had announced. “Sorry?” she asked.

“Handstand,” Drew repeated. “In the interest of safety, I’ll help you up each time you have a contraction, then once it eases you can go back down into a resting position.”

Rebbecah paled. The baby was right there. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

“Are you going to use your safe word?” Drew asked.

Rebbecah played with the hair on her emerging child’s head, then glanced at the viewer count and the amount raised. They needed more. “No,” she said. “Let’s do this.”

Drew tried to help her stand, but she only got about halfway up before her hips protested. She couldn’t do that. Instead, she crawled to the wall, her baby’s head sticking out of her pussy the whole way, rested her head on the pillow Drew had placed for her, and waited.

“Contraction,” she said as her stomach began to tense. Then she kicked, awkwardly, weakly, off the floor. Drew caught her legs, and pulled them all the way up.

Her legs got forced together in the process, the gravity shifting, and her baby sunk back into her despite the force of the contraction. Rebbecah screamed in pain as her baby kicked in protest. She wanted to reach up and caress her stomach, but she was using her hands to support herself. Her breasts had fallen in her face, dripping sweat and milk across her cheeks. The agony continued on, the blood rushing to her head, the weight of her over-stretched womb pressing on her lungs. Forget sixty seconds, or even two minutes, it seemed to go on forever. Then, finally, her stomach eased, and Drew helped her feet down, until she curled in a ball around her stomach, panting.

The pain in her crotch had eased. All the progress she’d made in the last twenty minutes erased during a single contraction. She could still feel her baby between her hips, right behind her lips, filling her. Five more, she told herself.

The baby eased back down between contractions, settling against her lips again. Then her stomach began tightening, shrinking away from her arms and thighs, and Rebbecah gathered herself and kicked off the ground once more. Drew, ever faithful, caught her legs and got her the rest of the way up.

She’d thought this one would be less bad, since she’d already lost her progress. She was wrong.

She could feel her baby sinking further back, into her birth canal despite her contraction. Groaning, she focused her core and tried to push against gravity. The baby stopped sinking back. She managed to keep it there, just behind her lips, pushing with all her might. As the contraction eased and she was gently brought back to the floor, she even managed to push it out a bit more, the sting of her lips spreading a welcome sensation after the lost process. She felt proud of that progress, right up until the next contraction when it sunk right back in her again..

She was barely aware of herself as he lowered her down after that contraction. As soon as she could think again, she reminded herself that she was half done, three more to go. And then the next struck. It was harder to get up. And she’d barely managed to catch her wits after it, when the next contraction hit. She lost count. Was she done? Did she have more? Her whole being yearned for the alarm.

Another contraction, surely that had been six already? She was dizzy, exhausted, pushing against gravity just to keep the baby at her lips, then, mid-push, the alarm went off, and Drew thankfully lowered her to the ground. She immediately kept pushing, and the long forestalled baby shot forward, returning to a partial crown in moments.

“That was a tough one, Rebbecah,” Drew said, “But you did it. Now how do you want to finish this birth out?”

Remembering how right it had felt to push while squatting, she chose that, and Drew came up behind her, his warm body pressed against her, supporting her as she fell into a squat, her hips wide, the baby coming out. By the time she’d managed her position, the contraction was upon her. She pushed, grunting in effort, watching herself in the computer as the head slowly, but surely emerged. The nose was just making its exit when the contraction stopped, leaving her gasping, spread at her widest point, her legs shaking with effort and pain.

“It’s coming, one more push, love,” Drew said.

So she pushed, and with a gush, the head popped free. Dizzy, with relief, She collapsed against Drew, staying only in her squat because he held her there, as the shoulders began to turn. She reached down, holding the head as her pains returned, and she began to slowly push out the shoulders. They were even wider, and took two contractions to get out despite her best pushing, but finally, the baby gushed out of her and began to cry.

“There’s baby number one!” Drew announced. He helped Rebbecah down until she was leaning against the bed, and went to fetch scissors and she held the baby close to her, soothing it. The two of them made the most of the refractory period, then then contractions began again.

“Time for baby number two,” Rebbecah announced, reluctantly handing her first child to Drew. She was exhausted, but the brief break and actually seeing the baby left her feeling revitalized. She could do this again. There wasn’t a position that could be worse than upside-down. “What’s my first position?”

“Tied to the wall,” Drew answered, setting the baby down in a waiting crib and gesturing to the chains which hung on their wall for their more spicy streaming sessions.

With shaking legs and Drew’s assistance, Rebbecah waddled over to the wall, where Drew attached the cuffs to her hands, then pulled the chains taunt, pulling her weight up, off her legs. Then he spread her legs apart and secured them to the wall as well in the leg cuffs. Her arms, tied together above her head, taking most of her weight and restricting her breathing, her legs forcibly spread apart.

It was uncomfortable, but doable, her contractions came, she pushed, and the baby moved slowly but surely down. Far easier than her first baby since she had already stretched, but she was exhausted, her pushes were less powerful, and so the two forces evened each other out. Being chained to the wall like this was familiar, one of her favorite games, and it allowed her to embrace the pain. She vocalized freely, moaning with each push, feeling the baby spread her wide open, completely lost in the sensation of giving birth.

Drew, meanwhile, was also distracted, answering questions in the chat, watching his baby, and of course his beautiful wife, tied to a wall, her stomach visibility sinking into her with each contraction. She was beautiful, and it made his length ache with desire. So caught up with the sight he was, that he didn’t realize he’d forgotten to set the timer.

It wasn’t until forty minutes later, when the baby’s head began to crown, that he realized his mistake. Quickly, he set his phone to a one second timer, so it would go off. At the sound, Rebbecah’s eyes opened. She smiled, panting. “Seemed to last forever, that one,” she joked. “Baby’s pretty much already born.”

Drew smiled, awkwardly. “You are doing great my love. But you can’t give birth just yet. Still have two positions to do.”

Rebbecah eyed Drew nervously as he drew closer. He reached for her chin, turning her toward him so she could see his smile. She smiled back at him, exhausted.

“I’m so very proud of you,” he said. “You’ve done so amazing.” He leaned in, and kissed her, and she kissed him back, passionately, feeling his hands caress her belly, and then reach down lower, until one cradled her baby’s head. He pressed his lips more insistently against her, his other hand moving up to fondle her leaking breasts. She moaned into his advances, heat pooling between her legs then, with a quick jerk, he shoved her baby’s head back inside her.

She cried out, breaking off the kiss as the agony coursed through her. Her baby kicked, she couldn’t breathe with pain, yet he chased her with his mouth, capturing her lips in another kiss. He stepped away reluctantly, hand dripping with birthing fluids.

“There now,” he gasped, pink-cheeked and clearly aroused. “You are all ready for your second position—sitting on my lap.”

He untied her, easing her back to the floor, when another contraction hit. Remembering the agony of having the baby shoved into her, Rebbecah tried not to push, and succeeded for only about ten seconds before she gave in, squating instinctively, spreading her legs, grunting with effort, feeling her baby begin to emerge once more.

Drew waited patiently for the contraction to end, then pulled her over to a soft chair before the camera. He sat down, then he eased her onto his lap, so she was facing him. Her naked, gravid stomach pressed up against his well toned abs. He’d removed his shirt at some point, though Rebbecah couldn’t remember when that happened. Then Drew’s hands caught Rebbecah’s hips. One of her legs on either side of his thigh, he pulled her down until her cunt rested directly atop his thigh, naked except his navy blue boxers. She glanced down, noticing his very prominent bulge. “Glad you’re enjoying this,” she said.

Then a contraction hit. She instinctively used her feet for leverage to pull herself off him to give herself even an inch or so to give birth, but his hands around her waist held her still. After two contractions with zero progress, she gave up trying to escape, and instead leaned into it, grinding against his thigh, trying to chase the agony and exhaustion away with the growing warmth down there.

Each time she shifted back and forth, her stomach rubbed against Drew’s dick through his boxers. He groaned at the sensation, holding her closer and closer, as she pressed down on her thigh. The pain of the contractions was distracting, she couldn’t quite reach an orgasm before getting distracted, but the growing heat was doing something for the pain.

Drew, unfettered by contractions, leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. They were hot, moist, cloying. Enjoyable, and yet at the same time too much. But it was all too much, so Rebbecah leaned into it, pressing down harder searching for release, for something, for anything, to escape the pressing need to give birth.

The alarm went off, but Drew was caught in the moment and didn’t seem to notice, his breathing staggered.

Rebbecah pulled away, gasping. “Drew, the timer. Please. I need to give birth.”

But he chased her lost in his own ecstasy, forcing his lips on her once more. Another contraction hit, and Rebbecah could resist the urge to push no more—she did, feeling her baby press against Drew’s thigh as he finally reached his climax, his breath stuttered, and wetness bloomed across his boxers.

Her contraction was over by the time his breathing had steadied and he managed to stop the timer. Rebbecah took the opportunity to use his shoulders and stand, her legs spread over his. The baby, just behind her lips.

“The last position?” she asked desperately.

“Laying on your stomach.”

That seemed awful, but the pressure at least, would force the baby out faster. She agreed, and he helped her down to her hands and knees, then, carefully, gingerly, she lowered herself down. The force on her stomach ached, then came a contraction. She pushed and the baby jerked forward after being contained for so long. The sudden burning came as a surprise and her shaking arms gave way, dropping her down to the ground, adding to the pressure within her exponentially. With a sudden searing pain, the baby was at a full crown, and it was just the first contraction!

“That was fast,” Drew said. “We can’t have that.”

Quivering, legs spread, laying atop her massive stomach, she waited for the telltale touch of his hands on her. They brushed past her clit, playing there for a moment, then cupped her baby and shoved them in. She cried out, feeling her lips close once again over the child's head. Her vision grayed out a bit, and then she was pushing once more, and the stretching was happening, and the baby was coming out again, the pressure on her stomach was so much. Then his hands, were there again, about the push the baby back in and—

“Turtle!” Rebbecah cried. “Turtle, please. Please don’t.”

Immediately, Drew was there, helping her up, off her stomach, her baby still at a full crown stretching her wide. He helped her exhausted, shaking body back into the squat. A contraction came, she pushed, and the head inched forward. She whined. “Come out, baby, come out.”

“You are doing marvelously, love,” Drew whispered, running hand through her hair. “I am so proud. You are so strong.”

The next contraction came, she pushed again, for a full minute and a half, the baby’s head bobbed in her cunt, unmoving, her stretched, red lips glistening. Then finally, at the next contraction, something shifted, and the head shot out. Her legs gave out at the shock, and Drew eased her gently backwards so she was leaning against him as the shoulders twisted, and then, finally emerged, crying. “We did it,” Rebbecah gasped, smiling, tears streaking her eyes. Then she looked up at the amount of money they’d made. “Wow,” she gasped. “We really did do it. I think we could even afford to have some more.”

#birth denial #birth kink #giving birth #birth story #public birth #BirthAnonAnswers

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quimichi · 8 months ago

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·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ THEIR CONTACT NAMES FOR YOU wholesome & cursed

AN: just a super random idea, also ran out of contact name ideas

Aether 》Mine forever 》2nd Emergency food

Albedo 》Love 》(just your number)

Amber 》My BunBun 》Traveler

Al-Haitham 》Y/N <3 》Kaveh 2.0

Arlecchino 》My dear 》My annoying dear

Ayaka 》Dance partner for life 》Simp

Ayato 》Mrs/Mr Kamisato 》Professional Yapper

Baizhu 》Cure to everything 》Antidepressiva

Barbara 》Angel 》Wants to bash my stalkers head

Beidou 》Hot bbg 》Mommy issues

Bennett 》Lucky charm 》(accidentally blocked you and broke his phone)

Capitano 》Dearest Y/n 》Y/n L/n

Candace 》Dessert Flower 》Dehya's bestie

Charlotte 》Model 》My stalking victim

Chevreuse 》Babe 》Chrispy Fries

Childe 》My Girly 》Baby boo boo snuggly poo

Chongyun 》Sweet as ice 》Popsicle 🍦🧊💦

Clorinde 》Darling 》0/10 would lose in a fight against me

Collei 》Flower �� 》Jokes as bad as Cyno's

Columbina 》Hummingbird 》They're next 🔪

Cyno 》Love them from my head 🍅's 》Love them from my head 🍅's

Dainsleif 》My star 》Traveler Y/n

Dehya 》Princess 》Lil spoiled princess/brat ♡

Diluc 》The burning flame within my heart 》Y/n

Diona 》Big sis/bro/sibling

Dottore 》Little Labrat 》Subject 291

Dori 》10/10 wouldn't sell

Eula 》My Passion 》 (just your number)

Faruzan 》Lover from another timeline 》Grandkid

Fischl 》My dearest lover of the night 》Diener der Verurteilung

Freminet 》Pengu 》Fathers first pick

Furina 》Bubsibaby 》My Maccaroni

Ga Ming 》babes 💞 》Boss

Ganyu 》Love 》Pillow

Gorou 》Forever my mate 》No, not my "owner"

Hu Tao 》Forever mine even in afterlife 》Possible good advertisement once I'm done

Jean 》Dandelion 》The Traveler (Y/n)

Heizou 》Hottest babe everrr 》🍑🍑🍑

Itto 》MINE RAWR 》barkabakewooofwofbrakk

Kazuha 》My dearest Y/n 💞 》he's to wholesome for this

Kaeya 》Snowflake 》Side chicken (he's joking dw)

Kaveh 》My world/everything/love/baby/boo bear 》Mommy

Keqing 》Love 💜 》Housewife/husband/caretaker

Kinich 》Most important thing in my life 》Gf/bf/lv

Kirara 》Kitty 》Owner

Klee 》Partner in crime

Kokomi 》Little Jellyfish 》Bloopfish 🤍

Layla 》Sleepyhead #2 》Good Pillow, Good nap partner

Lisa 》Big cutie 》Book due since: 1 week 🔪

Lumine 》Big Baby, but mine 》Another Paimon

Lynette 》Catlover 》My Y/n

Lyney 》My rose 》Father approved

Mika 》I'll find them everywhere 》The one who never forgets me

Mona 》My future 》Dies by old age, 2091

Mualani 》Wookie Pookie 》Them in swimwear 💯

Nahida 》My best friend the flower 🪷

Navia 》Sweets 》Yummy baby

Neuvillette 》Fiance

Nilou 》Dance buddy 》Hopless, can't dance

Ningguang 》Princess/Prince/Royalty 》Gold digger

Noelle 》Rosie 》Lazy

Pantalone 》Sugar baby 》Spoiled brat

Pierro 》Darling 》Y/n M/n L/n

Pulcinella 》Dearest Y/n 》(your number)

Qiqi 》Y/n

Raiden 》Sweets 》The one that cooks

Razor 》Y/n but mispronounced

Rosaria 》Y/n <3 》A sinner

Sandrone 》Doll ♡ 》Doll nr.72

Sara 》Love forever 》Member 28 of the Raiden Shogun fan club

Sayu 》Nyummmm

Scaramouche 》My bitch 》That bitch idk

Sethos 》Babes 🔥 》Can't cook for shit, almost died

Shenhe 》My Y/n 》Y/n L/n (from ___)

Shinobu 》Milk (she's Kuki) 》also has mommy issues

Succrose 》Code 143 》Human experiment 81.01

Thoma 》their houshusband 》Miss Ayakas best friend

Tighnari 》My Padisara 》Laughs at Cynos jokes

Venti 》Windblume 》Non-alcoholic

Wriothesley 》Bbg/bbb/baby 》Solid daddy issues

Xiangling 》Yummiest 》Bleh but mhh

Xiao 》My Human 》(didn't even give you a contact name lol)

Xianyun 》My beautiful 》Y/n

Xilonen 》a beautiful creation 》wtf did their parents make??

Xinyan 》MY ROCKSTAR ☆ 》that one with no taste in music

Xingqiu 》The most beautiful 》(a ugly nickname lol)

Yae Miko 》🦊💞 》My simp

Yanfei 》JUSTICEMAKER 》horny jail time

Yaoyao 》Big sister/brother/sibling Y/n 🌱

Yelan 》Pretty one 》The next

Yoimiya 》CAUSE BABY YOURE A FIIIIIREWORK 》Almost blew them up, oops

Yun Jin 》My biggest fan 》Y/n - no rhythm

Zhongli 》Y/n (you're his only contact lol)

#quimichi #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin text #genshin textposts #genshin chat #genshin impact textpost #genshin impact text #genshin impact chat

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awistfulblue · 11 days ago

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Yuu vs Climate

Imagine: Yuu, who overheats easily in hot climates and gets sleepy in cold ones.

{Inspired by the fact that my OC!Yuu (Yukiri Gyousei) get easily tired and irritated during hot climate and sleepy during cold climate.}

┏━━━━━━━━━━━✦❘༻⇕༺❘✦━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

Yuu, well known for surviving and fending off three overblots in just a couple of months—admired for their strength and agility, and feared by many for those very reasons.

That was until Book 4.

The members of Scarabia witnessed a surprising, almost comical, vulnerability: Yuu's one true enemy—heat.

It happened during the march to the oasis. The prefect collapsed to the ground and breathed heavily. For the entire break the teen laid down on the ground.

Students that stood or walked near Yuu could hear them mutter out curses to their gods. Asking why their body was born/created like this.

The pattern of them cursing out the smoldering temperature and passing out continued:

A Firelit Sky: Over the Sands:

After arriving in Silk City: *Waiting to be picked up* Yuu in their school uniform, clutching a rail, wheezing: huff...huff...huff... Malleus, eyeing them with worry: Child of man, are you alright? Yuu, nodding: *heaving* m'fine...just...too...ho-*promptly passes out* Malleus, catches them before hitting the ground: *slightly panicking* Child of man?! Jamil had to dash off to find a stall or a restaurant to buy a cold beverage while the rest of group tended the passed out prefect. Grim suggested to toss them into the water to cool off. Since it worked for him. It was immediately vetoed.

Cloudcalling on the Savanna:

In Sunrise City: Yuu, dressed in airy and light coloured clothes and carrying a parasol: *Beaming with pride after preparing themselves for the heat* Lilia, laughing: Khee hee hee! My, my, you look quite prepared for a summer vacation! Yuu, grinning: This heat won't stop me for enjoying this impromptu vacation. Leona, groaning: *pinching the bridge of his nose* Again. You're not here for a vacation. You're here to fight in the Bead Brawl. minutes later... Jack started to sway and went quiet: ... Leona: ...Jack? Hey, you okay? Jack: I'm...good... Leona, frowning: Come off it! You look terrible! Get in some shade already! Jack: I'm...fine...*passes out* Yuu being the unfortunate victim of having to hold him up: ACK! *later in the Ivory Spring* Yuu, passed out from the heat: (´﹃｀)💦♨️ Yuu may not have been the one to pass out after stepping out the mirror. They were however fallen victim to someone else passing out from heat and crushing them in the process. They later passed out in the hot spring…and caught a cold after the tournament from being soaked in the rain.

Lost in the Book with Stitch:

On the deserted island: Yuu, standing still while in a Hawaiian attire: ... Yuu, sighs heavily and collapsing to their knees on the sand: It's so fucking hot... They hated the hot climate than the mosquitos.

Now, how about during very cold seasons or places? Can they handle it? Nope! Yuu isn’t safe in the cold either. Instead of overheating, they become dangerously sleepy.

This was evident during...

Book 6:

During the trek down into Tartarus, Yuu fought off sleep to the best of their abilites. However, the deeper they went, the stronger the drowsiness became—until they finally gave in. The Pomefiore trio took turns carrying Yuu’s half-conscious body and only waking them up whenever a fight occurs or they arrived at the next facility.

Fairy Gala:

Yuu had a hard time waking up and staying focused for the entire housewarden meeting due to the office snowing inside.

Sam's New Year Sale:

Yuu could be seen fighting off sleep while working. Yet somehow able to beat anyone who chooses to challenge them. They need that money and New Year's bonus.

The Harveston Sledathon:

Yuu was frequently seen nodding off or fighting of sleep to support their friends. Marja eventually handed them her old cloak for extra layer just to keep them warm and conscious during the tournament.

Magic fights? No problem. Ink Monsters? Bring it on. Weather? Absolutely not. Give them extreme weather and they’re a goner.

┗━━━━━━━━━━━✦❘༻⇕༺❘✦━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

Yuu during any summer/winter event or in a very hot/cold climate:

youtube

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst yuu #twst oc #twst meme #twst fanfic #twst x reader #twst x yuu #twst x oc #twst incorrect quotes #twst scenarios #twst imagines #Youtube

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classyenthusiastbluebird · 4 months ago

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Playful child with my bunnies 🐰❤️🥰💛🫦💋💦

I hope you don't mind my song playing in the background. Lol🙃😊😇

I should be treated specially like a queen 👸 😌 ✨️

#asexual #pansexual #trans community #trans pride #trans uk #trans usa #transgender #transgirl #transsexual #sexy and beautiful #bikni girls #bisexual #gay #gay girls

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f14fun · 1 year ago

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pixelated love (!simmer x mv1) - chapter 3

synopsis: in which the famous three time world champion max verstappen wants to learn how to play the sims 4. except, he doesn't really know how to. so what does he do, search up a youtube tutorial. low-and-behold, y/n's video is the first he watches.

smau ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ prev | next | series index ˚୨୧⋆｡

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 127,821 others

yourusername: incase you haven't heard, max and i are getting married! planning my pinterest board wedding with @/maxverstappen1 as we speak!

view comments:

user1: what.

user1: mother you are getting married to that PASTY AND GNARLY EUROPEAN WHITE MAN??? 😡😡😡

user1: is this a joke

user1: this MUST be an insane practical joke that she pulled off

user1: think of your CHILDREN (me) as you make this decision

user1: until then, i uninvite myself from the wedding ❌👰🏻‍♀️👰🏻‍♂️

user1: sincerely, your favorite child

user1: (for all of you overtly sensitive fat fucks that was entirely satire 🤡🤡🤡)

user2: everyone who doesn't have twitter right now must be hella confused 🤣🤣

redbullracing: ???

yourusername: please avert your gaze to this message and the entirety of my account as a whole, deepest apologies for any confusion or misunderstandings 🤡

yourusername: @/maxverstappen1 fifth slide. my head between those juicy thighs. five o'clock tonight.

yourusername: need my head in between that meat like a stick on costco rotisserie chicken 🐔🍗😋🤤💦🫠

maxverstappen1: I am in shock.

maxverstappen1: I do not even know how to respond to this comment

maxverstappen1: Also what is a "costco"

yourusername: oh shit, i forget that you're not an american LMAO 🍟🍔🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🤠🤠🤠🏈🗽

yourusername: it's just a huge wholesale groccery store

maxverstappen1: Oh okay, I see

yourusername: was that a redeemable statement!!!

maxverstappen1: Not one bit. ❌

maxverstappen1: Also it is spelled as *grocery instead of whatever mess you spelled

yourusername: i hate you

maxverstappen1: You cannot hate your husband, I am very likeable

yourusername: AHA YOU JUST ADMITTED IT

yourusername: I GOTCHA NOW BUDDY

user3: top ten wedding (???) announcements ever made, ladies and gentlemen

user4: Y/N I APPLAUD YOU, YOU HAVE OFFICIALLY EXCEEDED MY EXPECTATIONS ON HOW WILD YOU CAN GET. GO AMERICA RAHHH 🦅🦅🦅

yourusername: proud to do our country a cuntry 💅🏻🦅🏈

maxverstappen1: Wait if I marry you does that mean I also have American citizenship?

user5: MAX WHATTTTTT LMAOOO???

user6: did NOT expect max to type that lmao, free him y/n 🤠

user7: the #maxisaynhostage agenda never ends 🤣🤣

yourusername: what-

landonorris: Mate, what are you on about...

landonorris: Also congratulations to the happy couple! @/yourusername @/maxverstappen1

yourusername: awww, thank you so much lando!! max, you better make him the best groomsman or ELSE

maxverstappen: @/yourusername @/landonorris 😐😐😐

charles_leclerc: Congrats you two! 🍾🥂 Alex and I would love to be invited to your wedding!

yourusername: Saving a seat for you two (plus leo!)

maxverstappen1: There is no wedding. ❌👰🏻‍♀️👰🏻‍♂️

oliverbearman: the oli bearman erasure from the leclerc family is unforunately so real 😞

yourusername: OLI I WOULD NEVERRRR FORGET YOUU

oliverbearman: please adopt me 🥹🥹🥹

yourusername: of course 🥹🥹🥹

charles_leclerc: ???? @/maxverstappen1 .... Do you approve of this mate?? Your first child is my child?...

maxverstappen1: OF COURSE NOT PLEASE UNADOPT HIM @/yourusername

yourusername: this is your first born. no. ❌

oliverbearman: ❌❌❌

user8: the way she makes max more unhinged LMAO u can see it in his typing

oscarpiastri: Okay. The Oscar Piastri-Leclerc erasure saga never ends.

oscarpiastri: Hello??

oscarpiastri: Hello guys?

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

taglist: @hiireadstuff @sinofwriting @mehrmonga @the-untamed-soul @glai1023-blog @loloekie @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @sheastri @llando4norris @gwginnyweasley @carmenita122 @ririyulife @pausmoon @ur-fave-ave @eveninggstar @maddie-naps @erin-odonnell04 @rexit-mo @ems-alexandra @si1ver06 @iamred-iamyellow @bibissparkles

some of these didn't get tagged, and i'm having trouble (?) it's being very weird, idk, so please let me know if your name is here and it didn't tag you ❣️

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾 LMAO I LIED part three came out faster than expected. but part four may take a while as i'm a tad busy these next four weeks 🫠

comment if you want to be added to the taglist! ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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hazelfoureyes · 1 year ago

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A Doe in Fall (Part 8)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 📍 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 8 - Trust

Detective Brady is sharper than you initially thought, though Alastor is (seemingly) unfazed by the threat. While you both explore the idea of ‘home’ a familiar face shows up at your apartment.

「Warnings/Tags: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, Detective Brady exists a lot and maybe too much, fingering lol, phone calls, almost our first fight, stress, Disney mom rule, Ruth is pretty alright for now, Brenda」

forgot to tag you in the deleted scene for TRDFAHS

M👻D☠️N👽I😈

Your mother always said ‘Anger is your sword and shield’. So you postured yourself as someone mad. One hip out, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“Sir I don’t appreciate a man in a lady’s space.”

Brady bit his tongue, wanting to say something sharp.

I don’t see any ladies here.

He met the glares of the women behind you. “Ah, well-,”

“Do you really expect her to leave in her robe?”

“Aren’t you the man whose been stalking her?”

“Autumn I’ll go with you.”

“You want her to get into a strange man’s car?”

He felt like a fox about to be pecked to death by the hens.

“Now-! Alright I’m seeing I maybe,” he set your shoes down and slid past you and between the other performers, “got a little eager to speak to you.”

“Does Janet know you like to hang around burlesquers?” Someone said as his back was turned.

Like having ice water poured over his head, his shoulders tensed as did his tone. “I’ll be right out the door.”

You tried to hide the tremble in your hands, but failed. Ruth slid beside you, “What do you need?”

A phone. But the cord wouldn’t reach that far. You wanted to tell Alastor. You needed him to know that detective had you cornered and knew of his existence.

“Could you stay with me? I’m not going anywhere. But I’ll feel safer if I’m not talking to him alone. In case he tries to drag me out. He seems a little off his rocker.” You were genuinely scared he would grab you by the arm and pull you out of the theater if he didn’t think anyone would see.

She patted your back, the others filing in to continue with their work of getting dressed and undressed. You took your time, trying to plan what you would say.

Brady felt an embarrassed blush take hold as the women moved past him with scowls and tsks. He could feel a little bit of his sanity slip back now that you were in front of him.

“I have some questions about Tommy. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. We can head down now.”

Oddly, your mother also taught you, ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’

She didn’t always make a lot of sense, contradicting herself daily.

Time to use the tried and true tactic, “I am sorry, detective. I had some trouble recently and have been keeping to myself… going home as soon as possible. Just trying to keep my nose clean. So to speak.”

Brady watched you look up at him with a face his daughter often gave him when she was in trouble. But you weren’t a child and you surely weren’t his daughter. “That’s no excuse to dodge me.”

Your turn to bite your tongue, “Of course, sir.”

Ruth was… confused. She’d never seen you so obedient. You had more venom in your voice after taking a hit from Tommy knowing a third could be close behind. Why were you being so small?

“Are you ready to go?” He fished in his pocket for his car door keys.

Ruth felt the need to interject, “She’s not going anywhere.”

Perfect.

You nodded, “I won’t be out at night, sir. You know better than most about the dangers.” Your dangers. Your darling Alastor.

“No, no no,” an unhinged chuckle from the fraying detective, “You’re not slipping away again. I have my car, I’ll take you there and bring you home.”

Ruth looked to you, then back to the detective, “Is she under arrest?”

Brady rolled his eyes, “Of course not.”

“Then? What gives you the right?”

Technically, nothing. He didn’t need to talk to you. His lead still stood. But maybe you’d slip and say something to expedite his search for the radio man. Maybe this would only end with Tommy. But he felt something tickling the back of his skull. An urge to not stop pushing.

“I’ll meet you at the station tomorrow morning. Is it the address on the card you gave me?” Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t. You just needed him gone so you could call Alastor.

He was shaking his notebook, key looped onto his finger. A nervous habit. “You still have my card?”

A smile, “Of course. In case any news came up. I’d have called but I didn’t realize you were so worked up.”

He scoffed. He wasn’t worked up. He was just annoyed. Maybe a little rougher in demeanor than usual but whose fault was that?

“If you don’t turn up tomorrow-,”

Ruth, taller than most women and some men and wide at the shoulders, leaned in.

Brady’s eyeline adjusted from yours to Ruth’s. Skye Scraper wasn’t just a pun, it was a cruel nickname she took ownership of. “Finish that sentence.”

The conversation ended there, Brady leaving with a huff.

You’d memorized the number the night Alastor gave it to you, too scared to write it down. He warned you though he wouldn’t be the one to answer.

“Is Alastor still there?” You tried to smile so you sounded less panicked. Ruth mouthed his name and pretended to swoon as you held the phone close to your ear.

“Uhh depends, who is this?” Brenda answered, a voice you’d never heard but a woman Alastor had primed you for.

“….”, but why hadn’t you thought through this part, what name was safe? Which was recognizable? You didn’t like the idea of this woman knowing your name. “Tell him it’s Autumn.”

“….”

You laughed at Ruth, waiting still for a reply from Brenda, “Hello?”

“Is this a crank? Autumn like the season? I-,” a commotion, “Hey there! No. I don’t know. Well it’s past hours anywa-.”

Alastor was lying across Brenda’s desk to reach the phone, having wrestled it from the woman’s grip, “I’m here. What’s wrong? I was about to leave.”

“I’ll walk home tonight.” It hurt, physically hurt, to say it.

Alastor tried to keep his face neutral, “Oh.” Nervous fingers twirling the cord, “One second.”

Harsh whispers, some clicks, and he was back, “I’m in my office. What happened?”

“Yeah Ruth is with me. It’s okay. I’ll call you like normal tomorrow?”

“Should I swing by your apartment?” He considered doing it regardless of your answer.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t recommend it. I’ll be heading to the police station early tomorrow so I’ll be asleep as soon as I’m flat.” Putting your hand over the receiver, you spoke to Ruth, “Thank you, we got it figured out.”

His heart sank to his stomach, “Did he finally manage to catch you?”

“Yeah. Or—-,” your voice cracked a little, the fear rolling in as soon as Ruth walked away, “Yeah.”

“I’m coming over to the theater.”

Cupping the phone you curved your shoulders in and turned away from the staff milling about, “Don’t, that’s worse.” Tears stung your eyes. You felt like you’d failed him. You had somehow, hadn’t you? The loose thread Brady could grab ahold of was you.

“If you can’t come to the alley I’ll leave after a couple minutes. But I’ll be there in twenty, same time as our normal pick up.”

“Alastor, that’s reckless.”

“Please, dear, I don’t want our first fight to be over my work line.” A calming breath, “You don’t have to meet me, but I’ll be there. Just five minutes, then I’ll be off.”

You decided the safest thing to do was to wait in the alley. If you saw any signs of Brady or anyone coming out, you’d go back inside and just miss the meeting. But the idea of Alastor being just beyond the wall, waiting all alone, was too much.

But how much harder would it be if the wall was of the prison? Or worse, dense earth under your feet? That’s what Brady was wanting.

You hadn’t realized you’d been chewing your nails until his car turned down the alley from the back and you tore off much of the length of your thumbnail.

Your arms were thrown around him before he was fully out of the car, “Alastor, he knows I have a guy. He wanted me to go down right now but I managed to push it to tomorrow.” Alastor tried to decipher the words as you spoke them into his vest, “What do I do?”

Normally you’d have your own plans in mind but this was too big, this was capable of hurting him more than anyone else.

He smelled like ink and smoke, a scent you inhaled as you tried to calm your breath.

A large hand patted your head, “Okay. You go tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Don’t stress.” Pulling you off he placed chaste kisses across your face. “Think about what you want to say to him and we can talk it out in the morning. Everything is fine.”

The reality of you standing in a dirty alley crying into the arms of a murderer set in. Then the little detail you were both killers creeped over your chest and took hold of your throat.

He was impressed at the strength of your hands as you gripped at his clothes. Leaning against the car, he offered you his most charming smile.

“Deep breaths, dear. Do I look scared?”

He didn’t. He looked like a magazine ad for French cologne or razor blades that left the softest skin.

“No.” You shook your head.

“No.” He nodded. “It’ll be okay. If you don’t go, he will hound you worse. If you do go, maybe he’ll realize he’s got a handful of nothing.”

His smile blinded you. Bright grin as he rested against his car, arms open.

“Do you really think so? A handful of nothing?”

“Did he say my name?”

“No.”

“Did he–” he elongated the word, lips pursed as he searched the sky for his next words, “have Tommy’s body?”

You laughed, morbid but preposterous, “I didn’t pat him down. Coulda.”

Alastor snapped his fingers, “We’ll have to just assume he didn’t.” A moment of tension. The act of joking barely traversing the space between your bodies let alone reaching the stress under your skin. His hands came to your shoulders; firm, secure. “Did you want to have that fight now? About me coming over here.”

You rolled your eyes, obviously not. “Ala-,” you started and stopped.

“I’ll admit I’m being reckless but I think we can both agree my way is more fun.” Smile sliding into a smirk, he cocked his head and lowered it to get back into your line of sight. When you stuck your tongue out he took a deep breath in, relief. “Are you sure I can’t take you home?”

To which home, you wondered. He used the word so casually and interchangeably…

Face close to yours. Eyes solely on you. Perhaps the stage wasn’t as necessary as you’d once thought. Lips on lips, the feeling of his smile spreading as he returned the kiss. A second of panic as you realized you couldn’t see or hear or sense what else was happening anymore in the alley. Brady could have had you in handcuffs and you wouldn’t be the wiser. Not as long as Alastor’s mouth was moving over yours.

“I’ll call in the morning.” He said into your exhale.

You hadn’t opened your eyes yet. Not ready to return to earth. A pout from you. A chuckle from him. “I’ll be waiting,” You finally said.

While you did your waiting, shuffling around the theater and later tossing around in bed, Alastor fell into a different kind of purgatory.

One he hadn’t realized he’d made for himself until you weren’t there.

The house was quiet, almost eerie. Even with music on he found himself nearly uncomfortable. He shifted several times in his chair while reading, not finding any way to settle in.

His bed was lopsided. Suddenly one side was too light. Multiple times his hand slid under the sheets in search of you out of habit.

What a terrible feeling; to want someone. To know you could have them but they just… weren’t there.

It didn't make any sense. He knew he’d see you soon, in less than a day's time even. He typically enjoyed his home and its silence. Being alone was predictable and therefore comforting. Well, it had been. Before you.

The feeling in his chest, akin to a magnet tugging through his sternum toward a distant partner, didn’t abate.

Only when he heard your voice again over the phone did he find a sliver of peace.

“I’ve decided I’ll deny I have a guy. And, I’ll never tell him about you. It’s safer if he never connects us.”

Alastor was listening, honestly, but he wasn’t really processing. His mind was worried about something else. The detective genuinely didn’t bother him but he had to agree, “I suppose that’s best. As long as we can manage it, to not let him know we’re together.”

Together.

You were together with him. An item. How spectacular you must be to be a part of anything with him.

But for how long? With a certain detective breathing down your neck…, “I’m scared. Actually.”

You could hear the smile in Alastor’s breath, it was odd but eased you.

“He will never have enough to convict us. He’ll drive himself crazy trying. Trust me.” He soothed.

Did you have any choice? “Okay. You’re right. I trust you.” Unequivocally so.

He cleared his throat, “Sorry to change the subject…”

“Please.”

“I want you to come over again tonight. What do you think?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, don’t even need to ask. I’ll always say yes.” All you needed to do was get through Brady and you’d be home.

But for Alastor, well, he wasn’t done asking the question. A moment of panic from a place unrecognized in his brain, fear of losing himself entirely. But what good was a safe harbor if he never ventured out to sea? That’s just a restraint then, isn’t it?

Maybe you held a place for him even richer in its comforts than his solitude.

So he let himself drift away from familiar shores, no sails and no compass, “I think it’d be smart to bring over a couple sets of clothes. I can keep them washed and always here for you. Would that be alright?” He had wanted to suggest it while together, but Brady was ruining more than his sleep.

Oh.

The same silence from when he first extended the invitation, the deja vu not lost on you. You struggled to decipher the second meaning you were sure was there. Maybe he didn't know what he had asked.

“I know it’s boring out in the boonies but, you’re welcome to just stay over while I go to work. I can come back and get you for rehearsals… I’ll enjoy the clubs or come back and make something for a late dinner for us, and bring you home when you’re done.”

He said it. He hadn’t really meant to, so he felt the need to clarify, but you also needed him to clarify just as quickly, “I -,”

“Did you me-?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“No I interrupted you-,”

“Not at all pl-,”

“Alastor for the love of God please don’t make me keep talking right now.” You lightly knocked your head with the phone a few times. Your heart was gasping for an ounce of understanding.

He chuckled, glad you were still very much yourself, “I meant, take you home as in, away from work. So, here. Or, there, if you’d prefer.” His face scrunched up, this wasn’t a conversation he had any practice in, “Anywhere really. I’ll drive you anywhere.”

“Alabama?”

He looked at the phone as if you were in it. Alabama?

“Like— the first time you asked me over.” You added quickly. A terrible joke, a bad callback that made it painfully obvious you committed everything he said to memory.

Alastor rested his cheek on the dining table, laughing into the wood before bringing the receiver back. You always offered him an out of uncomfortable situations, “Well the offer still stands. I'd be willing to even venture at least halfway across Texas.”

“The best half of Texas is on our side so that’s a generous offer. But, given our work schedules, I think your house would be much better. Time wise.”

He let his eyes close as he felt the coldness of the wood, “Is that a yes then? To bringing over a couple of items… for ease.” Was it a mistake? Would he regret it?

You were worth regrets. He had decided. He wanted you to say yes.

The weight of what he was asking wasn’t lost on you an ounce. You could see your window from the phone booth. You took great pride in your little apartment. It was your space and no one else’s. As a child you struggled to have your own anything, so you valued your home.

But could you call any place so far from Alastor a home?

It’s just a few items. You weren’t giving up your lease. It’s a baby step. One you could easily walk back if you needed to later. It’s not like you hadn’t spent every night possible already since that first offer.

“Yes.”

It was a plan that took your mind off cops. Have your interrogation, go home, then go home for a relaxing evening of jazz and drink.

The levity ended though the second you hung up the receiver. An obstacle between you and him still stood. You pulled out your bag but couldn’t find the will to pack it. Your hands were too busy as you chewed on your thumbnail again.

Brady noticed the uneven length when you sat down and set your hands on the table.

“Surprised you showed.” He opened his notebook and readied his pencil. “First things first, what is your legal name?”

A chill. You’d gotten your warning the night before to prepare something to say but ignored it. Your mind was flipping through words and images. Piercing all of it were the white reflective eyes of the deer along the road. You decided to lean into what you knew.

“Autumn.”

“Really? Never heard the name Autumn before.”

“Me either. Made for an easy stage name.”

“I’ll need to see your birth records, just to be sure.”

You sucked your teeth. “Ah, unfortunately…all that stuff was left behind with my mom when I moved.”

“And where can I find her?

“Corner of North Villere street and Piety.”

“And your address?”

You paused. His eyes rose and met yours. The radiant aqua from the cafe morning was now an icy color. “I don’t give my address out. You know where I work.”

“But you’re fine giving me your mother’s address? That’s cold.”

“Not as cold as she is, I’m sure of that.”

“Fine, I’ll find it in the census records.” He flipped the page, “Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged.” He tapped his notepad on the table like it was the starting bell of a fight.

You wished Alastor was with you, but also wished he would never enter that station. “Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he,” you remembered the man and his ugly tie, “introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently.”

“And who was that?”

You searched your memory, “S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening.”

Brady nodded, “And then he knocked you around?”

You winced without meaning too, “Yeah. Got me good.”

Brady waited for you to continue talking, but you had learned this game. People know silence is uncomfortable and will use that against you. So you let the silence stay. Let the awkward tension build. You had limited time, he knew that.

He caved first. “And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that.”

Lying was second nature to you. You had killed for Alastor. You could do this. Deep breaths, slink into yourself. You imagined Alastor choked on the park grounds, wet and unmoving. Imagined him cold to the touch.

“Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection.” Tears welled. Bloody hands and a large rock. “But as soon as he got his money he left.”

Brady was writing, “And the man? What was his name.”

“Something foreign. Kerr-something. Or Car?”

He looked up slightly, “You’re pretty terrible at names.”

You wiped away your tears, “I had more pressing concerns at the time than trying to remember that man’s name. I was hoping I’d never need to know it.”

Brady hummed, “Yeah. And what did your beau think of this?”

Did you hide it? The flash of panic that rolled under the flesh of your face, “If I had a beau Tommy wouldn’t have made me do that. He said that himself.”

“Too bad he’s not here to confirm.”

“If he was we wouldn’t be having this conversation, detective.”

“Touché. Clever little lady aren’t you?”

Fuck.

You shifted slightly in your seat, looking downward in an attempt at being bashful. “That’s kind to say.”

“So why did,” he flipped through his book, “Beth say you stopped singin’ on Sundays cuz of your radio boyfriend?”

“Ah,” a weak laugh to hide the way your breath got sucked in with panic. The words ‘radio boyfriend’ punched the air from your lungs. “You must mean the rake. Took me for a ride at a club corner and sent me off in a cab to never see me again. Didn’t know he was in radio though.”

“Well now you’re lying and I don’t appreciate it one ounce ma’am.“

“What?”

“Beth says he’s been coming to your shows for nearly half a year.”

No acting necessary for this part. “What are you talking about? I met him at a club. We arranged a date and he picked me up at—“

“Beth’s dive.”

“…. Yeah. Well.” He’d been there before? So often? And you never noticed…, “That’s news to me, that he had been there for so long, it’s got its regulars though so...” You shifted again, this time with a clear uncomfortable edge.

“He stopped coming when you stopped singing.”

“….guess he got what he wanted then. A fun time in the swing hall bathroom.” Anger. Unreal and unfounded. Trying your best to hide how confused you were.

“Sounds like a stalker, miss. Maybe one who woulda been quite unhappy to hear you were selli-,”

You cut him off, eyes snapping up to meet his, “I really recommend you reconsider your wording.”

Brady laughed with a huff, “A man dizzy with a dame can do some funny stuff. Especially if he hears she’s in a pickle.”

“Well, no knight coming to rescue me. I’ve sworn off men. It’s why I’ve been leaving work early. Getting home, reading, sleeping. He really did a number on my heart and my pride as a woman.”

Brady’s pencil stopped moving.

“And his name?”

You’d never fucking say it. He could walk in on you moaning ‘Alastor’ and you’d still act like you’d never heard that string of syllables in your life.

“John.”

Brady laughed and tossed the pencil to the table, “Let me guess, last name Doe?”

You shrugged, “We weren’t on a full name basis. He was handsome, he took me out, we fucked, I never saw him again” You delighted in the way his face screwed up at your unladylike language.

“So, someone in radio named John. You know I’m going to be at every broadcaster talking to every John, right?” The nervous shaking of his notebook again.

“When you find him let me know.”

“Oh I will.” He said it so quickly, so sharply you could feel it cut at your cheek as the words flew past you.

You pulled your hands into your lap, eyes firmly locked on Brady’s. “You look tired, sir. I hope my answers will help you. So you can rest.”

“I am tired. Of people jerking me around. You won’t give me your address, you don’t remember anyone’s name, not even your own, and you deny having a man I know you have.”

If you screamed would he have you committed? “I’m terribly sorry,” you leaned over the table and pulled a piece of fuzz off his shoulder, “my friend gave you inaccurate and dated information. I am genuinely trying to help as much as I can.”

Upon closer inspection, his eyes were more than just blue. They were dark and light, deep and shallow. Blue so far down it was nearly black. A blue so bright it was a cousin of white. Eyes you were sure would haunt you.

“Help me then, Autumn.” Your brows rose at the request. He leaned back and away from you, “Just tell me what happened to Tommy. What your guy did. If he was trying to protect your name then we could find a sympathetic jury.”

Sympathy? Your smile was too wide, stare gone too soft. What sympathy did he have or would anyone have for you? Did he think you wanted the tender hearts of strangers? “Tommy ran off with a bag of money. He was a good man with a bad habit. That’s all I know. I have no partner, man or otherwise.”

A standstill.

Brady felt a twitch in his hands he wasn’t used to. An itch to move. Unlike him, and a little frightening.

Maybe he had been running himself ragged.

Back sliding down slightly in his chair, he laced his fingers and rested them in his lap, “You know I’m gonna find out what happened, right?” His tone had shifted to something serious and calm. He said it like he was telling you a secret. Low but firm. Steady and sure.

Those eyes. No, worse. What was behind them. You could see it clearly; unflappable determination. He absolutely would.

“I trust you will.” A moment of silence again as you both felt the conversation die. As you stood, Brady did too.

“I wasn’t bluffing about him going to Beth’s for more than half a year now. I don’t know how you think this is gonna end but it won’t end pretty. Whether it was just your boss or all the others on my desk, end it with him and help us bring Tommy home to his mother.”

You adjusted your purse on your shoulder, “I don’t know how many time-,”

“Autumn. I’ve seen enough make up covered bruises to clock em from across the room. That’s the act of a possessive, immature man. Just think about what I said,” You opened the door in an effort to keep your hands from shooting to your neck. “There’s no white picket fence or church bells for you two. He’s a bad man. I think he may even be an evil man. You’re gonna end up hurt, or dead.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest but you managed to stifle it. With an honest smile you replied, “We’re all gonna end up dead someday, Detective. I’ll call if I have any news. Thanks for your concern and … evident hard work.” You offered a little nod of your head before leaving the room and the station as quickly as you could without running.

When he set down his notebook after returning to his desk, he couldn’t sit. Energy was buzzing in his limbs. He needed to run or swing or pace.

His desk neighbor watched him immediately pick up the notebook again and grab his hat. A few other men shared a glance as Brady rushed out, an unsettling feeling passed among them.

“He’s still on that case?” One asked quietly, going back to his papers.

“Not officially….” Answered Freeman, standing at the window and watching Brady flag down a taxi.

“North Villere street and Piety, please.” He told the driver, not noticing his friend in the window.

It wasn’t near the station, nor the dance scene. He wondered if your mother would be any more amiable. What kind of woman would raise such a creature as you?

When the car slowed, Brady clicked back into his surroundings. He looked through every window hoping to see something different.

After a long pause the cabbie asked, “Ya gonna get out?”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the seat. “No. Take me back to the station.”

His blood pressure rose so quickly he was sure he would black out as the cab turned around and drove back past the sign; Vincent DePaul cemetery.

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

Alastor kissed away the worries when he took your bag from you. Every detail of the interview was just hummed away. “Even if he finds me, without a body he has no case.” He reminded you like it was nothing short of fact.

“What if he gets one?”

“Not one of mine, I can assure you. He’d sooner need to kill someone himself and call it my fault.” A pause, was that something the detective would do? He shook off the thought.

He was so confident that even though you knew it was just skin deep it still gave you a sense of calm. The bodies, where they went after he was done with them in the greenhouse, was the last step he hadn’t shared with you.

There was one thing you didn’t mention about the interrogation.

You waited until you were a few drinks in, Alastor’s bowtie off and shirt unbuttoned several buttons before bringing it up. Uncharacteristically nervous about how he’d react when you broached the topic, you needed several deep breaths to get up your courage. Normally the idea of offending a man with an honest question wouldn’t ruffle you a bit, but once again there was nothing normal about you and Alastor. He made you so unlike yourself but not necessarily worse. Perhaps some consideration of other’s reactions wasn’t a bad thing.

“This is awkward to ask.” It was dark already, the sun setting earlier and earlier. The buzz of the kitchen light could be heard through the screen door, the light just enough to let you see each other's features clearly. Leaning back on both hands for support, your legs rested in an unladylike spread down the porch stairs. No shoes. No girdle. No pretense.

Would he be mad? Or maybe offended?

“Brady said you had been going to my Sunday shows for awhile. Months before we actually met. Did you really meet me by coincidence?”

“Or was I stalking you as my next victim?” His head fell to the side, eyes closed and smile wide. “I saw you there, yes. And though you weren’t the best singer, I did enjoy your shows.”

You tried to see him without directly turning your head.

“But yes, it was a coincidence. I had noticed that brute of a man a couple weeks in a row, staring at you so intensely. Word got around he had made a scene some time ago with a dancer.”

You listened like someone was telling you your own story. It was an odd feeling, hearing someone recount your days from a different perspective. An unknown one.

“I was surprised to see you at the theater when I followed him there. Even more so to see you in the alleyway.”

If he had said it wasn’t a coincidence, you genuinely didn’t know what you’d have done. You’d be scared and angry. Another predator lurking just past the tree lines.

Your relief must have been visible. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Alastor asked, leaning over and letting his shoulder bump into yours. He was still riding the high of putting away your belongings in his closet and drawers.

“Yeah. He gives me a bad feeling. Like…a brick wall barreling toward me.” You kicked a leaf off the steps, “Or like, when you see a big dark cloud on the horizon. Can’t do anything but wait and hunker down.”

How do you wait out a storm so set on burying you?

“Dear,” his hands rose and palms flipped up in a way that said he wasn’t hiding anything, “We get hurricanes annually. We’ve survived every one thus far. He’s just a drip. A sprinkle of a man.”

People have drowned on land before. A sprinkle could lead to pneumonia and that could lead to a wooden box.

He tried to change the topic, laughing about Brenda’s reaction to the call and making plans for an evening out when things settled down again. You listened, but it was your turn to be half there.

You could barely muster concern when you realized you’d forgotten your makeup and hair wrap at home when you were preparing for bed. What you would give for going home barefaced with a ruined hairdo to be the biggest stress of your week.

The distance in your stare was weighing down his joy, how could he relish in the newest addition to his home when you were so burdened? Even in the moonless night he could see the faintest light reflecting off your eyes as you stared at the ceiling. Did you even feel his stare?

He couldn’t let Brady poison his bed, and the man was clearly there now. Chasing you in your mind still.

“Could I offer you a distraction?” Alastor slipped up against you, hand finding your hip. He could see your smile forming.

“I wouldn’t argue against a distraction…,” you’d beg for one if you didn’t want to feel any lower than you already did.

“Perfect. This bed isn’t made for three, so let’s eject that little nag, dear.” His hands slipped down your legs, “I want to replace your thoughts with better ones.” He pulled you to him, your back pressed into his broad chest. The way his soft hands smoothed over your silk slip felt like foreplay, so smooth and slick. Frictionless and gentle. Those same hands ran down and between your legs, following the line of your thighs until they found your center. “It seems you forgot something else.” Two fingers caressed your lower lips, barely parting them, “Not that I’m complaining…,” his lips found the back of your neck as his fingers rubbed gently at your core.

It took so very little to get your body on board, wet and relaxed for his practiced hand. Your own fingers coming down to rub at your clit quickly when you felt your pleasure winding up.

He sighed directly into the shell of your ear, hands working in tandem with yours under the covers. His back pressed against you, hips rolling into your backside in time with his fingers.

“What are you thinking about?” Barely above a whisper as he said it into your heated skin.

“Fingers.”

“Whose?” His voice was deeper than his usual speaking tone. A tenor that made you clench around him.

“Yours.”

You’d never been so satisfied with hands before. With breath. With the sounds of a man. Never saw stars while clothed and not under the lights of the stage. Warm and wet kisses to your neck as you came down from your high, you’d never considered sex could be more than a man fucking someone. Nor that a man could find pleasure so readily with his cock still in his pants. But the way he hummed and growled softly into your skin was proof of his good time.

You’d learned a lot from those progressively chillier nights at Alastor’s over the first week of your constant cohabitation. How much you liked waking up with someone just a reach away. How Alastor woke slowly, incapable of coherent speech for at least the first twenty minutes of his day. He’d stare and smile as his eyes blinked out of sync, rolling back occasionally as he fought the urge to fall back into sleep. Hair disheveled and soft.

When the weekend came, Alastor offered again to take you out. A promise to take you somewhere no detectives would be hiding about. A week without a peep, you were sure he had followed up with your mother and was probably steaming to get at you. But, for some reason or another, he hadn’t appeared again in the crowd of your shows.

A week of going into work unmade and unkempt, you finally gave in and asked to be taken to your apartment early Friday. You’d grab a few items you needed, take them to work, and be back home that night.

Your eyes were on Alastor when his car pulled up to your building. When he kissed you, your hand scratched at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck. Eyes closed, you could smell him and feel him so much clearer. Perhaps when you were old together you wouldn’t have to worry about your sight giving out, you thought. Because you’d always know it was him by the way his skin on yours lit you up.

“Pack something you’d like to wear out tomorrow night.” He reminded you before you pulled yourself from the car and waved him off. You lingered for a moment as he drove away, wondering if maybe the storm had been pushed off course.

“Oooh, who is he?”

Whipping around, you saw a familiar face sitting on the stoop of your building. An unwelcome one, though.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mavis?” Your bag fell from your hands as the strength drained from your limbs.

She patted the dust off her dress before bouncing down the steps. “The names Ephi now.” A half sister, though perhaps a quarter sister would be best to describe the often absentminded, when not literally absent, sibling.

“That’s not a name that’s a fucking letter of the alphabet. Mama would smack the color of your cheeks if she heard you.” You were sure you’d not see her ever again, not after she ran off to head north before your mother passed. She scowled, arms crossed as you brushed past her. “I don’t have any money so you wasted a trip. See ya in another decade.”

Ephi grinned up at you as you climbed the stairs, “Looked like he had some money. Mr. Big Shot and his shiny bus.”

“Lotsa people have cars.” Your eyes landed on the suitcase poorly hidden behind the steps. Hand halting its search for the building key as you could feel the stare of your mother looking…down? A weight slipping over your shoulders like a man’s heavy winter coat.

“Well I don’t need money or cars. I need a place to crash.”

Your head fell. You could feel it coming. The gust of wind dragging the clouds slowly towards you. No, the storm wasn’t off course. It was just building momentum.

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

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

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Hi Miss Raven! I am here today to ask if you have any thoughts on Ortho’s age. I see a lot of people saying that Ortho is mentally a child which is the reason he’s left out of a lot of like x reader stuff which I totally understand why that would be uncomfortable. Sometimes I see people saying that Ortho is actually closer to 16 though? I’m kinda confused now so I wanted your opinion. Thanks and sorry if this is an uncomfortable subject or something.

Like I expressed in this post about Malleus’s mental age, I don’t think there’s a very obvious right or wrong answer to this. To the second anon, please refer to the post I linked to answer your question.

I understand that people can be uncomfortable shipping Ortho with other characters, who are typically teenagers or actual adults, due to how he appears very young. That’s entirely their right to do so, and it’s a valid stance to have. I myself choose to avoid shipping Ortho too, but I have additional reasons that I won’t get into here since it gets sort of personal 😅 However, I also hold the opinion that Ortho is not mentally a child, even if he may physically present as one because of his small stature.

Let’s quickly review the lore behind Ortho and why some fans see him as a child. He’s a technomantic android created by Idia and imbued with the memories of the original Ortho, the younger Shroud brother who passed away in a horrible accident. In 6-75, we learn that Idia was 10 years old at the time of this accident, meaning that Ortho was 2 years younger than him at 8 (since Idia is currently 18 and, in book 7, Ortho is starting his first year at RSA as a 16-year old).

Ortho mentions in his Birthday Gear vignettes that he has the strongest birthday memories of 11 years ago. If we assume Ortho is 16ish now (also stated in his Birthday Gear), this seems to imply that OG!Ortho died after his 5th birthday, perhaps as young as 5 years old. Idia would be 7ish around the time Ortho is 5. Factoring in the 2 years that pass after Ortho’s death, Idia is would be 9-10ish. This creates a potential contradiction, as the S.T.Y.X. researchers appear to claim Idia was 10 at the time of Ortho’s death and not 2 years after it. The only way this works is if they were talking about 10 year-old Idia in the present, but Idia was actually closer to 7-8 when he hacked the security systems 💦 I’m going to assume ghat the “strongest birthday memories” mentioned in the Birthday Gear vignettes simply refers to a very detailed memory due to the happiness OG!Ortho experienced that year, not that it was the last birthday he experienced before death.

It should also be noted that it took Idia roughly 2 years to actually make the technomantic android we now know as Ortho. If we add these 2 years to Ortho's original age at death (5 to 8), he would be around 7-10ish in his new form. For the sake of simplicity, I will assume the older age estimates in the rest of their discussion.

Ortho's official profile lists his height as 148 cm, which is significantly more than the height of the average 10-year old boy (~138.5 cm). His actual height is, however, very close to the average height of a 12-year old boy (149 cm). Ortho at this point also sounds different than the child Ortho we see in Idia's post-OB flashback, indicating that our Ortho is slightly older than at the time of death. Idia most likely designed robo!Ortho to match the age Ortho would have been at, had he lived those 2 years.

Altogether, this, at best, places Ortho at 8 years old minimum and 10, maybe 12 years old maximum. That makes him not even a teenager yet--so why do I think he's actually closer to 16 mentally and not 10-12? Because he knows much more than the average child does and is able to very eloquently verbalize his vast knowledge.

Now, I do think an argument can be made that Ortho only knows as much as he does (including his vocabulary) because of his inherent nature as a robot and not as an organic being. Ah, and here's the crux of the issue: can we judge an android by the same standards as that of a human??? In my eyes, a gifted or genius child cannot compete with the capabilities of a supercomputer. Ortho is equipped with very advanced learning algorithms, which allow him to pick up on and learn quickly--and this is something that I equate with his ability to grow and develop as though he were human. In Fairy Gala If, Ortho defines his own understanding of evolution and applies that concept to his runway walk. Even the emotions that Ortho currently expresses are the result of him learning from the media he consumes and then emulating them. He's formally recognized as a student late in book 6 as well, which effectively makes him a first year (most of which are 16ish). I assume that Ortho even starts to take classes meant for first year high school students at that point, and has no issues with the difficulty of the material. I think that, to label him as 10-12ish or even 8, it unnecessarily infantilizes Ortho minimizes his own advanced ability to learn and grow and change: things that are most definitely human.

I also think that Ortho's behaviors are too mature for a typical child. That's not to say that he's the peak of maturity (let's not forget how often he defaults to trying to laser beam his problems away), but Ortho is typically very logical and relies on cold, hard facts to make optimal decisions. He is also the one that usually moderates Idia and tries to encourage healthy behaviors in him, like socializing, leaving his room, sleeping on time, eating well, trying new things, etc. Ortho is essentially his brother's keeper for a good chunk of the main story and in vignettes (like Ceremonial Robes) and events (Harveston Sledathon, Wish Upon a Star, etc.). This isn't an absolute, of course. I can see people pointing out that Ortho only acts logical because he's a robot, or that little kids are sometimes forced to "grow up" faster due to their pressing circumstances (which, in this case, is Idia and his anxiety). These are valid interpretations too. If memory serves correctly, the students at NRC don't exactly treat Ortho like some baby that wandered onto campus. At most, they tend to just refer to him as Idia's kid brother. ("Kid" here not referring to Ortho literally being a child; it could also be interpreted as "younger" brother or the "younger/little" Shroud.) The few who do make fun of him for looking young tend to be mobs or painted as misunderstanding him (as is the case with Ortho's Ignihyde Gear vignettes). Ortho even seems to be surprised at being mistaken for a child by Diasomnia mobs: "A kid? Oh, you must not know who I am since you're freshmen."

Idia had the liberty to design Ortho's body however he wanted. As previously stated though, it's likely that he modeled the body off of the age of death rather than updating it to reflect a more mature mentality. In other words, Ortho's body doesn't reflect what he knows or how he acts. If I had to give a real world comparison, it's like how there are really short adults--but that doesn't make them any less of an adult just because they're short; they often can't help their bodies being that way. (In Idia's book 7 dream, Ortho at age 16 is still depicted as being short.)

I do think that, to some degree, Ortho is aware that he presents like a child and knows how to use this to his advantage to get his way. He sometimes plays it up to beg Idia to come out of his room, and, in his Ignihyde Gear vignettes, Ortho plays innocent to Trein so that it seems like some mob students are bullying him (even though the truth is that Ortho was playing embarrassing videos of said mob students for he public to view). "Professor, I was just minding my own business and drying the sheets when these two started yelling at me... *sniffle*"

Those are my thoughts! Please bear in mind that this is just my own interpretation; it's in no way canon, and nor am I insisting it to be. Ortho's age is officially stated as "undefined", so I don't think there's a clear number we can put to him. It's really up to individual interpretation! I hope that I was able to provide both sides to the argument and sufficient information for you to come to your own conclusions about Ortho's age ^^

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