#clearly this is a copy-paste message

[heavyheavycream]

Hello! I'm asking around some of my favorite feederism / kink / etc. artists questions and seeking advice, if that's ok. I've been interested for a bit in starting to post my own stuff (I already draw it for myself, but I'm proud of a few and wanna share) , but I get really paranoid about people making the connection to my main account and getting bullied or like. Called out.

I was wondering if you had any words on what it's like posting art of this kind online, how open you are about it, if you have a separate main account or not, etc?

probably not the answer you were looking for, but i can't pretend i trust the world enough to be open minded about this kink.

if anybody ever finds out who i am and makes the connection with my everyday art i will nuke my blog and delete everything :3c

(but it's been a year and a half since i've started, and i've never fucked up, tumblr rly allows you to seperate your conversations and blogs. for twitter and bluesky i just created a new email adress :)

[gaspexclamationpoint]

Marble hornets x Slendermansion AU but instead of Hoodie and Masky being proxies they also live in a small cabin in the same woods and are constantly trying to sabotage the creeps plans. Hoodie learns Jeff is supposed to kill some random family and follows him there to purposely set the home security system off and Masky jumps out of the closet and tackles Jeff. They all run away to their own homes afterwards when the cops are called. The Operator/Slenderman could put a stop to it if he so pleased, but finds the shenanigans amusing.

[lie-lover]

i have a theory: merasmus is referred to by most of his friends with he/him but almost all of the times he's referred to by government or newspapers or whatever who supposedly dont know him they use she/her and nouns like ma'am and stuff. what if merasmus is transmasc but hasnt gotten it officially documented, so hes still seen as a woman in government documents?

i just have this mental video of soldier going "Merasmus has pretended to be a lot of things, like a good roomate! and a woman! in fact, he pretended to be a woman so well the government still believes him! Hah, those officials won't know what hit 'em when they find out the truth"

[satori-runa]

—Past the barrier

Summary: You try to communicate with your new friend but end up with more than expected.

Tags: Fluff, Mr Crawling is just a big puppy

Words: 0,6k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It had been a while since Mr. Crawling joined you in your search for the elusive exit. The strange, puppy-like ghost had been a mysterious yet oddly comforting presence at your side. Over time, your casual companionship turned into something deeper, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint when you first realized you had feelings for him.

Your interactions with Mr. Crawling were always endearing. He would sometimes try to teach you words in his own funny way, and in turn, you would teach him about the little things he seemed curious about: The words you use, the touches you like, or how to fold paper into a crane. His face would light up, head tilting like a confused puppy as he observed you with eager interest. You hadn’t expected it, but you began to notice that he would often mimic your actions, his tall form reflecting your movements with an innocence that made you smile.

The language barrier between you two was daunting, so you started using hand signs to communicate. You were determined to get your message across as clearly as possible, fingers moving slowly and carefully. The first time you tried it, however, Mr. Crawling simply watched you with a wide smile before attempting to copy your signs. His ghostly fingers moved in a clumsy imitation, and you both ended up staring at each other in confusion.

A small giggle escaped your lips, and Mr. Crawling’s face softened as if he understood your amusement. He tilted his head, then mimicked the sound of your laugh with a faint, high-pitched chuckle of his own. It was a simple moment, but you realized then just how fond you had become of him.

One day, while taking a brief rest in a quiet corner, you decided to teach him a new hand sign. You carefully held up your hand, forming a simple gesture for "together." It felt like a fitting sign to share with him, a small way to show your gratitude for his company. But instead of copying your motion like he usually did, Mr. Crawling paused, his smile growing.

Slowly, he reached out, his rough fingers brushing against yours. He didn’t mimic the sign this time. Instead, his cold fingers intertwined with yours, clasping your hand in a way that was unmistakably tender. The unexpected gesture made your breath hitch. His grip was delicate, almost hesitant, as if he was worried you might pull away.

You glanced up at his face, expecting to find confusion there, but instead, you saw something far softer. His expression had lost its usual puppy-like curiosity: there was a sincerity in his expression now, a look that felt both innocent and full of yearning. He tilted his head, almost as if asking if this was okay, if you felt the same unspoken connection he did. “You okay? You like hand?”

Your heart fluttered, warmth spreading through you despite the cold touch of his hand. You squeezed his fingers gently, offering a small nod and a smile. At that moment, no words or hand signs were needed. He seemed to understand, a soft, relieved noise escaping his lips as he relaxed against you, holding your hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You leaned closer, your shoulders brushing, and he mimicked the action with a excited, bubbly hum. The two of you stayed like that for a long while, fingers intertwined, sharing a quiet moment in a place that seemed devoid of any other warmth but the one growing between you.

Before you knew it, he spoke up again. His words were easy to understand this time.

“I like you.”

[milk-lover]

My clinical psych prof is 84, has a Wikipedia page, clearly does not know how to use Canvas, and posts assignments under helpfully named links such as “syl.l.(f23).doc”

I think this will be a good semester.

[lazysoulwriter]

don’t shut me out — i’d rather hear the hard things. - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: misunderstanding, hurt/comfort, emotional vulnerability, soft!Pedro, hurt feelings but lots of love, happy ending. established relationship.

It wasn’t a big fight. But it was the kind that lingers.

You didn’t yell. No slammed doors. Just that quiet kind of tension that builds in the space between words, where a misunderstanding blooms and neither of you knows how to stop it from growing.

It started with something stupid.

A text Pedro saw on your phone while you were in the kitchen. From someone he didn’t know. Friendly, a little flirty — nothing you asked for, but enough to make something tighten in his chest.

And when he asked you about it — gentle, but clearly bothered — you shrugged.

“It’s nothing. You don’t have to worry.”

He nodded.

But he did worry.

Not because he didn’t trust you. He did. He trusted you more than anyone. But some part of him — the tired, bruised part that still remembered past heartbreaks — whispered that maybe this was how it started. A shift. A turning point.

A distance.

The problem was, he didn’t say that.

Instead, he got quiet. A little colder. Not cruel, never that — but reserved in a way that felt unfamiliar. Conversations felt clipped. His arms felt looser when he hugged you goodnight.

And you noticed.

Because you weren’t dumb. And you weren’t heartless. You just… didn’t understand what you’d done.

So you pulled back too.

And for two whole days, it was like you were tiptoeing around each other. Careful. Polite. Heartbreaking.

It all cracked open on a Thursday night.

You were folding laundry. Pedro was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching you with an expression that made your chest ache.

“I miss you,” you said quietly.

That broke him.

“I’m right here,” he said. But even he didn’t sound convinced.

“No, you’re not,” you replied, voice shaking. “You haven’t really looked at me since Tuesday.”

Pedro swallowed hard, guilt painting every inch of his face. “I know. I—”

You sat beside him.

“What happened?” you asked. “Just… tell me.”

He hesitated.

Then: “I saw that message. The one from—whoever that was. And I knew it wasn’t your fault. I know that. But I just—” he shook his head, voice cracking. “I didn’t want to be the jealous guy. So I tried to let it go.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t. And instead of talking to you, I let it eat at me and now… here we are.”

You exhaled slowly, your hand sliding into his.

“I never replied,” you said. “I didn’t even think to bring it up because it was nothing. But I hate that it made you feel like I was pulling away.”

“I hate that I let myself believe it.”

You turned toward him.

“Next time… don’t shut me out,” you whispered. “I’d rather hear the hard things than go two days without really having you.”

Pedro looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time in days.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For freezing up. For being scared. For letting it get in my head.”

You brushed your fingers through his hair, tugging gently until his forehead was against yours.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you whispered. “You just have to be you. Let me in, even when it’s messy.”

Pedro kissed you then — slow and apologetic, all warmth and truth.

And when he pulled away, he exhaled against your lips.

“I love you,” he said. “So much it terrifies me sometimes.”

You smiled. “Good. Means you’re doing it right.”

And that night, you fell asleep wrapped around each other — no space left to misunderstand, no silence left to fill.

Just soft, breathing hearts finally finding their way back home.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[letteremi]

Satoru should have never let you leave. Should’ve stopped you from opening that damn door with tendrils of cursed energy — explanation on his lips, flowers in his hands. Couldn’t forget the raw pain in your eyes as you gave him one last look, tears streaming down your cheeks.

All that’s left is raw, blistering self-loathing, eating him alive. 

It’s all he hears at night. Your voice, ragged, hoarse, and tearing at his chest, “You nearly died, Satoru! And you didn’t tell me a fucking thing!”

The memory replays, vivid but fuzzy at the edges. Each time, he focuses on something different, as if fighting to protect them from the hungry clutches of the ticking clock. The trembling of your hands, the tears threatening to spill angry rivers down your cheeks. 

His heart breaks every time, shattering under words left unsaid. 

“Don’t you think I deserve to know these things? That I have the right to need to know? All I’ve ever asked for was the truth.” 

He remembers the weight of your confession, he remembers how he just stood there, helpless. Out of excuses. 

“And don’t you give me that shit about not wanting to worry me. I would rather be right fucking there — holding your broken body — than stand there clueless, watching from the sidelines like I’m nothing.”

He wanted to call you. Desperately. Voice messages that he’s yet to delete — he’ll never delete — talk him to sleep most nights. 

Because it’s not about you, breathless and clearly rushing (if the sound of rustling clothes is anything to go by), apologising for being late. It’s not about your curt, ‘call me when you get this’, before the beep. And it’s not hearing you sheepishly admit that you’ve locked yourself out of the apartment, yet again, and to come home soon, Satoru. 

It’s about clawing himself back to a time where the only constant in his life was you. Where he was yours. And you were his. And the thought of it being anything else was impossible, an alternate universe where down was up and up was down. 

In the years that follow, he saw glimpses of your face in strangers that pass by, shadowed ghosts in the grocery line. His breath hitched when new dates asked about past loves, and the sound of your laugh would ring through his mind. It’s losing its cadence; it sounds muted nowadays. 

But now, the buzz of hundreds of murmuring guests fills the room. Delicate rays of light cascade through glazed windows, illuminating the bundles of wisteria artfully positioned amongst sculpted pillars. He remembers how you gushed about the very same glittering glass, and how you wanted to walk down the aisle to the Howl’s Moving Castle OST — it plays throughout the wedding hall right now. 

But as he looks at the dazzling bride standing before him, he remembers one last thing.

It should’ve been you.

-

a/n: was listening to spring into summerrrrrrr lizzy mcalpine for life actually. i love angst <3 peep the ts reference?

© 2025 letteremi. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost my work to any platforms 

[riemanifests]

Manifestation is a synonym for reflection.

Warning: this is a going to be a long post!

i feel like so many manifestors have truly lost the plot for what manifestation is. a lot of people don't understand that it's just another word for reflection, so hopefully this will help some of you. also, i mean reflection in terms of the 3d being a mirror of the 4d.

┈┈ 　⊹　The relationship between the 4d and the 3d

The 4d: the inner reality which is the source for the 3d. The 3d: the outer reality which is a reflection of the 4d. Exist in Mind = Exist in reality Exist in Mind -> Exist in reality Let's say a scene of you seeing a red car, a scene of your Sp texting you, and a scene of you having a donut all exist in your mind right now. If you kept those scenes alive in your imagination, that will result in a red car driving past you, your sp texting you, and you having that donut all in reality. That is what you call manifestation. also you are not in charge of making the 3d reflect the 4d and you don't even need to make that happen because it just does. the 3d is always reflecting the 4d and it does that on its own. so remove the added stress on yourself of worrying about "omg how can i get reality to reflect this", no, place the focus back on you.

┈┈ 　⊹　Causality

Cause = Mind Effect = Reality Cause -> Effect Mind -> Reality

Cause: you persisted in having a job Effect: you got a job Cause: you persisted in being unloved Effect: you're unloved by those around you Cause: you persisted in your Sp texting you Effect: your sp texted you can you change an effect with an effect? no. can you change an effect without changing the cause? no. can you get an effect without having the cause? no. so for those of you who are so stubborn about removing your focus from the 3d and just focusing on changing your mind, realize you are in your own fucking way. just do the work change the cause and you will experience a different effect. and again, please stop worrying and giving into the fear that you will not get the desired effect even with the desired cause. that just doesn't make sense. it is guaranteed that whatever exists in your mind will exist in your reality. that is the law.

┈┈ 　⊹　You don't need physical action.

think about those who try to change reality with physical action but never succeed because their mindset contradicts the action. they're trying to cause something to happen by changing the effect while keeping the cause the same. Cause leads to effect, always. Mind leads to reality, always. that is why we don't need to take physical action, because it's not about reality, it's about you. "You cant solve a mental problem with a physical solution" - Nero Knowledge. If your mindset is always like "Sp has no interest in me and Sp will never love me", then even if you follow your Sp's page or messaged them, you're still going to end up with a reality that reflects your mindset. so instead of wasting all of your time, focus, and effort on changing things with physical action, change them with mental action. and this is also why some people try to use methods like the 369 method but never end up with their desires, because their mindset towards it still hasn't changed. you can play all of the subliminals in the world and script all you want, but if your mind is against those things and hasn't changed, then don't expect reality to change.

┈┈ 　⊹　Manifestation

From the dictionary: an event, action, or object that clearly shows or embodies something, especially a theory or an abstract idea. Manifestation: When something from the mind is physically expressed into reality. other ways you can think about it is something intangible turning into the tangible or exists mentally = exists physically. think about a printer as well. reality is the printed copy of your mind. your mind is the original and reality is the copy. when reality copies the original, that is manifestation. manifestation is actually really easy and something that you don't even need to figure out how to do. your mind is a manifestation machine that works already. all you need to do is focus on what you want manifested.

┈┈ 　⊹　Extra Notes about Manifestation

you are always manifesting: manifestation isn't something you turn on or off. even if you don't feel like it or you're not intentionally doing it, you're always manifesting. your mind already knows how to manifest for you: so let it. stop trying to take it's job of figuring out how you're going to manifest something, and do your job of focusing on what you want manifested. you can manifest anything: if it can exist in your mind, then it can exist in reality. the only limits you have to what you can manifest are the ones you place upon yourself. it doesn't have to exist in reality first: it's actually the opposite, for something to exist in reality it must first exist in the mind. so if right now you don't see it or have it in reality, that's okay. all you need is to see it and have it in your mind for reality to reflect that.

┈┈ 　⊹　How to manifest

for this i'll use the example of manifesting an Sp and a phone. step one: figure out what it is you want - for my sp to text me - to get a new phone

step two: figure out how you can make this exist in your mind - for the text ill just visualize it happening every time i think about it - for the phone ill just talk to myself about it every time i think about it step three: focus on it existing and being done in your mind - every time i think about the text ill continuously remind myself that i got it by visualizing it. - this is me focusing on it already being done. - every time i think about the phone ill continuously remind myself that i have it by talking to myself about how much i love it. that's literally all you have to do. the rest is for your mind to handle, but either way all you need to do is focus on what you do want manifested. since it exists in your mind it will exist in reality. just let it exist in your mind be aware of the fact that it's yours now and stick to that. reality will reflect your mind as it always has and always will.

[aestherians]

sorry to be a hater of sorts. but you are not an animal, or whatever else other than a human that you happen to identify as.

it is not about wanting. it is about BEING, and if you look in the mirror you’ll realise you’re just a human. it doesn’t make a difference if you struggle with it. get over it. a lot of people have to get over it. you cannot be indulged in a fantasyland 24/7. quite simply, grow up

Huh, I don't think I've gotten one of these asks since 2017...

First things first, starting off a rather hateful and concern-trolling message with "sorry" doesn't alleviate you of any potential harm done. You're trying to upset me. You're rude, you're mean, and you clearly realize it, since you're only willing to say these things anonymously. Don't try to soften your blows by apologizing preemptively. It's bitchy at best and belittling at worst.

I'm gonna take a guess and say this is a copy-pasted message, since you couldn't even be bothered to name my therio-/kintypes. How many other people have you tried to upset with these messages? And for what reason? What's your goal? Is the world not cruel enough already?

But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, since these kinds of messages have become such a rarity, and since I haven't written anything for this blog in months. Consider it an invitation to reach out again some day, once you've mulled things over. I'll get vulnerable with you and lay myself bare, and in return I hope you'll consider seeing me as a person, instead of just a target for your anger.

You say reality, identity, and self-perception ('cause that's what this is; that's what otherkinity is) is about being, not wanting. I say that's an oversimplified worldview.

Who can we be if there's nothing we want? A person without desires is hardly a fully realized person. The identity of the person who wants something is as genuine as the identity of the person who has achieved something - even if they're perceived differently, and their material realities are different. The musician who dreams of going platinum, but who never gets out of dingy bars and self-published mixtapes, will still see a musician when she looks in the mirror - even if others just see a mediocre hobbyist. Even if others compare her to professionals, natural talents, and nepo-babies, whose achievements she can never hope to reach. Should the wanting musician let others define for her what it means to be a musician? Even if her music is bad and she'll never hit it big? She wants to be a musician. She plays because of her desires. She lives her life according to her wants. Does that not make her wants a part of who she is?

To some extent you are what you want. The line between wanting and being is blurry.

I do want to be nonhuman, on some level. I'd gladly give up this life to live as a gnoll. I suppose my desires are fantastical, but no less so than those of the poor musician who dreams of going platinum. Should she stop playing because she'll never achieve her dreams? Should I stop calling myself a gnoll just because I'll never have the body of one? I act out being a gnoll, through my digital persona, my fantasy scenarios, and my art. I do what I can to be a gnoll. I am as much an embodiment of my desires as the mediocre hobbyist musician is.

Have you ever gotten what you wished for?

I collect trading cards as a hobby. After years of searching, I got some of my dreamies and completed parts of my collection. I felt satisfied for a day, but the satisfaction quickly turned into boredom and listlessness. My instincts (be they human or gnoll) crave the hunt more than the kill. I get a greater thrill out of wanting than achieving. I wouldn't be happy without my unachievable desires.

I think, on some level, to want is to be.

And while my wants may be strange, at least they don't involve deliberately trying to hurt other people.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 5)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

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

Part 5 Too Much

Actions famously speak louder than words, so what did you say, exactly, to Alastor with your actions that night? You were briefly rattled by what happened in the park but not for the obvious reasons. Despite everything, despite your fears, you found the situation deepening between you two when he suddenly invites to stay the night at his home. Perhaps he had fears of his own?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! That’s next part because this part was already super fucking long 😭 , but we do flirt our asses off and get taken by the hand, crying, panic attacks, discussions of murder, dead bodies, you really have to stop smoking, deer, adorably nervous Alastor, this man owns more than one mug you fucking know it」

19 days later… 😩 please don’t kill me. 5000 words here, Another like 6000 words are posting this Thursday, also tumblr wouldn’t let me post this for like an hour , just gave me error messages, I had to copy and paste 4 times so there may be some errors in here so let me know if you find spelling or format issues🙏

When he came to, momentarily either unconscious or just incapacitated as his brain started up again, he was frantic for his glasses. He could hear the sounds of a brutal death, the crunch of anger, the squish of rage. 

His eyes focused now, slightly askew and smudged glasses helping him see you clearly. 

Leaning over the man, hands red and face twisted in a marriage of fear and wrath, you were bringing a large rock down on the man’s unrecognizable face over and over and over and—

You flinched when Alastor’s hands delicately slipped down your arms and peeled your fingers from the rock.

Full body shaking, “He was going to kill you!” You said it too loud, too fast. “He was going to—,” Your breath got caught in your throat, “He wanted to— He was trying to kill you, Alastor.”

Wet with mud and blood and the rain still left on the grass, you were pulled into Alastor’s lap. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck with a small wince and hugged you. “He was. He almost did.” Low and slow, his chest rumbled when he said it. “You did such a good job.”

You looked down at your hands, but he pulled your face back up to look at his, “Always surprising me in the best ways.”

You’d forgotten already, how when adrenaline wanes you’re left with terrible tremors and a suddenly clear head. Alastor almost died. You hadn’t thought at all when it happened. Everything had taken place so fast, faster than your brain could process.

You had seen Alastor stop struggling against the man, his body went still and your eyes were blinded with tears, there was a horrible sound that may have come from you, and then there was nothing. A flash of running Colors. Distant muddled sounds.

Maybe you saw someone grab a rock. 

You might have hit the man on the back of the head. 

You think he fell down and something didn’t stop moving against him. 

Perhaps you thought if you hit him enough you could make it have not happened at all. If you killed him fast enough, Alastor would have been fine and standing.

But you weren’t sure. You blinked and Alastor was touching you and underneath you was a pulp of a man’s face. 

Alastor’s heart was racking against his ribs. Arms tightening around you unconsciously as his eyes landed on the dead man.

He’d gotten too comfortable. He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. He was too much.

He felt himself spilling over and staining your hands metaphorically and now literally.

You didn’t feel anything. Not during. Now you felt too much.

Your mind was filled with an echoing chorus of, ‘He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost died. He almost died.” 

There was a strange fear that Alastor had died, and any second you’d blink again and be alone in the trees with two dead men. You twisted in his lap,  hands rocketing to Alastor’s face and gripping the sides of his head. You were staring into his eyes, panting.

“You can’t die. I’ll—,” tears poured down your face in streams not drops. Your throat closed around the words. Short and fast, your breath ran wild. Hands tingling, your lips felt like they were pricked with a hundred tiny needles. 

Alastor pushed down his own mess of emotions, “One deep breath in.” His hands settled on yours,  still on his face. He could feel the familiar stickiness of drying blood in his hair. “Keep breathing in.” You coughed, shaking your head no. “You can, I promise it. Would I lie to you?”

You laughed, managing to catch your breath for a moment, “Y-yes.” 

“Well, now you’re adding insult to injury.” He made a show of rubbing his neck. You smacked his chest lightly, breathing in twice in a row.

He held both of your hands in both of his, “Name a time I’ve ever lied.” He distracted you but wounded himself. He could name a time.

You tried to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a really good liar.” Your voice was hoarse. 

Alastor nodded, “That’s true, there’s actually nothing I can’t do well.”

Another laugh, a cry, “Stop it.”

His warm, clean hands wiped your tears. “You’re being aggressive again, sweetheart. You know I prefer soft spoken women.”

The laughter helped break the cycle of hyperventilating. As your breathing finally got to a manageable speed you felt exhaustion deep in your bones.

All at once the sensations became prominent. Your knees were red and muddy, your hands bloody, your left side and back wet. You were sticky and sore and cold. “Alastor,” his legs were framing you, yours now folded under yourself and digging into rocks, “I wanna go home.” You adjusted his glasses, “Together.” 

If he had a reason to say no, he ignored it. 

“I thought I was the messy one.” He washed your hands with the water cans and settled you into the passenger seat of his car. Alastor took care of filling the trunk and cleaning the ground before sliding into the driver's seat.

He turned to you, his face dirty and clothes worse. You looked down at yourself; knees a color of wine, and blue dress now dyed brown.

“I know you have to get rid of him. So, I won’t ask you to sleep over. Just,” you felt sleepy, mind asking you to let it catch up, “let me take care of you for a little bit. Okay?”

His hand slipped onto your leg, he wanted to make a joke about sex or murder hoping to make you laugh again. But it was obvious he needed to be quiet, so he just nodded.

Alastor left the car on a side street behind your building. The man whose name you never asked concealed under canvas and red oil tins.

Luckily everything was clean in your apartment. It was small, just one room and a bathroom. The other apartments you’d seen had communal toilets and showers so you were quite proud of your space. You’d made it yours, gifted trinkets here and there, walls decorated with hanging dried flowers you'd had thrown at your feet. A shrine to your abilities.

You peeled off his clothes, tossing them in the kitchen sink and wiping off as much dirt as you could with a damp rag. 

Clothing hanging over the radiator, you both got into the shower. Cold and wet now hot and soaking,  you took his hands and sat you both down in the tub while the water ran down. Taking your time, you gently scratched the blood and mud from his hair and let it all wash away.

When fully cleaned and dried off he slipped on the only bit of clothing he had left, a loose pair of boxer shorts. You had a slip, silky and soft, to comfort you. Your mother wore silk, and it always made you feel safe. The way the fabric slid around its self and others, never catching or bunching up, was something you always hoped to emulate; smooth and cool, but always in need of a little caution and care.

A small bed meant for one, but you offered it. When Alastor motioned for you to slide in too, you didn’t hesitate.

Nose to nose, the room was quickly heating up with the radiator's help. 

You hadn’t been in a bed with Alastor in nearly two months, not since that first time. His words stuck to you like embroidered messages lovingly stitched into a handkerchief you didn’t want to lose. So you kept your hands between your thighs, still and away, to make sure he had space to exist in your bed.

“You saved my life.” Alastor whispered, one of you finally bringing up the obvious.

A hummed acknowledgment, “That makes us even.” He saved you before, you did the same in turn. A little piece of you worried the contract was done and he’d disappear.

“No, my dear. I owe you so much more.” A kiss to your cheek.

A terrifying thought took hold of you. “Roll over.” He looked confused but did. You were always asking him to turn away, always trying to hide your face when you said things that scared you. You hooked your arms under his and held tightly. 

“If I wasn’t there, there’s no one to have told me. How long would I have waited,” another torrent of tears into his back you couldn’t keep in if you tried, “at the phone booth for you to call in the morning.”

You were crying like a child, uncontrolled and with your entire body. Pathetic. 

He had never had someone to worry about those details. Everyone truly close to him was dead. Until now, of course. 

Of course.

What a natural addition you provided to him. He thought it like that it was a long standing fact.

He hugged your arms tighter to his chest. 

A shiver of fear in the warm bed as you continued, “I want to be there. With you. Always.” You gathered your courage. Shields completely down, if just for a moment, “I know there was nothing right about tonight but,” you wiped your tears off his back with your palm, reabsorbing that pain before he could soak it in, “Please. Don’t shut me out now. I’ll go to hell tomorrow for you but please don’t damn me to picking up a newspaper and seeing your name in the headlines; Learning you died in block letters for a nickel. I wouldn’t survive it.”

You didn’t want to meet his eyes, worried rejection was waiting for you there, so you’d asked him to turn so you could hide. He picked up your hands and kissed your knuckles one by one. “Please don’t say things like that outloud. Things like ‘go to hell’ and ‘tomorrow’ so close together. The spirits can hear you.” A kiss to your palm, “And I wouldn’t dare shut you out.” He couldn’t. The very idea of going back to how he was before, alone and mumbling to the dead, made his heart race with his own panic. If you disappeared tomorrow he was scared to think what would happen to him. “Plus, I know you’d just find me anyway. You always do.”

Had you not been there, he would have still tried to kill the man. Waiting in an alley or for a walk home through an empty space. You weren’t at fault. He’d been hurt before, but this was by far the worst situation he had been in. But he would have been in it regardless of your participation. Alastor pressed his lips into your hand, smelling the soap you’d washed him with. 

You hadn’t hesitated. He had thought you would run, that he’d slip away into death and you’d book it to safety. Something he never planned to ask you to do, to kill someone, you’d done it for him when it was the most selfless option. Did he mean so much to you? He wanted to ask, but if you said anything other than an immediate yes he feared he would turn to a pillar of salt and crumble.

If you both could find the courage to just look at each other you’d have all your answers. But you couldn’t. The fear still too strong. So you changed the topic for a chance at an escape.

A small confession, to turn the conversation away from death. “After our dates, your cologne always lingers on my clothes. Sometimes I just fall asleep in them. When I wake up, my pillow smells like you.” Your body formed against his back, pressing as tightly as you could. How was that less embarrassing than everything else you’d said when it was arguably more pathetic?

He was quiet. You worried you’d pushed too far. Alastor worried he’d already hurt you too much.

“If you asked me,” he spoke slowly, hands resting on yours above his heart, a deep breath, “I’d stop.” He would. 

But, “I’d never ask that of you.” You said it so quickly, like blinking or yawning it happened without you needing to think about it. Alastor did something he felt he needed to do, you saw that look in his eyes before and understood this was Alastor at his truest. And the people he killed weren’t good people. He provided a service to New Orleans that no one appreciated.

He smiled against your palm, making sure you felt it, “Why are you so good to me?”

Without hesitation, Because I love you.

After a beat of silence, “Because you know where I live, obviously.”

A huff, “And where you work.” 

“And the park where I like to get fingered.”

Finally, his unburdened laugh, “I didn’t expect you to say that.” That sound of his joy bounced off the thin walls around you both. He rarely expected anything you said or did. It was part of your charm. Normally he could predict what people would say like reading a bad story, but you were something else. Effortlessly entertaining, was that a compliment? He was sure you’d say no and make that face you always did, something between a pout and a glare, between sad and angry. 

He had been asking genuinely. Why were you so good to him? Why so patient? Why care at all? 

“Can you sleep? Or do you need to go?” 

Alastor thought about it, if he left early enough he could still get home in time to empty the trunk. He hummed an affirmative, when he didn’t move you understood it was the former. He didn’t want to go. He needed more time. He needed to feel you nearby. An odd sense that if he pulled away now the thread holding you two together would pull him apart at the seams with the distance. 

You would think nightmares would plague you after killing someone in cold blood, but no. You practically killed Tommy, when you considered it thoroughly. And while this night was not a joy, you had defended yourself and Alastor. You didn’t feel bad. You didn’t regret it. You were just scared you did a bad job. That you’d get caught. 

The kind of dreams you had were different kinds of scary. Of Alastor always leaving a room when you entered, of falling off the stage and landing too far down, of waking up to feel Alastor cold beside you. 

When you did wake, your arms were still tight around him and he was warm. Your forehead rested between his shoulder blades. You didn’t feel different this time, you didn’t feel changed like after Tommy.

Alastor always had nightmares so he wasn’t surprised to have them in your bed. He dreamt he awoke on the ground, the man was gone but you were there broken into several pieces.

Had it been a dream though? 

After he dressed, you brushing his hair over a shared cup of coffee (you only had the single mug), you walked him to his car. The sun was nearly up and luckily no one else was. You had just wrapped a coat around your slip, not exactly acceptable clothing for being in public.

A shared kiss, small and chaste, Alastor’s mind elsewhere. He opened the door but stopped and turned back to you. It was always in these moments before you two parted that he felt the most frantic. 

“I know we love talking in circles and making jokes, but I have to ask you, bluntly. You killed a man. Are you alright?” When you only blinked, he quickly added, “It’s okay if you’re not.” His expression was pure worry, furrowed brows and flat mouth. “Nothing will change if you say you’re not.”

When you started to smile, Alastor thought he had lost his mind. The sun was rising behind you, making the shadows on your face slowly shift. He took a second to take in the scene. Ankles naked with sockless shoes. To your right was a trunk full of a dead man. And you just smiling like he’d made a joke. Which he explicitly said he wasn’t going to do.

“I don’t feel like I killed anyone.” You said it with a levity that made him glance around, wondering if you’d hit your head a little too hard earlier, “I feel like I stopped someone from killing you. Which feels,” you fought to suppress your smile from growing any further, “kinda good. Like I’m strong. I’m just scared I made a mistake and police will find out. I’m terrified we’ll be seperated. But I don’t feel bad.”

A normal man would be deeply concerned. You didn’t feel bad? For killing a man with a rock? Arguably one of the most brutal ways to murder a person. A normal man would worry he would be next.

Luckily for you both, Alastor was not a normal man. He stared at your face, trying to discern any hints of deceit there before he fell into the comfort of trust.

Your pinky came out, “I’m fine, and if I’m ever not, I will tell you. Promise.” His eyes left your face to stare at the tiny digit, “If I break the promise, you get to break the pinky.”

“Pinkies are useless, we should use a finger that matters.” He offered his index. You let yourself laugh, hooking your pointer finger with his.

Smile to smile, he exhaled his stress and slipped into his normal demeanor, “No worries, darling! No one will ever know what happened to him.” He leaned beside you and patted the trunk. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor drove away with the man, ready to disappear the body and try to sleep before work if possible. A nagging still sat in his stomach, a little pull that maybe you’d change your mind. 

He asked you the next morning, on your routine call, if he could stop by the theater when he finished with work that night. No reason in particular. He’d pull into the side street, and you could run out to see him.

When he arrived, you were in your stage outfit waiting to greet the crowd. Alastor smiled, “The prettiest bird I’ve ever seen!”

“A bird? Alastor just ‘pretty’ woulda been a fine compliment.” 

He offered an apology by way of kiss, soft hands coming to your cheek as he leaned against the door of his car. “I just wanted to see you. Steal a kiss before you stole some hearts. May I return tomorrow?”

Ah, that feeling again. Stupid school girl with her first crush, her first taste of love. “I wouldn’t complain.” 

That flow of conversation eased Alastor, things felt normal already. For you, they were. A small worry remained he may begin to act differently but the only difference was he seemed to be embracing you deeper. 

After your delivered kiss, you took the stage like a woman reborn. The warmth of the light felt like the sun. Pointed toes as you moved along the stage, hips loose and smile coy. 

As you looked around the backlit crowd you didn’t search for a good mark. The times you did play a man’s attention for Alastor were different, it felt like art when you lured men into Alastor’s claws.

A shake of your feathered fans, a very controlled lowering of your head, you let a hip rock out into view. A little flash of inner thigh. Then, your favorite part. One hand gripped your fans as you them with the aide of practiced fingers. Free hand undoing your still remarkably heavy and glittering bra and handing it behind the curtain.

Surprise reveal, a naked magic trick done behind distracting whirling feathers. Arms open, fans high, you waited for the applause to die down. Deep breaths were not possible, adrenaline and the weight of your costume keeping you from hiding the heaving of your chest. 

The whistles were your favorite. You couldn’t imagine Alastor whistling but you were sure it would be flawless in its ability to capture your attention. 

“Anyone wanna smoke? I don’t want to go into the alley alone.” You asked the room, several girls glancing your way and shaking their heads no as you hurried back in from your set.

“Just take the fire escape to the roof. That’s where we’ve been smoking since Mr. Brady said it was dangerous at night.” Florence was normally a perfect smoking partner, never talking too much. The name Brady made your stomach flip though, you had forgotten about him for a second. You’d managed to avoid him until Tommy’s bloody trail went cold, but you knew he still stalked around the jazz and music district.

A dancer laughed, “Nighttime has always been dangerous for women.”

Someone you didn’t see added, “Fuck, daytimes not safe either.” 

You climbed the creaky and seemingly forgotten-about fire escape to the roof. The breeze hit your face before your feet even left the metal railing. 

It was… a roof. Grey painted floors and brick sides. Nothing special, but you could see the bowl full of discarded cigarettes near the front of the building. You looked over the short wall that edged the front, you were able to see the pigeon shit covered marquee. What an unattractive view, the lights flashing out from beneath actual shit.

There was a metaphor there, you were sure. 

Looking around, there were a few wicker chairs hidden in the shadow of the street’s lights, thankfully upside down to keep them clean from the birds.

If more people used roofs instead of alleys Alastor would be out of luck. Tommy was difficult enough with a staircase, the fire escape would have been the nail in that coffin. 

It had been a lovely night, absolutely jarring compared to the night before. You leaned back in the chair, you knew you weren’t the best at saying what you meant. Especially when the words you offered could be used to hurt you. Words of affection and love, when true, were daggers given handle-first to someone else. 

So you hoped Alastor could guess how much he meant to you. You shouldn’t need to say it, right? Actions speak louder than words. You bludgeoned a man to death for what you had thought was a lost cause. It had seemed Alastor was already dead when you first brought down the rock. 

Diamonds are rocks, you considered. The most expensive costume the theater had was peacock feathered with shining crystals. You wanted to say you felt like a peacock, spirit large and wide and colorful. But those were males. Of course they were. The animal kingdom had males compete for mates with pretty colors and lovely songs. Now ladies pranced around in painted faces and short dresses. You didn’t feel pale or small like the ‘fairer sex’ peacock.

You felt like the swan. Vicious and beautiful, not out shone by anyone.

Well there was someone you’d allow to shine brighter. Someone you’d happily let take the lead. You’d thought letting a man walk in front of you was a sign of subservience. It hadn’t ever occurred to you that there could be respect in trusting someone else to go ahead. That the act of going first could be for protection and not power.

“Hey!”

You hurried to the fire escape, “yeah?”

“There’s a man asking for you. Tall guy named Frank?”

Frank?

Oh, Frank.

You’d forgotten about him. He’d left months ago. He was a whale, rich and generous. You took a moment to consider sitting down with him, smiling and laughing at his jokes, letting his hand settle on your thigh. It had been weeks since you entertained scamming anyone, and now you couldn’t even stomach the idea of faking interest in another man. Frank wasn’t one to scam, he just liked having a pretty lady on his arm to make him feel young and wanted, and in exchange you got into private parties and were gifted jewelry and clothing.

“Tell him I’m busy and send him off.” You hollered down. You could buy your own clothes. 

“Did he leave?” Alastor asked you the next morning, you leaning against the glass phone booth in the early morning light.

Your finger wrapped around the phone cord, “No of course not! They never do. I snuck out the back.”

There was a hum, “Well my dear, you’ve offered me a wonderful transition into my next question.” Alastor was sitting at his kitchen table, nervously turning his coffee cup around in circles, “Would you like to come over tomorrow night? I can pick you up after your show.”

Like a glacier drifting away from shore, you very slowly crouched down in the booth. “To your home?” 

“No, to Alabama.” He waited a beat, “Yes of course my home. I can show you what happens after I drive away.” A cheeky smile evident through his voice.

You pressed the phone receiver into your chest, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. What happens when he drives away? So…where the bodies go. But most importantly, the biggest part of this—where he lives. So much can be gleaned about someone from their home. A bookshelf alone could make or break an attraction. You brought the receiver back to your mouth. “Lovely! Sure thing— Alastor. Yes.” you almost added on an awkward nickname like daddy-o or mister man, like an idiot, because your brain was misfiring like you’d seen him in the sunlight again.

Ah, you could see his bed. 

Where he slept.

Did he ever dream of you?

What if it was terribly dirty? Could you still love him if he was a slob? 

“I’m quite far from downtown, pack an overnight bag, okay?” He stopped fidgeting with the mug. When the call ended he sat at the table for some time, staring around the kitchen. The home was large by city standards, but it was old. His mother’s charm was evident through every part. A finger scratched at the wooden table, heavy and solid. Why was his heart racing? 

He walked to the screened back door, looking from the weathered patio steps to the greenhouse. 

No one had ever been to his home. Ever. A teensy part of him was panicking. Was this a mistake? Was he going to fuck up the budding relationship? Throw off the peace of his safest place?

Budding. Okay that was ridiculous even for him. The kind of intimacy gained through murder did not allow any union to be called budding. He’d shared pieces of himself no other living soul knew of. Your image of him was possibly even more complete than his own mother had held, even though he tried to always be the most sincere with her. Even people he did care for and consider close friends had never knew where he lived. Never heard what kept him up at night. Never learned his distaste for a random lay.

Opening the screen door with a signature creak, the sound many southerners could call comforting, he walked to the greenhouse.

The newest part of the property, the glass walled structure was built shortly after his mother’s death. Double doors: locked. Just beyond the glass was a forest of plants and potted trees. They had no need for a greenhouse, but Alastor had a need for them.

He set about preparing his home for another occupant, a task that brought him such a shock of joy and anxiety he began to wonder who he was. New sheets on the bed, extra pillows set against his wooden headboard. Large glass jar in the backyard full of water and tea bags.

It was also unexpected he was thinking so much of his mother. In a perfect world she’d be there to greet you. Though if she was alive, he wouldn’t have been in that alley that night. He made a mental note to not mention his mother, at least not as much as he was remembering her as he walked around the two story home tidying.

Would he have met you if he wasn’t a killer? 

A flicker of fear was quickly extinguished by romance. Definitely. You both ran in the same scenes. He’d seen you before that night, he just never approached you. He hadn’t anticipated how much more you were than the facade you put on. Nothing about your sweet face said, ‘I have a high tolerance for murder.’

Alastor spent the day at work physically present but mentally pacing his living room. He nodded along to discussions of who was to be live on set next, smile never faltering as he worried if he had breakfast foods. He rarely ate breakfast, did you? How had he not thought to ask. Sloppy.

The only outward sign he was feeling any stress was the tapping of his finger on his desk, which he hadn’t even noticed until the stage manager commented.  

“Alastoooor,” her voice was high, like it seemed many women’s voices were recently. Was it a trend? “Impatient? Hot date with a young lady this evening?”

While she meant well, she always pried, always asked questions he didn’t appreciate. 

Alastor shook his head, smile strained. A perceptive person would have picked up on it, but Brenda was not perceptive.

“Oh.” A noticeable disappointment, “That’s boring.”

Actually on second thought maybe she didn’t mean well.

“I’ve had too much coffee, is all, Brenda.” He pulled his hand into his lap. “Was there anything you needed?” 

“No,” she pouted, much less endearing than you.

If he murdered purely for fun Debra would be dead before sunset. Unfortunately her only crime was being remarkably annoying.

Alastor waited behind the theater, where it was less likely any staff would see him. It was still important to avoid connecting the two of you together, at least at your workplace yet. 

He was quick to grab your bag for you.

“Not the trunk, please.” You said, it took him a second to catch the joke. He set it on the back seat after opening your door for you. You’d only been in his car a few times but he never failed to be a perfect gentleman. 

Your palms were sweating, when his hand rested on your leg while he drove you resisted the urge to hold it. Instead you slipped yours under his. Alastor asked you about your day, about work, about if Frank came back. Typically as soon as you left the theater you were in a cone of silence until your phone call with him the next day. It was kind of nice, having someone to speak to. Before meeting him there were times you worried you’d forget how to talk naturally, how to sound like yourself.

The glowing eyes of deer popped up from the side of the road, startling you. Eerie. You held your breath, would they run, stay still, or sprint into the road.

“Is it true their antlers can break car windshields?” You asked not breaking eye contact with a doe as you drove past.

Alastor nodded, “If a buck hits your car the wrong way, not even the car will make it out of the accident.”

“Are there a lot of bucks around?”

“Will be soon, as fall— wait why am I telling you this,” he laughed, “Miss Autumn Hind already knows what makes the bucks run wild.”

You shouldn’t be smiling, it was a dumb rut joke, but it felt like a compliment. 

The car lights passed over the home as he turned into the dirt driveway. Powder blue. It wasn’t a color you associated with Alastor. He was caramel, honey, midnight blue, red. His sometimes sinister smile didn’t look quite right against powder blue. But, for a home, it was lovely.

“Is someone home?” You saw a light on in an upstairs room.

Alastor reached behind you for your bag, “No, I leave it on when I’m gone. Gives the impression that the house isn’t empty.”

A minor bit of acting, Alastor opening the door and offering to bring your bag upstairs before a tour like a good host. His anxious energy was barely contained by that grin of his. For your part you played the appropriately impressed guest.

But deep down you were very impressed. An actual house. Your mother struggled to keep apartments rented. Alastor had a home. With stairs. That went to more home, not a neighbor. What a lovely thing. What did he do with all this space?

He could probably hide quite a few bodies in there.

Alastor opened his bedroom door and motioned for you to enter.

You took in every detail as shrewdly as you could. Two circular nightstands, a wide dresser with a few framed photos and a radio. One large window facing the yard, you could see the car outside from where you were standing. “Wow a man’s bedroom. I tend to avoid these.”

“What a coincidence, so do I. Bedrooms in general, really.” He placed your bag on the dresser, offering to unpack it for you. Your smile screwed up, shaking your head no. You couldn’t imagine Alastor folding your panties and setting them into a drawer. 

Well.

“Yes please.” You took a seat on the end of his bed, watching him tenderly empty the bag before beginning to put things away like you’d come home from a trip. “A bed big enough for two people. You didn’t tell me you were a fancy man. Ooh la la.”

Alastor laughed, “Your bed was quite comfortable.” He set your dress onto a hook attached to the closet door, hands running down the fabric to straighten out the wrinkles, “But I have a feeling that had more to do with you than anything else.”

The floor was clean, the rug beneath the bed a simple but pristine white. What an odd color for a rug.  

You truly did avoid men’s homes. The power dynamic shifts too much.

“Are all men so clean?”

“Oh god no. Have you really never been to a man’s home?” Without a moment of hesitancy his long fingers flattened out your underthings and neatly folded them. You could call it erotic, knowing what else his fingers could do.

A hum, you swayed side to side, “Too much risk. I don’t know where the knife drawer is, which locks stick, what windows open all the way.” 

He set the empty bag into a reading chair in the corner, “That sounds stressful.”

You shrugged, “My mother taught me to always have an escape. From situations, from rooms, from people. Not terrible advice.”

That was true, he thought. If the few women he killed had considered that, he would be less prolific. Women tended to be easier in some regards.

Alastor finally let himself look at you sitting on his bed. Were you wearing the black garters today? He liked those. He appreciated the red dress you’d worn.

Taking off his jacket and vest, he hung them up while his eyes kept returning to you. Your legs were crossed, thighs soft and pressed together. He remembered feeling them against his ears. A little cough to clear his throat and mind.

“Are you hungry?”

You werent, but you weren’t ready for sleep either, so you asked for some bread and butter. Alastor sat beside you at the table, watching you look around. It didn’t look like a killer's home. 

“Ya know, I was going to rob you. I had been wanting to talk to you, before that guy caught me off guard when I was smoking.” You said it easily. 

He smiled, “Oh, why’d you change your mind?”

“Well, you slit a man’s throat in front of me.”

“Tsk tsk, you give up too easily, my dear.”

Salted butter, soft bread. Simple. Happy. “You were so handsome-,”

“We’re?”

A snort of a laugh, rolling your eyes dramatically, “and you looked well off. I was searching the room for the lights reflecting off of your glasses all night.”

Alastor grimaced, fighting the well of his ego, and leaned on his elbows, “Is it too morbid to say I’m glad that man tried to kill you? I like this timeline more than being robbed and never seeing you again.”

“That’s very selfish. I would have enjoyed chasing you down and finessing your wallet off you.” You set the glass lid back over the butter dish, content with the snack. “Some men come back actually and confront me at the theater.”

He howled. The idea was ridiculous, “Seriously? Why not just tell the cops.”

“Men don’t like telling other men they got taken for a ride by a dame.”

Alastor stood, “What would you have done if you had robbed me and I marched into the theater demanding my cash back.” It took a second to realize he was being serious in wanting you to play along. 

You popped the last piece of bread into your mouth and stood too, “You rake!” A fake smack to his chest, “I booted you to the curb! You had more hands than an octopus!” 

Alastor tried to stay in character but his smile kept cracking through his serious face. “And my wallet? None of my hands can find it.” You took a few steps back, feigning shock at the accusation.

“Sir! You were so drunk I’m not surprised you lost it.” When Alastor closed the space between you with two wide steps and pulled you into his chest you giggled, hitting softly at him, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Trying to take advantage,” his hands wandered down your hips, making your voice catch in your throat, “of a good woman like me.”

His mouth came to your ear, “Well, miss, I think you owe me the opportunity to try again.”

You went stiff against him, the sudden turn of his voice into seduction taking you by surprise, “If you were a real mark, I’d punch you in the face for saying that.”

“But for me?” Breath against your neck.

Your hands slid up his chest and to his collar, pulling him down and into a kiss. His smile spread across your lips. 

His mouth stayed against your cheek as he pulled you into a hug, “Ready for bed?”

“Are you sleepy, hun?” You pulled away, a sincerely worried face. Two nights now you’d interrupted his normal routine.

Alastor’s eyes seemed to sparkle behind his glasses, head shaking, “No, not at all.” You felt the heat rise up your face. Wanting to avoid assumptions, you tried to temper your expectations.

His hand pulled you toward the stairs, you dragging your feet, “Did you want to show me around?”

“In the daylight.” He led you up the stairs and to the right.

“Oh okay….”, your mind was reeling, mouth dry. No dead body in sight. No blood. You hadn’t pressed him or asked for anything. Maybe he just wanted a good cuddle, or some kisses. You often enjoyed necking near the car before he would go home. Right. Let him lead.

You followed him, letting him guide you hand in hand back to his bedroom.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar,@straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove@saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , @sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re , @asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp , @angelxx7 , @katgirl05 , @impulsivethoughtsat2am , @sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

You shouldn't have done that.

Warnings ⚠️; gore, murder, blood and swearing.

Pairing; Ghostface/Neutral-Reader

Summary; You did not expect some idiots to try and copy Ghostface, even least to become their new target. Too bad for them.

~~~~~

The cold breeze made you shiver as you exited the drugstore and locked the door. The smell of dried leaves and wet wood brought a smile to your lips. October was almost over and in a few days it would be Halloween. You had planned a whole night with your boyfriend, hoping it wouldn't turn into a bloody mess.

Well, with him it was bound to turn bloody one way or the other.

And kinky. The mask would more than likely stay on.

You chuckled silently and shook your head mentally. Maybe you would get a quiet and long night with your man after all, you thought as your eyes fell on a poster. The police had imposed a curfew after the series of murders that started during the summer. You had found the second victim, walking right on what was left of them. The scene had been disgusting, a real carnage.

Never would you be able to forget it.

Not that you wanted to.

You grabbed the poster and almost tore it off, but stopped. Everyone knew about the curfew so one less wouldn't be noticed, but it wasn't why you stopped. No. Unlike the police and the rest of the town, you knew there was more than one killer. More than one Ghostface. Tearing the poster down wouldn't bother the first killer, but what about the others?

You didn't want to do something stupid, like break a rule and get a target on your back.

With a sigh, you left the poster untouched and walked away.

The echo of your steps echoed in the parking lot, making you feel alone and vulnerable. It was way too late, way past the curfew so no cars or pedestrians could be seen. You swallowed hard and began to walk faster before grabbing your phone.

Eyes down, you texted your boyfriend to tell him you just finished your shift and were walking home. Knowing him, your boyfriend would come find you in no time. So overprotective! But it was something you needed right now.

As you send your message, you heard two new sets of footsteps behind you. You almost froze, a feeling of dread and imminent danger flooding your body. Swallowing hard, you quickly texted ‘Game Over’ before changing your path.

There was a bar not too far from you and you prayed it would be open. Anything to win yourself some time.

Behind you, the two strangers kept following you. They weren't quiet, their shoes making the gravel roll and crunch. You felt like a deer and only wanted to bolt and run away. But you couldn't, because if those strangers were who you thought they were, it would be a death sentence.

In your pocket, you felt your phone vibrate. You didn't need to look at it to see what the answer was. Soon enough, you would be safe.

Arriving at the bar, you silently cursed. It was clearly closed. The whole street was desert.

For the first time you felt fear creeping its way in the back of your mind, wishing you had a firearm or even a knife with you. But like most, you didn't. You didn't want to have to explain why you had such weapon with you, especially with everyone being paranoid toward each other.

Biting your lips, you made a sharp turn and headed toward the park. Luckily, there was no camera there and the streetlamps weren't working. With the cover of the night, you might have a chance to escape.

Without any warning, you ran as fast as you could. You heard your stalkers do the same, but you were faster. For now.

As you expected, the park was empty and dark. Panting, you kept running and prayed they wouldn't catch up on you.

They didn't had to.

A scream of pain left your mouth as a gunshot broke the silence of the night. You crashed on the ground, hands grabbing your wounded leg. Between your fingers, you could feel your own warm blood pouring out of the wound. You tried to get up, only for someone to kick you down.

Gasping for air, you turned your head to face your assailants. The familiar masks of Ghostface met your gaze and you almost cursed them. Almost, because one of the two killers pressed his foot against your wound, making you cry out in pain.

- “Son of a bitch!” You cursed, feeling tears fill your eyes. You heard them laughing and grinded your teeth. There was no way you were going down without a fight. “Laugh about that, fucker!”

With all your strength left, you turned on your side and kicked the closest killer between the legs. You felt your foot dig deep, crushing the masked man’s balls and cock. A scream of pain filled the night once more and the killer dropped the gun as he fell onto his knees. You were quick to grab it, but the other murderer was as fast.

You hand barely closed on the gun that a mass fell on you. You felt a blade sink into your side, leaving you breathless. Pain, you could only feel pain and it blinded you for a second before your survival instinct kicked in.

Your elbow hit your aggressor right in the nose and you heard it crack. A curse left the second killer’s mouth as you turned the gun toward him, only to have the first one grab onto your wrist. You were about to bite the fucker’s hand when blood splashed all over your face.

You gasped and let go of the gun, hands on your face as you tried to chase the blood from your eyes. More blood splashed over you while the poor fucker could only make some kind of gurgle.

- “You shouldn't have done that.” Said a familiar voice.

You opened your eyes in time to see the real Ghostface pining your second assailant under him before you heard the wet sound of stabbing. Over and over your boyfriend plunged the knife into his victim, ignoring the cries of pain and the plaiding. You could do or say nothing but shake, your hands pressed against your wounds. It was the feeling of your tears that snapped you back to reality.

- “Babe…” You said, voice breaking in a painful whisper that went unheard. “Babe, please!”

You sobbed, shaking like a leaf, as you could only watch your murderous boyfriend go apeshit crazy against the two killers. Even tho they were clearly dead, he kept going. You covered your mouth in disgust as you saw him basically behead one of the killers. The head rolled slowly next to you and you fought the urge to throw up.

You knew what your Ghostface was capable of, you had seen some pictures and one crime scene. But to see it happen right before your eyes?

- “Stop it, please.” You pleaded with a little voice, trying to find back your voice.

You felt bile fill your mouth Ghostface plunged his hands in his last victim, pulling out the guts and tearing them apart. The smell was atrocious.

- “Enough!” You finally screamed.

As you sobbed, you saw Ghostface freeze before he turned to face you. His white mask was red and wet with blood, hidding his expression. Yet, you only had to raise a hand toward him for your boyfriend to finally snap out of his rage.

Strong arms wrapped you in a thigh embrace and you cried in the crook of his shoulder. His hand grabbed the back of your head and you felt the plastic of the mask dig against your scalp.

- “I got you. I got you.” You heard him whisper as your fists clenched his black robe. “I am so, so sorry. You shouldn't have seen me like that. I shouldn't have left you alone…”

It wasn't over yet and you both knew it. You needed to go to the hospital and talk to the police. They would learn the truth, learn that there was more than one Ghostface. Well, that only one was left now. The best part would be to have your boyfriend there, right under their nose without them knowing and no matter how hard they tried, they would never catch him.

[karinweek]

KARIN WEEK PSA

It's been brought to our attention that an anti-Karin troll who's been around for perhaps a literal decade is still active on AO3. This troll seems to stalk the Karin and/or Karin ship tags and leaves guest comments as "g.o.d". These comments usually say things like "Sasuke doesn't want [misogynistic slurs, often misspelled]" and sometimes attack the author, saying bizarre things like "die, virgin." The troll seems to especially dislike SasuKarin but I (@mixelation) have also gotten them on a SakuKarin fic.

The troll has been around for a while and so many Karin fans' reactions are simply "oh, them 🙄" The comments are gross, but they're very generic and g.o.d clearly is not actually reading the fics or putting enough thought into their comments to be truly hurtful. However, if you've never interacted with them before or are sensitive to such language, the comments may feel shocking and uncomfortable. I am writing this PSA to warn you that g.o.d may leave a gross comment on any fic featuring Karin (and especially SK fics), but that doesn't mean you should hesitate to post!

Recommendations:

g.o.d can easily be defeated by simply not allowing guest comments. This is currently the default setting when posting a new fic on AO3.

If you want to allow guest comments, post knowing that g.o.d may appear. We recommend simply deleting their comment if they do.

DO NOT REPLY TO THEM. Never feed trolls. Do not reply to them if you see them on other fics, either.* They have been doing this for years and you're not going to make them stop or "win" anything; if anything, trolls react positively to upset replies. *If you see them on other authors' fics and want to help/support the author, leave them a SEPARATE comment of support.

The funniest thing you can do (highly recommended):

Go to your fic while logged out, or in an incognito window or a different browser.

Leave a guest comment as "g.o.d". Copy and paste the original message, including any weird typos, but tweak the wording slightly so it's now positive. For example, if they wrote, "No one watns ugly bitches like Karin", leave "Everyone watns bad bitches like Karin"

Log in and delete the original message from g.o.d

Now it looks like g.o.d loved your fic :)

[reiinaissance]

TAKING CARE OF BELPHEGOR WHILE HE'S SICK ft. belphegor (obey me!) x female! reader

⟢ content warnings fluff. lowercase intended.

reupload from my old account ☻

lately, you noticed that belphegor has been quite... distant

you don't see him much the past few days even during meals and at school

of course, as his girlfriend, you were worried

so, you asked his twin beelzebub about him

"he's just sleeping in our room all day... he's kind of acting weird lately. you can go check up on him."

and so, you thanked beel before going to their room

knocking at the door, you hear the muffled 'come in' from belphie before you entered.

he was wrapped up in a blanket with a gloomy look on his face, but his eyes widened a fraction when he saw you.

"y/n...?" when you walked closer to him, he shook his head, "don't. it's—"

he cut off his own words, now you're extremely worried and confused. "belphie? is there something wrong?"

"it's just... i'm sick..."

you chuckled slightly, walking towards him. "it's okay, belphie. i can take care of you." you took his silence as an opportunity to sit on his bed, stroking his hair. "i missed you."

belphegor pouted, slowly melting into your touch, "no way, i missed you more. do you know how much it's so hard trying to be away from you?"

"aww, well i'm here now." after a while of caressing him to make up for the lost time, you stood up, "i'll go ask your brothers for your medicine, oka— ack!"

he pulled you close to him which made you yelp, and your head landed on his chest. "no... stay with me."

"then how will i—"

"just message them," he mumbled with heavy eyes, clearly sleepy. "stay with meee."

how could you say 'no' to him?

"alright then..." you grabbed your D.D.D. to message the brothers about belphegor's condition, and asked one of them to bring the medicine to the room because a certain someone is refraining you to do so. beelzebub had volunteered to bring it, while the others wished for belphie to get better soon.

some time after he took the medicine, he settled down by laying on your lap, letting out a sigh of contentment and flashing a smile at you. "thank you, y/n."

"of course," you smiled back, softly caressing his face. "you can go sleep, i'll be here when you wake up."

he can finally sleep at ease, especially when he's with you.

reiinaissance © 2025 | all rights reserved. do not claim as your own, modify, copy or repost.

[egotisticalmav]

CONNECTED BY A WiRE

SYPNOSIS ── Even though your personalities are extremely similar, your music tastes are polar opposites.

content found : Rintarou Suna x gn!reader , established relationship , proofread for once

word count : 536

hq mlist : main mlist

soft rays of sun beamed through the train window onto your face, a heavy weight sat on your shoulder from your boyfriend who clearly was not a morning person

two wires morphing into one connected into your phone as your playlist ever so lightly rendered into one ear

something about your music taste was so soothing to Rintarou, his was loud. heavy guitar riffs, booming drums and roaring vocals filled his playlists no matter what the occasion was

yours was soft, light airy voices that sung gut-wrenching lyrics while smooth acoustic guitars strung in the background

it all made his eyelids heavy - not that his sleep schedule helped

your fingers rubbing soothing circles on the top of his hand in rhythm with whatever song was playing

occasionally your phone would light up with a notification, sometimes he would tap the screen to check the time

something about the day was already peaceful, the twin’s consistent bicker was absent and your perfume infiltrated RiNTAROU'S senses

a light ping broke you both out of the morning's daze

your wallpaper of him kissing your check in some random photo you found one day on full display as you unlocked it. The Sundays artist page on spotify open rather than your friends Instagram message

his eyes following across the screen as fingers tapped

your voice softly spoke to keep attention off yourselves

"fid you end up finishing your maths RiNTA'?"

he let out an emphasized sigh at the question

"'m too tired, can I just copy yours again?"

your face morphed into either annoyance or disgust; he couldn't be bothered to keep his eyes open to tell the difference though

"you copied my homework last week, and the week before,"

your head leaned back onto the train window as your watched people stepping onto the train as it sat idle by the station closer to your school

"pretty please, this will maybe be the last time i swear,"

eyes rolling on instinct knowing you would end up giving in every time he asked. letting your hands run through his hair before speaking up again

"fine.."

clouds floated across the orange sky while you once again sat on the train

RiNTAROU'S teammate had gotten off however many stops ago, leaving you both in the same comfortable silence that consistently takes over

despite the relaxed atmosphere the music playing was quite the opposite for the occasion, foo fighters

sometimes you wonder why you and RiNTAROU alternate music to listen to. with you being assigned the morning playlists and him during the afternoons

for the past five minutes you've been picking at your nailbeds to keep yourself awake as if his music wasn't enough

"tired?"

as if it wasn't obvious enough. you let out a hum supporting his question

head falling against his shoulder, like him every morning. softened breaths escaping with no way to hold them back further than you already have

"can you change the song please,"

voice barley above a whisper from how lethargic you were

"jus' wait this is the best part,"

safe to say you fell asleep to my hero by foo fighters

© egotisticamav | do not plagiarise or translate any of my work

[xoxoavenger]

Coward

pairing: Luke Castellan x Fem!Reader

summary: Luke goes out of his way to prove to Annabeth he's not a coward (requested by messages for my birthday celebration but I changed the request a lil bit)

word count: 595

warnings: sooo much fluff

birthday celebration (even tho my birthday was a couple days ago) main masterlist

Luke's pretty sure there's something wrong with him.

"There's something wrong with you." Annabeth says as she stands next to him. He flinches with the bow in his arms, the arrow hitting the hay next to the target. He puts it down and turns to her, frowning.

"Please, bestow upon me your wisdom." He snarks, even though he had just been thinking the same thing. He knows that Annabeth knows he's lying, but he would rather shoot himself in the foot than admit his problem.

"Really, Luke?" She has her arms crossed, and the two stare each other down in silence as everyone begins to leave. Neither speaks until everyone has begun the trek to the pavilion.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Luke lies, copying her stance.

"Come on!" Annabeth cries, outraged at her brother's stubbornness. "She likes you back, so why are you being such a coward?" They begin to walk to the pavilion for dinner at a slow pace so they can talk.

"Oh my gods." Luke rolls his eyes, annoyed now that he's being called a coward. "We don't know that she likes me, first of all, and even if we did know that she liked me, we don't know if she wants a relationship."

"Luke," Annabeth groans, resisting the urge to run a hand down her face.

"Annabeth, I don't want to talk about this." Luke is starting to get peeved as well, and this conversation is clearly getting nowhere.

"Because you're a coward." Annabeth teases, and Luke thinks he may explode.

"I am not a coward." He seethes as they come up to the pavilion. Annabeth just won't let it go, however.

"Really? Because refusing to ask out a girl that clearly likes you seems pretty cowardly to me." Annabeth knows what she's doing, but Luke is too angry to see through her plan.

"Fine!" Luke explodes, turning to her. "You think I'm a coward? Would a coward do this?" He stomps toward Y/N's table, where her back is to him. He's a little amped up, his heart racing, so he feels smooth as he leans on the table in between her and her sibling.

"Luke?" She mutters, shocked that he was suddenly right next to her. Their faces were right next each other, and her heart was racing with the proximity.

"Y/N," He smiles, and she melts just a little bit. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to the beach with me after dinner?" In the moment were they're just staring at each other he starts to lose his nerve. Maybe he is cowardly.

"I'd love to." She answers quietly, feeling her cheeks heat up. He nods, winks, then leaves, listening to her siblings start to gush over the interaction.

"Think I solved your problem." Annabeth is smirking smugly as he walks past her, and he pauses as he realizes that her plan all along had been to push him hard enough to finally ask Y/N out.

"You conniving little-"

"You asked her out, didn't you?" She still looks just so happy, and if Luke wasn't also happy from his upcoming date he would probably tell her to meet him at the sparring mats.

"Told you I'm not a coward." He says, getting in line for food.

"Yeah, you really showed me." Annabeth can't herself, and Luke just takes a deep breath, because he loves his sister. "Except really, I'm the one who showed you."

Luke may have to throw Annabeth into the ocean before he goes on his date. Just to prove he's not a coward.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler

[arkarti]

UPDATE! They took it down! Only took me and like 30+ people telling them to delete it. clown behaviour.

--------

CALLOUT POST! Reposter - please help

Can y'all help me take down the reposts and/or account? They are a thief and liar. Don't haress them - just report them 💜

The account "the.mimic.one" has built their entire account with reposts of other people's work.

They have reuploaded 3 artworks from my Twitter, which I don't condone.

REPOSTS in order: Post 01 | Post 02 | Post 03

Even though they credited me, I still don't want my art reposted on instagram again. I posted it there too. I clearly state it everywhere that I don't want my art taken/edited/used or reposted. It's my art - it's my call.

The reposter account claims to "take the post down if the artists wants" you know, except when an artist really wants the post removed, then they just ignore them. their words are copy-pasted like everything else on their account. they are hollow and mean nothing. 🤡

They ignored my DM, ignored my comments on every post and deleted them. they also deleted other people's comments calling them out on it too.

I messaged them on May 31, asking them to take the posts down. no response. Instead, they reposted another art of mine on April 7.

the newest repost has 20+ comments, yet when you open it, there's not a single comment anymore. HMMM 🤔 How strange!

They are aware of what they're doing and trying to hide any evidence.

They claim to listen to artists and their wishes, and yet blandly ignore and delete my simple request do take the post down. They really wanna die on this hill instead of simply deleting it 🙄🙄