#damn this background and perspective

[sapin7]

The Sapinssance

[arlar]

Companion piece for the incredible @drowsycake 's FFXIV Big Bang piece: Our Dearest Friend, Our Direst Foe

If you like DRK and you like estimeric you gotta go read it, I'm serious

[briefmusicbouquet]

cinderella au dabihawks dancing and dabi getting twirled around because why not :)

[bonetrousledbones]

It really weirds me out sometimes with how far the sanscest shipping gets. Like, when they have kids who have kids with the kids of other sanses? why. what is the need. also dont get shipping sanses with sanses.

tbh that is one part i never really got into,, i get the appeal of making fankids bc its fun to explore how that would go and they’re basically OCs so you can go crazy! but on the shipping them together side,,, idk why but anything to do with shipping characters who are minors has always made me a bit uncomfortable. it’s entirely a me problem and i’m fully aware that there’s nothing inherently wrong with it its just!! weird to me idk!!!!!

as for the selfcest bit tbh as a selfcest shipper myself i deadass do not have a goddamn clue what about it appeals to me. i guess its a bit of wanting to see how these two “different” characters would interact with each other? honestly i think if you change up their backgrounds enough you can make it so that while they’re technically the same person, they’re also just as much their own self as if they were different, and yet they can still use their “sameness” as a way to find a deeper understanding in themselves that they might not have seen otherwise. that’s how i do mine anyway!

[im-smart-i-swear]

golem golem doodles(in paint)!!!! love this guy,,, 

the only two official interpretations of him i could remember are vastly diffrent(and in one of them you cant even see his face) so i have no idea how to draw him.... i think i like the ‘square’ interpretation more tho! so this doodle page is just me trying to figure out what to do!

[bipirate]

i might be insane for this. only time will tell

[watery-melon-baller]

i keep drawing complicated sketches and then am shocked upset confused horrified when said i have to actually lineart said skecthes and they are complicated

[theorderofthetriad]

Literally every other origin story for the Joker in Batman media: He was a regular career criminal until a job interrupted by Batman had him fall into a vat of chemicals that turned him into the Joker, which may or may not have been Batman's fault.

The Joker movie: He was a professional clown and attempted comedian that society let down so much his mental illness won and turned him evil.

[rust3d-anchor]

Just rewatched some monkie kid episodes on my way home by bus and it honestly inspired me to practice some background and perspective stuff 👌

[daisukitoo]

I am 40% of the way through Gideon the Ninth. There are no plot spoilers below.

What is refreshing about Gideon as a protagonist and POV character is that she is a jock. She fundamentally does not care about all this nerd shit going on, i.e. the entire setting and plot. She misses exposition, background, and other explanations because, as one person who starts explaining how magic works observes, "right, you're not even pretending to pay attention."

Most writers are writers, so this is not a common perspective for a book to hold. Plot-relevant details can be sprinkled freely because Gideon's narrative will see them and not even shrug before moving on.

GIdeon lacks the emotional and mental maturity to be a good person. She is not evil as such, just apparently unaware of the existence of moral implications. When we meet her, her motivation is to get out of this hick town and join the military, because fighting is glorious and cool and this hick town sucks. She likes weapons and fighting and working out and hot chicks. She fantasizes about leading military charges that bring death to new worlds and fuel necromantic rituals because that would mean hot goth babes would see how cool she is and be grateful. She does not dwell on the thought of worlds that apparently have never known death and her plan to look cool leading imperial invasions and killing enough people to fuel necromantic rituals. She does dwell on the thought of that prissy bitch from her high school having to see how cool and hot she is now that she's a war hero who gets medals and hot babes.

You as the reader can be carried along very quickly by this incurious perspective that does not think twice about things. You as the reader may want Gideon to backtrack and dwell on something or explore it further. The weirdness of the setting is more or less swept under the rug by Gideon's not noticing it. 98.5% of the children on a planet gone (died?), but Gideon doesn't devote a second sentence to boring backstory like that. What was that about galactic conquest, in a setting where the main weapons are swords and necromantic magic? How little advancement has there been in technology or magic in 10,000 years, despite a possibly continuous civilization that whole time? Or some references to what sound like dark ages? Damned if Gideon cares or even notices.

The necromancers are dying to talk shop about their powers. Gideon rolls her eyes and wants to talk to that woman about the cool flip she did, because Gideon wants to look cool doing flips during fights and have girls notice how cool she looks. Also her biceps. Gideon cannot pay attention for a full sentence on necromantic magic, but she does have a half-page to dwell on girls noticing how big her biceps are.

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 7. the week

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel is on a mission to win you back. You struggle with your feelings and visit an old friend for some perspective.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, physical violence, wounds/blood/injuries/gore, vague reference to suicide (Joel remembering his incident after Sarah), alcohol consumption, non-descriptive smutty memory, mentions of murder (adults and children), mentions of pregnancy (not reader)

WC: 7.7K

A/N: I took some liberties with the background of the Fireflies, it's not exactly canon.

Series Masterlist

Somewhere in Northern California

It took two days.

Two full days of freezing temperatures and frigid wind as he traversed up and down mountains, through snow covered forests with little to no shelter, but he finally made it. Right before nightfall, he approached the edge of the town you grew up in. The town your parents still lived in ten years ago. The town that holds a history of you and everything you hold dear.

It was too dark and he was too tired to enter the town and go any further, but fortune smiled upon him for the first time since he left Jackson when he spotted a dilapidated woodshed tucked into the forest. It was small, no bigger than a bedroom, but it would do. It would be the first time in two days he would get to sleep with a roof over his head, and he desperately needed it.

He grossly overestimated his ability to survive out in the wild. He did it before, of course, but life in Jackson made him soft. Made him complacent. Made him weak.

Time took its toll on his body. His age was an offensive reminder every time his knees creaked or his back twinged. He wasn't as fast as he used to be, nor as strong. But he was determined and stubborn, two things that would never change.

With hands trembling from the cold, he jabbed his knife into the lock and broke it with ease, a small triumph in an otherwise unforgiving journey. The shed was mostly empty, save for a pile of wood and an axe. Plenty of room for both him and the horse.

After he scattered some oats on the floor, he grabbed his rifle and marched back out into the snowy tundra to do a perimeter check, knowing he would fall asleep the moment he allowed himself to slow down. By the time he deemed the area safe, he retreated back into the woodshed and lit a fire in the tiny furnace to warm up a bit.

Once he got feeling back in his fingers, he cracked open some stew and ate it cold straight from the can, too impatient to warm it up and too eager to get some rest. The wind howled outside, practically screaming at him with every gust: How could you say that to me?

The horse nickered softly, her head lowered, one back leg cocked as she began to doze off. He laid on the wooden floor, partially resting inside his sleeping bag, ready to strike if there was an intruder. The back of his wrist laid against his forehead while he stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering for the umpteenth time if what he was doing was even going to work. If he would even be capable of finding your house in this town, let alone finding any pictures still in good enough condition to bring back to you.

But it was all he had.

You had mentioned to him when he was sick, after you saw the photo of Sarah, how you wished you had pictures of your family. You looked so somber and distant and he was once again reminded that even though you lost them ten years ago, in your mind you only lost them months ago.

He couldn't imagine losing Sarah twice. Waking up one day, thinking she was alive and healthy and late for school just to be told she was killed mercilessly ten years prior and died in his arms. You were so much stronger than him. You always were. You were told your whole world changed, your family gone, and then tossed into a house with him, pressured by everyone every damn day to regain your memories and become a completely different person when he knew deep down if the same had happened to him, his answer would lie at the end of a barrel. But unlike before, he might not flinch.

You really fucking hurt me, Joel.

He rubbed his face aggressively, the pain and anguish in your voice haunting him. This trip left him with too much time to get lost in his thoughts, too much time to wallow in his grief and replay every single painful memory from the past several days.

Sighing, he dropped his hands to his chest and tried to think about something else. Letting his eyes drift shut, he let his mind wander back to before. Before your accident, before he fucked everything up, back to a time when you were happy and stupidly in love.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" he heard your voice behind him.

He grinned as he stirred a pot of sauce on the stove while you wrapped your arms around his midsection, burying your face against his back.

"My accent rubbin' off on you now?"

You giggled and let go, walking over to grab the bottle of whiskey and pouring you each a glass.

"Maybe."

You handed him his glass and clinked them together before taking a sip.

"How was patrol?" he asked, turning his attention back to the pasta.

"Boring," you replied, hopping up onto the counter next to him, swinging your legs back and forth. "Jesse has a lot of work to do. He's not seasoned enough to be out there without one of us."

He nodded thoughtfully and lifted the spoon up to your lips to taste the sauce. "Needs lemon," you said, licking your upper lip while he snatched a lemon from a basket in the corner of the kitchen and sliced it in half.

"Yeah, I know, but he's got potential. Just gotta get him to focus a bit more. Gotta be more aware of his surroundings."

You hummed and rubbed the back of your neck with a wince.

"You hurtin'?" he asked, but you shook your head immediately.

"Just tired."

"You sure?" he said while he strained the pasta. "I can rub your neck later."

"Oh, well in that case, yes. I'm absolutely aching over here," you said with a smile.

"Don't tempt me, baby," he told you, setting down the pot before wedging himself between your knees, his hands rubbing over your thighs. "Might not stop at your neck."

"Is that right?" you teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth playfully.

"Mhmm. First it's your neck, then shoulders," he said, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips, "then your back," he dragged his hands up your back and pressed you forward, nearly pulling you off the counter.

"Then what?" you asked breathlessly, arms loosely draping around the back of his neck.

"Before y'know it, you'll be pullin' at my belt, tellin' me you got an ache someplace else 'n you need me to stuff you full of my cock." His hands dragged up and down your back, his mouth nipping gently at your throat as you tipped your head back with a gasp.

"You know me so well," you murmured, a lazy smirk spreading across your face when you felt the urgency behind his touch.

"Yeah I do, baby," his words getting lost against your skin, "know you like the back of my hand. Know what makes you tick. What makes you feel good. Know what makes you scream my fuckin' name." His lips slotted over yours urgently, the pasta cold and long forgotten as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him close.

"Take me to bed, Joel," you begged after you pulled your head away, breaking the kiss and then quickly latching onto his neck. "Need you. I want - shit!" you cursed when one of you accidentally pushed a plate off the counter and it smashed into pieces against the floor.

"Leave it, don't care," he said, picking you up and pulling your attention off the shards of ceramic littering the floor. "I'll clean it up later."

His eyes popped open, the echo of your giggle from that night bouncing around his skull. It was almost laughable now, thinking he felt lonely before compared to how he felt in the middle of fucking nowhere with only a sleeping horse to keep him company.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he would need to do more than bring home some pictures to convince you to forgive him. But it was a start, and maybe, just maybe with time, you would come to understand what you meant to him.

And if he was really lucky, he might end up meaning something to you, too.

It was stupid and it didn't mean anything.

That's what you kept telling yourself ever since Joel left and you found yourself curling up in his bed at night instead of yours.

His bed was more comfortable. His room didn't store the bad memories of your fight. It was simply easier to sleep there.

It certainly didn't have anything to do with the way the sheets still smelled like him. Like the soap you both used combined with the outdoors and a hint of his sweat. And on the third night when you picked out a flannel of his from the closet and wrapped it around yourself, it was only because it was a particularly frigid night.

You didn't miss him.

Well, you missed having another person in the house, sure. But you didn't miss him on some deeper level. Maria and Ellie were wrong. They had no idea what they were talking about. They had no idea what was going through your head, what you were feeling, what you were struggling with.

There was no possible way you could have feelings for Joel. Not after everything he did and said. Not after the lies and the cheating and the deception.

But then why, when you were struggling to fall asleep at night, did your mind always wander back to the way he looked at you in the meadow, or the way his arms felt wrapped around you on the back of the horse, or the way he made you laugh when you played Monopoly?

And why did it feel like a part of you left with him that night?

"Pathetic," you muttered to yourself, pulling the sheets tighter and rolling over onto your side, his soft, worn flannel like butter against your bare skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the memories from your mind and instead, replaying what he told you about the hospital.

He almost killed you. He was seconds away from putting a bullet in your head and only after presumably begging for your life did he let you go, and then he had the nerve to keep that information from you not only once, but fucking twice.

He was protecting Ellie.

But he still shouldn't have lied.

With a groan, you rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling, sleep so far out of reach you didn't even feel like trying anymore. Then a thought occurred to you:

You weren't the only one he let live. There were two other people in Jackson who were there, who were shown mercy and didn't appear to hold any resentment towards him for it. In fact, they seemed rather happy with the second chance they were given.

You hadn't seen Ben or Lisa in a long time. The opportunity never presented itself for you to seek any perspective from them about that day.

Perhaps it was time to change that.

It took him a few hours to scope out the town and venture out of the woods, but by late morning he was heading down what looked to be one of the main thoroughfares in town, eyes squinting against the blowing snow as he tried to pinpoint the location of town hall.

All he remembered was your street name but he had absolutely no idea how to find it, so his plan was to break into the town hall and find a map. From there, he prayed Ellie's drawing was truly accurate enough to narrow down your parents' house.

He was freezing. His face was numb and his back was fucking killing him from riding so much, but he was so close. If he was lucky, he could find your house, get what he needed and head out all before nightfall. Maybe he could even spend another night in the woodshed. It wasn't so bad. At least he was warm.

As he continued to steer his horse down another road, he couldn't help but think Tommy was right about the storm. It was providing him some cover, just in case there were survivors around that wouldn't take kindly to his intrusion. He just hoped it would blow through in a day so his ride back would be clear.

After another thirty minutes of wind whipping at his face, the cold penetrating his coat and several layers underneath, he finally saw it. It was a smaller building than he imaged it to be, but the sign was clear. Hoping that the town size was as small as the town hall, he steered his mare down the drive and through the parking lot, making sure to take in his surroundings, confirming he was truly alone before he slid down from the saddle and trudged through the snow to the front doors.

He wiped away the snow from the window, peering inside before heading to another one and doing the same. It appeared to be empty so he tried the door, unsurprisingly finding it locked. He pulled out his knife and worked on the lock, his fingers stiff and his ears so cold he could barely feel them anymore. Finally, he broke the lock but when he shoved the door, there was something blocking him on the other side.

"Shit," he muttered, glancing around, kicking and dusting snow off the surrounding area, looking for a brick or a rock. Giving up, he grabbed his rifle from the saddle and angrily made his way to the nearest window, smashing the butt of his gun against the glass repeatedly until it shattered. He gasped for air, not realizing how much energy he was exerting before he continued, knocking out as much of the glass as he could.

Sticking his head inside, he looked around. The place seemed empty. It was quiet, covered in dust and debris. Untouched dust was good. It meant nobody had been there in a while. Human or otherwise.

He crawled through the window, taking great care to not catch on any jagged edges. He held his breath, ears straining for any noise that might give someone away, but all he heard was the howling wind outside. This is your fault. Still, he kept his guard up. He walked room to room, finding his way to the lobby and searching the front desk for a map.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he grumbled as he opened and shut each drawer in the desk, only pausing to snatch up an old protein bar and shoving it in his pocket.

With a sigh, he looked around the room. There were a couple benches, chairs that were moved and tipped over, papers scattered about but his eyes were drawn to the portraits on the wall. There were a few paintings of men he would never recognize, unknown sheriffs and mayors, and some framed pictures of the staff, but the one that really drew his attention was the large map on the wall next to the front doors.

It was a road map of the town. Simple, but it was all he needed. He rounded the desk and shined his flashlight over the map, studying it, searching for where he was before looking for your street.

"Grant Street."

"Grant?" he repeated, his fingers lightly skirting up and down your bare back.

"Mhmm," you confirmed, eyes closed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as you buried your face into his neck.

"That's funny," he said, his hand wandering past your waist and over your ass.

"Why's that?"

"Grant's my Mama's maiden name."

Your eyes opened and locked onto his. "Maybe it's fate, then."

Maybe it was.

Grant was only four blocks north. It didn't look like a very long road, either.

He could do this.

He was so close.

Lisa answered the door with the same look of surprise as before, although this time she was clutching needles and yarn in her left hand while the fire quietly crackled behind her.

"Hey," you said, arms wrapped around yourself as the snow storm continued to swirl behind you. "Can I come in?"

"Oh! Of course!" Lisa said, stepping back, "how rude of me. Can I get you something warm to drink?" She closed the door behind you and took a step towards the kitchen. "I just boiled some water for tea, it's still hot."

"Tea sounds lovely, thank you," you said as you hung up your coat and scarf, trying your best not to make a mess of melted snow all over her floor.

She told you to make yourself comfortable while she prepared your tea, so you wandered into her tiny living room, the space seeming a little larger now without your two imposing men.

"Where's Ben?"

"Working," she said, setting down a teacup and saucer next to hers. "I put a little sugar in it."

"Oh, thank you, that's perfect. I like it sweet," you replied, sitting down on the same couch as before and bringing the cup to your lips.

"I know, I remember," she said, and when she sat down and fixed her billowy top, you noticed for the first time the small bump protruding low on her hips.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and she followed your gaze.

"Oh, yes," her tone soft, "I'm due this spring."

"Wow. Congratulations, Lisa. That's wonderful, I had no idea. I thought I would have seen you from time to time at the infirmary," you explained, setting down your tea.

"Nick agrees to see me after hours, sometimes he makes house calls," she said, picking up her needles again.

You titled your head to the side. "Why do you want to be seen after hours?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed on the yellow blanket she was making. "I still find it difficult sometimes to face some of the others in town, I suppose. I know I shouldn't but the guilt sticks with me."

"Guilt?"

Her eyes flicked up to yours and she shifted her weight. "I know Ben mentioned the Fireflies to you." She held out her wrist, showing you the small moth-like symbol tattooed there. "I'm not sure how much you know or remember-"

"Actually, that's why I'm here," you said, taking a deep breath. "Joel told me everything. About the Fireflies. About the hospital."

Her eyes widened, the needles abandoned in her lap.

"Oh."

"Yeah," you said, chewing on your lip and glancing at the fire. "He told me what he did there. Told me he spared us, let us go."

"Yes, he did," she agreed softly.

"Can you tell me more about that day?" you asked, dragging your eyes back to meet hers. "I'm having trouble understanding how I could have known this before and still managed to fall in love with him."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

You laughed dryly and shrugged. "I mean he almost killed us. He killed countless innocent people, friends of ours I'm assuming, and I'm expected to believe I just looked past it? We just looked past it?" You motioned between the two of you. "He's a murderer, Lisa. He-"

"We're murderers," she corrected, and you fell silent. "We killed innocent people. We helped lead a revolution that resulted in hundreds of deaths, and where did that get us? Nowhere! People weren't any better off. In fact, they were worse. Friends and family killed, caught in the crossfire, tangled up in this idea of freedom and safety and giving their lives to an empty cause."

You swallowed as you watched Lisa's face, her eyes fiery and her tone hardened, transforming into a different version of herself before your very eyes.

"What Joel did..." she trailed off as she thought back to that day. "We did bad things. So did he, but he single handedly cut the Fireflies off at the legs. He stopped the insanity, stopped the war, stopped the ridiculous experiments and half baked ideas to save the world, regardless of the lives lost along the way. You don't remember, I understand, but allow me to explain."

"Please," you begged softly, "please tell me everything."

She rested a palm against her swelling stomach and leaned back. "We realized we made a mistake pretty early on," she began, "but we didn't have anywhere else to go. We had been living in the wild for so long. We were tired and hungry and weak and we fell for it. Fell for the sales pitch when they found us. We were told we wouldn't have to fight, but they didn't tell us what they expected us to do."

"W-what did we do?" you stammered, sitting on the edge of your seat.

"We killed people. Innocent people, point blank. FEDRA soldiers. Civilians who ratted out our location for extra food for their family. Children-" her voice wobbled a bit as she looked down at her stomach. "Children who were experimented on, vaccine prototypes tested on, who became horribly disfigured a-and screaming in pain, begging to be put out of their misery-"

"Okay," you said, cutting her off and taking a deep breath, unable to hear much more. It was becoming clear why Joel kept this from you, and although you had a right to know, you were beginning to understand his motivation. He was trying to protect you.

"Anyway," Lisa continued, flicking a tear from her cheek, "we planned on getting out. We couldn't do it anymore. Then, Joel showed up."

You held your breath, waiting for her to continue.

"We were doing perimeter checks. Loosening a spot in the gate so we could sneak out later that night. Then we heard the gunshots. And at first, we thought some infected got in. It was the perfect distraction, so we grabbed our gear and made a run for it."

She paused to take a sip from her tea, her eyes looking miles away.

"We almost made it. We were in the parking garage loading up a vehicle when he snuck up behind us. Told us to lay face down on the ground with our hands behind our heads. We never saw him and it wasn't until later we found out he was all alone. The whole time we were convinced it had to have been a group of men. It seemed impossible for one man to do what he did, but somehow..."

She trailed off again and cleared her throat.

"He gave us a second chance when we didn't deserve it," she said solemnly. "You and Ben dealt with the weight of what we did far better than me. I still struggle with the guilt, I can't..." she looked up at you, "I hope you never remember."

A chill went down your spine and you nodded.

"Try not to hold it against him," she said, offering you a small smile. "We've all done terrible things. It's not all black and white."

It ain't black and white.

"Yeah, okay," you replied quietly, standing up from the couch, your mind reeling. "Thanks," you added, motioning to the tea before she walked you to the door, "and congratulations again."

"Thank you," she said, rubbing her belly, her green eyes sparkling. "I'm glad you stopped by. The truth is sometimes ugly, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to understand the whole picture." You nodded and bent over to shove on your boots. "Joel's not a bad man. I'm sure he was just trying to protect you by leaving some things out about our past. He would have told you eventually."

When the whole goddamn world ends and all you got left is one or two people you care 'bout, you'll do whatever you gotta do to protect 'em.

"Yeah, I'm starting to realize that now," you said, shrugging on your coat with a wry smile.

The whole way home, you practically kicked yourself for not visiting Lisa sooner. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe not. But it finally felt like a missing puzzle piece was back in place and you could begin to make sense of your confusing feelings for Joel.

Ellie was incredibly talented.

He needed to make sure to remind her of that when he got home because even through the blowing snow, in near whiteout conditions, he was still able to figure out which house was yours because Ellie's drawing was so detailed, so accurate that it almost felt like he had been there before.

He was eager and impatient. He just wanted to get inside and get what he needed and leave, but before he did, he peered inside the windows and did a walk around the whole house three times, just in case. It was a small brick ranch and if the snow wasn't so thick, he would be able to see the black shutters framing the front windows, just like in the drawing.

He shouldered open the side garage door first, a pile of fluffy snow spilling over the hard concrete as he stumbled in and shimmied open the roll top door so he could bring his mare inside.

He pat her between the eyes, murmuring his thanks for being so damn tough and sprinkled some more oats on the ground before slipping inside the house.

The door from the attached garage led right into a kitchen, which, by the looks of it, was rifled through on more than one occasion. No doubt some survivors had come through over the years and turned the place upside down for anything useful, but that didn't matter to him. What he needed wouldn't be stolen.

Glancing at the fridge, he paused when he saw some photos stuck to the door. He leaned his rifle against the wall and shook his head, curls flinging melted snow over the dusty floor, then bent over to examine the pictures. Most of them didn't have you and he began to worry he was in the wrong house after all, but then he saw it: at the very top was a picture of four people, all wearing summer clothes and Mickey Mouse ears with the Cinderella castle in the background. A middle aged man and woman bookended a young man, lean but muscular with his arm draped around your shoulders.

You were younger, maybe still in high school, and your hair was longer and lighter, but he would recognize that smile anywhere.

He carefully plucked the photo from the fridge and brought it closer, his eyes raking over every detail of the picture, from the brightness in your eyes to the cotton candy pink sky behind you.

You looked so happy.

Nothing like the way you looked when he last saw you: broken and bruised. Ruined and dejected. Because of him.

You spared my life just to break my heart.

He blinked and pocketed the photo before turning around. The living room was in worse condition. It appeared someone must have stayed there at one point because the couches were shifted around, an armchair wedged in front of the door, cushions flung around haphazardly.

He had to move furniture out of the way, dig around a bit through broken bookshelves, but he managed to finally unearth an old photo album. Resting on one of the couch cushions with a huff, he took a few moments to flip through it, smiling now and then when he saw an especially cute picture of you. The wind outside was howling so loudly, the old house creaking with every gust that he couldn't hear when footsteps slowly crept up behind him and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own rifle.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He knew better. He should have scoped out the inside of the house before getting distracted. But he was too excited and too eager to get what he came for that he forgot his own rules. And he took for granted the snowstorm would hide his tracks.

Now he was hunched over on the living room floor, leaning against the wall with his wrists tied behind his back while five raiders went through his things.

"Hey man, don't you like peaches?"

"Fuck yeah I do, give it here."

Joel groaned, the back of his head throbbing, thick, sticky blood slowly trickling down the back of his neck.

"He's waking up."

"Hey, princess, how's the head?" one said with a sinister laugh. Joel ignored him.

"You got some nice shit. Wanna tell us where your camp is?"

Joel opened his eyes and glared at the man in front of him, wearing a leather jacket and leather gloves and a black bandana pulling his dark, wiry hair off his scarred face.

"Fuck you."

The punch came fast and hard across his jaw, making him see stars for a moment. The other men chuckled and got back to dividing up his things.

"You wanna try that again?" the first man asked, crouching down in front of him. Joel tugged on the rope holding his wrists together. The knot was tight but it wasn't foolproof. He just needed a little time to loosen it up.

"Don't got a camp."

"Bullshit," the man barked, spitting against the wall next to Joel's head. "Ain't nobody out here with this kinda gear and a goddamn horse roughing it all alone. Now, just tell us the city and we'll take it from there. We'll even let you live."

He heard one of the other men scoff but the rest remained quiet, and if Joel wasn't already convinced they were planning to kill him either way, he definitely was now.

"Boise."

"Boise?" he repeated, and Joel nodded, twisting his hands behind his back, feeling the coarse rope burn against his skin. The man in the leather jacket sighed and hung his head before landing another blow, this time across the mouth. Joel's lower lip got snagged on his teeth and tore. Blood trickled down his chin as he angrily whipped his head back towards the raider.

"I told you what you wanted!"

"You fed me a bunch of bullshit is what you did," he said, kicking Joel in the ribs. He gasped for air, doubled over against the wall, coughing and spraying blood across the faded floral wallpaper. He wondered if your parents did the wallpaper themselves, if your mom picked it out, or did the house already come like that?

Joel tugged harder on the rope, feeling it start to give. He needed to stay focused. He needed to make every move count if he wanted to get out of this alive.

The raider pulled a revolver from the back of his pants - Joel's revolver - and flipped it over in his hands. Back and forth, back and forth. Then he leaned forward and pressed the barrel against Joel's forehead.

"I'll give you one more chance, asshole," he said, his dark eyes boring into Joel's, "tell us where your camp is or else I shoot you in the fucking head."

"What the hell was he doing here anyway?"

"Shut up, Mike," the guy in the leather growled, eyes still trained on Joel.

"No, but seriously. There's nothing in this house worth taking. We've been through this neighborhood months ago."

The raider's eyes flickered around the room and Joel tugged harder on his restraints when he looked away. Then the man spotted the photo album lying face down on the ground.

"What's this?" he asked, lowering the gun and picking up the album. He began to flip through it and Joel felt the rope finally give. The raider let out a low whistle and slid a photo out to look at it closer. "Don't tell me you came out in the middle of a storm just to find something to jack off to," he teased, holding up a photo of you in a yellow bikini by a pool. He flipped the picture back around and grinned. When he went to stuff it in his pocket, his attention momentarily diverted, Joel took his opportunity to strike.

In the blink of an eye, he snatched the revolver from the raider's fingers and shot him in the temple, his body immediately falling limply to the side. Wet, sticky blood sprayed all over Joel's hand but he just tightened his grip on the gun, taking aim and bringing down another one of the men while they were still too stunned to move.

"Fuck!" one of the remaining three men screamed as they scrambled for cover. Joel ducked behind the couch and held his breath, straining to hear the scuffling of their boots, trying to pinpoint where they were in the small room. When he heard one of them accidentally knock against the kitchen table, the wooden legs scraping against the linoleum, he straightened up and took aim, taking out another man with a bullet right between the eyes, but unfortunately one of the last two men got a shot in as well.

The bullet grazed against his left bicep. Joel hissed and ducked back behind the couch. He would deal with it later.

"Come on, man, we can work something out," one of the men called out after a minute. "Let's just go our separate ways. Act like this never-"

Joel jumped up and shot the man in the cheek, the bullet traveling through his mouth and out the back of his head, leaving brain matter that looked like globs of gelatin dripping down the kitchen cupboards after he fell lifelessly to the ground.

Joel stepped towards the kitchen, now only one on one. He got cocky. He was feeling too confident with how quickly he took out the group. He didn't even see it coming when the knife lodged into his side, just above his hip. Without thinking, he yanked the knife out, twisted around and jammed it into the final raider's throat, watching as he fell to the floor, choking on his own blood, and didn't look away until he stopped twitching.

Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and he used it to his advantage, his left hand pressing weakly against his wound, the wound in his arm preventing it from being very effective while he searched the dead bodies of the men for anything useful. He had brought some first aid with him when he left Jackson but he was too far from home, he would need antibiotics, at least, if he was going to make it back.

Of course, he came up empty, so he snatched his first aid kit from the table and stumbled down the little hallway, searching for a bathroom. He knew it was a lost cause, the raiders already admitted to clearing the place out months ago, but he had to try.

He flung open the medicine cabinet with a grunt, the pain beginning to set in now. Pressing his bloody fingers against the stab wound as hard as he could, he rummaged around the cabinet, leaving paths of red everywhere his fingers touched, then tried the drawers under the sink.

Nothing.

"Fuck," he muttered, collapsing onto the cool tile floor as he began to sort through his first aid kit. There were no towels left but he was sitting on an old bathmat. He groaned in pain when he lifted his hips to pull the bathmat out, shook out the dust and dirt, then pressed it against his side, bringing his knee up to hold it in place.

With trembling fingers, he threaded a needle. He wiped the blood from his hands on his shirt, but they were stained red. Ripping open his jacket and flannel, he lifted the two other layers he had on underneath and lowered his leg to get a look at the wound.

It was deep and he was losing a lot of blood, but he was fairly certain the knife wasn't long enough to knick any organs. His stomach wasn't swelling, that was a good sign.

He only had a small bottle of antiseptic, so he used most of it to clean the wound and then the needle, saving a little bit to use on his arm later.

He took several quick breaths in, hyping himself up, then paused when he first shoved the needle through his skin. Tears sprung up, blurring his vision, but he blinked them away.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

In and out, in and out, he slowly stitched himself up. The angle was awkward and the stitches were ugly, but it got the job done: the bleeding stopped. His heart was hammering in his chest, sweat poured from the sides of his head, mixing with all the blood drying on his face and beard. He slumped to the ground with a pained groan, lying flat on the floor in a pool of his own blood, staring up at the ceiling. He just needed a moment to rest, a moment to catch his breath and then he would go.

Would he ever see you again? Would you ever even know why he came out there? Would you always wonder what happened to him? You told him you cared about him, but was that even true anymore? After what he did?

"C'mon, baby, gimme a sign," he whispered to himself, "gimme a sign that I still got a chance in hell 'cause if I don't, I'm not sure I got the strength to make it home." Tears welled up in his eyes again and this time he let them fall. He sniffled and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. Divine intervention? Genius to strike? A brilliant idea to form? But all he heard was the blowing wind outside.

The tile felt so cool against his burning hot skin. A small voice in the back of his head told him the longer he stayed there the weaker he would become, but he was just so tired. He rolled his head to the side, his eyes about to slide shut when he saw it: a dusty, opaque orange bottle rolled all the way against the wall underneath the sink.

Blinking a few times, he wondered if he was imagining it.

He wasn't.

Stretching his arm out, he slowly reached underneath the vanity and pulled out the half empty bottle. Holding it above his face, he squinted at the letters on the faded sticker.

Penicillin. Use as directed by your dentist.

His breath caught in his throat when he read your name on the label.

He finally got his sign.

"What happens when we die?"

"What?"

You rolled over onto your side to face him, wrapping your arm around his waist. He looked so peaceful, lying in bed like that. His eyes closed, face relaxed. You repeated your question.

"Don't know," he said, cracking open one eye to look at you. "Haven't died yet."

You giggled and he smiled, pulling you closer. He smelled so good. Like the rain and sex and smoke from the fire.

"I mean... do you think there's a heaven?"

He hummed and kissed the top of your head, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your bare arm.

"Yeah, I do."

You swallowed nervously and drew invisible circles into his skin, making him shiver.

"Do you think..." you trailed off and he froze, picking up on your tone.

"What, darlin'?"

"Do you think we'll make it? To heaven, I mean?"

His eyebrows pinched together. "Why wouldn't we?"

"You know why," you replied softly, "we've done bad things, Joel."

"Yeah, but we ain't bad people," he reminded you, then rolled over, pushing you onto your back so his arms caged you in. One knee slotted between yours and you spread your legs, hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said, dipping his chin down and pressing his lips firmly against yours. You sighed, your shoulders finally relaxing. "Besides, this is heaven right here," he murmured against your mouth, feeling you smile.

"Ain't nothin' better than this."

You awoke with a gasp, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. That was the first time you had a dream about Joel, and something about it made you uneasy.

You had slept in his bed the entire week, wrapped in his clothes, and today was the day you had expected him to come home. Shrugging off the dream to no more than your subconscious fixated on his return, you forced yourself to get out of bed, fixing the sheets so it wouldn't look like you had been sleeping there and then headed to your room to change and freshen up.

The past couple days you had secretly hoped he would come back sooner but you refused to let it show. If Ellie or Dina or Maria asked you about it, you played it cool, or at least you thought you did. But every night you stayed up as late as you could, curled up on the couch all alone, waiting. Every time someone walked by, your body stiffened and your pulse raced, expecting to hear his heavy footsteps walking up the porch, but they never came.

But today was the day. The seventh day. His note said a week, and you knew if Joel was alive, he would stick to his word.

His absence afforded you a lot of time to think. Time you didn't realize you desperately needed, and now that you were able to process everything clearly without his overwhelming presence muddying the waters, you felt confident you knew what you wanted now.

All day at work, you were distracted. Nick had to call your name repeatedly to get your attention on more than one occasion, and by the fifth time you felt guilty. He didn't say anything, though. He understood. By then, most of the town knew Joel had left. Word spread like wildfire, especially once the storm passed through. It didn't take a genius to figure out how difficult it would be to survive all alone in those conditions.

Then the rumors started.

You tried to ignore them, but it was hard. When people began drinking and getting loud in the dining hall, it was impossible not to hear.

When you heard a man claim he saw Joel's horse frozen in a river during patrol, you stopped going to the dining hall to eat.

It was dark, it was just a deer, Tommy had told you later after he went out to the river to check, but it still shook you up.

When the sun set on Jackson on the seventh day and Joel still hadn't returned, the fear began to take hold. Your stomach churned, making it impossible to eat the following morning. You had hardly slept, the bags under your eyes dark and heavy. Nick begged you to take the day off but you insisted you needed to stay busy, although it didn't help much. On your lunch break you tried to casually walk by the main gate, the one near the stables, hoping to catch a glimpse of him returning, but you had no such luck.

So you went back to work. You kept your hands busy, tried to keep your mind occupied, but it was impossible.

I'll spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you.

You couldn't get those words out of your head. The guilt was weighing you down as you grew worried that was going to be one of the last things he ever said to you.

"Went on a date the other night."

"With who?"

"Cindy, from the kitchen."

Ricky laughed heartily and Andrew smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Shut up, man. We're on watch, we can't be giving ourselves away."

"It's the middle of the goddamn night and we haven't seen any infected in weeks. It's too cold for them, they're all frozen somewhere waiting to thaw in the spring," Ricky said, shouldering his rifle.

"Yeah, but still. You never know. There's more than just infected out there."

Ricky chuckled and shook his head. "Tommy telling you ghost stories again?"

"Raiders ain't ghost stories, asshole," Andrew shot back.

"And raiders never make it this far up the mountains, asshole," Ricky replied, mocking Andrew's tone.

Andrew grumbled under his breath and strolled away from the tower, towards the gate, his eyes scanning the treeline. He couldn't see a damn thing. It was pitch black and deathly quiet.

He turned on his heel and began the slow walk back towards the tower where he could see Ricky unwrapping a granola bar and pulling a paperback book from his back pocket.

Just as he was about to chastise him for letting his guard down, he heard twigs snapping in the woods. He whipped around, bringing his rifle up so he could get a better look with his scope.

"What the hell was that?" Ricky's whisper materialized in his ear.

"Dunno. Something's out there."

Ricky lifted his own rifle and scanned the trees as well, both of them holding their breath, waiting for another noise.

"Maybe-"

Then they heard more twigs snapping and pine trees raking against fabric. Louder this time.

"Fuck," Ricky muttered nervously, his palms growing sweaty inside his gloves.

"There," Andrew said lowly, and Ricky followed his aim. Something was approaching in the dark. Something big.

"I got it."

"No, just wait a second," Andrew said, squinting through the scope. Then his jaw went slack when he realized what it was.

"It's a horse."

"What?"

"It's a fucking horse, bro," Andrew repeated, his voice rising a little.

When it finally emerged from the forest, they saw the rider slumped over, covered in snow, their face buried in the horse's mane.

"Holy shit," Andrew said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and racing towards the ladder. "Radio Tommy!"

"W-what do I say?" Ricky stammered, fumbling with the radio dial.

"Tell him it's Joel!"

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[jell-o101]

BGM: Welcome to the Mushroom Kingdom - TSMBM

1 <<< 6 / 7 / 8

Yeah the background music I invision in some parts are super specific 😅. You don't HAVE to look up the music to immerse yourself into this...but its so cool to do anyways 😶👉👈

MAN the damn perspective of the entire prison was SO unnecessary but I DID IT ANYWAY!

[meanie--zucchini]

so by now i've made about *checks notes* 30 mc styled concept drawings, damn

when i first started making those i really struggled with maintaining the squareness of it all, but it turned out to be a really good exercise on drawing backgrounds in perspective lol

and many more mc stuff on the way, by the way, i have a lot of ideas and some much needed free time now

[verimuru]

Red on Maroon A 16-page IWTV (2022) fancomic about the vampire Armand and journalist Daniel Molloy visiting the Mark Rothko retrospective in 2024 Paris. Content mentions & warnings: The comic depicts Daniel’s internalized ableism. Rothko’s suicide is acknowledged but not discussed in detail. There’s angst, talk about kink and lots of fluff. Louis is mentioned as well as Daniel’s daughters. Marius is not named but is hinted at. The comic is set up in post-Dubai-interview time and based on my knowledge about s1 of AMC’s IWTV with sprinkles of book canon. Some notes about the comic below:

As with my last comic, I am not a native English speaker, so I hope you keep that in mind when reading <3 trying my best here meow meow

The Rothko retrospective can be visited until 2nd of April of 2024 in Louis Vuitton Foundation. I visited the place in January, so the comic’s surroundings are a mix of memories and some image searches, but in no way fully accurate. Since visiting Paris next week is probably not an option for most people, the foundation has a very cool free app, where you can listen to an audio guide about Rothko and paintings in the exhibition. I mostly used their app as a source for this comic, so in case you want to learn more, go here: https://www.fondationlouisvuitton.fr/en/events/mark-rothko

 I listened to a lot of Morton Feldman’s Rothko Chapel -album while making this. So put it in playing in the background if you’re into that sort of thing. Link to the playlist on youtube

Since I am Finnish and I found out that one of LVF’s first exhibition had some Finnish painter’s work, ofc I had to include them… Page 14 has Schjerfbeck’s “Dancing Shoes”  and Gallen-Kallela’s “Kullervo Cursing”.

Ok finally some headcanon stuff: in my head, while writing this comic, I imagined Daniel having accepted the dark gift from Armand, but both of them wanting him to live as a human as long as possible to enjoy the benefits of a… mortal body. :’D Since, you know, vampirism is forever anyway, so why not enjoy the variety of bodily fluids, body heat, aches and weirdness of aging? While having a chronic illness is shitty, his life is not, and while his disability marginalizes him, there’s a perspective there, a person living and enjoying things, allowed to take space and feel his thoughts develop from these changes (that also affect over 6 million people around the world with Parkinson’s).

After finishing the comic I am not so sure if Daniel is going to be turned into a vampire after all. So your guesses are as good as mine, would love to hear your suggestions, hehe!

I wish we knew more about Daniel’s daughters! I just came up with something here because I wanted to draw them and wanted to see their dynamics as a family.

I have now read the Devil’s Minion part from Queen of the Damned as a separate short story and appreciate the TV show’s changes to Daniel even more. I can’t wait for S2…..

My sincerest thanks to @anaid-queen for being a test audience, my informant and such a cheerleader the past week <3<3<3

Hope you enjoy xoxo

SORRY I POSTED THE WRONG IMAGE FILES FIRST WAHHH I had to repost ;_;

[munv]

𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡 𝗘𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗦𝗬

𝗜𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗕𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗜𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝗦𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗲𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗷𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂? 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗮𝗹𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗶𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼?

The sun had started to set and the sounds of the bustling street that had once filled the atmosphere that early morning faded into the background. Night fell upon the small city and if one looked closely at a rooftop, there was a distant figure that almost blended into the darkness of that cold night.

"how pretty.." the figure uttered, sitting on the ledge of the building the harsh cold had caressed them along with the wind that seemed to play with their h/c strands of hair. For the first time in what seemed like forever those uncaring e/c eyes had sparkled with a hint of interest for once. It was sickening having to be alive from this perspective when thinking back on the life they led before this moment, a rush of bile was sure to come out. 

badump

badump

badump, 

Just the image of falling down from this height was enough to leave rivers of adrenaline rushing throughout their veins. Why did they feel excited? They were about to commit suicide.

Certainly, there was no means to be this pumped, surely? They seemed no older than 20, so why was there a need to throw their life away? would they finally end up in the pits of hell as did the ones that came before in the same situation? No time to dwell on such thoughts. It was time.

The young individual gently stood up; eyes still not wavering from the view before them. A sickening sweet smile spread across that once gloomy face, and eyes that practically resembled newly polished Moissanite were the only features that stuck out. Spreading out their arms as if they were going for a hug, the figure leaned forward— as if they were embracing the stars, the last view that was presented was the moon and city lights shining down upon their body before closing their eyes for the very last time. 

"finally..." you whispered, "i'm free."

That same night, a night where the moon and stars shined oh so brightly in greeting, a small baby was born.

'What the fuck?' you knew you were going to hell, at least that was the plan. Had the gods not heard your desperate cry and pleading to leave this wretched world? Then why in hell— no, just how in hell were you granted to open your eyes again? 

Maybe this is some sick joke. Y'know when they say your life flashes before your eyes crap and then you go onto dreamland forever? Perhaps this was..was..- ah yes! it could've been that this is some little dream you had of a better life. You sighed in your mind in pure bliss, the gods really did hear you! yawning before stretching out your limbs you started to snooze off, 'whatever clouds they put me on, damn..this is comfy. I could get used to this...'

"she's beautiful.." the woman above you sniffled. Wait a fucking minute..woman? what woman, weren't you dead.. ??

"Ryu! Come look at her, she has your eyes!" hah? There's no way...

A pair of strong and rough hands picked you up with ease from the woman's embrace holding you up to eye level. Tears overwhelmed him and he started breaking down and hiccupping. "sh-" sniffle "SHES WONDERFUL DEAR!!" he bawled.

Handing you back over to your self-claimed "mother" she watched her husband cry his heart out at the sight of his new daughter. Your mother in response could only shed a few tears with the biggest smile ever.

Deadpanning at the couple you only had one thought, "Where the hell am I?"

It had briefly been about 5 years since you reincarnated, life was a bit hectic with your parents. They were wealthy people sure, but the couple acted like 'bafoons'. Your exact words to describe them at the tender age of 3 had broken their hearts, yet made them ecstatic at the thought that their young daughter could have been a genius. 

Yes, it was a stretch to think that a small 3-year-old could criticize and understand every single word that had been spouted past their lips but who could blame you? The straight stupidity they showed and the time they didn't know how to properly change your diaper had been your last attempt at acting like a regular child. If you could, you would have changed the damn thing yourself, sighing at the memory you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror. 

short wavy h/c hair that would surely get longer and a pair of e/c eyes with noticeable long eyelashes. You were snapped out of your thoughts by a sudden call of your name, "[name]-chan! Are you done in there yet?" There you were reminded that you were basically in Kindergarten during the dismissal hiding from your overly doting parents. 

You let out a sigh before making your way out to face your caretaker. She put out her hand for you to grab, and once your small hands intertwined with hers she began walking.

"you know, [name]-chan..the other kids said they really wanted to be friends with you! haven't you ever thought of making friends?" she questioned you, yet you only stared in response. You looked away from her and focused on walking before responding,

"boring.." 

"hm?" she looked at you questioningly before asking you to elaborate. "They're all boring..nothing fun about a bunch of kids who just cry and play all day..". Now this was big talk for a small cute 5-year-old, but at heart, you were an 18-year-old who had a job and rent to pay. The woman's sweat dropped at your bland expression. Finally; you were at the gates of the small school. "just give it some thought, alright?" 

"hmph"

After a few minutes of waiting you let go of her hand as a familiar figure came into view. Letting go of the caretaker's hand that you never bothered with, your small hands found a way to hold onto the straps of your small backpack. "Okaasan.You're here?" 'I thought she was supposed to be home..'

"Mrs. Itoshi! wonderful to see you." The caretaker lady smiled brightly at the sight of the woman. "I take it you're doing well?" "Anri! it's nice to see you as well!" 

The two women conversed and with every minute that passed you inched closer to your mother. What had taken your attention was the round bump on her belly. You were reminded of the small baby that was growing in her stomach that would soon be your sibling. Not to say you didn't want one, but not to say you did either. The thought just never crossed your mind since you were a busy only child in your past life. 

"n/n, what do you want for dinner dear?" soon you were met face to face with your mother. Were you so spaced out the fact that you were about to enter your house did not occur? 'what the hell..'

"i'll eat anything you make okaasan.." replying quietly, the woman basically beamed. "[NAME]-CHAN YOU'RE SO ADORABLE!!" she took you into her arms and spun you around emitting flowers.

"I-..I can't br-" "I HAVE SUCH A CUTE DAUGHTER!" "OKAASAN-" "YOU NEED TO GROW BIG AND STRONG ALRIGHT?" 

"YOU'RE PREGNANT HOW ARE YOU SO STRONG?" 

"I'LL MAKE SURE YOU GROW INTO A FINE YOUNG LADY-'

"I CAN'T BREATHE!!"

In other words..it feels as if you're the one taking care of your parents instead..Let's hope your litter brother doesn't end up this way too..

You let out a sigh. This is going to be a long life..

[lovekipani]

Part 2 - Alastor Smut - Alastor's Perspective

Alastor Fucks You Part 2 - Alternate Perspective

If you haven't read the reader's POV of this, you can do so here.

My partner and I collaborated on this story from Alastor's perspective to mirror my previous version written from the reader's perspective. So if you are curious what was going on in Alastor's mind when he was fucking, here's our one-shot of just what that might be. Enjoy.

Plot: Alastor wants you... bad. But not just as a one-night stand. He wants to make a deal to keep you as his personal toy. And the kicker is...you want it just as bad.

It’s 2 am, and I’m hungry for restless, mortal souls that struggle to sleep.  Souls that are particularly…vulnerable…to what I have to offer.

But, I rarely get to venture into the living world these days…where TV and digital technology have taken over (fuck you Vox), weakening my access to souls – a link dependent on powers of old…the power of voice.  The power of frequency.  Instead, I roam Hell, claiming souls in bondage in exchange for what I can offer them…what they need and crave.

Since I expired and ended up here, in hell 90 years ago, I have been known by many names, but legend knows me as Alastor. The Radio Demon.

It seems like it’s going to be just another night in Hell.  I sit in my den, dimly lit with the soft glow of demon fire, the sound of 20s jazz crackling in the background as I raise my glass of whiskey to my lips…the cold thick liquor burning as it slides down my throat.

I am tense and restless.  It’s nothing new.  As much as I lord over the souls in Hell, nothing down here can satiate my hunger…my shadow’s hunger…for the flesh of a mortal soul, and it has been too long since I have had my fill.  My power, invisible yet pervasive, emanates like waves.  But like water crashing against a dam, my powers are confined within the walls of Hell unless the perfect, damned soul tunes in.

I drift off in my thoughts.  Maybe I’ll go over to Charlie’s hotel and fuck with Husk.  Grouchy old fuck is so easy to rile up, and he’s the best bartender in town.  I straighten my red pinstriped jacket, and fix my red and black hair – after all, a gentleman, even a Demonic one, must not be seen in public unkempt.

I open the door to step out, when suddenly I feel a shift in the air.  Something I have not felt for so long, yet so unmistakably familiar.  The shadows in me stir, knowing that this could mean.  My stag ears straighten, scanning the airwaves.  I don’t so much see her, but sense her – a sensation at once faint, but all the while so vivid that it paints a picture in my mind.  I close my eyes as I feel a grin spread across my face, baring my razor sharp teeth.  The tentacles of my shadow rippling under the silk fabric of my jacket.  They are hungry.

I see her now, still faintly, standing alone in her dark apartment, leaning against a side table with a cold drink in one hand, her other hand fiddling with the dial on an old wooden radio – most likely a family heirloom.  Her grandmother’s, maybe.  I can see her frustration as she turns the dial back and forth, trying to find the right frequency.

She is a vision.  Thick long blonde hair that reaches the top of a perfect ass held in low rise jeans that fit just right.  The low cut V-neck tee hugging her hour-glass figure, barely containing her breasts.  But there is more to her than her looks…something deeper inside.  Sure, it takes a damned soul to connect with me, but there is something more.  Something darker.  A hidden truth.  Something deliciously sinful.

Finally, she finds the frequency, my frequency.  She visibly relaxes and closes her eyes as she listen to the old 20s sounds.  Little does she know that she has just sealed her own fate.

“Good girl,” I whisper.

My entire body vibrates as the old radio connects with my energy, and the vision becomes clearer, and the portal, invisible to mortal eyes, that has been closed to me for so long finally opens.

I straighten my body, holding one hand against the small of my back, the other holding my staff, topped with an old radio microphone.  I draw in a deep breath.  I can practically smell her perfume – a familiar scent from a French fashion house – mixed with the sweetness of her skin. 

I gather myself, holding my shadow in check.  “Patience, Alastor,” I say to myself.

Taking one last deep breath, pulling my shoulders back and letting my frame take on its full size, I concentrate my thoughts and my powers for my long-awaited return to broadcast radio.

“It’s show time,” I mutter to myself, an evil grin spreading across my face, knowing what is to come.  My body tensing, I project my energy, my thoughts, and my voice through the air, and right into her ear.

I slip into the shadows.  A Demon watching his prey.

“It’s my pleasure to introduce you…"

Alllaasstor... I breathe into her ear.

I watch as her eyes snap open and she looks frantically around the room, trying to locate the source of my unexpected voice.  I chuckle again…I fucking love this part.  I can see her body tense with confusion. 

Strange…usually what I see is fear.

I hear her whisper under her breath…”Alastor.”  I watch as she leans back, taking another sip of her drink, trying to relax.

Who is this woman?  It’s time that I find out.

With a simple thought, the lights flicker, and I watch with sadistic glee as her eyes widen and her body straightens. “What the fuck was that?” she says out loud to herself. 

Another simple thought, and I plunge the room into darkness.  I watch her in darkness, and her confusion brings on an arousal that I have long missed.  I can feel my cock harden in my tailored pants, growing and aching for what is to come.

“Lets have some fun,” I say to myself, as I turn the room a sinister, crimson red.  I watch as she closes her eyes, visibly shaking her head, trying to wake herself from what she believes to be a dream.

I step out of the shadow and stand directly in front of her as she opens her eyes, my eyes menacing and fixed on hers as I grin wide and bare my razor-sharp teeth. 

Her body stiffens with fear as a growl rumbles in my throat, that primal hunger growing.  I can feel her fear and I feed off it, my frame growing as I tower over her, my cock hardening into a steel rod as a sensual gasp escapes her soft lips.  Her face flushes red and my heightened senses smell not fear…but desire.  Her whole body emanates the scent of a woman in heat.

I release my shadow that I have held in check.  The tentacles of my inner monster reaches out, wrapping themselves around her ankles and snaking up her legs and thighs, around her waist, gripping and squeezing her tits through her clothes, and wrapping around her throat as I lift her into the air.  I pull her head back, exposing her neck as I step closer, my prey held in mid air.

I step forward, pressing her back against the counter, and lean my face close against her neck, taking her scent in like a feral beast.  I bring my face close against hers, not touching, but close enough for her to feel my heat, as I growl into her ear, “mmm…you smell delicious.”

My shadow pulls her back further, arching her back to expose her breasts to me.  I can feel her heat and wetness as my shadowy tendrils, like phantom hands, press and explore between her legs.  Instead of recoiling in fear like many have in the distant past, her hips roll and seek me out.

Yes…that’s the deep, dark truth that I sensed earlier.  This dark, sex-crazed soul that I will both set free, and claim as my own fuck toy.

As my demonic shadow holds her aloft, I grip her hip with one hand, my claws digging into her soft flesh, while the other runs down her cheek.  I love the feeling of her body under my claws... so sensitive, soft...vulnerable. My shadow spreads her legs as I pull her hard against me, the shaft of my hard cock pressing against her slit through her jeans.  I can feel the moist heat burning through her jeans.

I lean forward, the tip of my tongue licking softly from her collarbone up to her ear.  “What a darling specimen you are, my dear,” I purr into her ear as I grind against her cunt, my cock desperate for release.

I press my weight over her, the underside of my shaft covering her slit, with the tip of my cock against her naval.  I watch her face flush and contort with desperate desire and lock my eyes with hers.

“Allasstor…” she breathes hotly.  I set my demonic desires free as I tighten my hold on her body.

“You have such a lovely voice…maybe I should broadcast your screams tonight for all of hell to hear while I fuck that needy little cunt,” I growl as my shadowy hand grips her hot pussy through her jeans, pressing hard against her clit.  I feel her tense and whimper, and I tighten my grip on her tits, my shadow splitting into thin fingers, slipping inside the collar of her t-shirt and inside her bra, teasing her nipples, rolling them into hardness.

“Or maybe it’s your screams they’ll hear, Radio Demon?” she moans into my ear as I claim her body.

“Oooo, I love that demonic little mouth of yours.  I’d like it even more if it were wrapped around my cock.  Or maybe I’ll just bend you over this counter and fuck that delightful little pussy instead?” I growl as grip and massage her ass.  As much as I want to fuck this cock-sucking slut’s throat, my shaft longs to be buried inside her cunt, and to fill her to the brim.

I flip her over with ease, her tits pressed against the countertop as I press my cock against her ass.  I wonder what her tight little asshole would feel like?  I press my chest against her back, and I feel her hand slide back, reaching to free my cock.

“Be careful, girl.  I’m the monster you were warned about.”

“You’re the monster I want,” she moaned back. 

With one hand holding her down by the back of her neck, I rip her jeans and panties off in one violent motion, leaving them in tatters on the ground.  I can smell her cunt, and can see her pussy dripping with desire.  I flip her onto her back, my claws gripping the collar of her t-shirt as I tear her t-shirt and bra in two, her tits spilling out, topped with perfect, hard nipples. 

I lick my lips, as I command my shadow to tease her cunt, the tendrils stroke lightly up and down her pussy lips, gently prying them open, exploring every wet fold, learning the contours of what I am about to devour.

“Perfect…”, I growl deep as I begin to devour my little demon whore.  My mouth starting at her neck, tasting her skin and biting, marking her.  My clawed hands paw her breasts, squeezing them hard until she whimpers in delicious pain, my clawed fingers pinching her nipples as I twist and pull at them.  My hands grip her thighs and spread them wide as I kiss down her abdomen, down her mound and breathe in her cunt, my fingers spreading her pussy lips and exposing her swollen, needy clit as my tongue lashes the sensitive bud, licking the length of her slit as my shadowy fingers teased and rimmed her tight asshole.  I suck hard on her clit and feel her press her pussy into my mouth, a loud moan filling the room.

I rise from between her legs as I watch her breathe heavily, her eyes heavy-lidded, pleading for more.  I rip my shirt off and hold her gaze as I unbuckle my pants, and I watch with pleasure and satisfaction as I watch her gaze drop between my legs as my demon cock springs free, thick-veined and ridged, dripping and glistening with precum.  I slide the length of my cock up slowly her slit, starting at the junction between her cunt and her anus, making sure she feels and acknowledge every inch that is about to fill her.

“Let’s give the listeners a show they’ll never forget…” the little slut purrs as she grinds her pussy against my shaft.

Pushing her ankles above her head, I slam into her in a single deep stroke, my pelvic bone crashing against her clit that makes her groan in both pain and pleasure.  I can feel her cunt stretch to accommodate me while drenching me in her juices that run down my balls.  There is no elegance or tenderness, just a demonic beast claiming his prize as I drive my full length into her over and over, pulling back until just the tip of my cock is inside her before I slam fully back into her, and grinding my pelvis against her clit.

“Al…Alastor…of fuuuckk…” she moans and whimpers as I claim her sweet little cunt.

I pin her hands above her head as my body keeps her legs folded up above her head, as I fuck her relentlessly, watching her face as her eyes roll back with pleasure, and moans turn into whimpers.

I can feel her pussy clenching and tightening around my cock, massaging me inside her.  I remain inside her and enjoy her ministrations, as I whisper into her ear.

“That’s a good girl…I know what you are.  Now enjoy getting fucked in ways you have only dreamed of…”

I feel her cunt tighten and gush with wetness in response, as though she has been awaiting permission for her true self to be liberated.  I slide one hand under her ass, running a finger between her ass-cheeks, feeling her cream dripping over her asshole, as I tickle it with the tip of my clawed finger.

“Yess…such a perfect little demon whore…such a needy little cunt…You’re mine.  All mine…” I growled.

“Yes…I am yours…” she gasps as her orgasm builds.  I watch her face as I continue to fuck her, as she fades from the world, sinking deeper into a world of pure pleasure and ecstasy. 

I can feel her pussy swelling and getting tighter as she nears her climax.  Her orgasm will be my claiming of her soul.

“Is it a deal?” I ask as I seek her complete submission.  My cock swells in anticipation, filling her and stretching her even further.

“Yes! Yes! Alastor!!! Yes!!!” she screams as her body is wracked by a seemingly endless orgasm, relinquishing all control to me, as her cum gushes like a fountain, soaking my thighs and leaving puddles on the floor.

Her submission triggers my release, as I growl deep and bury myself deep inside her, my balls tightening, and my cock pumping thick seed deep into her hungry, eager pussy, filling her.  My cum spills out as I slide out my still-twitching cock.  Needing to empty myself completely, I stroke my cock as she watches me, and finish over her body, covering her belly and breasts, howling into the night.

As I catch my breath, and slowly release my grip on my newly claimed prize, I see that she has slipped into a deep sleep. My mark glowed a faint red on her mound…the mark of the Radio Demon. 

I wrap my arms tight around my prize’s exhausted body, as I summon my shadow. Darkness falls around us and in a moment, we are back in hell, in my office.

I sit in my velvet armchair and watch her as she sleeps in my dimly lit room. My eyes glide over her naked form, watching her breasts swell with each breath.  I can feel my arousal returning again, my cock starting to rise.

For how long she slept, I don’t know.  Time has no meaning in Hell.  Afterall, Hell is forever.  At last she stirs, and opens her eyes, and I see her blink away the sleep, and watch her gaze drop from my face, down my body, to the erect cock that has been waiting for her.

“Welcome to Hell, Darling.  Your deal starts now, and my listeners will want more,” I say with a smile as I approach her.  She rolls onto her back, opens her legs, and wraps her ankles around my waist, pulling me down against her.  Her tongue searches out my mouth, and my tongue dances with hers, tasting her.

“Best not to disappoint them then,” she moaned as I sink deep into her.

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