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ckret2 · 19 hours

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Chapter 49 of human Bill Cipher being such a miserable prisoner even the Pines are starting to feel bad for him: The Eclipse: Epilogue.

####

"The heck did you do to that poor woman?" Tate asked, staring out the window. Bill was sitting on the pier, legs dangling in the water, staring blankly into the depths. He was still muddy and trembling. "She looks more traumatized than when y'all left."

Ford couldn't meet Tate's gaze under the brim of his hat, but he could feel Tate raising a brow when he spotted Dipper pacing back and forth on the pier behind Bill, muttering furiously.

"We've had a very bad day," Ford said.

"Uh-huh."

"Could I borrow your phone to call my brother?"

Outside, Dipper was oblivious to everything except the one line he'd managed to remember from the Axolotl, the words he'd picked out as they crossed the lake. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,'" Dipper murmured. He knew that much. It was a poem. It was a rhyme. He couldn't remember the rest. What did it mean? He murmured it over and over to himself as he walked, trying to remember the next line, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,' 'sixty degrees that come in threes'... breeze, freeze, ease, lease, knees—" He couldn't remember the rhyme.

Bill was considering grabbing Dipper by the ankle and dragging him off the pier just to shut him up when whatsisname, the younger McGucket came out of the shop. "Hello there? Miss Goldie?"

Human. Strange human. Human that Bill could get on his side. Be charming. He tried to remember how to be charming. He offered a feeble smile. "Yello?"

"I wanted to make sure you're all right," Tate said. "You look like you, uh... you've had a hard time."

Bill laughed ruefully. "Well, I've been dragged all over the mountain, I'm hungry, exhausted, and half-drowned, and I can barely walk—but I'm not currently dead. Allegedly. I'll take what I can get."

The corners of Tate's mouth twitched down in a concerned frown. "Is there anything you need? A..." He floundered for a moment, "A water, or...?"

"I've had enough water to last me a lifetime." He wondered idly whether he could claim he was too exhausted to make it all the way home—there was a sofa in the staff room, Tate would probably let the poor bedraggled "woman" take a nap, if Bill got that bit of distance between himself and the Pines maybe he could... maybe he could... do something with it? But he couldn't think of anything more definite than that and now Ford was coming back and the window of opportunity closed. He shrugged wearily. "Just need to get back to the shack. Thanks." He half heartedly used the lake water to wash the drying mud off his lower legs and knees.

"Stan will be here in about twenty minutes," Ford said, and tried to ignore the dirty look Tate gave him.

"I'll be just inside if you need anything else," Tate said. "Watching." He headed inside—and then, indeed, stood at the shop window and watched.

Ford was never going to get on Tate's good side. He suspected Tate would be a little less sympathetic to the poor woman on the pier if he knew who he really was; but it certainly wouldn't make Tate like Ford any better for keeping him around.

"Nothing to do now but wait." Ford unloaded the rest of their supplies from the borrowed motor boat. He dropped Soos's Monster-Mon backpack beside Bill—it was heavy, Bill must have just shoved his clothes and bedsheet straight in without bothering to wring out the water—and the plastic bag of snacks Dipper had bought. "You ought to eat more while we wait." Ford nudged the snack bag.

Bill sneered at it. "I don't want that trash."

"What?" Ford examined the bag's contents. Jerky, chips, candy, cups of marshmallow cereal... "This is ninety percent of what you eat."

"Ninety percent of what I eat is what I can scavenge from the counters."

Ford looked through the bag again. Ah. Right. So it was. "If you want something else, you know you can ask us to..."

"Mac and cheese."

Maybe Ford had better stop talking. He sighed and glanced at Dipper to see how he was doing.

It didn't look like Dipper had even registered Ford's return, too busy pacing and muttering to himself. Ford frowned. "Dipper?"

"Axolotl," Bill explained. "He's obsessing over him. Didn't I tell you that meeting that thing would drive him insane?" He tilted his head toward Dipper. "Look at that, he's already mumbling to himself. Don't suppose you have his therapist's number, do you? I doubt that would save him, but it might slow the process—"

Ford shushed him.

Dipper had briefly tuned back into the conversation when he heard Bill say Axolotl; and now he grit his teeth and stubbornly tuned it back out. No. He was not going insane. Dipper would figure this out. If he just remembered the rest he'd be fine. He tried to go through all the potential rhymes alphabetically, "—bees, cease, d—deez?" That wasn't a word. "Fees, geese, he's..." and on and on, "seas, tees, uh... vees? Wheeze..."

"I've had enough of you trying to convince that boy he's about to go mad," Ford muttered to Bill. "What do you get out saying that? Even if you do convince him he's insane, it won't make him start trusting anything else you say."

"I'm not lying," Bill said heatedly. "You ought to know that, you've been in the multiverse, you've seen plenty of maddening sights. You saw them before you even left the Nightmare Realm."

Ford hesitated before responding; was Bill trying to persuade Ford he was insane? But he could still remember those first few moments of terror in the Nightmare Realm: the creatures that had seemed to move and shift in impossible ways as they swam in and out of dimensions Ford couldn't see, the lights and colors that throbbed like an inverted migraine, Bill himself seemingly suspended a million light years away and a foot in front of Ford's face at the same time. Until Ford had latched onto his quest to destroy Bill and let that focus him, his mind had felt like an unraveling sock. "You were chief among those maddening sights."

"I was," Bill acknowledged neutrally.

"But I didn't go insane."

"Because you knew when to look away." He cast a sideways glance at Dipper, an implicit unlike him. "I know you used to read cosmic horror. Do you know why the narrator always goes mad just from looking at some giant beast? It's not because it's too ugly to take. It's because once you meet something, you try to understand it; but if you want to understand the reality something like that comes from," he rolled an eye up toward where the invisible Axolotl had hung in the sky, "you have to lose your understanding of your own reality. They're incompatible. Like the lunatics who escaped Plato's cave and came back ranting about nonsense like sunlight and colors."

It was a twisted interpretation of the cave allegory. Plato had meant it as a metaphor for education: that learning about the true nature of reality was enlightening, but alienated you from your peers.

Perhaps to Bill, enlightenment and insanity were the same thing.

Ford murmured, "Once your eyes have been too dazzled by the sunlight to see the dim shadows, you'll never be awed by a candle again."

"You have been there before."

Ford didn't answer.

"Once you've seen something like that, if you let yourself dwell on the significance of it all, you're doomed. Better to tell yourself it's unimportant and try to forget it ever happened."

Ford thought of Fiddleford.

Bill twisted around to snap tiredly at Dipper, "So stop staring at the sun before you go blind, moron."

"Shut up." Dipper had been trying to mentally drown out Bill's dire predictions by grasping for more rhymes—"disease, unease, Socrates"—but enough filtered through to make his stomach churn with nervousness. What if Bill was right? What if he never remembered what the Axolotl told him—what if he drove himself mad trying? What if this turned into a lifelong obsession—but he'd be fine and could let it go once he remembered—was that the trap? Was whatever it had told him impossible for a human to remember? Was it something so incomprehensible a human couldn't remember it without going crazy?

But he'd seen plenty of stuff last summer that was supposed to make humans go "insane." Bill had to be messing with him. He remembered the first line—surely that meant he could remember the rest—but was that part of the trap? "'Sixty degrees that come in threes'... come on, there's something else, I know it, what is it? 'Sixty degrees that come in threes'—"

Bill sighed irritably. "'Watches through the eyes in trees.'"

Dipper stopped pacing. He hadn't realized he'd raised his voice enough to be audible. "What?"

"What?" Bill said.

"What's the rest of it?"

"What rest of it? It's a couplet. That's all," Bill said. "Is that what he told you? He gets rhymey when he feels self-important, it's no big deal. Maybe you're lucky. Put it out of your head and you'll be fine."

Dipper turned the words over in his head. Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches through the eyes in trees... "That's not exactly right," he said slowly. "It was 'watches from within birch trees.'"

"Is that how he translated it? I've never heard it in English before. I got close, though, I knew it'd rhyme."

Ford echoed, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes.' Like a triangle?"

Dipper gave him a perplexed look. "What?"

"You're taking geometry next year, aren't you? The inner angles of polygons always have the same number of degrees; and a triangle has a hundred and eighty degrees. Three angles of sixty degrees forms... an equilateral triangle."

Dipper and Ford stared at Bill.

Bill gave them a tired, unreadable look. "What?" he said. "Don't look at me. I'm not the only equilateral triangle in the universe."

Well, now Dipper was sure there was more to the poem than just a couplet. "How many other equilateral triangles spy on people through birch trees?"

"Lay off," Bill said crabbily. "I didn't have to tell you that line. Don't make me regret it." He planted his elbows on his knees, laced his hands together, pressed his forehead to them, and massaged his eyelids with his thumbs.

He tilted slightly to the right, keeping the weight of his head off his left arm.

####

"Nice shirt," Stan said, eyeing Ford's anger management t-shirt.

"If you like it, you can have it."

"What happened to your coat?"

"Somewhere at the bottom of the lake," Ford sighed.

"How...?"

"I'll fill you in later."

Bill's trembling was almost unnoticeable by the time Stan arrived. Or, at least, it was slight enough that he could stand and make the short walk from the pier to the car without an obvious struggle.

He climbed into the back seat slid across the bench, leaned against the door, wrapped his arms around his Monster-Mon backpack, fell asleep, and didn't wake up for the entire drive home.

Dipper and Ford fell silent when they noticed; and, sensing the heavy atmosphere, Stan followed suit.

####

The event organizers for Higher Dimensional Gate had arranged for the Magister Mentium's audience to surround him in a circle with as large a circumference as possible, so that as many shapes as possible could pack into the first few rows where they could see him. Even so, the crowd was much too large for everyone to be in the first few rows. Speakers had to be planted throughout the crowd so that they'd all be able to hear the Magister speak. Most of his audience couldn't see him.

But he, with his all-seeing eye, could see all of them.

The crowd extended back, row after row after row, in every direction like flecks of multicolor confetti filling the air all the way to the horizon. He'd never spoken to such a large crowd before. He didn't think he'd ever seen such a large crowd before.

Not all of them were his worshipers. He didn't have that many worshipers. The rest were drawn in by his boast—to be the first shape outside of legends to predict an eclipse, over six months ahead of schedule. They were here for a spectacle. He meant to give them one.

If he succeeded, all these spectators would become his worshipers, he was sure of it. If he didn't succeed, he lost everything. The whole nation knew about his bet. He'd be financially ruined. His worshipers would abandon him. There would be no fleeing to a new town and starting over; everyone everywhere knew who he was. His life would be over.

This would be only the third eclipse he could recall. There's no way to neatly map shape ages onto human ages. Different year lengths, different aging speeds, different mental and physical milestones. But approximately, compared to a human, he was scarcely over fifteen years old.

But he wouldn't fail. He pushed all his fears aside. He didn't even want to think about them. He wouldn't, because he couldn't, because he could see what nobody else saw. He could see the eclipse's approach.

It was traveling across the vast empty gulf outside the world.

The only other third dimensional objects he'd ever seen were the sun—which looked to him like a circle—and the stars—which seemed to be mere points. He assume all third dimensional objects were fundamentally just second dimensional objects, moving on a strange plane. He had no capacity to model a 3D object in his mind.

But the eclipse was a beast that twirled and gyrated around impossible axes, moving and rotating in ways his eye couldn't even comprehend. To him, it looked as though the living creature—he assumed it was a living creature, sometimes it manifested a couple of limbs or an eye—was constantly shapeshifting, its perimeter moving and altering. Its uncanny undulations had haunted his nightmares for months after he first watched it, so young he'd barely started school. It wasn't any less nightmarish now.

But as incomprehensible and terrifying as it was, he could see it, and nobody else here could, and that was all that mattered. He could watch it on the horizon and publicly announce that it would cross the sun in two weeks—and then in about three days—and then, to his humiliation, not tomorrow but today, guaranteed, as the creature sped up and threw off his estimate. His worshipers and bemused spectators had taken over the square to while away the time. They'd quickly gathered around him to wait after he'd declared it would arrive within the hour

That had been almost an hour and a half ago. The stupid thing had slowed down.

The triangle was terrified.

In every direction, shapes were staring at him. Waiting. His father was watching him—his stare seemed to grow heavier by the minute. He could see reporters in the crowd taking notes.

He had to fight not to pace, not to cringe, not to show any nerves in front of the hundreds of eyes.

Now. It had to be now. It was so close. Please don't let him be wrong. Every cord in his body quivered in terror as he grabbed his microphone and announced: "Lines, bis, tris—quads, quints, and more! My dear students and beloved believers, and my—" he cut off the urge to say something nastier, "—curious visitors, who I hope will join our quest for enlightenment. This is the moment you've been waiting for! The eclipse is upon us! In less than a minute, it will begin!" He had to keep his gaze forward as he spoke, looking at his audience. (His mother had always said the way his eye went white when he was looking at the third dimension unnerved people.) "Soon—you won't have to take all my claims about the third dimension on faith. You'll be able to see for yourself the effect of the third dimension on the plane."

The crowd murmured excitedly. He could see his father relax. He stared up-but-not-north, gnawing nervously on his eyelid until he caught himself. The beast above glowed a warm pink in the light of the nearby sun.

And the stupid thing. Slowed. Again.

He stared in disbelief.

"Sixty seconds," his father whispered, out of range of the microphone.

His stomach flopped. He was dead.

"One minute, fifteen seconds. What's going—?"

He held his microphone away and hissed, "The eclipse decided to zigzag."

"Eclipses can zigzag?"

"Shhh!" He'd already failed. He'd already shown everyone he was wrong. He could hear the murmurs. His eye hurt from staring at the sun and from straining for so long to turn so far upward-not-northward, go faster faster faster—

There! The snout of the eclipse was this close to kissing the perimeter of the sun. He cried triumphantly, "Now!"

The wretched beast did a loop-the-loop around the sun and missed it entirely.

The triangle felt the last strands of his fraying self-composure snap.

He howled in rage.

He could hear laughs from the crowd. They felt like daggers in his sides.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" He was bellowing into outer space as if he thought it might hear him, "Do your think this is a game?! Is this funny?! Are you trying to humiliate me in front of the whole world!" His father put a hand on his arm; the triangle shoved him away. "Get back here right now! You thick, brainless, blobby, pink, feeler-faced two-eyed freak of nature! GET BACK HERE and LOOK ME IN THE EYE!" He was a lunatic, everyone would know it, their leader raving in a direction no one could actually see about some big pink delusion, what did he care, no one would ever take him seriously again anyway—

And the thing in the sky.

Stopped.

And looped back.

And came closer, and closer, and bigger, and bigger—it just kept getting bigger, how far away had it been before, how large was it, how large was the sun?

He hardly noticed the crowd's gasp as the creature twirled between them and the sun—the light shone through its body, pink with blood—and then out of the way, and then in again, and out—until finally it was so close that its perimeter completely engulfed the sun. He'd taken a field trip to the planet's surface once—an enormous solid mass of stone and crystal. Until now, he'd never seen another solid objects so large. To his limited understanding of 3D objects, it looked as though there were no organs inside its perimeter—just a layer of solid, uninterrupted flesh. He didn't know how it could even move.

It stopped straight over him.

He was sure the two black circles embedded inside its body must be its eyes. His whole life he'd heard psychic powers—psychic powers like his own—described as having an "inner eye." But he'd thought the phrase was just a metaphor. An eye on the inside of a body instead of on its perimeter would be useless to most people. He'd never seen a creature with an eye literally on the inside of its body. But the eclipse had two.

And they were looking at him.

A giant ever-shapeshifting cosmic horror from outside of reality, staring through the veil separating the sane world from outerplanar space, and it was looking—at—him.

He was terrified.

He heard an alien voice in his head, vast and deep and slow as distant whale song:

"Hello there!" It was overjoyed. It was tickled pink. "I've never been spoken to by a shape on the wall before. I didn't know you could see off of it!"

Weakly, the triangle repeated, "'A shape on the'...?"

"Yes, this wall of yours." The eclipse gestured with its tail at—everything. A single sweep that took in an entire dimension. "I've probably commuted past this wall billions of times, and nothing's ever called to me before. I didn't know shadows could do that!"

"'Shadows'?" the triangle echoed again. That was all they were? An eclipse's shadows?

"I'm absolutely delighted," the eclipse said. "First contact from a lower-dimensional species! I've watched you for eons and never imagined. Isn't this exciting! How charming of you! Tell me who you are."

Him? "Me?"

"Of course. Who else?" It stared at him. Only him. A shapeshifting force of nature the size of a planet with two inner eyes, an eclipse that saw him as a shadow—and it was looking only at him.

Weakly, he said, "I'm... the Magister Mentium."

The eclipse thought that over. Its tone was a tad dubious and not terribly impressed (why should it be impressed? he was embarrassed at himself for giving his silly puffed-up title)—but it said, "Yes, I suppose that's true. I am the Axolotl. It's been a pleasure meeting you." It began to shapeshift again—its eyes slid sideways through its body, until one reached its perimeter and disappeared.

It dawned on the triangle, in its first immature understanding of third dimensional objects, that its eye had disappeared because the Axolotl was turning away. "Wait!" he cried. "Why..." Why answer him? Why focused on him so completely, if he was just a shadow? Why ask who he was like he mattered? He didn't even know how to put those questions to words in his own mind, much less out loud. "Why are you here so early?"

The Axolotl turned back to the triangle. "Oh! I had to go back for some documents I forgot at the office. Big case in the morning," it said. "You shadows know my schedule?"

"You... pass in front of the sun."

The Axolotl turned away, eyes disappearing and frills fluttering, to look at the sun. "So I do! How funny." It turned toward the triangle and gave him a strange, grotesque look that—by the tone of its psychic voice—he suspected was a smile. "I must get going. I'll be heading into the office a few hours late tomorrow, but perhaps I'll see you again then." And it turned away. It felt like it took forever for the enormous body to sail over-not-north-of the triangle—and pass, at last, out of the sun's path.

The triangle didn't look down-but-not-south until someone shook his side—his father. He lowered his dazed gaze to the crowd—the cheering, applauding crowd. Ma-gi-ster, Ma-gi-ster. A sea of multicolor confetti shapes that filled the air to the horizon.

Shadows.

His father shook him again—"Go on, say something. They're waiting"—and the triangle held up his mic as though he were in a dream. He tried to remember what he was supposed to say. "I was right," he said flatly. "Just like I always told you. I can see the third dimension. The realm of dreams—of colors, of light, and..." The lies left a sick taste in the back of his eye. He couldn't say them. Points of light in darkness and pink nightmares.

"I'm s— You'll all have to excuse me," he said, his voice childish and small. "I can't—I've had a... a... profound... spiritual experience. I must meditate on the revelations I've received." The words felt like woo-woo mumbo-jumbo. "The next eclipse will be a few months after the new year." It seemed important, for some reason, to pass that information on. Wasn't that what he always said he did? Share the wisdom of third dimensional spirits with his followers? "I... have to go now."

His father took his elbow. "This is your moment," he whispered. "Come on, son—you don't want to lose your chance to speak directly to them, do you?"

He shoved the microphone in his father's side. "You speak to them."

"But—"

"I can't," he said. "I can't."

He cut through the crowd as fast as it would part for him—if they were any slower, he'd have started stabbing his way through—haunted the whole way by their applause.

####

And that was it.

From the Axolotl's perspective, he had just had a brief pleasant exchange with a precocious tadpole in a sidewalk puddle.

From the triangle's perspective, he might as well have been standing on the boat deck watching as Cthulhu rose from his millennia of dead slumber at the bottom of the ocean, turned to the fragile vessel bobbing on the waves, and said, "Good morning! Glorious weather we're having, isn't it?"

And from the perspective of the Higher Dimensional Gate, their Magister Mentium had predicted an eclipse, been rightfully insulted when it didn't come the exact second he ordered it, and furiously summoned down an eclipse darker and swifter and longer than any in recorded history.

Up until then, he had been seen as, at best, an oracle. A prophet. A messenger to share the secrets of the third dimension, but that was all he could do. But now, he had commanded forces in an unseen dimension, creating an eclipse months before it was natural. He had made it flicker on and off like he had his finger on the sun's light switch. News reports and the most unimpeachable scientific authorities reported that the eclipse had centered on the location of the Higher Dimensional Gate rally, narrowed down to an inexplicably small radius around that point, and then remained unchanged for several long minutes, long enough for anyone in its shadow to grow fatigued from the missing sunshine. Nothing like that had ever happened before. It defied every known fact about the science of eclipses.

People around the gathering—even people who had known nothing about the Higher Dimensional Gate rally—reported that during the eclipse, they'd become inexplicably disoriented, unable to tell compass directions, and had felt themselves fall toward the darkness—as if gravity's pull had suddenly moved from the south to the epicenter of the eclipse. Public building inspections confirmed that somehow the entire town had shifted, ever so slightly, closer to the epicenter. Closer to the Magister.

Never mind prophecy; as far as the Magister's rapidly-increasing followers were concerned, he might have been a god.

It was the greatest triumph a baby cult leader could ask for.

He barely noticed.

####

For days, he could hardly sleep, speak, or think. He kept losing track of conversations to stare into space. Now, it awed his followers when his eye turned an empty white—he must have been communing with something in a higher dimension.

He didn't argue. It was better than letting them know he was losing his mind.

He spent his time alone locked in his room, pacing back and forth, trying not to look up-but-not-north and failing. Dwelling on the significance of it all. Feeling like he'd never figure it out.

He used to love cosmic horror stories, back when he had time to read. They followed a reliable pattern: the hero travels farther than any rational shape ever should, meets something big, and goes mad from the realization.

And what was it that the hero always realized? That he was a dust fleck in the firmament. That he was insignificant. That he didn't matter. That there were things out there he'd never seen before and would never truly understand, and that they cared not for mere shadows on the wall like him, and that in the grand scheme of the cosmos he was nothing. That he was utterly unimportant.

In moments of what felt like lucidity in between the shivering horror, the triangle wryly acknowledged that it was no surprise he'd ended up in a cosmic horror story. He could see into another dimension. In the stories he'd read, that made it all but inevitable.

But all the authors had gotten the maddening revelation wrong. He could have handled knowing he was nothing. It almost would have been a relief.

True horror was knowing he mattered.

He'd spent the majority of his young life selling the idea that he was oh-so-important, as part of a big con to trick gullible idiots into liking him and flinging cash at his rotten undeserving family—and he'd only been able to do it because when the guilt got to him, when his conscience asked what would become of the shapes forking over their life savings on false promises of divine secrets, he could look out into bleak black space and tell himself that nothing really mattered, nothing was important, nothing he'd ever do would really make a difference, and the people he manipulated didn't matter any more than he did. He meant everything to his worshipers, and nothing to the universe. He could do anything and it didn't matter.

For a moment, a vast mind-melting shape-shifting incomprehensible eldritch god had focused its full attention on him—of all the universe, of all the dimensions beyond the known universe, it had looked at him and only him—a mere shadow on the wall, and yet in that moment, it found him interesting. It found him worthy of notice. He had screamed into the cold uncaring void, and the void had cared. For a moment, he'd held cosmic importance. He mattered. His actions mattered.

He'd felt it see him as important, but why? What was so important about him? There had to have been something significant he'd done, something he showed it, something in what he said. He replayed their conversation in his mind over and over and over and over, trying to remember what he'd done that proved he mattered.

He didn't know what it was. He couldn't find it. All he could remember was just... being.

The writers were wrong. Cosmic horror wasn't when an elder god's eyes slid past you without noticing you existed. It was when the elder god gazed down at you at your lowest and bleakest, during your most petty and selfish act of mass swindling, from a dimension where not even slamming the door and shutting your eye could shield you from its gaze—and it decided you were worth caring about. Cosmic horror was when you encountered a colossal alien that planted the incomprehensibly alien idea in your head that you had an inherent worth just because you existed. Cosmic horror was when a force of nature asked the name of a shadow on the wall.

If it was true... if it all mattered... then what was he doing? How could he? What had he done?

####

He was lucky—he was lucky that his parents had raised him to think so clearly about issues like morality and money and easy marks. His only saving grace was that he was too rational to seriously entertain the Axolotl's mad ideas.

And yet, his mind boiled with mad regret. It blazed with insane guilt. The heat of it could burn him out. It was months before he could continue his public sermons without feeling sick—and even once he did, he could still feel the delusion that what he did mattered, festering in his mind.

It would fester for the next trillion years.

####

(And that concludes this plot arc! I hope y'all enjoyed it!! I'd love to hear what y'all thought of the whole thing—especially now that we've looped back to the original eclipse. 😁)

#bill cipher #the axolotl #(for the art)#human bill cipher #(for the fic)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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subfootboii · 1 day

Text

"I'm home."

You heard your dad calling from outside your room as you were jerking off while browsing some male foot blogs. You panicked and started hiding the lube, tissues and your dick. He went in just in time to see your screen filled with images of barefoot guys.

"Whats that? What are you doing son?"

"It's nothing dad... I was just..."

"Just what son? I'm your dad, you can tell me anything right?"

"I'm... into feet dad. Men's feet..."

"Anything else?"

"I'm gay dad."

"Nope. That's not what you are. You're a faggot. Don't be shy of admitting it. That's what you are. That's what you are born to be. An 'it' to serve a true God."

"But dad-"

"I'm not your dad anymore. I'm an alpha, a God for your degenerate kind. You are here to serve me, to worship me. There's nothing wrong about it. Natural order. Do you think I used to do house chores when I went to college? Do you think I ever did? I've always had fags and bitches for such shit. I divorced your stupid mother because of how annoying she started to get of me fucking other bitches and keeping all the house chores on her. And look at how naturally you stepped in to do house chores after that. I didn't have to tell you anything. I knew you're a faggot back then. Now it's time for you to fully embrace it. Don't worry God will help you."

You stood there shocked by what he just said. Even though your gay you've necer looked at you dad as anything but your father and now he sees you as an 'it' and called you a faggot.

"I know this can bea bit much to handle for your small faggot brain. Let's take ot step by step. Is dinner ready?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes... God?"

"Be proud of it faggot"

"Yes God."

"See. That was easy. Follow me."

You started following him to the kitchen when he stopped walking and turned back to you.

"It will follow God on its hands and knees. Always."

You weren't really understanding what he wants. Why is your dad talking to you like that? What is his goal? But before you know it all you sensed was a slap across your face rendering you senseless. You dropped to your knees and ached in pain.

"It should be quite at all time unless ordered otherwise. It will now follow God on it's hand and knees unless it wants a proper beat up."

You complied as you didn't want to be hit anymore. Until today you never really appreciated how jacked up your father was.

When you both arrived to the kitchen he got two plates. He poured a large portion of the food into one and what was left over in the other. He placed the big portion on the table and the other one under it.

"It will remove God's shoes and socks and then place god's feet in it's dish and eat from it. Now."

You were still in denial of what was going on. How did your life suddenly turn into this? Why is your father doing all that? Within seconds he kicked your face.

"This will be the last time God gives it another chance. Any form of disobedience will now be taken care of properly. The last thing a God wants after a long day at work is a disobedient faggot."

You followed through his orders. You took his shoes and socks off and a sweaty manly smell filled the air making your eyes watery. He pressed his feet in your plat making sure to crush all the food inder his huge manly feet then rested them at the middle of the plate.

"It will now eat all the portion on the plate."

The smell was so strong you knew the taste wouldn't be any better. You started eating like a dog from the plate licking his feet in the process.

You could hear him finishing up so you started to go faster. You knew that you shouldn't make him wait snd you weren't looking forward to getting punished by him. You both finished at the sae time and you made sure to leave his feet clean and spotless.

"It did a good job. Know it will prepare God's bath."

You prepared for his bath and having to stay on your hands and knees made it really challenging but he told you to stand up only to reach things up high.

"Let God see. It did a good job. Now It will go clean God's work boots and God's house flip-flops. They will be clean by the time God finishes bathing. It will do it using only it's tongue"

You crawled to the kitchen and started licking his boots clean making sure to cover every spot by your tongue. By this point you started understanding how things will work out from now on. You started accepting it.

You heard him step out of the shower and you knew you should rush to his flip-flops now so he won't be mad. You crawled to bedroom and started cleaning them and enjoying their taste. Yo held them with your mouth and placed them right outside the bathroom just in time for him to get out.

"I see it did a good job."

He wore the flip-flops and walked to the living room where he rested and flaunted his huge feet on the coffee table.

"It will now message God's feet."

You did as he asked and gave him a good massage. He must've been so tired you thought to yourself. Long hours of work every day. The least you could do to him is to serve him like this every day. That's what he deserves.

After around an hour he stood up and looked down at you.

"See? That was easy. That's what it was born for. That's what God deserves. New rules will be set and ut will comply. It will follow me to God's bedroom."

You followed his to his bedroom. He uncovered a cage you've never seen before from under his bed.

"God got this for his first faggot. All my bitches and faggots sleep in one place under my rule. This cage is now it's bedroom."

He opened it and signaled for you to go in. You did. The cage was directly after the end of the bed amd you could see his feet when he rested on the bed. It was small and uncomfortable... it was what God wanted for it.

(Story suggestion by: @chrishemsworthservant)

#father's feet #alpha feet

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tikvin · 3 days

Text

While y'all waiting on your sketches and Eshra's "in game" dialogues lemme talk about Vice for a sec, because I love them with my whole being and unhealthily obsessed.

BG3 SPOILERS AHEAD

VICE (he/they/it)

Mechanically, spore druid, flavouring him as just some disgusting necromancing swamp devil, not actually tying him to any circles or balance obsessed folk.

Vice is quite emotionless and blunt, some would say even cruel. "When you out of my sight — you don't exist" type of person. So far, the only durge who flat out made conscious decision to kill Karlach, as he couldn't care less that she's just a tiefling, if that what Wyll's mission is, then he better do it and quit whining (tbf if Vice met Karlach first then Wyll would be the one dying, I just forgot that was a possibility lol.) Vice just doesn't care much for negotiations in these confrontations. They have a passive attitude when it comes to confrontations with his companions, he's more amused than anything, when he's being threatened, suddenly feeling strangely confident and patronizing, as if intentionally provoking to bigger conflict. It probably would get better in act 3, but right now he's quite an asshole.

I wouldn't say he isn't capable of understanding emotions and moral dilemmas, but he's driven mostly by his own whims and wants. He recognizes when he killed without any good reason, but he doesn't necessarily feel bad about his kills. He might do or not do something just because he feels like it, even if he knows it might hurt someone, he doesn't care, unless it's someone deeply close to him or someone he is very curious about, which is hard to achieve.

He haven't got there yet with him, but considering how his relationships with Shadowheart look rn — she's in quite dangerous area with the whole nightsong deal, as Vice couldn't give two shits about her (or anyone else's) secrets and just doesn't ask companions about their lives until they speak about it themselves. So Shadowheart haven't got a chance to tell him anything about her worship or herself. That makes her distant to him, which makes him not give much of a shit, considering nightsong is not only the key for Thorm's immortality but also a potential strong ally. The attempt to kill Lae'Zel also doesn't do Shadowheart any favours in Vice's eyes, as he enjoys company of those who are more straightforward like Lae'Zel, because if you want something from him — you better tell as it is, and not dance around the subject. That is why he's most close to Minthara and Lae'Zel, while being more prickly to Gale, Shadowheart and Jaheira.

Vice is yet another durge who doesn't care much about their lust for blood, nor concerned by their own actions. The only thing he strongly doesn't like about it is losing control, but he is curious about his past.

Concept of romantic relationship is a bit alien to him, as is any sexual relationships. Yet again, it's not like he's not capable, considering how it is with Bhaal, I'd say Vice probably was a huge horndog before amnesia, but after the incident he just didn't give much of a thought to it, since there are bigger problems at hand. His level of understanding the romance will actually depend on if he kills Isobel or not. If Vice won't do it, and my favourite durge camp scene happens — Vice will be kinda pushed to think about it for a moment, when Skeletaris make comments on whatever companion that will be. That would make him dig deeper into his everyday time with that companion and consider what his feelings are and does he even have them.

If Vice kills Isobel and gets power — he gets more emotionless and aloof, mindless killing will be much easier, just like it would be easier to betray close friends for power or just for his own fun. (And the latter even Minthara won't approve of, considering her opinion on killing without purpose).

Would've probably went with the whole Bhaal biz if it wasn't for losing control over his body (After Karessa, he unconsciously grown to absolutely despise any sort of helplessness and lack of control over his own body). So he most likely will be the most questionable "redeemed" dark urge.

#original character #oc #durge oc #durge #bg3 dark urge #dark urge #tiefling

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wonbineatsme · 2 days

Text

: •̩̩͙ ໋ IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE •̩̩͙ ໋: - RI7ZE

RIIZE x fem!reader

Crack

SYNOPSIS: Boys’ reaction when you say you’re in love with someone - And that someone in question is them, but you decide to hide this part.

WARNINGS: This is just a hc, which means it doesn't match reality. I created the scenarios in my head :))

!! English is not my first language

WC! 0.8K

ᄀᄉᄀ SHOTARO: For me, Shotaro is very responsible and understandable. Even though it hurts to know that you are in love with someone else, I think Taro would react to this news in the most welcoming way possible, because above all you are his best friend. Maybe later he thinks he failed in some way, like he wasn't interesting enough for you, but he would try to push away those negative thoughts.

You both once promised that you would always be happy for each other's achievements. Shotaro will keep that promise, no matter who that person is, he will help you and make them feel welcome.

ᄀᄉᄀ EUNSEOK: There was no reaction, which made you a little upset, to say the least - Even though he is the person you like, in question.

You see, Eunseok isn't good at expressing his emotions. In fact, he never wanted to like you, he still refuses to believe that after so many years of friendship, his heart was stupid enough to fall in love. Not that the problem is you, you're perfect, but Eunseok is the rational type and to him all this shit doesn't make any sense.

He never thought that hearing from you that you are interested in someone else could cause so many feelings at once in him, so in the middle of all this confusion, Eunseok remained expressionless. Of course, your happiness is his happiness, but honestly? I think he'd be a little angry - Not at you, but at the bastard.

ᄀᄉᄀ SUNGCHAN: He would be the personification of the Lady Gaga meme “Brazil, I'm devastated”.

I know it doesn't make much sense, but for me Sungchan is the most intense of them all - Which means he reacts to situations in his life in a kind of… Dramatic way. He would be in a mix of “Tell me now the name of the son of a bitch who is stealing you from me” and “My girl is loving them for the first time, they grow up so fast :'))”

Yeah... With Sungchan it's always 8 or 80. He would be happy for you, but he couldn't help but feel jealous. He would make it clear that if you left him for the unfortunate man, he would beat the drum for the guy to leave you.

ᄀᄉᄀ WONBIN: My poor, Binnie :(( As much as he tries to pretend to be mysterious, Wonbin is sensitive. From the moment you opened your mouth, he would feel an existential void as great as if his pet had passed away.

He would literally be in mourning for a relationship that never even existed, too shaken to remember to be happy for you. Would call Anton destroyed and cry in the youngest's lap like a baby, not believing that he lost you to someone.

Would be a real show of tears and ice cream, but after a week he would apologize to you - Embarrassed - and be honest about his feelings.

I feel like Wonbin is the only one who would tell you the truth.

ᄀᄉᄀ SEUNGHAN: He would activate gossip mode, would scan all your social networks to find the bastard who wants to steal his place.

What do you mean you're in love with someone else? How bold! Well, now it's war. Seunghan only accepts losing to a guy better than him – Which is impossible, because he is perfect. He would only rest when he found the boy, all while pretending to be super calm with the news so you wouldn't suspect anything.

He would call the other boys for a debate, but would receive a lecture from Shotaro and a reality check from the others.

I love Seunghan, his reaction would definitely be the best ever.

ᄀᄉᄀ SOHEE: Wouldn't understand, like “How did this happen and I didn't even notice?”

Sohee knows ALL your friends, if you were seeing someone new, he would know. Based on this, he would start to think that you like one of the boys and classify them in order of proximity, coming to the conclusion that you might only be into Wonbin - After all, after him, Wonbin is the most intimate.

Sohee would go into crazy paranoia, looking for signs in your behavior, anything that would confirm his theory.

Behind the scenes, you would be laughing at this investigation of your best friend, knowing that it is wrong to have fun at the expense of his suffering. You swear you’ll tell him next week.

ᄀᄉᄀ ANTON: I don't know how Anton would react. At the same time that he gives off a baby vibe, the baby is also not a baby.

I feel like it would be something similar to Sungchan. He would feel a mix of emotions, between being sad that you weren't his and being jealous that you weren’t his. The only thing Anton would say is:

"But… What about me?"

You confess that Brachio's reactions still take you by surprise. You two have been best friends forever, but at this point he manages to be a mystery. Chanyoung appears to be dumb, but he knows very well what he wants and sometimes he's not afraid to express it – Like now.

Do you like another guy? Fine! But first you'll have to explain to him how you can fall in love with someone else with him there entirely for you.

You went to play and became a toy.

#riize #sungchan x reader #wonbin x reader #shotaro x reader #seunghan x reader #sohee x reader #anton x reader #eunseok x reader #riize scenarios #riize x reader

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lamentofabramo · 17 hours

Note

Can I get an NSFW alphabet for Tobias Rogers (ticci toby) 🫶

I've been doing a bigger piece, so I might as well do something smaller like this since it's been a good while since I've posted now. (oops)

I'm basing this less on the fandom vers of him, hopefully.

Didn't proofread this much. (edit: I feel bad that I didn't acknowledge the heart, so <3 of course you can doll)

MINORS DNI

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Toby obviously is one of the more caring of the creepypasta's, of course that's a low bar, but he is considerably more human than some of them. He's still gruff and fairly untalkative after the deed, yet he'd offer some water before leaving if you were just a one-off/ casual fuck.

If you were his partner however, I'd imagine he'd be more caring, still untalkative and unaffectionate, but maybe he'd hold you or hold your hand in this. Of course, he'd blame this on being unable to properly feel what he's holding, but the slow decrease in his twitches as he holds you speaks a lot more than he ever will. He's not comfortable, but he feels slightly less stress in your presence, at least until he has to leave, his mind penetrated by the voice of the foreboding presence of the ever-taller man.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) His own favourite body part would probably be his arms, he was a scrawny kid for most of his life, but you sure would start gaining muscle if you swung your axe at people who you considered worthy of it. There's probably also some scars across his arms that remind him of his life before. Of course, he'd hate that idea, but he still has some attachment to his sister, his mother, no matter how hard he may try to push it out of his head.

For his favourite part of his partners, I feel like it'd most likely be your waist. It's something for him to grab, to hold onto to remember you're real, that you're still alive against his better judgement.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) If you asked for it in a specific place, sure he'd do it if he was in a good mood. On your chest, ass, inside even. He'd risk it, he had nothing to truly lose anyway. But his favourite place would most likely be on your stomach, just the wet streaks across your stomach would do things for him. He's not sure why either, he wouldn't register that he does that almost every time unless you pointed it out to him.

If you did, he'd probably consider why for a second, his eyes widening in realization before shrugging. "Any better ideas?" he'd mumble, absently listening as he stroked himself. Toby would listen if you told him anywhere else, but… his eyes focused on that smooth surface.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He secretly wants to push the boundaries of his condition. He wants your hands around his neck, trying to choke him until it hurt. It was strange really, he had a high pain tolerance, yet he craved this pain. Maybe it was because he wanted to be normal, maybe not. He didn't want to think too hard on it, like many other things he just shrugged at the idea and continued with his life.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Toby was definitely not an experienced guy, even before the accident where he finally became 'free' (If you could say being slenderman's lackey was free) the most he'd done was hold hands with a girl in primary school.

He wouldn't be insecure with it however, he never viewed himself as a sexual being, the most he'd ever fucked was his fist on particularly rough nights. Sure, he'd had crushes on women, but when you become a serial killer you go one of two ways. A sex maniac or a complete recluse. Unfortunately, Toby became the latter.

However, since he had a less than regular childhood, he was never able to go through the same sexual awakenings as many of his peers. Instead, that most likely came later, so when he met you he was awkward, like a teenage boy. Most of his language is through grumbles and grunts anyway.

When he realized you were stuck in his head it all changed though, his sex drive increased massively. His poor hand.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying) Cowgirl probably rocks his world, he loves that intense eye contact that comes with it. The way he looks up at you through his fringe, his mouth slightly open as he pants and grunts, is a reward in itself. However, he would get impatient, his hips thrusting up to meet yours or his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you down further on his cock.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) If something was funny to him, then he'd smirk, like if you hid your body from him even though he was about to be deep inside of you.

When he gets further into the activity, he'd let out breathless laughs, sometimes blaming that on his tics. He couldn't help it, though, he loved the way you responded to him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Toby probably doesn't care much about how groomed he is, sometimes he'll shave, but other than that he's got whatever going on.

He has a small happy-trail up to his belly button though, it shows when he raises his axe too high. It's a dark brown colour, just like his hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect) He's probably not particularly intimate, maybe some words here or there if he feels like it, but don't overestimate him too much. He probably came inside you before he kissed you.

His cheeks pinken slightly whenever you suggest kissing, but he quickly slouches and looks away with an almost childish pout to pretend as though he doesn't care.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Like I said in the earlier one, sure he jacked off every now and again, but it was more so a way to pass the time, to get some serotonin in his ever-pleasant life. But when he gets fixated on something, or rather in your case, someone, his sex drive spikes. He wants you in his hands, in his vice, it frustrates him, so he takes this frustration out on himself.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) He's probably degrading, mixed with praise. He's basically up for anything. He's killed someone, I'm sure a weird kink won't kill him.

However, if he does think your kinks are unusual he will take the piss out of you for it, teasing, but he still takes part in it. Its fun.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do) Wherever you want, he's not arsed, really. Against a tree sounds the most fun.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) As cheesy as this sounds, you. Maybe some aggression on your side would get him going too, that mouth of yours was lethal sometimes.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) Like I said before, he's practically up for anything. He might not be physically aggressive for you too much, though, it'd remind him of his past.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He's a munch, if he's in the mood enough, he could probably cum from giving you head. He'd deny that though, God that'd be embarrassing.

Not only that, but he'd receive too, no doubt, Toby would find it fun to just gently tug your head up and down on his cock.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) Toby would probably be slow but deep if he's teasing you. But if he's just fucking you, then it'd be fast, his hands pulling you down on his cock with faster speed.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Hell yeah brother. Just give him the words, he might tease you for it, but he'd never say no (unless he's in a more depressive mood).

He'd love to fuck you in the back of his car too, or masky's car. Just for the hell of it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.) He's a risky guy, but surprisingly, he wouldn't do anything that could get him potentially caught by the law. He's on the run for a reason, he's not willing to risk his freedom for a good fuck (sometimes).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?) He'd probably like to overstimulate slightly, 2/3 rounds before he's clocked out and completely dry. He'd last an average enough time, 20 minutes normally.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) Seeing your body twitch with something that isn't him would make him jealous. However, a little vibrator never hurt anyone. He'd tease you if you had any dildos or anything, though, asking pettily if he "wasn't enough" or that you were "stretching yourself out" for him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Big tease, but he always fulfils your wants. It may take a while, though.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) The only noise he really makes is grunting and whispers on how dirty you are. He's loud enough that you can hear him, but not loud enough for it to be a full-blown moan.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He does want to see how you'd look crying for him all bloodied up, most likely someone else's blood, but he's not picky. Maybe fucking you on top of a recently deceased.

But he'd never admit that.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) An average to slightly bigger man, About 6.4 inches. Probably measured it one time when he was bored, and he hung onto the .4 for his ego.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Not too high unless you exist, then…as much as he can get his hands on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He doesn't sleep much after it, doesn't feel comfortable sleeping in front of others, even someone like you. His nightmares don't help.

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #ticci toby #tobias erin rogers #tobias rogers #smut alphabet #x reader #ticci toby x reader #toby rogers

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emepe · 17 hours

Text

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: The killer has the police fooled. Meanwhile, you and Eren enjoy more of each other’s company.

— Content warnings: slightly nsfw, dry humping, make out, mention of stalking, murder, mention of torture, mention of rape.

— Notes: Welcome to chapter 7 <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

lost signs

“Detective.”

A meek voice pulls Levi's attention from the paperwork scattered across his desk, as a fresh manila folder is promptly set down before him.

“The notes on the autopsy.”

Every other task is instantly abandoned as the raven-haired man grabs the folder and goes through the pages of the autopsy report, along with the notes provided by his subordinate.

Less than an hour later, Levi's knocking on the door of his captain's office, staying true to his habit of walking in before being invited.

“What do you have there?”

Erwin Smith barely spares a proper look at Levi as he continues scrolling through a file on his computer.

“Carly Stratmann's autopsy notes.”

Erwin simply nods, not showing much interest in the topic but not yet doing anything to shoo the stoic detective from his office.

“You're the lead detective on this case. Don't tell me you need me to hold your hand for this.”

Levi clicks his tongue at the remark, but straightens his posture to keep up his stern appearance.

“I think we need to raise a few alarms.”

Erwin shoots a menacing look in his direction, but purses his lips before he can spout another sharp remark.

Levi Ackerman hasn't been working the homicide department for long — just barely a couple of years after transferring from property crime, and just as many major cases under his belt.

His sudden need to raise alarms doesn't come as a surprise to Erwin. The man's got good instincts, albeit he's a bit too quick to act on them for Erwin's liking at times. And that's when he intervenes to rein him in.

On a day when he's so burnt out from work, the task is even more annoying to take on than usual.

“Is it the same M.O. as the Langnar case?”

“Not exactly, but—”

“I'll stop you right there, then,” Erwin firmly says, holding a hand up to make his point, hoping he can cut today's coolly disguised frenzy short.

Though calm and collected — practically icy — on the outside, detective Ackerman has been letting his personal convictions sway his thinking since the Langnar murder.

Erwin doesn't care to know much about his subordinates — it's just a job — but he knows Ackerman has a beloved niece of similar age to the recent murder victims living in the city, and it doesn't take much to deduce that's where his hidden worries stem from.

“There aren't many coincidences, it's true,” Levi states, resisting the urge to harshly spit the words at his superior. After all, a man who wants to be heard, has no need to raise his voice. “But even if these are isolated cases, it wouldn't hurt to… I don't know, set up a curfew… send out more units to patrol at night. Erwin, two women were murdered without a trace of DNA from the culprit.”

He sighs, then mutters the next few words under his breath.

“That's not a fucking coincidence.”

Erwin leans forward into his desk.

“Alright, Ackerman, I'll humor you for a minute.”

His hands clasp together, his chin resting on top as he formulates a question.

“Aside from the lack of DNA and the fact that they're women, is there anything in the autopsy reports that's enough to suspect we've got a serial killer in our hands?”

Levi tenses his jaw, tongue rolling against his cheek before sourly replying.

“No.”

Erwin's eyebrows rise as a sign of finality. But Levi stands his ground, taking his gesture as defiance.

“I get your point. Stratmann could have nothing to do with Langnar. Maybe it was someone they knew or maybe it's not. If that's the case, are two criminals better than one? Is that what we're hoping for?”

Erwin's stern gaze falters for a split second, but he recovers just as quickly.

“How do we discard a serial killer in the making? What if this person hasn't fixed themselves on their M.O.? We can get them early in their career if we make a move right n–”

“We can't make moves based on gut feelings.”

Erwin's statement makes Levi shrink back for the first time since walking into the office.

“Langnar was tortured. Her injuries were consistent with weeks of trauma. Choked, handcuffed, cut, beaten, sliced at the mouth post-mortem, and dismembered. A very tedious and meticulous process, wouldn't you say? She had to have spent weeks in captivity and that points to either a person who was close enough to lure her into their trap or a stalker who observed her before kidnapping her.” He gestures for Levi to hand him the file in his hands, snatching the folder and ripping it open once he's close enough. “Stratmann was sliced at the neck, choked beforehand, raped post-mortem. It's sloppy and clear to have been done on a whim.”

“She was left in a dumpster, too,” Levi reminds him. “Just like Langnar.”

Erwin presses his lips into a thin line, his thick eyebrows weighed down with severity.

“That's not enough to go off of. We can't cry ‘serial killer’ over one measly coincidence.”

Levi can feel himself wavering at Erwin's arguments.

“Can we at least impose a curfew?” he asks.

Erwin heavily sighs, enough for the movement to be caught on his now slumping shoulders.

“As I said, bring me solid proof of a connection and we'll talk.”

“Okay. Spill,” Mikasa orders as soon as she scurries out of the bathroom and plops down criss-crossed on the sofa.

It's Saturday night and you and Sasha are staying over at Mikasa's place for a girl's night.

The living room floor is littered with blankets, cushions and pillows, and the television is playing a random horror movie that has gone ignored since Sasha wondered out loud how Eren was doing a few minutes ago. She seemingly asked nobody in particular, but it was clear you were meant to respond with both girl's eyes set on you the moment the green-eyed man's name came up.

You figured the sleepover was a cover for an ambush. The girls formed a separate group chat for just the three of you, coincidentally the day after your first date with Eren and have been asking to get together for the past week.

You tug nervously at the sleeve of your pajama top, shying away from the expectant gaze that seeps through Mikasa's face mask.

You shrug.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Who made the first move?” Sasha asks, scooting closer to you as if that means she'll get more details.

You ponder for a moment. It's hard to tell. Eren was first to ask you out two months ago, but you were the first to kiss him last Saturday. In a way, you both had a chance to steer the wheel.

When you explain this to the girls, they swoon, falling into a fit of excited giggles.

“I never pegged you for the bold type,” Mikasa grins, lightly smacking your shoulder. “I bet Eren loved that.”

Sasha nods in agreement, giddy.

“I can't believe you didn't tell us right away,” Mikasa pouts.

“I don't think you would've remembered, Mika,” you say. “You had three Long Islands that night.”

“Still, it would've been nice to know,” she sighs dramatically.

“Okay, so you got together the night of the Halloween party,” Sasha reviews. “But what about the day we went to Sunrise? I totally thought you guys had a thing going on back then. I mean, Eren never left your side, even before you got hurt.”

The apple-picking trip seems like so long ago, but the memory remains fresh in your mind. You smile at the mental image of Eren's serious expression as he claimed to never have been so curious to know anyone before you.

“Oh my gosh,” Mikasa squeals, aggressively smacking Sasha’s back as she's reminded of something. “She was feeding him peanuts on the way there. They were so shy, it was adorable.”

Instinctively, your hands come up to cover your face in embarrassment. It didn't even register until now that the people in the backseat witnessed the awkward exchange.

Now that you've tasted the lips that brushed against your fingertips that day, the reminder seems even more embarrassing.

You smack your cheeks lightly in an attempt to ground yourself. The girls watch you amusedly, exchanging knowing glances in between.

“Have you guys… you know.” Mikasa raises her eyebrows suggestively.

Warmth floods your cheeks again.

“Not yet,” you murmur. “We're taking things slow.”

She looks surprised, but nods in support.

“Of course,” she says. “Slow is good.”

“Says the girl who pounced on Jean after one of his gigs because she was jealous.”

“Hey!” Mikasa whines, growing shy at the accusation. “I had to get a message across. He was being petty.”

Sasha throws her head back in laughter.

“No, he was just stupid. He had no idea you liked him back until that night.”

Your gaze flickers between the two girls as you piece their conversation together.

A blushing Mikasa picks up a cushion and chucks it at Sasha’s face who easily avoids the blow and laughs at the raven-haired girl's pout.

“Whatever,” Mikasa groans. She turns to look at you, features instantly shifting into a more cheerful expression.

“So how do you feel?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“About Eren.”

“It's only been a week,” you explain.

“So?” she shrugs. “You guys have been spending a lot of time together, haven't you? Armin told me Eren's been driving you to work everyday. That means you've had a lot of one-on-one time.”

Shyly, you lower your head, focusing your gaze on the black and white pattern of the comforter laid beneath you. Your fingers mindlessly trace over the texture of the fabric.

“I guess so.”

Both girls smile.

“So what's the verdict?” Sasha asks.

“I… I really like him,” you sigh, lips tugged into a smile. “Like… really really like him.”

Another round of excited squeals and giggles echoes through the room.

Their thrill only encourages you further, pushing you into a tangent of how thoughtful Eren is and how he always manages to hold you with so much care, bringing you peace each time he's close.

“He makes me feel safe. Is that weird to say?”

Mikasa shakes her head as she peels off the mask from her face, wrinkling the sheet into a ball and chucking it across the room to the trash can in one corner. She misses by an inch.

“Not at all. I don't mean to sound old-fashioned but you have to be with someone who makes you feel cared for.”

Sasha hums in agreement as she shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She holds a finger up, asking you to wait for her to gulp down the snack.

“And someone who makes you laugh, also very important.”

You nod along with Mikasa.

“Oh, and… well, when you get to it… someone you're sexually compatible with,” she adds. “People like to pretend it's not a big deal but it really is. Sex is okay but great sex with someone who knows how to touch you is where you find out if you're in sync. There needs to be communication and understanding and care. It's so fucking important.”

Mikasa looks down at her friend as she pats her head affectionately.

“You're so wise for someone who doesn't have a boyfriend.”

Sasha quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, just because I'm not blurting it out to everybody doesn't mean I don't have anything going on.”

Mikasa hums contemplatively.

“Do tell.”

The conversation takes a turn to Sasha’s latest sexcapades, and you take turns with Mikasa to look surprised at the stories she shares.

By the end of the night, when you're all teetering the edge of sleep with a third movie serving as background noise, your mind drifts back to the emerald-eyed boy who makes you laugh so easily, draws every emotion from you, and cares for you like it's what he was put on this earth for.

Water pools at your feet out of thin air. You’re stuck in a dark void with no end, yet the water you’re eyes frantically search the source of keeps rising at a startling speed, soaking little by little into your clothes until it weighs you down.

Running seems futile. The void has no end and the water keeps steadily climbing up your body, so who knows how long you’ll have until you’re fully submerged — with no exit in view. Even if you could run, the weight of your drenched clothes would only pull you back. But you can’t even move anyway, you realize. You’re stuck in place, feet unable — or unwilling — to even take a couple of waddling steps.

The water is up to your hips now. With trembling hands, you reach down and scoop at the liquid. It’s thick and with a smell so rancid it stretches through the infinite length of the emptiness you stand in. The water’s filthy.

Your hands drop at your sides in an unsettling daze. The next second, your breath grows shallow and you start pulling at your feet as the water reaches your neck. Tears prick at your eyes as you cry at your feet, begging for them to move, to lift from the ground so you could at least make some weak attempt at reaching the surface for air.

Suddenly, a light. Pure white shines brightly from far ahead, where a golden silhouette stands at the threshold between darkness and light — the void’s borders. The other person bangs their fists at the invisible wall keeping you apart, yelling something you can’t make out. Are they yelling at you? No, they don’t even seem to notice your presence. So who are they yelling at? Up at the sky… They’re yelling something up at the sky. But what are they saying? Who does the golden silhouette even belong to?

Your left foot unsticks from the ground unprompted. A sharp breath is all you take before you make your first step toward the light, hand midair to call for the figure’s attention. Just then, an unknown body pulls you into them from behind, crashing your body down into the murky water, where your lungs fill with filth and your eyes flutter shut.

You wake with a small gasp coming through your lips. Still stiffened by the strange dream, your eyes are all that wander the unfamiliar room. The television is set to a screensaver, likely triggered by an extended lack of attention to whatever on-demand production was playing before you fell asleep. There’s a clutter of takeout containers on the coffee table and used glasses with remnants of soda that can safely be assumed to be flat by now.

Slowly, you stir on the velvet green sofa you’re lying on, when you take note of the firm hold around your waist, followed by the soft exhales released onto the crown of your head. You look down at the familiar watch wrapped around the wrist of the hand that holds you in place.

Oh, you think. That’s right. I’m at Eren’s place.

He’s been having trouble catching up on work, meaning he’s had to stay up late for the past couple of nights. He’s a stickler about getting a good night’s rest, so the temporary change in work shifts has thrown him off quite a bit. You told him to stay home and rest — that you could go to the movies another time; next Sunday was fine with you — but he insisted on seeing you, even if it meant a more casual hangout in his living room with Chinese food and a comedy-drama film from the 2000s playing on the TV.

At some point in the evening, the late hours caught up to him all at once and he even managed to get you to stay with him, wrapped in his arms as his sleepiness found its way to your body as well.

Craning your neck, you peer at Eren’s sleepy face from the corner of your eye. You smile. He’s got an innocent look about him even in his sleep. His lips are parted just enough to take and release soft breaths. You sink back into the couch, wiggling around to find the comfortable position you were previously in.

Eren feels you moving and his arm instantly pulls you closer to his body. His warmth transfers through every layer of clothing, enveloping you in a warm embrace. In his sleep, he mumbles a string of words you can’t quite comprehend under his breath, but the vibrations against your back coax you back into a peaceful slumber.

The next time you wake up, it's already getting dark out. The coffee table has been cleared of its mess, and the body lying behind you is no more. Forced by the absence of his arms around you, you trudge out of the living room to look for him as you rub the sleep from your eyes.

He's in the kitchen, back to you, filling a glass with cold water from the fridge.

Leaning against the threshold, you watch him adoringly, marveling at his toned figure from behind. He chugs his first glass of water down, refilling it as soon as he finishes. As he brings the glass to his lips once more, he turns around, eyebrows rising slightly when he takes in your presence.

“Boo,” you smile, standing straight and making your way over to him.

He abandons the glass of water as soon as you meet him, opting to use his hands to push you closer to him by the small of your back as yours rest on his shoulders.

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Just felt lonely, all of a sudden.”

An amused air blows through his nose.

Your hands find a way to his hair, fingers carding through the strands as he keeps his gaze fixed on your face.

His hair has gotten longer, and the strands around his face now cover his forehead, tickling the skin. It’s not messy, by any means, but it gives him an edgier look. The duality of Eren Jaeger’s appearance is a wonder to you. He’s got a way of tipping the scales between cute and sexy with every little thing he does.

You smile at the few rebellious locks that poke out, still fixed in the angle provided by his nap.

“What?” he asks, mirroring your smile.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you murmur.

“I’ll get a haircut soon, don’t worry,” he replies, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, amused by the way you follow after him once he starts retreating from the contact. He kisses you once more to keep you from pouting.

“I didn’t say anything,” you chuckle. “If you want to grow out your hair, that’s fine. You don’t have to keep it short. I was just pointing it out.”

He shakes his head, humming in denial.

“Nah. This part’s starting to bug me. I just haven’t had time to get it cut,” he explains, brushing back the hair covering his forehead. He proceeds to squeeze your waist on either side. “But what do you prefer?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter with a shrug.

“Gun to your head, which looks better?” he smiles.

His extremist question earns him an eye roll but you answer him nonetheless after a beat.

“I like your short hair,” you finalize earnestly.

He grins, cupping your face with one hand as he places a kiss on your cheek — then on your jaw, and one in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” he murmurs against the sensitive skin.

You nod, a small smile dancing across your lips at his tender affections.

“You look very handsome with a clean undercut. The day I met you I actually thought you were really good-looking.”

He pulls away from his task on your neck to stare at you in disbelief.

“And yet you refused to go out with me. I can’t believe you.”

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

You laugh. The sound swells him with pride — it lights up the room.

“Looks aren't everything, dummy. You're so shallow.”

It's your turn to feign disappointment while he stands there, amused.

“Right, right,” he nods. “I forgot you fell for me because I'm a strong and dependable man.”

He flexes his muscles, making a whole show out of his pointed remark.

You roll your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your face is hard to deny.

“Isn't that right?” he teases.

You don't humor him with an answer — there's no real need for it.

With his hands settled comfortably on your hips, he guides you backward, until your back is pressed against the counter, before he hoists you up and sets you onto it with ease. You welcome him between your thighs with a smile, breath hitching when he caresses your knee over your jeans and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“My baby,” he coos, pressing an open-mouthed kiss onto your skin.

You giggle at the teasing meaning behind the affectionate name, heart fluttering at the feeling of him smiling against your skin.

The both of you keep your positions for a while — him breathing in your perfume while you stroke his soft hair tenderly.

Being with Eren feels so easy. It's a wonder how comfortable you feel with barely a week tallied for your relationship. Each morning and evening when he drives you to and from work have definitely helped.

After your sobbing confession outside of your apartment, you apologized for making Eren feel as though he was troubling you by being so attentive.

All the accumulated trauma in your heart had ironically made you the perpetrator of making him believe there was no real place for him in your life even after you accepted his liking for you. He didn't ask any followup questions that night, but he understood and vowed to be patient.

You're still trying to be okay with that — his unmoving loyalty. But it's easier to accept when you remind yourself he wouldn't stick around if he didn't want to.

Looking down at the boy in your arms, you smile. He can be so childish at times — teasing you, insisting you hold him, easily shaken by a few late nights. And yet there was something so comforting in his behavior. He's always so happy to see you, making sure to clock in quality time hours — not that he didn't enjoy the daily drives, but it wasn't exactly a date. Not to mention his unwavering need to make sure you're safe. At least his rare stubbornness has good reason.

Reluctantly abandoning the comfort of your neck, he lifts his face to meet your eyes. His gaze bores into yours, engulfing you in warm pools of emerald.

A lazy grin takes over his features.

“I like that,” he murmurs.

Your eyebrows twitch in confusion.

“This,” he explains, bringing a hand to your head and mimicking the strokes you've weaved into his hair. “It feels nice.”

An airy chuckle escapes your lips and you make a point to stroke his hair more.

His face hovers over yours. His hands rest on either side of you as he leans into your affections. His eyes flutter closed as he sighs at your touch.

You look up at him mesmerized by his angelic features. It's true you've always thought he's handsome, but this closeness makes you appreciate every detail of his face even more. His long lashes, the faint freckles on his nose, the thick eyebrows that are softening with each feel of your fingers combing through his hair, the perfect plump lips that whisper your name.

It makes your heart pound against your ribs loudly, the sound echoing in your ears as your hands grow sweaty.

That's when you decide to pull him in for a kiss. His eyes flutter open for a split second of surprise before they close again, at peace and happy. Your hands lose themselves in his hair as his wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter by the small of your back.

The contact is painfully slow, with measured pecks in between deeper kisses. He melts into you, lips softly grazing yours, breath fanning across your mouth as he nips at your bottom lip with his teeth to later soothe the area with his tongue. His lips slot warmly between yours, dragging out at a snail's pace before coming back.

The tip of his tongue pokes between your lips, shy but determined to be granted the access you so easily provide. A soft moan bubbles up your throat as his tongue caresses yours with vehemence. It's unusually hot, but the foreign feeling of his tongue in your mouth is greatly appreciated, marked by the way you desperately try to pull him even closer, in hopes that he can swallow you whole.

The pit of your stomach flutters and stirs with the most pleasant tingle when one of his hands travels to the back of your neck and he pushes his hips against yours. Despite the layers keeping you apart, it's easy to tell he's grown hard from the sweet exchange. He's rock solid under his pants, the delicate moans that bounce off your tongue and onto his making him bigger with every passing second.

He knows you can feel it, but you don't seem to mind, your head too dizzy with the collective sensations being fed to your body — his warm tongue, his bulge brushing your most sensitive spot over your jeans, his left hand holding you in place by the back of your neck while the other firmly squeezes your waist as he's consumed by the passionate kiss.

You cling onto him, thighs drawing closer to keep him flush against you. His hips roll against yours, brushing so deliciously against the spot that's growing wet beneath your clothing that it sends a tickle up your insides.

He sucks on your tongue, the act drawing more lustful mewls from the back of your throat.

You're feverish, your face burning when your shirt happens to rise, exposing your midriff to his calloused fingers which were so careful not to touch any new skin before the incident.

There's a string of saliva that connects your mouths when you finally break your fervent makeout. His lips are swollen and glossy with your saliva, as you're sure yours are with his.

“Eren,” you weakly whine in between breaths.

“Hm?” he hums, as he parts from your mouth to leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck.

You shudder when he swirls his tongue against your sweet spot before gently kissing it.

You whine his name again, though your voice has a stronger shape to it this time.

He turns to face you, pecking your lips just once before easing his grip on your body.

“I know,” he murmurs. “Slow, I remember.”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

His nose brushes against yours as he tilts his head to press a calmer, cooler kiss onto your lips.

“I want to, by the way,” you admit bashfully, avoiding his blown pupils and opting to look at a blank point on his shirt. “Just… not yet.”

When your gaze flickers to his, he's looking down at you warmly.

“I understand,” he murmurs.

Your eyes flit toward the window, reminding you of how late it's getting.

“I should go, it's already dark out.”

Eren nods, pulling back from the counter until you both notice the tent in his pants. You tear your gaze from the area, searching for something of interest elsewhere.

He blushes, ready to express an apology for his body's reaction to your wanton moans and feverish kisses, but you hop off the counter and trail off to the living room to search for your jacket before he can, leaving him to softly laugh at your meek behavior as he makes his way to the bathroom.

When he comes looking for you in the living room a couple of minutes later, you're seated on the couch, waiting patiently for him.

You smile upon his return, no trace of embarrassment left on your features.

“Do you really have to go?” he asks.

Your expression softens but you nod.

“We have work tomorrow. And I know how you get if you don't get your beauty sleep,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, but wears a playful smile nonetheless.

“No. I mean,” he takes a deep breath. “You could stay the night… if you want to.”

His voice grows timid with every word as he gauges your reaction to his offer. He doesn't want to be pushy, by any means, but he hopes you'll accept.

He watches you chew on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say.

“Unless, of course, that goes against the whole taking-things-slow agreement,” he awkwardly laughs. “But I just… figured you should know… I wouldn’t object to you spending the night. No funny business. Just… to sleep.”

A breath of relief pushes past his lips when a small smile finally grows over your previously troubled features.

“Maybe not tonight,” you say. “But I’ll think about it.”

His lips curl inwards to hide his smile before he holds his hand out to you so you can head out the door together.

Eren swings your linked hands as you travel down the hall from the elevator. It's a habit he's developed over the past few days after seeing you cry for the first time.

The image lingered with bitterness in his head the entire night. It still pops up every now and then, reminding him he has to do everything in his capability to keep it from happening again.

As you walk to your door, hands comically swinging more aggressively each time with Eren's playful attitude, he marvels at your laughing face, feeling at ease with everything concerning you.

He finally eases up on his swing when you reach your door, but your fingers remain laced with his until you absolutely have to part ways.

“Sorry I was so tired today,” he says, holding your hands up to compare the difference in size. He presses his palm against yours, eyes shimmering at the sight before he grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. “I'll make it up to you next time.”

“I don't mind just hanging out,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “It's fun.”

He smiles as he watches you fish your keys out of your jacket pocket with your free hand. The click of the lock always comes before letting go, but it's fine because he still gets to see you tomorrow morning for the drive to your office.

You turn to him, leaving the keys dangling on the lock as you drape your arms around his neck.

“By the way,” you murmur, pressing yourself further into his chest when his arms wrap around your waist. “You can spend the night at my place, too, if you want.”

His features twitch and his eyes light up with interest at the offer.

“No funny business,” you add, before pressing a kiss on his cheek. “Just to sleep.”

He laughs.

“Of course. What kind of guy do you take me for?”

You smile, affectionately brushing your nose against his with your eyes closed.

“Just thought I'd let you know.”

“I’ll think about it,” he murmurs mockingly, echoing your response from earlier.

You look up at him quizzically.

“Do I sense some competition over whose apartment we stay at first?” you accuse.

“I’ll get on my knees if you want,” he quips without missing a beat, not bothering to be cool about the topic.

You giggle.

“Perfect. I love pathetic men.”

He stifles a laugh, eyes twinkling in amusement as a reflection of yours. Then he turns on a comically serious expression.

“Baby, I’m as pathetic as they come,” he firmly states, which makes you laugh even more.

“You're such a dork,” you giggle.

He hugs you tightly, playfully rocking your connected bodies in the middle of the hallway as he peppers your face with kisses, relishing in your amused squeals.

The giddiness in your expression remains even after you're both standing still and he's no longer attacking you with kisses.

“Thank you for making time for me,” you smile. “I mean, you already do so much with driving me to work and everything. If you’re ever not in the mood, you can—”

He cuts you off with a chaste kiss to your lips.

“It’s my pleasure.”

You bite back a grin and nod.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs before letting go and beginning his journey out with backwards steps.

“Bye, Eren,” you smile.

Before he can turn on his heel, you catch up to him, instantly making him drop his confused expression for a much softer one when you press your lips against his in one last kiss goodbye. When you pull back, he's got a goofy grin on his face as he waits for you to explain yourself.

You smile shyly.

“For the road.”

November 4, 2024

I found out where my angel lives. It's not too bad a place, but I'm sure she'll like the room I'm fixing for her better. I'm working on a way to get some of her favorite things over to my place. Hopefully she won't miss them too much before I can reunite her with them.

I'm so relieved. It was worth keeping an eye on her for the last few days. The only downside to come out of this is that I have to see that jerk's stupid face everywhere. He just can't leave her alone for a damn second.

It pisses me off to see him touch her like it's nothing. That should be ME kissing her and making her laugh. Not him. He shouldn't be allowed to touch her. Still, she looks so happy each time. But I can't be mad at her. I could never be mad at my angel. She'll realize soon enough that I'm the one meant for her. I just have to suck it up in the meantime. It's bad enough that I have to keep my distance for now but do I have to see her smiling at the wrong guy, too? I can't take it.

She's gotten prettier. It seems impossible but it's true. I could look at her for days on end — and I have the past week as proof. Her smile is brighter and she's practically glowing. It only makes the wait even harder but I still have so much to get done for her arrival. I can't wait to see the look on her face when I finally bring her home with me so we can be happy together.

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toriangeli · 2 days

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One of my favorite things about how Anne Rice writes historical fiction: she doesn't sugar-coat her characters.

As in, there was never going to be any way all these vampires going back 6000 years were going to align with modern sensibilities. They're not savory. They suck.

First off, any male of status from before the Great Depression probably did, in fact, look at an underage girl and think, "she LOOKS like she could grow up cute and interesting, but do I want to wait to ask her dad and risk someone else calling dibs in the meantime?"

Lestat: Killed majestic, beautiful animals that were only trying to feed themselves. To save the lives of people who were counting on him, yeah, but still.

Marius: Literally from ancient Rome, lots of ideals from that time, pederastic relationship with Armand, see above disclaimer about males from prior to the Great Depression.

Armand, Santino, most of the de Landens: I do feel like the Children of Darkness/Satan wouldn't have been founded in our time, as evidenced by Lestat so easily disbanding them with basic Enlightenment talking points, so I think it counts.

Louis: LITERALLY OWNED SLAVES. And not in a bullshit "but I treat them so nice and they'd just be owned by someone mean if not for me!" way, he legit believed this was what black people were for. Until he became a vampire and all humans looked equal(ly foodlike) to him.

Gabrielle: Let other people raise her kids while she became a library hermit.

Maharet and Mekare: Cannibals. Oh, sorry. Respectful cannibals.

Khayman: Nnnot even gonna be sarcastic about this one. He was as much a victim of it as Maharet and Mekare, hence them not blaming him in the slightest. But people today would be put on trial for following an order like that one, so I figure it belongs here.

Daniel: idk probably unprotected gay sex. It was the 70's.

Claudia: Gets a pass. She was five. All the bad shit she does is unrelated to her time.

Mael: Helped keep a vampire captive for years, then proceeded to kidnap someone and force them to become a vampire, all because "idk we're kooky druids and it's our religion."

Everard: Laughs at Benedict for being kidnapped and having his blood stolen. Victim-blaming at its finest.

Akasha and Enkil: I mean, we know what they did, but everyone hated them in their own time, too, so.

Eudoxia: Jesus Christ.

Davis: HAS NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG EVER IN HIS LIFE. /protects him forever #theonlyinnocentvampireprobably

And you know what? I'd take the worst of these over Bill Compton, Damon Salvatore, or Whassisface Cullen fighting for the Confederacy because "the greater good." Like bro. At least the dickheads above are being honest about it and we can judge those parts of them appropriately. You're trying to make us think you were doing something honorable by being vague. We know what you were really fighting for, and so do you.

Moral of the story: If you're gonna be evil, trying to be sneaky about it only makes it worse.

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thesuperiorgenshinaddict · 2 days

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Vox N$FW Alphabet

AN: yeah i never thought i would actually post on tumblr but boom here i am. sorry for shitty layout because i just want to pump my hcs out and get it done w/ kekw also i think i made him a bit more of an asshole than ppl usually do so sorrryyy maybe idk Pairing: Vox x GN! Reader Warnings: Sexual content, Top! Vox, Mild degradation, not sure what else idk A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Lets be honest, this dude would NOT do aftercare whatsoever. He'll just go take a shower or something (yes he's waterproof if you say otherwise you're wrong L + Ratio) and when you blankly stare at him like 'wtf bro' this dude will not catch on until you straight up tell him to help you out. Once you successfully got the dude to consistently do aftercare, he'll get you a towel and clean you up and shit.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) This man is a raging narcissist. Probably looks in the mirror, fixes his ugly ass bowtie and does twelve different practiced poses every morning to make sure the public knows he's fucking sexy. He probably loves every part of him besides his side profile, or maybe he would like it because it's 'sleek, modern, state of the art' or some technology bullshit. Loves his claws though. He'd probably be really into ass. Thighs too, but slightly less. I have no clue why but I am convinced he fucking loves legs and all of that. I think he'd like your expression too, mainly because he feels like a god knowing that he makes you feel like that. Don't do mirror sex if you want him to focus on you though, because he's looking at himself more than he's looking at you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) It glows blue. Same shade as his claws and is electric. Don't put it next to fire, it'll burn the fuckin' tower down. Tastes mildly salty and has the same effect as pineapples where it feels like it's biting back. For body parts he likes to cum on, he probably would do it literally anywhere. Inside, on the stomach, on your face, ANYWHERE. Maybe not bukkake because he doesn't want it to get too messy and have to clean it up, that's too much work for a quick jizz.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Secretly finds you attractive romantically. Is it even a dirty secret? He'd just be too scared to do anything besides flirting and sex and shit for a long time. Maybe appeal to him enough and he'll take you on a completely romantic and sweet date that doesn't involve him blowing your back out afterwards. Christ, why the fuck is that somehow more appealing than having a one-nighter with him? Maybe I'm tweaking. Ignore this if you want. Go on and live your life with sweet husband Voxxy dookers buddy, I'm not judging too hard. Probably.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Pretty experienced. Unless you have some wild ass kink, chances are, he's probably smooth as fuck with it. Go wild.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Mating press. I originally thought I was just biased as fuck since I love the whole thought of mating press and shit, but apparently a good amount of people agree with me. He probably loves being close to you and mating press lets him fuck your brains out. Wants to be as deep as physically possible in you, and you're vulnerable to him and he's looooving it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Definitely is leaning on the more serious side. If he's joking around, it wouldn't be in a 'haha funny' way, it'd be more of a condescending way where he's making fun of how pathetic you are. Or horny, or something along the lines of that. I feel like he'd do makeup sex, so if that's the case, I can assure you he is not cracking jokes. Maybe cracking your legs apart though. Fuck, that wasn't funny.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. He wouldn't grow hair there. Uh. Anyway, I don't want to have so little shit written here, so when he was alive, he probably was pretty well taken care of down there. I think a bit more hair than trimmed, but not the whole ass Amazon forest, ya get what I mean? Why the fuck did I say that? Okay. Regardless, I think of him being like dark brown hair when he was alive. Probably was a few shades darker on his dicky wicky cocky okay seriously I have to stop wtf

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) He'd be physically close to you, but if you're a one night stand, expect NOTHING emotional from him. Nada. Nothin'. On the other hand, if he was dating you or married or whatever your delusional ahh comes up with, he'd be just hardcore fucking you with a ton of horny ass compliments, but you'd be able to look into his eyes and just kinda tell he really loves you past all that horndog shit. Not really intimate sex for the most part imo, but if the both of you guys are in a shitty mood and it's not hate sex, he might say a few really sweet compliments and all that jazz. Fuuuuckkk I read that and he sounds kinda assholey (he is one though cope seethe /j don't get mad at me pwease) so if you're upset I half meant that in the 'he won't be bawling his eyes out during sex out of sheer love' way. Boom

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He has cameras everywhere in Hell. Did you even think of the mere possibility that he's not jerking that shit constantly? Kidding. I feel like he'd be busy working a lot, but if you're not there to help him out after work and shit, he'd jerk it. Maybe a few times a week normally. If he had time and he was lonely though... Bro's going ham on his poor footlong. He has a lot of videos and whatever to look at. I think he'd thrive just off his imagination too.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Dry humping (receiving), Mild degradation (giving), Voyeurism, Shock play (giving, duh), Hypnosis (gee i sure wonder if it's giving or receiving woahhhhh /s), Power dynamic, I definitely have a lot more but it depends heavily on your relationship to him :p

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Desk. Now. Besides that though, he's probably fine with a lot of places. I feel like he'd be somewhat against public or semi-public sex because it could make his reputation worse, but anywhere else is fine. His office isn't really risky because he knows when people are about to enter using his lil' cameras.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) A lot of things. Many, many things. For the most part though, if you tease him by wearing some revealing shit or acting like a bitch, he's getting a hard on.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Anything that puts him in a situation where he has little to no control. He's not willing to show that much vulnerability, no matter how well you know him. You can try domming, sure, but just know he has the full ability to do a 360.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Receiving. He'll occasionally do giving, but if you start calling him your submissive bitch or something, he'll spit and fucking leave. But regardless, he shoving his dick down your throat. Face-fucking is probably his favorite. Solid 6-7/10 in terms of skill, bonus points since his tongue is long.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Definitely rough like a good 90% of the time. The pace depends on his mood, but he'd go with medium to fast for the most part. Maybe slow if he magically has a break (That'll almost never happen. Poor dude loves his work so much, probably chronically online just because of how much time he has to spend with computers). Don't piss him off though, he doesn't have a speed cap on this type of shit. Random thing I wanted to add in, his typing speed is fucking insane. 300 something and higher when he's arguing on the internet. Would definitely participate in those arguments of who's the goat of sports or whatever. Also random flex but my typing speeds at like 200 wow I'm so cool everyone clap

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He barely has time to do anything, so quickies a lot of times end up being the only option he has to get off. Hella often. He enjoys an occasional slow sesh, but speedruns are his go-to.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Hell fucking yes. Always willing to try new shit out as long as it's not too risky. If it won't destroy his company, he's down for it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) This dude consumes more caffeine than humanely possible. He could probably go forever if it wasn't for his job, but he'd probably settle for 4~ rounds on a normal workday. If he's feeling excited though, expect more.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) Definitely owns quite a bit. Probably only his company's products though, he wouldn't want to support other businesses. I don't think he's one to use them all that often since he'll normally just call you over to suck his dick, but piss him off and he'll shove a dildo in you and leave for a few hours, just to see how long you'll last.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He's such a brat. Taunts and makes fun of you constantly. Poor you, he loves to see you overstimulated and sobbing your eyes out.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) I feel like he wouldn't be that loud himself, definitely some breathy groans and shit, but on the other hand... If you're not loud enough, he'll make sure you're screaming out his name until he's satisfied. Maybe a little glitchy sounds. Before he comes, he probably becomes a little staticky.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Willing to fuck you with his aux cords. Would find it fun as hell, especially he can shock you easier.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) I think some of you guys don't remember that this man is 7ft. If he was human, it'd probably be around 7 inches, but he's tall as fuck. Expect it to be 9 inches minimum and probably larger. Average girth with thick veins running down the side. Pretty sure I said a good amount about it earlier.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Insanely high because he's always pent-up while working. Gets hard from the slightest bit of teasing. I have no clue what to write, but I want to write more so he's the type to get hard when he's comfortable. Cuddle with him and he's probably hard just because he's feeling cozy and shit.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He'd sleep a few minutes later, depending on how much he trusts you. If he doesn't trust you much, he's leaving to a different room. If he likes you though, he'd just go nighty-night. AN: hope you enjoyed thanks like and follow for more banger content /hj

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