#not my default but i wanna join the fun (absolutely put him through it)

[bravevolunteer]

one day i will finally add one of those “michael helping with the murders/remnant experiments” aus

[arcplaysgames]

i am mainlining this shit like coke what can i even say, i love a good mirror ANYWAY

Sumire literally begging you to leave her to this fate is agony. This is so much and it's awesome. I felt so goddamn uncomfortable with this traumatized girl sobbing and asking Reverie/Me to just let her fix her pain.

I love when games make be feel like garbage but in an earned way! I have literally been cogitating on the Phantom Thieves and how they alter people's mind for the ENTIRE game! Bring it back in the endgame armed with some teeth! Good!

I actively like that the game is wrestling with this. Like, the Bad End, right? How different are Maruki's methods than the Thieves? Shiho's attempted suicide finally incentized me to roll with the entire idea of stealing Kamoshida's heart, but as evidenced by my unrelenting and endless bitching about Ryuji and Mishima and the Phansite, I never bought into the idea that the Thieves were justified by default.

I love to have all that shit thrown back in my face. Delicious.

HILARIOUSLY I WAS RIGHT, SUMIRE COMES DOWN TO FIGHT US AND DEFEND HER RIGHT TO HAVE MARUKI RE-RIG HER BRAIN.

Akechi: "I mean, I could stay and kill her but then you'd me, like, mad at me and frankly I am too tired of this shit to deal with your pouty face too, so you can fight her solo. I'll stand over here looking smug."

Akechi is a gift.

I have some absolutely batshit bonkers personae at this point and start every fight with all three stat categories boosted, so this wasn't even a fight.

Maruki watches all this and when Sumire starts begging for it all to stop, he comes down to join us.

I could put, uh, 15 screencaps in here but here is a timestamp, you GOTTA see this fucking sequence. Should start at 2:48

okay yeah Maruki is a better villain than Adachi, we are there.

Getting upset at Sumire's pain and so using his fucking weird-ass power to tear the Persona out of her heart and ask it to fight to defend her, I.... holy shit. Holy shit?

SO YOU WANNA FREE SUMIRE FROM THE DELUSION THAT SHE IS HER SISTER? THEN FIGHT HER PERSONA AS IT RAGES AT YOU AND SCREAMS FOR YOU TO LEAVE HER ALONE.

this! this! this is better than the base game! where was this writing the entire game! fuck!

Finally, the gang shows up, all carrying starbucks, and are here to help pacify the blackout rage of Sumire.

Morgana, I love you. Have I mentioned I love Morgana?

This entire game is about a boy and his cat in my heart.

honestly even if I'm cold on Sumire, the Cinderella motif is awesome.

WHAT A FUCKING SHOT! CINNAMON TOPOGRAPHY!

Also through this entire sequence, the whole thing while everyone talks, Maruki never raises his voice, his composure never cracks, his resolution never breaks.

He's even like "okay. come at me." but he wants to talk first. He wants everyone to live in this world until February 3rd, when he will show up to talk this through. And then, if it comes to a fight, they can all fight.

Everyone catches up outside the Palace and decides its time to head home and they'll talk tomorrow, because Oof there's a Lot to think about.

Back at the cafe, things are back to normal for Futaba and Sojiro. Wakaba is gone.

That's the part that really throws a wrench into the ethics for me. Maruki is able to undo the murders of good people, and by resetting everything, they are dead again. The implications of this are a lot. He absolutely should not have the power to restore life like this, but he does and already has.

It makes it all the more interesting that Akechi is here. Because logically, it feels like if you somehow deleted him from the timeline, it would undo the deaths of Wakaba and Okumura. And yet, he's still here.

My theory that Akechi is here because of Reverie's desire is gaining more traction.

Thank god there is a fun moment of levity here int he flashback where Morgana does his usually I Am Not A Cat from pure instinct but then is like oh wait i am a cat lmao nvmd. It's a good chuckle.

Futaba goes home to presumably cry into Sojiro's chest as he awkwardly pats her head and tries to figure out what the fuck is wrong. Just gutting.

Also she confirms that she lowkey knew the whole time something was wrong but ignored it. Oh, Futaba. I'm so sorry.

SCREAM LAUGHING.

ugh yeah OBVIOUSLY i was hot as a human, have you MET me? idiot. moron. dumbass.

i love morgana the most, have i mentioned. just for real, imagine your cat looking in the mirror and going "man if I were a human I would get so much action, it's unreal," with absolute confidence.

that's comedy.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Let's Call It Funny

Prompt: Hi! If you know about those gen z peter parker posts, could your write something based on that? With Steve Getting It (tm) because fatalistic nihilism in humor tended to show up during the world wars and we’re seeing a reflection of that now? Sorry- I just think it’d make great options for steve and peter bonding, and dad!tony but actual emotions (gasp!) You can totally ignore this if you want!

Don't ever apologize for giving me such a great ask

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: uhhh gen z humor

Pairings: none! all found family in this bitch

Word Count: 2529

Here’s the thing about humor. It’s not necessarily that one generation is any funnier than another, it’s just that high school kids are perpetually the funniest people alive. Something about being in a pressure cooker of an environment with a bunch of other people whose bodies are changing in new unpredictable ways whilst having very little say in how their lives go creates humor. Gasp of shock, right?

So basically what Peter’s trying to say is that he’s fucking hilarious.

Come on, not only does he have the default high schooler stuff, he’s also gay, which gives him an instant bonus. He’s trans, which opens up a whole new subset of humor for him to explore. He’s neurodivergent as fuck, and we all know that makes people funny as hell. And if that weren’t enough, he’s severely traumatized and he’s Spider-Man.

Peter Parker is funny as hell.

What is truly devastating—and really, it’s their loss—is that so few people seem to appreciate it.

Ned gets it. Ned’s not someone Peter would expect to not get it, just because hey, it’s Ned. They’ve met each other in the hallways and been like ‘hey! You’re still alive! Congrats on having a body!’ Only for the other one to go ‘hey! You’re alive too! I wish I had an intangible form!’

Because bodies are stupid and evolution really fucked us over but at least we’re not horses.

A solid 50% of their interactions are just quoting John Mulaney and Bo Burnham bits back and forth at each other. Peter’s never gonna forget the day they both had detention and had to watch that stupid Cap PSA—it’s propaganda, you Nazi fuckwits—and something reminded them of the ‘horse loose in a hospital’ bit and they just did it. Full out. Stood up and did the actions and everything. The rest of the room was either trying to do it with them—and failing, because they didn’t have nearly enough practice—or looking so confused. The security guard—Paul, he’s great—just looked at them blearily after they finished and went:

“I mean, you kids are right, but you’re not supposed to talk in detention.”

Well, excuse them for trying to make it more entertaining for everyone.

MJ gets it. If Peter’s being honest, he learned most of his humor from her. She is the master and it is an honor to study in her wake. He’s definitely hijacked the asking whether or not anything’s actually meaningful existentialism jokes and they’ve wormed their way into his day-to-day repertoire.

“Why are you late, Mr. Parker?”

“Time is a social construct, Mrs. B, none of us are ever late or early except in the subjective spacetime paths. The limits of our sensory perception make it so we can’t tell if anything is real, let alone whether or not they conform to some arbitrary definition of ‘time.’”

“…just sit down, Peter.”

See? It works.

Aunt May gets…worried.

Sure, they’ve actually talked about when Peter needs help and wants to reach out and when he’s just making jokes off the cuff because hey, humor’s a great coping mechanism or it’s just a joke and not that serious. Peter loves his Aunt May, so so so much, and the last thing he wants to do is really worry her. And she’s gotten pretty good at figuring out when he’s just joking and when he’s spiraling.

Sometimes, though…

“Peter,” Aunt May calls from the kitchen, “did you remember to stop by the store on your way home?”

Peter freezes halfway through the door.

“Peter?”

He swallows. “…no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am too stressed and consumed by the swirling pit of blackness deep in my soul to remember my head is connected to my body, let alone remember to go to the store.”

Silence.

“…Aunt May?”

“Do you want to drop off your stuff and then go to the store?”

“…yeah, please.”

“Love you, Pete.”

“Love you!”

“Try to remember that you’ve got arms so you can pick stuff up.”

“Got it!”

See? It’s fine.

The Avengers don’t get it. Like, at all.

Natasha and Clint like, sorta get it? They make the same jokes all the time when they think Peter can’t hear them, which—come on, you guys are super spies, surely you know people are gonna hear you when they’re gonna hear you. Natasha will make a crack about something, Clint will laugh and shove her shoulder. It’s their dynamic, we get it. But when Peter does it…

“Hey, Baby Spider?”

Peter sticks his head up from the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“Where’re you crawling off to?”

“I’m gonna go hide in the garage.”

Natasha blinks up at him. “Why?”

“Because if I get crushed by the airlock doors then I won’t have to do my paper tomorrow.”

Silence. Natasha’s mask is too good for Peter to actually see what’s going on with her, let alone from this angle, but silence isn’t good.

“Nat—oof!”

Something blurs out of the vent nearby and tackles him down onto the couch.

“Clint!”

“Nope,” Clint mutters, wrapping Peter up in a hug as Natasha comes to join them. “You’re staying with us now, Pete.”

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Peter,” Natasha says softly, “don’t joke about that, you’ll make us worry.”

“I don’t wanna do that,” Peter mumbles, “but it’s fine.”

“Coping mechanism, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s got too many brain cells to do that,” Clint says, ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Stark has a lot of brain cells, you see what good that does him?”

“Hmm. Guess you’re gonna have to stay awhile, Pete.”

There are worse fates. Definitely.

Thor just kind of gets confused by it. He acts like Peter isn’t going to be absolutely fine because there’s no need to do anything like that. No, Peter, you don’t have to put the bleach in first into your cereal, there’s plenty of milk left over. No, Peter, you don’t have to throw yourself off the roof because your laptop is freezing, Stark has so many just lying around. No, Peter, you don’t have to pack a rucksack and run away to the Alps and live like a recluse, come here and get a hug.

Peter suspects Thor’s playing dumb on purpose. The man is smart as hell, there’s no way all of this is flying over his head. And honestly, it warms his heart a little bit when he sees Thor’s sincere, concerned look when he thinks Peter’s not looking.

Banner and Rhodey just kinda shake their heads and move on. They’re used to it. They live and work with some of the most dramatic fucking people in the goddamn universe, they’re used to a little bit of extra humor. Occasionally one of them will give him a look that says he’s pushing his luck, but that’s not often. Less often now ‘cause he knows what he can get away with. He’s also seen them hiding smiles behind their hands or poorly disguised coughs. They’re not as slick as they think they are.

Tony.

Tony is the fucking worst.

Peter can’t get away with so much as sighing too hard before Iron Dad™ is swooping in all soft words and concerned touches. Jesus. You’d think he’d get it, he uses humor as a coping mechanism too, goddamnit, why is he so worried about Peter?

Okay, fine, he knows why.

MJ’s over at the Tower, having another one of her ‘sketch people in crisis’ appointments with Natasha. Peter is coming off of a 32-hour caffeine rush and is violently wishing for death. Tony is in the kitchen doing…something.

“Hey, do you think bleach would make a good smoothie?”

Tony wheels around to see MJ pulling a glass out of the cupboard.

“Kid—“

“Sounds like a filling breakfast,” Peter groans, “can you make me one too?”

“…I’m legitimately concerned,” comes Tony’s mutter.

MJ ignores him. “Who’s the bitch on your forehead?”

Peter rubs absentmindedly at the massive knot on his head, courtesy of a wall that rudely decided to move at the last second while Peter was attempting to walk through a doorway. “He’s called DJ Braindeath and he’s my only friend in the world.”

“Peter—“

“Oh did you meet him at the furry convention?"

“Technically it’d be a buggie convention.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?”

“The pantry doesn’t have good coffee, I’m going to Starbucks.” MJ grabs her bag. “You want anything?”

“A will to live?”

“Peter, what the fuck—“

“Oof, I’ve only got like…20 bucks.”

Peter lets his head drop back to the counter. “Then just leave me here to die.”

“Can I have champagne at your funeral?”

“I’ll be dead, I won’t fucking care.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

Then MJ’s gone and Peter gets treated to a 20-minute conversation with a very concerned Tony Stark that he doesn’t remember most of because hey caffeine crashes aren’t fun.

He definitely does it on purpose sometimes just to wind Tony up. Like there’s this one incident with an interview he does as Spider-Man and he gets asked what he thinks about Tony Stark’s newest intern, Peter Parker.

“That boy’s an embarrassment, just…complete failure. Can’t speak without stuttering through every other word and self-esteem issues all over the place. Also looks like he got dressed in the dark.”

The reporter had awkwardly moved on to another question. The interview aired later that day while Peter was at the Tower. Tony sat next to him on the couch about halfway through.

“You look good, Pete.”

Peter had mumbled halfheartedly, only to hear the reporter ask the same question.

“See, that’s the problem with having a secret identity, you don’t…” Tony trailed off as he heard the answer.

Peter snorted as Spider-Man finished talking. “Say that to my face, you bitch, get a real job. At least I don’t look like someone vomited silly string all over my spandex.”

“Are you okay?”

See? Fun.

The only one he’s made a conscious effort to not be this funny around is Steve.

Because, okay, here’s the thing. Steve’s disappointed look has no effect on him anymore. He’s immune, motherfuckers, he’s had detention too many times for it to still work. Here’s the other thing: Steve doesn’t actually use that tone of voice that often. It’s this meticulously crafted image he plays up in interviews because it catches all the bad guys so off guard when Captain America is suddenly swearing a blue streak at them and telling them to go fuck themselves in, honestly, quite creative ways. The sincere Steve Rogers disappointment and concern still very much works. Also doesn’t help that Steve does caring so fucking well, like…who gave him the right to say a few things and hold Peter like he’s something precious and do the quick one-two punch of saying a super sincere compliment and following it up with ‘I love you.’ Who did that? It’s rude. Stop it.

And yeah, Steve’s the resident Mom at the Ready. It’s a risk to even sit on your bed looking sad ‘cause here he comes, wearing something snuggly and saying ‘hey’ in that stupid, stupid compassionate voice. So Peter knows he’s just gonna end up crying from too much soft if Steve actually gets concerned. Which won’t be fair because he’s gonna try and explain that he’s fine and it’s just his sense of humor while crying. Yeah, like that’s gonna be believable.

So he’s trying not to but damnit it’s hard.

Then he walks into the kitchen one day to see Steve struggling with the toaster.

It’s one of Tony’s new prototypes—which means that anyone struggling with it is so fair—and from the looks of it, it’s managed to not only burn the bread to a crisp, but also mangle the slices beyond recognizable shape.

Peter’s not paying that much attention. He’s on his phone, heading towards his spot in the corner with the beanbag chairs and definitely doesn’t recognize Steve as he goes.

He only plops down and hears someone declare, in a completely deadpan voice: “There is no point to existing at all.”

“Oh, mood.”

He doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t even know who said that, that’s how hyper-focused he is right now. He hears the others come in and feels Clint plonk down next to him.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Sah, dude.”

“Just vibing. Did I do it right?”

“Yeah, man you’re going great.”

“You teach Thor ‘yeet’ yet?”

“We’re getting there.”

“Steve,” he hears Tony call from the kitchen, “what the fuck did you do?”

“Language.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about language when you’re making toast that looks like a goddamn welder’s table, what is that?”

“Your prototype’s work, I imagine.”

“How did you even—“

Clint chuckles next to him as the two of them start fondly bickering. Peter’s too busy speedrunning the five stages of grief in his head.

Did…did Steve say the thing about there being no point to existence at all?

No…no way.

He must be imagining things.

Then, of course, there’s a chime on his phone.

Ned: Did u do the bio hw?

There was bio homework?

Ned: yeah, due at noon

“I now know why God abandoned this timeline and when will death come to take me?”

The room goes silent.

Shit.

“Peter,” Clint says, “it’s gonna be fine, you can do bio homework in your sleep—“

“Are you okay?” Ah, that’s Thor.

“Kid—“

And Nat, and Tony’s probably rushing over here as he speaks.

Then there’s another voice.

“We can only pray the reaper arrives early for his appointment with us, kid.”

Peter’s head snaps up.

Steve.

Steve fucking Rogers raises a coffee cup at him in salute and takes a sip. He makes a face.

“…that was definitely salt,” he mutters, before shrugging and downing the whole thing.

…what?

Peter’s still staring at him until he catches his gaze and winks.

Oh, fuck yes.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony says, hands on his hips, “explain.”

Steve just gives him a look. “I grew up in the Great Depression, Tony, and I was in the army. You don’t think I have a fatalistic sense of humor?”

“Plus the fact that most of my generation is resorting to types of humor found when death and stress are so ever-present that you have to joke about it says something,” Peter adds, “doesn’t it?”

Steve raises his cup again. “See? He gets it.”

And just like that, the bond between Peter Parker and Steve Rogers was written, formed, and sealed in salt and existentialist depression.

“There’s two of you,” Tony mumbles, “oh my god, there’s two of you.”

“Oh, you just wait ’til Buck and Sam get back.”

Peter can’t fucking wait.

[ecto-american]

The Other Side

Phic Phight Oneshot for Kiinotasha and KC: (AU) Born a halfa and raised in the Ghost Zone by his mother, Danny struggles with his human identity when a permanent man made portal appears in the Ghost Zone.

On AO3 and FFN

-------------------

Danny never questioned his life until that man made portal spawned. He never forgot when he first saw it six years ago while playing with Youngblood.

Naturally, they were playing aliens and spacemen, Danny's favorite. Earlier in the play session, they had found it, and it was deemed part of their spaceship. It was just a metal outline, an octagon. Thick enough that they could sit, and they pretended that the limited space was the entrance. Obviously on the left side was space, and the right side was their ship. Eventually their moms called them home, and during dinner when asked about his day, he told his mom about it.

She frowned, and she asked him for more details. Having played on it all day, he described it perfectly. His mom paled, and she forbid him from going there again, but she didn't expand on why.

He saw no reason to be afraid. It was just a metal shape. There were far more dangerous places in the Ghost Zone. So the next day, he told Youngblood about his mom's weird reaction. His mom had reacted the same, but didn't say why. His dad explained that it was dangerous, but not what about it was dangerous. Danny didn't have a dad, but he was sure that if he did, he probably would have said the same thing. But neither child could get it. What was dangerous about a shape?

So they just played with it again the next day, and they lied to their moms about what they did.

Two years later, another ghost had join to make them a trio. Her name was Box Lunch, and she was honestly a lot of fun. But she was still a girl, and they didn't tell her about their secret fun location until they were sure she didn't have cooties. When they showed her, she instantly knew what it was.

"That's a ghost portal!" she exclaimed. Youngblood and Danny thought she was stupid. Ghost portals didn't stay anywhere permanently. They opened and closed at random, when the human world and Ghost Zone would temporarily merge and allow for a rip to tear. But it always mended back together quickly.

"No it's not," Youngblood scowled. Box Lunch made a face at him.

"Yeah-huh!" she insisted. "My mommy and daddy get into the human world all the time! She said some people there have been trying to make a permanent portal to here!"

"Nu-uh!" Youngblood argued. "My dad said that humans wouldn't do that, they're more afraid of us than we are of them!"

"Yeah-huh!" Box Lunch said more forcefully. "My parents were human once, they said that people constantly wanna hunt us in the human world! And that they're coming here!"

"If they're afraid of us, then why come here?" Youngblood challenged.

"What else would it be?" Box Lunch asked, crossing her arms.

"It's a weirdo ghost's lair!"

And as they bickered back and forth, Danny had remained quiet. He didn't know how to feel about any of this. His friends often forgot that Danny wasn't just a ghost. He was also human.

Not that he was a ghost who was once human, that died. He was both, and he always had been. Born that way, according to his mom, because his dad was human. Danny didn't know too much about him, and he never really thought to ask.

He knew that his name was Jack, and how he looked like. His mom had hung a photo of him in his room so that he'd know; blue eyes, black hair, with a square jaw and in a distinctive orange jumpsuit. The orange suit always reminded him of the blue one his mom wore underneath a lab coat. She said he looked just like his dad when he was in his human form, and he could absolutely see it. Though as a ghost he had white hair that he seemingly inherited from nobody, with his mom's light blue skin and yellow-green eyes. As a ghost, he matched with a black jumpsuit, though as a human, he preferred regular clothes.

Most ghosts had learned of Danny's true nature early on as the news slowly spread when he was born. They loved him and accepted him as one of them. He could go out into the Zone as a human, but it always felt weird. So he was always a ghost.

That night, as he got tucked in for bed, he decided to bring the metallic object up again.

"Box Lunch said that the big metal shape is a permanent ghost portal," he blurted out. His mom stared at him with wide yellow eyes, and so he knew that Box Lunch was actually right. "Is it?"

She sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"I believe so," she confirmed. Danny sat up.

"Is that why you don't want me going near it?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. Danny cocked his head curiously.

"But if I'm also human, wouldn't they be okay with me?" he wondered. His mom paused for a long, long time. "I'm also one of them."

"I don't know, honey," she admitted. He could tell that she did know. She kissed his forehead. "I'll talk to you about it when you're a little bit older, okay?"

"Promise?"

"I promise. Now good night, sweetie."

It was four more years before it really became relevant again. He had essentially forgotten about the unoperational portal as homeschooling, other friends, and general undead life had continued on for him and his mom.

Youngblood didn't age, since he was once human and died, and so as Danny got older, they hung out less. While Box Lunch, a born ghost, grew, he became distant from her too for unrelated reasons. Danny wasn't alone, however. For a while, he hung out with other ghosts who had died young before he met his best friend. He was a bit older than him when he had died, sixteen to his fourteen, but Johnny 13 (and his shadow) and him had almost instantly become friends and hung out nearly every day. Often his girlfriend joined them too. His mom also allowed him to keep a newly dead dog that had followed him home, that alternated from a puppy to a large hulking beast of a monster dog. Danny named him Cujo.

Ghost Writer provided lessons in the arts on Tuesdays and Thursdays for him and a few other younger ghosts, which did include Johnny and Kitty. On the other days, his mom homeschooled him in her passion: the sciences. His favorite memories were of him and his mother in her lab, doing home experiments and building a wide variety of things.

She indulged in whatever nonsense he wanted to build, which included but wasn't limited to: rock cannon, small spaceships, figuring out how they could grow potatoes on the moon like the man in the martian book did, using ecto energy to cook poptarts.

Often her friend, Technus, but better known to Danny as Uncle Nico, came by to do more of the tech-based stuff. Danny believed that Uncle Nico could do anything with technology. He was one of the ghosts that often went through the natural portals, and whenever he came back, he had something for Danny. Typically game consoles and games, but sometimes fun little useless knick knacks that Danny treasured deeply. He fixed those game consoles many times, and also showed him how to download and install cheats and mods to make them more fun.

And after a morning full of science or the arts, Danny would eat lunch then rush off to play with his friends, Cujo always on his heels.

Looking back, he never did much as a human. He had to resort to his human side to rest, or would default to it if he fell asleep. It felt weird being in human form amongst ghosts, and so he was just always a ghost. He never thought much about it, and nobody ever asked him to be a human around them. It was just how things were.

On the day he'd never forget, it was just him and Johnny. His girlfriend had opted not to come. Danny couldn't remember the original topic, but it made him remember the portal. As soon as he told Johnny about it, the two idly scratching Cujo as the dog slept in between them in puppy form, the ghost's eyes lit up excitedly.

"Dude! We have to check it out!" Johnny insisted.

"I dunno," Danny hesitated. "My mom said that I should stay away."

"Come on, it'll be sick! I've always wanted to go back to the human world," Johnny begged. "And you've never even been there, despite being half-human!"

Danny paused. Well, when you put it like that...

"Okay!" he agreed. He floated up from his seat a bit so he could untangle his legs to stand. Cujo immediately got up from his spot laying near them, tail wagging excitedly. "Let's go! I think I still know where it is!"

It had changed since he last saw it. It now had huge yellow and black doors in place of the previous blank space, and it seemed somehow bigger than he remembered it years ago. But it was unmistakably the man made portal.

Even now, he didn't get what would be too scary about it that his mom would encourage him to stay far away. It was just a door.

"This is so fucking cool," Johnny whispered as he touched the door. "Imagine...no more trying to hunt down a portal. We can just come and go as we please...seeing our lost loved ones...seeing my mom again…It's been so long...I dunno if she'd even remember me..."

Danny didn't say anything, but he did begin to think and truly wonder for the first time what his dad was like. His mom never talked about him, and he never really asked. He and his mom were happy, and he also had Uncle Nico. Was his dad kind? Did he also like science? Why wasn't he here? Did his dad even know about him?

"Do you think we can open it?" Danny asked. Cujo licked his fingers, and Danny scratched his head. Johnny glanced over his shoulder at him.

"I dunno," he admitted. His hand turned into a fist and he knocked on the door. "It seems really solid. I don't think we can just break it or something."

"Hm. Lemme see," Danny mused. He came closer, and he put his hand on the door. It was cold, and Johnny was right; it was metallic, just like the outer edge he used to play on, and it would not break easily. His finger traced the middle line of the two doors. "Hm. Maybe we can pry the door open."

"The humans made this," Johnny spoke. Danny stared at him. No shit. "No, no, I mean. Maybe you should do something to it as a human." Danny thought on this, and he shrugged. Couldn't hurt.

His transformation rings came and went, leaving him in his human state. He was just in a t-shirt and jeans today, and he stayed floating near the portal.

His hand had barely touched the portal when it opened for him.

Danny gasped in shock, jerking his hand back as it opened. Johnny had also jumped, going backwards a bit, and Cujo's fur went up as he barked. It fully opened, and he couldn't see anything but the green ooze. This wasn't anything like Uncle Nico had mentioned natural portals being like. They normally acted like a window you could see through. But it was an unnatural portal made by man.

"Maybe this isn't such a-" Johnny began, but Danny had already stepped through.

There was a weird in between area that shined bright blue that he never heard Uncle Nico describe. But in this in between, he could see exactly what the ghost had mentioned. He knew he was still in the Zone, but he could look out the portal into the human world like a window.

A man in an orange jumpsuit, with black hair that was graying, was sitting in a room that reminded him very much of his mom's lab. He was staring at the portal in confusion, likely because it had randomly opened, and Danny instantly knew who it was. He had no idea if his dad could see him, but he found himself rushing backwards, and back into the Zone.

The second he returned, he became a ghost again, and he silently began to fly away as he tried to process. Johnny asked no questions, only following, Cujo following them both.

That night, at dinner, he finally asked.

"What was dad like?"

His mom stared at him for a moment.

"Well, he was very sweet," she said slowly. "Very bubbly personality. Always went out of his way to help his friends." She smiled softly as she talked about him. "Adored fudge."

"Did he like science?" Danny wondered. His mom gave a short laugh.

"Oh boy he adored it. Not the best at it, but he had a lot of enthusiasm," he replied. "We used to do experiments together all the time."

Danny stared down at his food as he thought. He looked up to her, and he could tell that she already knew what he was going to ask.

"How come I never met him?" he wondered. She sighed.

"...He doesn't like ghosts," she replied. "Aspiring ghost hunter when I met him, actually. I was alive then. Had the same ambitions." At his shocked look, she laughed again. "I know, ironic. We had dated for about two years officially. But then...I died. It was winter, and I was driving late at night during a snowstorm. My car slid off the road, and into a river. And I died from my injuries. I found that I could disguise myself as human, and I was in denial. So I just...continued on."

"...Why?" he asked. His mom shrugged in defeat.

"I guess I just didn't want to admit that it was over. I hadn't done everything I wanted to do yet. I was still in college, and I felt like my life had been forcibly finished before it had even truly started," she admitted. "Jack had proposed, but I had declined. I was too afraid to tell him. He began pursuing ghost hunting more seriously as a profession and building weapons and portals. I found out I was having you, and he was so excited to be a dad. I began getting scared. I didn't know how long I could continue the lie. I didn't know how it all would affect you. Then the police found my car and body, and I knew I couldn't avoid the inevitable any longer. So I left. I had no clue how to face him, or even how safe you might be if we talked. Especially after you were born, and I realized that you were half ghost."

The more she talked, she more somber she became. By the end, she was sniffling a little. Guilt began to wash over him.

"Have you ever talked to him again? Like after I was born?" he wondered. She shook her head no. "How come you've never taken me to the human world?"

"I had considered it. But it's too dangerous," she explained. "Humans aren't like ghosts. If they knew that you were also ghost...you wouldn't wanna find out what happens."

"...Do you regret any of it?" Do you regret me?

She smiled softly despite the conversation.

"You were the best thing to ever happen to me," she told him. "I may have been very anxious about being alone, and how you may turn out despite it all. But you were born healthy and perfect in every way. You're absolutely the light of my afterlife."

Danny smiled back, feeling some reassurance. His mom stood up, leaning over to peck his forehead before picking up her plate. He heard Cujo scramble out from under the table, ears up in excitement.

"I think I'll finish this later," she told him. "I'm not too hungry tonight." She glanced down at the dog. "This isn't for you."

Cujo whined, following her as she put her plate in the microwave. Danny nodded, sparing a small smile to Cujo and ushering for him to come over. He slipped him a piece of chicken as his mom left.

Later that night, Danny couldn't sleep. He was too busy sorting out his rushing thoughts. He was of course still him. Nothing really changed, but there was this new growing emptiness. Danny was still Danny, but there was a whole other side to him that knew nothing about. It began to eat at him more and more. Who was this human side besides just human Danny who lived in the Ghost Zone? He didn't know.

He now wished that his mom had taken him to the human world before so that he could know. She did say that there was a risk in the humans knowing he was also a ghost, which he didn't get. The ghosts accepted him as one of their own, so why wouldn't the humans? He didn't get humans at all. And he needed to know more about them. He was one of them.

By breakfast, his mind was made up.

After an unusually boring lesson with Ghost Writer together, Danny immediately went to Johnny once their small class of sorts were dismissed.

"I have to go back." Danny couldn't breath for a moment. "I have to see what it's like. Like you said, I'm also human, and I've never been there. All my unlife, I've been a ghost, here, in the Ghost Zone. My dad's in the human world. And I need to know what it's like to be human. What it means. So I can maybe meet him one day."

Johnny nodded.

"I think I get it," he said slowly. "I'll come with you. Keep you company. I think I could pass for human pretty well, even if I have to say that I have some kind of sickly disease that keeps me pale."

Danny grinned.

"Thanks," he replied. "Come on."

It took no time at all to find the portal. Danny stared up at it, his breath once more stolen as he tried to think of a reason why he shouldn't go through it.

Nothing came to mind.

"It's okay if you don't wanna," Johnny said. Danny shook his head no.

"I have to do this," he replied. "I need to do this."

Johnny patted his back, and that was all the subconscious encouragement Danny needed to turn human and press his hand to the door. Once more, it opened. The fact that he's even able to open it made him know that this was something he was meant to do. He once again stepped through with Johnny right behind him.

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 8

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

pairing: Fem!OC/Spencer

word count: 3.9k

content warnings: discussion of a dead body (for a case), discussion of sensory overload (idk if that's a warning but just in case).

A/N: sorry this took so long! i've had a lot of writer's block with this series, but i'm feeling a lot more motivated with it, now. anyway enjoy!

masterlist

my feet slam into the pavement at a rate that makes me wonder if my heart can take it. I can feel the air in my lungs, stinging, and the way it never seems like enough. I can't stop. my arms are pumping and my legs burn.

I'm sure I look like a mess right now, exhausted and sweaty as I make my way up the biggest hill by my apartment. I haven't been running in a while, and this incline is even more daunting than it was before.

I use the momentum I've built from before now and force myself up. every breath rips through me violently until I'm sure that if I stop running, I'll collapse. but I keep pushing, knowing it'll be worth it.

I hated running until college. just absolutely despised the thought of getting outside and forcing myself to move quickly. the older I get, though, the more refreshing it's gotten. it helped me escape from midterms, from the pressure that constantly seemed to mount with every passing day. sometimes it feels like all of it keeps piling on, and it's never going to stop.

of course, that's not really the way to look at life. I've had things to balance out the work, friends to call and ways to let out the hammering violence that always seem to fill the spaces between my ribs. running clears my head when nothing else does.

once I get to the top, I bend over and rest my palms on my knees so that I can relax. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and can feel my pulse thudding against my throat. it's good, though. I needed to do this again, to get exercise.

I resist the urge to lay down flat on the pavement. DC isn't really a good place to do that; everyone around me is on a morning stroll with their partner or they're out for a jog themselves. I pass several enthusiastic-looking dogs out for a walk. the sheer number of people around me should make me feel normal.

it doesn't.

I straighten and stretch out my muscles, wincing at the way my calves feel if I move them funny. I don’t want to get called in for a case today, but that's naive. there will always be another case because there will always be people we need to stop. maybe I'm just not jaded enough to not care. I like to think that's a good thing, though.

...

when I head into the office a couple hours later, there's a to-go cup of coffee resting on my desk. I smile to myself, set my bag down and shrug off my coat, then peek over the divider to see Spencer with a case file open and an identical to-go cup a couple inches away.

"is this your doing?" I refer to the coffee. he nods and smiles at me, seemingly not in the mood to talk.

"thanks, Reid."

sitting down to do some work, I sneak a peek at him. Spencer is acting different from last weekend. more shy. I'm not really sure the reason, unless he just felt particularly outgoing at the party and is now back to his default self.

we get a case before the hour is up, and then my mind is occupied by the details.

jet rides, though now a familiar routine, are probably my favorite part of the job. I don't feel totally unproductive, but I still have time to unwind and talk to people on our way. Emily and I have gotten much closer within the past few weeks and sometimes she tells me stories about her old job that keep me on the edge of my seat.

there's something so mysterious about her that I just appreciate; she's like a cool older cousin to me. and she's great at making fun of Morgan, which is something that I've found enjoyable as well. sometimes he needs to be knocked down a peg-- she's the woman to do it.

"how many?" I trace my finger down the smooth skin of Derek's arm, where he's lifted his sleeve just enough to show the inked lion. it's a big tattoo, and I'm somewhat surprised he has one at all. he just doesn't really seem the type.

"five right now." he flexes his bicep flirtatiously, and I immediately remove my hand with a repulsed expression, rolling my eyes at the chuckle he lets out.

"don't feed his ego like that." Emily warns from across the table. she's flipping through one of the plant magazines that we've stashed in the snack cupboards (much to Hotch's disapproval). I turn to see Morgan's reaction.

"you a little jealous, Prentiss?" he teases. her only response is a glance that dares him to push further. they both know that Emily has absolutely no interest in him, which I suppose adds to their friendship. Morgan leans down by my ear, but he makes no effort to quiet his voice. "you should ask about her tattoos."

"you have tattoos?" my eyes widen at this, voice a little louder than usual. Hotch glances over at us from his seat a ways away, but doesn't say anything. Reid is passed out on the couch, strangely tired for the middle of the day; Rossi's writing something in his miniature journal.

"that's not anyone's business." she says more to Morgan than to me.

"I wanna see!" I set my glass of ice water down on the table and straighten up. Emily pretends to be exhausted by the persistence, but she closes her magazine momentarily.

"look, I can't show them all here." she raises a suggestive eyebrow.

"then how does Derek know?" I smirk. Emily makes a face, but Morgan is the one who replies.

"this one gets a little loose-lipped when she drinks too much." he teases. I snort and glance at Emily. I've seen her tipsy before, but never drunk. at most, she gets affectionate with all of us and calls us her best friends in the whole world. which, honestly, isn't an unwelcome sentiment.

"I do not." she argues.

"yeah, you do." Reid mumbles from the couch cushion where he's been resting his head. I jump at the sudden noise, and we all turn to him.

"look who's up." Emily smiles. Reid stretches his legs out, limbs so long that his feet hang off the end of the couch. he's wearing mismatched socks again today, one with bananas and one covered in sushi rolls. I smile to myself.

"I'm not," he argues. "someone had to correct you."

Morgan and I let out an amused laugh. my eyes dart between Spencer and the two other agents. "I feel like I'm the only one here who hasn't seen Prentiss drunk."

"yes, you have." she frowns.

"no. not, like, plastered."

"don't let Garcia hear you say that." Morgan laughs. I snort.

"why?"

"any excuse to party, and she'll take it." he shakes his head affectionately.

"she'd just call it bonding." Prentiss adds in. I have a soft spot in my heart for Pen. for all of the darkness we see here, she makes it a little bit brighter with her quips and sparkly pens and neon glasses. she's a blessing.

"what's so bad about that?" I defend for her sake.

"nothing's wrong with it, per se," Emily shrugs. "it just means we aren't as professional as we should be."

"I'd argue that our job actually means we get to let loose more when we have the time." I shrug. Morgan offers his fist to pound, and I oblige with a satisfied smile.

"you two are children, you know that?" Emily gestures between Derek and me. I shrug, about to return to my crossword when she speaks again. "how many tattoos do you have, Clea?"

I blink for a second, deciding whether or not to lie. it would be kind of cool to sound badass, but I don't know if I even have the mental capability to fib to a bunch of profilers. "none."

"what?" Morgan looks at me with confusion.

"yeah, none. why is that such a big surprise?" I laugh at their reactions. Prentiss is alarmed, too.

"I don't know-- you seem like the kind of person to get a heart tattooed on your thigh or something." Morgan shrugs. I make a face, silent.

"that's offensive."

Prentiss snorts and finishes her drink. I peek over and see Reid with his eyes closed but a slightly amused smile on his face. by the couch, I can see through the window. we're slipping through gray clouds that are saturated with rain, and the weather change causes the jet to shake a bit.

my fingertips wrap around the arm of the seat and Emily eyes me warily.

"you okay?"

"don't like flying." I answer, nostrils flaring slightly. usually with these trips, I've been able to hide my apprehension for flying by holding onto my knee below the table or something, but the sudden jerks are putting me off.

it's stupid-- plane anxiety is ridiculously common, and I don't think it's necessarily unwarranted. the problem is that to a bunch of people trained in behavioral analysis, it shows a blatant fear of not having control.

which is true, but it's not like I need that plastered all over my face every time we board a flight.

"would you get a tattoo if you could?" Emily changes the subject, thankfully, and I bite down on my bottom lip.

"I think so, yeah." it's said without much thought; all that's on my mind right now is wondering what our ETA is. Morgan shifts in his seat to smirk.

"really."

"sure."

he nods appreciatively before turning to look back out the window. droplets of moisture are collecting there, but they only distort the image of Portland stretched out below. the water is steel gray and rippled with wind.

I've never been here. for some reason, I find myself wondering what it smells like. that mingling of city scent and ocean, if they meet in the middle to form their own distinct identity. if it will settle on my tongue and in my clothes.

it's funny to me that when I go to different places and return, I don't notice how different it all smells until I breathe it in through the fabric of my shirts, and from there it all comes rushing back. Spencer mentioned during a case once that scent creates the most powerful memory reaction out of all our senses-- and I believe it.

DC smells like humidity and rain-slicked streets, Montana like dust. even the jet has a particular one that I don't associate with anything right now, but I know I will in the future. like I'm standing in the formation of a memory.

half-baked.

...

we've got the hoods of our raincoats up as we make our way into the office of our latest victim. Morgan holds the door and I wander in, staring up at the enormous glass walls of the place. a stray droplet falls from the hood of my jacket and onto my nose, rolling down the bridge and causing me to sniffle.

her boss is surprisingly dismissive of us when we get to his office, reluctantly getting off a phone call and giving me something of a dead-fish handshake. as we take a seat at his desk, I can smell the overbearing stench of his expensive cologne.

he's got exactly the kind of look that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole: taut, judgmental face with a stiff mustache and slicked-back black hair that honestly is probably dyed. his eyes linger on me for a bit longer than I appreciate, but I clear my throat and try to brush off the discomfort.

Winona's body was found in a ditch off the side of a highway, dumped like trash. based on the ME report, she was alive when he threw her in, but died shortly after from her wounds. the whole thing is gruesome and as her employer notes her tendency to daydream and occasional tardiness, I want to reach across the table to smack him.

Morgan is able to keep his cool better than I can, nodding. I know it's important to know her behaviors in order to build our profile, but I still don't like the way this guy is talking about her.

"she wasn't really the strongest employee we've got, but she was nice enough around the office." he shrugs. I notice the gold wedding band that glints on his ring finger, the way he leans back in his swivel chair. he's got evaluative eyes.

by the time we're done, I'm practically flying out the door of his office and hurrying to the elevator. we got what we needed to know from him, if not through a somewhat convoluted method.

"nice guy." I note sarcastically after punching the down button. Morgan tucks his hands into his jeans pockets and looks at our warped reflections in the elevator doors.

"we talk to a lot of people like that. you get used to it."

"didn't seem too concerned about her at all."

"I don't think guys like that are concerned about much more than themselves."

"you should have mentioned a tax evasion investigation happening around here," I smirk. "that would probably put the fear of God into him."

Morgan chuckles and looks over at me. it would be unprofessional to fist bump with so many people around, although the smile we share is definitely a great equivalent.

as we pack into the metal box with a bunch of employees, they look at us curiously. the enormous FBI label on the back of our jackets probably doesn't help, but I pretend to look like I know what I'm doing as we step out into the lobby.

in all reality, faking it until I make it is the only thing I know how to do.

...

the late night cravings come as a surprise as I stand over a map of Portland. my eyes are starting to cross from staring at all the minuscule details for so long, and my fingers are twitching from a mixture of hunger and overloaded caffeine.

we were supposed to go to bed about two hours ago, but I know for a fact that I'm not the only one sitting in my motel room with open files and a determined expression. I do happen to be the only person rooming alone, however, and the silence has been helpful.

Reid's been working on a geographic profile, but there's something missing. I'm not sure what it is. all I know is that if I don't figure it out soon, it's going to eat away at me. based on his activity patterns, there are only a few more days before this guy abducts another woman.

except now I'm just thinking about how much time we don't have, and that sort of sends me into a spiral, too. I'm prepared to always be running against a clock for this job, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm going to lose it if I stare at any more tiny lines indicating roads or side streets or whatever else demands attention.

I need to get out of my head.

before taking time to really consider anything else, I grab my phone and look up pizza places nearby. what I need right now is some sustenance and tv-- or at least something to distract me enough to recharge.

I change into my pjs and wash my face while I wait for the delivery person to arrive, try to ease the day out of my bones. there used to be a whole process for me after work every day, where I'd shut off my brain. The Real Housewives of Atlanta provided ample help for this, along with fuzzy socks and glasses of red wine. I can make do with this.

once the pizza guy comes and I pay for my food, I don't even make way to my room; instead, I go to the person I know who needs this more than I do.

"Clea?" Spencer rubs his eyes as he swings open the door, glasses held in the other hand.

"hi." I smile brightly.

"what are you doing here?" his soft tone and the dim light from a motel lamp in the corner tells me that Morgan is asleep right now in the other bed.

in response to his question, I hold up the box of pizza with a grin. his eyes widen.

"I can't eat all this alone." definitely a lie, but saying that he needs to take a break probably wouldn't sway him enough.

for a second, Spencer seems to debate this in his head. when he runs a shaky hand through his hair, I roll my eyes. "it's pizza, dude. not a wedding proposal. you can go back to the case in twenty minutes."

he nods this time and looks up at me as I turn and start toward my room. closing the door gently behind him, I don't miss the way he increases his pace a little to catch up with me.

"did you get mushrooms?" he asks. I throw him a disgusted look before realizing what he's talking about and breaking into a grin.

"you remembered!" I reference my hatred of the fungus. Spencer smiles with pride, turns his gaze to the carpeted floors. I unlock the door and let us in.

"of course I remember," he snorts. "it's hard to forget."

I giggle at the way he immediately uses the sink to wash his hands, and I join him after setting the box on the bed.

"favorite soap scent?" I ask absently. suds cover my fingers as he rinses the water from his. normally, this isn't a question I'd ask, but Spencer seems like he would have a response.

"you know, I really enjoy anything fresh-smelling," he thinks about it. "like waterfall smell."

"I like those, too."

"what's your favorite?"

"there's this brand that I love that specializes in antibacterial soaps, and they have a lavender one that literally makes me ascend." I laugh. Spencer is drying his hands with a folded towel and his face lights up.

"Ravi's Organics?" he suggests. my heart leaps with recognition.

"yes! oh my god, have you used their cracked cinnamon one?"

"I have the hand sanitizer in my bag." Reid's eyes are so pretty. they sparkle with a hazel color, almost chocolatey in the cheap motel light.

"they have a hand sanitizer for it?" my jaw drops. he nods and I shake my head slowly. we walk over to the bed to eat the pizza. he seems hesitant, though, and pauses.

it takes me a second to remember that Spencer has different boundaries and is just kind of awkward in general. even though there's no obvious tension between us, I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I plop down on the floor.

"you like Ravi's Organics." he states it back to himself more than to me, and as I pop open the box to reveal a beautiful pepperoni pizza, I nod vigorously.

"yeah, it's actually kind of a funny story," we start to dig in immediately. I lift an enormous slice to my lips and bite into the perfection. it's so good. "when I was little, my parents used to call me Rascal."

"Rascal?" he laughs through a bite of food.

"like the raccoon? from that book?" it's a kid's story.

"why?" he snorts. I take a second to chew before replying.

"I just get really overwhelmed by certain sensory things-- like, I hate being sticky or having any kind of weird texture on my hands. so whenever we went out to eat or anything, I would always sit on the outside of the booth so I could run to the bathroom and wash my hands as I pleased." I explain all of this with a slight frown on my face. it's true, I've just never really thought about it.

"I don't like sticky stuff, either." he offers.

"yeah, it got pretty bad. but I guess I just grew out of it. I'm not sure when." I pluck a piece of pepperoni off the top and slide it into my mouth.

Spencer takes in this information for a second while he eats, and I'm momentarily worried that I've overshared. he came for some food and now I've served up a weird childhood memory to accompany it.

but then he does something funny and altogether endearing.

"actually, raccoons are very cleanly creatures, despite their dietary habits." he tells me.

frankly, it makes me feel better than anything else that he could have said. "fastidious little things, right?"

"exactly." he chuckles. his shoulders are hunched, elbows leaning on his knees.

"fix your posture." I say gently, noticing the way his spine curves abysmally when he's sitting across from me. his cheeks turn a pretty pink, but he follows directions.

"is it that bad?" he's a bit embarrassed. immediately, I soften and do what comes easily, making a joke.

"if you don't work on it, you're gonna be living in a French cathedral by the age of thirty."

Spencer snorts-- genuinely almost chokes on his food-- and looks at me with his almost childlike eyes. there's something in them that I can't decipher at all, almost so obvious that it completely goes over my head.

"that was mean." he's still trying to recover from the onset of giggles, and I lean forward to grab another slice, suppressing a proud grin myself.

"your future straight-backed self will thank me."

"I'll remember that." he nods dutifully.

"I'm sure you will."

we share a secretive smile before I bite into my pizza and launch into a different subject. the more I learn about Spencer, the more I want to know. I feel like there are things beneath every new surface that would be fascinating to understand.

"what's it like having an eidetic memory?"

he frowns like he isn't sure how to answer. I thought he'd already have something locked and loaded, a prepared response for a question he definitely gets frequently. when he opens his mouth, I find myself hanging on every word. "it's... interesting."

"blessing or a curse?"

"both."

"would you ever give it up if given the option?" I narrow my eyes a bit. I'm especially curious about this.

"no." this is delivered with certainty. for a second, I stare at him with about a million more questions in my head. of course, they're completely out-of-bounds and way too personal, but they're still there.

"hm." I say instead. as usual, delivering thrilling commentary at every turn.

Spencer peeks at me over his pizza for a second, seeming to want to say something else, but decides against it. our eyes meet; I'm not sure what it is, maybe a silent agreement or something else that's unspoken, but we decide not to press further on either end.

whatever he's got tucked away in that big brain of his, he's not ready to talk about it with anyone-- much less a new colleague in a dumpy motel. there's a time and place for certain things, and boundaries to respect.

I change the subject before he can make some lame excuse to leave. for some reason, I just don't want him to leave me here in this room.

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed for this series): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm

[dontshootmespence]

Through It All

Part 20

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 2,204

Warnings: Girl on girl experimenting, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), threesome, p in v.

A/N: This is my next entry for @cm-kinkbingo​ run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt​. This fulfills my threesome square. If you haven’t read The Most Natural Thing In the World, you won’t know the party to which I’m referring, but it doesn’t matter in regards to continuity with this.

“Are you absolutely, positively sure you’re okay with this?” You ask, wringing your hands together as you wait for your familiar guest on the living room couch. It’s your birthday and this is Spencer’s gift to you, but you want to make sure he’s truly okay with this before you proceed. “The sharing doesn’t bother you.”

Spencer eyes you hungrily, and runs his lips down the side of your neck; behind his eyes, you see a movie playing, undoubtedly imagining what’s about to happen. “Not with a woman. Maybe that’s hypocritical of me, but I’m okay with her. And there’s something about me only being involved with you that puts my mind at ease.”

Apparently, after you’d divulged that you wanted to experiment with a woman, Spencer began looking into things as a surprise for you. At first, he perused reputable websites recommended by members of the community, but it was all too tenuous and unknown for him to settle on someone. That’s when the idea came to him.

At the party you went to before you got married, where he tied you up and fucked you in front of an entire room of onlookers, there was a beautiful woman with auburn hair that both of you found attractive, so instead of continuing with the exhaustive searching through a website, Spencer decided to ask within your circle of kink pals, and luckily enough, the beautiful woman was interested. And luckily for you, your parents were free to babysit so you could go on another ‘much needed date.’ They didn’t have to know what you did on your dates.

Her name is Christina.

“You excited?” Spencer asks, his mouth scrunched up in semi-uncharacteristic bashfulness.

Nodding your head, you bite back a coy smile. You’d made out with girls at parties before, but you’d never done anything else. “Yes,” you reply, leaning into his embrace and giving him a quick peck on the neck. “But please, if theory and reality don’t mesh at any point, please call it. I won’t be mad or disappointed. I promise your happiness and you being comfortable is the most important thing to me. I will go an entire lifetime within eating out a single woman if that’s what makes you happy.”

Spencer growls under his breath and slides his hand under your shirt, fingers splayed over your stomach as he pulls you closer and presses a firm kiss to your temple. “I think watching all this is going to make me uncomfortable but in a very different way.”

Giggling, you nip at his ear. “A tight pants way?”

“Just a little bit,” he says softly.

You can already feel his cock harden against the soft confines of his flannel pajama pants. As your hands ghost above his length, there’s a knock at the door.

“All yours, love.” Spencer steps back and takes a seat in his favorite chair, allowing you to take the lead. The smile on his face pulls straight at your core.

“Christina! Hi!” Excitement laces your voice and she can obviously tell, a soft chuckle escaping her as she enters the apartment and slips her coat off.

She glances toward the corner of the room and gives Spencer a soft wave. “Hello, Spencer. Y/N. How are you both?”

“Good,” you reply. “You?”

Christina nods, quickly cycling through the ground rules Spencer had discussed with her during the planning of this whole thing. “I’m wonderful,” she replies silkily. “Just so I’m clear on things. It’ll just be you and me. You’ve never been with a woman before so I promise to make this worthwhile.” Her green eyes sparkle with delight. “Ever since that party last year I’ve been wondering if I could make you look like that too.”

You blush furiously.

As she continues, you lose yourself in the soft contours of her body, her jacket falling into a pool on the floor. “Spencer will be observing, instructing if he so chooses, and if he chooses to join in, it’s only with you.” When her eyes finally focus on you, you feel a pull inside yourself. “Oh, and the safeword is red if at any point either of you, or me, though I don’t see that happening, want to call this off.”

Glancing toward Spencer, your eyes ask whether or not all the ground rules have been discussed. With a slight nod of his head, Christina approaches you, pulling you into a kiss. Her lips are soft and yielding, yet firm. There’s no hesitation. You moan into her mouth as her fingers slide up and under your t-shirt, the cool air hitting your skin and making you shiver. She laughs into your mouth and pushes you against the door.

As her lips glide up the side of your neck, your touches are a little more hesitant. Nerves are there, but they’re the best kind. At first, you were kind of freaking out about how to make this a good experience for her too, but once you decide to just try what you know you like, the nervousness fades away, your fingertips sliding delicately underneath her shirt to the edges of her bra.

Her tongue probes your mouth, pulling you further into the moment. Aside from her soft whimpers, you can hear Spencer humming in approval across the room. Once you unhook her bra, you hurriedly pull her shirt over her head and yank the bra off before bending down to wrap your lips around her nipple. “Such a warm, eager little mouth,” she coos, glancing back toward Spencer. “She always so eager?”

“Yes,” he says proudly. “By all means, ignore me. Reap the benefits.”

Christina giggles and turns her attention back toward you, making quick work of removing your clothing and slipping her hand between your legs. She knows what she’s doing, her fingers practiced like Spencer’s but with an altogether different feeling. Not that Spencer can’t be delicate; he can when he wants to, but it’s her default. Almost immediately, she knows what proverbial buttons to push to make you squirm. And squirm you do, clutching your legs around her hand. “Wanna go inside?” You ask.

She nods, taking you by the hands and following your lead into the bedroom. Spencer follows behind at a distance, requesting that Christina eat you out before going the other way around. It’s easy for both of you to acquiesce to his request.

As you crawl backwards onto the bed, your eyes fall on Spencer. He’s stroking his cock through his sweats and his eyes are lust-blown. Have fun, he mouths. You fluff your hair against the pillow and watch as Christina, still wearing her soft blue panties, takes her place between your legs. You can’t help but appreciate the way she wiggles her ass, giving Spencer a good show.

Her fingers are teasing, ghosting your folds and your clit. With each move, she watches how you react. “She’s studious, Spence,” you laugh, sighing happily as she kisses your inner thigh.

Spencer clears his throat, moving his hands from the outside of his sweats to the inside. “I do love a studious woman. Just so you know she’s got a spot on the left side just below her clit that drive her fucking wild.”

“Good to know.” She doesn’t take her eyes off you, but guides her tongue in the direction Spencer suggested, laughing into you when you whimper. “Oh, very good to know.”

Closing your eyes, you relax your head into the pillow and tune in to the sound of Spencer’s low approving hum. You want to feel everything, but you don’t want to forget that he’s there. You need to remember he’s watching. That he did this for you. That he approves. Christina licks a stripe up your pussy and then kisses your folds, her fingers following in the wake of her tongue. “So sweet,” she whispers. Her breath falls on your clit and you buck down into her mouth. You want more. Need more.

You slip your fingers into her hair and guide her where you want her, biting your lip and smiling when her lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently as she slips two fingers inside you. Her other hand wraps around your thigh and rests on your mound, skirting, teasing. When she flicks the tip of her tongue against your clit, your eyes pop open and you cry out, which only makes her hungrier. She delves into your arousal and laps it all up, her fingers curling against your inner walls. Spencer’s got his cock in his hand and his muscles are tight. He mouths again. Come for me.

When you cry out, Christina moans into you and keeps up the pace, licking you through the rolling waves. The entire lower half of her face is coated in your arousal when she crawls back up your body, breasts heavy against your own. She pulls you in for a kiss and you taste yourself on her lips. “My turn,” you breathe.

With uncharacteristic dominance, you push against her arms and pin her underneath you, moving backward and wiggling your ass for Spencer as your fingers hook into her panties to pull them down. Her legs fall open for you, her sex glistening. Expecting to see Spencer there, you turn around to say something to him, but he’s already dipping onto the bed to kneel behind you. “Doesn’t she have such a pretty little pussy, Spence?”

“Mmmhmm,” he groans, swiping his cock up and down your sodden pussy. “Play with her while I play with you.”

“Yes, Sir.” Biting your lip, you nudge your nose against her clit, then your tongue, observing the way her eyes glaze over and her mouth drops open. You want to know what makes her tick. With your pointer and middle finger, you swipe against her folds and massage her, quickly finding that she prefers hurried, frenzied movements over gentle ones.

As you lap at her arousal, Spencer pushes himself inside you and Christina pulls at your hair, moaning for you to go faster, harder. “Spencer, fuck her hard. Drive her face into my pussy.”

With a growl, he complies, pulling back only to thrust forward with a force that rattles you in the best way. You can’t concentrate. Everything you’re doing is on instinct. You slip your tongue inside her and massage her clit with your fingers as Spencer fucks you. “That’s it, Y/N,” she whines. “Just like that. Slip your fingers inside me.”

Spencer’s pounding into you and you can’t breathe. But you don’t care. All you want to hear is both of them coming because of you. You tighten yourself around Spencer and guide two fingers into Christina’s pussy. Quickly, you find her g-spot and tap rhythmically as you roll your tongue over her clit. “Jesus, fuck, yea. Just like that,” she cries, grinding up into your face. If she likes it rougher, you’re more than happy to oblige, using your free hand to pinch her nipple, which sends her straight over the edge.

While Christina’s riding the high, Spencer plunges into your heat and smacks your ass, making you tighten around him as he comes. He pulls out and leaves you, returning to his seat in the corner of the room where he can watch as Christina flips you over again and lifts one of your legs up so she can rest her pussy against yours. She’s all softness, but her movements are hard, frantic, needy. Her body undulates against yours, slowly at first for your sake, but it’s not enough for either of you and Spencer knows it. “Ride her, Christina.”

She throws her head back and grinds against your sex. The pressure rises quickly, almost unbearably so. You’re so raw and on edge, so overstimulated in the best way that you come within minutes, sucking on her thumb as she falls over the edge again too.

Laughing, she collapses at your side. “Well fuck, Y/N. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve been with women before.”

“Just a natural, I guess.”

Kissing and touching, you revel in the newness of her touch a little longer as Spencer gets you both a bottle of water. “Well, this was fun you guys. I’d definitely be willing again if you’re ever interested.”

“We might just take you up on that,” Spencer says, crawling into bed as Christina gets redressed. “I want to thank you for making my wife’s birthday a special one.”

“A special birthday for a special wife,” she replies, her eyes falling on yours. “Will you walk me out?”

You slip your silk robe around you and walk Christina toward the door. “Thanks,” you say. It feels like it’s not enough, considering what just happened, but she replies with a breezy no problem, wishing you one more happy birthday before taking her leave.

Bounding happily back inside, you throw the robe to the side and crawl into Spencer’s lap. “Thank you, Sir. That was a lot of fun.”

His cock is rock hard, his voice thick. “It was fun for me, too.” He smacks your ass with both palms and playfully growls into your neck. “Now get over here and ride me.”

@heycasbutt @ultrarebelheart @katherineisagubler @proud-slytherin-ghost @randomwriter23 @fandom-queen67 @sixx-sic-sixx @xqueenofthecraziesx @aofay02 @groovyreid @criesinreid @jdougl-love @xreider @cringeemospntrashassbutt @prettyboyeffect @prettyboyreid @themanip @spencerreidsthings @augustgraceful @whollytaciturn @prisonreid @factualfic @jasmine-negron @snitchthewitch @ellabobella051419 @crazyforsstuff @kaatelyyynn​ @jane-dough @dreatine @bitter-post-millennial @adlerorzel-blog @hallieedrew @psychedelephantt @krisymccall996 @4ueijos @mclaujac @ray-likes-starwars @nurseemilyblog @slightlyvicked @she4567 @guesswhosback129 @princessdolan @happycreatorfangirl @fallwhisper @nyemadowell @sammy-jo1977 @sin-bin-and-tragedies @imsuperawkward @ahhahahaheehee @crispygiantsaladgarden @reputay-swift @pizzarollsfordayz @andiebeaword @timey-wimey-lovi @garbagecanfics @friedparadisetale @dereksbetaa @idontevenknow2 @holyfishloverfarm @nohemi2500 @typeshitbih @sadgirlhan @kmc217 @bigbuttsowhatuniverse @charmedfandomgal @im--blushing @dangerouspersonllamabagel @fichoe21 @yes-sir-hotchner @thefandomallrounder @mrsenos08 @walkerchick007 @letsdisneythings @winchesterqueenie @specialagentleigh @spn-wheresthepie @haileymew @bitchyoulied @geniusgub @urdicksmol @6lack6erry @slutlanna976 @downondilaudid​ @baileysb1tch @la-vie-en-amour1​ @letsdoit-tomorrow @eideticprettyboydrreid​ @lazynoodledragon​ @shybaby231 @aimzonicles97​ @grace-superpowers​ @softestlavender​ @ssa-dr-ladylock​ @drprettyboy​ @patricks-fabulous-face​ @tearosaria​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @marvels-gurl​ 

[miraithislife]

Miraith Part 3 <3 (little long oop)

“Did you...ever have a family...?” She asked in a soft, curious voice. Wraith had been nestled warmly by the fireplace in Mirage’s private condo. It was filled with pictures, collectibles, and posters of him, of course, along with all of his trophies and medals from the Games, fan mail, fan art, comics, and practically anything else related to him. 

“My family?” Mirage repeated in surprise, not really expecting her to ask that of him. He was in the kitchen, making them both some warm mugs of hot chocolate to treat the increasingly bitter cold from which they’d just sought refuge. “Well, yea. I have a family. I’m the youngest of four. Four boys. Had to screw around to get attention, you know.” 

Wraith scoffed, “Bet that wasn’t hard for you to do.” She brought the blanket (with a full length Mirage printed onto it) more snugly around her shoulders, having replaced Mirage’s coat, which was hung neatly in the closet by the front door. 

Mirage grinned, “Nope.” He laughed. “We were definitely a handful for our parents.”  

Wraith bit her lip embarrassedly and looked to the crackling flames when realizing she had no idea what those were. She knew everyone had them, she’d heard the term before. Something about it was vaguely familiar. She wanted to ask, but the words stopped in her throat. Would she sound weird for asking such a ridiculous thing? 

What would he think of her if she did? 

What if he thought she was joking?

What would he think when realizing she was being serious?

A pit grew in Wraith’s stomach as her anxieties grew, and she began to get a headache from overthinking. 

It’s Mirage. He’ll understand. She self-consoled. 

Wraith took a breath and asked (after conjuring up the bravery) in a voice soft as silk, “What are parents?” 

Mirage looked over at her. The look in her eyes told him she was being genuine and serious. “Uh,” he began, not wanting his surprise or delay in response to come off judgemental or make her feel bad. “Well...parents are the people who take care of you. Claim you as your own, cause, uh. They gave birth to you? Well no your mom does that part...the dad just--ahem.” He shrugged. “Yea they take care of and love you, basically. Raise ya. All that fun stuff.” He picked out two mugs from the cupboard.

Well, that wasn’t so bad. She thought.

Did she ever have parents...? She wondered.

“You have parents?” She asked.

“Well, yea.” Mirage replied, setting them on the countertop and closing the cupboard. “Everyone has parents, right?” 

Wraith solemnly averted her gaze to her hands, saying quietly. “Right.” 

Mirage winced. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean--” 

“It’s alright.” She said, rather shortly. 

Mirage rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I mean, not everyone has parents.” He said in an attempt to make it better. He shrugged and said in a tone to play it off, “Besides, it’s not like having parents make you cool or anything.” He removed the pitcher from the stove once the water’d heated to the perfect temperature. 

“At least not mine, heh. I mean, what kind of parents tell you you were an accident baby and try to sell you online?” He began pouring the water into each of the mugs, “OnLINE.” He stressed. “And for FREE?” He passionately continued, still holding the steaming pitcher, waving it along with his animated hand gestures and story retelling. Wraith raised the blanket to her mouth, she couldn’t help but softly giggle at his increasing annoyance as he recalled the memory. 

Mirage was too enraged to notice her adorable little laugh. “I mean, hell. Like okay, I was an accident and you wanna sell me, but for free?” He gestured to himself. “I mean, look at me, I’m amazing! I’m handsome, I’m smart, I’ve got fans--I’ve gotta be worth a nice rack of pork chops at the very least. And I was the cutest little thing, too.” Mirage set the pitcher down, crossing his arms and leaning against the refrigerator. He shook his head, confused as to why he was so unwanted, “I had chubby cheeks...I had curls…”

“What were your parents like?” Wraith asked. “Aside from wanting to sell you, of course.” 

“My mom was the sweetest woman you’d ever meet. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. She was great.” Mirage began, the selling incident instantly leaving his mind. He stood and resumed finishing the hot chocolate, adding the cocoa powder. “She was crazy smart. My mother was an engineer. She’d make things, design things, build things, break a few things.” He laughed. “That was always funny.” He laughed again. “She makes me, well, me.” He said, raising his arms to bask in his glory. “Mirage.” 

He plopped a couple marshmallows into each of the mugs. Carefully, he carried the mugs to the living room and set them on the glass coffee table. He moved the gold and red accent pillows on his sleek dark gray couch to allow himself a seat next to Wraith. “She introduced me to illusion-creating tech. And...well, long story short I got obsessed and addicted, went to school and learned about mechanisms and doohickeys and whatchamacallits, and, well, yea, here I am.” He handed her her mug first. 

“Then we made some pretty cool stuff together. My favorites were all the holo tech, I mean come on look at this baby.” He said proudly with a smug look on his face, gesturing to his outfit. “Worked at the bar for who knows how long, heard about the Games and wanted to join, sounded pretty fun. But I didn’t want to leave my mother alone, you know, since everyone else was gone.” His face fell. 

“Until one day she came up to me after a long day of work and gave me a set of customized holo devices and told me to follow my dream.” He looked at her and smiled. “So, I did. And I promised to give her some money to help her get out of some long overdue debts and out of the slums and dirt we’d always lived in. I can finally say I’ve helped make her happy, now. I make sure she’s taken care of before going off to compete, cause you know, never know if that’s my last time seeing her.”

Wraith failed to suppress the warmth that washed over heart. “She sounds amazing.” She took the mug graciously. “Thank you.” 

Mirage smiled, “Yea, she really is. Everything I do now in the Games is for her.”

Wraith couldn’t help but feel her heart warm her chest. She’d always seen Mirage as silly and rather self-centered, but it turned out, to her pleasant surprise, that there were things that truly mattered to him more than just women, fans, or having the spotlight on him. “She’s lucky to have such a great son like you. I’m sure you two have always been really close.” 

Mirage blushed at her compliment, “Thank you.” He wrinkled his nose and shrugged, “Nah, not always. We didn’t really get along that well at first (which was entirely my fault), and we kinda just bonded after my three older brothers died in the Frontier War, so all she had was me by default.” He laughed wryly. “But honestly with the engineering thing, it helped make it work. Now I can’t imagine life without her.” He took a sip from his hot chocolate, only then realizing Wraith hadn’t. 

“Don’t like hot chocolate?” He asked.

“Oh, no, that’s not it.” she replied. “I’ve just never had it.” Her eyes didn’t move from the chocolate tainted white blobs floating in her mug. “What are those?”

Mirage scoffed, “What are those? Only the best things ever!” 

Wraith smiled, “What are they?”

“Marshmallows. Soft, squishy, sweet thingamajigs...I don’t really know what they are, but they make everything a million times better. Especially in hot chocolate.” Mirage replied. “Try it.” 

Wraith looked at him, then back to her mug. Slowly, she curled her full, rounded lips, silently blowing away the steam that arose from the mug, watching it dissipate into the air. She closed her eyes and inhaled the heavenly, chocolatey aroma, exhaling a soft hum of content. Mirage, adorably, watched her place the mug’s rim to her mouth, but couldn’t keep his eyes off her beautifully shaped lips. Keeping her eyes closed, she took a sip. She sighed through her nose in content as the soothing warmth made its way down her throat and through her body, reveling in the cocoa’s richness and the marshmallow’s delicately sweet touch. 

“Mmm.” She opened her eyes and met his. Her heart skipped a beat. The look in his eyes scared her. But...in a good way. There was no doubt he was in total awe and completely enamored of her existence. Mirage couldn’t hide anything from her even if he wanted to, and the throbbing in his chest that burned so fiercely out of love, longing, and desire began to grow to a point at which he couldn’t control or suppress for much longer. 

Her heart raced. 

There was so much she wanted to tell him. 

So much he needed to know. 

So much she wished she had the strength to tell him.

So much she wanted to share with him...in every way possible. 

A blush touching her cheeks, she smiled warmly. “It’s delicious.” 

Mirage beamed. “I’m glad you think so. And that looks good on you, by the way.”

Wraith slightly furrowed her brow, “What does?”

Mirage replied dreamily, “That smile.”

Wraith quickly averted her gaze as her blush deepened, she cleared her throat in attempt to change the subject, “What about your fath--” 

Mirage’s mood changed quickly. “My dad was an absolute scumbag. Was never there. Hit and cheated on my mom. Abused and overworked us boys. Cursed us out. Destroyed the house. Kept us poor and put us down. Drank his life away and took his problems out on us. List goes on and on.” He said with a wave of his hand. 

“Disappeared one day and never came back. Left us dirt poor and starving and took everything my mom owned to sell for money but you know, it was prolla-prabob-parlabol--” He threw his hands up in frustration. “WORDS.” He hastily stood up and made his way to the wall, punching it vehemently. He grabbed his wrist and gasped sharply in pain. He kicked the wall in frustration and sat on the side of his bed, facing the wall. “His leaving was the best thing that ever happened to us.” He ended in spite, fiddling with the straps on his glove. 

Wraith didn’t know what to think.

She had never seen him like this before.

The saddened and angry little boy inside of him was waking up, and she knew that feeling all too well. To feel trapped. To have emotions suppressed and not worked through. To feel resentment and revenge. To want answers. To want to just know why. 

Without a sound, she arose from the cushions and to his side, the bed bouncing a little as she sat. Mirage’s body swayed a little from the movement, his head hung low. Wraith reassuringly laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mirage. I know that must’ve been very hard for you...to not have someone there when you needed them most, let alone cause so much pain...and to not understand why.” 

Her hand gently turned his face to hers, and the look on his face nearly broke her heart. His face fell, his head hung low, and his eyes were full of sorrow and pain. Angry tears pricked his eyes, and several had begun to make their way down his cheeks. 

Wraith continued, gently cupping his face with her hands and using her thumbs to wipe away his tears, “To have things happen out of your control and suffer from it. Whether it’s you or loved ones. Then you question what you did wrong and what you should’ve done right, as if it’s your fault...taking on that burden.” She lifted his face so their eyes met, and with a gentle motion, she brushed his hair from his face and behind his ear, then caressing his cheek in the same manner he had to her earlier. “But that doesn’t make you wrong in how you feel. Your emotions are valid. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to feel hurt. It’s okay to be angry. Just don’t let them define or change who you are.” She smiled. 

Mirage stared at her, speechless.

How did she know what to say? And how to say it? So elegantly and well put?

“That’s...exactly how I feel, Wraith.” Mirage said. He never doubted her past experiences, but the level to which they could relate was so touching it made his heart feel so much lighter. He now knew, finally, at 30 years old, that he wasn’t alone.

Wraith scoffed through a soft laugh. “Well, I know a thing or two about loss and pain.” 

Mirage gently took her hands from his face and cherished them in his, pressing his lips to her knuckles several times, not breaking eye contact. “Well, you’re not alone anymore.”

[jeonsduck]

Messy

Incubus!San

Genre: Smut

Warnings: 18+ only, no minors. Dirty talk, oral sex, semi-public sex, cursing 

In your defense, it wasn't like San looked like a demon. Though you were quickly learning demons didn't look that different from humans anyway. Other than the forked tongue, horns, and cat-like tail, there was very little that marked San as 'demonic' physically. He didn't act much like a demon either, more like a very large child. He told you it was just a facade to attract prey (such as yourself). However, you suspected that his sunny disposition was just the default for him. But maybe the two week long barrage of intense wet dreams starring only San should have tipped you off. Especially considering, at the time you'd never even met San in person. But you put it down to it having been way to long since you last touched another human being in a romantic way, and decided to change that by going out. And maybe when the literal subject of your wet dreams appeared at the first bar you decided to hit up, that probably should have set off some warning bells. And maybe it did, but you ignored it becuase San was attractive and interested and well, San. And maybe there were other red flags, like the sharpness of his teeth, or the red glint in his eyes. (Or the sigil burned into the floor of his apartment, but it was dark and you were distracted, okay?) Whatever warnings you did or didn't miss didn't matter, because you still woke up in his bed the next day with his sigil carved into your hip. From that morning forward, your soul belonged to San. But not in a fire and brimstone kind of way, more like love bites and blowjobs. Anytime San got hungry (which was often), the sigil would glow red, and you'd start to feel his hunger. And it would keep building and building until he fed. In the beginning of your relationship, you'd been so freaked out you tried everything keep him at bay. But nothing worked. Not crosses, not exorcisms, not holy water, or even your threats to join seminary. "That would be kinky, but it wouldn't keep me away. I'm not that kind of demon." Theoretically, if you had ignored the pull long enough, the urges would have kept mounting leaving you completely insatiable and eventually insane. Ah, the old 'fuck or die', a true classic. So with no more ideas on how to get rid of San and a nearly constant need to get railed, you gave up and tried to make the best of your new position in life. "Look at it this way." San explained after he'd popped in for a 'snack' one afternoon. "It could be worse. If I was a vampire you wouldn't be having nearly as much fun." Which was true. You liked having sex with San, becuase he was fucking good at fucking you. (He liked to boast that no mere human could compare to one of his kind, but whatever.) What you didn't enjoy so much, was San's timing. He didn't quite understand arbitrary human things like responsibilites, and prior engagements, and public decency.  Like today, when he decided he was absolutely starving in the middle of your history lecture. You felt the sigil heat up and gasped. Seriously? Right now? You sneakily slipped your phone out of your bag and shot him a text. (Whay a demon had a phone, you didn't know, but at least it was convenient for you.)

You: You've gotta be kidding. Right now?

San replied almost immediately, like he'd been waiting for you message.

Demon Boy: Yes, right now! I'm hungry! :(((

You sighed and rested your head against your desk, trying not to scream. Was it getting hot in here already?

You: You fed on Monday. Anyway, I'm in class right now, can't you wait, like, 45 minutes?

Demon Boy: No, I can't, and it's not like you'll fail if you miss one class. -_-

You groan as silently as you can. San never had been one for delayed gratification.

You: Not this class! The professor will skin me alive if I'm not here for roll call and the attendance question at the end.

San takes a few minutes to reply this time, typing and retyping his response. The need you're feeling doesn't let up though and you end up squeezing your thighs together for some kind of relief.

Demon Boy: Oh it's THAT class. >:[ Demon Boy:.... You just need to be there for roll call and a question???

You squint at your phone. You don't like that, sounding like San is planning something. Never a good sign.

You: ....yeah? Why?

Demon Boy: I have an idea ;p

You: What do you mean? You: San, what are you talking about?! You: San, answer me! You: CHOI SAN

The second your last text goes through there's a soft 'pop!' and a puff of black smoke and San is suddenly reclining in the seat next to you. Thank God, you sit at the back of the class where no one can see your demon boyfriend spontaneously generate.

"What are you doing here?!" You hiss as San looks around the lecture hall. "So this is college. Gross. I can't understand why humans put themselves through stuff like this. As if Hell isn't a real place. Shouldn't you at least be happy while you're on Earth?" he drawls.

"Can I help you or did you just come to sit in on my lecture? I thought you were hungry." You snap and San's eyes flash red.

"Oh I am. Starving honestly. You never feed me on time." San pouts, playing with the drawstring on your hoodie.

"No, you're utterly insatiable, so there's no such thing as on schedule." You reply and San giggles.

"You're right about that. Now, this professor... where's his office?" San asks, looking up from under his lashes at you.

"The history building, second floor. Room 234, but why-" your question is cut off by the feeling of being sucked through a tube and spun around a G-Force simulator. "Jesus Christ San, I thought I told you to warn me becore you do that." You griped, stumbling into him.

"Sorry. Is this the right office?" He asked, holding out an arm to steady  you. You looked up to see that San had transport the both of you into your shitty professor's office.

"San what exactly are you planning to do?" You ask, suddenly nervous. "You." When San answers you can see he's let the illusion that hides his demonic appearance slip. Red eyes, stubby horns, sharp teeth, and his tail lashing behind him.

"No, I mean in here." You venture, even as San hoists you into his arms. He carries you around the desk, setting you down on the professor's side. He kisses you before he answers, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, making you gasp. He takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth a little before pulling back to answer you. "We are going to make a mess. All over your professor's desk." He says, trailing kisses down your neck. You arch into them and simultaneously try to push him away becuase oh hell no, you are NOT failing this class because of San. "Nope, no no no. You wanna eat? Fine, fuck me in the quad for all I care, but not in this office." you say, finally succeeding in removing San from where he'd been sucking a mark onto you collar bone.

San looked up at you, red eyes nearly glowing. He scoffs, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

"I promise, we won't get caught. You won't fail because of this. Anyway, you don't want to show up that asshole? You don't want to get back at him for degrading you and calling you an idiot in this office?" San reasoned, but he sounded pissed.

"San, are you... mad at my professor?" You ask, coking your head to the side.

San pouts, but hides his face in the crook of your neck before you can properly see it. He wraps his arm around your waist and huffs. You loop your hands around his neck to return the hug. "You're perfect. Who the fuck does he think he is, insulting you?" He mumbles into your neck and you can't help but chuckle at him.

"Aww, you care about me." You tease but San pulls back and looks you in the eyes.

"Of course I care about you. I chose you in the first place. Now, do you want to keep being sappy or can I eat now?" He says, eyeing you up like a buffet.

You laugh, pulling him back into your arms.

"Let's make a mess."

As always, San started off gentle. He kisses his way down your sternum, slowly removing your shirt and then unbuttoning your jeans. You lift your hips to help him slip the pants off of your legs. At the same time, he placed a kiss above you bellybutton, glancing up to catch your eyes. Whenever San fucked you because he was hungry, he wasn't much for foreplay. It wasn't necessary because you've spent the last fiteen or so minutes just as desperate as he is. He held your eyes as he peeled off your underwear, chuckling as you lifted your hips up for him again. He put one of your legs over his shoulder and placed a kiss on your knee. The other thigh he splayed his fingers across, pinning it to the desk and leaving finger shaped bruises behind. He held you legs apart as he pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, slowly trailing closer and closer to where you really wanted him. San tended to enjoy overwhelming you, making you come again and again until he was tired of seeing your face contorted in pleasure. This often meant that he took his 'feeding' quite literally. You whined when he first licked over your hole, hands flying to your mouth to keep yourself quiet, lest any of the faculty come to see what's going on. San chuckled, licking another long stripe over you. "Always so sensitive." He hummed before continuing to eat you out like a starving man. Even with your hands covering your mouth, a good portion of your whimpers and moans made it out, filling to room with muffled desperate noises. San quickly became bored with just making you squirm and writhe with his tongue. He wanted you to cum. He moved the hand that was holding your thigh down to slip a finger into you alongside his tongue. You squealed at the sudden intrusion, clenching in surprise and San finally came up for air. "You would think after  a while maybe you wouldn't be so tight, but you never cease to amaze, do you babe?" You nodded absently, your head thunking back against the desk. San,continued to lick around his finger before adding another and crooking them both up, looking for that spot that woild make you see stars. Either becuase he was a sex demon or becuase you'd done this so many times he hit it straight on, making your back arch up off of the desk. "Does that feel good baby? Hmm? Do you like that?" He asked, smirking as you struggled to answer him. "Yes! Nng, fuck yes that feels good Sannie."  You moaned in response. "That's good baby. Are you gonna cum for me?" He asked, now pumping his fingers into you at a rapid pace. You nodded again, not trusting your voice as you barreled towards your orgasm. San chuckled, reaching with his other hand to tweak at your nipple. The sigil on your hip was pulsating almost in time with San's fingers as he worked to get you off. "Gonna-, gonna cum!" You managed to squeak out before your orgasm hit you. San fingered you through it, right up until you grabbed his arm to make him stop. He inhaled deeply, absorbing the sexual energy your orgasm gave off. He wasn't sure what it was about you, but you made feeding so much more delicious. After one orgasm technically you could have stopped. In fact, San cumming didn't give him any more energy at all. However, being full didn't mean he was finished with you. He peppered kisses over your chest and torso as you recovered from your first orgasm, leaning up at the end to catch you lips with his. His kisses worked to relax and distract you, and you didn't even know  he'd taken his pants off until you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance. You looked up at him with a quirked eyebrow but he jsut kissed your chin and said, "We agreed on making a mess." You snorted and slid your legs farther apart to give San better access. He slid into you in one slow thrust, his face scrunched up in pleasure as you sighed beneath him. He wraps his fingers around your waist, his thumb rubbing over the sigil as it started to glow again. "You know what?" He said, pulling back slowly and thrusting shallowly so you could adjust. "Hmm?" You wondered absently. "I don't think I could ever get tired of this. You feel so good, wet and tight on my dick.... perfect." He mused, finally giving you a thrust with some actual force behind it. You gasped, smiling. You weren't sure you'd ever get tired of San fuckimg you either. He setna moderate but rough pace, punching breathy little 'ah, ah, ah's' out of your mouth on every stroke. You clawed at his back, trying to find something to hold onto as he fucked you up the desk. "My baby makes such pretty noises when we fuck." San hummed, lazily rolling his hips into you just so he could hear you beg him to go faster. "Faster? Like this?" He asked pushing your knees back and pounding into you like a... well like a demon. "Yes! Ah, yes, just like that! Don't stop!" You cried, no longer worried about someone walking in on you. "That's silly, why would I stop when my baby feels so good?" San mused, leaning down to lick over your nipple. You were getting close again, and warned San of your approaching orgasm. "Mm, go ahead if you want to, but I'm not going to stop just because you cum. I want to get off too." He simpers and you're so jealous of his ability to speak coherently while fucking you into next week. But San is getting close too unable to keep the even rythym he set up at the beggining, jackhammering into you in order to chase his own orgasm. You cum first, bak arching off of the desk and your head rolling back with your mouth open in an 'o' shape. San isn't to far behind you, your cleching hole pulling his orgasm out of him.  You get to take all of three seconds to catch your breathe before the door to the office starts to open. "What the fuck is going on in here?" your professor asks, but by the time he's got the door fully open and enters the room, you and San have disappeared in a puff of black smoke. You do leave behind a stack of test papers and lecture notes covered in sweat and cum.

"You.promise he didn't see us?" You ask, for the fifth time. San sighs, rolling his eyes at you. "I promise. Don't worry about him anymore, okay?"

As it turns out, San was right. You didn't have to worry about that professor ever again. When the university cancelled your class the next week, some snooping revealed that your teacher had been fired from his position, after supposedly becoming a nymphomaniac overnight, getting arrested for public indecency over the weekend, and then being admitted for treatment for his sudden and acute sex addiction. The multiple cum soaked test papers in his office didn't help his case.

Demon Boy: Want to grab a snack?

[ckret2]

idk if someone actually finally sent this ask but i'mma do it since it seems people are dancing around it: if you're comfortable with it, may we have some radiosnake sexual headcanons (wherein alastor is not sexually repulsed or is demisexual/grey-ace ofc)?? love, a very happy demisexual who just finished a cold day in hell literally two minutes ago

You win the prize for "actually has the courage to directly ask for sexual headcanons" because no, nobody else has asked yet. Sorry for taking so long to answer it but like... the answer is over 2000 words. Have fun.

Now, anon, I've got something important you should know.

When I brainstorm radiosnake stuff, there's a little chatroom I do it in. What happens is, a lot of times, I'll come up with a scene or a scenario or a plot arc, and I'll describe it to that chat. And then, every once in a while, I'll say, "... and then here's how that same thing goes over in the parallel universe where Alastor Fucks." I have. A looot of little ideas set in the parallel universe where Alastor Fucks.

(He's still somewhere on the ace spectrum in all those ideas—either he's demi or else he's sex-neutral/sex-positive ace, depending on the idea—but he does Fuck.)

However, 1) a majority of these ideas are very clearly set specifically in CDIH's verse, and so I don't wanna share them as broad "radiosnake headcanons" when they're tied to one specific fanfic; and 2) a lot of them are angsty, and if you're asking for general headcanons then I'm assuming what you probably want is them actually having a good time rather than several decades of self-induced suffering over unrequited desire. So if you want CDIH-specific stuff and/or angsty stuff (or, more likely, CDIH-specific angsty stuff), hit me up again and I'll share some more stuff. For now, I'll talk about more general non-angsty headcanons.

Okay so most of this answer is geared toward Alastor's perspective since it's like, it's the more interesting one to me in this context, he's the one gradually figuring stuff out while Sir Pent's hanging out being allo with over a century of having his sexuality sorted out.

So that you know what kinda headcanons I'm rolling with here: there's, like, several ways I can conceptualize Alastor's orientation in my head, and they're sorta ranked by how "true" they are to me. Not "true" as in "how canon I think they are," but "true" as in, like, what Feels the Most Right to me.

The #1 Most True version of Alastor in my head is 100% ace/aro. He's not "repulsed" by sex (or romance, for that matter) in the sense of "disgusted/horrified/never ever wants to hear about it," but he, like, has absolutely zero interest in DOING it. He's not repulsed by the subject but he is by most touch, including the kind of touching necessary for sex. Might have some, like, academic curiosity about sex & romance, might enjoy it in a fictional context simply for the drama it adds to a story, but has no desire to be a participant. He can listen to a friend talk about their sexual escapades in graphic detail for an hour without an ounce of discomfort but if they offer him a quick peck on the lips he goes "I'm out." He might have sex Once just to see what it's like/just to say he has and that’s where his curiosity ends.

So that's my mental Most True Version Of Alastor.

The SECOND most true version of Alastor is like, the exact same as that, except he's just barely demiromantic enough that he might, once, fall in love. The odds of him falling in love are the same as someone's odds of winning the lottery. This is the version of Alastor I use in CDIH and other radiosnake fics, where Sir Pentious happens to have been lucky enough to win the lottery, but also, it took fifteen years before it happened. Alastor's feelings about touch & sex are the same, EXCEPT that whoever he loves is excluded from the Touch Is Unpleasant rule, which opens up a few more possibilities.

And I've got more mental versions of Alastor but that's as far as we need to go to be relevant to this post.

So given the above: Alastor's natural internal pool of Enjoyable Physical Activities that he would be autonomously inclined to want to try with Sir Pentious is broader than "nothing at all" but stops short of actual sex. More like sensual activities.

The not-necessarily-sexual sensual things that are obviously & immediately available on Alastor’s Selectable Menu Of Romantic Physical Activities are gonna be things like:

--Cuddles! We're starting as vanilla as possible, folks. Cuddling and sleeping in bed together. 95% naked cuddles are acceptable, although Alastor is inclined to keep his underpants on. Moving to "underpants" from "underpants AND undershirt" is a Notable Intimacy Milestone for him because like Back In His Day undershirts were part of the required underwear, so to him that's taking off 50% of his underwear. It's like switching from loose boxers to a thong. On the other hand Sir Pent is just, totally nude, because look at him he already isn't wearing any pants, he's got nothing to hide.

--Massage! Neither one of them is any sort of professional but tbh on a scale of 1 to 10 a massage can be as bad as a 3 and still be enjoyable y'know? Alastor tends to offer if he notices Sir Pent is sore and/or if Alastor has decided he's gonna be in Extreme Over-The-Top Performatively* Romantic Mode tonight. He always sort of forgets that the option of being massaged exists until Sir Pent offers it in return, because, like, he thinks of himself as a floating radio voice with an inconvenient meat puppet attached, sometimes he forgets that the meat puppet can be pampered too. And then he sits there in a blissed-out daze while Sir Pent goes holy crap your shoulders are like oak, how have you not snapped your own spine with tension yet.

(*Note here when I say Alastor can get "performatively" romantic I don't mean "going through the motions but isn't feeling the love"; I mean that, like, basically NO romantic gestures come naturally to him because he just isn't feeling the gestures even though he's definitely feeling the love. He's sort of figuring out How To Perform Romance As An Action by drawing on how he's seen it done in books/movies/etc. and picking & choosing the things that seem most fun to him to do. So in a sense he is performing a role that he's conscious of when he interacts with Sir Pent romantically, but that's because "performing a role" is how Mr. Perpetual Radio Host approaches all of life—and he's only performing this one because he genuinely wants to and because he's enjoying it.)

--Body worship! Alastor is really deeply squicked out by touching someone's skin/hair/fur but on the other hand (and maybe specifically because it avoids the squick) he is really deeply fascinated by Sir Pentious's scales, which feel Not At All Like Mammal Skin. He also still does the "??? oh right, I have a body too" thing when Sir Pent returns the attention—but Alastor's like, okay, I’m obviously more familiar with my own body than Sir Pent is, I don’t find my body that interesting but it must still be interesting to Sir Pent.

--Showering together! Sir Pent has figured out that if he starts singing in the shower there is a 99% chance that Alastor will trip over his own pants trying to simultaneously strip down and run to the bathroom so that he can join in on SHOWER DUET TIME. Frankly it's a lot safer to just go "hey I'm about to take a shower, wanna join?" but sometimes he doesn't just to see how fast Alastor shows up.

--Kissing! Making out is completely and always an option. Three of Alastor's most defining character traits are being a radio host (which kind of reduces a person to their voice), his perpetual smile, and his cannibalism. Like 80% of this dude's existence revolves around his mouth. He's absolutely got some kind of oral fixation. He gets into making out—as long as it's with the right person. There is exactly one right person. Sir Pent is okay with this.

Other enjoyable mouth activities:

- Kissing places other than the mouth

- Being kissed in places other than the mouth

- Biting

- Being bitten

And there's the overall list of non-sexual sensual activities that Alastor is into!

... And then eventually at some point Sir Pent is like "no pressure but hhhhypothetically sssspeaking are there possibly any sexual activities you might be interested in trying out" and Alastor is like "What? Oh! Right! Actually forgot sex existed for a bit. Yeah sure fine let’s try it." And that's the point at which they start experimenting with activities beyond Alastor's default activities!

Despite just about everything else with mouths being good, things Alastor is NOT into:

- Blowjobs

They did try. It seemed like a logical starting point. Alastor was like "I've liked putting my mouth everywhere else on this snake, it stands to reason I'll like putting it there too!" He got himself psyched up. He faced down The Dicks. He went, hmm. He stuck his tongue out and poked one.

He went "Yeah this isn't happening."

And Sir Pent went "Honestly you've already surpassed my wildest dreams just by getting that far."

They tried it the other way around too and Alastor went "Yyyye... hmmm... nnnnnooo no, no, don't think so. Not into that at all."

And it took him all of five seconds to reject the mere possibility of ever trying rimming, and the only reason it took that long to reject is because first Sir Pent had to explain what that is.

But everything else with mouths is great! Like. Everything. Sir Pent could go "can you lick my eyeball" and Alastor would go "which one? :)" (Sir Pent would probably not ask for this. But the point is he could.)

Figuring out Alastor's acceptable/enjoyable sex acts was a lot of experimentation like the above with BJs. And what they figured out is: he doesn't want his junk touched. Like. At all. In any context. Which, you know, understandably cuts down on nearly all the sexual options out there. But that’s the hard line: no touching his dick and no touching his butthole. Even if he, like, actively has a raging boner.

(Fun fact that I actually had to do research on, because despite being ace I did not know this due to the fact that I don't have a dick: if you are ace and have a dick there's good odds you'll still pop a boner in sexual situations, even if you have zero interest in what you’re looking at or participating in it. It's like something in your crotch goes "oh! Oh! A naked butt! I know what to do here! We got training for this! Time to ready the cannon!" and something in your brain goes "why the hell are you readying the cannon, we are absolutely not going to use the cannon, the cannon is a major inconvenience here" and the something in your crotch goes "listen, pal, I'm just following my orders. I don't tell you how to do your job, don't tell me how to do mine." The tl;dr here is that when Alastor is experimenting with Sir Pent, he could be completely bored out of his mind and still get a boner because biology is funky like that.)

The first few times this happens Sir Pent goes "are you sure you don't want me to, y'know, give you a handjob or something?? I feel like an inconsiderate jerk not helping out" and Alastor goes "absolutely not" and Sir Pent goes well okay I've made a career out of being an inconsiderate jerk, I guess I can do it in the bedroom too.

What they do manage to gradually figure out is that Alastor is perfectly fine with touching Sir Pent's junk, as long as it's not with his own junk or with his mouth. So hand jobs? Totally fair game. Letting Sir Pent grind against his thigh or abdomen? No problems with that. (Alastor flopped on his stomach going "this really does it for you??" and Sir Pent rubbing in Alastor's tail fur going "... yes." and Alastor is like, "wow. wild.")

More than that, Alastor gradually starts to figure out he likes that. Not necessarily the sensation of having a couple of dicks rubbing on his thigh—that's just sorta weird and probably always will be—but the knowledge of what it's doing to Sir Pent. He likes knowing he's giving Sir Pentious pleasure. He likes hearing him gasp and seeing him writhe and knowing that it's because Sir Pent wants Alastor and that Alastor has the power to give him exactly what he wants. He likes hearing Sir Pent hissing his name and little praises and one-word requests. ("Alastor’s existence revolves around mouths” includes sounds coming out of mouths, he gets more out of words and little noises than he does out of sight & touch combined.)

They figure out that what Alastor enjoys doing best is spooning Sir Pent from behind, wrapped around him to jerk him off. In bed or in the shower or even sitting with Sir Pent in his lap or between his legs. Alastor can put his chin on Sir Pentious's shoulder to listen to the sounds he makes and watch how his long long body moves, he can wrap his free arm around his waist and feel how he tenses and relaxes and squirms, they can kiss (and/or bite, biting is nice) with a little bit of careful positioning...

Also it's easier for Alastor to quietly sing to him from there.

... Alastor sings during sex. For the record. The first time he does it it's a nervous "I don't know what I'm supposed to be saying and it seems too quiet—oh I've got a solution" but soon it's just. A thing he does. Sir Pent gradually goes from "what? seriously? this is what you're doing?" to "lmao you dork" to "well I guess I now have a new kink I will never be able to get rid of, thanks." Sometimes he'll shakily sing along and Alastor's guts will melt into warm goo.

So there's a general overview of the more, like, normal stuff they get up to. Considering that their shared hobbies include things like "murder" and "being better than everyone else" and one of them is a cannibal, I'm sure that once they get down the basics they just get weirder. Copious amounts of blood get involved! Not their own blood. Other people's. 

[thebeautyofdisorder]

The Undone & The Divine (BBC Dracula) - Chapter 9

A/N: Hey, it wasn’t a full two weeks this time, yay. The ending got a bit poetic on me, I’m going to warn you, and I really don’t know why. But hey, it is what it is. Vampires and drama rather go hand in hand, right? Unresolved tension and vampirism lay ahead. Also a terrible pun or two.

Pairing: Dracula & Agatha/Zoe, off and on Dracula/OC

Rating: M, for blood, language, mercenaries with guns, blood drinking and hints at violence/death.

Chapters 1-2 Here - Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 4 Here - Chapter 5 Here - Chapter 6 Here - Chapter 7 Here - Chapter 8 Here

Can be found on AO3 - Right HERE - or enjoy below the cut

Tagging some new followers in case they wanna check it out. If not, don’t feel bad to ask to be removed either! And I let me know if the tags fails to work entirely? Tried copying/pasting and just re-tagging.

"You needed me, didn't you?"

Zoe quirked a skeptical brow at the Count's surface-level consideration, not buying its sincerity for a moment. But that certainly didn't mean she wouldn't take advantage of it. As wont she was to admit it, she did in fact 'need him' for once.

"Do you even know what I need you for?" She asked, curious.

"I believe I 'get the gist' - you need to compare the effects of proper sustenance to whatever muck you've concocted. And considering you're refusing to properly nourish yourself to make that comparison, then naturally I'd be the only acceptable substitute."

She nodded, a smirk tilting her mouth to one side. "What do you want?"

He blinked in what was almost mistakable for innocent confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

Zoe scoffed, smirk still in place. "Don't pretend you're going to inconvenience yourself for something you completely disapprove of and not expect anything in return," she prodded knowingly. "Out with it."

The Count mirrored her smirk, taking her in with silent consideration. He could hear the whispers from the humans around them outside of the glass, those both panicked and conspiratorial, though they made for a pleasant bit of background noise to their negotiation. He understood that was exactly what it was, after all, anytime they spoke, and he was looking forward to the challenge.

"We both want the same thing, Dr. Helsing."

"And what is that?"

"To understand ourselves and in turn, each other," he replied simply, gesturing between them. "And funnily enough, neither of us can do that alone."

"Are none of your other 'experiments' going well?" She couldn't help but ask dryly.

He quirked a smug brow at her tone, the accusation of jealousy remaining unsaid but no less audible for it.

She scoffed, looking down at the table in annoyance.

"Perhaps I'd rather wallow in my success before risking disappointment."

"Poke and prod at your success you mean?"

"In a manner of speaking," he grinned, though seeing her returning glare, as endearing as it was, he redirected his approach slightly.

"From one scientific mind to another, you know as well as I do that working together is the best way to each get the answers we're looking for."

"I told you I wouldn't help you infect all of London," Zoe persisted, though more weakly than she'd originally intended.

He gave a shrug of his left shoulder. "For all you know, you could be encouraging me not to. Depends on what our findings are, yes?"

She narrowed her eyes, though he could see Agatha's vehement disapproval radiating through Zoe's wavering will.

"Since when did you learn patience?"

Dracula's amusement wavered, accusation coloring his tone, though it was too soft to belly resentment. "Since I learned there's nothing to be impatient for."

Zoe frowned, studying him further. "You won't harm anyone here."

It wasn't a question, though unlike when Dr. Connors had demanded the same, Dracula gave a short nod of agreement, eyes never leaving hers.

They made an interesting sight, if the focused attention was anything to go by. Two dark haired creatures of the night in what appeared to anyone outside the glass to be a standoff. Their conversation had been mostly spoken in murmurs - to their ears perfectly audible, but even with the sound enhancement, from the outside practically silent. A frustrating thing, if the purple hue of Dr. Connors' face was anything to go by, as Zoe briefly observed when she finally took her eyes off the vampire to observe their onlookers.

"Fine. But I still maintain my diet, and I want to know everything you know - no secrets, no assumptions," Zoe conceded, her stubborn posture relaxing only faintly. She couldn't completely let down her guard, even around him. "And I'll offer the same."

His lips tilted. "Are you saying you have secrets now?" He asked, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Maybe I do," she replied, her poker face in full deployment.

The Count's brows gave a playful wag as he held out his hand, large and clawed as it was, over the table that separated them in a gesture of relatively peaceful acceptance.

"We have an accord then? From one lab rat to another."

Zoe studied it for a half a moment, the hand that had been wrapped with no effort at all around her throat not long before, before finally placing her petite hand in his, immediately feeling his long fingers curling around the whole of it. She could only grasp them in turn to hold her ground, forcing the image from her mind for multiple reasons, namely his ability to peek at it.

"We do. Permitted that you behave yourself."

"Only when absolutely necessary," he assured her in only a breath above a whisper with his most charming grin.

She rolled her eyes in return, but didn't argue. That was the best she could hope for with him.

There was an audible ah-ha-hem projected into the room, and they both turned with unenthused expressions towards the persistent if still clearly terrified face of Dr. Connors. Dracula’s upper lip curled upward in a quiet snarl and Zoe gave him a side-eye which he only faintly acknowledged.

“Count Dracula will be our control, we’ll reconvene after later testing,” Zoe announced loudly, and much to her pleasant surprise, despite looking like he wanted to argue, the other doctor just gave a curt nod and quickly began to gather his things to leave. Probably to go ‘report back’, she was sure. The rest of her colleagues seemed to be joining suit just as quickly if not more so. She looked back at the vampire’s faintly amused expression only to just take note of the fact that he hadn’t let go of her hand, and quickly pulled it back from his grasp.

His lips pursed slightly, but he didn’t, much to her relief, seem inclined to rub the slip of comfortability with him in her face, at least not at the moment. Thank heaven for small mercies.

“I suppose I should leave you to your preparations before I frighten anyone else away,” Dracula mused aloud, already gesturing outward to Dr. Bloxham to open the door – he could’ve just forced it easily, but he had said he would try to ‘behave’. Destroying their elaborate, if entirely useless toy cage would certainly be frowned upon – at least until they figured out exactly how useless it was. Now that was a day he was looking forward to.

“I do that perfectly fine all by myself, thanks,” she replied wryly, gathering her things and joining him where he awaited her by the exit, so used to playing the gentlemen she wasn’t sure if he even realized how much of a default it had become as he fell into step at her side.

“Wait until I teach you how to do it properly,” he suggested with a wag of his brows.

“I suppose that’s part of your experimentation process,” she replied blandly, turning towards him as they paused just outside of the main chamber.

“Naturally. Plus, it just sounds like fun,” the Count couldn’t help but admit, a gleeful smile brightening his features. “I want to, as Agatha enjoyed putting it, see the limit of your capabilities’.”

“And apparently the limits of my patience,” she prodded back, gesturing her head towards the elevators. “You saw your way in, I expect you can see your way out. I have work to do.”

“Good night, Zoe. And do try not to poison me again,” he made a mocking gesture of praying hands that brought him far more amusement than it really should have, before she saw him turn to walk away.

She took a much heavier breath than she really needed to. What in the hell had she just agreed to?

-----

It was pitch black when the vampire found himself re-entering the bounds of London proper, drawn by the crowds of lives and the unmistakable need for sustenance. He perused his phone, skimming past a decent hoard of messages from some of his more persistent conquests – he wasn’t exactly in the mood to play to anyone else’s whims tonight, and certainly not anyone vying for immortality. Normally he was delighted to corrupt the willing human mind, but as always in the wake of facing the trademark Van Helsing defiance, he found himself craving more of a challenge. A tiresome side effect, to be sure.

There was much to be had from good, old fashioned subservience, but every once and a while he did appreciate having to make an effort. Alas, the minute anyone discovered what Dracula was, they tended to attempt to appease him. No, please, I’ll do whatever it is that you want. Don’t kill me. Or they just downright bared their throat like a sacrificial lamb. A beautiful thing to behold, but hardly satisfying. And the aftertaste of idiocy that someone trying to fight him in earnest would leave made him cringe.

No, he needed an unsuspecting meal this evening. The Count’s thumb hovered over Kat’s name in his phone, lingering there for a long moment before heaving a dramatic sigh and putting the mobile device away entirely. Unsuspecting, yes, but she was too clever to remain that way for long if he made feeding from her a regular occurrence. He wanted to save her for a… later occasion. Seeing how long he could keep up the façade of humanity with her was an amusement, while fun, he didn’t have the patience for at the present.

He took to the streets instead, perusing his options - an old evil in a new world. It was beginning to storm, but in England that hardly limited his options by much. The expectation of rain seemed to be so ingrained into the minds of the locals that it didn’t even cause most of them to speed up or pause like it would elsewhere in the world. Even in the brightest sun, it seemed to him that the common businessman would sooner be caught without an umbrella than a warrior of old be caught without his sword. Just such a man caught Dracula’s eye.

Leant up against an aging brick wall under the awning of a restaurant with his umbrella at his side, the man was utterly oblivious to other passerby, a look of stern concentration on his face directed at his mobile phone quickly melting into impatience. It gave the vampire a moment to study him in proper detail. He was perhaps just over thirty, fine of feature, but well dressed in a way that spoke of refinement without determination. His expensive suit was crumpled, his hair tousled, and he sported a rough day-old shave that looked more like indifference than ineptitude while a half-smoked cigarette hung lazily from his lips.

Clearly, this was not a man who would be difficult to lure away. In fact, his very countenance radiated someone who wanted an escape and was failing to find one. Perfection, Dracula thought as he made his way up the darkened alley that exited on the narrow walk where he stood, leaning against the opposite side of the wall.

“Someone run over your dog?” He asked in a wry, pseudo-casual way, pulling out his own phone from his coat pocket.

The man looked up, in mild surprise, brow furrowed at the older man who he swore hadn’t been there half a second before, though it only stalled him for a moment, pulling the cigarette from his mouth.

“Oh…the wait time for a car’s bloody ridiculous tonight.”

“So I am seeing,” Dracula agreed blandly, scanning his own screen with practiced annoyance.

“Fuck I want to get out of here… apologies, this really isn’t my type of 'scene'.”

The vampire chuckled, flashing him a charming smile experimentally. “The stuffy overpriced scene? Congratulations.”

The younger man returned a slightly lopsided grin, though a tad more cautiously. “Yeah, more of a business…thing.”

“If you're interested in splitting a cab, we could try the main stretch back this way,” Dracula gestured with his head, through the alley he had come through that opened up to a street on the other side with a few more lights than the one they were currently occupying. Granted if one made it through the narrow darkness.

The younger man disguised his pause of consideration with a final long drag of his cigarette, but proceeded to nod as he flicked the butt into the sewer drain just ahead of them. The vampire could see the brief trail of thoughts as they flicked through the man's eyes with practiced ease. What harm could it possibly do? Not likely to be a thief, tall but I could take him if necessary.

"Why not? Better than standing about." He agreed, plucking up his umbrella from where it leant against the wall at his side. He didn't bother to open it.

Taking a last moment to eye his phone and pocket it, Dracula allowed the younger man to begin to walk ahead of him, giving him the lead. His pulse was calm, calmer than most when joining a stranger in a dark place. He'd drank, but nothing substantial, clearly wanting to keep up appearances - not enough to thin out the blood too much or taint the flavor. Good, the vampire conceded, he truly did hate that.

"So where are you headed?" He asked after a moment, interrupting the silence, keeping the man in a comfortable state. Conversation did, after all, proceed dinner.  

Whatever his answer was, the Count didn't bother to acknowledge it, already tuning his ears away from  the young man's voice to the steady beat of his heart. He allowed the thrum to overtake him, fill his senses completely until even his forced breaths and his footfalls kept in time with it.

They had neared the midway point now, and the sounds of other passerby were beginning to taint the pitter-patter of rainfall that provided the counterpoint to the lively rush of blood pumping under skin. The younger man paused his slightly speedy pace to check for his packet of cigarettes, but before his fingers could separate the damp material of his jacket, there were jagged bricks at his back and a large hand encaging his throat, halting any chance of escape.

His brows rose in bewilderment as dank breath cooled his throat, but just before the first tricklings of fear and panic began to descend - the vampire struck, sharpened teeth breaking skin and the coppery aroma of blood perfumed the air.

The young man's entire body tensed, broad shoulders flexing uselessly against Dracula's iron grip and the growing wave of lethargy that slowly but surely drug him into easeful darkness. Something akin to a groan, of protest or pleasure he would never know, fell from his slackened lips into the night.

Suppressed fury,  intelligence and crushing waves of obsession filled the vampire’s mouth. A search for a man with no face, a splatter of blood on porcelain, and the love of a man with dead eyes and an angel’s face.

He’d always been a sucker for the tragic ones.

----

Zoe’s head wrung with rhythm of a stranger’s heart, thumping faster and faster and then slowly, ever so slowly easing back into a distant low hum. She froze, waiting with equal parts sickening dread and impatience for the pulse to stop completely and still to deadly silence...but the moment of death never came. Once again, Dracula had left his victim to a peaceful slumber - for how long, she didn’t know. She never knew. But somewhere in the night thunder clapped, and she could feel the pang of excitement and strangely, the hollow feeling of loss that accompanied it as lighting cracked the sky soon after.

His name was Malcolm and he was dreaming peacefully of vengeance.

----

Yeah, not really sure where that came from, but I just felt like writing him being a bit predatory. Then got some good old fashioned human murder concepts in my head and well...here we are. Enjoy, lovelies. Always let me know what you think! And if anyone ever has any ideas, suggestions, etc do let me know. I’m a fickle little thing who’s easily influenced and always looking for fresh inspiration for this chaos. 

Tag List: @break-free-killer-queen @mephdcosplay @charlesdances @punk-courtesan  @crowley-needs-a-hug @hoefordarkness @bellamortislife @malkaviangirl @imagineandimagine @chelsfic @dracula-s-bride @my-fanfic-library @hyacinth-meadow @mymagicsuitcase @littlemessyjessi @desperatefrenchwriter @ss9slb @crazytxgradstudent @claesbang @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @gettingcrazyforlife @carydorse @dreamerkim @gatissed @alhoyin @girlonfireice @festering-queen @jangleprojet  @guardianbelle @vampiregirl1797 @serindiyoza @drsherlockmoffat @allis143 @leah-halliwell92 @xis23 @angielandon @profiler-in-courage @erislilith @kandomeresbitch @enchantedfleur @lets-talk-about-claes-baby @bloodspatteredprincess @river-soul @flyingleapdisco @onyxthevampire @katwoman06 

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 13

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: Want on the tag list? Let a girl know.

Warnings: Swearing and fighting? Angst between John Deacon and Roger Taylor.

Abstract: Back chat, back chat...

You heard a series of knocks on the door. Something about the rhythm seemed familiar to you, but you couldn’t quite place it. There was an uncanny feeling in your heart it was a Queen song. You were good at recalling music at the drop of a hat, so you were troubled by your inability to remember this particular song. The thoughtfully cross look on your face made Deacy laugh lightly to himself.

“I believe it’s ‘Get Down, Make Love.’” The tone of his voice betrayed his inner desires to do just that. He gave you a quick but deep kiss, and instead of chancing anymore contact for fear of not being able to stop himself, he stood, smiling reassuringly down at you before turning towards the door. “Let’s see how good their offer to join is, shall we?” He danced his way over to the door, purely for your viewing pleasure, and the absolute joy it brought him to move with any beat.

“Come on, I haven’t got all bloody night!” It was Roger’s typical unbridled yell; he’d know it anywhere, be able to pick it out of any lineup, and would make it his default alarm if he could.

“Why am I not surprised?” Deacy said as he opened the door.

“Why am I so surprised to find you two here?” Roger said eyeing you and Deacy up. He took in your re-tied dress, messy hair, and Deacy’s creased button-down. A seedy grin spread across Roger’s face, his eyebrows arched, and, like the siren he was, he entered the room as if he owned it.

“Maybe because you assume you’re the only person capable of having a spot of fun.” Deacy questioned cunningly.

“A spot of fun?” Roger sounded personally insulted. “God, Deacy, if you’re calling it that no wonder you never get laid. Ooh baby put your spot of fun in me…” Roger moaned exaggeratedly while sinking into an armchair.

Roger was the only one laughing.

“What? Can’t you take a joke?” He crossed his legs, waiting, trying to see if his charm would win the room or not.

“I can take a lot more than you think, Rog.” Deacy challenged pointedly; sometimes standing up to Roger was the easiest way to cool him down. Agreeing with him tended to make him confused and more upset than before. Agreeing with him usually led to a fight about why anyone would outright agree with him in the first place. Roger made it near impossible for anyone to predict his tactics, which made him a deadly debater; he’d just as soon win a fight than be right. If you were friends with Roger, it was just something you got used to. Competition frequently makes us blind to even our best friendships.

“You wanna bet?” Roger’s smile was intensely charismatic, yet slightly manic, as if anything from this point on could happen, and no one would be able to predict what exactly it could be; this was his favorite game. The purpose of his visit, was quite lost to him at this point.

“I don’t need to prove myself to you.” Deacy said steadily, factually. He wasn’t the kind of man who thought about others or indeed what they thought of him. Life was hard enough already without constantly considering what people thought about you. “Why strive to prove something that is already a fact.”

There was a silence mingled with new resentments and unsettled arguments you had sensed earlier in the evening. You and Lydia made eye contact; she looked somewhat spent and concerned. She leaned up against the door frame, clearly wanting to be anywhere else. You noticed her modified dress and wearing of Roger’s rainbow black blazer. You were certain they had had sex. Bonds had been made here, sides chosen by earlier encounters that would influence this approaching argument. Lydia would be predisposed to take Roger’s side and you Deacy’s. This might even be expected without question. However, whatever these famous men had to fight about, it wasn’t really any of your business; the notion of being dragged into it was surprisingly unattractive to you. You hoped they’d leave you and Lydia out of it, or it would have to be made clear whatever public tiff they were about to have would have nothing to do with you. It was a hard line you were willing to draw if need be.

“You really want to do this here and now?” Deacy gestured to you, then to Lydia; trying to remind Roger two women they both cared about were standing in the room with them.

“Oh, I’m not afraid of an audience.” Roger bit back, “In fact, I prefer one.” He was wolfishly charming and as deadly as one. Part of his charm was the innate danger he seemed to radiate; you didn’t think he was capable of hurting a person, no, it was a different kind of danger and suspense altogether; he was unknowable, unpredictable, and would do almost anything to win. He ran a hand through his blond hair, smiling his flashiest, most intimidatingly seductive smile at Deacy.  

Deacy, a man with every trick up his sleeve, took an elegantly firm stance and slowly, deliberately crossed his arms over his chest, swung one leg behind the other, and leaned up against the closest greco-roman column like a model waiting for his shoot to begin.

“Well, Meddows, I’m waiting.” Deacy buffed his nails on his lapel. “Come out with it. Whatever you’ve been waiting to say to me all night, I’m ready for you to get it off your chest.”

“Are you though?” Roger said, closing the distance between him and Deacy in calculated saunters of his always ready for action hips. “Because if you really were ready to play with the adults, mate, you’d go ahead and shaft this...record idea of yours before it starts causing problems among the band--more than it already has.”

“The problems here aren’t because of the record. The problems existed before the record.” Deacy explained hastily. “It’s not my record; it’s our record together. It’s Queen’s record.”

“It is too your bloody record! Brass sections and fucking club music has John Richard Deacon written all over it; you think Bri sounds like that? You think it’s his ideas going into this album? Please! Be real. He’s just too nice to say anything.”

Deacy sighed angrily, “Listen, Freddie likes it.”

“You and Freddie are forming some kind of Chinese wall between us. Some blockade so we have to pick sides.”

“He thinks it’s worth trying. He wants to experiment. He wants to grow. He wants what’s best for Queen. You and Brian want to go another way; it isn’t the end of the world like you’re making it out to be. There must be a comprise here; we’ve done it before.”

“And what? ‘Staying Power’ or whatever it’s called is what’s best for Queen? Fucking ‘Body Language’? Please. Spare me—that’s not us. Our fans will laugh at us.”

“Roger, that is us. That’s what Queen has always been.”

“Disco trash?”

“A chameleon.”

“You don’t have to be involved in those songs if you don’t like them.” Deacy said simply, washing his hands of the murky situation.

“I’m as much a part of Queen as you are; you have no power over my place here. Queen is my band, too. Brian and I deserve a bloody say in what goes on in the band we started.”

“Do you ever not talk back, Roger?” Deacy asked irritably, “Can you ever for a second not analyze what I say? As if you know better than I do about what comes out of my mouth?”

“Oh, because you never place anything between the lines of what you say, Deacy? Because you never talk in innuendos? You always say what you mean?” Roger was making a rather showy production of laughing at Deacy, “Nothing genuine ever comes out of your mouth, there's always a hidden meaning. Always.”

“At least I don’t have your ungodly temper.”

“Oh, believe you me there is nothing not Godly about my temper.” Roger corrected him with a vainglorious wave of his hands.

“Oh, we are all well aware of that. Would you like me to get you a TV to throw off the balcony? Would that help you prove your point?”

“I’d rather throw you off the balcony, mate.”

“Try me.”

“You think you could take me?”

“You’re going to far, Rog.” Deacy said, defiantly.

“I haven’t even begun to fight; this is all just foreplay.” Roger was grinning once more.

“Come off it,” Deacy sighed tiredly.

Roger shrugged, “Anything is foreplay if you try hard enough.”

“If you’re done measuring your dicks in front of the ladies, might I suggest you zip up your pants, unless you intend to do something with them to resolve all this tension, darlings?” Freddie stood in the doorway with Jim.

“Besides, there really isn’t a need for the old measuring of the dicks scenario. We all know I have the biggest cock in the room.” Jim smirked kindly and knowingly at the assembled group. You weren’t sure if Jim meant Freddie or indeed his own penis. You had a suspicion he meant both.

“You wish.” Roger said, his voice somewhat lighter and less serious than it had been during the heat of the argument.

“What on earth is all of this about?” Freddie asked you.

“Seems to be a dispute about your next record?” You inquired politely.

Freddie rolled his eyes. “Friends, this isn’t the time or the place. There’s been alcohol, and mating, and too many emotions to have a beneficial conversation about the record. Really, you’re doing more harm than good here.”

“I’m disappointed in all of you.” Jim snapped; when he was angry, his Irish dialect really came through, making you smile despite his wise words. “You’re dragging yourselves through the mud to prove some point that won’t even matter a year from now when the record is completed. You love each other; that’s all that matters, here. And you’re forgetting it for some petty dispute about tracks and sounds and it’s disheartening to witness, isn’t it, ladies? You’re Queen. You’re trying to rule together; the only reason you’re fighting so hard is because you care about your work and each other--don’t shake your head at me, Rog, I’ll gladly take any excuse to thump you. Don’t ruin what you have over a couple songs. And certainly don’t use the drama to show off in front of our new friends.” Jim gestured to you and Lydia.

Moved by his words, you decided to chime in. “Jim is right. I don’t want to be part of this melodramatic pissing match between two people I respect and like, thank you very much. I don’t want to be used to make a point in some grudge match. I’m not a pawn for sale.” You said from the bed.

“Nor am I.” Lydia said crossing over to you. “In fact, it’s all rather boring, if you ask me. If you can’t find some way to resolve this petty argument, we will be leaving. Without you.”

You stood up and took Lydia’s arm. You looked to Deacy, curious how he’d react to your drawing such a firm boundary so early on in your courtship.

Deacy’s eyes were heavy with raging storm clouds. Mixed emotions were passing through his gray-green eyes. He wanted to prove to Roger he was wrong. When such a feat was accomplished, it was worth the struggle to see him defeated. It was a rare sight. Deacy more than anything wanted Queen to explore what the world of music had to offer, and--most importantly--to do It together. In fact, the only way to do it in his mind was to do it together. This was an obstacle. They had reached a creative stalemate, and it was partially his fault.

Deacy didn’t want to open his life up to you in this overtly public way. He wanted to ease you into the joys and hardships of the band without alarming you to the drama of stardom. Most of the arguments were harmless, lots of flash with little harm. They were used to it, but to outsiders it looked deadly. Every member of Queen was fantastically different with massive egos, vast creativity, and unique options about songs and songwriting. Exposing you tonight to the latest issues among the band wasn’t what he wanted. Sure, they fought; they were family. However, because they were family, that meant they also loved each other, would do anything for each other, and also had the best arguments of anyone around; Roger suggested once they should sell tickets to the fights and not the concerts.

When you really know someone intimately you know just how to push their buttons. It can be as dangerous as it is exciting. And this fight, by no means nice, was certainly tame when compared to most. He knew Jim was right, too. They should not be airing band issues in front of guests, indeed, in front of anyone not in the band. Miami would have a field day when he found out they had had a public blow out in front of two relative strangers.

Deacy swallowed hard. “Roger, I shouldn’t have picked a fight tonight. I know we all have different views about our direction, but I know we can figure it out together.”

Roger was glaring at the floor. “I suppose I don’t really want to throw you off the balcony. I was pissed, mate.”

Freddie looked at Jim, who nodded exhaustively, “It’ll do for now.”

“Now, what are you doing back here?” Freddie asked Roger.

“Oh, very funny. I know one of you has my keys. Give them back, Deacy.”

Deacy walked over to you, just to be nearer to you. “I don’t have them, Rog.”

“Look—I know we already had a fight tonight and your ego can’t handle losing twice in one night, so—“

“Here,” Jim said, removing the keys from his pants pocket. “I took them.”

Deacy snapped his eyes onto Jim; almost everyone in this room knew Deacy had taken Roger’s keys earlier in the night. Why was Jim covering for him? Perhaps, he knew it would benefit the situation the most?

Roger reached for his keys, and Jim passed them along.

“Now, I’m going to need you all to get out of my room; I need to make love to my husband and I’d prefer to not have an audience.” Jim started ushering everyone out of the bedroom. “Y/N, I’ll see you later tomorrow? Well,” Jim checked his watch, “later today, technically?”

“Oh yes! I’ll meet you back here around noon?”

“Perfection, just like you.” Jim closed the door on the wild bunch.

“I swear, Rog is the most dramatic person in the world.” Freddie said, taking Jim’s hand in his.

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Mercury; Roger wasn’t even the third most dramatic person in this room.”

Freddie laughed, pulling Jim into a kiss that lasted the rest of the night.

Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @obsessedwithrogertaylor @triggeredpossum @partydulce @groupiie-love @richiethotzierz @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben @smittyjaws @just-ladyme @botinstqueen @mydogisthebest @little-welsh-wonder @maxjesty

[ninnieartsies]

hello, it's the fic anon again! do you have any hard limits on the ship in terms of kinks? i wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable when i write the fics in case it gets ns//fw... i certainly would also like a background on raimundo too please (as a whole character) cause i'd be ashamed if i write him too ooc! ♥️ thank you sm for giving me permission to write about your wonderful oc too! 😭💖

sdsfllkds I’m!!  💞 💞

Hard limits would be mainly piss/scat/vomit based stuff. Other than those, I’m pretty aight! So if you wanna go wild and explore some, feel free to! òvób Rai is good for that stuff!

Okay, so I’m putting the stuff about Raimundo under a read more since it gonna be long-ish. TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR CANNIBALISM, SADOMASOCHISM, MEDICAL/INJURY DESCRIPTIONS, bad renders of SCAR PLACEMENT ART, and other stuff!!

This bastard of a man is 190,5cm (6'3’’), and he weighs 74kg (163.14 lbs). His eyes are red, and his hair is black. 

He has a habit of using endearments/petnames on everyone but especially his s/o. These typically are babe, sweetcheeks, darling, my love, love, snookums, snugglebutt, and so on.

SOMEWHAT OF A TL;DR: Think the trope Grumpy/dangerous one being soft for only One Person -ship trope.

Raimundo is a cannibal vampire, which means that he eats other vampires, but will also eat humans. Human blood is like a snack for him, so it doesn’t sustain him, while vampire blood will satisfy him for three days. If he eats human flesh, he’s alright for three days, while if he ate vampire flesh he’d be good for a week.

Rai’s blood is black and tarlike, and it stinks absolutely horrible. It is especially revolting to those with a sensitive nose.

Werewolf blood will make him high (think weed usage).

He’s a sadomasochist, who has a hard time creating emotional bonds with people. But with mutual trust and enough time, anything is possible. His sadomasochism makes it that he can’t get off unless pain and/or humiliation is involved; either him receiving or giving. 

He likes cats and strawberries. 

Strawberries are pretty much the only thing he can eat that’s not raw (human/vampire/other) flesh, without getting sick. Anything else will get him ill.

He can eat meat that is sort of similar to that of a human, be it raw or cooked.

He can’t read or write due to his brain damage.

Enjoys being read stories to.

Rai’s kinks are basically: anything goes. 

Can both top or bottom, both are fine. Though I usually have him top or Katsuk be a power bottom. But you do you!

Rai likes to sit or lay on the floor. For some reason, he finds it comfortable. 

He doesn’t understand technology at all. TV and phones are filled with demons. Automatic doors are hell, and escalators are the stairs of satan.

When he’s after affection, he may squish Bakug. Think big dog thinking its a lapdog. 

Bakugou is someone Rai trusts and respects immensely, and the only one he can fully relax around. This is why he may nap laying on top of him. 

When Katsuki’s busy, Rai may just lay close by to him, or curled around him, as long as he can have a little bit of physical contact, then he’s happy.

Since Rai can turn into a bat, he may also hide himself under the collar of Baku’s shirt and join him on little outings. (Katsuk’s emotional support bat, lmao).

The bat size is basically big ears and a body that’s the size of your hand/palm + wing span. Black bat.

Rai’s and Bakug’s relationship is first and foremost built on mutual respect: Both are aware that they can injure each other badly or even kill each other, if something goes wrong. 

He’s got a bunch of scars littering his body, most noticeable being those on his throat and over his nose. 

and a burn scar in the form of a cross on his back.

Now then his personality: 

Raimundo’s sense of fear has dwindled to almost nonexistent since his brain damage got severe enough. He’s very street smart, and one for close combat, and will keep going, despite getting injured in the process… Now, despite him being what you’d call an apex predator, Raimundo is clumsy when he’s somewhere comfortable. He has a tendency to trip over carpets, and fall down stairs (be it him going up or down them). But once he is outside again, and this clumsy streak is nowhere to be seen. This is because he unconsciously switches on/off his survival instinct. Out in the wild/in the cities, he has to keep an eye on the surroundings and not get caught.

Raimundo is pretty violent by nature, in addition to being reckless. He has issues in showing his feelings in other ways than being a complete asshole, or through bursts of aggression. Raimundo is not someone who’d cry, he hasn’t cried since he was a kid. When he’s sad or upset, he tends to get violent. He also has a hard time trusting anyone enough to form a relationship with them. If anyone would be interested in him enough to suggest dating, they’d need to be patient. Very patient. 

He CAN love if the stars align right, and everything clicks. Once he finds his ideal mate, Raimundo is surprisingly cuddly, and he quite enjoys close contact with his SO. He is also POSSESSIVE, and will mark his chosen one often with bites. These bites will be deep and may require stitches if he is not careful enough. Rai is also not shy to show affection through kisses, and/or other means. He may also get easily jealous and act out on it. In bed, he, by default, will be rough. There will be blood involved; it’s either he or his partner that is bleeding. His partners do not have to worry, though. He does not EAT them he views as his. But he may bite too hard since he can’t control himself always due to the brain damage. 

Raimundo’s possessiveness can become an issue. He does not like others touching what is his, and even less if they upset his s/o even a little.

When you reach a friend status, or a trustworthy status in general, Raimundo will be sort of pleasant to be around. He will crack jokes and he’ll even be ready to help you with stuff, if he deems you worthy of his time, more or less. Rai can and will use bad pickup lines for the heck of it if it means he can make Katsuki laugh. For example: sit next to him on the couch, and put an arm around him and say “So. Ya c’mere of’en?” 

Then for the fun part! Raimundo’s medical issues. 

He has BRAIN DAMAGE called CHRONIC TRAUMATIC ENCEPHALOPATHY, that has altered his personality; affects his learning, memories, fine motor skills, and causes seizures.

These seizures can last from a few seconds to a few minutes. In his case, they are unpredictable and episodic. Having lived alone for so long, he doesn’t recognize symptoms, nor does he even understand that he has a brain injury, to begin with.

(Usually, he gets a seizure when he gets overwhelmed, when it’s TOO loud, or he’s idle for too long. Having all his senses stimulated heavily at the same time, may also result in a seizure. Hitting his head or getting a hard enough blow to his head can also cause seizures.)

He thinks it’s normal to black out, be disorientated, and to have gaps in his memory. Now, encephalopathy was also triggered by Rai’s habbit to CANNIBALISM, which he picked up from his step brother.  Even Raimundo’s AGGRESSIVE BEHAVIOUR is linked to CTE. As his aggressiveness took a more active part, it in turn dwindled his self-preservation to a bare minimum. Raimundo does understand danger, but MIGHT NOT ACT like someone would expect one to.

Other symptoms in addition to the seizures are his MEMORY LOSS and TROUBLE CONCENTRATING FOR LONG PERIODS of time. He needs to take breaks or he gets frustrated, which in turn can lead to an aggressive outburst. His ABILITY TO LEARN is also affected, it being much slower than that of an average human. He, however, is stubborn so he does not easily give up, but he gets very frustrated when something doesn’t go as he hoped.

Raimundo also has some trouble with his dexterity or fine motor skills. Grasping a pencil is very hard, for example. He can’t always control the strength of his grip either, it being too loose or too strong at times. His hands also shake.

Raimundo’s use of endearments/petnames really comes down to him not bothering to remember names, since he’d probably just forget them after a bad seizure episode.

Katsuki, however, has made a lasting impression, so his name is pretty much etched into Rai’s brain and the few brain cells he got working. Rai also calls Bakugou by his given name, Katsuki. 

AFTER THE SEIZURES

he is disorientated, often scared, and confused. Then he becomes lethargic and very SLEEPY. He might think he’s moving, i.e. lifting a hand, but instead, he’s just laying still. Usually, something familiar will help him to GROUND himself. A FAMILIAR VOICE or SCENT calms him down and keeps him from spiraling down into, worst-case scenario, another seizure.

If he is with someone he trusts, he will be more than happy to cuddle/hold hands/anything that offers him some sort of comfort & allows him to calm down.

Rest is important. So don’t be too surprised if he spends hours sleeping after a seizure. Depending on how bad it was it can be a short-ish nap, or he sleeps practically the whole day away.

His speech will slur, he won’t make as much sense, and his reaction time is drastically reduced. He is at his most vulnerable after a seizure.

After a seizure he may also lose memories. Sometimes he can get a fuzzy version of a memory back, but mostly they’re gone forever.

HIS VOICE

Since an incident where he was attacked by a beast (chimera), that left the scars on his throat a century ago, Raimundo’s voice has been altered. IT’S HOARSE, a little bit strained as the vocal-cords in his throat are PERMANENTLY DAMAGED despite his healing and regenerating abilities.

(The incident almost killed him, so the healing process took more priority in keeping him alive than to worry about his vocal cords.)

In order to not irritate his throat, HE DOESN’T SPEAK THAT MUCH. If he does, he has to take breaks in order to let his voice and throat rest. It is inconvenient, but he’s learned to live with it.

Some days he may opt not to speak if his throat/voice is acting up.

Raimundo also purrs when he’s content or happy. He may also hiss, growl, snarl, shriek… All of the sounds he makes will still keep the same strain. Since Raimundo originally was a human, his growls/snarls will never sound as natural as they would if they came from a wolf, for example.

SKILLS

HE CAN TURN INTO A BAT; he might “hibernate” during the coldest months

EXTRAORDINARY CLIMBING SKILLS: Climbs vertical walls like it’s nothing, and might also crawl along the ceiling. That means, he has some killer gripping force. He can also climb walls while carrying someone.

REGENERATION/FAST HEALING: depending on wounds 2 days to 4 weeks+++

“MOVING” THROUGH SHADOWS; practically just got A game in hiding in shadows, in disappears into them. As long as light doesn’t touch him, he’s practically invisible.

HAS THE STRENGTH TO BREAK BONES, with his bare hands.

EXTRAORDINARY HEARING: can in a sense see even as blind, thanks to his hearing alone (think bats and echolocation, tho not as sharp). To navigate blind, he will need a noise source.

A GOOD SENSE OF SMELL.

SPEAKS ENGLISH, AND DEMONIC/BEASTIAL LANGUAGE (albeit broken, as he can’t reach the ranges a demon/beast could). 

And broken heavily accented Japanese when with Bakug. Will also mess up meanings of words, or come up with new words.

ex. fries = elongated potatoes

WEAKNESSES

HOLY WATER: burns like acid. Digested he’d cough up blood and probably his intestines, and thus die.

HOLY ARTIFACTS; can kill him if used correctly (i.e. the artifacts are made into weapons). Mostly they just give him a migraine.

SUNLIGHT: The exposed skin starts to bubble and eventually bursts open. Depending on the severity and exposure, the spot can burst into flames. Throw him into a sun-exposed area and you will practically witness him be burned alive. A very painful death.

TRAUMA TO THE HEAD: can cause him to have a seizure at worst, but at the least it makes him disorientated.

WEREWOLF BLOOD will get him high as a kite.

If one was TO KILL RAIMUNDO, you just need to pierce his heart with a weapon of your choice, or alternatively, destroy his brain. He can also bleed to death if he is not careful. But for a quick death, the two other ways are more effective.

[tumblunni]

Oh mannnn Rune Factory why are you so good at making friendships feel so genuine with fictional characters Like, it legit is good therapy when you’re lonely! It just leaves you with this contented feeling. And they somehow managed to achieve it through doing like basically nothing?? Its so good because they leave the options open for you to form your own fanficcy thoughts! There is SO MUCH of that! The characters’s AI wandering around the town doing random stuff and occasionally bumping into each other and having a short emoticon conversation like in the sims. That’s just so weirdly theraputic to watch, its like watching an aquarium?? And so many fanfic ideas when the ‘conversation’ is something interesting with an interesting combination of characters. What would happen if Porcoline flirted with Leon! What exactly was forte doing carrying that melon? SO MANY IDEAS!! And then like... i DO wish that you could do more stuff with the characters when you’re paired up, but its still really cute and friendshippy to just be paired up while doing everything, even the characters never aknowledge it or join in. You can imagine what would happen if they did, cos they have such well-developed personalities! It feels like having a fun afternoon with two of your friends doing [insert thing here], and then when you pair up with just one character you kinda somehow feel its a bit more intimate and wanna impress them?? like, I know now that characters dont gain any friendship points for fighting together even though fighting together is the one thing they actually can do together. But I still just HAVE to go find my two faves and fight together with them! Every time! Whether its a plot event or exploring together or collecting items together! porcoline, help me go pick mushrooms, u is the chef~! It would be so cool if they got given passive skills that had bonuses to certain things and levelled up as their friendship increases!! Like Porcoline actually does increase the probability of food items dropping from monsters. And just AAAAAA why do I have to go grab a character and pair up before I do work, even when I know the game doesnt aknowledge anything thats happening with gameplay. You give me the opportunity to put anyone in my party when their schedule is free, and even if there is ABSOLUTELY NO BOON TO THIS CTION I still wanna sit outside arthur’s office like a lovesick puppy waiting to give him his morning packed lunch and then take him with me to till the farm and craft eyeglasses. And I wanna take Dylas to go fishing!! I was so lucky once that I arrived at the beach when his Daily Randomized Action actually was fishing, and I could pretend we were fishing together with friendship~! He doesnt fish too when he’s in your party when you fish :P And then the only actual interaction that they do have is sometimes giving you gifts when you talk to them, same as when you talk to them when theyre sitting as static npcs in their house. But AGAIN it just makes me fanfic and roleplay that me and this character are having a fun day doing [action] and then what silly antics would occur if they gave me [randomized present] at this moment! And sometimes the choice of dialogue and present clashes hilariously, and sometimes it works so well to make it extra heartwarming! like Porcoline gave me a present on HIS OWN BIRTHDAY! i came along and gave him is present and he gave me one back, its like NOOOOO U R TOO NICE THAT IS NOT HOW IT WORKS!! And i know it was just randomized chance but it was so in-character that it made me smile! Also I know that any extra presents you give them after the first present don’t make any difference to your friendship points, but I felt so bad that I didn’t have anything Doug likes for his birthday so I gave him like five neutral gifts. And AGAIN the game doesnt actually aknowledge when you give someone a weapon you’ve fully built up to level 10 but I always feel so happy doing that with my main weapon when i gain a new one, i have to give it to someone else who could use it. Porco had my super strong gale edge that I won from the first harvest competition and used for half the game, and its so neat that they actually do use the weapon you give them! WE STRONGE DUAL BLADE BUDDIES BEING STRONGE! (tho then I managed to craft the leek blades that are super good for porco so now he’s got those) And BTW its so funny cute that Porcoline has a self-healing ‘spell’ that’s literally just him eating a sandwich mid-battle. As far as I know he’s the only npc who can mimic the player’s item-using animation, nobody has an actual inventory when theyre travelling with you. Oh and Clorica can do the same but different! She can mimic the player’s sleeping action and fall asleep on the ground to recover her HP. I love in-character npc-only variants of skills, thats such a cute idea! Tho I kinda wish I could hack them onto my character to replace the default Cure, lol! Oh and AAAAA I like.. skipped the entirety of Fall?? I hit 8 hearts with Arthur at the beginning and didn’t realise that the game glitches out and won’t let you confess if the character is part of a Town Event. Arthur had one dialogue line in Forte’s quest to ride an elephant, so he didnt show up when he asked to meet me and I thought I’d been stood up but then he acted like I’D stood him up?? And he was stuck in a dialogue loop of ‘I have something to tell you now- I CANT TALK RIGHT NOW’ and then when the town event ws over he was mad at me and wouldnt accept a second confession until he hit 9 hearts. So I literally did nothing every day for a month but hang with arthur and hug him and give him gifts, blazing through to 9 hearts at ridiculous stubborn speed! i felt so bad that all the other characters are sad you havent talked to them in 15 days :P But I was happy that I finally got a second chance to confess PRECISELY on the 1st of Winter, and we had heartwarming cuddles in the freshly fallen snow. And then i was too tired from staying up all night romancing a fictional taxkeeper so I saved the game and passed out. OH, but not until after I added Arthur to my party and just skipped around the snowy town with him for ten minutes! I gave him an umbrella and pretended the two characters were having a romantic walk underneath it. I AM SO ON THE SHIPPING TRAIN, MY GUYS! I cant believe I came here for the two monster boys and got attatched to mr normal nerdman prince before I even had a chance to see either of their events :P I wanted to maybe try seeing all the relationship events with all the batchelors but I just felt so guilty like I was cheating on arthur, cos he was the one I picked first... Man, i shoulda saved picking a boyfriend til the endgame and then made three savefiles to see them all :P BUT I AM STILL HAPPY WITH ARTHUR!!! soft man, walking hug nerd in a snuggie my character’s dream boy When a game can provoke such attatchment to the love interests in a completely asexual player then u kno u done rite NOBODY IS SEXY BUT EVERYBODY IS SOMEONE I WANNA SEE SMILING Let me resolve your plotline arthur I want you to have a happy marriage You can hug all my pet monsters and i’ll make you turnip stew every morning and AAAAAA I love learning what everyone loves, i love that arthur is one of the ones with many different fave presents. He likes turnips and new spectacles and cute fluffy things! And Dylas likes fish and carrots and milk he has THREE FAVOURITE FOODS, what a cutie!! And Dolce likes tea and sweets and hot chocolate aka THE PERFECT FUSION OF BOTH. And also she’s started liking medicine and doctor-related gifts after being adopted by the cute doctor couple, its so sweet she’s aspiring to be like them!! And porcoline eats literally all my cooking crafting successes and I wouldnt have it any other way!! and AAAA you can give people HATS and they WEAR YOUR HATS so you can see arthur actually change glasses when you give him new ones and porco wears ribbons on his hat that already exists and these two have been my party for LIKE FOREVER and I love them and i totally headcanon arthur seeing porcoline like a dad since they started working together! He has sad dialogues about how he had a bad relationship with the king and how he was raised entirely by servants, so porcoline reminds him of that. And cute stories like how when he was working late at night he walked outside his door and there was a mysterious homecooked meal out of nowhere. yeah porcoline TOTALLY made a midnight snack and just forgot not to eat it, suuuuure! porco is always trying to trick him into taking care of himself, its so damn sweet!! And you get similar dialogues from everyone else working at the restaurant and just GAHHH forever headcanoning arthur and dylas as Official Adopted Members Of The De Saint-Coquille Noble Bloodline. I wish they had more interactions together tho, even if they arent like brothers its odd that two people working together each day dont talk much about each other. BUT SERIOUSLY porco is like.. he adopted a friggin horse monster and THE PRINCE OF THE COUNTRY. Sorry king u messed up dadding, he is mine now. Also: the wild wilderness of a monster temple is no place for a young boy. U come gain some employment as a well-paid waiter and also my son! I ain’t care that you’re slightly a unicorn! THEYRE ALL JUST SUCH NICE PEOPLE AAA I wanna be like ‘plz let me marry your son’ to porcoline, i wanna join the fam as a daughter in law. I’m not REMOTELY interested in being the princess, I just wanna be a new member of the restaurant peoples!! Aaaaa I cant stop rambling about how much i love this game and these characters!! And I;ve only even really started befriending this small chunk of the characters, who knows if I’ll get even more rambley about the others!!!! I just love love love that you can put them in your party at any time and drag them along to do everything and PRETEND WE ARE HAVING FAMILY BONDING ACTIVITIES BECAUSE I ADORE YOU ALL