#there are man like monsters in the woods

[coochiequeens]

Only an AGP would think miniskirts are part of a camping outfit.

17 May 2022

An Autogynephile in the Wild

"You are trapped in the wilderness with a man who won’t stop talking about his penis. This is not good. This is not normal."

Susi Quinn

“Atthe big spa in town, you have to shower naked,” says our guide, Helga, with some relish. “The tourists don’t like this, especially the American women, and sometimes they try to shower with their swimsuits on. Now, I’m a big lady, and I put on my deepest voice, and I bellowed at them to take their clothes off. You should have seen them scurry away!”

Helga and Jackie burst into raucous laughter. There are some polite chuckles from the men in the group. I say nothing and look away.

Helga is not a big lady. Helga is a tall, rugged man who has had his eyebrows plucked and his penis cut off. I don’t need to speculate about this with terfy prurience, or perform the fabled genital inspections, as he has told us all about his operation a great many times already. It’s day two of a wilderness expedition in Scandinavia, and we’re reliant for our safety on a man who will not shut up about the contents of his pants. I grit my teeth and give thanks once again that the group is small enough that we don’t have to share tents.

There are five of us on the trip—two youngish men so far removed from gender discourse that they don’t even recognize the trans flag; Jackie, an older lady full of Not Like The Other Girls energy; and Claire, a fellow fortysomething who hadn’t followed gender issues closely, but whose discomfort with the situation almost matched my own. All we were missing was a beardy bloke to tell us ladies what to think about the issue, and it would have been an almost perfect reflection of society in microcosm.

Iwasn’t quite sure what to make of Helga at first glance. He picked us up from the bus station wearing tight capris, a tight shirt, and a ponytail under a baseball cap, and I didn’t catch his name; was this some unfamiliar men’s Euro-fashion or was he trying to dress “as a woman?” Were those eyebrows just a bit too neat and unnatural? Is he wearing foundation or just sunblock? Regular moobs or the estrogen variety? Is he making that weird pouty face on purpose? I didn’t have to ponder for long; within about ten minutes, he had declared his identity as “a transgender woman” and started telling us about a local documentary that had been made about his bravery and unconventional life.

Quite likely he’d misinterpreted our scrutiny as a form of “Is that a man or a woman?”, that proverbial bad-faith question asked by homophobic grandparents in the 70s and 80s during Top of the Pops. His sex, though, was never in question; even Jackie, who tried her hardest to “validate” him at every turn, first greeted his appearance with “Oh, I was expecting a woman!”.

I made some quick calculations about the male/female numbers in the group, and set to worrying about what the sleeping arrangements might be, and whether I’d need to make a fuss. The travel company had promised we’d be sharing rooms on a “same-gender” basis—did they mean same-sex? I hadn’t even thought to check.

In the back of the minibus, the group made introductory small talk. Is this your first time in the country? Have you been on this type of adventure before? The two men were quiet and conventional; Claire was friendly and asked more questions than she answered; Jackie was talkative but mostly about herself. More than the rest of us, she looked the part of a rugged adventurer, and I was hoping she’d make a fun travel companion, but there was an edge to her conversation that gave me pause. As if her identity depended on being The Most Rugged Lady Adventurer In The Village, she always had to top our tales with a boast of her own. Only mine and Claire’s, of course. She deplored the existence of “women’s” outerwear, and was proud that she bought hers from the men’s section. She mocked Claire for needing to check in with her teenage son on the phone. Had Jackie been forty years younger, you can bet there would have been pronouns.

“Back at the camp, Helga has changed back into his miniskirt, which he wears around the campfire while cooking.”

She wasn’t the only one to keep talking about herself. During the long drive to our destination, Helga spent less time telling us about the sights and scenery than about himself, his life and his achievements. Not his genitals, not yet—those conversations would wait until we were a genuinely captive audience. For the moment, there were enough nuggets dropped for me to piece together a picture of almost textbook autogynephilia—there was an ex-wife somewhere, and a child or two that he’d ditched to follow his fetish; an ultra-macho hobby and an obsession with how he was perceived. A litany of dull, dull boasts, me me me me me. I looked at the blonde ponytail coming out the back of his baseball cap. Dollars to donuts there was a bald patch under there. He never took the cap off.

Helga’s adventure-guide credentials clearly hadn’t prepared him for some of the less rugged aspects of guiding, such as knowing the itinerary, communicating unexpected changes, or remembering that we needed to eat. Instead of the central hotel and restaurant meal we’d expected for our first night, we were eventually dropped off late at a remote self-catering lodge, petrol-station hotdogs in hand, to ponder the events of the day. The five guests gathered in the corridor to chat before we turned in; all of us had been on small-group trips before, and this one was unusually amateurish. And Helga himself? Awkward silences, awkward platitudes. We’d all been on enough small-group trips to know that it was a bad idea to alienate your companions by spouting political opinions; we were diplomatic and guarded. This was no time for terfing. Tiptoeing around the trans question, we gave him much more leeway for his failures than we otherwise would have; there was an eggshell brittleness to the topic, and nobody wanted to put a foot wrong.

The organisational failures continued well into the next day, but it was with great relief that we were eventually issued with a tent each, and there was no question of anyone being asked to share. As we packed up the last of our equipment, Helga reappeared, brandishing a small plastic bottle with a large hole cut into the side. This, he explained, was his homemade she-wee. If you make one yourself, remember to sand down the edges, or you might get a nasty cut in an unfortunate place, haha! We nodded politely, really not wanting the mental images. Why was he telling us this?

To reinforce how convenient this device was, he wandered a few yards away, turned his back, and made use of it. We hadn’t even left the depot yet; there was a real toilet just indoors, and there he was, pissing out in the open, with a flimsy excuse that stretched “plausible deniability” to its breaking point.

“Was he taking advantage of our isolation and dependency and general British politeness to override our obvious discomfort with the subject?”

Several strenuous hours later, we’d reached our campsite—beautiful, wild, bleak, and utterly, utterly remote. In other words, we were now a captive audience. Helga ramped up the trans talk almost immediately, dropping in references to his castration wherever he could manage it. Often this took the form of jolly anecdotes that we were clearly expected to laugh along with.

“Some old men were complaining about how women make all the drama, but I told them that all the drama in me was taken away with my balls!”

“The first time I wore a drysuit after the operation, I forgot I no longer had a penis, and when I unzipped my fly to pee and went to grab it, there was nothing to grab!”

“After my operation, the doctor told me that in some cultures, trans people were considered to be almost gods!”

He approached Claire, walking alone on the beach, and told her how, as a teen, he’d hated his penis so much he almost cut it off with a knife. Uh, good for you, I guess? How do you even respond to something like that? Why should anyone have to?

Early in the Trump administration, commentators had exhorted us to keep hold of our expectations of “normal,” so we would see how far from normal things had become. This trip had started strange and become stranger; I had to dredge out my memories of other tour leaders to realize how abnormal this behavior was. 

No other tour guide I could think of would have so much as mentioned their genitalia, not even once. They wouldn’t have told us all about any other medical treatment in such detail. They wouldn’t have pissed in front of the group. Nothing about this was normal. And yet nobody was saying anything. I wasn’t saying anything. Did Helga move in circles, online or off, where this topic was so normalized as to have become regular small talk? Or was he taking advantage of our isolation and dependency and general British politeness to override our obvious discomfort with the subject? To override it and even enjoy causing it? I felt grubby, all the time.

Look at what’s in front of you, don’t be distracted by the glitter. You are trapped in the wilderness with a man who won’t stop talking about his penis. This is not good. This is not normal.

Day 3. Jackie has now become openly hostile towards Claire, with mean-girl behavior quite incongruous from a woman in her 60s. We find jellyfish washed up on the beach, which Claire deems rather upsetting and disgusting; Jackie picks one up and throws it at her, she and Helga squealing with laughter. And there it is again—dominance and power plays, using our discomfort to jostle for status and reinforce their own perceived superiority. Towards Helga, Jackie now affects a chummy gal-pal sycophancy, which Helga quite laps up. Except on the very frequent occasions when Jackie slips and calls him “he,” far more often than anyone else does, a hilarious Freudian slip which serves to illustrate which dynamic is really in play here.

Back at the camp, Helga has changed back into his miniskirt, which he wears around the campfire while cooking. The rest of us are still wearing the grubby hiking trousers and multiple woollen layers that we’ve been sleeping in for two nights. I can’t tell if he’s touched up his makeup again, but his performance of femininity still includes that peculiar expression that I noticed on the first day—a sort of wide-eyed, open-mouthed pout that is familiar from the many selfies and avatars I’ve seen in the trans regions of Twitter and Reddit. Is this what they think women look like? Do they think we also laugh alone at salad? He obviously missed the memo about how women don’t typically blow snot out of their noses into the bushes, or how we generally go behind a rock to piss. Even the men in the group go behind a rock to piss. Helga still just takes his she-wee a few yards away and turns his back.

In the evening, he gets us to watch the documentary he’d mentioned on the journey up. It’s on a small laptop screen, subtitled in English; we strain to read the captions. The adventurous scenery sections are thrilling and beautiful. The interspersed discussion of his life and his transition are not. In equal measure tawdry and uncomfortable, a string of family and friends pop up in well-worn talking-heads format to offer support, astonishment, bewilderment, praise, to a stirring stock-music soundtrack. It’s all very Lifestyle Channel.

“Do they think we also laugh alone at salad?”

I tick off my day-one assumptions as they are confirmed, one by one. Yep, there’s the bald patch. There’s the poor ex-wife, love-bombed into a quick marriage and then gaslit as he resumed his teenage obsessive crossdressing habit. The secret meetings with other crossdressing men. The eventual divorce, leaving her to raise their child—seems that his fantasies of womanhood didn’t include the boring babysitting parts. He was quite handsome as a man. No weird pout in those older shots. Onscreen, he complains bitterly about an extremely mild “misgendering” incident, and swears he will leave the country.

He wasn’t harassed in the incident, he wasn’t discriminated against, he wasn’t obstructed. He was merely observed to be male, and that was enough to provoke a tearful meltdown. As if we weren’t already walking on eggshells enough, monitoring our own language to avoid naming the obvious fact that we could all see! The sight of this burly man having an onscreen tantrum at his inability to control others’ perceptions… it was a reason to tread even more carefully.

Claire and I go to gather firewood; away from the group and out of earshot, she makes tentative reference to how strange this all is. I sense a proto-terf, let rip a full stream of gender-critical invective, and the relief is glorious. It’s like a touchstone for reality. She’s already been having her doubts about the ideology, and can recognize odd compulsive behavior from having a diagnosed OCD family member; we compare notes on the weirdness of the trip, and reassure each other that we are not imagining it, that our discomfort is merited, that this is really not normal. It was the trans widow in the documentary that really did it for her; we both feel for that poor woman.

Having a woman ally makes it so much more bearable, but also throws a harsh light on how we’re being used to validate the fetish of this penis-obsessed man. We vow to ditch the rest of the group as soon as we’re able and try to salvage some joy from this bizarre situation we’re currently trapped in.

“We’re being used to validate the fetish of this penis-obsessed man.”

On the final day, Claire and I manage to wangle a shortcut, and beat the group back to town by a few hours. In clean clothes at last, we find a restaurant, fill our faces with pizza and wine, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh. We spot Helga through the window, driving the minibus to a fast food place over the road, and we hide behind the curtains, peering at him through a gap, hoping he won’t spot us. Is he just getting hotdogs for the rest of the group again? No, he’s getting a kebab for himself, because he just seems to subsist on junk food and energy drinks. Where are the others? We don’t care. More wine please!

We befriend the waiter and a German documentary maker at the next table, and regale them with tales of how utterly strange our last few days have been. There are no taxis to take us back to the lodge, so the waiter flags down some boy-racer mates of his in a passing car, who give us a lift. They have a tampon dangling from the rear-view mirror. We stumble back to our rooms, still laughing.

The journey back to the capital is uneventful. Helga greets an old acquaintance at a gas station, and makes a point of telling us how they had previously met—apparently he had told her that he used to be a man (apropos of nothing?), and she had been ever so surprised, much to his delight. Cool story, bro. Just a couple more hours and we never have to hear about your penis ever again. At least this is one holiday where going home is less of a wrench than a relief.

Back home, I’m still walking on those eggshells. My friends hear a heavily redacted version of the tale, where Helga is merely a creepy bloke and an incompetent tour guide. The power of pronouns becomes very apparent—consider the vastly different threat perceptions between “she kept talking about her genitals” and “he kept talking about his.” My friends are in the “be kind” camp, and would have attempted the mental gymnastics to frame this as a strange but harmless woman.

“But what did he say about his penis, exactly?”

“Oh, you know, just finding excuses to mention it all the time…”

I think about how we feminists are popularly assumed to hate trans people, to treat them far worse than we would “cis” men. And yet here I am, playing down my deeply uncomfortable experience, hiding Helga’s trans status in my anecdotes, and watching an entire tour group allow him to get away with dangerously unprofessional behavior on that basis. Even when I wrote a complaint to the company, the penis-talk was only a footnote beside his other incompetencies, rather than the front-and-centre issue it would have been from a regular man.

I think about Grace Lavery, about Owen Hurcum—these men who spend a vastly disproportionate time talking about their parts. I think about the power dynamic, of how Helga used us as a captive audience to talk about and demonstrate his castration fetish, ostentatiously brandishing that she-wee. I think about Jackie, cosying up to the man with the power and pretending to validate his delusions to gain a share of that status for herself. I think about the pall this cast on my first holiday since a year and a half of lockdowns. But mostly I think about how Claire and I escaped, our drunken pizza escapades, and the joy of making a female-only space to laugh about the whole ridiculous business.

4W provides paid writing work for over 50 women in countries spanning the globe. This work is made possible thanks to your support on Patreon.

I think I would rather live through an episode of “These Woods are Haunted” than this. Cheap shots aside how many articles like this have to be written before gender cult allies accept that people don’t hit peak trans because J K Rowling said sex is real. We hit peak trans because we see this behavior in trans people in person and the community doesn’t want to acknowledge that they have a problem from within.

[egophiliac]

With the best of your writing or drawing ability, how do you sum up Twisted Wonderland Book 1 till Book 6?

I'm so sorry to make you wait so long for such a stupid joke

[pinnithin]

yknow i didn't necessarily start my wyll origin run with the intent of romancing astarion in mind but the more i play the more i find their similarities amusing when it comes to like, the surface level personality they present to strangers in act 1.

wyll is a compulsive flirt. you see it in dialogue with shadowheart and lae'zel - he just tosses out a couple lines that clearly aren't supposed to go anywhere (asking lae'zel if she believes in love at first sight, blatantly reusing the same flirtation attempts with shadowheart) and i see this as part of his Blade of Frontiers persona. obviously a traveling vigilante would have no time for romance or relationships, but he's socially aware enough to have learned that people respond well to a certain level of rogueish charm. especially if his reputation precedes him. he can safely and positively engage in surface level flirtations with the people he interacts with because the person doing the flirting isn't real - at least not to him. he often says the Blade is his best self, but to him its an ideal he strives to achieve, not the person he really is. and i imagine that includes the ability to give discouraged people positive attention in a nonthreatening way. its safe. its superficial. he doesn't have to follow through.

this is overshadowed somewhat by astarion's tendency to flirt with anything that has a pulse, but the perspective they both have on it is pretty similar. theyre both coming from a place of not actually being interested in the recipient of their attention - whether that be through astarion's ulterior motives or wyll's lack of capacity for a relationship - but they both still put on this front because it's habitual. it's worked for them and it's gotten them through the varying degrees of social contracts they find themselves in. so they wind up trading lines easily because they've studied from the same script.

anyway what im getting at is bumping these two personalities against each other can definitely result in wyll and astarion committing to the bit so hard they accidentally wind up in a relationship. like, you're safe, you know the rules, you're speaking in a language i'm familiar with but we both understand that neither of us expect anything back on an emotional level. wait when did we start confiding our deepest secrets with one another. what do you mean you trust me.

[totally-not-an-awkward-okapi]

Look man I just think it’s a shame that Lon Chaney Jr’s horror film debut usually gets cut from the roster.

[lady-shadow-and-darkness]

Whenever I see people saying that Dazai's an asshole and doesn't care about anyone I laugh. Guess he did a good job of fooling you buddy.

[mocha-gladiator]

writing down ideas while I have them but I love the part of Woodland Won't Listen that goes "leave your shoes by the edge of the woods. You never quite caught me, but then, nobody could when I was free." I just love the aesthetic of some white stag or white rabbit type of character that is just magic and mysterious. Like maybe the deeper they lead you into the forest the more fae it becomes.

there's also that one album or tour called I Don't Speak Human?? maybe?? where they sing about how this man was taken into the woods and turned into a beast and his lover followed him but no matter what he became she still loved him and broke the curse. It's an old song I think

but just. a forest where the river will steal your children if you're a bad person and fairy circles grow around the bones of dead hares and magic potions that can turn you into a shapeshifter

[musicalchaos07]

Do you ever think about how if Jonathan had been there he wouldn’t have let Steve and Nancy explore The Creel House/water gate without some kind of weapon?

[leavingautumn13]

Name: Darksun

Age: adult(tm)

Meaning behind tumblr url: Ghost faced bats are my favorite animal in a "he's so ugly, i love him!" kinda way

Hobbies/Interests: Uhh mostly drawing and writing! I also love playing video games (like fallout and pokemon which initially drew me to your account LOL)

Why you follow me: I love your art SO MUCH! Goals really

Random fact about yourself: biggest OC hoarder in the west. currently working on my sci-fi setting's story!

Question for me: What's your favorite moment/scene in pokemon emerald and why?

[introduce yourself!]

thank you for sharing about bats; i love learning about new animals! they are cute in an ugly sort of way. i love them.

and i love your art too!! streamer courtney is based, and i know nothing about fnaf but your art for it is so cool. if you ever post about your sci-fi setting, i'd love to know more about it!

as for my favorite scene in emerald, i gotta say i'm a groudon fan so groudon waking up is up there for sure. also the fact that this happens like halfway into the story and then nothing comes of it until the end. what was groudon doing for that time? where were they?? i'm so curious. i'm definitely getting into this in a fic don't worry

that being said, shoutout for introducing multi battles by teaming up with steven at the mossdeep space center, but also i'd like to know why we can't do this with other trainers throughout the game. let me team up with archie to fight maxie and tabitha at mt chimney. let me team up with maxie to fight archie and shelly at seafloor cavern. that would have been so cool. 3/10 missed opportunity

[becca-alexa]

Ride the Lightning

Chapter Five: School Daze

Read on AO3!

01 ┋ 02 ┋ 03 ┋ 04 ┋ 05 ┋ 06 ┋ 07 ┋ 08 ┋ 09 ┋ 10 ┋ 11 ┋ 12 ┋ 13

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Original Female Character

Summary: Eddie's begun to notice... something in Veronica that he's never felt before - what will he do?

Word Count: 4.4K

Content Warnings: [N/A]

Author's Note: yes🦇for🦇characters🦇realizing🦇their🦇feelings🦇i🦇live🦇for🦇oblivious🦇to🦇not🦇oblivious🦇romance

otherworldly thank you to @rollforhellfire for reading this -- your comments literally keep me going <333

    The heels of Veronica’s patent-leather Mary Janes echoed through the halls of Hawkins High, the droves of students seeming to part way as she moved about them with purpose - she clearly had somewhere to be, someone to speak to. Brushing back one of her braids, she rounded a corner, descended a flight of stairs, her pace quickening as the double-doors of the lunchroom fell within sight. And, tugging at the strap of her bag, she pushed her way inside.

    The lunchroom was bustling, as it always was at that time of day, tens upon dozens of students all eager to find something edible among the lunch slop. Looking across the room, she spotted her target - the raucous Hellfire table.

    “You can’t cast fireball for every move, dude.” Lucas said, stuffing a forkful of lettuce into his mouth, pointing the plastic thing at Dustin, who was cautiously flipping open what he’d been told was a turkey burger. “Think of something else.”

    Dustin scoffed at him, setting his lunch aside in lieu of a carton of chocolate milk. “What, like you have a better idea on how to beat the Drolem?” Looking beside him, he turned to Will for confirmation, and the boy nodded, midway through chewing his tuna sandwich. “See? Fireball’s our best option here.”

    “Might I suggest you rethink your strategy, my little sheep?” Eddie’s voice, clear and carrying across the table, silenced the chatter of the youngest among them, and his smile sent a chill coursing through their spines. “Need I remind you that the Drolem is part-dragon?”

    “Damn!” Dustin huffed, head falling into his upturned palms. “How could I forget?”

    “Told you.” Lucas said with a scoff, shoving a straw into his juice cup. “What we need to do is… uh…” His voice trailed off, eyes widening as he caught sight of a vision of… pink? He nudged Jeff at his side, who was equally - if not more - surprised to see Veronica Windsor at their table, arms crossed over her chest; she gave them all a little wave, her smile shy as she turned to face Eddie.

    “Lost your voice, Sinclair?” Eddie asked, his words trailing off into a chuckle as he shoved a handful of pretzels into his mouth, unaware of the table staring behind him. “Pity. You were getting so close-”

    “Munson.”

    Eddie choked on his pretzels, swallowing what he could, the rest sticking to the inside of his mouth as he all but coughed up his lungs, Gareth slamming his fist against his back to keep him breathing. Face aflame - and only partially so from nearly having lost his life to the snack - Eddie twisted around in his chair, eyes narrowed at Veronica, face set in a scowl.

    “Can I help you, Windsor?” he croaked, voice rough as he blinked away the tears blurring his vision. She reached for the back of his chair, pulling it out with more force than he’d expected.

    “Get up.” she said, emerald eyes sparkling as they bore into his, making him much too uncomfortable in front of his many admirers. “We need to talk.”

    Without another word, Eddie followed Veronica away from the chaos, the mass of students gathered outside having already dissipated, leaving them alone in the hallway. Eddie waited for her to speak, his hands shoved into his pockets for lack of a better place, and he rocked back and forth on his heels as he watched her dig through her bag.

    “So… uh… What’d you want to talk about?” he finally asked, trying to peek at what she was looking for, surprised when she pulled out a… a packet? And a heavy-looking one at that, he noted, confused when she handed it to him.

    “Midterms are in two weeks.” she began, voice clear. “And you will be passing all of them.”

    “O… kay?” He turned over the weighty packet in his hand, flipping through its pages. “And this is supposed to help me?”

    “This is all of the material that’ll be covered on the tests.” she explained, poking a finger at one of the pages. “I spent the week putting it together, so that we know what to focus on.”

    “Hold on, you… you made this?” Flipping through the packet again, he suddenly realized that all of the pages were handwritten, her penmanship impeccable, all of the problems clearly explained in the way she’d since learned he’d understand best. “Windsor, I-”

    She didn’t let him finish. “Until midterms start, we’ll need to spend our lunches going over this.”

    And he gaped at her, unsure he’d heard her correctly. “We need to eat… together?” he asked, brows furrowing together as she nodded, braids swaying with the movement. “Really?”

    “You want to get through that thing by yourself?” she asked, her voice as flat as it was blunt, and she bit back a smile as Eddie conceded with a drop of his shoulders.

    “Right.” His words trailed out on a sigh, and he rubbed at his forehead, willing away the headache he could feel brewing behind his eyes. “You’re… You’re right, as always.”

    “Look, Munson,” Veronica said, her voice soft. “You can do this, okay? This is all stuff you already know. We’re just… reinforcing it.” Her hand moved, hovered over his arm as if to give him a comforting pat, but it fell back to her side, the movement somewhat awkward. “Meet me at the library starting tomorrow.” she added, and gave him a smile as she walked back toward the lunchroom. “And don’t be late! The more time we get with this, the better!”

    Eddie gave her a weak excuse of a wave; after she’d crossed the double-doors, he fell back against the wall, hands dragging over his face, cheeks burning as he tried to collect himself enough to return to his table.

    If any of them noticed how utterly red Eddie was, they were wise enough not to mention it.

    “Christ, Windsor, can we take a break?” Eddie groaned, head falling to the wooden library table, his hair fluttering around him as it settled about his shoulders. “My brain’s melting out my eyeballs.”

    They’d been at it a week, their extra studying sessions. Everyday, they’d meet in the library to pour over the material, working through each of the questions several times over in order to ensure that he’d retain the information - and all of this on top of his daily tutoring. He doesn't understand why she’s putting in the extra effort, but he appreciates it nonetheless; he tries not to read too closely into the way her voice gentles when she’s explaining something to him, or how she’d take the time to go over a particular problem ad infinitum whenever he’d get confused. He tries to stay focused - Lord knows he does - but somewhere between Calculus and U.S. History II, his mind began to wander.

    Seated as close as they were, Eddie leaned his arm against the tabletop, head resting on his hand, eyes scanning the page Veronica was reviewing with him. He followed the path of her manicured finger along the lines of text, enthralled by how the light caught on the pastel yellow polish. Her hands, so small compared to his, were bare; he wondered absentmindedly if he should get her a ring, just to fill the empty spaces, the implications of such a gift lost on him. He tried to focus on the material, but how could he, when her voice sounded so sweet? So honeyed? Had it always sounded like that? Eddie shook his head, biting the inside of his mouth, forcing his thoughts back to the topic at hand.

    As she continued onto some Godforsaken equation, Eddie’s gaze moved to her head, trailing over her inky hair; she’d only braided a single today, just like she’d done on Halloween, the thing as glossy as it was thick, hanging over her shoulder and tied at the end with a ribbon in a color matching her blouse. How would it feel between his fingers, he wondered? Would she let him touch it, if he asked? Hell, he’d let her touch his hair any day-

    “Munson?” Veronica asked, her voice breaking through the pleasant haze of his thoughts. “Are you listening?”

    Obviously not, his mind blared. “Sorry, I… I think I zoned out for a second.” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck, a chuckle bubbling up from his chest as she shook her head, flipping back to the start of the section they’d been reviewing, beginning again in the same mellow tone of voice that had him bewitched; she’d only gotten through the first few sentences before she leaned back in her chair with a sigh, flipping the packet shut.

    “You’re not paying attention.” Fearing he’d upset her, he reached for the thing, flipping through it, searching for the page they’d been working from.

    “No, I-I am, I promise-”

    She’d reached for his hand, her touch warm against the chill of his rings, and Eddie had to suppress the shudder radiating at the base of his spine from the sudden contact. “We’ve covered enough for today - just finish your lunch, alright?” She smiled at him, soft and inviting, and he finally relaxed into his seat, prying open his metal lunch box and pulling out his usual baggie of pretzels.

    “Want some?” he offered, holding out the plastic thing toward her, biting back his grin as she took a few, popping them into her mouth, offering him bits of her own lunch in exchange - and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a… memorable day at school, sharing a meal with her, the conversation between them easy, their shoulders all but touching as they whispered to each other to keep from being shushed by the librarian. 

    They’d been going through it for hours, sitting on Eddie’s bed, pouring over what they had left of the packet, reviewing the material they’d already gone through. It was the night before the first of many midterms, and Eddie’s panic was palpable, with Veronica left to try and keep him calm enough to remember how hard he’d been working, reassuring him that he was more than prepared to take the test - Calculus, for Monday.

    Outside, they could hear Wayne shuffling about, mindful of how loud he’d set the television as not to interrupt their studying; when Veronica had first appeared at their door, he’d been surprised, sympathetic to his nephew’s academic situation, even a bit confused as to why she had agreed to take him on - from Eddie's grumblings, he'd been well aware of who she was. Now, he considered her as much a part of his family as his own flesh and blood. Hell, he’d even gotten her a mug to use whenever she was over. Setting a tray of pizza rolls into the oven, he sank back onto the couch, beer in hand as he watched the week’s baseball game, the soft echo of Eddie’s music fading into the background.

    “Did you remember to follow the order of operations?” Veronica asked, passing back Eddie’s scribble-heavy notebook, moving closer beside him to point out the equation he’d been trying to solve. “Here, you left out the exponent. Do that first, then solve the rest.” Taking it back, he wracked his mind for an answer, used his fingers to count, scratched what was left of his eraser over the page, not realizing his tongue had been poking out from between pressed lips all the while.

    “Like this?” he asked, voice hesitant as he passed the notebook back to her, tapping his pencil against his knee as she checked over his work, and his shoulders fell in relief at her smile.

    “Good job, Munson.” The look on her face, warm and gentle and proud, nearly turned his stomach to mush. “See? You got this.”

    He dragged a hand through his hair, cheeks flushed at her praise. “I just hope you’re right, sweetheart-”

    “Ed!” Wayne shouted from the living room. “Oven’s goin’ off!”

    "Be right back…!" Eddie jumped off the bed, shuffling down the hall toward the kitchen, and dug through the cabinets in search of mitts.

    “Everything alright in there?” Wayne called out from the couch, turning to look at his nephew over the back of the couch. “Brain’s not melted yet, is it?”

    “Everything’s hunky-dory, Dad.” he replied, pulling the tray out of the oven; his body halted mid-motion, steaming rolls in hand as he shook his head - he couldn’t help but smile at the thought that Veronica’s… unusual language was finally rubbing off on him. “We should be done soon, anyway.”

    “Y’ain’t lettin’ her take that bicycle home, are you?”

    Eddie let out an exaggerated gasp, mitted hands slamming against his chest. “And leave the delicate princess alone in the dead of night? How could I ever?”

    “Delicate, my ass.” Wayne mumbled to himself, satisfied with his nephew’s answer, taking another sip of his beer as he turned back toward the game.

    Setting the rolls onto a plate, Eddie made his way back to his bedroom, pushing open the door with his foot, not wanting to drop anything - but as he laid eyes on the bed, he paused, frozen under the open doorway.

    Veronica had fallen asleep.

    He set the plate atop his desk, his footsteps silent as he approached the bed, not wanting to wake her. She grumbled something, glasses digging into her skin as she pressed her face into his pillow, her body curled up, arms wrapped around herself for warmth. Without a second thought, he reached for his blanket, tugging it over her, ignoring the fuzziness settling in his chest at the sight of her snuggling so tightly to it, nearly disappearing beneath it. Carefully, slowly, he pulled off her glasses, frowning at the red marks they’d left behind, stopping only for a moment when she’d made a groan of protest before drifting away. He stepped back from the bed, unsure of what to do next; taking the pizza rolls with him, he left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

    “Somethin’ wrong with the rolls?” Wayne asked, catching Eddie sneaking the plate back into the kitchen, the food obviously untouched.

    Eddie shook his head, more than a bit dazed and confused. “No… uh… They’re fine, I think.”

    “You think?” Wayne lowered the sound on the television, turning to give his nephew his full attention, his eyebrow raised in question. “You didn’t try ‘em?”

    Again, Eddie shook his head, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Veronica’s not hungry.” he replied, his answer striking Wayne as uncharacteristic of her.

    “She alright?” asked the older man, shutting off the game altogether, rising from his spot on the couch.

    “S-She’s fine…!” Eddie stammered; Wayne didn’t believe him, doubly so when he’d tried walking down the hallway and was pulled back by the arm. “You don’t have to check on her.”

    “Eddie, what’s going on-”

    “She fell asleep.” His reply came so quickly, so hurriedly, that Wayne thought he’d misheard the boy.

    “She… fell asleep?”

    “In my bed.” Eddie clarified - as if his response needed clarifying.

    The older man let out a heavy sigh and dragged a hand over his bald patch, scratching at his scalp. “And did-”

    “I tucked her in.” he replied, pulling his hands from his pockets, nervously squeezing at the tips of his fingers.

    Wayne groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose, his shoulders dropping in exhaustion. “Ed, I swear to God-”

    “What was I supposed to do?” Eddie hissed, mindful of the volume of his voice, his face already beginning to burn. “She fell asleep!”

    “Wake her up!” Wayne replied, waving his arm toward the closed door of his nephew’s bedroom.

    Eddie paled, shaking his head. “What? No, I can’t!”

    “Well, she can’t sleep here!” 

    “You wake her up, then!”

    “It’s your bed, son - and she sure as Hell ain’t been tutorin’ me.” Wayne shook his head, muttering something about young folk under his breath as he walked into the kitchen, setting a few of the rolls onto a plate for himself. “It’s getting late. Poor girl needs to go home.”

    Eddie’s head snapped between his uncle’s retreating back and the hallway; he knew the man was right, and was certain that her mother would be worried about her being out so late. Still, it took every ounce of his will to march himself down the hall. So, with his lip caught between his teeth, he slipped into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

    Oblivious to the debacle that had occurred mere feet away, Veronica was still sound asleep, Eddie’s blanket clutched beneath her chin, face buried into his pillow. He moved toward the edge of the bed, taking in a deep breath, steeling his nerves as he brought his hand to her shoulder, giving her the gentlest of shakes.

    “Hey, Veronica.” he whispered, taking a half-step toward her, not realizing he’d called her by her name. “Time to wake up, sweetheart.”

    She grumbled something he couldn’t understand, and her brows furrowed together as she moved beneath his blankets. “M-Munson…?”

    “Mornin’, starshine.” His voice was softer than satin, and filled with a tenderness he - at least for the time being - chose to ignore altogether. “Time to go home. It’s way past your bedtime.”

    “But, we didn’t finish…” Her words trailed off into a yawn, and she tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, shaking her head to keep from dozing off. “My glasses…?”

    “I think I’ll be fine.” He gave her a smile, which she returned with a tired one of her own. “And, here,” he added, grabbing the pair from atop his nightstand. “I took them off for you. Didn’t look too comfy sleeping with them on.” She nodded her thanks, quiet as she slipped them back onto her face, pushing them up the bridge of her nose.

    “How long was I…?”

    Eddie looked at his watch, and gave her a shrug. “Twenty minutes, maybe? It wasn’t too long, I think.”

    “Christ, Munson - why didn’t you wake me up?”

    And his response was simply, “You were tired.”

    With an obvious reluctance, she peeled herself away from the warmth of his bed, sliding on her shoes as she followed him out into the living room; she picked up her jacket, stuffed her things back into her bag, moving at a snail’s pace compared to her usual energy.

    “Be back soon,” Eddie told his uncle as they passed by the kitchen, reaching over the counter to give the man’s hand a swat to stop him from eating what was left of the rolls.

    “‘Night, Veronica.” he called out, giving her a fatherly smile, hand raised in a wave.

    Her yawned reply of, “G’night, Uncle Wayne…” prompted a shared look between the Munsons, Eddie rolling his eyes at how the older man’s face melted at her words. Plucking his keys from the hook near the door, he led her out to his van, helped her into the passenger seat, even buckled her seatbelt, all while her head slowly began to bob. Hopping into the driver’s side, he gave the old thing a minute to warm up, the resulting silence between them… comfortable, even if she was half-asleep.

    The drive to her house was short, faster than usual because of the late hour; pulling up in front of her lawn, Eddie was quick to move to her side. As he opened the door for her, he reached over, giving her knee a light tap, the touch jolting her awake.

    “Huh…?”

    “You’re home.” he said, offering his hand to help her out - and part of him was surprised she’d taken it, holding onto him all the way to her front door. He stayed with her as she dug through her bag, mainly out of fear she’d fall over.

    “Shit…” she mumbled, shaking her bag around, face dropping into a frown.

    “What?”

    “Forgot my keys.”

    His gaze darted between her and the curtained window; he swore he could see the faintest gleam of light shining from inside. “Nobody home?” he asked, and with his mind clearly elsewhere, he reached forward, Veronica left pressed into his shoulder as his hand hovered over the doorbell. But, before he could think to press it - before she could think to stop him - the abrupt, rumbling avalanche of footsteps echoed from beyond the door, the wooden thing swinging open with so much force, Eddie thought it’d been torn asunder from its hinges.

    “Veronica…!” A woman yelled, pulling the girl in question into the house by the arm, all but crushing her in her vice-like embrace, pressing a flurry of kisses onto the top of her head. “Oh, I was gettin’ so worried when you didn’t call…!”

    Eddie couldn’t help but stare at the woman, draped in a silken lavender robe fringed in fur, the thing dragging along the ground as she swung Veronica about, bell-shaped sleeves reaching past her knees. Her mop of strawberry-blonde hair was piled high atop her head, wrapped in curlers wider than his fist, and her face was caked in some fluorescent-green goop he could only assume was a face mask.

    “Sorry, Mom…” Veronica mumbled, giving the woman a kiss on the cheek and frowning when she inadvertently tasted the mask.

    Mom?

    “And who’re you?” the woman - Veronica’s mother, apparently - asked, giving Eddie a noticeable once-over, hands settling atop her hips as her gaze upon him chilled, Veronica taking the chance to escape upstairs; Eddie’s eyes followed her silent retreat, and he swallowed against the lump of nervousness in his throat.

    “Hi, ma’am. I’m… uh…” he tries to say, wiping his palm against the side of his pants before extending it out to her. “I’m Eddie Munson. Veronica’s been tutoring me?” As he spoke, the woman’s face melted into something akin to excitement, and she shook his hand with enough gusto to throw off his balance, her cold scrutiny giving way to the brightest of smiles.

    “You’re the Munson kid? It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Her voice was high-pitched, energetic, and she didn’t let him go as she continued on, her cherry-tipped fingers still wrapped around his grip. “My name’s Lorraine - I’m Roni’s mother.” And, leaning in toward him, making quite the show of looking around to make sure her daughter was nowhere in sight, Lorraine stage-whispered, “She talks about you all the time!”

    “Mom!” Veronica shouted from upstairs, clearly having heard her.

    Eddie’s face flushed at the admission, and he cleared his throat before asking, “She… She does?”, his stomach flipping at the woman’s emphatic nodding. He shoved his hands into his pockets, taking in a deep breath before adding, “Sorry for bringing her back so late - I know she has a curfew.”

    Lorraine gave his shoulder a swat, her flouncy robe swaying with the movement. “Don’t worry about it! As long as she’s been with you, I think I can make an exception.”

    Eddie nodded in agreement, his smile finally breaking through. “Could you… uh… tell Veronica I’ll pick her up for school tomorrow? I forgot to put her bike in my van before we left.”

    Lorraine nodded, arms crossing over her chest. “Sure, honey. I’ll let her know.”

    He nodded again, his gaze moving to the empty staircase behind her before he finally turned back toward the street. “I guess I should probably go.” he said, adding quickly, “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Windsor.”

    “Get home safe, dear!” she called out to him, watching from the open door as he made his way back to his van, giving him one final wave as he pulled himself into the driver’s seat before shutting the door.

    Eddie turned on the van, giving the engine a minute or two to heat back up, his hands cupped over his mouth as tried to warm them; just as he’d moved to switch gears from P to D, he jumped at the sudden knock against his window.

    “Hey?” he asked, rolling the thing down, his voice still a bit rough from the shock of finding Veronica standing outside of his van.

    She bit at her lip, kicking her slippered foot against the front tire as she said, “Sorry for tonight.” With her head lowered, she missed his softening grin. “And thanks for the ride.”

    “Dad would’ve killed me if I’d let you leave by yourself.” he replied with a laugh, as though he’d ever have let her go alone, Wayne’s insistence be damned. “I told your mom I’d-”

    “I heard.” Veronica said quickly, cheeks still pinkened with embarrassment at what the woman had told him. “What time will you be here?”

    “Is 7:00 too early for you?”

    “I should be asking you that.”

    Eddie beamed a smile at her, shaking his head. “Right again, sweetheart - I’ll be here at 8:00.” he said, and leaned over the edge of the open window, arms folded beneath his head as he added, “A man needs his beauty sleep, y’know?”

    “You mean those dark circles don’t grow themselves?”

    “Exactly.”

    They stood in silence, their grins slipping as the conversation between them faded away, a chill blowing between them, howling through the trees.

    “You should get inside, it’s too cold to be out here in… are those rabbits?” he asked, eyes wide as he leaned over the window’s edge to look at her slippers, swallowing back a bark of laughter as her face burst red at his words.

    “They were a gift.” she gave by way of explanation, and that was that.

    Eddie pulled himself back into the van, finally pulling it out of park, his foot pressed flush against the brake. “I should probably go before Dad eats my half of the pizza rolls.”

    Veronica nodded, taking a step away from the door. Had he been any more distracted, had he taken a moment longer in buckling his seatbelt, he would have missed her parting words:

    “Goodnight, Eddie.”

    He turned to look at her, her voice echoing through his mind - it certainly hadn’t been the first time she’d said his name, but he’d never heard her say it like that. He blinked, his thoughts a confusing slurry as he somehow managed to return the sentiment.

    “...Goodnight, Veronica.” His voice was low, quiet, but she grinned all the same; she gave him a small wave as he drove off, and he watched from his rearview mirror as she walked across her lawn and back into her house, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to remember which way was home.

[monster-noises]

Too many days of my life follow this Fucking Pattern

Where i'm having a pretty good day

While i'm at Work

And then I get home and like.. either on my way homemor as soon as I Get home I am Acosted by something that shoots my anxiety theough the fucking Roof and any energy i had from the good day is Gone and i can't Do anything and it feels so unfair that i only get to feel good when i'm in the place where i can't do anything i want to do With That

Like it sucks

[daydreamerdrew]

The Hulk! (1978) #26

[leatherbookmark]

gently shakes mxtx hoping some worldbuilding falls out

[1o1percentmilk]

i love being low empathy AND low compassion and i definitely do not hate how this affects every single interaction i have with people

[timeisacephalopod]

I love the logic of American (and by cultural mingling extension Canadian) tv standards because Supernatural straight up has tons of blood, on screen violence, mutilated corpses (just ran into one on the show with no hands/feet and a rune carved into his chest) ect and this is fine. No thoughts on Morality™️ here-

Somehow the line is drawn at swearing, because that's more offensive to viewers than cannibalism, which has also been featured on the show multiple times. "Fuck" is somehow more dangerous to public consumption then two people eating each other to death, an actual plot on the show, so what the fuck kind of line to draw is that? Let them say fuck and don't be a bitch about it when they straight up murder people on the reg and it's a violent as fuck show why is there no swearing allowed??!?!? Ghostfacers made it canon that they swear and I think Americans (and by extension Canadians) need to be freed from this dipshit ass Morality Police standard when objectively there's worse content on most shows than a god damn swear.

[fairy-hub]

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: true form!sukuna, monster fucking with alpha!sukuna, A/B/O (meaning alpha, mega, and beta) no alpha and mega title used, daddy/mama, praise/teasing/mocking/praising degradation, biting, knotting, werewolf venom makes their mate go into heat to keep up like in the fic mine with werewolf toji, fucking on fur bedding, you said clan and for some reason my brain went wood bedframes and fur blankets no technology, we get candles for light, they have fangs venom and claws with sukuna have his true form extraness, double pentration, overstimulation, dacryphilia, biting, blood, pain kink, light size kink, toji is praising you while fucking you like he hates you, choking, full nelson, sukuna calls you pet twice, mind break, cream pie, fucking their cum into you. belly bulge from the amount of cum, forced orgasm, squirting

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: Requesting for clan leader! Gojo 😔🙏 gotta have that breeding kink in their somewhere!! Mans whole clan is asking for an heir right after you get married. In my mind Geto is still alive and kicking and has his own family. Gojo gets a terrible case of FOMO and ends up wanting a whole litter of kids for himself. goin at it like rabbits for DAYS.

Oreo: not this being in the drafts since September! im sorry anon! This was also giving me werewolf vibes with the word clan so one think lead to another. it gave me the chance to write the reader belly bulging with sukuna's cum so im excited about that

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

Slapping your sloppy cunt, stuffing his thick warm cum in with two fingers he bit the claws off on. Whining, twisting your hips away. Smirking down at you, crooning “Where ya going mama thought you wanted to make me a daddy?” Pulling you into place by your hips.

You want Satoru’s fingers, cock, tongue, and cum filling you up. “I do wanna make you a daddy but you're too much. Can't keep cumming, but I wanna at the same time." Hooking your leg around his waist pulling him in.

His eyes momentarily widen. Ordering in a needy plead, “Call me daddy again mama.” Sliding your hand over his broad shoulders, down his thick pecs and abs. Over countless thin and thick scars ranging from pink to white in color.

“Daddy please lemme feel you!” Sliding your hand down his hard abs, biting you lip when he purposefully flexes. Grabbing your thighs pinning you in a firm mating press. Following the short wispy whine happy trail down to his beautiful long cock.

Lining his pale cock head up with your soft lip. Stroking yourself with his cock, circling your soft clit. He's so warm, soft yet hard. His breathy moan gets you off. “But you are feeling me, what more can my mama need?” Dipping his head, sinking his sharp fangs into your tit.

Moaning, he's intoxicating, sweet, warm, and pleasurable like having him massaging your sweet spot with his fingers. Your body is getting hotter. Thick slick drips down, your cunt aching with an insatiable need for Satoru.

Flicking your soft nipple with his warm tongue. Sucking, sinking his fangs in deeper when you cry. Shifting your hips trying to slip him in, whining when Satoru pulls back. Whipping the blood from his lips with his thumb.

"What does my mama need?" Nudging your sensitive cunt with his cock, spreading his hand on your stomach pinning you still. Gliding his cock up your clit refusing to touch your clit.

Admiring how your cunt split to take his pale pink cock head. Pleading with him, "Please give me more than the tip! I need you to knot me, keep your cum deep inside my sensitive cunt, please!" Slowly giving you his head head, letting the soft ridge vanish before gliding out. Lightly tugging on your cunt.

"You sure you need more than just the tip?" Nudging in his head, leaving it there, pressing down harder when you squirm. "You said I'm too much mama, you sure ya need me to knot n’ cum in ya?"

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

"Fuckin finally I can stuff ya full of cum again." Bending you over on the soft pile of blankets. Pulling your ass in the air, squeezing when you wiggle, piercing your skin with his sharp claws. Blood trickles down trickles down your hip. Thick cum drips down your thighs.

The pain is sweet mixing with mind-numbing pleasure. It's impossible to think, you can barely process Toji grunting, “I've been wanting to breed your sweet tight cunt for months. Ya gonna be so beautiful with your tits and belly swelling mama." Gliding his softening knot out tugging on your tight cunt, his cock is harder than before.

Despite stuffing your cunt full of cum three times. Toji is getting hornier, fucking your limp body harder. Testing your limits seeing how much you can take before you break.

Stepping on your head, roughly fucking his thick cock into you. Trembling, your sensitive cunt is gushing on his cock. How can still cum after the fifth you couldn't think to count.

The thick blankets muffle your moans, “Such a messy lil cunt she’s a beautiful lil super soaker. Gonna make you cream on my cock till my knot won’t swell up anymore.” You would be convinced he hates you with the merciless way he's fucking his fat veiny cock into you. If not for Toji's words and the fresh bite on your neck.

Bent over, back arched, legs spread with your cunt stuff his heavy balls slap your clit. His swelling knot catching on your tight sensitive cunt. "Fuck mama squeeze my fat cock with your tight sloppy wet cunt. Nnn I've always thought about how hot of a milf you'd make."

Slapping your ass, squeezing your cheek. Fucking you harder, the fur blanket muffling your cries. "Your beautiful little cunt is always so tight when you're in heat." Moving his foot, your body lurches forward from the strength of thrusts. "Fuck you're so damn perfect mama takin' my cock like a slut." Grabbing your hair, yanking your back.

Your back hits his hard chest. Wrapping his hand around your neck, standing up, your legs dangle, held by your hair, neck, and his thick cock balls deep in you. "Please Daddy please daddy please!" Squeezing his thick veiny cock, he's filling you up perfectly, stroking your sweet spot.

"Since that's all my stupid little whore can moan, you don't need to breathe right? I can fuck your cunt into a gapping broken cum stuffed mess with my hands crushing your neck, right?" Grabbing your thighs, propping your calf over his thick forearm. Pinning you to his chest in a full nelson.

Squeezing your throat, groaning, "Ya gonna be a beautiful mama, gonna suck on your tits when they drip milk. Make sure they don't get too full like your pussy is 'bout to be." His swelling knot tugs on your soaking wet cunt.

𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

Gliding his thick, veiny tattooed cocks out. "It's starting to trickle out the sides." Pushing on your bulging stomach, thick cum gushing from your sore, gaping cunt. Sukuna croons, "Don't pass out on me yet pet I'm having fun playing with you." His stomach's tongue relentlessly stroking your sensitive clit. Keeping you in an intoxicating mind numb pleasurable high, boarding on almost painful.

Lining his cock up, rolling his hips, arching your back, twisting your hips away from his slow deep thrusts. "Please don't stop!" Tears roll down your cheek when he pulls your hips back into place. Lifting you off the bed, slamming you down on his thick cocks.

The tip of his sharp claws digging into your skin shouldn't feel so good.

Taunting you, "Poor little pet can't even handle me n' you're cryin' for more! Keep fighting to stay awake mama. I need ya to keep taking my cocks till they get soft." Using your hips to guide your hot tight, squelching cunt on his thick cocks. Your cunt clenches, it feels too good to be senselessly fucked into a mindless mess by Sukuna.

Biting your side and breast, your body jolts, and your cunt clenches. It's too much venom at once, forcing your sensitive cunt to squirt on his cocks. "Fuckin' messy slut soaking the whole damn bed." Gliding his hand up your side, cupping your breast biting down.

Giving that intense high of squirting, yet your cunt can only spasm, getting tighter. Your body shaking, toes curling eyes rolling back. "If you do pass out mama, I could fuck my cum into your soft beautiful cunt when you're sleeping." Smirking grabbing your neck lifting you up right.

Looking up from Sukuna's thick pecs into his beautiful face. Dark crimson eyes glowing from his rut. "It would be a pity if I couldn't see you I love seeing you cryin'. But I wonder if your sweet little cunt will grip my cocks the same." Grabbing his arm and digging your short sharp claws in.

Sukuna leans his head back groaning. "Ya feel so fuckin' good mama, seein’ ya fighting to keep going this long is makin' is exciting. I might not be able to stop until your body gives out." His massive body trembles, your soft, soakign wet tight hot cunt squeezing and squelching on his fat cocks getting him off.

Fucking you faster on his cock. Flexing his arms when you pierce his skin. Thin rivulets of blood tricking down his biceps. Sukuna hunches over to roughly kiss you slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You're utterly helpless to do anything but happily take Sukuna's thick cocks. It's perfect you don't need to think or move. Only get fucked till you can't handle anymore.

oreo creampie m.list

[hxzbinwrites]

Hey!! Saw that u were taking request <3 I was thinking that an Alestor x wife!reader being a power (but absolutely terrifying) couple would be soooo cool, like maybe they already knew each other from when they were humans, and Alestor is just 10000% a simp for his wifey lol. Hope u like it!

Alastor x Wife! Overlord! Reader | Forgiveness |

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Death, Killing, Mentions of Alastor being a Cannibal, Reader makes STUPID DECISIONS

In the Pride Ring is where all of the sinners and Overlords alike mingle. The uppermost ring of Hell and the closest to Heaven. That’s where some of the most feared and powerful beings live. Two of those entities being Alastor, the Radio Demon, and (Y/n), the Jazz Demon.

Together, they rule their districts with an iron grip. While some Overlords team up, like the Vees, Alastor and (Y/n) were the first to do it. Well, it makes sense really, especially because they were close during their respective times alive on Earth.

——————

Three gunshots were heard that fateful night. One ending a mans life by his hand, one ending the witness’s life by his hand, and one ending his by justice’s hand. No more Bayou Killer, but he took two more lives before he went. Awful, sick man. Good thing he’s in Hell now…

Alastor hissed as his back hit the pavement. His squinted eyes took in his surroundings, he was in Hell. Hmm, no shocker there. What was a shock was seeing the body next to his.

“Ugghh” They groaned, sitting upright on the pavement next to him. They locked eyes. It was (Y/n). Before Alastor could even speak, she pounced on him, pushing him back into the pavement.

“You sick son of a BITCH!! YOU KILLED ME!! SHOT ME LIKE I WAS AN ANIMAL FOR YA NEXT MEAL!!” She yelled, shaking him back and forth by gripping his collar. His collar looked identical to hers, and he tuned out her yelling, he noticed her attire. She was now wearing a black suit with red and white accents, one that looked like a reverse image of his. Except a few details weren’t the same, hers looked more feminine, but also had less harsh edges to it. She looked more elegant while he looked more harsh.

He then looked up to her face, she had red eyes and long, silky black hair, with red underneath. He looked to the top of her head and noticed two fluffy, black ears. They were currently pressed to her scalp, a clear indicator of her unhappiness at the current moment.

“AND TO THINK, AFTER ALL OF THAT BEGGIN, YOU WAS JUST DYING TO GET ME ON YOUR RADIO SHOW!! WELL LOOK AT US NOW, MR. ALASTOR. LOOK. AT. US. NOW. WHAT EVEN ARE YOU, YOU SICK FREAK. EVERYONE KNEW THE BAYOU KILLER ATE FOLKS. IF YOU WERENT SHOT, WERE YOU GONNA EAT ME?? WAS I GONNA NOT EVEN BE ABLE TO HAVE A BURIAL NEXT TO MY PA, CAUSE YOU ATE ME!? OH LORD HELP ME!!”

Alastor rolled his eyes, feeling no remorse for the doe that whined above him. (Y/n) was a famous musician in Louisiana, particularly in Jazz. Alastor had begged her to come onto his radio show, play some tunes for his devoted fans. She agreed, but that night Alastor didn’t show to the studio. She heard shouting in the woods across the street from the building, stupidly she went to investigate. She saw the oh so famous radio host, and with a bang of a shotgun the other man was dead. Probably in Heaven now. Trying to stay silent, (Y/n) tried to back away before a branch snapped, like a doe her eyes widened before she darted away, only to be shot right in the heart and drop down to the ground. She heard another shot faintly in the distance before she felt the wind brush past her as she fell.

“My dear, I apologize.” Alastor said, gently grabbing (Y/n)‘s hand. “It was never my intention to make you my target. I knew that if word got out about my….hobbies….that my reputation would be ruined. No more radio show.”

“You can apologize for the rest of eternity” She scowled, smacking his hand away before standing up,” You’re a MONSTER. Leave me ALONE. Hopefully someone down here will be nice, but I’m not taking no help from you”. (Y/n) finally walked away, leaving a very annoyed Alastor sitting there.

———————

About 20 years later

Alastor was a feared Overlord now, rising the ranks out of seemingly nowhere. Even with this newfound power and respect, (Y/n) still wanted nothing to do with him. She was famous in her own way. Music was not very abundant in Hell, and she profited off of that. She had little to no competition in the music industry. Becoming an icon of Hell, her name was in everyone’s mouth, making Alastor yesterday’s news, which irked him to no end.

‘I need her.’ Alastor initially thought,’ with someone as influential as her now, having her on my side will make my power increase tenfold.’ But after many times of asking over the years, he just yearned for her admiration. Not only to be on his side, but by his side. He didn’t know where the newfound obsession came from, but Alastor knew he wouldn’t stop until he brought her to him.

Alastor made his way to her huge studio, basically a small turf at this point. Without ever fighting, she’d managed to become a little bit of an Overlord, just not to the extent she could be called one. He made his way up to her penthouse, knowing the way by heart since this is not the first time he’s made a visit for an alliance.

“What Alastor.” (Y/n) asked, not even looking up from her sheet music she was writing.

“Hello my dear!” Alastor said,”lovely to see you again! I just miss you so much darling!”

“Miss me from what?” She said, turning around to meet his eyes,” we were aquatinted when we were alive, and then you killed me. What exactly do you miss me from?”

“I just miss seeing you.” He said in a softer tone,”Please (Y/n), you must realize that your death was an accident. I was never planning to hurt you. I was never planning to do anything to you.”

(Y/n)’s head tipped down, her ears pressed to her scalp,”but you did, Alastor. You killed me.”

“My dear….” He said, getting closer slowly, like she’d dart off at any given moment, just for him to not see her ever again. “My dear, I cannot imagine the pain you’ve gone through. I know it’s been a few years now, but that’s a few years you could’ve still been alive. Found a husband, had a better music career, just lived. I took that from you, and I’m…..I’m sorry.”

“I know Alastor.” She said, hugging him. Even though he hated when people touched him, she did not know this, so he internally decided to let this one time be the exception. “You know I can never fully forgive you….but after all of these years, I think I can at least try to have you in my life….but if you screw up ANY, I’m gonna kill you. I don’t care if you’re an Overlord or whatever the hell you’re doing, I will kill you like you killed me.”

“Hmm, fair enough” He shrugged, breaking off the hug as he sat down in the chair across from hers.

———————

Present Day

“So hold up” Angel said, looking at the two powerful Overlords,”He literally killed you and you were like, ‘oh well, I forgive you’. What the hell (Y/n)?”

(Y/n) was a true Overlord know. Once she let Alastor back into her life, he taught her the ways of toppling Overlords. She didn’t posses near the amount of power that he had, so he did the gruesome part for her. Building her musical empire (and later on having to shoo of Vox who begged her to join his up and coming ‘Television’ idea after Alastor shot him down).

“Oh I’d hardly call it forgiving.” Alastor said,”I get constantly reminded about it every day, multiple times a day. You wonder why it took us 60 years to even get engaged.”

(Y/n) just rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Alastor smirked, looking over at his wife.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? The man kept coming by begging me every week for TWENTY YEARS!! Lovesick puppy if you ask me.”

Charlie squealed, hugging onto Vaggie. “Look Vaggie! That could be us one day!!”

“I hope not” Vaggie said,” A freaky cannibalistic overlord and his delusional companion. I’m fine with staying as us.”

“No Vaggie! I meant married! Wouldn’t that be fun!! Married for a long time!! Forever!!”

While Charlie was helping Vaggie stop short circuiting, (Y/n) and Alastor just looked at one another with a knowing glance. Alastor took her hand and kissed her knuckles, smiling up at her.

“Thank you again my dear, for letting me back into your life. I’m eternally sorry for what I did.”

“I know you are Alastor, plus I’d be dead already now regardless.” (Y/n) giggled,”I still don’t know what overcame me that day. I mean, who lets someone back into their life after doing that!! I am glad I did though. It’s like you said in that apology, I have a husband, I have a huge music career, but I’m not living, technically, but it feels like it!!”

Alastor chuckled,”that’s right, my precious doe. Now, I am off to go grab lunch for the both of us! If you excuse me, I shall make a trip down to the Cannibal District, and then over to the grocery store for your food!”

———————

Word Count: 1,560