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#if that's what it takes to broadcast that fact
undressrehearsal · 2 days
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dare to fuck this up
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summary: ever since your last game of truth or dare ellie's been avoiding you and it's time for an intervention
tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs and alcohol (not used), oral (e receiving), fingering (r receiving), finger riding (r receiving), little bit of angst, afab reader, the knee thing
a/n: this took me 2 months cause i work full time and it's 10k words so. enjoy (thank u for all the love on part 1! <3) also for anyone who doesn't know the tiktok dance i mentioned i linked it. don't look under the sound you'll spend way too long watching hot women dance
part 1
You hadn't talked about it. 
You had woken up the next morning, the sun blinding you from the window that was still left open. A cold autumn breeze ruffled your curtains, pricking at your bare skin. With one foot still in a dream, you'd groaned, turning over and pulling your blanket over your head. You had burrowed your head into your pillow - it still smelled earthy, rich with cologne and the faintest smell of weed. It had made your nose wrinkle only briefly, before you had reached out, searching for the warmth of another body - but your fingers only landed on the sheets, now cool to the touch. 
You sat up with a gasp, the blanket pooling around your lap. But you had fallen asleep on top of your blankets, hadn't you? 
The comforter was laid neatly over you, the pillows on the other side of the bed propped against your headboard, unbothered. The sun was streaming through the window, filtering through your curtains and shining in splatters of light against your own bare skin. Your small room was deafeningly quiet. 
That had been three weeks ago. 
For three weeks, Ellie avoided you. You hadn't seen her when you left to take your exam that morning. By the time you got home - after classes and after your part-time job - it was dark. The door to her bedroom was firmly shut, the muffled sound of music leaking into the living room - you wanted to smile when you realized she was listening to that song you had recommended. You thought about knocking on her door; not even to talk about what happened, really, but just because she was your best friend. Instead, you ate leftover takeout - cold because you were too tired to microwave it - and went to bed. You could hear her quietly singing to the music through your flimsy wall, falling asleep listening to her voice. 
At first, you honestly thought you had dreamed it. You thought maybe you had fallen asleep, sleep deprivation and vodka drawing out this fantasy in your dreams to torment you when you woke. But when you looked in the mirror, the bruises were still there. You ran your fingertips across the one on your collarbone, pressing at the one left behind your ear; you could still feel the warmth of Ellie's mouth against your skin, her teeth grazing across your hips. The phantom feeling still sent a shiver down your spine, heat creeping in your stomach. 
Ellie was trying her best to avoid you, but she still lived with you. After three days of not speaking, you resorted to a different approach. She didn't seem to have any plan to speak with you anytime soon - certainly not about what happened - so you let your body do the talking. You began wearing primarily v-necks and tank tops - ignoring the fact that it was still fall - simply to broadcast the line of lovebites she had left, her signature written all over your skin. They had faded slightly, but the purplish bruises still blossomed along your collar. You began wearing shorts around, short enough to show the bruise on your thigh; you let the fabric sit low enough to show the one at your hip, a pretty blend of colors that made you ache. The few times you did see her - when she was scavenging for food in the kitchen or right when she got home, before she could scurry away back to her room - you could feel her eyes lingering on you, gaze like a brand against your skin, burning all the spots she had marked. 
And she would hurry back to her room, locking the door behind her. 
Fine. 
If she refused to talk about it, you thought, you'd just have to make her. 
Which is why, three weeks after your original game - three weeks after that stupid fucking night - you bought a new bottle of vodka (by the time you had found the old one, it had spilled the last of its contents into your rug. Your room still smelled of it). When you got home, Ellie’s door was shut, just as it had been every day for three weeks. You kicked off your boots, leaving them in a pile in the hall, and knocked on her door.
“Sorry, I’m busy,” she called - just as she had every day for three weeks. 
You pursed your lips and knocked again, harder. 
“I’m busy!” she called again, her voice hard. It might have stung if you didn’t know her so well.
So, you knocked again. And kept knocking, a steady, continuous rhythm that echoed against the walls. You heard Ellie curse under her breath, could hear the scrape of her chair and her footsteps, and you kept knocking. You didn’t stop - didn’t even slow - until she opened the door in a huff, your hand falling against open air. 
“What the hell are you-” 
You shoved the bottle of vodka against her chest, cutting her off. She gripped it hastily before it could shatter against the floor. 
She looked frazzled. You had seen her during several exam seasons, during harrowing projects and infuriating essays. You had seen her in the hospital, two years ago, after breaking her leg skateboarding to work. But there was something in the way her hair was disheveled, sticking up at odd angles as though she had been running her fingers through it over and over and over again. There were bags under her eyes, purplish splotches like watercolor. 
And her eyes…. Her eyes were completely shattered. 
So you hesitated - briefly, just long enough for her to see the stutter on your lips - before you said, “Truth or dare?”
And the game began. 
Ellie looked at you, staring for several moments that stretched into infinity. You wanted to grasp it, to wrap your fingers around that stretched thread of a moment and hold it there where it couldn't hurt either of you. You weren't ready to let it go. But Ellie was looking at you with those broken eyes, and before you could say or do anything - before you caved and took the bottle back, fleeing back to the safety of your own room - the thread snapped. 
Ellie shook her head - and kept shaking it, as if doing so would rid her of this… whatever this was. “No,” she murmured, avoiding your eyes as her grip around the bottle’s neck tightened. “No, I’m not doing this. I’m busy, okay? I have an exam tomorrow-”
She moved to close the door - shutting it right in your face - but you kicked your foot out to stop it. 
“When somebody asks the question,” you said, reciting the stupid little agreement you both had written out two years ago, the night you established this tradition, “you have to play the game to its conclusion; when you run out of questions or pass out from alcohol poisoning. Those are the rules, El. Remember?” 
And still, she just looked at you, her brow furrowed like you were an equation she couldn’t solve - couldn’t even read, really. Her knuckles were white around the bottle’s neck, and when you looked down, her hands were shaking. You wanted more than anything to put your hands over hers, to still them - to bring those hands to your lips and kiss the white knuckles until she released her fists. Instead, you dug your nails into your thighs. 
You watched as Ellie took a deep, steadying breath, clenching her fists tighter before releasing the tension, her fingers relaxing around the bottle; her hands stopped trembling. She smiled at you, but it was tight, her eyes empty of their usual mischief. “Alright,” she said, and her voice was just as tight as her fists had been moments ago - the tension not gone, only transferred. “Okay, I’ll play. But you only get an hour - I really do need to study.” 
Ellie’s bedroom was the same layout as yours, only flipped, the two a mirror of each other. Strings of lights hung crookedly along the walls, the bulbs casting a soft, warm glow amongst the room, the same hazy hue of a dream. An easel leaned in one corner, a canvas propped against it; there were only the barest scribbles of an outline, incomprehensible to you. You thought it may be a profile, the gentle slope of a nose and soft lips sketched in pencil, but you weren’t sure. 
You ran your fingers over her desk as you passed; it was in absolute disarray. Two different astronomy textbooks lay open, covered in highlighter markings and Ellie’s sloping writing in the margins. There were three different cups on the surface in varying levels of full: a mug half full of coffee, still steaming; a glass of water that was completely full, untouched; and a cup filled with murky, grey liquid. A few paintbrushes had been left to sit in that one, and in large writing along the cup was written PAINT DO NOT DRINK. You almost laughed, remembering all the times you had watched your roommate spit water out after she had picked up the wrong cup. 
It felt strange when you sat gingerly on her bed. You had sat in this spot so many times before, more than you could count. You had spent so much time lounging on this bed, your laptop open in front of you while Ellie worked at her desk - on homework or her latest painting or nothing at all. There were days laid out before you where you both at lain in a crumbled heap, eating takeout on top of the covers because Ellie didn't give a shit about crumbs, an open laptop playing whatever horror movie she wanted to show you (she was always more scared than you, hiding her face in your shoulder). God knows how many truth or dare games you had played in this room, a bottle of alcohol passing between shaking fingers. When Ellie bought it, it was cheap whiskey and you hated it; you drank it anyway. 
Now, sitting on her bed - carefully, as though you thought it might break - your skin felt aflame, a fire burning in your muscles. When you ran your fingers over the messy sheets, you could only remember how it had felt to have your fingers clutching the ones on your own bed. 
Ellie sat at her desk across from you, folding herself so that she had one foot propped up on the chair with her, her knee folded to her chest; her other foot tapped anxiously against the floor. She was looking at you, her face strategically neutral, but it was like she was looking through you; her eyes kept shifting away, unable or unwilling to settle on you. Her voice gave nothing away when she said, looking at a spot above your shoulder, “Dare.” 
You sighed, feeling the questions wanting to claw their way from your throat with nowhere to go. You knew what you wanted her to do - what you wanted to dare her to do - but the words would only cause her to withdraw further. You felt like you had to approach Ellie as if she were a scared animal, ready to flee at the first sight of danger. 
Wracking your brain for something mild, you said, “Try to recreate one of those dumb popular TikTok dances.” 
You didn't miss how Ellie's shoulders relaxed, her hands noticeably unclenching. She looked at you and it was almost like nothing had happened; like she hadn’t been avoiding you for three entire weeks, becoming a ghost in your apartment. Like you both hadn’t made what had obviously been a drunken mistake. 
The beginning of a smirk tugged at her lips as she dug in her back pocket for her phone - its case had an astronaut on it, because of course it did. The screen illuminated her face, flashes reflecting minutely in her eyes as she scrolled. She bit her lip absently - she often did when she was thinking. You tried not to stare and failed miserably. 
“This’ll be easy,” she muttered to herself, half laughing. She scrolled through a few videos, and she had the volume down on her phone, but you could still recognize the song that kept playing on repeat; you were going to fucking die. 
There were several minutes of quiet, only the music playing from Ellie’s phone. With nothing to do but wait, you brought your legs up onto the bed, tucking them under you; your eyes wandered around the room, taking in the stack of paintings by her desk, both finished and unfinished. The figurine she had of Kassandra from Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey had toppled on her desk, her spear falling in a glob of paint, the tip smudged bright yellow. You investigated the posters she had hung up of her favorite bands - almost all of them with female singers; she had a very specific taste. On her nightstand, in a frame made of macaroni, there was a picture of her and her dad, taken at the zoo when she was quite a bit younger, the blurry image of a giraffe in the background. She was holding up a peace sign, smiling so wide her eyes were practically shut. 
You turned back when Ellie stood up from her chair, placing her phone on her desk. Shoving her hands in her hair, she said, “Can’t promise this’ll be anything amazing, but you get what you paid for.” Even as she said it, she was smirking, a dangerous twinkle in her eye. 
You watched as she rummaged in her closet, shoving aside probably half a dozen flannels and at least 10 different band t-shirts. She rummaged through a bucket with a few beanies in different colors, and you couldn’t see her face, but you already knew she would be wrinkling her nose like she always did when she was getting frustrated. 
You jumped, startled, when she suddenly exclaimed, pulling her head from her closet and turning to you with a triumphant grin. She held a black belt in her fist, holding it up like a trophy. 
You heard the stutter, heard the way her breath caught after she said the words. It was so stupid - a stupid little remark that she would have made any other day three weeks ago. She wouldn’t have even thought about it, wouldn’t have batted an eye. You would have rolled your eyes and said something mean in response - something like, “I save my complaints for when I see your face instead.” You would have laughed and then watched a fucking movie or something. 
You shook your head at her, even as your throat closed up with anticipation. “If it took you that long to find one, it’s no wonder your pants are always hanging from your fucking ass.” 
“Hey,” she said, picking up her phone again and looking at you with mock offense; she was still smirking. “I don’t exactly hear you complaining when my ass is out.” 
Instead, Ellie only coughed awkwardly, ducking her head to fiddle with her phone. In the dim light, you could see the flush of her cheeks behind her bangs. You looked anywhere but at her, your eyes darting around to find something to focus on that wasn’t how pretty she looked when she was flushed pink - how pretty she looked with her cheeks red from alcohol and exertion, her lips shining wetly - 
Your brain short-circuited when Ellie started the music - only the bite-sized sample that was trending on TikTok. She set her phone on her desk and took a deep breath, waiting for the song to loop again as she positioned the belt by her hips. She didn’t look at you, instead casting her eyes to the ceiling and muttering, “This is gonna be so stupid.” 
When the music looped again, you were forced to watch as Ellie thrust her hips to the beat, pulling the belt slowly away from her hips. When she brought it up to wrap the piece of leather around her neck, pulling it taut, you were surely convinced you must be paying for some sort of crime, that this was your eternal torture. Her movements were janky, stuttering and unsure and off-beat - she had only watched the videos for a few minutes and was relying solely on memory to guide her limbs. When she tried to tie her wrists into the belt, she got stuck, her hands ending up in a knotted mess. Still, her eyes met yours when she raised her bound hands above her head - coincidentally or purposefully - and you couldn’t look away. 
This was definitely Hell. It had to be. 
When the song started to loop again, Ellie hastily tried to pull her hands from the knot. The belt clattered to the floor, abandoned, as she scooped her phone up, fumbling with the buttons to cut off the music. She nearly dropped her phone in her haste. 
When the room was silent again, Ellie sat back down at her desk. Last time you had played, you had asked her to do something ridiculous for her first dare, and she had grinned with pride, practically preening. Now, she wasn't smiling; she hardly even looked at you, fiddling with one of the many paintbrushes on her desk. You compartmentalized the image of her thrusting her hips with her hands bound over her head, saving it for later. You always did torture yourself with these things. 
Ellie was looking at that same spot over your shoulder when she said, “Truth or dare?” She sounded pained, her words strained against some invisible weight. It was like your very presence in her room - on her bed - pained her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave and give her relief. 
“Truth,” you said, hoping against hope that she would ask you fucking anything about that night three weeks ago. 
But she had never been that easy. Ellie had never been one to give you straight answers and she wasn’t about to start now - especially not now. So instead of saying anything - asking anything - about that night that she seemed keen on forgetting, she asked, “What’s the worst first date you’ve been on?” Before you could protest that you always told her about your worst dates, she added, “One I haven’t heard before.” 
So for the span of one question, you let yourself believe that you were still talking to your best friend. That she hadn’t been avoiding you for three fucking weeks and this was only your typical truth or dare game in between studying. You believed that you were simply gossiping with Ellie, who had been your best friend for several years and nothing more. In the space of one question, you let yourself believe that this was still only a game and not an intervention. 
So, in the spirit of pretend, you thought for a moment, rifling through the index of all the shitty dates you’ve been on. Ellie had already heard most of them, had been there whenever you came back home; she was there whether you were heartbroken or relieved that you wouldn’t see the person again. There were a few times where you had come home laughing, and she had passed you a joint as you told her all about the horrible date - you would take twice as long to tell the story because you couldn’t stop laughing. 
Finally, you said, “Okay, this was before we came to college. We weren’t close enough friends in high school for me to tell you, so I don’t think you’ve heard this one before. Stop me if I’m wrong.” She waved her hand for you to continue, twirling a pencil between her fingers. “I had just graduated high school so I was dating around before I left for college - nothing serious, just casually looking around.” 
“Window shopping,” she interrupted you with a grin - that same easy grin she always had with you. Your heart tugged embarrassingly at seeing it again. 
You swallowed the lump and continued, “Yeah. So, I went on a date with this guy - he was some friend of a friend’s, I didn’t know much about him. We went out to dinner at some local dive bar - which was already fucking weird because, like I said, I had just graduated high school.” 
“Was this guy a fucking cradle robber?” Ellie said, wrinkling her nose. 
You shook your head. “He may as well have been. He was either 21 or he was just really good friends with the bartender because as soon as he came in, he got two beers - the cheap shit, too. It tasted like musty ass.” Your stomach twisted when she laughed. “So we sit at a booth and I finally get a second to really look at him.” You leaned forward, bracing your hand on the bed so you wouldn’t fall, and made sure she was looking right at you when you said, “And this motherfucker was wearing a shirt that said Black Rifles Matter.” 
You reveled in the way Ellie’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening. Her lip turned up in disgust, and the only thing she could say was, “No.” 
You grinned, nodding, and you had to focus really hard to not start laughing. “Yes. And I rolled up to this dive bar, fresh out of the womb, with bright pink hair freshly dyed and a crop top that literally said Femme on it in bright pink letters - which, okay, maybe not the choice to wear on a first date with a straight guy, but still. I was in this booth with a baby face looking every bit as queer as I am, and this fucking dude with a patchy mustache and a shirt that has more problems than I care to admit opens up by telling me he doesn’t like when girls dye their hair.” 
Ellie was rolling her eyes, on the edge of her seat. She leaned closer as you continued, “But fine, whatever, everybody has preferences I guess. But this guy gets three beers in, and he’s already been talking about weird shit - conspiracy theories and telling me how kids today are too soft - one of those fucking guys, right? But then he stops,” you hold up your hands for emphasis, leaning even closer, “and he leans into me over the table, and he looks me straight in the eye - you wanna know what he said?” 
Ellie groaned. “Tell me he didn’t ask who you voted for or some shit.” 
You barked out a laugh; it echoed on the walls. “God, I wish. No, this bitch looks me dead in the eyes, his breath reeking of bad beer, and he says, ‘Are you on your period? I have this weird talent for smelling when girls are on their period.’” 
You watched, delighted, as Ellie slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a choked gasp. “No!” 
You couldn’t stop laughing, pressing your hand to your stomach as you fell back against the sheets. Her laugh filled the room like helium, making everything feel lighter - easier. Even now, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was being around Ellie. And for a moment, you did forget what had happened. You forgot about the string pulled taut between you waiting to snap. You forgot that this was anything more than simply another dumb game of truth or dare.
Until you looked up and saw the press of Ellie’s lips again, the way her eyes darted away, and you could feel yourself sinking again. 
And that’s how the hour went. Ellie - infuriating Ellie - did every single dare you asked of her. She did a handstand for a minute straight, her face turning so red you thought she might pass out. She called the local pizza place you often ordered from and asked for one hundred sardine pizzas, laughing when the poor teenage boy on the other line started stuttering. Last time, she didn’t take all the liquid in the fridge and make a nauseating cocktail; but this time, she did go and find four different liquids of her choosing - apple juice, almond milk, an old flat Dr. Pepper, and the remaining vinegar in a Kimchi jar - and downed it in front of you. She tried her hardest to hold a straight face, but only ended up scrunching her eyes closed, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle a gag. She never chose truth. 
For your part, you never chose dare. You answered every pressing, embarrassing question she asked, ignoring the flush to your cheeks. You told her the most absurd dealbreaker for a relationship. (“What do you mean you’ll break up with someone if they don’t like garlic?” Ellie asked, smiling even as she shook her head.”) You went through the original Wiggles band and said which you would fuck, marry, or kill (“There are four of them! Do I choose to have a threesome?”) 
And you waited. Each time you chose truth, you held your breath. You watched Ellie mull it over, her eyes darting around as she thought, and prayed that she would just ask you something. You knew it was an unrealistic wish, but you still watched her lips and hoped against hope that she would give you some kind of acknowledgement that this wasn’t all for nothing. You just wanted her to stop being such a pussy and fucking talk about what happened. 
But the clock kept ticking. 
After about an hour had passed, Ellie looked at her phone and sighed, standing up. “Okay, I really have to get back to studying. I have this dumb astrophysics exam tomorrow and I can’t wrap my fucking head around this shit, so I have to -”
“One more,” you cut her off, standing up from the bed. You followed her as she walked to the door, one step behind her when she put a hand on the doorknob. She paused, her hand frozen there as she looked at you - actually looked at you, not through you. It was only a moment, but it was there; you could feel the way her eyes had branded your skin even after she’d looked away. Your voice was rushed, breathless when you added, “We haven’t even opened the bottle, so what’s one more? Just for fun.” 
Ellie looked behind you, back at the vodka bottle on her desk with the seal still intact. She sighed, but she never could say no to you. 
“Fine,” she said, and her voice was so quiet in the dark room; the word felt like a secret between you, soft against the tension stretched thin. “One more.”
You nodded, taking a deep breath. You tried to sound casual - you really did - but when you spoke, you found you couldn’t speak any louder than a whisper, afraid to disturb the air around you. You ducked your head, trying to meet her eyes when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?” 
She looked at you, meeting your eyes, and she seemed to deflate, sighing out a breath that ruffled your hair - you hadn’t realized how close you were. Her breath smelled of canned ravioli and weed; it was almost enough to make you laugh. 
Ellie took a step back, clearing her throat, and answered for one last time, “Dare.” Because she was too afraid of the fucking truth. 
And fuck it if your heart didn’t stutter in your chest. You felt your fingertips buzzing, your stomach twisting nauseatingly. You felt like you were going to be sick, but you forced yourself to look up at her. You squared your shoulders, feeling like you were preparing for fucking battle, and said, the words familiar on your tongue, “Kiss me.” 
A moment of silence passed, the words suspended between you. They were tangible, and part of you still wanted to snatch them back - to swallow them and leave, to pretend this never happened - but you didn’t. You held them out to Ellie - you weren’t sure if they were a threat or an offering. 
Ellie didn’t recoil, and you weren’t sure if that was more insulting. She looked at you for a long moment before turning away, shaking her head and turning the doorknob. “I really need to study, okay? I don’t have time for thi-” 
You put your hand against the door, holding it there so she couldn’t open it. Your stomach was a mess, tying itself into knots that you would never be able to undo. And you knew - you were far too aware - that this could ruin everything. It could drive her further away, pushing her further into this little cocoon she was hiding in. Ellie might hate you for it. 
But this was too important to ignore. 
“Kiss me, Ellie,” you said again, and you could feel the bite of it on your own tongue. When you had said it three weeks ago, you had been so unsure. It had been a rush of words on a breath, tinged with alcohol and desperation. The words had been so careless, a sober idea that had made its way from your drunken mouth. 
Now, Ellie was the one who couldn’t look at you. She stared at the spot where your hand pressed to the door, willing you to let go. Her knuckles were white around the doorknob. Her voice was a rumble that you felt in your chest when she said, “I need you to leave. Please.” That last word - please - made your heart break. 
You swallowed around the lump in your throat and said, “No.” 
Ellie finally turned her whole body towards you, but she was wearing a mask; she had schooled her face into a mockery of nonchalance, her eyebrows raised expectantly as she watched you. She crossed her arms, leaning against her hip, and watched you with measured expectancy, shaking her head. She shrugged and said, “What do you want? I really need to study.” 
And it was the lack of care that broke you. 
You slapped your hand against the door in frustration, feeling the sting in your palm, disappointed when Ellie didn’t so much as jump. You shook your head at her, and you were so fucking angry you could feel tears stinging at your eyes. You blinked them away and snapped, “What’s your fucking problem?” 
Ellie’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth opening in indignant shock. “What’s my problem?” 
“Yeah,” you cut her off before she could even continue. “What’s your fucking problem? You know what happened - what we did - but ever since that night you have been so determined to act like it never happened. You haven’t even talked to me in three fucking week, Ellie!” She closed her eyes when your voice broke on her name. “You’ve hardly looked at me all night. And look,” you sniffled, feeling some of the fire in you die down, “if you regret it - if you want to act like it never happened and go back to how things were before, I get it, okay? But can you at least have the balls to fucking tell me?” 
Your voice echoed off the silent walls, filling the space between you until you couldn’t breathe. You wiped a hand roughly over your face; your cheeks burned and you hated yourself for it. The room was so quiet you feared Ellie could hear the sound of your racing heart. 
It felt like hours before Ellie spoke; her voice was so heartbreakingly quiet, tip toeing on eggshells that were already broken. “I don’t regret it.” 
You huffed out a breath, shaking your head as she still wouldn’t meet your eyes. She couldn’t even look at you. When you took a step closer, you could feel the heat radiating off of her body, could feel the warmth in your chest. Your voice had lost its fire, your throat cold and raw and broken. You could only murmur, “Then kiss me again, Els. What are you so afraid of?” 
“You,” she snapped. You jumped, taking a step back; your heart lurched when she finally looked at you. Those shattered eyes were watching you, so open and vulnerable you wanted to look away. You forced yourself to watch, to bear witness to it when she shook her head, blinking tears from her eyes. Ellie pressed her lips together, blinking several times before releasing her held breath. She held your gaze like it was a lifeline and said, “I’m scared of you.” 
And just for a moment - so filled with silence it might pop - you saw it. You saw how Ellie had run from you like an injured animal, hiding away. You saw the way her hands shook around her biceps. You saw the way she bit her lip to keep it from quivering. 
You shook your head, feeling so incredibly small underneath those eyes that had avoided you all night; now they were vividly, overwhelmingly focused, broken in the hazy light and so green it was dizzying (and you couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol this time). You didn’t recognize your own voice, so small and vulnerable that the words themselves ached: “How can I fix this, Els? You want me to-” You huffed out a heavy breath, choking on your own voice. “Do you want me to act like it didn’t happen? Do you want me to leave you alone? I’ll do whatever you want, Ellie, I just… fuck. I just want my best friend back. So just… tell me what I did wrong.” 
You jumped when Ellie barked out a laugh, so dry it cracked. It may have been a trick of the light, the soft string lights making everything feel unreal, but when she looked at you again, she went impossibly soft. 
“You,” she said, so softly it ached, “haven't done anything wrong.” She sighed, leaning back against the wall; it was like all the fight suddenly drained from her, her shoulders sagging against the weight of three weeks. She looked away, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks, and said, quiet as a confession, “You were drunk.” 
You furrowed your brow, shaking your head. “What?” 
Ellie ran a hand through her hair, making it even more disheveled. Pathetically, you wanted to fix it; you knew how soft the strands would be under your fingers. 
“You were drunk,” she repeated, as though it pained her; as though it explained everything. Her voice broke, the shattered pieces falling at your feet. “And I…. Fuck, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I shouldn’t have… forced myself on you.” She heaved in a shaky breath, her words tumbling from her, broken glass cutting her throat, leaving it raw. “I couldn’t even… wait for you to wake up after. I just fucking ran - I couldn’t even look at you, and that’s even shittier! And for three weeks, I’ve been trying to figure out how to fucking talk to you when I know that we - that I shouldn’t have done that.” 
Ellie pressed her hand to her mouth, taking in a shaking breath - her entire body was trembling as she fought to hold it all in. She looked ready to burst, struggling to take in a deep breath. You reached out to grab her hand - to hold her together - but she flinched away. 
“I don’t-” you started, unable to find the words. You watched your best friend dissolve, and you couldn’t seem to fit all her pieces back together. “Ellie… Els, are you saying you’re avoiding me because - because you thought you took advantage of me.” The words tasted ridiculous on your tongue, a foreign object.
Ellie was shaking her head wildly, her hands balled into fists. “You were drunk!” she repeated, like a mantra. She pressed a hand to her chest as though to keep everything in. “You were drunk, and you kept telling me no, and I just… pushed. I pushed and I didn’t know when to stop and, fuck, I still can’t believe I did that and I didn’t even have the fucking balls to face you or even tell you I’m sorry, and-” 
“Ellie.” You reached out and grabbed her wrist, cutting off her rambling; she flinched again but didn’t pull away. She looked up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable and so impossibly green. “For one, do I need to remind you we were both drunk. And that I was the one who told you to kiss me?”
She watched you carefully, guarded; her bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss it again more than anything. She took in a deep, shaky breath, ignoring the tears running down her cheeks; they mixed with her freckles like watercolor. “You kept telling me to stop - to leave it alone. And I didn’t listen.” 
“Els, I told you to stop because I was scared,” you admitted in a rush. Before she could respond, you continued, “Not of you. I was scared of how badly I wanted you, okay? And that’s fucking embarrassing to admit, but I’m saying it so you know it wasn’t your fault. I was scared because… fuck.” You scrubbed a hand over your face, feeling tears on your own cheeks. “Because you’re my best friend. And I knew that, as much as I wanted it, it could fuck everything up. But I didn’t want you to stop.” 
She shook her head. Her voice was raw when she said, “You couldn’t fuck anything up. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 
“Neither did you,” you practically shouted. “Ellie, I asked you to kiss me! Yeah, I had a few shots that night, but I knew what I was doing. You asked me how long I’ve wanted it - what did I say, Els? Tell me.” 
Ellie looked up at you, her cheeks splotchy from crying; she let you slip your hand into hers anyway. “A long fucking time.” It was no more than a whisper. 
Ellie watched you, studying you like you were an equation she couldn’t figure out (she really needed to study for that astrophysics exam). She pursed her lips, nodding slowly, rubbing roughly at her damp cheeks. “Yeah.” Her voice broke again; she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Me too.” 
“Yeah,” you said, gripping her hand to keep her grounded. “Not just when I was drunk. Not just when it was late. And definitely not just when you wanted it too. I’ve wanted you for a long fucking time, Els.” 
You took a step towards her; her body was so warm it was dizzying. You could hear her breath catch when you reached up and pressed your palm to her cheek. 
“What do we do now?” 
When she sighed, you could feel it on your lips. You felt the warmth of her hand at your waist, a steady anchor. “Like you said,” she murmured, her gaze soft; she reached up to brush your hair from your face, her fingers grazing the side of your neck. “This could fuck everything up.” 
Your heart lurched; you swallowed it back down so it could throw a fit right next to your twisted stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered, afraid to break the spell that made Ellie’s eyes watch the way your lips moved, captivated. “But….” 
“But,” Ellie repeated, leaning in so her nose brushed against yours; it was cold against your skin. 
You hardly had to move to kiss her, tilting your chin up to finally kiss that pouty bottom lip you had been staring at. You heard her breath catch again, her fingers pressing at your waist, drawing you closer so the warmth of her pressed against you. After three fucking weeks, you hadn’t forgotten how her lips felt against yours. It was just as intoxicating as it had been the first time; you were dizzy with the way she moved her mouth against yours, warmth spreading through your chest. 
Ellie broke away from you, but she didn’t stray far; she pressed her forehead to yours, and you could see that her eyes were still closed, her brow furrowed. She sounded impossibly small when she said, “Are you sure about this? I mean, what-”
“Ellie,” you interrupted; you twisted your fingers into her short hair and tugged lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from her lips. “Just shut up for once, okay?” 
You hardly even heard her replied Okay before her mouth was on yours again. Last time she had kissed you, you had felt lightheaded, floating with the weight of alcohol in your veins. Each press of her hands on you had felt unreal and distant, like she was touching you in a dream. 
Tonight, the vodka bottle sat unopened and forgotten on her desk, and Ellie was pressing against you with a sharp realness that made your breath stutter in your throat. When her fingers ran along your jaw, cupping your face and tugging you closer, they were lightning against your skin. She had the welcoming warmth of a bonfire, and you were like a fucking moth drawn to her. 
Ellie took a hesitant step forward, pressing you back, moving so slowly as though she thought you’d push her away. You let her push you backwards - encouraged her, really, entwining your arms around her neck and tugging her with you. You stumbled on the last few steps, practically falling back against the wall; Ellie braced her hands on either side of you to keep herself up, laughing into your mouth. You wanted to swallow the sound, to take it into your chest where it could curl up right next to your heart. 
The wall was cold against your back, but Ellie was quick to chase it away; her warm hands ran up your back, rucking up your shirt and scratching her nails lightly over your skin until you shivered. She was so gentle with you this time, running her fingers over your skin with such careful deliberation, as though each kiss and each caress was meticulously planned out. 
It was with this painstaking consideration that she lifted your shirt, pooling it around your chest; you raised your arms so she could pull it over your head. 
Ellie snickered, snapping the strap of your bra against your skin. “This is new.” 
“Shut the fuck up,” you said, batting her hand away. It was one of your nicer ones, and you couldn't tell her that, embarrassingly, you had worn it on purpose with the hopeless thought of just in case. “Sorry I’m not in my pajamas. I’ll be sure to fix that next time.” 
She grinned, ducking her head to press a kiss to your jaw. She hummed against your skin, “No, I like it.” 
You didn’t talk about the implication of what you had said - next time. But the way she kissed her way across your jaw, her teeth grazing over your skin and sending a shiver down your spine, promised a next time. As Ellie’s tongue darted out to lick along your pulse, you could feel the words in the breathy sigh that escaped your lips. When she ducked her head to bite at your collar, she branded the words into your skin. 
“You’re such an asshole,” she said, her laughter warm against your skin. She pressed a gentle kiss to your collarbone; the bruise had long faded, but the phantom ache was still there.  You could feel her smile when your breath hitched. “Just had these on full display. Drove me insane.” 
You huffed out a laugh that stuttered when she pressed a kiss at the edge of your bra. “I had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I?” 
Ellie lifted her head to meet your eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper, her breath brushing your lips when she said, “You’re crazy if you think you’ve ever not had my attention.” 
When she kissed you again, it was with a new fire that burned bright in your chest. Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer so that you could feel her body against every inch of you. Her fingers dipped below the waist of your pants, pressing at the soft skin there. You felt her tongue press against your lips; when she ran it along the room of your mouth, she swallowed your moan. 
Ellie hummed against your lips, pressing you firmly into the wall and shoving a knee between your legs. You gasped at the sudden friction, heat pooling in your stomach when Ellie gripped your hips and pulled you closer, grinding against her sweatpants-covered leg. Her lips brushed against your ear and she murmured, “Tell me to stop and I'll stop.” 
She had said those same words last time, pressed drunkenly into your skin. There was an affirmation hidden somewhere underneath: Do you still want me? Before, they had been slurred, like a sloppy kiss against your lips. Now, her hands steady against your hips, her body warm from something other than vodka, it was whispered like a promise. 
You answered by pressing your hands to her chest; she didn’t fight you as you pushed her away, didn’t hesitate as you walked her backwards until the back of her knees hit her bed. She let herself fall backwards, but she wrapped her arms around your waist as she did so. You fell into a crumpled heap on top of her, knocking the air from both of your lungs, and you could feel her laughter against your neck. 
Lifting yourself up on your elbows, you glared down at her; she only answered it with a grin, lifting herself just enough to kiss you briefly. You couldn’t suppress your own smile when you said, “You’re infuriating.” 
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. She hooked her fingers in your belt loops and gave them a tug as she said, “Yeah, get used to that.” 
You kissed her again to hide your smile. You didn’t talk about the inclination of that either. 
Growing impatient, you swung your legs on either side of her, sitting up and straddling her hips. Ellie’s hands ran up your sides, captivated, as though refusing to keep her hands off you for even a moment. You idly ran your fingers over her stomach where her hoodie had risen up, the warm skin right above her sweatpants; you delighted in the way she shivered at your touch. 
“This doesn’t seem fair,” you hummed, running your hand higher up her abdomen, revealing the expanse of soft skin; if you pressed just a little bit harder, you’d be able to feel the muscles beneath. You smiled when you heard her breath stutter, chest rising just slightly to meet your touch. “You’re wearing way too many clothes.” 
Ellie - ever enthusiastic - wasted no time in sitting up just enough to tug her hoodie over her head, leaving her hair an absolute mess. She tossed it across the room; you thought you heard it knock something over, but you didn’t have a chance to look before Ellie was grabbing your hips, digging her fingers into the soft skin. You gasped when she used the leverage to pull your hips down, grinding against her. 
This time, she was the one not wearing a bra - she had been home studying all day, so you hadn’t expected otherwise - and your eyes raked over miles of fair, warm skin. You wanted to run your fingers over it and watch the shiver your touch pulled from her. You wanted to press your lips to every inch of hot skin and feel the way her body arched into you, chasing your tongue. 
But she was watching you with an intoxicating shade of anticipation in her half-lidded eyes. You realized you had been staring for a few seconds too long because she had that cocky ass grin on her stupid face. 
“Like what you see?” she teased, pulling your hips down again so you had to bite down a moan. 
“Shut the fuck up,” you mumbled. You couldn’t tell her how many times you had imagined what she would look like under your hands or how you had always wondered how far down her freckles went (you couldn’t keep yourself from running your fingers down her chest, tracing them like constellations). You couldn’t tell her how your eyes had tracked her anytime she walked around the apartment in a sports bra or, sometimes, in only a towel, your imagination running away from you. 
If you told her, she’d never let you live it down.
Instead, you let your hands drift across the small swell of her chest, feeling the way her body arched into your fingers. You had to bite back a grin when your thumb brushed over her nipple, feeling her body shudder beneath you. You wanted to record the way her breath caught in her throat to listen to over and over again. Her eyelids fluttered, her lip caught between her teeth; you knelt down to kiss her, hard and deep, smiling into it when you pinched her nipple gently and she moaned against your lips, fingers tightening around your hips. 
You needed to taste her, you realized. Your mouth watered with it. 
You bit her bottom lip between your teeth, grinning when you heard her hiss. You took a moment to kiss your way across her jaw and down her neck, open-mouthed kisses pulling sighs from her lips. You couldn’t resist sucking the skin into your mouth, feeling the way her pulse jumped under your tongue and loving the moan that rumbled in her throat, her fingers gripping your hips so tightly you were sure you'd have bruises - again. But when you pulled away and saw the red beginnings of a bruise on her pale skin, a thrill ran through you. She would have to walk around with a physical reminder of how you had made her feel. 
You loved revenge. 
But you weren’t like Ellie, who had taken her sweet time in unraveling you. You didn’t have that kind of patience - certainly not now, not tonight. You had spent far too long holding yourself back - too long averting your gaze, never letting your touch linger. You had spent so long schooling your own imagination, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered whenever Ellie wandered too close. You had spent too many nights letting your mind wander, only feeling safe to let your imagination run when you could hide in the dark; you had spent far too many nights with your hand between your legs and the fleeting image of green eyes and that crooked fucking smile. 
So no, you didn’t have any patience left in you.
When you reached between your bodies and pressed your palm to her sweatpants, you swallowed her moan, drinking it in and feeling like you could survive on it alone. Maybe it would finally satiate your fucking thirst. 
Kissing your way down her chest, you pressed the words into her skin - “I can't fucking believe you though I didn’t want this.” - before pressing the flat of your tongue to her nipple. You could get drunk on the breathy moan that dripped from her lips, the way she arched up into you like her body ached to be closer to yours. She pressed her hips into your palm and you could feel the heat through her sweatpants. 
When you pulled back just enough to tug at her sweatpants, Ellie started laughing, breathy and hitched as she said, “Little eager, aren’t you?” Even as she said it, she was lifting her hips, pushing hastily at her pants to get them off faster. 
The fabric was damp when it dropped to the floor, pooling around her ankles. Stepping off the bed, you placed your hands on her knees, pushing them apart. You dropped to your knees and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the skin above her boxers. Her skin was hot under your tongue when you said, “Haven’t I waited long enough, Els?” 
Ellie only responded with a moan as you sunk your teeth into the soft flesh of her thigh and pressed the heel of your palm to her underwear. You grinned against her skin when she cursed, grinding down into you. You soothed the bite with your tongue and backed away to admire the red beginnings of another bruise. 
Ellie groaned, twisting her fingers in the sheets when you ground your palm into her. “Fuck, I’ve waited long enough too, right?” 
You couldn’t hold back your grin, tugging at her boxers so she would lift her hips. With her underwear around her ankles, Ellie lifted herself up on her elbows so she could look down at you. Whatever she saw - you on your knees between her legs, lips parted so your hot breath fanned over her - made her groan, another breathy curse falling from her lips. She reached down and carded her fingers through your hair, fingers soft against your temple. 
You smiled, blinking coyly up at her, and said, “Little eager, aren’t you?” before pressing the flat of your tongue to her clit. 
The moan that wracked through Ellie’s chest sent warmth spreading through your stomach, an ache pooling between your legs. You raised your eyes to watch her as you licked a slow, painstaking stripe over her slit, watching the way her mouth fell open in a choked gasp. The metallic taste of her on your tongue made your head spin; you moaned when she twisted her fingers in your hair, delicious pain stinging your scalp when she tugged. 
Ellie gasped your name like it was a promise. “Fuck - what the fuck -” Nonsensical words dripped from her lips with abandon, sweet as honey to your ears. When you ducked your head down to press your tongue inside her, a brief, hot pressure, her fingers tightened in your hair, her voice hitching when she cursed again, her words slurring together. 
You wrapped one arm around her thigh, feeling the muscle trembling as you pressed your fingers into the soft flesh. You ran your other hand up her stomach, feeling the way her breath quickened in the rise and fall of her chest. Stretching further, you flicked your thumb over her nipple and tightened your arm around her thigh when her hips bucked, holding her in place. 
You wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking it into your mouth and fighting back a smile at the keening whine it pulled from her. Her fist in your hair tugged you closer, guiding you exactly where she wanted you - and how could you resist her when she was chanting your name like a prayer? 
A shudder wracked through Ellie’s body when you flicked your tongue over her clit, lapping at her like you were starving. (After waiting so long to taste her, you might as well have been.) She groaned when you pinched her nipple between your fingers, her thighs clamping around your ears. Her legs shook when she came, your name on her tongue as though it were the only word she knew. You coaxed her through it, the flat of your tongue licking over her clit until she was gasping for breath, her hips slumping back against the bed. 
You peppered kisses over her thighs as she came down, your hand brushing across her stomach in soothing circles. Your knees ached from the cold floor, the carpet burning against your skin, but you couldn’t convince yourself to move just yet. When you glanced up at her, Ellie was looking down at you with glassy eyes; she had slumped back a little against her elbows, her limbs jelly - you tried not to let that go to your head - but she held out a hand to you, grasping for you. “Fuck, come here.” 
You both took the time to finally scoot further up the bed, Ellie's head propped on her pillow, her hair a messy halo around her. She pulled you on top of her, bracing her hands on your hips as you straddled one of her legs. When you leaned down, she tilted her chin up to meet you, kissing you lazily, licking into your mouth like she had all the time in the world - like she could kiss you forever and it still wouldn't be enough. With your elbows braced on either side of her head, it felt like you were both in a small bubble, the world left outside to wait for you. Fuck, maybe you did have all the time in the world. 
You gasped when Ellie raised her leg, pressing it between your thighs with an intoxicating pressure. She used her hands on your hips to push you down, guiding you as you grinded down against her. She broke away from the kiss, taking a moment to just look at you. Her pupils were blown, swallowing the green entirely. 
She grinned, endearingly lopsided, and murmured, “Now you're wearing too many clothes.” You whined a protest when she took her hands off your hips, but she only reached behind you to fumble with the clasp of your bra. It took her a few tries - you bit back a laugh when she cursed in frustration - and she threw it across the room when she finally got off. 
“Who the fuck designed those things?” she grumbled, fingers quick on the button on your jeans. 
You got off of her for only a moment, just long enough to kick your jeans and underwear off, but each second her skin wasn't on yours was agony. Your clothes hadn’t even fallen to the floor before Ellie was pulling you back in by the nape of your neck, her other hand guiding your hips back over her leg as she kissed you with a hunger that may as well have devoured you. You hissed when her teeth sunk into your lip, her tongue soothing over it before licking into your mouth. 
Your breath caught on a broken moan when she pressed her thumb into the dips of your hips, pressing you back to grind against her leg. The feeling of your bare pussy sliding against her thigh made you lightheaded, the dizzying pressure sending sparks through your stomach. Ellie's fingers still on the back of your head twisted in your hair, giving it an experimental tug; you felt her smile against your lips when you whined. You were pliable under her hands, your hips stuttering against her leg. 
Ellie pulled away, pulling you back by your hair just far enough away for her to look at you; her eyes raked over your body with a hunger that set you nerves on fire, looking ready to devour you. 
“God, look at you,” she breathed, raising her leg just slightly, the added pressure making your heart stop. Releasing your hair, her hand ran down your side, sliding across your chest. You moaned when her thumb grazed over your nipple, your hips stuttering; her other hand on your hip tightened, fingers digging into the bone. “So fucking wet for me and I've hardly even touched you.” 
“Shit,” you cursed when Ellie bucked her hips, her thigh grinding into you. You tried to glare down at her even though you knew your own traitorous eyes betrayed your growing desperation. Her cocky smile didn’t quite land, its impact softened by the way she watched your lips in fascination, her pupils blown - you couldn’t see the green anymore. Your voice wasn’t nearly as hard as you wanted it to be, your want softening the words: “Fuck off, Els, don’t be a dick.” 
“Am I being a dick?” she asked in mock offense, pouting up at you. “Good things come and all that shit, right?” Ever as she was teasing you, Ellie’s hand crept down your stomach, fingers warm against your hungry skin. She lowered her leg just enough to slide her hand between your thighs. You gasped, feeling lightning in your veins when those calloused fingers slid over your clit, already wet with want. Her eyes darkened, her lips parting. She slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into her, and said, “Fuck, look at you. God, I finally get to see you like this….” 
You struggled to speak past the breathy moans beginning to drip from your lips: “Finally? How - ah - fuck - how long - how long have you…?” You couldn’t think of a way to finish that sentence, your thoughts clouding over when Ellie dipped just the tips of her fingers briefly inside you, gathering your wetness. 
“Like you said,” she murmured, finally pushing two fingers slowly inside you; even as she kept talking, she watched your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, “a long fucking time.” 
Your jaw went slack when she curled her fingers, gasping when she found that spot that made you see stars. She paused, as though giving you a moment to adjust, unaware of just how many times you had done this with your own fingers. 
“Shit, Ellie,” you moaned, canting your hips down into her hand. She adjusted her arm, positioning herself so that the heel of her hand pressed to your clit, pulling another breathy moan from your lips. Her other hand was still on your hip; she pushed you back, guiding you to grind on her fingers. “Ah - fuck.” 
She watched you carefully, fascinated by the way your eyes rolled back in your head, your brow furrowed; you felt her own wetness on your thigh again. Her voice was so fucking breathy when she said, “How long have you wanted this, baby?” She hummed; releasing your hip, she ran her hand up your side to knead at your tit, her fingers so careful against you. You groaned low in your throat when she flicked her thumb over your nipple. “How many times have you come thinking of me? Did you imagine my fingers inside you, angel? Did you moan my name?” 
You couldn’t even think of a snarky response; you were too distracted by the way her fingers curled inside you as you fucked yourself against her. Her rough palm slid deliciously against your clit, grinding into her with a growing desperation that made your thighs shake. Your shoulders ached from holding yourself over her but it was only an afterthought as you felt a tight warmth building in your stomach. You leaned down just enough to kiss her, moaning into her mouth when words failed you. 
“Fuck, look at you,” Ellie repeated, groaning when your hips stuttered. You were lightheaded, fucking yourself desperately on her fingers, grinding down against her palm and chasing that intoxicating warmth spreading inside. “So fucking pretty for me.” 
She kissed you as you came, licking into your mouth and tasting herself on your tongue. You pressed your clit down into the heel of her hand, riding it out, feeling the way that warmth spread down to your fingers. Ellie broke away from the kiss to trail her lips down your neck, leaving wet kisses along your skin and saving every broken moan that was gasped right into her ear. 
Ellie didn’t move as you came down, letting you ride out your high, tracing gentle circles down your side. You slumped against her, your arms giving out; your weight landing on her forced all the air from her lungs. She only laughed breathlessly. 
It was several long moments before you were able to move again. Ellie ran her fingers through your hair as you gasped into her neck; she hummed absently and you could feel the vibration against your lips. 
When you were able to, you slowly lifted yourself off of her, wincing slightly at the sudden emptiness. With gentle hands, she guided you back down to lay beside her; you curled up against her without waiting for her invitation, resting a hand on her bare chest so you could feel the steady pounding of her heart. 
Ellie didn’t wait for invitation either before she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer; she was blissfully warm against the suddenly cold air. Something tugged pleasantly at your chest at the realization that you would no longer have to monitor your own movements so carefully - you could touch her, you realized, any time you wanted now. God, how were you going to ever stop now? 
Without anything else to say, you sighed against her skin: “A long fucking time.” 
Ellie hummed, giggling at your delayed answer. The fairy lights on her walls cast the room in a warm glow; with the hazy lights around you, you would almost believe this was a dream if Ellie wasn’t so solid and warm beneath your fingers. You traced the freckles across her chest, connecting constellations you had seen her chart before. 
Her voice was so quiet in the small room when she asked, “What do we do now?” 
You hummed, feeling sleep winning the war inside you. “We can figure that out tomorrow,” you said, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. Tilting your head, you leaned up just enough to kiss her, warm and deep and breathless, before moving away to meet her eyes. “Just don’t fucking run off again, okay?” 
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Gambling With Souls (Alastor x GN!Reader)
Summary: You made a deal with Husk a long time ago, and ended up paying a lot more than you bargained for. Now you worked in one of his casinos, waiting on him and the people he gambled with hand and foot. One day Husk is challenged to a game by another Overlord, one with red eyes and a sharp ever-present smile…and, despite everything, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. What happens when the two of them start gambling with souls…and yours is thrown into the betting pool? Disclaimer: Husk is going to act pretty different than he does in the show and, yes, he's not going to be very nice to you---this is not me demonizing him. He's an Overlord, he's gonna act like one.
Tags: Alastor x GN!Reader, No Use of (Y/N), I only know Texas Hold ‘Em so that’s what we’re going with, One-sided Husk x GN!Reader (maybe, idk, it's up to your interpretation) TW: Abuse, Alcohol, Groping Word Count: 3.3k Read it on Ao3 <3
The moment you'd agreed to gamble with Husk, your life had ended.
You were a strong demon, not an Overlord---considering you hadn't owned any souls---but still not someone to mess with. Still, it was an incredibly stupid idea to gamble with an Overlord like him, especially since he was known for his proficiency in such things. You didn't remember what exactly had possessed you to think you could possibly win, but it didn't really matter now, did it?
He'd challenged you, and you had accepted.
You lost.
And now your soul was his to do with as he pleased.
Of all the demons who owned souls, Husk was considered by far the worst. He was a gambler and a drunk. He won hands, yes, but he also lost them---and it wasn't exactly uncommon for him to bet the souls he owned in lieu of money. Especially against other Overlords.
You could be working for him in one of his casinos as a dealer and in the span of one hand you were suddenly being dragged to the Vee district and forced to work as a porn star for Valentino, subject to his abuse and the abuse of your "co-stars," only to see your pain broadcasted across Hell to get people off.
Or to the Carmine district to work in a factory, building weapons that would probably kill you one day and dealing with the effects of the toxic gas and physical labor, slowly decaying over time.
Or to the district owned by Zestial...no one knew what happened to the souls he owned, and you sure as hell didn't want to find out.
Oddly enough, though, Husk seemed to take a liking to you. He always had you work at his personal gambling table---serving drinks, food, or rigging the game in his favor when he was in particularly deep shit and didn't want to lose.
And he never bet your soul.
Ever.
Sometimes he would bet you doing certain...activities, sometimes he would bet your time, sometimes he would bet a kiss, but never your soul.
Sometimes you were grateful for it, for the security it brought and the routine---you were rarely ever caught off guard when it came to Husk. Grateful for the knowledge that, hey, at least you would never be traded off to someone worse.
Other times, however, you hated it. Hated that he treated you like his prized show pony, hated that he was willing to pass you around but never loosen the chain on your neck, hated the fact that there was no escape...
...at least, there was no escape, until Husk gambled with him.
----------
It was never a good thing when Husk called you over to his table, so when one of the girls you worked with waved you down and directed you over to him---right before the end of your shift, I might add---you were...less than thrilled, let's say.
It had already been a hard enough day. It was like every jackass in Hell had decided to all get assigned to your tables at once---being loud and unruly, smacking your ass, spilling drinks, causing trouble---and, of course, none of your coworkers were any help. Your feet were killing you from all of the moving around, a customer had spilled a drink on you so now your uniform was more uncomfortable than usual, and you could definitely feel a migraine coming on.
The last thing you wanted to do was stay however many hours past your scheduled time just to plaster on a fake smile and be Husk's plaything. All you wanted was to go home and go to sleep, but the universe apparently hated you.
Fuck your life.
As you approached Husk's table, your attention was immediately drawn to the man sitting across from him. He was noticeably taller than Husk, even without the antlers atop his head---joined by a pair of red and black ears that matched the rest of his hair. He was dressed in a red suit and tailcoat that seemed to be 1930's in style, and a staff in the shape of a vintage microphone rested right next to him.
What was most eye-catching about him, though, was his smile.
Husk was an irritating man, that's just what he was like. He was arrogant without the sense to hide it, too certain of his own success every time he played a game, a hefty shit talker, usually drunk, and irritable and rude when he wasn't. Half of your job was often playing nice to soothe his opponents, trying to keep him out of trouble. Like I said, he was an irritating man.
And yet, even though it was obvious that Husk was getting on this man's last nerve, his smile never faltered. It was...unsettling, to say the least. Oddly enough, though, you found your interest in the man piquing---he didn't look like the type to gamble, after all, so what was he doing here?
As soon as you made it to the table, you plastered on a smile of your own and greeted them, mentally preparing yourself so that you didn't try to throttle one or both of them.
"Hello gentleman," you said, voice falsely bright and cheerful, "will I be dealing for you today or grabbing some drinks?"
Husk turned to you, grinning cockily and...oddly not drunk. Not sober, of course, but clearly more sober than you'd ever seen him before.
"Dealin' for us today, sweetheart," he said, smooth and low---almost flirty. You mentally shuddered.
Despite your distaste, you nodded and made your way to the middle of the table, going ahead and opening a fresh deck of cards before shuffling them---waiting for Husk to tell you which game they were going to play, and therefore what you'd be dealing out.
He turned to his opponent, "now, what game 're we playin'?"
"Your choice," the man replied, his voice overlaid by sharp radio static.
Husk laughed, and part of you wondered if this stranger had a death wish. Didn't he know who Husk was? Didn't he know what a terrible idea it was to give him, not only the advantage of playing in one of his casinos and choosing the dealer, but also the advantage of choosing the game?
What was he playing at?
Never one to pass up an opportunity to gain the upper hand, Husk---grinning---told you the game he wanted to play, and you began dealing out the cards. Quickly, the stranger recognized it.
"Ah, Texas Hold Em', hm?" He hummed, static crackling slightly in an almost-laugh, "a classic! What made you choose such a game?"
"I just figured a basic game like this would be easy enough for you to keep up with," Husk replied, the little insult sliding smoothly off his tongue. The stranger's eyes narrowed and you cringed, mentally praying to whatever god would listen that he wouldn't take his anger at Husk out on you, as was all too common among the characters he gambled with. Thankfully, his eyes never left Husk and he made no move to harm you as you set up the game, now divvying up the chips between them.
Just before you were about to start the game, however, Husk held up a hand to stop you---a dangerous glint in his eyes that made you shudder.
"Why don't we make this game a little more interesting," he said, and you could already guess what he was about to suggest.
The stranger's head tilted ever-so slightly, "what did you have in mind?"
"Why don't we gamble with something a little more valuable than money...something like the souls we own."
The stranger's smile widened imperceptibly, and you got the uncanny feeling that this is what he'd wanted in the first place. Not Husk's money, but the souls in his possession.
'Perhaps Husk's soul as well,' something in your mind whispered, but you brushed it off. Husk never gambled his soul either, so there's no way that would happen---even if that was what the stranger was there for.
Once the stranger voiced his agreement, Husk snapped his fingers and his chips radiated with a silver glow, each chip being branded with a mark that symbolized exactly whose soul was being bet. His soul was branded on a Black chip, the most expensive piece---ever present, even if he'd never bet it. Yours was a Red, the second most expensive.
He gestured to the stranger, signaling that it was his turn. The stranger followed suit and snapped his fingers, this time a bright green enveloping the chips in front of him---starkly contrasting to the rest of his appearance. His chips were now branded with their own marks as well. A Black chip with green details was branded with a bright red 'A,' and you could only assume that was his own soul.
After it was clear that the two were ready, you flipped the first three cards, and the game began.
----------
At first, things almost seemed normal, once the game had started.
You dealt the hands, split the chips in the betting pool, and watched as the two Overlords went back and forth with the flow of the game. Occasionally another one of Husk’s employees would come over and serve them drinks, but other than that none of it caught your attention.
Well, one thing caught your attention.
The stranger’s shadow.
It seemed to dance around with a mind of its own, never losing its smile, just like the stranger himself. The shadow sometimes messed with the chips on the stranger’s side of the board, sometimes it played with the ice in the empty glasses on the table, but most of the time it seemed almost…fascinated by you.
It messed with your hair, helped you shuffle and collect the cards, tugged playfully at the edges of your uniform, and simply stuck by your side most of the time. It was a nice change from the attention you were used to dealing with from customers, or from Husk himself.
The way people would scream at you when they were angry, the wandering hands that would grope or hit or grab, the catcalls and lustful threats, the glasses of alcohol that people would throw at you…this was nothing like any of that. You liked it, it made you feel…precious, in a way. Valued. Cared for, oddly enough.
The stranger seemed amused by the antics, occasionally raising an eyebrow at his shadow only to receive an innocent shrug in response.
Husk, on the other hand, was not so amused.
“Get control of your fuckin’ shadow,” Husk snapped at the stranger as it tugged gently on a piece of your hair, drawing a small smile from you. One that immediately disappeared as you heard Husk’s voice.
“Now now,” the stranger chastised, seeming even more amused at Husk’s irritation, “it’s only having a little fun, no need to lose your temper.”
Husk muttered something under his breath, no doubt some string of insults, but still, he dropped the subject. You tried not to pay any more attention to the shadow after that, not wanting Husk to get angry at you as well.
Husk didn’t seem to notice…but the stranger did.
“Husker, you have quite the specimen working for you here," he said, radio static curling around his voice in an almost...flirtatious(?) purr as he turned to look at you, "what's your name, my dear?"
You flushed slightly before giving him your name, asking his in return. After all, you'd prefer to stop thinking of him as "the stranger."
He repeated your name slowly, sounding out each syllable, before responding, "Alastor, it's a pleasure to meet-"
"Your turn," Husk interrupted, voice grating, and the stranger- Alastor's gaze snapped to him, lip curling even as his smile stretched.
"Of course," he replied, irritation clear in his tone, "pets have such short attention spans, wouldn't want you getting distracted from our game, now would we?"
"The only one getting distracted here is you."
Alastor only hummed in response, raising the bet as he did so.
You glanced between the two, the tension between them palpable, and you were more than a little worried that a fight might break out---but, thankfully, neither made a move towards the other. They just sat there, glaring.
You cleared your throat, trying to dispel some of the animosity, "raise or call?"
Husk pushed a stack of chips forward, "raise."
----------
This is how the game went, back and forth.
Husk winning some hands, and Alastor winning some in return---almost like a dance, a game.
You watched, enthralled, as the two continued on...and as Husk slowly, surely, lost more and more souls. Usually, when it was clear that one of the players were going to lose, they would call the game off---cut their losses and stop before things got any worse.
But, for whatever reason, Husk refused to do just that. In fact, the more hands Husk lost, the more determined he seemed to keep playing---to the point where, if you didn't know him well, you'd think he was gambling under the influence. It was...surprising, to say the least, and by the time Husk seemed to realize how deep of a hole he'd dug himself into, it was too late. His only choice was to keep playing and hope his luck turned around.
He had no reason to be worried, though, and he knew that.
All because he had you.
You see, there was a reason why Husk always had you serving his table. It was because of your power, what you could do for him during these games.
It was hard to pinpoint exactly what your power was, since it manifested differently depending on what you used it to do, but---in simple terms---it was almost like you had control over reality. A small part of it, at least. You could control things...well, under your control. Your appearance, the clothes you wore, anything you made, or---in this case---any game you dealt for.
There weren't any rules against the dealer controlling the game. Husk made certain of it. There was even a clause in the fine print of every contract people signed to play with him, one that gave you full permission to do as you pleased during the game, as long as you were the dealer.
So, sooner or later, Husk would give you the signal to turn things in his favor and you would do as you were told.
...
Well, apparently, it was sooner.
Husk gave you the signal, and you sunk into the familiar warmth of your power---subtly seizing control of the game. You knew the cards in Husk's hands and in Alastor's, as well as all the cards on the board.
Alastor would have two pair, Husk would have one.
Your fingers twitched slightly and the unflipped cards changed, giving Husk three of a kind and Alastor one pair.
Husk won that round.
Safe to say, Husk started to get "spontaneously" lucky, and get some of his souls---his power---back. Alastor, surprisingly, didn't seem at all bothered or shocked by this. If anything, he seemed completely relaxed, as if he wasn't losing hundreds of souls with every hand. It unsettled you, and it definitely seemed to unsettle Husk---even though he tried his best to hide it.
Eventually, though, just as you thought that---surely---Alastor had had enough and was about to call the game off, he said something that stopped you in your tracks.
"All in."
Your power faltered for a moment as you stared at him, eyes wide, and you lost all knowledge of what was on the board. Husk was staring too, mouth hanging open, before a surprised laugh slipped from his mouth.
"You're kiddin', there's no way you-"
Once again, Alastor simply said, "all in."
Sliding his soul chip forward. Smile ever-present.
You glanced at Husk, silently wondering what he was going to do. Even with you controlling the game, he'd still never gambled his soul. Whether that was because he didn't trust that you'd let him win or because he didn't want to take the risk of your power failing, you didn't know, but still...he never bet it.
You raised an eyebrow, waiting for his answer, and, after a moment, Husk shook his head in disbelief...before calling Alastor's bet. A first for him, and for you. You took a deep breath and took control of the game again, ready to change the cards, before Alastor---once again---stopped you in your tracks.
"Is this what you want?" He asked, and you froze.
"...what?"
"Is this what you want?" He repeated, sounding genuinely curious, "to spend the rest of your afterlife working here, for this man? Letting him bet your body, your choices, letting him control your free will?"
You blinked. Surprised.
No one had ever asked you what you wanted before.
"I don't..." you trailed off, unsure of exactly what to say to that. Unsure of how to answer the question.
Husk glared at him, the topic of conversation clearly hitting a nerve, "why don't you shut the fuck up and mind your own business you-"
"You don't have to, my dear," Alastor continued, cutting Husk off, "you do have a choice, you know. You could choose to help me, instead of him, or to let fate take its hold."
It hit you then that Alastor knew that Husk was cheating, that he knew you were helping him. And still, he played the game...still, he treated you with kindness and respect.
He was right, though, you did have a choice. The contract of the game specified that you could do whatever you wanted with your control of the game, so long as you were the dealer and not one of the players.
If you wanted, you could make Husk lose.
You could force him into the same position that he'd forced you into.
You could break free from his grip.
Husk growled your name and your gaze snapped toward him. It was a warning, a threat. He owned your soul, he could do whatever he pleased with it, so you better listen to him.
Alastor said your name softly, drawing your attention back to him. A careful reminder. You still had a choice in this, Husk couldn't make you do anything right now. You could always choose not to help him, to help Alastor instead. All for the chance at a better life.
You took a deep breath and closed your eyes...
...
...before letting go of all control of the game.
Whatever happened now, it was up to the cards. Not you.
Husk slammed his hands down on the table, making you jump back as piles of chips tumbled to the floor, but before you could get farther away, he lunged at you and grabbed your throat---seething with rage.
"YOU FUCKIN' BITCH, HOW DARE YOU-"
Before he could finish his sentence, or cause you any harm, a green chain suddenly formed around his neck and pulled him back---making him fall to the ground. Your gaze snapped up, only to find Alastor at the other end of the chain---his shadow laughing behind him, grin wide. From there you glanced at the table, only to find-
Alastor had a Royal Flush...
...and Husk had nothing.
You glanced back at Husk and then, again, at Alastor---the reality of everything slowly setting in. Your soul no longer belonged to Husk, even if you were still tied to another Overlord. Now, though, Husk had fallen from his ivory tower.
Now he was just like you.
You couldn't help the hysterical laughter that bubbled up from your chest, a weight you hadn't even known was there suddenly disappearing. It was over. It was all over.
"I guess the house always wins," you managed to get out through your laughter, unable to contain the bright smile that took over your face. You were free of him. You were free of him.
"Indeed, my dear," Alastor replied, chuckling at your little joke, "I can already tell, you and I are going to get along just fine."
You would never admit it, but you thought so too.
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matan4il · 16 hours
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Israel Has Created a New Standard for Urban Warfare. Why Will No One Admit It? | by John Spencer
The Israel Defense Forces conducted an operation at al-Shifa hospital in the Gaza Strip to root out Hamas terrorists recently, once again taking unique precautions as it entered the facility to protect the innocent; Israeli media reported that doctors accompanied the forces to help Palestinian patients if needed. They were also reported to be carrying food, water and medical supplies for the civilians inside.
None of this meant anything to Israel's critics, of course, who immediately pounced. The critics, as usual, didn't call out Hamas for using protected facilities like hospitals for its military activity. Nor did they mention the efforts of the IDF to minimize civilian casualties.
In their criticism, Israel's opponents are erasing a remarkable, historic new standard Israel has set. In my long career studying and advising on urban warfare for the U.S. military, I've never known an army to take such measures to attend to the enemy's civilian population, especially while simultaneously combating the enemy in the very same buildings. In fact, by my analysis, Israel has implemented more precautions to prevent civilian harm than any military in history—above and beyond what international law requires and more than the U.S. did in its wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
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The predominant Western theory of executing wars, called maneuver warfare, seeks to shatter an enemy morally and physically with surprising, overwhelming force and speed, striking at the political and military centers of gravity so that the enemy is destroyed or surrenders quickly. This was the case in the invasions of Panama in 1989, Afghanistan in 2001, Iraq in 2003 and the failed illegal attempt by Russia to take Ukraine in 2022. In all these cases, no warning or time was given to evacuate cities.
In many ways, Israel has had to abandon this established playbook in order to prevent civilian harm. The IDF has telegraphed almost every move ahead of time so civilians can relocate, nearly always ceding the element of surprise. This has allowed Hamas to reposition its senior leaders (and the Israeli hostages) as needed through the dense urban terrain of Gaza and the miles of underground tunnels it's built.
Hamas fighters, who unlike the IDF don't wear uniforms, have also taken the opportunity to blend into civilian populations as they evacuate. The net effect is that Hamas succeeds in its strategy of creating Palestinian suffering and images of destruction to build international pressure on Israel to stop its operations, therefore ensuring Hamas' survival.
Israel gave warning, in some cases for weeks, for civilians to evacuate the major urban areas of northern Gaza before it launched its ground campaign in the fall. The IDF reported dropping over 7 million flyers, but it also deployed technologies never used anywhere in the world, as I witness firsthand on a recent trip to Gaza and southern Israel.
Israel has made over 70,000 direct phones calls, sent over 13 million text messages and left over 15 million pre-recorded voicemails to notify civilians that they should leave combat areas, where they should go, and what route they should take. They deployed drones with speakers and dropped giant speakers by parachute that began broadcasting for civilians to leave combat areas once they hit the ground. They announced and conducted daily pauses of all operations to allow any civilians left in combat areas to evacuate.
These measures were effective. Israel was able to evacuate upwards of 85 percent of the urban areas in northern Gaza before the heaviest fighting began. This is actually consistent with my research on urban warfare history that shows that no matter the effort, about 10 percent of populations stay.
As the war raged on, Israel began giving out its military maps to civilians so they could conduct localized evacuations. This, too, has never been done in war. During my recent visit to Khan Yunis, Gaza, and the IDF civilian harm mitigation unit in southern Israel, I observed as the army began using these maps to communicate each day where the IDF would be operating so civilians in other areas would stay out of harm's way.
I saw that the IDF even tracked the population in real time down to a few-block radius using drone and satellite imagery and cell phone presence and building damage assessments to avoid hitting civilians. The New York Times reported in January that the daily civilian death toll had more than halved in the previous month and was down almost two-thirds from its peak.
Of course, the true number of Gaza civilian deaths is unknown. The current Hamas-supplied estimate of over 31,000 does not acknowledge a single combatant death (nor any deaths due to the misfiring of its own rockets or other friendly fire). The IDF estimates it has killed about 13,000 Hamas operatives, a number I believe credible partly because I believe the armed forces of a democratic American ally over a terrorist regime, but also because of the size of Hamas fighters assigned to areas that were cleared and having observed the weapons used, the state of Hamas' tunnels and other aspects of the combat.
That would mean some 18,000 civilians have died in Gaza, a ratio of roughly 1 combatant to 1.5 civilians. Given Hamas' likely inflation of the death count, the real figure could be closer to 1 to 1. Either way, the number would be historically low for modern urban warfare.
The UN, EU and other sources estimate that civilians usually account for 80 percent to 90 percent of casualties, or a 1:9 ratio, in modern war (though this does mix all types of wars). In the 2016-2017 Battle of Mosul, a battle supervised by the U.S. that used the world's most powerful airpower resources, some 10,000 civilians were killed compared to roughly 4,000 ISIS terrorists.
And yet, analysts who should know better are still engaging in condemnation of the IDF based on the level of destruction that's still occurred—destruction that is unavoidable against an enemy that embeds in a vast tunnel system under civilian sites in dense urban terrain. This effects-based condemnation or criticism is not how the laws of war work, or violations determined. These and other analysts say the destruction and civilian causalities must either stop or be avoided in an alternative form of warfare.
Ironically, the careful approach Israel has taken may have actually led to more destruction; since the IDF giving warnings and conducting evacuations help Hamas survive, it ultimately prolongs the war and, with it, its devastation.
Israel has not created a gold standard in civilian harm mitigation in war. That implies there is a standard in civilian casualties in war that is acceptable or not acceptable; that zero civilian deaths in war is remotely possible and should be the goal; that there is a set civilian-to-combatant ratio in war no matter the context or tactics of the enemy. But all available evidence shows that Israel has followed the laws of war, legal obligations, best practices in civilian harm mitigation and still found a way to reduce civilian casualties to historically low levels.
Those calling for Israel to find an alternative to inflicting civilian casualties to lower amounts (like zero) should be honest that this alternative would leave the Israeli hostages in captivity and allow Hamas to survive the war. The alternative to a nation's survival cannot be a path to extinction.
John Spencer is chair of urban warfare studies at the Modern War Institute (MWI) at West Point, codirector of MWI's Urban Warfare Project and host of the "Urban Warfare Project Podcast." He served for 25 years as an infantry soldier, which included two combat tours in Iraq. He is the author of the book "Connected Soldiers: Life, Leadership, and Social Connection in Modern War" and co-author of "Understanding Urban Warfare."
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amerricanartwork · 24 hours
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Quetzalli on Trafficlights and Birds
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Well @toxictoxicities, it has been done! You gave me the chance for me to give my own interpretation on this matter, and I can’t resist chances to add some narrative significance! I decided to make a separate post on it because what I came up with ended up being long (as always with me), and in case anyone else would enjoy these thoughts.
However before I go in with this essay I've put together I have to give a very important note: These thoughts are gonna be primarily based around my personal interpretations and headcanons for Seven Red Suns and No Significant Harassment. I’m generally a person who needs to know exactly what I’m working with to do something well, and as such my ideas about metaphors, symbolism, and greater narrative significance typically depend a lot on me understanding the characters and ship not just in their general dynamic, but various other deeper elements — what their core desires/fears are, what their backstories/histories are, each of their main character traits and why they are that way, then from there what they see in each other and why their relationship benefits each other in-universe, and what other effect(s) the relationship has or could have on the characters in-universe as well as the greater narrative out-of-universe, with the additional optional knowledge of what the main plot of the story they come from is to possibly tie in important moments. Seeing as you probably aren’t going to explain your Trafficlights interpretation completely to this intense of a degree anytime soon (though I’d absolutely enjoy hearing it whenever it comes!), if I’m going to make some metaphors I think the best option is to just use my current character interpretations so I have this background familiarity, especially since I’ve actually been developing these things a whole lot for my own iterator off-the-string happy ending AU!
Also, I want to say to that if some of these idea sound familiar, it’s because I realized I can actually project some of my previous Lilypad ideas onto this Trafficlights portrayal as well. I feel my Suns and Moon are similar enough in their personality traits that many of the same dynamics and significance could reasonably apply. In fact Tox, I’m gonna admit I actually did take some inspiration for my Lilypad portrayal from seeing your particular Trafficlights and drawing my own conclusions about how that dynamic worked, and overall my depiction of Seven Red Suns is largely inspired by your own take on that character, which I found quite unique compared to the rest of the fandom for being the first one I saw to show Suns as being far less imposing and confident internally than they seem in public. So I guess I am once again coming full circle now!
I think this is already more than enough words, but I just felt the need to give those prefaces as context for all of these ideas. With that being said, I hope you like at least some of these!
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Option 1: Birds as Freedom
From what I’ve read, a common symbolism for birds is freedom, which to me is easy to see because of their signature flight ability. Flight can be considered the mode of travel with the greatest freedom because it’s not restricted by landmasses (or even planets, if you include space travel), and because flying is literally defying, or “freeing oneself” from gravity, one can easily associate it with weightlessness and thus being carefree and without worries or negativity.
With any off-the-string iterator story, it’s easy to give going off-the-string a positive significance because it’s literally the puppet “freeing itself” from the limited confines of their chamber, and by extent the limits imposed upon them by the Ancients. This is further supported by how some iterators in canon do appear to perceive their cans as a limitation or cage, as evidenced by the broadcast dialogue. In fact, I've heard No Significant Harassment is one of these very iterators, so I imagine he’d absolutely want to go off-the-string so long as he has a good incentive to. 
To relate this back to birds, you could very much use a caged songbird as a metaphor for the iterators; beautiful, brightly-colored creatures “raised” in captivity and trapped in boxes to serve other people, once “singing” out their ideas from within to those people, but now just giving those “songs” to each other. Thus, going off-the-string (perhaps to the Emergence facility in your AU) could be seen as these “birds” finally flying free to be with one another “in the wild”, finally able to fly and live their lives more fully as they were denied for so long. So regardless of any other symbolism, Trafficlights — and any other off-the-string iterator ship by extent — leaving their cans could be seen as them “flying free” together from the restraints forced upon them.
However, I’ve also recently realized another freedom symbolism besides freedom from the Ancients’ restrictions, and that’s freedom from their own. This is something more impactful to my Seven Red Suns, who like Moon, is also someone who hides a lot of his true personality for a more polite, proper, and dignified public persona, shoulders a lot of weight he isn’t always able to handle alone, and puts lots of limits on himself and what he’s “allowed” or “supposed” to do, albeit for entirely different reasons. Now contrast that with Sig, who although he also hides a lot of his true feelings and knows when to dial it down, is someone who is a master at breaking rules and going against convention. In fact, I like to imagine it’s literally in his nature (er, programming) to think outside the box, generating all sorts of different ideas to solve problems that don’t always totally follow outside rules or what’s “typical” for using a certain item. 
When you bring these two together, I imagine Sig could absolutely be the one to encourage Suns to let loose more, letting down his proper and and uptight persona to show more of his emotional side and explore things he didn’t allow himself to before (like I said, this is one of the ideas that works with Trafficlights as well as Lilypad)! It’s as if Suns is a bird too used to living in the cage and afraid to truly fly again, and Sig has to coax him out into embracing that freedom. You could even take this with the idea of iterators not being used to romance, a restriction Suns absolutely puts on himself and even others because he believes a “proper” iterator isn’t supposed to have such deep attachments, of which romantic love could be considered the worst because it’s both breaking Karma 3 of Companionship and can directly lead to Karma 2 of Sexual Intercourse, so it’s essentially a double-risk. But again, Sig is willing to explore these new feelings, and now that they’re off the string and can love each other more physically and directly than ever, what better time could there be for Suns to “spread his wings” and fly alongside him?
Option 2: Birds as Passion/Romance
To me, the second biggest symbolism that birds can have is that of passion and general romantic ideas. Technically all birds could have this association because feathers and wings in general are pretty showy, so spreading one’s wings could just as easily be a gesture of great emotion and expression as it could be preparing to be free. In addition though, whereas the previous point was more related to songbirds, this seems to correlate more with birds of paradise especially, who have the most colorful and varied plumage of the bird kingdom, thus making it easy to say they’re “showing their true colors” without fear. Some birds of paradise, particularly parrots/parakeets/macaws/etc. are very social creatures by nature, so it’s even easier to draw the connection between their vibrant plumage and social behavior with being expressive and outgoing.
As for the romance element, to me it seems birds are commonly used as such symbols already; there’s doves and swans being symbols of love often included in some way at weddings, words like “lovebirds” referring to lovers as well as one of my favorite words, “twitterpated”, which means to be very smitten and infatuated and also has a clear bird-based association and maybe even origin. But then there’s the idea of songbirds singing to each other, which I think is a particularly romantic idea which plays into one of my favorite shipping tropes I call, “answering the call”. So far, I like to describe it as when someone is looking for companionship and romance for a while, either openly or as a subconscious desire, but is eventually found and “answered” by someone willing to love with them. It’s such a romantic idea to me because it often includes so much loneliness and sometimes even tragedy before, making that moment where they finally find someone all the more sweet!
Okay, now to bring this back to Trafficlights. Starting with the first idea, I think it’s easy to associate Sig with these kinds of birds, especially macaws and such, seeing as I imagine he can be just as “colorful” both literally and personality-wise, and cares deeply about his relationships in a similar manner. But even then, like I mentioned before Sig can sometimes feel like he needs to hide those feelings because others don’t fully understand him and he doesn’t want to risk creating tension (although hiding his feelings like that kinda does anyway). 
To resolve this, I’ve decided to use what I imagine Sig would appreciate and value in Suns that would evolve the relationship past friendship to romance, that being that Suns was one of the first people besides Moon who believed that Sig’s ideas and his dedication to his friends could be something more, something better and used for good. My Suns is defined largely by his perfectionism and endless drive to make things the “best” versions of themselves. In my timeline of events he already helped Sig in that way during a pretty important moment, not to mention it’s just really inspiring how much Suns cares about trying to bring about the “best” for everyone. On Sig’s end, this is how they at least developed a friendship, and in this alternative what would cause that appreciation to evolve to romance eventually. In fact, in my headcanon it was the combined efforts of Moon first understanding Sig’s feelings and Suns helping to perfect his role in his group, with both of them working really hard to help him find new belonging with the Local Group, that was what got Sig out of his “rough patch”. Thus, in a way, Suns directly helped Sig make new connections, “spread his wings”, and “find a new flock”, which can easily be the main reason why Sig would fall for Suns.
Now, what about Suns? Relating him to birds and passion also hinges largely on another pretty crucial headcanon about my Seven Red Suns, which is that he is secretly a huge romantic with a passion for the fine arts. In addition to striving for an “ideal” world at all times, he appreciates art and the deeper symbolism within. However, because of what I said earlier about Suns placing a lot of high standards on himself, he doesn’t actually make art of his own, believing it’s “not an iterator’s place” to do such a thing themselves because it’s not in their purpose. But even then, he can’t help himself from seeing things artistically and drawing his own conclusions about things.
That being said, I imagine Suns could have a strong appreciation for birds in particular; their beauty, combined with their flight, makes them seem as though they’ve already “ascended” on some level above other animals. On top of that, I think Suns would come to see Sig as sort of a bird himself! Maybe a big green macaw with the most beautiful plumes who’s also far more intelligent than others think. But even more so, when it comes to what Suns appreciates in Sig that causes him to fall in love, I imagine it’s how Sig is the only person who sees through his facade for who he really is. Everyone else around him seems to either put him on a pedestal, with their own high expectations to follow, or is intimidated by his grandeur into avoiding much direct contact. Again, however, Sig naturally thinks outside the box and challenging people’s ideas, so it’d be pretty easy for him to break down some of Suns’s diplomacy to show that more emotional side (another idea that I use in Lilypad as well). No Significant Harassment is the one person Suns feels like he can be himself around, helping him realize that even those parts of him he hides make him “perfect” by virtue of being his real and unique self. It’s like Suns is a great eagle, looked up to and feared by other birds as a large bird of prey and thus lonely and pressured to soar above all else, and only the surprisingly smart macaw is able to lower his guard, helping him see he’s just as beautiful and inspiring on the ground as he is soaring high in the clouds. 
And then there’s the idea of “answering the call”. I’ve already seen your Trafficlights will probably play out as a slow burn, with Sig and Suns harboring growing feelings for each other for a while but only really acting on it once Emergence kicks in. In this case the dynamic would be mutual, with both of them longing for a deeper connection, but perhaps not realizing it until this timeline. I imagine Sig would be the one more conscious of this desire though, seeing as he openly seeks connection with others, so it’d be as if he’s a lonely songbird wanting to sing out but never getting an answer. And then of course, when Suns finally does respond it’s that much more poetic!
Trafficlights as Rio (spoilers, by the way)
OKAY HEAR ME OUT, I just have to include some words on this because this movie, this freaking movie is not only one of the two that kickstarted my love of birds but is what started this whole Trafficlights-as-birds-symbolism thing for me.
To give some context, if you don’t already know I am someone who not only loves making metaphors and symbolism with my ships, but loves finding associations between them and outside music or stories. I often look for connections to the old Disney animated fairytales, but I really end up doing it to all sorts of animated stories that I believe have pretty universal themes.
That being said, if there’s any association I’d make for Trafficlights as I currently see them, it’s to Blue Sky’s Rio and some of the scenes from that story. Firstly, Blu as a character already somewhat parallels my Suns in that he’s awkward and not the best at interacting with others. Not to mention his inability to fly, which came from him never getting a chance to embrace his emotions before being captured and taken from his home, could be paralleled to Suns’s bottling up his emotions, especially since flight in that film is directly related to feelings of happiness, love, and freedom, so Suns in a way is also “stunted” in his emotions. Meanwhile Sig on the other hand is more like Jewel, someone who at least understands his emotions a lot better and thus “knows how to fly”, and who resists others’ attempts to cage him and tries to get his partner to do the same. Like Blu Suns refuses at first, his logic and desire for a dignified self image getting the best of him being able to let loose in any environment where he isn’t surrounded by close friends. 
Then there’s the freaking “Hot Wings” scene, which takes the most responsibility for this association of mine. Largely because the two side-characters, Nico and Pedro, also seem to carry a dynamic with their lyrics that just reminds me of Suns and Sig, respectively, a lot (honestly I just thought about it on a whim one day and I can’t unsee it now…). Not to mention the entire scene is about pretty birds dancing, which given you’ve also made a decent number of drawings of Trafficlights dancing together, I think is just super fitting. And then Jewel’s singing once again brings back this idea of freedom and showing one’s emotions and love, with the remaining question being whether or not Blu can eventually unlock this feeling inside him despite his fears and fly up with her. This is something I think could work with Trafficlights, at least how I see them, for even if Suns can be more emotional around Sig and maybe his friends, he still has trouble doing so in public, not always liking the pressure of being “perfect” but not wanting to risk looking like a fool around everyone who looks up to him.
It works even better with one of the later scenes in the film when Blu and Jewel finally manage to cut the chain keeping them together, which causes Jewel to immediately lift into the sky with the pure joy and euphoria of once again being free to fly as she pleases. However, Blu is left looking up at her as she flies with their friends, and you can tell he’s both realizing again just how beautiful she is and longing so much to join her in the sky, yet still unable to fly. Once again I can’t help seeing Suns in Blu’s place, looking at Sig having fun and being so carefree, loving the feeling of being off-the-string, and him thinking Sig so beautiful and wanting to join him too. And eventually, just like Blu does in a true “answering the call fashion”, he is able to “spread his wings” and they finally can fly away together!
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Okay, I think that’s all I have to say for now on this topic. This essay, excluding the preface at the beginning, is 2498 words! I think that might be a little bit more than my Lilypad essay! I really hope it delivered!
But even then, this was so fun to do! Even though Trafficlights isn’t my main ship and isn’t going to happen in my own AU, I’ve recently been looking to better figure out Sig and Suns’s relationship anyway to understand why they’re at least friends with each other. Of course there are some other factors in their relationship, some of which I’ve edited out for the sake of these ideas because it throws a bit of tension in the dynamic that could compromise its ability to work as a ship, but this was still an important aspect and I’m glad to have gotten a chance to develop it! And then of course, a reason to think about ships as well as shamelessly plug one of my favorite movies ever is also very nice!
This may all sound super silly and maybe none of it works with your Emergence Trafficlights, but regardless this was seriously such a fun opportunity, and I’m glad you gave me a reason to do this! I would love to hear your thoughts on or additions to all this, if you can!
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phoenixyfriend · 1 day
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Suggested Listening
I've heard a few distinct takes on the UN vote and the comparison of the US and Israeli actions in light of it. I don't fully understand everything about the politics around this vote, because it's a complicated dance and trying to understand what people are thinking is close to impossible when we don't know what's going on behind the scenes and what's just political theater... but I think listening to multiple perspectives might get us closer to understanding than just listening to one.
I have provided approximate bias/political spectrum position for each, as well as giving my reasoning or summary of why I think it's a useful listen.
This post includes The NPR Politics Podcast, Democracy Now!, Al Jazeera: The Take, and the BBC Global News Podcast.
To support my blogging so I can move out of my parents’ house, I do have a ko-fi. Alternately, you can donate to one of the charities I list in this post.
The NPR Politics Podcast - March 27, 2024 - Left-leaning, though not as far as some of the others. This contextualizes the relationship between Netanyahu and Biden among the history between Netanyahu and multiple past presidents, including Trump, Obama, and Clinton. It focuses in part on the domestic political dynamics and ramifications that Biden is facing, the question of funding, and the apparent self-contradiction of the US government when it comes to the possibility of conditions, sanctions, or other reprisal if Israel continues to disregard US concerns about the ground invasion of Rafah.
Democracy Now! - Several parts of the March 26, 2024 episode were focused on the UN vote and results - This is a far-left radio broadcast show that gets repackaged for online video and podcast dissemination. This coverage is much more critical, without 'well, maybe they're trying to [action]' as we see in some others, of the United States and its handling of the UN vote and subsequent fallout. The interview with Craig Mokhiber gets into some nitty-gritty details of something called the "General Assembly under the Uniting for Peace," which I didn't really understand. I can't speak to supporting that we take that part at his word, because it's not something I understand enough to endorse. He also refers to the United States as not only Israel's principal sponsor, but also its co-belligerent.
Short section: U.N.-Commissioned Report Lays Out Evidence of Israeli Genocide in Gaza
Short section: UNSC Approves Its First Gaza Ceasefire Resolution Ater U.S. Abstains
Full story: Ex-U.N. Official Craig Mokhiber: Israel Must Be Held Accountable for Violating Ceasefire Resolution
Full story: Jeremy Corbyn Applauds U.N. Ceasefire Resolution, Says World Must Prevent “Another Nakba”
Al Jazeera - March 26/27, 2024 (timezone-dependent, it was the 26th for EST) - I hesitate to place Al Jazeera on the standard left-right scale since it's outside the Western framework, as an independent Qatari news organization with some degree of funding from the government of Qatar. What I will say is that Al Jazeera provides a vital non-Western lens, even if some of the reporters are Western, when viewing politics in the Middle East. In this particular case, it also appears that they had a reporter much closer to the action in the UN than the others, as Al Jazeera has an office in the UN headquarters in NYC.
They also address a few curious things about last-minute negotiations on the floor of the UN, the immediate consequences of the US ambassador referring to the resolution as 'non-binding,' and asserts that the US warned Israel that they would be abstaining this time, which is why the US is seemingly confused at how upset Israel is about it. I'm not sure how intentional it is, but the message I got is that Israel tried to call the US's bluff and was then upset when the US followed through, because the US... wasn't bluffing. And did in fact abstain.
BBC Global News Podcast - March 27, 2024 - Dead center, variably left or right depending on the issue - This is a twice-daily podcast and generally contains three or four separate stories. Their coverage of Netanyahu walking back the cancellation of his officials' trip to the US is first, however, and I'm not sure how much it adds to analysis of the vote, but it is the most recent and has the latest of the updates.
To support my blogging so I can move out of my parents’ house, I do have a ko-fi. Alternately, you can donate to one of the charities I list in this post.
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sendmyresignation · 2 years
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i really do think there was real magic written into to the fabric of vampires will never hurt you. gerards voice cast spells on an unsuspecting public.
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specialagentjazzy · 2 months
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whyyyyyy is the local weatherman slutting it up at 6am???? 😭
he's definitely serving more than sticky buns tho
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hwiyoungies · 2 years
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party pooper in the tags
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tmoyasu-a · 2 years
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He saw the fight with Geten, he knows how powerful this man was. If that stopped Skeptic, though, he would never have clawed through the ranks of corporate ladders like he has. So with what he can only assume was a vein protruding from his forehead, he storms over to Dabi. His height made it so he looked down on him.
"You need to have an attitude adjustment if you want me to do anything for you. I know you didn't pull me out of the battlezone out of the goodness of your heart," he seethed with a sneer. He was clearly up to something. Just what, he didn't know. "-- So I suggest that you stop being cryptic and tell me already."
@scorchedscion
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drumlincountry · 2 years
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Man I love. Fandom.
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senseichaos · 2 months
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"PATHETIC"
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SUMMARY: Don't go into Alastor's studio if he's on air. It was that simple. But sometimes you like to be bad. (In which Alastor broadcasts your moans live as a punishment)
GENRE: PWP, Smut, small amount of angst, a lil fluff
WARNINGS: Psychopathic Alastor, sadism, masochism, bratty reader, unprotected sex (don't!), collar, handcuffs, chains, degration, exhibitionism, implied aftercare, humiliation, finger sucking, dub-con/non-con depending on how you see it, orgasm denial, leash, degration, praise, let me know if there are any more!
PART 2 (aftercare)
NOT PROOF READ (YET)
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Don't go into Alastor's studio if he's on air, it was that simple.
But you do it anyway. Out of pure bratty desires you defy Alastor because.. why not? What's the worst that could happen? Actually.. there is a lot of 'worst' that could in fact happen but I mean, he's not all bad.. is he?
With a small grin on your face you lay your hand against the door swiftly, knocking loudly to make sure you are alerting Alastor of a visitor. The anxiety you feel when you do this is far too real, from the clammy fingers to the feeling that this whole idea is a horrible mistake. You almost feel as if you could fall to the floor beneath you.
Yet it's so exhilarating.
"I'm afraid I'm busy!" You hear Alastor holler from beyond the door, his slightly fake kind tone obvious. He hates it when people interrupt his work. You almost giggle, feeling an odd nervous giddiness going through yourself at the prospect of opening this door.
With a sharp intake of breath, you swing open the door and close it softly behind yourself. Though behind him you can see Alastor pinch the space between his eyebrows with an annoyed smile.
He turns his head to look over at you, giving you an annoyed smile that makes you bite your lower lip.
"What is it you need, dear?" Alastor asks, adjusting one of the nobs on the recording equipment in front of him. "I am very sure I said I was busy," He sighs, looking over at you again with even more annoyance visible on his face.
"I just wanted to hangout,"
Alastor stands, horns growing with his annoyance as he takes a warning step towards you. You take a meek step back and gulp down a nervous glob of saliva.
"So you come into my studio, interrupting my broadcast-" he turns shifts into his full demon form as he moves towards you, until his face is completely in front of your face. An angry smile on his features. "All because you wanted to hang out?" He pulls you closer by a metal collar of his energy, his nose against your own as his hand clutch tightly onto the chain.
"What a bad pet you are.." He says darkly, pulling you harshly so you choke and fall to the ground on your hands and knees. For a couple moments he just pulls you with the leash, walking you towards the chair until he sits on it. He swivels it around to look at you, your own large and nervous ones looking into his.
He pushes your head up to look straight at him by the toe of his shoe, the coldness making your skin burn. You can't help but lean even closer towards him, so the toe of his show just barely digs into the skin there.
"Fawn, you were just here for my attention, weren't you?"
You consider lying to him, making yourself out to be more of a brat and possibly get a worse outcome than you're already gonna get.. but from the position you're in it's probably a bad idea. So with a sharp gulp and a blush across your cheeks you nod, biting your lower lip. Alastor grins, leaning down and taking his foot from your chin.
His gaze is rather soft, almost adoring as he tugs you closer by your chain leash. Slowly and intimately he pushes his thumb into your mouth, pointing finger making you look into his lidded eyes. With a burst of passion you suck onto his thumb, swirling your tongue against the red claw as he watches with amused eyes.
"My lovely fawn, perhaps you just need to be reminded who owns you," He purrs, pulling his thumb from your mouth (much to your dismay). With a sharp motion Alastor tangles his fingers into your hair, manhandling you face first into his desk so your ass faces him. You cry out at this movement, the roughness of his movements contrasting wildly to the care he gave you just moments before.
"Lovely. I'm afraid this punishment is not going to be pleasant, but you must learn from your mistakes," Alastor sighs, and with a swift motion of his hands bounding your wrists with cuffs of his magic. He keeps them bound onto the table so you are unable to move, causing a pain to go through your wrists when you flinch at Alastor's movements. Roughly, he pulls down your skirt and discards it across the room, leaving you bare besides from your thin pink panties.
"What a pretty color, they must be a favorite pair of yours.." you blush, trying to tilt your head to see him behind you; only for the collar to keep you from doing so. You feel his claws drag up the sides of your thighs until they meet the fabric of your panties, clawing rather dangerously at it.
"Yeah, i-i wore them for you.." You whimper with a stutter, wiggling your but at him to appear enticing. He chuckles, hooking his pointer fingers into your panties at each side.
"How lovely,"
With a harsh pull, he rips either side of your panties in half. You gasp at this, trying to stand up only for the cuffs around your hands and the collar around your neck to tighten. This causes you to bruise and cry out in pain.
"Alastor! I liked that pair.." You complain, kicking your legs in a sort of tantrum that Alastor tuts. With a sudden thrash Alastor aggressively pulls at your chain leash, making your head move up with a strain that is horribly painful.
"Bad fawns don't get treated with propriety, my dear," Alastor explains, twisting his hand so the chain slowly wraps around his hand. You can see his shadow loom closer and closer over your own figure.
"And bad fawns especially don't get any foreplay.."
What? No foreplay? He can't be serious..
Let's just say.. Alastor is rather large in the nether regions. And he knows this. Every single time you've ever fornicated he'd always done foreplay- just to open you up enough that you wouldn't be in horrid paid every time he stuck his cock in you. You can already feel the pain inside of you and he hasn't even pushed his tip to you.
"Alastor, no- I can't.."
"Don't forget my fawn.." He hooks his fingers into your hair again, forcing you to tilt your head as he whispers into your ear. His horns are larger than earlier, and his entire build in general is a lot more.. demonic.
"You wanted this.."
You don't want this anymore.
Tantalizing slow, Alastor drags his claws up your spine, taking in every shiver and whimper that you give him in turn. How dominating he feels, it's like nothing else to him he can tear as many people's souls to shreds but nothing will be the same as fucking you to pliancy. He can do horrid things to you, and you still come back for more.
He loves that in you, in his own way.
You feel his tip just barely twitch against your entrance, one hand holding your chain and his staff whilst the other presses harshly against your thigh. Wait. Why is he holding his staff.. that doesn't make any sense unless-
Fuck. He can't be serious, can he?
"Salutations dear listeners, ever so sorry for my break. But I have a treat just for you!" He says, his voice strong with the confidence of a person who has done this millions of times before. Shivering you let out a small whimper, he's really going to do this, isn't he? He's going to fuck you on air. You want to disappear. This is humiliating! This is.. humiliating. He can't be serious! You though he was better than this..
Shows you to think more of the radio demon.
In a swift movement you scream out, Alastor's entire length being shoved into you with a single thrust. You see stars of red, the area around you glowing a green that makes your head just slightly throb in pain. With another harsh thrust Alastor pulls in your leash, forcing you to look out the window.
He leans down and growls condescendingly.
"Watch the entirety of the pride ring as they hear me break you," he says and you cry out. He is. He is breaking you from the inside out, you can feel every thrust of his cock through your entire body with a painful wave. You can hardly see anymore. Everything is blurred with a wall of tears that fall down your cheeks.
"Fuck!" You cry in a distressful pleasure. You hate that this feels good. Why do you want him to break you? Why do you want him to fuck you from the inside out until all you can do is sit there and listen to him speak. You hate that you love this.
"That's it, little fawn. Let me break your whorish body.." He laughs, the hold on your chain leash making you lose a very small amount of air. You try to clutch at something, anything to ground you, but all you can feel is the warm chains bounding you to the desk beneath you, the chains bounding you to this terrible pleasure.
You can't describe it. Every thrust of his cock makes you moan, in an ashamed yet purely entangled tone. You can hear the passion in your voice as Alastor digs his claws so hard into you you bleed. Yet you can definitely hear the pain in your voice when the tip of his cock just barely hits your cervix.
"Such a pathetic thing, letting me take you like this.. you didn't even put up a fight,"
You see red, a weird loving anger.
"I fucking HATE you.."
Alastor laughs, and you can practically smell that shit-eating grin on his face.
"No," he thrusts "You," he thrusts "Dont~" he thrusts, punctuating his words and his teasing tone. You claw at the chains, wishing to rip their bounds so you can spit in his stupid beautiful face. Fuck. You can't stop this pleasure.
With every thrust comes another build of an orgasm inside of you, every thrust making that knot pull tighter and tighter. He isn't even doing anything to pleasure you, either- you just love this in a way you can't describe.
"Don't orgasm without my permission, dear," Alastor cackles, biting his lower lip "Or else..!" He teases, giving you a particularly harsh thrust as to solidify his words. You nod softly with a whimper, your neck aching from the way he's handling your leash.
You clench particularly hard, feeling that orgasm begging to be released.
"Alastor! Please let me cum.." You whimper, biting your lower lip as it trembles very slightly. He hums for a moment, as if to mock your display of obedience before clicking his tongue and leaning down.
"Beg for it," he says simply, thrusting even quicker making the urgency inside of you real. Crying, you babble for a moment, the pleasure inside of you becoming to much.
"Fuck! Please let me cum, I'll do anything, I'll listen to everything you say, please! Please..." You don't think you've felt more desperate your whole entire time in hell, which is even more pathetic, really. The most desperate you've felt isn't for your life, money, or soul. It's to come on the cock of a psychopathic sadist.
"Lovely. Come for me, my dear,"
You let go with an obnoxious wail, walls clenching around Alastor so tightly you could have sworn he grunted. It's like your whole body let go, your legs give out, your shoulders relax, and your eyes roll back.
"Good fawn, how good,"
With one last thrust, Alastor buries his cock deeply inside of you, emptying his seed to the point where your stomach begins to bloat. One thing you've learnt about Alastor, when he cums, he cums a lot.
"Now then," Alastor declares after a short moment, pulling his cock from your hole and stuffing it back into his pants. "Let's get you cleaned up!" Alastor says brightly, clicking his fingers so the bounds on your neck and hands release. Though this only makes your centre of gravity shift in such a way you almost fall to the ground, if it weren't for Alastor catching you and holding you bridal style. Holding you. This is a rare occurrence indeed.
"Thank you dear listeners and I'll see you next time! Perhaps you may even get another treat, Ha ha!"
Alastor turns back to you, looking at you deep in the eyes as his sclera turn a deep black.
"Will they, my dear..?"
You gulp, shrinking in his arms.
"No, Alastor,"
He turns back to normal, giving you an adoring look as he twirls on his foot, taking you from the room.
"Lovely, now let's get a bath running!"
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theworldgate · 1 year
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I have to explain what is going on in the UK, because it is absurd.
So, this is Gary Lineker:
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He's known for a fair few things over here. He was a very good (association) footballer, playing for England in the 1986 and 1990 World Cups, winning the Golden Boot in 1986, and managing to never get a single yellow card in his playing career. He played for Leicester City, Everton, Barcelona, and Tottenham, before finishing his career in Japan. But if you aren't in your mid 30s, you probably know actually know him him for a couple of other things. The first is the role of spokesman for another Leicester icon, Walkers Crisps (which are sort of equivalent to Lays, but hit different), as pictured above. Despite being a notably clean player, he used to play a cheeky serial crisp thief. I don't think he's done that for well over a decade, but his ads were on the telly a lot when I was a kid and it's a bit like learning that the hamburglar was an incredibly clean (American) football player or something.
The second thing Gary is widely known for is having presented Match of the Day, the big football program on the BBC, the sort-of state broadcaster, since 1999. He is, incidentally, very well paid for this (though with a consensus that he could get even more if he went to one of the non-free-to-view broadcasters because he is very good at the job). He also has a twitter account. And political opinions. So, the UK government has got itself dead set upon doing heinous stuff that will totally somehow work to prevent people who want to come to the UK making the perilous crossing of the Channel (between England and France). By heinous, I mean "openly advertise that they won't attempt to protect victims of modern slavery" stuff. It's very obviously using a legal hammer to victimise a marginalised group of people in order to win votes. And, uh, I should clarify that by "legal" I mean "using the passage of laws" - the policy is, in addition to all the other ways it's awful, probably incompatible with the Human Rights Act and the UK's international law obligations. Gary, top lad that he is, objected to this. On Tuesday 7th March, he made a quote Tweet of a video of the Home Secretary, Suella Braverman, bigging up the policy, he wrote "Good heavens, this is beyond awful.". This got a bunch of backlash from extremely right-wingers, and then he made the tweet that really got him in trouble (with right-wingers): "There is no huge influx. We take far fewer refugees than other major European countries. This is just an immeasurably cruel policy directed at the most vulnerable people in language that is not dissimilar to that used by Germany in the 30s, and I’m out of order?".
Now, I am not actually subjecting myself to watching a video of Suella Braverman bigging up a cruel policy to say whether the specific comparison of the language to 1930s Germany is accurate. But needless to say, Ms Braverman was amongst the many figures on the right of UK politics objecting to Gary's rhetoric. And here's the part where a fact about the BBC comes in: it is nominally neutral and impartial (and so, of course, is routinely accused of bias from all sides but particularly the right-wing), and has something of a code for its contributors to this effect. Now, that code has previously been applied to Gary Lineker, over a comment about whether governing Conservative Party would hand back donations from figures linked to the Russian regime. But it generally hasn't been applied too strongly to people like Gary, whose roles have nothing to do with politics (such as presenting a "here's what happened on the footie today" show), on the basis that, well, their roles have nothing to do with politics. However, when directly asked about whether the BBC should punish Gary Lineker for his tweets, government figures basically went "well, that's a them problem". But a couple of days passed, and it seemed like Gary's approach of "standing his ground because he did nothing wrong" was working and everything would die down. He was set to get 'a talking to' but not much more than that. The Conservative right, after all their fire and fury earlier, had gotten bored and moved onto something else. And then, on Friday 10th March, the BBC announced that he would be suspended from hosting Match of the Day this weekend. But it could still go ahead, because there are, like, other hosts! Except, well, funnily enough, when you take a beloved figure off air, for making a fairly anodyne tweet, no one wants to be the scab who actually takes up the role of replacing him. Gary's two co-hosts, Alan Shearer and Ian Wright, said that they would not appear without him. People who (co-)host Match of the Day on other days followed suit. The net result is that Match of the Day is currently set to air without hosts, BBC commentary, or global feed commentary. And the solidarity shown to Gary Lineker, over what is very flagrantly actual cancel culture and an attack on freedom of speech (the logic implied is that institutional impartiality requires that no one say anything too critical of the government ever), has continued to grow. The BBC has pretty much been unable to run pretty much any live sports content today, and has resorted to raiding the BBC Sounds archive to fill the sports radio channel. And, as of 17:30 on Saturday 11th March, the situation shows no signs of improvement, though some are calling for the Chairman Richard Sharp, who is separately facing corruption allegations, to resign (yes I linked to the BBC itself there, there is nothing, nothing, the BBC loves more than going into great detail about how much the BBC sucks).
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bisexual-detectives · 1 month
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Eurovision is now lying about Israel and Russia. The Eurovision organiser EBU is suggesting Russia wasn’t banned due to invading Ukraine, a lie that even their own website disproves.
The EBU says the Israel situation is “fundamentally different” from Russia in 2022. They suggest they didn’t kick Russia out of Eurovision because they invaded Ukraine, they kicked Russia out of the EBU for unrelated reasons.
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Except… that’s not what happened! In 2022, the EBU had announced Russia would be kicked out of Eurovision “in light of the unprecedented crisis in Ukraine”.  
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The Russian broadcasters responded to being booted from Eurovision by announcing their intention to withdraw from the EBU, which the EBU reported via their website.
So why are they now saying something else happened? It’s a lie. The EBU kicked Russia out of Eurovision before the Russian broadcasters left the EBU. This is clearly an attempt to distance themselves from their (quite right) decision to remove a country from Eurovision.
But the fact is, the EBU created a precedent for themselves of removing a country due to war and now they want to pretend that never happened so they don’t have to take action against Israel. 
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selineram3421 · 3 months
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Alastor's Rut Headcanons🦌
Requested
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Alastor X Reader
Warnings ⚠
⚠ its that time of the year and Alastor hates it, implied/suggestive, violence🔪, kisses ⚠
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Alastor was in rut.
It was an uncomfortable part of his deer half that he had not accepted. He usually spent this time indoors or a radio broadcast slaughter to take his mind off it.
The problem is that this year it was different. Persistent.
He had a significant other.
They were the sweetest and deadliest thing. A demon that had started working in the hotel recently, with a good taste in music and food.
Rosie also favored them when he introduced the two.
He noticed himself become more possessive when other demons were too close to them. Or if some filthy scum would stare too long.
Then his antlers were itchy.
He had to rub his antlers against a tree to get rid of the feeling. (In the dead of night, somewhere far away from others. Satan forbid if anyone saw him.)
Having been a hunter, he knew what this meant..
There would be problems if anyone were to so much as touch his mate partner.
He'll let his love know about the rut. Mostly for their safety and know that its deer instinct.
During this time, he picked up a few habits. Like making sure his love was well fed, needs taken care of, and showered with gifts.
He already does that but its taken up a notch.
And he's more affectionate, physically that is. More kisses or hand holding PDA wise to steer off any rivals demons.
Almost killing Angel (When isn't he?) when the spider demon got too close to his partner.
Almost kills a few others too. And at some point he's basically sent home until he feels normal again.
You go with him because you're worried.
This leads to more intimate activities.
Of course he's doing his best to not go too far. Mostly kisses and gentle caresses.
Though there is one time that he needs relief of some kind..
I'll just let you imagine that bit.
Its around December that he starts to feel slightly better.
Let's his partner know that he's not comfortable during rut and thanks them for staying by his side. (Also apologizing if he made them uncomfortable.)
Its February when he finally feels normal again.
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*scrolling through deer facts* Huh ok.
~Seline, the person.
Taglist@
@willowaudreykeyes @scary-noodlesblog @ducky-died-inside @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @lbcreations-blog @pooplyface1423 @+?
ML for Alastor🎙
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koemiexists · 11 days
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need a overstim fic w alastor pleaseeeeee and maybe some bondage with his tentacles????
I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship
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summary: alastor is your best friend, you think. but he doesn't want that. and you're okay with it. word count: 1.6k tags: smut, light bondage, tentacles, tentacle sex, overstimulation, monster form alastor, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, creampie, vaginal sex a/n: sorry for the wait!! i have been busy with school, as per the usual... but again!! slowly but surely!! the tortoise wins the race as they say!
You and Alastor were practically best friends. He never said it explicitly, but you knew that you and him had to be really close for him to be so at ease with you. 
Rosie had told you that not once had his smile dropped, even in private with her. You, however, witnessed it one time. It was an accident, sure, you had just looked up at the exact moment his smile dropped from a wide grin to a bit of a grimace. It happened so quickly you almost thought you were imagining things. 
Considering this, if anyone asked, you would confidently say that you and Alastor are best friends.
Alastor didn’t think the same, though, you came to realize when he loomed over your bed one night.
You were upset, to be honest, especially because you barely had time to yank your hands out of your underwear when you heard the telltale sign of him entering.
His shadow had spread out along the wall, staring down at you as you shot up, staring at Alastor, cheeks slightly red. The room was illuminated by two light sources; the constant dim lighting of Hell and all of the artificial bulbs that littered the streets, and Alastor’s glowing red eyes staring straight at you.
“Alastor?” You whispered, tilting your head in question of just why he was at your bed in the middle of the night. Angel had dragged you to a bunch of shopping stores for the entire day, rambling about how your wardrobe was especially lacking, so you were tired, and just wanted to let loose steam before finally sleeping.
In retrospect, you were glad you went along, considering you brought Charlie a new suit that she loved.
A sharp crackle of radio static forced your thoughts back on the Radio Demon’s form, and how he just continued to stare, before clearing his throat, the constant noise altering his voice rising. 
“Apologies, (Name).” He started slowly, gently sitting at the edge of your bed as you continued to silently look at him, your confusion heightening as you began to get apprehensive of what his goal was here. 
Despite the air thickening with static and apprehension, you couldn’t help the fact that you began to get wetter at the sight of Alastor. He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing at your form. 
“Why are you here?” You question softly, removing your covers from your body as you begin to perspire lightly. “You don’t normally come into the women’s bedrooms without permission. You said that it’s not of a gentleman’s nature to do so without courting her...”
He nods lightly, inclining his head towards you as he places his microphone to the side. “You’re correct,” Alastor’s eyes are on you again, glowing lightly as his grin sharpens. “And I am here particularly to court you. Although... it seems I may have interrupted a private matter.”
You flushed, and looked away. “Yeah, you have. Is that why you were acting a bit weird?”
Alastor huffed. “Weird?” His fluffy ears drew back against his head as he rolled his eyes, his grin still present. “I was not acting in an abnormal way.”
Feeling bold, you decide to wake the lion in the den with some teasing. “Oh? Am I supposed to believe that, Al? Obviously, something is up. You’re acting weird around me.” You huffed, crossing your arms as you glared up at him.
“Watch your mouth, dear. I will not be kind to you if you keep talking.”
You snort. “How are you going to shut me up, hm? Is the big, bad Radio Demon going to broadcast my screams? Going to make me beg for forgiveness? Are you going to try and take my soul? Huh?” You’re not sure why you’re so emboldened, and why you’re trying to get a rise out of the one sinner who can kill you in an instant, yet you feel thrilled when you see his brows furrow.
His antlers grew in size, and his eyes became radio dials as his large size towered your smaller frame. His grin was so wide, you felt your heart stop for a moment as his claws dug deep into the side of your pillow, right by your head. 
Alastor watched you yelp in fear, and he can almost smell the way your blood was pumping, the way you began to clam up. “Done?” He spoke slowly, as you nodded. “Good.”
Instead of shifting to his regular form, he just snapped his fingers, and you let out a high pitched squeal when your pajamas disappeared from your body. You were left stark naked, and Alastor only gave you a look, as if to punish you for your behavior. 
“Bad girls don’t get to orgasm once and be done with it.” A tentacle shot out from his back as his shadow self held your legs in order to stop any potential movement you may make. “You’ll take what I give you. And you have made me very upset, (Name).”
You whimpered, but he ignored it, instead pulling a chair up and sitting right next to the bed. His tentacle then went straight to your awaiting cunt, rubbing from the opening of your tight pussy to the tip of your clit. 
Twisting, you let out another squeaky noise, eyes wide and face flushed. Alastor peered at you, but you only let out a gasping ‘green’ as the tentacle plunged deep in you. You shifted again, trying to make the appendage go deeper into you.
“Needy? I barely touched you.” He smirked at your writhing form, the way your hair was splayed against the pillows. Your hips began to buck upwards, trying to get closer to the base of the tentacle. “Who were you thinking of?”
You sobbed out in pleasure, feeling your abdomen tighten as a second appendage began to rub at your clit at a fast pace. “W-what? What are you-” You interrupted yourself with another pleading moan exiting your mouth. 
Alastor rubbed your legs slowly, humming. “When you were masturbating.”
“Before you arrived?” You moaned out, an arm over your head as you hiccuped. “I- It’s embarrassing. This is embarrassing.” You told him, trying to keep your noises at bay. You felt your high cresting, but you didn’t want to cum so quickly. The tentacles kept their touches up, and you bit your lip hard, drawing blood.
He narrowed his eyes at you, the room filling with a cursed energy as he continued his ministrations, ever so slightly speeding up as you barreled to your release. 
You orgasmed around the tentacle inside you, whimpering as the other one rubbed your clit at the same quick pace, throwing you into the side of overstimulation. Crying out, you try to push it out of the way, however two more tentacles come out to pull your arms back. You writhed, your leg automatically jolting out in response to the constant stimulation on your cunt, and you shrieked as Alastor began to tease another tentacle against your already filled pussy.
“Now who?” He inquired once again, watching as you sobbed from the pleasure, tears rolling down your flushed cheeks. His erection pressed against his tight pants, but he just disregarded the pressure, focusing on the way your hair was tousled up, and the saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth.
After another tortuous moment of this, you caved, bucking your hips as your lips parted. “You! You, Alastor! I was thinking- I was-” You moaned roughly, and he smirked as you tried to gain your bearings. “Mm, I was rubbing my wet cunt at the mere thought of you!” 
Humming, Alastor grasped your hips, retracting his appendages that were holding your arms down. He leaned over you, in perfect position to thrust inside if he was bare.
“You look gorgeous.” Was all he breathed out, as you shrieked when the second tentacle at your cunt thrusted inside. You instantly came, whining pathetically for more, even as you were overstimulated. 
The other appendages retracted, and he unzipped his pants to thrust his hard dick inside you. You choked on a moan at the feeling of his cock, especially considering it was thick and long due to his monstrous form. “Al- Mm, Alastor!” You keened, wrapping your trembling legs around his hips. 
With every thrust, the bed shook tremendously, causing the headboard to bang against the wall. In your lust-filled mind, you couldn’t remember how there was others in this hotel, how everyone must have woken up due to the amount of noise you were making-
“No one will see you in such a state, darling.” Alastor groaned through the heavy static in his voice. You let out a quiet whimper as he abused your cunt with sloppy thrusts. He was getting close, and you just wished he’d fill your pussy, to the point where you were stuffed full. 
You were well aware of his questioning gaze at you, and you tried your best to fight through the fucked dumb haze, swallowing a few time as you tried to move your tongue to make sounds. “Breed me,” You stuttered out, looking up at Alastor. “Breed me until I’m full, Alastor, please.”
Alastor growled, and shoved his cock deep inside you, watching as you squirted all over him and the bed from the strength of your orgasm. Your pussy was squeezing him so tight, and he grunted as he pulled your hips flushed against his own, before cumming inside you.
You couldn’t even moan anymore, instead making a tired yet pleasured noise at the feel of Alastor’s thick, hot cum inside your swollen, puffy pussy.
You felt, rather than saw, Alastor slowly become his regular form. He shifted you gently, and you groaned at the way your legs ached. “Apologies, dear.” Alastor said, seeming apologetic as he kissed your sweaty forehead. “You must rest now. I believe you are properly sated?”
Smiling cheekily, you gave him a half-lidded lustful glance. “I may need some tending to, tomorrow.”
Alastor let out a small huff of amusement, smiling genuinely at you. “After I tell Charlie and the others that you’re perfectly fine.”
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astonmartinii · 7 months
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mamma mia | formula one social media au
drivers: sebastian vettel, jenson button and fernando alonso
what the hell is in the water in greece? why are pregnancy tests so expensive and why does seb name his vehicles like that?
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fernandoalo_oficial
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liked by maxverstappen1, aussiegrit and 803,450 others
location: greece
fernandoalo_oficial: had a great break in greece recharging the old batteries 🔋
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user1: old man who is this woman?
landonorris: who taught you to soft launch grandpa?
fernandoalo_oficial: hey! respect your elders
landonorris: you just called yourself old? and WHO IS THIS?
fernandoalo_oficial: none of your damn business kid
user2: why is he particularly dilfy lately?
user3: he's approaching silver fox territory i fear
jensonbutton: i see that greece was a popular spot for wold champions this break?
fernandoalo_oficial: i also saw, sad not to bump into you old friend :(
maxverstappen1: where was my invite ???
jensonbutton: cool world champions only
lewishamilton: excuse me?
fernandoalo_oficial: idk what to tell you it wasn't planned, me, jenson and sebastian just have good taste
sebastianvettel: i see mary goodnight was appreciated
fernandoalo_oficial: yes thank you for lending me your boat, huge hit with the ladies
sebastianvettel: very happy with my choice to get it deep cleaned before i got there
fernandoalo_oficial: first of all, i'm not dirty. second of all, thanks for the faith in my game big man
user4: i am so confused by this comment section I DID NOT WANT TO KNOW ALONSO FUCKED ON SEB'S BOAT ???
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yourusername
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liked by yourbff, oliviarodrigo and 1,340.987 others
tagged: yourbff
yourusername: (sober) brunch with a side of light baby daddy investigation
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user7: only y/n would end up in a mamma mia situation, stay strong
yourusername: omg i didn't even realise, but donna was always a bad bitch, so i will just be the same
user8: i can't believe i am watching a girl investigate her own baby daddies on the internet (i love this place)
yourbff: if we can't find the lucky men, at least they'll have a cool ass aunt
yourusername: all fun and games until you have to change a nappy
user9: i'm enjoying this saga, BUT, why can't we just wait and do a paternity test
yourusernmae: i still need to know them to do that... and being nosey is far more fun
user10: all i'm thinking is this girl has to have GAME for three dilfs in the span of like three days... RESPECT 🫡
user11: i am so invested in this... please be interesting people 🤞
jensonbutton
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liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 401,330 others
jensonbutton: back on sky duty and bumped into a couple of familiar faces
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user12: who let these old men talk about their sex lives on a live broadcast?
user13: i am entertained tbf
user14: obsessed with both needing to reinforce the fact that they pulled in greece
user15: i need seb to jump in on this conversation ASAP
fernandoalo_oficial: not happy with you pinning all of my success on seb's boat mate
jensonbutton: was it all your charming personality?
fernandoalo_oficial: obviously
sebastianvettel: i can confirm that it's always all the boat
jensonbutton: is that a confession?
sebastianvettel: gentleman don't kiss and tell x
charles_leclerc: jesus christ and we're the generation ruining the sport?
jensonbutton: f1 has always been slutty, you guys are letting us down
maxverstappen1: clearly you guys are still active enough to keep up the reputation yourselves
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sebastianvettel
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liked by charles_leclerc, jensonbutton and 902,180 others
sebastianvettel: retirement is looking fun, glad to take mary goodnight out for her first spin
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user21: did he just say mary goodnight? SEB WHAT?
user22: omfg he is potential baby daddy two??
charles_leclerc: so seb got a bit too lucky in greece?
user23: CHARLES?
user24: i am losing my mind they were right, they are the baby daddies
user25: i knew as soon as she said a nando with a samurai tattoo
user26: @yourusername he's number two !!!!!
user27: @yourusername we found him, boat and all
landonorris: YOU'RE POTENTIAL BABY DADDY TWO SEB WHAT THE FUCK
sebastianvettel: i don't understand lando
landonorris: check your texts
user28: don't forget the others lando
landonorris: @fernandoalo_oficial check your texts (and forward it to jenson i don't have his number)
fernandoalo_oficial: okay?
yourusername: WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
user29: i think someone needs to check on her
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yourusername
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liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,509,600 others
yourusername: i hot girl summer-ed a bit too close to the sun, what do you mean the three dilfs were f1 world champions?
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note: AHHHHHH? idk if i love it or hate it? do i know who i plan on being the dad? no. but do i plan on expanding on this? yes. mamma mia chaos will return.
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