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wardenparker · 6 months

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Red Lipstick

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: Ghost!reader, drug use (cocaine), mentions of murder, mentions of past adultery, dirty talk, hair pulling, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, fingernails/scratching, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex while high. Summary: When Dieter moves into a new house, the last thing he expected was to end up with a sultry new roommate. Especially one that died almost a hundred years ago. Notes: Blessed Samhain and Happy Halloween everybody! Let's celebrate by having Dieter get both high and nasty.

"I think you're going to be really pleased with how things are set up, Dee." As his personal assistant, Kendra has spent the last month getting her best and only client packed up, moved into his new house, and unpacked again while Dieter Bravo has been overseas filming. He had decided that the mansion he had been living in, in Malibu, just wasn't doing it for him anymore and she had been dispatched to fix the problem.

This art deco colossus in the Hollywood Hills was her answer — supposedly having belonged to some long forgotten starlet back in the silent era. Poor thing was poisoned by her husband's mistress, if the rumors were true. But Dieter didn't need to know that. Instead, Kendra sweeps him inside the door with an encouraging smile on her face and tries to get him to look around. "If you want anything moved around, you just say the word," she promises him.

“It’ll be fine.” For all his bullshit, Dieter isn’t actually as fussy as a lot of people might believe. He just wants a comfortable, vibey place to relax, do drugs and fuck. He looks around and nods, impressed with how quickly they’ve set everything up. “Kinda creepy. I like it.”

"I found some of the original furnishings in the attic and had them cleaned up. Reupholstered as necessary. I thought you'd like them." Extremely pleased with herself, Kendra looks around the large front hall and smiles. "There is food in the fridge with reheat instructions and plenty of things in the pantry if you want to eat without fuss. Your chef will be coming by every other day like usual. Would you like a tour?"

“Sure.” Maybe it’s a little odd that he’s needing a tour for a home he now owns, but he couldn’t be bothered to actually look at the listings that Kendra had sent him. She knew what he liked and what he didn’t, and he had trusted her to pick the best one for him.

The first floor has all the usual rooms, and considering the place was built in 1920 it has some unusual ones, too. A library and a dining room make perfect sense. The sitting room has been transformed into a relatively normal living room. The conservatory with all the plants Kendra could reasonably cram into it has a big table for playing games at and a bunch of places to sit for when he has people over to work but they want something nice to look at. The former ballroom? She left it sparsely decorated so he can decide what he wants to do with it later. Upstairs, the five bedrooms all have walk-in closets and their own bathrooms, and the largest one has been turned into his new bedroom. The giant brass bed in the attic was way nicer than his so she topped it with his mattress and covered the whole thing in his favorite sheets, blankets, and pillows. His other furniture is all set up, and his assistant has set up all the other guest rooms to be ready to go. “What do you think?” Kendra asks, leading him into the room with dark green wallpaper and mahogany wainscoting.

Dieter frowns and tilts his head at the ornate bed. “Did– that’s not my bed, is it?” He asks, pointing at it. “I would remember being tied to it, and I – I’ve not done that yet, I don’t think.”

“I found it in the attic,” Kendra tells him, passing by the comment with just a half-smirk. “I thought you’d like it.”

"It fucking cool." His eyes are positively excited as he rushes towards the bed and caresses the brass scroll work on the bed. "It's mine? It came with the house?" He can't imagine that someone would leave this badass bed, he wouldn't. It's orate and beautiful, drawing him to it in a way he can't describe. Imagining amazing sex in this bed and the flash of a woman. Just a glimpse as his hand wraps around one post.

“It’s yours.” She’s pleased with his reaction and smiles as he inspects the looming piece of furniture. “I know you have a few favorite booty calls in town if you want to try it out tonight.”

He chuckles and almost agrees but he doesn't. Deciding he wants to spend his first night in the house alone. Settle with it and figure out what kind of vibes it's giving him. "Maybe," is all he says.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” She nods when he looks back at her and heads for the stairs, leaving Dieter alone in his new house. He has the keys, he has his bearings, and he has dinner already made. She’ll be back tomorrow to check on him.

"Hello?" He calls out, just for fun even as the door has closed behind his assistant minutes ago. He's a firm believer in spirits, knowing that his aura projects out into the universe. It's why he doesn't like things messing with his brain waves like the bluetooth headphones.

“Hello sweetie.” From the doorway of the bedroom that once was yours, you place your hands on your waist and practically hum at the man standing near your bed. He doesn’t have that slick, smooth, buttoned-up look that men of your era did, but he has an undeniable appeal all his own. Not that he can see you — oh no — but at least you’ll have something nice to look at. The last family to own the house your fortune built was rather…unfortunate looking.

There's something. Dieter's skin tingles and he hums as he looks around the room. Swearing that he had felt something. "I'm– uh, I come in peace." He tells the room.

“Aw, sugar…” Tutting, you saunter into the room and cross your arms over your chest. The dressing robe you’ve worn for the last ninety-five years still gives you the feeling of swishing around as you move even though that’s now impossible. “You can’t see me, handsome. Or hear me. Nobody can.”

"Whoever you are..." Dieter's brows lift and he gives a sympathetic expression. "I feel you. Just know that I'm here to live beside you. And get really high."

“Feel me?” It would be too much to ask for it to be true, and you tilt your head at him curiously. “Sugar, I’d let you feel me in a heartbeat.“

"Can spirits get high?" He asks, mostly to himself and he chuckles. "We can get faded together."

“Guess we’ll have to find out.” You laugh softly to yourself. “Might be fun.”

"I'm hungry." Dieter groans, rubbing his stomach and then scratching it. "Gonna go down to the kitchen and get something to eat." He looks around the room. "Don't like– throw a knife at my head or anything, okay?"

That makes you laugh, a deep sound that is unpretentious and unexpected, and you decide to follow him down to the kitchen. The blandness of the last owners had been absolute, but this one is fun. And at least not a stick in the mud. Maybe his food will be worth smelling as well.

Rambling down the stairs, Dieter starts to hum a little tune. One that he doesn't recognize but he swears it from some old black and white movie.

“Now how do you know that?” The sound of the tune makes you hurry up, floating alongside this new man on feet that no longer touch the ground. You’d know it anywhere. The theme from a movie long gone and long forgotten — but that you’d sung yourself into that big studio microphone to be recorded and played for your first ever ‘talkie’. If only you hadn’t died first, you might’ve made a go of musicals.

"What movie is that from?" Dieter loves to get stoned and watch old movies. Having hundreds of channels that include a lot of classic movies, black and whites and even the great era of silent movies. There was something about that time that just appeals to him, the art of acting without saying a word. It took a lot more skill to portray emotion and your intent when you cannot say anything. "I'll have to look it up."

“Bernice Bobs Her Hair…” The film had been full of dances and a few good songs, all wrapped around that darling story by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It was supposed to be a breakout. Reignite your star. Instead you were dead on premiere night. “It was called Bernice Bobs Her Hair.”

“B something,” Dieter frowns, cocking his head as he reaches for the fridge. “The chick who was in it died the night it came out.” He snaps his fingers and yanks the door open to see what Kendra had left for him, “Ohhhhh Thai!”

"Thank god I looked good, at least." You huff, crossing your arms again as you try to figure out what he's tying as he takes things out of the icebox.

“Peanut sauce, fuck yes!” He could kiss his assistant, knowing he’s been on a Thai kick lately and she has put all his favorites in there. “I can reheat the samosas in the air fryer. That will be good.” He talks to himself. “Pad Thai, that omelet thing I can never say right. Fuckkkkkkk, she got me the green curry. Imma get fucked up and munch.”

He's got a boyish kind of charm to him as he zips around the kitchen, and if you could you would be leaning back against the counter to watch. As it is, the small sound of your laughter and the smile on your face is private, but you find yourself hoping he might continue to speak to himself out loud from time to time. It's nice to be able to pretend that he is actually talking to you.

Dieter straightens up and looks towards the counter near the fridge. “Oh shit. Forgive me. I don’t know how to live with a – a spirit.” He shrugs. “Do you want to join me? Can ghosts eat? Probably not right? Fuck. That would suck. I’m sorry.”

When he looks right at you, you feel your mouth fall open and your eyes double in size. "You— can you— see me?" It's just a coincidence. It has to be. He can't possibly be looking at you, right? Just...in your general direction...

“I swear to fuck you are right there.” He points at you and sighs. “Or you’re so goddamn lonely you’re inventing ghosts to have someone to talk to, Bravo.” He blows out a breath, wondering when he lost his fucking mind.

"I am right here." Moving away from the counter, you get closer to him and closer, wondering how it's possible at all for him to sense you. If he has any idea who you are. "I'm right in front of you..." you murmur, wondering what would happen if you reached out to try to touch him.

“Right.” Dieter drops his head and reaches up to rub his neck. “Time to do some cocaine.” He grunts, sure that he’s answered his own question. “Or maybe that new shit Kevin brought me.” It amused him to no end that his regular supplier’s name was Kevin. He had him in his phone as ‘Home Alone’ for kicks.

"Ooo, cocaine. How darling and nostalgic of you. I miss cocaine." When he walks away you can't help but sigh. Or you would, if you still drew breath. Instead you occupy yourself in the most entertaining way currently at your disposal: following around the living person in your house.

There's a reason Dieter loves to have ornate or even simple flat mirrors around his home. One, it reflects light and brightens any space up. Two, it's great for setting up a line for coke. Making him think of those 80's parties every time he uses his credit card to line one up to snort, he giggles. "Too bad I don't have one of those fancy rings where you open the little compartment to take a bump." He grunts, knowing he would always have that thing loaded.

“Find my jewelry box in the attic and you’ll find a few beauties.” You hum, setting yourself on the nearby chair to lounge. That’s all you can do these days and it’s terribly annoying.

Once the line is as perfect as he wants it, Dieter rolls up a five dollar bill and bends over the mirror. It's quick, the pain of snorting something up his nose long since faded, and he throws his head back at the rush of pure endorphins. Eyes closed as the feeling settles over him like a warm blanket and he groans, dropping his head back down and opening his eyes.

Only to give a yelp when he spots a woman lounging on one of his living room chairs. "What the fuck!"

“You can see me!” This time there is no mistaking it, and you practically bounce and clap your hands with glee. “Sugar, that magical white powder of yours is a little more magical than you think!”

"Who the fuck are you?" Dieter stumbles back and bumps into a table behind him, rocking the lamp but he doesn't pay it any attention. "How the fuck did you get in. I– look, I don't want a crazy fan in my house. I'll call the police!"

“Call the police all you want, handsome. They won’t be able to see what you’re so worried about.“ It had happened with the last owners — when you had gotten fed up with being ignored and invisible and dead you had gone on a good old fashioned haunting spree that resulted in everything from police being called to exorcisms being performed. The family finally moved out in a rush and the house had been empty for almost ten years. “And darlin’?” You drawl, delighted that he can actually hear you. “You’re the one in my house.”

"Your house?" Dieter shakes his head and blinks again. Swearing that he's on a bad trip, but there is a shimmeriness around you and your hair is very styled. Despite the fact that you are wearing a vintage dressing gown, with the feathered sleeves that seemed to be in every old movie from the classics. He frowns, blinking again and then it clicks. "Oh shit. I know who you are."

“Oh, really?” Practically preening at the idea that he might recognize you since he clearly has seen at least one of your films, you instinctively strike a pose in the chair. “Guess I just have one of those unforgettable faces,” you purr.

"You're dead though." He shakes his head again and throws out a lopsided grin. "But you look really good for a dead broad." He says your name and then pauses. "Right?"

“Right as rain.” You chirp happily. It’s been so long since you’ve even been seen that being recognized again seems like a faraway dream. “But who is this handsome fella that’s in my house with my bed in his room?”

It can't be real. It can't be. You died. A fucking long time ago. Dieter hums, realizing he must be in another one of those hallucinations of his. They are getting more and more vivid the longer he uses. Maybe his agent was right and he needed a stint in rehab. For now, he shrugs and introduces himself. "Dieter Bravo. I'm an actor too. Oscar winner." He adds.

“Oscar winner, huh?” The brag isn’t lost on you, and you bat your eyelashes at him in your old accustomed way. “A big shot.”

"Maybe." Despite his air of arrogance that he wears, Dieter is like most actors. Neurotic and craving validation and love. "To some."

“I would’ve had one,” you toss one hand in the air flippantly, delighted that he can actually see you do it. “But they didn’t start those things until after I died.”

“Really?” He hums and tilts his head. “What year?”

“What year did I die, you mean?” A dramatic sigh from you is an effort since you don’t need breath anymore, but it’s so fun to play. “I died October 27, 1928, sugar. Right here in this house.”

“How?” He asks with a frown. “I mean, you look great. You don’t look dead.”

“Well, aren't you sweet?” A girl does like a compliment now and then. Especially when she hasn’t had one in almost a hundred years. “It was poison, sweet thing. Should’ve known better than to let someone else mix my drinks.”

“You were poisoned?” Dieter looks alarmed, too alarmed for a death that happened nearly 100 years ago, but he’s looking around like the murderer would pop out at any moment.

“Tale as old as time, handsome.” You shrug your shoulders, having had plenty of time to process the betrayal. “My best friend was sleeping with my husband and they wanted me out of the way. Don’t know why he didn’t just ask for a divorce…probably so he could keep my money.”

“Fuck.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m sorry. Want a drink?” He asks, feeling comfortable enough to offer a ghost a drink. “Oh shit– no, you wouldn’t want me to pour you a drink. I’m an idiot.”

“If I could have a drink, I’d let you pour me one.” He seems sweet. A little lost. Maybe abandoned. But sweet. Like a puppy that needs to be pet more often.

“I can see you.” He reasons. “Maybe you can. After all…” he shrugs. “Ghosts can’t sit and you're lounging on my chair, sprawled theatrically.”

"Oh sugar, I can assure you that ghosts do sit. We do a hell of a lot of it, in fact. Or else we'd do nothing but float around or stand all day, and variety is the spice of...well...death."

“What else can you do?” Dieter latches onto the conversation with an eagerness that surprises him but it’s not everyday he converses with ghosts.

"I can push things over sometimes." You have managed that early on. Scaring the devil out of your husband and his plaything so frequently that they had abandoned the house and sold it as quickly as possible. "Flicker the lights. Cause breezes. You know...ghostly things."

“Hmmmm.” Dieter moves over to the bar and pours a glass of whiskey. “Come see if you can drink.” He urges you.

"I seriously doubt it, darlin', but why not." Shrugging your shoulders, you lift yourself up from the seat you had been lounging in and saunter over to the bar. It's been a hell of a long time before you were able to do anything at all, and this man – Dieter – is the first person who has been able to do as much as sense you in decades. Why not have a little fun? Once you're standing beside him you reach out, waggling your bejeweled fingers a little before attempting to wrap them around the glass. As hard as you can possibly concentrate, your hand slips right through the glass and the liquid inside, coming up empty.

“What if I hold it for you?” The rational part of his brain is screaming that it won’t work, but there’s this voice that keeps telling him to try.

“Why the hell not?” It won’t work, but it seems to amuse him to try, so you sway closer and tilt your head expectantly.

He's nervous, not because he needs to step closer to you, but because – what if this works?. He might be able to do something no one else has been and thats pretty fucking cool.

You really hate to see him get his hopes up, but indulgently tilt your head back for the liquid to – as expected – pass right through you to a puddle on the floor. “It’s alright, sugar,” you croon softly when he looks disappointed, and ingrained instinct makes you reach like you could somehow pat his face even though you’ve just proven the opposite. Imagine both of your surprise, then, when your cold hand neatly cups his burning hot cheek.

"OH SHIT!" Dieter jumps, nearly pulling away from your touch because of the temperature difference, but then he manages to keep contact. "Oh shit, you're– how? I thought you couldn't– what the fuck?"

“I don’t know— I don’t know!” As panicked as he is, you reel back instantly and stare at your hand, cradling it like it might combust. “I don’t know! That’s never happened before!”

"You touched me! Quick, do it again!" This time Dieter is reaching out for you. Seeing if he can touch a ghost and he yelps again when his fingers connect with you.

“How in the world?” It shouldn’t be possible. It doesn’t make sense. And yet— it’s happened.

"Oh god, are you sure you're a ghost?" Dieter frowns, fingers curling around your jaw, making sure it's not one of those celebrity masks things people sometimes wear. That you aren't tricking him even if he had just watched your drink pass through you. "You feel real."

“You’re the first person to have a feel in ninety-five years, darlin’.” And that in and of itself is why you’re sure this is actually happening. You were there — you remember every single one of those ninety-five years’ worth of days.

“Oh fuck, this is, this is so cool!” Dieter groans out with an ecstatic expression on his face.

“This is unbelievable.” Never in your entire afterlife have you ever tried to touch a living being. When Reggie and his trollop were still in the house you had haunted them right out into the street. The second owners could not have been more oblivious to your otherworldly presence if they had been doing it intentionally. The third had simply bored and annoyed you so deeply that you had spooked them just out of sheer habit. You had lost your zest for haunting for a long, long time. But this? This is utterly remarkable.

“This shouldn’t be happening, right?” Dieter asks, as if being a ghost makes you an expert on them. “What’s different? What’s making this happen?”

“Damned if I have any idea, sugar.” It’s almost too exciting to bear, but you test the thing by flexing your fingers against the rasp of stubble on his face. “But it’s never ever happened before.”

"Is it because I'm high?" He wonders. "My mind is just....in tune with the spirit world?"

“Maybe?” It’s impossible to know for sure, but your hands are making his face with enthusiasm because you’re afraid to touch his clothing and lose this magical ability to touch again.

Dieter reaches out and touches you again. "You feel so soft." He hums. "You've got a hell of a skincare routine."

“Being dead seems to have its advantages.” You joke with a wink. “Can’t wrinkle if you can’t age.”

"So you look like you did when you died?" He asks. "You were fucking sexier than the screen made you look."

“Why, Mr. Bravo, you flatter.” Even though your instinct is to close your eyes against the searing heat of him and how solid he feels against you, you’re fully afraid that if you do, he’ll disappear. And true to form, instead of facing fear, you continue to joke. “But really, gray makeup does no one any favors.”

"It had to be like that, right?" He asks curiously. Remembering the history of cinema classes that he had taken in college. "Because it would show up on film better?"

“Just so.” His hand is so broad it feels like it spans one entire half of your face. “But I always preferred red.”

"Red lips are always sexy." He murmurs, licking his own lips and glancing down at your painted red lips.

“Always?” The question hangs — if he’s going far enough out on that limb to actually be considering what he seems to be considering. And if you’re far enough out on that limb with him to go along.

"Always." He agrees, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip. "Should I– would it be weird if I kissed you?" He asks. "For science?"

“Depends.” If you still had a heartbeat it would be frantic — excitement and nerves crawling up your spine. “Ever thought of kissing a woman born before 1900?”

"Am now." He admits with a self deprecating shrug. "I don't know if it counts, but I had a crush on Greta Garbo when I was a boy."

“Good taste.” You hum, chuckling from somewhere deep in your chest. “She was a hell of a woman.”

"You knew her?" He asks in surprise.

“Knew her?” You demure, all amusement and sly smile. “She was a remarkable kisser.”

"Really?" Dieter's eyes blow wide and he glances down at your lips again. "Are– were you– uh, lovers?"

“One or two parties that got a little out of hand.” A chuckle grows from your chest and you nudge his chin up to close his mouth, delighting in the not so simple act of touching him. “My husband wasn’t the only one dissatisfied with our marriage, I suppose.”

"So you're bi?" It's a fucking interesting development in the conversation and a fascinating one at that. “Uh, bisexual?” He isn’t sure if that phrase was used back then. “You like both sexes?”

“I used to just say ‘adventurous’.” You have heard the term, though. Through the decades you have learned a whole lot about the world.

"Adventurous." He chuckles quietly and smirks. "Then I guess I'm 'adventurous' too." He admits. "But I want to kiss you."

“We can try.” His hands on your skin feel burning when you didn’t think you could ever feel anything again — so wouldn’t it be foolish not to try?

“Let me know if you– uh, feel anything.” He’s honestly not sure if he’s so high he’s imagining things, or this is real, but it feel like the greatest fucking high of his life. Holding onto the silky waist of the dressing gown and leaning in to press his lips to yours ever so gently.

The last fading memory of a kiss that you have is from the night you died, and it is one of the most melancholy things to have past those lips of yours that you can still remember. This, comparatively, is like being set on fire even when it only lasts a second. The sound of a gasp comes from one of you — likely him, all things considered — but you could swear the world has turned on its axis just a touch, in letting the living and the dead collide like this.

Your lips are cold and yet the reason Dieter shivers isn’t because of that. It’s from the tingling, the way that his hair raises on the back of his neck and his cock starts to harden. He’s kissing a ghost and he likes it.

“Impossible…” Yet it’s undeniable. It happened. You both experienced it. A living man and the ghost of a woman long dead, sharing a kiss.

“Again.” Dieter demands, taking a step closer to you and sliding his hand down to your waist. “I want another kiss.”

There shouldn’t be any way in hell this is possible, especially with him now touching your robe instead of your skin, but you can feel him. The breadth of his hand on your back, his chest presses against yours, hot breath fanning over your face and the hardness against your hip. It’s all real. “Happily.” You hear yourself groan out, diving back into another impossible kiss.

This time there is tongue. Making him groan into your spiritual mouth and tighten his hold on you. Unable to believe this is happening and not another hallucination, he pulls back. “Pinch me.” He demands. “Scratch me, something.”

It should surprise no one that the shade of deep red on your lips matches your nails, and even though your eyebrows pinch with the same disbelief and confusion as his, you rake your nails down his forearm and gasp when they leave behind a trail of equally red marks in their wake. “How?” Is all you can ask, knowing that neither of you has an answer.

“I don’t know, but goddamn that felt good.” Dieter moans quietly. He slides his hand up, cupping a breast and pinching your nipple through the silken material of your dressing gown.

The gasp you let out shouldn’t be possible either, but the fact that you seem to be solid under his touch and him solid to yours is exquisite. Coupling that with an arousal like you haven’t felt in almost a century and you’re dragging him back to you by the fabric of his shirt, willing to live in this miracle for as long as it lasts. To feel alive again.

Making out with a ghost isn’t something that he could have imagined when he arrived at his new house, but he’s enjoying it. Backing you up, he presses you to the wall as he continues to kiss you.

It pulls another gasp from you, shocked when you don't instantly evaporate through the wall like normal. Somehow – some way – in touching and being touched by him, you are solid again. You can swear you almost feel your heart beating. Racing out of time as you start to pull at his clothing and he blindly attempts to untie the sash holding your robe in place.

“What the fuck?” Dieter hisses, breaking away from the kiss to look down at the knot on your robe. “Who the fuck tied this?”

"I did." But now, in retrospect, you huff about it along with him. "To discourage my louse of a husband."

“Fuck.” He grunts, shaking his head. “We need– fuck, the bedroom, we need to go to the bedroom.”

"Afraid to let go–" You admit, fingers still tangled in his shirt as you both pant for breath. To pant is such an exquisite sensation that you cannot possibly describe it and you must look positively ecstatic in the moment.

“Then don’t.” Dieter chuckles, deciding that he will be putting the weight training for his last film to good use when he pulls up your dressing gown and grabs your thighs to lift you up. “Fuck, you feel heavy for a ghost.” He grunts as he picks you up.

"Rude." A single swat at his chest is nothing, and you rope your arms around his shoulders to press hot kisses along the column of his neck while he moves down the hall.

Dieter groans, hands cupping your ass he stumbles towards his new bedroom. Trying to remember the way when half the blood meant for his brain is operating his cock. Realizing that you are no longer cold, but almost scorching hot in his arms.

"Your left! Not my left!" You mumble against his skin, giggling and trying to give him directions when you refuse to detach yourself from kissing any part of him that you can manage.

“Fuck. Fucking new/old house.” He grunts. “Fuck, you’re so sexy. You know that? I bet you had all your co-stars wanting to fuck you.”

"A few of them did." His fingers digging into your ass brush perilously close to your pussy and you moan. "But you've fucked some of yours, too, sugar."

“Yes.” He groans, pulling you against his cock. “Fucked them, ate them out, sucked them off. Whatever we felt like doing.”

"Bet you want to add me to that list right about now, don't you, sugar?" The nickname has stuck, and you've decided you like it. Leaning back in his arms and finding both your body and clothing have returned entirely to the corporeal plane, your eyes find his with the same fire he is feeling now. "I can feel how much you want me."

"Fuck, do I want you." He groans, unable to believe that he's ever wanted someone this bad, but how do you explain the attraction to a 100 year-old ghost? "I'm going to strip you down and bury my tongue and cock in your ghostly cunt. See what filling it with my cum looks like." At least here, he's almost certain there's zero chance of catching something or a pregnancy scandal.

As soon as he sets you down on the bed he’s diving into it after you, covering your body with his and drowning in kisses that make your head spin as you tug at the knot you tied in your robe. It is amazing how your skin has warmed up. Gone from being a muted color to technicolor. Like you are being brought to life by his touch. His mouth drags over your shoulder when the silk slips down and he bites. Chuckling in absolute delight when he leaves behind imprints on your skin.

With your head tossed back on the blankets you revel in a moan, looking up at him with eyes that feel hazy but have not seen this clearly in years. “If we only get tonight, let’s make the most of it. Sound good, sugar?”

“Absolutely.” He moans in agreement, ecstatic that you seem to be on the same wavelength as he is. Maybe that’s why this is happening. Your spirit is touching his. “I’ve never eaten haunted pussy before.” He jokes as he kisses down your body and pulls the gown down over one breast to latch onto it.

“Can’t say that again passed tonight.” You chuckle, gasping at the searing heat and eager grasping of his mouth on your flesh. It is electric in a way you have never been able to describe and adds to the incredible miracle that is tonight. “Good thing about being dead is that the pussy stayed shaved.”

“Very good thing.” He mouths from around your breast, hands pulling open the dressing gown when you finally get the sash untied.

The last time you felt a breeze on your skin was so long ago that you moan at it, back arching into him as he exposes your body to the bright electric lights and air from the open window. The fingers of one hand are in his curly hair and your other is pulling at his shirt, wanting him as bare as you are for everything that is to come.

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he has to. Has to hurry to pull his clothes off so he can have the wildest encounter that he could probably never even talk about.

Soft and strong is always how you’ve liked your men, and the corded muscles in his arms and back — when you catch a glimpse — that give way to a soft middle and full cheeks are just your type. When he’s entirely bare and pushing your silk robe away from your body with every ounce of concentration he has, you instinctively spread your legs wide for him to take his place between them.

“Fuck, I’ve never – fuck.” He groans, knowing that you will understand what he’s meaning. It’s not like you’ve done this either from what you’ve told him. Kissing and nipping down your body, it’s interesting to hear you moan at the sensation. “Here goes.” His eyes flick up to your face before he dives into your cunt.

The moan you let out is deep and unbridled, as earnest as you are eager to watch every single moment. You lean up on one elbow to prop yourself up, raking the fingers of your other hand through his hair to get yourself the best view possible. He’s gloriously messy — enthusiasm over technique — and it makes it all the more hedonistic to moan and sigh at the sensations you know are coming from the deepest depths of desire.

You feel real, you taste real. There’s nothing about this that would indicate that there’s nothing beyond a gorgeous, horny woman in his bed and Dieter is here for it. Moaning into your damp folds as he tries to find which flick of his tongue drives you wild.

Everything feels good, and if you weren’t always a ‘the deeper the better’ kind of girl in life, you certainly are in your afterlife. Simultaneously too much and not enough, the not enough side is winning a little more every second. Dieter pushes your thighs wider with his shoulders and shoves a hand up, desperate to feel himself deep inside you, even if it’s just his fingers. Wanting to see how high pitched your breathy moans can get.

"Fuck–fuck–right there, baby. Oh god–" When he finds that perfect place it has your hips rolling and your back arching off the bed, chasing every pump of his fingers and flick of his tongue. The sensations are divine combined with your own hand pinching and pulling your nipples to add another lick of sharp pleasure to the symphony. Even touching yourself feels amazing after so long with nothing at all.

Dieter groans, soaking up the praise, the moans. Doubling down and flicking his tongue even faster as his jaw works open and closed. Despite being dead, your cunt is dripping for him, coating his fingers in slick that makes it easier to push them deeper, curl them up more as he works you open.

Rambling praise takes over, your mind finding a measure of ecstasy in the ability in the simple fact that he can hear you while he is feasting on your pussy and fucking his fingers as deep inside you as they will go. It's only when your scrambled, breathy monologue starts to stutter and break that he knows how close you are – that, and the tight grip you have on his curls as you start to shake beneath him.

Panting, he grinds his hard cock into the mattress. Moaning as you tug on his hair, making his scalp burn and continuing to affirm that this is not a dream. Curling his fingers up one last time and sucking your clit into his mouth as your body bows up underneath his touch. The moment that snaps the thread of tension in your body is when the fingernails of his free hand bite into your thigh at the same point he curls the fingers of his other hand and barely scrapes his teeth along your swollen clit. The force of all three sensations makes your vision go white, and for the first time since all of this began, your eyes fall blissfully shut while your body shakes with the force of your orgasm.

He feels the way your entire body relaxes, slumping down into the bed. Humming to himself as he slowly works you through that blissful high. Keeping his fingers buried inside you as his tongue licks up every drop of your pleasure.

"Hell in a handbasket." Sighing out, you soothe your fingers against his scalp and grin down at him when he licks the last drop of cum from your cunt. "Get up here, sugar. Let me ride you."

“You want to ride?” His head pops up in surprise. He had expected you to want to be treated after so long, but he can’t deny the idea of a ghost riding his cock is appealing.

“Not very fair to make you do all the work, handsome.” Your smile is lopsided instead of pointed now, lazily drawn across your mouth like the human iteration of a contented house cat. “And I wouldn’t want to be rude to my new house guest.”

“Aren’t you technically my guest?” He lets you pull him up and roll him over onto his back. “Since it’s my house now?”

“Semantics.” Once he is on his back, you pin him down with one knee on either side of his thighs and wrap one hand around his cock to pump his length a few times experimentally. The precum beaded at the top is pearlescent and musky, the scent of sex from your own climax filling your nostrils and giving you the thrill of yet another sense coming back to life.

“Oh shit.” He grunts out, twitching in your hand. “I– fucking hell, please, please, put your mouth on me.”

“Ooo, he begs.” It’s a delightful discovery, and you obligingly bend over to kitten lick the tip of his cock just to see how beautifully he’ll groan.

Dieter is a whiny, spoiled little bastard who is given everything he wants because that’s how you treat celebrities, but he will beg. He will beg for anything and everything in bed. Slightly more submissive than most people expect. He moans your name loudly and closes his eyes as his hips rock up.

“Watch, sugar.” Something about it, the magical quality perhaps or what feels like literal magic, makes you want to keep him in this bubble with you. This state of hyper awareness. Your mouth hovers over the tip of his cock and you give it a long kick to get his attention. “You’re gonna watch me just like I watched you.”

Dieter whimpers, opening his eyes obediently. As soon as he sees the length of his cock disappear down your spectorly throat, he moans, twisting his fingers into the sheets under him. “Fuck, fuck, I’m getting my dick sucked by the hottest fucking ghost I’ve ever seen.” The fact that you’re the only ghost he’s seen is a moot point.

You chuckle low, deep in your throat, and it vibrates around his girthy length as you start to bob your head deliberately. Slowly. Wanting to savor every second of this for as long as it lasts. If you didn’t have a mouth full of him you’d be teasing him about the other ghosts he’s seen to compare you to, but you just don’t care. Not right now. Not with him at your mercy.

"Holy shit." He hisses, moaning loudly. "You're so good. Did you just– fuck, spend the last hundred years practicing on a ghost banana?"

It makes you chuckle again, and instead of answering you take him that much deeper. If he thinks you were showing off before? Just wait.

His toes curl, scrunching his feet up as you apparently have every intent of sucking his soul out through his dick. Could he die from a blowjob? It seems possible. “Fuck, baby doll.”

He wanted your mouth so he’s going to get every benefit of your focus right up until he can’t stand it any longer. He throbs against your swirling tongue, twitching in your mouth and against your fingertips where you are stroking the last few inches of his length that don’t easily fit in your mouth — there’s no way you’re ruining your vacation from ghost-hood by accidentally choking on a cock.

"Fuck, do you swallow?" Dieter moans. "You should swallow, I want– oh fuck." You keep sucking, pulling him closer every heartbeat until his vision blacks out, the hoarse cry ripping out of his throat.

Spurt after spurt of hot cum jettisons down your throat as his body bares down on itself, muscles tightening and extremities curling. The man is a geyser and every time he pumps more cum into your willing, waiting mouth you groan loudly and swallow around him. The feeling of being truly alive is not one that you are going to take for granted tonight and he is making it all the more memorable by just giving in to those most basic of human needs. There is nothing sexier than a person who has completely given themself over to the feeling of pleasure, and by the time you lift your head from Dieter’s cock, he has absolutely done that.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" Dieter yelps the last curse, feeling like you are sucking so hard it's to the point that it hurts, keeping him hard. He must have snorted that batch of coke that he had mixed viagra in, because he normally is a one and done for at least an hour kind of guy.

When he doesn’t soften at all after cumming your throat in cum, you pull off of him with one raised eyebrow and smirk. “You still alive there, sugar? Can’t have both of us dying in this house.”

He pants out a laugh and manages to lift his head to look down at where you are grinning up at him, your hand still wrapped around his hard cock. "Not dead. More alive than I've ever been."

“That makes two of us.” Giving his cock another few strokes, you shift forward and comb your fingers through his sweat-damp curls. “You want more, handsome?”

“Want everything.” He groans quietly. “You want to ride me, or you want me to fuck you?”

“Want everything.” You echo him with a sly grin and shift forward. “I’m gonna ride you to the edge and then you’re going to fuck me as hard as you can. Got it, sugar?”

"Fuck, I didn't know people were so fucking dirty back then." He groans, twitching against his stomach as you drag your wet cunt over him. "I think I would like it back then."

“The Kama Sutra is hundreds of years old,” you remind him with a throaty chuckle. “So is pornography and promiscuity.” Positioning yourself over his cock, you start to sink down slowly and sigh out in absolute bliss. “Humans have always loved to fuck.”

“Ghosts too, apparently.” He moans, grabbing onto your very solid hips as you settle down on his cock. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Least ghostly I’ve been in ages.” It’s also the first time since death you’ve experienced something as human as being aroused and it’s entirely liberating. “Maybe this thick cock is magic.”

He starts to giggle out of a groan when you clench around him. "Magic stick." He grunts, rocking his hips up. "It attracts allll the ghostly nymphos." He jokes, sliding his hand down to press against your clit.

“They can line — oh, baby — up.” You let your head drop back but your eyes are still open, arms raised up to let your tits bounce as you start to ride him in earnest.

He's never had someone ride him so fucking enthusiastically. It might be because it's the first time you've been able to feel in a hundred years, but he will take what he can get. Unable to fucking believe that this is happening, although the pressure around his dick and the way the bed creaks and groans proves that it's real.

The slight change in the angle of his hips when he plants his feet on the mattress has you crying out again and nearly growling. “That’s it, sugar.” And “Oh Fuck!” And “More, baby.” Echo through the room with the slap of skin on skin. The volume seems to rise along with the pleasure you’re both receiving, so it is nothing short of a beautiful noise the more you ride him.

Breaking in the new bed in his new house is an experience he could never, ever top. His hands slide from your hips up to the headboard and he wraps his fingers around the scrolled metal. Hanging on and using it as leverage to thrust up into you harder.

He propels you forward, losing your balance slightly so that you end up having to brace yourself with both hands on his chest and your tits bouncing in his face, but you really don't think that either of you minds. Instead, your fingertips instinctively dig into his chest, biting half-moon marks into his skin. Leaning forward changes the angle of his thrusts, letting him strike against entirely different places inside you, and you whimper softly without even realizing it when he scrubs against that perfect spot inside you to make you see stars.

“Right there?” His pants, recognizing the glazed look on your face. “Yeah, fuck, that’s the spot.” Despite the drugs that are pumping through his system, or perhaps because of it, he is attuned to the way you react.

"Right there." It has you breathless, how good it feels and how solid and real the feeling is.

"Holy shit." The feeling of you around him has him rolling his eyes back, your cunt even better than your mouth if possible. "Want to see you cum."

It certainly won't take long, not with the way his cock is shredding up inside you, and your previously loud moans are quickly being replaced with high pitched pants the closer you get to your own climax. Having the breath fucked out of you is such a stark difference from the existence you've been leading for the last many decades and it's such a welcome change. It takes barely another minute – maybe two – before you're sobbing out filthy praise and clenching down on his cock to wrench every last drop of pleasure from the moment that you can.

There's nothing sexier than a woman cumming, but you? You take his breath away. Steal it from his very lungs as your lusty sobs reverberates through him. Taking control and rocking up into you, working you through the most intense orgasm of your existence.

“Fuck.” Breathed out shakily as you let yourself fall down to his chest, your fingers comb through his curls and tug on the strands sharply as you’ve found that he likes.

He moans quietly, twitching inside you and humming as he lets go of the bed to wrap his arms around you to roll you under him. Eager to find his own release again and see how it looks dripping out of your cunt.

“That’s it, sugar.” Sprawled out on your back underneath him, you wrap your legs around his waist and tangle your hands in his sheets. “Take what you need.”

Dieter is normally not aggressive but there is something about your tone, your words, that spurs him on. Setting his jaw, Dieter starts to rock into you, keeping his pace harsh. Thrusting deep and moaning when you roll your hips.

Unconsciously mirroring him from just moments ago, you reach above your head and grasp the bars of your headboard. Every time he thrusts into you he shakes the whole frame, bouncing your tits and his curls and everything around you. The bed creaks and threatens to give but you know it won't – this one single piece of furniture is as sturdy as the whole house. It was made for you to fuck in.

"Fuck baby, fuck." Dieter growls, jack hammering his hips as he fills you again and again. Unable to brace his body above yours any more and dropping down to his elbows. He can't believe that he is still going, but he can't stop. He won't stop.

As much he wants to give or take, you are here for every second of it. With his head buried in your neck and the rhythm of his hips starting to stutter, your moan and whimpers are a symphony mixed with his own.

It flashes through his mind that this is some sort of sick hoax, that you are and have always been real, but he can’t worry about that right this second. The second that his mind goes blank to everything but his body’s needs and he thrusts deep, slamming his hips forward and groaning your name as a prayer.

“That’s it, sugar,” you croon again, this time cradling him close as rope after rope of hot cum fills you to the brim.

“Oh God.” Dieter pants, snuggling deeper and not sure if or when you might disappear, so he holds on tight.

“Hardly.” Your typical, throaty giggle rides through your body and you stroke his back gently. “But I’ll take the praise if that’s the mood you’re in.”

“Hmmmm.” He hums and shifts so he is not weighing you down, rolling to his side and bringing you with him. “I’ll give it.” He murmurs, suddenly sleepy after the vigorous sex and starting to come down from his high. “Stay.” He mumbles quietly, rubbing your back this time.

“You’re in my house, remember?” This time your laugh is a little less indulgent, tinged with worry as you wonder how much longer you’ll be able to feel him. Speak to him. Have him see you. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s right.” He smiles, turning his head and pressing his lips to your sweat damp hair. “But this is a spirit friendly bed.”

“I hope so,” you murmur, watching as he snuggles in next to you and lets his eyes drift close with a sigh. “I truly hope so, sugar.”

******

Dieter opens his eyes, slowly peeling them apart and blinking to try to get rid of the gritty feeling. “Baby doll?” His voice is rough with sleep and he had expected you to be weighing him down. “Where are you?” For a moment, for a split second he had thought he dreamed it. His gaze finding its way to the picture on the wall that he hadn’t noticed last night. A portrait of a woman, of you, gorgeously sprawled on a chaise with a sultry smile and ruby red lips.

He is almost convinced that the best night of his life was a figment of his imagination as he moves. Until it catches his eye. Red. More specifically, red lips. The sight of kisses scattered over his body and down under the sheet. Making him lift them to see lipstick wrapped around his cock, hard this morning and it makes him grin.

It hadn’t been a dream.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #Dieter Bravo x f!reader #ghost reader #The Bubble #Spooktober #sexy and spooky #haunted sex #drug use

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subspaceember · 9 months

Text

Things I do not understand about the design of my parents house

Bathroom

The shower head is mounted a foot too low. I'm around 5'10 and my eye level is right where the pipe comes out of the wall. (This is the case for every shower in the house) which means the water starts to hit you around your nipples

The toilet paper holder thing is in between the toilet and the tub and requires an uncomfortable reach, actually hard to use, and so no one does

None of the towel racks are within reach of the tub, there's one on the opposite end of the room and on the opposite side of the toilet

There is a fan - however it just vents into the attic - no actual vent was ever installed - also it's the scariest looking fan ever made, you can put your hand through it. The one downstairs was a complete afterthought, when we moved in there was just a random plug hanging out of the ceiling that went to the fan - which vents into the drop ceiling... of the basement

That's right the bathroom that's in a basement and has no window that can open and also used to have carpet in a house with no HVAC system has NO FUNCTIONAL VENT FAN

There is a window - it's just a regular window that faces the front lawn, so hopefully no one's out there. There's blinds on it, but they're mounted away from the window so you can still absolutely see in if you stand in the right spot

It has an absurd amount of countertop - not really a bad thing, but it's very overkill for a bathroom

The soap tile thing came off the wall and refused to be glued back on - so there's just a big duct tape patch there now

General

The entire downstairs is drop ceiling, yup like an office building.

On top of that the entire downstairs was originally only lit by single bulb fixtures, like for closets, just bare bulbs in a dark, damp basement - except bathrooms which were fluorescent lamps

The basement has a very uncomfortable hallway, it's about 3 feet wider than most hallways and is of course lit by one light bulb

There's a random angled wall here, so one of the rooms has a random angled wall for some reason

The house has TWO water heaters, a more common full size one and a smaller like half sized one. Guess which ones plumbed to the showers - that's right the small one, the big one is only connected to the kitchen sink, washer, and the nasty added on shower in the garage that no one has ever used.

Right - there's technically a third bathroom, it is IN the garage, i mean it's literally added on it's like a box that just juts out into the room. No one has used this bathroom as it is - like i said in the garage and thus smells of dust and mold and also there's no floor.

The floor plan is very odd, there's a BIG room and I mean big on both the first floor and the basement, and lots of tiny rooms, including the one my parents tried to move me too, which is quite frankly too small for a twin bed what you're supposed to do with a room that size I don't know.

There's no water filter of any kind here, not really a big deal, although the water is literally pumped out of the ground so uh sediment is in everything - like, the water filter for drinking has dirt in the top of it

The dust the downstairs of this house has dust like no other dust, the networking stuff is out in the garage where the dust is the worst, and it's killed 2 ethernet switches and a modem, it's this thick brown dust that - even though the house has been cleaned - will never go away

The deck - which is covered in plastic fake grass terf carpet and is nasty - is actually held up by a big iron rod that was clearly added much later than when the house was built, along with a much newer staircase

There's just a big gap in the wall on the side of the carport with a 5 foot drop - no one knows why it's there

Oh yeah also- the carport is on top of the garage - the garage is not accessible for cars, as it's on the basement level, so hearing a car roll ON TOP OF THE ROOM YOU'RE IN is really nerve-wracking

There were no lights of any kind originally installed in the back of the garage, it was literally permanently dark (the part under where the cars park btw

I mentioned the lack of HVAC - the house does has an oil-burning furnace - which smells of oil and makes a loud BANG every time it turns on and off

The stairs

The stairs don't really fit so there's no landing and instead there's a angled stair to rotate into the hall basically right across where the landing should be - I've tripped and nearly died on this a lot.

The stairs have only one light, at the top, which is almost impossible to reach to change bulbs, (you have to put a ladder at the top so you're at risk of falling down the entire stairwell if you fuck up) oh and this means the weird angled step is ALSO in the dark :)

The stairs extend out into the hall which is great for tripping over and dying on the concrete floor.

I'm living in the house of leaves

#thoughts #the house #ember writes #house of leaves

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zmediaoutlet · 10 months

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Every time I read one of your fics that's about something I'm not into I'm just like

And Deanna definitely has! Good Lord.

I feel like always-a-girl-Dean + Sam is maybe even more of a foregone conclusion than classic Wincest. There it's not just an incest panic, it's a gay (or bi) panic too. With a het pairing, once they get past the Flowers in the Attic of it all, it's probably not that hard to get over. I think I still prefer the extra dash of illicitness of classic Wincest, but dang if that all isn't something wonderful.

Also also I like how Sam was selfish and then not and then was again, because he IS a teenage boy losing his virginity and OF COURSE the caveman brain is gonna kick in and take over for a time. A nice touch of realism.

Anyways I've read it like three times already so something awoken? ✅

ahhh this is the best. Any bud who takes a chance on something they would normally wrinkle their nose about is automatically elevated to a higher rank of bud. <3

I totally know what you mean about the extra dash of illicitness with the gay/bi panic in Wincest Original Flavor! That moment of not just sibling(!) but also dick (!!) is a real treat and I'll never leave it behind. But there's a different kind of illicitness offered with the m/f (or omega or whatever) version, because all of a sudden the real consequence of incest becomes a legitimate worry, and then alarm bells of the best kind start going off in my hindbrain. With m/m there's always the (dumb but charming) excuse of, you know, soldiers helping each other out, guys in the trenches, etc. With m/f there's that nasty backwoods societal terror that crawls up in the throat. Icky! (Fun!) So you get multiple illicit options here at the zmediaoutlet. :)

Also caveman Sam is the best ty for enjoying him too. :)

#i mean shit #most people who actually know me don't read my fics #so to go past a 'meh' is like. !!! bud!!!!#answers #happy tag #after deanna sam is gonna be *so* good in bed #lucky jess!#(...until she's very unlucky jess ig haha)

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hotdamnmadison · 2 years

Text

My Battle With Body Hair

Google the word Crossdresser for me. Right now - go ahead. And take a minute to sift through the millions of photos that pop up in front of you. Seriously go do it and come back after 3-5 minutes of scrolling...

All done? Good. Tell me, how was your scrolling experience? What did you see? How diverse were the faces?

(The following is NOT a picture of me)

Crossdressing has been a thing for a long time. Rather than bore you with the details of it's origin and first known cases - I will simply say that men and women alike have been dressing as the opposite sex for forever. Here is more info if you're a scholar.

It truly is a tale as old as time. Especially when you consider that our ancestors wore the same cloth scraps as clothing (regardless of their sex.) But like all good things - humans found a way to fuck it up - and ostracize those who continue to partake in it. My misanthropy is shining through - because society found a way to take fabric and somehow gender it.

My crossdressing journey started a while ago. I wish I knew exactly when - but I remember having a fascination with Halloween skirts in the attic of my parent's house, old unopened pairs of pantyhose still in the boxes, and panties that went from being buried deep in an ex-girlfriend's drawer to my very own private hiding place. Hey she wasn't wearing them - so someone might as well ;)

I loved it. And still do (though I'm no longer considering myself a crossdresser - I'm definitely more gender fluid.) So I kept pushing myself deeper and deeper into it. All while trying to maintain my boyish side as well...

---

Every guy tries to grow a beard in high school. If you say you didn't at least try I'm going to assume you're lying (lol okay maybe a little harsh but most guys did attempt it.) I was no stranger to that effort myself. My genetics kept me from growing anything worth keeping until I was in my first semester of college. Leading up to that - I had the "Oh God Please Just Shave It" face pubes that most 17 year old's call a beard. But I kept trying - even at one point using a "just for me" hair color to darken the hair that I WAS able to grow.

I kick myself for that everyday. Because here I am at 28 almost 29 years old with a well trimmed bit of stubble that I can't get rid of.

Note: If this is deflating for you to find out - I think you should probably unfollow/unfriend me.

But alas, yes it is true *faints dramatically* My perfection is held back by my darned facial stubble/beard. How I'd love to go back in time and tell my younger self to just fucking shave and quit trying... ugh... hindsight is 20/20. I'm not a stranger to other disliked hairy areas - under arms and legs - both areas that most men don't shave without having a really good excuse (and before you make any suggestions: I don't bike, swim, or weight lift/body build lol.)

---

This has been an obstacle for me (as you might imagine) when trying to meet people. Let's be honest - my slender body has most men caught hook, line, and sinker. They would come SPRINTING into my DM's faster than you could ever imagine. Back then I was on a website called Free Chat Now - an adult IM site that is carrying the weight of the Chat Room world on it's ever crumbling shoulders. I would add my own little 30 character pitch line to the scrolling wash of copy/paste pitches. And within 30 seconds I would have dozens of men to get back to. First things first: ASL... get that out of the way, add a little bit of flirting... and then came picture time. "Yours for mine" is what I would usually say. And inevitably I would receive a nasty toilet dick pick taken in a convenience store or office bathroom. Yum. Great.

And then it was my turn to send a pic in return. *upload, send, wait* Usually it would be a hot little picture of me in some lingerie or just a panty ass shot. Cute enough to keep them talking and jerking (I was easily entertained back then.) Something like this was typically my go-to. (This next one IS me haha)

Omg they ate it up almost every time. Usually things would go well and then *boom* the window would close - it was a tell tale sign that they couldn't hold out any longer and well.... things probably got messy (a shame that they mostly disappeared before giving me a way to reach them for future digital fun! :( lol.)

But on a few separate occasions some men wouldn't be so easily sold...

"Face pic?"

Ugh... And the game was on.

Now I personally don't use Face App anymore. Especially if I am planning to meet with someone in real life. But back in the day, when I was strictly playing around on the internet with strangers in chat rooms, Face App was a very useful tool. And besides - it wasn't REALLY catfishing - because it is exactly what I would look like if I was...

clean shaven

done up beautifully in makeup

Here is an old pic from my face app days. Don't swoon too hard ;) lol. (me again: face app'd)

Ah. Thank you Face App! Saving the day and allowing me to keep both halves of my lifestyle in tact.... At least, that worked for a while anyway.

See when push came to shove I determined that online play was no longer enough for me. I needed more. I needed the real thing. But there is no Face App for the real world. It's a commitment. It's a question I've been facing now ever since...

Who do you want to be?

And the battle continued. At first I wouldn't talk about the facial hair in my ads. And if I did a webcam play session with a guy I would simply avoid my face. (Many wanted to see me suck on things - to which I politely lied and said, "hey maybe next time".) Time and time again my amazing conversations would end at the dreaded facial hair road block. And it took me years to realize that there was no reason to be beating myself up for it.

Men don't realize that these is a huge difference between a MtF trans individual and a CIS man who likes to dress in "women's" clothing (and who also didn't realize that they were gender fluid.) Y'all remember this idiot right? ->

My favorite quote here is the "that's not a real CD...."

My guy... Yes it fucking is! Anyone with a head on their shoulders and a Barnes and Noble nearby can determine that men with beards have been cross dressing for forever (as stated in the beginning.) Unfortunately, the porn industry has lumped very gorgeous trans women in with not so gorgeous crossdressers. And dipshits like the guy above can't tell the difference.

So here I am - years later still fighting the same battle. I wear my silly little outfit killing mask to cover up my "undesirable" bodily traits....

Oh shit! I never told you all WHY I feel the need to maintain my stubble/boyish self. Well allow me to explain

(realizing I love making lists lmao)

To put it simply: change is hard I have had a beard now for a long long time and to move away from that would be a challenge for me. Seeing a new face in the mirror every day. It's just a tough pill to swallow initially

My jawline sucks without the beard I won't be posting any boy photos of myself here, so don't ask. But yeah I have shaved down ONE time completely bare over the last several years. And it wasn't pretty (in terms of maintaining a boyish side. It was however PERFECT for my Ashley side... and I was tempted to bust out the makeup and experiment but never did

Shaving raises many questions from family and friends - I get it, it's none of their business. But I would have to answer the same 3-4 questions over and over again about why I did it and things like that. I would probably do away with the leg hair and other hair as well. And I simply don't have a non suspicious reason to do so at the moment.

I'm not sure I'm ready to tip my 70/30 scale of fluidity to 50/50 just yet - Currently Ashley only gets about 30 percent of my time, and that's being generous. My boyish side dominants my existence, and in my current lifestyle I think it works well enough. I feel as though shaving everything below my eyebrows would tip things closer to 50/50 - a place I'd eventually like to be but for right now - I simply can't

Ah. Feels good to get this post off my chest. I hate righting words like beard, hair, pass, passable, leg, armpit, etc. Those words damn near trigger something in me at this point. And now I have a post to explain WHY it is so difficult for not only me, but for so many others to fully commit to the porn-driven cross dresser image. I've seen a lot of men, typically 50 plus, who are divorced and are finally crossdressing and making Double List ads. It is sad - because they sit there in a similar position that I am in. They want to be bare and fully pass under any circumstances. But society and it's standards are too hard for closeted men to meet. There is no on/off switch for body hair and genetic make up - at least nothing short of estrogen and other medications.

But someone's inability to pass doesn't mean they should be frowned upon by anyone. And you can't simply be nice to certain trans women/crossdressers because you find them attractive - and then blatantly disrespect and hate on those who don't pass. Everyone's journey is valid - even if they have to wear a silly mask to a meet up. I would invite those of you who CANNOT STAND body hair to attempt to look past it for just a moment. Is the rest of the person physically attractive to you? Furthermore, (and if it's you're thing) are you emotionally connected to this person? And the only hang up is some measly hair? That seems like a pretty crappy reason to ruin a good thing - wouldn't you say?

---

Me personally? The mask has grown on me a bit. I'd still like to one day reach a point where I no longer feel that I need it. And if that day comes, and I'm living my 50/50 lifestyle, I'll be sure share myself with people who deserve me. I'm sad to say that there are people around me who aggressively judge a known crossdresser in the town that I live. The things that they say cut me pretty deep - and I make a mental note of every slur and saying that passes through their lips. Some day I'll get comfortable enough to be the 50/50 version of myself. Hell... maybe even 40/60... And I'll be more Ashley than my boy side.

Until then... I'll continue to edit out my leg hair, under arm hair, and other blemishes using light photoshop skills. Enjoy my silly masked self and all of my "flaws" and if you don't like what you see/read, well.... I was too much woman for you anyway <3

-Ashley

----

I have a few more things to write in the coming days! Including a new challenge series that I intend on doing to better my writing skills. I'll talk more about that tomorrow morning :)

Much love,

Ash

#femboy #cute crossdreser #cross dressing #crossdressgirls #twink #gender fluid #books & libraries

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adamwatchesmovies · 4 months

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Polaroid (2019)

Even if you're craving a “killer photography” movie, Polaroid is hardly worth your time. The film only manages to surprise you when it proves even more poorly written than you expected. I suspect some heavy last-minute changes are responsible for the bewilderment I felt.

Photography enthusiast Bird Fitcher (Kathryn Prescott) receives an antique polaroid camera from her co-worker. After he dies that same night, Bird and her friends suspect the photo she took of him might have something to do with his untimely demise. Could the mysterious shadow in the background be a malevolent spirit? Can the initials “RJS” carved onto the case lead them to the bottom of this mystery?

I won't say a movie about a killer camera is doomed. The original Shutter is quite effective and in many ways resembles this film. What it definitely isn't is naturally scary. Looking at “Polaroid”, you’d think writer/director Lars Klevberg had never seen more than one horror film. It’s made abundantly clear this story takes place in modern-day but when Bird and her doomed friends Avery (Katie Stevens), Mina (Priscilla Quintana), Kasey (Samantha Logan) and Devin (Keenan Tracey) go to the library to investigate the initials "RJS", all they sift through are old newspapers. They don’t even TRY to look it up online. Worse, they do such a poor job researching the initials on the camera, it’s a wonder any of them have made it to high school.

There’s a minor mystery introduced at the beginning of the story. Bird is always wearing a scarf. The police allude to an accident in the past, how she was “So brave”. We know it has something to do with her dead father. What happened to her neck to give her that nasty scar? Why is she being called brave? We never find out. It's not the only aspect that ultimately, means nothing. When we find out what is driving the camera's evil entity, you'll question why the opening scene - in which a stupid teenager (Sarah, played by Madelaine Petsch) wanders into a dark, spooky attic to investigate noises without a flashlight before getting herself killed - was included.To let the audience know they're watching a horror movie? It must be, because the girl has nothing to do with the mystery. Combined with the ridiculous explanation for the ghost/monster, you have to wonder if some executive looked at the movie and told Mr. Klevberg “Listen, even with all the jump scares you’ve crammed in, this movie is not scary. The characters are dummies whose parents apparently don’t exist, there are obvious plot holes throughout and your mystery is awful. It’s impossible to fix all of those without starting over completely so at least change the monster’s true motivation so everyone can’t say they saw it coming right away”.

If I have to say something good about Polaroid, it’s that I didn’t see the mystery's solution coming… but I resent the movie for cheating and making it impossible to decipher. Instead, I'll call out the “best scene”, which is so preposterous it’s kind of awesome in its awfulness. So in all of these kinds of movies, the question is always “why don’t they just smash the BLANK”. In this movie, they try to smash the camera and it just doesn’t break. When they try to burn the picture(s) that foreshadow everyone's deaths, whatever damage happens to the Polaroid also happens to the people inside it. This means there are actually two ways for the camera to get you. Firstly, getting your picture taken means you've been marked by the entity. Secondly, trying to get it off your scent by destroying the photo will kill you. Then, something crazy happens. The monster (whose design is completely forgettable) actually kills someone voodoo-doll style by destroying the picture they're in. It’s such a bizarre scene no one who sees it could ever forget it.

Polaroid is a complete misfire. The constant use of cheap jump scares makes it frustrating. The monster is lame. The mystery is a cheat. Considering its laughable final confrontation and frustrating twists, I'd sooner recommend watching Goosebumps’ Say Cheese and Die. At least that only lasts 30 minutes. (August 13, 2021)

#Polaroid #Lars Klevberg #Blair Butler #Kathryn Prescott #Samantha Logan #Tyler Young #Javier Botet #Mitch Pileggi #2019 movies #2019 films

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liopleurodean · 8 months

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Season 10, Episode 6: Ask Jeeves

Huh. That's poetic

Oh boy

Rip

Honey, don't do it

Spooky

You shouldn't have tried to steal from her

Real pearls would have had knots between them, to prevent that exact situation

Oh dear

Baby!

That's not enough coffee

What's that incorrect quote with the friendship bracelet?

Dean.

Of course!

Wow

...what?

Next best thing

Had to Google that bc I thought it might be a Gilmore Girls reference, turns out she's an actress who was on Beverly Hills

Right

It's the Provenance auction all over again

Probably

Yikes

Unfortunately not

Sure

Um...

What does that mean?

Knives Out vibes

Good for him

Aw, Sam called him dad!

Uh...

Honestly? Same. They're both right

Ha! The hard way

I guess

DEANS FACE 😂

Probably

Their savior

Dean.

Good for him!

This is awesome

Of course

Not in there, Dean

Also kind of religious

There it is

That's weird

Ouch

Very Knives Out of them

That was not a girl's voice

Spooky

Poor girl

That's gonna get old

Ouch

Uh oh

They weren't there for the murder

This is fantastic

It does look suspicious

Something like that

He's so right for that reference

Wow

Dean.

Gee, I had no idea

Oh, Sam

Pulling the ditz card

Interesting

Whaaat

I want one of those so bad

You will soon

Awesome

THE LEAD PIPE

AND THE ROPE

There's a Clue box!!!!!

This is so cool

And spooky

The candlestick

...what is he hiding?

Nope

Having fun, Sam?

Try saying that 5 times fast

Yeah...

Okay... what version of Dracula is Dean referencing? Cause it'd be awesome if it was the original

Uh oh

Not now

She's drunk

I'm sure

Really???

Ah, there it is

The wrench!

Smooth

Great question

Is that supposed to be the knife?

Sam.

Dean, that's not the butler

Right...

I hope that's an iron wrench

Uh oh

Oh great, a shifter

That's nasty

Yup

Is that even really her?

Good enough

She's clear

Because they can't use Tinder

Uh huh

Sam sandwich

I don't like this

He doesn't like it either 😂

Uh oh

Oh, THERES the candlestick

Yikes...

Right

Alright then

Poor Sam

Yup!

Poor girl

A shape shifter, if you really want to know

Oh, Dean 😂

Oop, there it is

Nope, don't do that

Yeah

...touche

There's the gun

Dean's a faster draw than you

Ouch!

Not real silver

If you can get out

Trigger safety

Obviously not, if you're so stupid with a pistol

Hey, Baby's a work of art!!!

...

She's the shifter

They're running out of time

Of course, she would give them the fake silver

What???

The attic

No, I think she's got it right. It's obvious that Bunny was a movie buff

Good for him

Pfft, please

It's not his fault

Honey, you have no clue

Wanna bet those are silver?

Yikes

Valid reaction

Uh oh

He tried to deal with the shifter problem

Was Lance a shifter? Or was it an affair?

Affair it is

Of course

But Bunny wouldn't let him

Tangle moment

Where's Dean?

Sam would know

Ah. Dean's getting bullets

But Dean does!

...Dean, you can stop now

Good for him

Nah, you weren't entirely wrong

Sam and Dean don't need it

Gas money

They don't want the publicity

Empty threats

They got the best parking spot

Come on, Sam, isn't it obvious?

ITS THE MARK OF CAIN. BE SMART

Dean.

He sounds like a teenager

His voice is off

Bob Seger!

#ashla chick flick moments #supernatural #season 10 episode 6 #ask jeeves

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elenscaie · 1 year

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2022 Creators Self-Love Extravaganza!

Rules:

It’s time to give yourselves some love! Choose your five (5) favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2022.

If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead!

Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so ta heck with the rules if you need ta bend them some. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love!

And of course, thank you, @ellorypurebloodculture for tagging me!

This is all going to be Original Work because that's where my brain has hardcore been for a long-ass time now. And it's all going to be NSFW because that is also me to a tee. My mother tongue be fuckin' filth, y'all. Here we go~

As it turns out, this was actually harder than I thought. There's been a fair few words I've made this year that I love a whole fuckin' lot, but! I have succeeded in shaving it down to these five~

CW For: Extremely Underage (-10), Underage (-18), Bestiality, Non-Con/Dub-Con Nastiness~

bless the child

Summary: The newest mannequin is by far the prettiest.

2. snow-white sin

Summary: A fae queen indulges herself with her newest toy.

3. pretty little girl (growing up so mean)

Summary: "So you would be my stalker then," Saoirse says from where she's sprawled. It's not worn wooden boards or cement or whatever else would be expected of a kidnapper's abode, but wool, luxuriously thick. It isn't at all like the movies or shows she enjoys watching in the theater room. Or rather, her personal theater room. Mommy and Daddy do tend to frown on her interest in such things.

Truly, it's their own fault for being slow to accept that their little girl isn't so little anymore.

Although—

Getting abducted just days after her sweet sixteenth isn't quite what she would have had in mind, but, well, flexibility and adaptation and all that. Surely she can use this.

4. tentacles, oh my!

Summary: Lyra didn't know what to expect when she found the scrap of worn old parchment up in the attic. Truthfully, she didn't expect anything at all. She was just curious.

So curious, in fact, that she just had to pull it out and speak aloud the strange, fancy words inked in a rust-red script during the latest slumber party held at her place.

After that, thinking got really hard.

5. mean bitches

Summary: A phone camera records some interesting footage.

Not many blogs I know on here, something to rectify during the approaching year, methinks. But all the same, I'm going to tag @garpie64 and @primeemeraldheiress and anyone else who'd be up for this. Feel free to hit me with an @ if you decide to do so~

#elenscaie answers #elenscaie writes #i liked this #neat way to end the year~#and usher in a new one~

0 notes

offthewallplays · 2 years

Link

#schoolplays

#garydavis

#cast 9

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krispyweiss · 2 years

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Funk and Soul Singer Betty Davis Dies at 77

- “We just grains of sand in her Bettyness,” Erykah Badu says

Pioneering funk and soul singer, songwriter and producer Betty Davis died Feb. 9 in her hometown of Homestead, Pa., of undisclosed causes.

Her death at age 77 was announced on her website.

“Our hearts are incredibly heavy today,” said Matt Sullivan of Light in the Attic, which has been re-releasing Davis’ 1970s catalog.

That catalog includes the LPs Betty Davis, They Say I’m Different, Nasty Gal, Is This Love or Desire and Crashin’ From Passion, which Light in the Attic will reissue in late-2022.

“Betty has been the guiding light in everything we do at Light in the Attic,” Sullivan said in a statement. “Her unbending DIY ethic and groundbreaking spirit will live on forever. We are going to miss her so much.”

Former Sly & the Family Stone drummer Greg Errico - who collaborated on Davis’ albums - eulogized her as “the very first and original funk diva” in a Facebook post.

“She was never a household name, but make no mistake that she left a tsunami of women artists in funk, hip-hop, R&B, etc.”

“We just grains of sand in her Bettyness,” Erykah Badu said.

Before beginning her recording career, Davis penned songs for the Chambers Brothers - “Uptown (to Harlem)” was featured in Questlove’s 2021 film “Summer of Soul (…Or, When The Revolution Could Not Be Televised)” - and the Commodores, was married to Miles Davis and refused to let Eric Clapton work as her producer because she deemed him “too banal.”

“This lady was hip before hip,” Lenny Kravitz said on social media.

2/9/22

#betty davis #the chambers brothers #the commodores #miles davis #eric clapton #questlove #summer of soul #lenny kravitz #erykah badu #sly & the family stone #greg errico

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nastyatticman · 9 months

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concept: living in some idyllic 50s style suburb with something off about it, and you’re single and getting attention from two eligible older men in the neighborhood

Eddie Gluskin and Leland Coyle fighting to get your attention…

Eddie tries to convince you he’s marriage material by giving you flowers and showing off that he can take care of animals

meanwhile Leland is the type that thinks doing manual labor and getting dirty while shirtless is the most attractive thing a man can do for you

#nasty attic originals #Eddie Gluskin x reader #Leland coyle x Reader #Eddie’s birthday text is like ‘hello y/n what’s your favorite cake? I could make it for you’#Leland’s just like ‘u up?’#I know Leland canonically got multiple wives but he seems so crude in comparison lmfao #I worry my characterization is off but we really only hear about Leland as a murderer so not like there’s much evidence to the contrary

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hometoursandotherstuff · 2 years

Photo

If you’re a fan of Italianate architecture might like this 1871 Colby Mansion in Waterbury, Vermont. It’s being used as a commercial office right now, (God, I HATE that!). Rent an office, don’t screw up an historic home. Anyway, try to look past the office crap.

Check out her curves, and the entrance hall. They stripped the original finish, restained the wood, and it looks it.

Their conference is probably the sitting or dining room. Curved walls, beautiful crown molding, and wood ceiling medallions. (They covered the ceiling w/wallpaper.)

The details! Look at this niche.

See what I mean? Here’s where it gets nasty. They put in a reception window, indoor/outdoor carpet, neon lights, track lighting and painted the wood white. All that has to go, but the original details are already gone.

Luckily, this gorgeous doorway is intact.

I hate what they did to this attic.

At least they left these doors alone- love the etched glass.

This room still has a built-in and some wainscoting.

This must’ve been a bedroom with a sink that they removed.

I took the virtual tour and it appears that they removed the kitchen to make an office, plus they removed the tubs from both baths and made them powder rooms. For $525,000 they can keep it.

https://www.oldhousedreams.com/2022/03/16/c-1870-italianate-in-waterbury-vt/

#italianate architecture #architecture #italianate home #historic home turned into an office #old house dreams #long post

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weirdmarioenemies · 2 years

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Super Mario Land 2 Localization: Part 3! (Final!)

Shark -> Bruisin’ Bruce

Bruce has become pretty much the shark name of all time, and this one is cruisin’ for a bruisin’ with its boxing gloves! An honorable mention goes to “Whale Shark”, with “whale” as in “beat up”, but that one did not feel as clear.

Skeleton Bee -> Rob Zombee

Here is another with an English name already, but it didn’t fit with the musical theme we had for the bees. THIS is an all-original dated musical reference we made all on our own!

Spikey -> Spikey

Get outta here if you thought we would change Spikey!

Stars -> Sharpstar

These are a weird one, being identical to Starman in the art, but angry in game. Whatever the case, though, they are pointy, and they hurt Mario on contact. They are sharp!

Tamara -> Shelbee

This bee egg does not go with the musical theme. I’m sorry. We can pretend it’s because it has not hatched and taken on that responsibility yet. Right now, it is a bee within an eggshell, a Shelbee!

Tatenoko -> Slidin’ Saw

Not all inanimate obstacles are murderous, some are having fun! “Wheeee!” -Slidin’ Saw

Terekuribō -> Goomboo

This one is pretty self-explanatory! We decided against “Boomba” because it brings to mind explosions, which this has nothing to do with. Otherwise, I think we would have used Boomba, but Goomboo is good too!

Toriuo -> Cheep Chirp

This creature is kinda bird and kinda fish, so for its name, we have taken the classic fish name and made it even more birdy!

Tōsanbōru -> Mean Mace

This mace is not nice! Or maybe it’s “mean” as in it’s just effective at being a mace, like when someone makes a mean casserole. Either way it is potent and dangerous!

Tōsenbo -> Blowkade

It’s a blowfish-like creature, that is an obstacle in Mario’s way, a blockade! This may also be a Yo-Kai’s name, but... it’s a good name! And it was thought of independently of that!

Unera -> Grubbee

It turns out that the name closest to “Grubby” does not go to the enemy officially named “Grubby”, but to Unera! It is the default bee larva, the one that can later be expanded upon with new concepts like spikes.

Unibō -> Hurtchin

This urchin is painful to touch, so it will Hurt! This one is also almost a Yo-Kai name, but again! It’s a good name, and was thought of independently! Though it uses the Gordo sprite in game, the official art is so different that it shall be a unique being.

Wakiri -> Spinnin’ Saw

This is another saw that is having fun! “Whoopee!” -Spinnin’ Saw

Yashichi -> Yashichi

Yashichi shall keep its Japanese name since it is named after a Ninja character from a Japanese TV show, and that seems like a good way to name a shuriken-based obstacle!

Big Bird -> Nasty Nester

We finally reach the bosses! This big bird means bad news, because it has angry eyebrows, and it fiercely protects its nest, so Nasty Nester! Don’t worry, the egg contains a Golden Coin and not a baby, we are not demonizing this bird for protecting its child!

Tatanga -> Tatanga

This guy is just a whole pre-established character. He already has a name, and we will keep it!

Sewer Rat -> Rattick

Sewer Rat had a name, but... this thing is found in the attic! So Rattic it was, until it was decided we could add “ick”, which they would probably want to communicate with a sewer-dwelling creature. Rattick!

Witch -> Crafty Crone

Witch is a very generic witch, but I think Crafty Crone is a fun enough name! Alliteration is always such fun!

Three Little Pigheads -> Three Little Pigheads

This kind of weird name they already had was pretty good! We will keep it.

Pako & Poko -> Pako & Poko

This name shall stay, too! They just sound nice together.

And finally, the one you’ve all been waiting for!

Wario -> Evil Mario

That is the end of our little unofficial localization project! We hope you had fun reading it, we sure had fun making it!

#super mario land 2

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dazaiscrab · 2 years

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The metaphor of the ‘underground’

First analysis post in while! :D So I’ve been reading Notes From Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky and have been really interested in the metaphor of the underground he portrays through the entirety of the text. Notes From Underground is actually not the only book this metaphor comes up in, he brings this up in multiple of his works. This leads me to think that Fyodor may have thought of himself as the underground man he talks about in his works, he projects his feelings of qualifying as a bad person onto his characters.

The undergroundling is, in his first embodiment, preeminently a man-worm, the common denominator of humanity. He is like everyone else, his only motive is to be ‘original’, that is, of his terrible burden of nonentity. He is ‘characterless’ because he does not “know how to become anything: neither spiteful nor kind, neither a rascal nor an honest man.” He is a ‘mouse’ of a man, “There in its nasty, stinking, underground home our insulted, crushed and ridiculed mouse promptly becomes absorbed in cold, malignant and, above all, everlasting spite.”

The underground man is poor and dirty. He is crushed by economic and social forces, for he has no position and is the object of a universal contempt, which drives him into his lonely attic or compels him to wander feverishly. This absolute degradation of ugliness, awkwardness and poverty nourishes the seed of revolt in the particular resentment of the undergroundling.

The ‘vicious’ actions of the undergroundling (narrator) are due to the fact that he will do anything to become ‘something’, rather than zero. Even if that includes turning himself into an unsatisfactory person. The narrator enjoys being rude because it causes other people to be upset, he likes that he can control their emotions with such trivial conversations

His deepest despair comes when he is ignored in his advances when he cannot even achieve being a nuisance. He is incapable of making himself sufficiently obnoxious, an effective obstacle, he is not capable of even being struck or cursed out of irritation; that itself would bring him joy.

To battle the guilt he feels for acting so awful, as a way to get rid of his sense of uselessness, the narrator will often say other people are lesser than him. He is the superior being as he has the gift of higher conscience, however, this gift is also a curse. “Oh, gentlemen, perhaps I really regard myself as an intelligent man only because throughout my entire life I’ve never been able to start or finish anything.” The Underground man makes this statement after having described the causes and conditions of his inertia (the tendency to do nothing or to remain unchanged. His state of unchangingness and his excuses for being that way could be explained by Newton’s 1st law of motion. He is Justifying his ‘bad’ conscience by stating that unless something or someone comes along and hits him his current state of pessimism will not and cannot change). Just prior to this point in the novel, he has asserted that his intelligence is the cause of his inertia; now he suggests that his inertia is evidence of his intelligence. This reversal demonstrates the Underground Man’s belief that intelligence, or consciousness, must cause inertia and indecision in the modern era.

#notes from underground #fyodor dostoevsky #classic literature #book analysis #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd analysis #feebs overthinks

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jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav · 3 years

Note

[The following ask is just an attempt on my, Winter's, part to exploit a quirk in tumblr's code that keeps formatting from copy/pasted items when answering an ask on desktop as opposed to making a text post.]

MC is a Phoenix and Child of a Famous Magic User

A slightly modified request fill for @guardianoftheunderworld090! This ended up getting away from me a bit, and by a bit I mean a lot so uhhh Oops! Because of that, I didn’t end up doing the dateables+Luke, so apologies! But this is already probably wayyyyy off from the original request anyway.

Again, oopsie :3

Content Warnings: Temporary character death, spoilers for Lesson 16+, brief implication of immolation (but not really bc, y’know, phoenix), mild-to-moderate blood and injuries/violence

As soon as they learned their name, everyone knew of MC. While not quite on Solomon or the great witch Maddi’s level, their parents had made quite the name for themselves in the magical community. Their pre-existing knowledge of magic and the supernatural was therefore completely expected.

Less so was what happened when they died.

Mammon had been cradling their body when it happened, still too stunned to react to his smug younger brother gloating about taking out such a fragile, weak creature. The entire House of Lamentation was in shock: MC, the human they had come to cherish, was bleeding out right in front of their eyes and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

The Avatar of Greed’s breath hitched as he felt their pulse fade, watched the rise and fall of their chest cease…

And then he screamed as MC’s body burst into flames. They were scorching hot, but left no marks on him nor the surrounding area. On instinct, Beelzebub darted forward to pull Mammon away from the inferno, his protests weakened by surprise and grief. Belphegor was knocked backwards off his feet by the force of the flames, and they all watched as the fire raged on, until it began to take on a recognizable shape.

Not of MC, but of a brightly coloured flaming bird.

The phoenix cocked its head to the side, as though assessing its surroundings, eyes passing over each of the frozen brothers before rounding on Belphegor. It shrieked, puffed up feathers interspersed with jets of flame, and charged the youngest with its sharp beak and talons bared.

And suddenly it was no longer a bird.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” MC yelled as they continued to slash at Belphie. A large pair of bright flaming wings arched behind their back, threatening to torch anything they touched. “I LITERALLY RISKED THE WRATH OF LUCIFER FOR WEEKS TO HELP YOUR SORRY ASS GET OUT OF THAT ATTIC AND THIS IS HOW YOU THANK ME?! WITH MURDER?!”

Blood pooled in Belphie’s mouth from a particularly nasty slash across his lip. He spit to the side before replying, “In my defense, most people stay dead when you kill them!”

“THAT’S ALL YOU HAVE TO—”

“...MC?” Levi said, voice small. “I-Is that really you…?” His tail swished behind him anxiously.

MC turned their attention to the rest of the brothers (one set of talons still embedded in Belphie’s leg, in case he had thoughts of running).

Beel was stock still, eyes pointed ahead but staring at something beyond the room. Asmo was crying silently, though his expression was neutral and wide eyed. The gears in Satan’s head were visibly turning even as he shredded the sleeves of his shirt with his claws. Mammon was misty eyed, with such an open expression of love and want and hurt that it made them want to cry as well. And Lucifer… The Avatar of Pride’s usual mask of stony superiority had crumbled into something lost and broken.

They looked back to Belphegor, who clutched at his leg, his own tears threatening to spill from his eyes. They slowly remove their talons from his leg and face the group, folding their wings inward until they regain their humanoid form.

“I guess I have a bit of explaining to do, huh.”

Lucifer

Too many things have happened so fast, he doesn’t even know how to respond.

Not only has MC apparently been having secret meetings with Belphegor, not only are the pacts they’ve made with his brothers just tools to free him, not only did Belphegor then betray them and attempt to kill them, but they’re also… A phoenix?!

Distantly, hysterically, he thinks, how in the three realms is that not on their file?

“Oh, I’m also not technically from this timel-”

Lucifer shushes them. He can’t deal with any other reveals right now.

Once… everything is dealt with, he allows himself to be curious about MC’s origins.

Have they always been this way? Were they adopted by their parents, a familiar given human form, or had something gone wrong one day with a spell?

He’ll never ask them though. He knows origins can be touchy subjects.

He grounds himself in the practical. Does MC know how to control their abilities? Are their needs being met? Are there any additional accommodations they require?

Sometimes, when their wings are out, he can’t help but be reminded of the similarly fiery wings of the seraphim from home the Celestial Realm and feel nostalgic.

His more possessive side also relishes the fact that they share a connection through association with birds, especially considering how some varieties of phoenixes tend to resemble peacocks.

It must be difficult for them to preen those large wings, do they need any help? No, it’s not that he wants to, don’t be ridiculous. But if they ever want his help...

Mammon

Once the initial shock of “holy shit the love of my life just BURST INTO FLAMES IN MY ARMS” fades, he’s just happy MC’s alive and well.

But he does put on a front of being upset that they never told him about their nature.

“Stupid hu— uhhh, phoenix, I worried for nothin’! Wait, no, I wasn’t worried at all—”

“Sure you weren’t,” MC retorts with a smile.

Seriously though, why didn’t they tell him? He’s their guardian, their First, he should know these things!

Do they think he’ll… try and take advantage of them because of their powers? He’d never!

Okay, maybe when they first met he might have considered it, but not now! Not now that he…

One night, Mammon and MC are up late watching some terrible Devildom romcom. MC has long since fallen asleep, and one of their enormous wings is draped over Mammon, pinning him in place.

The flames interspersed amongst their feathers are short and glow only dimly, like dying embers. Occasionally, a few will flare slightly or twitch as though a breeze has blown by.

“...I was really scared, you know,” he murmurs to their sleeping form. “I really thought you were gone. And I realized at that moment that I… I can’t lose you. I love you so much MC. You’re worth more to me than anything else in the Devildom, than anything in all the three realms. Please don’t scare me like that ever again…”

MC doesn’t stir, but the flames on their wing follow Mammon’s hand as he pets the warm feathers. They’re only pleasantly warm, with a smooth, silky texture to them.

He snuggles closer to them and drifts off himself, comforted by the heat of their body, human and avian anatomy alike.

Leviathan

Levi cannot believe his luck. He finally gets himself a friend he can really trust, and then his younger brother (who was trapped in an attic by the way, NOT in the human world like Lucifer said, because oh yeah, also Lucifer’s a liar) kills them, and now they’re—

It’s too much to process at once. All he can latch onto is that’s them, right? That’s really his MC, his Henry, the one person outside of his family who doesn’t dismiss him as some gross shut-in?

Once he’s assured himself that they’re safe, he’s immediately hit with the rest of the surprises to process. He hugs MC tightly against himself, whether to protect them from Belphegor or himself from… everything, is anyone’s guess.

It takes a long time for Levi’s newfound clinginess to dissipate. He refuses to let MC be alone around Belphegor under any circumstances, even if it means leaving his room more than he’s comfortable with.

In this time, he learns a lot about MC.

He learns that they seek to cool off the same way he seeks out warmth, and that this makes them excellent cuddling partners. He learns that they let out very adorable chirps of squawks when caught off guard.

He learns the hard way that a phoenix in love is a fire hazard.

But he also learns that he’d risk every item in his collection to see MC’s radiant smile.

Satan

Set the phoenix thing aside, Satan thinks to himself as he rushes over to inspect MC for injuries. Set it aside.

Once he’s sure they are unharmed, he turns his attention to Belphegor.

The Avatar of Sloth is lucky MC got to him first. Satan wouldn’t have stopped at a warning strike. Belphie knows from the murderous glare shot his way that it is only the presence of the others that’s stopping Satan from taking his revenge.

His fingers linger in their wings. MC’s feathers are all out of sorts, but there are no bald patches indicating any serious burns or other wounds. Still, Satan cards through them carefully, checking and double checking for any signs of damage. MC fidgets under his attention.

“Uh, Satan?” They’re blushing. “That kinda tickles.”

“Oh! Oh, um, sorry, I was just— you’re okay, right?”

They let out a small laugh and bop him gently with a wing. “Everything’s in working order, don’t worry.”

“That’s— Good, that’s uh, that’s great.”

“...Go ahead, you dork,” MC prompts with a smile. He blinks at them owlishly. “Ask your questions!”

He does, over the course of the next couple of weeks, in between therapeutic pranks against a certain youngest brother.

Asmodeus

As MC is born again from flame, Asmo learns the true horror of love.

He had always been the one to invoke passion in others: to seduce loyal partners and drive others mad with desire, to twist their love into lust and unleash its destructive potential. Despite this, he never really understood the feeling himself, why something as ephemeral as a feeling could drive humans to such extremes.

But seeing MC wounded and bloody, watching the light in their eyes dim, the Avatar of Lust had felt the call of blood and rage and grief and love for the first time. And watching MC dust themself off as they explain their unique heritage, Asmo realizes that those feelings would have destroyed him. He would have done anything and everything to bring MC back to him, given up any part of himself just to see them one more time.

So forgive him, MC, if his movements ever slow to a stop while preening your wings. If he sometimes stares at you with awe, or holds you tight enough to bruise.

His heart has never been anyone’s but his before, and he is so very afraid of getting burned.

Beelzebub & Belphegor

Oh this is Not bringing up good memories at all.

Something about seeing MC and Belphegor, bloody with the scent of fire and death in the air jumbles his senses and suddenly they’re not in the House of Lamentation but the battlefield and she’s been struck down, he was too slow, he chose his twin over his sister can he live with that? Can any of them? She’s falling she’s falling and he’s falling and they’re going to—

When he snaps back into awareness, Beel is restraining a hissing and spitting MC as they scratch and claw at him to get to Belphegor, the one wing Beel didn’t manage to pin down flapping about erratically.

Their movements only stop when they feel hot tears on their back. MC calms down and shifts more gently in Beelzebub’s grasp, turning to face him.

“Beel, it’s okay,” they say, cupping his face with a bloody, taloned hand. He smells the blood and lets out a sob.

Belphegor moves to comfort his twin, but MC’s wings snap open, shielding the pair in a ring of fire and feathers.

“I— I…” He can’t form the words. You died, my brother killed you, he’s here, you hurt him, why is he here, why did he hurt you, how did— “Please,” he says, finally.

MC frowns, hesitates. But slowly, they lower their wings and step aside, letting the twins reunite. As they embrace, Belphegor shoots them a look, but it’s not hateful. It’s not regretful or apologetic either, more of a profound confusion.

Despite demons’ regenerative abilities, Belphegor remains mostly bedridden for quite some time. It seems a phoenix’s wounds negate most healing factors, and the 5 pronged gash in his leg is particularly stubborn in its refusal to close. He jokes that the slow recovery must be because MC will never forgive him for what he’s done. Beel chastises him and says they’re more forgiving than he thinks.

Still, Belphie is surprised to see MC join Beel when he comes to change the youngest’s bandages. They hold out their hands, revealing 10 strange, press-on caps over their talons as they assure Belphie they won’t hurt him.

Where Beel is overly cautious and gentle, MC is practiced and efficient as they inspect, clean, and redress his wounds.

“Is this your way of apologizing?” Belphie can’t help but ask, earning him a stern glare from his twin.

“For attacking you after you killed me, not knowing it wouldn’t take? No,” they reply around a mouthful of medical tape. “It’s an excuse to talk.” They gesture for Beel to move his hand from the gauze pad so they can tape it down.

“You want to talk with your would-be murderer.” MC gathers up the garbage and old bandages to toss them in the trash.

“You’re not the first person to try, you know,” they remark as they dust off their hands.

“What?!” the twins shout in unison, Beel nearly dropping the scissors he was putting back into the first aid kit.

“I’ll tell you about it if you tell me why…” MC gestures broadly to Belphegor, “this all happened the way it did.”

This exchange of stories does not repair MC and Belphegor’s fraught relationship. That is not how wounds heal. But nevertheless, some weeks later, the House of Lamentation has a movie night. And sandwiched in the middle of the familial cuddle pile is MC, Beel, and Belphie, each tucked under one fiery wing.

#obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #mine #my writing #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #as you can see this stylistically got very far away from me lmao #i'm not sure how i feel about it #eh #c'est la vie

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