i love you gothic literature. i love you gothic romance. i love you vampires and blood. i love you ghosts and phantoms. i love you unsettling themes. i love you fangs in the neck. i love you religious imagery. i love you manors and crypts. i love you cemeteries and haunts. i love you doomed narratives. i love you rot and decay. i love you centuries-long yearning. i love you all consuming love. i love you hunger as desire. i love you monstrous intimacy. i love you cynicism of the human experience. i love you monsters unaware of their horrors until confronted with them.
𝐂𝐖: P in V, Oral (F! Receiving), Clit stimulation, Doggy style, Breeding kink, Cream pie, Pussy slapping, Mentions of murder and death, Alastor is feral for his wife, Alastor speaks French, Old Susan is the (racist) neighbor who comes a’knocking
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: The ritual worked. After years of failing to get in contact with the other side, it finally worked. The fog of all of Alastor’s miserable attempts finally recedes on a warm Sunday night, and in comes the visceral urge to celebrate with you, his wife — who religiously goes to bed with her thighs clenched together, aching and yearning because he can’t always satisfy you. But tonight, Alastor will finally satiate your appetite with the fruits of his labor.
Time and time again Alastor had dragged his feet towards the bucket of water perched on the porch of the old, dilapidated shack he retreated to every other week, and he had dumped his hands in it and scrubbed viciously till the stinging ache of sore skin repelled the inadequacy, the disappointment of yet another fruitless ritual.
Still, the pain eventually subsided, the stretch of marshy land in between his misdeeds and the home where he masqueraded as a civilized man long enough to let thoughts slip unbidden.
— Give up.
— You’re a failure.
— You will exist in Hell a tortured soul.
And they swarmed Alastor’s mind on the entire trek back home like a horde of agitated bees, unable to be swatted away, leaving his hands protesting in agony for nothing as he curled them into fists.
The worst part was that he couldn’t carelessly fling aside the rifle slung over his back and collapse onto the couch to wallow. No, Alastor had to suck it up. He was a married man, and a married man couldn’t rudely announce himself by kicking open the door and rattling the foundation of the house you, his lovely wife of 3 years, had made into a home.
Not only would disrespecting your humble home be a punishable offense, but Alastor also couldn’t allow you to see beyond his low spirits, to discover his misery. He couldn’t. Otherwise, he feared you would find out that his mumbled complaints about failing to treat you to the spoils of his labor in fresh, tender venison was simply a metaphor.
Because Alastor was a skilled hunter — with no gratitude to his late-father.
He could provide until the population of swamp-dwelling deer dwindled to near extinction, and he always took down a stag beforehand in the hopes of feeding you instead of another lucky alligator.
So, when he returned empty-handed, it was always intentional rather than accidental.
You didn’t know that, though. You didn’t know that there was more to Alastor Hartfelt, the toast of New Orleans, than meets the eye. You had no idea, not a sneaking suspicion, that the reason behind your husband’s inability to put food on the table had nothing to do with the quick wit and silver-tongue you had fallen in love with.
Nor was he ill-fated or hapless, a recent suggestion you had recently delivered in a joking manner, which Alastor had started to seriously consider.
— up until one of the countless rituals he had performed in half a decade finally bore fruit.
“Yes — yes! — ah-ha-ha — I did it!”
— then he was vibrating on his place on the ground, joyful, triumphant, and terribly relieved.
The corners of Alastor’s lips curved upwards, canines glinting in the low, amber light of the burning candles decorating the room.
The ritual, it worked. It finally worked. A demon had answered him, caressed his chin with a cold, wispy finger, and accepted his offer — his soul in exchange for power. Security. Alastor wasn’t a failure, nor would he exist in Hell a tortured soul, the most genuine sound that had issued from his lips since he married you bursting from his lungs.
A melodious bout of laughter pierced the air, slicing through the distinctive, metallic scent deeply ingrained in the grooves of the wooden shack that had long sought to brand him a failure.
The victoriousness of binding his soul to a demonness, of securing a powerful position in the hierarchy of an afterlife he knew little about, drowned out the sickening stench of years worth of feeling inadequate and disappointed. The fog of misery finally receded on a warm Sunday night, and oh, was he eager to celebrate this great feat.
“Merde, I need to snuff out the candles, I need to wash my hands,” Alastor hastily collected himself on trembling knees, rich brown pools darting wildly across the room. “I… I need to go home!”
His body twitched and jolted from the adrenaline, but also, something familiar coiled deep in his gut. His muscles in his abdomen tensed, and his slacks grew tight and constricting, his breath stuttering. It was visceral, it was intense in every aspect — a deep-seated desire to push himself deep inside of you till you were bursting at the seams.
One by one, as small flames met a pinching demise, Alastor found himself muttering under his breath like a crazed lunatic.
The feeling in his gut that was reawakened, that was stoked to life with the unanticipated success of tonight’s ritual was so profound, so overwhelming that his mind couldn’t stop drifting off to you, his wife. His poor, needy wife, who religiously went to bed with her thighs clenched together, aching and yearning because he couldn’t always satisfy you.
How would you react when he touched you for the first time in months?
Would you twitch and jolt at every little purposeful prodding like the blushing bride you were when you consummated your marriage?
Would you come undone prematurely if he endeavored to use his mouth on the most sensitive part of you?
How would you make him feel when he pushed himself into your still fluttering walls?
Fuck. He was faltering, he was forgetting himself over the thought of you writhing and squirming underneath him like the night you became man and wife. If the calloused pads of his fingers hadn’t suddenly started to sting, reminding him that he was holding them in between a licking flame, his thoughts would have consumed him entirely.
“The stag — the stag goes home tonight,” Alastor pinched the flame with a small hiss, ignoring the painful straining in his slacks. “Oh no, I can’t leave without it. It’s part of my alibi.”
He had to remind himself to not forget the lifeless animal slumped on the front porch as he snuffed out the last candle, whirling around on an unstable heel, pupils dilating in the darkness. Alastor had to remind himself to not forget anything at all, fearing he would jump your bones with the stench of death clinging to him and desecrate your skin.
“Merde. Keep it together, Alastor. Quit acting like a bitch in heat,” He snarled in disgust at his gross inability to keep himself in check. “You can’t afford to slip up, not right now.”
If he didn’t have a nasty habit of kicking aside all the severed limbs he had used as offerings, Alastor would have tripped over them in his haste towards the door, fingertips latching onto the doorknob. But even if he had somehow managed to trip over his own two feet, it probably wouldn’t have spoiled his mood. He was ecstatic and all sorts of giddy.
The wooden foundation of the only true witness to the harrowing crimes of the Bayou Butcher, of the onslaught of ‘senseless violence’ the faceless and nameless killer had so heartlessly committed, shook as the door slammed shut behind Alastor’s stumbling form, obscuring the grisly scene he had meticulously crafted over the years.
“Oh, mon amour,” Alastor made a beeline for the stag. “Soon you’ll see that your husband isn’t a lousy hunter. His efforts have always borne fruit, but now? You shall indulge in them.”
There’s a cover draped over it, but as he went to lift the fabric, he caught the sight of something resting against the wall beside the door from his periphery — his rifle — yet another thing Alastor almost forgot about in his haste to rush back home to you with a testament of his success slung over his shoulder, hand snatching the leather strap.
“What is the matter with me?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, frustrated, tugging the rifle over his arm. “I may have secured my rightful place in Hell, but I am in no rush to meet death. No, I’ve a lovely wife in this God-forsaken world.”
He couldn’t afford to be anymore sloppy or careless than he had already been by opting to celebrate his success before cleaning out the shack and leaving no evidence of his crimes; but he was striding through marshy inlets in no time, paying little mind to the way his muscles protested with the weight of the stag bearing down on his wiry shoulders.
Moonlight spilled through the canopy of lacey, needle-like leaves hanging from the flared branches of bald cypresses.
The sound of bullfrogs croaking and crickets chirping tangled with the soft, continuous squelch of moist ground being treaded on.
Alastor walked through the thick fog of the Louisiana humidity, caramel skin flushed and glistening, hair and clothes sticking to his sweat-stricken body.
He was terribly hot, nostrils flaring and chest heaving with heavy breaths, but the joy, the triumph encouraged him to persevere.
Hell, he didn’t even notice when the stars began to grow scattered and sparse and the grass started to crunch beneath his soles instead of squish.
Everything was a blur after Alastor finally broke through the untamed foliage behind your home, shoulders aching and knees buckling. He couldn’t recall putting away his rifle, butchering the stag and organizing the meat into a neat pile in the fridge, or going through the hassle of fixing himself a warm bath to scrub his skin clean for you.
It was all so hazy, each and every little thing he did before he walked into your bedroom, wet curls plastered to his forehead.
— either that or his brain thought whatever he did wasn’t worth remembering once the sight of you, his beautiful wife, overwhelmed his vision.
“Merde, you have no idea how much I need you,” Alastor softly murmured, clad in just his pajama pants, the scent of bar soap clinging to his skin.
You were curled on your side of the bed with the sheets kicked to your feet, wearing an old nightgown that was neither sexy nor revealing.
Still, Alastor stalked towards you, body thrumming with a wanton, animalistic need, rich brown pools trained on your slumbering form.
You looked so calm, so tranquil, softly snoring away with your cheek smooshed against the pillow. It would be a crime to stir you awake, no less in the middle of the night. You worked 5 days a week just like he did, the desire to be a measly housewife unappealing to you. You deserved to be able to rest without any interruptions.
But you also looked so vulnerable.
Alastor’s fingers twitched restlessly at his sides as he stood in front of your sleeping form, painfully hard, chest heaving with barely-contained lust.
Your guard was down, completely.
It was plain to see even through the peaceful darkness of your bedroom how pregnable you were.
Defenseless, completely at his mercy.
Alastor could no longer hold himself back. He was overcome by the urge to pounce on you when you looked like a lone doe grazing in obliviousness.
He had to have a taste of you. Now.
You startled awake with a sharp gasp, the feeling of something heavy weighing down on you kick-starting your heart into a panicked frenzy. You instinctively turned on your back and acted, legs thrashing, hands falling flat on a smooth, solid plane that felt warm and damp. However, as soon as you went to push, a mouth captured yours.
“Mon amour, it’s me, Alastor.”
Lips crashed against yours in a messy, feverish kiss, forcing you to sink back into the mattress.
“Al, darling?” You would have stammered out.
But even if your mouth hadn’t been taken hostage, you probably would have failed to muster a coherent syllable with the hands sliding under the hem of your nightgown. Your legs stopped moving, your own hands found the sides of a slender neck, and your belly pulled inwards, especially as familiar fingers grasped the supple flesh of your breasts.
Still, you were given an opportunity to speak as your lips were suddenly freed, a string of saliva forming a bridge between your mouths.
“I did it — I finally did it!” Alastor exclaimed before proceeding to latch onto your collarbone, sucking a nasty bruise on your flesh.
You blinked in the darkness, tired, confused.
“You… you did it? What did you do?” You asked through a sleepy gasp, reeling from the force of the kiss, still not entirely awake.
He thumbed at your soft peaks, and he pressed his hips down into your thigh, rubbing the tent in his pajama pants against your exposed flesh in an attempt to find momentarily relief.
“I did it. I’m not a failure. I’m not a lousy hunter.”
You stared up into the ceiling and let out a choked moan, feeling just how painfully hard your husband was through the thin barrier, brows knitting together in pleasure and disbelief.
“Nor am I ill-fated or hapless,” Alastor managed out as he lapped at your flesh. “My efforts have finally borne fruit — do you know what that means?”
He moved his hands away from your breasts.
“Oh! Your hunt, you mean? It was successful?” Realization struck you, tired eyes lighting up. “Well, h-how wonderful to hear!”
But instead of answering right away, his palms smoothed over the concave of your belly, which was already flexing in sweet anticipation.
And, before you knew it, your panties were yanked off of you in one swift motion. Your legs instinctively went to clamp shut with the air caressing your bare cunt, but Alastor proceeded to pull away from your neck and shuffle down the bed, slender arms wrapping around your thighs as he nestled himself in between your trembling limbs.
“I finally get to satiate your appetite, mon amour,” Alastor chuckled darkly, making your heart lurch in your chest, scandalized and aroused. “Enfin.”
Nimble fingers found wet curls, threading into them, a furious heat sprawling up your neck.
“A-Alastor, darling, what are you doing?”
You tried to push him away, but he dived down into your folds and pressed a wet, filthy kiss to your clit.
“Je vous offre les fruits de mon travail,” Alastor let out a full-throated groan. “Même si vous ne le comprenez pas entièrement.”
Even through the peaceful darkness of your bedroom, it was plain to see as rich brown pools flitted up to drink in your reaction to his debauched behavior that you couldn’t quite comprehend the scale of his joy — or you didn’t seem to believe that his success warranted such a feverish response, no less at this ungodly hour.
“Oh, fuck! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I loathe when you do that,” You tossed your head back into the pillow, eyes shutting. “You know I don’t speak a lick of French, you… you awful man.”
Alastor buried his face further into your needy cunt, sucking in your swollen bud between his greedy lips, paying little mind to your mindless babbling as he allowed himself to drown in the desire that had ensnared him so viciously, face growing slick with his own saliva and the viscous arousal that issued from your pulsating entrance.
His excitement knew no bounds, not in this state of triumph, of euphoria.
“Awh, I can’t — I can’t take it — Al, pl-please.”
Alastor maintained a vice-like grip on your legs and stopped you from wriggling away as he shamelessly suckled on your clit.
You were so divine on his tongue.
“Oh my lord, Alastorrr.”
Had you always tasted this good?
“Al-Alastor, please!”
More, he needed more.
You closed your legs around your husband’s head, limiting his breathing, suffocating him, seemingly hoping he’d let up on you this way.
But the act only spurred him on, his mouth vibrating against your cunt in sick gratification.
With your free hand, you clamped your palm over your own mouth, suddenly hyperaware of something Alastor had failed to consider in his lust-addled haze — that you always left the window cracked open a slit when the humidity of June became unbearable, curtains swaying with each gentle draft of wind that seeped into the bedroom.
Your neighbors had a tendency of doing the same — because who liked to sleep in the uncomfortable stickiness of a pool of their own sweat?
Nobody, of course.
And nobody wanted to hear your cries of ecstasy echo into the night, either… unless you happened to reside among perverts.
But you didn’t know how far gone Alastor was as he pressed the calloused pads of his fingers into your thighs, prying your legs apart to allow him space to breathe — or at least that’s what you seemed to think until he relinquished you from his lips, only to introduce his tongue to your clit and flutter the tip against the swollen bundle of nerves.
Then you couldn’t stifle the wanton cry that burst forth from your lungs as he pushed you over the precipice of ecstasy, the coil in your belly snapping.
“Oh my — oh my God,” You whined, fingers tugging at the curls that had slowly dried in your unrelenting grasp. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”
Rich brown pools trailed up your body, taking in the way your thighs shook, your hips twitched, and your belly twisted and turned as the waves of your orgasm crashed over you violently.
“Oh… oh fuck, Al,” You let curses slip unbidden as his tongue continued to lap at your throbbing bud. “Y-You need to sto—op — I can’t!”
You tore your legs from his grip and pushed your heels into his shoulders, forcing Alastor away, overstimulated.
If his cock wasn’t straining painfully against the mattress, begging to be pushed into the space he had carved for himself long ago in your fluttering walls, you had no idea, but he would have held you down and ravished your swollen cunt till you were convulsing with hot tears endlessly cascading down your flushed face.
The helpless cries and mewls you let out when he continued to flutter his tongue on your aching clit was like music to his ears.
He’d even venture to say that they sounded more delicious than the pathetic cries of his victims.
But again, Alastor needed you.
He desperately needed to push each and every inch of his cock into your throbbing cunt.
He desperately needed to fill you up till you were bursting at the seams with his seed, head turning to press a quick kiss to one of your ankles.
Alastor pulled his elbows in and shuffled off the foot of the bed, standing on trembling knees, only to lean in and seize your ankles. You, of course, let out a squeak. Your husband was manhandling you — and roughly, too — but you were soft and pliant in his grip as he relinquished your ankles to pull your nightgown over your head.
“Goodness, Al!” You sputtered, watching him carelessly fling the fabric aside instead of folding it, unable to recognize your husband.
He flashed you his canines in a wicked grin before quickly proceeding to grab your hips and effortlessly flip you around, positioning you exactly how he wanted to take you — with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed, your spine arched in a sinuous curve, and your ass held high in the air. He wanted to take you like an animal
“Can’t you give me some time to recover?” You helplessly mewled, planting your palms on the bed, pushing to support yourself.
You turned to glance at him from your shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of Alastor tugging his pants down, the fabric pooling at his ankles.
“I’m afraid I cannot.”
His cock sprung out and smacked against the flexing plane of his abdomen, weeping tip staring back at you, making you shift with arousal.
“That stag you took down must be an unruly bastard,” You forced yourself to look away, face flaring up. “I mean, I just ca—NN’T — Alastor!”
He smacked his palm over your aching cunt with a wet slap that resonated embarrassingly loud in the quietude of your room — glancing from your shoulder at him once more, lips twisting in a frown and eyes narrowing in a glare. But before you could tell your husband off for smacking you down there, he withdrew his hand.
And he replaced it with his cockhead, pushing into your fluttering entrance without bothering to lubricate himself first.
It wasn’t necessary, though.
You were so slick from his previous efforts that Alastor was able to slide his length into your cunt without any effort, your head dropping and your lips parting with a shaky gasp.
You felt oh-so utterly divine.
So warm, so accomodating, his hands scrambling to grip the flesh of your waist, the calloused pads of his fingers leaving bruising indents.
You were still pulsating and throbbing from your orgasm, velvety walls teasing his aching length with fleeting embraces as his cockhead pushed to rest against your womb — the same womb he had failed to fill with a testament of your love from how little he had ravished you since you tied the knot, disappointment filling his chest.
But then you shuffled restlessly on your feet and let out a breathless gasp as Alastor bottomed out, bony hips meeting the supple flesh of your ass.
“Oh… oh God.”
And again, Alastor felt like he did back in the old, dilapidated shack, when the first of the countless rituals he had performed finally worked.
The newfound urge that bloomed in his heaving chest as rich brown pools darted down south, where he was connected to you as husband and wife, was intense in every sense of the word. However, it was also more than just an unfettered need for you. It was absolutely feral and instinctual, as if it was hardwired in his brain.
“I’m going to fucking breed you.”
The transatlantic accent you were acquainted with slipped, and in came the southern lilt Alastor thought he’d lost after he decided he wanted to work in radio, subtle but obvious enough anyway. Still, he was certain the way your walls squeezed him had more to do with his crude declaration rather than the slight difference in enunciation.
It made sense.
It wasn’t something he would have ever voiced out loud — that he was going to breed you, as if you were nothing but a pair of deer merely coming together for mating season.
You couldn’t quite believe his words, your skin growing uncomfortably hot at the notion.
There was no doubt in Alastor’s lust-addled mind that you were wondering where your husband was.
You didn’t know, and he was certain you wouldn’t ask, anyway, overwhelmed with shock.
Still, he sensed that you knew that the profound urge to fill your empty womb broke every invisible restraint in his wiry body, devolving him into something purely animalistic.
It made a lot of sense.
And, in no time, the home Alastor had carried you into bridal-style was filled with a cacophony of sounds — the mattress creaking, the bed frame smacking against the wall, his hips relentlessly colliding with the swell of your ass, your cunt rudely squelching with each and every hurried drag of his length against your slick walls.
It was loud and nothing short of telling what the two of you were up to.
He couldn’t even hear when the furious rapping echoing in the tiny hallway separating your bedroom and the living room began.
“Oh, you’re squeezing me so perfectly,” Alastor leaned into your back, sharp nose caressing the side of your face. “So warm, so wet… why, you were made just for me, weren’t you, sweetheart?”
He could only hear you crying out the most sinful noises as he gasped and groaned into your ear.
“Yes — yes! Just for you,” You cried out in sheer delight, his hands wandering away from your waist, caressing your fluttering belly before finding your neglected breasts. “Only you, A-Al! Only you.”
He could only hear the incessant, wet clap of his balls meeting the swollen clit he had lavished with his tongue just earlier.
“Good… but nobody else k-knows,” Alastor laved his tongue across the shell of your ear, palms simultaneously squeezing your breasts. “They’re going to know, though — fuck! — and soon.”
He could only hear the way you unraveled into a wanton whore beneath his looming frame.
“Fuck, ye—es, please,” You begged with a pathetic mewl as his cockhead constantly nudged your womb, a familiar pressure building up in you. “Breed me, fill me up! I’m all yours, Al. Pl-Please!”
He didn’t care that cranky Miss Susan, who lived across the street, was probably the one threatening to break down your door.
The only thing that mattered was that he was close to coaxing you both over the edge.
As he relinquished one of your breasts to find your clit once more, two fingers pressing against the sensitive button, Alastor didn’t care that he’d have to swallow his pride and deal with the embarrassment of apologizing to that ornery old bitch — as he loved to call her in private — for daring to be loud in his own home.
No, in fact, he would relish in swinging open the door in nothing but the sheets wrapped around his waist so the stench of sin assaulted her senses.
The woman needed to shut her window, shove plugs in her ears, slap on a pair of earmuffs, and learn to mind her business if not endure.
He was treating you to the fruits of his labor, and she had the audacity to interrupt this rare moment of passion between the two of you.
Thankfully, before Alastor’s mind could drift off and he inadvertently turned himself off, you were quick to bring him back to you as you suddenly decided to move your hips to meet his thrusts, which he hadn’t realized were starting to lose momentum and grow sloppy and discordant with the tight pressure coiling in his gut.
“Ignore her,” You barely managed between a moan. “We’re going to — mhh, fuck! — we’re going to have to deal with her anyway, right?”
Alastor let out a dry chuckle against your ear, stiffening length sliding inside of your tightening walls, rolling your clit around in quick circles.
“How’d you guess it was her, sweetheart?”
You craned your neck to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, the smile that stretched across your flushed face riddled with pure, unadulterated lust.
“T-The stupid cane, Al,” You huffed out, making him grin. “The knocks… they don’t sound much like knocks when she uses that dreadful thing.”
You were right, the furious rapping that continued to echo in the house in tandem with all the debauchery of your late-night rendezvous didn’t sound much like ordinary knocks. They sounded like banging. But Alastor chose to heed your words and peel himself from your back, standing up on all 6-feet, hips pistoning in slow, deep thrusts.
Thrusts that were purposely deafening and made the supple flesh of your ass ripple something delicious, his cock throbbing deep inside of you.
The hand that was once on your breast returned to grip your waist, sinking into the soft flesh there as the calloused pads of his fingers zigzagged across your clit instead of circling it, making your fingers curl into the sheets beneath you.
You were right, the damage had been done, and the only thing that mattered was that you both were teetering on the edge of ecstasy.
With each long drag of Alastor’s cock against your velvety walls, the harsh knocks grew unintelligible and faded into the background. And it became just a tiny disturbance, one that was as ignorable as the cricket that once hopped into your house and found refuge in a tiny, unknown crevice in the walls, chirping away at night till it eventually died.
And, before he knew it, Alastor was doubling down over your back and spilling himself at the feeling of your walls spasming around him.
“Merde,” Alastor gasped into the crook of your neck in raw bliss, hands sprawled reverently over your lower belly.
His cock pulsated and throbbed deep inside of your cunt as thick, heavy ropes of his pleasure painted your womb, pulling a whimper from you.
“Oh God,” You heaved.
And you, his poor wife?
“Mon amour?” Alastor whispered.
Your elbows gave up on you, the top half of your body collapsing onto the mattress, completely and utterly spent.
“Nothing… I’m just… tired, that’s all,” You slowly started, but then he decided to pull out of you, making you wince. “Oh, that feels strange.”
Alastor wasn’t faring any better than you. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him as he stepped back to observe the mess he had made out of you, a hand smoothing away the stray curls plastered to his forehead as he watched his seed spill from your throbbing entrance — that looked rather uncomfortable.
Still, he found himself reaching out and dragging his hand through your slit, shoving whatever threatened to trickle down your inner thighs back into your entrance, two fingers plunging into your sensitive walls with an embarrassing squelch. You immediately stiffened and clamped down around him, head swiveling around to glare at him.
“Hey!” You sputtered out.
The thought of going at it again, of taking you, entered his mind unbidden.
But then he heard a loud shout from outside — Susan. Fucking Susan. She was no longer banging her cane against the door, but shouting now.
“Christ, she’s still here?” Alastor growled, brows furrowing, eyes narrowing in sheer irritation. “I thought the sound of us going at it like a bunch of rabbits would have scared her off.”
“This is going to be so embarrassing,” You whined, clearly thinking he’d force you to answer the door. “How am I supposed to face her?”
“I designed this situation, so I shall take care of it,” Alastor grumbled, pulling his fingers out of you.
But not before giving your cunt a good patting.
“And you,” He shot you a wicked grin. “You make sure this,” He patted you again, “takes.”
“Alastor, you dog. I…” You paused as he wiped his fingers on the sheets, “Well, I hardly even recognize you. Where has my real husband gone off to?”
“Just treating you to the fruits of my labor,” Alastor hummed, searching for his pants. “That stag was indeed an unruly bastard — years I had spent hunting him, and now? Oh, he’s allll mine.”
The mattress softly creaked as you turned around and shut your legs, staring at him wordlessly.
Beyond the flustered expression on your face, however, he saw the understanding, your lips curling upwards in a proud smile.
“Anyway, I’ll be right back.”
As he pulled his pants up and took several long strides towards the front door, fingertips latching onto the doorknob, the fog of ecstasy dispersed from his brain and allowed him to see clearly since he left the shack. But even as the sight of his old, cranky neighbor standing hunched on his porch filled his vision, Alastor still found himself grinning.
The ritual had worked.
“Ah, Miss Susan!” Alastor greeted the woman glaring up at him with faux shock. “My, my, isn’t it rather late to be paying your neighbors a visit? What time is it, 3… 4 A.M.?”
“Oh, you know why I’m here, you filthy degenerate!” Susan hissed at him.
The corners of his eyes creased, and laughter bubbled up in his throat — he was the degenerate? He was simply having sex in his own home, while she had been the one to linger long enough to listen to the entire affair like some voyeur.
“I’m afraid I do not,” Alastor clasped his hands together, “But do feel free to enlighten me!”
“Enlighten you?” Susan gasped, shaking her cane at him, aggravated. “Oh, well, I’ll have you know this neighborhood was rather lovely until Richard passed away and you two moved in —”
The ritual had finally worked.
No longer did he need to go prowling the streets of New Orleans, to go hunting for victims to sacrifice every other weekend, not anymore. Still, Alastor placed a hand on his hip and tilted his head sideways as he listened to his neighbor go off on a rant that was borderline racist, and wondered if maybe, just maybe, Miss Susan would be missed.
Endearing Nicknames for Romantasy Couples, Royals, Fae, and Magical Soulmates
Whether your characters are immortal fae, dragon riders, celestial beings, or rival royals, unique pet names can make their relationship feel more intimate and memorable. Here are 100 fantasy-inspired terms of endearment to add charm and personality to your romantasy stories.
When cleaning out the HEY, Writers! Pinterest I moved some links here. The internet has changed a LOT since I started collecting these, so some links may include outdated info. All were still active when I made this, but it's been in my drafts for a hot minute.
Protip! In Firefox, check to toggle reader view when reading these (mobile: the page icon in the url bar; desktop: same icon or hit F9). This removes popups, ads, screen clutter, and often has an audio option.
Survivors of Internet Decay Award!
These active sites featured most often in my collections so they get the top of the list.
Helping Writers Become Authors
Mythcreants
Bryn Donovan
Getting Started (Ideas & Intros)
How to Start Writing a Book: Learn One Writer’s Process | Marian Schembari
How to Start a Story: 30 Opening Scene Examples | Bryn Donovan
Don’t Panic! What to Do When You Have Too Many Story Ideas | Faye Kirwin
How to Write a Killer First Chapter | Rae Elliot
How To Write A Captivating Opening Sentence
Outlining
How to Create a Flexible Outline for Your Novel | Faye Kirwin
Protagonists
How to Write Believable Characters | Bridget McNulty
4 Ways to Write a Likable Protag at the Start of the Character Arc | KM Weiland
5 Tips for Writing a Likable "Righteous" Character | KM Weiland
I Hate Your Protagonist! Want to Know Why? | KM Weiland
The Secret to Writing Dynamic Characters: It's Always Their Fault | KM Weiland
A Protagonist’s Moment of Realisation
Antagonists
Blurring the Lines: What Are Anti-Heroes and Anti-Villains?
Antagonists: Inner & Outer Demons | Kristen Lamb
How to Write Multiple Antagonists | KM Weiland
Character Building
The Epic Guide to Character Creation, Part 1 | Kylie Day
Pick Up A Bad Habit | Maggie Maxwell
How To Write Characters from the Opposite Gender | Rachel Poli
Top 4 Tips for Using Backstory in Your Novel | Diana Anderson-Tyler
Depicting Background Characters | Chris Winkle
Scene Building
The 5 Elements Of A Good Scene | Amanda Patterson
A New Way to Think About Scene Structure | KM Weiland
2 Ways to Make the Most of Your Story’s Climactic Setting | KM Weiland
8 Things Writers Forget When Writing Fight Scenes | Lisa Voisin
Descriptions
Master List of Facial Expressions | Bryn Donovan
Master List of Words to Describe Voices | Bryn Donovan
Master List of Physical Description for Writers | Bryn Donovan
Writer’s Guide to Serious Injuries and Calamities | Bryn Donovan
How to Ground Your Reader (in the setting) | Rachel Craft
The Forgotten Fifth Sense | Writer's Relief
Never Name an Emotion in Your Story | KM Weiland
Show, Don't Tell: How to Write the Stages of Grief | Ruthanne Reid
100 Words for Facial Expressions
Dialogue
How To Write Good Dialogue: Ten Tips | Irving Weinman
Seven Dialogue Don’ts | Jason Bougger
10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction | Katherine Cowley
Points-Of-View (POV)
What Every Writer Ought to Know About the Omniscient POV | KM Weiland
Motivation & Support
What New Writers Need To Know About Fear | Bryan Collins
How to Discover Your Writing Process with Gabriela Pereira | Kirsten Oliphant
Editing & Revising
18 Overused Words to Replace When Writing | Oxford Tutoring
An Easy Way to Immediately Improve Your Character’s Action Beats | KM Weiland
Want More Depth to Your Writing? | Sacha Black
How Much is Too Much Backstory? | Ellen Brock
Why Your Writing Sounds Weird (And What You Can Do About It) | Joe Brock
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers | Jenny Bravo
Favorite Revision and Editing Tricks
Short Stories & Flashfic
How to Write a Story a Week: A Day-by-Day Guide | Emily Wenstrom
How Flash Fiction / Microfiction Can Help With Your Writing | Rhianne Williams
Worksheets & Downloads
Writing Worksheet Archive
If anyone out there loves making lists and wants to transport this to another site, you have every right to do so! Just let me know in a reblog so I can share it here again :)
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A/N: FORGOT BOUT ALL OF THESE! wow can you tell I was. going through it. also ignore how they're all like a copy and past I had no motivation but like.. needed this ... ok ... they were all don't within the span of a month🤔 when I shoulda been working on asks 🤔🤔🤔 but oh well🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔might allow reqs for this with other charas 🤔🤔
edit at EXACTLY 3:00 WOOWOWIWIEIWIEI ok I'll post the other parts later IM TOO TIRED and uh yeah I also js really wanna post this to see if ppl will like it🤔 if not then I'll just 🤔🤔 not post the other parts🤔 or finish Sebs🤔🤔🤔
the message arrived at 2:13 a.m. vil was awake, as he often was, surprisingly. though he hadn't intended to be checking his phone. he was halfway through reviewing tomorrow's schedule when your name appeared across his screen, followed by a message so short that his heart seemed to stop before he'd even finished reading it. "thank you for everything. i'm sorry. goodbye." vil stared at the words. once. twice. a third time, as though looking at them long enough might somehow change what they said. "...no." his chair scraped violently against the floor. he called you immediately. no answer. again. nothing. his mind, usually so disciplined, became a storm of terrible possibilities. he didn't remember grabbing his coat. he barely remembered leaving the dorm. all he knew was that he had to get to ramshackle, that he had to find you, that whatever had happened could not be allowed to end with a final message on a screen. the journey there became a blur of cold air, pounding footsteps, and one thought repeating itself over and over: please be there. please let me be in time. after that, his memory fractured beneath the sheer force of his fear. he remembered reaching ramshackle. he remembered calling your name. he remembered panic swallowing every ounce of his usual composure. and then—nothing he wanted to remember.
morning came quietly in the infirmary. vil sat beside your bed with his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles had gone pale. he'd barely moved since you'd been brought somewhere safe, and the exhaustion beneath his eyes was painfully obvious. when your eyelashes finally fluttered, he immediately straightened. for one awful second, neither of you spoke. then you whispered his name. vil's expression crumpled. not dramatically. not beautifully. there was nothing polished about the way his shoulders shook as he lowered his head, pressing one hand over his eyes. "...do you have any idea," he whispered, voice trembling despite every effort to steady it, "what that message did to me?" guilt immediately twisted through you. "vil, i'm—" "don't." his voice wasn't angry. that somehow made it worse. he looked at you again, violet eyes shining with exhaustion and fear. "don't apologize for frightening me. don't apologize for needing help. and don't you dare tell yourself that you were some burden i had to carry." his fingers curled against his palm. "i was terrified. that's the truth. utterly, completely terrified. but whatever pain brought you to that point..." he swallowed. "...it wasn't something you deserved to face alone."
for once, vil didn't know what beautiful words could possibly make the situation better. there was no perfect speech. no flawless gesture. no performance capable of undoing the fear of the previous night. so he told you the truth instead. "i have spent so much time telling you to be stronger," he murmured. "to stand tall. to take care of yourself. to become someone who could withstand anything." his expression tightened. "and perhaps i became so focused on teaching you how to endure that i forgot something important." he reached toward your hand, stopping just short as though giving you the choice. when you slowly offered it, his fingers carefully closed around yours. "you don't have to withstand everything." his thumb brushed gently across your knuckles. "not alone. not silently. and certainly not to make everyone else comfortable." his voice broke slightly on the final words, and he looked away. "...i should have noticed how much you were hurting." you squeezed his hand. "it's not your fault." vil immediately shook his head. "i know that." a pause. "...at least, i know i shouldn't make it my fault. but knowing something and feeling it are two different things."
the silence afterward was gentle. vil remained beside you, refusing to turn the moment into a lecture or demand explanations you weren't ready to give. eventually, though, his gaze dropped to your joined hands, and something in his expression changed. he'd been frightened before. now he looked almost vulnerable. "there's something else i need to tell you," he said. your eyes met his. vil took a slow breath. "i love you." your breath caught. his cheeks colored faintly, but he didn't look away. "i've wanted to say it for longer than i care to admit. i kept convincing myself that there would be a better time. a more appropriate time. some perfectly composed moment when i could say it elegantly and you would know exactly what i meant." a tiny, humorless laugh escaped him. "apparently, life has very little respect for perfect timing." his grip on your hand tightened. "so i'll say it plainly. i love you. your successes, your mistakes, your difficult days, your good ones. i love you. and that means i want you here. not because you're obligated to stay for me, but because i want you to have the chance to see how many mornings are still waiting for you." your eyes stung, and vil immediately softened. "and if another night ever becomes that unbearable..." he paused, carefully choosing every word. "please tell someone. tell me. or a friend, anyone you trust. wake someone up. make noise. you don't have to make it graceful. you don't have to explain it perfectly. just don't... disappear by yourself."
you were quiet for a while before finally whispering, "...i'm sorry you were so scared." vil closed his eyes. when he opened them again, the sharpness had disappeared from his expression entirely. "i was," he admitted. "but i'm here now." he lifted your hand carefully, pressing it between both of his palms. "and so are you." something about those four words finally broke through the last of your composure. your eyes filled, and vil immediately leaned closer—not touching you until you gave the smallest nod. then his arms carefully wrapped around you, holding you with a gentleness that seemed almost at odds with the fierce determination in his voice. "you don't have to promise me you'll never struggle again," he murmured. "that isn't realistic. promise me something smaller." you sniffled. "...what?" "promise you'll let someone know when you're struggling." you hesitated, then nodded against him. "i promise." vil exhaled shakily, his cheek resting against your hair. "...good." for a while, neither of you said anything. outside the infirmary window, morning continued as though the world hadn't nearly shattered during the night. vil held you a little closer, and for once he didn't care whether his hair was perfect, whether his makeup had smudged, or whether anyone saw the tears in his eyes. he only cared that you were here. that there was another morning. and, for the first time, that was enough.
In promotion of the soundtrack for and karoke box implementation of the dorm/character songs, Twst shared a comment from Malleus' VA Kato Kazuki:
>> Memories from Recording
At first I was surprised because I hadn't thought I'd be singing for Twst. But standing in front of the microphone and singing as Malleus, I found myself feeling strangely exhilarated.
>> What should fans pay attention to in the songs you participated in?
The solo song "Shukufuku" (祝福) is a song which Malleus sings while releasing his emotions. The highlight is the emotionally charged singing voice that follows the song's changing rhythm.
>> Which song would you like to sing at karaoke?
"Shiitenpen" (恣意天変). Our parts were recorded separately, so I'd like the four of us to sing it together at karaoke in full force.
>> A message for the fans, please.
Thank you, as always, for playing. Please also enjoy the world of Twst through its music. We hope you'll continue to support Twst.
For all the people with brown and Black eyes who grew up hearing they were “boring” or “nothing special”: your eyes are the color of earth after the rain, of coffee shared with someone you love, of dark forests at dusk, of honey, amber, chestnuts, cinnamon, melted chocolate, polished mahogany, rich soil, black tea, and the night sky before the stars appear. They’re the color of warmth, of home, of old books, of tree bark, of firelight reflected in wood, and of every story that begins after sunset.
I’m saying this because yesterday I jokingly said brown eyes were “less exciting” than blue eyes, and I regretted it almost immediately. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see boring, I see honey, amber, sunlight, autumn, warmth. I love my eyes, and I hope you love yours too. 🤎
Awesome Online Resources for Writers & other Creatives
papyr.com: freely accessible and summarized classroom materials in rhetoric, composition, grammar, and linguistics from a retired english professor
typelit.io: practice writing speed and accuracy by copying entire classical books
wordhippo: thesaurus where synonyms are separated by specific meaning and connotation, making it very easy to find a variety of words
adjectives for: get a selection of adjectives matching to any word you need them for
Heraldicon: create your own coat of arms
A Soft Murmur: make your own personalized ambience music
dmnes.org: database of names found in historical sources all across Europe from the middle ages
foodtimeline.org: timeline of the development of human foods and from when the first evidence we have of a food being consumed
Google News Newspaper Archive: archive of old newspaper pages, some dating back to the 19th century
Green’s Dictionary of Slang: a history of slang and insults in the english language
HathiTrust: digital library and archive with an extremely wide variety of topics and archived books and articles
- eg. Fashion Periodicals: an archive of fashion magazines dating back to the 19th century
Marginalia Search: search engine that prioritizes non-commercial content (forums, blogs, and academia) and does not use genAi
Day 4 of MalleYuu Au August! Today it’s a vampire au, but it’s just Yuu and Malleus is still a fae. Also while I typically write Yuu to be gender neutral, here Yuu is a woman due to her backstory. (For the record, if I kept going Yuu would eventually realize they were genderfluid but for what I’ve written here it’s strictly she/her.)
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First Meeting (150 BCE)
Living mostly alone in a hut in the woods is just as lovely as Yuu thought it would be. Much better than the marriage she had nearly been trapped in. How lucky she was that he had suddenly died the night before their wedding.
She grinned at the memory of his burning blood on her tongue. For once, she held the power over her fate and she was never going to let it go. Even with the absence of her sire.
She wasn’t sure why whoever they were had abandoned her. She tried not to take it to heart. It did make figuring out her limits and abilities a lot harder though. She decided since she was newly turned that she should just take it easy and lay low for a while. Maybe a few decades, enough for her family and anyone else who might recognize her to die off.
The hut was a lucky find. She’s not sure why it had been abandoned, but it seemed to be in decent condition all things considered. Hence her taking up residence in it. She quite enjoyed relying only on herself and the land to live. She hunted animals to eat. (She was young enough she realized that blood alone didn’t satiate her. Meat was still necessary.) And her sewing skills came in handy as she turned hides and furs into clothes. The use of her mother’s skills brought her some comfort. A memory of her humanity she could hold onto for the rest of her unending life.
And as I’m sure you can guess, living in the woods doesn’t give you many visitors besides the creatures you share it with. Which is why Yuu is so surprised when she catches a glimpse of a human figure while hunting one night. (Her eyes have grown used to seeing in the pitch black.) She rests a hand on her father’s bronze sword. (Her teeth and claws are obviously far more powerful, but a part of her doesn’t want to kill a human if they’re good.)
“I know you’re there. Why do you watch me so?”she asks, hoping there isn’t any blood on her face from her latest kill. (A poor sickly deer. Its death was truly a mercy with how far gone it seemed.)
She stares at the shadow between the trees. She is certainly not afraid of it. She hasn’t been afraid of anything since she turned. But she has always been an anxious person, and certainly not a social one.
“I watch because I am fascinated. I have never seen someone out here before.”a voice answers. It is a lovely sound; it reminds her of the woods itself. Dark and deep.
“Neither have I, though with the way you speak of the woods, I suspect you have been here longer than I.”
That gets her a chuckle,”Indeed I have been here for a while.”
Maybe not human then. Another vampire?
“Come closer, so that we can properly speak and see one another.”she orders. She needs to know who this figure is. If he’s also not human, he could be a big ally or a big threat.
“You dare to command me? How fascinating.”
A very tall man steps towards her. He has long dark hair, black horns, and striking green eyes. When he gets closer, she notices he has slit pupils. He wears a simple, yet clearly well made black robe. He looks like the branches of the forest itself.
She had finally found a faerie…
Yuu used to dream of meeting a faerie in the woods behind her parents’ house, and being swept away into their realm. But now…she’s happy and wishes to be left alone.
She makes sure her facial expression doesn’t change as the two chat for a while. Or at least until he asks for her name.
She raises an eyebrow at him,”You may call me Stormcrow. It is a name my old village gave me. They said I was fierce as a storm and smart as a crow.”
The fae chuckles,”I suppose it is only fair I give you a name for a name. You may call me Tsunotaro.”
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Leaving the Woods (60 CE)
Yuu wasn’t sure what she’d find when she left her safe haven of the forest, but it wasn’t this. The carnage of war. A war that was clearly being lost. By what were once her people. Or at least she assumed that’s who all the people lying dead on the ground were.
Luckily, if she did run into trouble she could certainly deal with it. Over 200 years of fresh blood and living in darkness grew her vampiric powers immensely. Meat was no longer required, and she could now easily snap any creature's bones. Hypnotism was also an option, but she’d only ever tried it on animals.
She wouldn’t dare try it on Tsunotaro. Yes, unfortunately, (or not depending on her mood), the fae kept finding his way back to her hut. He always asked for stories about her old life and in return he would tell her about his family.
She wondered what he would think happened to her when he found an empty hut. After all, part of her motivation for leaving was to get away from him. Her village always spoke of the dangers of the fae, and now having met one she understood why.
Tsunotaro had too much power to remain around for any longer, especially now that he had to know she wasn’t human. And even if he somehow wasn’t aware of the fact that humans don’t live for 200 years or drink blood, he could decide to take her instead of just visiting. Better to leave while she still can.
It’s then Yuu notices two of the bodies are shaking. Some people survived. Her body moves on its own, and she rushes towards the two bodies that she now realizes are children. Two young girls, one can’t be older than ten while the other looks to be about fourteen.
“Mama?”the younger of them faintly whispers.
Yuu’s barely beating heart breaks,”No little one, I’m afraid I don’t know where your mother is.”
The other girl growls,”The evil men killed her and everyone else, Lannosea.”
Yuu tilts her head,”Do you know what direction they went?”
The girl snaps her eyes towards her, they are a sharp grey like her own,”East, back to where they came from hopefully.”she spat.
Yuu smiled, she liked the fire in this girl and the love she had for sister,”Would you like to get revenge?”
Surprisingly, the younger one, Lannosea, responds first,”Yes. They killed mama.”
The older one narrows her eyes,”You’re not from here, where are you from and how did you survive?”
“I can answer both of those questions with one answer, the woods.”she says as she points to the darkness from whence she came,”But I came out to find a home, and I found you.”
This is apparently enough for the older girl to trust her as she says,”My name is Heanua, let’s go hunt down those men like they hunted us.”
When the girls ask what her name is she tells them it is Boudicca.
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Retreat (844 CE)
“You’re back.”
Yuu spun around with her blade drawn even though she knew who the voice belonged to. Somehow, despite being gone from her old forest hideout for over eight hundred years, Tsunotaro had not forgotten about her nor stopped visiting. Perhaps that was why her hut still stood unchanged. Something that she might unfortunately have to thank him for.
“You’re still here.”she said, still clutching her bronze sword,”Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Stormcrow? I was looking for you.”
“For over eight hundred years? That’s more effort than a single person is worth.”
“Perhaps. But we are friends.”
Yuu’s eyes narrowed,”Are we? You’re not mad at me for disappearing on you for multiple centuries?”
Tsunotaro shrugged,”Lilia said humans are flighty creatures, even compared to more free spirited fae. He said I just had to be patient and you would come back.”
Yuu thought that made her sound more like a hound than a human, but at least she wasn’t in danger of dying from the fae. And more importantly, he still somehow thought that she was a human. That meant she could just play the part of a harmless friend or pet or whatever he thought of her as until she felt it was safe enough to leave the woods again.
Then she could finally leave the faerie behind. Maybe she’d move off the continent entirely. The Vikings got here via ships, so give the world a hundred years or so to stop being actively on fire or at war and she could find a boat to take her out of here easily.
She just had to avoid being taken to the faerie realm.
