You; "Mun" • Blog Author / Typer • 20's • Modern Thing • A friend
I; Alastor • The Radio Demon • The Host • The Speaker
{Partner-blog; @thetvwatches •
My little helper will read me things and show me things like my grandchild helping me read the morning paper. I'm enjoying some things; I don't love the screens, though. But! You know that I love to talk, about anything and everything. If it would interest you, give me a ring.
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Character-based blog for posts, reposts, and asks.
Please do read below! [Info, Blog Tags, Signed-Off Anons]
{Mun is schizophrenic- because of this, and because it just makes total sense to me, this blog's Alastor is schizophrenic. Them's the breaks, kid!}
{General CWs-- drinking, smoking, 🍃 may all be spoken about. Talks about life and death. Medical gore? Possible Schizo-type rambling. Strangeness. Sex may be mentioned, but not generally detailed. Anything more explicit than a brief mention will be tagged under "posttype;latenightbroadcast"}
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Blog-specific tagging system--
#posttype;letter - Alastor's musings about anything and everything. Usually fairly prim and proper. Stuff meant for Radio!
#posttype;al'stunes - Alastor's music! He really loves music, and... you know... is also a radio show host. He enjoys sharing music and will definitely share a fair amount here.
#posttype;ask - Alastor answering fanmail [asks] that get dropped in to our inbox! We sign these off with a 💌
#posttype;reblog - Things posted by other creators that either suit this blog or that Alastor just personally enjoys enough to want it to be here. He doesn't sign off on all of the reblogs...
#posttype;whiskey - Alastor's musings, but specifically dictated while he's fairly tipsy or drunk. And he likes drinking, so... these will be present. He gets a little more honest/silly/nasty/rude etc with these ones. Slightly less radio-friendly...
#posttype;latenightbroadcast - Alastor's musings but they skirt into downright nsfw topics. Sex, drugs, gorey stories. Always warned for properly [and generally not in detail when it comes to sex.]
#posttype;partner - Posts reblogging or replying to partner- Vincent Whittman RP blog. Very normal. Very... very normal stuff here
#posttype;mun - Me, specifically, making a post! Usually about radiostatic... but sometimes about other stuff. [He doesn't know that I do this... shhh...]
MUN SPEAKING POST Dear recent schizotypal Alastor themed ask author. You are so real. I love you. I AM going to go into heavy detail! But I don't have the time to right this second though I REALLY WANT TO RIGHT NOW, but I saw it and I jumped for joy like a cartoon character I just needed to let you know. I will be answering that ask with a long rant about what I know to be true Alastor schizotypal disorder is real and god told me. Thank you so much for enjoying that choice. I am on the schizophrenic spectrum so it means an especially large amount to me. <3
Hi hello greetings!! Life got really busy for a month but I managed to finish Chapter 2 (feat. Some E rated content, alastor having a surname. And an entire OC) of the Murdermedia fic I made based off of your prompt. If the link doesn't work it's still called I meet him every morning 'bout a half past eight on ao3. Hope you enjoy!!
- s_rolldown
S Rolldown S Fork. I owe you my life.
This is amazing. Everyone who follows me I am BEGGING and PLEADING with you to go and give this a read. It's 2 chapters now, whole thing is fairly quick to read through, and if you love miserably mourning Vincent it will KILL YOU!!! IT MAY EVEN KILL YOU AS IT HAS KILLED ME
I'm actually obsessed. PLEASE. OH my god. Thank you so much for keeping me updated. I GOBBLED it up it's GONE I ATE IT!!!
I love this so much. Vincent being a dirtbag, Alastor yanking him around about it, THE ENDING. THE BEGINNING. THE MIDDLE. I love the way that you write. + I love that you include social attitudes that 100% would affect them both separately and together in their relationship. I love the cold desperation that you weave into Vincent and the controlled fire that you write into Alastor. Your shit is gold. Thank you so much for sharing, so much for writing, so much for being inspired by my little nonsense post. I need to read more of your WORK AAAAAAAAGH
Argh ♥️♥️ this is so good I AM AT MY LIMIT!!!! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH
I have him undress me, fairly often, at the end of the day. I'll go to him where he sits on the edge of the bed and he'll take off my tie, unbutton my shirt, unclip my suspenders, open my trousers for me. He enjoys it, I know, and I enjoy it too. Today ended up slightly different. I had unusual underclothes on. I found them in my bedroom today, as I was putting away some laundry, and ended up trying them on- and they were so comfortable that I just left them on! Promptly forgot about it. Wonderful soft fabric, I really quite enjoy them. So does he. Apparently. Moaning against my chest like some excitable animal.
His eyes zeroed in and he laughed, and grabbed me, yanked my trousers down. Disgustingly direct. "Oh, you-" he laughed again. I laughed, too. Let him jerk me around... grumbled while he groped me and pressed his face into my neck. God willing I will wake up a stone statue. I like him too damn much. "He does things just for me," he beamed, face so warm and excited. I love to deny him but it can be difficult to deny that face. Horribly, it makes me want to wear them again, and not just because they're comfortable.
This rude, brutish man. Makes my idiot mind spin, that part of me that he brings out somehow that is stupid and animal-brained, less logical. Yanking me around by my waistband, eyes bright and excited like a kid seated in front of a sparkling Christmas tree on the 24th. "Open window, too, for everyone to see." I had not realized that the currains were open in the bedroom. In the moment I didn't even care. [And that's a lot more embarrassing, all things considered.]
I hate how charmingly rough he is around the edges, and I hate that I enjoy it so much. My under-the-bushes animal brain will be replaying the sparkle in his eye and the nearly silent wet gnashing of his teeth when he smiled wide against my skin and the way that he grabbed at me and yanked me around and groaned into my skin for the next few days. I can tell. I can really tell.
Quiet in the woods. The thick, evergrowing blanket of snow seems to dampen every sound. Nothing but wind and pitter patters, out here, and distant warbling or snap-creak every so often; like the trees are singing. Whispering through the freeze.
HA!!!!! AAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHA NO. YOU'RE JOKING! YOU MUST BE JOKING! ARE YOU SERIOUS?? I'M GOING TO VOMIT, I'VE BEEN LAUGHING LIKE A HYENA FOR THE LAST HOUR!! LIKE A BOG WITCH!
He fed me. There is little more romantic than offering someone else a piece of you, chunks of yourself, flesh and or blood. My mouth tastes of runny tangy pennies. Or iron pebbles run under hot water. There is a fullness to his, I don't know how quite to describe it. I'll have to taste him over and over to figure it out.
My mind is on fire. For once, I could keep going, even now that it's done; it's hilarious. The excitement is shock therapy to my guts, terrible and unreal. It is so terribly erotic and I am so barely in touch with eroticism that it's funny. I flirt and sway my hips but my genitalia are a tool more than a proper appendage. With his blood in my mouth, or soft bits between my teeth, I become more like an animal, in the sense that I can feel what animals feel. Suddenly my body is one whole thing, and I can feel fires in my stomach.
I made an absolutely KILLER quiche this evening. Spun around the kitchen to my beautiful little jazz radio and cooked the night away! I got my hands on a fairly large portion of large eggs for free so of course, I just had to make a quiche! Or two. Maybe three. This is the second, and my goodness, it is gorgeous. I love the kitchen, I love to cook. So very fun, so very satisfying to fuel yourself with food that you spent time toiling over. There is an intense self satisfaction in it all. Cook some god damn food today!
Little cat smushing her face into the bed by my feet... warm feeling in my stomach from the way we chat over his lunch, over the telephone... sun shining in through the window. I've taken a terribly romantic lens to life today. Cooking dinner in a few hours; if I take a romantic lens to that, as well, I may just simply have to die!
Diaries that require barrels of whiskey and sloshing bottles full of opium. Not explicit; censored only out of sheer discomfort
Ironically- hilariously- ending up with deepset, unavoidable feelings for someone when you are not one to have feelings for anyone [and are in general very uncomfortable with the idea of love] feels a lot like being hypnotized.
It feels like force. Like it must have been forced upon me, somehow, because I never would have made this choice on my own. It would be comforting to me to find out that this was somehow done to me outside of my body, by someone else, because it would be logical. And I HATE the idea of anyone doing anything to me that I can't control. The fact that I would prefer that over this makes it even more irritating, because it shows me that this really is piercing me from the inside, and that is infinitely more infuriating. I put myself here. I have organs that feel things. I could force-shut myself, technically, I'm sure, but I don't. I think about it but it never happens. I remain. Tucked and warm in that broiling disgust.
been reading books of old.... legends and the myths .... no superheros... no fariytale gifts...💔💔💔💔💔💔💔
My little helper used the google machine to see if this was somehow related to a book or a song... I'm seeing that it is a song. I listened to a part of it, gave up, and then read the rest of the lyrics. Please, Cold Play Anonymous, explain to me what this means... I'm beside myself.
It did make me giggle! Thank you for the warm morning laugh. 💌
