#[ SHAME ON ME who didn't draw anything last year ?? ]

[despairforme]

What the fuck we're already six days into November??

[dilf-docs]

A Pillar I Am Of Pride

vander x younger!fem reader

summary: you're too young, that's what he tells himself; that you could be one of his kids. but of course you have spent too much time with vi, and unfortunately for him, stubborn rhymes with your name: you just don't know when to quit.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (25ish/45ish), smut, p. in v., ofc there is SIZE KINK who do u think i am (he can choke me with those huge arms idcidc), manhandling, thigh riding, dirty talk, virgin!reader, public sex (they violating every health code on the last drop), belly bulge, cream pie, breeding kink if u squint, this is basically pwp also with happy ending (no one blows up or dies yet THIS IS my story and i say they're all happy as a big family SHUT UP)

word count: 3,142 words

side note: hope the arcane community hasn't died yet, looking at the amount of votes i received on the poll where i asked if y'all wanted stuff from the show. I LOVE VANDER!!! saw the drawing and went insane. LIKE i got infected with a raw carnal primal need to write for one of zaun dilfs,, it literally took my brain hostage ++based this little filthy 2D piece on the hozier song dinner and diatribes.

You just don't know when to quit.

Vander isn't dumb. He's lived enough and seen enough. He's lived enough to tell when the admiration became adoration on those big eyes of yours, that looked up to him first but now down without an ounce of shame through his sturdy built whenever you think he isn't looking.

He isn't dumb, so he knows he shouldn't encourage it. Yet, Vander also thinks there is something different about you.

There is this desire to protect you, love you like one of his kids, but there is something unique about you he can't quite tell, enough to differentiate you from viewing you as part of them, even if there's a bed belonging to you next to theirs.

He is a fool, for thinking you wouldn't end up adopting at least one of his or the kids' traits. And of course, lucky him, it had to be Violet's headstrong nature.

"Vander" you call out his name, and he's brought back to the red and the bridge.

He can still see you, eighteen, fighting against an enforcer twice your size: because he took the life of your parents, faces Vander had seen in the mines and then at their meetings, ready to fight in the name of the undercity, for a change and a future: for their daughter.

That is what Vander wants for his kids in Zaun. For you.

So he negotiates with them, even if your eyes fall when you learn the truth one evening, eavesdropping. He pleaded you not to tell the rest, afraid they'll see him differently, just like you. Still, you keep calling his name like you did at the bridge: like a hero; savior. He saved you from death, but you'd die for him.

He keeps his eyes trained on the glass he's wiping as you take a seat in the stools infront of him, unable to look you in the eyes. It kills him; gets harder each passing day. He can't keep lying to himself, but he can lie to you. Protect you, he swore he would do that when he saved you and took Powder and Vi. So, yes, he'll lie his ass off, that his heart too hasn't changed after the years; that it doesn't beat for you and only you.

"Hey, y/n" he forces out, but even saying your name brings him pain.

When did you go from a kid leaving the last remains of hope and naive kids in Zaun drop sooner than others, to a woman equally dangerous in heart and beauty? When did you stop looking like a big sister or a babysitter, to more as a mother to Mylo, Claggor, Powder and Vi?

"Vander" you call again, touching his arm softly, but it burns. It burns.

He stops what he's doing, still without sparing a glance your way.

"C'mon, V." he hates the way such a silly nickname, a monosyllable on top of that, makes him feel. "Look at me, will you?"

He does so, because he can't deny you anything.

"There you go" you laugh easily, as if you didn't know the power you held over him. "Easy, isn't it?"

"You better let me finish" stern, but a smile betrays him.

"No one is stopping you" you huff, "or bothering you"

He finishes the glass, picking up another. "You are"

"Me?" you laugh the accusation off. Then it dies down, and all that's left is the neon hues of outside, reflecting something more mellow, akin to sincerity in your face. "You're right, it's always me"

He doesn't know what to say, all words lost. Silco used to say he knew how to move the people, that masses would follow just by looking at him: Vander always knew what to say.

But as of late, during the end of the day, when it's just you and the dirty glasses he cleans away, Vander finds it hard to speak even, like you're trying to talk in a language he doesn't know, or worst, used to, yet is too old for that now.

"Where is everyone?" he asks, and when you laugh, he knows he's said something stupid. But there are more stupid things to say, like I love you, so he's safe. For now.

"Might be because we're closed" you mock. "The kids are asleep, if that's what you truly wanted to ask. Made sure of it"

The last part, whispered like a secret. He can see the dare laced in between your words, the desire that pours like the drink he's serving you right now, but he's too old to play games.

"Good" then pushes the glass to where you sit. "Drink"

"Is it new?" you inspect the glass. "I hope you're not trying to poison me"

He laughs, "You know I couldn't hurt you, y/n"

There goes that expression again, and he hates to realize he's playing along.

"I know, Vander" you take a full sip, as if showing him just how much you'd trust him. Like he could have a gun put to your head and you'd understand; like he could have a hand around your neck and you'd breath the last huffs of oxygen in his name.

Silence settles in, until you decide to break it by saying:

"You know, if you wanted to get me drunk" the drink dissapears in a rough gulp, the liquid smooth while it burns and slides down your throat, "you could've just asked"

"And for what would I want to do that?" he bites right into the bait.

The stool creaks as you get up, and he finds your face closer than the smoke and ashes of when he takes a drag.

"Because I know you too want this" you whisper, dangerously low.

His breath hitches, heart beating fast. He could break you in two, if he wanted to, but now trembles like a leaf in the wind with just your perfume and eyes piercing through his.

"Want what?" he dares to ask, duties forgotten long ago.

You click your tongue, maybe in dissapointment.

You just don't know when to quit.

"The evening's slow" now sweet, tempting. "About to end"

He feels drunk, even if he hasn't had a drop. You're lulling him right into your trap. It doesn't matter if he has stopped you before: ignoring the bat of your eyelashes, the lingering touches and the sweet words that seemed reserved for him only.

"What would you do?" he gulps, Adam's apple bobbing. To me, too coward to voice out loud; to stop this nonsense.

You walk over to him, standing still, almost defiant, even if he doubles your size; the thought only makes heat pool in your stomach. The ember of the moonlight shines over your corageous eyes, and Vander thinks he really needs to shorten your quality time with Vi. A hand traces over his defined pecs: hands he's seen before hold a gun, now touching him with a softness that doesn't belong in the undercity.

"Don't you think knowing it's late makes it easier know what I have in mind?" you laugh, and it tickles parts in his body he isn't ready to say yet. "Just give in"

You should've know when to quit.

His eyes darken, and this isn't the Vander you know. If anything, you should be scared, but you rub your thighs together, spot already wet.

"If anyone's about to give in, it's you"

Before you can register, his lips smack together with yours as he takes the lead. His big hands cup your face, traveling down until they reach your hips, and the pressure of his size feels so much better than you imagined.

"Tell your man what would yo do tonight?" huskily whispered your way. His knee finds it's way between your thighs as he applies pressure to your already slick cunt, making you yelp. "Or cat got your tongue?"

You're at loss for words, for the very first time in a while. All that time spent provoking him, edging and pushing for a reaction, so sure of the hidden flame sparking behind the curtain of smoke of his pipe, to know surrender so easily, like your body is unable to react at all.

So instead, you entangle your fingers through his greying hair, a small whine escaping your lips, the sleeping fierce need of battle now translated in the fight for dominance, his mouth growing more demanding.

Vander pushes your body against the bar, making the wood creak. He applies more pressure with his knees, making you whimper again, his tongue reaching every spot inside your sweet mouth.

"God, you're so sweet" he mumbles.

"Then why did you stop yourself all this time?" you breath out, as tempting as the shadows that walk through the streets.

Hi smiles devishly, biting your lip. "Ain't nothing stopping me no more"

He uses your body as he pleases, handling it to his complete and utter advantage, thumbs now digging into your hipbones before he feels you grinding against his knee.

"Greedy little thing. Haven't I taught you manners, ey?" but the way he looks at you, like a starved man who's been denied a meal for years, encourages you to keep rolling your hips. Once you find a steady rhythm, he releases your hips and moves to grab your wrists, pinning you down in the free bar. You whine, the pain of the hard wood on your back digging on your skin.

"Vander" you gasp, but he shuts up the pain by forcing his lips right back. His handsgrab back ahold of your thighs so you keep up the rhythm. He can feel a spot over his clothes start to dampen, doing nothing but augmenting the hunger. God, he can even feel the smell of your arousal.

You moan, head leaning back.

"Feels good?" he asks, and you mumble a nonsensical myriad of words that sound like yes. He nips your neck, making you squirm under his touch.

"C'mon, baby. I ain't deaf but I didn't hear you" Vander taunts, biting still. Now he travels to your collarbone and then tits, removing your shirt to reveal no bra under. Of course, you little vixen had planned it all and he fell like a fool. Not that he's complaining, of course, giving a lick to the soft rosy skin around your nipples.

"M-more, please!" you whimper out loud, mind numb.

"You wanted it so bad, yet can't even speak" he murmurs, sucking a spot dangerously near to your nipple. Your movements against his knee come to a halt, but he makes sure to keep you and your puffy core grinding against his thigh. "Talk"

He should know that you wouldn't give up that easily, prideful as he was, no matter if this is what you've always wanted.

"I said talk" your legs tremble around his when he forces you down harder. "I wanna hear you ask for what you say you wanted so bad, don't think I didn't notice all your traps, taunts and plays, little vixen"

The nickname makes you moan, inciting you to pour the words out.

"Ruin me, Vander" and he barely has time to react, knowing that no man has ever touched you before, your untainted territories dripping for him. "Please- take me and make me yours"

"You know I've never denied you anything" he breaths against your neck, "how could I ever say no to you if you ask so nicely, huh? I see you remembered those manners"

It's now his hand what touches between your thighs, leg long gone. His fingers rub firm circles around your clit through the cloth, making you shiver.

"Let's start small, yeah?" he encourages, "I know you're my brave girl, but I would like you to come on my fingers first"

Vander strips you down, eyes going dark when he sees your needy cunt on display. He shuffles himself down between your legs, and the pressure is new and much, you feel you could come with just the touch of his hand.

"You're so pretty. Can't believe you're giving all of this to an old man like me" he kneels down as you sit legs opened up on the bar, dragging his tongue through your wet folds.

"Sit still, yeah? Let me take care of you" he licks again, gently sucking on it as well. He can't help but wonder why he folded so easy, as if he hadn't put a stop or ignored all of your previous attempts at having him. Now he has you, under him, saying his name in a way he hadn't before, as he makes out with your puffy clit.

"Fuck" you gasp, head falling against the wood. Your hands and toes curl, waves of sensations never felt before washing over you, as Vander continues giving your pussy ministrations.

The energy is electric, your arousal flowing like a river, making wet slurping sounds come out of his lips, feeling up the empty bar, your moans as back track filling his ears. Vander's beard is covered in your juices, making all of this the more obscene.

"I see you liking it" he jokes, licking some of it off his mouth. He adjusts your legs over his broad shoulders, barely noticing the added weight. Your thighs are so close, he can feel them tremble as he slips a finger inside of you, pumping in and out.

"V-Vander" you whine in ecstasy. He loves the little sounds coming out of your mouth; obscene symphony. He adds another finger, now curling them upwards, making your walls drip more while clenching around them, loving the sensation. Your nails dig so deep, you can feel blisters inside of them, holding yourself for as what would be your first orgasm.

"I-I think I'm going to-" he can sense it, years of experience ahead from you. So now he gives his fingers a break, kneeling to let his tongue enter the game again. It swirls around the tight walls, making you squirm.

"Fingers. Now" you demand, and he's carrying your legs again on his shoulders, thrusting them inside of you aggresively. You feel your folds clench around them, your very first orgasm washing over you.

"You behaved well" he praises while kissing your puffy cunt, skin glistening and still sensible. "That's my brave girl"

He uses the cloth he's cleaned the glasses with to wipe off himself. You gasp, laughing even if your eyelids feel heavy.

"What? Think I'm gonna be dirty when I fuck the shit out of you?"

You didn't think his mouth could be so filthy, used to his fatherly side, but oh, you're not complaining. He removes his belt, pulling his pants down. Of course he's huge down there, you think, as the tent behind his underwear marks a reasonably large silhoutte.

"Now, will you be brave one last time? I don't want to scare you, or hurt you?" his boxer falls to his knees, dick hard. You gulp, but can't back off now. He, however, can sense your doubt. "Just say it, and we'll stop"

"No" even you are surprised by the conviction in your voice. "I want you, Vander. Always will"

You open up your legs, closer to the edge of the furniture. He walks over until his dick brushes your cunt, pulling up your legs once again, a position you've discovered as of today, might be your favorite.

"See, there is a reason I didn't clean you up. Don't think I don't know my manners as well"

He lubes with your still wet pussy, wasting no time to rub his dick against your glistening folds.

"We're alone, but don't want to wake up the kids, ey" you nod. "So, you'll behave?" you nod again. "Good girl"

"Now, if it hurts, tell me and I'll stop"

Vander aligns himself up with your entrance, and with one deep motion, buries himself all the way to the hilt. It's almost as if he's forgotten his gentle side.

"Mphm-" you're about to scream, but his big hands cover your mouth.

"Bad girl" he tuts, "you promised"

Your back hurts, arching itself from the wood as you take all of his girth, walls squeezing him perfectly.

"Don't worry, the pain doesn't last long" he assures you, hips going back and forth softly. He picks up the pace, slowly but determined, seeing you have adjusted to his size already. "There. Take it, my girl"

He buries himself inside of you, body numb at his size and strident movements of his hips against you.

"Y-you're so b-big" you speak up for the first time in minutes, letting out another moan. "I can even feel you-"

You don't finish the sentence but the image is there, right infront of him. That only encourages him to fuck you harder, the thrusts now more brutal and violent.

"Tell me, where you feeling me?" you can't speak, so you point to your stomach. "Yeah? Filling you up so good you can't even speak?" then pounds you even harder. The pain is intense, but so is the pleasure, making you mumble more incoherences while even tears begin to well up in your eyes.

There is pressure on your lower belly, and it's not his bulge. No, you recognize it, despite having only felt it once: your orgasm is building up again. The furniture squeaks, looking like it will break under both of your weights combined, his thrusts now sloppier and messier. He was also close, grunting when your walls begin clenching around his dick.

"Fuck, Vander" you whimper out. "I think I love you"

Before he can register the weight of your words, thick ropes of cum fill up your pussy, his whole body shaking and finally succumbing to his age. He empties himself inside of you, your greedy cunt taking every drop. It's a fleeting second, but he remember Felicia, and the news she dropped that day. He thinks of a child with your eyes and his hair, the cruel world that awaits them but still can't let you waste any of his seed.

The room goes quiet as both of you try to even your breaths. After a while, your confession settles in.

"I don't think I love you" he gets down, kissing your nose gently. "I know I do. Can't deny that anymore"

The adoration on his eyes is so pure, you feel like crying again. The feelings you kept to yourself and left like crumbs for him to pick up through out this past days have finally transformed into something real. So real, your pussy still feels warm, just as your heart.

He easily carries your body on his strong arms, up to his room. You had never slept there before, and despite the numbness, you keep your eyes open, excited as a child.

"Good" you laugh, "because I was running out of ideas"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @arcanegifs

[readychilledwine]

Extramarital Escape pt 3

Summary - Being Nyx's nanny came with many perks. You just didn't expect an affair to be one of them.

Warnings - fxf smut and all the glory that comes with it, mentions of pregnancy bodies (in a good way), paint play, mess play, slightly fluffy, fated mates, slight manipulation, loose editing *if you see a mistake, no you didn't*

A/N - Happy New Year! I only have one more part planned for this, but it is the 3some you all have been waiting for.

✨️Extramarital Escape - Pt 1 Pt 2✨️

✨️Master Masterlist✨️

Feyre was thrilled when you offered to spend the day with her. Rhysand had taken Nyx to Windhaven, showing off the sweet baby illyrian to the camp leaders. He had bragged about it being a statement, something you didn't fully understand, having never left the safety of Velaris. Azriel and Cassian were beaming as you helped Rhysand get Nyx into his little flight carrier, though. They had been beyond excited for the heir’s early morning adventure.

Rhysand had taken a moment alone with you, a soft kiss on your forehead reminding you to be his good girl. And good you had been.

You had woken the High Lady up to breakfast in bed, her favorite casual painting outfit set out and ready for her. Anything Feyre asked for, you handled, giving Nuala and Cerridwen a much deserved day off, and more importantly, leaving you and Feyre home alone.

Perhaps that was why the very air seemed to cackle around you with electricity as you two worked in laying out and flattening a large canvas. She had lesrned of a new abstract painting method, one that involved losely throwing paint on a canvas without a true end goal. “Self expression and emotions,” she had smiled so brightly as she described it to you.

Every so often as you two crawled carefully along the canvas, your hands would brush, sparking nerves and heat through both of you that was well hidden with neutral faces. Feyre wasn't the first female you'd ever found yourself so attracted to, but she was the first who held a magnetic pull over your heart, tugging at ribcage without you even knowing how or why.

“Thank you for helping me,” Feyre broke the silence, hand reaching for yours. “Truly. This is such a huge canvas. It would have taken me hours by myself.”

You could only smile, “Anything for you.”

She didn't miss the flirtatious way that message rolled off your tongue, once again tugging that precious 3 way mating bond to see if you secretly knew. She saw you blinked as she tugged, eyes lighting up when she realized you felt it, just didn't realize what it was. She purposely brushed her hand against yours again, yearning for the contact only Rhysand had been spoiled enough to have.

She didn't resent her husband for having you first, only for sending him the images of you below him, the sounds of you crying out for him, and for kissing her afterwards, only letting her have the lingering faint taste of you instead of the real thing. They had hoped you experiencing him would have been enough to pull you to them naturally, but you were a fighter.

She could remember the shame you'd accidentally sent down the bond, having assumed you were just her husband's mistress. You were more, though. That third missing piece. That last part of the void in their hearts. You didn't know this yet, but Feyre was in love with you. Every freckle, every scar, every inch you criticized in the mirror, she had memorized and sketched into her drawing book that stayed on her bedside table.

Having you so close was becoming torture. The way your hair fell from its braid, strands loose in your face, the way the sun hit your cheekbones, the way it glittered in your hair, you were art. The very muse she had been chasing.

Feyre then made the first move, lacing her fingers into your own and pulling you closer to her, “You smell good.”

You felt your face heat and flush, “Thank - thank you.” Your body reacted to her touch so naturally, fingers lacing into her as your body leaned into her pull. Her scent had mixed with Rhysand's perminately, lilac and sea salt mingling with the lingering scent of the expensive paints she used daily.

A heartbeat.

A breath.

One blink.

And the dam broke.

Feyre was on you, pushing you back and lips crashing onto yours like wave eager to come back home to shore. Both of her soft hands moved to your face as she shut her end of the bond down, refusing to let Rhysand know she had broken their deal of approach you together. Refusing to admit to the weakness she felt around only two fae. Rhysand and you.

Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of the bitter tea and sweet honey you had brought to her before this project started. Her kiss was eager, hungry, aching. Feyre made sure you felt her with each movement. It should have been no surprise. The High Lady found peace in passion. She thrived off expressing it, out of letting passion flow through every movement, and kissing you would be no exception.

Her hands tangled into your hair, the two of you finally fully falling on the canvas, spilling over a near by container of purple paint. As your shirt came off a light blue one fell. Then red as you eagerly removed her soft wool sweater. One by one containers spilled over, medium meeting material as hands began to touch and truly feel soft skin.

Neither of you noticed how covered you were. How could you as she took control, nipping softly on your neck as her kisses moved lower and lower. She bit down on your collarbones, licking over each bite tenderly, murmuring a soft apology into your skin as the bruises began. Her hands held yours at your sides, “Above your head,” her eyes were glossy, drunk on the feeling of having control. “Don't move them unless I say so.” The way you wordlessly obeyed a sigh letting your mouth as you did.

She controlled her pace like her life was in the balance, taking her time to savor you instead of rushing. Each kiss seemed to follow a pattern only she knew. You gasped as her tongue swirled your left nipple before her lips wrapped around it, a hum coming from her at the sounds you were already making. Her hand went to your other breast, dragging along you as it did, covering your skin in a mix of blue and deep green paint. Every movement began to reflect on the canvas as you two slowly became covered in the think material, but she never stopped to care, worshipping your left breast then the right. She didn't want to miss a single in of skin, not when you whimpered in a way that reminded her of music.

She understood how Rhysand had become so addicted to you so quickly. The male you two shared in that rare 3 way mating bond had a love language that was fulfilled through praise. Your sighs, your moans, every noise as she shot waves of pleasure down your spine was praise. She had never been happier as she finally settled between your thighs, forcing your legs apart a little more before only tossing one over a shoulder.

That first lick was fire. The second ice. The third wave heaven. Feyre's control had gone out the window at the taste of you. It was her first time doing this, but she was a natural. She thought back Rhysand between her legs, those silent selfish desires she wanted that went unanswered. She refused to allow that to be you as she licked and sucked at every part of your core.

Her left had had been spared paint, a single finger sliding home inside of you. you felt your walls twitch instantly, “Feyre.” She hummed against you, hazy blue eyes looking up towaras your flushed face. “Please don't stop.”

“Never,” she whispered back. “Never.”

With her tongue and fingers working in time, you felt your stomach tightening, a high you normally had to beg for rushing and just seemed to arrive. Feyre knew your body in her first introduction. She knew your wants, the needs. She hummed around your clit again, a second finger gently pushing in and immediately finding your gspot.

Her pace picked up then, fingers curling up hard, tongue tracing soft half moons over then under your clit over and over teasing you. When that contact came, that first gentle push of that swollen bundle, you fell apart. She didn't stop, knowing what it felt like to finally reach your high and have your partner stop what they were doing instead of easing you back down. She slowed her movements as your walls slowed their spasms before pulling away.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” she smiled up at you, her voice like cool silks against heated skin.

She moved back up your body, keeping thay raised leg against her chest before settling her own heat against yours.

You were both so wet, the first roll of her hips came with ease. It tested the waters, the two of you holding eye contact to see if the simple act of her core kissing yours was enough.

And Gods it was. She wasted no time setting a pace and watching as your back arched, hands still trapped where she wanted them. You felt every bump of her clit against yours, heard every slick noise. Feyre's moans were harmony to your own. The two of you had fallen into such a sync that you wondered how you had denied yourself this for so long.

Her right hand came to rest on your wrists, her strong abdominal core allowing her to keep that rhythm she had while she leaned down, long blonde hair following around the two of you like a privacy curtain.

To was truly like it was only you and her in the world. There was no one else you could imagine having this with, no other female you've ever want to share a bed, or canvas with. Rhysand was that male for you. Feyre that female.

You flipped her over when you noticed her beginning to struggle, taking over control and spreading her legs to continue the motions she had started.

Feyre had been gorgeous in her pregnancy body, but something about her faded stretch marks, her wider hips, it made your mind spin. No female should have been allowed to be so attractive. Yet, here she was, a mantra falling from her lips of your name as you worked to take her mind from this plane and to the stars.

Your own high was building, “Finish with me,” you commanded, surprised by your own tone. “Show me how good I'm making you feel.” A choked sob of bliss left her throat as your hand found it, squeezing that vital area just enough to give Feyre a rush.

And it happened.

Like the final domino falling, the High Lady of Night came below you, your own orgasm rushing over you like a wave. You forced yourself to focus on her, on that scream, on the curve of her breasts, on the panting of her chest. When you both came back down, you got off of her, pulling her to her side and into another deep kiss.

Her brand new canvas was ruined, signs of what had happened written into every fiber. Mixtures of contrasting and complimenting colors were spread, some areas loosely reflecting your bodies. It was movement. It was passion. It was what Feyre had wanted for this canvas. When you two stood, you were giggling as you looked at it, but Feyre had an unreadable expression, glancing at that drying paint even as she took you to her bathroom to bathe.

Feyre returned to her art room alone once you were asleep, once Rhysand was asleep. She worked meticulously, cutting out the exact piece of canvas she wanted and stretching it over the wooden framing she had picked.

The piece of a sign of the love she held for you, the mating bond burning bright as she smiled one last time at the final product. "Love and paint," the name much different from her realistic pieces to match the different artistry style.

She was going to give it to Rhysand, already smirking as she began to play out every possible way her husband would react.. To you, it was innocent. For her and Rhysand, it would trigger another memory, one you had never been filled in on, and Feyre could not wait to see his face.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f @mrsjna @thyellablackk @yeonalie

Feysand Taglist:

@avajustreads

Extramarital Escape taglist:

@wickedfelinaxo @sh4nn @justdreamstars @jesssicapaniagua @harrystylesfan2686 @slytherinindisguise @fxckmiup @saltedcoffeescotch @sarawritestories @yeonalie @sinarainbows @justaboredbookworm @xcarrotxs-blog @paleidiot @nayaniasworld @fyfy-world @seasonallyapril @alhaithmss @Ilovelydove @nebarious @helloevilmuffins @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @tempermentalbookworm @velarisnightsky444 @kdawgiedawg @inkedinshadows @percyjacksonspeen @velarisdusk @goldenmagnolias

[just-french-me-up]

Psst psst psst yap about Jayce and Viktor pls give into the yapping desire

consider this my official jayvik greenlight, i shall yap my heart's content!

Jayvik | T | 560W | Post-canon fluff | Domestic | Slice of Life | Cottage by the Stream Minus the Four Kids (for now) Jayce doesn't use his brand new cane much. Viktor has noticed.

Spring was settling in, sunlight spilling in through the ivy framed windows of their house, tickling Viktor awake earlier and earlier every day. He didn't mind. He found it stimulating, if anything. Witnessing the garden in bloom, life returning after long months of dormancy, was nothing short of inspiring. As the grass grew dotted with colours, ideas took root. A brand new hydraulic system to power the heaters more efficiently. An automated watering circuit for fickle crops. A better designed kettle.

Viktor's mind wandered as he cracked another egg in the pan, drawing schematics out of thin air, debating what material was better suited for this or that. There was some scrap metal left in the cellar, it was only a matter of sorting out what could be repurposed and─

A door opened. The sound of uneven steps on the creaky wood floor. In his mind, the schematics stood still, left to revise later. For now all Viktor could focus on was the warm body pressed against his back. Gods, Jayce always brought the forge along with him.

It was a delight. Not that Viktor would ever admit that out loud.

"G'd morning," Jayce sighed sleepily against his neck, wrapping his arms around Viktor's middle.

"Good morning."

Viktor flipped the mushrooms and eggs in the pan, expertly assessing the Maillard reaction on the edges of their soon to be breakfast. He'd never been much of a cook before. He'd found he rather enjoyed mastering the chemistry of it.

"A shame you went through all that trouble making yourself a cane not to use it," he told Jayce, his voice even.

Jayce groaned against him.

"I use it."

Viktor shot him a skeptical look from the corner of his eyes.

He'd never known a time when he did not have some kind of support. For as long as he could remember, he had always been holding something. Reaching for his cane barely required thought. But Jayce... Jayce was stubborn. He favoured his leg brace, even when it dug painful grooves against his skin after a long day, especially in winter. He had taken to leaning over furniture around the house, supporting himself against any surface he could when the brace was off, exerting himself while waving it off, invariably regretting it later lying in bed, sore.

The coat of varnish he'd applied on the oak parts of his cane was spotless and shiny from disuse.

"Thank you for breakfast," Jayce said, hoping to stir the conversation elsewhere.

"Unfortunately it is only for handsome men who make a reasonable use of their mobility aids."

He could almost hear Jayce's eyeroll.

"Mmh. So we're resorting to bribery, then?" There was a smile there, too.

"Positive reinforcement," Viktor shrugged, flipping the eggs one last time.

Jayce muffled a chuckle against his shoulder, gently rubbing Viktor's sides.

"Oh, I see. What else is there in it for me?"

"I'm told the village's hot springs are very nice this time of year."

Jayce hummed in Viktor's ear, his hands teasing the hem of his pajama bottoms, thumbs playing against his hip bones.

"Oh, really?"

"Breakfast, Jayce," Viktor warned, more than aware things would start burning should hands stray any lower.

There was another chuckle against his neck, a kiss, and Jayce's hand slipped away, lingering warmth imprinted on Viktor's skin like a soft brand.

"Fine. I'll get the cane, then."

Send me a domestic Jayvik prompt? ♥

[bugbitelover]

"I often see the phrase 'horse and man as one' in racing magazines or in historical novels, and it supposedly means that the rider can synchronize his or her movements with their horse, so that they're almost one entity. When I draw Gyro and the others on their horses, I feel like I really understand what that phrase means... When I sometimes get a racing panel to look just right, it feels good, because the figures seem to fit well with one another. It just leads me to believe that humans and horses are biologically (?) suited for one another." - My king Hirohiko Araki

People are always talking about Johnny and Gyro, but no one ever talks about their horses smh... So I hope you don't mind me talking about their horses for a bit - though I should probably focus on the huge essay I have due literally right now...

First, we have Gyro's Australian stock horse, Valkyrie, with it's great stamina, and weird quirk where it sways to the left every 8 breaths, allowing Dio to overtake him... Though is it just me, or does that just like, not make sense at all? I think the horse makes sense for Gyro, as he doesn't necessarily have a racing background or anything, but he was a surgeon, so I imagine he didn't have much trouble buying an expensive horse like this. Stock horses are known for their athleticism and intelligence, and you would surely need to be quite athletic and smart to handle those balls like Gyro does...

We also have Johnny's old 11 year old appaloosa, Slow Dancer, with it's ample riding experience, as noted by Gyro. That thing was evidently quite hard to tame, but good job Johnny, for being pragmatic! Also kind of sad, I wonder what happened to his old racing horse from when he was a horse jockey. Now that I think of it, it's fairly likely that it could've passed away in the time between when Johnny got shot, and the Steel Ball Run race, which makes me kind of sad... Or maybe it's chilling on his father's plantation in Kentucky.

Diego's Anglo-Arabian, Silver Bullet, actually has a pretty little star shaped mark on it's forehead... Maybe this is me going crazy, but I see this as a subtle call back to the original jojo universe. OG Dio was residing in a body that wasn't his, taking the star along with it. Now I don't think Diego stole the horse or anything, but you can see it as being an extension of his body, as OG Dio's body was an extension of his actual head. Anglo Arabs dem lanky legs which makes them good for dressage, I mean, look at them... They are majestic... They are commonly used in cross-country, which... Sounds quite useful in a race across the country. Wait a second... Silver Bullet? Those are quite harmful to vampires, aren't they? Silver Bullet was last seen at the train tracks in Philadelphia... That's sad, isn't that, that's really sad. Poor Sovereign-less Soul... To go even further, alternate Diego's horse was last seen in the streets of New York...

Last but not least, we have ホットパンツの馬、ゲツアップ。Woops! This is bad! I can't let them know I'm a weeb! I slipped up a little there, what I meant to say was, Hot Pants's horse, Gets Up! It's a Mustang, and that's all we know... Mustangs are feral horses, that were brought to the Americas, and then just... Left, or something, so I wonder if Hot Pants tamed the horse herself. We don't really know much about Hot Pants's horse, and that's a shame, considering she's one of my favorite characters.

I never had that much interest in horses, until I read Steel Ball Run. I still actually don't know that much about them. I rode one once, because my aunt owned a few. That was nice, but I don't think I'll ever get the opportunity to ride one again. It's sad, but maybe it's just a phase. I ride my bike everywhere, and like to pretend she's a horse. I named her Pearl, and call her my humble steed. Who knows, maybe it's just a phase, like sand that you try and hold on to, only for it to slip through your fingers...

[cat3ch1sm]

💚~ hi!! this is my first fic in so long, im so sorry for disappearing for almost two months ... idk I've been at a loss for motivation for a while. happy new years i guess😭. but it's a story based off of @a-hazbin-reader recent headcanons about alastor (first hazbin hotel writing!! exciting !!) i happened to come across it and immediately saw a fic idea finally. all credits to them and the person who requested the original writing (hope they see this too lololol) !!! also yes my anime writings will also return so yayy im officially back!!

heads up this is super long it's like 15 pages cause ya girl got a little carried away 😅 i hope you all enjoy and reqs are open for all!

🌲❦(๑˙❥˙๑)~ mentions of violence , abuse, bit of blood, alcohol, language, lewd language a little bit at the start, fem!reader

alastor x fem!reader

"Angel. Are you able to draw absolutely anything else?"

The aforementioned spider demon stared straight at Charlie with his brow arched and a shit-eating smirk on his lips. Beside his face he haughtily held up a sheet of paper with one of four hands, a drawing depicting nothing other than a giant penis.

"Nope." He popped the "p."

The hotel residents and employees, including Angel, Husk, Vaggie, Nifty, you, and Alastor were doing Charlie's usual scheduled feel-good activity. The devil's daughter had given out paper and pencils, gathered everyone in a circle and told everyone to draw something that made them happy. And of course Angel Dust, lewd as always, had spent a frankly concerning amount of time drawing the member currently on display on his paper.

Everyone just stared at the drawing in silence. Examining it while Angel continued to hold it up with not an ounce of shame on his face.

"Why is it... anatomically correct?" you finally questioned, tilting your head and squinting at the piece.

Vaggie, sitting beside her girlfriend, let out an exasperated groan, looking from the drawing to Angel with undisguised revulsion. "Angel Dust. First you drew pills, then you drew a liquor bottle, and for the last three goddamn turns we've given you, you've drawn a dick. Come on. Are you even trying-"

"Whadd'ya mean?" Angel asked innocently. "Charlie said to draw somethin' that makes me happy. Dicks make me happy. And as a worker here, you shouldn't be judgin' me," the porn star added smugly, making Vaggie let out an impatient growl.

Business as usual in the Hazbin Hotel.

"Well, I mean, you can't really say he didn't try," Husk deadpanned in a gravelly voice. "I mean, look at the vein-"

Ding dong!

"Oh, wow, hey, someone's at the door!" You'd never seen anyone move as fast as Charlie in that moment, and Vaggie was in close pursuit. In a split second, Nifty's tiny frame was flying after them both.

"Someone's at the door!" Nifty repeated in a high-pitched voice.

"Right. While they're distracted, I need a damn dick- fuck. Drink," Husk snapped, rising from his place on the floor. Angel immediately started laughing while Husk wasted no time lighting into him. "Shut up. You and your fucking anatomically correct dick got into my head," you could hear Husk snarl while Angel's taunting laughs never ceased as they headed off to the bar.

With those two gone, it was just you sitting in the circle, blinking. "Right," you murmured, standing up and dusting yourself off.

"Well, my dear? What did you draw?" came the oh-so-familiar drone of the Radio Demon's voice from the corner of the room. You couldn't help the smile that spread across your lips at the sound of it, and glanced up to see Alastor standing with his trusty mic stand, beckoning you to come closer. Of course, you obliged.

You scoffed a little, smile turned slightly sarcastic. "Well... I was going to draw you, but Angel suddenly became the Picasso of Penises and I didn't get around to it."

Alastor laughed good-naturedly, wrapping an arm around your waist and planting a gentle kiss on your head. "Ah, always the sentimental one, aren't you, my dear? Well, no matter. It's the thought that counts."

Your smile turned genuine again at his gesture and Alastor noticed. "There's that smile, sweetheart. Now, if you'd just keep it on your face at all times without fail, we could be quite the formidable pair."

You kissed your teeth with mock exasperation and lightly shoved Alastor away. "Oh, here you go again. And I thought we were having a moment. Alastor, my face just cannot stay like yours for that long-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Charlie came rushing back into the room, her sudden entrance startling you a little. She made her way up to you and Alastor. "Hey, um, Y/N? There's a woman at the door who says she's looking for you. She seems really upset."

Your face wrinkled in confusion. Someone looking for you? You weren't friends with anyone really outside the Hotel and those affiliated with it, so you had no clue who would be searching for you. You glanced at Charlie with a "What's going on?" look and with some reluctance pulled away from your boyfriend's grip to follow her.

As you neared the lobby, you heard a distressed-sounding voice in the door, and confusion growing you walked a little faster to the entrance. But before you could even register who the visitor was, she'd thrown her arms around you, fingernails digging painfully into your skin. But the stench of her familiar perfume wafting unwelcomed into your nose, into your mouth, smothering you and strangling you let you know the identity of this woman without even having to see her face.

You instantly stiffened, limbs suddenly like metal rods, not at all softening into her embrace. Your eyes went wide and you could feel your pulse speeding up.

"Mother?"

"My love! Oh, my precious girl!" she cried, pulling out of that suffocating hug for a moment to cup your cheeks in her cold hands, hands that no matter how gently they touched you their touch would always sting. She peered into your eyes with watery ones of her own, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I missed you so, my dear. This is where you've been hiding? I was so dreadfully worried!" Her eyes, always scrutinizing, ran up and down your figure in the way that made you want to tear the flesh from your bones.

"Oh, and I was worried you were starving somewhere. You were such a frail, skinny thing before on Earth. It's a great relief to see you've put some weight on your bones."

And the first stone was thrown.

"Mother." It was the only word you could seem to utter, fighting the urge to throw up, bile collecting in your throat. Her voice was like a slap to the face, and it was only your mother's grip that kept you from actually staggering backward. And how the others were just staring, awed, at the scene, Charlie's eyes sparkling with tears, Vaggie with a hand on her shoulder and a knowing smile, Angel and Husk watching contentedly from a distance, and Nifty clinging to Alastor who was smiling as usual. God, if you didn't vomit right fucking now, you'd be surprised. But you knew what they all saw in their clouded vision- a heartfelt reunion between mother and daughter. But really? It more closely resembled a predator at last capturing its prey.

You really couldn't hear what she was saying over the pounding in your head, but somehow you were in her arms again, and she was fawning and cooing over you like you were a child, showering you with kisses that burned like molten iron and rocking you back and forth. Always she loved to put on a show, loved being the center of attention.

It made you sick.

You managed to come out of your stupor long enough to shove your wailing mother away, unfazed by her crocodile tears. It was like waking up from a haze. She stumbled back slightly, and you backed away, your entire demeanor hardening. Your tone was flat when you spoke.

"What are you doing here?"

You apparently weren't doing that clean a job of masking your emotions, because the venom in your voice caught even you off guard. Your mother looked hurt- that act wasn't new to you, either- and your friends and partner surrounding you shot you disapproving and mildly disgusted looks that clearly wondered why you were being so cold to your own mother. You dropped your eyes to avoid the accusing stares, unable to slow your breathing and fighting the desire to lash out. Charlie looked bewildered and hurt, Angel Dust arched a brow, Husk appeared disapproving and Vaggie’s venomous expression said everything she wanted it to. How dare they look at you like you were the bad guy without knowing shit! She couldn't care less if you lived or died. She was here because she wanted something, and nothing more. Perhaps she heard about your role in the extermination of the Extermination and wanted a piece of the popularity you'd recently found yourself gaining. Or she came because she was probably destitute, the frivolous bitch, and wanted to suck up to either you or the powerful people you were now associated with. Whatever it was, you didn't care. You wanted her gone.

But it was clear she had no intention of leaving.

"All this time, and not one visit. And she never calls," your mother moaned in anguish, now addressing her new audience. "Perhaps I wouldn't have to track you down like a bloodhound if you would just come see your poor mother every once in a while." Her voice was overflowing with hurt and heartbreak you just could feel wasn't genuine. Before you knew it, she had broken down into sobs again, and you could only stand there stiffly, rage boiling, while the always empathetic Charlie moved to comfort the woman, rubbing her back soothingly while she sent Nifty off to get her tissues for her tears. The dirty look Vaggie shot you- "How cruel of you to do this to your innocent mother,” it said- sent heat rushing straight to your chest. Jesus fucking Christ, how could they fall for this shit? Your stomach twisted again, and this time you actually did nearly puke, suppressing a dry heave.

You did not pay any mind to your mother's display- you refused to give her the satisfaction. You turned in the opposite direction, arms folded, nails digging into your skin hard. You felt nothing seeing her cry but bitterness and icy detachment.

"I don't want to see you-"

"Well, now- who do we have here?"

Alastor appeared from the shadows with his sharp-toothed grin, glancing at you first and then your weeping mother. Before you could stifle it, a rush of hope surged through you- if anybody could get this infernal woman to leave, it would be Alastor. You turned towards him, hoping he would see how distressed you were- he was typically fairly perceptive when it came to you and your feelings. But alas, your mother caught his attention first, peering up at the Radio Demon standing over her with teary eyes and wet cheeks, a piteous expression on her face.

"The Radio Demon? Oh, well, a being like you mustn't worry about who I am. I'm just- a poor mother come to visit her daughter. But she... doesn't seem to want to see me." She sighed in a melancholy manner and slowly unburied her face from the tissue she'd been holding. "I suppose I will simply see myself out."

"Oh, nonsense. Y/N's mother, are you? I absolutely cannot allow you to remain on the streets. I insist that you stay." Alastor extended a hand out to your mother, his maniacal smile gone suspiciously gentle. It was disgustingly familiar; it was the smile he reserved normally just for you. "As... abrasive as your daughter may seem at the moment"- you felt him cast a look over at your back turned to him- "I'm sure she wouldn't want you suffering like this. Please, you're welcome to remain here."

You wanted to cry when he said this- could he really not see who this woman was? Did he really think you were just being testy? And when your mother took his hand and held it for much too long, you could take it no longer. And as everyone crowded your mother, showering her with welcomes and greetings and kindness, you pushed past everybody and walked straight out of the hotel doors, the last thing you saw being the tauntingly smug smirk on your mother's face before you slammed the doors behind you.

When you returned to the hotel, drunk, night had fallen. You hadn't seen any of your hotel mates since you'd left, and as far as you knew nobody went after you after your abrupt exit. Who the hell cared about that now, though? You'd talk to them about your deranged mother when you got inside, without her presence. Perhaps Alastor had just been being nice when he told her she could stay, and they hadn't actually been blind to why you were acting the way you were. Maybe they were just being supportive of a guest when they saw you acting out of the ordinary, knowing you usually were never snappy and stony, and still took her side. Maybe so.

You wished you hadn't had so much to drink.The pounding in your head was worse than when your mother had shown up earlier and your eyelids felt heavy. You had tripped a minimum of ten times on the way back and almost let two thugs take you in their car with them. You hated being drunk, but your mother you hated more.

With unsteady hands you pushed open the doors of the Hazbin Hotel, vision blurring a little. You weren't amazing with alcohol, and again, being drunk wasn't your favorite thing. But the moment you entered, you realized you weren't nearly drunk enough.

In the lobby sat your boyfriend, Alastor, enjoying a cup of tea with none other than your mother. The two were laughing together, which incensed you enough, but what made you wish you'd just blacked out at that bar was when you caught sight of your mother's hand on top of Alastor's as they shared a laugh over God knows what.

It didn't take long for the two to notice you in the doorway, a turbulent, unreadable expression on your face, standing as still as a statue as you took in the scene. Your mother turned to you and smiled, waving the hand with the cup of tea in it.

"Why, darling, we hadn't realized you left! Alastor is quite a charming gentleman. We were just having a moment." She slipped her hand from on top of his with a slightly mischievous smile.

Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing. You had no fucking clue how, but somehow your mother had discovered that Alastor and you were an item. She wasn't sitting here with anyone else but Alastor, drinking tea with him, laughing with him, holding his hand. And she was wearing makeup she hadn’t had on when she’d first come in the hotel- red painted on her lips, blush dotted on her cheeks and glitter on her eyelids in a display clearly meant to make an impression on Alastor and Alastor alone. It wouldn’t be the first time she'd gone after one of your partners, but it angered you no less- it was like the woman wanted to take your place somehow.

Alastor turned to you as well with a smile, but when he saw the look in your eyes, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. However, he made no comment at your slightly disheveled appearance and picked up his expression once more. 

“Why, hello, my dear. Your lovely mother was just telling me about her life before you,” Alastor enthused. “A lively woman she was! I’ve heard story after exciting story. Quite a wild one, indeed- rather unlike you, sweetheart.”

You gave Alastor what could only be described as what is called ‘the thousand-yard stare,’ expression flat, not knowing really what to say to that. Despite the fact that you were in a bit of a daze still, either from the alcohol or the fact that your mother was on a date with your boyfriend, the haughty, self-superior expression on your mother’s face was not lost on you. Nor were the cow eyes she was giving him, or how when Alastor reached for the teapot to refill his cup her hand was conveniently already on the dish, lingering beneath his for what felt like hours.

She turned to Alastor, looking up at him with that sickly sweet, beaming grin of hers that she always plastered on her face when she was really about to lay it on. “I’m still wild if you ever care to find out,” she purred, batting her lashes at Alastor with an unmistakable air of seduction. 

Before you could even register it, you heard yourself saying, “Get out.”

Both your mother and Alastor turned to face you, your mother’s face having dropped and Alastor’s eyes piercing into yours. 

“What?” your mother asked, looking at you with wide, glassy eyes. You truly saw red for a moment, knowing damn well those tears were as false as Angel’s lashes, and the twitching in your muscles to just lash out was almost painfully difficult to stifle. Alastor’s smile wavered a little as his eyes darted from you to your blubbering mother, who had already started her shit.

You advanced forward, your stride making your mother jump and Alastor stand, and without hesitation tore her hand from Alastor’s, yanking her arm with force that momentarily startled even you. She was pulled from her chair and forced to stand up. 

Her voice full of anguish, she pleaded, “Baby girl, what did I do wrong?” However, unmoved by her over-the-top performance, you’d already started dragging her out, not bothering to respond to her or explain why you were throwing her out. She already knew; you could see past the tears and wails and her struggles to pull away from you. Fueled by fury, distress and the afterbuzz of the alcohol, you hauled your protesting mother out of the hotel, pitilessly leaving her outside in the dark, and forcefully slammed the doors behind her. There were muffled screams of your name coming from the other side, her fists pounding on the door, but after a bit they faded away.

The moment she was gone you instantly felt as if a weight had been lifted off of your chest, slumping against the door with a breath of exertion and relief. But that relief quickly dissipated when you locked eyes with Alastor, who was advancing on you, his smile obviously strained. The way he spat your name at you made you shrink back slightly, realizing that he was actually not pleased.

“You cannot just throw your own mother out like that. Into the streets? My dear, that is no way to treat your mother. And frankly, it’s rude.”

You felt anger rising once more, but you didn’t want to start anything with Alastor despite the fact that he had no idea what he was talking about. Of course it looked simply like bad etiquette from his standpoint; he had no idea who your mother was. And somehow you didn’t feel it was proper to tell him- you knew how much he valued his own mother and mothers in general, and as sweet as you had always thought that was, you knew he and his rosy view of maternal relationships wouldn’t understand and perhaps not allow for your turbulent relationship with your own mother. And you didn’t want to be the one to tarnish his otherwise endearing perspective by explaining how abhorrent of a person your mother was. So despite how much you just wanted to scream at him, to tell him he had no clue what was really going on, you kept your composure, inhaling shakily.

“Alastor, please. You- you don’t know what you’re talking about. So just stay out of it, alright?”

“She’s your mother, not the devil, dear.” Alastor’s tone was back to normal, and he was speaking in his usual radio voice as if he was talking to just anyone, and it made your stomach churn. 

“She’s not innocent, Alastor, she’s in Hell-”

“Ah, but so are you and I, sweetheart.”

Your face crumpled, and you found yourself coming up short for a rebuttal. Before you could stop them, tears started to well in your eyes, frustrated that you couldn’t get through to him. Out of spite and pride, you blinked them back harshly. Alastor tilted his head and started to come towards you, his mic stand clacking on the ground as he walked, and for a moment you felt a glimmer of hope, thinking that he truly wanted to talk and get to the bottom of your animosity towards your mother. 

But the Radio Demon breezed right past you and, before you could stop him, opened the door, and your mother whom you’d thought had given up at last and left waltzed right back in, suddenly no longer the aggrieved mother you’d thrown out and back to beaming a mile a minute. The self-assured smirk she sent your way had your blood boiling with rage, and you felt powerless to act. You wanted to slap that smirk off of her face, but why wouldn’t she smirk? She had Alastor exactly where she wanted him, and both of you knew it. 

“I apologize sincerely for the earlier… incident,” Alastor told your mother with a note olf sympathy in his voice, and again he took her hand; you had to tear your eyes away, back to the scene.

“Aren’t you charming!” your mother exclaimed, voice pleasant and upbeat. ‘Don’t even think of it, I’ve already forgotten.”

“You’re too kind, miss. But in order to make up for it, I’d like to offer you to spend the night. I would hate to send a lovely woman such as yourself out on the streets of Hell after sundown. I implore you.”

Fucking Christ. You didn’t even have to see her to know the way she was grinning at you. Your shoulders tensed, rising to your ears, and the tears burned hot in your eyes. Not wanting to give her the satisfaction, you bit your inner cheek hard enough to draw blood so as to not make the slightest sound alerting her to your tears.

“What a kind invitation. It’s nice to know at least somebody wants me here.” An icy silence from you. “It’d be rather rude not to accept; I would be happy to spend the night.”

“Lovely!” Alastor praised. 

You couldn’t take any more. Unable to stifle your sobs, hot tears falling down your cheeks, you tossed back a cracked “I’m going to bed,” and stormed out of the lobby with your head down, rushing upstairs as fast as you could and ignoring Alastor’s calls of your name. Just as you slammed the door to your room, you heard your mother say, “Oh, don’t worry about her. Let her cool off for a bit, and then I’ll go after her. A mother always knows how to cheer up her child.”

It was quiet now. Hours ago Angel Dust had returned from his work and Charlie and Vaggie had locked up for the night. Nifty had been, though with much effort, put to bed by Husk who had then closed up the bar and retired himself. You didn’t know where your mother or Alastor were, and you didn’t want to. 

You were the only one up now, and you had finally run out of tears. Your head was stuffy, your eyes were sore and bloodshot, and you could feel the beginnings of a hangover coming on. It felt like days you’d spent just crying in your bed, unable to suppress the emotion you’d felt since your mother reappeared that morning. Charlie had actually come to check on you earlier, worried, along with Vaggie, but Alastor had told them to let you be for now. You’d heard their muffled conversation from outside your door.

You just wished Alastor would understand, that they all would understand. Your mother wasn’t a mother. She didn’t nurture, she didn’t love, all she did was belittle you, bully you, and take from you. Yet never once had you been able to figure out what you’d ever done to her. You had tried so hard to help and to please her as a living child, then teenager, then adult- tending to your siblings when she was out on the town, working multiple jobs to take care of the house while she spent the day blackout drunk and the nights in the city, and still desperately believing she would change, you sent her portions of your salary when you grew older and begged her to utilize the money, but she always blew it on material shit. And as if it wasn’t enough that you had to be the mother to yourself and your siblings, she beat you too, mostly when she was drunk but sometimes you felt it was just for her amusement or to make you feel small and worthless. As a teenager she did nothing but sabotage you- you couldn’t ever have friends over because she was always passed out on the couch or acting erratic and stinking of cheap liquor, and you had to fight like hell to get your siblings out of there after you left home for school. And yet you had still had hope for her.

That all changed when you came to Hell. It was the end of the road for real now, and you figured there was no point trying to reconcile with your mother anymore. So you’d left her in the past, thinking it was over, finally allowing yourself a little peace. But you hadn’t realized the extent of the resent you’d been harboring until she showed up at the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel. All those feelings just came rushing back.

Another hour or so passed and your swollen eyes were dried out and heavy-lidded. Exhausted from fretting about your mother and regretting the amount you'd had to drink, you turned over in your bed with a stifled groan and closed your eyes, hoping that sleep would finally find you and you could escape the events of the day at least for a little while. But just as you were drifting off, you were startled by the sound of your bedroom door opening.

You let out a moan that was half confusion and half sleepiness, and rolled over just a little to glance at the door through hazy eyes. “Alastor?” you mumbled questioningly, rubbing your eyes groggily.

But the voice that responded woke you right up.

“Not a chance, pet.”

You sat up instantly, knocking the bedcovers off. In the doorway, a shadowy silhouette in the dimly lit hallway, was your mother. A discordant note of exasperation sounded in your head; the woman couldn't let you be even at this hour? For the moment at least, you were more mildly annoyed than pissed like you were earlier, just wondering what in the hell she could possibly want now.

“Why are you even-”

You cut yourself off and immediately jumped out of the bed just as your mother lunged at you like a pouncing tigress; you'd sensed the attack in the way she had been moving and acted accordingly before she could maul you. It didn't mean it didn't still catch you off guard, though.

Your voice rising, you snapped, “What the hell are you-”

Again you were interrupted when she sprung off the bed and snatched your wrists in her iron grip before you could dodge again; her clasp was tight and bruising and you winced painfully. You caught a glimpse of her eyes in the faint light, and they were inflamed, wild with fury she'd probably been suppressing this whole time. It wasn't a new expression.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she snarled, voice trembling with fury. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you demanded, tearing your wrists from her grasp and moving a distance away from her so she was on one side of the bed and you were on the other. By the bewildered look on her face, she was clearly not expecting you to break away so effortlessly; maybe thinking she could just abuse you like she did when you were a defenseless child.

Like hell.

“What the hell are you even mad at me for?”

Your mother, seething, launched more accusations at you. “You think you're better than me, now, is it? Saw your sorry ass on the news after that damn Extermination rebellion. Bet it took your ego up a few notches killing those Exorcists, huh? And now that you're in some fancy hotel, dating some powerful boytoy and hiding behind hell's princess, you think you can just get rid of me?”

“Apparently fucking not, because here you are. And I'm not hiding. I'm trying to get away from you.”

Your mother let out a bitter, droll laugh. “Oh, you think that's how this works?” she hissed in an icy manner, and even though you were already a good distance away you backed up further still. “Think again, whore. I'm the one who deserves to be here, not some ungrateful little cunt who just happened to fall out of me. If I have to live destitute in the back alleys of Hell, so do you.”

The heartless insults and vulgarities she hurled your way would have shattered the living version of you. But it was about time your mother learned that you were no longer the pleading daughter you’d been on Earth, and instead of piercing your heart the names merely bounced off of you.

“You might recall I spent my whole damn life trying to help you,” you answered with equal coldness. “And for nothing, too, because here the hell we both are. Don't blame me because you turned out to be the nothing you always were.”

Without warning, she lunged at you, rushing forward like a charging bull, and though you tried to dodge she managed to snatch a handful of your hair and slam your head into the wall. You let out a cry of shock and pain and spots exploded in front of your vision before you reached up, tore her hand from your head and shoved her forward. You advanced again, teeth bared and fists balled, unwilling to let her get up- but before you could swing, there was a crackle in the air- and what followed was a cacophony of static, crackling, and microphone feedback that would've deafened an elephant. But the sound wasn't new to you, and you weren't surprised in the least when you lifted your eyes to see Alastor, smile maniacal and glowing red eyes wild as he entered the room. The sudden explosion of sound made your mother flinch and clap her hands over her ears, and seeing your opening, you kicked her to the ground; her head hit the wall rather roughly and she lost consciousness, her body going limp. You were breathing heavily, staring at her body sprawled on the ground without pity.

Alastor's eyes lost their luminescence and his smile softened; and he came over to you, attempting to touch you, but you shied away. You weren't necessarily ready to forgive him; if he'd just done a little more pushing and hadn't invited your mother here with you, this could have been avoided. You dropped your eyes to the floor.

“I'm sorry, my dear,” Alastor offered in a voice that was sufficiently staticky. “I wasn't too kind to you today.”

You wanted to say, no shit, but held your tongue, back to him still. Feelings of resent still swirled within you, but admittedly, hearing his apology did make them dissipate a little.

“Why is it you didn't simply tell me she was like this?”

Now you were silent not out of spite but more because…you simply didn't know what to say? Where were you to even begin? How would you explain that you didn't want to somehow tarnish his view of mothers by explaining your history with your own? And that you didn't want him to feel guilty about having a good relationship with his mother while yours was knocked out on the floor in front of you? And that you didn't want him to lose his love of mothers because you were unfortunate enough to have a shitty one? 

Somehow you managed to splutter all of that into something coherent, because Alastor gathered you in his arms without waiting for your approval, which you didn't mind, finally feeling somewhat okay since your mother had first shown up. You felt his hands in your hair, taming the out of place strands, and he lifted your wrists to his eyes, tutting in disapproval when he saw the bruises beginning to form. He settled for wordlessly kissing the deepening marks gently, but when he spotted the gash on your head where your mother had slammed you into the wall, his smile turned positively venomous. His head did a full 180 on his neck, which always made you cringe, to glare at your groggily awakening mother, who froze in her position on the floor when she caught his alarming gaze.

Alastor turned back to you, static popping in the air, and his smile grew- if that was even possible. “Well, sweetheart? What would you like me to do with her?”

You were frankly tired now of fighting your mother, who had staggered from the ground, rage still evident in her visage but with Alastor present she wasn’t about to act. So with a weary sigh, slumping into Alastor’s chest, you muttered, “I just want her gone.”

“Anything you wish.” And within the next few minutes, Alastor had summoned Nifty, who was more than eager to take out the trash, and had the tiny janitor drag your mother from your room by her hair. You lost sight of the two after they left, but by the way Nifty was giggling the entire time she was hauling your mother, you had a feeling the next several hours wouldn’t be too enjoyable for her.

You’d been on edge the whole day, but you didn’t quite realize the sheer amount of tension your mother’s presence had placed on you until it was only you and Alastor inside the room. His hand traced soothing circles around your back, and you finally felt like you could breathe.

The morning, after what seemed like centuries, finally did arrive. You were already up although day had barely broken, and that was because the earlier commotion had disturbed the hotel residents and they had literally gotten you and Alastor (who had evidently felt bad enough to spend the rest of the night with you, which he didn’t often do for posterity reasons, kissing the side of your head where it was wounded and apologizing once more) up out of bed to barrage you both with an onslaught of questions (and Nifty remaining suspiciously silent save the occasional maniacal giggle). With some reluctance you gave the group a brief explanation of everything that had gone down, Alastor standing beside you with a protective hand on your shoulder. Long story short, everyone basically grasped that they’d fucked up by allowing your mother in and judging you harshly about it, and before long Charlie was in tears and begging for you to forgive her, Vaggie had admitted her remorse over it, Angel Dust was shifty-eyed and sheepish, and Husk apologized to you formally. You dismissed the apologies with a grateful look, and that seemed to satisfy them all except Charlie, who you had to tell straight out you truly did forgive her at least five times and that only set her off bawling again to the point Vaggie had to carry the girl out.

Alastor, although one couldn’t tell by his face, apparently did feel guilty about his involvement in the whole fiasco because he took you out for breakfast and spent the rest of the day with you, and by the time night fell once more your cheeks hurt from smiling so much and your spirits were significantly lifted. It wasn’t until the two of you were in bed together (again, your lucky day, you didn’t even have to convince him) that he broke the long, contented silence you two had been sharing to inform you curtly:

“You didn’t ruin my opinion of mothers, you know.”

You sat up at this, eyes wide with hope and relief. He rose along with you to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t?”

“Oh, no. My dear, I love my own mother dearly, but don’t think I’m not aware that others may not have the same relationship with their own mothers. I did admire your resilience, though, and though it really wasn’t necessary, I do appreciate your attempt to spare my feelings. If I do say so myself”- his hand came to rest on your lower belly- “you seem like you’d make quite a stellar mother yourself.”

“Alastor.”

“Merely a thought.”

[lavenderslabyrinth]

A Sacrificial Game 2

King!Dragon x Reader

Masterlist

p.t 1

pt. 3

Welcome to part two! I'm a very slow writer so you may notice that I posted these parts somewhat consecutively. That's bc I wrote part one last year;;; I know, I know, but I got a new keyboard and I'm obsessed with the way it feels so hopefully it will get me back into writing again! Does anyone even read these...? Gah whatever. Enjoy!

CW: ♢ Abduction ♢ Blood/Injury ♢ Mention of Forced Stripping (Brief, not done by love interest) ♢

The next time your eyes opened back up to the dreary world, a groan was involuntarily passing through your lips. Pain. Fuck. Every breath felt like you were splitting open, and as a result, moving was not a very appealing option. Your ribs, whether fractured or broken, you didn't know. But, oh, it was undeniable something was wrong.

The pain had you sweating despite the night's air being blisteringly cold-- colder than it should have been for this time of year, and the more you got your bearings, the more you were able to process what was around you.

A single, dingy lantern hung from the wooden ceiling above you. It swung wildly with every bump and jostle, the flame within it threatening to flicker out each time. The room you were in was moving, no, no room, you were in a carriage. You tried to push through the pain to get yourself up but found your movements restrained-- expensive looking silk ropes curling around your body and a simple white gown you hadn't been wearing before was now draped over your figure. Though pretty, and far more expensive than anything you'd ever owned before, it did little to ease the painful shivers that wracked through you.

You'd been washed, groomed, and redressed with care, but hot rage filled your chest nonetheless. You'd had little to nothing to your own name-- living still with your family and no claim to a spouse, child, or land.

They've stripped you of those things. Taken away your chance at a normal life, and now, too, they've taken your dignity.

A particularly rough bump in the road sent your body up and off the ground for just a moment before slamming you back into the rough wood of the floor. By the Damned... The pain left you winded as a stabbing sensation shot through your entire body.

"Are you alright?" A meek voice spoke up from above you. There, on one of the benches, a meek priest looked down at you with sad eyes full of pity. Was he also Chosen? Were you both about to meet your end? No... His hands were not bound behind his back as yours were-- instead, they freely laid folded in his lap.

Your gaze hardened and, seemingly unable to stand it, he looked away in shame. “Why are you doing this?” You asked coldly--you knew... but hope was still pushing back the dread that was steadily gathering in your gut. He didn’t answer at first, instead he simply shrunk into himself more, as if somehow he would be able to curl around himself and hide away from your accusatory eyes. “Where are we going?”

It took time for him to give you an answer. Time you, whether willingly or not, gave. The air thick with the silence between you two, only broken periodically by the groan of wheels or the creaking of the lantern above, but with your stubborn, uninterrupted glaring, he broke.

"The border that separates man from beast... you've been Chosen."

Bastards. Those bastards! What were the chances?! Did they even actually draw?!

It kind of dawned on you that... they may not have. You questioned authority often, butting heads against those who supported this horrific tradition-- many of the higher officials found your outspoken presence to be a nuisance, and with their own unmarried children to look out for..... Was it really that far of a stretch to say you'd been sacrificed in more ways than one?

"...Let me go." You demanded, and when you were met with resistance, your rage bubbled over. "Let me go this instant! Now!" Shouting hurt, but the fear and adrenaline eased your pain into fuel for your rage.

“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Harder than it has t- was he fucking kidding?

“You cruel bastard! Damn you and damn that Temple as well!”

As though the carriage had also had enough of your behavior, the jostling movement stopped. With an eerie croak, the doors swung open to reveal the drenched silhouette of gruff looking man in temple garb. If it would have been a stranger you saw, it would still have been equally terrifying, but perhaps it would have hurt a bit less.

You immediately recognized the man as Father Kyron, and a cold weight settled in your gut. The Father had watched you grow and mature since before you could walk-- often taking the time out of his day to play ball or sneak treats to the other children after services had ended. He'd always been such a warm pillar of the community, someone everyone could feel safe with. But those kind eyes that had always looked on at you before were now completely vacant of that gentle affection.

A monster was all that was left.

The rain pelted down on his leather-clad shoulders, cold droplets splattering onto you from the force of their impact. Whether or not he was a holy man of the temple, he looked nothing short of a demon in this moment.

Your screams went ignored as you fought not to be dragged out by your hair; body being dumped unceremoniously into the ground's painful embrace.

Kyron didn't spare you another glance as he once more took ahold of the reins. The priest did the same, shutting the wooden doors with a slam, snuffing out the little light the lantern within had to offer you.

The raging tides of emotions slowly simmered away as the carriage finally moved out of view, and now, instead of anger, hopelessness began to ease it's way into your veins. What could you do? You'd been abandoned. Left to lie in the dirt with only the echoing throbs in your side to keep you company.

Your screams turned to wails, then to sobs, and then to silence. And for a few moments you sat there, unable to process the shock of it all.

There's a funny thing about shock that no one tells you about. When there are plenty of important things for your mind to race through-- whether that be the betrayal of a beloved mentor figure, what would happen to your family, if your father was alright, who would tell Alikar... your mind often defaults to something insignificant; something harmless. And all you could think about were those damn peaches that had been laid together so carefully in your mother's wicker basket by Alikar's careful hand.

Had they all been trampled into the ground? Or would your family be able to salvage the last things you touched into something good and safe and warm for themselves...

Your eyes fixated on watching the way the rain thinned your blood and how it trailed down your skin to mix with the mud beneath you. The colors sickeningly seeped into the once pure white satin of your dress like the branching of a tree. The fabric feeling like it took root to your skin as it clung uncomfortably to your figure. It was a suffocating feeling and, surprisingly, was enough to bring a grimace to your face and give your mind enough clarity to realize footsteps were fast approaching where you sat.

"Here! Over here!"

"Damn it all, I knew I heard something!"

"Get the towels, the poor things soaked!"

Unknown voices made their approach accompanied by the warm, softened glow of lantern light. Though vaguely, you could make out the figures of a small group of armor-clad individuals.

Perhaps it was a bit of a cliche. The knights in shining armor coming to the maiden in distress-- but you could afford little to focus on the irony of it all. All you knew was that whomever held that lantern would be a fate far kinder than hungry animals or a slow fall to the elements.

Saved.

You were saved.

"H-Help me" Was all you could muster, the relief allowing exhaustion and weakness to finally take root in your body. Lead weights settling in your limbs and a quiver in your voice.

The closer they came, the clearer you could see them. They were guards, no doubt patrolmen assigned to protect the border, but very obviously not those of the human kingdom.

Otherfolk

Primarily shifters from what you could tell because, despite their mostly human appearances, their natural, beastly features still shown through. Large rabbit ears, a long flowing tail, wings stuck to their backs, or faces that just weren't quite arranged in the typical human fashion.

To some it would have an been off putting sight, but frankly after all the interaction you'd had with humans for the day... an inhuman face was a welcome sight.

"We've got ya, we're here to help, don't be scared." The rabbit shifter cooed, her gentle paw-like hands cupping your face sweetly as the bat's nimble fingers worked away at your bindings.

Her palms were soft and warm, the sleeves of her tunic smelling like the herbs and incense your mother often used at home. Your eyes closed as you couldn't help but lean into her comforting touch. For a moment, just a moment, the thumb swiping away your tears was not that of a stranger, but your mother. And for a moment... just a moment. You weren't shivering in the cold rain of an unknown land, but instead simply sat at the kitchen table at home waiting for peach pie on your birthday...

---

---

---

Ah. Was this death? If it was... it was peaceful. Never before had the space around you felt so soft and warm, and, faintly, there was the gentle scent of citrus in the air.... but was death supposed to be this painful?

Inhaling deeply, you winced, eyes cracking open as you moved blearily to try and sit up only to experience probably one of the most excruciating pains you'd ever felt.

"Easy! Oh, easy, my lady!" A familiar voice fretted, those same gentle hands from before supporting your weight with surprising strength against your shoulders. Carefully, she eased you back in place. "Lie down, the doctor gave strict orders for you to rest as much as possible until the healer can arrive. They aren't broken, but whomever you put up a fight against did one hell of a job on your ribs."

Your gaze fixated on the rabbit as she began to visually check you over once more with her large, rounded black eyes. She wasn't very tall, a bit below average at most, and held a very lithe figure. But despite that, she was donned with heavy, metal plated armor kept a sword neatly sheathed at her hip.

"Who.. are you?" You cringed as your voice was much rougher than expected, but who could blame you? After a night of screaming into the cold like your life depended on it, because it most certainly had, anyone's voice would have been a bit spent.

Without missing a beat, the rabbit shifter handed you a warm glass of water, which you greedily gulped down as she spoke.

"My name is Eve. I am a member of the king's guard here at the palace. I've been assigned as your personal guard, my lady." She bowed at the waist with a practiced precision, her fluffy ears tilting back so as to not land in your lap. "May I know the name of the lady I serve?"

"Hey, pause. Palace?" You full-stopped your assault on the glass of water and took your first good look at your surroundings. Sure enough, it was far from your typical healers hut or hostel.

The sheer size of the bed alone was the first thing you noticed. It was definitely made for something, or rather someone, that was far larger than you as the length of it easily extended another three or four feet past where your own legs ended. The tall, expertly carved banisters loomed over your head, supporting a canopy of heavy silks that seemed to trickle to the floor like water.

And the room

What a room it was. It was as massive as the bed with pristine, marble cut floors and high arching windows. Beautifully intricate moldings were placed all around, masterfully crafted to perfectly mirror one another. It was a chamber fit for a lady, no, a princess-- both of which you were not.

"I... don't think I'm supposed to be here." You murmured, eyes still trailing over the details of the walls that practically dripped with luxury.

Eve's ears tilted back once more, this time nervously as her tiny mouth curved into a frown. "Is the room not to your liking, my lady? I can ask to have you moved to something bigger--"

"No! Goodness no! This is more than enough! Too much, actually." You stumbled over yourself in your haste to not be fussed over to such a grand extent, which made Eve's expression falter from one of concern to confusion. "I'm not a noble," you clarified. "My name is (y/n), just (y/n)." Back home, impersonating a noble was enough to lose a limb if you were lucky-- your head if you weren't. Hopefully, if you cleared up the confusion quick enough, whoever misunderstood and brought you here would be more lenient with their anger.

"How could I dare call the future queen by her name?"

"......Pardon?" Surely you hadn't heard that right. "The what?" Was it.. the shock? Yes, the shock. It must have not worn off yet, that was all.

"The future Queen. I'm afraid it isn't my place to elaborate any further, lady (y/n), but I assure you once his Highness' meeting finishes up he will be here to speak with you himself."

So it wasn't the shock... and the king of beasts himself would be coming here, to you, like.. this?

You didn't need a mirror to know you were ill prepared to be meeting royalty. Your hair and skin still felt dirty and strange from your previous night's rather rough introduction to the ground, and your clothes... well, perhaps more accurately described as the lack thereof...

You felt your cheeks heat in a bit of embarrassment as you gently lifted the warm blankets to peer below. You still wore the underwear you'd had on before, identifiable by the stains of blood and dirt which had settled permanently in the crevices of the fabric, but what covered the rest of your torso and legs were bandages and dressings. Your cuts and bruises had been treated, rather professionally at that if the skill and quality of the supplies had anything to say about it.

But still, it was far from a dignified look.

As if reading your mind, your rabbit knight chimed in once more. "Don't worry, my lady, his Highness is an understanding and gentle ruler. He won't judge you for something like being wounded."

While it was sweet Eve was attempting to comfort you, you were less worried about appearing weak and more focused on the fact you were damn near naked-- though that was probably an idea that mattered a lot less to someone completely covered in fur... You didn't have the heart to tell her that though. Not when she was so eager to please and had that hopeful look in her eyes.

Not that you would have had the chance to anyway as, without so much as a knock, the two heavy doors to the room swung open.

Your hands moved in a flurry to gather the thick comforter up over your chest, your startled eyes locking with another's, and for a moment, the both of you paused.

He was tall, taller than any man you'd ever known, with shoulders just as broad that laid draped in a dark-stained cloak. It was still wet with rain and what you could guess was blood based off the thicker, red pigment that dripped from the bottom hem. Heavy, leathery wings sat poised behind him like two elegant, massive shields as his spear-like tail swung languidly between them. It was evident why everything here was the size it was now. He was massive. He was imposing. And he was horrifically attractive in a way no boy from your village could ever hope to compare.

He didn't need the crown or fine clothing to be identified. You could feel the authority he held in the air the moment he entered the room, and immediately upon seeing him, you understood the stories of your kingdom's best soldiers turning tail the second his taloned foot stepped onto the battle field.

Dipping your head as best you could, you quickly averted your flustered gaze and blushing face. "I greet the King of Beasts."

You'd expected a plethora of reactions. A gentle acceptance of your greeting, a roar of anger as to why someone as lowly as you laid within his palace, or even silence as he ignored you completely

What you hadn't expected was laughter. It was a deep rumble that could have shaken the cores of mountains if he'd leaned close enough.

"Is that what they call me nowadays? 'King of Beasts?' Of all things... you humans and your silly imaginations never fail to entertain."

You only felt your cheeks darken in humiliation as you lifted your head to stare at him with complete bafflement. Was that the wrong thing to say? Instead of answering your wordless query, he instead pulled up one of the oversized chairs to your beside.

"Eve," he called to your rabbit companion with a far calmer and level tone. "You're dismissed." Your guard, whom you'd momentarily forgotten in the chaos of it all, quickly scampered out and very suddenly it was just you and him left alone in the room together.

"Forgive my intrusion, this won't take long." His tone didn't flow like an apology, but more like an order or expectation that you would forgive him. It left a sour taste in your mouth and evidently an equally sour look on your face.

His eyes narrowed.

"Unless there's something you'd care to object?"

For a moment, a primal instinct surged in your gut beneath his gaze: Fear. He was the descendant of a long lived, powerful bloodline known for having the power to snuff out thousands of lives like yours. You were comparable to a meager speck of dust in his eyes, surely-- but an emotion that overtook your momentary fear was... anger.

No, it was rage. To be ripped from your home, stripped of your dignity-- your identity, thrown to the wolves, all to be mocked and disrespected and then be told to forgive them? Forgive him?

How far must you bow your head in order to save it? How much more humiliation did you have to endure for the sake some man deeming you worthy of survival?

Men in power had stripped enough away from you today, you'd be damned if you allowed this one to make you watch the last shred of self respect you had trickle through your fingers.

"I do actually. Quite a few actually."

The beast's narrowed eyes didn't ease, but he made no move to stop you.

"Well? Go on."

You took a breath, steeling the nerves that were pleading with you not to go through with what you were about to do. It was far too late to back down now. Instead, you hold his gaze.

"You laughed at my greeting, yet failed to introduce yourself. You came in without so much of a knock, not having a shred of thought towards my decency. You sent away the only person I knew, leaving yourself, a man, alone in a room with me, a woman, which shows you also have no concern for my dignity. Not to mention you're absolutely filthy covered in... who knows what. And to top it all off you don't ask me for forgive you but tell me to." You begin to falter, slowing your ramble as his slitted pupils begin to round out. "I think you're rude, and inconsiderate and..."

"And?" He urged, leaning forward a bit which only had you pressing further back into the plush pillows that had propped you up.

"And scary."

"Scary?"

At that, the towering dragon leaned back, the sturdy wood of the chair beneath him creaking with the shift in weight. "You look me in the eye, tell me what I can and can't do within my own home, in my own country, tell me all your objections about me... all while you think I'm scary?"

Unsure where this is going, you nod a bit lamely. What else could you have said?

"I see. Well. I suppose, in my haste, I have treated you a bit roughly for a lady."

"You...have." You affirmed hesitantly, your death grip on the blankets over your collarbones easing slightly.

"Then, for that, I extend you my sincerest apologies and ask that you find it in that fiery little heart to forgive me." You weren't sure if his tone was playful, mocking, or both... but it was a start.

"I'll think about forgiving you then."

"Then I'll put forth the effort to earn it. But for now, let's start from the beginning. I am King Jarkah Drak'in, ruler of the Etherian Empire. And you are?"

You had pondered giving him a false name before, but at this point there seemed little reason to it. "(Y/n). My name is (y/n)."

"(Y/n)." He repeated back to you, the gentle rumble in his voice almost bringing back that warmth to your cheeks. "I rarely hear human names so sweet on the tongue."

You tried and failed to formulate a reply to the compliment, your thoughts stuttering over themselves.

Seemingly able to see your internal struggle, Jarkah stood back up, signaling the end to your little exchange.

"As much as I'd prefer to talk further, I realize I should take your fragile circumstances into consideration, I'll postpone our conversation until I hear word that you've recovered." Was he... still mocking you? Or was that genuine consideration? It was difficult to read his reptilian features, and even more so when his back was turned to you. "Goodnight, (y/n)."

You floundered for a response but all you managed was a meager "Goodnight" as the door clicked shut softly behind him.

[svuobsessed]

Can I request something for Casey! Some fluff and maybe helping fem reader with her depression, maybe she’s having a downer day and Casey is the only one who can make her feel better, get her to open up

Casey Novak X Depressed Teen Reader

My first request! Thank you!

Request: Can I request something for Casey! Some fluff and maybe helping fem reader with her depression, maybe she’s having a downer day and Casey is the only one who can make her feel better, get her to open up.

Third person pov...

As the sun rose over the New York City skyline, sixteen-year-old Y/N sat alone in her room, staring at the ceiling. She had been struggling with depression for months now and today was one of her darker days.

She had no motivation to get out of bed, no desire to face the world outside. As she lay there, feeling lost and alone, she had been sexually assaulted a couple months ago and was trying to get through it.

As she sat she thought of Casey Novak the ADA who helped her get justice and put her attacker into prison where he was staying for a long time.

That thought should make her happy, but instead she didn't she only felt empty. Then she rememberd that she had the Detective who worked on her case had given her a card with her number on.

Rummaging through her draw she found her card. 'Detective Benson' sighing she called the number. "Benson" came a familiar voice.

Hours later...

Casey received a call from Detective Olivia Benson, her close friend and colleague. Olivia informed her that there was a young teenager at (address name) who had requested to speak with her specifically. With a curious frown, Casey made her way to the apartment Olivia told her.

The red haired woman remembered the traumatized teenager, Y/N hadn't wanted to tell them who assaulted her, she was scared to tell them, but after a few days Y/N came forward and told them who it was.

The young teen had easily bonded with both Casey and Olivia Benson, after the case Casey thought about the H/C girl often.

It was usual that she felt such a connection with a victim but the teen made her want to keep in contact.

When Casey arrived at the L/N family apartment, she was greeted by Y/N Mother, the woman was surprised to see her of course.

"Hi Mrs L/N, I'm Casey Novak. I was wondering if I could talk to your daughter Y/N?" She asked the woman, recognition shined in her eyes before she stepped aside and Casey walked in.

"Y/Ns room is the last door on the right"  she smiled at the prosecutor. When she knocked on Y/Ns door a shy and withdrawn teenager greeted her.

Y/Ns H/C hair was unkempt, her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, Y/N self consciously rubbed under her eyes, she wore baggy clothes that seemed to swallow her petite frame.

But despite her appearance, Casey could see the strength and resilience in the young teens eyes.

"Hi Y/N, i dont know if you remember me, but im Casey" she introduced herself, offering a gentle smile, she watched as Y/Ns eyes widened in recognition and she nodded, but she didn't say anything.

Casey could see that Y/N was shutting herself off, fear and shame controlling her actions.

"We can take it slow, if you want. There's no rush. I just want to help you in any way I can" Casey assured her, choosing her words carefully.

Y/n looked at Casey for a few moments, and then without warning, she burst into tears. Casey quickly pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back and offering her a comforting presence.

The young teenager cried for what seemed like hours, and all the while, Casey stayed by her side, holding her hand and whispering words of encouragement.

As Y/N slowly calmed down, Casey handed her a box of tissues and sat down next to her on Y/N unkempt bed.

She knew that sometimes, all a person needed was someone to listen to them, to make them feel heard and understood. And that's exactly what Casey did.

For a couple minutes the two sat in Y/Ns room, the teen fiddling with her hands waiting for one of them to break the silence, Casey was the one to speak.

"What happened to you was not your fault. You are not alone, and you don't have to go through this alone" Casey said, her voice full of empathy.

Keeping her tears at bay Y/N fianlly opened up to the prosecutor.

As the H/C teen opened up to Casey about the assault, her struggles with depression, and the constant fear she lived with, Casey listened with patience and empathy.

She shared her own experiences of working with survivors and assured Y/N that she was not alone in her fight.

With Casey's help, the traumatized teen slowly began to open up more and more. They spent the entire day together, and by the end of it, Y/N was becoming herself once again.

The heaviness in her heart seemed to lift, and for the first time in a long time, she felt hopeful for the future.

As they sat in Y/N bedroom, drinks in hand, courtesy of Y/N mum, Y/N held Caseys hand in her own a genuine smile on her face.

Big E/C eyes looked into her. "Thank you, Casey. I don't know what I would have done without you" Y/N finally spoke up, her voice filled with gratitude.

Feeling herselfgetting choked up at her words, Case smiled and held her hand. "I'll always be here for you, Y/N And if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out" Casey replied, her eyes shining with sincerity.

After saying good bye and leaving y/N her card, Casey left the L/N apartment late that night, she couldn't help but feel fulfilled.

Being able to help someone in need was the best feeling in the world for her, and she knew that Y/Ns road to recovery wouldn't be easy, but she was determined to be there for her every step of the way.

From that day on, Casey and Y/N developed a strong bond. Every time

Y/N had a downer day, or she felt overwhelmed with what happend to her she knew she could count on Casey to make her feel better and help her get through it.

The end!

Hoped you liked this oneshot, sorry for not updating for a while haven't been well these last few days so here I am writing this because I feel better finally.

As usual sorry for any grammar and Spelling mistakes.

Request page is open!

Word count: 1120

[cryptid-writing]

[A different kind of hero]

Warnings: Mild mentions of blood and implied death, but not really. It's fine, don't worry about it, they're okay.

info: Old buzzards and misconstrued confrontations.

A/N: I am pleased to deliver my next chapter. I'm very proud of this one, I hope any who read it will enjoy it.

any feedback would be appreciated.

Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6.1] [6.2]

==============

[Chapter 7]: Deja Vu

==============

"Of all times for you to leave on another one of your business ventures.."

"I won't be gone for too long, Otto. I assure you, if something ever happens, I will swoop back here in a heartbeat if you just give me a call."

"Thank you, Adrian, b-but I'm not a child! Really.. Must you joke now?"

The older man chuckled lightly at Otto's exasperation. The two had been standing outside of Oscorp for a while.

Colleagues for nearly a decade now since Otto's employment into the company. Adrian had ventured off to seek work elsewhere on the regular for 3 years and counting. Offering up his technology to others and refusing to reveal anything to Oscorp. He knew well the sketchy nature of the man in charge, never pleased with his attitude towards his employees. He'd already been regretting his employment for some time, but stayed when Otto showed up and presented a lot of promise and skill. Always circling the new employee and watching over him like a hawk.

Today, he had some business to run out of town for a while. Poor Otto was nervous to be left nearly alone at Oscorp once more.

A taxi soon pulled up, and Adrian took to the door. He turned to look at Otto one last time. It was hard to leave knowing his friend was in potential trouble without him there as a pillar of support.

"I'm sorry, but I really must be going, Otto. You can call me at any time. You've a strong and brilliant mind, Doctor Octavius. Don't let that old coot snuff your spark."

"..Goodbye, Adrian."

"I'll be back within a month! I'll notify you as soon as I'm back. We can have lunch then!" and with that, he gave Otto a wave before ducking inside.

Otto waved goodbye and watched solemnly as the taxi drove off. It was the last thing Adrian had seen of Otto.

It wouldn't be the last he heard from him, however. The two kept up an occasional chat over the phone through a rare call, but mostly through text. Checking up on each other and informing each other of their progress. It wasn't until a few weeks into Adrian's venture that something changed.

Adrian figured Otto was merely too busy or tired to give him any calls. Putting his own phone away, Adrian continued on with his day as usual. A couple of days later, there was still no reply from his colleague. A little odd, but Otto had done this before, albeit rarely. He gave it another week, yet their was still no response to his texts. Something was nagging at him. Otto was a grown man, a strong man. He could easily handle himself on his own.. but he was so cowardly, too, as much as it felt wrong to think of his friend like that.

Leaving a meeting with a briefcase in hand, he pulled out his phone and called his friend for the first time in weeks.

There was no answer.

No voicemail, no automated voice message.. dead.

A feeling of anger and dread washed over the old man..

He needed to get back.

----

----

Plastic cups clatter to the floor as an inorganic vine lashes out, knocking them from the table they were stacked. You get up from your sofa and go to pick them up. Stacking them back up to repeat like you had done for the past 5 minutes. Playing with your newly acquired vine-shooters from a couple of days ago.

It was a shame not to use them at all, so you opted to at least play with them. Thinking of it like target practice. You really had no sense of aim, worse with your left, but it was fun regardless. Simply shooting a vine and reeling it back in after managing to knock a cup or more over. You didn't really have much else to do to pass your time in the evening besides draw or browse the internet. So this was a nice change of pace.

Another clatter of the tower of cups, and you're back to stacking them. Up from the couch and onto the floor once more. As you picked up the fifth cup, however, a familiar buzz started up in the back of your head. You sat frozen for a second, turning your gaze to the window next to the table. Hesitating, but you rose and glanced out through the curtains. Turning your gaze up toward the sky, you scanned as much as you could see..

And then you saw it.

You don't know what it was, but something large flew by overhead.. silently. It was impossible to make out anything, even despite the under-glow of the city. Regardless of what it was, you knew it wasn't good. Turning your gaze to your apartment door a moment, then to the vine-shooters on your arms in thought.

Well.. You suppose this is your chance to actually put your costume and gadgets to real use. Although you would rather not, you couldn't help but be drawn to it.

Abandoning the cups still strewn about the floor, you rushed to your room to get ready to head out for the night.

-----

----

-----

A clock ticks, a pen writes, and a hand types.

The final signatures, the final emails, the final assessments to end the day, and a mug of coffee to top it off. Routine. That’s how Norman likes it. Like the smoothness of well oiled cogs in a machine. Stacking, pinning and filing the signed papers to set aside, he closed his laptop and stood from his chair. Taking his mug he made his way to his newly repaired windows, one last look over before he headed out. Staring out at the sprawling, glowing city like a king on high to his kingdom below. The thought was enough to crack a smile as he brought the mug up to his lips.

But then something went by.

The building is over 50 stories, what on earth was that?

He leaned in to the window to look around, but didn’t see anything. He placed his mug back on his desk and put a hand to his head. Stress. That must be what this is. Stress and exhaustion. Perhaps he should invest in a holiday for himself, let his company run in the background for a little while without--

Clunk! Crick!

Norman froze and looked toward the window again, catching glimpse of something passing by again. There was a chip in the glass.. A crack. Why was this happening? What was happening? He waited again, watching the window with almost bated breath to see if it happened again.

And it did.

Whatever it was, it circled the building once more and once again beat at his window. He could just make out a few details illuminated by his office light. A figure, almost human, yet not? And.. a cane? It came crashing into the glass, causing it to nearly shatter, cracks splintering all across its surface. Then the figure disappeared, all within a moment’s notice.

He knew he needed to leave. He didn’t want to be here when whatever it was broke through. Spinning around, Norman rummaged his desk for his things and tucked them away in his pockets before rounding the desk to make a run for the door. But he wouldn’t make it. Not before the window finally broke, shards flying out and clattering to the floor.

And in came the figure like a vulture to its prey.

Large black metallic wings shielded the figure, spreading just a little to shake off any fragments of glass. Then, the wings rose up and folded back, revealing the man they were attached to. A strange black headpiece with a red visor shielded his face, obscuring his features. Not obscured enough to hide the sharp scowl, however. Poised to attack at any moment, he stared the redhead down.

"Norman.. You've certainly been busy." The man's voice dripped with venom, the metallic claws he had for boots puncturing through the carpet and crunching the glass beneath. "But the question is.. with what?" He tilted his head and raised the cane to inspect it as he spoke, flicking his eyes up to leer at Norman, "Pushing forward the progress of technology? The progress of medicine? ..Or,” He trailed, walking closer to the CEO, almost circling him as he did, his piercing gaze never leaving him, “the process of removing bloodstains off the carpet?"

“I should have you arrested for breaking and entering. Do you have any idea how expensive those windows are? More than your life is worth.”

“More than Otto’s life? Don’t ignore me, Osborn.”

"You should be used to being ignored, you'd think it would give you thicker skin."

"Don't—" He stepped forward.

"’Don't’? You make an awful lot of demands, Adrian, like a petulant child.. what happened to Otto was his own fault, he’s already costed me enough damages and now you've added to the mess, perhaps I should add it to his check."

Adrian clenched his jaw and gripped his cane tighter, his scowl deepening.

“Ah, but he isn’t here anymore.” Norman continued, “Good riddance, though, I say. A shame, but not a loss to me nor this company.” and that was the last straw.

Adrian ran towards him, reeling his cane back before slamming it, metal handle first, into the floor. Norman dodged out of the way just in time, falling onto the floor in the process. It didn’t matter, Adrian turned on heel and raised his cane once again to try and beat the man.

Zwip!

Before he could even swing, a strange vine shot between him and the Oscorp CEO.

Both men turn their gaze in the direction it came from, resting their eyes uncomfortably upon you. Norman appeared more confused than Adrian, a mutual sense of deja vu for the both of you in this predicament. Adrian, on the other hand, glowered over his shoulder, reminiscent of a painting you’ve seen before. A fallen angel, crying. Yet, no tears were shed.

You reeled the vine back and quickly tried to shoot it again, cursing yourself for your lack of aim. You knew you were entirely out of your element. Your already pounding heart said as much. The vines, however, were your only means of being able to do anything, which was a step up from last time.

“Uh, Y-You shouldn’t do this..!” You stammered out, missing your shot again to vine up the vulture-like man. He merely dodged. Using his cane he wound the vine up and you panicked. Plucking the vine free from the wrist piece just in time as he yanked it, causing you to stumble a little.

Adrian looked down toward Norman and hissed, “When I’m through with her, I’ll be back to collect your corpse for what you’ve done.” And he took off for the window.. and jumped out.

Glancing between the window and Norman on the floor, you spoke, “I’m really sorry!” and bolted toward the door and out to the elevator.

Norman grumbled as he stood up and patted at his suit. Stepping over the shattered glass and torn carpet, he peered out the window to see Adrian disappear over the roof. Great. He turned back to look at his office.. he would need to make more phone calls yet again. And perhaps even up the overall security around the building, inside and out.

This was already getting old.

---

---

The air was warmer than the last time you were here, though it hardly mattered as you were hundreds of feet in the air. Adrian circled overhead, his wings large and looming. As soon as he has noticed you, he swooped down, shouting when he got close enough. He didn’t attack, not just yet.

“This has nothing to do with you, child! My troubles are not your concern!”

You ducked and covered your head, letting out a little shriek as he flew by. How were you supposed to deal with this? Sure you were gifted with superpowers.. but you really were so far out of your element.. You’ve never had a lesson in fighting in your life, can’t throw a punch.. All you’ve really got is your words.. and vines.

“I’m not a child!” You called back, “I-- I-I only want to help! You really shouldn’t be doin’ this!” Neither should you, you thought to yourself.

“I hope you realize that man is a murderer!” He snapped, circling around.

“And you killing him is no better!”

“And you think defending him makes you above us both?!” Adrian swooped down once more, this time directly overhead, causing you to fall back onto the ground as he hovered above you, choking out the words with such vitriol, tears finally breaching the surface, “HE KILLED MY FRIEND!”

Your own tears began to well up behind your mask from the genuine fear of this situation you found yourself in. Fear, and not knowing what to do. What could you do? What could you say?

“That’s not..! I’m sorry--!” But he took off back into the air, not hearing you at all.

You attempted to get up, to stand, but you were knocked back down. A pained cry was ripped from your lungs as his cane collided with your back as he swooped back around. Catching yourself as you fell to your hands and knees with a choked sob, gasping for breath with shock.

“You’ll never understand! He was a good man! A bright future for a brilliant mind like his, cut short!” He circled overhead again, preparing another attack, “And you’re going to defend the man who KILLED him?! I may as well kill you BOTH!”

Your sense flared to life in the back of your mind, albeit delayed, giving you no time to evade, but only enough to look up. You let out a primal cry of fear as you raised your arms up to cover your head. The talons of his boots grazing your skin through the cloth of your suit. The sting from the sharp metal burned and the tears welled up. You are out of your mind coming here.

“I've always known that man was corrupt,” He circles again, allowing you to finally get back to your feet with a hobble and a wheeze, “Never once had he ever uttered an apology in all my time of working at Oscorp. I knew he’d do something like this. I’ve seen a few employees suddenly disappear and be immediately replaced the next day with new recruits!” He slaps the cane in his hand, gripping it as he rolls his head in thought above you, “No explanation at all except an excuse to cover up my hypotheses that Osborn was behind it. They weren't fired nor did they quit,” his attention snaps back to you uncomfortably quick, “they were terminated!” And he swoops down again.

You quickly whip your arm up and try to aim and shoot a vine at him, but you miss. Crying out as he slams his hand into your chest, “Tossed out into the metaphorical shredder so that no one can have them if Norman Osborn can’t abuse them for his own gains!” he pushed you roughly into the ground. The sharp talons on his boots sparking against the concrete roof on either side of your body.

“It was already bad enough with that alone, but my friend?” his nails were like talons themselves, able to pierce both suit layers and scrape your skin as he gripped your clothes and pulled you up to his face, the red makeup highlighted his rage, the distress in his sharp eyes, the huffing of his breath fogging the beak of his birdlike visor a moment before he spoke again, his voice harsh and loud, you could almost swear the fur of his collar spiked up from the force of it.

“He crossed the line too far!”

With as much effort as he could muster, he threw you back to the ground. All you could do was shriek and cry as you made impact. You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to run. You scrambled to stand up, to get to your feet, but as you did, he started talking again.

“There’s nowhere for you to run!” he called out and stormed toward you. You begin to sprint, but he’s on you, kicking off into a quick flight and slamming you into an HVAC. The sound of which boomed and echoed, much like the peculiar shriek that was once again ripped from you. Adrian yanked you a moment, his mechanical wings seizing up at the sound of your shriek and he groaned from the sheer volume of it. Glancing at you through squinted eyes in confusion and curiosity of what that was.

“Please! Don’t kill me! Don’t hurt me! Please! Please! Please, don’t!” You gasped and sobbed, heaving. The lenses of your mask wincing with you from the pain and fear you felt. It seemed to work as he pulled away and you slump back to the ground, landing on your hands and knees, trying to catch your breath.

“Hah.. Neat trick.. But it won’t save you!” You lift your head, confused by his words, your mind throbbing, “I won’t ever forgive you forgetting in the way, and I won’t ever have to after this!” He kicked off, wings lifting him back into the air and all you could do was deeply inhale with a whine.

Clackle.

“I am going to kill Norman Osborn and you will not stop me!”

Shunk.

There was a sound. Getting louder. One you recognize.. not for the better. A mechanical sound.. and the crushing of glass and concrete. It makes your fear rise beyond what it already was. You curl tightly into yourself, hyperventilating then screaming as the sound reached its crescendo above you.

It all happened so fast. Adrian yelling as he swooped down to deliver the finishing blows. Reeling his cane up and over his head. The slamming of metal to metal booming, followed by the crunching of the HVAC crumbling into itself as if it were made of aluminum. The sharp clash and flutter above you.. All of it made your heart jump and drop. You couldn’t stop the crying, the fear, the pain-- Gosh, you wish you were back home. You hardly even registered the familiar voice shouting at your assailant above your own harsh sobs.

“ADRIAN! STOP! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?!”

“O.. OTTO?!”

“What do you think you’re doing acting like a madman and trying to kill and innocent woman?!”

“I.. I.. I-I thought.. thought you were..” He could only stammer. Shaken to his core to see the man he thought dead was still very well and alive. Standing before him, hovering above the Oscorp roof, supported by his actuators. Two of which closed you in protectively as he stood between you and that vulture of a man.

“Thought I was what? What did you think of me that would cause you to attack her?!”

Adrian yanked his cane back and landed some feet away from Otto and you. Looking down at his hand, the cane, his other hand coming to hold at his head as he looked back toward Otto who was now lowering himself to his feet.

“I.. You can’t be here..! This can’t be happening-- You’re supposed to be DEAD--!”

The word caused the two free actuators to reel.

“Dead? Well, I have news for you-- SHE,” Otto steps aside and points, his actuators protecting you moving just enough to show your miserable form, “SHE is the reason I’m not! So instead of attacking her, you should be thanking her!” He hasn’t yelled like this since he, himself, had attacked you over a month ago. Never once had Adrian ever heard him yell like this before. The sight and sound alone made his wings flinch.

“..Otto.. I.. Oh gosh.. This is too much..” He stumbled back, gripping at his head, trying to process and understand everything. The weight of his actions, the relief of his friend being okay.. Tears started to well and fall from his eyes with the overwhelming stress.

A particularly guttural whine from you caused both men to look at you. Otto didn’t waste any time to rush over to your side, an actuator coming up to shine some light over you to better see your state. The tatters and tears in your costume, the blood and stains forming from your side and arm, the sight of it all made Otto’s heart sink.

“Adrian, we will discuss this later, but right now she needs help!” He turned back to you, “Acedia? A-Acedia, it’ll be alright. You’ll be alright, I promise. I’m going to take you home. Come-- Come here.” He was careful of your injuries as he helped you into a position better for him to lift and carry you. He turned back around to face Adrian who was still there.

“We can’t take her to a hospital, she’ll have to be tended at my place.”

“I’ll come, too.. See that she’s okay..”

With a firm nod from Otto, Adrian took off from the ledge. Otto followed, raising himself up with his actuators and began his rapid descent.

---

[dazeddoodles]

I am drunk and i come to you with a request, plz give me something alador x darius please i need it no ones written a fic in ages and im too lazy to finish my own just give me something you are my last hope 😭😭😭 /J

Unfortunately, I can't draw anything new right now but I have some headcanons.

I've seen people portray Darius as the flirty one but realistically I don't think as adults he would be attempting to flirt with Alador, unless maybe it's after they get together.

As teenagers, I can see Darius "jokingly" flirting with Alador or just unintentionally getting him flustered (Amity gets her tomato face from her dad after all). Since they were best friends back then Darius was more open about liking Alador, though (seemingly) platonically at the time.

As adults however Darius keeps up the act of not liking Alador. (If you notice in the show DARIUS is the one who keeps starting shit between them). Even after Belos's defeat, I think they'd have to start talking again to work together but Darius would still act hostile towards Alador to avoid showing he still cares about him. Now Darius would be the one constantly getting flustered over little things like we saw in the finale. Meanwhile, Alador remains oblivious.

Darius genuinely cares about Alador's well-being but tries to hide it. Saying stuff like how Alador needs to not overwork himself and take breaks and then follows it up with "You need to set a good example for your kids. If you can't even take care of yourself, how are you gonna take care of them?" as a cover-up. Although said cover-up actually does make Alador try to take care of himself.

Darius would also be constantly reminding him to eat. I've seen people point out it looks like Alador has a dad bod in the epilogue, he'd eating healthier which is what led to the weight gain.

At the start, Alador would keep reverting back to his old ways of overworking and not taking breaks before having to be reminded by Darius again. Although Alador initially listens to him just to set a good example for his kids, eventually he genuinely doesn't want to "disappoint" Darius.

I imagine an instance where when Darius asks him if he's eaten yet and the answer is no, Alador starts to get a bit embarrassed about it. Meanwhile, Darius is thinking "Is he... blushing??? I didn't know he could feel shame." lol.

Alador isn't good at expressing himself either, specifically, he's not very good with his words which often leads to him unintentionally offending Darius. He often shows affection through acts of service which can also lead him to overwork himself. Especially after being married to Odalia which made him think that working to prove your love was normal in a relationship.

I had an idea once that after they get together when Alador comes back from work with sore shoulders/back, Darius would offer to rub them for him. Alador's not used to having a partner that cares more about him than the work he can do for them.

I can go either way if they're together in the epilogue. I think it would take a while (years?) for them to get into a relationship after being on bad terms for years. But they COULD be together at that point and Darius was just embarrassed about freaking out like that. Alador had the mini Abomination in his pocket after all 🤔

[mrsoftthoughts]

Guess who mess up things with a spell and turned himself into a ferret? Yes, it was alabaster

The other day i posted a drawing based on @yonemurishiroku idea of a WolfboyJason au, and later talking with @drksanctuary a silly Nicobaster idea was born

In which alabaster accidentally turned himself into a ferret, and since that all of Al's notes are written down in a absurd mix of accient Greek, modern Greek and Latin, makes impossible for claymore to understand anything of what is written there, So he sees himself forced to call Nico, the only other demigod that they know because years before he Maybe tried to take claymore back to the underworld ( but that's a history for other day)

That for the horror of a alabaster with a immense crush on the son of hades, because in the form of a animal any kind of discretion or shame was thrown out of the window and he end up being the clingiest thing in this world when he had been trying to avoid nico for the past few months just for this to happen

Needless to say, al was a bit too dramatic about it after almost sell his soul to swear that he being clingy didn't mean anything ↓

Al: why of all people you had to call HIM?!

Claymore: i told you to be careful with whatever thing you were doing because i don't know actual greek, even less greek that was used milenia ago, and that's the language you have everything that could bring you back to normal kid, what i was supposed to do?

Al: right but..I

Claymore: you wanted, perhaps, for me to call the abundance of other demigod friends you have?

Al: I dunno! My mom?

Claymore: *shakes his head*

*Hecate appears from the absolute nothing*: Howard did tried to contact me, i just didn't answer, i knew that Nico di Angelo was the plan B, and the little prince is such a educated and polite gentleman, is the dream for any mother to have as son in law! and you just keep wasting any opportunity you have with him

Al: Mother...

Hecate: you're in love! I'm just trying to help

Al: you're just embarrassing me! there's no fucking way that he would like me back, the last thing that i need is that he discovers this

(Poor little did he knew that nico also likes him)

[vladdyissues]

It's so cute that you uploaded some puffy, you're so kind 😭💞

But I have a question, why did they even block his account? How does Tumblr block an account? He didn't upload anything bad [?]

To the best of my knowledge—and I say this because I did not see every single one of Puffy's posts—Puffy did everything that Tumblr requires when it comes to posting "mature" artwork. She tagged her posts, used Community Labels, cropped and/or censored thumbnails, and made use of the "Read More" option. She was bolder than me when it came to posting certain art styles and speaking unabashedly, but that's a difference in personality. Puffy is a free spirit, incredibly witty, and absolutely hilarious. I'm old and crotchety and try to avoid drama if I can help it—not to say that Puffy in any way invited or deserved termination. She did not.

But she was no match for a targeted mass-reporting campaign. And, unfortunately, there's no way to know just how many people were involved or how much harassment she's been receiving since she joined Tumblr. I know there were at least three asks, likely more, and one rude comment left on one of her artworks early on.

But Tumblr has a poor track record when it comes to making decisions and meting out justice. They don't typically perform thorough investigations, they panic when they see certain words, and they're also prone to outrageous hypocrisy—like the fact that gifs of graphic, live-action porn somehow still manage to survive on this site after 10 years and a purge that cost the company a billion dollars in value, and how they claim to be "the queerest place on the internet" while simultaneously alienating and fostering a hostile environment for the queer artists who are largely responsible for Tumblr's success. Porn and spam bots run amok, but the blogs of marginalized people and artists are first on the chopping block.

I myself have had blogs deleted for lesser reasons. A couple years ago I created a "ship week" event blog, which was deleted simply because at one point in the TV show, one of the characters in the ship was a minor. The blog posted G-rated prompts. It was text-based with completely worksafe header graphics. It didn't endorse any age ranges, but left that up to the discrimination of the participants. The participants complied with Tumblr's TOS if they posted 18+ content, cropping images, using Community Labels and such. Everything adhered strictly to Tumblr's guidelines.

But I was the target for a lot of hatred from the rest of the fandom. They hated my guts because I shipped "the wrong ship"—because it was a gay ship, because it upset the canon heterosexual ship that one of the characters was in, because I wasn't sniveling in fear whenever they sent me hateful asks, because I refused to be bullied or shamed. They went after us because we were a tiny group of fans, easy to target and eradicate. Disgusting behavior, really.

I tried to appeal the deletion, but I never heard back from Tumblr. Fine. I moved the event to another platform (and it looked much better there, too), and that was that.

In short, Tumblr would rather delete a hundred innocent blogs out of fear of offending their ad sponsors rather than 1) investigate the claims made against the blog, or 2) give the blog owner a chance to delete the offending content.

One final thing:

Last month, around 17 June 2024, several Pompep fans on Tumblr received anywhere between 1-3 anonymous asks telling us to kill ourselves or "get raped".

Over cartoon characters.

It's a sad state of things when there's more sympathy, respect and agency given to drawings of fictional lines than living, breathing people.

[mer-acle]

yayyy it's time for Tasha to talk about her own writing in excruciating detail XD

So, Chapter 27 

Spoilers lol

Firstly, gotta love Tel being the one who guesses that things mightn't be all that sunshine and rainbows. Gotta remind people that he's a warrior of the mind, too :D

Also I love Pallas' personality so much you don't understand. Like she's curious and extroverted and enthusiastic, but she immediately asks if she may touch Athena's wings, so we've got some groundwork of respect there that Athena hasn't gotten on Olympus, that's for sure.

"I can’t even imagine what it’s like to fly, can you see the palace from above? I always wondered if it was about the angle you looked down from.” I really like this line for showing that Pallas also thinks about how things work even if she's not as studious as Athena.

“You can’t see it,” she said then. “The water… it throws the light back, like a… like a mirror. Nobody could tell me why it does that so far, it’s just an observation.” Look at my smart little owl. She just wants to know how things work! Love her likening the water to a mirror, which is something she has seen on Olympus, and also adding that it's just an observation is so cute to me fsr.

“Maybe we should go back to the ground before you fall.” Athena’s voice was a mix of concern and faint amusement. Pallas giggled. “I bet I’ll get used to it. I’ll be the best tree-sitting nymph in all the land, just you wait.” Athena tilted her head.“Aren’t there tree-nymphs?” Pallas looked at her in feigned shock. “I will pretend I did not hear that. How dare you betray me like this. I thought we were friends.” ahhh this paragraph. Athena being amused is adorable, and then her not understanding humor and just being like 'that strikes me as incorrect' like GIRL. Stop being cute.  And, naturally, it's officially confirmed, Athena is drawn to people who use the word friend within five minutes of meeting her. *eating my keyboard*

Then ofc we have Pallas immediately reassuring her dhsfzusdzf

She had not forgotten how… how lively Pallas had been. She only hadn’t seen it in a while. It had been thousands of years since she had last longed so painfully to draw Pallas close and never let her go. The pain I make the owl go through. ahhhhhhh

“My m-…”she broke off and cleared her throat. “There’s no shame in failing, but there is no excuse-“ “not to try,” Odysseus finished softly. He had heard this sentence too many times to count. Metisssss (yes Athena was about to say 'my mom') I think it's so great that she kept that sentence with her all those years (i will not do anything bad with this wdym)

also, scrawny Athena. sjdfsjfhjksdfsdkh. Also running on sheer willpower, as usual. You'll break your back, Thena.

And I don't think I will ever get over Athena instinctively wanting to get her friend back to shore to protect her MY BABBBYYY

“Why… why are you so kind to me?” Athena asked very quietly. Fuck Olympus btw. My poor owl. how dare you make her feel like that.

yeah okay I'm sorry about the death joke, Pallas keeps making them, I swear. I edited out like four or five already.

Then ofc we have Triton being a good Dad, which makes me smile a lot. He just wants Athena to be okay. Also Athena feels safe enough to be pedantic with him gshdgfshdgfshdgfjsdf

also yeah what Penelope suspects is true, Olympus basically just gave Athena food and a room and let her figure the rest out by herself. Nobody really gave a shit that she didn't eat enough divine food which, newsflash, she did need to grow stronger. But sure, Zeus, be annoyed she was tired after flying halfway around the world.

She couldn’t touch anything from a time-dive, she knew that, but she still wanted to reach out, hold the girl she had once been close, back when there had still been something worth protecting in her, back when she didn’t have gallons of blood on her hands. Is that self-love? Does it count? At least she understands baby Athena didn't deserve this shit? ah who am I kidding it's just differently packaged self-loathing. But also Athena wanting to protect her past self is making me want to sob.

“Yeah, sure, I also make a habit out of randomly crying myself to sleep. Tell me.” Pallas, the queen you are.

Zeus, please go die in a hole for this. And no, Pen, it's not instinctual. Athena knows what her father is capable of.

“I happened.” thenaaa noooo bby it's not on you that your father is a paranoid ass.

Telemachus shivered, hugging Athena tighter. He guessed her choice of words meant it   hadn’t been like that, but his mind offered nothing but he ate her. They had a scroll detailing Zeus’ defeat of Cronos, and the drawing of Cronos eating one of his children had always terrified him. ‘Great Zeus, seeing the injustice, vowed to fulfill the prophecy of his father’s doom’, the story went, unaware of its own twisted irony. He wondered what it had to feel like for Athena to read things like that. No notes, I just really like this paragraph. Poor Tel is really losing faith...

And ofc baby Athena being so aware of exactly how things are, because she doesn't need Zeus rn, she can simply hate what he did. It's so fhsfukdhfs ahhh the way that she had to teach herself to justify his actions later, bc it was the only way to survive and remain halfway sane on Olympus. dying. fuck you zeus.

I really like the way Athena's memories play out. Bc this is before she discovers Quick Thought, but her memory is still perfect from after her birth so naturally she questions the reality of the memories that feel so different, so dreamlike. but also ahhh 

“Because…because I felt so alone.” Athena sniffled. “On Olympus… so I made up someone…someone who loved me.” I want it known I stared at this sentence for a very long time btw. Nobody ever say I don't hurt myself with the angst too.

“Oh, darling,” Penelope murmured. You know it's bad when someone is speaking in italics.

Oh Pallas my darling. Oh the good old days when Athena was also hurting but she believed when someone told her she was loved. pain and suffering. 

yeah anyway I really love this chapter actually XD

[pinkypromisepascal]

get to know your moots!

thank you @almostempty for tagging me! I love this!

what's the origin of your blog title?: I suck at coming up with cool sounding usernames and mostly come up with super weird shit, but for this one I had some friends help me out! And I LOVE the vibe of it.

favorite fandoms: atm I guess the Pedro fandom, Stranger Things- now that I think about it I'm not even sure how many fandoms I'm really in?

OTP(s) + shipname: think the only real ship that isn't self insert fan fiction is Jopper lol. Omg I love them so much.

favorite color: blue, but also black when it's about clothing

favorite game: my ALL time favorite: Destiny, because it's been living in my head ever since it came in 2014 and I got to try it on a friend's ps4, this game is my Roman Empire

song stuck in your head: omg there's always a rotation of like 5 stuck in my head, but currently it's All I Need by Radiohead

weirdest habit/trait?: telling people where they might know actors from, and recognizing one specific dub actor in several productions

hobbies: drawing, writing, video games, music, going to concerts, yapping

if you work, what's your profession?: I'm a student!

if you could have any job you wish what would it be?: working in video game development! Like as a character designer

something you're good at: procrastinating, making a funny comment here and there, seeming like I have no interest in anything that is happening around me

something you're bad at: responding to people in time, time management, standing up for myself

something you love: my pookies, cats, dogs, warm sunny days

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: odd niche fan fictions that I randomly read about people I never expected there to be fan fiction off

something you hate: overly extrovert people that you can't take anywhere without them knowing every second person they see and being besties with everyone

something you collect: stickers, Pokémon cards, merchandise bought at concerts

something you forget: time, texting people back and then it turns into months of them being left on delivered

what's your love language?: touch and buying stuff that I think they will giggle about

favorite movie/show: movies I grew up with like Spirit or Blues Brothers, but newer stuff?? Don't know. Maybe the Joker movie. Friends and The Last of Us if talking about shows

favorite food: pasta and pizza, pretty basic

favorite animal: CATS. Also love dogs and horses, but omg, cats.

are you musical?: I like to imagine I could make some ambient music if I had the equipment for it. And

favorite subject at school?: English, specifically the high school years because my teacher was the weirdest and funniest dude and every book he read with us left a permanent mark on my soul (1984 is one of them!)

least favorite subject?: probably Chemistry and Physics. My teachers were good, I just didn't understand shit at some point.

what's your best character trait?: I like to think I'm easy to talk to and I'm not high maintenance. Like we don't talk in weeks because we were busy? No hard feelings.

what's your worst character trait?: ghosting people if I feel like I don't vibe with them anymore and easily forgetting about them

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be?: changing the time from pm to am

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet?: my past self

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): there's so many fics by people I love that I just haven't found the time to read yet :(( but some old classics for me are Cup of Sugar and For Science by @strang3lov3 (listen, I know these are on your shame master list, but I love them so much) and Fixed Up by @the-ginger-hedge-witch

no pressure tags: @strang3lov3 @umnitsa @bitchesuntitled @beefrobeefcal @noxturnalnymph @heartfairy

[bgsdraws]

another year woah, i need to start playing stardew valley again nice to see more of my ocs here. i want to draw thwm more and develop their stories next year Now, me being angsty and mentally unwell (vent) under the cut :

Honestly? Looking at this makes me feel a little bit sad and tired. It's just that I've always had this ''cycle'' I go through. I go from loving my art and being on the top of the world, the greatest artist who has ever lived, holy light comes out of my wacom drawing tablet, to hating and believing I've lost all the skill I once had and will never be able to do something like it again; I switch between these 2 mindsets every few months. And it's just so annoying. (I want to make it clear that I know these thoughts aren't true and I don't really think like this about myself. It's just how I feel when I'm in that part of the cycle.) I just feel like a failure who has never learned how to do anything good, even with years of practice, that I've stagnated, regressed, that anything good I ever did was just pure luck, and I will never be able to create something I like and that brings me joy ever again. It just hurts so much because I don't think I can do that; I don't think I can go back to being someone who just observes other people's art. I would honestly rather die; I probably would die. I need to be there, to create it; I need to feel happy and look at what I'm creating with pride. I want to feel good about the stuff I do. And I do When the other half of the cycle begins When that happens, it always feels like some of the best moments in my life, and I'm so happy with my art, and being happy with my art makes me even happier; it's euphoric. Why can't it always be like that? Because I do love my art, I recognize my skill, and I'm happy to create what I create. So why does my brain do this to me? Why does it decide to cast some sort of spell every other 3 months that makes me hate it and see no future in myself? There's no trigger, no inciting incident; it just happens, every time with no failure. Always the same ''routine.'' And noticing its coming doesn't make me able to stop it. I've tried, but I discovered I just need to ride it out. And even though I know what's happening, I know it's just another half of that damned cycle; it doesn't make all those thoughts and feelings feel less true or correct at that moment. Knowing better doesn't make me feel better. And after it is done, after I've finally started being able to feel and think ''normally,'' there's always this wave of shame and embarrassment for how much I overreacted to certain things. I feel guilty and embarrassed about being aware of what was happening and still believing those thoughts. ''You should know better; it's always like this, you know it.'' Right at the end of the most recent ''my art sucks and will always suck and I should die'' phase (that just ended, by the way; I've been feeling like that since October, I think), I sketched a thing for a friend. In the middle of drawing it, I was feeling horrible; I was so happy to start something that would make someone I love happy. But everything just looked awful, gross, the ugliest thing that has ever graced this earth. And I just kept thinking, "Where have all the years I've dedicated to learning anatomy and rendering gone?" Was I always this bad? Were all my good grades and compliments a lie? Was all of it in vain?'' I ended up just crying and going to bed. And then, the next day, I opened that file again, preparing myself to see that monstrosity on my screen again. And it was fine; the drawing was nice. I have no idea what my eyes were seeing that last night, how distorted they had to be seeing it to think that it looked ''awful and gross.'' It makes me feel so stupid, so overdramatic. All of that for this? Really? For something that really didn't have any problems at all I just wish I could always see my art as I can see it now. I love it; why can't I love it all the time? It's just not fair.

[h2g2-gift-exchange]

Welcome to the second year of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy gift exchange, for 2023!

Quick QnA below.

Q. What is this?

A. This is a holiday gift exchange for the H2G2 fandom, you make a fanwork for someone and someone else makes one for you.

Q. What kind of gifts can I make?

A. Anything that’s created by you and related to H2G2! Whether that be a drawing, fanfic, music video, plush or anything. The only rule is it must have your own time and effort put into it, which means no purely AI generated works or otherwise something you didn't make yourself.

Q. What’s the deadline for signing up?

A. The last day to sign up will be Sunday, November 19th.

Q. When will I know who I’m making a gift for?

A. Ideally everyone will receive their prompts a day or two after the application closes. This is a small fandom but all the pairings still have to be checked for compatibility so please allow a few days. Also remember to enable submissions on your blog to receive your prompt! You’ll be notified via dm if you have them closed.

Q. When can I post my gift?

A. You may post your gift any time between December 24th and January 1st but please don’t post it before then.

Q. What if I need to drop out?

A. There’s no shame in dropping out if you can’t complete your gift! Just please let me know so I can quickly assign a pinch-hitter. You may also ask for an extension, mostly I just want to make sure you haven’t forgotten.