#❝ ✦ ◜young and menace◞ — musings.

[spraypaintstainonawhitewall]

methinks yall dont talk enough about fob's heavier songs and idk why

[satoshy12]

King of Hades Danny Phantom

Percy, Annabeth, and Grover stood nervously before a figure seated behind a large, organized desk. He wasn't the menacing, shadowy figure Percy had imagined. Instead, he was a young man with glowing green eyes, silver hair, and a faint, cold aura.

Beside him stood a woman with dark and light hair and a mocking smirk playing on her lips as she looked at the demigods.

Percy, voice trembling slightly, declared, "Uncle! I've come for the Master Bolt. Give it back so we can stop the war!"

The young man raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his old but young eyes. "Uncle? Thanatos, what's this child talking about?"

The god of death, Thanatos, stepped forward. "My Lord, it seems Olympus is still unaware of the former King Hades' retirement."

The woman beside the young man, Queen Melione, Goddess of Ghost, added, "Yeah, Danny. They have, like, no clue Dad stepped down a hundred years ago. They still think he's running the underworld."

Annabeth, her brow furrowed as she slowly said, "...You're not Lord Hades, King of the Underworld."

"I believe they just clarified that," the young man replied. "Call me Phantom of Danny. And why would I have the Master Bolt? The ozone radiating like a bonfire is coming from you, not me."

Percy, Grover, and Annabeth exchanged stunned glances, then simultaneously looked down at the backpack Ares had given them. "Ares..." they murmured in unison.

Danny gave them a final, assessing look. "Thanatos, escort them out of the Underworld. And send an Iris message to Olympus. Give them proof of Ares' theft of the Bolt as the true thief. Melione and I have paperwork. We're almost finished cleaning up the River Styx."

As Thanatos began to usher them out, Percy turned around and yelled, "Charon wants a raise!"

Danny turned to Melione, a look of bewildered exasperation on his face. "...Didn't we just give him one two weeks ago?"

Melione chuckled. "His Italian suits are expensive."

Outside the Underworld.

Annabeth, still reeling, turned to Percy and Grover. "Wait, if Hades retired, where is the God of the Underworld now?"

A sunny beach in the Maldives.

Far away from his brothers, on a pristine beach in the Maldives,

Hades reclined in a beach chair, a contented sigh escaping his lips. His wife, Persephone, rested her head on his shoulder.

"My foolish brothers," Hades mused, a hint of smugness in his voice. "If they'd just give up their thrones, they'd have such an easy life. Just like me!"

He smiled, thinking of the young halfa he'd mentored. "That boy took to the job like it's the duty of a hero. Him dating Melione helped smooth things over, of course. I really should thank Pandora for introducing them. My idiot brothers must be terrible teachers." He took a sip of his drink. "Now, where were we, my dear?"

"Enjoying the sun before I return to my mother. Thankfully she doesn't know you actually leave the underworld too for the 6 months."

[earthlybeam]

I came up with this idea myself after seeing fan art from a fandom. But I hope you enjoy it. Plus you you wish for any more characters please do ask. Gil-galad, Thranduil, Elrond, Celebrimbor version below. (You are their spouse messing with them mid act of the deed of you giving them head)

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad is a king of immense composure—stoic, regal, and calm under pressure. But even he is not immune to being caught entirely off guard, especially by you his spouse. He had been resting against the smooth headboard of your shared chambers, the moonlight from the open balcony casting silver streaks across his bare chest. His crown had been long abandoned, along with the formal stiffness of the day, and now the great High King of the Noldor was reduced to something far more vulnerable beneath your touch—beneath you.

Your mouth had been working him skillfully, worshipping him in a way no council or battle victory ever could. For all his dignity and restraint, Gil-galad was not above letting his head tip back against the wall, letting soft, breathy groans escape him as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper. His large hands, usually so steady when wielding a spear, had found their way to your hair—threading through it but never pushing, just holding. Always the gentleman, even when undone.

He was watching you now, golden eyes darkened with something primal. His chest rose and fell in controlled, measured breaths, though you could feel the way his thighs tensed beneath your hands. And then—you did it. Mid-act, you pulled back, releasing him with a wet, sinful sound, and he opened his mouth to question you—only to watch in utter disbelief as you brought a delicate hand to your lips and let out a deliberately obnoxious, dramatically loud cough.

“Sorry, love,” you said, voice dripping with playful mischief. “It’s a little dusty down here.” Dusty. You had called him—the most immaculate, clean, and composed being in all of Middle-earth—dusty. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the distant crashing of the sea against Lindon’s shores. His face remained perfectly still, utterly unreadable—so much so that you almost wondered if you had gone too far. And then… he laughed.

It was not a quiet chuckle, nor one of his rare soft hums of amusement—it was a full, rich, unrestrained laugh that shook his broad shoulders. A sound that seemed to ripple through the air, bright and free, like a glimpse of the carefree young Elf he must have once been.

“You—” he began, voice catching as he tried to regain his usual regal composure. His head fell back for a moment, exposing the elegant line of his throat as he tried to suppress his amusement. “Dusty?” His golden eyes flashed back to you, glinting like sunlight on polished steel. There was warmth there—affection—but something else too. Something dangerous.

“You dare mock your king in such a way?” His voice had dropped, smooth and commanding, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought the smile threatening to return. “I should have you punished for your impudence.”

His fingers tightened slightly in your hair—not harsh, but enough to make your heart skip. Slowly, gracefully, he leaned forward, towering over you even from his seated position. His expression was calm, but there was a gleam of playful menace beneath it.

“And yet,” he mused softly, lifting your chin with two fingers so your eyes met his, “I find myself in awe of your boldness. To say such a thing to me… You must think yourself very brave.” You bit your lip, suppressing the smile threatening to break free. “I thought you liked my boldness, my king.”

“I do,” he admitted, a rare hint of indulgence creeping into his voice. His thumb brushed gently across your bottom lip, his tone growing darker, silkier. “But such audacity cannot go unanswered.”

Without another word, he guided you back down—slowly, deliberately—until your lips hovered once more over the very place you had so brazenly mocked. “Now,” he commanded softly, the regal weight of his voice settling over you like a velvet shroud, “be a good little thing… and finish what you started.”

And as you obeyed—lips and tongue working to draw out every sound you loved to hear—he let out a quiet, breathless laugh, the warmth of it brushing against the air. Dusty, indeed. You would pay for that.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Thranduil, the proud and dignified King of the Woodland Realm, is not a man easily shaken. He has faced down dragons, orcs, and the endless burdens of ruling for centuries—but this… this is new in what you pulled upon him tonight.

The soft golden glow of candlelight bathes the royal chambers, flickering across the elegant lines of his body. His long, silver-blond hair spills over his shoulders as he reclines against the silken sheets, all smooth muscle and effortless grace. His crown—usually worn like a barrier between himself and the world—is absent. Here, with you, he allows himself to be unguarded. For once, he isn’t a king—just a man, completely at your mercy. And what mercy you give him.

Your mouth works over him with a skill that makes even Thranduil, with his centuries of composure, lose himself. His breath hitches—quiet but audible—as your tongue drags along the sensitive underside of his length. One of his hands rests in your hair, long fingers splayed over your scalp, while the other lazily strokes the curve of your jaw, guiding you but never forcing. He is indulgent—until you push him too far.

And you do. Right when he’s on the cusp of letting a rare, pleased sound escape his lips, you stop—his eyes, half-lidded with pleasure, snap open to find you staring at him with a glimmer that immediately puts him on edge. He knows that look.

Then, with all the audacity of someone who clearly values danger, you dramatically cough into your hand. Fake cough. “Sorry, love—” you murmur, your voice dripping with playful innocence, “It’s a little dusty down here.” The room falls into stunned silence.

For a moment—just a moment—Thranduil does not react. His expression is perfectly blank, as though he is trying to process the sheer disrespect you’ve just committed against his very clean, very regal self. And then—his jaw clenches.The hand tangled in your hair tightens—not painfully, but firmly—tipping your head back so you’re forced to look directly into those impossibly sharp, icy-blue eyes. His gaze burns with a dangerous glint, one that promises retribution.

“…Dusty?” His voice is smooth, silk over steel, but there’s an edge lurking beneath it. A dangerous calm. “You dare.” There is no dust—you both know it. This is Thranduil—everything about him is immaculate, from the gleaming marble of his palace to his flawless body. Yet, here you are, mocking the Elvenking while on your knees, no less.

He tilts his head slightly, a slow, elegant motion that makes the long strands of his silver hair shift over his shoulders. His lips curve into the faintest of smirks—dangerous, calculating. “I invite you to repeat that,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into something lower, silkier, and entirely too calm. Oh, you’re in trouble now.

He releases your hair—only to trail his fingers lightly down the side of your neck, brushing over the sensitive skin with deceptive gentleness. His nails scrape lightly in their wake, sending a shiver down your spine. “It seems,” he continues in that dangerous purr, “you have mistaken my patience for leniency.”

His gaze drifts lower—slow, deliberate—before meeting yours again. His voice is velvet-dipped authority when he speaks next. “Since you find the air here… unsatisfactory, perhaps I should remind you precisely who you kneel before.” Without another word, he shifts forward—a graceful, fluid motion that leaves no doubt as to who is in control. You barely have time to breathe before his hand is on your chin, tipping your face up, his thumb brushing along your lower lip.

His expression is calm—too calm—but his eyes? His eyes burn with the promise of vengeance. “Let us see,” he muses quietly, “how much of your cheek remains… when I’m through with you.” And oh—he means it.

Play with fire, melleth nîn, and you will burn. “If it is too dusty for you, my love… perhaps I should have you remain down there a while longer. Until you have adjusted.” His smirk is infuriatingly elegant. And you— you know exactly what you’ve done.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond, ever composed and regal, had been thoroughly immersed in the intimate pleasure of your touch—his body tense beneath your hands, his breath controlled but growing heavier with each passing moment. His long fingers, usually so steady in their grace, now tangled gently in your hair as you worked him with deliberate care, your mouth a warm haven against the cool air of his chamber.

The Elf-lord rarely allowed himself to be undone, but with you—oh, with you—he did not resist. He savored every sensation you offered him, his head tilting back slightly, yet black -threaded hair cascading down his back as a soft sigh slipped from his lips. You knew precisely how to unravel him, slow and patient, until the weight of his centuries-old control began to fray beneath your affection. And then—you struck.

Pausing mid-act, you released him from your mouth, sat back just enough to meet his gaze with a glint of wicked mischief in your eyes. With all the audacity in the world, you raised a hand delicately to your lips and coughed—an exaggerated, melodramatic sound, as if you had spent hours breathing in the dust of ancient scrolls in his study. “Sorry, love,” you said, your voice rich with playful teasing, “it’s a little dusty down here.” The room fell utterly silent.

For a breathless moment, Elrond simply stared at you—his expression unreadable, but his lips parted slightly as if he could not quite believe the words that had left your mouth. His keen, discerning eyes, bright and sharp as starlight, held yours in a gaze so intense it sent a shiver down your spine.

It was true—he was immaculate. Always. From the polished leather of his boots to the silk of his robes, though right now he just in silky open robe and certainly in the more intimate areas you now so boldly teased. The very idea that you would dare to call that dusty—when he took the utmost care of himself—was nothing short of blasphemous.

A flicker of something dangerous—amused, yet wholly unyielding—crossed his face. His brows arched ever so slightly, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smile, though his voice, when he spoke, was low and measured.

“Dusty?” he repeated, each syllable laced with an elegant disbelief. “You are bold indeed, meleth nín…” His hand, still resting in your hair, shifted subtly—fingers curling just a fraction tighter, as if to remind you precisely who you were teasing. “And here I thought your tongue could be put to far better use than… mockery.”

That soft, velvety voice sent heat pooling low in your stomach. You knew you were playing a dangerous game—a game where Elrond, with all his patience and centuries of restraint, would let you win only so much before he decided to turn the tide. He leaned forward then, the warmth of his body brushing yours as he tilted your chin up with the back of his knuckles, forcing you to hold his gaze. His face was serene—too serene—but the heat in his eyes betrayed him.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, voice like silk and steel entwined, “you require a more thorough… demonstration to remind you how well I tend to what is mine.” Oh, you had awakened something now. And judging by the way his grip firmed against you—possessive, yet achingly tender—you would be learning that lesson very soon.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

Your mouth, warm and eager, had been working him into a state of breathless bliss. His hands, always so steady in the forge, were tangled in your hair, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths. For all his grace and composure in public, in private, he was putty in your hands—shivering under every slow, deliberate movement of your mouth. And then—you did it. You stopped. Dramatically.

Pulling back just enough to lock eyes with him, your face the picture of pure mischief. You brought a hand delicately to your mouth and let out the most exaggerated, theatrical cough you could muster. “Sorry, love,” you said, voice dripping with mock concern. “It’s a little dusty down here.” The room hung in silence.

Celebrimbor blinked once. Twice. His lips parted slightly, as if his brain was trying and failing to process the sheer cheek of your words. His usually sharp, calculating mind—capable of crafting the most intricate designs in Middle-earth—had utterly stalled.

“…Dusty?” he repeated, his voice uncharacteristically high, disbelief etched into every syllable. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, it was as if you had spoken to him in some foreign, incomprehensible tongue. “I—It’s not—I am not—”

His hands fell away from your hair as he glanced down at himself, as if to confirm that, no, there was absolutely nothing remotely dusty about him—least of all there. His skin was smooth, immaculate, and had he not just bathed less than an hour ago? He was an Elf, for Eru’s sake, and Elves did not get dusty.

And yet… here you were. Calling him dusty. His ears, those delicately pointed tips, flushed a pale pink—an unintentional betrayal of how flustered you had made him. He inhaled sharply, a sound caught between indignation and disbelief. “I—this—that’s impossible.”

You bit your lip to hold back a snicker, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you. You weren’t sorry. Not even a little bit.

His mouth opened again as if he intended to present an impassioned, logical defense of his cleanliness, but no words came out. For once in his long life, the Lord of Eregion was utterly speechless.

And then—you saw it. That spark in his silver-gray eyes. The slow shift from shock to something else. Something far more dangerous. “Oh…” His voice dropped an octave, smooth as polished mithril. “Dusty, is it?” Your stomach flipped at the sudden change in his tone.

Without another word, he reached forward and grasped your chin, tilting your face upward. There was no trace of his earlier fluster—only the slow, deliberate curve of his mouth as he considered you with a heated, wicked gleam in his eyes.

“You’re awfully bold for someone on their knees,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. “Perhaps I should give you a better reason to lose your breath, since you seem so… easily distracted.”

And oh—he did. By the time he was through with you, there wasn’t a breath left in your lungs. Dusty or not, he was going to make sure you never forgot just how clean and thorough he could be.

[ariascoven]

⟡ LOST BUNNY

PAIRING : salem!agatha harkness & reader

SUMMARY : a simple walk through the dark woods of salem leads to an unexpected encounter and forbidden feelings

CONTENT + WARNINGS : female reader. both are 18. set in 1693, after agatha killed her coven. petnames (dear, pretty girl & bunny). dialogue may be off for the 1600s. flirty agatha.

WORD COUNT : 4.1k

AO3 | MASTERLIST | PART TWO | C.AI BOT

You were a young resident of Salem, Massachusetts. The year was 1693 and it was winter, the soft snow covering the entirety of the town. Ignoring your mother's voice claiming it was too dangerous to leave the house so late and in that weather, you grabbed your coat and closed the door behind you. Being welcomed by the dark night sky and shimmering stars above, you closed your eyes as the cold air hit your skin and made you shiver. You walked through the dark forest humming a random tune while admiring the way pure white covered the trees beautifully. Without a doubt, your favorite time of the year. You could faintly hear owls and crickets creating a soothing symphony around you. People would call you crazy if they saw you like that, taking a stroll at night without a care in the world. Until you heard a strange noise coming from behind the bushes. You jumped, startled, eyes darting around as you searched for the source of the sound, hoping it was just a small animal.

A beautiful young woman appeared from behind the bushes, a frown lingering on her lips as she aggressively hit the leaves and branches in her way as if they had personally attacked her. You recognized her; Agatha Harkness, the witch who killed her own mother alongside her coven only a few months ago. Everyone in Salem was terrified of the girl, and you’ve heard the stories about her more times than one could count. However, for some unknown reason, you weren't afraid of her. Nothing could ever make you believe that someone was simply born evil, as they claimed. Evil isn't born, it's made, you believed. Agatha, after muttering something about ‘damned bushes’ under her breath, finally noticed your presence. She glanced at you up and down with an unreadable expression on her face. “Ah, my apologies.” She dusted off her dress and fixed her disheveled dark hair. “Did I startle you?”

“Ah, well… a little.” Your words came out as a quiet confession, a hand flying to your chest in an attempt to calm your racing heart. The witch had a small, amused smile on her face. With a raised eyebrow, she gracefully and slowly walked towards you. “Why would a girl like you be out, walking through the woods at this time of the night?” She mused, eyes wandering over your body once more. “Don't you know what lurks in the dark, my dear?” Her voice had a sarcastic and menacing tone to it, eyes narrowed the tiniest bit.

“What does? You?" Your voice was stern but not unkind as you spoke with a challenging glint in your eyes, head tilting to the side and arms crossing over your chest. The expression on her face shifted to a teasing smirk. She couldn't deny that she was amused by your attitude. Mirroring your movements, she tilted her own head as her piercing gaze made you feel incredibly small, like a mouse. “Oh, no. I'm no forest monster.” She cooed in a low and somewhat raspy voice, a small chuckle falling from her lips. Your eyes narrowed, mirroring her actions by looking at her up and down with curiosity. You took a careful step closer, arms uncrossing and falling to your sides, fingers fiddling with your dress.

“But you are a witch.”

She leaned lazily against a large, tall tree, playing with the leaves hanging from one of the branches, tongue darting out to wet her lips as she hummed in agreement. You could see she has the same challenging glint in her eyes that you did, and it was reflecting right back at you. If you said the way she looked at you didn't send shivers down your spine, you would be an awful liar. “You’re just so perceptive, aren't you? That's correct, I am a witch.” She purred, her voice laced with pride and a hint of danger. “And that scares you, doesn't it?”

But she already knew the answer.

At least, she thought she knew.

“Well, should it scare me?” You clapped back without hesitation, sounding anything but frightened. Your hands met behind your back as you swayed your body from side to side, a habit of yours. The woman looked surprised but also entertained by the unexpected sharpness in your words. Being so terribly used to people running away immediately after finding out she's a witch or recognizing her, she never expected to hear such a bold response to the topic, not in a million years. She brought a hand to her chin in thought, eyes narrowing as she stared at you, the smile on her face never faltering. “You are a feisty one, hm?” She pointed out, circling around you slowly and making you feel trapped and vulnerable, your heart thumping against your chest. “Most people would be running away pathetically and praying for their lives by now, you see.”

“Maybe I'm not like most people.” You spoke confidently, following her movements as she paced in circles around you. You played with your entwined fingers behind your back, your piercing eyes never breaking contact with the woman’s. “Maybe I’m not afraid of you, Harkness.” Upon hearing your response, the young witch tapped her fingers against her chin thoughtfully, gaze softening the slightest bit for a quick second at the sound of her name leaving your lips. For whatever reason, she enjoyed the way it rolled off your tongue, so gracefully and sweet like honey. The way she moved was too fast for your brain to comprehend and in the blink of an eye she was already standing right in front of you, a cold hand reaching to grab your chin, forcing your head up to look at her with a gentle but firm touch.

“No,” she muttered, blue eyes boring into yours. “You definitely aren't.” She paused for what seemed a thousand years before speaking up again. “You know who I am.” Her voice was full of wonder, the words coming out as an affirmation rather than a question. Why would this girl act so nonchalantly and with such confidence towards her while knowing who she was and the dangers she could cause? She had never felt this curious about something, so amused by someone in her entire life. She wasn't sure if she loved the thrilling sensation, or if she absolutely despised it and wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible.

“Who doesn't?”

The sound of your voice brought her attention back to the situation at hand rather than the questions floating through her head. She noticed the way your eyes were locked on hers with no sight of fear inside them. Surprised by the lack of the usual look of terror, she felt her breath catching in her throat as she slowly withdrew her fingers from your chin. “You aren't scared of me at all, are you?” As she spoke, you noticed her voice had lowered. There was something about it that you couldn't quite place, but it made your heart beat faster than it ever did. You bit your lower lip before shaking your head. “You're just an 18 year old girl, like me.” You had expected her to get angry, annoyed at your words.

Instead, you watched as she let out an amused scoff, her expression a mixture of surprise and intrigue. If it was ignorance or foolishness that made you say that, she wasn't sure. Her gaze flickered to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “I’m no ordinary girl.” Her fingers reached up to touch you again, leaving a trail of goosebumps as they made their way along your neck, her nails grazing your jawline in a soft caress. She stared at you intently, eyes darkening as she admired the fearlessness in your eyes. There was no doubt a part of her was irritated by your words, but the way they left your lips with such nonchalance turned them somewhat interesting. “I’m not like you,” she continued, fingers traveling back to your cheek. “Don't make the mistake of thinking I am just because we are the same age. Don't be so naive.” Her eyes narrowed as she pulled back, taking a few steps back. “You're a strange one.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at her words, a frown falling upon your lips. You stepped back as well, arms crossing over your chest once again. “You're a strange one.” You almost growled, annoyed by the condescending tone she gave you throughout the entire conversation you've had. Agatha felt a pang of irritation flow through her. Why were you being so calm in her presence? She was confused, no one ever dared to speak so casually to her the way you did, especially not after the coven incident. “Oh, I see, so I am the strange one. Well, I’m not the one walking around the dark forest at night, all alone.” Your eyebrows shot up and you let out a scoff, hands moving to your hips.

“Ah, but you are here, in the dark forest, at night, all alone. Aren't you?” You nagged, and she could almost taste the sarcasm dripping from your voice. A smirk formed in the corner of your mouth as you watched the confused expression on Agatha’s face, but the confusion was quickly replaced by a mischievous grin. She brought her hands behind her back, clasping them together the same way you were a few moments ago. You weren't sure if she did that unconsciously or to purposely annoy you, but knowing her — or rather, the rumors about her, you decided it was the latter. Her body invaded your personal space once more, somehow even closer than before. So close, you could feel her breath on your skin. “I suppose I am, yes.” Her voice took on a sultry tone as she nodded in agreement, eyes glancing around and feigning innocence. “But I can defend myself, can you?”

“Can you, really?” Your voice was sickly sweet. Of course she did — you knew she did. But after seeing the way she reacted to your words, you decided to tease her some more. Maybe it was a stupid idea, putting yourself in danger just for the sake of seeing the Agatha Harkness so annoyed by the things you said. But, oh boy, was it entertaining.

Agatha didn't know if she loved or hated the way you turned her own questions against her. She clicked her tongue, eyes narrowing slightly before returning back to normal. “I am a witch, I can easily take you down.” You sparked something in her; interest, perhaps. She leaned down to your level, eyes flickering to your lips once more. “Don't doubt me, dear.” She was standing terribly close to you, the tips of her boots touching yours. There was a hint of teasing and defiance in her voice, curious to see what your next bold response would be. Your voice was honeyed as you spoke, the proximity between the two of you letting Agatha feel your warm breath on her face.

“But you won't do that. Take me down. Right?” Your question came out sounding more like a fact, and it was clear you had no doubts about your answer. You weren't afraid. There was a pause as Agatha’s smile faltered. Deep down, she knew it was true. As much as she would like acting the way every person in town thought about her — evil and cruel, just to prove you wrong, she knew she couldn't. You had captured her attention. She longed to know more about this young woman who saw her not as a monster, but as an ordinary 18 year old girl. This woman who wasn't afraid to wander around at night through the dark forest on a freezing winter night as snow fell from the sky. She was conflicted. Her tongue slid across her bottom lip, the action causing your attention to shift slightly. Eyes roamed over her face as you studied her features — if you didn't know better, didn't know her, you’d think she was sculpted by angels. Or, an angel herself. Your heart skipped a beat as her blue eyes met yours.

“No…” she said finally, sounding unsure. Your cheeks reddened slightly under her gaze and the way she looked for something in your face, but you weren't sure what. Perhaps she was still trying to find any signs of fear, unable to accept the fact someone wasn't scared of her. “What an odd one you are, hm? What even is your name, lost bunny?” Eyebrows drew together at the name, but the way she said it caused a flutter in your stomach that you would never admit out loud to anyone. You took a moment to respond, your name falling from your lips as a quiet mutter. Your family and friends always warned you to not reveal your name to witches, but something about this witch in specific made you want her to know your name, as strange as it may be. She let out a long hum, repeating your name quietly under her breath and savoring the way it rolled off her tongue. The way it fell from her lips only helped intensify the feeling in your stomach and you needed to remind yourself of who she was. “I see… it suits you well, pretty girl.” She purred, cold fingers tilting your chin up and forcing your gaze to her as she smirked down at you.

“Pretty girl?” You questioned, voice laced with sarcasm. But your cheeks were a deeper shade of red now, secretly enjoying the compliment. If she was toying with you or being genuine was a mystery, but you convinced yourself it was the latter for the sake of your self-esteem. Agatha noticed the pink dusting your cheeks, a knowing grin forming on her lips. “Mm, yes. Pretty.” She said slowly, her voice lower than usual. “A pretty thing like you shouldn't be out here all alone, wouldn't you agree, bunny?” Her hand moved from your chin to your cheek, cupping it and rubbing the soft skin with her thumb almost tenderly. That damned name again. Bunny. Of course, you would never tell a soul how much you enjoyed being called that. Stubbornly, you scoffed, rolling your eyes and taking a step back, causing her hand to drop from your face. You almost regretted it, missing her touch. “Please. There is no danger around here. Except for you.”

An unpleasant frown appeared on her face as you pulled back from her touch. She stepped forward, a hand finding its way to your waist and gripping it tightly, pulling you against her. “You are in no danger from me.” She had expected you to pull away, to yell at her, but instead, she watched as your eyes widened at the gesture, your body shivering under her touch. Even though she hated feeling this way, she thought your demeanor was endearing, to say the least. “Are you cold, pretty bunny? She asked, voice dripping with false innocence. “Or is it just me making you tremble?” She loved the way you reacted to her touch, the fact she had such an effect on you only served to make her more intrigued.

“That's ridiculous!” You yelped. Feeling a weird mix of annoyance and something else, you escaped from her grasp, stumbling as you took multiple steps back. The disappointment in Agatha’s face as you backed away from her was obvious. “What are you even doing here at these hours, hm? Why am I the only one being questioned?” Your words came out in a hurry, your voice becoming high pitched and taking in a slightly panicked tone. Agatha tilted her head, finding your sudden outburst entertaining and stupidly adorable. After letting out a short, amused chuckle, she replied simply.

“Calm down, bunny.” She held her hands up in a mock surrender, a smirk plastered on her lips as she slowly approached you again. Finding it pointless to back away once more, knowing she will always find her way in front of you and that running is not an option, you gave in. You simply stood there, allowing her to invade your personal space — something she clearly enjoyed doing. “I’m just walking. Clearing my head a bit.” That seemed far from the truth. Your eyes scanned her features; the side smirk she had on her face, the mischievous look in her eyes. Why did her voice drip with sarcasm when she said that?

“You’re lying.”

She hummed at your words and her finger tilted your head up. Even as she tried to hide it, she was clearly surprised by your bluntness. You internally cursed yourself for the things you felt under her condescending gaze — at the same time it made you feel like you were nothing, it made you feel like you were everything; it made your heart thump against your chest wildly. Your whole body burned at the attention. “Oh, really, now?” She raised an eyebrow at you, her voice slightly colder. “And what makes you think I'm lying, pretty girl?” The nickname infuriated you. It was like she knew the effect she was having on you. No, she did. There was no way she didn't, the way the faintest hint of a smirk appeared on her lips the moment your cheeks reddened more.

“Well-! First of all, do not me that!” Your voice came out as a high pitched squeal that made you even more embarrassed. Agatha, on the other hand, held back a laugh. “What’s wrong, bunny? Do you not like it?” Her voice was sultry as she reached to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, teasing her fingers against the skin of your cheek. This time, you found the strength to push her away. The impact sent her stumbling back a few steps, shock splattered all over her face at your actions. A look of surprise formed on your own face, mouth opening and closing in a failed attempt to speak. “I’m sorry, I-” You finally managed to blurt out, voice laced with surprise. Then she laughed. Your eyes widened even further at the sound. You fully had expected her to get rid of you right then and there, to just blast you with magic — surely Agatha Harkness would find being pushed like that unacceptable. It wasn't a sarcastic laugh, no, it was genuine.

“Oh, my goodness! You really are a feisty one! “ She exclaimed, clasping her hands together in amusement. “What a delightful display of braveness, pretty girl.” She purred, purposely pushing your buttons now. Your eyes narrowed and you opened your mouth to speak, but she cut you off before you could even mutter a single letter. “I know, you hate being called that. Allegedly, of course.” You felt your body tremble with a mixture of anger and something you couldn't quite place. “But do you really, bunny?” She leaned impossibly closer, so close you felt her nose touching yours. Those eyes — the most beautiful pair of blue orbs you ever had the pleasure to see, to look into. Your mouth felt dry out of a sudden, your tongue darting out to graze across your bottom lip. Then her gaze darted down and your heart did a flip as you watched her mimic the action. You felt your own gaze involuntarily focusing on her lips. They looked soft. So, so soft. You clenched your hands into fists as you tried to control yourself and hold back from the urge to touch them.

You wanted it to stop.

Your knees going weak.

The butterflies in your stomach.

Your head going dizzy, spinning.

Your heart crazily thumping inside your chest.

The warmth on your cheeks that grew hotter within every second.

All of it just had to stop. As soon as possible.

You cleared your throat and stepped back, putting distance between you. She looked at you with a mocking pout, feigning sadness at the rejection. “I should head back now. Someone stole my time and now it's getting too late to walk through the woods.” Your voice dripped with disdain and sarcasm as you turned your back to her, peeking over your shoulder for just a second before looking ahead, decided to get away from this woman who made you feel unwanted things.

“It was already late before, dear.”

You groaned at her words, too tired for her teasing. You kept walking, though a part of you wished you would stay a bit longer. When you looked back and saw nothing - or rather, no witch - behind you, you let out a regretful sigh. Why were you feeling like this? Of course, you knew about your attraction towards women. And you weren't disgusted by it, nor afraid. When you accidentally got caught having your first kiss with a girl who lived near you, the rumors spiraled. That happened years ago, and in all honesty, most people seemed to have forgotten it by now — maybe they had gotten over it, maybe they just pretended to not remember. But there were still people who refused to talk to you ever since. You still heard whispers and received dirty looks wherever you went. You couldn't deny the whole thing was difficult the first few years. Being constantly treated like an inferior being due to who you were hurt, and it stung. You eventually learned to ignore it, but the bitterness and anger still lived within you. You could never forget that.

You kept walking, and walking, and walking. You rubbed your arms as you tried to keep yourself warm underneath the thin coat you had on. The weather had no mercy towards the poor, you thought. You breathed out when you saw the exit of the forest, knowing you would be in the warmth of your home soon. Well, as warm as it could be.

“Are you sure you don't want my company, dear?” Confusion splatters across your features at the sound of Agatha’s voice, as she's nowhere to be seen. You turned and twirled and glanced around as you tried to find her. “Over here.” Hearing the sing-song voice coming from above, you tipped your head back, mouth falling open in surprise at the sight — Agatha, sitting on the highest branch of a tree while holding an apple nonchalantly. You walked closer and stood right underneath the tree.

“How did you-”

“I’m a witch.” She cut you off.

You huffed at the overused response as you wrapped your arms around your freezing torso. “Is that your excuse for everything you do?” You asked with a raised brow, watching as a smirk curled on her lips. She hummed in agreement, taking a big bite from the apple before throwing another one down at you. You yelped, moving out of the way so the fruit wouldn't hit you in the head. Her smirk turned into a grin as she watched the scowl on your face. “A small gift, just for you.” Her voice was honeyed with fake innocence as she winked at you.

Ignoring the way your cheeks grew hotter at her wink, you crouched down to grab the fruit and shoved it under your coat. “Now, tell me, how do I know it's not poisoned? That you're not trying to put a spell on me?” She cackled at your words.

“Tell me, why would I put a spell on you?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek before huffing in annoyance and turning to leave. She had a point. “Goodbye, Harkness.” Then you let out a surprised gasp when you felt the coldness you were feeling disappear all of a sudden. Looking down at yourself, you were met with a fuzzy, thick coat embracing you in a warm hug. It was a marvelous upgrade from that ragged piece of cloth you were forced to call a coat — the fabric was so thin you could barely notice it was there, and as if that wasn't enough, it had holes all over. Of course, you would never complain. You were the one who gave your mother your good coat; not that it was actually a good coat, but it was better than the one she had.

With confusion written all over your features, you tipped your head back to glance up at Agatha. However, there was no one there. Eyebrows furrowed at the lack of a smug young witch sprawled on top of the tree branch. When you felt someone’s breath tickling against your ear, your heart nearly stopped. “You're welcome, pretty girl.” You tried turning around to face her, but all you saw was a purple smoke disappearing into thin air. Your fragile hands held onto the coat tightly as you just stood there for a moment. That was… strangely nice. Thoughts filled your mind as you made your way back home, trying to make up an excuse to tell your mother about the new coat.

Wondering if you would ever see Agatha again.

Wondering why you wanted to see her again.

[nrvcntr]

My Lover is Like

hey remember how i said i'd write that fic about tav coming from a noble background and having a riddle that someone has to answer to date her and no one ever gets it right and then years later she tells gale and he knows immediately? anyway here it is

There are certain scents that bring back memories - warm grass on a summer’s day, fresh linens placed on a bed, and of course, the sickly sticky burn of a bottle of plum fizz, shared among friends. Astarion recoiled after he sniffed the open bottle, his nose scrunched in horror.

“You can’t be serious,” He said.

“You’re being dramatic. It isn’t that bad,” You replied.

You had found a crate full of bottles on your last trek and dragged it back to the campsite, anticipating a heroic welcome at your generous haul. It was nearing sunset and it seemed as good of a time as any to see what the contents of the crate were. Upon cracking the crate open, your eyes lit up at the sight of bottles on bottles of plum fizz. This had been the drink that defined your adolescence as a noble in Baldur’s Gate. It immediately brought back memories of revelry, singing songs next to bonfires, and a young Wyll Ravengard throwing up in the street. You pulled out a bottle and handed it to Astarion, who had reacted like a man who never knew the joys of noble debauchery.

“It smells like it could raise something from the dead and then kill it again,” He said, handing the bottle back to you.

“Look, we used to drink this all the time when we were kids. It’s like a rite of passage among children of nobility in Baldur’s Gate.”

Wyll, overhearing the conversation, came over to see what you were so impassioned about. At the sight of the bottle in your hand, he recoiled like someone had just smacked him upside the head.

“No. Get that thing away!” He shouted, shaking his hands.

“Oh, stop it. I remember you used to beg to play fizzy hands when we were younger,” You said.

“Fizzy hands.” Astarion said flatly, “What sort of braindead activity is fizzy hands?”

You raised your brow to Wyll, who explained that “fizzy hands” was the beloved drinking game of your youth, where a small magical seal was applied to two bottles of plum fizz, which an individual would hold. The seal wouldn’t break until both bottles were consumed.

“Fizzy hands leads to fizzy guts, which leads to…a fizzy mess, in the street. You couldn’t pay me to take a sip of that now.” Wyll said.

You looked around the campsite and gestured to Gale, who had been beginning the preparations for dinner so intently that he hadn’t noticed the failing case you were trying to make in favor of plum fizz.

“It’s nice to know that your taste in wine is nearly as bad as your taste in men,” Astarion mused, causing you to shoot him a farcefully menacing look. Your affections for Gale were no secret, and the two of you had shared an intimate moment in the Weave, but you were unsure of your current status, or even whether he really returned your feelings. You had begun to write it off as a passing fancy, something to daydream about during long days of traveling. Though, there was no hiding how much you enjoyed being around the man, your conversations often dragging well into the night after everyone else had fallen asleep. You had never met anyone else who seemed to understand you the way that Gale did, or whose company you enjoyed nearly half as much.

“You’re a man of taste, and you’re knowledgeable about wine. Can you settle a debate for us?” You asked Gale when he walked over.

“A glass of wine sounds delightful this evening. What’s the topic of debate?” He asked.

“Astarion and Wyll may not be as cultured as you and I. Just tell them about the fine properties of this blend,” You said, trying to communicate ‘please, say this tastes good’ in your expression as you poured a glass and handed it over.

Gale swirled the glass and his eyes widened at the scent. To his credit, he took an honest sip and racked his brain for something kind to say about it. “It has notes of…berry. And cinnamon. And…” He couldn’t do it. “Acid. It tastes like it would eat a hole through a table if you spilled some on it. Do the youth of Baldur’s Gate really ingest this willingly?” He asked.

You threw your hands up.

“Poor taste, the lot of you. It cannot be helped.”

After dinner, Astarion sauntered over to you, two glasses of plum fizz in hand.

“A drink together. Sort of a truce,” He said.

You were suspicious, but took the glass in hand. The spicy, bitter, sweet, and confusing concoction ran down your throat and made your stomach feel hot. Astarion’s glass was already empty, and he poured you both another. By the time you realized that Astarion had been pouring his drinks out to get you to continue drinking, you were drunk enough to begin telling stories of your youth in Baldur’s Gate.

“So, after Wyll threw up in the street -”

“Can you please stop talking about that. I have plenty of embarrassing stories I could tell at your expense, you know. Lock.” Wyll said pointedly.

“Lock?” Shadowheart asked.

You covered your face, feeling a burning sensation creep up your cheeks.

“What none of you realize is that our beloved companion here was once the most eligible bachelorette in Baldur’s Gate nobility. Her family was wealthy and she was beautiful, intelligent, and charming…”

“Whatever happened?” You asked, making yourself laugh.

“However, she never took a partner. Singles of all creeds, genders, and races tried, but no one could get through to her. So, she began to be known as ‘the lock of Baldur’s Gate’. And, what opens a lock but a key? And the key to her heart was to answer a riddle,” Wyll explained with a dramatic flourish.

“A riddle? How droll. That’s a little…presumptuous, don’t you think?” Astarion asked. You shrugged.

“Why a riddle?” Karlach asked.

“I didn’t want to end up with someone who was a complete dunce,” You joked. It was a half-truth, since the whole truth would have disrupted the mood of revelry among your companions.

“Well, do we get to hear it?” Shadowheart asked.

You leaned back and looked at the faces of your companions. Wyll shook his head, having heard this question lamented among the singles of Baldur’s Gate throughout his youth.

“What is loving Taglath like?” You asked, the question rolling off of your tongue like a well-rehearsed line.

“What a stupid question!” Astarion huffed, rolling his eyes. He had no idea what the answer could be.

“Oh, do you know the answer, then? Since it’s so stupid,” You said, unable to wipe the smirk off of your face. It always delighted you to stump someone with the riddle, and it delighted you even more to watch them struggle with it.

“What is loving like?” You repeated, prodding Astarion for the answer.

“Darling, loving you is like poison seeping through my veins,” Astarion said, pretending to be a romantic poet, his hand gripping his chest, “- and it kills me to be parted from you,” He added, taking your hand in his icy cold grasp.

“Very sweet, but no,” You responded.

Everyone laughed, getting a little chuckle out of Astarion’s foolishness.

“Oh come on, it’s not like any of you geniuses know the answer,” Astarion said, raising a brow to the group. He looked around at their curious faces and wonders aloud, “Do you?”

“Uh, I don’t remember my childhood. Much less silly poems,” Shadowheart said, but thought about it for a moment. “Is it like a rose? Something beautiful out of the dirt?”

You shook your head.

“Chk. This is a waste of time,” Lae’zel said..

“C’mon, Lae’zel, what do you think loving is like?” Wyll probed, the githyanki rolling her eyes at him.

Lae’zel replied, “Like a well-won battle, your enemies dead at your feet.” There is a pause before she asked, “Did I answer correctly?”

“No,” You replied.

Karlach wiped her hands on her pants, not waiting to be asked. “You’re barking up the wrong tree if you ask me, solider,” She said, “But I’ll give it a try. Is it like a cool drink of water on a hot night?”

“That’s sweet, Karlach. It’s own little poem, even. But no,” You said.

“Well what’s the answer?” Astarion huffed, getting frustrated at this little display of ignorance.

“Salamander!” Wyll interjected, snapping his fingers like he cracked the code. This made everyone crack up, to his dismay. “No, because - I mean, uh - well, it’s better than corpses!” He insisted. This only made everyone laugh more.

In this revelry, no one even thought to glance at Gale, who had been watching the scene with a bemused little smile on his face.

There was a lull when the laughter died down, the silence of everyone taking a breath after a hearty laugh.

Through the silence, two words cut through the air like a knife directly to your heart.

“The Sun.”

You gasped (a reaction that, in retrospect, embarrassed you with how dramatic it was). You stared at the speaker, Gale’s dark eyes glinting in the firelight. You felt you must have looked ridiculous, your jaw agape.

In all of the years of telling the riddle, no one had ever known the answer. The key to your heart, you joked. But it had been more serious than you ever let on. As each suitor fumbled through wrong answers, it had only solidified your belief that true love would never be yours. That you would eventually have to settle for someone who couldn’t really understand you.

It was like time stopped, the visions of your companions becoming a blur as Gale came into focus.

Gale, meanwhile, appeared to be blissfully unaware that he had just broken your brain (what was left of it, at least).

“That’s…right. How did you know?” You choked out, hardly above a whisper.

“It’s a very clever riddle. See, most would probably assume that the riddle is about the works of Taglath, whom is renowned as an iconic romantic poet. His works adorn his lover with brilliant metaphors that have captured readers since their inception,” Gale explained to the group, lecturing his never-be students.

“That’s probably why Gef Deldus spent one summer immersed in Taglath’s works,” Wyll recalled, chuckling, “He told everyone that he had solved the riddle. He was convinced you would be his bride by the end of the season. What was his answer?” He asked.

“Love is like a poem,” You replied, still dumbfounded by Gale’s answer.

“The education in Baldur’s Gate leaves much to be desired,” Gale snarked, then continued, “What most people don’t know is that Taglath’s most prominent muse was another poet named Alanis. Unfortunately, most of her work has been lost to history. Almost no complete works remain, and only fragments have been collected for publication. But in her most complete work, she compares her lover to the Sun. It’s a gorgeous poem about loving someone who burns brightly and the fears associated with taking a lover of prominence. Loving despite fear,” He said.

You wondered how it was possible that your body felt like it was on fire but also like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on you. Did none of your companions notice that you were going insane? The realization rocked you like an earthquake.

Gale Dekarios was not a passing fancy, someone to think about kissing when the option presented itself. He was neither a daydream nor a wet dream to pass the time at different hours. He was not the greatest friend you had ever had, the person who you most looked forward to speaking to each morning after you woke and each night before you went to bed. The person who you spoke about nothing and everything with, played games with, or just enjoyed a comfortable silence with. He was not your traveling companion, nor even an ally who had risked his life for you as you had done for him. It was impossible for Gale to be any one of those things because he was all of them all at once and so much more.

Oh, fuck, you realized, your knees ready to give way.

You were in love with him.

The sound of your companions laughing and chattering together mixed together and sounded like ocean waves. If anyone turned to ask you anything you probably would have just stared at them blankly. You attempted to take a step toward Gale and the drinks you had earlier in the night went to your head, sending you tumbling forward and onto the ground.

“Looks like the plum fizz kicked in. ‘Key’, maybe you should take the ‘lock’ to bed,” Shadowheart said to Gale.

You thought that if you closed your eyes, maybe the ground would swallow you up and you would never have to look at Gale again. Instead, you felt him help you to your feet, allowing you to lean against him as he walked you to your tent. You were desperate to know what was going through his mind - did he realize the gravity that he answer had?

“Easy now,” Gale said, helping you down onto your bedroll. He treated you gently, helping you to unlace your boots and get settled in under the blanket. You were sick to your stomach at being doted on by him and kept quiet, trying to focus on anything but the way he looked at you. He left for a moment and came back to bring you some water.

“Is there anything you need?” He asked.

You were quiet for a moment, then spoke.

“Gale?”

“Yes?”

“After we had that moment in the Weave…you mentioned that we shouldn’t talk about it then, with the orb being unstable and everything going on,” You said, then allowed yourself to lean into your own intoxication, asking what was truly on your mind. “Was that really the reason? Because if you don’t see me that way, you can tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings.” The words poured out of you too quickly for you to worry about sounding insecure. It was a lie, of course, that it wouldn’t hurt your feelings. Being rejected by Gale would be devastating.

Gale looked thoughtful, then recited the end of Alanis’s fragments of her poem about her lover.

“My lover is like the Sun, Brilliant and bright He eclipses me And yet I yearn

My lover is like the Sun Blinding and unyielding When he touches me I burn”

He placed his hand on your cheek, his gaze looking through you and into your soul. The two of you could say so much without a single word.

“Am I the Sun, or are you?” You asked.

Gale had loved the poem when he read it as a boy, and later thought of it often when he was with Mystra, trying to make sense of the reality of having a goddess for a lover. He had often wondered if he would ever have an identity outside of being Mystra’s chosen, or whether he would forever be tied to the Goddess. And if that was the case, why did the idea of it make him burn with jealousy?

However, the poem had taken on new meaning since he met you. He felt like the Sun, a ball of fire ready to explode in his chest at any moment. As badly as he wanted to hold you close, he knew that doing so would destroy you. Still, he wondered, might it be worth it to burn if he could have one moment of knowing what it was like to be yours entirely?

Or rather, were you the Sun? He was certainly transfixed by you, drawn to your brilliance. You, a mortal who dared to be more brilliant and enticing than his Goddess. Would following you lead him down the path to certain doom - or worse, would getting close to you lead you to your own demise? It was that thought that kept him up at night, wondering if he should escape in the night. To save you from himself, or at least get you as far away from the danger as possible.

Gale contemplated your question.

“I’m not sure,” He finally replied.

“I don’t know, either.”

You placed your hand on Gale’s, your gaze fixed on each other, searching for an answer in each other’s eyes. Neither of you could find it.

However, there was one thing that was clear to both of you: whether through flames of salvation or damnation, you would burn for each other.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

Pairing: Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Wife!Reader

Description: Y/n has been using the exterminations as a way to try and search for the soul of her earthly husband for years. What happens when she actually succeeds in finding him?

Warnings: Cannon typical violence and angst. Also uh,, not healthy. (The end is kinda fucked up)

Word Count: 2,411

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n slid the dark mask over her face, jiggling it slightly to make sure it had clicked properly into place. She had never wanted to be an exorcist, hated the very thought. When she had been alive, she was the type of human who felt bad about accidentally stepping on bugs. If she had had any other choice, she would’ve taken it but she didn’t and so Y/n tried her best to detach herself from the experience.

Exorcists were a handpicked group by Adam. If you weren’t one, you didn’t know about them and if you knew about them, you were fucked. Y/n’s entire existence in the peaceful afterlife had been turned on its head when she’d been chosen. Pulled out of normal day to day and pushed into harsh, year round training. There was nothing nice about it and nothing she could do. No one listened to a thing she said, not even Sera. Sometimes, Y/n caught herself wishing she’d just been sent to Hell instead.

There was, however, one small benefit to these yearly trips. While it was a pain to act like she was being more violent than she was on the field, a constant terror in her life that Adam and Lute would find out she’d been letting demons go, it also gave her the opportunity to search.

Y/n had been married in life. Her husband had been a criminal, one of the worst, something she hadn’t learned until after his death. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from loving him. Every day on earth she’d lived without him by her side had been abysmal. No other love was quite like his love.

When she had first arrived in Heaven, Y/n had searched everywhere for him. There had been no luck. It had been a foolish hope, she knew: looking for a serial killer among the blessed but, she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to hear him explain, wanted to understand. Most of all, though she tried not to think about this part, she wanted to give him a kiss. To throw her arms around his neck with abandon the way she did when they were young. She wanted to hear his voice, have him tell her he still loved her too and mean it. She wanted to know she hadn’t wasted her life, her one chance at a living love.

The gates opened and Y/n dove through with the hundreds of other exorcists. Their game was underfoot, their cat and mouse sadistic chase. For Y/n? The search was on.

----

Alastor watched as the exorcist descended upon him. He was feeling brave and stupid, empowered after his near win against Vox just a few weeks before. Cracking his knuckles, he wondered what the exorcist’s voice would sound like if added to his broadcast.

A wicked grin on his face, she hovered before him. Her wings flapped with great strength, sending gusts of wind Alastor’s way as she kept herself vertically in the air. Alastor simply looked down, pointedly away from the exorcist, and straightened his lapel with his hand that wasn’t holding his microphone. He was trying to make her angry. As she inched closer to him, Alastor assumed it had worked.

“Don’t see many of your lot around these parts this time of year.” he mused, checking his nail beds, “What can I help you with?”

There was a silence. Alastor looked up towards the angel, confused. Normally a blasé statement like that would have gotten a rise out of anyone intent on killing him. Instead, the lights of her eyes on the mask just stared at him. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground.

“Say that again.”

Her voice came out muffled and harsh through the mask, clearly altered by some equipment within. He laughed, taking a menacing step forward. Leaning down condescendingly, he conceded to her demand.

“How may I be of use?”

The exorcist was silent again. After a moment, Alastor shrugged. He straightened himself up again, his hands on top of his microphone as if it were a cane. He summoned his shadows.

“Well you’re certainly making this easy.”

His horns began to grow, throwing strange and menacing shadows across the walls of the ally way. Still, the angel stood there.

“It… it can’t be.” she mumbled under her breath.

Alastor raised his eyebrows.

“Can’t be who, darling?” he asked, feigning innocence, “The Radio Demon can’t be such a big name you folks up in Heaven hear my shows, can it?”

Alastor let out a laugh, taking a step forward as the exorcist tentatively took a step back.

“Oh who am I kidding, of course it is!” he exclaimed.

The exorcist took another step back as Alastor threw his microphone into the air, catching the center of its stand neatly in his outstretched hand. Her back hit the shadows he had put up to block the ally way and she frantically turned her head to the side, checking what it was she’d run into.

Alastor tsked her, walking up so they were just a few feet apart. Harshly, he used his microphone to turn his face to hers again.

“Don’t look away from me, dear. I might get jealous.”

“Were you married?” the exorcist asked suddenly.

Alastor froze in his tracks, his brow furrowed the slightest bit.

“Sorry if that’s weird.” she stuttered out, rubbing her arm holding the spear uncomfortably, “I just, well, I’ve been looking for my husband? He died in the early 1930s and well, he sounded a lot like you.”

Alastor’s heart dropped, crashing into his diaphragm. The angel watched him nervously as he removed his microphone from the side of her head. She let out a breath she’d been holding, something that was quickly taken in again as he used the end of his microphone to life her mask from her face.

It clattered harshly against the concrete as it fell from her face. Alastor’s eyes went wide. There was no doubt about it. Sure, she had a soft ethereal glow about her now, but hadn’t she always in a way? Sure, her hair was cropped around her ears and she was in armor. It didn’t matter, in an instant he knew. The shadows fell from around them, his horns shrunk back to their normal size.

“Y/n?”

“Alastor?” she asked back, just as breathless.

Slowly, she reached a hand out to his face and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it on instinct. Y/n’s spear clattered to the floor, her other hand finding his other cheek as she looked up at him in simple amazement.

“You…” gingerly, Alastor reached his free hand up, laying it on top of one of Y/n’s, “Of course you’ve been in Heaven this whole time. You were always so good, much too good for me.”

“Oh hush, Alastor.” Y/n scolded lightly, her eyes filling with tears, “You know I don’t like it when you put yourself down like that.”

“No, Y/n.” he let his microphone disappear, taking both her hands off his face and holding them intently in his own, “You don’t understand. I did terrible things when I was alive, I still do them now. There is a reason I am down here.”

“I know.” she responded almost immediately.

“No, y-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt but Al, I do know.” Y/n cut him off, “You were killed hurrying a body hun, hard not to. Plus, when the police searched the house they told me what they’d, um, found in the basement freezer.”

Y/n chose her words carefully, her eyes averted. When she looked back at Alastor, he was still smiling yes but, there was something confused about him too. They had grown up together. She had always known exactly what was going on in that head of his. Well, most of the time anyways.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?” Alastor asked, “After everything, after… God, how long did I leave you up there alone?”

“About thirty years.” Y/n shrugged.

There was a moment of silence. A question tugged at Alastor’s tongue, one he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer to. Still, time was running out. The screams of demons being attacked were becoming more and more infrequent. He didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance.

“Did your new husband make it up to heaven with you?”

Y/n’s eyes went wide.

“New husba- Alastor, I never remarried.”

“Why not? You deserved to be treated well, Y/n. To have had a good life. Why waste it all on me?”

“I loved you. I still do.”

Y/n knew it was a bad idea, knew the risks if any other exorcist in the area heard her. Still, she couldn’t help but feel it would be worth it to die, knowing she’d found Alastor and that he knew she still loved him.

“You find anyone down here yourself?” Y/n asked awkwardly after a moment, looking around the ally.

Alastor took a step forward, closing what little space had been left between them. Like he had done it a thousand times before, because he had done it a thousand times before, he raised a hand to Y/n’s cheek and turned her face to his. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, she stared up at him.

“No one.” Alastor shook his head, “There’s no one but you.”

A horn sounded from a ways away and Y/n turned up to the sky. Waves of exorcists were flying over head, going back to the portal, back to heaven. Y/n took a step back, Alastor’s hand falling from her cheek.

“Al, I have to go.”

“Please, Y/n. Stay with me here. I can’t get to you up there, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I have to go, Al. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you and everyone else down here.” she insisted, turning to where her mask lay on the ground, “I’ll be back in twelve months, I promise.”

As Y/n leaned over to grab her called disguise, her wings splayed out behind her. Light hit the tip of her spear just right in that moment, catching Alastor’s eye. A wicked idea filtered into his mind. Something he never could have done, would have ever even imagined when he’d been alive. But now? Hell had hardened him, taught Alastor sometimes you had to be cruel to get what you want and not just when it came to killing creeps. He had tried life without Y/n before, tried nearly sixty years of it. Alastor didn’t like it one bit.

“We will get to see one another then,” Y/n was saying as her trembling fingers fumbled for the edge of her mask in the dim light, “and I promise I’ll find a way we can end up together for good, I really d-”

A searing pain shot through her, causing her words to catch in her throat. It was worse than anything Y/n had ever felt before, emanating from the center of her back. Panting in pain, she reached a hand behind her back. It came away wet with sticky, golden blood. Her vision blurring, Y/n looked up at Alastor. Clutched in his right fist was the head of her spear. From the other hand, he dropped her left wing to the floor.

“Alastor…” she panted, her breath weak, “what…”

He took a step forward and an arrow of fright shot through Y/n. She tried to take one back but the pain was starting to really get to her now and she stumbled, falling to the ground. Alastor stood over her, smiling menacingly down as she scooted back from him. Y/n was full on hyperventilating now.”

“Al, what are you doing? What… how… I don’t understand.”

Alastor hushed her gently, the way he used to when they were little kids and he found her crying. Tears began to drip from Y/n’s eyes and she jolted violently with fear as his clawed hand grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to twist around and giving him access to her other wing. He grabbed it, pulling it out to its fullest extent.

“Alastor please.” Y/n begged, tears rolling hotly down her face, “Please don’t. Please.”

“My, these sure are pretty.” Alastor hummed, admiring the weft of the feathers as he held Y/n’s remaining wing.

“Why would you do this!?” Y/n screamed, her voice echoing in the empty ally.

Alastor fell to his knees behind her, still holding her wing out, still immobilizing her in pain.

“I’ve already lost you once.” he said softly, leaning into Y/n’s ear. She whimpered, trying to scoot away from him but unable to due to the hold he had on her appendage, “I won’t do it again. If Satan, or God, or the fucking universe think they can keep us apart, then not a single goddamn one of them has been paying attention because you are mine. You are mine and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do to keep things that way.”

As the final words left Alastor’s lips, he cut through Y/n’s remaining wing in a single motion. She let out an earsplitting scream before passing out in a steadily growing puddle of her own golden blood.

“There, there my love.” Alastor hummed gently, dropping the spear to the ground and smoothing her her wild hair down around her face as he pulled himself to his feet.

Straightening his jacket, Alastor leaned down and picked her limp body up off the sidewalk. The injuries were bad, but nothing he couldn’t help her handle.

“I just can’t explain to you how happy I am to have you back in my arms.” he said to Y/n’s sleeping form, looking down at her tired and tearstained face with nothing short of adoration, “You might be mad for a while, but I can handle that. At the end of the day, we will both know that you’re not going anywhere.”

Leaning down, he planted a soft kiss on Y/n’s forehead. For a moment, his smile went hollow. He hadn’t meant to go this far, to hurt her this bad. Alastor had just been so scared, so utterly terrified at the prospect of losing her again.

“She will understand.” he reassured himself, “She has to understand.”

——

Part Two → Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

[strawberrystepmom]

royalty au - knight!dante x princess!reader.

cw: significant age difference (15 years)

established relationship, masturbation and using it to be a menace (dante this time). screenshot thanks to jas over on pinterest <3 | wc: 1.9k, reading time: ~5 minutes

What was meant to be an afternoon spent preparing for an evening’s dinner with the King and Queen has become something far different following one simple question.

“Have you ever been in love before, your grace?”

Your ever loyal knight Dante asks from his post across your bedroom.

The question makes your blood run cold.

“Why do you ask?”

You cast him a glance from the corner of your eye. The man lies sprawled across your chaise, one arm tossed over the top and the other dangling so that his knuckles rest on the floor below.

“No reason.” He looks up and over the arm of the longue, making eye contact with you. “I merely overheard a conversation between Madeline and Elizabeth while they were waiting for you to arrive for bed a few nights ago and found their conversation fascinating.”

You pale, eyes widening in horror. The names of your two closest chambermaids being uttered in the first place is enough to make your blood run cold, the women stocked with a plethora of knowledge about you.

“And what exactly did you find so fascinating?”

You turn on your stool until your knees face the knight, resting your palms on them to appear unaffected.

“Just a short tale about the castle’s very own future Queen crying and begging for the safe return of the Devil of the Killing Fields while he was off at war. Sound familiar?”

Oh you’re going to…pass out. The room spins and you exhale sharply, mouth filling with saliva and shoulders rounding in on themselves. Dante shifts where he sits, no longer in repose but choosing to sit up and watch you to make sure you are alright.

You toss him an icy glance and lift your hand from your knee to present him your palm, signifying he should remain in place.

There is no possible chance of you being able to handle yourself if he were to come close to you at this moment, not with such a devastating secret no longer under wraps. Clearing your throat, you reposition yourself and plaster on a diplomatic smile.

“A young woman found comfort in the mythology surrounding a heroic figure keeping her safe, will you mock her for such?”

The man chuckles and shakes his head, rising to his feet. “Never, in fact I find it very sweet.”

He approaches your space and stands next to you in the large mirror, both of your reflections side by side. One man reaching for a grape, clearly thrilled with himself, and one woman who appears as though she’s coming down with something. You can’t bear to look at it any longer so you turn away, only looking up long enough to catch the man popping a fruit into his mouth.

“I won’t mock her but I will ask this former young woman to give me the honest truth.”

Sighing impatiently, you shrug. “And what truth is that?”

“You demanded that your father make me your knight, didn’t you?”

Your stomach twists into a knot. He’s put you on the spot quicker than your wit can come up with something to dissuade further question. The truth is more complicated than that but there remains no sense in lying or further complicating the story with facts that do not change what happened.

“Yes I did.”

It’s a mumble, fit for a little girl in trouble and not a grown woman or future sovereign leader.

It’s the tone you take every time, hoping to play on his sympathies.

Sometimes it works. Unfortunately, this evening isn’t about to be one of them.

“Hmm.” Dante muses in response.

The man bends at the waist, now eye level with you. He doesn’t appear angry, something you’ve never known him to be anyway. You feel small. Pinned, even. Kept in place by wise blue eyes despite how much higher above him you are atop the world which you both inhabit.

“Why did you do that, your grace?”

Simple off the face yet you know the question is loaded. For a passing beat, you remember who you are and square your shoulders while lifting your head. Your eyes do not move an inch though, too greedy to move away from the thatch of silver hair that makes your dry mouth long to mewl with desire.

“You’ve been at your post for more than ten years, why has this suddenly come up?”

A fire that is not quite so sordid rises in you. “You forget your place, Ser,” you spit.

He chuckles, thick fingers reaching for the waistband of his pants.

“No.” He shakes his head, tugging the laces and releasing the slack of the fabric keeping him clothed from the waist down.

The pants sag around his hips and he brings them down just low enough to expose the base of his cock. The heat in your cheeks feels dangerous yet you decide to keep your eyes where they lie.

“You decided my place is here, in your service, so very long ago and I’d like to know why after all this time.”

Gaze locked on his defiant little show, you raise a brow. “I could call a guard right no—“

“Then do it.” He smirks though you pretend not to see it out of your peripheral vision. “If you find me so presumptuous and repugnant then do it and I will be removed from your service permanently.”

What little courage you contained to begin with has surely taken its last breath. You now dare to look up from the hard, half exposed length to catch him looking down at you.

“Are you in love with me, Princess?”

“I may…” you trail off, swallowing thickly. “I may have found myself very fond of the mythology surrounding The Devil of the Killing Fields at one point in my life though that is no secret.”

Nor is it a crime. Embarrassing? Unfathomably so, even more such when it’s being used as a means to confront you. Clearly amused by his own antics, you watch in shock while he lifts his palm to his mouth to spit into it.

“But how about me, Ser Dante? The man himself?” He rasps, drool dripping from his lower lip.

Heat shoots from your cheeks to your chest and lower, your stomach and the paradise between your legs, watching such an erotic display. You don’t stop him though, mouth widening in surprise and closing tightly.

“What’s got your tongue today?” He coos, closing his hand around the heavy length and girth of himself that he pulls free from leather. “It is quite unlike you to have so little to say.”

You turn your head insolently, refusing to participate in his sick game.

“Come on. I have always been honest with you, your grace.”

Now you turn to face him incredulously, eyes wide with fury. “No you have not been.”

“When?”

Laughing humorlessly, you toss your hands up.

“You cannot find even the faintest memory of me in your head before now?”

Focused on his pleasure rather than your hysterics, he worries his lower lip between his teeth and stares at you with heavily lidded eyes. The emotions on your face are near priceless and broad in their feelings - horror from arousal to frustration and back - and the strength of such emotions spurs him to continue.

Clearly this is a good way to get a rise out of you. He’s always in search of those.

“On my sixteenth birthday you told me you would marry me someday.”

His eyes widen in surprise that you cannot find it in yourself to believe is from pleasure. He was 31 years old and one night away from returning to a war he believed may take his life.

“Ah yes, it appears now you recall,” you smirk.

You’re angry, seething even, but he’s too good to look away from. He clearly isn’t disturbed enough to stop his self pleasure, hissing under his breath while you continue and bracing himself with one hand on the top of your vanity.

In fact, you think it may be the very thing spurring him on. Your heart aches, selfish as ever where the brave youngest son of Sparda is concerned. You’ve been possessive of him your entire life though your will mattered little while you had less power, forced to share him with battlefield and diplomat alike.

The anger in you grows, more than a decade's worth of frustration clawing its way up your throat.

“I went to bed that evening believing more than I’d ever believed in anything that you would someday be my husband.” Now you’re chuckling though it lacks the same merriment as his. “Then you left the next day to go fight a battle, bloody as any have ever been in our history.”

Exhaling, you center yourself and focus on the movement of his knuckles and the veins you can make out that run on both the top and bottom of his shaft between his movements.

“So to answer your utterly priggish question Ser Dante, yes I am in love with you.

Gnawing your lower lip, nearly succumbing to the temptation just beyond the reach of your fingertips, you look up at him. “I have been since my girlhood to my great shame.”

Shame appears to have left the building, the knight not merely smiling but grinning ear to ear. He recalls that night only vaguely - a drunken blur thanks to a night of debauchery before the inevitable morning and orders to report to battle took effect.

He does not remember making such a promise but cannot say for certain he didn’t.

“We ca - fuck - we cannot marry now that you’ve made me your knight,” he reminds you while maintaining the same pressure of his stroke, making a circle with his index finger and thumb to squeeze the heavy crown of himself.

“True as that may be, I can at least be assured of your safety if you’re with me.”

His smile dims slightly, taken aback.

“I believe you may have this protector and protected business confused.”

Shaking your head, you inhale to center yourself.

“Of the pair of us, I am the one with the power here.”

His hand makes another pass from his tip to his base and back. “Is that so?”

“Unless things have changed and I missed it,” you toss back at him, reaching to join his ministrations on his shaft only to be stopped halfway.

His hand wraps around your wrist. “No.”

Twice in one evening he’s told you no. It must be a record for anyone to do such a thing.

“You have my sword,” he grunts.

“My soul.”

Another low howl from his chest that makes you whimper in response, heat crawling through your body.

“My life if you so call for it.”

His panting grows heavy, chest heaving and dotted with sweat. You memorize every outline of well honed muscle and each scar your hungry eyes can drink in, arm still locked in his firm but gentle grasp.

“Even my heart as well.”

You gasp cautiously, uncertain if he’s continuing to poke at your embarrassment. Choosing cautious optimism, your eyes dart between his handsome features and his beautiful balls that sway gently with his hard strokes.

“But perhaps I will make you wait for this until you are less petulant and quicker to be honest, Princess. What do you think about that?“

You shake your head desperately, body naturally crying out for you to insist you do not need to wait. It appears you will not have the chance to give him such a pleasure though because with a mighty groan and his head tossed back toward your bedroom ceiling, Dante paints his fist with his release.

[serenityluvz]

since you posted enhypen being older than you, what about like "you being older than enhypen"? cause my friend (who's a huge engene btw) gave me info that heeseung and jake (and maybe jay idk) LOVES older women and i haven't been the same since then (and we all know that heeseung is a major flirt like come on)

⋆𐙚₊˚ˢᵉʳᵉⁿⁱᵗʸᴸᵘᵛᶻ

Heeseung – "You like that I’m younger, don’t you?"

Heeseung doesn’t even flinch when you bring up the age gap. If anything, it fuels his ego. "You keep mentioning it," he muses, pulling you onto his lap effortlessly. "But let’s be real—you like that I’m younger, don’t you?" His hands wander, teasing, deliberate, as his lips graze your ear. "Bet it makes you feel a little guilty," he chuckles, voice dripping with amusement. And when he finally has you beneath him, breath hitching as he presses you deeper into the mattress? "You’re not fooling anyone, baby," he smirks, lips brushing against your throat. "You love it, and so do i."

Jay – "You think I’m just some kid?"

Jay doesn’t appreciate the teasing—especially if you joke about his age. He’ll do anything to prove that he’s more than capable of being the man you need. "Call me a baby one more time, and I’ll make you regret it." He’s all about proving himself, so if you so much as hint that he’s inexperienced? He’ll shut you up real quick—whether it’s with his hands, his mouth, or his body pressed up against yours. "Still think I’m too young, baby? ‘Cause you sure weren’t complaining last night."

Jake – "That just means I get to call you noona, right?"

Menace. Absolute menace. The second he realizes you’re older, he’s using it to fluster you. "Noona~" he purrs, dragging out the word just to watch you squirm. He’s all sweet smiles and teasing touches—until you finally snap and tell him to stop. Then his grin turns downright wolfish. "Oh? But I thought you liked being in charge?" His voice dips, fingers trailing down your spine. "Or do you want me to remind you who’s really in control?"

Sunghoon – "Doesn’t change anything."

Sunghoon doesn’t make a big deal out of it—until you do. Then he uses it against you. "So? You think that means I’m any less of a man?" His voice is low, challenging. He might be younger, but he refuses to let you treat him like he’s inexperienced. He’ll kiss you slow and deep, hands gripping your waist tightly. "You can tease me all you want, but at the end of the day, you still melt for me." And when he’s got you breathless and begging? "That’s what I thought."

Sunoo – "That means you should be taking care of me!"

Sunoo milks the age gap for all it’s worth—expect endless pouting and playful manipulation. "I’m younger, so you should be pampering me, duh." He crosses his arms, pretending to be upset just to see if you’ll cave. But the second you kiss him, all that bratty energy turns into something else entirely. "Wait—do that again." And when you do? Yeah, now he’s in charge.

Jungwon – "You should be careful how you talk to me."

Just because he’s younger doesn’t mean you’re the one in control. If anything, Jungwon enjoys flipping the dynamic entirely. "You keep acting like you’re the mature one, but we both know who’s really in charge here." His voice is calm, but his grip on your chin isn’t. He loves the little power struggles, the way you pretend to have the upper hand—until he’s got you right where he wants you. "Now be good for me and let your younger boyfriend take care of you."

Ni-ki – "Aren’t you ashamed, going after someone younger?"

Menace². He never lets you live it down, no matter what. "Wow, you really couldn’t find someone your own age?" He smirks, dodging the pillow you throw at him. He loves getting under your skin, making you second-guess yourself—until you finally snap. And when you do? That’s when he changes completely. His teasing smile fades, and he steps closer, voice dropping. "Nah, don’t back down now. You started this." – "Aren’t you ashamed, going after someone younger?"

[cirphu]

my golden blood ep 8 second watch (i got distracted lol) musings:

the WAY mark turns tong's head to side to kiss his neck is one of the hottest things to ever grace my retinas

i'm sorry but blood thirsty mark is so fine

tonkla really be dead to the world when he sleeps bc how could he not hear all of that commotion

aaahhhh i saw spoilers for the scene and was STILL unprepared

mark's face when he properly sees the drop of blood i-

and THE MOANING omg

did i ever tell yall anatomy and physiology was my favorite of all the sciences? the muscles contracting and relaxing…THE VIENS

the fact that the memory of tong's bloodied lip and fearful face are what seem to send mark over the edge??? ✨poetic cinema✨

i wonder...do mark's eyes glow every time he cums?

mark is never beating the lil meow meow allegations and tong is cutest most precious angel ever

if vampires were real and looked like mark i too would be offering up my carotid lol

people in love stink

shoutout to the spanish and korean subtitles for always holding me down with untranslated dialogue and/or text—thara's text reads "come see me immediately"

the ominous and unsettling soundtrack is truly not helping thara beat the secret villain allegations

creating a whole lesson plan just to be menace is crazy lol

watching again i can really see the toxic yaoi potential between nakan and tonkla

they did a really great job casting young tonkla

the way mark's face drops at tong's nonchalant quip about his mortally ㅠㅠ

again that courtyard it's so freaking GORGEOUS

aaahhh mark wanted to kneel i see a proper proposal in the future

happy monthiversary beloveds :')

i've never wanted a candle more in my life RELEASE THE LINK GMMTV

the tomato cupcake topper was such a sweet touch fr

trying to distract the audience from the blatant fire hazard of a million candles propped up pon white sheets with gawin singing an acoustic version of closer was well played

joss' hands being so big that it translates to mark knocking those guys out with an semi open-handed fist is crazy lol

was it truly an accident or did nakan have miss nuan hit by a car?

the best lies for manipulation are the ones laced with a bit a truth and nakan has mastered the craft

i get where tonkla is coming from but he is literally doing the same thing—trusting nakan instead of tong

feeling abandoned and depressed? get hypnotized by a hot vampire today! free tattoo included with every session :D

gawd i love when actors ACT—joss and gawin really put their everything into that argument/confession scene

also the way joss is portraying mark's struggle to keep his bloodlust at bay??? ACTINGGGGG

tong was on a mission to get that d and i respect him for that

the leg was a ✨choice✨ and grateful to whoever who made it

their physical chemistry is INSANE

10/10 no notes

side note: gawin's costuming in the ever after mv is giving very much centuries old vampire so i hope that means vampire tong is in our future

[princessbrunette]

gf reader and bf rafe but he used to pick on her before they started dating so she teases him about going from a bully to a simp

i feel like i never write rafe in a good mood so here it is :*

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．

you sit on the kitchen counter swinging your legs, watching him count a load of money on the table. you wore his shirt, the man having just fucked you within an inch of your life not even twenty minutes prior.

as you existed domestically in the moment, you thought of your past with rafe, your days at school together. think of a stereotypical jock; backwards cap and letterman jacket. that was rafe. you were quiet, kept to your self more— and rafe wasn’t necessarily mean to you at school, a few years your senior — but he was young, a dick, and did stupid shit to get your attention because he thought you were sweet and wouldn’t stand up to him. just stuff like shutting your locker as he’d walk past, or taking things from you and holding them out of your reach, or purposely blocking your path in the hallway, continuing to blockade you each time you tried to move around him. usual stupid stuff.

a few years down the line, and he still occasionally messed with you — but he loved you, and loved you hard so it made up for it. you giggle to yourself, the man glancing over his shoulder at you distractedly.

“wha’s funny?”

“just thinking about school, how you’d pick on me… and now look at you, whipped.” you make yourself laugh, watching him huff a chuckle out of his nose as he shakes his head.

“dont you think saying i picked on you is… a tad exaggerated?” he drawls, neatening the stack he made before folding it and clipping it, turning to face you, deciding to entertain the conversation.

“i dunno, you were kind of a menace.” you tilt your head cutely as he approached you slowly until he’s caging you in, hands leaning on the counter top either side of where you sit.

“a menace, okay— yeah, n’what am i now then, huh?” he quietens his voice, tilting his head, the word tease practically scribbled across his forehead.

you lean in like you’re gonna kiss him, giggle bubbling up inside you as you speak. “pussywhipped.”

he pushes off the counter with a tight lipped yet amused smile, shaking his head. “alright, yeah— should have seen that one coming.”

you giggle, trying to pull him back to you with your feet as he steps away but remain unsuccessful as he walks back to the table to continue his organising.

“from bully to simp.” you muse happily, rafe scoffing lightheartedly with his back to you once more.

“good pussy will do that to a man, what can i say?” his response is slow, distracted as he counts under his breath, pocketing a wad as you watch him.

“oh is that what it is?” you can’t contain your happy giggles, head still airy from the fucking he gave you earlier.

“s’exactly what it is. why you bringin’ this up, huh? you miss bein’ bullied or something?” he peeps over his shoulder once more when he hears the flats of your feet hit the ground, padding over to bother him.

“so you admit you picked on me?” you smile coyly despite his back being to you and he promptly changes this, slowly spinning on his heel with a smirk.

“i’ll admit anything you want if it gets you to shut up ‘bout this.” he lightly taps the top of your head with a wad of money, making you squeeze your eyes shut with a delighted giggle once more.

“deal.” your hands slide up his chest to snake round his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Anne Frank

A List of Beautiful Words used by Anne Frank in "The Diary of a Young Girl"

Cloudless - free from clouds; clear

Conscience - the sense or consciousness of the moral goodness or blameworthiness of one's own conduct, intentions, or character together with a feeling of obligation to do right or be good

Cunning - dexterous or crafty in the use of special resources (such as skill or knowledge) or in attaining an end

Ditchwater - foul stagnant water collected in a ditch; something regarded as typically dull and lifeless

Droop - to hang or incline downward

Impenetrable - incapable of being penetrated or pierced

Impudent - marked by contemptuous or cocky boldness or disregard of others

Insolent - insultingly contemptuous in speech or conduct

Menacing - presenting, suggesting, or constituting a menace or threat; threatening

Musings - meditations (i.e., discourse intended to express its author's reflections or to guide others in contemplation)

Pendulum - a body suspended from a fixed point so as to swing freely to and fro under the action of gravity and commonly used to regulate movements (as of clockwork)

Prestige - standing or estimation in the eyes of people

Reborn - born again; regenerated, revived

Revered - regarded as worthy of great honor and respect

Sauntered - walked about in an idle or leisurely manner; strolled

Songbird - a bird that utters a succession of musical tones

Tirade - a protracted speech usually marked by intemperate, vituperative, or harshly censorious language

Undone - not done; not performed or finished

Vanquished - overcome or defeated in battle, a conflict or contest

Veritable - being in fact the thing named and not false, unreal, or imaginary—often used to stress the aptness of a metaphor

More: Word Lists

[brucestalia]

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

The portrait of the Wayne household hangs above the grand, winding staircase looming over the manor’s entrance. It has grown over the years, accommodating the likenesses of the Bat-Prince’s many squires. Yet, despite its embellishments, a vague silhouette endures—untouched and ethereal, a phantom of the portrait’s earliest form.

When young master Tim Drake inquires about it, Bruce finds himself adrift in memories of simpler times.

He has been a Prince, a King—even if only in name—a Knight, and, at his lowest, a Sellsword; a warrior reduced to a weapon for hire. How the mighty fall , he muses.

Each mantle carries its own weight, yet none heavier than the one he bears now. The thought stings like a wound.

The al-Ghul lands stretch endlessly—deserts, jagged peaks, and sprawling plains, vast, untamed. 

Bruce first encounters her there, in a foreign wilderness, bleeding and battered from wounds earned in battle against a chimaera horde. Distrust has long been his armour, even against beauty cloaked in mystery, but he lets her tend his wounds.

Her face remains obscured, veiled beneath layers of silk. She introduces herself as Talia, daughter of he who is called Ra’s al Ghul . 

The name is spoken amongst soldiers and merchants alike in hushed whispers, reverent and wary. The Emperor , some call him, a title carrying as much menace as majesty. That night, Bruce camps near the capital, the stars above dimmed by the brilliance of the city’s lights. It looms on the horizon, a city of impossible grandeur. 

A servant named Ubu ushers him to the bathing house, where the grime of travel is washed away. He’s cloaked in robes—rich and foreign. Alfred’s absence is a thought he quickly buries.

His armour is taken to be polished, leaving him feeling bare – vulnerable, as though the steel had been his skin.

She was there again—Talia—her presence disarming in its constancy. He dines in the Princess’ tent, finding in the warmth of her hospitality, a haven against the desert’s chill.

 Yet, unease coils in his gut like a serpent. It grows sharper within the Palace walls, where her family’s emerald eyes gleam with an unnatural light. It is a quiet tension that swells each time eyes of polished jade seemed to glance into his soul.

Still, he accepts her offer: to become her sworn protector – a knight for the al-Ghul Princess. In return, he gains tutelage under the Emperor and his most skilled generals across the continent. 

But, he draws a line he refuses to cross—he will not kill. Talia understands, though her father does not.

The al-Ghul family defies easy understanding. The Empress – benevolent , poised , graceful, guarding the horrors of ages past. The Prince burns with ambition, bold, to the point of recklessness. The older Princess is an enigma; a riddle he had not yet solved.

Talia was a labyrinth of quiet strength and fleeting softness. She was the one part of their world that made him stay, though he knew he should not.

In time, her presence became a balm for the hurt he did not know he carried.

No beauty compared to her. Not the sands glowing under a silver moon, nor the jewelled skies of the East. Her laughter, soft and unguarded, as she bit into a slice of mango, juice tracing her lips. The mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she fed him a grape remained long after the sweetness faded. The victorious grin after a spar, or how she let frustration darken her features after she faltered – each a thread more vivid than the last, it all etched itself into him.

She would be the eighth Wonder of the World, if there ever was one, he decided.

Most nights, they sat beneath the stars. He wasn’t meant to linger in her chambers so late, but no reprimand came. It reminded the Emperor of a familiar tale–the mercenary and the warlord’s daughter.

A romance doomed to end as swiftly as it began.

The city adored its Princess. Her dark-armored guardian? Less so.

One evening, she donned a maid’s garb, and dragged Bruce to the bustling markets. Without his armour, he felt the land in a way he hadn’t before—the heat of its sun, the press of its life. Spices, songs, and silken scarves weave a reality he might have loved under different circumstances.

She danced with him, her laughter spinning away with the fading music. It is a moment stolen from eternity.

The day of his departure arrives. His refusal to kill has become a wedge between him and the Emperor’s court. But, as he treads the path away from the palace, Talia appears.

“Did you think I’d let you leave alone?” she says, a sly smile curving her lips. That is when her entourage unfurled—camels, a palanquin, soldiers, and servants, the unending desert beyond.

Bruce’s return to his kingdom is met with jubilation – a hero’s welcome that feels hollow at the sight of her beside him –  streets teeming with lords, ladies, and wide-eyed children. News of the Princess spreads quickly, much to one Richard Grayson’s chagrin.

Talia’s charm extends to even Queen Regent Lara Lor-Van and the butler, Pennyworth, with whom she hosts tea parties. Kal-El and Zala are won over in time. She is no longer just a guest; she is his betrothed .

Their peace is short-lived. When a former al-Ghul ally orchestrates an attack on the Empress, Bruce and Talia return to her homeland. 

After they end the threat, their union is sealed in a quiet ceremony, and Ra’s al Ghul himself oversees their vows.

But time, unrelenting, soon conspires against them. War breaks out, dividing kingdoms and hearts. She was with child, and Bruce knew she could not stay.

“Our son will be the next Alexander,” she whispers one moonless night. “He will bridge the West and the East.”

He studies her face as if it were a map of a world he would never know again. Perhaps, the moon hides in envy of her radiance.

And so, the portrait of the Wayne household remains incomplete. Talia left before it could be finished.

She never returned.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[madhatterbri]

Dino Chase | C.S.

Summary: Reader is married to Chris, and their son has taken a shine to dinosaurs.

Chris Sabin Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @smallestsnarkestgirl @cowboywritersworld @eringobragh420 @magicalbuttertarts @hodgepodge-musings @miss-kuki-nz @blackwingedmisanthrope

"You think if I dress in this, he would freak out?" He asked. In his hands, his jean jacket with a black hoodie. A few spikes stuck out of the top. He put it on and smiled.

"Just a hyper child with a slight dinosaur obsession."

This was the only explanation you gave 5 you had visitors. Plush dinosaurs rested on the couch that needed medical attention. Giant Lego dinosaur pens filled with dinosaurs stood in the living room. Some of the dinosaurs were able to escape as they made their way into a fruit bowl, the bathtub, and even the cat litter box. Those were extinct from the home just like their once very real counterparts. Chris was enjoying his son's new obsession.

You could hear the pitter patter of tiny feet as they raced down the hallway. Chris smiled at you as he hid in the bathroom. The jacket was worn properly to show the spikes at the top. A few moments later, your son stood at the doorway of the bedroom.

"I think he will -," you stopped. You heard the familiar sound of your son calling for you. A smile curled your lips as you told him where you were. It was around his nap time.

Beads of sweat ran down his face. His chubby cheeks were red from playing with his dinosaurs. The current favorite game was jumping on the trampoline with his stuffies. Two plush dinosaurs gripped tightly in his arms against his body. He slowly walked into the room. Chris held firm and watched his son closely.

The young boy placed his dinosaurs on the bed. He took a step back to climb on the bed until he saw Chris. His head turned to the side as he saw him. Chris only wore the jacket for work. He couldn't understand why he was wearing it now.

The proud father opened the door slowly. His knees were bent, and his shoulders hunched over dramatically. He started to take wide steps to get closer to his son.

Your son froze and looked between you and his dad. He backed away slowly. When Chris made a soft dinosaur noise, he realized what was going on. "Oh no!"

Chris yelled a menacing rawr. "Daddy Dino is hungry!"

You raised the book in your hands to your face to hide your smile. Your son grabbed his toys from the bed and ran off. Your husband chased after him. The quiet in the bedroom was short-lived. Within moments, Chris walked in with his son squirming in his arms upside down.

"Mommy! Help!" Your son squealed between giggles.

You tried to hide your laughter at the scene before you. The boy's shaggy brown hair dangled downward. His shirt rolled down so you could see where Chris tickled him.

"She can't help you, tiny human. I am hungry."

"No!"

Chris dropped the squirming boy on the bed. As he tried to crawl away, Chris grabbed his feet and pulled him close. He pretended like he was eating his stomach. More giggles and squeals filled the room. Eventually, the wrestler decided to show mercy. Once Chris released his feet, your son crawled to you.

Your hand rubbed his back gently. Within moments, he was curled up in your lap asleep.

"That's one way to tire him out."

"I guess you can say that his tiredness is extinct."

Chris chuckled softly as you groaned.

[alexhatessupermarketcola]

My Alex Rider related playlists

ft. some highlight songs from each to somewhat demonstrate the vibe that totally weren't very hard to pick lol

Alex Rider | Scorpia

My only one carefully curated in order - follows the plot of Scorpia loosely from the perspective of Alex - book and show inspired. Angsty and melodramatic

Ft. Death of an Optimist by grandson, Nothing and Everything by Red, The Kill by Thirty Seconds To Mars

Devil: Yassen and Alex

Inspired by The Devil and The Deep Blue Sea by pongnosis. Alex and Yassen centric. Pretty angsty too ft. some badassery

Ft. Exit Music (For A Film) by Radiohead, Dance With The Devil by Breaking Benjamin, Kill or Be Killed by Muse

never too young to die | Alex Rider

My general Alex Rider playlist based around Alex - ft. badass, angst, fun, some show songs and just anything that I think fits tbh

Ft. All These Things I've Done by The Killers, Alive or Only Burning by Blind Channel, Young And Menace by Fall Out Boy

Yasha

My Yassen playlist - focused a lot on his past and arc. Angst and such things with a bit of badassery

Ft. What Happened To You by Black Honey, And The World Was Gone by Snow Ghosts, Love and a Smoking Gun by Des Rocs

Yassen | Two Sides of the Same Coin | Alex

Brand new, as in picking highlight songs for this made me cave 😆 Songs that fit both Yassen and Alex and their canon arcs. There's angst, of course.

Ft. Used To The Darkness by Des Rocs, Beautiful Crime by Tamer

Y+J

My Yassen and John playlist. Anything that I feel fits their unusual dynamic. From Yassen's perspective generally. Yay more angst 😆

Ft. Skeleton Key by Flower Face, Affection by Amber Run, Panic Attack by Halsey (show special for baby!Yassen lol)

Tom and Alex

My tomlex playlist. Equal parts fluff and angst. The playlists are getting shorter now.

Ft. OK by Black Honey, If You Wanna by The Vaccines, Cut the Cord by Black Honey

John Rider, Hunter

Possibly joint shortest. I started this because of two songs I heard. May grow one day.

Ft. Bambi by Tokyo Police Club, Portrait I by The Howl & The Hum

Kyralex

Fluff and angst. Songs that fit them. I never used to ship but after s3 they grew on me, evidenced by this playlist 🥺

Ft. Red Brake Lights by SAINT PHNX, Ride by Amber Run

Kyra Vaschenko-Chao

Possibly the shortest. Need to spend some time on this one because there's a lot I could probably add. Started with two Marina songs that were contenders for a Kyra fanvid I did back in 2020. It's pretty s1 rn.

Ft. Rootless by MARINA, What You Want by Evanescence

laukyra

A relic from 2020 - a Kyra and Laura ship playlist. I wrote a oneshot about them too. This one's actually long but niche so it got demoted down here. Probably best summarised as gay songs and Kyra angst - note to self: add Good Luck Babe 😆

Ft. Darling by Skott, Angela by Flower Face

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0VYfa4E2DF35MRCfsSGshJ?si=BXrsX7F6QzKFtoKgFQjLQQ&pi=3xbJChkiSh-wE

(ran out of proper links because I accidentally made an 11th playlist whilst making this list oops) (so hopefully that laukyra one can be copy pasted lol)

Okay, phew, the end. Please rec any good AR playlists you know/made!!

[yumjum414]

Arjuna: 3, Yadavas: 0- Mahabharat crack fic Series Part III

It was a bright afternoon in Dwarka, the sun hanging lazily in the sky, mirroring the way Krishna and Arjuna lounged on the shaded steps overlooking the field. A group of Yadavas lounged under the shade of a marble pavilion, their laughter echoing as they watched what had now become a familiar sight: Satyaki challenging Arjuna- a weekly occurrence

Krishna, reclining against a pillar, plucked at a blade of grass. Arjuna, sitting beside him with one knee drawn up, absentmindedly twirled a training arrow between his fingers.

"You do realize, Parth, that they won't stop until one of them beats you?" Krishna said, amusement dancing in his voice.

Arjuna let out a small chuckle. "And when has that ever happened?"

Krishna laughed, shaking his head. Below them, Satyaki was stretching his arms, rolling his shoulders with exaggerated confidence. Pradyumna and Samba stood on either side of him, whispering among themselves. The younger Yadavas: brothers, cousins, and warriors-in-training- all gathered around, eager to watch.

“They’re plotting,” Krishna remarked, watching the trio below with a knowing glint in his eyes.

Arjuna sighed, shaking his head. "They always do."

Krishna grinned. “And yet, you continue to indulge them.”

Arjuna turned to him, his expression softening just a little. "Let them dream, Madhav. They are young. It is good for them to believe, even for a moment, that they stand a chance."

Krishna hummed in agreement, a smile tugging at his lips. "And do you ever let them win?"

Arjuna smirked. "Nope."

Before Krishna could reply, below them, Satyaki called out, “Come on, Parth! Let’s see if you can still keep up with me.”

A chorus of cheers and laughter rose from the assembled warriors, all eager for the spectacle. Pradyumna and Samba stood just behind him, pretending not to be involved but clearly far too eager.

Arjuna sighed dramatically and rose to his feet. " Very well, Yuyudhana. Let’s not keep your admirers waiting.”

He rose, stretching with elegance that made even something as simple as standing up look like an art. Krishna followed lazily, clearly in no rush to interfere.

The younger Yadavas whispered among themselves. “Satyaki might actually win this time,” one said.

“He’s faster now,” another added.

Krishna stifled a laugh. "They have so much faith in Satyaki, don't they?" Arjuna shook his head in mild exasperation before stepping forward. "Come then, my friend. Show me what you've learned."

The wrestling match had barely begun when Satyaki, brimming with confidence, lunged at Arjuna.

It might have worked… if Arjuna weren’t Arjuna.

Satyaki lunged, fast and strong- but against Arjuna, fast and strong were never enough.

With an almost casual movement, Arjuna sidestepped at the last moment, caught Satyaki’s arm, and redirected his force mid-air.

THUD…

Satyaki landed flat on his back, staring up at the sky, the breath knocked out of him. The watching onlookers winced.

From the steps, Krishna called out, “That looked graceful, Satyaki. Do you need a moment?”

Satyaki groaned. “I-I'm fine.”

Pradyumna folded his arms. "That looked painful."

Samba grinned. "Not as painful as what we’re about to do."

Before Arjuna could even turn around, the two young Yadava princes pounced.

Samba went for his legs while Pradyumna leapt for his shoulders. A sound strategy, against anyone else that is.

Arjuna, without so much as a frown, shifted his weight at the perfect moment. He caught Pradyumna mid-air with one arm and smoothly stepped aside- causing Samba to charge forward into thin air.

Samba, unable to stop in time, crashed straight into Satyaki.

“Off! Get off me, you little menace!” Satyaki groaned.

Arjuna, meanwhile, glanced down at Pradyumna, still held securely in his grip, like a father humoring an impatient son. “You seem troubled, Yuvraj,” Arjuna mused, his voice smooth as silk.

Pradyumna glared, red-faced, struggled in his grip. "Put me down, uncle!"

Arjuna smiled. "Oh? But you seemed eager to climb me a moment ago."

Samba, tangled with Satyaki, cackled. “He got you there.”

Pradyumna, refusing to lose face, latched onto Arjuna’s arm and refused to let go. Samba, never one to miss an opportunity, grabbed onto his other side.

Satyaki, deciding that this was the perfect time for revenge, lunged at Arjuna’s back.

It was three against one.

For anyone else, this would have been a fight.

For Arjuna? With a single, almost lazy shift of movement, he broke Samba and Pradyumna’s grip, twisted, and let Satyaki’s own momentum carry him forward- straight into the dirt. The three Yadavas collapsed in a heap, groaning. Dust flew everywhere.

Arjuna dusted off his sleeves, completely unruffled. He turned to Krishna, who was watching with clear amusement.

"Was that entertaining enough for you, Govind?"

Krishna chuckled. "It was brief but enjoyable. I did warn them."

Satyaki, still sprawled on the ground, glared up at Arjuna. "I will win one day."

Arjuna smiled fondly. "I admire your optimism, Yuyudhana."

Pradyumna, patting away all the dust from his being, muttered defeatly, “I hate him.”

Arjuna turned to him with genuine warmth in his eyes. "I know you don’t, Pradyumna. But do tell me when you’re ready to train again, I will teach you how to be better."

Pradyumna, despite himself, looked away, the irritation in his expression replaced by something almost begrudgingly respectful.

Samba, still grinning, clapped Arjuna on the back. “You’re annoying, but I like you.”

Arjuna let out a soft laugh and mussed Samba’s hair like an elder brother. "Likewise, little prince."

Krishna, watching the exchange, smiled knowingly. "You see, Parth? They admire you more than they admit."

Arjuna sighed, shaking his head with a fond smile. "They will be the end of me one day, Madhav."

Krishna laughed. "Then you’ll have to stay undefeated, won’t you?"

And with that, the three bruised, exhausted Yadavas stood once more- ready, even in their defeat, to challenge Arjuna again another day.

[grizzly-bear-bane]

WIP Wednesday - Yes, I'm back!

Arcane's got me so deep in my feelings, it brought me out of my years' long writer's block.

Jailbird - Young!Vander x Young!Silco

Summary: In this prison pit, Vander never wanted attachments and Silco is convinced he can handle himself. When Silco is put in Vander’s cell as his new cellmate, Vander knows that it is supposed to be as a reward to him for his fighting but doesn't know that it's a punishment to Silco for what he did to himself.

__

(from Chapter One: In the second month of his life sentence in the prison mines for murder, Vander is reflecting on the mistakes that brought him here when he gets a visitor)

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When the rain did pick up, it followed Vander into his dreams, mixing with his memories like mud. It was bittersweet, how such a natural thing like rain could both wash away so much of the dirt and grime of the pit and yet drown Vander in his misery all the same, every time. 

He was soaking wet under the downpour and the dim glow of lights outside of the Last Drop. It had already been a grueling day on the docks and the night wasn’t looking much better. It was foolish, he knew, getting plastered drunk at one bar just to stumble home to work at his family’s bar, but his folks would never let him drink this much of their own booze on the clock. 

If only he’d just gone straight home to them. Instead he found himself deep in yet another drunken brawl with some rowdy patrons he’d had to toss out, catching the eyes of the enforcers on patrol. Perhaps he had actually hit one of them. Perhaps they’d seen some threat Vander hadn’t and had drawn their guns for that reason, but he’d never know now. All he knew was that his sister would have never come bursting through the doors… in her pretty gold and green dress and matching necklace with her violet hair braided with ribbons… and into that mess had he been where he was supposed to be, not out being a drunken menace clashing with trigger-happy enforcers who’d startled at the sound of her…

He was still drifting in and out of a light sleep when he first sensed that he was no longer alone in his cell. This cell whose key he’d fought hard for and guarded with his life for this very reason, so why—how—was someone else here? 

It was dark when he cracked his eye open a sliver, his brow furrowing when he saw no one standing at the cell door but it was still slightly ajar.

Until the mattress by his feet dipped. He swung his leg, bringing his attacker down by surprise only to be as equally surprised when the person continued to roll themself right out of his grasp and onto the floor. 

In the darkness with only the lamps from the outside corridor and the moon to lighten the shadows, Vander wasn’t sure who or what he was seeing. He’d felt a thin body in tight clothes for a split second and had nearly caught a fistful of too long hair before it had slipped through his fingers… Were there women in this prison somewhere? What possible reason could one be trying to kill him now?

He had no time for questions. His attacker was nearly to the door, a blade glinting in their hand. This was also new. So far no one had been bold enough to try to outright murder him. So close to the cell door, he could make out a face and form. A slim, sinewy body, petite, and a pretty face. Definitely pretty. Slipped loose from its knot, their hair was mused by the scuffle, but the voice was far too low for any woman. 

“Easy, big boy,” that voice purred, with a deep richness and roughness that reminded him of a swig of whiskey after a long shift back home, but a little pitched with fear, still holding the blade out to stop Vander from charging. “I swear they never told me you would be this big or this fast. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

Vander echoed his panting, but wasn’t the slightest bit amused by any of this. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, no need for alarm,” the man assured, putting the knife away in his boot. He waved his hand. “I don’t think they intended for you to be hurt at all, but rather anticipated that you would snap my neck and they would be done with me. Apologies. I’ll just see myself out.”

Vander launched forward, reaching over the frozen man’s head to catch the door before he could slip through. This close, he towered over him. This had to be a dream. He was obscured by the shadows, and by his dark hair covering some of his face, but those cheekbones, that high-arched and sharp nose, and those pouting lips, better suited for a brothel, not a prison… they were cut, healing from a couple mean hits that were too old to be Vander’s. He looked up at Vander with round puppy dog eyes that also had fading bruises from nasty hits, but underneath, Vander could see what he looked like when his face wasn’t a punching bag. In what world would a banged up twink be sent to come kill him and how the hell did he get down here? 

In the low light, Vander could barely see the faded stripes under the patches on the trousers clinging to his slender legs. His t-shirt also looked to be a size too small, but the unbuttoned striped shirt over it was so oversized, the sleeves had to be rolled up. None of this made sense. None of this could be real. 

The man took a breath and rolled his eyes, his voice softening in a way Vander didn’t like as he leaned his lithe, little weight against Vander’s side. “Tell me what I can do. Unlike being a hired killer, I am quite talented at making things like this up to men like you.”

Vander snorted, feeling his face flush. Definitely this was some kind of dream. Possibly from bad cigarettes. He stepped back to let the man pass. “You can get the hell out and make sure to tell whoever sent you to come in person next time.”

“Perfect.” He smiled with a wink, slipping through the gap. “Enjoy your evening.”

Vander meant to glare back at him, but the man was gone. “This fucking place.” 

He searched for his smokes. 

And searched more. 

Emptied his pockets and shook out his pillow, even his boots before realizing, “That thieving little bitch.”

Silco only made it as far as he needed to be out of the lamplight before he collapsed as quietly as he could against the wall next to the cell. He held his breath, ready to run the second the man realized that his door was still unlocked, but as the minutes ticked by, no lumbering giant came barreling after him. He brushed his hair back, relieved.

For once.

He eased up the wall, a smoke from his newly acquired pack tucked between his lips ready for his lighter.

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