#Blood and gore

[thesorcerersapprenticeu]

Chapter 12: 🎁 Christmas Special: Last Christmas 💔

Summary:

Christmas - a holiday that everyone here probably celebrates. As not all the presents have been bought yet, you and Powder head off to Piltover to do the last bit of shopping. Back at home, small conversations arise and familiar faces reappear. And Vander dresses up as Santa Claus.

---

Piltover's streets are a chaos of life and color.

Golden decorations shine everywhere, the windows of the crowded stores glow in warm light and the air is filled with the voices of traders shouting out their prices. It's as if the whole city has breathed for this moment, as if everything were a dream - vivid, intense and yet almost too beautiful to be real.

But the best thing about this dream runs right next to you: Powder.

She had insisted on going into town with you, up here, into the shining streets of Piltover. And now you're both off to buy presents for the others.

The crowds, the noises, the glittering decorations - normally you would concentrate on them, soaking up the details, as you always do. But today is different. Your eyes keep wandering to Powder. She's wearing clothes you've never seen on her before - a coat in a soft shade of blue that matches her hair and a scarf that wraps around her neck. Everything about her seems to be bathed in the golden light of Piltover, and you can hardly concentrate.

Your stomach tightens, almost like a knot, and your heart beats so fast that you can feel it even in the noisy crowd.

What's wrong with me?

Even her voice confuses you.

"Where are we going next?" she asks, her words playful yet curious as she lightly touches your arm.

Your heart skips a beat and you swallow hard. You look at her - the hundreds of people in the background fade away as if they no longer exist. All that reminds you that this is real are her eyes: those deep, sapphire-colored eyes that meet you in your dreams and never let you go.

"I... um, I heard about a family who walked past us," you begin, your voice trembling slightly. "There's supposed to be an inventor's store at the end of the main street."

A slight smile spreads across her face and you wonder if she has noticed the stutter in your voice. Probably not - the background noise is loud enough to swallow everything.

"You're going to get something for Mylo and Claggor, aren't you?" she asks, her tone curious and familiar.

"Yes... and Vi. I've already done for her... I think." You're not quite sure if you should really say it.

If she tells Vi... No, better not.

Powder laughs softly, and the sound alone throws you off balance. "Ha! I've already got your present too!" she exclaims proudly.

You smile automatically, but your eyes quickly wander away to hide your cheeks. The crowd around you thins out, the streets quieten, and at that moment she reaches for your hand.

Her grip is gentle, her skin warm despite the cold, and your heart starts to race again, this time even faster. You try to maintain control, but the feeling floods through your body, a tingling sensation that you can't really place.

Powder turns to you and you almost stop. The bright city behind her, her soft face in front, her blue eyes, her red cheeks - it's an image that burns itself into your mind.

"Then let's walk faster!" she says with a smile that almost knocks you off your feet as she tightens her grip on you. "Then we can go to a bakery later and get cookies for everyone!"

Her words pull you back to reality, and without really realizing what you're doing, you let her pull you through the streets - still caught between the warmth of her hand and the chaos in your head.

The cool wind tugs at your coat and you are actually glad to be almost completely wrapped up in it. But Powder doesn't seem to mind the wind - at least for a moment.

She stops for a moment, a few seconds at most, and pulls a black scarf out of her hip pocket. With a concentrated expression, she tries to tie it around her neck, but the knot just won't work.

Her gaze wanders to you, and that alone makes your heart beat faster.

"Can you... help me for a moment?" she asks, her voice soft, almost shy.

You feel the blush creeping back into your cheeks and for a moment you can't breathe. You don't say anything - not because you don't want to, but because you're afraid of stuttering or saying the wrong thing. Instead, you just nod slowly and step closer.

You slowly walk around her and stand behind her. The wind blows through your hair as you take the ends of her scarf in your hands. The fabric feels soft, almost like the moment itself - calm and strangely personal.

Your fingers move carefully as you adjust the scarf and tie a knot. You can feel Powder's closeness, she's so close you can almost hear the hitch of her breath. Your heart is beating so loudly that you're sure the people around you can hear it too.

Some passers-by in the crowd actually give you a quick glance. Maybe it's the gesture, which radiates more affection than you realize. Maybe it's just the way you both stand there so still, almost like you're in a little world of your own in the middle of the hustle and bustle.

When you're done, you slowly let go of the scarf. Powder turns to you, and her blue eyes meet yours. She smiles - a small, genuine smile that hits you right in the face. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, and whether it's from the wind or the situation, you can't tell.

You notice that you are staring at her, that your gaze lingers on her eyes and you admire the depth of their sapphire blue color. They sparkle in the light of the city, and for a moment, everything around you is unimportant.

"Thank you," she finally says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Then let's go! We'll get the last presents!" Powder shouts, with an enthusiasm that is infectious. She snatches her right arm in the air, her other hand remaining securely in yours.

You continue through the streets of Piltover, which are still full of people, but the fading sun slowly bathes everything in a warm, golden glow. Powder pulls you from one stall to the next, her eyes shining with every little trinket, every idea she has for the others.

You find a pair of new boxing gloves for Vi - sturdy, made of high-quality leather, and in her favorite color. Powder laughs when she sees the price tag, but you split the amount with her, and the sales clerk wraps the gloves in paper and puts them in a bag before handing them to you.

You discover a small tool bag for Claggor, packed with everything he needs to continue his repairs. "He'll love this," Powder says with a broad smile as she holds up the bag. "Especially because I picked it out!"

She fetches a small, mechanical toy for Mylo - a sort of robotic bird that flutters with a few crank movements. "This is perfect," Powder says, her voice almost a whisper as she carefully places it in a small box. "He'll show it off, but that's what Mylo is."

You also find something for Vander: a small bottle of a special spice drink he loves, plus a handmade card that Powder designs on the spot while you wait for the vendor to wrap the bottle.

You keep taking short breaks between presents. At one point, you stop at a stall selling warm, freshly baked cookies, the smell of which is irresistible in itself. Powder orders a large portion and, without thinking, you break a cookie in half to share it with her. Your fingers touch briefly and you feel your heart skip a beat again.

Another time, you find a stall selling hot chocolate served in small, decorated cups. You both drink slowly as you sit on a bench and watch the people pass you by. Powder carefully blows on the hot liquid, her face focused, and you catch yourself looking at her instead of drinking your own mug.

Time passes faster than you expected. Between the laughter, the conversations and the warmth of their company, you barely notice the day fading away. The sun slowly sets over Piltover, the golden colors give way to soft reds and purples, and the streetlights gradually come on.

"Almost over," Powder mutters as you stop together at a corner and look out at the fading sun. She looks thoughtful, her eyes briefly fixed on the evening light before she smiles at you. "But that was the best day I've had in a long time."

Her words hit you and you feel your heart stop for a moment. It's strange, but at this moment everything around you seems to fade into the background - the sounds of the streets, the light, even the cold.

You both know it. You are the outsiders.

That was clear from the start, and the whole group knows it just as well as you do. Claggor, Mylo and even Vi - they're all connected somehow, a close-knit team that stands up for each other without hesitation. But you and Powder? You're... different.

No less part of the group, but still apart in a way. Maybe it's because you both live in your own world, one that is sometimes hard to understand. Maybe it's because you both see things differently, feel differently, than the others do.

Powder knows that as well as you do. And maybe that's exactly what connects you two on days like these - a silent agreement that it's okay to be different.

With your hands full of bags overflowing with presents for your friends, you make your way back to Zaun.

The streets of Piltover become quieter the further away you get. The glorious lights and gleaming store windows gradually disappear, and the crowds that previously populated the streets become fewer. The air becomes colder, denser, and the familiar smell of metal and smoke creeps back in.

You cross half of Piltover, your steps accompanied by occasional laughter and brief conversations. But at some point, even this becomes less frequent as you pass a run-down house - a building that stands in sharp contrast to the elegant streets above.

In front of you is the elevator, old and rickety, the metal doors rusty and covered in countless scratches. Powder gives your coat a gentle tug, as if to tell you it's safe, even if it looks anything but trustworthy.

You step inside and the elevator emits a weary squeak as Powder pulls the lever. With a jolting jerk, it starts moving and takes you down, deeper and deeper into the hideous undercity of Zaun.

The light flickers dimly as the elevator rattles, and you notice Powder holding the bags with one hand and leaning briefly against the wall with the other. Her gaze is calm, but there is a hint of tiredness - or perhaps melancholy - in her eyes.

Zaun finally greets you with its familiar, dreary sight. Dark streets, green lights, damp concrete, the smell of oil and chemicals - a different world compared to the festivity you have just left behind. But strangely enough, it still feels familiar.

At home.

The word echoes in your head as you continue to walk through the dark streets of Zaun. You call this place that, even though it wasn't originally. It's a term you've become familiar with, but deep down you know it's more a facade than the truth.

Because that is a secret that only Vander knows.

He is the only one who knows the truth about your origins - about the family you were born into. A family known in Piltover, not for rebellion or oppression, but for their groundbreaking inventions and scientific breakthroughs. The most famous scientists in the upper town.

But down here you are not the child of visionaries or scholars. Here you are simply you - someone who is trying to find a place in a world that always seems to throw you off the rails.

Powder gives you a quick sideways glance as you continue walking. Her smile is faint but genuine, and you wonder if she ever suspects that the world you come from is so different from hers. That you have more in common with the shiny streets of Piltover than you let on.

But that doesn't matter. Not now, not here. Zaun may be bleak and cold, but the people here - your family - have given you something Piltover never could: a place where you belong.

You continue on your way to The Last Drop, exposed to the cold of the Undercity, which feels different to the clear, almost clean cold of Piltover. Here it has a heavy, raw quality that pushes through your clothes and makes your breath visible.

Some people give you looks as you walk past - two children with bags full of presents. Such easy prey.

An unpleasant feeling creeps into your stomach. You try to ignore it, but the shadows of the alleyways and the figures lurking there keep your nerves on edge. We should hurry. Although Vander knows everyone here, you feel an underlying fear that you can't quite shake off.

When you finally arrive at the Last Drop, some of the tension is gone. But the bar is absolutely packed, the air heavy with conversation, laughter and the smell of alcohol. People crowd around the wooden tables, their voices loud and energetic as large jugs are pushed across the table.

Some of the guests notice you and greet you with a nod or a brief smile. Powder waves to a few people as you move through the crowd.

You reach the solid wooden door at the back, which separates you from the other rooms in the bar. You push it open with a creak and behind it are the stairs leading down to the cellar.

The room downstairs is a familiar sight - warm, cozy and filled with the sound of voices that already carry the festive mood. Vi, Claggor and Mylo are already waiting, and it's obvious they're excited for the feast.

Vi is sitting in her usual armchair, her head resting casually on one hand as she looks at you with a wry grin. Her fiery red hair is combed back, a few small strands falling loosely over her forehead. She has a posture that looks relaxed, but her eyes are watching everything attentively, as always.

Claggor and Mylo are sitting on the couch, each on their own side. Claggor leans back, one arm resting casually over the back of the couch. His round face wears a broad smile, and his short, dark brown hair is neatly cut, almost as always, as if he has just had a fresh trim.

Mylo, on the other hand, sits almost on the edge of the couch, his body bent forward, gesticulating wildly as he talks to Claggor about something. His thin, wiry figure is in motion as always, his brown hair sticking out in all directions as if he had forgotten to tame it.

But the moment Mylo sees you and Powder, he pauses. A broad, mischievous grin spreads across his face and he lets out a short, two-note whistle.

"Well, look who's here! Little Miss Christmas Fairy and her faithful servant!" he calls out in his typical, slightly nasal voice. His gaze wanders to the bags in your hands. "Are those presents for us, or have you finally decided to rob a bank?"

Powder rolls her eyes, but the smile on her face shows that she is not really annoyed by the comment. "I don't know, Mylo," she replies dryly and slightly annoyed. "Then again, maybe you're not on the list because you've been a jerk all year."

Claggor laughs out loud, the sound filling the room with a pleasant warmth. Vi, on the other hand, just shakes her head slightly, a wry grin on her lips, and beckons you over with a relaxed look. "Come on. Sit down and show us what you've got."

"Huh? These are mostly presents for you!" Powder replies with playful indignation and lifts up one of the bags. She points a finger at the group in front of you, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. "I can show the present for Vander - but not the others!"

Mylo dramatically puts a hand to his chest, his face put on aggrieved. "What, why not? We're the most important people in your life, aren't we? I want to see that now!"

"Shut up, Mylo," Vi says, her voice calm but authoritative. She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms in front of her chest, a smile that looks like silent victory on her face. "She's right. Gifts are a surprise. Unless you want your present now and then you won't get anything at Christmas."

Claggor laughs again, his broad shoulders shake, and he nods in agreement. "Yes, exactly, Mylo. It's called self-control. Give it a try."

Powder grins with satisfaction and takes the bottle out of one of the bags for Vander. She holds it up in the air, the label reflecting the cool light of the cellar. "This one's for Vander. And I know he'll love it!"

Vi looks at the bottle, raises an eyebrow and finally nods approvingly. "Not bad, you two. You really picked something good."

Powder beams with pride, but before anyone can add anything, Mylo speaks up, as always loudly and without being asked. "Yes, yes, yes. Can we talk about the important stuff now?" he says, leaning forward and waving his hands. "Who else is joining us later? I want to work out how many presents I'm going to get!"

Vi snorts audibly and gives him an annoyed but also slightly amused look. "As far as I know, Ekko, Silco and maybe Benzo are still coming. At least that's what Vander told me yesterday."

Mylo grimaces and shakes his head exaggeratedly. "Silco? Really? That's great. That guy brings nothing but those boring speeches anyway. I bet his present is something like... books again."

"Better than nothing," Claggor comments dryly as he leans back a little more comfortably on the couch. "And besides, Mylo, you probably won't get anything from him anyway. So calm down."

Powder giggles softly as she puts the bags down on the small table and sits down on a free seat. "I'm glad Ekko's coming. I'm sure he'll bring something cool - and he likes to play with us."

"Yeah, Ekko's okay," Mylo mumbles, shrugging his shoulders. "But when Benzo shows up, it means we have to behave. The guy's kind of like Vander, only... stricter."

Vi rolls her eyes and brushes back a strand of hair. "Benzo's not so bad. Besides, you're never quiet long enough to behave anyway."

"Hey! That was mean!" protests Mylo and crosses his arms, trying to put on an offended expression, which is drowned out by Claggor's loud laughter.

You just keep watching as they all talk, laugh and tease each other. The room is filled with their energy, but you feel strangely absent.

Your mind wanders as you look at the bags of presents.

There is still a lot to do.

Some of the gifts are not quite ready yet, and you still need to prepare them to make them really special.

The conversation in front of you seems to be going in all sorts of directions - but none of them are really important to you. You already know who else is coming today, and that's enough for you. It's the details that really matter to you: the little moments, the finishing touches to make sure the gifts are perfect.

With a soft sigh, you lean back and take a moment to go through your plan in your head.

Everything has to be right tonight.

With that, you move quietly and disappear from the room without saying anything. The presents and everything else must be perfectly prepared.

"I'm really nervous," Powder says, her voice echoing slightly through the large room, which is suddenly surprisingly quiet.

You're all back upstairs, and by all we really mean all of you. The Last Drop has officially closed and the announced guests have also arrived.

Silco, with his unmistakable, sharp gaze and cool charisma, sits relaxed on one of the chairs, his posture both casual and aloof.

Ekko, always full of energy, is a shining contrast. His eyes light up and he bobs his foot slightly as if he can't sit still. Every few seconds, the little boy looks over at you and Powder.

Benzo, calm as ever and with that unmistakable authoritarian presence, leans back and watches the group with his arms folded.

To accommodate you all together, Vander, Benzo and Vi have put together several tables, creating one long, massive table. The atmosphere is cozy, but also a little tense - it's not often that so many different personalities come together in one place.

Powder is sitting right next to you, and her nervous hands tell you that she's just as uncomfortable as you are - maybe even more so. She gives you a quick glance, an uncertain smile on her lips, before turning her attention back to the table.

Should I say something?

The thought bounces like an echo in your head. But immediately the familiar uncertainty comes back:

No, what if my voice sounds too high? What if I make a total fool of myself?

You force yourself to stay calm, your hands resting firmly on your lap, almost like Powders. Maybe Vander will break the ice. Someone like him - strong, confident - is made for situations like this.

Your gaze wanders to the other end of the table. Vander is sitting on the last single chair, his massive body leaning heavily but relaxed against the backrest. To his left sits Vi, in her typical posture - one arm casually resting on the edge of the table, the other supporting her head, while her fiery red hair frames her forehead in light wisps.

Silco sits to his right. His figure is narrower, almost like a shadow in contrast to Vander. His face is motionless, almost cold, and his eyes wander slowly across the room, as if he is weighing up everything and everyone in his mind.

But it's Vander who fixes you.

His gaze is calm but firm. You have the feeling he's been watching you for a while, and the longer you look back, the harder it becomes to bear the silence.

Why does he look like that? Does he expect something from me? Does he want me to say something?

Your pulse is quickening. Come on, think! Say something!

But your fear is holding you back. No! Be calm! Don't embarrass yourself!

You break eye contact, lower your head and stare at the grain of the wooden table. It suddenly seems incredibly fascinating, almost hypnotizing.

It won't be long now. We'll all be eating in a few seconds anyway and then it'll be over.

But before you can think any more about the food or the strange tension, a loud bang breaks the silence.

Benzo places a huge plate on the table, the wood literally shakes under its weight, and all heads turn to watch the spectacle.

"Well, it's about time!" exclaims Mylo enthusiastically, his eyes almost sparkling as he examines the food.

But Benzo is not finished yet. He goes back behind the counter and brings plate after plate, each laden with food that almost looks like a feast in Zaun. Plates of steaming pieces of meat, perfectly roasted vegetables, crispy potatoes and even a basket of freshly baked bread - the smell alone makes your stomach growl.

Claggor whistles softly, his eyes widening in surprise. "This is... more than I expected."

"By our standards?" Powder murmurs quietly next to you, almost as if she's saying out loud the thought that's running through all your minds. "That's... unbelievable."

Vi leans forward and examines the plates with a critical but appreciative look. "Benzo, did you buy half the market empty or what?" she asks, her voice slightly amused.

"It's Christmas," Benzo grumbles back as he places another plate on the table. His voice has its usual gruff tone, but there is a hint of pride in it. "I thought you kids deserved something proper."

The eyes at the table wander from the food to Benzo and back again, everyone seems lost for a moment in the sheer abundance of this feast. Even Silco, who normally seems rather emotionless, raises an eyebrow slightly as if acknowledging the effort.

Vander nods at Benzo, his gaze warm, grateful. "You've done well, Benzo."

"Come on, Vander," Benzo replies as he sits down heavily on a chair. "Just start eating before Mylo here devours half of it by himself."

The meal proceeds with a warmth and joy that is rarely found elsewhere. Conversations buzz around the table, from boisterous laughter to quiet, serious stories. Mylo, of course, has the floor most of the time, but everyone contributes something - even Silco with a sharp but dry comment that unexpectedly makes the others laugh.

Later, you are all gathered in the cellar. The air is heavy with conversation, but pleasantly warm - a contrast to the cold outside. Vander, Silco and Benzo are sitting together on the larger couch. Vander has his arms relaxed over the backrest, while Benzo leans forward with a slight grumble, his hands wrapped around a glass. Silco, on the other hand, sits quietly, his legs crossed, and his penetrating gaze occasionally wanders around the room.

Vi, Claggor and Mylo are sitting on the other couch. Vi leans back and relaxes, her arms folded loosely over her head as she tells one of her stories, which always sounds a little exaggerated, but captivates everyone nonetheless. Claggor listens attentively, occasionally nodding or laughing, while Mylo tries to draw attention to himself with a slightly mocking comment.

You, Powder and Ekko are standing a little apart, but together in a small group. Powder gestures animatedly as she tells Ekko about your day in Piltover, her eyes shining with excitement. Ekko nods, a broad smile on his face as he occasionally throws in something himself that makes them both laugh.

The gift-giving takes its course as Vander leaves the room, followed by a brief moment of silence. Silco and Benzo stand up and lean backwards, reaching for the presents they had hidden behind their couch. The tension rises noticeably as they pull out the packages and place them on the table.

One by one, they follow her example. Some quietly place their presents on the table, while others - like Mylo - can't wait to get up and press the parcels directly into the hands of those for whom they are intended.

"Here, Claggor," Mylo says with a broad grin as he presses a bulky package into his hand. "Open it quickly, I want to see if you like what I've picked out."

Claggor laughs softly, his gaze slightly skeptical. "If you chose it, I'm sure it's... interesting."

Vi leans back and relaxes, her arms crossed, but a smile plays on her lips as she watches the first parcels being opened. Powder presses a small, carefully wrapped present into Ekko's hand as she grins excitedly. "I hope you like it! I've been thinking about it for hours."

Ekko returns the grin as he holds the package like a treasure. "I'm sure it's perfect."

The atmosphere becomes louder and more exuberant as more gifts are presented. The crackling of paper and the laughter of the group fills the room, and for a moment everything around you seems unimportant - only this moment counts, the warmth and the smiles you share with each other.

But suddenly a new figure enters the room - something that nobody expected. No one but you. You had seen the shadow under the door, a tall, broad silhouette that had moved inconspicuously.

Santa Claus?

Tall, broad and with a bushy white beard, the man dressed in red enters the room with a box full of presents. The effect is immediate - all conversations fall silent and heads turn towards the door.

"Santa Claus!" Ekko exclaims enthusiastically, his eyes as big as saucers as he almost jumps up from the couch.

But you can recognize it immediately.

That is clearly Vander.

The beard, the cap, the red and white clothing - it's not enough to hide his unmistakable stature and striking eye color.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Who's up for a few presents?" he calls out in a deep, overly festive voice as he enters the room. The box in his arms seems to be almost overflowing with small, lovingly wrapped parcels.

Powder begins to giggle, her hands over her mouth as Mylo laughs out loud. "That's definitely Vander! Really now?!" he exclaims, but the smile on his face shows that he's enjoying the moment anyway.

"Don't ruin the magic, Mylo," Vi says dryly, but even she has to grin as Vander, aka "Santa Claus", places the box on the table and glances around.

"Good, good," he murmurs in his deep, feigned voice as he lifts the first present out of the box. "Who's been good this year? Or should I start with the naughty ones?"

"By the naughty ones, you probably just mean Mylo..." replies Benzo dryly, looking around the room with a mischievous smile. His gaze lingers briefly on Vander, who has to remain serious in his Santa costume. "Mister... Santa."

The group bursts out laughing, even Mylo, although he crosses his arms indignantly. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean? I was great this year! Even better than Claggor!"

"Dream on, Mylo," Claggor murmurs, his voice accompanied by a broad grin as he leans back casually. "I'm sure Santa already has an extra list just for you."

"Shut up," hisses Mylo, but he can't help smirking as Vander, alias Santa Claus, reaches for the first package.

"All right," Vander begins in his deep voice as he holds the gift in the air and looks around. "Let's see who's been really good... or who's just pretending."

His gaze deliberately falls on Mylo, causing the group to burst into further laughter. Even you giggle slightly as you put a hand over your mouth.

But now Vander, or Santa Claus, pulls out a list. And he starts reading it out:

"The bravest, smartest one on the list is... Y/N," Vander announces with an overly theatrical tone as he looks directly at you.

All eyes are immediately on you. You feel how the attention feels like a spotlight - intense and uncomfortable. Your heart beats faster and you notice how you unconsciously lower your gaze as nervousness rises within you.

Vander steps forward, in his "Santa Claus" manner, and hands you several presents. They're not just small packages - some are big and heavy enough that you have to put them down on the floor for a moment to be able to hold them.

And then Silco suddenly gets up.

The attention in the room shifts to him almost instantly, and you feel the tension rise. Silco moves with his characteristic calm, his face expressionless as he steps towards you. For a moment, time seems to stand still as he holds a large, elegantly wrapped gift in his hands.

Without a word, he places it in your hands. His gaze is penetrating, almost as if he is looking deep inside you, and the silence his presence leaves behind feels almost overwhelming.

"You have potential... don't waste it."

Those are the only words he says. His voice is quiet, almost like a whisper that nevertheless reaches everyone in the room.

He remains standing in front of you for a moment, then turns around and returns to his place on the couch, where he settles down with a serene movement.

The room is silent for a moment. Everyone seems surprised by the brief interaction, perhaps even a little intimidated. Powder stands next to you, her eyes wide with wonder as she stares at you.

You look at the gifts in your hands and feel the weight of Silco's words as if they are heavier than anything you are holding.

Potential...

The laughter and conversation slowly resume, but you are caught up in your thoughts for a moment.

The laughter and conversations return, slowly but steadily, filling the room with warmth and liveliness again. But you are still trapped in your thoughts as you stare at the gifts in your hands. Potential... don't waste it.

Silco's words echo in your head as the others get stuck into the presents. Presents are passed around, the rustling of paper and the laughter of the group momentarily drowns out your thoughts.

Mylo tears open a package with exaggerated enthusiasm and triumphantly lifts up a mechanical bird. "What did I say? I'm the best here!" he shouts, while Claggor shakes his head next to him and Vi playfully throws a pillow at him.

Powder beams with joy as she unwraps a small set of tools - something she can use for crafting and inventing. Ekko claps his hands enthusiastically when he finds a new watch, hand-engraved and perfect for him.

One by one, each gift is unwrapped and you only notice it peripherally, while your thoughts revolve around the words and the books that Silco has given you.

Later, as the gift-giving comes to an end and the evening draws to a close, you take a closer look at the books. They are heavy, high-quality works on physics, chemistry and biology - certainly not easy reads, but each one feels like a challenge, an opportunity to fulfill the potential Silco sees in you.

You got all sorts of things from Vander and the others: warm clothes, a hand-carved knife, even a little leather-bound notebook from Powder that she handed you with a shy smile.

The gifts reflect the people who gave them to you - each with a meaning that reminds you that you are part of this family.

Wow...what a great Christmas. Hopefully it's not the last holiday you'll ever celebrate with them all.

Notes:

It was a pretty quiet Christmas, I think. Of course, none of this is canon - it's a special chapter after all. It was the first idea that came to mind - a quiet celebration with familiar characters and, of course, Powder by your side. A little warmth is simply part of a winter celebration. I really appreciate any feedback and am happy to answer any comments. So I would be delighted if you could let me know what you think. Merry Christmas to everyone.

[prettysilkk]

Well do you?

[taygra5shaon]

FIX-IT AU 2

bullying Cazador is a thing good and right 🖤

[chaseacer-ghostedition]

My second piece I made for @notoverjoyed @invisobang fic fading away

My first piece is here

Shout out to by my fellow artist on this fic @auroboroch their art here

[fraugwinska]

I've seen fanfics about Alastor × deaf reader

But what about.. blind reader? Maybe they lost sight in some battle

How they would be confused meeting Alastor at first: did someone turn the radio on- oh, thats a demon talking!

And how confused would be Alastor as his feelings started to grow towards the reader: he just enjoys their company! What else can he do when they like to listen to him spilling the tea and just rambling about everything because of his soothing voice? His favourite listener

Then.. their relationships get a bit different as in another one relaxing evening together Alastor asks if they want to see him..

And on their confused silence he answers bringing their hands to his face for them to "read" his apperience..

Just thought it would be hella fun to read! Not good enough at english, sorry for mistakes

I love your writtings! 💕Stay hydrated and don't dare to overwork yourself ☝

Hiya lovely Anon! <3 I put my own little spin on your idea! I love fics like those, and this one sat in my drafts for ages - I hope the wait was worth it! Thank you so much for this ask! <3 Warning: Contains depictions of attempted SA, please read with caution - MINORS DNI!

The bookstore was always quiet in the evenings. Well, it was quiet almost always.

Hell wasn't the most... appreciative place for tombs and books that didn't have porn or egregious murder in them, so your shop wasn't really frequented much. Occasionally, a new sinner would find their way in, not yet taken by the unpunished excessiveness Pentagram City had to offer, and would buy a book or two, never to be seen again. The rest of your clientele were loyal regulars, mostly elderly demons and imps getting books for their masters in other rings. It wasn't much, but enough for you to get by, live a simple, modest life. Your shop was mundane enough as to not attract the more dangerous ones the city had to offer, yet held the beauty that only an antique bookstore could, with a reading room like atmosphere, mismatched armchairs scattered in between the high bookshelves and an old radio on the counter playing in the background.

That didn't mean there weren't moments you'd have to get yourself out of some serious situations. On rare occasions, the patrons of your bookstore became too demanding or rough with you, thinking they could intimidate or screw you over because of your... handicap. After all, how would you see the hand reaching in the register, or the little spell book slipping into the inside pocket of a jacket. The blindness you were born with on earth hadn't left you in your death, but the enhanced sensitivity of your other senses made things easier for you. You had learned to take your losses, unwilling to let these moments ruin your confidence in your work or diminish your spirits.

You navigated through the little store with ease, putting laid-out books back into their designated places - feeling the backs of the books like it spelled their names, and motion memory guiding you through the maze of furniture and shelves - your plain, long felt skirt softly brushing this edge and that wood panel. What you wore wasn't fancy, modern or stylish attire, but it was comfortable enough. And who were you kidding? At the end of the day, nobody cared for your less-than-ordinary appearance, but yourself.

Your mind had been drifting around between random topics for a while until, on your last trip back to the front desk, your round ears picked up the bell on your door and the faint sound of staticy talking, coming from the direction of the counter. A customer, at this hour no less! But you were sure you had turned off the radio hours ago... maybe the old thing was finally breaking down, you thought with a little sadness. You hurried to it, still hung back in your thoughts and babbling as you turned the desk to shut the little device off so your customer wasn't disturbed.

"Hello, I'm terribly sorry if you're bothered by the radio, I should have turned it off. Feel free to browse through-" you paused mid-sentence as the air shifted slightly. You had turned the familiar knob but the filtered voice didn't stop talking. Your ears moved around, as if the source was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, trying to determine its source, when the other occupant of the store laughed at the surprise written on your face.

"Apologies aren't necessary my dear, but that wasn't the little device here but me, asking for service. Although I'm quite fond of a little old fashioned tune - comes with the title of the Radio Demon, you see." He talked with amusement, or something in his tone seemed powerful and dangerous. As his words started to make sense to you, you held a sharp breath, struggling not to take a step back. Of course you've heard of Alastor, the Radio Demon, but you've never had the honor (or dread) of meeting him in person. Rumors had spread around in hell a long time before you'd even gotten here, stories of a powerful overlord who'd broadcasted the screams and torments of his victims, spreading fear to everyone, from sinner, to lesser demons, to even other overlords themselves.

"W-welcome to my store, sir! What can I help you with today?" You smiled pleasantly, hoping that showing him respect and going out of your way for a courteous interaction could possibly keep you from being torn to pieces. You heard the ruffling of fabric - a hand reaching into a pocket, wrapping it's fingers around a thick piece of paper, along a low, distorted chuckle. "A good friend of mine recommended your store to me, I am looking for a few... unusual books, hopefully to be found here."

You waited into the silence, one second, two, three. When he said nothing, only static noise slowly increasing in volume, you decided to speak again. "May you tell me the titles, sir?"

"If you'd take the list, little mouse, everything I need is on it." His voice had an edge of annoyance to it now. You didn't know when his presence had approached so close to where you stood, and couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not. You sighed, pulling the darkened glasses off you wore day in, day out, revealing the white irises that gave your blindness away. After a sound like a record scratch, you managed a helpless smile. "I fear if it's not in braille, it won't do much to hand me that."

The other demon was silent again, but the crackling static had dropped, and before you had time to add something that wouldn't get you gutted, he'd barked a laugh, sounding genuinely amused and entertained.

"My, isn't that a bit cliché, my dear? A blind mouse? Any chance you have two siblings?"

That joke was new. You dared to husk out a little laugh, too, your hands gently resting on the counter top. "I hate to disappoint, but no. I even have my tail still, no farmers wife with a knife."

There was a change in his stance, his coat sweeping the air as you heard the list was laid on the wooden surface in front of you, surprisingly not crushed or crumbling under the power of his hand. Coldness swept like waves of fog over the front desk and your hands, you pulled them away with a shudder, confused, but your patron just hummed.

"There, that should've done the trick. I'd rather not want to read my little.... requests aloud, they're a rather curious bunch, I believe. Very useful, though, especially those for more creative types in cooking."

You reached for the paper and thumbed through the braille letters one after the other, feeling a long list of more... taboo tomes you were sure wouldn't have even been mentioned in any respectable catalogue. Luckily, you were a glutton for oddities and curiosities, and with a small smile of pride you found that you had every book on the list on hand. Maybe it was this pride thatgave you the confidence so that you didn't reply and instead swiftly jumped ahead, bustling through the rows and pillars of bookshelves. Every step was calculated, from the short staircase to the tiny nook where you stored spell books and tombs of dark magic, navigating past all the tables and furniture to the particular bookcase containing ritualistic cookbooks. Once you had a feeling where a book would be located, you searched the titles by stroking the backs with the pads of your fingers, tapping quickly and analyzing the material and little bumps and nicks of the spines. Once found, you traced the edges of the piece and drew up a mental image in your mind to check it wasn't bent, dirty, torn or had any parts missing. Your fingers were your eyes, and they were keen.

As you carried the rather heavy stack back, the Radio Demon hadn't moved an inch from where you'd left him, as far as you could tell. It had been hard not to acknowledge him throughout the ordeal while your brain just went on autopilot after realizing he didn't mean to kill you, at least for the moment. On one hand, that was comforting; on the other hand, it was absolutely horrifying.

"Here you go, sir. Please, feel free to check if they are up to your standards." You set the books down carefully, counting the number of thick covers in the stack to be sure and your fingers brushed sharp talons as apparently the Radio Demon reached out to inspect the books as you offered. With a sharp inhale and a heated face you quickly drew back, stammering apologies. He only chuckled faintly, the static surrounding him crackling as if it, too, was amused.

You stood silently behind the counter and listened to him flipping through the pages, turning the books around to read their contents, humming here and there. He seemed content with the lot and you were sure that once he'd paid, he would leave, hopefully sparing your meager existence and not leaving any destruction behind.

"Very well! These will do perfectly, little mouse. And, I have to say, you have a very interesting collection. The quality of your inventory exceeds what Zestial promised. You might expect a few more visits from me in the future, if you don't mind."

The last sentence wasn't a question. It was a statement, underlined with the sound of a heavy stack of bills placed on your counter. Your hands confirmed what your ears already suspected - your patron well overpaid you.

"Not at all, sir, but you gave me too much mon...."

But the air shifted again, and a chime and a thud later you knew he had already walked out, his laughter the last thing you heard before the door clicked shut.

“...ey.”

What a peculiar man, you thought, still processing the entire experience. His voice had been darling, no wonder he chose radio as his medium. You were sure his smile you've heard so many demons whisper about was wide and predatory, but he had been so polite. Even the nickname he'd given you had been charming, compared to the names and remarks you've had thrown at you by lesser demons, and you shook your head at the ridiculousness of your face flushing at the memory.

'Little mouse.'

After a long moment, you finally counted the money and put the amount he tipped you aside in your hidden safe, making a note to yourself that you would give it back to him when he'd return. If he'd return.

Weeks passed and the Radio Demon had kept his promise and visited again. And again. And again.

The first time he came back and you, already flustered, offered to give back the surplus money he'd paid you, he was baffled before he heartily laughed and ignored your attempts to return it to him, instead buying three more books and leaving you with even more undeserved cash in your hands.

Almost once a week he'd return to your store, sometimes he'd have a whole list of books he'd want to buy, and he almost never left your store with empty hands. Sometimes he'd sit down in one of the many chairs to peruse a tomb you set aside for him, predicting he'd find interest in it as you learned his tastes in literature, and he'd hum almost happily when you found a new curiosity or a grimoire that was especially hard to come by. And sometimes he just came in for a quick visit, not even intending to buy a book but just to chat a bit. With every encounter your initial apprehension shifted into appreciation, so much so that you'd grow to eagerly await his return, the sound the bell made when he enthusiastically swung the door open or the slight distortion of your radio when he changed the station to one that suited his mood better.

You were a bit enchanted with him, if you were honest. Not only had every interaction been intriguing and entertaining, he'd been one of the rare visitors who hadn't maliciously mocked or threatened you, or worse. And you found that you enjoyed the small banters you could have with him, the fact that he treated you no differently than anyone else. It was refreshing, and each of his visits put a spring in your step for days, no matter how hard you tried not to think about him.

By the time several months had passed, he became your favorite client and he seemed to have an everlasting interest in your inventory as well as yourself. You learned that he was quite a wealthy demon with a seemingly insatiable appetite for entertainment, and always with an eye for quality, which you vowed yourself to provide in return, if only to keep him coming back. You found you could spend hours with only him at the store over freshly made coffee, discussing various literary concepts and historical events he used as references, and it was a delight to laugh together about some particularly odd rituals in books like 'Old Spells to Cure Thievery' or 'Blood Rituals of the Flaying Kink'.

Sometimes, when you'd hand him a new find or a heavy tomb, his hands would lightly brush yours and his voice would drop and become a bit softer, quieter as he cooed his nickname for you - 'Little Mouse'. With your lack of vision, you didn't know how his face looked nor how his expression would've surely changed - but his voice took on a tone that would be fitting for a date, and the touches made you shiver lightly and tingle and you felt heat spread all over your chest and the pit of your stomach when he did. If your body betrayed those reactions on your face, he wouldn't tease you for them. At least, you never noticed if he did. Maybe he had the grace to simply not remark on them, you thought, for once grateful for your blindness so you wouldn't have to see your own - surely ridiculously dumbstruck - expression reflected in the windows of your storefront. But the physical contact between you became more frequent, more deliberately made, and you'd caught his own quiet sigh every now and again when he lingered for just a moment longer before the doorbell chimed and he'd leave again.

One evening, as you were cleaning up and preparing for tomorrow's customers, a soft knock on the already locked door pulled you out of the haze of your radio's gentle tune. Turning around, you moved slowly towards the sound of the interruption, adjusting your dark glasses.

"My apologies, but we're closed for tonight, please come back tomorrow."

There was no reply, no sound of footsteps and your ears strained to catch a whisper of a sound, to find a new hint as to who was outside. Another knock, harder now, sounded and this time it took all your courage to approach. Your hair stood at its roots as your hands rested at the wooden door, your senses tingling that you better not open - that danger stood in front of your store.

"Please go, we'll be open again tomorrow."

Your reflexes, acting faster than your brain, made you stumble back as the glass of your front doors shattered into a million pieces. In a panic you tumbled to the floor, hands over your face as the pieces broke apart on impact. There were voices, rough and foreign sounding, that accompanied the stomping of boots. You shuffled back on the ground, trying to get out of the way before being stepped or kicked upon, reaching to the walls and bookshelves to find some stability to guide you in getting away from what was coming towards you.

"T-take what you want, please, I won't stop you. Just... just take it and leave."

Your words were shaking in fear and the little hope that a verbal warning and submission would placate the robbers. To your horror the voices - two, if your panicked mind didn't fool you - erupted into raspy laughter and you realized then that money might not be the only thing these demons were after.

"You were right, Hank. This is going to be easier than I thought, look at how helpless the bitch is."

"Told 'ya, Tommy Boy. An' the best part..." supposedly the one called Hank said deviously, and you were yanked up at your wrists and thrown over what must've been your counter, your glasses slipping and breaking at the impact and your eyes dwelling with hot tears. You recognized this voice… just a few days ago this demon had come into the shop, just as Alastor was about to leave, lingering around the shop and leaving quickly mumbling a half-asses excuse without buying anything after you asked if you could help him find something and Alastor's static crackled dangerously. The same smell of sharp sweat and wet tobacco lingered around him, making your stomach turn. "... she can't tell anyone who we are. Hoh, look, her eyes are some freaky shit, 'n you bet her tits 're freaky, too. S'not even our damn birthday but looks like we got ourselves a gift. 'Ya wanna go first?"

"You know me - Don't mind if I do."

With a heart beating out of your chest and shallow breaths, you tried to feel with your only free hand for something, anything, to defend yourself with. You had to defend yourself. Anything would be better than what horrific thing they were about to do. There was only the flat, leather bound accounting book close by, but it was better than nothing, and in a motion of impulse and fear you slashed with it into the general direction you felt the weight of Tommy settle onto the counter top above you. His complice bellowed angrily, making your ears ring, and Tommy snatched the weapon from your hand to throw it away. His breath smelled of filth and cold ash, the skin of your throat burned when he wrapped his calloused hands around it.

"We're gonna show ya your fucking place, worthless blind cum-chunk bitch, an' when we're done with ya..."

There was a sudden, instant sound of feedback, a wet splatter and a horrified scream and hasty, fleeing footsteps before a wave of relief washed over you as your neck fell free from the intruders grasp and you heard a familiar voice.

"Oh, my dear fellow, do go on. I'd love to hear the end of that sentence." A low, distorted chuckle followed. Alastor sounded different - menacing. Bone-chilling. If those words would've been directed at you, you would've been mortified. But it sounded like honey in your ears, knowing who the recipient was. "Ah, how silly of me - surely it's much harder to speak without vocal chords."

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as the sounds of violence became ever more gruesome. A whipping sound, a wail and a choked gasp and two stomach-churning thuds of something hitting the floor.

"Well that's not handy at all - you can't even sign your pathetic pleas now. How unfortunate to be in such a vulnerable position, isn't it?"

A thud, then another - your stomach turned as the room got flooded with a different type of warmth. Your lungs and chest stung from the stench of iron and decay and your throat hurt as you realized one aura had vanished from the store and Tommy was most likely reduced to a fleshy pile on the ground. Suddenly you felt a sharp but warm, strangely long but familar hand cradling the back of your skull, pressing your cheek against a broad, angled shoulder, another wrapped tightly around your shoulders, resting under your ears. It was quiet, now - you could only hear your staggered breathing and Alastors static that had gone down a notch or two. You thought his breathing had become more labored, too, when he slowly, gently, let go and straightened you to bring you to a standing position, his hands shifting into their usual shape as they came to rest lightly on your upper arms.

"Are you alright, dear?" His voice was almost back to the tone you were so fond of - almost. There still was an undertone, a dangerous sharpness. Your fingertips instinctively grasped and searched until they met with the familiar texture of his clothing and you nodded.

"Y-yes... I think so, yes. What - what happened to the other one?"

There was a deep laugh, one you haven't heard yet from him. "Oh, my dear, no need to fret over that. I'll deal with that pest later. I should've dealt with him the moment he stepped into your store. An oversight I intend to shortly redeem."

It should have frightened you - should've made the situation so, so much worse, hearing that Alastor planned more torture for that vile creature, probably even an equally gruesome death like the one his friend got. But his words only calmed you. Made you feel... safer. Your fingers lingered on his suit longer than you expected, tracing the detailed seams of his lapels, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on the fabric, feeling the details of the cool, metallic buttons. And he let you. He stood still, allowing your hands to see what your eyes couldn't.

"I can't decide if it's a blessing or a shame that you can't see the carnage I caused. Although I am pleased that you didn't have to look at the ugly faces of those cretins who tried to defile you." He took your hands from his coat and placed them softly on his face. "But maybe… you can try to envision what your savior looks like, hm?"

His hands left yours again, though you found the sensation and feeling of his touch remained where he placed them. Your heart fluttered as you couldn't keep yourself from running your palms and fingertips over his skin, cautiously tracing his angular jaw, making out the distinct feeling and sharp lines of a toothy grin. Then you pushed further, fingers running along a slight bow and over the indent where his brows arched, his cheekbones prominent enough you felt the warmth of blood flushing under the skin as the mental image of his face got clearer.

You were in awe that you could do this, that he encouraged it even, but he allowed you the tender moment, making a muffled humming sound and exhaling quietly under your soft, curious touch. You realized at last that his eyes were closed for you, the skin there slightly pliant and firm at the same time. With the tips of your fingers, you followed the firm, straight bridge of his nose down the length of it and he inhaled sharply when you brushed his lips. The familiar sound of static increased just enough for you to realize there had been complete silence aside from your soft and his steady breathing. He opened his eyes again, slowly taking your hands away to leave a feathery light, lingering kiss on your knuckles as he hummed thoughtfully.

"Now, let me clean up this mess, we don't want you stumble over any... unpleasant bits." You heard a snap and felt the air whirring around you, filling with a thick, fog-like sensation as you heard your floors creaking, wood mending and cracking and tiny bits of glass swirling around you, piecing itself together and returning into their frame. Not even a minute later the shop felt normal again, the unpleasant smell gone as well, and with it the overall apprehension the threat had caused.

"Thank you, Alastor. Truly, I don't know what would've happened if you weren't..." you started, pausing as his hands wandered gently around your face to put on your miraculously repaired glasses. He laughed softly, tapping a gentle, slender finger on the tip of your nose.

"Luckily we didn't find out, did we? Ah, but, unfortunately, I'd say the night has been spoiled for us, given that there's another vermin to take care of." He walked behind you, carefully setting the accounting book you had used as an attempted weapon into your hands, his taloned fingers curling gently around yours as if to make sure you had a proper hold on it.

"You lock up when I'm gone, little mouse. And who knows - Maybe we'll continue to see each other... tomorrow night."

And then you felt another gentle peck, this time on your flushed cheek, and the door opened with the bell ringing, the faint crackle of a radio fading and his heavy, signature scent of burned wood and bourbon lingering around you as you hurried to bolt the doors shut, heart racing painfully in your chest at the prospect of adding even more parts of the Radio Demon to the image in your mind.

[phyrestartr]

Deal With It | Gojo Satoru x M!Reader (TEASER)

CW: Arranged marriage, SELF-HARM (on and off-screen), hurt/comfort, angst, drama, self-loathing, blood and gore, implied depression, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation #NSFW, probably top Gojo, probably bottom reader, maybe switch idk, idek if they'll bang it out tbh lol, angst with a happy ending, reader is a sorcerer, time skips, time progression, relationship development, student era into teacher era Note: I got this request to make a story revolving around Gojo and an arranged marriage to the reader (but bro is in love with Getou sob.gif), and I've been RUMINATING on it for forever. I think I finally have a good idea of who the reader is/what their chemistry is like with Gojo, so I'm happy to post a wee bit of a teaser to motivate myself! Let me know your thoughts---I'm finding that I absolutely love writing for Gojo, so I'm down to write more LOL. He's a very fun, complex character.

Deal With It

“So, you really don’t care what he thinks?” Shoko asked as you lit her cigarette. “Even I think he was kinda harsh.”

You pocketed your lighter and leaned back against the cold stone of the college walls. “He’s got a thing for that black-haired guy.”

“Getou.” 

“Sure.” You shrugged and tried to rub the ache out of your neck as you stared up at the bleak, grey skies. The air reeked of petrichor. Thankfully you’d brought an umbrella that day. 

“And you’re not bothered he’s in love with Getou?” Your friend continued, her cute bobbed haircut swaying with the tilt of her head. She always looked so charming like that, when she was being a mischievous brat while pretending to be anything but. 

“Dunno.” And that was the truth. “He’s not even my type. I’d rather hitch up with someone like you or Nanami. Someone less annoying. Less loud-mouthed.” 

“Ooh, that'll hurt his ego.” Shoko smiled. “Well, guess you'll have to learn to deal with it.”

You took a deep breath and rubbed your face as you nodded. “Yeah.”

–

“Forever is a long time,” You mumbled, leaning your forehead against the cool touch of the window. Rain pittered and pattered, exploding off the glass like trillions of kamikaze planes. It almost birthed some sort of hurt in your chest. Best not to dwell on it, you decided.

“Hah? Are you talking to yourself again like a weirdo?” The one and only Gojo Satoru yowled before kicking you in the rear like a petulant child. “Pft! Figures. Knowing my luck, I would have to get married to a creeper.” 

“Even if you married Getou, you'd still be marrying a creep,” you grumbled, dusting the dirt off your behind. “You need something? Or did you harass me just for the fun of it.” 

You heard Gojo, your fiancé, scoff and shuffle behind you. “I just wanted to remind you to humble yourself! Just because I'm forced to marry you doesn't mean you're accomplished or cool or anything, got it?” 

Being in his presence had you craving a cigarette. “Yeah, got it.” 

“And Suguru's better than you,” he added, aloof voice bowing down beneath hardened, steeled words. “Don't forget that either.” 

You bit down on your cheek to ward away the heat building under your skin, the magma sinking deep into your eyesockets and threatening to pour down your esophagus. The taste of iron washed against your tongue, and you released your flesh from between your molars. Sometimes, you wanted to keep boring down on yourself to see how much you could really take, but a fear of the answer too often made you think twice. 

“This is starting to bore me,” you said, tilting your head as you caught a flicker of red in your rain-muddied reflection. You touched your fingers to your tongue and found translucent red coating the tips. 

“Pah. I was gonna say the same!” You watched his reflection turn away. “Good luck trying to impress me.” 

I'm not interested. You watched him walk away, slouching and with his hands in his pockets like he was emulating some kind of yankii character. He might have fit the bill, if he hadn't had such a ridiculous, brat side to him. Just deal with it. You wiped the red on your uniform with a sigh. Tomorrow's a new day.

--

Feel free to comment on this post if you want to be tagged for the full version!

@kamote-kuneho @tr4nnie @silvern1006

[evildeadboy]

EVIL DEAD (2013) DIR. FEDE ALVEREZ

[moon-bacon]

Happy Halloween!

[outootome]

wau

[serpentgoat]

Personally I don't think Enki would go with the option of killing his twin sister cause it doesn't happen in the Canon either. But I stil wanted to draw it!

Additional frames

[selineram3421]

*stares into the void*

Dizzy For You

Lovesick Alastor X Reader

Warning⚠

⚠ blood/gore, reader is really into creepy alastor, kisses, consensual biting *cough*, cuddles, fluff ⚠

You were in love with one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell.

The Radio Demon.

At the moment, he was in the process of courting you. Or in what the new generation calls it, dating.

Now you're not that old of a demon but you still use the term courting as it feels more genuine.

The way he spoiled you made you feel like the only demon in Hell. Of course there were limits but like any good relationship, you both communicated.

You knew he wasn't one for physical displays of affection out in public, unless it was holding you close or kisses on the back of your hand.

It didn't bother you one bit.

In fact it made you happier knowing that your affectionate actions were private. Only for the two of you.

You could only see him that way.

As you spent time working on a few orders, making nameplates and engraving names and or numbers on them, you even got an order from Alastor! He had wanted small but fancy door plaques for room numbers. Some in the hotel having been missing or needing touch-ups.

Quickly finishing the last plaque, you packaged them and set out to return to the hotel.

A fun little gift your lover added to your shop was the door in the corner of your back room, it being a portal to one of the hotel back rooms near the lobby.

He didn't like you being so far away after all.

When walking into the lobby, you didn't notice the commotion outside until you heard a familiar laugh.

It was filled with static.

Downright dark and sinister that got a chill to run down your spine.

As if hypnotized, you walked towards the sound and saw sinners being ripped apart, blood and guts covering the ground in front of the hotel. Your eyes widened when seeing the Radio Demon eat a demon whole.

Then he turned to face the door after finishing the carnage.

"Alastor.", you gasped, covering your mouth with your hand.

He was in his tall demon form, smiling and covered in blood. The metallic scent filled the area and you felt slightly dizzy at the smell but also couldn't help being drawn in by the sight.

Seeing you stagger back, Alastor rushed towards you, shrinking slightly to get through the door.

"Darling? Are you alright?", he asked, pulling you into his hold.

You shivered and hid your face in his chest, feeling the blood smear onto your skin. The room feeling a lot stuffier than before with your quick breaths.

"Take me to the room.", you whispered and tugged on his coat. "Please."

Using his shadows, both of you appear in your room and you quickly pull him into a rough kiss.

The deer made a noise of surprise, static buzzing as his grip on you tightened.

Moving away from his lips, you peppered his face with kisses, making sure to kiss under his jaw before making your way towards his neck. Blood now on your lips and hands, heart racing at the taste.

"Fuck.", you said shakily, looking up at the deer and finding his cheeks dusted bright red. "Alastor."

His ears perked up at his name and he held you tightly, hand rubbing up and down your lower back. "Yes my dearest heart?", he responded, leaning forward to place a peck on your forehead.

"Please bite me."

You shivered again with a blush as he leaned down with a chuckle, his sclera pitch black with a lustre from his glowing irises.

"￦¡+h pl€@sμre~"

Tilting your head to the side, you let him sink his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder. A small noise escaped from your lips as you clung onto his coat, whimpering when he pulled back and blood starting to run down your neck.

"Quel goût raffiné.", he kissed the bite mark. (What a refined taste.)

He gave you a gentle smile as he caressed your cheek and you leaned into his touch.

"Let's get cleaned up.", he said softly, guiding you to the bathroom.

After a refreshing bath, you both got dressed into nightwear and got ready for bed. Alastor being extra sweet and helping you get comfortable next to him under the covers.

Feeling absolutely content, you smiled and cuddled up against him.

"I'm sorry for pouncing on you."

"Nonsense.", he brushed it off as he glided his hand down your thigh, pulling it to rest your leg between his. "I enjoy your affection."

"Hmm..", you felt your eyelids droop.

"Sleep.", the deer demon whispered, kissing the top of your head. "I'll still be here in the morning."

You let out another hum before submitting to a pleasant slumber.

*sees radio dials in the darkness* Oh shit.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[taygra5shaon]

SHADOW OF DURGE 2/4

here he comes out banite lord❤️

so, after some adjustments I divided the story in 4 0art, because the last one is .....a lot gory...

but still, enjoy!

[diejager]

just hear me out for one second.... what if hunter was a titan?... yk like aot (attack on titan)

reader looks totally normal, nothing indicating that they were something other than human. Even laswell wasnt 100% sure on what reader was. A stirring mystery within 141 that they all collectively decide to ignore.

then one day, they were out on a mission that was going horribly, horribly wrong.. incorrect information, sabotage, dangerous illegal weapons, low ammunition, scarce supplies, severe injuries, etc.. you name it.

141 was backed into a corner. definitely not the first time something like this has happened in their career...but they always manage to find a way out. Always making it back home, injured sure- but safe..alive.

this time it wasn't the case. there was no way out, none. death was knocking on the door and soon they had to answer.....

and unfortunately reader was the first to greet death.. a clean shot to the head by a sniper

one minute reader was laying in a pool of their own blood and the next they turn into this gigantic humanoid beast.

in a fit of rage, reader starts to completely destroy the battlefield. not a damn soul alive besides 141.

bodies scattered from the sea to the forest and heavens above ..nothing but pure gore and blood.

reader standing over the battlefield bloodied from head to toe, watching the devastation below.

(This is really long im sorry)

Cw: implied death, blood and gore, Canon-typical violence, titan!reader, gun violence?, tell me if I missed any.

The last thing Horangi remembered hearing through the angered hisses and growls, Price screaming at Laswell and her informants through the coms to find a way out their thick predicament was the shuddering shot that boomed through the air. The hair of his arms raised when he watched you turn towards the sound, your wide eyes and choked breath. You flinched back and lurched forward, hands grasping at your bleeding throat, choking and gurgling on the blood that rose from your wound. He rushed to pull you into cover, biting his lip at your pained expression, you were choking on your blood, dying by the thing that substained you, that cycled life and oxygen through your body. 

Your words were sputtered, splattered crimson on Horangi’s mask as he fussed over you, your pinched brows and scrunched nose, the angered gleam in your dulling eyes and your bloody and sneering lips. You pushed him away, stumbling forward with one step at a time, risking being shot a second and third time, but you kept marching away from them, ignoring their attempt to stop you and reach for you. 

“B- bast- ard-!” He heard you screech.

He didn’t know if some God or Gods favoured you or if you were extremely lucky for still being alive, a second bullet landing by your feet and a third scratching your arm. You raised a bloody hand, palm facing you, the crease and groves of every fold a dark red, then you bit down on it. Hard. He admired the strength behind your bite, the crunch of your skin breaking under your teeth and red exploding, he could only imagine how painful it was, but you were already in so much agony, your body’s probably numb. 

And suddenly, lighting sparked around you, bright yellow and loud, scarily close to you before one thick and dangerous one struck where you stood. Within seconds, he gaped at the mass of muscles, red fibres interlocking and sticking to ligaments and fat that kept it together, tying themselves to bone and tendons, wrapping away the red and white with a wide array of red and blue, building a system of veins that were finally covered by skin. In your place was a giant —a titan, one that he’d heard through the grapevines of black markets and hushed whispered and rumours from the underworld when he gambled his life away. 

The titan - you - let out a loud scream, head thrown back and arms reeling back, fingers clenched in anger, deep sated vitriol that carried you around them. He could only stare on in amazement as you trampled over the surrounding enemies, bending down to grip a man, your thick fingers clenching around him and squeezing the life out of him, leaving his entrails spilling out of his broken abdomen. You moved around stepping and squeezing them to death, a trail of carnage behind you, bodies strewed about, spines broken and heads rolling. 

He let you go on without a word, his breath stolen away by you when you slumped over, your nape breaking open with a loud hiss, steam billowing up the air from how hot your body ran, you arched out, body curled backward with a loud sigh. Horangi stared at you, unmoving and unbreathing, and only moved when Price rushed to you, climbing your titan body to pull the rest of you out, your arms and lower body still attached to it by thick, red muscle. Your feet stuttered, eyes blinking tiredly while you leaned on Price, groaning and rubbing the tension out of your temples. 

He realised the blood that was supposed to stain your skin and clothes were gone, evaporated in the heat of it. Your wound healed and energy spent, you were tired and grumbling about wanting to sleep, face pinched in irritation or annoyance, something he could feel. And without any complaints from them, Price had called for evac and waited at the LZ, everyone huddled around you, sharing the same amount of awe and surprise in their expression. You were a wonder to him, a beast of legends that Horangi had only heard of, but he had many, many questions and curiosities that he wanted fulfilled.

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[blessed-bruises]

Am I pretty enough to love back? No, not yet.

kink/porn/sexually centered blogs please stop interacting with this post. your content is triggering and I don't want my art posted alongside it

[evildeadboy]

EVIL DEAD (2013) dir. FEDE ALVEREZ

[callmemaeverick]

Gray

Disclaimer: This is pure indulgence okay. It's my interpretation of the Force, my view of the Jedi after ep 8, and my theory of what happened. P/S: pls read tag for TWs

PPS: If you didn’t know yet, Manny did a futuristic Sci-Fi podcast where he voiced a soldier. Theres quite a bit of injury involved.. if you wanna have some auditory aids for his voice and umm.. other stuff. It’s called Marigold Breach, it’s on Apple Podcast, Spotify, Realm and Youtube. (fork, I sound like an ad. Im not being paid I swear) WC: 1.6k

Never before in the time you were intuned with the Force have you felt so lost. So… unbalanced. When normally, tasks and missions were approached in a calm and collected manner, with a clear and peaceful mind, it had since warped into frantic breathing and a thundering heart, engulfed in compromising emotions.

Every sound grated, every jolt of the ship you were flying felt like a quake and you scrambled to keep the small craft stable. You couldn't afford major turbulence, not with him in such a state.

But you went as fast as you could, desperate to get into lightspeed so that all traces of you and your passenger are gone. As far as you could, though you doubt that you would find a corner of the galaxy that could hide you both. They would find you, you know this to be fact. It would only be a matter of time.

Fear threatened to consume you and for once; you were tempted to let it. After what you have seen, after what you have discovered; the teachings of the Jedi no longer seemed as righteous as you once thought it was. You scoffed, feeling stupid. Not once did you ever question your environment or the teachings of the Masters' as you rose through the ranks, from fledgling to Padawan. You took their word as law. After all, they were the Jedi and you wanted to be just like them.

Now, the thought of the Knights you had so venerated left you angry and confused. Hypocrites; all of them. All they wanted was power. Power over the Republic. Power over the Senate. And they had the audacity to condemn those who wanted to keep power for themselves.

Screw them.

xxxx

The planet you randomly chose was amber in colour, ringed with a manageable asteroid belt.

You were never really good at landing. In your impatience, you would misjudge the thrust and would sometimes send the ship careening too fast. And it was always resulted in a bruised chest; and an even bruised ego after the lecture your Master would unleash upon you.

The thought of your Master sent a lance through your heart; but you pushed it away and fought to calm down as you attempted the landing. You had wanted to be gentle, to make it a smooth landing. You managed; barely. The moment you touched down, you were out of the pilot's seat and into the belly of the ship.

He was exactly where you left him on your cot, stomach down. Had you not been so intuned with him, had you not been able to hear his soft breaths, you could have sworn he was dead. He should have been dead.

The memory of what you witness in secret breached your mind. You remembered the shock you had to bite down, the scream you had to swallow when you witness what happened to him.

How could she do that, to her own Padawan.

Shaking your head of the dark thoughts, you pulled out the emergency kit, grabbing saline and gauze and bacta patches into your arms. On your way to him, you also grabbed an IV drip.

The smell of charred flesh turned your stomach and you swallowed to keep nausea at bay as you kneeled by his side. His tunic was in taters, pieces of the material burned and melted onto his skin. Dirt and mud slicked his back, mixing into the red exposed flesh. You choked down a sob. You whispered his name.

A soft groan reached your ears, then a gasp.

"No, no, don't move." You reached for his shoulder, grasping gently, and you could feel the muscles tightening. "Shh… I'm here. It's just me."

Recognition smoothed his features and your name escaped his lips before his eyes fluttered open. His hand lifted but before it could reach your face; his body spasmed and he cried out.

"Fuck," You moved quickly, gently peeling his ruined tunic from his body. The moment you made contact; he whimpered. His body shook with the agony and your heart broke once more. "I know… I know. I'll be quick, I promise." His back was torn violently, almost shredded, and the worst of the injury was where the wounds connect, overlapped. Burnt muscle was exposed, black and red and oozing blood. Apologies fell from your lips like a prayer, begging for forgiveness for what you are about to do. Then, you flushed a gauze pad with saline and as gently as you could, wiped down the dirt.

You worked as carefully as you could, ignoring his cries and sobs. His body tensed then shook then tensed again every time you touched him. "Almost there. I'm almost done," Your voice cracked, the efforts to hold back tears and nausea proving too much.

As the pile of soiled gauze beside you grew; the blood trickled to a stop and finally, you were able to place the bacta patch on him. "This will help, okay." You told him, but he had long since passed out. You were mostly talking to yourself. "It's going to be over soon."

Once the bacta was on, you sat back and finally let your tears fall. He was unconsciousness, but alive. Thankfully alive. Wiping your face with your sleeves, you stood up and finally initiated ground security protocols.

xxxx

Something was approaching. You looked back and all you see was darkness but you kept running.

Exhaustion weighed down on you. It had been days. Fear slithered in your chest, wrapping around your heart, constricting your lungs. Anger and shame flared inside you, threatening to consume.

A crack of lightning, and a snake lunged at you and your back seared in an unimaginable pain. White hot and blazing. You felt your flesh rip and your vision blacked out. And then, cold. Freezing cold.

You ended and you began.

xxxx

The gasp that tore through your throat hurt like a mudscuffer. You blinked, frozen for a few seconds before feeling came back into your limbs.

The thing about Force dreams was that they don't normally show you the good. Most of the time, it was almost always something dark. But a Jedi is supposed to control their emotions, to release one's self and let go. Selflessness, it was the mark of a true Jedi.

Despite you renouncing the Order, you went through the motions of calming yourself down, or reigning in your emotions.

It’s been a few days… or what felt like a few days. The planet cycle is foreign to you and you’ve essentially lost track of time.

You looked over at the other occupant of the ship and sighed heavily. He was twitching as well, in his sleep, something you were familiar with.

You walked over and gently checked on the bacta. It was one of your last supplies but at least it was working. The wound was healing. Scarred… but healing. There will be mobility issues and you doubt if he would ever get his full range of motion, much less the ability to swing a saber again. Still, you wouldn't put it past him. He is as stubborn as you are.

You remembered growing up with him, the both of you in the Academy.

He was strong. Both of you were, but unlike you, he was the nail that stuck out. Where you obeyed, and did as you were told, he questioned everything. Where you hid your true emotions, he was not afraid to let it show.

And you were glad for it. Had he not done what he had done, questioned and researched, poked and prodded, you wouldn't have seen the true face of the Jedi Order. You wouldn't have known that they were just as power-hungry and backstabbing as the rest of the pirates in the galaxy. They just covered it under the guise of the greater good.

But in the end, he was also the one who paid the price.

They did not know you stole a ship and followed them. They did not know you saw them string him up and strip him of his lightsaber.

You heard his terrified pleas but they fell on deaf ears when it came to his Master. And yours.

He was a child, barely 20 years old. You both were, but they did not see him anymore. The pupil they once treasured. In their eyes, he needed to be eradicated. Just because he wanted to draw power from a source that was forbidden to them.

The buzz of an activated saber drew your attention to the lightwhip of Master Vernestra and your eyes widened in shock. Surely, she wouldn't, you thought.

But you were wrong.

All it took was one strike and his scream would haunt your nights for a long time.

You waited until they left. You had to. And once you were sure they were no longer around, you rushed to his side. It was then you decided you were not coming back.

The sound of your name pulled you from your anger and you turned to see him watching you.

"You're causing a quake," He remarked, and the chattering of loose metal around you ceased. You took a deep breath and reigned it in.

You scooted closer to him and leaned in close. You took stock of him. He was pale but at least he was lucid. His dark brown eyes were clear, which was another good sign.

"So… the favored pupil… finally left the nest, huh? Didn't think… you had it in you."

And he was teasing you.

And it broke you. You drank him in like a person obsessed, trying to make sense of what you were feeling. Anger, fear, confusion, relief. And something else you couldn’t name. But they roiled together inside you making tears pool in your eyes and your lips wobble.

"What… What are we going to do?"

His touch on your face and your eyes closed. He was real. He was alive.

"We'll survive." He told you. "We'll survive."

FIN