#I wanted to draw this scene so badly so...here it is.

[nightlark100]

Consequences (Pt 6)

It's so dreadfully dull in the Black and White and we've been here so long. All we can do is play our games by ourselves. But this game is special. We all wanted to play with our new fwendy-wends after Gracie took away our fun. We worked together to make a brand new game!

The one in green, Wiggly Peter told himself, moved forward without seeming to walk at all.

And you are all going to play it with us

"N...No"

Wiggly stood in front of Peter. Despite his human form being slightly shorter than him, the eldritch god still seemed to loom over him.

No? That's a naughty word Petey. 

He ran his fingers across the human's cheek, sending a shudder through the boy at the strangely clammy sensation. Wiggly's glowing green eyes bored into him, penetrating his brain and drawing forth every fear, every nightmare, every bad memory. Peter began to tremble, fixed to his spot like he was frozen.

"Leave him alone!" Stephanie shouted, rushing to Pete's side and pulling him against her. The second the eye contact was broken, Peter's body slumped like his strings had been cut and he buried his face against Steph's chest. The pair of them slipped to the floor, Steph rocking her boyfriend gently as he shook in her arms.

This is taking too long. I'm tired of hearing the infants squawk. These conversations are tedious and only give them the illusion of choice.

I suppose absorbing their minds would have been better? Face it Pokey, you're not the most innovative with your ideas.

I'm simply suggesting that perhaps one of the prophets could have done this part. My Paul is always so helpful.

Your Paul isn't even yours in their timeline.

From behind the Lords, the figure stepped forward and came into view. It was the man from earlier, the one who'd called himself Uncle Wiley. As the lords bickered, he crossed to stand in front of the mortal trio and knelt down to their height.

"Here's the deal kiddies, that baby inside little Gracie there is going to bring about a new world once its born. You are going to ensure that happens. Gracie is going to carry the baby to term and when its born, sweet Stephanie is going to become its prophet. Until then, you're gonna keep her safe and ensure no one makes her leave Hatchetfield."

"Why would we agree to that?"

"Well if Gracie doesn't do what she's supposed to, that hunger she's feeling will only grow. And grow. And grow. Until there's nothing left but a vast devouring pit inside of her that is never full."

Grace whimpered. Wiley laughed.

"I hate to think what will happen to all those dirty dudes without someone to keep her in check... or did you think your friend Jason just left school after his 'date' with her?"

"Grace..." Steph whispered.

"I couldn't help it! It hurt so badly!"

"Exactly. And it's only going to get worse without help. And as for you Steph-a-nie, your choice was taken before you were even born. Haven't you wondered why your father was so reluctant to pick up the black book again? Or why the Lords didn't tell Peter to shoot you that night? They already own your soul"

"No..."

"Oh yes. In fact, I'd say the only one around here who has any kind of choice is Petey pie."

Peter lifted his head from where it was cradled against Steph's chest.

"Me?"

"Yes. You see, they want Steph to be their prophet. Their mouth piece to the masses. But they want you to be their disciple. The ones who work behind the scenes. But unlike Steph and Grace, you can say no. You just won't like what will happen."

The Lords had fallen silent and Wiley, realising their focus was on the group once more, got to his feet and retreated, bowing his head as he passed Wiggly.

"I have a choice?" Peter asked, wary of a trick.

Oh yes Petey. You see my brother, Tinky, just loves your family. He likes to collect them, especially his little Ted. All the Teddy-Bears in all the timelines go into his toy box. And he really wants to put some Petey-Pies in there too, that's why he was so so sad when you didn't die like you were supposed to

The yellow one, Tinky, eyed Peter with undisguised desire, fiddling with the glowing box in his hands.

I want the whole set to play with!

I know Tinky. Hush. If you say no to us Peter, you get to go back to your life. It won't have Steph-A-nie in it anymore of course. And when you die, Tinky will scoop up your soul and put you in his box with your brother and play with you until you are broken and twisted and then he will do it all over again for the rest of time.

Wiggly smirked, the glow in his eyes darkening from neon to deep emerald.

But if you say yes, I won't let that happen.

What?! NO! Petey is mine! Just like my Teddy-Bear! He belongs to me!

Wiggly scowled but ignored his brother's outburst and drifted closer to Peter, brushing his fingers over his hair like he had done that night.

Last time you were here, I was a little bit naughty. I stole you from Tinky. I put my mark on you.

WIGGLY!

Shut up Tinky. This is what you get for not bothering to mark him yourself. If you insist on letting your pets roam around without collars, you can't complain when someone else picks them up. I thought you learned that lesson after what happened with that secretary.

You promised you wouldn't talk about that.

I liked that one! Teddy was so funny when he barked!

It was not funny. She broke him before I could...

I don't know why you're complaining. She got one of my Paul's as well.

But you don't care what they're like when you take them. They can be broken or fixed and you just wipe them out with your stupid songs

ENOUGH

The humans flinched at the sudden shout which seemed to come from all directions, impossibly loud. Once he was sure his siblings were significantly cowed (even though Tinky was still pouting at the loss of a Spankoffski), Wiggly fixed his attention on Peter once more.

This is the offer. Stand beside your friends as a disciple, protect them from harm and you will serve for eternity. Or abandon them and live a short and meaningless life like little Ruth and Richie did, before your soul is ripped apart across time and space. That is your choice Peter.

And with that, the gym was empty and silent.

------------

I have no idea if anyone's reading this, but if you are I hope that the Lords were okay in their depiction. And that you're having a nice day :)

Consequences (pt1)

In which the Lords in Black aren't fully satisfied with Grace's sacrifice (or, the pitfalls of an abstinence only sex education)

---------------------------------

She hadn't wanted to kill them, Grace thought numbly as she stared down at her dirt streaked hands, unable to shake the image of her latest victims from her mind. Yes, she believed that the behaviour she'd witnessed from the young couple, drunk and making out in the park, was dirty and perverse but she didn't want to kill them. And yet when she had gotten near, it was as though she was seized by a terrible hunger and she just couldn't stop herself.

She slipped to the ground, resting her head against the side of her bed and felt tears burning her eyes. It had been a few months since everything with Max... since she had given in to the primal temptations and sacrificed her chastity to send him to hell. She should feel... something. Relief? But her insides felt like they were rotting. She'd done so many terrible things and she didn't even have her unwavering faith to fall back on anymore, not after what she'd seen in the school gym. She didn't know if the colourful figures had been demons or if they truly were gods but it felt like jagged claws had slashed apart the fabric of her soul, leaving jagged doubts behind. Doubts and hunger.

At first she'd been able to ignore it but it had gotten stronger. It would rise in waves, crescendoing down onto her when they peaked and leaving her scrabbling for purchase as her mind crumbled.

Even the brief moments of peace she usually got between the waves had been lost to her now as she found herself battling daily with nausea, sometimes barely making it from her bed to the bathroom in time. She had tried to hide it as best she could but she knew her parents were concerned, had heard them whispering while she lingered in doorways. If it continued much longer they'd want to take her to the doctor, but she knew medicine couldn't help her. Her soul was sick, that was the cause. She would just have to pray harder. Maybe she could ask Stephie and Petey for help? Surely her friends would agree to pray with her when they saw how bad things had gotten.

Struggling to her feet, feeling her stomach twist painfully as she did so, she retrieved her phone from her bedside and sent Steph a text asking to meet up.

Her friends would help. They had to.

[demaparbat-hp]

The Painted Lady stared at Zuko, eyes wild in deep focus, and sank into her knees next to him. Her pale, scarred hand reached out to meet him, but stopped short before making contact. Her voice was soothing and gentle as she asked, “Is that what you truly believe?”

Sometimes, it feels as if Izumi knows Zuko better than anyone else.

For our confidants and spirits (and those who are one and the same) is For the Spirits Chapter VI: Dream of You.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[falling-hand-in-unlovable-hand]

okay. i caved

(individual versions under the cut!)

i had SO much fun rendering their skin tbh

[zecoritheweirdone]

me when i think about vagabonds by scorpionoesit for too long

[amimuu]

“A place once filled with love”

[More doodles below the cut!]

Grips the camera

YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA HOW BADLY I WANTED TO DOODLE THIS ISTG—

Narinder and Lamb pay a visit to the old shrine of souls (temple of the gods of death), things go as well as you’d expect. Aka, PROBABLY MY FAVORITE PART OF THE AU—you guys have no idea how much this specific…arc? Scene? Chapter? Uh…part of the story means to me. LIKE OUGHHH ILL PROBABLY HAVE THIS ENTIRE PART WRITTEN OUT BEFORE WE EVEN REACH HALF THE AU—Ft. A very obvious reference that is going to become very important to the story.

So usually context would be pretty important to understand what’s going on here…but uhm. All I’m gonna say is that before being taken in by the bishops, Narinder spent the first years of his path to godhood in the care of the then goddess of death, also known as the “crimson witch”..but as you know, old gods have to fall for new ones to arise, and she was no exception…And that’s all for now.

Oh boy, this week has been actually relaxing—but I’m boutta go back to classes 💀 which means regular art posting is ✨likely over✨ sigh. Still—I’ll do my best to keep ya’ll fed sjdjdjdndnd until then—enjoy this post :] cuz I REAAAALLY had a blast drawing it haha.

[sunny-knight]

@forgettable-au FAN ANIMATION ! LOUD NOISE WARNING!

*What was it all for…?

Song: Vishnu <3 by Peter Cat Recording Co.

…okay.

The main inspiration for this…can be summed up with I LOVE HOW SAD THIS CONCEPT IS. BUT i also adore how WEIRD it is.

This whole thing must be pretty weird and creepy for the characters right??? Like- we dont know for certain what EXACTLY is gonna happen, but we know for a fact that Wingdings finds out hes in a game, then kills himself so he can be closer with god-

THATS PRETTY WEIRD 😭😭 also sad but we can ignore that for now

I also experimented a tad with this in working with silence, so timing things at my own pace! It was really hard! I HAD SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!!

But, time for my FAVORITE PART….ANALYSIS!!!

DISCLAIMER: some things stated as fact haven’t been said in the blog/arent canon to the au itself, just my animation/theories/interpretation, cause i’m silly and headcanoning :3

TITLE:

The proper title ive given this is “To You” which means 2 different and very vague things. What happened to you? and sending a message like “this is To You”.

In that case, “you” is whichever version of Papyrus/Wingdings/Gaster you want- Its not exactly clear which version of him means “you” which is kinda the point. The lines blur together sometimes…

But yeah, Gaster/crazy WD sends messages TOO himself so they’re “To You”

CONTEXT

Wingdings has JUST turned himself into Gaster. Ignore how impossible Sans interacting with him in this moment is, and just hear me out on the angst possibilities-

SCENE 1

As Sans approaches the mess- Gaster is encased in shadow, and looks at him. Expression not telling much- just looking blankly. Doesn’t even look like he’s alive… just… moving. Also the eye thats open, is just a slit. because- perspective. BUT I also had fun putting that there and going hehehehe it looks like WD/Papyrus’ eye

Sans approaches, and getting engulfed in the shadow, leaving the light.

His expression here was REALLY fun and REALLY hard to draw. Angry? maybe. stunned and terrified? DEFINITELY.

In this context (that doesn’t have a lot to go off of with the comics, YET) Sans knows that this was all very much intentional. He absolutely does not want to be angry, and is certainly only feeling it subconsciously.

But… he wanted so badly to understand, and enter his brother world. But now, Sans is just… Baffled. Hes like “what the fuck did you do???”

SCENE 2

Gaster continues to look blank. Looking up at Sans as he approaches, encasing him in even more shadow.

Sans’ hand reaches to Gasters face. From Sans’ perspective, his intentions are like checking for a pulse. Not literally ofc cause pulses arent on our face- but like, feeling for him. For a sign that something is there. (It’s also meant to be something motherly/comforting)

But then, Gaster leans into the touch, somewhat reciprocating this wordless “ive got you” gesture. That’s what makes Sans go from Terrified to just purely grief stricken. His brother is still alive. And he loves him.

But this form wont last for long…For universe fixing screw ups reasons :D 👍

SCENE 3

Gaster then opens his eyes, revealing hes even still got eye lights available for him. Thats what just SHATTERS the dam, and Sans embraces him suddenly.

SCENE(S) 4

Then, the “reset” happens, Gaster is gone, and Papyrus appears in place of Wingdings in his bed.

Nothing is boiling to add to a “frozen in terror” feeling!

Now- drawing all of the differences between the past and present rooms. DESTROYED ME. i HAD SO MUCH FUN BUT I ALSO CRIED 😭 There are no thank-you letters to santa, no racecar bed, no silly bone painting, no action figures, just BORING

I also wanted to keep everything monochromatic, so ofc we’ve got black and white for the void/Gaster, blue for Sans, red for Papyrus, and purple for Sans and Papyrus together.

The tape recorder and lab coat are still greyscale though cause Wingdings still has SOME of his stuff lying around. But the tapes are indecipherable, and Papyrus threw out that lab coat the first chance he got. It gave him the absolute worst feeling, worse than anything he’s ever experienced.

Something I also really enjoy is the fact that the dress shirts were still technically Wingdings’ but they’re red for Papyrus. The lab coat is the only real WINGDINGS thing that Papyrus wants absolutely no part in. Some things that were Wingdings’ are now Papyrus’ cause :D👍

in place of the bone painting are just family photos that I also have extra to say about. Someday I wanna make a comic of what happened to those/what I think would happen to em.

One day Papyrus is like “HEY UH- SANS! THESE PHOTOS! I DON’T LIKE LOOKING AT THEM! CAN WE NOT!?” Aka, he doesn’t remember these things happening/these photos being taken… BUT THEYRE PHOTOS OF HIM.

So he just feels really uncomfortable looking at memories he should reasonably remember, but doesn’t at all- and Sans gets that. But he keeps em in his drawer. Then! they hung up the bone thing in place of it cause SILLY!

But the family photos, I still had fun with. From left to right theyre a photo of Semi with the twins, the twins as baby bones, then as slightly older kids, then WDs graduation photo.

CONCLUSION!

This entire thing was so much fun, and I feel i’ve really grown as an artist over the process of experimenting and not being knocked down by annoying setbacks,

Also, as usual, Works In Progress’ plus extra behind the scenes stuff will be posted shortly after this!! YIPPEEE!!! HAPPY NIGHTMARES!!!!!

OHHHH ALSO EXTRA ART!!!

“AREN’T THEY BEAUTIFUL?”

That silly moment when your clone is really weirdly obsessed with stars and enthusiastically holds your eye sockets open to show you them

[acid-ixx]

Dear author,

I love your batfam series SO MUCH. I like the way you describe the feelings, how you use the words, how the depression of Y/N was shown, and the thinking of Batfam when they realize that Y/N had been heavily neglectful. Every time I read this series again, I still feel the hurtful of it and it actually makes me cry a lot T.T. And I love that feeling. And the series makes me want to draw, even though I’m not good at drawing.

The first panel, I draw Y/N in my thoughts ( sorry if you feel uncomfortable) and Conner. This one is inspired from a manga called “ Veil”.

The second one, I draw some scenes from chapter 3 (I tried to draw the ways Y/N calmed themselves down, but I couldn’t 😭).

From your series, I’ve thought about ABO au, where Y/N is a beta, they can’t be marked ; so the yanderes ( romantic one) are more yandere, because they know that Y/N never belong to anyone.

Last thing to say, I VERY VERY VERY LOVE your batfam series and this is one of the greatest fics of Batfam I’ve ever read. I also very admire your hardworking and your inspiration about this series. But I hope that you also stay healthy because I saw that you’re very productive ( how you can write so fast but still focus on the details TvT). No words can reveal the love in my heart to your series.

Sorry if I either bother you or my bad grammar ( English not my native language, this is also the first time I do this ). Thank you so much because spending your time reading this piece of mine. I just want to express my feelings and thoughts about your fic. Hope you have a good day!!!<333333

— masterlist !

a/n: the topic of a/b/o is written under this post. anyways, this comic panel is so absolutely brilliant and breathtaking omg... i love all the thoughts u have compiled here and i'm so sorry I wasn't able to reply to this quick enough 😭 but i appreciate this sm !! "even tho im not good at drawing" YET U SENT ME THIS !! i absolutely love everything about this don't say ur not good at drawing bec u are 😡

so like i said, don't be sorry if u draw the reader as female bec i portrayed them as gn so anyone can interpret them as any gender and it doesn't make me uncomfortable at all as long as i'm the one not being misgendered. anyways, veil is actually one of my fave mangas and if u ask me, i could say your relationship with conner is pretty much akin to that of veil's! which means conner is very touchy-feely with you and is uncaring of their status as a wayne and would rather... have you take his last name very soon, if you know what i mean hehe.

the second scene is absolutely heartbreaking even for me, especially the panel where your mom tries to comfort you by telling you it's all alright made my heart ache real badly because that's probably the last time you have experienced; the love of a parent that's soon taken away from you. your mom's last words would be reassurance, one that both comforts and disturbs you as the memory repeats itself over and over in you head like a broken record </3

and the abo au, for me personally (tho i never have written for it) is just going to threaten more angst with your family because not even your pack is willing to take you in and care for you. despite your hopes due to being a beta unlike your family who are comprised of strong alphas and resilient omegas, you are merely average in their eyes probably, average enough to be forgotten and discarded by a pack you had thought would take you in for you must be a misfit just like them.

yet despite the pain you had to endure for feeling unloved as a beta, it would also deepen your potential with conner as your love interest because although you could never be claimed by any past sweethearts, conner would always, and i mean always make a show that he loves you in a deeper, more symbolical way. he may not be able to mark you as your alpha, but a ring and an always protective hold on your waist paired with his scent and pheromones engraved into every piece of your clothing is enough to tell everyone to "fuck off, this one's mine."

and tysm for loving my fanfic 😭 even tho i have written it impulsively, look where it got now !! yes i am very productive but this is a mere product of my attention span and hyperfixations towards the dc storyline and no my health is very bad but trust me it's not from writing, it's more from me just being very ill every single day but im trying to take care of myself <33

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry was never really Dumbledore's man

So, in HBP Harry says himself:

“Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you,” said Scrimgeour, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Dumbledore’s man through and through, aren’t you, Potter?” “Yeah, I am,” said Harry.

(HBP, 348)

But, I'm here to argue Harry actually has many many doubts and reservations about Dumbledore throughout all books (even HBP), and I find it interesting how Harry convinced the Wizarding world (and the readers) that he's Dumbledore's man when he isn't. Not really.

(Just makes me all the more annoyed at him calling his son Albus...)

I'm going to go through some examples of Harry showing his doubts about Dumbledore way before book 7. Because Harry is an abused, distrusting boy, and Dumbledore isn't actually an exception to that until very late into the books. And even when Harry chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions, he never fully trusts his judgment.

“D’you think he meant you to do it?” said Ron. “Sending you your father’s cloak and everything?” “Well, ” Hermione exploded, “if he did — I mean to say that’s terrible — you could have been killed.” “No, it isn’t,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could….”

(PS, 217)

This quote above is from the ending of Philosopher's Stone and the outlook Harry, Ron, and Hermione have on Dumbledore and his behavior is the same as seen in the later books. So I wanted to talk about each of them and how they see Dumbledore because this quote really sets the tone for the rest of the series.

Ron is doubtful and distrustful. The situation is odd, and he's clever, he analyzed the situation and came to a frightening conclusion — the whole ordeal seemed planned by Dumbledore. And Ron isn't scared of voicing this question.

Hermione, while not always a rule-follower, respects Dumbledore and his authority. A lot. So, she doesn't believe Dumbledore could've planned it as it would reflect badly on his character and authority. Hermione is a very loyal person, and once she decides she respects someone she is willfully blind to their flaws (we see it with her later in the series).

Harry, while he's clever enough to notice the same things Ron did and come to the same conclusion — that Dumbledore planned for an 11-year-old to face Voldemort — he attributes good intentions to Dumbledore. Harry sees the situation and draws his conclusions, but chooses to hope/believe Dumbledore's intentions were good ones.

Harry’s brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry’s own parents, and so many others. . . . At last he forced himself to speak. “You’re not,” he said, his quiet voice full of hatred. “Not what?” snapped Riddle. “Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” said Harry, breathing fast. “Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days —” The smile had gone from Riddle’s face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. “Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed. “He’s not as gone as you might think!” Harry retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true —

(CoS, 282)

This is one of the scenes people call to to show how much faith Harry has in Dumbledore (even Dumbledore himself), the thing is, Harry says (in his mind) he's just saying things to try and scare Tom. To try and buy time, or unbalance Tom so he may have a chance at escape.

The important note is that Harry doesn't actually believe what he's saying to Tom. He's just saying what he thinks would bother Tom the most.

Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help — rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn’t about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.

(GoF, 310)

This part about telling no one about his wand's connection to Voldemort is true. He never told anyone by that point in GoF. Not Ron, not Hermione, not Dumbledore, not even Sirius.

As I mentioned above, Harry is abused and distrustful. He's not at all Dumbledore's perfect soldier who trusts him with everything. In GoF, Harry decides against telling Dumbledore about his dreams and the pain in his scar:

“Your scar hurt? Harry, that’s really serious. . . . Write to Professor Dumbledore! And I’ll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. . . . Maybe there’s something in there about curse scars. . . .” Yes, that would be Hermione’s advice: Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book. [...] As for informing the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, fulllength wizard’s robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him; Harry’s owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would he write? Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter. Even inside his head the words sounded stupid.

(GoF, 21)

Harry doesn't wish to share secrets with Dumbledore, nor does he feel comfortable to go to him with his troubles (his go-to adult while Sirius was around was always Sirius). Again, Hermione is mentioned as the one who trusts Dumbledore's authority, in Harry's head, but he's right, he knows her well.

Harry actually spends a good portion of the series purposefully trying to hide information from Dumbledore. (I'm saying 'trying ' because Dumbledore always found out, but not because Harry told him).

“He seemed to think it was best,” said Hermione rather breathlessly. “Dumbledore, I mean.” “Right,” said Harry. He noticed that her hands too bore the marks of Hedwig’s beak and found that he was not at all sorry. “I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —” Ron began. “Yeah?” said Harry, raising his eyebrows. “Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?” “Well, no — but that’s why he’s had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time -” Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed except him. “Didn’t work that well, though, did it?” said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. “Had to look after myself after all, didn’t I?” “He was so angry,” said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. “Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.” “Well, I’m glad he left,” Harry said coldly. “If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.”

(OotP, 63)

Harry is angry here, true, but he doubts Dumbledore's idea of what's "safe" for him. He's actually glad for the dementors because he doubts Dumbledore would've brought him over if it wasn't an emergency.

And Harry is right to be doubtful and suspicious. He's right that he's less safe at the Dursleys than at Grimmauld Place. He's right to feel angry and betrayed at literally everyone knowing he's being followed except for him. He's right Dumbledore probably wouldn't have brought him if it wasn't for the dementor attack. Harry is correct in each and every one of his assessments of Dumbledore's character and decisions here.

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It’s more like . . . his mood, I suppose. I’m just getting flashes of what mood he’s in. . . . Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. . . . He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I’m feeling it when he’s pleased too. . . .” There was a pause. The wind and rain lashed at the building. “You’ve got to tell someone,” said Ron. “I told Sirius last time.” “Well, tell him about this time!” “Can’t, can I?” said Harry grimly. “Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?” “Well then, Dumbledore —” “I’ve just told you, he already knows,” said Harry shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off his peg, and swinging it around himself. “There’s no point telling him again.” Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, watching Harry thoughtfully. “Dumbledore’d want to know,” he said. Harry shrugged. “C’mon . . . we’ve still got Silencing Charms to practice . . .”

(OotP, 382)

Remember I mentioned Harry hiding things from Dumbledore? This is one of such occasions. There are more in GoF that I didn't copy, but this is an example of Voldemort-related, dangerous information Harry is hiding from Dumbledore because he doesn't trust him and doesn't feel comfortable telling him things.

“It’s lessons with Snape that are making it worse,” said Harry flatly. “I’m getting sick of my scar hurting, and I’m getting bored walking down that corridor every night.” He rubbed his forehead angrily. “I just wish the door would open, I’m sick of standing staring at it —” “That’s not funny,” said Hermione sharply. “Dumbledore doesn’t want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn’t have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.” “I am working!” said Harry, nettled. “You try it sometime, Snape trying to get inside your head, it’s not a bundle of laughs, you know!” “Maybe . . .” said Ron slowly. “Maybe what?” said Hermione rather snappishly. “Maybe it’s not Harry’s fault he can’t close his mind,” said Ron darkly. “What do you mean?” said Hermione. “Well, maybe Snape isn’t really trying to help Harry. . . .” Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one to the other. “Maybe,” he said again in a lower voice, “he’s actually trying to open Harry’s mind a bit wider . . . make it easier for You-Know —” “Shut up, Ron,” said Hermione angrily. “How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough.” “He used to be a Death Eater,” said Ron stubbornly. “And we’ve never seen proof that he really swapped sides. . . .” “Dumbledore trusts him,” Hermione repeated. “And if we can’t trust Dumbledore, we can’t trust anyone.”

(OotP, 554)

Again we see the same exact dynamic from first year. Hermione is loyal to Dumbledore, not even considering he might be wrong about something, or not have their best interests at heart. Ron and Harry on the other hand, are both open to the possibility that things aren't so simple. They don't think Dumbledore is intentionally harming Harry, but they think he's wrong about Snape. Something Hermione, Arthur and Molly would never consider.

(This is actually the most annoying thing in Hermione's character for me, her unshakable faith in Dumbledore, who doesn't deserve her trust)

“. . . so you see what this means?” Harry finished at a gallop. “Dumbledore won’t be here tonight, so Malfoy’s going to have another clear shot at whatever he’s up to. No, listen to me!” he hissed angrily, as both Ron and Hermione showed every sign of interrupting. “I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement. Here —” He shoved the Marauder’s Map into Hermione’s hands. “You’ve got to watch him and you’ve got to watch Snape too. Use anyone else who you can rustle up from the D.A., Hermione, those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he’s put extra protection in the school, but if Snape’s involved, he’ll know what Dumbledore’s protection is, and how to avoid it — but he won’t be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?” “Harry —” began Hermione, her eyes huge with fear.

(HBP, 552)

Even in book 6, the book Harry grows the most comfortable and trusting towards Dumbledore, even then, he doesn't trust Dumbledore. He thinks (and somewhat rightly so because he doesn't know of Snape and Dumbledore's plan) that Dumbledore is wrong about Snape. that Dumbledore is wrong about Malfoy. Harry doesn't trust that whatever protections Dumbledore would leave would be enough (and they weren't).

Even at the end of HBP, the point in the series where Harry has the most faith in Dumbledore, Harry still doesn't trust Dumbledore's judgment or his ability to protect the school. Even after Dumbledore calls Harry out on it, telling him the safety of the students is important to him, Harry still tells Ron and Hermione to get the DA to protect the school without notifying Dumbledore.

And Dumbledore raised Harry to feel responsible for the school's safety, Harry is doing what he was "bred" to do. But he does it behind Dumbledore's back, because like every adult, Harry deep down expects to be let down. After all, he's used to saving the school himself.

So, no, Harry never really trusted Dumbledore fully. At least, not Dumbledore's judgment. Harry does believe Dumbledore's intentions are good for the most part, even if ineffective.

“He never told me his sister was a Squib,” said Harry, without thinking, still cold inside. “And why on earth would he tell you?” screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon Harry [...] Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!” “What d’you mean, locked in the cellar?” asked Harry. “What is this?” Doge looked wretched. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Harry. [...] Numbly Harry thought of how the Dursleys had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of sight, all for the crime of being a wizard. Had Dumbledore’s sister suffered the same fate in reverse: imprisoned for her lack of magic? Had Dumbledore truly left her to her fate while he went off to Hogwarts to prove himself brilliant and talented?

(DH, 135-137)

And in Deathley Hollows, Harry is very quick to start questioning and doubting Dumbledore. Especially when compared to Hermione:

“Harry—” But he shook his head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as he had felt after Ron left. He had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose? Ron, Dumbledore, the phoenix wand . . . “Harry.” She seemed to have heard his thoughts. “Listen to me. It—it doesn’t make very nice reading—” “Yeah, you could say that—” “—but don’t forget, Harry this is Rita Skeeter writing.” “You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn’t you?” “Yes, I—I did.” She hesitated, looking upset, cradling her tea in her cold hands.

(DH, 311)

Harry is hurt, he feels betrayed, because while he never 100% trusted Dumbledore's judgment, he trusted his intentions. He trusted Dumbledore was good and cared for him. He feels cold and betrayed, showing trust in his intentions. But his readiness to accept Skeeter's and Muriel's accusations so quickly shows he always had his doubts about Dumbledore and they never really left, even if he wanted to trust him, he never did, not fully.

Hermione, on the other hand, who was always loyal and trusted Dumbledore (both his intentions and judgment) 100%, tries to rationalize Dumbledore's actions and convince herself everyone who says bad things about him is lying.

Harry doesn't. Because out of the Golden Trio, Hermione was always Dumbledore's woman, Ron and Harry... not really. Not as much.

“That old berk,” muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. “Thought the sun shone out of my brother’s every office, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the looks of it.” Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about Dumbledore that had riddled him for months now. He had made his choice while he dug Dobby’s grave, he had decided to continue along the winding, dangerous path indicated for him by Albus Dumbledore, to accept that he had not been told everything that he wanted to know, but simply to trust. He had no desire to doubt again; he did not want to hear anything that would deflect him from his purpose. He met Aberforth’s gaze, which was so strikingly like his brothers’: The bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the object of their scrutiny, and Harry thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking and despised him for it. “Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much,” said Hermione in a low voice. “Did he now?” said Aberforth. “Funny thing how many of the people my brother cared about very much ended up in a worse state than if he’d left ’em well alone.”

(DH, 478)

More of how Harry thinks about Dumbledore, showing, again, how he always had his doubts and reservations but he chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions because otherwise, he doesn't think he has any hope to defeat Voldemort. He chooses to keep following Dumbledore's path because he has no real choice but to trust what he sees as the only path that'll lead to Voldemort's destruction. But Harry has plenty of doubts about Dumbledore.

Hermione, on the other hand, has little to no doubts. She doesn't allow herself to doubt.

And this pattern, of Harry doubting Dumbledore again and again, never truly trusting him, just trusting his plan will kill Voldemort... like, how does that lead Harry to want to name his kid 'Albus'? I just don't get it...

TL;DR

Harry likes to say he's Dumbledore's man, but he always had his reservations, even when he choose to ignore them since trusting Dumbledore's plan felt like his only chance at survival. Hermione is much more trusting of Dumbledore than Harry is.

[rosyandraw]

idk if this is redundant on your end but thoughts on Damen needing to talk during sex? in the books it isn’t even dirty talk it’s just endless want for Laurent and how long he’s been waiting for him and how different Laurent feels. Also in canon & in ur own writing

Definitely not redundant! You have just knocked on the Damen Character Study door in my head lmao but it's late and idk how much sense this will make so i'm sorry in advance.

Mini meta on Why Damen Likes to Talk During Sex in Canon

First and foremost words are hugely important to Damen, not just during sex but in general. It is part of the reason that Vere trips him up so badly, why he just doesn’t get it. Because Vere is a veil of word play and innuendo, it’s double speak and flowery bullshit and lies.

That’s not Damen. His word is his bond, it’s tied to his honour and they mean a great deal to him. He never says anything he doesn’t mean. Ever. If it’s coming out of his mouth he is saying that shit with his whole damn chest and doesn't give a fuck.

The few times he is forced to lie or to say something he doesn’t mean he says it as a strategy play but it barely makes it out of his mouth and he hates it.

For a long time by the time they get to Ravenel Damen has been playing a part. Living a half truth and not saying everything he means. Or wants to say.

Likewise, in Akielos, Damen keeps himself held back. We know this because in 3 books, despite being the darling crown prince and heroic military leader, he mentions 1 person by name that he is actually and genuinely close to. One. He’s never been in love with anyone before Laurent, he doesn’t get close, he doesn’t get particularly attached. If he did Jokaste would have been a Princess and not just his mistress.

It speaks of a whole heap of childhood trauma and issues, thanks in large part to his father and Kastor and this picture that is painted of strength in Akielos being The Most Important Thing. (And i have too many thoughts on said implied trauma to write it all out properly here because it's an essay unto itself.)

We also know that Damen does the talking thing with Jokaste too. So we know it's an indicator of intimacy in bed for him. He's certainly not doing it in Vask, for example. Because Damen values words so highly he does wear his heart on his sleeve, but he guards that heart close. Sharing his feelings becomes something then tied to both the value Damen places on words and the lack of emotional intimacy in his life. To Damen, opening up like that especially during sex, is an act of giving unto its self.

Damen is strong, yes. Crazy strong and the perfect warrior. But he also likes the wordy sad poems and has craved approval (and affection) from his father and Kastor seemingly most of his life. For example, Kastor stabbed him and made Damen believe with words that it was a good thing because it meant Kastor respected him enough to fight him like a man.

It’s the perfect anecdote to draw all of those ideas together. Damen being happy about being stabbed at 13 by his brother because Kastor said it was a good thing to be strong enough to fight properly and bear the consequences.

Words matter to Damen, he assumes they do to other people too. It's what nearly gets him killed.

It’s funny really, because Damen values words but he himself is a man of action and Laurent values action but is a man of words.

When it comes to sex we see them swap places from their usual dynamic and therein lies the intimacy.

Laurent acts and Damen talks. It’s a complete role reversal and it was always meant to be. Pacat has said, several times, that Laurent tops Damen with words all the time and it was a purposeful choice to have Laurent bottom because of this. So to follow that through to it's logical conclusion for the sex scenes to really hit we needed to see them swap places completely and Damen needed to talk.

Laurent is a mouthy little shit but when it comes to his important scenes (the building of their intimacy and their sex scenes) it's never his words that he's speaking loudest with. Like when he just hugged Damen after the meeting with Jokaste in KR or when he went to get ice for him in PG, it's an offering in place of words and Laurent does it frequently: letting his actions speak louder than any of his words because to Laurent words don't really matter, lies are too easy. He's been taken in by words before.

Damen gets to Laurent through his actions and it's Laurent's moments of honesty, of saying something unexpected, that make Damen really pay attention. This isn't to say that Laurent's actions don't get to him, they do of course, but only really when Damen comes to realise that's how Laurent is being honest. Likewise in reverse for Laurent.

It's the language the other understands that allows the distance to bridge, but the intimacy comes in the opposite every time.

So when they fall into bed Laurent instigates with action, all three times they are together. And Damen talks. Because it’s the thing that is important to them that they are willingly giving and sharing and that is what makes it intimate.  

Quite simply, Damen holds himself back emotionally so talking during sex like that is a way for Damen to let go and to let his partner know that's it not just sex. Laurent, in reverse, shows his want through the instigation and by the time it happens they both know what it means: Laurent never does that and Damen knows it. Laurent knows Damen says what he fucking means.

It's such an intimate sex scene because of that awareness.

In my writing I kind of try to take that and run with it. Damen says what he means and what he wants Laurent to hear, because words of affirmation are important to him personally so he makes sure to share that.

Plus, it’s just sexy, you know? Got to love a man who talks in bed, that sex rough voice when he’s so far gone you know what his saying is just the shit flying through his head?

Hot.

Loved this ask so much. I could literally write a thesis on Damen lmao

[ebsmind]

17+ minors dni!

jealous!coriolanus who spots you across the ballroom with him. sejanus plinth made coriolanus' blood boil like no other and seeing his lover with his arch-nemesis was not what he wanted to see tonight. yet, here you are and you were on a mission. thankfully, it was going according to plan.

jealous!coriolanus tries to keep his composure down to a minimum, he bites the inside of his cheek to the point where he draws blood. he hates how you make it so hard for him. it’s like you know what you’re doing, and in this case you are. he knows that you know where sejanus and him stand so why would you do such an idiotic thing. coriolanus knew you did stupid things, but not this stupid.

jealous!coriolanus who prances his way towards you. he has to tell himself to not make a scene even though he so badly wants to wrap his hands around the young plinth's neck. he wanted to see the life drain from his eyes but that would be saved for another day. coriolanus barely acknowledges sejanus once he reaches you. it makes you smile. coriolanus places a hand on your lower back and whispers in your ear, "I think it's time we leave, don't you think?" before you can mutter an answer coriolanus leads you down an empty hallway.

jealous!coriolanus who pounces on you the minute he finds an empty closet. its far enough inside the manor to where no one will find you guys. he was smart with picking a place, no one to hear and no one to see. he has a hand gripping your hair while his tongue fights it’s way into your mouth. the other is hiking up your leg to his waist. you’re lost in the euphoric atmosphere to know what happens next but it just feels so good. he takes you in that small closet with no shame. your dress is hiked up at ur waist, hair in knots, and lipstick smeared all over your lips and all that coriolanus can make you say is his name.

[md-confessions]

It's Fwoggie ramble time, I apologize for yapping in advance.

Hey Nuzi lovers, want a fun fact I noticed after rewatching episode 7 too many times a few weeks back? Here's a fun way to tell how much time Uzi and N have spent "hanging out"

In case you don't remember, we've seen N write multiple times throughout each of the episodes. Let's also be a bit honest, he unfortunately isn't the best at it... or is he?

One of the things I noticed in episode 7, is that when N confesses, his hand writing looks SIGNIFICANTLY BETTER. Don't get me wrong. It isn't perfect, as there are some small errors with capitalization, BUT THERE IS IMPROVEMENT. The spacing and size of the letters has stabilized, and you can tell while it isn't extremely neat, he's definitely practiced his writing before. Not only that, but his art has improved a bit as well!

For example, the way he draws hearts. The hearts added in episode 2 are way more deformed, but the ones in episode 7 look way more polished. (i still can't fuckin believe he drew hearts with his own blood oh my god)

Another example is the dogs! There's a huge improvement with the form of the drawings, and you can actually tell the one drawn in episode 7 is a dog! (Last photo I edited the brightness on because the scene was too dark, however it is indeed the drawing from ep 7.)

Keeping the fact that he only has one "really good friend", who else would have helped improve N's handwriting if not Uzi.

Using context clues, Uzi and N started "hanging out" more after episode 4, meaning Uzi has probably taught N how to write and draw better within that time. According to google, it takes quite a while to improve your calligraphy skills. Let's say N was super skilled with learning. If we give him the benefit of the doubt, assuming he's a fast learner and ignoring the time taken to improve art, N has probably spent 3 weeks to a month practicing daily with his writing.

So using general estimates.

N and Uzi have spent AT LEAST a month "hanging out together", and this is counting it as if N has been practicing this daily, which i'm sure isn't the case.

Do with that information what you will shippers.

[ID of image 1: Badly drawn N with blue and yellow line art, with "I'm sorry" written next to purple colored scribbles with sad faces in them. END ID.]

[ID of image 2: Badly drawn N and Uzi. END ID.]

[ID of image 3: No ID.]

[ID of image 4: No ID.]

[ID of images 5, 6 and 7: cartoon like hearts of varying shapes. END ID.]

[ID of images 8 and 9: drawings of dogs on paper using crayons. END ID.]

[ID of image 10: drawing of a dog on the floor using oil, with a question mark next to it. END ID.]

[lordprettyflackotara]

Hitchhiker || Chapter Sixteen || The Proxies

tw: murder, descriptions of wounds, beheading, brief descriptions of gore

<— previous chapter

Brian’s patience was growing thin. He stood silently in Jack’s room, examining the damage Nova had caused. The cravings were ominous and eerie, the dry blood coating the wood. His gaze wondered all over the room, from the ceiling to the four walls. Somehow she had managed to reach the ceiling, the words home is where the heart is etched into the wood.

A familiar set of footsteps were coming up the stairs, ones Brian had grown so accustomed to he hadn’t bothered to turn around. The overwhelming smell of cigarettes was enough to tell Brian who had joined him. “Jesus Christ, looks like a murder scene in here,” Tim muttered. He did have a point. Gnawing your fingers down to the bone was no joke. The crimson paint that had dripped down the walls was a large enough indication of that. “Where’s Y/n?” Brian asked. He stood in the center of the room, trying to make sense of what The Operator was getting at. Everyone was so divided at the time. Why not just have her chuck herself off of the roof if he really wanted her dead?

“Downstairs with Toby. She’s planted herself right beside Jack’s lab. Won’t leave until she sees Nova,” Tim sighed. He joined his partners side, the two studying the damage. To Brian it looked all too familiar, flashbacks of his own drawings coming to mind. “That girl will be lucky if she has any of her fingers left,” Tim muttered to himself. Instinctively he dug for his box of cigarettes, sighing once he realized that he had shared his last ones with you. Fuck. Brian clenched his jaw, frustrated at how much progress The Operator was making.

“We should consider taking Jack’s advice and changing locations. I know Jeff’s place isn’t too far from here.”

Brian felt annoyance at Tim’s words. How long were they going to drag this out for? How long could they get away with being here? It wasn’t possible for them to spend the rest of their days here. Like this. They were running out of time whether anyone else wanted to admit it or not. Brian thought Tim out of all people would’ve realized that before he did. “Jeff would have a field day with her around. Besides, it’s not that simple anymore,” Brian huffed. Tim raised his eyebrows, noting his partner avoiding his curious gaze. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He questioned.

The blonde sighed, finally looking over at Tim. “EJ’s not going to leave Nova’s side now. You’ve seen the way he looks at her,” He began explaining. The proxies had grown accustomed to Jack’s ways over the years. A demon with mostly human qualities, was how they categorized him. However with that being said, Jack had a few animalistic quirks that they couldn’t ignore. Usually they could, given that he was only typically tasked with patching them up. But now that he had grown interest in Nova, his tagging alone was guaranteed. “Where ever we take her Nova is going to go. Meaning we earned ourselves an extra head stone if this goes badly,” Brian finished bitterly.

Jack’s mating habits were none of Brian’s concern. What was his concern was how many bodies were going to be buried by the end of it all.

“At this point it’s more the merrier, yeah? Whatever makes her happy is important,” Tim debated. Brian clenched his jaw. “No, what’s important is keeping her alive,” He argued. Tim’s eyebrows furrowed, his gaze landing on his friend. “What’s got you so riled up? She’s a bit shook up but she isn’t hurt-” Tim began, reaching his arm out to touch Brian’s shoulder. Brian swiftly swatted his hand away. “What’s got me so riled up? How much longer are we going to drag this out? How much more are we going to let The Operator corrupt?” He snapped. Tim froze, noting Brian’s head twitching to the left. “Fuck this. It’s time something is done,” He muttered, his head continuously twitching.

Tim knew what this meant, taking a step back. Hoodie’s soulless eyes met Tim’s, his hand reaching in his pocket for his ski mask. “This is something I have to do,” He said flatly. Tugging his mask over his head, he began storming down the stairs. Tim was hot on his trail. “What? Do what?” He asked. Your head snapped towards the pair as Hoodie stormed past you and Toby, heading straight towards the front door. “Hoodie think logically for a second. There’s no way you’re going to find Cat Hunter out there!” Tim yelled. You rose to your feet, your gaze flickering to Hoodie. “Thats why i’m going to let him find me,” He huffed, slamming the door. You felt panic wash over you, your feet carrying you to the front door. Confused you turned to Tim, who was a visibly nervous wreck without his cigarettes.

“Tim what the fuck is going on?” You questioned. Tim ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “Toby we need to find Hoodie before Cat Hunter does,” The brunette responded. You narrowed your eyes. He ignored your question? Toby nodded, grabbing his mask. “Aye aye boss,” He replied, shoving his mask on his face. You felt the color drain from your face as Tim pulled his gun out of his pocket. “Y/n stay here. Go get Jack if you need to. Whatever you do. Do not leave this cabin,” Tim ordered sternly. You frowned as Toby grabbed both of his hatchets, swinging them over his shoulders. They both went to head outside, their faces full of determination. You grabbed Tim’s sleeve, forcing him to stop.

“Stop it! What the fuck is going on? At least let me come with you!” You intervened. Tim looked down at you, shoving you off of his arm. “Dont try to exclude me. I may not be a proxy or a detective or a demon but i’m useful!” You yelled, not giving a damn who heard. Tim grabbed your shoulders, shaking them. “Wake the fuck up. You need to sit here and stay still because we need to stop Hoodie from getting killed. You’re not going to be useful having one of your delusions out there,” Tim snapped. Your face fell, your shoulders tensing under his sudden grip. He released your shoulders, grumbling curses to himself. “I’m sorry but you need to stay put. Let’s go kid,” He said, gesturing for Toby to follow him. You glanced at Toby, who gave you an apologetic look before following Tim out into the snow.

Nervously you darted to the window, watching the duo trail off into the snowy forest. You felt like your mind was spinning. What could you do? Could you actually stay here while the three men you loved lives were at risk? You glanced at the medical lab door, biting your bottom lip. It was always an option to grab EJ. But there was no telling if he was done operating on Nova. A part of you wanted to stay just to protect her, but you knew deep down Jack had that area more than covered. Begrudgingly you looked back outside, none of your three boys in sight. What did Tim expect you to do? To twiddle your thumbs until they got back? No you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

This entire time everyone around you had spent every breath ensuring your safety. And you’d be damned if you didn’t return the favor. You stormed over to the coat closet, grabbing one of Jacks. It was oversized on you but it did the trick, his cologne flooding your nostrils. You buttoned up the coat, tossing the hood over your head. Unsurely you looked around, noticing Nova’s python sat on the living room coffee table. You grabbed it, admiring the custom detailings she had done on the side. You shoved it in your coat pocket, facing the door. Taking a deep breath you pushed yourself forward, right into the snowy wilderness.

The cold blast of air smacked you in the face, the temperature much more brutal than you would’ve guessed. You kept your hand wrapped around the metal piece in your pocket, your gaze hardening as you continued forward. You had already made yourself a target by leaving the cabin alone, there was no turning back now. You attempted to follow Tim and Toby’s footsteps, freshly fallen snow making your objective more difficult. Sighing you trudged forward, looking around nervously. The further you walked you felt more and more like you were being watched, causing you look around like a wounded deer.

You could see your breath each time you exhaled, your heart beginning to pound louder and louder. You were sure that someone was there, silently watching. “Hello?” You called out. Every tree in every direction looked the same. Snow covered every inch of ground you could see, snowflakes still falling from the sky above. Your head snapped to the left at the sound of footsteps, the familiar sound of snow crunching under the weight of someone’s boots flooding your ears. “Hoodie?” You called, heading towards the noise. You could feel your nose begin to burn from the harshness of the cold, your hand gripping Nova’s python for support. The silence that echoed made you uneasy. “Maybe I should just head home, fuck,” You grumbled.

Unsurely you looked around, attempting to determine which way you came from. Swallowing, you headed in the direction you thought to be back to Jacks cabin. The free falling snow was relentless, concealing any chance of tracking your foot prints or anyone else’s.

“Y/n?”

Hoodie’s voice echoed through out the trees, your head practically snapping backwards. You desperately looked around for him, your eyes flickering every which way. “Hoodie?” You called back. You expected to hear a response. One that would reveal his direction. Instead you were met by silence, the kind that made a chill go down your spine. Something was wrong, really wrong. “Hoodie?” You repeated. Turning around you began to head in the opposite direction, ignoring the feeling of someone’s eyes burning holes in the back of your head. You wiped some stray snowflakes off of your eyelashes, looking around for any sign of anyone else’s presence.

The faint sound of static found its way to your ears, your eyes widening. You weren’t sure which direction it was coming from, but your body was screaming at you to run. With your heart pounding in your chest you ran, refusing to look over your shoulder as the cold wind whipped you in the face. Your breath grew shallow quickly, the dropping freezing temperature unkind to your overworked lungs. The static sounded more faint the further you ran, your lungs burning. You could barely run straight, EJ’s heavy coat weighing you down tremendously. Gulping for air you finally stopped, leaning against a nearby tree for support.

“Son of a bitch!”

You quickly turned around, a bloody and battered Tim lying on the forest floor. Your jaw fell open, your feet carrying you to him. “Tim?” You gasped. Toby was crouched down beside him, his hatchets tossed aside in the snow. Your gaze fell to his wound, three claw marks scratched across his chest. His jacket was tattered and mustard yellow threads hung over the open wounds. Cat Hunter had torn into Tim’s muscles, the blood so heavy it was almost nauseating. It dripped down his chest, his skin turning pale. You threw yourself onto the ground, examining his wounds. “That son of a bitch got me,” He grumbled. His chocolate eyes met yours, his face scrunching into confusion. “What the hell are you doing out here? You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Tim hissed. He attempted to push himself back against a tree for support, only to fall back down on his back again.

Toby grabbed his arms, helping him sit up as he grunted in pain. “I’m not going to let Hoodie die because of me. None of you will,” You argued. You glanced down at his wound again, the torn flesh mutilated and raw. “Enough of the bullshit. Toby take her back to the cabin,” Tim ordered. The younger brunette stood up before attempting to walk around him to grab your arm. “No. Toby stay here with Tim. I’m going to get help. You’re in no condition to be out here by yourself,” You debated. At the sound of your order Toby crouched back down, earning a furious glare from Tim. You grabbed handfuls of snow, ensuring it was pure white before applying it to his chest. Initially Tim hissed under the sensation before sighing with relief. “Keep handfuls of snow on it, it’ll keep the burning sensation down,” You told Toby. The younger brunette nodded, visibly nervous.

“Y/n don’t do this. The Operator and Cat Hunter are both out here. It’s only their sick game that has kept us alive this long,” Tim protested. You wiped his hair off of his forehead, pushing it back with the help of the falling snowflakes. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll be right back,” You say as confidently as you can muster. Your eyes flickered over to Toby’s fallen hatchets, before returning to the boys concerned gazes. “Besides, i’m taking an old friend with me,” You say, quickly grabbing one of his hatchets that were previously abandoned in the fallen snow. Both Tim and Toby verbally protested, their protest ignored as you darted back into the snowy woods. Their voices became more distant as you trudged further, unsure which direction you came from or which direction you should even go. Taking a deep breath you grounded yourself, slowly looking around in each direction.

There were no signs of anyone else around, your mouth running dry. This was too convenient, too easy. The sun was fading fast, your chance of finding anyone, nevertheless Cat Hunter or The Operator becoming slimmer and slimmer as it became dark. You patted around Jack’s coat, realizing you lacked a flashlight or any tools to create light. Logically you should’ve turned around, but the doubt of finding anyone in the direction you thought you came from confusing you. But you knew you couldn’t stand out in the open like this, the snow only falling heavier and the sky growing darker. There wasn’t anywhere for you to go, the forest feeling like one giant loop. Sighing you readjusted your grip on Toby’s hatchet, examining the trees around you.

The closest one to your left appeared to be hollowed out, the inside rotted and empty from the harsh winter season. You sucked in your stomach, sliding inside of the crack to step inside. Exhaling in relief the tree blocked the falling snow from landing on you. You brushed your hand over your hair, attempting to brush some of the snow off of you. Examining your hands you realized you forgot to put on gloves, your hands gleaming red as they attempted to fight off the freezing cold. You set Toby’s hatchet down, leaning it against the wood. You rubbed them together, trying your hardest to create some form of warmth. Your palms were tingling, losing feelings in your fingertips. Cupping your hands you took deep breaths, attempting to spread heat from your breath. You froze at the sound of footsteps, your heart pounding as you heard them come closer.

A piece of you was dying to peak your head out, desperate to find a familiar face. But the fear of it being Cat Hunter or The Operator kept you frozen, your eyes wide as you stared at the crack of the tree. You listened closely, tucking your hair behind your ear. Your eyes flickered upwards as an all too familiar yellow jacket walked by the tree, your fear temporarily subsiding. You grabbed Toby’s hatchet, pulling Jacks hood over your head. Just as you took a step to leave you froze, another set of footsteps crunching the snow harshly as they trailed behind Hoodie. You stopped, watching the crack of the tree intently. You almost didn’t recognize Cat Hunter, the proxy bundled up in a thick brown coat. His mask and freshly bloody claws gave him away though, your mouth running dry. You could hear the claws clink together, Tim’s blood still dripping off of them and staining the pure snow below.

Neither of them appeared to notice you, too occupied on their hunts for the other. It slowly hit you that Hoodie didn’t know Cat Hunter was there, your lover in the danger you had nightmares about. Nervously you pulled out the python, unsure how to even use it. Flicking it open you grimaced at the sight of the chamber being empty. No bullets. You glanced at the hatchet, gulping. You were left with no choice. With every ounce of strength you had left you flexed your fingers before gripping Toby’s hatchet, silently sliding out of the hollow tree. You took a deep breath in, trying to control your breathing and rapid heart rate as you stalked the infamous Cat Hunter. He seemed oblivious to your presence, flexing his claws as he followed Hoodie. You licked your dry lips, the skin now cracked from the harsh weather. As fast as you could you ran up behind him, knowing this was your only chance. With all of the strength you had left you lifted the hatchet, slamming the blade down into the unsuspecting Cat Hunter’s neck.

You had never thought about hurting anyone before. It wasn’t in your nature to be violent, nevertheless kill anyone. It hadn’t occurred to you what you had done until Cat Hunter’s knees buckled, shock overriding his system. You yanked the hatchet back out, tearing through the flesh as roughly as you could. You lifted the hatchet again, slamming it back down into the same spot. Blood splattered all over the snow below, as well as onto your cheeks. You cringed as the warm liquid decorated your face, your blood running cold as Cat Hunters body slumped to the ground. A wave of emotions crashed over you. Guilt, regret, mercy. But above all you felt one thing: spiteful.

A rage full screech left your lips, watching the lifeless corpse lose any form of animation. A pool of blood formed under his head, your mind spinning as your stomach churned with nausea. You lifted the hatchet again, vengeful as you chopped at his neck. You didn’t realize you were crying until your vision became blurry. You weren’t even sure what you were swinging at anymore. “Y/n? Hey? Hey!” Hoodie gasped, panicked as he rushed over to you. Your tears were threatening to freeze to your flushed face, Toby’s hatchet falling from your fingertips. Hoodies gaze fell down to the now beheaded Cat Hunter, his head completely detached from his body. A pile of unidentifiable flesh pooled out of his neck, spilling into the snow. You sobbed silently as you brought your hand to your face, trying to wipe away some of the tears.

“I’m s-so sorry I had to. He was after you,” You cried. Hoodie grabbed you affectionately, tugging you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, guiding your face to his chest. “Shh it’s okay. Don’t look. It’s okay,” Hoodie said quietly. He stroked your hair, your eyes fluttering shut as you buried your head in his chest. Hoodie stared down at the proxy’s corpse, his breath hitching at the sight. He knew it was a good thing for one enemy to be down and out for the count. But as he held you, your body shaking under him, he knew one was for sure.

That the worst was still yet to come.

—> next chapter

[synamartia]

[ Featured Artwork © lustylita ] ❀ [ Featured Divider © cafekitsune ]

[ Story © synamartia ] ❀ [ Text banner created via TextStudio ]

Content Warnings: Alastor x Reader ; Afab!Reader ; No pronouns or Y/N used ; Use of gendered pet names like "good/dirty girl" ; Explicit / MDNI / 18+ ; Sexual situations ; Sex pollen trope (Love Potion) ; Begging ; Thigh fucking ; Self-harm (kind of? Reader intentionally scratches themself hard enough to draw blood) Hematolagnia (blood play) ; Dacryphilia ; Choking ; Dom!Alastor ; Unprotected sex ; Vaginal penetration ; P in V sex ; Creampie ; Alastor gets a little mean, and is his own CW ; If I missed any, let me know! Word Count: 6,695 Summoning: @hazelfoureyes ; @minkdelovely ; @sugoi-writes ; @fraugwinska ; @lustylita ; @eris-norwega ; @rapturenyx ; @sirens-and-moonflowers ; @swagkittybear ; @l3rittany ; @chibistar45 ; @aceumbrellaheroes ; @pearly-sadness ; @mydickisjuicy ; @daisy-figmund ; @lunaorlunareclipse Author's Notes: This chapter is a direct continuation of the previous one, with slightly heavier emotional undertones. For those that have been here since the first Smutmus ask, ya'll remember when I said Alastor had Reader "in every position in the Kama Sutra"? Yeah, we explore that a bit in this one! There is a small part where Alastor becomes more forceful that may be triggering for some, so I've added a divider at the beginning and end of that particular scene for those that wish to skip past it. Alastor's dialogue will be in bold red, thoughts in italics red, and Reader's will be in blue. If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, let me know via ask/comment!

Alastor watched as you swallowed the water he had conjured for you, admiring the rosy tint of your flushed face and the movement of the muscles in your neck with each gulp. He wanted so badly to sink his teeth into the soft flesh, curious for a taste of your blood as it seeped from the small gashes they would undoubtedly leave behind. He wondered what sort of sounds you would make if he did. Would you gasp and moan, or would you scream and beg him to stop? He could feel the blood rushing back to his groin as his arousal began to build again, his half hard cock springing to life once more at the thought of it all.

After you had fully emptied the glass, you turned slightly to place it on the polished mahogany and moved your hands to pull down the hem of your skirt. Despite a lack of evidence, you believed that Love Potion wore off after the first orgasm, which is why you had assumed Alastor and you were done - both sides having fulfilled one another's desires. You were disappointed that you couldn't take things further with the Radio Demon, but it was common knowledge at the hotel that he didn't like to be touched. And with the way he had tensed and shied away from your touch at every turn, you knew that once the effects wore off that he would be done and go about his evening as usual. But then, Alastor did something completely unexpected on your part and grabbed your wrists to stop you from redressing.

"Alastor? What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Alastor started, his eyes roaming over your half-nude form - admiring the way your now ruined dress shirt hung loosely from your shoulders and bunched in the crevices of your elbows; the way your breasts filled the cups of your bra and threatened to spill over with the slightest tug to the center band; the wrinkles in your skirt caused by the fabric being pushed up to your waist; the way your heeled shoes accentuated the plump tissue of your rear; the faint trails of mascara present on your cheeks as a result of your earlier crying. He soaked up every little detail his mind could process as he stepped toward you, his pants that were still wrapped around his ankles restricting his movements, pushing you back against his desk. Leaning forward to arch his body over your much smaller form like he did during his flight on cloud nine, Alastor let go of your wrists and placed his palms on the cool mahogany to your sides, trapping you as he moved his face closer to yours - his eyes shifting between your innocent laden irises and your beautifully swollen lips.

Alastor was looking at you like a man starving - a thin trail of drool seeping from the edges of his smile; his antlers growing to double their original size only to shrink back down a few moments later and repeat the process. He was trying so hard to maintain control of his own body, but there was just something about you that evoked the most primal of instincts from him and he couldn't pinpoint what that thing was. Your heart jumped to your throat when you locked eyes with him yet again, completely unsure of how to feel. You were excited and a bit happy that your earlier desires were still attainable - but also confused. You didn't have any first hand experience with Love Potion, so you had no choice but to trust in the information you had gathered from other people that did.

"Did it not work?" you asked, staring up at him as your heart pounded in your ears like a bass drum - ringing louder and louder with every beat. Had the testimonies been false? They had to be. Love Potion was the only thing that made sense for Alastor's still prominent arousal, you thought - the only possible explanation for him using his nail to tear a line down your skirt from waistband to hem, the fabric soon falling from your lower half as the sharp edges of his claw effortlessly glided through the material like butter. You swallowed the lump in your throat that you were positive had been your literal heart as you rubbed your thighs together, unable to contain the excitement, the lust still pumping through your veins and clouding your mind.

You heard him chuckle lowly as his eyes roamed over your body, his predatory gaze tinting your cheeks pink with embarrassment. Transparency never was a trait Alastor appreciated in other people - but with you, it was oh-so-amusing, and he thought it absolutely adorable how hard you were trying (and failing) to hide all of the lewd thoughts he knew were racing through that naughty little mind of yours. If he wasn't already smiling, this would definitely be a moment that would pull an honest one from him. When was the last time he truly smiled, anyway? He couldn't remember - or if it ever happened at all. He was going to have fun trying to figure out how you were able to get under his skin so easily, so effortlessly. He loved a good brain teaser, and this would definitely provide him with a little entertainment.

"This drug is quite persistent," Alastor mused, conjuring a handkerchief and beginning to wipe at the spittle still on your face. After he was done, he tossed the cloth to the side to be forgotten, his hands returning to either side of your figure a moment later. His eyes roamed over your form, specifically your still clothed upper body, making it his goal to remove those pesky garments next. "You have already given me your consent, and informal though it was, I've no intentions of letting you back out of our deal now," Alastor stated flatly, bringing his right index finger up to the band of your bra nestled between your breasts, toying with the taut threads as his eyes rose to lock with yours, his bright red irises flashing pink and slitted pupils dilating. "But if you would like to postpone the next part for another night, I would not object. I am a patient man."

Tracing the tender flesh of his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, Alastor brought his face as close to yours without making any contact - searching for a sign that you wanted to stop. He really did plan on holding you to it, but he wouldn't force it if you wished to end the night here. It wouldn't be the first time he had to endure, to fight back some of his baser urges - but it would be difficult, it seemed. Already, he could feel that pesky itch growing beyond containment, demanding every ounce of his attention and begging to be scratched. This concoction was rather annoying - he rarely felt attraction of any kind for another person. It felt like that damned spray was generating these emotions and forcing him to indulge in acts so uncouth. It didn't matter what you decided though. One way or another, Alastor made a vow to himself to have you beneath him in every conceivable way - with a little more effort to woo you, it was only a matter of time. Adding a chase to the mix would make it more enjoyable by a large margin, he thought.

"Although, I must warn you. If you choose to keep going tonight, I cannot promise any restraint on my part," Alastor told you, his sclera flashing black and irises shifting to radio dials for a moment, then back to their usual appearance. "I'm just not the type to leave a 'meal' unfinished," he said, a dry chuckle following his wordplay regarding his earlier actions and sending a shiver up your spine.

"N-no, I- ... uhm..." you started. It was infuriating how he was able to reduce you to such a timid, almost virgin-like mess with so little effort. It made you wonder how things would go if he did put in the work.

"'Uhm' is not a word, my dear," Alastor clicked his tongue against his teeth, the first few strands of the center band of your bra snapping apart as he pressed lightly against it. "Do you want to stop?" he asked you again, his eyes narrowing in delight as a slight release of tension sent a ripple through your chest with each string that he cut. Curling your lips inward, you tried to hold back an immediate 'no' response in an effort to appear less desperate, but you were starting to realize that ship had already sailed by the way Alastor's smile widened and your center band was finally severed - your breasts falling from the cups as they sprung apart.

"No, don't! Alastor... don't stop," you breathed, holding back a pleasurable sigh at the relief that coursed through your veins when the taut garment no longer held you tight. You moved to slide the remnants of your shirt and now ruined bra (yet another favorite item you would force him to replace later - they were expensive in life, and Hell only made it worse) off your body - now fully nude except for the heels and accessories adorning your figure. You saw the dim lights of his room flicker as Alastor leaned even closer, his breath fanning your face and his lips grazing yours as he uttered,

"As you wish, Mon Cherie."

Without a moment's hesitation, you found yourself being lifted to sit upon the edge of his polished desk like before. Only this time, he urged you to lie flat on your back as he raised your legs so that you were positioned at a 90° angle. You tilted your head to peer around your own limbs at him, curiosity brimming in your eyes as you silently awaited his next movements. "If you would be so inclined, I would like to try a couple of things first - just to see what all the hype is about. May I?" Alastor asked, tilting his own head in the same manner as you. You had to stifle a giggle as the action was just too cute, you thought. And you just couldn't resist the urge to tease him a little as you began to feel more comfortable and relaxed in his presence.

"I'm up for it. But you know, curiosity killed the cat," you remarked, raising your hands to lay beside your head as he shifted behind your thighs. Alastor laughed at that just before you felt his fingers sliding through your slick folds, eliciting a moan from you. "Ah, yes! But satisfaction brought it back!" he responded, not missing a single beat in the light banter. He peered around your legs once more, only this time with a sultrier look as you felt something hard and wet slip in between the space of your joined thighs and pubic area. "And I intend to revive all nine of its lives, my dear," he drawled out, savoring the way your thighs engulfed his member as he thrust forward, his hips and lower abdomen pressed flush against the backs of your legs. Sighing at the way your soft flesh surrounded him, he wrapped his arms around your knees and lifted your lower half up slightly. "Oh my... I believe I'm going to enjoy this," he said, holding you there as he gave another experimental thrust while keeping your legs pressed against his torso - your ankles now dangling over his right shoulder as you hummed softly each time his hips pushed forward.

Soon, the room was filled with the soft clapping sound of skin on skin and heavy pants on Alastor's part as he built a steady pace. Chewing on your lip as you stared up at the Radio Demon, you smiled as you watched his face contort with pleasure - his brows furrowed together and eyes narrowed, sweat beading on his forehead and his ears laid flat, his smile twitching and shifting between an open, toothy grin to a closed lip, almost serene type; but not once did it falter. It was a sight to behold - Alastor letting his instincts take over but still somehow managing to keep that illustrious grin of his. Part of you wondered if he was even capable of frowning.

"Does it feel good?" you asked, watching as Alastor turned his head to kiss your calf, occasionally licking a stripe up the length of it as he stared right back at you. "You've no idea, Cherie," his response was low and gravelly, his voice thick with his trademark filter as he began to pick up the pace, chasing his second release of the night.

You let your gaze drift down from his face to the gap between your thighs and crotch, the tip of his dick poking through to the other side with each thrust, each grunt he let out. Lifting your legs up another half inch off the wooden surface, Alastor angled himself so that when he pushed forward, his length would slide between the outer lips and his head would catch on your clit, pulling a gasp or a sigh from you at the unexpected sensation. You curled your lips inward around your teeth, enjoying his actions almost as much as he seemed to be.

"Must I remind you already?" you heard him speak suddenly in exasperation just before you felt the claws of his left hand wrap around the back of your neck, tangling in your hair at the roots to yank your head back and force you to look up at his face. His features had become more demonic as he gave a hard thrust and pulled your hair again. "Keep your eyes on me," he told you, enunciating each word as he willed his features back to a tamer appearance - well aware that his full demon form was quite frightening, especially to those that have never seen it before (you).

"Trust that I will discipline you thoroughly if you look away again."

With that said, Alastor released his grip on your hair and brought it back up to your legs. Thrusting forward once again, Alastor released his hold on your calves and drew your legs closer to his chest, resuming his previous pace. With one arm wrapped around your knees to hold you in place, he reached down between your legs to rub slow, tantalizing circles around your clit - using his thumb to push back your clitoral hood to further expose the little bundle of nerves. Alastor could feel the tension in his belly rising, and in an attempt to slow things down, to draw this out just a little bit longer, he asked, "Are you enjoying this as well, my dear?" He watched your brows knit together and your jaw go slack at the continuous stimulation he now provided you, trying to keep himself quiet to better hear the noises pouring from your throat.

You fought the urge to throw your head back and squeeze your eyes shut, somehow managing to resist when you recalled his previous warning. You kept your eyes focused on his face, eyelids drooping as you felt the beginnings of that oh-so-familiar knot start to build with every deliberate motion of his thumb. "M-mmhmm!" a hum and a curt nod was all you could manage as Alastor turned his head to place more kisses on your sweaty skin. Opening his mouth, you felt his teeth glide against the soft flesh of your calf near the ankle, nipping sporadically but never taking a legitimate bite. "Mmphh..." he pressed a muffled moan to your skin as he stared down at you from the corner of his eye - biting the inside of his cheek at the delectable sight before him in an effort to ground himself.

"Do tell me, Cherie," Alastor spoke, drawing you out of your bliss clouded mind for a moment. "Have you ever dabbled in blood play before?" he asked you, fighting back the urge to just sink his teeth into your calf without waiting for a response. Your eyes widened a bit at the question, not sure how to answer at first. "N-no... I haven't. Why?" you asked, that lump returning to your throat. It was an idea that never appealed to you in that sense, so you never explored the possibilities - but that didn't mean that you weren't willing to try it. Who knows, maybe you would enjoy it. But then your paranoia started to kick in, and you were beginning to feel like your life was in danger. Alastor is a cannibal, after all - and anyone in their right mind would be terrified under these circumstances with someone like him.

Smile twitching, Alastor picked up the pace - his hips slamming against the back of your thighs and your breasts bouncing up and down in tandem with each one delivered. "I asked for your consent to have sex, not to cause you any amount of bodily harm," he explained, running his claw up along the side of your calf from knee to ankle. "But the thought of tasting your blood is quite..." he trailed off as he traced his pointed nail back down from your ankle to your knee - adding just enough pressure to leave a red streak but not enough to draw any blood, "... tempting," Alastor finished - taking a moment to bask in the fear evident in your eyes, chuckling ominously for added effect.

"There's no reason to be afraid. I'm not going to eat you," he said, putting your mind at ease and allowing you to relax. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you contemplated his question, still slightly afraid that he may actually attempt to literally consume you. Your fears were founded, considering what he had said earlier: that he wasn't sure if he could show any restraint. Even if he promised not to, what was stopping him from ignoring said promise after the first drop? You weren't exactly in a position to defend yourself, especially against someone as powerful as Alastor. "If that were my goal, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he said, ramming into your legs again, forcing you to reach up above your head and grip the edges on the opposite side of the desk.

Then again, now that you think about it, what was stopping him from doing it anyway, at any given moment? Staring into his eyes, you searched for any sign of sincerity, but couldn't see anything past his crazed, lust riddled gaze -a knot tightening in the pits of your belly from the constant stimulation to your clit. Alastor wasn't an easy man to read, even in as vulnerable a state as this. "A-Al..." you breathed out, biting your tongue as you lifted yourself up to rest your weight on your forearms. It sounded like a 50/50 gamble to you, and considering how your luck has been tonight, you were liking the odds.

'Fuck it.'

Alastor nipped at the skin near your ankle, patiently awaiting your response to his request. He expected you to outright refuse the proposal, which he would respect - but he would have been disappointed all the same. 'Another time, perhaps,' he thought to himself as your silence dragged on. Shifting your weight onto one arm, you reached up with the other to trace your own pointed digit along the side of your calf where he had been kissing and scratching. Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you pressed your own claw into the muscle until a few drops of blood began to ooze out of the shallow, crescent shaped wound and roll down the length of your leg.

Alastor lost his composure for a second, letting his shock at your actions show on his face before donning his mask once again. His smile widened further as he threw his head back and laughed dramatically, then returned his gaze to your divine features. "My, you're quite the interesting little enigma, aren't you?" he said, his tongue rolling out to catch the few droplets of blood that had reached your knee and licked back up to where you had punctured the skin. Alastor grabbed hold of the finger you cut yourself with, bringing it up to his face and into his mouth - his tongue swirling around the digit as he sucked any traces of blood from underneath your nail. Satisfied, he pulled your finger out of his mouth with a pop, his arms snaking back around your legs and mouth returning to your self-inflicted wound.

Placing his lips over it, Alastor began to suck and lick, craving more and more with each drop - savoring the metallic taste of your blood mixed with the salt of your sweat. He had to stop himself from taking a bite out of the muscle, not expecting your blood to be so intoxicating. But he essentially promised you restraint on this part, and it was a personal principle of his to keep every promise he made - even the indirect ones.

A rather loud growl erupted from Alastor's throat as he felt the impending release barreling towards him now. Your actions seemed to have a greater effect on him than the thought initially as his soft grunting soon turned into sonorous moans - the rapid clapping sound of his balls hitting your skin filling the room. It was surprising that he managed to continue pushing forward when the crimson liquid first touched his tongue and coated his taste buds. "I'm-! God fuckin-!" Alastor started, his eyes closing and his jaw tensing, causing his pointed fangs to sink into your supple skin. You winced at the pain that it caused, but the way he pressed his thumb down further on that little button between your legs had you forgetting the pain almost instantly.

Squeezing your thighs even tighter around his cock, you stared up at Alastor as he chased his high. You drank in the rare sight before you, taking in every detail you could - putting them to memory and tucking them away like the most precious of treasure, because they were. Even if Alastor didn't look at things the same as you, this night was something that you would hold near and dear to your heart, because it was the first time you ever had the option to participate since spawning in hell. But more than that, you would forever cherish the fact that he trusted you enough to let you see this side of him, drug or no. And in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to provide him with everything he sought. Your body, your heart, your soul - if didn't matter what it was; if you could give it to him, you would.

You could tell that he was close to his next release by the way his hips began to lose their rhythm and how he struggled to keep his appearance under control. You watched his antler grow as testament, the vertebrae in his neck contorting into unnatural positions beneath his ashen skin, a dark liquid beginning to seep from the edges of his smile - it all had you wondering what it would be like to have that side of him, to experience sex with an uninhibited Alastor. 'That poor cat,' you silently mused - if things kept going this way, you'd have to start calling it Prometheus. "Al," you called, reaching up to touch him - his arms, his face, anything that you could reach to draw his attention back to you. If he wanted you to look at him, then you would make him do the same. "Alastor," you called his name more clearly now, your voice ringing in his ears as he opened his eyes to look down at you. "Hm?" he hummed in response, lips pressed tightly together while he tried to hold back his release, to drag this moment for just a little bit longer.

'Not yet,' he thought. 'Keep going- ... fuck, not yet!'

"Look at me, Alastor," you moaned, holding his gaze as you brought your hand down from his face to rest on his wrist as he continued to draw heavy, fast circles on your clit. "Please... I want you to look at me when you cum," you pleaded, heart racing at your own words. Electricity shot up his spine as Alastor stared you down - his hips halting for a moment, his body right on the cusp of euphoric gratification. "... You sure know how to drive a man crazy, doll," he mumbled against your leg, tongue slithering out to lap at the blood that was dripping form the gashes your nail and his teeth had caused. His hips began to move once more, finding their previous pace almost instantly and his salacious groans filling the room - eyes not leaving yours for a single millisecond, just as you requested.

"Da- ... Darling," Alastor rasped out suddenly, pulling his face away from your calf and leaning forward, pushing your body into a more angled position. Unwrapping the arm that had been coiled around your legs, he placed his hand next to your head, palm laying flat against the cool surface of his desk. "May I-?" he asked, his voice desperate as he tried to hold back those needy whimpers your beautiful body and rapturous sounds dragged from him. He didn't have a chance to finish his question. You already knew what he was asking to do - and it was something that you were more than happy and quite eager to give your consent. "Yes!" you agreed with a curt nod of your head. Drawing your hand back from his wrist as he hovered over your folded figure, you reached up to wrap your fingers around the back of his neck, your other arm supporting the rest of your weight behind you.

Halting his movements, Alastor pulled away almost reluctantly - not wanting to leave the comforting embrace of your thighs for a single second, but the promise of an even greater pleasure gave him the motivation to do just that. As he parted your legs slightly with one hand, his other reached down to grip his leaking cock and guide it to the opening of your drenched core. He rubbed the tip up and down your slick folds a couple of times - gathering enough of your essence to use as a lubricant when he pressed into you for the first time that night. Placing both of his hands on the backs of your thighs, a whine of respite escaped his throat and his jaw fell open as the pressure, the heat of your sweet, sweet cunt finally engulfed his throbbing member. Your pliant walls were effortlessly molded to the shape of him as he slid deeper and deeper into you, bottoming out not long after the initial penetration. "Oh, fuck!" he cursed, his hands groping at your legs as he leaned forward again, folding your body over once again.

With your ankles now dangling over his shoulders, Alastor began to slowly and shallowly thrust into you. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire, screaming for that delicious relief of a well-earned orgasm. He was trying to give you time to adjust to his intrusion before he took on a more brutal pace, not wanting to cause you any pain or discomfort (not yet anyway). But he was already so close - he couldn't stop himself from splitting you in half on his cock. His body refused to listen to his brain, having essentially developed a mind of its own separate from his consciousness and moving involuntarily.

Alastor's conflicting thoughts and actions showed in his body language. He was still trying to hold back, that much was evident by the inconsistency of his thrusts - speeding up momentarily only to slow back down a couple seconds later, his cock dragging against your walls with long, deep thrusts then becoming short and shallow. Even though you were curious to see him lose it, you were still appreciative that he was trying so hard not to hurt you. Letting your hand travel up from the nape of his neck to run your fingers through his hair, you pulled him as close as this angle would allow. "It's okay, Alastor," you reassured him, giving him a warm smile as his mind and body continued to vie for control.

"It's okay," you repeat, panting and moaning as you could feel your own orgasm approaching. "I promise, it's okay," nodding your head while you let your hand join the other in his crimson and ebony hair, you used him to support your weight. Alastor lowered his hands from your thighs to rest flat on the polished wood, allowing your legs to fall from his shoulders and hook around his biceps. Bringing your hands up a bit higher, you lightly traced your fingertips around the base of his ears - causing Alastor to flinch and bow his head at the unexpected contact.

"Holy sh- ...!" he hissed through gritted teeth. A shiver traveled up his now rigid spine and nudged him over the precipice straight into that blinding, white hot ecstasy he so desperately sought. Alastor's nails were digging into the hard surface and leaving large, unsightly tears in the mahogany while he shot his seed deep within you. Having not expected your light touches to have such a profound effect on him, you smirked proudly and began to massage his twitching ears to ground him as well as help him ride out his high to its fullest extent. "You like that?" you asked, stroking their backsides with your fingers and pressing your thumbs against the inner, more fleshy side.

Alastor couldn't think in that moment, drowning in the pleasure that coursed through his veins with each rope of his cum that he pumped into you. Clenching his eyes shut, he pushed further forward and lowered his head to rest in the crook of your neck, nodding in response to your question. When you moved your hands from his ears to his antlers to massage them in the same manner, he winced and let out a strangled whimper, pressing his lips against your carotid and sucking harshly. Eventually, the pleasure turned to pain and Alastor reached to pull your hands away by the wrists, breathing heavily as the waves subsided and his muscles relaxed.

"... My ears have always been sensitive, even when I was alive," Alastor began to explain, unnecessary though it may be. "The sensitivity increase when I am... aroused," he finished, raising his head and pulling back from you until he was standing upright again. Staring down at you contentedly, he quickly realized that you hadn't reached your own peak yet, and he started to rock his hips into yours. He wasn't able to see your face earlier, so he could only imagine what you would look like, what expressions you would make when you came undone beneath his touch. The thought alone was enough to keep him from going soft, his body already seeking out that next mind numbingly exquisite release.

Raising your hands above your head once more, you curled your fingers around the edges of his desk and tried to roll your hips into his. Alastor had his fun - now it was your turn, and he was more than happy to provide his assistance. "Al-..." you called out to him, your voice barely a whisper and eyelids drooping as you struggled to keep them open. A chuckle filled the air as Alastor began to pick up speed, his cum mixed with yours allowing him to plow into you as easily as a hot knife cutting through butter.

"No need to fret, Mon Cherie. I won't leave you unsatisfied," he reassured you.

Knees sliding down his biceps to link with his elbows, Alastor slipped his hand between your legs again, pressing his thumb to you aching bud and drawing fast, harsh circles. "That was more entertaining than I expected. You deserve a reward for a job well done," he told you, choosing to ignore the fact that you barely did anything this time around while he chased you to the edge of your own end in a matter of seconds. "What would you like, my dear? Tell me, and it's yours," Alastor cooed sweetly, watching your tits bounce with each slam of his hips, stopping for just a moment to pull your lower body closer - your ass no hanging off the edge as it dug into your lower back. Picking up his initial pace, the desk began to rock and squeak beneath you with every rapid movement he made.

Now you were the one struggling to form any coherent thoughts or words, barely aware of the fact that he was talking to you. "H-hah! Ah! Fah- ...! Fu- ... ah-ack!" you cried as you felt your release draw closer with every snap of his hips, every whispered word of encouragement and praise. Then, you heard movement and muffled voices coming from the hallway just outside Alastor's bedroom door. Your heart began to race as you felt your orgasm slipping away, propping yourself up on your forearms - forgetting all about his prior warning as you turned your head to look at the door. Who was it on the opposite side? Could they hear what you two were doing? Somehow the idea of being heard made your cheeks flush an even deeper crimson more than anything else the two of you had done so far.

In an embarrassed panic, you shifted all of your weight to one arm and brought the other up to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle the uncontrollable noises he pried from you. "Someone's out- ...! Ah, fu- ...!" you whispered against the palm of your hand, turning your head back to look up at Alastor with a pleading expression on your face. But when your eyes met his, you immediately realized that someone hearing you being fucked by the Radio Demon was the least of your worries. "A-Alastor?!" you gasped as you felt his girth grow and stretch your walls nearly to their limit, his ears falling flat against his skull as he wrapped one hand around your throat. His already large stature became even more so as he seethed in his anger at your blatant disregard for the one rule he had set for you. But more than that, he was angry that you attempted to silence yourself.

How dare you try to hide those melodious sounds from him! And you took your eyes off of him, too? You done fucked up! Alastor wasn't about to let that slight go unpunished, especially when he had been generous enough to let you off with a warning, twice.

"Who fucking cares?" Alastor asked through gritted teeth, momentarily dropping his radio filter and neon green stitches manifesting over his smiling lips. "Let them hear you!" his pace became more brutal the higher his anger spiked, his thumb tormenting your abused clit with circles so harsh it had become more painful than pleasurable. Laying back again, you reach your hand down to wrap around his wrist in an attempt to stop him, or at the very least get him to let up. But before your fingertips could even graze his skin, a black tendril wrapped around yours and forced it back up above your head along with the one that had been covering your mouth.

Struggling against the ebony appendages holding your wrists, you pulled your knees up to your chest and tried to plant your feet on his torso to push him away. You didn't expect him to stop entirely (nor did you want him to), you just wanted to make him go easier on you - but the gap in raw power mixed with the exhaustion of a full day's work and your previous orgasm wouldn't allow it. Just as one of your feet found purchase within the crevice right below his clavicle, your heel digging into his flesh, you felt more tendrils wrap around your ankles and pull them back down - holding them apart as he continued to pound into you with reckless abandon.

"Al, please! I-it hurts- ...!" you tried to tell him, but your cries only added fuel to the flames. Alastor's antlers grew in size along with the rest of his body, only this time he didn't try to bring himself back under control as he chortled heartily at your failed attempts. "And?" he asked, static crackling through the air and the filter returning to his voice as he pinched the pink nub - rolling it roughly between his fingers and laughing gleefully at the pain it so clearly caused. A violent wince wracked your body at the action, and you tried to pull yourself free, but with no slack in those dark tendrils of his, you couldn't even bend your limbs. "I don't like repeating myself, darling," Alastor told you, his grip tightening around your throat and his elongated nails digging into your flesh, restricting your airflow and making it difficult for you to produce any type of sound.

Tears began to well up in your eyes the longer this went on, being unable to do anything except endure and hope that he would show you a little bit of mercy. It was unlikely though, considering the clear warning he'd given you earlier should you look away from him again. You tried to blink the tears away at least, but the lack of oxygen was getting to you, and it became harder and harder to open your eyes again after each flutter of your lashes. Seeing that you were close to losing consciousness, Alastor loosened his grip and allowed you to breathe again, watching with utter delight as you greedily sucked in air, the color returning to your face. He made a mental note to explore breath play at a later time, among other things.

"I- ...! Please- ... I-I'm sorry- ...!" you stuttered through your coughs, the tears cascading down your cheeks now as his tip relentlessly bullied your cervix. Another laugh filled the air as Alastor, much to your relief, pulled his hand away from your puffy clit and leaned forward again - moving his hands to press into the curves of your waist. "Lucky for you, I'm feeling merciful right now," he started, nails digging into the soft plushness of your midsection - his form shrinking back down as your tear-soaked apologies quelled his anger. "Do keep in mind that I will not be so forgving next time," he told you, to which you nodded vigorously, thankfully - the black tendrils loosening from your wrists and ankles once you showed your compliance.

Letting one hand drift from your side all the way up to your face, Alastor caressed your cheek in a belying manner of affection and kindness. "Now, where were we?" he asked you, raising a single brow as he began to rock his hips into you once more, his other hand returning to your clit - this time, more gently. Immediately, you opened your mouth to let out one of the loudest, most sinfully sounding moans you would make that night, eyes locked with his as your body began to make that steady climb back to your peak. As embarrassing as it was to know someone could be listening to any of this, you were much more fearful of the punishments Alastor would unleash upon you should you disobey again.

"Good girl," Alastor praised you, his claw tracing down your neck and over your collar bone, then further down to your breasts. Having lost himself entirely in his rush to that first high, he didn't get the chance to appreciate them properly - something that needed to be remedied right away. As one hand continued to rub tantalizing circles on your clit, he let the other cup one of your breasts in the palm of his hand. Alastor gave it a light squeeze before he began to knead the soft mound. The pointed tips of his nails pressed into your skin, threatening to break it and draw blood - which he would be all the more happy and eager to lap up.

[ Master Post ] ❀ [ Chapter One ] ❀ [ Chapter Two ] ❀ [ Chapter Three ] ❀ [ Chapter Four ] ❀ [ Chapter Five ]

[gilverrwrites]

I love your sex dream hcs and was wondering if you could do Lucifer having an F!reader erotic dream, please? 😁 @tocastielandback

Lucifer/Reader, ≈800 words

Request Info | Masterlist | Ko-Fi

I must apologise that this is not as explicit as the previous ones, but this just felt right. Rated: M

>[TFW Version Here]<

CW: Body worship, (hints of) powerplay, Dom!Lucifer (if you squint)

Please remember: You are allowed to love yourself.

The feel of your body against his is simultaneously unsettling and highly pleasurable. Your soft lips pepper kisses up and down his chest, warming his cool skin with every touch. He bites at his lip, holding back shivers of appreciation as you work your way upward pressing your own lips against his collar, throat, and jaw. You’re almost at face level, and you incline upwards, pursing your lips, ready to connect them with his own. Instead, he places his hand against your collarbone, splaying his fingers to stretch either side. Forcing your body backwards, his lips spreading into an amused grin. “What’s so funny?” You peer at him quizzically through heavy lids. “You.” He teases, enjoying the way you pout in response. “What would your precious friends think if they saw you like this? Worshipping ‘the devil’?”  “I wouldn’t care.” Your voice, and especially your words, are music to his ears. He promptly releases his hold on your neck, sliding his hand around your back and pulling you in for your reward.

You’re sat, hunched over a desk, nose buried in some dusty old tome when he finds you. Without thinking or caring, he leans over you from behind, planting his hands against the table on either side of you, confining you as he breathes in your scene. He has no idea if it's au naturale or artificial, but it is intoxicating nonetheless, and completely synonymous with you. 

To your credit, you keep your composure, but he can sense the increase in your heart rate.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is slow, deliberate, guarded. He wants so badly to strip away your armour.

“Can’t I just want to see my favourite human?” He chimes.

You don’t respond, refocusing on your book. A pang of petty jealousy? Rejection? Some nonsense ape-like emotion hits him, and he huffs as he pulls away from you. He relocates to the chair beside you, smug at the side eye you shoot him when he haphazardly kicks his feet onto the table.

When your silence persists, he feels the need to fill it.

“Well, since you really want to know, I truly am here to see you.” Still nothing. “I wanted to tell you about a dream I had.”

“Angels don’t dream.” You reply matter-of-factly, and he relishes in knowing he’s about to school you.

“Actually, yes, we do. As an Archangel, I would know.” He enunciates his point with the wag of his finger. Your eyes follow his hand, and he can’t help but wiggle all four of them, knowing he’s caught your attention. “We just have no practical need to sleep, so we don’t do it often.”

“Right.” You sound sceptical, and your sweet, sweet, attention is short-lived as you refocus on the desk. “And what does this have to do with me?”

Keen to draw you back to him, he taps his finger on the desk beside you. When you look at it, he points to himself, guiding you.  You sigh and roll your eyes before you look to his face. He might have been offended, but there’s a playful glint in your eye and growing warmth in your aura that tells him you’re enjoying his company more than you’d like to let one.

“Because you…” He gestures back and forth between you both. “Were in it.”

You blink once, twice; processing. When it settles, you proceed to stare at him, waiting for him to go on. He pointedly stares back at you in silence, folding his arms to display his new authority in this little dynamic. He’s piqued your curiosity, but now you’ll have to ask him for satisfaction.

You’re undeniably cute. Watching your expressions and mannerisms play out as you process his statement, as you realise your predicament, amuses him greatly. You turn back to your work, then to him again, and back and forth as you deliberate between your primary two options. To ask or not to ask. Eventually, the temptation wins out.  

“And?” You raise your brows expectantly. “What happened?”

“If you want to know, you’ll have to ask nicer than that.” He’s pushing his luck, and he knows it, but he’s confident you’re already too hooked to back out now.

You purse your lip as you calculate your next move. The image is unintentionally charming to him. He wonders if you’ll bite now, or if you’ll take the hard-to-get route, pretending you don’t want to know. Either is equally appealing to him, because he’s certain he’ll win out in the end.

Dropping his feet to the floor, he places an elbow on the table just inches from your arm, he uses it for balance as he leans in closer, keeping his expression as straight as possible. “Well?”

The beat of your heart is picking up again; you’re on edge, and he loves it.

“Okay, fine.” You concede. He feels his face twist, like the cat that got the cream, as you continue. “Please, Lucifer?”

[a34trgv2]

Top 10 Cartoons I Hate But Many Others Like

#10. The Amazing Digital Circus: Yes, I'm aware only 2 episodes have been made of this cartoon. I'm also aware that both episodes have been praised by viewers and critics alike. As much as I would love to join in on the fun, I cannot ignore how badly structured it is. From the unlikable characters, the poor world building, the unfocused narrative to the lackluster jokes, poor handling of themes and lack of stakes, this it the kind of unmitigated mess that more infamously bad cartoons are ripped to shreds over. I will say that the animation and voice acting is well done so it's not all bad.

#9. The Owl House: Many people were disappointed by my disappointment with this disappointing cartoon. But no one was more disappointed that I was left cold by the show than me. I love fantasy, magic, mystical creatures and enchanting worlds. The Owl House should've been up my ally, yet in practice I wouldn't even spit in it's direction. With an irritating cast of characters, bad world building, formulaic plots, the writing was already on the wall. Then Amity showed up and it made the show unbearable to sit through. I'm all for LGBTQ rep, but I draw the line at a bully and their victim becoming and item. I'm sure Amity has some sappy sob story about how her parents pressured her into being an entitled brat, but she's still and entitled brat that shouldn't even have friends, nevermind a girlfriend, because her attitude STINKS!

#8. The Loud House: I've made it no secret that despite the warm reception and continued popularity of The Loud House, I was never a fan. I never found it funny, well written, or relatable. All I got from The Loud House was this is one of the most annoying dysfunctional families I've ever seen. I do think it's well animated and I commend the crew for moving forward with the show despite the disgraced creator's termination.

#7. Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur: I consider myself a big Marvel fan thanks to the MCU and Spider-Man franchises. I never heard of Moon Girl or Devil Dinosaur before this show was announced, so I was genuinely curious to see how this would play out. Needless to say, I was not impressed. Despite having dazzling visuals and really good voice acting, the show is just badly made with terrible writing, unfunny jokes, dull characters, and repetitive action scenes. This show clearly has its fans, but unfortunately I'm not one of them.

#6. Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous: Those who know me know I love dinosaurs and am a huge Jurassic Park fan. You'd think a cartoon based on the series would be as exciting and interesting as the movies. Well like so many of the dinosaurs victims, you'd be DEAD WRONG! This show shoots itself in the foot by having 6 unlikable and annoying characters, and not one gets eaten by a dinosaur. Not to mention it's sluggishly paced, the animation is stiff, and the score only reminds me of the movies I'd rather be watching. Clearly I'm in the minority here as I had a blast watching ALL the Jurassic Park movies, even the ones critics didn't like at all, over this.

#5. We Bare Bears: I like bears as much as the next guy, with my favorite cartoon bear of all time being Winnie The Pooh. Despite my fascination with this big, furry creatures, We Bare Bears never made me like the main trio, much less love them. They're all varying degrees of unlikable and the show isn't funny or well written to keep me engaged. They also did San Francisco dirty by making the people so unlikable. The one element that I think would've made for a much more interesting show is Chloe Park. Her character was utterly wasted on this stupid show as she's a kid with a high IQ and is in college but still wants to be a kid. She deserves better.

#4. The Mitchells vs The Machines: As much as I like Sony pushing for more expiremental animated films lately, this expirement didn't succeed in my book. Sure, the animation is amazing and the voice acting's mostly good, but tells such a generic story, has such incompetent and unlikable characters, and I will never get over the fact that Aaron Mitchell sounds like a middle-aged man and not, you know, A CHILD! The worst part about this film is despite it's best efforts, it is just NOT funny. It relies so much on cringy, outdated memes, weak slapstick, and dull visual gags and I never once found it funny.

#3. El Deafo: I was confused as to what this show was supposed to be based on the trailer. Watching it for myself, I found that it was more frustrating than anything. Don't get me wrong, I commend author Cece Bell for turning her personal struggles with impaired hearing into a comic turned cartoon and I fully understand wanting to tell a story from a deaf person's perspective. That said, though, I just despised the execution from the awful writing, the unlikable characters to the terrible sound mixing. As pure as the intentions were, they were sorely lost in the execution in my opinion.

#2. Frog and Toad: When I was a kid, I loved reading the Frog and Toad books. They were simple, yes, but the characters were so interesting and the illustrations were well crafted. This show should've been exactly what I was looking for in an adaptation of the books. What I got instead was a prime example of how NOT to adapt a beloved children's series. Despite having spot on voice acting, the abysmal writing, the incompetent characters, and the lackluster animation really soured the experience. I know the author's children were involved in this, but I don't think they did the books justice. The show didn't take full advantage of the medium and played more like mediocre live reading of the books.

#1. Summer Camp Island: I clearly struck a nerve with fans of the show when I said I hated it. Well, y'all will be please to know that your efforts to change my mind were all in vain. I just couldn't get passed how badly written it was, how hatable the characters were, how grossly unfunny it was. The worst part is that this is a world where anthropomorphic animals and mystical creatures exist, yet they can't tell anyone about the magic on the island. To this very day, I CALL BOLONGA!

Conclusion: I'm not saying y'all are wrong for liking these show and you definitely won't see me call them "overrated." I just wanna offer a different perspective on these popular and well liked cartoons. Some honorable mentions include Miraculous Ladybug (many people love it, I can't stand it), The Ghost and Molly McGee (you all know how I feel about that chatterbox), and the "adult" cartoons that received critical acclaim such as Rick & Morty, Smiling Friends, Bob's Burgers and The Simpsons. Agree? Disagree? Let me know in the comments and I'll see you next time.