#and a lightning bolt on his tentacle

[forge-octarian-jacket]

Oh also if you can’t read the text:

Marie [top right]: *Splat2 Story Mode stuff*

Mauri [bottom left]: “Ma’am I’m not from here.”

It’s Agent 4–oh no wait, Who’s this guy?

[ MAURI STONE — AGENT 4? ]

[ Unclear how he got here, but he seems to be doing fine with agent work. ]

RAHHH THE SILLY AS AGENT 4

Might draw Ellie as Captain 3 next :3

YAYAYAYAYAYA

Hey, that's pretty good! I have always wondered what I would look like with hair.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical violence, flashback, blood and injury, swearing

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Part Twenty-Two of Ink & Needle

Simon relives the past. Evie goes to Simon for help. Price and 141 come for another visit.

Chapter Twenty-One // Chapter Twenty-Three

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

It’s raining.

Simon can hear it pattering against the steel roof. He stands on the edge of a fracted concrete slab, staring down into darkness. Even the rain collects here, falling from the opening in the roof several stories up.

This is the only light Simon has. The rest of the building is utterly dark.

Walsh is here. Somewhere. Slinking through the inky blackness like a tentacled beast awaiting its next meal.

The fucker is cornered, and he knows it. Walsh blew the goddamn fuse box, shoving the abandoned construction site into complete darkness. It’s not ideal—but Simon has worked in far harsher conditions.

Simon had the advantage—the element of surprise. He seized it, only for Walsh to run when one of his conspirators shot off at Simon suddenly and without warning. The bullet only grazed Simon’s upper arm. Nothing more.

They’re all dead now.

All but Walsh.

Simon made sure of it. He did it slowly, using the shadows to his advantage, becoming a violent mist that struck with sharpened blade. Those men are just puddles of blood and vacant eyes.

Twirling his knife end-over-end, Simon considers his next move. Walsh’s only escape is on foot, and even in that the man is fucked. Simon managed to nick the back of Walsh’s leg just before he disappeared. Best case scenario, Simon struck a tendon. Unlikely—but Walsh isn’t going to make it far on foot, not with this rain and an injured leg.

Simon’s cold gaze surveys the building around him.

It’s just one of many properties Walsh owns, but knowing which was always the hard part. The man hides behind fake companies and even faker names. Connecting them back to him took the most effort. This place is just storage—a building to conceal what you don’t want found.

“Where are you?” murmurs Simon, cleaning the blood off his blade against his pant leg.

Walsh is unpredictable when he’s cornered. The man turns into a wild animal. All raised fur and sharpened teeth. This is the Walsh that’s dangerous. The one that will do anything to escape.

Stepping away from the edge, Simon submerges himself into the shadows. He backtracks, stepping over bodies along the way, boots silent as he walks. The rain picks up as Simon enters a partially completed stairwell. There are walls and stairs, but no roof or railings.

He is unprotected from the rain, and the water soaks into his clothes, the fabric sticking to his skin. Most of his body is unprotected, but this isn’t an infiltration, and backup is far away. The opportunity appeared suddenly, and Simon seized it with both hands, ready to choke. Simon made himself a false friend to Walsh, and that is the only reason Simon is this close to victory.

Three years.

Three fucking years since Simon started tracking this fucker.

Three years of endless searching. Endless infiltrations. Endless missions. Simon got close. Moved in. And now he’s fucking here, ready to finish the job.

And he will.

He fucking will.

Simon exits the stairwell and returns to the slim light trailing in from the hole in the roof. There’s a sharp illumination, a flash of white, followed by the cracking boom of thunder. The metal around him lights up, soaking up and reflecting the lightning.

Simon inhales, the scent of rain seeping through the soaked balaclava.

He glances upward, and squints just as another flash of lightning illuminates the space.

Above him—four levels up—is a shadow of a man.

Simon doesn’t wait for the next bolt of lightning. He turns back into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. His heart pounds in his chest—adrenaline spiking. Blood rushes through his limbs, muscles tense and poised for action.

The next flash of lightning comes, but—no. Not white. Not bright.

This is hot. This is heat.

This is flame.

The building shakes and Simon slips, sliding down the stairs, eventually landing on his knee as a resounding boom vibrates his bones.

“Fuck!” cries Simon as his knee strikes concrete. It’s a sharp crack that shoots up his leg and goes right to his head.

Rolling to the side, Simon presses himself against the wall, protecting his head as everything shudders around him. The rattling tapers out—and the moment Simon’s teeth aren’t rattling around in his head—he pushes to an upright position.

The first step is agony. He can hardly bend his fucking knee.

Hissing sharply with every step, Simon continues to climb, emerging onto the fourth level as a rising wave of nausea hits him.

The wispy tendrils of smoke come first before the heat. Simon cautiously walks forward, circumventing a slab of slanted concrete.

Behind it is fire. There is so much of it. Climbing the walls, complete undampened by the rain.

What the fuck did Walsh set off?

Simon’s intelligence said that this place might be storing chemicals, not weapons. But it didn’t say what kinds of chemicals.

A nearby beam falls from its mooring and crashes to the floor. Simon takes a step back, and then the world is tipping. Spinning.

Simon didn’t hear him. Didn’t see Walsh coming.

There are strong arms around him, shoving him down.

Simon’s training clicks into place, and he surrenders to the push, falling into it. When Simon’s back hits the ground, he rolls with the momentum, shoving Walsh off of him. Walsh tumbles away, rolling through a small patch of fire, before skidding to a stop on his side.

Simon pushes up to standing just as Walsh regains his footing. His black hair is a soaked mess, lips a snarl. Simon always thought that Walsh looked like a crow. All sharpness and talon.

“You fucking betrayed me,” screams Walsh, spittle flying from his lips.

He takes a step, staggering slightly. The sleeve of Walsh’s jacket smokes. In his right fist is a crowbar.

“Always planned on it,” replies Simon coldly.

The crowbar gently swings with Walsh’s swaying form. He hefts the metal up, pointing the bent end at Simon. “I’m gonna kill you. Take your eyes. Feed them to my fucking dogs.”

Simon says nothing. He remains still, knife clutched in his fist. It’s the only true protection he has.

“And then I’m going to kill every person you love,” continues Walsh, eyes widening slightly as he talks. “Everyone you’ve ever cared about.” Walsh lowers the crowbar. “Even the dead ones.” He laughs, the sound manic and high. “What’s a bit of graverobbing, yeah?” Walsh grins. “You can add it to the fucking list of grievances.”

“You’re not walking out of here alive,” says Simon, keeping his tone calm.

Price and the rest of the team are on their way with additional forces. Simon can kill the man, but it’ll be much easier once everyone else arrives. He just needs to play this right, to keep Walsh occupied for a bit or until the wanker tires himself out.

Either way, Walsh is a dead man.

Walsh shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, mate.” He starts walking forward, the crowbar swinging. Walsh twists his wrist and the metal bar comes upward for him to grasp it like a bat. “I always fucking win.”

Simon steps to the side as Walsh brings the bar down. The man grunts. Staggers. Turns back in Simon’s direction.

Pushing the advantage, Simon shoves the knife forward with a quick slashing gesture. Walsh dodges, the metal of the blade harshly sliding against the crowbar. Sparks fly as the two metals meet.

Walsh swings again. Simon grabs the crowbar just above Walsh’s hands, holding it at bay.

“Fuck you!” screams Walsh, kicking out.

He connects with Simon’s injured knee. Simon staggers. His hand slips a bit on the crowbar.

“Fucking bastard,” spits Walsh, kicking out again, striking Simon in the chest.

Simon’s hold on the crowbar remains but he goes down, the two men stumbling to the concrete floor.

They are a tangle of limbs. Walsh gnashes his teeth, chomping at Simon as if to tear away flesh. Simon’s elbow connects with Walsh’s jaw. The man’s head snaps back and Simon slices the knife through the air.

The blade tears up Walsh’s neck, drawing blood. It isn’t much. Not nearly enough.

Walsh pushes off Simon, clutching his throat as he takes up the crowbar and swings again.

This time, the bent end connects, digging into Simon’s leg. Screaming, Simon lunges for it, intending to rip it out of his leg.

“No you fucking don’t,” snarls Walsh, yanking on the crowbar.

Simon scream again. Muscle and tendon are tearing. Nerves severing as Walsh drags Simon’s by his leg across the floor.

“I’m not done with you,” growls Walsh, yanking again.

Simon growls and lunges forward, grabbing onto the crowbar. The two men fight for dominance and control.

Walsh lashes out with his fist. Simon jerks to the side, and then thrusts his head forward, cracking his forehead against Walsh’s nose.

Blood bursts across Walsh’s face. The man stumbles back, falling on his ass.

With a guttural cry, Simon changes his angle on the crowbar, tugging it free. A black pool begins to form beneath Simon’s leg.

Groaning, Simon turns onto his side, pushes up to sitting with both hands. Grabbing his knife, Simon staggers to his feet just as Walsh steadies himself.

Simon charges, knocking into Walsh, blade pointed forward.

The knife goes in clean. Perfectly slips between ribs, missing bone, and meeting tender flesh.

Walsh screams, and then laughs—fucking laughs. The sound is choked. Garbled. But it’s not just Walsh who screams. They’re both screaming, staring into each other’s eyes as all that pent up rage and anger emerges like a storm.

A knee shoves into Simon’s stomach, and then the two men are up again. Simon’s knife is still lodged in Walsh’s chest.

The rest is all fists. Blurry. Bloody.

At some point Simon’s back and arms burn, the clothes singed and partially melted. He’s not sure when it happens. Everything is growing fuzzy, and his leg doesn’t want to move. It drags behind Simon with every swing of his fist.

Walsh’s hands slide around Simon’s throat. Using his weight, Simon drives forward, moving like a rugby player, pushing Walsh closer and closer to the edge.

Walsh’s mouth is moving, but there are no words.

It’s a buzzing. Like an alarm.

Like—

Simon’s eyes snap open. He’s greeted by the ceiling. The burns beneath the tattoos are warm as if the dream renewed the long-forgotten pain.

And that buzzing.

“Fucking hell,” groans Simon, sitting up, and grabbing his phone off the bedside table.

Bravo whines and places his head on Simon’s leg, his large dark eyes tinged with worry.

Simon opens up the doorbell app on his phone, checking to see who is out on the street wanting entrance. He checks the time and balks.

“Shit,” mutters Simon, swinging his legs out of bed. Bravo grumbles his annoyance but doesn’t move from his spot.

The quality isn’t great but there’s a woman standing outside. All he can see is a coat and her figure. He can’t tell if it’s you, but it might be.

Simon hits the button that unlocks the downstairs door and shuts off his phone. Standing, his bad knee stretches, resisting movement. He stretches a bit, and then heads for the front door.

Someone is banging on it before Simon even makes it across the living room.

He unlocks the deadbolts, and swings the door wide, expecting that it might be you and you’ve simply lost your key.

But it’s not you. It’s—

“Evie?” breathes Simon, his sudden excitement dimming to an extinguished flame.

She is rain-soaked. Trembling. Her brown eyes are large and round. Simon tastes fear and desperation in the air.

Something is wrong.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I know it’s late. But I have no one else to turn to. The police aren’t doing anything and I—”

“Come inside,” says Simon, softly, taking a step back.

Evie swallows hard, her hands clasped in front of her chest as she takes a hesitant step into Simon’s flat. He shuts the door behind her, locking the deadbolts.

“Sit here,” he instructs, gesturing toward the kitchen table. “I’ll make tea.”

“Simon,” she starts.

“Tea first, and then we’ll talk.”

Evie only nods, removing her coat to hang on the back of the chair. Simon fills the electric kettle and turns it on. Striding into the living room, he snags a blanket off the couch, and offers it to Evie.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, unfolding it slowly to drape over her shoulders.

Simon returns to the kitchen, preparing what he can for the tea. This concerns you. He knows it deep in his bones. But as much as Simon wants answers—craves them like a cigarette after sex—he needs to be fucking calm about this. He needs to be the clear-headed one.

When the kettle goes off, Simon makes each of them tea, spooning the perfect amount of milk and sugar into both. Simon sets a mug down in front of Evie and then decides to settle in the seat across from her.

“What happened?” he asks.

Evie’s mouth opens. Closes. She bites her lips and stares down into her cup.

“Start wherever you need,” says Simon. “Take your time.”

Time is never on anyone’s side. He is fully aware that time is your greatest friend and enemy. Even a few seconds are crucial.

Evie takes a deep, shuddering breath. “She should have been home yesterday. It’s not like her to not call if she’s running late.” She pauses, taking a moment to drink some tea. “I called. Texted. Nothing. Would go out to the house but I have Lillian to think of.”

“What time was she supposed to be home?”

“Around dinner,” answers Evie after a few seconds. “Still no word. No phone calls. No texts.” Evie sighs. “I went to the police station this morning but they shrugged it off. Said it’s too soon to file a missing person’s report.”

“Have you tried contacting anyone else?” asks Simon. His grip on his cup is the only thing grounding him right now.

Evie nods. “I contacted the estate agent. She said she’s go out there and check.” Tears begin to form in the corners of Evie’s eyes. “Haven’t heard anything. When I call her it goes straight to voicemail.”

Evie glances up from staring into her mug. “I’m worried. That’s why I came.”

“You did the right thing,” replies Simon. “I’ll go check.”

Her sigh of relief is palpable, as if the burden of it is a physical thing. “Thank you, Simon. I—”

“Finish your tea,” interrupts Simon. “I need to make a few calls.”

Glass crunches under Simon’s boots. Some of it shines in the morning light. Other pieces shine red.

The patio door is completely shattered, the glass strewn over the living room and lawn. In the middle of the floor is a deep pool of dark red liquid. And in that pool are two bodies.

Neither of them is you—thank fuck, but it’s hardly reassuring.

You are not here. You are—wherever you are.

Simon stares down at the two dead women. There’s a hammer near the blonde, the bludgeoning end covered in brain matter and gore. This is the estate agent and her assistant. They came to check after all at Evie’s request.

And they walked right into their deaths.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Captain Price, bending at the knees, observing the two lifeless women.

Kyle and Johnny are near the kitchen. Gaz is slowly shuffling through the paperwork on the kitchen counter while Johnny slowly walks the entryway with a torch. Simon doesn’t think they’ll find anything important.

This doesn’t have to do with Evie at all. Or Archie.

Not at the moment anyway.

This is about Simon. This is about Walsh.

It is about revenge, and the spirit of the chase in pursuit of that excellent vengeance.

Simon walks the perimeter of the dark pool, coming to a stop next to Price. He crosses his arms over his chest, gaze downward.

“Good thing you called us,” says Price, voice gruff. He comes to a standing position, a frown on his face. He turns to Gaz and Johnny. “Found anything?”

“Nope,” comes Soap’s response as he shines his torch up and down the staircase.

Gaz shrugs. “Not sure,” he replies. “This is mostly paperwork about selling the house. Don’t think Walsh is after that.”

“He’s not after the house,” growls Simon.

Price glances at him. “Simon.”

He’s trying to remind Simon to be calm—to chill the fuck out. But Simon is anything but calm. He’s fucking fuming.

“Walsh is after me,” says Simon, gaze locking with Price’s.

“Then why didn’t he come after you?” counters Price, shrugging. “You’re a civilian now. Why not surprise you in your home?”

Simon snorts but it’s not with amusement. “Think Walsh wants to make this quick?” He gestures toward the dead women.

Price doesn’t even glance at them. “These two were in the way. Likely surprised them.”

“Sure,” agrees Simon. “But he wants to hurt me first. To cause pain before he strikes.”

“We’ll find her,” sighs Price. “Maybe she escaped?”

“She would have turned up somewhere. Made contact with someone.” Simon shakes his head. “Walsh has her.”

“We don’t know that, Simon.”

Simon is ready to snap a reply, to show some teeth. This is about him, but it’s also about you. Walsh can have anything, but he can’t have you. You are the only thing Simon has ever truly wanted. The only person he’s craved to the point of obsession.

Life does not seem complete without you.

Letting you go is not an option.

“Captain!” calls Johnny.

Simon and Price snap to attention, their bodies shifting in Soap’s direction. There are solid footsteps, and then Johnny appears around the corner, coming to a stop next to Kyle. He clicks off the torch and places it on the kitchen counter. In his other hand is a large stack of mail. He gently sets the mail down, and spreads them out, making sure each envelope is on full display.

Simon takes a step forward. He’s not sure why he’s moving. Something is telling him to, wrapping around him like a string, and tugging.

Johnny lifts an envelope and holds it up. Frowning, he turns it around. “It’s addressed to Simon.”

He closes the distance in seconds, snatching the letter out of Johnny’s hand. It’s simple parchment. Slightly faded and weather-worn. There is no postage. No address. Just Simon’s full name.

“Simon,” says Price, almost cautiously, as if he doesn’t want Simon to open it.

He ignores Price, tearing it open.

There is a single piece of paper inside. It’s thin—nearly translucent. With slightly shaking fingers, Simon withdraws it from the envelope.

Come and find her. – KW.

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[mrsdarkandyandere7]

oooh ok so i think something really fitting for dark luke would be him manipulating reader into joining kronos’ army and then reader realises that it’s wrong and tries to leave but he won’t let them (he perhaps might kidnap them just to keep them with him)🤭🤭🤭

Pairing: Dark Luke Castellan x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship; Minor Violence. 

Took me a long time to write it but here it is finally, so enjoy 😊

--

“Y/N, c’mon. We gotta hurry up.” 

You remain silent, feet fixed on the floor, bothered by the troublesome tentacles of doubt and uneasiness that have started to round you up. 

You had always agreed with Luke’s perspective on the Gods. Comforted him when Luke’s anger and anguish got the best out of him. Supported him when he rambled about the imperative need to act, to defy the Gods.

You understood him.

You had your fair share of bitterness and hatred dedicated to your own mother, something that often led to crying yourself to sleep. 

You even helped him design the plan that made sure that Zeus’ Lightning Bolt was stolen without the fault falling on Luke. 

But now… now things feel different. It feels wrong. Very wrong.

You’re not sure what changed, but as you passively observe Luke hastily stuffing some of your clothes into a small bag, you realize you can't do this.

Because it means to betray the only place that ever felt like home. To turn your back on the people you called friends. 

“I can’t go with you.”

Your words come out in a low tone, barely above a whisper and Luke stops for a moment, hands dangerously clenching around a few shirts of yours.

You think he’s going to say something, but as quick as the moment comes, it also goes away and your boyfriend resorts to ignoring you. 

“The rest of your shirts won’t fit here.” he says, with a strained voice. “But it’s fine. We can get you more clothes when we get there.”

A shaky sigh comes from you before you can stop it.

“Luke, I’m not going with you.” 

Luke tenses up and you nervously gulp when he twists his neck to glare at you with a mix of impatience, anger and exasperation and shakes his head before returning his attention to the bag, zipping it close. 

“Luke-”

“You’re not ditching me. Now right now.” he snaps at you, turning to fully face you. “You promised me you were on my side. Hell, you even helped me begin this. And now you’re abandoning me, seriously?” 

You shake your head, reaching for his hand. He lets you hold it, despite the angry frown he has. 

“This isn’t right, Luke. We can’t just-”

“But you get it, right? You get why I’m - we - are doing this, right?” he tugs you closer by the hand, his other hand wrapping itself around your other hand’s wrist.

Pulling you so close that you can practically see the rageful emotions exploding in his eyes. 

“It’s for a good cause. All of this! We’re doing this to stop the Gods, stop them from always getting away with every shitty action of theirs.” 

You look at him, pure confliction itching your heart and mind and Luke seems to notice that. 

“We’re in this together, okay?” his eyes beg you to accept it, to accept him. To be his partner in crime. “You and me against the world. Having each other’s backs.”

But as much as you want to, it’s not something you can do. 

Luke’s face falls at the tears shining in your eyes - a clear synonym of your decision.

“I’m sorry, Luke. I really am.” 

For a moment, his jaw tenses up and you think Luke is gonna shout at you. That you’re no better than the Gods. That you too have betrayed him when he needs you the most. 

But he doesn’t. 

“So am I.” your brows squirm in confusion at his apologetic words and the only warning you get is a light squeeze of his palms on your hands. 

It happens so fast that you barely have time to react. 

He shoves you hard with one of his hands grabbing the back of your head, smashing your skull against the hard wall.

The pain is excruciating, stars exploding in your vision and you feel a strange numbness disseminating through your body. Your knees give up and you’d almost fall if Luke’s arms weren’t there to grab you, softly rocking you till your back meets the floor. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” his voice sounds distant, your brain slowly disconnecting as you lean towards the darkness,

“...but I can’t let you walk away from me.”

[ssparksflyy]

don't save some other girl ᯓᡣ𐭩

pairing jason grace x daughter of minerva!reader summary i lost the request but this one's for you @hope92100 !! an bat shit crazy jason save me... save me bat shit crazy jason

OF course the one 'peaceful' day you get with jason gets ruined by monsters.

the rest of your crew was spending the day exploring the city, while you and jason agreed to stay behind and guard the ship (could you really call it a ship if it also flew?), hoping to get some peace while you were able to spend some time alone for the first time in weeks.

you were lying in bed with jason and watching a movie when you heard a loud crash come from the main deck. you were both quick to scramble up and dash out of his room, pulling out your swords as you reached the main deck.

you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to run away from the sight of the moster. a godzilla size glowing black squid with ten rapid arms and one big eyeball frantically looking in different directions was right in front of you.

"ill take it's left, you take right! try cutting at it's arms!!" jason yelled as he yelled to the left side of the monster.

you nodded your head frantically and ran to the other side of the deck, ducking and slicing anytime an arm came swinging at you. you weren't able to find a part of the ship where you could stop to think for just a second, maybe get a good view on as to where this monster's blind spot was. once you were able to attack that, this thing would turn to dust and leave you and jason be. looking around frantically, you realized that getting to higher ground was the solution.

continuing to duck and dodge at any squid arms that came swinging in your direction, you climbed the ladder that led to the higher end of the deck, running towards the railing.

"jason!" you called out.

"yea?!" you heard him yell from the other side of the deck.

"i need you to distract this thing, try to get it to focus on you!"

"why? what're you-"

"just do it please!!!"

he didnt reply, but you knew as the monster's arms stared swinging more in his direction, he had done what you asked him to. you squeezed your eyes shut and silently prayed to all the gods your plan would work before beginning to climb on top of the railing.

you held your arms out, trying to balance yourself and not fall with each step you took. you needed to get a hit as close as you could to the monster's back. from there, you could determine where this thing's weak spot was.

you were so focused on your feet and trying to stay on the railing, the only thing that snapped you out of your trance was the impact of the squid's tentacle that sent you flying off that very railing.

as you fell, it felt as if time stopped. as if these were your final moments to 'enjoy' life before falling to your death. the impact wouldn't be what would take you, but the quick currents of the water would be what swept you away, incapable of even processing what was happening. and then you'd die. nothing more, this was it.

you closed your eyes as you accepted your fate, as if you were allowing time to resume it's regular speed.

fortunately for you, somebody else hadn't accepted it.

jason must've swept in at lightning speed because one moment you were falling to your death, and then next you were back on the deck, sitting in a corner while jason rushed back to deal with the monster.

you watched in shock as jason flew around the monster at incredible speed, dodging and attacking every arm that came his way. he began sending down bolts of lighting as he flew, electrocuting the monster when it got too close. you'd never seen him like this, so determined to finish off a monster, such power radiating off of him. you had to admit it was actually quit frightening. you knew jason was powerful, and you hated when people ignored his talents, but seeing him in action like this and experiencing his power at such a high level almost made you scared of him. scared that maybe even you were underestimating his powers. scared if thing things he could possibly do. when you were able to finally see a glimpse of his face, the murderous look he had didn't exactly give you the comfort you were looking for.

in the matter of a minute, jason had the monster covered in the marks of his sword, moving slower than ever. with one final stab to the back, the monster had finally dispersed into dust and into the pits of tartarus.

he finally landed on his feet, taking only a second to catch his breathe before running over to you. he slid onto his knees as he reached you, his hand immediately reaching for the side of your face.

"are you okay? are you alright? gods (name) you scared the living shit out of me, i thought i lost you-"

"im okay, im okay jason. thank you. thank you so much, i..." the words seemed to have caught in your throat. tears began to form in your eyes as the realization that you almost died hit you.

jason realized this as well and pulled you in for one of the tightest hugs you were ever given. it was as if he too needed to realize that you were alright.

as much as you appreciated how much he cared, you couldnt shake off his manic state from just a minute ago. truth be told, you werent sure if you could ever handle to see him like that again. you knew you wouldn't be able to stay quiet for very long, so why try?

"jason?" you said, pulling away from him.

"yea?" he asked, you could hear desperation in his voice.

"i love you, and i know how powerful you are, and i would never want to hold you back but," you paused, "please never ever do that again."

a look of worry spread across his face, "no, no, of course not. im so sorry (name), i didnt know-"

"it's fine. at least i know you wont be saving some other girl anytime soon."

he smiled and pressed a soft kiss on your lips, "wouldnt dream of it"

[velarisdusk]

Garden of Eden

Day 27: Tentacles | Tamlin word count: 2k author's note: this was not as fleshed out as i wanted it to be so best believe i will be writing another MUCH BETTER tentacle fic some day. forced submission is just so.. sighs lovingly. add an entity of unknown origin to that and im folding. ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the vibrant fields of the Spring Court. Tamlin moved through his lands, his heart heavy with unspoken fears and looming shadows. Thoughts of his court's safety swirled in his mind, a relentless storm of responsibility that tightened its grip with every passing day.

Today, he sought answers—felt whispers of a naga lurking in the depths of his territory. A part of him felt drawn to the hunt. But as he ventured deeper into the forest, his mind tangled in a web of thoughts, he felt the burden of his duties pressing down on him.

He followed a narrow, winding path, surrounded by wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. But as he walked, a peculiar scent began to fill the air, thick and sweet, like honey and earth mingling together. It was intoxicating, drawing him forward until he stumbled upon a sight that halted him in his tracks.

Before him stood a plant unlike anything he had ever seen, its deep emerald leaves unfurled, shimmering as if kissed by morning dew. At the center, a large, iridescent bloom swayed softly, its petals shifting through shades of violet and blue, mesmerizing in their beauty. The heart of the flower pulsed with a strange, inviting glow, as if it were alive, beckoning him closer.

Compelled by an overwhelming curiosity, Tamlin stepped forward, his instincts momentarily dulled by the plant’s enchanting presence. He reached out, fingers grazing the soft, velvety petals, and in that instant, the world around him shifted.

The ground trembled beneath him, and a low hum resonated through the air, vibrating against his skin. The plant responded to his touch, its petals curling inward while sinuous tendrils unfurled from the bloom, reaching toward him. The tendrils were glossy and deep green, glistening in the fading light, moving with a grace that made his breath hitch.

Tamlin’s heart raced. He had faced countless threats, but none like this. The tendrils coiled around his wrist and panic flared within his chest, but as he tried to pull away, the plant constricted with a force that belied its delicate appearance, unyielding as it pulled him closer.

“Let go,” he commanded, his voice laced with authority, but a flicker of uncertainty betrayed him. The tendrils merely tightened, pulling him closer as the flower opened wider, revealing a deeper, darker core that pulsed with a hypnotic rhythm. He struggled against the plant, but it only responded with a seductive caress, winding around his arm, coaxing him to surrender.

A sharp panic surged through him, primal and wild. He reached for his magic, desperate to shapeshift, but the power remained deadened, unreachable, like it had been snuffed out. He stared at the tendrils binding him, a bluish hue woven through the green, and a dawning realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

Faebane.

The tendrils pulsed with a dark energy that seeped into him, suppressing his magic and rendering him vulnerable. Desperation surged through him, and he instinctively swiped at the nearest tendril with his free hand, determined to free himself. But as he moved, another vine snaked up his arm, clamping around his wrist with a fierce grip.

“No!” he shouted, but the word came out in a breathy gasp, infused with frustration and a flicker of something deeper—a sense of vulnerability he loathed to admit. The plant tightened its hold around both arms, wrapping him in an embrace that felt alarmingly possessive, their warmth igniting fear and desire within him. 

He struggled against the restraints, feeling them dig into his skin, yet the more he fought, the more they seemed to delight in his resistance. They caressed him with a softness that belied their strength, weaving around him like an intricate web, holding him captive in a dance of temptation.

The flower’s glow intensified, and the tendrils coiled around his legs, lifting him from the ground with a disturbing ease, his body left with no choice but to surrender to it. Each one teased along the contours of his body, tracing the lines of his chest and abdomen with tantalizing touches that sent jolts of warmth coursing through him. They moved with an unsettling intimacy, slipping beneath the hem of his tunic, curling against his skin, igniting every one of his nerve endings.

Tamlin gasped, his breath hitching as he felt the fabric of his clothing begin to tear. The plant’s appendages worked slowly, shredding the material until it hung over him in tatters. Exposed to the cool air, he felt the heat of the plant’s energy wrap around him even tighter, each brush against his skin igniting a fire deep within.

“Stop,” he tried to command again, but the words came out as little more than a breathy plea, the urgency lost amidst the waves of sensation flooding his senses. The plant responded to his struggle, the tendrils flexing and tightening as if to remind him of its power. They explored him with an insistent curiosity, sliding along his thighs and brushing tantalizingly against the growing heat of his desire.

As the appendages continued their teasing dance, one curled around his nipple, squeezing gently before drawing back. Tamlin shuddered at the unexpected pleasure, a moan escaping his lips. The sensation only heightened as it returned, this time latching on and sucking softly, pulling at him with a rhythmic insistence that left him gasping for breath. Another wrapped around his neck, its touch both gentle and possessive, as if marking him as its own.

The plant seemed to relish his reactions, feeding off the heat radiating from his body. The appendages glided down his torso, wrapping around his cock with a teasing grip, stroking him slowly, eliciting soft groans that echoed in the stillness of the forest. Tamlin writhed against the bonds of the plant, frustration and arousal coursing through him. 

“Please,” he gasped, desperate to break free, but the words were little more than a whimper lost in the haze of sensation. The plant tightened its hold, squeezing rhythmically as it continued to suckle at his chest, drawing out every sound of pleasure that threatened to escape him.

Before he could process what was happening, another verdant stalk began to push at his lips, seeking entry. “No,” he managed, clenching his jaw, unwilling to yield even as his body betrayed him, aching for release. But the plant was relentless, the tendril wrapped around his cock shifting its focus, no longer just stroking but sucking with an urgency that left him breathless. Tamlin's body reacted against his will, hips thrusting forward as he sought more of that delicious pressure. His mouth fell open involuntarily, a gasp escaping as he felt the heat of the plant’s energy radiating through him.

At that moment, another—how big was this plant?—took advantage and thrust deep into his mouth, forcing him to take it down his throat. The sensation was overwhelming and invasive, and he found himself gagging around it. 

With his mouth full and his body bound, Tamlin felt utterly helpless as the plant began to thrust, pulling him deeper into its grasp. The rhythmic sucking on his cock synced with the relentless thrusting in his throat, the pleasure and pain sending jolts of arousal through him. 

As if sensing his submission, the plant began to explore further, another appendage sliding down to the only place it hadn’t yet ventured, teasingly prodding at the entrance. Tamlin's eyes widened, panic flooding his senses. He wanted to protest, but the words were swallowed by the plant, muffled in his throat as it pressed deeper, refusing to relent.

It pushed in slowly, and he felt the initial pressure, a mix of discomfort and undeniable pleasure igniting within him. He writhed against the bindings, feeling helpless and utterly at its mercy. Each inch it filled him sent waves of heat crashing through his body, forcing moans to escape past the appendage filling his mouth.

The plant’s movements were relentless, driving deeper inside him, stretching him in ways he had never thought possible. The sensation was exquisite, intoxicating—each thrust igniting a fire within him that threatened to consume everything else. 

The thrusting intensified, each powerful stroke driving deeper into Tamlin, the appendage stretching him in ways he never imagined. The appendage in his mouth thrust deeper, hitting the back of his throat with a force that made his eyes water, but it was a sensation that drove him wild, urging him to surrender. The warmth radiating from the plant enveloped him, igniting every nerve ending as it continued to coax him toward release. He could feel the heat building within him, an insistent pressure that begged for freedom, a fire that demanded to be unleashed.

“Please,” he thought, lost in the haze of ecstasy, his mind swirling with confusion and pleasure. “Not like this.”

The rhythm of the plant’s thrusts quickened as if it sensed his impending climax. The sucking on his cock grew more urgent, and Tamlin felt a wave of pleasure crashing over him, sending him spiraling into a world of bliss that consumed him entirely.

His body responded wholly, muscles tightening as he finally surrendered, a choked moan spilling from his mouth around the appendage that filled him. Pleasure surged through him like a lightning bolt, electric and all-consuming. He was lost, engulfed in a sea of sensation, the plant’s relentless movements pushing him beyond the brink. 

At that moment, the plant shuddered around him, a deep, resonating pulse coursing through its appendages as it released its own offering. Warmth flooded him, filling him with a sensation that was both foreign and intoxicating, pushing him deeper into the depths of his own climax. Tamlin gasped, feeling the weight of whatever the plant was depositing inside him, the rounded sensation stirring a mix of confusion and pleasure. He writhed against the bindings, feeling the plant continue to fill him. It was overwhelming, each wave of warmth igniting a desire that kept him teetering on the edge, even as the plant began to slow its movements.

The final thrusts were deep and purposeful, and Tamlin felt himself spilling over once more, a mix of his own release mingling with the warmth of the plant’s deposit. He was utterly spent, every inch of him humming with a strange satisfaction as the plant finally stilled, leaving him suspended in a haze of pleasure and confusion.

After a moment, the plant’s appendages began to retreat gently, loosening their hold on him. It cradled him for a brief instant, almost tenderly, smoothing down his hair as if to comfort him before allowing him to slide back down to the ground. The warmth dissipated, and he felt the cool air against his skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of the plant’s embrace.

Tamlin scooted back, instinctively distancing himself from the now dormant flower, his mind racing as he processed what had just happened. Heart still pounding and clothes hanging precariously on him in tatters, he pushed himself to his feet, every muscle trembling from the intensity of the experience. He needed to leave.

As he walked away, a narrative began to take shape in his mind. He would tell Feyre and Lucien that he had encountered a naga. It was a simple enough tale, one that would obscure the truth of his vulnerability and the strange, intoxicating magic he had just experienced. They would accept it without question.

He couldn’t bear the thought of revealing the depth of his experience, the pleasure intertwined with the fear that had gripped him. They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t understand.

Yet, as he stepped away, he couldn’t help but glance back at the plant. The flower had returned to its original state, serene and unassuming as if it had never transformed at all. The glow had faded, leaving only the soft colors of its petals swaying gently in the breeze. Curiosity tugged at him, mingling with the remnants of pleasure that still danced at the edges of his consciousness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

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[monodramatic-cannibal]

Realized I never posted my Crossmare ship kid.

So here's Raiden :D I will put into for him under the cut if ayone is curious about him.

Head Canon voice: (Wanderer ((English)) from genshin impact) (Personality wise he's also quite similar to Wanderer too)

More info on his design:

He’s actually goop like Nightmare, it's just his goop is different colours. Has claws which they’re red like the marking on his face. When viewing his eye from the side the star pupil can be seen slightly above his eye. The skeletal things on his tentacles can be shot out/thrown as a sort of weapon can regenerate. The main necklace part is actually a gem. His legs have the same gradient that's on his face (the dark to light, doesn’t have red in the gradient on his legs)

Some info on family:

Raiden was raised primarily by Nightmare and Cross, but had the rest of the murder trio to look after him too. To him Killer is like an older brother, whereas Dust and Horror more so feel like uncles to him. Nightmare was the one to give him an education, as well as Raiden picking up a sharp tongue from him. Cross was the one to train him in combat in both physically fighting and being combat smart too. As well as dealing with Raiden’s emotional needs. (Both Nightmare and Cross may do the other’s role from time to time. E.g. Rai learning more dumb insults from Cross, or Nightmare providing a more logical emotional approach to a situation)

The way Nightmare and Cross raised Raiden is they both agreed to not push Raiden in a direction to be good or bad. Both of them would like Raiden to be a better person than them. But they know they can’t say much given how they are, especially now with how smart Raiden is, if they tried to push him to be good he’d probably use it against them. So they feel they made the right call with raising him.

Raiden was about before Dream/Nightmare made the truce, Nightmare kept Dream from knowing about Raiden, not wanting his enemy to know about his kid. But Nightmare never talked bad about Dream around Raiden, wanting Raiden to make his own opinions on Dream without his input. A year or two after the truce became a thing (around when Raiden was 14) Nightmare did tell Raiden if he wanted to go seek out his brother he could, but Raiden didn’t care too much to know him. Dream (and his group) only found out about Raiden recently.

Raiden doesn’t care too much about Dream or his group. Nor does he make much of an effort to get to know them. Finds them weird.

Who Raiden feels is his family: Nightmare: Dad (on rare occasions calls him Old Man) Cross: Pa / Pops Killer: (older brother figure) Dust: (Uncle figure) Horror: (Uncle figure) Error: (unsure but sees him as family) (will add more when I figure out more about Rai)

His magic/attacks/etc:

A lot of the magic he can preform have an ‘X’ theme to them. E.g. things like this (this being one of Arlecchino’s attacks in genshin, but I’m stealing its look for Raiden)

When his attacks aren’t ‘X’ themed they tend to look like lightning bolts (him living up to his name)

He can create a small (unseen) bubble around himself, when people enter this bubble they’re in an awake nightmare. Raiden being able to control the space within this bubble manipulating reality within this bubble as if it was a nightmare. Though this drains Raiden very quickly.

He also has blades he can summon. To most these blades appear to be shaped like lightning bolts, when in reality Raiden actually based it off of Cross’s scar. And at this point Raiden is too embarrassed to admit that to anyone.

---------

He doesn’t fully understand how to express emotions or how to understand others emotions. He struggles a bit, he still does express emotions, it’s just they may be a bit random sometimes. E.g. he’s annoyed most of the time, or may find things funny in situations he shouldn’t. He is a good person, and does have manners. It’s just he’s selective on who he decides to offer his polite side too.

Him being somewhat monotone and having a sharp tongue means he tends to upset or anger people who don’t understand how he speaks. He also doesn’t like most people, is very picky with who he decides to get along with. So even if someone can understand him there's a chance that Raiden will just be disgusted with them for no reason. He very much struggles to hold his tongue, often speaking without thinking. Which sometimes lands him in trouble.

Finds it hard to comprehend how others think, especially if they have a drastically different view to him. Will basically have a crisis thinking about how others have thoughts that he doesn’t know. (Not main character syndrome, more so people exist and have their own thoughts and feelings that I can’t understand, and I don’t like that)

He very much adores his family, and as much as he tends to insult everyone (Nightmare is the only one in the group that can escape his insults), he will apologize if he does feel like he’s actually upset one of them.

He is very much a family person, preferring to stick to his family and people they get along with over making his own friends. Doesn’t mean he won’t make his own friends, it’s just easier for him to stick to people who can understand him or explain to others how to understand him.

----------

Some info on the world/au:

In the world of this au both Nightmare’s and Dream’s group called a truce, Error and Ink also have their own separate truce between them. Basically for them not to cause any drastic positivity/negativity but both (Nightmare/Dream) allowed to step in if the balance of emotions in the multiverse gets out of whack.

The au follows more fanon interpretations of the groups, as well as my own head canons and such, I may or may not change lore as well for some characters.

[yandere-class-1a]

I wanna see your head canons on what their fins would look like! (I can imagine everytime they feel happy and warm their tail glows)

Authors note: These are my personal headcannons for the mermaid AU. I might change them in latter stories but I feel pretty comfy with where they are right now. They where all just sorta ideas I have floating around but I hope you like them! Also I actually had the idea of their eyes glowing when they get happy but decided not to add it, so your not that far off with the tail ♡

Shoji has eight silver colored tentacles with a dark blue under belly. His suction cups are a slightly lighter blue and his beak is the same color as the top. I can imagine him being a bit self conscious about it and usually keeping it covered up by the tentacles, kinda like his mask in the anime.

Koda has motly white tail with red details. His tail actually resembles a seahorse but much bigger to support all of his weight above water

Sato's tail is a a soft brown color with black and white stripes. I imagine his tail with a sorta puffy feel to, not supper puffy though, kinda like puffy stickers. It resembles a sort of clownfish look with brown instead of orange.

Ida has a dark blue tail with one of his bottom fins being made out of metal parts, think like toothless from HTTYD. I imagine he would have made it either himself or with Momo's help.

Sero has a long black tail with white puffy streak all around it. The streaks look a lot like tape, to match his original universes quirk.

Shoto has a half red half white tail that colors switch places with his hair. I imagine that he might have a few darker spots on his tail from his past.

Momo has a red tail with beutifull yellow fins at the bottom. It's a pretty basic mermaid tail but it has a little of a rough texture than the original sleek mermaid scales.

Bakugo has a ash blonde tail with large swirls of orange and black. His tail kinda resembles a catfish in all ways except color.

Kirishima has a red tail with specks of black that resembles a shark. I would imagine that Kirishima would sorta be the protection of the pack so his tail would have scars and possibly a healed bite mark out of one of the fins.

Ojiro has a thick skin colored tail with a small tuff of fins at the end. It kinda looks like his tail from the original universe but is more smooth.

Aoyama has a shiny white and yellow tail that has a sort of sequins look to it. He has the ability to change the colors to fit in with the environment but he says that these colors make him ✨️sparkle✨️ more.

Denki had a bright electric yellow tail with little black marking that happen to look like lightning bolts. His tail takes resemblance to a electric eel.

Izuku's tail is a beutifull emerald green with freckles of red and white. The fins are a bit longer than the average mer-man, it is a pretty yellow and looks slightly tattered and torn (Probably from how reckless he is).

Mina, as stated before, has a glimmering pink and yellow tail. Her tail is very strong and has some visible muscles, but not a ton.

Tokoyami had a dark black tail with a white under belly, like a orca.

Uraraka has a pretty white tail with large splotches of pink and brown, it kinda looks like boba.

Jiro had a shorter but strong looking purple tail with flowy fins that resemble earphone jacks hanging from her side.

Hagakure has a long almost clear tail that resembled that of a jelly fish.

Tsu has a beutifull green tail with black swirly stripes all along it. It resembles that of a tadpole. Her type of mermaid is supposed to grow legs but hers somehow stayed like a tadpoles.

[iceinwhb]

Dark headcannon II

﹅ contains ;; what in hell is bad, Leviathan, sensitive content, violence, explicit content.

﹅ warnings ;; Dark headcannon, insane descrptions, abuse.

His fingers gently stroked the hair, slowly abstracting in the sensation of softness, even soft breathing, and finally, his touch ended on the cheeks.

The body shuddered under his gaze, which needed to memorize every crease and form, before it all ended hopelessly wrong.

Silence was evident, but he could still feel the slight uncertainty in Foras. That worry I always hate to death, but he could do nothing but bite his tongue every time and avoid sentimentality, on his own.

At least that was the case when Solomon's descendant was in hell, she was a danger and above all an imposed weakness. But he constantly made it evident that she was not to leave hell. Too many times to count on his hands.

And it was absurd that she would have preferred to go back and stay with a human, clearly inferior to anything he could offer her.

But he didn't bother to reflect his constant anxiety about it. In fact it was just the opposite, he hoped she make the decision to end up there.

For by then there would no longer be anything that could take her away from him. There was no longer a king she could miss, and he was, by far, far better than a mere weak mortal.

He lifted her gently, even knowing the kind of sensitivity she managed when she slept, and went back to hell. It was even easier to take each step as she slowly opened her eyes, and realized she was being robbed.

She seemed to feel the fury itching under his skin, and looked for the tiniest crack to push itself outward, but he was no longer even capable of using a rope to hang her. No, that time, he had something he should have done from the beginning.

“Who are you?” His eyes did not lower, but continued to be fixed on the path, as his fingers buried themselves more firmly into the body that was beginning to twitch annoyingly. “How did you get into my house? Where are you taking me!”

“Foras.” He made barely a simple gesture, but it was enough for Foras to stop following him and stand halfway down the hallway, knowing exactly what Leviathan wanted.

As the deeper the path he stepped on became, where not even a single bolt of lightning was able to reach him. The trembling increased, rather than the resistance, and the only salvageable reaction was how the breathing began to move with excessive force.

“What are you doing. With me.” There seemed to be a flicker of a voice, too small to compare to the first time she teased him. He would have found it boring, and would have left her there, except that it would still be obvious that she was in hell.

“Learn to control yourself.”

A tentacle slithered under the bed in the room he had entered, and lifted the furniture, moving it out of his way, even lifted the wood off the floor, opening a more secret door, and intruded into the deep darkness, as if to lead the way.

He descended the steps, ignoring even the fingers that tried to make it out of the force he implemented.

“Please, please, stop.” He paused only when the body stretched, struggling not to enter the darkness, as if there was something there, that gave her the message of danger. “I'll do anything you want, but don't do this.”

She didn't have a clue that there was a chance, and she blew it completely. He knew there was the slightest risk, and if he gave her the benefit of the doubt, it was like handing her the perfect weapon to assassinate him.

He stood, halfway up the stairs, enjoying the fear, feeding on the trembling as the torso and part of the chest pressed against his nose.

He did not insist on forcing her by his own hand, but simply watched as a groan of surprise came from her, before her body fell on the hard stairs and she was dragged down by a tentacle that clung to her throat, similar to a necklace.

He followed the body, as his attention continued on her and the way she writhed, as her hands struggled against the apostle's grip, but it was in vain, because five minutes later the body turned livid.

He smiled, as they finally reached the room, made solely for the purpose of being inhabited by the last descendant of Solomon. He almost laughed, as the apostle curled up on every limb, as a reflection of the obsessiveness to take her completely.

His eyes kept boring into her, unable to forgive her. That was just one more reason to quit hiding what he wanted, over the poor selfishness she aspired to achieve.

He refocused on the hoarse moan, and the slow movements, regaining her consciousness. The gasp that followed was just the beginning of a long process, which she took immediately into practice.

“Stop it, please, stop it.”

“Does it matter now?” He held the dirty cheeks, as the eye contact grew heavier and denser, but what was in every feature, there was fear. “You can't leave hell even if you die. You knew that, but you still made your decision.”

She opened her mouth, barely a few moments, trying to get words out that were interrupted when he held her neck and pressed down.

The windpipe was even soft, mallugged by the apostle's strength, but that didn't mean Leviathan should trust in it. He held the nape of her neck, as his fingers dug in hard, drowning out the sound that vibrated in his hand as a bone broke.

“Just a moment longer.” Another crunch filled the space, but this time, with more perpetual intent. The thyroid glans twitched even lowered the pressure, perhaps hurting itself from the sudden movement and finally he released it.

A scream came after a long deep breath, she coughed and screamed again, all mixed into a whimper that was clear right after. The cry rose, and though he must have stirred his chest, he felt nothing but anxiety.

For it was not enough, he would not have enough, and at that moment, though pain clouded the human mind, soon, the only thought she would have would be him, every moment of every day and every night.

She turned, trembling, and he allowed her to for a second, before he held her arm and stand over her body, never letting his attention leave her.

“Leviathan is the only name you must call out. The only thing you will think from now on, and the only thing you will have until your death.” Lips trembled, tears fell, and yet, though she must have been frightened, all he saw was fury. “You must hate me, to the end.”

And that was fine to him. The purest, and most mammoth hatred that blossomed with injustice, and overcame any human limitations.

“Let go of me!” She hit his jaw hard enough to make him pull away. She didn't even wait another second before she returned to lace another blow across his face, breaking his lip. She climbed over him, clearly angry.

He laughed, as he wiped the tingling, rather than stinging, blow.

“Your worthlessness transcends your own reason. Weak human.” Inevitably he yearned for more. With the same unwarranted manner, he sought to compete with his role as abuser, and take the consequences.

Not only did she hit his stability, again and again, pressing the dangerous spots, but he got what he needed.

He held her hips, even as the furious scratches snapped into his face, and he felt the raging desire again. For he wasn't capable of having her only one way, but wanted to hog every part.

And like the first time, she tried to choke him, because there was nothing she could use as a weapon. He pushed the erection to the center of her legs, knowing exactly how it would end when he clamped her wrists and tightened his grip. She gasped, sharply enough to bristle his skin, and his eyes moved immediately to the apostle's arm, which was pulling her toward him, more closer.

There were tears instead of fury, again, as if she couldn't be consistent with her feelings, but he didn't care, as long as he was the only for her. It was fine even if he pushed himself over the edge, as long as they just stayed that way.

The sobbing didn't stop, perhaps because she was finally realized that the darkness was going to drown her at any moment if she didn't cling to him, and fight for her life.

The creaking in her limbs did not stop. Nor was it going to stop, until every muscle and bone became a useless mass of flesh.

And only then, only after realizing that he was all she had to survive, would it truly be just him.

⛧✃✃✃⛧✁✁✁⛧✃✃✃⛧✁✁✁⛧

I'll be honest… The writer side of me wants to drag it out even a little longer, and give it some closure, because it has potential to be a good novel… I guess, since it's a short story, it's not pleasant because it bores.

And I know you can't imagine it, but yes, I write. Do I make it pretty? Do you like it? lmao. If you see mistakes, again, I apologize. I was never good at editing, but I was good at writing unintelligible. (For some reason I always end up writing this at night and you know…My brain is already on its full.)

I'd like to say that Leviathan is a poor little bb looking for love, BUT that baby is already like 2000 years old breathing, so he doesn't count anymore.

And I apologize if I can't give you something that these crazy (demon) men would really give, I have a lot of respect for people who don't like this content. (And even for those who did want to, I spared them a trauma, believe me. I made a “WTF? WHAT IS THAAAAAAAT” face as I was reading, and I cut the text and redid it twice out of indecision, lmao. I don't think I'm sure about some parts either because I find the reading slow, not shocking.)

But anyway, in case you didn't know, you can write me and ask me whatever you want (requests). I am always there, I want to listen to you.

[crazyyluvr]

Ahhhh that Jason fic was so good! I loved how you write him so stern and caring!

I was wondering if you could do another Jason fic where reader is sort of working herself weary, maybe she feels like she has something to prove especially with how powerful everyone is so she’s been volunteering for watches and missions and helping hedge and just everything she can around the ship and she starts to crack a bit so everyone tries to get her to take a break but she’s super stubborn and no one can except Jason on like his third try she finally gives in and rests?

(Like when he told Hazel to eat in your last fic, sort of that vibe it makes me weak in the knees!)

Overworked, Underappreciated (by the gods)

pairing: jason x gf!ares!reader

summary: Jason notices you're overworking yourself again, and despite him and everyone on the Argo II trying to tell you to take a break, you never really sit your ass down until he finally convinces you to do so.

genre: angst/comfort

wc: 2.6k

warning/s: cursing, fem reader, she/her pronouns, overworking, jason being stern, stubborn reader, mmm godly father issues, breakdown

note: thank you for your request anon!! i hope it's fine that i made this one kind of a continuation of this oneshot, but it can be read seperately. enjoy!

oneshot under the cut :: not edited

Jason always admired your hard work and determination.

Sure, you were constantly aggressive about it and telling everyone to fuck off if they complimented you on that, he still considered it one of the countless things that he loved about you.

But of course, there were times where that hard work and determination would lead to something unmanageable, like your tendency to overwork yourself.

You were an expert at hiding it, but Jason knew that beneath your tough and angry exterior, you always felt like you weren't giving enough despite giving a little too much already. You were a daughter of Ares, and your godly lineage didn't grant you much except for anger issues.

You weren't as good with weapons as your siblings. You definitely weren't as good at anything as Clarisse, your half-sister and your dad's favorite kid. Actually, all your other brothers and sisters had at least some sign that Ares acknowledged their existence. You on the other hand got nothing except that you could reach your boiling point seven times faster than the average person.

They have to thank Jason for being there to calm you down, because they all don't just feel like, but they know that if he wasn't with them, the ship would have sunk two days in the water or air.

They never really expected you to be the type to give all — and I mean, all your energy into whatever you need to do.

Replacing the ripped sails after a battle with some pirates? Step back. If not, you'd just push any one of them out of the way and grab the new sails from them and replace it on your own. Frank was a constant victim, despite being the burliest of them.

A large tentacle wrapped around the ship? They don't dare to think about chopping it into pieces before you came in, sword weaving through the monster like it was made of clay. Percy steps out from below decks to give the monster a little chat but slips on the blood it left in its wake.

Zeus/Jupiter decided to fuck around with them and send a lightning bolt striking almost right beside Percy? You'd immediately push him into the nearest demigod's arms and put out the fire yourself before the water boy could even process what was happening.

Even the simplest tasks around the Argo II, like cleaning the stables, rearranging the medbay, cleaning up the kitchen either after a meal or after the ship was constantly swaying and made a mess of fallen plates and food, you'd curse someone out just for trying to grab a broom or open their mouth to tell you that they can do it instead.

Jason was no exception to this treatment, and he didn't expect to be; he just wanted to make sure that you knew your limits as well as he did.

"You're low on medical equipment," Hedge grunted, stepping into the small dining room one afternoon while everyone was eating lunch. "I'm gonna go restock it."

Today was a slow day for the eight demigods, and they were grateful for it. All they had to do was the usual chores before they could chill anywhere on the ship.

Which is why no one was surprised you were the one who wanted to break the mundane routine. "I'll go with you," you huffed, standing up with your plate in your hands, maneuvering around the short half goat man to put the dirty dish in the sink. "I'll make sure your stupid fur brains doesn't get the wrong shit."

"Us satyrs are damn good healers, mind you!" Hedge bleated angrily.

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah with colored leaves and rituals and shit."

Before Hedge could retaliate, Annabeth stepped into the conversation. "You should rest today. I can go with Hedge and help him pick out the right items."

"No need, Brains," You shot her down. "I can do this. Are you suggesting otherwise?" Your voice raised threateningly, making Annabeth raise her hands in surrender.

"No, but I —"

"Good." You turned back to Hedge. "Let's go before you get more dirt on floor I just mopped, old man."

You left the room without waiting for the satyr to follow. Hedge muttered colorful insults under his breath, moving to exit the dining as well before Jason stopped him by asking, "Coach, can you watch over her? She's been working constantly these past few weeks, and she hasn't really caught a break."

Hedge rose an eyebrow. "Can't you do that yourself? Aren't you her boyfriend or something?"

"I tried, but it's hard to convince her," Jason sighed, leaning back in his chair exhaustedly. "Just — look out for her, yeah? And don't tell her I told you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Hedge waved him off. "It'll be my head."

The coach left without another word.

"I'm worried about her," Percy confessed, Frank and Piper nodding in agreement. "I tried asking her if she needed help yesterday, and she almost bit my head off."

"And you would've thought that she'd learn by now to stop herself when she starts to overwork again," Leo commented.

Hazel sighed. "If she doesn't give herself time to recharge, she's going to shut down."

Jason simply played around with his leftover food, deep in thought. "Yeah..."

—————

Thank the gods you returned without any issues besides the usual profanities exchanged between you and Hedge. He left soon after that, claiming that he had "business elsewhere," and said that they should get going on their journey without him.

They left the day after that. They knew he'd make his way back to camp eventually.

The streak of calm continued, even as the Argo II departed from the sea and launched into the air. There weren't as much monsters that showed up to annoy them like flies hovering in their ears.

You and Jason were on watch that night. Thankfully, there wasn't much of a threat in the clouds, so Jason just sat down on a random crate while you paced around, playing with the straps of your leather breastplate.

"Hey, you can sit down for a while," Jason said, watching you go to and from the large wooden post in the middle.

You scowled at him in response. "We're supposed to be on watch. If we relax, we fall asleep. If we fall asleep, monsters attack. If monsters attack, the others could get swept up in that shit knowing how stupid they are."

Your concern for your other crewmates was evident despite how much you tried to hide it by insulting their abilities.

"Sweetheart, its okay," Jason said, still trying to convince you. He wasn't feeling all that tired, which is why he could cover for the both of you. You, on the other hand, looked like you were going insane, the dark half-circles under your eyes apparent even in the weak and diluted moonlight. "You can for now. I promise I'll wake —"

"I can't rest!" Your voice cracked slightly as you whipped around to face him, your eyes wide with a wildness that caught Jason off guard and made him stand up in concern. "I... I just can't..."

You tried to walk away, but your knees collapsed from below you. "Woah careful!"

In a flash, your boyfriend was by your side, barely being able to catch you before you could fully crumple to the ground. "Easy, easy..."

He tried to put your arm around his shoulders so he could lead you to sit down on another crate, but you pushed yourself away from him. Being unable to support yourself, you fell down on your ass.

"What are you doing?" Jason asked, moving to approach you, but you put up your hand to stop him.

"Fuck off, I don't need help," you said, trying to sound angry, but all Jason could hear was your exhaustion.

"Hey, stop being stubborn," Jason frowned, stepping towards you and putting your arm around his shoulders successfully this time, despite your protests and your struggles to get out of his iron grip.

"Fine, just — just put me down there," You gestured to the crate he was sitting on previously. He was originally going to bring you down to your room, but judging from the glance you gave him from the corner of your eye, you could still snap his arm in half if you wanted to.

And so, he obliged, making sure that your feet barely touched the ground as he basically carried you to your destination. He gently set you on the crate, making sure to stand close in front of you so that you wouldn't try to bolt.

"Explain," he said, crossing his arms and peering down at you. You turned your head away from his gaze, and he realized how vulnerable you looked: your eyes were darting around in a desperate attempt to stay alert, but they constantly glazed over, unfocused. Your hands were now fiddling with the strings of your hoodie, their movements slow and groggy. Your upper body was even swaying.

"I..." You started, but sighed and looked up at him. "It's stupid."

Jason's brows furrowed even more at your dismissal. "You almost collapsed from exhaustion. There has to be at least a valid reason for you to compromise your health like that."

You wanted to clamp your jaw shut, but Jason's intense glare made you open your mouth and speak. "You want to know? Fine, I'll tell you. Everyone relies on me — besides Twitchy Fingers — to do what is needed to keep this ship afloat by making sure it doesn't get completely destroyed by the Tartarus-spawn. Every time someone tries to do my job for me, I don't want them to because what if they fuck up and something bad happens? That's gonna be my fuck-up too. I —" You looked away again. "I just can't relax knowing that some bad shit might happen and it'll be my fault."

"I think you're underestimating how well the rest of us can do," Jason said lightly, chuckling a little as he tried to make lift the atmosphere up a little. It didn't work. "We can't do as well as you, of course, but we can manage."

"Oh please, I know damn well how good the rest of you are," You hissed, catching Jason off guard with the anger behind your words. "You all got your own skill sets that your godly parents planted in you that you got to fucking nurture. Even Annabeth, who doesn't have any actual powers, is more of a smartass than all of us combined."

Jason opened his mouth to retaliate, to say that you're downgrading yourself too much, but you didn't let him speak as your voice rose. "And what in the Tartarus did I get from my shitty dad? Fuckin' — fuckin' anger issues, that's what I got. Everything I'm good at — my fighting, my speed, everything — I did that. Ares gave me none of that. That was all me.

"And the moment I thought he'd actually look at me, that he'd acknowledge that I was his kid besides when he claimed me seven months after I came into camp," Your voice got louder still, cracking a little as your eyes got mistier, "is to pay a little visit to Frank in his Roman counterpart."

You stood up now, your body fueled with anger and frustration and other emotions that can't be described. "You wanna know the real reason why I work myself to the brink of exhaustion every time I do what I do, Jason?" Your smile looked maniacal. The few tears that escaped the confines of your lashes didn't really help. "It's because I don't fucking deserve to stand among you. I don't deserve to be on this quest. I don't deserve to be called a 'hero' when we return home as your godly parents shower you with love and attention while mine just thinks 'oh, my kid survived? I had a kid involved?'"

Your body was shaking, but you were done. You fell back down on the crate, holding your head in your hands.

Jason blinked, processing your breakdown. His own chest was contracting painfully as the weight of your words settled in his brain and his heart.

You were feeling this the entire time? Why didn't you say anything?

Your body flinched as you tried to contain a sob, snapping Jason back to reality.

He sat down beside you and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. "Oh sweetheart," he sighed sympathetically. "It's okay to cry. Cry as hard as you need."

Jason expected you to push him off of you again, to tell him to not be stupid and to try and bottle your emotions up again. He hoped you wouldn't.

And you didn't. Instead. you took your face out of your hands and planted it on his shoulder, your own shoulder shaking terribly from your suppressed sobs. "Let it out," he cooed, and you didn't hesitate to drown your sobs on the fabric of his t-shirt, subconsciously moving even closer to his body.

He wrapped both his arms around you as he fixed his position, his upper body now almost fully facing you to give you more comforting hug.

He stroked the back of your head and whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you let all your pent-up anger, frustration, disappointment, and just overall sadness. He even planted light kisses over the parts of you that he could reach; your neck, cheek, temple, crown.

It took you a little while for your sobs to turn into little hiccups, but eventually, you were able to calm down. Jason didn't mind that his shoulder was soaked from your tears. He didn't mind that his spine was stiff from being in a slightly uncomfortable position for a period of time. He didn't mind that you were feeling weak and stupid.

Because even after all that, he still saw you as the strongest and most powerful person he knew.

"What about we go back to my room and rest?" Jason suggested softly. You lifted your head in protest, but Jason pushed it back down to his chest. "I'm sure Hazel and Frank are having trouble sleeping from the good nap they had earlier. They can cover for us."

"I don't want to burden them," You said weakly.

Jason immediately shook his head. "You're a burden to no one on this ship, okay? They won't mind. And besides, it's not weak to ask for a little help once in a while. No one thinks you're weak."

You looked up at him. "You sure?"

Jason nodded, smiling softly. "Absolutely. From what I can see, you're the strongest person here."

You raise an eyebrow. "You sure there's no bias there?"

"Yes I'm 100% sure," Jason said seriously, before breaking into a smile when a breathy laugh escaped your lips. You don't do it often, but Jason loved your laughs. They were always genuine, and Jason would do anything to make you laugh again.

"So, what do you say? Let's go to my dorm," Jason said, supporting you when he felt you moving to stand up.

"You better not do anything weird to me, Grace," you threatened, but there was no heat behind your words.

Jason smiled softly, leading you back below decks. "Never."

He left you in the dorm before he went to convince Hazel and Frank to cover their shift, promising that he'll make up for it. They didn't care. They were just happy that you were finally resting.

Once the blonde boy returned, he found that you were already curled up under the sheets, face relaxed and breaths coming out of you evenly. His eyes softened fondly at your peaceful and stress-free features.

He flipped the light switches, blanketing his room in darkness as he navigated under the sheets to join you. He gathered you up in his arms and curled against you, sighing in content.

"Good night, sweetheart," he whispered against your head, placing a small kiss on the back of it as he felt sleep slowly invade his vision. "I love you."

[stories-and-chaos]

Shrike: 2582 Days of Purgatory

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable.]

[Word count: 2588 Cw: mild cursing, soul deals]

——————

Alastor traded blows and insults with Vox. The screen faced demon launched both electricity and fists at his opponent. Alastor responded with his shadows and dodging the physical blows. His jovial taunts goaded Vox into wilder attacks, fueled by decades of simmering anger.

But some of Vox’s jolts were getting through. Not only did they hurt, they left a numbing sensation whenever they hit. Alastor noticed that the bolts hitting him had another energy added to them. Something subtle, a greenish swirl that blended into the blue of Vox’s lightning. It didn’t belong to anyone he knew, but it added power and aimed the attacks straight at the Radio Demon.

In addition, some of his shadows were enhanced and directed by a reddish power. He saw curving lines and hints of music notes. Something about it tickled his memory but he had too much going on to pursue the thought. He needed to beat Vox down hard enough that the wannabe wouldn’t dare challenge him again (if he didn’t kill him) in addition to defending against this third party.

He launched a mass of tentacles at the other Overlord. They crackled with the extra energy he poured in, sending them faster than before. Just before they hit, Vox retaliated with a column of lightning. Both shows of power were enhanced by whoever was interfering.

It was almost a given that both strikes would hit, with enough force to knock both Alastor and Vox out of their full demonic forms. The television demon changed into a spark to retreat through a drone camera nearby. Alastor called up his shadows, letting them envelope him to make his own way out.

He intended to reform in either his broadcast station or the home he shared with Y/N. Except for the first time in his afterlife, someone was following his shadow. And they were close. He could only put on so much speed after that fight and every twist and turn he made was matched by his pursuer.

Angry and exhausted, he exited the shadows in an area outside of the Pentagram. He used his microphone cane to support himself, determined to appear unflappable.

The other emerged from their own shadows. A tall, statuesque woman, light gold hair flowing in an eternal breeze, dark horns arching in graceful curves over her head. Slightly behind her, revealed as her hair waved, was another woman. She was practically the double of the first, albeit without the horns and a softer, sweeter aura.

Of course, that’s why the magic interfering with his looked so familiar. “Queen Lilith.” Alastor’s voice crackled as he made the effort to remain steady. “To what do I owe the pleasure, your majesty?”

“Alastor.” Her lyrical voice dripped with amusement. “Have you met my dear sister yet? Eve, this is one of our Overlords, Alastor the Radio Demon. Alastor, this is my counterpart, Eve.”

“Ah yes, the Mother of All. A pleasure to meet you my dear, quite the pleasure.” He gave a sharp toothed smile, ignoring the lingering numbness and increasing pain. “Although I doubt you chased me down simply to introduce us, your majesty.”

She gave a refined laugh, Eve joining in. “You did say he was perceptive Lily,” she remarked, coming to stand next to the queen of Hell. Her voice had an identical cadence to Lilith’s, but an octave higher. “We have a proposal for you, Alastor.”

Then she explained what the pair wanted. The ever growing evil that hooked itself into all of humanity, the worsening exterminations and what the first two women intended to do about it. How Alastor was going to play a part. The proposal was really if he was going to be kept in the know about his role.

Cornered between the two of them and the pressure of what was coming, he agreed. Ears laid back, with a snarl in his voice he said, “It’s a deal.” Surprisingly, it wasn’t Lilith that held out her hand to close the deal for his soul.

No, it was Eve, not a demon, not quite an angel, that extended her hand. “Are you certain Eve?” Lilith asked with clear concern.

“Absolutely. You and Luci have taught me a lot; I can handle him. Not to mention you’re going to be occupied for the foreseeable future.” With a sweet smile, she held her other hand out to the demonic queen. “Some of your help would be appreciated however.” Lilith took it and they both focused on the injured Overlord.

The fight and his attempt to race away took more out of him than he realized. Vision blurring, Alastor took Eve’s hand. Instantly, vibrant green vines scrolled around them. Eve’s power? It must have been her messing with Vox’s attacks. Her smile gained an edge as she saw him put the pieces together. It was too late though, the deal was in process. Lilith’s magick, red musical bars, flowed through Eve. The notes fused into the swirling vines, giving them a ruddy hue.

Then, as he had done to so many others, the power formed into chains. Collar and shackles locked around his neck and wrists. The chains latched on, with Eve holding his new leash. She clapped her hands and the bindings became intangible. At the same time, all Alastor’s injuries were healed and his exhaustion wiped away.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Y/N is never going to forgive me for today. First he let Vox provoke a fight, battled until he was forced to retreat, then sold his soul to another. Incoming destruction of existence or not, his wife was not going to be happy with him.

“Best we get started,” Eve said as she turned, spreading her hands to open a portal. “Come along, no time to waste.” Best to put on a good act. Alastor twirled his cane and walked confidently through it.

It didn’t lead to Pentagram City. Or anywhere in the Pride Ring, much less the rest of Hell. This wasn’t Heaven or the living world either.

“Welcome to Purgatory!” the pair said in harmony. “It’s terribly boring here!” Eve added. She was correct; there was a vast spread of nothingness. No buildings or beings as far as he could see. In the distance he could see faint hazes of colors, but that could have just been his imagination.

“The benefit of course being it’s an excellent place to hide,” Lilith added. She took the lead, strolling in a seemingly random direction.

“Really?” Alastor drawled. He expected his voice to echo back, but there was nothing here to bounce sound off of. “I would have thought a realm of nothing at all would make it easier to find someone.”

Eve walked alongside him, easily keeping up. “Ah, but there is an entire realm to look through. A realm that not even the angels know about. Or if they do, they haven’t cared about it for longer than we’ve existed.”

Alastor didn’t know how long they walked for. He did start humming, if only to calm his nerves. But at some point there was a change in the landscape; a modest building about the size of his home on Earth. The faded siding and roof shingles blended into its surroundings. Even if you knew where it was, you’d have trouble noticing it.

“Oh good, I’m getting better at portalling,” Eve said as she skipped ahead to open the door.

“That was much closer than usual dear. Well done.” Alastor followed them inside. He was greeted with an abundance of greenery. Thriving plants were everywhere, their leaves and flowers almost eyeburning after the dullness outside. Was Eve recreating the Garden here?

“You should get going, Lily. You know how he gets,” Eve said wryly as she headed toward the kitchen.

With a sigh Lilith agreed. “May I borrow something a bit less regal? I doubt this will be appropriate.”

“Of course! I’ve raided your closet enough times after all. Would you like some tea, Alastor? Or coffee?”

“Tea would be appreciated, cher.” He followed her as Lilith headed upstairs to change. When Lilith returned, he and Eve were just adding sugar and cream to their first cups. Hell’s queen had exchanged the long dark gown for a lightweight sundress. It was still a deep purple color but much less sumptuous than what she’d had on. Her horns were hidden and she had on a wide brimmed sun hat and dark sunglasses. “Well?”

“You look lovely, your majesty,” Alastor said truthfully as Eve nodded. “You have to keep that one, it just suits you so well,” the other woman added.

Lilith smiled slightly before her expression turned pensive. “I suppose it’s time.” She pulled a phone out of her tote bag and handed it to Eve. “Don’t respond to any messages but forward Charlie and Lucifer’s to the new number please.” With a shaky hand, she removed her wedding ring and placed it in a cushioned box. Eve took that as well, promising to keep it safe.

Holding both the phone and ring box, Eve created another portal in her kitchen. This one had the golden light of Heaven pouring out. Lilith gave Eve a peck on the cheek and said, “Best of luck dears!” with a forced cheerfulness.

Eve settled into her chair and sipped her tea once the portal closed. “She’ll be in touch regularly but we won’t see each other for some time. And we’ve got work to do in the meantime.”

Alastor’s smile turned sardonic. “I’m at your command my dear.”

“Indeed you are.” With that she retrieved a packet of papers. Opening it, she started detailing what needed to be done in a professional manner at odds with her sweet demeanor. After hours of discussion, multiple pots of tea and dinner, she let him retire to a guest room.

‘Guest room’ was probably inaccurate now. There was no telling how long he’d be here. Alastor went through his usual nighttime routine as best he could. The repetitive actions only soothed him so much. He already missed the light banter with you. Niffty’s skittering as she finished little tasks and the soft drone from the bayou. He was a creature of habit in the end and this was so at odds to his norm.

Agitated, he sat awake on the bed. In one hand were the cufflinks you’d given him decades ago. Even clenched in his palm, they were cool to the touch. A soothing breeze that brought to mind the gusts from your wings and your voice lifted in song.

“I’m sorry my dear,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back when I can.” He pressed the hand holding the eighth note shaped cufflinks to his lips and said, “Bonne nuit, cher.”

After a couple weeks, he couldn’t take it anymore. First, this jungle needed at least a bit of taming. Second, Eve just needed some help with domestic tasks. Third, he needed some sense of normalcy. So he summoned Niffty to Purgatory.

It was difficult to call a soul across realms. He felt as tired as he had after that fight with Vox. Niffty, for her part, squealed in joy. She hugged his leg before climbing up to his shoulder. “Alastor! You look messy sir! What happened to you? And where are we? Y/N’s been so worried you know.”

“Ah Niffty, you even make Purgatory brighter.” He gave Niffty a brief overview as he brought her to Eve.

The woman did like the idea of some help around the place, but at his suggestion to send Niffty back to you was met with instant fury.

“Absolutely NOT!” Vines exploded into existence all around her, forming into his chains. A quick tug had the Radio Demon on his knees. His eyes shifted to glowing dials as his antlers grew. But he couldn’t summon his shadow to fight back. He glared up at his captor with equal fury.

Eve gave his chain another tug to haul him up, face to face. All the sweetness in her demeanor was gone. Now she had the aura of an enraged parent, dealing with a stupidly dangerous mistake from her child. “You are forbidden from sending your little maid back or trying to contact your wife in any way. If any hint gets out of where we are, everything we’re working for goes to shit. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?” She bit off each word of the last question with another pull on his leash.

Alastor snarled, “Crystal clear.” They stared each other down for a moment before she released him. He dropped back to the ground, gasping for breath.

“Excellent. Now get to work.” She returned to her coffee and the paperwork for their plan.

With effort, Alastor got to his feet and headed to the room that had been changed to his study. Niffty kept pace with him for once. “Sir?” she asked, the concern on her voice evident as he collapsed in the desk chair.

Alastor took a few deep breaths before replying. “Once this is all over, those bitches are going to pay.”

The following 2,500+ days were filled with the tasks Eve (and by extension Lilith) ordered. Alastor knew why they had him working, but it didn’t make him any less furious at the situation. Niffty took to snuggling up with him on occasion, the little maid being one of the few he was comfortable touching him unprompted.

He wore the music note cufflinks everyday. Not that he had any other sets at the moment, but he needed the tiny fragment of you with him. He spoke to them almost nightly as if you could hear. Eve dutifully forwarded messages to Lilith, who occasionally called for updates and to exchange news.

Then, Lilith’s daughter Charlie left a series of messages that made them shift focus. She wanted to stop the exterminations…by rehabilitating Sinners. She was converting one of the old Morningstar hotels into her facility. She had recruited an infamous porn star to be the first attempt.

She was also adrift, scared, and desperate for her parents approval. Lilith couldn’t respond nor could Eve. They couldn’t contact Lucifer about it. Alastor refused to even touch any modern technology that could put him in contact with someone in Hell. Regardless, he didn’t know Charlie or Lucifer personally.

Yet.

“We’re going to have to send him,” Lilith said on speakerphone. “I know my girl, she’s going to try this with or without help.”

“And what about everything he’s doing here Lily? Are we just supposed to give up on the past seven years?” Eve asked back, clearly frustrated at this unexpected turn.

“Eve, with Charlie meddling in souls and the exterminations, it’s going to throw all our plans into disarray. Whether she succeeds or not, I think this is going to get the fight started.”

Eve sighed. “You’re probably right. Alastor, I’m sending you to Hell. You need to assist Charlie with her hotel and protect her as best you can.”

He couldn’t help lighting up at the prospect. “Gladly my dear. When do I leave?”

“Now.” She opened a portal and the red gloom of Pentagram City bathed her houseplants in its hellish glow. “And Alastor?” He paused at the portal’s entrance. She looked uncomfortable as she continued, “You’re allowed to be with your wife in Hell. But only tell her what we’ve agreed on.”

“As you wish.” With a mocking bow and a twirl of his cane, he stepped through. “Niffty, keep up dear! We’re going home.”

——————

Taglist: @whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

A/N: I know there’s a lot of vagueness about what Alastor has been doing but we’re entering the realm of pure speculation on my part.

[thecreaturecodex]

Zap Kraken

Image © Turtle Rock Studios

[Sponsored by Soluman Blevins. The second of the Evolve monsters I've done, other than the warpwraith. Mechanically, the Kraken is interesting, but design wise, it's a little drab. Because it's just a Cthulhu. The lightning bolt wings are a cool touch, but otherwise, it's very much a Cthulhu. And in a game that already has Cthulhu and his star-spawn, I wanted to differentiate it a bit. So I tied it to one of my favorite one-shot weirdo monsters from the 3e era.]

Zap Kraken CR 16 CE Aberration This immense creature has a roughly dinosaur-like body and the head of a colossal cephalopod. A vertical maw stretches between its beard of tentacles, and two large jointed appendages grow from its back and crackle with electricity. Its long tail is segmented like the vertebral column of a great beast.

Zap krakens are rare aberrant creatures that use electrical energy for both offense and mobility. Although they are enormous, they fly with surprising grace by manipulating electricity, essentially creating wings of lightning that hold them aloft. They are remarkably stealthy for their size, and can sneak up on prey from above before dropping to melee or merely blasting away with channeled lightning bolts.

Zap krakens are territorial, and maintain their territory by creating banshee mines, so called for the shriek of their explosions. These mines home in on creatures that get too close, and the zap kraken can also visit them to see what it has seen, similar to a prying eyes spell. Although zap krakens typically view other creatures as prey first and foremost, they have a mutual fondness for zeugalaks. Both species have tentacled maws and an affinity for electricity, and sages speculate that they are related to each other. A zap kraken often views zeugalaks the way a nobleman views their prized hunting hounds, using them to flush out prey or occupy melee combatants. 

Zap Kraken CR 16 XP 76,800 CE Gargantuan aberration Init +7; Senses blindsense 120 ft., darkvision 60 ft., Perception +17

Defense AC 30, touch 14, flat-footed 22 (-4 size, +7 Dex, +1 dodge, +16 natural) hp 225 (18d8+144) Fort +14, Ref +13, Will +15 DR 10/magic; Immune cold, electricity; SR 26

Offense Speed 50 ft., fly 100 ft. (good) Melee 2 claws +18 (2d6+8), tentacles +17 (4d4+8), 2 wings +16 (2d6+4 plus 1d6 electricity) Space 20 ft.; Reach 20 ft. (30 ft. with tentacles) Special Attacks banshee mines, lightning strike, shock pulse

Statistics Str 26, Dex 24, Con 28, Int 11, Wis 19, Cha 19 Base Atk +16; CMB +28; CMD 46 Feats Blind-fight, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Flyby Attack, Hover (B), Mobility, Multiattack, Stand Still, Weapon Focus (claw) Skills Acrobatics +20 (+28 when jumping), Fly +21, Intimidate +17, Perception +17, Stealth +16, Survival +17; Racial Modifiers +8 Stealth Languages Aklo

Ecology Environment warm hills Organization solitary or band (1 plus 1-4 zeugalaks) Treasure standard

Special Abilities Banshee Mines (Su) As a standard action, a zap kraken can create up to three animated mines. Treat these as the eyes generated by the prying eyes spell, only when a creature approaches within 30 feet of them (all creatures or of a type set by the zap kraken on creation), they fly towards that creature and explode. Treat this as a ranged touch attack using the zap kraken’s modifiers (+19 for a typical specimen). If it hits, the creature struck takes 4d6 points of electricity damage and 4d6 points of sonic damage. Whether the mine hits or not, it explodes, dealing this damage in a 5 foot radius (Reflex DC 23 halves). A zap kraken knows when one of its mines has detonated as long as it is within 1 mile of the mine. A zap kraken can create up to nine mines a day, but can have a maximum of three in existence at a time. The save DC is Charisma based. Lightning Strike (Su) As a standard action, a zap kraken can call down a bolt of lightning within 160 feet. It fills a column 60 feet high with a 20 foot radius, dealing 16d8 points of electricity damage to all creatures in the area (Reflex DC 23 halves). A zap kraken can use this ability once every 1d4 rounds. The save DC is Charisma based. Shock Wave (Su) As a standard action, a zap kraken can release an electrical pulse in a 60 foot radius centered on its body. All creatures in the area take 16d4 points of electricity damage and are pushed back 10 feet. A successful DC 27 Reflex save halves the damage and resists the knockback effect. A zap kraken can use this ability every other round. The save DC is Constitution based.  Tentacles (Ex) The tentacles of a zap kraken are treated as a single primary natural weapon

[sepublic]

So Jay was a pirate at one point and Skybound leaned into Pirates of the Caribbean references, plus Jaya being a pivotal plot point for that season. And Nya literally became the sea.

Imagine some PotC-adjacent AU where Jaya is like Davy Jones and Calypso; Nya became the sea, Jay grieved and became a pirate to be closer to her. Maybe seized command of the Sky Pirates so he would be in his element as well, the stormy skies intertwined with the ocean below through rain. He figured out a way to restore Nya's human form, at the cost of her powers, so he could see her again; But Nya was unhappy because as the ocean, she was so free and released from all burdens. She hoped Jay would love her as the sea and not just her human form. Maybe Jay already saw Nya's decision to become one with the sea as a betrayal.

They split apart, both broken-hearted. Jay and his crew roamed the skies, watching the sea from afar but not quite making contact. Being surrounded by his element also caused his body to change; A storm cloud with lightning bolts resembling an octopus' tentacles, a familiar image to some...

Nya resigned herself to a new life, living as a witch dabbling in potions and magic. Always yearning for the sea and to return to it, but never quite able to achieve that freedom. Mourning her love. Yet she cannot help but be appalled by the monster her lover has become. She has become more estranged from her true self than she has ever been, and it has been agony for Nya in many ways.

Or maybe they’re gods of the sky and sea who can never touch one another, save for when the sea sends water up to come back down as rain. The water cycle is their little gift to one another… The lighthouse in middle of the ocean is the one place they can sometimes meet, or have met.

[queermentaldisaster]

What Breathing stiles/sword colours do you think the cod characters would have?

What would they be like as demons?

I CANNOT BELIEVE I'VE ONLY JUST NOW SEEN THIS ANON I'M SO SORRY I'M ANSWERING YOUR ASK SO LATE

I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ON THIS BUT NO ONE HAS ASKEDDDDDDDD SO PLEASE PEOPLE, IF YOU WANNA HEAR MORE, ASK AWAY!!!!

I am specifically going to tag @27potatochips and @the-starry-raven cause they're the dumbasses who get to hear all about my hyperfixations 😌

Okay, so to start off the list.

Farah: Demon Slayer, multi breathing style, Serpent and Insect, katana specifically designed for slicing/stabbing and stealth, sword color below.

Alex: Demon Slayer, Flame Breathing, katana specially designed for heavy hits meant to deal lots of damage at once, dark red.

Alex and Farah are a duo who have shaped their styles around the other. Alex weakens the enemy with a brutal frontal assault, and Farah finishes them off from behind. Separate them, and you'll find that they're easier to finish off.

Gaz: Demon Slayer, Thunder Breathing. His katana is standard issue with little roaches on the hilt, and the blade is an dark yellow.

Roach: Demon Slayer, Insect Breathing, and he's much like Shinobu. His katana is designed like the stinger of a bee, with a container in the hilt that allows various wisteria poisons to flow into the blade. His hilt has little lightning bolts on it.

These two are plenty capable on their own, but have even managed to overpower an Upper Rank together. Between Gaz's speed and Roach's small frame, it's hard to land a hit on either of them.

Price: Demon Slayer, Stone Breathing, uses a mace instead of a katana. His is a slightly darker grey than the standard Stone Breather's.

Nikolai: Demon Slayer, Wind Breathing. His katana is designed for moving fluidly and at the drop of a hat, much like the wind. Bendy, but durable. His is a brighter green, almost pastel.

Soap: Demon Slayer, Sound and Flame Breathing, katana designed to allow for large attacks with minimal defense loss. Katana color below.

Ghost: Demon, as powerful as an upper rank, broke the curse and travels with Soap. His Blood Demon Art relates to shadows, and specifically the abilities to become one and travel through them. He can also use them as a sort of tentacle.

[mayashesfly]

Currently thinking about the "Rain" Angst Prompt for RadioStaticWeek2024 on Twitter And my two ideas for such a prompt if I ever participate is

One:

A sketch-like black and white close up on Alastor's face in side view. Eyes half lidded, looking up at above as a drop of blue falls on his cheek, as if he was crying. His mouth obscured from view. The next panel is a zoomed out view of the scene, making it a black and white silhouette art in side view. Alastor is still looking up at above, one hand cupping the blue droplets from the sky while the other held his cane stained with blue. His expression unreadable. Above him laid the broken form of Vox. Dripping blue from his face and chest. Suspended in the air by an array of tentacles and long dead cables. "Are you satisfied?"

Or Two:

Sharp blue lightning bolts rained from the sky, coloring the black and white drawing. Before it moved to the next scene, a multitude of blue tvs and red eyes and black cables surrounded and consumed the entire scene like an inescapable dome as electricity continued to rain. Zooming into the middle of the scene laid the slumped over empty form of Vox. Cradling the bleeding red corpse of the radio demon. "Why?"

[bugbbear]

i tracked every spell cast in the dnd movie

(yes i am autistic how could you tell)

so first off let's get this straight: i am by no means an expert. i did, however, spend like four hours combing through spells to see which ones fit. these are the best fits i could find.

why did i do this? well because screenrant did and they did a shitty fucking job. they cited spells that dont fucking exist! shame on you! do your fucking homework! also, see previously mentioned autism.

ANYWAY! spell list (in order of appearance) under the cut!

ENCHANTMENTS: (magic items, artifacts, etc)

greater invisibility (kira's amulet)

true resurrection (tablet of awakening)

speak with dead (simon's cleric token)

dimension door (hither thither staff)

antimagic field (helm of disjunction)

SPELLS: (cast by a character)

fog cloud (simon)

chain lightning (sofina)

time stop (sofina)

counterspell (simon)

prestidigitation (sofina)

mold earth (sofina)

prestidigitation [x2] (simon)

blur (simon)

telekinesis (simon)

reverse gravity [x2] (simon)

polymorph (doric)

witch bolt (sofina)

fire bolt [a couple times] (sofina)

misty step (sofina)

fire bolt [a couple more times] (sofina)

green-flame blade (dralas)

command (xenk)

green-flame blade (dralas)

holy weapon (xenk)

prestidigitation (simon)

major image (simon)

evard's black tentacles (sofina)

tidal wave (simon)

meteor swarm (sofina)

shield (simon)

polymorph (doric)

animate objects (sofina)

misty step (sofina)

magic missile (simon)

misty step (sofina)

resilient sphere (sofina)

arcane hand (sofina)

maximilian's earthen grasp (simon)

ill be real. the fight scene that starts at 1:57:22 is fuckin hard. i cannot tell a lot of what sofina casts, i have no idea what spell she uses to disarm holga or what she does to push edgin away (twice). here is what i do know:

SIMON: magic missile, shocking grasp, scorching ray (edited)

SOFINA: gust (getting back up), shield, the spell to push edgin back twice (red curtin like thing), the spell to disarm holga

anyway back to your regularly scheduled program

gust of wind (sofina)

time stop (sofina)

counterspell (simon)

polymorph (doric)

REASONINGS / THINGS I WAS IFFY ABT:

druids can only wildshape twice per short rest. im choosing to believe that doric is just Like That, maybe she's 20th level or something

IN ADDITION, druids can only wildshape into beasts. an owlbear is a monstrosity, hence why i marked that she uses polymorph to be an owlbear.

sorcerers dont get produce flame, so im choosing to believe that when he does the finger flame thing its just prestidigitation

when xenk pulls the cat outta the fish, he could be using dominate beast if he was oath of conquest. since we dont know his subclass imma just say its command and he speaks this fish's language

FINAL THOUGHTS: completely inaccurate. no one used fireball. /j

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

Tattoo hcs? Might as well add to them!

Virgil: forever bitter that he can't get a spiderweb because of implications... He has a forearm sleeve that's like lightning bolts. The other arm has a Pon and Zi comic panel. He definitely has the danger days spider on his shoulder blade with some lyrics. Probably some Alex Pardee art on the other side or on his upper arm. He has a semicolon on his wrist.

Remus: THIS HOE HAS A TENTACLE TRAMP STAMP!! Could be like the kraken breaking a ship in half or just tentacles. He has a full arm sleeve of Junji Itō's art, and the other is a bunch of flowers wilted by a spilled can of toxic sludge. He has "As above, so below" in cursive under his collar bones. And "Virgil's Brat" on his right ass cheek because he can.

Y E S!!! I fucking L O V E all of those for them!!! The lightning bolts and comic panel on Vee would be S O badass as well as the art and Ree absolutely has a tentacle tramp stamp the lower the better XD (Of course he would also have a tatt on his ass about being Vee's brat someone has to be the one to see it XD)