#and they would be so easy to control by a human operator

[evil-jennifer-hamilton-wb]

Currently fighting the urge to put Mecha into the alchemy world

[sluckythewizard]

[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.

[inkskinned]

you have to be sexy but you have to be sexy in a way that's kind of bloody. you learn this early because you are wearing a ruffled skirt and the snow around your ankles kicks little sand particles against your calves. baby's first catcall. welcome to sexiness! welcome to the eyesore of your own body!

you have to be sexy like high heels. like sculpted eyebrows. like lean stomach and highly treated hair. you have to be sexy like youth is sexy, which means you have to be sexy like boxtox and plastic. a 30 year old can be sexy but she's not going to be bloody, and they like the bloodiness of it. a 30 year old is sexy when she is a whiskey glass and a wooden desk.

but you need to be sexy like an open mouth. you need to be sexy like a bitten apple. like plucked skin and white-knuckling the waxing kit.

so sex is a performance, not an enjoyment. for a while, you just assumed everyone else was also in on the joke - nobody actually likes sex that much, right? like, some men probably do, but why would you? it is like a gender - your gender is sexy. your gender is the performance of sex. you are thigh highs and garter belts. which, to be fair, do make you feel sexy.

part of what does make sex good is that you can tell that other people want you, which means the performance of sexiness is both bloody and wanted, which is good, which means you are winning at having a body. being wanted is the prize. being wanted is the thing you are searching for, not hope. you think you are looking for a soft grave in easy loam, but that is bloody but not sexy. to be sexy you must be bloody like a red open sign. bloody like a handprint. this will make you wanted.

any wanted or unwanted body is subject to supply and demand, which is to say that the more demand, the better you are valued. you must be highly demanded to be valued. this is stated in matter-of-fact by some men. sometimes it is a priest that says it, and sometimes it is a podcaster, and sometimes it is the 45th president of the united states of america.

(if you do not have any experience with being told your value, i want you to grab the nearest bird to you and i want you to crush it into a thin paste in your hand. spit into the center, and then hold your fingers closed tight around it for days and days, long after the rot has set in. feel bones itch inside of your fist. this is only a fraction of what it actually feels like, but it will suffice for a moment.)

good sex feels like you have earned their desperation. you have earned your own value. for a while you operated under the understanding that everyone knew about the power structure, even him. that their desire to take you - the violence of it - means that you must desire to be caught. little prince, guardian fox - you would rather have cut your own arm off. you liked the secret, cunning little voice you keep tucked into a box. you think you are fucking me. i am not even here right now. you are fucking what i conned you into perceiving. this is a painting, not a person. dominion over the body before all things.

so you bend your body like a wheat shaft and learn the steps so perfectly that it almost seems graceful. (if you do not have experience faking your own connection to your body and sexuality, cut each of your articles of clothing just a little bit incorrectly. pour fishbones into each of your meals. this way, you will experience the average noon on a tuesday.)

you have to be sexy like light spilled over a desk, but not desperate. not a noose. you can't be sexy like an electric guitar, you are the acoustic. you have to be on top of the bull but you can't have control over the animal.

okay, okay. the little rabbit of your heart went to sleep so long ago that winter has ravaged your concept of the human soul. there's something very-bad inside you, something that has taken over, a little fetid and rabid animal, angry and hurting and willing to bite first.

oh but even that's a pain that's sexy. open your mouth. be careful not to let the canines show.

[bittersweetcatharsis]

Mr. Curly Mouthwashing is such an interesting and tragic character to me. Not tragic in the way that Anya is- good God, not in the way that Anya is. But tragic in the way that he is a victim of himself, of his own naivety, of his own limited perspective and blind trust. A victim of his own actions and arrogance, and a victim of the direct consequences that stemmed from his poor decisions.

I see a lot of people reading Curly’s character in a way that I just personally didn’t. I could very well be wrong, and I’m certainly open to the possibility, but I actually prefer to think that I’m right, because it’s these layers and dimensions to his character that make him so interesting and complex.

He wasn’t a “bad” guy. Not in the way that Jimmy is, who had every opportunity to do the right thing just ONCE, and yet failed to, because that selfishness and cowardice is ingrained in his very core. Unlike Jimmy, Curly was just an ignorant guy. Not malicious by intent, but ignorant nonetheless. That doesn’t justify anything he did, or anything he failed to do, but it explains more about him than a simple write-off of his character does.

Curly was operating under an illusion of grandeur. His belief of his power transcended his position and extended into every facet of his life. His approach to confronting Jimmy wasn’t because he didn’t believe Anya, but because he viewed Jimmy as misunderstood just as much as Jimmy himself did. He inappropriately sought nuance in a situation that didn’t need it. On top of Curly and Jimmy’s history and camaraderie- as well as Jimmy’s raging victim-complex that so obviously influenced Curly’s perception of him- the fact that he was disillusioned by the extent of his control ultimately led him in failing to protect his crew. Anya especially.

In the very beginning of the game, we see him talk about how he knows he should have raised more of a concern about adding a fifth member of his crew without enough cryo-pods to accommodate Daisuke. It is this blatant dismissal of safety protocol that reveals just how shortsighted and ignorant Curly can be. And when Anya revealed her abuse to Curly, it’s this same ignorance that led him to confronting Jimmy.

Curly wasn’t trying to dismiss Anya, and he certainly wasn’t trying to betray her. He simply lacked her perspective. As a man, he couldn’t begin to fathom the feminine experience with the intrinsic evils of masculinity and the patriarchy. He has this almost childlike sense of optimism, thinking Jimmy would reveal himself to be a deeply flawed and misguided- but ultimately good- person, only to be confronted with the reality of Jimmy’s narcissism, insecurity, and apathy. By then, it was too late. He was an enabler. He had protected Jimmy. He had given him all the resources to hurt the very people he was entrusted to protect. It was a wake up call that came too late, a raising of red flags after Jimmy’s evil had already been revealed.

Curly should be held accountable for his failures and shortcomings- “take responsibility”- but I also believe he should be viewed sympathetically. It’s too easy to brush past the little details that make him so damn human in pursuit of a simple explanation. There are some people, like Jimmy, who have a full understanding of their privilege, and weaponize it as a means to control, coerce and abuse the people around them. Then there are others, like Curly, whose privilege has been so second-nature to them that it becomes entirely invisible. Had Curly realized this earlier, he very well could have prevented the fate of himself, of Anya, of Daisuke, and of Swansea. Even as a victim of Jimmy’s derangement himself, Curly ultimately was a perpetrator in his own right.

I don’t think Curly is a “bad” guy. I think he’s just a wrong guy. A guy who was arrogant, but not malicious. Ignorant, but not evil. He’s just as easy to blame as he is to mourn. He’s a walking paradox. He’s an absolutely brilliant character.

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 16: Before Night Falls

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst.

Word Count: 8415 words.

A/N: So... I have been rereading the fic, and it needs a lot of upgrading when it comes to correcting, so I'll take next week to edit the English version of this fic and then continue uploading of Friday, September 20th. Sorry for the inconveniences.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

“My almighty king, I bow before you to beg you to let me leave the castle,” you asked between tears.

“What?” Sukuna, Uraume and Kenjaku answered in unison out of shock.

Sukuna heard you, but he didn't understand what the hell you were trying to tell him. You had dedicated a year of your life to serve him, just killed someone for him, and now you wanted to leave the castle? After he had given you everything to keep you happy and prevent this exact situation. 3 substantial meals a day, a giant room with a comfortable bed, beautiful dresses, fine jewelry, a broad education and a life safe from curses. You must be out of your mind. Besides the fact that you were about to become one of the most powerful women in the world, why did you want to leave now after all? The king had never been so offended in his life.

“I have two more sisters. Nanako and Mimiko. They are barely 11 years old and they are completely alone because Yorozu killed our mother,” you explained to the king with your face hidden between the curtains of your hair and his bleeding hands. “I just want to go home to make sure they are okay. You can ask Kenjaku, Uraume or some curse to escort me. I promise to return before the sun sets,” you whimpered for mercy once again.

That sharp pain kept sprouting from his chest. That strange pang was different from the others he had experienced before. His throat was closing, so he couldn't answer you immediately. He twisted his face in an attempt to regain control of his own body. He clenched his hand in frustration at not being able to correct himself to deny any request you had out of anger, but he couldn't. “What the hell is happening to me?” he thought, annoyed.

In the absence of an answer, you crawled to his feet in the most desperate attempt to convince him at all costs. The mere thought of your little sisters being there alone was eating you alive with helplessness. You were about to play any card you had available to try to convince him. The king was going to accept, whether he liked it or not. After all, it wasn’t going to be an easy task after challenging him in front of everyone, so you would do anything for an opportunity. Unable to hold his feet because of the dirt on his hands, you kissed them delicately to show him that you were still faithful to him. You closed your eyes so as not to think too much about the shame you were going through. You transported yourself to that passionate night you shared in order to relieve your strong repulsion.

The king's face went from an angry red to a deeper, shy red. His body tensed with each gentle kiss you gave him on the back of his head. Little pricks of love that erased his anger. No one had reached that level of voluntary idolatry before. He never thought he'd see you embarrass yourself like that in front of everyone just to fulfill a relatively reasonable request. 

“I'll kill as many as it takes to give me that chance, please. They're all I have left,” you whimpered, placing your forehead between his feet.

“Get up,” he ordered, annoyed.

You quickly complied as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand to avoid getting more blood on your face. You didn't look him in the eyes for fear that he would reject your request immediately, it was the last thing you wanted to hear, even though he had every right to do so after threatening him with an arrow that he himself had given you. Still, you couldn't allow yourself to lose the little hope you had. You didn't deserve him to do you that favor, much less to be alive, but you had to try.

"Let me see your hands," he asked you.

You gave them to him trembling for fear of what he would do to you next, expecting a clear punishment. Sukuna turned them over to see the state of your palms. They were completely split in half, blood gushing out every time you squeezed the surrounding skin, and you began to lose feeling. They were practically ruined, it would take months to return to normal. You wouldn't be surprised in the least if he cut them off for your terrible behavior. You looked away, not wanting to see what terrible thing he had planned for you.

“You are very brave to do something stupid like that,” Sukuna said before taking your hands to examine them, being as gentle as possible so as not to hurt you more.

You were going to answer, but something in your hand moved. The parallel wounds began to close slowly in front of your incredulous eyes. The skin folds joined with their equal as if by magic. In less than a minute, your hands had returned to normal. You opened and closed your fist in front of you to make sure you weren't hallucinating from the intense pain. “Since when can he do that?” you thought, confused.

“You did that?” You wondered, still in shock, upon learning that the killing machine was also capable of healing as well.

“It's a simple reverse curse technique,” ​​he explained. “It processes cursed energy, which is negative by nature, into positive energy. As a result, the energy that destroys, becomes the energy that creates and heals.”

“Wow…” You sighed, amazed. You didn't know that he was capable of healing people the same way he hurts them.

“Go change, you look terrible,” Sukuna ordered you before taking Yorozu's head from the ground, handing it to Uraume to take care of it and the rest of his body that continued to stain the grass of the courtyard while you talked.

“What about my request? I really need…” You asked, begging for permission to leave the castle.

“And you're going to go see your sisters in your underwear, with smeared makeup and bathed in their other sister's blood? You're going to traumatize them,” Sukuna interrupted to scold you. “I'm going to escort you. You have 20 minutes to be at the entrance before I change my mind.” He turned around to continue along the bridge towards the entrance.

“Yes, my king. I won’t take long.” You smiled widely.

Sukuna turned around to let you return to the castle, but stopped when he felt your arms around his waist. His body subtly melted as soon as you pressed him against your warmth. Your hands on his stomach caressed his second mouth softly, while your forehead connected with the middle of his spine. A brief gesture that calmed the pain in his chest, undid the lump in his throat, and relaxed his face finally. The king's mind short-circuited as he didn't know what to do in that situation. Take your hands, caress them, push you away so you would leave, kill you? There were many options, but none seemed to be the right one.

"Thank you, my king," you whispered before letting go.

Your hands moved away from him, and he returned to the cold he had already grown accustomed to after hundreds of years in solitude. Sukuna slowly turned his gaze towards you to see you running towards the castle again, lifting your bottom to avoid tripping over the fabric. That contagious emotion placed a small smile on his face. It seemed that everything had returned to normal.

"Uraume, you already know what to do with the body," Sukuna ordered them to leave with the head of his ex-sister-in-law. Seeing her finally dead also brought him great relief.

"Yes, my king," Uraume nodded before disappearing from his sight. Sukuna was about to continue on his way, but he saw Kenjaku smiling from ear to ear with no intention of hiding it.

"What?" He asked him, somewhat annoyed by his strange expression.

“It seems like you are going on a date,” Kenjaku told him as he followed the king towards the entrance.

“It is not a date,” Sukuna scolded him. “We will go check and return before sunset.”

“But do you really have to go? You have a lot of paperwork to do. You could have easily ordered me to accompany her,” Kenjaku argued.

“It will take twice as long if you escort her. Besides, I don’t trust you enough to let her leave the castle with you,” the king answered honestly.

After Kenjaku betrayed King Jogo to serve him, he didn’t trust him enough to leave his future queen in his hands without any means of survival. He had yet to figure out what Kenjaku wanted from him specifically, and it was certainly not anything good.

“So, you won’t take this opportunity to propose to her?” Kenjaku inquired curiously. Sukuna didn't even bother to answer him. "You two alone, in the middle of the open field, the sunset behind you... You would be a real fool if you didn't." Sukuna stopped in the middle of the road and glared at him. "I was just saying it would be a good idea." Kenjaku excused himself.

"Mind your damn business!" The king exploded, continuing on his way, not paying him any more attention.

Kenjaku stepped back, raising his arms in surrender when he saw that he had disturbed him. Sukuna growled under his breath before heading to their meeting point. Your tutor stepped back, covering his face with the sleeve of his long wardrobe, pretending to be terrified of the king to satisfy his intention. "Oh, young lady, you'll need all the luck in the world with a husband like this," he thought.

Your legs moved on their own to get to the castle as soon as possible, you entered to go to your room, but stopped when you saw a large obstacle in your way. Your eyes widened as you took in the small crowd that had formed to greet you. All the servants applauded you proudly for the brave battle you had fought against the common enemy. Your feelings were mixed at receiving such warmth for such a cold act. Mrs. Inoue appeared among the servants to tearfully embrace you.

“You scared me to death, miss!” Mrs. Inoue scolded you, pressing you against her body roughly, as if she didn't want to let you go.

A small smile of happiness for having survived your sister's attack appeared on your face before you returned the hug with the same intensity. Even though you were in mourning, you were pleased that you hadn't involved any innocents in your dealings with the king. Even though all the old people had less time to live, that didn't mean you could deprive them of enjoying them. You gently pushed Mrs. Inoue away. You couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

“I must change. The king is waiting for me,” You tried to excuse yourself, but one of the servants took your arm so you wouldn't leave.

“Then put this on,” she offered you one of Yorozu's dresses.

The fabric was smooth and stretchy, it had a large ribbon at the waist for easy closure, and best of all, it had pockets. You were seriously starting to consider starting to wear those instead of the dresses that were too formal for everyday wear. You agreed without a second thought, it would save you a lot of time. The maid called for the others to hurry up and help you. With everyone's help, they quickly dressed you, fixed your battle-messed hairstyle, and cleaned your face with a slightly wet sponge.

"Oops, I ruined your makeup." Mrs. Inoue covered her face in embarrassment.

"Don't worry, it was already ruined." You replied with a friendly smile before another maid showed you the result with a hand mirror. It wasn't ideal to have the dark circles under your eyes from the terrible night before, but since there was no time for a touch-up. "Thank you all for your support. I’ll be back soon,” you thanked them with a bow before running out to the entrance as the servants waved goodbye to you.

Sukuna sighed as he finally saw you running towards him to begin the journey. You stopped in front of your king, your breath coming in short gasps from crossing the long courtyard and the drawbridge to him. With a different dress, not a drop of makeup and without all the blood, you went from looking like a warrior queen to a decent woman in a matter of minutes. Sukuna quickly noticed your purple dark circles from not sleeping well due to worry. It was a small reminder that despite looking different from everyone else, you were still just like everyone else.

“Where are we headed?” Sukuna asked you.

“To the human commune,” you replied. “Passing the hill, there are several cabins. Just follow the paths.” You pointed towards the horizon.

Passing the scary land taken over by the curses, the large green valley that belonged to the humans began. The human commune was something that Sukuna and all the curses know exists, but it is usually an area well protected by men, a difficult area to hunt. Even though Sukuna could easily invade the area to kill them all, it didn’t suit him at all. Even though the curses follow him faithfully because of his immense power, it is also because he keeps them well-fed. If he killed the commune in one blow, the curses would look for food in other lands and probably start a war against the sorcerers without being ready yet. The commune was like his personal chicken coop, why kill the chicken when it can lay eggs?

“Let’s go there then.” Sukuna crouched down in front of you, arms back, ready to carry you.

“What are you doing?” You analyzed his stance, curious as to why he was almost leaning towards you.

“It’ll be faster if I carry you on my back,” he explained. “So get on, now,” he commanded, losing patience from the embarrassment of being in that position.

You nodded obediently. You didn’t know how you were supposed to get on his big back. You were the one who always carried the others, so you had no idea what to do when someone else had to carry you. You jumped onto his back clumsily to reach out to hug him around the neck. Sukuna stood up suddenly, leaving your feet skidding in the air. With the help of his lower back, he pulled you up a little higher to better support you by the thighs. Your cheeks flushed as you felt his thumb caress your skin.

“Hold on tight and close your eyes, we’ll be there in no time,” Sukuna smiled confidently at his great speed.

You held onto his shoulders tightly and closed your eyes, hiding your face in the back of his neck as you got drunk on his strong cologne. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt your warm breath against his exposed skin. He shook his head to focus on the road. He didn’t want to waste too much time searching for your sisters, it was preferable if they returned before dinner. He pressed your thighs tightly against his body, leaving a light mark on you, before running off to the commune.

You screamed at the sky when you felt the huge difference in speed. Sukuna laughed at your adorable reaction as he ran like a bullet without brakes between the cobblestone streets, secret alleys and the occasional roof between the abundant buildings. Your heart accelerated at the same time as the large feet of your carriage did. The fabrics of their clothes fluttered against the wind as they reached the commune as soon as possible. Sukuna jumped over the wall that separated the town from the commune and finally fell on the green grass that separated the two worlds, without the slightest concern for scaring any poor human who was around. Sukuna continued running until he reached the center of the commune.

The owner of the cabin closest to the wall panicked when he saw the king running towards the commune. He ran terrified to the control tower to ring the bells that announced the possible attack of a curse. The neighbors, hearing the frightening warning, suddenly became agitated and ran to their homes to safeguard their lives in the best way they knew how, hiding. Sukuna reached the epicenter of the commune, watching as everyone greeted him with cries for help as they fled from him like cockroaches from the light.

“We have arrived,” Sukuna announced before letting you get off his back.

You staggered against your weight due to dizziness, falling to the ground in a sit-down. You held your head to make sure you were clear about where you were. You looked at the surrounding cabins, the stunned gazes of those who were your neighbors peeking out from between the curtains. You were sure they were wondering why you had brought the king of curses himself to his safe place, but there was no time to explain anything. You had to find your sisters.

You got up again to run towards your home. “Where are they?” You wondered in panic as your legs moved as fast as they could towards the furthest cabin of all. Your father had built it for your mother when they got married, far away from everyone, because your mother hated the neighbors but loved your father, so she moved with him to his hometown. “Where are they?” You looked around, anxious, searching for your sisters in any possible place they could be. “Where are they?!” Your mind roared in search of answers, praying that your little sisters were okay. A nostalgic smile crept onto your face as you reached the entrance of your old home.

“Nanako! Mimiko!” You burst through the door, breaking it because of the worn nails.

You called out to them over and over as you inspected the cabin, your heart in your hand in worry. Where there used to be a large table for everyone to eat together, a large kitchen with cooking utensils, and an armchair to hang out on, now there wasn't even a shabby rug. It was like looking at a dark, dirty blank canvas. The humidity was breathable, cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and field rats squeaked from their hiding places in the few pieces of wooden furniture that remained.

You ran to what used to be the room you shared with your sisters. The closet was empty, the curtains were full of dust, and the bed was bare. Not even the blanket their grandmother had given them was there anymore. All there was a small white envelope. You opened it carefully so as not to accidentally tear it between the trembling of your clumsy hands. Seeing who had written the letter, a tear escaped from your eyes.

“Dear sisters,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but if you do, it means we’re not here to welcome you. We hate living here, we always had, so we made the decision to leave since we didn’t have anyone else with us. I don’t know where we’ll go, but it will be far from the curses. I hope you don’t get mad at us for leaving, and we can meet again soon.

Lots of love, Nanako and Mimiko”

You held the letter to your chest as you sobbed softly, as this was the only physical reminder of your dear little sisters. They might appear strong in their words, but you knew they were surely terrified. They were facing a completely unknown world, far from the only terrible nation they knew. You knew the journey to human lands was long, but not impossible.

You weren't sure you could bear all the pain you had felt in one day. Carrying the mourning of your mother, the guilt of having murdered your own sister and the helplessness of not being able to do anything for your little sisters would lead to your end. Family was what mattered most, but all of that had been destroyed in less than a day. The house of your memories had burned completely, impregnating you with the smell of smoke for the rest of your life.

“I knew you were joking,” Sukuna mentioned behind you, examining the cabin’s filth with curiosity.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, confused, wiping away the hundredth tear of the day.

“What you said to Yorozu. ‘If I could go back to my quiet country life, I would in a heartbeat.’” Sukuna quoted what you said to your sister moments before killing her, entering the room. “Who in their right mind would trade a life of luxury for a filthy pigsty like this?”

The king scoffed at your stupidity. He walked around the room like it belonged to him completely, even though he had never slept on the hard bed, felt the cold floor with his bare feet, or eaten on the floor due to the lack of chairs. This place was so ugly that he wouldn’t even let his servants sleep there.

“It's not about the cabin, but what was in it,” you explained, fiddling with the envelope. “I was talking about my family, or at least, the one I used to have.”

The bed creaked as it supported the king's weight when he sat on it to take a little break after the tour. Being the same height now, he noticed your sad eyes and the small envelope you were holding tightly. Quickly, he deduced that your sisters had run away from home.

“I can order a search to find them,” Sukuna proposed, but you immediately rejected the offer.

“It's pointless. If they left on the day of the harvest, they must already be in some other kingdom,” you explained your hypothesis as you put the letter in one of the pockets in your dress. “It will sound selfish, but I prefer to think that they are fine than to look for them only to be told that some curse trapped them,” you said guiltily.

“Live happily in ignorance?” Sukuna asked you with disdain.

“I can’t deal with two more deaths, I just… it’s too much,” you said before cowardly leaving the room to drop the topic.

Sukuna looked at you confused, but that inexplicable feeling in his chest came back. He was starting to get frustrated, not knowing exactly what it was. He shouldn’t have heart problems when using his reverse curse technique, Kenjaku thought nothing was happening to him, and it didn’t happen regularly. That discomfort was driving him crazy, as if it were an occasional migraine.

The soft wind greeted you as soon as you stepped out into the yard. You passed the sink and the clothesline to slowly approach the small family cemetery. Your father's small grave was neglected but intact, while your mother's had the earth turned upside down after someone dug there. “They didn't bury her well” you thought, disappointed to see that your mother's corpse had been stolen, it was probably some curse to eat her as a midnight snack.

“Hi…” You greeted your father timidly. “The family split up, and I wasn't there to stop it,” you said as your lower lip trembled.

You hugged yourself to stop yourself from crying again. Your eyes were already fed up, they didn't want to regret the whole situation for the tenth time that day. Biting your lower lip hard, you tried to take your sensitivity by the horns. You were about to give up when Sukuna's hands took possession of your shoulders.

“Your parents?” Sukuna inquired when he saw what he was looking at.

“Yes.” Your throat cleared before answering. “My little sisters didn't build a coffin, so a curse must have eaten our mother,” you added, holding your breath to keep yourself out of the way.

“I don't understand why they cling so much to keeping bodies,” Sukuna said with annoyance. “They're just a nuisance.”

“Because humans are selfish,” you answered with some annoyance. Sukuna raised his eyebrow when he noticed your change of attitude. “Even though we know they're no longer with us, we want to have them close. The soul leaves, but the body is the only thing that stays with us,” you explained.

“Anyway, it's stupid. The body doesn't stay either. It ends up rotting when it could have been the food for a curse,” Sukuna argued. You sighed heavily.

This was really the last thing you needed in your time of mourning. Your sadness turned to anger in an instant. You weren't surprised at all that he acted so indifferent to the situation, but you wished he would at least shut up so you could go through your mourning in peace. You tried to keep your anger to yourself, but it didn't stop you from blurting out,

“Of course you wouldn't understand, you don't have a family.”

Silence invaded the moment. A chill ran down your spine, reminding you of who you were talking to. Your eyes widened as you realized the horrible comment that had escaped your lips. You looked up, thinking he would be looking at you with contempt, but you were met with his monotonous face. That scared you even more.

“I had a family,” he answered before walking away from you to leave you alone for a while.

That answer left you stunned in your place. Curses had been a true mystery for much of your life until Kenjaku came to explain everything you needed to know. These strange creatures are a race of spiritual beings invisible to most humans, incarnated from the cursed energy that escapes from humans over time due to their negative emotions. How can a curse have a family?

A new guilt began to torture your chest. After watching him walk away from you to climb the next hill, you decided to follow him to apologize, it was the least you could do. You apologized and gave your father a final bow of respect for the last time to reach the king.

"I'm sorry, I…" You tried to tell him when you reached him.

"I still remember the face of the one who used to be my mother." Sukuna completely interrupted you as he continued walking the path to the top. "She was a beautiful woman."

Sukuna, before waking up in the nightmare he had transformed into, remembered his past life almost perfectly. He had a mother who was ashamed of him, a violent father, and a twin brother he never met because he ate him in the womb. He had been born with the blessing of having power worthy of a god but with the curse of being a complete disgrace. An evil being that had no way to be fixed. A lonely child who became a sorcerer with black blood. A man thirsty to destroy everything that stood in his way. He may have disappointed many people, but never himself.

“I didn't know that…” You stuttered upon hearing about his sad past.

“Not even Uraume knows,” you confessed.

“Really?” You asked, stupefied.

“You're the only one who knows now,” Sukuna looked at you. “You've earned it after what you did for me today.”

“I didn't kill my sister for you. I did it for myself,” you answered honestly. Sukuna stopped in the middle of the road, shocked by the direct confession. “My sister not only betrayed me, but also the family I had left.”

“Why do you care so much about your family?” Sukuna held his forehead, exasperated by hearing you repeat that word. “Your father was weak, your mother sold you, Yorozu betrayed you and your other sisters abandoned you,” Sukuna asked you.

“Because I love them anyway.”

The king's lips parted slightly upon hearing that. There was no logic behind that answer. There was not a gram of reason. He had no legs or head, but he still managed to surprise him. How could you love such a broken family?

“That doesn't make sense,” Sukuna replied incredulously.

“Love doesn't need to make sense.”

The pain in his chest turned into a flutter of thousands of butterflies. A simple phrase made his cheeks feel hot, his hands sweaty, and he felt the need to cover his shame. A simple phrase made him feel an inexplicable hope that he didn't think he needed.

You looked up, you were almost at the top. You had climbed so high that it would be a shame to have to go down when you were so close. Since your sisters weren't there to run with you to see the sunset for one last time, maybe you could do it with someone new.

“Follow me, just this once,” you asked before taking one of Sukuna's arms.

He let himself be led by your guide to continue walking the path they still had to travel. They reached the top of the slope, where there was a large rock positioned perfectly to admire the rest of the valley and the human commune. The rainbow sunset, the small cabins, the leafy trees and the distant night worked in harmony like a beautiful piece of art. It was a simple sight but beautiful in its own splendor. They sat on the rock as if they were waiting for something. Maybe they were just wasting time until the sun set to return to the castle, as you had promised.

“My sisters and I used to come here every day. There isn’t much to do in the commune, so having this view is a small blessing,” you commented to the king as you watched the humans emerge from their huts, wondering if the threat had left. “What did you like to do when you were younger?” you asked.

“I didn’t have a good childhood,” the king answered honestly.

“But at least there must be something nice that you remember,” you answered curiously. Sukuna thought for a moment.

In fact, there was something he remembered. On the outskirts of the poor village where he used to live, there was a large forest that hid the most beautiful flowers he had ever seen. He didn’t know their names or what they meant, but he didn’t need to know to admire their delicacy. Their different bright colors, soft fragrance, and unique designs caught his attention. He caressed their petals, afraid of cutting them if he didn’t do it properly. A simple but welcoming and delicate touch brought him peace. Sometimes he came across a bee or two that brightened his view with their plump and fluffy bodies. The flowers were the only thing he didn't want to destroy in gratitude for never judging him.

"When I had access to all the books, I learned that if you arrange certain flowers with others they can have different meanings," Sukuna explained as he put his hand in his pants pocket, squeezing the box he had saved for that moment.

He hated to admit it, but Kenjaku was right. This was the perfect opportunity to propose to you. The great view of your homeland that merges with the land he leads, was a beautiful symbolism. They were completely alone, without any humans or curses lurking in their affairs. The golden hour was almost over, so it was now or never.

"You know? You remind me of daisies. They usually symbolize innocence, joy and purity, and you are all of those things," he explained as he looked at the horizon while he gathered courage to look you in the eyes after saying that with his cheeks flushed. “Sometimes they are hard to read because they come in many colors and the real meaning depends on this, but that's not important…” He was so nervous that he was starting to get off-topic. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

Wait, why was he so nervous? Sukuna never got nervous, he was always ready for whatever he was faced with. A battle against a powerful sorcerer? A piece of cake. Ordering his troops in complicated strategies? An everyday occurrence. Declaring war against humanity? The dream. Proposing? It made his hair stand on end. He couldn't believe he felt his heart beating at the possible response of his prospective wife. He was sure she would accept him, she had already done it once, he had to do it... Right?

“What really matters about daisies is knowing how many there are in a bouquet. If there are less than 3, it means friendship. If there are more than 6, it means pure love.” Sukuna stopped at that word.

He had read about it in endless poems, and it was a concept he knew existed, but he didn't fully understand it. He didn't know how it began or how it ended. It was complicated, unknown and could become problematic. For some reason, humans are fascinated with the wonderful idea that love knows no bounds. They lived for it, endured for it, and would even die for it. Sukuna was sure you would too, but him?

“What I mean is that I would give you all the daisies in the world.”

Your head rested on his arm, startling him a little. Finally, he worked up the courage to look at you and couldn’t believe it. You were completely asleep. Your softly closed eyes, your slow breathing, and your lack of posture were a clear sign that you had been sleeping while he was giving the corniest speech of his life. He wanted to be mad at you. He wanted to shake you awake. He wanted to throw the box with the ring in your face, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even frown.

He covered you from the little sun that was left of the day with one hand, while the other caressed your peach fuzzy skin with all the care in the world so as not to wake you up. He was mesmerized by the way you breathed, the length of your eyelashes, your hair swinging against the soft wind, your hands resting on your lap and your lips slightly parted by gravity. You had had a long day, and you hadn't slept the night before, it was understandable that you were tired and just wanted to sleep to forget about the tragedies. Maybe this wasn't the time to propose.

The sun finally set behind the distant mountains, turning off the light completely. It was time to go home, but Sukuna wanted to stay there for the rest of his life. Chatting during the day, admiring you at night, and dreaming in his free time. Sukuna sighed as he realized why his chest had been acting so weird lately.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, low enough to not wake you up. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Next →

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Masterlist.

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[save-the-villainous-cat]

"Listen." The villain grabbed the hero's arm. "I'm on a tight leash here."

The hero's mouth curled into a smile. "You mind repeating that?"

But the villain was quite serious, although their grip around the hero's forearm loosened.

"They will kill me if anything happens to you, you know that," the villain said.

"Womp womp."

The villain laughed hollowly and stared at the hero in disbelief.

"You're unbelievable."

Their nemesis had always been an incredibly unserious person - and an annoying one - but ever since the villain had been captured and assigned to protect them, it had gotten worse. Somehow, the villain couldn't blame them. The hero was, after all, a secretive person who didn't need any type of surveillance.

"I don't need a bodyguard," the hero said. They bobbed their head confidently. "I am not the best ranked hero in the entire city for nothing."

"Come on, don't be cocky now. I wouldn't be here if the agency actually believed that," the villain said and they meant every word. It was a kind of community service that was meant to reform the villain. Protecting people, watching the hero work - they assumed that was the goal of this entire operation.

However, the hero made it very easy to dislike heroes in general. They had a big mouth, viewed themselves as some kind of saint and (arguably) the worst thing above all: they also looked good while doing it.

The hero let out a big sigh and started stretching, followed by a yawn and a bored expression. It was clear that the hero wanted to fall into the bed of the shared hotel room and sleep until the afternoon.

"Little piece of advice?" They sat down on the bed. "Don't read too much into it. I doubt they know what they are doing themselves."

"They are in charge of internal security, they should know what they are doing."

"You think it's smart to put two nemeses in a hotel room with only one bed?" the hero asked. They wiggled with their eyebrows and all the villain could do was roll their eyes. "This agency is a real shit show and everyone smart enough should stay as far away from them as possible."

"I have no choice in that matter. You die, I die too. They will find a way to blame me. I'm supposed to jump in front of you when people shoot at you. I am nothing more than a human shield."

"Gorgeous human shield."

"I'm flattered," the villain said flatly. They took in a deep breath and let themselves fall next to the hero on the bed. They put their head in their hands and rubbed their face. If the hero continued to be reckless, if they continued to be so stupidly bold, the villain would start to feel the consequences pretty quickly.

"Don't be. I'm merely observing objective beauty."

"Ugh. Fuck off." The villain squeezed their eyes shut. They needed to think. If the agency was experimenting on them, the villain was meant to be the test subject which meant the agency wanted to control them.

The villain knew they had implanted a chip in them which tracked heartbeat and location. The only question now was: how was the agency going to kill them? Was the chip responsible? Was it something else?

"You're worrying so much, no wonder you are always so grumpy." The villain raised their head and before they could answer, the hero's hand was already on their back, delicate fingertips digging into sensitive spots. The villain bit back a moan and pulled back gently.

"Let's not...complicate things."

"Of course not," the hero said. "But honestly, don't break that head of yours trying to figure out their next plan. They won't kill you until absolutely necessary and I am very good at taking care of myself. So unless you are very incompetent - which you are not - you are good for now."

"For now," the villain echoed. They had to admit, the hero's fingertips had felt good on their back. They had never expected the hero to be capable of being serious enough to try comforting the villain. If it even was what they had tried to achieve.

As the villain looked at them, they couldn't help but concentrate on their jawline. On the darker colours of their eyes. Their fingers. Those damn fingers.

The villain hadn't recovered from that quite yet and they started to regret their words. They knew the hero flirted often, but they weren't sure how much of it was boredom and how much was real.

And even if something was to happen tonight, the agency would know about an increased heartbeat in the middle of the night in the shared hotel room.

Which in the worst case, they would interpret as a fight.

But it was more likely that they wouldn't.

The villain bit the inside of their cheek. Shit, they needed to concentrate. The hero always threw them off their game.

"Did they chip you?" the villain asked.

The hero pulled up their sleeve and very suddenly the villain realised that they had never seen this arm naked. And they understood why - the entire forearm was covered in scar tissue.

"The better question is: how many times did they try?" the hero said. They covered their arm quickly again and cocked their head. "The agency learns pretty slowly but they realised eventually I wasn't willing to play any games. When dumb people get a fraction of power, no matter how small, they will abuse it."

The hero had never been this serious before. Not with the villain. And the villain could do nothing but stare as the hero casually told them how much the agency truly sucked.

"It's inevitable. But when it comes down to it, who is stronger? Some written words on a paper or a true superhero? These people are just people and I was sick of listening to someone tell me where to go or what to wear or what to say or whom not to save. I wanted to save as many people as possible. And that's exactly what I am doing now. Without someone monitoring my body or actions."

"And yet, you're with the agency," the villain pointed out.

"I made a deal with them. I will play nice with them in public and in return...they are keeping someone safe for me."

"A lover?"

"I wouldn't share this bed with you if I had a lover. And I wouldn't say the things I say to you," the hero said. They stared at their own hands and the villain saw little scars all over them. Like a messily woven rug. "It's my sibling. Outside of the country, I didn't want them to grow up here. But...yeah. They write me every week."

The hero smiled but they didn't seem to be happy.

"I'm not allowed to write back. Ever. I know it's better that way, but...I know they will forget me eventually."

The villain didn't say anything. They had never thought the hero would tell them something like this. And they had never expected them to go beyond their cocky persona. It was a little more than strange to hear this from someone whose main priority was flirting during battle.

"Maybe it's hypocritical of me. To say all of this and yet I am working with them to protect my sibling and pretend to be on good terms with them, but for my family, I am gladly the sinner. I would become the enemy to protect them."

"That's very admirable," the villain said. And it was. It was impressive. It was horribly understandable, too. "You're very special, I hope you're aware of that. You're a good person."

And now, the villain couldn't really hate them anymore. They couldn't even find a reason to. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

They took in another deep breath and tried for the last time today to think clearly.

"I appreciate that you told me this. But I think it’s late and we both need some res-"

"I know, I know, darling. Take good care of my secret, though. Or I’m afraid I’ll have to kill your pretty ass," the hero said. They pursed their lips.

"You're welcome to try." The villain had to grin.

"Hm, tempting…not right now, though.” They leaned over and traced the villain's collarbone with their index finger. "Or the poor agency will think we are doing worse things than fighting. Those chips are scarily precise when it comes to counting beats per minute."

Great minds and all.

[furiousgoldfish]

One of the issues you run into when you're not allowed to express anger as a child, is that you're no longer able to get angry. When you're in a situation that should evoke rage, you instead feel fear, anxiety, panic, or grief, emotional hurt and helplessness. You end up operating a body that cannot feel or express anger. The only times you do feel angry is when you're directing it at yourself, it comes as a form of self hatred, and desire to cause pain and injury to yourself. Because this is the only way you would have been allowed to be angry, only way it was safe, to direct it at yourself, same as everyone else is doing constantly, teaching you that it's normal and expected.

Growing up like this means that all of the anger from your childhood keeps getting stored into your body instead of externalized, and you still cannot get angry when the situation demands it. Instead, when you're being disrespected and injustice is served in your face, you can either feel helpless and lost, or the frustration you feel irritates you so much you cannot stand it. Your body is not used to feeling anger and doesn't know how to process it. Instead it feels like you're going to explode, restless, endlessly irritated and at a complete loss on how to handle it. Because you never learned how to handle anger, except to take it out on yourself, and you might be driven to just keep doing that, forever.

Taking a stand for yourself and confronting whoever deserved your anger might still feel terrifying and all of the insane things that happened to you as a result of childhood anger might get triggered. You might feel too frightened to confront them because you can imagine all sorts of ways it could come back to hurt you - this person could try to get you fired, for example. They might smear campaign you and get you evicted, they could threaten you with something or blackmail you, they could destroy something of yours, spread rumors, hold a grudge and do thousand times worse to you. Those are thoughts evoked by memories of childhood, where abusive parents threatened and did any or all of these things, including torture, in order to keep you from expressing anger.

However this person is hurting you right now, unprovoked, and getting no resistance. From that, they're learning that they can keep doing it, with zero consequences, because you've already been broken and cannot fight back. That is a dangerous situation to be in too, even if it is impossible to predict whether this person is insane like your parents and will try to get revenge for any bit of resistance for their abuse.

I had situations where I would be pushed over the edge and allowed my anger to come out at someone - and people would sometimes complain about it, but they would usually back off, and I would regain my peace of mind because I created a consequence for disturbing it. Anger, however, doesn't feel good. My body is not used to it so it makes me incredibly tense, stressed, frustrated and upset, and it doesn't go away for several days, even weeks sometimes. Because scratching the surface of it evokes the repressed childhood anger which is almost unbearable with how giant it is.

Human body can learn to process anger, it can feel better, more powerful and more in control because of it. It can protect you without inflicting damage to others. It doesn't make you anything like your abusers, who let their anger out at someone who wasn't their equal, had no way to fight back, and did not deserve any of it. Your anger creates boundaries that keep you safe, it doesn't exist to torture others for existing.

It's easy to fall back into the place where you don't want to be angry, and try to be accommodating and allowing of injustice, just so you don't have to feel frustrated and afraid. I often fall back on it too, just wanting to live and have peace. But life around other people often doesn't allow it, and sometimes anger is necessary to send a message of what boundaries will not be crossed without a consequence. Anger is not a bad feeling, it is an act of self love. It comes out to let you know that you've been treated unfairly and it's there because it's telling you that you matter. That treating you unfairly is something to get mad about.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 1)

—

Tw: one instance of canon-typical violence (DC), vivisection mention

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Prologue) - (Pt. 2)

(Subscription post/masterlist)

—

Danny has been working for Mr. Cobblepot for over a month now.

The first few weeks he was in the Penguin’s company, he couldn’t do much of anything. Instead, Mr. Cobblepot made sure that he was well-rested and beginning to recover.

Danny cried a lot in the first week that he was there.

He cried when he ate for the first time in years; the GiW had kept him on IVs and a feeding tube, so they wouldn’t have to move him from his surgical table.

He cried when he was given his own room to stay in, when he was brought clothes to wear, when he was given a bodyguard to protect him.

He cried when Mr. Cobblepot’s doctors told him that the damage to his vocal chords was likely permanent, and that he would never sound the same again. That he would find it hard to speak at any volume above a whisper.

Apparently, he had a lot more damage to him than he had thought.

The doctors said that the scarring in his brain stem suggested his entire brain had been removed and had regrown. Danny couldn’t really disprove that, and it did line up with a pretty substantial gap in his memory, but if that was the case then why couldn’t his voice recover too?

The scarring and incredibly new tissue that showed up in scans of several other parts of his body suggested that the GiW had done the same thing with most of his organs, as well as a few limbs, and all of the fingers on his right hand.

Danny could remember that. He just didn’t want to.

Perhaps it was the feeling of pity that kept Mr. Cobblepot so understanding of Danny’s slow recovery. That didn’t really matter much, though; Danny’s energy was focused on keeping his place here, ensuring that Mr. Cobblepot didn’t decide he was no longer worth the effort.

As it turned out, there was an easy enough solution to that.

Danny was the only one who knew how to properly operate and modify the weapons and inventions stolen from the GiW.

And so, Danny had a niche he could occupy. He could be useful, useful enough that Mr. Cobblepot couldn’t get rid of him, even if he wanted to.

And, as it turns out, Danny remembered quite a lot of the theories he heard while he was on the cutting board.

As soon as he had enough muscle control of his arms to do so, he was working away at the machinery created by the GiW and his parents.

No, not his parents.

Doctors Madeleine and Jack Fenton.

Regardless of their creators, he was able to understand them quite intimately.

Maybe it was because the ectoplasm flowing through the weaponry was his own, maybe it was because he had nothing to listen to for three years other than the excited chatter of his vivisectionists as they cut him open. Maybe it was because they were both simple weaponry without a purpose.

Danny found working on the machines soothing in a way that nothing else was.

The smell of oil and grease, the sounds of mechanical clanking and metal joints squealing, the feeling of cold steel beneath his fingertips.

The first thing he did to the machines was replacing the paint, from shiny white to a matte black. That way, they were recognizable as his own modified creations.

It was only a bonus that he didn’t catch his reflection in the metal surfaces this way.

Still, his reflection was starting to become more familiar to him. It was still strangely off-putting to see, but his face was beginning to plump out from consistent eating, and his skin was beginning to lose its unhealthy pale tone, going back to a more natural pinkish color.

His eyes still looked devoid of life, but that could be ignored as long as he didn’t look at himself for too long.

Danny sighed, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was working on modifying the ectoblasters so that they could properly hit humans, as per Mr. Cobblepot’s orders.

He probably should feel some sort of moral conflict over it, but really, Danny couldn’t find it in him to care. Maybe it was some sort of deep internal flaw, or maybe it was because he knew that they wouldn’t be shot at anyone without blood on their hands. Either way, he didn’t have any qualms with what he was doing.

As Danny reconnected the circuitry within the gun, the indicator lights on the side of the muzzle blinked to life, a familiar neon green.

Danny would have to change that color too, he thought. Maybe red would be nice instead, or an icy blue?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the door to his temporary workshop opening. Danny looked up, and smiled when he saw that his bodyguard was the one standing in the doorway.

The man, known only as Derringer, was 6’2”, built like a tank, and known for his love of unusual firearms. He was also a big fan of card games, and had been teaching Danny how to play Blackjack during their meals.

He gently closed the door behind him, strolling into the workshop.

Danny hopped out of his seat, hugging the man tightly. Derringer laughed, patting Danny on the back as he clung to him like a koala.

“Good to see you too, kid,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “you just about done in here?”

Danny nodded, letting go of the bodyguard. He picked up the gun on the desk, handing it to Derringer, and pointed to the target resting in the far corner of the room.

Derringer glanced down at Danny, shrugging before aiming the gun.

He pulled the trigger, and a large scorch mark appeared in the center of the target.

Derringer whistled appreciatively, walking over to inspect the damage.

There was a deep dent in the center of the metal target, around an inch in diameter, and a large scorch mark surrounding it. The metal of the dent was white-hot, and the area around it was somewhat warped.

“That’s real nice, kid,” Derringer said, “don’t know how you do it.”

Danny grinned, baring his teeth at the man. He smiled back, ruffling his hair.

“The boss is gonna go forward with the Arkham raid soon, so long as your guns are ready,” he said, “he’s eager to try them out for real. You think you’re up to talking to him?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding to the man.

“Good,” Derringer signed back.

Mr. Cobblepot, not wanting Danny to be limited in his speech by the damage to his vocal chords, had ensured that all of the people who interacted with him knew at least the basics of ASL.

When he wasn’t working on the ectoblasters, Danny was practicing his ASL with a dedicated tutor, or with Derringer, who learned the language when his mother had gone deaf.

“Can I eat first?” Danny signed, “I forgot to.”

“You forgot, or you didn’t want to leave your work?” Derringer asked, signing as he spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, “and yeah, the boss wants to talk to you in thirty minutes. You’ve got plenty of time before then.”

“Thank you,” Danny signed, “let’s go.”

“Hey, just a sec,” Derringer said. His face had dropped into something unusually serious.

Danny nodded, tilting his head as he signed a quick “what’s wrong?”

“You’re a good kid. Even after what you’ve been through, you’re…you’re a really sweet kid,” Derringer said, looking away. “But you…you can’t keep being sweet to everyone. You gotta act tough, alright?”

“Why?”

“You just…” Derringer sighed, combing a hand through his thick, curly hair, “a lot of the guys think that you’re too weak to be here. They’re calling you the Penguin’s pet project, and the problem is that they’re not really wrong. You gotta be scarier to survive, alright? Gotham’ll eat you alive if you don’t. Just make up a persona and roll with it.”

Danny nodded slowly, processing his words for a moment.

“Like a mask?”

Derringer laughed, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Yeah, like a mask. Just don’t start fighting crime while you’re at it.”

“Okay,” Danny signed, his movements slow. “I can do that.”

“Good on you, kid,” Derringer said, ruffling his hair once more, “now let’s go get lunch.”

The two of them ate quickly, Danny’s mind on Derringer’s advice the entire time.

He was right, and Danny knew it. He’d seen the way that some of Mr. Cobblepot’s men had looked at him.

He wasn’t anywhere near big enough to pull off the looming intimidating look that Derringer did; his doctors back in Amity had told him that he would grow to be over six foot, but his time in the GiW seemed to have stunted his growth significantly. He was only around 5’6”, and it seemed that he was going to stay that way.

In the same way, he wasn’t nearly frightening looking enough to pull off the terrifying stares of the smaller individuals working under Mr. Cobblepot. He just couldn’t get the glare right; his face would always fall back to a blank, dead stare.

Though, maybe if he played into that…

A few minutes before they had to leave, Danny excused himself to go to the restroom. He stared into the mirror, looking into his cold, dead eyes, and let his face drop.

When he adjusted his stance, and kept his eyes a bit wider than usual, he looked downright unnerving.

Danny had already noticed that most of his mannerisms were…unusual, after his stay at the GiW base. Put simply, he had forgotten what it was like to be a human.

He had noticed that most of the people around him would avoid being in his presence, and had begun mirroring their body language as much as he could to seem more normal.

Maybe, though, it would be better for him not to.

He could lean into the whole thing. An unstable young adult, experimented on by the government for years.

Danny looked into the mirror, and wide, icy eyes stared back at him.

Danny left the restroom. Derringer turned to greet him, jolting when he did. After a moment, he nodded.

“That what we’re going with?”

“Yes. Is it good?”

“Yeah. Freaky. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Now,” he said, getting up from his spot at the break room table, “let’s go see the boss.”

Danny felt anxiety bubbling up in his chest, his entire body beginning to twitch. If Mr. Cobblepot didn’t approve of the weaponry, or if he thought they were underwhelming, would he be thrown out? Would he be tortured again, or killed?

Danny shivered when they came to a stop in front of the door to Mr. Cobblepot’s office. Failure wasn’t an option. He had to make sure this went well.

“You’ll do great, kid,” Derringer whispered, pushing the door open.

Mr. Cobblepot had been talking with a few other people, but their conversation died out when Danny and Derringer entered the room. Danny’s skin crawled.

“Ah, Danny! Just the person I wanted to see,” Mr. Cobblepot said, a large smile on his face, “Do you have one of your guns with you?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding.

“Wonderful. I was just telling my associates here about your work. Do you mind giving a demonstration?”

“Where should I shoot? Do you have a target?”

Derringer was quick to translate. Mr. Cobblepot nodded, gesturing for a hired hand in the corner of the room to pull out a small wooden board, holding it up in the air.

Danny paled. He would definitely burn the man’s hands if he hit the target, even if he aimed for the furthest corner of the board.

Still, he was more terrified of disappointing Mr. Cobblepot than he was empathetic towards the man, so he drew a blaster from the holster on his leg and aimed carefully.

The blast hit the center of the board. The man holding it howled in pain, dropping the target and drawing his hand close to his chest. The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the room.

Danny breathed shakily, in and out.

Mr. Cobblepot, for what it was worth, looked like he couldn’t possibly be happier. He and the others inspected the board on the ground closely, ignoring the hired hand as he ran out of the room, still cradling his damaged hand.

A large hole had been blown into the board, and a good portion of it had been incinerated.

“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen! I told you that Danny would deliver, and deliver he did! Imagine if that had been a person instead! Danny, what would you say would happen?”

Danny paused, trying to wince when he realized that the question wasn’t hypothetical, and Mr. Cobblepot actually wanted an answer.

“It would give them S-E-V-E-R-E burns,” Danny finger spelled the word that he didn’t know the proper sign for, “mostly S-U-R-F-A-C-E. It can’t P-E-I-R-C-E, because there is no bullet, just energy.”

Derringer translated for him.

Mr. Cobblepot frowned, and Danny frantically continued, “but it can be L-E-T-H-A-L! Burns on the head kill fast. Burns on the body make S-H-O-C-K, and kill. Strong I-M-P-A-C-T, too.”

“So they do still kill, just not instantly?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, “they’re fast. They hurt bad. Bad way to die, hurts a lot.”

“Well,” one of the other men in the room piped up, “I guess he’s not completely hopeless.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Mr. Cobblepot replied, fixing a terrifying glare onto the man, “it was my idea to bring him in, after all.”

“Danny,” Mr. Cobblepot said, turning his attention back to him, “we’re going to be collaborating with these fine individuals in the future. I’m going to need twenty guns ready for use in a week. You can handle that, can’t you?”

Danny nodded frantically.

“What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Cobblepot said, waving his hand dismissively, “semi-automatic is preferable, but handguns and shotguns also work. Just make sure they work perfectly.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“Well, that’s all. You can leave now, and I’ll finish discussing the details with my associates.”

Danny nodded, signing him a quick “thank you, goodbye,” and slipped out of the room alongside Derringer.

They made their way back to Danny’s workshop in silence. Once they were inside, Derringer heaved a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“You really think you can make that many guns that quickly, kid?”

“Yes,” Danny replied, “but I need your help.”

Derringer groaned, a smile on his face.

“Of course you’re putting me to work. I should’ve expected it. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, first, hold this…”

—

[thedansemacabres]

Introduction To Supporting Sustainable Agriculture For Witches and Pagans

[ID: An image of yellow grain stocks, soon to be harvested. The several stocks reach towards a blurred open sky, focusing the camera on he grains themselves. The leaves of the grains are green and the cereals are exposed].

PAGANISM AND WITCHCRAFT ARE MOVEMENTS WITHIN A SELF-DESTRUCTIVE CAPITALIST SOCIETY. As the world becomes more aware of the importance of sustainability, so does the duty of humanity to uphold the idea of the steward, stemming from various indigenous worldviews, in the modern era. I make this small introduction as a viticulturist working towards organic and environmentally friendly grape production. I also do work on a food farm, as a second job—a regenerative farm, so I suppose that is my qualifications. Sustainable—or rather regenerative agriculture—grows in recognition. And as paganism and witchcraft continue to blossom, learning and supporting sustainability is naturally a path for us to take. I will say that this is influenced by I living in the USA, however, there are thousands of groups across the world for sustainable agriculture, of which tend to be easy to research.

So let us unite in caring for the world together, and here is an introduction to supporting sustainable/regenerative agriculture. 

A QUICK BRIEF ON SUSTAINABLE AGRICULTURE 

Sustainable agriculture, in truth, is a movement to practise agriculture as it has been done for thousands of years—this time, with more innovation from science and microbiology especially. The legal definition in the USA of sustainable agriculture is: 

The term ”sustainable agriculture” (U.S. Code Title 7, Section 3103) means an integrated system of plant and animal production practices having a site-specific application that will over the long-term:

A more common man’s definition would be farming in a way that provides society’s food and textile needs without overuse of natural resources, artificial supplements and pest controls, without compromising the future generation’s needs and ability to produce resources. The agriculture industry has one of the largest and most detrimental impacts on the environment, and sustainable agriculture is the alternative movement to it. 

Sustainable agriculture also has the perk of being physically better for you—the nutrient quality of crops in the USA has dropped by 47%, and the majority of our food goes to waste. Imagine if it was composted and reused? Or even better—we buy only what we need. We as pagans and witches can help change this. 

BUYING ORGANIC (IT REALLY WORKS)

The first step is buying organic. While cliche, it does work: organic operations have certain rules to abide by, which excludes environmentally dangerous chemicals—many of which, such as DDT, which causes ecological genocide and death to people. Organic operations have to use natural ways of fertilising, such as compost, which to many of us—such as myself—revere the cycle of life, rot, and death. Organic standards do vary depending on the country, but the key idea is farming without artificial fertilisers, using organic seeds, supplementing with animal manure, fertility managed through management practices, etc. 

However, organic does have its flaws. Certified organic costs many, of which many small farmers cannot afford. The nutrient quality of organic food, while tending to be better, is still poor compared to regeneratively grown crops. Furthermore, the process to become certified organic is often gruelling—you can practise completely organically, but if you are not certified, it is not organic. Which, while a quality control insurance, is both a bonus and a hurdle. 

JOINING A CSA

Moving from organic is joining a CSA (“Community supported agriculture”). The USDA defines far better than I could: 

Community Supported Agriculture (CSA), one type of direct marketing, consists of a community of individuals who pledge support to a farm operation so that the farmland becomes, either legally or spiritually, the community’s farm, with the growers and consumers providing mutual support and sharing the risks and benefits of food production.

By purchasing a farm share, you receive food from the farm for the agreed upon production year. I personally enjoy CSAs for the relational aspect—choosing a CSA is about having a relationship, not only with the farmer(s), but also the land you receive food from. I volunteer for my CSA and sometimes I get extra cash from it—partaking in the act of caring for the land. Joining a CSA also means taking your precious capital away from the larger food industry and directly supporting growers—and CSAs typically practise sustainable and/or regenerative agriculture. 

CSAs are also found all over the world and many can deliver their products to food deserts and other areas with limited agricultural access. I volunteer from time to time for a food bank that does exactly that with the produce I helped grow on the vegetable farm I work for. 

FARM MARKETS AND STALLS 

Another way of personally connecting to sustainable agriculture is entering the realm of the farm stall. The farmer’s market is one of my personal favourite experiences—people buzzing about searching for ingredients, smiles as farmers sell crops and products such as honey or baked goods, etc. The personal connection stretches into the earth, and into the past it buries—as I purchase my apples from the stall, I cannot help but see a thousand lives unfold. People have been doing this for thousands of years and here I stand, doing it all over again. 

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Farmers’ markets are dependent on your local area, yet in most you can still develop personal community connections. Paganism often stresses community as an ideal and a state of life. And witchcraft often stresses a connection to the soil. What better place, then, is purchasing the products from the locals who commune with the land? 

VOLUNTEERING 

If you are able to, I absolutely recommend volunteering. I have worked with aquaponic systems, food banks, farms, cider-making companies, soil conservation groups, etc. There is so much opportunity—and perhaps employment—in these fields. The knowledge I have gained has been wonderful. As one example, I learned that fertilisers reduce carbon sequestration as plants absorb carbon to help with nutrient intake. If they have all their nutrients ready, they do not need to work to obtain carbon to help absorb it. This does not even get into the symbiotic relationship fungi have with roots, or the world of hyphae. Volunteering provides community and connection. Actions and words change the world, and the world grows ever better with help—including how much or how little you may provide. It also makes a wonderful devotional activity. 

RESOURCING FOOD AND COOKING 

Buying from farmers is not always easy, however. Produce often has to be processed, requiring labour and work with some crops such as carrots. Other times, it is a hard effort to cook and many of us—such as myself—often have very limited energy. There are solutions to this, thankfully:

Many farmers can and will process foods. Some even do canning, which can be good to stock up on food and lessen the energy inputs. 

Value-added products: farms also try to avoid waste, and these products often become dried snacks if fruit, frozen, etc. 

Asking farmers if they would be open to accommodating this. Chances are, they would! The farmer I purchase my CSA share from certainly does. 

Going to farmers markets instead of buying a CSA, aligning with your energy levels. 

And if any of your purchased goods are going unused, you can always freeze them. 

DEMETER, CERES, VEIA, ETC: THE FORGOTTEN AGRICULTURE GODS

Agricultural gods are often neglected. Even gods presiding over agriculture often do not have those aspects venerated—Dionysos is a god of viticulture and Apollon a god of cattle. While I myself love Dionysos as a party and wine god, the core of him remains firmly in the vineyards and fields, branching into the expanses of the wild. I find him far more in the curling vines as I prune them than in the simple delights of the wine I ferment. Even more obscure gods, such as Veia, the Etruscan goddess of agriculture, are seldom known.

Persephone receives the worst of this: I enjoy her too as a dread queen, and people do acknowledge her as Kore, but she is far more popular as the queen of the underworld instead of the dear daughter of Demeter. I do understand this, though—I did not feel the might of Demeter and Persephone until I began to move soil with my own hands. A complete difference to the ancient world, where the Eleusinian mysteries appealed to thousands. Times change, and while some things should be left to the past, our link to these gods have been severed. After all, how many of us reading know where our food comes from? I did not until I began to purchase from the land I grew to know personally. The grocery store has become a land of tearing us from the land, instead of the food hub it should be.

Yet, while paganism forgets agriculture gods, they have not forgotten us. The new world of farming is more conductive and welcoming than ever. I find that while older, bigoted people exist, the majority of new farmers tend to be LGBT+. My own boss is trans and aro, and I myself am transgender and gay. The other young farmers I know are some flavour of LGBT+, or mixed/poc. There’s a growing movement for Black farmers, elaborated in a lovely text called We Are Each Other’s Harvest. 

Indigenous farming is also growing and I absolutely recommend buying from indigenous farmers. At this point, I consider Demeter to be a patron of LGBT+ people in this regard—she gives an escape to farmers such as myself. Bigotry is far from my mind under her tender care, as divine Helios shines above and Okeanos’ daughters bring fresh water to the crops. Paganism is also more commonly accepted—I find that farmers find out that I am pagan and tell me to do rituals for their crops instead of reacting poorly. Or they’re pagan themselves; a farmer I know turned out to be Wiccan and uses the wheel of the year to keep track of production. 

Incorporating these divinities—or concepts surrounding them—into our crafts and altars is the spiritual step towards better agriculture. Holy Demeter continues to guide me, even before I knew it. 

WANT CHANGE? DO IT YOURSELF! 

If you want change in the world, you have to act. And if you wish for better agriculture, there is always the chance to do it yourself. Sustainable agriculture is often far more accessible than people think: like witchcraft and divination, it is a practice. Homesteading is often appealing to many of us, including myself, and there are plenty of resources to begin. There are even grants to help one improve their home to be more sustainable, i.e. solar panels. Gardening is another, smaller option. Many of us find that plants we grow and nourish are far more potentant in craft, and more receptive to magical workings. 

Caring for plants is fundamental to our natures and there are a thousand ways to delve into it. I personally have joined conservation groups, my local soil conservation group, work with the NRCs in the USA, and more. The path to fully reconnecting to nature and agriculture is personal—united in a common cause to fight for this beautiful world. To immerse yourself in sustainable agriculture, I honestly recommend researching and finding your own path. Mine lies in soil and rot, grapevines and fruit trees. Others do vegetables and cereal grains, or perhaps join unions and legislators. Everyone has a share in the beauty of life, our lives stemming from the land’s gentle sprouts. 

Questions and or help may be given through my ask box on tumblr—if there is a way I can help, let me know. My knowledge is invaluable I believe, as I continue to learn and grow in the grey-clothed arms of Demeter, Dionysos, and Kore. 

FURTHER READING:

Baszile, N. (2021). We are each other’s harvest. HarperCollins.

Hatley, J. (2016). Robin Wall Kimmerer. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and the teachings of plants. Environmental Philosophy, 13(1), 143–145. https://doi.org/10.5840/envirophil201613137

Regenerative Agriculture 101. (2021, November 29). https://www.nrdc.org/stories/regenerative-agriculture-101#what-is

And in truth, far more than I could count. 

References

Community Supported Agriculture | National Agricultural Library. (n.d.). https://www.nal.usda.gov/farms-and-agricultural-production-systems/community-supported-agriculture

Navazio, J. (2012). The Organic seed Grower: A Farmer’s Guide to Vegetable Seed Production. Chelsea Green Publishing.

Plaster, E. (2008). Soil Science and Management. Cengage Learning.

Sheaffer, C. C., & Moncada, K. M. (2012). Introduction to agronomy: food, crops, and environment. Cengage Learning.

Sheldrake, M. (2020). Entangled life: How Fungi Make Our Worlds, Change Our Minds & Shape Our Futures. Random House.

Sustainable Agriculture | National Agricultural Library. (n.d.). https://www.nal.usda.gov/farms-and-agricultural-production-systems/sustainable-agriculture

[flxfthm]

I don't know if you ever said it before, but do you think Gabriel was a good villain?

mmm i guess the answer is yes because i think he's a good character? and the things that make him a "bad" villain are intentional flaws and weaknesses that make him more human. he's arrogant, short-sighted, and all his wins are attributed to outside help from nathalie, tomoe, or even felix !!! but he's not really meant to be seen as a schemer, as the way he exerts power over people is through his status. as he claims in pretention and as felix highlights in his play, the empire he's built and the resources he has access to make him the most intimidating, it's about "gabriel agreste" as a symbol of influence, who can control people in more ways than one.

he shines the most in S5 as he fully loses it and his dehumanization of adrien reaches ridiculously cruel extremes with the alliance rings, which are one of my personal favorite visual metaphors in the show altogether. it's sort of what i'm getting at, that you can see gabriel increasingly more corrupt with every passing season, and with that he also loses all the plausible deniability he was operating with from the start. the agreste story arc of S1-S5 is ultimately about questioning the consequences of our choices and the power we each hold as individuals, and gabriel is a physical manifestation of our worst possible selves. he's unapologetically selfish from his first to last appearance and even when he seems to come to recognize the results of his insanity, he cowardly leaves marinette to clean up his mess & deal with the aftermath.

while nathalie snapped out of it earlier than him & tried making amends for her actions by doing the bare minimum for adrien with the time she had left, and as felix ended up trading his cynicism for a positive outlook through the power of love, gabriel remained stubborn in his ways and his goal changed from the noble-sounding promise to reunite his family to, like, sticking it to those morally righteous brats as he grew mad with power. like akumas are people possessed by their negative emotions, gabriel is consumed by his regrets without even realizing it, and he's a cautionary tale for marinette to remember so that she doesn't end up like him. felix got to find out for himself pretty quickly how it felt becoming the monster that he thought his father was, that gabriel agreste was, and he immediately changed his path. but for marinette, whose life mirrors gabriel's own, the stakes are much higher and she's yet to come to terms with whether the choices she made in the S5 finale & london special were morally reprehensible after all. even with his physical disappearance, gabriel's control of the media, the people, and his son, have all been passed down to marinette and he still lives on through her. she could arbitrarily sympathize with felix's motivations as they both fought for adrien's sake and eventually their own romantic interests, but this time she's in a situation that would greatly affect and endanger her own life, and that's where the question initially posed to gabriel comes back to her - how far is she willing to go to keep things as they are, and how long will it be before she's also consumed by regrets?

the marinette/felix/gabriel spectrum really fascinates me because these characters have a ton of flaws in common as well as a similar way of thinking, and the distinction only lies in how instilled those mindsets are, and how easy or hard it would be to change them. marinette is always second-guessing, always unsure of herself; felix knows who he is, he has causes he vehemently advocates for but he's willing to make the occasional sacrifice or two if they'll benefit him in the long run, and he'll learn from past mistakes when things blow up in his face - and as for gabriel? he never makes any compromises, never reflects on himself, not once does he try and make an attempt until it's too late to change things.

and the way all of this ties with the show's message definitely makes him an incredible villain to me. thematically, he archieved his purpose in miraculous' first story arc and was an amazing nemesis to the main character. my only real complaints are only about how much more could've been done with these parallels while he was still active as the primary antagonist, or how we were only told about gabriel's past in the last minute, even if it was purposefully hidden. however i'm really excited for lila to succeed him as the theme of lies will surely be the most prominent in the second story arc, and i hope i'm correct in assuming that'll mean gabriel replacing emilie as the entity the narrative revolves around.

[midnightcatharsis]

I’M NOT ANGRY AT JAYCE BECAUSE HE THOUGHT HE HAD TO DESTROY THE HEXCORE AND IN CONSEQUENCE KILL VIKTOR OR BECAUSE HE DECIDED TO DO IT. (I have no doubt that he saw something terrible that will be revealed later). I AM ANGRY AT JAYCE FOR HOW HE CHOSE TO DO IT and because it looked like it was way too easy for him.

Most arguments defending Jayce like: "he did everything right because he saw something terrible and had to stop it", "Viktor was manipulated or taken over by the hexcore and had to be stopped", "the cult was morally questionable/evil" - all operate on a fallacy that there were only 2 solutions: either to do nothing completely and let the hexcore do whatever it wants or kill Viktor in the EXACTLY SAME way and manner that Jayce did it. And I have several problems with that take.

A. First of all Jayce didn’t save anyone because it was probably a self-fulling prophecy and by killing Viktor without thinking Jayce didn't stop the tragedy but rather made it happen.

Yes, after merging with the hexcore Viktor seems a little more distant and hollower and is certainly manipulated/used by it, but Act 2 proves he was still himself. He still was desperately clinging to his humanity, he still disagreed with Singed, he still wanted only to help his people, he still wanted them to have their humanity (as proved by Vander's situation) and he still had emotions. He was happy and excited to see Jayce again and wanted to share this dream with Jayce, wanted Jayce to be proud and happy with him... And then he just feels betrayal, confusion, disappointment, and fear. Whether he was manipulated or whether the cult would have bad consequences long term is beside the point. What is important is that he was to some extent in control, had good intentions, wasn't aggressive, and was capable of talking and reasoning. Jayce couldn’t see that. By killing Viktor to avoid the tragedy Jayce took his humanity from him, and this will cause exactly what he wanted to avoid. Dying Viktor rejects humanity -he thinks that everybody he was trying to save and he himself were killed only because of his positive emotions towards Jayce and his trust in him, and he probably doesn’t want to feel that hurt, fear, and betrayal anymore…

It was still possible to talk with Viktor, only Jayce’s choice to murder him will create a villain Jayce wanted to stop.  

B. Even assuming that Jayce absolutely had to kill Viktor to stop the hexcore that is the least problematic and hurtful part. I couldn't hate Jayce or be angry at him for killing Viktor if he was convinced, he had to do it to save the future regardless of whether it turns out to be a good choice or a self-fulling prophecy. I'm not angry at him for that. I’m super angry at him for how easy it was for him to kill his partner/roommate/best friend, how he didn't struggle with it at all (for comparison we see Vi clearly struggling with the idea of killing her sister despite knowing that she is a terrorist), how emotionless he was, and how he made Viktor's last moments hell and emotional torture by giving him the most brutal, terrifying and heartless execution that was possible.

He didn't even try to find an alternative solution to save Vik. I am not saying he should have found it, but he didn't try. He returned and immediately decided to murder him. Viktor invited him and Jayce didn't even bother to talk to him, didn't try to reason with him or to convince him, didn't want even to spare 5 minutes to explain the situation to Vik, perhaps Viktor could give him some advice or insight or if not, at least Jayce could tell him why he had to kill him so that Vik doesn't feel so betrayed in his last moments. Jayce could spend 2 minutes to reassure him that Jayce doesn't want to do it. Finally, Jayce could just say "I'm sorry Vik" or "Forgive me, for what I have to do" or ANYTHING. If he did that, I would find it tragic but I couldn't possibly dislike him. My problem is that he didn't. He didn't want to spare 2 fucking seconds to say "I'm sorry" and to make it slightly less horrifying for Vik or to reassure him that Jayce truly cared. Imagine the hurt, confusion, and betrayal that Viktor had to feel upon realizing that the only person he considered a friend wants to murder him without regret and without telling why. Probably if Jayce spared those fucking 10 seconds to express to V that he doesn't want to do it, only thinks he has to, Viktor would be able to understand, wouldn't want to completely get rid of his emotion and humanity later and the villain Jayce was trying to destroy wouldn’t be created at all. Let’s be honest those 10 seconds wouldn’t have destroyed the earth or caused any horrifying cataclysm.

Viktor in episode 6 has no idea why he has to die and you know what? He doesn’t fucking deserve it. Regardless of whether he will become a villain later or not, regardless of whether he was controlled or manipulated by the hexcore he still had good intentions and didn’t deserve to die like that, to be treated like that, especially, not by Jayce who merged him with the hexcore in the first place.

I think that if I were in Viktor’s position I would like at least to know why I have to die or whether my best friend ever cared to, you know, die more peacefully. Wouldn’t you dear reader?

Even later after murdering Viktor Jayce still doesn't look as if he gives a damn about him. He doesn't say anything, or do anything that indicates that he feels sorry about that. He doesn't cradle his body, instead, he leaves the corpse in a place where he knows nobody will even give it a proper burial... He shows fewer emotions and less care than supposedly taken over by the hexcore Viktor.

I don't think Jayce deserves hate for deciding to destroy hexcore/killing Viktor even if I think he didn't save anyone but made everything worse. However, Jayce deserves every possible critique for choosing the cruelest way to do it, for how easy it was for him, and because he doesn't show any care or emotions in episode 6.

The only thing that could still make me understand this and forgive him is if it turns out that he was being manipulated or taken over by the void/hexcore or some other powerful being.

[luveline]

Hello!! For the zombie au, I would love to see something (no pressure at all tho - I love you and any of your writing regardless ❤️❤️) where the reader gets overwhelmed at the camp and goes off on her own for a bit, causing Steve to go absolutely insane with worry in the meantime. Totally up to you whether something dangerous actually happens or not. Thanks a ton either way!!

thank you for your request! i didn’t make him as worried as I could’ve potentially so please request again if this isn’t quite what you meant! zombie au steve x fem!reader

There are three different children having tantrums at breakfast. You wince at the sound, hands at your knees and squeezing, looking for relief. You have a headache the size of Mount Everest, in the midst of recovery from a cold that had you weak with fever and aching, and this isn't what you'd pictured when you crawled out of your tent this morning. 

Steve had been snoring, and Robin's newly adopted cat had been restless, climbing up and down your bodies like you were nothing more than lumpy pillows, and combined with your headache it had been a little too much to bear. Rather than wake either of them to amend their problems, you saw no harm in getting up for a walk and a moment's respite in the small communal area of camp near the fire pit. 

The fire hasn't been lit. For a while you'd all operated on nocturnal time, worried your smoke trail would attract the unkind, but it hasn't been a feasible plan to stay that way with so many young children living in the commune. These days you make very small fires when you need to warm food or boil water, and you try to stick to dry wood to minimise the amount of smoke. 

You're not sure what's causing the tantrums, perhaps they're setting each other off, but things are starting to get too much for a second time. Without a friend at your side, it's easy to fall into despair. You're sick without medicine, you've been sleeping on the floor outdoors for weeks and it's making you incredibly sore. The children are here and alone and most of them are orphans now because the unspeakable happened and it keeps on happening. Your life is a tragedy novel, the situation is dismal, and you're not sure life is ever going to get better. 

You stand up and walk for the river. The sound of rushing water will cover everything else, at the least, and there's a tree you can climb with minimal effort, a branch you can perch on that's high enough that nothing can reach you while you're overstimulated and distracted.

Today could be a good day. You need to clear your head first, is all. 

—

Steve frowns at the empty blankets beside him. He'd prefer you didn't leave without waking him, 'cos he won't be able to breathe properly until he knows you're okay. He wishes he lived in a world —that you all did— where you could go wherever you liked without telling him and he wouldn't need to worry. He hates that he needs to know where you are. 

He wiggles his toes in his shoes, trying to wake them up as he stands from the tent and casts his gaze over the camp. There's a little boy crying near the single fold out table they have. A man scoops him up and starts to rub his back, shushing him. A gaggle of girls laugh beside a small fire, camping pans and cans of soup in tongs held over the flames. Dustin and Will are already up, coming back from the river with a bucket between them. 

"Hey," Steve says, jogging up to them. He looks around. "Seen Y/N?" 

"She wasn't by the river," Will says.

"But we caught you guys a fish," Dustin says. 

Steve looks down into the bucket, where a few smaller carp lie dead. "Oh, nice going. You didn't stab them, right?" 

"We're humane," Dustin says. "You have to debone your own. We're not doing all the work." 

Steve pats his shoulder. "Hey, thanks. Just as soon as I find Y/N." 

He doesn't find you soon. You aren't at the campfire. You aren't in the general area surrounding it. You aren't in someone else's tent, and he's sure they all think he's a control freak for checking. 

He tries to calm down. Chances are you needed the bathroom and wanted privacy. He isn't freaking out, he isn't freaking out, really, he's just– he's thinking logistically, because nothing good happens where he can't see you. 

Steve turns in a frantic circle, eyes everywhere, searching for your hair, your big coat. 

He's about to admit defeat and start shouting your name when you chirp up from behind him. "Hey, handsome. Fancy seeing you here."

He turns, sees you all in one piece in your big warm coat, your clean face shimmering with damp. 

"Oh," he says, feeling like he's been punched, "those losers lied to me. You were by the river?" 

You trudge over long grass to nudge him. "Just for a bit. My head was hurting. I saw them catching fish for a while, they're pretty good, but don't blame them, I don't think they knew I was there." 

"Idiots," he says, not meaning it. His head is pounding. "Why, where were you?" 

"Sitting on the 'dangerous' tree branch." 

He takes your shoulders into his hands. He can see you preparing for a kiss, your eyes closing slowly, your chin lifting just a little. Newsflash! You made him worry and now you're climbing up trees. He shakes you gently, and when it doesn't upset you, he shakes you more. You laugh infectiously and let your head loll back and forth. You don't ask him to stop, but he feels bad, and he hugs you rather than scramble your brains any further. 

"You have a conniption?" you ask into his neck. 

"Maybe." 

"Sorry, honey," you say, which is funny and sweet, because it's the name he always gives you. 

He rubs your back. "Hmm. I should give you a speech on not wandering off along and unnecessary risks." 

"Don't do that." 

"No, I'm going to, actually." 

He sits you by the fire and makes breakfast. The speech isn't a speech, really, just an excuse to talk at you, thankful that he still can. You give him all the meatballs from the weird canned spaghetti and he starts to forgive you for the heart attack. You wipe a dab of spaghetti sauce off of his lip with your thumb before giving him a peck, and he forgets what he was talking about in the first place.

[artsygirl0315]

[Took a real long time to finally be posted but here they are..]

NEGATIVE Sector PHP Reference Sheets!

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•Much like their positive counterparts, They work as a group but they lack the respect and kindness with each other, which is the distinct opposite to their positive selves.

•They don't have any 'friends' nor allies, Well, except for Relyt and Ebeohp.

•Allem, the 'team leader', forbids them from making any connections without her knowledge but these two goes behind her back and makes ammends with a few individuals, The LTDFCD, especially.

•Relyt and Ebeohp were always seen as the weaker ones so it was easy for them to be underestimated a lot, Sometimes Hiamerej would snitch on them IF he ever catches them in the act.

•Nave and Allem were the tougher ones in the group so they lead the fighting just fine, Hiamerej isn't exactly anything special so he's just the useful sidekick or the human shield, second to Relyt.

•After the events of Operation P.O.O.L., Allem went back into hiding while the rest of the sector were mingling with the new normal without -Numbuh 4's control.

•It was quite concerning because she's always been under Yllaw's command and ever since he's taken away, she doesn't know what to do with herself. But she'll come around, eventually. Just a little push.

★Fun fact; Allem and Ardnassela used to date! Although, broke it off because Allem kept pushing Ardnassela away and ghosted her whenever she's not in DNK missions, At least Allem cared enough that maybe she's hurting her so she was the one who let go.

She didn't like the idea of her finding someone new at first but soon came to accept it. She looked so happy, Who is she to get in the way of that.

(Special thanks and credits to @kandykatz for the ideas of their designs, I loved theirs so much and kept a few things here and there with some slight changes but props to them for the overall idea!! Thank you awesome moot!!💙)

[kommandonuovidiavoli]

I've been SO CURIOUS about this when I first saw your Operation: MISSION comic, but how does Lou's abilities work in your AUs? Is it kinda like telekinesis?

Yep, it actually is!

I wanted him to have something different from the whole "toilet based powers", because that's a bit too vague as a concept to me. At first, I thought about water powers, but he can also move random toilet solid objects like paper or plungers, so a water thing made some things too forced (like, objects always having to be wet... what if there is no water around yet??).

So I went with "simple" telekinesis powers, which would allow him not only to fake some sort of toilet powers, but also give him more freedom to manipulate things around without people noticing or linking them to a "stupid harmless villain".

There are some rules to these powers tho, like, he cannot manipulate human bodies. Actually, he cannot use his powers on any living creature unless they are wearing armours or even clothes (but that's tricky because people can simply take clothes off lmao).

He has complete control over solid objects. Water and some liquids are easy to control, too. Slime... slime is really a challenge. Or even gas. Gas is EVIL.

Numbuh 274 himself gave him the rating as the Toiletnator of 0.2, however, he tried to fight Lou with his real potential and gave him a 8/10. Only problem is that Lou didn't go too hard with Chad; he actually doesn't know how far he could go with his powers, and he's not willing to see it.

I wanted to do a sort of "Toiletnator AU Character Sheet" one day and illustrate better how he works in my world! Maybe one day....

[darcydarlingdabbles]

At Autumn's End ~ Part 3

RadioApple🍂Human Au/Age Gap 🍁Top!Dom!Alastor

🍂Divorced Dad!Lucifer🍁Explicit~ 9.1k

AN: Big sexy times, big feelings happening here.

🍂🍁🍃

🍁 On Ao3🍁Read for Free on Ream🍁On Tumblr 🍁

The clock on the wall ticked softly in Lucifer’s room, echoing in his head.

He couldn’t sleep. Then again. He never could. 

Normally, he would go bustle around the kitchen and make something, but, well…last night he got more sugar than he asked for. 

Ugh, that was cheesy even for him. 

Lucifer threw off the blanket and started pacing in front of the desk  and little lounge before his fire place. 

The master bedroom was huge and spacious…and empty. And he rubbed his arms and fold them across his bare chest he looked out the back window and the snow drifting down. 

Only to be interrupted only by the sudden and insistent knock at his door.

Lucifer’s parental instincts went off like a fire alarm. He quickly grabbed the fluffy robe from the end of his bed and hurried to the door. The plush fabric whispered against his skin as he wrapped it around himself, tying the belt with a practiced motion.

As he pulled the door open, the dim light from the hallway spilled into the room, framing a figure clad in red satin.

"Alastor?" Lucifer’s voice was low, a mix of surprise and admonition. "It's late."

Alastor stood there, seemingly unfazed by the hour or the situation. His red pajamas shimmered slightly in the faint light, their sheen emphasizing the confident tilt of his head and the playful glint in his eyes. 

"Yes," Alastor replied smoothly, his voice carrying a hint of mischief, "and it's cold in my room. My fireplace isn’t working."

Before Lucifer could respond, Alastor stepped forward, crossing the threshold with an easy, assured grace. The scent of cedar and something spicy—was it cinnamon?—trailed into the room with him.

 "Maybe you can show me how to operate yours," Alastor suggested, his tone both innocent and suggestive.

Lucifer watched as Alastor sauntered into the room, his red satin pajamas shining under the faint light. Bringing a palpable energy that shimmered around him.

"Alastor," Lucifer began, his voice tinged with exasperation, "you shouldn't be in here."

"Oh, why shouldn’t I?" Alastor replied, a smirk playing on his lips as he surveyed the room with casual interest.

"Because, well…” Lucifer blustered, then tightened the soft robe around himself when those hazel eyes were on him.

“I shouldn’t freeze to death because of your devastating lack of both self-esteem and self-control.”

”Uh, okay, ouch.” Lucifer blanched at the sharpness of those words. Even as those eyes softened on him.

”Tell me I’m wrong.” Alastor said it softly, and Lucifer couldn’t. He could only huff and fold his arms over his chest, and deflect. 

“Did you try asking Charlie or Vaggie for help with your fireplace?" Lucifer asked, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to maintain some semblance of authority despite the younger man’s intrusion.

Alastor chuckled softly, a sound that felt like it was filling the room like his presence. 

 "I was about to knock on their door," he said, drawing out the words like a cat playing with a mouse, "but from the sounds coming from it, I was rather reluctant to disturb them."

Lucifer cringed inwardly. 

So, going upstairs to fix Alastor’s fireplace was definitely not an option. And it was freezing enough to snow outside–no wonder he was cold.

The older man cleared his throat, searching for a solution that would steer them away from this precarious situation.

"Alright," Lucifer relented with a sigh, feeling the weight of inevitability pressing down on him. "Let's get the fireplace in the living room going. It'll warm you up just fine."

“Well…we could do that…” Alastor sauntered over to the bed.

 With a casual grace, he sat back on his hands, crossing one leg over the other. His eyes gleamed with mischief, and an impish smirk danced across his lips as he settled into the plush comforter, making a point of appearing at ease.

And that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

"But sir, the living room is so wide open," Alastor drawled, his voice smooth like honey, "anyone could walk in on us there."

Lucifer's eyebrows shot up to his hair line, before he shook his head and sighed in pure exasperation.

The weight of Alastor's presence pressed down on him like the humidity before a storm. He resisted the urge to rub his temples–needing to maintain some sort of semblance of control over this situation. Before it got right out of hand. 

"There's not going to be anything to walk in on," Lucifer countered, his tone firm yet threaded with a hint of incredulity. The pure arrogance of this young man–of this boy, compared to him. 

He stepped closer to the foot of the bed, as Alastor made a point of leaning back. Lucifer needed to ground himself to the reality of their situation.

 "Think about it for a second, Alastor. You're my daughter's friend. Hell,  I was your age when I had Charlie!" But even as he spoke, Lucifer couldn't ignore the electric charge that hummed in the air between them, a current that defied logic and expectations.

Alastor's eyebrow arched with a playful elegance, a flicker of amusement igniting in his eyes. "Well, now, Mr. Morningstar," The corners of his mouth curled upward as he tossed an offhand remark into the charged silence. "I think it’s a little early to say you want my children, isn’t it?"

Lucifer felt the heat bloom across his cheeks, seeping through his pale skin with embarrassing intensity.  The little jab cut right through his attempt at composure, and he thrust both hands through his blonde hair. 

"Can you at least stop it with the 'sir' and 'Mr. Morningstar' stuff?" he groaned, his fingers toyed absently with the belt of his robe, twisting the fabric . "I feel old enough already."

“Well,” Alastor's gaze traveled leisurely over his robe—fluffy, undeniably comfortable, yet suddenly feeling like the most inadequate armor against the intensity of those eyes. “What would you like me to call you?”

“My name, obviously.”

"Lucifer," Alastor purred, and oh, that was worse. So much worse. 

The younger man’s voice was a silken thread that curled around Lucifer's name for the first time with a tenderness that belied the teasing grin playing at his lips.

Lucifer's heart thudded traitorously against his ribs, and he swallowed hard, trying to tether himself to reason.

"Why do you have to say my name like that?" he huffed out, though he meant to be stern.

"Like what?" Alastor replied, feigning innocence with a tilt of his head, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his awareness—the calculated precision of each syllable designed to unravel Lucifer's defenses.

“Like that!” Lucifer's fingers instinctively found their way to his hair, ruffling through the golden strands in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over the situation spiraling rapidly away from him. “Like you’re going to–”

“Eat you?” The brunette smirked, his gaze only lifting a moment to take in Lucifer’s mussed hair. 

“Yes, that.”

“You rather enjoyed my mouth on you last time, did you not?” 

Lucifer was going to burn to death from embarassment. That smirking tone knew he was drawing images of last night right back into the older man’s head. He bit his bottom lip, clapping a hand over the shoulder of his robe, where it barely covered the bite mark Alastor left in his skin. 

"Listen here," Lucifer began, his voice slipping into the authoritative timbre of a father,  hoping to reestablish some boundaries, to remind them both of lines they shouldn't cross. 

But before he could continue, Alastor's soft tutting interrupted him, accompanied by a look so infuriatingly fond it made Lucifer pause.

"That was cute," Alastor said, a teasing lilt to his words.

 The comment disarmed Lucifer completely, the dad voice rendered useless against the unwavering confidence radiating from the younger man.

Lucifer's cheeks turned a shade of crimson that rivaled the deepest embers of Hell. His mind raced, scrambling for some semblance of composure as he opened his mouth to retort, perhaps to regain control or at least to articulate something coherent.

But any attempt at words was swiftly stolen from him as Alastor moved with sudden intent, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. The  blonde’s back hit the door that he’d been holding open, only to have Alastor’s hand press above his head. Forcing it to click it closed. 

The younger man's hand reached up, grasping the front of Lucifer's robe with a possessive confidence that sent a shiver down his spine. And he cursed himself that he was tilting his chin up, hoping for a kiss. 

"Lucifer..." Alastor's voice purred and curled between them, that same silken tone lingering on each syllable with deliberate slowness that made him hang on it. "Where do you keep the lube?."

The words hung there, bold and unashamedly self-assured, wrapping around Lucifer like a lasso tightening at his very core. His heart skipped a beat, shock rippling through him anew as he blinked, trying to process the audacity—the sheer ease with which Alastor navigated this intimate terrain.

“How dare–you–we won’t–”

And then, without hesitation, Alastor kissed him—hard and unyielding, a force of nature that demanded nothing less than complete surrender.

Any protests that Lucifer might have conjured melted away under the heat of that kiss, lost amidst the fiery collision of lips that left him breathless. All thoughts dissipated like smoke on the wind, leaving only the raw sensation of urgency thrumming through his veins.

Alastor pulled back from his lips, and Lucifer felt himself whine. Until the younger’s forehead pressed against his. Overwhelming him with his cinnamon scent. 

“If you want me to stop.” The brunette panted, and Lucifer thrilled that he could leave him breathless. “You need to tell me. Now.”

Lucifer couldn’t help the pathetic little sound that escaped him at even the idea of stopping now. Alastor wasn’t even holding his wrists, but his hands felt pinned to the wall behind him. He lifted his head, hopeful for another kiss. 

That Alastor denied him. 

“Darling.” Alastor purred, his tone on the edge of impatience. “Use your words.”

Lucifer swallowed. The last of his reservations falling into the dark like the snow outside. 

“Green.”

“Good boy.”

Then Alastor was kissing him. And it felt like Lucifer could breathe again. Until those long fingers wrapped around the bulge in his lounge pants. 

Lucifer let out a moan that Alastor swallowed as he kissed him, deeper, demanding entrance. Tasting every inch of him. 

But those clever fingers were relentless, their touch both deft and deliberate as they found the waistband of Lucifer's sweats. In one smooth motion, they pushed the material down, gravity taking hold as it pooled around Lucifer's ankles.

Damn those clever hands, Lucifer thought dimly, even as his own body responded with a traitorous eagerness.

A part of him marveling at how easily the younger man unraveled him piece by piece, yet another part surrendering to the undeniable allure of it all.

Alastor's fingers hovered at the tie of Lucifer's robe, a pause in the fervent dance that had consumed them both. And, Lucifer could guess why.

Because he’d been reluctant to remove his shirt around the younger man all weekend. And it struck him that not only had the brunette noticed–he actually cared if Lucifer was comfortable.  The weight of Alastor’s gaze was almost tangible as he subtly pulled back, his eyes searching Lucifer’s face with an inquisitive glint.

"Perhaps," Alastor murmured, brushing a soft kiss against Lucifer's lips—gentle, teasing, "you ought to change into another sweater, hm?"

Lucifer hesitated, the suggestion bumping awkwardly against his rising need. He whined, a sound that escaped him unbidden, raw and vulnerable. "I don’t want to," he confessed, voice low and rough.

The flicker of amusement in Alastor's eyes was unmistakable, but his smile held a warmth that chased away any notion of mockery. 

"Then what do you want?" Alastor prompted, voice smooth and inviting as velvet.

"For you...to bite me," Lucifer admitted, the words tumbling out like a floodgate giving way, "to be marked…and claimed." His admission hung in the air between them, charged and electric.

"Gladly," Alastor purred, his voice a dark promise.

 With deft fingers, he untied the robe and left Lucifer breathless and bare to the night, exposed.

The cool air caressed his skin, a stark contrast to the heat blooming under Alastor's gaze—a silent vow to fulfill every unspoken want. 

Alastor's fingers grazed Lucifer's skin with a touch that was both feather-light and searing. The contact sent a shiver racing down his spine, igniting a fire in his veins that had lain dormant for too long. 

Doubt, though, nibbled at the back of Lucifer’s mind. Why would this gorgeous young man ever want him? 

Alastor’s next words silenced every thought.

"Every inch," he purred, his voice a sultry promise that seemed to resonate through the room. "I can't wait to mark every inch of you."

With a gentle but insistent push, Alastor guided Lucifer onto the bed.

Lucifer fell onto the yielding mattress without complaint, lifting his head to the claiming kiss. His skin already tingling at the thought of more. 

Alastor’s lips trailed down the column of his throat, dragging the edge of his teeth–but leaving no marks above his collarbones. As he promised. 

"Ah!" Lucifer gasped, his voice catching in his throat as Alastor sank his teeth back into the older man’s shoulder. Not the same place because that would distort the pretty purple that bloomed overnight. 

But leaving a brand new bite to criss-cross it. Like there was a design written in his head. Alastor's lips descended upon him, tracing a path of bites along his torso, each one a deliberate claim that set Lucifer alight with sensation.

Alastor growled with delight at the marks he was leaving—little trophies of his conquest.

The sharp nip of teeth followed by the soothing brush of Alastor's tongue sent waves of pleasure coursing through him. Each bite was a declaration, a testament to Alastor's desire that left no room for doubt. 

Lucifer arched beneath the attention, the undeniable evidence of being wanted now decorating his body. And sinking into his very soul. 

Lucifer lay there, every nerve ending alive with anticipation as Alastor's hands roamed lower, spreading his legs with a possessive leer that went straight to Lucifer’s aching prick. 

He was fully exposed, every inch of dad bod laid bare before Alastor’s hungry stare. 

Lucifer felt his legs tremble as the younger held them open wide. And then the brunette was catching his eye. Waiting for Lucifer  to look at him. before he lowered his head, dragging his tongue along the soft flesh of the inside of his thigh.

“Color?” That predatory purr asked. 

And Lucifer had to fight the tremble of anticipation in his voice, so it wouldn’t sound like anything else. 

“Green, so green.” Lucifer squirmed. 

Alastor chuckled, pushing his legs further apart as he simply said “Good.”

The fireplace was roaring away, but Lucifer still felt a shiver of goosebumps prickle over his skin at the cool air. 

Until Alastor’s mouth set him on fire all over again.

 Each bite along his soft thighs was a spark, igniting deeper within him, and he could feel the promise of bruises blooming beneath the surface.

"Turn over," Alastor commanded as he stood, his voice a velvet spike that sent a shiver down Lucifer's spine.

Lucifer hesitated only for a heartbeat before complying, shifting over onto his stomach and his elbows. Feeling a little tingle across his skin at how exposed he was. 

"Where's the lube?" Alastor's question was more an expectation than a request, each word dripping with intent.

"Nightstand," Lucifer managed to pant out, his mind swimming in a haze that left little room for coherent thought. Just talking felt like a tether to reality, and he was ready to toss it out the picture window behind him.

Alastor moved with purpose, his footsteps a murmur on the carpet as he approached the nightstand. 

Lucifer watched him through half-lidded eyes. The anticipation was a live wire under his skin.

"What's this?" Alastor's voice broke through the haze with a teasing lilt.

He held up a cock ring, its snap glinting wickedly in the electronic fire light. There was a smirk playing on his lips–and it was clear he knew exactly what it was.

Lucifer felt a flush rise to his cheeks. His gaze flickered away for a moment before meeting Alastor’s playful stare. "It's mine," he admitted, the words tumbling out with a hint of sheepishness.

"Is it now? How fortuitous" Alastor's grin widened, a flash of white teeth against his brown skin "We'll use this too, since it's been a while for you." His tone was light, but there was an underlying challenge in it.

“Hey!” A spark of indignation flared within Lucifer at the insinuation, a feeble attempt to cling to the remnants of his dignity. “You know, I’ve probably been doing this since before you were born.”

And he actually saw Alastor roll his eyes. 

“Yes, yes darling, I’m sure.” The younger moved behind him, as Lucifer turned to try to keep him in sight. “But, you haven’t been doing it with me.” Alastor purred. Just as he seized Lucifer by the hips, dragging him down the bed and manhandling him until he was bent over the end of the bed. 

"Spread your legs," Alastor commanded, his voice dropping to a sultry murmur that danced over Lucifer's skin like a caress. The words sent a shiver racing down Lucifer's spine, igniting something primal and urgent within him.

He hesitated only long enough to draw a shaky breath, then obeyed, surrendering to the pull of Alastor's will with a thrill that made his pulse quicken anew.

🍂🍁🍃

Lucifer never would have believed that he’d end up in a position like this. 

Face down in the plush comforter of his own bed, ass up and completely exposed. As Alastor’s sure fingers languidly stretching him open. Taking his tortuous time. 

The sinfully red satin of Alastor's pajamas brushed against Lucifer’s thighs, a teasing reminder of how frustratingly clothed the younger man remained.

"You're doing so well, darling," Alastor murmured, his voice a low purr that reverberated through Lucifer's bones. 

One hand pressed firmly at the nape of Lucifer’s neck, keeping him pinned, grounded, even as each deliberate stroke of Alastor’s fingers made him writhe.

"Alastor..." Lucifer’s voice was a half-groan, half-whisper, the sound drenched in desperation. Each calculated brush of his sweet spot sent shocks of pleasure ricocheting through his body, leaving him breathless and aching for more.

"Patience," Alastor chided softly, leaning over him, a shadow cast by moonlight filtering through the window. The world outside was a blur of wintry white, but in here, heat seared through Lucifer’s veins as he surrendered inch by inch to Alastor’s deft touch.

Lucifer’s back arched instinctively, seeking more of those skilled touches, his thoughts a haze of white noise and want.

"Please," he heard himself say, the plea falling from his lips unbidden, raw and honest.

Each press of those sinfully long fingers sent him spiraling further into a space where thoughts were fleeting. And all he could do was feel.

"Lucifer," Alastor's voice was a silken caress, wrapping around his name with an intimacy that made his heart stutter.

"You're too good at this," Lucifer squirmed beneath the unyielding hold on his neck. His mind floated somewhere between reality and oblivion,  "Too old for this,"

 It was a weak protest, more habit, as if acknowledging the disparity in their ages could anchor him somehow.

"Nonsense," Alastor replied, his tone light, teasing, but leaving no room for arugment. "You’re taking my fingers so well."

The praise was like a balm, soothing some hidden ache inside Lucifer, even as it fanned the flames of his desire higher.

Alastor continued, leaning closer until his breath ghosted over Lucifer’s ear, making him shiver. "I’m sure you’ll take my cock like a good boy."

A whimper escaped Lucifer, unbidden, the sound lost in the heady cocktail of want and submission. Any semblance of control slipped further from his grasp, leaving only the raw, unfiltered need to please the man who had him laid bare in every sense of the word.

"Good boy," Alastor had said, those two simple words burrowing under Lucifer's skin, igniting something deep within him. 

But… alongside the warmth, there was a chill, creeping into the edges of his consciousness, reminding him of everything else he was.

He wasn't just old–he felt worn out. Baggage that tangled with his self-worth, dragging it down beneath the surface. Depression loomed over him like an ever-present shadow.

"Alastor," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, breaking through the haze for a moment. "You... you deserve better than this. Than me."

The confession hung heavy in the air between them. Bound up and fizzling with the insecurity and doubts that clawed at Lucifer, especially when he was at his most vulnerable. 

The sudden stillness from Alastor was like a jolt, ripping Lucifer from his spiraling thoughts, making the room feel colder, the air thicker.

"Say that again," Alastor's voice sliced through the silence, sharp, cold, and commanding. 

Before Lucifer could even process the words, a sharp thud echoed through the room—a hand coming down hard on his ass.

Lucifer gasped, the sensation ricocheting up his spine, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. The sting on his skin was a reminder—albeit a startling one—that he was very much alive, here and now.

"Say it again, Lucifer." Alastor's tone was unwavering, firm, and beneath the surface, there was something else—something almost tender. 

His mouth opened, a protest forming on his lips, but doubt clawed at him, urging him to speak the self-deprecation that had become second nature. Another swift smack landed in the same spot. Precisely.

Lucifer flinched, the repetition sending a shiver throughout his entire being. 

The heat on his skin bloomed, and somewhere within the haze of sensation and emotion, a new awareness took root. Alastor knew exactly what he was doing—each strike calculated, deliberate.

It was a punishment. Alastor had never punished him. And it brought Lucifer sharply back to reality. 

"Again," Alastor pressed, unyielding.

Lucifer's mind spun, caught between the urge to resist and the desire to yield. His defenses wavered, the walls he'd built around himself weakening under the relentless onslaught..

Alastor flipped Lucifer over onto his back.

 The sudden shift left Lucifer momentarily breathless, a rush of vulnerability washing over him, but before fear could take root, Alastor's hand found its place at his throat.

The touch was firm but not constrictive—a gentle reminder of the power Alastor wielded, but also of the care with which he wielded it. Lucifer felt the weight of that hand like an anchor, grounding him amidst the tempest of emotions swirling within.

"Stay still," Alastor’s  voice low and smooth, as if coaxing the tension from Lucifer’s body. “And keep your eyes on me.”

 He complied, the unspoken command threading through his very veins, calming the storm swirling in his chest.

With deliberate movements, Alastor spread Lucifer's legs wide, each motion purposeful, leaving no doubt in its intention as he moved between them. A shiver of anticipation danced along Lucifer's spine, mingling with the remnants of uncertainty that clung to him. Alastor’s lithe body, pressed into the cradle of his so damn intimately it was breath taking. 

“I know what I want.” Alastor said, so softly and emphatically, Lucifer’s world narrowed down to every word on his lips. “And I have, excellent tastes.” He chuckled, lowly and dark. “And I want you. So, it only follows that you must be desirable.”

Lucifer felt his mouth open, to agree or to contradict, he didn’t know–when he felt Alastor snap his hips forward. So the older man felt the hard line of his cock through those satin pjs. Making Lucifer whine. 

"Isn't that right?" Alastor's words were soft yet unwavering, carrying a conviction that resonated. He leaned over Lucifer, their eyes locking, and in that instant, all pretense fell away.

Lucifer could see it—the certainty in Alastor's gaze, the desire that lay beneath the surface, raw and unhidden. It was a question that was not a question at all, but an affirmation.

 Alastor knew what he wanted, and more than that, he wanted Lucifer.

In the silence that followed, Lucifer felt the truth settle around him like a warm embrace. Alastor had chosen him, and in that choice, there was worth—something long elusive, now finally within reach.

“Alastor…”

Alastor’s fingers plunged back inside Lucifer, rough and unyielding. Three all at once, they filled him and stole his breath. It wasn’t uncomfortable–it was a relief–a release of tension, as if those deft fingers were unraveling the tangled knots in him.

Lucifer's body arched involuntarily, a gasp escaping his lips. Alastor moved with purpose, each thrust precise, exploring until he found that sensitive spot that made Lucifer's vision blur with pleasure.

"Isn’t that right?" Alastor repeated, his voice low, almost tender. He brushed against Lucifer's prostate, sending a jolt through his spine, a reminder of what was asked of him.

"Yes, Alastor..." Lucifer breathed, the word tumbling from him, born of instinct and need.

"Say it, darling." Alastor's voice was velvet and steel, a command wrapped in endearment. His fingers moved relentlessly, coaxing every ounce of sensation from Lucifer’s trembling form.

Lucifer whined. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—say the words that felt too big, too heavy to be true.

"Say you are worthy of being wanted." Alastor repeated, his tone unwavering as he leaned over Lucifer, the weight of his presence all-consuming.

Lucifer shook his head, a stubborn refusal even as his body betrayed him, arching into each calculated thrust. The world narrowed to the point where their gazes locked, Alastor’s eyes holding his with an intensity that burned.

"Look at me," Alastor urged, that had still firm on Lucifer’s throat.

 That touch kept him still, made him focus on nothing but those dark, intense eyes.

His cock throbbed, trapped and dined by the ring around it. It was a torment that bordered on bliss, and Alastor watched him keenly, absorbing every reaction, every flicker of emotion.

"Please," Lucifer gasped, desperation coloring his voice, not sure what he was pleading for—for release or reprieve.

"Say it," Alastor insisted, his fingers never faltering, the rhythm a relentless reminder of his demand.

Lucifer’s resolve wavered under the pressure of Alastor’s unyielding attention, under the promise lingering in the air—that here, in this space, he could be wanted, cherished even, if he just admitted it.

"You may be older," he murmured, his breath a warm whisper against Lucifer's skin, "but I assure you, I can wait you out. As long as it takes."

Lucifer's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, overwhelmed by the certainty in Alastor's tone.

 There was no doubt, no hesitation. Just the unshakeable conviction that patience was infinite, and that Lucifer was worth every second spent waiting.

And there was as nothing quite like having alastor’s full attention on him.

Lucifer’s hands had stayed pinned to the bed, his fingers clenched in the sheets, without having to be bound or held down. 

Alastor’s unwavering gaze grounded him there.

Every fiber of his being urged him to move, to reach out, to defy this feeling of vulnerability. But, he couldn’t. Because he didn’t want to. 

"Lucifer…" Alastor’s voice was a velvet whisper, wrapping around him with an intimacy that felt like a caress. Lucifer's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against the cage of his ribs.

"I…" he began, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of vulnerability. His mind spun, words lodged at the back of his throat like stones he couldn’t dislodge. All the while, Alastor's fingers moved inside him—patient, relentless, drawing him closer and closer to the precipice.

"The full sentence, darling," Alastor prompted tenderly, the words sliding over Lucifer’s skin like silk, teasing and coaxing—but never demanding. It was maddeningly tender.

This wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t enjoying playing with a partner during a scene. Alastor was taking Lucifer apart just to put him back together again.

And, after that, how could Lucifer ever let him go?

"I want to hear you say it," Alastor continued, his tone as smooth as molten honey. 

Lucifer inhaled shakily, his chest tight with the tumult. With each breath, he could feel the embers of trust and warmth expanding, threatening to engulf the shadows of doubt and insecurity that clung so stubbornly to him.

And then, finally, the words tumbled out, each syllable a hard-won victory against the specter of self-doubt. "I am…worthy…of being wanted."

Alastor's eyes lit up with approval, a smile curving his lips as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to Lucifer’s temple.

"Good boy," Alastor murmured, his voice rich with praise and promise.

With a deftness that belied the magnitude of the moment, he reached down and released the cock ring, freeing Lucifer from its constraining hold.

In that instant, euphoria crashed over Lucifer with the force of a tidal wave, leaving him quivering beneath Alastor’s unwavering affection.

🍂🍁🍃

Waves of blissful pleasure coursed through Lucifer's body, leaving him trembling and breathless. Alastor's skilled hands continued to caress him gently, easing him through the aftershocks.

"You did so well for me," Alastor murmured, his voice a soothing balm.

Lucifer's eyes fluttered open, meeting Alastor's intense gaze. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. And he was so blissed out, he didn’t even blush at his awkwardness.

Alastor's fingers traced delicate patterns across Lucifer's flushed skin. The tender touch felt like everything to him, and when he meekly tugged on those satin pajamas, the brunette indulged him and moved to sit on the bed.

Lucifer was about ready to curl right up into his lap. Soak up this newfound attentiveness like a house cat in the afternoon sunshine.

His cheek came to rest on the red fabric that covered Alastor’s thigh, clinging to the slender frame.

"How are you feeling?" Alastor asked softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Lucifer's forehead.

Lucifer leaned into the touch, savoring the warmth of Alastor's palm against his cheek. "Incredible," he murmured, and it was true. He was floating on a satin cloud. Not even thinking of what usually came next.

A small smile tugged at Alastor's lips. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, cher."

Lucifer's head felt pleasantly fuzzy, his thoughts hazy and unfocused. He found himself overcome with affection for the man above him. Without thinking, he nuzzled against Alastor's crotch, relishing the smooth texture of against his cheek.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me," Lucifer said softly, his words slightly slurred.

Alastor's hand came to rest on the back of Lucifer's neck, a comforting weight that also stilled his movements.

"It’s been my pleasure," he replied, his voice warm with fondness.

Right, Lucifer was starting to get a bit more lucid, and remember…Alastor’s pleasure…he really should—

Lucifer's blissful haze was abruptly shattered as he felt Alastor's hands gently cradle his head, lifting it from the satin-clad thigh.

With careful movements, Alastor lowered Lucifer's head to rest on the soft bedding. Before Lucifer could fully process what was happening, Alastor had slipped away, rising to his feet beside the bed.

Panic surged through Lucifer's chest. "Wait!" His voice was hoarse, tinged with desperation. "You're not going to leave again, are you?"

Lucifer's eyes darted down, immediately noticing the obvious bulge straining against Alastor's sleek pants.

“Or…let me help you out…?”

But Alastor merely shrugged, a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. But his night clothes caught the light from the snowy window, which was probably the only reason the blonde’s fuzzy head noticed how the younger seemed to shift from foot to foot.

"That's not necessary, Lucifer," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I told you. Orgasm isn't really my goal."

Lucifer furrowed his brow, confusion mingling with concern. "But…I want to make you feel good too," he insisted, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

Alastor's expression softened. He reached out, gently caressing Lucifer's cheek. "You were so good for me," he murmured. “That's all I need.”

Lucifer leaned into the touch, torn between the warmth of Alastor's praise and his own lingering desire to reciprocate.

The blonde felt his tongue dart out, wetting his dry lips. "Don’t you want to stay—and fuck me, I mean?"

Despite Alastor's reassurances, a nagging desire still gnawed at him. His voice came out weak, almost pleading,

Alastor's long fingers threaded through Lucifer's hair, the gentle touch at odds with the intensity of his gaze. His eyes roamed deliberately down Lucifer's body, lingering pointedly on the evidence of their recent activities.

Lucifer followed his line of sight, suddenly acutely aware of his own spent cock, still flushed and sensitive, and the cooling streaks of come decorating the constellation of bite marks Alastor had left across his belly.

A rush of heat flooded Lucifer's cheeks as he realized the implication.

He was thoroughly spent, but here he was, practically begging for more.

"But I still want you to fuck me," Lucifer insisted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alastor cocked an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and intrigue playing across his features.

Without a word, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Lucifer's body reacted instinctively, reaching out to clutch at Alastor, desperate to keep him close. But Alastor was quicker, catching Lucifer's wrists in a firm but gentle grip.

His thumbs traced small circles on the sensitive skin, a gesture both soothing and electrifying.

Lucifer's breath caught in his throat as Alastor leaned in, his lips barely grazing Lucifer's ear.

"Tell me, Lucifer," Alastor whispered, his breath warm against Lucifer's skin. "Do you truly want to be fucked, or is it that you simply do not want to be left alone?"

The question stripped away his defenses. Cutting right to the quick, as the younger said he did.Why did Alastor always seem to see right through him?

"Both," Lucifer admitted, his voice trembling slightly. He met Alastor's gaze, determined to be honest. "I want you to fuck me, Alastor. And…I want you to stay the night."

A flicker of something—surprise? approval? longing?—passed over Alastor's face. He released Lucifer's wrists and shifted, settling more comfortably on the bed.

“I assure you, I was hoping to stay.” Though a little bit of mirth lit his face, and his eyes traveled over Lucifer once again. “After I cleaned you up a bit.”

Relief and desire surged through Lucifer in equal measure.

He pressed close, intent on kissing Alastor, on showing his gratitude and renewed passion. But before their lips could meet, Alastor placed a finger against Lucifer's mouth, halting him.

"Careful now," Alastor warned, his tone light but firm. "This is my favorite set of sleepwear. I'd rather not get it…sticky."

Lucifer froze, suddenly hyper-aware of his own state—the drying come and blooming bruises over his pale flesh.

Lucifer's cheeks burned as he remembered Alastor's rules.

“It wouldn’t, I mean.” He huffed, rubbing a hand through his hair to try to ground himself. And not sound as petulant as he felt. Like a child repeatedly denied a treat. “They wouldn’t get messy, if you took them off.”

He swore the chuckle Alastor gave was indulgent. “Will you want to touch me, then?”

Lucifer’s attention snapped back to Alastor, nodding eagerly. “Touch you, blow you—anything you want, Alastor. Please.”

“And, there in, lies the rub.” The brunette murmured, and Lucifer mourned the movement he took to get back on his feet at the edge of the bed. But not the way the way he crawled after Alastor.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” Lucifer asked, his tone light with curiosity that tilted his head as he looked up at the younger man. Wondering if this was what had him pulling away the two times before.

“Oh, no, darling,” Alastor met his eyes, with that intense hazel look. “I very much do.”

Lucifer was about to offer everything, anything Alastor wanted, when the brunette surprised him by being the first to pull his eye away.

“You make me greedy, Lucifer. I want everything you’ll let me have. I want nothing to be left for anyone else…But,” Alastor folded his arms over his chest, looking defensive and utterly unlike his ever-confident self. “I can’t always…" he said softly. "It's not…easy for me to finish."

Lucifer's first instinct was to smirk, sure Alastor was teasing or challenging him.

But as he searched the younger man's face, he caught a glimpse of something he'd never seen before: embarrassment. The vulnerability in Alastor's expression made Lucifer's heart clench.

The blonde quickly moved from his knees to give the brunette his full attention, sitting as he reached for Alastor’s hand that was clenched in the crook of his elbow. He felt resistance, for a moment, before the younger gave in to the hold.

"Have you seen a doctor about it?" he asked gently.

Alastor's fingers tightened around Lucifer's, a flicker of something guarded in his gaze. "Yes, of course," he replied, his voice low. “They all assure me I am too young for the issue to be from the waist down.” He paused, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “So it must be from the neck up.”

Lucifer felt his brow furrow. Concern etched all over his face. He slid onto his knees, almost bringing himself to eye level with the taller man.

“Hey, Alastor.” He reached for the younger, for that narrow waist, trying to tug him close. “Look, if you need to talk about this, we can.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “Do you really want to chat about Catholic guilt, compartmentalization, and grief right now?” He gestured with his free hand to Lucifer’s state of undress and his own state of visible arousal. “I’ve had this problem for a while, no matter the scene or the partner.”

Lucifer's chest tightened at the mention of grief, understanding dawning. He stroked his thumb across the small of Alastor’s back, considering his next words carefully. "Do you want to continue?" he asked softly, searching Alastor's face. "We don't have to if you're not comfortable."

Alastor's expression softened, and he cupped Lucifer's cheek with his free hand. "I do want to, more than anything," he assured him. "But I know bottoms get frustrated, or even feel inadequacy, when they can't make me come. I don't want that for you, Lucifer."

The delicacy in Alastor's hand sent a shiver through Lucifer. But it was nothing compared to how damn considerate he was being. Alastor knew Lucifer’s self-esteem was weak at best. And he was trying to shield him, at his own expense.

He leaned into the caress, his heart swelling with affection for this complex, caring man.

"Thank you, for telling me. I know that couldn’t have been easy," Lucifer murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to Alastor's palm. "But I want you to know, it doesn’t have to be about making you come…I just want to be with you, to make you feel good in whatever way I can."

Alastor's eyes widened slightly at Lucifer's words, a flicker of vulnerability passing over his features before being replaced by a look of profound gratitude.

Slowly, he leaned down, cupping Lucifer's face in both hands as he brought their lips together in a tender kiss.

The kiss was unlike any they had shared before. Where their previous encounters had been marked by passion and urgency, this was slow and achingly sweet. Alastor's lips moved against Lucifer's with deliberate care, as if savoring every moment of contact.

Lucifer's hands came to rest on Alastor's hips, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his pajamas. He could feel the warmth of Alastor's skin through the thin material, grounding them both to the moment. As the rest of the world faded away. The soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window cast everything in a dreamy, ethereal light.

The only sounds were their quiet breaths and the gentle rustle of fabric as they moved together.

Their kisses deepened gradually, tongues meeting in a slow, sensual dance. There was no rush, no frantic need driving them forward.

Lucifer's hands slid up Alastor's back, feeling the lean muscles shift beneath his palms. He marveled at the contrast between Alastor's usual sharp edges and this softer, more vulnerable version of him.

He felt it, when there was a shift in Alastor. The tension that had been holding him rigid began to melt away, his body relaxing into Lucifer's touch.

His kisses became more assured, more present, as if he was fully allowing himself to be in the moment.

"Undress me," Alastor murmured, his voice low and rich with emotion. It wasn't quite an order, but there was a quiet authority in his tone that always left the older man tingling.

Lucifer nodded, slowly rising to his feet. He maintained eye contact with Alastor as he began to remove his clothes, piece by piece. There was no teasing or showmanship in the way he slid the buttons of the satin night shirt apart. Letting the fabric drop to the soft carpet of the bedroom. His pants followed.

Lucifer's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of Alastor.

The lean lines of his torso were accentuated by the soft moonlight streaming through the window, casting shadows that highlighted every dip and curve of slender muscle. His skin was brown and smooth, marred only by a few scattered scars that spoke of a life lived with intensity.

His collarbone stood out prominently, creating delicate hollows that Lucifer longed to trace with his tongue. Lucifer's eyes followed that tantalizing path, noting the sharp cut of Alastor's hipbones and the lean strength of his thighs.

Despite his earlier admissions, Alastor's arousal was evident, straining against the fabric of his boxers. Lucifer felt a surge of desire, wanting nothing more than to worship every inch of the beautiful man before him.

"Touch me," Alastor commanded softly, his voice low and husky.

Lucifer didn't hesitate.

He reached out, running his hands reverently over Alastor's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart. His fingers traced the contours of Alastor's abs, gaping at the subtle definition. He explored every plane and angle of Alastor's body, committing each detail to memory.

As his hands roamed lower, skimming along Alastor's sides and coming to rest on his hips, Lucifer felt an overwhelming urge to taste him.

He looked up, meeting Alastor's intense gaze.

"Can I blow you?" Lucifer asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I want to make you feel good."

Alastor's eyes darkened with desire. He cupped Lucifer's face gently, thumb brushing across his cheekbone.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, you can."

Heart racing, Lucifer settled between Alastor's legs, taking a moment to admire the man's impressive cock.

It had been a while since he'd done this, and he wanted to savor the experience. He started slow, placing soft kisses along Alastor's inner thighs, relishing the slight tremor he felt beneath his lips.

As Lucifer's mouth finally enveloped him, Alastor let out a soft gasp. "Oh, that's…lovely," he murmured, his long fingers threading gently through Lucifer's hair.

Encouraged, Lucifer began to pull out all his tricks–swirling his tongue, varying pressure and speed, using his hand in tandem with his mouth.

He glanced up occasionally, thrilling at the sight of Alastor's head tipped back in pleasure, his chest rising and falling more rapidly.

Alastor's quiet sounds of enjoyment spurred Lucifer on. He redoubled his efforts, determined to bring the younger man to climax. But despite his enthusiasm and technique, that release remained elusive.

"You're doing wonderfully," Alastor breathed, his voice strained but affectionate as he stroked Lucifer's hair. "It feels incredible, truly."

Lucifer pulled back, panting slightly. "But not quite enough?" he asked, unable to keep a hint of disappointment from his voice.

“Darling…”Alastor cooed, obviously trying to soothe him. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Lucifer couldn't help the frustration that bubbled up inside him.

Alastor had been right, and that knowledge stung his pride. But beneath that initial irritation, a fierce determination took root.

He wasn't about to give up so easily.

"We're not done yet," Lucifer declared, his blue eyes flashing with renewed resolve. "I've got more tricks up my sleeve, darling."

Alastor raised an eyebrow, an amused smile playing at his lips. "Is that so? Well, I'm certainly curious to see what else you have in mind."

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Time passed in a blur of heated touches and exploration.

As the night deepened, Lucifer found himself in a decidedly compromising position—legs in the air, practically folded in half as Alastor loomed over him.

"Fuck, yes," Lucifer gasped, all traces of his earlier shyness long gone. Sweat glistened on his skin as Alastor thrust into him relentlessly. "Just like that, don't stop!"

The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming. Lucifer had suggested this position, thinking it might finally push Alastor over the edge.

But as the pleasure built to a crescendo, he realized with a mix of chagrin and ecstasy that he was the one tipped over the edge.

"Alastor—" Lucifer's warning dissolved into a cry of pleasure as his orgasm washed over him, leaving him trembling and breathless.

Alastor's lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he gazed down at Lucifer's flushed face.

The blonde man's chest heaved as he caught his breath, a mix of frustration and lingering pleasure evident in his eyes as Alastor eased him down from being practically folded into a pretzel on the edge of the bed.

"Shut up," Lucifer muttered, unable to meet Alastor's gaze.

“Darling, I didn’t say a thing."

Lucifer took a deep breath, steeling himself before looking up at his partner. "Will you just…fuck me the way you want to?"

Alastor's eyebrows rose slightly. "However I want?" he asked, his voice low and velvety.

Lucifer nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes."

A thrill of anticipation ran through Lucifer's body. He braced himself, half-expecting Alastor to flip him over and take him roughly. To pull out his own tricks with the evident experience he had with deviant and kinky sex.

To his surprise, Alastor gently maneuvered him onto his back.

As Alastor moved over him, Lucifer instinctively wrapped his legs around the slim waist, pulling him closer.

He searched Alastor's face, trying to decipher the unexpected tenderness in his actions.

Alastor leaned in, his breath hot against Lucifer's ear. When he spoke, his voice was low and intense, but still somehow soft.

"You make me want to break my own rules, Lucifer."

Lucifer's heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to ask, but Alastor silenced him with a deep, languid thrust that made Lucifer's thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

As Alastor continued his slow, steady rhythm, Lucifer managed to find his voice.

"What do you mean by your own rules?" he asked breathlessly, his fingers digging into Alastor's shoulders.

Alastor's dark eyes met Lucifer's, a flicker of vulnerability passing through them.

"I don't let my scene partners touch me," he explained, his voice low and hoarse.

Lucifer hesitated for a moment, suddenly hyper-aware of his hands on Alastor's skin.

Slowly, reluctantly, he dropped his arms from around Alastor's shoulders, letting them fall to the bed.

A fleeting look of disappointment crossed Alastor's face.

In one swift motion, he pinned Lucifer's wrists to the mattress, only to thread their fingers together a moment later.

The intimacy of the gesture gave the older man chills.

"I never do scenes with people I know," Alastor continued, his hips never faltering in their rhythm.

Guilt washed over Lucifer as the weight of Alastor's words sank in. He squeezed Alastor's hands, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest.

"I told you… we shouldn't," he whispered, his voice thick with regret. "But you—"

Before Lucifer could finish, Alastor's lips crashed against his, silencing his doubts.

The kiss was hard, desperate, filled with a longing that took Lucifer's breath away. He melted into it, his body responding instinctively to Alastor's passion.

When they finally broke apart, both were panting.

Alastor's lips ghosted over Lucifer's as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "And…I never, ever let anyone kiss me."

The admission sent a jolt through Lucifer's body. His mind raced, trying to process the significance of what Alastor was telling him.

A soft whine escaped his throat as realization dawned.

"You've got rules against being…intimate with anyone," Lucifer breathed, his eyes searching Alastor's face.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Lucifer's heart pounded in his chest, something he wasn't quite ready to name, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Exactly," Alastor murmured, his voice turned to velvet. His darkened eyes bore into Lucifer's, intense and defenseless. "You make me break all of my rules. You make me…" He paused, seeming to struggle with the words. "You make me want to love you."

The confession hung in the air, heavy and raw. He'd never imagined Alastor capable of such openness, such vulnerability.

Before Lucifer could respond, Alastor ducked his head, burying his face in the crook of Lucifer's neck. The shame was palpable, as if Alastor regretted letting his guard down so completely.

Lucifer couldn't bear to see Alastor retreat.

With a surge of affection, he broke his hands free from Alastor's grip. Gently, he cupped the younger man's face, tilting it up to meet his gaze.

"Alastor," Lucifer whispered, his thumbs caressing those sharp cheekbones. Then, overcome by emotion, he pulled Alastor into a deep, tender kiss. He poured everything he couldn't say into that kiss—his own fears, his growing feelings, his acceptance of Alastor's confession.

After a moment, Alastor made a soft sound against Lucifer's lips—something between a whimper and a sigh. His hips continued their steady rhythm, but his voice was strained when he spoke.

"Tell me…" Alastor panted, the words more plea than command. “Tell me that you want me to stay.”

Lucifer broke the kiss, his breath ragged. His heart swelled with affection and a fierce protectiveness.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around the younger man, pulling him close.

"I want you to stay, Alastor," Lucifer breathed, pouring every ounce of sincerity into the words. “With me. As long as you’ll have me.”

As their lips met, Lucifer felt a shudder run through Alastor's body. The younger man's hips stuttered, losing their steady rhythm.

Lucifer gasped into the kiss.

"Oh," Lucifer breathed, breaking the kiss to look up at Alastor in wonder. "You're…you're coming."

Alastor's face was contorted in vulnerability and pleasure, his usual composure completely shattered.

He buried his face in Lucifer's neck, muffling a low groan against his skin.

Lucifer held him tightly, one hand tangling in Alastor's hair while the other stroked soothingly down his back. Awed by the tremors running through Alastor's body, the heat of his breath against his neck.

"That's it," Lucifer murmured, his chest tight with emotion. "Let go, sweetheart. I've got you."

The significance of what had just happened wasn't lost on him. Alastor, who never let himself be vulnerable, who always maintained strict control, had allowed himself this moment of abandon in Lucifer's arms.

"Are you alright?" Lucifer asked softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Alastor's temple.

Alastor lifted his head, meeting Lucifer's gaze. His dark eyes were hazy with bliss, but there was also a hint of wonder there.

"I…yes," Alastor replied, his voice rough.

Lucifer cradled Alastor close, relishing the warm weight of the younger man's body against his own. He could feel Alastor's heart racing, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

The air around them was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady reminder of what they'd just shared.

“You don't have to pull away.” Lucifer murmured, running his fingers through Alastor's damp hair. “Stay with me."

Alastor remained silent, his face still hidden in the crook of Lucifer's neck. But he didn't move to disentangle himself, and Lucifer took that as a good sign.

The room was bathed in soft moonlight, casting everything in a dreamy, silver glow.

Outside, snow continued to fall silently, blanketing the world in white. It felt as though they were cocooned in their own private universe, separate from the rest of the world.

Lucifer's hands roamed gently over Alastor's back, tracing the contours of lean muscle and the ridges of his spine. He marveled at how different this felt from their previous encounters. The urgency and intensity had given way to something softer, more like making love…if he dared to think it.

Alastor finally lifted his head, meeting Lucifer's gaze. His eyes were soft, vulnerable in a way Lucifer had never seen before.

A stray lock of hair fell across his forehead, and Lucifer reached up to gently brush it away.

"I've never…" Alastor's voice was barely above a whisper. "Not like that."

Lucifer's heart swelled with affection. He cupped Alastor's face in his hands, thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones. "I'm honored," he said softly.

Alastor's lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. It was so unlike his usual confident smirk that Lucifer felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Stay the night," Lucifer said, not quite a question but not quite a demand either. "Please. I want to fall asleep with you and wake up with you in the morning."

For a moment, Alastor looked uncertain.

Lucifer could almost see the walls trying to rebuild themselves behind his eyes. But then Alastor took a deep breath, visibly relaxing.

"Alright," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Lucifer's lips. "I'll stay."

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[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, part 18

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies, you die too. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes. Though it looks like we have a couple secrets of our own.

Previous part

Part 18: a new purpose

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"He's thousands of years old..." I said aloud as I stared at the ceiling. It was no wonder he was so powerful and knew absolutely everything. He had been around for centuries. He had witnessed the Great Collapse and watched humanity struggle to rebuild itself. How long had he spent on the surface and how many in Hell? It felt like there was so much I was completely unaware of when it came to him. Yet he knew everything about me because I had lived a fraction of a second compared to his life.

Despite this, it started to explain some of his behavior. His impatience with me must be from my lack of magic knowledge and how long it's taking me to unravel a curse. It would also explain his frustration with my existence in general. If he hadn't been tied down by a soulmate for hundreds of years, suddenly having one that knew nothing about the dangerous Demon world would cause concern. He's well known as a dangerous person on the surface and clearly isn't afraid to fight with other Overlords or even the King of Hell himself. He is a powerful Demon with a very less so powerful soulmate.

I grunted as I threw the covers off. I had healed plenty and felt back to my normal self, but the burn marks still lingered on my palm and face. I dressed in my usual plain pants and short sleeve for the day. Training with Alastor would start again but this time I was ready.

My conversation with Charlie sparked a genius idea. She had tried to make a hotel for Demons to attempt redemption. She had created a place separate from the rest of Hell, a place away from temptation and evil. Someplace secluded and safe. That was exactly what I was going to do.

Ring fights operated because of the fighters. Without fighters they were useless and uninteresting. If I could save the fighters, specifically the younger ones, and hide them away in a secret Sanctuary, the rings would have to find other means of obtaining fighters. Children were the easiest because they were the most defenseless. They were easy to manipulate physically and mentally, making escape impossible even if they grew older. Adults were much harder and not worth the effort.

Creating a Sanctuary would allow me something to defend at a central point. Once enough children were saved from the rings, it would be a few years before they could start up properly again. Once they did, I could go out again to save those children, too. It would be a constant process but it would get easier with time. I would likely have more help as the children grew older. How long could I live for?

I had to keep this idea a secret, though. Alastor wanted me to be knowledgable enough in magic to the point he won't have to worry about protecting me from other powerful Demons. Once that was accomplished, I had free reign of the world. I had known him long enough to know that he likes the power and control of his puppets, and cares very much for his reputation. The Radio Demon was soulbound to the Snake Demon, the one who attacks rings and saves the fighters. Good and evil. Safety and danger. We were opposites. I had a feeling he didn't like that.

The Radio Demon didn't grace us with his presence until later in the afternoon. I was invested in my book at the window when he slithered out of the walls. I kept my Demon side hidden and nonchalantly closed my book to give him my full attention.

"Before we do anything," I started, "what is the difference between Overlords magic and normal Demons?"

"Intriguing question." He sat on one of the chairs closest to me and laid his cane on his lap. "It's more simpler than you think. Overlords start as your average Demon with control over Element and Advance magic. Once they start making soul deals, their power grows and they obtain Existence magic."

"What are soul deals?"

"A soul-binding contract. Want me to demonstrate?" He held out his clawed hand, a faint green glow outline reaching over his whole body. Even his eyes seemed to have a tint of green to them.

"No thanks," I said. The glow disappeared as he straightened in the chair and fixed his suite. "What's the difference between a soul deal and a soulmate?"

"From what I understand, a soulmate connection is a mental tie to an individual. A soul deal is simply a contract but magic ensures both sides hold their end of the deal."

"You and Husker have one."

"In a way. Unfortunately for him, he lost his soul in a gamble. I have no side to uphold."

"Right."

"Any other questions?"

"How do you know all of this?"

"My dear, when you've been around for as long as I have, life can get boring. You look for anything to keep you entertained."

"Where did you get all the books though?"

His smile actually seemed to soften. "My mother collected them. She was the one who introduced me to magic." He spoke fondly of her, suggesting he had a close relationship with her. "Anything else?"

"Not right now."

"Good. We're attempting illusion magic today." He stood up and held his cane behind his back. "It requires imagination. Can you handle that?" My gaze hardened and I stood up without a remark. "We'll start simple, then. Picture something small on the desk."

Per usual, it never worked on the first try. I tried to imagine a rose lying on the corner of the large desk. My fingers fluttered as the frustration started to build in my head. I knew I was using magic because of the faint glow of dark purple in the corners of my vision. It didn't help that I could feel Alastor's presence just on the other side of my shields. He wasn't invading but he was there, watching.

I took a deep breath and tried closing my eyes, but something sharp nicked my forehead. My eyes snapped open to Alastor withdrawing his clawed hand. "Keep your eyes open. It doesn't work properly with them closed."

I rubbed the spot on my forehead. I let my Demon side come through so all my effort was being directed at this one, simple task. When I attempted it again, the faint outline of the rose came through. My excitement knocked it back into nothingness, taking my pride with it.

Alastor sat back down with his hands clasped in his lap. "Keep going.”

I held out my hand to the desk and brought the outline back. I tried to look past my black claws, focusing on the task rather than my nature. I kept my back to the fireplace so Alastor was on one side, still in view, and the table on the other. His presence didn't move from its original spot at my shields.

I tensed the muscles in my arm and tried to move all my energy through it. A smile crept on my face when the rose started to color and eventually sit fully on the desk. Alastor crossed to the desk and put his hand on it, abruptly snuffing it out.

"Hey--"

"An illusion is an illusion, unless you put more energy and matter into it. You will repeat the process until you can physically hold it in your hand." He conjured the rose into his own claw and held it up to his nose. "I expect such before I return."

"Where are you going?"

"I have a meeting with Rosie. We have important matters to discuss."

He disappeared without a warning. I let out an exasperated sigh and collapsed in one of the chairs. I looked around at the quiet, still library. I held my hand out and closed my eyes, recreating a perfect rose on the desk in a heartbeat.

****

"So how's the reading going?" Rosie asked enthusiastically.

"I hadn't realized soulmate magic was so expansive," Alastor admitted. The two of them were enjoying tea in her store together, just like old times.

"And how is the sweet thing doing?"

"Quite well, actually. She now wants to learn our magic, though I'm unsure of the reason behind it."

"Well did ya ask her?"

"In a way. Though I suspect I'll know soon enough when we attempt mind magic again. For now, I will take what I can with her. She seems to change on the spot without warning."

Rosie laughed. "You're an awful lot like that, too."

"Say, Rosie darling," he summoned a brown book in his claws, "how much of the information in this book can I trust?"

"I would say it's pretty accurate. It was written during the Great Collapse. Why do you ask?"

"I read that soulmates can combine energy. This is obviously written by a Human so I wonder if that energy could also mean magic."

"Hmm, that sounds plausible."

"If she's as powerful as we think, I can only imagine what can be done if our magic were to combine."

"You'll have to have a strong mental connection with her for that to happen."

"We both know I'm more than capable of handling any kind of power. I need her to be mentally capable of such. I need a strong connection on her part."

Rosie let out a sigh. "How do you plan to do that, exactly?"

"I'm going to do what I do best."

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Author’s Note:

Dun dun duuuuuunnnn. What exactly does Alastor do best? Well we all know he’s good at a lot of things. Hmmm, I wonder 😏

Let me know your thoughts!