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xalygatorx · 19 days ago

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*cracks knuckles*

"This." | Alastor x Reader, First Kiss

Summary: You convince your new(ish) partner, Alastor, to give kissing a try.

Warnings: None apart from the tiniest mention of a bloody lip. Just fluff that gets a little steamy at the end.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Dedicated to @6esiree, her follower celebration challenge, and all the scrumptious stories she's crafted for us. x

It had taken a little convincing on your part. After all, the idea of kissing wasn't romantic or enticing to everyone. In fact, when you broke down the actual mechanics of the thing, you had to agree that it was a bit bizarre.

In the end though, he'd agreed to humor you. At least that's what he'd said. But you could see it in your partner's eyes—he was curious.

And now you were sitting cross-legged on the Radio Demon's bed—a bed he'd only procured after you'd started seeing each other and his lone option to (politely) cohabitate with you came in the form of your suite, which had several tenants in the form of void-staring Squishmallows. Especially considering he often preferred to stay up and read while you slept, it was the one scenario in which he preferred not to have an audience.

The Radio Demon, himself, sat across from you, subconsciously mirroring your body language and awaiting your next move.

You couldn't help but think, as you studied him both recreationally and to look for any indications of discomfort, that your journey to this point had been almost comical in its unlikelihood.

At the base level, it made very little sense. After all, you were more like Vox in a lot of ways than you were like Alastor—tech-savvy, excited about new gadgets and caught up on the latest memes, and absolutely rife with Gen. Z slang. Angel had been certain after you'd arrived at the hotel and stuck around long enough to make a few friends that the second Alastor realized he not only wouldn't get your soul from you, but he'd also have to deal with your shenanigans on top of everyone else's, he might decide you'd look better flambéd with a side of rice.

He hadn't thought that though, apparently. And you'd absolutely annoyed each other at first, mostly for a misfire in communication due to your highly conflicting eras and expectations, but he'd admitted to you much later—after a courting proposal he'd had planned to the letter had still gone sideways anyway, again because of you (allegedly)—that this wasn't completely true. He found you annoying, yes—which was fine because he annoyed you sometimes, too—but part of that annoyance came from how utterly fascinating he found you, too.

Alastor, at his core, didn't subscribe to the idea that vulnerability was worth a damn in the grand scheme of things. He liked it in others—subservience from the masses and warm pink blushes from you—but he expected more from himself. Vulnerability equated to weakness and that was something no overlord could afford in his mind. So his immediate response to feeling anything on the softer side for you had at first been met with utmost resistance.

He'd tried ignoring you. Not only was he miserable for the duration of that due to missing you—a realization the Doomsday District had subsequently suffered for—but you drove him up the walls when your initial hurt at being shunned turned to unbridled annoyance and an ever-increasing demand for an explanation.

He'd tried "friendzoning" you. That had initially worked and then royally pissed you off when he used the actual term he'd apparently learned from Rosie a long time ago. You'd informed him with bared fangs and gusto that your friendship was not and never would be a consolation prize and stormed off to your suite. Then you'd ignored him—for four days precisely. When you'd finally given him the time of day, he'd shown up with an armful of apology gifts and a wobbly smile he'd never admitted to wearing since.

And then he'd just spent the next leg of knowing you very confused about why nothing he'd tried had worked and why you being upset with him upended his world so completely. You'd caught him lurking at the edge of gatherings, fully honed in on you with an intensity that felt like he might be dissecting you with his eyes. You'd thought he'd found another reason to be angry at you until he'd approached you a week later and admitted the complete opposite.

That, loath as he was to admit it, he was drawn to you and it was doing neither of you any favors for him to keep lying to himself.

And you'd realized in that moment, too, that part of why his "rejections" had made you so angry were because…well, you liked him, too.

Because, for as haughty and selfish as he was, he also took great pains to go out of his way for you. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room regardless of whether it was actually true. He was timeless in his strange, enigmatic way that was so very much, innately him. A way you'd come to like quite a lot. The bigger L-word was on the horizon, but you'd shelved that thought whenever it had arisen. Not only were you worried you'd scare him away, but you worried about spooking yourself, too.

Your focus pivoted as one of Alastor's ears flicked back, a silent subconscious display of his nerves. He was still watching you, measuring you with a look that managed to show his age and still look boyish simultaneously. His crimson eyes were open, flickering over your face with unease hidden behind a thin smile. When your pensive expression faltered into something affectionate, he huffed a little breath out that made his shoulders relax just the slightest bit.

"Well, dear?" Alastor wondered. His tone was just shy of a purr and you had a feeling he was trying to put up a bit more bravado than he currently felt in the face of something he wasn't as versed in. "You seemed quite intent earlier on getting me alone. Where's your moxie gone?"

"It's still around," you laughed. "Just a little nervous."

He blinked owlishly—these more vulnerable expressions were possibly the ones on him that you adored the most. The youth it smoothed over his sharp features almost made it possible to see what he'd looked like while alive. You would've never met him in life—decades on decades had ensured your separation—but it was a nice thought.

It would've had to have been in your time though. Even though he would've been miserable amidst all the swanky new tech (at least until you talked him into trying a podcast probably), you would've been more miserable trying to acclimate to the mold women were expected to fit in his era. You'd asked him once why he liked you, given just how different you were from what he'd likely grown up with, and after he'd finished laughing at your question, he'd just dropped a chaste kiss to your cheek and said he'd never been partial to dolls and found your spark far more entertaining.

"You are nervous?" Alastor asked, his smile wavering just slightly as he tilted his head. "What ever for?"

"Well, sweetheart, it's been a minute for me, too," you said with a helpless little shrug that made his features soften even as his frame seemed to tense again. "And, well, after asking you to humor me, I'd hate to mess it up."

Alastor scoffed a little and wordlessly turned one of his large, spidery hands palm-up to offer to you. Without hesitation, you took it in both of yours, running the pads of your fingertips over the ashen grooves and sharp points of his knuckles. You both watched your hands traverse his for a moment before he spoke again.

"…I must admit I wouldn't know if you did, cher."

It was your turn to look surprised. "If I did, what?" you asked, wondering if you'd been that distracted just by the opportunity to touch his hand or if there was something you'd yet to learn about him.

"If you…'messed up'," he said, borrowing your slang. The stiff, experimental way he said it made a bloom of warmth expand in your chest. How was such a feral, sadistic sort of demon so unbearably cute sometimes? You'd hardly wondered the question before his ears slowly swiveled to flatten against his hair, his smile wobbling again as he rolled his eyes away and sighed. "I expect, given our newfound partnership, I can anticipate a layer of confidentiality here tonight?"

You frowned. "If you're asking if you can trust me, the answer's yes," you murmured, mirroring his head's tilt with yours. "Is everything okay?"

Alastor smiled genuinely and gave your hand a light pat. "Just fine, darling," he said and you noticed his face looked a little flushed.

Had you ever seen him blush? God help you, now that you knew it was possible, you wanted to create that crimson hue on his cheeks as often as possible, he was precious!

"This is a first for me," Alastor finally said, sounding like he'd half-blurted it out just to get past his own pride or anxiety.

"Can you, uh, be a little more specific?" you asked, not wanting to embarrass him, but wanting to know what exactly he meant in case it changed your approach. You gently stroked his hand, hoping it came across as a soothing gesture. He could get grumpy in moments like this, taking comfort as coddling and acting all the more irritable for it after. "I'm just worried about overstepping, I'm not trying to wring anything out of you."

Alastor chuckled and shook his head. "No need to overexplain, dearest. I appreciate the attention to detail," he admitted, still choosing to stare down at your hands or the baseboard off to the side rather than meet your eyes. His ears hadn't yet lifted from their station against his head. "…Kissing. At least lips-to-lips. I never cared for the idea—I'm still not entirely sure I do now—and so I never entertained the practice."

You felt both blessed and terrified at once as you asked, "…You've never kissed anyone?"

Alastor's lip curled a little at your shock. "Please do refrain from making a scene over this," he requested with an exasperated huff.

"We don't have to try this, Al," you hastened to tell him, your fingers tightening around his hand but still leaving him room to pull away if he wanted to. He seemed to notice and the snarl in his smile smoothed away with a silent bit of gratitude. "If you're not interested, it's totally fine."

He gave you a skeptical look. "And you would simply abide by never kissing your beloved?" he asked, not sounding like he believed it a bit. "By feeling as though your partner does not want you?"

You pursed your lips—well, it stung a little when he put it like that, but that wasn't where your mind had gone. "Quit putting someone else's words in my mouth," you mumbled and that put a dash of chagrin on the Radio Demon's pinched expression. "I come from a much more flexible time than you do when it comes to this stuff. I knew you were ace before any of this, even before we became friends—"

"What now?"

You couldn't help a fond, breathy laugh. "Ace. Asexual," you elaborated. "Generally uninterested in sexual stuff, or at least not interested in the way most people are. It's normal. There's nothing wrong with that."

Alastor's ears flicked uncertainly. "I'm afraid I've garnered a much different perspective all these years," he said. "Which was perfectly fine until…well."

"It's still fine as long as we're happy," you said. "That's all there is to it."

"It sounds much easier than society made it seem in my lifetime," Alastor sighed, giving your hand another couple of pats. A silent thanks. His eyes narrowed an increment as he, at last, met your eyes again. There was no mistaking the warmth their vermillion glow sent through you. He studied you, that curiosity lingering, as he murmured, "I would still like to try. For you, dear."

You smiled. "Thanks," you said softly. "Just…no pressure, okay? We never have to do it again if you hate it or for any longer than you want to. I promise, now that I know to prepare myself, I won't be offended or hurt if you decide you don't like it."

That seemed to be the root of his unease and it made your heart give a squeeze. Evil as he liked to think he was and, in fairness, was to most, he had a soft spot for you. One you relished curling up in. One that already felt like home.

"This…stays between us regardless, yes?" Alastor murmured. "Not that it particularly matters in the grand scheme of things, but I have a grave feeling that this is something that idiotic picture box would never let go if he caught wind of it. I loathe the idea of simply offering ammunition on a platter."

"It stays right here," you promised. "Just with us."

Alastor hummed his approval and adjusted his sitting position on the mattress. "Lovely. Now…how do we go about this?" he asked, businesslike in a way that was almost comical. It was all you could do not to laugh lest he take it the wrong way in this moment where he didn't have the upper hand.

And, to be honest, his question was valid even if it did seem a bit silly. You'd never done this with someone before. Teaching someone how to kiss felt like such a momentous occasion. What if you were a bad kisser and you'd just never known because what was the gold standard for kissing?! Of course there were do's and don't's and cardinal sins, but…what made a kiss good?

You weren't sure, but you wanted his first one to be good. Perfect even, if you could manage it.

"Well," you said thoughtfully, giving your lips a nervous lick. You blushed when you saw his eyes drop down and follow the pink tip of your tongue along the seam of your mouth. You had his attention at least. "You've kissed my cheek. You can kiss someone's lips that way too. So let's just start with that."

Alastor's ears finally perked back up. "Simple enough!" he declared, seeming pleased that he wasn't being offered the deep end before being sure he could swim. "Well then…shall we?"

You smirked and shuffled a little closer, giving his hand a squeeze before letting it go to cautiously cup his cheeks. "Remember…at any point, if you want to stop—"

"I will say something, my dear," Alastor said, his ears flicking back again as his confidence faltered anew. "Or tap your arm a few times perhaps if you've got me in too tight a chokehold."

You laughed. "I'm not going to stick my tongue down your throat, for fuck's sake," you griped through a series of giggles.

"Language," Alastor scolded you despite chuckling a bit, himself.

In part to shut him up now, you closed the gap between your lips—mindful and slow, you kept to your original suggestion and simply pressed a polite, succinct peck against his still-smiling mouth. Afterward, you drew back just a little to get a read on your partner, finding his cheeks a little redder than before. And his eyes, uh, a bit wide.

"You okay?" you asked.

"I am," Alastor said, seeming a little surprised at the fact. "Why, that was hardly unpleasant at all!"

You snorted. "Hardly unpleasant… I can work with that, I guess," you mused.

He tsked at you and rested his hands against yours, which were still cradling his face. "You know very well that isn't how I meant it," he chided you. "It was pleasant. Unexpectedly so."

"Well, good!" you said, pleased he'd found it nice. "I'm glad. Did you want to keep it just at that?"

Alastor contemplated you for a moment or so and then contemplated your lips specifically—your face heated as he subconsciously wet his own.

"I could perhaps be a bit adventurous… If you're up for the task," he suggested, that curiosity lingering and shifting into something a little darker, it appeared. Wishful thinking maybe, on your part.

"I could be," you flirted back, pondering your options before suggesting, "I'll…well, I guess I'll just go until we stop—either because you tell me to or…whatever. Okay?"

Alastor shifted a little as he said, "Very well. On this particular dancefloor, darling, I follow your lead."

You couldn't help but tease him a little.

"You're a very cute old man, you know," you informed him. And, right as he was about to fire back, you slotted your lips against his, effectively finding the one way you'd encountered thus far to silence the Radio Demon.

You couldn't help a slight giggle when you heard the vinyl screech of a stalled record erupt from the air around you or possibly from his microphone propped up against the bedpost. Keeping to your word, you went slow, starting with a gentle brushing motion before offering a touch more guidance as you increased the pressure and friction by a hair.

Alastor was following, clumsily, but seemed to get his bearings little by little as you took the two of you through this ritual the way he'd once guided you both through your first waltz. You demonstrated the little nuances you'd learned in life as you went—the interval opportunities for breathing, the different sensations of brushing vs. sliding through a liplock, and where hands could rest unobtrusively when kissing was the sole activity in the cards for the evening.

Yours had remained cupping Alastor's cheeks and his had slid down from covering your fingers to loosely encircling your wrists. You'd assumed he'd left them there to free himself once he'd had enough—the way his quiet, ambient static had climbed to white noise around you had made you think he was nearing his limit—but he had yet to pull away or signal that he was done.

In fact, unless you were mistaking his body language through the hazy, dopamine-riddled fog you existed in now, he seemed ever more interested in continuing rather than stopping.

Alastor, more confident with the cadence of the kisses you shared and the way he could best move his mouth to match yours, nosed in closer when you started to lean back, thinking you were doing him a favor by allowing him some room. A disgruntled sound rumbled in the base of his throat when his nose bumped into yours, something you thought was cute but he was currently viewing as either a failure or an obstacle to what he wanted.

You smiled against his lips and used the cradle of your fingers against his cheekbones to gently angle his head—you tilted yours in kind to afford him the closeness he was after. Alastor gave a soft hum of approval as he nuzzled in again, successfully this time, and ran his hands down your forearms as the pads of his thumbs—with claws carefully angled away—skimmed the soft, delicate skin of your wrists all the way down.

Experimentally, you chanced a gentle suck against his lower lip and the cross between a low groan and a bleat that he allowed you to swallow between kisses made you shiver with delight.

It caused a reaction in him, too, apparently. In seconds, your world had tilted a full 90 degrees and you were on your back, soft scarlet quilts beneath you and enamored, lovedrunk Radio Demon on top of you.

There was no slow-and-steady now, not now that he had the idea of what he was meant to do and found himself comfortably, securely lost in your mouth, your softness, your scent. For Alastor, kissing someone on the lips had always been an alien, strange, unwelcome sort of act—no longer. Now he could only wonder how else he could get even closer to you, how completely he could be engulfed in the feelings you stirred in him when you were alone together and the Hells outside his door—your door now, too—ceased to exist until morning.

He couldn't even find it in himself to be embarrassed about the little cervine sound that had bubbled up from his throat when you'd so innocently yet salaciously tugged at his lower lip. That was filed away for another time, for now all that mattered was you.

You'd since lost your composure under the heat of his full attention. Your fingertips had traversed past the sharp lines of his cheeks toward his hair, gently tangling in the crimson and black-tipped locks that hung in short curtains around his face as he bowed over you, consuming you more surely and more thoroughly all the time.

Overzealous, he briefly and only once caught your lip with the edge of one of his lethal teeth—he'd lapped the bead of blood away, mumbled an apology, and proceeded to kiss you through the clotting, enjoying his taste of your essence without causing you any extra, undue discomfort.

When finally you had to break for air, you filled your lungs and looked up at Alastor, admiring the sparkle in his eyes and the disheveled state of his usually pristine appearance. Again you thought you were glimpsing not just the buck you'd fallen for, but the man he'd been long before you'd ever existed. You smiled—who would've thought you could feel lucky to be dead?

"Safe to say it's not so bad?" you asked, smirking a little when you heard how breathless your own voice sounded.

Alastor chuckled and straightened, plucking you up from the bed and bringing you with him. "Yes, indeedy, darling," he admitted, kissing your cheek as he admired your plush, kiss-bruised lips. He tutted a little at the tiny split he'd caused but seemed to take it in stride. "Was it… Was I alright for you as well?"

Your expression softened. "You always are," you murmured, tilting your head back to kiss the tip of his nose. "But yes. You're a very quick study."

You felt his chest puff with pride. "Why, of course!" he boasted with a haughty chuckle, back to the Radio Demon you knew (and loved). "Certainly couldn't be too hard a thing to learn, after all—the rabble and then some have seemed to figure it out just fine."

Expecting him to humble-brag you into oblivion, you simply let him marinate in his success—at least until he surprised you yet again. It seemed to be something he was inclined to do often and you couldn't complain. Especially when his surprises tended to, for you, border on a saccharine sort of sweet. Not that he'd ever admit to it.

Alastor smiled warmly down at you and bravely leaned in to press another, shorter kiss to your lips. "Thank you, ma cher."

You blinked. "What for?"

He hummed in consideration before murmuring simply, "This."

A look into his eyes told you that "this," wasn't simply a kiss or a conversation or any particular moment in isolation. It was all of those things though, all at once. The smile you shared was part of it, too.

And the countless tender moments that hadn't happened yet would be part of it as well.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x reader #asexual alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #cw kissing #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fluff #soft alastor #i hope i understood the assignment :')

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spacedace · 2 years ago

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It was the final hour. Doomsday at their door, with only hours left before the world was consumed entirely and every last living thing was devoured right along with it.

Summoning the High King of the Infinite Realms was the only option left, and even then felt more like choosing a firing squad rather than a noose at the end of the day. Pariah Dark might - might - accept the task of destroying the foe they faced, but tmit would come at a cost that was near equal to doing nothing at all. Provided the tyrannical ruler simply didn't let them all die, an entire planet dead was an entire planet to add to his endless armies.

They had to try. Stupid and suicidal as it was.

Zantanna and John worked in silence as they created the summoning circle, hands shaking and stomachs cramping as they worked under the apprehensive eyes of the rest of the League. They all understood that no matter what happened, they would all likely end up dead by the end of it. That the best case scenario meant that death was only the beginning of their problems.

Candles were lit. Insense burned. Blood spilled. Words spoken.

Nothing.

It failed, not so much as a flicker of magic. Which was impossible, they'd checked and confirmed a dozen times that they had the right ritual, that they were following the steps, they had done everything right way wasn't it working? What had they done wr-

"Ugh, gross is that blood?"

Elle Phantom, fifteen minuted late to the site of the ritual with both the boys Super, the most murderous Robin and a sugary abomination of an iced coffee from Starbucks, scrunched her nose in disgust as she looked at the summoning circle.

"This ritual is so out of date, where did you even find it? Wait is that Latin? Who tries to summon someone from the Ghost Zone in Latin?"

John had burned through every drop of alcohol and cigarette he owned hours ago while trying to find this bloody damn ritual and was very much not in the mood for the little hellspawn's color commentary on the process.

"I don't bloody well seeing you providing with any alternatives for summoning the Ghost King." He swore, turning away from the gremlin to tear through the ancient book he and Zantanna had discovered with the ritual inside.

There was a loud slurping noise as the undead hero sucked the last remnants of her drink through the straw. John's brow twitched, even Zantanna - who usually seemed endeared by the chaos goblin - looked at the end of her rope.

Then - "Oh, is that who you wanted to summon? Why didn't you say so?" She drifted over, handing her empty drink off to a disgruntled looking Batman, and began rummaging through the unused magival supplies left over from the - failed - summoning circle. "Here, give me like, five minutes."

John was fairly certain his head was about to explode.

"You know how to summon the Ghost King? You?"

Phantom rolled her eyes at him. "Duh, obviously."

"Obviously." Zantanna repeated, looking like she was half a moment away from having a breakdown. She didn't try to stop the ghostly girl, though, and to be fair neither was John. They were already fucked, might as well let the gremlin try her hand at it.

It took less than the five minutes Phantom had claimed she needed.

When she was done there was a significantly smaller circle on the ground. At the cardinal directions of the circle, written clockwise she'd drawn not any magical runes but instead what appeared to be the Roman Numerals for one, then two, then something akin to a sideways T with an additional mark rising upward from the long horizontal bar, then the letter L.

It had to have some kind of ancient magical significance John didn't know as Shazam made a noise like a dying goose and squeaked out the word Loss like it was a question. Phantom gave the Champion of Magic a sharp toothed grin before adding some words in a language John didn't know before she finally allowed gravity to pull her back to earth and plant her feet on the ground.

She wiped her hands together a bit dramatically, looking pleased with herself, but at that point John didn't care. He could feel the building magic, heavy and oppressive as she had begun her task. Unlike the circle he and Zantanna had attempted, this one was working.

He couldn't help thr nervous swallow he gave as Phantom then declared, with a strange amount of seriousness. "All that’s left are the words."

She took a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment, and the world went utterly silent around them. This, John could feel, this was the real deal. Fuck him sideways the hellspawn was actually doing it.

Phantom's eyes opened, glowing with that bright eerie green light of her power. Another deep breath and then -

"You are my dad! You're my dad!" He watched, any scraps of hope she'd instilled in him dying an undignified death as she gave a terrible little wiggle dance while she sang(?) Off key, "Boogie woogie woogie!"

Every last person on Earth was going to die and one of John's last moments was going to be spent watching the little undead shit do the Macarena. Well fuck him, he guessed.

Then there was the sound of the veil between the world's tearing in two and the fucking Ghost King was standing in Phantom's summoning circle screaming in a screeching falsetto:

"When will you learn? When will you learn that your actions have consequences!"

You know what actually at this point John would rather the apocalypse kill him.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #justice league #danielle phantom #danielle fenton #john constantine #zantanna zatara #danny fenton #ghost king danny #Danny got to make up his own summoning rituals when he became king #there's a general one but he also has personalized rituals for each of his family members #all of them involve memes #the day is saved #but it's also the day that the Justice League find out Elle is the daughter(?) of the Ghost King #except for Damian Jon and Con #they already knew

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crithaus · 7 months ago

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You should know this too actually so I was watching truly a ridiculous amount of revolutionary girl Utena amvs on YouTube and when a anthys hideous scab of a brother makes her stab her girlfriend it got me thinking about Vex but in the "no one not even my father nor even a sentient tree could actually love me as I am Ergo as violent dogs must I will bite, surely you see how awful I am and how I'll hurt you if you stay here," kind of way, ofc vex never says so much in the campaign and we don't exactly know what exactly brought on the break's brief breakup thought it was both their self image and trauma issues but given syldor I mean, one can infer and extrapolate

And then there's Percy like "baby kill me in a bricklike fashion I do NOT care bc I sure might have done worse please GOD let me worship you." In the top corner is actually a bit from the show with syldor snatching that tiara from her head, the 'bloody dagger' that rescued trinket, and ravens slumber, and saundor himself bc I have trouble with abstract thinking and was worried I couldn't successfully get across that this is vex doomsday thinking at best and not meant to be taken literally but actually this WIP is a lil old so I have revamped it a bit. It's sick, you'll like it, stay tuned gays

#critical role #vox machina #percy de rolo #vex'ahlia de rolo #perc'ahlia #vex'ahlia #wip #crithausart

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confused-wanderer · 1 year ago

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Alfred is badass and has unuasual skills even for a batfam member.

Inspired by pandaredd’s skit where Alfred says “Bond wishes he was me”

The man is the caretaker of the bat family, he has raised every damn member, and has seen more than his fair share of wars, doomsdays and worse. He is a butler. And god knows what else in the spare time. All I imagine is that if a teenage Bruce looks up at Alfred and whispers he wants to train, Alfred might be the one who gives him contacts.

Alfred:

Bruce:

Alfred: .. wait here master Bruce, I know you won’t even listen to what I’m saying so I will let you learn the arts. Only under one condition though, I choose your trainers

Teenage Bruce: Alfred, whom would you-

Alfred *already on the phone* : Hello there Lee

Teenage Bruce *wide eyes* *mouthing* : Rock Lee??

Alfred *scoffing* : what world do you think we live in! Be more realistic Master Bruce.

Bruce: .. so who is it?

Alfred: Bruce Lee.

The scariest thing about the butler is that he will take you apart in less than a blow, and he doesn’t even need weapons. He will however use them just for fun.He can still hear if Bruce or any of the batfamily sneaks around, he’s been the only one who somehow knew Cass was in the room and offered her snacks while she was hanging upside down from the ceiling in the pitch black and overall has better instincts to locate any of them in the mansion than a GPS tracking system.

When supervillains, nosy reporters or even crooks try to break into the Manor, the fact that no one installed a security system should’ve really been a warning point that the Waynes had other.. deadlier security.

By the time Jason comes home he sees Alfred cleaning up the carpet, but doesn’t miss the wrinkled edge of the sleeve. It is only then when he looks to the other room and the criminals are all sitting in time out, each a truly remarkable shade of blue, black purple and green he’s never seen in real life. And none of them were even bleeding.

Alfred also has insanely fast reflexes. And to everyone surprise, he is an bloody good shot. Green arrow was once testing out a new arrow and it accidentally whizzed past the target and almost hit the cat when out of nowhere Alfred caught it and snapped it with one hand. And then proceeded to borrow a pistol and shoot the target while walking to the other side of the room, not even sparing a glance at the bullseye he had hit. All the while holding a tray of glass bottles that hadn’t moved a single inch.

He’s given advice to Jason on how to make explosives out of everything and nothing, taught Dick how to cut a tree in half with one kick, showed Stephanie how to always win Russian Roulette, guided Damian on how to break bones without ever leaving traces, taught Tim how to mimic someone’s voice and be scarily accurate, and so much more. Once on live television the world saw Alfred eat three cookies and refuse to pass them to Bruce Wayne before saying “They’ve been poisoned” and throwing them away. A few people swear they heard him mouth “bloody amateurs” afterwards and he insisted he was fine, stating that he was already “used to it.”

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And that is why the bat cave is a safer option for batman’s enemies than the mansion. Because if you were caught by the butler, just know that god has already forsaken you.

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greenhappyseed · 1 year ago

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MHA 393 leak reactions

Sobbing

Crying

Screaming

Ochako giving Himiko her blood for the rest of her life! Telling Himiko her smile is beautiful!! THIS is what Himiko has needed to hear for the last fourteen years.

It’s also the cutesy, pink, lovey-dovey Ochako who gets stabbed and fights through a bloody, visceral injury to reach Himiko. Ochako does Gunhead Martial Arts with a stab wound! Ochako still reaches out a blood-soaked hand because she’s badass and tough!

Ochako gets a power up too, making everyone float without touch. It’s a brilliant counterpart for Tomura destroying without touch

It’s also a lovely counter to her rooftop speech, where she could elevate herself and shout but couldn’t quite raise up others in a physical sense

Oh hey, the Doomsday Theory is coming true! But what’s the way to stop it? Emotional control. Unconditional love and support, even for “deviant” quirks. It’s the only way for humans to stay on top of immensely powerful quirks.

Ochako’s quirk isn’t “meant to kill.” Nope! Her quirk is a tool that, in Ochako’s mind, isn’t meant to kill. It’s Ochako who decided what her quirk is “meant for.”

Toga says heroes are all about winning and losing, living and dying. Once again, we see the connection that winning = living. But that’s the logic of Second (and uhm AFO)…..

Ooooooh, Tomura talking about how the world is like a comic book!!

Toga rejecting villain names so she can live free. Her name IS her “villain” name. Hopefully soon it will become her hero name! The “Carmilla” reference made me snort out loud.

Bless Twice for his support of Himiko’s “great” choices. He truly was her best friend.

#bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha 393 #mha 393 #himiko toga #ochako uraraka #uravity #togachako #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #twice #jin bubaigawara

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 6 months ago

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Is Eridan’s fake attempt for land dweller genocide just a manifestation of his guilt of orphaning all those trolls? He says he wants to kill them all so they will no longer have to deal the loss of losing their parent to some finned hipster asshole?

So Eridan's life pre-SGRUB is primarily concerned with one thing: it is his Duty as a violet-blood who is close to the Heiress to feed her lusus so that it doesn't throw a tantrum and Kill Everybody. It's a manifestation not of guilt, but of anxiety.

He describes the murder he commits in pursuit of this as "all i evver done practically," and we never see him participate in a hobby he enjoys - we learn he's a hipster because Karkat calls him one, he FLARPs to fill Gl'bgolyb's belly, and people have fought with me before, but I maintain that his "interest" in military history is also just a part of his posturing/something he reads like somebody would doomscroll, as it validates his anxiety, because he only ever talks about history twice, in the vaguest possible terms, and the first time, it's just part of him posturing at Kanaya, and the second time, he's literally just. Wrong? He's just incorrect?

CA: yeah go ahead and kiss us off but therell be blood on your hands CA: you could either play along as our auspistice and do a little mediating like you wwere fuckin hatched to CA: or wwatch she and me devvolvve into fuckin full fledged kismesisses the kind like you dont get once in ten thousand swweeps CA: you knoww thats wwhat it wwould be there wwould be rainboww rivvers runnin through star systems and all nebulizin like liquid firewworks CA: it wwill be beautiful and heartbreaking all at once CA: you should read up on your history instead of poring through that godawwfull sunny rubbish

CC: None of your plots to kill t)(e land dwellers ever work out, and every doomsday device you get your )(ands on turns out to be a piece of junk! CA: so CA: i got to keep tryin thats howw all the great military masterminds became great through upright persevverance

Like I just. Don't believe him when he says he's obsessed with military history when he doesn't seem to be able to name five specific battles, and thinks the main attribute a military leader needs to succeed is "persevverance". We know that Karkat's interest in romance is real because he brings it up more than twice and also starts infodumping about it to Vriska at one point, but Eridan only seems to mention it because he thinks he's supposed to care about it.

Which is pretty much, like, one of the biggest tensions in his character: how he feels he's supposed to act vs. how he actually feels about acting that way. He faces multiple pressures to be a certain person, which run counter to his actual feelings.

He has to be a murderer, because if he isn't one, then Gl'bgolyb will do a genocide on his entire species.

He has to be an unrepentant murderer, because they live in a horrible fascist murder-society where highbloods are supposed to kill lowbloods all the time for literally any reason.

He has to be the one getting his hands bloody because his ancestor, Dualscar, was also the Orphaner, and (especially highblood) trolls need to take up their ancestors' mantles.

He has to be rude and condescending to everybody else because that's how highbloods, and especially sea dwellers, have to act.

He cannot express compassion, sympathy, or pity, because sea dwellers and highbloods aren't supposed to act that way.

Magic has to be fake, because it's for shitty wigglers, and Eridan's not a wiggler anymore!

He has to be in a torrid pitch relationship because that was the most defining one Dualscar had, and he needs to complete Dualscar's unfinished business.

He has to be in a flushed relationship because Dualscar had an unrequited flushcrush on the empress, and he needs to complete Dualscar's unfinished business.

He has to hate the lowbloods because he's a highblood.

He has to hate the land dwellers because he's a sea dweller.

But wait! That's weird. He has to hate the land dwellers and lowbloods, but he's the one responsible for making sure they don't all die by keeping Gl'bgolyb full?

In truth, it would be all too easy to solve the land dweller problem once and for all. You'd just need to lighten up on the feeding schedule for a while. Maybe you'd be a little too busy to bother with that hassle for once? Or maybe you could happen to be off your game for a spell? It happens, even to the best sometimes. But nah. It would make her upset. More emotions. More problems. That's all you need.

And he has to be an unrepentant murderer even though he clearly feels more guilt for it than Feferi?

That should keep her happy for a while. And make a freshly orphaned troll somewhere pretty sad.

And you claim magic is fake idiot stuff for babies but you like it SOOOO much?

You also like MAGIC, even though you know it to be FAKE. Like a made up friend, the way wizards are. Made up make believe FAKEY FAKEY FAKES. It's still fun though.

So we can see that Eridan is basically being pulled two ways at all times.

On one hand, there's everything society says he needs to be: an unrepentant murderer, a military dictator, ruthless bloodthirsty sea-dwelling aristocracy, hater of all low bloods and land dwellers, Orphaner Dualscar's heir.

And on the other hand, there's the guy Eridan actually is: doesn't give a shit about the hemocaste, just wants friends and/or relationship partners, likes magic, like hipster stuff, kind of a tool, guilty and traumatized.

It doesn't help that the people he's surrounded by are the least likely to recognize his distress as distress - Feferi loooooves being a princess, Kanaya has never really voiced any strong opinions on the hemocaste because it largely doesn't concern her since she's a rare jade blood, and Vriska is doing a lot better than Eridan is at fitting the mold they were born into (not that she doesn't have problems, she's just doing better than Eridan, which is a low fucking bar). Even Karkat, because of his own hangups about being a mutant pariah, venerates the society he was born into, because he (wrongly) sees it as a means to gain validation so he can hate himself less. As a result, Eridan winds up with basically 0 support system, because pretty much every aspect of his life reinforces that the thing society says he should be is correct, and that there's something wrong with Eridan for being unable to meet that expectation.

Especially because, for at least all the "murderer" he's supposed to be, if he fails to meet that expectation, everybody dies. So it's not just that he's got a pushy lusus and a shitty society, like Vriska does, but that there's also the added weight that adhering to those expectations is literally, objectively, the correct thing to do, so long as he doesn't want literally everybody to die.

As a result, he's constantly trying to overcorrect his behavior and cognition to line up with what he thinks he's supposed to be. That's why he's constantly saying slurs even though he doesn't actually treat anybody differently for their caste. That's why he's constantly talking about murder and military history, even though he clearly doesn't enjoy doing either of those things. That's why he's always pushing this image of a big bad fascist wannabe, even though he actually wants to be a magic-slinging wizard.

The thing about genocide, for Eridan, is that he's already obsessed with genocide - the prevention of genocide. Keeping his species from being genocided is, without exaggeration, the most time-consuming pursuit in his life. BUT WAIT! He can't say, think, or believe that his actions are for the benefit of the land dwellers, because first of all, he feels kind of guilty about killing them, and second of all, because he's not allowed to express compassion to the people he's keeping safe. So between the stress, the cognitive dissonance, the anxiety, and the fact that Eridan doesn't really do a lot of introspection because he's so overwhelmed by emotion, his existing preoccupation with genocide is transmuted into something that's socially acceptable: "wanting all the land dwellers dead."

"[I]t would be all too easy." Indeed: if he ever slacks in his duties, they will all die. In fact, it's easier for him to let them die than to not. He clearly doesn't like doing all that killing, and it clearly makes him feel bad, and takes up a shitton of his time if nothing else, so it's probably occurred to him over, and over, and over, that maybe he should just... not! What if he just stopped.

Well, then everyone would die. Gl'bgolyb would raise her voice a little and it'd kill all the rust bloods, then the bronzes, the golds, the limes, the olives...

Wait! Is he feeling bad for them? He's not supposed to be feeling bad for the low bloods! Shit, shit, shit. Say a slur and then say something about how you WANT all the low bloods dead. PHEW. OKAY. SAFE. But that means you need to kill all the lowbloods. Because you said it, so it has to be true, and also, this is the way you're supposed to be. So, fuck, well, go commission a doomsday device. Okay, done. PHEW. It probably doesn't work, but nobody can say you didn't try! Hooray, you did it! You have performed a Sea Dweller Action! Oh it's time to go kill some people again. Damnit. Killing people sucks. It makes you feel bad, and it takes up so much of your time. What if you just didn't...

And we can see this with the way his lust for genocide is described. There's no mention of why he hates the land dwellers, no mention of how he believes society will improve with them gone, or even what they're doing that's so bad in the first place. He rambles at Feferi about "keeping the bloodlines pure" at one point, but this is clearly contradicted by him stating he wouldn't kill Kanaya, because what sort of friend would he be? (And the fact that he cares about Kanaya, Vriska, and the anon-blooded Karkat, who could be literally any blood color, at all!)

So yeah, like, the thing is, he doesn't want to kill them all. He even calls himself out for knowing his latest doomsday plot was a bust from the start:

You are almost starting not to care about this stupid doomsday device which probably won't even work. She probably KNOWS you know it won't work. She has probably put all the pieces together and knows it was an elaborate ruse to be in cahoots with her again.

And so does Feferi:

And here he is outright contradicting his stated goal of killing the land dwellers because, jegus, he'd never kill his friends:

CA: but somethin thatll kill all land dwwellers wwhat else wwould i be after GA: Can You Just For A Moment Entertain The Thoughts Of One Untouched By Megalomaniacal Derangement And Tell Me Why Id Want To Assist You With That CA: wwell CA: im not goin to vvery wwell kill you am i that wwould be fuckin unconscionable CA: wwhat kind of friend wwould i be

And a reminder that one of his closest friends at this point in time is Karkat, whose blood color is currently anonymous to his friend group, meaning he could be literally any blood color and Eridan wouldn't want him dead:

CC: You know, I'm not sure w)(y we never talk about our romantic aspirations. CC: We s)(ould more often. It is kind of -EXCITING! CA: shrug CC: Probably because you fill your gossip quota wit)( your nubby )(orned bro.

But Karkat also explicitly lumps himself in with the low bloods, so Eridan can't even use the excuse that Karkat might be nobility (but sea dwellers are still suppose to hate land dwelling nobility so that still wouldn't be a defense EVEN IF it was true):

CG: CHALK IT UP AS ANOTHER INFURIATING VICTORY FOR GUTTER BLOOD OVER ARISTOCRACY.

Because Eridan does not want to genocide the land dwellers. He's just anxious.

#eridan ampora #homestuck

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scuttlingcrab · 5 months ago

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Can you pls do a Durge x Raphael after their first kill at the camp? Would LOVE to see what you do with him in that situation. ;)

Thank you for this, Anon! I’ve gotten a few Durge prompts that I hope to fulfil this month, as I’m finally making my way through playing The Dark Urge for the first time! (This run is Durge resisting the Urge, haha) Hopefully by the time they release the new endings in September, I’ll go fully evil. One thing though.. I am OBSESSING over Minthara… so I’m hoping to start writing some fics focused on her real soon because MAMA MIA!

Summary: After Raphael witnesses Tav committing a gruesome murder, he begins plotting how he could use their vulnerability, and lack of memory, to his advantage.

Notes: Warnings for violence.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

In the Dark of the Night

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

Raphael spent another night at Tav's camp, lurking from the comfort of the treeline as he watched them eagerly, playing with his fingers in anticipation for what he hoped would be a bloody spectacle. He failed to keep count of how many nights he stood there, spying on them since their first encounter at the Druid Grove.

Far too many at this point, embarrassing even for a Devil’s standards.

He obviously had other imperative things to be getting on with, he would never be able to succeed in uniting the Hells by simply dawdling about and waiting for things to fall in his lap. Though much to his chagrin, being present at that wretched mortal camp slid to the top of his priority list. Even more than his infernal duties and all the discarded contracts that piled up the longer Raphael bid his time. He could practically feel the mounting pressures digging into his shoulders, his knees buckling from the weight of it all.

Then there was the Crown of Karsus, always that damned Crown with Raphael. Since the fall of Netheril, he had been swept away by the promises of glory, of dethroning Asmodeus and occupying his seat of power in Nessus.

The wounds of that fiasco, of letting his father get the best of him, never fully healed. The mistakes played repeatedly in his memory. Over and over. As a lesson and as a punishment.

Raphael cursed all three of the Chosen for wasting the relic’s true potential on an Elder Brain, thinking that alone would aid their plights for total domination. The crime of the millennia. Those damned imbeciles! By the Gods, Raphael laughed, cried, and raged at the notion when he first heard Gortash had succeeded in breaking into Mephistopheles' vault, stealing the one and only artefact he had ever desired.

It would all spectacularly blow up in their faces soon enough. The Crown’s earth shattering waves, its raw power, could be felt even in his House of Hope as the strength intensified, the doomsday clock proceeding with its countdown. Raphael would be there, watching their work crumble at their fingertips, witnessing firsthand the Chosen's faces warping in horror at their doomed fates.

Despite everything, unseen forces still managed to push Raphael in the direction of those foolish mortals again and again, and towards one individual in particular. The Devil had watched each companion closely, but his obsession grew with Tav. No magic or potion could dislodge them from his waking thoughts in the days after the Nautiloid crash, or rid them from invading his dreams.

In truth, the other companions were dull, uninspiring, and Raphael quickly discarded them like a worthless piece of garbage. Of course, he could use their souls, he would never say no to that, but he had no interest in going out of his way to secure a deal when Tav offered him so much more.

At their first meeting, Raphael instantly recognised the rotting strength of Bhaal oozing from Tav, his nose twisting in repulsion from the memories the smell elicited. Yet something was different about them, unlike the other Bhaalspawn he had come in contact with. He couldn’t quite place it at first until he focused on their visage. Their skin was pale and their eyes bloodshot, flashing nervously around the room, as if they heard voices scratching against their skull.

When was the last time Tav killed, truly? Made a glorious sacrifice in the name of Bhaal? He had never seen someone suffer such a withdrawal or resist Bhaal’s murderous temptations. They could only go on for so long until something snapped, satisfying their urge, and quieting their God.

Something big was brewing and Raphael wasn’t going to miss a moment.

Raphael peeked his head through some bushes as he gave the camp another once over, his eyes darting to Tav near the campfire. They still remained lying on their bedroll, sleeping soundlessly.

Without notice, Raphael’s skin prickled and he stiffened, holding on to the nearest tree trunk as his chest spasmed. His upper body continued to be yanked forwards in an abrupt, and rather rude, summons.

“Korrilla…” Raphael hissed.

He clenched his jaw in anticipation, loud drumming filling his ears as he flickered in between the forest at the campsite and his House of Hope. The two locations could not have been more different, the contrast assaulting his senses. Images of Korrilla filled his vision as he was pulled further from the mortal plane. She stood in his central chamber, arms crossed and impatiently tapping her feet.

“You are late for a meeting, Master.” Korrilla warned, her voice rattling through his head.

“I am busy.” Raphael growled, practically tearing the final syllable apart in his mouth.

“I can keep them waiting for only so long before they will start asking questions… I do not want to hear your complaints when they retreat back into their Iron Tower.” Korrilla raised an eyebrow as a final plea.

Raphael paused as the pair engaged in a staring contest.

“Very well. Tell Dispater I will be with him shortly. I am willing to forfeit a few more souls to appease him, that should be an effective enough apology for the Archdevil. I will join you once I am finished with this prospective client.”

With that, Raphael viciously snapped his fingers, cutting off any further communication with the Warlock.

Raphael groaned, removing his hand from the tree. The wood was scorched, leaving a deep charred imprint where he had grasped it. His fingertips still sizzled and he blew on them, hoping to cool himself down. Let the Lord of Dis wait. This was far more pressing. He rubbed his temples, blinking away the rest of the discomfort from the summons, the world around him finally stilling.

He peeked through the bushes again and gasped, his heart dropping to his stomach. Tav was no longer sleeping, but stood tall. They were speaking to a bright-eyed Tiefling named Alfira, who had only just joined the camp. The other companions around the campfire, Shadowheart, Astarion, and Karlach, remained lost in their dreams, undisturbed by whatever conversation the pair were having.

Raphael’s scalp tingled as goosebumps ran down his spine and across his arms. And he had nearly missed it! He held his breath, remaining frozen in place, on the off chance Tav might hear his quickening heartbeat.

Alfira smiled at Tav, looking at them with adoration and warmth, seeming to have an overall pleasant exchange. As she talked, Tav reached for the dagger at their belt, slowly unsheathing it. They aimed it at the Tiefling’s throat, unmoving as their knuckles grew whiter from squeezing the hilt. Alfira jumped back, arms out wide in shock. She laughed nervously, eyes dancing between the dagger and Tav.

The poor thing...

Raphael barely saw it, the movement was smooth, swift, and clean; faster than lightning, but the damage was done before Alfira could even register what happened. Within seconds, her eyes grew in terror, nearly bulging from her head as a cut appeared across her throat. She held onto the wound as blood began to gush through her fingers, quickly soaking her dress. She opened her mouth, attempting to call out for help, for anyone, but she never had a chance to utter another word. Alfira collapsed, falling onto her back. Tav lunged at her, as if caught in a trance. Their stabs were deep and personal, and seemingly never-ending. They somehow found a new spot to dig their dagger in again and again long after Alfira expired.

Blood rushed to Raphael’s head, his ears pounding like war drums as Tav began gutting the Tiefling. They proceeded to use the gore spilling from Alfira to paint the markings of Bhaal around the corpse.

So the deed was done. It all happened in a matter of minutes, but to Raphael it felt like hours had passed as he observed from the shadows. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the scene, they sparkled with curiosity and acclaim for the sheer skill of the murder. And for the possibilities that awaited him.

With the dagger back in its sheath, Tav stood as still as a statue, their arms outstretched, basking in the kill.

Raphael took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. The second act was about to begin.

He would need to compose himself before making a grand entrance, otherwise it would scare Tav away. His usual flair for theatrics might not suit their tastes on this occasion; he needed to ease their nerves, guide them back from the spell they were under and use that to his advantage.

Snap!

Raphael teleported behind Tav, sitting casually on one of the massive boulders next to the campfire.

“You are quite the artist.” Raphael began, crossing his arms in front of him. “I should applaud you, but I’d risk waking the others.”

Tav twirled around, drawing their dagger at his sudden appearance. Recognition flickered in Tav’s eyes and the weapon staggered for a split second as they nearly lowered it, but they quickly changed their mind. They took a step towards Raphael, the dagger aimed at his heart.

Raphael raised his hands as an act of surrender, he wouldn't dare trigger another murderous episode so soon. Though, he let that thought remain… wondering if they would go so far as to massacre their entire camp?

“I must admit, I was rather taken by your commitment and overall execution. The nature of your work always piqued my interests. Although I don’t think I could ever stomach something such as…” Raphael tilted his head towards the corpse. “Truly, it was an honour getting to see a master perform such barbarity in the flesh.”

Raphael rose from the boulder, giving his deepest bow as a sign of respect.

Tav turned around, only just realising the body behind them. They backed away from it, dropping the dagger as their hands trembled.

“I… huh? No. No! W-what is going on? What is the meaning of this? Is this one of your cruel jokes, Devil?”

“A joke? Hah!” Raphael promptly covered his mouth as the laughter escaped his lips. He looked around the camp cautiously, waiting for at least one of the companions to stir, but they all remained asleep.

He resumed, in a quieter, hushed tone.

“No, no, my murderous friend, there is no blood on my hands. See?” Raphael twirled his digits, taking a moment to admire his nails amid the glowing campfire. “Look carefully, the evidence is all around you.”

Tav’s head dropped to their hands, their eyes deepening with dread as they took in all the blood. They desperately tried to wipe away the evidence on their trousers, their nightshirt… but it remained stuck to their skin. They fell to their knees, grabbing their head and pulling at their hair.

“Oh Gods… NO! I-I don’t know… no…I… it makes no sense, I was only…”

Shadowheart stirred in the sleeping bag next to Tav. Warily, Raphael raised his index finger to his lips.

“Hush now, else you’ll rouse the entire camp. I don’t imagine you’d find that very helpful.”

“This is all a nightmare. Yes. A nightmare. This whole thing, it’s not real. No. Nothing is real. You’re not real. I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. That’s it. You’re OK. You’re OK…”

Tav folded into a ball, holding on to their knees as they rocked back and forth, muttering nonsense. Raphael titled his head, his face a mask of serenity but his eyes burned, radiating with excitement.

“Do you have no memory of… ?” Raphael pointed towards the corpse.

Tav shook their head, staring coldly at Alfira’s body.

“I… I don’t remember anything. Nothing. Not from tonight or before that fucking crash. I barely know who I am. It’s like I never existed.”

Tav’s face curled with distaste at the situation, their eyes glazing over in resignation. Countless opportunities flooded towards Raphael like a dam bursting, nearly knocking him over. Oh, the things he could do with this newfound knowledge, how he could shape and mould Tav as he saw fit. How utterly delicious.

All he had to do was snap his fingers and their memory would be restored… It was that easy. But the truth would destroy them. They weren’t ready to learn what they were, what they were capable of. They’d self-destruct, surely. Dooming all his future plans, the thousands of years he spent planning, scheming. No, it was not a gamble he was willing to take. Not yet.

“Perhaps I can be of service then?”

Tav slowly looked up at Raphael, their eyes concentrating on him.

“You’re unfortunately too late.”

“My, we give up easily. The body. Allow me to dispose of it for you.”

Tav opened their mouth, their forehead scrunching.

“I don–”

Raphael raised his hand dramatically above him, cutting their words short as he prepared his thumb and middle finger.

Snap!

Alfira’s body disappeared in a flurry of sparks. Tav jumped back, suppressing a scream at the sudden fiery display.

“I’ll give you this one for free. And mind you, this is entirely an altruistic act. I don’t ever want to hear you or any other mortal say a Devil can’t be sympathetic again.”

“Why…?”

Tav’s eyes filled with tears as they looked away from Raphael, shaking their head in confusion. In denial. The Devil kneeled down, placing a comforting hand on their shoulder, squeezing it lightly. He allowed his fingers to soak up the warmth from Tav, leaving his hand to rest on their body for perhaps a second too long.

“Merely a taste of what’s to come, of what I can offer you in the days ahead. The next one will come at a price however, which we can negotiate in due time.”

“And my memory…?” Tav sniffed, their eyes locking with Raphael’s.

"It will return. You might not want to know who you really are, in the end. But when you’re ready, I will find you. I’ll be watching.”

Raphael stood up, patting away the dirt from his knees.

“Oh, I’d wash the blood off your hands if I were you. And maybe get rid of that little shrine to Bhaal while you’re at it. Your companions will be asking questions in the morning and you don’t want to cause any more suspicion.”

Snap!

A flaming portal appeared behind Raphael, leading straight to his Chamber of Egress.

He made one final flourishing bow to Tav, before turning away from them and walking through the gateway.

"Oh, the fun we’ll have." Raphael whispered, humming a tune as he disappeared. "Together, we’ll paint the town red."

#bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael x durge #bg3

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x-heesy · 3 months ago

Text

😂😂

Iɴ ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛ: sᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ

One, two, woop woop!

I just want.

You just want.

I just want.

Woop Woop Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh(scream) One, two, woop woop!

#panicdynamicpandemic #trackoftheday #gifattack #gifmania #moody #edm #electronicmusic #shakewhatyamamagaveya #raaaaven @bigbonzo 😂😂😂 #electroshockboogie #dancemfdance #partymusic #lostinmusic #thankslordformusick

Warp 1.9 (feat. Steve Aoki) by The Bloody Beetroots, (YouTuBe)

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 9 months ago

Text

REWATCHING GO S1, LIVE PLAY-BY-PLAY OF DOOMSDAY WAHOO

HELLO MAGGOTS REWATCHING SEASON 1 BECAUSE THE FIRST TIME WAS A KIDNAPPING CHAOTIC MESS. EPISODE ONE HERE GOES. I DON'T REMEMBER A LOT OF DETAILS BUT YES.

Opening scene and Earth's got vibe-checked by God and I've been gaslit about the dinosaurs

GARDEN OF EDEEEEEN wow his first appearance and Aziraphale's already so prissy and flustered might fuck around and fall in love with him idk

I finally understand who these mf's are hi Hastur and Ligur you're not zombies after all

FOR FUCK'S SAKE SECOND SCENE CROWLEY'S BEEN IN AND SHE WALKED IN, SERVED HIPS HAIR AND CUNT, AND THEN MANAGED TO TALK HER AWAY INTO A PROBLEM

LIKE GENUINELY SHE COMES AND SASHAYS WITH HER HAIR AND SAYS TIMES ARE CHANGING AND HEAD OFFICE LOVES ME AND JUST INSTANTLY HASTUR AND LIGUR USE HER WORDS AGAINST HER

idk sister mary loquacious is kinda doing it for me rn with that satanic nun's habit and losergirl energy

third crowley scene and he's misplaced THE LITERALLY GODDAMNED ANTICHRIST because he made small talk with a bloke outside without checking for details

mmmmhm yes sister mary wink again your bitchless decisions are sexy y'know what i mean

Gabriel feels like his brain was eviscerated and replaced with one of those youtuber's paid course promos at the end of their how to change your life in 45 days: three simple mindset shifts video

so THIS IS WHY EVERYONE KEEPS SAYING PAVLOVIAN IN THIS FANDOM IT'S BECAUSE OF DUCKS of course it's because of ducks

mmmhm yes sure crepes French revolu--Crowley stop eye-fucking Aziraphale you're making everyone at the Ritz horny

Aziraphale don't moan into your food man you can't take these two anywhere

Crowley thanking the driver for slowing down is everything to me

And they're drunk hu-fucking-zzah good thing we'll have 11 year olds saving the world coz these fuckers sure ain't doing shit

OH MY GOD HE WAS TRYING TO SAY BOUILLABAISSE I JUST REALISED. I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST MAKING KISSY FACES AT AZIRAPHALE I'M NOT OK-

What Aziraphale was doing back was definitely kissy faces though that mfer wasn't even trying to say bouillabaisse when Crowley said what sounded suspiciously like baby

kissy kissy from lil miss prissy [i would have made such a great high school bully shame i had no inclinations that way]

SORRY WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK WAS THAT SOBERING UP EXCUSE ME THE FANFICS MADE IT SOUND LIKE IT WAS A CLICK AND THEY'RE SUDDENLY NORMAL WHY IS THE ALCOHOL REFILLING

oop nun down nun down

i want ya see a wile ya thwart amirite on a t-shirt

"actually i encourage humans to-" just say you're a lazy bitch azi we love you

love crowley fake-manipulating azi into helping like azi wants to be manipulated y'know so it's not technically his fault he was wiled over or whatever and they're both just such ENABLERS

not azi going SOFT at being godfathers with crowley

NOT BROTHER FRANCIS PLEASE NO FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS SACRED AZI WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS PLEASE

WARLOCKKKKK I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

HNNNG MICHAEL SHEEN HAD TOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS

why is nanny ashtoreth so seductive with that of course dear is it just crowley's inherent disastergirl sex appeal

HALF PONYTAIL CROWLEY I AM A FUCKING SLUT FOR HALF PONYTAIL

GASLIGHTING HEAVEN AND HELL THAT'S MY BABYGIRLS

erIC THE DISPOSABLE DEMON I DIDN'T KNOW THEY COME IN S1 well not come i hope unless being eaten by a hellho--nope

ANGEL CROWLEY SAID ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL

CROWLEY TRYING TO BE SUBTLE ABOUT KILLING BEFORE GETTING ANNOYED

waiter crOWLEY OUTFIT I CANNOT BE NORMAL AFTER THE WEDDING DRESS DESIGNING ABOUT THIS COSTUME

FOOLS WRONG BOY YOU FOOLS IM DEAD

DOG IS UNIRONICALLY SO CUTE EVEN BEFORE IT GOES SMOL

gonna give my roxie a kissy brb she's my angel and all this dog talk makes me miss her (she's a few feet away under the bed)

i asked her for a kissy and she crawled out and gave me a kiss i love her

DOGGGGG ADAMMM

...roxie's crying to be taken downstairs it's nearly 2 am this is on me for waking her up i crowley'd myself fml

EYYYYY WELCOME TO THE END TIMES don't mind me I'll have to take roxie down yes I know maggots I'm crowley-coded I KNOW THAT I'M A BLOODY DISASTER BYEEEEEEEE

#good omens mascot #good omens #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #maggots #good omens fandom #good omens season 1 #in the beginning #WAHOO #OK GTG TAKE MY DOG DOWNSTAIRS AT 1:45 IN THE MORNING #THE CROWLEY LIFE #IT'S HARD WORK BEING THE RESIDENT DISASTER #BUT SOMEONE'S GOTTA DO IT

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