#bold metals collection

[griffinborn]

Ok I get where everyone is coming from when they see the design of Pavitr ‘Pav’ Prabhakar aka Indian SpiderMan as an expression of gender queerness, but let me be frank this is very typical Indian male costuming.

Even the toxic masculine patriarchal men have similar stylistic expressions or to be be more precise this is a traditional/historical/ye olde male aesthetic.

Having said that I love what design elements are being used here. So…

Let's take it from the top.

The FACE MASK

The Three Colors surrounding the eyes are typical spider man colours but they are done to evoke the image the traditional makeup done for the ancient dance art Kathakali. In which the whole face is painted and bold lines are drawn to emphasise/exaggerate the eyes. These eye mask lines are usually thin - bold-thin.

Same with the white lines on the cheek bones which are indicative of tusks or pincers of demons or Animorphs in folklore/myths.

The white dot in the centre of the forehead is the most common Hindu motif, expressed in myriad of ways all over the country .

The ARM/LEG BANDS/CUFFS

The bicep cuff is a part of Indian historic armour - made of malleable metal, its bejewelled ornate counterparts were then worn in day to day life. Here in the north Royals still wear it during big ceremonies. These metal bands are generally worn by warriors.

bangles (metal circles worn at wrists) are an important male accessory and are more daily wear even in present modern times, some religions (Sikh,Jain etc.) require the males to always wear one at all times. The ones on the suit were more in the shape of wrist guards which again were an armour accessory. In Indian male clothing the cuffs are usually emphasised.

Due to traditional male footwear being sandals metal ankle cuffs were employed to guard the shins and were worn during wars while thinner bands - ornamental accessories - were worn in daily wear.

There are so many other things I want to elaborate on like: The PATTERNS/LOGO,The LEG GARMENT (??!)(what’s the collective term for clothes for legs?), The Cat’s Cradle swinging/body animation ; but my ADHD is already acting up so imma leave this here.

SIDE NOTE:

I love how the heel and toes are bare in this design. It makes sense from the spider powers perspective - no barrier in contact allows for better manoeuvring and jump control as is seen in gymnastics. But also because in Hindu culture important tasks including some traditional sports require the removal of footwear and getting feet dirty is not discouraged (of course with an adherence to washing of the feet multiple times in a day)

I also loved how incorporated his wrist guard is in his spider style using it as a toy and a tool. This aspect of making use of something in a completely different way was so desi ‘Jugaad’ I was stunned.

[multific]

A Love Beyond Time

Count Orlok x Reader

Warnings: murder, blood and grief

Summary: A Vampire's love is forever. No matter the centuries or lifetimes. He belonged to you and you to him.  

The castle stood isolated on top of the hill, its rough silhouette was framed by the moon's glow. 

A cold wind whistled as it met the ancient stones, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth. 

Inside those cold, towering walls, your life with Count Orlok had been hauntingly beautiful in its own way. 

Though the villagers whispered fearful tales of the vampire lord, you knew a different side of him. 

To the world, he was a creature of the night and blood. 

But to you, he was a caring husband, a being of depth and tenderness.

Evenings were your sanctuary. 

As dusk fell and shadows crept across the land, Orlok would rise, his pale form emerging without noise into the dim glow of the candlelit hall. 

He would find you waiting by the grand fireplace, wrapped in a thick woollen shawl and a smile on your face.

The fire’s warmth never seemed to reach him, yet he always sat close, drawn in by you. 

You would speak of simple things that happened during the day. While he listened to you talk, his sharp eyes would soften with affection.

He preferred to listen to you instead of talking. Your voice was as if angel's sang. His was deep and rumbly with uneven breathing.

The love you shared was expressed in the smallest gestures, the way he would brush a stray piece of hair from your face, the way you would smile at him despite the coldness of his touch. 

It was a love that transcended fear and mortality.

Yet happiness, especially in such a world, was delicate. 

One morning, just as dawn's first light came, a mob from the nearby village stormed the castle gates. 

They had grown bold, driven by fear and ignorance, they believed that by hurting you, they could weaken the dark figure they so dreaded. And they would be correct.

The Count's only weakness was you. But even in his weakness, there was strength.

You tried to hide in the upper chambers, but they found you. 

They broke down the door where you were hiding.

The plan to murder you was merciless.

Rough hands dragged you and even though you fought and begged, their numbers overwhelmed you. 

Pain shot through your side as they struck you down, and the world blurred into darkness. The last thing you heard before everything faded was the echo of their retreating footsteps.

They ran. 

While you were bleeding, right by the grand fireplace.

When night fell and Orlok awoke, he was met with the scent of blood, a metallic tang that hung heavy in the air. 

Panic filled him as he followed the trail, his heart, long thought dead, pounding with fear. 

He found you lying on the cold stone floor, lifeless and still. 

For a moment, he simply stared, as if refusing to believe what his eyes could clearly see. 

Then a cry tore from him, raw and primal, echoing through the castle's empty halls.

Causing the walls to shake.

He held your broken corpse in his arms, his cold hands trembling as he cried. 

Guilt and grief filled him, each time he opened his eyes, it became more unbearable than the last. Each time he saw the blood. His mind filled with the times when you willingly gave your essence to him.

Now those times haunted him.

Memories of your smile came to him as he cried. 

Tears falling from his eyes.

The one being who had brought light into his dark existence was gone.

His wife was dead.

And he knew exactly who did this. He knew exactly where to go.

The foolish humans living in the village.

Gently he placed your cold body on the floor and collected your pendant. The pendant, a gift from him at your wedding night.

Suddenly his grief turned to anger.

His vengeance was just as brutal and merciless as the villager's actions.

There were screams, people begged. But just as they didn't listen to you, the Count refused to listen to their pleas.

By dawn, the village that had dared to harm his beloved was no more, reduced to ash, blood and ruin. 

Yet even after his revenge, the void within him remained. He knew, nothing could fill that void.

He was alone once more.

He buried you the next night.

A grave right under your favourite tree. Your headstone, simple yet delicate. 

Every day, he visited your grave, speaking softly to the stone as if you could still hear him. 

And each time he brought a beautiful red rose.

He remembered the time when his castle had beautiful roses in its garden by the entrance, back when his castle was filled with light. It was a home not just some ruin.

The only thing he had left was your pendant. He always had that with himself, carried it, held it and even slept with it on his chest.. 

Centuries passed, and though the world changed around him, Orlok remained frozen in time, a ghost bound by sorrow and undying love.

He walked the halls with a simple rose in his hand, down to your grave, then he would tell you how much he missed you. As he touched the stone, he placed the rose down.

Then, one quiet evening, long after the world had forgotten the tale of the vampire and his lost bride, a knock echoed through the castle’s grand hall.

Orlok, now a creature of legend and mourning, moved toward the door, expecting only the wind. 

But when he opened it, he found something he had long stopped hoping for.

“I found you,” you said softly, your voice steady but filled with emotion. You raised your arms as if to hug him. But you stopped.

He stood frozen in disbelief. 

You looked different yet still the same. 

Young, alive and warm, but your eyes held the same familiar light. 

The light that was stolen from him.

You looked like the woman in his dreams, not his nightmares. 

“I remembered. One night, it all came back to me. Who I was, who you are. I knew I had to come and find you, My Love.”

Orlok’s hands trembled as he reached toward you, hesitant, as if he was afraid that you would vanish like a dream. A dream he had many times during the last centuries.

When his fingers met your face, and he felt the warmth of your skin, his eyes filled with hope.

“You’re real,” he whispered, his voice breaking at the end. “You came back to me.”

“I came home,” you said, tears filling your eyes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, you just allowed him to process everything. 

Then, suddenly, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if to shield you from the cruel world that had once taken you from him. 

For the first time in centuries, the cold emptiness within him was replaced with warmth.

A warmth he had lost but it came back to him.

Together, you entered the castle, the heavy doors creaking shut behind you. 

Later that night, as the fire crackled in the grand fireplace and the scent of pine filled the air, Orlok gazed at you with something that words could not capture. 

He traced your features with his eyes, saving every detail to memory.

“I never thought I would feel this again,” he said quietly. “For so long, I existed in darkness, bound by grief. But now…you’ve brought light back into my world.”

You reached for his hand, entwining your fingers with his. 

“I was always meant to find you again. Love like ours doesn’t end. It waits, even across lifetimes.”

"I have avenged you."

"I have heard, thank you" you whispered as he moved even closer to you.

When your lips met in a tender kiss, it was as if the centuries of despair and longing melted away. 

At that moment, time did not matter. 

All that existed was the love you shared.

A love which was ethereal. 

And so, in the heart of that ancient castle, where shadows once reigned, light and love triumphed once more.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @brevlada24

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

​​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

THE OTHER WOMAN.

pairing. single dad tangerine x fem reader — angst word count. 1954 summary. you feel like the other woman in your relationship with tangerine, questioning whether he’ll ever see you in the same light as his past love. his daughters big feeling about the topic make the situation all the more challenging

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Unwanted. That’s the only feeling you could really identify around Tangerine’s daughter, Mandy. Her harsh, hateful eyes like that of a warning, a silent message to you and you only that you weren’t welcome. The expressions she wears are a spitting image of her father’s, stares and glares always seeming to scope you out of every room — making sure you know your place. Everything about Tangerine miniaturised into a ten-year-old girl.

The near eleven months of being in her and Tangerine’s life never seemed to get any easier. And with as much time as you’ve spent with her, you’d have thought she’d take to you by now. But still, she hasn’t.

You wanted to prove yourself to her without being fearful of the response, show her your fun and whimsy. Show the parts you hide around her. So today, you offered to pick her up from school — to save Tangerine another job between his forever extensive list of errands. 

And so you stood near the school gate, a mini bag of her favourite animal chocolate biscuits in your hand to surprise her — the fingers of your other hand fidgeting anxiously, waiting for the flood kids to exit their six-hour-imprisonment. And then you spot her, her smile bright and bold as he skips with her friends, their book bags swinging with their jumps. All personality dissipating the moment she locks eyes with you through the metal fencing.

She parts from her friends, her features straightening as she walks towards you. 

“Where’s my dad?” she asks, looking around.

“He got caught up with the food shop so I offered to get you,” you smile down to her, trying to ease her. “Hope that’s okay.”

She sighs, the sound disappointed. 

“I brought these for you,” you extend your hand, offering her the small purple packet. 

But she declines, her face like that of disgust as she stares at it. “I want my dad.”

“Of course,” you nod and shove the packet into your bag. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” you offer a weak smile, nodding her along to the car park.

The drive home is quiet, your questions going unanswered and ignored as she stares out the window – trying to pretend you weren’t there. Your attempts of offering friendship turned away like all your others over the last several months. You wanted to feel accepted, feel welcome. But the looks she’d give you were often similar to disappointment. Disappointment that you’re ‘the replacement.’

You pull onto the pebble drive of Tangerine’s house and park beside his car. As soon as it stills, Mandy is getting out, slamming the door behind her and running off towards the house. You give yourself a brief moment to collect yourself, trying to calm your breathing as not to cry. And so you follow after her, getting closer to shouting and screaming inside the house. 

The last you caught of the spat being from the very angry, very sad little girl. “I hate you. I hate her.” The sound of heavy footsteps following as they storm up the stairs. 

You poke your head into the front door, spotting Tangerine at the bottom of the stairs raking through his hair — trying to calm himself as he looks at a family photo frame on the wall. One with his wife and infant baby daughter. He swears under his breath and kicks at the pair of shoes in front of him, knocking them against the wall. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, watching him as you close the door behind you.

He turns to face you, startled. “God,” he utters, holding his heart.

“You okay?” you ask.

He inhales deeply and nods, the act like he’s trying to calm himself.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, features sympathetic as you gesture upstairs. 

“Ain’t your fault,” he shakes his head, trying to reassure you. “It’s just a lot for her, that’s all.”

“I don’t think she’ll ever like me,” you laugh weakly, the sound like that of discomfort rather than humour. “I’ve been around nearly a year,” you prompt, avoiding his eyes. 

He paces towards you and lays a hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you through the very obvious hurt you’re both feeling. “To her, it just happened, you know?” he says, words soft as he presses a kiss to your temple. “I lost my mum young, too. It’s gonna take her a while to come around… and when she’s ready, we’ll be there,” he pauses to look at you. “Both of us.”

You lean into him, nuzzling your head against his briefly. “I know,” you exhale unsteadily, trying to ease yourself. “It’s just hard,” you murmur, eyes focused on a wedding photo portrait on the side table. “I feel like I’m inserting myself.”

“You’re not,” he reassures, hand reaching for yours. “You’re not. I promise you’re not.”

You feel the cold brush of metal from his left hand and you glance down to your hand enveloped in his — looking at the wedding band he still wears even two years later. The ring an act of promise from his old love.

You shake your hand from his hold, retracting it from him. It all begins to feel like too much and you want to back up, but you’re already against the door as it is. 

“I think I should go home.”

“No,” Tangerine says softly, head shaking sternly as if to enforce his words.

“She doesn’t want me here,” your eyebrows sadly furrow, curving in the middle. “And I—”

“I do,” he interrupts, a downcast expression mirroring yours. “I want you here. I do,” he reaches for your hand again, and this time you don’t pull away. “She’s struggling, yeah, but so am I.”

“I know,” you whisper, pulsing him with a squeeze. “I know you are,” you release his hand and wrap your arms around him, pulling him for a hug. The embrace warm and safe, the act a physical testament of your support.

He rests his forehead in the crook of your neck, burying his face into your comfort. You hear a soft sniffle and you hold a hand over the back of his head, trying to protect him from his grief. You simultaneously run a line down his back, soothing and smoothing him — keeping him aware of your presence. 

The tender moment is cut short when the pair of you hear a loud clatter from upstairs, the sound coming from Mandy’s room. He parts from you and rushes up the steps and you follow closely behind. 

“Mand!” Tangerine shouts out, barging into his daughter's room. She’s on the floor, a bunch of books and toys scattered around her. “Fuckin’ hell,” he pants, making his way closer to his little girl. “What have I told you about climbing?” he shakes his head, clearly pissed by her rebelion. “Could’ve really hurt yourself. What are you playing at?”

“I was trying to get something,” she looks at the bookshelf ahead, gesturing to a box.

You follow her eyeline from your spot in the doorframe, noticing a tiny pink floral box. You step into her room cautiously and reach for the trinket, holding it carefully as you get closer to Mandy and Tangerine — kneeling beside them. 

“It’s so pretty,” you say quietly, marvelling at its detail.

“It’s mums,” she responds and takes the box from your hold, her far smaller hands brushing over yours. “It’s her favourite.”

You turn to look at Tangerine as he watches his daughter, his eyes glued to the box Mandy’s holding.

“It plays music,” she states, her face lighting up.

“It does?” you ask, features mirroring hers. “What does it sound like?”

Excitement. A newfound feeling you felt around Tangerine’s daughter.

“Am I allowed to play it, daddy?” Mandy asks, looking up at him.

“Of course, poppet,” he nods, smoothing over her curls that match his. “You can play it.”

She opens the little wooden box and twists the handle at the side, letting the gentle classical tune play. With Mandy’s attention captivated, you reach a hand to Tangerine behind her back, comforting him — the sound sure to flood his brain with past memories. He looks over to you, eyes soft and slightly red as he acknowledges you, trying to show his appreciation.

The music lowers to a quiet lull until it stops completely.

“I can see why it’s her favourite,” you say, looking down at her — watching her smile grow wider. “It’s beautiful.”

“She gave it to me, didn’t she, dad?”

He chuckles weakly as he leans forward to kiss her forehead, skimming her hair line. “She did, darlin’.”

“Daddy said it was hers when she was little like me,” she speaks to you, maintaining eye contact like she's never done before. 

“That’s right,” Tangerine smiles at his daughter. “She told you to keep it safe, didn’t she?” he rhetorically asks, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Yeah,” she smiles, the expression spreading across her sweet, little face.

“Want me to pop it somewhere safe?” he asks, gesturing to the small keepsake.

Mandy nods and passes Tangerine the trinket, her hold gentle as she transfers it into her dad’s far larger hold. He lets go of your hand as he stands, getting up from his crouched position with a groan. Tangerine walks towards the bookshelf and turns around, like an idea suddenly arose in his mind. 

“Say,” he starts, meeting both of your gazes. “What would you say about having company for dinner, Mands?”

“It depends what we have,” she jokes, voice mischievous like that of a younger Tangerine — she really is her father’s daughter.

“How about,” you draw out as you twist to face her, tapping your chin like you were pretending to think. 

“Waffles,” she interrupts.

“Waffles?” you repeat, tone dramatised. “I was thinking more worms and ear wax.”

She laughs as she repeats your suggestion, shaking her head as she does so.

“Wanna know what I had in mind?” Tangerine chimes in, joining the pair of you on the floor. He waits a beat before continuing. “Toenail soup.”

Mandy turns to look at you and laughs. The noise genuine and sincere as she finds amusement in your company.

“Are you staying?” she questions, looking between you and her dad.

“Not if we’re having toenail soup,” you joke and shake your head. “Only if you want me here.”

She keeps her eyes on her father, nodding subtly at him as if she’s suddenly grown shy.

“She does,” Tangerine speaks for his girl, his arms opening up for her as she bashfully knocks her head into his chest. “I think she also wants to say something else, ain’t that right, Mands?” he prompts, patting her on the back. “Something beginning with ‘s’?”

She mumbles and groans faintly. “Sorry I was mean,” she mutters, hiding. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you say softly, laying a gentle hand on her back below Tan’s. “Change isn’t easy— I struggle with it too. And what you’re going through is such a big thing— such a big change. But me and your dad are both here, okay? And I… and I love you both and I want to be there for each of you.”

Tangerine reaches for your hand with his spare, left one, giving it a squeeze as if to show his gratitude — his appreciation for your patience and support. You return the act with one of your own, pulsing his hand and interlocking with his fingers. You look down to your hand, noticing the absence of a gold band on his ring finger. 

He’s always been good at stashing things in his pockets.

There will still be space in his heart for his lost love, but now, he’s just making more room for you.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[circeyoru]

Collection of Overlords _ Part 2 = Requested

[Alastor x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 1.5 — Part 2 (here) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9  — Part 10 — Part 11 — Part 12 — Part 13

In a room, dark and empty, the floor below encased millions of crying and pleading souls. Yet you walked over them as one would to insects on the ground. Your eyes peeked open a bit and the voices all quiet to nothing

The rows of Knight armours and life-sized wooden figures that aligned the walls all bowed in your presence. Your feet brought you to a round red table to the farther side, on top of the table was the exact replica of the landscape of the Pride Ring

In this domain of yours was a lovely creation of yours after Lucifer took over Hell, a table for each of the Rings of Hell and one each table was the exact map of everything within the Ring. From buildings to landmarks to the portals to other Rings for the Hellborns. You had it all and saw it all with your eyes around all of Hell

Your fingers hovered over the marked territories and the duplicates of your souls’ figures placed in their respective areas. Your eyes scanned over, spotting some new figures that has appeared and some areas marked with unfamiliar colours and aura. A hand waves over the entirety of the map like a fan, domains marked in red was nearly half of the place

Whispers of souls from the bodies of your provided winged creatures known as Cages flew around you. They were of your design, with black feathered bodies and wings, similar to that of a crow or raven. But with a twist, eyes red as blood, wings of blades, metal claws, and uniquely their bodies house the souls you deemed with potential to return back to their own lives

“Sinners have been brazen.” 

“Very bold. They have stolen your land.” 

“Disrespectful. Undeserving.”

“Lazy Overlords!”

“Now, now, my Cages. They have a hard time as it is, don’t give them too much pressure.” While your tone was understanding and sweet, the coldness and disappointment in your eyes told a different story. “But I suppose they have been slacking in my absence.”

“Slacking. Slacking.” 

“How dare they. How dare.” 

“Punishment. Punishment.”

“Meeting?” 

A smile formed and your eyes closed, you turned away from the table as familiar dolls floated over to you. “Yes, it is time for a reunion.” 

A soft tune played in the radio tower. You sat in the comfortable armchair while your finger swayed from side to side with the music, you hummed a bit with your eyes closed, and one leg crossed over the other. Various pages floated in the air while a pen was writing on each of them at lightning speed

Your head tilted up a bit as something came to your knowledge. With a snap of your fingers, the paperwork all disappeared and the soft tune was gone. You hummed as you got up and faced outside, even with your eyes closed you can see all of Pentagram City that was the heart of the Pride Ring

“Alastor.”

The Radio Demon immediately appeared after the shadows rose to form his figure, he bowed with hand over his heart before placing it behind his back as he straightened up, “Yes, My Dear Liege?”

“Is Vox still challenging you to random games of his?” You remained facing the view outside of the tower’s window.

“That he is.”

After Alastor had rubbed into Vox’s face that you were avoiding Vox, the insecure Overlord was keen on challenging Alastor on battles of a playful nature to one up him as a way to prove he was superior. Though all that told you was his childishness and lack of responsibility

It had been a while since your presence was made known to the other Overlords, particularly your elite collection. Your stay in the Hazbin Hotel was passed within the group, but none dare to approach you as it was against your likeness to seek you out under information passed along. It wasn’t wise to fake or arrange a chance meeting as well, for you’d know and they don’t want to face the consequence

While you were physically absent, you were not ignorant to what goes on, especially with your collection. You thought perhaps it was time for you to formally make yourself known since they have been very well behaved even after Alastor egged them so. Good that none took the bait

It’s not your intention, however, to put such test and tease for your wonderful elites, but when the opportunity is there, you can’t resist. You let things fall and observe the results. They were very amusing with their persistence to find you yet appear as though they weren’t bothered with your absence

Though the fun’s gotta end

“Arrange a meeting of my Elites,” You turned your head to Alastor’s direction with your eyes closed, “Hmm, in 6 days, let’s do it at Camilla’s place. The Witching hour would do nicely.”

Alastor bowed once more, “Of course, as you desire. Shall I broadcast it right away?”

You gestured to his chair for him to take a seat. When he did, you placed a hand on his shoulder and your eyes opened with a glow, in turn, so did his pendant with an eye design, “Please do.”

Alastor felt power surge through his form as his tower lit up with an eerie green, he spoke into the microphone on his desk, “Let this be a broadcast to the only Elites~ A special message and invitation to the Collection of Elites from Our Beloved Liege.”

Simultaneously, in various parts of the Pride Ring, targetted individuals received their broadcast. Immediately standing at alert

Zestial threw away his teacup and saucer the moment he felt the left coat pocket glow. He carefully took out his pendant and made it hover in the air while his head bowed, awaiting for the message broadcasted through Alastor’s powers mixed with yours

Carmilla raised from her seat when her chest warmed from the pendant, she pulled it out from the charm from the chain around her neck. She brushed aside the documents she had littered around her desk and placed it down, bowing with her hair down when she realized the situation, the long await word from you

Rosie shushed her cannibals, excusing herself when his pendant warmed up with a glow. She arrived at her private room and set the pendant on the couch while she seated next to it, acting as if you were present with her

Zeezi immediately threw a punch at the demon, quickly ending the fight. She kicked away the body, wiping away the blood on her hands before taking out the pendant, and bowed her head to it with eyes closed

Vox’s eyes widened, eying the pendant when Alastor’s voice came through, he was about to dismiss it but the fact that your title was mentioned meant Alastor was speaking on your behalf. He travelled through the cameras to where the other two were lazing around with the pendant in hand, putting it on the table in front of him and which made Velvette and Valentino snap to attention

“A meeting will be held in actually 6 days, at the Wtiching Hour. The meeting place will be at Carmilla’s. Needless to say, your attendance is mandatory.” Alastor relayed all the details you told him.

However, before Alastor ended the broadcast, you spoke up near the microphone, “I look forward to your presence, everyone.”

Once the news was out, the Overlords immediately got to work

Zestial went to Carmilla’s place help her prepare to your standards and satisfactory. Preparing the room to be more elegant and dignified, different from how the usual Overlord meetings were when she hosted

When Carmilla’s daughters heard the news, they were excited as well, it has been ages since they last saw you and even longer when their household was hosting your meeting place. For it was an undeniable honour for you to pick their rundown location for something so rare and sacred

After all, this was the first meeting you’ve hosted and called the others since years, it felt even longer when it was you that gathered everyone together like this. Surely, the topics of discussion was grim and serious for such an occasion

Either way, all Overlords were going to enjoy their time in your presence. Just having you near them was a gift and for you to call them was a joyious event, one worthy of celebration

Though they were very envious that Alastor got you to himself all this time. Again, the blame would be on Vox who had been causing you such discomfortable in your own world, for all their territories were yours to begin with. You were merely gracious to share your spoils with them. Lowly sinners that rose to their current standing and ranks with your support

All looked forward and dreaded the day that was to come. The other sinners and demons felt a change in the air when the Elite Overlords were more active. It was subtle but hard to ignore when the Overlords were more on edge and easy to come to anger

Zestial appearing in the streets more, Carmilla’s demand for perfection, Rosie’s increase appetite, Zeezi’s increase violent battles, and the Vees’ desperate need to produce more results

Somehow, the nobodies Overlords heard of an Overlord meeting and planned on attending as well. Yet the moment these self-proclaimed souls planned on doing so, knight armours and wooden figurines took a hold of them and the shadows devoured them without mercy

Alastor set down a plate of food in front of you, noticing the small smile on your face even when your eyes were closed. “Does something amuse you so, My Liege?”

You chuckled, “Oh, nothing much. Merely some souls begging for a good torment.”

Alastor felt his smile grow, understanding the implication. He so loved your sadistic nature to those unworthy, for he done the same. “I see. As long as you’re enjoying yourself.”

Your eyelids fluttered open a hinch, “Believe me when I say, I am.”

Note: Okay, I lied. There's more to write than I thought. In my defense, there wasn't much idea, but then it flooded when I started. So there's part 3 where the Overlords are meeting the Collector~

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @plutobots @ray-rook @thealienartist @serenity-songbird @galaxydreamer468 @raynerrold @wen01203

[buckets-and-trees]

Mob Bucky walking into the kitchen and picking you up to carry you out to the bedroom when you spent whole day cooking. You argue that you still need to bake two pies and make a salad, or something, but Bucky doesn't care.

"You spent the past two days on your feet. Now you're gonna spend the next twenty four hours on your back. Maybe on hands and knees, if I feel like it."

Hahahaha! Because we WOULD. But it's our chef heart!

Collection: Devour Title: CUSTARD Characters/Pairings: Mob Boss!Bucky x female!Chef!Reader Word Count: 687

Content Warnings: referenced smut (vaginal penetration/fucking, oral: female receiving), mob boss Bucky

Logistical Notes: Takes place after the series (shh, I know I'm still working on the final chapter). Prompt from the ask in bold italics, and notching a Naughty prompt from @the-slumberparty's Naughty or Nice challenge in plain bold.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

James was calling your name, but you didn’t hear him until he was in the kitchen with you.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You didn’t register the dangerous chill in his tone either, too busy skimming your fingers back over the recipe you were studying, frowning back at the mixture in the metal bowl whipping up in front of you.

“Mmm,” you hummed, completely focused on your work, “will you taste this?” You reached for one of the small spoons in a jar on the counter, dipped it into the bowl, and held it out for your mob boss.

He crossed the kitchen and was at your side in an instant. You only looked his way briefly enough to thrust the spoon into his mouth just as he opened it to speak again. You reached for another spoon to taste the custard’s current status for yourself.

“It definitely needs the nutmeg,” you murmured, wondering why the recipe you were referencing didn’t have any listed.

“You definitely need to be out of this kitchen!” James ordered.

You whipped your head back to glare at him. “I promised I would bring pie to the brunch, James.”

“And you’ve already made one.”

“But I didn’t make that pie for the brunch! It’s the backup pecan pie, and everyone deserves to have pie that was intended for the brunch. Pecan pie is not a proper brunch pie,” you argued. “I really should make a fruit pie to go along with this buttermilk pie, too,” you added for yourself, tone dropping back to your concentrated cooking tone.

“No! I forbid it!”

“You forbid it?”

“Yes, I forbid it! Against my better judgement, I tolerated you cooking the holiday meal with our families, but you spent the past two days on your feet when you’re supposed to be off, chef.”

He pulled the spoon out of your right hand and the spatula out of your left, flung them onto the counter, and flung you over his shoulder.

“James Buchanan Barnes!”

He didn’t speak as he walked you out of the kitchen and down the hallway. You squirmed a bit – knowing with all his strength there was no way he would let you fall, but also wanting to protest over being dragged away from your task.

He tossed you unceremoniously onto the bed and was on you immediately.

His large frame trapped you beneath him, though you tried to squirm away. He took each of your hands and pinned them in one of his above your head, while his other hand grabbed your jaw and angled your face for him to perfectly capture your lips in a kiss. He forced his tongue against yours, and immediately you could taste the sweetness of the custard still lingering in his mouth. He kissed you until you stopped struggling, softening beneath him. He released your hands, and you wound one around his neck and the other through his hair. His free hand didn’t stay free for even a second before it was palming your breast through your shirt, and you moaned.

Finally, he broke of the kiss, but only moving his head back a fraction of an inch.

“Damn you,” you breathed against his lips, but you knew from the look in his eyes that he knew he’d demanded and earned your utter and complete surrender.

“You’re going to spend the next twenty-four hours on your back,” he said. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then drew the heat along your jaw and down your neck. The desire in your core was fully ablaze, and you could feel how wet you were already growing between your thighs.

He nipped at your collarbone, and you gasped.

“Maybe on hands and knees if I feel like it,” he added as he ripped the front of your shirt open.

The audacity of this man! you thought while you could still think.

An audacity that you gladly put up with until well after midnight as he had you cumming more than once on his cock, then woke up to first thing with his head between your thighs.

I PROMISE ONE DAY I WILL FINISH THE FINAL CHAPTER, I JUST CAN'T HELP IT THAT PEOPLE KEEP SENDING FANTASTICALLY INSPIRATIONAL ASKS THAT TURN INTO THESE LITTLE ADDITIONAL SCENES FOR THEIR FUTURE!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - The Princess

Requested: yes

Prompt: 6) "I'm not religious, but I do think I've seen an angel

Warnings: none tbh, just more requests whilst I'm watching sprint quali

The sun was setting over the glamorous streets of Monaco, casting a golden glow over the iconic circuit as the Grand Prix came to a thrilling conclusion. Max Verstappen stood atop the podium, his heart pounding with the exhilaration of victory. As the crowd erupted in cheers, he couldn't shake the feeling of winning the prestigious race yet again. He waved down to the team before the glorious tune of the Dutch national anthem began playing.

Y/n, the Princess of Monaco, fiddled with the hem of her dress as she looked down to the huge crowd. Whilst she was royalty, crowds generally did seem to get to her. Her older brother took sick and had to cancel his plan to present the winner their trophy last minute. Hence, Miss Y/n was asked to. As the announcer declared the Princess to the crowd, Y/n stepped forward with grace, her regal presence commanding attention. She held the gleaming trophy in her hands, ready to present it to the triumphant driver. Max's gaze locked onto her, captivated by her beauty and poise. He felt a surge of something unfamiliar stirring within him as their eyes met.

Y/n smiled warmly as she handed Max the trophy, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Congratulations, Max." She said, her voice soft and melodious. Max smirked, ignoring his heart skipping a beat at the sound of her voice. "Thank you, your Highness." He replied, unable to tear his gaze away from her. Max watched intently as the Princess walked away, applauding the dutchman before Max lifted the trophy and showcasing the newest clunk of metal he would add to his collection.

As the photographers clamored for their attention, Max and Y/n posed for the celebratory photos, their smiles bright and genuine. But as Lando Norris, another driver on the podium, playfully aimed his champagne bottle in their direction, Max instinctively shielded Y/n from the impending spray.

Y/n laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as Max turned his back to protect her. "Thank you, Max. I dont think this dress would pair well with chanpagne stains." She said, touched by his chivalry. "When someone like you is wearing the dress, I dont think anyone would care." Max replied, his voice tinged with sincerity. "And plus, I couldn't let you get soaked." Y/n beamed at the subtle compliment from the race winner.

As the champagne-fueled celebrations continued, Max found himself walking by Y/n's side, unable to resist the magnetic pull she had on him. "Oh, here. Let me help you." He offered her his arm, guiding her down the steps of the podium with care as she navigated the stairs in her heels. "Well aren't you just so lovely." Y/n smiled as her arm linked with his, leaning onto him. "You looked stunning up there." Max remarked, his eyes lingering on Y/n's radiant smile. "I'm not religious, but I do believe I've seen an angel today." Y/n blushed at his words, her cheeks flushing with color. "You're bold, arent you?" She asked, a tinge of amusement lacing her voice. "I'm a racing driver, your Highness. You need to be bold." Y/n rolled her eyes. "Of course, but I don't see any other drivers making moves on me, Mr Verstappen."

"Well, I think they see we are having a conversation. It would be rude to interrupt, no?" Max smiled. The pair stood for a moment,him towering over her as she simply looked between his eyes. "I'd like if we continued our conversation." Y/n whispered. "So would I. How about we return to this conversation later?" Usually, Y/n wouldn't like how suggestively the driver was being, but her gut trusted the man. She sighed. "Where do you suggest we have our little rendezvous?" She smiled. "How about dinner?" The dutchman suggested. Y/n arched a brow. "You know, for a Monaco race winner, your idea of a celebration is very boring." Max didn't really know what to say. It wasnt until Y/n leaned towards his ear.

"I'll be meeting you ag some stage tonight." She pulled away and winked. For the first time in a while, Max felt butterflies in his stomach as the Princess walked away with her security surrounding her, while he stood there wondering when he would bump into her next.

[amkyor]

K. BAKUGO HEADCANON ᡣ𐭩

Note: Hello everyone, here's another bakugo headcanon since yall seem to love them so much!! Also, part 22 of my adult Bakugo fanfiction is out now!! Check it out!! Link at the end of this post!

Bakugo’s Fragrance Collection:

Despite his rough-and-tumble persona, Katsuki Bakugo has a surprising obsession with scents—especially those that complement his natural, musky caramel scent, a byproduct of his quirk.

Over time, he’s developed a small but carefully curated fragrance collection that balances the intensity of his fiery explosions with something smoother, richer, and more refined.

Bakugo’s natural scent is a unique blend of charred caramel and a faint metallic undertone, thanks to his quirk.

It’s the kind of smell that sticks to his skin after a long, intense battle, and while some might find it overpowering, to him, it’s just... him.

However, he’s aware that not everyone will appreciate it the same way, so he’s taken to finding perfumes that enhance his natural scent rather than mask it.

His collection includes dark, musky notes like sandalwood, oud, and amber that work perfectly with the caramel undertones of his body odor.

But there’s also a touch of citrus—orange or bergamot—to brighten the deep, intense base.

He’s not into anything flowery or overly sweet; he prefers rich, bold fragrances that have a bit of an edge, just like him.

When he’s getting ready for the day, Bakugo often picks one of his signature scents, spritzing a little on his pulse points and neck, just enough to leave a trace without overwhelming anyone around him.

He’s not one to douse himself in perfume—he likes to keep it subtle, only noticeable when someone is close enough.

If anyone were to point out his collection, he’d grumble, “It’s just for me, dumbass. Not like I’m trying to impress anyone.”

But deep down, Bakugo enjoys the way the fragrances make him feel—sharp, confident, and just a little more put together.

It’s his way of taking control of curating his own presence in a world that often wants to see him as nothing more than an explosion waiting to happen.

Bakugo Fanfiction

[official-sonic-team]

the new frontiers dlc brought up interesting information regarding the symbol we periodically see throughout the game

the main point is that the symbol of the game is worshipped by the ancients as a god, or as a miracle of the god they believed in. it’s interesting to note that sage gives this information, as she has data on the ancients in her data banks, and thus can be relied as giving accurate information.

it is also important to note what sage also says: “perhaps the god of the Ancients depicted by the wall markings still exists out there today.”

which feels very poignant. sage has by this been point been carefully observing every action sonic the hedgehog has been doing. she has been adding more and more data to her collection, and has frequently shown before hand her own curiosity at sonic’s power.

importantly:

“how are you able to escape cyberspace?” and “how can you use the chaos emeralds?”

we know, of course, that all of sonic’s other friends were trapped in cyberspace. Sonic managed to be fast enough to escape. obviously, this is quite the outlier ability.

we also know that sonic’s ability to manipulate the chaos emeralds is an odd phenomenon. there is simply no other character in this series on par with sonic in his ability to transform using the emeralds, as he does so the most frequently and usually without consequences. sonic has even been seen transforming into his super form for fun (sonic 3) or staying in it for days at a time (sonic advance 1), and now using them multiple times in a row (sonic frontiers).

sonic is also one of the few characters able to perform “chaos control”, often said to be a “miracle”, was used as a parameter for gerald robotnik’s “ultimate lifeform”, and a rare ability. most characters are either robots (metal sonic, emerl), or developed by gerald (shadow, biolizard), or, in black doom’s case, are also an alien.

then, we learn that the chaos emeralds are originally from the ancients and their home world. most normal mobians on sonic’s planet can not use the power of the emeralds, or for very long.

knuckles also says something very interesting:

the connection between Angel island and the ancients are clearly stated, heavily implying the ancients built the ruins that are noticeably stylistically different from the echidna ones, which lean towards a more maya inspired style. the ruins being spoken about are implied to be the very technological advanced ones we see throughout the island, much more bold in color, reminiscent of futuristic realism, with inventions such as warp pads throughout the island. we know the ancient echidnas were not familiar with the emeralds (considering Chaos would never have been provoked if they had), and it seems unlikely in their dedication to protecting the master emerald from harm they would abuse that power to create technology. it’s also highly possible the chaos emeralds separate from Angel island/the master emerald given that sonic finds them in sonic 1 while exploring South Island, where the chaos emeralds seem to have been residing long enough to cause geographic changes. in essence, it’s highly unlikely the echidnas had created those ruins, and knuckles confirms it was likely the ancients. sonic frontiers emphasizes that the ancients were incredibly technologically advanced.

and within these ruins, we find two interesting artifacts:

the realistic depictions of hedgehogs in hydrocity and the infamous hidden palace mural- both of which are on angel island. the style of these artifacts match neatly with the futuristic, brightly colored ruins associated with the technologically advanced machinery around angel island.

thus, it can be implied that the ancients are the ones who make these pieces of art. which then begs the question: why? what interest would they have in a hedgehog?

perhaps that was the form they most often depicted their deity in. through prophetic visions inspired by the chaos emeralds, which transcend time and thus know one day sonic would have hold of them, or for other reasons, mystical or physical in nature, their deity was often considered to be a hedgehog.

and what is Sonic’s purpose, in sonic frontiers?

a) he guides the koco to the hermits, protecting them

b) he and his friends help the koco move on, as they are extensively ghosts, and often during these scenes, the symbol appears in the sky

c) he defeats the end for good

it is also interesting to note that the ancients parallel the story in sonic adventure one in quite a few ways, mainly in how tikal could not soothe chaos and simply caged them in the master emerald for all eternity, and it was sonic who pointed out that locking him up wasn’t fixing the issue at hand, but only worsening it. the ancients, too, had locked up a god like creature, and failed to defeat, or otherwise solve the problem at hand, and it is sonic who comes to finally destroy what had terrorized them for so many years.

is sonic the hedgehog the manifestation of the ancients god? an interesting question.

[evilgwrl]

TW: Intended cannibalism (DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT)

He was warm, eyes a deep pot of old coffee, beans ground and soaked in now lukewarm water that no one would drink. You laughed at the sight of his crinkled mask, the strings a flimsy fit behind his ears, murmuring about how they’re not necessary to wear anymore. He only shook you off.

You mingled together under saturated lights, a bottle of Shiraz between the two of you, blonde lashes dipping to your lips every time the stained glass was brought to your lips. Skin tore as you nibbled away at it with your front teeth, scraping the residue of toxic metallic into the warmth of your mouth.

“Do you want to come back to mine?”

It was simple. Bodies tangled between one another, lips interlocked, the empty slot filled by his sheath as subtle praise ran through you, tearing you apart limb from limb as you submitted solely to the man in front of you. Gentle mumbles about how good you taste, slick strung between his lips as he nuzzles against the delicacy of your cunt.

The clock passed, arms ticking in the background of shuffled moans as he laid you down, bringing a glass to your lips as you laughed, tongue stained a deep red, the scent of tobacco entwined down the passage leading to your demise as he kissed you, pulling away to admire you.

“You’re beautiful.”

It was simple. Eyes fuzzing over with delicate static as you whined, stumbling into open arms that should’ve comforted you. Numb lips smacked against one another, the taste of nothing gutting your insides as you succumbed to the irritable slumber you never asked for.

He was cold, eyes a bewildered stain of brown, the distant memory of mangled limbs buried upon fields of dirt evident through the estranged look on his face. Gentle strokes provided faux comfort as dazed eyes adjusted, concrete walls caving in as you whined. The lights were white, the purity of them a sick metaphor as you cried out.

Tender flesh worked against his mouth, your eyes a dull strain of melancholy, converting you into nothing but a poster, bold red words displayed on community bulletin boards until they eventually rot away, an ironic but brutal joke at your expense. Your ears fell silent at the praise, mask removed as he revelled in your taste, ivory plucked from his mouth as he planted a kiss on your forehead, leaving nothing but the stain of crimson.

Gentle eyes stared at the girl before him, taking in the familiarity of her features, an uncanny mellowness bringing him a sense of achievement as he held the milk bottle out, murmuring about how devastating the loss was for everyone. Hushed whispers would be shared by the two of them over a bottle of Shiraz, the look in his eyes stagnant as he placed whatever was left of her among you, the collection of pearl-coloured hulk buried as one in the same field you found in his eyes.

[shehungers]

OF FLESH SIN

vampire priest x reader | 2.6k | 18+

a ghastly sight! one of the monastery's beloved priests has been found brutally murdered and disfigured in his chambers. father shaw, a newer addition to the monastery, claims to have answers to sate your reaching curiosity—but he wishes for you to come to his chambers at night.

story warnings; dark content, time period inaccuracies, graphic + gruesome details, vampires are predators, power imbalance, kinda obsessive behavior, prose + detail heavy, mention of animal death, hypnotism (kinda), very yandere behavior, roughly proofread.

reposted from my old blog: theoxenfree.

please consider leaving feedback + reblogging!

Father Marius died in quite some awful way last night, as reported to you by the nuns hanging fresh washed garments on the clothesline in the waning, purpling daylight.

“A look of horror! Utter terror! So frightened that his jaw had become dislocated in forever a scream,” shivered one young nun, Lucy; recently a convert from the slums. “I, well, I didn't see it myself. Neither did the rest of us, actually. They say it was that new Father Shaw who found him at dawn.”

You had been raking gravel out of the yard, tiny stones kicked off of the path into the kempt lawn by prancing horses and wagon wheels, when Lucy and the other nun, Esme, had caught your attention with their hard, dense gossip. They regarded your approach with less caution than they would have had with their other sisters, as gossip was deemed inappropriate, a violation, a flickering serpent’s tongue carrying covert temptations leading to luscious sins and debauchery.

They saw you—poor, morose, the groundskeeper's only child and reminder of loveless trysts—and thought nothing of snaking you into their prattle. You were not the sort to divulge anyone's secrets without gain, without reward, and you knew that the nuns kept nothing to their names once they took their vows and donned their habits.

“Father Shaw,” you continued the discussion with some intrigue, mostly from the fact that he was very new, very young, and modestly handsome, “why was he awake so early? Why was he in Father Marius’ chambers? Curious to me.”

Neither of them gave much caution to your questions, shrugging as if to dismiss your ambivalence and accusatory tone. You were bold in the way that the faithless and lost always tended to be: asking senseless things, always concerned with the wrongdoings of others, always suspicious, always inquiring—forever inquiring.

“Oh, my, you're so defensive,” Esme fanned a yellow bedspread out with an oncoming breeze, catching the wind beneath the fabric so it billowed and rippled midair. “If that’s how you're going to be, then: why does your father stumble around the yard at night with a lantern, swinging around a pistol like a madman? Won't he hurt someone?”

Because he's a godless, superstitious drunk. Perhaps, even, a bit disturbed in his mind, but you couldn't bear to think that way, that he might be the type to need his head locked in a metal cage, gagged, arms bound, and padlocked in some damp, distant corner of an asylum.

“He's a good man,” you relented, taking your hands from the top of the smoothed out, worn handle of the rake and resumed your task. The gravel made an awful, grinding sound as the teeth of the rake collected pieces of stone and led it back to the rest. “He's served this monastery well. I don't mean offense about Father Shaw, I'm simply curious about what transpired is all.”

“No offense taken,” came a voice from behind, startling both the twittering nuns and yourself at the same time. They saw it to be Father Shaw standing there, hands cuffed behind his back with a particularly demure disposition, hiked their skirts and whisked themselves away back inside. “Ah, am I really such a frightful figure? I couldn't really find an opening during your conversation to invite myself in. I apologize.”

You were of a similar fretful nature, quickening your clawing and the reach of the rake. “Nay, Father. I think it's simply because you're a strange man to them still. A handsome face, a warm voice, mysterious; give them time, they'll come around.”

“Have you?” Father Shaw asked, taking measured strides in a half-circle around to your front. He concentrated on where the teeth of your instrument struck next, tips temporarily wedged into the soft dirt before being ripped up with chunks of earth and gray gravel. “It wouldn't do for me if you… were still ill at ease with me as well. I consider you my one, true friend in this place.”

Your father held a certain destestation towards Father Shaw that you'd never witnessed before, saying nothing else than that something was terribly wrong with him and not to place yourself in a position to be alone with him. This you attributed to his unsoundness, but it was always the sudden flicker a sharp breath against candlelight—a jarring shift in his demeanor when he spoke about the Father, neurotic and prone to throwing things about the cottage interior, that caused you to pay some mind to what he told you.

“And, you're a great friend of mine as well,” you hoped you sounded coherent and paced your words evenly enough. “I'm sorry if you thought I was accusing you of something, sir. I really meant nothing to it.”

Father Shaw’s lips sprawled tight and pale into a fond smile, never showing his teeth, though the imprint of them seemed massive and the skin of his lips startlingly thin across them. “I know. You have nothing to fear. My feelings were not affected. If you'd like, come to my chambers later, we may pray together first, and I'll tell you everything you wish to know about what I saw to sate your curiosity.”

“That seems improper, sir.” You said.

“How so?”

“Inviting someone to your chambers at night seems an unbecoming venture for a pious man of status, such as yourself,” you continued, now standing upright beside your rake, “if any of the sisters were to witness it, worse another priest, aren't you afraid you'd be horribly chastised? Even worse, excommunicated altogether?”

Although Father Shaw’s dark eyes reflected no light, holding such demanding depth to them that it was hard to keep your bearings whenever you realized you'd been staring, his entire face was alight in amusement.

“Wherever did you learn to speak like that?” he asked candidly, still glowing despite his pallor. “Forgive me when I say, but your father is not an educated man. I mean no offense, please don't look at me in such a way. You are so well spoken, I only wish to know more about you.”

“I've lived here my entire life,” you told him. “The nuns taught me how to read.”

He looked impressed. “You can read?”

“I can!” From a near distance, you could make out your father’s haddard form, bent sideways on a walking cane and limping towards the pair of you. You looked up at the priest’s smooth face. “It'd be best for you to leave before my father can speak to you. He isn't the kindest soul after a long day.

Father Shaw didn't react with any semblance of worry, but agreed that there were other things needing to be done and began away. Just as he passed you on his way towards the monastery, he let his hand rest atop of your shoulder and leaned you towards him to whisper in your ear: “come to me tonight. I'll be waiting for you.”

There was something so luxurious and cooling about his voice; fine silks sitting in the shade during autumn gliding across your bare skin, wrapping your neck, your chest, your nether parts. His voice was a fine, chilly mist after the first rains in spring which felt refreshing and new after a glacial winter, yet still had capacity to soak you to the bone. It was a nighttime breeze caressing your cheek, sweeping through the hairs of your scalp, making your skin burst all over with bumps.

“I don't like the way he looks at you,” said your father with a mouthful of porridge you'd seasoned with herbs of the season. It was wonderfully fragrant and warm during nights that were still a bit too uncomfortable to sip anything cold. “He looks at you like you're a slab of meat! Some prize after a hunt. I don't like him, love. Not one bit. You'd do well to stay to mind yourself and do your chores and nothing else, y’hear?”

After dinner, you cleaned up, swept the floors with hard bristles, and snuffed all the lights except for the fireplace where your father sat in his old chair, fiddling with his favorite pistol.

“It's time for bed, old man.” You watched him fit a couple of small bullets into the loading chamber. They glinted against the orange flames. “Goodness. What have you gotten this time? Something new?"

“Aye!” he grinned, nearly toothless and in a sickly sort of way. “Went to market the other day while the nuns bullied you and picked out some fine bullets from the silversmith,” he cracked the two halves of the pistol shut. “Better to be prepared.”

You waited until sometime later once he was finally asleep, possibly after midnight, before leaving the humble cottage sitting on the fringes of the massive monastery yard and rushing across the grounds to get inside.

Once, they'd kept a guard dog on the property, one of those meaner breeds that were used for gambling, but the poor thing wound up shot dead in the middle of the night by a traveling friar who'd come to seek refuge at the monastery. The sisters, and yourself, were horribly distraught by the entire ordeal and all vetoed the consideration of bringing another dog here.

Since then, it was no task for you (or anyone else) to get inside the building and shuffle along the shadows through the corridors. At night, the place stirred with patient insects, feral rodents large and small in the pantry, and hungry owls tamely whining from the rafters when something startled them away from their hunt of vermin.

Your feet were a light sound on the masonry below, padded by thin leather soles which alerted you to your enthusiasm as the thwap thwap thwap became louder, aggressive as you closed in on a wall and turned down another hallway for a sturdy wood door at the end of it.

As your knuckles rapped, hoping the sound wouldn't disturb the animals’ nighttime caroling, a swift darkness moved across the floor from behind the door, briefly blocking out the soft light seeping out from underneath.

The next moment, you were being pulled inside and sat at a small table tucked to the side of Father Shaw’s rather generous room. It was a simple space, sparsely furnished for the barest of comforts—only for what was needed to live—but what had been made for him was of exquisite craftsmanship, some made of teakwood, which Shaw assured you was remarkably durable and highly resistant to rotting.

“It's wonderful for boats,” he said, pouring a light amber colored brew from a metal kettle he'd heated a short while ago. “It’s good for all elements, really. Exceptional longevity. I've heard it has become a popular option in the city for burying the deceased.”

“Will Father Marius be buried in a teakwood coffin, then?” you asked, sipping politely from the cup even though you had no appetite for it. You already felt ill at ease enough having disobeyed your father by sneaking into a priest's personal chambers at night. The things the sisters would say about you—

“He will be entombed underneath the monastery with the rest who have served here and passed. I believe that is all stone down there, my dear.” Father Shaw smiled tepidly, kettle aside, no tea of his own. “But, I know that your curiosity led you here to me with questions, yes? About the state I found Father Marius in, yes?”

You tried to disguise your intrigue by drinking more of the tea, of whatever it was he had given you, and listened to the sounds of your fingertips sticking to the porcelain from sweat and steam.

“If you wouldn't mind sharing…”

“I wouldn't!” he leaned on his arms on the table, closer towards you as though with a secret. “As I've said, you are truly the only soul here who I can confide in. You are not a sheep. And you do not fear sin as the rest do. So, you can ask me anything and I'll tell you everything.”

“Tell me about Father Marius, then.”

Father Shaw reached across the table for one of your hands; his far larger, fingers much longer and colder than your own and held it as he recounted the event.

“Dreadful sight, it was. It was, oh, perhaps sometime after three o'clock when I heard a massive racket. A struggle. When I knocked, all of the noise subsided at once and there was complete stillness. Silence, my dear, silence so deep, dark, and damning that I knew something awful had happened

“I didn't knock again, I was too afraid to! But, Father Marius was getting on in age, so I couldn't just stand by, either. I kicked the door in—just once was all it took—and I rushed inside to see the room was a complete mess. A fight had clearly taken place, and the walls—oh, the walls—”

His remorse was carefully placed, stiff, and uncertain and he couldn't be seen in the vastness of his black gaze. You were moved by the vulnerability he was trying to show you, going as far to abandon your drink to place your warm hand on top of his.

“The walls, my dear, were a mess of blood. Something vicious and awful had happened in that room. But, then, I found Father Marius lying there on the ground next to a broken window. I think he'd tried to throw himself through it. His face was shredded to pieces, his eyes gouged. When I got closer, I noticed that his tongue had been severed from his head!”

You were holding Father Shaw’s hands in a bloodless grip, face ashen, teeth chattering behind your lips. “What on earth! That is not only horror, but cruelty!”

“Oh, my love, it gets worse!” Father Shaw held you mesmerized in his gaze, the conviction and anguish with which he told his story. “Closer still, Father Marius’ face was locked in one of pure terror, I've—I’ve never seen a human react in quite a way such as that before, to fear. The man unhinged his own jaw in a hideous scream, and it seemed to me he was skeletal. By that, it's like he was, well, quite dry.

“So, I crouched down so much lower and inspected him all over. Do you want to know what I found?”

“Yes.” You spoke breathlessly.

Father Shaw had moved out of his seat and was on one knee in front of you, both of his frigid hands on your face to smooth across your cheeks, pushing away pieces of hair obscuring some part of you he'd wanted to see.

“My love, I saw marks in his neck. Two, beautifully, wonderfully symmetrical marks that were far too clean to be of any animal that we know of. The bite was clean, it was patient and cunning. And the fangs that had sunk into his tender flesh had drained him of blood, of the very essence that kept his heart beating until the very last.”

“Sir—” your stomach plummeted, falling forever, when he smiled, teeth longer than any humans should be shown through to you. He wouldn't let you go when you went to move out of his hands, away from him. “Father Shaw, please—”

“I wish you could have seen it, my love. It was a breathtaking sight and I long for someone else to admire the beauty of my work alongside me.”

It was unthinkable that a vampire could walk on these holy grounds and in the bright of day, yet Father Shaw had for countless days. Evil held you sweetly by the cheek and in your hair, kissed you with a corpse’s cold lips, and laved the skin of your skin with a long, serpentine tongue.

“O’, my merciful lord…”

Father Shaw bent your head back with a fistful of hair and spoke from your throat:

“There is no God, only me. Come into the endless night with me, my love.”

a/n; I'm aware this is historically inaccurate as nuns and the priest wouldn't have intermingled like this in a monastery. it's really not that big of a deal lmao.

so, two of the characters from this: father marius and father shaw, actually have been adapted as important side-characters in my upcoming possessed!scholar husband x reader story, which is based in a fictional victorian era.

they're essentially the same characters, just tweaked to fit the narrative of that story!

[crosshairlovebot]

with love comes tender understanding / hunter x gn!reader

pairing: hunter x gn!reader (no y/n). reader has endearments.

description: after being denied further training, you're upset and angry, but hunter knows exactly how to soothe your worries.

word count: 1,993

warnings: feelings of inadequacy. but otherwise, it's soft hunter at his softest.

what? a surprise soft hunter fic? more likely than you think! had a discussion about hunter soothing anger with a twt oomf and was compelled to write this. enjoy!

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.

You let out a frustrated sound from your throat before you kicked the side of the Marauder’s holoprojector. The loud metal clang filled the cockpit, and you were thankful all members of Clone Force 99, including Echo, were out collecting supplies so you could express your anger and disappointment in peace.

You looked back at the hologram message that spelled out in large letters DENIED in a bold script like it was intentionally mocking you. You felt your eyes fill with tears as you turned away from the hologram. You don’t know why you even allowed yourself to get your hopes up that you would be accepted into the GAR’s Advanced Field Training Program. You thought your skills were quite good considering you’d been with Clone Force 99 for almost an entire cycle, but the reasons listed in the rejection holo were such bantha fodder it enraged you.

How could they say further training was ‘unnecessary’ and to apply again at another time? You were in the middle of a war alongside some of the most elite soldiers in the GAR. What about that meant extra training was unnecessary? Shouldn’t they want you as capable as you could possibly be? How could they deem any request for further training unnecessary when you felt you could barely keep up with the boys? It’s like they were setting you up to fail.

You let out another frustrated sob as you slammed the button to shut off the holo with your fist and started to leave the cockpit. You needed to sulk on the gunner’s mount for a while until the rejection didn’t sting so much.

You didn’t hear his footsteps until it was too late, and Hunter was in the doorway at the top of the gangplank. You watched his face register your angry tears before quickly looking away, hoping to dodge his questioning by continuing in the aft direction.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hunter stepped into your path and placed his hands on your shoulders, angling his face to look at your eyes that still avoided him. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

You sniffled and wiped away the stray tears on your cheeks. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Hunter said softly, and you sniffled again before he cocked his head. “Come on.”

Hunter put an arm on your shoulder and gently guided you out of the Marauder and into the fresh forest air of the planet you were on. You stomped alongside him, his hand and the small of your back as you walked further towards the treeline.

“Talk to me,” Hunter said when you were under the shade of tall trees some distance from the ship.

“What are you doing back so early anyway?” you asked, crossing your arms, still avoiding his gaze. There was something embarrassing about looking at him with tear-stained eyes and cheeks. Hunter always remained strong no matter what adversity he faced. He was always cool, calm and collected. Never wavering. But the façade of your strength had broken, and he was witnessing it. It was mortifying.

“You’re supposed to be with the others,” you continued.

“I was. But I got an alert from GAR command so I thought it might be important, seeing as though they never contact us first,” he explained.

You suppressed a loud groan. The alert was your rejection letter. You hadn’t realised his comm had been synced up with the ship’s systems. It wouldn’t hit you until a little later that Hunter had prioritised you over what he thought was an important message from GAR command. He was continuously amazing.

“But you still haven’t answered my question,” Hunter said gently, stepping towards you. After a beat of silence, he said with a hint of amusement in his voice, “You gonna look at me?”

You sighed and flicked your eyes to him. Hunter was a very handsome man, anyone with eyes could see that, but there was something devastatingly beautiful about how he looked right now. Stood with his hands on his hips in his armour, the speckled sunlight from the trees lit up his face, shining in the grey-brown of his eyes and across the tattoo of his face. The corner of his mouth was turned up slightly as you met his gaze, the warmth and familiarity of it made your heart squeeze.

You really did love him. And you could hardly believe he loved you too.

“It’s nothing,” you assured him, not wanting to bother him further when he already had so much on his mind with the upcoming mission. “I just got frustrated.”

“Uh-huh,” Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Wanna tell me what about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you shook your head.

Hunter said your name and placed his hands on your arms, drawing you closer. “I know this is still…new, for us both. But you can tell me anything.”

You’d only been together for a couple of months; despite the length of time you’d been with The Bad Batch. You’d steadily found yourself falling for the sergeant, with his rough voice which almost never angered even when he was thrown curveballs that definitely warranted it, his capable hands and ability to lead and look out for his squad with care, you could hardly be blamed for it. You’d never expected that he would ever return your feelings. But sitting at a campfire sipping spotchka late into the night after a particularly tough mission where you’d almost not come out alive had spurred the revelation of your feelings to one another. And the two months that followed had been a bliss of shared bunks, stolen kisses, secret handholding, and sneaking away whenever you could.

You loved it. You loved him.

You sighed and put your forehead on his chest. How could you tell him, the ever-proficient sergeant of an elite squad with an unbroken winning streak, you’d been denied further training? It was humiliating. Hunter raised a hand to your hair and gently smoothed the back of your head. The gesture was so soft you almost started crying again.

“It’s stupid,” you muffled into his armour.

Hunter took your face in his hands and lifted it from his chest. “Cyare…how can it be stupid when it’s upset you?”

When he smiled reassuringly at you, thumbs softly drawing across your cheekbones, catching stray tears, you melted.

“I applied for the GAR’s Advanced Field Training Program,” you told him. “That was the alert you got.”

Hunter’s brow creased. “I didn’t know you applied for further training.”

You shook your head. “Because I didn’t tell you.”

“When did you apply?” he asked.

You swallowed. “After that mission.”

You didn’t need to say anything more than that. You both knew which one. Whilst it had brought you too together, it almost had fatal consequences for the squad. You’d barely made it out of there, and you’d all had to spend several hours patching each other up, applying bacta, and then using spotchka to sterilise the wounds when you’d run out. You’d taken some of the worst hits you’d ever experienced, and you remembered trying to run after the boys as droids closed in on your exit from the facility, information in tow. You remembered vividly falling behind, your legs not fast enough, reflexes slower. You’d tripped over debris, falling and spraining your wrist and ankle, Hunter had to fall back and pick you up, dodging blaster fire as he carried you back to the ship. You’d felt helpless; like you’d let everyone down.

It's what spurred you to apply for further training, so it wouldn’t happen again.

Hunter took in a breath, his expression becoming understanding as his hands that still held your face stroked down your neck. “I see.”

You swallowed before forcing the words out, irritation flaring up in you again as you recalled those bold red letters. “They rejected my application on account of it being ‘unnecessary’.” You scoffed. “I told you it was stupid.”

Hunter nodded carefully before running the backs of his fingers across your tear-stained cheeks, gently wiping the remains of streams away. “I’m sorry. They should’ve accepted you.”

You felt your chest expand. You hadn’t realised how much you needed to hear that; that you deserved to be accepted into the program; that their decision to reject you was as ridiculous as you thought, and that you weren’t overreacting. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and leaned into his hand that cupped your face. “Thanks, Hunter.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you applied?” Hunter asked earnestly.

You shrugged. There wasn’t really a proper reason, hearing his response now. You took his hand from your face and traced his palm between you, avoiding his eyes.

“I just wanted to be better,” you said quietly. “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t good enough for the squad.”

Hunter said you name in that gentle chastising way. He shook his head. “I would never think that. I don’t think that.”

You gave him a small smile before looking away again. “Are you mad?”

“No,” Hunter told you without hesitation before he gently lifted your chin with his finger and kissed your forehead. “But I understand why you are.”

You huffed despite the sweet gesture. “It just makes no sense! How could they say it’s unnecessary? We’re in the middle of a kriffing war. Don’t they want to win?”

Hunter nodded, an amused smile trying to break through his expression at your frustrated hand gestures. “You’re right, cyare. But staying mad at the GAR won’t do any good.”

You sighed, crossing your arms, frown on your face. “I know. But they’re just so…idiotic.”

Hunter chuckled. “I know, sweetheart. But I do have an idea, if you’d like to hear it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. Hunter smiled and unlaced your arms so he could hold your hands. “You let us train you.”

Your eyes widened in shock at his offer. “Really? You would give me the extra training?”

Hunter smiled with his teeth, and you knew he was really happy when he did that. Knowing you were the source of such a smile made your insides warm. How special was he.

“Yes, I would. And so would my brothers.” Hunter squeezed your hands and looked at you seriously. “If further training is what you want, then you should have it. You’re an asset to this squad; I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough to be here.”

You could’ve cried with happiness. All your anger at the GAR melted away. Who needed them when you had Hunter? You loved this man so much.

Smiling up at him, you asked, “How will it work? Our missions are always back-to-back.”

“I’m sure Tech will be able to formulate a schedule,” Hunter shrugged. “But we’ll make it work. The GAR says it’s unnecessary? Well, we’ve never been good at following orders.”

You laughed and threw your arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. You breathed in his scent from his dark curls, and his arms went around your torso and held you close. You could feel him smile into your neck before he kissed it. The edges of his armour bit into your body, but you could hardly care. You loved him more than words.

“Thank you, Hunter,” you whispered into him before pulling back to look at his beautiful face. He smiled warmly at you, a dapple of sunlight hitting his eyes, so they shone with that same warmth. You cradled his jaw in one hand and stroked the stubble-lined cheek with your thumb before kissing his lips sweetly, hoping it conveyed how much you loved and appreciated him. Hunter, ever the discerner of your emotions, smiled into the kiss before he deepened it a little, holding you tighter against his solid frame as his lips moved against yours tenderly. When you both pulled back, you were smiling at each other as your foreheads touched.

“Always,” Hunter said between you, grinning.

thank you for reading! 🏷️ @sinfulsalutations @freesia-writes @literallydontlook @maniacalbooper @heronamecatrina @lulalovez @burningfieldof-clover @queencousland101 @lovelycurls @hopelessromantic727 @ezras-left-thumb @rebel-ezra @bimboshaggy @bunnyreese12 @spaceyjessa @jesseeka @lesbianhotch

[r0-boat]

Mirror Mirror (part 2)

Whb!Lucifer x reader x Obeyme!Lucifer part 2

Across the Demonverse lol

A lot of yapping before sex lol

Let me know if you guys want more of this AU...

Link to part 1

Cw: biting, spit roasting, degrading

You weren't unconscious, But you weren't registering what was going on either cradled in the arms of somebody. You wake up in familiar silk sheets. The sense of lilies and vanilla suggests that You made it home too Paradise Lost.

You smile to yourself as you shifting in your bed eyes still closed. Beginning to drift off once again.

It must have been a dream, at least It felt like one. A deep voice calling your name breaks you out of those blissful thoughts.

"what's going on with them? They almost passed out. Better yet what's going on here?"

You felt cold metal press on your shirt as you felt a hand on your forehead.

"I am just as confused as you are. I have heard of God creating multiple worlds not just this one but I have never seen it for myself."

"So it is true. You are me?"

The voices began to get clearer and clearer as you began to stir more.

"I don't lie. I have no reason to. You felt it too, didn't you?"

"How could I not? Despite our physical differences, I felt like I was looking in a mirror."

The blurry figures finally turn to you as he begins to gain consciousness. They call your name at the same time as they get closer.

Feeling a gloved hand caress your cheek, you lean into it before realizing who it belongs to. Your eyes met with red ones and his familiar black hair. Instantly realizing that no, this is not a dream, You flinched.

"Lucifer!?"

"Yes child of Adam?"

You heard a voice from in front of you. Your heart sank as you looked at him.

The other one.

"no not you- why are you here?"

"I live here?" He stated calmly, raising his eyebrow

"no not-" The other Lucifer rolled his eyes He shook your hand a little getting your attention.

"That's what I would like to know I followed you through the portal you created... When and where did you learn that magic And who taught it to you?" His face got more stern with each question he asked. You were going to open your mouth to say something until you felt all that weakness hit you at once your body shakes as you struggle to catch your breath. He felt your body weakening as he leaned closer

That's when Lucifer sat up walking toward you. "In this world Hell's air is poisonous," He stated

He had no time to bring equipment He had to use magic as he pressed his hand against your chest it's not as accurate to humans as giving you a physical exam but he had no time.

"mh. It seems there's also something else, It was small before but now I can't ignore it... It seems like Hell's Poison but it's different."

Lucifer knew a little bit of what His mirror self was saying It was one of the many questions he asked.

"So the Devildom is killing them?"

"More like she's not used to it. And I can also sense They are over exerting themselves" Lucifer rambled and his mirror half speaks up his eyes staring at the artifact.

"They are using magic that isn't theirs..."

"Will they be okay?"

His face scrunched up, seeing the normally calm collected Lucifer look like this made you worry.

"usually when they're feeling like this we just give them our energy. But I'm afraid it might not be enough."

Not knowing what might happen to you, Lucifer's heart squeezes You are very important to him more than you know, and more than he's willing to admit. He failed to protect you before, He will not let you die again "I'll do it, I'll do anything"

Lucifer smiled relieved that his other self was just us protective of you as he was. "All right take your clothes off."

You coughed as you almost laughed your ass off You tried to stifle yourself as Lucifer went silent.

"excuse me?" In his tone of voice and the look on his face He looked as if someone was playing a prank on him but Lucifer as bold into the point as ever just explained.

"We have to fuck them to give them devil's energy, since you're in this world and since you do have magic you should have devil's energy-"

Lucifer just interrupted him "No shut up! I get it..." This was all too real to be some sick prank made by Satan and belphegor, Plus they would never go out of their way to harm me like this so this is real as much as he does not like this.

His eyes widen as he saw his mirror self immediately getting into bed He didn't strip his clothes yet but he tenses when his lips fall upon yours. You whimper but immediately leaned into it as if you knew this, As if you expected this.

Lucifer knows that it's still another side of him but still it feels so wrong to see another demon touching you.

Red eyes met shining ones Lucifer knows that look, it's holding back, it's hesitation. Lucifer has an inkling of why This one is holding back They are pride, As much as he doesn't like to share he knows that your safety is a top priority. And he knew just how to encourage him a little bit.

All devils cannot resist temptation, All devils cannot resist competition. So he pulls your limp body away from him pulling you into his arms His fangs graze against your shoulder his hand placed upon where he found Lucifer's pact mark on your body.

"mine." He hisses. And he watched as Lucifer's pupils began to shrink into slits. Hearing you whimper as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder finally made Lucifer act. He let out a low grow, getting into bed with you, pressing his body against your back. You felt a gloved hand possessively grip your thigh. His breath tickles your ear.

"How long have you been doing this? Getting dicked down behind my back? I thought you were just this innocent human turns out you are just a slut."

Lucifer chuckled at his mirror half's words. "You have no idea."

Lucifer clicked his tongue you felt his hand gently caressed the back of your head before grabbing and pulling you back He growls. "I think you should be punished for going behind our backs to be a whore."

You felt the hand from the demon in front of you slide beneath your pants, His hand cupping between your legs, applying pressure.

"I like the sound of that." Lucifer Licks your neck, trying to find the perfect spot to bite down while sleeping off his coat. The other Lucifer does the same with his.

"please! I need it! I want you both! Please Lucif-!" A hand smacks your thigh hard cutting off your sentence with a whimper.

"Sinners like you don't get to call beings like us by name You will use sir." He hisses before finally sinking his teeth into your neck.

'Sinner?' huh... Has a nice ring to it that term he'll be stealing that.

The two demons break away from you as Lucifer orders you to get on your hands and knees. As much as they want to take their time with you, you have no time.

So focused on the pleasure you're about to get and how your throat squeezes as you struggle to breathe. You didn't know who was behind or in front of you. All you heard was belts unbuckling and the shifting of the bed. Until you felt that unmistakable leather against your ass as someone groped it and forced it apart to get better access to his prize. You squealed, grinding your ass against whoever treated you like a toy to be played with.

While you felt someone's soft hand run into your hair and caress your cheek, he treated you gently as his thumb played with your bottom lip but encouraged you to open it. You kept your eyes closed until you heard a voice. "Look at me. Let me see those eyes when we both enter you." You had no choice but to obey. You didn't even want to know what would happen if you chose to be bratty now when two demons of Pride looked so horny and impatient. The moment you looked up ahead of his dick pressed against your lips; You didn't have time to process, only felt your walls squeeze down on a cock slamming inside of you. Lucifer had waited long enough for you to adjust. He needed your mouth to open right now.

"Open your mouth, Sweet thing."

You hesitated for 2 seconds before you felt a harshest slap on your ass. "He said open your fucking mouth!" Lucifer growled. Ending his sentence with a harsh thrust of his hips. Immediately you opened your mouth wide with your tongue out for the Lucifer in front of you, and he slowly slid his dick into your mouth

The two demons whisper praises at your ability to take both as they slowly begin to move well. The one in front, at least, was treating you more gently. As the Lucifer behind you was already fucking you so hard, you were bouncing forward and swallowing Lucifer deeper.

It was all too much, The huge cock down your throat and the other cock slamming hard and deep inside you. You felt yourself being overwhelmed with pleasure and pain your body began to shake as they practically used you like a fleshlight. One Lucifer was enough to make you cry, but two of them? Tears are streaming down your face. Your throat is tightening as you try so hard to keep your composure.

Seeing your pleasure being overrun to the point of tears, Lucifer seemed to have changed his gentler tone as he began to grab your hair and fuck your throat. But what surprised you is how the Lucifer behind your pace began to falter, drilling your poor hole recklessly. He wanted more, and he wanted you to fall apart until you're nothing. His other self was so lucky to see you cry; oh, how he adored when those pretty little tears fell down your face when you're so overwhelmed with pleasure you can't take it.

His hand wrapping between your legs to touch you.

They fucked you through your orgasm as you squeezed and milked them. Lucifer wiped your tears only to lick his fingers clean.

They weren't even close to being satisfied and you could do nothing about it but take it.

Take it as they use you how they pleased.

Take it as their claws dig into your skin marking you as theirs.

Take it as they bombard you with both praise and demands.

Take it as you feel come shoot down your throat and deep inside you.

Your limp when they finally pulled out of you, you felt arms around you. You're not sure from who. As you were already so exhausted you couldn't stay awake. Someone was holding you His gentle hand petting you to soothe your slumber as you bury your nose deep in his chest is familiar scent lulling you to sleep before being tucked into bed.

Lucifer watched You snuggle with his jacket. He couldn't help but smile, but that smile soon faltered, remembering what his mirror self had said to him.

This was your original world... Your home. He had so many questions, but Lucifer couldn't answer any of them.

As if on queue, He felt his presence behind him.

"I can't let them go. You understand that, right?"

"I understand. I'd feel the same way you do."

"if there is one of you that, there must be others... What do we do with them? What do we tell them?"

"if I tell my 'colleagues there'll be no certain, it will just lead to more trouble. We have a lot going on as is."

Lucifer's sighed pinched his nose's bridge because he was in the same boat...

"I don't think it's their fault," Lucifer spoke up

He just shook his head. No of course not, there was someone else...

"I think I think I know who might know something."

The other Lucifer didn't answer. Instead, he was slipping off the artifact while you slept peacefully.

Harnessing it's magic he conjured a portal back to his own world. Before throwing it for Lucifer to catch.

"Will you keep in touch?"

He looks back at his mirror self. He gives him a nod before stepping through. "How could I not after knowing what exists?"

[fairszy]

# — oral ! 🕊️ (part two)

how : childe, neuvillette, kaveh, itto, + dottore give head ! find part one here ! ♡

disclaimers : you give neuvillette head too ! oh also he has two dicks. bottom!itto drabbles teehee !! medical play with dotto !

afab!reader, no pronouns used ! mdni 18+ ONLY ‼️

# 001 — CHILDE !

being in a sexual dynamic with childe was quite the wild card. things were always changing and the sex was never consistent — except for one thing.

ajax is obsessed with oral, he needs to give it to you even when you have no plans to have sex. he starts by trying to sweeten you up, kissing your neck and gently squeezing at your thighs until before you know it, his tongue is gliding against you.

he loves when you sit on his face, bright baby blue eyes watching your body intently while you use his face as your own personal object. he whimpers — whines pathetically under you. his cock is so hard it’s painful and leaking. his heart continues to race for you. ♡

— “more . . please — fuckin’ give me more.”

#002 — NEUVILLETTE !

the ludex is calm and collected . . unless it comes to you. usually, neuvillette was someone who always followed the rules, he’s the face of justice after all. due to his nature it was no suprise he attracted someone like you.

someone who was a rule breaker, someone who marched to the beat of their own drum. which is how he ended up with you under his desk, tongue licking all over the tip of his primary cock, hands happily stroking the secondary. the grip on his desk was intense as he listened to the conflict one of his dear assistants provided him with.

the longest ten minutes of his life went by before neuvillette was panting, chest heaving slightly as he motioned for you to come out from your hiding place. before you could even stand up properly you were shoved onto the same desk he just gripped his nails into. biting and nipping at your thighs he left sloppy desperate kisses against your hole. ♡

— “such a bold brat . . aren’t you ? my my . . a lesson you shall learn today, little étoile.”

#003 — KAVEH !

since he’s an artist, everything that kaveh does is meant to be an artistic expression. sometimes he doesn’t even realize it.

sometimes, kaveh will have you on the expensive 500,000 mora couch he has. he watches you struggle to stay still under his touch. he watches the way you drip onto said sofa in need. silently he drops to his knees, ruby eyes staring intently at your heat.

his tongue paints a beautiful and erotic picture. the architect takes his time gently running his tongue through every single fold and nerve he can find. his chest practically heaves when you grab his locks, shoving him in even further. ♡

— “fuck . . your taste — you’re so . . ethereal, my muse.”

#004 — ITTO !

big strong arms always keep you close. the oni treats you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever possessed. he would walk to the edge of the world and back if you told him to.

which is why him being the usual submissive in the bedroom was one of your favourite things. itto waited for every single order like a puppy eager to please it’s owner. the muzzle around his face made your much large boyfriend grunt in annoyance.

ittos face shoved right up to your cunt causing you to hiss from the feeling of the cold metal of the muzzle. itto had a problem with biting and marking you from head to toe, so you had to compromise. however he also just looked incredibly sexy while he whimpered — tilting his head in every way possible to get his tongue flat against your holes. sometimes he was successful! ♡

— “pleasepleaseplease !! come onnn sugar ~ just a little taste yeah? fuck . .”

#005 — DOTTORE !

the doctor is quite the tease when he’s not completely engrossed in his work. he wouldn’t ever admit it but you are one of his weaknesses.

so when you come to visit dottore during one of the periods where he’s completely locked himself in his laboratory it’s only a matter of seconds before your being lifted and spread against the cold metal lab table. all of his previous experiments had been disregarded as non important as his hands explored you.

silently he used black gloved fingers to poke and prod at the most delicate parts of you. sexual reactions was truly something dottore was interested in. he dips down, parting his lips to prod his tongue against you. he’s by no means gentle, using his razor sharp teeth to gently bite down on the skin. his free hands is taking messy notes on a clipboard. a skill he’d learned to do from each and every one of these meetings. ♡

— “interesting reactions . . every day i get closer to figuring out all your secrets, little dove.”

[jasminerva]

it's the thought that counts

various SakaDays dudes x gn!Reader SFW, clothing implied but never assumed Yumi (seikoo_11) sent me a very sweet message and idea! Gaku and Nagumo were all her, but I wanted to add all the other dudes on my mind because they all deserve love~! Banner img from some SAO game art thing. 🎄🎁 Happy SakaHoliDays to all~! ✨🎉

The holidays were a time for surprises, and you had cooked up the ultimate one for your SakaDays dude.

Decked out in ribbons, you struck a playful / seductive pose and announced, "Merry Christmas! I'm your gift!"

The twist? Hidden somewhere beneath the intricate bows and wrappings was an actual present, tailored just for them. The look on their face was priceless as they realized they'd have to unwrap their "gift" piece by piece to uncover the thotful treasure you'd prepared.

What better way to celebrate than with a little fun and a lot of love?

✨ ݁ ݁⋆.ೃ🎄₊ ⊹🎁🎀 .°.✨

Gaku: A game he'd been interested in playing (how did you even notice? he gave no tells.). He unwraps you with a mix of laziness and faux indifference. He teasingly asks if the gift came with any DLC and when you say "Yes" in that particular tone, things heat up.

Nagumo: A box of Pocky tucked just out of reach ("Hurry up~" you say, "it's gonna melt!"). Every ribbon undone feels like a playful battle, and by the end, the real gift was the fun of "unwrapping" you - plus, the promise of enjoying the real treat later.

Uzuki: An art instruction book. His cheeks flush as he delicately undoes each bow, mumbling how you're more beautiful than any masterpiece he's seen and could ever dream of illustrating. (You end up redder than he is.)

Shin: A manga volume he's missing. He hesitates, blushing furiously as he fumbles with the ribbons, only to stammer out a heartfelt thank-you after. You can't wait to spoil him some more later, so you decide against spoiling the extra surprises (let's just say it involves checking more things off his list - Shin knows cuz he can read your mind and your smug face).

Shishiba: A luxurious silk tie and tie clip to add to his collection (tell me he doesn't have one of those walk-in closets with lux items encased in glass that he rotates through). He takes his time unwrapping, quietly amused by your boldness, before thanking you with a soft smirk and puts the tie around you to see how you look (with just that on - nothing else).

Hyo: Metal/brass polish. He roars with laughter at the practicality and promises to "shine up" just for you. You tell him he's already dazzling and he glows from your compliment (+ the offer to spoon him afterwards).

Heisuke (+ Piisuke): Bird & boy-friendly snacks. His excitement is infectious, as he grins ear to ear, quickly tearing through the ribbons (somehow tangling you up further before Piisuke helps out) and hugs you like you're the best gift ever.

Natsuki: Spare lithium battery packs for his invisibility suit. He unwraps you with methodical precision, smirking as he asks if this counts as "charging up for later".

Mafuyu: A UV light wand. He's irked at first, carefully untying the ribbons, but the corners of his eyes crinkle and mask shifts slightly when he sees the thoughtful gift. Why's he using it on you--?!

Amane: A personalized activity booklet. His quiet curiosity grows as he unwraps you, and his soft smile is worth every ribbon as he eagerly flips through the pages, memorizing them all instantly. He wants to start ASAP but you remind him that things are closed for the holidays and he blushes ("no no it's okay" god he's adorable).

Kashima: A handwritten IOU on reindeer stationary for a karaoke session. He chortles when he reads it, pulling you close and saying, "I expect a duet." (This would be the perfect time to put the light up Rudolph nose on him.)

Kaji: Hi-fi earplugs and a new, festive trapper hat. He laughs softly, mumbling too quietly about how much he appreciates you and the gift. He doesn't think he could pull it off but you convince him that he'll be the talk of the town and deserves to feel special.

Apart: Instead of wrapping yourself, you take the ribbons and gently wind them around the two of you, pulling him close with a smile. "This way," you say softly, "we won't be apart this Christmas." He melts, flushes, and tightens the ribbons around your shared embrace to nuzzle against you and hide his face (can't even see anything under his messy bangs anyway).

Haruma: He holds onto one end of the ribbon and tells you to spin and unravel yourself. Not in a dominant way (kinda), but in a personal trainer way (sobbing the winter holidays is when we're allowed to potato!). No gift on you, except a signed affidavit witnessed by Uzuki (& Kashima in case it wasn't the right Uzuki) saying that you worked out earlier and deserve something sweet. (Protein-baked goodies aren't half bad tbh, but Haruma would treat you to whatever you love, even the bad macro stuff - you'll burn it off later anywho ;)

Sakamoto (platonic): You've ribbon-wrapped Sakamoto for Aoi, tying a big bow around his belly, slapping it for good measure, with a cheeky grin. "Merry Christmas to the family man!" you declare, shooing him away. You'll watch over the store during the holidays so he can spend time with Aoi and Hana-chan.

Merry Christmas & Eve~! Depending on where you're located~ Artists of all mediums give so much to you and me~ be sure to wish your beloved creators a Happy Holidays~! Want more? Check out my SakaDays Masterlist! 🍑 Comments, reblogs, tags appeachiated~! 🍑

✨ ݁ ݁⋆.ೃ🎄₊ ⊹🎁🎀 .°.✨

Extras under the mistletoe 🌿🍒:

Yumi's cutieful art of Nagumo in ribbons *fans self* that I requested. Do you think he'd let you wrap him up too? Oh def yes. THANK YUMI FOR SPARKING THIS POST & GIVE HER ALL THE LOVE + FOLLOW HER ON TWITTER PLEASE AND THANK YOU~!

Kaji's new hat. Call him cute and ask him for a ride~! ;3

I knew I could count on Korean TWT for red-nosed Kashima art. If you see more, please do share~! [adding as I happen upon them: sakori00, No_Eul_0, yant2k]

Also, LOOK AT HIM! PINKY ALL THE WAY UP KASHIMA!!! He prolly sings enka / operatic style. He's as refined as Shishiba but totes it loudly and proudly. (Thank you again, Yumi, for finding the extra!!!)

Tie clip + fancy tie was brought up by Lao (@herringstrait) in passing conversation. They even found this beauty!

¥13,200 for Mr. Fancypants. I bet it's functional too. Shishiba already has a hammerhead shark pin I'm sure he'd appreciate this!

[idliketobeatree]

dead boy detectives characters as art objects and sculptures; extended ---

hello, i remembered i made some subjective explanations and notes on few of my choices for this post, and i thought some folks might enjoy it. soo let's get into it.

1.

monty finch

author: anders krisár

pretty self-explanatory; it's a moulded male torso with visible inprints on its skin.

anders krisár’ artistry explores the themes of loss, separation, and the condition of the psyche through the lens of a human body in duality: perfectionism meets unsettlement, skin meets marble and bronze and polyester, to create sculptures spanning geological time far beyond the living's capabilities.

monty's creation by esther was already stripped of any human agency. "he was made a boy, not a person", small, almost doll-sized, with a singular purpose: to seduce and entice the chosen dead boy into their doom. the naked skin and specifically the position of its arms are mildly erotic, but in a way that makes your skin crawl. the imprints are intimate, placed possesive; notice the thumbs digging close to especially sensitive areas like nipples and the belly button.

the latter seems to connect the "creator" to the subject, the navel here as a symbol of cruel, invasive motherhood. the fact that the torso is cut off in the middle and at the neck furthers the uncanny valley feeling of a young male body, but then again. this is a realistic portrayal. so was it ever a person? what does it have inside to make dents so profound? how deep you can press until it breaks?

--- i'm leaving out crystal and edwin (for now?), but @nicheoverhere brilliantly noticed that it was the same author for both. that was intentional! because glen martin taylor is all about taking kintsugi, which is a beautiful art form of repairing fine china and generally delicate things with veins of precious metals, but with materials like— nails. scissors. barbed wire. all ugly. the repair after a great shattering is seldom pretty after all, they really are similar in this regard. ---

2.

charles rowland

author: robert hudson

okay, strap in. this funky dreamy world belongs to robert hudson, and i picked it for charles rowland because it's all first impressions. the colours? the composition? they give you the 80s vibes, almost; like something a kid would design if you asked them what a time machine would look like. it could probably move in several ways. the pieces seem mismatched, but hold themselves together surprisingly well. or maybe you underestimate it?

it's neither big nor small. you can't tell its size at all. it's a bit overwhelming to look at, at first, and at second, and after a while, but it carries that comfortable familiarity and nostalgia for— well, nothing in particular, because the longer you look, the sadder its past seems. the bold pops of contrasting colour are fighting for your attention. they want you to like it! and yet, the major material seems to be just. rusted steel. made from tools.

and look at that botched up sphere, it wants so badly to be a perfect sphere and it knows it'll never be one. fine!! perhaps it could be a football ball instead! or maybe a head. if you close your eyes, that is. and this facing-up horseshoe? a lucky charm, made to collect good luck and keep it from falling out cause god, it needs it.

---

3.

niko sasaki

author: justin cloud

---

niko sasaki, now how do i describe her? let's start by saying— she's cleary a her. this one is a she. and there's something to be said about blooming, and femininity, and delicacy, because pink is a hopeful girly colour and a surprise and a delight.

what are you doing in a gallery, little flower, shouldn't you be at home? in a field? look how pretty you are! mind you, of course there's something wrong with her as well, but you're not sure if that is because someone messed it up, or because of a different entity alltogether. was it always half-electric? its elegance seems purposeful— the iridescent metal fits all too well with the white-pink petals— but also uncanny. and oh suddenly you can't stop looking at the stigma from which a pollen should release aaany time now.

when i look at her, at her black artificial stem and the small leaves imitating the real ones, i wonder if she doesn't want to lure me into a trap. is it her fault?

the beautiful petals seem like the only thing left real of the flower. whichever way she turns, it will probably mean— death. and flowers are ephemeral. what is a flower mounted to a wall, fortified with steel, connected with cables and enfused with electrical energy, then?

i think she's a self-preserving survivor. ---

4.

the night nurse

author: elizabeth turk

---

now. the night nurse.

of course it's the only piece in the collection where the background needed to be dark. no one here is older than her. there is no inoffensive, fading-into-background white for this absolute pillar of truth. or maybe something like a totem, quite protective in nature. and it's terrifying, 'cause you're immediately hit with the feeling that you're looking at something out of this realm, something you're not supposed to witness. the perspective is all wrong. is it downwards or upwards? why does it seem unstable when the pieces are so perfectly centered and seemingly well-balanced? child, you should calm down, it's not like you will destroy it with a stronger puff of air. will you?

this sculpture is called "tipping point — echoes of extinction", and it's actually a mix of technology and sculpture and sound, with elegant visualizations of the lost voices of birds and sea mammals. the author said it "was conceived in reverence to the astounding lives the species which envelop humans have lived and the mysterious ways they have contributed to our well-being. the shadows of their memory, whether a shape or a sound, have inspired this project." so the piece deals with death. moreover, it deals with murder. it records the harsh reality and makes sure the ones that suffered horribly at the hands of humans are, in a way, celebrated. but also— categorised. like epitaphs. the birdsong, once a living sign, is only visually represented by the lines of varying lenghts in 3D, and you can do nothing about it anymore, right, you can't bring back the dead, you can't help the innocent dying in any way other than— stacking them on top of each other and moving on.

---

so that's for now, i might someday write more if anyone's curious. :")