#fear of the dark is my new favourite song

[videogame-brainwyrms]

Me jamming out to the iron maiden song for the lobby music as I enter another game of torture

[thewinchestah]

"Chega de Saudade" - Alastor X Reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader.

Summary: When Alastor breaks into the V's building seven years later he expects to find a lot of things, lot of obnoxious, enraging, tacky things. He did not expect to find you. The Radio Demon does not take betrayl lightly and you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to his worst enemy. Better yet, you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to Vox and Alastor finding out. The soul you sold because Alastor left you for 7 years. Safe to say, it's a mess. A pretty, angsty, dark and delicious mess.

Warnings: Alastor is in Hell for a reason,general hellish violence,general hellish creepiness,eventual smut, i carioca coded valentino bc i can and bc he is very carioca sorry everyone,blackmail, Soul Selling, author is really invested in politics and decided to micromanage hazbin hotel canon, Corruption, Extortion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, but nothing too explicit,mature themes in general, canon divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, Alastor gets insane in this one you've been warned, fear play, Possessive Behavior, posessive sex, big bad radio demon is gonna fuck up the guy who stole his girl and will make it everyone's problem, Reader-Insert,no y/n,no beta we die like men here, i feel bad for tagging vox in this fic cause i think it's a disservice i really hate him and i make it clear so vox stans be warned, it's hell i hope y'all remeber ethics are fluid, posessive!Alastor, unhinged!Alastor, Isane!Alastor

Taglist: honestly only my queen @jyoongim i have no credibility to tag anyone anymore after being away for so long. If you wanna be tagged on future updates just let me know!

A/N:HI HEY BUNNY ANON IF YOU ARE STILL HERE THIS ONE FOR YOU!! Hiii everyone guess who's back. I had this fic cooking for a while now, actually i had a lot of writing cooking but in a very Ao3 author fashion a lot happened. You see i was on this writing streak and then my 15yo dog died while i was out of state. I had to go back on anti depressants and take a sabbatical. I got a new puppy and she's the light of my life. Got super sick, won a horse show. My first plan for this fic was having the first 3 chapters done and ready for debuting together because i always feel i'm lacking when i show up with only one chapter lol. After a while i realised i needed to get this first chapter out too see the light of day if i wanted to write again so here it is. This fic is a bit different from my other Alastor fics and i have a rough outline of 5 chapters so i think this beast will be more than 20k words long for sure. I decided to get a little deeper into Hell's politics and all the "no one ever thought of using heavenly weapons against hell even tough Hell's ancient and the best worst of humanity and demonkind is here". I call that bullshit sorry i'm brazilian i'm well versed in shady politicians and shady politics and unfortunatly, dear reader, you are in for this ride too. This fic kicks off right after "Stayed Gone". Also did i mention i'm brazilian and that my works are heavily inspired by brazilian media. This entire fic was inspired by one of my favourite songs of all time "Chega de saudade". And let's be real, Alastor and bossa nova are the perfect match. So yeah, english is not my first language and this isn't beta'd so sorry for any confusion or mistakes. Thank you so so much for reading my fics and always leaving the most kind beautiful and heartwarming feedback. I hope i can still deliver a nice story to my darling readers.

Click here for my other fics.

CHAPTER ONE: chega de saudade a realidade é que sem ela não pode ser.

In the first year you were calm and collected. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to why he is gone. Is he even gone, gone? He’s coming home soon, you can feel it. 

In the second year you convinced yourself there were signs everyone explaining why he was gone and when he was coming back, you were just too oblivious to them before. But everything can be a sign when you are delusional.

In the third year you cried so much you felt you were constantly drowning. You barely left home and some thought you were gone too. Gone to him.

In the fourth year you finally gave in and took the deal. Lack of self-preservation and machiavellian schemes working together to create a trap for him. He would come home out of anger, ire. But you can't outfox the fox.

In the fifth year you decided to scour hell and beyond after him. You went to places just to taunt him. Paranoia became your best friend, blood sweat and tears as you repeat “This time it will work, I'm sure of it”. Can a lie be said so many times it becomes the truth?

In the sixth year you accept defeat. You buried him deep and went about like he never existed in the first place. Isn’t it mystifying how this city screams his name?

It’s the seventh year now. The alarm on your phone rings and rings and you feel like scratching your face off. It’s time to meet your damned executioner.

Rolling out of bed you open the curtains to let some light in. The penthouse from the V’s building has a great view of Pentagram City, looking down you get the feeling of dystopian sci-fi that is so characteristic of the technology district. Limelights, digital outdoors, and big opulent, oppressing screens greet you like a constellation of dead stars, long distorted from their original purpose and form. 

You follow processional routine as you get ready. Choose a beautiful dress, put on make-up, and do your hair. It all feels like preparation for a sacrifice. One thing you learned from Alastor is that appearances are the best strategy and you intend to greet your handmade battlefield like a roman legion. 

Alastor. Even thinking of his name hurts, especially today when you need to face the consequences of your actions, the consequences of his actions. He is gone, he left you. And now Vox owns your soul. You blame your fall from grace entirely on him, he forced your hand, he made you do it. Out of desperation, out of defiance, you sold your soul to Vox so he would come back and save you, so he would come back out of hatred, anger and ire to tell how foolish you were, how betrayed he felt.

Betrayal. Selling your soul to his sworn arch enemy should be treason worthy of him dropping anything he was doing to come and punish you, to address you. You just wanted to get a reaction out of him, proof that he still cared. That he didn’t just get bored of the empire of terror he fought so hard to build in Hell. That he didn’t, deep down, just disregard you like a shiny novelty, to be left when it got old. 

You dry the persistent tears that insist on falling with clinical coldness. You are past feeling sad now, you don’t even feel angry anymore. You are past any emotion really, you just want to get this over with and get back home.

You went about your deal with Vox in many different ways, sometimes you felt like it was a good alliance, a slap on Alastor’s face. A side quest to gather as much information from the V’s inner circle, a social experiment. The truth is, during these past almost four years you were a mental gymnastics pro to justify your new arrangements. The cognitive dissonance required to live with the decision of being forever tied to Vox was an herculean task and boy he didn’t make it any easier on you. He would never be as refined as Alastor when it came to torture but there’s something about the coldness and calculated reality of the television business that was it’s own type of Dante’s inferno.

As soon as he got word of Alastor’s disappearance the TV overlord was on your scent, and he wasn’t shy about it either. You dodged him and led him on for almost four full years before finally giving in, everything was more or less under control during the early years of Alastor’s disappearance. 

Until you saw the angel army leaving.

  Death and gore were all around you. The sky rained blood. You couldn’t breathe. You tried to take a step forward only to realize you were knee-deep in demon blood. Adam was particularly ruthless this time, he seemed to have realized the unbalance in Hell’s power structure with one of the most prolific demon overlord’s absence and took full advantage of it. You choked on the sulfur filled air while the portal closed and Adam threw a last middle finger at the Pride Ring. A clawed hand offered you support as you were about to fall, your heart skipped a beat, for a split second you felt elation. In that split second a thousand thoughts, four years of misery and confusion passed through your mind like a movie. You were sure this was Alastor, showing up after the unprecedented carnage of today’s reaping. With the next heartbeat came the delivery of the most cruel reminder: the hand reaching for you was Vox’s. Alastor doesn’t care about anything anymore, not even losing territory. 

The TV overlord was covered in thick, red blood and looked vindicated, a wide chesire’s cat grin on his face. Baptized in carnage, Vox had finally triumphed for the V’s.The V’s were now a force to be reckoned with in Hell, there’s no argument to be made.  A good chunk of Alastor’s territory was now under their control, and everything that came with it too. Including you. 

“My darling doe, be careful, we can’t have you hurt after the battle is won can we?” 

Darling doe.

You threw up at the casual cruelty of the name Alastor called you with such affection being desecrated by Vox. He still supported you as you spilled your guts, you’d blame it on the nerves, the adrenaline, the reeking smell of death. Not on the fact that you knew he finally won, that the thing that broke you was to hear your name like that, on your lover archenemy’s lips. After that it happened. You sold your soul to vox. Of course he coerced you into it, and you were so mad with grief and betrayal that you felt like betraying Alastor back was the just thing to do. Pettiness and paradoxical hope dripping from your lips as the whole thing was done. 

Every year this same flashback assaulted your mind as you got ready to meet Vox on the anniversary of your deal. It never went past the look you gave those pixelated eyes as he held you on that barren land, stopping right there when you made the decision that finalized your ruin. You still wouldn’t, couldn't face what really went down when you formalized your deal with Vox. Those memories were suppressed and tucked in under layers and layers of regret and self-hatred. 

You gave yourself a final look in the mirror. No makeup smudging this time, you were getting good at numbing your feelings. Just a few tears, no more sobbing.

The yearly meeting with the V’s after the extermination was the perfect cover actually, everything was done in a way that it seemed like you were all cooperating. After all, you did hold a very good knowledge of the inner workings of Alastor’s deals, subordinates and territory. You knew who the V’s could “call in favours” and how to keep the peace. Or as close to peace as peace came when an abrupt power transition happened in Hell. You were a valuable asset to anyone really. Articulated in politics, masterful at the art of persuasion, kind, soft, charismatic, assertive, all in perfect balance, and frankly, breathtakingly beautiful. It wasn’t without reason that Alastor fell for you and that you became his most trusted advisor. You and Rosie were able to conceal his absence and manage his affairs for good two years and the better part of the third without raising any suspicion. Of course, the bigger they are the harder they fall and now you were walking down the corridor of the V’s building carrying a bulk of important intel that would dictate the fate of the Overlord power structure for the next year, at least. 

The hallways of the building changed a lot since you first walked them. As the V’s grew in power, the building grew in grandeur. It was now an imposing beast, looming over Pentagram City. Modern corporate architecture that incorporated the savage capitalism of Vox Tech. Savage, cold, sterile, overbearing that’s how being inside the lair of Hell’s most up and coming trio felt. The tall ceilings and big glass windows were exactly what you would expect of a broadcasting network and silicon valley Big Tech company combined. As an esteemed guest, you got the privilege of staying in the coveted penthouses, with someone to attend to your every wish and demand. You also got an idea that Vox went a little extra with your treatment as a form of flirtation, he has been trying to convince you into moving in for a while, every time you stayed in, your usual penthouse had some shiny new thing that was  made just for you, as he repeatedly emphasized. 

This year’s token of affection was a makeup mirror-gadget-thingy, that looked out of a Totally Spies episode. You had to admit to yourself that this was way more thoughtful and useful than the gifts from the previous years. The thing was cute, practical and would come in handy, which was a big improvement. Vox had tried to sway you with all types of guns and high tech devices in vain. Well, there was also that embarrassing stance with the wire flowers with a hidden recording device. Needless to say that after that entire debacle Vox learned that he may own your soul but you weren’t a damsel in distress and you would reinforce your side of the bargain if he went too far. 

You reached the elevator and went in, pushing the button for your destination. 

The earlier you start this the earlier it is over, you remind yourself.

The panoramic elevator descended to the well guarded conference room, the guards didn’t bat an eye to you entering. You realized you were becoming a familiar face around here, that made you dread what’s ahead of you even more.

“There she is! Hello princesa, I missed that pretty face!” Valentino greets you. He’s the only one inside, sitting on the edge of the table.  Well, that’s unusual… you think. Vox was always the first to get to the post-extermination meetings, plus he always gave you a slightly early timetable so he could have some alone time with you. Something must be going on.

“Hey Valentino, it’s nice to see you too! What gossip do you have for me today?” you give your best chirpy tone to the love moth. Look, you know how bad Valentino is, he is despicable really, even to your standards. But ethics are fluid, to say the  least, in Hell. The acclaimed porn king was surprisingly engaging to talk to. He was fun and actually treated you like a person, which was paradoxical in itself, considering how infamous he is for exploiting and commodifying souls. You drove yourself mad with theories of possible agendas behind Valentino’s kindness towards you, but it was the simplest of answers really, for some reason Valentino liked you and he never denied himself of what he liked.

“You have no idea! We have a lot to catch up on, did I tell you about that bitch who was trying to spy on us?” a set arms gestures to you to sit down next to him. The next 10 minutes are spent talking frivolities with the moth. You’re not complaining, it's nice to get your mind off this dreadful day and you don’t get many. 

Valentino, as always, has a lot to say, little goes on in Hell without him knowing who, what, where and why. Information, gossip, rumors, facts, if a single out of context word can be weaponized  you better be aware that he knows. Pentagram city can be divided into districts and ruled by lots of different overlords, still, Valentino’s intricate web of influence and coercion stretches across all territories. Another poor soul manifests here and goes somewhere they should not be, talk to someone they should not talk to, discover something they should never know. All cases of “wrong place at the wrong time” are happily solved by a large sum of money from the moth and suddenly another thread is weaved into his web of knowledge, another secret  made his. Valentino doesn’t operate like most Overlords and that’s where his power  lies. He bribed and fucked his way into every major circle, every  overlord’s inner circle, Hell’s best kept secret. If you were anyone in the hellish afterlife Valentino either fucked you or fucked someone very close to you. 

Knowledge is power, and Hell’s gossip girl was proof of it.

You swallowed a lump you didn’t know existed, hearing the moth talk about how things changed in a matter of hours during the early post-war made you even more aware of the severity of the intel you were carrying. It was earth shattering (no pun intended) information. 

Angels can be hurt. Angels can be killed. That meant a completely different way of existing in the afterlife, if this information goes public, the consequences are unpredictable and dire.

You don’t feel excitement knowing you technically can fight back, you feel pure dread.

To be completely honest, you feel like these “news” are not really news. You were pretty acquainted with politics back on Earth and this whole “omg no one knew about this! even though this was staring us right on your faces! is total bullshit. Hell is ancient, the exterminations are not a new thing, and there are some pretty smart people down here. To think that millenia after millenia masters of torture and skilled killers never thought of using heaven’s own firepower against them is wishful thinking at best. Sure, maybe after a few generations most sinners, even those who have power, may have been kept out of the loop about the chick in the holy army’s armor… but not knowing this at all just feels like a pretty convenient case of collective amnesia. 

Convenient, that’s exactly what this is. It’s brutal, but that’s Hell. A scheduled massacre is a blessing to those who rule to maintain, reinforce and extend their power. And if you get lucky enough, empires will fall and you will make your move. 

Vini Vidi Vici, that’s all you need to know about how Hell's politics work. 

It’s true that with every massacre the Angel Army gets more and more brutal and unhinged. What was once justified as righteous mercy killings to stabilize the ever growing hellish population now is just a display of cruelty, these angels kill for sport. There have been rumors floating around of how the disproportional annihilation tactics are preparation for something bigger for a while now , and with the demonic royal families either operating totally off Pride Ring or being completely MIA, it is no wonder those influential enough are starting to get restless. 

And that ties back to your first point, the thing that got you picking the skin around your nails while Valentino gossips. There’s a reason why this is being revealed now, you know how creating a narrative works, a few smart words and ideas become beasts of its own. A beast of its own that will tear anything on its way with the right fuel. The V’s have fuel to spare. Whose interest is that this information stayed hidden? Whose interest is that this information was allowed to be shared now? 

Hell is constructed by layers and layers of complicated militias and parallel governance, each one a locked room of secrecy that is impossible to enter without a huge amount of connections and power. 

“In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And, honey, you should see me in a crown” Valentino wisely said to you once. He’s a man of many many keys, and right now you are holding the fucking master key under your arm. 

Speaking of Valentino, he notices that you dozed off and snaps his fingers, grounding you back to reality. 

“My, my. You must have extremely sensitive information today to keep you from hearing the nastiest, hottest gossip of the moment babe” He takes a hit from his cigarette, an elegant and sensual move straight from an Old Hollywood film. The heart shaped smoke rings caress your face and for an instant you feel hypnotized, nodding your head profusely. 

“But I already knew that” behind the rose coloured shades, you see a playful wink from his infamous red hot eyes. 

The porn overlord quickly snaps his head towards the huge automatic doors, that open and reveal Vox and Velvette walking side by side exchanging looks between them that scream conspiracy.

“Sorry about the wait, my darling” Vox purrs on your way, stopping behind your chair and placing his hands on top of it, fingers dangerously close to your neck and shoulder. He pushes your hair to the side and lingers there, on your neck. “but as they say ain’t no rest for the wicked, am I right?” Velvette takes her seat beside Vox’s empty chair, meticulously placed in front of you, polite pleasantries leaving her mouth. She’s still a mystery, you never know her true stance on you, she keeps you on your toes. Does she like you? Does she hate you? Does she even care? 

“If you say so, boss!” you give him your best pageant smile. “So, who’s climbing up the ladder of the food chain today?” You bat your eyelashes at him. Your performance begins.

“Aw baby, you know I love when you call me boss! keep talking dirty to me” Vox lands a wet kiss on your cheek and makes his way to his chair.

 Right in front of you, so he’s always staring at you, drinking in your every move. You cannot fail, you cannot falter. 

As much as you’ve gotten used to pretending, pretending you like the V’s, pretending you don’t feel disgusting inside for being here, pretending you don’t hate Alastor for putting you in this situation with a burning passion but still missing him so much you feel someday your heart will stop beating in protest to him absence, it’s still hard. Especially when Vox touches you. Your eyes focus on cybersharks swimming behind Vox’s seat and concentrate on keeping your awarding winning poker face. 

“This year looks really promising I will tell you that! The orders for both your weapons and tragedy porn cameras doubled since the last extermination! I will give credit where credit is due, that fuckboy Adam knows how to put on a show!” he snaps his fingers graphs, stats and footage appears on the various screens. But it’s all irrelevant, it won’t matter when you spill your secret. 

“Lot’s of veeeery interesting happenings but I thought this year we might… start differently. Let’s forget the profit talk for now, change things a little. Did you guys see anything out of the ordinary? Did something stand out?!” he spins around his Big Boss ™ chair and stops with his hand under his chin, leaning in to you like a schoolgirl with the hottest new gossip. 

“Oh! I heard things -” Val also leans in getting closer to the TV overlord face. 

Vox’s grin shrinks, lifting a finger in protest 

“We know, we know, you always hear things Val” he replies in a monotone tone

Velvette, who spent this entire time typing away on her phone, interjects 

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way girlypop” finally looking at you she asks, or rather, states the million dollar question “ but what Vox means is that we know you have something  big cooking inside those files, so let’s drop the bullshit and go straight to it” 

The doll puts her phone down, she knows how important this is, how this secret will probably dictate how things will go from now on. You can call Velvette many things, but she is clever and under all that attitude and posh accent lies a brilliant strategist. 

“Plus, we all know you are contractually obligated to tell anyway, so spill, and can make this quick and painless to everyone involved” 

Right, your cartesian, empirical proof that angels can be killed.  Caught on the scene of the crime with the gun in your hands. 

You don’t waste anymore time, the words leave your lips like you’re choking with the threat they present. You tell them everything: where the exorcist was killed, how he was killed, the golden ichor blood that oozed from the wound, where the body was hidden. Everyone is silent while you speak, even the mechanical sharks seem to have stopped swimming to listen. 

After that you don’t remember much more of the meeting, it felt like you took the backseat of your own mind, the overwhelming feeling of dread making you so out of breath. Something is coming, something fucking coming and you can’t breathe. Anxiety sets under your skin like a second skeleton begging to crawl its way out and you find yourself sitting in one of the lavish anterooms of the V’s building. 

“So, the cat’s out of the bag then” you recall hearing Vox saying when, as if on cue, a few moments before the meeting was being declared over, the emergency broadcast about the reduction of the extermination date from a year to six months was issued. You four watch the transmission and you wonder if that’s what it feels like to get the news of the end of the Cold War, the doomsday clock finally hits midnight and we are nuking each other out. 

Mutual destruction assured. 

Your mind wanders back to your life on earth, if life up there is better or worse these days. You died so young, everybody told you, your Untimely Demise a big topic of conversation that you yourself didn’t know much about. But nothing, nothing in all of your living years and your years from Hell to eternity could prepare you for what comes next.

“So the Radio Demon is back in town! Why is he hanging around? What does it mean for your family?” 

The news hit your ears like a tsunami and you feel dizzy. It’s easy to find a big screen here and you are running to the closest one before your brain can even compute the words. 

Alastor is back, Alastor is back, and he didn’t come find you.

The next sound wave is even worse, dragging you ashore to your feelings without any reprieve. 

“Salutations!

Good to be back on the air! Yes, I know it's been a while, since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast

Sinners, rejoice!”

This isn’t a prank, there are no cameras and a sadistic tv host waiting for your humiliating reaction, instead all pairs of eyes in Hell are glued to the screen watching as the two Overlords fight it out. 

Thus, no one notices how your entire body shakes and your vision goes black. It’s too much, and you grip the rails from the stairs that lead to the foyer for dear life. Your heart is beating out of your chest. No one notices how you cry, how you whimper Alastor’s name like a prayer, how the tears run down your face and you feel paralyzed. You want to run, a million thoughts per heartbeat making your head swim. The best you can do is collapse on the floor. So you do, you collapse trying to catch your breath as you plan your sweet escape, how you are going to Houdini yourself out of this situation right to his arms.

“Tune on in

 when I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run”

You want to kiss him, you want to slap him, you want to tell him how much you missed him, you much your fucking hate him. You want him to drag you to his rooms and make you pay for cursing him out. You want him, you want your Alastor back. You cannot breathe.

“Oh, this will be fun.”

and then all the lights go out.

There’s a beginning of an uproar happening, the electric building dies a quick and unforgiving death, demons run around and Vox is flying down the stairs trying to do damage control. But even he is failing to keep his composure, because he knows. Oh how you know too. 

Alastor is like a natural disaster, a shattering force that bends everything on its way with the sheer force of will. The inevitable reckoning that comes to your town, that judges and executes everyone that you love. 

And now he is here. 

You see the burning red hot pair of eyes first, their predatory gaze hold the entire room hostage, looking for his prey and then they land on you. 

The piercing intensity of Alastor’s eyes, the flickering reds of damnation itself, regard you with surprise, elation and something more. So overbearing those eyes are, they make you shiver, bearing the weight of his gaze that penetrates deep into your soul. Your soul that is not yours anymore, it belongs to the man he hates, the man he despises. 

The Radio Demon’s towering frame closes the distance between you two in five long strides, you do your best to keep yourself upright and not cower at the sight of him. He looks like Rapture and righteous torture, coming to deliver your setance. Vox knows his sentence is being delivered here and now too, so he runs, runs to you.  You feel static and an electrifying pull, metal clinking. A chain. A glowing blue chain on your neck and Vox’s pulling it tight.

“What? what the fuck is going on? what’s this?” snapping your neck quickly towards Vox you whimper, you beg. The few seconds you stopped looking into Alastor’s eyes causing seething rage inside the deer demon, ire that makes the room tremble. 

‘“Talk over the radio, that way everyone can hear, baby” Vox says straight at Alastor, like it is a shooting gun. The look on the TV Overlord is maniac, a sideway cocky smile that drips pettiness. Just because Vox clearly lost this battle, with all tvs and electricity on petagram city going dark, it doesn’t mean he can’t still forever tarnish this victory. 

Alastor’s demonform covers the already dark building in opaque, thick shadows, radio static picks up around the room like a tornado chocking the majority of the unfortunate demons that are still inside, in a desperate attempt to seek shelter. 

No words leave the radio host’s lips as he grows even taller, breaking the posh entrance of the building, debris flying down causing even more damage, the tall glass windows shatter in a million pieces courtesy of his tentacles tearing down everything on their way. The sounds of destruction and despair are loud but you haven’t been listening to the world outside you and your returned lover’s radio dial eye’s for a while. A doe caught in the headlight of his eyes the best you can do in brace for the inevitable impact that is coming your way.

In a flash of his scarlet eyes a fire ignites, the flames born from it are unnatural, behaving like a hive mind to kill and destroy.

 You always knew that facing Alastor after these 7 years would not be easy, but you never imagine your reunion like this, in the midst  of pomppeian fire, a wild raw power, the oncoming storm that is Alastor when he attacks. 

Vox knows this fight is over, his ego hurt and today’s accounts always written as a victorious comeback from the Radio Demon, nevertheless, between the three of you Vox will always know who really won, who drew the last card, had the last laugh. He did, holding Alastor’s girl on a leash because he owns her. The soul of the woman the Radio Demon dared to love is his, the man Alastor despises with a burning passion, and that’s enough for now. 

The raging flames circle the three of you and without much more flair Vox drops his act, your chain disappearing from your neck. You drop to the floor, branching yourself on all fours. You consider crawling your way to Alastor, so you can explain, so you can cry, so you can beg. You don’t know for what exactly you will be begging for: your life? his forgiveness? his punishment? you just know a lot of begging and pleading will be involved. 

But the decision is made for you.

“Run, run my little darling doe” Vox commands “Run and do whatever you need to do” 

You get up on your feet in a completely ungracious move and Alastor’s out of the room instantly. The flames never touch you on the way out, the outside world greets you: a cacophony of screams, sirens, burning sounds, the infernal orchestra that becomes the soundtrack of your life.  

“Oh, and by the way” Vox screams from the threshold of the decaying building “we just got news that your place on Cannibal Town got trashed by some wayward sinners during extermination. But don’t worry you can always come home here, come home to me!”

You do your best to ignore his taunting, and you pray to whoever is listening that Alastor didn’t hear it. But it’s futile, the pavement where he is stepping cracks a dark cloud of static and shadows trail after him. He definitely heard and felt the implications of these words. 

“Al.. Al!” you scream running after your lover. 

Fuck, you’re still in heels, and those aren’t your running heels.

Kicking the damned shoes off you run faster, you cry harder and plead faster.

When you lived, your life always felt a bit surreal, weird stuff happened to you that you couldn’t really explain. People always joked that screenwriters of your life were the most creative people alive, the thing that happened to you never happened to anyone else. You died young, with a big, full life ahead of you, but you took this as gospel to your afterlife, after all everything related to your death was a mystery to you. But the things that happened to you living or dead were a raw reality impossible to make up.

 The uncertainty of your death only fuels your resolve to fight for the life you found in the afterworld. 

“Al, wait!” you are starting to get truly desperate, you need to get to him otherwise you are pretty certain you will drop dead here and now.

 “Alastor please, please listen to me” your voice failing, you finally choking from the smoke, from the suppressed tears. If Alastor doesn’t hear you now you are not sure you can carry on after him, you’re too tired too scared. You him to save you like the damsel in distress you are right now so bad.

Alastor dramatically comes to a halt. 

“I. am. Not. Having. This. Conversation. Here.”  his voice is staggered, still. Filled with static and a murderous edge to it. His long arms catch your wrist and pull you close, flush against his chest, you almost stumble but a powerful arm around your waist locks you tight to him. 

It’s the first touch in seven years, your legs shake at the realization that he’s real, he’s here. You lock your arms around his neck, the familiar fabric of his overcoat, the soft strands of his hair, they all feel like coming home.  

Something inside Alastor snaps when he remembers, when he feels how small you are in comparison to him, only one arm securing you safely to him. Some paradoxical fight starts inside him, wild wild want, wild wild rage against tameness, the docile calm you bring whenever you are at his side. 

The world disappears for a few seconds as darkness engulfs both of you,  inside the black moving vacuum only the two of you exist, greeting each other in bloody homecoming. 

Alastor takes you back to the Hotel, landing with a low thump inside his room. For a second his hand supports the small of your back, preventing you from falling forward. After all it’s been 7 years since you shadowtravelled with him, he knows you are terribly out of practice. 

His consideration towards you only lasts this precious second thought, because he makes his way across the room, creating as much distance as he can between the two of you. Your touch disarms him, he is aware of that since the first time your hand brushed against his, the first time his lips ghosted on top of your knuckles. If Alastor is touching you he is extremely likely to get soft, to remember how much you mean to him, what you do to him, so he will be merciful. And right now the last thing the deer demon wants is to be disarmed, to show you mercy. He can feel your betrayal burning inside his veins, clouding his judgment with ire and jealousy.

Alastor doesn’t fight those feelings, on the contrary, he lets them take him by storm adding fuel to his already bad temper. That’s the only way he can face you now, that’s the only way he can make you understand. 

You don’t get any time to gather your bearings, from the corner of your eye you notice a forest. His room is bigger on the inside and has a fucking conservation area but that’s hardly the most pressing matter at the moment. The pressing matter at the moment is that you are getting whiplash from touching your demon lover for the first time in seven years and his subsequent refusal to touch you, stationing himself across the room to you.

Why isn’t he with you? by your side as you ride the shockwaves of today together? You are scared, but above all you feel overwhelming sadness. 

“How did it happen?” he finally snaps, breaking the deafening silence. It’s the first time Alastor regards you, directly, in 7 years and the weight his words bare is so heavy you wish for more of the silence. “Tell me, how did it happen?” his eyes are wild, dangerously close to radio dials. 

“How did it happen? You tell me Alastor! You left me, you fucking left me!” you wish you could be your usually articulated self, you rehearsed this conversation so many times in your mind and in none of them you started with such venom on your lips. But it has been too long, and maybe the poison from all those years alone and afraid beside Vox drips through. 

The Radio Demon sees the tears that fall profusely from your big doe eyes, and they sting more than an acclaimed torturer like him could have anticipated. Alastor finds himself still disarmed, because with every single glistening tear that falls he can see how hurt, how scared you are. He is the only one allowed to make you scared, he owns your fear.

But that’s the problem isn’t it? He owns nothing. Vox does. And that realization turns him back to feeling seething rage. 

“So my mere absence is enough to change your devotion? Is me being here the only thing that stopped you from falling into his arms?” more poison. By the end of the night you both will choke on it. 

“Al.. Al” you are sobbing now, your throat tightens and it’s hard to breath it’s hard to speak. “ I had to do it. You don’t get it, you don’t get it.” your voice breaks “hemademedoit, hemademedoit!!”. You swallow half the words, whimpering, as if you say it fast enough the action will quickly become the past, as if the memories won’t haunt you. And yet the memories flood your mind

A dim-lit room, the smell of blood and something burning.

“He is gone baby, and he isn’t coming back”

Electricity makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

A stranger’s hand pushes the hair to the side of your face, dread creeps up inside of you.

“This is the only way my dear, the best decision you can make” 

The same stranger’s hand grab you by the waist 

“I’m the only one who can protect you now, you know that right?”

eyes that make you freeze, it’s hard to think. eyes that make it hard to say no.

“If this is hard for you, you can pretend that I’m him” 

a wrong type of static pricks your lips 

“This won’t hurt” 

a shockwave hits your body and it feels like you are being split open

You have to steady yourself on the closest piece of furniture. You cower as the repressed memories from the night you finally gave in to Vox assault your mind, trying to make yourself as small as possible, like he is coming back to do it all again. Cries and incoherent words leave your lips and you don’t know if you actually said what happened or if this entire time you have just been crying. You entire body hurts as you hyperventilate “Al, I’m so sorry” you whisper 

That’s what undoes Alastor, you curling yourself in a ball, defeated and scared at the ghost of the man he hates. You looking away from him like you are undeserving of him, of his punishment, of his love. Like you are tainted. Alastor can’t make the exact words of your confession about how it happened, but he heard enough. Vox would never make you come to him willingly, Alastor knows that. Whatever Vox did - and Alastor has a lot of ideas of what he did - he will pay double for it. 

 Alastor’s blackened heart shatters when he calls your name and you don’t look up to meet his eyes, like you always do. He was always your lantern for when you were drowning. He meant to break you, hurt you like that. He just wanted to make you come to him, beg for his forgiveness, beg him to soothe the pain. 

“Mon coeur, my sweet darling doe you are safe” Alastor voice goes so soft it hurts “Don’t fret, it’s in the past, it’s over, you are safe with me now as you are meant to be” he coos.

Still, you can’t read your lover’s mind. So you don’t know his heart is shattered, you don’t know how much he loathes himself for letting this get this far. You are so caught up on your own feelings, reeling the rage and the memories that you miss the softness of his voice and his outstretched hard and you inevitably choke on the poison. 

“No. No!” you snap “You don’t get to say that. You have no right to say that!” you scream as you get up “I’m not safe, I will never be safe because you weren’t there to protect me, you promised Alastor, you fucking promised” the poison is now inside you, heartstopping waves of hurt consume your body and sprit. Right now the same burning passion that makes you heart beat for Alastor makes you hate him too. You were never good with ugly feelings, you always pride yourself for being soft to be strong. Your kindness and act of rebellion during the hellish reality you lived. You were never good with bad feelings, so you do something you never thought you’d do.

You shove the Radio Demon, that man you love so much it drives you to insanity. You shove him because the shame is too much, all the ugly feelings ball up inside, convincing you that you don’t deserve him, that you already lost him. And you won’t survive his dismissal. 

You never talked back to him, you never raised your voice. Not because you were afraid to, but because you never had to, hence the reason why Alastor is so taken aback that your pitiful attempt of violence actually moves him from where he was standing. 

Alastor shoves you back, pushing you up against the wall with a searing kiss. He kisses you like you are his last chance at salvation, like he wants to be redeemed. He licks your lips as you struggle to catch your breath, pushing his hips hard against your core, making you straddle him. Alastor doesn’t grant you a moment of reprieve, his lips come crashing down on yours again, his tongue inside your mouth dancing to a madman’s tune. He does what he does best, he takes and takes and takes. He takes your breath away, he takes all the callous words that threaten to leave your lips, aimed at him. 

You succumb to your demon lover, your nails dig into his skin and he moans inside your mouth, he bites your lips enough to draw blood. In the end Alastor is still Alastor, and of course he gets all hot and bothered when fighting. You feel delirious with the taste of his lips, your blood and your salty tears mixing together, an unholy ambrosia. His hardness press just the right way to make you sing creating a current of desire after a seven year long drought. 

His hands are quick, ridding up your shirt making he grab your ass and then your hips, strong enough to bruise. His clawed finger is already tweaking your nipple that way he knows you love. Your bravado melts, in perfect synchrony to when he sinks his teeth deep into your neck, drinking everything: that wretched poison that tarnished your words, the sacred warmth of your blood. You moan his name like a prayer that he promptly answers, he’s kissing you like a drowning man again, your blood on his lips painting your lips red like you both just drank from the holy grail, his hand cups your other breast and you vow to never speak to him like that again, only if it’s gonna get you up against the wall like that with him. 

And then he stops. 

“I hope this kiss haunts you” he says, voice still drunk with desire, low and threatening. He swiftly moves you off him, walking away and creating the same distance from when this all started “haunts your every breath, finds its way inside your every waking moment until you are mad with regret” 

You are bewildered, eyes widening in disbelief. What is he doing? How can he go from 0 to a 100 so fast? 

“I hope this kiss haunts you, so you never forget that you were the only woman who ever had me at the palm of her hand and you decided to throw it all away with that calamitous cynicism of yours.” 

So that’s what’s happening. You can never expect to beat a master at his own game, Alastor is still cruel when he is merciful. When push comes to shove he will always win. There’s only so far you can get with taunting his repentance,  playing with his heart laid bare at your feet, filled with sorrow and begging for forgiveness. He was ready to apologize, to dry your tears and soothe your fears, worshiping your delicious body and the ground you walked on. He was ready to admit that this was half his fault until your venom stung him beyond the realm of spoken word. 

“I understand it now, it must be hard for you to cope with your own decisions, your own failings, so you take it all on me. I hope you remember this when you come back to beg, on your knees for my forgiveness. And trust me, you will.” Of course Alastor would torture you with the knowlodge of his guilt and despair, the loss of his benevolence, the promise of desire and carnality. He will always be a torturer at heart, and you forgot that’s the first rule you need to always remember when dealing with him. 

“You’ve got your demons darling” never was your precious pet name said with such disdain. Static starts to gather around you, and in a flash his hand is on your neck

“and they all, Look. Like. Me” his voice is distorted when he finishes cursing you, there’s a tempest behind his eyes that entraps you, the burning red of his irises condemn you. 

The Radio demon is a raging fire, an oncoming storm. But he is also meticulous, cruel and calculating, if you dared to question him, to step on the grace he gladly gave you, you clearly were aware of everything he did to lull his absence. All the plans and contingencies he made to hush your worrying thoughts about him and bathe your threshing heart on tranquiline waters.

And you decided to mock it. To mock him and his love for you. 

You are crying again, but this time Alastor is fucking glad he was the one to hurt you, to reduce you to a mess of regret and tears. 

Tonight in Hell, power shifts from one Overlord to another. Sinners plan and freak out accordingly.

 But their machinations are all meaningless. 

The 7 years you spent away from Alastor made you sad, the three years spent on Vox’s side made you bitter. The V’s operate on poison, it’s their fuel. And maybe the poison drips through.

Tonight you drank the poison and it broke you.

Tonight, for the first time, the poison broke Alastor too.

[crystalskiesandcherrywine]

The sound of the waves collide // Part Four

So it is time for the last part.... I still cannot believe that I managed to write something and look forward to post more

This chapter is very explicit - for my taste at least.

Song for the chapter - Alkaline by Sleeptoken

English is not my first language

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Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

shameless smut

FxM

All feedback is welcome <3

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

1.695 words

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The encounter with Feyd leaves you so shaken that, come morning, you avoid seeing anyone. It feels childish and less dignified, your mind circling around the memories of the evening like vultures. It's as if he doesn't even need to touch you to make you forget years of training and let your emotions get the best of you. And he visibly enjoys it, your pain and humiliation making it even more luxurious for him. Frustrated and unable to concentrate, you put Irulan's gift away and lie down in a lounge chair on the balcony overlooking the small garden. The sun's rays are softened by the huge trees and reflected in the pond below. Its crystal clear waters appear like a mirror - calm and serene, a painful contrast to your mental state. You close your eyes and try to ground yourself in the moment, repeating the mantra „I am alive in stillness“, but to no avail. The fever that has been ignited within you consumes your mind and body. Your hands seem to develop a life of their own and, as if guided by a puppet master, they find their way to the small band of your tunic. The warm air touches your skin and you close your eyes, letting your fingers slide over your breasts, caressing the nipples that instantly stiffen under your touch. Your hand continues to slide down as your eyes flutter shut. It is almost as if you are picking up where he left off. The heat concentrates under your fingers, and letting your intuition guide you, you move your fingers in circles, dipping in and out of your cunt. The orgasm is so intense that for a second you forget where you are. You can't stop yourself from moaning his name and you feel like coming up for air.

Two days later it is time to say goodbye. Your father kisses you on the forehead and your mother seems to think the same as you - "I will not fear". Letting go of Paul's embrace seems almost impossible, but when all is said and done, you make your way to the Baron's ship. His gigantic form floats in front of you, while your betrothed follows at the same level as you.

Even if he doesn't look at you, you can't help but feel his presence. Each step seems to be part of a well-orchestrated choreography and reminds you of a wild animal, ready to reveal its murderous nature at any moment. At the last glance, you turn your head to see your mothers signing "Good luck" to you with a small flick of her wrist. The connection to what was familiar is tethered and you are not sure of the tumultuous feeling your gut that the now empty space in your soul is son tobe filled with a new home. The change is almost tangible, as if when you pay close enough attention, it glow like a dark halo around you.

Once on the ship, you are left to your own devices. You can call upon servants at any time, but they seem to anticipate your wishes before you know them. Food and drink are brought to you, as well as an army of new clothes. Your favourite is the black dress with heavy beading around the bodice, covering your torso like a shield. Paired with a translucent black veil and a small gold chain around your neck, connected to your torso, it feels appropriate to take your first steps on the planet you will call home.

Your unease is heightened when, upon your arrival, neither Feyd nor the Baron are to be seen. A tall, slender man who introduces himself as Piter de Vries escorts you to the Feeds chambers. You immediately recognise the characteristic traces of spice in his eyes, the only thing that seems to have any colour in this world. Shielded from the harsh black sun, you reach Na Baron's quarters, only to find an army of monochrome grey, white and black surroundings. The palace seems to be the essence of the Harkonnens, with hard, clear lines, yet graceful and spacious.

"If you need anything, there are always two servants at the door," says Piter. The servants resemble guards, but you decide not to share this observation. Piter's eyes linger on the glass box with the fir tree. "Do you want to have a closer look?" You ask. "Only if you don't mind. I have never seen anything like it". "It was a parting gift from my father. On Caladan, fir trees grow as tall as these walls, more of them than you can count. You may take it with you if you promise to return it in one piece tomorrow." Pieter seems to understand your bid for connection and bows his head „I am indebted to you, Na Baroness“ Its the first time some one dresses you with your new title and you barely suppress a shiver. And as if the title was a spell, Feyd Rautha appears in the doorway. Piter bows and leaves at once, holding the precious piece of your home in his hands. He moves so siletly, that you begin to wonder if the planet is not only devoid of color but also of sound. Blood seems to rush to your cheeks as you meet Feyd's gaze. "Is everything to your satisfaction?" His voice echoes. "Yes, thank you, Baron." His arms are behind his back and before you realise why, you see droplets of thick, almost black liquid collecting on the floor behind him. Slowly he unclasps his hands, drops to one knee and holds out a slim silver knife to you, covered in more of the same substance. "Is… is it blood?" You don't know why you question it. "Yes, it is. Please accept this as a token of my devotion to you. It is…" his blue eyes find yours, "the proof that my body will be yours alone. No other being shall touch it."

"Your pets…" you feel almost dizzy as the understanding dawns on you.

"No more pets," he says, still on his knee.

You slowly take the knife and place it on the white table beside you. Some of the blood gets on your wrist. He grabs it and licks it off. While a part of your brain screams that you should be afraid, your body seems to find the spark he struck on Kaitain again. His tongue flicks across the sensitive skin as he rises and begins to undo the buttons on your shoulders, the need to touch him overwhelming you and you reach out with your palm to his cheek. He leans into your touch with more tenderness than you ever expected. But as soon as your dress falls to the floor, pure hunger returns to his eyes. He presses into you and you feel as if your insides have melted on the spot. You try to feel his length through the fabric of his tunic. „So needy, Na Baroness?“ He purrs, enjoying the dominance he has over you. With a swimming motion, he pushes you onto the bed, holding your arms above your head. His tongue descends to your collarbone, moving deeper as he takes one breast in his mouth, sucking the tender flesh. You moan under him, already feeling washed away from any security of a shore into a whirl of need. His tongue continues to drive you mad as he bites you, the pain searing and glorious at the same time. Your hand reaches for him again, but he holds your wrists down as his tongue continues to run between your legs. He looks up at you, and it is the last thing to break the tiny shreds of your resolve. But he doesn't let you go, his tongue still swirling between your folds, drinking in your sweetness. Suddenly your hands are connected and a split second later you realise why: he uses his left hand, with slender, graceful fingers, to push your thighs further apart. You feel wanton and still needy, and as one of his finders curls inside you, you moan his name. "Feyd, Feyd, Feyd." Your own voice seems alien to you, high-pitched and desperate.

"My Na Baroness seems to want more," he smiles devilishly and inserts two more fingers at once. You whimper and throw your head back into the pillows. It feels like the stars are exploding behind you and feel the second orgasm coming as he stops and pulls away from you. You can barely hold back a frustrated squeal. Your body feels hot, the only antidote to this madness his skin on yours. You try to concentrate on his form, seeing him remove his tonic first, then his trousers, leaving nothing to the imagination. His body is pure perfection, not a mark on his porcelain skin, he kneels on the bed again and moves towards you. The tip of his shaft is already pink and covered with pearls of pre-cum. It touches your clit lightly as it settles between your legs. "You'll have to learn to control yourself. So responsive to my touch, so desperate…" he hisses as the black of his pupils replaces the blue, making them almost invisible. His tip touches your entrance and then disappears completely inside you. You feel torn apart and put together at the same time, pain and pleasure mixed into something new, a delicious cocktail of discovery that leaves you drunk and breathless. You want to close your eyes, but he says "Look at me" you hear him murmur and you are lost again. With every movement of his hips, your whole being seems to refragment and reassemble like a kaleidoscope. Your walls convulse around him, his name like a sacred chant. Your nails dig into his back and he lets himself fall, speeding up and thrusting into you with even more abandon. You feel his use of you, your name on his lips. For a few seconds you are speechless, your shallow breaths filling the room. He holds your hips as he lies down behind you, still inside you to the hilt. „Welcome to being my wife, dear Na Baroness“

[hansensgirl]

summary. | Lloyd Hansen can’t get enough of his favourite dancer.

prompts. | Lloyd Hansen + Mob Boss + “You have no idea what you do to a man like me.” + Choking, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Lloyd Hansen x fem!reader.

warnings. | DUBCON, power imbalance, mob stuff, reader is a stripper/erotic dancer, choking, breath play, conditioning/grooming, implied stalking, voyeurism, obsession, pet names, Sir kink, and more.

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics.

Lloyd Hansen—the man everyone fears, yourself included—stands over you, watching you with careful eyes. You’re dressed in white lingerie, just as he asked his men to do. It’s a far cry from what your boss makes you wear every night. 

You would dance for Mr. Hansen each week. He would choose the song and the private room, and you would follow his orders. Much to your surprise, he never broke the cardinal rule. Mr. Hansen never put his hands on you, even though he could. 

“You’re gorgeous, angel,” Lloyd coos, sipping on his alcohol. You grow shy under both his praise and his gaze. He’s told you this before—typically after each dance. But the way he leers at you now is new—perhaps he’s always done this, his eyes shrouded by the darkness of the room. 

The mob boss sets his drink on his desk, and he bends down, hands stretching out to touch you. He treats you as if you’re something magical—a being not from this planet, yet he has staked his claim on you. After Lloyd visited the club and saw you the first night, he went to your boss—a man he has worked with for many years—and told Freezy that you’re only to dance for him. The money he gave the lecherous man afterwards was too good to resist, and so everyone in that club knew you were untouchable—Lloyd’s girl. 

“You have no idea what you do to a man like me,” he growls, breathing growing heavy as he makes you stand. Lloyd’s large hands are wrapped around your arms. He has a firm grip on you, as if you’ll run away from him. You can’t—no one has ever been able to. 

“Sir…” you whisper as his face moves closer to yours. You can admire him far better this way—the moustache he keeps well-groomed, his beauty marks, and his stormy eyes. There’s a bit of green in the blue sea of them—something you never would’ve noticed had he not taken you home tonight. 

“So precious, so sweet…” Lloyd continues, almost muttering to himself. His hands move upwards, towards your neck, and he wraps them around your throat. 

Your breath hitches as you’re startled. You try not to show your shock too much—afraid of upsetting the mob boss to the point of his notorious wrath. Mr. Hansen squeezes and puts pressure on your airways, cutting off your breathing. 

Your hands involuntarily grab at his wrists, but you make no effort to fight him. “Are you scared, honeybee?” he questions, noting that your irises are nearly gone with how blown out your pupils are. 

He can also see how your nipples pebble and poke through the lace that does a poor job of covering them. Lloyd thinks about how he’ll have to dress you up in the most expensive lingerie next time. 

“N– No, Sir,” you admit to him. Perhaps you are a little frightened, but your arousal is most resonant. “Good girl… Daddy would never hurt his special girl,” Lloyd tells you. You nod your head, feeling a bit dizzy. 

The mob boss loosens his grip on your neck and allows you to breathe properly, relishing in the power he has over you. 

“I just can’t help it sometimes. You make me want to do such terrible things,” Lloyd coos, and you give him a smile. Well-trained, well-prepared. It’s as if you’ve braced yourself for this since he set eyes on you. 

“How do you want me, sir?” you ask him, fingers playing with the bottom of your dress. Lloyd hums as he thinks, looking around the expanse of the room and then at you. 

“On my lap,” he eventually decides, sitting on his chair. You place yourself on his knees and settle, allowing him to adjust you the way he likes.

You await your next order or perhaps the first lewd thing he’ll do to you. But Lloyd just stays like this, watching you intently. That’s what he loves best—watching you, even when you don’t know it. 

[scuttlingcrab]

A Devil's Lament

Summary: Raphael brings Tav to an abandoned chapel, hoping to complete one final task before he begins his conquests of the Hells.

Notes: I was inspired by my friend Mark Choi and his announcement of a new piano arrangement of "Down By The River." I desperately needed to see Raphael playing not just a piano, but a pipe organ. And what would suit the occasion? Our favourite Devil playing a song he had composed over a millenia ago, after he first lost the Crown of Karsus...

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

(Image via certifieddilfenjoyer)

There once stood a magnificent chapel along the road to Baldur’s Gate. Mortals came from far and wide to bask in its glory, seek refuge from whatever sorrows afflicted them, and pray to the deity it was erected to honour. However, like most beautiful things on this plane, it was slowly worn down from one conflict after another, until it merely stood as a dilapidated relic of a time gone by.

On a particularly humid evening, nearly one year after the Elder Brain’s assault on Faerûn, Raphael found himself with Tav on the outskirts of the chapel, staring fondly at his old stomping grounds. No place was off limits when it came to his Devilish business, and the various religious structures scattered across the realms always proved to be the most lucrative. Raphael partook in his favourite game of hunting mortals in the very establishments they trusted, luring them into his traps with fanciful proposals of fortune and glory. 

The Devil never settled on the weaker creatures unless there were no other alternatives, but it was the clerics and overly righteous he craved. There was nothing more joyous than watching their resolve slowly decay after his cunning verbiage and skillful charms got under their skins. Their potent souls were simply delectable, and worth all the time and effort to acquire them.

“So what are you planning?” Tav asked, stopping Raphael from reminiscing any further. “I thought you said we had no time to waste.” 

“Walk with me, if you will, there is a final task I must complete before we are to continue.” 

Raphael had already started on the path ahead and Tav quickly jogged to keep up, the stones crunching beneath her boots. He smiled to himself at the notion of her, the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, running after him.

As Raphael strode through the remains of the toppled structure, he searched for something far more valuable than the achievements of past meals. Raphael was after the heart and soul of the old chapel, the instrument responsible for the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard in his lifetime. The chapel’s pipe organ.

He heaved a sigh of relief to find the instrument still nestled at the far end of the rubble, under a canopy of overgrown trees. He had not been back since the fight against the Absolute, and in truth feared for the worst. Raphael would never let that spectacular creation suffer the same fate due to the failures of mortalkind, but he too had neglected it; spending the last few months muddled in the intricacies of reforging the Crown of Karsus.

The Devil had often argued with himself about whether or not to bring the pipe organ to the House of Hope. He had an idyllic place for it on his atelier balcony, overlooking the River Styx and barren wastelands of Avernus. But doing so would open him up to countless interruptions and he’d lose what he valued most: his precious solitude. He would never risk it.

“A marvel…” Raphael whispered, tilting his head up to admire the towering organ, the 3,000 golden pipes glistening in the darkness. 

His eyes attentively moved across the pipes, carefully inspecting every surface for signs of damage. It was no secret that Raphael cherished the instrument, nearly as much as the Crown he had desired for over a millenia. It was Raphael’s own toy box, it could imitate nearly any orchestral instrument with just a few minute actions unnoticeable to the common mortal. The organ could do wonders above and beyond any grand piano, or even any symphony. With this tool, Raphael was his own maestro, having the power to freely weave his own melodies into existence and escape into the futures he so desperately desired. 

“This hunk of junk? It’s practically falling apart.” 

“I will not hear another peep from you.”  Raphael hissed, turning to face Tav. He raised his finger threateningly towards her, as if scolding a small child. 

Tav raised both of her hands apologetically, though there was still a hint of impishness in her smile as she took a step back.

“Sorry. Carry on then…” 

Raphael sniffed sharply, in an attempt to keep his infernal flames at bay. As powerful and useful as that mortal was, she was a constant irritant; pushing Raphael closer and closer to his boiling point the more time he spent with her. And yet, they were inseparable since Tav had gifted the Crown to Raphael. Of all the creatures, in all the wretched planes, that little mouse had to be the one to fall into his claws, leaving a lasting effect on him.

He quickly redirected his attention to the pipe organ, brushing off the rotten twigs and dirt from the three keyboards. He snapped his fingers and a leather bench appeared, replacing the one that had broken long ago. 

Raphael eagerly took his seat, lightly running his feet over the pedalboard to test it was still functional. He then prepared the various stops along the edges of the organ, choosing his intended octaves for the serenade to come. 

After a few more minutes of fiddling with the organ, making sure all the divisionals were arranged accordingly, he was ready to begin. 

With another snap of Raphael’s fingers, sheet music took shape before him. The chosen melody had been etched into his memory for a thousand years, yet he still brought out the yellowing sheets of paper whenever he dared to play it. Like the ruins surrounding him, the pages were close to deteriorating, slowly withering away at the edges. 

The music notes were barely legible, the ink having faded a century or two earlier. Raphael dared not handle the pages by hand, as they would crumble at the slightest touch. Seeing the pages again were oddly comforting to the Devil, a sign of how far he has come. As painful as it was to revisit the meaning behind the music, the moment would always be part of Raphael, no matter how often he tried to consign it to oblivion. 

The Devil took a deep breath and pressed his fingers against the keys. His exhale matched the roaring bellow that emerged from the pipes. Energy surged through his hands as he played the beginning of the piece, his feet moving to a completely different rhythm against the pedalboard. The low notes coming from his feet accompanied the lighter ones from his fingers, creating a flawless harmony. 

The sounds of the pipe organ soon filled the air, echoing around him like lost ghosts wailing in the dark. It was haunting, exquisite, and a perfect representation of his internal strife. It was Raphael’s lament - the anguish, vexations, and seething hatred from all the years of his existence poured through his own spirit into the instrument. The reverberations from the pipes shook the trees above Raphael, causing the leaves to fall like snowflakes. 

These same feelings had fuelled Raphael’s drive and ambition since he was a young Devil. He was discarded by Mephistopheles and left to rot in the deepest, darkest parts of the Hells; forced to suffer for a sin he had not committed. Raphael still found his way, against all odds, and survived every obstacle thrown at him. He learned how to rely only on himself, to play the game of the Hells, and quickly rise up the ranks by tipping the scales in his favour. He had ruthlessly betrayed allies and levelled entire cities, and he would do it a hundred times over if it meant he was closer to fulfilling his destiny of uniting the Nine Hells. He would show his father how powerful and capable he truly was. 

As Raphael continued, he let himself get lost in the tempo, not questioning where his hands went next, which stops he pulled, or where his feet would take him. He soon found the keyboards were wet, had it begun to rain? He closed his eyes, a lump forming in his throat as decades worth of repressed emotions started to bubble to the top. He felt his fingers slip on a key, and then another, causing him to miss a few notes, but he quickly amended the mistake. He opened his eyes in fury, only to realise that he was crying. He clenched his jaw, causing the tears falling down his cheeks to quickly evaporate as his body sizzled in anger; resenting himself and the situation, always such a fool to let these fleeting emotions get the best of him. 

He wasn't sure how long he had been playing, but his fingers throbbed as they continued to press against the keys. He wanted to continue, to replay the song again and again, to make sure it was perfect, but it was coming to its natural conclusion. He would need to leave it as is.

Raphael played the final notes, holding his fingers to the keys for an extra beat as the sounds slowly faded. He snapped his fingers and a small flame appeared in his hands. He lifted it up towards the music sheets and let the edges of the papers catch fire. The pages were devoured by the flames within a matter of seconds. Let the ashes of his lament stay within the ruins of the chapel.

“Gods…” Tav whispered, her voice choking with emotion. “Did you…?”

“I have never played that in front of another mortal. The first and last time you will ever hear such a piece.” 

“It was remarkable.”

“I know.” Raphael responded, rising from the bench.

He flicked his wrist and the Crown of Karsus materialised before them. He caught reflections of himself in the Crown as he stared at it, his visage splitting into broken shards against the material of the relic. Different versions of Raphael stared back at him, as if from alternate timelines, offering a range of glimpses into his future. He smiled at the reflections and the thought of what he might look like donning the Crown, fighting against Zariel and her forces, in all his glory. 

“It was a fitting farewell and one I had been looking forward to for a considerable amount of time. Now onto new beginnings, come.”

Tav didn’t wait for Raphael to create a portal, she jumped towards him, latching on to his arm. On previous occasions he would’ve shooed her away, like an irksome mosquito, but he let her stay clinging to him. Just this once, perhaps for his own comfort.

Tonight Raphael would write a different composition - one of celebration and conquest, that he would play throughout the decades to come, solidifying his reign.

[steventhusiast]

IM LATE BUT LIKE WHATEVER i just decided im gonna try and commit to @steddie-week so DAY 1: somebody to love by queen

--

when steve and eddie first tell the party about their relationship, a lot of them are a little confused. especially nancy. at first glance, the pair makes no sense at all.

steve is a soft soul that really enjoys basketball. he was a jock in high school, and doesn't really have any higher ambition in life than to make enough money to live and be with his loved ones. his favourite artists are the likes of tears for fears and abba. the hobbies he's most committed to are baking sweet treats and watching reality tv with claudia henderson.

and then there's eddie, who in a lot of ways is the antithesis to that.

he almost exclusively wears dark clothes that look three days away from falling apart, he despises sport. he was an outcast in high school, and even though he barely made it to graduation (a few years later than he should've) he is full to the brim of ideas and big ambitions. he's pretentious about music, hates pop and loves metal music. and he's a nerd.

they don't have much in common, so nancy's surprised they work as friends let alone as a couple. then again, she doesn't know eddie too well past what she's already said.

so her and a lot of the party don't really get it at first. until they're having a party over summer break, and everyone's out in the hopper-byers backyard watching hopper grill burgers for everyone and there's music playing through speakers somewhere.

the younger party members are all excitedly chatting amongst themselves, and the teens are sat leaning back on the grass. eddie and steve aren't cuddling for once, settling for linking pinkies as they lean back on their hands.

the song that was playing ends, and a new song starts. freddie mercury's voice starts singing, and nancy doesn't think she's ever seen steve move so fast in all her years of knowing him.

"can anybody find me somebody to love?"

freddie mercury is barely on the second word of that first line when steve and eddie's heads whip around to be facing each other. twin grins are on their faces, and they've jumped up together by the time the first line's over. steve seems to lose steam as he realises a lot of the party are now looking at them incredulously, and his cheeks suddenly have a red tint to them.

eddie immediately grabs steve's hands and starts dramatically serenading him. if nancy thought eddie was a little dramatic from overhearing mike retelling hellfire club anecdotes, she thinks he's extremely dramatic now she's seen his antics in the flesh.

he's gently swinging his and steve's hands as he encourages steve to dance with him. steve just smiles at his boyfriend, a little shy and a lot fond, but eddie's not put off in the slightest. he keeps gently pulling at steve's hands until steve gives in and starts moving to the music with him.

by the time the first verse is over, steve's almost as into it as eddie is, and nancy has never steve like this.

"i work hard, every day of my life." eddie sings along loudly, and steve sings the other part.

"he works hard." he sings softly with a smile.

his confidence amps up as the song goes on, and his dance moves get more and more ridiculous and less restrained as eddie encourages him and laughs with him as they sing. by the time it gets to the instrumental break, the entire party is watching them with smiles and singing along in some way.

the steve nancy dated would never be caught dead doing something like this, but here current steve is, back to back with eddie as they both dramatically play the air guitar. nancy looks toward robin to see if she's as shocked as she is at this display. but robin is just rolling her eyes, like she sees antics like this on the daily. she shakes her head at something dustin says to her, and then yells at the couple.

"i thought you promised to stop doing this every time this song came on?" she tries to look annoyed as she yells over the song, but fails massively.

steve stops his dramatics for a second, and points at her dramatically.

"you asking us to do that is exactly why i am doing this in front of everyone." he claims, and gets a (subtle, because everyone respects joyce) middle finger in return from robin.

"his pettiness knows no bounds, buckley, you should know this! you can only take so much of the mean girl out of the jock." eddie adds on, and that gets the pair another middle finger.

steve throws his head back as he laughs, and nancy smiles at him. he looks a lot happier than she's seen him in a long time. probably happier than she's ever seen him, actually.

"find me, find me, find me love."

as the last little bit of the song plays out, and steve and eddie dramatically fall on top of robin to dog pile her, nancy decides that maybe steve and eddie do make sense.

even in seemingly polar opposites, there is common ground.

--

-> day two

[misstrashchan]

2, 3, 7, 20, 27, 28, 29, for the rwby ask game? If you don't mind!

2. Rank the soundtracks

From favourite to least:

V1

Not a single track I don't love. Forever iconic, each and every one.

V5

Ignite is my favorite Yang song, as is Path to Isolation for Weiss. Smile is such a tragic song of showing Ilia's parents telling her to cope by smiling, by hiding, to the present where it's twisted into an angry mantra and she's still hiding who she is in a different way. The Triumph feels like such a comeback song with how high energy it is, all our girls heading back to each other, jumping back into the fray. All that Matters is PEAK bumbleby pining angst song. All Things Must Die is glorious, and tbh I think even This Time is pretty underrated as a song for Blake/the White Fang.

V7

I find myself relistening to this one a lot. Trust Love is my favorite OP (and yes that is in part the refrences to the Little Prince I can draw). I also like Touch the Sky and Brand New Day as these kind of recovery songs for all the characters that had been at their lowest or feeling lost finding their hope and confidence, happy in themselves. Let's get Real is a song that DID get me into Renora a little, it's a bop. Was over the moon to have an Oscar song in Fear that encapsulated the theme of the volume and complimented Ozpin's fear speech. Hero makes my brain go AAAAHHHH at how it captures the hubris of Ironwood. Such a great tragic downfall song for his character. Until the End is a great listen and such a lovely surprise to have a Ruby song after so long. War is a certified banger and a great song for the RWBY vs Ace Ops fight.

V9

In fairness I don't think I've listened to this one enough, but the more I do it definitely grows on me. Inside feels like the most unique OP, Checkmate is catchy as hell, Trapdoor makes me INSANE as a Ruby spiralling song. Pleasantly surprised to have a Jaune song in Quiet that's very moving. Worthy is beautiful as a Bumbleby confession/kiss song, truly magical. As a whole I feel the songs lean into being more gentle and introspective as to the usual hardcore rock ballads we know RWBY for, even Checkmate with it's jazziness feels fresh and new. I haven't actually listened to the Edge or Guide my Way enough to have an opinion on them, but I remember liking them, Guide my Way is a nice continuation and evolution of the Red like Roses song trilogy.

V3

When it Falls is SO HARDCORE. Bleeding edge and tragedy for the death and destruction to come. I'm the One is fantastic at laying out Emerald and Mercury's trauma's and subsequently coping mechanisms. Neon is one I like to listen to a lot, it's so fun and upbeat. Divide is brutal and chilling as the song to introduce us to our main villain after seeing her for the first time in all her dark glory at the end of V3. Not Fall in Love with You is... eh. It's my Turn is a good Weiss song, but it's not one if my favorites.

V6

I really like Rising as an OP, it feels the most... magical? fantastical? idk. I like the vibes. Indomitable is what I feel like singing all the time in wake of the recent RWBY news! We really are indomitable! Nevermore as a true triumph over Blake and Yang's trauma at Adam's hands, while acknowledging the tragedy of Adam's own situation. And Big Metal Shoe is a certified banger, love all the fairytale references crammed in there. Miracle is... fine. One Thing is a great song for Neo's return and revenge quest, but I never bought into the Neo hype so I'm kinda mid on it too.

V2. SACRIFICE I LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER PLEASE REPRISE IN THE SHOW LATER WITH CINDER PRETTY PLEASE. Now it's Time to Say Goodbye is an incredible banger of an OP, but it felt a little misleading considering it's a song all about losing innocence and leaving behind childhood, which feels more appropriate for V3 and the FoB than V2. Shine, Dream Come True and Boop are all fun and cute but I'm not hugely into Arkos or Renora so I'm kinda neutral on them. I'm also kind of mid on Time to Die as a song.

V8. Honestly this is just the soundtrack I find myself listening to or remembering the least, even though I really like Friend as the perfect Penny song that had me tearing up, and Truth, while short was a great bittersweet song for Cinder. And it was nice to get a Nora song too. The opening for this volume never really grew on me like all the others did (aside from the "some ROSES WILL NEVER BLOOM, SOME HEROES CHOOSE THE WRONG SIDE"). I also just associate this soundtrack with fandom arguing a lot about what song applied to who and it felt exhausting.

3. Favorite Ruby ship?

ROSEGARDEN ALL THE WAY BABY!

7. Favorite lines I already answered for @hoepunkausta

20. What are you looking forward to seeing in Vacuo?

*vibrating at a frequency unknown to man* idk I think a reunion hug between Ruby and Oscar would be neat maybe. Like @aspoonofsugar has pointed out all the set up at the end of the extended epilogue points to these two having a second alchemical wedding and so their relationship having a certain amount of focus/development in Vacuo seems apparent. After so long of not seeing them onscreen together I'm excited for any interactions honestly. I miss my kids.

Wanting to see WBY all trying to support Ruby more and her actively trying but still struggling to open about how she's feeling. More of what see saw with Ruby/Yang in the Boba episode. I'd especially like Ruby and Weiss to have a heart to heart.

Very curious about what Theodore is gonna be like and whoever the hell the Summer maiden. With the Dorothy allusions and those who've lost their homes trying to make one in Vacuo, I'm expecting an exploration of "there's no place like home" to be leant into.

RAVEN. TELL US WHAT HAPPENED ON THAT MISSION WITH YOU AND SUMMER. RUBY AND YANG DESERVE TO KNOW. For real though I'm hoping we see what lead Raven to rejoin the fray too, and how she'll interact with Yang and Qrow and even Ruby, what tension might be there. Delicious family drama....

Speaking of delicious family drama, the Schnees! all reunited! I want Winter and Whitley to tackle hug Weiss to the ground! Also the Schnees appear to be being confronted with all the harm their family and company has done in a kingdom like Vacuo, so I'm curious to see how Weiss handles that. Also Winter is clearly Not Doing Good, so something I'd really like is if Weiss (as her sister) and Ruby (as a friend of Penny and someone she also offered the maiden powers too) and maybe Jaune (who was there with Penny in her final moments) offer comfort to her and they all grieve together.

Emerald. Honestly suprised we didn't get much of a sense of how she was doing in the extended epilogue, not even briefly like Mercury. But I'm super excited for what her arc holds. Seeing her integrate with the group, if Ren, Nora and Oscar are already on friendly terms with her but RWBY are all still a bit wary of her because they've spent less time together. Seeing more of her friendship with Oscar develop (gimme that Little Prince/Fox allusion with their friendship in taming each other pretty please) and like. Mercury. Emerald KNEW Mercury and Tyrian were being sent to Vacuo, she saw him off in the ship, but Ren seems suprised to see him and Tyrian on the cameras in the epilogue. Did Emerald... not tell them? Even though that's incredibly important information that could help her new allies? Because... she wanted to protect Mercury? Because she still feels conflicted? It's incredibly juicy and I can't wait to see how Emerald and Mercury's relationship comes into conflict during the Vacuo arc. Gimme that Emercury angst pretty please.

Vacuo in general. By virtue of the books I think they have the most interesting world building, the food, the culture, the different words for weather phenomenon, the fauna, the nomadic tribes, the history of being a once incredibly beautiful oasis full of everything they needed, then exploited time and again and left with nothing and yet still surviving and carving a home and life for themselves. The world building of Vacuo is one that is inevitably tied to the story because of their fraught history leading to tensions between them and all the refugees from Atlas, Mantle and Vale seeking their aid and shelter in their kingdom, not to mention the Crown seeking to restore the monarchy, it'd be easy for them to be divided and conquered by Salem, and so our heroes have to find a way to overcome that and bring everyone together. So just getting to see the kingdom animated and learn more about its history and culture would be cool. I also like desert punk aesthetic, so I'm hoping whatever new outfits our girls get will have a little of that. (part of me hopes for maybe some Trigun inspiration... we've had Gurren Laggan inspiration in Yang's outfits before!)

I would also say I'm looking forward to seeing my darling cringefail wife Cinder but I don't know if she'll be in Vacuo or with Salem in Vale wrecking shit.

27. Favorite voice performance?

AARON DISMUKE AS OSCAR HANDS DOWN. Him being the VA for Oscar meant I was destined to like him, I usually do with characters he voices. The fact he has to also voice Oscar when controlled by Ozpin, and sometimes Oscar pretending to be Ozpin, and completely nails the subtle differences in all of them is phenomenal. And as the merge progresses he's literally having to mix and merge their voices together too!!! It's crazy!!! The awkward and shy intonation becoming a more sincere and quiet confident voice as Oscar develops, and gaining Oz's mannerisms in speech with a deeper and more serious tone. That is some crazy talent this man has.

Always impressed with how well Linsay Jones and Miles Luna hold up in earlier volumes, they've consistently been the best voice performances from start to present. Also Cherami Leigh as Ilia is absolutely fantastic, it's rare I've heard her get to flex her emotional range like that in her voice work for such a complex character.

28. Fairytale character you'd want to see RWBYfied?

With how character songs are a big thing in the show and semblances that can hypnotize and mind control exist, and instruments sometimes being weapons (gestures to Flynt), I'd love an allusion to The Pied Piper or the Lorelai Siren as a villain of some kind. Bonus if you had a Little Mermaid/Lorelai Siren allusion for that victim/monster/hero duality RWBY likes to play with.

Not technically a traditional fairytale but also very much one, the Last Unicorn, one of my alltime favorite books would be beyond amazing to be alluded to, even a tiny bit. Amalthea the unicorn being the last of her kind, the rest hunted down by a wicked beast at the order of a tyrant. She is associated with silver, the moon, hope and purity constantly. A story that is both a love letter and deconstruction of fairytales, an exploration of the nature of humanity and mortality. Tell me that wouldn't be perfect as an allusion to a Silver Eyed Warrior (also thought to be a myth) trying to find out what happened to the rest of her kind.

29. Favorite opening to sing along too?

TRUST LOOOOOVVVVVEEEE AND OPEN UP YOUR EYESEESSSSS TRUST LOOOOVVVVVEEEE THE TRUTH IS THERE BUT SOMETIMES IN DISGUISE

[minorvamp]

Bullet with Butterfly Wings

Astarion x f!Tav, Explicit

Ascended Astarion, Vampire sex, blood, Vampire bites, AFAB tiefling Tav

"On your knees darling."

But this, this is something entirely new. There's something glinting, sharp and dangerous out of his eyes now. Something deep and dark, pulled up from the recesses of his soul by the ritual. Something not Astarion.

Reposting this from a few weeks ago, because Tumblr decided to not show it on any of the tag feeds.

Title is from the Smashing Pumpkins song of the same name, because I can't hear it without thinking of Astarion

Available on AO3 or under the cut

"On your knees, darling."

The first thing Aranrei feels after sinking to the floor is the press of his cold fingers against her shoulders. The gentle bite of his claws pricking the skin around her collar bones as he leans in behind her. It's a firm touch, possessive even, but not threatening. Not yet.

She shivers as he traces one of those claws up her neck, pulling up a pink welt across her skin that he soothes quickly with his tongue.

"There." She feels his lips pull into that dangerous smile against her skin. "You know how I adore those little shakes of excitement whenever you feel my mouth near that delectable neck of yours. You'll be my undoing, my love."

He presses a trail of kisses up her neck, and she feels her pulse quicken as his lips follow along the artery there, his tongue pressing over his favourite spot where the thrum is strongest. She feels her heart fluttering wildly against the cage of her ribs, nerves, anticipation, fear, as he sets his fangs against her skin. Astarion nips softly, drawing a few pinpricks of blood to dance sweet copper over his tongue. He's delighted by the power he holds over her even with such a delicate touch. The thrill of it washes over him and settles as deep thrum in his groin, pulsing in time with every frantic beat of her heart. He moves his mouth up to tease his tongue over her ear.

"Patience, my sweet. We have an eternity to explore a cornucopia of carnal delights. I have plans for centuries of ecstacy, lost in each other. There's no need to rush so quickly to the main event." The honeyed words, the sultry tone are all so familiar, but as he turns her face towards his, she sees something in his eyes that gives her pause. She's seen them lost, vacant as they were during their first night together. She's seen the melancholy that lingers in them far too often, the fear that sometimes even his most practiced of charming veneers won't hide. She's watched them fill with joy, the lines around them creasing deeply as he laughs at Shadowheart and Lae'zel, their blades at each other's throats. And she's seen them full of white hot rage, the red of his irises burning as he recounted some of the fouler things Cazador had done to him. Or worse, forced him to do to others.

But this, this is something entirely new. There's something glinting, sharp and dangerous out of them now. Something deep and dark, pulled up from the recesses of his soul by the ritual. Something not Astarion.

"You always flush so beautifully for me my darling." He says as he admires the pretty pink blush smudged across her cheeks, the hue lustred by the pale lavender of her skin. He moves to kiss her, and she allows the press of his mouth against hers to push away the doubt that has started gnawing in the pit of stomach. They had made the right decision, he was finally free. Free of Cazador, free of fear, free to live for himself for the first time in 200 years. She had done the right thing.

Aranrei feels the moan rumble through his chest as she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and bites down the way he likes it. Just on the edge of too painful. Responds with her own when he slides that silver tongue against hers, pushing into her mouth to claim every inch of it. His hands smooth over her shoulders before pressing against them, encouraging her to spin around and bare herself to him. He pulls away from the kiss and drinks in the sight of her before him. Her lips and neck bruised a dark purple from his attentions, face and breasts flushed with arousal. "I can taste it, you know. In the air, on your skin, in your blood. I can taste how much you want this. How much you need me."

He pushes her down against the hard wooden boards, but she manages to catch herself on her elbows before her head smacks against the floor. She feels another pang of fear race through her heart as she stares up into his beautiful face. The soft halo of white curls catching in the dim light of the room. The face of the man she loves more than anything else in the realms. A face that could charm all the gods above and below. All hers, but now turned stranger. That dagger smile of his now a smirk cut across it like a gash. The cold steel in his eyes that she doesn't recognise.

She's prey, she realises. That gnawing doubt in her stomach now a lump of cold hard rock. He pushes her legs apart with a foot, taking in the whole of her, before sinking to his knees between her thighs. There's a feline quality to his movements as he slinks up her body, hands coming to a stop either side of her head as he fixes her with that predatory gaze once again. "Astarion, I'm not-"

"You are perfect." He leans down to capture her lips in another kiss, cutting her off before she can bring voice to the feeling. She relaxes into the kiss, allowing the slow grind of his body against hers to reignite the fire inside. Even through his trousers, the insistent press of his hard cock against her soft core leaves her aching for him, and he feels the wetness of her soaking through his clothes. She finds herself helpless to the waves of arousal his well practiced movements pull from her, soothing away her doubts with the stroke of his tongue against hers.

Keeping himself braced above her, his other hand moves to massage her breasts and she breaks the kiss with a gasp. Her pupils are blown as he gently rakes his newly clawed hand down her side, sending yet another shudder of arousal to race through her. He sits up on his knees, hand now stroking its way down his own chest over sculpted muscles before coming to rest over the closure of his britches. He moans decadently as he squeezes his hand over his erection, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he relieves some of the ache of his arousal. It's performance, any good bard would be able to tell, but it sits somewhere on that fuzzy line of exaggerated truth. And it's for her, Aranrei tells herself. They did the right thing.

With a few motions of his deft fingers, he opens his trousers and pulls his cock free from their confines. Gives her another deep moan of pleasure as he pulls his hand over the shaft, twisting slightly as moisture beads at the head. He grins, wicked, at her reaction to him. Leans down over her again and uses his hand to guide his cock to stroke through her wet folds, head rubbing over her swollen clit. Tuts at her when she tries to move her hips to press him into where the ache of her arousal is deepest. "Patience, my love. You've waited so long already, what's a minute more to savour the moment, hmm?"

She suppresses the sudden urge to cover herself, feeling trapped and exposed by the ravenous stare he gives her as he takes in the state of her. Her chest still flushed and now heaving as the anticipation of him starts to overwhelm her. Her hands are desperate for something to dig her claws into, her tail winding around his clothed thigh trying to pull him to her. She's missed him, missed this, so much. Dreamt of this moment a thousand times, where he would trust her and himself enough to share this with her again. And yet the nagging feeling that something isn't quite right resurfaces. Persists through his pretty words, and his touch even as he hitches her thigh against his hip and enters her in one smooth, strong thrust.

She moans his name, long and loud, relieved to finally have him inside of her again, the glorious stretch as he fills her. He responds in kind as the feeling of hot, tight, wet, mine surrounds him. He stills for a moment, enjoying the sensations of her walls fluttering around him, inviting him to thrust deep and hard. To not stop until she's stuffed full of his cock and his cum, his fangs buried in her neck, his name on lips, her blood in his mouth, until she's so full of him that there's no room for her anymore. Until she's mine, all mine, only mine.

He traces a hand down her chest and stomach, feeling the shape of every ridge as he moves it down to her core. She draws in a sharp gasp as his thumb finds her swollen clit, draws the wetness around in small circles across it that have her muscles squeezing vice like around his throbbing cock. "My perfect, pretty consort." He offers her another dangerous smile as he pulls halfway out of her, enjoying the delicious friction as he drags himself out, "I do so love to hear you sing out my name, little bird. Do it again." He thrusts back in, slow and deep, wants to hear her whimper for him.

"Fuck, Astarion. You feel so - I-" she can't help the strangled moan that escapes her as he continues his languorous strokes inside of her. He watches, enraptured by the sight of his cock filling her, watches her as she squirms and whimpers, already so sensitive for him. How could he have been so weak before, to not take this, what was his to own and to treasure. He resists the urge to rut into her, hard and fast, to cum and to take her. He relaxes his jaw to try and relieve some of the ache in his fangs, he won't feel complete until he's claimed her as his. Instead he continues his slow rhythm, pausing to grind deep every time his hips meet hers. A gasp of pleasure falling from his own lips as his sensitive head rubs against the spongy bundle of nerves inside her.

Her lilac skin glows with a sheen of sweat as she rolls her hips to meet his thrusts, twisting slightly to feel every inch of him sliding into her. Their deliberate pace draws out the pleasure, winding them both higher and higher with ecstasy and holding them there, not yet ready to crest and fall. She closes her eyes against the mounting wave he's bringing her to, little gasps and hiccups of pleasure escaping uninhibited every time he grinds against her g-spot. The delicious curve of his cock that fits so perfectly inside her. Like they were both made for this.

She opens her eyes to watch his face, the pleasure dancing across its planes unable to hide the desperate hunger shining in his eyes. She reaches for him, and he allows her to pull him down, burying his face against her neck as his hips finally pick up speed. She traces her fingers down the scars on his back, digs in her claws as her nerve endings start to sing out their joy. Muscles in her lower body growing tense, her thighs gripping his hips and her walls pulling tight as he fills her over and over.

He pants his pleasure into her neck as she clenches hard around his swollen cock, feels her pulse racing under his tongue as the hot, wet pull of her body drives him higher still. "Ah- Ast- I'm cu- Ah!" She chokes over her moans, unable to get the words out. Every thrust of his perfect cock winding the pleasure tighter and tighter in her center, until it's too much to bear. He growls as he bares his fangs, allowing his instinct to take over, and he sinks them into the soft skin of her neck.

Aranrei screams out as he bites her. The sharp pain in her neck is nothing compared to the white hot waves of pleasure now crashing through her body. Her muscles spasm around his cock as her orgasm washes over her, it radiates out from her core sending tingles through to her fingers and she surrenders herself completely to the incredible pleasure he's brought her to. Her world narrows down to the feel of him inside of her, his hips still working relentlessly, his skin under her hands, hair brushing her ears, his mouth at her neck. Every deep suck at her throat sending another wave to wash over her, pulling her deeper and deeper into him, until she's delirious with it.

The rush of her blood into his mouth as she cums is exquisite. He can taste the sweetness of her orgasm as it pours over his tongue, the tingle of magic in her blood better than any nectar of the gods. His hips are frantic now, pumping rapidly to work her through the last of her orgasm as he chases his own. He drives himself into her desperately as she gushes wetness and contracts around him, her blood singing through his body as he drinks. His cock sensitive, swollen, harder than he's ever been and every nerve ending is aflame with pleasure. He rides the delicious agony of almost there, floating higher and higher, desperate to live in this moment with her forever. His moan is a broken sob against her neck as his balls draw up tight against his body before his pleasure finally crests, he thrusts deep and hard one last time before he erupts inside of her.

His vision goes white and there's a roar in his ears as his cock jerks over and over again, painting her walls with ropes of his hot cum. It ripples endlessly through his body as he drinks from her and she trembles through her aftershocks, clenching her muscles sporadically around his over sensitive cock. She is divine in her pleasure, his beautiful saviour and dark consort, and she belongs to him.

And still he drinks. Sucking hard at the puncture wounds on her neck to draw more of her blood down his throat. She starts to lose herself to it, her mind already hazy with pleasure; she feels everything start to wash away with the ebb and flow of her blood as it leaves her body. Her doubts, her worries, her pain, her joy, everything lost to the feel of Astarion at her neck. She relaxes completely, there's no strength left in her muscles to keep her thighs held around his hip, and her arms slide off of his back as darkness starts to cloud her vision. She's left with only one tiny spark of fear, one last thought before her consciousness slips away and everything goes black.

We did the right thing.

He feels as she goes limp underneath him. Thinks he can taste the last drops of life spilling over his tongue before he finally pulls away from her neck to admire his work, cock slipping out of her. She's beautiful. The sheen of sweat still lingering on her pale skin gives her an ethereal glow, the flush of her arousal still present despite her bloodless state. It's a stark contrast to the bloody red mess of her throat, the vulgarity of his seed dripping out of her onto the floor below, the dark bruise of his fingers across her thighs. He's enraptured by the ruin he's brought to her, such a pretty thing to be marred by such violence, and he burns it into his memory.

He shifts up onto his knees and raising his hands he drags a sharp claw across his wrist, satisfied as blood blooms to the surface. He turns her face towards him and gently opens her mouth before holding his bloody wrist over it. He allows one singular drop of his blood to fall into it, dropping onto her tongue and sealing her fate.

He strokes his thumb over her cold cheek, and smiles at her as he waits for the changes to start.

"Oh my love, we're going to have so much fun."

[6000yearstogether]

I got inspired by this post to write a Byler AU about the Homecoming. Enjoy!

————————————————

The music echoes in the gym as the group joins the fully filled room with students. A wide, colorful banner with the words: "Homecoming" greets them, accompanied by Mr Clarke at the entrance and Nancy and Jonathan, who decided to once again help for the night, as they did in the past.

They all sit on the chairs, Lucas meticulously arranging Max's wheelchair so that the music isn't too loud for her.

The time passes, they laugh together, singing the songs. Dustin, Eleven, Mike and Will stand up, either dancing with each other or bringing drink refills.

While Lucas holds Max's hand, he starts bickering with Dustin. El stands next to Max, formulating descriptions of the gym, the colors, the arrangements and the people.

Will sits next to them, smiling, listening to El's descriptions and adding new details whenever El stumbles on her words. Mike returns to the group, with two glasses in his hands, approaching Will.

The boy notices, looking up at Mike and smiles humbled. The standing boy hands him one glass and sits next to him.

'Thank you' He sips.

'Welcome. Are you having fun?'

Will nods. He truly does feel good. For the first time in a while, he enjoys the moment, without fear.

'What's in this?' Will asks, not understanding the flavour of the liquid. Mike raises his shoulders.

'Nancy said "pure fuel"...'

They drink together, singing the songs quietly, so the others won't notice.

Suddenly, a slow song rolls and every student goes on the dance floor. Mike's eyes widen, as he looks over at Lucas, who squeezes Max's hand affectionately. He notices his glare and raises his eyebrows, pointing at Will.

Mike gets up, looking firstly at the floor, then at Will, raising his hand for him.

'Would you... like to dance?'

Will looks up in shock, feeling his ears burning up.

Sensing his reaction, Mike continues:

'We don't have to-'

'No! No.. yes. I would love to.' He smiles, taking his hand, getting up.

They take a few steps, towards the dance floor, but they both sense everyone's eyes glancing towards them. Will slows down, squeezing Mike's hand as a reassurance. Mike's heart beats up to his throat, looking at the others, then at Wills reaction.

From their back, Mr. Clarke appears, handing Mike a pair of keys.

'You two can have the AV Club Room for tonight... for studying reasons, of course.'

The professor winks, having a mysterious figure, smiling at them both. The boys understand that behind his pun, there lays the real reason why he gave only them the keys; so they could dance together, without the fear of glances, so they could be themselves. For that, they are grateful.

'Thank you, professor!'

'We are truly thankful-'

'No time for thanking, you have a dance to attend! Have fun!'

They slowly leave the gym, their walking turning into running.

'Slow down!' Will laughs.

'We will miss the song if we don't move!' so he grips Will's hand harder and they quicken their pace.

The AV Club Room is dark, but the music vibrates through the walls, making the sounds even clearer than inside the gym. They both sigh, relaxed. Mike takes Will's other hand, and they start to slowly move, trying to find their own rythm. They chuckle together, looking at each other's eyes clearly for the first time in that night.

The slow song ends, and Mike sighs dramatically.

'I told you we'll miss it!'

Will chuckles, looking at him.

'We can dance on anything.'

"Heroes", by David Bowie starts playing, and they both gasp, excited.

'It's David Bowie!' Will points out, happy.

'You listen to David Bowie?'

'Of course. Heroes is my favourite album.'

'Really? I more prefer The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust. Or Hunky Dory. Although I like "Changes" and "Oh, you pretty things", I believe "Eight Line Poem" is underrated–'

Will looks up at him, listening to him ramble, amused by his sudden liberty to express his opinions. Mike instantly stops, realising that he overshared.

'–I mean... I just think he's cool-'

'I know you do, you can keep explaining.' He puts his arms over Mike's shoulders, moving slowly on the song.

This means the world to Mike, being able to speak his mind without being judged for his interests. Not having to play someone that he is not. He puts his hands on Will's hips, smiling at him.

After some verses, Will admits:

'I actually never heard Eight Line Poem...'

'See? You're just proving my point!'

They both laugh, whispering the lyrics and gradually singing them louder and louder.

When the song reaches: "And we kissed, as though nothing could fall", they both stop singing, looking at one another. Will reaches upwards, daring to kiss Mike, softly, as if scared of breaking him. This was real. Mike kisses him back, catching his hands again, squeezing them, comfortingly.

And the shame was on the other side.

[stxrshxpxd]

🌷 fic friday;

“nothing ever happens”

90s damon albarn x reader,, friends to lovers

Everything had been light and fun and easy for a while. Damon, my oldest friend, and I had come up with the idea in the middle of the night to drive down to the coast for the sunrise. It had felt like a dream, listening to the old mix tapes we’d made for each other in our teens which Damon had kept all these years.

“Oh my god, I forgot I was obsessed with them!” Damon had yelled as the introductory guitar chords of the next song had played. I hadn’t gotten the chance to ask what it was because I had accidentally driven us into a large pothole and within seconds the left tire had gotten torn open on something and deflated.

We had cursed and laughed and cursed some more as we’d sat on the empty dirt road in the dark, staring at the flat tire.

“I expect you don’t have a spare,” Damon had muttered and I had punched his shoulder, because he was right.

“You don’t even have a license, so you can shut up.”

Some more cursing and laughing had passed and we had made the decision to start walking towards the nearest village, a few miles back. The sun was beginning to rise now.

“It’s a miracle we’ve survived all these years, you and I,” I laughed, glancing out at the horizon which was growing lighter by the minute. We were known to have insane ideas like this one, and even more so known to somehow always mess it up. I felt Damon looking at me.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “You and I.”

“Do you remember when we wanted to go for a swim in that lake on new year’s eve?”

I looked back at him, his eyes reflecting the pretty colours in the sky and the ends of his long hair framing his face.

“Now, that time we should’ve died for sure. Clearly we’re god’s favourites.”

His chuckle had grown quieter and he seemed to be making a point of not looking at me, staring down at his sneakers and shoving his hands deep inside his jean pockets. I looked away again. For some reason it felt like he had something more to say, so I waited.

“Good thing you had me to warm you up that night,” Damon said in an ambiguous tone, kicking a stone further along the road as we walked. I said nothing as the memory played in my mind; drunkenly stumbling onto the sofa, his hands in my hair, moaning his name far too loud.

“We were very drunk,” I laughed, desperately trying to keep up the jokes.

“You would’ve done it even if we weren’t drunk,” Damon stated, now catching eye contact with me. It sounded like he was telling himself more so than me. I stopped walking and stared at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t do this,” he scoffed and did a turn as he pulled his hands through his hair. We had never talked about that night before but I had relived it in many dreams. Truth be told I hadn’t let myself think about it too much because I feared I would go insane.

“I’m not doing anything,” I said quietly.

“Exactly. You’re not doing anything. You never do anything. We never do anything. Nothing ever happens.”

“Dames, you haven’t slept for twenty hours-“ I began to try and reason with his sudden frustration, but he cut me off.

“I’ve been feeling this for much longer than twenty hours, Y/N.”

I stayed silent again and watched the strong sun peak out above the forest.

“Oh, please,” Damon spoke again, forcing my gaze back onto him. “Just tell me you’re in love with me.”

“I can’t do- I- I can’t think about this.”

But I could. It was all I could think about as I dismissed him and desperately tried to delete him from my field of view, marching down the road again. It was to no avail as he caught my arm and pulled me back. I had expected to stay at an arm's length, maybe a hug, but he smashed his lips against mine. It was long and passionate and when he pulled away I couldn’t think if I had kissed him back or not. I think not.

“Kiss me back,” he said steadily and kissed me again, his mouth open now and lips perfectly fitting mine. I couldn’t remember our kissing feeling like this on that New Year’s night. The shock had made me hold my breath, but at last I exhaled through my nose and returned his forceful kiss.

[cheezecakeee]

stray kids as taylor swift's songs🫧 (angst ver.)

skz masterlist | main masterlist

───※ ·❆· ※───

✰Bang Chan : August

"but I can see us lost in the memory, august slipped away in a moment of time, 'cause it was never mine and I can see us twisted in bedsheets, august sipped away like a bottle of wine,'cause you were never mine." "back when we were still changin' for the better, wanting was enough for me it was enough. To live for the hope of it all, cancel plans in case you call, meet me behind the mall, so much for summer love and saying us 'cause you weren't mine to lose"

✰ Lee Know : Champagne Problems

"your midas touch on the chevy door, november flush and the flannel cure, "this dorm was once a madhouse" i made a joke, "well, it's made for me". How evergreen our group of friends, don't think we'll say that word again and soon they'll have the nerve to deck the hall that we once walked through. One for the money, two for the show, i never was ready so i watched you go" "and hold your hand while dancing, never leave you standing, crestfallen on the landing with champagne problems. Your mom's ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet, you won't remember all my champagne problems"

✰ Changbin : Right where you left me

"you left me no choice but to stay here forever" "did you hear about the girl who got frozen? Time went on for everyone else, she won't know it. She's still 23 inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be. Did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion? Breakups happen everyday, you don't have to lose it, she's still 23 in her fantasy and you're sitting in front of me" " 'Cause I'm right where. I cause no harm, mind my own business, if our love died young, I can't bear witness and it's been so long but if you ever thing you got it wrong, I'm right where you left me"

✰ Hyunjin : Hoax

"stood on the cliffside screaming, "give me a reason", your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in. Don't want no other shade of blue, but you no other sadness in the world would do" "You know I left a part of me back in New York You knew the hero died, so what's the movie for? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart, you knew the password, so I let you in the door, you knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars from when they pulled me apart but what you did was just as dark, darling, this was just as hard as when they pulled me apart"

✰ Han : Cardigan

"and when i felt like an old cardigan, under someone's bed, you put me on and said i was favourite" "to kiss in cars in downtown bars was all it needed, you drew stars around my scars but now I'm bleeding, 'Cause I knew you steppin' on the last train marked me like a bloodstain, I, I knew you tried to change the ending, peter losing wendy, I, I knew you leaving like a father, running like water" "but i knew you'd linger like a tattooed kiss, i knew you'd haunt all my what if's" "Cause I knew everything when i was young, i knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired and you'd be standing in my front porch light and I knew you'd come back to me"

✰ Felix : Back to December

"realized i loved you in fall and then the cold came, the dark days. When fear crept in my mind you gave me all your love, and all i gave you was goodbye" "So this is me swallowing my pride, standing in front of you saying sorry for that night and I go back to december all the time" "i miss your tan skin, you sweet smile, so good to me, so right and how you held be that september night, first time you ever saw me cry" "maybe this is wishful thinking, probably mindless dreaming. But if we loved again, I'd love you right, I'd go back in time and change it but i can't, so if the chain is on your door I understand."

✰ Seungmin : All too well

"we were always skipping town, and i was thinking on the drive down "any time now, he's gonna say it's love", you never called what it was, 'til we were dead and gone and buried. Check the pulse and come back swearin' it's all the same, after three months in the grave and then wondered where it went to as I reached for you but all I felt was shame and you held my lifeless frame" "and maybe we got lost in translation and maybe i asked for too much, and maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up, running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well" "and you call me up again just to break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the nane if being honest, I'm a crumbled up piece of paper lyin' here, 'cause i remember it all"

✰ I.N : My tears ricochet

"even on my worst day, did i deserve it babe, all the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'til my dying day" "and if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed" "you know, I didn't want to haunt you but what a ghostly scene, you wear the same jewels i gave you as you bury me" "and you can aim for my heart, go for my blood, but yu would still miss me in your bones, and i talk to you when I'm screaming at the sky, and when you can't sleep at night you hear my stolen lullabies" "and you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain crossing out the good years and you're cursing my name, wish I stayed, look at my tears ricochet"

───※ ·❆· ※───

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

“fix authors self rec! when you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. let’s spread the self-love 💗”

Weee!!!

When looking at this, my brain went ruNNING to fics, only to realize I haven't even written them yet :,)

Office Hours/Bells (ONGOING SERIES)

(Jonathan Crane x Reader)

Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, Professor x Student, mild body horror, kidnapping, fear gas, lowkey prey/predator kink (chasing), manipulation, SMUT

This was my first Jonathan Crane fic. This started as a oneshot, but after many requests to keep going, its become a series.

I love this fic because it was my firat Jonathan fic that I wrote and I'm just into the obsession and shit, ya know~

Bunny (ONGOING SERIES)

(Joker x Reader)

Warnings: violence, Joker, manipulation, minor age gap, implied stalking, technically breaking and entering

This was my first Joker fic~ this was a oneshot of a reader with anxiety and Joker and then it's not progressing into a series.

I love this fic because after writing the first part me brain went wiLD with ideas and I can't wait to write more :p

Boogeyman (ONESHOT)

(Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, dry humping, forest sex, oral!fem receiving), age gap, child murders, eating children, Dark!Alfie, obsessive!Alfie, controlling

This was my first Alfie Solomons fic. It was a halloween special oneshot that

Being my first Alfie fic, I'm attached! And being an AU, I got to add aLL the shit i wanted, so slay!

Behind the Mask

(Jonathan Crane x Reader)

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, fear toxin, Scarecrow x Batgirl

I like this fic because it was just a nice cute fix to write.

You Are The Right One

(Jonathan Crane x Reader)

Warnings: High School!Jonathan Crane, bullying

I like this fic because, although more than likely a cillian!scarecrow request, i basically just went hARD out on comic!jonathan, because that man owns my heart. And it introduced me to a new song!

[wordsarelife]

A request if the mood strikes:

I would just like to bring Lockwood a cup of tea in bed. That small kindness. Maybe he is wearing his pajamas or maybe he isn't :)

Thankyou, love @teaandransacking

—peace

pairing: anthony lockwood x gn!reader

summary: y/n is all that lockwood needs, especially in the quiet moments

warnings: some angst, but overall relatively peaceful, got carried away by the song

note: this turned depressing really fast.. sorry.. feel like I'm missing to write angst (feel free to request)

@teaandransacking I hope you like it, as you see I got a bit carried away... like always :) and wow.. I managed to only mention his name twice.. must be a new record

"hey" you smiled softly, opening the door to your favourite boys room.

"hello, darling" he grinned as he noticed your form and the mug you were holding

he was sitting in his bed, wearing his favourite pink pyjamas. you closed the door and set the mug down on his nightstand. "it's your favourite" you exclaimed "just how you like it"

"thank you" he beamed. he lifted the covers so you could slip under. your head went onto his chest and you watched as he took a sip from his mug

you know today wasn't easy for him. it was the day his parents had died all those years ago and your heart would break every second you saw him suffer. you had known him for a few years, and you knew that he would always spend that day in bed. he didn't mind your company though.

"you know that I am here" you said "any time you want to talk, or any time you just want to say nothing. I'll always be here"

"I know" he leaned over and kissed you on the hair "you keep my heart warm"

you knew what he meant by that. your heart felt always warm when you were spending time with him. you would often find yourselves just laying together in his bed or sitting in the library, him reading his magazines and you reading a book. there wasn't much you needed, always finding the most love in the quiet moments.

although you knew that he was everything to you, you often feared that you couldn't make up for the things he had lost. "I'm never really sure if I can give you the peace that you long for" you muttered

Anthony looked down at you and his eyes grew soft as he caught yours, the soft green melting into his dark brown. "oh, darling" he smiled, like you had just questioned such a simple concept "of course you can never give me the peace I need"

you heart sank at that and your eyes teared up a bit

"don't you understand?" his voice was tender "you're my peace"

you smiled at that, raising your head and looking in the face of the boy you had loved for years. "then all I can give you is myself"

"that's all I ever need"

you returned to the silence. it always felt comfortable and natural between you two. Anthony was sipping his tea and you watched him fondly. because of him you knew that love wasn't just for show. you could find it in the quiet moments, chasing each other through dreams and silence. finding each other holding hands, when you sensed that the other wasn't well, without saying a word.

you didn't want to keep your relationship a secret and you didn't, but you knew that when it counted, your love was tender, it was happy, quiet even.

and if it meant to keep him safe and all his sorrows away, you knew that you would die for him in secret.

[justahuman1757]

@squishyowl

I did say I would tag you :). I am the anon who gave you the ask and I now provide the reward. As I said, this fic is based on different elements of Romanian, Slavic culture and my own batshittery. I had a lot fun writing this! And, as I said in the ask, thank you very much for the information!

A history lesson first !

The main character, whom I won't spoil (hehe), is losely based on Barbu Lăutarul and one of his most famous songs.

Barbu Lăutarul (1780-1855) was a Romanian singer and cobzar, of Roma ethnicity.

One of his most well-known and celebrated songs (at least in Romania) it's the following:

(This is my favourite interpretation and version of Barbu's song :3)

The lyrics in Romanian:

Eu sunt Barbu Lăutarul,

Starostele și cobzarul!

Și-am cântat pe la domnii,

Și la mândre cununii.

Of, of, of mi-a aduc aminte,

Of, of, of ca mai'nainte!

Nici un chef nu se făcea,

Fără astă cobză a mea.

Cobza mea a fost vestită,

Veac întreg a fost cinstită

De boierii de pe-aici,

Ba chiar și de venetici.

Dar acum, acum vai mie!

De când lumea-i pe nemție

Nu mai am în lume glas,

Și pe uliți am rămas.

Dragi boieri de lume nouă,

Ziua bună vă zic vouă!

Eu mă duc, mă prăpădesc

Ca un cântec bătrânesc.

Ridicați câte-un pahar

Pentru Barbu Lăutar!

The lyrics in English:

I am Barbu the Fiddler,

The starosta and the cobzar!

I sang at the royal courts,

And at pompous weddings.

Of, of, of I remember,

Of, of, of as before!

There was no contentment,

Without this cobza of mine.

My cobza was heralded,

She was celebrated for a whole century

By the boyars here,

Even the Venetians.

But now, now woe to me!

Since the world is with German

I no longer have a voice in the world,

And I stayed on the streets.

Dear new boyars,

Good day I say to you!

I go, I die

Like an old song.

Raise a glass

For Barbu the Fiddler!

Lăutar = denotes a class of musicians. The term was adopted by members of a professional clan of Romani musicians in the late 18th century. The term is derived from lăută, the Romanian word for lute. Lăutari usually perform in bands, called taraf.

Starosta = the word was used until the early 19th century to denote the elected leader of the merchants or craftsmen guilds (in case for Romania, it's different all across Eastern Europe)

Cobza = stringed musical instrument, similar to the lute, having a very convex sounding box, used mainly for accompaniment by plucking the strings.

Cobzar = the wielder of the cobza

The context is finished, let's go to the story itself 🗣️

A Dirge for Nostramo

Word count: 3.5k (I yapp a lot 🙏)

Lil' note: The MC is 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨 A MASSIVE HYPOCRITE. He is the type of boy to say "Back in my day.." while back in his day he did the same exact thing

Nostramo was a world of shadows and despair, a place where light itself seemed an stranger, barely penetrating the thick, toxic haze that enveloped the planet. The atmosphere, choked with pollution from the thousands of foundries and chemical plants, bathed the landscape in an eternal twilight. Even at midday, the sky was a bleak canvas of dull greys, while at night, the darkness was absolute, a suffocating void that swallowed everything in its path.

The planet's cities, towering hives of metal and stone, were monolithic fortresses against the desolation outside, yet inside they offered no comfort. The rich, hidden away in the spires, lived in cold luxury, their homes lit by the faint blue glow of illumination-strips that only deepened the shadows. Below, the vast majority of Nostramans toiled in poverty, their lives consumed by the relentless grind of the foundries. Crime was the only law most knew, with gangs ruling the streets and the corrupt aristocracy enforcing their will with merciless brutality. Life on Nostramo was a relentless cycle of fear, suffering, and death, with suicide often seen as the only escape from the grim reality.

The air was thick with the scent of earth and decay as Dmitri stood by the freshly covered grave, his eyes fixed on the uneven mound of dirt. The low hum of the priest's final prayers had long since faded, leaving only the murmurs of the small crowd dispersing in the distance. But Dmitri remained rooted to the spot, his thoughts as heavy as the overcast sky that loomed above.

The man buried today, Pavel, had been a fellow musician in Dmitri's old band-a brother in sound more than in blood. Theirs had been a bond forged in the heat of countless performances, under the golden light of grand chandeliers and in the smoky haze of taverns. Pavel's violin had once danced in perfect harmony with Dmitri's cobza. They weren't close in the way families are, but their connection was deeper, more visceral-a shared understanding that didn't need words.

Dmitri stood as a ghostly figure against the somber backdrop of his world, his presence both a testament to and a product of its decay. His tall, gaunt frame was draped in a thick, weathered coat, the fabric hanging loose and heavy as if weighed down by the years of hardship it had witnessed. The coat, once black, was now faded and frayed at the edges, its droopy silhouette barely concealing the old, ill-fitting pants beneath. These trousers, worn thin at the knees and hemmed with patches of darker fabric, clung to his legs with a tired resignation, as though they too were struggling to hold on.

Yet now, as Dmitri stared at the grave, he felt an emptiness that surprised him. He had never really known Pavel beyond their shared stage, never exchanged more than the usual banter between songs. Pavel had been a man of few words, his emotions communicated through the soulful notes of his instrument. As the man was blind. He always did wander how a man like him could have played the violin so greatly? The man was beyond talented. But now, with his fellow musician gone, Dmitri felt the loss keenly-a void not just of a person but of an era, of a life they had lived together, notes and chords that had woven their spirits into a single, ephemeral melody.

That melody was silenced now. The band had long since dissolved, their music forgotten by a world too busy to remember, and Dmitri felt like he was the last man standing on a stage where the lights had gone out. Pavel's death was just another reminder of how much had been lost -not just a friend, but the music, the culture, the life they had once breathed into their instruments. And as Dmitri turned away from the grave, he felt the weight of his own mortality pressing down on him.

His black dress shirt, buttoned to the neck but creased and untidy, peeked out from under the coat, a relic of a time when Dmitri might have cared for appearances. The shirt's fabric was worn and threadbare, the dark color almost blending into the deep shadows of his coat. On his feet, he wore scuffed, heavy boots that had seen better days, their once-sturdy leather now cracked and dull, the soles worn thin by countless steps on the harsh, unyielding streets.

An ivy cap, perched haphazardly on his head, partially covered his long, unkempt black hair, which cascaded down in tangled waves to his shoulders. His beard, even longer, framed his face in a wild, unruly mess, streaked with the dirt and grime of the world he inhabited. His appearance was that of a man who had long ceased to care about the trappings of the living, his disheveled state a mirror to the decay of his surroundings, the weight of his existence pressing down on him like the ever-present darkness of Nostramo.

The architecture of the Nostraman cities was distinct and oppressive. In the lower Hive, the houses were tightly packed, with no space between them for even the smallest yard. The buildings featured flat roofs where residents would gather. Inside, a typical home consisted of just two or three cramped rooms—a kitchen, a bedroom, and occasionally an attic. But this minimal comfort was a luxury only afforded to those who could scrape together the means to pay for it.

Dmitri wandered through the crowded streets, leaving the cemetery behind as he made his way to Pavel's home, where the funeral gathering was held on the rooftop. He entered the house, like he would always do whenever to practice in the days of the old band, and he went up the stairs, outside. His widow, Sonia, dressed entirely in black, moved silently around the table, trying to help out if anybody at the table needs so, her thin frame more fragile than Dmitri remembered. The grief had taken a visible toll on her; she seemed even more gaunt, as if her sorrow had drained the life from her. In her small, pale hand, she clutched a handkerchief stained with specks of blood. The blood coming fro that she had cried so much that her nose began to bleed.

Sonia and Pavel had a son, Avram, who sat quietly at the table. His black clothes blended seamlessly with his dark hair and somber eyes, making him almost a shadow in the dim light. Pavel had never cared for the boy, dismissing his life as insignificant, a mere existence without purpose. Avram, however, always managed to bring money home, in ways that everyone silently understood but never spoke of.

As Dmitri’s gaze drifted across the faces of those gathered—Pavel’s grieving family, his own family, and the few others who had come—he was struck by a grim realization. He was the oldest among them, yet he was only 51. There were no elderly, no children. The thought settled heavily on him—he must be next. The cold inevitability of it gnawed at him, pulling him deeper into his dark thoughts.

But then, a gentle squeeze of his hand brought him back. Anica, his wife, was beside him, her presence as steady as ever. She leaned in close, her warm breath brushing against his ear as she whispered softly, "Athrillay... How are you holding up?"

Dmitri forced a bitter smile, his voice low and strained. "I think I’m fine..."

She kissed his cheek tenderly, her lips a brief warmth against his worn skin. "We're going to be fine." she reassured him, her tone gentle but firm.

Anica and Dmitri had been married for 27 years. But their marriage was marked by one deep, unfulfilled longing—Anica’s desperate desire to become a mother. She had always dreamed of cradling a child in her arms, of nurturing a new life, but Dmitri's fear of change stood in the way. The thought of children terrified him; he saw them as a burden, potential sources of chaos and disruption to the quiet life he cherished. This fear was started because most of the poverty stricken people on the streets were children, “feral twigs” (as Dmitri would call them). He never liked change and resisted it with all his might. To him, the idea of bringing children into their world was a commitment too great, a risk too unpredictable. What if they also become criminals? He would argue back to wife.He wanted nothing more than to live out his days in their small, tidy home with Anica, untouched by the upheavals of parenthood.

In his fear, Dmitri selfishly dismissed Anica’s deepest desires, labeling them as "useless" and even "dangerous." He couldn't see beyond his own anxieties, and in his refusal, he denied her the one thing she yearned for most. When he lost his prestigious position as a musician for the noble houses, Dmitri refused to take up another job. Instead, he chose to wallow in his misery, clinging to the remnants of his old life, terrified of what the future might hold. The prospect of change—any change—left him paralyzed with fear.

Anica, seeing the decline in her husband’s mental health, silently bore the weight of his decisions. She put aside her own disappointment and took on more hours at the factory, working tirelessly to support them both. Her once vibrant spirit dimmed under the strain, yet she continued to care for Dmitri with unwavering devotion. She couldn’t comprehend how the man she had loved—the strong, resilient husband she had once known—had been reduced to this fearful, stagnant shadow of himself. But her boundless compassion and patience kept her by his side, always encouraging him to better himself, though he never did. Despite everything, Anica remained, sacrificing her own dreams for the sake of a love that had long ago ceased to grow.

Dmitri was a hypocrite. He constantly reprimanded the younger generation, lamenting how "back in my day," everything was better—people were joyous and well-mannered, traditions were respected, and life had a sense of order. Now, everything was different, ruined by the recklessness of the youth, he thought. He blamed them for the planet’s decline, for the changes he despised so deeply. Nostalgia had taken root in his mind, warping his memories until the past seemed like a golden era, untouched by the decay he now saw all around him.

Yet, beneath this veneer of nostalgia, Dmitri harbored a dark secret. He was no stranger to the harsh realities of life on Nostramo. He had once been a part of that very world he now claimed to despise—a world of crime and violence, where survival often meant crossing lines that could never be uncrossed. Dmitri had killed a man. The memory was murky, the reason lost to the fog of time and guilt, but the fact remained. He had taken a life, and though he had buried that memory deep within himself, it haunted him, a shadow lurking in the corners of his mind.

He never spoke of it, never allowed the thought to fully surface, but it was there, gnawing at him from the inside. The hypocrisy of his condemnation of the younger generation, his nostalgic idealization of the past, was all part of a fragile defense against the truth of what he had done. Dmitri knew that he would carry this secret to his grave, a burden he could never share, a sin he could never atone for. It was the weight of this unspoken guilt that fed his fear of change, his desperate clinging to the past, and his refusal to face the future.

Dmitri woke up in his home, bottle in hand. A strong smell stirred him up. His house was not unkempt enough to be filthy, but it carried an air of neglect, the energy to maintain it had long since faded. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, his brows frowned. He figured it out that he and Anica had left the funeral, and he immediately began drinking, as he always did. He looked around for his wife but there wasn't any glimpse of her. He felt dizzy, anxious; he wanted his wife close.

Anica and Dmitri’s home was a modest stone structure, a small and weathered testament to tradition amidst the creeping influence of modernity. The walls, thick and uneven, were a dull grey, their age evident in the cracks that ran like veins through the stone. The roof, accessible by a narrow staircase, was a simple affair, its shingles worn and chipped from years of exposure to the harsh elements of Nostramo.

Inside, the kitchen was the heart of the home, though it bore the marks of time and neglect. A heavy wooden table, scarred by countless meals and the passage of years, stood in the center. The chairs around it were mismatched, some sturdier than others, their legs slightly uneven on the cold stone floor. The walls were adorned with faded embroidered linens, remnants of a time when Anica took pride in keeping the house immaculate. Now, they hung askew, gathering dust in the dim light that filtered through a small, smudged window. The floors were covered with thick, woven rugs, their colors muted from years of wear.

A large ceramicoccupied one corner, the fire inside struggling to warm the room. Pots and pans hang from hooks above the stove, their metal surfaces worn smooth by years of use. A few modern appliances had found their way into the kitchen—a chipped electric kettle and an old radio that sputtered out static more often than music—adding a jarring contrast to the otherwise traditional space.

The bedroom, just beyond the kitchen, was small and somber. A large, ornately carved wooden bed dominated the room, its once-vibrant quilt now faded and threadbare. The wardrobe, tall and imposing, was slightly opened, revealing a bunch of clothes hastily stuffed inside. A small nightstand, cluttered with odds and ends—an old pocket watch, a half-burnt candle, and a photograph of their younger selves—stood beside the bed, its drawer hanging open.

Dmitri stepped on glass, his boots clicking against the thrown bottles of liquor. He wanted to make his way towards the bedroom when, suddenly, the creak of a floorboard drew his attention.

Anica appeared in the doorway, her presence as gentle as a whisper. She wore a traditional dress, the fabric rich with deep reds and blues, embroidered with intricate patterns that spiraled around her figure. The blouse was a crisp white, its sleeves puffed slightly, and cinched at the wrists with delicate lace. The vest she wore over it was black, adorned with bright floral designs, the colors vibrant against the dark fabric. A long, flowing skirt swirled around her ankles, and on her feet, she wore simple leather shoes that had seen years of careful use. Her black hair was pulled back into a loose braid, a few grey stray strands framing her round face, which was pale as paper, accentuating the deep black of her eyes. Anica’s body softened by age and the burdens she had carried, but her features remained gentle, marked by a softness that spoke of kindness and patience.

In her hands, she held Dmitri's cobza. The instrument, once the source of his pride, now seemed like a ghost of a former life. She approached him quietly, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and determination.

"Dmitri," she said softly, her voice steady, though she could not hide the tremor of emotion beneath it. "Why won't you play a little? It has been too long."

He looked up at her, his expression torn between reluctance and longing. The cobza in her hands was a reminder of everything he had been, and everything he had lost. But there was something in Anica’s eyes, a gentle pleading, that reached through the layers of his despair.

With a sigh, Dmitri took the instrument from her hands. His fingers, rough and calloused, traced the strings as if reacquainting themselves with an old friend. Anica leaned down and kissed his forehead, her lips warm against his cool skin. It was that kiss, more than anything, that convinced him to try.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Dmitri’s lips as he positioned the cobza and began to play. The melody that filled the room was soft and tentative at first, but soon it grew, weaving through the air with a haunting beauty that had been missing from their lives for so long. For a solid minute, the music transported them both back to a time when joy and hope were as real as the notes that flowed from the instrument.

But then, something inside Dmitri snapped. The weight of his own self-doubt came crashing down, and with a sudden clumsy movement, he dropped the cobza. The instrument hit the floor with a dull thud, and the music stopped abruptly.

"Damn it all!" Dmitri cursed, his voice filled with self-loathing. "What a fool I am. I can’t even do this right anymore!"

Anica quickly moved to comfort him, reaching out to touch his arm. "Dmitri, it’s good. You—"

"Don’t," he interrupted, shunning her away with a harshness that made her flinch. "Just... don’t."

Hurt flashed in Anica’s eyes, but she swallowed it down, just as she had so many times before. She sighed, the sound heavy with resignation, and quietly turned away. Without another word, she walked into the kitchen, her heart aching but determined to keep going. Dmitri watched her leave, his heart sinking as he realized the pain he had caused.

Alone again, Dmitri sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the cobza lying on the floor. The familiar sting of regret pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he fought to hold back the tears. But it was a losing battle. As the first tear slipped down his cheek, he got up and followed Anica into the kitchen.

She was at the stove, stirring a pot, her movements slow and methodical. Dmitri approached her from behind and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head against her shoulder. He pressed a kiss against her neck, wrapped his fingers in hers, and turned her around. He kissed her lips softly. She is so beautiful, Dmitri shyly thought.

"I’m sorry, Anica," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m so sorry."

Anica paused. She saw the sincerity in his eyes, the sorrow that mirrored her own, and her heart softened. She reached up to wipe away his tears, her touch tender and forgiving.

"I understand." she said softly. "You haven't done anything wrong." She yet again accepted his behavior, for the better of him.

Late that night, after Anica had fallen asleep, Dmitri lay awake, his mind restless. The silence of the house pressed in on him, amplifying the thoughts he had tried to push away. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he slipped out of bed and padded quietly to the living room.

The cobza was still where he had left it, lying forlorn on the floor. Dmitri picked it up carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he cradled the instrument in his lap. Sitting down, he began to play, the notes quiet and tentative, barely more than a whisper in the darkened room.

[minivantiny]

ATEEZ x Harry Potter Universe Masterlist

This is my take on what I think Ateez would be like in the HP universe. My little safe space since I'm back in my HP era and Ateez had their 3rd Japanese comeback.

Although I've been a casual reader for many unholy years, this is my first attempt at fanfiction. (Please bear with me, I swear I have some good ideas).

I post these on AO3 as well! (https://archiveofourown.org/works/54307042/chapters/137539711)

There will be updates to this post as my writing progresses!

Houses:

Gryffindor - Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho

Slytherin - Kim Hongjoong, Choi San

Ravenclaw - Park Seonghwa, Kang Yeosang

Hufflepuff - Jeong Yunho, Song Mingi

Student's introductions!

Who Was I Trying To Be?

Park Seonghwa

A student who goes relatively unnoticed among the new first years, but who is a legend to anyone who's ever crossed paths with him. With Music as his extracurricular passion, he weaves spells through enchanting notes, leaving a musical charm in the air. Enthralled by the cosmic wonders, Astronomy is his stellar domain, while Transfiguration becomes a stage for his enchanting transformations.

He might have been sorted into Slytherin for his ambition and determination if it weren't for his brains and creativity in music. He couldn't be happier to be sorted into Ravenclaw. After all, being in Slytherin would mean spending more time with Kim Hongjoong. Which is not such a terrible scenario when you look at it from a certain perspective. Except, for Seonghwa, it is. The cunning Slytherin boy may be adored and praised by all the students and professors. But Seonghwa can see right through him. He knows the real Kim Hongjoong, the one who is hiding behind a wall of hypocrisy, deceit, and deception.

I Used To Hear A Simple Song

Kim Hongjoong

Charismatic and popular with students and professors alike, Hongjoong effortlessly walks the fine line between breaking the rules and avoiding the consequences.

In the world of magic, his favourite subjects - Astronomy, Defence Against the Dark Arts and the Study of Ancient Runes - reveal a wizard of many talents. Hongjoong's mastery of both offensive and defensive spells makes him a formidable force in Defence Against the Dark Arts, a reputation he proudly flaunts.

Adding a harmonious twist to his magical journey, music serves as Hongjoong's extracurricular escape. But amid his academic pursuits, an unexpected connection emerges. Seonghwa, the Ravenclaw scholar, harbors an inexplicable dislike for Hongjoong. In response, the Slytherin captain amuses himself by flirting playfully, turning the tension into a game of teasing. He continues to tease him every chance he gets. "You're so obsessed with me and my business.. do you have a crush on me, Cottonhead?" However, underneath the banter lies an underlying fear that Seonghwa might reveal Hongjoong's well-guarded secret.

When Will You Learn?

Jeong Yunho

Jeong Yunho, the spirited Hufflepuff whose green thumb in Herbology and fascination with History of Magic paint a vivid portrait of his academic life. As housemates and best friends with Song Mingi, their camaraderie echoes through the Hufflepuff common room.

As a half-blood wizard raised in the enchantment of magic, Yunho's intrigues extend beyond the wizarding world. His love for Muggle Studies opens a door to the mysteries of Muggle life and inspires him to pick up a paintbrush in his spare time. In the realm of art, Yunho finds solace and inspiration by attending extra-curricular Art classes with his Gryffindor friend Jongho.

Despite Yunho's endearing positivity, a subtle undercurrent of forced cheerfulness raises questions. Mingi senses a veil over Yunho's happiness, a facade that conceals potential trauma. Just as secrets linger in the halls of Hogwarts, Jeong Yunho's painted smile hides depths that only time may unveil.

Clever As A Devil And Twice As Pretty

Kang Yeosang

Kang Yeosang, the clever and mischievous Ravenclaw whose talent for Potions and Charms has earned him the praise of his professors. Yeosang's mastery of potions goes beyond the textbook, modifying recipes for his own ingenious purposes.

Along with his housemate Seonghwa, they are known as "the walking statues" for their dazzling looks, but Yeosang's appearance belies his true nature. Seemingly shy and innocent, he harbours a secret attraction to strong, muscular men, finding Jongho's strength in particular irresistible.

Encounters with Jongho in the school library and in their shared Potions and Charms class become the setting for Yeosang's subtle provocations. Beneath the facade of innocence lies a cheeky bastard with a sharp tongue that he only reveals to those he trusts - Seonghwa, Jongho, and Wooyoung. The trio are witnesses to Yeosang's unfiltered thoughts, though other students dismiss Jongho's stories as mere gossip.

As Yeosang weaves a wall of pretended strength and independence, a mystery lingers. Who, or what, will crack the Ravenclaw student's shell and expose the vulnerability beneath?

And Then, The Bastard Winked At Me

Choi San

A reserved Slytherin pureblood, Choi San has a natural brilliance for the wind-focused magic that runs through his veins. Arriving late to Hogwarts and his famous wizarding family surname often precedes him, making him noticeable among his classmates. Despite this, San keeps a low profile. He entrusts himself to a select few, including his cousin Jongho, Care of Magical Creatures classmate Mingi, fellow housemate and quidditch team player Hongjoong, and an unexpected friend, Wooyoung.

Mastery in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts is just the tip of the iceberg for San. His knowledge extends beyond the curriculum, leading him to invent his own spells and become a formidable duelist, hinting at sources of practice beyond the Dueling Club. His stress-relieving activities include tending to magical creatures in the Care of Magical Creatures class, where the calming presence of creatures such as Kneazels allows him to relax and spend time with Mingi.

San develops a friendship with Hongjoong and a friendly rivalry with Wooyoung in the realm of Quidditch. The Seekers clashing on the Quidditch pitch becomes a familiar scene, with victory over the Gryffindors adding a hint of satisfaction to San's reserved demeanor. Despite Wooyoung's fiery approach, San secretly appreciates the energetic balance Wooyoung brings to his life.

Choi San is still a mysterious figure in the murmurs of the Hogwarts hallways, his past and skills entwined in the mystery surrounding his ancestry.

Bonus:

A quick peek at San's personal spellbook

How Dare You Insult My Frog?

Song Mingi

Song Mingi, the embodiment of Hufflepuff's famed loyalty, is entwined in the threads of friendship and magical creatures. As Yunho's roommate and childhood confidant, Mingi's heart is a verdant garden, cultivating both leafy greens and the bonds of friendship.

Mingi's personal gardening haven behind the Beasts classroom is a monument to his unwavering love of the enchanted and the natural, and it flourishes with his fondness for magical creatures. Mingi, who finds Yunho's love for Muggle studies inspiring, takes great care of his vegetable patch, with each plant serving as a testament to his meticulous nature.

In Mingi's world, loyalty to inanimate companions is as important as loyalty to friends. His cherished toad, Pocco, is a symbol of quiet companionship, providing a calm contrast to Mingi's own chatty and extroverted personality. Mingi and Pocco take evening walks near the school's boathouse, a tradition that Yunho can't help but find irresistibly endearing.

But Mingi's loyalty shines clearest for his friends, and he holds a special place in his heart for Yunho. From socks and quills to a lunchbox that has remained the same since their first year, the commitment reaches even to the little things in Mingi's life.

Mingi prioritizes listening to others, reaching a compromise, and looking for common ground rather than engaging in conflict. But Mingi's attitude towards Yunho and Pocco shifts, and he becomes willing to go against his morals in order to stand up for the ones he cares about the most.

Are You Flirting Or Starting A Fight?

Jung Wooyoung

Introducing Jung Wooyoung, the vivacious Gryffindor Seeker who embodies confidence and passion. A wizard with a heart as expansive as his daring maneuvers on the Quidditch pitch, Wooyoung's spirit ignites the Gryffindor stands with each thrilling match.

Off the pitch, Wooyoung's companion is Ned, a ginger cat who adds a touch of warmth to his lively personality. When not soaring through the air or studying magical arts, he works as a part-time cashier at Honeydukes, indulging his sweet tooth during shifts.

Wooyoung defies expectations by excelling in the intricate arts of Divination and Transfiguration. These challenging subjects showcase his dedication and intellectual prowess.

Yet Wooyoung's interest is drawn to the mysterious Slytherin, Choi San. Unfazed by his shameless flirtatious remarks, San's lack of interest turns into a powerful magnet that pulls Wooyoung into an interest that develops into a genuine friendship—albeit one laced with unspoken attractions.

But on the Quidditch pitch, their friendship turns into a fierce rivalry. San's skill contrasts with Wooyoung's competitive attitude, and each defeat fuels his will to succeed. The Gryffindor is passionate and short-tempered, and he shows it. Especially when he sees San smirking subtly, acknowledging the Slytherins' victory.

The Smell Of Books Is Eminent

Choi Jongho

Choi Jongho brings an unexpected twist to the Gryffindor stereotype, defying the expectations placed upon him by his prestigious wizarding family. Contrary to the assumptions that came with his famous surname, Jongho embraced the scarlet and gold of Gryffindor over the green and silver of Slytherin. Despite his parent's disapproval, Jongho chose to follow his own path, shattering his family's hopes of raising another Quidditch champion.

Despite his strong build suggesting Quidditch skill, Jongho turns down the offer due to the attraction of Divination, Charms, and Potions. He was bound to conflict with his family because of his academic decisions and lack of interest in the family's obsession with blood purity. Unfazed, Jongho considers severing ties if his family doesn't agree with his chosen path.

Beneath his tough exterior lies an obsession with Yeosang, a particular Ravenclaw. While Jongho may seem uninterested, he is drawn to Yeosang's intriguing aura. Their paths cross in classes and late-night library sessions, offering a challenge that Jongho - who loves challenges - simply cannot refuse.

Even though Jongho may seem intimidating, his outspoken nature belies a passion for the arts known only to a select few, including his classmate Yunho and fellow Art class companions. Rather than flaunting his skills, Jongho prefers to quietly master his artistic pursuits, adding another layer to the Gryffindor who chose to paint his own bright future.

[jessica-caillte-jessicannot-draw]

Twenty One Pilots-Clancy and Bad Batch

Yesterday 26/05/2024, my dear friend showed me the new Twenty One Pilots Album- Clancy. I had listened to the song Overcompensate when it released but I was hearing the rest of the songs for the first time with her. We got to the track Oldies Station and I teared up. What a gorgeous song. I couldn't help but relate it back to my favourite show The Bad Batch in my head. So many lyrics could be applied to the Bad Batch story. It's inspired me to make a rough Bad Batch animation with said song because why not? I just have to sketch out my ideas and overthink it first obviously.

How could this song possibly relate to this show? here are my thoughts;

"you learn to tune them out"- Omega learning to tune out distractions like her brothers taught her. Learning how to tune out fear and worry, she becomes a focused and formidable ally in battle.

"Make an oath then make mistakes, start a streak you're bound to break When darkness rolls on you, push on through, push on though"

The chorus inspired imagery of Omega running off to join the rebellion, the hardships she will face and remembering Tech's imparted wisdom to adapt and move on. She'll pledge loyalty to her fellow rebels as she did to her former squad-Clone force 99. Omega will probably deviate from protocol from time to time just like her brothers. Old habits die hard as they say. "Defective and Effective".

"Then before you know, you lose some people close forcing you to manage your pace. Found your capacity for love and tragedy embracing how things always change" Omega lost her brother and almost lost the rest of her brothers on Tantiss. With the Empire rising to power she has seen so much death and violence for a young girl. Omega is loving and has always tried to see the good in everyone. She grieved for Tech and now has to be prepared for loss and change again as starts this new chapter in her life.

"your favourite song was on the oldies station"- imagery of her brothers getting older, the nostalgia, reflecting on her memories of growing up with them on Pabu.

"You have it down" " -that old fight for Survival" Omega is a soldier like her brothers and what they taught her has shaped her. She is all grown up. Omega is capable and ready for what lies ahead in the fight against the empire.

and finally;

"you are in the crowd at her first dance recital" Hunter letting his little girl go and a flashback to when the squad first met her and took her in as one of their own.

I understand the meaning of the lyrics may not align with the meaning I have assigned to them in relation to my favourite show but there's no harm in interpreting the lyrics differently I suppose. Hopefully I can piece together a nice little animation because of the wonderful music and series that inspires it.

Just wanted to share❤🤘

An incredible series and an incredible song. I encourage anyone that hasn't listened to the album Clancy by Twenty one Pilots to do so. The same goes for watching the Bad Batch.

❤❤❤🤘🤘🤘

-Jessica-caillte-Jessicannot draw ;-;