#fic writer curse

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

THIS IS SO ME. “sorry your viktor requests are taking so long guys, my city got bombed and i didn’t have the energy to continue writing after a three hour long air raid alarm”

[part-time-zombie]

Yall I think the fanfic writer curse is real and its happened to me.

I keep the majority of my stuff on external drives due to previous bad luck with storing things on my laptop/in the cloud, and I got a pop-up stating that there was a problem with the drive and that I should scan and fix it.

I'd gotten this pop-up in the past, but I got a little worried that something could happen to my works so I clicked the ok to fix it.

I guess what it meant by "fix" was "erase", because I just lost everything I had stored on that drive, including all of my fics.

Fortunately I had a spare copy on a second drive, but it didn't have everything i lost, just the older/unfinished stuff I haven't revised.

So, uh... that happened.

I still have my older fics, and I can always upgrade the unpublished fics on there, but yeah... pretty ironic that this only happened after I officially started uploading my fics, and only as a result of my cautious desire to protect my fics from deletion in the first place.

Moral of the story: always have a copy.

[anachronismstellar]

Me: oh yay!!! :D I'm going to finish this chapter maybe this week! The brain is going brr, I'm typing as much as I can at any moment that I can and-

Fic Writer Curse: oh, is that so? :)

Me: no. No please no, I'm begging, please-

Fic Writer Curse: *College goes on strike, mom has to be rushed to the hospital, my allergies flare up* :)

Me: fuck you.

[radiance1]

The League tried to interrupt a summoning of a powerful being from the Infinite Realms. From the information they collected, the being isn't of the status of a royalty, but they still had to be careful as the being the summoners tried to call forth was still of noble status.

They failed.

The head cultist finished the ritual, the last words to finish the summoning left their tongue and the room was suddenly doused in heat, as black flame came to life from within the circle, twisting and turning, back and forth until a pair of red eyes suddenly flashed from inside the twisting pillar of flame and just as suddenly as the eyes appeared, was the pillar broken apart.

What was left behind was the figure of a giant phoenix, wings spread as embers black as night gently fell down to the floor below and suddenly disappearing, as if they were never there in the first place.

"Who dares to disturb-" The being started, eyes scanning the crowd below before stilling, extremely and worryingly quiet. One of them quietly cursed. "Constantine..." The creature's voice was low, dangerously low, no doubt anger in its voice as it called out the Warlock's name.

Everyone tensed, expecting something dangerous, except for the cultists, and the Head, who turned his head towards them and smiled, obviously expecting them to be reduced to not even ash.

"100 years. One. Hundred. Years." The being spoke, and confusion wormed its way into the hearts of all those present. "100 years I have waited for you, and when we finally meet once again it's not even you summoned me but these-" The creature waved a wing at the cultist below. "-These fatuous and vacuous little things."

"And what is this? You surrounded yourself with those not even of human birth before you have even thought about me?" The noble's eyes narrowed. "Did our relationship mean nothing to you?

Someone, probably not Constantine, choked.

"Well then, after all of this time you can at least make yourself useful." In a flash of black fire, Constantine was brought from within the ranks of heroes and in front of the beast, a man who seemed to be trying to-and unsuccessfully- lighting a smoke. "Ah, why do that when you have me?" The being purred, bending down to apparently light a smoke before freezing, as if remembering what exactly it was doing, but the action was already done, and Constantine was killing his lungs away.

The phoenix snapped back up to standing above everyone else, clearing its throat as if what happened decidedly didn't happen.

"What exactly did you want me to be useful for, love?" Constantine asked, expelling the smoke from his lungs and deciding that this might as well be happening. The noble huffed, folding its wings at its sides as it stared down at its apparent lover. "Take care of our son for once in your sad, pathetic life."

This time, not only did Constantine choke, but a good chunk of people there did as well. Constantine ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the phoenix incredulously. "Aren't we both men?"

The phoenix looked at his lover as if he were stupid. "Your point?"

"I-" Constantine sighed, took a breath, held, then expelled more smoke from his lungs. Apparently, he decided not to question anything anymore. "You know what? Sure, where is the little bugger?"

Over the next few moments, both the Justice League and Cultists were treated to the noble transforming into a human (still having wings) and handing over their apparent child-who looked nothing like them by being a dragon, but who were they to question the apparent reproduction of a being from the Infinite Realms- and being lectured about what not to do and what to do and how he should be cared for.

Also, a warning for his many powers.

Then the Duke stole a kiss (One that he claimed was long overdue) and left.

The room was silent, only the sounds of breathing occupying the room as the temperature was brought back down to normal levels.

A moment later, Batman walked up to the nearby cultist and punched him across the face and knocking him out cold, suddenly reminding everyone what exactly they were here for.

A while later, in the meeting room, everyone looked at Constantine. Who had a baby eastern dragon wrapped around one arm (who was apparently his child) and rubbing his temple with the other.

"I can't explain this."

===

Danny was actually not Constantine kid, neither was he Vlad's. Biologically, at the very least, however. Vlad did adopt both him and Jasmine a while back after their whole parent fiasco.

They're dead, sadly unable to become ghosts, or perhaps not so sadly.

Of course, they unfortunately outlived Jasmine, which was to be expected, but Vlad and Danny did grow close enough that they no longer viewed each other as enemies.

However, who could have expected that Danny, finally ascending to his princely status, would turn him back into a literal child because he was, for all intents and purposes, one by Dragon standards.

Utter malarkey, he would say.

Taking care of that boy was the worst few memories he has ever had. He was constantly being kept from his sleep, his work being interrupted constantly, and the child managed to find a way to leave his sight at each and every turn.

But there were some sweet moments, he would say.

It's only reasonable, however, that his lover (who he hasn't seen for an entire century might he add) share the workload.

[wandixx]

I have an idea that includes two person love square because identity shenanigans are always fun, but I have no idea what they should do, despite having fun dynamics between them, like:

"Of course they're dating" said Public Opinion about Miss Martian and Phantom, right after she broke his heart a bit by telling him she was in love with someone else (Megan's long distance best friend, Danny). Before this happened, Phantom was overly flirtatious to both Miss Martian and Megan, so she asked Danny what to do about "This one guy in my sports team" and his advice is to tell him to "Fuck off". She does exactly that, without quite understanding the weight of the word and Phantom is stunned into obedience (and he understands that no means no)

Anyway, I need help with actual... plot. Situations I put them through, because I'm determined to write it. They would be cute together imo.

[evilkaeya]

Hi everyone I woke up and realized I have the power to write literally anything I want to so I gave Light Yagami period cramps. Read here.

[soapsbaby]

☆ Day 1 // First time // Leon Kennedy ☆

Summary: You're his first.

Characters: Leon Kennedy x Reader

Themes: NSFW (18+), oral (both receiving), PIV, virginity

Word Count: 1.5k

Leon quietly moaned into your kiss, hands tangled in your shirt as if he was desperate to have something to hold onto. 

His hair had fallen into his face, a smile on his face as you pulled back for a second to gently swipe it away so that he could see. 

The reaction to your makeout session was hard against your thigh. 

You pushed your hand between your two bodies, running over his erection, smiling as he let out a quiet moan.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

You gave him a quick kiss again.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” 

“What is it, hm?”

“I… I have to tell you something.”

His hips bucked into your touch, almost involuntarily, an embarrassed whine escaping his throat as he realized the way his desperate body had betrayed him.

His pale cheeks were now bright red and you could tell that he was struggling to even look you into the eyes.

“I’ve… I’ve never done this before.” 

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“I’ve never… Slept with anyone.”, he said so quietly that you could barely understand him. 

You hid your surprise well, luckily. 

You gently cupped his face, he eased into your touch immediately. He was so receptive, so eager for any of the attention you could provide him. 

“Do you want me to be your first?” 

He nodded, still bright red.

“Yes. I’d… Really like that.”

Your hands slipped under his shirt, fingers exploring the ridges of his muscles under his soft skin.

His lips found yours again, kissing you needily.

“Please be my first.”, he whispered, a certain sense of desperation in his voice.

“I want to take off your shirt.”, you said softly, watching his reaction closely, hoping he wouldn’t feel any type of discomfort by your request, but beyond blushing a little harder, he seemed eager.

He pushed himself up from the mattress to give you access to remove his shirt, pulling it over his head. 

The flush on his cheek went all the way down his neck, across his pale chest. 

“You’re so beautiful.”, you said quietly, your hands roaming his chest still, taking in all of him. 

He tugged on your shirt until he had removed it as well, tossing it to the floor.

His eyes scanned your body, gaze falling to your breasts, then jumping up to your eyes again, as if there was any shame in how he wanted to look at you.

"It's okay. You can look. You can even touch if you want, you know?"

You unclasped your bra with a smile, baring your breasts to him. 

"Are you sure?" 

You grabbed his hands, moving them to your chest, smiling as you could feel his inexperience in the way that he touched you, awkwardly kneading your flesh.

Your body tensed as one of his thumbs slid across your nipples, feeling it harden under his touch. 

"Do you like that?", he asked, looking up at you with those puppy eyes of his. 

You nodded, now you were the one to blush.

He hesitated for a moment, then he leaned in, his lips closing around your nipple, tongue darting around it.

His hand moved to the small of your back, anchoring you as your body arched into his touch.

"Fuck… Leon…", you muttered, sighing as his other hand came upward to massage your other breast with a new found confidence from the way you reacted to him.

His hands were so gentle on you, as if he was afraid he'd hurt you otherwise.

"I want to taste you.", he said quietly, lips still pressed to your chest, but slowly working up to your neck.

The hand on your back traveled forward, the tip of his index finger slipping into the waistband of your shorts.

You could see the eagerness in his flushed face, he genuinely meant it. 

You didn't answer, instead just pushing your hips upward, letting him undress the rest of you. 

"You're so beautiful.", he said softly, carefully pushing you back on the bed so he could get easier access to you.

He pushed your legs apart with a gentleness that sent shivers down your spine, kissing across your parted thighs as he worked his way closer to your core.

His eyes fluttered shut as he dragged his tongue across you for a first, almost hesitant taste.

You ran your fingers through his hair, biting back a moan.

"You taste so good.", he whispered, before he leant back in, shorter, quicker licks around your clit now.

Even though his inexperience was obvious, he read you like an open book, interpreting your every noise until he had learnt how to work you, where you needed his tongue, his lips.

"Why are you so good at this?", you panted, feeling yourself slowly build up to your release, your breaths coming in stutters.

He didn't answer, his arm wrapping around your thigh a little tighter as he devoured you.

The moment he sucked your clit between his lips was when you lost it, arching yourself against his face, riding out your orgasm against his lips.

"Fuck… Fuck.", you quietly moaned, grabbing him and pulling him upwards so you could kiss him again.

Your taste was on his lips and you could feel the desperation on him. 

"You did so well.", you muttered as you slowly regained your composure.

His hips grinded against your hand as you palmed him through his pants, he was rock hard.

"I'm sorry you got so little attention.", you said quietly, but he immediately shook his head.

"No. Don't apologize. I could do that forever."

He licked his lips with a grin as if to drive the point home further.

"Still. It's your turn."

He nodded obediently, moving his hips off the bed so you could take his pants off, dragging his boxers down with them.

His erection strained against his stomach.

He bit his lip as you wrapped your hand around him, giving him a gentle first stroke.

His eyes followed you as you bent down before him, kissing along the V lines of his hips.

“Please don’t tease me.”, he whispered breathily, his hand gently in your hair, but not pushing you.

The desperation in his little moans made you try even harder, doing your best to draw even more noises out of him.

He groaned quietly as you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, his body tensing at the new sensation.

“Please…” He didn’t finish his plea, but you knew what he wanted, taking him further into your mouth, tongue swirling around him. 

“How’s that?”, you asked quietly, licking up his shaft with a smile, replacing your mouth with your hand for a moment.

“So good.” He looked at you with a look on his face that you could only interpret as awe, his eyes glazed over in desire.

“Do you want to fuck me, then?” 

“But fuck… I don’t know how long I can last like this.”

There was something akin to embarrassment on his face, but you shut it down immediately, sitting up so you could put a kiss on his lips, gently reassuring him.

You climbed onto him, grabbing his hands and placing them onto your hips, giving him something to hold onto.

He nodded eagerly, even though you could see the nervousness on his face. Your choice of words flustered him even more.

“Hey, there is nothing you can do wrong, okay?”

You kissed him again, gently, passionately, until you pushed him backwards onto the bed.

He whined quietly as you grabbed his cock, lining it up with your pussy. 

You gave him a questioning look, he just answered with a nod, so you slowly lowered yourself on him.

His lips parted with a gasp, grip tightening on you as he took in the feeling, overwhelmed by your warmth and wetness.

“So fucking good.”, he repeated.

You leaned forward, kissing him hungrily, drowning out his quiet moans with your lips as you slowly lifted your hips before moving downward again, giving you a few slow, first movements to adapt to his size.

“You feel so good.”, he panted, his eyes finally opening again, watching you in amazement, eyes wandering down to the spot where your bodies met.

You slowly picked up the pace, always keeping watch of him and his reaction, but there was nothing on his pretty face other than adoration.

His body fit against yours almost perfectly, the way his hands were grabbing you, your chest against his, his cock inside of you.

“I think I’m close already.”, he said, almost apologetically.

You stopped your movement for a moment, gently cupping your face.

There were beads of sweat on his forehead, his hair damp against his forehead.

“Do you want to try to be on top?”

He nodded. He grabbed you without slipping out of you, pushing you to be the one on your back.

He pounded into you quicker than you had ridden him earlier, panting heavily next to your ear, lips pressed against your neck.

“I’m so fucking close.”, he muttered, his voice breathy.

“Keep going, then.” 

You grabbed his face, pulling him in for another kiss as you could feel his thrusts start to stutter, hands grasping the sheets next to your head.

He pulled out of you, leaving you almost painfully empty as he shot thick ropes of cum onto your stomach, moaning desperately against your lips.

With a final groan he collapsed on top of you, easing into your embrace as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“That was perfect.”

[cryptidghostgirl]

Ritornello (Alastor x Cursed!Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: I don't think there are any but please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 3,565

Previous Part: Rhapsody

Next Part: Rapture

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N Okay I know that canonically Charlie is like 200 but we're gonna make her 25.

After everything with Alastor, Y/n tried to continued their life as it had been before he'd stepped into. It was challenging, they faltered and misstepped. They had been good at being on their own once but now that they had a taste of the alternative, it was difficult to fall back into their old ways. Eventually, they managed to fall into a new pattern of being.

They were a bit more careful now, they didn't dash out unannounced from behind corners or secret hiding places. Seeing Alastor was the last thing they wanted to do. Now, they had someone to avoid.

For seventeen years, they continued on like this. They struggled through their battles on their own, against the overlords and against their own personal situation. They searched high and low for a cure but the only things they ever seemed able to come up with were false promises and temporary fixes. Every day, the curse the overlords had placed on them to limit their powers was growing stronger. Every time they used their magic, played their music, it became more and more corrupted and so, they learned to fight with their hands. This was until they got the call from Lucifer, of course.

The pair were old friends of a sort. Y/n had met him by chance within their first few days in Hell when he'd pulled them out of a tight spot. They didn't spend time together ever or really see one another at all but, Y/n had a vague sort of trust for the man, a strong sense of a debt needing to be repaid. Y/n didn't like owing people things, not even back when they were alive. They didn't like depending on people in that way. When he asked them if they could keep an eye on his daughter, they couldn't refuse.

Charlie was a lot. At twelve years old, she was bright and over the top and constantly bursting out into song. At first, Y/n had been rather uncertain about the whole arrangement, even when she'd gone through her emo phase at fifteen.

Y/n tried to steer clear of them for the most part. Picking her up from school, dropping her off. Babysitting when her parents needed a night to themselves, the normal stuff. When the issues started between Lilith and Lucifer, Charlie was suddenly thrust into Y/n's life a lot more. She had no idea the real reason, both her parents wanting to keep the trouble from her due to their own care and protective natures, and Y/n tried their best to keep it that way. It didn't help that by sixteen, Charlie had practically moved in with the demon but they managed.

Charlie had always pushed for a connection, something more than Y/n making her dinner and getting her where she needed to go. Y/n resisted at all costs. They'd been hurt before by trust, by care. The idea of going through it all again was terrifying. That all changed the day Charlie found out about the curse.

Y/n hadn't meant for her to find out. One of their situation's many many downsides was that while the curse ate away at their magic, it also ate away at their physical form. If they weren't careful, if they didn't temper their emotions and make sure they were eating enough raw meat, the beast would take over.

The beast was a horrific thing in their eyes, blood hungry and devastating. It was sub-human, sub-demon even, writhing and scornful. A mass of twisting shells of prey, a mass of claws and sharp teeth.

Of course, Y/n couldn't keep it from Charlie forever and on one fateful evening, Y/n had transformed. They'd been overworked, stressed about the fact that the Vees were gaining more territory and power, that soon they would be practically untouchable. They had forgotten to take care of themselves in the rush of it all, prioritizing Charlie and their plans.

When they had come back to their senses, come back to themself, it had been to the sight of Charlie. With a damp rag held to their forehead by the demoness and a whole lot of bones from victims of their situation on the floor around them, they had opened their eyes. Y/n had expected Charlie to flinch, to run in fear, to tell Lucifer who knew nothing about the curse. Instead, she had smiled brightly and told Y/n she was glad they were okay. From that day forward, they were absolutely inseparable, completely attached at the hip.

With Charlie's help and cheerful influence, Y/n was beginning to learn how to exist. They loved the girl like she was their own and Charlie knew if she ever had an issue of any sort, she could go to Y/n about it. Even when Y/n had relayed the story of how they'd been cursed and why, there had been no issues, no qualms, nothing. Charlie promised her watcher that she would help them break the curse, no matter what it took.

It was watching Charlie come into herself as a young adult, watching her meet and fall in love with Vaggie that made the real difference. The princess of Hell was unapologetically herself and Vaggie took everything she had to offer with open arms. Slowly but surely, the search for a cure took a back seat as did Y/n's goal of taking down the overlords of Hell. Their life was different, but they were happy. They found themself wishing for the past, the one they had shared with Alastor, less and less, channeling their energy into the world around them. They didn't even notice when the reports started to come in that the Radio Demon of the overlords had seemingly vanished.

Things hadn't been without their challenges. Charlie's relationship with her dad was strained to say the least and when her mom had disappeared? She'd been absolutely inconsolable but with one another's help, they figured things out, made it through.

When Charlie pitched the idea of the Happy Hotel, Y/n had been doubtful. They knew a lot about Hell, the way it functioned, the way the demons within were. It came from decades running around back streets and surviving in the underworld of the underworld. It was Charlie's hope that did it, her earnest gaze. Y/n had caved and after months of hard work, the Hotel had finally opened.

Things were going well, too well even. Then there had been the interview with Katie Killjoy, the other shoe dropping. Y/n had watched it from the sidelines with Vaggie. As soon as Charlie had come down off the set, they had enveloped her in their arms and held them close. With Vaggie's help, they managed to get Charlie back to the hotel.

Once she had calmed down a little bit, Charlie stood from where she had been seated in the sitting room beside Y/n, Vaggie, and the hotel's one resident: Angel Dust. She mentioned something about calling her mom before disappearing into the lobby.

Y/n and Vaggie exchanged a look. They both knew the situation Charlie was in with regards to her mother and how she tended to get after one of her failed attempts to contact the woman. Neither thought this was the time or the place to step in however, and remained seated, chatting idly with Angel as they waited for Charlie's return.

When she finally did, it was with a nervous attitude and a strained expression.

"Hey Vaggie?"

"What?" Vaggie asked as she and Y/n twisted to look at Charlie who stood in the door way behind the couch.

"Can you come help me please?"

Vaggie got to her feet and exited the sitting room with her girlfriend. Y/n turned to Angel to continue their conversation but had barley gotten a word to the spider demon out when Vaggie stepped back in the room.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?" Y/n replied calmly.

"Charlie actually needs our help with this one, I think."

"Alright then." Y/n got to their feet, shooting a glance back at Angel, "A true hotelier's work is never done." they lightly joked and Angel rolled his eyes.

"What's this about?" Y/n asked Vaggie as they followed her down the hall towards the hotel's main entrance.

"Just..." Vaggie sighed, "you'll see."

Noting the girl's odd behavior and stressed demeanor, Y/n steeled themselves. Not much put Vaggie on edge. She was strong, toughened, as far as Y/n knew, by a brutal upbringing in the streets of Hell. While each use of their powers made the curse grow stronger, they would not hesitate to protect Charlie or her dreams should the need arise. Besides, they'd become quite good at other means of self preservation over the years.

As they rounded the corner into the lobby space, Y/n was greeted by a flash of red as someone pushed past Charlie into the space from the street and a familiar voice.

"Excuse my sudden visit, but I saw your fiasco on the picture show and I just couldn't resist. What a performance! Why I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929. So many orphans."

Y/n let out a low growl, summoning their lute into their hands and Vaggie pointed her spear at the Radio Demon. It was pure instinct. If they knew anyone, they knew Alastor and redemption was not the Radio Demon's cup of tea. As Charlie shut the door, he turned to face them. Y/n walked a few steps forward, planting their feet a little ways away from Alastor and poising their fingers to play.

"Get out of here." They said through gritted teeth.

Alastor's eyes widened with recognition for the smallest moment. As quick as he had lost it, he regained his composure.

"My what a protective force this Hazbin Hotel has." Alastor mused.

"It's called the Happy Hotel actually?" Charlie hesitantly corrected and he laughed.

"Not anymore its not. I did you the favor of fixing your sign."

A little threat couldn't hurt, a little reminder of who he was dealing with. Alastor had no idea Y/n was any less capable than when he'd first met them. One little note couldn't hurt, wouldn't show any of the damage done. Y/n plucked a single string on their instrument and the room around them began to glow. Everyone's hair lifted around their faces, the loose edges of their clothes beginning to flutter.

"Get out of here now. I wont ask you again."

"Now, is that anyway to treat an old friend?" Alastor replied, smirking.

Everything suddenly clicked into place. There was something different about him. Y/n couldn't put their finger on exactly what it was, but they could tell he hadn't been lying. He'd been at the Hotel for at least five minutes by now, maybe more with all Charlie and Vaggie's running back and forth since his arrival. If he had had any truly negative intentions, they would have revealed themselves, especially to Y/n. Alastor was a good liar, but no one was that good, good enough to trick someone who had watched them become the person they are.

"Old friend?" Vaggie repeated, turning to Y/n in confusion.

Their grimace faltered, before falling completely. They released their instrument, letting it hang loosely in their hand by their side.

"Alastor! You're embarrassing me in front of my kid."

"Your kid?" Alastor asked after a moment.

This time the shocked expression that crept its way onto his face stayed there.

"You know him?" Charlie asked at the same moment as Alastor spoke.

Y/n let their instrument dissolve into the air and gestured to Charlie.

"My kid. And yes, Charlie. I know Alastor."

Alastor turned, looking Charlie up and down.

"You got with Lucifer?" Alastor asked in confusion as he looked back at Y/n.

They laughed lightly at the notion, unable to stop themselves. They shook their head.

"No. Oh my gosh, I would never. Seriously just... great guy and all but no thank you. I just take care of his kid for him. Well, used to. We sorta got attached."

Charlie walked up to Y/n as they spoke, pulling them into a side hug.

"Y/n practically raised me. They were kinda the only one who was always there for me."

Y/n looked down at Charlie with a fond smile. They ruffled her hair and Charlie quickly batted their hand away.

It was clear to Alastor that Y/n had changed. They were no longer the trouble making demon he had known, that he had loved. Still, there was that same spark in their eyes, that fervent desire, that want. From just the small interaction playing out before him, he could tell that Y/n had learned how to trust and protect rather than just fight. They had learned to live hand in hand with that creeping need woven so tightly around their bones, rather than despite it.

It made him happy to see, it made him happy for her. At the same time, it caused his heart to ache terribly. They had finally been able to let someone in, and it hadn't been him.

In the years since their separation, Alastor had never stopped thinking about Y/n. Their memory was tender to the touch, shot sparks of joy or anguish down him depending on the day. It was like an old wound that had never quite healed right. Seeing them now was unexpected. The wound reopened. He sheltered himself.

Y/n saw the way Vaggie still had her spear pointed at Alastor, aimed straight at his neck. Gently, they placed a hand on it, pushing it down. Vaggie looked at them, her eyebrows raised.

"If he wanted to hurt anyone here, he would have done so already."

Vaggie stared at Y/n for a moment. Seeing how serious the demon that had become a mentor to her was in this moment, she lowered her blade. Y/n's hand fell back to their side.

"Now," Y/n turned to look at Alastor once again, "why are you here?"

----

It was late. Vaggie had told Y/n that Charlie wanted to speak to them about something in their office and so, Y/n found themselves outside the familiar door. They knocked once on the dark red wood.

"Yeah?"

They opened the door and Charlie smiled.

"What'd you wanna talk to me about, Sunshine?" Y/n asked as they entered the room, taking a seat in the chair across the desk from their young charge.

"Just about Alastor."

They should have known. Not only was the hotel at a potential risk thanks to the decision to allow him to work with them but Charlie had always had a sharp sense of curiosity. Y/n sighed.

"Fire away, kiddo."

"Well, how do you two know one another? Can we trust him? Do you think he means what he says he does? I thought you hated overlords? I.. I..."

Y/n smiled softly, the change in their face easing Charlie's nervous temper.

"We will handle these one at a time, no prying. Deal?"

"Y/n, you realize how suspicious that makes you sound, right?"

"Fine. A little prying. Deal?"

"Deal."

Y/n leaned back in their chair, letting out a sigh of nostalgia. Their hands rested on their stomach as they kicked their feet up onto Charlie's desk.

"I... I met Alastor practically right after he arrived. We both thought the overlord system was dumb and so, we decided to team up."

There was a moment of silence, broken by Charlie. The young demoness had always loved Y/n's stories, begged to hear them. They had never once heard this one before.

"Is that all?"

Y/n shook their head.

"We dated."

"You dated!" Charlie exclaimed in shock, nearly jumping out of her seat, "You dated the Radio Demon. Were you in love?"

Of course she'd go on and ask that next. Not 'how'd that happen?' not 'when was this?' No, Charlie had to go for the hardest question first, like she always did.

"Yes." Y/n hesitantly replied, "I did."

"I... oh my god. This is actually crazy. You dated? You actually dated. Like for real, in love, dated."

"Alright." Y/n clapped their hands, taking their feet off the desk and righting themselves in their chair, "Next question."

"Bu-"

"I said some prying."

"Fine." Charlie sighed, crossing her arms, "But I am gonna get that story out of you eventually."

"I'm sure you will, sunshine." Y/n chuckled lightly, "Now. Can we trust him? I... I'm not sure."

All the excitement vanished from Charlie as she looked seriously over at Y/n.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Because, he's up to something but not with us. Or, if it is with us, it's not to hurt us. I... something happened to him, something is different. I am not sure what I just... he's not here to hurt us... I think..."

"You think?" Charlie repeated indignantly, "Can you be a little more sure of that maybe? Why only think?"

"It's been a long time since I've seen him, Charls. Maybe being an overlord is what changed him. I have no way of knowing but my gut tells me he's okay, at least for now."

"You knew him before he became an overlord?"

"You really think I would team up with one of those bitches? Come on. You know I hate them."

"I-"

"Next question." Y/n quickly interrupted, not wanting to think on the past anymore than was necessary, "I think he does mean what he says, as was implied in whether or not I trusted him but the same caveats that applied there apply here too. And I do hate overlords, I just..."

"You just love him." Charlie teased.

Y/n's cheeks grew hot. They looked away.

"I do not. I loved him. There is a difference."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Why did you guys break up?"

Y/n turned back to Charlie. They couldn't say no to those eyes.

"Well, he became an overlord. Also I maybe... never told him. About the curse. He could tell something was up and..." Y/n took a breath, "couldn't take it after a while I guess."

"So you guys still loved each other when you broke up."

"What are you scheming over there."

"Nothing! Nothing!" Charlie quickly replied as she not so discreetly scribbled something on a piece of paper, "How long were you together?"

Y/n placed their hands on the arms of the chair, pulling themselves to their feet.

"Alright, trouble maker, I think thats enough lore outta me tonight."

"But Y/n!"

"I'm gonna go to bed. Vaggie already headed upstairs for the night I think. Sweet dreams, princess."

"Good night Y/n." Charlie dejectedly replied as she realized she really wasn't going to be getting anything else out of her mentor that night.

"Good night."

Y/n was about half way through the Hotel back to their room when they felt a hand on their shoulder. Reacting purely out of instinct, they ducked out from under the person's grip, spinning around with their fists raised. Alastor smiled down at Y/n and they sighed.

"What is it?" they asked, straightening up.

He had expected Y/n to be angry, to have that familiar sharp edge behind their voice. Instead, they looked up at him. As if everything was normal, as if it hadn't been thirty years since they'd last seen one another, as if they had just been together yesterday, their eyes met his.

"I... it's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too." they replied after a moment's thought, "What are you doing up this late?"

"You know me, sleep is not my preferred way to pass time."

"I meant what are you doing in the hall, but sure. Yeah, I know you."

"That darling Charlie asked to see me."

Y/n scoffed, shaking their head with a tired smile.

"Of course she'd... yeah."

They stood in the hall facing one another. Just a few feet apart. The silence was thick.

"You seem happy."

"I am." Y/n nodded, "Charlie is a great kid. I was pissed when Lucifer first asked me to look after her, I'll admit it but, she has grown on me."

"I didn't know you were acquainted with the big man. I thought you despised all authority figures."

Y/n looked critically at Alastor, over his whole being. He felt they were looking into his very soul, the heart of all his intentions and desires. He felt absolutely naked in the worst way under their gaze.

"No, just overlords. Especially ones who make deals for the souls of others. It's a stupid and outdated system. Even the best of them like Rosie abuse their power to get what they want."

It was a well sharpened arrow, the remark. Perfectly aimed. Alastor had, after all, introduced the small group inhabiting the hotel to Husk and Nifty just that afternoon. Y/n turned their back to Alastor.

"She has big dreams and the passion to see them through. I believe in her. Don't... don't fuck this up for her, Alastor."

----

Next Part -> Rapture

@moonmark98 @luzzbuzz @snowlotr @randomuser-89 @fakeguysarehot @xdolls-crownx

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

the counterpart

chapter 3 — and there’s affection to rent

rating: explicit. i’m sensing a smut chapter approaching.

word count: 2,5k

pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

cw: 90s au. they’re still playing chess, drinking, smoking, cussing, fucking (not yet, but eventually) and doing all the things you’re not allowed to read about if you’re not old enough. this chapter is just… pure dialogue and (not so subtle anymore) sexual tension, and i finally revealed their majors (took me long enough). consider this part a teaser. yeah.

ao3 link

part 4

—

What’s the most important thing one learns in college if their major is painfully tasteless? Especially if said one is a lost girl — all ambitions, but no actual possibilities, kidneys so done with your rebellious acts of liquor consumption they might fail you much earlier than they did Bobby Fisher?* 

Your professors taught you how to come up with an intriguing title. How to make sure your column is the most eye-catching on the whole page. How to journal properly, and how to not be a pussy when you’re interviewing someone hard-talk style — taught you how to bend over people and for people.

Those were petty things. Undoubtedly crucial for your education, yet still petty. They didn’t teach you how to live. They just made you sleazy and more sleep-deprived. The first trait could still be put to a good use, though. 

But college? Oh, college taught you how to live. Not the beautiful concept of being a part of it, but the campus itself, specifically the dorms — your self-proclaimed, crude lectors. They showed you everything you needed to know: from friendly faces coated in thick smoke on the tiny balcony, to sweaty ones, all rolled out tongues and glassy eyes — the disgusting art of bathroom quickies. 

But most importantly?

College taught you there are five types of men you have to stay away from: bishops, knights, rooks, cowards (kings) and pawns (your favorite ones to devour). 

Bishops are mouthy. They’re harsh — vile, even. Greedy heartbreakers, easily irritable when something refuses to get out of their oblique, grabby path. Mediocre in bed: unnecessary rough, redundantly rude in dirty talk. Terrified of any feeling that doesn’t involve hatred or malice. Smartasses (in a bad way). Pass. 

Knights are immature. They have potential — a contentious one, to be frank, yet it’s still there, slightly palpable in their endless promises and occasional gentlemanly habits. They’re deeply insecure — self-conscious, even, always underestimating their power. A good base for raising the perfect partner — if only you have the patience to spare, that is. Not as unbearable in bed as the previous category. Sometimes they cook great breakfast the morning after.

Rooks are superior. Straightforward, yet humorless; good listeners, yet awful comforters — oh that constant lack of the golden mean, the complete inability to lie. They’re reliable, but not fun to sleep with. Not fun to date either — it’s almost like these men paired for life, invariably with someone as insufferably stable as their stoic demeanor. You still liked them though; but only as a rare, handsome dainty — an audience perfectly suited for your drunken monologues. 

Kings and pawns are not worthy of being elaborated on. Skittish and obedient, former ones too selfish in bed, ladder ones too pathetically down bad. Finita la commedia. 

In conclusion: one should play with those pieces, yet strictly avoid committing to them — to save the tears when you make an invariable sacrifice. 

That thought spun inside your head — doomed and stupidly petulant, recycling itself slowly to a flavourless overchewed gum on the convex surface of your tongue, persistently threatening to jump out of your mean mouth any second. You wondered — shamefully, with an almost shy tredipation, — how would Viktor react to this  incredible wisdom of your creation, how comical — or plausible, perhaps? would he find this metaphorical conclusion to be? 

But you refrained from revealing it to him just now. No, you couldn’t care less about invoking a potential little discussion — not when he’d just returned to the still equipped with a chess board desk, and certainly not when your hand was settled so perfectly into the tender grasp of his. A set of longer, paler fingers twined oh so cautiously around your wrist, securely preventing it from any occasional twitches. Tending to your wound with special gentleness — as if he was constructing a fragile weapon, a thing dangerous enough to explode all over the place if he treats it with something bolder than a ghost of a touch. So concentrated: he pressed the tiny piece of cotton to the bloody mess under what once used to be your nail; shushing you softly when you flinched, feeling the saline lance right through the weak digit. 

“Stay still for me, would you?” Viktor frowned, carving an angry little stroke into the back of your palm — a firm affection just for you to giggle about. The ambience around him didn’t resemble the one libraries usually possess anymore. It was an appointment now, and you adored the way he turned the place into a makeshift clinic with just a few quickly grabbed from the pharmacy trinkets. 

“For you?” you pulled a taunt — an innocent one, yet utterly unsubtle in its intentions. 

“Well, I’m your doctor,” he wreaked vengeance with a playful protest, elegantly twisting your implication. A reciprocation, of sort; a playful thing returning every single one of your tortuous undertones. “It’s only natural that you listen to the professional’s recommendations.” 

He wasn’t clueless anymore. He wanted to proceed. He begged to proceed, actually; grazed your forearm approbatory and dull, then dared to crawl into the sleeve of your shirt. Just the briefest presence of fingertips under the cloth — peak intimacy only a library could provide. 

“But I’m not quite deceased yet, and last time I checked — you were a mortician,” — a shot back, witty and precise. Had him chuckling warmly as you raised your head, allowing the copper to meet your irises with a playful tingle. 

“Believe me, I can be versatile,” Viktor assured, only giving you half a tease to work with, to unravel. Submitting his gentle touch and returning to the medical one instead, carefully pulling out a patch out of his pocket after a short session of rummaging around.

“Oh, I already figured that much,” you allowed him to lead — both literally and figuratively, careless about the way he victoriously pointed out the flush on your face — barely as crimson as the disaster he cleaned up for you, yet still pleasantly noticeable. 

That boy was no usual rook, knight or bishop of yours. Needless to mention something as fearful as a pathetic king.

There was something slightly pawn-like about him though — but you didn’t hate it like you normally would. You didn’t mind a little submission. You adored it. You wanted him at your mercy. Erotically so, to be precise. As if him wrapping a patch around your swollen finger isn’t erotic enough already.

Although it wasn’t mercy that made him care for you. 

It was tenderness. A thing all the five-types-one-should-avoid were not capable of on their own. 

Viktor broke the silence with a strangled little cough. 

“It might ruin your nail-polish,” he warned, eyes flickered between you and already tinted with a humble red spot patch. 

“As if there’s any nail left to apply the polish to,” you hissed, wincing at the sharp sensation stinging that sensitive piece of skin — no doubt staining the fresh little rag even more. Viktor tried to ease your suffering with an almost friendly pat on your shoulder. 

What a way to ruin the eroticism. 

“A tragedy, if you ask me,” he whispered, short and sweet, with a contrite little sigh, “you messed up a perfectly nimble hand.” 

“You don’t know the first thing about compliments, do you, Viktor?” you pricked back, harmless and waggish; a careless, erratic thing, — already too far gone to stop those lively amber eyes from scanning you with terrified unease: had he said something stupid? Had he failed in humoring you? 

You pulled him firmly straight out of the paralysis of his distress, fingers yanked gently at his to put them — now skittish and a little tense — back into an intertwinement with yours, demanding they linger there, safe and tender. 

“I’m getting there,” he budged, slowly growing less fidgety against your touch, “Forgive me, I’m yet to master the art of courting.” 

“I’m fucking with you,” you reminded handily. Watched him form a theatrical little scoff, but his teeth betrayed him, leaping out in an impish smile. 

“Of course you are. You journalists love to torment people,” Viktor nodded, slightly tickling the underside of your palm with a relaxed swipe of a thick-skinned thumb. 

You didn’t take it personally. You didn’t fancy your major enough to get defensive. 

You didn’t question how exactly he found out about it either. His answer — tanned, handsome and talkative — was most likely rotting in bed right now, still half-alive from his birthday black-out even though it’s been literal days. Besides: if Viktor were to ask how did you find out that he’s an exceptional future engineer or that he’s a winner of multiple open chess championships — you’d send him straight back to Jayce too. The source was obvious. 

“You know what I’m majoring in? Did you make a dossier of my poor persona?” you chose that torment instead. At his service, you gave the man precisely what he’d requested.

A thoughtful one, a pretty disgrace at his whim. 

He should’ve been more careful with his desires. 

“You’re not a project of mine to keep a dossier for you,” he reproached smoothly. “Unless…” his tongue clicked in thick suspense, “you’d allow me to make one. For collecting kompromat, of course — a procedure every opponent should adhere to.” 

“Kompromat?” 

“Yes, kompromat,” Viktor confirmed, unaltered. 

“But I’m innocent,” — a cheeky lie, blatantly obvious. Had him squeezing your hand to prevent you from sliding out of his grasp, all too tight for a man that shrinked into a handsome flustered mess at your first attempt to crawl under his pale skin. Perhaps he simply took his sweet time in comprehending that he’s allowed to be vengeful. 

“A cruel woman, mercilessly flirting with her opponents to bribe them into resignation?” he deadpanned, evidently pleased with a newly established privilege of savoring your touch for however long he pleased. “What’s innocent about that?” 

“I’m not trying to bribe you into resignation!” you sneered, now defensive. Pulling away to watch him sigh at the loss of you in his palm — but he didn’t chase after you. Viktor backed off, bitter and respectful, leaving you with just the aftermath of his touch and a blood-stained patch tightly wrapped around your phalanx. 

“You‘re not?” he whispered, suddenly reminded of the library’s policies. 

You soothed him with a nod, following the trajectory of his wandering eyes. Pushing the amused hum back into your mouth as Viktor forced his sleeve to roll up, exposing a worn down watch. Apparently also reminded that he does not, in fact, belong just to you this Friday. 

“I would use more… radical methods if I aimed to bribe you into anything at all,” you laughed out a raspy sound, no doubt feasting upon the way he stirred, wrapping that food for thought with him to go. 

“How reassuring,” he murmured back, brushing his upper lip in a pensive, fleeting lick, eyes darting to your still full of unfinished business board. 

“You’re leaving?” you mumbled rhetorically, hating just how desperate that came out. 

“I’m afraid so, yes,” Viktor mused, reluctantly grabbing the clocks he brought with him, “but I still have to show you the draw. If only we could arrange another meeting.” 

“But we weren’t recording our moves,” you groaned at the silly oversight, watching him rise heavily to his lanky legs, stretching above you into a tall pretty sight. “I don’t trust my memory to that extent.” 

“Well, I do,” he objected, nestling his hand into the arched hilt of his cane, preparing to leave you — lonesome and terribly lacking his calming presence — in the legendary place of your duel. Making a bitter, sad-eyed mess out of you — a devastated subject abandoned in the filled with the smell of yellow pages air. 

But you weren’t exactly known for your unlimited patience. If anything, it was the other way around — you wanted him to indulge you now, to turn on those heels of his and sink back down in his squeaky chair, letting you devour his genius as fervently as you pleased — oh the price you’d pay to dive into his mind, to watch him think, and defeat, and conquer. 

“How does your schedule look on Sundays?” you uttered before your restless brain got the chance to turn it into an overthinked burden. A brave one — you had your eye on him and were determined to make it abundantly clear. 

And Viktor, albeit still discreet, was determined to reciprocate. 

“Normally — not eventful,” he laughed, delaying his departure to spare you one more sweet glance, “but this Sunday I’m playing chess with a remarkably persistent lady. As long as she’ll have me, of course.” 

He gawked at you with the repartee of a complete wiseacre, and you flinched with a giddy giggle, secretly hoping he’d emphasized that last part — or somehow specified it to prevent your mind from spiraling into all the different ways you could have him in. Oh the bitter consequences of being a smartass: sass is contagious and you poisoned him with it, dooming whatever boundaries and clarity this man had possessed before making your acquaintance. 

But it also meant the world was now your oyster. And you took the opportunity by its slender, practically paper-white neck — so far only figuratively, but you wouldn’t be opposed to turning it into something gentle and tangible: if only he consented to it, of course.

“Sunday it is, then. My room, if you’re comfortable?” you suggested, pushing it half-cowardly. 

“I’m not allowed in that part of the dorm,” he marveled at the bold offer, yet his response didn’t imply any objections. 

“And you intend to stick to that?” 

“Of course not.” 

“Then it wasn’t even worth mentioning. Room 505, it’s the one on the second floor…”

“What if I get lost?” 

“Say my name to any freshman-looking girl and they’ll walk you straight to my very door.” 

“Do you have a reputation I should worry about?” 

“Do you ever stop asking irrelevant questions?” you finally snapped, two steps away from turning a gentle neck-grip you fantasized about earlier into a cold-blooded murder in the middle of a college library. “I write essays to earn extra-cash, if you’re that curious. People around the campus know me. Now, back to more urgent matters: please, don’t show up before ten in the morning. No, scratch that — eleven is even better. I like to sleep in on Sundays.” 

Viktor listened to you carefully — with the perception of a responsible server, almost ready to scribble down your every complex instruction, only lacking a salute and a devoted ‘yes, ma’am’ to complete the procedure. 

“It’s been a while since I looked forward to play someone,” he’ll confess to you on his way out of the building, failing to hold that shy thing in the unreliable prison of his gritted teeth, leaning on that thin cane with the whole heavy essence of his trembling audacity. A test he dared to run only before slipping away from that wide-eyed state of yours, escorted by a row of now painfully familiar to you clacks of metal against the concrete. 

And later, when that hot summer day will slowly melt into a hot summer night; when you’ll abandon the comforter of your bed to stick out of the window, half-naked and positively enraged; when you’ll smoke your third cigarette of the hour to tame the riot of aroused nerves — you’ll think about him, and about chess, and about the things chess made you want to do to him. 

—

notes: 

*Bobby Fisher — a grandmaster, the only American chess player to defeat soviet players at the time. Died of kidney failure at the age of 64. 

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @thehistoriangirl @queen-of-elves @vyshnevska

[wickedwitchofthesouth]

The feminine urge to write an atyd level fic for new gen Harry Potter where the slytherins have their own marauders-esque friend group and scorpius and albus are the main focus ship. UGHHHHH THE URGUE TO WRITE A FATHER SON ARC FOR AL AND HARRY THAT GOES INTO DETAIL ABOUT HARRYS TRAUMA AND HOW IT EFFECTS HIS PARENTING!! The heavy looming weight of the urge to write a strained sibling relationship for James and albus because they are THEE prodigal son and the cursed child.

THE WAY I WOULD WRITE THE PERFECT FRIENDS TO LOVERS FOR SCOR AND AL . the way I would add the best oc who the fandom will fall in love with and regard as canon for years to come UGHHHH

[viivdle]

I stand before Cardan, and he looks mortifying in his beauty. He carelessly slumps down on the sofa in his chambers, blissfully unaware of my anxiety. Or, worse, blissfully aware.

“I ought to be mad at you,” he says, and I almost flinch at the sound.

“As I said, I didn’t kill my husband, Your Majesty,” my voice shakes, and I hold onto the hope he will think I am holding back tears.

“Yes, that would be correct. Your husband is sitting in front of you, well and alive. Is he not?”

viivdle productive era??

my ~1900w jurdan fanfic heaven and hell were words to me is out now!!

i tried something different with this one, hopefully it was a good something different

this fic is for @annamatix who i have the pleasure to call my friend. i hope this is just the right amount of "romancy"

happy ramadan<33

[poyitjdr]

Aight hear me out: Zoro gets cursed fuckin’ Ella Enchanted style and he accidentally discovers that written commands *also* count after Sanji’s “kiss the cook” apron triggers it. Sanji stuffs the apron into a random drawer in Chopper’s office (he can’t seem to bring himself to actually get rid of it and that fact irritates the shit out of Sanji). Anyways, Zoro visits Chopper to discuss the curse from a medical point of view and Chopper pulls out the stupid fuckin’ apron and shows it to Zoro cause wtf is that in his desk drawer??? and BAM second kiss triggered

anyways that’s the exact line of thinking that got me to draw this lmfao

[dwarvishgeorge]

My piece for the @tf2bigbang! @presidentbungus wrote an amazing Demo Scout story and you should go read it!!!

-> My Art

Um, it's Kind of a Lot

Lonely men find each other in a place that collects failures like baseball cards. Things don't take long to get complicated. The 600-year-old haunted sword is NOT happy about it

[hlxc23]

Guys….i haven’t even started writing yet and it’s already starting….

My mom literally had 3 back to back heart attacks last night and has been in the hospital (she’s fine) (plus I have extreme mommy issues so I’m doing fine but still). The AO3 author curse has already struck.

[valcaine]

Can we see art/sketches of philza lowkey being terrifying?

woe, a sorta old crow man doodle upon ye,

Haven’t really had the energy to draw things recently as my ass ended up in the hospital and it just. Killed Everything I had left in me so apologies for any absence, I hope to get in the drive of making emduo art again. I have Things™️ planned, it is mostly a matter of me gaining the motivation again to finish them lmao

if anyone is interested. please do commission me!

[pygmi-cygni]

writing tips pt idk - swearing in a second language.

ok ok ok. here's the thing - i am by no means asking you to learn the language you wanna use for the character. that is way too much work and makes no friggin sense. I totally understand using google translate.

but.

There are some linguistic differences that you need to be sooooooo aware of when you write in that language.

The mistake i see the most is swearing. profanity.

profanity is not universal. 'fuck' in one language does not always mean the same thing as it does in English/your language.

keep in mind, when you use google translate, it translates it literally. the literal translation of 'fuck' is sexual intercourse. so the word you get will mean 'sex.'

Also - some words are taboo in different cultures. In Australia/Britain, 'cunt' is used liberally and doesn't mean anything terrible. If you used 'cunt' casually in America, it would cause a huge scene. So, don't assume that 'fuck, shit, damn' all work the same across languages.

I'm not asking you to do a huge research project, but look up 'common swears in [x] language' or 'surprised phrases in [x] language'.

Especially because your readers might actually know the language you're writing in. I know firsthand how irritating it is to read something so incorrect it's offensive. Seriously, if you don't pay attention to the consequences of your phrasing, you might offend someone. I know you can't please everybody, but this isn't that hard to fix.

I speak Russian as my first language (I apologize for the country's actions, I feel no affiliations towards Russia and Putin is a disgusting pig) and insulting someone's mother is a huge offense. Massive. In English, it can be a casual joke. Never in Russian. "son of a bitch" will get you stabbed. I'm serious.

English is pretty unique in the casual way swear words are used. Most of the time, there are substitute words used for a joke, and the real deal is only uttered in dire circumstances. (like 'frick' versus 'fuck'.) Assuming all languages will react the same way is not true.

again - don't devote your life to learning the language, but put in the work to make your writing authentic. offending someone because you were slacking isn't cool.

Swearing is pretty important. Pay attention, give it a little bit of effort.

xox love you, keep writing