#idk if i just have?? any canes around?

[autumnfangirler]

.

[bat-luun]

straight up considering getting a cane ngl..

[jackass-jones]

Tags by @neuromantis

Yeah definitely that’s why I’m always kinda hesitant to say much about snake as a disabled character cuz it’s like. Certainly not as bad as some shit ive seen but it’s mostly because it’s not incorporated into his character hardly at all, it’s only mentioned when plot convenient

Take what I’m about to say with a grain of salt since I wouldn’t say snake was really written to be A Gay Character but regardless the way snake’s gender and overall personality is portrayed is probably one of the best depictions of gay men I’ve ever seen. He’s very pretty, dressed in expensive clothes reminiscent of a prince, with beautiful wavy hair and an air of poise and sophistication. He’s the smartest person in the room and he KNOWS this and he will not hesitate to be a condescending prick. He’s delicate and funny and charming. He has no fear or hesitation about suggesting he and Junpei share a bed or referencing gay sex. All these things tend to make a character the butt of jokes or at the very least regarded as lesser than the other characters but with snake hes the most admired one here. He’s very capable and is in fact so capable he literally needed to be removed temporarily from the situation so that the others could solve the mystery on their own. He’s absolutely fearless, doesn’t care about pissing off Aoi or getting shot multiple times by Ace. He’s fucking strong as hell and is able to survive being shot multiple times and have enough strength to dig his claws into Ace and force them to burn to death together. Everyone loses their shit without him and he’s the key to escape. He’s cool as hell and he fucks severely

[spider-stark]

EVERYTHING

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker doesn't make any sense—and trying to understand him is getting to be exhausting.

Warnings - fem!reader, reader worked at a brothel, subtle hints at past abuse, some major dog / master symbolism idfk, mentions of blood/weapons, close proximity, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED SO IF THERE'S A TYPO IDK

Word Count - 3.8k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Touch me.” 

You’ve only just slipped inside Kaz Brekker’s room at the Slat, and you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. The door’s still cracked, after all—and the mindless clamor of those playing cards down in the foyer is loud enough to play tricks on anyone’s ears. 

You push the door shut, habit making you click the lock into place before spinning around to face him. “Pardon?” 

The lanterns burn low, dim light chasing shadows across the spacious attic. Kaz stands over by his desk, leaning his weight against the edge in lieu of his cane. He’s dragging a gloved hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he snaps. 

Your laugh comes out breathy and awkward. “We both know I’m a shit actor, Brekker.” 

It’s why you’re never picked when the Dreg’s need a decoy—some girl to saddle up next to a sleazy merchant or another hapless mark, distracting them with batted lashes and a well-timed hand on their thigh. In Jesper’s words, you’re so socially inept that you’d probably blow the operation before it even got started.

To your dismay, Kaz doesn’t repeat himself. With his gaze carefully pinned to the tops of his black boots, he demands, “Why are you here?” 

Your brow quirks. “At the Slat?” 

“In my room.” 

The answer eludes you. Why did you come up here? It’s not like tonight was the first time Dirtyhands has ever skipped out on playing Blackjack with the rest of the group, and yet he’d caught your attention when he slipped from the foyer and went limping up the stairs. 

Then again, that’s not so surprising. Kaz always catches your eye, doesn’t he? 

In the year since you joined the Dregs, you’d earned an unfortunate nickname for yourself around the Barrel: The Bastard’s Pet. Wherever Kaz Brekker goes, you’re sure to be hot on his heels, following after him like a dog, loyal and clingy. 

You tell yourself it’s because that’s your job—to keep Kaz safe, to watch his six. But the devil’s got eyes in the back of his head, and you know Kaz Brekker doesn’t really need protection. 

So, it begs the question: Why are you here? In his room, at the Slat, as a member of the Dregs? Why does he keep you around? 

Unsure of the answer, you simply avoid giving one. 

“You should play games with them sometimes,” you tell him, giving a subtle nod over your shoulder. Their voices are muffled now, but you can still hear everyone downstairs exchanging jeers as they shuffle another round. “It makes you look like a recluse, always sneaking off to be by yourself.” 

Kaz drums one finger against the desk. It’s an erratic beat, following no set rhythm. “I am a recluse,” he grinds out. 

You almost snort. Clearly. 

It’s not like anyone joins a gang with the hopes of making friends—and none of the Dregs are dumb enough to think they’ll find a buddy in the infamous Dirtyhands, anyway. Still, you don’t think it’d kill him to try being a little more sociable. 

The others would like having him around. 

You like having him around. 

“I’ll ask one more time.” Dark eyes flick up, heavy as stones when they land on yours. Suddenly, the large attic feels awfully claustrophobic. “Why are you here?” 

A lie comes easily enough, slipping right through your teeth. 

“I got bored playing,” you tell him. “And Jesper’s cheating, anyway.” 

“They’re all cheating,” Kaz points out. 

“But Jesper’s bad at it,” you argue. Lifting a shoulder, you add, “It ruins the fun.” 

His finger falls still against the desk, ceasing its rhythmless beat. Warm light flickers all around him, dark shadows dancing over the harsh angles of his face. You watch his jaw tick, note the subtle curl of his upper lip. You’re overcome with the distinct feeling that you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

Probably because you are. 

You’ve seen this face before. Been the one to clean the bloody mess left behind by whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of it. Now, as the one standing in the line of fire, you feel your stomach start to twist. 

You tell yourself it’s dread. Anxiety for what’s to come. 

“From where I was standing,” Kaz grinds out, his stare unflinching, “you looked to be having plenty of…” A sharp breath, his tongue gliding over pearly teeth. “Fun.” 

There’s something hidden in the word. A meaning that goes well beyond its dictionary definition. Is it a challenge? A dare, maybe? Or—perhaps the most unlikely of the options—some sort of plea? 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, finally daring a step closer, slowly drifting from the closed door. 

Kaz shakes his head. “It means what it means.” 

As you draw closer, he moves around the desk and takes a seat. He stretches his bad leg out in front of him, mindlessly rubbing a hand down toward his knee. It’s always bothering him by this point in the night. 

“Go back downstairs.” An order—not a suggestion. 

Across from him now, you place both palms on his desk. The smooth wood is cool against your skin, though the rest of you feels impossibly warm. It’s a side effect of standing too close to him, you think. The flushed cheeks and the vice around your lungs, always leaving your mind fuzzy and your pulse erratic. 

You hate him for it, sometimes. For the effect he has on you. 

“Why?”  you ask, riding out your little bold streak. “So you have a reason to gripe some more about me having fun?” 

“I’m not griping,” Kaz shoots back, very evidently griping. 

“Griping, carping, quibbling, or complaining—doesn’t matter how you word it, all of 'em fit you to a T right now, Brekker.” 

He’s not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the swirling patterns of the wood grain or the neat stack of papers or anything else that gives him an excuse to keep his head low. A month or so after you joined the Dregs, Kaz told you that you had a talent for getting under his skin. Maybe that’s why you don’t need to be able to see his face to know just how annoyed he looks. 

“Go downstairs.” 

“I will,” you vow. “After you explain what you meant.” 

Frustrated, he insists, “There’s nothing to explain.” 

“What did you say when I came in?” 

“Go downstairs.” 

You throw your hands up. “If you won’t tell me what you said, then at least explain why ‘fun’ is such a problem!” 

“Go. Down. Stairs.” 

“Make me.” 

Wood screeches, the chair flying back as he shoots to his feet. The stiffness in his leg makes the movement a little clumsy, and you don’t miss the subtlest flash of a wince before he leans against the desk. 

“Do you know why I brought you in?” 

For a moment, it’s all you can do to blink at him. Because, no—you don’t know why Kaz offered you a place with the Dregs. 

You’re not a sharpshooter like Jesper or a trained Grisha like Nina, not as smart as Wylan or as silent as Inej. You’re decent when it comes to sleight-of-hand and slightly above average with a blade, but even those skills are ones you’ve only learned since joining the gang. 

Back when you first met Kaz, you were nothing and no one. An unlucky girl roped into an indenture with Pekka Rollins, forced to work out of the Sweet Shop—the nastiest, most dangerous brothel in all of Ketterdam. 

“Because you’re secretly a big softie with a heart of gold?” You hope your sarcasm is enough to mask the twinge of shame brought on by your past. 

But Kaz is too good for that. Nothing gets past him—evident by the tiny wrinkle of concern that forms between his dark brows, instantly picking up on the faint dip in your tone. 

Fortunately for you, being observant doesn’t equate to being consoling, and so he doesn’t mention it. 

“Because you didn’t make me sick,” he answers, low and even. You’re not so sure if it’s an insult or compliment, and before you get a chance to ask, Kaz continues, “It was late. And raining. I’d just finished teaching a Razorgull lackey what happens when you breach parley. He was a real bleeder—made a mess of my suit. I ended up leaving him for Jesper to deal with. Thought I’d avoid eyes by sticking to the shadows, walking in the alleys behind the brothels.” Your eyes must be betraying you, because you almost think that’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Imagine my surprise when a runaway harlot nearly knocked a helpless cripple like me off his feet.” 

You bite your cheek, still deciding if you want to slap him for calling you a harlot or laugh in his face. In spite of his limp and cane, Kaz Brekker is far from what you’d consider helpless. 

“So, what? You had me join the Dregs because I nearly bulldozed you in an alley?” That whole night was spotty for you, the panic you’d felt having rendered your memory foggy and incomplete. 

“Inej had told me about you,” Kaz says. “That Pekka Rollins got a new girl—an escape artist, always trying her luck at running away.” 

You didn’t know that, but maybe you should have. Inej isn’t the best spider in the Barrel without reason. She knows everything—and all she knows is reported directly to Kaz. Even so, you’re not sure you’re catching his point with all this. 

As if he can see you trying to mentally connect the dots, Kaz says, “Maybe I had another purpose in walking behind those brothels. Maybe I wanted to see just how quick on her feet Pekka Rollins’ escape artist was.” His head tilts slightly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to see me when I wasn’t looking my best. Either way, I left that alley knowing you’d be a part of my crew.” 

Your memory of that night may be spotty, but the one after is still crystal clear. A Suli spider had crawled through your window at the Sweet Shop, told you that Per Haskell was willing to pay a very hefty sum to buyout your indenture if you agreed to work for the Dregs. To this day, you’re still unsure of how Kaz managed to convince him you were worth it—or why he bothered. 

“You’re not making any sense, Brekker,” you admit, rubbing at your temple. A headache burrows there, seeming to grow worse with every minute. “Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? Cause I’m… fast?” 

It sounds stupid. It is stupid. 

You’re no faster than anyone else—and you certainly hadn’t been fast enough to outrun Pekka Rollins’ goons. Everytime you made a run from the Sweet Shop, they dragged you right back, kicking and screaming the whole way. 

“No.” Kaz sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “I wanted you-”

Kaz doesn’t finish that thought. 

A violent CRASH! steals your attention. Both of your heads snap toward the closed door, listening intently for any sign of danger.

Instead, you hear Jesper’s boisterous cackle chime. Wylan starts shouting about something indiscernible—vase, shattered, and moron among the words you catch.

A smile sneaks up on you. 

But, when you turn back to Kaz, it’s promptly wiped away. 

He looks like he’s had a lemon rind forced into his mouth, scowling at the door. “What’s going on with you and Van Eck?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

You did—but hearing him is a far stretch from understanding him, and it’s seemed like Kaz has been talking in circles since you came in. What’s Wylan have to do with any of this? 

“I don’t get what you’re asking.” 

“Stop making me repeat myself.” 

“Then stop being so confusing, Brekker!” you huff, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand-”

Kaz cuts you off with a look. Cold as death, he grinds out, “Are you fucking him?” 

Shock. Confusion. 

They course through you in equal measure, coupled with slight amusement. The latter must show on your face, because Kaz’s scowl deepens before he looks down at his desk, pretending to fiddle with something. 

“I have work to do,” he says stiffly. “Go downstairs.” 

Your feet stay firmly planted, the desk’s width all that separates the two of you. “Why would you think that?” 

Of all the assholes and degenerates in the Dregs, Wylan’s probably the closest you have to a real friend. It came with the territory—both of you having become newbies around the same time, trying to learn the ropes and fit in. 

You’re not fucking him, though. 

Kaz sinks back into his chair. His usually-squared shoulders curve slightly, as if some weight is pressing down on them. “Go downstairs.” 

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?” you ask, almost taunting. 

“Go.” The word strains between his teeth. “Now.” 

For no good reason, you make a stand. Stare down the barrel of the gun, unafraid and unrelenting. How strange, you think. The tightness in your chest has never once been apprehension. 

It was excitement. Anticipation. 

You’ve always liked getting under his skin. Finding out what makes him tick, figuring out which words earn the sharpest glares. You want him to pull the trigger, if only because it means you have his attention—and like a dog waiting at its master’s feet, you could care less if it comes with an open hand or a closed fist. 

So long as it comes. So long as he notices you. 

“What did you say when I came in?” You uncross your arms, make yourself stand up tall. “Tell me.” 

Dark eyes shoot up. Kaz almost looks shocked, the dull echo of emotion creasing the lines of his face, parting his lips. You wait, but no sound comes out. 

Dirtyhands is used to giving orders. Not taking them. 

“You’ve heard what they say about me.” You wave a dismissive hand toward the shoddy window overlooking the Barrel. “Brekker’s Pet. Always with you, always following you around! Ask any sod in Ketterdam and they’ll say the same—the only way I’d have time to fuck someone is if you were in the room!” And even then, it wouldn’t be Wylan. 

A steel rod takes the place of Kaz’s spine, turning your words over in his head. “Fine. Maybe you haven’t,” he relents. “But you want to.” 

It’s a gamble. An unusually shitty one, at that. 

You blow out an exasperated breath. This whole thing is getting old. “Saints, Kaz. What’s your deal?” 

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then opens it again. 

“I saw you downstairs,” he says. “Touching Van Eck.” 

Your brows lift, fists clenching. You don’t know what you expected from him, but it certainly hadn’t been a bold-faced lie! 

But then you start thinking of the moments before you saw Kaz head upstairs, laughing and playing Blackjack before you folded your hand to follow after him. You’d been sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, wedged between Wylan and Raske, when you noticed—Shit. 

Kaz is right, and that makes you want to scream. Why is Kaz always right? 

It was after you noticed Jesper was cheating, that he’d poorly marked the deck with daub; a sticky, ash-colored substance. You’d leaned in close to point it out to Wylan—your hand against his forearm, your lips dangerously close to the Merchling’s ear. After he noticed the marks, you both exchanged quiet giggles over just how bad Jesper was at swindling. 

Still, there had been nothing sexual about it. Nothing between you and Wylan. 

But, even if there was, why would Kaz care? 

I saw you—touching Van Eck. His words race through your mind, pulsing in time with the dull ache in your temple. Touch me, touch me, touch me. 

All of a sudden, the fog begins to clear. Something in your memory clicks. 

That night behind the brothels—when you were running from the Sweet Shop, when Kaz had been drenched in the blood of some Razorgull. Barefoot and frantic, you really had almost knocked him off his feet. Gloved hands had held your arms tight, keeping you still. His hair had been messy and your mind a blur—and when you’d seen the crimson smeared across his cheek, you hadn’t thought twice before wiping it away. 

You’d done what so few have. You had touched Kaz Brekker, skin-on-skin. 

Because you didn’t make me sick. 

When you don’t speak, Kaz shifts in his chair. Straightens an already-neat stacks of papers. “You won’t try and deny it?” he asks. 

Maybe you imagine the quaver in his voice. Or maybe you don’t. 

Either way, you start around his desk. Your every step is slow—cautious. 

You stop beside him, and Kaz shifts again. You’re standing closer than you’d usually dare to get, so close that you can hear it when he swallows. 

“You should go downstairs,” he tells you, lower than before. 

Your head tilts, hair shifting over one shoulder. “Is that what you want?” 

His answer hides in silence so thick it’s a tangible presence. It curls around you, makes gooseflesh prickle along your skin. Your mouth feels dry, your stomach like it’s tied in knots. 

Suddenly, you don’t need him to repeat what he’d said. 

As always, Kaz was right—you'd heard him the first time. 

“Ask me again.” The words drip from your tongue, an order and a plea. “Ask me and I’ll do it.” 

Kaz gives you a look, one you’ve never seen before. Dark eyes rove over you, brimming with worry and stress and—and Saints, a sense of desire so strong it makes your toes curl in your boots, a feeling like lightning coursing up your spine. 

In a voice like stone on stone, raspy and urgent, Kaz breathes out, “Touch me.” 

So you do. 

You cup his face, graze your thumb over his cheekbone. Kaz stiffens, swallowing once more—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away. 

“You know, to be such a bastard,” you start, a note of teasing in your voice, “you’re awfully pretty, Brekker.” 

Heat blooms against your palm, a deep blush crawling over his pale cheeks. 

“Shut up,” Kaz grumbles. 

You grin. “Want me to go downstairs?” 

A gasp rips from your throat as a gloved hand clamps around your wrist, Kaz pulling you down toward him. Anxiety still tightens his features, but beneath it he looks all too pleased with himself when you stumble clumsily into his lap. 

For the sake of comfort, you adjust your legs—careful for his bad one—and settle your arms over his shoulders. Then, when it fully settles that you’re straddling Kaz-fucking-Brekker, it gets a lot harder to breathe. 

“Should I take that as a no?” It sounds like a pant, your lungs constricting. 

He lifts the hem of your shirt, the feel of leather cool against your skin as Kaz jabs a finger into your side. “Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” he asks. Dark eyes dip past your jaw, his tongue gliding over his lips. You don’t think he actually cares to hear your answer, which is good—because you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to speak. 

Kaz drags his finger up the curve of your waist, his touch tentative and featherlight. It feels a lot like being studied—the way his dark brows knit together, staring at you as if you’re a magic trick he’s yet to master, a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out. 

“It’s not because you’re fast,” he says, somewhat distracted. It takes a minute for you to realize that he’s referring to your earlier question—Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? 

“Good,” you manage. “Because I’m not.” 

The slightest twitch of a smile. “No.” He takes his time tracing over every divet in your ribs, slowly trailing up, up, up. “You’re not.” 

“But I didn’t make you sick.” You’re not prepared for the wave of sickness that comes with the reminder, stomach roiling. 

The Bastard’s Pet. Is that truly all you are? All you’re worth to the Dregs? Useless at saddling up next to sleazy merchants, but good enough to curl up at Kaz Brekker’s feet. 

As if he can read your mind, Kaz’s hand goes still against your side. “Wipe that sour look off your face, would you? If I only wanted you to touch me, I would’ve just come to the Sweet Shop instead of getting my ass chewed by Haskell.”

You wiggle just enough to knock one knee into his hip, glaring at him. Both of you pretend not to notice the catch in his breath—or the growing hardness straining against his trousers, pressed against your core. 

Gruff, Kaz continues, “You were in an alley and saw a man dripping with blood, and your first thought was to reach out and clean his cheek.” His head shakes, a strand of coal-black hair swaying near his temple. “It was ignorant,” he tells you. “And… decent. Innocent.” 

You almost laugh. Innocent. That’s hardly a word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially right now, your every muscle straining in an attempt to keep your hips perfectly still, hands folded at the base of his neck. 

“I didn’t know innocence like that could survive in the Barrel.” His hand starts again, tracing little shapes against your side. “Even if you never touched me again, I wasn’t gonna let Pekka Rollin’s crush someone like you between his grimy little fingers.” 

“So that’s the answer?” you ask, nibbling on your lip. “I’m in the Dregs cause I’m innocent?” What a reason to have someone join a gang. Hey, you seem pure! Wanna get corrupted? 

“You’re in the Dregs because you know how to persevere,” Kaz answers, holding your gaze. “How to get up and try again, no matter how many times you’re knocked down.” The sensation of smooth leather drifts higher. “Because you’re a survivor.” Your eyelids flutter, sucking in a breath as he palms the plump curve of your breast. “Because you’re loyal,” he starts, and it’s almost reverent the way he almost whispers, “my perfect little pet.” 

The world grinds to a halt. 

Outside of this room—this moment—nothing exists. 

Too quiet, you ask, “What do you want from me, Kaz?” 

You want him to feel in control, to be the one that decides how this is gonna go. But your self-restraint is a fraying cord, mere seconds from snapping in half. 

If it were up to you, how far would you go? How much of Kaz Brekker would you explore? As far as I could, you think, desperate. As much as he’d let me. 

That’s the trouble with dogs. They’re loyal and clingy, forgiving and insistent. They want for everything and take whatever they’re given. They’ll spend hours begging at your feet. Lick scraps from the floor until their tongues begin to bleed. 

When it comes to Kaz Brekker, you’ll take whatever he has to give. 

And you’ll never stop begging for more, more, more. 

“Everything.” His breath is warm against your lips, the leather cool on your breast. “I want everything.”

a/n - just in case anyone couldn't tell, i obviously just finished reading six of crows (yeah ik i'm very late to the party). i randomly started writing this while i was stuck in traffic and it just sort of spiraled over the past 24 hours and now here we are! this was born! idk if i'll get anymore kaz ideas, but it was fun writing something more dialogue heavy (dialogue has my heart<3)

[straightouttherosebush]

𝙃𝙚𝙭𝙚𝙙 <3

Side note can we talk about how this version of Viktor and hexcore (rainbow) Viktor are the best versions of him? Did bro say Glorious Ovulation because holyyyyyyyyyyyy 0///0

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧: Viktor my beloved <3

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Just general romantic/some NSFW headcanons for my favorite boy. You can picture these with whichever Viktor you want (I guess), but I feel S1 Viktor fits best.

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: NSFW themes (edging, eating out, praise kink on both sides if you squint, public sex fantasies), AFAB reader (mostly intended to be fem! reader but I'll be extra careful for my nonbinary/ftm friends)

𝙍𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙘 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

First off, I wholeheartedly believe in asexual/gay Viktor, and I am 100% a JayVik shipper, but a girl can also dream that he's bisexual with a male preference. It's a stretch, I know.

That's what we get for liking our men fruity.

Absolutely adores acts of service (his favorite), but physical touch (like the forehead touch that zaunites do, and other subtle movements) and verbal reassurance are things that make him feel appreciated.

Not huge on displaying his affections anywhere but in private. Nobody would even know that you guys are together and he likes it that way. He already has enough eyes on him, though they're mainly on Jayce.

Not big on names either, and idk if Czech exists in the LoL universe (as saddening as it is). He sticks with mentioning you as his "partner," though a "love" will sometime slip out when the two of you are alone.

"Can you please pass me those notes, my love?" "Do you need any help, love? You look... frustrated." "My cane is all the way across the room, can you please bring it to me, my love?"

You have to try your damnedest to either get into his lab to see him or to get him to turn in for the night. He reasons that this research is vital to his well-being, but so is rest. It usually doesn't work, so you at least bring him something to eat/drink.

I look at that man and think "pathetic twink," but with his attitude/personality, I can actually see him as more of a dominant figure in a romantic relationship. He is very sassy, he is assertive, and he is blunt. He doesn't look like he'd be like that, so it's a welcome surprise.

Generally a patient partner and is perfectly fine with slow-moving relationships. Actually, he prefers them. Not only does he enjoy the feeling of quiet, calm yearning, but he sees no reason for turbulence if one is trying to create a lifelong connection (which is what he generally looks for).

Viktor is all-around really thoughtful, and even when you don't think he's listening, he'll remember the events of your day with perfect accuracy and even the food you mentioned eating this morning. Even the way you phrase things, he has sharp memory and is very considerate and attentive.

𝙉𝙎𝙁𝙒 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

I headcanon that he is 100% a virgin

Switch, but top leaning. Let me explain.

Just as I said he was more dominant in romantic relationships, once he is comfortable with a partner, he also becomes more sexually dominant as well. This might take him a while but I SWEAR it's worth it.

Limited mobility hinders a lot of things he wishes he could do (he'd be more experimental if not for it). He sometimes psychs himself out and gets a little worried that he's leaving you unsatisfied.

His back specifically makes it hard for him to completely bend or move around, so he’s often either sitting or laying down. (Also suffers whenever he arches his back out of pleasure)

Please tell this man he’s perfect or even sufficient the way he is, compliment his waist/back, his thin face, his thin frame, anything he is insecure about. He secretly loves this, and he has an inferiority complex due to his many ailments and his social status (as he is still from Zaun.)

More of a giver than a receiver, he takes more pleasure in feeling your fingers in his hair while he overstimulates you with his tongue. Very skilled for someone who has NEVER done that stuff.

He is such a sweet dom, mostly ever lets out whimpers and small moans, as well as pure, sweet compliments, or the very rare tease. However, if you ever hear him curse under his breath, you know it's good.

Prettiest fucked-out expression EVER, eyes rolled back, head thrown back, back arching, the whole shabang.

Mainly has you riding him, his face, etc. One time he told you that you didn't need to hover and it was okay for a LITTLE but then he found it difficult. He still loves to have you fully seated while he works his magic.

Into edging and is really cheeky about it. He'll make the most smug expressions while eating you out or... rather, stopping before you finish. Part of him likes seeing you struggle, it's funny to him.

Absolutely communication driven, but gets a bit more confident as the relationship progresses. He doesn't want to overstep, and wants to know what you want/don't want, but will make use of that knowledge later.

Cannot be coerced out of work with sex. Thanks for trying. Maybe when he gets home, but he's usually either sleeps at the lab or is too sleepy at home. It is an unwelcome distraction and it genuinely frustrates him.

Speaking of the lab, he does feel really flustered and ashamed to admit that he has fantasies about you sitting on the desk and him going at it-- tongue, dick, all of it. It isn't a huge thing for him, but it pops into his head every once in a while.

11/10 aftercare, though you wish your already debilitated partner wouldn't try to rush around after he exerted himself so much. He rushes around to get you cleaned up, make you tea, all of it. He insists on doing things for you first.

I hope I fed the Viktor enjoyers, I love you guys and hope you're doing well after the events of S2. Stay strong Viktor nation, and as for Jayce...?

Jaybe.

This is my first Arcane headcanon post and definitely not my last. :D

Thanks for reading! Rosey <3

♡MASTERLIST HERE♡

Ⓒ Written by Rosey, please do not copy/repost/translate.♡

[shtern-and-art]

I think there's just something in it. This blanket.

When Viktor rejects his past, his job, his social standing, his academic ambitions - all that and more. He goes to live his new life fully naked. Only with that blanket in tow. But when Viktor starts to build his new life, and his new self, closer to his actual goals (at least so he thinks at the moment), he doesn't get any new clothes.

People in the commune did. Sort of. They have redressed for the new life. And Viktor keeps wearing the only thing he brought over from the previous one. The cane doesn't count here, it also transformed into it's new self. But the blanket is still the same blanket. Just wrapped more securely around Viktor to give more coverage and protection like clothes would.

I'd say the commune followed Viktor's lead in ditching their old fashion styles and wrapping themselves in loose fabrics, like monks. For them it was abandoning their past. For Viktor it was not letting go of his. Not completely at least.

-----

There's something, s o m e t h i n g in this, you know?

He was wearing that blanket and only it. It became part of his divine (?) soul.

We don't see it on him in the arcane mindscape, where Viktor is happy and exploring with Sky (like he wanted to do with Jayce). We don't see it on him, when they talk honestly with Jayce. Viktor is actually naked there, soul bare, doing what he always wanted to do.

But each time Viktor tries to reject and diminish himself and his humanity, the blanket is there on his shoulders.

----

And I don't mean it in the soft "Jayce is always there caring about Viktor's wellbeing" way (even though it's totally true). Maybe Jayce did put that blanket on him the first time, but Viktor did it himself all the times after that. He kept the blanket and wore it in the commune. His mind created his celestial body on the arcane-plane, where the blanket wrapped around him like flesh. His divine evolved self picked the blanket up from the floor it fell on, after Viktor stepped out of the cocoon fully naked, not needing anything in life anymore but his goals.

----

This contradiction is so human.

It's like. No matter how strongly Viktor might want to destroy himself, his self who is weak and not needed. There was this one gesture of kindness towards him. At, probably, one of the most terrible moments of his life. When he was accepted and cared for as he is, even if Viktor couldn't bear it at the moment.

Idk, man. Now pull the blanket tight.

----

Even when Sky (symbolic representation of Viktor's guilt and desire for connection) was gone, he kept the blanket. On his soul now.

The braces on Viktor's god-self mean several things at once (not getting into it here, maybe in another post). But the blanket moving to that plane, too? Viktor's subconscious clutching at it, despite everything?

Like he actually never could let go of his humanity. Like it's impossible, when there's at least one little lifeline left. A glimmer of hope, of desire Viktor wouldn't even acknowledge to have.

Not even talking about the great gay love here.

----

Viktor wearing the blanket, pulling it tighter each time he essentially tried to kill himself. Means that he wants it. That connection. That kindness. Means that he wants to live. Despite everything.

If Viktor really fully lost himself in his ascension, his older self wouldn't have been able to recognise that desire.

Viktor's tragedy is not in him losing his humanity. It's in the fact that this goal, this Perfection is impossible to achieve to begin with.

(The dehumanised ableist perfection of capitalistic ideal life, and "fitting in" lies in this grave, too.)

He has to keep choosing to accept to not be human, each time at each turn. Accept it from the world, the system of power. From himself.

And yet, he never can. Not fully.

This is why the grand lie of it all is Viktor's salvation, too.

---

As soon as Viktor regained his (human) perception of himself, the blanket disappeared almost completely.

And when he faced his fears and desires and came back to himself fully - the blanket is gone.

Because Viktor doesn't need the externalised symbol of everything he's trying to let go off. All the yearning and desire to live is within him now (also Jayce is actually there with him, bet that helps).

---

I think this is the major point I disagree with in other, more pessimistic reads of the show's themes. That it's a story about oppressed people lashing out and breaking themselves in various ways to escape the pressure and threat of death from the world. That it doesn't go anywhere but conformity or death. Oh, I can write another separate essay about how Viktor and Jayce didn't die at the end and how important it is that it didn't happen (and i did!). This whole rant is part of it, too.

And I mean, bad things do happen to people in the story, they do lash out and break.

----

And yet, Viktor wears the blanket. Clings to it so strongly it becomes part of his godhood. Strong enough to eventually tell about it all (back in time) to Jayce.

And yet, even under unimaginable pressure, after breaking completely, Viktor is still holding on to that blanket. Is still human. Despite what the world told him all his life. Despite the world wanting him dead, gone, forgotten, not caring one bit, despite Viktor agreeing with all this eventually. He holds the blanket close.

Despite Viktor becoming a monster in everyone else's minds, a real threat to the proper Piltover society and his own people in Zaun. Despite all that, Jayce can still look at Viktor at his worst, most distant and cruel and say "I see you. I need you. As you are".

Despite Viktor going past any possible point of no return, destroying his body and mind, and being ready to destroy the world, too, despite giving in to everything he feared. Viktor can still hear it from Jayce and realise he was wrong.

Despite fucking it up infinite amount of times, there was still always the chance to get it right, and they found it.

----

Like. Isn't it wild. No amount of dehumanisation or cruelty you experienced can make you less human. Less worthy of care and love.

That blanket, man. I can't.

[loviestar58]

Sassy Viktor dating HC’s AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

(I need to see how sassy he would be in everyday life pls he’s so entertaining)

🤲

Thank you sm have a lovely day :D

🧡~Dating Sassy Viktor HC's/Scenarios~🧡

My first ever request! I hope it's good I'm not gonna lie I had some difficulty with this idk why shdudbdh

This'll be a mix of Viktor being sassy, sarcastic, teasing, and just being a general playful menace lol

Enjoy‼️💖

🩼~Feins offense at any little thing you do. We've all seen his face, he can make the most offended face imaginable. For example he'd make you something to eat (he can't really cook well and doesn't do it often but he does for you cause he loves you) and he'd serve it to you all smiles, and you'd be all smiles too. Viktor cooking? What a rare treat! Until you bite into it and feel your tongue yell at you "oooo this isn't right..". You try to hide it, chewing slowly, but he sees it immediately, asking if something is wrong.

"Oh it's nothing, just..interesting. The flavor doesn't feel right, I think you put too much salt and herbs-"

His face would scrunch into that offended look, eyes wide and rolling his eyes

"Oh, so you're a food critic now? Judging the food I put my heart and soul into to make for you? I see how it is.."

He'd pout and take his own bite, thinking you were overreacting

You weren't

🩼~It is a common occurrence to whack you with his cane. Usually he does it to get his way in petty arguments, you could be talking about how a certain formula was written wrong in his notes, him being so tired he didn't notice and miscalculated something, but he'd never admit to it. Anytime you tried to show him, he'd lift his cane to your shins and try to grab the book back. You'd recoil and try to dodge each time, laughing at how far he'd go to stay in the right, but he somehow always caught you off guard, and of course he'd never miss a chance to diss you, even if he was completely in the wrong

"You're just mad you're wrong!"

"I'm not wrong, lovely, you just lack the vision to see my genius"

"Well, "Genius", you wrote it wrong!"

"Perhaps you do need your eyes checked.."

🩼~This is Jinx's line in the show, but he totally would pull this classic

"So, Viktor, I've been thinking-"

"Well, thats quite the dangerous endeavor for you"

🩼~Would never let you live it down that you fumbled your attempt at asking him out, having gotten so nervous cause I mean. Look at him. You'd try to tell the story to some friends and make it seem like you were so confident and successful in asking him out, but he'd SO quickly chime in and rat you out

"Wh-"

🩼~Also would probably overuse the line "Suureee lovely, whatever you say" in the most sarcastic tone ever whenever you two have little back and forth banters and you're determined to prove you're right. When you'd call him out on it he'd respond with a knowing smirk and offended face "What? I would never! I do not know what you are talking about!" Hand on his chest, practically clutching his non-existant pearls in a dramatically comedic way

"Hmm that's not quite how I remember it. I remember you shaking like one of those ehh..chihuahuas, that pee all over themselves. And your words sounded more like squeaks of a mouse. I don't know where you got the notion that that is the epitome of confidence, but it must not have been a reliable source"

You'd hit his shoulder blushing profusely as he laughs, saying a playful "I love you" before ruffling your hair, making you role your eyes and pout

🩼~Attempting to get a pet is impossible with Viktor. He'd always say that they both don't have time to take care of an animal, that his work was too dangerous to have one around, no matter how much your beg, he'd just shit you down. That's when he says that he already has you, and that's enough work on its own alongside his inventing

"Are you implying that I'm like a pet?"

"You seem to love jumping to conclusions cause I said no such thing, but if you insist on seeing it that way, then yes. You're like a little rampaging Poro. Energetic, small, and a thorn in my side on occasion"

He'd chuckle as he watched you feign offense, your face pouty but unable to keep the smile from your lips, cause it is kinda funny how you can be compared to such a creature so easily. And you do the same, comparing him to a sassy cat. Which he doesn't deny and swiftly confirms by swatting at you with his cane in retaliation for the comment

I am so sorry this is short, I genuinely couldn't think of too much cause I felt I was just repeating the same things over and over again and not being creative..and I think I made him more teasing than sassy, but I tried😭

I hope this is what you were hoping for, even a little! If not, I'm sorry😖🙏🏼

[minswriting]

okayyy so…. been thinking about jesus reid with his cane lately and i was wondering if you could do a little blurb where spencer is having trouble…. finishing, maybe cuz of his leg (idk how that would work but like) and spencer’s getting all frustrated so coworker!reader offers to help him out and he’s all whiny n shit 🤭

nsfw | mdni

i can imagine this being like he rarely ever has any free time so he tries to get off when he takes a shower but standing for too long hurts his leg. so he went to work without being able to get off. i hope you guys enjoy!! this is fem!reader btw as all of my works are!

warnings: nsfw content, blowjob, female reader, whiny spencer

—————————-

when spencer came into work looking defeated, you immediately knew that something was wrong. you weren’t quite sure as to what it was. but as the genius doctor walked with his cane, you just assumed it was likely to be his leg bothering him. you had felt bad at the fact that he had been shot in the leg and was suffering through walking with a cane. and judging by the look on his face, the one of frustration and annoyance, you could tell it was most certainly his leg that was bothering him.

it was one of those rare days when there wasn’t a case and so the only work to do is paperwork or reading up on old case files. your desk was right next to spencer’s as you looked at your computer to check your emails. you glanced over at spencer, who was reading an old file. he was biting the inside of his cheek as his finger followed along the text, his hair falling to his cheeks. he looked tense and you couldn’t help but speak up.

“spence?” you asked, looking at the genius.

spencer looked up from the file to look at you. “yes?” he replied softly. his voice was usually soft spoken and you loved that about him.

“are you okay?” you asked with a concerned look in your eye. “you’ve seemed frustrated and annoyed all day,” you added.

spencer took a deep breath, stretching his arms. “i-i mean for the most part i am,” he exclaimed, “it’s just this damn leg. it’s been…a hassle really.”

“have you been elevating it?” you asked, tilting your head at your coworker.

“when i can,” he said with a small smile. your concern for him softened his frustrated demeanor. “it’s hard though, alone at home. especially because i have to do everything myself,” he said, licking his lips and running a hand through his hair. “i-uh barely have time to…take care of myself, and when i do, it hurts to stand on my leg for that long,” he whispered nervously, not knowing how you’d react to him.

“take care of yourself how?”

spencer’s cheeks reddened. “i uh you know what? it’s not appropriate, i’m sorry i mentioned anything at all. let’s just not talk about it, yeah?” he said, going back to looking at the file.

your eyes widened as you realized what spencer had meant. you quickly composed yourself, clearing your throat and going back to what you were doing. though with the redness of your own cheeks, it was obvious to tell that his words had some sort of effect on you.

the day went by without anymore conversation with you and spencer which bothered you a bit. it most certainly had felt awkward after that. though you couldn’t help but think about the idea of spencer trying to get himself off, jerking himself off. it was likely he did it most in the shower judging by how this job has early days and very late nights.

today, being the rare day that it was, everyone had gone home at 5:30 PM. when you had gone home, your thoughts were still on spencer. wet, long hair clinging to his skin as he leans on his bathroom wall, looking down at his cock, jerking himself off. you could imagine just how hard it was to stand that long on his leg, especially since you doubted he brought his cane into the shower with him.

around 8:00 PM, you decided it was time to be a good friend and help spencer with his issue.

you knocked on the door of spencer’s apartment. you stood there a bit anxiously, biting your lip as you waited for him to answer. you were wearing the clothes you had worn to work, a black pencil skirt and a red blouse. your hair was down. after a few minutes, you heard the tapping of spencer’s cane before it stopped and he opened the door. his eyes widened as he saw you, not expecting you to be at his apartment.

spencer was dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a FBI sweatshirt. you licked your lips nervously, looking at spencer. “oh!” he exclaimed. “y/n, what are you-“ he cleared his throat as he realized his voice was a bit too high. “what are you doing here?”

you took a deep breath. there was no backing down now. “can i come in?” you asked, looking at spencer. he moved to the side, allowing you to come into his apartment. you stepped inside and he closed the door behind you.

he walked over to the couch, taking a seat. you looked around the apartment before you turned to look at your coworker. “so,” you began. “when you told me, you’d been…struggling,” you continued, “i thought perhaps…i could help you.”

“w-what?” he stuttered, looking at you with his beautiful big brown eyes.

you walked over to spencer, your heels clicking on the wooden floor, before you kneels in front of him, between his legs. “i-i could help you if you let me,” you said softly, looking up at him. you put your hands on spencer’s thighs.

spencer licked his lips, looking down at you with a look you’ve not seen before. you could tell that your words had an effect on him, judging by the fact that he was already semi-hard in his sweatpants. “i-is this real?” he whispered.

you nodded your head. “yes,” you whispered back.

“i-if we do this, it’ll effect our whole dynamic,” he whispered, reaching a hand to move your hair out of your face.

you looked up at him, biting your lip. “i want you, spence,” you exclaimed softly. “and you need help. i want to help you,” you said as you moved your hand higher. you began palming him through his sweatpants, causing spencer to moan softly. “can i help you?”

spencer nodded his head, bucking his hips into your hand. “yes,” he said shakily. “please.”

you let out a breath of relief as spencer had given you. you put your hand on the hem of his sweatpants, pulling them down enough to reveal his cock. spencer let out a gasp from the cool air on his cock. it was red and angry, a signal that he hadn’t had relief in a while. his cock was long but not girthy. about seven inches or so in length. you smiled slightly, looking at spencer’s reddened face as he looked down at you.

you gave his cock an experimental tug, causing him to let out a small whimper. the sound was like heaven to your ears. the genius fbi profiler had been reduced to a whimpering mess by a simple tug of his cock. and it was powerful.

you lowered your head, giving the tip an experimental lick. spencer let out a shaky moan, bringing a hand to your hair. you slowly eased your mouth onto his length, stopping about halfway before going back up. your mouth moved up and down slowly, creating a rhythm as spencer whined and moaned, bucking his hips into your mouth.

it was all very new. you’ve of course done this before with other partners. but to do this with your coworker, someone you’ve had a crush on since you began at the BAU, it’s most certainly surreal. and clearly, spencer needed the help. so really you were just being a dedicated coworker.

“oh-oh fuck,” spencer moaned as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking his cock a bit faster. “feels so good,” he whined, closing his eyes in pleasure and throwing his head back. his fingers were entangled in your hair as you sucked him off, tugging at your hair gently. “mm!” he moaned. you hadn’t expected spencer to be so vocal but you didn’t mind it at all. it sent pools of arousal to your cunt, soaking your panties.

spencer began thrusting his hips into your mouth, unable to help himself from doing so and you allowed him to. what you were doing was for him. and if he wanted to use you for his pleasure, you were more than allowing him to do so. “oh my god,” he groaned, thrusting his hips up into you. “your mouth feels so good, y/n,” he said as he opened his eyes to look down at you. your messed up hair, your glistening eyes looking up at spencer, you were absolutely gorgeous.

spencer felt his cock stiffening as the heat in his abdomen grew bigger. he let out a loud trail of, “oh fuck, oh fuck, i’m so close, oh fuck.” he was about to pull out of your mouth but instead, you kept him in your mouth, sucking him off to completion. spencer let out a whine as he began cumming into your mouth with ropes. “oh my god,” he said, shuttering as his load shot down your throat. and being the good girl that you were, you swallowed greedily.

when spencer finished, you pulled off of his cock, leaving a trail of saliva and cum. spencer was breathing heavily, looking at you with a look of lust and gratefulness. he caressed your cheek, running a thumb across your bottom lip before bringing it up to his own mouth and licking it. “thank you,” he murmured to you, grabbing your hand to pull you onto his lap. you were careful to not hurt his leg at all.

“anytime,” you murmured back.

“i think i should show you how thankful i am,” he said before kissing your lips hungrily. and that kiss began a night of immense pleasure to the both of you.

it was safe to say that the two of you were no longer just coworkers anymore.

[colourstreakgryffin]

Teen!Reader finding Alastor all beaten and bruised after the finale and getting worried, insisting in patching him up, etc, while Alastor during the entire time is having a moment of realization like "oh, this kid ACTUALLY cares about me"

(This is platonic obviously, reader sees him like a weird older brother/father figure and looks up to him idk)

I love it. Simple, enjoyable and to be honest, we’ll just pretend Alastor had his sick solo in the finale before we showed up and I suppose Al will be quite unhinged and aggressive in this state so goddamn. Also, my second time writing about the finale

Platonic! Alastor- Reaching Out

“You son of a bitch, I am trying to help you!” You growl out, now half-wrestling with the Radio Demon himself, after his lose battle against Adam. Whilst Adam has been finally defeated at Lucifer’s hand then killed at Niffty’s knife. It’s clear as crystal that Alastor isn’t taking his own defeat well at all. He’s aggressive, completely lost his usual charismatic, well-mannered demeanour, he’s breaking down and barking at you to back off as you’re still trying to pry his own hands off the visible red bleeding wound over his chest

You’ve found this retreating deer out of pure luck and now, you’re acting on your compassion for him to try make the process of healing less painful for him

You’re the only Hazbin Hotel staff member that actually treated Alastor more than an annoyance standing there. He isn’t the best guy at there, never. No, but he isn’t as bad as Vaggie or Husk claim he is. However, right now, he’s boiling your blood with how much he is refusing to let you even touch him, despite the fact he needs to be patched up. He’s low on power, his cane is snapped in half, he’s limited and requires help

“I don’t need your help, Leitora!” Alastor barks back in possibly the most unhinged way you’ve ever seen, basically backing into a wall. He can’t even notice how worried you actually are, how you’re getting frustrated because you’re worried and you’re the only one who has been looking for and have found Alastor whilst everybody else is celebrating the victory over Adam. You’re the one looking for and now looking out for the man you actually find quite nice. He isn’t as patronising to you, for whatever reason, Alastor’s decent and it’s almost like he wants to be some type of figure in your life with how he behaves

“Stay still before you bleed yourself to unconsciousness, you narcissistic edible piece of shit!” You only say this so cruelly, sharp and half loud as to put Alastor into his place, prove to him you’re not backing down whilst you finally win the half wrestling session you have with the weakened and distressed Overlord, already beginning to check around for the entire length of the wound and use what little excess fabric your current clothing has to make a makeshift bandage for this wound

This is surprising, you’re possibly two times his age. A teenager, if not 15-16 at the oldest upon your human death and you’re acting more mature than the biologically 34 year old. Alastor just stayed quiet, tall fluffy deer-like ears still pinned back and suffering through the intense pain. He wouldn’t admit that he is quite grateful that somebody is around but at the same time, he doesn’t want to get attached to any soul

It took him a proper glance at the cute young sinner he found it fun to playfully tease, mock and behave like a clingy overprotective big brother to piss off, that they genuinely care for him. That they aren’t lying or pretending as to get something out of him like he suspects everybody in the Hotel, including Charlie, is

This is so much different than he suspected, he was believing he’d be going back to his radio tower to vent out his rage at being smacked in the face of such a pathetic opponent

Ending up being the pathetic opponent. He hates showing his weakness and he can barely keep himself from snapping but he also can feel his racking nerves ease up a bit at this strong, confident yet sweet and compassionate kid trying to take care of him when they have no actual requirement to do so

Alastor takes a few more seconds to think and speak, not even realising he was sat down by you as he was thinking frantically about how his own mischievous and mocking behaviour as some type of surrogate brother for you was more than just something down to see your reactions for his own amusement, he does feel some type of family-based affections for you

Now, that affection has been bumped up even more. He definitely owes you a lot for caring about him like some surrogate little sibling when all he does for you is annoy you. He doesn’t even know that you actually look up to him like some type of family figure… so, the familiar feelings are mutual

“Fuck… can you just be careful with the coat? This is my treasure”

(A/N: Real quick. Leitora means ‘Reader’ in Portuguese, this’ll be our name for any none anime posts. There’s two versions; Leitora as the feminine version and Leitor as the masculine version. You can use either for us! I got this from Google Translate)

[sweetsaladpainterranch]

Idk if you do asks but can you do a 6 month old demon story where Al stays too late at a overlord meeting and you have to go get him??

Hope you're doing well!

Sure, I can give it a try. I hope it's what you were looking for lol 🙂

...

Challenges of Raising a 6 Month Old Demon

If Mama Ain't Happy...

...

It was 11:26 pm at the entrance to the Carmine Compound and you were knocking at the large metal door aggressively. Your husband had promised to be back home to in time to give you an evening off from your motherly and hotel responsibilities (a luxury you hadn’t had for quite some time), yet he still hadn’t shown up for hours past when he was due to reappear. You were more pissed off than worried, so, without any other choice, you strapped your dozing fawn to your chest and set off.

After about 10 minutes of banging, you were greeted by the unenthusiastic, but familiar, demeanor of Carmillia Carmine. “I believe you have something of mine.”, you firmly voiced out. In response the tall demoness merely nodded and lead you up in the elevator. Your ire was palpable. You very clearly felt the raised tension in the air as static buzzed over your skin and your sensitive ears picked up the voice of an angry Alastor and another, equally aggressive voice coming from the room you were approaching. Evangeline also felt and heard the familiar aura of her father as she kicked her little hooves out excitedly. “We we’re hoping you would come to get him.”, Carmillia sighed tiredly when she pushed open the door and gestured to the two arguing men, “They’ve been in this pissing contest for hours!”

You looked around the room and spotted your mate leaning over his cane and arguing into the flat face of Vox. Rosie smiled at your tired face with sympathetic expression and shrugged her thin shoulders. “And another thi-“, Alastor was cut off when he heard the high pitched shriek of his daughter who was wriggling in her carrier. His ears flattened onto his head as he immediately jerked his head around to meet the fury of your gaze. “Ah…d-darling, I was just on my way home when this blowhard dared to comment on my-“, he cut himself off once again when you silently, but intently, walked towards him. The room’s tension rose with every step you took.

It wasn’t often that you found yourself upset, but your anger was always a force to be reckoned with, and Alastor was far too intelligent to pit himself against it. So he merely stood still in silent terror.

You stopped directly in front of him, face to chest, before quickly throwing him over your shoulder. Vox laughed at Alastor’s embarrassed bleat but the glare you shot in his direction wiped away any of his amusement. You held your scrawny Alastor tightly and turned on your heel to leave.

“I believe this playdate is over.”, you uttered softly to everyone in the boardroom and took your family home.

...

Sorry it's kinda short, Anon. I actually wrote this really quick while my own fawn was distracted by The Wiggles 😂

(p.s.- I friggin hate The Wiggles now)

-SSPR

[sorry-moots]

Stress Relief or whatever

idk what to call this but basically viktor assumes reader is attracted to jayce when that is Not the case (ooh that rhymes) tags: reader insert, gn!reader, assistant!reader, no use of y/n, reader is not from zaun, oral fixation if you squint cw: none, suggestive(?)

Viktor is used to the attention Jayce gets. He's tall, muscular, good-looking... and he doesn't need a cane or a brace to walk.

He's also not 'trencher trash' like Viktor is.

When you start working in the lab as an assistant, he's not surprised by your coquettish mannerisms. How you bend over to pick up fallen objects, instead of crouching. How you leave enough of your shirt unbuttoned to show off but still be considered decent.

Viktor especially takes note of your lips. You're always biting, chewing, and picking at your lips. His favorite part of any work day is when your lips get chapped. You always, without fail, turn to face the room when you apply your lip balm, like a lone performer gazing out at an auditorium full of people. And– just like a lone performer blinded by the stage lights that illuminate them– it's like you can tell your performance is being watched, even if you can't tell exactly who comprises your audience.

The point your eyes fix on varies but it's always in the vicinity of Jayce's desk, moreso when he's gone. Initially, he felt resentful; even when he wasn't in the room your attention was on his friend. This resentment eventually faded in light of this silver lining: you look breathtaking to him at this angle.

As Jayce becomes more occupied with his position as a councilor, you and Viktor work alone more often than not. The pressure to develop Hextech is tenfold without Jayce's help and it shows.

As an assistant, there isn't much you can do to help. Your job entails documentation of findings, restocking supplies, cleaning instruments, things of that nature. With Viktor working longer and harder to make progress, however, you start bringing meals and brewing tea. It's easier to get him to take a break when you ask him to eat with you, as opposed to just reminding him that he is human and his body requires sustenance.

One of these late nights, long after you had cleared away dinner, you approached him at his desk and started clearing away his things as he leaned back in his chair and massaged his temples. The sight has you overcome with impatience.

Circling around to his side of the desk, you seat yourself on the flat surface. "Viktor, before I leave, I was wondering..." you start, biting at your lip with anticipation. When he looks up and he's overwhelmed by the intensity of your stare as you undress him with your eyes.

"Is there anything else I can do to... alleviate your stress?" you ask, gaze settling at the nexus of his body.

It is then that he realizes every 'performance' you had put on was for him. The pleasant surprise that arises within him is evident as he smiles and answers your question with his own.

"What did you have in mind?"

a/n: i'm really sorry if this sucks but this man deserves the sloppiest toppy humanly possible and i needed to say it

[childrenofcain-if]

Damns, I love a mean MC since MC will never allow anyone to push them around but omg, that’s just pure mean for MC lmaoo.

I mean it’s not wrong for MC to suggest that? I get C is too pride to accept the fact they need a cane? Idk, maybe I’m thinking too much of it. Beautiful as always 🙏🏻🙏🏻

Hope you get this message. I sent others too but I think Tumblr ate it 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

to be fair, i think it’s a pretty sensitive topic for C and MC will be nicer about it than they were in the previous scenario.

obviously C is very prideful about showing any sort of weakness (it’s why they haven’t even bothered to get a knee surgery yet), but choosing the right words and understanding their perspective will get them to begrudgingly accept that they don’t have to keep rawdogging through the pain.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

the albatross - m. murdock

a/n: hi everyone! so this is that weird and off putting reader i was mentioning earlier! she's not that weird but she's sort of odd so yeah. also i know bucky is the winter soldier but idk how else to tag this so oh well! i do have lore and stuff for readers time as a soldier so i'll include that in later installments! i was kind of in a writers block and this pushed me out of that. so enjoy! please please tell me what you thought and if you want more! warnings: cursing, mentions of death, war, torture, pain, people being dead, reader having horrible people skills and ptsd, mentions of sex maybe? uhmmm in general reader is just sort of strange and this is her and matt's early relationship, so sorry if i missed anything ! word count: 3.6k summary: you have spent the past ninety (give or take) years tortured and in pain. then, a handsome stranger comes into your life and changes everything. pairing: matt murdock x winter soldier!fem!reader now playing: the albatross - taylor swift "i'm the albatross/i swept in at the rescue/the devil that you know/looks now more like an angel/i'm the life you chose/and all this terrible danger"

You’re working a morning shift at the bakery when he comes in. The pastries in the case are laid out just so, and you have been meticulously working on this sign for your fall specials. You are determined to focus on something that is not how poorly you slept, your hair tied up in a braid behind you as you work.

You’re determined to get these pumpkin stems drawn correctly; a green marker clenched in your hand. Your knuckles are white with the tension you are holding in your fingers. It’s around eight in the god damn morning, and you have been awake since around three a.m.

You don’t even hear the bell ring, nor do you hear the click-clacking of a cane on the tiled floors, you only hear an awkward clearing of the throat, to which you spin around, about to throw the marker at the customer, but stopping when you realize what you’re doing.

The customer smiles awkwardly at you, and you recognize instantly that between his glasses and cane, he is most definitely blind. You almost feel silly, until you remember everything, and you wish that there was more moments where you think you’re silly for being paranoid.

And there’s something else, too. You look at this man for a few moments, before realizing that he is so god damn hot. Which, is weird, because you have not felt anything for any man or woman in years, too busy focusing on other things, too busy thinking about everything that’s happened. But god, the stubble tracing his face, the way his dark hair falls, and the way his hand wraps around his cane..

But what gets you really is his lips. Maybe you’re staring, maybe you don’t care. But his lips are this pretty pink, and you find yourself getting lost in the nicest daydream you’ve had in a very long time..

And then, you snap out of that fantasy to remind yourself that you are working and don’t even know his name.

“Hi, sorry,” You cough awkwardly, “Was just focused,” You tell him, approaching the counter. You wipe your sweaty hands on your apron, before putting on your best ‘I’m a friendly bakery worker who just wants to sell you pastries, also tip me please!’ smile on. “What can I get you?” You ask.

“Do you guys have apple turnovers?” It is the first time this fall that is under 65 degrees, so you understand that there is some cravings for autumn snacks.

“Yeah, yeah,” You move towards the case to get some, “Just the one?”

“Three, actually. For the office.” He hums.

“Some big office,” Your voice is a sarcastic mumble, not really for the an to hear but he chuckles at it, and you almost think it’s weird that he an hear you but your brain tells you not to judge, since there is a whole lot the handsome stranger could judge you for.

“We’re a small business. Very friendly, very personable.”

You cannot help yourself, and you find yourself asking, “What sort of business are you in?” What the handsome stranger does not know is that you are insatiably angry at yourself for asking that because you had pretty much promised yourself that you were never going to have any sort of relationship—it wouldn’t be fair to them, it wouldn’t be fair to you. And as previously established, that wasn’t a problem, because you weren’t really attracted to anyone before this handsome stranger waltzed on into the bakery.

“I’m a lawyer.” He smiles. A lawyer.

“Well, Mr. Lawyer, your total is 10.75.” He pulls out a twenty and when you hand him change, he asks, “Which one is the five?” and you wordlessly pull out the five from the stack you handed him, before he puts the rest of the change in his wallet, dropping a five and a small card into your tip jar. “You have a good day now.” He hums, before making his way out of the bakery.

You watch intently, maybe a little too intently, and you hear the voice of your best friend from your teenage years in your head saying, ‘You hate to see him go, but you love to watch him leave.’ And a small smile finds its way to your face.

Then, you notice the card he dropped in the jar before fishing it out. On the front, it reads,

‘Matthew M. Murdock, Attorney at Law.’ On the back, you read,

‘Nelson, Murdock & Page, Attorneys at Law,

Hell’s Kitchen’

Accompanied by this is a phone number and an address.

You pocket the card, and before you know it, costumers are flooding in, and you ease into the day, forgetting about the handsome stranger until you leave the bakery at around six o’clock that night. You finish cleaning up from the day before letting the woman who works to prep for the next day. Then you leave, heading home to the too quiet, too small apartment.

You don’t have much in your apartment. You sleep with a gun under your pillow and you have a cheap TV on your dresser. You spend most of your time catching up on books or movies. You make yourself box mac and cheese before eating it right out of the pot, sitting on your kitchen floor.

As you cook the mac and cheese, you say his name over and over again, letting it sit on your tongue and escape your lips, thinking about him intently. You glance at your watch and decide that maybe it’s early enough that he might still be at his office.

You fish your tiny flip phone out of your pocket, dialing the number on the card and waiting. You’re holding your breath as the phone rings. A thought runs through your brain that maybe he gave you a wrong number and then your brain immediately reminds you that no man is ever going to give you his card, printed out, just to fuck with you.

“Nelson, Murdock & Page, how can I help you?” A voice asks, and you blink, hesitating for a minute.

“Uh, I’m looking for Matthew.” You say, and there’s some light shuffling, and again, this regret shoots over you until you hear a very smooth, very familiar voice,

“Hey,” His voice is like honey and you long to hear it clearer—The first time you’ve desired a better phone. “I was hoping you’d call.”

“Yeah, well, Maybe I just like the sound of your voice.”

“You know usually, that’s my line.”

“Wait, that works on people?” You hear his laugh on the other side of the phone and a shiver runs down your spine as you itch to make him laugh more.

“Telling people they’re beautiful doesn’t hit the same when you’re blind.”

“I guess not..” There’s a silence on his end of the phone, before he says,

“I never got your name.” For a moment, you consider giving him a fake name, but you find yourself giving him your name, the one that your parents gave you all those years ago. It’s foreign on your lips, a rare gem that you do not often give out. He repeats it and you swear you could almost die right then and there. “What are you doing tonight?” 

You’re taken back by his forwardness, not anticipating that maybe this handsome stranger, Matthew, wants to be around you just as bad as you want to be around him. And then you look around at your dingy apartment, with your boxy TV, the gun under your pillow, and you, sitting on the floor of your kitchen, having just finished eating box mac and cheese with a wooden spoon that just for a second tastes like the one your mother used to cook with, the one you’d get tastes of sauces, soups, anything you could get your hands on.

And then you remember everything that happened after those days sneaking tastes of your mom’s cooking and you feel guilty for pursuing handsome Matthew, because he has no idea what he is getting into.

“Just finished dinner. Was planning on just relaxing.” Reading until around midnight and then getting an hour or two of sleep.

“Well, how about we go do something?” You detect a bit of hopefulness in his voice. You find yourself asking before you can stop yourself,

“Like, like a date?” And he laughs again.

“Yes, like a date.”

“I don’t know,” You start, “Usually I have to ask my father’s permission before I go out on the town with a boy.” You want to slap your hand over your mouth because you sound your age. Oh god.

“Really?”

“..No.” You hope he finds your weird, totally not a cover up, joke funny. And he laughs again, telling you,

“You’re funny.”

Yeah, really fucking hilarious.

“So, a date?”

“A date.” You consider this for a moment. A date might lead somewhere real. Somewhere dangerous. Somewhere you haven’t been in.. years. Years might be an understatement. Your heart thuds against your chest, and you find yourself full of that nostalgic thing you call desire.

“What would we do?”

“Anything you want.” He tells you.

“Anything? That’s dangerous.” Because this whole thing is dangerous, you want to tell him, maybe you should mention the whole age thing, the whole assassin thing, the whole brainwashing thing, the whole thing.

“Yeah? What dangerous things do you have in mind, doll?” You have to hold the phone away from your ear to breathe, because it feels like someone just took the winds out of your sails. Suddenly it is 1940 something and a boy is flirting with you, and you have to act like a lady in hopes that he will treat you right.

Odd thing to think about today, but you’re an odd person.

“What about ice cream and a bookstore?” You ask, and for a moment you want to hit yourself for not suggesting something cool like a club or something and then you realize that you have no idea what counts as a cool date in this day and age.

Did you know when you were a teenager and had the world at your fingertips, eighty (give or take) years ago?

But to your surprise, handsome Matthew just responds,

“That sounds nice. Do you want me to pick you up at your apartment?”

The idea of handsome Matthew being at your tiny apartment that is not suitable for a date makes your heart race.

“I’ll meet you at the ice cream place in an hour. You know the one near the bakery?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

“Yeah. See you.” And when you hang up, you realize just what has happened. For the first time since 1944, You have landed yourself a date with a handsome man that is genuinely interested in you and in your infinite wisdom decided that ice cream and books were the best way to impress him.. Books.. Blind man.

You lightly bang your head against the counter behind you, muttering to yourself how stupid that was. But you an only dwell on it for a moment before you are standing up and making your way over to your room to get ready.

You’re still in your work uniform. And you look like an idiot. So, you clean yourself up and pull on something presentable, something comfortable. There is no confusion as to the nature of this meet up, you two are going on a date and you asked a blind man to go to a bookstore. You feel like an asshole. And you’re aware that you’re putting emphasis on that, but still!

You go through outfits and outfits, trying to figure out what an appropriate outfit is for this first date. You end up in something casual, and you hope you’re not underdressed. Honestly, you know you’re making a fuss over something as standard as a date, but you are genuinely desperate to have this go well.

You finally decide on an outfit and make your way out the door, grabbing your jacket and stepping out of the apartment. You stop outside of your door before turning around and going back into your room to change your top.

But eventually, you do get to the ice cream place Matt and you had discussed on the phone. And there he is, in all his glory, wearing the same outfit he wore when you saw him in the bakery that morning, only, without his tie, and he looks more disheveled. Somehow it’s more charming to see him like this, more exhilarating to imagine a life with such a low stakes man (You’ll look back on this thought later and laugh)

“Hi,” You greet, and Matt smiles in your direction.

“Hi.” He hums, and again, you feel nervous! So, before he can say much else, you blurt out,

“So, This is my first date in a while.. So. Sorry about that.” You say awkwardly.

“A while?” He asks, tilting his head like a curious dog. You’re struck by the fact that he is around 70 years younger than you. “Like, a few months?”

A beat.

Handsome Matthew is much busier than you are, it seems.

“More like a couple of years.” And by ‘a couple’ you mean eighty some odd years, but Matt doesn’t need to know all of that right now. But he just hums and nods, before answering,

“That’s alright, I’ll be gentle.” Your face flushes, and with a nervous laugh, you ask,

“You mean we’ll take it slow?”

“Sure. Whatever. We’ll figure out the details of it all later.” His hand finds yours, and before you can protest he pulls you into the ice cream shop. Handsome Matthew orders chocolate chip cookie dough because he is perfect in every way, and you order..

“Butter pecan, please.” You get odd glances from Matthew and the seventeen year old minimum wage worker behind the counter, but neither of them say anything. You manage to beat Matthew to paying for the ice cream, and as you walk, he asks,

“Butter pecan? Really?” And you roll your eyes. Young people today, always judging.

“You’re lucky they didn’t have butterscotch, that’s my real favorite.” You respond, before taking a lick of the ice cream. Your handsome date, gives you another bizarre look.

“Okay, what’s your third favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Mm..” You take a few minutes to think about it, before deciding on your answer. “A tie between pistachio and coffee.” And at your answer, Matt laughs at you. You let out an offended gasp, although you’re not being serious, before asking, “what’s so horrible about that?”

“You have the ice cream preferences of an eighty year old,” He laughs and you laugh too, because oh, if only he knew.

“Sorry, my pallet is straight from the 40’s.” It’s a joke. That’s a joke. Not at all based in facts or actuality. You continue working through eating your ice cream and talking to your handsome date. “So, does the handsome lawyer have any family I should know about?”

“You think I’m handsome?” He grins, and your face flushes.

“Answer the question.”

“No siblings. My dad died when I was young and It’s only recently that I’ve been talking to my mother.” Interesting, you think, and then this dawning realization happens where you realize that the next thing out of his mouth will be the inevitable question, “How about your family?”

You consider lying but you decide against it. If this is going to lead anywhere good, you don’t want to base it off lies.

“Not much to say. I’m the sole survivor.” You shrug, keeping it vague. He frowns a bit before squeezing your hand.

“A couple of orphans, huh?”

You squeeze his back.

“Seems like it.”

You kind of aren’t over the death of your parents and your siblings and quite literally everyone you knew as a teenager and young adult—You’re not over so many fucking things that if you went through it all, you’d probably keep poor Handsome Matthew up all night.

But instead of talking about that, Matt finds himself walking with you to the bookstore. You hold the door open for him and begin to wander. You quickly move past the books on World War II, as if faced with an ex you want nothing to do with them.

You begin to look at the romance books, scrunching your nose at how cheesy and surface level so many of these young adult novels are. But then you remind yourself that you are a hundred years old. But you look like you’re in your late twenties, early thirties. As you’re looking at the books, Matthew makes his way to the aisle next to yours, and talks to you through the stacks.

“So, what’s your favorite book?”

“That’s like asking a mother her favorite child.” You answer quickly, and you hear him laugh. Your face flushes.

“Try for me.”

“Uh, I really love Great Gatsby. I’m kind of fascinated with the zombie genre, too, it’s sort of new and interesting, and uh, oh, I read this Neil Gaiman novel, uh, Stardust? I really liked that.” You confess. Matt listens as you fumble through novels, both of you making your way towards the end of the aisle.

“And movies?”

“Why is everything about me? I didn’t hear your favorite novel.”

“The Outsiders.” He responds, and you make a mental note to try and find it in the bookstore. “So, movies?”

You’ve had autonomy for around three years now, so.. Your movie knowledge has been kind of stunted, so you wrack your brain to try and come up with something impressive.

“I really like the Indiana Jones series, uh, oh, The Matrix, and..” You ponder your brain. “Oh! And King Kong!” You saw that one in the theatres for your thirteenth birthday.

“Like, the one that came out in 2017?” He asks, and again, you consider lying, because you actually have seen that one because when you looked up ‘King Kong’ it came out, and it really blew your mind how far CGI had come.

“No, the one that came out in ’33.” As if it is the most normal thing in the entire world.

“One of your favorite movies is one from 1933?” And the old woman in you wants to insist that you loved the decades you grew up in, and that seeing King Kong in the theatres was a marvelous thing because you could barely afford rent. And then you remember you shouldn’t reveal your history with the Great Depression to a man you’re on your first date with.

“Yup.” You assert, and ask, “You?”

“Star Wars, any of them, and the Princess Bride.” Again, you make a note to add it to your list.

“Interesting.” You hum, and you find The Outsiders, wanting to read it, to consume it, to consume him, and every thought he has. The two of you meet at the end of the aisle, too close to be platonic as his hands come to find your arms, and you shudder at the affection.

“Touch starved, huh?” He grins. You flush and roll your eyes.

“You’re so mean.” You huff, and he laughs. His hand moves up your arms and cups your jaw, enjoying the feeling of your warm cheeks.

“Well, you’re odd.”

“Odd?”

��Everything about you. Your movie tastes, your jokes, your ice cream flavors.” He hums, with a soft shrug. “It’s not a bad thing, I’m just.. Trying to figure you out.”

“You’d be the first to accomplish such a feat.”

He laughs at that, and he’s so beautiful.. That you cannot help yourself when you lean up and gently press a soft kiss to those beautiful pretty pink lips that had caught your attention that morning. He kisses you back, without hesitation.

You feel at peace for the first time in years, as if everything you had gone through, every moment of torture and pain, has been worth it because it leads you to this. To Handsome Matthew, who kisses you so tenderly that no matter how simple it is, you are left breathless and desperate for more. You lean into him, deepening the kiss, pushing him back a bit, his back pressed against the stacks. The book in your hands is crumpled, and eventually, Matthew pulls away, before pushing you back a bit.

“Easy,” He says breathlessly, and you need the reminder, because you try to catch your breath. Holy shit. “Easy, easy..” he repeats, his hands rubbing up and down your arms a bit. “I’ve got you, just breath.” He laughs, and you lean your forehead against your shoulder. Fuck.

“When can I see you again?” Is your only thought, and he chuckles gently.

“Whenever you want.” He promises, and you nod, before leaning up to kiss him again.

One day you’ll tell him everything. You’ll tell him all of the horrible things you’ve done and have had done to you, and you’ll tell him why the nightmares came, and why they won’t ever go away. One day, you’ll tell handsome Matthew why you sleep with a gun under your pillow and why you have no family and why you are so odd.

For now, you decide that you deserve a few nice things.

And when he kisses back, you realize that maybe he is just as infatuated with you as you are with him. Maybe. Maybe he is full of secrets and his own horrors that plague him while he sleeps, and maybe that’s the unspoken reason you are so deeply fascinated with one another.

Maybe.

Maybe you’ve spent the past ninety years going from fight to fight, to nightmare to nightmare. Maybe you’re owed some time in the sun with Handsome Matthew.

Maybe.

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! 😊

I have a character with albinism in my story and I need help figuring out what to do about her photophobia. The setting is a medieval fantasy world and the character is a dragon.

The problem I'm having is that she's huge. She's probably around the size of a blue whale.

I was going to give her sunglasses, but they would be absolutely massive and extremely heavy, and I feel like the weight of the frame pressing down on her skin all day would probably be extremely uncomfortable or even cause skin damage. Also, the glasses would probably be really thick and I'm not sure if she would even be able to see through that much tinted glass?

I thought about a hat, but I'm not sure what it would be made out of. I feel like any sort of fabric at that size would just crumple under its own weight. I could have supports inside of it, but that would probably make it really heavy which wouldn't be good for her neck.

The only other thing I can think of is some sort of semi-transparent fabric veil that she can tie around her head that covers her eyes, but I know that trope is kind of iffy. Although I'm not sure if it would count since she's not legally blind (her vision is around 20/100. I think. Would vision measurments still work the same for someone with giant eyeballs? 🤔)

Is there anything else I can give her to protect her eyes that won't hurt her?

If it makes a difference there are two blind characters in the story who do not wear glasses of any kind, and another character with albinism who wears sunglasses and a hat.

Hello!

I believe I'm the only active mod with photophobia so I'll try answering, but keep in mind I'm neither blind nor do I have albinism.

So photophobia is a spectrum, right - it's really wide. On one end you have people who can't open their eyes because of the pain unless they're in a completely blacked-out room and on the other are people who kinda just push through it and don't bother with anything. There's a huge variety in severity. I was on both of these (plus everything in-between, plus non-photophobic at one point too) so I'll try to give you some ideas.

If she's on the first end, then well - close the eyes, and hopefully she has a sighted guide. Sunglasses don't help here anyway (source: experience) unless she'd have to wear them while closing her eyes because the tiny amount of light showing through a person's eyelids can still be painful (source: experience). A hat or a veil here would be like putting a bandage on someone who blew up. If she's permanently like this, she's functionally totally blind (but with some stereotypes that don't really represent all totally blind people - most of them don't keep their eyes closed 24/7).

If she's on the second end then I already kinda answered your question; Nothing is sometimes a solution. Same how not everyone with knee pain uses a cane, even if it technically could be of some benefit - too much hassle.

Now for the hard part: everything in-between these two. Since your character is somewhat logistically complicated due to both being a dragon and of that size, I'll try to think of the accommodations one can do with their body rather than external aids.

Squinting is a legitimate strategy. Is it great, not really. But it does work for a lot of people. You can squint your way through a lot.

Hand (claw?) to shield against the sun, same as above. Most people (IDK about dragons) don't sit around in bright sun all day, if you quickly have to go through an area like this you can just cover it.

Brow ridge (no idea what is the dragon equivalent) is a sort of built-in sun protection on its own to be honest. It's definitely not 100% for obvious reasons, but it does help against the brightest light sources. However, with her being a dragon this could be a legitimately successful solution - both Eastern Asian and European dragons tend to be portrayed with protruding parts above their eyes. Normally I'd say that it would be a bit of a cop-out, but as you say there is another character with the same disability, so I'm not worried here.

Last solution would be some sort of contacts. Obviously they didn't exist in medieval times, but there's a dragon there already so it's fine to get creative - could shed scales be thinned down and used as a block-out contact? Maybe some sort of mineral? Or leaves from a comically big tree? All of these would definitely hurt a human but again, dragon anatomy and how tough their eyes are is free to speculate about until something very unexpected happens.

Now for the rest;

Consider her lifestyle and where she physically lives. Is there a lot of sun there? Does she go outside during the day? Does she prefer winter over summer because she can go out more (and/or with less pain)? Not all photophobiacs will have the same kind of lifestyle and will thus need different accommodations; keep that in mind.

Hope this helps! Good luck writing disabled dragons

mod Sasza

[heavenlyraindrops]

♱Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Twenty Five♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Twenty Five Warnings: profanity, sexual content, oral (f receiving), blowjobs, p in v sex, cowgirl, multiple orgasms, creampie, almost getting caught (? Idk) Visit the first tag on this post to see all other chapters.

♱ In which the purest soul in Heaven falls from grace… for the Devil. ♱

[Chapter Twenty Five]

Charlie stumbled over to where Alastor lay motionless. Blood dripped from his nose, down his chin and trickled down his neck, and his only newly repaired cane lay bent and sparking. A small buzzing sound emanated from it, and when she leaned closer she realized it was a voice. 

More specifically, Lucifer’s voice. 

“I don’t care- lives or dies. I don’t care at all…It’s- fault she’s ended up-…to save her? Are you- Just leave her for the Vees.”

It was cracked and broken, but it was him. She turned around to see him carrying your limp body in his arms, with such tenderness that made her eyes well.

“Dad.”

He looked up. She pointed at the cane.

“Did you say any of this?”

His brow furrowed as he listened, then his face slowly darkened as he pieced two and two together. Vaggie came up behind the three of you.

“Maybe you and [name] should go inside,” she suggested to Lucifer, glancing at the way he looked at you and smiling. “We’ll worry about Alastor.”

He cleared his throat disconcertedly and nodded. “Right.” 

He entered the building, still cradling you in his arms. Charlie and Vaggie both turned to each other, and their jaws dropped open.

“Ohmygoshdidyouseethat?!” Charlie practically squealed, gripping Vaggie’s arms. Vaggie nodded, eyes wide, and they both stared after the closed door which you and Lucifer had just gone through. 

“I have so many questions.”

“Me too.”

-

You groaned, wings fluttering as you stirred. Bedsheets shifted beneath your hands. You shakily sat up, blearily blinking away the last traces of sleep as you took in your surroundings. 

There was a yellow sticky note on the bedside cabinet. You pulled it away from the wood and read it. 

We can talk when you’re ready. There’s a lot to discuss! You can take a bath in the en suite. We washed your clothes for you.

-Charlie :)

You frowned, swinging your legs around the edge of the bed and standing up. The plush carpet sank down slightly beneath your feet. 

What happened?

You looked down. You were wearing a slip and some shorts- fresh. Who changed you?

The clothes mentioned in the note were folded in a neat pile next to the sticky note, along with a towel. You padded into the bathroom, switching on the tap in the bathtub and holding your hand underneath the steady stream of water. It was the perfect temperature. 

Your clothes slid to the floor, and you stepped inside. Sliding inside the hot water, you combed through the feathers on your wings, a weak attempt to preen them. 

A knock sounded on the doors, and you heard a muffled call of your name. Footsteps sounded as someone moved around in the bedroom, and they knocked on the bathroom doors. 

“[name]?” It was Charlie. “You in there?”

Your heartbeat quickened with apprehension, even more so at your lack of recollection of events. “Yeah,” you called out hoarsely. 

“Are you… I mean, can I come in?”

“If you must,” you replied curtly, still on guard. 

You pulled your wings around you protectively as she slowly opened the door, peeking in then quickly averting her eyes. “I- hi.”

“Hello.”

She smiled apologetically. “I was just wondering if you’re doing okay.”

You didn’t have a response to that. Your hands gripped the sides of the bathtub as you moved to stand up, and she flung her hands in front of her face. “O-oh, no, don’t get up-“

“Oh, right. Forgot.” Your wings fluttered slightly with the cool air that hit them before you sank back down. Charlie’s lips twisted into an awkward smile as she tentatively made her way to the bathtub, as you squirted shampoo into your open palm.

“Am I in the hotel?” You asked flatly, massaging the foam through your roots. She blinked.

“I mean- yeah. Don’t you remember anything?” 

“No, not really. Just coming here to get Vox.” Your fingers combed through your hair slowly as you stared at her, waiting for her reaction. Her lips formed a small ‘o.’

“That explains a lot. Like why you’re so tense.” She instinctively leaned forward with eagerness to explain the situation to you, but you pulled away, pressing your back to the cold, wet, tiled wall. “You… had a little… uh, I don’t know how to explain it. But you transformed…” she waved her hands around vaguely. “And kind of lost control, so my dad kind of had to… uh, what’s the word? I don’t know what to call it.”

You raised an eyebrow. 

Charlie snapped her fingers. “He tried to calm you down!” You could tell by her awkward grin that those were not the right words to use.   

“And? Let me guess, it didn’t work, and he had to knock me out-“

“Oh, no, it worked. You just passed out. Must have been exhaustion.” She rubbed the back of her neck, looking away. “We… talked. He told me… stuff… and I-“ she sighed. “It must have been rough for you these past few days- I mean, a lot must have happened. You must have had a lot of emotions to handle.” She offered a small smile. “But, you’re here now, so maybe we can all talk it out! I mean, now that you’re a bit more… stable.”

“Wow, thank you,” you said dryly. She cleared her throat. 

“So, I’ll leave you to it.”

Her footsteps faded and the door shut. You shuddered, lowering your head back into  the water. Your hair spread in the water, curling around like tendrils of smoke. You closed your eyes.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that until memories began to seep back. You opened your eyes. The water lapped at your skin with every slight movement. It had turned lukewarm with time. Your fingers had begun to prune. 

You stepped out, beads of water rolling down your skin as you dried your hair and pulled on some proper clothes. You tugged a comb through your hair, hoping to undo the tangles, and a few knocks sounded on the door. You immediately knew it wasn’t Charlie- 

Your heart leapt as you reached for the doorknob.

“Lucifer,” you breathed, not knowing what else to say. He looked at you, almost sick with nerves. Your eyes flew down to his rumpled shirt and disheveled hair. “…Hi.”

He stared at you, slightly flushed. “Hi.”

Your lips twisted into a bashful, awkward smile. He didn’t return it, instead stepping towards you, and this time you didn’t step away. He noticed, and suppressed an elated grin. 

“Can we… talk?” He fiddled with his thumbs. “Properly this time. No…” he waved his hand. “Blowing up at each other or making accusations. Just. Talk.”

You smiled, eyes tired. “I’d like that.”

He let out a small, relieved chuckle, mostly at your expression. You patted the spot next to you on the bed. He sat down next to you, eyes falling to your lips, then flicking back up to meet your eyes. 

“Firstly, I just wanted to start with-“ he ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “Whatever Alastor showed you, or made you listen to- it wasn’t true. I mean, it wasn’t real. I never said any of that.” His hand inched towards yours. “He showed us a recording of your voice too, which is why I…” he trailed off and looked away. 

“It’s okay,” you murmured, creeping your hand towards his too until your fingers were intertwined. “I didn’t-“ you sucked in a harsh breath. “I didn’t react well. It’s just… so many things were happening and I’d lost so much and the thought of you leaving too I-“ tears welled up in your eyes and your throat closed up, so you quickly looked away. “I should have thought more.”

Lucifer smoothed back your hair. “It’s fine, angel, it’s fine to feel.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. I will not cry again. He was wearing a soft smile. You wanted nothing more than to trace the curve of his lips with your own, to steal his breath away, but-

“I was worried too, you know,” he murmured, fingers still on your skin, now brushing your cheek. “You didn’t contact me for ages.” He let out a deep sigh. “You know I would have come to you when I’d heard you’d fallen sooner.” 

You nodded wordlessly. You both fell silent, the only sound filling the room your breathing. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, hyper aware of how close your faces were. His gaze softened.

“You don’t have to say that again, you know,” he chuckled. You bit your lip.

“What are we now?” You blurted, and immediately regretted it as you watched surprise register on his face. “I mean, I get it if you don’t- after everything, I mean it’s been so long so- and all the shit I’ve caused-“ your face turned hot as he placed his thumb on your lip, brushing ever so gently. 

“Now why wouldn’t I want you anymore?” He asked, voice so quiet only you could have heard it. 

“I-it would be understandable-“ you cut off with a sharp inhale as his thumb pressed down, parting your lips ever so slightly as he leaned forward, eyes falling closed. 

You leaned into the kiss eagerly, his lips meeting yours with the desperation bottled up over the time you’d spent apart; his hands fell to your waist, drawing you closer to him as the kiss heated up. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, and you let out a small moan, giving him access.

But at the last second he pulled away, both of you fighting for air. You opened your mouth to say something but he dove back in again, crushing his mouth on yours, his passion tasting far sweeter than anything Heaven could have given you. You whimpered as you both fell back onto the bed, and then did he finally pull away again, panting, face breaking into a breathless smirk. 

“You’re with me now, darling,” he murmured. You flushed as he began pressing feverish kisses to the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your jaw, neck then collarbone. “And I think we have some proper catching up to do, hmm? What do you think, angel?” 

All you could do was let out a small moan of agreement as heat pooled in between your thighs, one of which he grabbed, hooking it around his waist as he pinned you down on the bed, before another sloppy kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth.  

A lustful haze clouded your mind as he slowly rolled his hips against yours, sending a wave of pleasure into your core. “Fuck, I missed you,” he growled against your lips, moving back down to your neck to suckle and bite, leaving as many marks as he thought it would take to show you were his. 

You gently pushed him away and he looked up at you. “Wait, we can’t… right now-“ you glanced to the door, and the lock clicked into place. Lucifer smirked at you. You shivered. “What about Alastor? What are we going to do about him?”

He scoffed. “Are you seriously talking about him right now?” You squeaked as something brushed your waist. His tail. Your face burned hotter than the sun. “If I remember correctly, you have a favour to return.”

“Do I?” You squeaked, as his tail wrapped itself around your waist. He grinned, running his tongue over his sharp teeth. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, fingers tracing down the column of your throat, the dip of your collarbone, to the collar of your top, and tugged slightly. “This comes off.”

You scrambled to get it off, hands shaking, as he pulled away from you, then crawled back into his lap, palming the growing tent in his trousers. He flinched. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Returning the favour,” you replied with the most innocent look on your face that he almost came right then and there. “Like you told me too.”

He bit his lip feverishly as you pulled his length from his boxers, swiping your thumb over the tip. You looked him straight in the eyes as you gave it a few languid strokes, making him hiss. 

“That’s not what I- you don’t need to-“ You pressed your finger to his lips, giving him a coy smile. 

“I think I do.” You lowered yourself in between his legs. “It would be unfair, right?”

He nodded shakily, suppressing a whimper as you gave the head kitten licks, hand still gently on the base, before dragging your tongue along the erection. He let out a small moan and you grinned. 

“Enjoying this?” You teased, tongue slowly tracing a vein. He flinched, breathing hard, as you kissed the tip, and let out another breathier moan as you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock and slowly sinking down. You felt his hand tangle through your hair as you began bobbing up and down, his whimpers and groans slowly growing louder at your agonizing pace. 

“Fuuuck… yeah,” he gasped, hips bucking up into your face. His head tipped back, chest heaving. “I think I’m gonna cum-“

You simply hummed in response, sending vibrations up his shaft, tipping him over the edge. His hand in your hair tightened, hips moving in tandem with your movements and fingers tangling through the strands as his hot load coated the inside of your mouth. You swallowed it down, gagging slightly as you pulled away, licking your lips. He stared at you. 

“You swallowed.” His voice was barely a whisper.

You simply grinned in response, pushing yourself off of him. He crawled towards you, pinning you back down by the hips, his hands trailing down to your trousers, hooking around the waistband and tugging down. “Off,” he said, still dazed.

You pulled it off of your legs and threw it to the side, where it joined the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor. He grinned, rubbing the dark, damp patch visible on the crotch of your panties, making you whimper slightly. His expression darkened. 

“You like what we did last time, right?” He hummed, lips brushing the lobe of your ear. You nodded feverishly, bucking your hips, grinding against his hand with a small moan of his name. He just chuckled in response, ducking down, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. His teeth sunk into the softness of your inner thigh, the pain and pleasure making you writhe as he licked the mark he’d left to soothe it. 

His finger hooked around the waistband of your underwear, tugging it slightly as if he was testing it because the next second he tore it off of you. Your heat pulsed with excitement as he tossed the remaining fabric onto the floor, suckling at your inner thighs, lips trailing closer to your pussy. 

“Where’d you even get black lace like that anyways, a newcomer in Hell?” He hummed. His eyes had turned blood red, and they were staring at you. You flinched, tipping your head back with a small groan as he kissed your clit. 

“S-someone gave it to me,” you whimpered, mind flashing back to when Velvette had lent you new clothes to wear. 

“Someone?” He chuckled, the deep sound vibrating against your core. You threw your hand over your mouth to stifle a particularly loud moan. “Not another man, I hope.”

You shook your head feverishly, screwing your eyes shut as he licked a long strip up your already soaked entrance, his long, long tongue hot on your skin. You let out another choked whimper as he pressed his thumb to your clit, breathing out slowly. “Good,” he murmured, then delved in. 

You jolted, back arching and hips bucking as his tongue pushed its way into your folds, clutching at the bedsheets as you tried not to let out any lewd sounds, yet a few gasps and whimpers slipping past your lips as his tongue circled and flicked at your clit. “Oh, fuck, Lucifer-“

“Mhm?” He hummed, and the vibrations shook you harder this time, shockwaves into your whole body. “Tell me how good it feels, darling.”

“So good,” you gasped, vision blurring. “So so good…”

His tongue traced letters across your clit- was he writing his name? And you could feel tears form in your eyes as his fingers spread your folds as he pressed his face in between your thighs, lapping at you like a starved man. Your whole body shook. 

Holy fuck. 

“You taste so good,” he groaned, and the words almost tipped you over the edge. 

“I think I’m gonna-“

“Go on, angel, you deserve it.” You could feel his smirk against your skin as you came, the orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your muscles numbed, legs shaking as he pulled away from your dripping cunt. 

He crushed his mouth against yours again, knowing full well you could taste yourself on him. You tangled your fingers through his hair, whispering praises, begging him to fuck you, and it made his muscles tense with a need so intense he’d never felt before. 

“I want you inside,” you whispered before nibbling at his earlobe, your hands trailing down his shoulders. You felt him tense underneath your palms, and he licked his lips before wiping his mouth. 

“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse, eyes lidded with lust. You nodded, biting your lip as you looked at him with the most pleading expression you could muster. 

You felt his cock, hard again, rubbing slickly against your cunt, and grinned through biting your lip. He let out a shaky breath, positioning himself against your entrance, and you tensed with anticipation. 

He froze, seemingly thinking, then smirked. “Beg for it, then.”

You blinked, face burning. “Wh-what?”

He rolled his hips, rubbing up against you. His tip caught your clit and you whimpered. “Beg for it,” he repeated. “Show me just how much you want it.” 

“You’re quite-“ you choked on your own words. “-You’re quite cocky, aren’t you?”

He tilted his head. “Sin of Pride, darling.” You hummed, trailing you hands down his arms, then back up to grip his shoulders and flipping him around. He blinked in surprise as you straddled his waist, grinning down at him. 

“All that just so you don’t have to say a simple please?” He huffed, his voice dissipating into something shakier as you slowly dragged your cunt up his erection, slick with precum, and hummed. 

Without any more words, you positioned yourself above him, slowly sinking down onto his cock. He hissed as you did so, hands finding their way to your hips, squeezing down on the soft flesh, fingers tracing circles into your skin as you rocked into him. He tipped his head back, stifling a groan as you set a rhythm, each rut of your hips into his sending pain sparking into your cunt. 

“Fuck, this is annoying,” he hissed through gritted teeth, and you froze, looking up at him with questioning eyes. “H-having to be quiet,” he explained. His eyes shot to the door, and he rolled his hips against you, his cock hitting the perfect spot that made your head spin. You clamped your hand down over your mouth to muffle a moan. “See what I mean? Fuck, angel, when you move in with me we’re gonna be as loud as we fucking want, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you gasped with another thrust upwards from him, too cock-drunk to register the implications of his words. His grinned, his sharp teeth glinting. 

“Good,” he hissed, thrusting again. You whimpered at the fiery throbbing sensation deep in between your legs, gripping his shoulders as his hands on your hips squeezed tighter, moving you up and down on his cock, slick with your arousal. 

Someone knocked on the door.

You stared at him in horror, freezing, but he put a hand to his lips. “Who is it?” He called. 

“Dad, it’s Charlie. Are you guys okay? It’s just been a while since you went in there.”

He smirked at the look on your face, languidly rolling his hips. The deep kiss of his cock in your walls made your eyes roll back, seeing stars. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

“Is [name] still in there?”

Where the fuck else would I be? You thought dully, but another thrust made you almost double over, panting hard as you dug into his shoulders. You stared at him, eyes pleading as you shook his head, but he just grinned. 

“Yeah, she’s right here. We’re fine, right [name]?”

“Y-“ Another thrust, even deeper as he pressed you down against his crotch. You bit your lip, screwing your eyes shut and forcing down a moan. “Yeah,” you replied. Your voice was slightly hoarse. 

There was silence on the other side for a few seconds. “Alright then! See you guys!” Charlie’s voice was as cheery as ever, before her footsteps faded away. You glared at Lucifer.

“Are you kidding me? That was so risky. What we got caught?”

He lifted you up slightly, guiding you on his cock, and you almost forgot your frustrations as the pleasure overtook you. “But we didn’t, did we? Relax, angel.” And you did, legs shaking as you resumed your pace. 

“I think I’m gonna cum,” you mumbled feverishly. He let out a breathless, exilarated laugh, accompanied by a particularly brutal thrust. Your vision glazed over.  

“Fuck, me too,” he gasped, fingers digging into your skin, sure to leave marks. 

You bent down, crashing your lips onto his, kissing him with fervour before you pulled away by a centimetre, whispering against his lips. “Cum in me, Lucifer.” 

And he did, inside you, coating your walls with his hot cum. You jolted, your own orgasm crashing around you in waves, legs shaking with stimulation. You pulled away from him, quivering, his cum dripping down your thighs. 

“So, are we…” he paused, trying to catch his breath. “Are we good now?”

You nodded, snuggling up to him and burying your face into the crook of his neck. He threw his arm around you. “Yeah,” you breathed, letting yourself smile softly. “Yeah, we are.”

-

a/n: lmk if you enjoyed! :3c

[linddzz]

While yes, Viktor is confident too, but...

This man isn't shy? He's hyperventilating and nervous-tapping over the idea of giving a speech!

This man?

I guess Im not getting across like, the Vibe that I always see that bothers me? Viktor's got the social anxiety for sure, and it's VERY fair to assume that his condition makes him even more self conscious to be up in front of a crowd full of topsiders. He's pretty clear in episode 1 that he's aware of how topsiders see him and his cane use, and that's before his disability is even more visible.

But ALSO very few people ARE good on a stage in front of tons of people. And also there's a very specific connotation to "shy" that is beyond social anxiety.

Shyness to me, is its own flavor of social anxiety plus timidness. The actual definition is a bashful, timid nervousness. It has connotations of the wilting flower personality. Viktor, even when he's quiet around other people doesn't come across as nervous or timid in the slightest. His first introduction has him VERY confident and collected surrounded by enforcers and not taking Jayce being snappy and angry at him. As a kid there's more of an argument to be made because what awkward socially isolated kid isn't going to be shy. But at the same time he doesn't try to shrink away from Sky's attention, he still looks right back up at her, he just keeps on doing his own thing. Mostly he comes across as someone who does not know how to casually interact with people so he doesn't. He's got tunnels in his eyes lmao.

Viktor is complicated. Viktor is nuanced. It's why he's Ultimate Blorbo. He's withdrawn and awkward and not very good at interacting with people, but he's not timid about it. He is very self assured in himself.

But when I say fandom makes him shy it IS much more of the wilting flower timid woobie that I kept seeing in Season1 fics. There was SO MUCH of Viktor being the nervous soft spoken anxious thing who was just so happy Jayce was even giving him the time of day as if Viktor didn't sass Jayce about his notes right after he stopped the man from jumping lmaoooo

And idk not to be TOO OBVIOUS with my projecting but it's the part of Viktor I can relate to the most. I consider myself a quiet person who gets annoyed when people think that me being quiet = shy. I'm able to speak up well on zoom calls with colleagues and I also would rather drop dead than have to go up on a stage in front of a bunch of normal people who I know were expecting someone very different. I get nervous and shaky speaking up in front of a crowd of colleagues even! but afterwards I can go right up to people like "your presentation was insane tell me more right now." I am often quiet and uncomfortable in large social situations because I know that most people there are operating under a different wavelength than I am, I do not know what the right responses to things are, or I full on do not know how to not accidentally come across as a huge asshole and I don't want to be an asshole. And when I was younger I would have so many people come up and act like I was a little wallflower (bc oh boy can I also relate to being quiet while physically small meaning being constantly infantalized) who "didn't need to be so shy" and every time I was like "I'm not shy. I just don't feel any engagement with this conversation and I don't want to be a dick and tell you that, but if you gently tell me it's ok to talk one more time I'm gonna start biting."

(It got better as I got older bc I learned that if you're quiet but making active eye contact instead of staring off into other directions - not to avoid attention but because you're just thinking of other shit - people will stop labeling you as shy and instead say "intimidating" or "mysterious" which is also hilarious when what you're thinking about is "machine herald big naturals lmao" but it's better than being labeled "shy")