#is there such a thing as too many ideas for stories?

[ilikeyoshi]

"#yes yes yes!!!! #and ngl it makes me want to read or engage with it more too!"

i hope it's ok to point out these tags bc this is SUCH a huge mood i think deserves a little more explanation!!!! (at least from my perspective as both a creator (writer) and fan (of artists))

i used to have a ton of anxiety when creating and especially sharing my works, and my impulse was always to talk down on it, because a) i* (*my anxiety) believed it to be bad, and b) because i had this idea in my head that if i lowered people's expectations, they wouldn't be as disappointed when reading it.

i want to tell you what i've learned in my years of both being a writer and being a fan of artists, and it's that this is a terrible, terrible anxiety fallacy (like so many ideas/misconceptions borne of anxiety are) that ONLY hurts you, your work, and your potential readers(/fans/etc). it SOUNDS like a good idea when you have really bad anxiety, i know, i used to DEPEND upon this idea just to have the courage to SHARE my writing—and i want to emphasize that it's OKAY if you've done this before, it's an easy, easy trap to fall into, but i also want you to try and stop doing it because there are a lot of reasons you would feel better and do better for doing so.

you are what you practice! if you only ever focus on or speak about the flaws in your art, you WILL feel negatively about your art. my very first therapist explained it in a way that still really resonates with me: you have created a well-beaten, highly trafficked "road" in your brain. it is very easy to take this road because even though it's longer to your destination, it winds and bends, it's walked on so much it's flat and easy to traverse. when you try to build a NEW path—in this case, a path where you focus on what you like about your art—you're starting with no path at all. it's all undergrowth and vines and thorns and it hurts and it's tiring and you feel like this will NEVER be easier or feel better than the old path. but you have to keep taking the new one. you have to beat down the undergrowth until it recedes, cut down the low-hanging branches until you can walk with your back straight, and if you keep at it, if you keep at this thing that feels so pointless and stupid and hard, eventually, the path will be clear, and easy to walk, and you'll make great time getting to your destination because it cuts straight through; no winding or bending. and the old path? it will overgrow, and it will become hard and stupid to take. you have to beat the new path because once it's beaten, it'll be the far superior path in every way, including ways the old path was never superior even when it WAS the one you were always taking.

further—as these tags point out, and as i agree with wholeheartedly—by disparaging your art, you DO lower people's expectations. people don't want to be sad, frustrated, disappointed when they look at art—at least, not unless the art itself is trying to tell a story about that. you get what i mean, i hope—they don't want to go INTO something they already HAVE negative reviews on—your reviews! you, the creator, have already told this person the story/art/whatever is going to be bad, and i know, i KNOW it's not your intention, you're hoping someone will see through what you can't and tell you no, no, this is good, i liked this! and some people do! but you make it a lot harder for them TO do that when you tell them right at the beginning, "this is going to be bad, i don't like it," because what you're unintentionally telling them is, "and you probably won't like it either." the first way i learned this was in people always saying in their fanfic summaries, before you even open the fic, "the summary is bad, i'm bad at writing summaries, the story is better trust me bro." because what this does—again, so unintentionally, i KNOW what you're trying to do because i've been you—is you're telling the reader, "here's my pitch, here's the hook to my entire story, it's the worst part, it's bad, but the rest will be better," and what they KNOW is they've already put the time in reading the summary, and it's hard to commit MORE time to something when you've already told them it's bad, even if you promise the rest is better. it's like biting into a fruit and you hate the taste of the skin; it's harder to try the rest of the fruit when, so far, it's been bad (or you've been made to believe it's bad).

so what's the solution? how do you begin beating that new path? well, it depends on you. everyone's a little different in how they navigate stuff like this. but what worked for me, and what might be a good place to start (and by all means adapt as you figure out what works and what doesn't), is start by just NOT saying anything negative. no, "i don't like this," or "the summary's bad, sorry," or anything. write your artist's comment, author's note, whatever as normal, and REMOVE anything that depicts your art/writing/etc in a bad light. just don't give people any opinion whatsoever on what experiencing your creation is going to be like. this, for me, was easier than jumping straight to, "i'm pretty proud of this," or "i enjoyed working on this," because it wasn't withholding AND replacing, it was JUST withholding. going back to the roads and paths metaphor, i think of this part as the "taking a breather before i get to work on this monumental task of beating this new path" stage.

then, overtime, i started "stretching" my positive comments about my works. if i liked, say, TWO LINES out of a whole piece of writing, i'd say, "i'm really proud of this work!" because i AM proud of ANYTHING AT ALL, NO MATTER HOW SMALL, within the work. it's not a LIE, to anyone including yourself, but it is, perhaps, an EXAGGERATION. that's OKAY. we're trying to teach our brain to look on the bright side, to take the new path, and i've found that treating it a little bit like a dog—giving it a treat for ANY TINY BIT OF PROGRESS, was a good way to encourage myself to start making MORE progress. ESPECIALLY because the tags i reposted above are RIGHT: LOTS of people are MORE interested in a work when their very first impression (YOUR impression!!!) is positive. 'the artist/writer/etc is proud of this? oh, i'm so glad they had a good time creating, let's take a look!" it probably sounds too easy if you're still taking that anxiety-beaten road, i know, but try to think of how you've felt when someone disparages their creations versus uplifts them. were you put off by the negativity? were you sad that your friend worked so hard on something and didn't even like it? conversely, doesn't it make you a little excited when an artist says they really feel good about something they made, especially in a world where so many artists ARE feeling inadequate? i hope you see what i mean.

it's not an overnight thing, of course, this took me YEARS. this took a miracle that doesn't happen to most people: i wrote something i felt SO TERRIFIED people wouldn't like, even though i was secretly very proud of it (but too scared to dare suggest i was proud of it), so i indicated all kinds of things like "i hope you like it, i dunno if it's any good, it's just a little thing i'm chipping away at in my spare time" (it was not, it was a full-blown passion project) and, against the odds, a LOT OF PEOPLE told me they really really really liked it. a couple of friends who were decently popular in the fandom it was for liked and shared it and i got A LOT of encouragement. i basically got to beat my new path with a HORDE of helpers, and it was more like THEY beat the path for me and i chased along like, "what is happening, oh my god, what are you doing???"

i got really lucky. that doesn't always, or even usually happen. in most other areas of my life, i've had to beat the path myself. and it takes a long time if you're doing it on your own. but you should anyway, because it's so fucking worth it dude. yeah, it was awesome to get so much help with my writing confidence specifically, but it's been just as worth it every time i've had to do it alone too. and i have good news! there ARE ways to tell people you're on this journey of making yourself a new path. here are some suggestions:

"i'm new/rusty at this, so please let me know what you think!" - informs potential readers/viewers/etc you are learning and gives them an opportunity to HELP you learn. this is a positive interaction! this allows people to find a GOOD experience EVEN if they didn't enjoy the story much, because they can help, and people DO, MOSTLY, like to help.

"i want to improve at [dialogue]" or "i'd appreciate advice on [lighting]." - similar to the first example, but does 2 things: gives viewers specific instructions that can be really helpful for those that aren't sure how/what to critique (surprisingly common thing; the more specific you are about what you want advice on, the more likely you are to GET advice), AND allows you to, neutrally and non-disparagingly, ask for help in areas you don't feel confident about.

"leave a comment if you liked it!" or "let me know what you liked best!" - listen. i don't think 'fishing for compliments' is bad as long as you're not being manipulative about it. these examples are very clear in what they're asking for, which is compliments, positive reviews, etc. and that's okay!!! first of all, lots of people LOVE praising works they like, i promise, and asking them to DOES make them feel like they have "permission" to (i know that sounds silly but i also know if you have anxiety about creating, you have anxiety about commenting, i see you, i was you). secondly, i have gotten the MOST encouraging, confidence-boosting comments this way, especially with the latter example. there is NOTHING more immediately anxiety-curing than a comment that says "i liked [scene/dialogue/character/etc] specifically." it's AMAZING. (also, if you're looking for advice on commenting, this is a GREAT thing to do. imo, this and "speculating/interpreting the work" are the two coolest comments i get they make me feel AWESOME.)

remind yourself, as many times as you have to, CONSTANTLY if you have to: likes/kudos mean someone enjoyed your work enough to press a button. views mean someone liked your work enough to click through for more. these are POSITIVE interactions, they are not "less positive" than comments or reblogs/reshares. i know those last two things are more obviously gratifying, and depending on if you NEED your work to spread (for exposure/commision prospects/etc), very good, awesome ways to support you, and i don't mean to say you shouldn't WANT comments and reblogs/reshares. but for me, it's helped me a lot to recognize that any bit of effort whatsoever means someone LIKED my work. it's also helped me to think of all the times i've shared a link to an artwork in a discord or something, and know that there is an entire, untangible metric i can't and will never see that, sure, i can choose to believe doesn't exist or isn't very high, but i can ALSO choose to believe it happens quite a lot, and the latter makes me FEEL better about my work and makes me want to create MORE, so i think that's the more productive mindset personally. it doesn't matter what the truth is, you know? we'll never know it and it doesn't harm us to never know it. but it DOES harm us to assume no one quietly, unseen by us, likes our work, and it DOES ENCOURAGE US to assume lots of people do.

here's the thing: anxiety disorders fuck you up by making you believe extremely negative, scary, depressing things. the disorder gets worse the more you allow it to make you believe these things, and the only way out, as stupid and hard and at times impossible as it feels, is to say, "no, i don't like that interpretation, i'm going to replace it with a positive one." anxiety is making paths all throughout your brain, and you have to just, make paths too. anxiety needs YOU to make paths, but YOU don't need anxiety to make paths. your paths WILL be better, safer, easier and happier. you just—and i know that is the biggest "just" ever—have to make them.

but i believe in you. i don't need to know you or your circumstances to believe in you. i believe in the sheer amount of control you have over how you face the world. and it's so much more than anxiety would lead you to believe.

i looooove seeing artists & writers proud of their work!!!!! i looooove captions & authors notes that say things like “i’m quite happy with this” “i love how this turned out” “i had so much fun making this”!!!!!! i loooooove when the act of creation is joyful & we take pride in what we make!!!!!!!!!!

[keferon]

So the Mech AU is something and it's captured me too.

Set sometime after Prowl discovers Jazz is a pilot but before they go to Earth

———————————————————————

"Do they all look the same?"

Sat in a makeshift chair made from a tarp thrown over a spare tire, Jazz was in the middle of refueling from a small plastic baggie when Prowl broadly gestured to the inanimate body of his mech.

"The mechs? Naw, at least not the ones that last. I've had mine long enough that it's gotten all sorts of unique design changes and upgrades. There's no other mech that looks or moves just like mine."

The reassurance that Jazz's mech form was an individual creation was pleasing for some reason. Perhaps Prowl didn't like the idea of a dozen identical blank visors, the body of his friend replicated and filled with someone else.

"There's like. three or four classes of mech I think?" Jazz continued unaware of Prowl's secret anxiety.

"There's Rescue Class, those are the smallest, and they actually aren't built for fighting but for digging through rubble and cleaning up chunks of alien. Plus, sometimes those tentacle freaks have parasites that drop off when they die so the R-class kill 'em before they can become an invasive species."

"I thought you said they weren't designed for combat?"

Jazz finishes their fuel and shrugs.

"Its a war. Nobody gets out of fighting completely. Before I left I heard they were sticking a medic into- into fuckin' Vortex."

There were, many questions Prowl had concerning that last sentence. How desperate were the humans to be making their caregivers into soldiers? Why was this Vortex so infamous?

Why did Jazz sound angry at first, but by the time he got to saying "Vortex" the name came out as a rush of breath rather than a proper word?

What stopped him from pressing further on the topic was how Jazz seemed to shrink. And sink.

And stare at nothing at all.

It was so nauseatingly not Jazz that Prowl nudged the tire a bit and guided the conversation back to familiar territory.

"So what class are you?" Prowl said, while crossing his arms on the table and resting his chin on them. It was, very off model posture for the Praxian, but without the ability to pick up EM fields, exaggerated body language seemed to be the best way to get through to his human.

On a hunch, Prowl lightly waved his door-wings as well. Jazz smiled at them, and at him and Prowl preened with a modest smile back.

"I happen, to-just-so-be-the-Top-of-my-class-a-thank-you-veeery-much!" Jazz said popping each syllable like a song, resting his chin on his knuckles to match Prowls gaze.

"In terms of mech?" He nodded in its direction.

"I'm Striker Class baby, we're the fastest, the most agile and in my personal opinion the the most effective fighters in the whole program."

"And you do not personally feel as though you are an outlier bringing up the average?"

Mouth agape in mock shock, Jazz placed a hand over his spark- Flesh? Flesh-spark? Prowl deleted the line of thought and focused on the performance.

“I assure you Prowler, there are plenty of other Striker class pilots out there that do good for our name. I mean, there’s Blur for one thing. The guys basically the poster child of the whole program. Ridiculously fast mech. There’s also Hot Rod. His mech had the funny little quirk of CONSTANTLY CATCHING ON FIRE, buuut he turned it from a bug into a feature and now that’s just his thing.”

“Just his thing?!”

“Yup.”

“Being on fire?”

Jazz sat up straighter and pointed a finger at Prowl, “Look. I don’t know the full story and I shouldn’t be the one to tell it either, but trust me when I tell you this guy earned it.”

Leaning back, Prowl processed the new layers of insanity humans would apparently subject themselves to before filing it under “Bizarre conversations with Jazz” in his processor and carrying on.

“So what’s your special quality?”

“Me? I’m freakishly good at syncing up with my mech. Like, Blur is faster, but I’m smoother. Like, like that really is me. It just, I dunno, feels right. Fits me.”

Jazz looked over to his mech for a long time. Frowning at the fuel packet in his hands and solemnly crushing it into a ball.

“In terms of mech?” Jazz looked looked over to Prowl, smile returning with ease.

“I think I might be the only one that’s built for the stars.”

Their conversation continued into the evening like a leisurely dance. Discussing Pool Time, the war, cultural differences , the quintessons, their homes, what remained of them, and all the people they know and once knew.

Prowl never brought up Vortex again, though perhaps he should have.

__________________________________________

"What," Prowl choked out, his voice more static than sound. "Is that?"

The sky was green. The quintessions were in chunks. A mech, matte black with a blank visor, caaaarved into the body of the last living invader. A blade that massive was too big to keep a clean cutting edge, so the mech made up for the lack of delicacy with brute force.

It. It wasn't killing the damn thing. It was vivisecting the aliens spinal column from its body, each rib snapping off with a supersonic POP that shook Ratchets hangar and barely carried over the fucking awful sound of the thing screaming in terror.

Prowl would have never thought a Quintession could be a Victim before that moment.

Spine and brain case finally extracted, the mech lifted its prize to its opening vi- mouth.

That is its mouth. It's head was the size of his entire chassis. Inside, a stranger. Over bright eyes, straining and shaking against restraints within to get a better look at what was being held up to him. The mech moved without any input, tilting its helm back and cracking the skull to fill its open maw with cerebral fluid.

A funnel cloud touched down in the distance.

"That.? Jazz said, leaning against Prowls good side. “Is Vortex.”

TH A T. IS VORTEX

Man……I think Cybertronians would consider themselves big and scary compared to primitive earth life. And then meet Vortex. And then see Vortex in their nightmares for the next five million business years

[unoislazy]

For Me?

Vi x Piltover! Reader

Vi deserves the world and a partner that cares about her. Being from Zaun comes with its insecurities when being with someone from Piltover. Luckily, you know exactly how to counter them.

A/N: You guys wont have to worry about that much angst from me for a while, I need to cope from act 3 by giving Vi the best life possible and all the fluff imaginable because oh my god??

There were times when you’d think back to when and how you and your girlfriend met for the first time. Such a chance of it happening was very slim given you two belonged to two different cities, you Piltover, her Zaun. You never thought the girl who rammed into you after fleeing from an explosion from an unauthorized lab would one day come back into your life. 

The story of your reunion however was quite the convoluted one. Once again, a meeting set by nothing but pure fate and chance. 

You weren’t supposed to be at Zaun at the time. In fact, you weren’t supposed to be in Zaun at all. You went on your own, against your family's wishes, for the sake of immersing yourself in a culture that is not your own. You were raised to believe that the people of the undercity were monsters, the filth under Piltover's feet, nothing more than animals. It never felt right to you, there had to be more to it. After all, they were people too.

So, you went to see for yourself how awful these “animals” really were. 

You knew better than to walk in expecting everything to be rainbows and unicorns, but you refused to let go of your optimism as you traveled around the labyrinth like maze of streets and alleyways. 

It wasn’t until the smell of a peculiar type of food filled your senses. 

You didn’t know what it was, it was very different from anything you had ever tried before, so you decided to check it out.  

Once there, you were greeted by a fairly jolly fish-like man with a large smile. He laughed heartily, gesturing for you to take a seat and gave you a list of things to choose from. There were so many options, you had no idea where to start, and it wasn’t until you heard someone else set directly beside you did you finally have an idea. 

You looked to your left and were quickly met with a head of bright pink hair. Quite a unique shade which you could’ve sworn you’d seen before, but you brushed the thought off. There were probably plenty of people with the same hair color, besides if there’s one thing you knew not to do in Zaun, it was to stare. 

You heard one of them, a woman, order something specific off of the fish man’s list, whom she referred to as Jericho. He happily took her order before turning to her friend who denied wanting anything, and then turning back to you. 

“I’ll have the same.” You said with a polite smile. Jericho nodded before turning around and getting right to work. As you waited, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the girl next to you once again, there was something familiar about her despite her back being turned to you for the most part. 

That was until her friend noticed you staring and began to pull her hood over her eyes which grabbed the pink haired girl's attention. She quickly turned around to face you with an angered look on her face, clearly ready to fight if need be.

“Can I help y-“ She began, but before she could finish it finally clicked with you. 

“You’re the girl.” You whispered, having not realized that maybe saying that to a girl who looked, for lack of a better phrase, like she could rock your shit, probably was not a good idea.

“I’m sorry?” She asked, clearly confused, but still clearly not happy about your interruption.

“That girl, from the explosion, that was you.” 

Her reaction to your realization was less than friendly, and you couldn’t blame her. You hadn’t known at the time but she had just gotten out of jail for that same crime. She didn’t know who you were, she didn’t know what you wanted, and she didn’t want to involve herself with more pilties than she needed. 

And yet despite everything, here she was, now living with you on her days when she wasn’t in Zaun. You had quite the rocky start in the beginning but you became useful to her quest for her sister, and the more time you spent with her, the closer you two got. At first she was a bit standoffish, not believing someone from topside was capable of showing so much empathy, if any. Yet somehow you proved her wrong. You chipped away at that stone wall she built around her heart all those years away in prison and became one of the few things she coveted most. 

You two didn’t live together all the time, but your house was always open to her as you had now managed to move away from your parents. You knew Vi could never stay topside for too long, and you’d never ask her to do such. So there were a few days here and there where she would stay with you, then go back to the undercity to continue to help out, then come back up with you.

Now today was the day for Vi to come back, so you decided to surprise her to the best of your ability with the dish she got from Jericho the day you two met once again. It was quite a feat that required you to go to the undercity a fair amount of times to visit Jericho and ask for help. Luckily the sweet man was more than happy to let you in on a few of his trade secrets for the sake of a thoughtful gift. 

You weren’t the biggest fan of this type of food, you’ve tried it on more than one occasion, but it very clearly wasn’t for you. 

But it was what Vi liked so that was enough. 

As you continued to cook, you heard your door open, without even needing to look you knew it was your partner walking through the door.

“Welcome back.” You greeted warmly. 

Just then, You felt two hands wriggle around your waist before the weight of her head rested on your shoulder. She tilted her head slightly, her face now moving towards your neck, enough for you to feel the light feeling of her breath wafting over your neck. 

You ignored the feeling to the best of your ability but you couldn’t ignore the small smile that made its way to your face, this of course didn’t go unnoticed by Vi as she mumbled against your neck, 

“What are you making?” She asked, pressing her body a bit more into yours. She had a tendency to be clingy after being away for long periods of time, which you didn’t mind. 

“Something new. Just got the recipe, I think you’ll like it.” You said with a smile, which earned a short chuckle from your girlfriend who turned to begin peppering light kisses against your neck.

“If it’s made by you Sunshine, of course I will.” She said sweetly, despite the fact she was trying to ‘discreetly’ distract you. It wasn’t actually very discreet but she thought it was and you weren’t going to correct her.

“It smells familiar.” She said quietly after pausing for a moment to look back over your shoulder.

“Means I’m doing something right then.” You said happily, glad that it was going well. Her confirmation that she at the very least was beginning to recognize it was enough to motivate you to continue. However despite your motivation it was clear your girlfriend still had other plans in mind. 

Her hands slowly began to move their way up from your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as her face remained by your neck. 

“Can I at least finish the food first?” You asked with a laugh as your left hand went up to lightly brush against Vi’s face, acknowledging what she was trying to do. 

She once again mumbled quietly against you before finally pulling away. 

“Fine.” She said with an overly dramatic sigh before continuing, 

“You’re no fun.” She teased as her hands slowly, reluctantly, left your sides as she moved to the counter next to the stove you were using to cook. She leaned the back of her waist against it, her arms crossed in front of her chest, as she looked at you with a look you could only describe as a lighthearted pout.

“Save that for later you just got back. You have to eat first.” You said in a somewhat stern manner, not looking away from the food cooking in front of you. 

“Who says I can’t have a bit of dessert first?” 

“Vi!” You exclaimed as you walked her softly with a cloth that you had placed by the stove. She laughed, a full genuine laugh, which she felt like she could only do near you. You were the only one to really bring it out of her at this point. 

“Just… go sit down, the food is almost done.” You instructed, turning back to the food as she chuckled once again before walking back towards you. Her hand made its way back to your waist once again as she leaned towards your ear,

“Can’t wait.” She whispered cheekily before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and walking towards the dining room. 

You, being from a family who had lived in Piltover for quite some time, were able to afford a house with multiple furnished rooms with ease. It always threw Vi off just the slightest bit, the difference in what the two of you grew up with. It got to her more than she’d like to admit. A few times she believed herself to be holding you back, you came from a life of glittering buildings, and she came from nothing but metal scraps. 

You were so different and yet you always managed to remind her that it didn’t matter. She loved you for you and you loved her for her, wherever you came from had no effect on that.

Vi sat down in one of the few chairs in your dining room, looking around at the paintings that littered the walls, her previous thoughts remaining on her mind before she was interrupted by a plate of food entering her view and landing in front of her.

“Tada!” You exclaimed into the silent room, the only other sound being that of the plate lightly hitting the table. Vi sat in silence for a moment as she looked down at the food before her, it took her a moment before she recognized it.

“Wait. Did you-“ She began to ask.

“Find the recipe to your favorite dish from your favorite food stand? Maybe.” You responded with a proud smile as you sat down in the chair next to her, eager to have her try it. 

“How did you get the stuff for it?”

“Well, I visited a friend.” You said with a shrug. Vi looked towards you, her eyes wide with shock. As each moment passed she realized just how much effort went into this one dish.

“You hate this kind of stuff, why would you-“

“Cause I know you like it and I wanted to make it for you.” You said simply as you placed your hand atop hers.

Suddenly Vi couldn’t think of a response. Her sudden silence worried you almost, was she mad? Was she upset at you? 

You then looked at her eyes and watched as they softened, the powder blue irises glistened as water lightly began to form in them.

“Holy shit.” She said quietly, entirely taken aback as she sat back in her chair. For someone with such a tough exterior you could see the walls slightly begin to crack as she looked down at the food before her. It meant more than the world to her that you had put so much effort into something she liked, for her, and for no other reason. 

Just because you cared.

It had been a long time since Vi had been truly reminded she was loved. Just having such a simple yet, such a powerful reminder in the middle of nowhere by the one person she truly loved was almost disorienting. You went out of your way to get ingredients you couldn't get easily in Piltover, a recipe you had to go to a specific stand for, her favorite stand no less, and then put it all together?

“Vi?” You asked quietly, your other hand going up the cup to her face so she would look at you a bit more as you looked at her with a bit of concern. You didn’t expect such an emotional reaction from your gesture that you were worried you had done something wrong.

“Are you o-”

Before you could finish your question, Vi had turned to you quickly and engulfed you in a hug. This took you completely by surprise. In the time that you and Vi had been together, more often than not when it came to specifically hugging, you were the one to initiate. She just never seemed like the hugging type unless it was an occasion where she truly meant it.

And in this case, she did. 

“Thank you, Sunshine.” She said quietly as she squeezed just a bit tighter. Your hands rested against her back as you smiled, feeling as if you had done a job well done even without her trying her dish. You knew Vi had been through a lot over the years and while you didn’t know the full extent of everything just yet, you knew you could at least try to offer her some sort of comfort. So that’s what you strived for and it seems like that's what you succeeded to do. 

Once she pulled back from the hug, you reached up to wipe her tears, the smile still present on your face as you spoke. 

“Well, are you gonna try it?” You asked, to which she smiled and let out a slight chuckle. She then eagerly turned back around towards her plate and dug in as she usually did in the undercity. She knew you didn’t care about the messy nature that often came with Zaun cuisine, even if it wasn’t what you were raised on, it meant a lot to her that you at least tried it out. With one taste she immediately released a sound of pure bliss and dove back in for more.

You laughed, knowing that was Vi’s way of saying you had done a perfect job, even if she didn’t pause from her eating to just tell you so herself. 

[felassan]

David Gaider on Zevran, under a cut for length:

"I was going to skip over Zevran, honestly, as I felt like I didn't have a lot to tell in the way of stories about him... but I know he still has some (ardent) fans. Plus, on reflection, I thought maybe I DO have a few things to say. 😅 Sooo we'll see how this goes. Zevran came along much later in the DAO process, as we were trying to round out the cast of party members. Alistair and Morrigan were well underway (as "main" characters, they were concepted very early) and I'd just started to consider who our Rogue followers might be when... things changed, a bit. See, BioWare had released a game not long beforehand called Jade Empire. It had included some same-sex options in its romances - not obscured like the way Juhani's "romance" had been hinted at in KotOR, but explicit. To this day, I have no idea who on the Jade Empire team was behind it, or why. More to the point, the same-sex options had received a lot of attention and praise - almost universal praise, in fact. In 2005, everyone was just pleasantly surprised. And I don't recall if I went to James and asked about it or if he came to me to suggest DAO should include it. The latter, I think."

"You might ask "Aren't you gay, Dave? Weren't you already pushing for this?" And the answer to that is, emphatically, "no, not at all". It might seem odd looking through the lens of 2024, but there was no talk of 'representation' or 'diversity'. Not at any level where we were aware of it, anyhow. Today, fans argue about how MUCH representation to include and whether it's done well enough... the idea that, less than twenty years ago, it being included *at all* was very much in doubt feels so far away. But, back then, I'd always assumed my private life and my work in games would never meet. So I think it was James who brought it up, because I remember being startled. Pleasantly so, of course. Now I had to look at our two rogues and figure out how this would apply. I sketched out the female of the two (who was taken on by Sheryl Chee) and then looked at the male - he who became Zevran. I'd been reading about the CIA and one thing that stuck with me was how they'd (allegedly) recruit gay men as assassins because they rarely had familial ties. Zevran wasn't going to be gay (bisexuality wasn't a question of representation, but a cost-benefit compromise) but that was the inspiration."

"Then there was the question of how "flamboyantly" I was writing this character, whether that might be too stereotypical? I don't remember how it arose, but I had too many "flamboyant" friends to do anything other than double down. This character was gonna be Zorro the goddamn Gay Blade, that's what. So that's how Zevran happened. Fun, a bit nihilistic, maybe a bit too overtly flirty for today's audience but very confidently *sexual*. Everything I'm not, so I'll admit it was an interesting exploration to dig down and find that voice somewhere inside. He was the anti-Alistair, and I needed that. Casting him was difficult. Caroline always tried to go for authentic accents, when we could, but for some reason this was getting us nowhere. I think back, and I suspect it's because I hadn't yet learned the lesson to not use terms in casting descriptions I thought were universal... but were not. What do I mean by that? Well, there was one write-up that said "drow elf". Now, I know what a drow elf is. It wasn't even important to the description, but the director saw the word "elf", and you know what we got back? A Keebler elf. Like a leprachaun, high and sweet and cutsie. Can you imagine?"

"In this case, I think it was the use of the word "assassin". Combine that with the sorts of roles many Hispanic actors in LA probably are asked to play, and all the auditions we were getting were 150% dark, mean, and gritty. 🫠 So we widened the casting call a bit, and this led us to Jon Curry. I knew Jon wasn't Hispanic, but what I wasn't prepared for when I flew down to meet the DAO actors was that he's this extremely tall, extremely Nordic looking dude who just happened to do the most amazing Antonio Banderas impression. Watching THAT man channel Zevran was... more than a bit surreal. 😅 And he had fun with it. As soon as we gave him the go ahead to play the fun and flirtiness to the hilt, that's exactly what he did. Over the few days where we found Zevran's voice, it totally supplied me with something I could hold in my head when I went back to Edmonton and finished writing him. Zevran was funny enough that the fans liked him. The only part of the reception I thought odd was the occasional comment by a male player who felt "tricked" into having sex with Zevran. "You mean... that part where he invites you to his tent for a sensual massage?" "Yes! I was expecting a massage!" "He literally says the massage is sensual." "Well he wasn't clear enough!" This is where I first came to the conclusion that a certain number of our players just don't know how to people. And that maybe an adjustment to the way we approached the messaging (or massaging lol) of romance was in order. If I could go back, would I change anything? Maybe I'd remind the systems team Zevran should really be able to pick a lock. And maybe not allow him to die. We had no idea we'd need to import these choices into the future - we kinda thought DAO was "one and done". Not so much, as it turned out. 😁"

[source thread]

David Gaider: "there's something to be said about how Zevran flirted and even had sex with you because he thought that's all he had to offer... not just you, but anyone. And when he realized you wanted something deeper, suddenly he was on unsteady ground and it truly unsettled him. It was fun to explore." [source]

User: "So David - besides loving the fact that the third image you picked is a gay sex scene - what happened in DA2(DAE - come on) with Zevrans design?" David Gaider: "Check the ALT text. It wasn’t a custom sculpt, so that’s as close as they could get it. Which… was not close." [source]

User: "Just to make sure I fully understand: the director (was it the voice director?) saw the word "elf" and thought you were looking for someone high, sweet, and cutesie?" David Gaider: "Yeah, this was from back before we managed VO in-house. The voice director in this case just didn’t have an association with “elf” like some familiar with fantasy would." [source]

[olive-main]

Hi, hope you’re well! Saw your request for angst ideas. If you’re interested: Reader has been part of the Inner Circle for years, like an og member. Post war she watches Az fall in love with Elaine or Gwyn. She’s known they’re mates, but he’s always told her he loves her as a friend, and nobody else knows they’re mates. She watches as his relationship grows, maybe they’re having a kid or whatever, this can be all the angst you see fit. She’s finally had enough and decides to leave (either for work as an emissary or for herself). Maybe as she starts to rebuild, Az and the IC realize how much her loss impacts them. But when they go see her, she’s thriving. Ending can be whatever floats your boat, maybe she’s with Eris or thriving in Day as Lucien’s advisor, or something else all together.

To Love and Let Go

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: An unrequited love, and a one sided mating bond. What will reader do when she can no longer watch Azriel fall for another female who isn’t her?

Wc: 2.9k (gah dayum)

A/N: ok, this is the longggest fic I've written to date, but I don't hate it...and I may be persuaded to write a part two with multiple endings bcs I'm indecisive asf. Requests are still open and highly encouraged since I'm on break and have a bunch of free time, clearly.

__

The stars are mocking tonight, their gleam far too bright for the storm brewing inside you. Velaris has always been beautiful, but tonight the city feels suffocating. The laughter of your family echoes around the River House’s dining room, filling the space with warmth and joy.

You sit at the edge of the long table, wine in hand, your smile carefully in place. Cassian is in the middle of one of his stories, something about Azriel and a drunken spar decades ago. The table erupts in laughter, and you can’t help but glance at him.

Azriel sits across from you, his shoulders relaxed, his shadows soft and relaxed as they curl lazily around him. He’s laughing—quiet and rare, but enough to tug at your chest in a way you’ve never been able to stop.

Beside him, Gwyn is radiant. She laughs, bright and genuine, her hand resting on his arm as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand shifts, fingers brushing over hers in a way that’s intimate, tender. Simple. Devastating.

You lift your wine to your lips and down the rest of the glass in one burning gulp.

You’ve known for years that Azriel isn’t yours to have. When the Cauldron whispered of your bond, it hadn’t been the joyous revelation you’d dreamed of. Instead, it had been a curse.

You feel it even now—that golden thread tying your soul to his, pulling taut every time you see him. But Azriel never acknowledged it, not once. How could he when he didn't even know it existed?

“You’re my best friend,” he’d told you long ago, sitting beside you on a rooftop in Velaris, the two of you cloaked in silence and shadows. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And you’d smiled. Smiled and tucked the truth deeper inside yourself, burying it so far down you almost convinced yourself it wasn’t real. Almost.

The conversation shifts around you, but the words blur together, distant and unimportant. You force yourself to stay, to laugh when you’re supposed to, to nod in all the right places.

Across the table, Gwyn leans closer to Azriel, whispering something in his ear. He smiles at her, that soft, secret smile you’ve seen so many times over the years. But it’s never been for you.

The ache in your chest spreads, sharp and relentless, until you can’t bear it any longer. You push your chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor.

“Everything okay?” Mor asks, her brows furrowing as she studies you.

You nod quickly, forcing a tight smile. “Just need some air.”

No one questions you, and you’re grateful for it. You slip out of the room and onto the balcony, the cool night air rushing to meet you. The stars stretch endlessly above, and for a moment, you close your eyes and pretend this life isn’t yours.

But the bond hums faintly in the back of your mind, tethering you to someone who will never feel the same way.

—

You grip the balcony railing, the cool metal grounding you as you draw in a shaky breath. The quiet should feel peaceful, but it doesn’t. Not with the sound of their laughter spilling through the open door behind you, not with the bond thrumming painfully in the back of your mind.

You’ve endured this for years. Watching Azriel laugh, fight, live, all while pretending your heart doesn’t shatter every time he smiles at someone who isn’t you. Gwyn. Elain before her, and Mor long before that. All the women who could never feel what you feel for him—but were lucky enough to have his attention anyway.

And then there’s you, his best friend. The one he trusts, confides in, leans on. Just never in the way you ache for. Even before the bond snapped, you’d been in love with the Shadowsinger. He was always the calm amongst the chaos of your family, the one you could seek refuge in.

The sound of footsteps interrupts your thoughts. You don’t need to look to know it’s him. His shadows reach you first, curling gently around your wrist, hesitant and curious. They always do that, as if they sense the things he doesn’t.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice is soft, warm in a way that makes it harder to breathe.

You release the railing and turn to face him, your mask firmly in place. “I’m fine. Just needed a moment.”

His brows pull together, his hazel eyes studying you in that unrelenting way of his. “You’ve seemed… distracted tonight.”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not distracted. Just tired, that’s all.” The lie was easy on your tongue, a lie you’ve repeated more times than you can count.

His shadows shift, curling tighter around you. “You can tell me if something’s wrong,” he says, his voice low, careful.

You want to laugh again. Wrong? Everything is wrong. Your mate is standing in front of you, looking at you with concern while his love sits inside, waiting for him. He doesn’t even feel the bond that’s been tearing you apart for years. How could you possibly tell him the truth?

“I’m fine, Az,” you say again, stepping back, putting distance between you. “Go back inside. Gwyn’s probably wondering where you are.”

Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it. He hesitates, his shadows brushing against your hand one last time before retreating.

“All right,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t look convinced.

You watch him go, his wings casting long shadows across the balcony as he disappears into the house. The bond hums faintly, pulling at your heart even as you stand there alone.

—

A part of you wants to blame yourself for never telling him about the mating bond. It was known Azriel always longed for a mate, so much so he had made the bold claim of Elain being his mate once upon a time. Now, he's with Gwyn under that same notion. Unfortunately, your heart had wanted him to love you without the influence of the bond.

Your thoughts persist as you force your eyes shut, trying and failing to fall asleep.

Instead, you lie awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of it all presses down on you. You’ve built your entire life around the Inner Circle, around him. And for what? To watch him build a life with someone else? To keep breaking your own heart over and over again?

No.

When dawn comes, the decision is already made.

—

“Are you sure about this?” Feyre asks, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

You stand in the foyer of the River House, your bags already packed and waiting by the door. The soft morning light filters through the windows, casting golden hues over everything. It should feel warm. Comforting. But all you feel is the ache of goodbye.

“I’m sure,” you say, and your voice doesn’t waver.

Rhysand stands a few paces away, arms crossed, his violet eyes sharp and assessing. You were like a sister to him, someone he’d protected and seen through every phase of life. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently. “We can figure something out. If you need time off, time for yourself—”

“I need more than time, Rhys,” you interrupt, forcing a small smile to soften the blow. “I need space. A fresh start. This is the right move for me.”

You’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times, carefully framing your departure as a professional opportunity. An emissary position in Day Court. Helion had been eager to accept your offer, praising your skills and promising a new challenge that you could sink your teeth into.

It wasn’t a lie. You would thrive in Day Court. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Feyre’s grip on your arm tightens, her lips pressing together as if she’s holding back an argument. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you’re running away,” she says softly.

You glance past her, your eyes catching on the open archway leading to the dining room. You can feel him in there, his shadows faint even from this distance. The bond pulls, a sharp tug against your ribs.

“I’m not running away,” you tell her, even though part of you wonders if that’s exactly what this is. “I’m choosing myself for once.”

Rhys nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you need, then we support you. Always.”

A lump rises in your throat, but you swallow it down, turning to hug Feyre. “Thank you. For everything.”

—

Azriel watches from the shadows of the dining room as you leave. He doesn’t mean to linger there, doesn’t mean to eavesdrop—but he can’t help it.

He hears Feyre’s quiet goodbye, Rhys’s reassurances. He sees the way your shoulders straighten as you step out the door, as if you’re carrying a weight none of them can understand.

Something twists in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

He doesn’t understand it. You’ve left Velaris before, gone on missions and trips for weeks at a time. But this feels… different. Permanent.

For a moment, he almost steps forward, almost calls out to you. But then the door closes, and you’re gone.

—

The Day Court is a world apart from Velaris.

Here, the sun always seems to shine, casting a golden glow over Helion’s sprawling palace. It’s vibrant, full of life, and for the first time in years, you feel as though you can finally breathe.

Helion welcomes you with open arms, praising your work and throwing you headfirst into new projects. The days are busy, your nights peaceful, and slowly—very slowly—the ache in your chest begins to fade.

You make new allies and friends. Lucien, especially, becomes an unexpected source of comfort. He understands unspoken bonds, the pain of being tied to someone who doesn’t want you. For the first few weeks, most, if not all your time was spent by his side.

“You’re free now,” he tells you one evening, the two of you sitting on a balcony overlooking the Day Court gardens. His amber eyes glint in the fading sunlight. “It doesn’t feel like it yet, but it will. One day.”

You smile, a real smile, and let the words settle in your chest.

—

Back in Velaris, the Inner Circle feels the void you’ve left behind. Cassian complains loudly during training sessions about how things don’t run as smoothly without you. Mor keeps suggesting trips to Day Court, half-joking but half-serious. Even Feyre finds herself reaching for you during meetings, only to realize you’re no longer there.

And Azriel…

Azriel notices most of all.

He misses the quiet way you steadied him, the way you always seemed to know what he needed before he did. The balance you brought to the group. To him.

At first, he tells himself it’s just an adjustment. You’ll be back eventually. But as the weeks stretch into months, he begins to realize just how deeply your absence has cut into his life.

The shadow of the bond hums faintly in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t understand why.

Not yet.

—

It’s Feyre who suggests the trip.

“You’ve been working too hard,” she tells Azriel, shooting him with a look that leaves no room for argument. “We all have. A visit to Day Court will do us some good. Besides, it’s been too long since we’ve seen her.”

Azriel hesitates but eventually agrees. He tells himself it’s curiosity, that he just wants to see how you’re settling in. Since you’ve left his relationship with everyone, Gywn especially, has grown distant. He tries to find you in her, comparing the small things that shouldn’t matter—and every time it only makes his heart sink.

When they arrive, they find you in the Day Court gardens, laughing at something Lucien has said. The sunlight catches in your hair, your face glowing with a happiness Azriel hasn’t seen in years.

The gardens are breathtaking, a vibrant sprawl of golden blooms and gleaming fountains that seem to echo the brilliance of the sun overhead. But Azriel doesn’t see any of it.

His focus is entirely on you.

You look radiant, the golden hues of Day Court seeming to highlight the confidence you’ve gained in your time away.

Lucien leans closer, his expression soft yet intent, and the sight makes something dark and ugly twist in Azriel’s chest. It’s not the first time he’s seen Lucien or been jealous of the male, but this—this—feels different. He used to feel that pang of jealousy when he blindly pined for Elain, now with you it returned with a greater force.

He doesn’t understand why these feelings have suddenly spread through him. You’ve always been his friend. His anchor. But as Lucien reaches out to brush a stray hair from your face, Azriel feels like he’s watching something slip through his fingers.

“Az?” Feyre’s voice pulls him back. She’s watching him with careful eyes, her brow furrowing.

He shakes his head and straightens his posture, forcing his expression back into neutral territory. “I’m fine.” But he isn’t.

Before Feyre can press him further, Lucien notices their approach and gives a low whistle. “Well, well. Velaris sends its finest.” His tone is teasing, but there’s warmth in his amber eyes as they flick toward you.

You turn, and when your gaze lands on Azriel, your smile falters. It’s a subtle shift, but he sees it. Feels it.

“Rhysand. Feyre. Azriel,” you greet, inclining your head slightly, your voice polite but distant. As if they were strangers and not the family you chose all those centuries ago.

He hates it.

The reunion is cordial at first, filled with pleasantries and talk of work. Lucien stands close to you, his presence steady, his hand occasionally brushing yours in a way that grounds you. Azriel’s shadows stir restlessly, but he forces them into submission.

“You’ve done well here,” Feyre says warmly, her gaze sweeping over the garden. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” Your smile is genuine, though it doesn’t quite reach Azriel. “Helion has been… generous with his trust.”

“And with his emissary’s time,” Lucien adds, grinning at you. ��She’s a natural. Can’t imagine how Day Court managed before she arrived.”

The praise makes you duck your head slightly, a faint blush blooming across your cheeks. Azriel’s jaw tightens.

“Sounds like you’ve been keeping busy,” he says, his voice lower than usual.

Your eyes flick to him briefly before turning back to Lucien, but there’s something guarded in your expression. “I have. It’s been… fulfilling.”

The word stings more than it should.

—

Eventually, Feyre and Rhys drift away with Lucien, leaving you and Azriel alone amidst the golden flowers. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words.

“You’ve been… different,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, your arms folding across your chest. “Different how?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Happier,” he admits.

The softness in his voice almost makes you falter, but you stand your ground. “I am,” you say simply.

His shadows curl around his feet, agitated. “You left so suddenly,” he says, his tone sharper now. “One day you were there, and the next you were… gone. No warning. No explanation.”

You raise an eyebrow, bitterness creeping into your voice. “I told you I needed space. I told all of you.” You pause for a second, staring at a cluster of white lilies. “Why does it matter now, Azriel?”

“Because I miss you,” he says, the words raw and unguarded. “We all do. But me… I—” He stops himself, jaw clenching.

You laugh softly, but it’s a hollow, bitter sound. “You miss me now? After I’ve finally started to find peace? After you’ve built a life with Gwyn?”

His shadows surge forward, brushing against your arm, but you shake them off. “Don’t do this, Azriel.”

“You’re my friend,” he says, and the words make your heart twist painfully.

You whirl to face him, your eyes blazing. “No. I was never just your friend, Azriel. I was your mate.”

The truth spills out before you can stop it, sharp and cutting. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief.

“What?” His voice is barely a whisper.

You laugh again, a broken sound. “The Cauldron tied us together centuries ago, but you never felt it, did you? You never even noticed.”

His shadows pull back, retreating like they’ve been burned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter!” you snap, your voice rising. “You didn’t want me that way, Azriel. You never did. And I wasn’t about to force something on you that you didn’t feel.”

He stares at you, his usually stoic face cracking with something raw and uncertain. “I—”

But you shake your head, cutting him off. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve moved on.”

“You’ve moved on?” he echoes, his gaze flicking toward the direction Lucien went. His voice lowers, dangerous. “With him?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, though the word feels heavy. “Because he sees me, Azriel. He knows what it’s like to be unwanted. To feel second-best.”

The words are a dagger between you, and you can see the way they strike him, the way his shadows twist and writhe.

“Is that what you think?” he asks quietly, his voice breaking. “That you were second-best?”

Your throat tightens, but you refuse to back down. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The bond hums faintly in your chest, but it’s different now—fading, unraveling as you finally let go of the male who could never love you the way you deserved.

“I’m happy here,” you say softly, your voice steady. “And you… you have Gwyn. You have your life in Velaris. Let that be enough.”

Azriel doesn’t argue. He just stands there, his shadows a chaotic storm around him, as you turn and walk away.

This time, you don’t look back.

Aaannd scene XOXO ~

[mayullla]

Title: His Dream Wife

Character(s): Richard (Original character / Original work)

Synopsis: He always wanted a perfect family, but life never gave him what he wanted. Instead, he was blackmailed into marrying a gold digger. But after seeing you for the first time the wife of his friend all he could think of was you. So don't mind him when he was given the option to swap his wife's consciousness with yours he took that chance immediately.

Warnings/tags: Yandere Dilf x meek reader, yandere pov, general yandere themes, body swap between reader and Yandere's wife, cheating (not done by reader), arranged, baby trapping, Yandere wants that traditional wife and lifestyle. Word count: 4.2k (Please tell me if I miss anything!)

Note: I just finished reading the webtoon "Marry My Husband," so you can probably see many small ideas taken from it in this story!

Ever since he was young, Richard had fantasies and dreams of a perfect family. He always loved the idea of someone relying on him just as much as he would on them, and someone who would love him exclusively and trust him completely. Maybe that was why he liked wolves, having been told back then that those animals would mate for life. He liked that. He wanted that. Friends were nice there is nothing wrong with that. But there is something about a family that he wanted. Maybe it was because he was jealous back then of how affectionate his grandparents were between each other, while his parents were far from that.

That was what he wanted and well maybe he started to want a little more the older he got. He wanted what his grandparents had, he wanted what the movies had… he wanted what his fantasies had. He loved the idea of a family, coming back from work to an affectionate housewife with her tummy big inside a second or third child while holding the first. The idea of kisses between each other, while his lover irrupts in giggles, playfully pushing him back telling him that he should not let the food turn cold or let the kids see them.

Someone he could spoil and give everything to while she relied on him and his money. He would work hard every day just for her and the kids, to give them the home they deserve. She would give back by cooking and cleaning the house, anybody knows that those things are hard work and everything takes time. But she would do it for the both of them, for him. 

Yet he wasn't able to attain that dream. He wasn't allowed to have it. He attracted the attention of a viel woman, who had used any and every blackmail to tie him down to her. He was a manager at a big company already quickly climbing up but also came from a rich family, he unwantedly got the attention of a woman who was greedy for money and something handsome. 

And her own manager was ripe for the picking.

She did many things but somehow he was able to avoid many of them however that could only go on for so long. She was cunning, too smart for her own good. He didn't know how she did it, it made him furious at what she did waking up in a hotel with her right beside him. He had no memories of the night yet she did when she told everyone that she had his baby a month later.

Everyone was frantic, his parents especially who cared so much about their appearance and reputation than anything else. While he hated them for the lack of love or care only forcing him to their whims to get a word above their acquaintances and rivals. The idea of him their own son mudding their name with the fact that he got someone pregnant without marriage made them furious. They wanted him to marry her immediately and he had no choice not when they held his job, reputation, and life above him not when that woman too did the same with her connections and people behind the scenes. It was idiotic that he fell into her hands like this, no matter what he did she did not let go and sank her claws deep into his skin.

Richard wanted to know if this child was his, but there was no time when everybody demanded his and that woman didn't give him a chance to check. Only to cry after the marriage that the child from miscarriage due to stress from his selfishness. Many blamed him even though he knew that she was lying this whole time but no matter what he said her crocodile tears worked far better than any explanation.

He was furious, angered by everything that happened but he wasn't allowed to do anything he wasn't allowed to break up with her. His life, everything that he worked for had turned to nothing by this woman. She could care less about love or something genuine and only cared about his money, demanding that he give her money to go shopping to buy expensive brand items and clothing while also going to parties and bars with her friends coming back home late leaving only a mess with how drunk she was.

Some days she would not come home at all and he assumed that she was with another man, as he didn't give in to her sexual demands even if they were husband and wife. At this point, the idea of touching her body even her hand disgusted him.

He thought he lost everything, he felt hopeless when he could not break up with that woman who made sure that he could not have a divorce without destroying his reputation and paying her a huge amount of cash. She was insane.

Rather than be with her he would rather drown in his work in his office. The house smelled like her strong perfume that could only make his head hurt the moment he took one whiff of it even though that woman wasn't even in the house having already left to head to the next new bar that opened up in the city.

That was his life, he genuinely thought that this was his ending, a story that didn't end so well, yet unable to change anything with knives around his neck daring him to move. But in the end, nothing is concrete, sometimes all it takes is helping an old lady who just so happens to be a fortune teller. 

Typing away at his computer late at night in his office as he looked at the time, his thoughts could not help but let his thoughts drift for a moment. Richard closed his eyes slightly burning from looking at the laptop for too long. Leaning his chair, he pulled his tie down a little as he thought about this afternoon when he helped out a poor fortune teller the old woman after picking some stuff up at the market, who looked to be in her 80s stuck outside homeless and struggling to open her shop. As she had dropped something that had rolled towards him he picked it up and gave it to the old lady. He didn't know what moved him to help her. But as a present, he had gotten a small viel.

"Thank you for your help. You are quite the hard worker." The old woman said, sitting on the chair when everything was finally set up. She looked at him with a sly smile on her face. The old woman he later realized had a way of speaking, that wasn't normal. Weird yet at the same time sharp... too sharp. “Too bad you are stuck with such a mean spirit woman. How you handle such a woman for so long now… I am impressed.” Sharp as in she knew too much than he would have liked for a stranger to know.

"Buahahaha, don't worry boy this would be the last you would ever hear from me after this." The old woman laughed at his stiff glare. He didn't know how she did it but she seemed to know a lot about his relationship with his wife and the trouble that he was in yet at the same time she had a knack for poking at his sore spots. 

Before Richard could think about calling the police she suddenly pulled out a vial inside containing a blue liquid, "You help me with my little trouble so I want to give you a little something, that could help you with your own little trouble. Besides, I couldn't resist helping someone in need.” 

“A little swap potion, let your wife and your sweetheart drink it and they will swap at the start of the next day. The lil spell would wear off in a month but if there is nothing to return to… well then that means nothing could even happen. Dont yah think so boy? Haha!” He took the vial from the lady, thinking about throwing it when she was nowhere in sight. The creepy grin didn't match her so-called kind action, but she was not finished with talking.

“You better move fast my boy, that woman will make sure you will be dead before a year. It is very easy to hide evidence with a car crash.”

After that, it was difficult to throw the thin vial. Part of him could not drop the liquid into the bin, so he stored it on his office desk, locked but with a key, along with other important documents and such.

"Richard!! Why did you not show up at the dinner party?! Do you know how much embarrassment you have caused me?" his wife screamed. He couldn't help but groan in annoyance the moment he walked through the entrance. It was too early in the morning for such screaming, but she just continued on and on: "And why are you here now?!! It is the next day!? Explain yourself!"

"I don't need to explain myself to you at all." Walking past his wife who was glaring daggers at him. The more he learned about his wife the more he realized that she was similar to his parents, cared only about reputation, and was selfish putting themselves first before anything else. Hypocrites. "I had to finish up some work so I stayed at my office. I needed to finish all the file work before the meeting." Unlike a certain someone who would come home the next day afternoon after being in someone else's arms. 

Walking into his own home, he could not recognize it... everything was thrown about and trashed everywhere. Expensive decorations on the floor and shattered. Sofa and pillows ripped letting cotton spill from them. Walls wet and dirty with glass cups, and pots of plants shattered on the floor. Looking at everything he kept his anger internally holding everything in as he continued to walk towards his office and bedroom locked with a key.

This wasn't the first time this happened, he had found out that there was no use to teaching someone who saw no reason to change her ways. He just needs to call in some cleaners, replace the things that broke and that was it.

Heading to his home office to place his bag on the table he suddenly received a text on his phone. Pulling out the device to check who it was while the woman continued to scream at him.

"That doesn't explain why you didn't tell me you couldn't join the dinner!" It was because she wouldn't listen, no matter what. If he had told her, she would have either demanded that he come or screamed at him—first on the phone, then again when he got home. "Answer your phone when I call! Are you even listening to me?!"

He knew of the calls and messages. She had been calling non-stop and texting for an hour since he didn't come to her friends' dinner. He just didn't care to answer and left it on mute to let him focus on his work. Looking at the sender he couldn't help but sigh.

"Hey, I am talking to you!" Her shrill screaming was mind-numbing as he got his clothes unable to stand her voice and would rather change elsewhere. "RICHARD!!!"

He quickly left the house and got into his car, ignoring the high-heeled shoe that was thrown at him—missing as it landed. Starting the engine, he drove off, tuning out her shouts.

It was past midnight, and he was alone on the road. No one else was in sight. As he waited at a red light, he pulled out his phone to check a message. It was from a "friend" he had made at university, inviting him to dinner the next day. The guy had always been friendly—or at least tried to be. He had the personality of a know-it-all, and while he didn’t care for him much, it seemed the guy had once considered them friends. That was until money and popularity got to his head.

The guy knew a lot and had multiple connections and friends, he was the one who helped him find a cleaner will to keep silent about everything that happened in the house after the housemaid quit due to his wife assuming that he and the maid had done something sexual in the bedroom. The woman was crying as her hair had been pulled and her face slapped by his wife.

He also had seen the lust in that friend's eyes whenever he looked at her. Even after the guy was married for over a year he still looked at another wife with lust, it was disgusting to Richard that his friend would do such a thing but as the guy had helped him with a few of his troubles he didn't just cut him away.

The message was an invite for a double date. Having just left his house and his furious wife behind (not that he would ever take her anywhere unless absolutely forced), he tried to decline, saying that his wife was a bit "busy."

[Dude, dont worry about it and just come then.]

[Won't it be awkward for your wife?]

[It doesn't matter she would just say that it is fine either way.]

[Don't leave me here with her. You have already talked with her either way it is not a problem anymore. ]

From what he remembered it seemed that it was an arranged marriage between the two. Something that was decided by their parents for the benefit of their companies. The guy absolutely hated the fact that he was pushed into this marriage and had nothing good to say about his wife but that was a goody two shoes and boring. "She lacks the wildness that I am looking for." The guy said he was drinking in a bar one time having called him to express his frustrations after an official meeting with her. "She probably doesn't know anything except how to clean dishes.”

"I would not leave the house with a babe like yours. How do you keep everything in your pants?" The guy asked too drunk from all the alcohol to be careful with his words. "You might like my fiance a lot with your uptight attitude and lack of fun. Maybe we should switch wives later. Hey, wanna wife swap one time? It would be fun~~."

He had ignored the very obvious lust in the guy’s eyes, choosing not to address it and instead steer the conversation elsewhere. In the end, between hiccups, the guy told him he’d introduce him to his future wife and insisted that he should come to the wedding.

A few days later, with the invitation in hand, he attended the wedding. There, he saw the guy’s wife—and he was absolutely floored.

It was just a moment. A fleeting glimpse. He caught sight of her for only a second, walking toward his friend across the hall. Through the open door of the bride's room, he saw her, and he froze.

She was stunning.

He could not believe that a woman like you would become the wife of the guy. He wanted to take a step back to see you again, yet when his wife called him he was forced to start walking again not wanting to cause a scene due to her fickle pride. 

After all, he could see you again on the walkway when the wedding starts.

But he didn't want to leave either way.

Seated on the husband's side as the music stopped hinting to the guest that it was about to start soon. He watched as his friend walked the aisle, knowing but not commenting on the dirty slutish look his wife was giving to the guy looking at him up and down and waiting for you to show up.

You arrived soon after, dressed elegantly and sophisticated holding bouquets of flowers. He noticed how pretty you were, your walk and movements were elegant and soft, a far cry to his wife who walked to call the men's attention dressed a little too revealing for the formal occasion.

Would he have married a woman like you if this wench hadn’t come to destroy his life? Would he have married you if your parents and your friend’s family hadn’t forced the two of you into it? If this wasn’t some kind of mask, and this really was you, he wouldn’t have any complaints about being stuck with you. In fact, he would have demanded it—forced it, if he could. But that wasn’t how life turned out... You were not his.

The wedding soon came to an end and that was it. Legally you were tied to his friend while he was already stuck with his own problems. It wasn't fair. He just couldn't let it go as he stayed in his seat even after the end of the wedding speech as everybody started to leave to eat and dance. While his wife went to meet up with the groom he stayed where he was just thinking.

How surprised he was that he ended up meeting you so soon.

The guy had invited him to dinner a few times and he quickly understood that it was to have someone else in the group after the guy was forced by his parents to take you out a few times. But that didn't matter to him when he was finally able to talk to you, to chat with you.

When he reached the restaurant, the guy stood up after a small conversation, stating that he needed to run to the bathroom, take a call, or use some other excuse he had up his sleeve. He left the table for as long as possible only to come back near the end with maybe a lipstick on his shirt or something. And if Richard’s wife was there, the guy would start subtlety flirting with his wife, uncaring if he or his own wife was there, not that the woman herself cared.

He pitied you, as you kept on your smile even when your eyes swirled with an understanding of your place, yet at the same time, you were still so hurt. You were silent for the most part keeping to yourself.

You and he become rather close but not really, it was a kind of comradery of your situations or that was what he would like to think. Whenever you and him were left alone, rather than keep the awkward air around he would start to talk to you.

You were a little flustered at first but slowly you started to get used to talking with him. Chatting amicably as if enjoying the conversation between you and him. He also did enjoy conversing with you. No heavy topics, it wasn't business or anything to do with work but stuff like traveling, hobbies, and favorite food. The things that you would like to do if you only had the time or chance to do them. 

You weren't loud but you were delicate, gentle, and easy to fluster too. You were polite and careful with your words but also curious asking him many questions when he talks about his own stories. You would keep all your attention on him, even if he noticed you didn't seem maybe that interested in a topic or two.

There was one time he went to your apartment, an invitation from your husband who invited him and his wife. Your place was in a high-end apartment probably paid by the family, with decorations that were chic and modern but there was also a homely feeling to the place, cleaned and cared for with love, unlike his messed up house. The smell of the house was similar to that of a fragrant laundry detergent instead of strong perfume. Just for a moment, he realized that you were the one who did all this when he saw you coming out from the kitchen unwrapping the apron you were wearing.

Just for a moment you gave him an actual vision of a home, a vision of what he wanted so much and could have had yet was taken away from him. You gave him a vision of what it would be like to have a wife who cares so much. 

He could not help but crumble and fall.

He started to crave for you, the more he chatted with you the more he fell every night he fantasized about you in his arms. He wished... he craved for you so much that he thought he started having delusions that you were his. At night, he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing you clearly in the darkness.

But you just had to break everything, you just had to slam a hammer to his dreams and fantasies just like everyone else.

"I'm sorry," you said, a sorrowful smile on your lips. "I know my husband is using you to get out of our date. I apologize for taking up your time when you're so busy. Please, I’ll make sure this doesn't happen again. You don’t have to come every time he asks you to. I’m sure you’re busy too."

Why...? Why did you say that? He thought you knew that he already understood. He thought you knew that it didn’t bother him at all—especially when you both always had such enjoyable conversations. Why did you apologize? Why would you tell him to stop coming? Why were you pushing him away?

Your eyes looked at him in sorry and guilt and it clicked you were scared you were so scared that something wrong might happen. Because in the end, you were loyal, loyal to a man who didn't even love you.

It made him livid. 

Even if you thought you knew more than he did, he was the one who knew more. He knew well what your husband does on nights that he isn't home, where he goes, and what he does there. In Richard’s own house, he could hear the sounds of two people with familiar voices thinking they were alone. 

His wife and your husband.

You didn't know that, while you probably knew that he partied every day you seemed to have hope that he didn't have the audacity to lay in bed with another married woman much less the wife of his own friend. He didn't care who that guy lay with, but it made him irritated that a guy like him had you.

That appointment ended up awkward. Too awkward as both of you waited for your husband to arrive. The guy knew something was up the moment he arrived but seemed to choose not to say anything having enough tack not to right at that moment when he usually didn't.

Looking at the message again he sighed declining the invite again even when the guy tried to put up a fuss. It was just that he could not face you right now, not when you made it clear that all you felt towards him was guilt.

If only it was you... if only he had found you first if that woman didn't chain herself to him using blackmail and connections.

If he could just swap his wife with you he would have been happier... he would have the life he wished he had and he would spoil you with all his love and time. While you would wait oh so lovingly for him while cooking and cleaning while he worked to bring the money to keep you happy materially. He would be a better husband than your own and he already knew that you would be a far more better wife than his own.

But you just had to draw that line. That line of law and morality.

Watching the road as he drove, he could not help but let annoyance fester him at this whole situation till he saw a poster pass by him. Purple with a familiar design that he saw just this morning. Something to do with a certain fortune teller who knew a little too much and who gave him a small vial.

Truthfully he didn't believe in such things, but part of him had become so desperate that he just could not think straight. He was desperate and he knew that the old woman knew that and was laughing at him for it.

"Here yah go. This is a little something that would have cost a shit ton but I am gonna give it to you for free." The old woman cackled, she was having way too much fun knowing his situation. "If you plan to add this to a drink don't worry about the colour at all."

He didn't believe in such things. But there was a whisper in his mind a little spell in his brain that told him that this would work. That there was something different about that mad woman who probably lived only in entertainment.

His hand moved before he could even think about it, accepting the dinner invitation as he finally reached his office. It was supposed to be closed, but a few employees were pulling an all-nighter, so the building wasn't locked. In his mind, all he could think about was the life he once dreamed of—the life that had been taken away from him. All he wanted was a life with you, and that thing—that vial—would be the answer to all his problems.

[alastorthirsty]

Alastor Hands You the Aux Cord - Alastor x f!reader

Anon asked for: Hello! Love ur work :) Alastor x f!reader fluff & heavy smut inspired by the song “soaked” by shy smith???

Honey, you got a lot more than you bargained for, and even then I¨m not quite sure that I did it correctly. Alas! I hope you enjoy it either way. So sorry this took so long, it was an undertaking.

Summary: I suck at these so just be patient and kind. Reader was a radio/sound engineer in life and begins to work with Alastor rather closely.

Dividers by @konatasoup

Warnings: Listen, we all know Alastor is a Bad Man(tm). In this story and many, many others, Fucked Up Alastor is going to say Fucked Up Things. Alastor is a sentient red flag. I would like to kindly remind you that you need to carefully decide whether or not that's too much for you before you begin to read. I'd hate it if you read and got triggered by some possessive or otherwise red flag dialogue/prose! If it’s not for you you can simply block me and avoid my other fanfiction. You're responsible for your own reading experience! If smut is not for you, this is not for you. Other warnings include briskets, sandwiches, p in v intercourse, I don't know, standard fare, Alastor is a deeply jealous and possessive man, colleagues to lovers, Alastor’s fluffy, fluffy ears are an erogenous zone I don’t care lalalalala

Words: 9521

Tell me if you want to be added to the tag list! Requests are open and the guidelines are in my pinned post! I

It would be VERY helpful for your reading experience if you listen to the provided music! If the response is good there will be a part two :)

SMUT

Masterlist

It was the sensible thing to do, and took surprisingly little effort to get him to agree. All you said was that radio lived on in your lifespan, nearly one hundred years after his death. You asked if, in life, he would have happily adjusted to innovations in radio technology, and you remember the way he looked down at his claws, all tightened into fists that slowly unfurled. He begrudgingly admitted that he would have.

“That type of microphone you’ve got there wasn’t invented until after you died,” you pointed out.

Radio had been your life’s passion in the living world just as it had been for Alastor. You began in university as a DJ, then changed your major to reflect your newfound love. You started off with communications engineering in undergraduate studies and moved on to wireless communications engineering. Twelve years of your life, you had dedicated to radio.

You were the perfect candidate, and best of all you could make yourself obsolete by teaching him what he needed to know, so it was a win all-around. Kinda. It remains to be seen what he would do with you once you became obsolete.

You did, however, strike up a friendship. Alastor would admit readily that you were a good sound engineer and constantly upgraded his equipment. He would also admit, not quite as readily, that speaking to you was pleasant. You never batted an eye while he ripped apart souls, which he found surprising at first, but when you pulled out a sandwich to eat whilst he did so it elevated to…cute. He typically hates things that are cute.

Okay, fine, you’re cute.

As time passed, you grew more comfortable with each other. Sometimes you even offer him pre-soul breaking sandwiches, and Alastor eats them simply because they were offered by you. He has no idea what a “PB&J” is, only that whoever created it must surely be living amongst you all in hell. He always eats them, though. Every last morsel.

Then something quite remarkable happened. Alastor sat you down after an unusually long broadcast, took the pistachios that you offered him, and gave you the best gift you had ever received.

“Only one,” he said, poking your chest several times. “One song of your choosing at the end of my broadcast. Do you understand?”

You remember nodding so hard it almost hurt.

You had tried not to seem too enthused, so as not to betray your true excitement to your finicky friend, but shouted joyfully into a pillow when you got to your hotel room. You rolled all over your bed, still screaming into the pillow, and spent the rest of the night curating various playlists for the post-show tunes.

The two of you became inseparable. When you weren’t on air, you were still working together on scripts, advertising campaigns, marketing strategies, even merchandising, a pencil stuck through your hair, sandwich wrappers discarded haphazardly.

‘I got my soul ripped apart by the Radio Demon and all I got was this fucking shirt’.

You’re more excited about this than him by far, but it was becoming harder and harder to deny you a thing. He’s always criticised Vox’s use of petty merchandise to belittle him, but this was different. Entirely.

It had been a rather destructive day in the radio tower the first time you played a song. There were three soul rendings today, so everything but you was covered in blood and viscera. Alastor, with a small smile, offered you his staff, and explained all you had to do was play a song on your phone while holding it.

It felt special. It almost made your cheeks warm, but that crisis was thankfully averted and you chose a tribute to radio itself as your first ever post-show track.

‘Radio, someone still loves you.’

Alastor didn’t look particularly happy with what he’d heard, but he did give you an amused little pat on the head before taking his staff and leaving the radio tower, still covered in blood.

You remember all of that fondly and take a bite of your sandwich. Alastor takes one bite of his and goes feral.

“Calm down over there,” you chastise. “It’s just pastrami.”

He swallows. “You know my feelings about brisket, darling.”

“Well, I’ll bring you more pastrami in the future, then. Maybe I’ll even make you a brisket someday.”

“Yes, you should,” he almost snaps. “And I’ll have no more ‘peanut butter’, by the way.”

“Do you like the almond butter better?” you ask, offering him another sandwich from the basket you brought with you

“…I prefer the pistachio and cashew one.”

“Okay, I’ll find more of that,” you say before passing him a napkin. You sigh and grab the clipboard set to the wayside. “No souls today.”

“Yes, I am aware,” he says.

“Isn’t that less fun for you?”

Alastor ponders over his answer for a moment. “It is more fun to murder. However, not having one or more to murder also means that no one has challenged or crossed me. That is better in the long run.”

“I can see that logic.” You nod, then go back to the clipboard. “Oh, I can’t be here on Saturday.”

His expression sours and his eyes narrow. “And why is that, darling?”

You smile at him, arms up. “I’m going to Lu Lu World!”

“What in the world is that, darling? Wait a moment.” His eyes narrow anymore. “It has nothing to do with that circus freak does it?”

You purse your lips and tilt your head, staring at him. “You’ve lost me.”

“The hell I have. I find it absolutely unacceptable that you would leave work behind in order to prance around in an amusement park.”

“I don’t plan on prancing, so we’re good,” you say. You wrinkle your nose and chuckle a little at his steadily souring expression. “Tell you what. I’ll make you that brisket.”

“Two briskets,” he’s quick to demand. “No, three. Three briskets, and I’m not sharing with the others like you made me do on Beignet Day.”

“That was never meant to be just for your enjoyment!”

“Well, it should have been!” he snaps.

You laugh again and fold your hands over the clipboard. “I will miss work on Saturday to be escorted around Lu Lu World by its namesake and you will receive three briskets at a time of your choosing. You’re in for a treat, I make the best brisket. My husband loved it.”

A pregnant silence fills the radio tower.

“I find it equally unacceptable for you to have a husband. No, no more of that,” he says finally.

“I’d like to think I’ll find love again someday!” you say, laughing.

He huffs. “Is it a date?”

“Is what a date?”

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Your petty little outing to the amusement park with the circus freak!”

“He’s the King of Hell, not a circus freak!” you exclaim.

“If he doesn’t want to be called a circus freak he should dress like an adult male,” he says.

At that, you sit up straight, arms folded, and stare at him. “Do you really want to go there? Making fun of how he dresses?”

“My manner of dress is unimpeachable! Everything is just so!” Alastor gestures at his suit, then narrows his eyes again. “You will not marry him.”

“Marriage isn’t on the table, I’m just visiting his park with him. It’s closed for the day, no one but us! Oh, but also you can’t tell me who I can and can’t marry,” you say.

“There will be no marriages at all! We have work to do, important work!” He closes his eyes, touches his forehead, and growls. “Do not sass me.”

You take another bite out of your sandwich. “So I won’t be here Saturday.”

“…Fine. I can go back to the Stone Age for one damn day.”

You groan. “I’m glad no one else knows of your flair for the dramatic.”

“And you’d do well to keep it that way,” he says. He holds up three fingers. “Three briskets. I want them all at once.”

“I don’t have the time to do them today, as you said, we have important-ish work to do,” you say.

He eyes you again. “Three. Briskets.”

You throw your hands up. “Fine! I hope you get a tummy ache!”

“I will not! I will enjoy the briskets and be fine!” Alastor adjusts his butterfly tie and stands up from his chair. “And you will make up for lost time from your Saturday outing.”

“No I won’t,” you say. “I’m under no such obligation to work every single day with no breaks. I just haven’t had anything better to do in a while.”

Alastor’s hand smacks against a panel. “No! You’re to work with me every day, that is the arrangement! Good god, woman, you are so insolent today. All of hell listens to these broadcasts. I do not know how to do what you do. You have made yourself necessary and now you want to cut and run so you can have intercourse with that circus freak in a hall of mirrors.”

You tilt your head back and laugh.

He looks unamused by this. “What? What is it? Why are you laughing?”

“I suppose I’d better fuck him in the hall of mirrors, then, if you think the opportunity presents itself.” You wipe your mouth with a napkin and put everything else in the garbage for Niffty to collect.

Alastor’s ears flatten. “I do not like you today.”

“Nah, you adore me.” You look closer at the agenda for today and begin warming up the necessary equipment. You pull on your headphones “Thirty seconds, Al.”

He nods and repeats it back to you. “Thirty seconds, Al.”

By the end of the show, you’ve already got your topical track selection queued up. Alastor stands up and stretches before giving the staff to you and rifling around for more sandwiches in the basket.

‘They come running just as fast as they can ‘cause every girl crazy bout a sharp-dressed man’

You lip sync along, not realising you’re being watched. Alastor smiles to himself and waits for his staff to be given back to him. When it is, he almost remarks about your Saturday outing. Almost.

In your bedroom, you stretch and yawn. It’s late and you need to be with Alastor relatively early, so you go about your nightly routine. Brushed teeth, silky pyjamas, all lotioned up, feeling amazing. That is, until you walk back to the area with the bed. You scream and jump, but your surprise is quickly replaced by anger. Alastor laughs from his comfy position against your pillows.

He points at you. “You are the chicken in this relationship.”

You get in beside him and try to shove him out of the bed, chuckling as he easily resisted. “What are you doing in here?”

He’s still laughing. “I came to collect you! Emergency broadcast.”

You groan loudly. “Absolutely fucking not!”

“Yes!” He wraps an arm around you and drags you up from the bed. “It won’t take too long.”

“Who the hell pissed you off this much that you have to do this right now, at two in the morning?” you asked.

The answer makes your stomach drop.

“Husker!” he says excitedly.

You flail. “No. No! No, Alastor, you can’t do that!”

“I assure you that I can,” he says, now picking you up and carrying you towards the radio tower. “Husker’s soul is mine to do what I want with it, and he knew that before he started making trouble tonight.”

“Alastor!” you shout. “Put me down!”

He looks confused, but carefully sets you down. There are tears on your face that confound him. “What is the matter, my dear?”

“You can’t kill Husk.” You wipe your eyes and sniffle. “You can’t. I know you can in the literal sense of the word. I know that you can, but you can’t, please, I am begging you not to do this. Please, Alastor.”

“Do not mourn for him,” Alastor says. “No one mourned him in life.”

“I think that’s not true,” you say, but take his hands, squeezing them. “Just, just tell me what he did. I’ll fix it. I swear, I’ll fix it.”

Alastor looks down at your hands, so much smaller than his, trying to calm him down. “You really care, hm?”

“Alastor, please, please,” you whisper, squeezing his hands again. “Alastor, don’t do it. I have never asked you for a thing and I never will again if you just please don’t do this. Please don’t kill him, he’s my friend. He’s a soul in the bank for you, but he’s my friend.”

He’s quiet for a very long time, watching your breakdown. You know how it looks. He hates weakness, he hates vulnerability—

Alastor puts his hand on the side of your face and pushes hair away. “Okay, darling. If you want Husker to keep dusting bottles and consuming their entire contents, then that you shall have.”

You feel embarrassed all of a sudden and wipe your eyes. “How about I make you a brisket instead?”

“No brisket is required,” he says. “If you want it then you will have it. I am a man of my word. I will find other means to discipline Husker.”

“Don’t hurt Angel,” you say immediately. “Please. They’re all afraid of you already, you don’t have to do anything to keep them in line. I don’t know what Husk did, but I don’t believe it warrants his death and it definitely doesn’t mean you can do something bad to the only thing he loves more than booze or gambling.”

“Okay,” Alastor agrees.

You blink. “I know it’s not that simple. What do you want?”

“Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” he asks.

“Me? Personally?” You think for a moment before shaking your head. “No. But—“

“I’ve never given you a reason to doubt me,” Alastor says. “I have worked with you closely for months now. I do what I say I will do. If you want that damned cat and his spider to live and be unharmed then I will give you that.”

“What do you want in exchange? Don’t say my soul, I’m not giving it.”

“No, not your soul,” he says. “A simple deal.”

You stand up straighter. “A deal? What?”

“I let Husker and the spider go unharmed and you will in exchange never have intercourse with the circus freak.”

Your arms cross. “Alastor, that’s fucked up.”

“I know!” he says warmly.

After a moment, you reach your hand out towards him. He takes it in his and squeezes it, gentle and warm. You’ve seen his power, the green flashes of light.

But there are no green lights. His tentacles remain hidden. The floor doesn’t shake.

It wasn’t a real deal, but you said nothing about that. This was all very strange, and you didn’t know what to make of it. Taking his hand, you give it a pull.

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s go on air anyway. Come.”

He tuts at you. “Rather bossy tonight, my dear.”

“I’ll make sandwiches,” you offer, and he nods.

“Yes, you will make sandwiches—pastrami.”

‘I am just living to be lying by your side but I'm just about a moonlight mile on down the road’

Once Alastor takes the staff from you, he notices that you’ve fallen asleep in your chair. He rides the dark with you in his arms, depositing you safely into your bed.

The next night, for some reason, Husk makes sure your dirty martinis come with two olives and no complaints.

“You will go away from the hotel.”

You look up from your phone, your feet up on one of the panels you’ve been working on. “Excuse me?”

Alastor is stern, serious. His eyes betray no laughter, not a single joke. “You will leave the hotel.”

“No,” you say immediately.

“The Extermination is exactly one week from now, and you will leave the hotel. You will go someplace safe.”

“No,” you say again. “No, hell no, I’m not leaving you all by yourselves.”

“You would be more of a hindrance than help,” Alastor says, and ooph, that one hurt.

“You don’t even know how to defend yourself,” he continues.

“I’ve been doing my best,” you say.

“And that is not good enough, darling.”

Your chest falls and rises. “So you think I have nothing to offer to protect my friends and this hotel?”

Alastor pauses for a moment. “No. I know for a fact that you do.”

“Then what?” you ask. “Why do you want me to leave?”

Again, a few moments pass in silence before Alastor sits beside you. “You would trade something very precious to save this hotel and all of the fools who reside in it.”

”What? What is it? What am I going to give up that’s so special?”

“Your life,” he says. “If you are here, you will sacrifice your life in a trice just as soon as you see someone else is in danger. And I cannot have that. You will leave, this is not a request.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “No. This is my home. This is where I work. This is my family—“

“You will listen to me now and you will listen good,” he says gravely. “I can protect this hotel and kill Adam or I can protect you. Those are the choices. I trust you will not make the selfish one.”

You close your eyes and let out a deep breath. You feel a cry coming on, but head it off at the pass. “What about you?”

“What about me, darling?” Alastor asks. “There is no way for you to help me. You know that.”

“I’m going to look like a coward,” you say.

“I do not care,” he says. “And you shouldn’t either. My priorities are to kill Adam and to protect you. Therefore, you will leave to someplace safe and you will wait for me to come for you.”

You scoff. “Where’s safe? Where’s safe during an Extermination?”

“They are coming to the hotel first and we will not allow them to go any further. You will be safe where I send you and you will stay there.”

Then he does something he’s never done before. Alastor pulls you into his embrace. “You have no idea what I would do to save you. No idea, you stupid, silly girl. You must go. You must.”

“Okay, okay,” you say finally.

“I could give or take almost anyone else in this boring little hovel of a hotel, but I can’t give you. I won’t. It’s very likely this radio tower will need some manner of repair. Who else would do it but you?” He holds you a little tighter.

You close your eyes and lean against him. “I really don’t want to leave you.”

“Because you are an idiot.”

At that, you start hitting him anywhere you can, but the two of you dissolve into laughter.

Eventually, you sigh. “When am I leaving?”

Alastor hums. “Tonight.”

“What?” you look at him again. “Why tonight?”

“I will have time to prepare. I won’t spend days worrying about getting you to leave. It is better that I have this time to focus,” he says. “I will take care of everything. Think of it as more of a vacation than anything else.”

“I won’t, but thank you,” you say. “What will you tell everyone?”

Alastor tilts his head. “About what?”

“About forcing me to leave the hotel because I’m apparently too weak and stupid to fight for it,” you say.

He tsks and shakes his head. “I do not care. Neither should you. But I suppose I will just tell them approximately one-quarter of the truth.”

“Which is what?” you ask.

“That I put my foot down and wouldn’t allow you to die for any of them.” Alastor rubs his face against yours. A confusing gesture, but not altogether out of place, given the tenor of the rest of the interaction.

“I don’t want to die, but—“

“But nothing,” he says. He gives you his staff. “Play one last song.”

You wince. “Okay, grim. No. I’m not playing a ‘last song’.”

He huffs. “The last song until next week, when all of this is over.”

“When all of this is over…” You lean back in your seat, tapping the staff as you think. “Can you…can we hop on the broadcast? For a while? Make it my last proper show until all of this is over?”

You swallow, your throat feeling tight.

“No, darling,” he says. “Not this time. Pick a good song.”

‘Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me! Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me! Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me! Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!’

Alastor stares at you strangely throughout the entire song. He never once tries to take the staff away from you, not even during the repeated profanity—something that was forbidden. He says nothing of it when the song is done and he takes his staff back into his possession.

“Come.” He holds his arm out for you and you take it. You let him lead you out of the radio tower and you become unsettled as you descend the steps.

“Alastor, I don’t like this,” you say nervously.

“And neither do I,” he says as he guides you to your hotel room.

“Where are you sending me?”

He suddenly stops you once you’re inside the room, his clawed hand coming down to grip your shoulder. Hard.

“Alastor,” you chastise.

His grip only tightens. “I made a bargain for this and you will not piss it away.”

The night crashes down on you in the quiet of your bedroom.

“But where? You made a deal?”

“No, not a deal. More of a…trade which does not benefit me at all, save for it keeping you safe.”

“Alastor, where?” you ask, softly yet firmly.

“In an underground bunker beneath Rosie’s Emporium,” Alastor says finally. “No one would ever think to look there, not with all of Cannibal Town at the hotel, stupidly giving their own lives. Those lives mean nothing to me, nothing at all, but yours is something precious.”

“I’m just your engineer, you know.”

Alastor huffs. “No, you’re not.”

You lift a brow. “I’m not?”

“No.” He pauses. “You also make sandwiches.”

With a little laugh, you nod. “Pastrami.”

“Indeed. Pastrami. Now, pack up, darling. I’ll escort you to Cannibal Town. No, no one will try to eat you. You’ll be with my dearest friend, Rosie. You will be safe with her. If I had any doubts I would send you elsewhere.”

“Okay,” you say softly. “It’s going to be boring without you.”

“I, on the other hand, will finally know peace after six months.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me.”

You laugh far too hard for it to be so late at night, but Alastor is smiling genuinely.

For a tenth of a second something changes. The way you look at each other…

“So,” he says, sitting at the foot of your bed, one ankle over his knee. “Have you been abiding by our agreement?”

You pull a suitcase from underneath the bed. “Which one? There are new ‘agreements’ every day.”

“Intercourse with Lucifer,” he says flatly.

“Oh Alastor, come on. What if he and I were in love?”

He just glares at you, darkness in his eyes.

“I haven’t seen the man in weeks!”

“Aha!” He points at you. “You would do it if given the chance, wouldn’t you?”

You tilt your head. “Why do you care so much, Al?”

“Because I want to separate him from all possible joy,” he says. “There’s no chance of doing that with Charlie, but I will deny him you.”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

“Shut up and pack.”

“Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me.”

Alastor picks up one of your pillows and throws it at you.

The extended visit with Rosie would be nice if every moment didn’t bring you anxiety so crippling that it cramped your stomach. She was kind, a gracious hostess, and she didn’t ask any prying questions, so neither did you. You were curious about the ‘trade’ Alastor had made for you—for you…

You leave every day for food, because you just cannot trust the provenance of anything in Cannibal Town, no matter how kind Rosie is. You listen to Alastor’s sporadic broadcasts and feel vindicated in how shitty it is without you. Gives you a smile. It sustains you to know that this man still needs you.

On your third day of going out for burritos, you receive a text message that makes you grin, fills you with joy you haven’t felt since you were yeeted from the hotel.

‘New ducks, want to see?’

The second you text back yes, a glowing portal opens and a hand yanks you inside.

“Lucifer!” you cry out happily, hugging him close.

He returns the embrace readily, arms tight around you. “I’m so glad you agreed! Here, let me show you the duck workshop.”

You smile and let him guide you. You and Lucifer just..mesh. It’s always been easier to talk to him than virtually anyone else. For as much as you listen to him about ducks, he listens to you about radio, as long as you don’t mention Alastor. That’s always been an unspoken understanding.

Lucifer rambles happily all the way to the workshop and you happily listen. Once inside, he gives you a little tour. The place is quite literally filled with rubber ducks of all different kinds—there was even a set of KISS ducks.

“This is my latest work,” Lucifer says, showing you a row of little ducks. He picks up one. “This one has wings just like mine! Well, you can’t currently see my wings, but that’s what they look like. There’s six, they’re red, that’s…pretty much it…”

He sounds strangely nervous.

“And this one’s Charlie…”

Yes, nervous.

“Maggie,” he says.

“Actually, her name is Vaggie,” you correct him.

“Oh, golly!” He covers his eyes with his hands, his face turning red. “I’ve been calling her Maggie every time and Charlie never corrected me.”

You chuckle softly. “It’s fine, I’m sure it’s fine. Don’t worry about that.”

He peeks at you from between his fingers. “You really think it’s okay?”

“Charlie probably just felt too awkward to correct you. You know how she is.”

“I hope so,” Lucifer says. “This one is the porn star. He shoots webs!”

You laugh when he demonstrates. “That’s so cool!”

“And this one,” he picks up one of the ducks gingerly, “this one is you!”

You gasp at the attention to detail and laugh joyfully. “That’s so cute, a little me!”

“She has a little radio and everything. And—“ Lucifer presses a button on the underside of the duck and the radio starts to play from its mouth. He looks at you with a wide grin and elbows you gently a few times. “Ah? Ah?”

You laugh again and clap. “Bravo, you outdid yourself. I never thought you would outdo the back-flipping rubber ducky that spits fire.”

“I surprise myself all the time,” Lucifer says happily, placing your duck back down beside his. “Do you have time for a drink?”

You laugh. “Honey, I’ve got nothing but time.”

“Good!” He takes your hand and guides you out of the workshop and through the halls until you arrive at a lavish lounge. He gestures for you to take a seat. “What’ll you have?”

“Oh, whatever you’re having, please.”

Lucifer pours two whiskeys and sits in the chair across from yours beside a fire that emits a cool breeze.

“Thank you so much,” you say when he hands yours to you.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Charlie told me…you left the hotel.”

You take a deep breath. “Yes, I did. I’ve been staying in Cannibal Town.”

“Why did you go?” he asks softly.

Now you sigh, hoping to keep all emotion from your voice. “Alastor thinks I’m more of a hindrance than a help and wants me to stay away.”

His diamond pupils constrict. “What an asshole.”

“He needs me to help repair the radio tower, when all is said and done.”

“You’re too good for this, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

Lucifer takes a drink. “I mean you’re too good to work on a show that’s just screams and crappy puns. That guy is a clown. You should host your own show.”

“Oh, I haven’t been on air in like…fourteen years. I don’t even know what I would talk about or play. I like being an engineer. It’s cathartic to me. Alastor might not have the most exciting show around, and he’s absolutely horrible, but it’s…hm, I’ve made it sound really bad, haven’t I?”

“Why do you give that guy your loyalty? Why do you feel so beholden to him?” he asks.

Your focus softens. “I…we have a good time together. I think. He likes the sandwiches that I make him.”

“I can almost guarantee that this loyalty means nothing to him,” Lucifer says. “I’m not saying that to hurt you.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I know Luci.”

“Why do you stay, then? Is he paying you?”

“Actually yeah, in a way he does.”

Lucifer cocks a brow and motions for you to continue.

“Oh, he just gives me things, not money. He doesn’t, uh, properly believe that hell should have a currency system. In his opinion it should all be bartering, like soul deals. Therefore, he barters with me. I give him sandwiches and briskets and engineering services, he gives me…just about anything. Last week he gave me a ruby necklace that must be worth a few thousand dollars.”

“You give him briskets?”

You nod. “Oh yeah, there’s always some brisket action going on. He doesn’t know it yet, but there’s a venison brisket in the works.”

“So you work together, you make him food, he gives you expensive jewellery?”

“Other things too, but yes.” You nod again. “That’s the gist. We have a good back-and-forth, but my favourite is getting to play music at the end of his broadcasts.”

Lucifer smiles softly at you. “Those are the only parts worth tuning in for.”

Your face lights up., a big grin and bright eyes. “You’ve heard?”

He nods. “Yeah. I try to catch it. The last one said fuck a lot.”

You laugh, head back against the chair. “Yeah, it did.”

“I’ll give you a radio station of your own. Be his competition,” he said.

Now you sigh. “I actually do like to work with him a lot. He’s…he’s not all bad. He’s always done right by me.”

Lucifer scoffs. “That won’t last. You can’t seriously rely on that to stay stable. Just as soon as he decides he doesn’t need you, he’ll get rid of you. Somehow or another. He’s just…one of the worst sorts of sinners, and he’s proud to be the way that he is. And you? You’re hardly like a sinner at all. I always seem to forget it.”

It’s hard to hear those things about Alastor, even harder because you know they’re probably in some way true.

You’re lost in thought until you hear him repeating your name. “Oh! So sorry, million miles away.”

“Let me get you another drink. Do you want something other than whiskey, maybe?” he asks, sounding somewhat insecure, a little tremor in his voice. “W-what do you normally take?”

You play with a rubber duck on the table and hope it doesn’t spit fire at you. “Dirty martini, two olives. Sounds weird, giving the king of hell a drink order.”

“Nonsense!” Lucifer comes over with a little drink tray, all cheerful. Sweet. He looks so happy that it warms you.

“I should see you more,” you say. “You’re fun to be around and I love ducks.”

He gives a nervous laugh and sits down, passes your drink to you. “You should definitely see me more! Gosh, that would be terrific. I can make you so many ducks!”

“What are you going to work on next?” you ask.

He winks. “I’ll keep you apprised.”

You wink back, smiling. “I’ll be waiting.”

God, there was nothing you wouldn’t give to be on air with Alastor right now. It hits you, causes a slight tremor in your body.

Lucifer gasps. “Are you okay? Is it the drink? I don’t actually know what a dirty martini is so I…May have poisoned you?”

“No! No!” You laugh and shake your head. “No, the drink is fine. To make a martini dirty you just put a bit of olive brine in.”

“Let me try again,” he says, but you stand and stop him.

“Luci, no, really, it’s okay,” you say. “Promise. See?” You drain the contents of the wine glass he had served the ‘martini’ in. Your lower eyelid gives you away, though.

“Oh God,” Lucifer says, hand covering his eyes.

You pull it away gently. “It’s okay, Luci.”

You stay that way, eyes on each other, for a moment that stretches indefinitely.

By the end of it, Lucifer kisses you. Hesitant, gentle. His hand reaches the back of your neck and by now you’re kissing back. Things are happening quickly. Somehow you wind up on one of the couches together, your back to the cushion, him on top of you…

Oh, no.

You break the kiss and sit up. “Sorry. Sorry, Luci. Sorry.”

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks in rushed voice, a slight shake to it.

“No.” You rub your eyes and smack your forehead.

All you could think of was Alastor. The little promise you made in exchange for Husk’s life. You doubted that he would actually kill Husk if he found out…but you couldn’t handle how…he would react.

“Lucifer, I…” But you couldn’t tell him that Alastor was the one keeping him from getting laid.

“I don’t understand,” Lucifer says. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say softly, squeezing his hand. “I can’t help but notice you’re still wearing your ring.”

“Oh, is that why…? Oh, no, sweetheart, no, I just…Lilith isn’t going to come back to me. I can take it off, it’s just hard to when it’s been…such a long time, being married. I can take it off, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

You squeeze his hand again, gently. “It’s time for me to leave.”

“Oh…Okay,” he says softly. “Yes, of course. You don’t have to stay, just…I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”

You smile at him, trying your best to instill confidence. “You’ll see me again. Show me to the door?”

“No, absolutely not,” he says. “It’s dangerous! I’ll take you back to Cannibal Town. That’s also…pretty dangerous, you know.”

“Not for me.” That you can say with confidence of your own.

“Come on.” Lucifer reaches for your hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do it again. Just take my hand and I’ll bring you back. You don’t even know where you are right now.”

Well, he’s got you beat there. You squeeze his hand one more time. “Okay. Let’s go.”

You close your eyes for this part.

When you hear a whispered goodbye, you open your eyes and you’re standing before the Cannibal Town gates, alone.

“Do you think that you walk freely all throughout hell, not a care in the world, for no reason?”

Your whole body tightens at the sound of his voice. “Have you just been standing there waiting for me to show up?”

“Not quite,” Alastor says. “Answer my question.”

You sigh, eyes rolling hard. “I’m sure it’s because of you.”

“Correct! So you’re at least that smart.”

You trudge out a path set to finally get you the illusive burrito. “Alastor, I’m not in the mood. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and my absence is definitely noticed at the hotel.”

He appears in front of you. “And how do you know that? Who told you, hm?”

You sigh. “You know who I was with?”

Alastor’s claws grab your arm and then you’re in the radio tower. It nearly knocks the breath out of you and you collide with one of the panels.

“God!” You wince as your knee crashes against a sharp corner. “Hey asshole, I thought I wasn’t allowed to be here! I am so sick of being yanked around today! All I wanted—“

“I ask so little of you,” he interrupts.

Your jaw drops. “Are you serious? You? Ask me? For little?”

“The only commitment I have ever asked of you is not to have sex with that fucking man!”

“And I didn’t!” you shout before pulling out your phone. “Here, see? He just wanted to show me new rubber ducks that he made. And you know what? Mine was adorable, and she played radio when you pressed her button.”

“Am I supposed to understand this innuendo?” he asks, his voice rising.

“I didn’t sleep with him, Alastor! I don’t know what else you want me to say! I almost did, I would have, and it’s all your fucking fault that I didn’t. Someone expressed interest in me and I couldn’t act on it because I made some fake pact with you over it. I should have, God knows I need it.”

“Oh do you?” Alastor steps closer, but you don’t back down.

“Yes!” you yell. “Yes I do, but the only fucking thing I ever do is go on the goddamn radio with you!”

“Such a horrible fate!”

You cover your face with curling fingers. “Take me back to Rosie’s. Take me back to Rosie’s, Alastor. You don’t want me here, remember?”

“Of course I want you here, you fucking imbecile!”

Your anger ebbs slightly. “You do?”

“Yes! I want all of the things you do and I want them all the time! I tried to make my own sandwiches and everything! I was self-sufficient before you, you know. I never needed anyone for anything, then you walked into this hotel and insisted your way into my life, wrecking it up as you went!” Alastor takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself, trying to calm himself. “So now that I need you and go to great pains to keep you safe, you tell me that you want to sleep with that little blond gremlin?”

“How were the sandwiches?”

“Dry and uninteresting!” Alastor grabs you by your arms. “God damn you!”

“What? What?” you yell. “What do you want, Alastor? As far as I can tell, you got me out of the hotel, out of your way, right where you wanted me to be. I was going out for a fucking burrito because I can’t trust the food in Cannibal Town!”

“I advised Rosie very carefully about your dietary preferences,” he says.

“Well, hell, thanks,” you say in a much quieter tone. After a moment, you go sit in your usual spot. “Why did you bring me here, Alastor? My name must be mud around here.”

“No, it isn’t.” Alastor sits across from you. “They just blame me, and that is fine.”

“I really think you two should put all this behind you,” you say.

“The two of us? We won’t be putting anything behind us, darling.”

“Actually!” You point at him. “I was talking about you and him. The guy you call a circus freak, a blond gremlin.”

“Ha! No. Try again, dearest.”

You just roll your eyes and rub your temples. “I’m seriously so hungry and so tired. What do you want to hear?”

“I—.” Alastor cuts himself off. “You. And I…it’s your fault, all of this is your fault!”

“Okay! Fine! It’s my fault. Now what do you want to do?” you ask.

Alastor jerks you up from your seat and kisses you, hard. You feel his fingertips fan over the tops of your shoulders, drumming once before holding tight.

It’s so absolutely stunning that it takes a moment to respond at all, but that doesn’t seem to slow him down. Your heart beats so hard in your chest that you can almost hear it, and, oh, damn, this is what had been missing, fulfilling a craving that you had never known. This was what blood was for, what hands were for, why breath existed.

His hands move lower down your body as the quick seconds pass like butterflies all down your skin and to your bones.

You pull away just to catch a breath and his whole body tenses.

“What?” you ask, panting.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, Al, not even a little bit. Just couldn’t breathe, blood’s all rushing.”

Alastor’s fingertips trail deliciously above your belly. “Do you know what I want?”

You swallow, lips pressing together. “Tell me.”

His thumb traces down your throat now. “I want to possess you so completely that you forget all but my name.”

His lips follow the path of his hands, surprisingly soft and warm against your neck. “Everything about you was made for me. Everything. I am never letting you go, do you understand me?” His tone was gravely serious, but with an undercurrent of…love. Yes, it was love, yearning and…maybe a bit of uncertainty. He could not hide that, not from you.

“Let’s go to my room,” you say quietly when he pulls away, and in an instant you’re there. Everything looks the same, thankfully. You go to the bed and sit at the foot of it, leaning back on your elbows.

Alastor comes and stands before you, just looking down, watching. When he finally moves, it’s to put both hands underneath your shirt and push it up, every bit of skin revealed covered in goosebumps. He slowly pushes the shirt up and up until your arms lift and it comes over your head.

“Why are you choosing to do this now?” you ask as he works on your bra.

“Because you said that you needed it and I take your needs very seriously,” he responds.

“Whoa.” You grab at my hands. “No, it’s not just me, you have to be into it too.”

Alastor laughs suddenly. “How about I show you how ‘into it’ I am? Kind of you to make certain, darling.”

“I don’t ever want to make you feel like you have to, because you’re…”

He plays with one of your exposed breasts thoughtfully. “You are kind for that, too. Perfect, really. Darling, I do whatever feels good, in all things that I do. This is good, I have simply never felt that way before you and your goddamn radio expertise and your fucking sandwiches and, oh, the briskets.”

Alastor sighs and moves on to the other one. “I have never wanted this before, and that is meaningful to me. It isn’t all I want, but I want you in all other ways so much that it makes me crave you. My hands on your body, your hands on mine. I’ve waited long enough to know that I am certain. Are you?”

“You are a discovery,” you say. “You unlocked things I didn’t realise were there. I want you badly.”

“It’s not just what the spider calls ‘general horniness’?”

You pull him down and kiss him several times before responding. “No, it isn’t. If it wasn’t specific to you, I could just as well bedded Luci. I had every opportunity earlier tonight. But I was always going to turn him down. I did so because I thought of how disappointed and angry you would have been.”

“You’re goddamn right I would have been,” he says as he climbs over you. “So perfect, just for me…”

You like the weight of him on top of you. He’s careful not to squish you, but it feels so warm and solid. There’s a shiver up your spine as he touches you, as this coat and shirt brush against your breasts. You go to card your fingers through his hair and accidentally brush against the base of one of his ears and you can see the physical reaction, the little tremors of pleasure, the moan of an ecstasy promised.

“Okay?” you ask gently, doing it again.

Alastor nods quickly. “Yes, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

You played with his ear while his tongue, lips, and teeth made their way across your throat and neck. The higher you went, the more aggressive he got, leaving little nips and bites everywhere.

You push him when you decide more clothes have to come off—his in particular. He looks confused for a half-second before you’re carefully removing his coat. You place it carefully on a chair near the bed, but almost rip the shirt off of him.

He gives a little huff of laughter. “Eager, are we darling?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you say, hauling him in to kiss him again.

You love the feeling of your bare chests pressed together. Alastor’s breathing starts to come more quickly than before.

It’s you going after his neck, this time. You can hear something strangled in his throat, the vibrations of it against your lips. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

“Forgive me, darling. I am new to this.”

“Is it the very first time?”

He hums. “Technically no. Once, when I was a teenager, a very long time ago. I barely remember it at all, but I know it was nothing like this.”

You smile against his neck and nuzzle softly. “Doesn’t matter, you’ll know what to do.”

“I have every confidence in us both. We know each other on a professional and emotional level of intimacy, I doubt physical intimacy will be the thing that does us in.”

“It may be a bit early days, but I hope nothing ever does,” you say.

He cradles the back of your head to keep your lips close to his neck. He huffs. “Early days, my ass. If I was not sure about you I would not have started anything. If any part of you is unsure, I will make it sure. I promise that I won’t be a regret.”

You kiss your way down the side of his neck. “Lucifer would have been a regret. You will not be.”

He huffs. “As gratifying as that is to hear, please do not mention the circus freak during physical intimacy ever again. Or ever again in general, if possible.”

You laugh softly and hold him close. “I’ll never mention him in this context ever again, I promise.”

“I am much obliged, my love.” Alastor tugs at the jeans you’re wearing, but, having no experience with such garments, he doesn’t seem to realise they have to be unzipped first.

You reach between your bodies to help him out.

“Such complicated garments,” he says beneath his breath.

“No more complicated than yours! Your trousers unzip too, don’t they?” you ask.

“It is called a double standard, darling, and as per usual, unfortunately for you, it works out in my favour.” Alastor gets you down to your underwear and plays with the elastic waistband. “I would like to make something abundantly clear to you, darling. I will give you this one last chance.”

“For what?” you ask, kissing down his neck, the tip of his ear between your fingers. You feel it twitch.

“No, no, stop that for a moment, darling,” he says, so you do. When you’ve stopped and he’s got you looking at him again, he continues. “For just a moment, while you listen to this. I am telling you right now that you are reaching the point of no return. Once I have taken you, you will belong to me for eternity. That is not a hyperbole, it is reality. I will never allow you to leave me. Along with that promise, I promise to keep you safe, always, just as I am now, even if it means temporarily being away from me. I promise to love you. I promise you will want for nothing; everything that is in my power to give you, which is exhaustive and far-reaching, any little want or need you have, I will give it to you.”

You smile at him. “I don’t have as much to offer, but I’ll be the best damn radio engineer, the best damn brisket-maker, the best damn friend, and the best damn…”

“Mate,” he supplies.

“The best damn mate, I’ll be that,” you promise.

“You accept?” Alastor asks, and when you nod, he kisses you hard. “You are perfect. So good. And you understand? Completely? You have no doubts? Because there will be no other appropriate time to feel them. This is a permanent arrangement that you should not take lightly.”

“Trying to talk me out of it?”

“Trying not to be a regret,” he says, and it makes your expression warm.

“You aren’t and you won’t be,” you promise. “You were the answer to all the questions I didn’t know I was asking of myself from the moment I met you. I didn’t know, but it was always there, and now, like…I don’t know how to describe it. There’s not a lot of blood flowing to my brain, you know.”

He chuckles once and nods. “Then I will not ask you again. It is settled now, is it?”

“It is.”

“Good.” Alastor hooks his thumb into the elastic of your underwear indelicately and pulls them down and off your body.

You don’t even know how many naked people Alastor has seen. It’s possible he hasn’t seen another person naked since the first time with someone, so many years ago. He seems to know exactly what he’s doing, though.

“Well, now that the matter is settled.” Alastor lifts you up and places your head on a pillow. “There is something I have wanted to do since I met you. It was a strange craving, something that should have warned me of what was to come.”

“What’s the strange craving?” you ask, but rather than answer verbally he rolls his tongue between your leg, right against your clit, and you moan rather loudly with surprise.

Alastor laughs quietly to himself. “Enjoying yourself, darling?”

“Ohhhh God,” was all you could manage.

He licks your clit again before his tongue dips inside you, and when it does, Alastor elongates it—this shocks you, causes a gasp and a full-body shiver. You never thought such a thing was possible, and it’s certainly…a new experience. He rubs at your clit with his thumb while his tongue works inside you. He keeps your legs apart with his broad shoulders, tongue massaging against your walls until he reaches a spot that makes you scream. He laughs softly against your flesh and you’re panting now.

“Alastor…” Your legs tense up around him, muscles straining. He’s moaning against you as he works your body like he owns it, and maybe he does now. Your thighs tense around him and you…you’re getting louder.

“Is there something you can do about the noise?” you ask, even though you hate stopping him.

He keeps rubbing your clit while he speaks. “I can. But I will not. Louder.”

Alastor goes right back to it, his tongue working you hard, and he forces you to get louder just from the way his tongue moves against your walls.

“Oh, fuck…Oh, Al, don’t stop, please don’t stop…yeah…yeah, like that, like that…” Your breath comes in harder and harder, faster and faster, until you’re screaming, until your thighs are aching, until your pussy is so overstimulated that he pulls back with an enormous grin on his face.

He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, but mercifully only briefly. “Tell me when I can take you.”

“Just a moment,” you pant. “Not a long wait, just a few minutes.”

“Very good,” Alastor says. “I’ll take other pleasure from other parts of your body in the meantime then, darling.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You do that, Al. Fucking hell.”

His tongue swirls along your nipple. “Yes darling?”

“You really took that one from the soul,” you say with a soft, shaky laugh. You nudge his shoulder. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“You’re sure?”

You nod a few times. “Yeah, yeah. Ready to go.”

You press your back down against the blankets, your head flat against the pillow. Alastor kneels between your knees and shoves them far apart, making plenty of room for himself. You’re silently grateful that he still seems to know exactly what to do—you’d gladly teach him if you had to, but it was so much better this way. He takes himself in hand and rubs the head of his cock from your clit and down, watches your muscles involuntarily jump slightly, a wide smirk on his face. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his shadow cast upon the wall, the elongated horns, that starving grin.

“I see you’ve noticed him,” Alastor says, entering you all at once. “Keep your eyes on me, dear. Pay him no mind.”

“You consider him separate from you?” you ask, your body adjusting to the size of him easily.

Alastor, however, does not seem to be having such an easy go of things. There is a look of concentration on his face, his lip between his teeth. It takes a moment for him to reply. “I consider him an echo of me. I’ll warn you now, I do not know how conversational I will be from this point on.”

“All the same,” you wink at him. “It’s not your conversation I’m after at the moment.”

It takes almost no time at all to get loud for him again, but this time it wasn’t just you being pleasured. This was a new world for Alastor and he was lost in it, captive to it. His hands grip at your hips as he fucks you harder and harder, the mattress shaking beneath you. Soon the headboard smacks against the wall and you thank God there’s no one on the other side.

“Al!” You hook one knee around his waist. “Al, please, deeper.”

He grabs your other knee and pulls it around him so he can get a better angle. He moves to whisper in your ear. “You feel so soft inside, like velvet. So warm, so hot…like that little pop of heat when you stand with your back to a fireplace…”

You moan loudly, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter around him, the sound slick and obscene. You can hear him curse, how his hips snap faster and faster until he finally spills his seed in you, fucking you through it.

Alastor’s damp forehead connects with your shoulder and you can feel his breath coming harsh against it. His hands soften their hard grip on your thighs and fall away, moving up to your waist, your ribs, one thumb against your nipple.

You play with his hair, with one of his ears, but it doesn’t seem to rile him up again, which was good, because you didn’t want to be told to stop. You turn your head against his and kiss his hair.

“Okay?” you ask after a while.

Upon hearing your voice, he lifts his head and then himself off of you. He crashes on his back beside you, his arm coming up around you, pulling you to him.

“I am so…so grateful that it was you,” he says. “I am grateful to have you. Forever. You and I will create a home next week, here at the hotel. It is well within my power to do. It can be any way you like. You should jot down ideas while you’re at Rosie’s.”

You groan. “I have to go back to Rosie’s, don’t I?”

“Yes, my lovely,” he says. “You will still reside at Rosie’s for the duration of this week until the Extermination is through and we are free to do as we please. We do not have to go straight back into radio. Maybe…we take some time to ourselves. It will be well-earned.”

“You’re going to need a break in general,” you say, pushing sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes. “You’re doing so much for all of us. I can’t believe you’re going to kill Adam.”

“Believe it, my love,” he says softly. “Believe me. This is our future.”

“I do believe you. I trust you,” you say. “And I’m sorry for being so bratty about being sent away. I am effectively useless in any type of fight scenario. I would hold everyone back.”

“You would sacrifice yourself too easily. I never said those things to hurt you, I said them because I feared what would happen to you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I know.”

[pyxxiestyxx]

Something I have always loved about the HDG community has been the positivity. I hadn't ever written a story before 'joining' HDG with Five Lives, but I was welcomed here despite that, and I'm far from the only one. Provided you don't be a dick and respect both the setting and folks who are part of it, the community is a fantastic place to explore a passion for writing, and that freedom and encouragement to be creative is something to be celebrated.

There have been some incredible HDG stories that have come out in the last year alone, and I think that's in large part due to how comfortable places like the HDG discord are. I think it fits some of the common themes of HDG as well- that you matter, that your thoughts matter, and that we should look out for one another. I personally believe that one of the worst things to do to someone trying out a new passion is to give them too much criticism- save that for later, and let them enjoy the wonder! I think that's something the community does very well.

Of course, it also helps that folks new to HDG have incredible resources like the HDG Discord (which has volunteer staff who are very good at answering any tricky setting questions, called Lorets) and the Guide to Writing in HDG. It helps that we as a community have all agreed to play in the same sandbox without kicking over each other's castles. And it helps that so many folks are clearly so passionate about the setting, have found real and powerful emotions and growth from the stories.

Anyway, all that to say: if it's your first time writing but you have that idea in your head that you're sure is perfect for the HDG shared setting?

You should go for it.

[kittymizuki]

thinking about the kamikou festival event again and how it conveys the tone and atmosphere of the school while showing the constant transmisogyny microaggressions mizuki lives with every day so well, and this phone call with an drives me insane bc even though an is genuinely well-meaning and is trying to ensure that mizuki knows that today is a safe day for her to come to school due to the circumstances of the festival, the way she words this is very discomforting bc she's basically saying "nobody is going to notice that you're dressed as a girl today bc everyone is wearing wacky outfits!" which carries the unfortunate implication that the way mizuki presents herself is equally wacky in a way that reinforces everything ppl say about her, but this isn't easy for her to push back against bc she doesn't have a good enough 'excuse' to do so when this is one of the few ppl who go out of their way to accommodate her even if they don't fully get it? it's thoughtful of an to want to reassure her but also it's another little thing that others fail to understand. she's trying to be kind but even then mizuki feels somewhat pushed into a corner. she's very bad at actively saying No. and an has removed her ability to misdirect here bc an is speaking with ambiguity.

mizuki also being too anxious about the idea of changing her clothes in school bc she's terrified of the possibility of being caught and thus having her body perceived by others... that's also another reason she'd hate being at school. gym and changing for it … i'd wager mizuki skips almost every gym class bc she can't stand the idea of being forced to change amidst boys, but she's also not allowed into the girls' locker room… literally only has the option to go to the roof if she wants to change. she's so hyper cognizant of her body and being seen … and the worst part is, she likes to be seen under her own circumstances and control (which is one of the many reasons she's very passionate abt fashion, and a lot of trans ppl in fiction tend to have an attachment to fashion and styling which makes a lot of sense bc of the element of control over one's appearance and making a self one can love). she really does. it just … happens that she knows she has so little control.

i've read the vbs main story (and a bit of their events but i need to continue whoops) and this makes me appreciate mizuki's brief interaction with kohane and an here more, bc it's obvious in this moment that kohane is just being her usual self—anxious around other ppl she's not familiar with and this is something she wants to improve upon (which as far as i can tell is the conceit of her character arc as an underdog of sorts compared to the others in her group). but mizuki assumes that she has to be uncomfortable with her specifically (presumably due to her transness) bc of her experiences, so she immediately feels bad about 'taking up space' and decides to make up an excuse to get away from the situation to give kohane the chance to comfortably hang out with her friend. and the fact that mizuki goes out of her way to say that she's going to find a place to hide alone is interesting bc the way it's framed it doesn't sound like it means much, but it feels deliberate on her part, like she wants an to know... mizuki's internal world and where we see she has internal bias and how she blames herself or assumes she herself is the problem if she can't make others comfortable, and she takes so much upon herself all the time bc she's used to constant microaggressions and either can't say how she truly feels or has to divest what she feels from its context to make it palatable. but of course kohane is not transphobic, she is someone who has trouble socializing with strangers bc of her own anxiety that has nothing to do with mizuki herself, but mizuki doesn't have access to this perspective like the reader so it's easy for her to assume that she's the problem. it's paranoia but it's understandable considering how she's treated by almost everyone...

[kaybreezy3000]

The Drive-In A Five Hargreeves x Female reader insert, request

(7995 words, rated M for adult themes and explicit sexual content)

After the way it ended with season four, you couldn’t help feeling like Five had done you wrong. 

But…

On a night filled with men masquerading as mythical monsters, your favorite bad boy did you right, mending both your hearts.

Side note: I received the base idea for this one from an anon request. It asked for Five at a horror movie drive-In night, with a female reader insert. That idea for them was inspired by anon being tired while watching old monster movies. The rest of this storyline is perhaps not what they had in mind, being it addresses things that some would rather forget, but overall, I think this story has a nice message that many of us Five lovers can relate to and enjoy.

Warnings and Tags: Smut, Soft Five and Dom Five, NOT a Lila and Five fic

~~~~~~The Drive-In

Convincing Five to go for a ride in his 1965 Nassau Blue Stingray wasn’t as hard as Klaus thought it would be. Then again, going for car rides as a form of entertainment was a very old person thing to do, and his brother was that guy, even if he didn’t look the part of the old fart who couldn’t take a shit without eating his daily dose of prunes.

Driving along, Klaus jabbered about anything and everything that came to mind, but Five said almost nothing in return, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his lips set in a thin line. 

The sun was about to set. It was a beautiful fall evening. The warmth of summer had refused to let go. With the convertible top down, the wind ruffled his dark hair. It felt good, but Five still didn’t feel right.

All around him, life moved on, everyone obliviously living their best lives ever, but here he was, feeling out of place in all of that, just like before.

Trying not to think about his ledger full regrets, or all the idiotic things coming out of Klaus’s mouth, Five instead was doing his best to focus on the soulful sound of the ‘Queen of Jazz,’ Ella Fitzgerald as it mixed with the rumble of his Corvette’s powerful engine. 

Not sharing his brother’s tastes in music, Klaus reached for the radio, but like the last four times he’d done it, he got his hand slapped away.

“Leave it, or I’m going to leave you out here in the middle of nowhere and you can walk home,” Five lowly warned.

Rubbing his hand, pretending to be hurt, Klaus laughed. “You wouldn’t do that because you love me too much. And we aren’t that far away from civilization. I’d be fine. See-” He pointed to the lights shining through the trees up ahead.

“What’s going on up therrr-”

“Quick! Turn!” Klaus excitedly shouted, grabbing the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve off the road. 

Gravel flying, and tires spinning to an abrupt stop, Five slammed on the brake just before rear ending the car ahead of them. There was a line of cars, all of them waiting to get into what he now saw was the entrance to an outdoor, drive-in theater.

Angrily twisting his body around in his seat, so he was facing Klaus head-on, Five went off. “I said I would take you for a ride, not go to a movie with you!”

Klaus stuck out his bottom lip. “Awww, come on. It’s just like that time you got all jacked-up about that Big Ball of Twine. It’s you and me against the world!” “Yeah. Sure. You and me against the world.” Five threw himself back in his seat as he shifted into first, letting off the clutch to inch the car forward. “I can’t even back out of here!” he fumed while flipping off the minivan that just pulled in behind him, blocking his escape route.

“Who cares. This will be fun. And check it out! It’s an old-school monster movie double feature, and a scary costume event! Look at all these cool people!” Like he’d won the lottery, Klaus pumped his hand to the sky despite Five’s sour expression. “You need more of this kind of thing in your life, man. Spontaneous adventures are always the best.”

“Getting stuck with a bunch of juvenile dipshits that are getting drunk is exactly what I need. You’re right,” Five dryly mumbled.

Slowly rolling past the marquee, the warm lights glinted off Five’s shiny chrome side mirror. The reflection of the unhappy young man staring back at him frowned even more. All Five could think about, other than getting out of there, was how not fun all his spontaneous adventures had been. 

As a headstrong, thirteen year old with something to prove, he’d run out the Umbrella Academy dinner room, abandoning his family, and everyone knew where that got him. And then, with the last big adventure that Lila convinced him to go on, he’d royally screwed himself, and her, and that was not at all something he counted as a check mark in his plus column of ‘fun times.’ 

That one was… 

There were no words for that, other than to say, he’d really fallen off the deep end by thinking that was a viable option to end his loneliness.

The usual sickness pooling in his gut as he pushed those memories down as far as he could, Five’s shoulder rapidly jerked, the evidence of his tick impossible to hide. 

“I hate you for this,” he grumbled at Klaus, but he didn’t really mean it. He really hated himself.

Thankfully that, like usual, Klaus didn’t seem to notice how miserable he was, Five followed his line of sight, taking in a very attractive female passenger that was getting out of the car ahead of him.

You were dressed in a 1950’s style, polka dot mini dress, the top a tight corset that accentuated your breasts in a way that wasn���t at all hard on the eyes. Your hair was done up in old-fashioned victory style curls, making you the quintessential damsel in distress in all the old black and white horror movies. All you needed to do to complete the look was put your hands to your face and scream in terror as the hungry zombies surrounded you.

Looking confused and a lot like you might be about to freak out like that, Five watched you come around to the trunk, escorted by a guy who was dressed in what he could only figure had to be a Swamp Thing costume.

Swamp guy popped the trunk open.

Your eyes met Five’s for a fraction of a second. Next to him, Klaus was waving at you with a big goofy grin, and the next thing you knew, you were being flipped up, ass over tea kettle, your heels dangling out of the back-end of the car as your green friend hopped inside with you, shutting the hatch.

What was going on? And why did that hot guy who was glaring at you from the driver seat of that Corvette look exactly like the fictional character Five Hargreeves from the Umbrella Academy!!! And was that Klaus?

These were your thoughts, those and- 

“Get your foot out of my face,” you yelled at your friend as the car lurched forward, to which he only laughed even more because he was clearly high and smelled like it too.

“What the hell is going on?” you shouted, assuming you had to be high out of your mind too, even though you didn’t remember smoking anything.

“Shush-sshhhhh! You’re gonna get us busted,” your buddy sputtered, still giggling as your other friends talked to the cashier, buying their tickets. As the car moved forward, your trunk mate said, “It wouldn’t be a night going to the drive-in unless someone sneaks in, duh...”

“What are you twelve?” you shot back, to which you got nothing but more wafts of sweaty weed scented swamp monster costume and more foot in your face.

How in the hell did you get here, in a trunk of all places?

The last thing you remembered, you were sitting on your couch, watching TV, lounging in your grungy old pajamas that weren’t fit for going to Walmart. You definitely weren’t a kid anymore, and Five and Klaus weren’t real people, but like the rest of this, here you were, and you were sure it was them.

After bumping along in the pitch dark, the car came to a stop, the hood popping open. Crawling out, you took a deep breath, looking all around you. The lot was filled up with loads of vehicles, music playing loudly from many of them. The party had clearly begun, only you hadn’t realized you were going to it until just now.

Hazy rays from the last light of day streamed through the open field. You were near the back of the action, farthest from the big white screen looming over the field.

“Brains…yummy!”

Whirling around, a guy with a gruesome bite mark in his head came running past, chasing a trampy looking vampire with huge boobs spilling out of her Eliva costume.

Coming to a stop, he backpedaled, heading your way. The zombie’s whiteout contacts creepily moved, taking you in from head to toe. His lips pulled to the side as he nodded his approval. “Now that is the kind of sugar I could really sink my teeth into.” 

“I don’t think so buddy,” you said, stepping out of his reach as you continued searching for that blue sports car and its mysterious occupants.

You didn’t have to look far, because with nowhere else to park, the Five look-alike you’d spotted at the gate had already driven past, parking in the last row, right behind you.

Fascinated, you watched the two fictional superheroes having what looked like a very characteristic, Hargreeves style argument. You weren’t sure who was winning, but slamming the door, the young man in a familiar three-piece suit got out, stormed off, hands jammed in his pockets, looking just like the grumpy old man child from your favorite show. 

His dark hair hung in his eyes, his shoulders hunched in their usual way, his posture appeared to be one of deep thought and frustration as he approached the concessions.

This was all so weird.

Already horsing around, your friends paid no attention when you wandered into the crowd filled with the walking dead and other monsters that were busy acting all sorts of stupid.

Approaching your favorite fictional teleporter as he stood in line, you said nothing. You were sure this was some kind of joke, because he looked like a perfect match to the season four version of Five Hargreeves, scruffy emo hairdo and all, yet no one else around you seemed to realize they are standing next to someone significant. 

He rocked back on the heels of his shiny dress shoes, his eyes scanning the little black letters on the menu board.

“Can I help you,” he asked, apparently aware you were drooling over him even though he hadn’t even turned your way.

Your face instantly flushed, and then it got even hotter when he did face you, raising his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. 

“Ah….”

“Or maybe I should arrest you and your Swamp Thing sidekick back there?” he tartly offered. 

“What! Why? For what?” you stammered, getting more flustered the longer he tried to incinerate you with his pale green eyes.

“You didn’t pay to get in,” he smugly informed you, like you didn’t already know that. 

Taking it one further, he flipped open his suit coat, flashing you his hoity-toity CIA badge.

Wow, he was being an arrogant ass wipe, just like you would have expected him to be. 

Okay…. 

Two can play this game. You did have a bone to pick with him.

“Not paying to get into the drive-in movies is all a part of being young and dumb,” you countered, “but I suppose old shitheads parading around as tight assed, kid sized CIA agents, will never know what it means to let loose like that, and you don’t really want to anyway, otherwise you would have started really living your life before all hell broke loose with that Bennifer blob thing.”

Five’s jaw fish gaped, but you weren’t done with him. 

“Maybe if you’d had done something fun before all that, then you wouldn’t have given up on life and then got stuck with your sister-in-law, playing lovey-dovey possessive strawberry grower with her.” Holding your ground, you put your hands on your hips while shaking your head at him. “You’d been through way worse and that shit show and not given up, and that was not a win for anyone.”

Now your face wasn’t the only one getting red. “How did you-” You rolled your eyes because he was too cute. 

Suddenly, not being cute, before you could order your Milk Duds and buttered popcorn, Five latched onto your arm, spinning you around.

“Hey! Let go!” you snapped as he dragged you out of the musty cinder block concession building.

Insects buzzing as they swarmed the neon Sugar Shack sign above your heads, Five shoved you up against the side of the building, pinning you with his glare and his hands fingers rudely digging into your upper arms.

“How did you know about that?” he snarled. “Nobody knows about that! I reversed it and I nearly died doing it!”

“Well…” You glanced around. “I guess you did, and obviously found a way to save the world, but that Frankenstein guy that’s coming this way looks like he’s going to use his inhuman strength to break your face if you don’t back off, so if you want to keep living, I suggest you let go like I said.”

It dawned on him that he was drawing unwanted attention, so Five stepped back, raking his hand through his hair, making himself look even more bat shit crazy.

He was losing it, but fuck him, so were you.

You opened our mouth to answer the question of why you knew all this about him, but Five didn’t let you get it out.

“Are you with The Commission?” he growled. 

His eyes darted around, stopping on a group of werewolves walking by. He looked terrified, like they were going to suddenly pull a gun on him, or even worse, pull a gigantic black briefcase out from behind their backs, then chuck him into a portal destined for a place where he’d be forced into another round of murderous servitude. 

Like how you felt every time while watching Five struggling on the show, no matter how demented he was acting, all you wanted to do was lift him right out of there and save him from all of it.

“No. I am not with The Commission,” you replied, calmly as possible. “I am just a normal girl who last I knew was living in the normal real world. Now, I am not so sure what is going on.” 

You held up your hands in a placating gesture, like you were trying to calm a ferocious man beast, which wasn’t too far off, except Five looked more like a miniature wolf of Wall Street who was about to bite your head off.

“See… No guns or anything else nefarious here,” you joked.

Five looked dumbstruck, so twirling around, you pulled at the billowing folds of your bouncy skirt, showing him that you didn’t even have any pockets in your old-timey, Dolores-ish, girly-girl get-up. 

He didn’t look any less worried, and all of a sudden, for some reason, the thought of flashing him seemed like a brilliant idea.

You weren’t hiding anything under your skirt that was out to get him so…

Huh…. 

Maybe you should just slap him silly to set him straight? That sounded pretty great too.

Again, you had to wonder if you’d been drugged because this was all on par with a very Wizard of Oz kind of acid trip, your lack of undergarments included.

The warm air wafting up your skirt providing no clarity as it tickled your lady parts, holding up your arm, you pinched yourself.

“That hurt,” you noted, and that observation only made Five look even more like he was going to go nuts on you.

You scrunched your lips to the side, tapping your chin. 

If Five reversed all the stuff from season 4, and then saved the world, and he clearly didn’t die… 

“Hmmm,” you hummed. 

There was so much potential here, and as crazy as it was, with each minute that passed, the idea of running with this fantasy you were having sounded better and better.

You smiled and said, “I know all that stuff about you because I know all about you, Five, I’m the daddy here Hargreeves. I know about your family, your powers, and Dolores…” 

Your grin grew as you thought about Five feeling up the air during his romantic reunion with his mannequin turned real in season 3. 

“Is this handsome young man bothering you, miss?” Klaus questioned, his voice sing-songy as he came around the corner with several of your friends. Stopping next to his brother, he raised a brow at you. “If Five is being a pest, I am happy to make him go sit in the car. He needs a timeout from time to time or the little guy gets all nippy. It’s sort of his thing, especially when he hasn’t had his nap.”

“Fuck off, Klaus,” Five hissed, still standing between you and them, not letting you get away.

“No really,” Klaus laughed, his eyes moving from his brother to you. “It’s so good to see you again. It’s been too long, and look, you finally get to meet my favorite little brother. I told you he’d be all over you the second he laid eyes on you.” 

Klaus formally introduced you, but Five did not accept your extended hand.

“You know each other?” he questioned, looking at Klaus, then to you with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, yeah. We go way back.” Klaus shrugged like this was common knowledge, which it wasn’t, not to you anyway.

Pulling you by your arm, his face coming so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath flooding down your neck, Five quietly said, “He told you about me.”

It wasn’t really a question, and with the bizarre situation unfolding, you felt it best to let him think that.

“You guys want anything?” Klaus questioned, already heading around the building to join the line that was now about a mile long.

“I- I- Sure,” you answered, with Five already stomping off into the dark, leaving you not sure which one looked scarier or sadder out there lurking, him, or the rubbery looking guy dressed like the creature from the Black Lagoon. 

After about an hour into the first creature feature, you were sure of two things. 

One. Klaus was without a doubt the Klaus you had always loved on The Umbrella Academy. His pleather covered legs were kicked out in front of him as he sat next to you, the blanket under your butts keeping you dry from the dewy grass. He was hanging out, having a blast.

Two. Five was slumped in the driver seat of his car, with the driver’s side window rolled up and the leather rag top over his head, sitting there like he was trying to shut out the world. 

He was pretending to be transfixed by the plot unfolding high up on the flickering screen, but he was failing. He still looked like he was going to postal on everyone, and you were sure that being trapped at a drive-in with a bunch of people dressed like rotting corpses wasn’t helping.

Glancing back, each time you caught him looking at you, he’d averted his eyes, looking as vexed by Nosferatu’s ugly mug as he was by your face.

Five didn’t want people to know what had really happened, and you couldn’t blame him for that. You knew his secret and you’d called him out on it, so obviously that meant you were someone he wanted to make disappear.

You really, really didn’t want to end up running through the woods with an temporal assassin coming after you with a fire ax, but every time you tried to wave him over, he wasn’t having it.

You had to fix this, even if you were hallucinating this whole thing. You may have been mad at Five, and the entire season four plot line, but it wasn’t his fault that the writer’s and Steve Blackman were short sighted idiots.

You hopped up, heading his way, your heels not functioning on the soft ground, sunk in as you walked, making you look like a clumsy moron which was not the look you were going for.

The closer you got, the dumber you felt, and the more tense Five looked. 

Dropping your elbows on the threshold of the open passenger side window, to hide your embarrassment, you smiled your best flirty smile. “So… Other than yourself and other people, can you blink things from one location to another, like this car?” you questioned. “I think I heard about this super cool stapler thing you did once, but I didn’t really understand how you did that. Will you show me?” 

Five merely looked at you, stone faced, jaw hard, not taking the bait.

“I am going with you not being able to blink things that big,” you answered for him. “Otherwise, you would have been long gone by now.”

He still refused to speak to you. 

“This really is a nice car. I wouldn’t abandon it either,” you furthered while handing him a giant-sized Fudge Nutter. 

After a few seconds, he took it. His fingers twiddled the unopened candy bar, his was still suspicion plain as day in his stormy eyes, only not quite as tempestuous as it was before. “I never told Klaus about the subway…and he shouldn’t remember what happened with any of that anyway because I reversed the timeline and changed all this bullshit. It never happened.”

You opened the door and sat down next to him.

“I did not say you could join me,” he huffed, getting even more adorably pissed.

“Relax. Klaus doesn’t remember telling me that stuff because he was drunk when he told me about it. And the reason you don’t remember telling him about that mess is because you were drunk when you told him,” you lied.

Five sucked in his lower lip, clearly thinking about that, and the fact that it was highly plausible he’d drunkenly spilled his guts since he wasn’t the best at holding his liquor.

“So…” you continued. “Consider it a closed loop of things nobody wants to think or talk about, including me. I just unleashed on you out there about it because you were being such an asshole. Believe it or not, I still think you are amazing.”

Five looked down at his hands, a small smile tugging his mouth to the side. “I was just moving through life, going through the motions that normal people are supposed to do. I had a chance to start fresh and I blew. You were right about that, and me being an asshole.”

Not sure what to say back to that, a silence resumed, other than the screeches of the vampires’ victims quietly filling his classic car’s small speakers.

Five cleared his throat as he looked over at you again. “Why are you here? Aside from what you said about thinking I am amazing, I mean.”

He grinned, his dimple coming out to render you as speechless.

The longer Five had to wait for you to answer, the cockier he looked, and the more you wanted to jump his bones, or maybe smack him. At that point, you still weren’t sure which would better.

“I don’t belong here. I think you can see that, but…”  You stopped. There was no way you could tell him that his world was based on a comic book because at this point you had no fucking clue if that was true or not. “But…I am here whether it makes sense or not, and you know what?”

“What?”

“I think it’s for a reason, and that’s because I wanted to be here with you.”

“Why?” he pushed.

“Because. It makes me happy to see you finally get the car that you always wanted. I want to see you have good things in your life, Five.”

He said nothing.

“Are you happy?” you questioned.

He gave you a blank look. “Sure. I am happy when you look at happiness relative to the years of me sleeping on the ground, eating bugs, constantly fighting for my life and everyone else's, everyday living in a nightmare.”

His chin dropped as he shook his head.

“My life is, and I fear always will be, pretty fucked up,” he said, followed by a self-depreciating laugh. 

You moved over just a little closer, your hand gingerly touching his, and to your surprise, Five took it, his fingers tangling with yours in a way that showed how desperate he was.

You didn't say a word, but you did scooch closer, and immediately Five opened himself to your advance, pulling you against him in an embrace that you were not at all expecting. 

He breathed in the smell of your hair, then pulled back again. His face melting into a soft smile, but then just as fast, his face contorted, his brows furrowing as he shut his eyes as if in pain.

“I am sick of all the death and the killing and the pain. I don’t want to be a part of that, I never did. I didn’t want any of this to happen.” 

His fingers balled up in his palm, but you refused to let go of the hand.

“Five, look at me.”

Opening his eyes, he whispered, “I did so much of this to myself and to so many others. All I do is hurt people.”

“That is not true. You are not a bad person. You did what you had to, and you've never been wrong for feeling the way you have about any of it. Don’t let yourself think any differently. That’s how you got into this mess. You may have reached for love in the wrong place, and that got burned, but this isn’t over. The Five Hargreeves I know never gives up.”

“I don’t know how to move on.”

You brought his hand to your mouth, running your lips across his knuckles, then flipping it over, you kissed the inside of his wrist, lingering where his umbrella tattoo had been. 

His voice cracked. “I can’t forget. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Maybe not, but you can start over, and replace all the bad with something good,” you assured, your words warm against his skin, each pass of your lips, accepting all of him, the good and the bad.

He looked so broken, but maybe this was just what he needed. 

Shifting in your seat, you pressed your mouth to his, and it was as if in that one gentle brush of your lips on his, time stood still.

You could have stayed like that next to Five forever, just softly kissing him, playing with the fluffy ends of his hair, letting him take all the time he needed to come out of the hate filled place he was in, but after a while, he began to pull his arm out from behind you, but it was only so he could shift your body over onto his lap. 

It was as if he held some kind of otherworldly power over you. Before you knew it, your legs were straddling him, your back against his steering wheel.

Looking into his eyes when he breathlessly broke your kiss, there was no way you could deny him, especially with that crease of concern finding its way back, marking his face with worry. Wanting to erase it and all the things haunting him, you started massaging the deep knots of tension out of his shoulders.

You pressed a kiss to his slightly parted lips even before he could breathe his first sigh of relief. Tongue swirling around with his, your hands moved down his chest, lightly exploring the dips and curves hiding under all his layers of clothing. 

Feeling him tensing again, you brought your hand up to his cheek. Surprising you again, Five submissively tipped his face into your palm, closing his eyes, surrendering as you delicately ran your lips across his troubled brow. 

“Just let it all go, Five,” you soothed. “It’s time to be young and stupid for once.”

He started laughing. His chest lifted and fell with a few shaky breaths, then he slowly sighed. Silently appreciating what you were doing, he rolled his head back into his seat.

Looking very relaxed, he cracked open one eye. He smiled that unbelievably handsome smile. Unable to help it, you traced a line along the narrow bridge of his nose, pulling your finger away just as he tried to take a bite out of it.

“Klaus was right.” Looking like he was about to devour you, Five smirked. “I do get nippy when I don’t get my nap. Sorry.”

Those compassionate eyes that could convey so much sorrow looked so full of hope as his gaze flicked down so he could check out how high your skirt had ridden up on your thighs.

Wanting to get him really riled up, you brought your hands back to his chest, unbuttoning first his vest, and then dress shirt. Once you had them opened, and his tie flung back over his head, you moved your palms over his hot skin, heading down, gingerly teasing the bunched-up fabric covering his crotch.

Five let out a long, slow breath, his eyelids slowly drooping closed as he smiled.

“I guess daddy likes that,” you taunted, touching him softly, your hand running back and forth.

He started laughing “You did not just say that while playing with my dick?”

“Yes. Yes, I did,” you laughed back, “and you know you liked it.”

Getting more into it, Five started rutted himself upwards.

He looked so beautiful getting hard in your hand, his words throaty and desperate. “Please don’t stop.”

With a quick glance, you confirmed the cars parked next to you were still empty.

You lowered yourself as much as you could, pressing kisses to his neck, then his shoulder as your hand kept at it, bringing him to his full potential. 

The hand Five originally had held against the small of your back started sliding up, his fingers digging at the clasps holding up your top. He couldn't figure it out, and really, it was probably better that he didn’t. Giving up, he captured your lips again and his kisses that started painfully sweet, quickly intensified as he drifted his hands down, latching them on your ass. His long, strong fingers cupped you, pulling your groin up against the erection trying to rip through his pants.

Pulling your lower lip between his, Five moaned like you were killing him, then he let go. “I think I just died and went to heaven because you aren’t wearing any panties,” he humorously declared.

That got you laughing again, and him covering your neck with nuzzled kisses. Locking a hand in your hair, he started assertively thrusting himself between your legs.

It wasn’t fair to let him do all the work, so you responded by eagerly working your hips, round and round, giving him the lap dance he was evidently craving.

“I am so lucky you don’t care how fucked up I am,” he groaned.

He bent in placing a path of kisses along your jaw while giving your hair another firm tug that had your head automatically dropping back.

Having full access to the side of your neck, Five took advantage, tearing into you like the vampire on screen, only with bites meant to mark you, not maim you.

All you could do was moan as he went wild, but in a brief moment where your brain kicked back on, you managed to reach down, reclining the seat. Then you pushed Five down, doing some of your own marking when your fingernails slid across his chest, leaving red lines across his pale skin.

Having fallen back against the newly adjusted seat, Five’s eyes closed, and his head rolled to the side. He rocked his hips faster, his hands forcing your body to move with his. “I am going to destroy you,” he panted.

When your tongue glided across his pecks, stopping to make a quick flick to one of his little nubs of flesh, he let out a hissing sound, his body involuntarily arching off his seat as his eyes flew open.

Not at all done fucking with him, you slid down, your butt ramming his steering wheel as you hand moved to his pants, unzipping him.

Five’s cock twitched as your fingers wrapped around its girth. When the weakest sound crept out of his throat, you get even wetter.

He exhaled with what looked like a painstaking effort as you started stroking him. “Fuck, yes.” He moved his hand over yours, tightening it over your fingers. 

There wasn’t a hint of modesty in Five’s exquisitely lustful expression as he writhed under you, and that only made him, and you helping him jerk off all the hotter.

He moved your hand up and down in sweeping motions, but not long after he started doing it, his fingers began crushing yours, urging you to grasp him much firmer than you would have without his assistance. 

The way he was going at it, it was like he wanted it to hurt. He moved your hands in sharp, vicious jerks.

He bit back an angry verbalization of unintelligible profanity, his shaft sliding faster as precum seeped out of him, spreading along his length. 

You thought he was looking for a quick release, but then, he stilled your hand. His hand trembled against yours as he peered up at you. “You really want this? With Me?”

“Yes.” You’d never been so sure of anything in your life.

His breathing changed, slowing down again, but only until you dared to tease the swollen head of his cock with your thumb, swirling it around and around. To that, Five let out a breathless chuckle, arching his back as he bucked his hips. 

He only let you get away with that teasing for about two seconds before he brought his hands under your bottom, urging you to rub your slippery heat against his hard length, helping you both get off.

“Oh, fuck this feels so good,” he groaned as he moved you back, urging you to raise up on your knees so he could move his hand between your legs.

Flipping your skirt out of the way, his fingers played along the invisible line where your underwear should have been, but he stopped there. “Can I?” he asked.

Nodding your consent, you said, “Five, you can do me any way you want.”

Hearing that, something in him seemed to come undone.

He started determinedly rubbing your folds, mesmerized by the glistening of your desire as it coated his fingers. He was enjoying doing that to you so much, more precum seeped from him onto his torso. Slowly and gently, he used his thumb in a circular motion, stimulating your clit while he carefully eased his index finger inside you.

“God damn, you are so tight,” he panted.

With the sexiest look of distress on his face, Five reached into his pants pocket, fishing out first his wallet, then a condom. He feverishly ripped open the small square package with his bared teeth while pulling his fingers from inside you at the same time so he could grip his cock in hand and roll the rubber down over his shaft. 

Even doing that had him cursing and the look of madness in his eyes had you quivering in anticipation.

“You need to lead this,” he warned.

He lined himself up and you began to lower your body over him, but as his swollen glans pushed up into you, your body reactively tightened against him, your own excitement working to deny itself. The size and fit issue you were having, and the look on your face about it, earned another breathy hiss from him.

Taking his hands off you completely, Five grasped at his seat, trying his best to remain still and let you take him at your pace.

Balancing yourself with your palm pressed against the window, you resolutely held his cock in your other hand, lowering yourself onto him again. 

Again, your body fought it. Your teeth studded into your bottom lip. With small movements, your hand noisily squeaking down the steamy glass, you were eventually able to sink all the way down, and the success of that was met with your both letting out obscene sounds of relief.

Your eyes crashed shut from the overwhelming sensation of taking in all of him. And it only got better when his hands claimed your breasts and he simultaneously dug his heels into the floor and lifted his hips.

You cried out as Five bottomed out. Pleasure and pain ripped through you, your entire body tightening around him.

You clutched his shoulders, your fingernails clawing into his tensed bands of muscle.

“Feels so-fffuck. Thank you for ffuck,” Five brainlessly panted.

You cried out again when, undaunted by your crushed expression or his inability to speak, he grasped your hips and coaxed you to move up and down, meeting you halfway. His needy thrusts were coming at you vigorously, the strength behind them like it was out of his control.

Your delirious cries as Five fucked himself up into you were beyond your ability to contain. You were unable to do anything other than paw at him as his feet slipped and dug against his floor, desperately searching for more leverage to grind his cock deeper than it already was.

Just when you were sort of getting used to this, Five changed pace and began rolling his hips as best he could while his butt was squashed down in the crook of his seat. The rhythm suited him, his body looking so fucking hot underneath you that only further blew your mind.

His rock-hard dick was stretching you to the point you couldn’t see straight. You were so wet from feeling every inch of him prodding and pulling at your insides, your whimpers were quickly becoming broken moans.

Holding you from going down on him all the way, the sensation of his delicious tip shallowly moving in and out just right, he smiled deviously. “You are mine from here on out. No matter what. Tell me you want that as much as I do.”

“I want this,” you repeated, bouncing on his dick to pull yourself over the edge.

Your world was suddenly getting very small. There was nothing but that sweet tension of him filling in, that delicious coil inside you unraveling, and the simple pleasure of him giving himself to you.

When you least expected it, that was when Five gave your ass a stinging slap, then he moved his hand back into play, circling the tips of his fingers against your clit, extra hard.

“Hey, Five?” Klaus said as he came up to the passenger side of the car. 

“Get out of here!” Five yelled.

“Whoospsie. Sorry, guys.” Laughing, Klaus did an about face, but you could still here him talking. “Nothing to see here people, just move along…yeah, the view is much better over there, and the weed is too.”

“Shhhh- Shhh-it,” you sputtered.

You were on fire, your thighs burning. Everything was coming to a head. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you started to shudder. Five started thrusting deeply again, forcing the breath out of you as his feet kicked down on the floor and his knees repeatedly slammed up against the steering wheel.

Pieces of his gorgeously wild hair fell into his eyes as he lay there with a fucked out smile, his forehead a sheen of shimmery sweat. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock,” he encouraged, giving you the ride of your life.

Unable to stay upright, your body toppled over the edge and tumbled down against him, your forehead falling against his shoulder. “Fivvvv- gah..ah, ah-” Orgasm slamming into you, you couldn’t move your hips anymore, let alone talk, but that didn’t stop Five.

Puffing air through clenched teeth, he kept pumping his cock up into you, so you could get the benefit of each and every wave of your shattering release.

“Mmmmfff, Fiiii-vvve, fffuc—uck,” you cried as his fingers dug into your waist, forcing you up and down, even after you’d gone limp as a rag doll flopped on top of him.

“I need to move,” he suddenly gasped.

You didn’t get it. He was moving.

Before you could associate the feeling of static building with his power coming to life, the humid air around you lit up the darkened car and everything around it. There was a sizzling, then a sharp loud crack, like the sound of him slapping your ass. A second later, only after Five did actually slap your ass again, carrying you in his arms, he set you down, sitting your bottom on the trunk of his car.

Your high heels fell off, hitting the ground next to his feet. Legs dangling around his hips, he nestled deep between your legs, his shirt wide open and his pants slipping down to his knees. 

In a dazed state of post orgasmic bliss, his dick still in you, your was head spinning.

There were woods on both sides of you, and you appeared to be parked in the middle of a road. There were the faintest sounds of people in the distance. You could be near the drive-in still, but then again, maybe not.

“Where are we,” you asked, frantically looking all around. It was so dark, you could hardly see anything.

“Don’t worry, you're safe,” Five replied in a way of explanation while smiling so boyishly innocently. “And to answer your question about me blinking larger things than myself. Size wise, my dick is pretty awesome, and it’s no simple task lugging it around through time and space, but you wanted to see what I could really do, so I decided to go full delivery boy for you. Took me over 69 years, but I have it all figured out now.” 

“Oh, my God, I think I love you,” you laughed.

“I think I could love you too,” Five concurred, bending in, his next words coming out with each gentle thrust that matched the cadence in-between his equally soft kisses. “Everyday. Just. Like. This.”

His hands moved up your back, the tickle of his fingers making you shiver. The bottoms of your bare feet pressing down on the car’s bumper, his mouth found its way to your collar bone where he started methodically moving his lip along the crest of it, licking and nipping as he undid the clasps on your shirt, this time getting it on his first try.

The cotton bodice slipped off your arms and he stopped everything so he could admire you. “So beautiful,” he said, then forcefully slid your bottom across the trunk until he was buried full deep, pressing you to his chest.

Clinging to his shoulders, you whimpered.

“Laydown,” Five breathed. “I want to see all of you.”

With the firm direction of his hands pressing you down, you did as he wanted, easing back against the trunk.

Taking you under the knees, flipping your skirt up and your legs over his arms, Five pulled your hips out away from the car, giving himself more command over your body. 

Almost right way, his eyes rolled back in his head as began to fuck you, pulling himself all the way out before slamming back in. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he groaned, fighting to see straight.

His feet dug into the gravel under his shoes, his hands yanking your ass towards him as he drove himself faster, his pelvis smacking into you with the sound of hot and sweaty flesh on flesh. The faster he snapped his hips, the more you felt like you were falling even though you weren't. Your hands scrambled for purchase, looking for anything to hold onto on the slippery trunk, but all you found as you grasped was slick blue paint. 

“I fucking love fucking you,” Five grunted, fucking you faster and faster.

Again, your body was on the verge of pain and pleasure from how aggressively he was going at it, but as he lost himself, the rope inside you slipped out of your hold, the freefall pushing you to climax again. 

You slipped forward, sure the rest of your body was going to slip off the trunk and hit the ground, but Five didn’t let up.

“Five! My-yyah-hahh, Fiv-ffff-help-ffffuck!” 

His hips rapidly thwacked, his breathy grunts coming faster.

“I-I’ve got you,” he sputtered, his body fighting to keep moving, his eyes fighting to stay open.

He was shaking in a violent stream of tremors, and even with the condom on, you could feel his release throbbing spurts of his seed deep inside you. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuccck!” he gasped as his hips moved. His chest heaved with every intake of breath, pained sounds clawing out of him when he exhaled. 

His movements started to lack any pattern, and a profound and satisfied form of relaxation washed over you as he slowed. He dreamily gazed down at you like he was going to pass out.

Looking like he had hardly the energy to do it, balancing your one leg hooked around his arm, Five took himself in hand, gently as possible pulling out of you. 

“Oh my God,” you gasped, as your body spasmed a few more times.

Moving along, Five flung off the heavy rubber he’d filled, tossing it in the ditch, then he readjusted your boneless body, pulling you up next to him so he could kiss you, over and over, whispering unbelievably sweet words and not all of them in English.

With a fraction of space between your lips, he said your name. “...., Thanks to you, I think I finally learned my lesson. It’s time to start living life on my own terms.”

His lips curled in a very curious way that immediately had you wondering what he could be up to now. 

Lifting you, he shuffled back at step, trying not to trip on his pants. Reaching out, you heard the sound of his trunk popping open, then he dumped you inside. 

Stunned, you looked up at him with wide eyes. “Wha-”

“Ah-Ah-Ah, sweetheart,” he menacingly sang while twirling the shoulder strap of your top around his finger. “I’m not letting you get away. You're mine now, remember.”

The darkness started closing in around you. “Five!” you screeched.

“I'm just kidding.” He chuckled at you. “They call me a psycho for good reason, but I am not the put you in my trunk kind of psycho,” he teased, while pulling you back to him. Just as he was about to kiss you, you started to fall.

Your ass hit the floor in front of your couch.

Rapidly blinking, your hair tangled in front of your face, you looked over at your TV. 

H. J. Well’s ‘The invisible Man’ was playing. The doctor who went mad with power, turned villain on a murder spree, was standing there in his black suit with his silly white bandages wrapped around his face. Even though you couldn’t see them, you could sense his empty eyes staring back at the blonde beauty next to him. All he longed for was to go back to before he’d ruined everything. All he wanted was to be loved.

Your chest started shaking with your laughter and your eyes misted over.

Five was gone. 

It was all a dream, a very real and very wet dream based on the feel of your underwear.

Five was never there, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t feel him. He was real in your mind, and just like he’d said, no matter what, he was yours. His story was whatever you wanted it to be, and nobody, not even a botched season finale would make you stop loving him.

With you, he could live on forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Thank you for all the nice requests, guys. I can't do them all, but I do my best with the ones I take on. I hope you liked this one and the idea in it can help heal your own s4 broken hearts. I know that it helps me to rewrite Five's story, time and time again.

And yes. I totally have snuck into a drive-in in the trunk of a car with my friend's foot in my face, and I have done all sorts of inappropriate things in cars while I was supposed to be watching the big screen. Being young and dumb is wonderful, and everyone needs at least a few adventures that don't end with the world ceasing to exist. Just don't get caught. 😜

Cheers lovelies. ❤️ Till next time.

Link to view all my Tumblr story and art posts

Link to my Five centric master list

Link to visit me direct on A03

[theclownghoul]

Arcane Season 2 has me messed up and not in a good way

It’s actually breaking my heart that I don’t love this show anymore.

I don’t want to hate it, there’s pieces I love but there’s also pieces I hate. Act l had me in such high hopes and then it stuttered then crashed and burned.

I just feel so disappointed with so many parts of it. Actively angry at others.

There are some moments that I loved that had me feeling the same high as the first season but every time I thought things would develop better they didn’t.

I think I’m only really happy with Ekko and I was worried about him for much of the season. As an Ekko and Jinx shipper I was pleased with most of their story but the way they ended Jinx’s story undermined the importance of their talk so…

Honestly I would trade all the ship stuff for a proper story arc for Vi, Jinx, Cait and the rest

I saw the signs for Vi as soon as her pit fighter arc didn’t extend passed the promo clips. I kept waiting to delve into her issues but that never came.

Jinx was done so dirty. And this was something I prayed wouldn’t happen. She’s so personal to me in ways that would take too long to go into here. I had high hopes for her, especially after Isha and her starting to move forward, I knew it wouldn’t last but I knew (hoped) it would be interesting. I fully expected Isha to die but the way it happened was so weird?? The scene itself felt like it was manipulating me which is something I hate with a passion.

Likewise I expected her to relapse into suicidality after that and I had suspected that the scene with Ekko would happen. Her scene with Vi beforehand hurt in a good way and I wanted to watch as she hit rock bottom then clawed her way back as she started to mend the broken relationships in her life.

The thing that finally set me off was her hair. I thought she would cut it after she decided to live, as a show a change but before was just so cliché (it did look cute but don’t go trying to distract me)

I really didn’t want people blaming Vi for Jinx running off to try to end herself again. And I didn’t, even though I knew something was wrong about the way the scene played out and lead into the sex scene. I knew something was wrong I was just hoping that I was wrong.

I was so looking forward to the CaitVi sex scene, since King Princess was revealed for the soundtrack. Hoping her and Cait would have a real ass conversation, a hard conversation and then get that moment together but it just felt wrong. I wanted to love it but I didn’t. As a King Princess fan I was so excited but all I feel now is at best apathy and at worst anger. The more I read from lesbians in the fandom and those that care for Vi how I care for Jinx the worse I feel.

Briefly let’s talk about Cait. I was interested in her arc after Act l. Messy it would be and a long road back for sure but I had hope. She was done dirty too.

Back to Jinx…. What the fuck was that ending? Her “sacrifice” felt so similar to her fights with Vi (Act l) and Ekko (S1) where she was going to let herself die. No growth from the rest of the season, that’s how they left us, that’s what they did to a character that they did so beautifully in S1. I don’t care if she’s alive, that’s not a fucking ending.

(Apologies for continuing to bring up my predictions. I just think it’s funny how my thoughts make more sense than what we got)

I didn’t mind the idea of her sacrificing herself for Vi, Arcane is a tragedy after all. Her being the one to protect her sister in the end not because she thought Vi was better off without her but because Vi protects everyone and her sister can help now would have been great.

But that ending rubbed me wrong in every way.

The story of these sisters meant everything to me and what a fool we all were to think it was in competent hands. Like seriously I can’t believe this is the same writing team.

All of us went in with high hopes and then had those hopes crushed.

I’ve seen so many people who were excited to react and analyze go radio silent after Act ll and I hope they stay that way. I’d love to change my mind but I don’t think I can. I don’t think there’s any coming back.

I wanted to take the good moments and leave it alone but I keep feeling the disappointment because the show’s first season left a mark on me that I’ll treasure forever and I can’t let go. I still have so many feelings about this. Piltover and Zaun, Victor and Jayce, Mel and Ambessa, admittedly not my area of expertise but safe to say they all deserved better and we deserved better.

I would say it felt like a fanfic but I know fans have more grace and respect for this story.

This is not the tragedy I signed up for.

[heroes-in-the-dark]

Hi!!!! It's me again with a new fan art, one of several sketches I have pending haha!

In episode 119.5 when toga mentions that Tokoyami gives him his blood, I couldn't help but remember the scene where Ochako tells him that he would give her his blood, in episode 19 of season 7

That children's scene is very symbolic, and I decided to do the version that no one asked me for, but our little fandom needed

Your work has been too special for me, my heart received it with affection and it has a great place in my mind every day, at least I dedicate 6 hours of thought to it a day HAHA! It sounds crazy but it's my Roman empire, and my life changed for the better since I've been following this fanfic

So I basically say this to say, THANK YOU.

And I was wondering for a while , would you give me your permission to make content, like videos about this fanfic? Clearly all the credits of creation would be yours, I only enjoy creating things that I like, that's why I ask permission. Why I respect your rights as an author 🕴️💖

Anyway, I love you, I hope you like my fan art, many more will come jsjsjs😊

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIS ONE!!!! 💕😭💕

Your art is so good, and this scene is actually SO important because we're not quite there yet, but I'm really anticipating when Tokoyami and Toga see each other next! Their little faces are so precious I just wanna cherish them both 🥺

Art of these two is so rare outside of this little corner I've written, but this actually means so so much. It's just so perfect, for reasons I can't yet fully explain, and I'm absolutely giddy that you drew this 🥰 so thank you!!!

And you're so sweet! 💕 Honestly, it's been the support and continued enthusiasm from my readers that gave me the motivation to make it this far, so I really couldn't have done it without you! I love how much I was able to explore throughout the story, while giving attention to characters who didn't get nearly enough in canon. And I'm so happy that I can share these thoughts and ideas with others! Especially with how long it's been going on for, this hasn't exactly been a short journey, and you and quite a few others have been keeping up with it year after year. And that's amazing! Thank you so much for being a fan of my work!!!

You can absolutely make fan content! I trust you to credit me and all that, so go right on ahead. And by all means, feel free to share! I'd love to see anything you end up making 😊

[arrowheadedbitch]

Overview of the things I've decided are canon for my son of zeus au so far (hopefully I don't forget any):

The gods are dicks. They arent *always* dicks, but I don't want to sugarcoat them from their original myths, they do bad shit and often

Denki is favored by Apollo, Dionysus, and Hermes the most, Persephone also likes him pretty well

Zeus is Zeus, meaning who knows when he'll decide he loves his son or hates his son or just genuinely doesn't care, he's such a little hypocrite bitch ain't he

Quirks are the exact same as they are in canon, the presence of the Greek gods didn't affect that at all, the gods have nothing to do with quirks and while they still are probably banging like rabbits they aren't really that active in Japan so no, no one else at UA is a demigod

Zeus slept with Kaminari's mom because he was intrigued by a mortal with a power in his domain (electricity) that didn't come from him

Since Kaminari's powers come from both his quirk and his dad, there's some complexities to them

Kamimari was born with lightning powers but they worked differently before his quirk actually manifested (I'm toying with the idea that his quirk manifested while being smiled by Zeus with lightning? I haven't decided if I like that or not yet)

Kaminari doesn't want other people knowing he's a demigod for classic hero story reasons but also because 1. Greek gods being real is a secret and he ain't about to be the one that spilled it 2. It'd be really complicated and annoying to explain and let's be real, at least one person would come out of that thinking he went crazy

Athena doesn't like him because, well, dunceface, duh. She does appreciate his strategic abilities though

Ares also doesn't like him because he doesn't like killing people, Ares and Athena hate that they dislike the same kid so much that they'd consider changing their tune about him on just that alone

In junior high he went on a big quest, I haven't decided on any details of it, but it involved a lot of fighting way to strong people while way too young as most quests do, this is also how he got into Apollo, Hermes, Dio, and Persephone's (and by extention Hades since he loves Persephone enough to deal with anyone she likes) good graces, the quest was likely given by Zeus and likely involved Hera trying to kill him

He's not really surrounded by people in the ancient greek community, it's not like he has a camp half blood and even if he did he'd skip it to go to UA training anyway, but he is pretty well known in those circles post big quest

I'm toying with the idea that he failed his first quest and thus had to go on a redemption quest

Kaminari doesn't like being serious, but despite what his classmates and teachers think, he CAN do serious, how else would he be such a big shot in the Greek community?

Imma be real, there was probably some kind of war that Kaminari had to lead an army in or something. I'm sorry, child soldier stories just have so many layers to dissect it's not my fault that they're compelling in a way

My point is, serious Kaminari is like war general levels serious, but not even LOA attacks are bad enough to bring out serious kaminari, are you kidding, did you gloss over the part about god war? He's having a little trouble taking literally any threat at UA seriously and he'll have trouble taking almost every threat as a pro hero seriously, it's not his fault junior high set the bar way too high on what situations are serious!

One of Kaminari's demigod powers, as the son of Zeus, is that he can't take fall damage. No matter how high up he falls from, he will never ever get worse than a few scrapes

Pissing him off really badly makes the sky get stormy, I'm talking immediate clear skies to nothing but gray clouds moving in and you can't even SEE the sky anymore, also possibly rain, he doesn't do it often but he can and he'd probably be able to control it if he were to practice his demigod powers along with his quirk but we all know he ain't gonna do that any time soon

He can sword fight, he hopes this never comes up

He has to keep reminding Dionysus about the legal drinking age, Dionysus thinks it's stupid and therefore never listens, they have argued about it multiple times

Apollo and Kaminari play chess together on occasion

Hermes at one point gave Kami a special knife when he decided he liked him enough to give him a gift, it's a magic thief's blade which is just a dagger that cannot be found on his person no matter what you do. Pat him down? You won't feel it. Scan him? It didn't show. Metal detector? It didn't beep at all. But he can pull it out whenever. He won't but he does *have* it just in case. I'm also deciding if making it not be able to leave him would be too much. I don't want it to feel like a riptide ripoff, I'm thinking maybe it sprouts wings and flies to him?

Yes, I've just decided, the Thief's Knife will fly to him if left behind and can squeeze into any crack no matter how small to get to him

I'm shinkami trash so you KNOW shinkami is about to be canon in this au

In either 2A or 3A, Kaminari tells Shinsou his secret about the gods being real and him being Zeus' son, he spends a great amount of time explaining all the details to Shin and answering his questions, it's a lot

What can I say? Shinsou is gus confidant, he was gonna have to tell him at some point 🤷🏻‍♀️💅

He doesnt tell anyone else, but obv they've got to eventually find out somehow, what you think I'd just let it be lame?? Even after they find out, he won't tell them anything he doesn't have to, waits until it comes up to explain things, it's just too complicated he doesn't want to go through all that AGAIN and with twenty people this time

Oh and before you ask, I'm gonna say no on the flying thing. I know it could be a power of a Zeus kid, I know it could be cool, but no. No he cannot fly.

I can't think of anything else right now but I can't wait to wake up in a cold sweat tonight and realise what i forgot

Also, I'm gonna go ahead and tag @iys-cloud since I know iys really likes this au :]

[amethystarachnid]

Thank you for writing my little Tony story 🤍

If it's not too much, can you write a second part for me please? Tony and reader finding out the baby's gender, Tony surprising her with a beautiful surprise proposal, maybe the other Anvegers can even help 🤍 the marriage and the baby's birth? 🤍🤍🤍 I lobe family man Tony too, it's so cute 🤍🤍🤍

Thank you!

ACCIDENTS HAPPEN - part II

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: it's almost time for the baby's arrival so Tony decides that it's the perfect time to propose, as he drops to one knee you're sure you've found your happy ending,

ᯓ★ TW(s): childbirth

ᯓ★ I love family man Tony so much, matter of fact, I love every character seen as a family man I don't know why lol.

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The baby shower is shaping up to be a bigger event than you ever expected, though you probably should’ve seen it coming. With the Avengers involved, nothing is ever subtle. Tony, of course, is no help in scaling things back. In fact, he’s leaning into the chaos, throwing out extravagant suggestions like hiring live performers or setting up a drone fireworks display. You shoot most of his ideas down, insisting that this is a baby shower, not a red-carpet event.

Still, the excitement is infectious. Natasha takes charge of the planning—she’s surprisingly good at it, efficient and precise, down to the last detail. She ropes Bruce into helping, and the two of them become the only ones who know the baby’s gender. The rest of the team, including you and Tony, are kept in the dark, much to Tony’s annoyance.

“I don’t see why I can’t bribe Banner,” Tony grumbles one afternoon as he paces the kitchen. “He’s a terrible liar, anyway. A few drinks, a little sweet-talking, and he’d spill.”

“Good luck with that,” you reply with a smirk, stirring a cup of tea. “Natasha would kill him if he said anything. And you know she could.”

“Fair point,” Tony concedes, though he still looks annoyed. “Still, I’m calling it now: it’s a girl. She’s going to be brilliant, gorgeous, and way too smart for her own good. Just like her mom.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, really? Because I’m thinking it’s a boy. Stubborn, full of energy, and probably way too much like you.”

“Not possible,” he says with mock seriousness. “There’s only room for one of me in this world.”

Clint chimes in later that evening when the team gathers in the common room, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he munches on a bag of chips. “I’m betting on a boy,” he says, pointing a chip in your direction. “Gotta have someone to teach archery to. Plus, Stark with a son? That’s comedy gold.”

Thor, who’s been helping decorate the living room with streamers and balloons (many of which are Asgardian-sized), disagrees. “A daughter would be most fitting,” he declares, his voice booming. “She will have the strength of her father and the grace of her mother. A true warrior!”

Steve, predictably, tries to stay neutral. “I think you’ll be happy no matter what,” he says diplomatically, though there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes as he looks at Tony. “That said, I wouldn’t mind seeing Stark try to handle a teenage girl someday.”

“God help us,” Natasha mutters with a smirk.

On the day of the baby shower, the compound is transformed. There are decorations everywhere—streamers in pastel pinks and blues, balloons shaped like baby bottles, and a banner reading Welcome, Baby Stark! stretched across the main wall. The table is laden with food, drinks, and an elaborate cake that looks too beautiful to eat. There’s even a pile of gifts in the corner, ranging from practical items like diapers and onesies to absurdly expensive gadgets Tony probably ordered himself.

Natasha and Bruce are the picture of calm, though you know they’ve been coordinating the big reveal for weeks. The two of them exchange knowing looks every time someone tries to guess the baby’s gender, clearly enjoying their role as gatekeepers of the secret.

The main event comes after everyone’s had their fill of food and games, including a hilariously chaotic round of diaper-changing races featuring Steve and Thor. Natasha steps forward, holding a small box wrapped in neutral-colored paper. She taps a spoon against her glass to get everyone’s attention.

“All right, everyone, it’s time,” she says, her tone firm but playful. “Y/N, Tony, come up here.”

You exchange a glance with Tony, who’s grinning like a kid at Christmas, and follow Natasha to the front of the room. Bruce joins her, carrying what looks like a smoke cannon with pastel-colored confetti inside.

“Are we sure Banner knows how to use that?” Tony whispers to you, earning a chuckle.

Natasha ignores him and gestures for Bruce to hand the cannon to Tony. “This is simple,” she says. “On the count of three, you twist it. The confetti will tell you the gender. Got it?”

“Got it,” Tony says, his grip tightening on the cannon. He looks at you, his grin softening into something tender. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Ready,” you reply, your heart pounding.

The room buzzes with anticipation as Natasha begins the countdown. “Three… two… one!”

Tony twists the cannon, and an explosion of pink confetti fills the air, raining down in a sparkling shower. The room erupts into cheers, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at the cloud of pink with wide eyes.

“A girl,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly as the reality sinks in. “We’re having a girl.”

Tony turns to you, his grin splitting his face as he pulls you into his arms. “I told you,” he says, laughing as he spins you around. “I knew it!”

You’re laughing now too, tears streaming down your cheeks as the team gathers around, offering congratulations and playful jabs. Thor claps Tony on the back hard enough to make him stumble, while Clint pretends to look disappointed but quickly admits, “She’s probably gonna be cooler than a boy anyway.”

Natasha smirks, crossing her arms. “Told you it was worth the wait.”

As the excitement settles and the confetti begins to drift to the floor, Tony kneels in front of you, his hands resting gently on your growing belly. He looks up at you, his expression soft and filled with a kind of awe that takes your breath away.

“Hey, baby girl,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “It’s official now. You’ve got one hell of a team waiting for you out here. But you know what? Your mom and I? We’re the lucky ones.”

Your heart swells, and you reach down to run your fingers through his hair. In that moment, surrounded by your friends, your family, and the overwhelming love in Tony’s eyes, you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

The nursery preparation becomes a joint project, though you suspect Tony might be using it as an excuse to turn every design meeting into a spectacle. It starts with a simple conversation over breakfast about colors and furniture, but within hours, Tony’s drawing up blueprints for a room so high-tech it could double as a lab.

“Tony,” you say, leaning over his shoulder as he sketches a design for a mobile with holographic planets orbiting a glowing star. “This is a nursery, not the International Space Station.”

He turns to you with an exaggerated look of shock. “Why settle for ordinary when our baby can have the universe in her room? Imagine it—she’ll look up and be inspired every night.”

You can’t help but smile, even as you roll your eyes. “She’s not going to care about any of this for at least a few years. Let’s focus on a crib that doesn’t look like it’s from the future, okay?”

“Compromise,” he says with a smirk. “The crib will be traditional. The rest? Cutting-edge Stark tech.”

Choosing the color scheme turns into its own adventure. You veto pink almost immediately, wanting something more neutral and calming. “What about soft blues and grays?” you suggest one afternoon as you hold up a paint swatch.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Blues and grays? What is she, a baby or a Zen monk? Let’s go bold—deep purples, maybe some gold accents.”

“She’s a baby,” you remind him with a laugh. “She needs soothing, not a nightclub.”

Eventually, you settle on a compromise: a soft starry theme with muted blues, silvers, and whites, accented by golden stars and constellations painted along the walls. Tony insists on installing a custom ceiling projector that will display a moving galaxy, complete with twinkling stars and nebulae, for bedtime. You draw the line at installing an AI assistant in the room—at least for now.

The naming debate, however, proves to be even more challenging.

It starts casually one evening as you both lounge on the couch, flipping through baby name books. “Okay,” you say, running your finger down a list. “How about something classic? Elizabeth? Grace?”

Tony shakes his head. “Too stuffy. She’s going to be a Stark; she needs something unique. How about Nova?”

You pause, considering it. “Nova’s not bad,” you admit. “But it feels… incomplete.”

Tony grins. “Well, it’s lightyears ahead of Grace.”

You toss a pillow at him, laughing. “Fine. What else have you got, Mr. Genius?”

He leans back, pretending to think deeply. “Aurora. You know, like the northern lights.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Beautiful, but maybe a bit too Disney princess?”

The conversation goes on like this for days. Tony throws out names like Vega, Lyra, and Andromeda, while you try to steer him toward something more grounded. Neither of you seems willing to budge, though secretly you both enjoy the banter.

It’s during one of these discussions, late at night, that the perfect name finally emerges.

You’re lying in bed, the lights dimmed, and Tony’s hand rests protectively over your belly as he rambles about constellations. “Sirius is too much,” he says, more to himself than to you. “But it’d be cool if we could tie it back to something celestial. Something meaningful.”

You hum in agreement, half-asleep, when a thought strikes you. “Stella,” you say softly, testing the name on your tongue.

Tony freezes, then sits up slightly to look at you. “Stella,” he repeats, his voice thoughtful. “Latin for ‘star.’ Simple, beautiful, and meaningful. I love it.”

You smile, your heart warming at his reaction. “You really like it?”

“I don’t just like it,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s perfect. Stella Stark. Our little star.”

The next morning, you tell the rest of the team about the name, and everyone agrees it’s fitting. Thor, especially, is thrilled. “A name worthy of the cosmos!” he declares, raising his coffee mug like a goblet.

Even Clint, who usually teases Tony at every opportunity, nods in approval. “Stella’s solid,” he says. “Classy, but not pretentious. Good pick.”

As the nursery nears completion and Stella’s name starts appearing on everything—from personalized blankets to a tiny plaque above the crib—you find yourself growing more excited with each passing day. The walls are painted, the furniture is assembled, and Tony’s holographic mobile is, admittedly, a work of art.

One evening, as you both stand in the finished nursery, Tony wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “You know,” he murmurs, looking around at the room, “we might’ve gone a little overboard.”

“A little,” you agree, though you can’t help but smile.

“But she’s worth it,” he adds, his voice soft as he rests his forehead against yours.

“She is,” you whisper, your heart full.

As the galaxy projector casts a soft glow of stars across the ceiling, you know that Stella is already surrounded by more love and wonder than you ever could’ve imagined.

The shift in behavior starts subtly. At first, you think you’re imagining it—the way Natasha ends phone calls the moment you enter the room or how Clint suddenly has a reason to leave anytime you try to ask what he and Tony were whispering about. Even Steve, who’s usually a beacon of honesty, seems unusually tight-lipped when you catch him and Bruce exchanging cryptic looks during a mission debrief.

Tony, of course, is no better. If anything, he’s the most suspicious of them all. Normally, he shares every detail of his day with you, but lately, he’s been “working late” more often than usual. When you ask what he’s working on, his answers are evasive, laced with a nonchalance that you don’t buy for a second.

“Just tweaking some tech,” he says one evening, typing furiously on a holographic keyboard that he closes the moment you approach. “You know, the usual.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “The usual doesn’t usually involve secretive meetings with the entire team or you hiding your screens from me.”

Tony looks up, flashing you one of his patented grins. “Paranoid much, sweetheart? Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones.”

You roll your eyes, but you let it slide—for now.

The day of the proposal dawns like any other. You wake up to the sound of Tony humming softly beside you, his hand resting protectively over your belly, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of him. At seven months pregnant, your body feels heavier and more tired than usual, but Tony’s been nothing if not attentive—sometimes to the point of hovering. Still, there’s something in his gaze this morning, a kind of nervous energy that makes you suspicious.

“What’s with the grin?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as he leans in to kiss your forehead.

“No grin,” he says, though the corners of his mouth betray him. “Just appreciating how stunning you look, as always.”

“Mmhmm,” you murmur, giving him a skeptical look. “If you’re planning something, Stark, I’ll figure it out.”

He smirks, leaning down to kiss your belly. “No secrets here, baby girl. Daddy’s just got work to do today.”

That afternoon, Natasha convinces you to go out for some “girl time,” which in itself feels suspicious. Nat rarely suggests spa days or shopping trips, but she waves off your questions with a smirk.

“Can’t a friend treat her very pregnant bestie to some pampering?” she says, steering you toward the door. “Besides, it’s not like you have anything better to do while Tony tinkers in the lab.”

By the time you return to the compound, you’re relaxed but even more curious. The hallways are quiet—too quiet—and the usual buzz of activity is strangely absent. As Natasha leads you toward the common area, your suspicions grow.

“What’s going on?” you ask, stopping in your tracks. “Why do I feel like I’m walking into an ambush?”

Natasha just smirks, tugging you forward. “You’ll see.”

The doors to the common area slide open, and your breath catches. The room is transformed. Soft, glowing lights hang from the ceiling like stars, casting a warm, ethereal glow. A pathway lined with rose petals leads to the center of the room, where Tony stands in a perfectly tailored suit, looking more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. Behind him, the rest of the Avengers stand in a loose semicircle, all wearing knowing smiles.

“Tony,” you whisper, your heart pounding as Natasha gives you a gentle nudge forward.

He takes a step toward you, his usual confidence tempered by the kind of vulnerability he rarely shows. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world fades away.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “You’ve already given me so much. You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be, and in just a couple of months, you’re going to give me the greatest gift of all—our daughter.”

You feel tears welling up as he continues, his hand reaching out to take yours. “But before she gets here, I want to give you something, too. I want to give you my heart, my name, my everything. I want us to be a family, officially, because… well, because I love you more than words can ever say.”

He drops to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and opening it to reveal a dazzling engagement ring. The diamond sparkles like a star, and you can’t help but gasp.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice soft but firm, “will you marry me?”

For a moment, you’re too overwhelmed to speak. Tears spill down your cheeks as you nod, a laugh bubbling up through your emotions. “Yes,” you finally manage, your voice breaking. “Yes, Tony, of course!”

Tony’s grin is so wide it looks like it might split his face. He slides the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling slightly, and then he’s standing, pulling you into his arms. He holds you close, burying his face in your hair as you cling to him.

“You’re crying,” you murmur against his shoulder, your voice teasing despite your own tears.

“I am not,” he protests, though his voice wavers. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes glistening. “Okay, maybe a little. But don’t tell anyone, all right? I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

You laugh, wiping at your own tears as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. Behind you, the Avengers erupt into cheers and applause, Clint letting out a loud wolf whistle while Thor raises his hammer in triumph.

“About time!” Clint calls out, grinning from ear to ear.

Natasha smirks, her arms crossed. “Told you she’d say yes.”

Later that evening, as you sit together in the nursery, the engagement ring glittering on your finger and Tony’s hand resting over your belly, you can’t help but marvel at how far you’ve come. He looks at you like you’re his entire world, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like nothing could ever go wrong.

“You’re happy,” you say softly, studying his face.

Tony looks at you, his expression filled with a love so deep it takes your breath away. “I’m more than happy,” he says, his voice low and earnest. “You and Stella… you’re everything I never knew I needed.”

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder as the baby kicks gently against his hand. “We love you too,” you whisper, and in that moment, the universe feels just right.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day starts out completely normal—or at least as normal as life gets when you’re living with Tony Stark and the Avengers. You’re lounging on the couch, rubbing your enormous belly, when you feel the first contraction. It’s mild, more like a cramp than anything else, but enough to make you pause mid-sentence while you’re trying to convince Tony that the name Stella is not negotiable for her middle name.

“Everything okay?” Tony asks, looking up from where he’s fiddling with one of his many gadgets.

You nod, brushing it off. “Yeah, just… I think she’s practicing her escape plan.”

Tony chuckles. “Smart kid. Of course, she’s my daughter. She’s already planning ahead.”

You roll your eyes but let the moment pass. That is until another contraction hits—not unbearable, but definitely noticeable. You wince, shifting in your seat.

Tony’s eyes narrow. “Okay, that wasn’t just a practice run. What’s going on?”

You try to play it cool. “I think it might be starting, but it’s fine. First labors take a while. No need to—”

But before you can finish, Tony is up and moving like the house is on fire. “FRIDAY! Get the car! Clear a path! Call Banner! Wait, no, call Bruce AND the hospital! Get Nat to pack a bag—do we have a bag? Where’s the bag?”

You laugh despite yourself, waving a hand to calm him down. “Tony, relax. I’m not even sure it’s—”

Tony is already pacing, pulling his phone out to make calls. “Relax? RELAX? You’re about to bring an entire human into the world, and you want me to relax? You know who doesn’t relax? Tony Stark. I plan. I execute.” He points to your belly. “That tiny genius in there is counting on me!”

Another contraction interrupts your attempt to reassure him, this one stronger than before. You grip the edge of the couch, exhaling sharply. Tony’s eyes go wide, and his face pales.

“That’s it,” he declares. “We’re going now. FRIDAY, where’s the car?”

By the time you get to the hospital, Tony’s nerves are a full-blown circus. He’s barking orders at the nurses, double-checking every piece of equipment they wheel past, and generally acting like a man whose entire world is on the brink of chaos.

“Are those sterilized?” he asks one poor nurse, gesturing to a tray of instruments. “Because I know a guy who can check for microscopic contaminants.”

“Tony,” you groan from the wheelchair they’ve put you in. “Let the professionals do their job.”

“Right,” he says, nodding quickly. “Right. Sorry. Carry on.”

Once you’re settled in the delivery room, the contractions intensify, and so does Tony’s panic. He’s pacing again, alternating between squeezing your hand and apologizing for squeezing your hand too hard.

“Why is this taking so long?” he mutters, glancing at the clock. “Is there a way to, I don’t know, speed this up? I mean, we’ve got science, right? Lasers? Something?”

Your labor nurse gives him a patient smile. “Babies come on their own time, Mr. Stark.”

Tony points at her, dead serious. “I’ll have you know I’ve streamlined multi-billion-dollar manufacturing processes. I could totally streamline—”

“Tony!” you snap, gripping his hand through another contraction. “If you don’t stop talking about lasers and streamlining, I’m going to throw you out of this room.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says quickly, wincing as your grip tightens. “You’re doing great, by the way. Absolutely phenomenal. Ten out of ten.”

As the hours pass, Tony alternates between being overly helpful and hilariously unhelpful. At one point, he tries to "coach" you through the contractions, repeating advice he clearly Googled five minutes earlier.

“Breathe, babe,” he says, crouching next to you. “In through the nose, out through the—OW!” He yelps as you squeeze his hand, your patience wearing thin.

“I am breathing!” you growl. “You breathe!”

“Right, got it,” he says, shaking out his hand. “I’ll breathe quieter.”

By the time you’re ready to push, Tony looks like he’s aged ten years. His hair is a mess, his suit jacket is nowhere to be seen, and he’s nervously chewing on his bottom lip as if he’s the one doing all the hard work.

“Okay,” the doctor says. “It’s time to meet your baby. Dad, are you ready?”

Tony blinks, his face going pale again. “Wait, me? What am I supposed to do?”

“Just stay next to me and try not to pass out,” you deadpan, glaring at him through gritted teeth.

The actual delivery feels like a blur, but Tony’s reactions are crystal clear. As soon as Stella’s first cry fills the room, he freezes, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and disbelief. The doctor places her on your chest, and you look down at the tiny, wriggling bundle of perfection. Tears stream down your face as you cradle her, overwhelmed with love.

Tony leans over, his hands hovering awkwardly as if he’s afraid to touch her. “She’s… she’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

You glance up at him, smiling through your tears. “She is.”

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly as if trying to fight back tears of his own. “I’m not crying,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s just… dusty in here.”

“Sure, Tony,” you say, laughing softly. “Whatever you say.”

He finally reaches out, gently running a finger along Stella’s tiny hand. When she grips his finger, his face lights up like you’ve never seen before.

“Hi, baby girl,” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “It’s me. Your dad. I’m the guy who’s going to spoil you rotten and probably embarrass you in front of all your friends someday.”

You laugh again, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. As Tony leans down to kiss your forehead, then Stella’s, you know this moment—this messy, chaotic, perfect moment—is one you’ll never forget.

The ride home is surprisingly smooth, considering Tony’s usual flair for drama. He insists on driving, despite your gentle protests, and the way he handles the car like it’s made of glass is almost endearing. Stella, snug in her carrier, sleeps through the whole thing, her tiny face scrunched in a way that makes your heart ache with love.

“Are you sure she’s breathing?” Tony asks for the third time, glancing back at her in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, Tony,” you reply, trying not to laugh. “Babies sleep. It’s kind of their thing.”

He huffs, clearly unsatisfied. “Well, it’s nerve-wracking. I’m used to things that come with a manual, not ones that just… exist and rely on me not to screw up.”

“She’ll be fine,” you reassure him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “We’ll figure it out together.”

The Avengers are waiting when you arrive at the compound, their faces pressed against the windows like eager kids waiting for Santa. Even Clint, who normally pretends to be too cool for this sort of thing, looks uncharacteristically excited.

The moment you step inside, carrying Stella in her carrier, they descend like a swarm.

“Oh my God, she’s so tiny!” Natasha coos, her usual stoicism replaced with pure, unfiltered awe. “Look at her little hands.”

Steve grins, leaning down to get a better look. “She’s beautiful,” he says warmly, his voice tinged with a kind of reverence.

“She’s definitely got your nose, Y/N,” Bruce chimes in, smiling shyly. “Lucky kid.”

Even Clint, who’d joked for months about how he wasn’t going to fawn over “just another Stark,” can’t help but soften. “She’s pretty cute,” he admits, though his grin betrays his attempt at nonchalance.

“Cute?” Tony cuts in, feigning offense. “Try perfect. Absolute masterpiece. My finest work.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “She’s not one of your inventions, Tony.”

“No,” he agrees, his gaze softening as he looks at Stella. “She’s better.”

Thor, meanwhile, looms in the background, looking uncharacteristically nervous. You catch him shifting his weight from foot to foot, his brows furrowed as he watches the others coo and fuss over Stella.

“Thor,” you call gently, motioning him over. “Do you want to meet her?”

He hesitates, his usual bravado replaced with uncertainty. “I am unsure,” he admits, his voice low. “She is so small. What if I… break her?”

Tony snorts. “Relax, Point Break. She’s sturdier than she looks.”

Thor’s eyes widen. “Are you certain? For I have been told I am… exuberant in my movements.”

You can’t help but smile. “You’ll be fine. Just be gentle.”

Carefully, you unbuckle Stella from her carrier and place her in Thor’s massive hands. He cradles her like she’s made of glass, his expression a mix of awe and terror.

“She is… radiant,” he says after a moment, his voice soft. “A tiny warrior in the making.”

Stella squirms, letting out a small gurgle, and Thor immediately panics. “What is this sound? Is she displeased? Have I offended her?”

You laugh, taking her back before his nerves get the better of him. “She’s just waking up. You did great, Thor.”

He exhales in relief, looking visibly proud despite his earlier fear. “Then I shall strive to earn her favor, as a worthy uncle should.”

As the evening wears on, the Avengers take turns holding Stella, each of them surprisingly adept in their own way. Natasha rocks her gently, whispering something soft and sweet in Russian. Steve looks completely at ease, cradling her with a quiet confidence that makes you wonder if he’s done this before. Bruce hums softly, his gentle demeanor soothing Stella when she stirs.

Clint, ever the showman, gets her to grab his finger and immediately declares, “She likes me best. Sorry, everyone else.”

Even Thor eventually works up the courage to hold her again, this time with less fear and more awe.

Tony, meanwhile, hovers nearby, alternating between beaming with pride and trying to direct everyone on the proper way to hold her.

“Support her head,” he says for the fifth time, gesturing like he’s leading a workshop. “And don’t jostle her too much. She’s had a big day.”

“Tony,” you say, placing a hand on his arm to calm him. “She’s fine. Look at her—she’s surrounded by love.”

He glances around the room, taking in the sight of his teammates—his family—cooing and fussing over Stella. His shoulders relax, and a small, genuine smile tugs at his lips.

“Yeah,” he says softly, slipping an arm around your waist. “She’s going to be okay.”

You lean into him, watching as Stella lets out a tiny yawn, completely unfazed by the chaos around her. In this moment, surrounded by your unconventional but loving family, you know she’s going to grow up in the best possible way.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day is perfect—blue skies, warm sunlight, and the hum of excitement in the air as friends and family gather in the garden of the Stark estate for the wedding. You stand in the bridal suite, adjusting the lace sleeves of your gown, the soft fabric hugging your body comfortably enough to accommodate the postpartum changes you’re still embracing. In your arms, Stella squirms, her tiny hands tugging at the delicate veil trailing over your shoulder.

“Mommy’s trying to look fancy,” you murmur, kissing her chubby cheek. “Try not to drool too much on the dress, okay?”

Natasha appears in the doorway, dressed elegantly in a flowing gown but still managing to radiate her usual aura of cool confidence. “Ready to knock Tony off his feet?” she asks with a smirk.

You laugh nervously. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Natasha leans in to take a peek at Stella, who’s now gnawing on her fingers. “And what about you, little one? Ready to steal the show?”

“She’s been ready since birth,” you say, smiling fondly. “I just hope she doesn’t start screaming halfway down the aisle.”

The music starts—soft, romantic, and unmistakably orchestrated to perfection because, of course, Tony insisted on hiring the best string quartet money could buy. You step out into the aisle, holding Stella securely against your chest.

All eyes are on you, but your gaze locks instantly with Tony’s. He’s standing at the altar in a sharp tuxedo, his hair immaculately styled, but it’s his expression that floors you. His eyes are shining, his lips trembling slightly as he takes you in—his fiancée, his daughter in your arms, walking toward him like a vision straight out of his dreams.

When you’re halfway down the aisle, you catch him discreetly wiping at his eyes, though his attempt to play it cool is utterly transparent. You can’t help but smile.

“Crying already?” you tease softly as you reach the altar.

Tony’s voice cracks as he replies, “It’s allergies. Don’t get used to it.”

The officiant clears his throat, gesturing for everyone to sit. You pass Stella to Natasha, who holds her with practiced ease, but not before Tony sneaks a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “Don’t cause too much trouble for Aunt Nat, okay?” he whispers.

The ceremony is beautiful, filled with laughter, a few tears, and vows that manage to be both heartfelt and hilariously Tony.

“I promise to always make you laugh,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “To build you anything you need—even if it’s just a better coffee maker. And I promise that no matter how big our family gets or how crazy life becomes, you’ll always be the center of my world.”

You smile, your heart full as you reply, “And I promise to keep you grounded—even when you’re flying. To stand by you, even when you’re being insufferable. And to love you, completely, for the genius, ridiculous, wonderful man that you are.”

The guests cheer when you kiss, and you can hear Clint shouting something about “finally making an honest man out of Stark,” but you’re too caught up in the moment to care. Tony’s hands are on your waist, his forehead pressed to yours as he whispers, “You’re stuck with me now, Mrs. Stark.”

The reception is lively, filled with laughter and champagne toasts, but the true star of the evening is Stella. At six months old, she’s the smallest guest but easily the most adored. She’s passed from one Avenger to the next, each of them taking turns cooing and playing with her. Steve lets her grab at his finger, grinning like a proud uncle. Bruce gently bounces her on his knee, her giggles drawing smiles from everyone around. Even Thor takes a turn, holding her aloft and declaring her “the mightiest of babes” before you quickly retrieve her, worried he might throw her like Mjolnir.

Despite the joy of the day, you and Tony find yourselves constantly glancing toward wherever Stella is. When you see her reaching for a cupcake, her tiny hand almost toppling the entire dessert tower, you excuse yourself mid-conversation to intercept.

“She’s got your appetite,” you say, placing Stella in her high chair and handing her a safer option—a teething biscuit.

“And your stubbornness,” Tony adds, crouching next to you to adjust her little headband. He kisses her forehead before looking up at you, his expression soft. “We did pretty good, didn’t we?”

You smile, leaning down to kiss him. “We did amazing.”

As the night winds down, you dance with Tony under the fairy lights, Stella dozing peacefully in Natasha’s arms nearby.

“Today was perfect,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

Tony pulls you closer, his hand warm on your back. “Because of you,” he murmurs. “You and Stella—you’re my whole world.”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling with love. “And you’re ours.”

The music swells, and for a moment, it’s just the three of you in your own little world, the rest of the party fading into the background.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Four years later

Four years later, the Stark household is as lively as ever. Stella, now a spirited and endlessly curious four-year-old, is the undeniable star of the compound. She’s sharp like her dad, determined like her mom, and, to everyone’s ongoing astonishment, utterly enamored with Thor.

“Where is Uncle Thor?” Stella demands one morning, her tiny hands on her hips in a perfect mimicry of your stance when you're irritated. “He promised we’d go find worms for the garden!”

You chuckle as you rest a hand on your growing belly. “Honey, Uncle Thor’s busy with work. He can’t always come running every time you call.”

“Why not?” she counters, pouting. “He’s the Mighty Thor. He’s not too busy for me.”

You shake your head, smiling. “You’ve got your daddy’s charm, you know that?”

Tony walks in just in time to hear the exchange, a cup of coffee in one hand and a slightly sour expression on his face. “I don’t know what he’s done to brainwash her, but I don’t like it,” he grumbles, leaning down to kiss your cheek before ruffling Stella’s hair.

“Uncle Thor is the best!” Stella declares, throwing her arms up dramatically. “He’s teaching me how to lift Mjolnir!”

“Is he now?” Tony says, narrowing his eyes. “I thought I told him no godly powers until after kindergarten.”

Later that afternoon, Thor arrives as promised, and Stella runs to greet him, her excitement so infectious even Tony can’t entirely suppress a grin. Thor sweeps her up, spinning her around like she weighs nothing.

“Ah, my favorite little warrior!” Thor booms. “Are you ready to brave the wilderness?”

“Yes!” Stella squeals, clutching onto him tightly. “Let’s go, Uncle Thor!”

“Wilderness?” Tony interjects, crossing his arms. “You mean my backyard?”

Thor just grins. “Every great adventure starts somewhere, Stark.”

As they head outside, you and Tony watch from the window, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders.

“I can’t believe she picked him as her favorite,” Tony says with mock despair. “What does he have that I don’t?”

“A magic hammer?” you suggest, smirking.

Tony gasps in mock offense. “Unbelievable. After all I’ve done for her.”

“Don’t worry,” you tease, patting your belly. “Maybe this little guy will be Team Dad.”

Tony’s face softens immediately, his free hand coming to rest gently on your growing bump. “He better be,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss it. “Otherwise, I’ll have to build another suit—Baby Iron Man Edition.”

Stella eventually drags Thor back inside, both of them covered in dirt but grinning like co-conspirators. Thor greets your belly with a reverent nod, placing a hand on it like he’s bestowing a blessing. “He stirs with strength already,” he declares. “A future warrior.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “He’s not even born yet, Point Break. Let’s not start handing out titles.”

Stella crawls onto the couch next to you, her small hands carefully pressing against your belly. “Mommy, when will the baby come out?”

“In a few months, sweetie,” you say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “He needs to grow a little more before he’s ready.”

“Will he be bigger than me?”

“Not at first,” Tony interjects, scooping her up onto his lap. “But don’t worry, Stella. You’ll always be the boss. It’s your job to teach him everything you know.”

Stella beams at that, puffing out her chest. “I’m going to be the best big sister ever.”

Tony chuckles, kissing her on the forehead. “I have no doubt.”

The rest of the day is filled with the usual chaos—Stella insisting she help with dinner (which mostly means spilling flour everywhere), Thor recounting dramatic tales of Asgardian battles to an enraptured audience, and Tony tinkering in his lab while occasionally glancing over to check on you.

Later that night, as you’re tucking Stella into bed, she clings to your arm, her wide eyes full of curiosity.

“Mommy?” she asks softly. “Do you think the baby will like Uncle Thor too?”

You laugh, stroking her hair. “Probably. But I think he’s going to like you the most.”

Her face lights up, and she snuggles deeper into her blankets. “Good. I’ll share Uncle Thor with him, but only a little.”

After kissing her goodnight, you return to the living room, where Tony is waiting on the couch, a glass of sparkling water in hand for you.

“Is she down?” he asks, pulling you gently into his side as you sink onto the cushions.

“Out like a light,” you reply, taking the glass. “She was asking if the baby will like Thor.”

Tony groans, tipping his head back dramatically. “That man is a menace.”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “You know you love how happy he makes her.”

Tony’s arm tightens around you, his voice softening. “Yeah, I do. But you know what makes me happiest?”

“What?”

“This,” he says, resting his hand on your bump again. “All of us. Together.”

You smile, your heart full as you lean into him. “Me too.”

[sansaorgana]

— HUMBLED (I)

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Vala!Reader // Morgoth x fem!Vala!Reader

SUMMARY — Grown tired of living in your sister's shadow, you offered yourself to the one whom she had rejected once – Melkor. You regretted it quickly as he turned out to be a cruel lover and you became the very first subject of his twisted tortures meant to reshape one's spirit. In his eyes you were nothing by Varda's shadow but in the eyes of Mairon the Maia you have always been the only and the most holy goddess. When his master is gone, he can finally get close to you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I had two ideas for Sauron with Morgoth's ex and honestly? I will probably write one more because I like the other idea a lot, too. This fic is quite dark because of the nature of Reader's relationship with Morgoth. Not gonna lie, it was a challenge to write a Reader who is a literal Goddess but Sauron himself inspired me to explore this dynamic when he seemed to be so proud of the fact that it was a God himself torturing him... 👀 The Reader in this fic is a Vala (and Varda's sister but she remains undescribed as well), so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. In the next part there will be some goo/blob!Sauron + Halbrand and in this part our favourite ginger loser makes his comeback! 🦊 Apparently, I can't write him as a dom... 😂 Well, surely not with someone who is so much above him. Huge thanks to @dinsbeskar once more because we were brainstorming about this idea together. ⭐ Special thanks to @olchr-1 as well! 💚 PS – I haven't described how Morgoth looks like either but I imagine him as a tall, black haired hottie like on the fanarts. 💀😂 There is also a slight mention of the Reader being originally promised to Aulë, which was inspired by the story of Hephaestus and Aphrodite.

WARNINGS — Reader is evil (reshaped by Morgoth but not completely evil), domestic abuse (with Morgoth), mentions of Sauron and Reader being tortured by Morgoth, SMUT, sub!Sauron

WORD COUNT — 4,330

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

HUMBLED (I)

The very first thing you remembered was beholding your sister Varda being crowned one of the mightiest of the Valier and Queen of the Valar, Queen of the Stars, a beauty beyond the description of Men and Elves. So pure to reject Melkor and marry his brother Manwë instead – King of the Valar.

You followed your sister nearly everywhere, hoping to bask in her light but it never seemed to be enough to make you feel warm. You were greedy – at first, you were jealous of her husband and insisted on her spending more time with you than with him, striving for all of her affection. Once you realised that it was a lost cause, you began to detest Manwë.

You watched Varda situate the stars in the heavens above Arda as if they were jewels and you were the one setting them alight with the fire burning within you for they could lighten up the firmament. You were responsible for the treacherous element that the fire was – useful in many ways but also dangerous if not used correctly or with malicious intent.

Aulë The Smith began to court you as he watched you set the stars on fire. He was dreaming of how perfectly you two would go together if you were to fuel the fire inside his forge – the source of all his creation would come from you.

Everyone, including your sister, was encouraging you to become his wife for his heart was of a noble kind. Your own heart remained unsure but you wished to marry as well instead of only watching Varda and Manwë sharing a bond you could only dream of. Aulë, however, was not who you were dreaming about.

It was Melkor that you were drawn to; Manwë’s powerful brother, the very same whom your sister had rejected once and he had grown to resent her. You were observing him often because he fascinated you and you probably were the only one amongst the Valar who understood him. You were outcasts, both of you, but you were better at hiding it.

He was sometimes observing you as well, from the corner of his eye. You could feel his gaze on you and you knew that he had to feel the same way you did – he could see the malice inside of your heart for his was the same.

Whenever you would spend time with Varda dancing in the flower fields, you could feel Melkor creeping in the shadows and watching. Of course, he was there for your sister but still, some of his gazes were reserved for you only.

Therefore, on the eve of your wedding to Aulë, you forsake the light and seeked the shadow as you sneaked out of the palace you lived in and you found yourself knocking upon Melkor’s doors. There was no fear inside of you, only pure determination.

And you knew you could never replace your sister; your power was a mere shadow of hers. Yet, you offered yourself to Melkor on that night and he took you in, claimed you as his own and made you his bride. Before dawn, together, you fled from Arda for some time, leaving behind sorrow and dismay.

Your sister was most grieved by your betrayal. Alongside her, Aulë descended into a state of melancholy until Manwë mentioned to him the possibility of courting Yavanna instead and The Fruit-Giver became his wife – that union became one of harmony and love unlike the one you would have with The Smith.

You always fascinated Mairon the most – (Y/N), Mother of Flames, Aulë’s lost love. As his disciple, Mairon observed you humbly before and he knew his master’s heart enough to know that Aulë would always feel bitter towards you. Yavanna was his love match but she could not fuel the fire inside his forge and become the source of his creation.

What a source of inspiration you were for Mairon, though. The same way others worshipped Varda, Mairon worshipped you. Everytime he stared at the fire inside the forge, your image was all he could think of as the thought of you lingered in his mind constantly. You were long gone from Arda after eloping with Melkor but he hoped it was not yet over, that he would see you again. In the early days, when his spirit was still pure, he often fantasised about you being taken back by the Valar and forgiven by them, so he could build altars for you amongst the kins that would yet awake to inhabit Arda.

Some of his bolder daydreams were about another form of punishment for you – he would have you humbled in the name of redemption, bound to a lowly Maia. He meant himself, of course. He imagined the Mother of Flames becoming the source of his creation, fueling the fire within his forge and watching over his craft as his very own wife. He wondered how jealous Aulë would be then and how humiliated you would be, yet he was certain he could make you happy and fix the malice of your spirit with his undying love and endless devotion.

And perhaps that blasphemous dreams of Mairon the Maia, bold in their insolence, would be a kinder fate for both of you and the whole Arda. Because, in the meantime, you were starting to realise with bitter clarity why you should have stayed away from Melkor, the Dark Lord, in the first place.

In his greatness, he dwelt in solitude and his mind remained ungraspable for you. He would rarely let you inside to allow you to see the world the way he perceived it. Though he desired you, it was not as an equal, neither as companion nor as lover. And even in his desire, there was contempt, too, because as Varda’s sister you were a reminder of her rejection, which still lingered within your husband as a wound unhealed. And your beauty, your power, your holiness… They were nothing but pale echoes of your sister’s qualities; faint reflections of her no matter how hard you tried. And each one of your failures to meet Melkor’s towering expectations was met with your husband’s wrath.

None among his servants who would later know him as a cruel master ever dared to complain about his punishments in your presence because you were his first subject of torment, his earliest experiment in reshaping the will of another and they knew that you survived things they could barely think of. You were a Vala and you could endure the worst treatment, therefore in your suffering he reshaped you in ways that would shatter even the mighty Maiar. Melkor forged you anew and twisted your already spoiled essence to his dark design.

Alone in his presence you felt belittled and humbled. But by his side before others, you were exalted and invincible – cloaked in the might of his dominion – and that illusion of power became intoxicating. For allowing you to get sedated with such greatness was enough to worship him like he was Eru himself and out of all your offerings, he loved that devotion the most about you.

To be his wife was not easy – it was a torment and perhaps you were burdened with the most difficult fate out of all the Valar. Yet, it was what you had chosen willingly for yourself and you carried this responsibility with pride, trying not to think too much of the life you could have lived instead. You were made for much bigger things than spending your whole lifetime resting in the sunlight and being followed by the forest animals like some of the Valar ladies were. No, you were aiming for greatness and the price for it was pain.

When Mairon came to your husband’s service, you sensed immediately the amount of his worship and devotion towards you. You sometimes wondered if the Maia joined Melkor for him and his power or were you the real reason for his spirit’s betrayal. His devotion amused you but you offered him no kindness as his yearning for your favour was met with cold indifference. Even though he was desperate for more of it, he should know better and be grateful for your rejection. Because if Melkor would realise the true nature of Mairon’s feelings, he would not go easy on him and his wrath would be merciless. 

Sometimes you wondered how it was possible that Melkor could not sense Mairon’s admiration for you. Perhaps he thought of it as something innocent – something expected from his servants to feel towards his Queen. Perhaps he thought of it as silly and pathetic, unworthy of his attention, because he knew you would never humiliate yourself to betray him for a servant.

Or perhaps your husband cared about you even less than you suspected.

After Melkor’s defeat, you were hiding inside your fortress in the North from the wrath of the Valar. Your husband’s absence was welcomed by you with relief but also a huge emptiness within your soul. You had been his companion for ages and to be left alone now felt oddly wrong. Many of the creatures of darkness expected you to take the leadership but you stepped away instead, wishing for a calmer and more peaceful time at least. 

The power you had once craved now was something you dreaded. Your husband’s ways had drained you nearly completely, you were a shell of your old self. You wanted nothing but to crawl inside a hole and spend another eternity there, resting as a person unknown to the outside world. 

Mairon was the one who took all the responsibilities upon his shoulders and while committing to his duties, he would always emphasise he was fulfilling them in your name. Forever a servant he would remain. 

Now, without Melkor’s eyes observing him constantly, he gained more courage to bask in the remains of your corrupted light. You sensed his gaze on you wherever you would go.

Your wish, however, was to go much further away and Mairon knew about it, which was worrying him. He was trying his best – nearly desperately – to reunite your husband’s armies and dark creatures of the shadows, to become their leader and build a realm for you to rule over. To become worthy of you.

“My Lady,” he kneeled as he approached you and he kept his eyes low although you knew he dared to look up here and there, too tempted not to lay his gaze on you. “Please, grant me an audience,” he pleaded.

“You wish for an audience, Mairon? But is it not you preparing to get crowned very soon, my cunning spirit? Soon it shall be me asking for your audience,” you teased him and he looked up, his eyes filled with panic. Melkor would punish him for such schemes but you were not him and his influence was upon you no more. 

“I might crown myself the new Dark Lord, my Lady, but I would never consider myself to be above my Goddess,” he confessed and you smiled sadly as you approached him to grab him by his chin.

He swallowed thickly out of fear but his eyes remained soft, filled with nothing but pure admiration. In Melkor’s eyes you had been Varda’s unworthy shadow. Perhaps no one had ever perceived you with such devotion as Mairon.

“I shall build you altars in my realm; in every village, every town, every city. And in the capital of my kingdom where I will reside, I shall build a temple where you can find your peace,” he breathed out. “Just, please, do not abandon me.”

Your soft smile turned into a smirk when you let go of his chin and moved your hand to his ginger hair to caress it softly like he was your pet.

“I must, Mairon. When you build your temple for me, though, then I might come back to reside there. But until then, we must part,” you insisted and walked away at the sight of his eyes getting wet.

“Will they ever follow me without you by my side?” He asked, unsurely.

“They will not. Not all of them. Can you not see that it is a cursed path, destined to become a failure, to follow Melkor’s steps?” You turned around to look at his face once more. “Run away with me, Mairon. Forsake this realm, forsake your schemes,” you proposed and he gasped, visibly contemplating his answer. But the sparkles faded away from his eyes very quickly.

“No,” he shook his head. “I must stay and heal Middle-earth. I cannot abandon its people because of my own selfish desire,” he resisted you as you chuckled at that.

“You are no god, then, Mairon. Gods do whatever they wish. Spirits like you were created to serve,” you teased, cruelly as you sat on your armchair and he moved uncomfortably, looking away, but he remained kneeling and humbled.

“Allow me to serve you then, Mother of Flames,” he dared to whisper, nearly inaudibly, his breath shaky and lips trembling.

You tilted your head, thinking about his words. You would leave this realm soon, perhaps forever. He surely deserved a little treat before your departure for all the worship and devotion he had been gifting you with. And you deserved to give in to desires of your flesh as well after all the treatment your husband had given you.

“Come to me,” you ordered, harshly. You watched him trying to stand up slowly but you quickly stopped him. “On your hands and knees,” you explained.

Mairon glanced up at you as if he could not believe the amount of humiliation you would put him through now. It was true that back in the day you had often contrasted with Melkor’s cruelty but now Melkor was no more and you had been taught the craft by the very master of it.

Perhaps his influence was still upon you and it would remain there forever. 

You waited with an eyebrow raised and Marion gave up eventually, crawling on the floor towards you. He might have been humiliated and embarrassed but his eagerness was obvious in the way his eyes sparkled at the sight of your legs getting closer and closer to him. And when he was nearly in front of them, you opened them slightly as he gasped and looked up at you with admiration. He could not believe the access you had just given him while you smirked at his obedience.

“Serve me, Mairon,” you requested, wickedly. “Let my taste remain on your lips and might you never forget it while you build your kingdom in my name. I will come back to you then, my sweet, unless the Valar find and imprison me before,” you leaned in to caress his cheek with your finger gently.

“I shall fight them then. No matter how much it takes, I will release you and bind you to me instead,” he whispered.

“Bold of you, mighty Maia, to speak of such matters,” you let out a laugh. “Even as the greatest of your kind, you would still only be gifted with a mere shadow of my powers. We will never be equal, Mairon,” you reminded him and his eyes welled with even more tears at such a harsh reminder.

He cursed Eru himself for creating him as such a low spirit because this way he could never be worthy of you and to be able to walk by your side as your equal was all he had ever wanted.

“Let it be then… Anything to be close to you, my Lady,” he cooed. “Please, allow me to touch you,” he begged as he moved even closer to your legs.

“Proceed,” you nodded and watched him closely, observing his every movement, every gaze, which probably intimidated him even further but you could sense his desire to please you becoming too grand to care about anything else.

His hands wrapped around your ankles and moved up slowly, brushing your skin as the skirts of your dress pulled up, revealing your calves for him to admire. He had never seen them.

Well, perhaps he had. He had often sneaked up on you here and there and you had known about it but welcomed it with nothing but a chuckle as you had been pretending to be oblivious.

However, he had never been so close to them. To you. He crawled up even closer as he planted soft and devoted kisses to your exposed skin. You had never known kisses like these because Melkor had been mostly devouring you, tormenting you, using you. 

Mairon sighed and you felt a shiver go down your spine at the feeling of his fingertips brushing the back of your knees. You slid lower on the armchair as your skirts pulled nearly all the way up, exposing your thighs to him. Your obedient servant gasped and looked up at you once more as if he was asking if that part of you was allowed for him, too.

“Have I told you to stop?” You challenged him and he nodded before burying his head between your soft thighs to kiss and lick them softly, breathing the sweet scent of your skin as if you were the holiness personified.

Wicked thought it was for you were the most corrupted and fallen out of the female Valar and yet you doubted any of them were worshipped with such eagerness as you were now.

“If we never left Valinor and I never followed Melkor,” you breathed out, caressing Mairon’s ginger hair and playing with the delicate strands of his hair between your fingers, “you would be my disciple and we would spend forever in the fields under the sun with you worshipping me, my sweet spirit,” you shared your fantasy with him and he whined at that as he moved his face further and deeper, his nose nudging your glistening cunt as he requested for your legs to open even wider.

“So impatient,” you pointed out and grabbed him by his throat to pull him away. You felt him swallow underneath your hand and then you forced him to look up by grabbing his chin. It was slightly wet already from your leaking cunt and you leaned in to give him a possessive, open-mouth kiss; to taste yourself on him as his eyes widened but he gave in immediately.

While granting him with a kiss he would never forget, you opened your legs further and further, giving him full access to the sweet nectar between your thighs and he whined into your mouth like a brat when he realised what you were doing. He laid his trembling hands on your thighs and moved the folds of your dress even further to the back, making sure your cunt was all exposed for him.

The cold air of the room caused your clit to twitch and swell before his thumb found it and brushed it. Now it was your time to moan into his mouth. You broke the kiss and pressed your forehead to his as you closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths in. Pleasure without pain was an experience brand new for your flesh and you had to steady yourself as he watched in awe.

“A-allow me…” Mairon pleaded and your eyes opened once more as you looked deep into his with a nod.

You laid back in the armchair and watched him with curiosity but also a hint of contempt to see a spirit so mighty humbled like this – perhaps you could understand Melkor more than you had ever expected to be able to but it was truly fascinating and pleasurable to humiliate other spirits. 

To be able to kiss and lick your cunt, to devour it – it was surely a life-changing experience for your sweet Mairon. His usually calm demeanour changed in an instant, reminding you of a hungry hound as he whined and whimpered, lapping on your juices as if it was the sweetest nectar granting him immortality. He was intoxicated as his hands squeezed your thighs to keep them open and allow him to feast eagerly. 

Your body of a goddess allowed you to go on without breaks; a peak after peak as you shivered and trembled, caressing his head and meeting his hazy, devoted gaze once in a while to let him know he was doing good. Your praise meant everything to him for all he had always known was your husband’s reprimands. 

Your flesh could go on and on but your mind of a goddess was a demanding one and soon you grew simply bored of his ministrations, therefore you pushed his head away and crossed your legs, taking away the access from him.

Mairon’s face was flushed, his eyes foggy and skin glistening from sweat and your juices dripping down his chin. He was kneeling and looking up at you mindlessly as if he would follow your every order now, no matter how self-destructive it would be.

“You’ve served me good, Mairon,” you grabbed his chin and smiled at him. “Good servant,” you emphasised.

“P-please,” he whimpered and you furrowed your brow before realising what he begged you for.

His own release.

“Was not your kin created to serve mine? I do not think our creator blessed you with such desires, Mairon. Do not be a dirty liar,” you teased him.

“Please, my Lady,” he whined, desperately.

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Alright, then, let me see for myself,” you smirked and pushed him down onto the floor before getting out of your armchair and straddling him like a predator would trap her prey before sinking her teeth into him.

He looked so pretty like this – both excited and turned on but also absolutely terrified of you. You could do everything to him and he had no other way but to accept it. And he knew – he knew very well – that you could be as cruel as Melkor if you only wanted to be.

Melkor’s brutality had been driven by his own whim. Yours would be driven by your revenge for all the centuries of being treated like his dog. Beaten dogs tended to bite deadly and Mairon knew.

“Do not fear me, sweet Mairon. I only want to see for myself if it is true that you have fallen and corrupted yourself so much with your devotion towards me that you have been gifted with desires of the flesh,” you smirked. “Or cursed with them,” you pointed out as your hands worked on his robes and the trousers underneath them swiftly and quickly.

You gasped and laughed when you saw how hard he was already after all those hours he had spent between your legs. He blushed even further and his cheeks were crimson red now like his clothes.

“This must hurt,” you pointed out with a sinister chuckle. “Is it the first time for you?” You asked, brushing his thighs with your fingernails, making him shiver under your touch but refusing to actually pay any attention to his hard and reddened cock with its tip swollen and twitching, leaking precum.

“No,” he confessed, nearly inaudibly.

“Interesting,” you hummed to yourself and leaned in, your face so close to his that your noses brushed. “And what were you doing usually when it happened?”

“Nothing,” Mairon confessed, his face wincing out of shame. “Nothing, my Lady. I would never… I would never dare to…” He gasped after every word, so sweetly desperate and frustrated but not brave enough to ask you to do anything in particular. He would never order you around.

“Oh, my sweet, poor Mairon… You should have come to me each time and I would have helped you,” you grinned at him although you both knew it was not true. None of you would have ever dared to commit such an act behind Melkor’s back. “Do you want me to ease you now?” You asked.

“P-please…”

You reached towards his twitching cock and grabbed his wet length as you watched with cold fascination while he struggled and writhed underneath you. A few pumps of your hand was enough to make him spill himself with a whine, bucking his hips into your hand as you kept jerking him off to make more and more of his seed spurt out. 

His body of a Maia did not need breaks but there was always a limit to how much seed any male flesh could produce. And when you felt he could absolutely do no more, you stopped and watched him catch his breath as you giggled, laying on top of him and intertwining your legs. One of your hands kept caressing his sore and softening cock gently as your other hand pulled his head closer to your chest, burying his face between your breasts and caressing his ginger hair strands.

“Please, do not go… I will be so lost without you,” Mairon looked up to meet your gaze and you smiled sadly at that.

“Do not start again,” you scolded him.

“Can you at least stay for the coronation?” He pleaded but you shook your head.

“No. I must leave tonight, as soon as possible,” you leaned in to kiss his forehead and a short while of silence occurred.

It surprised you greatly but some part of you began craving to take care of him now. As if the sinful act you had just performed with him, which stained you in a way – because what else would you call lowering yourself to pleasing a Maia? – as if it had forged an attachment between you two and bound you to him indeed like he had blasphemously suggested before.

You definitely had to leave and hide from the Valar, seek your own peace of mind. But you knew already that you would be back for your sweet Mairon sooner than both of you expected.

MASTERLIST

[linddzz]

ok your arcane blogging has almost convinced me to watch the show because it seems WILD and also, visually STUNNING like wowww

but I have absolutely no idea what the show is even about, could you give me a summary? (also what streaming service is it on?)

Yessss excellent! The show is indeed fucking nuts and also visually stunning. Just. Goddamn. Every single episode had moments of us going "that looks so pretty" and/or "holy shit that looks so fuckin sick"

It also does some of the best visual storytelling outside of the Spiderverse movies. They do so much playing around with 2D looking effects and light bursts, with music that slaps and is also used to create in-story sort of music videos to help drop character backgrounds and establishing where people are in episodes, which helps them handle the many characters really well!

Also the animation of micro-expressions in this show makes me lose my mind. I'm sure you've seen the gifs all over my blog and how much facial animation there is in them lmaoo

Good news is it's finished after 2 seasons, which I like as someone who prefers shows that don't just kind of go on for forever. It could have been 3-4 seasons but they did great nailing a rare mix of a plot AND character focused story that had a ton of moving pieces.

You also don't need to know shit about LoL and from what I can tell, it was more used as a base for the world setting and the first building blocks for the characters. They take advantage of the pre-made world really well and do this immersive style of world building where you may not know what all is going on in this world, but you can really tell that it's there and developed you know? But character lore wise we all tried to predict season 2 based on the original lore and then got cold clocked by how the basic character beats actually played out so. Yeah. The most video game aspect of this is the character designs and the FULL embrace of "what if this lady had a big glowing cyber arm she punched things with and what if it was the coolest shit you've seen."

As for what it's about...theme wise big points are

- love as both a destructive and restoring force, especially love between family and friends

-forgiveness and how one draws the line on what going too far means

-self perpetuating systems of classism that can pull even well meaning actors into being oppressors, and even how different forms of rebellion can begin recreating the oppression they're rising against (there are arguments on how this got handled in season 2 but I don't think there's any really solid storyline way to handle such heavy themes)

- the unexpected consequences of chasing progress as an ideal

-big buff hot women who punch!!!!!!! Women who are yoked!!!

-making you kind of hate how much you like that imagine dragons song

-beat drops that make you yell "LETS FUCKIN GOOOOO"

Plot wise it's about:

Set in a trippy art deco/art nouveau punk aesthetic city that has technology and where magic exists, but has been considered dangerous and only used by mages born able to harness it. Scientists learn how to access magic via mechanical and chemical technology. This causes a lot of problems. It mostly follows two sisters caught within the volatile time, along with a central cast from multiple parts of the city.

It's streaming on Netflix!