#what a sweet malice demon!

[sincerexsiren]

“It reminded me of you.”- Val

Trinitys smile was bright as she took the package from the demon on her that had come to her doorstep. She had already hugged him and hugged him and pulled him inside to take off his coat and make himself at home.

"How sweet....you know you only have to bring me one offering dont you?" She teased, bringing it to the kitchen island. "What makes me deserve two?"

[voxslays]

The night I found you.

Featuring >>> Alastor x Reader; In which, after death, Alastor finds you (his wifey) again, but at what cost?

Warnings: Smut, Dub-Con, Tentacles, AFAB! Reader, Alastor being a jerk.

A/N: Today has been stressful. I just got locked out of the google account I used for this tumblr account—yet somehow managed to stay signed in. Anyways, if I one day dissapear I probably got locked out again. Anyways, this is a part two of this fic. Hope you enjoy!

Years later, in the infernal depths of Hell, a twisted version of Alastor now known as the Radio Demon hunts from the shadows. His eyes, once filled with warmth and love, now gleam with malice and cruel amusement. But he had been missing for seven years. You knew Alastor would come looking for you eventually, but it had been almost ninety years since your deaths. Why hadn’t he come sooner? You assumed he didn't care. How wrong you were…

You were taking a relaxed stroll on the sidewalk, minding your own business, until you heard a familiar voice. A voice you knew all too well; Alastor. He had found you. You turn around just in time to see Alastors wicked grin, his voice a seductive purr over the static of his radio. “Well, well...If it isn't my darling little doe, finally come to join me in the eternal flames.” He chuckles darkly. “I've missed you, my sweet.” He slowly steps closer. 

He looks different. He still has the same tall, slender frame. But now, his skin is a light, grayish-tan, and he has a wide, toothy grin filled with sharp yellow teeth. He sports small, curved antlers reminiscent of those on a deer, which contribute to his imposing presence, and his eyes—which used to be a beautiful chocolate brown color—are now a bright, glowing red.

“Alastor…?” You say his name as if it's a question. Alastor tilts his head slightly, his red eyes narrowing as he gazes at you. "Oh, ma chéri...It's been so long. And look at you, just as beautiful as the day I... " He trails off, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Well, you know." He steps closer, the air around him crackling with static. "Did you like it, Y/N? Did you like how it felt? The sting of the blade?" He chuckles darkly. "I still remember the way you screamed... “ He takes another step closer. “Stop.” You say firmly, almost at your breaking point. ​​“But I've barely begun, my darling.”  

He reaches out and gently caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. His touch is ice-cold, and his skin feels like rough, parched leather.  "And now, we can be together forever." You smack his hand away. “Don't touch me.” ​​Alastor’s grin widens menacingly, baring his sharp teeth. "Feisty, just like old times."  He circles you like a predator, his voice a low purr. "You can't run from me now, my dear. We're trapped here together, for all eternity..."

“Our marriage ended the moment you decided to murder me.” You snap at him. Alastor stops circling and stands in front of you, his red eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity. "Our marriage ended the moment I realized you were a weakness, a liability," he corrects, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re truly sick.” You spit. Alastor lets out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Sick? Yes. In love? Still. Eternal."  He reaches out and grabs your throat, lifting you off your feet. "And now, you'll see what I've become. What I've done."

Alastor squeezes your throat, his grip like a vice, and you can feel your airway closing. He starts to lift you higher, your feet dangling in the air, until you're staring directly into his burning red eyes. "Look at me, Y/N." His grip tightens, his other hand coming up to grip your hair, forcing your head back. "I want you to see the monster I've become, the monster that will never let you go." His voice is a guttural growl, his breath hot against your face.

“I could never love a monster.” You manage to choke out. He drops you unceremoniously to the ground, leaving you gasping. "Love?" He spits the word like it's poison. "Love is a weakness I can no longer afford. But you, my dear Y/N, you're my eternal obsession." You take off the ring and throw it into a nearby drain. He watches as the gold band spins and disappears down into the sewer. Alastor’s expression darkens. "You shouldn't have done that."  

He slowly walks over to you, his movements predatory. "That ring was a symbol of our love. Now, it's a symbol of your disrespect." Alastor summons one of his tentacles, which retrieves the ring and places it into his hand. He forces the ring back onto your finger, his tentacle squeezing your hand until the metal bites into your skin. "It stays on your finger, a constant reminder of your love for me, and my ownership over you." He releases your hand, stepping back to admire the ring.

You try to remove the ring, but it won't budge. He chuckles as you try to remove the ring, his magic holding it firmly in place. "My power—among other things—has enchanted the ring to stay on your finger until I decide otherwise. And I have no intention of removing it anytime soon." He reaches out to stroke your cheek. Alastor caresses your cheek, his touch gentle despite the rough texture of his skin. "You're mine, Y/N. In life, in death, and in this endless nothingness between." He leans in closer, inhaling deeply. 

"You still wear the same perfume. Lavender and vanilla." This only makes you angrier. “It’s not for you.” You spit at him. "Always so defiant." He pulls you into a tight hug, his tentacles wrapping around you like chains. "I love it when you fight back." Alastor tightens his grip, his muscular arms constricting around your body. "Shhh, just relax." He nuzzles into your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin. "I've missed holding you like this. Your struggles only make it better."

He teleports you to his bed, falling onto it with you still wrapped in his tentacles. He pins your arms above your head, his tail wrapping around your legs to keep them open. "You're so beautiful when you're helpless." Alastor grins wickedly, his eyes flashing with a predatory hunger. "I'm going to savor every moment of having you at my mercy again." His free hand roams your body, squeezing and caressing. "And you'll learn to love it, just like before." 

"Remember the good times, Y/N?"  He grinds himself against you, his hard length evident through his trousers.  "Remember how we used to spend our nights?” He leans in and kisses you roughly, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You give into the kiss. He withdraws from the kiss, smiling as he sees the change in your expression. "Good girl."  He releases your arms, his tentacles keeping your legs spread wide. "Leave the ring on."  He unbuckles his pants, his member springing free.

Alastor settles himself between your thighs, the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance. "Wrap your arms around my neck."  He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. "And tell me you love me."  His tail coils possessively around your legs, his muscles taut with anticipation. You do as he asks, wrapping your arms around him, and whispering an ‘I love you’ into his ear. Satisfied, he pushes forward, sheathing himself inside you in one powerful thrust. "Fuck, I've missed this."  He buries his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he starts to move, his hips snapping against yours in a brutal rhythm.

"You feel so good..." He hisses, his voice low and feral. His tentacles crawling up your body to hold your arms down again. "You're mine, Y/N. All mine." He increases his pace, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. Alastor lifts your hips to give him deeper access. "Say you love me."  He growls, his voice hoarse with desire. You cry out. 

At the sound of your cry, Alastor loses control. He pounds into you relentlessly, his member throbbing inside you as he reaches his climax. Alastor roars as he releases a torrent of cum deep within your pussy. “Mine." His tentacles squeeze you tightly as he rides out his orgasm, his tail thrashing wildly. His hot seed filling your womb as his tentacles tighten their grip. He collapses on top of you, his chest heaving. Alastor’s tentacles loosen their grip, but still keep you pinned. "You're perfect."  He murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. His softening member still inside you, plugging his seed in your pussy.

Alastor slowly pulls out, his cum dripping from your well-used hole. He scoops some up with his fingers and pushes it back inside you. "Keep my seed inside you." Alastor commands, a dark glint in his eye. "I want to make sure it takes." He murmurs. “What?” You ask confused. He grins wickedly, his eyes filled with dark amusement. "I think it's time we start a family, Y/N. A little demonling running around will keep me entertained when you're not around."  He crawls back on top of you, his arms wrapping around your waist possessively.

You knew what this meant. This was Alastor’s way of tying you down. Making sure you couldn't escape. You had absolutely no choice in the matter. The only answer Alastor would accept is ‘yes.’

You groaned. “Do I have a choice?” The answer was no. You knew it. Alastor chuckles, his warm breath fanning over your face. "No, you don't. You're mine, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure my seed takes root in your womb. Now, be a good girl and get comfortable."

Alastor nuzzles into your neck, his hands wandering over your body possessively. "Because I'm going to keep you pinned down and spend the rest of the day filling you with my seed until you're pregnant, and I want you to be comfortable while I breed you.” You are shocked. “What?” Your emotions are conflicting you. “I want to make sure there's no doubt that you're carrying my child." Alastor responds. You were in for a long night.

[animeshotsh]

Devils Touch | Dad!Lucifer x Kid!Reader |

Summary: Being forced to take pills alongside your mother just seems enough to end in hell...

Warnings: Suicide mentions | Death | Canon Violence| Cursing | Lucifer its a softie | SFW | Reader its between 5-7 | Reader takes the form of a sheep/cat mix | Reader's mom sucks tbh | Maybe platonic!yandere Luci? |

When you opened your eyes everytning was red. Screams and insults filled the air, the smell of blood and other things you could not understand filled your nose making you gag.

"Mom?" You asked to no one, no one took note of you. All you could see were strange creatures, some more human and some more animal.

Tears went down your face, you could remember being forced to take some pills. Your mother crying while she did the same.

Something was wrong, really wrong.

"And what do we have here?" A stranger voice said taking you by the collar, you ended up meeting with sharp red eyes, and that look....it did not mean well.

"L-let me go" you screamed trying to get free from this thing. Reacting out you saw your hands were now black with claws, making your mind quick you attacked that thing.

It let you go with a small "fuck". You took of running, not knowing where to go, but you could hear that thing behind you chasing you.

Taking a quick look behind you ended against something. Looking up someone wearing a white suit with a cane and a hat that had a snake looked to you.

"P-please help me" you tried again "I dont know whats happening I want my mom"

The stranger took you by your arms to inspect you.

Lucifer stood there with no emotion seeing the "x" on your neck. Suicide? He thought seeing the mark. But you were just a kid, with fluffy cat hears and a tail, however your hair was not the one from a cat but the one from a sheep...or a lamb. Two little horns did also appear on top of your head.

He cursed inside his mind. Maybe you were killed, or forced to something. You were too small, your soul did not let out any type of malice besides the "sin" of taking your own life.

He soon saw a Demon coming towards him, most likely looking for you, and with no debout their intentions were not good.

Just one flick of his hand the Demon was gone. You were shaking looking at him and then around you.

Fuck, he wished Charlie was here, he knew she would be able to calm you down.

Taking care of sinners was not his job. His job was to rule hell, but he could not just leave you in here. He was sure you would be dead again in seconds.

Or worse.

"Calm down Kid, im going to take care of you" his voice was as soft as he could. Turning around opening a gold portal to his home "whats your name?"

He nodded once he hear your name, carefully petting your head. He passed by many old photos of his family. A maid appear besides him looking at the sinner in his arms.

"Please, prepare a bath and get some clothes " Lucifer requested passing you to her.

Or well, trying to.

"N-no, I dont want to go with her!" Your hands took an iron grip on his suit.

Lucifer almost panicked at your state but tried to remember what he used to do when Charlie was this young.

"Listen, she is someone good. You will be taken care off. We can have lunch later, and some sweets"

"...chocolate?" You asked with pleading eyes

~☆~☆~☆~

After your bath and food you were in a better mood. Lucifer used this time to show you around the house while asking you different questions to try and know why you had ended in here.

He showed you his ducks collection and almost passed out by how much you loved them. You ignored him as you played with the duck, almost burning the wall with one of them.

Lucifer decided to tired you up and then look up for your mothers soul. If you two died together...then the chances of her being down here were high.

~☆~☆~☆

It was harder than he expected. The sugar from the chocolate gave you so much energy you ended checking every room of the house. Lucifer behind you trying to stop you from getting hurt or from breaking something.

"Catch me if you can!" You joked while he tried to balance two statues.

With a swing of his wings he was able to catch you, rolling down the stairs and laughtning with you. You seemed....happy almost forgetting your situation. To you this could be nothing but a bizarre dream.

~☆~☆~

Once you were tired enough, Lucifer took you to one room. His heart made a flip when you took his arm pulling him close.

But he needed to go and see where your mother's soul was. So he made the maid stay outside your room just in case you woke up.

~☆~☆~

"That fucking bastard, son of a bitch, cursed slut" Lucifer screamed almost burning his office. Turns out, your mother was not in hell or heaven, she was alive, whatever she was triying to do failed for her.

He wanted to go there and kill her himself. Not only her but heaven as well, you were just a kid. Sure, you had cursed, and lied sometimes, he had read your record of sins. But that was not enough to make you end down here.

He knew your faith was sealed. Heaven would never admit they made a mistake or listen to him for starters. He had to calm down and think.

And after some minutes he decided the safest option would be for you to stay with him. He was not sure how he would explain to you who he was or what had happened. But he knew a few things, besides him no one would try to hurt you, and also you made him feel happy again. He could raise you, be a better father, be someone you could relay on.

"Its decided" he said to himself, picking up a pen and a paper, he wrote down your name and his last name. This way the other sins and overlords would know not to mess with you.

"Dont worry (y/n) im going to protect you.

~☆~☆~

[silkythewriter]

Angel on fire

Warnings!: Angst(?), love triangle. (Part 1)

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel

Author note: I JUST WANNA WORK ON SOMETHING FOR MYSELF BEFORE JUMPING BACK TO DOING REQUESTS ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Summary!: “you are as beautiful as the moon my dear.” He said with the sweeting smile you adored. “And your as deadly as the sun I fear, my love” you answered oh so bitter-fully.

★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ

“You should've seen the way she looked, igual que un ángel

Heaven's her residence y ella no se va a caer

They just can't reach her, princesita inalcanzable“

★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ

The air was heavy almost unbreathable, how the demons lived like this was dancing around in your mind. It was so much different in hell then in heaven, there was so much… malice but that’s to be expected you supposed.

But you choose to continue walking, in your disguise of course, the out rage there would be if one of heavens top angels were in hell would be quite the mess to say the least. But you had to risk it, if charlie was right, if souls truly could be redeemed…maybe…just maybe, you’d be able to see him once more.

Finally you reached the hotel doors, and with one last stride stood right were the door knob was. Your nerves were going array to say the least, you knew what this rebellion could cost you. But it was for him, it always was, wasn’t it?, you quickly snapped out of you mind as you took a deep breath and knocked on the door waiting anxiously. A creek rang out in your ears as the door opened, coming face to face with the princess of hell herself. She looked at you with confusion before quickly turning it into excitement as she bounced around quickly grabbing your arm and letting you in as she shut the door in a hurry.

“I’m so glad you made it!” She squealed. Leaving you surprise after the rough hearing in heaven she had just a day ago. “I’m glad I made it aswell, it took much more then I was expecting but I’m glad no one seemed to notice!” You said gracefully as you could. “Have you made sure everyone’s away?” You asked in hushed tone, she quickly nodded as she explained “yes I have!, though it cost a bit but Cherri took them out for a bit!” She said nervously playing with her hair “although this time I said to stray away from clubs…” she said with a heavy sigh. You placed your hand on her shoulder comforting as you began to speak “I’m sure we’ll figure something out!” You said with a sure smile. Making her regain hers as she agreed “yea! Your right, okay, let’s do this!” She said as her hands turned in to fist to pump herself up.

“So, what was your idea?”

★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ

“So! What do you think?, I know it sounds a bit crazy but!-“ you quickly cut her off “it isn’t crazy Charlie! It just needs some work…” you smiled softly at the girl making her look back at her board covered in strings and notes. “Yea.. I know..” she said pacing “look, I know I said I have connections with adam.. but it’s gonna take some time to convince him.. especially if you and I wanna not make it look suspicious” you said pondering what your next move should be.

“I know but even for that one day in heaven I could tell he has some favoritism for you!” Charlie exclaimed “yes but-“ you inquired before she cut you off “look, Y/n, I just need the date of the extermination to be pushed back! He said he’ll come for us first and I just… I don’t know what to do! He won’t listen!” She said as her hand stressfully began to run through her blond hair as her pacing picked up pace. “He won’t listen, but I’ll make him listen Charlie, that’s an angels promise” you said trying to calm the girl. Which seemingly helped her before she sat down next to you sighing. Before turning her head to you questioning something in her head before finally speaking up.“I know this might be rude, don’t get me wrong! I’m so glad you actually listen to my idea! But…what’s the reasoning? I mean barely anyone even tried agreeing! But you’re.. just leading a hand for the hell of it?” She questioned with a glint of curiosity in her eyes. You only stared at her as you questioned if you should even trust her with such information you were about to tell.“I…I have someone who’s dear to me here, and I just, I just want him back in my arms” you confessed making the princesses eyes widen. “Who!” She asked almost too quickly, you shook your head in disappointment “I apologize princess but I’m afraid that’s something I wish to not reveal” you said.

“Look I have to get going, someones probably already getting suspicious of my absents” you said standing up and dusting off your clothing “but like I promised I’ll see what I can do and I’ll push the date as far back as I can, okay?” You said as you looked down at Charlie who still was seated at the couch. She could only nod, but you could tell she had some Sorrow in her mood. “Please keep your head up high princess, do not let them knock down your dreams.” You said silently as you bowed to her “I’ll be taking my leave but please put your trust in me, I will keep your and my people safe” you said with a smile as she stood up eyes drifting to you. “I..I trust you y/n” she said with a soft smile you only nodded to this as a portal behind you soon began to open. “I’ll come back soon, and with good news” you said as you slowly backed into the portal “take care princess” you said one final time at her.

She nodded as you gave her one last reassuring smile before fully walking into the portal. leaving the princess in a half better state then she was before.

But little did both of you know, a red haired demon was carefully listening in to both of you. Oh how his smile grew all the more bigger

His precious y/n was soon to be home,

With him once more.

★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ★ミ

EEEE THIS IS PART ONE IM WORKING IN PART TWO SOON I REALLY AM GOING CRAZY FOR THE STORY IM ABT TO COOK UP AHHH ̋(๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑)

[yandere--stuck]

Imagine: Familal Yandere Stanford AND Platonic Yandere Bill, who are both obsessed with Dipper and Mabel.

REAL AS HELLLLLL!!!!!!!!!

---

“Isn't this great?” Grunkle Ford asked, taking a seat beside Dipper on the Living Human Flesh couch. 

Dipper ducked away from a six-fingered hand attempting to ruffle his hair. “That's certainly an adjective you could use to describe this situation.”

“WOW!” Bill shouted (as if he had any other means of emoting.) “A three and four-syllable word in a row! He really is a chip off the ol’ block, Sixer.”

Dipper could feel Grunkle Ford Stanford's eyes on him, practically beaming at the thought that he and his grand nephew were so alike, so much so that they could be considered father and son. Never mind that it was said by an interdimensional demon.

An interdimensional demon that also happened to be currently braiding his sister's hair as they sat in front of a fireplace in the ‘penthouse suite’ of the Fearamid.

One might even think it a sweet moment between an odd family. Two great uncles, one attempting connection with his nephew, the other lounging in a recliner and trying to pretend everything was normal. And his sister, being doted on by what was one of the most powerful beings in the universe, if not every universe. Mabel might have looked happy to anyone looking in from the outside, but Dipper knew his sister better than he knew himself. If she were truly happy, she'd be grinning ear-to-ear, gabbing a mile a minute, talking to Bill about all the hair styles they could try and how he should manifest himself some hair so she could braid him next.

But no, she simply sat in silence and let Bill work through her locks. She forced a smile and stared into the fireplace, flinching whenever Bill moved too fast.

It made Dipper sick.

And maybe, maybe all of this could have been passable if this were something Stanford had been forced to do in the heat of the moment. Something he'd regretted. And that's what he claimed.

But Dipper knew. He knew Stanford was lying. He was enjoying all of this too much for him to regret it. How stupid was Dipper to think that the biggest con artist in their family was Grunkle Stan when it was the guy grinning in his face, yucking it up in the face of destruction and tragedy just because he got to play house with Bill - his so-called mortal enemy.

He wanted to believe that this wasn't Ford's plan all along. Wanted to believe that his great uncle had been corrupted or mind controlled or tortured past the point of sanity. That this wasn't what he'd set out to do from the beginning. But Dipper didn't know what to believe anymore. 

“WA-BAM!” Bill snapped a full-length mirror into existence, allowing Mabel to see what he'd done to her hair, “Whaddaya say, Shooting Star?”

A simple French braid, with little glittery stars woven into her hair. In any other case, Mabel would have been ecstatic. But now, Mabel simply looked up at the demon, an unsure grin forced onto her face.

“Thanks, Bill,” She managed, not able to look him in the eye.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Bill waggled a finger in her face. “Try again.”

Mabel's face sank momentarily and she locked eyes with Dipper. The look in her eyes… It was like she was trying to scream so many things at once through expression alone. It felt like forever, the twins trying to communicate to each other in silence, but it was probably less than a second. If seconds even existed anymore.

Then, Mabel looked up at Bill and put on her best smile. “Thank you, Grunkle Bill, I love it.”

‘Grunkle Bill.’ Ugh. Dipper couldn't help the disgusted grimace that made its way onto his face. He thought he'd hated the triangle when he was actively trying to kill them all, but that was so much worse.

“See that, Pinetree?” Cipher whipped around, floating above the boy. “Why can't you be more like your sister?”

“Oh, Bill,” Ford waved him off with a smile and roll of his eyes. No malice, no contempt, just exasperated fondness.

“I'm just sayin’! We're trying to do family bonding over here, but Pinetree and Fez are being a coupla sticks in the mud!”

“He and Stanley just need more time,” Ford replied, speaking as if either of them weren't there.

Dipper felt sick. Sick from anger, sick from betrayal, sick from utter disgust. Bill's actions were understandable from the perspective that he was a creature from a different dimension. A monster without any need to identify with human morality systems. But Ford was human. A human with family and people who loved him and trusted him and counted on him. A human whose world had been destroyed because of his allegiance to a monster. Because of his feelings for a monster. And he just expects them all to be okay with this? To smile and clap and nod along and pretend everything is okay?

Mabel spoke up, drawing Dipper from his thoughts. “Well, um, Grunkle Bill, if we're doing family bonding time… Would you wanna meet me and Dipper's parents?”

“Say, that's an idea,” Bill turned to Ford. “Whaddaya say, Fordsie?’

Dipper whipped his head back to face his great uncle. He bit his tongue, holding his breath. He felt himself screaming from behind his eyes, trying to will his uncle with his gaze, hoping his expression was enough to implore him to say yes, to be merciful, to at least give him and Mabel their parents back. 

“I…” Ford breathed. “No, I don't think so.”

“WHAT?” Dipper couldn't control his outburst, his shout loud and sudden enough to make his great uncle jump.

“Sixer, c'mon,” Stan spoke up.

“You said it yourself, Stanley, the only ones you count as family are the children.” Ford countered. 

“That was- I didn't mean it.”

“Still,” Ford crossed his arms. “I have no loyalty to them. This is for the best,” Then, the old man turned back to Dipper. “You'll understand one day.”

Dipper glared up at his uncle, baring his teeth so hard he would have sworn they would have broken. But then, a noise broke his concentration.

He turned to see his sister, her sweater pulled over her head as she rocked back and forth, sniffling and surely crying underneath. 

“AWW, now look what you did, Pinetree,” Bill chided, daring to pet at the bit of hair that peeked out of Mabel’s sweater. “You made your sister cry!”

“Me?” Dipper balked, incredulous. 

A six-fingered hand came down to Dipper's shoulder for a comforting squeeze - and the boy bristled with rage, wrenching himself away and off of the couch. Every inch of Dipper's body was over one with disgust, with anger, with hatred. Just looking at Stanford made him sick.

“I hate you,” Dipper spat, trying to fight the tears welling in his eyes. “You're a monster and you're not my uncle anymore.”

Just for a brief moment, Dipper felt satisfaction at the look of absolute hurt on Stanford's face. Then, he all but dove into his Grunkle Stan's hold, burying his face into his jacket. Stan held him protectively, one hand holding the back of his head and the other rubbing soothing circles into his back. And for a few moments, Dipper can pretend he and Mabel were back at the shack and he'd had a nightmare or something and needed reassurance from his uncle. Something he should have grown out of, something Stan would give him shit for later, but even still, Stan would have let him settle into the recliner and drift off to sleep to the sounds of Gravity Falls’ public access TV.

“Please, he didn't mean it,” Mabel's voice was barely above a whisper as she pleaded. “Don't be mad at him.”

“He's just scared,” Stan added, holding Dipper tight. “We all are.”

“There's no reason to be,” Ford insisted. “Dipper, please, look at me. You're my s- my, my nephew and I love you. None of this is meant to hurt you.”

He sure had a funny way of showing it.

He could hear Bill let out a frustrated groan. “Alright, I think this has gone on LONG ENOUGH.”

In a flash, Dipper was suddenly back on the flesh couch, cuddled up next to his not-so-great uncle Ford. He couldn't bear to look at him, simply staring ahead. At his sister. At the fire. At Cipher.

The triangle spoke. “Now, kid, I get this is a big change and all, but the only reason Gravity Falls and all your little friends have been left untouched is because of your uncle here. I think you should be a little more grateful. That is… Unless you don't want your friends to be safe?”

A sneer overtook Dipper's face. All of the anger boiling inside him threatened to burst out in the form of calling Bill every curse word he knew - and even the ones he didn't. 

But he knew better. Dipper gritted his teeth. “No, I do.”

“Then, I feel an apology is in order!”

“Sorry,” Dipper mumbled noncommittally. 

“Not to ME, Pinetree,” The demon laughed. “Though, I appreciate the thought!”

Dipper let out a shuddering sigh. Slowly, as though just looking in Ford's direction took great effort, he managed to meet his great uncle's eyes. And he had the gall to look condescending. As if Dipper were just a child throwing a tantrum.

He hated him. He hated him more than anything. He couldn't believe he ever believed in him, ever obsessed over his work, ever thought he was great, ever thought he was a hero, ever thought to leave behind his sister to follow someone like him.

“...I'm sorry, Great Uncle Ford,” Dipper spoke robotically. “I didn't mean what I said. I don't hate you. You're still my uncle.”

“ANNND?” Bill egged him on.

“And. I love you.”

Ford had the audacity to smile. To open his arms wide. To ask, “How about a hug?”

Dipper felt he had no choice. As he was wrapped into a hug by the man who'd betrayed his family, betrayed the world, betrayed the universe, Dipper let himself bury his face into Ford's turtleneck. At least he could hide his tears now.

For a second, it felt as if his hat had disappeared from his head. A four-fingered hand ruffled through his locks affectionately. Then, his hat was back in place.

Dipper fought not to be ill.

“Say, how about an ‘I love you’ for your Grunkle Bill, huh?”

…

“Not now? Eh, that's fine! We've got an eternity for you to come around!”

[colourstreakgryffin]

Sorry if this is spoiler-ish!! ;-; But can I request a scenario where the reader, who’s married to Alastor, is having a nightmare where she loses Alastor? This can be after the battle where she almost witnessed Alastor get killed and it haunts her still. Of course with some comfort from the Radio Demon himself at the end :’3

Not spoilerish! I’ve watched the Adam V Alastor fight in full detail and I ABSOLUTELY LOVVEEE this idea! You’re a legit genius, my dear! Thank you so much! Have a wonderful day! First we had big bro Al, then Dad Al, then BF Al, then best friend Al and now, we have best one: husband Al!

Alastor- Staying Here

It’s been happening nonstop for days… days. Weeks. You can’t sleep like this. Every night, the same nightmare but formatted differently like being tortured over and over again but with a different method. It’s almost like that awful angel has re-manifested and is getting back revenge on Alastor by submitting you to night terrors that have been destroying your sleep schedule

Waking up with a nasty shrill of fear and a cold layer of sweat, your body flung upwards with your eyes shooting open after such a terrible dream, tears welling up in them… your beloved husband, Alastor, slept right next to you with his tall deer-like ears twitching. Knowing that he’s still here and not erased by the head exterminator, Adam is such a relief. Especially since that same Angel, Adam himself, is the reason you’ve been having daily nightmares about a violent and gorey erasure scenario of Alastor with Adam. Adam laughing manically, killing off your husband in the most bloody and ruthless way, wounds all over his body, the radio effects dying out…

It’s awful. You can barely sleep and it’s making you deprived of just a single good night

Sobbing under your breath, right next to your seven year husband. Alastor’s ears twitch once more but this time, as a sign to wake up as well for his peacefully unconscious brain. Yawning and stretching out with a long drawn-out radio glitch in literally no time, his broad body sitting up with you leant over and sobbing into your hands. His crimson eyes looked over to you after a bit longer of waking himself up and just like that, he went from wondering what happened to immediately concerned

“Darling… what’s wrong?”

Alastor asks soft and sweet, his radio voice overtone has completely disappeared so his own organic voice is the only thing remaining. He didn’t even get a chance to speak again since you immediately clung onto him and buried your face into his chest, sobbing and crying for him to never leave you. Alastor doesn’t know what’s wrong but he won’t just let his beloved wife suffer

You legit have to sob and hiccup through your words, telling him about every detail of your repetitive nightmares and Alastor’s body tenses up in pure disgust and malice, mainly towards the idea of being erased by Adam, the now long dead head exterminator. He wouldn’t let him put his hands on himself or you, he loves you way too much. Alastor rubs his hands through your hair, letting you cry into his chest until you finally get over it

You need to cry out your fear and feelings until you can be rational and logical to think. Get the emotions out first

Alastor silently waits for you to come back to him, gently pressing your body together with his, one hand on your back to trace through soft shapes and the other stroking gentle brushes through your hair until you can finally just melt in his embrace, calm down and feel safer with your still very alive husband. Yeah, he was quite close to being erased but he escaped and he has recovered from his injury

“My dear, my love. How long has this been going on?” The guilt to lying and not telling Alastor sooner is already eating your heart apart. You just felt too shy to even drop him a hint about your midnight distress since you always assumed he is already too busy with the Hazbin Hotel to be able to prioritise your minor problems. Your nightmare issue isn’t actually a minor problem at all, that’s what you think but Alastor can see, clear as crystal, that this constant nightmare over him thing is breaking your psyche

“S-since it happened…” Alastor’s eyes widen in shock. You’ve been dealing with nightmares on the daily for two weeks?! How did he not even notice?! God, he is so pissed off at himself and just keeps rocking you, gently laying you down and cuddling you, continuing to massaging rubs of your big menacing hands. The wedding band over his left ring finger rubs on the silky thin fabric of your pyjamas and he can feel the wedding band on your own left ring finger clinging onto him like your hands clinging on his waist

Alastor continues to speak, not remaining silent since it may end up making you believe you’re mad at him for staying silent. He isn’t as mad as his body may seem, he is just worried sick for your health and your mental health over these constant nightmares that are driving a wedge inbetween your sleep schedule. His lips drop down and kisses your forehead, keeping up the sweet, caring and loving tone

His husband tone

“Darling, dearest. I am not mad at you, just embrace me and recover. I’ll make those night terrors go away” Alastor continues to comfort you, soft, quiet and sweet. His soft peppery kisses all over your silky-skinned face, your rosy cheeks. Anything to make those streaming tears halt and your now red puffy demonic eyes. He loves you and he has been neglecting this very serious issue. It’s now his job, as your loyal longtime husband, to take care of you

How grateful you are that Alastor is always right next to you and the nightmares you deal with will never be reality. He’s safe, you’re safe and he is going to be holding your hand through your recovery process

“Would you like to go out and get some fresh air with me?”

[alastorsfuckassuglyassbob]

Lute crazy as hell, she’s not even obsessed she’s completely…I don’t know, she’s filled with intense malice for this woman, that’s beyond obsession.

Vaggie of course is worried for her girlfriend during this, so she’s reaching out to her, but Lute completely and utterly has her body turned to her her, her eyes glued on to her like prey. It's feral, it's unbridled, like....

Like...Is THIS the face of a sane person- Or idk, angel to YOU?! And yeah, I know the other Exorcists clearly don't treat Vaggie that better, either. None of them are sweet to her, and obviously they wouldn't be...To them, she betrayed them by giving mercy to..."Demon scum" Even though that demon was just a little boy!

Like, yeah...The other Exorcists boo her, they hate her. They want to kill her, but it's really just that...? Why'd Lute take this shit so personal, and to heart, even Adam was shocked at how into it she was, like were they best friends once?? EXES?!!! No, like my mind is genuienly stuck on this, why is she so MAD? Like she's leaking out hatred and malice towards this woman.

Like sis literally TORE out her own FUCKING arm for this lady, look at all that BLOOD, and then she literally still had the energy to charge at Vaggie, and pin her down, trying to start up another fight with her AGAIN!

(Oh shit, I never noticed Adam turned back a few minutes during this moment.) But seriously, back on track. Lute actually got THIS upset, this...This ANGRY. That she was spared instead of getting killed, like what happened to them even?!!! 😭

Like...I hope they shed some light on this in season 2 or something, we get to see flashbacks of Vaggie as an Exorcist, I SERIOUSLY want to see what their relationship was like for Lute to be this feral at her. Like I genuinely think they were EXES. Like did they break up before or a few days before Vaggie spared that child or WHAT?? Why is she so mad. Lute hates demon-kind, she hates Lucifer, she hates Charlie....But not to that amount that she obsesses and feels an intense amount of venom and rage and malice for Vaggie, in like season 3 or 4 whenever she comes back and wants to start a fight again...

It won't be easy...Fortunately though! I know damn well Vaggie will be fighting for love like the last time, which will FUEL her, also...If Lute tries ANYTHING with Vaggie, while Charlie is literally there, like if Charlie isn't anywhere else or stuck, Lute better count her days.

Because Charlie literally DESPISES it when her loved ones are in any danger...

[zweetdreamzz]

‘MY POOR DOLL, ALL STRUNG UP IN MY WEB ~’

there was always one position that any woman Dressrosa would kill for. Being one of Doflamingo’s maids, hell even being allowed in his presence was good enough for them, who wouldn’t love the supposed bastard after all? He was tall, handsome, and rich as gold. His wealth and looks made up for his personality at least, because dragons and warlords alike be damned if he wasn’t a disgusting man.

And among the many women that Doffy picked to be his ‘babies’ you just had to be one of them. And it’s not like it was easy being the odd one out from his relationships, maybe he just liked having something different to bully? You were bigger than the rest of the girls after all. A softer body than the usually slim woman he’d seek out pleasure in. And maybe it was a good thing? You always saw what those poor girls went through in the aftermath. They were always covered in bite marks, the red skin barely healing from where his fingernails dug in their skin.

And every time you saw them walk by with a limp in their step you can’t help but thank your lucky stars that you were nothing but fodder to Doflamingo. The man was a demon as expected, and you had to meet that demon. And god did Doffy just love how you looked right now, the dim lighting of candle wax illuminating your plush body was just beautiful.

His smile was sickening. He was peering down at you almost like you were nothing but a doll on display for him, a pretty doll, caught in his hands that he wanted to play with, to absolutely ruin. And he was determined to ruin you by tonight, even by force. And his craftsmanship on his strings showed it, your body was wrapped around in strings. The silk lines working deep red marks etched into you as your breasts bulged out from the tight binding of his strings, your soft belly was exposed as his fingers gently graced the edges of your body.

Doffy’s fingers got closer to your breasts as a proud smile worked on his lips, his words were sweet with malice as he gently groped your belly. “Aw, too much for yea? We got all night to build that resilience up sweetheart. Better be ready~”

Small little doffy story I made since ‘m lowkey trying to think what I should do for my small series, like UGH I wanna make a my lover!boy Sanji fic�� hope it’s good enough >.<

[izvmimi]

cw: dead dove do not eat. horror. love as consumption (bad). cannibalism. true form sukuna. reader with female pronouns.

Uraume doesn’t like you, hasn’t from the very second they met you, and never will. 

Uraume doesn’t like a lot of people, especially not any of the wives, and you’ve once wondered if the way that wives get disposed of when they’ve outlived their duty has anything to do with their own specific…recommendations, but it’s all moot point. All that matters is that Uraume hates you particularly, possibly because you are the favorite, but not favored concubine, and it has nothing to do with envy or malice, it’s something far deeper than that.

Uraume is actually smiling, a severe upturn of both corners of their thin lips that crinkles their eyes and looks painfully unnatural, as though imitated from a painting with minimal practice, when the heavy, padded doors that carry out your confinement finally unseal. 

Light floods the dark room and blinds your eyes practically. You’re not sure what time it is; it’s been hours since you’ve been locked within these four walls, and you don’t remember the last time water or food has graced your lips. It must be over a day you think, typical of the punishments he doles out to you because despite the fact that he acts severe, in some small way he does truly dote on you. After all, it’s been a year and you’ve yet to be digested or maimed, all of your limbs present down to the fingers and toes, skin unmarred, both eyes still able to look at Uraume in the face and piss them off, lips and tongue still pleasing to the demon’s scarlet eyes and hard at work in the depths of night.

Uraume lowers their eyes as they approach you, then bows. It’s ridiculous that Sukuna makes them do this, a mockery even, because you’re both slaves to that demon’s wit and power and you know intuitively that even if Uraume is poised as subservient to you, they are of far more use and necessity than you are. Warm bodies are a dime a dozen, even if you’ve managed to convince the owner of the harem that your pussy is particularly pleasing. Either way, right now, he’s mad at you, and while you have not died, your starving stomach turns at the same time as it growls, disorganized like a thrashing tantruming child, and your brain wants to entice you to vomit, even if your mouth is watering.

Uraume thinks it’s particularly hilarious to see you like this, frenzied as the wafting smell of the food they’ve brought you hits your nostrils and they flare like a beast. 

Perhaps it hasn’t been just a day. Perhaps longer. Your breathing is deep and straggled as you hold your arms around your growling stomach, and try to collect yourself into a kneeling position, lacking the strength to stand. 

“Princess,” Uraume says mockingly. Sukuna does not require them to call you this, wouldn’t dare call you this in front of him, but they are doing it now grinning as they present the tray to you. 

The food smells contradictorily heavenly, and you hate that such an evil human being (if you can call them that) is such a good cook. The savory aroma can practically put you in a frenzy, almost as powerful as the desire that swells up inside you when you’re filled with Sukuna’s ample presence, but you know better.

This isn’t the first time. You know better.

“Eat.”

Uraume’s tray practically drops in front of you, and you reflexively clamor towards it. An ornate assortment, dressed in red. Red wine, red meat, red, red, red. Red strawberries fed to you by candlelight as your body was stretched to the limit, palms pressed against Sukuna’s chest, pushed into your mouth, skewered by the point of a clawed finger. Sweet juices running down your chin, your slick running down the shaft of Sukuna’s cocks, saliva pooling in your drooling mouth. 

You can’t eat this, but you are so, so hungry.

“Who is it?” you venture to ask, but your voice only comes out as a hoarse rasp.

Uraume snorts.

“Does it matter? You’ll still feed like a dog.”

As they berate you, you’re already hand in plate, forgoing any utensils, eating rabidly. The meat has a sweet aftertaste to it, again like the strawberries you covet from him. You gorge yourself, Uraume watching with a sneer, in part disgusted, in part entertained.

Uraume doesn’t have to remind you that the cup you use to force down the bolus of food you’ve just taken in is blood diluted thinly. The irony aftertaste is barely perceptible when you’re this ravenous. Tears run through the corner of your eyes as you continue to eat. Uraume’s food is an orgasmic experience, you’re always moved, no matter what they prepare. You’d eat by the mouthfuls, drink by the gallons if you were allowed to.

Funny how you’re only allowed this experience when you misbehave.

Uraume stands in wait as you continue to bite and chew and swallow and sigh, then shakes their head. 

“Do you still want to know?” they ask finally, once the plate has been licked clean. Your face is tearstained but your belly is full, and in a couple more hours you can leave to service your master once again. As a treat.

Perhaps he’ll feed you something sweet again. Perhaps not strawberries this time, perhaps something that’s no longer red, something with a myriad of colors along with a complexity of taste. You’ve only been shrouded in darkness for the past few days after all, you’d love some light.

Now that the food is gone, you don’t want to think anymore.

“No,” you whisper, trying to contain the moroseness in your voice.

Uraume snorts.

“Remember that child you smiled at?” they start, anyway. You reflexively cover your ears and Uraume won’t force your hands down, they know you’ll hear them anyway. “In the courtyard, on your daily trip. You’re supposed to keep your eyes straight ahead, remember princess? You wanted this opportunity, didn’t you?”

You curl into a ball but Uraume would like it if you crumbled. The food was delicious, you do not have to know where it came from. He would have eaten that child anyway. It doesn’t matter if it was you. You are but part of the whole. A small part. The whole is Sukuna. The evil is him.

The smile is back on Uraume’s face - perhaps they will get that practice after all.

“I’ll be back shortly to clean you up for tonight’s service. I’ll leave the gate open. Enjoy the fresh air.”

The fact that all the food doesn’t come back up as fast as it went down is proof enough that you are no longer being reprimanded, you are being trained.

[lilcawdy]

Poison and Lavender

Lucanis x Crow!Rook

Here's a small appetizer of what I'm working on in response to my headcanon, this is my first time posting a fic ever so any feedback is appreciated!

(my she/her elf Crow Rook that I have not named yet)

“Bitter and sweet, right? Like a kiss goodbye?” Rook couldn’t help but tease him, “So. What would a first kiss be?”

Lucanis was used to light teasing and flirting from clients, it helped with business. But this felt different. It wasn’t familiar; it was new and before he knew what he was saying, it was already too late. 

“Honey and lavender cream. Sweet, intriguing…” Mierda. That was too obvious. He heard Spite’s low laugh in the back of his mind. It was his fault after all. Lucanis thought back to the first time he met Rook back in the Ossuary, the first sweet and intriguing voice he had heard since being imprisoned, and the scent to match according to Spite.

Flashback:

Nothing. What else was there? He had thought it all - revenge, tactics, recipes. And now? Nothing. Lucanis sat patiently in his crystal prison, eyes closed, waiting for something. Or nothing he wasn’t sure. Even Spite was quiet for once, that damn demon. 

“Smells like…”

Well, that didn’t last long.

“Poison. And Lavender” 

Poison? The lavender didn’t confuse him much - maybe one of the Venatori guards was trying a new perfume, but why poison? Then he felt it, the magic stopped. He heard voices, and for once him and Spite agreed on something: it was an opening, and it was time.

“I’m guessing you’re the reason we’re here.”

That voice. Mierda, that damn voice. It wasn’t harsh or filled with malice of any kind. It was… sweet? There was no poison in her voice.

“Who are you? Who sent you?” 

He searched the elf up and down, noticing the leather and knives similar to his own. Was she a Crow? 

It was when she moved closer that he realized what Spite had meant. He could smell the Lavender of course, it was such a strong and heavenly scent. But there was something else, something hidden, that he picked up thanks to his possession. Honey. Oh this one was smart, she was using poisonous honey and covering the scent with Lavender.

“My name’s Rook. House de Riva. I’m here to bring you home.” 

Lucanis never would have guessed that he was already there the moment she spoke. Her voice had become his home.

[radio-writes]

Your Place in the Eyes of a God

Synopsis: You thought yourself oh so lucky that the demon who owned your soul was charming and kind.

Most people just had monsters ordering them about, at least your owner Alastor saw you as a lovely companion.

Warnings: Implied abusive relationship, power imbalance

Tags: Relationship can be read in any way; Alastor x Reader; gn!reader

MDNI

Being under contract, you weren't exactly overjoyed at the fact that you didn't own your own soul, but at least your contractor wasn't a monster, right? At least he was sweet, and funny, and charming.

And oh was he charming.

That is how your soul ended up chained to his after all.

He was always so kind to you. He treated you as if you were a friend—a person.

He had taken you out for meals; showed you off from time to time. He had adored every single gift you ever gave him. He had always asked you to smile because he just found you oh so

"Lovely," He said.

And it filled your head with clouds every single time. His soft compliments never failed to make you forget where you actually stood. 

So, you never really expected things to change so quickly. So drastically.

You desperately slapped your hands over your mouth, clasped tight against your lips to silence even the smallest whimpers that threatened to slip out. You pressed against the wall, hiding, maybe if even hoping that it would open up and swallow you whole. Take you some place else—anywhere else—but here.

You watched with wide, teary eyes, unable to look away.

It was hard for you to connect the charming man you fell for with the nightmare of a creature you saw looming over Husk. 

That thing that threatened to rip the poor man's soul apart couldn't possibly be your Alastor, right? There was no way that was your sweet, funny, charming Alastor. 

But those hands that yanked at the chain were unmistakably the same ones that gently combed through you hair at night. 

That smile he held while he threatened the man was unmistakably the same one you woke up sweetly to almost every morning.

That voice, albeit distorted more than usual by static, promising wicked acts, was unmistakably the same voice that softly greeted you good morning, asking if you had a good rest.

There was no mistake. There was no denying it. 

"Understood," You barely hear Husk's frightened response.

"Lovely," Alastor praised before he left Husk shaking on the ground by his feet.

You felt your heart sink immediately. 

Lovely. The word echoed in your head, your blood now ran cold.

Lovely. The mockery, the disdain, the obvious threat to obey him or else. You didn't think such a simple word could hold so much malice. 

"I can't wait to wear that new necklace you got for me!"

"I got you this tie because it just seemed like it was your style!"

"Of course, I'm smiling! I'm with you, aren't I?"

You didn't notice when your knees finally gave away under you. You didn't notice when you started crying. Your body simply crumpled to the floor as you continued to press your hands against your mouth, silencing the sobs that ripped through you. 

Alastor had already left. You didn't need to hide around the corner anymore. You were safe now. 

No. Have you ever truly been safe?

Because what was his response? What did he say every time you followed his requests? Every time you excitedly handed him whatever trinket you thought he'd like? Every time you smiled for him?

Lovely. The word rang in your ears.

Lovely.

It wasn't a compliment, you realized.

It was never a compliment. It was a praise. A praise for being such a good, obedient pet.

[whereserpentswalk]

People always say we're like ants to eldritch horrors. But that's weird to say because enough ants have killed people by working together. And the main thing we are to ants is just bigger. Are we smarter? We're also smarter then fish by any metric than we're smarter than ants. And sharks are deadly to us, not as much as you'd think but they can be, they kill us without wanting to, without malice, they just think we're other things that they want to eat, things that also aren't human, they only hurt us when they're wrong about us. When someone's attacked by a shark it's not like being attacked by a bear, it's somehow less than that, they know nothing. Sweet innocent angels of the the sea, they dont know what we are, they dont know why were here. We are incomprehensible to them. We operate on a timescale a sharks will never understand. We know things sharks will never know. And it won't protect us. Even though we kill more of them it can't protect the individual. Mabye that's what it would be like to kill an eldritch horror, to see a creature at the edge of the sea, that you could never truly understand, and strike it down mistaking it for a demon, thinking its humanity's cosmic prey, because you don't know what it is, because you can't know what it is. Even when it's just peacefully resting your heart knows there's something deeply disturbing and dangerous about it, and your heart is entirely wrong.

[midnightwind]

Summary: Killing 5 Venatori to escape was easy, trying to get a read on the two elves waiting outside his cell was proving the harder challenge for Lucanis. Takes place directly after the introduction cinematic for our favorite assassin.

Word Count: 5794

Mage.

The demon’s voice curled at the edges of his thoughts, almost purring the word as he stared at the two women blocking his way out. There was a fascination to it, but also a hunger, a pull the spirit felt. He watched its ghostly form stalk around the tanned elf, pulling in huffing breaths. It pawed at her red hair, as if trying to capture a lock between its fingers. Frustration growled from the spirit, turning instead to stare into her slate eyes.

Smells sweet. New scent. What is it? So sweet…

He blinked in confusion, taken aback. In the year since the demon had been forced into him, it had expressed curiosity only a handful of times. The pure rage of being trapped usually took up most of their stay. It unsettled him how Spite was suddenly enamored with a stranger. It felt foreboding. Then the demon was twitching to look at the woman’s companion. Another elf, dressed in bright leathers with her dark hair gathered in a messy bun. She seemed to vibrate with nerves and energy in equal measure, with heavy looking metal… contraptions, for lack of a better word, wrapped over her arms.

Dusty. Reeks of magic. Stolen. Borrowed. Found. Smells of ancient.

And then it was back to prowling around the redhead, a starving grin cracking its face. It caused a scowl to crease his own. Anything or anyone that captured the demon's attention like this was trouble. He shouldn't have even given them pause. A few more knife flicks and he'd be on his way to freedom. The cold calculation of his work was washing through him, but then Spite was surging to stand in front of him, causing him to jump.

Smell good. Maybe help? Finally! Let us out! Free us! Outoutout!

The thoughts were a deluge, slamming into his mind like a tidal wave. It scattered him for a moment, causing his head to swirl. He tightened his grip on his daggers, leather and steel biting into his palm. The weight of his weapons centered him, but before he could pull himself into familiar, deadly action, Spite's fascination was speaking.

“You must be Lucanis Dellamorte.” It wasn't a question. Her eyes seemed to almost shine as she looked him over.

She knows you.

He narrowed his eyes. “Who sent you?” And then his brain finally recognized the armor she wore. “You're a Crow.” She was sporting the leathers tailored for mages, loose sleeves trailing her motions. Had another House put a price on his head? Did this mean he had been properly abandoned here?

Before the doubts could work themselves into a proper panic, she was giving him a flourishing bow. “Of House de Riva. It's an honor.” It sounded almost genuine, voice tinged with a laugh. Then her head flicked up slightly, her gaze meeting his. “Caterina sent us. She’d like you home.”

Hope swelled in his chest, bittersweet and sickly. He hadn't been forgotten, but it was too late wasn't it? He was far too changed, now. A monster in human skin. It was a cruel twist of fate. He pulled in a long breath, finally sheathing his daggers. A member of Viago's House meant this was likely genuine. Rescue had come and he could trust that. So long as the other Crow led, he wouldn't have to worry about a poisoned blade nicking him. A second assassin would make his job easier, too.

“I still have a contract here. I need to kill Calivan, but before I can do that we need to find the vial of my blood they took.” He had to grind the words from his throat, disuse trying to choke them back down. “They can use it to control me otherwise.”

The other elf finally spoke up at that as she almost cowered behind the Crow. “Because of the demon.” Her voice was soft, empty of malice, but the single sentence cut him to the core.

This was where they'd leave him at best, or try to kill him at worst. He felt his fingers twitch, heartbeat leaping as adrenaline surged. He'd have to kill the mage first, that was fine. He knew how to do that. She sported a knife instead of a staff, so he'd have a few seconds to close the distance as her orb was summoned. That was plenty of time to slit her throat and collide with the archer before her bow could be nocked. He'd owe Viago an apology for killing one of his Crows, but it was par for the course.

“That’s fine, assuming you're still the Mage Killer the First Talon promised me.” The mage said brightly, smiling.

She didn't move for her weapon, her hands even clapping quietly in front of her. That was baffling. The word demon sent mages into a panic, usually, all fire and brimstone raining down at the thought. Why did she look almost gleeful?

“I can still work.” He answered carefully.

“Perfect!” Relief caused her shoulders to sag for a moment. “Once we clean up your contract, I have my own for two ancient elven mages pretending at godhood. If the stories I've heard about your work are even partially true, your help would really turn the tides.”

“I…” Gods? That was a new one. “I would owe you.”

“A favor between Crows.” She closed the distance in an instant, startlingly fast, and held a hand out to him.

The sweet scent that had fascinated Spite washed over him. Red berries and jasmine. It was pleasant enough, but strong. Hiding the acrid smell of poisons and venoms with perfume was a popular cover among assassins. Given her House, it made sense. The scent was simply dizzying after his year in this pit of the ocean smelling only rotting seaweed, blood, and burning flesh. It also made him hesitant to touch her at all. His reluctance must have been obvious because she laughed, pulling her hand back.

“You know Viago, huh? I don't coat myself in poison quite as enthusiastically as him. Perfectly safe to touch!” And then she was winking at him. “Kissing less so, but you look like a gentleman.” He wasn't sure what to do with that, but she was spinning on her heel and waving at him over her shoulder. “I’m Mirenna, by the way, though people are calling me Rook nowadays. Maybe Viago mentioned me?” There was a hopeful note in her voice, a desire for acknowledgement. When he remained quiet, she let out a disappointed sigh. “Likely not by name. If you ever had to listen to him rant about an annoying protege, I apologize. I exist to annoy him, apparently.”

That did stir some faint memories of the Fifth Talon muttering about a recruit causing nothing but trouble. His tone had never been properly angry or even particularly murderous. It had always read to him as a similar energy he reserved for Illario. A sibling that needed to be scolded, but whom you loved. Now he had a face for the many complaints. The reverie was interrupted as her companion popped into his view.

“Um, I’m Bellara, by the way. It's nice to meet you. I think?” She seemed to want to say more, mouth opening before snapping shut as she scurried after the mage. “Do you really have poison on your lips, Rook?”

Rook’s eyes crinkled as a devious smile curled across her face. “Would you like to find out?” 

Her voice was low, almost sultry. Tempting. It was familiar. Viago was close with Teia, it wasn't a far leap to assume that the elf would have had contact with House Cantori. The casual seduction had Teia written all over it. The perfume also made a little more sense, the initial allure of the honeytrap. His assumption that she was trouble only felt more vindicated.

Bellara tittered away from her, half laughing and half nerves. “No! I'm okay. I like not being poisoned.”

“Shame, it's a fun one.” Rook hummed. “I can give you the rundown back at the Lighthouse. We have Venatori to gut and a legendary assassin to free.”

Knows of you. Likes the idea. Spite was prowling behind her, head cocked. What would. Poison taste like?

“Not as pleasant as you want.” He muttered, voice quiet and leaden feet finally following his odd saviors.

Taste like smells? So sweet. What is scent?

“Red berries and jasmine.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smile on her lips. How loud had he said that? Turning on her heel, she walked backwards to face him.

“Offer stands for you, too.” Her voice was just as alluring as before, but she had dipped her head toward her chest, looking up at him through her lashes.

Cheeky! I like her!

He blinked blandly back at her, cursing himself for letting the demon bait him into this situation. “I'm familiar enough with what the Fifth and Seventh Talons may have taught you.”

She tilted her head to the side, mischief touching her features. “No curiosity for what their talents combined might create?”

Spite is! Let me talk. More fun.

“I am perfectly content as is.” His tone was flat, emotion scrubbed free.

Boring! Let me out! Let me talk. Spite was raking claws through his psyche, his shade looming before him as he screamed. Outoutout! You cage! You trap!

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked past her, trying not to think about the myriad of poisons she could sprinkle on his leathers at this distance. Dealing with the demon was exhausting enough, a second Teia would simply be too much. There was a quiet scuff of her boot on the rock floor as she turned back around. The silent speed that had her matching his pace shortly after was unnerving. She seemed on the verge of saying something when they finally emerged back into the facility.

A group of Venatori had been desperately trying to set up the wards again, the blood magic causing his eyes to ache. The two Crows were in motion instantly, his daggers almost leaping into his hands and a crackling orb sparking to life in hers. Lightning magic explained her speed. Bellara was a few seconds slow on shrugging her bow off her shoulder, each assassin removing a blood mage before she had an arrow loose. The smell of ozone filled the room, like the air before a storm. He had expected the mage to fight at a distance, but she peppered the Venatori with quick bolts before lunging forward with the mageknife. Her magic jolted through their bodies at the contact, their writhing forms easy prey for his blades. And then she was shooting off to swipe the enchanted blade at the next target, sweeping their legs and falling upon them with a ferocious stab.

It had been some time since he last saw a Crow mage in a melee. Watching her parry a bolt of energy back at the caster before letting loose a scorching ray from the orb, walking slowly forward as the magic ate the man alive, quashed any doubts he had about her training. She danced and dashed among swinging blades, hunted down any mage that dared to fire in her direction, and was careful to curve her dagger around his and Bellara's strikes as they navigated the field. She was skilled. By the time the Venatori were dead, he had a seed of respect for her taking root. He had been afraid the flippant energy had meant he'd be babysitting another Illario in a fight. He had been wrong.

Smells of blood. Metal and sharp. Powerful.

Wiping his daggers clean on the tunic of a dead mage, he watched her sheath her weapon and shake her hands. Almost like she was trying to regain feeling in them. When she caught his eye, she gave him another wink. He frowned, turning away to pluck the key for the door from a corpse. She followed two steps behind him, quiet for a moment.

“You don't like the tactic.” Again, not a question.

“I was never fond of Teia’s method. It is more my cousin's style.” He rested a hand on the pommel of a dagger. “I prefer being direct.”

“Oh.” There was a note of disappointment coating the word. “Teia took me for a ride. She promised it would be funny, but she meant for herself, didn't she.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, busying himself with unlocking the door. “What?”

“Told me to tease you. Said it would be hilarious.” Was she pouting? “Now I just feel like a jerk and like I made a terrible first impression.”

“Would you have preferred I swoon?” The door opened silently under his touch.

She made a noncommittal noise in her throat. “If it made you a little less gloomy, sure. Laughing would have worked, too.”

Gloomy? He imagined he would look a little worse for wear, but gloomy?

She wants. A smile?

Ah. That felt beyond him.

“Rook messes with everyone.” Bellara chimed in, hovering several steps behind him. It made him wonder how long it would take to slip a dagger between her ribs from this distance. A few seconds, just a handful of quick steps. “Usually means she likes you!”

“Should I be flattered?” There was an almost bright note to his voice as he led them through to the next dilapidated chamber, perhaps an overcorrection on his part.

“Only if she stays nice with it.” She continued, her steps gaining an almost bouncing quality as they walked.

“Don't give away all my tells, Bell!” The mage feigned injury, hand pressed her chest, but the wide smile betrayed her intent. “I'll only look cool and capable until we get back to the Diamond.”

“Oh, was Viago not done? He sure yelled at you for a long time already…” Bellara gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“He could berate me for a week straight and still have a bone to pick.” She shook her head sadly. “Such is my lot.”

The two continued their inane banter for a while longer, but he ceased to listen. Instead, he focused on the twisting pull of his would be phylactery. Normally its presence filled him with dread. It still did, as they drew closer, but there was a note of dizzying anticipation. The shedding of the final chain. Freedom. His steps quickened, pulling ahead of the two women. He led the duo toward his target, singular focus trained ahead. And then he stopped, staring at the wide chasm that yawned between him and a very enthusiastic stabbing. The path had collapsed at some point and he faltered. He didn't know the facility well enough to pick an alternative route, if one even still stood.

“Ah. Damn.” Rook muttered, chewing on her thumb. “I really hoped we wouldn't come back this way. I don't have a plan for this.”

Just walk? Path is right there.

“What?” He forgot to quiet his voice, too baffled by the suggestion.

Do you not see? Oh! A path. Just for Spite! Poor Lucanis. Needs help! The demon was definitely laughing at him. I can pull. The path through. Let me reach.

Rook had turned a confused eye to him and he groused under the gaze. “He says he can pull something through.”

“Who..?” She started, but he was already holding a hand out.

Spite had pressed itself into his body, the ghostly avatar layering over his skin. He felt the demon grab something, weighty and odd, and together they pulled. Phantasmal rubble sprang into being over the gap, an echo of what used to be. It felt draining in a strange way, an inkling that the path wouldn't stay forever.

“You can just do that?” The mage gasped.

“I'm as surprised as you.” He breathed before shaking his head. “I don't think it lasts, let's move.”

That seemed to light a fire under them as they quickly scrambled to the other side. The route grew more precarious as they went, large chunks of the facility sheared away from itself to form deadly chasms. Bellara had fallen silent, staring down at her feet as they shimmied along a crumbling wall. Rook for her part was almost trapezing along the rubble, lips curled faintly in a smile. She paused as they reached the next section of fractured flooring, head tilting.

“Demons.” Her voice was almost flat.

He stole a peek, sizing up the several prowling shades. “Zara’s pets. That’s what success looks like.”

She gave a hum at that before tossing him a wild grin. “I’ll get their attention. Looking forward to seeing you work again!”

Before either he or Bellara could object, the mage was vaulting over a broken pillar. Lightning crackled as her orb materialized, her mageknife rolling once in her hand. She took bounding steps, running the outer ring of the platform as her weapons streamed magic. The demons swarmed towards her like moths to a flame. Lucanis cursed under his breath, sliding down the slight incline to try and close the distance. Bellara had begun nocking arrows, firing into the mass from her vantage point. He wasn’t going to make it before the creatures reached the elf. Why did all his jobs go south?

He loosed a handful of throwing daggers, downing one demon and staggering another. That earned him a few more seconds. It might actually be fine so long as she kept running. Except she turned on her heel without warning, her orb shimmering into a second dagger as she lunged into the mass of monsters. She planted the two blades into the heart of one demon and then pulled. The air sounded like it was torn apart violently, a violet maw cut open with electricity and lightning slicing free. It floored several demons, easy prey for his daggers. As the magic fizzled away she was throwing out another spell, a carpet of thunder that sent her jumping backwards with a cackle. For a split second, the magic almost looked like a cloud of feathers before it too evaporated.

When the creatures finally recovered, most of them were dissipating back to the Fade. The stragglers went down easily to the dancing blades and patient arrows. He huffed as he pulled a dagger free from the steadily disappearing corpse under his boot. Rook was back to shaking her hands, bouncing from foot to foot for a moment. The sounds of rocks being displaced announced Bellara joining them on the lower platform.

“You,” he started slowly, pointing a blade at the mage, “are reckless.”

“But it tends to work.” She gave him a lopsided smile.

“Until it doesn’t.” He clipped.

“S’why I have you guys!”

“Rook…” Bellara cut in, her tone scolding.

The mage sighed, holding her hands up in surrender. “Fine, sorry. Proper plan before the next fight.”

“With any luck, our ‘next fight’ is Calivan.” There was a sharp edge to his voice now as he started to pick his way further into the facility.

She was silently at his side again with no warning. “Was there a specific way you wanted to deal with him? It is your contract, after all.”

“Oh, do Crows not usually work together?” Bellara asked, popping up on his other side.

Rook hummed, shrugging. “If you belong to the same House and your Talon tells you to? Then sure. Between Houses is more rare, but poaching a contract is frowned upon. Unless they super fuck it up, anyways. Besides just being rude and an insult, the buyer can use it to try and weasel out of paying which causes all sorts of issues. But since I’m here on a contract for the First Talon, I think we’re good. I don’t plan on trying to cash in on the Calivan contract either.”

“If you help me take him down,” Lucanis cut in quietly, “you would be entitled to the reward.”

She gave him a queer look at that, head tilting slightly. “Viago would likely take any gold I make. Besides, your whole thing is killing mages. I don’t want to get in your way.”

“And here I thought you had a fondness for attention.” He mused.

A wide grin slowly stole across her face. “Is the Demon of Vyrantium teasing me?”

“Surely not, I’m gloomy after all.”

“Bell, I need you to pinch me.” She extended an arm behind his back, causing every alarm in his mind to scream. “This has to be a dream.”

The sound of the other elf gently slapping her hand away with a laugh had him quickening his steps. They responded well enough if he played along, good to know. It kept them distracted, but that had its uses. He didn't fully trust having another Crow from an ostensibly rival House at his back, but he could only dedicate so much worry towards her right now. If Caterina had truly given de Riva the contract to rescue him, she was maybe safe enough.

He had a bigger target to focus on. Confronting Calivan had a few ways to play out. If they were lucky, he was holed up in a chamber with deep shadows and high perches. Dropping on the man from above to crush the air from his lungs as daggers bit deep would be ideal. Quick but brutal. Given the state of the facility, however, it was far more likely the mage would be in an annoyingly open area with next to no cover. Getting to punch him into submission had its allure, but it was messy. Unreliable. Dangerous. He did have a mage and ranged support, so a head to head confrontation would likely go better than usual. It made him uneasy, but a little trust would go a long way.

“When we find Calivan,” he started suddenly, voice even, “if he's in a place where I can take him down from stealth, that works perfectly. I think it more likely he'll see us coming a mile away with the state the Ossuary is in. Which means I'll likely be the distraction whether I want to or not.”

“I'll make sure to shock him within an inch of his life for you.” Her grin had a hungry edge to it this time, the job bringing a sharp focus.

“Helping with a Crow contract…” Bellara sounded almost in awe at the idea. “The Jumpers won't believe me.”

“We gotta find him first.” Rook hummed before she stopped suddenly, catching the edge of his leathers and tugging gently to have him follow suit. He almost wrenched it violently from her grasp, a year of bad memories leaping up at the touch. “Lots of Fade activity ahead. It's a mage at the very least, could be Calivan though.”

“Quick and quiet, then.” He murmured the little mantra, blades snapping into his hands as he prowled forward.

It was, unfortunately, not their target or his blood vial. Instead it was an underling trying to fend off loose demons. They simply waited for the mage to finish killing off the monsters before quietly approaching and putting an end to the Venatori. The next few chambers were just as disappointing. More demons and abominations to be put down to clear the path, the facility seeming to hold an obnoxious amount of them. The tug was growing more incessant and there was a sense of familiarity to the area. He'd walk this path many times on the way to the Venatori lab. His stomach twisted at the thought. That singular room held many horrors for him.

For us. Spite hissed.

There was a nagging worry as they entered the large chamber that functioned as a torturous lab. If they didn't want to break his phylactery, if instead they wanted to use it, would he have time to stop them? Would it be better to lead the way, forcing them to pass him to seize control, or hover behind them, daggers hungry?

He was playing and replaying the scenario in his mind as they took in the remains of the less fortunate subjects. When they quietly destroyed the many Venatori crystals locking them out, he was favoring the plan that let him bury a knife in each back with one strike. He let them walk in first, eyes watching their weapons carefully as they beheld the sizable phylactery.

“I’m guessing the monstrous vial is yours?” Rook offered weakly, trying to force a note of mirth into the words and failing.

His daggers slipped silently from their sheaths. “Destroy it and let's move on.” His voice was level, not quite emotionless, but peaceful. Encouraging.

“Should we-” Bellara started, but she cut herself off with a yelp.

The vial exploded without warning as Rook flung her mageknife at it. The loud shattering was the most beautiful sound he had heard in his life. She shifted a foot back, bracing, as the fiery laser leapt from her hand again. The blood concoction ignited, burning any lingering connection to a crisp. His daggers were sheathed in the next instant, eyes fixed on the mage. There was a familiar cold calculation to her features, the Crow focus brushing aside the lopsided grin. There was a deeper emotion buried in it, almost like a fury. That was interesting.

Free. Spite seemed to breathe the word. She freed us. She hated. The final chain. Why?

Maybe she knew something about being controlled like that. Maybe as a mage she simply had a dislike for phylacteries. Maybe the mere thought of dominating someone like that sat ill with her. He didn't have an answer for the demon. So he remained quiet as they boarded the elevator, focusing instead on carving his path to Calivan. Killing the man wouldn't make up for what had been done to him, but it would feel good. He'd take the scrap of positivity.

His mind turned back to planning, imagining sinking a dagger to the hilt in his tormentor. If they gave him the time, there were several places he could plant a knife before finally killing the man. A little payback would be nice. Some kind of retribution for the cruelty.

“So,” Rook's voice sliced through his murderous fantasy abruptly as Bellara seemed to huff next to her, “what's Caterina like, usually?”

Was she trying to fill the time? Couldn't she have asked anything else? He couldn't help the bitterness in his voice. “I've been gone so long, I fear I don't remember.”

She seemed to flinch, a quick hunching of her shoulders. “Right. Well… we’ll have you reunited soon enough it won't matter.”

The elevator thunking to a stop saved them both from trying to salvage the conversation. Rook led them down the crumbling hallway with quick steps, a sharp focus coming over her. She was almost darting forward, seemingly appearing on top piles of rubble to look ahead. She had pulled the hood of her leathers up to hide her shocking red hair as she scouted. An unhappy hum escaped her as she bounded back to them.

“Big open space. Might be some side rooms, but… we should be ready for a fight with little cover.”

Iron and salt. Screams and curses. Blood for blood. Kill Calivan.

It felt like Spite was clawing at the world from behind his eyes. He rolled his shoulders, neck cracking. “Time to work. Ready?”

Bellara swallowed heavily, but gripped her bow tightly in hand and nodded. “If he doesn't know Rook and I are here, then that gives us an edge.”

The mage flicked her mageknife into hand, the blade glinting as her orb crackled to life. “Quick and quiet.” It was unto a prayer for their work, her features sharp and focused.

“Quick and quiet.” He echoed before he stepped into the open.

The Venatori mage was waiting for them, in a sense. A ritual circle was carved into the floor, a permanent fixture to the chamber. He had been turning a slow circle, observing the runes, when Lucanis stepped into the open. The jailer clicked his tongue in almost disgust, an exaggerated shrug lifting his shoulders.

“Of course it’s you.” He spat. “Zara and her little jests. ‘He’s already the Demon of Vyrantium! Won’t this be ironic?’ We should have killed you months ago when the demon never manifested. Waste of time and effort.”

The Crow didn’t wait, daggers in hand as he sprinted towards the man. If the monster wanted to taunt, let him waste the air. The Fade fizzled as glaring red orbs sprang up around his target, forcing him to spend precious time dodging left and right. He caught a brief blur out of the corner of his eye as his knife lunged out. The blade caught against the mage’s staff, his offhand punching towards the man’s gut. The burn of magic in the air stung his eyes, his strike missing as the Venatori fade stepped away. The scream that followed from the mageknife biting into his back brought a ravenous grin to his lips.

Rook had used his initial rush to dart around the little piles of rubble and crumbling pillars. Calivan had positioned himself directly in front of her hiding place and she had wasted no time capitalizing on it. Her magic sparked along his body, shimmering as it pinged off the barrier so common to mages. Calivan spun with a snarl, swinging his staff towards her, but she tossed out her own spell. The carpet of electric feathers blinded the man as she darted back into the shadows.

“You made friends. Was the demon not enough?”

The taunt was met with two daggers swinging for his neck, the barrier cracking heavily under the dual strike. He snarled, a wave of red crystals erupting from under his feet that left a flaming trail. It forced Lucanis to leap backwards, daggers held defensively against a follow up attack that never came. An arrow cracked loudly against the barrier and it shattered as Calivan half turned with the strike, a red line cut into his cheek. Spite surged at the smell of blood, a fury and glee rushing through his limbs with such strength it caused his hands to shake.

Blood for blood! Screams and curses! Iron and salt!

The manic chanting caused his head to swim, his step faltering. It earned him a crimson bolt in the shoulder. The pain grounded him and he let the attack’s momentum spin him into a low crouch. A throwing dagger was plucked from his belt and loosed in the motion, gifting the mage a matching pain. Two more arrows arced towards Calivan, a zigzagging shadow rapidly approaching from behind. His angry summons sliced through the air, the force of the Fade bursting open throwing the two Crows back as a lumbering demon took the mage’s place. That… that was a problem. Lightning crackled along its body as it clawed into the physical realm. Lucanis took two steps back, assessing, trying to find the weak point, bracing for an attack. A familiar mad laugh reached his ears, his gaze stuttering over to Rook.

Her orb was streaming magic again, held aloft like a beacon as a wide grin split her lips. “Now there’s a challenge!”

She was taunting demons again. It turned on her with a starved hunger, blade lashing out. Lightning arced along her legs, the air burning with her magic and she seemed to blink around the strikes the demon aimed at her. Her cackle matched Spite’s own echoing laugh in his mind. She was weaving closer and closer to the demon before her orb seemed to snap out, snagging the demon’s blade mid strike. It flicked the weapon back into the creature’s face and it staggered backwards. Three daggers and a flurry of arrows descended in an instant, the thing screeching. The next exchange of blows it managed were weaker, scattered, and Bellara managed to bury two expertly shot arrows into its core. It died with the sound of dry wood cracking.

Victory was short as Calivan manifested where the demon had stood, a look of pure fury on his face. The shimmer of his barrier was back and as he fade stepped out of the way of more arrows, several copies of himself popped into existence. They all smiled with his sickening grin, but the gloating ended abruptly. Rook had lunged forward into the center of the clones, two magic daggers sparking. The air was rended, a loud cracking of lightning heralding the devastating tear she had used earlier. Calivan staggered, alone in the center of the room and cursing. The line of spikes he sent out with a furious growl did catch Rook before she could recover from her casting, sending her staggering over a pile of rubble.

Two more arrows thudded into the man before he could chase the downed Crow. He spun with a snarl, launching a barrage towards the archer. It was all the opening Lucanis needed. He was behind Calivan like a dark shadow, one dagger slipping easily between the ribs to puncture the heart, the other drawing a quick line across the throat. The mage sputtered, hand grasping uselessly at his throat before he crumpled. Lucanis let him slide off his blade with a heavy thud.

“The Crows send their regards.” Was all he offered, bending down to wipe the blood from his daggers on the rich robes of the Venatori.

Cold and quiet! Heavy chains, scraping metal, sharp edges! Silent and gone!

The demon's celebration felt like it was rattling his teeth. Bellara was sprinting to where Rook was struggling to sit up, the mage rubbing her legs gingerly. Her leathers were singed, but she appeared fine otherwise. She was wincing as the elf helped her to her feet. With wobbling steps, she joined Lucanis over the body.

“Well, one contract down.” A lopsided grin settled on her lips.

Lucanis nodded, his response drowned by Spite.

Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet!

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the demon manifesting at his side, to the point where he almost missed Rook's question.

“Lucanis? Are you good?”

Careful. They know. We're not right.

“You cannot see him. I had wondered…” His voice was tinged with weary curiosity.

“Alright, vaguely ominous. But more on all that later.” She waved it away. “I'm tired of the ocean, aren't you?”

An earnest laugh rumbled in his chest. “More than you know. Lead the way.”

She seemed to beam at his response. “Oh, does your plus one have a name or… title? How do demons like to be addressed…”

A wry smile tugged at his lips as they filed out of the chamber. “It's Spite.”

[vroomvroomwee]

I don't think enough people realise how incredible Aziraphale is.

He's always known how good and kind Crowley is. Even from the beginning. Now imagine being in his place, after meeting such a wonderful and sweet angel, and hearing that he's fallen, that he's evil and wicked. No wonder he was sceptical and on edge at the garden... except Crowley was still the same, chatty, witty, and funny angel he met before the beginning. Crowleys fall terrifies him because in his mind, if someone like that can get sent to Hell, then what hope is there for me?

So he learns just how thin the line is between being an angel and a demon, just how close he's cutting it, just how little it takes for him to fall as well.

In his eyes, Crowley's brilliant. He's resourceful, intelligent, capable, everything he wants to be. Everything he's told he should be. And it creates so much confusion in his mind. How can someone like that fall while I'm still here? And it doesn't help one single bit that he's falling in love with him.

Aziraphale isn't stupid. Despite what everyone says, he's very in tune with his emotions. So much so that Crowley fails to keep up with his logic and decision-making. He realises that he's falling in love with Crowley, and that causes panick in him. He's an angel. He's not supposed to fall for temptation.

So he has two options: try to prove to himself Crowley's good and therefore justify his own feelings, or to prove Crowley's evil, and that's why he fell. So... in a way, he does both.

Every time Crowley tries to convince him of his malice, Aziraphale proves him wrong, sees right through him. All the while constantly putting a wedge between them, of good and evil. "But, you, are fallen." "I'm good, you, are evil." Even though he knows deep down that's not the truth, which is precisely why he's saying it, he knows Crowley is good, just as he knows he himself isn't fully. And no one must ever find that out.

Not only is he keeping Crowley at a distance for his own safety, but also for Crowleys. Sacrificing both their happiness for each others safety. He knows precisely what Hell will do to him if they ever find out how kind he really is.

And it would be very very simple if he just stopped hanging out with Crowley, except... he can't. No matter how hard he tries he's always pulled back to him. And over time he's testing his limits, what can I do? Am I allowed to do this? Food? That's forbidden? The Arangement? etc.

And you can't really blame him for fearing Falling. Not just burning in boiling sulfur as each of his cells is being transformed in the most agonising way, but also having to spend eternity there as well as the humiliation and resentment he'll get from Heaven. "My lot don't send rude notes." he knows how horrible and terrifying it is down there, and he is all too aware how he won't be able to cope. Too weak, too mellow, too soft.

Crowleys kindness is constantly putting him on edge because he just can't understand why he's a demon. While angels like Gabriel and Michael, who always put him down, are apathetic towards humanity, are narcissistic and emotionless... are still up there. 6000 years he's spent wondering when his time will come. When he'll be pulled down to Hell.

He's so goddamn kind that it took him 6000 years to realise Heaven is not all that it should be. Kinder than Heaven could ever hope to be (and after the "stay back" from ep6 we can see how thay he is capable of being harsh and ruthless, which means he actively chooses to be kind, which makes him all the more extraordinary and astonishing for it). And I'm not even going to go into the strength it takes to manage to break out of the brainwashing that Heaven has done to him. Thousands of years of being humiliated, feeling worthless, not good enough, not angelic enough, not even appreciated. And despite all that feedback and ridicule, he's never given in, never relented, never let anyone modify or change him, has never lost his kindness, his softness, his generosity even after all that he's seen and been through. And that is so fucking incredible.

Validation and praise being at his fingertips, if only he could let go of his individuality, his uniqueness. Of himself. Thousands of years of it, and he has never surrendered to it. Never betrayed himself, kept his pride and his self-worth despite other people trying to rid him of it.

And he knows this. He's too clever not to. He knows just how thin the ice is he's standing on. Even at the beginning, which is not long after the Fall if I might point out, he's defying orders and keeping Adam and Eve safe, risking his own safety for the safety of others. And he still doesn't back down.

But he can't for the life of him keep away from Crowley. Because of how much love he has for him, how much affection. "He's risking his entire existence," and he'll do it again because that's who he is. (Not many people will put their lives on the line for the person that tried to annihilate them, completely destroy them in every plane of existence. Actually, no one ever will. Except him.)

He. Never. Backs. Down. Not from Armaggedon and not from the Second Coming.

It's not that he doesn't love Crowley enough, it's that he loves him too much. This is an angel so full of love that he's scattering himself, breaking himself, tearing himself apart, trying to give it to everyone. To Crowley, to humanity, to Earth. He's risking destruction for the things he loves. Both physically and emotionally. He would sacrifice his own happiness, his own future with Crowley just to save humanity. And he does it again and again and that is so fucking amazing, so fucking incredible that I don't believe such a selfless character exists in any other piece of media or television.

(Also, this is all mostly referring to his emotional strength, but let's not forget how he faced literal Satan and smote around 20 demons in just a matter of seconds.)

Edit: Just wanted to add what one of you pointed out in the comments.

Aziraphale realises that running away with Crowley isn't really a relaxing and peaceful life as Crowley thinks it is. Far away from humanity and it's pleasures that they both love and engage with, something that brought them close in the first place due to their shared love for it, and constantly on the run from Heaven and Hell. Aziraphale is doing this for Crowley, so that he can be happy, so that both of them can be together. Not only that but he offered Crowley his angel status back, since he thought that would make him happy again, since he hoped that he could one day see that same smile that Crowley had when they first met, that smile that he hasn't been able to bring back all these years.

Aziraphale is now in Heaven, the last place he wants to be, the place he barely escaped with his life from, a place that hates him, filled with angels that despise him and want to see him suffer or worse, and he's utterly and completely alone.

He's trying to save the entire universe alone.

Think about that for a little bit.

Edit 2: I think it's worth noting that Aziraphale isn't perfect. And that's the point. He doesn't need to be perfect. He's naive and gullible and sees the world in black and white. He still needs to learn, to grow, to deal with these things. Soon enough, he'll realise that despite all the hope he has that he could fix Heaven, it just can't be mended, something Crowley has learned a long time ago and desperately tries to shoe him. He'll realise the system is corrupt, and no matter how hard he tries, it won't change because it wasn't designed that way. And it just makes him all the more brilliant. He isn't perfect. He has flaws, and he makes mistakes. He's an angel, but he's the most human of them all. And he's incredible all the more for it.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Run Rabbit, Run.

3,6k. words | Alexander Anderson x f! goth! Reader | enemies to friends | open-ended | slow-burn | hurt-comfort | not proofread

Synopsis: While investigating supernatural murders in a small town, Anderson jumps into wrong conclusions.

Warnings: Blood, injury, stockholm-syndrome?

A/N: inspired by some guys in our town that would always call the cops on us goths, saying 'dark figures are doing satanic rituals' (we were literally just chilling)

"Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil."

You run as fast as you can, but he keeps pace easily, merely strolling as he wears you out.

"For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness..."

A bayonett pierces the tree next to your skull and you let out a bloodcurling scream.

"...against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places."

The woods are swallowed by a pitch black tonight, eventually making you trip and fall. Blood runs down your calf, the sharp pain in your leg numbed by the adrenaline rushing through your veins. You try to get up, to keep running, but it's too late...he got you.

"Amen."

The man in front of you was wearing the robe of a priest, looming over you with a manic grin stretched across his face.

When he started his chase you had thought him to be insane, a mass murderer who was merely disguising himself as a man of faith.

That theory would soon prove to be wrong - and the truth is way worse.

"What a bloody waste of time" he thinks, watching you squirm in the dirt like some cornered animal.

If he had known how pathetically weak you are beforehand, he wouldn't have bothered coming himself. Sending Yumie or Heinkel instead would've sufficed by far, and even that would be flattery for some cheap excuse of a demon like you.

Boring, but now that he's here, might as well enjoy the hunt...

"Please...I have no idea what you want from me!" Countless begs drop from your lips, clinging to the hem of his coat as you try to explain yourself, yet he wouldn't budge. Usually he'd have a violent outburst at such a vile creature touching him, but much to his own surprise, he remained frozen, staring at you with a mixture of irritation and sympathy.

"My, what a sweet voice you have." He looks down to your torn dress, a wound gaping on your leg. So you're too weak to even heal your own injuries. "That must really hurt, little one."

The assassin sees dried blood straining your clothes, skin, fingertips, tainting himself as well. He had found you like this, in an empty alleyway crouched over a fresh corpse, claiming you merely wanted to save them.

How foolish of you to run off into the woods, where he could get rid of you without causing disturbance for bystanders.

"Such a young gal" he looks at you with a stern, almost pitying expression. "Had her whole life still in front of her. What a shame."

Maybe you were turned against your will, left confused and afraid after your bloodrage got the better off you.

Anderson shakes his head, trying to become rational again. He's used to all kinds of deceit, has fallen deaf to any pleads over time. After all, the last time he hesitated, he's got a lesson that's still written clearly on his left cheek.

Ever since then he promised himself to never show mercy again.

Seeing him brace his weapons, you shuffle until your back hit the tree behind, shouting at the man. "Do-on't touch me, you freak!"

"You're one to talk" he scoffs, crouching over your trembling form. He gazes at you without any malice, considering to grant you a merciful death. "But lemme tell ya'...if you behave, I'll make it quick."

A hint of guilt flashes over his face, as he calmly draws his bayonetts, thrill dampened by the tragic circumstances. He carefully, almost tenderly holds it against your neck, whispering "Rejoice, for I'll bring you salvation from this horrid fate."

Just when he takes a swing you seize the opportunity, ramming a sharp branch into his sides, right beneath the ribs. You had hoped to temporarily paralyze him, but much to your horror he didn't even flinch...

...moreso, he easily pulled it out of his flesh, the wound healing in an instant.

"Ye lil' rat..." the man practically growls, pupils dilated and baring his sharp canines at you.

"You...you're the monster here!" you shriek, grabbing a handful of dirt and throw it into his eyes, partially blinding him. He coughs, needing a few seconds to orientate, but when he looked again, you were already gone. "Feisty lil' thing...didn't think she had it in her."

Well, now he's not only pissed that you deceived him - he's downright excited. This mission had just become significantly more fun.

Anderson will relish in tearing you apart...slowly and painfully.

"Come out, ya heathen." His voice echoes through the woods, as if coming from all sides at once. "I can feel your fear."

What an amazing feat for a man of his calibre to move without making a sound. No leaves, not even a stick breaks as he walks, nothing indicating from what direction he might strike.

You see the town's lights at the horizon, limping as fast as your legs can carry you. If only you could make it out of here and call for help, then-

"Gotcha!" The priest's voice didn't even dring to your ear before he grabbed you by the throat, slamming you so hardly onto a nearby tree that all air left your lungs. Your head is spinning and you kick and claw at his arm, but his grip is relentless. He leans close to your ear, breath hot against your cold skin, making you shiver. "Stop resisting and accept your divine punishment."

"How...often...do I need to...tell you?" you wring out, feeling as if you're close to losing consciousness. "I-I am not a vampire, damnit!"

"Silence!" he now screams, sending a violent tremor through your body. "The dead do not speak...and their soulless bodies shouldn't roam this earth."

"Prove it, then" he taunts, "But I doubt ya' could."

Your mind went a mile an hour, scanning for everything you possibly knew about vampires, myth or not. Without any other options, you clasp the cross dangling from his neck. "I-I shouldn't be able to touch this, right?"

Powerful demons are able of many feats, but then again you don't seem even close to that level. Still, he senses some kind of greater scheme behind that innocent demeanour of yours.

Even while being practically invulnerable, Anderson won't let his guard down this time. He throws you to the ground, hurt pride recovering as he enjoys you writhe in pain. "Ye can't fool me again, fiend."

For the fraction of a second he is taken aback, seeing actual tears instead of red liquid escaping your eyes. He grunts in annoyance at this soft spot in his heart he never really could erase, janking you up by the hair. "Look at me..." he orders harshly, a sadistic glint in his eyes. "I love to watch the light go out."

Weighting your options you tackle him out of sheer exasperation, despite his strenght surprising the man enough to make him lose balance. Before he can react you sink your teeth deep into his neck, but without fangs you can't even break the skin. Anderson growls, no, almost moans at the sensation, shocked with the way his body reacted to the sudden proximity.

"See? See?" you point to your dull teeth, but the man is less than impressed by your drastic measurement.

"Bloody hell, woman! Get off of me!" he yells as he throws you away, now being on top and pining you down onto the damp grass, once again rendering you helpless. "I'm a man of god, do you have no shame?"

"What else was I supposed to do?!" you snap back at the man, chest heaving in between sobs. Anderson can barely contain his bloodlust, but beneath it there lies another kind of sensation he doesn't want to acknowledge. He seems flabbergasted by your boldness, contemplating whether to abandon his purge for now.

"Fine..." he rubs his temple, a headache forming as his gaze wanders to your quivering lips. "But I'll chain you up for examination. And don't you dare trying something funny again!"

"Alri-" Your words got stuck right in your throat, seeing red irises gleam in the dark from the corner of your eye. "Watch out, behind you!"

The priest narrows his eyes. "Oi c'mon, yer not really thinking I fall for this-" Your captor's words stuck right in his throat as a sword cut deeply into his neck - not enough to decapitate him though.

"Oh, I see you even brought me desert" a grim voice appeared behind the two of you. "How considerate, Father."

This was your chance, wasn't it? You could just run and leave them to themselves, hoping they'd busy each other in a fight long enough to return to safety.

And yet you don't.

"Shit, wai-wait..." you have to keep yourself from gagging as you pull out the cold steel from his flesh, watching as the tissue repaired itself like it was nothing. You threw the weapon right back at the attacker, though he catched it with ease and scattered it with his bare hands.

Anderson was quick to react, this time not taking any chances to debate if you're trustworthy. If you're really a civilian, he won't be able to fight as long as you're close. He throws some kind of artifact your way, a batch of enhanced bible verses and a flask of holy water just in case. "Run, you fool!"

The real vampire chuckles quite amused at the scene, overconfident and boastful now. "Noble one you are, eh? And I was so careful to set her up, too..."

"Good grace...you made me go after that woman?!" God's guillotine glares at him with a feral wrath, but the demon simply shrugs. "Townsfolk loves to gossip, and it's fairly easy to accuse someone that so deliberately making themselves an outcast."

"Quiet, you wicked hellspawn!" The priest's head cracks as he moved it from left to right, testing the healed muscles. "And my eye will not spare, nor will I have pity. I will punish you according to your ways, while your abominations are in your midst..."

"Amen!" you exclaim, and just when Anderson was about to launch an attack, something pierces the enemy from behind.

The priest gasps as he recognizes one of his own bayonetts, sticking out of the vampire's chest. You had plucked it from a nearby tree, returning instead of saving yourself.

Due to lack of both strenght and experience, you miss his heart by far. Luckily it was enough to distract the abomination, so Anderson set one swift finishing blow.

The otherworldly being instantly dissolves into ashes, and for a while you just stand there, staring at each other in awe.

Anderson is covered in blood now, his own as well as the demons. He's wheezing, breath visible as white fog and he snarls like a damn bloodhound, visibly dissatisfied with the outcome. To grant this creature such an easy demise left a foul aftertaste - he wanted to make it pay for using him to hurt an innocent bystander.

Damn it, he almost killed you!

You are still deeply in shock at the events, heart beating threateningly loud against your ears. Rooted on spot, you dread the worst when the priest approaches you. He reaches out and you wince, but he merely puts a reassuring hand on the top of your head. "That sure was reckless" he scolded, yet his lips curled into a proud grin. "I'm impressed."

In an instant his menacing aura had disappeared completely, being replaced with genuine concern. "Are you alright, lamb?"

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, instinctively moving away from your former attacker but stumbling again. Instead of falling however you were caught in the priest's strong arms, amazed at how fast he could move if he wanted to.

If he had taken you serious, you would never have survived this far. The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

"Come" he lifts you up with ease and you blink up at him between wettened lashes, far too exhausted to struggle any longer. "Let's get you somewhere safe."

Only now you realize that you were freezing, curling up against his body as he carried you bridal style to the motel room he had booked for the mission. A few minutes later you sit on a rundown mattress, knees pulled towards your chest as you tried to process the events of this night.

"Sorry for the wait" his voice shook you up as he entered the room, "Had to make a call and report back to the Vatican." You nod mutely and watch as he picks up a small first-aid-kit, kneeling down in front of you. "Show me yer' leg."

"H-He-e-ey!" you object as he tries to lift your dress out of the way, but he frowns as if you had just accused him of something horrible. "I already told you, woman: I am a man of god. So relax, would ya?" You pout but surrender, pulling the fabric aside yourself. "Just a wee lil' scratch, you're gonna be alright."

Trying to distract yourself from the pain your eyes dart around the room, but then they are stuck on the man himself, taking a proper look at him for the first time: Grey strands were shimmering through his wild blonde spikes, blueish-green eyes glistening behind round glasses. A deep scar adorned his left cheek, proof of his - at least past - humanity.

He had discarded his bloodied robe and gloves, revealing more muscle than his tall build indicated. You shiver as he absentmindedly squeezes your thigh, working with great concentration.

"I'm patching others up all day" he assures, filling the silence with small-talk. "The children at my orphanage hurt themselves quite often. Reckless folk."

"You-ah!" you hiss as he wipes the wound clean with more pressure, and you shudder. "You are working with children?"

"Yeah. What about it?" He furrowed his brows, looking downright offended and you couldn't help but snort. "Nothing, really. It's just...two vastly different professions, dont'cha think?"

"You're lucky I found my conscience today" he half-jokes, half-confesses. "Usually I don't care if a heathen get's hurt. Hell, I'd even do it myself." Wow. Very soothing, really. "But ya saved me and I guess it can't hurt to return the courtesy..."

At least he has some sense of honor.

"You got a foul mouth for a priest" you utter under your breath, but he catches it anyways. "And you got a lotta nerve running through the woods at night, dressed like a damn devil worshipper."

Momentarily, you both scowl at each other before breaking out in refreshing laughter.

"I'm not a satanist" you snort, but he won't have any of it. There's a literal pentagram embroidered on the chest piece of your dress, after all. "Then why do you dress like one?" Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms in defense. "It's a subculture, old man. A fashion style. And to my defenses, I didn't even know that any of the occult is real..."

Oh, if only you knew the true extent of evil in this world, you'd be terrified. Or maybe not? Iscariot could always use people with your guts, but he doesn't voice that thought.

If anything, you deserved a long and safe life.

"Hopeless task, making sinners see the light. That's why I prefer gutting them." He makes a dismissive wave of his hand, plummeting down on the bed right next to you. "All done." You smile as you let one hand run over the bandage, expressing your gratitude.

"...m'sorry, little one" he's not meeting your eyes anymore, forearms resting on his knees. "And thank you for helping a wrench like me despite my transgressions. Let's hope the lord will reward such actions."

"Yeah, maybe..." Actually you weren't that much of a believer - but hey, everything you just witnessed might make you pick up a bible soon.

"Do you want me to bring you somewhere?" You mentally consider an answer, but find no sufficient one. To be honest you didn't want to be alone right now. But there was no one you'd be comfortable to bother so late at night in case of friends, and no relatives lived nearby either.

But what's the alternaive? The man at your side surely has better things to do than babysitting you, even if he wasn't a stranger you just met...and almost got murdered by.

Noticing your distress, he wordlessly stood up, the mattress creaking as it was relieved from his massive weight. "Take the bed, I'll sleep on the sofa."

"Bu-but I couldn't possibly-"

"You can, and you will " he protests, "It's the least I can do to make up for what I've done."

"N-No!" you then shout, grabbing onto his sleeve. "I'd be damned if I let a holy man sleep on that small couch." He looks at you baffled, as if he cannot think of the obvious alternative. "Lay down, there's...there's enough room for both of us."

The man looks at you dumbfounded, making you chuckle. "What's the matter? You said you're a man of god, right?"

"...lil' brat."

Anderson sighed deeply, hesistant to do as you told him to. But eventually he gave in, lying on the other side of the bed so far away from you that he threatened to fall over the edge. Just the mere thought of this indecency made his heart beat uncontrollably loud in his chest. "What's your name?" he asks, so you don't notice.

"Y/N" you breathe out in a whisper, "Y/N Y/L/N." He repeats it, tasting the name on his tongue. It's as sweet as the sound of your voice. "What about you?"

"Anderson. Paladin Alexander Anderson" he corrects himself with his proper title. You smile to yourself, an oddly safe feeling encoating you with him at your side. "Well, despite everything, it was nice meeting you, Father Alexander Anderson."

"The pleasure is all mine."

Surprisingly, you had quickly drifted into a deep slumber, body desperate for rest. For a moment you thought it was all just a dream, an obscure nightmare, but then you realized where you were...and with whom.

"Alex- Father?" Your voice is husky and small against the sound of his soft snore in your ear, and instead of waking he shuffles even closer. The feeling of his broad chest against your back makes goosebumps raise on your skin, yet you refused to enjoy cuddling with a literal celibate.

Not wanting to embarrass him you try to scoot away, but the tall man has got you perfectly secure in his hold, an arm and leg wrapped around your much smaller form, tightening his embrace each time you moved. "Umm..." you turn to face him and dare to cup his cheek, gently caressing it to wake him up. His eyes snap open and he reflexively grabs your wrist, breathing heavily. "Hey, big guy, it's okay...good morning."

"What the-" Noticing the delicate situation he stumbles so far back that he lands ass-first on the floor, making you break out in boisterous laughter. "I'm so sorry" you wheeze, lending him a hand. "No idea how we ended up in that position."

Anderson lets out a low growl, stretching his back as he stood up. "I don't know about you" you teased, "But I've slept very well." He'd rather die than to admit he hasn't rested like that in years, if not decades. "...I'll make us breakfast" he announces grumpily, "Bath's on the left."

Shortly later you sit at the small kitchen table across each other, munching on stale toast. Since your clothes were torn and bloody Alex got you a spare shirt of his, long enough to cover you up to the knees. Gosh, if his superiors would see him being with a woman like that they'd probably excommunicate him.

"So..." you adress the elephant in the room, "When are you supposed to be back?"

"Already contacted the order while you were showering. Will be picked up in 30 minutes." Hearing this made you somewhat woeful. You'd wish to stay and riddle him about that amazing life of his, but were pretty sure he wasn't allowed to answer either way. You bite back the burning question if you'd ever meet again, simply answering "Oh...great."

"Promise me ya' will stay outta that devilish business, a'ight?" he grins almost mischievously, "Next time I see ya' tryna seduce innocent priests, I'll think you're a succubus."

You blow a raspberry at the man. "Me?!" You point a dramatic finger towards him, "Maybe you're the one enticing innocent maidens after saving them."

You both exchange smiles and meaningful looks, talking so carefree and enjoyable that time passed faster than you wanted.

"Here ya' go." He pushes some money into your palm, hand lingering on yours as long as he could allow himself to. "Call a taxi. The roads are dangerous for a sweet lil' thing like yerself."

"Thank you, Alex- I mean Father. For everything."

Six months later, Anderson was currently back at the orphanage from another mission, reading a novel in his room. He'd find his thoughts wandering back to you more often these days, having given up on his hopes that this feeling would ease over time.

Letting his free hand run over his neck where you bit him back then, a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. What a woman you were. He's glad to have met you, and he'll at least allow himself to keep those memories locked in his heart forever.

"Father Anderson?" One of the nuns knocks on his door, tearing him away from those silly thoughts. "I'm here, yes."

"Someone wants a word with you" the woman explains as he sticks his head outta the slightly ajar door. She points towards the window in the hallway, whispering "Apparently about joining Iscariot. She's waiting outside in the garden."

"Understood. You may leave." Anderson was left confused but not for long - because as soon as he looked outside, he saw the last person he ever expected to see again. You timidly looked around, dressed in a black robe like usual, yet adorned with a silver cross instead of pentagrams and the likes.

Coincidentally you notice him standing at the window, eyes lighting up and waving eagerly at the man. It takes everything inside of him to not rush outside and pull you right into his arms after such a long time - at least in public he wouldn't.

Oh, he always knew you were special.

[theadhddimsenion]

why the “being from hell is just an excuse” argument pisses me off!

my personal thoughts on why this argument is deeply flawed.

Look the hellaverse is no stranger to moral grey areas and complex situations. But I have come to loathe this bullshit argument because more often than not it in of it’s self is a excuse to deny the fact any character you may not happen to like not like and scrub away the nuance of any given situation like steel wool.

speaking personally as a neurodivergent individual I have never really understood what makes something an excuse vs a reason and if any neurotypical can explain it to me in the comments I would appreciate it because from my point of view the only difference between a reason and a excuse is that an excuse is simply any reason someone doesn’t happen to like which leads me to why I think this argument is flawed and too often used in bad faith.

point number 1 is that this augment fails to take into account the damage that a bad environment can have on a person. Let’s take the arguably biggest victim of this fallacy blitz. He’s the one to actively say it and people immediately jumped on this bandwagon of interpreting this as him deflecting criticism but I always interpreted it as him asking “why me specifically?” To which veroskia doesn’t answer she instead insults him. She never proved his argument wrong or even came up with a counter argument so I’m inclined to believe that she doesn’t actually have a way to prove him wrong and speaking of veroskia I would like to note something very interesting. Nearly all of the characters who say that hell doesn’t have to be shitty are generally in positions of power or have been in positions of power ei privileged. Veroskia the pop star, stolas the prince and who can forgot the most sugar sweet princess of hell who had an entire arc about learning that she isn’t acknowledging the reality of hell around her and for veroskia specifically in addition to her pop star status it’s possible and even likely that concubi like her are higher on the food chain than imps so what would any of these characters know about dealing with the reality of hell? Now that I think about it this argument Begins to feel like elitist dogma. “The poor are using the fact that have barely enough money to pay for their basic needs as an excuse for not making enough money”

Point number two. “But there characters who aren’t assholes in hell!! So that makes being in hell an excuse!!!” Yeah sure just because there are exemptions doesn’t make the rule invalid or nonexistent. For every demon that might have a rainbow inside them there will be a thousand more that have nothing inside them besides selfishness and malice. For cripes sake Millie’s family treats murder like a hoppy and drug dealing is a legitimate business along side Assassination!!

point three. “But but but admitting your not perfect is whwh what quarmire did so it’s ok to be a self righteous hypocrite!!” Look pal yeah admitting that you have a problem is only the first step and not everyone gets past that but what’s the last time you saw a self righteous hypocrite look in the mirror and say “I don’t want to be like this, not forever”?

the point I’m trying to make here is that while yes being from hell isn’t nesscraily a free pass to be an absolute asshole to everyone but if you just call it an excuse you essentially say “no deeply rooted phycological issues don’t matter and neither does being from a place where murder happens every second”. If anyone has any counter arguments please let me know in the comments below.