#my paintings sold for way more than i thought they would
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Unintentional 29
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We're finally on the way home kids...
CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery. Beta-read by @alittlewhump <3
The clock on the dashboard of Delia’s Honda glows bright blue, digital colon blinking between the six and five every second like a heartbeat. Only seven more minutes until the CVS opens. Leo scans the parking lot for the dozenth time. It’s still nearly empty, unchanged since they pulled in ten minutes ago after a drive twice as long as it needed to be. The pharmacy is the only store with any lights on, the rest of the strip mall’s windows and signs are dark. Errant snowflakes flurry through the light cast by the street lamps, inconsistent and sparse, borrowed from a passing storm. It would be peaceful if it weren’t for the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.
Leo drags a hand over his face and takes a deep breath. He can’t even remember the last time he pulled an all-nighter. It must have been back when he was young enough for it not to feel like he’d been hit by a bus. Beside him, Aiden is still and quiet, save for the just-audible exhales he forces between pursed lips. Measured and even like he’s trying to stave off tears or panic or pain or some combination of all three. They hadn’t spoken on the ride over, both tensely checking the mirrors to make sure they weren’t being followed.
Not that there was anything to say.
…
He couldn’t even look at him.
If Aiden were a normal teenager—whatever that means—he’d be giving him hell. How could you be so impulsive? I already thought I lost you once today and now you’re jumping at the next chance? Do you have any idea what that would be like for me? Trying to get on with my life after they’d taken you back? Can’t you see how much I care about you?
But he couldn’t say any of that. Didn’t know what to say, so he couldn’t look at him right now. Aiden quietly resumed his charade. Sure, the raid wasn't over yet but Leo couldn’t help wondering if he was putting on an extra show of cooperation as a demonstration of goodwill.
Did he regret what he almost did? Or just the fact that he got caught?
When he was sure Aiden’s eyes were closed, Leo looked into his face. The ruse wasn’t at all convincing, Leo knew him too well. For starters, the overwrought way Aiden managed his breath was a dead giveaway. A far cry from the gentle, inherent rhythm of sleep even he managed. Leo had clocked more minutes than he was willing to admit frozen in the hallway, letting himself feel an undeserved modicum of relief when that smooth sound reached his ears.
Just as telling was the determination in the tension of his jaw, only a little diluted by the way he was holding the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth to keep it from trembling. He was braver than Leo could ever give him credit for. He barely understood the first thing about this kid, yet here he was, reading every twitch of his brows and hitch of his breath like he had the whole frame of reference.
Thankfully, this charade didn’t solely hinge on his or Aiden’s poor acting skills. The devil was in the details on this one. It was the set that truly sold it and revealed just how much practice Delia has had at this.
Greeting cards crowded the windowsill, all sure to have handwritten messages on the inside. Either abandoned and repurposed or manufactured for this explicitly. A handmade quilt was tucked over the foot of the bed, balloons filled one corner up to the ceiling, and fresh flowers sat on all three tables. A hand-painted ‘Keep Fighting’ sign stretched across the wall with messages and names written over handprints. He recognized Delia’s handwriting in one corner. There’s no way she had recruited so many sympathizers so at least half of those notes and wildly different signatures had to have been done by her hand. Again, he was unsure whether to be unnerved or impressed by the level of dedication. Which was about as terrifying as it was comforting because maybe it meant the agents really weren’t coming back.
And that was about all the time he could spend distracting himself from what the fuck was going on and where the hell was that damn sister of his.
It was all he could do not to compulsively check his phone every second. Was it on? Was it even still in his pocket? What if he didn’t get service in this corner of the hospital?
By the time there was a knock on the door, he had wound himself up so much that he jumped to his feet. In his flat-out panic, he forgot any recognition of the cadence of knocks and was certain they were caught but he was just pinned to the spot like an idiot. When the curtains parted, of course it was only Noah and he knew that, but he had passed the useful kind of adrenaline-fueled exhaustion about five hours ago.
“They’ve given the all clear. Everything good here?” Leo’s obvious lack of composure earned raised eyebrows from Noah.
He cleared his throat and straightened, his lower back tight after trying to conform to the chair. “As far as I know…they came in but a nurse made them leave before—” He resisted the impulse to look at Aiden who hadn’t moved, save opening his eyes to watch them. A deer frozen on the edge of the yard, afraid bolting would mean certain death. Ironic. “Where’s Delia?”
Now Noah looked caught out. “She’s, uh, she’s got her hands full with a…patient…”
Leo struggled to keep his voice even. “What? Did they find something?”
“No, no, nothing like that. It’s…look it’s better if you don’t know the details. I’m sure you want to get out of here anyway.” He cast a meaningful glance at Aiden. “Here are some notes for the prescriptions. They’re ready to fill at the pharmacy, antibiotics and—”
“Wait a second.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “How deep into this shit are you two? I’m grateful for what you did for us but this doesn’t seem like something you should be making a habit of.”
Noah had the gall to chuckle—little shit—but when he saw Leo’s expression he quickly swallowed it. “Hey, man, I get it. There’s a reason I don’t tell my family. But I’m sure you know Delia well enough to know she’s not a ‘follower’.” He even used air quotes around the word. “We’re not even in the same unit. We didn’t realize we were both doing this independently until one of our shelter contacts introduced us.” Leo didn’t even try to mask his doubt so Noah continued, “For what it’s worth, it’s a lot safer for both of us having each other’s backs. But as you well know, the risks are never zero when you’re on this side of the law.”
On this side of the law.
The phrase twisted and turned in his head as Noah led them out through the labyrinth of back stairwells, quiet wards, and service elevators. It pressed against his thoughts as they huddled in a supply closet from a rush of doctors responding to a code blue. It loomed over him as he rested his hands on Aiden’s shoulders when he nearly jumped out of the wheelchair at the slam of a door. It echoed loudest when he was behind the wheel and it was on him to get them home safe. And figure everything else out.
…
“L-Leo?” Aiden ducks his chin when Leo looks over, like he didn’t intend to say his name out loud and isn’t sure what to do with his attention now that he has it. He picks at the cuticle of his right thumb, lips moving like he’s trying to shape his words just right before speaking. After a minute of that, he presses them together, flattens his hands on his thighs and meets Leo’s eyes. “Mmm’sorry…before…mmm…” His chin starts to tremble and it’s obvious he wants to look away but he forces himself to maintain eye contact. “I-I-I…mmm…mmm…”
“Alright, it’s okay.” Leo can’t bear the kid’s self-imposed confession. “I’m not mad. I can’t say I understand what might have possessed you but, anyway, we’re good. Water under the bridge.” It feels a little blunt and more than a little awkward but he adds, “You’re not in any trouble,” like Delia said dozens of times throughout the night.
“Mmm…but…I’mmm…I-I-I…” Aiden furrows his brow like he’s still trying to find a word, lips moving, but tears well in his eyes, threatening to spill the longer he searches.
“Don’t worry about it,” Leo repeats gently. “It’s all good.”
Aiden doesn’t look placated at all. He balks at Leo, visibly distressed, lips quivering as he pauses mid-silent-syllable.
Shit. That’ll encourage the kid to communicate more, just cut him off like an impatient ass. But if this is just some other backwards Companion obedience thing… Leo’s out of energy for trying to wade through how exactly to handle this. He has so much research to do. Is it even safe to do research?
“I’m sorry, hon. Look” Aiden flinches when Leo's hand meets his shoulder.
He grimaces at Leo apologetically, shaking his head at himself. He swipes at a tear with the back of his hand and shakes his head again, a ragged exhale escaping his lips.
“I know it’s not easy, we’ll figure it out together.”
Aiden looks up, biting his lips together as he tries to blink back the rest of his tears. It’s heartbreaking to watch. Leo hopes he doesn’t think there’s any problem with him crying when he needs to. At the same time, Leo can also understand why he wouldn’t want to always be breaking down.
“For now, let’s just focus on getting home, okay?”
Aiden nods, pulling his hands into his sleeves and wiping away the last of the tears. He puts on a brave face.
“Good boy.”
Aiden looks away shyly. Leo opens his mouth to take it back, to apologize for saying something so patronizing, so offensive. He meant it more as a ‘good sport’, ‘atta boy’. He—
There, behind the fist Aiden rests his cheek against as he pretends to look out the window, is a hint of a smile.
Only this kid can shatter his heart and melt it in the span of five minutes.
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@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeisreal @whumpy-writings
@cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo
@neuro-whump @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings
@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabasz @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup
@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump
@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps
@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @lavbug
@pirefyrelight
#bbu#bbu adjacent#box boy whump#dubious caretaker#pet whump#recovery whump#trust building trope#hurt/comfort#angst/comfort#hospital setting cw#institutionalized slavery cw#the next part is already written so it won't be another eight month posting gap...oops
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man, i just realized that if i'm gonna be in unova for a while for this mural, i need to have someone go get my stuff from my apartment... i was supposed to head back to kalos today but i now have a meeting the day after delibird day. this gala did not go how i expected it to.
#pokemon rp#pokemon irl#kris talks#like im happy for the opportunity but hot damn#my paintings sold for way more than i thought they would#do i need to hire people now? is that what i do?#how do people do this
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Hi! I just wanted to say how lovely and interesting you make your platonic radiostatic :)) I saw your stuff on TikTok and I’m loving seeing it here as well!
I see so much one-sided or romantic radiostatic, and while I love it all, this is by far my personal favorite depiction of their relationship. Your art makes them look like such cuties even while they’re two of the scariest demons in hell <3 my personal fav so far is Al laying with Vox while he recharges it’s just so cute!!!
If you don’t mind me poking your brain of it I’d love to hear more about your AU and headcannons! If you want to bounce off of something specific then I’d love to hear how the residents of the hotel think of Alastor and Vox and if they clump them together or think of them differently.
In any case I adore your art and hope to see more of it no matter the fandom!
I'm really glad you like it!!! I didn't expect it to get this reception at all as I was planning on it being something more along the lines of "Comfort" after seeing so much Angst content, so I'm genuinely glad so many people liked it!<33
As much as I like the ship I wasn't entirely sold on seeing it in a romantic or suggestive context; I rlly love that Alastor is respected as an individual Aroace (as a fellow Aroace lol) so seeing him in contexts of that sort were a bit ... demotivating??? So I wanted to create this Au of them being typical husbands but on a platonic way.
The residents of the hotel definitely have different opinions. On one side is Charlie who sees this as a great miracle, the two great entertainment representatives from hell, giving her hotel a chance! Especially when her relationship dances very well between the two of them; with Alastor there is "the voice of reason", the one who offers a solution and listens patiently and undaunted to whatever news she gives him, where she knows she will find an answer as Alastor chooses the pen over the sword; while with Vox there is the chaotic, where the sword is above the pen. He vocifies his opinions tactlessly and offers the less gentle, quicker and more effective ways. In him Charlie finds far more vivid emotions than Alastor would be willing to unveil.
Then there is Vaggie who is of course the most informed about these two and her concern is very much on the edge as she knows that the Media Demons are a couple that absolutely no one knows anything about beyond the false image they paint in their shows and the imminent danger these two represent.
Angel, Pentius and Cherry don't really have a strong opinion about them as they pass over or ignore them. Nifty is already more than familiar with both of them.
Husk (his relationship with Alastor is considerably "better", even though Al still owns his soul, than it is in canon as Alastor still owning his soul and having a faithful and warm companion with him for years, his personality is arguably somewhat more relaxed and patient than the original), like Nifty is already familiar with them so he doesn't give the matter much thought.
And Lucifer ofc is terrified that it's not just one but two Overlords who apparently want to steal his daughter.
I still have a lot of polishing to do on this Au as it's new but I want to slowly build it here as people can offer different points of view that can be explored ( ◜‿◝ )♡
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Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 5
Chapter 5 - Stories and Dolls
A/N – Okay, so I just quit my job and I’m freefalling right now. Time to channel my anxiety into fanfiction. Also, this chapter is darker so I’m raising the rating to M.
Warnings – MENTIONS OF RAPE, S/A, ABUSE, KIDNAPPING, AND TORTURE.
Rating – M
TAG-LIST: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch @reverse-soe @koirb @usernameunavailable2 @lavenderkita @kannakanan @mcueveryday @amarokofficial @mbruben-stein @tyrythewolf @lasagna-501 @bizzardvark @firefirefeline @kaylanotkk @missme-07 @memontica @angelsdemonsmonsters @tj4shy
MALE VERSION HERE
GN VERSION HERE
Lucifer had to admit, he was getting used to you. He enjoyed making breakfast a show in the morning, entertaining you with his parlour tricks and general showmanship. You were like a child, easily amused by flashing lights or some sleight of hand.
And of a night, he also found your company less than objectionable, whether you were reading a book in the library with Spick and Span curled up at your feet, in front of a roaring fire (you had conjured them medallions with their names on them, so as to tell them apart), or those nights when you came back from visiting the hotel and regaled him with the tales of its inhabitants. Lucifer was starting to like Angel Dust, even if he didn’t believe the porn star actually had a chance at redemption. Nifty also seemed entertaining, Husk could be a source of wisdom and comfort in equal measure, and Alastair… Well, he was there too, taking up too much of your attention.
Yet, despite his newfound almost-friendship with you, he couldn’t help thinking about what you had said on your first night in the manor.
‘You don’t even know why I’m down here, and you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same.’
You were right. He didn’t know why you were there, and that was driving him crazy. He wanted to like you. Truly, he did. But how could he like you when he didn’t know your sin? People got sent to Hell for a reason! They wasted their free will. They sold drugs to kids, murdered people, trafficked victims, tricked and swindled others. For all Lucifer knew, you were there for drowning puppies.
The thought made him deeply uncomfortable.
Okay. He would ask you about it. No big deal. People probably talked about why they went to Hell a lot right? That was a normal conversation for Sinners, probably…
Lucifer wasn’t entirely wrong in thinking that. However, nearly all Sinners lied about what they went to Hell for, making it even more brutal or horrifying to try and earn some extra credit among their fellow Demons. Someone who had killed one person would claim to have been a serial killer. A low-life drug dealer would paint themselves as a mafioso with a drug empire, and arsonists… They didn’t have to lie much, as fires tended to spread quickly and they generally were as psychotic as they claimed to be.
It was all basic self-preservation in Hell. Be the toughest person there, so nobody could find new ways to hurt you. Kill or be killed (figuratively, since Demons couldn’t technically kill other Demons), sink or swim, do unto others before they did unto you.
Right. When Lucifer next saw you, he would ask.
“Hey Lucifer,” You said upon returning to the manor from the Hotel, “You doing okay?”
Lucifer froze. He hadn’t expected to see you so soon. Fuck.
“Hey bitch,” Lucifer greeted, feeling entirely awkward, yet trying to feign confidence.
“Uh… Back at ya,” You reciprocated confusedly.
“Sooooo,” Lucifer started, steepling his fingers together, and holding them to his mouth, his brow knitting together worriedly, “I have a question for you.”
“Oh.” You were surprised by Lucifer’s admission. While the two of you generally made conversation, he didn’t tend to ask too much. Besides, in the preface of announcing his question, it seemed that he was likely to ask you something personal.
You waved your hand casually, indicating that he was free to ask away.
“How- Uh how was everything at the Hotel? Is my little girl doing okay?”
As you smiled and fell into a description of how Charlie was doing and her general excitement about her meeting with Heaven, Lucifer cursed himself. He knew that what he wanted to ask was important, but it was just so personal. Well, at least he was happy to hear about his daughter. There were also some other colourful stories included in your conversation.
Finally, you wrapped up the conversation, effectively ending it when you casually said, “Anyway, I’m going to get ready for bed. I’m real tired, you know?”
Lucifer didn’t say much as you left, he was still pondering whether you might be a puppy killer or relative and accomplice to that Jeffrey Dahmer fellow, or something equally disturbing. If not… Why were you there?
Having gotten ready for bed, you sighed, letting the day’s events wash over you, lifting a weight off your shoulders. You were tired, but the day had been a good productive one. Moreover, it was nice to end the day by standing out on the balcony, overlooking the rest of Hell.
There was a time when you had died, during which you stood atop a building in the main streets watching all the fights, looting, and maiming, and you were horrified. Then, you met Charlie, and she had been so wonderfully pure, good, and non-judgemental that you had to agree with her. Hell could be a home to you, and all the other Sinners who lived there, and Sinners could always change for the better.
While you held onto the balcony railing, leaning over it, and staring at the red horizon, Lucifer approached your open door at the entrance of your room, knocking despite the open invitation to come in.
You turned and smiled at him, your smile putting him at ease.
“Come in,” You offered.
He did so, crossing the large room and taking quick mental notes of the changes you had made. They were minor, but they spoke of your personality. You had lit scented candles, brightening the room – the official scent name was Tapioca Tit-play.
Subconsciously, Lucifer worked his magic to remove the off-smell that he had placed there; it was redundant when your candles covered it, and he didn’t mind your company so much anymore.
He also observed several other items. There was a photograph of everyone at the Hotel, though you had drawn Alastor on the end in crayon since he didn’t love to be captured in photographs (he could bear it unlike being filmed, but he didn’t care much for it.)
Wrapped around your bedposts were nightlights to keep out the dark. On your bed, you had a teddy of one of Sir Pentious’ egg-bois, a gift from him. Husk had gifted you with a bottle of his best Whiskey, though it remained unopened on the nightstand. There was a cockroach/daisy hybrid necklace wrapped around a book. The candles were from Angel Dust. Beneath your pillow was a dagger, gifted by Vaggie, for your protection. Alastor had given you a collection of books from the store in Cannibal Town, including several that were rumoured to have been stolen from Heaven’s library, though nobody was certain where that rumour started or if it was even true, though there were no copies of the books anywhere else in Hell.
Although Lucifer had no way of knowing these items were all presents from your friends at the Hazbin Hotel, he could tell that you cared deeply for the odd assortment by their placement on the two bedside tables; they had been positioned with care, and were well looked after.
Then, his eye caught the rubber duck, slightly hidden behind the picture frame. He remembered making that one. As a hellhound imitation, it was meant to teleport to whoever needed it most inside the Manor, offering protection should they come under attack. Naturally, he and his family didn’t need such protection, but he had been experimenting with what powers he might imbue unto yet another duck.
He decided not to mention it as he joined you on the balcony, looking you over in your pyjamas.
You also spared him a glance, noting that he seemed more relaxed. Although he was still in his usual attire, he had removed his top-hat-crown and his overcoat, revealing the waistcoat and shirt beneath; the sleeves were rolled up, giving him a more casual appearance.
“Hell’s skies are beautiful, aren’t they,” You stated, returning your gaze to the horizon.
Lucifer looked up, but all he saw was Heaven, the home that didn’t want him.
“(Y/N),” He started, forcing himself to look down, so he wouldn’t have to stare at the painfully beautiful golden glow above.
“Hm?”
“How did you end up here?”
Your grip tightened on the railing drawing Lucifer’s gaze to the whites of your knuckles.
Your whole body became tense and you answered with a ragged breath, “I died.”
“Yes but-” Lucifer was about to lead into the question of your sins, but you spoke up again, seemingly misunderstanding the question as you continued, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.
“I was- I was murdered.”
Lucifer could have explained that the cause of your death wasn’t what he had been driving at, but now he was darkly fascinated. If you were the same kind-hearted, warm person in life, why would anyone wish to bring about your death?
He remained silent as you began recounting the manner in which you had been killed.
“I had a friend,” You started slowly, taking steady breaths between each part of the story that followed as if it would make it any easier. “I mean- I- I thought he was my friend. I loved him. He knew that. He counted on it.”
“I thought that he travelled for work. That’s what he told me. It’s why he was always coming and going. But no… He was just looking for more people like me. He found people. Made us fall for him. Then he- he took me out on a date. Blindfolded me. Said it was a surprise. I- I trusted him, but the blindfold just made it easier for him to- He knocked me out.”
You subconsciously touched the back of your head, remembering the blow that had come with no warning.
Lucifer turned to you, one hand holding onto the railing, the other planted firmly at his side.
“Did he-” He started to ask.
You shook your head. “It wasn’t rape. It was worse.”
You shivered, waiting until you were certain you weren’t going to vomit. Then you continued, your skin ashy.
“I woke up in a- It was like a cinderblock cell, but it had been sort of decorated to look like a fancy suite?”
You recalled the room. It was damp, and the floor was cheaply produced concrete, given away by the amount of air bubbles which had never been levelled and now pocked the surface, like a teenager with bad acne. The cinderblock walls were easy to see, though some talented artist had been paid to paint it with the likeness of the Ritz hotel or somewhere equally fancy. While that had made it look better, it was still clearly a cinderblock wall; then again, you can’t polish a turd, but you can roll it in glitter.
You had been handcuffed to a chair in the centre of the room. Your clothes had been taken, and you had been dressed in a skimpy shortened tuxedo, with a fitted vest instead of a jacket. You remembered screaming till your voice was raw. You screamed so much that you ended up spitting flecks of blood, but nobody came to save you.
“I- I was tied up,” You said simply, downplaying the memory to Lucifer, more for your own sake than his, though he could see the pain behind your eyes.
Lucifer didn’t interrupt your story, but his anger was growing. Behind him his tail lashed furiously, his eyes became flaming red, and his fangs became sharper. You hadn’t noticed, you were lost in memory, and you had yet to look his way since beginning your story.
You sighed, thinking of the torture, humiliation, and suffering which followed, all at the hands of one man. It wasn’t your captor. It was who he had sold you to.
“It- I was- They were making snuff films. I don’t know how many people died there before or after me but- I was sold to an American. He- He liked to cut things. It was a while before- I don’t know if I bled out, or if my heart stopped, maybe both?”
For the first time, your skin changed colour, turning from your regular human shade to a pale seaweed-green. Against the colourful backdrop, Lucifer could see your now blinding white glowing scars. Upon your death they remained hidden, completely invisible, but now you were distressed… You seemingly did have something of a Demonic appearance after all.
You were a ragdoll.
There wasn’t a part of your body that hadn’t been cut, or originally sliced off, only to be repaired in death. In all likelihood, your real body was probably burned, buried, or dissolved in acid. In Hell, your scars were the stitches that held your body together. Lucifer now understood your human appearance since like a real ragdoll, you were good at playing dress-up. He bet that if you explored your abilities, you would have been able to look like anyone, a skin-changer, but you had adopted your appearance in life; it was likely an accident caused by the trauma of your memories.
“(Y/N),” Lucifer said through gritted teeth. He wanted to be comforting, but he was already thinking of all the ways he would punish your killer and any accomplice he may have had. There were worse things than Death in hell; he would torture those bastards for eternity, and then when he finally grew bored, he would end them with angelic weaponry, wiping their souls from existence, leaving no trace of such monsters.
You didn’t turn to face your King, who was now in his full Demonic form, his rage at its peak.
“Just go,” You murmured despondently, staring over the balcony, and down to the ground. A long drop and a short stop… It was a shame it wouldn’t kill you; at least the pain would end if you died.
“But-” Lucifer reached you to put a hand on your shoulder, his wings almost curling around you as if to envelop you.
“I- I would like to be alone. Please.”
Lucifer hesitantly withdrew his hand, “I’m sorry.”
That was all he said before walking away, leaving you alone.
You wished that you could have been left to wallow, but your phone soon buzzed and you opted to check it in case it was an emergency.
Retrieving it from the bed, you found a message from Charlie.
“EMERGENCY. ANGEL DUST. RELAPSE. GET OVER HERE. PLEASE!”
Damn it! If Charlie was texting you for this, it meant that Husk was either the cause or he wasn’t around to be the solution. Moreover, while Charlie would want to assist her friend, she was likely the last person Angel Dust wanted to see; sometimes, though she was well-intentioned, she just didn’t understand such issues or she could be a bit much.
Still stuck in your ragdoll body, you ran back to the balcony and vaulted over the edge. It wasn’t a smooth landing, and it hurt a lot. Anyone else would have broken their bones, but when you were like this, there wasn’t anything else that could be broken. Everything had already been torn off you. Ignoring the pain, you ran until you found a taxi. You took it to the Hotel.
#fanfiction#reader#reader insert#fanfic#lucifer morningstar#lucifer#lucifer x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer hazbin hotel#lucifer hazbin hotel x reader#charlie morningstar#lucifer magne#lucifer magne x reader#hazbin hotel#hellaverse#sinless sinners#female reader#fem reader#chapter 5#part 5#stories and dolls
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when I see someone asking for vox requests, I immediately sense it. what abr vox w a reader that's owned by him (smth like angel/valentino or husk/alastor) you can have fun and make it as smutty/fluffy as you want, ty!!
⁺˳✧༚ ˚ 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝓅𝓊𝓅 ｡⋆୨୧˚
— 𝜗𝜚 vox x f!reader
ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 summary : you sold your soul to vox only for him to treat you like the good little puppy you are. nsfw. toxic relationship. ownership. collars. leashes. reader is mute when she’s subby. vox is a smidge manipulative. dubious consent at times. vox is also a softie.
𝜗𝜚 vox knew from the moment he saw you, he had to have you. such a pretty little thing, how could he not? it’s safe to say sinners like you were desired in hell. you looked like pure innocence and sin wrapped into one. a cute fawn puppy with wide eyes and soft thighs.
𝜗𝜚 he found you by chance, crying, after his dick of a situationship had abandoned you for someone new. someone who would give up everything to him, including their soul. you wouldn’t even fuck him. part of you thinks that’s the only reason he kept you around. to try and earn the rights to your cunt. vox’s manipulation was much sweeter than that.
“hey little puppy,” vox had mused, voice thick as honey, “no need to be scared, i won’t hurt you.” he seemed so trusting, so gentle.
you’d only seen him with val on set or occasionally on ads so seeing him like this was entirely different to the picture you’d painted of him. so that’s when you decided to take a risk, “promise?”
𝜗𝜚 all you’d known with val was emotional mind games and verbal abuse for not submitting but with vox? he seemed to care so much more than that. he was so loving and sweet, treat you like an angel. loved you.
𝜗𝜚 that’s all you wanted, it was so easy. so you gave him everything. your mind. your body. your soul. just like he wanted.
“you’re mine right, puppy?” vox questioned hands stroking over your soft fluffy ears as you nodded in response. “so let me own you. give me your soul. you’ll be only mine and i’ll protect you forever.” his harsh words laced with something so sickeningly promising to your naive brain.
how could you say no?
𝜗𝜚 after that, vox never held back, you couldn’t leave him after all. he had you collared 24/7. using the leash that bound you to him to tease you and drag you where he pleased. he was still so attractively enticing. that would never change. his cunningness wrapped up in a pretty bow so well that you didn’t care he was manipulating you.
𝜗𝜚 he’d use you to make val jealous sometimes too, having you draped over him as his arm candy. have you dress so scantily. take you to all his events to show you off, show them what they couldn’t have. and more importantly who you belonged to.
“who’s this pretty girl by your side?” a reporter would ask, eager to put a name to vox’s ’girlfriend’.
“oh? her? she’s just my puppy,” would be his answer. so simple yet you loved something about it. a slight pat on your head and a soft “good girl,” to leave the viewers with the thoughts of your wide eyes and soft mouth as you bit your lip at the praise.
𝜗𝜚 it wasn’t only manipulation to him despite it getting you this far. he did love you. everything about you, like he was the love sick puppy here. your hair, your eyes. the way your soft ears would react to things. how easily excitable you were. the way you would cuddle up to him after work like a doggy would it’s owner. but i suppose that’s exactly what you were. just a simple little pup with her doting owner.
“where’s my baby girl?” he’d shout through the halls of his home as you’d come running to the door, so much excitement rushing through you. you’d think he’d been gone for days not merely a few hours.
“i missed you,” would always be the first thing you’d say. “now never leave me again.”
𝜗𝜚 eventually you let him have you. let him fuck you. the fact he waited despite owning you only spurred you on more to let him ravish you. he was loving and gentle at first, so vanilla and constant i love yous, earning the right for more than that. even though he didn’t have to. so when it came down to it, you’d coyly asked him to take care of his baby in heat too. giving him full control of your sex. every aspect of it.
𝜗𝜚 the first time you allowed yourself to drop into that subby state of mind, vox couldn’t quite believe what he was witnessing. how was it possible for someone already so innocent and pliable to become more so? he adored the way your doe eyes would gloss over as you looked up at him through battered lashes with full submission.
𝜗𝜚 he loved everything about ruining you. how he could tell by the way your thighs would flush exactly what you needed. how you would stick your tongue out and pant on your knees for him when you wanted to suck him off. but what he loved the most about this was how you would go mute. he revelled in how you couldnt say no or stop him. your ditsy brain too full so all you could do is whimper n whine and mewl such pretty noises.
a tug on your leash pulled your malleable body closer into him. his cock abusing your cunt to the point of tears, “just a bit longer pup, please” he'd groan, out of breath, wiping your tears and gripping you harder, pumping into you til it had you yelping and trying to pull him off of you. he wouldn’t let you. vice grip overpowering you and forcing on to say on his cock. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, fuck, baby i’m sorry, i’m so close, i know it hurts, shit, i’m gonna cum.”
he’d pull out and hold you tighter than ever, littering your face in kisses, telling you you’re such a good girl, such a good puppy for letting him use you. how proud he is you milked his cum. of course that’s all your silly head needed to hear.
𝜗𝜚 vox always gave aftercare. always. running your baths, getting you your favourite snacks, taking care of you, not dare letting you lift a finger after the harsh activities he’d assault on your body. when you’d settled down enough, he’d hold you, letting you watch your favourite shows on his screen. that was something he loved to do for you. so much.
𝜗𝜚 he was just as clingy as you sometimes. needing you close and on him, always by his side. whining and mumbling how you don’t love him if he doesn’t have your eyes and attention on him. he always made you giggle with that. so when one night you were cuddled up watching tv, he came up with the idea.
“puppyyyyyy,” vox grumbled, watching how your ears would twitch in acknowledgement, “look at me!!” he was tugging at your pyjamas and pulling on your collar, needy in such a demanding and assertive way.
“wanna watch this, voxie, already so close n got my head on your chest.”
wrong answer. he didn’t like that.
vox sighed and clicked his tongue, turning off the screen and wordlessly forcing you to straddle his lap. “my puppy should do as she’s told,” your breath hitched at his words as his screen glitched and the show you were watching flashed across where vox’s face should be. “even if that means i have to make her.”
your cheeks blushed as you got comfy to his thighs. vox’s hands raked across your body, zoning out again. trying not to get too embarrassed and show how much you liked this. loving how vox needed you this badly. “so much better, right baby?”. you nodded your head before one of vox’s fingers crept to part your lips and let your oral fixation take over, sucking and lapping.
𝜗𝜚 overall you were the happiest you’d ever been, no matter how toxic it may be, and so was vox. it all went according to his plan that day when he decided he had to have you. you were now his. owned and controlled. loved and cherished. his puppy.
A/N : i just love vox okay!! i would sell my soul to him for free just to get to submit to him <3 anyways… i hope you liked this and as always please please give me support!! tell me your thoughts, they’re always welcome
#mine ♡#⁺˳✧༚ dolly’s drabbles#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin hotel vox x reader#hazbin hotel reader x vox#hazbin vox x reader#hazbin vox#hazbin reader x vox#hazbin hotel you x vox#vox x y/n#vox x you#reader x vox#vox x reader#vox#hazbin you x vox#hazbin vox x you#valentino#hazbin valentino#hazbin hotel valentino
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Hi, I just finished the AA trilogy with my bf and we fell in love with it! I found your blog the other day, and it sometimes feels like you're the only one giving correct takes on these characters' writing and the minutiae of everyone's inner worlds (or the fumbling of, see Godot).
I just got here, but, something that's been bothering me about the fandom's approach to the sequel trilogy is like... the imperialist undertones are glossed over, or swept under the rug. Researching "The Dark Age of the Law" and beyond puts a sour taste in my mouth. And with Khura'in the country vs Kurain the village? It all feels racist at best (the concept of the Divination Seance gives me squick). If you have the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts about AA5 and AA6 in relation to the world of AA as a whole. Thanks again for all of your thoughtful and nuanced takes on this series!
so glad to hear you guys liked the games!! thank you for enjoying my posts, i always appreciate it.
the tl;dr of it is that i do think they are genuinely bad enough additions to the franchise that they have signed mainline ace attorney's death warrant. picking out the dark age of the law stuff and aa5 and the imperialism in aa6 you've pretty much honed right in on my two biggest critiques
however i do want to say that although they're being bundled and sold as a 'second trilogy' that's not quite accurate either experientially when playing the games or from a development perspective. aa4 had scenario design/creative direction by series creator shu takumi, with the art director being kazuya nuri (responsible for character design for rise from the ashes in the series previous to this); aa5+6 was spearheaded by takeshi yamazaki, who had been with the franchise since its first game, with the slightly less tenured takuro fuse on art direction/character design. yamazaki and fuse are not without skill, but i think they're both significantly less skilled than takumi and nuri respectively and. it really shows.
pair that with the fact that aa5 and 6 fundamentally do not follow up on any of ace attorney 4's established characters or plots more than superficially, i don't think it's particularly useful to critique 4-5-6 as if they're a single body of work in the same way the trilogy is. apollo justice isn't a perfect* ace attorney game but it's a good one.
anyway i think buying into the 'dark age of the law' stuff in ace attorney 5 necessitates cheapening all of the events preceding it. the implication that 1. the law wasn't that bad before but it Is Now and 2. a single case was the tipping point for whether or not the entire legal system would be bad just ruins the times when ace attorney has managed to acknowledge corrupt systems as a massive source of problem for the everyman in the past
i think this screenshot from the dark age of the law wiki page says a lot:
For starters, that phoenix quote. He would not fucking say that. I don't think there has ever been a point during or leading up to phoenix's career where he thought the legal system had 'glory' he would then want to restore it to. you seem to get it so im not gonna harp on this too much on this but. jesus christ
then, then there's fact that even by stating the most basic details about the franchise's events undermines the whole premise. like okay notice that the corruption that happens during the trilogy/investigations spinoffs is coming from all of the actual agencies that represent law and order/the system: the prosecutors, the police, and the prosecutorial investigation committee. however in aa5 the thing they choose to paint as responsible for supposedly unprecedented levels of corruption in the legal system is defense attorneys resorting to more drastic means, and the general public; aka not the people who are responsible for upholding the legal system but the people who are victimized by it and in opposition to it.
i don't think this was an intentional choice as much as it's just sloppy, inconsiderate, and contrived writing.
aa6 is just flat out racist. 'imperalist undertones' is i would say the gentlest way you could phrase it. like. japanese characters going to a made up south asian country that needs to be taught how to govern itself to quash its internal rebellion is like. so high on the yikes meter.
making a bunch of fake 'ethnic sounding' nonsense names filled with apostrophes to make them into silly sounding english phrasing was a disastrously tone deaf thing for the localization to do. they're really unforgivable. the worst of it all is probably "Inga Karkhuul Haw'kohd Dis'nahm Bi'ahni Lawga Ormo Pohmpus Da'nit Ar'edi Iz Khura'in III" i'm unsure if the names are quite as offensive in the original japanese because i haven't looked too much into what they actually are and have a really limited knowledge of the language. but. this name in japanese is "インガ・カルクール・ククルーラ・ラルバン・ギジール・ホフダラン・マダラ・ヴィラ・ヤシマ・ジャクティエール・クライン３世" which is written in katakana. katakana is, in contrast to kanji and hiragana which are used for writing japanese, used to phoenetically transcribe foreign languages or to write loan words. so the foreign-ness of this character is being emphasized here in the original text as well.
the supposed cultural inferiority of the khurainese people is baked into the game at pretty much every level, down to the gags. khura'in has the 'plumed punisher' show, which is actively criticized by the characters in game for just being a cheap ripoff of the steel samurai. they don't even get to have their own tv.
i believe the reason the racism is pretty much glossed over a lot in the fandom is for several reasons. for starters, ace attorney fans overall tend to fall into three camps: 1. people like me who fucking hate these games, refuse to acknowledge them, and would retcon them out of existence if possible. 2. people who have found things they like about the game and have a Good Version of the characters and plots that they have constructed in their head and 3. people who view all of the hate on these games as completely overblown
the first camp Does talk about how the game is racist but we're all already in agreement about that so it's kind of preaching to the choir and a bit redundant to keep going on about. the second camp tends to acknowledge the stickier aspects of the game but focuses on making content around the elements they like rather than critique. the third camp is the type to throw the baby out with the bathwater re: critiquing a thing they like. it's all haterism to them. but either way i think its kind of fucked up how many people will be like 'aa6 isnt that bad you guys are just mean' without even acknowledging these complaints.
anyway the khura'in country vs kurain village thing is really weird to me it shows both a lack of imagination and a disregard for the series' own established lore. why would a girl from a village where almost everyone is a spirit medium need to go to a place where only, like, two people are mediums to train.
i will say though that the divination seance is kind of one of the only things i found about aa6 to be an interesting addition. for a franchise with ghost summoning and murder solving, the two have a kind of hilariously low amount of overlap so i found the idea of bringing ghost bullshit into court really fun. mechanically speaking, the divination seances also felt a LOT better to play than the mood matrix segments of aa5.
in general, i think the biggest weakness of the mainline franchise under takeshi yamazaki's stewardship is its misunderstanding of stakes. both aa5 and 6 prioritize more bombastic and impressive on paper material stakes. oh no! the ENTIRE JUSTICE SYSTEM BEING GOOD OR BAD depends on this one case! on no! we have to DEAL WITH REBEL INSURGENTS! complete horseshit when there is not competent and functional enough character writing to get us emotionally invested here. yamazaki seems to think bigger is better, and that just simply isnt true for something like ace attorney
i've pointed this out in the past when critiquing aa5 and 6 but if you look at the actual material stakes on the line in ace attorney, they're at their highest after rise from the ashes. ousting the corrupt chief of police is the most impressive and impactful thing phoenix does with his career (arguably until the jurist system, but definitely in the trilogy.) but that's not the big Finale case for his character arc. his finale case is defending his college girlfriend; a nun who lives in the mountains, whose conviction would have had zero implications on the larger fabric of ace attorney's legal system. because takumi's writing clearly shows that he understands what makes a plot impactful is the emotional stakes the characters have invested in the events.
before taking over the main franchise, takeshi yamazaki was responsible for the miles edgeworth investigations spinoffs. i do enjoy both of those games - aai2 in particular is really strong. yamazaki does a great job with edgeworth's character arc even if i have some specific gripes with the duologys writing. i think theyre solid additions to the franchise. but you can see traces of this sort of misalignment in narrative priorities here as well. for example, the last case in aai1 is notorious for still going on for, like, an entire hour or two past the time when the last remaining plot point we care about has been revealed. because yamazaki seemingly had no understanding that That was the thing the case should have been about, and that should have been the final mic drop of the game. it just keeps going! he didn't know the game was done and he added a bunch more bullshit busywork after it that no one likes!
so yeah. without going into anything even as specific as how individual plotlines or character arcs were mishandled in aa5/6 that's really my overview What Went Wrong of those games.
#i genuinely might need to put my opinion on aa5 and 6 in my faq at this point#not because i mind getting a chance to talk about how much i hate these games. but just for due diligence#ace attorney#*there are two perfect ace attorney games: aa1 and plvspwaa#this got so long im so so sorry.#i think ill just hotlink this post in my faq because it hits most of my talking points about these games
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hiii
can i please request a wonka x fem!reader (timothee’s version)?
like maybe reader is a worker at the market or something so willy sees her everyday on his way to work and they’re friends and he keeps trying to make the perfect chocolate to give to her but he’s a very awkwardly hilarious at flirting?
thank you!! i love your writing sm
Thanks so much! This one was fun to write 😝😝😝
Willy Wonka x Fem!Store owner!Reader(Wonka 2023)
A/n: Requests are open 🤸🤸🤸🤸
It was a lovely Friday morning. The sun was shining, the skies were clear, and people were out on the streets, ready to start their days.
One of those people seemed a bit more enthusiastic than everyone else.
The infamous Willy Wonka made his way through the streets holding a box, walking like he was a man on a mission.
And he was on a mission. A mission to win the heart of the prettiest girl he knew, Y/n.
Y/n owned a little shop that he walked by everyday on the way to his factory and she sold the most interesting items! Intricately carved, tiny wooden statues, colorful glass bottles, quilts, jewelry, old dolls, and paintings. You name it, she had it laying around somewhere.
Willy visited her shop everyday. Partly because he liked the things she sold and partly because he'd developed a massive crush on her.
And after careful calculation, a lot of trial and error, and almost chickening out like 8 separate times, he was doing it.
He was shooting his shot.
He took a deep breath before stepping into her shop, acting like this was a normal day for him. "Hey, Y/n!" Willy greeted as he walked to the counter she stood behind.
"Morning, Willy." She gave him that small smile that always made him want to swoon and leaned forward on her elbows. "How's it going?"
"Good. Good. It's going good..." He should probably say something else. "How are you?"
"Good. Glad to see my favorite customer."
He couldn't help but smile at that. "Um... I have something for you."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." Willy slid a box across the counter to her.
She picked up the box and admired it. Willy had intentionally chosen to put her gift in a colorful box. She liked things like that.
Y/n opened the box to see a large variety of chocolate, all different shapes and colors, and all delicious looking.
"Oh! These look amazing!" She beamed at him.
"Well, I'd certainly hope so." Willy said with a smile. "I stayed up all night making them.
She paused. "Really?"
"Yes."
"That's- Wow. You didn't have to do that."
"Well, I did." He shrugged. "And I don't regret it."
She chuckled and looked back down at the chocolates. "Is there a reason you're giving these to me?"
Willy thought for a moment. This would probably be a good time to tell her how he felt. A simple "Because I like you" would work. But, his mind and body were suddenly not working, so instead of doing that, he stared at her.
...
"Willy?"
"Yes! Yes. They're because.. I just wanted to show that I appreciate what you do."
"What I do?"
"Yes."
"You spent all night making me chocolate because I run a general store?"
He paused. "... Yes?"
Y/n chuckled. "Well, that's really nice of you." She popped one of the chocolates into her mouth and was visibly satisfied with the taste. "Amazing, as always."
He blushed at the compliment. "Only the best for you." He replied after a split second of hesitation.
Y/n looked away and he swore he saw a light blush dust her cheeks.
That's good, right? Yeah. That's good.
"Um..." She cleared her throat. "That's nice. Thank you. You should probably be off to work now, right?"
"Uh..." He really didn't want to leave yet. "I was thinking I could stay here a little longer. If you're not busy?" He hadn't been this nervous about asking something in a long time. The second it took for her to reply felt like the longest moment of his life.
"I'd like some company." She said with a sweet smile.
Willy ended up staying there the whole morning. She made him coffee and he drank it, despite the fact that he didn't like coffee. But, he was too nervous to make another move.
He began to leave her shop, a bit disheartened by his failed attempt when Y/n stopped him.
"Willy?" She smiled, a slightly nervous smile. "Do you wanna... Like.... Get dinner tonight?"
His cheeks flushed, his eyes widened, and his heart began to race. "Really?"
She nodded.
"Just the two of us?"
"Just the two of us."
He beamed at her. "I would love that."
Looking back on it, Willy was glad she made the first move. Who knows how much longer it would've taken him?
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Demon King - Part 2
Shutendoji!Chuuya x Reader
Continuation of this.
Tw: Yandere, dub-con, mentions of blood, cannibalism and violence
[A.N: This got way too long, and isn't very yandere-y, imo. But its been in my head for a while, and I hope you guys like it!]
In a certain way, being the wife of the Drunken Demon wasn’t all that bad.
You’d reached this conclusion on a silent night like this one, padding through the corridors by yourself. Chuuya’s – Manor? Castle? You weren’t quite sure – was far bigger than the quarters to which you were confined, quarters that were nevertheless larger than your entire home back in your village. They were a picture of comfort: there was a massive canopied bed, piled high with the softest pillows for you to sleep on; magical lamps illuminated the place, neither dimming nor burning out no matter how long they were kept lit. A roaring fire kept you warm in the winters, and hidden vents that kept you cool in the summer. There was always food and water, fresh and clean and delicious. You had your own bath, with more running water than you could have ever used in your entire life, heated or cooled to your body temperature. Chuuya brought you books to read, parchment to paint, any manner of things to pass the time, things that you couldn’t ever have imagined owning. He’d even allowed you a garden, though you weren’t to go there in his absence. He loved to spoil you, giving you everything you could possibly ask for; he was kind, and patient, indulging your idlest whim and your most irrational desires.
The only thing he denied you was your freedom.
You sighed, sinking down upon your bed. At one time, the loneliness had frightened you. Stories of the Drunken Demon had consumed your mind, and you’d spent countless hours curled up in a corner, crying and shaking and throwing up from the sheer terror of what he would do to you. Now, you relished these moments of solitude, times when Chuuya wasn’t clinging to your waist or brushing your hair or fucking you senseless wherever he could. The bruises and love-bites littering your skin, proof of his demented love, delighted him to a frenzy. Your cheeks still burned at the memory of hours the two of you had spent locked in a tangle of limbs, lost in the throes of pleasure, worlds removed from the puritanical teachings of your wifely duties drilled into your head during your early years. As with everything else, you’d gotten used to it – that part of your ‘marriage’ had been shamefully easy to get used to – but you knew what inevitably lay next. Either Chuuya would grow tired of you... or he would impregnate you. You’d never liked the idea of children, but the thought of raising half-demon offspring filled you with dread.
How long has it been? you wondered. Weeks? Months? A year? Despite the massive windows – always shut for your safety, of course, but still allowing you a view of the walled gardens – it was difficult to gauge the passage of time, since the path of the sun and moon didn’t seem to be that consistent in the demon world. You couldn’t help but wonder: did your family miss you, or did they think you dead? If Chuuya had truly bought you from them – and despite your adamant refusals to his face, you had to admit your family would have easily sold you off – then what tale had he spun to them? What exactly had they thought of Chuuya himself?
The thought of your ‘husband’ still sent shivers down your spine. It was difficult to wrap your head around the idea of being the wife of Shuten Doji, a demon so terrifying that people had trembled at the very sound of his name. Even though Chuuya wasn’t that Shuten Doji, he was still insanely powerful: on the rare occasion that Chuuya had taken you out in public, arm wrapped firmly around your waist, you’d been awed by the sight of great and dreadful demons sinking to their knees before him, not even daring to look upon his face. You’d seen him fight, tearing apart beasts and monsters twice his size with his bare hands, a maniacal grin on his face, red marks dancing upon his skin, reminders of his power. It had been incredible to witness and terrifying to comprehend.
The sound of the door opening jolted you from your thoughts. You tensed as a pair of muscular arms wrapped around you, Chuuya’s now-familiar from pressing against your back.
“Hey, [Y/N],” he murmured in your ear. “I’m back. Did you miss me?”
“Good evening, Chuuya.” You reached up to caress his cheek. “Yes, I missed you very much.”
“Good. I missed you too.” He pressed kisses upon the side of your neck. “So, what were you doing all day? You haven’t finished that watercolor you were working on. I thought you liked that stuff.”
“I… was thinking of you.” You closed your eyes as his hands began to wander. “I guess I lost track of time.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.” Chuuya molded himself to you even tighter. “I know the feeling. I can’t get you out of my head either, you know that? I love you so much, miss you so much, it’s almost annoying sometimes. Sometimes I wish I could carry you around with me, you know? Put you in my pocket so that I can look at you wherever I go. Wouldn’t you like that, [Y/N]?”
“It would be nice.” You shifted slightly, trying to put some distance between the two of you as surreptitiously as you could. He was just so close: his hands were splayed upon your belly, chest flush against your back, chin resting in the crook of your neck. Chuuya responded with a small growl, nipping at your ear.
“Stop it,” he murmured. “I haven’t seen you since this morning. You want to be with me, don’t you?”
“Of course,” you said quickly. “But, I just, um—” Your eye fell upon the gourd of sake sitting in the corner— “I just thought you might like a drink.”
“Hm? Why not?” To your relief, Chuuya loosened his grip on you, leaning back to recline lazily on the bed. His eyes, however, followed your every movement, his gaze hungry.
“Come here,” he said as you proffered the sake to him. “You know I don’t like drinkin’ alone.”
You pursed your lips. You didn’t like the demon lord’s wine; while Chuuya claimed it wasn’t made from human blood, he also wouldn’t tell you exactly where it came from. Nevertheless, you settled into his embrace once again, allowing him to wrap an arm around you. Chuuya began playing with the sash of your kimono.
“You seem distracted tonight, [Y/N],” he said, playing with the sash of your kimono. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re usually way more sarcastic than you’re being right now. Did anything happen? Are you unhappy? Do you want something?”
“No.” You bit your lip as the silken fabric gave way all too easily under his sharp nails, allowing his hands to brush against your breast. “I’m happy to be with you. I don’t want anything right now.”
“Then drink.” He held the sake to your lips invitingly. It was rich and dark and far too potent for your liking, making your head spin with a single sip. You grabbed his wrist to stop him, making him laugh.
“Still so weak,” he said. “But you should drink more. It’ll make you feel better.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s what you always say. I’m starting to feel like that’s code for something.”
He set aside the gourd, lowering his head to your breasts. Slowly, with agonizing tenderness, he began suckling on the pebbled flesh, drawing a keening moan from your lips.
“C-Chuuya,” you said. “Please.”
“Please what? You want me to stop?”
“No, but—” Your breath hitched as Chuuya returned to his ministrations, fist tightening in his hair. He was good, so good, that it was almost frightening. His hands wandered your body, sending sparks dancing in their wake. You arced your back, forgetting your hesitations as your mind sank deeper into a pleasurable haze. As you let out another moan, Chuuya hummed in approval.
“I want you, [Y/N],” he mumbled against your skin. “I want you so much it hurts sometimes. You’re so beautiful, so kind, so perfect in every way. I’ve seen my fair share of princesses and noble women, but none of ‘em hold a candle to you, you know that?”
“T—Thank you.” You looked away, embarrassed by his praise. Even after the level of intimacy between the two of you, it was still difficult to talk to him. There was a wide gulf between the two of you, a gulf you didn’t think you could ever cross.
Chuuya raised himself on his forearms to look at you. Your eyes flitted to his bare chest and his well-sculpted body, a being that once had been only a dream. Heat flooded your face, pleasure and panic tangling in your chest, and his smile widened.
“You like me too, don’t you?” he purred. “Course you do. I still remember the first time I brought you here. You were so scared then, such a shy little mouse. Now you’re not so scared, are you? Now you love me.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I love you.”
He chuckled delightedly, swooping to press his forehead against yours. “I love you too,” he whispered against your lips. “I’ll give you anything and everything you want. A slip of moonlight? A bed of gold? The heads of every man in the world laid out at your feet? All you have to do is ask.”
You gazed upon him, into his guileless, grey-blue eyes. “I want to go home,” you whispered.
Chuuya paused, sitting up. Your heart sank, and you braced yourself for the incoming onslaught of begging and accusations.
“Home,” he said flatly. “You want to go… to your human home.”
“Not because I don’t love you,” you said quickly. “But – I am a human, Chuuya. I’m not a demon like you. I can’t live locked up forever like this.”
“Neither can demons.” He reached out to trace patterns along your shoulders, his tone oddly flat. “A demon’s world is far bigger than that of any human. I could show you things, places, people you couldn’t even imagine. You know the only reason I keep you locked up is because you continue to resist me.”
“I don’t resist you,” you pointed out hopelessly. “I live with you; I sleep with you. I call myself your wife! What more do you want?”
“There is more.” Chuuya leaned in closer, a strange light in his eyes.” There is a ritual – a proper ritual to join the two of us for all of eternity. If you’d only agree to that, then we’d be mates for the rest of our lives.”
“A ritual?” You stared at him. “You mean you want to turn me into a demon?”
“Its not as bad as the humans believe.”
“I believe that too!” You pulled away, filled with a sickening dread. Some part of you had realized this, but it was horrifying to hear it from his lips nevertheless. “I’m not going to turn into a demon, Chuuya! You can’t do that to me.”
“Why not?” He laughed bitterly. “You think you’re still purely a human?”
“I’m not… changed.” Your eyes filled with tears as you met his gaze. “I may have been with you, but I’m still me.”
“And you think that’s all you’ve done?” He loomed over you suddenly, the room seeming to fill with shadows. Flickers of red ran up his face and down his chest and arms, reflecting the red in his eyes. “You’ve eaten demon food, taken a demon’s seed inside you.” He raised his arm, showing you a thin scar that ran along its length. “You’ve drank my blood.”
Your blood ran cold at the sight. “No,” you said hoarsely. “Even then, I—I’m not a demon.”
Chuuya’s mouth tightened. You shrank back, terrified, only for him to pull away abruptly. “Fine,” he said, getting off the bed. “If you want to go home so bad, then let’s go home.”
“Wait, I’m sorry!” You sat up, alarmed. “Wait, please, I–I—"
“What?” He turned to you. “I thought you wanted to see your family.”
“I do, but…”
“I’m not going to hurt them, [Y/N].” He smiled, a rictus snarl. “I promise. Now come here.”
Something in his words made your hair stand on end “Yes, m—my lord,” you said, hurrying towards him.
“I’ve told you, [Y/N].” He wrapped his arms around you, pressing a hand over your eyes. “Call me Chuuya.”
The air changed. It grew cold. The wind rustled your hair, making you blink. As Chuuya pulled his hand away, you looked around, eyes smarting from the chill in the air.
You were standing on a hill overlooking a glittering city.
“Where are we?” you asked, voice trembling.
“Don’t you recognize it?” Chuuya waved a hand at the town laid out below. “Your village.”
“But—” You took a step forward, peering down at the twinkling network of lights. “No, it’s not. My village was pretty small. That is some great city.”
“That is a small place compared to the cities of today. But maybe you need more convincing.” He grasped your hand again, and in the blink of an eye you were standing in front of a shrine. Your village’s shrine.
But it was changed. Lichen covered the gates, moss creeping through the cracks in the ground. But more than that was the tall light that stood just outside the gate, a little flat plate just beneath it.
“It – those lights,” you said. “Those are the lights from your palace.”
“They’re called electric lights, and they’re not exclusive to my palace.” Chuuya crossed his arms. “The world has moved on, [Y/N]. It’s been a couple of hundred years since I took you, give or take a decade.”
“No!” You turned to him, aghast. “No, it – you’re lying!”
“Well, you’re welcome to go down into town and ask people, if you don’t believe me. Or read that plaque over there. Or even wander the world if that’s what you want. But you’ll find that I’m tellin’ the truth. You’ve been my wife for over two hundred years now.”
“No!” You turned a full circle, scanning the scene for someone, something, to prove him wrong. Your eyes met Chuuya’s, and the pain and resignation in them made you pause. “You’re… not lying,” you said blankly.
“No.” He shook his head with a small smile. “I wouldn’t lie to you, [Y/N], it’s not my style. I’d have told you outright if your family was around – I’m not afraid of any of them, no one will ever keep you from me. But they’re not there anymore.”
“But – why?” You sank to the leaf-strewn ground, shaking, your vision blurry with tears. “Why would you do to me?”
“Because you are not listening to me.” Chuuya sank to his knees beside you, embracing you. “You’re mine. You belong to me. You were always meant to be with me. You just needed to lose everything to understand that.”
#yandere chuuya#yandere bsd#yandere bungou stray dogs#bsd imagines#yandere nakahara chuuya#bsd x reader#nakahara chuuya
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Lord Zhou and the Ghost Valley Master
Cross-posting because i'm just that wild, hah! /jk
More about the art below! --and a little talk about WenZhou and their relationship to power (+ some meta).
So hum, it is no secret that I enjoy a bit of "spice" in WenZhou's dynamic and at times am very prolific on my nsfw twitter account.
Collars and leash stuff have been on and off, and I was recently enabled for more of that by friends going wild about ZZS on a leash, etc, etc. LBR: I don't think you need any reason to go feral about that kind of stuff--but seeing how I myself seemed to regress to the state of a wild horny beast while making this painting, I felt like I may need to adress it a little.
Here are some of my thoughts about WenZhou & power:
WKX and ZZS are both men who are/were in a position of extreme power. Both rose to that position of extreme power, but from very different starting points and motivations.
ZZS was, from what we know from how he describes himself in TYK and from how he behaves in QY, a very smart, cocky, ambitious kid, who probably deliberately sold his services to HLY to keep rising. There were probably ideals mixed in that, but point is, ZZS desired that power, that influence, and was encouraged to reach it. Becoming a sect leader so young was probably a shock, but nothing indicates that this position wasn't wanted. ZZS also mentioned not having a physique as advantageous as ZCL's when he was a child; so he probably had to work hard to reach his goals. Point is: the power was desired and strived for.
WKX has, without a doubt, needed the power, without ever really showing any pleasure nor satisfaction in having it. Surviving in the GV =/= reaching the top; if anything, becoming the GVM put the largest target on his head--but it is likely that reaching the position of GVM was necessary for him to execute his plan (find the key, pull the right strings, obtain his revenge). WKX was a little genius who didn't want to study, and probably wasn't dreaming/aiming for power. Conclusion: the power was a necessity and a tool.
Many various characterisation points/analysis/dynamics can be pulled from this, and it is quite interesting to explore how, later, their relationship to power can evolve, both re:the rest of the world and each other. For the following personal analysis, I also worked with the following points from the book:
ZZS admires WKX's strength and power
WKX seems to have multiple fantasies of control and domination
ZZS seems receptive to many of them (including the biting, the somno stuff, and the cnc suggestions)
WKX admires/envies/resents ZZS' freedom
ZZS has fun becoming a subversion of his past self (swearing, being gross, being ridiculous, being openly cocky)
WKX is a control-freak and is very patient
ZZS is a bit conservative
WKX quite the opposite
Now how does that bring me to ZZS on a leash for the GVM?
(note that this is my current conclusion, not the conclusion)
I like to think that on the one hand, ZZS is that man who sees himself as a man and enjoys a lot of things about masculinity. The power that he likes for himself, he also enjoys seeing it in someone else's hands--he likes fighting for it, but (and this is a very personal interpretation) I like to believe he gets the most thrills from being overpowered; because it shows how strong the other is, bc it subverts whom he is himself. The power he's fought to get, has had all his life, but ended up leaving him alone at the top, feels good when taken from him--or when there's someone strong enough that he isn't alone up there anymore.
On the other hand, I feel like although WKX would benefit from relinquishing some control and power, he does enjoy using it in a personal, pleasurable way, rather than by necessity. While he probably likes toying with presentations, with appearances, and doesn't mind being perceived as the wife, as the more submissive one in their fake-traditional relationship play of husband and wife, having the power, holding the leash---simply out of pleasure and mutual satisfaction is, I think very cathartic and arousing for him.
But then, why precanon?
For the aesthetic bc I'm a simp for TC!era ZZS. And because showing him so strong, so powerful, yet leashed, is kind of a reminder that... It's not about real power. It's not about who, between them, is the strongest, the most powerful, the winner or whatever. It adds that thrill, the aknowledgement that this is out of freewill and choice and pleasure, I guess.
On top of that, man, I'm sorry, but peak TC!ZZS right post-QY canon after he's become the most powerful man in the country but is completely jaded by what happened in the end? On a leash? For a man he respects?? ugh
Anyway TLDR; I think it's hot and all of that gibberish barely has anything to do with my actual motivations to draw this.
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When Hob said "I think I have been stood up", I full on expected the barkeeper to react to that as if Hob's date hasn't showed and telling him not to be worried because he has seen many couples fight and make up afterwards and is sure Hob's relationship will survive it. Like, I was genuinely so surprised when the barkeeper talked about "friends" haha
Okay okay okay okay but. I gotta say something SO IMPORTANT about this from my position as Tumblr Old and Local Queer Historian, because.... yes. And that is:
That scene takes place in 1989.
Why is that important, you say? Well, because this is the end of an entire decade of the AIDS crisis. There has been endless fearmongering and conservative attempts to paint gay men explicitly as disease-ridden degenerate pedo Threats to Your Community who might infect your children with AIDS and make them dirty homos by so much as LOOKING at them, pretty much. They are literally toxic people, they are generally shunned, nobody knows what to do and is terrified of the fact of how quickly AIDS patients usually die with no effective treatment. And oof it makes me feel Some Kinda Way for Hob, born in the middle of the Black Death and who was haunted by that shadow all his life, experiencing this as a queer man in the 1980s. Like, he almost certainly lost several friends to it at least, watched them die, probably went in there to the wards when few other people would, both because he's immortal anyway and he doesn't think it's right to leave them alone.
Anyway, in the UK, it was literally only 2 years before, in 1987, when Princess Diana opened the first dedicated AIDS unit at London Middlesex Hospital, and publicly shook hands with a man who had HIV -- which was shocking because many people still thought you could get it through casual physical contact. So while on the surface, Hob looks like your average 1980s douchebro -- he's got the brand new Porsche, the slicked back hair, the giant brick cellphone, the works -- he is still going into public to have a date with a man he is in love with, regardless of whether either of them will ever admit that or act on it. (And given how 1889 ended, if Morpheus does show up, they ARE kinda gonna have to talk about it in some way.) Hob is, in this moment, incredibly vulnerable. Emotionally and socially for sure, and if the local macho assholes clock him as a Fag, probably physically too.
So that conversation when Hob says he's been stood up is absolutely LOADED with subtext, things he isn't saying, and things the bartender understands about him and tries to support. They're British, so by nature they're not huge on talking about their feelings, but Hob says he's been stood up. He doesn't use pronouns, he doesn't say it was by a girl, and if the bartender used the word "couple," it would generally presume that he too thought Hob’s date was a girl. So he goes for the most careful, also-has-a-long-queer-history use of "friends." He implies it's more than that, but he doesn't say so or put Hob on the spot for probably dating a man, because again, it's not safe.
After that is when Hob orders a drink, and the bartender tells him that people in this country can do anything if they have money. He's trying to subtly communicate that this is a safe place and he won't judge, and Hob picks that up immediately, which is why he is so shocked to hear that the White Horse has been sold and is going to be torn down for condos. Hob is losing not just the one place he can be assured (well, until now) of meeting his Stranger, but a place that has been subtly communicated to be safe for him personally, as a queer man in 1989. That is undoubtedly part of why he immediately refuses to countenance the idea of this actually happening, buys the pub, makes giant signs, hangs out in the New Inn until Dream actually does come back, etc. So like... there is so much going on in that scene, and maybe only 25% of it can be said aloud. Which I think is absolutely critical for you younguns to understand, so. Yeah.
#sparklingrainbowdragon#ask#hob gadling#dreamling#listen my feelings about 1989 are Many#for Many reasons#but absolutely this
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part four of Hob running into Dream between their centennial meetings [final chapter] [& explicit chapter]
--
Hob spends several weeks afterwards fretting.
True to Dream’s word, no one had tried to stop him leaving Fawney Rig. They must have been sleeping, or perhaps just dead. Hob didn’t much care. Dream had gotten out of there. That was what was important.
It’s the afterward that Hob’s uncertain about.
For all his attempts at displaying his normal pride, and strength, power, Dream had seemed worn, tired, after escaping from his cage. As well he should. But he hadn’t stopped even a moment to rest. What if he gets himself hurt chasing after his tools? What if he gets captured again?
Hob does some digging to see if he can find Dream’s tools himself, but to no avail. It doesn’t help that he’s not certain what the tools are. That ruby, maybe. Dream always had it on him during their meetings. But if it was sold or passed around, it wouldn’t have been under the provenance of Dream’s name, which was too obscure, and simply searching for mystical gemstones on the market is too broad a net.
He’s still poking around at it when, several weeks later, Dream swirls unexpectedly into his flat.
Hob jumps, nearly flinging the antiquities sales ledger he’s reading at Dream’s head in instinctive defense.
“Apologies,” Dream says, standing very still in the center of the living room. “I did not intend to startle you.”
“Dream!” Hob lurches to his feet. “Christ. Thank God you’re okay. I’ve been worried.”
“You worried for me?” He sounds ever so slightly touched. And he’s— he’s wearing Hob’s coat. The sight of it startles Hob so much it takes him a second to appreciate the rest of Dream’s outfit, which—
—he’s really taken the new year in stride, hasn’t he, Christ. Dream has always dressed to the times at their meetings, always the peak of elegance and grace, and now is no different.
But now it’s a panther’s grace, not a king’s. His jeans are skintight, and Hob swallows hard at the thought of the lithe muscle of him that he’d seen but barely taken in during the rush of the rescue. His black t-shirt is simple but so much less than Hob’s used to seeing on him, his fingernails are painted black and shiny like claws, and he’s got studs running up his ears, heavy dark makeup hooding his eyes, hair as much of an electric shock as when he’d stepped from his prison, vibrating at the pitch of glass shattering.
He looks dangerous. He always looks dangerous, but now he’s dangerous in the way that would have knocked Hob into a wall if he’d met him in a nightclub. Kneecapped him more effectively than any weapon.
Hob would want to look dangerous too, if he was escaping from such a prison.
His brown overcoat is fair ruining the look Dream’s sporting, but still he wouldn’t have it any other way. He swallows, throat clicking dryly, and all he can manage to say, gesturing at the coat, is, “You still have that.”
Dream takes it off, holds it out to him. This reveals his bare, wiry arms under his t-shirt.
Hob shakes his head, still strangled. “Keep it.”
So Dream drapes the coat over his arm.
“As promised, I have returned to assure you of my wellbeing,” Dream says. “Unnecessary though it is.”
“It’s not unnecessary.” Hob finally manages to get his legs to work and moves closer. Dream does look better. He’s less gaunt, still pale but no longer with quite the pallor of a corpse. His ruby is once again hanging around his neck. “I’m glad to see you.”
Dream inclines his head. “I promised you a boon in return for your help,” he says, and he looks slightly wary now. Does he really think Hob would try to take advantage of him? His oldest—at least in his own mind—friend?
“You coming back is more than enough,” Hob says. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Dream seems, if anything, more disconcerted. “I would not leave a debt between us unpaid.”
There’s no debt, Hob thinks, but arguing this point is probably not going to get him anywhere. “Stay for tea, then, and consider it paid.”
“That is what you would wish?” says Dream, brow furrowed.
Hob sighs. “My friend, you don’t have to pay me to help you. But if you insist on it, then all I want is the pleasure of your company.”
Dream frowns, but sits at the table. “Very well.”
Hob busies himself making tea, and when he returns from the kitchen Dream is still sitting where he left him, hands steepled on the table, Hob’s coat draped over the back of the chair. He looks distant, lost in thought.
“Something on your mind?” Hob asks, setting a mug before him.
“Chance,” says Dream, taking it, lifting the cup delicately and sipping slowly. “And coincidence. It was chance that allowed me to step into a sleeping guard’s dream—a mere lapse in concentration. Chance that we met outside the hospital, so that later I may think to call upon you and believe it possible you would answer. Chance that one man—” his gaze flicks to Hob— “would be thinking of me with enough fixation that the weakest form of my power could still connect.”
“Of course I would answer,” Hob says. It’s Dream. His eternal stranger. That Hob wouldn’t drop all to help him—unthinkable.
“It was not a requirement of our arrangement.”
“You didn’t have to help with those—what were they? vampire hunters?—that time either. Still never told me how you knew about that, by the way—” Dream’s lips quirk up, but he doesn’t explain—“but you did. How long would you have been stuck there, if I didn’t intervene?”
“A very long time, I expect,” says Dream, lips thinning to a line. He says it with apparent equanimity, but under the stoicism is a flash of hurt. A raw wound, that cage, still. Which isn’t surprising, and neither is that Dream would do what he could to avoid it being seen.
“So tell me, if I were in that cage, would you have left me there?” Hob says. “After all, you owe nothing to me.”
He half expects Dream to say yes, to be honest. It’s possible Hob will regret opening this line of questioning.
Dream’s countenance darkens, and for a moment Hob swears the actual room darkens too. Something flashes in Dream’s eyes, and he looks very inhuman, for that fleeting second. “That would be gravely offensive to me. To attack one who bears my mark is tantamount to attacking me.”
That’s... not the reason Hob would have gone for. But boy is it something.
“Um,” says Hob, grip tightening on his untouched tea. “Your mark?”
Dream’s gaze turns to him. “I would not tolerate abuse to one who is under my protection.”
“Oh,” says Hob, choked. He really doesn’t know what else to say.
Dream sips his tea, and is silent. The thrumming energy that Hob hadn’t realized had been buzzing in the air around them finally fades.
He must know by now that the feeling is mutual, even if Hob has little protection to offer, even if Dream is the only one he would care to offer it to if he did. The only being on this earth he would wade through Hell’s high waters to help.
“What did you do to them?” he asks. “At the manor.”
He still doesn’t really know what Dream is, what his powers do.
“Made them sleep, and dream,” says Dream. Dark satisfaction curls on his lips. “They won’t wake.”
Dream, Hob thinks. Literal, then. A shiver runs up the back of his neck.
“Does that frighten you?” Dream asks. He seems darkly enamored with the prospect.
“Little bit,” Hob admits. Something about Dream whispers of nighttime dangers, especially when darkness swirls around him like that. “Still sitting here, though, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Dream muses. “You are.”
The fact Hob’s had to accept about himself is that no matter how primordially frightening Dream flexing his powers is—and it is—it’s also alluring. It’s more alluring than frightening. It’s magical in the way the night sky is a brilliant and consuming abyss.
He downs half of his tea as if it were something stronger, then, pushing his luck, says, “I think you should stay awhile. If, of course, you have no more critical tasks to occupy yourself.”
“I don’t,” says Dream. His gaze touches on Hob’s hands, chest, jaw. Interested. Proprietary. He really would have come for me if our positions were reversed, Hob thinks incredulously. At least after we met in 1915. He doesn’t know if it would have been out of friendship, or just possession, annoyance and offense that something he’d come to consider his had been taken from him. Maybe it doesn’t much matter.
Hob stands up, and Dream’s eyes follow him. Hob circles his chair to the kitchen, possibly a bit closer to Dream’s back than he really needs to be. He feels like nothing so much as a lure, like he’s taunting some dangerous thing into playing with him. Dream’s attention prickles on the back of his neck. “Wine?”
Dream inclines his head.
Hob fetches two glasses and a dust-covered bottle from the wine rack under the cabinets. A good vintage, this one. Only the best for his stranger. Especially if he’s willing to let Hob draw him in to something deeper.
Heart pounding in his chest, Hob walks to the living room, gesturing with the wine bottle for Dream to follow. Which he does, like a shadow peeling up from the table to slip across the floor.
Hob uncorks the bottle and sets it on the coffee table to breathe, then sits on the couch. He expects Dream to take one of the armchairs, but instead Dream sits beside him, though with a small distance between them. Hob’s body thrums with his proximity. He remembers the moment they’d touched, when he’d helped Dream out of the shattered remnants of his cage. Just a brief moment of support, but truthfully, Hob had longed to hug him. He’d like to think it was an impulse to comfort Dream, but it may have been more selfish. An assurance, for himself, that Dream was okay. Enjoyment in the pleasure of his touch.
When he judges the wine’s breathed enough—or really, when the tension of just sitting next to Dream gets the better of him—Hob pours two glasses. Holds one out to him. “1875 vintage. Hard to believe that’s considered old.”
Dream takes it in delicate fingers, raises the glass to his nose and inhales the scent with a hum of pleasure. The sound runs right down Hob’s spine.
“The youngest thing in the room,” Dream agrees, and Hob chuckles. Dream takes a sip of the wine, and his pleasure deepens. “It is very good.”
“I’m glad.” Hob takes a sip of his own. It is good. Nice trick he’s hung onto it for all these years.
“Does wine actually get you drunk, or are you impervious to it?” he asks.
“It can affect me if I allow it to,” says Dream.
“And are you now?” It feels like pressing on something beyond just curiosity. But he presses.
“Would you want me to?” The energy around Dream hums. Hob feels like he’s being challenged. He’s uncertain which answer to that challenge is what Dream wants.
But he answers. Pulse jumping in his throat like his heart itself has moved up under his jaw, he wraps his fingers over Dream’s hand. His hand is just as bony, skin just as smooth as it looks, and very still. He doesn’t move away.
Hob lifts his hand, kissing the soft skin of Dream’s inner wrist, over the stark tendons. “I think I would,” he says.
The tension buzzing in the air around them snaps.
Dream goes from sitting stoically beside him to being in his lap in half a second, his boots melting away into sand as he goes. Hob catches him by the hips with a barely-restrained yelp, and Dream smiles at it, pleased and predatory. He straddles Hob’s thighs, pushes his shoulders into the back of the couch with wiry strength, the lightness of his eyes—human blue, now, not dark and starry—standing out even more starkly against the dark eye makeup. Christ, but he’s stunning. Hob’s never had him so close, and it takes him a moment to come back to a semblance of sanity.
“Never have I had such a gallant rescuer,” Dream purrs, sliding his hands up and over Hob’s shoulders.
“Oh, enjoyed that, did you?” Hob asks, breathless. “Got a good show?”
“Mmm. I did,” says Dream. And he kisses Hob. Hungrily, devouring his mouth, all the weight in his gaze and his words from earlier set alight.
Hob must be dreaming. Does merely interacting with Dream count as dreaming? Regardless, he’s not about to miss out on the opportunity, even if he is dreaming. He readily opens his mouth for Dream, and Dream sweeps his tongue in, bites at his lip, he is powerful and demanding and all-encompassing and it’s glorious.
Hob slips his hands just under the waistband of Dream’s tight jeans, over his hips, and Dream smiles against his mouth. “You are daring,” he rumbles, and doesn’t seem displeased about it.
“You jumped into my lap,” Hob reminds him, and Dream chuckles lowly.
“You kissed me,” he counters.
“Oh, like this?” Hob takes Dream’s hand again and kisses the inside of his wrist, then nips at the skin. Dream’s eyes darken.
“Supplication,” he observes, the word sweet and satisfied. “Befitting such a fair rescuer.”
“Is that what’s due to your station?” Hob asks, sucking a bruise into his soft skin. “Always knew you were some regal thing. Damn haughty enough for it.”
This could have been offensive, but Dream only smirks. “I am king of my realm,” he says, though doesn’t elaborate on what realm that is, exactly. Something with dreams, presumably. Hob would have to be daft to not have pieced at least that much together.
“My lord of dreams,” he says, and Dream’s eyes flash. Right on, then. “I hope you don’t mind if I take some liberties.”
“If they suit me,” says Dream. Of course.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Hob says. And without dallying any longer, he returns to the tight waistband of Dream’s jeans, undoing the button and zipper and finding the soft skin underneath, his hipbones, the vee of his pelvis, the swell of his arousal in his underwear. He’s reluctant to really undress Dream at this point, unless Dream does it himself, but he pushes down the hem of his underwear to take Dream in hand, strokes him once, loose and revenant. He can’t believe he’s touching his stranger this way.
Dream shivers, sighs, tips his head back. Enjoying his touch. That itself is such a reward; Dream wanted to know what favor he would request? Seeing him like this is its own boon, its own privilege.
Dream grinds into Hob’s hand, fingers wrapped around the back of Hob’s neck, twisted in his hair. Hob pays no mind to his own erection, it’s secondary, he’d rather watch Dream. The way his eyes flutter shut, his mouth lax and open. Hob strokes him with an uneven pace, relishes in Dream grinding against him, writhing in his lap. He slips his free hand down Dream’s back, under his waistband, grabs a handful of his ass and pulls Dream closer. Dream lets out a low moan, grip tightening on the back of Hob’s neck.
“Do you like that, darling?” Hob murmurs, even though it’s fairly clear that he does. “Is that good for you?”
“Acceptable,” says Dream, even as he leans in, touching his lips to Hob’s, breathing against him. Hob chuckles. Dream’s lips are soft against his and it’s intoxicating.
“If we’re only at ‘acceptable’,” he breathes, “you’ll just have to come back to give me a chance to improve.”
Dream’s lips twitch up in a small smile. “Perhaps.”
“Welcome anytime,” Hob says, twisting his hand and rubbing his thumb over his slit, pulling a shiver and a moan from Dream. “I want to figure out what makes you feel good. Wanna get my mouth on you, have for ages.”
“Ages?” says Dream, and now his hand finds Hob’s chest under his shirt. Those slim, cold fingers trail down his skin, leaving a prickling trail behind, and Hob shudders, temporarily losing his pace. Dream smiles with what Hob can only interpret as mischief. He would be murderous in bed. He would be such a brat, Hob just knows it, and what Hob wouldn’t give for the chance to fuck it out of him. Haughty little thing.
Of course, this would probably result in Dream bringing his full power and kingly dominance to bear to make Hob cry, but he’s not exactly opposed to that. It might, in fact, have featured in some prominent fantasies over the years.
“Ages,” Hob confirms. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Flattery,” drawls Dream, seeming quite pleased about it. He tips his head back as Hob keeps stroking him, and Hob kisses his throat, biting a mark into the skin, which feels very daring indeed. Dream just tips his head to the side, letting him. It’s heady, the allowance, the sense that Dream is luxuriating in his touch, the fluid lines of his body grinding in Hob’s lap. Pre-come beads at the tip of his cock, he must be close. It’s strange, the normalcy of his body in this moment.
Though Hob wonders if he can actually control his body, if he can prevent himself from coming so he can luxuriate in something that he likes for longer. The thought only makes him harder, and he presses Dream to him by the small of his back, finally giving in to temptation and grinding against him. Dream makes a satisfied humming sound, almost a purr.
“Will you come for me, darling?” Hob murmurs against his throat. “Wanna see you. Gorgeous thing.”
Instead of answering, Dream plucks open the button on Hob’s trousers, slipping his hand inside to take Hob in hand. Hob startles—fuck his fingers are cold—but then mentally stutters at the feeling of his stranger, Dream, touching him, pleasuring him. How long has he held improbable dreams of that?
He loses himself to it for a while, their hands on each other, the way they move together. Dream’s touch is unpredictable, giving and taking, and it has Hob on a wire, drawn after him. Always drawn after him. Dream, meanwhile, is a vision of hooded eyes and dark makeup, superiority on his face again as he watches Hob fall apart at his touch, but Hob sees the shivers of want that go through him, that send ripples through that superior look. He slows his pace, dragging his touch with agonizing patience up and down Dream’s cock. Watches the shudder run through him. And then Dream comes with a gasp, as if surprised by it. He tips his back, eyes closed, mouth open and long throat bared. He’s radiant and loose in that moment in a way Hob hadn’t thought was possible—and the sight of Dream’s pleasure is enough to send Hob over the edge, too, spilling over both of their hands.
For a moment they just breathe—or, Hob breathes, Dream seems to settle his existence back in order in a more metaphysical way—and Hob brings a dab of Dream’s spend to his lips, tastes it, more out of curiosity than anything. He doesn’t taste like much at all, it turns out. Sort of like the way a sex dream might be incredibly vivid but have no real smell or taste to it—ha.
When he looks back up, Dream is watching him. Gaze still heavy, though sated, for now. He’s just as stunning when Hob’s gaze is clear. What Hob wouldn’t give to get him in an actual bed, to really dishevel him. Smear that makeup. Mess up that outrageous hair.
But he wonders if Dream will simply leave again, instead. He’s fulfilled whatever obligation he felt in assuring Hob he was still alive, and now he’s taken his pleasure, too. It would be just like Dream to disappear now with only a vague promise of a meeting a century in the future. Before having Dream in his lap, kissing him, touching him, seeing the shudder of climax run through him, Hob might have been able to bear that. But not now.
But Dream doesn’t get up. His hands are braced on Hob’s hips, playing idly with his t-shirt. He seems to be deliberating on something. Deciding whether to go, perhaps.
“Stay a while, if you want,” Hob says, even though it might have been better to remain quiet and let Dream come to him. His nerves always come back around Dream, and when he’s nervous he runs his mouth. “If you need a rest after… well. You must still be tired.”
Dream stiffens. Shit. Goddamnit, Hob.
“You assume me to be infirm?” Dream says, tightly.
“No, I—”
“I assure you, I am more powerful than I have been in eons, and will gladly demonstrate—”
“Dream, no.” Hob strokes his hands up and down his sides, and Dream stills, though he still looks one misstep away from biting. His eyes are guarded now, and that’s not what Hob wanted at all.
“I know you’re powerful,” he says. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that, even with all that power—” he touches Dream’s chest— “I was worried about you. You went through all that and you didn’t even flinch. You said before you would have helped me if I was the one who got stuck in that place, hm? Well, continuing that scenario, would you blame me if I was a bit fucked up afterwards?”
“I don’t suffer human injuries, Hob,” says Dream, stiffly. He doesn’t climb off Hob’s lap, though, and Hob knows he’s right. Even if Dream won’t admit it. “I have taken my vengeance. That is all that is required.”
“Sure,” says Hob, hand still over his heart.
“Your concern is unwarranted,” Dream continues, though Hob hadn’t contradicted him. “I am not hurt.”
So he’s the type that needs someone to push. And also the type that’s run away when Hob pushed in the past. Great. Fortunately, Hob has an eternity to wait if Dream runs again.
He strokes his thumb over Dream’s wet lower lip, over the corner of his mouth to his cheek. “I think you are hurt,” he says quietly.
Dream opens his mouth to speak, but Hob covers his lips again with his fingertip. It’s too bold by half, and he almost expects to get turned into sand, but instead Dream stills.
“And you’re right to be,” Hob continues, just as quiet. “And it wasn’t enough, that vengeance, was it? It’ll never feel like enough. And it burns. And under that—” he presses harder against Dream’s chest, where his other hand still rests— “it hurts. I see it. I get it. And it’s okay.”
Hob’s mother had always wondered aloud where in God’s green kingdom Hob had gotten his foolishness. And where indeed. For Dream really might smite him for that. But Hob doesn’t take it back. Stronger than the fear that Dream might leave is the need to give him the moment of comfort and rest and empathy he so clearly has not allowed himself to have. Hob doesn’t know if he has anyone else in his life to offer such a thing. He hopes so. But even if he does, it’s obvious to Hob in his iron posture, his careful control, that he hasn’t let himself lean on it. The sex felt good, filled some need, but Dream still kept all his stern, haughty power through it. Never quite believed Hob wouldn’t abuse his trust if he let himself fully relax.
Dream’s dark gaze bores into his, burning with the same low fire as the hurt, the anger Hob knows is still deep in his chest. But it’s not anger at Hob, not this time. With everyone in the manor already punished, his anger has no direction. And Hob knows that sometimes with no other target, that type of anger will turn back on oneself. He may still leave. He might run from it.
Instead, Dream leans into his hand, and Hob’s heart trills with surprise, then relief. He takes Dream’s face between both hands, framing those harsh cheekbones with his thumbs. Dream doesn’t say anything in response to Hob’s words, but then Hob’s always been the more verbose between the two of them. Always running his mouth, and sometimes it gets him walked out on, and sometimes it gets him this. Dream leaning into his touch, and closing his eyes, and letting out the most gentle of sighs as Hob strokes his thumbs over his skin. That’s answer enough.
He draws Dream close and kisses him.
It’s different this time. The hunger has shifted. Less urgent, but still chasing a certain need. Hob notices the way Dream slips his hands close, skin-to-skin. Seeks out touch and warmth, rather than pleasure. Apparently he’s decided he will let himself have some degree of it from Hob, and Hob gives it freely, enthusiastically, he would have even if Dream had never been captured, would have fallen into bed with his stranger given the first hint of an opportunity, but it’s different now, when he feels he can offer Dream something he needs. Something he has not had for so long.
He pulls his t-shirt off over his head to give him access to more skin, if that’s what he wants. Dream hums in appreciation, pressing his hands to the warmth of Hob’s body. Rubs his cheek on Hob’s. His skin is utterly smooth against Hob’s stubble. Hob wraps a hand around the back of his head, drags his fingers through his hair. Dream lets out a shivering sigh and shifts closer, pressing their bellies together.
Come closer, Hob thinks, but doesn’t say out loud, not this time. Come closer, it’s alright. It’s alright, darling. Let me give you what you need.
He doesn’t say it, for the last thing he wants is to chase Dream away. He leans back against the couch, curling Dream’s body further into his, arm low around his waist. Dream tucks his face into Hob’s throat. Hob’s breath shakes. Grateful for the trust of this strange, wonderful creature.
“Staying for a while then, love?” he asks, rubbing his hand up and down Dream’s back.
“Mmm,” says Dream. “Perhaps.”
Perhaps might as well be yes, for he doesn’t move, just sinks further into Hob. And for as long as Hob might have dreamt for, wished for the opportunity to have his old stranger in his bed, out of lust when they first met, and care and passion later, this is so much more special. What he’s always truly hoped for, deep down, more illicit and impossible than sex. And for Dream, too, it seems a much greater expression of trust than just sleeping together, as it were. He could perhaps have tempted Dream into bed in a prior era, but he could not have gotten this, not before Dream’s imprisonment.
So of course, he lets Dream stay, relishes in Dream staying, getting what he needs to feel better even if he won’t voice it, never voices it. And when some time has passed, he knows not how much, of Hob stroking his hair and Dream settled against him, and Dream finally sits back up, and Hob knows he’s going to say that he has to return to his duties, he’s stayed too long already— he takes Dream’s dear face between his hands.
“Come back,” he murmurs, “if you want to. You know I’m always here.”
“A man of constancy,” Dream says, with a little smile.
“You said you thought I could change. I hope that’s true. But that’s one thing I wouldn’t. That I’m always here. At least, whenever you come back.”
“And for our chance meetings as well,” says Dream.
“I don’t know if it’s totally chance,” says Hob. “I think I’ve just been waiting for you.”
Dream is Hob’s own source of constancy. A guiding point, ever since they first met. Perhaps it started with the chance meeting of Hob’s loud mouth and Dream’s penchant for challenge, but it doesn’t feel like chance anymore. Chance does not involve so much choice to come back.
With great care, Dream kisses him, a light press of lips that Hob holds dearer than anything, and then sits back again.
“Very well,” he says, and at last slips off of Hob’s lap, all his clothes miraculously perfect again as he stands, though his hair carries the lingering traces of Hob’s fingers still. “I shall return. If you are waiting.”
“Always,” Hob vows, and watches with awe and reverence as Dream lifts Hob’s hand to his lips and kisses his palm, watching him with his dark gaze all the while. Then he turns away, already swirling into a cloud of sand, and Hob’s heart aches with a mixture of sadness and hope, the feeling of endings that also herald new beginnings. And Dream swipes up Hob’s coat from the back of the chair where he’d left it, and then he’s gone.
Hob presses his palm to his lips, touching where Dream just touched, feeling nothing so much like he’s been engaged in a long, careful courtship and his suit was finally accepted. They don’t really do courtships of that kind in this decade. But his Dream is not a creature of this or any decade, and Hob’s always had a lingering fondness for the ‘old ways’ in that regard. The ways of romance they’ve preserved only in novels, nowadays.
He looks at the scattering of sand on his floor, and the empty back of the chair where his coat had been, the places Dream’s already claimed in his life. And just smiles.
#tell me why this was supposed to be the end and now i want to write an epilogue#anyway. first nano fic done. though this was very very close to being done beforehand anyway#my writing#dreamling#dream of the endless#hob gadling#nsft
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Bejeweled
Aegon Targaryen II x f! reader
Summary: You hadn't married Aegon for love but you had thought time would at least endear you to each other. When years pass and he remains stuck in his drinking, whoring ways you decide to make him pay the best way you know how.
Word count: 2.6K
A/N: didn't know where i was going with this and ended up writing whiny sub Aegon: 18+ only, minors scram. never written smut before so if its cringe sorry. Spell check stopped working halfway through so probable errors.
Baby love, I think I've been a little too kind. Didn't notice you walking all over my peace of mind
As a highborn daughter of a lord you'd always known it was your destiny to marry well. To be sold like cattle to the highest bidder, you had long since accepted your lot in life.
So when you had been wed to the first son of the King you had done so without a hint of protest. Your parents hadn't been a love match but they had grown close enough and were on friendly terms. You had known this going in, just as you had heard the less than savoury rumours that surrounded the prince.
You had let it slide when he'd gotten outrageously drunk on your wedding night and the months after when he'd continued to drown in his cups and whores.
All the while you'd continued to play the role of the loyal, loving wife. Pulling his hair from his face, tucking him in when he'd passed out drunk, bending to his every whim in the hopes that maybe he’d finally see you.
It takes two years for you to completely give up, two years two long because after all Puttin' someone first only works when you're in their top five.
Aegon’s 20th name day was a resplendent affair. The Queen had taken it upon herself to ensure her eldest son and heir received the finest of days, even if he didn't deserve it. Deserved or not the festivities had given you the perfect opportunity for subtle retribution.
You had taken it upon yourself to be fashionably late to the banquet, mirroring his own lady mother's entrance to princess Rhaenyra's wedding. The magnificent gown that complimented every inch of your figure a stunning example of your house colours. Not a single inch of Hightower green or Targaryen imagery to be seen.
Hungry eyes of lords and ladies alike followed your figure, drawn to the beauty that had been heavily accentuated by the glittering jewellery that adorned your wrists and neck. Diamonds and pearls that had mostly been gifted to you by your already outrageously drunk husband. The husband that had been too busy eye fucking the poor serving girl to notice your entrance.
It isn't until you take your designated seat beside your husband does Aegon notice your form. Eyes widening comically as you grasp the newly filled cup from his hands and bring it to your own painted red lips.
A wicked sense of satisfaction fills your chest its tendrils curling around your heart as you notice how absolutely entranced the drunkard has become with you. Aegon's lips are parted with desire as his eyes greedily drink in what he believes to be his present. Your raise the glass once more to hide the vindictive smirk that has slithered its way onto your face as you think
Best believe I'm still bejeweled. When I walk in the room. I can still make the whole place shimmer. Aegon had taken so much from you, but your body, your beauty was still yours.
You don't stay seated for long as jaunty music fills the hall in a tune you had always been particularly fond of. Fingers lightly trailing over Aegon's shoulders as you make your way to the dancefloor. Your husband had never been one to entertain your desire to do so, and now you were determined to make him watch as another man placed his hands on what he thought was his.
As you made your way into the dancing crowd your husband was forced to watch as you laughed in delight, spinning between the various lords that had all but tripped over themselves to be by your side.
Aemond had regaled you with tales of what it felt like to ride the legendary Vhagar and whilst you had never experienced the rush of dragon riding yourself you could only assume it felt something akin to your current delight. The burning fire of your blood as you witnessed Aegon's scowl turning into something darker. The power that thrummed through your veins as you forced your husband to watch as his nephews clutched at your waist. Not even his brother had been spared from your devious clutches, half-lidded eye and head following your retreating form as you moved to your next plaything.
Alas, that seemed to be the final straw for Aegon as he swiftly made his way to your side with a jaw clenched so hard you wondered how his teeth didn't crack. The grip with which he grabbed you was bruising though you refused to allow your discomfort to show, chin raised high as you looked into furious violet eyes.
"What, do you think you're doing, wife" he hissed into your ear all vitriol and gnashing teeth. Feigning confusion, you furrow your brows before running a delicate hand over his face.
"Whatever do you mean husband? I simply wished to dance, you've never shown any interest before and I didn't want to bother you and your serving girls." The illusion you had tried to maintain instantly shattered as your own venom leaked through.
It is Aegon's turn to be slightly taken aback then, you'd never so much as hinted your displeasure for his proclivities before. He'd never witnessed anything other than your kind doting and blind eyes to his lecherous ways. The sheer surprise in his countenance has you scoffing and pushing back an ugly bubble of laughter.
"Don't look so surprised husband" you hiss, "familiarity breeds contempt." Your rage fades into something more melancholy as you realise it is indeed the familiarity you had allowed yourself with him that has you so angry.
You had only ever brought up your fury once before in a drunken haze when you had begged him not to put you in the basement when you wanted the penthouse of his heart.
To your eternal luck, the song ended before either of you had the opportunity to speak again and you were pulled away by a brave or suicidal lord for the next.
Forcing back the tears and pushing a smile onto your face you eagerly took the lord's hand. You spent the rest of the night avoiding Aegon's presence, surrounded by lords and ladies more than willing to keep you company.
Diamonds in my eyes
I polish up real, I polish up real nice.
Your sudden desire to entertain anyone other than your husband doesn't end with the celebrations. When Aegon confronts you once more, a week after you stop mothering him you simply say "baby boy, I think I've been too good of a girl." You run a thumb over his lips before turning to make your escape, I think it's time to teach some lessons.
By now the residents of King's Landing court were more than aware of your sudden cold treatment of the prince. None more so than the men and women that had found themselves on the recieving end of your attention. Light touches with your rind adorned hands and whispers into ears with lips lingering a little too closely to be proper. Helaena and Aemond were the most popular recipients of your affection, the starved pair eagerly basking in the glory of your love.
Aegon, who had attempted to appear nonchalant at your sudden interest in the lords and ladies of the courts had eventually become furious.
It came to a head when Aegon had stalked into your room, obviously drunk, to see you curled up in Helaena's lap as she read through the newly update encyclopedia of instects you had gifted her. The following acidic conversation had quickly devolved into a screaming match that had you ushering an overwhelmed Helaena to safety.
Every nasty thought you had been holding in finally erupted once the sweet girl was out of the crossfire and the doors to your chambers slammed shut.
"My brother wasn't enough for you, you're fucking my sister now?" he sneered, wine spilling over his hand and adding to the various stains adorning his once white shirt.
Tears of fury burn the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, to give the bastard in front of you the satisfaction. Scoffing you stalked towards him, remaining out of striking distance but more than ready to rain your own hell down on him.
"What would it matter if I did?" you hissed defiantly, the ugly part of you still determined to make him hurt.
"You're my wife! You belong to me" he shrieked back, and that was your final straw. Feet swiftly closing the small gap between the two of you as your open palm connected with the skin of his cheek. The force left your hand stinging but you couldn't drag your eyes off the reddening skin of his pale skin. Pained shock covered his face as he clutched at the affected area.
"You're my husband, you're supposed to belong to me!" you retaliated trying desperately to ignore the gathering tears in his eyes. "I made you my world! I gave you all my pieces until I didn't even recognise myself anymore!"
The sapphire tears that you had so desperately been trying to keep at bay streaming down your own face. All at once your rage diminished and you were drowning once more in the sadness that had become your whole sky.
Unfortunately, your vitriolic rage was the only thing keeping your shaking body upright and your knees were quick to hit the floor. Deep heaving sobs shook your entire frame as you struggled to regain the breath you were losing.
Vaguely you are aware of Aegon clutching onto your form but you are too exhausted to push him away, desperate for some kind of comfort. His lips leave a burning trail along the skin of your neck and down to your chest. His deft fingers slowly unlace your nightgown whilst yours tangle in his silver hair, tugging at the roots to direct his movements.
Your mind is screaming at you to stop him, to not let him just crawl back to use and discard you once more. Gaining back some clarity you tug harshly at Aegon's hair, forcing his mouth to dislodge itself from your inner thigh. What you hadn't accounted for was the pathetic whine that your action had drawn from his throat.
You watched greedily as your husband's pupils dilated even further, lips pouting as he struggled against your hand to return to his prize. Your grip remained firm however as you sat up, using your free hand and legs to flip the unsuspecting man onto his back, before enclosing your grip around his neck instead. Once more his throat let out a pathetic whine that set your veins alight, fire burning in your chest down to your fingertips as you forced his writhing form to stay still.
Slowly you ground your hips down against his, eyes never leaving his as you lowered your mouth to bite down just over his heart. Your reward was a shaky gasp that sounded delicously close to a sob that had your hips faltering in astonishment.
The desperate upwards bucking of hips below you snaps you back into action. Fingers flexing in a warning around his throat as you lifted yourself onto his lower abdomen in order to stop any movement.
"No." With a single word the tides had changed, the usually prideful man had been reduced to a puddle of shaking, begging tears. Throat dry and nerves alight with ecstasy you slowly rid your bodies of any remaining cloth before sinking back down into his lap. You keep your movements deliberately slow as your rock your hips back and forth, mouth leaving punishing bruises along the milky expanse of his skin.
All the while your eyes never leave his face, scrunched up in pleasure and mouth stringing together the prettiest mix of moans and babbled words.
"please" he whimpers, eyes rolling into the back of his head and almost causing the last thread of your self control to snap from its already frayed state.
"Please what?" you smirked wickedly in response, attempting to maintain the last vestiges of your percieved control. Unintelligible whimpers are your only response and in a vindictive move you stop once more. "Use your words Aegon" you chided, leaning up to nip at the skin just below his ear.
"Please. Please, please fuck me" he shakily babbled out, breathy words finally pushing you over the edge. Your hips snapped into a punishing pace, hand grasping his throat so tightly you knew the skin underneath would soon bllom into a deep purple.
"Is this what you want? The reason you throw yourself so desperately at all those whores? You want someone to treat you like one?" you growl into his ear, your own pants of pleasure ane exhertion mixing with those from the writhing form beneath you.
The gasped moans increasing in pitch and furiously shuddering thighs indicated that in a typically selfish Aegon move, your husband wouldn't last much longer. A wave of annoyance ran through you as a snarl erupted from your throat. Lightening the harsh grip on his throat you offered only a brief reprieve before your fingers snaked their way into silver locks once more. Tugging forcefully you pulled until his chest was flush against yours, sweat mixing together as the two of your fought to pull the other impossibly closer.
"Touch me" you demanded, forcefully pulling his mouth down to bite at your hammering pulse and shoving one of his hands between your legs. Where Aegon ends and you begin is a mystery, the both of you desperately clawing at each other as if trying to pull the other into their very being.
It is with large hands splayed and grasping at your back and whimpered chants of your name just reaching your conscience through the debauched moans and slapping skin that you reach your high. Thighs clamping down against muscled thighs and a final harsh tug of sweat soaked silver locks is all it takes for Aegon to follow.
Your lungs greedily gulp in air tainted by the stench of sex as you force your shaking body to cooperate. Pulling yourself back you allow a brief persual of the masterpiece you had created still splayed bonelessly on your mattress. Burning leg muscles eventually allow you to move, collecting your discarded nightdress as you make yourself as presentable as possible.
"where're you goin?" Aegon slurs from your bed, glazed eyes hazily attempting to take in your movements.
"To bed, and seeing as mine is occupied it appears I'll have to find my rest elsewhere tonight. Good night Aegon." You are too swift for him to protest but as you reach the door you throw one last look at your painting of purples and reds before calling, "clean yourself up, you look like a whore." With those final words you close the door behind you once more, holding your head high as your assigned guards for the night throw uncomfortable glances at your post pleasure form. The sweat adorning your skin glinting slightly in the low lighting the various torches provided.
What's a girl gonna do?
A diamond's gotta shine
Whispers flitted through the cut throat court of King's Landing. Whispers of a bejweled temptress and the pathetic Targaryen that attempted to hang off her arm like a broken bangle. Whispers that turned to scandalised gasps that followed when she walked in the room, a different Targaryen draped proudly across her arm. Long silver hair matching the refinery littering her fingers, wrists and neck as she made the whole place shimmer.
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Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Male-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 5
Chapter 5 - Stories and Dolls
A/N – Okay, so I just quit my job and I’m freefalling right now. Time to channel my anxiety into fanfiction. Also, this chapter is darker so I’m raising the rating to M.
Warnings – MENTIONS OF RAPE, S/A, ABUSE, KIDNAPPING, AND TORTURE.
Rating – M
TAG-LIST: @lxkeee @moonieper @sle3pyh3ad2 @gomib0 @mixplara @ica1
FEMALE VERSION HERE
GN VERSION HERE
Lucifer had to admit, he was getting used to you. He enjoyed making breakfast a show in the morning, entertaining you with his parlour tricks and general showmanship. You were like a child, easily amused by flashing lights or some sleight of hand.
And of a night, he also found your company less than objectionable, whether you were reading a book in the library with Spick and Span curled up at your feet, in front of a roaring fire (you had conjured them medallions with their names on them, so as to tell them apart), or those nights when you came back from visiting the hotel and regaled him with the tales of its inhabitants. Lucifer was starting to like Angel Dust, even if he didn’t believe the porn star actually had a chance at redemption. Nifty also seemed entertaining, Husk could be a source of wisdom and comfort in equal measure, and Alastair… Well, he was there too, taking up too much of your attention.
Yet, despite his newfound almost-friendship with you, he couldn’t help thinking about what you had said on your first night in the manor.
‘You don’t even know why I’m down here, and you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same.’
You were right. He didn’t know why you were there, and that was driving him crazy. He wanted to like you. Truly, he did. But how could he like you when he didn’t know your sin? People got sent to Hell for a reason! They wasted their free will. They sold drugs to kids, murdered people, trafficked victims, tricked and swindled others. For all Lucifer knew, you were there for drowning puppies.
The thought made him deeply uncomfortable.
Okay. He would ask you about it. No big deal. People probably talked about why they went to Hell a lot right? That was a normal conversation for Sinners, probably…
Lucifer wasn’t entirely wrong in thinking that. However, nearly all Sinners lied about what they went to Hell for, making it even more brutal or horrifying to try and earn some extra credit among their fellow Demons. Someone who had killed one person would claim to have been a serial killer. A low-life drug dealer would paint themselves as a mafioso with a drug empire, and arsonists… They didn’t have to lie much, as fires tended to spread quickly and they generally were as psychotic as they claimed to be.
It was all basic self-preservation in Hell. Be the toughest person there, so nobody could find new ways to hurt you. Kill or be killed (figuratively, since Demons couldn’t technically kill other Demons), sink or swim, do unto others before they did unto you.
Right. When Lucifer next saw you, he would ask.
“Hey Lucifer,” You said upon returning to the manor from the Hotel, “You doing okay?”
Lucifer froze. He hadn’t expected to see you so soon. Fuck.
“Hey bitch,” Lucifer greeted, feeling entirely awkward, yet trying to feign confidence.
“Uh… Back at ya,” You reciprocated confusedly.
“Sooooo,” Lucifer started, steepling his fingers together, and holding them to his mouth, his brow knitting together worriedly, “I have a question for you.”
“Oh.” You were surprised by Lucifer’s admission. While the two of you generally made conversation, he didn’t tend to ask too much. Besides, in the preface of announcing his question, it seemed that he was likely to ask you something personal.
You waved your hand casually, indicating that he was free to ask away.
“How- Uh how was everything at the Hotel? Is my little girl doing okay?”
As you smiled and fell into a description of how Charlie was doing and her general excitement about her meeting with Heaven, Lucifer cursed himself. He knew that what he wanted to ask was important, but it was just so personal. Well, at least he was happy to hear about his daughter. There were also some other colourful stories included in your conversation.
Finally, you wrapped up the conversation, effectively ending it when you casually said, “Anyway, I’m going to get ready for bed. I’m real tired, you know?”
Lucifer didn’t say much as you left, he was still pondering whether you might be a puppy killer or relative and accomplice to that Jeffrey Dahmer fellow, or something equally disturbing. If not… Why were you there?
Having gotten ready for bed, you sighed, letting the day’s events wash over you, lifting a weight off your shoulders. You were tired, but the day had been a good productive one. Moreover, it was nice to end the day by standing out on the balcony, overlooking the rest of Hell.
There was a time when you had died, during which you stood atop a building in the main streets watching all the fights, looting, and maiming, and you were horrified. Then, you met Charlie, and she had been so wonderfully pure, good, and non-judgemental that you had to agree with her. Hell could be a home to you, and all the other Sinners who lived there, and Sinners could always change for the better.
While you held onto the balcony railing, leaning over it, and staring at the red horizon, Lucifer approached your open door at the entrance of your room, knocking despite the open invitation to come in.
You turned and smiled at him, your smile putting him at ease.
“Come in,” You offered.
He did so, crossing the large room and taking quick mental notes of the changes you had made. They were minor, but they spoke of your personality. You had lit scented candles, brightening the room – the official scent name was Tapioca Tit-play.
Subconsciously, Lucifer worked his magic to remove the off-smell that he had placed there; it was redundant when your candles covered it, and he didn’t mind your company so much anymore.
He also observed several other items. There was a photograph of everyone at the Hotel, though you had drawn Alastor on the end in crayon since he didn’t love to be captured in photographs (he could bear it unlike being filmed, but he didn’t care much for it.)
Wrapped around your bedposts were nightlights to keep out the dark. On your bed, you had a teddy of one of Sir Pentious’ egg-bois, a gift from him. Husk had gifted you with a bottle of his best Whiskey, though it remained unopened on the nightstand. There was a cockroach/daisy hybrid necklace wrapped around a book. The candles were from Angel Dust. Beneath your pillow was a dagger, gifted by Vaggie, for your protection. Alastor had given you a collection of books from the store in Cannibal Town, including several that were rumoured to have been stolen from Heaven’s library, though nobody was certain where that rumour started or if it was even true, though there were no copies of the books anywhere else in Hell.
Although Lucifer had no way of knowing these items were all presents from your friends at the Hazbin Hotel, he could tell that you cared deeply for the odd assortment by their placement on the two bedside tables; they had been positioned with care, and were well looked after.
Then, his eye caught the rubber duck, slightly hidden behind the picture frame. He remembered making that one. As a hellhound imitation, it was meant to teleport to whoever needed it most inside the Manor, offering protection should they come under attack. Naturally, he and his family didn’t need such protection, but he had been experimenting with what powers he might imbue unto yet another duck.
He decided not to mention it as he joined you on the balcony, looking you over in your pyjamas.
You also spared him a glance, noting that he seemed more relaxed. Although he was still in his usual attire, he had removed his top-hat-crown and his overcoat, revealing the waistcoat and shirt beneath; the sleeves were rolled up, giving him a more casual appearance.
“Hell’s skies are beautiful, aren’t they,” You stated, returning your gaze to the horizon.
Lucifer looked up, but all he saw was Heaven, the home that didn’t want him.
“(Y/N),” He started, forcing himself to look down, so he wouldn’t have to stare at the painfully beautiful golden glow above.
“Hm?”
“How did you end up here?”
Your grip tightened on the railing drawing Lucifer’s gaze to the whites of your knuckles.
Your whole body became tense and you answered with a ragged breath, “I died.”
“Yes but-” Lucifer was about to lead into the question of your sins, but you spoke up again, seemingly misunderstanding the question as you continued, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.
“I was- I was murdered.”
Lucifer could have explained that the cause of your death wasn’t what he had been driving at, but now he was darkly fascinated. If you were the same kind-hearted, warm person in life, why would anyone wish to bring about your death?
He remained silent as you began recounting the manner in which you had been killed.
“I had a friend,” You started slowly, taking steady breaths between each part of the story that followed as if it would make it any easier. “I mean- I- I thought he was my friend. I loved him. He knew that. He counted on it.”
“I thought that he travelled for work. That’s what he told me. It’s why he was always coming and going. But no… He was just looking for more people like me. He found people. Made us fall for him. Then he- he took me out on a date. Blindfolded me. Said it was a surprise. I- I trusted him, but the blindfold just made it easier for him to- He knocked me out.”
You subconsciously touched the back of your head, remembering the blow that had come with no warning.
Lucifer turned to you, one hand holding onto the railing, the other planted firmly at his side.
“Did he-” He started to ask.
You shook your head. “It wasn’t rape. It was worse.”
You shivered, waiting until you were certain you weren’t going to vomit. Then you continued, your skin ashy.
“I woke up in a- It was like a cinderblock cell, but it had been sort of decorated to look like a fancy suite?”
You recalled the room. It was damp, and the floor was cheaply produced concrete, given away by the amount of air bubbles which had never been levelled and now pocked the surface, like a teenager with bad acne. The cinderblock walls were easy to see, though some talented artist had been paid to paint it with the likeness of the Ritz hotel or somewhere equally fancy. While that had made it look better, it was still clearly a cinderblock wall; then again, you can’t polish a turd, but you can roll it in glitter.
You had been handcuffed to a chair in the centre of the room. Your clothes had been taken, and you had been dressed in a skimpy shortened tuxedo, with a fitted vest instead of a jacket. You remembered screaming till your voice was raw. You screamed so much that you ended up spitting flecks of blood, but nobody came to save you.
“I- I was tied up,” You said simply, downplaying the memory to Lucifer, more for your own sake than his, though he could see the pain behind your eyes.
Lucifer didn’t interrupt your story, but his anger was growing. Behind him his tail lashed furiously, his eyes became flaming red, and his fangs became sharper. You hadn’t noticed, you were lost in memory, and you had yet to look his way since beginning your story.
You sighed, thinking of the torture, humiliation, and suffering which followed, all at the hands of one man. It wasn’t your captor. It was who he had sold you to.
“It- I was- They were making snuff films. I don’t know how many people died there before or after me but- I was sold to an American. He- He liked to cut things. It was a while before- I don’t know if I bled out, or if my heart stopped, maybe both?”
For the first time, your skin changed colour, turning from your regular human shade to a pale seaweed-green. Against the colourful backdrop, Lucifer could see your now blinding white glowing scars. Upon your death they remained hidden, completely invisible, but now you were distressed… You seemingly did have something of a Demonic appearance after all.
You were a ragdoll.
There wasn’t a part of your body that hadn’t been cut, or originally sliced off, only to be repaired in death. In all likelihood, your real body was probably burned, buried, or dissolved in acid. In Hell, your scars were the stitches that held your body together. Lucifer now understood your human appearance since like a real ragdoll, you were good at playing dress-up. He bet that if you explored your abilities, you would have been able to look like anyone, a skin-changer, but you had adopted your appearance in life; it was likely an accident caused by the trauma of your memories.
“(Y/N),” Lucifer said through gritted teeth. He wanted to be comforting, but he was already thinking of all the ways he would punish your killer and any accomplice he may have had. There were worse things than Death in hell; he would torture those bastards for eternity, and then when he finally grew bored, he would end them with angelic weaponry, wiping their souls from existence, leaving no trace of such monsters.
You didn’t turn to face your King, who was now in his full Demonic form, his rage at its peak.
“Just go,” You murmured despondently, staring over the balcony, and down to the ground. A long drop and a short stop… It was a shame it wouldn’t kill you; at least the pain would end if you died.
“But-” Lucifer reached you to put a hand on your shoulder, his wings almost curling around you as if to envelop you.
“I- I would like to be alone. Please.”
Lucifer hesitantly withdrew his hand, “I’m sorry.”
That was all he said before walking away, leaving you alone.
You wished that you could have been left to wallow, but your phone soon buzzed and you opted to check it in case it was an emergency.
Retrieving it from the bed, you found a message from Charlie.
“EMERGENCY. ANGEL DUST. RELAPSE. GET OVER HERE. PLEASE!”
Damn it! If Charlie was texting you for this, it meant that Husk was either the cause or he wasn’t around to be the solution. Moreover, while Charlie would want to assist her friend, she was likely the last person Angel Dust wanted to see; sometimes, though she was well-intentioned, she just didn’t understand such issues or she could be a bit much.
Still stuck in your ragdoll body, you ran back to the balcony and vaulted over the edge. It wasn’t a smooth landing, and it hurt a lot. Anyone else would have broken their bones, but when you were like this, there wasn’t anything else that could be broken. Everything had already been torn off you. Ignoring the pain, you ran until you found a taxi. You took it to the Hotel.
#fanfiction#reader#reader insert#fanfic#male reader#lucifer morningstar#lucifer#lucifer x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer hazbin hotel#lucifer hazbin hotel x reader#charlie morningstar#lucifer magne#lucifer magne x reader#hazbin hotel#hellaverse#sinless sinners#chapter 5#part 5#stories and dolls
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Can you do Coffee Shop AU x Accidental kiss
With Y/N And Gerard Way?
Of course!! Sorry it took so long! It's been a hell of a month lol
Kisses and Coffee
Gerard x reader (gender neutral)
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1.4k
Summary: Gerard and Y/N meet in a coffee shop, become friends and more after an accidental kiss
You had been coming to your favourite coffee shop for the last decade, and upon learning that it closed, you were on the hunt for a new one. This devastating news left you wandering around town for a while until you saw a cute little cafe you had never been too before. And there was something about it that just felt right.
You took a small two-person table by the window in the corner of the cafe and looked around. It shop was a light blue-grey with paintings of flowers and posters decorating the walls. The air smelt of coffee, toast and biscuits. There was a hum of noise as the cafe was, while small, pretty full, and it felt like a warm hug.
Once you saw the menu, you were sold. This had to be your new coffee place, I mean, they sold churros!! And ham and cheese croissants! In the same place? Insane in the best way. You ordered a mocha and muffin and were snuggled up with a book while waiting when a hand landed on your shoulder.
“Wow, you're early for a change!” The voice that greeted you was warm, but unfamiliar. You turned around to face the stranger, and the poor man's face dropped.
“I'm so sorry, you are not the person I thought you were,” he said slowly, standing awkwardly and putting his hands in his pockets.
“It's OK, happens all the time,” you lied, giving the man a small smile to put him at ease. He had kind eyes and smile, with an air about him that just made you feel comfort able. There was something about him that soothed you, despite the random introduction.
The man sat down at a table in the opposite corner, and as your food and coffee arrived, he waited for a person that never showed.
You were so engrossed in your book, that when you finished the last few pages, your coffee (what was left of it) was cold, and your muffin barely touched. You put the book down and took a minute to return to reality. You looked up to see the man from earlier checking his watch once again, sighing and looking down at the table. You knew that look well.
You walked over before you could stop yourself.
“Hi,” you started, unsure of yourself. “Mind if I join you?”
“Ah, sure! Doesn't seem like she's coming anyway.” The man replied.
“I thought I recognised that look. I'm sorry,” you said, looking away. “Hey, my name's Y/N.”
“Gerard. Nice to meet you.” Gerard held out a hand, which you took softly. There was a warmth to it that mad you smile.
You sat down, thinking of how to start A Conversation. How do people do that again? Luckily Gerard swooped in to end the awkward silence.
“What book are you reading? You seemed super engrossed in it?”
“Yeah? Sometimes I get carried away when I read, it's like I'm not really on Earth and I'm in the book, watching like a fly on the wall,” you laughed, “Sometimes I get so invested, I make faces and gasp out loud without realising I'm doing it.”
Gerard giggled. “You know you've got a good book on your hands when that happens. So what kind of stories are you into?” He asked, and you launched into a long and comfortable conversation, as though you'd both known each other for centuries.
It had been a few months since you first met, but you and Gerard would meet up every week, having your own miniature book club that eventually turned into exchanging CDs and long heart to hearts til the coffee shops closed and the pubs became quiet.
Over time you struggled to keep your feelings or the man at bay. He was kind and cuddly, but strong and brave, and you just admired him so much. It was hard to stay friends when you watched him talk and focused more on his lips than the words he was speaking.
And though you didn't know it, Gerard got more and more comfortable with you, and found himself falling as well. The small gestures became touches, a soft brush of the hand when passing you something, leaning his head on your shoulder in a booth when you're tired, hugs that last just a moment longer than intended, and the occasional kiss on the cheek when it had been a while. You were scared to think that maybe it was only in your mind that his lips lingered for a breath longer than a friend.
It was a cool night and you and Gerard were meeting up at a pub, as you'd been busy with work all day but you both needed some time away from it all, happily finding refuge in each other.
The pub was a warm and vibrant atmosphere, people laughing, mugs clinking, and staff weaving through the crowd, remarkably spilling nothing. You struggled to find Gerard in the crowd, but suddenly there was a hand on the small of your back. You turned around and the scowl on your face shifted to a smile.
“Gee! How are you!” You cried giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek... or what you intended to be a kiss on the cheek. Gerard had the same idea, and you both went in the same direction. Your lips collided in a short and quick peck that sent electricity through both of you, pulling away with wide eyes.
Gerard laughed. “Well, I'm good now,” he said with a flirting smirk, and you turned your head and blushed.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” you started, flustered.
“No no it's fine, I'm sorry, hey, how about we grab a seat?” Gerard stopped you.
You spent a few hours happily munching on hot chips and a burger, and sipping a cider while you chatted about anything and everything you could possibly think of, Gerard talking your ear off equally. By the time your food was gone and your drinks disappeared, the pub was nearly empty and a comfortable quiet came over you both.
Gerard looked at you.
“You know, you had nothing to apologise for, right?” Gerard asked, out of the blue.
“What do you mean?”
“When we kissed. I know it was an accident and all but you didn't need to apologise. I actually, um, I didn't mind it. I wouldn't mind it again.”
You looked away, cheeks heating up fast. When you didn't answer fast enough, Gerard tried to backtrack.
“'M sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, you know what, just forget I said it, it didn't happen and doesn't really matter anyway, I me-”
“Gee.” Was all you had to say to silence him.
You looked up at him with the Y/E/C eyes that he adored with all his heart. Even if your lips never touched his again, he decided he'd be content to just have your eyes stay on his for a few more moments. But you took him by surprise, putting you hand on his and then kissing his cheek. When you pulled away, you shyly bit your lip.
Gerard leant forward slowly, and kissed the skin where your cheek meets your lips, desperate to prove his point, lost for words, and terrified to scare you off. His lips stayed on your skin for a moment longer and you felt his breath on your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. You pressed your forehead against his, eyes closed, noses rubbing for a moment, before you both leaned in and kissed. It was magic. Not the extreme, passionate, thrilling heat. No. But soft. Calm. Warm. Like the safety coming home from a storm. The contentment of a good book. The joy and comfort of your favourite coffee shop.
The kiss ended and you both barely pulled away, soft smiles on your faces, light in your eyes, and quiet laughter drifting from you.
“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that,” Gerard said, hand still behind your neck.
“You have no idea how much I need you to do it again.”
And with that, your lips met. And would meet, again, again and again.
Taglist:
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@fandomfoodiedancer @smiling-girl @niche-bitch @charlie-rulerofhell
#gerard way#gerard way x reader#gerard x reader#accidental kiss#kisses and coffee#mcr x reader#mcr#gerard way fanfic#mcr fanfic#fluff
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hi! i just saw your analysis of the “treasure of my heart” quote and omg you have a GIFT for analysis! In that post you mentioned the “Rare Spices” billboard Inej talks about in CK; I’d love to hear more of your thoughts on that!
Hi, thank you so much!!! I personally think that the “Rare Spices” advert is one of the most important pieces of information we get to further both worldbuilding and charactisation, so let’s talk about it.
The advert is massive sign painted on the side of a warehouse in Ketterdam, near Sweet Reef, and alongside the words “Rare Spices” it depicts two young Suli women in “scant silks”, mimicking those that Inej was forced to wear at the Menagerie. When she’s first liberated from Tante Heleen, Inej begins to explore Ketterdam and one of the first things she sees beyond the city centre is this advert. It terrifies her. It terrifies her so much that she stands there just staring at it for an unspecified amount of time, before turning and running back to the Slat faster than she has ever run before. In fact, it terrified her so very much that she has a nightmare about the girls on the billboard that night. In Inej’s nightmare the girls come to life but are trapped in the paint, banging on the billboard to get her attention to ask her to free them, whilst she is powerless to help them. Inej at the time comments on the horror of seeing this scene mere miles from where “the rights to her body” were bought and sold and haggled over (I think most of that is quotation but I don’t have my books to hand so I’m not 100% sure), and it tells us so much about how the Suli culture is exploited and fetishised within this community; whether it’s Ketterdam, the rest of Kerch, or the world at large (we could argue this is highly implied through Zoya’s POV, but it’s a whilst since I read KoS and RoW so if anyone wants to weigh in on Zoya in this then please do I’d love to read it 😁).
In my post where I mentioned the Rare Spices poster I was specifically focusing on the way Inej’s culture was sexualised for the purpose of being at the Menagerie, and how we know that other cultures are appropriated and fetishised by the Pleasure Houses as well (the Fjerdan girl at the Menagerie wears the wolf mask, an animal sacred to her people, and Nina wore a fake Kefta that was made in Kerch and is described to be a pale imitation of real Ravkan-made Kefta). But for Inej, up to the point of seeing this sign, that was a small part of the world; the actions of the few, a localised evil that she understood to be the opposite of the rest of the world because she still viewed everything with a childlike innocence. Seeing this sign breaks that façade for her and is arguably the first step towards what she views as the ultimate corruption of her innocence: murder. Because once she knew that the world on mass would see her and her people the way she was forced to present them, to appropriate her own culture, and to be fetishised for her “caramel” skin and “farcical mockery of a Suli caravan” she was forced to admit to herself that there was no way of returning to the person she used to be; not only someone who had been violated, exploited, and abused but also someone who believed that on the whole the world was a good place and that as long as you avoided the small parts of it that were dangerous you’d be okay.
And consider the wording of the sign. “Rare spices” next to two young Suli women wearing “scraps of mint-coloured silk”. There is a long history in our world of sexualising the so-called “exotic”; even the English/British idea, that I assume is what led to this same idea in the USA and much of the English-speaking world, that blonde women are more attractive, often leading them to be over-sexualised, can be drawn back to the Roman Colonisation of England because the vast majority of Romans were brunette or dark-haired and they saw the blonde Anglo-Saxons as “exotic” and attractive. (To be clear, in our own society this long history sexualisation has been mostly aimed towards people of colour and I’m absolutely not ignoring that, I’m just using this example because it’s the furthest back in history that I know of being as the colonisation was around 43 CE). The presentation of not only the spices but these women as “rare” to increase their sex appeal enhances this idea of ‘the exotic’ and by comparing them to the spices it, very similarly to all of the language surrounding Inej at the Menagerie, labels the women as stock, as produce, as something consumable like spices.
But something that I personally find really beautiful that Leigh Bardugo does surrounding this sign as well, is that Inej never condemns the girls on the billboard for the ‘suggestive’ outfits they wear, as long as they are worn by their own choice. She imagines that when she has her ship and begins to hunt slavers that the paint will peel from the sign and that she will have finally succeeded in freeing the girls, that they will “dance for no-one but themselves” and this is so beautiful but also so important as a declaration of female empowerment and autonomy because they have every right to dance and wear whatever they want to, but no-one has the right to force them to do that.
#grishaverse#leigh bardugo#six of crows#crooked kingdom#inej ghafa#kaz brekker#nina zenik#jesper fahey#wylan van eck#i love inej#suli#ravka#zoya nazyalensky#the wraith#amita suman#soc inej#soc meta#soc analyst#book analysis#fantasy books#shadow and bone
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I'm drunk and I have some thoughts on this.
@alteredphoenix I completely agree! The ice core is amazing and I love it for him-
But!
It has never really made sense to me, nothing about Danny screams ice or cold, I get that it's also a major factor in his ghost sense but man they missed hard, his character (to me) shows warmth and energy.
So... looking Into what Ice and cold can represent in media,
This one sort of fits, being a halfa is new territory, for both him and the ghost zone. Him falling into his powers and discovering new things. All uncharted, new.
Rigidity and stillness... Not so much, Dannys life takes off in so many new directions, there isn't a standstill in his life and he definitely isn't devoid of sentiment. If anything he has more, he's using everything he has just to save people, because it's the "right" thing to do. He has so many emotions and thoughts on all this new information he is being exposed to, processing so many new things.
Absent of hate, yeah I see that, true hate? That's something I think takes a lot for Danny to feel, along with wrath.
This one fits extremely well, Danny has to be really mentally unwell after everything he's been through, he's around his parents that are constantly spouting how much they hate his kind and what they want to do to them. Lack of love? I'm sure he's feeling that, ik I would be. But it also doesn't fit because he has the love of most people in his life, his friends and Jazz, even his parents (albeit half the time) I think it's a huge part of the show how much love he is surrounded with, their friendship is a huge part of it. Jazz accepting him and him accepting Dani, there isn't a lack of love.
(I haven't watched the show in a hot minute tho)
Death, absolutely, he's dead. He's surrounded by death and other dead people.
I don't see Dannys character of one of hatred or destruction, Dan. Sure, but we're talking about Danny.
But most of these aren't in the show, they don't dive into it and so it comes off as extremely out of place. It's not like it makes no sense, him having ice powers was never something I thought needed to be changed, I still don't, it does make me think about why he does have an ice core though when electricity was right there.
Now here's my own thoughts on electricity and how that would have worked.
He died surrounded by electricity and ectoplasm, he can use ecto energy so it makes sense that he would also be able to use electricity. Vald isn't shown to use an ice core so it can't be that it because he’s half dead, there isn't a sold reason as to why it can't be electric. (I wish the show went into more details about cores)
Electricity to me shows warmth and power, Danny is shown to be powerful, he is a newly formed ghost and he manages to beat multiple strong ghosts that have been around for way longer than him. I took that as him being extremely powerful, he is also shown to be compassionate and caring. He's a good person with a good heart, being dead and warm doesn't go hand in hand but I don't think that matters all that much.
He's always moving and flowing, both with his movements in fights and his opinions and values. He's a growing teenage boy and is learning new things about himself and the world, ghosts and the zone included, he's growing and lighting a light in the kids of Amity. Sparking change for ghosts and painting them in a new light for humans. He's both a ray of hope for the citizens he's protecting and the ghosts he helping, almost like a new era, like when we discovered electricity and it changed our daily lives.
He's also dangerous, and deadly.
One wrong move and he could end a life, end whole cities (as shown in The Ultimate Enemy) much like one wrong move with electricity and you're left injured or dead.
Overall electricity is good and it helps us everyday but it can also cause serious harm and I think that suits Danny so well, him being afraid of what he can do with his powers after the whole Dan scare, the warmth he brings Amity and the zone, it fits him perfectly imo.
And them there's the angst of having a power that literally killed him, that would be terrifying.
#danny phantom#danny phantom fandom#danny fenton#just some ramblings#im very drunk#this is something I need someone smarter than me to analyze#danny phantom angst#danny phantom au#is this an au?#probably#I just think it would have been so much better than ice#not that ice is bad#I love his ice#he's awesome just the 2way he is#sorry
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