#Anyway fresh art here! Get your fresh art!

[deliciouskeys]

Cozy Corner Domaystic prompts #16: Going through immigration and #24: Identity theft.

Guys. Guys, I’ll be honest. I have no idea what possessed me. I think I found these two prompts as some of the most challenging to imagine as a domestic fic, and… my thinking got a little bit too outside the box.

This fic will have an intended audience of about 1 (me). But I want to give major major props to @olliveolly who introduced me to this game and was the one who came up with this That’s Not My Neighbor / Boys crossover AU (with a couple lovely art pieces on the theme). The “lore” of this horror game is very simple. Tell me you don’t see it:

Butchlander. That’s Not My Neighbor crossover/AU. Rated E (why). 3.3k words (why). 2nd person to allegedly reflect the feeling of first-person gameplay (why). Is this domestic fic? Welllllll. It takes place in an apartment complex so it counts, right? Lax interpretation of ‘going through immigration’ but honestly that’s what this game really reminds me of 😂

Another day, another interminable shift working as the concierge in the dreary lobby of this apartment complex. It was exciting at first, sure, what with getting to play the first and last line of defense against the doppelganger monsters that attempt to sneak in every single day. But you’ve just gotten too good at noticing discrepancies. Nothing gets past you anymore. You know every single feature- hell, every single freckle! -of every single resident in the building. By this point you’ve got all their phone numbers memorized, for no better reason than there is simply too much tedium to this job. You find yourself wishing you could actually watch the D.D.D. ‘decontaminate’ the lobby, as they so euphemistically put it, instead of just sitting there twiddling your thumbs behind a pulled down rollup metal shutter after summoning them. You could still make out screams without seeing the brutality, and you knew the D.D.D. employed flame throwers and other serious weapons to deal with these monsters. Sometimes you caught yourself feeling just a little bit of sympathy for the doppelgangers, even though their main goal in life appeared to be to imitate people to blend in and then feed upon human flesh, and your main goal in life was supposed to be to ensure none of them would ever get let in through the locked inner door.

John Gillman comes in through the first door and gives you a tired, nominal wave before fishing around in his pockets for his documents to gain entry. He might be your favorite resident— always polite, always in that clean-cut milkman uniform at least when you happen to see him, because no one really leaves the apartment building outside of work obligations. There’s no nightlife in New York anymore, not with everyone nervous of dark alleys or being alone on the street, especially after dark. When you came over here from London, you certainly didn’t expect to get stuck here during a worldwide apocalyptic event like this that has resulted in curfews and lockdowns. You certainly didn’t expect to get zero action and get a mindnumbing job just to make ends meet. It was probably still more interesting than your gig working as a bouncer back in London, but at least you got fresh air there, and sometimes a date to go home with after closing time. Maybe that’s why you’ve started hyperfixating and daydreaming about one of the residents— the involuntary celibacy is getting to you.

John just always looks uncannily attractive. Maybe it’s that silly uniform that’s easy to fetishize. Maybe it’s because his tired eyes also look like bedroom eyes, or the dark circles function the same way eyeliner would. Why is he always so tired anyway? You know he lives alone up there in F03-02. He never gets any visitors either. How much can a person masturbate, really? There’s a rumor around the building that Becca Saunders’ tyke might be his, but you don’t really see the resemblance, and have your doubts that this didn’t just start as a “sleeping with the milkman” joke that got out of hand. People just like to gossip about single mothers. Things like this shouldn’t be considered scandalous. It’s 1955 for god’s sake!

“Sorry, William,” John says, hurriedly shoving his ID and entry request form underneath the glass so you can take take a look. “Almost thought I left my ID at work.”

“Long day, huh?” you ask without expecting a reply, pretending to scrutinize the documents while making small talk. You know this is John. You’d know him from a mile away. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have a little bit of fun. “Looks okay, and you are on the list of people authorized to come and go today. But can you take off your cap?”

John grabs his milkman cap off his head, exposing a mop of blond hair, looking mussed after being under the hat all day. You really wish you could test him, see how far you’d be able to take things before he refused to cooperate. Take off your shirt, John. Gotta make sure it’s really you. You never know these days. But of course you don’t. All you’ll have is your fantasies about breaching every code of ethics and using your master key to gain entrance into his apartment, seducing him, ravishing him right in the middle of what must be a depressing bachelor pad. Give him much darker undereye circles by keeping him up all night. Give this apartment complex a more interesting rumor to spread about the milkman in their midst.

“You’re good to go,” you say and press the green unlock button to let him in. He gives you a wan smile and walks out of view, and you listen to his footsteps ascending the stairs.

The rest of the afternoon is uneventful, only a few people coming and going, and a couple of doppelgängers with laughably strange appearance or bad credentials being dispatched quickly. Or at least it’s uneventful until John walks in, just a little bit past curfew.

“Hey William,” he says, sounding distracted, rummaging in his pockets for his documents as a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead. This better be a doppelganger, you think to yourself. But he has both his ID and the entry request filled out correctly. He looks identical to the John that passed by here a couple of hours earlier. This can’t be.

You start dialing John’s number, not taking your eyes off the man in front of you.

John’s eyes widen with alarm when he sees that you get an answer from the other end of the line.

“Yes, hello? John here. I’m not expecting any visitors.”

You hang up pretty abruptly, staring at the John in front of you, searching his appearance for any subtle defect or inconsistency but finding none. Your finger is hovering over the alarm button.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, you think I’m someone else? It’s me, William! I swear to god it’s me! I don’t know who you let in earlier, and who’s answering the phone now, but it’s not me up there!”

And shit, you believe him. You must have fucked up. Gotten smug and sloppy. Maybe the doppelganger handed you a fake ID but you didn’t notice because you were too busy daydreaming about fucking him.

“William, please believe me, please!” John is pressing up against the glass at this point, clearly scared that you’re going to quarantine him in the lobby and sic the D.D.D. on him. They don’t tend to ask questions. You’ve never had it happen, but you’ve heard of innocent people getting snuffed out on the mere suspicion of being doppelgangers, the D.D.D. rarely admitting to such mistakes even after the fact.

“Alright, alright, I believe you. I just have to think…” you mumble. “I’ll let you in, but don’t go up to your flat. We have to figure this out.”

John nods frantically and slips into your office after you buzz him in.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, and if you weren’t scared shitless at the moment, you’d probably get a kick out of how vulnerable and scared his expression is compared to his usual tired, impassive one.

“I should call the D.D.D. and get them to go up there,” you think out loud.

“Won’t you get reprimanded?” John asks, and oh how sweet of him to worry about your job when you’ve fucked up so royally and almost gotten him killed with your negligence. Maybe already gotten some of his neighbors killed.

“I just don’t want you losing your job over this— you’re the best concierge we have,” he says and then looks down shyly, as if realizing how strange that concern is.

What is this? Are you dreaming? Maybe you’re just out of your mind with adrenaline, but John sounds like he’s got feelings for you.

“Let’s just go up there and see what’s going on,” he says, and damn he’s persuasive as fuck. You want to go and deal with the mess you made, and protect him.

“I’ll go up there and just check,” you say, hardly believing yourself as you grab the fire extinguisher from the wall as a makeshift weapon. Everyone who was scheduled to return to the building has, so you shouldn’t get any more legitimate people coming through, but you still tape up a note that you’ll be back at your post in a few minutes. “Right then. You just stay down here and wait. I don’t want you putting yourself at risk. If I’m not back in five, call the number on the post-it.”

John shakes his head and follows you up the stairs. “I’m not letting you go up there alone,” he says in that quiet irresistible voice and you start to wonder if there’s something strange going on. Why are you going on this potentially suicidal mission to deal with a doppelganger on your own? So what if you get fired? No job is worth your life, right? But you probably wouldn’t see John ever again if you lost this job and that’s clouding all your judgment right now.

Knocking on John’s apartment door is probably not a good idea, and will just give the monster inside time to prepare or hide. So you take out your master key and turn it in the lock as quietly and quickly as you can. The door swings opens with an ominous creak, revealing a dark living room with no sign of anyone there. Did he hear you coming up the stairs? You try to keep John behind you and shield him in case anything sudden happens from within the apartment, but then you feel a strong push from behind and both you and John are in the flat now.

You’re so stupid, so critically, fatally stupid. The John you let in earlier was the real one. You’ve let a doppelganger convince you that you made a mistake, and now you did let one in. You whirl around, try to hit him upside the head with the fire extinguisher you’re brandishing, but he blocks the move with little effort.

“I thought we agreed,” he says, and you realize he’s speaking not to you but past you to someone else in the room.

“Thursdays are my days,” an identical voice answers from behind you and you step back and try to make sense of what you’re seeing. Two John Gillmans, both in the same uniform, neither one looking the least bit spooked, both looking mildly irritated if anything.

“Since when,” the John who came up behind you asks of the other one. “I get to be here every other day, doesn’t matter what day of the week it is.”

“So now what are we going to do about him?” the John who was in the apartment asks, pointing to you. “Why didn’t you just leave once he called me? Are you stupid?”

Your heart may be racing, but your thinking feels as slow as molasses. They’re …. both doppelgangers?

“What have you done with the real John Gillman?” you whisper hoarsely. The twins turn to look at you and you’re creeped out by the very similar smirk that spreads across both of their faces. They’re really impeccable facsimiles of the real person, but this is an expression you’ve never seen on John.

“You’ve never met the ‘real John Gillman’,” one of them says.

There’s enough cold sweat that’s broken out on your back that it starts to trickle down as drops.

“We like you William. It would be such a shame for our friendship to end.”

You hold up the fire extinguisher in front of yourself defensively, but you’re not sure you can really do anything against two of them. You’ve never noticed before, and maybe the real John’s teeth didn’t look like this, but the two doppelgangers have sharp looking canines when they’re grinning. It’ll serve you right to get devoured in this dark flat for making so many mistakes and bad decisions in a row today.

“So you’re just going to kill me then?” you ask.

“We’d really rather not,” one of the twins says. “A murder would bring a lot of snooping law enforcement if not the D.D.D. Itself.”

“And it’s so hard to find good lodging to spend the night.”

They must be joking. “You really expect me to believe you’re not just here to eat people?”

One of the twins rolls his eyes. “Eat people! Yeah, that’s why we’re here, clearly.”

“Has anyone in this apartment building ever disappeared in all the months you’ve worked here?” the other one asks.

“How should I know?” You’re beginning to feel like this has to be some sick nightmare. You can’t possibly be having a civil conversation with a couple of cannibal monsters. This thought has a strange calming effect on you. “If I didn’t know you lot were masquerading as John Gillman, how am I to know how many other residents are real people?”

The twins turn to each other, still smiling and shrugging.

“We’ve been on a vegetarian diet for a while,” the other says and you can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Laugh all you want,” the other one says, spreading his hands in concession. “But milk is more than enough to sustain us. We do think people are delicious, but there’s one thing we like much more than eating them.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, emboldened by the possibility that you’re just in a ridiculous, paranoid, bad dream of a worst case scenario at your job.

“We’ve been watching you William. We think you’ve been interested in us.”

“We’ve never fucked anyone from this building, and never fucked together, but there’s a first time for everything, right?”

You just stand there, fire extinguisher still raised up defensively. No question about it, this must be a nightmare that’s slowly but surely twisting itself into a sexual fantasy.

“Come on, William. Let’s make you comfortable.”

You can hardly protest as one gently pulls your makeshift weapon out of your loose grip, and the other one sweeps you off your feet with preternatural superhuman ease and carries you over to the couch in this sparsely furnished apartment.

Gentle but insistent hands undo the buttons on your trousers and then maneuver you so they can pull them off completely and free your legs.

“Humans are such fun creatures,” one of the Johns comments when he sees that despite your fear of the situation unfolding right now, you are sporting a half-hearted hard-on. It somehow only gets harder when you hear them talk about people as another species.

Both Johns are still fully dressed, situating themselves to kneel on the floor on either side of you. It’s wild. You must be dreaming. And as you watch both Johns lean forward, extending their tongues and licking your cock up and down from opposite sides, you realize that if this is a dream, you never want to wake up.

They know what they’re doing. They bring you right up to the edge of orgasm and then pull away, leaving you feeling desperate and even annoyed. You’re not annoyed for long though as they both strip down, and you see that their human-mimicking powers are perfect, down to the most minute details that would never be seen under clothes. Granted, you don’t know what John Gillman looked like naked, so maybe they’ve taken artistic license and embellished. Whatever it is, they’ve compared notes, because they still look indistinguishable to you.

“Like what you see?” one of them asks and you realize you I’ve been staring, maybe even with your mouth hanging open. You never imagined you’d hook up with a doppelganger, let alone two of them at once. But you have imagined foisting yourself on John in this very flat, and you’re about to live that daydream.

You end up doing things with the two of them beyond what you’ve ever dreamed of. You fuck one of them, and at the same time get fucked by the other one from behind, the cheap bed’s metal joints creaking and moaning from the motion of three bodies rocking against each other. You let them suck your cock and rim you to get you back in the mood for another round, trying not to think about how unsettlingly hungry they both look, and who they really are underneath the human-looking exterior. The exterior slips periodically when they’re in the throes of pleasure. You wince when they betray just how strong they really are, whenever they flip you over or change positions, as if you weigh nothing. You try not to pay attention when their eyes start glowing red when they’re particularly turned on, but it’s impossible to ignore in the darkness of the bedroom.

“William, you are fucking delicious,” one of them declares, licking his lips obscenely after swallowing down your cum, and all you can do is emit a short nervous chuckle, and think that even if they do decide to eat you at the end of all of this— either to cover their tracks, or just because they might start feeling peckish after all this is over— it will still have been worth it.

You don’t get eaten. In fact, you’ve had the time of your life, and as you get up from the bed and mumble that you have to get back to your post before your shift is over, the two Johns lie languid, naked on the bed watching you, each enjoying a post coital glass of milk (that’s all they have in the fridge— you saw when they opened it), like perfect mirror images.

“You won’t be making any unnecessary phone calls, right William?”

“We can count on you to be discreet and keep a secret, right?”

Through the combined haze of being scared for your life and then having the time of your life, there’s still one thing that bothers you, and you ask about it, against all your best self-preservation instincts.

“So what have you done with the real John Gillman?”

They turn to look at each other, not exactly conspiratorial but it still makes you uneasy.

“Oh, John Gillman never existed. We’ve been around a lot longer than you humans think. Many of us never tried to replicate and replace real humans.”

“Yeah, and a lot of good that did when some of us started! The ones who are doing it are the reason we’re being hunted now. Unoriginal hacks. And so bad at mimicking too.”

“So many embarrassing ones out there.” They both nod at each other.

You’d like to believe them. You really would. “So why choose this persona?”

“The milkman gets free milk and gets around in your society! And humans seem to like this look,” one of them says, grinning and gesturing with his hand over their naked bodies.

“But we only ever get to enjoy bored housewives.”

“And why are there two of you?” you ask hesitantly, glancing at the clock on the wall to verify that you’re not late yet.

“Oh there’s more than two of us,” one of them says and they laugh in unison in a way that sends a chill down your spine.

~~~

You think you’ve got it all worked out. You’re letting the John Gillmans stay in the apartment undisturbed, and you let them through even when it’s obvious that there’s more than one of them coming and going. You figure it’s a win-win. They promise to protect the building from any rogue doppelgangers who infiltrate and intend to harm the residents, and in return get a place to stay the night peacefully. You get to visit apartment F03-02 after your shift ends and have mind-blowing sex. They seem to enjoy the orgies as well. They know your shift hours and try to only come and go during those times. There doesn’t seem to be a problem with this arrangement.

Or at least not a problem that you’re going to make into your problem. When one of the Johns walks in, visibly smeared in blood, you do give him a hard time.

“Come on, John. Just because I’ll let you in, doesn’t mean you can just stop trying to look decent. God forbid I call in sick and someone else is here.”

John shrugs and goes through the formality of pushing his ID and entry request under the glass window.

“And get a new ID…” you tell him when you see bloody fingerprints all over the worn paper.

John shrugs, doing his usual tired act, despite how ridiculous it looks to be so bored and nonchalant when he’s smeared in blood.

“Whose blood is that, anyway?” you ask, wondering why you’re not more disturbed.

“Someone who was of no consequence and who won’t be missed,” John replies, terse and cool as a cucumber.

“I thought you said you were vegetarian?”

“I’ll take a cheat day if I run into a wifebeater,” John says, shrugging.

You buzz him in, telling him to get washed up before someone sees him, wondering if you’re being colossally naive to believe his story, and wondering if you’ve got a death wish because you’re still looking forward to going up there once your shift ends in a few hours.

(What in the world. 💀)

ETA: now with another art piece by @olliveolly

[eluvianarts]

Art titled: "Fuzzy Camp Cuddles"

(Boo the mighty miniature giant space hamster included!)

[star-mum]

I’d like to personally thank the Drawfee team for instilling “Delete Your Art : D” into my brain

[some-bunniii]

Lucifer meeting an artist reader

・❥ The King of Hell admires your paintings

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

x: reader is g/n :) no use of pronouns or y/n

warnings: some raunchy details of your painting & mild swearing

When you arrived in Hell, the first thing you did was scream.

Where were you? Why was it so hot? What happened to your bed?!

“You’re in Hell, kid.” A blue bat-faced man had broke the news, as you stood helpless and confused on the street.

Hell? Like, demons and dark satanic magic kind of Hell?

That couldn’t be right. Were you that bad of a person to deserve such a fate? Did the few times you passed the Salvation Army donation bucket without dropping a coin damn you to this place?

Your death was fuzzy, a trail of shattered memories that could only give you bits and pieces of your final days. Did you go quickly in your sleep? Maybe, you hit your head so hard it caused you some kind of post-death amnesia?

Whatever had happened, you were here now with no way out.

During your first few days scouring for answers, you began to notice that Hell had an eerie similarity to life above ground. There were clubs, casinos, concerts. Heck, even TV! Sure, the things broadcasted were dark and sometimes disgusting.. but at least you had something to watch.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all? At least, compared to being thrown into dark, fiery pits for all of eternity like some cruel game of sink or swim.

Minus the people, of course. Most of them were pretty bad. Your first day watching a man get shot in the chest and lines of cocaine across tables in a diner made you decide to stay away from the streets of the city.

Which meant you had to get busy making a life for yourself. It started with working odd jobs as a bartender or a bell-hopper. You’d scrap together enough money to head to the nearest art supply store, and fill your bag with paints and charcoal pencils.

“You an artist or something?” The clerk had asked you as she scanned your items, taking note of your vast amount of diverse tools you were slowly collecting every time you stopped by.

“I usually paint, but yes, I used to do all kinds of mediums professionally when I was.. alive,” You had whispered that last part out with a pang of sadness, the reality of your situation still a fresh wound in your mind.

You had found an ad for an art studio, ran by a demon named Alexandre. You had showed him a few of your pieces, some pretty landscapes, a rendition of the Starry Night Sky which you had replaced the backdrop to be Pentagram city instead of whatever little village it was originally, and a self portrait.

“You got talent, i’ll give you that,” He had hummed, as his eyes scanned your paintings with intrigue, “But the subject? Not really what we’re looking for.”

“What do you mean?” You had asked, confusion evident in your voice.

“We’re in Hell, demons ain’t into pretty ponies and happy, little trees. They want more— eh how do i put this — sinful behavior?”

“Like…?”

“Like tits or anything that can be turned into a kink. They like blood and guts, and dead people splayed around. Dead angels too. Stuff like that.”

Tits? Dead people? You didn’t have much practice with that! At least not enough to make a career out of it.

But you had agreed anyway, this was your only shot. You stayed up late into the night, sometimes even into the early mornings, perfecting your skill when it came to much more risqué visuals. You would buy stacks of pornograohic magazines, flipping through for poses to memorize.

Slowly, you began to master the craft, and your time at the studio increased as you finally settled into life in Hell.

All you had to do was churn out painting after pastel after acrylic in the little cramped room you now called home. Alexandre would then take your pieces and sell them to the highest bidder. You’d get a percentage of the commission, using the money for whatever necessary.

Seeing as you could be mugged at literally any point in time, or anywhere for that matter, you made sure to keep a large sum of cash locked away in a double-bolted safe.

“You know Ozzie’s, that club down in the Lust Ring?” Alexandre had approached you one day, excitement in his eyes.

You shook your head as you sat behind the easel, your brush an inch from the canvas.

“Run by Asmodeus, one of the literal seven deadly sins?”

You shook your head once more.

“Fuck, you still have a lot to learn. Well, he really likes your art. He wants to buy a bunch of paintings for his club, and he’ll drop a shit ton of cash too. Ya think you can handle it?”

Your eyes had widened when he told you the exact price this sin guy was willing to pay. You had jumped from your seat, shaking his hand in profuse thanks, before scurrying off to gather more supplies.

And for a time, that’s how it went. You’d sell your steamiest paintings to Asmodeus, and other private commissions you took one after the other.

Apparently, your painting hung up in Ozzie’s was getting a lot of attention. Especially from a certain spider demon named Angel Dust.

After hearing Charlie’s decision to look for another member of their staff— someone who’d be in charge of decorating the premise with promises of love and tranquility up in Heaven— Angel Dust had taken a few snaps of your work with his phone, before showing it to Vaggie and Charlie. He had complimented your work, claiming it was ‘the best’ oil paintings he’d ever seen.

Although, in his line of work, he probably hadn’t seen many to compare yours so.

“ls this what we want in our hotel?" Vaggie had asked, motioning to a woman on the canvas that was drenched in sweat and white fluid, her private parts exposed to the audience as she posed suggestively on a stripper pole.

To which Charlie has responded, "I think it's... unique! You can definitely see she knows how to, um, really bring the scene to life! l'm sure she'll be open to creating our vision!"

Your phone had rung one night, with a voice on the other end begging you to come to her hotel and at least hear her offer for a new job.

Which lead you to the Hazbin Hotel, a slightly run down building that obviously needed more work. Inside and out.

“Oh my gosh! Hi there! My name is Charlie, and this is my hotel! it’s such a pleasure to meet you!”

“Thanks.. but I don’t see many guests around.” You had told her, your eyes darting around the lobby as you absorbed your surroundings.

“Well, we’re still trying to get our name out there. We’re not just any hotel, we’re a hotel set on redeeming sinners!” She exclaimed with pride.

“Redeem?” You had asked her, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

She shook her head vigorously, “This hotel.. it’s going to be amazing! We’re going to turn Sinners into well.. non-sinners! They’ll be rehabilitated, and have morals! And honor! Heaven won’t be able to do anything but welcome them as angels!”

This idea had sounded a little far-fetched when you first heard it.

“You’ll be in charge of making art that reflects such views! Something that will make Sinners go, ‘Wow! Now that’s where I want to go!’”

“What’s in it for me?” You had asked.

“Well you’ll have your own room, and your own little studio too! I’m sure it’s much bigger than the one you already have. Plus we have a bar, and good company!”

You turned your head to the small crowd of demons a few feet away. A pornstar, a gambler, a snake guy with weird little walking eggs, and a really creepy man in a red coat that shot you a wide smile with eyes that seemed to stare right through your soul.

This was good company?

You contemplated her words, thinking deeply. Did you really need to leave the studio you were already a part of? You already had a room and place to paint, anyway.

Charlie must have noticed your hesitation to accept before quickly adding,

“Anddd you can sell your pieces here too! Plus, you can keep a hundred percent of the earnings.”

You perked up at that, the money made from your art would be... all yours? And, you’d get a breather from the drawing people having sex? That didn’t sound so bad after all!

“Deal!” You had reached out a hand, shaking hers with delight.

It had taken you a day or two to map out the interior of the hotel and figure out what could go where. You began to slowly brainstorm, what could make a sinner stare at a canvas and want to redeem themselves?

During your time on earth, you studied many artists through history. Most notably however, were those from the Renaissance. You remembered walking through the Sistine Chapel when you were younger,

staring at awe of the paintings of winged angels and heavenly skies.

You perked at that thought. That was it! The inspiration for your paintings, an ethereal perspective on what one would find in heaven. The feelings of bliss and care-free joy.

You spent your first few days in an undisturbed area of the hotel, it was a large room on the farthest side of the lobby. It must’ve been a guest room at one point, but other than a bed and few cushions that the ‘Radio Demon’ had placed for you, it was empty.

It was quiet enough that you could sit there, undisturbed, as you drew upon your memories and vast knowledge of histories in art as you slowly began to bring your ideas to life. Slowly, the room also took form into being yours, personal knick-knacks and stacks upon stacks of blank canvases waiting to bring your visions to life.

At the end of every day, you'd come out with your hands covered in charcoal and paint, your hard work on full display.

You had even grown closer to the other residents in the hotel, beginning to see them as more than their initial appearance. Even Alastor, who still kind of gave you the creeps, you had regarded as someone you could speak to without hesitation.

You’d sit on the couches with Angel Dust, drowning in popcorn as you watched whatever was on TV for the night. Sometimes, you’d sit with Husk at the bar as you listened to his stories from his days at the casino and as an Overlord.

It was there, when Charlie had summoned the courage to call her father, Lucifer, the King of Hell, to come visit the hotel and decide on getting her that meeting with the higher powers in Heaven.

Upon hearing about Lucifer's impending visit, you felta mixture of nerves and excitement. You've heardstories about him-his charisma, his power--but you never expected to meet him, let alone showcase your art to him. Would he even like them? He's no doubt seen much more beautiful sights.

As preparations for Lucifer's visit got more chaotic by the minute, you found yourself back in your Atelier, quickly cleaning up your room and berating yourself for any little mistakes you found in your paintings. Each stroke of the brush carried with it a sense of urgency, a desire to impress not just your friends at the hotel, but also the King of Hell himself.

The current piece you were working on was your most intense one yet. It depicted that of an almost nude man, flying high in the skies. His back was faced towards you, his face hidden from view. He was faced towards the sun, which bathed him in a warm glow. Arms outstretched, knees curled in, it seemed as if the angel was going to give the sun a large bear-hug.

It wasn’t until you heard loud commotion in the lobby did you realize Lucifer had arrived. Quickly dropping the brush you were holding, you sneaked down the stairs and quickly neared the archway of the lobby.

Peaking your head out, you canned the large room. Until your eyes locked in a pale figure. Lucifer.

He was beautiful, definitely held the looks of an angel that fell from heaven. His light blonde hair curled elegantly around his face. The candles from the chandelier above basked him in an ethereal glow, as though he could replace the sun itself. Just like the angel from your painting.

His eyes reminded you mostly of a snake. Calculating and cold, but holding so much wisdom and depth. There was a slight sadness there as well, as though itate at him slowly, consuming his soul. It was masked incredibly well though, and you only caught a glimpse before it disappeared.

His attitude toward his daughter made your heartmelt, it was obvious he cared about her in the way heacted and spoke to Charlie, even if his absence didn't speak so fondly of him.

As Lucifer and Alastor butted heads, you quickly scurried back to your room. You had hoped to finish your work-in-progress by the time he arrived, but the struggle to get those damn angel wings to be anatomically correct was a pain.

You hurriedly continued your work, trying to calm your nerves by busying yourself with the painting in front of you.

Charlie's voice broke you out of your concentration soon after, multiple footsteps closing in on where your room lay. You shot up from your seat, and stood up straight, ready to meet the man of the hour.

You couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation mixed with apprehension as they approached your make-shift gallery.

Charlie, Vaggie, and— wow, he looked so much better up close— Lucifer stepped through the doorway.

“Dad, this is the newest addition to our staff! They are in charge of helping to inspire our future guests through the power of art!" Charlie proclaimed with glee, pulling you by the arm towards her father.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesty. I apologize for being so messy, I was just finishing up another painting." You had greeted him softly.

"Don't worry, you look great," He assured, a gleam in his eyes, "and the pleasure is all mine, anyone who is willing to help my little girl is someone worth meeting,"

You stood there for a moment. Unsure of where to go next, before you felt a slight nudge from Charlie that pulled you back to reality, "Why don't we take a look at your paintings? I promise you, Dad, they are amazing!" She squealed softly.

Beckoning Lucifer forward, you took him through each painting. You described your feelings for each piece, and what made you choose them for the hotel.

You rambled on and on, and Lucifer never said anything, he just listened as you spoke.

Which made you nervous, what was he thinking? Did he like them, or was he just waiting for you to stop talking so he could quickly escape to something of more interest to him? The thought made sweat dribble down your forehead.

To your surprise, Lucifer's reaction to your art was not what you expected. Instead of dismissing it as mere frivolity, he studied each piece with genuine interest, his expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He mostly stayed quiet, but once in awhile would throw in a joke here and there if he noticed anything of interest in the paintings.

His goofy nature that you caught onto watching him earlier was barely evident though, unlike when he was trying to impress his daughter.

After finishing the small tour, you turned to him in anticipation. Your hands nervously rubbing together, as you shot a glance to Charlie, and she gave you an uncertain look. You both held the same question in your gaze: What is he thinking?

"These paintings.." Lucifer began, his voice low and melodic, "Are different than most i've seen down here, not just some scandalous display, but with real meaning. They evoke emotions long buried, memories of a time before.. all this."

His words caught you off guard, and you found yourself nodding in agreement, unable to tear your gaze away from his intense eyes.

The one he was staring at in particular was a recreation of The Garden of Eden by Jan Breghal, a painting that depicted the place where humanity was birthed, and where it fell.

“Does it look like.. how you remembered?" You had asked slowly, if anyone could validate the truth in your work, it would be him.

"Actually, this is much prettier. The real deal doesn't do your painting justice," He replied, "It was so boring, just green on green."

Also," He added, "An unfortunate lack of ducks. Humanity should be grateful that I got them out of that forest, so they could see something actually worthwhile.. and with ducks."

You giggled softly at his words, have you ever met someone that seemed to love ducks as much as him?

As Lucifer continued to explore the room, you couldn’t help but notice the way he lingered on certain paintings, his fingers tracing the delicate lines with reverence. It was as if he saw something in your art that no one else did, something profound and personal.

Perhaps your choice of baby-faced angels, and ethereal landscapes brought back memories of his time in Heaven. Hopefully, that wasn't a bad thing.

When Lucifer finally turned to you, his gaze softened, a hint of something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. "You have a rare gift," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To create beauty in a place like this... it's truly remarkable."

He looked at you for a moment, before a smile crept onto his lips. He was Lucifer, he knew exactly what you meant. It's what drove him to manipulate Eve to eat from the Tree of Life in the first place.

Was he finally getting a glimpse of the good free will brought to humanity? Was there actually meaning in his past actions that sent him to the depths of Hell?

His gaze narrowed in on the canvas behind you, and he slipped past you. "What is this?" He asked with intrigue, pointing towards your unfinished painting.

“My final piece. I've been working on it for days, but I just can't get the wings right.. believe it or not, i've never actually seen angel wings in person." You said that last bit as a joke.

His smile sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For the King of Hell, it was surprisingly warm, and kind.

Then an idea struck you, but you tried to desperately to push it down. Except it seemed like the only time you could ask someone with angel wings to let you use them as a reference. How many fallen angels were in Hell, anyway?

"I'm so sorry if this is out of line, but. could I, um, borrow you for a little bit? I've just been having trouble drawing the wings correctly and you, well, have them?”

His eyes widened, and his chest puffed slightly at your question. He shot you a toothy grin, “Paint me? Why didn't you mention that earlier?! I have the perfect figure for such a thing.”

Behind him, Charlie rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips. You smiled too, you should've known he'd have no problem with it, he was the embodiment of pride after all.

He plopped down on a stool before you, and removed his overcoat. Beneath what seemed to be a red and white gatsby vest that hugged his frame perfectly. Jeez, he was almost too good looking.

He stretched out his large wings, folding the otherfour behind him, only revealing the two much largerones. They were breathtaking, truly. They looked so fluffy too!

You guided him on the exact position you needed them to be in, before making your way to the canvas and getting to work.

Assuring the group you only needed to get a visual on the canvas, the actual work you would do on your own. Slowly, you traced the frame of his wings, etching out the soft lines of his feathers and the curvatures of its form.

You could only imagine how soft those feathers were and what it would be like to curl around them like a pillo-

You shook your head to rid those thoughts. Why were you thinking such things about Lucifer like that? It's not like he would even want to let you go anywhere near him or his wings.

Would he?

You continued your painting, trying not to meet his gaze as you would occasionally peak your head from behind the large canvas to get another good look at his wings.

There was a moment when you two did lock eyes, and he sent a half-lidded smirk in your direction. Thankfully the large object between you two helped hide your growing blush. He was obviously just trying to get you worked up, you assured yourself. Just like he did with Alastor. In a different way, of course.

"This reminds me of when Charlie was younger" Lucifer began, filling the silence, "We sat for a good few hours trying to get a family portrait painted and she would just not sit still!”

“Dad.. please, not right now." Charlie growled out in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. Vaggie only smiled beside her, listening intently as Lucifer filled everyone in on her younger years.

“lt got to the point where I had to summon her favorite toy to get her to stop squirming, everything was smooth sailing after that.

"And what was her favorite toy?" You inquired softly behind the canvas

“A rubber duck! Like the ones you play with in the bath? She could not get enough of it whenever it squeaked. One time the squeaker broke, and I went to my workshop and crafted her a magical one that meowed instead! Haha!"

Okay, this family really has a thing for ducks!

“She hated it, but that only inspired me to keep making more. Sometimes, we'd sit together on the work bench, and I would just come up with ideas like confetti-spitting, or color changing ducks. She wasn't too good at speaking at that time, so every time she'd laugh that was my clue that she liked it!"

It was sweet, the way he rambled about his daughter. He never spoke of himself or his accomplishments, despite embodying the sin of pride. It was almost like his only pride was his best creation, Charlie.

He continued, the room full of jokes and laughter, even from Vaggie, regarding Charlie's life as a youngling. You listened intently to his stories, his voice dripping with amusement as he recounted story after story.

lt was so sappy and you loved it. Which made you grumble quietly to yourself, why did you have to have a thing for DILFS?! Concentrate on the painting!

After a moment, Lucifer's eyes turned back to the paintings around him, his gaze scanning each painting once more. "I've noticed that you seem to have a repetition in your work.. not that that's a bad thing!" He quickly corrected.

“But in all of your paintings featuring angels, there's always a swan swimming or resting nearby. Do they hold any significance, or are they just a passion for you?"

You looked up from the canvas, and also traced the angelic figures across the room. He was right, with the images of the divine beings also came the appearance of the large, white water fowl. Lying lazily beside the angels, or swimming across pools of water as the care-free beings danced and frolicked.

You contemplated for a moment, before speaking truthfully.

“I just think Swans are elegant and ethereal creatures. They embody the purest of souls, untouched by the taint of sin that consumes the world, just like how their feathers remain untouched from the waters they glide on"

Lucifer's eyes lit up slightly, drinking up your words.

“Plus," You continue, "they mate for life, and allow themselves to just.. decay once their significant other departs from the world. It's very romantic, and love is one of the purest emotions in the world."

Lucifer wasn't looking at you when your eyes met his again, his stare was far off. Past the room entirely, as your words echoed through him. There it was again, the glimpse of sadness that he tried to hide so painfully well.

“Does such love like that exist?," he murmured so softly you had to strain your ears.

There was a few moments of deathly silence before Charlie piped up, asking her father something about heaven. You tried to listen, but your mind was stuck on his words. Lucifer was in heaven once, and he still didn't fully believe in such things?

If there weren't others in the room, perhaps you would’ve asked him.

It took a few more minutes before you were able to wrap up fully, but you had no regrets of asking this man for help, the angel on the canvas actually looked like he had wings, not just stumps of white tuft.

You got up from your seat and walked towards him, noticing that Charlie and her girlfriend were not present anymore. It was just you and Lucifer in theroom now.

“Well, thank you, Your Majesty. You really helped me out here, and it'll go a long way to make the hotel look even better"

“Please, call me Lucifer. The formalities are only for subjects, not friends," he replied, "l did really enjoy getting to see your paintings, you are quite a phenomenal artist. I wasn't lying when I said your work was different from the rest. If only you were around for those family portraits."

You were so taken aback by his praise that you only shrugged it off, like it was no big deal. Even though, coming from the King of Hell, it was.

Glancing behind him, you saw Charlie and Vaggie whispering to each other in the hallway outside of the door. You assumed they probably wanted to finish up so they could get him to agree to the meeting with Heaven.

lgnoring his previous statement of formalities— he was the king, you thought, you weren't going to just pat him on the back and say 'see ya! —you lowered your head and bent down to curtsy, just like you were taught when you were younger, placing your hand slightly in front of you.

Usually, you'd use that hand to shake or grasp the other person's, but it felt wrong to treat this powerful angel like any other man.

Suddenly, you felt the soft touch of fingers gliding across your hand. In confusion, you looked up at those golden eyes and that charming smile. Trying to get a glimpse of what he was thinking.

His hand gripped yours gently, and with a bow of his own, lowered his lips, and pressed a soft kiss your knuckles.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you feared to blink, soaking in his beauty for as long as you could before he had the chance to pull away. You wanted to say something, but your tongue was refusing to work as your mouth opened and closed silently.

When he finally released your hand, he adjusted his hat and turned towards the door. Leaving you standing there, your face burning hot

He cleared his throat, and turned his head slightly, his eye catching yours. A playful smile dancing on his lips.

“l look forward to our next portrait together, hopefully where I am the motivation behind your strokes. Not just these dull wings."

And with his words hanging in the air, you were left alone, with the growing itch to press your face into a pillow and squeal.

——————

awww man, my first fic! I was trying to make this more dating-centric, but i couldn’t stop writing for their first meeting and it got too long haha! If y’all like this one enough, i’ll make a dating version!

let me know what you think 🙏 i reallyyyy appreciate all comments and criticisms!!

wonderful art i commissioned by DawnDrawnS on twitter! <3

[pigcowboys]

hiii!!! may i request headcannons or smth for doing arts n crafts or pottery with percy pleaseee!!! :3 thank youuu have a nice dayyy

pairing: percy jackson x gn!reader

warning(s): mutual pining, kissing, fluff, incorrect pottery knowledge, physical touch.

summary: percy helps you with your pottery assignment

a/n: HI!! TYSM FOR REQUESTING :D, this request is adorable too I’ve always loved this pottery trope it’s so cliche 😭😭 im currently working on the missing FIC but! I wanted to post SOMETHING cause it’s been so long.

happy halloween to anyone who celebrates it!

percy peered into the arts and craft room curiously, looking around at the abandoned looking room. a smile made its way onto his face as he took notice of you, practically skipping over to you.

you huffed as you picked at the dried up clay on your hands, flinching slightly when percy slung a hand over you, pulling you towards him with a smile.

“what’re you doing?” he asked, peering over your shoulder curiously. you barely moved, adjusting your shoulder so he’d rest comfortably.

“making — or well, trying to make a vase.” you turned to look at him through your peripheral. percy stared at the discombobulated mess of clay that he assumed was your attempt at that.

“i’m guessing this is a more..artistic take on that.” he joked, nuzzling his face further into your shoulder. “did you come here to laugh at me or something?”

“truth? maybe.” he grinned. “that and, i just missed you.” you rested your head against his own which laid in the crook of your shoulder, cradling it with your clay stained hands.

“flattery will get you nowhere, percy.” you smiled at him. “but, i missed you too.” you leaned forward, moving Percy’s head out of your shoulder in the process. he moved to sit beside you, looking at the mess in front of you with a confused look. you met his gaze, offering him a dazed grin.

“do you want some help?”

“yes, please.”

percy laughed slightly, standing up and plopping down behind you. you adjusted to the feeling of him behind you, giggling slightly when his hands brushed your rib cage as it came to hold onto your waist.

you eyed him curiously before clearing the kiln of any excess clay. Percy watched closely as you placed a fresh lump of clay onto the wheel, watching closely as you began to toy with the shape of the clay. his head found it’s way over your shoulder as he braved against your back, removing his hands for your waist.

your breath caught in your throat at the proximity but paid it no mind, pushing down your anxiety in favor of focusing.

“here,” you said, motioning for Percy to bring his hands forward to which he did, hovering on the wheel with uncertainty as he waited for your next command. “shape the lower half, i’ll work on the top half, okay?”

percy hummed in agreement, leaning to the right of you as he used his lithe fingers to curve the lower half of the vase. you two worked in tandem despite the close proximity and the straying thoughts that would flash in your mind every few minutes about how you could feel percy’a breath against your neck.

you felt like you were going crazy, especially when your hands absentmindedly wander further down towards the lower half of the vase, grazing Percy’s own hands which were moving up at the same time. in real time the contact only lasted about a minute or two but you felt like the lasted well over ten.

it seriously didn’t help when Percy inched forward as you were turning to observer the wall mounted clock in the arts in crafts room, locking eyes with him for moment before whipping your head back to focus on what you were actually supposed to be doing.

the situation was so awkward and it was only punctuated by percy talking enthusiastically about something that crossed his mind as you tried your best to listen to what he had to say. though, at this point you were down for the count and there wasn’t anyway to just slip out from the position you’d put yourself in.

your mind wandered and you turned to look at percy as he spoke, mind getting caught on the pinkish hue of his lips. they looked, regular — you guessed. just..really nice. and inviting. and cute kind of? can lips be cute? maybe not, but, his were.

Percy trailed off as he caught wind of the fact you were zoned out, fixating his eyes towards wherever it was you were looking at and flushing when he did. a nervous laugh slipped through him that caused you to snap out your daze as he murmured out your name.

“you’re not listening are you?”

“i am.”

“y’know I hate that I doubt that.”

you frowned, a bad attempt at looking offended by the complete and total truth that Percy was accusing you of doing.

“what makes you think I’m not?” you asked, turning back to focus on shaping the clay. percy stilled for a moment before leaning forward, breath fanning against the shell of your ear.

“ the fact you keep staring longingly at my lips.”

you flinched at the sound of his voice, whipping your head back to look at him and simultaneously digging into the clay that was still rotating. you cursed, removing your hands from the wheel as you shifted out from your spot in-front of Percy.

he looked at you with slight amusement as he stopped the spinning, getting up to follow after you, who had walked over to the sink — washing your hands furiously while also trying to calm your racing heart.

percy walked over slowly, observing you silently before taking a spot next to you to wash his hands. you didn’t spare him a glance when he did, only shifting slightly so he’d get access to the sink as well.

“ are you embarrassed or something?” he spoke up suddenly

“wh—” You snapped your head towards Percy with a genuine look of bewilderment in your face. “no!” you frowned at him, heart beating in your ears and he stared you down. well, you had to give it to him, the guy had amazing eye contact.

“you just caught me off guard.”

“caught off guard or caught red handed?”

“caught off guard.”

percy looked at you like he trying to analyze you, hands flapping in the wind as he shook off the water that was on his hands. you turned your back towards him, reaching for the towel that was a near the sink, drying your hands. now, how were you supposed to come up with an excuse that could get you out of this?

“hey,” Percy spoke once more, a slight seriousness in the tone of his voice. you turned your head towards him curiously. “we could try it.”

“try..?”

“kissing.”

“each other?” you asked, complete shock on your face.

“no, the clay.” he quipped, expression faltering when his response was met with silence from your end. “it’s..okay if you don’t want to — i just thought it would be.. uhm, good for practice?”

“yeah, cause i kiss people every other month or so.”

he shrugged. “you could be living a double life.” you shot him a look, a sigh escaping you. he wasn’t joking right? like, this wasn’t a prank..right? you racked your brain from specifics, trying your hardest to walk through the idea before reluctantly opting to give into it.

it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“c’mere,” you murmured, and Percy obeyed your order almost immediately. your breath caught in your throat as he approached you carefully, placing his hand on your shoulder. you looked up at him like a deer in headlights, causing a laugh — or more like a cackle to escape his lips.

you gave him an unamused look. percy smiled warmly, clearing his throat before moving his hands towards the underside of your chin, angling it up. you closed your eyes expectantly, gulping as Percy’s breath fanned over your lips.

he hesitated for a moment before leaning in and locking lips with you after a pause. you pursued your lips against his own, hands coming to rest on his chest as you fiddled with the strings of his hoodie.

you were stiff in his hold, something that he could feel as he pressed into your body. his other hand reached up to rest on your hands which was rested against his chest in attempt to soothe your nerves. you relaxed in his hold, titling your head slightly as you pull back for air before going back in.

Percy pulled away from the kiss finally, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gazed at you longingly. he opened his mouth to say something, lips pressing shut as he stood in silence. you felt as if it was now your turn to ease the tension, a smile breaking out on your face in an attempt to soothe his fears.

“that was..a solid 8/10..”

percy grinned, removing his hand from under your chin as he cradled your torso. “2 points off?” he smiled. “How come?”

You shrugged. “you were pretty stiff.”

“you’re talking?”

you punched him playfully, sliding out of his grip carefully as you inches back towards the wheel.

“come on, let’s finish this, okay?” you turned towards him. “i’lil let you do a redo afterwards.”

percy stared at you with starstruck eyes, briskly walking back over to the pottery station.

[thelunarsystemwrites]

Inviting other artists!

So I've just made a superhero AU for utmv. Right? Well, I really only wanted to design one guy, Lust. Sooo I'm opening the AU (WHICH LITERALLY HAS NO LORE YET SO NO WORRIES) for others to partake in!

Here's like, the basic lay out.

Choose one Sans AU to turn into superhero/villain. Please refrain from using a Sans someone else claimed.

Make them into a superhero/villain themed after something specific. (Example: A plant themed superhero, or even a cactus one!)

Keep powers balanced with weaknesses, please make them relate to their theme!

Give them a civilian identity! You don't have to draw this one, but make sure to mention their civil job and name!

Give them a Superhero/Villain name as well!

Wait, supervillain?

OH YES! You can choose the mortal alignment of your claimed Sans! Super hero, villain, neutral, vigilante? Just pick whatever you want!

Of course headcanons are welcome, it's Canon to YOUR design! Make them trans, gay, autistic, whatever! (Human designs are allowed too!)

Wait.. what do I (the artist reading this) Even get out of doing this?

Well I'll tell you! For one, its a fun artist challenge where you personalize and create a whole new hero/Villain to your preferences!

You also get to imagine their lore, and incorporate their personality into the story! They'd all be canon part of the AU. (Note: if someone claimed a sans first and you did it anyways, yours wouldn't be Canon unless issues occurred with the OG/they gave you permission.)

I dunno, I just wanna make an AU with a ton of people, ya know? I think it's be fun for us to work together on this.

CLAIMED LIST:

Lust: Hero. Complete. By @thelunarsystemwrites.

Reaper: Vigilante. Completed by @solusminds.

Outer: Vigilante. Complete by @dzasterdumpterfire

Ink: Retired Hero. Complete by @lix88888

Error: Supervillain. Complete by @its-paperd

Dust: Claimed by @billygoat26

Farmer: Claimed by @absurdumsid

Cross: Claimed by @weirdest-worlds

Geno: Claimed by @eldritchcats

Shattered: Claimed by @genderfluidyellowocto

Nightmare: Supervillain. Completed by @analexthatexists

Killer: Claimed by @a-menacetosociety

Dream (and core frisk): Claimed by @thenocturnenarrator

Blue: Superhero, complete by @createbellatheartist

Fell: Supervillain, complete @underrrtaleee-freakk

Quantum: Superhero. Completed by @nashdoesstuff (Also made an OC for the AU, Dreamshade! Superhero.)

Horror: Neutral Evil. Completed by @it-came-from-mount-ebott

Ccino: Claimed by @some-aroace-chaos

Fresh: Claimed by @nightmareishomophobic

Die sans: Claimed by @dustsansm1

Bill: Supervillain. Completed by @endless-emptyness (OC Nanno made by sane person!)

Epic: Claimed by @dtdrawz

Fatal error: Claimed by @spookyboris2

Swan: Claimed by @glitching-moon

Sci: Claimed by @joonebugg

Dance: Claimed by @dv-reblogs

Swad: Claimed by @shinanigans-art

Littletale: Claimed by @somehhuuuhh

Possession: Claimed by @b0nerific-individual

Alter: Claimed by @annabel184

Paperjam: Vigilante. Completed by @papple

Decadent society: Supervillain. Complete by @supper122

Green Sans: Claimed by @xxcross-is-a-helicopterxx

Roulette: Claimed by @ant1quarian

On the claimed list, if you claim a Sans (By commenting or reblogging saying "Dibs Blank!" Or "Can I do blank?" Etc! I'll add it on the List saying: "Sans: Claimed by User"

Once it's made, please tag me so I can see! Then I'll update it to "Sans: Moral alignment. By User." And link it on this post! [Please only claim one, we want enough to go around! However you can claim variations! So one person could make dream, another could make shattered!]

[Note I do not claim any ownership over your designs for the AU, nor will I use your design w/o permission.]

With all that said! Anyone interested? [And hey, if you're not interested? It's okay to just not join. Or ignore this!]

Asks! (Questions regarding the AU!)

Can we make our own lore woth other characters?

Secondary claims?

Only two grabs?

Can we have OCs?

Can we use our own AUs?

[syndxlla]

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward, and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. Takes place between BOTW and TOTK.

Heavily inspired by my Zelink thoughts

I wanted to dig into the dirty, grimly reality of being the saviors of the world and not knowing how to be the savior of yourself. But you can find that safety in another person.

Fan fiction warnings: Canon-typical violence, eventual smut (in later chapters, characters are consenting adults), references to self-harm, eating-disorders, and a lot of angst. Each chapter will have chapter-specific warnings.

Chapter one: I used to tie your shoes

Song: We’ll never have sex by Leith Ross

Summary: Fresh off Hyrule Field, Link and Zelda have to face life after the Calamity, and come to terms with the long road to physical, emotional, and mental recovery.

Warnings: Vomiting, trauma, canon-typical violence, eating-sensitivity

Word count: 3.7k words

Author’s Note: I am so excited to share this. Please share and support this in anyway. I drew this art for the cover :) chapter begins after the page break. I love you guys. Also, these chapters won’t be heavily edited. Ignore any grammatical/spelling errors pls

Time. We never seem to have enough time. Green grass burns soft red embers into the field, a horse’s mane is rebraided at the nearest stable, and the stars shine as if nothing changed. Because it hadn’t, not really. The sun will still rise in the east and set in the west. The birds will still sing their songs at daybreak and the fireflies will still flicker at dusk. Nothing changed, but everything did. The air feels lighter, the sun feels warmer and yet Zelda’s fingers still shake as if she was in the snowy Hebra peaks.

The Princess by nature, is very gentle. She’s soft and patient at heart, but was placed under such strenuous situations all through her youth that caused her to often snap or lash out. But not now. Currently she is silent, stone-cold and confused. She was in shock. And Link could tell.

“Here.” He pulls out a baked apple from his pack, handing it to her. He has to get her attention twice before she finally takes it, their hands brushing for a moment. Her awareness returns to her gaze then, her bright-green eyes meeting his.

“I-I’m so sorry.” She sighs, her voice weak. “I’m just… so tired.” Link tries not to show his distress, but she notices his demeanor change as well. “How much further?” She says, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Probably another hour and a half. It’s just through those mountains.” He points.

“Dueling peaks. I remember.” She nods. “I remember everything.”

“Everything?” He asks as he starts to dig around a pack on the rear end of Epona, searching for his rito attire. It was starting to get dark, and she hadn’t stopped shaking since they left Castle Town almost three hours ago.

Zelda nods once.

Her silence speaks volumes.

He yanks out his snowquill armor, finally. “Do you remember anything from the last hundred years?” She doesn’t answer right away, she instead takes a smaller than small bite out of the apple. “Zel? Can I put this on you? You’re still shivering.” He asks, looking at her blank, traumatized stare. “It’s from the Rito, it’s soft as a cloud and will keep you warm for the rest of the way.”

“The Rito.” She sighs. “Revali…”

Link realizes that she hasn’t had any time to process what she just went through. She had spent the last one hundred years deeply focused, probably in a trance-like state. He places a hand on her cheek. “Look at me.” His voice is gentle and welcoming, not forcing her at all. She looks at him, their eyes locking. “Breathe with me.”

They take two deep, heavy breaths. They sync their inhales, exhaling together.

“It’s over. It’s all over, okay?” He reassures her. “It’s not coming back. It’s just us now, alright?”

She swallows, still emotionless. “You’ve changed.” She says.

“So have you.” Link smiles in an attempt to comfort her. “Can I put this shirt on you?” He asks again. She answers faster than she usually had, nodding twice this time. Link bunches up the excess fabric before pulling the head-opening over her hair. He then guides each one of her hands through the arm-holes. Link takes a moment to adjust the garb around her torso until it was probably positioned around her shaking body. She immediately sighs in relief.

“You talk more.” She mumbles, looking at him as he gently wraps his fingers around her long, golden hair and softly pulls it out of the shirt, knowing how much it irritates him when his hair is loose underneath a shirt.

He smiles again, “I do. Some people say I don’t shut up.” He tries to lighten the mood.

“Like who?”

“Impa.” He sighs.

Zelda’s eyes light up with that name. “Impa?”

He hums and nods. “We can go visit her when you’re feeling stronger, okay?”

“Okay…” Zelda looked down into her lap, the skirt of her goddess dress was barely white anymore. “I am going to get stronger, right?” She asks, her voice tender and broken.

Link’s heart sinks. Not because he’s worried she won’t, but rather because he feels responsible for putting her in this state.

“Of course.” He reassures. He believed it. He wanted to believe it.

“I’m… just so tired.” She repeats herself.

“I know, come on, let's get you a bed.” He then picks her up bridal style from the ground. They had stopped in the first place to get that rito armor for her. She rests her head against his chest as he lifts her onto Epona. She smells like burnt oil and exhaustion. He probably isn’t smelling any better.

They wouldn’t get to Hateno until noon at the earliest tomorrow, and traveling wasn’t doing anything for her recovery. He gets on Epona behind her, letting her weak body rest against his chest as they make their way to Dueling Peaks Stable. The road is quiet, so much quieter than it ever has been. The pair of lizalfos always swimming in the river aren’t there, and even the crickets suppress their chirps.

It’s post-apocalyptic. Literally. Link isn’t sure how to feel.

She throws up a few hundred feet from the stable. She gags and lurches over the side of the horse, somehow managing to keep it off of anyone. Not much comes out, she hasn’t eaten in over a century, but Link frowns when he realizes the apple probably triggered it. He silently curses himself out for causing her any form of distress. She dry heaves violently, and Link tries to hold her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. When she finishes, she holds her breath.

She can’t decide if she feels like she lost a bit of dignity or not. She holds back the tears that well in her eyes. Link breathes in to say something, but she raises her hand in protest. She would rather they act like it never happened. Neither of them say anything from there on, they just keep riding the final minute of the journey.

Everyone at the stable was asleep except for an attendant… who was also treading precariously between consciousness and a deep rest behind the counter.

“Excuse me?” Link asks to wake him up, hopping off of Epona after making sure Zelda would still be comfortable in his absence. She would never admit she wasn’t.

The man stirs awake with a jolt. He yawns, slightly startled, “So sorry, young man.” Link wouldn’t necessarily call himself young. He smirks softly.

“I’d like to board this horse till the morning, and we’d like one soft bed, please.” Link nods before setting down the required rupees. The man squints his eyes, taking the money in hand.

“Ah! It’s you! Link, was it?” He asks when Link turns his back to help Zelda down from the horse. “Jeez, you haven’t passed through here in at least six months! We were holding onto that old mare for you!” He gestures to their stables where a small gray spotted horse sleeps. Link’s first horse since he woke up from his century-long slumber. He only rode her in the beginning, when he was doing chores between Hateno, Kakariko and one time a longer trip to Zora’s Domain. But she’s old and weak, which is why she was easy to catch when Link was still regaining his strength. He stopped taking her out when he found Epona in the western part of Central Hyrule.

“Yeah… you guys can let her free.” He says as he sets Zelda down on the ground. She holds her cold hands together.

“Well uhh.. we tried. You see, after four months at a stable we let go of any forgotten pony’s, but she kept coming back.” He chuckled, his voice exhibiting a distinctive nasality.

“Here,” Link hands him a red rupee, not wanting to discuss an old horse any longer when he literally has the closest thing to a God in this world resting her head on his back. “Keep her for another month, I’ll come take care of her then. Okay?” Link asks. “Can I get that bed now?” Not impolite or forceful, he never was. He’s assertive but has a comforting cadence to his tone. For being such a talented swordsman, guard and easily the most deadly hylian in the entire kingdom, he was never rude or condescending. He was welcoming, and little kids often looked up at him with intimidation when they first met him, but it didn’t ever take long until they were chasing him with tree-branches while he fled and begged for mercy, letting them take him down with ease. The kids at the stables loved him, knew him by name, and would play as him in their silly pretend games.

The stable-man replies, “Of course! But you only asked for one bed, it’s not big enough to fit both of you.”

“I know, it’s for her not me.” Link then starts to guide her into the stable, where it’s much warmer and safer. Just because it’s quiet doesn’t mean it's safe. Hyrule is a dangerous place by nature, especially if you’re two century-old Gods being hunted for sport with the faces of children.

“You won’t sleep?” Zelda asks quietly behind him.

He doesn’t directly answer, and instead guides her to the bed. She’s weary, and he’s terrified of her not waking up. He wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he wanted to. He helps the Princess sit in the bed, and kneels before her to untie her sandals. When he touches the leather, he immediately gets transported into another memory.

It rips through him, just like the memories he had images of. Suddenly, he’s kneeling in the same position, but instead he was outside of the spring of courage. He looks up to see the clear sky, it’s sunset, and then his eyes meet Zeldas. Her face is rosy, and her eyes don’t have the blank stare they possess in the current time. He looks down at his fingers, tying the straps around her ankle.

“Really, you don’t have to do that.” She hums. He doesn’t respond. He never did back then. He finishes wrapping the leather around itself and then stands up. His face is emotionless. She looks at him, they’re about the same height. “I won’t be long this time.” She says. “I’m not expecting much anyways.” She sighs and then walks past him, but before she can get very far, he gently grabs onto her arm, holding her back. He doesn’t say anything but she can read his expression. He’s trying to tell her to have faith this time, just one more time.

Surely the Goddess would commune with her.

She shakes her head, and wades into the warm waters of the spring. Link turns to watch her, how her hair cascaded down her back, how her hands balled into fists. She turns around to look at him, their eyes meet. She smiles.

He comes back as fast as the scene played in his memory. He blinks a few times, and looks up at her. She doesn’t look any different, very little—if any—time seemed to pass. He doesn’t usually experience memories with someone, he wonders if she realized anything happened. Link didn’t even consider the fact he would keep receiving memories after the fact. His stomach turns, he feels like he’s lived two completely different lives and is forced to remember things from one that he doesn’t even relate to anymore. He doesn’t feel like the same person, the boy he was a hundred years ago is a complete stranger to him.

Link much preferred this life.

And that scares Zelda.

“I just remembered something.” He says. Zelda hums in response, a light-hearted noise that implies an inquiry. He elaborates, “I used to tie your sandals for you at the springs, didn’t I?” He asks.

Zelda smiles for the first time since they defeated Ganon. It’s a small pull of her lips, not showing any teeth but her eyes finally light back up. After she had asked if he remembered her on the field, she collapsed, not even aware of her own exhaustion until that moment. He ran to her aid, and ever since then she felt woozy, it only got worse the further from the castle they got.

“You did, yes.” She says. “I never asked you to, but since I was in the dress, you insisted.” She sighs. Link grunts in response. “It was very chivalrous.” Zelda adds.

They look at each other for a minute. Not saying anything. It was late, and two beds down there was a set of kid brothers sleeping. Link remembered them from their last visit. One of them wanted nothing to do with him, trying to act mature and ‘cool’. Link eventually won him over, though. They don’t speak out of fear of waking anyone. Zelda’s smile slowly fades away, and Link swallows thickly. They will never be the same.

He pulls her sandals off, her feet are filthy with century-old mud. He silently smiles about that. The closest thing to a Goddess in the entire world has dirty feet. How human of her.

Then, after pulling down the heavy rito-down blanket so she can slide in, he helps Zelda swing her legs into the bed. He pulls the blanket up to her neck, she lays on her side facing him. Her hands find their way up to her face, resting her cheek against them. Link pulls a short stool over to the bed, sitting on it and looking at her, bending at the waist.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” She asks in a timid, sleepy voice.

Link’s heart just about breaks when she asks. “Never.” He shakes his head. He takes his gloved hand and tucks a piece of her loose hair behind her pointed-ears. He lets his fingers linger a little bit longer than they should. “I will never ever leave you again.”

“Promise?” She asks, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Promise.” He whispers, “Just as long as you promise to never leave me, okay?” He asks, ignoring the lump in this throat.

“Promise.” She says, taking her pinky finger and sticking it out for him. He wraps his finger with hers, which is far daintier and softer than he's ever been. She is a Princess, after all.

“Wake up in the morning, okay?” He whispers.

“Mhm.” She hums as her eyes slowly close. He tries to disconnect their pinky fingers, but she holds onto his. He leaves his hand in that position, letting her hold it until she falls fast asleep.

Link doesn’t move his hand until he’s certain it won’t wake her up from her much needed rest. He looks at her gentle, soft face. No one even understands what she just went through, no one ever will. He’s worried sick that she won’t make it through the night, and he keeps leaning his head down to listen to her breathing, or places a few fingers against her forehead to check her temperature.

He does his best to stay vigilant the entire night, not once even looking away from her. But just before the sun rises, his body suddenly catches up with his mind. He also just had the most demanding battle of his life. His muscles started to ache, and he developed a headache. He was just a boy, after all. More than anything, his sword arm was weak, and fire-hot pain shot up and down through it. He probably overused it fightin the calamity.

He keeps telling himself that he’s fine. He has to be fine, for Zelda. His arm isn’t that bad, what really hurts was his heart. Usually he’d just down a fairy tonic and maybe go to the hot springs if he was in the area but this pain was different. A twisting and contracting ache in his chest pulled and tugged on his lungs and pulse. It’s the same pain he felt when he remembered Mipha, and more specifically, the pain he felt when he dreamed about his family before the resurrection.

The dream that gave him the memories of a little sister with blonde hair like his collecting fireflies in her pockets. Her laugh echoing, the call of an older man, the image of a royal guards sword leaned up against the dinner table. The touch of his father’s hand as he rubs Link’s back to sleep.

Link’s first sword.

He wakes up like a fire, standing up and almost toppling over. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep. He could hear the soft tune of the penny whistle playing the standard stable theme, and the two little brothers played tag outside. He curses and looks down at Zelda.

Her bed is empty, and his heart completely stops. He starts breathing hard and heavy, his entire nervous system feels as though it’s pulled into stasis. How could he make such a foolish mistake? He swings his sword over his back, strapping his shield to his leathers and turns around in a wild-hunt to see the Princess sitting at the round stable table, drinking out of a mug and speaking gently with an older man.

Link takes a breath of relief, and approaches the two.

“Good Morning.” She smiles up at him. Her voice sounded much better, and her eyes finally had life back into them, but she still wasn’t herself. Her skin still looked sickly, her face hollowed out and eyes droopy. Any progress is good progress, Link decides then and there.

“I… didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Link sighs. “I’m so sorry. When did you wake up?”

“Oh not long ago, maybe twenty minutes? I didn’t want to disturb you-”

“You should have.” He interrupts her and her words get swallowed out of surprise. Link realizes that he snapped at her a little, and immediately becomes apologetic. “I’m sorry, again. I just…”

“You’re worried about me. I understand.” She takes his hand, her bones frail. In many ways, she physically looked worse today than last night. But at least she could hold a conversation. He nods. Zelda notices the tension, and changes the subject, “This kind gentleman was telling me about when you saved the stable from a horde of lizalfos about a year ago.”

Link looks over at the man, Giahzo. “Oh that was nothing, it was just two green lizalfos and a blue one who wandered too close to the stable.” Link hums. Their hands were still held together by Zelda.

“Don’t be so modest!” The old man chuckled, “Without you, it would have been a disaster! The number of monsters means nothing, especially when you don’t know how to fight!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Link smiles and then realizes he and Zeldas hands, he’s the one to pull it away. “What are you drinking?”

“I’m not sure…” Zelda begins and Link immediately snatches the mug from her hand. “Hey!”

“You can’t just drink something mysterious.” Link scolds.

“Oh it’s just a bit of Hateno Milk.” The man assures. Link looks at him, then Zelda, and then into the mug to see the creamy liquid. He brings it to his nose and smells it, and then takes a sip of it. Sure enough, it was just milk.

“I’m sorry, Giahzo.” He apologizes and places the mug back down. “I’m just on high alert.”

“Do not apologize to me, apologize to this lovely young lady you’ve graced us with.” The elderly man smiles with a chuckle, his eyes wrinkling up with his age. Zelda smiles, blushing a little, “Tell me, dear, where are you from? We don’t get many new faces at this stable these days.”

Zelda looks at him, her eyes sad. A hundred years ago every person in Hyrule knew her face. She looks at Link, unsure how to answer.

“She’s from the Outskirts stable.” Link covers for her. “Her family used to reside in Central Hyrule before the Calamity.”

“Yes.” Zelda immediately chirps, “We’re headed to Hateno for…”

“A honeymoon!?” Giahzo smiles brightly. Both Link and Zelda freeze in their tracks, and Link hopes he doesn’t look as embarrassed as he feels. “Hateno is a great Honeymoon destination! Although I’ve heard Lureline is even more splendid!” He clasps his hands together.

“Research.” Zelda clarifies, “so sorry to disappoint.” She chuckles politely, making a conscious effort not to look at Link. “I’m researching… population dynamics in Hyrule.” She makes something up that sounds completely believable.

“Of course.” Link then says, “I’m just escorting her there, we are total strangers.”

That breaks Zelda’s heart.

She knows he’s just trying to be extra careful, pushing her anonymity as much as possible. And in a way, it wasn’t a total lie. But it cut her like a knife.

“I see…” Giahzo doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to stop by. Hopefully the monsters will start to die down.” He smiles and stands up, moving outside.

Zelda is still afraid to look at Link, and he’s a little bit shaken up by the entire interaction. He knows the Yiga are still out there, he knows that there are people who will try to take advantage of her for power or money. He has no reason to suspect anything from the old man, but he can’t help himself from being deliberate. He senses her tension and walks back to the bed to gather their things.

“You should have woken me up.” Link says as he picks up a satchel full of food and readjusts his gloves.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was timid and tired. He turns around to see her, her green eyes looking up at him apologetically. “I didn’t know it would worry you so.” He approaches her.

“Of course it worries me.” He sighs. “I spent three years trying to get you out of that castle, I’m not gonna lose you on the first night.” He holds his hand out for her to trade, helping her up. She must not have rested as well as he thought, because as soon as she gets on her feet, she almost topples right over him. He catches her, holding her up before she collapses. “Woah there.” He mutters. “You alright?”

She nods, “Let’s just get to that house you told me about.”

—

chapter two

[pursuitseternal]

“The Second Day” of “Antics of the Newly Ascended:” staring Batstarion🦇

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 1.3K Pure antics and comedy

🦇 art by @marimosalad Link to full art

Summary: You can’t pick a lock without your Rogue, even if he is Ascnedant now. So you wait… and wait… until a new unexpected visitor flies in.

CW: Banter, Poop jokes, Tav filtering Astarion’s threats and antics, sneezes, and cute fluffy vampiric bats with an attitude 🦇 (no smut)

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterist

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

“Hells, what is taking him so…flipping long?”

For a split second, you think Gale might actually swear, but no. The goody-two-shoes scout wins out in the end. You giggle anyway.

“Said he’d be back quick with a new set of lockpicks ready to go, Mister Ascendant Lord and expert of the underbelly of Baldur’s Gate…” Gale huffs and folds his arms crossly.

Karlach snorts next to you, both your backs leaning against the alley walls. You keep to the shadows, eyeing up the house you need to enter… surreptitiously. Those Flaming Fist have been everywhere lately, and you still needed your Rogue to break you in nearly everywhere in the City.

“He’s probably too busy doing Ascendant things to hurry, Gale,” Karlach chuckles, peering her horned head into the street.

“Like what?” you ask, folding your arms and pouting your lips, “what could he possibly be doing but rushing back to be with me?”

Gale rolls his eyes, seeing the wry expression on your face, he realizes you joke. “Oh, good one,” he chortles. “Oh lots of things, I would imagine if I applied my wildest musings…”

“Get to the point wizard!” Karlach slaps him on the back. “More taunting, fewer words.”

Gale sputters for air after having it knocked from his body. And you laugh at that.

Suddenly, you feel a breeze pass your face. A blur of white settles on the wall beside your head. Hanging upside down.

A fluffy white bat. It chitters at you.

“Oh shit,” Karlach jolts at the sight. “That thing is massive.”

It seems to chitter more.. proudly at that. You narrow your eyes at it… your other companions draw away a step, leaving the beast with space.

“If Astarion were here, he’d probably call it a snack and snatch it from the air…” Gale jabs, a self-confident smile on his face, proud of his own humor. His own best entertainment.

“Naw… he’s too busy picking out new fancy clothes…” Karlach peers into the street.

“Too busy trying to burst into a sea of mist…” Gale laughs.

You giggle, thinking of something he did just that morning, for an hour, “Preening his hair into a perfect coif before kissing his reflection…”

Gale’s mouth snaps shut. The bat on the wall chitters noisily again, flapping its wings as it comes to dart around your head. “That bat is all over you,” his eyes narrow, “but I’m fresh out of Speak with Animals potions for now.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind, maybe he’s lonely…” You hold out your hand, an offering to let the little mammal rest somewhere soft. “Gives me something to look after until Astarion comes back.”

“Don’t let him see you’ve got a new pet…” Gale taunts, leaning closer to peer at the creature that now rests in your palm, “He might get jealous and snap it up in his fangs.”

Does… is the bat… glaring at Gale?

You look closely, but Karlach guffaws. “Oh oh, I’ve got it. I think I know what’s keeping the Vampire Ascendant! He’s probably stuck taking his first shit in two-hundred years...”

Okay, now that bat in your palm is definitely glaring, and chittering, and… pissed. You look closely at last, it’s white fur catches the sun in shades of silver, its eyes are a deep red… almost a crimson…

You stop. “Astarion?” you murmur at the little creature, patting its head with a single finger.

It… He… bounces on your hand, chittering away, pointed little face nodding.

“For fucks sake…” Karlach groans. “How the fuck did you turn into that?”

Gale leans closer… but not too close just in case. “I’ve read that some Vampires can take forms themselves, if powerful enough.” He grins widely, “Could be ferocious werewolf, or noxious cloud…” that grin twists, “Yours is adorable, if I do say so myself, Astarion.”

You can almost hear the ire in the noises that he makes in reply. Still nonsense chatter, but the emotion is clear.

He is not amused.

“Gale, you do realize he will turn back, and he will be pissed,” you warn with a shake of your head. You freeze, a whisper tickling inside your mind as the creature in your palm twitches and rests. “Astarion says it’s not his fault you're a pack of incompetent… oh,” you pause, patting him on his head with a finger, “I’m not going to say that part, my love.”

“He’s… talking to you?” Gale twists his head and raises a brow. “Like, mind to mind?”

“Yes,” you nod, “we are just as baffled at the moment, I will be honest with you, even if he said not to tell you…” the bat starts scrabbling up your arm, chittering even more noisily than before. “Stop whining, darling. You’ll figure it out.” He comes to rest on your shoulder, hanging upside down from the seam of your shirt. “And he says he would rather you never again speculate about his bowel movements either, on pain of… I’m going to say, a severe talking to.”

“That’s not what he said is it?” Karlach guffaws.

You can’t help but let your finger scritch under his little chin as he dangles from your shoulder. “No, no,” you giggle as you watch his beady little eyes flutter shut at the petting. “He used his regular ascendantly foul mouth.”

“Well, Vampire Ascendant or not, he’s not going to be much help breaking and entering in that form, is he?” Gale snips, rolling his eyes.

“He says he would be more than happy to talk us through it, if we… oh, again? I’m not suggesting that, my pet,” you shake your head, removing your scratching finger to wag it at him. “Naughty,” you chide.

“How did you get like that anyway, Astarion?” Karlach chuffs, folding her arms and swaying on her feet.

“He sneezed,” you reply. “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to share that. I’m sorry, my love. You really should be more obvious about what is for my ears… er… mind alone.”

“Maybe…” Gale gives a mischievous grin, “if we get you to sneeze again… maybe you’ll change back to a form with fingers that can actually do some good.” He reaches into his pocket, takes out a little bit of powder, and blows.

The little bat writhes, fur standing on end, flat folded nose twitching before….

“Achoo!” The sneeze echoes off the alley walls, a burst of black mist that tingles your skin as his tall, lean and wiry body forms against your arm. You can sense his irritation, out right, cuttingly sharp annoyance lacing his angry breaths. Once the mist clears, Astarion is, in fact, glaring at you all. Crimson eyes dart from one to the next. “I am… going to fucking kill you,” he hisses.

“Shh…” you cajole, raising your finger to scritch under his smooth chin, clenched tight in his rage. Instantly, the moment you begin your gentle petting, he eases, eyes fluttering shut.

“I think he likes that, soldier,” Karlach whispers a giggle. “Do you feed him little treats when he’s a good boy?”

“Only if he gets us into that house with those dexterous hands of his,” you chuckle and slide your hand to stroke his cheek.

“Fine,” he sighs, exasperated, tired, and annoyed. “But not one of you breathes a word of this to Halsin… or Wyll… or… anyone.”

“Agreed,” Karlach slaps him on the back.

He begins rummaging his lithe fingers through his pack, turning those crimson eyes on you as you watch. “And you, my consort, don’t think I’m not going to make you pay for that mirror-kissing comment earlier…”

“Don’t think you won’t have to earn those chin scritches, my love,” you giggle in return as he flashes that fanged smirk at you.

“One more, my darling?” he purrs, watching the others start into the street already. “One for the road, one in case we die today?”

Your fingers reach quickly to oblige, his eyes closing to savor your attentive care. And you giggle, “Who can argue with that?”

[bigfatbimbo]

AHHHHH THANK YOU FOR SAYING MY WRITING ABOUT VELVETTE WAS IN CHARACTER :))) YOU GORGEOUS BEAST. Oh yeah. Yes. 🫶 anon is me, I am 🫶 anon. Here with some fresh baked goodies (art I finished the second you responded to my ask) I'd like to share with The Public™ !

Before that though, thank you, and I mean THANK YOU for being so kind to my mid writing! You're a real angel, thank you truly. And also thank you for disregarding any appaling spelling mistakes I may or may not have made, I started learning english 4 years ago ahaha x-)

I just had to get out of anon so I could share my abominations (art) with you! Calling whatever I'm making "art" is still a bit of an overstatement considering how. Uhmm. Well, not good I am at that, but, never the matter! All of this preface is irrelevant.

I am ecstatic to hear that you'd like to hear my thoughts on Lucifer, however. Because I drew about precisely that.

Not my proudest work, considering it was made in like 20 minutes with my fingers at the end of my shift, but I had to do something about the thoughts festering in my brain about him after I started reading your blog. I made it a point to not crop the fact that the reader is kneeling to his height, I found it to be a fun little addition.

ANYWAYY!! I have a few words about this piece, as always. Wait. Well, not always this isn't routine yet. You'll be bombarded by my artwork on a practically daily basis from now on ahaha :))

Anyway².

It was always a maddening feeling for him, when you pulled him into the nearest unoccupied room in your line of sight. The way that his breath would get heavy and uneven, he felt overwhelmingly hot as you nearly kneel down to his height, sliding your hands over his body like you owned it. Owned him. He'd grab onto your thigh for support since his own legs betrayed him and started to get all wobbly, he couldn't trust himself to stay standing in his current state.

Whenever you decided to do these things to him he'd feel like it was the first time all over again, his mind would go blank; it was always so exciting, he was practically losing his mind already, really. All of his confidence built up by the both of you due to your insessant reassurance and praises that allowed him to tease you when he felt particularly bold (having now the knowledge that you wouldn't leave him if he weren't "perfect", whatever perfect may mean to him, anyway.) quickly drained out of him, all he can feel is this...desperation to feel you more, no matter how close you two already were. He needed you so terribly much, the way he couldn't keep his own noises down got a giggle out of you. It made the strain in his pants ever the more noticeable for him.

Were he any more coherent, he'd probably try to shut such thoughts down, they would have made him feel like any other cheap sinner he'd openly look down with disgust upon. He was, still, the king of pride, the feeling was so completly alien to him, this.. lust? He couldn't attach a word to his thoughts in these moments. Don't ask so much of him! He was never so overwhelmed by (what we both know is) love, not with his ex-wife, at least. It enticed him equally as much as it terrified him.

"Ex-wife". A title that permeated through your brain as you got a hold of his hand and gently slid the wedding band off his ring finger. You mindlessly throw the sign of his hold on the past across the room, a sharp metallic noise is heard as it hit the wooden floors. He flinched at the noise, but not once did he look away from you. In fact, he leaned back on you further after you had thrown the ring onto the floor, bright, glowing eyes looking into yours with palpable anticipation. A clear solidification of your victory, according to yourself.

You won! You can't help the grin that grew on your lips as you tugged on his pants, the friction of that movement earned a yelp from him.

Oh yes.

You should be proud of yourself.

This was going to be a long, long, long night.

AHAHAHAAAA! I LOVE HIM. I am the Anne Boleyn to his Henry the VIII sometimes. Oh yes, in case you were perhaps wondering, the piece I had previously made inspired by your works was relating to the post where his wings and horns came out during sex. A lovely mental image, that post earned. But, that abomination is too horrifying to be unleashed onto The Public™. Your stellar writing also forced me to learn how to draw Vox, so, be proud of yourself for that one!

About trying to get you to post about adam; don't worry! Or do, who knows what your goal is, but I will talk about him in your asks like a maniac and attempt to appeal to whatever in your brain makes you like a pathetic man. I want to eat him, like, actually cut him open and eat his heart and gnaw on his bones. (Whats up with cannibalistic ace/aros? Me and alastor twinning on occasion fr.)

About literally everyone else; I must inform you that sir pentious drives me nuts. Woe the snake flood be upon ye. You're about to listen to me talk about his 2 dicks insessantly.

I await your response! I would adore to hear your thoughts. Your reactions to my last ask tasted of a pâte sucrée tart with vanilla custard and strawberries for the filling. (By the way this isn't like a joke or anything? I taste and smell words, feel textures when listening to music and attach colors to textures. Like, this is actually what that felt like to me. I hope you are aware of that.)

Signing off from another abhorrently long ask,

-🫶 anon, now revealed to be a coquette coded woman.

AAAAAAHHSJDJDJDKKDJ

Let me compose myself because OH MY GODDDDD.

This reveal is absolutely crazy omg HIIII👋👋

ALSO THE ART IS INSANE YOU DID THAT IN 20 MINUTES????? WITH YOUR FINGERS????????

I’m going nuts over here. Thats actually amazing from the way that Lucifer looks to the lighting of the scene. I’m absolutely awed.

Also the little drabble you wrote had be gagged like I so didn’t expect it to hit that hard what?? You’re a really good writer to be honest, oh my god!

Oh and… if you wanna message me that one piece of art inspired by the pegging Lucifer fic… actually let me rephrase. PLEASE message me that one piece of art inspired by the pegging Lucifer fic.

“Your reactions to my last ask tasted of a pâte sucrée tart with vanilla custard and strawberries for the filling”

By far my favorite compliment yet from you. They just keep getting more creative HELP I LOVE THEM.

Oh and, lastly, I am SO looking forward to more artwork from you. You’re truly amazing!

[slvt4felix]

Inspired by the Masters

Pairing -> Artist!Hyunjin x reader WC -> ~ 2,400 words Includes -> maybe fem!reader considering they do wear a skirt but gender isn't really mentioned, strangers to friends (to lovers in the future), fluff, meet-cute Summary -> Your local art museum was your home away from home. Your favorite place to go and you can't help but visit when you need inspiration for a new art project. With a sketchbook in one hand and your backpack in the other, you enter the elegant building not expecting anything more than to admire the artwork. However, you soon find yourself admiring something else, or perhaps someone else... Author's note -> Lets just pretend that this isn't entirely self indulgent and written pretty much for my enjoyment. But I hope you manage to enjoy anyway! Thanks for reading! ♡ Masterlist ♡

You push open the heavy door, light nearly blinding your eyes as you walk back into the fresh air. It's one of the rougher days of the week. You just got out of one of your many stem classes, and are exhausted.

You're a junior in college, excited to take on the world, but first, you need to get through the education part of life. And let's just say it isn't easy. The building behind you is one of the many science buildings at your university. Although you despise the boring lectures held there, you can't help but admire the architecture. Your university was built a long time ago, and you feel beyond lucky to have gotten accepted here. You hadn't realized until late in your high school career what exactly you wanted to do with your life or if you even wanted to go to college at all. But ultimately, you decided on psychology. But upon starting school, you realized something was missing. That's when you enrolled in an art minor. It's been one of your obsessions since you were young. You had never even considered adding it to your schooling until the idea had been placed in your head by your high school art teacher. You had quickly gotten in touch with your advisors and changed your major. It just wasn't like you to not have anything creative on your schedule.

But today was one of your unlucky days. It was pure science labs and lectures all day long. It was now midafternoon, and there was some time to kill before your last class of the day.

Your first thought would, typically, be to head back to your dorm. It is shared between you, your high school best friend and two other people you met last year. Despite the fun times you have there, it was the last place you wanted to be today. Your roommates have been constantly arguing against each other, and you need some quiet time, especially after the grueling day you had.

You step away from the antique building to a bench next to the sidewalk a few feet away. Sitting down, you pull your phone from your pocket, unsurprised to see no messages. You haven't made many friends yet, but it's not all that shocking due to your reserved personality. Nonetheless, you open your messages, sending a quick text letting your best friend know you won't be home until later.

You put your phone away again, hands rubbing against your skirt, hoping to regain warmth. The heat in your class doesn't work well and, unfortunately, the heat from summer has faded. Reminiscent only in the nearly bare trees and brown leaves blowing in the soft wind.

Slipping your headphones back over your ears, you stand up and start the short walk to what's practically your home away from home. It's your favorite place to go, especially when seeking refuge from the chaos within your life. There's even a little cafe to get snacks or study in. Not to mention how beautiful it is. You can't help but be drawn to the beauty of it as an artist.

You walk up the glossy white stairs, excited to see the art within. Luckily, you get into your city's art museum for free. Upon walking in, your jaw nearly falls open like it always does. The beautiful cream walls and intricate paintings on the ceiling. You stop at each and every sculpture on the way in, eagerly reading about the pieces. You can never learn enough from the masters, and luckily enough for you, art is your favorite thing to study. Yes, it was your minor, but it was also your favorite hobby.

Strolling through the cool halls, you start to search for a painting to sketch out. With an upcoming art assignment due next week, you need to find inspiration and fast. You have been in a bit of an art slump for a few weeks now which is really hard when it's a quarter of your schooling. Hopefully recreating some beautiful paintings will be able to help you get back into your groove.

You walk into a well-lit room and are shocked to see new artwork mounted to the walls. They must have changed this room out recently; maybe it was a new exhibit. The thought excites you, your feet instantly shuffling closer to get a better look.

After taking a quick glance at some of the descriptions, you begin to realize it's an exhibit containing all local artists, the artwork absolutely gorgeous.

However, you were instantly drawn to a painting just about in the center of the long wall. The blood-red roses were noticeable from all the way across the room. As you get closer, you notice it's a stunning oil painting, the flowers depicted with heavy, but thoughtful, brush strokes. It was full of stark highlights and shadows, a delicate crystal vase holding the roses up. You can't help, but be in awe of the artist's talent. For the first time in a while, you don't feel reluctant to draw.

Thankfully there's a bench directly across from the artwork. You take a seat, smoothening your skirt. You set your backpack down beside you, reaching inside and retrieving your sketchbook. The inside contains various things. From journals to notes for your psychology classes, to actual drawings, the notebook is nearly filled to the brim. It may seem random, but the small notebook was essential for you.

Taking your pencil out from your bag, you start on the sketch. You'll have to be quick since you only have about an hour before class. Hopefully, you won't lose track of time.

You slowly get absorbed in the drawing. Beginning with the roses and making your way down, adding emphasis to the dark shadows. You barely notice as another person walks up to admire the art. But it's hard to stay concentrated after you first glance up.

A young man is standing off to the side, looking at the same painting. His jet black hair is slicked back slightly with gel, leaving a couple framing pieces in the front. He was dressed oddly nice, immediately drawing your attention. Although it was an art museum and people do tend to dress up more, you're starting to see fewer people make that effort. So it's interesting to see the man dressed in a designer black suit. You know it's rude to stare, but you simply cannot look away. Some people just draw attention like that.

He starts to turn around and you quickly look back down into your lap where your abandoned sketch sits. It was going well, but now looking back on it, something is off, you're just not sure what. You notice movement next to you and glance back up to see the man taking a seat next to you.

The two of you make eye contact and he smiles kindly, sending butterflies into your stomach. You return the smile before returning to your drawing. You gingerly trace over some of the lines of the roses trying to figure out what could be the issue.

"Beautiful painting, isn't it?" you say trying to keep the air from turning awkward. He simply hums a bit, with a small smirk appearing on his face. He glances down at your notebook and his eyes widen a bit.

"Your sketch is just as amazing," he says with his eyebrow quirking up. The compliment instantly makes blood rush to your cheeks. You can't help but notice how attractive the man is.

"Thank you," you reply, genuinely. You don't really show your art off to anyone so you take any and all compliments.

"It's not much so far, but it was just something to help pass the time," you explain, hoping he won't judge it too harshly. You shake your head slightly, annoyed at how strangely eager you are to please this random stranger.

He nods back in understanding giving you the idea that maybe he’s done similar things before. The two of you sit in silence after your bit of conversation. Somehow, it’s surprisingly not awkward. It's obvious that he’s simply enjoying the peace and seems to like watching you draw. You’ve never really minded having people watch you in your hobby. Despite the few nerves it adds, you feel proud when people like to see what you’re working on.

You sigh quietly, annoyed that the problem with your drawing is not going away.

"Something feels off, but I can't seem to figure it out," you admit to him in defeat. He nods and you watch as his eyes scan over your drawing. He leans a little closer, trying to get a better look and almost loses his balance for a second. It's endearing to see the confident man lose his composure even for even just a second. You lightly grip his shoulder steadying him with a soft giggle.

"Sorry, I just-," he starts a little flustered, "can I?" You're a little confused at first about what he is actually asking you and his eyes staring directly back at yours isn't doing much to help your comprehension skills. You can see him start to get a little nervous when you don't answer right away, his hands fiddling with his sleeves. His eyes dart down to your notebook, and a light bulb goes off in your head. You smile, a little embarrassed, and hand him your sketch.

"Yeah, of course," you respond. It was you who asked for help in the first place, so it would be silly for you to mind letting him see your drawing. He takes it from your hands carefully. He can tell how much it means to you from how tight your grip has been on the notebook since he came to see the painting.

"Oh I see," he exclaims, excited to have found the issue, "May I?" You are surprised when he turns to you with the question, his eyes shining eagerly in the bright lights of the museum. His hand reaches for your pencil and you instantly go to hand it to him. Your hand slightly grazes his as you release the pencil, making your heart flutter. He smiles in thanks and goes back to analyze your sketch while his other hand reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck.

'Oh my god,' you think, hoping he doesn't realize you are panicking internally. You glance away, trying to calm yourself down. You would hate to look like an idiot.

The man notices the distance and glances over, seeing you discreetly covering your mouth. He nearly laughs, finding your actions endearing, but he manages to hold it back. He quickly looks back down, so you won't catch him staring.

He brings your pencil to your sketch and goes over the petals, bringing the edges in a bit with more of a curve. Then he moves to the vase and erases a little of one of the shadows to lighten it up. You watch all the while, amazed at how he figured out and fixed the issue so quickly.

When he finishes adding his touches, he holds the sketch out in front of him, trying to see it with a new eye to check if it looks the way it should. He nods his head, content with the result.

"Wow, you fixed it. It looks amazing!" You compliment, extremely impressed.

"It was no big deal," he brushes it off, "sometimes you just need a fresh pair of eyes to see something."

"I'm Hyunjin by the way," he says, introducing himself, "Hwang Hyunjin." You're a little confused when he gives his last name, but you don't think too hard about it. I mean, it was kind of cute of him to be so formal anyway. He stands up from the bench and you follow, aware that you have to get going sometime soon.

"Y/n, nice to meet you," you respond, excited to have made a new friend. All of your friends were majors in engineering and other sorts of classes. None of them really enjoyed the same things you do, so you can't believe you've managed to find someone who seems to be into similar things.

Hyunjin reaches into his pockets, pulling out his phone. He takes a second to unlock it and looks at you in hope.

"Could I get your number? Maybe we could do this again sometime. I’d love to have someone to paint with," he asks shyly, extending his arm out for you to grab his phone. You accept his offer and put your number in, sending yourself a text so you'll have his number, too.

After you hand his phone back, his eyebrows shoot up upon realizing the time written at the top of the screen. You can tell he panics a bit, immediately slipping his phone away.

"I actually have somewhere to be, but I'll see you again, yeah?" He asks, trying to make sure you feel the same way. He starts to walk backward, albeit a little clumsily, while awaiting your answer with a charming smile painted on his face.

"For sure," you tell him with a smile, and he turns around and walks away. You watch his retreating form, shocked at what just happened.

"Oh my god," you whisper as you celebrate a little. You start to realize how many other people are in the room and take a deep breath, not wanting to embarrass yourself. You're just so excited and to be honest, Hyunjin was breathtaking.

You calm down a little and walk back up to the painting, wanting to admire it one last time before you have to leave. Not only is it one of the best paintings you have ever seen but it also happened to start a very interesting conversation and bring you a new friend. Maybe it was fate.

As you go to turn away, the silver of the plaque beneath the painting catches your eye, and you realize that you never read it like you typically try to. You love to see where and who all the beautiful artworks come from. You lean down a bit, trying to read the small black print. Since it's only a temporary exhibit the descriptions weren't anything too fancy.

Your mouth falls open within seconds of reading it. Your expression quickly turns into one of amusement thinking back on your latest interaction. You shake your head slightly in disbelief.

There, written as the artist of the piece was the one and only...

Hwang Hyunjin.

[radioisntdead]

If I may, I kindly request a small crumb of some Rosie x Reader? Where reader is a living human talented with the arcane arts, accidentally summoning the cannibal and becoming enamoured with her? We send her genuine human meat as gifts, trinkets from the living world and all sorts of cute little letters and stuff.

Good evening my dear! I'M SO EXCITED SOMEONE REQUESTED SOMETHING WITH ROSIE, I ADORE HER [as seen by my pfp] I'm gonna go with headcanons here because I can see this going very very chaotically.

Warnings: cannibalism, demon summoning, which I should probably mention, PLEASE DON'T SUMMON ANYTHING?? Does this count as a long distance relationship??? This is shorter then my normal headcanons

No idea what you were trying to summon in the first place but you managed to summon Rosie who was in the middle of her tea break,

She went from drinking tea in her emporium to I assume your room, she's startled

It was love at first sight,

For you anyway, Rosie just wanted to finish her tea and fingers,

"Salutations?"

"YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL!"

And thus began you seducing courting Rosie,

You aquire human flesh, either by murder insuring you'll end up the same place as Rosie or I don't know the dark web? Grave robbing?

Please don't rob graves,

She quite likes the fresh meat, because human probably tastes somewhat better then Sinner? Like no added claws, flavors etc etc,

It gives her a nostalgic feeling of being alive and having her husband for supper, but better because he tasted disgusting.

With every delivery of meat you send what she can describe as a love letter, like I'm imagining you got a whole stationary kit to make the best letters ever, like if you have horrible handwriting [Like I do]

You invest in a typewriter, awesome stickers to put on the envelope, the letters are wax sealed.

You begin summoning her on a bi-weekly basis, at first you summoned her at VERY inconvenient times,

She's doing overlord stuff? Not anymore she's in your room with you on one knee holding a plate of fingers

She's giving advice? Well they better hold off on that advice because now Rosie is wherever you summoned her from with you reading her poetry or something,

She's having tea with Alastor? Poor Alastor is left alone and confused, with Susan approaching,

Alastor now knows of your existence, and Rosie gives you a schedule on when you can summon her.

Also she requests that you send her more meat because now she's sharing with Alastor.

With trinkets Rosie is more picky,

You give her cheap jewelry from Amazon? She's politely ghosting you, no offense but she's from the early 1900's according to the wiki, she has standards for courting.

Doesn't have to break the bank but at least something that's more expensive then twenty bucks.

However you give her stuff she can't get down below? She adores it, like GOOD tea? Aren't you a charmer? that good ol' expensive wine? Well if you insist! Give her fresh fruit, fresh flowers, you know how HARD THAT IS TO GET DOWN THERE???

The gift giving isn't one-sided, you want something like demon horns? Next time you summon her, she has a box of different types of horns, she'll give you little treats

You weren't a cannibal before? Well you are now.

She'll tell you about the ongoings in hell, Alastor, the townsfolk, the tea, SUSAN, you don't like Susan.

Now after you've perished and ended up below because you were fraternizing with a cannibal,

You immediately go find Rosie, you know she runs a place called Cannibal town you managed you find Rosie's Emporium,

You swing up open the doors, startling several cannibals

"ROSIE I DIED!!"

She's not the happiest that you died, or that you almost broke her doors but your there now so yay!

She shows you around cannibal town in a musical number, introducing you to the tight-knit community, you avoid Susan the best you can but she catches you and threatens you to be nice to Rosie or else.

You should fear the old lady.

Anyways you get moved into cannibal town, helping out at the Emporium, Vibing with Rosie.

You get married eventually but I hope she likes you enough not to eat you like her past spouses.

The wedding is very classy though, the whole of cannibal town was in attendance, along with a couple of overlords!

Good evening folks! Thank you for tuning in! We hope to see you again! Also ROSIE SUPREMACY

[dinadearine]

Okay but what about Mizu just taking care of reader’s wounds after a big fight 🤕🤕

Reckless

Mizu x Reader

tags:Fluff

Omg I love this prompt! it's so sweet.

anyways here's the warnings: slight gore, swearing.

Reckless.

or atleast that's what they call you.

you are known being the most energetic and bright kid, adding it to the reality of their assumptions of you being reckless.

right now, that pleasant recklessness turns into something you would expect—Accidents. Slashing through every men in your way, blood and limbs sent flying and crashing on the ground, painting your path red, adorned with fresh flesh.

each of them let out a wavering cry of pain, embracing themselves as if finding their own solace within their own body.

within the art of clashing swords, you certainly know that even with the responsibility of deaths in your hands, you are aware of your choices, and one of them being a simple, yet horrifying word. Death.

shuddering in pain, you walked in a nearby shelter to tend to your wounds, blood gashes over the white sheets of the dirty futon. Mizu on the other hand, had enough heart to assist you.

"Be careful." mizu tended with the left side of your face, despite her calloused fingers, she maintained gentleness with the touch. You grunt, eyes squeezing shut from the stinging pain, your body instinctively trying to lean away.

"fuck— I know, I'm being carefu—"

"you're not, you're being a fucking stubborn brat." she cuts you off, despite having a harsh tone, her hands were gentle, and after she finished patching up your injured face, and starts to tend with your left arm, you sigh in annoyance, closing your eyes to hide them rolling from Mizu's words.

"Can you atleast be nice with me for once?" you asked, raising a brow at the samurai. They only let out a mused huff.

"I'm not that kind of person you expect me to be, y/n." mizu grumbled out, she finished tending your wounds by your arm and sighs, she sat down across from you. "plus, do you even notice what I am doing to you?" she said, almost sarcastic, you grew silent, taking in the logic of her assistance for you, she sighs. ".. And I don't have the time to be pleasing you." she added, you rolled your eyes visibily, causing them to narrow their gaze at you.

"Hm.. Stubborn, and reckless." Mizu marked, her tone seemed amused, making you scoff, pulling your own arm up to place your palm by your chest. "damn, that is offensive!" you exclaimed, putting up a face.

she chuckles softly, shooking her head as she speaks. "wow, you're offended when I point out facts about you?" this made your face heat up in both embarrassment and disbelief.

"that's fucking rich coming from you." you mused. Leaning back to rest your head against the wall, letting the pain flow off with the new pleasant energy of your banters with Mizu.

"aren't you reckless aswell? so reckless you'd choose to run directly where the danger is." you said, your tone holding a hint of ignorance yet laced with amusement. "..Or maybe that's the reason why I'm reckless." you added before you laugh.

"Hah, I learn from the best huh?" you laid down to rest your head more comfortably causing you to drift off to sleep.

"ah.. I guess." Mizu said, huffing a chortle, she crossed her arms, her gaze flickered from your wounds to your resting face, she silently curts a nod at you before she took off her glasses and hat, placing them aside to rest beside you, she took one more glance at your sleeping form, gently pulling your head by her lap, and finally closed her eyes, finding solace from slumber.

"...maybe I'll try to be nice."

(I really hope you like this, my brain juice is getting empty and btw, please point out any mistakes or mispells from this fic, I'm still learning lol)

[kaihuntrr]

The Sea Prince; Betas and Sketches!

Hello! been a bit since ive done a sketch dump, but it isnt just a sketch dump, it's an announcement!

As @mewhoismyself and I work on the fic, we need an active set of beta readers! The two we have our wonderful, but to keep with the schedule, we need some extra hands and fresh eyes!

Hence, beta readers are once again open!

I am looking for two betas who are experienced in writing, and who are active to give their insights and feedback! currently, i am writing chapter 17, but while i do that, i'd need the feedback as soon as i can get it so i can prepare it for the chapter release dates. shoot a comment down below so i can check your account!

anyway, here's some doodles <3

ONE OF THESE IMAGES BELOW HAVE BLOOD. I AM WARNING YOU NOW.

first off, here's a joke made by a friend :> martyn is scott's babygirl, boom, its canon-

starting off, here's some silhouettes for the other princes ;D I can't reveal them, otherwise the surprise would be ruined! they're all based on different sea creatures, but they are just as scary as Prince Pearl and Prince Chromia. theres other designs i have to get to, but this is a sneak peak of the other terrors lurking in the dark.

speaking of, I got a fun doodle of em <3 the good thing about eating underwater is that they won't get all messy, but there are those times where an audience might watch them eat, they're messy eaters!

these two are pretty, but i really wanted to push their freakier, scarier sea prince sides! more slight changes, but they're both quite fun to draw! their contrasting designs are so much fun to draw together, i love these sillies! oh- and here's a bloodless version!

i absolutely LOVE my sea prince designs, scott and pearl just itch me the right way.

and before i pop off, here's some concept designs for joey and sausage, along with fwhip and gem! since gem is officially a lifer, i think her role in the story might be a bit more focused on, who knows!

wanted to make sure sausage didn't look like his pirates look :0c this au was originally before pirates smp, so i wanted to differentiate them somehow, so i pulled a lot from their empires' attire and see what works! what do you think?

finally, we have the cover art board! im planning to put this all in my pinned post the moment all the covers drop, but goodness, those eyes sure are pretty!

what do you think of the au so far? enjoying it? i hope you are! this au is such a blast <3

[impala-dreamer]

Taking Over Me

A Supernatural Story

~Dean's guilty pleasure comes to life and Y/N gets tangled in the mix...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader 

3800 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Monster Fucking. Tentacles. All The Way Through Tentacles. Cum. Poison. Possession. Allll the fucked up things.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Fresh from the shower, she hurried down the long hallway, bare feet slapping against the cool tiles. The towel knotted over her breasts was damp and a little too short, exposing more thigh than she usually would in the common areas.

If she rushed, no one would see her.

No one that wasn’t supposed to, anyway.

Bedroom number eleven popped open with a mere touch and Y/N slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. She spun and pushed herself back against the antique wood, staring across the pristine room at Dean who was lounging on the pillows. He was ready for bed, down to a single layer of a thin cotton tee and shorts. His long legs were bare and stretched out across the mattress, propping up his laptop.

He startled when the door shut, looking up from the screen with the guilt of a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar before dinner.

“Uh- hey-” He distracted her with a beaming smile while shutting his computer.

She was not fooled. “Whatcha doin’?” she asked with the tone of someone who already knew the answer.

Dean laughed awkwardly as his cheeks burned bright pink. “N-nothing. Weather- things.”

Y/N kicked back and pushed away from the door. “Weather things?”

Dean squirmed uncomfortably as she came close and clasped both hands on the computer, unable to move it from his lap. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. There’s uh… tornados and stuff. Um. Gotta keep an eye on those, ya know.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Tornados, huh?” Clearing the distance between them, Y/N appeared at the side of the bed and looked down at him. The fabric of his shorts was stretched higher than the actual tent they’d pitched when camping a few months ago. She snatched the laptop away and he gasped. “You certainly seem very into weather events. I never knew that was such a passion for you.”

Dean scrambled to cover his lie and his dick.

“Well…” He grinned and clenched his teeth, at a loss. “Ya know… meteorology has always been a… secret, uh, it’s- it’s fun.”

Y/N snuck her finger between the laptop and lifted the screen. Very exaggerated and animated moaning flooded from the speakers and her eyes lit up in awe.

A tiny brunette was being utterly ravaged by what appeared to be all eight legs of a giant blue octopus. The woman screamed in unadulterated pleasure and a wave of cartoon fluids gushed from her extremely swollen and pink holes.

“Oh…”

Dean scrunched his eyes shut and then lurched for the computer. “It’s an art form! You can’t shame me for art.”

Y/N pulled the computer out of his reach and kept watching. “I’m not shaming. It’s just…” She tilted her head as two of the tentacles reached around to circle the woman’s tits, squeezing so hard her dark magenta nipples nearly exploded. “Wow. It’s… different.”

With her distracted, Dean managed to snatch the computer and tuck it under the bed.

“Hey!”

Dean sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on,” he said, “lemme have it.”

Y/N laughed gently and sat on the edge of the bed. “Babe, I’m not gonna tease you for your choice in pornography. I’m not Sam.”

Green eyes rolled and dimples popped above his lip.

“Really,” she assured him, leaning in and laying a hand on his thick upper thigh. “And believe me, if you saw some of my hidden folder things, you’d know I’m not able to judge.”

His brows lifted in interest.

She bit her lip and went on, laying it on thick. “I just… I don’t know, I was surprised you were in here taking care of yourself. I thought maybe tonight we were gonna…” Her fingers curled inward and she brushed her pinky over the base of his cock. “Ya know…”

Dean swallowed hard and his arms sank to his sides. “I wasn’t… doing anything,” he breathed, stomach tensing as her hand slipped inside the slit of his shorts. “Just watching. I was bored- you were in the shower a long time…”

“I was,” she admitted, slowly dragging her warm hand over his erection. He was near to pulsing under her touch and she popped up on her knees, shifting on the bed to get closer. “I was in there a long… long time.”

His lashes fluttered, his lips parted, chest heaved.

“Getting myself all clean and… smooth for you.”

She batted her eyes and Dean’s mouth watered.

“Smooth?”

Licking her lip, she took his right hand and placed it beneath the towel against her bare sex. Dean moaned as he felt the velvety flesh of her pussy and his heart pounded almost painfully.

“Fuck…”

He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth but Y/N released it, sucking a kiss over his wet mouth until he snapped and took over. He grabbed at the towel, tearing it away as he nipped at the soft flesh of her throat and below.

Y/N rolled onto her back and he followed, closing in on her like a starved wolf. He growled against her mouth and hissed when she locked her legs around his hips, jerking him forward with a hitched kick on the ass.

“Better than anime?” she whispered, licking at the tender flesh of his ear.

He nudged at her cunt, teasing and threatening all in one rough motion. “Oh, hell yeah…”

Dean woke up late, his old bones tired from a night of fun. He sat up with a cough and dragged a hand down his stubbled cheek, scratching at the shadow and wondering if he should bother shaving. Y/N might like a beard, he thought, and decided to give it another day at least. Just to test it out.

Y/N was whistling loudly, a familiar tune floating from her lips down through the hallways.

“Styx?”

Still groggy, Dean followed the sound, rubbing at his eyes when the walls began to undulate around him. He felt almost drunk, but soon shook it away when Y/N came into view.

“Come sail away… come sail away with me…”

She was bent over, ass pushed out high, digging through the archives in room 7B. Her whistle was intoxicating and Dean felt his blood rushing south. His ears rang with her song and he slipped into the room and slunk up behind her, grabbing her hips.

Y/N yelped and stood, falling back against his firm chest. “Dean!”

He nuzzled into the crook of her neck and took a tiny bite. “Mmm… mornin’.”

She could feel him stiffen against her ass and she pushed back against it, rubbing suggestively. “Morning nothing- it’s almost noon.” Her left hand snuck up and curled around the back of his head, holding his lips to her flesh. “You OK, sleepyhead?”

He breathed her in- dust and sweat and her fruity shampoo. He hummed happily. “Very…”

Her nails scraped along his scalp and ideas flooded his brain.

“Busy?” he asked, already envisioning slamming her up against the metal shelves and sinking so deep into her that he could see it in her eyes.

“Kinda.” She held up a small octagonal box. The brass was dark with age and she rubbed at the inlaid symbol on the top. “This is cool. I don’t know what it is, but the top thingy is pretty.” She rubbed it again and the tarnish moved beneath her fingers, clearing the brass.

Dean eyed it for a second and shrugged. “Never seen it before.” His lips pulled at her ear.

“Probably shouldn’t play with it,” she sighed. “Might have some evil creature trapped inside that could eat us alive.”

His hot breath fluttered into her ear and she shivered. “I could eat you alive,” he growled.

Y/N smiled and turned her head so she could lick at his hungry lips. “I guess I could take a break…”

Dean let out a moan that vibrated through her and Y/N rolled her hips back until they were both throbbing and aching. Reaching around, Dean lifted his left hand to her chest while the right slid between her thighs.

The box fell onto the cement and the ancient lock shattered at their feet.

“Fuck, Dean…”

Her pulse was racing beneath his lips, her pussy already dripping. He could feel her jeans dampen over his palm.

Close to feral, Dean tugged his hands away and grabbed her upper arms, spinning her around to face him. They scuffled over the floor, kicking at the box while they rearranged in each others’ arms.

Lost in a kiss, neither heard the brass lid creak open.

The neon glow that leaked out wasn’t seen as Dean shoved her back against the metal shelves and attacked, crushing her with every ounce of himself. He licked deep into her mouth, scratched down her sides, jerked a knee between her legs.

Y/N grasped at his shoulders, fingers curling into the gray flannel he wore. “God, Dean… need you so bad…” Her voice flowed through him and Dean grunted back, unable to find any words as he fumbled with two zippers at once.

The air in the room shifted. A slowly rising mist poured free from the box, illuminated by streaks of purple neon. The mist floated up around their ankles, but neither noticed.

She bit down into the bend of his neck, marking his shoulder with a tiny red crescent moon and he hissed against her cheek. “Fuck me, Dean…”

He grinned, eyes hazy and staring into her. “I’m tryin’-”

The cloud lifted around their hips and a strange warmth struck them both. Y/N’s exposed middle shivered with goosebumps as the mist touched her and she looked down with wide eyes that let in the fear.

“Dean-” She slapped his chest to get his attention.

“I’m workin’ on it,” he laughed, face buried in her hair as his hands struggled.

“No!” She grabbed his face and turned him downward. “Look!”

The fog was moving faster, climbing higher with every breath. It tickled her jaw and Y/N gasped, looking to Dean for help.

“What the fuck!”

Surprised, he took a step back and the mist enveloped Y/N. It sucked her down into a hazy mess of purple so thick that Dean couldn’t even make out the spot she’d been in.

“Y/N!”

She screamed and then fell silent. Dean spun on the spot, totally surrounded by the alien fog.

“Y/N!” He yelled for her and the mist crept in, filling his mouth and trickling down his throat. He choked on it, unable to move any air. He clawed at his throat, but there was nothing to move, nothing to break free from. The cloud lifted above his head, expanding to fill the entire room.

Dean’s head hit the cement and green eyes slammed shut.

He woke with a gasping breath, lungs aching and head throbbing. Tacky warmth was spread on the side of his face and he knew that he’d been bleeding. He tried to reach for the wound, but his hands were stuck, locked tight above his head by the enchanted metal cuffs that hung against the back wall of the dungeon.

Slowly, the room came into view and he shivered. The air was on full blast, pumping in through vents in the ceiling and casting down icy air into the stone lined room. He gave himself a quick shake to shed the dregs of unconsciousness blinked into the dim light.

Vision was not his friend and Dean cringed at the sight before him.

Y/N was lying on the cold floor in the center of the devil’s trap, her naked body displayed as if she were sleeping. Her hands were hung at her sides, her legs perfectly straight. Her eyes were still closed but she was breathing and Dean called to her.

“Y/N!” His voice bounced through the room but she didn’t stir. “Baby, come on. Wake up!”

Her lashes fluttered. Her throat tensed with a cough.

“That’s it, baby,” he urged, “wake up. Come on.”

She struggled to open her eyes, and when she did, panic filled them. She tried to move, but her limbs were numb, unresponsive.

“Dean?” She turned towards his voice, only her head able to move. Her eyes were wide and flooded with horrors he missed while passed out. “Dean! We have to get out of here. Now.”

Her breaths were heavy, pained. She tried to move again, but only managed to twist her left foot a bit to the right.

“Fuck! I can’t move!”

Dean took a breath and looked around. They were alone and the secret entrance closed. Something had put them in here to keep safe.

“We’re OK.” He swallowed hard. “Hey! Look at me, OK? We’re OK. We been in worse situations, right?”

He smiled but she wasn’t buying it. A tear slipped down her cheek and Dean’s heart ached.

“We’re gonna be just fine.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Right. OK.”

They looked into each other’s eyes, finding the will to stay calm within. He exhaled slowly and she mimicked, calming down for a moment.

It was a brief moment that shattered when the door creaked open.

“Dean?” Her heart raced, eyes shooting towards the entrance.

No one entered, but the light from the box glowed bright from between the metal shelves. Dean stared at the neon, trying to decipher his task. If he knew what he was up against, he could fight it. He couldn’t exactly punch the fog.

He grit his teeth and tugged at the chains. “Hello? Who’s there!”

Y/N drew in a scared breath and whimpered. “Dean…”

His eyes followed hers and his jaw dropped in awe.

Slithering through the gap in the portal was a long, slimy tendril. It was firm and thick, the color of an eggplant, and it moved across the floor like an eel.

Dean blinked in wonder as more appendages appeared, sliding through the crack in countless numbers until a swarm of squirming, slithering things darkened the edges of the devil’s trap. They skirted the red paint, looming within inches of Y/N’s paralyzed form.

Her jaw trembled and she grit her teeth to try and stay calm. Years of almost getting herself killed had taught her that panic helped no one.

Quickly, she looked up at Dean but he was as lost as she; there were no plans, no ideas. They were in trouble.

“Dean…”

The tentacles breached the sigil and Y/N screamed as two warm, wet things slid across her feet and wrapped themselves around her ankles. Tiny suckers on the underside attached themselves to her flesh, puckering and slurping, kissing her calves and feet.

Y/N’s breath caught. The sensation was almost pleasant, and she let herself relax a little.

Dean watched as the strands of flesh crawled up higher, slipping between and around her thighs.

“Y/N?” His heart was pounding, nerves on edge, and yet- he couldn’t stop watching. He clawed at the cuffs, yanked down hard on the chain, but his eyes never left Y/N. “Baby?”

Her eyes were heavy, lips parted with a deep exhale. “Dean… it’s… it’s OK…”

The arms twisted around her legs jerked suddenly and her knees fell open. A clipped moan left her lips and Dean’s stomach tensed.

“It’s so… warm…” She sighed and bit her bottom lip, keeping in a string of aroused noises. “Dean…”

He pulled hard on the cuffs and a single line of blood dribbled down his forearm. “Y/N… I can’t- It’s-”

Words vanished as a third tendril slinked between her legs and nuzzled at her cunt. Y/N cried out in shock but sank back down into blissful compliance as the suckers closed around her clit.

“Oh my god- Dean- it’s-”

His eyes were locked on her body, unable and unwilling to turn away.

“Oh, fuck!”

Y/N’s eyes rolled and another tentacle slipped in between her thighs, this one sinking without warning into her tight pussy. It jammed itself in deep and then expanded to fill her channel completely.

“Jesus Christ!” Her voice cracked as the invader pulled out just enough to let her juices flow freely before slipping back in. Her body tensed and her hips jerked upwards, moved by the tentacles.

Dean’s mouth watered despite his fear. The sound of the thing fucking into her rang in his ears and his cock twitched hard. The wetness squelched loudly and another slinking eel came around, sliding through the mess to nudge at her tightest hole. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t resist the arousal that zapped through his veins.

Y/N exhaled a shaking laugh as the monster filled her up. She tried to squirm away, to buck her hips to the rhythm of it moving, but she was locked in place, trapped by some magical bondage that she couldn’t explain.

More tendrils appeared, attacking her in ways that Dean couldn’t fathom. They attached themselves to her nipples, sucking with slurping hunger that made Y/N cry out with spasming pleasure. They tangled in her hair, coiled around her arms, her throat. They covered her eyes, blinding her from Dean, pulsed at her ears until she could hear nothing but the wetness and their suctioning kisses.

“Dean?” She tried to turn her face, to look for him, but it was all darkness. “Dean! They’re…”

A gentle buzzing sounded in the back of her mind and Y/N was distracted, listening to it intently.

Dean called to her, but she could no longer respond. The tentacles pushed and pulled at her flesh, twisted her limbs, puppeted each finger.

“They’re… taking over… me…” The buzzing was incessant and distracting. She held her breath as the thick snake in her cunt moved deeper still. She could feel it breaking through, plunging into stomach, fucking everything inside. There was no pain, only a deep, throbbing point of pleasure that radiated outward and blocked everything else out.

Panting and tense with guilty arousal, Dean stared at her stomach as the tentacle bulged in her lower belly. He could see the tip poking through, climbing upwards through her system. It crawled higher and Y/N gagged when it entered the base of her throat.

“Oh, god- Y/N!” His voice was strangled and his cock was stiff. He hated himself for watching, for not closing his eyes to the horror, but it was strangely beautiful and Y/N’s pleasured cries were alluring and intoxicating.

Her head jerked as the tendril passed into her throat and pushed across her tongue.

Dean gaped, eyes wide and staring. The tip slipped from her lips and pumped outwards like some alien tongue. It thrust in and out, pulling and pushing from her cunt to her mouth, flooding her body with its poison slime.

Gagging and suffocating, Y/N felt herself slipping into darkness. The buzzing grew louder and the suckers pulled harder. Her thigh quaked as she came and her muscles squeezed hard around the appendages, coaxing it to fuck her harder.

“Y/N!”

His voice faded into the background, so far away, so quiet.

The larger tentacle forced itself through her lips again and blue tinged liquid pulsed from the tip. It exploded from her mouth, choking her and covering her face and chest in a thick, oozing cum-like mess.

Dean shuddered, his body shaking as he came in his jeans, untouched and disgusted with himself, terrified for Y/N. He clenched his teeth and roared, using what little strength he had left to yank at the chains.

Y/N’s body twitched as the tentacles retreated. They slithered from her holes and untangled themselves from her limbs, setting her free.

Dean held his breath, watching her chest. She wasn’t moving.

“Y/N?”

His eyes flooded with wetness and he blinked a single tear that slid down his face, catching in the stubble.

“Y/N…”

Suddenly, her eyes popped open and she took a breath. Mechanically, she sat up and twisted to look up at Dean.

Her smile was unnatural and terrifying, her lips stretching too far up into her cheeks. Her eyes were wrong, the irises overtaken with neon purple light.

“Y/N?”

She stood, climbing to her feet with minimal effort. She opened her mouth and an unearthly tongue curled out, licking the cum from her face. She smiled again and cocked her head, regarding Dean.

“Thank you for the female,” she said, voice high-pitched and awkward. “She will be very useful.”

The metal cut into his wrists again and Dean raged, screaming for her as she walked away.

The shelves slid closed behind her and Dean was left alone in the cold darkness, confused and horrified.

“Y/N!”

“Dean! Hey!”

She slapped his cheek and he woke, jerking up and away from her. He kicked at the blanket and scrambled for his gun, a strangled cry dying in the back of his throat.

“Whoa!” Y/N pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed, her hands raised in surrender, her sleepy face twisted with worry. “Dean! It’s me!”

A deep breath pushed him back into reality. “Holy shit!” He scrubbed a hand down his face and popped his jaw, uncomfortable and still reeling. “That was a dream?”

Y/N blinked at him, confused. “Uh… probably. What the hell happened? You started kicking me and when I woke up you were twisted and screaming.”

The dream played tricks on him, tinting her eyes purple and snaking a tiny eel around her throat, but he pushed it away. He slapped his cheeks and rubbed at his eyes.

“Wow. That was insane.”

Settling, he leaned back against the headboard and opened his arms. Carefully, Y/N slid in next to him.

“Babe, you’re soaked through with sweat…” Y/N lifted the cotton from his chest and cringed. “Gross. You OK?”

He exhaled loudly and nodded, dropping his arm around her shoulder. “Yeah. Just a really… really fucked up dream.”

Y/N snuggled close and slipped her arm around his waist, making him jump.

“Wow, I guess it was.”

He laughed at himself and sighed. “Gotta stop watching all that hentia. It’s doin’ things to me.”

Y/N danced her fingers over his stomach and down. “Not all bad things…” Her hand slipped and she cupped his dick, rubbing gently.

Still on edge, Dean hissed and grabbed her wrist, carefully guiding her away. “Yeah. Not… not now… Bad. Bad things.”

Laughing sweetly, she set her arm back around his chest and cuddled close. “Maybe you should really be looking up tornadoes before bed. Those never gave you nightmares.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He smirked and rubbed a hand down her arm. “Definitely gotta lay off the monster fucking… for a while, anyway…”

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[thebadgerclan]

Pining

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Benedict is happy to pine from afar, until...

Benedict had never held such affections for a woman, not before he met you.  It had been an ordinary night that Benedict had decided to spend at Granvil’s place downtown.  Said place happened to be a brothel, but he never partook in the more carnal activities.  Instead, he spoke to like minded individuals about the art world, the pieces they were working on, or busied himself painting whatever model was posing that evening.

Then, he’d met you, and the world tipped on its axis.  You were singularly beautiful, but Benedict’s attraction went far beyond that.  You were well-read, witty, sharp, and talented.  Your still lifes rivaled those of William Blake, and you managed to capture your subject in such a way they appeared they could leap off of the canvas.  He’d approached, and the pair of you hit it off instantly.

You also hailed from a large family, though you were the eldest while Benedict was the second eldest.  “Though I am a daughter, so I do not know if it counts.”  Benedict had merely laughed.  “Do not sell yourself short, Y/N.  You are most certainly a credit to your family.”  Before he knew it, Benedict was spending nearly every evening at the brothel, though he brought no artwork home to show for it.  Instead, his nights consisted of conversing with you, learning every little thing about you, and, as Benedict soon realized, falling in love with you.

He would have been content to pine from afar had it not been for a newcomer: Mister Alexander Smithwell.  He was fresh off a tour of the Continent, and was boasting the masterpieces he had seen.  You, it seemed, had struck a friendship with Mr. Smithwell, but the so-called gentleman quickly became far too close to you for Benedict’s liking.  He stood too close, touched too casually, things that lit the flames of rage in Benedict.

You were a lady, for heaven’s sake, you deserved to be treated like one.  Such was the case now.  You were speaking to Mr. Smithwell about the museums in Rome, laughing at some joke he told, while Benedict sat on a nearby chair, clutching his glass of whiskey so hard, he feared it might shatter.  You looked over Smithwell’s shoulder at him, your face crinkling into a soft smile when you saw him, something that eased the tension in Benedict’s chest.  “Excuse me,” you said, ducking out of the conversation and making your way over to Benedict.

“You ought to get that looked at,” you said, and Benedict frowned.  “Whatever are you talking about?”  “That scowl,” you responded.  “Surely it is not healthy for one to scowl so much for so long.  What has you so verklempt, Benedict?”  You had forgone formalities, at least here, as your friendship was strong enough.  “He is too bold,” Benedict answered.  “Too casual with you.  Smithwell forgets himself.”

“No more than you,” you said, and Benedict whirled to look at you.  “You cannot be in earnest,” he said, brows raised.  “He speaks to you as he would a shop maid I speak to you as–”  “As what?”  “As an equal, as one I respect.”  You saw it then, the way his jaw clenched when he looked at Smithwell, the way he was quick to defend you.  “Wait a minute,” you said.  “You’re jealous.”  “I am not,” Benedict replied, all too quickly, and you laughed.  “You are!  Benedict Bridgerton, you are jealous!”

He flushed scarlet, and you laughed again.  “Perhaps I am,” he hedged, and you smiled.  “My word, I do not think I have ever had a gentleman be jealous over me.”  “Haven’t you?  I find that quite hard to believe.”  You cocked your head.  “How so?”  “Well,” Benedict answered.  “You are quite beautiful, and your intellect rivals that of many gentlemen I have spoken to.  I would think men would be throwing themselves at you.”

You shook your head.  “They aren’t.  None I care for, anyway…”  A heavy silence descended between you, and Benedict picked up on the slightest hint.  “Would you…mind if I called upon you, Y/N?”  You sighed, a smile on your face.  “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask, Benedict.  I would be delighted.”  To his shock, you pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek before you rose and departed, leaving Benedict stunned.  He brought a hand to his cheek, swearing he could still feel the impression your lips left there.  Tomorrow morning, then, he would call on you.  And hopefully, soon after, he could call you his.

[xoxo-sarah]

can you do a one shot for daryl where the reader has really bad hiccups and they're in a meeting or a public place and she gets really embarrassed about it and like slaps a hand over her mouth to try and stop it but she can't and everyone's staring at her and it's a comfort fic bc he basically excuses her out and helps her

Rabbit Questions

↝a/n: I am not meaning to have my Daryl fics related to rabbits/bunnies. It's just a coincidence.

↝pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (could be platonic or romantic)

↝ Warning: not proofread, not proofread, set in season 11, Commonwealth

↝⎙ 9.15.23

"And this one- beautiful, isn't it?" Pamela stood in front of a wall with a huge frame, a painting of A orange flower, the pedal reminded you of flames. It was pretty, really. And you weren't just thinking that because Pamela was in front of you, watching your face for any expression that said otherwise. The artist standing beside the painting could have something to do with it, too.

For some reason, Pamela Milton and Lance Hornsby had made it very clear you, Daryl, and Rosita came to view the art gallery, she had called it. It all felt weird, walking up and down the halls to look at all the art with eyes watching your every move. Pamela had stepped up to point out every detail while Lance just watched from the distance.

This is just so different from having to clean out walkers from buildings to show your worth, pretty much. Instead of blood on concrete, it was homemade paint on a canvas.

The paintings were pretty, really, but it just felt like they were being pushed down your throat. It was new, refreshing, a new beginning. You weren't one for change.

"Michelle here has many pieces of art here." The older woman smiled at the woman standing by the wall, a tight-lipped smile of her own on her face. Pamela pointing at a canvas towards the corner. "She's had quite the life. Painting helped her get all the built-up aggression out in some way,"

Did she actually care about what this girl had been through, or was it a front to seem like the most amazing and caring person ever?

"I felt for her, i really did." There she was, putting on a front just to make it all about her. Of course.

"When I met Michelle, i was going through-"

Hic!

Eyes, going wide, you glanced at Daryl and Rosita. They glanced at you but looked back, trying to seem interested. Pamela, looked at you for a moment, before turning to Michelle.

"As I was saying-"

Hic! "I am so sorry." you put up a hand to excuse the hiccup fit. It was one after another, and to be quite honest, it was starting to hurt your diaphragm. Your hand went you to your ribs, trying to ease the hiccups away.

A particularly loud hiccup had Pamela give you a disapproving look.

"Excuse us." Daryl's hand went to your elbow, half-heartedly excusing you two. He didn't really care if they had a problem with you walking away.

He led you by your arm to the open door, the fresh air fully hitting your blushing cheeks.

"Good lord." He grumbled, watching as your body moved with yet another hiccup. "Put yer arms over yer head or hold yer breath or somethin'."

You puffed your cheeks out, holding your breath. Daryl simply watched, waiting.

Hic!

it was muffled, but still had you huffing out.

Daryl just looked at you, before he smiled in amusement. He moved to sit down on the steps to the building, out of the way of the traffic of people. Patting an empty spot next to him, he motioned for you to sit.

"When's the last time you saw a rabbit?"

Confused, you could only look at him. He nodded, waiting for you to answer. You looked away, actually thinking about it. "I don't know." You couldn't remember the last time you saw a rabbit off the top of your head. It was probably one you had to kill to feed yourself, anyway.

"Probably a year?"

"What color was it?"

"What are you on about?"

He twirled his hair around and out of his face, the smile from earlier still lingering. "Still got hiccups?"

Your eyes widened again. They were gone.

"Carol told me that one. It was that or scaring ya."

The picture of Daryl and his dear friend talking about rabbits to get rid of hiccups was cute. Maybe it had been Daryl who had hiccups and Carol asked him the same questions.

"I prefer the rabbit questions." You smiled, looking out at the people walking freely around the Commanwealth.

"Should we go back in?"

"No." he was quick to answer. "If I see another bright flower, I'm gonna pluck my eyes out."

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [!I don't give permission!]