#Cast of Jagged Musical

[dwsavideos]

Kathryn is releasing demos from 2016-2019 THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! OUT AT MIDNIGHT!!

[derekklenadaily]

kathryngallaghersayshi: pebs and bam defeated once more by the giggles @Broadway_luv for unearthing this gem #springawakening #derekklena #greenscreenvideo

[ohproserpine]

vii. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, death, hunting, graphic descriptions of injuries, vox being painfully obvious, vox malfunctions (lmao L), allusion to death, valentino warning, alastor's demon form

Rocks and twigs dug into your knees as you crawled forward, the jagged edges cutting your skin as you reached Alastor's side. With trembling hands, you cradled his face against your lap.

"Alastor," you called for him, desperately clutching onto his body, trying to pull him back down to Earth and hold him there "Al, Al, please."

"What did I do? What can I do?" More tears dribbled down your cheeks as you looked down at your husband, leaning in to press tender kisses to the apples of his cheeks. You held him as tightly as you could, careful not to cause him any more pain.

"I can figure out a way to help you, I can. I know I can, baby," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. Your gaze remained locked with your husband's lifeless eyes, the world spinning around you as panic tightened its grip on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

"Al. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

˚୨୧₊♱

You woke with a startle.

Gasping for breath, your chest heaved with each inhale, the rapid beat of your pulse slamming against your ribcage, the sound hammering in your head. Blinking repeatedly, your vision slowly adjusted to the unfamiliar sight of a ceiling painted with outrageously colorful prints. Faint traces of neon lights filtered through the thin curtains, casting erratic patterns across the room, accompanied by the distant thump of music.

A gentle knocking at the door broke through the haze, accompanied by the muted tones of a familiar voice seeping through the metal barrier.

"Dollface? Are you up?" Vox's voice, though muffled, was unmistakable as it filtered through the door.

Shakily, you pushed yourself up and sat for a while, gathering your composure. The room spun around you, the vibrant colors of the walls and lights blurring into a dizzying kaleidoscope. Eventually, with a deep breath, you pushed yourself into action, moving to open the door.

As you swung it open, Vox stood on the other side, his signature smirk etched onto his features. His mechanical eyes gleamed as they scanned you for any signs of distress or fatigue. And despite your disorientation, you straightened your posture, trying to maintain your usual demeanor in front of him.

"Good morning," Vox greeted smoothly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

Of course, he wasn't interrupting anything. It was clear to both of you that you had just rolled out of bed. Your hair tousled in disarray, your sleepwear crumpled and creased, and your bed behind you a mess of twisted sheets and pillows.

Still, you forced a polite smile and shook your head.

"No, not at all," you replied.

"Excellent," Vox grinned, stepping a foot past your doorway. "May I come in?"

Despite the internal alarm bells ringing in your mind, you nodded, moving aside to let him in. As he passed by, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized, like prey under the gaze of a predator before the pounce.

Closing the door, you leaned against it, feeling the cool surface against your back, and turned to face Vox, attempting to hide the unease simmering within.

"What can I help you with?" you asked, keeping your tone steady.

Vox's gaze pierced yours, his mechanical eyes glinting with a hunger that unsettled you.

"I thought of how we could discuss the details of our partnership," he hummed, running his fingers along your dresser. "Over dinner, perhaps?"

The proposal hung in the air, heavy with implications you weren't sure you wanted to explore. Despite your best efforts to hide it, a seething sense of unease bubbled beneath the surface, twisting your features into a grimace.

"Dinner?" The word felt like acid on your tongue as you struggled to maintain your façade, your gaze sharpening into a glare aimed directly at the overlord. "I'm sorry, but… I'm not interested."

Vox's laughter cut through the tense atmosphere, but it sounded forced and hollow.

"I meant a professional meeting, love," he covered up with a wave of his hand, the charm in his voice slightly strained. "Let's go over your contract."

Relieved, you nodded, though beneath, a whirlwind of thoughts swirled.

This could be a chance for you to really have a gauge on your situation. Everything had happened so fast, and you found yourself stumbling in the dark. You knew the Vees were a powerhouse in the entertainment district, their influence stretching far and wide, extending into every corner of hell. They were notorious for their employment methods, for their ability to shape destinies and manipulate lives with the stroke of a pen.

Who knows what was even in your contract?

"Wonderful!" Vox's cheerful interruption jolted you from your thoughts as he extended his arm. "Well then, let's not waste any more time. Shall we?"

"Shall we what?" you spoke slowly, your tone guarded.

"Shall we get to your duties, my dear?" Vox clarified smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his words laden with expectation. "Velvette is waiting."

"Oh—" you jolted. Quickly, you gathered yourself, smoothing down the wrinkles of your robe and adjusting your disheveled hair with clumsy fingers.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you reached out and linked your arm with Vox's. The overlord smirked as he led you out of the room and through the corridors, already launching into conversation about his latest product line.

A part of you found it amusing how similar he was to your husband—both of them chatterboxes who couldn't keep their mouths shut if they tried.

Nodding along to Vox's conversation, you fell into step beside him. As you two walked, it was impossible not to notice the subtle shift in demeanor among the demons and imps, who hastily cleared a path for Vox, some even bowing respectfully as you passed by.

"And here we are!"

Arriving at Velvette's office, you entered cautiously, the tension thick in the air. Models lounged around in various states of undress, their statuesque figures draped in luxurious fabrics. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to suspicion as they observed your every move. Some whispered amongst themselves in hushed tones, casting wary glances in your direction, while others maintained an aloof demeanor, their gazes piercing yet blank.

Velvette stood at the front, her figure partially obscured by the tall curtains behind her. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over you with open scorn.

"Finally! Took ya long enough," Velvette scowled. "Edna, will you please go get her dressed?!"

Edna, a tall and slender imp with delicate horns curved against her head, nodded obediently before gliding over to you. With a gentle tug on your arm, she beckoned you to follow her backstage. You stumbled nervously, clutching your robe as you obeyed.

As you stepped away, Vox chuckled, waving you off with a flourish. You offered a cautious wave back before being enveloped by the heavy fabric of the curtains.

"I know what you're trying," Velvette scoffed as she tapped away on her phone, her perfectly manicured nails, painted in a glossy shade of neon pink, clacking against the screen. Vox turned to her, his expression one of exaggerated innocence.

"Whatever do you mean?" he retorted, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

"Oh, please don't act as if you weren't sending marionnette over there heart eyes," Velvette accused, her crimson lips forming a thin line of disapproval. "Listen, I don't care what you do with your little girl toy. Just make sure you don't get in the way of my show."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Vox hummed, taking a seat on one of the plush couches.

Velvette turned to him, surprised, her curls bouncing from the abruptness of her movement. "You're staying?"

"Of course. I'm eager to see your dazzling ideas, my dear," Vox replied smoothly, spreading his long legs across the expanse of the couch. "After all, your show is going to be featured on my channels. It's all anyone has been raving about on Voxtagram lately."

"Cut the crap. You just want an excuse to ogle at her," Velvette scoffed.

Vox leaned back against the cushions, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Can you blame me? She's quite the sight to behold."

Before Velvette could snap back, Edna returned, leading you out from behind the curtains. You emerged, feeling somewhat exposed under the scrutinizing gazes of the two overlords.

No surprise, as the main act, you were dressed in one of Velvette's main designs. Black netted stockings hugged your legs as they met the bright red stilettos that adorned your feet. A red corset cinched your waist and emphasized the curve of your hips, accentuating your figure. Below the corset, you wore a dark miniskirt with cream ruffles and lace, its fabric swaying with every step.

You felt abash as you stood in the outfit. In the past, you had been considered a flapper girl with your bold demeanor and penchant for daring fashion choices, but even you couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise at the lack of modesty of the skirt in this particular outfit. It barely grazed past your crotch, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

"Let's see…" Velvette hummed, completely absorbed in her task as she approached you, Vox long forgotten. With a couple of snaps of her fingers, the clothing and accessories you wore began to shift and change, transforming before your eyes.

Velvette's fingers danced through the air, conjuring delicate lace and cascading ruffles that stuck onto the corset. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a cream fur coat, draping it over your shoulders with a flourish. The colors morphed, the fabrics transformed, until finally, with a satisfied clap of her hands, she took a step back to admire your new look.

"Makeup!"

Suddenly, you yelped as a chair was dragged over, pushing against the back of your knees and causing you to fall right into it. A bunch of imps swarmed around you and they wasted no time in getting to work, dabbing various products onto your face and expertly brushing powder along your cheeks.

Once they were finished, they handed you a mirror, allowing you to inspect their handiwork. Unlike the outfit, the makeup look wasn't as unsettling. Your face was adorned with makeup reminiscent of classic clown makeup, featuring exaggerated lashes, a layer of white face paint, and a bold red lip.

"That's it! That's the one," Velvette grinned, delighted with the makeover. Her grin turned into a smirk as she turned to Vox. "Well, what do you think—Satan!"

Vox's screen began to glitch and buffer, emitting sparks of electricity that charred the couch beneath him. The sudden noise startled some of the models, their eyes widening in alarm as they scrambled to move away from the malfunctioning android.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Velvette shouted.

Vox tried to respond, but all that came out was static.

Concerned, you approached him, the clicking of your heels against the floor echoing.

As you settled beside Vox, there was a momentary pause in the static, and he stared at you with wide eyes, the malfunction seemingly halted by your presence.

Part of you screamed at yourself to leave, to let him handle his problems alone. But another part of you remained, despite everything. Somehow, you still felt a sliver of sympathy for the overlord.

Leaning in closer, you furrowed your brow, the red gloss on your lips catching the studio lights. The corset pushed your chest up, and Vox found his eyes shamelessly drifting.

"Are you okay?" you whispered, your voice laced with genuine worry.

But before Vox could respond, he short-circuited, a burst of sparks and smoke emitting from his malfunctioning screen. You recoiled instinctively, your hand reaching out to shield yourself from any potential danger. With a final surge of electricity, he powered down completely, leaving behind a smoldering heap of metal and wires.

"Is he… okay?"

Velvette waved a dismissive hand. "He's always doing this. Probably overloaded his circuits again."

"Now, can someone please get this thing out of here?!" she commanded, snapping her fingers and tapping her foot impatiently.

As the models and attendants hurried to comply, you were pulled back up to your feet by the overlord. "He'll reboot eventually. Now, let's get back to work."

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from Vox, you followed after Velvette as she led the way to a photo studio within the boutique.

The scene before you was akin to a circus, with vibrant hues of bright reds and pinks resembling a Valentine's Day massacre. A carousel in the background spun slowly, its eerie music echoing through the studio. Beating hearts hung suspended from the ceiling, their rhythmic pulses visible as they dripped with blood.

"Alright! Let's get the rehearsal started!" Velvette shouted out as she began to direct the crew. Cameras were adjusted, lights were fine-tuned, and the set was re-arranged to her satisfaction.

Turning to you with a tablet in hand, Velvette tossed it into your hands. You caught the device and quickly read through the document on the screen, realizing it was lyrics to a song. Your eyes rushed to memorize the words, the familiarity of the process washing over you.

Decades in the show industry had honed your skills to perfection, making this routine feel like second nature. A small pang of nostalgia tugged at your heartstrings, reminding you of simpler times before everything went amiss.

“Alright.”

Barely giving you ten minutes to prepare, Velvette deftly plucked the tablet from your hands as she stepped back and settled into a director's chair. The chair creaked softly under her weight as she made herself comfortable, slipping on heart-shaped glasses that glinted in the studio lights.

"Let's see what you've got.”

Lifting the scepter to your lips, you pressed it against your mouth, leaving a trace of red lipstick staining the surface, a stark contrast against the sleek metal. As the lights dimmed, signaling the start of your performance, you took a deep breath and began to recite the lyrics.

I write poems to burn by firelight Drink champagne and guzzle gin Good girls call me "the town bicycle" Don't knock it 'til you've tried my life of sin

With a flick of your hand, you pushed back the curls of your hair, the strands catching the studio lights as you kept your gaze glued to the camera lens. From her chair, Velvette smirked and captured the moment with her phone, the flash briefly blinding the dimly lit set.

Oh, my pimp, knows never mess with me Last prick did that faded quick to black I have no idea where to find him, officers But if you do, please mention that I'd Like to have returned the pretty knife That I stuck ten times in his back—

Before you could even finish, the door burst open with a deafening bang, causing everyone in the room to jump in surprise. Valentino stormed into the boutique, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. Without uttering a single word, he launched into a violent rampage, his movements wild and unpredictable.

The air was filled with the sound of crashing props and the desperate, panicked screams of assistants as they scrambled to evade Valentino's wrath. You jerked back instinctively as an arm was thrown in your direction, narrowly avoiding the chaotic fray unfolding around you.

"Damn it, Valentino! What are you doing?!" Velvette shouted over the commotion, her voice strained with anger and disbelief as she dug her fingers into her hair, her perfectly styled locks now in disarray.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" the moth demon screamed back, his voice seething with rage as he held poor Edna by her throat, his grip like a vice around her delicate neck.

"I'm airing out my frustrations!" he spat, his eyes wild with fury.

A sickening tearing sound filled the room as Valentino viciously tore Edna apart, blood splattering across the floor and staining the nearby racks of clothing.

"Fuck!" Velvette cursed under her breath. Fumbling, she retrieved her phone, her fingers tapping against the screen in agitation as she dialed Vox's number.

"My dear," the businessman's smooth voice echoed through the speakers, a calming presence amidst the storm. "What can I do for you?"

"Cut the shit. Are you functioning now?" Velvette's words were clipped, forceful, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Functioning?" The overlord's response was hesitant, his movements jerky as he twisted his head, the wires on his neck audibly cracking with a spark. "I… suppose so."

"Good, because I need you up here now!" Velvette's voice crackled with urgency. "Mothboy is wrecking my department! And I'm waiting for a certain flat-faced prince to come and help!"

Without another word, Vox nodded with a weary groan, the weight of responsibility settling heavily upon him like an oppressive cloak.

"Just another fuckin' day with Val," he scoffed bitterly, his tone tinged with resignation as he pushed himself to his feet with a mechanical whir. "Fuck my life."

In an instant, he transformed into a crackling spark of electricity, zipping up into the CCTV camera before seamlessly teleporting into another one located in Velvette's studio.

"What's going on?" Vox sighed wearily as he materialized, his voice tinged with exhaustion, hands folding behind his back as he surveyed the chaotic scene before him.

"Valentino's lost it again. And he's tearing everything apart," Velvette hissed as her hand shot up, grabbing Vox by the collar of his metallic frame.

Her nails dug into the surface, leaving faint marks as she pulled him down to her eye level. "You need to stop him before he causes any more damage!"

"Consider it done," Vox muttered, rolling his eyes before moving toward Valentino. With a firm grip, he halted the demon mid-carnage, spinning Valentino around to face him. An unsettling grin stretched across Vox's metallic features as he locked eyes with the enraged demon.

"Val! What's got you out of sorts today?"

“That piece of shit! Can you believe what he did?” Valentino snarled, his voice dripping with venom as he flung a small imp across the room, the helpless girl crashing into a clothing rack. “The ungrateful whore!”

"Uh huh, which whore are we talking about now?” Vox spoke nonchalantly as he pulled his phone out and idly scrolled through it. Before he could react, Valentino lunged forward, his claws snatching the device from Vox's grasp.

"Who else would I be talking about?!" Valentino spat, his grip tightening around the phone until it crushed in his hands. With a primal scream, he hurled the remains of the tech against a nearby wall, the impact causing the column to crack under the force of the blow.

You watched with a frown as Vox attempted to calm Valentino, but his efforts fell short against the demon's relentless anger. Despite Vox's attempts, Valentino continued to rage, his voice echoing through the room as he screamed about hotels, phone calls, and among other things you didn't bother picking up.

“Fuck. Alright, he's not calming down anytime soon,” Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes. She turned to you and motioned for you to follow as she began storming out. “Come on."

Quickly, you nodded, falling into step behind Velvette as she navigated through the gory scene. Blood stained the bottom of your heels as you stepped past limbs and puddles of blood, bones cracked underfoot, and muscles squished beneath your weight. The overpowering scent of iron filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of fear.

The overlord guided you out of the room and towards the other side of the building, where a door adorned with your name on a golden plaque awaited.

"This is your dressing room. We'll have another shoot in a few hours, so get yourself prepped in here while I go take care of the piss baby," Velvette scowled, already busying herself with her phone again.

"Will do," you sighed, running a hand through your hair, grateful for the moment of rest.

"Good. I'll see you then," Velvette declared with dramatic flair, her vibrant curls swirling around her face as she turned on her heels and walked away, leaving a trail of her perfume lingering in the air.

As you were about to step into your dressing room, the door beside you suddenly swung open with a creak, revealing a slice of the pink-filled bedroom beyond. To your surprise, you were met with the familiar sight of a fluff of white hair. An accented voice filled the air, screaming into a phone, the sound echoing down the corridor.

"I told ya, I didn't mean to—," The demon turned to you and froze, his eyes widening as he dropped his cigar in shock. The carpet beneath your feet caught fire from the dropped cigar, but neither of you seemed to care.

He stared at you, wide-eyed.

Hands flying up to your mouth, you stared back.

For a minute, all you could hear was the muted sounds of Valentino's screaming from the phone speaker and the building's hustle and bustle

"Dollface?" Angel Dust finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper as he blinked dumbfounded. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Your heart dropped like a heavy stone, sinking into the depths of your chest. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you stood there.

Everything was becoming too much to even process. Your body betrayed you as you lost your balance, collapsing and hitting the floor. A high-pitched ringing pierced your ears, drowning out all other sounds, as warmth seeped from them.

"Aw, shit," Angel Dust hissed in panic. Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled you into his arms, dragging you into his room, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Ending the call, he tossed his phone away and guided you to a plush couch, the fabric soft and inviting beneath your touch as you sank into its embrace. Angel Dust settled beside you, his presence comforting like a warm blanket on a cold night. He offered you a sympathetic smile, though slightly awkward, his eyes filled with understanding.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured soothingly, his words a gentle caress to your troubled soul.

Opening his arms wide, Angel offered you a hug, and you leaned into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his arms as he enveloped you in a comforting hug. Slowly, your senses came together as you nestled against him, the gentle rhythm of his breathing calming the storm of emotions raging within you.

"It's gonna be alright," he whispered softly, his voice a comforting murmur. Moving closer, he wiped away the warm liquid seeping from your ears. You could faintly see his hands moving away, stained with red. "You alright? What happened, mama?"

"A lot," you sighed, raising a hand to massage your temple as you recounted the events of the past 24 hours, from Mimzy's lounge getting busted down to your soul exchange with Vox.

Angel listened intently as you recounted the events, his expression shifting from concern to disbelief as he processed the gravity of what you had experienced.

"Damn, you've been through hell twice. You're one tough cookie, mama," Angel said with a warm smile as he reached for a brush on his vanity and gently ran it through your messed-up hair.

Despite the heaviness of the situation, a hint of laughter escaped you.

"You could say that," you sniffed, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you let out a long-held sigh. "It's been a while since I've been able to let it all out like this. Most demons aren't exactly the nicest."

Angel Dust chuckled with a shrug, his hands gentle as he worked through the knots in your hair. "Yeah, I've… ah, been tryn'a to stay 'good' for a while now. Charlie's been real pushy with the redemption thing, and I thought, what the hell, why not?"

Suddenly, he paused his brushing and gawked at you, his eyes widening in realization. "Charlie! The hotel!"

Your heart skipped a beat as Angel Dust's words sank in. "The hotel," you echoed, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place in your mind.

"Shit!" Angel laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, there ya go! I get off shift tonight, and I sure as hell can get my ass over there. Hell, I can leave right this instant if you want!"

"Won't Valentino be pissed?" you asked, a flicker of concern crossing your features. "You'll be—" Your gaze darted over to his discarded phone on the floor, which was buzzing with calls. "Well, already are in deep shit."

Angel Dust frowned, his expression hardening with resolve. He grabbed your coat and swiftly removed it, tossing it aside to cover the buzzing phone. "Fuck 'im. He can bark all he wants in the studio, but outside of it, he's got no power over me."

The spider leaned in, his touch as gentle as a soft breeze against your skin, his fingers delicate as they brushed a stray hair from your face. "I'll help you. So don't get your pretty little tits in a twist anymore, alright?"

With a heavy heart, you whispered your gratitude, bowing your head as tears continued to stream down your cheeks. Today had been bleak, but a glimmer of hope lingered for a brighter tomorrow.

"But I don't want to get you in trouble, Angel," you said softly, wiping away your tears, exhaustion washing over you. "I can wait until tonight."

Angel Dust's expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Nah, babe, ain't no trouble for me. Besides, waiting ain't my style, and I ain't about to let you deal with this mess alone."

"Plus," Angel grinned devilishly, his eyes sparkling with mischief, the corners of his lips curling up. "I know your man is going to tear shit down. And I want front row seats to all that drama."

˚୨୧₊♱

"NO!"

Charlie shrieked, her voice piercing the air as she lunged forward, her fingers grasping desperately at Alastor's piece on the gameboard. "Al! You can't just do whatever you want! You have to follow the rules!"

Alastor leaned back in his chair, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he regarded Charlie with amusement. "But my dear, where's the entertainment in that?" he purred as he tilted his head in mock innocence. "Rules are made to be broken, after all. So, I had a little fun with it."

"A little fun?" Vaggie scoffed from her spot on the floor, her brows furrowed in frustration as she idly shuffled the cards.

"Yeah, thanks a lot, dickhead," she muttered, her voice laced with irritation. "That's what you've been doing these past 2 hours. If you don't start playing properly, might as well not play. I mean—why did you even bother?"

"For the entertainment!" Alastor cheered, his grin widening as he rolled the dice once the turn landed on him again. With a flourish of his claws, he moved his piece three spaces, landing on an unclaimed building which he quickly purchased. "I came here because I love seeing you wayward souls struggle to accomplish something great, and fail spectacularly!"

Vaggie scoffed and rolled the dice, her hand deftly moving the piece along the board with a flick of her wrist. However, her expression soured noticeably when the piece landed on the Jail panel. She seethed and sank back, silently cursing her streak of horrible luck.

"Ah, like you are doing now!" Alastor smirked down at her like the asshole he was, punctuating his words with a clap of his hand. "Good job!"

Vaggie clenched her jaw tightly, her knuckles whitening as she lifted the board, readying herself to strike Alastor. However, before she could make her move, the door burst open, and Angel Dust rushed in with a gasp. He looked every bit disheveled, as if he had just run through all nine circles of hell.

Charlie's eyes lit up at the sight of him, and she lifted her hand, waving him over excitedly.

"Angel! Perfect timing. We need one more player for Monopurgatory," she exclaimed, gesturing excitedly towards the game board. With a gleeful expression, she plucked a piece from the board and held up a small metal figurine with a wide smile. "You can be the cupcake~!"

"Sorry, princess, I've got business," Angel huffed, brushing his hair back as he turned to Alastor. "Alright, freaks. We need to talk."

Alastor hummed, studying Angel with mild amusement. "My, my, such urgency," he remarked, his smile widening into a grin. "What's got you in such a hurry?"

"It's about Vox," Angel replied, pressing his hands flat against each other. "I need to speak with you in private."

Alastor's grin faded slightly, and he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing at Angel. Well, this was certainly getting very entertaining.

After a moment of contemplation, Alastor shook his head, snapping himself out of whatever daze he had briefly fallen into.

"Vox, you say?" Alastor mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. With a nonchalant shrug, he pushed himself up, twirling his cane in the air. "Oh, well, in that case, let's chat."

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor moved forward and gestured towards the door, indicating for Angel to follow him. Charlie and Vaggie exchanged puzzled glances, but they remained silent, watching as both men left the room.

"You know, I'd usually never even think of entertaining you, and I'd rather let you deal with your own issues. But you seem to be in a great deal of suffering!” Alastor laughed heartily as he shut the door.

"So, pray tell, what happened? Did you get yourself entangled in another deal from a whim decision? My! I certainly hope you don't bring any of this into the hotel. What will the papers say?"

Angel rolled his eyes and cut Alastor's rambling short, jabbing a gloved finger into the Radio Demon's chest. "It ain't about me. And you're gonna want to listen because it's your missus that's in deep shit right now."

Alastor's eye twitched at the mention of you, a brief flicker of static and symbols dancing in the air. His crimson eyes bore into Angel Dust, his expression unreadable, save for the wide curl of his lips.

Inwardly, Angel smirked. If he didn't have Alastor's attention before, he sure as fuck had it now.

"What does my wife have to do with this?" Alastor quipped sharply, his claws delicately removing Angel Dust's finger from his chest. "I fail to see the connection. Do enlighten me."

"Wanna be enlightened?" Angel waved him over, "Then follow me."

Without waiting for a response, Angel turned on his heels and strode out of the hotel. Alastor followed closely behind, his red-clad figure cutting through the streets of hell like fire against the night.

A few streets later, they approached the border edge of the entertainment district, and Alastor halted abruptly, his gaze narrowing in suspicion.

"I don't particularly fancy this area, and I'd rather not enter," he scoffed, adjusting his coat and brushing away dust from his sleeves with a disdainful flick. "It's rather unsavory."

"Just look," Angel rolled his eyes, gesturing upwards towards the towering Vee tower, where a new advertisement had just been erected.

Alastor's gaze shifted upward, and he froze as he beheld your face plastered across the billboard, larger than life, dominating the skyline of the entertainment district. The vibrant colors of the advertisement clashed with the dark hues of the surrounding buildings, drawing attention like a beacon in the night. Beneath the image, in bold letters, was a sign that read: "Sponsored by VoxTek," stark against the backdrop of your image.

There was silence for a minute, then another, before a sharp crack split the air.

"Angel?" Alastor's chipper voice rang out as he stared up at the billboard with a manic grin. Crackling began to be heard as his limbs lengthened, each movement accompanied by the sound of bones shifting and sinewy muscles stretching beneath his ashen flesh.

"Would you be so kind as to…" His antlers began to grow in size, curling and twisting like the branches of a gnarled tree.

"—explain…" His eyes darkened, the whites turning to a deep, swirling black, while the pupils glowed with a golden light, resembling the flickering dials of an old radio.

"—what exactly am I looking at right now?" His hands elongated into grotesque claws, the fingers stretching and sharpening into razor-sharp blades capable of ripping flesh—or in this case, wires—with ease. As his claws extended, they stretched his glove to its limit until it tore right off, revealing the glint of his wedding ring.

"Vox got her soul," Angel replied immediately, his voice steady despite the horrifying sight in front of him. "Screens has her wrapped around his finger, and he's not planning to let go anytime soon."

Alastor's head snapped to the side with a sickening crack accompanying the movement.

"Show me," he snarled, his voice taking on an inhuman quality, heavily filtered by radio waves.

Without hesitation, Angel gestured towards the billboard, his expression blank.

"Get in there, and see for ya'self."

˚୨୧₊♱

[naffeclipse]

I got a curious little question that just spawned on my mind, What if in the scenario where Orca!Eclipse meet's any of the Siren!Reader's- Could be anyone you want. But strangely enough, They don't.. really speak. Or as we'd soon find out, Their voice was stolen. Think Ursula took Ariel's voice situation but a human did it. Considering what William Afton did, I'm sure there's a small portion of humans who also probably did some bad shit to sirens ToT

When greed and violence are thrust upon a poor siren, the results are crippling. The belugas are known for being canaries of the sea, and wouldn't that just be awful to have your lovely, hitch-pitched songs taken from you?

Eclipse would find it strange that this lovely little beluga siren he comes upon isn't singing or vocalization—lacking any vocal reaction to him. And when he gets closer to grab you, he spies the fear in your eyes and your frantic, flopping motions. It doesn't take him long to discover the jagged, marred flesh running across your throat. The scar is pink and thin, and he thinks it's fate that you survive being harmed so deeply. He grazes his claws gently over your neck despite your trembling.

Sign language is a form of communication but it varies from pod to pod as it's so rare to have a siren unable to sing and continue to live. You essentially have to create your own gestures and symbols and help Eclipse learn what you mean without speaking a sound, which is anything but simple. Eclipse, however, is nothing if not determined to establish this communication with you and if you get upset or frustrated, he encourages you to keep trying. He also promises to sing to you so you might never be without a song even if you can't cast one. Some days, you become frozen in your grief and Eclipse holds you, and he grieves with you in the quiet. It's not fair. You had such a beautiful voice. Why did those humans take it from?

Eclipse promises no one will ever hurt you again, and he shows you how you might still hum. It's not the same high-pitched notes you used to hit but it's music and it rumbles through you like songs once did. Eclipse loves to press his face to your chest and listen to the sweet sounds.

[lukaslosteyelashes]

Why is it important that Luka trained with Su-Han

Luka found out Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s true identity in "Whishmaker". He might feigned ignorance for a short amount of time and also tried to play it cool, but knowing this secret surely weighting on him.

He not only has to play the therapist to basically everyone and be emotionally there for them and give them advices while he just wants to play his music; but he also have to be careful with his emotions if he is not intending to get akumatized and spitting out Paris's iconic superhero duo's civil identity.

Just look at what happened in "Migration".

He almost got akumatized because he felt that what happened between Kitty Section and Bob Ross was his fault. Not only that, but his emotions also told Monarch that he knows Ladybug's and Chat Noir's identity. And because of all that he couldn't calm down to resist the akuma, the only way he saw to escape from that dreadful situation was to break his precious guitar. At the end of the episode he had to flee Paris; he didn't trust himself, his emotions enough to stay, he was afraid that Monarch might try to akumatize him again. Furthermore, he wasn't safe from other akumatized villain's attack either, he couldn't became Viperion, and he didn't want to rely on Ladybug and Chat Noir to protect him.

That's what so frustrating in akumatization. People can't feel their negative emotions and they have to bottle it up or forcefully resist them, which is really unhealthy. Our emotions, be it positive or negative, they're essentially not our enemy we just have to find methods to deal with them.

And that's where Su-Han comes in the picture.

Do you remember what he did in "Furious Fu"?

"My anger is mine, but I'm not my anger."

This dude just got snaped back to existance into a time when everything is completely different from his time, and the first thing he did was to search for the Miracle box. A dutiful guy, indeed. Obviously, he was angry at Fu for a lot of thing, but as soon as he saw the Akuma, he didn't fall into despair or started panicking. No, instead he started chanting the line above to himself, as if he was casting a spell that chases off the butterfly.

What I think he actually did, was that, he controlled his emotions. He accepted his anger, not suppressing it and transformed it into protective barrier, instead of letting it take a hold of him. This method looks more effective than Ladybug's Magical Charms that Shadowmoth easily overpowered.

So, there's a boy who can't seem to cope with his strong emotions; what could be the best solution for him? Mastering the ancient teachings of a guy from an ancient time (I know he's actually not that old). I can't imagine how could they've met or if they know about each other (that Luka's the Holder of that Snake Miraculous and that Su-Han is a celestial guardian of the Miraculous); but Luka's time in Tibet could be very important for his character. He could've learned, not just kung-fu, but also how to repel Akumas, and knowing this technique allows him to return to Paris and become Viperion again since the chances for him to get akumatized lowered.

Last but not least, his Holder friends could take lessons from him for free (he might as well charge them tho) to further decreasing the possibility of any Holders getting akumatized. Jagged, Penny and Fang also learned kung-fu, and they might as well learned the Akuma repelling stuff too, how cool would that be! They could also open studio or something where they could teach those things.

Anyways, I really hope we'll see more Luka in season 6 and that he actually learned how to repel Akumas.

[jcdlem]

ೃ༄ Apple Cider

johnny cade x gn!reader

warnings: not beta or proof read, brief mentions of smoking/injury, prompt credits to @/lovemeagoodprompt

5 times johnny wanted to tell you he loves you + 1 time he finally did !

i.

Johnny couldn’t quite tell what you were talking about anymore. Somewhere in the conversation, he’d lost track of your commentary—who was running away, who was in jail, who was going with who, who stole what and where and why…

He was about to nod, feign (or try to, at least) some form of understanding, when you suddenly stopped.

“What?” he queries, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Do I have something on my face?”

Without saying a word, you lean in, skimming the edge of his jacket collar before folding it down. A deep flush covers his features—he can only watch in stunned silence as you regain your earlier position, almost like nothing had ever happened.

“There!” you smile brightly at him; he swears his heart stops. He’s about to say something, but you promptly cut him off, resuming whatever story you’d been sharing before.

ii.

Johnny rummages through his pockets for what feels like the tenth time—still, the familiar weight of his lighter is nowhere to be found. A smile plays on your lips upon seeing his predicament; he doesn’t seem to notice, too caught up in frustration.

You retrieve your own lighter, tucked safely into the back of your jeans, and place it in his palm. That gets his attention.

“Keep it.”

He does so with hesitance, lights his cigarette and takes a long drag. Albeit a relatively small gesture, it has his head spinning—only you could make him swoon with something as insignificant.

“Thanks, Y/N.” he mumbles, averting his gaze before you can sense there’s something amiss. He drowns out the words threatening to spill from his mouth with smoke.

iii.

Johnny doesn’t like parties. Not the alcohol, or the music, or the outright concerning amounts of people. He does like you, though—perhaps that’s why he’s sitting on some flimsy couch instead of walking home.

His arm is going numb under the weight of your head, yet he doesn’t move a muscle. He briefly wonders how you sleep amidst such chaos; soundly, by the looks of it.

You stir with a small noise, further burying your face in his shoulder. He knows then he’ll be there all night. He can’t bring himself to disrupt your rest when you’re oh so peaceful.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

The rest goes unsaid.

iv.

Johnny lets you brush his hair back, doesn’t flinch as you press an antiseptic-doused cotton ball to the cut on his temple. The only sign of discomfort is the subtle creasing of his brows—somehow, you still catch on.

“You alright?”

He nods, straining a quick response to appease your concerns. He instinctively reaches up, traces the jagged outline of the wound. He knows for a fact it’ll leave a scar; an ugly one, at that.

“It’s not all bad,” you shrug, reading his mind once again, “makes you look tough.”

He looks away and tries to convince himself you mean nothing by it.

v.

Johnny rests his back on the grass, damp from the morning rain. You’re laying only a few inches away, hair splayed in different directions. He watches as you search for patterns in the stars—amidst your concentration, you don’t notice his gaze.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” you prop yourself up on your elbows to get a closer look, smile because you’ve finally found what you were looking for (or, rather, something close to it.)

“…yeah.”

He glances at the dark sky; finds that its not nearly as pretty as you.

vi.

Johnny looks at the horizon, where the setting sun casts various shades of orange. The porch steps are rough against his knees, old and worn from years of use—still, he is calm. You seem to share the sentiment, much quieter than you normally are.

“Hey, Y/N?” his question is but a whisper; you hum in acknowledgment.

“I think I love you.”

Before he can regret it, you’re leaning your head on his shoulder. And, for once, you meet his eyes.

“I love you too, Johnny.”

[sluttysanemi]

𓆩. ⛧ .𓆪 — BAR BLISS. xoxo ’

Sanemi Shinazugawa x AFAB!Reader

c/w: out of character sanemi, fluff, pussy whipped sanemi (lol), sexual tension, ass slapping, flirting, smut, sort of fast paced dont bite my head off, oral (f!receiving), spit as lube, unprotected sex, responsible drinking

a/n: repost cuz its jst... not getting posted lol?? 5.2k words, smut at end!

A soft, dimly lit tavern- a warm glow casting a sense of intimacy. The acquainted aroma of ale, and exotic gin stenches the hostelry, followed with a captivating ambience. The inviting atmosphere charmed with lively music rendered the establishment to grow fairly populous.

Perched at the high tables, closely to the bartender, you gazed upon the assortment of drinks displayed within the umber coloured shelves. A pleasant evening it had held; you decide to indulge yourself to a sweetening cocktail. Expressing your polite solicit to the employee, you await patiently; once more engaging in the scenery amongst. You sat with only yourself, pondering idly. Along the valley of tidily arranged stools, none that sat upon particularly captured your interest. Ignoring the mild loneliness that echoed, you rather dwelled on loosening yourself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

With a short passing of time, your drink was presented. You mumbled a soft gratitude, and took a brief sip. The vibrant, tropical flavor lingering mildly, accompanying a pleasant after-taste. Whilst firming the spherical glass upon the table, a new presence accompanied. His peculiar fragrance of sandalwood, amber, and a savoury trace of tobacco swiftly caught your attention and coated the air with opulent pleasure. As if hearing your trailing thoughts of intrigue, he sat beside, upon the neighbouring stool.

You peered from the corner of your eye. His diverting scent drew a captivating allure.

Upon the abutting seat, a tall man of a lean, muscular build sat. With jagged, ivory hair, resting closely with the purple shade of his eyes. His figure was cluttered with ragged scars, the firm muscles of his body displayed proudly. A kanji meaning "kill", menacing and bold, emblazoned on the back of his long-sleeved haori followed with white buckles and the nature-coloured katana, painted with uneven dashes of white, resembling closely to his personal scars. This was certainly a sight you did not catch often…

He held a solemn expression, his gaze focused in front, though once he caught vision of whom he’d sat beside, it was as if his eyes expressed what his mouth did not. Tranced by your features; What a pretty face, such a gorgeous woman…

He passed a charming smile to you, as though he were silently indicating his interest, and ordered himself a whiskey.

Quickly poured, the amber liquor- settled within a low glass- is placed in front. Clear cubes of ice float highly. He reaches within his green tinted hakama pants, whilst you stared elsewhere.

“Want one, sweet thing?”, he spoke abruptly.

Pointing your sight to him once more, you watched as his sturdy hand held towards you an open packet of cigarettes. You grinned, rather amused by his braze attitude.

“Thank you.”, you replied kindly, plucking the narrow cylinder from the package. He excused himself to one and sealed the box, resuming its place with a lighter.

“Get close.”, he voiced with firm authority. Following, you leaned, noting closely his obscure musk scent. The leading edges of your shared cigarettes met as he held the ochre flame beneath. You stared as the vibrant glow followed towards the tab, silver emissions effused, and the newly invited fragrance of burnt tobacco evades.

Sighing glumly, he inhales deeply of the throat-clogging nicotine. He focuses on you, watching you with a linger of fascination.

“Like ‘yer eyes. They’re a real pretty colour.”, he remarked affably.

You smiled softly towards his admiration. “I like the scars. They complement nicely to your body.”, you replied simply, slowly intaking the flow of tobacco bodying the cigarette.

He sneers, evidently pleased. “Ye like them do ya, sweet thing? My body too?”, taunting you with your own words. You nod.

“You always such a pleasant show off?”, you asked, cocking an observant eyebrow. He swiftly drinks the bitter intoxicant, replying shortly. “For a lovely sight like you, might as well be.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

An invited silence stretches, whilst he shifts subtly- growing closer. “What’s your name then, sweet thing?”, he asks. You answered his query, gaining a soft grunt in his response. “Sanemi.”, he followed.

“Sanemi.”, you repeated, letting his name marinate within the moment. He purrs in response; a groan of approval. “Like the way ‘ye say it, pretty face.”

“You from here?”, you inquired, studying his expression. He watched you subtly, yet closely. You certainly had his interest. He shakes his head. “Not ‘round here. Was only ‘ere for my job. I’ll be gone by the morning.”, Sanemi inhaled from his cigarette once more, an excrement of smoke escaping the shine of his lips. You hummed in reply. “Thought you stood out. Is your job the premise for the katana, then?” He nods.

“Gotta fight really screwed shit with it. It sort of fucks you over. ‘ye’re not the same after.”, his voice somewhat reminiscent.

You watched at his expression momentarily, a comfortable silence whilst pursing your lips along the nicotine-coated cylinder, drawing in another drag.

“Good money?”, you questioned. He snickers, almost in disbelief.

“Real good money, baby. You like a man with cash?”, Sanemi pursued, his voice a sultry tone. You chuckle in his flirtations. “Perhaps. It makes for good compensation.”

He smiled, his grin tempting, as if he wished to glamor you. “Compensation, aye?”, he snickered. “You with a man then?” He inquired, abruptly shifting the subject. Like he was deeply curious to know…

His forward, careless confidence was alluring. You wished to tease him..“Why? Are you interested?”, she purred, purposely avoiding his advances. You were luring him, and tormentingly so… Sanemi rolled his eyes, unamused by the ingenous act. “You’re torturing me… your taunting could drive this man to murder.”, he whined lowly. He leans over and covers the back of your hand with his calloused palm. Sanemi’s skin was firm, almost abrasive. You could feel it softly skimming, caressing. “Do tell, sweet thing… i think ‘ye pretty face is really grownin’ on me.”

“Just my pretty face?”

“‘Ye voice too. Wanna hear it whine my name all night long.”

You purr a soft chuckle at his bold innuendo, though intrigued. “I suppose I’m available.” You spoke vaguely, though your reply struck a pleased grin. His fingers trailed thin circles along your wrists.

Your hand moved to the cocktail promptly forgotten upon the table. As you raise the glass to your lips once more, you observe Sanemi savouring, indulging in your beauty the same manner you had with your drink.

“Never seen a man stare at me so intently.”, you comment observantly.

“There’ll never be a man as worthy as me to do so.”

You laid a hand on his again, your fingers subtly intertwining. He felt warm; his touch delicate. Sanemi takes your dainty hand, and presses it gently to his lips. He presses swift, continuous kisses to the very tip of your middle finger. Your ethereal beauty left him aghast. He’d known there wouldn’t be another woman so entirely heavenly.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Time was clear to be surreal. He delved into the vastness of your thoughts and emotions. He was apparent to want to truly know you, to connect on more intimate levels than shallow conversation.

His clear need for closure was overly evident. His touch vividly intimate.

It had only been so long until he asked.

“Can I take you home tonight, sweet thing?”

His voice oozed with erotic ecstasy.

“Don’t you want me? I wished ‘ye knew how bad I craved you, pretty…”

His thumb would trace over your bottom lip, eyeing you greedily. It seemed as though he was tormenting himself. Awaiting a possibility to delicately press his lips against yours, feel the soft warmth of your skin, and be submerged in your gentle light. An untamed bliss.

It felt unreal as he guided you attentively through the darkened streets, explicitly keeping you close.

It felt of an overwhelming wave of intrigue as he held the door of a swiftly seized cab, observing your body’s sensual movement.

It felt of ecstasy as he sat close to you, tenderly tracing his fingertips across your thigh.

His fingers slid with precision, caressing until the very apex before manoeuvring down. Twisting inward and tracing sensual patterns on your flesh, his touch sent feverish sensations through your spine. The electric experience left you yearning more, as he began to explore every inch of your body with tantalizing detail, skimming into the interstitial crescents within.

Reciprocating his toy, you place the flat of your hand to the side of his face, drawing him into your gaze. You lean into the crook of his neck and begin trailing provocative kisses, leaving lipstick prints to remain. Lust thickens the atmosphere as desire suffocates; need floods your bodies.

Groaning in exhilaration to your temptations, he tightens his grasp around your thigh. Heavy waves of his breath fall from his chest. “Don’t do that, pretty girl…”, he warned, feeling buried in the terror of your beauty. Sanemi had lost himself more in your sight than he ever had in alcohol.

“I think you like it…”, you retort boldly, your tone flows with arrogance.

He rests his palm on the side of your face, lightly gripping. He peered at you closely, undressing you with his eyes. A faint sigh escaped his lips.

“More than you’ll ever know…”, Sanemi answered passionately. His opposing hand runs higher along your leg, drawing you up to his lap. It skims under your clothing to the fat on your rear. He squeezes hungrily before delivering the flesh a soft slap, humming softly at the delicate echo that followed. Your lips in tantalizing close distance, glaring at the other ardently.

The city lights reflected within the car, providing an idyllic setting. All the more incentive to pursue undisclosed desires.

Sanemi’s thumb would trail over your cheek, drawing in the moment. His breath, a stutter. “Fuck, sweet girl… look at’cha baby… your pretty eyes are gettin’ me needy.”, he spoke in slow detail. Your foreheads were held together close, your shared scents harmonizing.He gently cradled your face in his hands, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your jaw. Their eyes locked, communicating a depth of emotions that words struggled to convey. As he leaned in, a gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of blooming flowers.

Time seemed to slow as their lips finally met, a tender connection that sent ripples through their beings. His taste almost stung, strong with liquor, though resolutely appealing. Sanemi’s touch was feather-light, an exploration of the softness and warmth that made your heart flutter. Your eyes closed, savouring the delicate dance of their breaths becoming one.The kiss unfolded like a carefully composed melody, each moment an exquisite note in their symphony of shared emotions. His lips moved with a soft reverence, as if every caress held an unspoken promise. You responded, your own touch mirroring the tenderness you both craved.

The moon bore witness to their silent exchange, a celestial witness to a kiss that spoke volumes of love, longing, and the beauty of connection.Passion bloomed, becoming sinful, and greed infested the tender scenery. He grew relentless, gripping you needily, animalistically, blinded by his cravings. He was straining to remain composed and not strip you in the confines of the vehicle. He parts from your kiss momentarily.

“Tell me ‘ye need me, sweet girl. Drive me wild with that honey voice ‘ye got.”, he voiced, almost pleading.He moves to your neck, following your previous pursuit with firm kisses. He continuously caresses your thigh as well as firmly grasping at the soft skin of your ass.

“Need you, sanemi. Need you so bad.”, you whisper delicately; the words you spoke carry a sense of intimacy and vulnerability, resulting in Sanemi’s heart to ripple violently. He hums a breath of relief.

“Fuck…yes you do, sweet thing.”, his tone is low, caressing the intersections of your body. His lips travel to your cleavage, nipping the skin delicately. Soft prints flushing the skin remained. He glanced up at you briefly, craving. He longed to catch your essence and indulge as much of your elegance as he could. You followed, capturing in his glare. You looked at the gentle glimmer on his lips, the flush on his cheeks, and the sole euphoria expressed in his eyes. You grew enveloped in his luring expression…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Struggling to leave whole from the confinements of the car, you quickly travel to the hotel, passed to Sanemi’s momentary stay. It held rather lavishly, giving an almost luxurious appearance. He pressed feverishly onto the elevator's control, as if it were a panacea to a speedier arrival. His hand was almost entirely bound to your hip, and he was bitter to move it elsewhere. He was wildly near to seeing your nude grace. If only it would arrive faster… Sanemi grew partially frustrated.

The elevators eventually emerged, much to Sanemi's relief, thus he reacted quickly. He draws you against the room's iron walls, pressing his lips to yours again. The intense atmosphere has heightened. He placed his hand on your cheek, running down your neck. His available hand moves to your thigh and sets it firmly on his hip.

Your fingers are tangled in his silvery curls. Feeling the softness of his hair against your skin; the scent of his shampoo, a subtle mint, fills your senses, enhancing the intoxicating experience. Sanemi’s fingers trail to the inwards, intimate, spaces curved within your thighs. His calloused digits trail to the thin fabric layered over your clit, rubbing attentively; feeling the familiar warmth of arousal pool. He grins.

“Dirty girl…”, his words escape with a purr. His body presses against you more fiercely, the prominent bulge restrained in his trousers, growing in excitement, taunting you. Sanemi grinds his hips subtly, as if attempting to find relief in his heat. He groans aloud in alleviation, yet buries his head against the crook of your neck, trying to conceal his escaping pants of pleasure.

“Sweet girl… gonna fuck your pretty pussy so hard, baby.”

The lift rises and approaches the near top. The door glides open, exhibiting the sexual scenery to the empty corridor. He guides you by your hip to his room, attempting to pry his jumbled keys out of his pockets. With quivering, eager fingers, he eventually fits the key into the narrow gap, clicking it in place and pushing the door widely.

He's leading you into the room, flimsily locking, and conclusively inviting you into his bedroom. Beneath his sheets. He kisses you anew, gently guiding you to the outermost edge of his bed. Now he had time.

And he will make every effort to pursue it efficiently.

He's fervently pressing his pursed lips against your neck and gradually lowering to your thighs. He sits on his knees, taking your leg, and placing it over the firm of his shoulder. The salacious position provides Sanemi easier access into elation. His hands lift the hems of your dress upward, exposing you to him further. Feeling a silent obligation, you part your legs a further distance, eliciting an approving groan from the silver-haired man. “What a sweet mess…”, he coos.

He plants gentle pecks within the flesh of your inner thigh, his palm caressing the outskirts. You grasp the sheets with utmost thrill, watching Sanemi delve into the depths of your body. Your chest languidly rises and falls, attempting to compose. His hold discreetly attempts to press your body closer; his face gently pressing against the supple silk of your undergarments. He kisses the soft slit over the cloth, followed by tender suckling. Maneuvering to the supple inner skin of your legs once more, he continuously developed tension.

"Sanemi...," you pleaded, grasping his white hair again. He was belittling you, and it was harrowing... He peers above at you once again, an illicit smile plastered proudly on his face. “Don’t worry, sweet girl… I'll give you whatever you want."

His thumb links under the linen's corner strings and begins to tug in a slow, tantalizing movement. He peels the enticing attire to the floor and discards it. He delves into the supple flesh gently, trailing his tongue along the sensitive lips carefully. Your grip tightens, as a sudden surge of bliss arises. The pink muscle strays flat, as it caresses constantly over your clit. Maneuvering in a sensual, attentive rhythm. Vulgar murmurs pour as he gathers your arousal.

Sanemi's tongue glides delicately, occasionally delving within. He moves his head, ensuring to act attentively to your needs. Licking sensuous stripes over your slit, exploring various paces. Your carnal nectar developed into a gratifying addiction, which he merely drank wildly.

A slew of his name eludes from your lips, your urgent entail for him eliciting a groan. His voice sent pulses of thrill through you, and your muscles tensed.

His hold tightens upon your thigh, and he puckers his lips, suckling the soft slit delicately. His tongue consistently glides over, providing surplus ripples of ecstasy. He fulfills your carnal wishes, eager to satisfy you. Your sickly whines filled him with elation, feeling the arousal within him swallow him entirely.

His tongue traced along your amorous lips, creating ripples of a wet, erotic echo to follow. He quickly swallowed what he had gathered, savoring its taste. He demolished the thought of breathing while delving between your legs.

He lowers his face farther into your glistening cunt, his scarred hand massaging your outer thigh whilst. He twists his sensitive tongue and thrusts it repeatedly. You imitated his penetrations, grinding desperately against him. Tipping your head slightly backwards, blinded by euphoria.

“Please, Sanemi… please.”, you begged mindlessly.

“Yeah? You like that, pretty girl?” He purred, his voice immensely sultry.

His tongue thoughtlessly plunges into and out sloppily, culminating in shambles of pure bliss. He revered the way your thighs quiver eagerly, your fingers grasping him sterner, more desperately. He drank your sweet chirps of joy as if your voice alone produced ripplets of dopamine. There was not a honey poured in wine more pleasurable than the one produced by your trance.

His rose-coloured lingua traveled into the inner depths of your core, his nose pressed against the very delicate pearl of your intimacy. It squirmed, and twitched within. He broke momentarily, sighing against your fold. He took a moment to breathe briefly.

“Sweet girl...”, he kissed daintily.

You brush your fingers over his pale locks whilst marveling at him. He watched you, almost lovingly. Your fingertips were of silk. His expression softens, and an unexpected pink tinge faintly washes his face.

He grunts softly into your throbbing core, before immersing himself once more. He was an alcoholic in your lust. His pulsing yearning became overwhelming; he needed you. To immerse himself entirely in you and to feel your sweetening warmth envelope him most intimately. He grew gluttonous; hungry to have you to himself.

Your glance, your elegant eyelashes, fluttering so delicately. It drove him mad. You had looked so delectable, it plunged him deeper into thirst. Thirst to hear your voice whine to his name. Thirst to take you to unending depths of happiness, so you'll never find a man more deserving than him. Could there really be? For a woman as ravishing as you? He craves to hear you further.

He continues to fuck you mercilessly with his tongue. His nails, while blunt, sink into the crescents of your thighs and press against your flesh. They leave a tender bruise painted upon your thigh. He groans with deeper delight, content to have left his imprint on you.

His pink muscle is saturated in slick, and he continues to lap hungrily, avidly, greedy to reach you to that high. You became wanting. Thighs clenching, thoughtlessly rubbing. So close to heavenly’s peak. His echoing stimuli urging you towards your climax. You experienced a sensuous pulse string across your body, contracting irrationally. You tugged on his hair, seeking it further. Your breath struggles to maintain a fluent pace.

“That’s it, sweet thing. So good f’me…”

Your back arches, and an indescribable rush pours from you. It immerses you in a familiar sense of utopia, yet only considerably deeper. Out of this world, as if no troubles existed. A sensual warmth trails from your body, which Sanemi keenly tastes.

You take a moment to absorb within this reality once more, observing Sanemi's tongue gliding over his lips, clearing the remnants of your pleasure. He breathes softly into your throbbing cunt before placing a final, delicate kiss.

"D'you want me, pretty thing?" he asked, his face resting briefly on your thigh.

You nod calmly, your fingers caressing him. Sanemi smiles sweetly, pressing a kiss upon your skin. It was apparent that he thoroughly enjoyed you. When you touched, caressed. Even when you spoke. He was overjoyed to finally have you.

He rises to his full height. He leaned over and observed you lustfully. His palm rests on the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek. He moves the tips of his fingers diligently across your body. You can feel his touch pulsating within you.

His fingers crook, under the straps of your attire, slowly peeling it from your shoulders. He sighs deeply, unable to suppress his overt excitement. His touch is, however, delicate. His hands glide along your body, as he undresses you carefully. Squeezing the newly found skin with a certain care. He was admiring.

Leaving your garments across the floor, your body was left bare. The moon shone against, giving you a nearly angelic beauty.

“Oh, sweet thing…”, Sanemi whispers, enthralled. He cups your face and leans in to kiss you. The faint imprint of your prior high stays on his tongue.

Whining softly against each other, he quickly grew inflamed. He moves forward and positions himself on top of you, upon the bed. He softly brings you to the plush cushioning at the back, following as you slowly manoeuvre back. His free hand flows to the white buckles around his waist slowly sliding it off. It clicks quietly before it’s thrown thoughtlessly.

You supported him whilst he undressed, stroking your fingertips along his shoulders and slipping his uniform from his sculpted body. Watching as he offered himself to you without a sense of guilt.

Soon, he'd lay in only briefs, which scarcely concealed his arousal as it rubbed against your glistening folds, throbbing uncontrollably. His bare chest, gleaming in droplets of sweat, is marred in piercing scars. With bulging pectorals carved into a definite contour. His back, firm with strong ridges, as if in invitation to be touched. He was the embodiment of beauty. And he was to lay with you.

His hand supported his imposing physique as he breathed idly above. His fingers reached for the band of his boxers. Giving the fabric a firm tug, his heavy cock sprung from the tight confinements. Veiny, and thick, pulsing with demand. Pearly beads of pre, gathering from his rigid tip. He raised his hand in front and briefly spat twice, before pumping his shaft. He slumps forward with a deep groan, lubricating himself as filthy sounds follow.

After a prolonged tension, his dick glinted in his fluids. He reformed his grip at his base, pressing the flushed tip against your folds.

“Hold me gentle girl, hold me…”, he asked softly, his breath wavering.

Following his plea, you wrap your forearms around his broad neck. It held firmly, as did the rest of his body. In a gradual movement, he pushes his shaft inside you, grunting aloud. He surged frantically, teeming in eagerness. You inhale sharply through your teeth, curling your thighs around his waist.

He raised his hand to your upper thigh, caressing gently. “So soft...” “you’re so warm, sweet angel…”, he praises with leisure. He buries himself further into your warmth in a gentle push. He gradually has himself to the very hilt within you, twitching erratically.

He struggles to breathe at a consistent pace. Your enticing cunt fluttered so invitingly, he had difficulties comprehending simple thought. He lays loving kisses across the side of your neck as you acclimatize to each other.

He spread you out, filling you within. His girthy length massaged your crevices, piercing deep within. It's as if he was meant for you; as if Sanemi was designed especially for your pleasure.

He gradually starts to move. Sanemi begins tenderly, rolling his hips gently, his groin lightly slapping against you. His length rocks with ease, creating the familiar sound of skin crashing. He moved his hand to grasp your waist, while his other continually grasped himself upwards.

You felt of a miracle, he had neglected to breathe again. Deep within you, over and over, he knew of heaven. He was conscious that he was vocal, but he couldn't control it. You were too good for his sanity.

You whined aloud, settling your face into the crook of his neck. Your grasp tightens around him, feeling a gradual sensation of ecstasy arise. You could feel his heartbeat, strumming a gentle symphony against your naked breast. A close connection.

His cock plunged into you tentatively, as if you were facile to shatter. Mindlessly rocking and softly pounding into you. His thighs clenched, entranced by the eternal pleasure you offered. You could feel his silky pants by your ear, seeming that even a little of you drove him wild.

He moved, handled and spoke with absolute tenderness. His unending praises are a celestial chorus. He ensured to treat you with nothing but the finest.

But you craved more. His ferocious, animalistic urge, which he promised you in the lift. You wanted him to batter you mercilessly, laying claim to you. You knew he wanted it too.

Traveling your hands to his back, you caressed gently. “Sanemi… faster- please…”, you chirped gently.

He groaned heavily in response, burying his face firmly into your neck. Your voice drove him over, unleashing his wildest impulses. His upholding hand grasps at the sheets, as if a display of him attempting to hold to the last of his humanity. He responds with a harsh thrust.

"Yes, sweet thing." he uttered.

He was quick to follow your demands. His movements grew more brutal, with delicate rolls swiftly developing into animalistic thrusts. His cock plummeted sloppily, reaching unnoticed rises. He used his developed muscles and stamina, his movement appearing unending, ensuring to fulfil your deepest needs.

His breathing became erratic, with groans and grunts against your ear, endured in a sultry tone. He'd babble soothing praises, promising you that no one could fuck your sweet pussy better than him.

You knew to believe him.

You moaned against him, clutching at him desperately. It felt as if he was mindlessly pleasing you, plunging within your innermost soul. It was as if you had only been within his humanity to satisfy him. Your voice grew incoherent, only whispering his name. He tilted his head, succumbing to your idly murmurs with delicate, sensual kisses.

“So good, sweet angel, such a sweet girl.”, he murmurs.

He slides his hand from your hips to your chest. His palm gently rests on your supple breast, kneading the subtle skin tenderly. You arch in answer, forcing yourself against him further.

Even while he stipulated endless erotic sensations, your body desired more. You wanted him completely, and you became greedy. Rottenly greedy. You wanted to be reminded that nothing else in the world matters except him.

Even if he massaged within the innermost spirit, he had to take you completely. Not a portion of your body must be unclaimed

“Please, Sanemi. More- Need it so bad…”, Your voice is a pale melody, though your words strike deeply within him. He grins, doting in your submission.

He catches your wrist and places it above your head. “Oh, sweet thing? You still want more? Hmm? Even with my cock poundin’ you? Ain’t you a dirty girl…”, he groaned. He grips your thighs and lays them over the rigid of his shoulders, almost folding you in half. You could feel every vein along him, pulsing urgently.

“How could I ever deny my sweet girl of anythin’?”, he hums proudly. And as soon as that, he continues moving anew. This time, he is visibly vengeful. His shaft strikes into you rigorously, reaching his very haft in a deep plunge. Filthy, shameful noises pour from your bodies as he pummels your inner depths ruthlessly. His balls smack into your slit diligently, almost causing bruising.

He gazed from above with an almost sadistic look, relishing as he ruined your body, melding your velvet walls for his cock.

Back and forth with a repetitive, harsh manner. Holding vigorous brutality. Yet, it had been exhilarating. A hell had developed into heaven, and it was him.

“So desperate ain’t you? You want this? You want my claim?” he panted eagerly, his chest fluctuating freely. Your hold deepens on his back as you nod in response, mumbling a gentle "please" against him.

You knew not to act irrationally. How could you deny him? After the bliss he had brought you tonight?

Oh, your sweet voice… fervently begging for him. So desperately. You were such a good girl for him.

His hips falter briefly, before he groans profoundly with pride. “Oh, sweet girl.. You’re so good… so fuckin’ good.”, he moans. He kisses your neck needily, craving.

It was shortly until you felt a familiar coil within you. A soft flowering bloom. Your heart raced as the sensation grew stronger, pulsing through every fibre of your body. The anticipation grew excruciating, fueling a burning desire to embrace the intoxicating bliss that laid.

He too felt his climax build, as his coordinated movement grew urgent and eager. Rutting into you, eager to achieve that wave of fulfilment.

Your fingers layered into his white curls. His head is tilted forward, as he plunged endlessly. You grasp your fingers around his face, having him gaze upon you.

And he watches. His entire focus is on your face. His gaze sweeps over every aspect of you, every beauty. He drinks it all mindlessly, imbibing in every detail.

And it ruins him.

His face flushed pink, and he swiftly pressed his face into your neck, absorbing in your sickly scent. His thrusts became frantic, desperate, as he's reminded who he's plunged so deeply into.

“Sweet girl… so fuckin’ pretty… just f’me…”, He rambles incessantly. His grip on your wrist alters, and he soon entwines his fingers with yours. His hands are twitching, and warm, as it pulses with sinful desires.

As you felt the rhapsodic heavens, a white blinded your vision, and you were washed alas with phenomenal delight. You flutter around his shaft, tightening firmly. His hips dragged frantically, and with a quiver of mumbled curses, he finished deeply, too. His dick pulses and spurts ropes of ecstasy, into the warmth of your womb.

He breathes deeply into the silence of the room, prolonging his pleasure with light rolls. He inhaled shakily, his lower lip quivered faintly. After culminating his high to its very end, he gingerly slides your thighs from his shoulders. He rests, laying beside you.

He lazily places his palm on the side of your face. He observed you, holding the same soft stare he had in the bar. He smiles sluggishly.

“D’you think I could… see you again?” He inquired calmly, his thumb sliding over your cheek. You studied him curiously before beaming sweetly at him.

Your breathing synchronizes with that familiar, serene melody, developing a pleasant silence in the room. The moon illuminated your paired beauty as you gazed at each other tenderly.

You felt his warmth, his scent.

And you felt safe.

[lupoteodoro]

My Ron Livingston Watchlist Guide

Must-Watch

Office Space (1999)

Band of Brothers (2001)

Ron Livingston's Complete Bootcamp Video Diary (2001)

Keyboard Cat Redux (2009)

Highly Recommended

Swingers (1996) – Goofy.

A Rumor of Angels (2000) – Beautiful movie, and this role led him to get Nix.

Holly (2006)

Music Within (2007)

Defying Gravity (2009) – could have been an iconic space drama.

Parkland (2013) – I love his performance in this one.

Loudermilk (2017-2020)

Worth Watching

The Low Life (1995) – Story of a Yale grad.

Townies (1996) -- licked by a golden retriever puppy

Campfire Tales (1997) – full back nudity.

Body Shots (1999) -- yeah, that one

Beat (2000) – Super cute nerdy gay boy.

44 Minutes: The North Hollywood Shoot-Out (2003)

Sex and the City (1998-2004) – Enough is enough: Berger is my pretty baby boy.

House (2006) – He looks so good.

Relative Strangers (2006) – Fun to watch.

Standoff (2006-2007) – Obviously.

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: From the Stories of Stephen King (2006)

Leave (2011) – A BoB cast reunion.

Drinking Buddies (2013)

Boardwalk Empire (2013-2014)

Saints & Strangers (2015)

Shangri-La Suite (2016) – Fat Elvis.

Welcome to America (2016)

Daddy Vibes

The Conjuring (2013) – Haunted dad.

Fort Bliss (2014) – Military spouse dad.

The 5th Wave (2016) – Post-apocalyptic gorgeous dad.

Lucky (2017) – Because his look here is what I imagine for Stanhope.

Tully (2018) – Gentle omega dad.

The Long Dumb Road (2018) – Violent Alpha Dad.

The Romanoffs (2018) – Reasonable dad.

A Million Little Things (2018-2023) – Why does he die right away and leave a mess behind? This show annoys me. But he's so good in it.

The Flash (2023) – The Flash’s dad.

Sitting in Bars with Cake (2023) – Adorable sad dad.

His Pretty Face >> plot

JAG (1997) – POW baby.

Timecop (1997) – A 1920s New York cop.

Two Ninas (1999)

The Practice (1999) – I think his character was bullied, but he still looked very great.

Buying the Cow (2002)

The Cooler (2003)

Little Black Book (2004)

10 Years (2011)

Love Him Even as a Villain/Tragic

Adaptation (2002)

King of the Ants (2003)

American Crude (2008)

Dinner for Schmucks (2010)

The Odd Life of Timothy Green (2012)

The Professor (2018)

Search Party (2016-2022)

Doesn’t Fit Anywhere but You Could Watch

The Time Traveler's Wife (2009)

Game Change (2012)

[primrosechronicles]

Sky Cotl x ISAT Fanfic!

Performance Guide and Siffrin (strictly platonic)

Summary: The performance guide and Their moth meet again Warnings: Nothing that I can think off...? Word Count: 1784 PART 2 HERE

You step into the backstage of the village theater, taking a moment to appreciate all the preparations you and your crew did to make the theater more accessible to both moths and citizens alike. It took a lot of hard work, from assembling the stage to ensuring the levers operated properly. Despite the challenges, it was all worth it for the grand opening of the theater. 

You carefully walk up the stairs behind the levers, with the lively chatter of your beloved crew filling your ears.

“Director!” The crew’s resident dancer quickly stands up and crosses the room towards you.

“Dancer.”  You greet back. a smile creeping up your face. “What are you guys doing?”

“Me and the crew were discussing some things to put in your comedy!”

You tilt your head curiously “Any particular reason why..?” 

“We, uh, wanted to shake off the nerves... You know, we're all pretty jittery about tomorrow…” They shake their head “And! And.. you looked like you had a hard time figuring out the punchlines..”

You smile and give them a pat on the shoulder “Thank you.. And to be honest I'm nervous as well…”

“Well let's be nervous together!” They giggle joyfully, grab your hand, and lead you toward the group.

You sit with your crew and you observe the Stagehand frantically calculating the materials needed for the props and your Storyteller conversing with the Musician, though they seem to forget that the comedy is a.. Comedy.

“How about you, Dancer? Do you plan on writing a play? I'm sure you would be very good at it.” You ask.

Your Dancer shakes their head “Oh no! I could never make a play as well as you or the storyteller…”

“Oh don't be modest, Dancer.. I'm sure whatever you write will be wonderful.”

They smile at you and go back to continue whatever they did before approaching you. You sigh contently, you love being like this, being surrounded by the people you love, you could live like this forever.

Hand in hand with your crew and cast members, you all bow. The sound of whistles, cheers and honks fills the ears of your cast. You look at your audience, their smiles fill you with joy as you are reminded of why you and your crew decided to make the theater.

Your Musician begins to play a mellow melody as your Stagehand hands you the mic. The rest of the cast quietly slips offstage.

“My beloved audience.. Welcome! To the village theater.” you pause then breathe in and out. “As I stand here before you, I'm filled with gratitude for your support and for the opportunity to bring stories to life on this stage.” 

You continue “This is a place to play many parts, whether it be to play music.. Or to dance… or to tell stories!” you turn to your crew and smile gratefully at them.

“This is the Season of Performance! So come and share your vision with us all!” The audience erupts into applause and cheers, giving your crew a successful opening night.

You smile as you and your Storyteller converse with the audience members.

“--And the part when the girl almost got caught by the krill! It was so terrifying I was at the edge of my seat!” You laugh in response “Hah! Yea, our musician did an amazing job on the music on that part!” “There was a krill part…?”

You smile wider as more audience members praise the work of you and your crew, but then something catches your eye in your peripheral vision. You take a closer look and notice a mother gesturing at you while her child, embarrassed, tries to run away. You deduct from the child's age that they’re a moth, but they aren’t dressed how moths usually look? Instead of the usual brown cape, it is replaced with a white one, with smooth ends instead of the uniform jagged edges that make it resemble actual wings. Two pins are placed just below their chin, pulling the whole look together.

You walk up to them and kneel to be at eye level with the kid. “Hello! Did you enjoy the show?” The child jumps slightly, startled, then slowly nods. “I did…”

Their mother whispers in their ear “Tell them what you told me.” The child looks at their mom, nodding with slightly more confidence. “Uhm! I wanna do what you do! I wanna make stories and-and! Pretend it on there!” The child slowly lifts a trembling finger to point towards the stage, their eyes shining with a nervous excitement.

You turn to the mother “Ma’am, are you perhaps from the village of dreams?”

“Oh no.. We're actually staying at a relative's house right now to check out the new season."

"For how long...?" you ask, as an idea begins to take shape in your mind.

“About 1 or 2 months, my relatives love having us around and they usually prepare for us to stay for 3 months but there's something urgent I have to get back to by then..”

You smile and turn back to the kid “Welcome to the Season of Performance” You slowly place the season pendant around their neck “I hope to see you often during the months that you're here?” The little moth nods furiously. “Yes!”

"Guys?! Where are you?! I have an idea!" you burst into the building, searching for your crew members. "We're on the second floor!" the familiar voice of your Dancer exclaims.

With a surge of adrenaline, you sprint up the stairs (that honestly looked like ramps instead of stairs) to the second floor, your fast footsteps echoing throughout the hall.

You reach the top of the stairs, where they're all gathered around the mini stage they've set up. You make eye contact with your crew’s Stagehand and they gesture for you to sit on the cushion next to them.

Tea in hand you breathe in and out, “Each season goes as follows: teach them some simple craft spells then the other stuff that's unique to each season” you smirk, gaining more confidence with your idea. "What about the “ stuff that's unique to each season “ part is a workshop for the moths! And… for people who are interested! We could teach them about theater, how to write a play, and everything else we do here. It would be a great way to share our passion and get more people involved."

Your crew members exchange eager glances, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, that's a fantastic idea! I could teach them some sick riffs!" your Musician exclaims, playing their guitar with determination.

The Stagehand chimes in, "I could show them the ropes of stagecraft, from lighting to set design."

You turn to your crew's Storyteller, who smiles warmly. "I'll help them find their voices and tell their stories."

"I can lead sessions on movement and expression," the Dancer suggests. "I can teach participants how to use their bodies to tell stories and convey emotions on stage."

The excitement in the room is palpable as everyone starts brainstorming ideas for the workshop. You can already picture the theater bustling with little moths, eager to learn and create.“This is a great idea Director! Where’d you get the inspiration?” Your Stagehand asks you.

Your thoughts go back to that moth earlier, you smile warmly thinking of them “Just an idea i had..”

After a week of planning with your crew, the workshop is finally ready.

After a comedy skit performed by some members of the Season of Dreams you go up on stage mic in hand.

“Okay guys announcement! So, first of all, thank you so much for your creative And hilarious—” you wink at the Season of Dreams members “---Plays!”

"Now, as everybody knows, every single season has its events themed after, well.. The seasons theme!”

"So… without further ado, we are thrilled to announce our upcoming workshop series," you continue, your voice filled with enthusiasm. "Starting next week, we'll be hosting a series of sessions right here at the village theater. We'll cover everything from writing your own play to stagecraft, movement, and more!"

A wave of excitement washes over the audience as you outline the workshop's details. Your crew members stand beside you, beaming at the enthusiasm of the audience members"We want to invite all of you to join us," you say, scanning the crowd warmly. "Whether you're a seasoned playwright or a parent wanting your little moth to experience new things—” You wave towards the familiar moth and their mother “---this workshop is for you. Let's come together and create something magical!"

The applause and cheers that follow are filling you with a sense of accomplishment and joy. You glance over at your crew, sharing a proud and excited look. Then you look over to the moth that started it all, you see them look at you with wonder in their eyes, fiddling with their season pendant. You wink at them, they give you an attempt-wink back.

You walk through the excited crowd trying to reach that little moth and their mom. They spot you approaching and their faces light up with anticipation.

"Hi ma’am! Little moth!" you greet them warmly, kneeling down to the moth’s eye level. "I'm so glad you're here. Are you excited about the workshop?"

The child nods eagerly, a shy smile playing on their lips. Their mom smiles gratefully at you.

"I think it's going to be a lot of fun," you continue, glancing between them. "We have so many exciting things planned, like learning how to write plays, creating characters, and even some dancing!"

The child's eyes widen in excitement at the mention of dancing. "Can we really dance like the actors did?" they ask eagerly."Absolutely! Our Dancer is going to show us all how to move and express ourselves on stage. It's going to be fantastic!" you reply with a chuckle.

You thought a bit and realized… “Hey, i never got your name!” They look back at you and give you a smile you will remember for decades “It’s ____—”

You wake up to the chatter of your beloved crew. “Director! Thank the stars you’re awake!” You are then squished by the weight of your crew hugging you “We were so worried!” “You won't believe what happened!” “you were out for multiple—”

You shout, overwhelmed by the voices. “Guys! One at a time what happened?” Your Dancer looks at you with an expression you have never seen them wear. “Well—” “Director?”

You all turn to the unfamiliar voice, five figures fill your vision, four foreigners and one… Wait a minute… white cape with smooth ends… Two pins placed below their chin… Thats the— “_____?”

A/N: IM FINISHED!! yay,,, this took me like two drinks of mountain jew and! a couple of days..

So for my Sky: Cotl audience, the moth in the fic is the main character from In stars and time and the Fic was inspired by @kyri45 who did a wonderful job on her cross AU of the two games!

For my ISAT audience the fic is set in the game called "sky children of the light"

@kyri45 I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS! your au really got my brain tickled!! thank you for re-igniting my sky grind and thank you for feeding me with ur yummy AU

[ieatcocoa]

A Lasting Impression ♡

Characters: Lucifer/OC/Lilith

Switching POVS

Word count: 3.2k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. fem dom! Lilith, sub top! Lucifer, fem!reader, threesome, fingering, open relationship, penetrative sex, teasing, oral sex, character uses she/they pronouns.

I made this for a close friend of mine, his OC’s name is Ciel, and she is an overlord in the underworld.

Literally, my first time writing smut…so…

Boarder credits to plutism !

The eternal crimson light radiates above Pentagram City. It illuminates among crumbling sidewalks whose jagged edges are nearly as sharp as a local thief's blade, leaving behind twisted shadows that linger longer than the pungent odor of regret and sex. Dried blood sticks to any available surface, acting as the only reminder of a being's existence after being viciously gored. The light is a terrifying symbol of one's vulnerability to death, where a person's entire being is stripped down to its core and made visible to their true self.

Most hide away as best they can to maintain their sense of seclusion. Stability.

It would be a lie to suggest Ceil is not among them. She has always found solace in the darkness. That is only natural, as it was the first thing she saw when she entered hell. Many assume that when you meet your demise, you are rudely dropped into a flaming inferno and forced to live out the rest of your days as a helpless slave to the man himself. However, after Ciel's final breath and the way the cold air felt against their blue lips, everything became numb. She seemed caught between time and space, followed by an endless nothingness. They imagine it was their punishment to be alone, with only encounters from the depths of her memory bank. But then there came a light, similar to the one she bears witness to before her…

Nestled in the heart of the city's junction, the enormous white and gold estate is a beacon of splendor and charm. Its pristine facade, adorned with intricate golden accents, shimmers under the gentle caress of moonlight, casting a mesmerizing glow that enchants all who behold it. It's almost absurd that something so heavenly is here. As expected, its inhabitants are the embodiment of grace and delicacy.

Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar.

Every sinner knows them, regardless of how recently they have 'dropped.'

Respect is difficult, yet even the meanest brutes can bite their tongues when graced by royalty. Ceil longs for that kind of authority. Talk of the town is like a never-ending telephone game, misconstrued or added on for flare. When others became aware of her presence, there was an unprecedented wave of rumors, specifically in the Pride ring.

That may be why they were invited during their daily tea hour with Rosie. The beautifully sealed envelope exudes an aura of grandeur. Its seal, meticulously stamped with the emblem of the hosting organization, adds an air of exclusivity and importance to the contents within. As they run their fingers along its smooth surface, they can almost feel the excitement radiating from within, promising an evening of elegance.

The king and queen had invited her to their home.

To their party.

To them.

Ciel knew she couldn't pass up this opportunity, which is how she ended up here. Within the walls of the magnificent mansion, the gala unfolds like a scene from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft, golden glow over the exquisitely decorated ballroom. Elaborate floral arrangements adorn every corner, their vibrant hues adding to the lavish surroundings.

Guests, fitted in their finest attire, mingle amidst the grandeur, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Servants move gracefully among the crowd, offering trays of decadent hors d'oeuvres and glasses of fine champagne.

At the center of the room, a raised dais hosts a band of talented musicians, their melodies weaving through the crowd with allure. The music swells and dances, carrying with it an irresistible energy that beckons guests to the dance floor.

That’s when she saw them.

The royal pair attracts attention with their elegance and poise. The handsome man with the tousled blonde hair was the first to catch their eye. Despite his stature, his presence fills the room with undeniable charisma. His rosy cheeks hint at his jovial nature, while his piercing eyes sparkle with intelligence.

Beside him is his counterpart, a tall and remarkably gorgeous woman with olive-toned skin that sparkles in the mellow candlelight. Sculpted with refinement, cascading waves of dark hair frame her delicate features.

Together, they epitomize the perfect balance of strength and grace, their union symbolizing harmony and unity within the royal court. As they engage in conversation, their easy rapport and shared laughter illuminate the room, captivating all who have the privilege of beholding them.

Ciel is held hostage by the image of such a delicacy. If she had not been able to feel the gazes of other bystanders, she would have drooled like a starving animal or a dunce.

Amidst the crowd, Lucifer notices the young woman seated alone at a table, her presence a calling to him. He approaches with a stride and a knowing smile on his lips.

As he reaches her table, he offers a drink with a courteous nod. She meets his eyes with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her demeanor guarded yet intrigued by his attention.

“Hello there, a drink?” The champagne in his hand sparkles tauntingly as Ciel takes hold, giving it a small taste. “Why thank you.”

Lucifer takes a seat beside them, manuring ever so gracefully that his pristine tailcoat tucks perfectly underneath him. “Are you that new face I’ve heard so much about? I must say, you are much less intimidating in person.” The mild jazz playing in the background does not drown out his voice.

"Mm, it seems I am; my name is Ciel. Take passing conversations with a grain of salt, as they are often misconstrued.”

“I see.”

“And what about yourself? You’re not at all what the book makes you out to be.” Ciel looked at him carefully, a gentle smile gracing their lips. Lucifer’s bushed brows shot up in amusement. “I understand an introduction is not needed! How grand! Are you pleasantly surprised I’m not some horrid beast?”

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?” She teased.

Funny. He likes that.

As the night wears on and the champagne flows freely, they are drawn together by shared laughter and lighthearted banter. Their eyes sparkle with mischief as they exchange playful quips and witty remarks, the intoxicating effects of the bubbly heightening their sense of camaraderie.

With each passing moment, their inhibitions fade, replaced by a growing sense of desire. Their laughter becomes more animated, and their touches linger a fraction longer, igniting a subtle yet undeniable spark between them.

However, amidst their playful flirtation, a shadow of guilt tugs at the overlord's conscience. She steals furtive glances towards his wife, who converses amiably with an acquaintance just a few feet away. Summoning her wit, she offers a sly remark, "Your Majesty, your charm is as dangerous as it is delightful. I fear I may be getting swept away in a current where I shouldn't be swimming."

The king's demeanor momentarily gives way to a thoughtful silence, his expression becoming unreadable as he weighs the words. For a fleeting moment, the air between them crackles with tension, as if suspended in anticipation of his response.

Then, with a subtle shift in his countenance, his features softened, and his eyes were alight with a glimmer of delight. With measured grace, he leans in slightly. "Ah, my dear, perhaps it is the allure of the forbidden that makes life's dance all the more thrilling."

Hm…

“A beauty she is.” Ciel sighs as their eyes drift across the captivating woman again, no longer masking her words with subtlety.

“Lilith? Indeed.” He responded.

“How would she feel about her husband chatting up a stranger?”

“Is this not a social event? Conversation is the pinnacle, sweetheart.”

“Conversation maybe. Flirting is not.” Ciel quips back.

“Ah ha! I see now. Is that what is bothering you? Lilith is not ignorant of my proclivities; in fact, she welcomes them with open arms!” He expresses himself gleefully, animating with his arms outstretched.

“It still feels wrong to be this friendly behind her back.” The once sweet fizz of the drink now burned unpleasantly at Ciel's throat. There is a beat of silence.

“Would you like for us to all get better acquainted?”

How could they deny an offer as sweet as that?

The ascent up the grand staircase is a haze. The soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, casting intricate shadows that sway with every movement. As they reach the top of the stairs, the air becomes thick with suspension.

Is this the appropriate thing to do?

Scents of jasmine linger in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of musky cologne, creating an intoxicating allure that pulls Ciel forward, ceasing any previous doubts.

Guided by the faint sound of murmured voices, she stands before the elaborate doors of the king and queen's private bedroom. The wood is warm beneath her fingertips as she pushes them open, revealing a sanctuary of luxury beyond.

The inside of the room is bathed in a soft, golden light, casting a halo around Lucifer and Lilith as they recline upon the plush bed. The queen's eyes are alight with a playful spark, and her voice is a melodic whisper as she welcomes them into their intimate domain. With a graceful gesture, she invites her to join them, her words laced with a subtle invitation that ignites a flicker of desire within Ciel's chest.

“No need to be shy, lovely. Your presence is much appreciated.”

Time feels as though it were moving through a thick puddle of molasses. Lingering touches dance along Ciel's skin; the feeling is so overwhelming that a soft whine escapes her lips. It was not her intention to come and seduce the most prominent individuals in the underworld, but she was pleased with the outcome. Little did she know, the feeling was mutual. Lucifer watches from a distance, his eyes ablaze with tension, his demeanor poised yet brimming with desire.

He knew it was not his turn.

He knows to wait patiently.

His gaze never wavers as he observes the exchange between Ciel and his goddess, a silent witness to the unfolding tableau of intimacy. With a tender smile, Lilith reaches out, her fingers grazing Ciel's cheek in a gesture of affection. In that brief touch, a current of electricity courses through, heightening the intensity of the moment. “I've heard so much about you; please forgive me. I just needed to see you for myself.” “You’re much prettier in person.” And then, as if guided by an invisible force, Lilith leans forward, her lips meeting theirs in a gentle yet impassioned kiss.

In that stolen moment of intimacy, the world outside fades away, leaving only the desperation of her and Lucifer, who watches with bated breath, his need now mirrored in the depths of his eyes. He can feel the distinctive strain against his pants.

All three let out short huffs as they hastily dropped their garments. It was too hot, too sticky. Ciel sought comfort in the cold air wafting throughout the chamber, being able to feel herself slip away in the confinements of pleasure. The only thing that drew her back was the distinct ticking of the grandfather clock.

“How do you feel?” Lilith is imbued with a sultry allure, carrying like a whispered caress throughout the air.

The duvet that was once neatly tucked into the soft mattress below was now thrown aside by the movement of bare bodies. Lilith has them right where she wants them. Their legs spread prettily enough for her to see the glimmer of the slick coat along her fingers. Ciel's cunt flutters greedily as the skillful fingers push inside once more. A mewl escapes her lips as she tries to form coherent thoughts. It was all too much. The tips of her fingers press snuggly against the sensitive tissue, making her chase for more.

It’s to no avail.

Each time she experiences that wonderful feeling, it is abruptly taken away, leaving her bewildered and dazed.

“Confined.” Ciel manages to sputter out after the loss of Lilith's touch. “I understand that, darling. What do you seek?” Lilith asks as she presses against her soft and sticky walls once again. She hisses, annoyed by the teasing. With a sharp retort poised on their lips, they muster the courage to respond with a sly remark, hoping to regain control of the conversation. “Release.”

But as the words leave their mouth, a wave of instant regret washes over, like a cold shower extinguishing the fire of their defiance. They realize too late the weight of their words and the potential consequences of their impulsive retort. Lilith's mouth curls into a grin as she makes a disapproving sound with her tongue.

No.

“Greedy thing.”

Please!

Ciel finds themselves consumed by an insatiable desire for her touch once more. Every fiber of their being yearns for the electrifying sensation of her fingers against their skin, aching for the pleasure it brings. Her voice trembles with intensity as they plead, their words an impassioned request for her return. Lilith coos gently, wiping away the salty tears that collected at their lash line. A forgiving queen she is. “Shh shh… I’ll ask you again.“

A murmur echoes within the room, laced with an ethereal appeal that holds them transfixed. "What do you seek?" With trembling breath, they confess their deepest longing, their voice barely a whisper, “Power.”

“Good girl.”

The stretch of Lucifer’s cock lacked the familiar, painful ache Ciel was accustomed to. He glides inside smoothly and bottoms out fully. Lilith’s preparation had made it easy; a puddle of arousal coats the underside of their body. Never in his life would he compare the beauty of another to his love, but this one? This one was making it increasingly difficult. Her walls had him entrapped, earning a low groan from him. So soft, even the jagged stitches that etched across her body felt gentle. His pulse flutters as he drags an earnest finger over the raised skin. He could not explain the growing impulse that rose within him, as he frequently acted on it. Lucifer presses a long kiss on the scar at the junction of her navel. “You’re doing so well, taking me so well.” He softly murmurs while pressing his finger against her sensitive nub, causing Ciel to cry out. His pace quickens and the sound of skins hitting against one another grows in passion-filled intensity.

Ciel's muffled squeak was met with the sweet taste of Lilith, a mixture of nectar and lust. The mound, so snuggly pressed against her lips, flutters with need. “Sweetheart—!” Lilith whimpers.

What a beautiful voice.

Ciel had no time to enjoy the sweet sound as Lucifer's rhythmic hip movements clouded her mind. She could hear the distinctive sound of lips meeting one another in a feverish haze. So passionate. They feel a sense of awe and reverence wash over them as if witnessing a sacred union that transcends mortal understanding.

“I love you.”

It was not said to her, though the effects were all the same. Ciel wailed loudly as their hips stuttered, their orgasm rushing over them so hard it left a dull pulse within. He groans in response to the connection between the inseparable duo becoming tighter. He presses his hands against her thighs, massaging the sweat-coated fat in between.

“You’re okay, lovely. I got you.”

The smooth exchange between the two leads Lilith to rush after her release; she can feel the coil inside snap. Coming down from her high duey sweat beads at her forehead, she was satisfied.

Ciel yearns for the snug embrace of Lucifer, their bodies still entwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. It took a moment for her to gasp for breath before her eyes trailed downward. He hadn’t cum.

She could cry.

Lilith, ever so perceptive, notices their discomfort and moves to reassure them. She offers a warm and understanding smile as she softly touches their cheek. "How precious. Do not be troubled, my dear." She says softly, her voice a soothing melody amid their turmoil. Drawing them up into a tender embrace, the queen whispers words of reassurance, her voice a balm to their wounded pride. With her gentle guidance, Ciel begins to feel the weight of embarrassment lift from their shoulders. “This is not your doing. Luci requires a little extra attention.” She gently pulls Ciel aside, then lays her husband down.

He had waited patiently, so who was she to deny his release?

Ciel peeks in marvel as she kisses him up his jaw, her fingers gripping his cock securely and slowly pumping it while cooing.

“My dove?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you feel me?” With that, her free hand glides three fingers into his inviting hole, delicately pumping in and out. She receives no response; instead, Lucifer lets out a pitched whine, and he puffs out a strangled breath. To see someone as significant as him come undone so effortlessly made the familiar warmth of yearning pool in Ciel's gut.

“Are you paying attention?”

In their oblivious state, she fails to register the question, their mind preoccupied with the grandeur of the moment. Her laughter fills the air, quickening their heart with realization. A rush of warmth floods their cheeks as they finally comprehend the implications of the words. With an impish glint in their eye, Ciel teasingly inches closer to her, their movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

How ironic.

Hearts race with excitement at the audacity of their actions. “Whatever for, your majesty?” With a charming smile, the queen leans closer, almost meeting lips for another kiss. How she wishes she could taste her once more, the flavor forever grained into her mind. This was no mistake. She is thankful for the rumors, the yearly gala, and the chance to savor such a delight.

The air surrounding them thickens as Lucifer moans once more before cumming, and the sticky remnants drip from her fingers as she brings them up to Ciel's mouth. They do not hesitate to suck, and the taste is as sweet as hers. Heavenly.

“Why for our next rendezvous, of course.”

Author's Note: thank you so much for reading ! If anyone is here for an update on my Alastor fic I'll be working on it soon enough! Let me know if anyone wants a variant version where it's x gn reader. much love! p.s my ask box is open pls come talk with me.

[luxlightly]

I Said To You in Your Blood, "Live!" - a Gabv1el fic (AO3 link in the reblogs)

“And when I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood, I said to you in your blood, ‘Live!’ I said to you in your blood, ‘Live!’" - Ezekiel 16:6

Gabriel dragged himself forward, slumped against a wall of Hell, wings drooped and dragging on the floor behind him.

Of course he'd returned. Where else could he have gone? 

Where else do angels go when they fall? To die?

And he was dying. It was a strange and impossible seeming notion. Something he would have laughed at the very idea of just a few days ago. How could you kill the Hand of God? Ridiculous. 

As ridiculous as that Hand being bested by a mere machine, built by mortal hands for profane purposes. 

Crude, merciless…

Beautiful. 

He'd grown so used to the beauty of Heaven. Clean, pristine, and perfect. A cold, calculated beauty of carved marble, precise and willful. Flawless and impersonal as the Father himself.

How could a machine, dripping with blood and gore, built of an unholy mix of flesh and steel, with frantic, desperate movements and torn, jagged edges have, at first meeting, been anything but hideous to him? Repulsive in all ways? 

And so how could their fight, and his defeat, have felt anything other than violating? Something that stained him, made him imperfect and unworthy of the Light that was stripped from him? 

And so it had. So he had been at war with himself. Had felt corrupted, defiled. Impure. So he had begun their second fight with hate and desperation to cleanse himself of the stain of their first. 

Then something changed. 

Imprecise movements no longer felt imperfect. They became natural. 

Organic.

Alive.

Life is frantic. Is desperate and uncalculated. Is imperfect and unpredictable. 

His fights for Heaven were about death. About punishment. One sided executions and exterminations. 

Fighting with the machine was about life. The fight itself had felt alive. 

And Gabriel…Gabriel had felt Alive.

More than he'd ever remembered feeling. He'd felt the movement of combat like music, like the pounding of drums and the thrum of blood in veins. Excited and full of life. And so did fighting become like dancing, unable to be lost, only lead.

He'd laughed. 

It had felt so incredible. To fight the way living things do. As animals clawing to survive. To want to bite and scratch and claw and cling to life for every second he could. To be desperate in his desire. He'd understood so clearly, in those moments, how creatures of flesh and blood were in the image of God. How could such fighting, to cling to that living flesh, be anything but the most reverent form of worship? 

And so how could one’s partner in such a dance, be anything but the purest and most true kind of beauty? Blinding and breathtaking?

Then, all too soon, it was over. 

Cast down again, for the second time in his existence, Gabriel tasted defeat and, for the first, he tasted blood. 

And it tasted divine. 

It filled the cold void left behind where the Father's Light had been torn away from him and it tasted so much the same, yet somehow purer. The Light he'd been granted, the metered grace he was allotted by the Council so long as he served their will seemed, by comparison, like a shadow or reflection. The lingering warmth after a farewell compared to the fiery heat of sudden embrace. 

How could it be warmer than God’s Light? If the fire of God was so much warmer in the blood of Hell, then what burned in the Council chambers of Heaven? 

How could he, cast from grace and laid low before the machine, feel closer to the Divine than he'd felt while basked in His Light? 

There could be only one answer: because the Light that the Council had to offer him was not Divine. Maybe it never had been. After all, if God was really dead, how could the Council have His Light to give, anyway? 

And if it hadn't been His Light, His Will, then what had Gabriel been sustained on? Only the Council’s approval. 

He forsook it. Better to die, consumed by the flames of Hell than live sustained by the cold indifference of Heaven. 

At least consumption is akin to embrace, in the way that hunger is akin to desire. 

His legs losing their strength at last, Gabriel finally slumped to his knees, breathing ragged and vision blurry. 

The way he'd cut down the Council, had bathed the chambers of Heaven with their blood, had seemed to rejuvenate him, at least temporarily, at least long enough to finish the grim task. But now, his connection to the Light of the Father severed for good and the last remnants of its warmth drained from him, he felt his end very much at hand. 

Ridiculous as it would have seemed, mere days ago, to contemplate his own death, it would have been even more so to contemplate his own life. 

His existence was a constant. It had no true beginning or end. It could not be covetted or cherished because it could not be quantified. It simply was. He could not want to live any more than the sky could want to hold its place above the Earth. Than the wind could desire to blow or the celestial bodies desire to continue their journey through the endless void of space. 

A force of nature could not want. Could not hope. Could not hunger, not for food, nor life, nor love.

But Gabriel did. For the first time, he faced his future with something other than cold, perfect acceptance. In its place was a hot, bitter disappointment and a gnawing, desperate hunger.

He wanted to live. Damn him, he did not want to die. He wanted to see the Machine again, as he had promised he would. He wanted to fight for the sake of fighting. He wanted to live and to feel alive. 

He wanted to drag the eyes of the God that had abandoned him back to that chaotic dance and dare Him to find it beautiful. He wanted the eyes of God to weep for the beauty they'd turned away from. To mourn every second they'd spent not beholding it. The way he mourned it, now. 

Perhaps it was that desire, more so than anything, that brought him back to the depths of Hell. A vain hope to fulfill his promise and to feel the embrace of life one more time before dying, however briefly.

He did not rouse when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He had no strength to fight. If one of the denizens of Hell wanted to end him now, it would only be speeding up the inevitable. 

With his faith so shattered, Gabriel was not sure if he believed there was any force that could intervene in the affairs of Earth, Heaven, and Hell in the way he'd once called “miracles”, nor did he have any name to give thanks to for such an act, but the gratitude he felt when the owner of the footsteps appeared before him could not have been greater if he had known it to be an act of God Himself. 

“Machine…” he breathed. “We meet again…as I said we would. Sadly…I do not think we shall face each other in righteous combat a third time. Still, I am…glad to see you. One last time…”

V1 dripped with fresh blood. It must have freshly killed. Its wings raised, encircling it like a golden halo in Gabriel’s blurred vision. Blue, gold, and red swam before his failing eyes, shimmering and ethereal.

“Divine…” he whispered. 

V1’s inner mechanisms whirred and it tilted its head, inquisitively. It seemed to inspect him, clicking and humming. Its hands grasped and released its weapons, seeming unable to fully process or deal with an encounter that was not immediately violent. 

It knelt before him, looking him over for some cause for his current state.

Gabriel laughed, weakly, strangely endeared by the robot’s apparent concern. Strange, for a being that had only known him as a threat. 

How to explain the Light of the Father to a machine? How could it possibly understand what it meant for him to be cut off from it, or why he had been? 

“I am…hungry,” Gabriel said. “Empty…dying.”

The Machine stood again, looming over him. Gabriel wondered if it would leave, assured that he was no threat. After all, what use did it have, with its limited time, to stand around and watch him die? 

Instead, as it had nearly every moment he knew it, it surprised him. 

With a screech of metal against metal, the Machine dug a clawed hand into its own chest, peeling back a small patch of the metal plating to reveal the pulsing mass of flesh and mechanics that comprised its innards. 

Hot blood poured from the self inflicted wound and onto Gabriel's helmet, flowing down and dripping into the holes above his mouth. 

Gabriel was stunned for a moment, then almost laughed. 

Of course. Its whole idea of life revolved around blood. Life, health, food; blood was synonymous with all of them. What other thought could it have had to help him, than to try to feed him the way it fed? 

A misguided effort, of course, but nonetheless meaningful. It had to fight for every second of life that blood afforded it, and it likely knew the supply was dwindling, yet it would harm itself and willingly part with its most precious life force, in the hopes it would help him. 

Gabriel opened his mouth beneath his helmet and let the blood trickle onto his tongue. Misguided or not, he recognized a sacrament when he saw one, and he would not dream to waste it. 

Again the taste of divinity alit on his tongue and he shuddered. The hunger is his gut that had first been sparked the moment he'd been struck down the first time by the Machine and that had been kindled by the taste of his own blood, then fanned to flame by the slaughter of the council roared up in him as an inferno.

He tilted his head back and shifted himself to kneel before the Machine allowing blood to pour more directly onto his supplicated form. 

Like liquid fire, it bathed his skin and coated his throat, lighting him up from the inside the way the cold reflection of Heaven had never dreamed to compare to. 

“Machine!” he choked, a desperate plea he hadn't meant to utter for a desire he didn't understand being dragged from somewhere deep inside him that knew what it was to struggle to survive, even if he didn't.

Luckily, the Machine understood what he could not. 

It guided him to his knees, pressed close to it for support, and guided his hands with its own to the wound on its chest, held his hand in its while an instinct Gabriel never knew he could have harbored dug their clasped fingers into the metal and stripped back the plating even further. 

Life blood bathed him and Gabriel cried out with a mix of relief and need. His arms encircled the Machine, clinging to it like a lifeline as he pressed his face to the now gaping wound, feeling its pulsing, churning, whirring insides against his armor and skin, which both seemed to drink up the blood as eagerly as his mouth. 

He wanted to pray, but couldn't. For there was no prayer he had known to fit such a sacrament, nor any that he could conceive of that could be more reverent than the worship he was already partaking in. 

He wanted to reach in with his hands and pull out its innards while it did the same to him. He wanted to tear it open with his teeth and taste where the metal and flesh met. 

He wanted to understand how animals could eat their prey alive.

He wanted to know that only his blood filled it, fed it, while only its fed him, like a heart passing blood between its chambers, like the two raw wounds that they were, pressed together so close they shared a heartbeat. 

He wanted them to hunger for every drop of each other and never be satisfied. 

He wanted. He hungered. He lived!

And yet, a gentle push was all that was needed to unclasp his hands and send him toppling back against the wall behind him, gasping for breath.

Blood continued to sink into his armor and skin and for a moment Gabriel felt the urge to peel off his helmet and lick the fading drops up before they disappeared, but he suddenly realized he could not fully recall what lay beneath that shell of white and gold. 

V1 clutched at its chest as its body began the work of repairing the damage, sealing up the opening and fusing the metal back together. 

Gabriel felt his own body similarly set to work on repairing itself. Energy seemed to return to his limbs and he felt that he once again had the strength to stand. 

“Let Us make man in Our image. In Our likeness…” Gabriel quoted, in a daze.

V1 tilted its head at him again. 

“For the life of every creature is its blood: its blood is its life.”

Gabriel shook his head and laughed. 

“We're so much more alike than I'd even thought possible, Machine. The Father's Light has always fed both of us, hasn't it?” he said. “If God is dead, then what in his abandoned Heaven could be left of his Light that is not lesser than that in the lifeblood of those He made in His image?” 

He looked to V1. 

“You…saved me. I owe you a debt of gratitude. But… I don't understand.”

He shook his head. 

“Blood is finite. It's running out. Why share any with me? Why cut down the little time you have left to save someone who only ever tried to kill you?” 

The Machine turned away, as though lost in thought.

Gabriel wondered if it even really understood, itself. 

At last, it turned to him and, in a garbled, robotic tone that seemed to take great effort for it to produce, it said:

”I A M H U N G R Y”

Somehow it seemed to look past him. This creature of war who never knew a life beyond bloodshed. Whose purpose died before it came to be. Whose life, since its inception, had been a clawing, desperate, and ultimately doomed fight for just a little more time. A little more life  Even in hell, even if it's only ever filled with pain and death. 

“I think I understand you, Machine,” Gabriel said. “I used to think your being here was pointless. A remnant of a dead war that could only know hunger. Could only bring destruction. But this is what you feel, isn't it?”

He put a hand to his chest.

“I want to live, Machine. I want to fight for every bloodsoaked second I can squeeze from this existence, no matter how brief. I'll fight until I'm torn to pieces for one more moment. If it means I get to keep feeling what it is to be alive.”

He looked up at V1.

“And I want you to be alive. I want to fight you again. I want you to never let me forget this feeling. You…make me know what it is…to want something.”

V1 blinked its optic, slowly, as if in agreement. 

Gabriel staggered to his feet and pulled Justice from its sheath. He pointed it at V1 before laying the blade flat across his palms and bending one knee, holding the sword up to V1.

“If the Divine can still live on, even in the blood of His dead and damned creations, then maybe this fight is not one doomed to end once you reach the bottom of Hell,” he said. “Take my sword. And my vow that if I cannot find a way to replenish the energy of the Divine, then I will meet you at the center of Hell and Splendor and Justice will cross one last time as we duel for the last drops of blood in creation.” 

V1 took the sword from Gabriel’s hands and brandished it, feeling the perfect balance of the expertly crafted blade. 

“We will meet again, Machine. Until then, may your woes be many. And your days few.” 

---

Me, pointing at a big blackboard with insane scrawlings covering it: "Here's how gabriel can still live"

I've never played ultrakill but I am not immune to the eroticism of the machine. Written all at once at 3am waiting for my pain medication mo kick in. bone app the teeth

[whocaresimnothere]

Melody of the Radio Demon

Alastor x Reader

The descent into Hell was not marked by fire and brimstone as one might expect, but by an eerie silence that settled like a suffocating blanket over the landscape. As you crossed the threshold from the mortal realm into the infernal abyss, a chill crept into your bones, a sensation that seemed to seep from the very ground beneath your feet.

The transition was gradual, almost imperceptible at first. The world around you blurred and shifted, colours bleeding into one another until all that remained was a monochromatic haze. The air grew thick with a heavy, cloying scent, like the musk of decay mingled with the acrid tang of sulphur.

And then, with a jolt that sent shivers down your spine, you found yourself standing on the banks of a river of molten lava, its fiery currents snaking their way through the barren wasteland like serpents in search of prey. The ground beneath your feet trembled with each step, a constant reminder of the tumultuous nature of the realm you now found yourself in.

As you surveyed your surroundings, a sense of dread washed over you like a tidal wave. The landscape was desolate and inhospitable, a twisted mockery of the world you once knew. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground like the shattered remnants of some ancient civilization, their sharp edges gleaming in the dim light of the crimson sky.

The gates of Hell rose like colossal sentinels, their twisted spires scraping the blood-red sky, while the sulfurous stench thickened the air, a tangible reminder of the realm's infernal nature. As you crossed the threshold, the ground beneath your feet felt unnervingly solid yet volatile, as if the very earth were writhing in torment. The cacophony of wails and screams echoed in the distance, a haunting symphony that reverberated through your bones.

Each step forward felt like a descent into madness, the landscape unfolding before you in all its grotesque grandeur. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground like the shattered remnants of some ancient civilization, while rivers of molten lava snaked their way through the barren wasteland, casting an eerie glow upon the desolate terrain.

Amidst the chaos, the Hazbin Hotel stood as a beacon of defiance, its grand façade a stark contrast to the surrounding gloom. Its ornate architecture spoke of a bygone era, a time when elegance and opulence reigned supreme. But here, in the heart of Hell, it stood as a refuge for lost souls, a sanctuary where sinners sought redemption.

As you approached the hotel, a towering figure emerged from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he purred, his voice dripping with honeyed venom. "A lost soul seeking refuge in my humble abode?"

You swallowed hard, the weight of his gaze bearing down on you like a leaden shroud. "I... I suppose so," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

The demon's grin widened, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. "No need to be shy, my dear," he chuckled. "Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, where every sinner has a second chance at redemption... or so they say."

With a flourish of his hand, the demon gestured for you to follow him inside, the doors creaking open to reveal the bustling interior of the hotel. As you stepped across the threshold, you were greeted by a whirlwind of activity – demons of all shapes and sizes going about their business with reckless abandon.

The lobby was a symphony of chaos, the air filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the occasional scuffle. Demons lounged on plush couches, sipping cocktails and engaging in animated conversation, while others darted to and fro, their eyes alight with mischief and mayhem.

You couldn't help but marvel at the sight, the vibrant energy of the hotel filling you with a sense of hope you hadn't felt in ages. Perhaps, just perhaps, this place could offer you the fresh start you so desperately craved.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the demon leading you through the crowded lobby, his voice fading into the background as you took in your surroundings. It wasn't until he spoke again that you snapped back to reality, his words pulling you from your reverie.

"Well, my dear, it seems you've arrived just in time for the show," he chuckled, his grin widening as he gestured towards the stage at the center of the room. "Care to join me for a little entertainment?"

You hesitated for a moment, uncertainty gnawing at the edges of your mind. But as you glanced around the bustling lobby, the infectious energy of the hotel washing over you like a tidal wave, you knew that this was where you belonged.

With a nod and a smile, you followed the demon towards the stage, eager to see what other surprises awaited you in this strange new world called Hell.

The demon led you through the maze of tables and chairs, his every movement graceful yet predatory. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease in his presence, a primal instinct warning you of the danger that lurked beneath his charming facade.

As you approached the stage, the sounds of laughter and conversation faded into the background, replaced by the soft strains of a melancholy melody. The spotlight illuminated the figure standing at the center of the stage, a lone demon with a violin cradled against his chest.

He was unlike any demon you had ever seen – tall and slender, with a shock of fiery red hair and eyes that burned with an otherworldly intensity. His features were sharp and angular, his every movement exuding a sense of power and authority.

But it was the music that truly captivated you, its haunting melody weaving its way through the air like a siren's song. It spoke of pain and longing, of a world lost to darkness and despair. And yet, beneath the melancholy notes, there was a glimmer of hope, a flicker of light in the midst of the abyss.

You found yourself drawn to the stage, unable to tear your eyes away from the enigmatic figure before you. It was as if he were speaking directly to your soul, reaching out across the vast expanse of eternity to touch something deep within you.

As the final notes of the melody faded into silence, the demon lowered his violin, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he mused, his voice smooth as silk. "A new face in the crowd, perhaps?"

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I was just..."

The demon waved away your apology with a dismissive gesture. "Nonsense, my dear. You're more than welcome here," he said, his smile sending a shiver down your spine. "In fact, I daresay you might just be the most interesting thing to happen to this place in quite some time."

You blinked in surprise, unsure of how to respond to his cryptic words. But before you could say anything, a commotion erupted from the back of the room, drawing your attention away from the demon on stage.

A group of demons had gathered around a table, their voices raised in heated argument as they gestured wildly at each other. You couldn't make out what they were saying, but the tension in the air was palpable, a storm brewing on the horizon.

Without thinking, you found yourself edging closer to the fray, a sense of curiosity overriding your better judgment. But before you could get too close, a firm hand closed around your wrist, pulling you back from the edge of danger.

You turned to see the demon from the stage standing beside you, his eyes narrowed in concern. "Best not to get involved in that particular... altercation," he said, his tone laced with amusement. "Things tend to get rather... messy around here."

You nodded, grateful for his intervention. "Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

The demon smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Think nothing of it, my dear. After all, what are friends for?"

And with that enigmatic remark, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing alone in the midst of the chaos.

As you watched him go, a sense of unease settled over you, a nagging feeling that there was more to this demon than met the eye. But try as you might, you couldn't shake the feeling that your fates were somehow intertwined, bound together by the invisible threads of destiny.

With a sigh, you turned and made your way back to the safety of the sidelines, eager to put the events of the evening behind you. But deep down, you knew that this was only the beginning of your journey into the heart of darkness, a journey that would test your courage, your strength, and your very soul.

And as you gazed out into the sea of faces, each one a testament to the sins of humanity, you couldn't help but wonder what other secrets this strange new world called Hell held in store.

[6saints]

Delicate

Yandere! Merman x Reader

This story contains smut, gore, and violent themes

Prologue

-

Your delicate fingers gingerly traced across your knee, your mind lulling you in and out of slumber. The book you had no intention of reading sit idly on your left hand. Brown, torn pages waited to be read, the inked words causing your vision to blur and mind to boggle. The car's radio sang a soft tune. It was definitely Lionel Richie, you thought, unsure what particular song of his was playing.

You lightly swayed your legs back and forth as you gazed out of the car's window, peering over your sleeping friend's chest to get a better view. The withered, vacated roads allowed for leaves to wane down from healthy branches. The red color of the car reflected against the road's pavement, causing a brilliant light to mirror against the glass. The car staggered against the jagged road, oscillating back and forth in regular motions.

"Are we there yet?" Your friend Catalina's voice hummed.

Currently you were sandwiched between her and her boyfriend, Billy, who would you believe is named after Billy Joel? You tend to greet him with a song lyric or two rather than a normal hello. He finds it annoying, not that you particularly cared.

"GPS says five minutes," Richard, the navigator and self proclaimed Music Connoisseur, said.

"Oh c'mon Richie, give someone else a turn on the radio then." Catalina's hand gripped his shoulder, swinging him front and back over the seat's headrest.

Richie snickered, swatting at Catalina's hands. "Last time I let you do that, we were stuck listening to the Lion King soundtrack for two hours."

"You liar! There aren't even two hours worth of songs in that movie!"

"Thank god for that," you joked, straightening your back and looking between your two bickering friends.

A laugh sounded from the driver's seat. "Looks like sleeping beauty is finally awake." Dean cast a glance over his shoulder, eyeing you for just a moment before returning his attention to the road. Catalina nudged you with a sly smile as you rolled your eyes.

You weren't so simpleminded that you would let Dean's affections go unnoticed, but you also couldn't return them as intensely, if at all. Blonde hair and green eyes, freckles on his cheeks and forehead and thin lips that curled up into a smile; he was beautiful in all sense of the word. Yet you never did have an affinity with the beautiful.

Rather, you were a total monster fucker at heart.

Grotesque and romantic; all the books you read had these themes in common and unfortunately for you, that means nonfictional men would find it impossibly complicated to garner your attention. Poor Dean included.

"What's that book you got?" He questioned, discreetly lowering the radio's volume without alerting Richie.

You flipped the cover over. "Mermaids: A Guide To Communication." You read aloud.

"You're really dedicated to this trip, huh," Richie snickered.

Catalina flicked the side of his head. "If it's important to Billy then it's important to all of us," she scolded.

"Huh, someone call me?" Billy groggily muttered, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

You giggled at your friends' banter.

The car halted just before a backshore, a sandy beach only a few feet away.

"Finally! We made it!" Billy stretched his arms outward, almost knocking Dean over as he helped you exit the compacted vehicle.

"We seriously couldn't've chosen a closer beach?" Sighed Dean.

Billy shook his head, extending his arms out to Catalina. She strutted towards him and enfolded her arms around his neck, speaking with a half suppressed laugh. "No," she answered for him, "BBC said the mermaid sighting was here."

Billy had been planning this trip to Silnich beach for months. His professor had given his class a research project not about mermaids, unlike what you would have expected, and Billy decided that somehow he was going to correlate environmental sciences and sustainability to merfolk.

"Because mermaids totally exist," Richie grabbed his backpack from the trunk, camera equipment situated inside. 

Conversely, none of you had the time to actually leap onto a last minute roadtrip and take a vacation from your accustomed, tedious work and school schedules. Dean, as the oldest, was consistently trapped inside a miniature office, scribbling down on the same ornate, tawny documents daily. You were given the opportunity to go to the school you had been dreaming of since your childhood, and Catalina and Richie were no different. But you were also exhausted by the mundane college life. So when the brunette boy sent a news article and a promise to pay for gas and food, how could you possibly say no?

You cherished these infrequent vacations eminently. Granted, a majority of these trips were to significantly more local areas with less time consuming activities; such as picnics at a fetching garden, outings to the art museum, or even just a short waltz to the convenience store down the street from your dorms. Five adults working jobs and schooling that could only benefit those waged above them; truly a melancholic way of living their already impermanent lives. Howbeit, you decided to push aside the midlife crisis that was itching your brain at 20 years old, and instead made an attempt to focus on the romantic jaunt you were offered. The salty scent in the air and the view alone made the stress of city life wash away.

The azure seas seemed to cast a foggy glow. Clams and small fish washed inward and outward as the waves greeted the pale beach nimbly. Hues of pink and orange and purple danced around the sky, hugging the ascending moon and allowing the sun to take its nightly rest. The article Billy mentioned had stated that the mermaid was seen passing sundown, the lighting in the already blurred photo allowing for only two glowing eyes and a view of inky hair.

Not to mention Silnich is a private area and stepping foot here is decidedly illegal.

Silnich was just another small town. It was quiet, boring, and old. Heavy forests surround the outskirts, keeping everyone enclosed of the outside world. Hunting is common among the forests. But, there is a section of trees a few acres wide that leads to the beach, all untouchable unless you're law enforcement or granted special permissions. Which Billy of course did not seek out.

"So, what's the plan?" Dean inquired, leading the way to the shore with a flashlight.

The five of you stopped just before the waterline and placed your bags on the sand. You weren't sure if Billy was going to make you swim, so you wore a bikini underneath a sweater just in case.

"The plan is..." Richie rummaged through his bag and pulled out a deck of cards.

"Uno?" You raised a brow.

"And drinks," added Billy as he held out two bottles of what you could faintly read as Bacardi. (No alcohol while underaged ladies and gentlemen)

Catalina snatched one out of Billy's hands and took a swig before plopping herself right on the warm sand.

"What happened to catching mermaids? For your project? Ya know, the whole reason we drove out here?" Dean had always been the more levelheaded one of the group. You liked to think you came in at a close second, though.

Billy pointed a slender finger at Richie, then at the camera, and lastly at the ocean. With a roll of his eyes and an almost inaudible no problem resounding from his throat, Richie snapped a photo of the ocean. "Now with a little bit of editing, we'll have our mermaid."

"Cheater." You mocked, taking a seat next to Catalina and beginning to set the cards up. "There's no shot you pass this class."

"All I gotta do is talk about pollution and edit a sexy mermaid onto the slideshow." Billy shrugged and sat down across from you.

Dean laughed, "(Y/N)'s right, you're failing this semester."

A silence took over as you finished passing the cards out. The night went tiredly and exasperatingly slow. You had honestly hoped you'd be able to get a little swimming in, but 3/5 of you were drunk and could barely finish the Uno game. You had only taken a few sips, not being very particular to drinking. The only other person who hadn't overdone himself was unfortunately Dean. You counted the amount of times he made futile attempts at talking, or rather flirting, with you. Fourteen if you did your math right.

"I wish we could do this more often," Billy babbled, resting his head on his girlfriend's lap. "Begging you guys to hangout all the time sucks!"

"Babe, we do hangout all the time," Catalina grunted, poking his cheek.

"I mean all of us," he pretended to sniffle, wiping a few fake tears.

Richie handed you the bottle and you took a gulp.

"At least we're here now." You comforted, lying back into the sand and letting the granules coat your hair and sweater. You had been eyeing the water for sometime now and frankly, the need to dive into it was getting fierce.

You grabbed your phone and quickly searched through your Spotify, clicking on an 80's playlist you had saved from your previous group car rides. "Someone dance with me," you giggled, dusting yourself off and blasting the phone's volume.

In the near distance, bare foot and soaked, you skipped into the water and began swaying, perhaps a little tipsy. Your (h/l) (h/c) hair bounced carelessly as the drops of salty water trickled down your arms and legs, catching chunks of wet sand as you twirled modishly. Dean came in after you, grabbing your hand and following your rhythm. And soon joined Richie, and Billy and Catalina.

Maybe three songs had passed before your energy slowly waned. "Guys, is there a bathroom around here?" Catalina questioned, walking out of the water.

"The ocean?" Dean half-joked.

"I'm serious." She stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

You pointed towards a few boulders in the distance, intricate moss patterns decorating the rocks before disappearing into the water. "You could go behind those. I'll go with you to be safe." As you began trekking out of the water, Catalina's hand stopped you.

"No thanks, I'd rather go alone." She was smiling, but for some reason you felt an uneasiness bubble in your chest.

"You sure? It might be safer if we go together." You didn't want to be pushy, but it was pitch black and none of you were familiar with the area.

"It's fine! I'll be super-duper quick." She was so drunk.

You pondered for a moment. "If you're not back in five minutes I'll look for you." It was meant to be less of a threat and more of a comfort to her.

"Okay mom," she laughed and scurried along the sand. "Don't worry about me."

You were definitely worried.

[theonlymadmanonmars]

Random Dndads Headcanons for all the main characters and as many side characters as I can think of!

Ron: Ron does not know what a Kiss is and thinks people are talking about the little chocolates. (Just like hugs he has been kissed he just doesn't know what tits called)

Dayrl: Daryl wears those "Free dad hugs" Shirts when he goes to pride with Grant. He always gets hugged multiple times and is just happy he looks approachable.

Henry: Henry gave Lark and Sparrow little Bear plushies to hold if they missed Him after the forgotten realms.

Glenn: Flirts with literally everyone but when he's around people he's interested in turns into a stuttering mess (IE Morgan)

Jodie: Has WILDLY inaccurate memories of his roll and the police force in general because none of the omega dads actually knew how the police force worked and couldn't be bothered to research it.

Walter: He does wheelies in his wheelchair to make Paden laugh.

Samantha: She adores amusement parks and always Drags Ron and Terry to them. They both just watch and eat Cotton Candy because they don't like the rides. This was incredibly awkward Before the forgotten realms but after became incredibly sweet bonding time for the family.

Carol: She once paid over four hundred dollars to an Internet scam Promising to get her signed posters from the cast of primer. What arrived in the mail was a picture of Scam likely doing a peace sign That was signed "Signed posters from the cast of Primer" with a little heart.

Mercedes: She does commissions for paintings and has drawn worse than the most freaky stuff you can imagine. This singlehandedly bought the house they live in.

Morgan: She has Tattoos of skulls and various bones (Teeth, Jagged broken bones, Ect) On her collar bone because she thought it was funny. Jodie wasn't a huge fan but Glenn LOVES them.

Erin O'Neil: She really liked all of the kids even if she didn't show it. Sparrow and Grant where he favorites. Also she likes metal music Glenn introduced her to it.

Scam Likely: Post season 1 he helped out with some doodler stuff and Continuously randomly Blasts clown music while the dads are fighting. He also called Jodie his boyfriend long before they started dating.

Mark Likely: The most flirty cunty bitch you'll ever meet. I have no proof I just know. She likes parties and her and Glenn get along so so well.

Autumn Oak: Does not like knitting. She just desperately needed to stab something and that's not super possible in Oakvale. She takes up Taekwondo in the human realm and loves it.

Paden: Regularly got into Brawls with Lark and Sparrow when left alone with them. Always lost.

Terry Jr (S1): The most Goth kid to ever goth. Another parallel to Scary and he was great at eyeliner.

Grant (S1): Was the only kid nervous to come out to His parents. Was incredibly surprised when both of them immediately and loudly supported him.

Lark (S1): Hates birds. He has a very one sided rivalry with Birds Especially Larks because there can only be one.

Sparrow (S1): Henry taught them acoustic guitar from a young age and they are really good at it.

Nick Close (S1): Started playing guitar hero To impress Glenn. It became one of their favorite games to play together.

Nicholas Foster (S1): Buys hard into copaganda. His favorite show growing up is Brooklyn 99.

Willy Stampler: His hatred of cats carries over into adulthood. Hes killed a few druids because they were wild shaped into cats.

Barry Oak: He loves to be physically above other people. he sits on Large flowers above people's heads so they have to look up at him.

Bill Close: When he's sober (rare) he really hates Barry and Willy. Because of this Barry does everything in his power to keep him drugged up and manipulatable.

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Scary: She and Link share clothes. She likes her Garfield T-shirts and sweatpants, Link likes Her Skirts and Old Sundresses. This is aided by Scary's magic because Neither of them fit each other's clothes.

Link: She has a Garfield Pillow that's twice her size. Scary is slightly jealous of it.

Normal: He made all of his friends matching teeny the teen figurines. Except Customized for the individuals. Scary's is Goth, Hermie's is Joker themed, Taylor's is in anime figure style, and Link's is a soccer player.

Taylor: Cosplayer! He cosplays! He cosplays any gender from any anime. He spends an ungodly amount of Cassandra's money on it but she's more than happy to accommodate.

Hermie: Can and Will perform every part of Holy Musical Batm@n! Normal is enthralled every time.

Terry Jr (S2): Does all the accounting and analytical stuff for daddies because he like reading and numbers.

Grant (S2): Firmly believes that he's not good enough for Marco and Link. So Marco texts him and calls him all the time with pictures of him and Link saying how much they love him.

Lark (S2): Has gotten scared by his own shadow multiple times and shoots it every time.

Sparrow (S2): Says I love you at the end of phone calls no matter who they're talking to. This has lead to many awkward conversations.

Nicky (S2): Has a cut here tattoo on his missing arm That Glenn did the day after it healed. It was the first thing to make Nicky smile after his arm got cut off.

Mae Hales: She doesn't actually do anything at the office but get coffee. Ron was the one that hired her and he called her Doug for years she never corrected him.

Veronica: She was goth at Scariest age. Her and Terry met at a concert.

Marco: He is the sweetest guy you'll ever meet. He's also an amazing cook. Which makes up for Grant being an awful cook.

Rebecca: She is a little delulu. She believes her family is perfectly healthy and they all get along and love each other.

Cassandra: A bad bitch with horrible taste in men. She has dated three other men after Nicky and before Willy. None of them ever met Taylor. He would've hurt them to the best of his ability.

______________________________________

Trudy: Can obviously read and write but pretends not to be able to at home for her husband's sake.

Kelsey: Had an Italian student once and her teacher heart was very conflicted. Also she's really bad at baking but loves pie and spends way too much money on it.

Tony: Sells dating advice at his dealership for the teenagers. His advice is only ever vaguely sexual innuendos as he is the world's worst flirt.

Francis: Has the highest grades in his school despite being held back. He is an incredibly book smart kid and has the street smarts of a toddler.

BB: Her parents died in an alleyway like batman. Her one true goal as a detective is to find her parents killer. This is why they're never on screen and no one mentioned them when she got kidnapped.

Tyrus: He has a crush on Tony. Them threatening each other is a very poor attempt at flirting. Also in my mind He's a Blasian business owner in the fifties so like good for him.

Timmy: This child is trans. He's a trans dark academia kid in the 50's. None of these things are supported by his parents.

Kamonwan: She is very into Studying the World Wars. Especially the mass atrocities committed in America against Japanese citizens.

Sticky Rick: He is into show tunes. His all time favorite is Damn Yankees because it makes him feel like he's into sports. Which he is not.

Carly: When she has to double straw malts she pretends to be a walrus it's incredibly dorky and Francis loves it.

That's it because this post is way too long. Hope you enjoyed <3 (I couldn't tag everyone lol)

[mystic-myrtille]

What did you think of Jagged Rock being revealed to be Luka's father?

Oh I have a lot of thoughts on that. As most things in the show, the execution is shit but the general idea is cool.

I mean, a plot line where the guy with daddy issues finds out that his deadbeat father, who left his mother behind with not one but two little kids and never even trying to reach out to them, is in reality his number one idol with whom he had interacted in the past.

That is fucking juicy.

There is so much potential for angst there. They could've explored Luka's trauma and the effects it has on his life, how he reacts to this reveal and ultimately how he tries to deal with it. Would he act out and cry over how shitty Jagged is?Would he let his friends and family comfort him? Or does he try to keep things to himself to not burden anyone? Does Jagged feel regret? Will he try to redeem himself? How do they move forward? Would Luka want to keep in contact with the man who abandoned his family? How would that affect Jagged's relationship with the rest of the cast? What if, for example, Luka doesn't want contact but Juleka does? The family dynamic is super messy and there's a ton of stuff you can do with that, develop characters further and have them grow.

And canon... yeah. The reveal is shoehorned into the Luka//nette breakup episode. It's not the main plot, not even a b-plot, it's just like a fun fact thrown in to justify Luka's reaction to Marinette keeping secrets.

Jagged then waits before the boat and just goes "Hey we can make dope music together:)" and Luka just fucking forgives him. Instantly. No questions asked. After Jagged has the audacity to say him leaving his family inspired some banger songs, one of which is Luka's favorite. After Luka yells at him with so much hurt in his voice why he abandoned him.

And then the show sets Jagged up as so great and cool that he came back to his family and stepped up as a loving dad who made amends with his ex gf (with whom he randomly flirted pre reveal but then had a bad relationship with her??) in order to have a happy family, completely ignoring that he only did all of that when he was specifically called out for being a deadbeat. Like had Luka not been akumatized into Truth, Jagged wouldn't have come back into their lives.

This whole thing ruined canon Jagged and are pretty clear indicators that the writers don't care about writing complex characters with complex feelings. It's all shook value and plot device.

But if the writers really didn't want Luka and Jagged to have a bad relationship, they could've just left it at "Jagged and Anarka were in a band once". Jagged learns that his old band mate has kids who are into music and have a band, so he decides to invite them to his studio, show them some cool stuff on the guitar, become their mentor. He doesn't have to be their bio dad to take care of them and love them. Of course, the show could've dropped some ambiguous hints that he might be, but then never confirm it because at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. Or if they confirm it, it's also a surprise to Jagged, so he wasn't there as a dad because he didn't even know he was one and now everybody adjusts their life according to this new revelation.

And I like those wholesome plots. I love fanworks about Couffaine family shenanigans, they're chaotic and awesome<3

So yeah, in conclusion, everyone involved deserved better.