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musickgeek · 4 months

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Shadows [Alastor x Reader]

Enemies to lovers? Warnings: Allusions to death and murder

You and Alastor can't stand each other, but your shadows beg to differ (1.1K)

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In life, I was a mastermind of manipulation. A con woman who could sweet talk anyone into anything. I had money, I had influence, I had control. People came to me when they wanted something, but it always came with a price. For some, their lives. Some people just have no respect for the hand that feeds them. They called me the Shadower because they could always feel me watching. I had eyes and ears everywhere. It was only a matter of time before someone else got the upper hand, and shot me right between the eyes. The circumstances of my death make me so angry, I choose not to think of it much.

When I arrived in Hell, my surprise was brief. No doubt that I belonged here, but I didn't expect it all to be real. I didn't expect to have such dramatic changes in my appearance. My teeth became sharp, my eyes crocodilian, my nails became claws. I looked scary, and I liked it. Was I supposed to give my old ways up? Ha! As if. I built my empire from the ground up before, I could easily do it it again with all my knowledge. And now, I had real magic power, and I could really be a shadow. I was accompanied by a sentient shadow, a helpful friend in my business. I had a quick rise to power, becoming one amongst the Overlords.

They didn't seem to know what to make of me, and I was addicted to their intrigue and fear. Who could be next? They didn't dare cross me and find out. I didn't care much for the others besides a general sense of respect for each other's strength. But there was one, Alastor, who I could not stand. His smug smile, his stupid static voice, his ego. He always had to be the center of attention, and just couldn't stand that he was no longer the talk of the town.

"You don't even have your own gimmick."

"Just mad I do it better, Smiles?"

"Ha! Are cheap words the best you've got?"

"Ha ha, at least my words are audible. And I'm not the one with a tacky bow tie."

"Ha ha ha! I hate you."

Despite our animosity, there was one thing we could agree on. It's infuriating how much our shadow creatures love each other. The first time we'd met, our shadows bounded for each other as if they were old friends. His eyes widened in shock, but his smile never faltered. I hardly quirked my eye brows at the scene. It was like two dogs playing at the park. The red demon tilted his head at an awkward angle as he inspected me. "My, my! What a playful friend you have. You must be the new arrival everyone is just buzzing about. I am Alastor, the Radio Demon. I'm sure you've heard of me." He introduced, offering his hand. "Not in the slightest." I said, shaking it. His eye twitched, but his smile widened.

Ever since then, at every meeting, we had to pretend our shadows didn't fly together like magnets. It almost would be amusing if it weren't attached to that piece of shit. I simply don't understand it. Is it comfort in knowing there is another like them? Or is it all just a game to piss us off further? It's hard to tell. Sometimes it seems like they don't notice anyone else in the room, but sometimes they seem like they're sat together, gossiping about us like old ladies. Every time we left each other's presence, they seemed to reach for each other, not wanting to be torn apart. I have no idea if Alastor has noticed it. That would require him to have half a brain.

One night I decided to go to a speakeasy I frequent. I sat at the bar alone, but I could feel the fearful eyes on me. I smile behind my drink. I thought tonight was going to be a good night, but I was wrong. I didn't even know Radio Boy was around until I felt my shadow slipping away. They were dancing freely to the upbeat swing music, having the time of their lives. I scowl, and flag the bar tender for another drink. Maybe if I turn around, I can pretend it's not happening. Alas, the radio static fills the room, overlaying the music. I feel a presence behind me, but I already know who it is. "Alastor." I say, still facing away. "Why (Y/n), I never expected you to have enough class to visit to such an establishment."

"You came all the way over just to say that? You must be more obsessed with me then I thought." I say calmly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of me turning towards him. I can feel the comment burning up inside him. I smirk. "I could say the same. It's almost as if you were following me. You must admit, this does seem more my style." Finally I turn around with a shrug. "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."

His eyes narrow. "An interesting turn of phrase." Our shadows join us, seemingly swirling around people us excitedly. My shadow forces me out of my seat. My glass falls to the floor, shattering, and my body collides with the deer. "Watch it!" I growl at the two incorporeal beings. Alastor seems just as angry, his static getting louder and his limbs growing. I hiss with hostility at the act, letting my claws out. In the blink of an eye he returns to normal. "Coward?" I ask. "No. I simply came here for a relaxing night, not a fight. I can't be ruining my favorite place after all." I notice the bar has mostly cleared out save the employees and musicians. When it looks like two Overlords are about to have a turf war, you don't want to be around if you're the little guy.

The shadows begin dancing along the walls as the music returns. "Hm. Perhaps we should follow their lead." Alastor suggests, holding a hand out in a gentlemanly fashion. "What's your play?" I ask skeptically. "I'm simply suggesting to have a little fun amongst our banter. After all, it's been awhile since I've had a worthy dance partner." I smile coyly at his words, and take his hand. "Alright, but I think this proves who's obsessed with who."

"Keep dreaming, my dear." He says, twirling me to the beat. "Are you sure you can keep up with me?" I ask, matching his rhythmic kicks and skips. "Don't forget who grew up doing this. You don't know everything." For once, our words aren't laced with so much hostility. I guess tonight will be a good night after all.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #vivziepop #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x you #radio demon

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the-kr8tor · 10 months

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Heatwave

Feat: The cats 😺😻😾

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Synopsis: You and Hobie try to survive a record breaking heatwave.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, some miscommunication, FLUFF, lovestruck Hobie.

A continuation of this fic

My Masterlist

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

You groan loudly, as if it helps make the air cooler, but alas it doesn't work that way. It certainly doesn't help that the air-conditioning in your building completely fizzled out last night, resulting in you and Hobie waking up sweaty and grumpy.

You breathe heavily through the humidity, but the sweltering heat doesn't make it any easier.

The cats don't help too, especially that they're currently blocking the air flow from your single working fan. Crumpet,Teacup and Crowley lay sprawled across a cooling mat, Crowley looks back at you every minute or so, checking to see if you've melted into a puddle.

Teacup, the ever spoiled baby, mewls towards you, as if to say it's time for their hourly wipe of their paws with a cold damp cloth. She's lucky you love her. She's been relishing the attention lately, especially time spent with Hobie, you can't help but get jealous sometimes, this is what Hobie probably feels like with Crowley attached to your hip.

You reluctantly stand up, stretching to your full height, arms wide, you cringe at the sweat clinging to your back, arms, legs and clothes, it's safe to say you're covered in it. You grimace at how tacky your clothes feel on you, your tank top must look like an abstract painting from behind. You lick your lips in a futile attempt to keep them moist, feeling the cracks of skin underneath your tongue.

You grab the designated cloth to soak it in the sink, at the same time you open the fridge to grab another ice pack. Thank goodness you have a stock of them for whenever Hobie comes home bruised. You wish you don't have an abundance of it though, you hate it when Hobie gets hurt.

Teacup meows loudly, telling you to hurry up.

"Alright, alright! 'm coming, you big baby" not noticing your words slurring together. You lift up the cloth, wringing off the excess water.

You stride towards the cats, carefully patting the cloth on their paws, while checking their fur for any tangles. Making sure their water bowls aren't empty.

After rubbing their paws you move to pet Crumpet, moving your fingers on her head, and scratching behind her ear. She purrs under your touch.

You're concerned about Crumpet, she's a lot older than the other two, so you're taking more time to be more attentive towards her.

You rub her thick fur absentmindedly, the air from the fan blowing on your lashes. Your mind wanders back to Hobie, how is he faring in this temperature? Especially in his suit, you practically had to beg him to leave his leather vest at home.

"I always wear it, love, I don't feel complete without it"

"Yeah, I know for the aesthetic," you change your tone, you don't want to fight, "but damn it, just for today please, I don't want you getting heatstroke" you sigh at his stubbornness.

For added effect Crumpet meows at Hobie, backing you up.

Hobie sighs in defeat, "fine," he drops the vest haphazardly over your bed, you think he's mad.

He leans over kissing your cheek, it's too hot to give you a proper kiss, you curse at the temperature, depriving you of affection. "don't forget to drink water, yeah?"

"Mmhm, you too. Take breaks, okay?" you move to hug him, but you recoil your hands back, thinking the added heat might make him more agitated. Hobie thinks you're mad at him.

You wanted to convince him to leave his leather boots and wear his trainers instead, but it might've been all in vain, since he's already opening the window to swing away.

That was hours ago, you hope he's okay, and keeping hydrated. You wish he wasn't mad at you.

Putting the ice pack on your head, you lean against your sofa, watching the cats stay cool.

You zone out, not hearing the familiar thump of heavy boots.

Hobie thinks you're ignoring him, shit you look mad, your face scrunched up into a scowl, sweat dripping on your forehead.

He crosses the small distance, the cats lay sprawled on their mat, the only indication that they noticed him is their heads slightly following his movements, even Crowley refuses to scowl at him. It's hot even for the little hell spawn.

Hobie grabs the cool can inside his little plastic bag, it rustles, but you still haven't looked at him. Fuck he should've kissed you goodbye better.

You feel the cold can on your cheek, waking you up from your daze. You feel sluggish. Craning your neck towards Hobie, you give him a small smile.

"Hey, you're home, early" your eyes slightly glossy.

"Yeah, even villains are too hot to commit crime" he notices your eyes, "when did you last drink water?"

You grab the cold can of soda from his hands, your hands shake trying to open the lid. "Um, I'm about to drink now"

"Shit, sweetheart, that's not enough" he grabs the can from your hands, earning a small "hey" from you. "Let me get you some water, yeah?"

Hobie rushes towards the kitchen, shit how long have you last drank? You must've been too busy taking care of the cats that you forgot about yourself. He doesn't blame you though, those cats are your family. He should've checked in on you on one of his breaks.

Glass in hand, he webs himself towards the living room, so he can get to you faster. You hate it when Hobie leaves his webs inside, but he'll apologize and clean it up later.

Hobie brings the cold glass to your chapped lips, you empty it in a flash, water drips from your chin, he wipes it with his thumb.

"There, you're gonna feel better in a minute" he sighs when color comes back to your lips.

"Can I have the soda now?" You tilt your head prettily.

Hobie opens the can for you before giving it back, "lemme change and I'll get you another glass, yeah?" He rubs the sweat clinging on to your eyebrows, messing up the strands. He chuckles at your unruly brows.

"What's so funny?" You pout against the mouth of the can.

"Nothing" he pecks your forehead, ignoring the sweat. That kiss will have to do for now, he has to make up a lot of kisses for the lack of love he gave you that morning.

Hobie basically tears his suit off him, sweat clings inside, he should shower. He should also try and fix your aircon, but he doesn't want to leave your side, you were on the brink of heat stroke when he arrived, Hobie needs to watch over you till you're better, and the cats need attention too, he still hasn't won over Crowley yet. He's made it his personal mission since he met the rascal.

Crowley settles next to you, the fog clouding your mind slowly dissipating. You sigh with your eyes closed.

"Oi no sleeping" Hobie places another cold glass in your hands in exchange for the soda. He's now wearing an old band shirt that he's kept at your place. Hobie doesn't have shorts, so he just went for his boxers.

He sits next to you, with Crowley in between. Hobie stretched his legs in front of him, his toned legs in full display.

"Here," Hobie hands you a fresh cloth "nevermind c'mere" you happily lean towards him, "you need to take care of yourself too y'know" He dabs the cloth on your neck, drying it.

"I know," you sigh "I was just worried about the cats and you, it must've been hard being in that heat all day"

He hums too engrossed in wiping you dry. You take this as Hobie still being angry at you.

"Are you still mad at me?" You ask in a small voice. wringing your hands anxiously.

"What?" He stops his movements, "I thought you were the one who's angry" he grabs your hands, smoothing the skin with his thumbs, trying to calm your thoughts. "Why would I be mad?"

"Because of the vest thing" you look up at him through your lashes. "I thought, you might've looked at it like I'm trying to change you, I'm not, I like you just the way you are"

Crowley watches the scene with pensive eyes. Crumpet sneezes in her sleep, while teacup curls near Hobie's foot.

"I'm not mad about that, I understand you were looking out for me, and I was too bloody stubborn" he kisses each of your knuckles, his warm breath calms your nerves. You know he isn't good with his words, sometimes opting for showing what he means through his actions.

" 'm not mad either, I shouldn't have pushed you" you lay your head against the couch cushion.

"Nah, I want you to make me, you keep me in line, love. You're right I would've gotten heatstroke with it on" he softly lays your hands on Crowley, he returns to his previous action, wiping at the soft skin on your hip.

"Imagine, I fainted while swinging" he jokes but you glare at him.

"Not funny, Hobart"

"Now, you're mad" He chuckles as he moves the cloth over your nose.

"Augh!" You swat at the piece of wet cloth "that's disgusting!"

"It's your own sweat, lovey" Hobie smiles lopsidedly.

"Next time, wear your trainers instead of boots too?" You ask shyly.

"Alright, for you, yeah"

You nod, finally convincing him "you took care of yourself out there?" You cup his jaw, making circular patterns over his skin with your thumb.

"Yeah, took breaks, hydrated, can't say the same thing for you though"

"I know, I'll do better next time" you sigh, thumping your head on his shoulder.

"Oi" he shakes you with his shoulder "I still owe you that kiss"

You laugh, Crowley perks up at the sound "and I still owe you a hug"

"What are you waiting for? Come up here and get it" a smile creeping on the corner of his lips.

You lean up, head staying on his shoulder, Hobie does all the work, he cranes his neck down as he holds the back of your head, guiding you towards his lips. You sigh into his lips, ignoring the sweat forming on his upper lip.

You cling on to his shirt, slowly moving your arms around him, he kisses deeper.

By some sort of miracle the aircon comes to life, blowing much needed cold air into your flat. You both decide to ignore it, while you climb on his lap, so his neck wouldn't strain. He holds your back, anchoring you.

Crowley meows at the both of you trying to get your attention away from Hobie.

A/N: thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️❤️❤️

*picture above is from pinterest*

My requests are open! Check out my rules.

#hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #x reader #atsv fanfiction #spider man across the spider verse #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk x gn! reader #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #established relationship #fanfic

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ystrike1 · 6 months

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From Maid to Queen - By Woo su bin (8/10)

The King won't let her die. The yandere in this case is a villain and a loser. A man with too much power, who cannot accept the fact that he is not the right man for the woman he adores. He doesn't let go. She dies dozens of times. He keeps bringing her back, but he grows tired. He gives up on her, and in that life she thrives. She finds love.

Urania was a fool. She played around with the King. King Kraus the third isn't the strongest King, but the country is rich. Urania is a mere maid. No special backstory. No magic. Kraus fell for her when he showed her his secret magic, and she wasn't afraid. Wizards are feared as pagan curse-bearers in this universe. Young Urania forgot about her magic friend. She forgot about Kraus, but he remembered her.

She foolishly, foolishly took the chance. The chance to be wealthy, lazy and spoiled. Kraus spoiled her utterly. He made her his concubine right away, without any real dating. When he saw her all grown up and pretty he realized he adored her, even if she didn't feel as strongly for him. He accepted all of her selfishness. He seemed aware that her love wasn't that deep...but he indulged her anyway.........and she died.

The Queen killed her.

Queen Stacia is the perfect woman for Kraus. He does not deserve her. She loves him obsessively. I'm not saying she is a perfect person, but she knows how to run a country. Her unconditional love made her strong, but she never had a child. Why? Kraus denied her. You see, he's been creepily in love with Urania the maid since his childhood. He loves Stacia....like a sister. Stacia loves him as her husband. She never cheated. She worked hard. She did ALL of the work when Kraus was busy lavishingUrania with presents. If Kraus was just a little reasonable. If he gave his wife SOME of his time, Urania would not have died. Alas, Kraus is even more obsessive than his wife. He did not give Stacia a royal heir because of his obsession. She did not cheat or force him to get one, so the country was in trouble.

Stacia did what she had to do.

She got rid of Urania, in an attempt to fix the future. She was also jealous of course, but literally if Urania did not exist her life would be perfect.

Kraus admits that Stacia is an exemplary queen many times, and he feels platonic love for her. But, oops he loves Urania the maid...so he rejects her and treats her like a sibling.

Urania was a total fool. She had no clue about any of this before her death.

A mysterious light gives Urania another chance. She wakes up in her ugly maid outfit with no money. With memories of being executed thanks to Stacia's meddlesome teason accusations. Urania is not special. The only thing she has in life is the love of the King.

She plans to seduce him again.

It doesn't work, but the Queen still hates her.

Why? Well her attempts to seduce the King are obvious and tacky this time. Also, he's not taking the bait??? The obsessed boy who refused to lie with his own wife for her seems to be no more???

(By the way Urania really never learns the depth of his obsession. He ignores her in this life because he's trying to give up on her, as she has already died too many times. He's mentally broken...)

Urania is screwed. The Queen has told the other maids to kill her off, because of her sad attempts at flirting.

She runs into Oscar. A minister with a low noble title. He's of common blood (not really there's a secret deposed magical royal family but the point is he had to start from the bottom. No family. No money.)

Oscar is a hard, strict, excellent teacher.

She hides from the maids with him, and she begs for his help.

He tells her to fake her own death. If she can do that he will take her on as his assistant.

Urania proves she has a brain, and he takes her in as promised. She gets a magic potion to blur her face, and her new life begins.

She starts to feel disgusted by her past self. She's grateful for the light that gave her another chance (she doesn’t know the light is Kraus).

Oscar shows her how to weild a blade.

She no longer needs to be saved...as much.

She makes friends.

She's stops being snobby to people who want her to improve. When she was Kraus's only beloved concubine she consistently ignored good advice, and she became dumber than a rock.

Oscar makes her want to be more.

Kraus starts to make her downright uncomfortable.

She becomes a government official on her own merit. Urania was always smart, but as a common maid she wasn't allowed to grow.

She loves to grow.

Kraus starts to flirt and distract her...or he tries.

Urania really never loved him. As soon as she doesn’t need his money she has no interest. Kraus realllllyyyy should try to love his loyal and gorgeous wife but whatever I guess...

Oscar wins her with pure sincerity. It's sweet and goofy and ridiculous and they continue to grow as politicians together. I won't go into too much detail but Oscar is a loyal sap, and Urania falls in love for the first time.

She wants to make Oscar more successful. Better. She doesn't just want his money. It's great.

Oscar and Urania become lovers. Very pure and trusting lovers. Kraus isn't even a temptation. Urania doesn't actually like him on a personal level. She just thinks he's an ok king. Kraus forces her to become his personal aid. Then he brings her to a special religious ceremony that involves gold light.

Kraus doesn't stop.

It gets less and less funny.

The truth comes out.

Urania is disgusted. Kraus killed countless people to bring her back, over and over.

Kraus doesn't think it matters, because it's time magic. All of the people who die by his sword come back too.

This issue is...obviously...the King became more evil with every cycle. Now he's basically a God that kills everybody when things aren't going his way.

He even turns on Stacia. The woman who supported him back when he was a weak King in his first life. Kraus is overpowered now, but in the beginning he was kinda a shitty King (that secretly had magic). Most people use magic stones, so nobody suspected that Kraus was the real deal. He claims he was obsessed with Urania because she didn’t fear him, but magic is pretty normal in this universe. He's just a wackjob who cheated on his fiance emotionally and physically after a maid thanked him???

It gets even worse.

Kraus chases Oscar and his own wife out of the palace, because he's nearly impossible to beat. After a couple dozen lives he's unnaturally smart and ruthless.

He forces Urania into the position of Queen...even though she's pregnant and it's Oscar's baby. He says he will accept the child because he'll do anything to finally have a life with Urania...

Urania, of course, plans to overthrow him with Oscar. He's also secretly magical how convenient. Urania promises to return to Oscar someday, and he trusts her!!! He trusts her because their relationship is really great and they're in love. He's also kinda obsessed with her but he has morals. So it's fine.

It's painful to watch Urania sit by Kraus as his Queen. He is a splendidly crazy villain.

He was going to give up on Urania, but then she fell in love with somebody else.

So, everyone must suffer.

#From Maid to Queen #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended

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theconfusedacorn · 2 months

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You push open the doors of the Hazbin Hotel, take one step inside, and are immediately met by hell’s greatest enemies. Or partners, but those were just rumors. You'd never met anyone who had the actual guts to ask either one of them if they were true.

They're bickering, something about the "tacky decor", but you can't really pick up on much. They stop once they notice you, each glancing in your direction. The king of hell and the most powerful overlord you knew of, just staring at you.

This was not how you expected your morning to go.

AAAAHSHGDGYRHD!! I've been wanting to draw these goobers for a while, mainly because Radioapple has CONSUMED my existence, so I finally sat down and did it! Colours aren't perfect, but I only have so many markers. I also tried my best to get a good picture, but alas, this was the best I got. I swear, the colours aren't THAT blown out irl.

Anywho, hope y'all enjoy. I wanna make more of these guys, but inconsistentcy is my middle name, so no promises. :p

#art #character art #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #Alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #radioapple #hazbin hotel lucifer #traditional art #artists on tumblr

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metalomagnetic · 2 months

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I was re-reading Dissonance and I wanted to ask if Abraxas ever kept the poison chandelier? Like is it a treasured family heirloom? Or does Lucius just inherit it when his dad dies with no clue why they have this dangerous, tacky piece of decor he can't get rid of because Lord Voldemort vaguely complimented(?) it one time?

It's hilarious that you sent me this ask, while I am still laughing myself to tears (I just read your comment 1 minute ago).

The 'homoerotic chandelier' (I am STILL laughing, thank you, truly) is, of course, gaudy; just horrid, really, there's a reason no one was buying it, even with Tom's outstanding sale talents.

Being an impulse purchase (a horny purchase), Abraxas didn't think it through- how on earth will he explain this monstrosity to his father?

He hides it in the dungeons, knowing his father doesn't go there (draft and all).

After Tom disappears, Abraxas might, or might not, visit the dungeons to have a look at it from time to time. He sent hundreds of letters to Tom, but they all returned unopened, so he's convinced his enemy-lover is dead. His cold, tiny heart, is broken.

Once his dad finally dies, Abraxas moves the chandelier to Gringotts, wrapped in a secure box, in the hopes he won't have to think about it (Tom) anymore, if it isn't in his house. At first, he wanted to destroy it, but he couldn't make himself. (It's lucky he didn't try, because that was one CURSED chandelier that would have reacted poorly to violence).

A decade or so later, Lord Voldemort shows up.

Abraxas is furious (happy)! How dare that mudblood be even more powerful than when he left? (how dare Tom just show up, as if Abraxas didn't mourn for him, thought him dead, and grew stupidly attached to an ugly chandelier as a stand in for Tom?)

Everyone is playing this silly game, pretending not to recognise this is Tom Riddle. Abraxas cannot wait to actually meet him face to face and spit 'Riddle' at him; he is a Malfoy, Riddle doesn't scare him! Alas, before he can meet him, he hears old classmates are dropping dead all over the place (the only thing they had in common was that they knew the name Riddle) and he reconsiders. It's not that he's afraid (he's terrified), but he's just cautious. Yes, cautious. He determines is better to avoid Riddle (even if his broken, even tinier and colder heart longs to see him again).

But then his stupid son comes back with a horrid brand on his arm (he remembers Riddle doodling it in his schoolboy silly journal) and Abraxas is horrified. Furthermore, Rodolphus keeps saying Voldemort is unnaturally close to Lucius, that they have many one on one meetings, and Abraxas has had ENOUGH. So he goes to face Riddle and tell him to stay away from his son (he has no idea that once, long ago, his own father went to tell Tom to stay away from Abraxas. Apparently it's a Malfoy tradition, now.)

Anyway, things don't go as planned, Abraxas freezes when he sees what Riddle had done to his previously perfect face. He freezes when he feels the *power* emanating from him. He ends up pretending he doesn't recognise him.

It's a long and complicated story (really, it is) but eventually Abraxas invites Voldemort to the Manor ( to discuss Lucius, of course, no other reason. Not like Abraxas had decade long fantasies of bringing Riddle to his Manor and fucking him in the master bedroom or anything like that). On a whim, he has the chandelier brought back from Gringotts and hangs it in the dining room.

Riddle's new waxy, harsh face does something funny, shows some emotion for once, when he sees it. Abraxas is suddenly hot all over, but they attempt to talk normally until Lucius comes home, bows to Riddle ( the indignity! Lucius should only bow to Abraxas) and then, with a sneer, asks if Abraxas has lost his mind, what is that ugly chandelier doing in their lovely home?

The chandelier apparently doesn't take the insult in stride, and , with a thunder like noise, starts raining poison down on Lucius.

It's fine, in the end. Riddle was always good with spells of all kind, the arrogant mudblood, so he fixes Lucius up, and then sends him to get some rest.

The next morning, when Lucius stumbles out of his room, with a headache from the remaining after effects of the poison, he witnesses his lord getting out of his father's room.

He blinks. Once, twice. He rubs his eyes, frozen.

"You're hallucinating," Lord Voldemort tells him. "From the poison. Go back to bed."

Lucius decides that yes, he must be hallucinating (he dearly hopes so, because why else would he see the dark lord, robe not entirely buttoned up, leaving his father's room at dawn?), and he retreats to the safety of his room.

Another decade later, when his father dies, Lucius decides to leave the chandelier in place ( in his father's room, where it was moved after it assaulted Lucius). He thinks it's wiser not to mess with the thing. Besides, it seemed to matter quite a lot to his old man; Lucius swears his father loved that ugly monstrosity more than he ever loved Lucius.

Thank you so much for your comment, and you're at fault for this lengthy, cracky answer! I hope you enjoy it! ❤️

#tombrax #crack #my fics #this is all because of a wonderful comment I got

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captain-mj · 1 year

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Changling!Ghost attempting to court Selkie!Soap before ditching google and asking Soap's mom.

Hell yeah, love it! I also have the next part of this story already planned and ready to go so hope you guys are enjoying it

Ghost checked the time. Currently 4 am. The screen he was on now was an article of Selkies in Scottish folklore.

After reading about how selkies were sexually dominated by those that stole their coats for the dozenth time, he gave up. Every article held pretty much the same thing. An explanation of how men would force the female selkies to be their brides through their coat or how male selkies would have human families they’d see for a while before leaving. Several stated that once a selkie went to sea, they wouldn’t be seen for seven years and he needed to make sure that wasn’t true because he thought he’d go mad if Soap disappeared from him.

Ghost set his head down. He wished he could sleep, but alas, it was evading him tonight. It’s why he decided to get some research done. Originally, it was to help him court Soap, but he had gotten a bit lost in the stories.

There were clear distinctions he could make out. Everything before a certain painted selkies as malevolent or benevolent, some even implying there evil. Then the weird sexual stuff. Then when the catholics came and they could be healed by baptism. Considering Soap was very much still here, that wasn’t true.

There was nothing on courting. Nothing. Just take their coat and force them. He didn't want that.

He checked the time and did the math. Because of the timezone difference it would be 8 where Soap's mom lived.

Ghost called her before he could second guess himself.

"Hello?" She sounded so soft spoken. Her accent just as thick as Soap's though.

"Hi. This is... Ghost? Soap may have called me Simon."

"Oh. I was waiting for your call. I have to say, I appreciate how safe you keep my son." Her voice grew to a whisper and it was clear she was moving around.

"Yes, of course. I'd do anything for him." He had been honest with Soap about one thing and that's that he really did want her to like him.

"Good. I will admit, I was worried when he said he planned to not tell you. Selkies are sensitive, especially my son." There was a threat right under the surface. "So why are you calling?"

"I want to know how to court him. Properly."

"..."

Ghost stared at the wall ahead of him and shoved himself through one of the most excruciating sentences of his life. "I've been looking into it, but I'm not good at human romance, let alone this. I want... Soap to be my husband and I want to be a good husband back."

"..."

Ghost gritted his teeth and bore the silence for a few minutes before finally getting an answer.

"Did you feel this way before seeing his coat?"

"I've felt this way a while, ma'am."

He swore for a moment he heard her sniffle. "Good. Good. I'll help you, okay? First, please disregard anything you've seen online."

"Already did. They mostly just suggest taking his coat or chasing him."

"Chasing comes later, doing that so early on is seen as tacky and too forward." She explained while Ghost felt a blush creep up on his face. "Right now, you need to prove yourself to be a good mate. Little difficult considering your jobs, but prove you're useful. If you were a selkie, I'd suggest hunting bu-"

"I hunt." Ghost interrupted. "Mostly deer. Would that... work?"

"Excellent. Yes. Bring him food and shiny objects. Also, wear your arms bare more."

"Why?" That didn't make much sense.

"Because Soap likes your tattoos. And your arms. I love my son very much, but I didn't need to know your measurements or how much you can lift. Congrats on getting to 275 on bench presses by the way. According to Soap, that's very impressive."

Ghost had turned bright red under his mask. "Thank you."

She laughed softly before humming. "Can you do something for me and not ask why?"

"Sure."

"Say you're doing this to control him."

Ghost paused and went to ask why before stopping. "I'm doing this to control Soap."

"Thank you. Good luck." She hung up on him.

He decided to brush it off, sure she asked for a good reason.

So Ghost took her advice and bought him a handful of pens that glittered. Soap held them to his chest and blushed. “Thank you.”

Ghost nodded, staring at him. The next time he went to eat, he noticed Soap had given him some extra food. He immediately looked for him, seeing him talk to Gaz. Something warm spread through his chest before he fled to his room to eat.

Soap visited him after a while and sat with him, talking casually.

“You want to come with me on our next leave?” Ghost asked suddenly. “I have a cabin in Canada I go to occasionally.”

Soap stared at him for a minute, clearly thinking. “I’m sorry, ask me that again.”

“I have a cabin in Canada. It’s only an hour by foot from a coast too.” He looked at Soap who was still processing.

“I thought you had a flat in Manchester?”

“Yeah, I do. But I have a cabin I hunt at. It’s pretty nice.”

“And you’re inviting me. To stay there. For a week. Alone. In the woods.” Soap leaned forward as he talked.

“Yes. You and me.” Ghost nodded.

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll go.” Soap said softly.

“How much further?” Soap groaned at him. They had gotten off the plane maybe thirty minutes ago. The cab had driven them as far as the road went and now they had been trekking for maybe ten minutes.

“Stop being a baby.”

Soap groaned more. “Do we have to do this every time we need anything?”

“Yep.”

“I’m regretting this already. I think my feet are going to fall off.”

“We’ve walked way more than this for a mission!” Ghost didn’t understand, turning to look at him. There was a lot of snow... And he didn’t really prepare Soap as well as he could’ve..

He noticed that Soap’s face was completely red from the cold. He assumed he’d be immune to the cold, but he supposed without his coat, he was just human.

Ghost moved closer. “Sorry.”

Soap blinked and stared up at him. His eyes were so big. Ghost really, really like them.

He took off his mask and grabbed Soap’s face, very gently holding. If hypothermia had set in, rubbing would cause the ice crystals in his skin to tear. Once he thought Soap was a little more warmed up, he moved closer, gently rubbing now to make sure there was plenty of blood flow. Soap was still really red though which was concerning.

Soap stared at him, a lot more aware of their proximity than Ghost. “Simon?” His breath made clouds but Ghost’s didn’t. It was an odd thing to notice, but they both did.

Ghost slipped his ski mask over Soap head, tucking in carefully. “There. I don’t really get cold. I’ll carry your bag.” He took it from him and started trekking again. Soap grabbed his arm and followed. Maybe he leaned in a bit too much, making it hard for Ghost to walk, but Ghost wasn’t going to say anything.

Finally they got there and Soap collapsed on the couch. Ghost turned the heat on and sat with him. He took off both their gloves and did the process he remembered for warming someone up. Start with the extremities. Ghost hummed softly.

Soap pulled off the mask and tossed it on the table. “You gave me your mask.”

“Yeah, I was worried. Your face was super red.” He continued rubbing Soap’s hands until they felt warm. Ghost hummed. “I’m not rubbing your feet. You can just lose some toes.”

Soap laughed. “Alright. Understood.” He moved a little closer. “This place is... To be honest, I was expecting a shack.”

It really was a nice place. Two stories, big lofty rooms and mostly wood from the looks of it. “I’m a little insulted. But I like space. Plus no one can be hiding anywhere.”

Soap laughed. “Paranoid as always, huh, Lt?”

Ghost shrugged. “There’s a spare room. I know we’re married and all but...”

“I’ll be staying in the spare room for now.” Soap said quickly, blushing as he looked away.

Ghost nodded and showed him where it was. “Before you ask, there is a hot water heater and it lasts for hours. Unlike the one on base.”

“You’re making me a very happy man, Simon Riley.” Johnny smiled at him.

Simon tried not to vibrate out of his skin. “I’m going to bring you so many deer.”

“What?”

#Johnny Soap Mactavish #Simon Ghost Riley #Soap Cod #Ghost COD #Soapghost #Ghostsoap #Soap x Ghost #Ghost x Soap #Macriley #Call of Duty #Call Of Duty Modern Warfare 2 #Selkie Soap #changeling ghost

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yulin-pop · 1 year

Text

⤷ ✧ Nail polish

Gender neutral

- order 62 | Headcanon | Second years

Note: I don’t know much about nails and my only source is my mom.

Riddle Rosehearts

He wants red and white. It works well with his dorm uniform and it reminds him of the Queen of Hearts! He just wants the classic round shaped nails since long nails could make it hard to do his daily activities. But he actually kinda wants long nails.

As you do his nails, he’s staring at you. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t wanna distract you so he just stares at you.

“Oh wow, they’re cuter than I remember…”

He gets a random craving for sweets so immediately when you’re done he wants to have a tea party. He’s really impressed actually. It’s really pretty.

He randomly starts staring at his nails and smiles at the thought of you. But people think it’s a little weird that he began smiling for no reason.

“Is Riddle okay??”

“Why is he smiling?”

Ruggie Bucchi

Why would he get his nails painted? He’s always doing something with his hands, it’s gonna get ruined immediately.

But alas, you don’t care and sit him down. He picks out a dark brown and a cream color. He doesn’t really care what design or shape so you get some creative freedom.

He keeps moving while wailing “it feels weird!” He gets used to it after a while and only does it to annoy you. You have a death grip on his wrist so you can actually get the job done.

He always asking “are you done yet??” just to annoy you.

After you’re done, he’s actually kinda satisfied.

But the next week his nails are already ruined! He probably bites his nails and he most likely accidentally ate the nail polish.

He tried to save it though, but Leona wasn’t having any of that.

“Damn, please? Look I got my nails down I don’t wanna get them ruined.”

“I don’t care get me my food.”

Now you sit him down again and have to redo it.

Floyd Leech

He’s very happy to get his nails painted. He wants a different color on every finger and it’s doable but just kinda funny. He also asks for stiletto nails He’s smiling the whole entire time which is very unnerving.

He randomly laughs as you paint it in.

“What’s wrong?”

“Heh sorry it felt funny!”

He tells you the story of when Azul sprayed ink when the twins played a prank on him as little children. Apparently it felt similar as getting your nails painted, according to him at least.

Hes really happy with the end result. It probably ended up looking a little wack because he kept moving.

He’s glad nail polish to waterproof. It lasts a long time since his nails don’t seem to grow very fast (him being an eel and stuff).

Okay but he would accidentally chip it and he would cry. He would forget his long nails and chip it while putting on his gloves.

Jade Leech

He doesn’t see why not? He’s puts his hand out expectantly. You can pick out the color but he wants squoval nails since long nails seem hard to function in.

He keeps a good conversation with you. It’s easier to have a conversation with him when he’s not staring at you with a scary grin.

He enjoyed it more than expected. He compliments your work and gives you a very charming smile.

He takes very good care of his nails and it lasts for a while, like Floyd’s. He wouldn’t chip it unlike Floyd. It feels oddly nice to have painted nails.

Azul Ashengrotto

It’s a bit scary. He thinks that nails make it hard to do paper work so he wants short nails. The tweels would pick the colors and it ends up being a nice blue, the color of their earrings.

Azul tries to not move but it feels weird. He distracts himself by doing paper work until you start working on his right hand, his dominant hand. So he talks to you.

He’s impressed but still sorta embarrassed about it. He wears his gloves more often but then would panic if he saw it was messed up in any way.

Jamil Viper

He doesn’t really want to but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. He agrees and he likes how happy you seem. Color doesn’t matter much to him unless it’s tacky and he wants to keep his nails short. Long nails would make his life much more difficult.

Kalim picks the color and it’s the color of the Scarabia gem. He’s very quiet which makes it a bit awkward. It’s oddly relaxing for him. Enough he could fall asleep but he doesn’t.

When it’s finished, Kalim is staring really hard. Kalim runs out and gets out some jewelry and tells him to put it on. Jamil refuses but eventually you grab it and put it on for him.

Just as expected, it looks even better. Jamil keeps it on because he knows he’ll get pestered to put it back on by both you and Kalim.

He might accidentally chip the nail polish while doing dishes and just peel it off.

Kalim Al Asim

Yay! He’s so excited. He already knows what he wants. Almond nails with blue and red, like the feather on his dorm uniform!

He apologizes for moving around too much but it tickets. He kinda sits between your legs facing away from you. Apparently that’s not how he’s supposed to sit but it doesn’t matter since you still get the job done.

He’s so happy he’s jumping with joy. He probably would try to pay you for your work.

He takes extra good care of his nails. I don’t think it would last that long because he’s clumsy. He gets really sad and guilty when it gets ruined.

Silver

Sure? Lilia and Malleus have black nails, anyway. He’s not sure what color he should choose so he asks you. Ultimately, he gets a color similar to his eyes. You figure that you could just use his natural nail shape.

He was expecting to do it sitting up but you tell him to lay down on your lap under a tree. He complies and eventually he falls asleep just as expected.

You get a bit distracted because you see animals approaching but as soon as you raise your head they started scurrying away.

You wake him up when you’re done and he feels bad for falling asleep. Well the job was already done.

Lilia takes notice of his nails. He’s a bit surprised but it’s adorable. Now he wants a nail appointment.

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dramarising-replacement · 1 month

Text

I know, it's the "in thing" to hate on dusthides in general right now, but I really just cannot get behind this breed at all. so here I am, salt blog, to tear into them and let off some of my frustrations.

I've tried. I've looked at people who have made interesting dusties, I've tried to mess around with making one of my own, but I just cannot get into their weird heads and the strange shape of them. you can argue from dragonhome and back that it makes sense for a digging dragon to not have any horns or antlers, but it doesn't change the fact that the shape looks really strange, and all too smooth, especially for a dragon that is meant to be at least somewhat armored. the encyclopedia says that they look "rigid," but they don't! they actually look highly flexible! nothing about them screams "rigid!" they look so soft in fact, that they don't look like they have any scales at all. like if I were to touch them it'd be smooth, albeit very dry, soft skin.

everyone argues against their wings and I do, too. if they supported the ball rolling thing, it'd be different--but the backs aren't armored, they're actually meant for FLIGHT even if it's short, and would rip too easy, given their lifestyle. they would also get in the way of the ball mechanic. if they could work in tandem with the tail, it'd be fine, but they have to be tucked IN, under the tail. why even have them, then? especially if they'd be a hassle for squeezing into tight spaces? gosh! "they brace tunnels for cave-ins" HEY BUCKO... WHY DO YOU THINK WE BUILD TUNNEL SUPPORTS.... also I don't care. we were promised the option of very varied body types, and this is the most bog standard "dragon" you can get, even if it's peeled. it would have been SO COOL if the hide on the back was how the secondary gene was expressed, and the primary was on the belly/flank/arms, but... alas.

just... even aethers. I love aethers lol. but their second pair of arms should have been bigger. they should have had more eyes. like. ancients come out too fast, and could probably use at least a little more workshopping.

I also hate their giant singular claw, especially when you consider the fact that most animals with claws like that have multiple toes, instead of one big toe and a tiny thumb. sure. it's meant for digging, but it looks almost painful to have such utter lack of maneuverability, for digging, and ESPECIALLY walking. it like, helps to have toes that flex, not giant shovels for hands! with claws like that, it'd be more suitable for them to lay on their bellies and push themselves forward. the feet also just look strange. I can't get over it. I absolutely despise how, especially on the hatchling, they try to make the feet look "cute" by giving them pseudo paw pads. it looks gross and tacky! I can't stand to look at them!!

at least with breeds like banescales it's just a matter of personal taste, and not really feeling excited about them. it's so sad to me that I actually hate dusthides. man. I know not every breed can be a hit, some things will be a flop, but yikes. didn't expect to actually hate an entire breed. oh well. don't gotta own them.

#Rant #Flight Rising #Art #Long post #Updates #Confessions #Petty

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sleephyuns · 5 months

Text

“Tired?” A voice rumbled up from her shoulder, whisking her away from the gates of dreamland.

“Nope, not at a…” she cut herself off with a betraying yawn, giving one last goodbye to the sleep she wouldn’t get quite yet.

There was still cleaning up to do, especially now. So, in hindsight, it might not have been the best time to have taken a mid-decorating sex break.

Besides the mess of their own bodies stuck together with sweat, Nayeon’s clothes were strewn about (how her cheap antler headband had stayed on after all that was beyond her), some forgotten ornaments were still scattered near the tree (including ones knocked off by their antics), and the dough that Nayeon had been planning to shape into little trees and bows was still sitting out on the counter.

There was a lot to deal with. Preferably before they were a sticky mess, but what was done was done.

Momo just looked so damn cute in her tacky little Christmas sweater. Even cuter fanning herself off from the warmth of the fire and her decorating efforts. Even cuter when Nayeon had simply suggested she take said tacky sweater off. And irresistible when she was shirtless and still decorating the tree in earnest.

How could she not jump her wife’s bones like that?

“Do you want to wash up and nap? I can try to handle the rest if you need me to.”

She finally looked down at Momo, seeing the way her wide, eager eyes sparkled in the glow of the room, prettier than any light she could ever hang on their tree. Absolutely breathtaking. “No, no, I couldn’t do that to you,” she pressed a kiss against Momo’s sweaty forehead, “I just need a minute.”

Her words were followed by an attempt to shift off of Momo’s lap, but her mind was much farther ahead than her body was. Almost immediately she was met with tired legs and an ache in her pussy. Deeper than any pilates session had ever made her feel.

Yeah, she wasn’t getting off Momo any time soon.

“Wow, you really tired me out,” she laughed, letting Momo press her slick bangs against her shoulder again.

“You tired yourself out. We could’ve picked a different position… ah- not that I didn’t enjoy it. I loved it-“

“I know, Momo, I know.”

Momo gave a sheepish smile, embarrassed at her overexplaination. Even then she looked beautiful in her shyness, fingers tapping against Nayeon’s thighs. The marks across her neck (from the makeout session that had even led to this) have bloomed darker, and part of Nayeon wished she could bend down to give her a few more.

But alas…

She shifted her hips again, testing the feel of Momo deep and still snug inside her, and was pleased with the little grunt she got in return.

She hadn’t felt that way in quite some time before this vacation. She’d missed it bad, and she could only hope Momo knew that. And even better, hoped that she wanted her just as much.

She had to let Momo know just how great she’d made her feel.

“What can I say?” Nayeon swiveled her hips again, “Sometimes that stocking stuffer of yours is just too much for me”

Perfect.

“I… Unnie. God, ew, never say that again.”

Momo moved to push Nayeon off, then thought better of it, settling for giving Nayeon what was probably the most disgusted look she could muster.

“What? As if you weren’t begging to come down my chimney a few minutes ago.”

“Unnie. I don’t know if you can feel that, but I’m actively getting soft right now.”

“Oh please, you just came like… 5 minutes ago. Of course you are.”

“Ok, but it’s faster this time.”

"Hmmm whatever,” Nayeon pouted.

A hush fell on them again, the crackling of the fire the loudest in the room. Despite being so put off but Nayeon’s jokes, Momo still held her close. For seconds, for minutes, however long it was. Even though they needed to clean up, and decorate some more and bake those cookies. Momo still held her. And…

That little liar.

“Getting soft, my ass.”

“Your ass is soft. That’s part of why I’m hard again.” Her hand slipped back from her thigh to palm at the a cheek. “It’s nice having you on my lap.”

Now Nayeon rolled her eyes, even though she had no right. “Aww but I thought my shitty puns were too annoying for you.”

“Maybe. But you’re sexy so it doesn’t matter.”

Momo usually liked to be bossed around a tad, but she had her selfish streaks. Like churning her hips up to test the waters of another round with Nayeon, barely moving yet still sending that delicious tingle up Nayeon’s spine.

She was cute, but Nayeon loved to tease.

“I should make those cookies,” she sighed, pressing a firm hand to Momo’s chest.

“Noooo, one more please. I promise I’ll laugh at all your puns.”

“…Deal.”

#just a little something #there’s art on twt too #namo #happy holidays everyone #twice smut

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hom3landr · 1 month

Text

Icarus Falling

Chapter One: Flight Risk

Homelander X OC

When Vought decides to shut down a failing experimental program, a little winged loose end is left. Years later, a bitter young woman named Dove lives in isolation under Vought’s close watch. Not quite human but not quite a supe, Dove must use her wits to survive when Stan Edgar appoints her to The Seven for unknown reasons.

Dove’s tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrates on making her brush strokes as even as possible. The sudden garish swipes of polish scratch something in her brain. Her hands are steady now. She no longer leaves a mess all over her fingers from hands shaky with uncertainty. Instead, the ritual has become a balm to her constantly racing mind. The patience to achieve perfection is one of the few things that bring her peace. She prefers bright gaudy colors that irritate the eye. It makes her think of poison frogs and she envies their ability to maim simply by a touch. She wishes she could have had that mutation if she was destined to be a freak. She contemplates whether she’d like to try some nail art today. She isn’t good but that’s not the point. It’s not like anyone will see them anyway. No one ever sees her.

She neatly finishes her nail, happy with the final result. A bright neon green, her nails seem to shine in the beige bleakness of her Vought sponsored house. She supposes that she could make the place homier but she refuses. It feels wrong to make peace with what scraps Vought throws her. She refuses to take comfort in their blood money. Her body may bear signs of their interference but it’s still hers. Her body will have to be her home as it is the only thing she can trust.

Her feathers flutter gently as the oscillating fan blows lukewarm air on her. The sticky summer air lingers and her bare skin is damp with sweat. Her curls are pulled up away from her neck in hopes of some relief from the muggy air. Of course Vought didn’t feel like springing for working air conditioning for her. She guesses it’s because it’s not “cost-effective”

She stretches out her wings behind her, wincing slightly at the way her shoulder blades ache. They may be part of her but the human body isn’t made to have wings. Her muscles are forced to shift and pull in unnatural ways to account for the unfamiliar DNA. She’s no different than a poorly bred dog, too many elements being blended together and spit out without thought to nature’s elegance. The weight of them makes her constantly sore, even with the harness for support. It’s nothing fancy but the leather contraption helps take some of the strain off her back. Her wings are another reason she doesn’t decorate. Furniture tends to be a hassle more often than not when it comes to accommodating her. Couches and any chair with a back is a solid no-go, unless she wants a wing cramp. She’s currently sitting on her unfolded futon she uses as a makeshift wing-friendly couch.

She happily observes her nails as they dry, so used to boredom that watching the slick wet polish turn tacky is a decent passtime. She whistles a jaunty little tune along with the music playing softly on the radio. She decides that she will try some nail art. She could use a little cheetah print.

Alas, her relatively good mood instantly sours when a sleek black car pulls into her driveway. Her stomach turns. The only people who ever come to visit are Vought cronies, usually doing the bare minimum to make sure she’s still alive. Her house that was supposed to be her refuge becomes just another lab. She angrily screws back on the cap to her polish and sluggishly rises with a groan. She didn’t realize she’s due for another checkup so soon. She contemplates grabbing a shirt but decides they don’t deserve the privilege of decorum. She doesn’t feel like putting in the effort of trying to wrestle her wings into one. She never bothers when she’s alone.

Something still feels off and there is a prickle on the back of her neck as she watches the car park. She double takes when she sees the figure getting out of the car. It’s not some nameless lab tech. It’s not some suit here to chastise her for flying high enough to be seen. It’s Stan Edgar, the man whose machinations led to her fate but who never found her important enough to speak to directly. He’s almost a mythical figure to her and her throat tightens. She doubts this is another quick checkup to endure. This is something big.

Once more she wonders if she should grab a shirt. But again, she decides against it. Maybe she’ll get lucky and the shock of her nudity will give the old fucker a heart attack. Her shoulders pop as she shifts. Clad only in a pair of ratty denim cutoffs, she opens the door to stare brazenly at the leader of Vought with her hand placed impudently on her hip.

“It’s rude to show up without calling”

Much to her dismay, Edgar doesn’t even flinch at her exposure. Although the same certainly can’t be said for the two bodyguards flanking him. Even with their sunglasses, the tilt of their heads is an obvious indicator of just where their eyes are focused. She rolls her eyes internally despite never breaking eye contact with Edgar. She’ll die before she’s the one who blinks first.

“I thought a visit might be pleasant considering your…isolation.” He smiles emptily at her. She grits her teeth and fights the urge to spit on his fancy suit.

“I think our definitions of what “pleasant” means may differ. I consider it pleasant to have some privacy, Sir.” She cocks her head at him. Her wings fluff up with displeasure. She should probably use her manners in front of a man as powerful as him; especially one who technically owns her. There’s a tiny voice inside begging her to practice some self preservation. But then she looks at him and she remembers. He wasn’t in the lab with her but whatever tortures she had to endure were committed with his full knowledge and approval. As far as she’s concerned, he might as well have been holding the scalpel himself.

He seems as unfazed by her remark as he did at the sight of her bare chest. She clenches her fist as he looks at her like a bored parent waiting out their child’s tantrums while in time-out.

“Allow me to introduce mysel…” His polite greeting is abruptly cut off by Dove’s scoff.

Settle down. The voice inside her implores but she brushes it from her mind like flicking a flea.

“You’re Stan Edgar, Head of Vought. I know.” She replies, hackles raised at his infuriating calm. “You’re the one who dumped me here.”

He smiles.

Bastard

“A decision that was made with your wellbeing in mind. But if that is your grievance with me then allow me to supply you with some good news. May I come in so we can discuss it?” He asks as though she has a choice in the matter. They both know she doesn’t, not really.

She pauses, two sides of her viciously battling it out in her brain. One side wants to fight and push just to see how far he’ll let her go before his facade finally cracks. The other side just wants peace. She grits her teeth. If she wants him to leave, she’ll just have to endure his visit so she sighs and steps to the side. He nods and enters, flanked by his leering entourage. She does roll as her eyes at their stares this time and grabs a scarf she spies draped over the edge of a nearby table. She follows them over to the futon, threading it through her harness and tying it into a makeshift top.

She plops down on the futon, crosses her legs and looks up at him blankly. She doesn’t offer him a seat. Of course, there really isn’t a place for him to sit even if she did feel like being polite. The living area of her tiny one bedroom house is bare except her futon, a small table with the fan still whirring away and her radio, and a short cabinet that she mainly uses to store her collection of polishes and a few dvds gathering dust. The walls are blank and cold.

“You should let Vought know you are in need of some furniture.” Edgar remarks as he looks around at the sad state of her place.

“I’ll get right on that.” Dove says wryly. She has no intention to ask for anything from Vought.

“Actually, I wouldn’t bother just yet. That's one of the things I wish to speak with you about.” Edgar replies. Dove regrets sitting because now she has him looming over her. The power play was fun at the moment but she’s quickly realizing that Edgar has a way of making them feel pointless and immature.

“I didn’t realize you cared this much about my interior design.” Dove can’t help but retort.

“It does seem pointless to furnish this place considering you will be moving in the near future. I’m sure you’ll enjoy a place with a little more class.” He’s smug, clearly trying to lead her somewhere. He says it like he’s expecting her to jump up like her team just won the superbowl. There is always the undertone of condescension and superiority that makes Dove bristle. She’s known this man for all of ten minutes but that’s all she needs. She doesn’t even register the meaning of his words. She’s too angry and it clouds her judgment. She doesn’t immediately register that he’s offering her an out.

“Vought has class?” She bites out, her joking tone too harsh to be taken lightly. The hurt behind it is open and raw. Edgar’s smile drops. She should feel smug that she finally got the mask to drop. She doesn’t.

“I’m sure you think that your comments are cute but I came here expecting to talk to an adult, not a petulant child.” His voice sharpens but the pitch never changes.

Dove’s mouth snaps shut and she bites her tongue till she tastes iron. Her feathers fluff out involuntarily as she seethes. She’s tempted to snap back but she begrudgingly realizes that the sooner they can get through this conversation, the sooner he’ll be out of her hair. She frowns when she notices one of her still tacky nails has smudged.

Fucking great

“Fine, just tell me then.” She crosses her arms before promptly relaxing them, not wanting to let him know how much she’s pouting.

The corner of his mouth curls up but his eyes stay as empty as ever.

“How would you feel about finally putting your skills to good use?” He asks.

Dove double takes and stutters out a bemused laugh. Not once since they threw her out with the bathwater had they ever indicated she had any use besides what failed experiment they had been planning. She is baffled as to what they could possibly want with her.

“I think my current situation shows what Vought thinks of my skills. Can’t you get one of your precious little supes to do it?” She replies with sheer disdain.

Psh…Supes

Oh, she despises supes. Spoiled little brats. Spoiled pampered little brats. Vought’s golden children. They’re genetic freaks too but they get freedom and fame. They have lives and families. They only have to endure a little shot of go-go juice as a baby and the world is handed to them on a golden fucking platter. Meanwhile here she is, weak, hidden, abandoned. She had to endure endless tortures and for what?

“We need someone with your unique composition.” His face gives nothing away.

That doesn’t sound good.

“…Oh.” She shifts nervously. A sick feeling starts to brew in her gut. She becomes viscerally aware of the prickle of sweat under her arms and running down her spine “I’m not…going back, am I? You all promised me I wouldn’t have to go back there anymore.”

Edgar laughs. He fucking laughs.

“Yes and no, but don’t worry, we won’t have any need for that. I think you’ll enjoy what we have planned.” He replies with false peasantry. Dove inhales tightly. Her hackles are raised at the constant dancing around the question. She highly doubts enjoyment is on the table. When has enjoyment ever been on the table for her?

“Well, are you gonna tell me what it is?” She retorts sharply. The constant whirring of the fan grates on her strained nerves and in this moment she wants nothing more than to chuck it across the room.

Edgar nods at one of the bodyguards who steps forward to hand her a fancy embossed letter. She resists the urge to snatch it rudely from his hand. She minds her manners though, being careful not to rip the fancy paper. Edgar stares her down as she opens it. Luckily her nails are dry enough now to not stick.

Her heart stops dead as she reads.

WHAT THE FUCK

Her hands start to shake.

This is a joke

This is a joke.

This is a fucking joke.

What she is holding is a genuine, bonafide, official invitation to join The Seven.

Dove drops the letter like it’s a scalding hot coal. A furious stinging longing like nothing she has ever known throbs hot in her chest.

Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? For your pain to mean something?

“No.” She replies shakily. “No, I don’t want it.”

She does. She wants it so bad.

“No.”

She knows what she is. She’s not a supe. She will never be a supe. That had been quite clear to her with every broken bone, every bruise, every slice of the scalpel. She was deemed unworthy with every scribble of a scientist's pen. Her only claim to fame is not dropping dead from her inhuman slurry of mismatched genes like the rest.

Whatever worth she has, it’s definitely not as one of Vought’s shiniest gems. She doesn’t have the luxury of hope.

“No? I assumed you’d be glad for the opportunity. Especially considering your…situation.” He nods at her wings and she draws them closer to her body.

“I’m…not one of them. I’m all but human. What need could you possibly have for me in The Seven. I’m…” She cuts herself off.

Weak

That’s the whole point of her existence really. Vought wanted to create a new breed of supes that weren’t supes. People with abilities but without the pesky super strength that makes things hard to manage. They wanted to corner the labor market. Who wouldn’t want to hire a worker capable of more than a human could ever be while still being easy to control? So, they turned to animal DNA, to see if they could generate specific traits based on carefully selected genes. It failed, the constant deaths of the subjects deemed it too cost ineffective to keep trying. When they shut it down, all they had to worry about was one winged little loose end.

“You let us worry about all that. You’ll just need to follow instructions and smile pretty for the camera.” He reaches out to take a shaky hand in his, his demeanor unnervingly parental in this moment. He pats it soothingly. She fights the urge to flinch away at the touch of skin. She’s painfully unused to human contact that doesn’t involve harm.

“What kind of instructions?” She’s wary.

“I told you, let us worry about that. I promise it won’t be anything you can’t handle.” His voice has warmed considerably as he tries to gain her consent without having to resort to more unpleasant means. After all, no isn’t really an option. Vought owns her. The invitation is merely a polite formality.

“No,” Dove repeats more firmly, a steely resolve in her eye

“No?” Stan Edgar raises an eyebrow.

Dove doesn’t want to hear anymore. What they’re giving her is not an out but a golden cage. She’s Snow White being handed the poison apple. She won’t be a victim of Vought’s plans again. She won’t be that stupid.

“What makes you think I want to do anything to help Vought out? What makes you think a bit of fame is enough to make me forget the shit you put me through?” Dove stands, staring Edgar down. She clenches her fists and the body language of his guards changes immediately. “If you try to set my ass in front of a camera I’ll spill everything. All I want is to be left alone.”

Edgar remains unphased by her outburst. He’d expected as much. The reports from her check-ups had informed him of her temperament. He has one more card up his sleeve before things have to get nasty.

“I understand that you’re disgruntled by your previous treatment. As an apology and as incentive for joining The Seven, Vought would like to reunite you with your mother. Remain as a member for one year and fulfill all your necessary duties, and we’ll get you in contact with her.”

His voice fades out into a droning buzz.

I have a mother.

Dove’s head swims.

She tries to speak but the words catch in her throat. She makes a strangled noise at the revelation. What can she even say to that? How is she supposed to respond to her whole world getting flipped on its head? Unwanted tears prickle in her eyes as her knees give out and she drops back on to the futon.

She’s always been so alone but all this time…

All this time…

“How come you never said anything? How come I didn’t…” Her voice trails off. “You’re lying.”

A photo enters her field of vision and she takes it shakily. There is a young woman in the picture, with curly hair and dark familiar eyes, Dove’s eyes. She doesn’t look much older than nineteen but the resemblance is unmistakable. She's wearing an all too familiar medical gown and her hand rests on the subtle swell of her stomach. Her expression is solemn. Dove chokes down a sob as she softly strokes the woman’s face.

“She signed a contract saying that she did not want any contact with the child post-birth. In recent years, she seems to have changed her mind. She’s expressed a desire to reconnect. If you agree to our terms, we can facilitate a reunion.” Edgar explains.

Dove can’t take her eyes off the photo.

Her mom abandoned her. She abandoned her to Vought’s heartless clutches. She’d walked away without a care. Dove should rip the picture up and tell Edgar to stuff it. She shouldn’t feel anything towards this woman…her mother.

Dove had never known where she came from. Vought had never specified. Now she has a chance to know. What is her mother like? Is she happy now? Why did she leave her alone? Why does she want her now? Did her mom ever love her?

Dove is furious at herself for feeling conflicted even as questions fill her head. She has so many questions she can get the answer to.

“I…” Dove flounders. She doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want anything else. She hates this mystery woman who left her in Vought’s clutches. She needs more than anything to be held in her arms, this woman with the dark sad eyes.

Don’t you fucking dare! Something inside her pleads. You’re going to regret it. You will never be free from them

Dove swallows thickly and with the finality of an executioner's swing, she gives Stan Edgar her answer.

“I’ll do it.”

#homelander #x oc #homelander x oc #Homelander x Dove #OC Dove #The Boys OC #big nervous about this one #my first time writing oc fic #y’all have no idea how long this took #No Homelander in this chapter yet but he’s coming

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