#but FUCK the concept of doll joints was just too good to pass up

[metalrequiem]

i dont know anything about her but ive decided i love her so theres that

[Image description: a stylized drawing of Velvet from Hazbin Hotel. Her body twists awkwardly, and she has doll-like joints. She has a painted-on face smiling directly at the camera, and she’s held up with faint red marionette strings that lead up to a white cross with an apple on it. Her left hand has glitching blue strings coming from the fingers, and her right hand has soft glowing pink strings coming from the fingers.]

>Valentino

>Vox

>Alastor

>Charlie

>Vaggie

>Angel Dust

>Husker

>Niffty

>Cherri Bomb

#hazbin hotel #velvet #velvet hazbin #i took some liberties with her design #and by some i mean a whole fuckin bunch #but FUCK the concept of doll joints was just too good to pass up #im super excited to learn more about her #2020 #reqs art

[yandere-daydreams]

I love the concept of class darling, but what about the villains darling?

I might’ve shown my favoritism here, but… I love to watch these guys bicker. They’re just a bunch of naughty, no good bastards who never learned how to share. It’s great.

TW: Kidnapping, Implied Torture, and Semi-Graphic Violence (Choking). 

~

It was an ugly truth of Hero-Work, just how often side-kicks and medics and people too weak to defend themselves were captured by groups of villains. If all went well, you’d be tortured to death for information, memorialized by whatever real Hero took enough interest to do so, and everyone involved would try to forget that your body wasn’t even cold yet. Normally, you’d be dead less than a day after your capture. Normally.

Unfortunately, you seemed to be in the minority unlucky enough to survive the first step.

“I just don’t see why we have to keep it,” Shigaraki complained, maintaining a comfortable distance. You’d noticed he kept himself away from the rest of his ‘League’, even after they’d returned to their run-down bar of a hideout, staying at the end of the counter and staring down at his drink, never looking up to talk to his awaiting audience. It didn’t really matter, you guessed. He seemed to sense it when Spinner shot him a glare, throwing up a hand defensively. “What? They don’t know anything useful, and they’re still struggling. We shouldn’t take this kind of risk if we’re lying low.”

The blonde positioned in your lap, Toga, didn’t seem to like this, throwing her arms around your neck, not unlike the affection a girl a few years younger would show to her favorite doll. You bared your teeth, the warning instinctual, but the cuffs keeping your wrists bound to the back of your chair made it impossible to take any action more hostile. She was heavier than she looked, more muscular, sharper, but you’d stopped complaining the first time she offered to carve out your tongue. “Don’t be mean, Tomie. (Y/n)’s going to be super well behaved, as soon as we get them into something cuter than that disgusting uniform.” She paused, if only to pull at your clothes, nails ripping through the already-worn fabric far too easily for your comfort. “We could start now, if someone wasn’t such a prude.”

At this, you couldn’t help but cringe. She hadn’t been the one to find you, but she’d certainly gotten the most… attached, in the last few hours. A minute hadn’t passed without Toga clinging to your side or poking you with ‘one of her favorites’, as eager to get you home and stuffed into whatever sadistic fantasy she had planned as you were to stop her from doing so. Still, she was better than the scarred, laughing psychopath who’d dragged you here in the first place.

You bit your tongue as soon as you put a face to the description, his voice filling the room at the mere thought of his name.

“Lighten up, both of you,” Dabi chuckled, appearing from one of the further booths. Out of all the villains surrounding you, all the creeps and perverts and freaks you’d had to deal with over your career, Dabi was the only one to get under your skin. The only one to spend months stalking you, lurking around every corner, just waiting for an opportunity to show his shiny new toy to all his little friends. You pulled away as he reached over Toga, one hand resting on her shoulder while the other occupied itself with your hair, digging his nails into your scalp before he jerked your head back, forcing you to face him. He was still smirking, still amused and still enjoying this, but you weren’t sure what you’d expected.

Here you were, tied up and sitting pretty. 

He had every right to be proud of himself, the monster.

“Hand-Job, get over here, you’ll love this one.” His grip never loosened, straightening your back roughly as he used his free hand to call over Shigaraki. Toga was still clinging to you, refusing to leave your side, but she got off your lap without an argument. There was a sigh, but Shigaraki complied, edged on by Dabi’s teasing and League’s excitement. He was more… intimidating, when he was so close, your eyes quickly shutting just to avoid acknowledging his presence, but that only did so much to block out the feeling of those dry, coarse fingertips brushing against your neck. “They’re still bratty, but that’s what we’ve got our leader for, right? I know how much fun you have, breaking ‘em in. And get a load of this quirk, too.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from kicking, at this, smirking as your shoe collided with Dabi’s leg. He winced, giving you a threatening look, but that did little to stifle your satisfaction. You didn’t care if they killed you, they just had to shut up while doing it. “Eat shit and di-”

The words hitched in your throat before you realized you couldn’t breathe, Shigaraki’s hold on your neck tight, choking, suffocating. Your bonds went taunt, shoulders straining to stay in their joints as he pulled you off the seat, doing his damnedest to end you or sprain something in the process. More than that, there was a burning pain wherever his skin met yours, only growing more unbearable with every passing second. You were close to crying by the time he let you go, letting you fall back into the chair in a near-sobbing heap, but it took another glance up, another look at that fucking smile to push you over the edge.

But, their attention wasn’t focused on you, anymore.

“What were you thinking? You could’ve hurt them!” Twice shouted, the first to break the silence after Shigaraki’s attempted assassination. Just as quickly, his tone changed, only worsening the utter confusion slowly clouding your common sense. “Letting the bitch know you’re serious, dude, great plan!”

“It’s a healing quirk,” Dabi explained, shrugging. If he cared that you were hurt, that you were in pain, he didn’t show it, only cupping your cheek as he spoke. “Use five fingers, hell, use ten. I’m not going to keep this beauty to myself.”

It was hard to see, behind the tears forming in your eyes and the fear-fuelled haze further blocking your vision, the room suddenly seeming darker, smaller. Still, you could clearly make out the grin stretching Dabi’s lips, too wide to mean anything good.

And more importantly, you could see Shigaraki’s, too.

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere prompt #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #yandere scenerio #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia imagines #my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia imagines #yandere my hero academia imagines #yandere my hero academia #my hero academia imagines #yandere bnha #yandere bnha imagines #bnha imagines #yandere shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #dabi x reader #yandere dabi #tomura x reader #yandere toga #yandere shigaraki #yandere league of villains #league of villains #possessive

[rougefox97969]

House words

I am currently going through a horrendously bad time right now. I found this on my computer and it made me smile so now I’m sharing it all with you in hopes of passing it on.

This was one of two stories written for drgns8r with the prompt “Sandor is more of a pageant parent than Sansa.”

I gave no idea if I even posted this correctly, or if the editing is done, but I hope you all enjoy!

Sandor Clegane used to believe Beauty pageants were boring and kind of stupid. Jon’s super liberated girlfriend (sorry significate other), Ygritte called them heteronormative, exploitative bullshit, but she also protested the idea of fried chicken, so Sandor had written her off long ago.

 Sansa had done some local pageant work to win money for college when she was a teenager and described the experience as “kind of fun, but some people get way too into it. Especially the parents”.

 Sandor didn’t understand the concept of measurable beauty. In his primal male brain all people fell into three categories of attractiveness; related to (therefore beautiful), would fuck and would not. But he did understand competitions. When the college athletic recruiters came to his high school and just saw his scars and not the lists of sports records he had broken it had been a blow to his ego. But then he found the Strong Man competitions. No one cared what a scary looking bastard you were (sometime it worked to your advantage) when you were dragging a city bus filled with the Qarth Philharmonic, or throwing a boulder or running with a hog under each arm. He met Sansa at the Northern Heritage games, where he beat a thousand year old record in caber tossing while wearing a pleaded skirt.

 They married and settled not too far from her parents, (even though they never thought he was good enough for her). He retired from competitions and made a nice chunk of cash investing in a chain of gyms his buddy Bronn opened up around town.

 When the children were born he was absolutely beside himself with joy. All three where girls; Catie with her mother’s red hair but his grey eyes, Elinor with his hair and mother’s big blue eyes, then little Sandy who looked like baby doll with his mother’s blonde hair and big baby blue eyes. Their gender never bothered Sandor; girls played sports. In fact his girls would be the ones who would play better than their male counterparts. He would hold them in their little pink blankets and whisper one day, they were going to be the best at everything they did, as long as that was Baseball, Football and Hockey.

 But the girls didn’t want to play sports. They played tea-party and watched Pink Pretty Princess videos while singing along. They would get into Sansa’s designer clothes and walk around the house like royalty. Sandor finally admitted defeat and cleared all the kid sized sports equipment he had bought for them when they were born and set up a space for his free weights complete with bench, satellite radio and mirrors.

 One day he looked up from his bicep curls and saw Catie standing before the mirrors. She was smiling and waving before she walked in a little circle then waved again.

 Sandor muted the Death Metal and asked his little birdling what she was doing.

 “I’m practicing for the Little Miss Last Hearth pageant Father,” she replied. “Mother said since Jeyne and Megga are going to compete, I could to. Will you come watch me?”

 “Of course little birdling,” he had smiled, and then he pulled her in for a hug making her shriek.

 “Ew Father! You’re all sweaty!”

 The next Saturday, everyone piled into the car and they drove the two hours to Last Hearth. Sandor had seen the women from Last Hearth and figured his pretty little girl had this in the bag. It was just a pageant, not big deal.

 Till it was. He sat in the back watching the other parents lose their shit over the quality of spray tans and hair pieces. They poured energy drinks into their girls and shoved fake teeth into their mouths to cover up missing baby teeth. When it was their little girl’s turn they jumped up and did their routine on the side lines hissing corrections under their breath.

 Sandor didn’t go back into the dressing room, a seven foot almost 300 pound man would not be welcome back there, so when Sansa came out white as sheet and shaking he was concerned.

 “It’s not like it was back when I did pageants,” she had whispered. “Those women are monsters! And the girls are just as bad!”

 “What do you mean?” he hissed.

 “Promise to not get mad?”

 “No.”

 Sansa shook her head. “These women… they have dropped thousands of dollars on these girls! Dresses, hair stylist, makeup artist, designer gowns, theater grade props, coaches…. And they made Catie cry.”

 Sandor’s blood began to boil. “How?” he asked through gritted teeth.

 “They made fun of her hair and dress! When they asked where she got her gown, and she said a department store they laughed. When they asked who did her hair and she told them her mother, they laughed again! She was a mess and I all I had was the makeup I had in my purse to cover up the blotches she got on her skin!”

 Sandor sat back in his seat and growled.

 He watched the pageant with competitive eye; the little shits had been right. His beautiful birdling in her department store gown and home done make up looked shabby compared to the professionally styled and coached contestants. Even those little grubs Jeyne and Megga had a hairstylist come in and obviously had taken voice lessons.

 In the end, Catie came in last

 Fucking last!

 She cried all the way to the car and all the way to the nearest fast food joint where she shoved ice cream and french fries in her face with big, blubbery tears still dripping down her chin.

 Sansa tried to sooth her, but Sandor waved her and the other children into the play area.

 He fixed his daughter with a stare and asked, “Do you still want to compete?”

 Catie nodded. “I wanted that big shiny crown Father, but the other girls were better than me!”

 Sandor shook his head. “No, they just had better equipment, better coaches, a better support team.”

 This problem he knew, this problem he could solve. The best people make the best competitors. He knew this from his Strong Man years; he had hired the best coach, the best agent and secured the best equipment. And he had won. Every. Single. Time.

 “If you still want to do these competitions, I will see you have the best of whatever it takes to win, okay birdling?”

 Catie looked up at her father with her big blue eyes and smiled like Sansa did right before she did something really clever.

 Sandor didn’t waste any time; he commissioned the best dresses from a designer in Kingslanding, hired a voice coach from the opera school in White Harbor, enrolled her in the best dance classes, recruited a pageant coach that declared her students never lost (he had informed the old bitch that if Catie came in second she would be fired on the spot), and even hired a stylist from Highgarden.

 The next pageant was Little Miss Riverrun and Sandor flew them out a few days before the show so Catie could get used to the venue.

 This time Sandor did go back stage. When a Mom told him to leave, he replied, “And which one of you harpies is going to remove me?”. She had slunk away and even her husband didn’t cross him again.

 This time Catie cleaned up. She took the talent completion, the glamor competition, she walked with style and grace, waved when she needed to and no one had to do her routine off to the side.

 She walked off stage with a half a dozen trophies, a cash prize, and a big shiny crown that towered nine inches off her head.

 That night she crawled up in his lap, kissed him on his burnt cheek and whispered “Thank you Father,” in her sweet little girl voice.

 The next year Elinor decided she wanted to compete, then little Sandy got in on the fun.

 Before each show, Sandor would take a knee with his girls around him and give the same pep talk;

 “What is our words?”

 “Second place is the first loser!” they would cry in unison.

 “What do we say to failure?”

 “NOT TODAY!”

 “Now get out there and destroy!”

 “YES SIR!”

 “Sir?”

 They would smile their little baby face smile and replied “YES FATHER!”

 Then they would kiss the air around his face as to not ruin their make up and go out on stage and make him proud.

@drgns8er

#sansan fanfiction