#severing hell's leash

[lavenoon]

Before domestication comes a good, thorough hosing down

So, uh. This was supposed to be a wet beast wednesday and "stinky sewer troll" joke in one. And then it got entirely away from me. I continue ignoring canon and living in my made up timeline of Severing Hell's Leash (if you look closely, you can see Angor wear his ring!), and in that timeline he needs a shower.

Also version without the water below the cut

#post let luce #tales of arcadia #trollhunters #jim lake jr #angor rot #severing hell's leash #my art #im also writing again so out of time wont be the only piece in the series for much longer hfdjsk #just. please just take this i spent SO much time on this joke fhdjsk #it WAS very important to me to finish this today #given that i started last year n then didnt work on it for a few weeks (had to crochet gifts instead) #gotta start off this year with powerwashing the angry troll #also yeah jim has his amulet at the ready for the deep clean. gotta be prepared for feral reactions to water #enough rambles. enjoy <3

[froody]

I went to the shelter today and met several cats. A beautiful 3 year old black kitty who had been surrendered for urinary issues, a very sweet very handsome 2 year old tabby man. They were both fantastic cats with fantastic personalities. I liked them both and was having a hard time deciding. Then they told me there was a very skittish 4 month old tortoiseshell kitten at the PetSmart.

I go there and she’s catatonically hiding in the corner. I get her out and she clings to me like a shipwreck survivor. I knew she was the one. The other cats were so sweet but she was utterly petrified being in that environment. Her nose was runny, her eyes were crusty, she was so scared her little body was like stone. I had to put her back to fill out the paperwork and when the employee grabbed her too roughly to try to take her out of the cage, she SHREDDED that woman.

I got in the car like alright, feral kitten. I’ll figure it out. She’ll come around.

She’s not feral. She’s a precious little angel. She started purring moments after I started petting her. She’s just a shy nervous girl who spend the past two months of her little life in a hell-ish overstimulating environment.

I don’t know about her early life. She’s been spayed, she’s up to date on her shots, she’s FIV negative. They gave her a course of antibiotics for the eye crust and runny nose but she’s still sneezy and crusty and wheezy. I’m betting it’s feline herpes, one of my childhood cats had feline herpes and she always got sneezy and crusty when she was stressed out. I’m going to give her a little period of adjustment and then get her set up with my vet and tested to make sure that’s the problem.

She’s currently hiding under my bed. I can hear her moving around periodically. I’m letting her adjust, decompress and get used to my presence. She will be a challenge. I look forward to loving and knowing her. I think what she needs is peace and quiet and I am like the most peaceful quiet owners a cat could possibly have. I don’t know what toys she’ll like, if she’ll be a candidate for leash training, what her favorite treats will be. We’ll have to get to know each other.

Her name was Holly because she was a December intake. I have tentatively named her Daphne, partially after the nymph and partially after Daphne du Maurier because of her mystique and strange glamor.

#daphne

[clownrecess]

I've seen a lot of level one autistics say things like "Have an urge to run? Hell yeah! Elope, bitch! Freedom!". This frustrates me, so I want to talk about elopement, and what it actually is and feels like for me.

I am someone who elopes when in severe distress. It isnt that I want freedom, or even that I want to leave. Its that my body takes control of me, and I involuntarily run anywhere I can to get out. I've run out of my house before, I've run into the middle of the street, etc. It isnt fun. It isnt freeing. It's scary, it's dangerous, and it feels like I am being controlled by my own body because I have no say in it. It just happens, and suddenly I am sprinting out my front door.

I've also seen level one autistics be upset with parents for having those "child leashes" on their autistic kids, saying how they "arent dogs". I think more people need to understand that these are SAFETY TOOLS and are often times NECESSARY for people who elope frequently. Stop shaming parents for having these leash backpacks.

#tw elopement #elopement tw #tw meltdown #meltdown tw #actually autistic #neurodivergent #aac user #nonspeaking #nonspeaking autistic #autism #aac device #aac users #disabled #level 2 autism #the tism #high support needs autistic #mid high support needs #high support needs disabled #high support needs

[autumnywinter]

Runaway - Yandere!Vox

TW: Abusive behavior, hypnosis, suggestive, dubious consent implied

Reader is gender neutral

It was a miracle you managed to escape Vox. Not literally. Miracles aren't a thing in Hell, especially not for you. It was a fluke, a mistake on Vox's part, a happy accident that you took full advantage of. It was luck that he happened to have business in another ring on that specific day. You were able to slip out without him noticing, or any of the Vees for that matter.

Not that they really cared to begin with, only to avoid Vox's rage. They both acknowledged you, but as nothing but Vox's pet. That's what you felt like, so they weren't entirely wrong.

And now you were trying your best to avoid him, making your way through the Ring of Pride. You weren't sure where to go, just far away from Vox as possible.

It had been three days since your escape, and you hadn't heard anything about it on the news. But that was more because you were scared to stand next to any TV screen that wasn't bolted down and already turned off.

So you kept your head down, hood up, and tried to think of a plan.

You weren't sure how Vox would react when he finally found you. Well, angry, obviously. Furious even. Would he hypnotize you again? Probably. Not before ripping you a new one. He had never laid a hand on you, but that didn't mean he wouldn't now.

His constant surveillance would make it borderline impossible for something like this to happen again. You couldn't afford to fuck it up.

You felt like an animal on the run. A rat in a maze. Everything you did was to avoid him. It was too exhausting. And dangerous. You couldn't get enough rest to make up for it.

There were so many ways this could go wrong. And so many ways it could go worse. You were ready for anything, willing to do anything to stay away from him. You felt like you were at the end of your rope, but you didn't have any rope left, and you were starting to fall off the ledge.

You had no one. There was no one you could turn to for help, not here. Even if anyone took pity on you, no one would be willing to piss off an Overlord.

But you knew you couldn't keep this up forever. There was no way for you to leave the ring, and Vox had cameras everywhere. Honestly, you're surprised you even still had freedom. Not that it felt like it.

Maybe he wasn't looking for you at all. Maybe he was just waiting for you to come crawling back to him. Or maybe he was watching you right now, waiting for you to slip up so he could swoop in and reclaim you.

One thing you knew Vox would avoid at all costs was to ruin his reputation. He cared far too much about that. So he probably wouldn't want to advertise that his little pet had escaped from his leash. You imagined that was the only reason you were free, or else there'd be a bounty on your head right now.

As you trudged through the streets of Pride, you turned a corner and saw who you recognized as Vox's bodyguards. Though he had tons of them, you knew most of them. Whenever he was gone for business purposes, there'd always be at least two keeping a close eye on you.

Your heart pounded and you felt a wave of dread. But they hadn't seen you yet, and the sidewalk was crowded enough that you could quickly hide in the bustle. You tried to look as inconspicuous as possible while keeping your eyes on them. They seemed to be looking around, checking the crowd for something. Looking for you, you thought.

The crowd dissipated, but a little too soon. There were several more bodyguards on the other side of the street, and they quickly spotted you. Your breath hitched in your throat.

One of them raised a walkie-talkie to their mouth, and you broke out into a run.

You ran as fast as you could, zigzagging through the crowds and almost running into other demons. You turned corners and weaved through alleys, and you could hear the bodyguards not far behind.

Your hood blew off in your frantic running, but you didn't bother to pull it back up. You could barely breathe, the panic and terror taking over.

After what felt like forever, you managed to lose them. You were almost too exhausted to stand, leaning against a wall as you struggled to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell heavily as you gasped for air. Your legs were shaking violently.

There was a familiar sound of static behind you. Your heart stopped.

You spun around, only to come face to face with Vox. He wore an angry scowl, eyes narrowed darkly. You tried to step back, but you bumped into the wall behind you. He stood right in front of you, towering over you. He was absolutely terrifying like this, and you had no way to escape.

He reached out and grabbed your arm roughly, and you flinched and tried to yank away, but his grip was like iron. You looked around desperately for help, but there was no one around. Of course there wasn't. You had run so far from the busy streets, and it was far too late for anyone to be wandering around. If not for that, Vox probably wouldn't have shown up himself.

He dragged you back towards the limo waiting around the corner, ignoring your pleading and resistance. You clawed at his hand and dug your heels into the ground, but it was futile.

"Let go! Please!" you cried, trying to dig your heels into the ground, but Vox just kept pulling you along. You kicked and screamed, but it didn't matter. There was no one here to hear you, no one to save you.

Vox opened the limo door and tossed you inside, slamming it shut behind him. You scrambled backwards into the door. You were cornered, trapped between Vox and the door. Vox climbed into the limo and the driver started moving. You pressed yourself further against the door.

"Do you have any idea how worried I've been?" he said, his voice a low growl. You shuddered. "I'm your husband. Don't I deserve a little respect?"

'Husband'. That word made you sick. He always claimed that's what he was. You couldn't remember the ceremony, but the papers were real. There wasn't a doubt in your mind he used hypnosis for most of your relationship. You couldn't remember a single memory where you actually were in love with him, especially how much he claimed you were to be.

You felt a lot of things when you were with him, but it certainly wasn't love. You were scared. Angry. Disgusted. Violated. But you were never in love.

"I believe we've talked about how this'd go if you ever tried it, didn't I?" he continued. He pulled out his phone and showed you a video. It was of you, running through the streets of Pride, looking even more exhausted and miserable than you felt, even under the hood. "I know every street cam in Hell, don't forget that."

"Then why didn't you come for me sooner?" you rasped. Your throat felt raw from running, and your lungs burned. Your arm throbbed from where he grabbed you, and you knew there'd be a bruise later.

"I wanted to see if you'd come crawling back to me on your own," he said, leaning forward to look down on you. He was sitting right next to you, his leg pressed against yours. "And you didn't."

You shrunk back slightly. His gaze was harsh and intimidating. The lights of his eyes flickered across his screen and danced on your skin. You felt his gaze bore into you, like he was trying to figure out what was going on in your mind.

You tried to pull your knees up to your chest, but Vox reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. He brushed his thumb along your lower lip.

"I think you need another lesson on how things work," he growled.

"I don't want--"

"Did I ask what you wanted?"

He pinned you against the limo door and leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. You could feel his breath on your cheek.

"Don't act like you didn't miss this, baby," he purred, his tone changing like a switch had been flipped. "Why'd you leave me? Have I not been spending enough time with you? Am I not making you feel loved enough? I'm the only thing that can protect you down here, but I can't do that if you keep running away."

You squirmed under his grasp. He was holding you so tight that it was hard to breathe. It hurt.

His eye swirled, the familiar hypnotic glow enveloping your vision, and the world around you began to melt away. It was like your consciousness was sinking into a swamp. You were still aware of what was happening, but you couldn't control your own body or voice. Even your emotions beneath his control were dulled down, and it felt like a fog had rolled in over your mind.

You went limp and slumped forward against Vox as he cradled you. His hands traveled down your body and slid up under your shirt, brushing against your stomach. Your skin tingled wherever he touched it.

Just as you heard a dark chuckle from him, just as his hands trailed down to the waistband of your pants...

"We're here," the driver said, interrupting the moment. Vox's hands lingered on your hips for a second longer before pulling away. He moved out of the limo first, then helped you out. You followed him inside without hesitation.

He led you inside the tower, an arm wrapped around your waist. As soon as you stepped inside, he kicked the door closed behind him and picked you up bridal style, carrying you into the bedroom.

You wouldn't be coming out of your hypnotized state any time soon.

#yandere #hazbin hotel #yandere vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere fic #yandere writing #tw yandere

[artemisgrayy]

You want self-indulgent prompts? I am currently feral about the idea of Alastor stepping on my face (maybe in a prompt sense, we could call this rough sex/BDSM) and Lucifer giving me aftercare.

The Importance of Aftercare

18+ - Minors DO NOT INTERACT

[Alastor x Reader Smut] [Lucifer x Reader Aftercare]

Tags: NSFW, Minors DNI, rough sex, suspension, Alastor's shadow, loss of mobility, clawing, broken skin, breeding if you squint hard enough

Summary: You are Alastor's plaything. He enjoys using you, and knows exactly what buttons to push to deliver you into sweet, sweet subspace. Unfortunately, aftercare is not a concept his familiar with so Lucifer swoops in to pick up the pieces following your demise.

Your body feels stiff from the position you’ve found yourself in for the last several hours. Alastor left you in his room strung up by the wrists like a marionette, vulnerable and exposed. If anyone were to walk in right now you would be mortified, and he knows it.

The shadowy tendrils hold your wrists firmly to the small of your back — tight enough that they're on the cusp of cutting off your circulation but just centimeters away from that threshold. Any tighter and you would begin to lose feeling in your hands. The Radio Demon knows your limits and he enjoys pushing them.

You’re his plaything.

At this point, you're fed up. You've been here so long that your patience has worn thin. Feeling restless and ticked off, you squirm against the restraints in hopes that their firm grip loosens.

A sudden cool breeze licks your naked skin, causing your nipples to harden. Your senses are assaulted by the smell of spruce and petrichor as a dark shadow creeps up from the floor below you. Danger signs involuntarily flash through your mind as the shadow forms the Radio Demon.

He's so close you could touch him if you had use of your hands — which is exactly why you don’t. His sharp smile creates a sense of urgency as he edges closer to you, savouring your helplessness.

“Going somewhere, my Doe?” Purrs the demon, narrowing his eyes at your squirming body.

“Nice of you to show up. Here I thought you forgot about me” you spit, annoyance dripping from your voice.

“Heavens no” he cackles, waving his free hand, “I just wanted to see how long you would wait for me to return.”

“Fuck you.” you seeth, squirming violently against his shadow’s cold embrace.

Alastor doesn't even flinch. Instead, he stands there watching you squirm, visually amused by your failed attempts at freedom. The smug expression sends fire through your blood as he watches his pet, helplessly struggle to no avail.

You know what will set him off, but a lingering fear of Alastor causes you to hesitate. Your struggle ceases as you calculate your next words carefully.

You've decided you've had enough.

“You might have me tied up pretty tightly” A smirk forms on your face. You look him dead in the eyes basking in the delight of his smug expression disappearing with your next words, “But I know the leash Lilith has you on is tighter.”

The lights flicker violently as the final word escapes your lips and the sound of radio static rings through the room with such force that your ears ring. You wince. His glowing red eyes snap to vacant black, red radio dials replacing his pupils.

A brief sense of relief takes hold when the shadowy tendrils release you and you slam into the bed below you. When you attempt to get away, you feel him grab a fistful of your hair before he throws you face down on the floor.

You push yourself up but are quickly stopped when you feel a boot crush your face against the floor. Through the corner of your eye, you see Alastor looming over you with such rage and disgust that your stomach turns. The horns growing from his head are a stark reminder of how dangerous this demon is.

“If I ever hear those words leave your mouth again, your soul will be the next one I tear apart. I'm sure the rest of hell will enjoy the sounds of your terrified screams as I broadcast them for all to hear, you disrespectful wretch.” he bellows.

Your heart races as his voice echoes through your ears, terrified by his threatening words.

The heel of his boot digs further into your face causing you to whimper at the weight of it as strands of hair rip from your scalp. The carpet scrapes against your cheek as you lay there, helpless under the weight of his body.

You dare not move when Alastor removes his foot, your body remains limp as you wait patiently for your demise. His claws grasp a fistful of your hair, your scalp screaming from the individual strand ripping free as he forces you onto your knees.

“Tell me, darling, who do you belong to?” Demands the demon, releasing his grip on your hair to lift your chin with his finger. Feeling dazed and defeated, you take in the scene caused by your provocation. His body has contorted into something terrifying — like an animal cornering his prey. Red drool drips down his chin as the shadowy tendrils swirl around him, glows of green illuminating the room around you. The radio static fades to a little more than a drone in the background.

“I belong to you, Alastor.” You mutter, hypnotized by his glowing eyes sharpening towards yours.

“And what are you?”

“Your pet.”

The smugness returns to his face and he smirks down his nose at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Lovely.” he uses your hair as leverage to shove your face against his groin and you feel his thick, monstrous length against your mouth. A sharp spike of lust cascades through you when you feel his cock twitch from your hot breath seeping through the crisp fabric of his pants.

You're suddenly eager to taste him, lifting your hands to paw desperately at the thin barrier between you and your prize. You almost miss the demon curse under his breath as he jerks your head back.

“Ah ah ah,” he wags his finger, “patience, pet”

You whimper in response, a self-satisfied expression lights up his features at the sound. He runs his clawed thumb across your lips and you pant, urgent to please him. He uses one hand to slowly and methodically unbutton his trousers and your mouth salivates in response.

“Feast, my Doe,” he demands, his smile illuminating the hungry look in his demonic eyes. You launch forward, primal instincts taking over, and with one tug of his pants, you free him. Precum drips from the head of his cock in anticipation of your mouth. You lap it up hungrily, your tongue trailing a line of hot saliva down his length.

Alastor growls in response. A spark ignites in you, causing you to swallow him whole. Your eyes fill with tears as you fight against your gag reflex, your throat stretching to take him all in. He snarls in response, both hands now curling his fingers around your hair as he holds you in place.

“So eager.” His mellifluous, filtered voice coats your ears like silk.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you look up at him. When you lock eyes, he finally releases you allowing you to breathe.

But you aren't done.

You stick out your tongue and pant heavily to indicate your hunger and he looks down at you with a chaotic intent. This is a game to him. He gets enjoyment out of watching you suffer.

Your eyes roll back into your head when Alastor finally awards you another taste, shoving his length into the open orifice. The Radio Demon snarls in response and proceeds to throat-fucking your mercilessly — you moan sending vibrations through his shaft.

You can see the shift in his eyes when he loses the control he so effortlessly maintains when he feels it.

He pulls you off of him and throws you back on the floor, face down. Feeling mischievous, you decide to try your luck to scramble away.

Play his game.

You make it to your hands and knees before his clawed hand grabs your ankles and rips your legs out from under you. You hit the ground with a thud and you feel his hand wrap around your neck when he pins you down forcefully. He uses his free hand to prop you on your knees to line himself up to your drenched slit. You rock your hips back to meet him, longing for him to fill you, but Alastor shifts his weight, pinning you further into the floor. After what feels like an eternity of torture, he finally shoves himself into you with such force that you cry out, overtaken by pain and bliss. It was a sound that was entirely unrecognizable to you.

The claws of his free hand grip your waist, breaking the skin, and he proceeds to fuck you mercilessly, his cock stretching you out with every slam. You glance up towards the force holding you to the ground and you sharply inhale as the Radio Demon’s depraved expression sends you deeper into ecstacy. Your moans are your reckoning — the sound echoing through the room ignites a blaze in his actions.

He slams his hips into your ass with such rhythmic force that you can feel the carpet burn forming on the side of your head with the small, forceful movements. He's ravenous and you're ready for him to devour you.

Alastor releases your waist and his middle finger finds your clit. His claws are so sharp, they threaten to slice you with each movement, only driving you further towards your end.

He watches your pinned face intently, observing your reaction as he locates your sweet spot. When a deep, guttural moan escapes your lips, his smile widens even further, and his glowing eyes burn with desire.

The demon grabs you by the hair and situates you on your knees, holding you firmly against his body. Your breathing intensifies as he ruthlessly assaults your clit while fucking you senseless.

You’re so deep in subspace that you're non-verbal but your body language does all the talking — it begs, pleads, and yearns to reach the peak of your climax. The euphoria builds, enrapturing you as you he burrows deep inside, his cock stretches you out with his overwhelming size and —

The teather snaps

You cry out as the orgasm rushes over you, exploding from your throbbing clit to your toes. Alastor growls when he feels your walls contract around him. He slams your face back into the carpet, pumping inside of you unsparingly as he drives towards his own release.

“Who you belong to, pet?” growls the Radio Demon.

“I belong to you, Alastor.”

And with that he pushes deep into you, releasing his seed with such force.

He wants you to remember it.

He collapses on top of you and you sit there for a moment, chests heaving. The only sound that can be heard is collective exhales as you bask in the glow of each other's heat.

“Good girl.” Alastor praises you earnestly, running his fingers through your hair as you fight to collect yourself. The validation creates warmth under his fingertips that fires through your body.

He returns to his feet, pulling up his trousers as you roll over to your back and look up at him, basking in his shadow. He looks down at you with a look you couldn't quite interpret.

Your eyes widen when you recognize it.

“No, Alastor, don't you fucking da-” but it's too late. Before you have the chance to finish your sentence his shadow takes you hostage securing you in the air once more.

“I'll be back, darling,” he trills as his body melts into the shadows through the floor, “be good for me will you?” his voice echoing early around you.

And just like that he was gone.

“For fuck sake.” you groan, furious and annoyed at Alastor for once again putting you in this situation, dangling helplessly with your hands pinned to your back.

“Get back here! You can't leave me like this!” You scream, nearly choking back tears. You scream cursing for several minutes.

The doorknob turns. You're ready to lay into Alastor, fiery lava coursing through your veins.

“This isn't funny dude, you just fucked me and lef-” your wavering words are cut short when Lucifer walks in to investigate the disturbance. When he looks up at you, his eyes shift from their usual sunny demeanor to deep concern as he takes in your situation.

Majestic wings break free of his back and he glides towards you, determined. You're in such awe that you forget about the embarrassing position you're in when he slices through your shadowy prison, catching you in his arms.

“I'm gonna fucking kill that guy, I swear.” Lucifer's horns grow from his scalp as his typically cheerful voice lowers violently, his eyes glowing a furious red at the prospect. He lowers himself to the ground and swiftly carries you out the door towards the bathroom.

You collapse in his warmth, shivering. He holds you tighter against him as he uses his wings to propel himself down the corridor urgently. When you look up at him, you notice his horns have disappeared. His eyes back to his normal yellow glow, are full of determination as he carries forward.

When you reach the bathroom, the light stings your tear-soaked eyes, causing you to wince from the reflection off the tiled floor. He sets you down gently and you gasp as the cold tiles make contact with your thighs, causing you to shudder. Lucifer turns on the bath, checking periodically on the temperature as the scent of Lavender fills the room.

The blood that stained your skin from where Alastor hooked his claws was dry but continued to radiate sharp pain through your torso. Removing his jacket, Lucifer lays it over top of your exposed, trembling body like a blanket and you feel safe in the warmth of the fabric. He crouches down, grabbing your chin between his fingers to bring your gaze to his.

“Are you okay?” he asks genuinely, his voice laced with worry. The graze of his fingertips brushes the hair out of your eyes and smiles causing your heart to stutter.

“Yeah, I'm okay.”

“Did he hurt you?”

You pause, wondering how much you should divulge.

“Only because I wanted him to.” you shrug, slightly embarrassed.

Lucifer chuckles, his reaction without judgment.

“Well hey, there's nothing wrong with that,” he smirks, “I know how I react when I sink my teeth into someone, if ya know what I mean.”

He winks and you can't stop a giggle from escaping your chest. He turns off the water and locks eyes with you again.

Reaching out towards you, he paused, looking at you for consent before touching you. You nod your approval and he lifts you effortlessly, placing you gently into the claw foot tub. You wince as the heat of the water draws your immediate attention to every area where the skin had broken.

Lucifer looks at you empathetically as he rests his arms on the tub. His eyes never breaking contact, a crooked grin on his face. He traces his finger around the top of the water, a trail of gold, glittering mist following in its wake.

“But,” he continues, his tone becoming serious “when you put someone in that mindset, you've gotta follow up with care.” He pulls his finger up, the trails of gold taking shape and forming a heart.

You smile, the pain in your body replaced with warmth as you're comforted by his words.

“Oh! One second,” Lucifer reaches into his jacket with purpose, fumbling around for something in particular. His eyes light up with sudden enthusiasm when he locates it, his sharp fangs gleaming as he pulls the treasure from his pocket.

He extends his arm, opening his hand.

“These help huuuge with depression”

In his palm rests a single yellow, rubber duck.

Thank you for sending that in, dear reader - that was a lot of fun to write! I do love me some face stepping and great aftercare 🥵

I'm gonna go take a cold shower now.

--

You can read about some Alastor Aftercare in the AU version

The Importance of Aftercare [AU]

If you're looking for something a bit fluffier, check out my multi-chapter Alastor x Reader fic

From One Hell to Another

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin #alastor is in hell for a reason #hazbin hotel lucifer #alastor fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #radio demon #lucifer fanfiction #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #alastor x reader #take that depression

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

That's Dick Magic, Baby!: Chaggie feat. Lucifer

Niffty: Charlie, I have a question.

Vaggie: No, you can not buy the Roach Blaster 5,000 to commit mass bug genocide.

Charlie: Vaggie, please. (To Niffty) What is it, Niffty?

Niffty: You're a Hellborn, right?

Charlie: Uh... yes?

Niffty: (to Vaggie) And you're an ex-Exorcist angel that was more or less Heaven born?

Vaggie: I- (pauses as she pinches her chin in thought) Huh... I'm actually not sure. I guess so?

Niffty: So, if Heaven born can have babies with humans and other Heaven born, and Hellborn can have babies with other Hellborn, does that mean that you two can have babies?

Angel: (in the distance) Ha! Hahahahahaha!

Charlie: (blushing profusely and plastering her hands to her face) N-Niffty, there's... um... more to making a baby than just being a compatible species.

Niffty: Like what?

Charlie: L-Like.... Um.... Vaggie, help me out here!

Vaggie: (several shades of purple darker from blushing and mumbling in Spanish)

Angel: (shouting from the other room) One of 'em needs a dick, Niffty!

Niffty: Oh, I knew that, but I figured that we're in Hell and Lucifer is literally Charlie's dad. I thought it was common knowledge that dick magic was a thing he could do.

Charlie: Say what now???

Lucifer 🍎: (bursts through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man) Diiiiiiiid somebody say dick magic?!

Charlie: Dad?! That's an actual thing?!

Lucifer 🍎: Of COURSE it's a thing!!! Watch!!! (Snaps his fingers)

Vaggie: Askfbdjsk!!! *POOF!!!* (Crumples to the floor as her wings spring out)

Charlie: Vaggie! (Drops to her knees) Babe! Are you okay?!

Vaggie: (blushing and slightly mortified) I think my insides just became my outsides...

Charlie: You're what? (Notices a bulge in Vaggies' skirt and her horns and tail poof into existence as her eyes turn the same blood red shade of her face) Oh~

Lucifer 🍎: (proudly) See? Dick magic. Now. What exactly were we talking about?

Niffty: I was wondering if Charlie and Vaggie could have a baby.

Lucifer 🍎: (plasters hand to hat) Ho! Um! Huh. T-Thats a good question! I'd assume so since Angel's don't have the same restrictions as sinners. Charlie, dear- (Looks around) Where did she go?

Niffty: She ran up the stairs with her tail dragging Vaggie along like a dog in a leash.

Lucifer 🍎: (silently screams and rushes to the stairs while magically pulling boxes of condoms out of his pockets) Chaaaaarlie!!!! Charlie Bear!!! Charliezard!!! Little Duckie!!! Wait!!! I don't care how adorable your babies would be!!! You need protection!!!!

Angel: (slowly dying from asphyxiation as he laughs)

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #lucifer morningstar #vaggie #dick magic #nifty hazbin hotel #niffty #angel dust #is it crack is its plausible #humor #demon charlie #angel vaggie #lucifer is ready to be a grandpa but just cant bring himself to give up his daughter's innocence yet

[anthurak]

Imagine if the whole entire seasons-long scheme Alastor clearly seems to be setting up by getting Charlie to make a deal with him ends up completely falling apart...

...simply because he specified that Charlie wouldn't have to HURT ANYONE.

Like it's pretty clear that at the time, Alastor made that caveat simply as a way to assuage any concerns Charlie might have and get her to take the deal. And to a nihilistic, self-centered cynic like Alastor, it probably didn't seem like a big deal. After all, so long as he doesn't ask Charlie to directly hurt anyone, he can get her to do just about anything. Say... doing something that would sever his contract with Lilith or something that would grant him incredible power.

But the funny thing is... 'not hurting anyone' is a very general, very BROAD caveat. With a LOT of ways it could be interpreted.

And someone as both kind and thoughtful as Charlie is WELL aware that actions have consequences.

Therefore, even if a request from Alastor did not require Charlie to directly hurt anyone, if fulfilling that request would lead to someone being hurt... well that would mean that Charlie would be hurting that person.

And imagine if by this point, Alastor has made it clear that HE wants to hurt people. In fact, all he wants is to hurt people.

So if his request to Charlie would enable his ability to hurt people... then that would mean that CHARLIE would have hurt people.

And just like that, Alastor's deal with Charlie becomes absolutely USELESS to him. Because Charlie can see where the results of her actions would lead, Alastor CAN'T ask her for anything that would lead to someone being hurt. Therefore he CAN'T ask her for anything he actually wants.

Or heck, maybe this could be taken even further:

Imagine if Alastor gets everything he wants from his request to Charlie. Freedom from his contract to Lilith, freedom from Hell and likely a LOT of power to go with it! He finally has EVERYTHING he's ever wanted!

...and then Alastor discovers that he simply... can't actually HURT anyone.

Because the ONE term of his contract with Charlie is that Charlie 'wouldn't have to hurt anyone' by fulfilling his request. Therefore, Alastor CAN'T hurt anyone now, because that would mean that Charlie would have hurt someone.

Thus, Alastor frees himself of Lilith's leash... only to find that he has unwittingly put himself on Charlie's leash.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin rambling #hazbin theory #hazbin alastor #charlie morningstar #alastors schemes being undone simply through charlie's kindness is PERFECT for this show

[dimepdf]

★  𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝟓𝟎𝟓. + 𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. jealousy is a terrible disease, and you and Eren are both suffering from a severe case of it.

✧. ┊    notes. back on the eren d rider train I need more fics of him BAD like there is a shortage of bad bitches that write for eren on my feed and I need that to be fixed real soon. | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

✧. ┊    word count. 3.2k (23 min read).

✧. ┊    genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | slight eren/mikasa in the beginning | (fr)enemies | established relationship | hurt/comfort | miscommunication | misunderstandings | sexual tension | jealousy | post-break up | make up sex | porn with feelings | grinding | fingering | unprotected sex | cowgirl | riding | hair pulling | we ignore typos here | title inspired by this song.

EREN WAS CONVINCED you were batshit crazy, that would be the only reason why your brain would always find some new reason to push him away enough to have him chase after you like you had a pretty pink leash around his neck hooked to a collar with his name on it. 

You would always manage to push his buttons just enough to tip him off, and in return, you weren’t the type to just sit back and let some man yell at you cause he certainly was not your father nor your mother.

The arguments you two would be involved in usually led to very amazing angry sex, clearing out a grace period enough to last until the next time you chose to push his buttons.

Well, this time it was different—at least that was your claimed reasoning for telling your friends why you and Eren were on another one of your famous relationship breaks. 

This one happened so fast that Eren wasn’t even sure what the hell he was talking about until you stormed out of his apartment and blocked his number for an entire week, holding onto the smallest things that reminded him of your existence. 

Wincing every time he would see your post on your Instagram story all dressed up and going out with your friends looking so unfazed. Maybe this time it actually was different, and the thought of that scared the absolute shit out of Eren. The heavy feeling of the thought of you losing you left with him a constantly collapsing moping pit forming in his stomach.

It was settled between his friends that they wouldn't let him mope around his place alone any longer, tired of hearing and depressed, mentioning your name on his lips, convincing him enough to coax him out of his apartment littered with reminders of you to hang out at some house party.

What those said friends failed to mention was that you would be there as well, with about seventy people scattered from the front yard to the pool in the back with music raging so loud he could feel the vibration from where he sat lounging watching you from his seat on the back porch.

He was supposed to be having a good time, getting messed up enough to not remember your name. Yet there he was, sitting slouched a few feet away from you, his heart on his sleeve. 

A blunt caught between his lips, minding his business as best as he possibly could, but it was just so hard to believe that he could hear the familiar pitch of your laughter filtered through the music.

"Dude," Connie sighs, interrupting Eren’s growing annoyance, his attention yanking away from where you stood, hugging up a little too closely for comfort to the smirking Armin. 

Eren hands the blunt over with a groan, his legs spreading comfortably and shifting back to lean with his back against the patio chair.

With his head resting on the headrest pillow, he closes his eyes tightly, praying for his high to hit him like a truck so fucking soon, wishing for just one night where he wouldn't have to deal with his annoying emotions for you. "Shit, my bad man, I didn't even know that she would be here." 

Connie rests his hand on Eren’s shoulder, helping ground him back down to earth. "But hey, are you gonna be alright?" The question lingered in the stale air before Eren could process the rigid tone behind it, his eyes fluttering open to Connie eyeing down someone from across the yard with a knowing horny spark in his eye, knowing that his friend was a natural-born player and that it would be just so unfair to hold him back from his natural element.

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead, man, I’ll be here." forcing a tight grin from his lips, Eren’s hand waving away his friend with a coaxing hand. "All alone.." he sighed under his breath once Connie had finally stalked away, leaving the dark-haired brunette to sit with his own flooding thoughts.

The sight in front of him making him feel as if he was witnessing a kamikaze from just a few steps away from how hard his heart was throbbing watching you completely ignore his existence as if you weren't just sprouting I love yous and kissing all over each other not even a few weeks ago.

He needs to move to get you out of his sight before the swallowing feeling can take up his entire mood and ruin his high. Stumbling around the large crowd of people, he parted through the crowd, finding the unknown kitchen counter that was decorated with enticingly labeled cheap liquor bottles and mixers that were calling his name. 

He hadn't even managed to get one cup down before the slush of his drink was met with the white of his graphic t-shirt, a curse hidden under his breath turning ready to spit the first insult on his mind he could spout from the large cloud of frustration festering from his annoyance only to be cut off. 

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry, dude." His attacker was a very apologetic and cute woman, with short dark hair, warm olive skin, and a very bold red bra peeking through the white cropped cami she wore, catching his attention embarrassingly quick enough for him to forget that it was better to actually make eye contact when speaking to another person.

His first initial words were punched back into his throat, a lazy smile taking their place instead. "It's already, uh, the drink tasted like shit anyways." He nervously chuckled, like he couldn't really help the nervousness that waved over him standing in the presence of a pretty girl who had introduced herself quite cheerily as Mikasa. 

If you had told him a few hours ago when he first arrived that he would actually be having fun, let alone sitting with some random girl in his lap, Eren would have called you crazy, yet there he was genuinely grinning ear to ear face to face with Mikasa, who had made it her personal mission to make Eren have a much better night than he was. 

The two getting awfully close in such a short span of time, sitting down clinging onto each other, sprouting out about absolutely nothing important but the genuine want to talk to each other, not to mention that It helps that Eren absolutely finds her stunning, their bodies sharing warmth sitting so close, it was only natural for the flushed feeling to take over with the rake of her nails tangling in his shaggy mullet.

He couldn't even use drinking as an excuse, babysitting the same drink she had remade for him as an apology for spilling the last one. There was really no real reason why he had suddenly leaned in and caught his lips against hers so hungrily. 

It doesn't help that Mikasa kisses him back with the same amount of eager roughness, practically straddling him on top of his lap at this point, the two heavily making out in the open.

With hands wandering, Eren reaches out a hold around her hips, his mind betraying him just a bit, not being able to fully push away the comparison to your figure. The thought makes him react with a wince, parting from the kiss with his tongue dragging over his parted lips.

Mikasa leans back, pushing his hair from his face while letting out a breathy fit of giggles, not discovering the hidden uncomfortable shift in Eren’s behavior. It wasn't her fault, he couldn't blame the girl for him being so caught up with his ex to the point where even when he was kissing other women, he couldn't help but get his mind off of you.

"If you want, we could go upstairs." Mikasa whispers in his ear, leading a shiver up his spine with a flash of sexual excitement. He is pleased at the end of her offer, locked in with the peck of her lips against his jawline.

The offer is absolutely knee-jerking, and if it were any other situation, Eren probably would have let this really pretty girl he just met jump his bone, but all the confidence that had been built up from the night had instantly drained the second he had caught your gaze from across the room. 

Both staring at each other pointedly, Eren’s lashes fluttered under your unflinched, hard glare as Mikasa continued to litter kisses with the promises of hickeys around his collarbone.

He wanted to feel so smug, wanted to use the new attention as a way to finally get back at you for making him feel the way that he felt watching you dance with Armin, but the revenge just didn't feel right, and his mood soured further at the thought of using some poor innocent girl to get back at you.

The intense eye contact is cut off by Mikasa bringing her face closer to his, seeking out another kiss. Eren squeezes his eyes closed, wanting nothing more but to get the looping image of you and Armin out of his damned head.

"What do you say?" being reminded in a soft whisper of the intimate question still in the air from earlier, the creep of her fingers dawning down his chest and rubbing with intention at the crotch of his jeans, Eren grabbing her wandering hand before it could do any more active damage.

"Maybe...maybe we shouldn’t right now," Eren sheepishly responds, his eyes searching for any ounce of rejection on her features,trying to shake the sight of you from his attention.

Mikasa doesn't seem all that hurt, if anything, she nods her head in understanding, taking no for an answer without another word, pulling her hands away and wrapping them around his shoulders instead, her head turning enough to show that she knows his attention is entirely too spent on someone else.

"What a player," she chuckles knowingly, not quite catching a glance at you, yet her eyes still scan around the room. "Something tells me I should go get another drink before whoever you're looking for comes and bites off my head." And just like that, Eren's perfect distraction slips through his fingers, and he's left alone once more, kicked back with the same emotions he had coming into the party.

His attention is rudely pulled back towards you as you appear in front of him. It was like you were hunting, searching for the perfect moment when he had his guard down to strike.

You placed your hand on your hips as he dared to stare up at you through his lashes, his body too at ease with the disappointed expression twisted on your face. "Are you fucking drunk right now?"

"Well, is this not a party?" Eren replies almost too easily, his tone has deepened enough to get a shifted, sneering reaction from you at the snappy comeback. Watching your movements a bit too intensely as your arms crossed over your chest, Eren didn't bother to look away from how plump your breasts looked in the pretty little crop top you managed to squeeze them into.

"I was going to ask if you wanted a ride home since I saw Connie dip with someone, but excuse me, I see that you're too busy tongue-fucking any random slut willing to give it out tonight, huh?" Your insults dig deep, even with the drooling sight of your tight-skirted figure dancing right in front of him. Eren sucked in a breath at the acknowledgement.

"You broke up with me." He spoke straight to your thighs, his tongue tracing over the bottom of his lip now that he could see just how good you looked tonight. All dressed up with your makeup done, his heart didn't want to imagine what you were hoping to get into if his presence wasn't there to ruin the mood. "Remember?"

"Fine, walk your ass home." Rolling your eyes and storming away, knowing that he was in the right, Eren let out a sigh before sleazily trailing behind your grumbling every step.

Watching the sway of your hips as you walk in front of him all the way to your car, slumping into the passenger side without any word even as you continued to have a one-sided conversation about how much of an asshole he was for not saying bye to his little girlfriend he was kissing on even though Eren was pretty sure Mikasa would be more understanding than what you were giving her credit for. 

The drive home is tense, the soft pitter of rain hitting the windshield wipers as the streetlights leech orange and white colors through your tinted windows. The radio played lowly, not loud enough to recognize the soft melody of something playing but not quite low enough to have you both sitting in complete silence.

"Are you guys talking?" Eren’s voice is still deep, almost cushioning from how gently he posed the question, almost as if he were so loud that he would be afraid to scare you away.

Your fingers clench around the leather of the wheel, eyes glancing away from the road for just a split second to give him a knitted-brow look. "What, who are you talking about?"

Eren feels like he’s back in middle school again, fidgeting with the bottom hem of his shirt, all nervous around you. "You and Armin, you guys looked pretty close at the party." He could almost taste the bitterness on his tongue, his head leaning back on the headrest, looking how desperate he had to look, practically pining over you with his broken-hearted expression.

"I should ask the same for you then." You ignore him, reaching to dial the music just a bit louder, not wanting to sit in silence if it meant opening up a question and answer panel between just him and you. 

The statement hurts, both physically and emotionally. Eren gets reminded of the pit still forming in his stomach.

The frowning emotion threatening a knot in his throat, having to swallow down the absolute word vomit of apologizes and begging he has threatened to spill from his throat in your honor, "Well, I’ve missed you." Was all that he could manage before he had to physically turn himself away from you, using the pressing cold glass to help aid the burning firepit of emotions he had covering the rest of his reasonability in dark, thick sud.

You didn't react, at least not in line of sight, even if you heard him, you hadn’t shown any acknowledgement of his heartbreaking confession. Not even when you pulled into his driveway had you bothered to give him a glance other than the action of you sliding off your seatbelt and letting him sit in the car for a breath before he was trialing after you once more.

Trudging through his apartment, even with you inside the home walls, you still felt a sense of lonesomeness. "Ren…" 

"Do you wanna come to bed?" Your voice sounds through the halls, following back to his bedroom, the door left ajar enough to see you lying in the place right where he had thought you belonged, blankets lifted open, enticing him to lie down next to you with a sobering small smile.

Crawling under the blankets right next to you without another word, cuddling against your chest, wrapping his arms around the front of your torso, and hugging close enough for you to lean with your back resting against the mattress as his face rubbed against the plush of your falling and rising cushioning breast.

"I’ve…missed you too." You lowly admit, using your acrylics to softly comb through the back of his hair, easing back his tension farther with a small kiss pecked on the top of his forehead.

The sound of the blanket shifting as it carries with Eren’s movements, his arms ankling at both sides of your head, holding himself up from pressing you with his entire body weight as he slots himself between your part legs.

Your fingers twining tighter into his scalp as he leans down for a kiss, the muffle of his moan pressing against your seeking lips, letting you slip your tongue inside of his mouth, adding to the rising heated makeout session.

The pace never lets up, growing with more eagerness. Eren frees one of his arms, letting his hands wander down, squeezing your thigh part by the bend of the knee, and having your skirt ride up unwearable to your waist.

Knuckling aside the lace of your panties away from your pussy, he used the pad of his thumb to tease at your clit only adding sinking two digits into the equation. Your cunt welcomed them with a greedy buck at the buck of your hips against his touch, kicking off his jeans awkwardly.

Eren is already sweating from the grouling press of his hard cock miserably untouched against your thigh, grinding shamelessly against your leg while his fingers pistoned with a lewd wet squelch from your coated arousal inside of you.

Pausing only when your fist tugs with a knot full of his hair tangled between your knuckles, your other hands push him away by the press of your palm against his chest.

Switching positions with Eren almost a little too obentaintly with you sitting straddled on his lap in an all too familiar position, you look angelic on top of him with your hair dawning over your face knocking out of his daze with a hiss at the slow teasing feeling of your fingers wrapping around the length of his cock and pressing his tip at the folds of your entrance. 

"I’ve missed you." The soft brush of your coo fans against his face from how close you were, and with your noses brushing, you both react breathlessly to the feeling of you lowering yourself down on his cock. The thrusting clench of his hips living up from the mattress and intruding deeper inside of you left him whimpering under your touch. "I’ve missed you so, so much, Ren."

The pace of your bouncing hips is relentless, starting at your own brutal pace and grounding yourself with heavy palms pressed against his chest.

Eren couldn't do anything but lie back and whine against your mouth, as you used him for your own release from the mental war he had to not end the fun for which he had been craving all week. Whimpering at the amazing feeling he missed so badly at your pussy squeezing against him so snuggly as if your body had just been made for him so perfectly. 

Eren’s hands help guide the grind of your hips as your muscles tense and tremble on top of him suddenly, your body going rigid, hugging your collapsed body against his hold, begging a string of nonsense as your cunt continues to milk him until his very last drop.

His hips don't bother halting, switch positions as he lays on top to help with his lazy, slow strokes, listening to your soft whines as you hug him closer to you, wrapping your trembling legs against his hips and pulling him as deep as you possibly could.

“I missed you too baby.”

🔖 @m0mmym1lk3r-png / @kawatabae / @haitaniwhor3 / @pluzo / @hey-gurls69 / @momoewn / @sheluvzeren / @kogoshidied / @zombieghoulfriend / @hoohoohope / @jadeisthirsting / @zuuki / @watyousayin / @rumi-rants / @justanotherkpopstanlol / @awkwardaardvarkforever / @chloee0x0 / @lexiinanime / @melty-kisses / @kageyama-i-want-tobiors / @namidaass / @princesstiti14 / @unholybabyface / @wenumsmol / @kiyomeichann / @ziggy-09 / @anotherlovelyruin / @s-witch-bitch / @laylasbunbunny / @celi-xxmoon / @toji-dabi-wife / @dilfs-lover / @dunixxd / @songbirdgardensworl / @emery-333 / @mimixrx2 / @souljagrldotcom / @carcarmeowmeow19 / @p-rizz-ha / @lilvampirina / @atsumubabe / @lialia3945 / @yazmunson / @professional-2d-guy-simp / @niyizh / @maki-z / @marzipaanz /

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#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ] #eren yeager #eren jeager #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #eren jeager x reader #aot smut

[thedrunkenreadersreviews]

Regarding Alastor's Hallway Scene in Episode 5 of "Hazbin Hotel"

Good day, folks! As sweet Mimzy said, "...pour a few fingers of rye and he turns into a kitten" so let's do that. Let me set up my Redemption, and let's get into this.

*Sip, sip*

Now, this is quite an interesting thing; the phenomenon of the reactions I have been seeing particularly regarding Alastor in episode 5 of Hazbin Hotel has been ... curiouser and curiouser.

*Sip, sip*

The big question that I think we should be asking after this episode is who Alastor is leashed to---but there seems to be something else on people's minds and that is the interaction Alastor had with Husk in the hallway of the hotel. I mean, every great character needs an epic hallway scene. For Star Wars it was Vader and Luke. For Hazbin, it is Alastor. Let's explore this.

*Sip, sip*

As a society, feasting on entertainment, whether it be through books or films or a series, fans often say that they enjoy the "villain" or "morally grey" character as opposed to those who are set on their compass of goodness. I find this to be a lie that we often tell ourselves and believe completely.

Sure, we find them more entertaining and thus we favor them, but then we try to find excuses for their behavior, make it a despicable act that is done for righteous reasons. Or because we desire to see someone who is tremendously struggling or has a rather horrid reputation overcome this and prove to be a fantastic character underneath all the layers of darkness. We don't like them because they are bad. We may pity them for they often have the most tragic backstories, or we see the potential of their goodness. But we like them because we believe that everyone in their universe has the wrong perspective of their wickedness while we, outsiders looking in, see the potential of their heroics. What they can do despite everything.

That is not liking a character because they are the villain. That is liking a character because of why they are the villain and how they can overcome it.

A few examples:

Rhysand dressing Feyre up like a whore and tattooing her without her consent: well, he was doing that to protect her and help her.

Darth Vader: Mass murderer and second in command of an empire built on absolute control; but he fulfilled the prophecy of the Chosen One and had originally fallen because he wanted to save the love of his life and his unborn children.

Loki: Yeah, he slaughtered 80 people in 2 days, attacked NYC with an alien army killing hundreds if not thousands in the process, and committed genocide prior to that, BUT that's because he was severely broken and now he sits all alone at the end of time, saving an infinite amount of people.

Granted, I love 2/3 of those characters because of the reasons provided. But also because in their prime they were WICKED!

*Sip, sip*

Now let's look at Alastor.

Alastor, the Radio Demon, and one of the most feared overlords of Hell ... threatened one of the souls he owns. And now, I see people comparing him to Val or saying they hated him at that moment or now have a poor taste for him in their mouths. But ... this is exactly what you asked for from him.

*Sip, sip*

Val, who ACTIVELY tortures Angel Dust, is being used as the comparison for Alastor because he THREATENED and scared Husk after Husk stepped over the line.

*Sip, sip*

Alastor, when alive, was a serial killer. Alastor in Hell captured overlords, tortured them, broadcasted the torture throughout Hell, and became one of the most feared overlords.

He didn't do that by being "nice" or "charming." He did that by being vile and not for a greater good. He did it because, as far as we know, he wanted power. And, damn, he got it.

Demons KNOW to be afraid of Alastor. Granted, his reputation may have faltered because he has been away for 7 years but before his departure and even upon his return, for the most part, demons avoid Alastor as though he were death incarnate.

*Sip, sip*

Now, let's examine him in episode 5. Only the scene that is getting the most traction; I'll talk about Alastor and Lucifer in another post. But let's look at this scene:

Alastor and Husk in the hallway.

*Sip, sip*

Let me put some quotes here real quick:

From the Pilot:

Husk to Alastor: "Don't you [Alastor, the owner of my soul] 'Husker' me, you son of a bitch!"

Husk to Alastor: "Are you [Alastor, the owner of my soul] shitting me?"

Husk to Alastor: "You [Alastor, owner of my soul whom I have just shoved off of me] think it must be some big fucking riot just to pull me out of nowhere? You think I'm some kind of fucking clown? [even though I am contractually obligated to obey your summons]"

Husk to Alastor: "I [the one contracted to serve you and obey your commands] ain't doing no fucking charity job [even though you told me by your order that I have to]."

Alastor to Husk: "Don't worry my friend [you, who sold your soul to me so that you could keep your power because you almost gambled it all away], I can make this more welcoming [providing you with something that you enjoy even though you are contractually obligated to obey my commands without payment/reward], if you wish."

From episode 5:

Alastor to Husk: "It's nothing I can't handle, don't worry, Husker. [Proceeds to walk away, leaving the conversation] Who in their right mind would cross me? [Continues to walk away, posing the question as rhetorical and not requiring an answer]."

Husk to Alastor: "... You've been gone a while. And it's not like anybody knows why---"

Alastor to Husk: "They don't need to know. [And it does not need to be discussed further, so leave it alone.] And don't you worry your fuzzy head about it. [Drop it. Drop it now. Don't pick it up]"

Husk to Alastor: "You may own my soul, but I ain't your fucking pet!"

[Personally, I think Val would have instantly backhanded AD for that alone.]

Alastor to Husk: "Hmhm. But you are [So stop talking, just let it go, I'm letting a lot slide here]."

Husk to Alastor [the owner of his soul, who has slaughtered overlords of Hell]: "Big talk for someone who is also on a leash."

Alastor to Husk: "Aha. What did you say? [Now you have tested my patience too much!]"

*Sip, sip*

In the pilot, Husk openly and without fear insults and cusses at Alastor. And what does Alastor, the owner of his soul, do? He lets it slide.

In the one scene between them in the hallway, Alastor essentially still does nothing even though it is evident that Husk struck a nerve. At least twice over in this scene alone, Alastor gives subtle hints to Husk that it is best he just stops. And it is not like he even dismisses Husk's worries about Mimzy or even his absence. It's more along the lines of, "Oh, I know she is in trouble and came here for me to clean up her mess, but I am a bit occupied at the moment dealing with the actual King of Hell, so I'll get to it when I get to it. Just keep her busy for now." And in regards to his absence, he makes it abundantly clear that Husk is better off just not mentioning anything about it. He cuts Husk off, and essentially says, "Look, just keep quiet about it. It's no one's business but mine and I'm fine, I can handle it, so let's just leave it alone."

All the talk people say of Alastor having a big ego, oh undoubtedly, but it makes sense why Husk is in pride in this one scene alone. Alastor tells him "let it go," and moves to walk away from the conversation.

But Husk pushes. And pushes. And on that final shove, I think Husk even knows before Alastor got mad that he went TOO far.

*Sip, sip*

And Alastor still, for the most part, does nothing.

He reminds Husker that he owns his soul, pulls on the chain just to knock Husker off-kilter, and then, rather demonically, tells Husk to not EVER mention the fact that he is leashed again. Honestly, with what Alastor COULD do to Husk ... that was letting him off SUPER easy. Like, Husk should be kissing his feet that that threat was the only punishment he received for that comment.

Val? Forget it. AD would probably be filming for 3 days straight. Alastor doesn't even touch Husk.

This move is also a sense of security for Alastor, I think. Husk probably thought this was just another comment that would result in Alastor just ignoring it. But it takes Alastor by surprise and destroys his comfort. He loses himself in a fit of fury and pulls on Husk's leash to remind both Husk and himself, "Yeah, I might be leashed but I still own YOUR soul, Husk! So do not test me!"

*sip, sip*

So, yeah, Husk gets scared, as he should. Alastor is terrifying.

Should this lessen our opinion of Alastor as it seems to have done with so many fans?

No. Absolutely not. If anything, this scene provides balance to that paradox I supplied earlier; how we like the evil characters because of the good they could do but we should also like them because they are evil and should be expected to do evil things.

Alastor IS evil. He owns Husk's soul.

And yet, this evil overlord allows Husk to get away with soooo much. And when Husk oversteps, as he absolutely did, to not even be smacked by Alastor speaks volumes of Alastor's opinion of Husk.

*Sip, sip*

Here is my speculation:

Husk obviously knows more about Alastor than most. But Alastor owns hundreds if not thousands of souls. Husk is someone he calls on often, obviously. Husk knows Alastor is leashed. Faustisse, a former employee of Spindle Horse, and one of the original teammates beside Viv for the Hazbin project said that Alastor regards Husk as one of his closest friends. Perhaps not friend, but maybe one of his closest confidants. Why else would Husk know that Alastor is leashed? Granted, we cannot tell from the dialogue if Husk knows where Alastor was for 7 years or even if he knows who Alastor is leashed to. To some extent, though, Alastor must trust Husk.

In this scene, Husk violates that trust. He deserved to be threatened, reminded, and terrified. I adore Husk. He is one of my favorite characters and when I saw the hallway scene, I thought Husk deserved way worse than what he got.

And Alastor still takes what Husk had to say about Mimzy into consideration. He still tells Mimzy, a friend he has had since he was alive, that she needs to leave.

*sip, sip*

Yes, Alastor is evil. And it is soooooo good to see him BE evil. And not for a good cause but just because someone got under his skin. He owns Husk and he lets Husk off very easy. So to see him lose his temper and not even physically hurt Husk allows the nugget of possible, minuscule glimmer of somewhat kindness to linger.

I loved the hallway scene. It did a fantastic job of showing us what Alastor COULD be if he really wanted to, why you shouldn't mess with him, and how he elicits fear.

Val lords over his souls through physical abuse. Alastor does it mentally when called for. They are two totally different overlords with really no comparison to be made between them save for this: they are both evil.

*Sip, sip*

Alastor ate in episode 5 and left no crumbs. He remains, quite possibly, the most interesting character in the show. I cannot wait to discover more of him and watch him be absolutely wicked towards others.

Cheers to you, Radio Demon. If I were in Hell and had to be leashed to anyone, I would want to be leashed to you.

*Sip, sip*

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin alastor #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel episode 5 #hazbin hotel pilot

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: Dreava Bleek, Gallowood Sheriff

It's a gruesome business enforcing the law, especially when the laws are written by an aristocracy who wants their subjects submissive and terrified and it's your business to keep them that way.

There have always been people like Dreava Bleek, blunt instruments that enforce the social order so those at the top needn't bloody their hands. They do it for many reasons; coin, ambition, sadism, but in the case of this villain it's misplaced righteousness: Dreava has had a hatred burning in the pit where her heart should be since she was a child, a bone deep conviction that if people just knew their place and followed the rules that the world could be a place of pace. Nevermind the powerful that abuse the system for their own gain, nevermind the starving poor who break the law only to fill their bellies. In Dreava's word there are only good citizens and criminals, and criminals will hang.

Adventure Hooks:

Dreava earned both her reputation and her title in her campaign against the Gallerwood outlaws, a band of highwaymen who were famed for robbing everyone from wizards and duchesses and who Dreava left hanging from the trees along the edge of their forest. After her little stunt folks started calling the area "Gallowwood" and speaking of how her victims still haunt the roads looking for one last take. Some others mention a secret hideout that the sheriff never found, in which the thieves kept their most valued treasures.

The two easiest ways for the party to end up in Dreava's sights are to already be criminals, or to make themselves the enemy of some belligerent noble who can accuse them (accurately or not) of some transgression of the law

Backgorund: Dreava was young when darkness was wrought upon her soul, when a series of poor harvests and overstepping officials saw her little village rise with its neighbours in a revolt against their feudal overlord. She lost her home and her mother not in the uprising itself but in the violent pillage the lord's forces were allowed after its brutal suppression.

A flip of the coin and Dreava could have been a rebel fighting against authority, but in those grim days the alchemy of terror instilled in her an understanding of just what happens when the poor overstep the place allotted to them by their betters.

Since then her life has followed a pattern. Get hired on by some lord after having difficulty with bandits or other such rabblerousers. Make a show of brutal violence that seems to put an end to the problem for good. Continue to build her reputation until she either becomes her patron's bloody left hand, making their followers just as brutal and jackbooted as she is. End up entering into the service of another lord either on recommendation or after she's ousted for some violence that not even the benefice of the nobility can forgive.

Further Adventures:

Rather than a head on confrontation, Dreava will seek to bait the party into a trap, either by setting up an ambush or going after their known associates. Coerce, intimidate, brutalize, leashed in only by the very limit of what the law might allow. If she doesn't have proof of the party's guilt she'll drag them off to a dungeon to await a sham trial (from which they might be able to escape), but if she's been given the goahead by her superiors she'll gladly execute the heroes in the field, a grim situation which has it's own escape methods.

All her life the sheriff had sworn by the goddess Erathis, seeing herself as a champion of law and civilization. What a surprise for her then after the heroes sever her soul from her body to awake in the halls of the lord of all hells.  While the other gods turned their heads away in shame and disgust, Asmodeus watched with appreciation as Dreava bent her life to punishing sinners, and now offers her the chance to do so again, this time in his service. With a new master to serve and chip on her shoulder against the party Dreava will gladly agree, emerging from her damnation with a newly fiendish form. Consider having her emerge as a surprise villain several levels after the party thought her dead, and the head of a band of fiendish cultists.

Art

#bounty hunter #villain #low level #bountyhunter #rival #villain authority #outlaw #asmodeus #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder

[dekusleftsock]

This is your hazbin hotel warning so sorry 🫶🫶🫶

OKAY SO, a thing I haven’t seen this fandom consider is that Alastor doesn’t deal in souls. Or, not often at least.

If there has I’d honestly like to see the posts bc this is a thought I’ve seen basically just me and my sister talk about. He doesn’t care—I’d even argue he thinks he’s too good to do so, thinks it’s too easy.

There’s a couple reasons I believe this, one of which being his backstory arriving in hell. Let it be known, the reason all of hell was impressed by his takeover as the radio demon was solely because he does not own any industry. He doesn’t have some company he’s been building for several decades. He didn’t join in with other overlords for shared power. He arrived in hell, and disrupted the power structure of overlords, and sinners. (We’ll get back to this later)

And the reason all of these overlords own major industries, famous for their insane production value and craft, is because the way that overlords gain power is through souls. Employment therefore being THROUGH these contracts (I’m going to refer to deals having to do with souls as contracts from now on, just to make a distinction). This is why Angel is owned by Valentino as a pornstar. It’s why Vox can just “call up the lowest earners this month” for Valentino to shoot for sport. It’s why Velvette can call her models hideous and let Valentino tear apart her best model. None of these souls, these employees, have any say in what or when or who their employers say they have to do. They simply do not have the autonomy to do so.

Now this calls in the question then, how did Alastor gain his overlord powers? If he owns souls, they are either ones he was given or earned from other overlords (ex, Alastor wins all of husker’s souls in a game of poker, leaving him powerless, and making his deal in the first place), or they were given to him by an overlord themself. Alastor CAN make souls stay at the hotel, but presumably, it’s not because he owns them.

If Alastor owned any other souls than Nifty and Husk’s, they would already be working at the hotel. We get back to that employment dynamic, contracts are means of living. None of these sinners had a choice because sinners have to make contracts to live.

Now, okay, we’ve established why Alastor’s overlord status is confusing and honestly makes no sense, why overlords are even overlords in the first place, the class metaphor and dynamic of the whole situation, AND why we know Alastor doesn’t own that many souls.

Now, I present you this: Alastor does not want Charlie’s soul. Alastor, wants to be rid of the overlord class completely.

LET ME PREFACE THIS BY SAYING: I KNOW The current ideas in the fandom of Alastor are that he wants more power. But, to be honest, the last scene with his character feels disingenuous to this idea.

Clearly, he’s in a deal with someone else. Clearly, this system has affected him too. Clearly, he just wants an out in the first place.

So, let’s go back to when Alastor first arrives in hell. Mimzy narrates how people dismissed him. How he wasn’t taken seriously. And then, proceeds to imply that targeting overlords for his radio show was to show said strength. Because Alastor was not someone to be dismissed.

And this characterization furthers in the episode itself: Alastor immediately has some beef with Lucifer because he’s a far more powerful being who wanted to dismiss his presence in the first place, preferring his daughter. Where they then have a pissing contest musical number, and Alastor generally dislikes him afterwords. My man even wipes his hand on his shirt after shaking his staff.

Not only that, but when Husk even IMPLIES that he’s not strong enough to handle whatever Mimzy has gotten herself into this time, that he’s still someone on a leash, he rampages on a killing spree to prove that he’s “still the baddass radio demon”.

This isn’t even mentioning when Carmilla said she wasn’t curious as to why he was gone. He needs to be important, to be noticed.

I understand that Alastor is genuinely someone who must prove themself and show their strength. It’s probably why he became a serial killer in the first place.

However, I think there’s a deeper intention with solely targeting overlords—one of his only contracts is with Husker, an ex overlord. The question would also be, why would he not put husk in his radio show as well?

Clearly, based on the fact that he warns him that Mimzy is just using him, that she’s a fake friend, they at the very least were amicable with each other. At some point. Maybe even still are. They STILL banter. And this isn’t to say it’s some weird “I’m in love with my kidnapper uwu” situation, this happened well before they were in a contract together in the first place.

Not only that, but Husker earned his souls, and therefore his power and overlord status, through gambling. He didn’t have some big scary industry, he wasn’t trapping people in these forever deals because they had no choice, he gained these through the unethical means of others. Maybe… Alastor believed that the ways in which he dealt souls, were different.

I can’t help but think that the company entirely surrounding taking away consent is the ONE COMPANY/THREE OVERLORDS that Alastor simply does not fuck with.

Not only that, but the only other overlord he’s friendly with is one that… just genuinely helps the people she employs? Just give them advice? Makes it THEIR CHOICE to march with someone else into battle? I love Rosie.

This isn’t to say Alastor is some saint that cares super oober deeply about consent. He doesn’t. If he did he wouldn’t be associating with overlords in the first place. He wouldn’t be taking advantage of people in such lowly positions.

All of this is to build the argument that Alastor does not own souls, nor associate with people who own them in irresponsible or unnecessarily cruel ways.

And, to further this point, Alastor most likely thinks it’s stupid in the first place.

In the pilot (which I understand isn’t COMPLETELY canon but it’s still Alastor’s character so. Whatever) Alastor almost immediately tries to jump Charlie with a deal. Work at the hotel, in exchange…?

But notice that this does not include ownership of her soul. At all.

In episode 7 before Charlie makes her deal, she asks, “You want…my soul?” And while he has this weird radio-y affect that goes all over the place while he says “your soul”, he also immediately replies in the most babying voice ever “Heavens no!” Like the very idea of needing her soul was silly. Ridiculous. Idiotic.

And, not only this, but when Vaggie bursts in to try and “save” her, he also rolls his eyes as he says “oh relax, she still owns her soul.” Again, babying. Infantilizing. Ridiculous.

It, again, feels like he doesn’t take the concept seriously. Like he thinks they’re almost too easy. To me, it’s clear he never wanted her soul. He’s always been far more interested in what Charlie can do for him, and what she can do with her dream.

Owning Charlie’s soul would simply give power over her, and her alone. Even in the interpretation that he “wants more power” she’s still just one person, one soul, one hell born. It’s so small inmemorable in the grand scheme of things. If he really wanted power through means of souls, he would fight the upward battle of capitalist destruction that is the overlord monetary system.

SO THIS IS ALL OVER THE PLACE, AND I ALSO WANTED TO WRAP THIS UP WITH ALASTOR’S TRUE MOTIVATION BEING DISRUPTING POWER—but this is also far too long and I’ve been writing for like. An hour straight lmao. I need a break and I wanna post this. So.

#alastor #literary analysis #hazbin hotel #hazbin spoilers #hazbin alastor #alastor analysis #hazbin hotel husk #no shipping sorry y’all love ya tho🫶🫶 #hazbin charlie

[lavenoon]

I continue giving Angor his soul back. Set somewhere later in the universe alteration of Severing Hell's Leash, the two champions get to talk and Angor gets to give questionable advice

#post let luce #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #jim lake jr #angor rot #my art #THEYRE NARRATIVE FOILS AND ILL KILL ON THAT HILL #my issue with drawing angor are the many many details #my issue with drawing jim is HES JUST BLUE #jim LAKE is blue who wouldve thunk #ah perhaps i shall also tag that ua/au thing #severing hell's leash

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Thank you so much for the furfrou headcannons I absolutely loved it🥰

May I request headcannons for Arven,penny,Nemoma and Mr Hassel(my new dad) with a reader who actually lost their main partner who was a deathly protective mightyena but was…removed should we say…by their dad who was a fighting type gym leader but hated that his kid had a Pokémon like Mightyena,so he had a incredibly violent fight with his lucario and mighty was unfortunately lost in the end.Reader ran away and found a little rockruff puppy who was abandoned,he later became a dusk form lycanrock who is fiercely protective of reader.

I wonder how Hassel would react to a parent doing something so unforgivable to their child and seeing how close she is to her lycanrock and how terrified of fighting types she is.

How would Arven feel seeing someone who dropped everything to help him because she couldn’t stand seeing the cycle repeat in a way.

What about nemona? Would reader be terrified to let lycanrock battle against her pawmot?

If this is to dark I completely understand!

Oh ouch :(( This is fine to request dw!

......

Arven

He knows a thing or two about having shitty parents.

But absolutely nothing could've prepared him for the truth of why you never spoke to your dad and went through so much trouble to help his Mabosstiff recover:

Because you, too, had a dark type dog Pokémon partner..but tragically lost them after a vicious battle with your dad, a fighting type gym leader who was disappointed in you choosing Mightyena as your ace.

You two had an argument that turned violent as he sent his Lucario against Might, Mega Evolving him to teach you both a "lesson" that ended up wounding them badly.

He didn't think it was fatal, but sadly not even a Pokémon Center could heal their severe injuries.

So you comforted Might in their last moments, burying them that night and grieving, before running away from home--never speaking to your father again after that incident.

At some point, you found a friend in an abandoned Rockruff: a very young one left on a leash outside by their trainer.

You two formed a connection, and years later they remained by your side, having evolved into a Dusk Lycanroc that had the same protectiveness and loyalty as Might once did.

Arven already has tears in his eyes by the time you finish telling him everything, and when you bring out Lycanroc, he has nothing but respect for them.

Both of you wind up making sandwiches and take a break from tracking down the Titan Pokémon.

He's glad he opened up to you, and vice versa.

But boy, he'd love to give your dad hell for what he put you through.

Penny

During Operation: Starfall, you had a pretty bad panic attack when Eri brought out Lucario--an event that Penny unfortunately witnessed.

Your Dusk Lycanroc knew why you were so distressed and, despite the obvious type disadvantage, was fueled with enough rage to cleave through her team and take down the Starmobile.

After that, they helped you calm down and recuperate.

Later, after Penny reveals that she's the Team Star leader, she talks to you in private and admits to seeing that frightening moment.

But she's still unsure why you reacted that way.

Since she was open to you, though, you decided to open up to her about your past with Mightyena and how you lost them after fighting your dad's Lucario.

And you see the shock in her eyes before she shakily mutters "I'm so sorry", realizing she played a part in making you relive that trauma by battling Eri.

But you reassure her it's okay. She didn't know, and you don't hold it against either of them.

You've just been afraid of fighting types for so long, which is why you saved the Caph Squad base for last.

She's a gal of few words, but she's willing to lend you her Eeveelutions for emotional support should you ever need them.

There's a good chance she's always gonna feel somewhat guilty, especially when she catches Lycanroc sneaking glares at Eri and her team.

Nemona

Your battles with her start out normal, with your Dusk Lycanroc taking down most of her team with ease.

But when she sent out her Pawmo for the first time, you become frozen with fear--something that she notices right away and stops the fight.

She asks if you're okay, but you just quietly switch Lycanroc out for another Pokémon and swiftly end the battle before leaving.

It'll be a long while before you admit to Nemona why you looked so terrified that day, so she assumes you had a bad experience with a Pawmo before.

But when you feel comfortable enough to tell her, she feels guilty and promises to change up her team.

Ngl she's probably gonna tear up after learning how awful your dad was to your Mightyena.

She vows to battle the bastard himself and take away his gym badge for good.

But you tell her it's okay. Karma will come for him, and you just wanted to continue healing from your past wounds.

Eventually, you'll be fine battling her Pawmot, though knowing her passion you just...have this nagging fear that she might overdo it and seriously hurt your Lycanroc.

So you avoid using them if she sends that one out.

Hassel

Of all the teachers, he was closest to being the father figure you always wanted, but never got (considering your own was a dirtbag who didn't deserve his gym badge).

So you trusted him a lot, often chatting with him about homework, his elite four job, or how your treasure hunt was going.

But one day, Hassel notices how sad and distant you seemed in class today.

Considering you're always participating, it's unusual seeing you be so quiet.

So he asks you to stop by later, wondering what was weighing so heavily on your mind.

He may or may not have brought you to tears as you explain that today was the anniversary of your Mightyena's death.

After you go into detail of how your Dusk Lycanroc became your next companion, he starts sobbing his eyes out while hugging you.

Never in his life could he imagine a parent doing something so awful to their child's Pokémon.

It shatters him to know that you, too, were being forced to follow in someone else's footsteps, with your dad wanting to raise fighting-type trainers but you wishing to have a dark-type partner...and ultimately being punished for it.

Since then, Hassel has been 100% supportive of you, always saying that he'd proud of you and how well you raised your Lycanroc.

#clanask #pokemon x reader #pokemon scarlet x reader #pokemon violet x reader #pokemon arven #pokemon arven x reader #pokemon nemona #pokemon nemona x reader #pokemon penny #pokemon penny x reader #pokemon hassel #platonic #mightyena #dusk lycanroc #headcanons #tw death

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

SNAIL & THRUSH (II)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER III ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, talks of death, thoughts of violence, banter but it’s more just straight up attacks

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Can you—” An aggressive sigh sounds out over the air as your fast-walking form continues on; the earth molding to your shoes. “The area isn’t locked down this far out, Ma’am. Can you just get in the bloody car, please?”

Your eyes stare straight ahead, half-lidded, and could probably melt a sheet of metal if they had to. 

Not answering, you continue to walk back into town, ignoring Gaz entirely as he attempts to coax you into the large car he’s driving. The window is down, his accented voice hitting your ears and bouncing off the invisible barrier you had put there to block out his prattle about a mile back. 

You utterly refuse to enter the vehicle, even if you were already as tired as a marathon runner. The person driving followed you at a snail’s pace at his wit's end.

Stepping on gravel that crunches under your weight, your fists swing clenched beside you in small clipped arches. If volatile had a picture attached to the definition page, it would be you.

Not only had you figured out Samson Row was dead before you could kill him yourself, but now you had to deal with weapon and drug lords who had it out for you and your mother.

Under your breath, quick worded mumbles are missed over the car’s engine, the slow forward motion of tires that stir the dust and leaves you blinking quickly. 

You’d both been at this ever since you’d forced your way out of the garage back on Base and had restrained yourself from making a scene because they had refused to give you your laptop back.

“Protection detail,” your lips curl, thinking over Laswell’s clipped sentences. “Like I want your help after all of this. Just open your home, why don’t you?” Sarcastic flails of your hands leave Gaz groaning and rolling his eyes at the childish scene, a hand going to rub over his neck soothingly. The attempt to bring clarity back to himself only barely works. “Just accept that we can’t keep our own operatives on a leash—but here! Just take the one that forced you into the back of a van and put a revolver to your forehead—God!”

“Are you done out there yet?” Kyle calls, single grip over his hat as he glares out the windshield, no longer wanting to look at you as your teeth bare else he’d get to the end of his rope before he even started climbing. “Bit of a walk back to town, y’know. Not exactly how I’d want to spend my morning, copy?” He mutters the last sentence under his breath. 

Don’t want to spend any bloody mornings like this.

“If you tell me one more time to get into the car,” you level as you crush a weed in your way, “I’m sprinting off into the field and making you run after me.” 

A long scoff and an exasperated shake of his head later, Gaz is growling an acknowledgment; tapping his fingers over the wheel. Did you not understand the severity of the situation? Hell, it was like you didn’t even care! This was his job, and he took it very seriously. There was no room for fuck-ups.

The car continues to waste gas and slug along, even if the Brit wanted to hop out and drag you into it like the stubborn brat you were acting like. 

“How many years overseas?” He asks himself as your form stomps farther away before he presses his foot to the gas lightly and hears the gears squeak. He pulls up beside you moments later, lips tight. “Fuckin’ hell mate. Have a go at this.”

“I can hear you, idiot.” Your voice sounds off, face turning slightly his way. The mid-morning sun was warm, but the breeze from the not-so-far-off Lake Michigan was a welcome feeling as it went over heated skin. “Talk quieter so I don't have to.”

Kyle didn’t understand how you could wear that thick jacket, though. It was slightly chilly, sure, but not that bad out. But he certainly wasn’t going to ask. Not when you were acting like you were going to shank him in the kneecap for breathing in your direction.

“Brilliant.” He spreads his digits from where they curl over the steering wheel, shrugging his shoulders to himself mockingly. “Anything else I should know, Ma’am?” 

Drive into a tree, you want to snap, but refrain. Even if seeing the Brit’s eyes go small and jaw go tight was a smirk-inducing sight, what you wanted was silence. A silence that you would probably never get now that your house was being invaded without your say. 

At least it’s only him, trying to find light in the situation was your father’s specialty–not yours. Your body forces out a tight breath to calm down. Could you imagine what would have happened if Laswell had forced the one with the dead eyes to watch me? Ghost?

Your body shivers tightly. If Price was at the top of your list of people you feared, Ghost was second. You couldn’t stand to feel those blue orbs lock on you in the rear-view mirror when they’d brought you in. You already had enough ghosts living at the mansion, you didn't need another.

A few seconds later, the car beside you comes to a fast halt with a ruckus of crunching gravel. You hope for a moment the car will turn around and disappear into the background.

“...Y’know what, yeah? I’m solid walking.” The clashing of keys being ripped from an ignition makes you blink in horror, head whipping to the side to watch as the car door is shoved open. 

Sergeant Kyle’s tall form greets you as your legs stall, shock coating your lungs.

“The hel–” you stop your sharp tongue. Gritted words fall instead. “And what are you doing?”

Gaz’s body goes to the back of the car, popping open the trunk and throwing out bag after bag as your jaw drops. He grasps one of the largest—a duffel bag—and slings it over his back. Two more are taken in one hand as his muscles writhe, though it looked like the apparent weight doesn't bother him much. 

The Brit ignores you, striding past as his long fingers go to his right ear. 

“Actual this is Bravo 2-6, I’ll be needing a pickup for a vehicle about a mile down-road. Parked near the edge. You copy?” A pause as you watch him continue on, looking back and forth from the still metal to his clenched fist over the straps of his belongings. A small sound escapes your throat. “No,” Gaz huffs a stiff laugh in response to the conversation you can’t hear. Your ear tips burn. “No, there’s not a damn thing wrong with the bastard, believe it or not.” 

“Hey!” Calling loudly, you stare at the figure as it gradually gets farther away, feet spread apart and the air smelling of corroding anger saturated in lake water.

“Affirm, Actual. Will do.” Kyle smoothly utters, taking his hand off his earpiece and fixing the black cord that descends from it so it won’t get in the way of his shirt collar. 

Not thinking much of your absent footsteps, the Brit’s head tilts. His ball cap blocks out the sun from his eyes yet they still squint at your practically vibrating silhouette. 

“You coming then, Love? Long walk.” Your hands snap to your pockets, the one finding the small coin immediately and bringing it into a tight grip. Suddenly, Gaz’s dark Adam’s Apple was the most offensive sight you’ve ever laid eyes on. “Best get to it, then.”

You can no more say you were fighting off a string of curses more than you were struggling against the rampage of your heart. Kyle just turns back around with a small smirk growing at the apparent slackness of your jaw; brown eyes crinkling. His internal scoreboard marks a point under his name.

Staying stationary for a good minute, stance tight and mind running, Laswell's words come back to encompass your consciousness in between the seething hatred you hold as the two of you become more separated. The price on your head—the threats to your mother’s safety as well as yours. 

Your thighs tighten. 

For better or for worse, you had to stick close to Kyle for the simple fact that he knew more about this than you did. Trained to be a killer and not hesitant to pull the trigger of a gun for the sake of his precious orders. Even now your eyes snap to the open expanse of the military base’s outer fields; the long grass and the dark ruts in the dirt. Blinking, your tense feet slam the ground as you start forward begrudgingly.

Fine. I’m an adult. I can handle it. But…maybe getting in the car would have been better than walking beside him. Your jaw clenches, not willing to admit that small fact to the man ahead of you. 

“Do you get tired of being a piece of work?” You call loudly, catching up quickly at your pace as though the man was hanging back purposely, also knowledgeable of the situation. 

He couldn’t just abandon his charge.

Kyle glances at your side profile, quirking a dark brow and sloping his chin. Being this close to him made your nose scrunch at the smell of his cologne, the scent not unpleasant but ultimately still attached to him.

“Actually, Ma’am, I take it as a compliment. Means I’m doing my job.” A pause as he fixes the hold on his gear, grunting. Not able to help himself now that the opportunity presents itself. “Do you?” 

Keeping a wide berth between you too, your face tilts to the sky, finding the whizzing forms of water birds and growling like a dog choking on a bullet. The hatred in the air was palpable; none too eager for the job ahead. 

My protection detail, you send long glances at Kyle thinking over the title again, studying his strong back and the sharp stab of his nose as it twitches to the scent of native switchgrass seeds. Keeping your studious attention far away from his brown orbs, you peel at the sides of your nails inside your pockets. The person I need protection from is already right beside me. How ironic can my life get?

But you can’t really be surprised, after all, you had expected to see him and the others again someday. Just…not like this. In the ground would have been preferable.

As you both walk in a strangling silence, your thoughts go back to your mother; wondering if she would be okay. The woman was far more stubborn than even you—there were few things that pulled her away from her work in helping others. 

Taking one hand to itch at the skin under your left eye, you stifle a yawn. 

At most, you’d text each other perhaps once a month. Quick updates and brief conversations about the weather like strangers. You couldn't talk about your nightmares or your father even though she’d been informed about the accusations on her deceased husband. 

You didn’t know if the CIA agents had told her the specifics about how he died when they delivered a detailed condolence letter and forced signatures of silence. It would destroy her if they did. 

Maybe I’ll call her when I get my phone from my nightstand back home. 

You narrow your vision. An urge to hear your mom’s soothing voice hit you like an anvil. She couldn’t make this better, but she’d certainly be able to help. 

Gaz’s eyes rove and observe the land, his combat boots leaving prints behind him. But his inspections always lead him back to you. His charge. The phantom from his past that had never really been forgotten just pushed to the side in between missions. The girl who seemed to not give a damn that he was the only person able to keep her alive at this point.

The line on Kyle’s forehead deepens. 

Part of him was completely fine with keeping his voice in his throat; listening to the chatter of birds and the clink of his bags’ zippers as he carried the great weight of them with no complaint. Another piece, the loose, reliable, part of him that followed procedure was hesitant to try and articulate how dire this was out loud to you because that wasn’t how this usually went. 

The target on your back was no joke, even Laswell knew it. But the soldier carries the burden of detail. 

Would she take me seriously if I don’t try to tell her, is the question. The Sergeant makes a noise in the back of his throat.

First impressions are a lock and seal as he was sure you were well aware. 

His lips part, half a word formed before the skin gradually falls shut again. Kyle takes a glance at you once more, looking at your wound-tight form and the utter mental exhaustion on your face. Despite his reservations about you, a sliver of regret finds his heart.

You hadn’t asked for any of this, and while you weren’t giving him much slack, his dry sarcastic nature hadn’t helped either. The two of you were just good at making the other go insane, no matter how much time you did or didn’t spend together. 

Kyle would never admit it, but it slightly impressed him.

“Should be back in town near o-twelve-hundred.” He clears his throat, trying to lose the bleeding of his stoic words. Make them lighter; airier. Attempt to be cordial. “If we keep this pace, of course. Then I can set up and be out of your hair for a bit.” 

Your feet had come to a slow drag-legged stop. Gaz blinks, noticing from the corner of his vision, and does the same—his tightness immediately going to confusion. He looks around the area, though spots nothing out of the ordinary.

Hell, what did I say now? 

But he sees your distant gaze with a stilling of his facial features, gaze falling to what you were staring quite hard at. 

You blink down at the corpse near the side of the road. 

Its small body was covered in dirtied feathers; colors of orange, gray, black, and white speaking through despite the obvious decay. A beak so long it took up larger space than the skull. 

Belted Kingfisher. 

When an animal dies the eyes are always the first to go—maggots and flies, whatnot. Soft and squishy. You don’t know why, but looking down at that small, dead, bird you longed to know what its eyes had looked like. The color, the intelligent sheen of them. Now only a black eye socket gives its voided opinions like a mute judge. 

You’d spotted it quite by accident, just looking over the landscape as the Brit tried to speak to you. A breeze ruffles the feathers that are left over the frail being and you find for the first time in a long while your head is completely silent.

Your muscles loosen.

“...Ma’am?” 

Violently flinching, the brief contact to your shoulder is snapped back in an instant, Kyle going to splay the offending hand in a sign of no harm. Dark eyebrows tight. Taking down a full breath, you miss the concern in the Sergeant’s expression, the steady look. There’s a moment when the world holds its air; the animals nearby fall wholly still as the wind carries every unsaid word better than you can annunciate it. 

Your stomach rolls at the reminder of his touch, even through layers of clothes. Gaz murmurs a question of which you ignore.

Shoving past him, on your way past his tilted face you growl upwards, “Keep your hands off of me, Garrick.” 

You increase your walking speed, trying with all of your might to fight the impending explosion of anger and anxiety. It was like your hands wanted to grip him by his neck, shove him down to the floor and let him know what it felt like to hurt the way you do. For a moment glimpse the life draining from his amber optics.

But any sort of physical pain, or even death, could never amount to knowing what you’d gone through. Not to mention you’d probably get your ass handed to you in mere seconds. 

Staring after with wide, creased, eyes, the Brit waits for a moment before he looks down at the small bird carcass you were entranced by moments prior. 

His head tilts, lungs filling.

“...Poor bugger.” He frowns and observes the way you quickly walk on with emotion on his lips. Gaz sighs and shakes his head, raising a brow back down at the now-soulless body as the telltale signs of a migraine start to pulse. “Recon I’ll be ending up like you in a bit, Mate.” 

He catches up easily, even with the weight of his bags and you have to wonder how anyone thought that this was a good idea. 

The devil beside you walks so far removed from normal life that it astounds you, and the rest of the trip is stuck in an uncomfortable silence reserved for those who dislike one another. 

Town can’t come soon enough, and you’re stopping at Hector’s Café along the way to your Estate. 

“It’s best to go straight back,” you thin your lips and slip into the building, the door creaking behind you as Gaz waits at the entrance. “I need to secure the property ASAP.” 

“You’ll get to wreck my home all you want in an hour.” Your backpack was on the main counter, and you walked to it slowly; drawing out the Sergeant's annoyance as much as you could. If you can’t hurt him physically at the moment, mentally was just as good a substitute. “I need my backpack.”

“Oh, you mean the one that left a dent in my skull.”

“Yes. I think I’ll end up keeping it as a family heirloom. Frame it maybe.”

“Ah, Lovely. Glad I can be a part of such a defining moment.” Strap in hand and a sarcastic retort on your breath, a great ruckus sound off from the backroom. 

Before you can react your jacket sleeve is being pulled sideways, a form shoving itself in between you and the kitchen door. Your eyes widen, feet stumbling to a stop before adrenaline stabs itself into your heart.

“Son of a bitch!” Rushing out, Hector wields a skillet in one hand—raised halfway above his head with a rabid snarl. “You!” He points it at Kyle, who has a small pistol gripped in his hands; bags haphazardly dropped back near the entrance. Your lips pull to a smirk when the Brit’s ready stance lessens. His wide shoulders lower like a dog’s neck fur. “You think I don’t know a government conspiracy when I see it! I lived in Jersey, motherfucker! What have you done with ‘er?” 

“Hector,” you peek over Garrick’s shoulder as the Sergeant spares you a look. “Easy with that, man….Aim for the throat, though, would you?” 

The skillet lowers, bright eyes landing on you while yours stick to his growing smile and twitching mustache. 

“Kid!” Loud laughs echo. “Holy hell, you scared the shit out ‘o me this morning. What was that all about?”

“Misunderstanding, Sir.” Gaz tries to explain, placing the pistol back into the belt of his pants as you clock it before stepping out from his shadow. It looked like an X12 to you. 

When did he get that, your eyebrows tighten and store that thought for later. There might be a chance to use that against him if you could get your hands on it.

The Café owner glares at the Sergeant as you fix the backpack strap over your shoulder. “Did I ask you, Son? I’m speakin’ to the lady.” 

“An Ex.” You lie smoothly, feeling Kyle’s shocked eyes on you instantly. Itching at the back of your neck, you feign embarrassment. “Cheated on me in high school. When he showed up, well…I did what I’d wanted to do for a while.”

Letting the sentence trail, you were excited for what came next. Genuine giddiness builds in your lungs; fighting a smile as the Brit stutters beside you. Gaz’s eyebrows pull up even higher.

“Cheated…” Hector’s accent becomes more prominent as you twist on a heel and begin heading to the door—only then do you anchor a hand to your mouth to stop the belly-deep laughter. “Oh, you’ve some nerve, showin’ back up, Son. How dare you make her see your face—!”

“Sir, I, bloody hell, I’m not—” Gaz grumbles, shooting heated glances at your disappearing form. “This isn’t….” Stuttering like a rookie. Everything in VIP Protection Training and his copious years in the army was pulling null. 

But no one was ever pulling his strings like you and it’s only been a few hours.

“See you, Hec!” 

“Hey! Come get this piece of trash out of my building.” Your face turns sideways, and Kyle notices the smirk immediately. His chest goes heavy with a wave of seething anger. 

“C’mon then, Kyle. You heard the man, didn’t you?”

If looks could melt people like gold, you would be a puddle of great Midas's curse before your skin hit the air outside, kicking the Sergeant’s bags away with a foot. 

Oh…she’s wicked, she is. The steps he takes are firm, a great cloud over his head as he re-situated his cap with taut fingers and grunts aggressively under his breath. Insulting him directly was one thing, but the chips at his character were cruel. Can I even do this? Hmm, Laswell might still be able to pull me out, let me join back up with the boys.

But everyone was counting on him for this and his stubborn side knew that he’d gone through far worse than a few verbal attacks. Physical strength was needed for this job, but many overlook the larger aspect. And if there was a single thing that Kyle Garrick was prideful about, it was his mental fortitude. Rare were the times that rigorous interrogation even put a dent into his psyche. 

“Just hold out,” he grumbles, ignoring the Cafe owner’s now-known disgust and picking up his bags. Gaz almost felt regretful for being so swift to place his body in front of a possible threat but scolded himself for thinking that immediately. This was his job. “She’s just scared, yeah? Doesn’t want to be around the bloke who,” he slightly cringes and lets the building’s front door close behind him, seeing your jacket ahead and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Who shoved her in a fucking van and put a gun to her head…Christ, Kate, what were you thinking assigning me to this?”

For the remainder of the small journey, Gaz stayed behind you, calming down as your enjoyment of his torment swiftly ended. Small victories weren't worth it, especially when the Brit says nothing in retaliation. Did your little dig at his character really insult him that much? It wasn’t the worst thing you had thought you could say. Not by a long shot.

Sure it seemed that you could piss him off, even if he never snapped and exploded with anger—he didn’t seem the type beyond back-handed comments—but if he didn’t respond it made no difference. 

You…you wanted to hurt him. Make Garrick suffer. You just didn’t know how to do it effectively, or if you could. Now you knew, though, that attacks on his person and morals were the way to go for quick results of muteness.

The iron gate of your home was up ahead, and with a delving of fingers, you produced a key from your back pocket, moving your wallet out of the way to grasp it firmly. 

I want them all to suffer. Your mind wanders as you twist the lock, hearing the metal shriek at you in figurative suffering. Blinking, the shadow behind you causes your body to be hyper-aware. A plan forms grimly, and you have to think if you even have the courage to try it. 

“Hm,” you huff, shoving open the gate and calling over your shoulder. “Close it behind you!” Tossing back the key. 

Kyle catches it, you know, because of the small thump of material meeting a ready palm. A moment later you’re walking through a path of weeds and overgrown bushes, eyes scanning the hedges blandly. You hear the gate close and a moment later, footsteps.

Gaz twirls the key in between his fingers, trying not to say something about the state of the place. But his brown vision roves from one area to another with muted shock.

Didn’t expect this.

Everything was falling into disrepair, even the gargantuan mansion of white and black coloring which normally would have been a grand sight to anyone with sense. Windows were all shut, the lawn looking more like a forest; the concrete underfoot was layered with dirt and insects—grass bleeding into the cracks. 

What should have been a multiple-million-dollar home was looking more like an abandoned lot. 

Kyle turns his confused stare to the back of your head, looking down at the key in hand. 

“Past its prime, I’ll say that.” He speaks to himself, keeping his manners despite the discourse between the two of you. 

It was one thing to bark back and forth like animals, but another to involve the place where one lives. But, your family was well off. There was no reason for it to look like this.

“Any staff I should be aware of, then?” he needs to ask as you ascend the front steps to the double doors. “Gardeners,” Garrick glances quickly at the greenery and coughs, “or, butlers, maids…anything like that” 

“Everyone quit because of the publicity.” Your voice is unusually distant, and you push aside a raggedy welcome mat to produce another key. This one is smaller and rustier, belonging to the main entrance. “Shocker, people didn’t like being harassed on their way to work by camera crews and news anchors. Didn’t hire after that.” 

Kyle’s feet shift, a strange feeling entering his skin as he blinks at you. 

You slip through the doorway first and immediately dart to the side table to the direct right—dropping your backpack dismissively with a quick, yet silent, slam. Heart jumping, your adrenaline spikes. 

Normally the small table would be reserved for purses and other small belongings, but before Gaz can come into the mansion you grab the slick body of a penknife and shove it into your sleeve with twitching fingers. Eyes snapping to the corners of the large foyer and looking over the gray walls and navy curtains. Creaking hardwood. 

“Nice place you got ‘ere,” Kyle tries to lighten the mood, if not for your stubborn sake than for his. Easier to get the job done if at least one person was willing to engage, and he’s willing to attempt it again. The bags in his hand are carefully placed down.

A hand snaps to your father’s gag and you yell when he rages, body shifting forward feebly before a shadow descends upon you. A swift force keeps you back, and your head snaps upwards. 

“Been in the family forever.” You slowly slip the blade out, trading weight from one hip to another and keeping it hidden. “Not really mine, at the end of the day.” 

The hand digs into your shoulder, forcing you to stay in your seat as your lips quiver. It’s not delicate, the hold, and when your eyes scrunch in pain, he somewhat lessons it though not enough to stop the sting. 

A slight relief at the non-confrontational action lets Gaz force out a chuckle. 

“Lots of places like that over in England—you have to wonder how they’re still standing, eh? Solid foundations.” A pause. “Proper interesting pieces of history.”

Never would the image of sepia-colored eyes like those leave you again. Inlaid in brown skin and below dark eyebrows.

You stop fidgeting, all thoughts for a moment stilling. What had he said? 

“You—” Stopping yourself, you turn and tilt your head in his direction, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks around the stairs to the second level and the small seating areas. Your voice echoes like it usually does; like a ghost unwilling to go to rest. Kyle closes the door behind him with one hand, only looking at you directly when it’s fully shut.

“What’s that, Love?”

Your feet rearrange over the rug.

“You’re…interested in that kind of stuff?” Kyle sees your hands clench but thinks nothing of it. His curiosity fills his lungs when he becomes familiar with the deadly expression on your face. 

The material of his clothes moves as he shrugs, turning his gaze away when he knows it makes you uncomfortable. Gaz wasn’t ignorant—he knew you didn’t like looking people in the eye. As his orbs find the dusty and dim chandelier hanging dangerously above them, he notices your eyes now settle back on him. 

“Not overly, but I can say History was one of my best subjects back in Secondary Education—erm,” his lips pull tight, a tiny pinch of a smirk on his face, “high school as you call it.”

You fiddle with the weapon secretly, unblinking vision stuck to Kyle’s feet. His comment made you think about the assignments you still had to complete for college; the papers to write. After all, if you flunked out of all the courses, you’d never be able to take your father's place at the museum. It was your ultimate goal, at the end of the day. Become like him.

The inability to move made your teeth bite down, but common sense won over. You place your hand into your pocket and slip the penknife inside, your other holds itself out loosely.

I have to be smarter than that. Discreet.

But you really wished you could have slid the blade home.

“Key.” Gaz nods, moving over and dropping it into your awaiting clutch before you rip it away and toss it to the side table. 

“Ma’am,” the Sergeant’s face twists, but you’re already stalking past him, going off deeper into the house. Brown eyes follow. “I know you don’t want me here,” his voice bounces at the stark emptiness of the mansion, “but the only reason I’m staying is to keep you safe. I’m not expecting you to—”

“East wing is all yours.” You’re halfway up the stairs and still going, feet silently stomping over the various moth-eaten rugs. But the man cannot see your face as he’s left with a line on his forehead and a blunt frown on his lips. So much for your few seconds of compliance. He’d thought he was getting somewhere.

“I’d rather be closer. Encase there’s—” Again, he’s cut off. There’s going to be a lot of that. 

“Keep to it after your little exploration. And don’t try anything, my father installed security cameras.” You didn’t give away that you didn’t know how to operate them, but that was beside the point. 

Reaching the top, you head to the west and disappear down a hallway. Kyle hears one last comment bounce.

“I leave at eight every morning!” He’s left alone with only faint light and silent walls. 

But, with a shake of his head and the grabbing of bags at his feet, he can’t say he’s surprised. 

Looking about, Kyle takes in the lack of personality and blandness all around, forgetting for a moment that this home once belonged to a late museum director. He had expected more character—more expression. Certainly more light. 

This place was at a stand-still, like time didn’t begin or end in this house and it simply was. 

He sighs, nodding. He’d just have to work with it. “East wing. Brilliant.” 

His mind still held doubts about this—had ever since Price had given him the order straight from Kate. How can you protect someone that rightly hates your guts? You had more of a chance of tearing him a new one than he did of getting you to cooperate. And that was saying something, considering he was professionally trained in hand-to-hand. 

Again, Gaz had to ask himself if he was capable of doing this job. He thinks back to that mission three years ago, expression pulling tight as he jogged up the stairs and took a swift right. 

He regretted what had happened, yes, but at the end of the day, it was just another target who had gotten what he deserved. It was what the Sergeant did—got his hands dirty to clean up messes and keep everyone else safe.

Your father couldn’t have been any more of a good influence than a bad one. Gaz had seen the file on him. The countless dead. 

He wasn’t a good man, how couldn’t you see that?

“Mate, that was her fuckin’ father.” Growling, that sliver of civilian common sense slithers back in like a rope around his neck when he goes deeper into the house, past various open doors that show meeting rooms, libraries, offices, and art rooms. No bedrooms yet. “Christ, you’re losing it. Man got his bloody head blown off right in front of ‘er.”

When had he become so desensitized to this? 

His brown eyes glared at the floor when he realized he couldn’t remember being horrified by anything he had seen in the last few years. 

Death was death—didn’t matter how bloody it was, or how drawn out. At the end, all of it was just red. 

But he’d never taken a moment to think about how that would be for someone like you. Unused to violence. There was a grand question that Garrick still didn’t know the answer to. Were you a hostage in that little stunt, or were you just leverage? 

The Captain knew the answer—leverage. There was never any intention to actually pull the trigger on you. Kyle would have flatly refused if there had been, as would Soap. Ghost was still an enigma, but part of the Sergeant wanted to believe that he didn’t want that either. 

Samson Row. 

An overwhelming hatred struck the back of his skull as he entered the first room he saw with a bed in it, setting his bags on the covers and pushing his fingers to his nose bride. Eyebrows pull in. 

No use getting like this over a dead man. Stay focused. 

His fingers had only just begun to toss off the duffel bag from over his back when he first saw it. 

His hands paused, body going as still as a stick when he breathed in tightly. 

It was a portrait of your family. Picturesque. Mother on the left father on the right, and you—younger, of course—in the middle. Gaz blinks away to study the rest of the room.

It was incredibly large, with chairs and a couch covered by white cloth to imitate oddly-shaped ghosts and the same navy curtains over a wall of nearly all window panes. And yet no personal belongings other than the picture. 

Brown eyes filter back, staring long at the small girl with a wide smile; the mother with a hand on her shoulder, and the father looking down at his daughter with a nearly missed look of adoration. Garrick half expected the image to bed down and kiss you on the forehead.

Looking away with a clenched jaw, he huffs.

Wordlessly, the Sergeant once more grabs his belongings and walks out the door. 

—

You shook above the bathroom toilet, your breaths a heaving mess of warring instincts. Take down air or let the swirling of your gut cease—the offers were tempting. You’d been in here for most of the day, knees grinding into the tile with the efficiency of a blunt chisel; clothes ruffled as your jacket lay tossed on the floor back in your dark room. 

Throwing your empty stomach up. 

Struggling to think over the day, you force yourself back from the white porcelain, shuffling on jerking legs to rest your back on the opposite wall. 

“He’s in my house. Oh, Dad, one of them is in your house.” Fingers weave through locks and clench tight, hitched words loud in the silence you’d grown to comply with like an old God. Cryptid horrors that stalk the hallways that you see from the corners of your eyes, ghosts that won't leave. “I couldn't do it, why couldn’t I just try?” 

The penknife. It would have been instantaneous. 

But you knew deep down you’d never even be able to get close. 

Sweating and panting, you can almost hear him walking the halls, studying the layout with invasive digits. A parasite. And you’d just let him in. 

The price on your head was scary, sure, but there was already a threat in your very home; learning the rooms like he had any right to be here—like he knew the memories that lived in the walls. Holidays were spent in the main living room, meals made as a family in the kitchen as the butlers watched with happy eyes. The man-made pond in the back behind a wall of green trees because your mother loved to watch the birds. 

This house was generations of your very bloodline. Stories along every surface. History.

“He can’t be here.” You gasp, curling inward as you try and suck down larger breaths. Trying to calm yourself down with reassurance. “He’ll leave soon. He has too. He will.” 

Just wait until Mom gets back, she’ll make them go away. The thought makes air return to your lungs; shaking come to a drawn-out ceasing point. Blinking, you let your hands fall to your lap, body slouching forward. She’ll make it all go away. 

When you find the strength to rise, your feet only stumble slightly, propelling you out of the bathroom towards your bare-bones room. A bed, nightstand, dresser, and couch are the only articles of furniture seen outwardly; a fireplace set into the wall with a rug by it. Curtains drawn closed and smelling of charcoal and old linens. 

Peeling back paint, you stare heavily at the nightstand’s drawer, seeing the copper handle and thinking. But you shake your head and dispel the thoughts.

The acidic taste in your mouth made you smack your lips, almost enough to make you want to gag again. But as easily as the high of injected panic came, it went with a low of immeasurable depths. Still, though, your fingers twitched with unruly nerves; anxious at every creak in the wood outside the door. 

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Exiting your room, your socked feet know where to step so the wood doesn’t talk back at you, one hand rubbing up and down your face to bring the aliveness back. You needed coffee. Something with caffeine or an immensely high sugar content to keep the rest of this at bay. 

As you turn a corner, your stomach grumbles, sweatpants bunched at your ankles. Food too, you decided.

Walking through the large, arched, entry to the kitchen, you make your way through in complete blackness. You frown, though aren’t surprised you’d spent most of the day inside your room—past the fabric barrier, the hidden French doors to the patio let in the faint light of a dying sun. 

Around seven, if you had to guess. The loss of time to you should have been concerning, but you had in fact grown used to it. 

Year number one after your father’s death was…really nothing more than a blank slate. But you didn’t want to remember any of that, truth be told. 

Stumbling to the fridge, you grip the handle and pull. 

“Bit late for supper.” Yelling, you jerk your hand back and whip to the shadow in the entrance. 

The light snaps on with a flick of a finger, and the sheepish smile on Gaz’s face leaves vexation perforating the large room. 

“Shit, sorry.”

“Do you mind, Garrick?” Your eyes go to his chest, looking away just as quickly when you spot he’d taken off his outer later and was only in the white t-shirt that hugs his physique. The army pants still remained. “What are you even doing down here? I told you to stay on your side.”

“Not really able to do my job from the corner, yeah?” He walks closer, noticing the layer of dust over the gas stove, and raises a brow; wisely knowing not to comment. “Heard you comin’ down, thought I’d make sure everything was solid.”

“I’m fine.” You take out an old carton of milk, nose wrinkling at the smell emanating from the interior. Kyle’s eyes narrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now leave.”

You were too tired for this. 

Slamming the milk back into the fridge and closing the door, you plan to make the trip back to your room on an empty stomach. Kyle clears his throat, seeing an opportunity presenting itself. 

I have to get her to at least tolerate me. 

He’d take every occasion he could get.

“How about I have a go at it?” He speaks quickly as you freeze in the entryway, light from the kitchen spilling out into the hall. “Sandwiches?” 

Your gaze stays dead ahead, numbly stuck to the paint of the wall as if it was going to move and entrap you. Lips pulling back you feel your heart skip a beat. 

Kyle continues, hopeful. 

“Can’t say I'm an expert at it, but I spent a good few weeknights fixin’ my own meals on Base.” You can hear him moving behind you, opening the fridge back up, and grabbing the few items you had that weren't expired. Opening cupboards that your father opened. Grabbing pans that your mother made eggs in. “...Ma’am? That alright?” 

Your eye flinches minutely, cheek pulling upward in response. Yet the churning in your stomach was volatile, and if you went another hour without food you’d probably be passing out every time you stood up. What harm was there in taking advantage of the man? A meal was a meal, and you’d only had coffee today anyways.

Saying nothing, you take one step backward and pivot. 

Gaz watches in shock, not expecting you to take him up on his offer. By the heat in your eyes, he supposed you wished you didn’t. 

I didn’t see her at all after she disappeared into her room—not even when I was doing a sweep. The Sergeant had memorized the entire mansion layout in only two hours, going into every room except the one that had been closed tight. Yours. 

It wasn’t hard for him, though it was tedious the fourth run of the place. He’d counted every window and every entrance or exit door and had locked every one that led outside. 

But he kept re-walking past that closed door; his feet taking him back even as his mind stayed focused. 

Gaz’s hand had been poised to knock at one point during that time period but had only stayed stationary before it fell back down to his side. It was best not to push too hard. Inch before the mile.

In the kitchen, he sees you slip onto the island bar stool, always keeping a side-eye on his hands as they dig through sparse ingredients. 

Egg sandwich it is, then. 

Your voice rasps out, “I don’t remember ‘cook’ being in the detail description.” 

“Well, I sure hope it wasn’t.” Kyle chortles. His brown optics spare you a quick dart, seeing your form tense over the marble countertop as he swishes away dirt from the stove; placing a pan on top. You seem subdued…fingers twitch over the handle before his eagerness to earn your favor slowed. Sickly. 

Your skin is sunken, eyes blinking fast and snapping back and forth at every sound his body makes as if he’d pounce on you. Keeping an ever-heavy glare to where his pistol was sitting in the clutch of his belt—visible from over his shirt. 

The Brit swallows and looks back. 

“My job’s just to make sure you live another day, yeah?” The man’s voice lowers and you look to the coffee bar near the abandoned family table. “I’ll be in the background the entire time.” Leaving the chair, you go to it and speak as the sound of cracking eggshells hits your ear like a caving skull.

“I have rules.” 

Garrick nods firmly, but you don’t see it as you open a bag of fresh grounds and grab a mug.

“Copy, Ma’am. It’s your house—I’ll follow what I’m told.” He shifts his arms into a crossed position and leans back against the island as the eggs sizzle. You know he wants to say more, and too tired to care to give a retort or interrupt him, you let Gaz continue. “But I’m not willing to let that interfere with my mission. Any order I’m given’ll override what you tell me if it has to, even if it’s dodgy.” 

You watch dark liquid fill the coffee pot in a deluge of blackness like a wave of ink, and with that inkiness, the pit in your stomach gets larger. 

You could always poison him. Your eyes blink, hearing the slight beep of the machine in front of you as you grip your mug. 

Nightshade.

“Well, then,” Kyle looks for plates and finds a stack in a cupboard near the entrance. “What do I need to know, Ma’am?”

Hemlock.

“I don’t like people messing with my things,” you level, filling your cup to the brim as Gaz takes the pan off the heat; putting out the flame. “Stay out of my room and the room next to it if you insist on walking around.”

Choosing the opposite end of the wide island, you put your cup down and sit. A plate with a piece of bread with the yellow and white sight of scrambled eggs is slid into view. Kyle does what’s best and goes as far away from you as possible to eat his fill as well. 

The built man stands. 

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he admits, “I’ll be taking a look around every day, but I doubt anyone would try and break in.” 

The fingers which had picked up a small piece of egg paused with it halfway to your mouth.

Castor Bean.

“Why do you say that?” 

“The curtains.” You spare a glance at his nose, watching him take a bite out of the bread and act like the answer was obvious. He swallows and you follow the action with a tight throat. “Erm, no offense, Ma’am,” you raise a brow slowly, “but am I safe to assume you never open them? Least, not all the way?”

“What do you think?” You eat your food and take a long sip of your drink, downing half the mug in one go. You really just wanted him to disappear like a bad dream.

Large quantities of Daffodil.

“Less of a chance of anyone else knowing where your room is—would take too long to figure out. Wasting time like that isn’t how foreign cells operate…quick and easy, y’know?... Any others?” Kyle finishes his plate quickly, moving to place it in the sink; not wanting to dwell on the comment.

You take a few bites of your own, wondering silently how he can eat so quickly, and nod.

“If you hear me screaming in the middle of the night, leave me alone.” 

The air thickens.

Kyle blanks as you continue eating slowly, taking brief intermissions between bits to sip down more coffee. The tired moments of your sluggish eyes and twitching fingers. You don’t think to explain further, content to hear in those few moments absolutely nothing besides the beating of your own heart.

Rosary Pea. Induces tremors, high heart rate, and burning in the back of the throat. Fatal. 

Your mother also liked her plants, though you doubted the fauna in the back garden was still alive. You hadn’t bothered to keep it up after the gardener quit.

“I’m…not following.” Gaz scratches at his chin, face pulled back in confusion, lightly shaking his head. “Screaming?”

“Screaming.” Taking the empty plate, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “In the night. I was quite clear.” A devious smirk whittles itself over your flesh like wood. “You’ve heard my scream before, you’ll recognize it. Sound carries.” Dismissively you toss your free hand. “As I said, it’s an old property.” 

Gaz tries his best to not engage, but the words he’d been wanting to tell you slither off his tongue after a moment's thought. He had to make you understand. Strain forms again.

His head shakes with a slight parting to his lips. No matter what, every conversation always led back to an argument. “Do you think this is a joke?”

You’re walking back to your seat with the coffee pot in hand, scooping up your mug with the intention of bringing both back to your room. 

You don’t answer right away, causing the man to call your name sternly; seriously. 

“I hate you. That’s not a joke.” Your words bounce, not at all hollow like the wound in your heart. Violent and utterly true. 

You didn’t want this man around—you didn’t want him in your house, you didn’t want him in your city, you didn’t want him living. 

Walking off, the suffocating air trails after you as you disappear into the darkness, avoiding the truth. 

But this situation is not a joke. Not at all, but you can never say that out loud. Where would your thin bit of control go? The brief moments of pleasure when you make Kyle’s patience and lax nature devolve into annoyance—even anger.

The words follow after you in a deep, aggravated, sigh. 

“Yeah, trust me, Love, I’m well aware.”

Cold was a day in hell before you admitted to this boy you were terrified.

But how many more days could you keep that act up? Three? Five? Ten? How long was this even going to go on?

Your mind was scattered, torn between duty and self-preservation. Killing the Sergeant would lead you down a dark path, one you weren't sure you could take by yourself. But was that justice?

Is that what Dad would want? You have to ask yourself as you make your way back to your room in pitch blackness, guided only by the old walls of a home even more dented and destroyed than you were. 

But the worst part was that you didn’t even know the answer anymore. And everybody who could help was limited to a stray cat that didn’t like you and a mother who left you here alone during your darkest moments.

The house was filled with ghosts, but you’d never felt more alone.

TAGS:

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#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz x reader #gaz cod #gaz garrick #gaz call of duty #cod x reader #cod #cod x female reader #cod x you #Call Of Duty MW2 #call of duty #call of duty mwii #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #MW2 #cod mw22 #mw2 2022 #gaz mw2 #mw2 fanfic #cod fandom #cod fanfic #cod mw fanfiction #x fem!reader #x female reader #mw x reader #modern warfare #modern warfare 2

[punkassfrance]

Owned, Anderson - Abby x Reader (Drabble, Kinktober Day 5 - Collaring)

MDNI, 18+ ONLY You belong to Abby. She's determined to make sure everyone knows. This work contains collaring, strap sucking, established relationship, and dom/sub.

Having some fun with Abby!! You can consider this an extension of the boot worship if you want, a few years down the line, I just like to think of Abby as a very loving dom/girlfriend c: Again, I make no promises to do every day of Kinktober- just trying my best c: Thanks to @djarrex for the Halloween divider!

As Abby pulls the black leather out of her bag, your mouth dries at the sight. There’s a simple silver ring in the center, perfect for hooking a leash into. The leather is thick with a sturdy buckle on the back- as you cautiously step forward, you can tell the material is real.

A tag dangles from the ring.

“Owned”

You shudder before looking up to your girlfriend, who’s turning it over in her hands like she’s never seen it before. You know she’s looked for it since your birthday last year, probably tossing aside several options before settling on this perfect gift. It really is, you think. Perfect.

She takes the tag between her fingers and flips it over, showing you the engraving on the other side. 

“Anderson”

You reach out to brush your fingers over the tag, feeling the burr around the letters before looking up to her.

“Gotta get on your knees if you want it.”

You don’t hesitate to fall to the carpeted floor of her room, keeping your eyes on her loving smile. It’s perfect. She’s perfect, and she’s looking down at you like you’re perfect too. Her fingers run over the leather, raising it to her sanguine lips and pressing a kiss to the smooth finish. 

Cutting your worship short, she fastens the collar around your neck, pulling it just tight enough to keep a gentle pressure. You exhale, the feeling instantly calming your nerves- it feels like a good hug, or a heavy blanket. A new soother for long days and hard nights.

“God- you look so pretty like this, babe.” Her fingers trail up to your chin, holding you in place. “I thought long and hard about what to put on this, you know.” 

She sits up and undoes her belt, pulling her pants down just enough to bare her strap to you. You don’t wait for an order, mouth falling open to take it in. As she gently thrusts into your throat, indulging in your gentle moans, she continues.

“Slut gave off the wrong message- you’re mine.” Her fingers slide down into her boxers, rubbing slow circles around her clit. “Bitch didn’t feel like you.”

She moans as you hold the tip of her cock in the back of your throat, eyes on her. You see her wince at the pressure as she grinds on her clit harder. She catches her lip between her teeth for a moment before releasing it with a sigh. 

“Figured I should get right to the point. After all-” Her knees buckle just a bit before she regains her composure. “...anyone who sees this is gonna know you’re mine. You fucking belong to someone. Someone-” her other hand slides from your hair to the collar, hooking through the ring. “...who loves you enough to collar you.”

You look up with pleading eyes, whimpering as she throws her head back. She stops breathing for a moment as she cums, grinding down hard on her fingers, pulling you onto her cock by the collar. It’s suffocating, just for a moment. All you can do is watch.

As she starts to breathe again, you wait for an order, patient at her feet. Her chest is heaving, breasts sloping to a sharp peak under her tank top. You could study her body for the rest of your life and die happy. 

Before long, she helps you to your feet, folding you into her arms and pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Fucking hell, I love you.”

Hope you're enjoying Kinktober so far!! I was so tempted to end this in a proposal lol, something about making sure everyone knows you're hers "in and out of the bedroom".

Currently looking for a beta reader, please take a look at my work and DM me if you're interested!

If you liked this, check out my about me, my masterlist, or my AO3!

#fanfiction #the last of us #abby anderson tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby/reader #abby x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson x you #abby anderson/reader #abby anderson x reader #drabble #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

[lunarw0rks]

TF 141 as Hozier songs

A/N: I love hozier so much. genuinely listen to his songs for inspo while writing quite often. here's some of the sounds that remind me of the 141 boys. I seen others doing this w/ their fav artists/songs, so here's my version. Warning(s): nsfw + sfw, established relationship, trauma mention, fluff/smut/angst, basically. // Word Count: 1.5k

☆ MAIN MASTERLIST ☆ 141 MASTERLIST ☆ ASK BOX

『 PRICE 』

As It Was: And tell me if somehow Some of it remained How long would you wait for me? How long I've been away The shape that I'm in now You're shaping the doorway Make your good love known to me Just tell me about your day

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ A relationship with Price is anything but triumphant. His lovers spend more time waiting for him than with him, yet you've stuck around long enough to savor every waiting moment.

The putter of your heart and foot against the floor as you wait for that door to open. Finally greeted with the rugged man after several months, in various battered states every time.

But there aren't powerful conversations paired with physical leaps of joy; all he wants is someone to wait for him. To love him, despite the state he's in when he comes home. It's the little things.

Eat Your Young: I'm starvin', darlin', let me put my lips to somethin' Let me wrap my teeth around the world Start carvin', darlin', I want to smell the dinner cookin' I want to feel the edges start to burn Honey, I want to race you to the table If you hesitate, the gettin' is gone

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ All of Price's restraint is out the window once he comes home to you; finding you in your natural stated. Relaxed and waiting for him to arrive.

Forget the filling meal — his hunger is much deeper than any entrée on the stove.

It's become a game of sorts, the race to the finish with every step. To peel your dressings, to fumble through his with haste, to wrap his lips around your warm body and feast.

Movement: When you move I can recall something that's gone from me When you move Honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free So move me, baby Shake like the bough of a willow tree You do it naturally

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Nothing is more natural to him than his love and need to observe. All your flaws, all your frustrations, every little bit of you in his sights — they're savored.

Whether it be your quirks, your qualms for the day, or the way you've come undone from his famished hands.

There's nothing more cherished, either a mundane act or a carnal one. They matter most to him.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 SIMON 』

To Be Alone: Honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes I feel like a person for a moment of my life You don't know what hell you put me through To have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ He had to get used to being loved, being touched by another person who didn't want to make him bleed.

The sensations of being human, being present rather than lost in his void of memories — it's foreign.

You've made him feel resuscitated as if the blood finally pumped through his veins once again. Now, he's forced to cope with being a person again, plunged headfirst into the agonizing act of loving another soul unconditionally.

Arsonist's Lullabye: When I was a child I'd sit for hours Staring into open flame Something in it had a power Could barely tear my eyes away // Don't you ever Tame your demon But always keep 'em on a leash

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Spent hours in his childhood disassociating, finding mindless ways to pass his miserable time. Especially as an adolescent, any time away from home was desirable, even if it meant being troublesome.

The military was his only escape, yet the phantoms of his past never left him.

Simon wasn't sure he wanted them to, either. They're such a vibrant portion of his whole being, and he despises it. But he keeps them around to be the soldier he needs to be.

In The Woods Somewhere: I raised myself My legs were weak I prayed my mind be good to me An awful noise filled the air I heard a scream in the woods somewhere

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Simon's flashbacks were always vivid and as agonizing as the moment in time he endured them. The worst of them all, the most suffocating — the day he was buried alive.

Every ounce of his strength to get out of that box, his muscles burning and exhausted.

The screams he's heard haunt him; civilians, hostiles, his family that had been slaughtered. They taunt his ears as if he's suffocating alone all over again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 SOAP 』

Work Song: When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ When Soap is with someone he's whipped.

That's what makes leaving you so hard, especially when there's no guarantee he'll be home by the end of the run. His letters, his tags, and the cherished memories might be all you have left.

But even in death, he's with you; no matter how hard the journey it will be when that inevitable day comes.

Dinner & Diatribes: Honey I laugh when it sinks in A pillar I am of pride Scarcely can speak for my thinking What you'd do to me tonight

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ He's an arrogant lover, oozing pride and vigor with every move he makes on you. Oh, how he loves to have you at his mercy — but how he loves being at yours.

Keep him in the dark, surprise him; let mounds of restraint double the reward, and he's yours. Wrapped around your finger and ravenous for the coquetting you indulge in together — and more.

Moments Silence (Common Tongue): Who views the deed as power's creed, as pure authority This moment's silence when my baby puts the mouth on me // Like a heathen clung to the homily Let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me So summon on the pearl rosary Let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ His carnal need for you is never satiated, it's ever-lasting and as ferocious as his mouth. Soap's wicked tongue, either occupied on you or tight against the roof of his mouth when he clenches his jaw.

There's no act lovesome enough, not in comparison to your wicked tongue devouring him in all ways.

Whether spouting back and clashing with his pride or silencing him with lascivious ecstasy in the most biblical form — it's your choice.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 GAZ 』

NFWMB: 'Cause the rest of you, the best of you Honey, belongs to me // Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing can get a look in on my baby // If I was born a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ If there's one sure trait of Gaz, it's covetousness. However, only where you're concerned. Though you aren't a possession, nor a warm body to be claimed, and never viewed as one — you're his.

It better be clear, too, and not from your side. It's his job to keep the envious eyes and acquisitive palms far from you.

There's no doubt in his mind that you're devoted, either. It's the sick world around him he lacks trust with — stemming from the depravity he's witness to each day.

Talk: Imagine being loved by me I won't deny I've got in my mind now All the thing I would do // How I'm imaginin' you I'd be the last shred of truth In the lost myth of true love I'd be the sweet feeling of release

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ His hands; calloused and ever-useful to you. The scars that litter them are a patent voucher of all they've been through — all they've done to keep the world clean.

Through his walls, and the subconscious armor that he uses as his protection, he's a whole new man. You seemingly materialized into his life, intertwining yourself with every bit of him — in every way. Your body knew it, too, as did his.

He'll have you yearning for his touch — the sweet release it gives you. It's the least he can do, considering all he asks in return is loyalty, and that's what he's gotten.

Sunlight: Oh, and these colors fade for you only Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight // Each day, you'd rise with me Know that I would gladly be The Icarus to your certainty Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Few people see the tenderness deep within his rigid exterior, and for good reason. It's intentional, who does or doesn't get a glimpse of his most merciful portion.

You, devoted and accepting of his demanding lifestyle, have earned that right. No matter how far he is, you know you're both watching the same burning star in the sky.

Kyle was in deep; like all his foes, you become the forefront of his psyche, his reason for getting home — the face he sees when looking at the sunlight.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Thanks for reading this far! <3

`` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · divider cred. - cafekitsune

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #mw2 fanfic #task force 141 x reader #141 headcanons #simon riley #soap mactavish #john price #captain price #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #cod headcanons #mw2 headcanons #mw2 x you #mw2 x reader #tf 141 x reader #141 x reader #price headcanons #ghost headcanons #simon riley headcanons #soap headcanons #gaz headcanons #hozier