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greenandsorrow · 2 months

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the fox (1): In the woods somewhere.

Alastor x fem!reader (sfw, platonic)

A soul that doesn't belong in Hell finds sanctuary in the Hazbin Hotel.

"To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world."

~Le petit prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery

She couldn't remember anything but a blinding light, her head throbbing with vengeance and then... she was falling.

The girl had winced, she had been confused.

Wings open but she couldn't fly. Like Icarus she fell before she was able to witness the full beauty of being alive.

The recently returned overlord had been intrigued by her unusual presence and that's probably why he hadn't killed her at once. Her poor soul felt his demonic presence almost immediately...

Why of course.

The blinding light had belonged to the car that had hit her... She was still panting from the impact, but there was no pain now. She looked behind her, a fluffy, snow-white tail moving with her.

She heard the antique voice of the radio demon. Her newly acquainted, pointy ears turned to the direction of the sound.

"Welcome to Hell little one!"

She felt like he was trying to control and dominate her mind, with a frequency he could only muster. A sudden despair seized her.

"Hell?!"

The demon got closer, his expression becoming more predatory and less curious. Her heart started beating out of her chest, but he didn't make any moves to hurt her. His eyes were shining a bright red, dead light and he was uncannily tall.

"Let me ask you again. How did you get here?"

He could see that this girl wasn't the average sinner. She looked more like a winner, not that he had ever seen one up close, but that must be how they look like.

"I... I fell..."

His smile widened, but it was not a kind one.

"You're a deer?"

"You dared to call me that...?"

A sudden instinct overtook her when she realized the possible danger and she bared her canine teeth at him.

"You do have guts for a small creature.."

His tone was mocking her, belittling her, taunting her for her naivety. She had no idea who she was talking to, neither did she seem to know where she had landed. Her deep-set eyes were trained on him, the slight tilt of her head an indication of her confusion.

Alastor smiled, his eyes shining even brighter. He seemed to enjoy this little interaction. However, the hypnotizing effect of his voice wasn't working on her. She was scared, obviously, but that wasn't enough. This foxlike soul just couldn't be a sinner. Did that make her have any advantage over him? Surely not.

At first, he was surprised that someone like her would end up in Hell, but that didn't stop him from insisting talking to her, trying to decide if her soul would be a tasty meal.

The radio demon likes a challenge. He likes messing with others.

The girl was terrified. She felt defensive and her feisty attitude, coming from innocence rather than naivety, was amusing to him.

"I'll cut you in pieces deer."

Alastor moved even closer, smiling in a twisted way.

"That's really cute coming from a weak fox such as yourself."

He was getting frustrated. He wasn't having the effect he had hoped on her... and that light she was emitting... Despite it didn't do much damage, he did feel a mild burning sensation as he kept advancing closer and closer to his prey...

Foxes are predators. Deer prey. He had learnt that the hard way, but it looked like the tables had been turned now.

Her light was growing stronger and her teeth were still bared. He had enough teeth marks like those on his body from them... from the canines.

There was a sadistic joy in his voice when he spoke next.

"Awww, you're trying to defend yourself... How funny, maybe I should eat you for lunch instead of breakfast!"

"Where am I?"

The radio demon seemed annoyed.

"In a hotel, in Hell."

Her silence was deafening. She kept staring at him with a flabbergasted look on her face.

"This is a place where sinners are rehabilitated, apparently some want to be redeemed and accepted to Heaven. It is under control of Charlotte Morningstar, princess of Hell. You'll probably see her shortly anyway."

His gentleman like demeanor was a stark contrast to the violence he had seemed to be inspiring just moments ago.

"I see... Maybe if I stay here, I'll have easier access back home..."

But where was her home now? This had to be a nightmare... everything felt so surreal, but a knowledge deep within her was slowly coming to the surface. She hadn't made it when the car had hit her.

The demon's expression behind his eyes shifted to a more cold one. He was a breath away now, so that he could speak directly into her perked up, fox ears.

"You won't ever get back, that's not how it works. A home you say?"

He snorted.

"Your stay here is for eternity."

"I... I am not like you. You're the.. the evil one. I did nothing to deserve Hell!"

Her words had a childish desperation in them. Alastor was curious again.

"You claim that you're not a sinner?"

"I... I do, actually. I was... a... I'm a human... or at least I was one until a few... days ago??"

Winners never remember the details of their death. Everything fades into a blissful oblivion for them. Sinners, on the other hand, are forever left with a vivid memory of their last moments on Earth, no matter how painful they had been. This fox girl didn't seem to fit either category. The oblivious part maybe, but not with any blissfulness evident.

She was feeling lost. There was no point in trying anything. She was dead and she was in Hell. That's what a life kindness had earned her?!

The radio effect in Alastor's voice died down as he became more genuine towards her.

"A person doesn't end up here without being a sinner, so how is it that you're here? You certainly died my dear, but didn't you live a sinful life? No committing atrocious deeds? Such cruel judgment for you to be put here, even if you're half as pure as you appear to be!"

"Have you been here for a long time?"

"Indeed I have little fox! Long enough to have built quite a reputation for myself I would say! Hahaha! But don't you worry your pretty head over it..."

Her big eyes were studying him, but she still felt scared and betrayed from above.

"I'm Hell's most popular radio host, I've been around for years. Don't tell me you prefer the voice of modern podcasts..."

"I used to like vintage stuff when I was... alive."

His chest swelled up with pride and he adjusted his bow tie. Alastor seemed satisfied with her answer.

"Really now? That's a new one, I supposed people didn't like older things in this century. I was a a famous radio host as I mentioned before, not only in death but also during my life!"

For a moment, the overlord was genuinely interested in their conversation. She was a mystery to unravel, maybe even preserve, but he shouldn't even think about it... it would be too nice of him.

"A radio host? You come from... the thirties or something?"

"All the way back to the roaring twenties, my dear little one! I was broadcasting from Louisiana to all of New Orleans."

This girl was so easy to impress and her reactions were feeding his ego.

"That's where I'm originally from! How... how did you die?"

She couldn't have known that's not a thing people go around asking each other in Hell. She was just eager to form any kind of connection, so that she could feel less vulnerable and alone. Still, if Alastor's smile could fade, it would have when he heard her question.

"Not a pleasant tale, I can assure you... and it's not like we just met dear!"

"S- sorry in that case, it's just that... we both lived in New Orleans and we're both forest... spirits?"

Alastor tried to be mad at her, but he found himself unable of doing so. He was amused by her, getting apologetic so fast. The demon begun gently taking the conservation away from the sensitive subject.

"Well, yes. We are, but how does it matter if I'm a powerful demon that has deer characteristics... and you're a lil fox with some angelic traits?"

"You're self assured."

"Haha! No. I'm self aware."

A pause. Charlie appeared and Alastor slipped away.

"I died in the woods."

She had sneaked into his radio station, quick and quite like a true feline. Alastor had been unfazed. Her unexpected visit hadn't taken him by surprise not one bit.

"That's unfortunate."

His gaze was softer now, he was determined to find out what other conditions of her death eerily overlapped with his.

"Take a seat young one. Sooo, what happened to you out there?"

She had been spending all her time in her room, trying to bring back her memories. The faces were still blurred, her own name unknown. She was just a white fox with a particularly fluffy tail. That's what they had been calling her in the hotel, Fox, as if it were an actual name.

"I was... I was trying to save a fox cub that had strayed to the road..."

"You died trying to do something good?"

Alastor was puzzled. The more information he gathered about her, the more obvious it became that she had absolutely no place in Hell.

A sniffle escaped her and she hid her face, ears lowered. He felt a pang of sympathy that he immediately drowned.

"Such a noble way to go..."

The radio demon had gone for a sarcastic tone, but he had failed. His initial urge to corrupt that innocent, fragile creature had left him.

"I keep seeing lights... they could be the headlights of a car, a truck maybe..."

At that point, he felt a bit sorry for her, yet he wasn't going to cave in and show his real feelings.

"Let me put together what you have told me so far. A sudden light hit you while you were trying to save a fox cub and everything went dark after that?"

"Y- yeah..."

Her voice was small, her gaze averted and fingers fumbling with her tail. He felt a primal urge to protect her purity from all the cruelty that existed in the world.

But it was too late. Some driver had taken her life and Alastor hadn't exactly been an altruist while alive. But maybe, had she been born earlier and not in the nineties, he could have been the one behind the wheel. He could have been the one who saw her trying to rescue the baby fox. He would have stopped. She would have survived.

But who could guarantee that he wouldn't have turned her into another pretty corpse afterwards? It would have been so convenient, an empty road in the woods, already close to his hiding spot...

Would have, could have, should have...

He stared directly into her moist eyes.

"Do you remember anything that happened after that?"

"The fox cub died... I remember standing with it by our bodies."

That hit home. He had to watch his body getting mangled by the canines, even after his soul had been dragged out of it. He had deserved the karma. She hadn't.

"The fox died?"

It was enraging.

It was night. First, she heard the footsteps, then the sound of hooves- strong and unmistakable. Soon the sound of static and distorted voices filled the air.

A darkness set upon her room.

"Alastor?"

A growl.

"You don't act like you want to be redeemed you know."

A low grumbling.

She was scared shitless, but she was already in Hell and if he tried to get too close, he'd get burned by her light. His dominating aura became less pronounced as she sat there calmly.

"You want to join me on my midnight snacking?"

This new activity intrigued the radio demon enough for his demonic form to give way to his usual self.

"Is that a way of saying you're sneaking food in bed?"

She smiled and chuckled, the sound carefree and unguarded, the sound of a child sharing something she likes with a friend.

Alastor sat at the edge of the bed.

"Do you always terrorise the residents at night?"

He tried to laugh but all that came out was a sigh. The girl had noticed that his permanent smile rarely reached his eyes.

"You look tired."

Of course she could see in the dark.

He shrugged.

"I have been able to recall more details about my life..."

He tilted his head and got comfy on the bed, kicking his hooves and stealing her snacks as she started with her story.

"I was... camping with some friends from college... I had been hiking when I saw the cub in the middle of the street. Oh lord, I was so young... I-"

Her eyes welled up with tears and her voice got stuck in her throat. Surprisingly enough, Alastor was a good listener.

"You were indeed very young, with so much to live for. How could you just go save the fox at the cost of your life? You're much more selfless than I thought."

The girl broke down in sobs. She hugged herself, the little noises she was making were like those of a wounded fox whimpering. He now knew why she had that particular form. Despite that, things just kept not adding up. A young, selfless and innocent soul should've been in Heaven, made into an angel with fancy wings and all.

The radio demon wanted to comfort her. He patted her on the back.

"There, there, there's no need for crying, dearest! Smile! Scare your troubles away! I'm sure Heaven can't just abandon a nice, young lady such as yourself in this dreadful place! "

Her doubts about Alastor slowly faded away and she crushed into him, wetting his shirt with her tears as she did. Even though it had been the last thing he had expected, it wasn't unpleasant. The demon didn't push her away, his arms loosely wrapped around her as she curled up in his lap, crying rivers. She was burning him, but he didn't care to even mention that fact.

"You're safe little one."

"T- thank you scary deer..."

He started to lightly stroke her hair, while she continued whimpering and mourning, her soft body fitting perfectly against him.

"See how much of a different demon I can be from the average? Instead of looking for a fight, or trying to make a deal, I'm offering my help for free."

"You're a good friend..."

He knew he better not get attached, but he felt pleased that he had earned her trust without an ulterior motif. It was strangely rewarding.

"I'll miss you... I have this feeling that I'll be gone soon."

"You're happy about this?"

She nodded.

"But if you're going, then I guess... you could do me a favor?"

His smile finally reached his eyes.

"Don't forget our little moments, okay?"

"Okay... But you owe me a story about yourself in return..."

A kiss on her forehead had been his answer, as he quietly tacked her to bed and left.

She never appeared for breakfast the following day. Nor at his radio station.

He knew what that meant. She was were she belonged now. She had passed through the portal that he never would.

Silence felt more empty now, a void where she used to be. Alastor walked to the bed she had slept in and lied down. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head, but she continuously popped up in his thoughts. Eventually, he sighed. He was at peace knowing things ended well for her. The demon chuckled to himself.

Days passed, but he always seemed to be looking for something. It seemed like he was hoping to spot her somewhere. He knew that one way or the other, he would need to accept that he wasn't going to see her ever again... Unless he somehow ended up in Heaven, but he had never thought about that before anyway...

Was it a valid reason to want to get redeemed so that he could visit her up there?

All parts -> here!

💚Please do not repost or directly copy my work.

💚This fic's title is a song by Hozier. I didn't proof read this, so forgive me for any spelling or grammar errors!

💚It had been a while since I wrote something that didn't contain smut/sexual content. I love my explicit fics, but I was on my period and in need of something with lots of emotion.

💚dividers-> @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune

💚my masterlist

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ghouljams · 8 months

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THAT

the last tag

the # its not what Ghost needs at least

does Ghost ever tell Die that ? how does Die feel about it ? in your opinion, what *does* our Ghostie boy need ?

This is just my opinion and character analysis but what Ghost needs is a safe harbor, someone that he doesn't have to be Ghost with. What Hell thinks he needs is another weapon in his arsenal, and someone to cover his back(because the man is imho probably not taking great care of himself).

Die is a great compliment to Ghost, she's vicious, tactically smart, and enjoys her work. She's not, however, a good compliment to Simon; a man who's already gone through hell and doesn't need or want the reminder. A man who I think holds a lot of complex feelings over the man that he's become as Ghost, and who is desperately clinging to the idea that he's doing evil for the greater good.

Ghost is avoiding you. Which is a real testament to his abilities if you’re being honest. You’re quite literally tied to his soul and somehow he’s still managing to keep you from catching him. You thought things were going well. You finally got a decent meal, Ghost got to let out some of the meaner thoughts he’s had about you --you’re not examining that-- and everything should be totally good. Peachy even. So why the hell is your lieutenant dismissing you and brushing you off at every turn. You can’t even creep into his thoughts, he’s shut up tighter than a vault.

Soap catches Ghost's arm in the gym, "You seen Die, I had a question."

"Haven't seen 'er all morning." Ghost tells him evenly.

"Liar," You whisper in his ear. He swats at you, smacking your arm where you're hanging on his shoulders. You know he prefers not having you draw attention, but it's a small team. It's not like they don't know about the devil literally on his shoulder by now.

"Right," Soap says, like he doesn't quite believe him, "That why your shadow's all-" He motions with his hand. Ghost glances over his shoulder, then at the ground, checking what Soap means. You wave a hand, your shadow following the motion. Ghost groans.

"Alright off of me, go on." He shrugs his shoulders and you drop back into his shadow with a pout.

“What’s your question?” You pull yourself up from the darkness, sitting on the edge and trying to give Ghost the same cold shoulder.

“How do I get one o’ ya’?” Soap asks. That’s an easy one, even if it is outside of your jurisdiction.

“You don’t,” Ghost cuts in before you can say anything. You turn quickly to face him and he’s not even looking at you, “Die, dismissed.” You open your mouth to say something and he jerks his head to glare at you. Soap looks between the two of you as you finally pull yourself fully from his shadow. Fine. You’ll find something more fun to do than sit around waiting to get a crumb of conversation. You can ignore Ghost just as well as he ignores you.

Except that you can’t. The problem with being bound to someone’s soul is you sort of can’t turn off your connection to them. You’re never off of alert, never not keyed in to Ghost’s heart rate, to his adrenaline, to the sound of his voice. Always prepared to respond to any stimulus or order. It feels unnatural even being just outside the room.

You settle leaning against the wall by the door. Your anxiety and instincts clash, your fingers twisting the fabric of your skirt unsure what to do besides wait to be called on. You don’t know how humans function without each other.

“You don’t want a demon Johnny.” Ghost’s voice filters through everything, “You’re a good man, don’t be so quick to try and give that up.”

There’s a short lived silence as Soap responds.

“I’m not, and that- She’s a bloody testament to it. I can’t even touch her without-” He cuts himself off, unwilling to say it and give the feeling name. But you can feel it, his spike of anxiety, the anger and bitter sadness that rolls through your charge. Then disgust, and suddenly you know why he’s been avoiding you before Ghost can even say it. You represent everything he’s been made into, all the violence brought against him, being forced to laugh at death, to live with death, to claw his way out of a grave to something almost resembling a life. Yet here you are holding the last nail in the coffin of his humanity.

“What else am I supposed to think? You want to know how you get a demon?” Simon takes a shaky breath, you cover your ears even though you know it won’t do any good, “You become such a monster that Hell sends someone to keep an eye on you. So, don’t tell me you want one of those things.”

There’s a commotion from behind the doors, footsteps storming your way. You fix your face, quell your emotions, before the door opens and Ghost comes out. Soap’s still talking, hot on his tail, looking upset.

“-say that Ghost. You think Gaz and Price-” He spots you and stops. You know what he was going to ask, you think it’s nice that he’s so kind. Kind enough to try and spare your feelings. Feelings you don’t have. You’re graded for combat. You’re just another weapon in a vast arsenal. Cold, unfeeling, inhuman. You’re supposed to be, anyway.

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honeycollectswhump · 3 months

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maybe put a shock collar on Ashtray?

Lightning in His Veins

[masterlist]

CW: shock collar, pet whump, conditioned whumpee, dehumanisation

His Mistress has a new collar for him. Ashtray should be excited at the prospect of being decorated, but something about it makes his stomach churn. It is big, black and ugly. Nothing like the delicate accessories his Mistress usually dresses him in, and that almost feels like a sin.

Maybe it's because the collar is a gift from one of her friends, watching excitedly. Not for Ashtray, of course, nothing is ever for him, nothing belongs to him, that’s how it's supposed to be. But sometimes they gift her things to dress him in, though nothing comes close to her knowledge of style and grace. This collar must be one of those gifts then, and who is Ashtray to question that. A Good Boy never questions his superiors, a Good Boy never questions anything. A Good Boy does what he is told.

So Ashtray does. He bares his neck prettily, taking note of how his torso moves, twisting on fresh burns, knowing that the glitter the servants applied must shine like tiny diamonds. And maybe, silently, he hopes that his Mistress’ friends must be so jealous of her beautiful, perfect possessions, decked in gold and jewels, just what dreams are made of.

…At least he thinks that’s what dreams must be like. Objects don’t dream, naturally.

As his Mistress closes the clasps of the collar, as her pristine red nails scratch over a burn scrab, he can’t help but focus on the feelings of prongs digging into his throat in an uncomfortably familiar way. Ashtray doesn’t dwell on it though. He has already learned, there is nothing to fear. The blank rooms are far gone and instead have been blessedly replaced by the shining smiles his Mistress graces him with, her cold hands like glistening ice bringing warm burns, and the golden glamour she has allowed him to be a part of.

Satisfied, his Mistress steps back. She is saying something, talking with her guest, exchanging airy laughter and warbled pleasant tones, washing over Ashtray like pearly morning dew he can picture in his mind but has never seen before. He could get lost in her voice, riding on it like clouds carrying him through his purpose, and yet never being too distracted, always keeping an eye on the ground just low enough so he’ll never miss a clue he can’t understand, never missing the remote–

The remote being handed to his Mistress, equally as black as the collar, making him suddenly awake of the prongs against his throat and the pit forming in his stomach.

Ashtray stays still though, perfectly poised, and suppresses the flinch before it had even fully realised. Maybe he hopes, desperately, if he is Good enough she’ll decide against it. Maybe it was all a test, maybe, maybe… Maybe he can see it coming just enough to give her the reaction she wants.

Almost pleadingly in the silence of his own mind, Ashtray knows he isn’t trained for pain. He is supposed to be an Ashtray, an object with a specific use, it’s all he could ever hope to know. The thought of displeasing her with his reaction scares him more than any pain ever could. What if he reacts too much? What if he is not– Lightning burns down his veins, ripping out his throat, his skin and tissue and soul. Two punctures spread venom down his very being, and there is no escape no escape no escape no escape no escape

Suddenly, it’s gone and Ashtray finds himself curled up on the ground, his limbs still twitching. He can’t remember how but surely it wasn’t graceful and–

His mouth rips open in a breathless scream, a pathetic, garbled screech barely noticeable over the sound of mindless thrashing, limbs hitting the floor, head banging against polished stone. It’s fire and lightning and Punishment and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know anything, only knows Pain and Punishment and Please Stop.

Pause.

Breath.

Notice saliva dripping from the mouth. Not elegant. Not trained.

Hell.

Like veins imploding, swallowing what is left of Ashtray, leaving no trace of his purpose. Like poison, destruction, ruin, Ødelæggelse.

Stop.

Gasp.

Look up at Mistress, hope for mercy, hope for anything.

Find glee. Find amused laughter. Please.

It never ends…

• • •

He is still here. Ashtray is still here. Twisted, on the ground, the venom still burning in every vessel, but here. His tongue feels thick and swollen in his mouth, dried and bloody at the same time. Somehow, it is all pain, every single cell in his body is pain and lightning and shocks still coursing through him.

Maybe she heard him think. Maybe she felt her Ashtray have stupid little thoughts about things he should be grateful for, like being adorned in a big, black, ugly painful it hurts burning agonising beautiful collar.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

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shyhandart · 2 months

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pinkalliums · 11 days

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ok so there were a bunch of wonderful pmd eos palettes that a user made: here and it gave me the perfect opportunity to redraw a thing i made with my hero and partner almost 8 years ago now (wow)

and @aurum-orre hi sorry for the tag but i saw on the post u wanted ppl to tag you if they used the palette so here!!

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jsyk my hero (riolu) is named austen and my partner (skitty) is named wisteria!! i treat them more like ocs than self inserts personally (i might post about them more im so normal abt pmd eos)

first rendition is under the cut lmao

#pmd eos #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon mystery dungeon explorers of sky #pmd hero #pmd partner #pmd ocs #fun fact! i used to always get skitty as a kid #but after realizing i was nonbinary i no longer felt comfortable picking my birth gender so instead id always go for riolu #since that was always the partner i picked #also the blue text boxes are peak anyway #also so sorry if they dont look perfect! im used to drawing humans normally #im literally trying to teach myself how to draw future trio atm but grovyle is soo hard to get correct #.png

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blushinmoon · 12 days

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˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰ 𝓛𝓮𝓽’𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 ꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄

Btw their ship name is ✨𝓢𝓮𝔁𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓼✨ (Selene x Exodus)

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fedoraspooky · 4 months

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Heck with it *tosses AU where he was developed in the lab as a dragon hybrid onto the massive pile of AUs as well*

Don't look at me, blame @mysticdoodles for this adorableness XD

#littol baby man #this is what happens to comfort ocs they get buried under a thousand what-if scenarios XD ;#baby dragon AU #myOCs #Charlie #cosmic fiasco #probs won't be as fleshed out as canon or cryptid au but i wanted to doodle this so yeah XD #but yeah to explain #basically aria corp experimented with dragon eggs and gene splicing with low amounts of human dna to allow for better control #only two eggs survived- a fire dragon and an ice dragon #the fire egg was lost in transport- Tikki found it and raised the baby dragon that hatched from it #the ice egg hatched in the facility- that dragon underwent rigorous training and a strict upbringing #and was later sent to recapture his firey 'half-brother' (while the eggs were from different nests the human dna used was the same)#after a few fights the ice dragon starts to spend more time spying on his quarry #and realizes hey... fire dragon kinda has a way better life than he does...#basically tikki ends up raising two half-dragons that are constantly bickering with each other lol

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naurasweetarudesu · 4 months

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Yukari and Skarloey's Day Off

An art trend on Twitter where you draw two of your comfort characters in that one Steven Universe meme. So here's mine!

Original tweet by @/g4teway31:

Original meme:

Bonus, ttte OC meme

What Sri doing in Skarloey Railway:

#Kinda funny I made these two old friends in my ttte humanized AU #Naura tried to draw train and failed like a fucking loser #yukari yakumo #yakumo yukari #touhou project #touhou fanart #ttte skarloey #Ttte fanart #comfort character #thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #skarloey railway #Narrow gauge all the rage #Sometimes I forgot this blog is also Touhou blog #Ttte oc #ttte dewi sri #Star Rails Chronicle #SweetaruArtwork

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doecreature · 4 months

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blasts her with the furry beam!!!!!!!!!!!!!! she's an ox! noel is a character with the personality of a livestock animal....

#making your human ocs fursonas is fun i recommend!!#defeated trying to colour her but maybe it's good to get more comfortable posting 'unfinished' stuff :0 #also yes she does have a skull marking on her face thank u for noticing :]#oc #ocs #furry #fursona #cow furry #dnd #dnd art #dnd oc #wrenwrart #oc:noel

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running-with-kn1ves · 5 months

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Soooo since you asked for comfy requests, my comfort character of yours is Cirdan, and I would love covering his scars with little kisses and telling him how handsome he is cause I know dude has to be insecure about that and he would combust on spot

I know its cliché but I enjoy simple pleasures

A/N: Naur I love the little(big) elf guy and the softness of this idea. I wish I did it more detailed justice but here's my drabble take. UGHH I LOVEd how sweet it was it makes me all gushy inside.

CW: None! Fluff and comfort all the way through buddy

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“You don’t have to be alone, you know.” Ice-tipped toes of yours brushed the wood panels lining the floor, an electric chill running down your back as the wind from the slightly ajar window perused inside. Your husband always liked it cold, but lately you couldn’t stand it. It was getting too cold outside. Maybe it was because you grew up in suffocatingly warm homes with seasons that hardly shifted, you didn’t have the ability to stand below freezing temperatures like elves did year-round.

Cirdan gently turned his head at your voice, softening his pursed brow as he saw you there shrinking into yourself, leaning a shoulder against the door frame. It didn’t help that all you had to wear were these thin cotton pajamas, white and hip-fitting to show the color of your skin underneath when put under the right light. It made him gaze at you, when all that illuminated the shared bedroom was muted-orange oil lamps and the shine of the moon decorating the floor in a thin silver. It was strange, to be stared at. There was a certain sadness in the elf’s eyes, but it seemed to morph into a relief when that greyish green bore into you, taking in all that you were, only to run back to your eyes and give the softest stare.

You walked to him as he gave a short, croaky hum. “Just cleaning these. Already finished up dinner.” He said simply, in that short way he always seemed to speak when he was down.

You looked over his shoulder to see what he concentrated so painfully on, peering at the delicate pair of battle sickles he hasn’t used since… well, before you got married.

You put a gentle hand on his bare shoulder, musing at the thin and thick pinkish-brown scars along his back.

“I don’t know how you can wear nothing in this weather.” You say with a shiver, sitting down on the spot directly behind the elf.

You practically heard him smile, head still down-turned to look at the sharp steel between the tan cloth he used to rub against them. Your fingers traced the scars you could touch, the long one crossing over his shoulder, the thick few stuck between the blades of his back, which seemed to twitch methodically under your touch.

“S’because you aren’t used to the cold. We sleep in the snow.” Cirdan hummed, “we” meaning his old elven clan.

He grabbed your hand all of a frightful sudden, placing it on the clean and untouched part of his neck not covered by starlight hair or scars. It was so soft and gentle, one of the few places Cirdan had yet to be wounded.

“Hm?” You let through closed lips, sitting on your knees to bring your face up close to his from behind. “Don’t want me touching your cuts?”

“Scars,” He corrected, like it was an ugly word. “Wouldn’t you rather feel something soft?”

He turned just slightly to look at you, eyes shifting to see your face only a nose touch away. Your hands rested on his warm shoulders, feeling them lift just slightly as his chest rose.

“Nope.” You respond, nudging against Cirdan’s temple as you nuzzled into his hair and flattened ear rim. “I’d rather feel you. Wanna memorize every scar and stitch.”

Your hands slide to his back, feeling the ridges of indents in his skin as they fall. “Mmh, its fun to touch them; you don’t feel like anyone else.”

You soak in the warm that pulses from his body, a different heat from the sharp sheets and iced floor. He smelled akin to the grassy scent that whaffed in from the window, a slight musk about him that came from his body glazing over with its natural smell after a bath had rubbed it off not long ago. Oh how you loved it, loved how flesh-like it was, reminding you that there was a living, breathing person by your side, his heart beating through his back and his body altering at every new spot you claimed with your fingers.

Cirdan stopped from cleaning the sickle blades, shoulders hunched as his elbows rested on his knees. He was silent, moping a little over how much you stared, a nagging thought making him want to put his shirt back on.

You snaked your arms around to the front of his chest, giving the best reach of a back hug that you could, bringing your legs to wrap around his warm flank. Your cold feel seemed to make him jolt as you clung onto him like a baby to its mama, burying your face against the deep indent of his shoulder.

“But, wouldn’t you rather--”

“Shh.” You hushed, fingers brushing over the invisible scars from his chest that you could only memorize by touch. “If you keep worrying I’m going to have to kiss each and every scratch on you.”

You pressed noisy smooches to the teensy bits on his shoulder, running your way to his bicep and armpit, showing no sign of stopping.

“Alright alright,” He tittered, putting a hand over one of yours that cupped his chest.

Your fingers rubbed over each single change in flesh, feeling the softer ridges of his nipples, running to the dip of his chest, caressing the deep uneven ‘X’ scar against his collar bone.

“Don’t ever try to change them for me, pretty boy.” You mumbled to his ear, playfully kissing from its tip down to his cheek. “I want your scars and your bits and pieces just how they are. I want all of it.”

You rested your smooshed face against his sharp jaw, letting it dig into your cheek as you kept your nose nearly nestled under his chin.

Cirdan was still, an arm grabbing one of the thighs that wrapped around him, the other entertwining his fingers with the hands that held the fat of his chest. He feared if he moved, the moment would break, that you would suddenly pull away and be gone forever. He wanted desperately to push you deeper against him, to make it so you were both smothered with his warmth, that he enveloped every part of your body to keep it safe. There would be no piece of you undiscovered, and you would fill in the gaps of him that were missing.

“What do you do to me…” He mumbles, hoping you’ll lift your head as he turns his. You do, curious. But he looks partially down, a faded eye following his good one as silver-toned lashes made his honey-soaked eyes look like they were covered with snow.

Cirdan doesn’t let the time slip away from him, pressing his warmed lips against yours with an inward tilt. His nose fits snuggly against the side of yours, forehead pushing forward as you lean into him. The elf drops the sickles to the floor, aside from his bare feet.

He wraps the fullness of his hand around your thigh, trying to smush it deeper against his skin. But the break away from your mouth is too long for him, he moves in again. The longing in his chest he feels, when he senses that desperation to kiss you, a genuine ache of withdrawal when he doesn’t feel that cold cheek against his or the dampened warmth of your tongue.

But you avoid his lips, slipping away the hand of yours that he held to his chest. You rested it to his temple, thumb against his cheek. As cirdan moved in expecting your lips, he found your chin instead, your own mouth covering the usually hidden eye he kept away. You wished he had the confidence to leave it visible; baby steps.

The warm wet poke of a tongue darted between fleshy lips against your chin and jaw, your own mouth opening just slightly. You felt the warm cavern of his eye, eyelashes touching your upper lip as your open mouth pressed a deep kiss to his blind eye, Cirdan freezing as you moved. You lingered there for a moment, pausing to give another gently pressing kiss to the scarred skin below his eye.

You moved away, a bit nervous from how Cirdan’s body was suddenly so stiff. But the moment you moved away, he melted. His shoulders slumped looking up at you with slightly parted lips. He was at your mercy, anything you told him or commanded of him, he’d do without a thought of conscience or hesitation.

There was a gentle drugged look in his gaze, desperate for any little affection you would so graciously bestow upon him.

“So beautiful…” You hummed, looking into the droopy pool of smoke-green he stared back with.

If it was possible, the elf sinked even further into your touch, letting your hands hold his firm cheeks as you planted small kiss after kiss onto the bridge of his nose, to the corner of his stilled lips. But he could not take staying still for so much longer, diving for your moving mouth as you were about to kiss the other side. But he caught you in a smooth mouth to mouth, opened lips begging you to come to him.

You followed, letting your jaw go slack, allowing cirdan’s mouth to fit snuggly against yours, like a puzzle piece of warm air breathing into you.

Your fingers tangled into the elf’s hair that seemed to surround him, listening to the needy groans that left his adored mouth as both his hands held your thighs around his flank, flexing his fingers into your skin like a cat, wanting you deeper, closer. But for now, he’d settle for this, letting you agonizingly sweeten him up with each syrupy kiss and touch that was like a buzzing pleasure, making his heart lurch with desire.

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greenandsorrow · 2 months

Text

the fox

Alastor x fem!reader (sfw, platonic)

Summary: A soul that doesn't belong in Hell finds sanctuary in the Hazbin Hotel.

Warnings; mentions of the reader dying, mentions of Alastor's backstory, typical violence, fluff, light angst, hurt & comfort, grammar mistakes, no use of y/n

In the woods somewhere

Found something real that's out of touch

We'll meet again*soon

Author's note 😁

The poll's results said that it's okay to redeem Alastor for the sake of the plot! This whole fic was a very random idea of mine. I combined a dream I had, my love for The little prince and my silliness and that's what I came up with. I know that you're all thirsty for smut and I do as a matter of fact write lots of it. But for the love of our canonically asexual deer boy, I wanted to write a non-spicy fic! I personally liked the platonic dynamic Alastor and my fox girl had. She's an OC, but also the reader.

As a struggling university student, tips are highly appreciated! CLICK HERE(PayPal link)

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otiksimr · 6 months

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Bob dearly beloved.

#my art #I'm quitting drawing dragons this is strictly a Bob fan account now /j #my character #my design #He's an oc that's also a comfort character #just a silly little guy <3 #human character #human oc

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honeycollectswhump · 3 months

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PLEASE aftermath of the shock collar piece?👉👈 back to normal? back to ashtray being loved and lovingly used for his normal standard purpose? so he knows he in fact didn't do anything wrong? and he's a good boy? MAYBE... MAYBE EVEN... merciful mistress mireille checking on him to make sure he's gonna be alright?🥺 because maybe she's worried she went a bit too far with all the shocks?🥺

-🪷

Citrine Kisses

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, cigarette burns, past torture (referenced)

When her servants carry in the ashtray the next day, no amount of makeup they have desperately seemed to apply can hide his condition. As Mireille lounges on her velvet couch, worth someone’s fortune, she can’t help but notice his sickly sweet, pale tone and the occasional twitch he tries and fails to hide. It’s unbecoming of such a luxurious good as him, laughable for the price she paid for him to be pretty.

It almost makes her want to ring her stupid servants back and have someone, anyone, answer for ruining her scene with a pathetic excuse for a golden ashtray. And yet…

And yet she doesn’t.

Despite it all, he still looks beautiful, doesn’t he? There is beauty to be found in his alabaster skin, no matter if it was caused by the thick collar around his pretty thin neck, which has still left imprints like two pricks of a vampire. The thought makes her laugh, elegantly like chiming bells, like candlelight and a passionate kiss. No, Mireille wouldn’t mind being a vampire.

Twirling a lush black lock around her finger, a cigarette between her lips, she leans forward, taking in the sight of her ashtray. If he were a diamond, she’d hold him in her hand against the light, letting rays of sun play with the rainbow. What happened yesterday, it too was like seeing a rainbow illuminate her walls, each gasping scream echoing in her mind like a marvellous symphony.

Under her gaze, the ashtray goes still like a marble statue. He never raises his eyes, just like it should be. Silently worshipping but never being brash enough to gaze upon her.

Mireille bathes in the knowledge that the ashtray’s biggest fear must be displeasing her. That is all he was made for after all. Maybe… maybe that is why he now holds himself differently, but it’s not like she could expect a simple thing like him to understand the aesthetic intention behind the shock collar, the joy and entertainment so unlike a punishment. Of course, the ashtray is too simple to get that.

It almost makes her feel bad, if only for the unappreciated amusement getting drowned out by his pleading devotion. He had been good yesterday, had been less an ashtray and more a diamond yet to be polished. She is merciful, Mireille thinks with a slight smile, and his pretty screams have earned him a reward.

Gracefully, she takes her cigarette from her lips, gazing at it for a moment, before delicately placing a hand on his shining golden locks. Immediately, the ashtray leans into her touch, imperceptively stretching himself to press himself into her palm.

He was made mindless but a simple drawled “Ashtray” is enough to get his attention fully on her. Melting under her gracious touch, her thing turns towards her, lowered and on his knees. Mireille pets his head a couple of times, like she has seen with her friend’s lapdog. She much prefers love as an act of passion, of art and burning.

The ashtray shivers under her touch, as she lets her long fingers glide down his jaw and tilt his head up to meet her eyes. “You love that, huh?”, she chuckles, and that alone seems to give him to strength to hold himself straighter.

“You’ve been a good boy, a very good boy. Your screams have been delightful, you’ve done so well.”

A hazy smile appears on his lips as if drugged, and for a moment she considers the fun in that. Instead, though, she holds out her hand, beckoning him to lay his hand in hers. Of course, the ashtray complies, it is all he knows, eager to please like a dog or something less.

Holding eye contact makes her ashtray flush sweetly, and he shivers again. This, she thinks, is also art.

“You are my favourite toy, I want you to never forget that.” Mireille purrs, lightly holding his hand like a prince would a princess’, his fingers curled around hers. “A reward would only be fitting, don’t you think? Something to commemorate this?”

She turns the cigarette between her fingers until it feels right, before placing the glowing end of it on the ashtray's pale skin, pressing down until the citrine gets swallowed up by ash.

Never once does he flinch, steadily looking at her. A practice of worship, the greatest price of them all.

Soon, when her servants wash away the dirty ash, a bright red spot will remain, burning through skin and tissue, a kiss his body will never be able to heal. And her ashtray, her stupid little ashtray, will look at it in doglike adoration, his most precious possessions are the scars she allows him, and he will be thankful.

Sometimes Mireille wonders if the ashtray pities her servants for their lack of burning, wonders if her little lamb prides itself in the red scarf wrapped around its neck, telling a story of how the butcher will one day cut its throat.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox, @whumpshaped, @clickerflight let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

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farfromstrange · 1 year

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Sleep | m.m

summary: she can’t sleep and he’s there to make sure she’s okay.

[originally intended as a Foreigner’s God one-shot, but i didn’t use my oc’s name in here so yea, do with it as you will]

a/n: this is a short Drabble I found in my Docs. Not proofread, just a cute lil something I wrote ‘cause I struggle with anxiety and I can’t sleep most of the time because of it. Self-indulgent. No use of y/n. No use of any other names. No warnings. Enjoy.

check out the Foreigner’s God series here.

“Hey, bug, what are you doing awake?”

“Just… couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Matt asked as he slowly entered the bedroom, closing the door behind him to block out the city sounds.

She laid there in his bed, dressed in nothing but his dress shirt and a pair of lace panties. Cotton felt like sandpaper on his skin, he had told her, so from there in, she stopped wearing clothing resembling the texture even in the slightest if there was a chance he would touch her where she wore the fabric. In bed, he often touched her everywhere, sexual or not. He needed to be close to her at all times, so she did the necessary sacrifice and threw out most of her cotton underwear.

The shirt smelled like him, like home. Whenever she wore it, she felt like she belonged somewhere in this vast universe. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Always choked up from the way her head worked against her, afraid of falling in love, afraid of not being able to love, until Matt came into her life. With him, she could finally breathe again. With him, she felt alive, she felt human, but in a way that made her want to be more.

“I’m sorry for staying awake, for worrying you,” she admitted quietly. “You know, the sorta thing you keep lecturing me for.”

“Oh, no. That’s not what I mean when I say you need to sleep. I don’t want to lecture you, not at all sweetheart, I just… I just want you to be okay.“

He sat down at the edge of the bed, gently cradling her head in his hands as he carted his fingers through her hair.

“What’s on your mind, hm?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just too loud. The world, the people, my thoughts… I can’t sleep ‘cause my mind won’t stop conjuring up the worst scenarios for the weirdest of things, like- like you and my friends and work and I… and then I can hear my heart ‘cause I get anxious from all the stupid thinking and y’know I can’t sleep if I can hear my heartbeat. It’s so loud, I can feel it in my bones. I really need you here, Matt,” the last part was barely audible. “You make it all go away, even just for a little while. That’s enough.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Can’t sleep without me?”

She shook her head, “No, ‘m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay, I promise. Let me just get out of this suit and then I’ll cuddle you, okay?”

“‘kay.”

He kissed her forehead. “I love you so much, you know that, right?”

“I know,” she said. “I love you so much too.”

Her speech was slurred, the action of his fingers enough to slowly lull her into a state of bliss. She was oh so tired.

“Here,” he kissed her forehead, “I’ll just be gone two minutes, and I’m leaving the bathroom door open in case you need me.”

“Thank you.” She leaned into his touch.

“I love you.”

“Why do you keep saying it?”

“‘Cause I really need you to believe it, bug. I know you struggle to most of the time, but it’s the truth. I really, really love you. So much.“

“I can’t help it. Never been loved before.”

He looked sad all of the sudden. “You deserve so much better.”

“No, I do. I deserve you,” she told him. “Only you.” Her eyelids fluttered. He wasn’t sure if she was aware of what she said, but his heart swelled nonetheless.

“You deserve the world, and I can’t give it to you. I know that.”

“You’re the love of my life, Matthew, and you’re enough for me. You’re all I need. You’re my world. I don’t need anything but you. And even though it scares me, I’m so happy you’re here.”

“You’re enough for me too,” he whispered, too choked up by her bare confession to think straight. She had never actively told him that before.

Her heartbeat slowed down, breathing now even. He smiled again, tears in his eyes. Lips connected with hers, then her nose, then her forehead. Subconsciously, she smiled in her sleep, nuzzling further into the pillow and it was the cutest thing. He felt so happy in that moment, and relieved. He was relieved that she existed and that he had her and that she was alive – he craved her like air, he craved her like water. She was everything to him. Without her, he had no reason to wake up in the morning, no reason to keep going. She was his lifeline.

When he got up to get undressed and slip into bed beside her, finally, after such a long day, she grabbed his hand.

“Be right there, bug,” he said. “Told you, not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She wasn’t even lucid enough to realize. He squeezed her hand, then let go. Taking off his clothes, he wondered how he got so lucky. And when he felt her body mold against him, head in the crook of his neck and curling like a koala bear, he finally came home, where he always wanted to be.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x afab!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock drabble #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #hurt/comfort #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x female!oc #matt murdock x oc #drabble #netflix daredevil #mcu #reader insert #anxienty

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