#perhaps too dapper

[askblueandviolet]

Are you guys dapper buddys :D

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[cosmerelists]

Pros and Cons of Hiring These Cosmere Characters to be Your Dog-Walker

Looking for a new dog-walker? Well, you could hire these Cosmere characters, but please make sure you carefully weigh the pros & cons first!

1. Kaladin

Pros: This man can handle SO MANY dogs at once! You were worried about adding your husky to the mix, since Huskateer isn't the most well-behaved dog...but this man seemed so confident that you let your husky join his group of dogs. And you know what? Huskateer has been so much more disciplined since he started following this Kaladin guy...

Cons: You know, in your deepest heart, that Huskateer respects and loves Kaladin more than you now.

2. Sebarial

Cons: Sebarial makes it clear that if you hire him to be your dog-walker, he will NOT walk your dog.

Pros: However, he does have a team of professional & highly trained dog-walkers who do the dog-walking for him, and honestly, they're the best around. Reasonable prices, too.

3. Ranette

Pros: She said she'd walk Stinky for free if she could use him to test out some dog-friendly products. Free service and supporting a woman in business?? Hell yeah!

Cons: It's weapons. It's all weapons. You don't WANT Stinky to have a rifle that even a dog can fire! What the hell, lady?

4. Vin

Cons: The first thing she said was, "Don't worry. I would never let someone else's dog get killed OR eaten" which was...perhaps not as comforting as she intended it to be.

Pros: She actually seems to be pretty good with dogs and when you pointed this out she said, "Yeah. It's because I had a dog assistant for a while" so at least she has a sense of humor?

5. Dedelin

Pros: He volunteered his eldest daughter for the job and spent a lot of time talking about how caring and professional and responsible she was. It all sounded great!

Cons: And then...he sent his other daughter? Like, it'll probably still be fine but that's weird, right?

6. Ulaam

Cons: When he saw how many dogs you had (five), all he said was, "Two arms isn't enough" and left. Which, I mean, it's fair if he doesn't feel comfortable walking a lot of dogs, but it felt a little bit rude.

Pros: Well...he came back. And he has five arms now. And you WOULD be freaked out if it wasn't so darn effective.

7. Adolin

Pros: The INSTANT he saw Mr. Waffles, Adolin complimented his excellent sweater. You knew that dog sweater would be a hit.

Cons: You saw Adolin showing Mr. Waffles some sort of dog fashion magazine and, uh, those outfits looked EXPENSIVE. Y-You're not made of money! Even if Mr. Waffles sure would look dapper in that suit...

8. Leshwi

Cons: Her first question was, "Does your dog like heights?" and you, trying to stay calm, were like, "How...is that relevant...for a dog walk?" And she was like, "So...only walking on the ground?" Anyway you didn't hire her.

Pros: You now know that you like it when tall women look at you with disdain, and self-discovery is always good, you know?

9. TenSoon

Pros: Who better to walk your dog than a big talking dog, am I right? Ha ha!

Cons: Shattered. Your worldview. It's shattered. Forever.

10. Dalinar

Cons: He was just a little, uh, too serious? "Every journey is important." "I am prepared to help your dog take his next step." "Even kings must walk their dogs." Like...Cheesecake just needs to pee during the day? It's not that deep?

Pros: Actually...Cheesecake has seemed wiser lately. You know that sounds crazy, but...

11. Allomancer Jak

Pros: Daffodil is always happy and sleepy when she gets home! You can tell she's getting great exercise with Allomancer Jak!

Cons: Y-Your dog didn't REALLY help stop a runaway train full of robbers, did she? Your pretty sure that those newspaper serials are embellished, but you are a bit worried about what exactly your Daffodil is doing on those walks...

12. Hoid

Cons: The first thing this guy said when he saw Duke Fluffington III was "Well, some dogs want to be a dragon, but your dog clearly wants to be a slug!" which was rude because Duke Fluffington III is only a LITTLE lazy!

Pros: He did a good job, actually....at least until he disappeared suddenly one day without warning. And he used to compliment Duke Fluffington III a lot, which was nice, saying how he was so nicely "fluffy" and not at all "crablike" or "slimy."

Wait, are these even pros?? That guy was just weird!

[dragongirlpoet]

Saturday

Nanami Kento x you

Summary: A meet-cute. A first date. A night of promises. As Nanami and you get to know each other better, will he score a second date? (Kento daddy is the gold standard, never settle for less, girlies 💙)

Themes: Romance, angst, fluff I Words: 3.2k

Warnings: MDNI. Sexual tension/suggestive, brief mentions of blood

Scarfing down your dinner — filet mignon of the finest A5 Wagyu, seared to a perfect medium, — you all but failed to notice the very dapper, and most certainly very handsome, 6 foot-tall man seated right across from you. 

He had been staring, and for a long while now, the ever eager manner in which you’d been devouring your meal. Looking up at long last, you swallowed your delectable bite of protein. God knows when was the last time you had an exquisite fare such as this. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” you questioned, tone carrying such innocence he could only smirk. 

Nanami needed this. Much of his prime expended on battling curses and mulling over mundane tasks as a corporate salaryman, this dinner date, this first date with you, was a genial reprieve from his woeful professions. 

“You’re ravishing tonight,” he grinned through his compliment. 

Really? After gluttoning out like a starving animal? His words were teetering between the borders of flattery and genuine praise, one in which you had trouble deciphering, but you accepted the courtesy regardless. 

“Thank you, and you look…really good in that shirt. Most men don’t bother these days.” 

You look like a sculpted God, was what you meant to say. But you digressed, lest you presented too off-kilter. As his arms shifted to slice through his steak, biceps pulled taut in the process, you were suddenly struck with the realisation that he was the actual feast.

You looked away before your mind could venture into dangerous territory. 

“Is that so? It’s the bare minimum, no?” Nanami asked, genuinely baffled by what he seemingly considered the norm. 

“You’d be surprised how sloppy some of them are…” you deadpanned. 

“Then they don’t deserve you.”

In a miserable attempt to make up for the very unbecoming way you had chomped down your dinner, you paused in between delicate sips of Merlot, half surprised at his remark. Sweet nothings again?...Ugh, stop overthinking! 

Had you not been too busy hanging onto his every word, perhaps you would’ve noticed the way his heart fluttered a beat, the subtle swallow in his larynx and the yen in his gaze — a result of your slight, sensual parting of lips, satin flesh stained scarlet by wine.

“You’re very sweet, Nana...” 

“But you think I’m bluffing. You think this is some paltry ploy for me to swindle your love. Whatever less than stellar men you’ve dated, I assure you I am not.” 

Nanami’s reply floored you. 

His dark russet eyes searched yours, pleading. In truth, he had been nothing short of sincere —  though wildly aloof — since you two first met.

Heaps of burgundy and gold had framed the pathways, blanketing you in a lulling autumn foliage. You sped over bridges and cobblestones, hopeful that the sprint would mean you’d only miss 5 minutes of the bread-making workshop.

“Miss, the class started 30 minutes ago. I’m not responsible if your bread turns out unfit for human consumption. Take that counter over there.” The head baker, a greying and most ill-mannered Obasan, ordered after you’d finally arrived, eyes glaring at you with utmost displeasure. 

You scoffed internally, softly cussing, stumbling to your assigned spot. As you scrambled to gather the ingredients, you soon realised it was a shared counter, with half-emptied bags of flour, oiled-up baking trays and egg shells scattered all over. A bottle of red food colouring lay tipped over, crimson liquid dripping off the table, pooling at the floor like baths of blood. It reminded you of an undercover mission that had you witnessing a gruesome murder…

“Hi, excuse me, do you mind moving your stuff?” you pressed to the blond man hunched over the oven. Ignoring you, he continued scrutinising his bread, brows furrowed in fervent concentration. “Sir? Hi, can I move them over?”

Silence.

Wholly fed up with his impertinence, you decided to shift them yourself. Is every baker this rude? At that rate, you’d be fortunate if you so much as got to take home a wet chunk of dough. No sooner had you grabbed the tray than a big set of hands firmly clutched yours. 

You gasped in shock, tray slamming onto the table with a loud “clang!”, once again drawing unwarranted attention. 

Glowering at you with more intensity than he did his bread, Nanami, or so his name tag suggested, spoke in such hushed cadence you were momentarily immobilised. “Don’t you know it’s rude to touch someone else’s belongings without permission?”

“I…”

Nanami awaited your response in unnerving indifference. Mildly annoyed you’d only managed a stammer in place of a confident retort, you searched frantically for a clever comeback. If you were honest, you were thrown off by just how attractive he was…

“Cat got your tongue?” Nanami cocked his eyebrow, his expression wry.

“I asked. Nicely. Twice. You chose to pretend…” you struggled to free your wrist from his grip, “...not to hear me.” He at last released your hand. 

“If you’d taken the courtesy to be on time, perhaps we both wouldn’t be wasting precious seconds arguing like teenagers.”

“You talk an awful lot for someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be on job standby everyday. You’re probably a spoiled brat living off a trust fund with too much time on your hands. Why else would you be here? In a class for retirees and overtaxed women? I worked overtime today! That’s the reason!”

Panting for breath, you were both impressed and appalled at your outburst. Yes, you were absolutely spent from work. Driven into the ground, when you’d much rather be pounded into a mattress… — such was the nature of a journalist. Countless “newsworthy” incidents to report, infinite places to go, yet aught a moment for yourself. 

Nanami remained reticent. He simply watched as you tried to simmer down from your diatribe, and after a long minute, alas moved his ingredients without so much as a trifling twitch in his mouth. 

Refusing to waste another second, you resolved to opening your bag of flour, albeit with too much force — the powdery contents entirely emptied, erupted — onto your partner’s face when he’d crouched down once again to hover over his bread.

You wished the earth would swallow you whole. 

“I…I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

Nanami would’ve very much liked to use his Curse Technique to topple your milk, drench you in vegetable oil, teach you an invaluable lesson…but his remarkable mastery over his emotions hindered him so. 

“I’ll compensate for your class…I’m really sorry!”

Sucking in a long breath, he closed his eyes, undeniably ruffled. 

“Just…”

“Okay, I get it, I’ll leave now.” 

Resigned to the cruel fate of having the worst day, you hastily gathered your possessions and dashed out of the studio. 

The crisp autumn air provided little succour from your humiliation following the day’s events. You were on the verge of tears. A therapeutic evening you’d been looking forward to, all ruined due to the most absurd of reasons. 

Padding softly on fallen foliage, you whisked your phone out of your work bag, hell-bent upon procuring at least one nice thing. You gazed at the ageless Ryokans — perched so gracefully atop the Kyoto hillside, adorned with the carnelian of fall — and snapped a slew of photographs. Despite the day’s disaster, you’d wanted to forever etch the beauty of the countryscape in your mind. 

Contented with your last shot, you lowered your camera, only to be greeted by the chalky and stoic face of the man you’d just offended. 

“What…” taken aback at his sudden appearance. “I already apologised, what do you w…”

“You forgot your scarf.” 

You stood dumbfounded and in disbelief over his gesture, despite what you’d done. “Oh, that’s very kind of you, hmm, thank you.” 

Nanami continued standing there, hands now rigidly tucked in his trouser pockets. He had his coat over his ivory cashmere turtleneck.

An awkward silence befell between you both.

“Aren’t you going back in? Your bread might be ready soon,” you probed.

“It’s already burnt. No point.” 

You felt terrible, but words eluded you. Nanami broke the silence this time. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Huh?”

“Your hand. I…didn’t mean to be so rough.” 

“Oh, I’m fine really…” you mumbled as you fished out three 10,000 yen notes. “Here. For ruining your bread…and face.” 

That was a costly mistake…

What lingered in front of you was the most aggrieved of faces, even more so when you’d violated his bread. 

“Is this an insult?” he demanded, expression irate. 

“No? I promised I’d pay you back.” 

“Then make up for it another way…” Nanami collected himself before continuing, “let me take you out to dinner”

What? 

With the incredulous turn of events still ruminating in your mind, you swirled the last of your Merlot, savouring its cherry undertones. Despite his perplexing behaviour, you were drawn to Nanami’s gentlemanly charm. Surely but a fool would pass up on his unexpected offer…

On the other end of the table, Nanami had thought him a fool for having almost missed the opportunity to ask you out. Beautiful, smart mouthed and a perverse loathing for work — you had him in a chokehold, you just didn’t know. 

Surveying the ardour in his eyes, you remarked, “you’re a strange one, Nanami. First you look at me with disdain, now you’re beguiling me with honeyed-words…can you really blame me?”

“If tonight isn’t enough to attest my sincerity, then perhaps I’ll have the good fortune of taking you out again?” he smirked, clearly pleased with his sly response. 

You beamed. “Sounds very much like you’re the one with a debt to pay…”

Rummaging through your purse for lipstick, you, being the fumbling, blundering oddball that you were, lost grip of it, the leather and its contents strewn over the floor in a quick second. You reached to retrieve them, but found Nanami already crouched on one knee, your purse in his hand. 

With your body bent and him on the ground, both your eyes were levelled. An erratic pulse arose in your chest as he picked up the last item — your house keys, positioned just an inch away from where your stiletto heel was. His gaze, restless and pining, trailed up the black sheer of your stockings, fawning over the way it hugged your silken skin, wishing so terribly he had his face buried beyond the slit of your dress…

A long minute passed when he alas tore away from his fantasy, handing back your contents.

“There you go, my lady.”

The night ended with Nanami escorting you to the restaurant elevator. He had spared no expense at extravagance — a 3-Michelin Star located at the 77th floor of a swanky hotel. As he led you into the compact lift, as with most things in Japan were, a group of diners conveniently entered as well. The both of you were abruptly ushered to the back corner of the lift, your body pushed up firmly against his. 

With a “ding!”, the doors shut, sealing both your fates of having no escape from the forced proximity. You tensed up, wholly aware of how your body was flushed against his, so close that you could make out the bergamot undertones of his cologne. His breath, otherwise hitched, was warm and unsteady above the shell of your ear.  

Nanami was a man of exceptional self-control. But your skin, ambrosial with notes of tuberose, so utterly soft and yielding, was skimming his every desire, teasing, taunting... His psyche went mad, culminating in a growing ache in his pants. 

He thought about running his hands through your hair, brushing them to the side, just so he could lay the gentlest of kisses down your nape. He envisioned sliding the straps off your shoulders, relishing in the way they slipped fluidly down, just so he could inhale the pheromones buried under your skin. Most of all, he imagined gripping the corners of your thighs, your plush flesh pliant in his hold, just so he could fucking rip that dress off…

“What a beautiful couple…” a middle-aged lady blurted to you, grin reaching the corners of her eyes. She nudged her husband with her elbow, insisting how in love you two looked, and how he ought to take her out on more dates.

“Oh, thank you, but we’re not…”

“Thank you, Ma’am, I’m very lucky.” Nanami interjected before you could finish. 

You forced a smile at the older couple, left hand secretly smacking Nanami’s as a way of umbrage at his lie. He seized your fidgeting hands, locked his fingers with yours and pulled you closer in. You stifled a gasp, now fully sentient of the hard bulge below his belt. 

Heat flushed your cheeks crimson, and were it not for the loud chatter amongst the guests, your thunderous heartbeat would have betrayed your seemingly calm demeanour. 

Wanting to chastise him with your stare, you tried to turn. 

“Face the front.” 

You obeyed almost instinctively. The rasp and power in his delivery, combined with his possessive grip, sent you quivering somewhere between your thighs. 

—-------------------

The elevator doors opened to reveal the long walkway to your apartment unit. At that point, your calves and feet were aching from the arch of your stiletto, with blisters forming at your toes. Beauty is pain, right? Hobbling out of the lift, you clutched onto Nanami’s arm for support.

“Hang on, my feet…I can’t…” You squat down, about to remove your heels. 

“Stand up. Let me.” Nanami responded, hauling you up gently.

Let him what?

In one swift motion, the Jujutsu Sorcerer scooped you into a bridal carry, your body snug against his very firm pectorals. You yelped out in surprise, scream reveberating off the hollow corridor — he seemed to have a penchant for catching you off guard. 

“Do you want to wake your neighbours?” 

“You could’ve warned me first!”

Striding languidly as if you weighed nothing, Nanami continued past the row of units. Yours was the last. “I’m just trying to ease your discomfort, princess.”

A blush burgeoned on your cheeks at “princess”. Gallantry always seemed to shadow his nonchalance, and he did it well. A mere evening, and already you had been intimately close to him twice. 

Making it thrice, you hooked your arms around his neck, fingers lightly touching the fuzz of his hair. Your sudden willingness to ease into him threw him off, his step surreptitiously losing cadence. Nanami turned to look at you, entirely enraptured by how breathtaking you were up close. 

For a moment, it was as if nothing else existed outside the both of you. Nanami and you —  transient in a deviant dimension of time, your entwined warmth the only anchor in a malevolent universe.

You so wanted to prolong the moment of that gaze, but he’d already reached the end of the hallway. “Is this it?” Nanami asked, setting you down on a stool you had beside your door. 

“Yupp. This is me. Nothing fancy.” As you finished, the ceiling lights flickered off, casting the both of you in shadow, and within seconds flittered back on again.

“You should really get someone to fix this,” he added, concerned.

“I have. They’re just taking their own sweet time…” Oftentimes, the condominium management was the bane of your existence.

Sensing your frustration, Nanami crouched down. He wrapped his hands around your ankles, working to unbuckle your straps as though a practised skill.

“Nanami, you don’t have to…”

“I want to. It’s the least I could do seeing how exquisitely you dressed up tonight.” 

Your heartbeat ascended to a hammer when he ran big, calloused hands over your calves, fingers kneading into your aching muscles, working his way ever so treacherously up the back of your knees. 

“Does it feel good?” Nanami pinned you with his stare, as if a silent dare to answer his very parlous question. 

Every nerve in your body went taut, your being mindless, save for the heavy breathing you realised too late. 

“Are you alright?”

“I…yea..I’m…thank you for tonight, Nanami,” you composed, “I had the best time,” relunctantly moving your legs away to stand up.

“It’s so nice to have a normal night for once. No crazy stories, ghost sightings…people disappearing into railway tracks…I deal with enough madness at my job.

And I like you, stockbroker. You make me feel sane, and seen, and you know what it’s like to be overworked.” You beamed into Nanami, who was now towering over you without your heels. 

There was such tenderness in the way he beheld your admission, but something else gnawed at his heart. A sinister, uneasy truth he wasn’t yet ready to share — being a Jujutsu Sorcerer was far from normal.

“Oh, I wanted to ask, how do you have such quick reflexes? Maybe you can teach me. I want to ward off creepy men,” you scoffed, turning to unlock your door. 

Perhaps it was for the best your back was to him, for Nanami’s words caught in his throat, his face laden with guilt for the lie he was about to tell. It had been a long time since he had felt so happy, so like himself…and he wasn’t about to throw it away.

“I…uhm…am trained in martial arts. Particularly Karate. Black belt.” It was a twist to his gut, but the thought of losing you was inconceivable.

“No wonder I feel safe around you.” At that, you tiptoed, aiming to kiss his cheek goodnight, only for your lips to reach the bottom of his jaw. Nanami clamped up at the unexpected contact, his disposition sent into absolute anarchy.

It was an accident, but you let your kiss linger on, feeling the slight stubble of his aftershave, dropping your lips intricate inches down his neck, feeling the bobble of his swallow…

And you stepped into your apartment. 

“Goodnight, Nanami.”

“When can I see you again?” He pushed against your door, impatient. The last thing he wanted was to come off too audacious, but you’d awoken a fire in him he never knew existed. 

“Uhm…I don’t…”

“Tomorrow?” Nanami pressed.

“That’s just a few hours from now,” you laughed, entirely endeared by his earnestness. 

“The day after? Monday? Tuesday? Wed…”

“Saturday, Nanami. I’m free Saturday.” 

You were radiant. You were ecstatic. You were…falling in love?

Nanami mirrored your glow, the bridge of his nose now a glistening scarlet. He was grinning like a child promised with the delight of dessert — a very lovely, and a very dulcet treat.

Taking your hand to lay saccharine kisses, he let himself tread into dangerous waters once more by grazing his lips over the insides of your wrist, inhaling your sweet perfume, clinging onto its grace. It was a scent he’d forever enshrine in his heart.

“Goodnight, princess. I can’t wait for Saturday.”

—-------------------

Pacing back to his navy Maserati GranCabrio, Nanami was basking in the afterglow of rapture. He had already been musing where to take you with the promise of Saturday, his chest rippling with the rush of possibilities. 

Elsewhere, a hostile gospel slipped past the sorcerer’s daydream — uninvited, sudden, threatening. It brought along with it a grim vestige — 

Nanami had told a harrowing lie.

[comradeboyhalo]

i love the cyclical pattern that !bad falls into, cursed to sharply lose everything he holds near, all indirectly or directly due to his own actions.

tr!bad was not at fault for mocha's death but perhaps he is at fault for losing every iteration of pili soon thereafter: he was grieving mocha, yes, but he still pushed him away and lost him to the kingdom - a faction that is against him parlty due to the conflict he plays into. then there is ros, killed by his own crossbow. bad tried to save her with the deal, but it was a gamble, and he bet wrong. he lost her in death by being unable to break his own deal and lost her in life by lashing out against tr!zam - understandably due to his grief, but he suffered more for it regardless. soon after, he lost pangi, whom bad lost by unknowingly offering him to the void, and then mistakenly trusting in pangi's strength when the corruption was much stronger.

then there's q!bad, perhaps the most tragic victim here. losing his kids and punishing himself with the soul vultures that would soon infect and take his life. kidnapping ron and pushing everyone away, only for it to ring true when he was left alone in purgatory with dapper, taking full brunt of the nuke that would accelerate his sickness. dying alone amidst lavender, because everything he did to protect his kids ended up killing him instead.

and c!bad, unknowingly unearthing an eldritch horror in his own home, and dragging his friends into it despite his efforts to stop it. he accidentally lost skeppy twice, both at his own hands, then doomed the world.

or we could go further back, still. how bad's very being is a sign of cataclysm, made to usher in the rapture as he waited, trapped under the euphrates river. when bad alluded to being summoned into the mortal world only to accidentally raze the city. forever cursed to live an eternal life, as everyone dies around him. knowing that every death is his fault, and regarding any death that is not...well, doesn't it make sense that he eventually blames himself for those, too?

[writingjourney]

cravings // emmrich // 18+

this is loosely inspired by this post by @emmg (as in, i had a draft of a thing and then zoomed in on the horny), i might as well finally post what i ended up with before it rots in my drafts <3 // masturbation, f!rook, ~760 words

Emmrich, ever the gentleman, repulsed by his own ugly emotions. That deep hole inside of him where he stores all the faces he wants to hide, grimacing masks in a cabinet of shame, thick bile that bubbles somewhere underneath polite conversation and charming smiles. Anger, jealousy, pride, obsession, fear.

Lust.

He wants, he needs, he craves. It’s a beast he’s never known how to feed, aching for love, for romance, for the deep carnal satiation that comes with intertwining one’s souls. Slithering underneath their skin, consuming and being consumed.

Then, too, a nagging thought, that there is a reason things never worked out, a primordial flaw, something beyond self-sabotage and his unwillingness to settle for anything less than soul-shattering. No, something deeper inside of him, something wrong.

He feels it most clearly when he’s alone.

A whimpering mess of shuddering limbs. He’s trying to stifle the sounds his throat is only too eager to push out. She reduces him to nothing without even being in the same room, one thought and his lungs flutter as he tries to breathe and his body reacts with violent treachery. The flaw, then, that he wants too much, craves too much, too soon, too fast, too intensely, a fever that takes hold of him and that can’t be matched.

His hand works harder, cheeks flushed, shame and lust two sides of the same heavy gold coin, dangling from a chain around his neck, threatening to crack his spine. He thinks Rook must be asleep, one wall away, unaware of his fist wrapped around his cock, the depraved reality that he’s fucking himself to the thought of her. The moan breaking from his throat at that image startles even himself, a sound so raw and wrecked that his chest feels hollowed out.

She doesn’t know. Or – she does. She knows. She must know that there is something between them. Innocent admiration, perhaps the hint of early infatuation, her reckless flirting, like she’s unaware what it does to him when she tells him he looks dapper with a corpse spread out before them, his magic still whirring in his veins. He tries to be polite, slow, careful, to gauge what it is she wants, how deep it runs, if he’s once again investing too much in too little. But then he’s alone again, overcome by this need for her, and he knows he wants to kiss her hands and eyes and lips and deck her out in gold until he can hear the sweet tinkling orchestra of their jewellery-clad bodies as it dictates the rhythm with which he takes her.

The muscles in his belly are strung so tight he’s arching into his hand, struggling to meet his own over-eagerness. Grey hair sticks to his body, sweat-slick, cramped and softer than it used to be. He sees his flaws through heavy-lidded eyes, awe-struck by the fact none of them seem to deter her. She deserves more than this, his perversion stronger than his self-control, no one around to pretend for.

He is a man too old to build a life with for someone as young as her, as vibrant as her, but he is in too deep to stop. Another flaw, this. Not his pride but the selfishness, that he goes after what he wants with all that he has, lush bouquets and weighty declarations, until they are saturated, until they pull away. But he craves it, her reactions to it, the way she looks at him, lashes fluttering as she blinks through big eyes, smirk tugging at the very lips he’s been dreaming about kissing, parting, biting, bruising. It’s enough, in these moments, to satisfy his conscience.

Rook who never holds back. Rook who does not bother to hide what she wants. And it is this thought, the idea that perhaps this fierce young woman with a solution to any problem, who jumps into danger head-first, no risk too high, has a heart beating in the same intense rhythm as his own.

He wants to get swept up in it, this torrent around her, build a house in the eye of the storm and carry her over the threshold. The final flaw, such presumptuousness, thinking that she returns his affections with the same fire that burns so deep in his core. But he will gladly let it burn him, he thinks, eyeing the mess he made, red-cheeked, that familiar pang of shame, if it means that he gets another chance to try. To peel away the masks, to be seen, to be wanted, to be loved.

To be consumed.

more emmrook || masterlist

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Like Father, Like Son

Alastor, dapper and well dressed as ever, happily waltzed down main street in the early morn.

The sinner, tapping his staff as he walked, happily looking upon the carnage last nights acid rain had brought upon the denizens of Pentagram the night before.

One sinner in particular had been left little more than bones and cartridge was particularly entertaining to watch try and pull himself together.

But it'd be as he walked along the chipped and puckered asphalt, toxic water still dripping off the occasional roof or serface.

But itd be as he walked by one alleyway that he'd pause, a harsh but all too familiar sound ringing out from besides him as he froze.

And so, twirling his microphone cain, he'd turn, the sinner staring into the alleyway as he heard it.

Crying.

Oh but this wasn't just the run of the mill cries and yowls, this was that special kind that was designed to put people on edge.

This was wailing.

The wailing of a child.

The cries, while not uncommon, this wailing was... different. Softer? More frail.

Innocent.

He was so used to demons and overlords shrill and desperate cries for mercy he'd almost forgotten the sound.

Regardless, while a crueller man may have simply ignored the sound and went about his day, but the Radio Demon's curiosity was just too much to bear.

He walked down the alleyway, growing closer and closer to the sound until he stood before a dumpster.

Raising the decrepit, metal lid with his cane, the lanky demon Overlord leaned forwards, attempting to locate the source of the sound.

And locate it he did.

Finding a bundle of decrepit rags, the Sinner watching it shift before he reached down, pulling out the bundle.

While it shouldn't have been a surprise someone would discard a child, Alastor still found himself taken aback as he unwrapped the bundle, finding none other than an Imp of all demons, the little red devil crying loudly as he held it within his slender arms.

"Now, Now, young fawn, no need for tears. How's about a smile for dear old alastor, hmm?"

The sinner, while having near zero experience with children, let alone Imp children, asked warmly, holding the baby up, doing his best to calm the little tot down.

The young Imp, crying for another moment would seem to respond to his prompt, the baby whining, sniffling softly as it looked up at the man with those big yellow peepers, little lip pouting sadly.

Alastor of course was all smiles, as always, the Sinner running his finger over the Imps belly, hoping to cheer it up.

"Come now little one, can I get a smile for my trouble?" He'd ask the infant playfully.

The baby Imp lay in his grasp, after a long moment the baby would settle, sniffling and whimpering, still not smiling as the Sinner thought of what to do next.

The little imp staring up at the man, clearly still upset, Alastor would smile wide, eyes turning to dials as he released a mix of distorted track of music.

A long minute would pass before the Imp gave the man a perhaps the biggest, goofiest smile he'd seen in Hell.

Alastor, not having expected that to work, smiled back as he ran his finger over his belly, the young Imp's smile reinvigorating something inside of him that he oh so enjoyed.

"Well now, that is a top shelf smile little one."

The man would humm, holding the young demon close to his chest as he paused, unsure of what to do next.

And so, with little experience to go off of, he did what he always did when he needed to figure something out with some new person he couldnt just kill or torment freely.

He walked.

The man would gently bump his arm, trying his best to sooth the infant as he walked down the street.

Where was he going?

He had no idea.

But at the moment he was feeling one particular emotion.

Anger.

Of course, he didn't show it, the man expertly hiding his emotions behind a smile, but internally he was fuming.

Now Alastor was by no means a saint. The man was in Hell for a good reason after all. And while he was generally not one to judge others this was not a sin he could simply shrug off.

To abandon a child, a child so young no less, in some dumpster.

That was not something he could simply tolerate nor forgive.

So, holding the Imp within the bundle of cloth he walked on, that was until he heard a very unpleasant sound.

A whine.

"Mmmh..." The baby whined.

The man freezing in place.

Looking down, long gone was the baby's beautiful smile, in its place was a frown that could break the blackest of hearts.

Standing in place, the man held the Imp close, a long moment passing as he thought of every possibility before he leaned down, taking a sniff.

Yep. The little Imp had soiled himself.

And given the soiled rags he was wrapped up in, as well as his discarded statis, he wasn't all too surprised the child was left in a soiled state.

"Hmmm..." The man hummed, standing there for a long moment.

Now, for a normal person this may have been an issue, after all caring for a child would be no simple feat for most, especially in Hell.

But this was Alastor, the Radio Demon we're talking about here.

So, holding the Infant up at arms length, he took a breath and after a moment of concentration hed snnap his fingers, a black swirl would cover the child, the nasty rags that once covered the child evaporating and in its place were a tidy little red onsie, a fresh diaper replacing his spoiled cloth as his little tail would poke out through the red cloth.

"There we go dear, isn't that so much better?"

Taking a moment, the baby would sit there, sniffling softly before it seemed to settle, the Imp staring up at him as it sniffled softly.

After a long, and surprisingly tense moment the baby would smile, Alastor's smile returning in turn, the man tickling the Imps belly as he held him close.

They'd walk around for a while, the Imp seemingly to find a comfortable nook in his elbow, the Imp snuggled into his elbow as he gently pat his back, the man using what little childcare knowledge he knew to care for the young Imp.

They'd walk along for a while, the young Imp settling into the crook of his arm as the Smiling demon walked down the street, the man wondering just what the Hell to do with the little being he'd pulled from a dumpster.

He had little to no knowledge on how to handle children, let alone the devils that were native to Hell, they were an entirely different breed.

Literally.

So, gently patting the babies back, using what limited knowledge he had on the subject, listening for that soft burp he was partially sure was supposed to happen before a nap, as he walked to the only demoness he knew that could help him.

He'd ignore the stares he got walking through Cannibal Cove, many giving him odd looks as he held the Imp close, knowing just where he had to go.

"Oh hello, hello, hello! How ya been Al?" Rosie spoke cheerfully as he walked into the woman's boutique.

The chipper demoness weaving her way through a crowd of Cannibals to reach him.

The ever pleasant demon bell went in for a hug, the demoness perhaps the only being in Hell he was comfortable with regular physical contact, and yet despite himself he still pulled his left arm back, the little Imp nuzzled into his elbow, it's little tail wrapped around his wrist.

Rosie notice this instantly, pulling back with a surprised 'O' face.

"Alastor you dog, who's your little friend?" She asked with her ever present charm.

Alstor, bringing the Imp up to his chest would gently shake the child, the now onsied infant grumbling as it awoke, clumsily rubbing it's face on its little sleeves as he'd shift the baby in his embrace.

The infant gripping onto its sleeve as he held him up, doing his best to introduce it to Rosie.

"This is Rosie, my oldest friend in all Hell. Rosie, this is... Child."

He spoke after a moment, both he and Rosie cringing at the uncreative name he labelled it with.

"I found the poor thing in a dumpster. I normally wouldn't concern myself with such little things but the dear just as the loveliest smile I simply couldnt help myself but save bring him along."

The Radio Demon would smile softly, holding up the little Imp, the Imp staring back with a frown. It was clear they weren't happy about being woken up from its nap.

"Oh he's such a cutie, no wonder you picked him up." Rosie spoke up all cheerfully.

"'Him'?" The Radio demon spoke after a moment, looking the very much grumpy Imp over.

"Well of course!" Rosie spoke cheerfully. "Look at his horns, everybody knows male Imps have thick black and while stripes, it's the does that have real thin white stripes."

Looking down, sure enough, the grumpy Imp had a set of itty bitty thick black and white striped horns,

The young Imp would sit in his grasp, frowning softly as it stared at Rosie.

The demoness would smile, leaning in.

"Hmmm, not in a smiley mood, huh baby?" She'd tease, booping the young Imp on the nose, only for the Imp to lean forwards, trying to bite the finger as she pulled back.

"Oh!" She'd pause, pulling her finger back, but after along moment She'd burst into laughter.

"Oh I think I know his problem." Getting up She'd walk around her parlour, stopping before one shelf before grabbing something.

Returning to the pair she'd hold out a dried finger, the little Imp staring at it, leaning in to sniff the finger before he reached out, grabbing the finger before he started nawing on the finger, the Imp chewing off whatever flesh he could with his little needle teeth.

"Ohoho! Look at him go!" Rosie giggled, the woman smiling as the two watched the Imp knaw and chew on the finger.

"My, he's quite the carnivore." Alastor spoke, a chuckle in his voice.

"Oh yeah." Rosie hummed. "Imps are a bunch of little Carnivores. Not to mention who knows the last time this little tot ate something."

Alastor would pause, the man annoyed at himself for thinking of that.

Staring down at the Imp, despite his new onsie and cleaned form, the man couldn't forget that he'd been abandoned.

Something that still infuriated him.

"So!" Rosie spoke, breaking him from his thoughts. "What are ya gonna do with the the little guy?"

She asked with a notable edge to her voice, Rosie half concerned and half curious.

Alastor, giving his head a shake, perked right up.

"Well, I cant just abandon a child with a smile as delightful as his. And even a black heart like my own can't simply abandon him just anywhere, so I was hoping to leave him somewhere... safe." He spoke softly, smiling down at the young boy, the Imp laid back in his arm as he chewed on the finger he'd been given. "There must be at least one spot on this accursed Ring I could leave the boy."

Rosie would humm, placing a finger to her chin as she thought.

"Oh!" She'd perk up. "I know just the place. There's a girl just down the street. She takes all kinds of Hell natives in all the time!"

Alastor perked right up, all smiles as he finally had a safe place for his, err, he meant, he found a safe place for such a delightful smile to stay safely.

And so, with a tickle to the Imps belly, the young Imp still chewing on the finger heed been given, he'd perk up, the three of them heading out, walking down the street.

Walking down the Coves main street, Alastor would play with the Imp, his finger having been discarded at some point as Alastor held the Imp up, playing with the Imp as he cooed and teased the baby.

"Hmmm, I must say Al, I've never seen you so... playful. Never expected that, not with a kid at keast."

Alastor would pause mid raspberry, tongue sticking out as he stared at her.

A moment would pass, the man pulling his tongue back into his mouth as he cleared his throat, composing himself as he pulled the boy to his chest.

"Well, I merely wish to keep the boy in high spirits. The last thing we need is for the boy to get all grumpy again and loose this charming smile of his."

As he said matter of factly, the Imp would be reaching up, Alastor quickly giving him his attention, giving him his finger to hold before tickling his belly.

Walking further down the street, Rosie would stare at the pair. Rosie having never seen Alastor like this.

Walking on some more, Rosie would pause mid step, Alastor walking on for a moment before he would notice.

Turning around he'd call out.

"Rosie dear, whatever is the matter?"

Rosie would clear her throat, walking forwards as she griped his arm telling him they could come back later, perhaps they should think it over for a moment, the lady doing her best to turn the man away.

However before she could turn his attention away, he'd look up, freezing in place.

Rosie, realising she'd failed sighed, a finger scratching her cheek.

Before them, a quant little shop, a large blood stained sign hung above the doorway.

"Quality Hellborne Meats!"

Several strings of different cuts of meat hung in the window, Alastor physically recoiling upon noticing them.

"... this is where you were bringing me?" Alastor asked, an edge to his voice as he held the Imp close to his chest, the little Imp staring up at him.

"I... She must have set it up recently, I never would have suggested it if I'd, well, known Al. Ya know I wouldnt..."

Alastor would stand there, staring for several moments before turning about face and walking back to Rosie's boutique.

...

The scene cut to Rosie's Room, the woman watching as Alastor, baby still in arm, wore down her rug by walking back and forth.

Alastor, eye twitching as he walked back and forth, was wrapped up in his thoughts.

He was so consumed in his frustrations that he didn't even realise his face had slowly contorted into a vicious sneer.

"Alastor!" He'd snap out of his trance, head snapping to Rosie.

"What?!"

The woman, brows raised, would raise a hand, gesturing to the child.

Looking down he found a very unhappy Imp, the little demon clearly upset by Alastors darkening mood.

"Oh! My apologies my dear Impling, I didn't mean to upset you." The man tried to comfort the child.

Though even a radio tune didn't seem to settle the child, Alastor at something of a loss.

"Bring him here." Rosie spoke, arms extended.

Walking over, the man would place the Imp into the woman's grasp, Rosie bringing the Imp to her bosom.

"Awww poor thing is just sleepy. I think its time for a nap darling." The woman cooed, gently combing the Imps hair back as she gently shifted him.

Resting the young Imp against her chest she'd begin patting his back, gently shifting her form as she cared for the Imp.

It would take some time but the baby fell asleep in her arms, the woman still gently patting its back as

"... so, what are we gonna do?" Rosie would ask softly.

"We?" Alastor asked softly, the man glancing down at the baby Imp.

"Heck yes 'we', you think I'm just gonna leave you to handle a baby on your own." She'd ask with a dose of snark.

Alastor would snort, reaching out and gently pet the back of the Imps head, finger gently tapping the tip of one of his little horn nubs.

"Any ideas?" Rosie would ask the man, looking down at the little Imp.

"Well... I refuse to simply hand him over to some butchery, and I refuse to sell him off to some workhouse."

The two sat in silence for a long moment before Rosie spoke.

"So... your gonna, what, take him in? You sure your up for something like that?" She asked, a serious edge to her voice. "I love ya Al, but childcare ain't ya style."

"Nonsense! I excel in all departments." He spoke, rising to his feet. "You'll see, I'll take care of my little 'smiling demon'."

Rosie would laugh softly at the title hed given the child.

"Well then I suppose he'll need a name, won't he." Rosie hummed, looking down at the sleeping Imp.

"Hmmm." He hummed thoughtfully. "What about... Smiley?"

"NO." Rosie spoke instantly.

Alastor breaking into giggles, Rosie smiling in turn as they both looked at the Imp.

"Well what would you name our smiling little devil?" He asked the woman, his shadow hanging over the pair of them.

"Well... I like the name Felix."

The pair would sit there for a moment before Alastor would nod.

"I like it!" He smiled, reaching out to rub the baby's head once more, Alastors smile widening as his little tail came up, curling around his digits.

"Felix... Yes, I think that's a grand name."

It'd been a few months since Alastor had adopted Felix, and the man had no idea why people would carry on about childcare.

Granted. The man could do many of the chores such as changing his diapers or attire with the wave of a hand, cleaning him up and clensing his form of filth without a thought, the man still dressing the Imp still in a Red little onesie.

And the Imp was a hoot, like a little mirror as his mood seemed to reflect his own.

The Imp, taking after his old man, was usually all smiles, well unless he was hungry or had soiled himself, then hed be sure to let the man know something was wrong.

But still, he rarely cried, and seemed to be able to sleep through anything.

This parenting thing was easy!

Not that he'd say that in front of Rosie.

Not again.

She'd just about knocked his antlers off the first time hed said it.

But at the moment he was walking down Cannibal Cove's main street, the Sinner giving the occasional nod to his fellow cannibals as he passed.

To those he cared to acknowledge at least.

Felix, enjoying his mid day nap, was hanging from the Radio demons neck, the little Imp his 'favoirite necktie' as he so often liked to call him.

Approaching the boutique, Alastor would softly awaken The Imp, gently removing the Devil from his neck as he held the boy in his arms.

The young Imp would grumble, whining softly as he rubbed his face as he awoke, the child awakening groggily, looking around as he took his surroundings.

It'd be that familiar bell of Rosie's store that would fully awaken him, the little Imp perking right up.

He knew that sound.

It meant Rosie and-

"Aaaaw look at the little devil!" A demoness would coo.

Another cannibal man would pipe in. "What a strapping young lad!"

Suddenly all eyes were on the Imp, Felix just feeding on the attention as each passing sinner gave some complement or comment on him.

It wouldn't be until he reached Rosie however that Felix gave a real response.

Felix all but leapt from his arms, the Little Imp, worming out of the Radio demons grasp as the Imp reached for Rosie.

Now he wasn't one for jealousy, but Rosie truly was the only demon his Adoptive son jump to in his stead. Something she was sure to remind him of when teasing the Radio Demon.

She just had a 'woman's touch' as Rosie liked to call it, and while he couldnt deny her skill with the boy, he couldn't quite blame the Imp.

He knew why he was always so eager to see Rosie.

"Here you are sweetie~" Rosie cooed, the woman handing him one of the fingers she now kept at hand, the Imp eagerly knawing at the dried fleshy nub of the severed finger.

True to her earlier statement, Felix was a carnivore through and through, Alastor feeding him an all meat diet, often able to keep his attention with but a simple strip of flesh, the Imp's little teeth surprisingly capable at knaw through anything put before him, let alone the bone of the digit he currently chewed on.

"Well hey there Al, how've my two favourite guys in Hell been?" She'd ask the man, gently bobbing Felix to her chest.

The young Imp, even while knawing on a finger, was just soaking in the attention from the surrounding Cannibals, all smiled as he chewed on the digit.

Alastor and Rosie would share some words, the pair chatting like the old friends they were as the Imp chewed what flesh he could from the digit.

With a soggy and half chewed digit, the Imp would hold the half chewed finger up.

"Hublubdlll." The Imp blubbered, Both Alastor and Rosie freezing at the first real attempt at speech from the Imp.

"Dawwww!" The entire crowd of cannibals cooed.

"Look at you, ain't you a clever little devil?" Alastor would coo, booping him on his non-existent nose. "You'll be carrying on like your old man before we know it."

Rosie laughed, looking up at the demon.

"Oh Heaven help us all. Hell will never fall silent again."

The pair would laugh uproariously, Felix staring up at the pair, a smile cross his face, half chewed finger in his little red paw, clearly not knowing what was happening, but just happy to be included.

Reaching out, Alastor would scoop the boy up, tickling his belly as the Imp yowled with laughter.

"Oh! That's right, I have something for you." Rosie perked up, the demon belle standing up and leading the pair into the back of the general store.

Walking into the back, Rosie would approach a large item covered with a sheet.

Felix meanwhile would be crawling across his father's body, the little devil managing to cling on his back, Alastor struggling to get him off his back.

After some twisting and turning, Alastor laughing at the situation he's gotten himself into as his surprisingly nimble son had latched onto the man's back.

Thankfully, with some help from his shadow and his flexible neck, ignore the snapping sounds, he'd grab the boy, holding him upside down as the pair were locked in a bout of laughter.

Rosie, shaking her head at the giggling pair before beckoning them over.

Approaching the woman and the large covered object Rosie, with a dramatic flare, she'd yank off the sheet off, revealing a classic wooden cot.

The cot was polished yet... off. Not perfect.

Perfectly flawed. One might say.

Alastor would perk right up at the sight, eyes practically sparkling.

"Oh Rosie." He spoke, seemingly for the first time at a loss for words.

"Yeah yeah, I know, I'm incredible." She spoke with a smile, Alastor rolling his eyes.

"Well it certainly beats where the boys been sleeping so far. Should give the coat rack a nice rest." Alastor hummed, holding his arm up as if to show off Felix was hanging from his wrist by his little tail.

Rosie would give him a look, Alastor giving a hearty chuckle in turn.

"Oh dont give me that look, you know I'm just playing." Hed speak, a radio tune in his voice, the man reaching down to grip the Imp by his core, holding him in one hand in a rather funny grip as he looked over the cot.

"Though you've truly outdone yourself Rosie my dear." He'd hold the Imp in his palm, running his other hand along the polished wooden railing.

Felix, shifting in the Radio demons rather large hand, at least compared to his little Impish body, the little Imp would lean forwards, staring down at the cot.

"You like it my boy?" Alastor would ask softly, smiling as the little Imp curiously looked over the cot

Leaning forwards he'd lay his open palm on the cots mattress, allowing the Imp to crawl into the cot, Felix getting up on his hands and knees as he looked around, his movements all shaky and jerky as one would expect from such a young being.

Alastor and Rosie would watch as the Imp looked about, the little devil crawling about the squishy mattress as he explored the new space he'd been given.

The mattress squishy, making the Imp bounce, the mattress shifting beneath him and he crawled about, the Imp slipping and bouncing off the mattress in a rather funny display as he got back up, crawling about the small space.

"You know Al, I love ya, but... I have my doubts." Rosie would speak softly, watching Felix crawl about his new cot.

Alastor would exhale softly, watching the Imp as he reached the wooden railing.

"I know." He spoke simply, watching the Imp grabbing the wooden rails, the little devil shakily getting to his feet as he looked through the wooden bars of the cot.

"I know Im no parental figure. Lord knows there are likely better options out there, but... well, for lack of a better parental figure, I'm all he has." They'd both smile as The Imp softly bobbed in his space, enjoying the springiness of the mattress as he turned, looking up at the pair of them with a great big smile.

The pair would smile in turn, beaming at the little devil as he turned, looking around his cot.

"I'll admit I am... lacking in parental skills. Or attributes. Or even a general idea of how to care for a child..."

He'd playfully bumped hips with her as she stared him down.

"Yes, yes, I know pointing out my shortcomings doesn't solve them, but... I've found myself caring for the boy more than I'd ever thought I could. I... I care for him as my son."

He'd smile a genuinely caring smile as he watched the Imp softly bob up and down on the mattress, the little Imp entertainingly exploring his leg muscles.

"He's my little Imp." He spoke resolutely, smiling warmly as he watcht the Imp moving about in his cot, his shadow pushing him back as he leaned in, planning to bite on the wooden bars of his cot.

"So I'm with him, and he's with me. We have each other and that's how we are." He finished simply, smiling as he watched through Imp fall on his but, laying back as he stared up at them, eyes wide with wonder.

Rosie would stand there for a long moment before chuckling, shaking her head.

"Well, I'll always be there for my favourite guys in Hell. Just make sure you bring him around regularly, you know how the girls enjoy seeing him." She chuckled, Alastor quickly joining her.

"Thank you Rosie. I... I have my doubts I could handle all of this without you. Not like there's a guide for a man like myself suddenly caring for an Imp of all beings in Hell."

He'd chuckle, Rosie humming in turn before perking up.

"Oh! Well, actually." She'd perk up, a hint of Sass in her tone as she turned, the woman walking over to a small mound of merchandise and materials she held in the back of her store as she scanned the shelves, humming to herself as she dug through skeletons, dried and preserved meat and unique tools and doodads as she suddenly pulled back.

"A-hah!" She cheered, holding up her find.

Walking over she'd place it into his hand. Looking upon the item he found it to be a book.

'Caring for your Hellborne baby as a demonic overlord'.

The man standing there for several long moments before he'd snort, chuckling as he stuffed the book into his coat.

"Well, I suppose I have no excuse now."

The two of them bursting into heavy laughter, staring over the young Imp as he stared up at the pair of Sinners, the young Imp smiling a big goofy smile, the Imp just happy to see his daddy happy.

Alastor, sttling for just a moment, would rech out, grabbing the baby as he held him close, gently rubbing his Jose against the Imps in an affectionate display, the Overlord feeling a new found confidence in himself.

He could do this. With Rosie by his side. And this new book, the man running a thumb over the worn novel, Alastor felt good.

Confident in his future with his Impish son.

Hello y'all. So this Is actually a full version of my 'character finding a baby Imp story'.

I feel the idea of Alastor with a baby Imp has a lot of potential to it, so I figured I'd whip this up.

I hope y'all like it, and appreciate the work I put in.

I'll likely make a few more additions to the story, but if y'all have ideas for it, let me know, I'd love yo hear it.

Still, thank y'all for reading, have a good ass day!

[kirain]

Part one of my appreciation project.

@bankabb A fic based in their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The library was small but inviting, a cozy space tucked away from the world outside. A silent refuge. Shelves lined the walls, filled with well-worn books and trinkets that evinced a lifetime of study. The room was usually dim, the windows shut tight, protecting the leather spines from harsh light or the threat of humidity, but today the curtains had been drawn, allowing the pale evening sun to spill across the floor.

A long table shimmered under the amber rays, the surface cramped with half-drunk cups of tea—and a few indulgent mugs of coffee that, in all honesty, shouldn't have been there. But Dahlia couldn't resist. She sat across a wide linen couch, her short frame propped against a pillow, her knees slightly elevated as she took another sip of the sweet-bitter liquid. She had convinced herself she needed it, the book in her lap demanding attention no book ever had.

With idle patience, she turned a leaf, her lips curving faintly—not in reaction to the content, which was dry as parchment, but because she was reading it for him, her fingertips fondly tracing the margin of the page. Emmrich. It was his work, his world. If she wished to understand him beyond shameless flirting and the necromancy she'd already perfected, she had to meet him in the places where his mind dwelled, even if it meant enduring the dull intricacies of subjects she refused to touch even as an initiate.

Normally, she loved to learn, revelling in the opportunity, but this was a difficult read, even for one as intelligent as her. Yet, it didn't frustrate her, it made her admire him more. Emmrich was a man of great renown among the Mourn Watchers for a reason—brilliant, unwavering, and passionate about everything he pursued.

"...can you read?" a quiet voice broke out.

Dahlia's head snapped up, her violet eyes narrowing. Emmrich stood in the doorway, dapper as ever, a slow smile stretching across his face.

"Oh, very funny," she huffed, snatching up an aptly named throw pillow and flinging it at him, playfully.

"What?" Emmrich laughed as he caught it with ease. "What did I say?"

"You mocked me," she giggled, taking no offense. "You asked if I could read!"

Emmrich's smile faltered before a wholesome chuckle escaped his throat. "Darling, I said, 'Is it a good read?'"

A shy blush spread across her cheeks. "Oh. I thought—" She pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing at the tension. "I'm sorry, I must have been lost in thought."

"A scholar after my own heart," he teased. "What are you reading, anyhow?"

Before she could answer, the tall, striking man ambled towards her, his expression keen and curious, his accessories gleaming in her spectacles. Suddenly, a flicker of embarrassment stirred in the pit of her stomach, her knees clenching to cover the book. She didn't want him to know she'd sought out his writings not to study the Fade, but to study him.

Then, it struck her like lightning to a spire—perhaps the text itself wasn't difficult. Perhaps the real reason she struggled, the reason she kept flipping back and rereading the same lines over and over, was because her fantasies ran rampant: imagining the way he must have looked hunched over his desk, eyes sharp with focus, his slender hand flexing along the pages as he obsessed over every word, every stroke of his quill.

"Oh, it's... well—" she stammered, but it was too late.

The couch dipped beneath Emmrich's weight as he settled by her feet and, without preamble, gently grasped her leg, shifting it just enough to see the title. Veilbound: A Treatise on the Fade and the Nature of Transcendence by Professor Emmrich Volkarin. He paused, and for the briefest moment, Dahlia could have sworn she saw his cheeks flush—just before he smoothed it away, hiding any trace of humility behind a sly grin.

"You poor thing," he quipped, leaning closer. "Must be boring you to tears. Some of my closest colleagues haven't been able to get through it."

Not for the same reasons, she hoped.

"I admit, it's not the most thrilling read," she jested.

"How dare you," he laughed, his grip on her leg tightening in all the right places, his thumb stroking her sensitive calf.

She looked away, flustered by the affection. "But I... I'm reading it for you."

The words left her mouth before she could consider them, and Emmrich stilled, something unspoken passing through his gaze. This beautiful, bright, compassionate young woman—even after that night in the Necropolis, even after she bared her soul—he still couldn't believe she wanted him.

And he wanted her. Carnally.

"Is that so?"

With one swift motion, he pulled her legs out from under her, guiding them around his waist. The force of it, harmless as it was, earned a startled gasp as Dahlia slid down into the cushions, the book tumbling from her grasp. Her glasses slipped up to her forehead, her vision blurring before she hastily adjusted them. When her sight cleared, her pulse thrummed in her pointed ears.

Emmrich was on top of her, one hand warm and firm against her thigh, the other bracing himself beside her. His face hovered only a hairsbreadth above hers, his hazel eyes heavy with desire.

"If you wish to know me better," he purred, his voice a shade lower, richer, "all you have to do is ask. I'll share my expertise with you for hours."

Dahlia swallowed, her blush deepening, but she soon gave him a daring smirk. "Anatomy," she challenged.

"Ah, my favourite subject," he grinned. "Though perhaps a bit redundant for an accomplished healer?"

His sharp wit, his effortless denial of her relief—it was enough to drive her mad.

"Maybe I'm testing you," she teased, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her, her defiance cracking under his relentless charm. "Y-your job is teaching. Mine is doing. And you know what they say—those who can't do, tea—"

His lips crashed into hers far too quickly, thrusting the air from her lungs. The kiss was deep, consuming, his tongue tracing along the seam of her lips before delving inside. He tasted her, savoured her, worshipped her with every slow, intoxicating stroke, coaxing a soft, muffled moan from her core.

"Mmph..."

She melted beneath him, her fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his waistcoat, helpless and hungry. When he shuffled closer, pushing into her crux, she shivered, his heat setting every nerve ablaze with longing and desperation.

And he didn't stop.

Dahlia's toes curled, anticipation flooding her senses as his hand traced a slow path up her thigh—up places that made her squirm—before sliding to the back of her head. With the extra leverage, he pushed their lips harder together, the pressure teetering on the edge of pain. Yet, somehow, he knew exactly where to hold the point of ecstasy, as if he knew her body better than she did.

"Darling..." he rasped, parting from her only a moment before devouring her lips once more.

Time ceased to be, the world fading from memory as their mouths danced in a rhythm of wet, eager sucks and slurps, a symphony of need and devotion.

A guarantee of pleasure to come.

When Emmrich finally pulled away, a thin strand of saliva following his lips, Dahlia was left breathless, her chest heaving in rapid succession. She didn't speak; she couldn't, but her eyes locked onto his—lidded, wanting, and silently begging for more.

He obliged, reaching for the hem of her trousers.

"I think you're ready," he whispered, his voice thick with promise, "to learn exactly what I can do."

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 36 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

You are getting the feeling that Mariko Kimura doesn’t really like you. 

And maybe it’s stupid, but you’re really not used to that.

Worse yet, this woman basically has a license to beat the hell out of you as The Personal Trainer–how else are you going to learn how to defend yourself in this vicious world? Strikes, blocks, throws, joint locks–she’s taking her job seriously, and after a week has gone by you’re not sure how much more you can actually handle. Maybe you’re a hiker girl, but it’s been a long time since you’ve done any athletic activity that demanded you give everything you have, take a breath, and then give fifty percent more. Your body hurts everywhere. Your torso is bruised in twenty places under your top, and you think she might have knocked one of your back teeth loose with a dirty punch.

You do not want to complain to John. You know he went through so much worse, and it would feel like tattling. So you take a moment to compose yourself on a bench before returning to your room, breathing deeply. That hurts too–jesus fuck, did she crack your ribs? 

What you really want to do is have a good little cry, but that’s completely off the table. 

Show no weakness. 

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Your eyes fly open to find Winston Scott, looking dapper as ever in a pinstripe suit, standing nearby. You hadn’t heard him approach. That’s probably not a good thing, even in this supposedly neutral environment. 

“I’m fine,” you say brightly with a smile you know looks more like a grimace. “Just…catching my breath.”

“May I?”

You scoot over on the antique wooden bench, very aware that you are sweaty as the proverbial whore in church, surprised this fastidious man would dare come within six feet of you at the moment. 

“I must admit I was surprised when I saw that Jonathan enrolled you with Miss Kimura. She is close friends with Akira Shimazu.” 

“I…don’t know what that means,” you admit. 

“Ah. Well, Jonathan should.”

You blow out a long breath through your teeth, bracing your kidneys. Maybe a shower and a dip in the cool waters of the pool downstairs would be nice. 

“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble,” you sigh. If John suspects Mariko is playing rougher than what is demanded for some personal reason that has nothing to do with you, that could breed a whole new problem. You have enough problems. 

“As you wish. I am not sure you know this about our Jonathan yet, but politics are not his strong suit. He is the best at what he does, but the more subtle machinations of our world still escape him.”

This doesn’t come as a total surprise to you, although if you let Winston in on some of the psychological games John played with you not so long ago, the old man’s hair might have stood on end.

Or, maybe not. 

“Are you telling me it’s my job to keep him from killing everyone when the Camorra finally show for this sitdown?” 

“Well. I’m sure you’ve heard tell of what happened with Santino d’Antonio.”

“Yes.” 

“Perhaps Jonathan is in a better state of mind these days thanks to you. But I also fear what our dear boy may do, to defend you.”

Hearing anyone call your fearsome assassin John dear boy brings a little smile to your lips. You are glad that someone seems to be in his corner. You’ve gotten the impression from hearing John talk that Winston is like a father figure to him. You’re relieved it goes both ways. 

“I will keep what you’re telling me in mind.” 

“That is all I ask,” he says with a nod, standing. “And perhaps, a little break from the Trainer would do you good.”

A small laugh escapes you–you know it sounds bitter. “You give very good advice, Mr. Scott.” 

“I know I do. If only the young people around me would deign to benefit from my wealth of experience.” This is his parting shot, and you watch as he makes his exit stage left, leisurely strolling back down the hall like a king in his castle. 

***

Lounging in a warm bubbly bath–with John Wick’s solid naked body behind you, maybe makes the beatings you’ve been taking worth it. 

Ok, it’s totally fucking worth it. Nothing hurts anymore…except for when his soapy hands gently massaging your sore muscles find a bruise. There are a lot of them. 

It also helps that a few minutes ago he ran those soapy hands all over your breasts and aching center, coaxing a soul-wrenching orgasm out of you, all while talking you through it with his low voice in your ear.

He never actually asked if you’re alright, and you take that as a compliment. Maybe it’s fucked up, but you’re kinda proud of your pain tolerance–and John’s quiet approval. 

That doesn’t mean you’re capable of keeping your mouth shut about something else that’s bothering you. 

“Who is Akira Shimazu?” you ask sleepily, your head lolled back on his broad shoulder. His hands pause tellingly upon you, before resuming their soothing circuit. 

“She’s the daughter of one of my oldest friends, Koji,” he finally answers, his tone deliberately neutral. “He…was killed by the High Table, when I went to his Continental in Osaka for shelter.” 

There is a lot to unpack in that sentence. You start with the part that alarms you the most. “Wait…the High Table are allowed to break the rules of the Continental?” If those fuckers were coming, supposedly to play mediator–what good would it do, if they were not bound to follow their own rules? 

“Not usually,” he assures you. “The Marquis who was hunting me was granted…privileges.” 

“Sounds like bullshit.” 

“It was bullshit.” 

You decide this is all the information you need to connect the dots. If you were Akira Shimazu, you would probably blame John Wick for your father’s death too. And if you were Akira’s friend, and had no recourse to hurt John Wick directly–beating up his girlfriend was pretty much the next best thing. Great. 

“Why are you asking me this?” 

“Oh…just a conversation I had with Winston today.” You turn in the bath, reaching for the soap to return the favor to John, only in part to distract him. He weighs you with those dark eyes, only half believing you, or at least, sensing there’s more than what you’re telling him. You sit up straddling his lap, running your hands over his chest. His eyes slide closed, quiet for some time as you touch him. His wounds from the home invasion have healed now, his stitches out just the other day. Now they are simply slick pink flesh under your fingertips–as though it had all just been a bad dream.

These moments seem even more precious between you, now. You want to hoard them like a dragon with its pile of gold, keep them forever shining in your memory. You know what you’ll draw in your sketch journal tonight. You’ve been trying to keep up with a drawing a day, a way to pass the time, though the past week you’ve been too tired in the evening.

“Is Mariko…associated with Akira?” 

Maybe Winston doesn’t give John enough credit. 

“I think they might be friends.”

He touches a bruise on your arm with a new understanding, his dark brows drawn in a frown.

Well shit. So much for being subtle. 

“Is she hurting you on purpose?” 

“She’s…not pulling any punches. That’s ok, John. I’ve learned more this past week than in the five years I did in Tae Kwon Do.” You realize that is absolutely true. 

John’s eyes narrow as he searches out your bruises with new eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

It’s interesting to you, how it was par for the course before, but with the new information that it might be personal, it’s suddenly not ok. 

“Don’t be.” 

“I didn’t think I would be a good hand to hand combat teacher for you.”

“Why not?” you ask, not accusing, just curious. 

“Because when I put my hands on you I just want to fuck you,” he admits bluntly, raising gooseflesh all across your body, your greedy cunt suddenly clenching in insistent reminder of her state of abject emptiness...drama queen.  

 “Even…if we were fighting?”

Considering his penchant for chasing, maybe you already know the answer to that. He blows through his nose, pulling you close with those mitts for hands on your hips so that you can feel he’s hard just with the thought of it. 

He ducks to graze his teeth upon the curve of your shoulder, and your state of relaxation is starting to fly out the window again. This man. 

“Especially if we were fighting,” he admits against your ear, his voice gravely with desire. “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking you down. I’d fuck you right there on the mat, and you wouldn’t learn a thing except that you drive me wild.”

Your nipples tighten with the thought, your breath caught in your throat, and he lifts you easily in the water with that controlling grip on your hips, rubbing your now slick center against his throbbing cock. Tub sex can be tricky, but the bath water stands no chance against the suddenly raging state of your arousal. Without further ado he lifts you onto his cock, impaling you on his thick tip. The glorious glide and stretch of his girthy shaft inside you still takes your breath away, like you can feel him in your lungs, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” you squeak, winning a dark chuckle that scrambles your insides. 

“Yeah.”  

It’s the last intelligible word you manage, in the next few minutes, as he uses you just as he pleases, the water sloshing all around as he pistons inside you. It’s all you can do just to hold on, clenching tightly upon his insatiable erection the way you know makes him lose it. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he invites, though you know he’s close. You’ve reached that point in your physical relationship when you know each other’s bodies so well, your rhythms and sounds, down to the very tone of a gasp or the desperation of a thrust. 

“I don’t think I can cum again,” you admit, though you’re thoroughly enjoying him inside you. 

You really didn’t mean it as a challenge, but when he smirks at you with that certain sparkle in his anthracite eyes you just know you’re in for it. 

“Yes you can,” he insists, slowing his pace inside you, arching you back in his arms so that he can flick one of your nipples with his devilishly clever tongue. Oh. Well that’s not fair at all. You reach down to rub your clit while he fills you like this, delaying his pleasure to hit that perfect spot just past your entrance that makes you forget anything else exists in the world but you and him and the promise of a soul-snatching orgasm on the horizon.

“Give it up for me, my pretty girl,” he coaxes with his lips against your skin, and you know the snake must have sounded like that when he spoke to Eve. Tempting and forbidden and yet oh so reasonable. You’ve asked a lot from your body in the past few days. Maybe this is how you die–and what a way to go. That wonderful tingling pressure fills your hips and you moan, forgetting, again, that the other assassins down the hall probably do not want to hear more evidence that John Wick never misses. 

There are stars in your eyes and a ringing in your ears as this shining, bone-shattering release takes you. You are a ragdoll in his arms as he fills you to the hilt and bathes your cervix with the hot rush of his cum. It’s all the two of you can do, not to sink into the water and drown. With a shaky sigh you kiss his lips before melting against him, re-learning how to breathe with his arms wrapped around you, your head on his shoulder. 

He strokes your hair, whispering endearments so low you can’t really make them out, but the tone is so soothing you drift asleep for a few minutes. You only wake when he freshens the bath with more hot water, before drifting off again. 

***

Much later, when both of your faculties have returned, and your fingers have turned to prunes, he tells you, “I think we’ll give you a break. We’ll start weapons training tomorrow. That, I will handle myself.” 

This is news to you. “Here? In the hotel?”

“There’s an armory, a range, even a course.” 

“In this hotel?” 

He chuckles a little at your disbelief. “Yeah.” 

The New York Continental: anything and everything a killer could need…

And here you are, trapped amongst them with the man you love. You know this is technically John’s world, but a part of you just can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong here. That he shouldn’t have to be back here–it’s not fair. 

You sit up in the water, reaching for a little yellow rubber duck on the side of the tub, not meeting John’s eyes. You’re not sure where it came from; there must be some inside joke you’re not privy to…but it’s cute. 

You do feel some relief, knowing you’re not going to get beat up again tomorrow, though going through tactical firearms drills makes you more than a little nervous. You’re sure it will be different from plinking in the backyard on a Sunday with your dad and his drinking buddies. Ah, alcohol and guns–a time honored American classic.

“I feel like I’m walking out of here with my Certificate in Baddass Assassin Studies,” you say with a nervous little laugh. “What else is there? Are you going to teach me how to pinball flip someone with a muscle car? Maybe how to ride a motorcycle while swinging a katana?”

His lips twist in a smirk. “If you want, when we go home.” 

You find the thought buoys you with hope. “Will we ever get to go home?”

“Unless you really want to move to Argentina,” he needles you.

“Argentina does sound pretty bitchin’...” you tease him. 

He narrows his eyes at you; after all this time, it still gives you a thrill. “Are you sure your fascination with Argentina doesn’t stem from the good looking men who seem to live there?”

You make a raspberry at the thought. He still remembers Javi, it seems. You do too, of course, but all that feels like a distant dream in your memory. “Darling, I have all the Tall, Dark, and Handsome I can handle right here.” You place the rubber ducky on top of his head as though bestowing a crown, and he rolls his eyes before snatching you to him, water splashing all across the floor again. 

“Who’s going–to clean–that up?” you tease between kisses and giggling, suddenly drunk on his arms around you, his strong hand running down your side to squeeze your behind before long fingers quest further towards your aching center. 

“Baby, that is the least of your worries right now.”    

“I can’t!” you whine in protest as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You absolutely give yourself away with your joyful laughter that turns into a moan.

“We’ll see, cheeky girl.”  

This insatiable man really might prove the death of you. 

----

Pretty sure the rubber ducky is all on @sweetwolfcupcake …😂😘😘😘

[hazelfoureyes]

Could you write a short story about a trans FTM Y/N coming out to alastor?

If not I don't mind!

I'm just starting to come out to some people and want to feel validated by alastor lolll

Mon Cher

You had to start somewhere. But the issue with these kinds of conversations is there’s never a natural point in talking to bring it up…. And sitting people down can be so stressful for everyone.

But you had an opportunity. 

Alastor was known for his pet names, often throwing out a dear or sweetheart.

So when he leaned against your side and asked, “Pass me that, will you ma chère?” You froze. Finally. The frustratingly gendered nature of languages was coming to your aid.

“Alastor, I’m not comfortable with being called ma chère. Can you call me mon cher?”

His face stilled, a moment of confusion. “That’s the word for males, dear.”

“Yeah. I know.” A nervous shift in your seat, “Actually, with all things. I prefer he or him and other male coded words. Those are the right words for me.”

Humans have been changing the way they were identified since humans invented ways to identify each other. Not a moment in time has there existed a point where every human language fully represented its people. Nor that every body was reflective of the soul it inherited. 

So Alastor didn’t need long to adjust. He knew quite a few dapper lads in his day who had made the same request.

“Of course mon cher. May I have that pen now?”

After you handed it over he let the tip hover over his paper for a second, without looking up, “Did you want to talk anymore about things?”

After thinking for a moment, “Do you think I’ll struggle with telling the others?”

He replied as he began his work, slowly, mostly for show, “Do you want to tell them?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you won’t have an ounce of trouble. I guarantee it.” He looked up now, typically disheartening smile looking soft and gentle, “I’ll make sure of it, mon chéri*.”

Before the silence went on too long and he knew the topic would be changed he added, “Did you know Rosie makes custom suits? Quite the skilled seamstress. Perhaps we could stop by sometime. If you’d like.”

Not only had he truly meant the offer, you found telling him had brought a different kind of help. Sometimes you didn’t have to tell people at all once someone was there to set the new standard. 

A day soon after came when Alastor addressed you appropriately in public, “Well that’s too bad Charlie, I need his help with some studio work.”

And the crew looked at you, and you smiled, and they smiled and the conversation would carry on as normal. The only change being a few words replaced a few others and you got a small pat on the back as Husk left the group to tend bar.

Sometimes the first steps are the hardest but get us the furthest. 

Happy pride babies! made this very first steps for many people and I hope it was something you enjoyed. Apologies for the delay, i actually didn’t see this until about four days ago.

*“Mon cher” means “my dear”, said to a male person. “Ma chère” means the same, said to a female. “Mon chéri”, resp. “ma chérie”, means “my darling” or “my dearest”.

🏳️‍🌈Hazbin Masterlist🏳️‍🌈

[theladyofshalott1989]

🌈️ Hogwarts Legacy Pride Week: Day One!

Prompt: Big Firsts

🐎 "A Little Hoarse"

[ AO3 Link ]

Synopsis: Sebastian's first time on a horse doesn't exactly go to plan.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1505

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Male MC (Damien Evans)

Tags: POV Sebastian Sallow, Humor, Banter, Summer Love, First Time (... Riding a Horse), Young Love, Sebastian Sallow in Love, Sebastian Sallow Is Bad at Feelings, Established Relationship

Author's Note: Thank you so much to @hogwartslegacyprideweek for organizing this wonderful event! I have been looking forward to it for weeks, and I can't believe it's finally here!

Damien was riding a horse.

Merlin, Damien was riding a horse!

Sebastian was in absolute thrall to the vision before him. This had to be a dream. It simply had to be. Sebastian was still fast asleep in the guest room of Damien's estate in Mayfair. There was no other possible explanation. 

He pinched himself, wincing when the pain hit. No, not a dream. Definitely not.

So, how was this happening?

When Sebastian woke up in the wee hours of the morning, in bed with Damien, placing a quick kiss on his forehead, savoring Damien's softly murmured, "Mmm, Bash," before sneaking back to the guest room to wait out the remaining hours until sunrise, he did not have this unusual and entirely glorious circumstance on his mind whatsoever. 

Now, to be fair, Damien had said last night there'd be a "surprise waiting for him on the morrow," but Sebastian's dapper lover on a horse seemed a bit far-fetched. A lot far-fetched.

Oh! Damien's horse was galloping toward him now.

Erm, what did one do to greet a horse? Certainly one didn't bow, did they? Or… perhaps one did? Well, hm. He supposed there was no harm in it. So, Sebastian bowed.

A warm, throaty peal of laughter shocked him back to his senses. 

"Sebastian, I'm not a prince. There's really no need for that."

Sebastian lifted his head slowly, schooling his expression to appear cheeky, not embarrassed. A difficult feat, to be sure.

"As you wish, Your Highness," he said, waving his arm out with a flourish and bowing his head once more, but lower this time. Much, much lower. Might as well commit fully to the act. Perhaps he'd even convince himself it had always only been a joke.

When Sebastian lifted his head, Damien was already sliding off the gorgeous tan creature, whose curious snout had stretched forward. In fact, it was now hovering perilously close to Sebastian's head.

Sebastian leaped back, eyebrows raised, somehow managing to stifle a curse, knowing that Damien wasn't overly fond of them. He coughed into his hand instead. 

Damien appeared none the wiser for once, perhaps too preoccupied with gently stroking the horse's back.

Sebastian suddenly recalled another time, not so long ago, when Damien had done the same for him: warm, circular motions, soothing him in his great distress, in the catacomb, shortly before… No! He gave his head a brisk shake. Now was not the time to dwell on that terrible memory.

"Sebastian, meet Persephone. Persephone, Sebastian."

The horse, in typical horse-fashion, at least Sebastian presumed, blinked at him, its long, blond eyelashes reminding him of Damien's. 

"A pleasure," Sebastian said, tilting his head ever so slightly at the beast, playing along. 

Damien burst into a delightfully carefree grin. "Now that you two have been properly introduced," he said, "Would you like a go on her?"

Sebastian swallowed. "I—uh, erm, well…" He trailed off. How did one admit to having never ridden a horse before? This would be his first. 

He supposed he'd just say it outright, as much as it went against all of his instincts. Better that than "I'd love to!" through clenched teeth.

Oh no. Wait. Wait one blasted moment! Did he just say that out loud? He opened his mouth to rescind his words, but just before he did, Damien's eyes lit up and his smile grew wider. What an expression! Sebastian would be a proper fool to wipe such a stunning grin off the love of his life's face. 

Damien clapped his hands. "I presume you know how to mount her?" 

"Ah, yes, of course." He'd ridden Highwing a handful of times. With Damien, yes, but that counted, right? Right?

Sebastian stepped forward, eyeing Persephone from head to hoof, calculating. Now, how to go about this? She looked to be at least a head taller than Highwing, maybe even two. And, regrettably, Sebastian hadn't grown much since the last time he'd mounted something or someone. Sweet Merlin, Sebastian! Stop that! Mounted a creature. And grown in physical height, not… well. His lower extremities warmed at the thought. Honestly. What was wrong with him this morning? He was half-tempted to conjure a bucket of cold water and throw it at himself.

He supposed he'd just scramble on top of her, awkwardness be damned. He took a deep breath, puffing up his chest, and then, promptly, clambered on top of the beast. Persephone, apparently unaccustomed to such a graceless mount, nickered and stamped twice. He nearly toppled off, but a firm hand caught him, gripping his ass, hoisting him the rest of the way, and giving a cheeky squeeze before letting go.

"There you are, Bash," Damien said smoothly. "A bit rusty, hm?" he added, then gave Persephone's rump a slap—and they were off!

Sebastian yelped.

"Take her around the estate a few times!" Damien called out. "She needs the exercise!"

Sebastian had just enough presence of mind to shout back, "Right!" but that was the extent of his current capabilities. He was far too busy trying to figure out how, exactly, one was meant to steer this creature. Too bad he didn't have his wand. Arresto Momentum would've come in handy right about now.

Oh no. Persephone was galloping now.

Still, she seemed to know where she was going. The Evans estate was gargantuan, and judging by the path she'd chosen, they were only halfway through the circuit, but at least she was making a proper round of it. He hadn't even had to do anything.

The gardens loomed ahead. Persephone veered right, straight toward a hedge. A very tall hedge.

Oh shit.

Sebastian screamed as she launched into the air, her hooves skimming the topmost bit of the hedge. 

"Damien! Get me off this thing right this instant!"

Too bad Damien was still somewhere near the front of the house and probably hadn't heard a word of his panic-stricken plea. Another hedge appeared. Sebastian didn't have time to curse—he just braced himself. Persephone leapt again.

"EVANS!"

And then, blessedly, Damien appeared. Face flushed, sweat streaking down his brow, racing forward with his shirt untucked and the small curve of his belly bouncing with every step. He looked both worried and entirely too amused. Come to think of it, was he laughing ?

"This is not funny!" Sebastian barked. "Your horse is a menace!"

He tried to shout again but choked instead, which dissolved into a fit of coughing.

Ow. His voice was—ugh—hoarse.

"I'm sorry," Damien said, chuckling as he casually tucked his shirt back into his trousers, as though Sebastian hadn't just been hurled over multiple hedges. "But you really should've told me you'd never ridden a horse before."

Damn. Of course he'd figured it out. Damien was far too perceptive for his own good.

Spotting Damien like a loyal crup might her master, Persephone came to a halt directly in front of him. Damien stepped forward with slow, practiced ease, and she nuzzled the top of his head.

Then, from behind his back, Merlin only knew how, a carrot appeared in Damien's hand.

Sebastian huffed. "Seriously?"

"What?" Damien blinked, the perfect picture of innocence, fluttering his ridiculously thick eyelashes.

"You're rewarding her for her terrible behavior!" Sebastian's voice cracked at the end of his surly exclamation. He cleared his throat with as much dignity as he could muster.

"It's not her fault you couldn't control her."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. "She launched me over two hedges, Damien. Two. I could've died!"

Damien tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. "You didn't, though. In fact, you looked rather majestic mid-air."

"I screamed like a banshee!"

"Yes, but a handsome banshee."

Sebastian slid off the saddle and scrambled off Persephone to the ground with a graceless thud. "I'm going to hold this against you for the rest of our days."

Damien grinned, tossing the carrot top aside and reaching out to brush a bit of windblown hair from Sebastian's forehead. "You're positively adorable when you're furious. Are you going to hex me now?"

"Don't tempt me."

"I live to tempt you." His expression crossed over into an infuriating smirk. Infuriating, but also ridiculously good-looking, of course. 

Sebastian groaned, but the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself. "I hate you."

"No, you don't." 

"... Fine." That was entirely fair. Of course Sebastian didn't hate Damien. He loved him so much it hurt most days. But still. It was the principle of the matter. "I hate your horse," he corrected himself. 

"Tragic. She rather liked you." Damien gave her a pat. "Can't say I blame her. You're rather dashing." 

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were already warming. And then Damien kissed him, quick and sure. All too practiced. 

Not like whatever this had been.

Sebastian and Damien had plenty of firsts together over the past year or two, but this? This would not be one of the fondly remembered ones.

He would stick to brooms, thank you very much.

Sebastian's first time on a horse was definitely the last.

[sugoi-writes]

Joyride - Alastor x Lucifer

Kinktober - Day IV (Car Sex)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷

A/N - What a fucking HONOR it is to kick of Day 4 of this prompt with my lovely wives! If you haven't read the first few days, please do so! I'd love to thank @hazelfoureyes @synamartia @fraugwinska @macabr3-barbi3 and @minkdelovely for indulging in this insanity with me 🔥 Oh this will be FUN

Day I Day II Day III

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷

⚠️Warnings⚠️: Old man yaoi, cursing, dirty talk, thirsty descriptions, Luci in a damn dress, riding/grinding/humping, handjob(kinda?), anal fingering/prep, banter, alcohol consumption, Bottom/Switch Alastor if you squint, edging mention, and... just straight up smut. This is car sex people. MDNI I SWEAR TO CHRIST... Have fun!

🔥VROOM VROOM🔥

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷

When Alastor arrived at the rendezvous, he hadn't expected the limousine that awaited him. Or, perhaps he should have... This is the King of Hell, after all. The vehicle was an elegant, pristine white with accents of red and gold. Imagery of Eden's vices were lovingly etched into the metallic flourishes with a near-angelic precision. Lucifer’s fixations on apples and serpentine designs were not missed by the Radio Demon… He had to admit: it was a perfect chariot for the prideful ruler of Hell. A chariot he would soon share with him alone.

Alastor dismissed his cane with a flick of his wrist, hands eager to hold onto something else. When a long, pitch and ivory leg emerged from the car, he felt his heart leap into his throat. Alastor was rarely a victim of his carnal urges, but he felt the table shifting as he saw more and more of that delectable skin. 

Lucifer Morningstar emerged from the limo in his colors-- a deep, cherry red with golden accents. The opulent, delicate chains that dangled down his bare back could be seen in the tinted windows' reflection. Alastor fought the urge to clear his throat, feeling his pulse hammering away urgently. Has Lucifer always owned this dress?

The fallen angel, temptation incarnate, combed his blackened fingers through his far-too-slick hair. Much like the snake in the Garden of Eden, Lucifer's eyes were lidded with sin and desire. He knew exactly how he looked, relishing his partner's near sheepish reaction.

"You look dapper as always, Mr. Radio Demon,” he practically purred, addressing Alastor as an equal. The flustered sinner was hoping to get more intimate names to tumble from those lips soon enough. 

Alastor bows at the waist, taking Lucifer's hand into his own formally. He smiles before pressing the silken flesh to his lips. During this, he maintains his focus on Lucifer’s eyes, and not the valley between his pectorals. Arguably, it was a difficult task for the taller demon. 

"Your Majesty, you may call me Alastor tonight. I implore you to." For the moment, Alastor returns the playful, formal tone, knowing that his partner will find it amusing. As if on cue, Lucifer tilts his head curiously, his free hand stifling his chuckle. 

"What a change of pace... Something must have come over you," Lucifer supplied, sighing as Alastor starts a tender ascent up his arm. Alastor's lips didn't rest the entire journey, talking between his strategic kisses. 

"Well, 'Alastor' sounds far sweeter when you're wailing in ecstacy, Your Grace." Alastor's rebuttal was so brief, yet so devastating to the demon before him. As if Lucifer wasn't already mentally shredding his new, black blazer to ribbons…

Lucifer's breath stutters as Alastor's kisses carve sensual patterns up his neck, tempting the temptress to give in to a moan. Alastor forgot that they were in public with prying eyes, it seemed... 

A fist full of hair forces Alastor to halt in his tracks, a breathy reply ghosting his cheek. 

"Then you must call me Lucifer tonight, Al... I'd rather hear that than the list of royal bastardizations you've cooking up..." 

A wolfish grin presses against Lucifer's pulse, making the fallen angel's heart stir once more," As you wish, Lucifer." Alastor, ever the gentleman, untangles himself from the breathless devil swiftly. Immediately after, he swings the door of the limo open, gesturing towards the interior with a dramatic flare. 

"But please, do crawl in... Wouldn't want you to catch a cold from your... Interesting choice of garments." 

Lucifer snickers, revealing that his dress has not one, but two side slits. As he makes a show of crawling in, Alastor's eyes can't help their wandering to the devil’s pert rump," Only if you come crawling after me, Bambi Boy~" 

See, at this very moment, Alastor is a simple man. And he follows the requests of his Lord without hesitation. He is nothing if not an eager man; ready to please.

🩸🩸🩸

Alastor can't help marveling over the little things. Limos were a luxury rarely extended to people of lower classes, like himself. He and his mother were as low as they could be on Earth, humble and grateful for what they have. While he tried to not oogle at the niceties of the cab, he couldn't hide the interest that sparkled in his eyes.

A phone, with a direct line to the driver-- for emergencies, or requests to stop, one could assume. Conveniently, there was a sliding window, should the phone be obsolete. In all of their banter, Lucifer insisted that 'it’s basically soundproof'. Had Lucifer wanted to test that theory, Alastor wondered. 

Towards the front of the cabin, dozens of glasses for champagne and other spirits sat on a bar cart– conveniently built into the side of the vehicle. The center console just below the window acted as a cooler, stocked with lovely vintages and chasers (he even spotted a brandy bottle or two--how very thoughtful of the King...) 

The windows were tinted, of course, the seats a red, luxurious leather. And for comfort, the lights in the back were dimmed, bathing the pair in a low, sultry light. For all intents and purposes, this was the perfect set up to a steamy tryst… One that even the Radio Demon could see coming. Alastor was surrounded by wealth, comfort and good company... A combination he wasn't used to, but one he welcomed enthusiastically. 

Lucifer had been meeting him finger-to-finger with whiskey the entire drive, the two of them laughing and honking like a pair of geese at the smallest reference. Alastor hadn't remembered the last time he had this much fun and let loose, already feeling the delicious effects of his drinks settle in. He had to admit: the dingy hotel bar was a far cry from the back of Lucifer's limousine. He felt justified in spending his time so earnestly with him, and felt just as eager to pursue the tryst that crossed his mind more than once. 

Alastor felt light as a feather, and yet as hearty as molten lava. He was one of the few to get this luxury; one of the first outside of the Morningstar Family to grace the seats of Lucifer’s limousine. Alastor wanted to leave an impression… and who could blame him? This was just as much his limo as it was Lucifer’s, in his mind. This particular ride would be one the Lord of the Hells would never forget... A 'joyride', as he's heard it called before. And so, with many fingers of whiskey making his heart flutter, Alastor enacted his plan. 

He hadn't anticipated the road bump when he tried to lean over, his longer, spindly body colliding into Lucifer's suddenly. The latter had clipped his head on the way down, but still managed to keep his glass of whiskey aloft. A pained groan was shared between the two, before they settled into their new position. 

When Lucifer looked up to wide, near hysterical eyes, a grin stretched across his pale face mischievously. He let his hand rest against Alastor's broad chest, his other still dangling midair. 

"First time in a car, I reckon?" Lucifer needles boldly, feeling a leg press between his own. Alastor levels him with a hard stare, softened by the blush rapidly coloring his cheeks. 

"And if it was? Would you feel so honored?" Alastor bit back, his hands confidently caging Lucifer's head. Alastor did his best to keep his balance as the limo hopped and bobbed along, not missing the way that Lucifer's body rippled beneath him. He wanted to see those same ripples uninterrupted by the luxurious fabric on his skin...

"I would be flattered, yes! For saving something so special for me, Bambi~" 

"Please don't call me that--" 

Lucifer manages to pull his leg up, pressing it to Alastor's chest before kicking him off. He sends the startled demon flying onto his back, leaving him sputtering from shock. Thankfully, he didn't shred the ceiling with his antlers on his descent. However… he wasn't so lucky with the door, the very tips of his points sinking into the doorframe. 

Lucifer straddled Alastor's hips with his shimmering thighs, chugging the rest of his drink before slinging the empty glass away. Alastor flinched as it shattered right against the window that divided the cabin from the front, ears flat against his skull. Was he TRYING to get the driver's attention?!

"Why don't I show you how it's done then, hmm~? I'll give you the ride of your life~" Lucifer offers, mirroring Alastor's classic, amused head tilt. 

The sinner bit his lip, suppressing the groan building in his throat. The prospect was one he wasn't disinterested in… He struggled as Lucifer settled over his groin, grinding his soft hind against his lap. It appeared he wasn't the only one struggling to 'keep it in his pants'... Err, dress? 

Alastor's hands grasp Luci's waist possessively, resisting the urge to bring him harder against his growing cock. 

"H-Have it your way," Alastor scoffs, head rolling back as Lucifer's rocking becomes a harsh bounce– accursed speed bumps! And curse the car door! 

Alastor’s antlers created deep gouges into the frame, rendering him completely still. In this position, he is quite vulnerable, his tail wagging subconsciously under his body. And yet, the element of being ‘trapped’ somehow made the heat in his cheeks travel straight to his cock. 

“ ‘You sure you want it my way~?” Lucifer teased, bringing his hips in a tight circle. This act alone had Alastor keening, biting his lip to silence himself. Of course I do, Alastor thought.

“Just get on with it, before I change my mind!” He jabs, knowing damn well that Lucifer saw straight through him. Lucifer grins as he braces a hand against the ceiling, the other fiddling with Alastor's trousers. "With pleasure, Alastor~" 

Alastor could hardly conceal his desire, the booze unraveling his resolve to be stoic or guarded. His cock throbbed at the use of his name in such a sensual context, aching to be freed.

Lucifer unclasps Alastor's belt with ease, tongue running across his pointed teeth greedily. Even as the vehicle rocked about, Lucifer hardly swayed. Instead, he used the unpredictability as a reason to press his body closer. The Radio Demon sighed with relief when his cock was released, his flushed, heated tip already damp with precum. 

Lucifer whistles lewdly at the sight, looking to Alastor with a cocky smirk,” Absolutely divine…” the former angel mused, leaving Alastor unable to form a coherent thought. 

When Lucifer resettles over his lap, Alastor is struck with a startling realization: no underwear. Not a single fucking thing to keep Lucifer concealed. Had Lucifer simply willed it away, or had he been garment-less this entire time? The prospect made Alastor buck up into Lucifer, a breathy sigh fumbling from his lips.

“Such an eager boy… I'll be sure to reward my little doe soon enough~” 

Alastor hardly had a moment to think before Lucifer's cock pressed to his. Thereafter, a warm hand wrapped firmly around both shafts. Alastor jolts, gasping as his partner moves against him. Lucifer keeps his hand ridgid with a delicious, all consuming pressure, watching his favorite sinner tremble below him. Experimentally, Lucifer begins to stroke the both of them, getting the Radio Demon to sigh and relax. The large hands holding Lucifer's waist act as an anchor, despite Alastor’s desire to move. His hips begin rocking languidly to watch Lucifer's pace, seeking even more friction than the bit provided by him. A shared, wanton moan hangs in the air, both sinners feeling their hearts quicken. 

Lucifer glides against the Radio Demon faster, the bumps in the road making his pace haphazard but heavenly," S-See? Told you I'd show-- you-- aaaaah good time~ Aaahn!" 

Alastor wasn't up for refuting the statement, especially when he was focusing on staying quiet," Are you quite certain we c-cahh-- hah-- c-can't be heard, cher?" 

Lucifer laughs breathlessly, grinning," Let him hear... The driver could use the change in pace-!! Hah!!!" 

Alastor grinds harsher against Lucifer’s cock, claws threatening to rip his dress for the horrendous suggestion.

"Sh-Shut your maw... This is too--nnn-- too lewd-- What if he reported this? What would the papers s-say?" 

Lucifer mewls as he tightens his grasp, eyes threatening to roll back as his hips move with Alastor's effortlessly," Nnnngh-- uhh, lucky demon~?" He quips, laughing breathlessly as Alastor smacks his thigh. The quake that travels through his skin has Alastor craning his head back, a hand flying to the car door to keep his antlers from sinking further in. 

"Sh-Shit!" was his only reply, ears pinned back as Lucifer began rocking with intent, the precum produced by their members making the glide unbearably wet and smooth. His hand, now stationary, focused on keeping the pressure tight and warm; a perfect hole for them to slide into.

Lucifer's lopsided grin portrays his ecstacy, the sweat clinging to his forehead making a heated descent down his temple. 

"At a loss for words, huh~?" He teased, his hips swiveling lecherously. The grunt he's rewarded with is just as telling, his partner's eyes slamming shut from the bliss. Lucifer doesn't seem to care, bringing his hips forward in a rapid succession of thrusts. 

"I should make you cum like this, y'know... Make us paint these dull seats with your cum--" Lucifer croaks, feeling a finger teasing the tight rim of his ass. 

"I'd rather have it here," Alastor groaned," Pl-Please-- this is is torture," Alastor gasps, feeling Lucifer's cock kick against his own at the idea. Begrudgingly, Lucifer couldn’t argue with that, knowing that he's essentially edging the two of them at the same time. 

"Nnnn, you're no fun~" Lucifer muses, letting go of their cocks for a moment," But you better make it worth my while, Bambi~" 

Alastor smirks, brows raised," I've never heard complaints..." He retorted, mentally finishing his sentence: not from you, at least.

🩸🩸🩸

When Lucifer allowed Alastor to stretch and probe his ass, he switched arms, the one formerly bracing the ceiling falling to Alastor's hip. He arched his back as harshly as he could, offering his ass to his partner easily. The stimulation from behind made his hips buck, cock absentmindedly grinding against Alastor's. The faster and wider the Radio Demon’s fingers fucked, the harsher Lucifer's hips moved to meet them. Alastor panted below Lucifer, eyes nearly crossed as the pleasure kept building higher and higher. His hot breath made the heat in Lucifer's cheeks feel mild, the Demon King cursing through clenched teeth. He marveled at the sight of Alastor's mouth hanging open, Lucifer leaning over to get a better view of the debauched look. 

"Mmm~ Is my doe going to cum~?" Lucifer moans, his tongue swiping across his mouth, as if coaxing him to kiss him. Alastor flinched, his brow hardening," This buck-- hah-- is about to shut you up--" Alastor yaps, yanking Lucifer down by the neck. He heard the familiar slapping and squelching of his hand hastily fucking into Lucifer's ass, kissing the squirming demon desperately to hide another mewl. He wasn't the only one struggling not to cum.

As Alastor continued to feverishly kiss him, he teased Lucifer between each disconnect. A tongue sliding across his lip, a gentle nip just to the right of his mouth… anything to make Lucifer sigh and pant again. The temptee just became the tempter!

"I should have you cum like this... You're a quivering mess from just my hands--" 

"A-And your cock-- G-Good God!" Lucifer sung, drooling from the dual stimulation. Alastor chuckles darkly, leaning up to capture Lucifer's neck with a gentle bite," It's just the two of us down here, cher~,” he admonishes, regaining some of his footing with the other demon. 

Lucifer practically squeaks as Alastor finds his prostate, the bullying internally amplifying his impending orgasm. Close. Lucifer was getting extremely close, and it was plain as day to the other sinner.

"Cum for me," Alastor pleaded,"C-Cum for me, please-- so this buck can fuck you properly." 

The triggering phrase was all it took for Lucifer to lose himself to the white-hot madness, his head thrown back in rapture. His hips didn't stop even as Alastor's fingers slowed down, his vision blurred with hot tears. When he felt the press of Alastor's cock to his wanting hole instead of his fingers, he bit back a wail of overstimulation. 

"F-Fuck... We may be late for the reservation-- nnnnghh– Alastor, listen to me!" 

The Radio Demon’s static fills the air, a conniving laugh haunting the heavy air of the cabin. 

"I intend to hold my end of things: I'm going to fuck you properly. Dinner be damned when something this delicious is in my lap--" 

When Lucifer wailed Alastor's name, fully impaled on his member, Alastor couldn't help calling out to his lover in tandem. Their bodies melded together once more, their original plans a distant memory in their lust-driven minds. 

Bottom Banner made by the lovely @synamartia 🔥

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Is that really JuanaFlippa?

Based on everything we know right now, the answer is "no"

What's more likely is that this is a Binary Monster pretending to be JuanaFlippa.

On a meta level, we know the admins of dead QSMP Eggs said they won't reprise their roles, but it's no fun to base lore analysis on meta alone, so here's a lore explanation for my reasoning:

First, and perhaps the most obvious explaination: JuanaFlippa never had cracks in her shell. She died long before the event where all the Eggs got kidnapped and were returned with cracked shells, yet this "JuanaFlippa" had cracks. What's interesting to note here is that during the Election Dinner when the fake Chayanne and Tallulah tried to trick Phil, he immediately pointed out that they didn't have cracks in their shell while the real Chayanne and Tallulah did. Perhaps the imposter was trying to overcompensate for their previous mistake by adding cracks to JuanaFlippa's shell not realizing that she never had them in the first place.

The reason why I specifically say this is a Binary Monster is because of the signs she left:

We've already seen the Binary Monster(s) try to replicate regular non-binary writing before when Etoiles encountered the fake Dapper and fake Tallulah (the book he showed Forever pictured below):

"My Dapper me na name" —> "My name is Dapper"

We know the Codes are constantly evolving and learning, so naturally their writing is getting better too (though we can clearly see 1s and 0s and other errors in "Flippa's" signs despite this).

But what's the Code's motivation in doing this?

In the past, we saw the Code(s) mimic Eggs because they wanted to attack and kill Presidential candidates— but that's a pretty recent development. Remember: before the elections, they were attacking the Eggs (though they also attacked Maximus and Cellbit at one point). The motivations of the Binary Monster(s) has always been unclear, and there's a lot of potential roads we could go down while theorizing, but in the interest of keeping this as relevant to the current discussion as possible, I'll focus on just one:

We have strong evidence to believe that the Binary Monster didn't want Islanders to stay on the island. It kept attacking the Eggs and leaving behind signs that said "Last Warning," strongly implying that it was trying to chase them away.

HOWEVER: shortly before the elections, QSMPGlobal tweeted an image of the Binary Monster above the Federation building.

[ Note: I thought I had this photo saved, but I didn't. I've been scrolling through their media tab for 5 minutes and Twitter crashed, so I'll have to add this photo later. It’s very late and I am so so tired. ]

This is the first time the Federation acknowledged the existence of the Binary Monster, and afterward, it said Islanders wouldn't need to worry about it attacking them. Why would the Federation suddenly acknowledge this physical embodiment of a mistake, an error, on their (supposedly) perfect Island?

The answer? The Federation took control of the Binary Monster. Why else would they suddenly deem it "not a threat"?

We could clearly see the Binary Monster deteriorating over time during the election arc. It looked shabbier and shabbier as time went on during the election arc. Something was clearly wrong with it (perhaps whatever the Federation was doing to control it hurt the Code in some way? Maybe the Federation experimented on it and made their own Binary Monsters?) But I digress-

The next time we see the Binary Monster after the Election ends is on Tazercraft's recent stream this week. Not only does it have a new upgrade (the strange OP sword Cellbit + Etoiles saw records of), it also ignores Richarlyson and opts to take a swing at Pac and Mike instead.

Now here's where things get really weird.

Earlier this week, we also saw the Binary Monster on Etoiles' stream. It didn't attack him, and instead leads him to a sharestone, which teleported him to a portal. He's given this image, then is kicked from the QSMP with the message: "The Nether Awaits."

So what does this have to do with JuanaFlippa?

...Well, that's the question, isn't it?

This is where things start getting murkier. I want to draw our attention to two specific things Flippa said before she left:

"It's not safe out there for me."

"Please keep this a secret."

The Binary Monster has already proven time and time again it's a force to be reckoned with. Why would it need to hide? Is it so that it can get closer to Charlie? (And if so, why? To mimic him? To get information?) I think a likelier answer is that the Binary Monster is trying to hide from the Federation itself.

Perhaps whatever the Federation did to shackle it— whether they experimented on it or copied it or whatever— left it damaged and weak. Or perhaps it isn't damaged at all; it just needs to lay low and needs someone else to do its dirty work for it (like sending Etoiles on a quest to find that strange shield in the Nether).

Unfortunately, a lot of this amounts to speculation because we simply don't have enough information yet. (It's also very very very late for me, so this analysis is purely driven by sleep-deprived madness and love for QSMP lore and JuanaFlippa).

Whatever's going on, we need to be very careful and think carefully about this being's motivations. Like Cellbit said: "Eyes always open."

Anyways, feel free to share your thoughts in the tags or comments or whatever, it's always fun hearing what people think of my analysis posts. You can find other analysis posts in my QSMP Info and QSMP talk tag.

[onceuponers]

open to: anyone! premise: maxime is making his grand re-introduction at stefan's gala and he wouldn't mind finding someone to take advantage of @talednewsletter

Maxime never really cared for parties. Too many people. Couldn't hear yourself think. And worst of all, parties held at his manor meant he was the one expected to do all the work. Just a ghastly endeavor for no really benefit.

But this one was different.

King Stefan —speaking of entities Maxime had no love for— decided it would be a lovely time to hold a gala for his dear, beloved son. He didn't even know the man that well, but if he were anything like the royalty Maxime existed with, then he disliked him, too.

The actually interesting part? This party would, essentially, be the first major event since the introduction of the portals connecting their realm to others. And you know what that meant? Plenty of new fish in the sea for Maxime to, well, fish.

But that's not all. This would also be Maxime's official 'coming out' party following his transition. No longer forced to live his life as a woman after making some shady deals in an outside realm, people from not just his own realm, but several others, would meet the real Maxime Tremaine for the first time. Lots was riding on his performance tonight.

Maxime strolled into the palace with ease, looking every bit the dapper, handsome older gentleman he now was. But he couldn't seem eager. He needed party-goers to come to him. Show their interest. So he waited... perhaps a bit longer than he would have liked... until finally, he saw someone approach him. He wondered if they recognized him from before, or if they were completely oblivious. Time would soon tell.

"Good evening," he says curtly, not turning to face them as he observed the party from the sidelines. "If there's ever been an event to prove that wealth doesn't equate to taste, it's this one... good to know that royalty is gauche in any realm they may pollute, I suppose. I hope we can agree on that."

[svartalfhild]

ooo either 12 or 20 please :3

I'm going to see if I can combine these.

12. nervous embarrassment around them (blushing, fidgeting etc) 20. clumsy attempts at flirting

Rook didn't want to admit it to a single soul, living or dead, but she was completely out of her depth when it came to romance. It had always seemed like something other people did and usually only in novels.

She'd grown up in the Grand Necropolis where romantic love was the purview of the dead or grieving, and even amidst the Mourn Watch, well, she hadn't been social enough to witness romance in action between her colleagues. She'd always been strange, even for a Mourn Watcher, as the elf crypt foundling with ghostly white hair and eyes, and thus she'd always found it easier to befriend spirits than people.

Then she'd been cast out for her own safety. And Varric had taken her in, given her new purpose, and taken her all over Thedas. Even after a year, so much of the world and the intricacies of interpersonal relationships were new to her. She was a quick learner, though, and she liked to think she was a decent actor too, capable of pretending she was normal, even if she didn't exactly look it.

Varric and Harding had helped her a lot at first. They were gentle in correcting her blunders, for which she was eternally grateful. She still winced at the memory of the etiquette teacher she'd had growing up. Of course, that class had been meant to prepare young Watchers for behaving appropriately with the bereaved and the nobility. Common folk were a bit more forgiving, she'd found, as long as you were laid back, kind, and had a sense of humor. It worked really well for Varric and Harding, and it worked really well for her too, especially once she learned to stop casually using what Varric called "gold coin words" and mentioning anything to do with death or funerary practices.

After they'd come to the Lighthouse, though, things had changed. Rook was in charge now. Varric was bedridden, and she couldn't constantly be running off to the infirmary for advice he may not even have the energy to give. Harding was available, but Rook didn't want to disturb her too much, since she had a lot going on with the whole Titan magic thing. Rook just needed to toughen up and learn to handle things herself. She was a grown woman. She should be able to figure out social dynamics on her own, especially now that she knew she could rely on her positive attitude and helpful nature to deal with difficult situations.

Romance, though. That was a different animal, one she'd never thought she'd personally encounter. But then she'd met Emmrich, and all the work she'd done to appear socially competent just sort of went directly out the window. Or perhaps more accurately, right over the balcony of his beautifully appointed tower. He was just so...so...talented and knowledgeable and handsome and caring and dapper and well-spoken and generous and patient and...well, attractive. It didn't matter that he was twice her age. Her brain slid out her nose, skipped away, and left the building whenever he so much as said a nice thing to her. For some bizarre reason she did not yet understand, her gut reaction was to try to flirt with him, even though she had no practice at it, and her understanding of flirting was entirely based on things she'd read in fiction.

That being said, she felt she wasn't too bad at it. He hadn't reacted poorly to her flirting so far. In fact, though he often seemed surprised at first, he was always receptive. That didn't necessarily mean anything, though. For a while, she'd thought maybe he was just being kind and trying not to make her feel awkward because she was failing and he wasn't interested, but he still wanted to be friends with her. But then he'd told her he was interested and flirted with her so expertly that she'd been utterly swept away by it. And then he'd kissed her in the Memorial Gardens, and she knew she was so stupidly in love that there was absolutely no going back now.

So she kept at it.

One evening after returning from an excursion to Arlathan with Neve and Bellara, Rook snuck off towards Emmrich's tower while the others headed for the courtyard. She gave the door her unique little knock, and she heard his distant voice tell her to come in. She slipped inside and didn't see him in the immediate area of the study, so she nimbly climbed the spiral stairs to find him returning some books to the shelves.

"Hello," she greeted, trying to sound soft and a little sultry.

"Ah, Rook! How was your trip?" he responded cheerfully, tossing her a smile before shelving another book. She approached him in what she hoped was a casual manner. Was it always so warm in the tower? She didn't remember it ever being this warm. Her hands were sweating.

"Oh, you know. Magical. Like Arlathan always is." She gave a little chuckle, one which she hoped came across as charming and not nervous. Not that long ago, she would have just launched into a monologue about all the exciting magical phenomena she'd encountered in the forest, but these days, she was committed to being a bit more charismatic than that. "I got you something." She reached into the back of her cinch belt and pulled out a purple flower with a bent stem to hold it out to Emmrich. Her smile faltered when she noticed the bent stem, and she swallowed the swear that wanted to burst from her lips. Emmrich fully looked over at her after quickly sliding the last book into place, and a grin instantly spread across his distinguished features.

"Oh, how lovely! Cyclamen hederifolium! Thank you, darling!" He stepped closer to her and gently took the flower from her, his fingers brushing against hers and making her heart flutter.

"Sorry it's bent. I had to tuck it in my belt and I didn't notice until just now," Rook blurted out. Shit, that was awkward. She needed to find a way to recover. "I saw them while we were walking and thought of you, so I picked one," she added, attempting a casual lean against the nearest bookcase. Sure, that worked.

"How sweet," Emmrich replied, giving the bloom a sniff, his hazel eyes never leaving her as he did so. He then straightened the bend in the stem and swiped a fingertip over it. After a brief glow of green, the damage was repaired. "There. Nothing to trouble yourself over." Wow. She wished she knew how to do that. Maybe he could teach her. Oh, but as she watched him hold the flower, she realized he may not even have somewhere to put it. It wasn't a rose. It didn't have a long stem. He probably didn't have any pots small enough.

"I'll get a cup or something for you to put it in," she offered, straightening up and curling her fingers nervously.

"Ah." Emmrich halted her with the simple sound just as she began to turn to go, and stepped much closer to her, entering her space. "Not to worry, my dear. I know the perfect place for it," he told her softly before carefully tucking the purple cyclamen into her hair.

"O-Oh," she gasped, her ghostly pale cheeks instantly flushing pink. He brushed his fingertips down the side of her face when he was done, and she felt like she was going to melt into a puddle right then and there. Without even meaning to, she leaned closer to him, basking in the adoration that filled his gaze. "But the flower was for you," she said, her voice a little distant as she stared up at him.

"And I would like to see such a beautiful gift adorn the beautiful young woman who gave it to me." She gave him a dreamy smile at this, and her blush deepened.

"If that's what pleases you."

"It does indeed." Emmrich's fingers traced the edge of her jaw before settling under her chin and tilting her head up so he could easily lean down and kiss her.

Rook's last thought before all others abandoned her was that she must being doing this romance thing right if this was the result of her efforts.

[fanon-elio]

Ya'll just know imma write for him when he releases.

So, there is this new open world gacha game that's currently in beta testing. Neverness to Everness

And they have a lot of stunning characters, but one character captured my interesst in peticular.

being this dude right here.

He feels like a mixture of both Lycaon and Gallagher, and I'm here for it honestly.

This might also just be me coping, cuz I still haven't gotten over Gallagher's death 😭

When I look at him, I just immediately think Police officer or Body guard or something.

And honestly I'm hoping for that, cuz I love men and woman in uniform.

One of the big reasons why I believe he might be a Police officer / Body Guard is due to the guns in their holsters on his Design that he, funnily enough, doesn't even use in battle.

His weapon if choice is actually his Shadow which I find very creative. It does make sense since as far as I know his name is Skia, which means Shadow in greek.

The undone tie around his neck, makes me assume that he's gonna be a bit more like Gallagher when it comes to appearence and perhaps personality (even though we know literally nothing yet)

Also, sorry for the horrible quality of the gifs (-.-')

He's still very dapper dude though. When I first saw him, I immediately sat down to draw him. (Even though the colors might be wrong but ya'll know the drift by this point) Also because I'm currently trying to wrap my head around lighting and color theory. If you have any tips that can help me improve, do share them with me, I'd greatly appreciate it.

Yes, I am aware that some details in the drawings are wrong, but when I realized it had already been too late. 🤷‍♂️ Certainly a very interessting concept, and ya'll just know that I'm gonna write for him as soon as we know more about his Character, Lore and Personality.

Alright, that's all for now.

I'll upload something in the following days after all of the holiday stuff is out of the way.

I also wish everyone a happy late Christmas.

Btw Here is the Tiktok from which I used the videos of his gameplay.

Stay safe everyone.

-Elio

[fantomyoshi]

Completed Requests!

I forgot how long requests can take sometimes, hah, possibly because I'm too perfectionist in my art? xD

Anywho, thanks for the people who requested! I had such a blast making your OCs! If you'd like you can still request some other OCs, the Thread will be opened until the Poll I have up is finished. However asked requests will be pushed to Saturday, as I won't be available on my PC until later this week.

Enjoy!

Simple but still one I enjoyed making! The hair was my favorite part lol. Also I love the little Vex designs-

Dylan, as much as I loved making you, I did not have the brush to make your pattern, making those lines everywhere is a nightmare- Good luck with your Villager friend tho c:

I won't lie but this one was the most fun to create xD I decided to fuse both designs given, I think it makes it unique in some ways! I wonder what they're talking about? Perhaps about Nerus' dragons?

Another very fun character to draw! A challenge I haven't explored yet but I'm glad I got to draw this goofy-looking boi. Awesome design. Care for some wine? Oh yeah and he's dapper too, bonus+ points (:

I gotta say, Rinn is possibly one or if not my favorite Illager on here. (Not counting my own). Her personality and overall design is just something I find exquisite, and the little bit of lore shared makes her very unique among them! Definitely am looking out for more about her! ^^

Spooky surprise drawing??!??!!! What this-! I know you didn't asked for Aleroth but I've been wanting to draw him for a while but never found an excuse to until now xD Heard he was curious, so I made him meet Nerus' own curious derg, Fang. What could go wrong? :D

@shinyillager @spacowy @ask-tdw-0666 @dirt7core