thedevillionaire

[thedevillionaire]

Honestly I dont have a lot to say, just that I was picking through romance novels once more today and I did think of Cerberus again. I know you said you like when people do that so I thought I'd tell you. I did end up finding a cover art who looked a little like him, but it wasn't quite enough and also he was paired with a blonde who wasnt mich like Kia so I thought that might look odd and i didnt take a picture.

Either way, if the thought of other people remembering your characters makes you happy, then it wouldn't be right of me to not tell you lmao so uhhhh... hi. I do in fact think of your characters on a fairly regular basis, even though i dont talk about them often. While they may not live in my head Rent Free™ they are in fact a regular part of my Mind Village. They are here and I am glad to have them

🥲💝💝💝 🥲This is SO NICE, omg. I feel ridiculously privileged. A regular Mind Village part ( I love that!) is incredible. What a total joy, and also I might have got a bit teary about "They are here and I am glad to have them" because that's just...well, what a beautiful comment. Thank you SO much for this fabulous message. PS: Especially when there have been several times I have been...less glad to have them. We don't always get along, lol PPS: Kia says she's been blonde a couple of times in her distant past, but also that it probably doesn't count anymore, if it ever did. 😘

[thedevillionaire]

Quick Question to SNZ Creators

By which I mean full fic, scenario creators, any kind of art, wavs... anything like that. Someone who makes things, on a post, to share with the community - this is for you, regarding the reblogs we crave:

SNZ KINK COMMUNITY ONLY!

Pass it around if you have an opinion. Remember: blogs show you as a vote, not a voter; no one has to know what you voted unless you say... but saying might help your followers know your preferences!

[thedevillionaire]

⬇️

[thedevillionaire]

Feeling soft for the idea of someone who has something important to do in the evening, after working all day and coming down with what's promising to be a really nasty cold (or they're already down with it and had looked forward to a night in, but alas). But they can't back out; maybe it's work related. They feel awful, and their partner, who can't come with them, is fussing over them before they leave, making sure they're dressing warm and have tissues, fever reducers, cough drops, the works, with them.

While they wait for their miserable partner to do their thing and come back home, they make a batch of soup and prepare their favourite spot in the couch with warm blankets, lighting a fire in the fireplace... just preparing to grab them the moment they step through the door and place them where they should have spent all evening if this was a fair and good world. 🥺

Please only reblog to kink blogs I don't want containment breaches like with the last general illness hc scenario I posted. 😳

[thedevillionaire]

Oh, wow, thanks so much @mimikusu for the tag - I've missed this whole thread until then (thanks to a fandom I have in my blocked list being mentioned; oops, I hadn't considered that sort of side effect lol) and have just been enjoying reading everyone's answers! Lovely idea, @onetrickponi. <3 1) Finally getting the main art pieces on the wall of my recently restyled home office because it's going to look SO GOOD and being stuck in the one little room by myself for hours per day will be infinitely more enjoyable. 2) My husband getting the surgery he needs so he'll be out of pain and able to walk properly again. 3) Catching up in person with a long-time friend who I haven't seen in person for over twenty (2!0! *sob*) years. 4) Immersing in the sexy new bath products I very indulgently bought the other day.

5) Seeing Arkona, Sabaton, and My Dying Bride tour in the next couple of months. Three separate tours. I'll go broke about it but OH WELL. I've seen the first two before and know it's worth it, and the other's never toured Australia before and I've been a fan since the goddamn '90s, so...buckle up, shitty budget, we're going in. 😂 @silklined, @snzlux, @thescarlettletter, @sniction-fiction, @moonlitkit perchance? I tried to not repeat but sorry if I have! xx

•´¯`•. 🅷🅾🅿🅴 🅼🅴🅼🅴 .•`¯´•

List five things you have to look forward to in the near future. Then, tag five people. Things are looking up!

➀ The trailer for H/azbin H/otel season 2 that is likely coming at the end of this month

➁ S/tranger T/hings season 5 airing in November-December

➂ Taking the first steps towards establishing my own financial literacy

➃ Learning a bit of Swedish to help out a friend who is required to learn it

➄ All the Halloween pranks I get to scheme at work now that I see people in-person

Spread the love @veersnz @zensations35 @very-freakin-effable @dustenfuego @waterfallofspace!

[thedevillionaire]

→ helping hands (m/m, 1940).

word count: 5.6k a/n: i come bearing more historical gay sickbed romance. recently watched netflix's WW2 series 't/ransatlantic' and fell in love with v/arian and thomas's story + dynamic. so naturally i had to write sickfic about it 🫶 hope you enjoy!! massive thanks to my beloved @w1ngxd for so kindly beta reading this for me!! cue footage of me nodding furiously as i poured over all her notes, making assorted "mhmm... mhmm... OH yes, of course..." noises.

----------------------------------

The creak of the front door opening filtered up from downstairs, its rusty, weathered hinges wordlessly announcing an arrival.

Thomas’s head twitched up. It was long past nightfall by now, a thunderstorm having rolled in with the darkening of the dusk, and he’d sent no word that he was working late, even if such a regular occurrence should likely be assumed at this point. The book in his lap and the first half of the sentence he’d been in the middle of was easily forgotten, the latter lost in a vicious gust of wind that rattled the shutters as the front door swung shut again.

Luckily for him, it hadn’t been a particularly interesting sentence anyway. He seemed to have subconsciously chosen one of the denser titles housed within the villa library’s shelves, knowing its future was to be abandoned.

“hhh’IHYIZSS’shuh!”

Had he not already known who it would be, had he not been pointedly waiting up for him, the muffled sneeze would’ve given him away in an instant.

Regardless, he spared a beat to mark his place anyway before gently tossing the novel aside. Switching off the reading lamp, he snatched up the nearby candlestick in its holder, his strides careful but purposeful as he made his way downstairs, mindful of the villa’s other residents who’d all since taken to their beds on account of the bad weather, but keen to prevent the other man scurrying up to bed before he had a chance to catch him.

The dash Varian would’ve had to have done from the top of the lane, where the trundling old inter-village bus service leaves you off, was immediately evident from the uncharacteristically dishevelled figure he cut in the entryway. His dark curls damp and falling out of their usually neat styling, dripping rivulets down the angles of his face. His glasses a little fogged up. The flush of pink sitting high on his cheeks. The irritated set of his brow as he appeared to grapple with another sneeze following on from the first, a sad, limp-looking handkerchief clutched in one hand like a lifeline.

“Hhh… heh’EHTCHH’sshue!” Wet and ragged, he caught it deftly in its folds.

The floorboard on the bottom step squeaked suddenly under Thomas’s foot - he’d been meaning to fix that - and Varian visibly startled, the flush deepening ever slightly as he spun round to face him, looking ever so troubled by yet another-

“O-Oh, hhhi-…” he breathed out, before his next breath pitched desperately upwards, the resulting sneeze this time mercilessly suppressed. “h’IH’gxt!”

“Bless y-”

“S’uhhhorry… hhh’IHNGx’tch!”

“Oh, Varian…” Thomas uttered in sympathy.

He let out a shaky exhale, seemingly deciding he was done for now, even if no more relieved from discomfort.

“Thadk you,” he finally answered curtly, as he bashfully dabbed the corner of his nose, and then his eye in turn as it threatened to spill over, giving a thick, utterly useless sniffle.

Able to take him in properly now, glance a little closer, Varian looked as worn out as Thomas had ever seen him, either in the last few months since they found each other again or five years ago during their time together in Berlin before the whole continent went to hell. He’d always tanned so easily, and summer here in the south of France had looked good on him. But now, winter was drawing in ever closer, and the pressure on him was mounting as the German authorities tightened their grip across the region, including its serviceable exit routes. He was working harder than ever, night and day, to find solutions, and it had drained the sun from his complexion, leaving it waxen and washed out.

It had really only been a matter of time before he manifested a cold for himself, and he clearly hadn’t done so in half measure.

Thomas continued towards him and stepped just slightly into his space, enough to set the candle down on the hall’s console table, but still within the parameters of plausible deniability if they were to be happened upon. He studied Varian’s expression as he swallowed, then cast fleeting, split-second glances towards the stairs and the doorways around them, before ultimately allowing himself to sway a fraction closer.

A peal of thunder disrupted the silence, and Thomas cupped the curve of the other man’s waist. After a beat of hesitation, Varian sighed into it, his tired eyes flickering closed like he was savouring the feeling.

“Long day?”

—---------------

There was a line of people queued out the door again. People who were waiting to see him.

Far more than had official appointments - enough that they didn’t even fit within the meagre confines of the office building’s narrow, dimly lit foyer and hallway leading up to the team’s communal office. If it was just gone 9:00am and they were already spilling out the front door, give it another couple of hours and they’d be snaked down the street and round the block.

Clearly, whispered warnings over café tables and the counters of boulangeries about the impending weather hadn’t dissuaded them.

Varian hated having to shoulder past people so brusquely on the way in, vulnerable people who were calling out to him, clamouring for his attention, but he truly wouldn’t have been able to get in otherwise without the cries and the crush and the pervasive heat all flooding his senses and threatening to drown him.

And with this rotten cold he’d woken up with, he’d felt quite capable enough of drowning all on his own as it was.

Closing the door on the cacophony, even if just momentarily, he stopped at Lena’s desk on the way to the little side room that functioned as a makeshift interview room, his expression preemptively contrite.

“Hey, um- would you mind…”

She glanced up, regarding him quickly as she gave him a brief, but not unkind, look up and down.

“Café?” she asked.

It definitely wasn’t her job to make it for him, but he was already running behind, and-

Sniffling against the congestion starting to settle in his head, he nodded. “Please?”

“Of course.”

By 2:00pm his desk was a graveyard of empty coffee cups strewn among the assorted piles of documents and application forms, even if his aching throat was seemingly none the better for it. No, all the caffeine appeared to have done was hasten on a headache and compound it behind his eyes. Add that onto the fact that his nose was now running like a broken faucet, and he couldn’t get so much as a couple of feet away from a handkerchief at any given time, a sharp, relentless little prick of a tickle set alight somewhere deep in his sinuses that simply no amount of sneezing seemed to be able to satisfy. And God knew his body was trying. A lot.

He’d had no more than a sniffle last night, what the hell was this?

The interviews had started blending into one another as he felt sicker and sicker. Person after person with heartbreaking stories and nowhere else to turn that he ultimately had so little power to help, waiting for hours to plead their case to him anyway. The questions set by the committee back in New York had always felt constrained and repetitive to recite, but with each day that passed they were starting to grow more wooly and uncomfortable in his mouth as he asked every single applicant-

“Are you a professional artist, politician, or a published academic?”

The refugees that they had a realistic shot of getting American visas for; people whom powerful and reputable institutions might be convinced to sponsor. That was the official mission statement of the organisation.

But with each bus driver, teacher, doctor, housewife, mailman, business owner, and student, however, that waited their turn to sit in the chair opposite him and beg him to do something, what he had to ask just felt more and more insensitive, bordering on callous. Like he was implying their lives were less worth being saved because of who they were or the background they came from.

It was starting to weigh on him. Beyond the ERC, however, the US Government in general should have been doing more to help these people who had lost everything and been forced to flee their homes, least of all to reconsider the narrow-minded, isolationist farce that was their commitment to neutrality while Europe was being swallowed whole by fascism.

Sometimes it felt like they were working with one hand tied behind their back by their own goddamn consulate.

—----------------

“You could say that,” Varian replied, offering him a tired twitch of a half-smile, and Thomas felt the sudden warmth of it in his own chest, the levity soothing something there. “If I was a dog, they mbay consider putting mbe out of mby mbisery.”

Thomas let out a short chuckle.

“Seriously though, I’mb fine, really,” Varian rushed to add.

Thomas shook his head fondly. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, taking the cue to step a little closer, reaching up to stroke Varian’s lapel between his fingers. “I’ll be more inclined to think so, however, when you’re out of this soaking wet coat.”

Peeling off the offensive article, Varian ignored the barb. “I just feel bad for anyode that had to sit across a desk fromb mbe today like this,” he said, hesitating for a second before allowing Thomas to take the coat from him, eyes soft and appreciative as he watched him move to hang it up.

“I’d say you could have the actual plague and those poor people would still take their chances and be happy just to get in the door.”

Thomas had meant that to come off a lot lighter than he realised it actually had. It wasn’t about him, truly, it wasn’t. If things went completely kaput here, he had options. Connections, contingency plans - if there was any benefit to working for British intelligence it was the SOE contacts back in London. For a Jew operating in Europe right now, despite never being able to feel completely free from danger, he was in as good of a position as was possible, all things considered. The plight of his people, however, was never - could never be - far from his mind, and it weighed on his conscience with gnawing perpetuity.

He had to focus that inner turmoil, though; let it drive him in his work. Let it encourage him to carry on resisting, helping people however he could, and to live life to the fullest without regrets or reservations. To snatch up every opportunity he had to be happy while he could, rather than allow it to anchor him to the ground and immobilise him. He simply had no other choice.

“I’m pretty comfortable with danger, actually,” he had told Varian, solid and steadfast, when he and Mary Jayne had landed on Thomas’s doorstep with their merry band of artists, bohemians and rebel intellectuals seeking sanctuary while they waited to be evacuated.

For the sake of the cause? Of course. For Varian? Unthinkingly and without question.

When Thomas looked back up at him, some degree of comprehension seemed to lurk in Varian’s features, and when he spoke his voice was softer than before.

“We had such a high turnout today we all stayed ad extra hour and a half, and Lena still had to turn people away and tell them to come back toborrow. I stayed a little longer, though. Figured I could try writing to other humanitarian aid orgadisations, see if I can forward od sobe of these cases - actually get them help that the cobbittee just can’t give them.”

Thomas bristled a little despite the contrasting affection that rose in him. He doesn’t have to explain himself to me, or try to convince me how much he cares or how hard he’s trying. Thomas saw it, more intimately than anyone, every single day they spent here together.

Varian’s breath suddenly caught in his chest, and he quickly snapped to the side, smothering a roll of chesty, thundering coughs into the fist that still clenched that handkerchief that seemed like it should have been rendered useless long ago.

Thomas’s face twitched in sympathy, but at the same time, the worrying grit in the sound somehow cleared a path in his mind. “Go upstairs and get settled in. I’ll be right behind you,” he said, prompting Varian with an affectionate touch to his upper arm. It wasn’t technically a question, but pitched the way it had been, left him room to refuse him if he really wanted to be left alone, regardless of how desperately Thomas yearned in that moment simply to be close to him.

Varian silently nodded, before heading up.

Thomas took his time flitting around the villa in his quest to gather supplies, its corridors, rooms and stairs dark and drowsy like a slumbering house cat, a novelty when by day they bustled with activity, the spaces filled with chatter, laughter, singing, and bickering, often all at the same time.

His hands full with a mug in one hand and an ornate glass tumbler in the other, he made his way upstairs and rapped Varian’s door with his knuckles, a short, featherlight tap.

“Cobe ind.”

Just about managing, if not overly elegantly, to get the door open by wedging the knob between his elbow and his hip, Thomas stepped inside, making sure to close it securely behind him.

When the mad scramble for rooms had taken place the day they’d arrived, he’d watched Varian instead hang back and take his time wandering the halls, taking stock in that indomitably curious, journalistic way of his. He’d peeked in every nook and cranny, stopped to pick up books and tchotchkes, started pulling dust covers off furniture and studying paintings as he went. He then went and picked out one of the smallest bedrooms on offer. Even with the limited space and the organised piles of books and files and all such sorts of things that usually clutter a place up, Thomas had never seen it untidy. Never so much as a silver-plated tie pin out of place.

Now, a single bedside lamp bathed the room in a cosy, orangey-yellow glow that seemed to be doing battle against the chill of the rain hammering the window from behind the curtains and the howling winds that made the frame creak.

The first thing people tended to notice about Varian was how he dressed, and Thomas had been no different. With an enduring penchant for fashionable suits in classically masculine silhouettes, tailored to fit his longer, lither frame to perfection, and hair so neatly styled it almost begged to be roughed up a little, he was always impeccably put together. Moving through life with his back straight and eyes forward, he flitted around between problems to solve like he’d made his appearance his armour against the chaos of the rest of the world.

This version of Varian he saw in front of him now, though, the one that was unkempt, with his frayed, messy edges on display, was one that Thomas got all to himself; a secret just between the two of them and no one else. The custom Hickey Freeman swapped out for an exceedingly ordinary set of pyjamas and deep navy robe, pale-faced, hair in slightly frizzy but endearing disarray, nose stained red like a shining, sickly beacon, expression open and vulnerable, etched with irritation.

Marred so heavily as they were by illness, Thomas found himself struck by the realisation that Varian’s handsome features had not an ounce less impact on him.

In a way, to be party to this side of him felt like a privilege.

Varian rose quickly from where he’d been perched at his writing desk, pen in hand, like he was being caught out. “H’ihh- Christ…hhhH’EHGT’sxt! Sdnff. I could’ve helped with the door, you should’ve said sobething,” Varian tutted through a loaded exhale, before stopping up short, gesturing towards the drinks. “Oh, is ode of those for mbe?”

“Both, actually,” Thomas replied, holding them up with a smile. “One for fun, one for function.” Placing them in Varian’s hands, the man peered into them, quickly identifying steaming hot, freshly brewed tea in the mug, and amber whiskey in the tumbler. 

“Although, the alcohol burns away the germs, no? So, really just extra functional. Practically medicinal, especially when you consider that I checked and there is apparently no actual medicine in this house, somehow.”

Varian quirked an eyebrow, and automatically tried to smell the whiskey without much success. “Mbister Lovegrove, are you trying to get mbe drudk?”

“When you’re not feeling well? I would never,” Thomas quipped back, his tone unmissably teasing as he pretended to leer. “Unless, of course, you want-”

Ignoring him with a badly suppressed smirk, Varian unceremoniously dumped the whiskey into the tea and set the tumbler aside.

“I suppose that works as well,” Thomas shrugged.

“Hot whiskey, that was mby dad’s cure for just about everything,” he explained, his smile tired but tinged with nostalgic reminiscence. “Though with prohibition, what codstituted as whiskey that he was able to get his hands od left a lot to be desired.”

With a yawn, Varian moved to sit down on the end of his bed, Thomas automatically shifting to face him. His first sip from the spiked tea was deep and grateful, his eyes slipping closed as he swallowed, sighing with pleasure.

“It’s good?” Thomas asked, maybe a little needlessly, thought he was curious-

“Mhmm…” Varian nodded vigorously, blowing on the hot liquid before going back in for a longer drink, sniffling hard against the steam curling up around his face.

Suitably intrigued, Thomas indicated for him to pass the mug over. “Let me see?”

Varian froze. It was as if he’d just had the mug taken from him and the contents dumped in his lap.

“Y-You really shouldn’t-“ Varian choked out, but Thomas just let out a short chuckle.

“I just want to taste it. I’ll be fine…” he insisted, hands sure and calm as he took the mug from Varian’s grasp. If only to make him happy, he turned it around so their lips didn’t touch the same spot on the rim, before tasting the concoction and handing it back. It burned pleasantly in the back of his throat, and the bitter notes of the tea meshed in a surprisingly perfect way with the liquor.

“I like that.”

“You mbay ndot like it in a couple of days when you end up just like this,” he said with an exaggeratedly miserable sniffle, if only just to drive the point home.

“So dramatic. I won’t.”

“We’ll see.”

“Well if I do, then you can make it for me then. I’ll appreciate it all the more, and you can say ‘I told you so’.”

Figuring there wasn’t much that could be done about it now anyway, Varian reluctantly conceded, his sigh half-hearted, before taking another thankful sip.

They chatted idly as he drank the rest of the cup, Thomas filling him in on whatever drama and escapades he’d missed at the villa over the course of the day, and Varian taking the chance in return to run through the next list of names he was going to try and take to Patterson and Bingham up at the consulate, thinking out loud as he formulated the beginnings of how he’d pitch each one for potential sponsorship.

Whether it was a result of not feeling particularly optimistic about his chances or the visibly worsening toll the cold was taking on him, with each minute that passed he only looked more drained. It was beginning to sound like his sinuses had completely swollen shut at this point, and any attempt made to breathe through his nose met with audibly painful resistance, his eyes heavy-lidded and now watering with abandon. After one ill-fated, only just half-suppressed sneeze, Thomas pulled the clean handkerchiefs he’d brought from his pocket, imploring that he please just sneeze properly before he burst a blood vessel somewhere.

As if by power of suggestion, or a determination to put them to work immediately, Varian’s expression faltered again and he groaned impatiently, nostrils flaring wildly as he made a grab for one. “hhh’uH….hh’AEHDZSSSHh’uh!” he sneezed with some considerable force, blunt, rounded and unforgiving, no time at all to even think about stifling it.

“Bless you…” Thomas murmured, watching him wind up for another, the other man’s body rigid in anticipation as he sucked in a jagged breath, though he eventually lost it, the sharpness of the inhale setting off a flurry of crackling, irritated coughs instead. He sounded awful. Clicking his tongue, Thomas moved closer, slotting into the space between Varian’s legs, and reached out to push a little curved strand of hair out of his face.

“Schatz…” he uttered, sympathy etched into the grooves of the word. Though neither of them were German, it was a language they shared, and the endearment had become a habit while they lived in Berlin. Steeped in nostalgia, it brought bittersweet memories to mind of their friends from the city, other men and women like them. Dear friends who they’d lost contact with, and who they might wonder where they’d ended up for the rest of their lives.

Varian looked up at him then, something unreadable, yet tangibly intimate, in his watery gaze. With gentle hands and his own heart kicking a suddenly uneven beat in his chest, Thomas removed Varian’s glasses for him and set them safely aside. He pressed a hand to his forehead then, time seeming to stand still between them as Varian let himself lean in the touch, his eyes flickering closed as he practically melted into Thomas’s palm. The only sounds that punctuated the silence were the soft tick, tick ticking of the clock and Varian’s stuffy, laboured breathing.

Thomas’s eyebrows furrowed, and he let out a little hum of discontent. “You’re warm.”

Varian, sounding dazed and faraway, didn’t even open eyes. “Ab I? Oh…”

Thomas moved his hand, pressing the backs of his fingers to Varian’s already quite tellingly ruddy cheek. “Unfortunately so,” he said regretfully, giving it an affectionate little stroke.

As if the confirmation of that fact was all he needed to give in, the last of the steely tension in Varian’s shoulders drained away, taking with it what was left of his resolve. He seemed poised to make some sort of half-hearted protest regardless, but whatever it was ended up dying on his tongue and was replaced with a weary sigh of acceptance. In the relative sanctuary of the bedroom, he allowed his hand to run an indulgent path from Thomas’s hip up to his waist, before letting himself droop forward, his head falling somewhere in the middle of Thomas’s chest as he looped his arms around him.

If there was anything in this life that Thomas knew could never, ever get enough of, it was Varian demonstrating how much he wanted him. It was feeling the full effect of all that desire and the love he had for people and for humanity itself that he tried to keep buttoned up beneath the expensive suits and professional veneer. He was so full of emotion that keeping it all contained was clearly a tough feat, but the armour had many cracks and Varian’s affections methodically found every single one.

But being shown how much Varian wants and trusts him in particular with these more vulnerable, more unsure, parts of himself, even with all the water under the bridge between them, those five years apart, was a uniquely visceral pleasure, he was coming to realise.

With a light, bubbly feeling in his chest, Thomas held him closer, letting his own body take Varian’s weight as he combed his fingers up through his hair to cup the back of his head. Tilting his chin down, he pressed his lips to Varian’s temple, then high on his cheekbone near the corner of his eye, tasting a hint of salt in the tender, tear-damp skin. As if in answer to the attentions, Varian’s hands splayed wider across the plains of Thomas’s back before grasping him firmer still.

They revelled in the comfort of the quiet and each other’s touch, to such an extent Thomas didn’t hear so much as feel, Varian’s breath quiver dangerously against him.

“S-S’huhhh- sorry, I-I’b…hhihhh…I’b going to sdneeze a-ahh agaid-” he stuttered out in annoyance, breath hoarse as it hitched, and grappled around himself, half-blind without his glasses, looking for the handkerchief he’d set aside sometime before. Snapping out of the daze he’d been in, Thomas dipped down quickly to retrieve it from where he’d tangentially noticed it falling to the floor earlier.

“Go for it,” he implored, quickly handing the kerchief over, “You were owed one.”

The second the fabric touched Varian’s fingers, he snapped away as far as he could with Thomas’s hand still clutching the back of his neck. “hhh’eh…h’EHTSSssch’uh! Hihhh…. hhih’IHTSSSshh’ue!” The sneezes came violently and miserably damp for having been forced out through all that congestion, the second one mercilessly stealing the breath right after the first before he could grab it.

He didn’t emerge from the handkerchief’s folds right away though, his expression still wavering, twitching with evident discomfort. After a couple of failed attempts at encouraging what must’ve been an elusive third sneeze on, he gave up with a quiet groan, his nose glistening when he finally pulled the kerchief away with a fierce scrub.

“Sorry, it’s like…hhh’iH… sitting right here-” Varian grumbled, vaguely indicating just below the bridge of his nose, squinting against the itch even still, his eyes on the verge of streaming.

Thomas’s heart ached a little seeing him so sick and uncomfortable, a brief, desperate thought passing through his head that there had to be something more he could do to help. Following Varian’s gesture, he noted the puffiness in and around where he was pointing to, betraying how much pressure was likely building right along his sinuses, and suddenly got an idea.

“Come here…” he murmured, resting his palm against Varian’s cheek, whose eyes grew expressive in their confusion. Thomas nestled his thumb into a space between the side of his nose and his cheekbone. “Let me try something. Just tell me if this hurts or if you don’t like it, though, okay?”

Still a little bewildered, Varian nodded up at him even so, somewhere between trusting and desperate.

Without any further preamble, Thomas pressed in with his thumb, firm but not harsh, swiping up and down, massaging away at the swelling in the hopes of breaking something up and giving him some reprieve. He’d been about to ask if the pressure was okay for him, before Varian’s mouth fell open and a guttural moan crawled up his throat before he could stop it.

It stopped Thomas in his tracks, and he silently urged himself not to react to the, uh… familiar sound, or the heavy, staccato breaths that followed it. Different circumstances.

His cheeks burned anyway.

“That’s good, right?” Thomas asked, just to be sure, “Or do you want me to-”

“Please dod’t stop.”

Obliging him, Thomas continued, until one of those short little breaths spiked into a pitchy inhalation. For a split second he was scared he’d dug in too hard and hurt him, but then in the next, Varian’s hand grabbed his own and pulled it away.

“hhh’AEHT’SSSHIEW!........ hhH’EHTCHUHH’hh!” Just about caught in the handkerchief in his other hand, the sneezes barrelled out of him wretchedly cold-filled and vengeful for having been denied before.

“Bless y-”

But apparently he wasn’t done, gulping in another desperate gasp.

“huH’EHDTZsss’sh!” He sneezed, ragged and sore-sounding, like it’d scraped up his throat on the way out. “Christ.”

“Bless you-“

“N-N’hhh… ndot d’huhH- iH’TCHSSSH’ue!”

By that point Varian’s eyes were flooded, and he had twin tear tracks running down his cheeks, wrecked but seemingly, finally, done with that last expulsion, some sense of finality in how he finally caved in and gave his nose a much-needed blow. Regardless of how much he was sure he needed it, Thomas couldn’t help but feel guilty for his part in having brought all of that on, and the last of his energy it seemed to sap from his reserves.

Once Varian had finished cleaning himself up, Thomas managed to convince him to lay down with him properly. Between two fully grown men, there was barely enough room on the rather modestly-sized bed for them both to fit comfortably together, but they made it work, Thomas lounging on his back to facilitate Varian snuggling in under his arm, his body tucked along the length of Thomas’s side. Truth be told, the necessitated closeness was more than welcome.

“I cad odly apologise, by the way, for, uh… that,” Varian eventually piped up once they’d settled in, with a huff of a self-deprecating laugh, eyes fixed firmly on the button he was fiddling with on Thomas’s shirt. “It has to have beed the mbost udsexy thing you’ve ever done for mbe. Possibly that adyode’s done for adyode, ever.”

That startled a laugh out of Thomas. Not with some of those sounds you were- “Anytime, really, as long as it helped,” he said with a shrug.

“Ndo, truly, if you cad ndever be attracted to mbe ever agaid, I cobpletely understand.”

Thomas just shook his head, his expression full of fond exasperation. Drama queen. “I’m sure that won’t be the case, but thank you for your concern,” he teased, before giving Varian’s shoulder a jerk, imploring him to look at him. “You’re sick and are the one needing a little help for a change, God forbid.”

Varian shook his head, averting his eyes once again from Thomas’s gaze with a shy, reticent smile. “It’s this villa. It’s turning us idto ad old mbarried couple sdnfff.”

He understood how Varian had meant it, of course he did, but even still, Thomas couldn’t help but allow it to conjure images of a different kind of world; a better world. Why not give into such basic indulgences when the world they lived in now was so unbelieavably fucked? It was a welcome escape, no matter how fantastical or far fetched.

He thought about them being able to do as Mary Jayne and Albert could - get married, move back to Varian’s home in the US, and set up a life together. After the events of tonight, he thought about the privilege of domestic mundanity in such a life compared to this one, where one of the worst things they had to worry about was one of them coming home from work unwell and needing to be looked after. Them having a home of their own, one with a medicine cabinet, and other being able to do that with no other real concerns in life beyond bills, or groceries, delays on the subway or remembering all your friends’ birthdays. Maybe in that world Thomas is a teacher; it’s what he’s qualified for in this one, even if he’d barely had the chance to step foot in a classroom professionally since finishing his studies.

But it was so unfathomable, so far outside the realm of possibility, that maybe it was masochistic to allow himself to yearn for it. His dreams were his own, though, and he was loath to give the powers that be any satisfaction in policing himself the way they sought to do themselves.

Thomas, suddenly sincere, said, “I would, you know, if we could. In a heartbeat.”

The wording was coy, but the implication shone bright and unmissable. Varian swallowed hard but didn’t reply, and Thomas hadn’t really expected him to, knew he’d need time to sit with a statement like that and figure out how he felt about it, even if it admittedly didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. Instead, for a second , Varian’s arms clutched him ever tighter, and he tilted his head, pressing a kiss into Thomas’s shoulder, letting his lips linger a couple of beats too long.

They just lay together for a bit in comfortable silence, lulled by the warmth and the sound of rain against the window, hands and minds aimlessly wandering in the dusky candlelight. Eventually, Varian broke back in, his voice sleepy  “What were you doing while you were waiting for mbe earlier?”

“Who says I was waiting for you?”

Varian failed to bite back a smirk, though any impact was tempered immediately by a sudden onset of coughing, deep and full and concerningly chesty. His voice was already croaky, if that kept up he’ll have lost it by morning. Whether it was coincidence or employed more strategically, they sounded painful nonetheless and Thomas took pity.

“I was reading,” he answered.

“Anything good?”

“Not particularly,” he shrugged, deciding the urge to tease was just too great. “It was one of the English books from the library, so was tedious by default.”

Varian gave an incredulous huff. “What is this weird bone you have to pick with the Edglish ladguage? We’ve spoken id Edglish sidce the day we mbet.”

Thomas feigned confusion. “Bone-to-pick? Strange expressions like that, first of all.”

“Alright, well I dod’t speak ady Hebrew or Polish. Would you rather Germban? I’d offer Fredch but, as I found out earlier, it’s not the easiest with a stuffy ndose sdnff.” He paused. “What’s that look for? I speak Germban! My Germban’s pretty good.”

“It’s very good…” he said “…for an American.”

Varian scoffed. “Alright, buddy, you’re on thin ice.”

Thomas snorted, unable to keep up the ruse any longer, and rubbed Varian’s arm soothingly as he laughed. “You’re too easy, my love.”

Varian rolled his eyes, the accompanying sigh adorably long-suffering, and Thomas kissed his forehead by way of apology.

For how often Varian found sleep elusive these days, unable to switch his brain off from the buzz of all the stress and worry, the haunting stories and countless new problems that arose every single day no matter how many he solved. That night, however, it finally came easy.

[thedevillionaire]

🙄💔👀for the wonderful Cerberus, please?

Certainly! :D

🙄 What is a minor pet peeve of theirs? answered here, but, ohhh, I can add a couple more 😂, so... Inefficiency and/or ineffectiveness, and especially when there's no need or good reason for it, will annoy the hell out of Cerberus. Verges on the not-actually-minor-peeve anymore, in fact, heh. Small talk for the sake of it, just to fill a silence. And people who dog-ear book pages.

💔 What genuinely hurts their feelings? This one was popular!

And 👀 Do they have any allergies we don't know about yet? He's saying the answer to this had damn well better be a no. 😅😅 Um... I think there's an outside chance at some artificial fragrance, uh, sensitivity that hasn't been formally recognised, as such, though. And I'll never say never to this one (despite him being deeply unimpressed with me - again, as per usual) but so far there's nothing definite that he's allergic to that hasn't turned up on snzblr yet - which is birch, and in particular its bark, and dust. He's not allergic to many things, but does react particularly nicely to those delightful exceptions. In my relevant-to-my-interests opinion, anyway. :P

[thedevillionaire]

Would love to hear about 👗 for your lovely Cerberus and Kia if someone hasn’t asked already! ☺️

Absolutely, and thank you so much! :D

👗 How does your character typically dress? Are there any circumstances in which they'd change the way they dress? Do they have a favorite article of clothing?

Cerberus is impeccably well dressed almost without exception, in a kind of neo Victorian/Regency manner, exquisitely cut and tailored, and he does this on a daily basis. Kia's thoughts of Fuck, does he always look like this? upon seeing him for the second time ever were...well, um, yeah. Affirmative, ma'am, lol. Even his around-the-house sickwear is inherently stylish. (Satin pyjamas and plush robe, usually.) His usual go-to is tailored black pants, white linen shirt and black brocade waistcoat - plus dress coat if warranted. For someone so inclined towards formalwear, though, he doesn't wear ties.

And despite looking ridiculously hot in the cable knit sweater he wore specifically for Kia, this did not become a regular occurrence. 😅

Kia is waaay more casual as a rule. Her standard outfit is a simple, uncomplicated, comfortable shift dress - she has several, in a variety of colours and patterns - and that's what she'll usually be wearing on regular days. But she loves an excuse to dress up, and has quite the knack for it, and her "woohoo, it's an Occasion!" outfits can get very intricate indeed. She favours figure-flattering and overtly feminine, styles fitted and flowing, and has actually made several of her own dresses - she's actually a pretty competent seamstress.

Neither of them have a favourite piece per se, though both definitely have regular "standard" ensembles, if that counts. Both have extensive wardrobes, and some few pieces/items are definitely worn more regularly than others. Or, if I go by a different measure, their respective wedding outfits, perhaps. Aww.

[thedevillionaire]

At your leisure: 💗💭📞 for the lovers (or substitute any others you want to answer if you've already received those!)

My leisure, I finally have some! lol it's been an intense week but I'm sneaking in pockets of it when I can. So, then...wordpockets below!

💗 What about your character's love interest(s) attracts your character to them? If they don't have one, what types of people are they typically attracted to (if any)?

Each of them genuinely thinks the other one is The Best Thing Ever™️

Cerberus loves the different way Kia sees things to him, the way she interprets the world, her irrepressibility, her passion (in a variety of forms, heh) and her willingness to just...take things on. Her curiosity, her adventurous spirit, her insight. Her gentleness. And she's also really, really gorgeous, which doesn't hurt lol.

Kia is constantly amazed by Cerberus, and... Okay, she is being loudly insistent that her answer is everything. 😂 Which isn't wrong, actually, and I'll concede to her here for conciseness of answer, at least a bit. She feels she knows him incredibly intimately and barely at all at the same time. That she's still completely fascinated by him, while never trusting anyone more deeply - her faith in him is absolute.

In several ways, they're very opposites-attracty, with both of them never having met someone quite like the other before. Both are equally insistent this holds truer for them than it does for the other. 😅

And, on a more base level, there's just a flat-out innate chemical attraction between them that defies reason - that just is. An ineffability. (Well, fairly ineffable, anyway. I mean, they're both hot AF, so...)

💭 What inspired you to make them? Any specific influences you were drawing from?

Answered here!

📞 How do they speak/communicate? (cadence, voice, word choice, mannerisms, etc.)

Cerberus is easily the best spoken of all my OCs, certainly of all my male OCs in particular - a deep and rich clarity of tone, with a warmth over a certain resoluteness that I tend to think of as "steel beneath velvet". He's very erudite, crystal-precise in diction (which is quickly and mercilessly destroyed by congestion when the situation arises. Ahem. Mmm. Okay, returning to point) , and expressive of cadence. His voice is genuinely beautiful. He's also quite expressive in terms of mannerisms, and will use gesture for emphasis regularly, though without being overly flamboyant about it.

Kia speaks fairly colloquially - relaxed and welcoming, and also fairly quickly, like if she doesn't say what she wants to immediately, she'll lose what she'd intended to say. She's an informal speaker a lot of the time, and because of this, she can be misinterpreted as more flippant or not as clever as she actually is. Her writing, for instance, is very different to her speech. There's a friendliness to her cadence, though, and she's both engaging and enjoyable to talk with. And she's a great listener, always making others feel properly heard.

[thedevillionaire]

As much as we love the big strong character denying they are sick, sometimes you get a craving for the "yes I'm big and tough but I've got the sniffles so cuddle me dammit!" Vibe

[thedevillionaire]

Illness and Love Languages - Grimm/Taisho

Taisho is mysteriously unwell. Grimm has no problem being caretaker. There's sappy nonsense, confessions, and as always, some weirdly hilarious bullshit from Grimm.

(See note at the end for Taisho's actual issue and tags for other blather.)

Enjoy this soft fuckery. _________________________

He doesn’t look well.  With his ultra pale skin and hair to match, any hint of pink is amplified times a thousand and this sure as hell doesn’t look good.  Not to mention all of that sniffling and sneezing, which he’s been doing for about the past twelve hours.

At first, Grimm had chalked it up to an accidental dose of lavender-infused green tea, but this?  Yeah, this was way too much.

Even now, Taisho looks like he’s fighting with the urge, doing his best to appear as calm and resolute as ever, but failing in a pretty spectacular fashion.  

His breathing skips a beat, shaking the rhythm into something erratic and clipped, like he doesn’t even have the energy to care anymore.

“Hehh!  ISSSHHEH! IHHSSSSCHHEH!! Hiiih. . . ! Iih-IEESSSHiieehh! Hnnnhh, gomen.” Taisho presses the back of his hand beneath his nose with a pointed, emphatic sniffle and touches a hand to the base of his throat with a wince.

Grimm, of course, can’t keep his damn hands to himself.  He brushes the back of one finger across Taisho’s fair cheek, sweeping aside a lock of hair that has fallen across his field of vision.  “That hurt?” 

“Mmmn.” Taisho nods his head. “It has been as such for some time.

“Oh yeah?” Grimm scratches at the stubble on his chin with a thoughtful expression. “Sounds like a cold. But your kind doesn't do that, huh.” 

“We do not.” Taisho tips head to one side. “But we are joined, you and I, through the red tie of fate. I am sensitive to your mortality.”

Grimm’s eyebrow arches high.  “Do what, now?”

“The gravity of this world.”  Taisho gestures, as if seeing something Grimm cannot.  “It is not like my own. I am heavy here.”  He sweeps his body with one hand.  “My healing is swift, but I am weary.” 

“Huh.” Grimm leans back against the couch, hands clasped behind his head. He doesn’t miss the way Taisho’s gaze tracks the movement, lingers on the curves of his biceps.  

Which is exactly why he did it in the first place.

“Doesn’t sound right,” he says.  “You’ve been around me when I’m sick as fuck and you didn’t ‘absorb it’ or whatever it is you think you’re doin’. Must be something else.” 

“I do not feel as if I am myself.” Taisho pinches the space between his eyes with a slight wince. “There is pressure here.”  He taps the center of his forehead.  “And here.” 

“Sore throat?” Grimm ventures.  “Feels like you’re gonna sneeze every five seconds?”

A rather nefarious smile tugs at one side of his mouth. “You would enjoy this.” 

“Might.” Grimm ventures, going for coy but sounding much more like “fuck yes, I would.” 

Just the same, Taisho’s demeanor goes from sultry predator to helpless victim all in the span of one hitching, irritated breath and he buries his nose in the crook of his elbow with fragmented “Hiiihhh–IKGSSSSSHH–EHHH!!” 

Definitely in the department of rough, raw, and throat-scraping.  Yeah, that’s not the usual for him at all.

“Goddamn it,” Grimm says to no one in particular.  

He snatches the box of tissues from the end table and pulls way too many out of the perforated plastic, slipping the whole mess between Taisho’s slender fingers. Right on time, too.  Taisho somehow manages to untangle a single tissue from the wad and spreads it over his hands, body flinching into a strained “Heehh–! GKSSSCHT!”

Aaaand that’s enough of that shit.  Grimm doesn’t even ask for permission. He gathers Taisho into his embrace, stopping just short of pulling him into his lap. Warmth radiates from Taisho’s skin and not in a good way.

“Think you might have a fever,” Grimm says, lips pressed against his temple where the hair is downy soft and fine. “Don’t know how, but I think you do.”

“We are not immune to fevers.” Taisho curls against him, the sleeve of Grimm’s satin robe slipping from his shoulder.

Because it’s huge on him. Same height, but definitely not the same build. Endearing as fuck either way.  

“Wanna lie down or somethin’?”

“No.” Taisho kneads a handful of his shirt between his fingers in an absent, self-soothing gesture. “I find comfort here.” 

Well, sort of.  With his soft, but consistent sniffling and threat of a catching breath, that’s up for debate.  But if the guy says he’s okay, Grimm doesn’t push it.  Not like he has any objection to what’s doin’ on the couch.  Taisho’s lean, slender form fits into his embrace like it was planned by the universe or some shit. Out of all the things Grimm had imagined about his life, being bonded life partners to two supernatural types hadn’t been on his bingo card.

Eventually, the shirt-kneading slows to a halt and Taisho’s body grows heavy and pliant against his own, prompting Grimm to pull the blanket down from the back of the couch and drape it over his body, tucking it around his shoulders.  A nap wasn’t a bad idea.  Vacation was great and all, but Grimm hadn’t really caught up on missed sleep.  Not that he ever did.

But something about Taisho’s energy lulls him into a peaceful state, drifting along into–

“Hhh-hhiiih . . .!”

Or maybe not.

Taisho steeples his tissue-clad hands for cover and flinches into a wrenching “--Hhhih’ISSSHHHIEHH!”  

It’s a head-to-toe ordeal, his lithe body shuddering in Grimm’s embrace, translating through his own frame like a jolt of electricity. 

“Ah, gomen.”  He sniffles, a bit more copiously than before, but still somehow within the realm of utter politeness. “You were close to sleep.” 

Maybe, but Grimm doesn’t give a damn.  He pulls Taisho close and nuzzles his ear, kisses his temple, and brushes his hair aside.

“Ōdaiji ni,” he murmurs against the pointed curve of the aforementioned ear.

His breathing stops, body tensing with interruption. The way he snaps to attention, sitting up straight enough to displace the blanket is almost comical. He flicks his gaze to Grimm, head tilting with slow assessment, expression something between incredulity and some kind of heartstruck surprise. 

“You have. . . said my words.”  

Heh.

He sounds goddamn shocked, too.

“Sure did.” 

A pause. A delicate sniffle. 

“Itoshii hito.” Taisho’s gaze softens into fond warmth as he traces the line of Grimm’s jaw and rests upon his cheek with a gentle sort of reverence. 

As per the usual, Grimm has no idea just what he’s said, but the words are laden with such weighted sincerity, the meaning is conveyed just the same.

“Your accent. It is good.” 

“Is it?” Grimm cards his fingers through that absurd length of hair, relishing the feel of it. Like living silk.

“Hai.” A light cough. Another sniffle. A halting hitch of breath. “Heeeh. . .! ISSSHHEH! IKGG’SHHEH!--GIKKSSSH!  Hnnnhh.”  

It's the sound of exhausted irritation that makes something in his chest do that squeezing backflip heart acrobatic. 

“Ōdaiji ni,” Grimm says.

Heat edges his tone, despite his efforts. Given the roving stroke of Taisho's fingers across his thigh, it does not go unnoticed.

“Domo,” he says with the barest hint of a sniffle. The hand travels and Grimm sucks in a breath. “I do not tease you in this way with purpose.”

“I know.” A faint tremor runs the length of his body. “I'm good.” 

“You are not.” Taisho turns in his embrace, sits up to cup his face between those elegant hands. “I would kiss you now.” 

“Fuck yes, you will.” A hint of a small, plaintive moan escapes him as their lips connect and Grimm tightens his hold. 

Taisho's mouth is both searching and gentle, an ebb and flow of passion versus tantalizing control. How in the good goddamn did someone kiss like that?

“Don't start somethin’ you can't finish,” Grimm rumbles against his lips.

The glint in Taisho's eyes is a spark of divine fire, his smile showcasing the slight points of his canines. “I will not leave you unfinished.”

“I dunno, man.” Grimm strokes the sides of Taisho's jaw with his thumbs. “Kinda looks like you wanna eat my face.”

“. . . eat?” Taisho tilts his head with a chuckle. 

“Nom nom,” Grimm says, complete with teeth-gnashing emphasis.

The half-demon laughs, like some genuine, full-on resonant business. It’s goddamn ridiculous, chaotic and borderline unhinged, like he's never actually let loose with a good guffaw.

It's one of the sexiest things Grimm has ever seen.

Taisho has him pinned to the couch before he can so much as blink, alabaster hair curtaining their faces.

“Senshi,” he says. “I will eat more than your face.” 

“Yeah?”  Grimm’s smile is wide and full of decadent, nefarious promise. “I’m into that.” 

*Gomen - Sorry/Excuse me *Senshi -Warrior (his petname for Grimm) *Hai - Yes *Domo - Thank you (informal) *Ōdaiji ni - Take care (I decided this was a thing in my work. Not common.) *Itoshii hito - My love/My dear one (poetic and deep expression of emotion) What's Taisho's actual problem? It's the full moon on Earth. His realm has two moons, which contribute to his well-being and stability. The Earth's moon doesn't always agree with him, especially when it's full. His father is a moon god and he's VERY susceptible to moon phases and gravitational pulls. They haven't figured this out yet. Note: Taisho is NOT a werewolf. Half demon. The slightly pointed top and bottom canines are just part of the deal. He doesn't transform into something during different moon phases.

______________________________

[thedevillionaire]

Been kind of A Week, but I will be completing asks in the next couple of days! Gathering braincells/energy and time simultaneously has been awkward but I am doing the thing! I love the thing!

Minor delay on answering some fab asks (THANK YOU <3) due to IRL interrupting me (how dare) but I'll be indulging ASAP. xxx

[thedevillionaire]

Kia and Cerberus for these! 💔 What genuinely hurts their feelings? 🎸 What kind of music would they enjoy? (Alt: Is there a genre of music that you associate with them?) ‼️ What are some descriptions you find yourself using a lot for this character?

Absolutely! :D

💔 answered here!

🎸Cerberus is (fairly predictably) classically inclined. He leans towards atmospheric and powerful - so like, say, Holst's 'The Planets', with a particular shout-out to 'Mars, Bringer of War'. Within the Underworld's own musicians, he favours Silver, who is a sort of folk-rock lyrical teller of stories. He's not what I'd consider particularly musically inclined, but he does enjoy a background soundtrack, and although he doesn't often listen with what I'd consider intensity or strong focus, he's not disinclined either.

Kia has fairly eclectic tastes but tends to lean pop indie. She likes a catchy beat and lyrics that aren't too stupid lol. She's a bit of a "I like all music!" type, actually, which is usually something that's often wildly not true, but...she kinda does. She can usually find at least something she likes in whatever genre or style she's listening to. And she does enjoy the majority of the Underworldian bands, and is a pretty regular attender of live gigs, too.

‼️For Cerberus, I try to lay off hair and eyes references but...yeah, I regularly don't. I reiterate his beauty a lot, in a variety of forms. Striking. Presence. Resolve. Power. And control - and, uh, the loss of it. Particularly here. 😏

For Kia, it tends to be more about her experiencing things, although again it's hard for me to leave the damn hair references alone. Visuals matter to me and I often refer to her movement, particularly her hands. Brightness. Gentleness. Vibrancy. And wonder. I write about her marvelling a lot. For...some reason lol

[thedevillionaire]

yesss I was hoping you'd reblog the ask meme...let's do 🌿 for Cerberus, 💭 for both Cerberus and Kia, and 🎨 for Kia, if that's not too much! -w1ngxd

eee, thank you! A pleasure! 😄

🌿- If your character were a plant, what would they be (and why)? -answered here, but I didn't have a clear 'winner', as such. BUT... @victoriablackrose sent me this follow-up, and I'm pretty damn happy to go with it. :)

💭What inspired you to make them? Any specific influences you were drawing from?

Cerberus was very specifically brought in to be a catalyst for forcing me to get my overpopulated damn Underworld back under control. Basically, he was meant to be a one-hit wonder - come in, do some a lot of damage, job complete, thank-you-kindly-sir we're-done-here plot device. (As much as I ever have 'plot', anyway. Ahem.) So, naturally, he didn't do that - well, he did do the task as requested, but pretty much immediately after that took over the entire place, and remains my number one OC to this decades-later day. As for where my influences came from? No idea anymore, I'm afraid. Lost to the mists of time lol (but it's probably just flat-out wish fulfilment in a variety of forms; that's the heart of all my inspirations in one way or another, when it comes down to it.)

Kia was an introduced Incept of an OC who pretty much nobody here will know (Vesuvius, who features in one of my vanilla fics but nowhere else here) as part of his storyline, and then she...branched out. I wasn't expecting that at all, either. She was a lot more of everything than I'd planned for. I hadn't given her much thought upon introduction, to be honest, and she just developed and I, um, watched it happen. It's been a good time. :P

🎨Is there a color palette you associate with them?

Cerberus is rich, dark colours - burgundy, deep (and emerald, because of course) green, black, burnished/antique gold - offset against creams, ecru, white. He's simultaneously understated and dramatic colour-wise. Inherently classy somehow. Kia is very definitely blue, all shades of it but especially the more vibrant ones, and shades along that spectrum, so purple, violet, lilac, softer pink. There's a romance to her palette, a lush cool sunset sort of vibe, if that makes any sense.

[thedevillionaire]

Okay, hear me out. The Sequoia for Cerberus. Stately and majestic, and born through fire. It requires the heat of fire to open its cones and release it's seeds. And that same fire clears the land giving it room to grow.

Fabulous tree, and that's some pretty great reasoning there. Definitely fits the bill. I'm certainly not going to argue against it!

[thedevillionaire]

Minor delay on answering some fab asks (THANK YOU <3) due to IRL interrupting me (how dare) but I'll be indulging ASAP. xxx