rope-tati

[rope-tati]

Ways in which You, the MC, raise the Characters Blood Pressure

All characters, except Luke

Cw: suggestive, spoilers and lesson 16 mentions.

Lucifer

You arranged the bottles of liquor in his study. It is order, you claim. In height and color, but for Lucifer it is chaos. It is a mess, he declares, his hands having to re-route every time they search for the intended bottle.

You do not wear weather-appropriate clothing. Look at the waistcoat on him, MC, with gloves and a dramatic flair which mimics a peacock. It is about to snow, and you do not have a jacket on. You're not cold, you affirm, but the goosebumps on your skin say otherwise. What a pity, here, have his coat.

You send him those god-awful, brainrot reels on Devilgram and expect him to watch every single one. Not his feed, not his brick, but it is there thanks to you.

You decide to climb the shelves to reach for the jar of choco-chip cookies. Yes, demons are taller, but please just use a stepping stool or ask for assistance. Imagine his plight when he walks into the kitchen half-dead from exhaustion and sees you scaling the shelves like a monkey, feet and hands gripping the wood for dear life.

You act flamboyant. Not too much, but with your head held high and that smirk on your face, fully aware of your capability and achievements, throwing him a sly glance as he takes the coat off your shoulders at a ball in the Demon Lord's castle. It gets him weak.

You participate in his brothers tomfoolery. They decided it would be a great idea to rearrange the dining room's furniture. Everyone is bickering about the ideal placement, there are streaks on the floor, and is that fire???!!! Mammon he can string up in the living room, Satan and Belphegor can be on bathroom cleaning duty, but you—what does he even do with you?? When you sheepishly apologise and give that godforsaken smile, he has no choice but to relent.

You get a little too buddy-buddy with Solomon. He's from the human world, sure, it is natural to bond with one of your kind, but when he sees you two together with almost identical smirks on your faces his brows furrow. In resignation. And a little bit of trepidation. What are you planning, MC?

Mammon

You threatened to take away Goldie when he did not listen to you. Stack it away nicely in a place where he can't reach it. Maybe the freezer. Maybe the toaster. He doesn't know.

You run headfirst into danger. Listen, Mammon knows you are very strong. Capable and headstrong. But please, please, MC, thats an Abyss Snake! Those creatures have venom so potent it can obliterate demons, and you are a human! Blessed, even though, but still, have some consideration for his heart before he runs after you, who is insistent on petting it.

You get a little too close to others. Nothing wrong with that, but his brain can't stop but cry out in protest. Biology deems it so. He's your first man! Don't you forget it! Lesser demons don't get too close though, because his scowl is enough of a warning. And he's not just all bark. Second-oldest, don't you forget.

You own him. Others demons trying to get close to him, subtly trying to slot their bodies against him at a club, or even in public. You glare and with ease tug Mammon towards you, until your lips nearly touch, intent on showing them that he's not available. Only for you.

You ate his noodles, leaving none for him.

You don't pick up his calls when you're in the human world. Crows he can send in every corner of the Devildom to look for you, assured of your safety and wellbeing. But in the human world, he can't. Six missed calls, MC, better pick up the seventh, before he decides to conjure a portal and come down there.

Leviathan

You criticised the figurine in his room. It looks weird, you say, like a blob of soup. It's magic munchkin from Igotreincarnatedinto soupduringtheTangdynasty, he says. Normies don't appreciate art. Hmpgh.

You cosplayed as Henry 2.0. and crept into his room at 3 am. Imagine his plight when he opens his eyes because he feels as if someone is watching him, only to see you decked out in full fish, contacts and all. He woke up the whole house with that scream.

You don't react to every single Devilgram reel he sends you. Friends send each other reels, sure, but these are fifty reels in a span of an hour. Just an hour.

You denied sleeping in the bathtub with him when you came over to his room for movie night, choosing to sleep in your bed instead. You claim its because the bathtub is uncomfortable. He assumes its because you hate his presence. Please just bring a mattress next time, MC, our Envy Avatar is in low spirits.

You take control. Shoving him against his chair, sitting on top of him as if you own him. Your smile is just a tad cruel, hands finding their way to the spots where he reacts the most. It makes him go blank. Please don't stop please please please

You stare at another demon too long. His envy can't help but take over. What is it that the demon have that he does not? What is it that enchants you so? Self-loathing follows after.

You forget to send him AP and receive it from your daily in-game logins. Sin.

Satan

You took the liberty of arranging the pile of books in his room. Like Lucifer, he has a natural order for them in mind, which you disrupted. Physics on the left, biology on the right and astronomy in the middle. Now its alll goneeee. No order. Chaos, however orderly they make appear.

You pet a cat and did not send him a picture. He knows from the cat fur on your clothes and the happiness on your face. Where is the kitty, MC, send him a pic now. He needs to meet the feline.

You asked Solomon for help with your studies. Sure, he's a very, very renowned sorcerer with whom even the demon likes to debate with, but study sessions are you and Satan's thing. Not with Solomon. Now you have got two intellectuals helping you study, as Satan acts passive-aggressive towards the sorcerer.

You two throw debates on random topics head to head. Intelligence is sexy, and that smile when you've outwitted him? Satan is about to swoon like a Victorian woman.

You don't walk alongside him. MC has the habit of frolicking along the path like a sheep. Cute. Maybe they have a faster pace than him. But he can't help but feel as if you are trying to avoid walking alongside him, unintentional that may be.

You add irrelevant items to the shopping cart when you both are out. Stick to the budget MC, stick to the budget, Satan chides, as he slips in a pack of the chocolate you prefer into the cart.

Asmodeus

You used a beauty product which he hates. Yes, that chaos snail cream is trending right now, but it gave him breakouts! Stop that, MC, here, use this instead!

You don't comment on his latest post/story/reel. You've been too busy with studies and Sorcerer society, we know. But you know he anticipates your comments the most! He wants YOU to look at him!!! Admire him!! You better add some heart emojis next time, MC.

You insist on cleaning together. He denies. At first. Complains all throughout, then insists on taking a bath together to get cleaned off.

You go out in public wearing an outfit that would have been put together by the enemy of fashion themselves. No, MC, you're so sexy haha please don't go out like that, when you've got Asmodeus right here to style you! He's already taking off your jacket and shoes, ready to drape you in finery. Always looking like a snack, his MC.

You see him for him, not for Asmodeus, Jewel of the Heavens. Your Asmodeus. Not the public image of him, not the impression he's curated of himself, but just the the person you see at home. At his most vulnerable. This sets him on fire like nothing else. Also when you match his freak

You insist on doing his nails. He's sweating for his life as you work on his fingernails. A very interesting choice of color there, MC, and oh, this nail buffer, seems a bit too.....rough.

Beelzebub

You don't look both ways before crossing the street. Sure, you are an accomplished sorcerer, but the inhabitants of the Devildom are still getting used to the law and order declared by Prince. That includes speed limits. His heart nearly jumps into his mouth during those moments.

You surprise him after his Fangol match. Him, all sweaty and red in the face. You, electrolyte in hand and that saccharine-sweet smile on your face that makes him weak. You could shove him against the wall and he would crumble.

You don't think before taking risks. Nothing peeves Beelzebub more than when you disregard your own safety. Please think twice before making hasty decisions that involve potential injury. For his sake, please, and the integrity of your physical body. Let him fuss over you.

You don't try your hair after you bathe/shower. You'll get a cold, he says, and a hairdryer is already in his hand. Sit down MC, and let Beel dry your hair. It will be quick.

You go out without him to eat. Eating together is love for Beel, nothing better than sharing a meal with your partner. So please don't deprive him of your company, MC, food tastes better when you are there with him.

You kill a fly. That was his friend, MC. His pal.

Belphegor

You downplay your injuries. Anyone who saw you fall down the stairs in the library knows that it would have hurt. You laughed and walked it off. He noticed the way your pace faltered, the hiss of pain when no one was looking. Please, take care of yourself, MC.

You leave hair ties around the house. Belphegor woke up to one next to his pillow, another on the RAD bench. One on top of the cabinet. And it drives him crazy. You're wondering how your supply of hair ties is running out fast, meanwhile, his supply is full, ready to be given when desired.

You put him in his place. He knows he's bratty at times, being the youngest comes with its own traits. When you bite back at him, grabbing him by the hair, showing him how brats are treated, he's gone. A demon deceased. At your mercy.

You make cow puns. Yes, he can talk to cows, yes, his clothes have a similar pattern. But enough with the jokes now, MC, go along and get mooooving—

You take his favourite pillow to be washed. It is dirty indeed, but Belphegor cannot sleep without it. He's sitting by the washing machine and waiting. Until its ready to be used again.

You crack your fingers. The sound can't help but remind him of that time when you fell down the stairs, and he watched from above in damned glee—until he saw the expression on his brothers faces and the way you gasped in pain. Please do not do it in front of him.

Diavolo

You decide to serve him pickles. It's good to try new things, you say, content on eating your own serving of pickles. Diavolo stares at the offending item as if it has committed regicide.

You make him finish his work. Yes, there is a pile of reports waiting to be signed, but its only a ten minute break, MC, what harm can it do? You're like Barbatos sometimes, hovering over him. Maybe if he jumped out the window to make an escape it might work.

You challenge his authority. Diavolo has been questioned plenty of times in the past, when he was still new to governance without his father overseeing affairs. The House of Lords opposed many of his orders. But you, you are different. Standing in front of him, challenging his opinion, so bold in stating your opinion and your claim. On him. Only him. Excuse his meetings for an hour, minimum, there is a very urgent matter right in front of him, one whose wishes he's willing to bend to eagerly.

You team up with Solomon. Diavolo cannot tell what you two are planning. Nothing but chaos is guaranteed. He's already bracing himself for a surprise.

You refuse to accept his gifts. You deserve the best of the best. What do you mean, MC, that this hundred thousand jewellery set is too much? that the piles of gifts outside your room is too much? None of that now, none of that.

You wear a strong perfume. His nose is sensitive, and the scent is so harsh that it makes him nauseous. Too polite to comment, he silently bears it while you wonder as to why he keeps leaning out of the window. Maybe there's something going on outside.

Barbatos

You don't tie your hair up while cooking. It gives him the ick like nothing else can, and before you can even start on chopping up the potatoes he's already working on tying your hair, clips and a headband magically appearing.

You showed him Ratatouille. Barbatos dropped the item he was holding. You thought he had gone catatonic after.

You serve him instead. He's accustomed to being the one assisting others, but when you do it it's different. When you straighten out his tie in the way you deem satisfactory, hands running down his chest for a brief moment, he's a demon gone.

You decide to make tea incorrectly, or incorrect in his eyes. The temperature has to be a perfect 40 degree celsius, MC. Ginger has to be shredded, not cut. Milk has to be warm, not straight from the fridge. MC—just let him—he'll do it. Just sit down and he'll make you a cup. With a bloody strawberry pastry.

You went inside his room, and ten different versions of you came out. He had to spend an hour trying to ensure all your versions did not meet each other, with Diavolo asking for him every fifteen minutes.

You go to the port market without him. Sacrilege. When he sees you with fresh groceries in hand, Barbatos feels betrayed. Without him?! He'll subtly make quips at you, and the next outing will be at the port, and you're going to be besides him. For safety, he says.

Simeon

You decided to stay at Purgatory Hall for the night, but not in his room. See, MC, he has a bed right here for you! And cookies!! Four pillows!! Please don't deprive him of your company.

You fold clothes incorrectly. The sleeve is hanging out, wrinkles already forming on a pair of trousers. The handkerchief is crumbled up into a ball. Simeon just sighs. Takes the clothes from your hands, gently sets it aside.

You act as the knight in shining armour. Sweeping in with just what he needs. He gazes at you in longing, perhaps one of a thousand years. Just kiss him MC, he'll be so good. He promises.

You text him in lingo he does not understand. "So true, bestie." ??? "Not very sigma of them." ???? "I've got major tea about the two demons who made a ruckus during curses and hexes." Tea???? Send him some reels, MC, maybe then he will get it.

You chew on a pen. People do it when they're in deep thought. Sure. But Simeon can't help it when he sees the indentations left on the body and the head. That poor pen. Crime committed.

You decided to teach Luke slang. Now he's cursing like a sailor. What will he do now, MC? Look at that sweet boy, now yapping. You've spoiled him with bad influences. How will he undo this?

Solomon

You don't sit on his lap. Never mind that there are plenty of seats around. His lap is the best seat. The chair on which you are currently sitting on feels like nettles. The sofa is too hot. His lap is the only option left.

You get a little too close to Asmodeus for his comfort. Solomon can't help but feel a pang of jealousy in his heart when you warm up to him. He's not so subtly interrupting you both, and acts as if everything is alright. Yeah, just apply that facemask on him too, he'll eat the cucumber.

You shove him into a nearby closet or an empty classroom. He barely has time to breathe before you are on him, hands fisting in his shirt, all his senses occupied by you. It drives him mad like nothing other.

You wake him up in the morning. He's catatonic at that hour. Any attempts to wake him up will be met with groans and grunts. Shaking him awake does not work. Mandatorily kisses are prescribed to wake him right up. Doctor, he needs them to wake up!

You deny his help. He knows you're a capable sorcerer, your power immeasurable. But let yourself rely on him sometimes, he's more than happy to help you. He'll drop everything to come to the aid of his beloved apprentice.

You dress up to go outside, expectedly staring at him. Solomon's sweating bullets internally, wondering if he missed a date. A special event. His book lies abandoned while he racks his brain. Was it today? Or tomorrow? Oh no no no no

Thirteen

You brought a bug in the house once. Claimed it cute and adorable. Thirteen climbed on top of the closet, did not come down till you let it outside. Banned, she tells you, from bringing them inside.

You didn't admire her latest creation well enough. She spent such a long time on it, MC! The giant bazooka!! And you gave it a glance and nodded!! Her heart!!

You get too chummy with Solomon. She declares it a crime. His cooking made her see stars during the day, and she woke up a whole day later on top of a bridge. Why do you have to hang out with that loathed sorcerer, MC?

You give her that smug smirk of yours, and she feels weak in the knees. Getting too close to her, acting so nonchalant. Her heart is doing cartwheels in her chest.

Mephistopheles

You forget titles while referring to Lord Diavolo. It's "Your Majesty," and "Lord Diavolo," MC. Don't be so rude towards his sovereign. He'll spend the whole day correcting you.

You ruffle his hair. Such an innocent gesture, but Mephistopheles can't help but stutter when you do it so casually. He's stuttering. Face hot.

You don't read the latest edition of the R.A.D. newspaper. He spent so long proofreading and collecting information, MC. And you still haven't read it. The demon is hurt. Better read it now, MC.

You bring out a chihuahua from your bag and place it on the desk. During a meeting. The tiny thing trembles. He sighs.

Raphael

You sew hastily. He can see the haphazardly put together stitches. Raphael is already gesturing you over, needle in hand. Sit down and let him fix it.

You find yourself in trouble due to the brothers shenanigans. He walks out of Purgatory Hall and sees you upside down on a tree. He sighs. Takes his spear and removes the branch, catches you in his arms.

You manhandle him. Something about the way in which you effectively guide him away from your path by grabbing his hips, or even pulling him closer gets him going.

You stop him from sampling Solomon's cooking. Its a culinary delight, he says. It is assault on the tastebuds, you claim. He's offended, already grabbing a spoonful of his food. Heaven, he sighs.

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demon form things i thought were cute :)

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I loved doing this hair for Huayan

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rip magneto you would have loved killing elon musk

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franky’s notebook / scrapbook pt 3 !!!

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Everett and Jeremy

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Happy Pride Month, from all of us at GB Patch Games! 🏳️‍🌈 We wouldn't be where we are today without support from the LGBTQ+ community. We take great pride (😏) in creating stories where everyone can see themselves and where queerness is celebrated. You belong here, you are cherished here, and we are overjoyed to have you in our family.

We hope you are having a safe, festive, and outstanding June! 🌈

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It's June 20th, which means... summer has officially arrived! ☀️

In Our Life, summer is where it all began – where we met Cove, Baxter, Derek, and the unforgettable community of Sunset Bird.

To celebrate, we're thrilled to debut the Our Life Cookbook! Over the last few months, community members have been cooking up a storm, crafting recipes inspired by Our Life: Beginnings & Always. We've gathered their creations into one heartfelt (and 100% free) digital cookbook, made with love, for you.

Thank you to the home cooks that created these recipes, and to you, the community, for continuing to show your love for Our Life.

(Click on the cover above for the link!) Or, you can click here.

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well, since no one likes upgrade predator, I’m gonna give him aaaaall my love <З

a quick sketch!!

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A part two to Auhta's story.

Gender neutral reader.

I did not accidentally post this before it was ready...

Not proofread.

Part One.

The day you brought back a Quatza-Rij with Auhta, everything changed.

To bring a Quatza-Rij down and present it to the clan elders was a tradition, a rite of passage to adulthood in yautja culture. Typically, you had to prepare the Hunt in groups of three. Not two unprepared Youngbloods getting ambushed by the beast.

Which made your accomplishment all the more impressive.

A worthy pair of warriors the two of you had made.

You were certainly unprepared for the change in behaviour the yautja showed you after bringing home your kill. No longer did they stare at you like you were the weakest link, keeping their distance and eyeing you like a tragedy waiting to occur.

Even the looks given to your master had changed. She had always been considered odd, true, but you absolutely noticed how her chest would puff up in pride when her peers would glance her way. They had called her foolish for taking in a human to mentor. Looked at her as if she was mad.

Now, their eyes held respect.

She saw something they couldn't see in you.

The respect given to you was now becoming embedded within your master.

You weren't exactly treated like royalty, but you were now seen as an equal. Your fast thinking had secured you a spot within the clan. As an honourable Youngblood, just as worthy as the rest of your peers.

However, that didn't change your habits.

Growing up in this clan had felt borderline isolating. Growing up with other yautja whelps left you feeling like an outcast.

The whelps had always played rough and tumble, but any attempt to join in would leave you injured. Their claws and jaws not made to play with soft meat.

You still have some scars from your childhood.

You knew that they never meant it.

They would always give you such strange looks when you would instinctively yelp and cower away. It didn't get any better as you got older. Eventually, they would begin leaving you out. The influence from the adults bleeding into their pups.

You were different.

Smaller.

Weaker.

You were prey being raised amongst predators.

You eventually learned to occupy yourself. Reading books, learning to craft tapestries, helping your master manage medicinal herbs, and even hunt for small rodents to practice your pelt crafting.

And old habits die hard, apparently.

Even as you had proven yourself, you still kept to yourself.

Others would be more open to approaching you whenever you were in the camp, a fact that nearly had your heart beating into overdrive, but for the most part they didn't make an effort to become your friend.

Except for...

"Human."

You pricked yourself with your sewing needle as you flinched hard at the sudden voice directly next to your ear. You hiss as you place your index finger in your mouth, soothing the wound as you turn your head.

Not by much, though, or else you'd risk brushing your face directly against his.

Auhta chuckles heartily, his eyes crinkling as his upper tusks click together. He had been sitting directly behind you, angled so that he could look over your body to observe what you were doing.

You didn't even hear him enter your master's cave. Let alone sit down that close to you and watch you for an unprecedented amount of time.

You should've played closer attention to your surroundings instead of allowing yourself to be so absorbed in your task that you left yourself vulnerable.

Perhaps that was the feeling of safety you had associated with this cave. Feeling so safe in your master's company that you tuned the world out, trusting your master with your vulnerability.

Now that you think about it, she wasn't even here anymore. She must have left before Auhta arrived, or else she would've chased the Youngblood off before you even noticed him.

Auhta had something of a mischievous reputation.

His entire pack of friends did.

You often saw them manhandling each other around in the mud. A few sudden tackles always seemed to catch you off guard whenever you walked by. Auhta being the most physically involved out of them all.

"It's polite to announce your presence when you're in someone's home." You sighed, their eyelids drooping in exasperation. You watched as he tilted his head, his amber eyes holding a curiosity that not many his age would dare to indulge in.

Out of self-respect, of course.

Auhta seemed content by the amount of respect he had already garnered.

"I did. You were not listening." He chuffed in response, leaning his shoulders back as he adjusted to a more comfortable position. Before ultimately deciding that slouching forward was better. "What are you focusing on?"

You turned your head back down towards the fur draped over your lap. You placed your forearms under it, lifting it up for his appraisal. Once you heard his rumble of approval, you let the pelt flop back down on your lap.

"Do you need something?" You respond, looking over to see if he had any injuries that needed attention. None.

Though, he definitely seems to require attention of some sort.

You didn't know how to politely tell him to leave you alone.

It was just so foreign to have a yautja pay such rapt attention to you. To willingly choose to spend his time by your side.

"You are going to the contest, yes?" He tilted his head, dreadlocks swaying with his movements.

You were tempted to refuse on the spot.

Your clan enjoyed hosting small contests within the heart of the camp. Many use them as opportunities to display their raw strength to the rest of the spectators. The wrestling was separated by experience, not by weight class. A smaller opponent might outsmart a bigger one, but an Elite and a Youngblood would be unfair. Many Youngbloods did attempt to challenge an Elite or a Blooded, but oftentimes, they would be knocked on their asses faster than they could think. Leaving them with more than just a bruised pride.

Once upon a time, you once wanted to be part of these competitions... but you learned rather quickly that trying to beat a yautja in a battle of brute force would spell more than just a few bruises. You can't even count on one hand how many times a yautja had broken your bones.

Leaving you to almost loathe these contests out of envy.

"No—"

"Yes." Your master's voice echoed in the cave as she hauled a giant fish over her shoulder, dragging it deeper into the cave. She snapped her jaws at Auhta, who took his time in getting up. His hand enveloping your shoulder in a silent promise to see you later.

You get up once he leaves, the pelt falling to the floor before you approach her workbench, frowning at the smoke coloured Elder who snorted back at your defiant look.

"You have avoided these contests long enough. I did not teach you to avoid your problems." She utters bluntly as she grabs a cleaver, pulling the blade down the fish's belly to gut it. She didn't allow you to argue any further, only stabbing a small carving knife on your side of the workbench.

.

.

.

Despite your best efforts to slow down the process of gutting the fish to prolong the inevitable, your master still managed to drag you out of the cave towards the camp. The twin suns having long since disappeared over the horizon, shrouding the forest in a cool darkness that had you gripping your fur cloak tighter.

The heat was unbearable during the day, but nights were not that much better.

There was a large gathering of your clan, all circled around the heart of the camp to watch. Roars and rumbling laughter echoed everywhere, almost making your eardrums bleed with the intensity of it all. It had been a great many cycles since you last attended one of these competitions.

You had forgotten how loud it was.

You were practically shoved out of your thoughts as a group of young whelps pushed past you to see the contest. Despite them being young, they were still around your height.

But before you could get trampled any further, you felt a hand on the back of your tunic, lifting you up like a small cat to sit on top of a large rock. Your master pulling her hand away once you had adjusted yourself properly, not even looking at you.

You followed her stormy coloured gaze, witnessing the final fight of the competition.

Between a Blooded and... was that Auhta?!

You snorted in amusement at the thought of the cocky Youngblood getting his ass handed to him. Then again, he did have good reasons to be cocky. He was on the bigger side for a yautja, not just height wise, but his thicker mass and muscles were certainly something to be desired.

However, to your utter shock, Auhta appeared to be winning?

It was nothing short of impressive to see him take on a Blooded warrior and win. Everyone else seemed to think so as well. Though, the Blooded seemed less than thrilled to be humiliated in front of the entire clan.

Auhta roared as he beated his chest with his fist, the rest of the clan following suit to cheer on his victory. The Blooded yautja weakly limping away from the crowd in defeat.

Your master had been the only one not to bellow in celebration, her eyes trained on Auhta. Assessing him the same way she assessed you once.

"I have no doubt that he shall be an Elite one day." She commented in a prediction, leaving you reeling at the compliment. This was the highest form of praise coming from her.

Heavy footsteps snapped you out of your stupor as you saw Auhta approach, his chest puffed out to display the long, deep claw marks along his torso and arms. Proud to display each and every cut like badges of honour. He looked up at you, his mandibles clicking together softly as he reached his hand to you.

...

Did he want something? You didn't have anything right now... other than a few small bones you kept on your person for decoration. Did he want one of those?

You remember, as a child, that you would read books about monarch's offering their knights a handkerchief to display their favour.

This line of thinking seemed logical enough for you as you broke off a string around your neck, offering the tooth of a great serpent you had taken down with the help of your master. You reached down to place it in his hand...

Only for him to simply grab your hand instead. Ignoring the offered trophy.

He pulled your limb down, his touch gentle yet firm as he placed the back of your hand down between his brows. His eyes closed as a deep purr rumbled from his chest.

Your other hand held onto the edge of the rock, keeping yourself from tumbling down face first.

All these eyes watching your public display of affection, watching you and Auhta with intense scrutiny. Yet the Youngblood had no shame. Outwardly displaying his close bond to the human. You felt an unpleasant heat rise to your cheeks as you pointedly avoided looking at any other yautja.

A small breathless laugh escaping you.

Taglist [OPEN] ��� @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog , @distinguishedprincesstrash , @gremlinartstudio , @me753 , @juuuuno-o , @badbye666 , @yoonsilly , @mei-simp , @theclownkisser , @strawberrybl1ss , @pink-sunrise-56 , @the-shark-named-sharon

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90% chance this is Dek dynamic with his dad

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I LOVE Elbie in black! 🖤🖤🖤

Ruthless Elbie gets me every time! You can’t see it, but I just know that his tuxedo is full of knives and swords, because he won’t hesitate when his MC is in danger!

Side note: this is not the beautiful earl being a weirdo. Like in other instances, Elbert is referring to endocannibalism, the cultural funeral practice of consuming the deceased. The person is not killed to be eaten— the person has already died and then they are eaten (depending on the culture, it may not be the entire body, only specific parts).

Usually it’s a family member. It could also include a member of one’s social group. For others, it can be for members of the community at large.

This is done in order to continue the deceased person’s existence amongst those living, to whom they had a connection. In the eyes of the cultures that practice endocannibalism, the deceased person can now and forever maintain that connection:

He’s considered it for his MC several times, but would prolly include Alfons, as well, since you’re both his family.

More Elbie in black because it needs to be a thing:

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alfons forgor-me-nors

- mod kibby

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okay now that we’ve a had couple lesbian blockbusters and milfs are having a romance moment, we need to bring back the manic pixie dream girl. she was never fuckin suited to fixing all the problems of some boring twenty year old everyman, but you know who could actually benefit from a quirky free-spirited blue haired girl with pronouns (she/they)? a newly divorced forty-something mom who’s trying to learn how to be herself for the first time in her life

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where’s that 1900s painting of the centaur mother playing with her child in a grassy field?

[rope-tati]

MAMDANI WON THE FUCKING NY MAYOR PRIMARY

THATS RIGHT

AN OPENLY SOCIALIST

OPENLY PRO-PALESTINE

OPENLY PRO-TRANS

MUSLIM SON OF IMMIGRANTS

JUST KICKED THE ASS OF AN ESTABLISHED DEMOCRAT ENDORSED BY BILL FUCKING CLINTON WHO HAD 35 MILLION DOLLARS BACKING HIM

MAMDANI HAD LESS THAN TEN MIL, MOSTLY FROM INDIVIDUAL DONATIONS

BETTER THINGS ARE POSSIBLE. GET INVOLVED AND PRIMARY THE FUCK OUT OF ALL THESE MUSTY OLD DEMS

[rope-tati]

Nice butler you got there. Be a shame if someone humanized him

Song: Sit Next to Me - Foster the People

Day 8: Barbatos

Barbatos has always been the picture of poise. He handles Diavolo’s whims with a practiced ease and manages the castle’s throng of servants like his second nature. Centuries of the same work lend themselves to a certain grace.

One freezing morning in the Devildom, he gets a call from Luke asking shyly if he would like to come over and try a new recipe, but he would have to bring some ingredients that Purgatory Hall was missing. Barbatos had acquiesced, and Diavolo immediately teased him about having a soft spot for the tiny angel. He took the jokes with a serene smile and set about gathering ingredients. He collects a large bag of powdered sugar, one of brown sugar, and several toothed quail eggs and packs them carefully into a bag.

His large winter coat is brought to him by several little D’s holding it carefully to not drag on the ground. He accepts it gratefully and tugs on his thick, wool-lined winter gloves.

As he dons the layers, his mind wanders. The path to Purgatory Hall will take him just past the House of Lamentation. What if you happen to be looking out your window as he passes by? The thought makes him inspect his coat, ensuring there’s not a speck of lint to be seen.

The chill wind hits him in the face as he steps out of the castle. He tightens his hold on the bag resolutely and pulls his hood up. The wind makes his eyes water as he walks, sweeping loose snow from the ground to tickle his lashes. The journey suddenly seems much longer than it had a few moments ago. The thought of Purgatory Hall, hot tea, and good company fills his mind, spurring him onwards.

He busies his mind thinking of how best to coach Luke on the technical side of meringues while he walks. The little angel is too hard on himself, something that Barbatos is all too familiar with. Diavolo is much the same way, and Barbatos makes himself chuckle at comparing the two.

Before he knows it, the House of Lamentation comes into view, imposing dark towers rising through the fallen snow. He knows he should focus on his mission, but his eyes wander to your window anyway. It’s nearly covered in snow, but his sharp sight notices an area you must have cleared out this morning. His restless mind starts to find its way to you again, wondering what you would do if you saw him. Would you wave, or open your window to greet him, or, better yet, come outside to see him? He shakes his head to dispel the thoughts. You ought to be in the common room with a mug of something hot, enjoying your day. Certainly not running outside in the snow to see him. He straightens his posture nonetheless.

Lost in his thoughts, Barbatos has made the fatal mistake of not paying enough attention to his surroundings. For the moments he spent thinking about you, he pays the price in the form of his feet skidding on a patch of ice.

He falls spectacularly backwards, all efforts to keep upright futile. He reflexively grips the bag tight to save the ingredients, and is rewarded with an explosion of powdered sugar coating his face and the inside of his nose. He sneezes a cloud of white down the front of his coat and his head thuds back against the ground. Thankfully, his thick hood cushioned it from the worst of the blow, but his ears are ringing uncomfortably.

He lays there for a moment, bag still bundled close to his chest. Did that really just happen? How humiliating. The powdered sugar settles, gently dusting his face and hair. He tries to take a few calming breaths and only ends up inhaling more, sending him into a coughing fit.

Hurried footsteps crunch through the snow towards him, and he hopes with everything he has this is only a dream. “Barbatos!” Shit. “Are you okay?” Why did it have to be you?

He coughs for the final few times, tears in his eyes from the effort, and looks up to find the source of the voice. Your worried face leans down, inches away from his own.

“I’m fine,” he croaks out. Unfortunately for him, you seem entirely unconvinced.

“Here, let me help you up.” His aching body does little to let him refuse, and you take him by the arm and pull him to his feet.

“I’m alright, really.” He tries to brush away your arm unsuccessfully.

“That was a nasty fall. You should at least have Simeon take a look at your head.”

“You mean…” he trails off in despair. “You saw everything?”

You nod. “I had just walked to my window. And it’s a good thing, too, or you would still be laying there. Let me help get you cleaned up.”

He tries to dodge your hand, but you’re persistent. You gently wipe away some of the sugar from his face to reveal him glowing a brilliant red underneath. He shivers a moment too late, trying to pretend it’s only from the cold. You only hesitate for a moment before you continue to brush the sugar from his face. He stays still in defeat, and you take his elbow to lead him back inside. “I apologize, but I really must insist I get going. I was on my way to Purgatory Hall.”

You look at him with an odd stare, one he can’t quite read. “Barbatos, please don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure you want to go looking like this?”

He quickly realizes what you mean. He must look like an utter mess. There’s a layer of sugar across his coat, his nose is dripping, and the blush from the tips of his ears down to his neck probably makes him look sick. He sighs, thwarted by you again. “No, I don’t,” he says softly, eyes dropping to the ground.

“Oh, don’t feel bad, Barb.” You rub his back comfortingly. “Everybody has bad days, even you. There was one time in the human world I tripped over a curb and shattered my kneecap. I was on my way to see a movie…” Barbatos’ smile returns. Your happiness was infectious, and you would never know just how much he needed it.