#bailey the bastard

[caranoirs]

[mariocki]

New Scotland Yard: Perfect in Every Way (1.9, LWT, 1972)

"You come here and you tell me my... dear man is dead. Your friend is dead, a good man - a good man, that's what they always tell me - you come here and you say he's dead, and, and 'Who did it? Oh, we must find out who did it, we're all good policemen!'... You're ruthless. Like he was."

"You don't mean that."

"Oh, he was a good man, wasn't he? Well, that's just what he wasn't. He was never allowed to be, he was a policeman! A perfect officer of the law, morning, afternoon, evening and night. Sometimes he wouldn't speak to me for weeks, we - we lived a terrible, terrible life."

[im-not-a-l0ser]

Okay, after a conversation, I suppose I can understand Holy Bastard, if only for the fact that I ship Michie and Binary Boyfriends and Kiaz and Kevin/Fred, so I can kind of get it in theory.

I still stick with the opinion that Mark would be better with someone like Bailey or Gary Goldstein (Attourney at Law), but I suppose I get it in concept and theory.

(Here's where I explore the opinion on ships with others if you haven't seen it)

[wolfeyedwitch]

△ Bailey, if you could go back to slipknot and they’d welcome you with open arms, would you?

4/10 don't want to answer

Bailey stares at you, incredulous. There's still bruising on their face and throat, slowly fading from livid blue-purple to ugly yellow-green.

"Fuck no," they say. "Even if they'd take me back after this—which, ha, no—I wouldn't go. They're still the same manipulative bastard who made me into something I don't want to be."

They clench their jaw, gaze going distant.

"I won't be their puppet any more."

Even as they say it, there's a small part of them that cries out for the person they had thought Slipknot was.

[nando161mando]

[smuthospital]

⭐️Yandere Kylar x Reader⭐️

Premise: You're a streamer, and your biggest fan really really likes you

Warning: Non-con, kidnapping, gn reader

Minors DNI

Bright lights flash in your eyes, your fingers rapidly bashing buttons on your keyboard, your other hand furiously clicking your mouse. You whine as your character suddenly falls to the ground, dead.

"Ok, guys! Ok, I get it! I know I'm not that good at this game! No need to tease me!" You laugh. Inside, you're a bit peeved. These stinky bastards aren't here for your gameplay so they better shut up. Shut up and enjoy their eye candy. You're currently streaming an online first-person shooter. You made your little hobby into a little side hustle not too long ago. Guys love watching hot people play games and it's proven to be profitable. "I'm cute? Well thank you, Mr. Husband!" This guy is a regular. Gotta give him those shout-outs he practically pays for.

As much as it hurts to deal with these weirdos, It helps with expenses. You've even seen Robins username pop in and out quickly, probably hoping you didn't see. At first, you were uncomfortable with acting all sweet for your audience, but you warmed up to the idea when it started staving off your bastard Landlord at the orphanage you live in, Bailey. You play games dressed sexy, say sweet dumb things and the money comes pouring in.

These poor, lonely guys send you money in hopes you'll give them a crumb of attention, and you do. Sometimes, you say their names. You don't exactly care that you're taking their money at all. It's a gift! It's not like you forced them to give you money, nor did you even ask. They just want a chance to get in your pants and you're not gonna stop them from dreaming. You can't count the number of times people in the chat have asked if you have an onlyfans.

You'd never, of course, date one of these pigs. You imagine your viewers are stinky, slimy, greasy and would cum in their pants at just seeing you in person. Their whole body is probably sticky to the touch and shower maybe once a month they probably have piss filled mountain dew bottles on the floor next to their pc and shit stains on their seat. You're pretty sure a few guys in the comments are jerking off as you stream this very second.

A few times, you've received ominous messages in the comments from different users, almost threatening you for some ridiculous problem they have with you. How you play, what you're wearing, or just your face, so you make sure to always hide your location and are very vague about your personal life. You're used to them being weird, saying things about what they'd do to you if they were alone with yo- Just have to learn to ignore it. You calm yourself down.

"Well, that's enough for today, I'm getting sleepy! It was nice playing with you today. I'll see you tomorrow, goodnight, love you!" You blow a kiss at the camera. You see people commenting their 'i love you too's and whining about how you could stay a bit longer' in the chat before you disconnect. You made $540 from that two-hour stream. You received most of it from the same person. Mr.Husband. Not one minute after closing the stream, you get a message. You thought you disabled direct messages? You notice that it's to your personal account that's open on another tab from an unnamed account. No bio, no profile picture.

New user: Hey

New user: Do you want to meet up sometime? For coffee?

You: Who's this?

New user: I'm Kylar. You can get to know me when we get coffee.

You: Uh no? How the fuck do you know me?

New user: I love your streams, pretty. Drop the fucking attitude before you piss me off. I knew you'd be more of a bitch off-camera. You just look too good to be good hearted. You have to be taught obedience. You're lucky I care about you so much.

You: Keep your tiny prick away from me. I never want to see you in my presence. Disgusting. Ugly pig. Do me a favor and never ever leave your dirty cave. Go fuck yourself

New user: Wanna watch?

*New user has now been blocked*

You stand up and walk away from your computer. how the fuck did he find your actual account? You don't even have your real name anywhere. You start to undress, not noticing your computer's camera has flicked on again.

In a dark room, a man fists his massive cock slowly, eyes trailing up and down his obsession through the screen. His mind is filled with all the things he wants to do to a little cock tease like you. Ruin you, break you, crush you under his weight, teach you a lesson for whoring yourself out. A cute treat like you should have better manners "Pig...tiny prick. Ah, (y/n) I can't let you just say those things to your husband." he watches as you slide your underwear down, eyes zeroing in on the crevice between your thighs as you bend over. He shudders as hot baby batter coats his chest and thighs, continuing to roll down his cock in fat globs.

Two days later, you're walking back home from a late shift at the cafe. You plan to stream when you get home.

Something is watching you.

Cold sweat dribbles down the back of your neck. You shiver, the cold night air doing nothing to calm you. You can feel eyes drilling holes into your back. You picked up your pace, your eyes darting all around. Who is it? What do they want? You think you can hear footsteps not far away. They're getting closer. You break into a sprint and make it to Danube street before you're tackled to the ground. All air is pushed from your lungs, depleting you of oxygen. You do your best to fight against your unseen attacker, but they're far too strong. You try to scream, but only a wheeze comes out. The man roughly picks you up like a sack of potatoes under his arm and carries you into a mansion nearby.

He walked down a flight of stairs and threw you to the ground. You tried to scramble away, but he grabs your ankle and drags you back to him. You get a look at his face in the dim light. He's handsome, but his expression strikes fear in your heart. Fury is the only word you can think of to describe it. You scream and flail your limbs wildly, trying to get him the fuck off of you. You hear a crack and before you realize what happened, your cheek is burning. "Shut." Smack "The." Smack "Fuck." Smack "Up." He's seething by the end. Your head was knocked back into the ground by the last hit. A dribble of blood runs down your nose, your cheeks completely red and moderately swollen. You're no longer trying to fight him, head far too foggy to do anything but lay there in pain.

"I'm sorry, baby." He huffs, calming down a bit. "Don't fight me and that won't have to happen again." He wiped at the blood on your face with his thumb, cradling your cheek. A blush creeps over his face along with a deranged smile as he stares down at you with his unblinking eyes. "You're just so perfect. Everything." You feel a bulge forming atop you where he's straddled. He pants heavily as he looks you up and down. Hot tears slip down your swollen cheeks at the realization that you can't get yourself out of this one.

You lie completely still as he palms his crotch in front of you. "I...I'm kylar...you said I have a small prick, (Y/n)... That wasn't very nice. You should say things like that to your husband." You stare at him in awe...it's..the guy from the chat. did he find you? He's crazy. He's insane. He's gonna kill you. Your chest heaves up and down uncontrollably. You feel blood rushing to your ears, feeling the most fear you've ever felt in your entire life. He takes notice of your panic attack and tries to calm you. "H-hey! Shhh, it's ok, just breathe!" You don't hear a word he's saying and thrash wildly again. Your legs kick underneath him, but his body doesn't budge an inch.

You freeze when you feel his lips smash onto yours. He grabs your wrists in one hand above your head, effectively immobilizing you. It feels like he's trying to eat you, no longer caring about your little tantrum. "Just stay still." He mutters as his large hands roam up and down your body like he's waited his life for this moment. You feel his ever growing bulge rub against your stomach. He grabs your hands before you could try to fight him again.

"...You know...I've been giving you my good money, (Y/n). All because I knew how hard it was to live on your own. But now you're here with me. You'll be my personal house whore." You feel his breath hit your cheek. "Please...let me go. I didn't do anything to you!" You're full on sobbing at this point and to your horror, you feel his cock twitch against you.

"Oh fuck! Keep crying for me like that, baby." He's clawing your pants. Your eyes dart around the room for anything that can help you, but your blood runs cold when you just see hundreds of photos of you plastered all over his walls, some even on his ceiling. You hear a loud tear. This animal ripped your pants and underwear in the process of ridding them from your body.

You're a shaking mess as he cups your sex in his hand. "K-Kylar, please!" You cry, trying to appeal to his humanity. He groans, a little wet spot of pre cum appears on his crotch. "Say my name again." He demanded. His fingers rim around your hole, threatening to dive in. You quiver at the feeling. He unzipped his pants and you feel something impossibly large, heavy and hot slam onto your stomach with a thud.

He releases you momentarily and moves himself lower on your body, his head between your legs. His arms circle around your thighs in a vice grip. He takes a strong whiff and lets out a moan. You feel his tongue slide up and down your sex as his fingers plat around with your hole before dipping half a finger in. You're too dry, it hurts! You whine and struggle, uncomfortable. His finger dips all the way in, uncaring for your pleasure. You scream as he continues to thrust his finger inside you as his mouth engulfs your sex. He removes his finger and lifts himself off you. You sigh in relief.

That relief dies as you feel his meaty cock push at your hole. He begins to push in, but your hole resists. It's too big. He lets out a sound of annoyance before spitting on his hand and rubbing the liquid up and down his cock. It does little to help aid in his entrance. "This may hurt a bit…a lot actually." He wicked grin stretches across his face before he rears his hips back and forces his cock through. You let out a blood curdling scream he rips through your insides. He's only halfway in, your walls desperately trying to push him back out. He holds onto your waist and pulls you into him, bottoming out. You feel like you're bleeding, but you're too afraid to look down.

You can hardly breathe. His cock feels like it's in your stomach. Your body twitches, hot tears slipping past the corners of your eyes as you wheeze out please for mercy. He only looks down at you in awe at your beauty. "Oh, you're so cute like this! I knew you could take it! I know it hurts now, but just give it time." His thumb rubs at your tears. There's nothing you can do to get out of this. You feel completely helpless.He pulls himself out, and slowly goes back in, groaning. "Fuck, you're so tight" he grunts. You close your eyes and hear a flash. Your eyes snap open to see he's holding a camera. A blinding light fills your vision along with a 'click'. This sick fuck.

You let out an involuntary moan when he shoves himself into you at just the right angle. He presses himself deep inside you, holding himself there, his cock hugging your sweet spot. "Ah (Y/n)! (Y/n)! (Y/n)!" He chants your name like a mantra at each thrust, but you can barely hear him. All you can do is feel him. Hurt hurts so bad but feels equally as good.

You can't help but let little sounds of pain and pleasure spill from your lips as his hips ram into yours. You look up to see his eyes are completely rolled back. His lips press wet kisses to your cheek. You feel a knot start to build in your lower stomach without your consent and you feel yourself lift onto cloud nine. "Oh (Y/n), cum for me! Cum for your husband!" He moans. You feel shame and pleasure wash over you as you do just that. You clench around him, his breath hitches in his throat at the feeling. He slams into you harder and harder. The over stimulation is killing you now. It's too much!

You think he might break something inside you, you think his dick might knock your brain out of your skull with how hard he's pounding. You feel like your organs will never be the same. "Gonna get you pregnant, gonna breed you again and again. Gonna have my babies. We'll be great parents!" His muttering awakens what's left of the fight in you. "Ah! N-no, stop! I-I can't!" His hand slams over your mouth, his bottomless green eyes staring directly into yours. He lifts your legs up and puts them over his shoulders in a tight mating press.

He hits your special spot and your eyes roll back. He can reach far deeper like this. He slams into you with one final thrust, pressing into you with his full weight. You can't breathe. The over stimulation finally comes for you and you cum all over his cock again. You feel his cock twitch before unloading what seems to be an endless supply of semen into you. You can almost hear the wet sound of him cumming inside you. Your lower stomach rises by the sheer volume of cum produced. You wonder if he used to be a bull at Remy's farm or something. That thought quickly vanishes along with your whole mind as your brain is unable to produce anymore thoughts.

With a satisfied sigh, he pulls his slipping wet cock out of you, a rush of lightly pink cum following after, quickly stopping when he plugs you up with a small plug. His cock isn't even fully soft. You pray he doesn't decide he wants a round two. "That wasn't so bad, now was it? You were crying for nothing." He pants. He kisses your temple before picking you up by your waist, once again like a sack of potatoes in one arm. He walks over to a mattress on the floor and drops you on it, your body softly bouncing on top before settling in a heap. He had a mattress the whole time and still fucked you on the cold, dirty cement floor!? You hear a click and see he's chained your right angle to the wall. He smiles at you and pevks you on the lips the way a husband would before leaving to work. His mood did a 180. He's so very cheerful, his handsome face cheerfully grinning down at you like you're a cute little kitten.

"You did really well today, (Y/n), my love. I'll be back tomorrow. You won't get dinner tonight because you fought me so much, but you'll learn to behave. I want to treat you better, so please be good for me. Goodnight." With that, your new 'husband' stands up to his full height and walks upstairs, leaving you in the cold pitch darkness of the basement.

[sharkenedfangs]

What do I need to do to get a fic of sub crossdressing male pc begging Bailey to be their first time ( first everything really)? I don't even care about wether PC gets railed like we wish, I honestly highkey just want your take on it.

— ☆ “SIMMERING BENEATH.”

— sucks when your annoyingly bratty, yet pretty bastard of an opthan manages to get past your tight-held clutches, doesn’t it? mister bailey. 1.8k wc

— “the fuck do you want, asher?” : wrote this on the way back home, so on the sort of.. subway thingies, it’s not called that where I am, but they do resemble that and felt fucking nauseous, so apologies in advance if it’s shit. was too good to fully pass up on this one, though couldn’t turn it into a full-on lengthy one due to being busy with other current things. still tried to input every aspect you’ve asked for. yeah, may it be up to your standards then, anon.

Fucking fuck.

No, hell— that wouldn’t truthfully encapsulate the sheer idiocy of his muddled actions even then, because god— fucking shit, why would a man of the likes of Bailey — relatively known, if not factually remembered as the cold, logical one in town — stupidly fall for some mere trickery, childish ploy fabricated by your own stubborn whims? Or, to be quite precise, those pathetic taunts of yours that any man possessing the slightest nerve of a goddamn functional brain, wouldn’t have dumbly caved in to.

Talking about the depraved perverts that’d foolishly slip between the evidently, way too small cracks unfitting for their same, way too fucking large bodies — of the barely opened windows the dumb orphans would forgetfully leave behind. Shakily pawing with sweat slicked hands at some brat’s snoozing body before they’d eventually be chased off by the mere sight of his approaching figure inevitably barging in, hastily mutter on about their prestigious status and so on— fuck, never really truly listened to the shoddy bastards. How Bailey was no man to rudely kick ‘em out of the own crappy establishment he was sloppily running with a twinge of cruelty ever present in his cold gaze.

Yeah, he’s no damn better than those perverted fuckers right about now— possibly worse, but shit, no way in fucking hell will he potentially admit to that despite the cooling air annoyingly caressing his bare skin, sticky sweat clinging onto his flushed flesh nor the disheveled mess of his habitually, slicked back hair partially obscuring his hazy vision of this.. well, fuck— say it or not, admittedly, fucking hot sight shamelessly greeting him in return. Loosened, pristine white dress shirt untucked in face of this, to give forth to a discreet glimpse of one of the numerous tattoos snaked along the surface of his toned figure.

Slightest pout of your rosy, puckered lips he’d unconsciously find himself eyeing for far too long when thoroughly denied for the day by your daily, insistent questioning. Pop your cherry, you had confidently said with a noticeably excited shake of your fists. Might as well endlessly yap his ear off with that unrealistic request of yours— a pitiful plea that somehow, without fully realizing as to how and why — is currently happening within the otherwise narrow confines of his private office. Solely dedicated to calmly concentrate on each and every one of his gruelling tasks. Namely, neatly sorting out the thin sheets of paper openly displaying pertinent information to the numerous orphans residing here, registering the missing few that’d either go in running like some mindless moron or be plainly sold off to a godforsaken hell he held no genuine interest in— Fuck, fuck. You get the gist by now, there.

A well-deserved punishment is what this all is, simply was for that matter, and hah— you seem to be willingly taking it, although, can’t truly say he’s all that suprised. Brat. It’s what you are. Stupidly nosy brat who couldn’t hope to obediently keep his supple hands to himself for the shitty life of him. One that’d so ironically, perfectly fit all too well underneath the weight of his calloused palms restricting your bashful squirming— now contentedly facing the eventual consequences of your impulsive actions with a gleeful smile tracing your curved lips. Rhythmic squeaking of the wooden, chipped desk the man had sworn to fucking god, promised to dearly replace whenever was soonest possible and, well, he’s received his all-time excuse to be snidely given to those thugs.

A cum coated piece of furniture is just about a good reason to be neatly reinstalled with something sharper, newer— something along the lines of that, the bigger the better, probably.

Speaking of big.. Shit, he’s undeniably fucked.

“Don’t you fucking look at me like that, you ungrateful little bastard. I’m putting a roof over your head and a place to stay so— fuck, the least you can do is fucking pay me back on time, but can’t even do that, can you?” Habitually stern is what he’s evidently known best for amongst the nosy orphans, yet that usual bite in his gruff voice is almost.. pitifully lacking in face of whatever the fuck this is— yeah, actually he’s got a clue what it is. Inwardly cursing at how his hips automatically snap back in one sharp motion to then, merely slap forward— flush against your reddened ass. Riddled, fresh marks traced along the entirety of your curved back nor your spread asscheeks for that matter, shouldn’t be looking so infuriatingly pretty after all that harsh spanking he’s had you withstand. Take it as the start of your relatively tame punishment coming from a stone cold man like him, that’s what.

“Like what? A satisfied client? Hah— this is the best day of my life, y’know. Feels so fuckin’ good, Bailey— please don’t stop..” Of-fucking-‘course you’ve already had whatever comment prepared to hurriedly retort back within your noisy mouth, despite being so crudely bent over a flat surface like this. Particularly whiny moan drawn out at the feel of his thick cock satisfyingly stretching you full, sinfully defiling you from virginity itself. Pervertedly spread open with your dizzyingly warm, honeyed— fuck, did he really just think of your hole like that?? Must be losing his goddamn mind. Correct, your fucking hole is the one irreversibly altering his unwavering principles. So fuck you, really.

Sloppy, squelchy noises, all too annoyingly addictive to hear, of your tight, puckered heat fervently sucking his fat cock in, coating it all sticky and wet with your slippery, pink insides. Instinctively hissing at the knee-buckling sight of his veiny length repeatedly remerging and disappearing deep inside because shit— can’t get enough of it. So much so his rough thumbs are subconsciously spreading that tender flesh wide open for his unrelenting, stern gaze to gawk at. Not to mention, those frilly lines adorning that stupidly short skirt, bouncing in tandem with each ruthless thrusts slapped to your backside. Admittedly adorable, cute cock clumsily bobbing from the ruthlessly loud smacks of the caretaker’s fat balls sloppily slapping upon the flush of your ass, teasing— no, irrefutably taunting him by the subtle glimpse of your dribbling, wet dick peeking from beneath that skirt.

Like to play dress up, don’t you? Sneakily slip in those overly feminine, lacy garments the elder man would’ve notably poked fun at the sissies that unabashedly wore such clothings back in his day— ironically enough, now he’s finding himself, balls deep into said ‘sissy’. Meanly tugging at the silken material snugly encircling your flailing legs, neatly tied bows bound to predictably come undone given the unrelenting bounces of your shared figures. Unable to keep still when you’re being fucked or something?

Little, incompetent brat. Constantly managing to crawl underneath his skin, reach the deepest parts within him the caretaker has progressively learned to conceal beneath this ruthlessly heartless facade. Not that Bailey’s the nicest man to begin with, but hell— favouring a good for nothing, admittedly appealing to the eyes— meddling boy like you wasn’t on his fucking wish list either.

Should be crudely wiping off that joyous grin etched upon your features if you actually know what’s good for you. Though, doubt you will.

Fine. He’s not necessarily against doing the honours for you. Frustratingly fuck out the undeniable audacity ever so present in your every movements when carelessly distracting him during work hours— time meant to be initially spent for focusing and godfuckingdammit, merely thinking back on it has him obscenely gritting his teeth, further tightening his unrelenting grip planted along your — sure to be bruised later, which you’re naturally paying the price of it — hips. Heaving groans mixed along with some curses which are presumably directed at you, if not at himself, that he’s uncertain of, really. All he’s stupidly conscious of is the undeniable fact that you might’ve coincidentally, if not intentionally, gotten him dizzyingly drunk off your previously undefiled hole.

Fuck, must be that then. Overly aware of what you’re currently doing to him, aren’t you?

‘S that it? Your admittedly, badly thought out plan simmering deep within your mind, happily tugging at his heartstrings in hopes of getting your mean caretaker to fuck your virgin holes full of cum? Well, all to say— you’ve graciously received what your bratty, stupidly pretty ass has fervently been desiring for all along, huh? Ain’t that right? So in return, it’s only fair that he greedily takes whatever he so pleases, whenever or wherever— that is of no importance then, whether it be comfortably settled atop his lap during office hours or slung along your knees to dutifully service him. “God, don’t you dare fucking move— just— just fucking stay like. Yeah, just like— hah, that.” Got no qualms whatever position that might be in, too caught up in the tender feel of your soft flesh underneath his punishing grasp to sluggishly catch on what’s spilling forth from his swollen red, oozing tip because.. shit, got him cumming— not just plain ol’ cumming, but mortifyingly enough, squirting prematurely too. Effectively painting your stretched walls in a sticky, white mess of his seed, inwardly cursing at himself for potentially letting things stretch on further than they were initially meant to.

Yet as ironic as it may be, his unwavering pride naturally beckons him in turn or is it the petulant whine longingly drawled out from between your rosy lips at the sole thoughts of your time together being cut short? Right— ‘course, what else would it be that’d have you miserably whimper so? Didn’t cum yet, did you? Obediently took his fat load sickeningly dripping free from your sore, used up hole without any sort of complaint, gaze momentarily flicking downwards to the pearly droplets of his cum progressively trickling down the length of your suspended legs laid along the precarious edge of his oaky desk.

Similar to how an opportunist excitedly pounces on every chance set before him— hah, he’s never been much like Eden to cowardly hide amongst the oaky, wooden trees to begin with. Huddle within the shadowy forest in a futile hope that mere distance might erase the muddled past; the foggy, far-away town altogether from their collectively minds.

Rather take part in the animalistic feast even if it would’ve eventually spelled utter ruin for himself, inevitable defeat one cannot simply crawl out of sheer will. And maybe, that said ruin, is delicately staring at him right in the face with a fucked out look stretch upon your features, pupils blown wide with a hint of saliva gracing the corner of your pouty lips that he— fuck, can’t help it, really— have his calloused thumb stroke at, soon swiftly followed by the immediate puckering of your overly attentive mouth suckling along the digit. Incidentally coating it in a slippery wet layer of your spit that you, of course, joyfully take advantage of by stifling a wanton moan right ‘round it.

Shit, going to be the goddamn death of him.

That eventually faith patiently awaiting for him, doesn’t sound so bad when your cum stained, little needy self is notably factored in that messy equation after all.

[mizzskelter]

Dungeons of Lewdity AU

Part 2 [Robin, Whitney, Kylar] >

Part 3 [Eden, Alex, Avery] >>

Sydney the Aasimar Cleric of Virgo:

The union of Sirris and their partner, a devout who unknowingly carried blessed blood, resulted in one of the temple’s most prized yet coveted secrets. As a child of celestials, Sydney can only seem to remember the walled grounds of the temple surrounding him all his life; a constant stream of monks and nuns fretting over him at the thought of outsiders taking what’s theirs. A holy sign. A miracle so he was called, forever bound to their goddess’s love.

Sydney the Fallen Aasimar:

The falling of his beautiful feathers didn’t turn him cruel. Instead he’s lustful, uninhibited, and everything staining his goddess’s vision. He opened his own eyes to the very things the temple warned him of his entire life, but he doesn’t—can’t look away anymore, wanting to see how far this life of debauchery and sin can go. The spear may burn him with every touch now, but he’s certain the unfamiliar shiver running through him from the pain only stokes the purifying fires in the relic even more.

Erin the Changeling Warlock/Fighter:

Erin has to pay 50 gold minimum per spell casted to her patron, Bailey, a cambion who is notorious even within his layer of the hells. The higher level the spell asked from this glorious bastard, the higher the price is raised. She may also replenish a spell slot of any level if she offers an extra 300 gold and pass a CHA check for seduction. In meta this is the equivalent of slipping your DM a note and an under the table handy.

Got bored of making covers for now so I wanted to take a break practicing my rusty character designing.

[mellowwillowy]

𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

⤷ Synopsis: An honor student was sent to detention, and to everyone's surprise, it was nothing out of the ordinary until the headmaster decided that he had enough and gave your beloved caretaker a call.

⤷ warnings — possessive behaviors, mention of past abuse and trauma, gn reader

"Seriously, your caretaker will be hearing this soon." The headmaster grumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose, another trip to detention which you thought would just be another chance to laze inside the headmaster's room, sleeping on the couch while killing time.

"Didn't he tell you not to bother him over menial problems like this?"

"Considering how many times you have lazed in my room, I wouldn't say it's menial anymore. Besides, just what made you think that it was a great idea to pick a fight with Whitney?!"

You groaned at the headmaster's bickering, waiting for your beloved caretaker to just come and patch your wounded ass. Picking a fight with the head bully was never a great idea but you were somehow itching for a fight by the school's corridor out of nowhere!

"He should be here by now."

"And you will not be hearing the end from us."

The doors to the headmaster's room swung open, revealing your caretaker who was wearing an annoyed expression. "I supposed it's supposed to be something important, Leighton?" The man questioned your headmaster as he leaned toward the doorframe.

"Did you not learn the etiquette of referring to someone who is older than you too?"

"Oh I'm so sorry but we did not recall ever seeing you being a proper headmaster."

You and he both attended the same school, and the only thing that was surprising enough was that the uniform you two once wore hadn't changed much. Some may say that your uniform seemed a bit different but that was all, no further questions were asked about you. Especially your age.

"Your pretty little brat was causing trouble again, am I in the wrong to summon their beloved caretaker?" the headmaster spat as he drummed his fingers on the table, "Not the first, second nor tenth. But I couldn't just close my eyes anymore on this matter."

You tugged on your caretaker's suit, "Bailey, do you have bubblegum?" Surely you were defiant enough to not listen to the headmaster's bickering but he wouldn't do anything about it. He couldn't.

Bailey sighed as he handed you a pack of bubblegum, at the very least it kept you away from cigarettes. "And?"

"If I have to say, I am kind enough to give them preferential treatment, wouldn't you say so too? No photographs, no spanking, and no-"

"I think you are a bit too high over your head right now," Bailey growled at his remarks, "I too, am being nice to you. What do you think this school will do to a perverted headmaster like you if I leaked out all the blackmail materials you had against the students?"

You thought to yourself as you blew out a balloon, would the mayor do anything about this? Probably not unless a revolution started or the Mayor was edged by Bailey until he had no choice but to dismiss your headmaster.

"You are wasting my time, you know that right? And you," Bailey looked back at you, making you pop the balloon and chew the gum back.

"What?"

Bailey chewed back all the nasty words he was about to tell you as he scratched his head, "Get into the car. I'll have a chat with him first." You shrugged and left the room without looking back, shutting the dual doors tight.

--

"I'm not going to say much anymore," Bailey stood up from his seat and walked toward the door, "they could now feel how it's like to be a student and all you had to was turn a blind eye to everything they did, is that so hard?"

The headmaster's face contorted into a scowl, "Bastards, you two really have your caretaker's tendencies running thick in your blood, blackmailing just to obtain what you want."

"Whatever you are saying, if I see them troubled again, I won't be this lenient anymore." Bailey slammed the doors with a loud thud and thought to himself, just who was the brat that punched you so hard that it cut your left lip?

--

"Did you win?"

"Hmm... I think so, considering how I'm the only one who could walk to detention." You shrugged as Bailey examined your bruises in the car, your uniform torn and stained with blood, your hair disheveled, and a cut on your left lip.

Bailey groaned at your sight and started to drive like a madman toward the orphanage, "Good, just make sure you can at the very least win."

You cackled at his words and started to play the radio, bobbing your head to the tunes, "Reminiscing how hellish it was whenever you see me wounded?"

Bailey didn't respond but hell he knew what you meant. The two of you were not catered to as children and ironically enough, the boy you once remembered as someone kind and loving is now a ruthless extortionist called Caretaker, perhaps he was worse than your previous caretaker but he was nice enough to not do anything toward the children that were not considered as an adult yet.

Perhaps that was the only justification you could give him.

"Ah right, time to pay up brat."

"No preferential treatment for me?"

"You are still my orphans and I am nothing but a fair man."

You pouted at his words, those who failed to pay will be sold but you knew he wouldn't do that. Besides, the others would be squirming happily should he ever sell you.

"I think I'm short in money sir."

"What a coincidence, I need someone to clean my bedroom and make my bed," Bailey looked at you side-eyed, "and I need someone to keep me company for the night, I suppose you could cover up your debt with this much yeah?"

[reluctantjoe]

I'm Harry. Nice soldier and traitorous bastard.

JONATHAN BAILEY as HARRY | Comic Relief 2024 — The Traitors: The Movie

[wolfeyedwitch]

🤫 for Bailey and 🔒 for Slipknot! - @emmetnet

@emmettnet thanks for the ask!

🤫 - What would you do if your Whumpee tried to keep a secret from you?

Since Bailey is a whumpee, I'll phrase this as: what would whumper do if you tried to keep a secret from them?

Bailey shrugs, looking like they'd prefer to be talking about anything else. "Punishment of some kind. It would probably depend on what I was trying to keep secret, as to what kind of punishment it would be. I don't know, and I don't want to find out."

🔒 - Do you need to restrain your Whumpee at all?  

"On occasion," Slipknot says. "Whenever they're going to be the entertainment at my parties, of course. And sometimes a good stress position when I need to get a point to really sink in."

[generallyyapping]

You know it's bad situation when Bailey's probably the safest person at the table:

Lemme just talk about Bailey during the card scene for a hot second cause my curiousity has been peaked.

Firstly, who is this look directed at, and what emotion are they actually displaying?

Bailey does not seem to fuck with the mayor at all and if Quinn wins the game they will warn you not to take any food or drink from them (x) They also threaten Quinn to return you in one piece while Avery gives you money for the medical bills.

So is this a lie? And if not, what arrangement do they have?

Note that I said probably the safest person... until it benefits them. It's likely an obscene amount of money on that table after all and y'know who we're talking about.

Also, what are the rules. Apparently there's tiers to this if 'deluxe rules' are anything to go by.

Overall though, I maintain that Bailey is probably the safest person at that table because Quinn is a literal horror show, Leighton is a grade A creep and Avery takes you to that Elk party which is another red flag. Whereas, Bailey takes you home (x) I think that should be proof enough. They're a greedy bastard who will sell you out for some cash buuut there not a total creep. Like they'll take money from someone wanting to assault the PC but that person gets their ass kicked it's no sweat off their back.

[nopecho]

Heathers x DOL AU💞✨

Not sure if I'll continue this AU BUT-

Here's my ideas so far! (It's mostly based on the Musical. I've seen the movie, but didn't really enjoy it)

OK!!! Characters

Heather Chandler is Bailey. She's the driving force that kickstarts the whole plot, it makes sense to me.

Heather Mc Namara is Eden. It's been said that Eden and Bailey were close friends, but something made them drift apart. This is kinda a parallel in the musical too. Also Eden's timid personality fits well Imo,

Heather Duke is Harper. Why? 'cause Harper is ultimately power hungry! In game, they're hungry for power over PC. In this version, Harper wants to be the n.1 girl to gain power over the mass.

~other~

Imo Veronica should be the PC. She is the main character, after all. Martha is Robin, the besties since forever and soft vibes should be self explanatory. Ms Fleming is either Winter, Sirris or Doren. I'm sorry Leighton lovers, I just don't see her in the "teacher that pretends to care" role. She wouldn't give a shit to begin with. Kurt and Ram should be Wren and Landry. Two jocks, two criminals! It feels fitting :)

Which begs the question... Who the hell will play JD? (prepare for a hot take)

Whitney. It's Whitney.

Now ~some~ of you might say "but Kylar!!" I DISAGREE.

THE FIRST SCENE he gets introduced, JD beats a bunch of jocks with his bare hands (Kylar don't do shit without his knife or drugs). You know right off the bat JD is a douche broody bad boy with issues. Drinks himself into a smoothie induced brain freeze (milkshake anyone?) And you KNOW he can get violent either to protect his boo, or straight up beat up anyone crosses him.

Kylar will still make cameos here in there but IMO he wouldn't be the main cast. Also I can't stand the bastard.

So! Let me know what you think!! I will gladly recieve suggestions and ideas!!

[azsazz]

Change Your Ticket (Part 5)

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,541

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Notes: ugh. i don't like this one.

_________________________________________

“What?”

There’s no way she just said what you think she said. You wouldn’t be able to hear it with the pounding of your heart and your blood rushing through your ears, you can’t even decipher her next words as the floor falls from your feet.

How would she know that? You pride Mor on her innate ability to find out most information about almost anyone, she’s like a secret agent sometimes. Once, when Feyre had had told you and Mor that her sister Elain was to be engaged to a man no one in her family liked, Mor spent two nights digging into his socials and finding out everything she could about the bastard. To this day, Elain still doesn’t know who it was that sent her those anonymous screenshots and photos of him with another woman.

But right now, you don’t think it’s possible for Mor to have found something out like this. You and Cassian have been so careful, to the extend where you’d been a little paranoid even, always checking your surrounding and planning the times you and him meet up down to the second. You’re anal as fuck about it, but it’s worked for eight months. So why isn’t it working right now?

“I know you don’t want me to repeat myself,” Mor huffs down the line, but her voice is all static, your ears ringing. Your phone is buzzing incessantly in your fingers and your arm is numb with it. You’re terrified to pull the device from your ear, not knowing who or what kind of messages you’re receiving right now.

The elevator rings, signaling its arrival to your floor, and the doors sliding open almost feel like a death sentence. On numb legs, you step forward and off the elevator, Mor’s voice still echoing in your head. You’re dating Cassian Bailey?

Bright flashes jolt you from your thoughts. Whipping your head to where the front entrance is located, you quint, holding your hand up to block some of the glare. Your stomach drops to the floor at the sight. A crowd of paparazzi wait outside, snapping pictures of you through the lobby’s clear windows.

Holy shit. This is real. This is really fucking happening.

You’re not prepared in the slightest. You don’t know what to do, your mind is racing with a thousand thoughts a second and the strobes coming from the front of your building blind you, leaving white spots in your vision, taking out another one of your senses. Mor is rambling on in your ear, shrill sounding, and if you could make out the words through your muddled mind, you figure she’s scolding you and feeling a bit betrayed by you keeping this a secret from one of your closest friends.

Outside, the people shout. Their words are muffled by the thick glass, but it only adds to the anxiety scorching your veins. The collar of your shirt tightens around your throat and your breathing turns shakey. You’re frozen to the spot, halfway out of the elevator, the doors trying to slide closed but your body against the sensor keeps them angrily pulling back open.

The people waiting for the elevator upstairs are probably pissed.

“Mor?” you ask, and she falls silent. You must not sound like yourself because Mor never lets anyone interrupt her. Ever.

“Yeah?” Her tone is cautious, obviously picking up the emotion—or lack thereof—in your tone.

“What’s going on?”

It’s the only thing you can think to say. Your mind is being hammered with thoughts and the bright lights trying to blind you aren’t helping in the slightest but your feet are frozen to the ground. You know you look like a deer in headlights and that you should move, force yourself to do anything besides stand here like a fool for them to get all of the pictures they want—

Your body surges into action, striding out of the elevator and turning down the hall, giving them your back. You can hear their pathetic pleas for you to turn around and walk their way, but you know better than that. They’re here for one thing and one thing only—to see exactly who Cassian Bailey is sticking his dick into.

Rumors and stories will be swirling by tonight. Your phone buzzes in your hand again and you’re sure these pictures are already up in the tabloids, social media, every inch of the internet they can reach. You wonder if Cassian’s seen any of it and then remember that he’s finishing up practice, so he won’t be by his phone to see all of this for at least another hour.

You’re all alone in this.

Mor sighs your name sadly, and your chest squeezes tight as you round a corner, putting a wall between you and the paparazzi. What she’s about to say isn’t going to be something that you want to hear, but maybe it will make it all the more real.

“There was a picture of you in the Morning Mail,” she explains, and your throat tightens. The Morning Mail is a stupid tabloid online that updates every morning. Most of the time it’s filled with silly stories of random acts of kindness or pranks gone wrong with the occasional post about the current celebrity gossip. You didn’t even know that many people followed the account. Mor does because she’s been on their feed a few times and it gained her thousands of followers overnight. “You’re wearing his shirt.”

You want to choke. You never leave the house in Cassian’s clothes; you make sure of that. You’ve been so careful all this time, parking down the street from his place when you visit, forcing him to take a car and get dropped off since people are surely tracking his personal license plates. You don’t sit with the other families in the stadium at the home games, and Cassian doesn’t even follow you on social media.

You’re wearing his shirt, you echo, wracking your brain for any chance you may have slipped up. Nothing comes to mind, and when you hang your head, it hits you full force; the t-shirt you’d stolen of his in your rush to avoid his more than cheeky attitude this morning. Distracted by his wandering hands, his charming smile, you’d shoved one of his on, tucking it into your slacks before rushing out the door.

“Fuck,” your voice wobbles, tears pricking your eyes and emotion thickening your throat. It’s a black fucking cotton t-shirt, and apart from the sheer size of it and how it hangs loosely from your body, you haven’t the slightest idea of how they know it’s his. But it is, and they know.

A quick glance around the corner has your heart stammering in your chest. The photographers look like a bunch of wild animals, climbing over each other trying to catch a glimpse of you. You pray that their flashes are reflecting off of the glass and ruining their photos, but surely, your luck has completely run out if this is how your Monday is going.

You need to get out of here, now.

“I’ve already called Feyre,” Mor says down the line, and you’re confused on why you weren’t the first call she’d made when she continues. “My attempts went right to voicemail, and I called you right back as soon as I let her know. We’re already on our way to your place but we can swing by if you want a ride?”

“Yeah, I—”

“(Y/N)?” Tarquin’s voice startles you as he peeks around the corner. His bleached brows are furrowed deeply, a frown painting his face when he catches the frazzled look on your face. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Ah, so he’s also seen the mass of crazies outside trying to capture a front cover photo of you.

You have a choice right now, to lie to your coworker and say that you have no idea what’s going on or who they’re trying to take pictures of, or confide in your best work friend who’s been with you since the start. Literally, you both started on the same day and have been inseparable since.

You choose the latter.

“Would you mind giving me a ride home?” you ask, holding your hand over the speaker of your phone while you talk to Tarquin. “It seems as though my car is surrounded by strangers.”

With a quick glance back in the direction to the front doors of the building, Tarquin agrees, tone hesitant and a little confused, but he’s gracious nonetheless. “Sure, I can do that. Let me bring my car around the back and I’ll pick you up there?”

You nod, thankful. “Yes, please. Thanks, Tarq, you’re the best.”

He smirks genuinely and you’d roll your eyes at his antics if you weren’t shaking down to the bone. With a wink, Tarquin makes his way through the crowd, and you can hear his cheerful voice as he shoved through the doors, obviously loving all of the attention.

“Mor?” you ask into your phone once he’s gone, “I’ve got a ride, just meet me at my place.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“So…are we going to talk about why all of those people were asking me about you and trying to get pictures?” Tarquin asks once you’ve successfully made it out into the busy traffic and away from the fleet of paparazzi surrounding your place of work.

Tarquin had picked you up at the back of the building and you all but dove into his car before any of the photographers could catch a glimpse of you. Your coworker had shoved a baseball cap in your direction, one with the Sealion’s logo on it that you reluctantly shoved on your head, slumping down in your seat so you weren’t seen.

Your phone has been buzzing constantly, and you’re worried you might actually have to get a new number with the onslaught of texts, calls, and notifications threatening to send your phone into the same shock you’re currently experiencing. Your parents have even been trying to get through, but you haven’t had the guts to answer any of them or even dare to look on any social media platform. You’ve just been staring at the screen, constantly lit with incoming messages, buzzing fervently in your lap.

You glance at the clock on the radio, blinking 5:32. How could your entire world have turned upside down in the matter of thirty-two minutes? You’ve gone from normal girl working a nine to five at a graphic design firm to Cassian Bailey’s girlfriend all because of a fucking plain t-shirt.

You don’t know if you’ll ever get over that, the fact that an oversized, black cotton t-shirt is your downfall in all of this. It’s mind-boggling to believe that someone had connected the dots that quickly, but there are some avid fans of Cassian’s that you wouldn’t dare to go head-to-head with.

“What’s there to talk about?” you speak softly, defeated. With a sigh, you shut your phone off. It’s the best way to avoid what’s going on on the internet until you can wrap your head around everything and what you plan to do about it. You’re exhausted already, just attempting to think about it. You let your head fall to the side, the leather squeaking against your head as you look over at your friend. “You heard them, Tarq.”

Everything that you’ve worked for, your privacy, your art, might all be ruined. Gaining your own following in the graphic design community had been hard, and now that you’re about to be known by the world doesn’t sit right with you. How are you supposed to make really work-related connections when people might only be seeking you out to get closer to Cassian? The thought of being used like that makes your stomach roil. Your trust issues are about to be through the roof.

You stare back out at the traffic and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. Your brain hurts and you just want to be in the safety of your home.

“So, you’re dating Cassian Bailey,” Tarquin says, like if he almost can’t believe it himself. A sharp pinch to your shoulder has your eyes shooting open and your body bolting upright, only for the seatbelt to lock and nearly choke you.

Yelping, you glare at your friend, but his ice blue eyes are focused on the road. “Hey! What was that for?”

“For not telling me, obviously,” Tarquin scoffs, glancing over his shoulder and flicking on his turn-signal to switch lanes. You peek out of the passenger mirror, anxious that one of the photographers caught a glimpse of you leaving and has somehow followed you thus far.

“I didn’t tell anyone, if it makes you feel better.”

You’re answered with a roll of his eyes.

You don’t know what to say, how to respond to Tarquin, how to respond to any of this. All you want to do is crawl in a hole and hide away for the next few years. How are you supposed to go about your day normally when everything is anything but normal? You’ll be expected to show up with Cassian now, be there in the crowd for the home matches, you know people will be looking for you.

A headache splits your skull at the thoughts running rampant in your mind. There are so many things to think about now, each and every move you make is going to have to be calculated. You’ll have to think about what you’re going to wear, how you’ll present yourself, thinking about what to say before you speak. Anything you do now will reflect on Cassian’s career, and fans will be blaming you for his mistakes.

It's all too much.

“How long has this been going on?” Tarquin asks softly, as if sensing you’re stuck in your head and need help getting out. You don’t really want to talk about you and Cassian at all right now, but you shove those impending thoughts aside with a sigh, and talk to your friend.

“A little over eight months, now.”

“Is he hung?”

You splutter, choking on your saliva, and Tarquin laughs. This, this is why he’s your favorite coworker. Tarquin isn’t afraid of saying what’s on his mind, no matter how HR unfriendly the question may be.

“I’m not answering that,” you laugh, craning your neck to look out the window, hiding your hot face. The blush staining your cheeks is answer enough.

Tarquin tuts, turning down your street. It’s empty, and you breathe a sigh of relief when he pulls up to your building and there isn’t a crowd of people shouting your name and trying to take your picture. A little of the tension eases from your shoulders.

“Do you want me to pick you up for work in the morning?” Tarquin asks, pulling over to let you out.

You shake your head, gathering your things. “I’m going to call in sick tomorrow. Don’t know what I’m going to do after that. Do you think Alis will let me work from home permanently?” You ask. Alis, your boss, is a strict woman who you can’t seem to figure out if she likes or dislikes anyone that works for her.

Tarquin huffs, “I doubt it. She’s tough as nails, that one.”

“Might just have to quit then, I suppose.”

Your friend’s jaw drops and he looks at you with eyes of betrayal. “You are not going to leave me with the wolves like that! I’ll come drag your ass out of this apartment everyday if I need to.”

“But if I quit, you’ll get to take over Tamlin’s project,” you tease, and his eyes widen comically. He hadn’t thought about that one, apparently. Unlatching the lock, you slide out of the vehicle. You lean down, looking back at your coworker. “Thanks for the ride, Tarq. I’ll text you later.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Feyre and Mor meet you at the door to your apartment, their arms packed with grocery bags filled with candles, ice cream, frozen pizzas, and a lot of alcohol.

“You look like you need it,” Feyre had said when you eyed the bottle of vodka she’d unloaded on your counter.

You do.

You have no appetite, picking at the crust of your slice of pizza. Your stomach stirs sickly, the never-ending thoughts consuming you as you fill your two best friends in on the last eight months you’ve spent with Cassian, from when you’d accidentally run into him at the grocery store late one night after a horrible date gone wrong, to this morning, when you’d slipped into his shirt and hastily left for work. You’d left out the part about Cassian trying to seduce you back into bed, but your friends got most of the story.

“This is insane,” you groan, shoving your plate away from yourself with a sigh. “What the hell am I going to do?”

You hadn’t turned your phone back on, you hadn’t wanted to. You left it in your room when you’d gotten home and changed into your most comforting clothes, stuffing that fucking shirt that got you caught to the bottom of your hamper in rage.

Snuggling deeper into your hoodie, you drag the bottle of vodka closer to yourself, pouring a heavy-handed shot. The alcohol burns your throat on the way down and you grimace, focusing on the burn instead of the pricking at the back of your eyes that hadn’t gone away since you’d all but fallen into your best friends’ arms.

“First, we’re going to need to start brainstorming how to get you out of this. Thankfully, I have a little bit of experience with this sort of thing.”

And she does. Mor has been in the tabloids more than a few times, and most of the time it’s a semi-true story with made-up aspects to really make it seem juicier than it is. She was once photographed coming out of a popular restaurant at the same time actor Harry Hybern was headed in to meet with some friends, and the media had a field day with it. As much as she liked the actor, Mor was upset with the fact that he is thrice her age. You would’ve hated being on the other side of that phone call when she’d dialed the magazine that printed the article, demanding a retraction.

“What’s the first thing you usually do when this sort of thing happens?” you ask. Maybe talking to Mor about her experiences in the public eye will make you feel a little better, if not offer an idea of what you can do yourself.

“See how cute I look in the pictures,” Mor answers, unabashed.

You huff out a laugh in response, Feyre giggling into her glass. “That’s the first thing I do when I see you in the media too, Mor,” she says with a grin, “That vomit green look from the other day? Not your best work, and (Y/N)’s plain black t-shirt tucked into her slacks was so cute! I’m totally stealing that look.”

“Go ahead,” you wave her off because you’re never wearing it again.

Mor glares a little, pouting. “Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Helping our friend and her sudden fame. I’m thinking Cassian’s dick will take care of most of the emotional turmoil,” she says and Feyre laughs a little too hard. Mor reaches into the bag and pulls out a notebook, flipping it to the first page. “We’ll start with some brainstorming—"

A knock at the door startles you from your wallowing. Back straightening, you glance at your friends taking up the other side of the kitchen island, eyes wide and heart hammering in your chest.

“What if it’s more photographers?” you whisper, and your fingers tremble a little so you clench them instead.

Mor and Feyre share a glance, a flash of worry crossing their features as if they hadn’t thought about it.

“I’ll get it,” Feyre decides, placing her half-drunk glass on the counter as she stands. The blanket droops from her shoulders, flopping onto the back of her stool like you want to be right now, a puddle of fabric and emotions. “If it’s them, I’ll say that this is my place and I don’t know who you are.”

“Good idea,” Mor compliments, nudging your glass with the beck of her hand. She gives you a soft, encouraging smile. “Drink up, (Y/N). It’s probably not the paps, but we’ve got to get you less paranoid so you can think better.”

“Not sure getting wasted is going to help with my thinking,” you mutter, tipping your glass back anyway, “But whatever.” Mor is ready when you remove the empty cup from your lips, already pouring you more. You’re glad to have such amazing friends to drop what they’re doing and come over in your time of turmoil, and they haven’t even laid into you yet about keeping this huge secret from them.

Small victories, and all that.

“(Y/N)?” Feyre calls from the other room. She sounds shocked, almost, and the sound of it makes you want to throw the blanket over your head and cower like a fool. “It’s definitely not the paparazzi.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Change Your Ticket Taglist: @justasillylittlegoofyguy @starsinyourseyes @jdeclerc @indiedash @kennedy-brooke @tothestarsandwhateverend @azsteris @obsessivereaderchick @aalxrose @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielover @bookishbroadwaybish @itsinherited @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @vellichor01

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Cale Snow's Chapter 226

TL;DR - Bailey mistook Cale for a dragon. Jenyu uses his attribute "Struggle" to fight back against DA. Jenyu gets completely beaten up by Rasheel.

Dragon Cale Again Cale got mistaken as a dragon again by Bailey this time. 😂 She recalled an unconfirmed rumor about a lone dragon traveling all over the continent, helping beastkin and those suffering from the Holy Empire's work.

Bailey initially thought that was Cale, but her intuition told her that Cale was not that dragon. So that means there's another dragon in Aipotu who's a potential ally to Cale's group? Or is the dragon from that rumor Maxi who died in Central Plains?

Struggle Versus Indomitable Jenyu managed to overcome Cale's DA by using his attribute called Struggle. This attribute greatly increased his physical abilities and granted him status debuffs, allowing him to resist Dragon Fear. And the stronger his will to fight/struggle, the stronger his attribute became. It's like a knockoff of Indomitable, Rasheel's attribute, right?

And thus, it was fitting that Rasheel was the one who fought Jenyu. However... you really couldn't call that a fight. 😂Because Rasheel completely beat up Jenyu and silenced the other mixed blood dragons. 🤣🤣🤣

The entire scene where Rasheel beat up Jenyu, venting out his anger at everything, and then Cale's applause, was so funny... 🤣🤣🤣

Rasheel: These bastards. If you have the blood of a dragon, you must behave properly! Rasheel: *punch* Rasheel: What? Dirty blood? And what? Get rid of Cale Henituse? Rasheel: *punch* Rasheel: You fucking bastards! No, the dragon bastards of this world have something in their heads to create this shitty world! Rasheel: *punches more* Jenyu: *groans in pain* Rasheel: What god nonsense? Why is a dragon a god? I'm so angry! I like dragons better than gods? Why are you acting like a god? Rasheel: *punch* Rasheel: And why are you asking me to do this useless work! That old grandpa! Rasheel: *punch* Rasheel: Urgh, it's frustrating! Rasheel: *punch* Jenyu: *faints* Rasheel: Hey, I didn't kill him. Okay? Cale: (He's like a typical dragon…) Rasheel to other mbd: What? Are you trying to use magic? To escape? You bastard, do you want to get beaten up too? MBD: *shivers* Cale: *claps in admiration* Rasheel: *annoyed and glares at Cale* What? Cale: I feel reassured. Rasheel: Hmph. *grins*

Rasheel even vented his annoyance at Eruhaben for ordering him to do this 'useless' work, and calling Eru an old grandpa. 😂 But despite all his grumbling, he was smiling when Cale clapped and praised him... 🤣🤣🤣 Ah, he really is the best tsundere dragon! 🥰

Ending Remarks Today had a lot of funny moments, and it was quite refreshing to see our tsundere dragon back in action again. With the enemies subdued, I guess next week will be Cale interrogating them.

[irishmammonagenda]

Types of Dogs I Think The Obey Me Brothers Would Have

Disclaimer: i know nothing about dog breeds other than my dog is better than every other dog in the world because i said so. this is all obviously my opinion because im 100% not holding off looking at my inbox for requests rn 😰

(wee emo anon + réalta and then the other random one ilysm for not doxing me fir being atleast a month late and not having even started with your reqs yet🙏🙏🙏)

post dividers by @saradika-graphics, images of the brothers below the divider are from amias on pinterest + all animal photos found on pinterest

LUCIFER

Irish Wolfhound

He already has a dog who he obviously loves very much (Cerberus) who is a hellhound, so he thought to himself that another hound would be a good idea since Cerberus gets lonely sometimes :(

He calls the dog 'Tuireann' because he thinks he's fucking funny.

You know that stereotype of the dad not wanting the dog but the dad ends up loving the dog like its his own child or something?

If you do know, then you know Lucifer.

Tuireann gets on very well with Cerberus. Lucifer makes a commitment to taking breaks more often and taking both out on walks, which terrifies his brothers, but has made Diavolo very happy with him. (Yay Lucifer taking care of himself for once!)

He cuddles up to both of them more often. Both dogs are very happy.

Will kill for his dogs btw :)

Laughed one time when Tuireann saw Solomon as a threat.

MAMMON

Golden Retriever

Someone told him he could win 'gold' at a casino. So he gambled, ended up winning (for once) and got his 'gold'.

This man was almost outraged when the 'gold' in question was a golden retriever puppy.

He was about to say something in outrage, then the witch plopped the little guy down into his arms and her little nose started sniffing at his exposed collarbone. He closed his open, outraged mouth and pet the little thing, blinking back small tears because it was so cute.

Mammon would like to argue that this did not happen but it did. The witch in question has proof and has sent Lucifer the video in apology for trying to summon him. Said witch is now a good acquaintance of Lucifer's, and has not been punished brutally. She has learnt her lesson and will not attempt to make a pact with the Avatar of Pride ever again. *Unlike Solomon. That bastard never learns.)

Mammon probably calls the dog something like 'Bailey'

He was originally going to call her 'Goldie' but then remembered that was his credit card's name. So he thought about the name 'Retrievie' but even to him that sounded fucking stupid.

He loves this dog so much and buys her so much dog toys and treats.

Gets his crows to play with her.

Mammon basically is a Golden Retriever if you think about it. (A Golden Retriever with mental issues that thinks its an awesome scary dragon or something, but a golden retriever none-the-less.)

He buys Bailey a bed but she literally only sleeps on him or on his bed.

When he lets her out into the garden while he's busy he always has atleast 2 crows watching her/playing with her.

He tries to train her to dig for buried treasure. Instructions unclear, they both dug up the whole back garden. He now has to fix the garden.

They say that a 'Dog is a Man's Best Friend', but this dog is Mammon's whole life.

There is dog hair all over this man. Atleast he's not an emo and doesn't wear all black.

Hair rollers are a must.

He cries when they're separated for more than a day in case you were wondering.

LEVIATHAN

Kokoni

Lucifer gave him it in an attempt to get Levi to touch grass once in a while.

At first Levi was scared of the dog, then he decided she was cute. Watches an anime about a dog and realises he should be a responsible owner and take her out on walks!

Leviathan has now touched grass. I repeat, Leviathan has now touched grass.

Calls her 'Ruri' you know he would.

He almost called her Henry 3.0

He has to make sure Henry 2.0 is unreachable to Ruri. He's scared Ruri might eat Henry 2.0

He's still kind of scared of Ruri but loves her.

Since getting Ruri he's actually been remembering to take care of himself. As a reward, once a month for a day or two, Lucifer will take over taking care of Ruri so Levi can have one of his gaming marathons uninterrupted.

Levi plays the Devildom equivalent to pokemon go while walking Ruri

Levi rants to Ruri about the anime or manga he's currently obessed with while playing with her with some chew toy or something.

She lays beside him in his bathtub sometimes and lays her head on his lap while he watches anime.

Lucifer is very happy with this outcome. So is Levi.

SATAN

Rottweiler

He originally saw something in some article or whatever he read about Rottweilers being aggressive, possibly saying that they weren't a 'good' dog breed.

Satan knows what its like to be labelled as aggressive and unsafe, so he has sort of a soft spot for 'bad' dog breeds.

So one day, he's talking to one of his various acquaintances, and for whatever reason, they visit an animal shelter.

Satan hears another couple say they wouldn't get a dog because 'isn't that breed really aggressive?' and he feels sad, he's not mad at the couple, it's a reasonable concern, but poor dog :(.

He approaches that worker a couple of minutes after his acquaintance leaves and asks them about the rottweiler.

Long story short he walks out with it on a leash, standard food, and a bowl courtesy of the shelter.

Calls the dog 'Julie' because he had just finished pirating a preformance of Romeo and Juliet. (which he enjoyed criticising, but he liked the name Juliet and also Belphie likes the band Julie so)

He makes sure to take the time and effort to socialise Julie with cats because this is Satan we're talking about for fuck's sake.

He takes Julie on walks before stopping at a dog-friendly café in the Devildom.

Julie also sleeps on Satan's lap when she's tired and he's reading.

Satan gets a lot more into audiobooks after he adopts Julie so he can still technically 'read' without having to ignore his new pooch.

Will write several books on why she's the best girl ever, and will make you read them.

ASMODEUS

Westie

A fan gifted him a dog for his birthday for some reason. At first he accepted the gift and devised a plan to give the dog away but the shelter was closed over the weekend, so he elected to let the dog stay with him until then.

Ends up getting attached. This is his baby now.

Calls her 'Angel' because he thinks she's an angel. She also kind of reminds him of Luke so.

This little rat is all over his Devilgram.

So much so there are fanclubs for her now.

This little rat has fanclubs.

Angel gets walked everyday. Asmo loves the excerise and says its done wonders for his skin.

He doesn't like when she digs, but oh well.

Loves grooming her.

Cuddles galore.

He trains her how to do tricks.

His excitable nature really goes well with hers, and they really bond.

The fan that gave her to him is now one of his friends.

He loves that rat.

BEELZEBUB

Bernese Mountain Dog

Two words. 'Gentle Giant'

He probably names her something like 'Bernie'

Bernese Mountain Dogs are massive, I feel like Beel would be the type of guy who loves big dogs. Given how big this Demon is, I feel like he'd be scared of hurting a smaller dog. He probably got an already adult rescue from a shelter.

It was one of those cliche things, meeting eyes with this big sad dog in a cage and Beel just knowing, "This is my baby."

Bernese Mountain Dogs DROOL, and I feel like Beel wouldn't mind that seeing as he is the Avatar of Gluttony.

Speaking of being the Avatar of Gluttony, Beel's dog 100% gives him puppy eyes while he's sitting at the table eating, and what does Beel do? He sneaks his dog food under the table.

Given his workout schedule this doggo gets atleast one walk a day. ATLEAST.

Beel one hundred percent cuddles up with that dog. You thought he had a mental bond with Belphie? Well that man has a mental connection of that caliber with his dog.

He is covered in dog hair but he sees that as making him part of the pact with Bernie so he couldn't care less. (He does clean up shed hair with a roller when going out though)

Bernie might've been a rescue and maybe could've lived a hard life before Beel adopted her, but Beel loves her like she's his own child that is his BABY.

BELPHEGOR

Shiba Inu

It reminded him of Beel, okay??!

Normally Belphie can't be bothered with animals, but when he saw the ad saying 'FOR SALE: NEEDS BETTER HOME' and saw that closed eye Beel smile his grinchy little heart grew three sizes that day.

He adopts the dog.

He calls her something like, 'Bella'

No thats not because it sounds like Beel. Piss off.

Bella isn't too high maintenence and actually does well for Belphie's productivity.

The seventh born actually goes on regular (though albeit) short walks with Bella.

Beel bonds with the dog as well and is very happy to take her on his morning runs with him.

Bella is affectionate but fucking stubborn. (Just like Belphie if you think about it)

Sometimes while cuddling (which only happen on Bella's terms by the way), she will not get off of Belphie, no matter how much Belphie asks. (Not that he minds, its an extra excuse to be lazy)

The cuddling in question is literally just Bella laying on top of Belphie like she's some sort of cat.

Bella is more of a brat than Belphie and thats saying something. The man spoils her.

Finally, a being (other than you and Beel) that understands him.

as you can tell I love big dogs and think small dogs are little rats. (said affectionately)

all of these dogs are female btw bc i got humped by my cousins dog recently and i wish that pain on no one. not even my worst enemy (which is solomon btw)

by the way unhinged anon im still waiting for you to go through with that threat 🤨🤨