#but this brick color does look very pretty

[strang3lov3]

Hot Date

Roman reminds you of who you belong to after your date.

Tags - stepdaddy!roman, stepcest, manipulation, toxicity, usual roman sexism, usual dubcon, jealousy, roman just has a lot of feelings, crossing some weird familial/romantic lines here, unsafe piv, lack of foreplay, rough sex, multiple cream pies, panties shoved down readers throat, inappropriate use of a vibrating phone. If the succession writers can go there then so can I. Fic Help - @beefrobeefcal @endlessthxxghts thank you for your eyeballs!! A/N - heddo! Fic inspired by this ask from @thesummerpetrichor 💜 Summer, thank you for this because this is my favorite part of stepdaddy so far! I hope this is feral enough for you 😌 love you love you!

Also, because all of you who read my Roman fics seem to be very on the same page as me, putting it out there that I’m open to writing more of your ideas/thots 🥰 make ‘em icky my friends

Important!! If anyone wants to join a succession thirst/discussion server, please lmk 💜 you can comment or message me or send an ask, I just wanna talk about this silly show and everyone with you all 💜🩵

Stepdaddy!Roman Masterlist

You’re in the spacious walk-in closet of your mother and Roman’s bedroom, pulling a pretty, eggplant-colored dress over your body. “Fix your boobs,” your mom says from behind you, tugging on the zipper at your lower back. The small piece of metal and her sharp nails scratch your back.

“Ow, Mom,” you complain, reaching under the fabric of your dress to adjust the way your breasts sit. 

“I know, I know. Zipper’s stuck,” she mumbles. “Here-” Your mom opens the closet door and calls out her husband’s name. “Roman!” she yells, “Can you come help us?”

Your stomach drops. You’ve avoided him all day, purposely. Your mom looks through her shelves of shoes for a pair of heels to match your dress while you toy with the fabric of your dress anxiously. Roman makes his way upstairs, then joins the two of you in the closet. You timidly look at him through the long mirror in front of you. 

“Her zipper’s stuck. She needs a big, strong man to zip her up,” your mom teases.

“Ah, does she now?” Roman doesn’t break eye contact with you in the mirror, just raises an eyebrow. Where are you off to? “Good thing I’m built like a brick shithouse, right?” Roman’s eyes fall upon your bare back as he walks toward you, your skin tingling as he puts one hand on your hip and uses the other to grab hold of the zipper. “Let’s see here,” he murmurs, inspecting the zipper. “Looks like it’s stuck on the dress.” 

 Your mom’s phone begins to ring as Roman works on freeing the small bit of fabric from the zipper. She excuses herself to answer the call, her interior designer Erica is on the other end. Once again leaving you alone with Roman. 

“Hot date?” he asks, waiting for the sound of your mother’s footsteps to disappear. He hopes that’s not the case. Christ, please let it be a girls’ night or something. 

“Mhm.”

“What’s that? I didn’t, uh…”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Ouch. Roman masks the pain with what barely passes as a smile and a single nod. “That’s new. Didn’t know you were…” he trails off. 

You shrug. Roman struggles with your zipper a bit before pulling it up slowly, smoothing out the fabric with his hand. He watches you pull yourself together the rest of the way, putting two diamond studs from your mom’s jewelry box in your ears. You go for a necklace next, but struggle to clasp it around your neck with your freshly manicured nails. “Fuck,” you curse under your breath.

 “Let me.” Roman takes the chain between his fingers, brushing over your neck and causing you to shiver. “Relax. I’m not doing anything. Not here.” He opens the claw clasp with his thumb nail and loops it through the chain, then lets the necklace fall. You adjust the pendant so it lays flat against your chest.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

 Roman’s hands rest on your shoulders, he watches you fix your hair and catches a whiff of your perfume, something sweet and hypnotic that has his balls tightening and his stomach fluttering. “You, uh-” Roman’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. He’s being so soft, so gentle it has you thrown off. “Fuck. You look really beau-”

“Erica’s gonna be here Tuesday at three to give me an estimate on my office,” your mom interrupts from the bedroom. Roman nearly trips as he backs away from you, your mom walks into the closet just seconds later. You watch in the mirror how he scratches the back of his neck and shakes his head awkwardly, and how his expression changes from sheepish to defensive - brows knit together, a scowl on his lips. He’s angry, embarrassed with himself. Roman leaves and goes back downstairs. 

As your mom picks out a pair of kitten heels for you to wear along with a beaded evening purse to match, your phone lights up with a text from your date. Here. You met him on Hinge a couple of weeks ago and hit it off as well as any two internet strangers could. He seemed funny and charming and genuine, and you found him attractive. He was just a few years older than you and had dark, curly hair. Thick eyebrows, deep brown eyes and a sweet smile. You texted him, played iMessage games together, even had phone sex. You’ve been looking forward to this date. 

You slide on your mom’s heels and slide the purse over your shoulder, then leave the closet. You stop at your room and stuff your purse with a condom and a lip gloss, then go downstairs. You find Roman waiting by the door, peering out of the small, decorative window at your date in his car, holding your wool coat in his arms. “Think you’ll both fit in the backseat of that Honda?” 

His softness is gone. Somewhere between the closet and in front of the door, Roman built up his walls again. So you do too. “Quit stalking him, you fucking creep,” you spit. You open the front door and pull it open, trying to hit Roman with it in the process. He stops it with his hand, then follows you onto the porch.

“Nuh-uh, get back here.” He grabs you by the wrist before you can pace down the porch steps. “Jacket,” he says, dropping your wrist so he can hold open your warm, wool coat.  “You’re gonna catch a cold.” 

Reluctantly, you slide your arms through the sleeves and Roman turns you around to button it and straighten out the lapels. “You’re not gonna fuck him, right, kiddo?” he murmurs softly, holding on tightly to your coat.

“Let me go, Roman,” you seethe. He’s so handsome tonight, scruff grown out a little and his hair messy. His eyes look so dark, so predatory - a stark change from the sad, warm way they looked before.

“Because that would be unbecoming of a young lady.”

You twist and wriggle a little, but Roman only grips you tighter. “I’m serious. Roman–”

The car’s window rolls down, and Roman waves to the handsome, younger man with a fake smile plastered on his face. “Dude’s not even gonna meet the father, huh? He’s gonna miss out on my shotgun speech. You know, the whole ‘whatever you do to her, I’ll do to you’ thing.” 

“You couldn’t handle a shotgun. Goodnight, Roman.” 

“Ouch. Good one. Night, sweetheart.”  Roman hugs you then, and presses a kiss against your cheek, pinching your ass as he does. “You be good.” 

Roman watches you pace quickly down the steps and into the car. Fucking asshole doesn’t open the door for you? If you can brave the cold drizzle outside, so can he. Prick. Whatever. Roman watches the red glow of the car’s brake lights illuminate the wet asphalt below, thin white vapor pouring from the exhaust. And then you’re gone. 

Roman goes back inside, toeing off his shoes and kicking them haphazardly toward the shelf in the walkway as he huffs in irritation. He flops on the living room couch and pulls out his phone from his front pocket, opening DoorDash. He pulls up your favorite Indian restaurant and orders the same entree you always get, plus something for himself. It is Friday, after all.

Your mom comes down the steps and joins Roman in the living room. “I’m going out with Erica,” she says, her head tilted as she puts in an earring. “Bye.” 

“Yeah, alright. See ya.”  

Today’s probably the most Roman’s spoken to your mother in about a week. Not that it bothers either of them, though. He watches her leave out the front door the same as you did just moments before, and can’t find it in himself to feel anything for her. No guilt, no remorse for cheating on her with you, her daughter. He likes to dangle his marriage to her over your head to torment you but he knows that honestly, she probably wouldn’t care that he’s fucking someone else, fucking you. And that makes him a little sad for you; do you realize this too? She’s so hollow inside. No real substance there. You deserve a better parent than that. 

Your mom leaves and Roman’s left with the house to himself and fuck all to do on this Friday evening. It used to be that on Fridays, you and Roman would order takeout and watch movies together, or you’d play games on the Nintendo switch until your mom, who was always out drinking, would come home. Roman always felt that it was a nice routine, but it’s seemingly over now. And for what? Why are you so fucking pissed at him all the time? You wanted him, and he gave himself to you. He was the one to pursue you and he knows that technically, he was the one to cross the line, not you. But is sex between two adults really so terrible? He wishes you would get the fuck over it already.

 Jesus, he’s hard thinking about the times he’s made you come for him. Roman reaches for his growing erection and groans, rocking his hips into his palm. He thinks of your arousal on his tongue, and how thankful he was that he hadn’t shaved in a while. He waited as long as he could before showering just so he could smell you in his scruff, and be reminded of the taste of your pleasure. 

How you writhed on top of him, underneath him, how he split you open. Roman thinks of those perfect, creamy rings you left on his cock, the way your cunt pulsed around him. Eyes rolled back into your skull, mouth open, his name falling from your lips repeatedly, beautifully. Roman, Roman, Roman.

A knock at the door and Roman snaps out of it. He picks up the tightly-tied bag from the doorstep and places the it on the table, the same table he fucked you on, and tears it open. Roman takes your order and sets it in the fridge, then grabs himself a plate and utensils. He spoons some food onto his plate and wonders if you’ve eaten well tonight. He hopes wherever this asshole took you, that you didn’t order just a salad. That’s not enough, you need protein. You’re cranky without it. Are you moaning your new lover’s name right now, and if so, how loudly? How sweetly? He can’t even stomach the thought of eating right now. Not when you’re probably laid out in the backseat of his car, fucking someone younger, stronger, kinder than himself. Slut. And you’re doing it just to piss him off, undoubtedly. Roman’s food sits uneaten as he ruminates, biting his inner cheek as he sits at the table.

-

You come home a few hours later, and Roman watches you from his bedroom. Your date gets out of the driver’s seat to open your door, then takes your hand and helps you onto the sidewalk. You kiss him, your hands on his cheeks and his arms around your waist, adding insult when you kick your foot up a little into the air behind yourself. Roman watches the man walk you to the door, hears the faint sound of it opening and closing. You walk up the stairs and into the bedroom, the little smile on your lips falls when you see Roman by the window. “Roman.” 

“Hey, you,” he says, following you into the closet. “Good date?”

“Mhm.” You set your phone on top of the vanity before sitting at it, then take out your earrings one at a time, followed by an attempt to unclasp your necklace. You struggle again, what with the nails. “Help, please.” 

Roman unclasps your necklace. “Where’d he take you?” he asks, dropping the pendant and chain into your hand. He walks back to the closet door. 

“Uhmm,” you hum, “Some Italian restaurant. I don’t remember the name. It wasn’t my favorite.” 

“What’d you have?”

“Soup and salad.”

Roman nods. “And after that?”

“We just walked around.” 

Your blood runs cold when you hear the door lock, you look into the mirror and see Roman jiggling the handle. “Just walked around?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s cold out. You don’t like to be cold.” You ignore Roman and lean over to take off your borrowed heels, tossing them in the general direction of where the rest of your mother’s shoes are. “And I don’t see any marks or blisters on your ankles, so…you’re lying. I think you fucked him.”

“It’s not your business.” 

“Shut up. Don’t talk back to me.” 

Roman’s staring at you in the mirror, arms folded across his chest. Your heart pounds at the way he looks at you, jaw clenched and eyes dark. Predatory, dangerous. Repulsive, even. You shouldn’t be aroused right now but you are. You always are with him. 

“How’d you fuck him, huh?” Roman’s footsteps are heavy as he makes his way closer to you, one of his hands pushing a bit of hair out of your face when you’re in his reach. “Stand up for me.” 

All it takes is a firm squeeze to the back of your neck, much like the way an animal bites its pup’s scruff to subdue it, and you move at Roman’s will. You’re so pliant, so obedient. Your body moves on its own accord, like you’re not really in control of yourself. Your core is beginning to feel hot, tingling with desire and anticipation as Roman trails the backs of his knuckles down your spine, tracing every joint. 

God, you hate Roman and the way he makes you feel. The anger he stirs in you is palpable, yes. But what’s it born of at this point? Betrayal? For taking advantage of you, putting you in this position? Sure. But maybe on some level, you retaliate because you love the way he bites back, how he reminds you of your role to him. His, whether you want it or not. If you were to let go of your anger and indulge yourself in him the way he does you, what would happen?

“Did you let him come in you?” 

Your mouth goes dry as you attempt to stutter out some sort of response. “I - I d-” 

Roman only nods in response, then bends you over the vanity. He hikes the skirt of your dress up over your hips, exposing your lacy underwear to himself. It’s pretty, and the color you picked looks nice with your skin tone. Roman hooks two fingers under the waistband and pulls, tearing the soft fabric off of your body. Fuck, he loves the sound of it ripping, the sound of your cry. It leaves dark marks on your ass that hurt like rug burn, Roman rubs his fingers in circles over the irritated skin. 

 He thumbs the gusset of your panties, seeing the mess you’ve left for him to clean up. “Mm,” he hums, inspecting the little white ropes of someone else’s come that’ve dripped from your cunt. Roman reaches for your jaw and squeezes the hollows of your cheeks, opening your mouth for him. He shoves your come-stained underwear past your lips, taking care to make sure you taste it, using two fingers to gag you in the process. 

Roman worsens the burns he made in your skin by spanking you fucking hard. He listens to the muffled noises of pain you make as he does it again, your skin rippling beneath his palm. “Shh,” he hushes, quieting you while rubbing his palm over the aching flesh. He spanks you once more for good measure, satisfied when he can see the outline of his hand imprinted on your skin, all swollen and puffy. How easily do you bruise? When Roman looks at you in the mirror, your eyes are red, tear tracks spilling down your cheeks. He spreads your legs apart and unzips his pants, pulling them down just enough to pull his stiff cock out. He spits in his palm and coats himself in it, then drags his head through your folds, feeling for your entrance. “Deep breath,” he instructs, notching himself inside you. You breathe in as best as you can, the action made difficult with a congested nose and panties shoved down your throat. 

Roman sheathes himself in you fully in one swift, harsh motion. You cry into fabric, tears falling from your eyes as you squeeze them shut. It hurts you, your already swollen and raw pussy aching at the cruel intrusion. “Ohh, f-fuck,” Roman groans. In the mirror, you watch him tilt his head back and relish in the pleasure. He pulls out all the way before pushing back in again, harder than he did before. You ball your trembling hands into fists.  

“You can take it,” he says from behind you, “I know you can fucking take it.” 

Roman’s words aren’t encouraging, he isn’t talking you through it like he’s done before. No relax or let daddy take care of you, baby. He doesn’t praise you or call you a good girl. He fucks you like it’s a punishment, because it is. He’s angry, threatened, retaliating. Whether you’re hurting or feeling good right now, he doesn’t care. This is for him. This is his. You are his. 

“Did he make you come?” he pants, pounding his hips against your ass, the head of his cock kissing deep inside you with each of his thrusts. “Did he? Yes or no, it’s a simple fucking question.” 

You shake your head, “Mm-mm,” and it’s the truth.

Roman smiles in satisfaction. “See? So you know what you’re missing. Who makes you come, huh? I do. Right?”

You nod frantically, squirming under Roman as if you could escape the feeling, or at least gain some semblance of control here. It’s too much, too painful. He’s unraveled, lost control of himself. He fucks you unforgivingly like he’s an animal, a slave to his own sick need to satisfy himself. 

“You belong to me,” he says. “Me.”  

Your phone on the vanity begins to vibrate, the screen lit up with the name of your date, a little pink heart emoji next to it. Cute. “Is that your Prince Charming?” Roman takes your phone, holds it up in the mirror for you to see. “The one who can’t make you come?” You nod again. “Should I let him hear what it sounds like when you do?” 

Roman wears a crooked smile at the look of fear on your face, eyes all wide as you frantically shake your head, muffled protests coming from your mouth. “But you make such - such pretty noises. For me, at least.” Roman seriously considers answering for a second, his thrusts faltering as his thumb hovers over the green button. “Fair enough,” he concedes, “Some things should stay sacred.” 

You exhale a sigh of relief and wait for Roman to decline the call, but he never does. Instead, he wriggles his arm under your torso and presses the corner of your vibrating phone against your clit, causing you to moan loudly. Roman continues to fuck you and by this point, and with the help of the vibrating, the pain has begun to dissipate, replaced with pleasure. Your eyes roll back into your skull, brows knit together as you focus on becoming close. You groan in frustration when the call times out and the vibrating ends. “Awwh,” Roman pouts mockingly. “My poor baby.” 

The vibrating begins again, and Roman raises his brows in amusement. “Wow. Eager guy, huh? I think he misses you. What a girl.” 

With Roman pressing your vibrating phone firmly against your clit and the steadfast slamming of his hips against yours, it’s not long before you’re coming on his cock, harder than he expected you to. You’re pulsing around him, gushing, falling to pieces as he fucks you through it. A little wrinkle appears between Roman’s brows, he has to bare his teeth to stave off his own release. 

He leans over your body. “You listen to me,” Roman says. “Only I get to fuck you. Pull this shit again and watch - oh, fuck - you fucking watch what happens,” he threatens. “Nod if you understand.”

You’re too lost in it all to respond. You just watch him in the mirror, mouth slightly agape with a dumb, fucked out look on your face. 

“What’d I say, huh?” Roman smacks your ass, “Nod- if- you- fuck-” punctuating each of his syllables with a thrust, “ -ing -get -it. Jesus Christ.”  

You nod, nod, nod. Roman fucks you through the tremors of your orgasm until he’s sure it’s come and gone, then pulls your phone away from your cunt, the vibrating long since stopped. He puts your phone face down on the dresser before abruptly pulling you up, pressing your back against his chest as he pumps you full of his come, moaning as he spills inside you. You love the way his cock twitches, the warm filling of his come painting your insides, how it feels when it drips from your cunt after he’s pulled out of you. 

Roman pulls your shredded panties out of your mouth and wipes you clean with them, then drops them on the floor. Your thighs are twitching, knees buckling and Roman helps you down, sits you on the floor with him, your back still against his chest. You rest your forehead against his cheek, breathing deeply. 

Roman absentmindedly draws his fingers up and down one of your arms, his insecurity setting in again. “So how uh…how was it, really? The date with…what’s his fuck, I didn’t catch the gentleman’s name.” 

You wrap your hand around Roman’s to still his fidgeting. “Do you actually wanna know?”

Roman sighs. No, he doesn’t. He changes the subject. “There’s takeout in the fridge if you’re hungry.” 

“What takeout?’

“Your uh, I don’t - you know. Your fuckin’...veggie thing, the one you get from our Indian place,” Roman answers quietly. He’s uncomfortable with your silence, second-guessing telling you about this. Or maybe it’s guilt. “It like, auto-ordered or some shit. I don’t know,” he lies.  

“Oh. Okay.” 

“I can heat it up for you, if you’d like,” he offers. “If you’re hungry.” 

Roman Taglist - I tag you if you've rb'd/commented kind things on my Roman works before, and I know not everyone wants post notifications on @strang3stories since that's mostly Pedro character fic. If you'd like to be removed, say the word <3

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson

@moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink

@romanarose @kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamili @verstappensrealwife

@thesummerpetrichor @lilipads @johnflansburghs-blog @pastelpinkflowerlife @baronessvonglitter

@myromeow

[ebellaart]

The store was all out of black ink pads, sorry morphy.

I know you tumblr pals enjoyed the last Sandman print so here’s a helm!

[lazycranberrydoodles]

the people in the tags understand me. starembers art is super pretty but also weird at times.

[rainrot4me]

Eyeless Jack General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Jack as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw! Mentions of gore

Words: 2.3k

Basic:

- The definition of nonchalant doesn’t convey his emotions very well at all so he lets his actions do the talking.

- Even though he may put on a front of being calculated and detailed, everything he does is purely instinctual or off the top of his head. He’s never made great plans or thought further on a problem than he had to, relying solely on time or for everything to work itself out. Ben calls it ‘thuggin it out’. He may seem all cool, calm, and collected- but really, he just doesn’t care.

- Drives a brown 1989 Ford F-250. Found it discarded on some old hunting grounds and spent the next 3 years learning about truck parts just to fix it up. It’s nothing pretty and the A/C doesn’t work half the time, but that doesn't stop the proxies from either stealing it for missions or Jeff cruising it to gas stations.

- Loves his alone time. If ‘Do Not Disturb’ was a living being.

- Incredible sense of smell, a blessing and a curse.

- Even though he doesn’t really feel emotionally tied to anyone or reliant on anyone's attention, he would never pass up a good conversation with Jeff or Toby. Finds their problems interesting (and funny).

- Even though he doesn’t have any eyes, he can still see. How? Who even knows? The demon would describe it as more of a viewing like he can detail everything that’s happening, but he can’t physically see it. Cryptic stuff even he’s too dumb to figure out.

- Despite everything, probably the most upkeep and clean member of the mansion. While eating organs and harvesting them can be messy, he doesn’t like the grime and prefers to clean off as soon as he can. The same goes for his clothes and room/office. Surprisingly tidy.

- Not as smart as he likes to present himself. Sure, he’s a medical student with more experience than anyone in a 50-mile radius, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing all of the time. Whenever the proxies roll in with serious injuries, the demon shoots them full of antibiotics, cauterizes the wound, and prays it doesn’t get worse from there. He knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t mean he knows it’ll work 100% of the time.

- A silent panicker. Will absolutely tear his brain to shreds worrying or fighting with himself, but keep a stone look on his face the entire time. Gauging his emotions is like conversing with a brick wall.

- Dry humor. Absolutely will answer your long, emotional paragraph with a thumbs-up emoji.

- In some sick way, slightly prefers the life he’s living now. It may be grotesque and depressing, but his knowledge of the medical field and human bodies is infinitely more broad than it would’ve been. He quite enjoys the freedom he has now.

- Never happier than when winter is fizzling out and the first signs of spring show up. The warmth, the colors, the vibrancy coming back. He can’t get enough of it. Absolutely will get lost just studying the snow melting from the new flower beds.

- Locked in the basement of the mansion at all times. Only comes out to eat or on the rare occasion he’s assigned a mission. The only place he truly feels comfortable.

- Will get oddly emotional when light reflects on the lake just right or the fog settles on the ridge just perfectly. You’d never guess, but he’s a big poetic bum.

- Purrs. Like a cat. Ears flick around like one too.

- With music, he’s a big lyric listener. The song could sound absolutely terrible, but as long as he resonates with the words, will enjoy it anyway.

- Unorganized organization freak. Everything has a place, even if you don’t know where that place is.

- Seriously underestimates just how overtowering he is. He’s nowhere near Slender’s height, but the demon easily doubles in the average human’s vertical. When he was human he was taller, but never like this. He’s still getting used to it.

- Lanky but quick. Limbs and features are longer, but the muscle index makes up for it. He’s seriously fit, but everything is evenly distributed. Serious muscle definition in his arms and back, though. What he lacks in strength, he makes up in speed and agility.

- Enjoys Radiohead, Cigarettes After Sex, Paramore, and Three Days Grace. Will also never admit it, but really enjoy the Twilight soundtracks.

Dating Him/SFW:

- Gift-giving love language. Loves to make you things unexpectedly and watch the surprise on your face. Steals jewelry or clothing from his victims to gift to you.

- It takes a lot for the demon to even consider you a friend let alone a potential love interest. But you best believe once he’s decided he wants you, that’s it. You take precedent, anything and everything else in his life takes a step back and you become the focal point. Heaven help if you ever change your mind about him.

- “My pretty thing… my lovely little pet… all mine…”

- Physically can not get enough of your smell. Whether it be sweet or sour, whatever emotion you dwell in, this demon will bury his nose into the crook of your neck and waste away there. It’s intoxicating to him, like an emotional tie he’s bound to.

- Like to study you. Your movements, your voice, the way you react to certain stimuli. Everything about you and your personality just intrigues him to no end.

- Possessive in the, ‘If they look at you, I’ll kill them’ way, but also is sure enough in himself and you to know he doesn’t need to go that far. Would rather lock you away for only him to see, but respects you too much.

- Has a deep-rooted fear of hurting you, so any fight or disagreement turns him distant. He’ll come back eventually, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable enough to get all touchy-feely again just yet.

- A lot like Edward from Twilight, he wants to taste you the most. It’s seriously a bad habit to nip at your skin or get lost in your scent because he knows how easy it would be just to take a chunk out of you. Has to be very aware and cautious of himself.

- Even though it took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to take his mask off around you, he still gets wildly conscious about it whenever you’re around. Loves nothing more than when you’re caressing his face or kissing his skin because he knows it's genuine.

- For a cannibal, he’s an insanely good cook. Will only cook for you, however. He says it's out of love, but really he knows deep down he wants to control what you eat so you have good organ health. You best believe he’ll have you hitting those core diet needs.

- Doesn’t sleep often, but when he does it's for long periods. The problem is, he likes to completely swallow you with his body and wrap around you, keeping you there until he eventually wakes up. Really enjoys the body heat you provide. Lowkey a small spoon.

- Slouches to your height.

- His favorite time is after a long day, curling up in a big chair with a book and you in his lap. You cocoon in his arms as he leans back, a blanket draped over the two of you. He’s naturally cold-blooded so he would stay there forever if he could.

- “You smell so good, pet… So good…”

- Talks in short, mumbled sentences. The mansion residents started using you as a translator because he would only say more than 3 words at a time around you.

- Absolutely never cared about how he looked before you. You taught him decent clothing styles and now he rocks the ‘dark academia/soft boy’ aesthetic like a champ.

- Made you your own special corner in his lab just because he couldn’t deal with having to be away while working.

- An intense kisser. It’s never soft pecks but full-on mouth-consuming makeouts. He’s a hungry guy who can only be satisfied if he feels like he’s swallowed enough of your tongue and lips with his own. Your lips and chin are absolutely soaked with slobber afterward.

- Firm believer in carrying you. No matter where or how far, he likes to bridal-style haul you around or have you latch onto his back.

- “I could eat you up. Just kidding… yeah…”

- Goes ridiculously insane when he can see the chubbiness on your thighs or stomach. You sitting down or lying out, you best believe he is fighting every demon internally not to take a massive bite on your skin.

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Again, skin. No better than a man during the dark times when you flash just a little too much leg or abdomen. He’s on you in seconds and clawing your clothes off to see more.

- You will never leave an encounter without cum dripping out of you. Refuses to get off anywhere else but deep inside of one of your holes. Call it a breeding kink but his animalistic tendencies just won’t let him pull out. Grunting and panting against your nape as he slams inside as far as he can to keep you from squirming away

- “You can take it, I know you can… Need you full of me… All of me…”

- A greedy kisser. Grabbing your jaw and fucking his tongues into the warm wetness of your mouth, teasing to just push them further past the tightness of your throat. Even when you squirm and gag, he just pushes them deeper, testing your resolve.

- You reach your breaking point longggg before he does. A couple of orgasms deep and he hasn’t even put his cock in yet, just milking your body for all it’s worth. It may be because he has a high sex drive, but it’s mainly because he gets off best when you’re pliable and numb to his touch. It’s a domination thing.

- A pussy worshiper. Much like his adoration for any organ, he really appreciates all of his knowledge of the female anatomy and how good he is at eating you out. If he can, or if you can take it, he’ll press all three of his tongues deep inside and spread your plush walls to his content. Likes to swap between focusing on your cunt and your clit, but mainly both at once.

- Bite marks galore. Has to be careful with how much blood he draws, but you’ll never get by without at least one good bite mark on your shoulder. Likes to possessively mark you all over just for others to see. Same feeling with claw marks.

- There’s some cognitive switch in his brain that flips when he gets to a certain point of desperation, like after not seeing you for a long period or after a particularly difficult day. It’s like a starved creature hungry and desperate for anything. He’ll ravage your body and mind, fucking you both to pure exhaustion or until he physically can’t cum anymore.

- On that note, ruts. They’re seasonal, usually coming around the first two weeks of spring and fall. He can’t control when they show up, but once started, they usually last 3 to 4 days, each day getting less intense. Since it’s such an animalistic ordeal, he loses all restraint or moral compass on how to treat you. Bites, blood, wounds, and injury are all possible. They’re not intentional, but he physically cannot control his mental or physical, blinded completely by lust. Thank god his sperm isn’t compatible with human anatomy, because that’s the only place he’ll cum.

- “I’m sorry- sorry, pet- Just one more time- just one more- Fuck- I promise-”

- Both ankles wrapped in one claw. Two claws overlapping around your waist. Yeah…

- Starts slow, so achingly slow you want to rut your hips and get him deeper. He likes the feeling of entering you, of spreading your plush cunt around his cock and finding its home deep inside. He’ll get faster eventually, but for now, he just wants to drink up the sights and smells of your desperation. That first gasp gets him every time.

- Mating press or nothing else. If you want to try something new, he’ll happily oblige, but the only way he’s truly happy is if your legs are pushed back to your shoulders and his hips are slamming down into yours. He’ll take the occasional doggy style, but only if his teeth are latched on to the back of your neck and holding you docile.

- Could watch your face come undone all day. Loves to see your eyes roll when you come, or the sweat and tears dripping off your cheeks. The dark flush of your skin gets him so hungry he has to physically restrain himself.

- “You’re so gorgeous- so fuckin’ pretty- Ah- Look at me. C’mon, don’t get shy now…”

- One time, after a particularly messy organ harvest, he couldn’t wait to get to you. He was so livid, body practically shaking with excitement when he snuck into your room that he didn’t even have time to clean himself off. Blood (not yours) stained your sheets and skin, messy claws dragging across your stomach and chest to coat you in dark red, his tongues quick to shoot out and lap at the stuff. You, covered in blood and his mess, sent him spinning. That was the fastest he’s ever came.

- Growling, panting, snarling, huffing, chittering, teeth gnashing, LOUD ASF

- Has a size thing. Comparing your hand to his makes him so horny and eager to just pick you up and fuck you. Admires how small and easy you are to just throw around like a doll.

- Absolutely has had sick fantasies of fucking your organs like a fleshlight. He’d never tell you, but the thought of cutting a slit in your abdomen to push his cock into the tangle of intestines and muscles makes him drool. He can almost imagine how warm it would be.

- Gets a high when you squirt. Feels accomplished to be covered in your juices and having you completely ruined for anyone but him.

- “You can take it for me, yeah? Go ahead and make a mess… It’s alright…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[feyhunter78]

Jealously, Jealously

Couldn’t find a fanart I felt fit so have a gif!

Nerd!Miguel Masterlist

You’re not jealous, you can’t be jealous, because Miguel isn’t yours. You’re friends, study buddies, lab partners, platonic, platonic, platonic, so why do you feel so shitty watching him and this random girl—Ava she said her name was—flirting?

Maybe it’s because she’s flipping her long silky black hair over her shoulder, batting her thick naturally dark lashes up at him, laughing at his jokes with a laugh that sounds like music, and Miguel’s eating it up.

You’ve never seen Miguel so confident, and it hurts. You’ve been friends with him for ages now, and he’s never been so forward, so clearly sure of himself when he’s with you. He’s talking, leaning down to hear her better, letting her touch his arm, his chest, even his fucking neck.

You stew in silence, arms crossed, watching them from your place behind the Sig Epp letters.

You were supposed to be getting lunch, walking, and talking with Miguel, only stopping to say hello to Brett, but then this Ava girl showed up and all of a sudden, she and Miguel have to speak privately.

“What’s got you all heated?” Brett asks, bumping his shoulder into yours, joining you against the low wall, behind the giant painted letters.

They’re what four-five feet tall, painted in the Sig Epp colors, made of plywood and some other material you don’t really recognize, and don’t care to. They’re good to hide behind, and that’s what you’re doing.

“I’m not heated.” You tell him, rolling your eyes when Ava playfully squeezes Miguel’s bicep, her laugh ringing out through the courtyard.

“Tsst, ouch.” Brett says, jerking away from you dramatically, acting as if touching your shoulder burned him.

“You’re not funny.” You deadpan, averting your eyes from Miguel and onto Brett.

“I’m a little funny.” He says, “remember when I got Dr. Blevins to do that TikTok trend with me?”

“The one where you tried to guess which of the other professors in the department he hated?” You snort, turning to face him, leaning against the sun-bleached bricks.

It was pretty funny, Dr. Belvins wasn’t the nicest man on the planet, but who would’ve known he had such a hatred for Dr. Vervid? Though you shouldn’t be too surprised, there weren’t many people who liked the Organic Chemistry professor.

“See I’m funny.” Brett says, wriggling his eyebrows victoriously.

“You did one funny thing.”

He presses a hand to his heart. “You wound me y/n, truly, down to the deepest chasm of my very soul.”

“Alright, Shakespeare,” you laugh, “time to phone it in.”

Brett takes an exaggerated bow.

You roll your eyes but giggle. Brett is a goof, and while usually you find it all a bit ridiculous, it does the trick, the uncomfortable emotions you’re feeling lessen.

“No, but seriously, you seem upset, is everything alright?” Brett’s voice takes on a more serious tone, and he gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know we’re not close like you and Miguel, but I do consider you a friend, and if I can help, I’d like to.”

Are you crying? You think you might cry. “Shut up, why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m a nice guy, not like that, an actual nice guy, a nice person.”

You sigh and roll your neck, letting it hang to one side as you look at Brett. “I think I might be jealous?”

“Oh, of Miguel and Ava? Yeah, I see them hanging out sometimes, she’s hot.”

Gut punch.

“You’ve seen them hanging out?” You dig your nails into your palm to try and keep the emotion out of your voice. Thankfully it works.

“Sometimes, used to see them hanging out before you two got close, but it’s picked back up recently.” Brett says, casting a surprisingly subtle glance over at the dark-haired pair.

Double gut punch.

“Oh…cool.” You reach for your phone preparing to either hide in it or text Miguel and tell him you have to miss lunch, either way you’re pretty sure you’re going to start crying.

Brett snaps to attention and reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder. “Shit, y/n, I didn’t even—I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Miguel and I are just friends, I don’t care who he hangs out with, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Totally doesn’t matter that he defended you against Kron, that he said he wanted to have a daughter with you. That you almost kissed, that he’s coming with you to the semiformal, that you eat lunch together every day during the week, totally doesn’t matter.

“Oh well...I don’t think they’re dating or anything, Miguel isn’t like that, he wouldn’t…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “He’s not the kind of guy to lead someone on.”

“I said we’re just friends. Bye Brett.” You snap, shoving your phone back in your pocket and readjusting your backpack as you speed walk in the opposite direction of Miguel. Hoping fervently that you can make it back to the Humanities Building, then to the parking lot, before he notices you’re gone.

Of course, you have no such luck, and you can hear Miguel calling out to you, then your phone lights up in your hand.

“Hey.” You say, keeping your voice calm.

“Y/N, where are you going, I thought we were getting lunch?” His voice is so sweet, so concerned, and you hate him for it.

“I forgot my next class was canceled, and I have a big essay coming up, I’m just going to go home and work on it.” You lie, digging your car keys out of your backpack.

“Oh…okay…” You can picture him, standing there all alone, looking down at his feet, clutching the strap of his backpack protectively, his voice thick with disappointment.

You hate yourself for feeling guilty, but then you remember he’s not alone, he has Ava.

“Just go eat lunch with Ava, you guys seemed pretty cozy, don’t let me interrupt.” You can’t stop the venom from dripping into your voice.

“Interrupt? Y/N, you wouldn’t be—no, I’m not—Ava is just—it’s not like that.” Clearly, the words are spilling past his lips faster than his brain can process them.

“I don’t care, go, have fun, do whatever you want.” It’s petty, and unreasonable, you know, but you’re hurt, and you want him to hurt too. You hang up and put your phone on do not disturb, slamming your car door shut and heading home as you burst into tears.

Directly connected parts are: Flowers On Your Doorstep and Semiformal Kisses and Cat Fights

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey

[demonsword586]

Tartaros pp headcanons! (Just the nobles)

Bimet

- I imagine he is one of the few normal sized pp owners amongst devils. (Still,they are naturally larger than humans,so normal for a devil is still pretty impressive for a human.)

-Anyway I belive he is around 15 cm in lenght .

-You see the charm about this man's shlong is not in size like most people think but in it's shape.

- You see his tip is sharp. This man is a whore. With enough money,you could probably buy a night with him. And as a proper gold digger....he needs a sharp tool for the job.

-You ever saw the part of a flute in which you blow? Yea that's his tip

-Not only is his tip pointy but somewhere in the middle of his shaft he has tiny bumps. They're small and there's not a lot of them...but just enough for you to feel it when he ravages your insides.

-He thought about dipping his pp in gold like he does to his feet but immediatelly stopped after the first try. Mostly because the gold was dropping down way too quickly because of the higher temperature.

-He settled on just wearing a few thin golden cock rings. Also has a simple prince albert piercing

-From all the gold in the air,I woudn't be suprised if he eats it too. After a few years of chewing on metal,his cum got a certain yellowish color to it.

-I do think he cums a lot tho and it's watery...very watery.

-He keeps himself groomed most of the time. If you're serving the richest man in hell as his right hand,you gotta keep a certain level of proper hygene and looks to match.

- Also yes his pp does smell like pennies.

Valefor

- I think he's pretty similar to Mammon. He already works hard to have a body like his. I woudn't be suprised if that applies to his dick as well.

-As you can imagine....big. Not as big as Mammon's meat srick but very similar. Thick,long and hard as a brick. He should register is as a lethal weapon. In and put of the bedroom.

-At least he is aware of his own size,comparred to some other careless nobles. He knows he could actually hurt you and does everything in his might to prevent that,even if it means sacrificing his own pleasure for yours.

-Speaking of pleasure and cumming,he's another one of those breeding bulls. His cum is a bit thick but actually tastes pretty good. The most similar thing to it is a lemon tart.

-Back to his cock. It's a bit more normal whrn it comes to the shape. It's the kind of a penis that is pretty to look at but also scares you with just how big it is. In other words,a teddy bear kind of pp.

-He keeps his pubic hair growing. Of course,he does shave it off every once in awhile. But only when it gets so unruly it iches. But every other time? He just let's it grow. He just doesn't pay too much attention to his hair when he has to put so much work into growing out his muscles.

-But somehow has one of the healthiest hygene routines? Has like 12 diffrent products,all for a specific thing on his body. He's a good boy who takes care of himself properly.

-He does work out a lot tho,so he can't always be smelling like sunshines and manly chemicals. Even after many showers,there is still a small sprinkle of the sweaty smell on him. He is trying to get rid of it since he knows humans are a bit more sensitive about bad smells compared to devils

Eligos

- Small...the smallest penis owner in Tartaros nobility and he is damn proud of it!!!

-He's actually really happy with his size since smaller pps are way cuter than those muscular-looking dicks. It gives him a very cute bulge too!

- It's size is 11 cm.

- Some of his coworkers suggested he starts wearing some more gold but he refuses. After all,ribbons are way cuter than gold and very flexible in their usage too! He can wrap them everywhere even on his dick.

-Has a collection of diffrent types of ribbon fabric,each for a specific part on his body. There is so many pretty fabrics after all but not every one fits more intimate areas. For down there he uses a very soft,silk ribbon.

- Has a very good hygene too. Probably owns a whole cabinet of showering items. My man knows his stuff. He follows Orias's social media and they even give each other beauty tips in DMs. Paimon joins in on some conversations as well.

- Anyway back to his pp! We already got out of the way that it's small. Well it's also really sensitive! Especially on the underside of his shaft and the point where his tip is the sharpest. If you rub or touch him there,he becomes quite vocal. I don't mean those little whimpers but full on moans. When Mammon first heard him,he had to ask later if he was okay and if he needed a headpat. Poor man probably thought Eligos hit his balls or something.

-Speaking of balls,his are pretty small and round. His ballsack is a bit tight which makes his balls appear very adorable,like little marbles. They fit perfectlly in your palm too! Ah,but don't squeeze them,he'll push you away and cover them for a few weeks if he sees you.

-Man waxes. You see those shiny thighs? Yea he wants all of his assets to be like that. Smooth like an infant. He actually does the whole process by himself. Unless there is a place he cannot reach *cough* his ass *cough*

-Overall,a very cute little thing and slightly squishy. The color of it is just as his skin with his tip being a paler pink.

[l0ngschl0ngking]

Apology won’t cut it

Tim Rockford x f!reader

summary: Tim forgot about your anniversary…how can he make things right?

warnings: SMUT (oral -f!receiving, vaginal fingering, somnophilia -with estabilished consent, reader and Tim talked about it before-, unprotected p in v, reader “hangs” onto those shoulder holsters while Tim fucks her, creampie,(1) spitting on pussy, praise kink, biting), talks of infidelity, cursing, mentions of food, mentions of reader being pregnant, fluff -it’s me…so :)

word count: 4.3K (how that happened? - i don’t know either)

A/N: Tim is hot and I have things for detectives/agents with shoulder holsters (*cough, cough* Seeley Booth)

You met Tim a few years back through your friend. Normal Sunday brunch turned into you confiding to her – telling her that you worry that your husband might be cheating. The past few months he was spending more and more time in his office – the fact that you saw his new personal assistant a few months back who was much younger and prettier than you didn't help.

Susan, your friend, tried to soothe your worries but when you started being a babbling and a sobbing mess – you've spend most of your life with your husband and the thought of him cheating on you cut your heart deeper than you thought it would – she sighed and withdrawn something from her purse. A small plain business card layed between her neat fingers.  

She passed it to you with a few tissues as well and when you finally wiped all of your tears away,  you looked at what was written on it – both of your eyebrows raising in a question.

“It's a private investigator. I hired him when I had a suspicion that Richard might be cheating on me as well. Turned out he was just working extra shifts so he could buy me an engagement ring.” She grinned at the memory and you looked at her finger – the diamond ring he bought her shining in the daylight sun. You offered her a little smile – happy for her. Richard was a nice guy – sweet and genuine and you didn't know how she could think he was cheating on her – he kissed the ground she walked on. “But really, he is great, sweetie. A little pricey but he does his job well. It doesn't hurt that he is easy on the eyes too.” She winked while you bit your lip in contemplation.

A few days pass since your Sunday brunch and you think about calling the number numerous times – then telling yourself that you shouldn't doubt your husband's loyalty. Though when he left this morning without even kissing you on the head as he normally would – not even sparing you a little glance, you were more certain than ever – you were going to find out what was going on once and for all. Even if it should break your heart.

When the other voice on the other line says “hello?” you get nervous. You are really doing this.  

“Hello, uhm – I, ugh- I’d received your business card from a friend and would like to hire your services. Are you busy or-?” Smooth. Real smooth.

“No, not really,” he chuckles - the cigar he was smoking dangling from his lips, “would you like to meet at yours or at my office?” His voice was a little gruff but very soothing at the same time. You try to imagine what he looks like – didn't sound like a young man, maybe someone close to your age range – not that you were old or something.

You quickly scribbled the address where he worked as you found it more appropriate that you rather meet him at his office than if he should invade your own home.

When you arrive at the address he gave you, you found yourself in front of a small brick building – the doors are pretty mahogany color but creaky and when you enter it looks bigger than on the outside. Various small offices with different names on glass windowed doors surround you and you look for his business card in your purse – forgetting his name.  

Tim Rockford – it says on the card and you squint your eyes when you see doors with the same name on it far back. You stride with confident steps towards it even when you are not feeling that way at all. You knock – one time, two times and the third time a small gruff “come in” can be heard from the other side of the door.  

When you step in the first thing that hits you is the cigar smoke and you cough a little – you hate smoking. Then you finally see the man in question. He looks a little older - the bags under his eyes make him seem that. He quickly stands up from his leather chair that creaks and offers you a small smile which you uncertainly return. He is handsome in a ruggish way. His hair is short and has a few silver strands mixed in there as well,  and his beard is patchy – that is something very endearing about the fact. His shoulders are broad and you think he should buy a bigger shirt as this one is straining against his frame – not that you mind that much.  

He quickly puts out the cigar when he sees your nose wrinkling at the smell – observant as well. Not bad. He reaches his hand out to you and you take it – his grip is strong but not in an unpleasant way and his palms are a little sweaty. He clears his throat and offers you his name which you do the same in return. He sits down and gestures to the older-looking armchair sitting opposite him. It's comfier than it looks.  

“So, what brings you here, m’am?” You scrunch your nose for a second – not feeling that old but don't say a thing about it. Right, let's cut right to the chase.

“I-I think my husband might be cheating on me and I'd like for you to find out if that's true.” He doesn't look at you weirdly or anything – as you thought he would. He just nods his head and asks your husband's name which you provide.  

“That's all I really need. I will find out all of the other information myself and will call you if I will find some clues. Sounds good to you, m’am?” You nod and give him your phone number – the phone you called him from being the house landline.

A few weeks pass, Tim calls you often or you go to his office – recently you started inviting him to your house as you started feeling more comfortable around him – all of the clues hint that your husband is really cheating on you and he tries to make you feel better about it – cracking jokes here and there and you appreciate it even though it doesn't seem all that professional.  

Today he brings a folder with him. The yellow one you often see in some kind of crime film that holds photos of the victim – and when he enters he throws you a sad smile. You know what it means but you try to not think about it. You offer him tea and he hastily accepts – he knows that you already know. In the past few weeks, he got to know you and he noticed that you try to occupy yourself with other things when you are nervous.  

He sits on your leather couch – you bought it last week – and he watches you make the tea in your smaller kitchen. When you sit down next to him you put the cups of tea on the glass table. He passes you the folder and when you open it a few tears flow freely from your eyes. You were expecting it. You really were but it still hurts. You feel sick as you throw the folder next to the cups – not really in the mood to look at the pictures of your husband sticking his tongue into someone else's throat. Tim lands his hand on your shoulder – trying to comfort you. That's when you throw yourself at him, hugging him close to you and he doesn't reciprocate the hug for a while – it's not professional at all and he shouldn't but when you sob into his work shirt his heart breaks and pulls you closer to him. Slowly stroking your back and kissing the top of your head gently.

You stay like that for a while – him rocking you while stroking your back and telling you “what an idiot your husband is for treating you so poorly” as you try to compose yourself. And when you do- you pull away a little – looking into his eyes, maping out his face with your eyes. He's handsome – you noticed the first time you've seen him but after each time you've spent together you started appreciating his ruggish handsomeness more and more. You'd never admit it but you've touched yourself at the thought of him a few times – feeling guilty afterward not knowing if your husband was cheating on you. You felt like you were the one cheating after every time you got yourself off at the thought of Tim between your thighs.

“Kiss me.” You whisper as you look at him and he shakes his head – feeling like he would take advantage if he did.  

“No, you're in a bad mental state right now and you don't know what you are saying, sweetie.” The nickname of endearment falling from his lips is first and you shake your head in protest – pulling yourself on top of his lap and he doesn't have the strength to stop you as this is something he wanted for a long time too – you were not only a client to him. Not for a long time, anyways. You were smart and funny, and beautiful and he liked you a lot. Even if he really shouldn't feel this way.

“I wanted this for a long time, Tim. Please, just kiss me, will you?” You don't have to tell him thrice, he surges forward to meet your wanting lips and grabs your hips and you start grinding down on him. You moan when you feel him harden under you and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours – it's frantic and passionate and you feel him everywhere at once. His hands are pulling your tank top off and he cups your tits when they come into the view – pulling away from the kiss. He starts kissing your cleavage, his hands trying to quickly unclasps the bra if that piece of clothing offended him and you on the other hand try to unbutton his shirt. Getting impatient you huff and he notices – he always does with everything. He slows the pace down and unbuttons the shirt himself while getting distracted multiple times – you're kissing his neck and he moans when he feels you nip at the sensitive skin behind his ear.  

When the shirt is finally off you immediately start paying attention to the newfound flesh – kissing and licking a path across his shoulders that you oh, love some much and dragging your tongue lower – circling his nipple with it. He groans and throws his head back – the vein on his neck popping with the movement and you bite him there, soothing it with your tongue. He grinds against your mound and if you keep going he will for sure cum in his pants like a fucking teenager. He pushes against your shoulders softly and you start to protest but he shuts you up with his mouth once again. It's slower and more sensual – his tongue fighting with yours lazily and unhurriedly. He finally unclasps your bra – his greedy eyes taking you in. Palming them in his hands it's your turn to moan and he grins – his thumbs stroking the sensitive nipples. He brings his head to take one into his mouth and you can't do anything else than writhe on him – your hands are in his hair and you massage his scalp. He groans against your bud while the other hand strokes your other tit and you feel like you've gone to heaven and back. You didn't feel this good since – well actually never.  

When he is happy with his work – the bitemarks on your tits will leave nasty bruises for a few days for sure – he slowly puts you on the leather couch. You are sweaty and it sticks to your skin but you don't care – not when Tim is trying to get rid of your shorts. You don't wear anything underneath and you swear you can see his eyes goes entirely black – his pupils blown wide and his breathing quick. He lowers himself onto his tummy and you are confused for a second before you realize what he is doing. You try to protest that he doesn't have to but he just “shhh” you. His mouth is on your inner thighs in no time and his beard causes a delicious burn on them. He is slow with it – trying to enjoy every second of it but you are impatient. You tug on his hair and growl – slapping one side of your inner thigh mumbling a quiet “impatient girl” before he licks into you without a warning.

You cry out – your head thrown back and your back arched, the hands that are in his hair grip him tighter and he moans into your cunt with an unspoken agreement for you to keep doing that. Not many men went down on you – certainly not your husband – but Tim looks like he is enjoying this more than you if it is possible. His nose bumps into your clit with every lick – you feel yourself squeezing around his tongue. One of his hands makes its way to your open mouth and he sticks two fingers into it – coating them in your saliva. Pulling them back out he creates a path with them from your mouth to your neck, then under your neck, on your tits, down your tummy and then pressing two of them against your pussy – exchanging his tongue with his fingers while he sucks your clit into his mouth and it doesn't take long before you are cuming, after all, it has been too long since anyone made it seem like their life goal was to make you cum – the moans and cries of his name echoe throughout the living room with the wet sounds of your pussy squeezing his fingers while he fucks you through the aftershocks of it all.

When he finally stops – you have to push his mouth away from you feeling overstimulated – he just grins against you and sits up – balancing himself on his heels while he cleans his fingers humming at your tangy taste on them. You are exhausted and your lashes flutter against your cheeks but you can hear the clang of his belt and his words echoing in your ears: “ We're not done in the slightest, baby.”

You try to wait for him. You do. But your eyes feel heavy – you already ate the dinner you made for the two of you – Tims's favorite meal – lasagna. You put the rest of it along with the portion into the fridge – scribbling a quick note that if he feels hungry the leftovers are in the fridge. You look at the time: 23:03. And that's when your phone dings.

Hi, baby. Don't wait for me, I am still at the office working on that crazy grandma case . Love you, xoxo

You sigh in defeat. No apology, no nothing. You expected it, to be completely honest. He was so wrapped up in this new case he sometimes forgot what his name was. But you felt that he was married to work and not to you – not that you two were married but you get the drill. You understood it, he worked hard for the position he now has and you too are a workaholic yourself – the money you won at the court after the divorce was put into opening your little bakery. But to forget about your 5-year-old anniversary? That seemed over the top. You don’t bother answering him – putting your phone away you put the dirty dishes in the sink – you will wash them tomorrow morning. Keeping his favorite wine on the table in case he will want it when he comes home, you grab the little envelope.  

“Seems like it's just me and you again, little bean.” You smile sadly while you caress your stomach – Tim didn't know yet but you hoped you would tell him tonight. Guess not.

As you make your way into the bedroom you lock the door and turn off all the lights. Brushing your teeth and hoping in the shower for a quick wash you think about if you should have kept the envelope on the table – no, you will tell him tomorrow after you won't be mad at him anymore. After drying yourself you tuck yourself in and put the envelope into the drawer on your bedside table. Sleep consumes you quickly – you've felt exhausted for the past couple of days.

Tim comes home long past after midnight. He's exhausted and he just wants to plop on the bed next to you. He puts the keys onto the kitchen counter and wonders in the kitchen – the kitchen lits up when he puts on the flashlight in his camera – you like to sleep with the bedroom doors open and usually wake up if he turns on the lights. He furrows his brows when he sees the wine on the table – the single rose in a small vase in the center of it. He stalks towards it and sees that it's his favorite. And then he sees the dirty dishes and the small note on the fridge – dread takes over him when he sees the date on the calendar and he lowly curses at himself.

He forgot your fucking anniversary. What a fucking moron he is. He ventures into the bedroom to see if you are already asleep – if not he will apologize profusely even when he knows apology won't cut it this time. When he sees you fast asleep he sighs and slowly creeps into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The weight of what had done – or more so what he didn't – creeps on him and he decides that he will cook you breakfast tomorrow and take you out somewhere nice – maybe even finally do the thing he'd been dreading to do for over a half a year now. When he is finished brushing his teeth he returns to the bedroom to put his guns away. You are sleeping peacefully even when he turns on the light on his bedside table.  

You look so pretty in the dim light. Your hair is sprawled on your pillow and it's too warm in here for you to be covered – he can see your legs and the curve of your ass. He licks his lips and he is not so tired anymore. An idea pops into his head – you've talked about it before but never really tried it – maybe it would be one of the many steps of his apology.

He rolls up his sleeves and slowly makes his way onto your side of the bed. You are a pretty light sleeper and he thinks if you will wake up right in the start or if he can indulge a little. He kicks the covers that surround you and touches your ankle – the touch is light and gentle. His fingers slowly make their way up your thigh stopping on your hip and you jerk a little - you turn onto your back the flimsy tank top you changed into riding higher. Tim grins, slowly sinking onto the mattress. He kisses one of your knees and then the other. Slowly making his way up – he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and slowly tugs – seeing that you have nothing underneath. He always loved that about you. He caresses your thighs and kisses the inner side of both of them – trying if you will wake up he pokes his tongue out but you just mumble something so he keeps up his advances. Creating a path to your core he softly inhales and opens your folds with his thumbs as kisses your clit – you jerk a little but he hooks his palms under your hips to keep you still. His nose bumps against your clit with the first swipe of his tongue and he groans at your taste that he knows oh, so well. His tongue lazily licks into you and he is in no rush – enjoying the slow pace he slowly grinds his pants-clad hips against the mattress. It's not enough but he doesn't mind. Sneaking one of his hands away from underneath your hips he pushes one of his fingers in – you are soaked even though he barely touched you and he loves the fact that you are always so ready for him. You mewl softly and start to stir but he stops when your breathing gets even again he pushes two fingers inside of you.

The only sounds that can be heard are his harsh takes of breath and the wet suck of your pussy taking his fingers in – his mouth is now more relentless and so are his hips as he humps the mattress. His fingers curl and he tries to find the spot that makes you make such a pretty noise for him and when your breath hitches he knows he found it. He kisses your clit and starts setting a quicker phase. The tip of his tongue now flicks against your clit quickly. He can feel you start squeezing him and he moans when he feels your hands tug on his hair – the quiet “Tim” from your lips effortlessly. He mumbles a quick “good morning” even though it's not even 3 am yet.

You are right on the edge and when he adds a third finger it's all over for you. Your back arches and you cry out – his plush lips kiss your clit to work you through it and when he finally stops he pushes his cock out of his pants – stroking his dick with the hand that was in you just a few seconds ago. You are still sleepy and try to get a sense of what is happening but before you can think about it  Tim is kissing you and notching the weeping head of his cock against your entrance.

“Can I fuck you, baby? Can I fuck you silly?” You nod and he enters you with one quick swift of his hips – you can feel his balls against your ass and he tries to push even deeper. It's too much for your sleep-tired brain and you need to hold onto something – so you grab his shoulder holsters – they are cold and feel smooth against your palms and when you look up at Tim he snarls. “Yeah, hold onto me, baby.” And then he is pounding into you. The head of him pushes against your g-spot and he angles his hips just right. You can feel every ridge and vein of him and you feel him pulse in you – knowing that he won't last long. He grabs one of your ankles and puts it on his shoulder – you always said to him that shoulders like that were made for leg rest. With this new angle, he feels even deeper and you close your eyes – it feels so fucking good, his pubic hair is scraping against your clit and the gentles with hich he kisses your ankle while mumbling how “good of a girl you are for him” makes your heart ache with love for him.

He can feel you starting to squeeze around him and he bends so he can spit onto your pussy – it makes you cry out when you feel the wet press of his fingers on your clit. His are relentless and the sweat rolling off his forehead is making its way down his neck – his vein on it is popped and you'd like to bite it. The slap of his balls is lewd and the way he says your name – ordering you to be “good girl and cum for me” is making your head dizzy. It just two or so more thrusts before you are clamping down on his length and he moans – grabbing him by the neck you kiss him and start sucking on his neck – right under the himge of his jaw– and then he is cuming too – his forehead pressed up against yours. His hips try to push the cum deep inside of you and when he stops he falls next to your side, bringing you closer to him and caressing your spine.

“You think it worked this time?” You are still hazy from the orgasm, listening to his heartbeat slowing down and you just hum in question so he repeats it for you – you don't think about it too much and reach for your nightstand drawer putting the envelope you hid there into his hands.  

He opens it reluctantly and when he sees what's in there he can't contain his smiles and the few happy tears that spring out of his eyes.

“You serious? We're going to have a baby?” He laughs with joy and you caress his cheek – kissing the patch on his beard and then soothing it with your thumb

“Serious as I can be, babe. We're going to be parents.” you grin and he kisses you – smiling into the kiss and he thinks about the box in his suit jacket that has a small and elegant diamond ring in it.

He will propose to you tomorrow, take you out on a picnic or something. Yeah, he will do that.

[goodlucktai]

13 with sunset duo :)))

dialogue prompts

13. “I would believe that you’re fine, but you have a goddamn knife sticking out of your leg, so.”

x

Raph probably would have been successful in sneaking to his room if Mikey hadn’t decided to swing by the kitchen for a snack refill. When he flicks the light on, his biggest brother freezes mid-step cartoonishly and they both just stare at each other, one caught, the other confused. 

“Uh, hi,” Mikey says. “Is your Goon Gala with Casey over already?”

It’s what the former Foot recruit calls it when she and Raph get together to be rowdy and reckless and somewhat violent but like recreationally. Full throttle vigilantism. Mikey tagged along once and was so exhausted by the end of the night he had to be carried home—allegedly!!

The twins quietly disapprove, but they haven’t ratted Raph out to pops yet. They probably think the same thing Mikey does; that it’s good that Raph has something that’s his. It would be better if it was something safer, shared with someone slightly less likely to commit felonies for fun, but it’s a start. 

“Uh, yep,” Raph says awkwardly, standing kind of sideways. “Raph’s actually pretty wiped, I was gonna—”

Mikey’s eye for color pings. That’s the only explanation for why his subconscious was like hey something’s wrong about this picture and his gaze flicks down to follow the thought. 

It lands on the hilt of a knife sticking out of the thigh Raph is trying to keep out of view. Deep red drips down his knee.

Mikey drops the empty popcorn bowl, stray unpopped kernels scattering across the floor. 

“Hey, hey, no, it’s okay,” his brother says quickly, heading off the very loud reaction he can sense building up between them like an active geyser. “Shh, Mike, come on. I’m fine.”

It would work a lot better if one of the two hands he held up to shush him wasn’t bloody. Mikey’s panic wracked up another three levels automatically. 

“I would believe that you’re fine, but you have a goddamn knife sticking out of your leg, so–”

“Language,” Raph scolds by rote.

“Don’t language me!!” Mikey says shrilly. “What happened? No, don’t answer that. I know what happened, you got stabbed. You should be in the infirmary already! You go, and I’ll get—”

“No!” Mikey is grabbed by the shoulders, actually lifted off the floor so he and his brother are eye-to-eye the way Raphie has a bad habit of doing when tensions are high as Raph goes on, “Leo doesn’t need to know. I’ll take care of it.”

Mikey blinks, processing that. It takes a minute, because it might be the stupidest thing this particular brother has ever said directly to his face. And then he scowls. 

When he bellows, “LEO!” it’s in that particular baby brother voice that gets every older sibling in a mile radius moving with gusto. If Donnie weren’t at April’s for the night he would have removed the kitchen wall to get there two seconds faster. 

As it is, Leo tumbles into the room wild-eyed, probably wondering what the hell could have happened in the three minutes between Mikey asking him to pause the movie and this targeted attack on every protective instinct in Leo’s body. 

It takes him a second to clock that Mikey is present and correct and just sort of dangling in Raph’s hands still. Then he leans against the doorframe, playing it cool. What a nerd. 

“Guess this is where the party’s at,” he says, doing that thing where he manages to look at Raph without looking at him. “So what’s the cover fee? Any live music?” 

He probably would have kept going, but he’s processing the scene with sharp eyes, and that’s about when he connects the blood on Raph’s hand to the blood on his leg. Every single ounce of disingenuous charm and cheer evaporates from him instantly. His smile drops like a ton of bricks. 

“What the fuck, Raph?” Leo says in a tone Mikey doesn’t know if he’s ever heard from him before. “Is that a knife? Casey let you get fucking stabbed?”

He moves while he’s talking, so fast that Mikey isn’t a hundred percent sure he didn’t actually teleport. He has the daisy-printed dish towel formerly hanging on the oven door in his hands and he’s kneeling at Raph’s side, wrapping it around his thigh and pressing down hard. 

“Jesus, language,” Raph says, lowering Mikey to the ground before taking a resigned seat in one of the kitchen chairs. “Casey didn’t let me do anything. I’m fine, I’m handling it. You should see the other guy.” 

“You’re—you’re handling it,” Leo parrots blankly, as if those words in that order don’t make any sense to him at all. “I should see the other guy. Is this a joke to you?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” Raphael’s annoyance makes sense, since Leo has adamantly refused to take anything seriously since he was given the leader badge to wear. If Leo slacked off before, he is pointedly doing the absolute bare minimum now. 

He’s obviously trying to prove something to someone. Donnie just sighs when Mikey brings it up which means that he’s right but also that Donald isn’t going to break the disaster twins’ honor code by admitting out loud that he’s right. 

“This isn’t about missing training,” Leo grits out, really, properly angry. “This is about you sneaking around with a knife sticking out of your leg and scaring Angie and letting me find out by accident instead of—I dunno—calling the second it happened? Were you just going to go yank this out of your leg in the shower and put a bandaid on it?”

Raphie is in pain, and his temper has been poked, so he replies, “For the past month you’ve been acting like nothing matters to you anymore! You’ve wanted nothing to do with me, you don’t want my advice, you don’t want my job—the job that’s always been mine, that pops took from me and just handed to you. So where’s the line drawn? For all I knew, you wouldn’t want to help with this, either.”

If Raph had slapped him, the look on Leo’s face probably would have been exactly the same as it is right now. He’s kneeling there on the floor and there’s blood staining his fingers and the big brother he adores so much is telling him right to his face that he thought Leo would have rather just let him bleed than help. And Leo let him think it this whole time, all because he had a point to prove.

Mikey folds his arms tight, tucking his hands away so no one sees if they start shaking. There’s a saying April quoted last week when she was working on a paper for her Introduction to Literary Journalism class, can’t see the forest for the trees. Mikey didn’t get it then, but it makes an unfortunate amount of sense now.

He knows better than anybody how much his brothers love each other. He doesn’t understand how they could be so blind to what’s right in front of them. 

Raph is the kindest person in Mikey’s whole life and can always tell when a hit has landed too close to heart. Some of the anger coiled up inside him like an animal has no choice but to relax its jaw. 

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head,” he admits. “I don’t know what you want from me.” 

“I want you to stop,” Leo says. It’s not a shout, but it’s loud, bouncing off all the polished surfaces until it fills the whole room. “Stop believing in me. Stop acting like I could ever be half the leader you were. Stop—stop getting hurt and acting like it doesn’t matter. What would we do without you?” 

What will I do without you, he doesn’t say, when you’re not there for me to follow anymore?

Raph’s eyes are huge in his face, and he lifts his hands in an automatic response to a little brother hurting within arms reach, but Leo ties the dish towel and steps back. He’s doing the not-looking-while-looking trick again. 

“Bleeding’s slowed. Let’s get you to the infirmary, big guy. Angie, Dad and Dee aren’t home so I may need your hands, okay?”

Leo always trusts Mikey to be able to help. It makes him feel three feet taller. 

“You got it!” he says, hoping one of them remembers to clean up the kitchen before Splinter gets home and wanders into a crime scene. 

When he heaves himself off the chair, Raph staggers a bit. Both his little brothers flock to either side of him instantly, and he says, “Raph’s just a little dizzy, that’s all. Let me lean on you guys for a bit.”

“Of course, Raphie,” Mikey says, willing to carry him if that’s what it takes. 

“We gotcha,” Leo adds, every other thing he must be feeling back to being a well-kept secret behind every layer of armor he owns. 

Raph puts his arms around them both and holds them close for the walk down the hall. He said he was dizzy, but his steps are steady. Everything about him is as steady as it’s always been. Mikey thinks he’s pretty good at sniffing out a scheme, but if he points out that Raph was only angling for a hug, then Leo’s going to run away like a feral cat who can’t tell the difference between affection and an attack.  

So Mikey doesn’t say anything, and squeezes closer beneath the arm Raph has around him—smiling to himself when Leo squeezes closer, too.

[averseunhinged]

hii! Just saw your promt post, and I was wondering if you could do either Jealous!Klaroline or Klaus comforting caroline after something bad happens to her? sorry if these are too bland 😭😭

hi! thanks for the prompt! i had a lot of fun with it. i'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but i hope you like it. it ended up technically being both prompts in one.

cw for light angst, (kind of mild, i think) jealousy, klaus's issues, caroline's issues, death of a parent, grief, and it's pretty gooey by the end. we went the full-ass gamut in 2k words. no magic babies. very loose adherence to canon. title is from rock of gibraltar by nick cave & the bad seeds.

for the next thousand years

Caroline was wearing color again.

She'd draped herself in mourning black since she'd surprised him at Rousseau's nearly a year ago, still in her funeral dress with her severe hair barely mussed, but barefoot and ghastly bloodless, holding onto her humanity in a white-knuckled grip.

"My mom's dead," she had said, and he'd scooped her up as she collapsed. Cami had quickly ushered them out the back while Caroline began to weep. "How does anyone survive feeling this?" she'd sobbed into his neck as he carried her home.

How does anyone survive feeling this? he still wondered.

Caroline was in color again, a brick red cocktail dress, the close-fitting pencil skirt a demure knee length, but the scooped neckline was risqué. She was laughing and vibrant, witty and magnetic. No one she spoke with could take their eyes off her. She was a charming force of nature, and she'd spent the evening on his brother's arm.

Oh he wasn't stupid. He knew there was nothing going on. Caroline had gifted him with proud, beaming smiles, whenever he caught her eye, and a thousand years at one another's side let him easily read the encouraging looks Elijah had shot him, but there was an additional significance to them Klaus didn't understand.

Still, it was Elijah who ushered her around the room, making introduction after introduction, her hand tucked into his elbow, or his at the small of her back. Klaus could imagine what people thought of them. How charming they were. How perfect for each other. What a lovely couple.

The glass in his hand cracked. He slumped further down at his table in the corner. Rebekah had done a marvelous job fashioning a more modern version of a speakeasy in their home. The lights were warm and low and made everything seem soft-focus, and the crystal glittered under them. There was a live band playing and--

They were doing the damn foxtrot. He didn't know Caroline could foxtrot.

Maybe he should have guessed this would happen. She had been just a small-town cheerleader when they met. Nothing and no one in the grand scheme of things, but she'd still drawn his attention swiftly and irrevocably. He'd known she'd be transcendent once she made her way into the world. Only, he had thought he would be the one on the dancefloor with his arm around her waist.

He was being ridiculous of course. Even if Elijah had been a serious competitor for her affection, rather than an older brother enjoying needling the younger, Klaus wasn't doing himself any favors. He had experience in these matters after all. A long, sullen pout wasn't likely to steal her attention back. He needed to dredge up a bit of the charm and joie de vivre that made her halfway tolerate him in the first place, but the longer he lurked and watched, the more he felt on the verge of causing a scene. In this case, discretion truly was the better part of valor. He liberated a full bottle of bourbon and another tumbler from the catering staff and made a swift exit.

On his way out of the ballroom, he brushed past Camille and tried to do his best impression of someone who very much did not need to talk about his feelings. She saw the bottle of bourbon in his hand and the look on his face and groaned.

"I really don't want to play wise bartender tonight," she said, slightly tipsy.

He rolled his eyes. "So, don't."

"Okay," she agreed to his surprise. "You need to get your shit together."

"Excuse me?" he snapped.

"You didn't want the wise bartender. So, you get your friend, Cami, who is also friends with the source of your angst. I know more about what's going here than you seem to. This is supposed to be a special night, and you're being a dick."

Klaus continued his escape without acknowledging her. Occasionally, it was necessary to concede the last word, if one wanted to avoid eating one's friends.

Out on the balcony, he poured himself a drink and let the guilt gnaw at him. Cami was right about one thing. This was a special night. He wished he could undo this mood he found himself in, but the harder he tried, the more he risked sinking into certain violence. After the first glass, he left it on the table and went to lean on the balcony railing. He shut his eyes, breathed in the night air, and tried to let the sounds of his city unwind the chains around his spine.

The tap-tap-tap of high heels, divorced from the sounds of partygoers and merrymakers, on marble and then hardwood, pulled him out of his attempted meditation. He'd know the sound of her gait anywhere. This was the quick step of anticipation with a dash of nerves, rather than the sharp staccato of impatient annoyance.

"Did my brother run out of important people clamoring for an introduction?" he asked, directing his question toward the view the moment he smelled the sweet, seductive frangipani oil she'd recently begun using as a perfume.

"Oh boy," she muttered under her breath.

There was the delicate clink of glassware on the metal table. He smelled the crisp, heady scent of an excellent champagne before he heard the pour. A glass appeared under his nose, held by a perfectly manicured hand, nails painted gold just a touch paler than the wine. He took the glass from her and ducked his chin to hide the smile that threatened at the appearance of their thing. They touched their glasses together with a crystalline ping.

He made a thoughtful noise after the first sip. "Marie Ledru? I'm surprised we're serving that."

"We're not. I heard it was your favorite, so I got one out of the wine cellar earlier."

Wine cellar was dubious nomenclature for a dungeon where they also happened to store their spirits. He was shocked Caroline ventured down there. It had been left off the initial house tour, since the last thing she'd needed was to be assaulted by the scent of blood and death.

"Well, Elijah's just full of prodition tonight."

"I have no idea what that means," she admitted. "But it was Rebekah, actually. She practically had to draw me a map, because she made Cuvée Goulte sound like a cat choking, and I couldn't begin to guess how to spell that."

"Bekah's French has always been enthusiastic," he laughed into his glass, the bright effervescence of the wine working to lift his mood.

Or perhaps it was the company.

"I know I've been a total disaster since I showed up here," she said. He made a dissenting noise, but she steamrolled over him. "And I'm not exactly sorry about that. My mom deserved to be mourned, and I needed to do that somewhere," she trailed off as her voice tightened until it was barely audible.

He tried to observe her in his peripheral vision without making her feel studied. She was blinking rapidly, her head tilted back as she looked up at the sky. Light pollution made the stars nearly invisible, and the party had purposely been held on the night of the new moon, but she seemed to look beyond, far off to somewhere he couldn't begin to imagine. Lifting the glass to her nose, she breathed in slowly. Her eyes slipped closed. She smiled, small, but true.

She took a sip and held it, tasting it, before beginning again. "I needed to be somewhere no one would judge me for how I grieved. Whether I was doing it too fast or not fast enough. Too publicly or not publicly enough. If I cried as charmingly as Elena does. Mystic Falls is where I come from, and I'll always love it, but I can't spend the next however many years wondering if I'm living up to whatever they think I should be."

"I understand," he said quietly, with more compassion than he typically had, hoping the small undercurrent of disappointment was hidden from her.

"No," she said, and there was an edge of desperation to it that worried him. "I'm still messing it up. I know this wasn't what you had in mind. It hasn't exactly been the reunion you imagined."

She wasn't wrong, but she wasn't right, either. He'd wanted her to come to him when she was ready. Not just for him. He'd wanted her to be ready for herself. Ready to be who she truly was.

He leaned into her, resting his shoulder against hers. "Caroline--"

"I've been trying to be better," she continued before he could disrupt the point she was winding her way towards. "I've been spending a lot of time with Cami, because she gets how it feels to be totally alone in this one specific way. We have friends, sure, but no more family. Not just blood relatives. The real kind, who know everything about us and love us anyway."

It wasn't a notion he enjoyed thinking about. Whatever their disagreements might be, despite the way they irritated him ceaselessly, he held his siblings tight to his chest, hostages to his greed. Caroline had no such ties remaining, and he had no way of giving them back to her. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her, as though he was anchor enough to stop her from floating away.

She left her champagne on the edge of the balcony and burrowed into him, beneath the protective wing of his jacket. In heels, she was too tall to tuck herself under his chin the way Rebekah did when she was younger. Caroline wound an arm around his back and gripped his shirt hard enough to leave wrinkles. She cupped his neck in her other hand, fingers inching into his hair, and tucked her nose into his cheekbone, her forehead to his temple.

Klaus wanted to abandon his own champagne to hold her close, but couldn't bring himself to close the circuit. Instead, he took a sip, hardly tasting it around the distraction of the woman pressed against him.

"I know I've been useless since I got here," she whispered into the soft skin near his ear, her voice so very small, "and not at all the girl you wanted in Mystic Falls. Elijah was already helping me with the financial stuff; so, I asked him to help me learn the ropes in New Orleans, too. I wanted to--"

His glass toppled down into the garden below. It was a waste of fantastic champagne, but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn with her in his arms.

"--prove I belong here," she was still saying, even as he fluttered kisses onto her cheeks. "And I might not feel exactly like the same girl I was before, but I'm still the best parts of her. I'm still something. I'm still--"

"Everything." He pulled away just far enough to see the way the tears she fought were catching in the soot of her blackened lashes. "You're everything."

She looked at him as though he was both ripping her wounds open and sewing them closed. It's all for you, he'd told her once, and longed for a time when she'd accept the tribute he was offering. He'd never dreamed she'd give the same in return.

When she kissed him, it was like that day in the woods outside her hometown, with all the joy of reconnection and none of the sorrow of an imminent parting.

In a while, once they'd had their fill of soaking each other in, he'd take her back inside to their guests and show her off on the dancefloor. If there was anyone else who simply had to meet her, they’d best enjoy doing it with him attached like an additional appendage, because he wasn't letting her out of his arms again that night. Or for the next several days. Or perhaps ever, if she would allow it.

"Happy birthday, Caroline," he pledged against her lips.

How does anyone survive feeling this? she'd asked all those months ago.

Like this, sweetheart.

Exactly like this.

[silverskye13]

I am turning EB around in my head like a microwave and I have a couple questions:

What is EB and EX's relationship like? I know they view each other as family and EX gets EB's booth, but will we see how they interact more?

Did anyone wind up telling EB that hels!zedaph is dead? If not, does he have suspicions that he is?

and a more general Hels question (that is totally not related no siree) - what is the upkeep for the remembrance walls like?

EB and EX are on friendly terms! They previously saw each other,,, not as rivals in the traditional sense. They didn't openly attack or oppose each other. But EB viewed EX as a challenge: How do I stay distinct from my brother's shadow? Anyone looking for it would find it obvious. EB got Bigger and Louder whenever EX was around, and he used to be much bigger and much louder than he currently is. It's less that he was mean, and more that he was prideful. Becoming friends with Helsknight changed him for the better in that regard. Since he's mellowed out, he and his brother have become closer. They enjoy visiting with each other during Colosseum matches [EB will often stand with EX in the box and talk both before the events, and during intermission] and EX invites EB to a lot of parties, where they shit talk the guests together. We'll see them together once during RnS, but EB is a secondary character, and outside of the one appearance, I don't intend to have EX very involved in the story. He's kind of the unspoken god of the world: he gets a lot of mentions because he's very important to hels, but he's not very important to the plot lol.

Someone did wind up telling EB about hels!zedaph, though yes, he did suspect before he was told. EB hadn't gone looking for HZ for a reason. He didn't want to be the one to find out he was gone. If I can't see it, maybe its not really there.

And the Remembrance Wall Ramble got long so its under the cut!

[Hello future me cutting in here because I just realized you were probably talking about what individuals like EB would do to upkeep a name of a loved one. Mostly it involves regular visits. Keeping the stone clean, replacing it if it gets cracked, making sure it doesn't wear down. Nether bricks to me are a bit brittle, and the ones on the bottoms of the walls will crumble and break down over time. Most of the time, the Order of Remembrance is pretty good at getting them replaced, though they encourage individuals to do it themselves, to decorate the stones, paint or carve them, and overall keep the care personal. People will also sometimes leave gifts of food, flowers, and favored items at walls where loved ones names are kept. Walls are very colorful spots in hels, full of a lot of care.]

The Remembrance walls are, basically, graveyards. Alongside friends and family, who will make sure loved ones names are put down and remembered, the Order of Remembrance manages all Remembrance Walls in the city. We'll get into it a little in the upcoming chapters, but the Order of Remembrance church, and its knights, have a very active presence in hels. They are the cloaks seen most often roaming the streets, in twos and threes. They have regular routes they walk, with walls they are assigned to tend. They make sure the stones are stacked straight and don't fall, replace broken ones, and help people carve names. Many knights have prayer chants where they intentionally try to memorize every name on the wall. Their focus is on the idea that no helsmet is truly gone as long as some memory remains of them. They welcome helsmets approaching them with fond memories of loved ones, and will take testimony from people who know their time is coming. Their church is a glorified library and house of memorization. Part of their worship in remembrance of people is also in the remembrance of history, and they have at least one copy of every book, memoir, and journal in hels they can get their hands on. They have one private collection in the church, and one public library in hels, which they regularly update with copies of originals from the church library.

The only place outside the Order of Remembrance's domain is the shady side of town where Cleo's gangs keep the peace. For control reasons, Cleo doesn't like any opposing force on her claimed land, which includes Order of Remembrance knights. She does still have Remembrance Walls on her side of town, but they are up-kept by the people that live there as a community project. People get together once every few weeks, make food, talk about those that are gone, and make sure none of the stones are broken or stolen.

Erasing memory is a big taboo in hels, understandably. The universe is already cruel enough in taking people, and people, once taken, are woefully easy to forget [they were never meant to exist in the first place, after all]. On the sides of town where the Order of Remembrance upkeeps the walls, anyone caught stealing or destroying stones is tracked down by their paladins, and subjected to community service under close supervision. They're often roughed up in the process, but the paladins won't kill you for breaking a stone. Depending on whose stone you break, and how angry hels is that day, the same can't be said for anyone else who catches you. Repeat offenders, or people who destroy many stones at once with the express intent of erasing memory, are branded by the Order with a mark somewhere visible, normally on the hands. Anyone with that unlucky brand will see increased hostility from their peers, ostricization, lost of livelihood and home -- it's a great way to make everyone in hels hate you. Anyone on Cleo's side of town caught destroying a stone is hunted actively in the streets, and leaving her side of town will not save them. She offers high bounties for that kind of thing.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

if you would all allow me to be delusional for a moment - so i went back to staring Very Hard at the neighborhood map and. um. well. im chucking my marbles out the window! as always take all of this with a Hefty grain of salt!

i thought i saw a weird pixel in Frank's window so i zoomed in. then i took a screenshot, and fucked with the contrast/brightness settings. and uhhhhhh

UHHHHHH

FRANK??? HELLO???? HE'S IN THERE? i'm pretty sure im Not seeing things bc that is definitely a vague gray tube-outline with a yellow spot in the shape of Frank's nose. hidden in the dark. and i might be seeing things but in the pane next to his face it kinda looks like his hand is on the window? but! Frank's in there! what the fuck!

so naturally i slowly scrolled through the neighborhood Zoomed The Fuck In. obvi there's nothing in Home's eyes, and Barnaby's & Sally's single visible windows(?) are closed. I couldn't find any out-of-place pixels in Julie's or Poppy's.

but! Eddie's kinda freaked me out a little! look at this shit!

on the top left pane... are those fingerprints pressing into the glass? and in the lower left, is that a fucking Face peering out? a creepy ass face that almost looks like some sort of mask? there seems to be another Shape in the upper right... another face perhaps?

and then there's the weird window shine in the lower right (along with maybe Another face...). it almost looks like a string of letters. there isn't a single pattern/design like that anywhere else in the neighborhood. what's up with that....

oh and also, just went back to double check the post office's display window

there seems to be another face - all the way to the right in the darkness. judging by the shape of the paler (yellowish?) pixels between what must be eyes, i think that's Eddie. and i think i see ears and a hat... not sure though. this one is really tough to see but it's There

(side note: Eddie is totally fucked, isn't he? between the faces(?) and hands behind his door, Home sitting in his display, and the hyacinths by his building, the emphasis on his memory (or lack-thereof) in a project that is, in a sense, About memory... i'm concerned! and eating it tf up! hell yeah lets get funky!)

now i couldn't see any, like, concrete Faces or anything in Howdy's store. but! you can kinda see inside! observe~

in the big open window, you can kinda make out some sort of container on a counter and what might be shelves or a kind of brick pattern. and then above the 100% sign... hold on are those fuckign Eyes? lets take a look zoomed in & without the image adjustments!

yeah those uh. i think those are eyes. Wally-esque eyes peering out of the darkness. though they also mildly remind me of eyespots on insect wings. butterfly eyespots, perhaps. inch resting indeed...

WAIT I LIED!!! there DOES seem to be another string of letter-like symbols in the neighborhood, not just the post office's window shine. now it could be just a wild coincidence, but at the same time it seems kind of... purposeful. like that's not normal shading/coloring.

check out the blue window border on Howdy's Place, next to the apples. the lighter blue pixels seem Arranged. i think i see a clear N, and either an R or a P... along with some other symbols that i don't recognize as anything. the lower ones look kinda like faces? what could the top one be? is any of it anything or am i looking too hard?

in short: they're watching us watch them and there's way more to the map than initially meets the eye....

(edit: i've added a reblog w/ the images outlined! badly outlined but a clearer View of what i see nonetheless! + some notes on more little things outlining helped me notice)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Bring the whole squad. Someone converted this huge 1917 former convent in Butte, Montana into a home and they want to sell it. 5bds, 5.5ba, $929K. It's so plain, though, it needs some nice colorful decor. Take a look.

They are calling it a luxury residence, but this is the main hall.

Off the main hall is a large sitting room.

I'm sure that it took a lot of work to open and brighten it. There's a nice stone fireplace. They must've replaced the old exposed pipes with the new copper ones. The radiators look original.

New modern kitchen. I think it has potential, though. It's a blank slate waiting for some color and interest.

The kitchen's big and bright with double islands.

It's a huge kitchen with exposed brick and big new beams.

Very large dining room. In a convent the dining room is called the "refectory." I would have a sign made for it.

They've got this bedroom set up for two.

This one features a walk-in closet and en-suite.

They also installed a sauna, which is very nice.

Plus, a home gym.

Here's another nice bath.

Original stairs.

This is very nice- an exposed brick sun porch.

I guess that this could be a rec room or something. It even opens to a sun room, too. Nice built-in table for plants, crafts, work desk, etc.

Another new bath.

Spacious bedroom.

This bedroom has a big en-suite.

It does have potential to be a cool home.

The land is 0.138 acre or 6,011 sq. ft., so it's pretty big. I think it has potential.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/1131-W-Copper-St_Butte_MT_59701_M71929-49786

[popatochisssp]

Would it be too much to ask what kind of jobs the new skeles might have since you already shared bram would be a groundskeeper at a cemetery?

Looks like I never officially did this one for Wave 2, just Wave 1 over here.

So, while we’re at it, let's do 2 and 3!

Ash (Undergloom Sans): He’s semi-unemployed, or self-employed depending on how you look at it. He busks, playing his trombone out on the street and accepting donations from anyone who feels so inclined. He likes playing music and the idea of brightening peoples’ days in the middle of their commute, so the money doesn’t really matter to him. Sometimes he picks up small gigs at local venues, mostly by word of mouth, and eventually he breaks into the tutoring scene—teaching his favorite instrument to young aspiring musicians who find the same joy in it that he does.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He works as a professor at the local community college, teaching anthropology. He’s passionate about the subject and can’t think of anything he’d rather do than share it with a classroom of humans who probably have no idea how interesting they really are. If only one student walked away from his class with a new appreciation for what humanity’s all about then he’s fulfilled—but he tends to send a lot more away with that than just one, since he’s a very popular, friendly, and accessible teacher.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He’s self-employed, knitting blankets at home and selling them online. He doesn’t need a job at all, between the Queen and his brother, money’s not an issue, but he’d go crazy if he didn’t have something to do all day, and nobody wants to see what he looks like when he goes crazy. He takes commissions often, but other times he just makes things according to whatever he’s feeling and what color yarn he has handy and sells to whoever feels like buying it.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): He works as a physical therapist. He more or less taught himself to walk again after losing his leg, and a second time after getting a replacement, so he very personally understands the need that exists for people who are injured and want to get back to their normal life—but maybe lack the discipline, the knowledge, or the tools to take that journey solo. He’s hard on his patients and sadistically merciless, but his success rate in terms of mobility recovered is very high and any complaints after the fact are begrudging at worst.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a home baker, making cakes and small pastries for a small but growing client base. He likes the freedom of getting to pursue his passions seriously and to be his own boss, set his own hours, screen his own clients, et cetera. He puts a lot of time and care into what he makes, both in terms of flavor and decoration, and finds nothing quite so satisfying as a repeat customer or a glowing review and recommendation to someone new.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Freelance programming is what he does for cash. It was something he could both learn how to do and actually do remotely, without the need for more than the bare minimum of in-person contact. He likes problem-solving, and complaining about the problem-solving, and the field is pretty much always in demand so if he’s bored of certain kinds of jobs, or sick of the person giving him the jobs, he can jump ship at any time and be a contractor someplace else.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He’s a boxer, more amateur than pro so he doesn’t make a ton doing it, at least not consistently, but he likes fighting and draws in a decent crowd by being a bit of a spectacle (a blind skeleton in the ring) so the entertainment value is worth something. Aside from that, eventually, he fills in for his brother as a combination business partner/agent/accountant, helping him get jobs and keep clients and manage the money he makes doing so.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s unemployed for a long while, but ultimately breaks into professional photography, with a specialty in travel photographs. He likes taking pictures and getting to see the world in the process, and it helps that it’s a family business so he and his brother have pretty much full control over what jobs he takes and for how much. He doesn’t really concern himself with the money numbers, though, he just likes filling out his portfolio with gorgeous locales all around the world.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He does a lot of odd jobs, all over the place, generally (things that are considered) unskilled labor—bussing tables, janitorial work, desk clerking, that kind of thing. He doesn’t like the thought of getting too stuck into any one thing and being unable to try something else out later if it doesn’t work out, and there’s something to be said for the satisfaction of being closely connected to the results of your labor. Sometime down the line he will end up sticking in one career, as a dealer for a casino, because it combines his social, charming nature with his sharp eye and quick hands, but until then he’s happy to bounce around.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): He’s a bookkeeper at a nondescript company. He’s organized and thorough with record-keeping and double-checking data, and he likes putting those skills to use to make sure his employer’s finances and transactions all balance out at the end of the day. Some might find it boring work and he could almost certainly qualify for a much more ‘prestigious’ job doing something else, but he’s satisfied having a job that doesn’t require all of his effort and brainpower, so he can save some of that for his personal life and private interests.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): He’s a nomad, a wanderer, he has no job. He’s a robot in the shape of a monster—ostensibly still a monster, even so—in a world full of humans that as yet believe monsters don’t exist, so even if he wanted a job, getting one would be logistically difficult. Luckily, he feels no special need to be gainfully employed and just spends his time wandering around and taking in the world. If he needs something, he’ll either just take it or use one of his brother’s accounts to pay for it.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He’s a performer, a disc jockey who mixes, makes, and plays music to crowds at clubs, raves, and discos, anywhere he’s welcome. He takes advantage of the perception of his holographic form as an artist’s gimmick, like Daft Punk, Hatsune Miku, dead musicians projected onto stages to play posthumously… In his defense, that last one is sort of exactly what he is, except he didn’t really start making music until after he died. Still, he has fun doing it and adores the fame he’s steadily gaining as a popular, cutting-edge technology music act.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): He does aura readings for people. For those interested to know, he shares his perception of their colors and the flow of energy in and around them, and just generally describes the sense he gets about a person. What he does is really more of a soul read than an aura read, so a lot of the color meanings and terminology he uses contrast with the kind of readings his clients may get from humans who practice something a little bit different. Still, he’s earnest in his desire to help people understand themselves and their energies and emotions, so he gets a lot of recommendations and repeat clientele who trust he’s the real deal.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): He works as an event planner, organizing gatherings, arranging vendors, booking venues, the whole nine. He has a great reputation for making things go smoothly and always seems to be able to talk out bumps and snags before they ever become a major problem. He also maintains great relationships with people in the industry and delights in having connections just about everywhere in case he needs to call on a favor to make something happen for a client. He's got the magic touch and the silver (gold) tongue that makes everything fall into place just so.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): He works as a clerk at a pawn shop. He gets to handle a lot of interesting items and assess roughly how much they’d be worth, and he’s pretty good at haggling and negotiating with people who might not agree with said assessments. Sometimes people will come in with broken stuff they wouldn’t be able to get too much for, but maybe he can cut ‘em a deal, fix it up on his own dime and if they come back for it, great—and if they don’t, his boss’ll be happy to have something that works to sell to somebody else at a markup, how ‘bout it? He does a brisk business and both sides of the counter love him.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): He’s in construction. He’s huge, strong, takes direction well, and diligently follows rules and protocols—he’s an ideal fit for it. He likes to work hard and be able to see a job come together, knowing he had a part in it and being satisfied with the quality of his contribution. He especially likes to take every safety training and equipment certification course he can attend because he likes knowing what the rules are and being specifically told how certain procedures are run, machines operated, et cetera. He’s very likely to be apprenticed in as a foreman if not the inheritor someday of the construction business by its current owner for his work ethic and dedication, but that’ll be a long ways from now.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): He works as an independent auditor and combs through companies’ records, internal and external documentation, processes, and accounting and ensures everything is being done in accordance with industry standards. In short, he shows up, demands to see everything they have, and looks through it to see if they’ve lied, did something wrong, or lost information they weren’t supposed to. Sometimes he can do this remotely but other times he has to travel out to a physical office somewhere and sit down with a bunch of stuffed file cabinets, and he really doesn’t mind either way. He likes the work and he’s good at it—maybe because he’s good at it—and he finds it satisfying to catch the tiniest little misses and errors to demand an accounting of them.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): He’s a trail maintenance worker for Ebott National Park. He walks the paths and hiking trails and makes sure they’re safe and unobstructed for visitors, as well as whatever odd jobs in the area that happen to come up—looking out for invasive species, helping with a bench install, directing lost tourists, that kinda thing. It’s not especially glamorous work but it’s pretty much exactly where he wants to be and he’s happy to do it, probably wouldn’t pick any other job in the world…except maybe to volunteer for a seasonal fire-watch position and do pretty much the exact same thing, but more isolated and with a big cool tower to sit in.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): He works as a mortician at a local funeral home. He generally isn’t expected (read: allowed) to deal with grieving families, that’s more the funeral director’s purview, but he works behind the scenes embalming, processing, and otherwise preparing the dead for their final party and last ride home. He has a strong stomach—or rather, no stomach at all—and doesn’t get squeamish or emotional about the dead, so that works out. They also let him work nights so he has several long, quiet hours of methodically going through the routine with no (living) humans around to irritate him or vice-versa. Sounds like a good gig to him.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): Yes, still a groundskeeper for the cemetery and loving it. It was something he kind of fell into through his brother, when he didn’t really know what he wanted to do on the Surface, but his brother sends dead humans off to their final resting place and said final resting place was looking for someone to dig holes, mind the grass, keep everything looking neat and nice—and that’s certainly something he can do! He also works nights, being that monsters are almost entirely nocturnal these days, so he’s also an unintentional scarecrow deterrent to teenagers sneaking in late for partying or spooky dares when they see a slim, bony silhouette materialize out of the shadows with a shovel in hand, asking if they’re just visiting or thinking about moving in.…

[official-darkforest]

i am SOOO unbelievably thrilled by your anthro au omg. do you have fashion ideas for the characters? like their favorite outfits, fabrics, etc? imo one of the best parts of anthro characters is deciding how they'd express themselves through their clothing :]

I HAVE A FEW ALREADY!!!! i dont have many specifics because theres so many characters ahd i havent drawn them all yet LOL but i'll share the ones i do have at least SOMETHING for

im also trying to keep these reasonable for the time period and location, as in my au the clan cats are mostly rural and in small towns set (mostly) before the 2000s so most may dress more modest and conservative (especially if theyre older and very religious)

squirrelflight - the best i can describe her sense of fashion is that it ranged from tomboy as a younger girl and is currently closer to a working class butch. im not sure if masc would be a more appropriate term since i dont hc her as a lesbian (shes bi) but she dresses "like a man" and owns a lot of jeans, slacks, and button-up shirts of all kinds of fabrics and patterns. she also enjoys bright colors as well, but as she got older her fashuon sense got a little more sensible and less "loud" like it was in the 60s and 70s. she also has glasses like her daddy once shes like 35 or so. she and firestar dressed very similarly, and a lot of her shirts and neckties are things she stole from his closet

feathertail - very feminine. hippie adjacent, lots of loose and flowing garments and jingly pieces. breatheable clothes and open toed shoes. her favorite swimsuit had some little frilly bits on it i think. often combines neutral earthy tones with blues and whites

crowfeather - lots of handmedowns from his father. clothes you can do farmwork in like jeans, overalls, hardy flannel/denim shirts and boots. never grew out of this and still dresses this way and he likes it

jayfeather - he looks like a modernized (as far as the 80s goes) version of his father - same hairstyle snd way of dress. he isnt too formal but does have some more preppiness to his clothing style (polo shirts and sweaters). he avoids full button downs since buttoning them himself jjust gets frustrating since he cant match them up every time. new wave band shirts. he also wears orange tinted glasses to protect his eyes (in this au i wrote that hes able to perceive shadows and light pretty okay, but not much else beyond that) And Kinda As A Fashion Statement cuz it goes well with his facial structure and hairstyle i think

lionblaze - hes like if the stereotypical jock and stereotypical 80s rock+metal enthusiast had a baby. muscle tees and bandanas, ripped jeans, those absurdly short shorts, crop tops, etc. he's a drummer i think if that matters LOL

ivypool - punk, also sorta like joan jett to an extent. very homemade, tho sometimes she gets lazy and doesnt really commit to the outfits all the way (but definitely has the mindset, dint get me wrong). one of those girls with a chest small enough to go braless 99% of the time; wears a lot of tank tops and sleeveless shirts LOL

bone/brick/scourge - just google "the outsiders movie" or "greaser" and you'll get the idea. tho i imagine these three in particular also have some kind of bare minimum formalwear scraped together from their escapades. theyre kinda like the jetts/sharks from west side story if that helps at all

daisy - she combines flowing, pretty dresses with a sunhat and work boots. she also teaches horseback riding and owns a few (its a business she runs w smokey and floss. i think its be funny if they were polyam ITS MY AU I CAN CHANGE WHAT I WANT) and she has horseback-appropriate clothing as well

poppyfrost - THEE preppy girl of the 80s. big hair, perm and all. dresses with pastel colors. her sisters cinderheart and honeyfern are pretty similar, tho i imagine honeyfern is a little more sporty and cinderheart takes inspiration from madonna once shes trying to court lionblaze

hazeltail - long haired country girl butch. enough said

spottedleaf snd cinderpelt are nuns lol

[monsterblogging]

Fuck JKR: How To Create A Harry Potter-Esque Aesthetic Without Any Harry Potter In It

So I saw a few posts from people mentioning that a reason people might be into Harry Potter is because of the aesthetic or atmosphere, and ya know what? I can't even argue that, because if there's one thing about HP, it's that it Sure Does Have Aesthetic And Atmosphere.

So! I'm gonna tell you how to STEAL ITS LOOK! Because:

JK Rowling considers ANY support of her work to be support of her politics.

Fan content/fan merch is still free advertisement for Rowling's work. YOU might not choose to give her money, but you can't be sure you won't pull people into the fandom who will.

Everyone should create more things that aren't tied to corporate-owned IP, period.

So. Most things in these films have an aged, antique look. You'll see a lot of brown hues, both on sets and on people's clothes. There's a lot of near-blacks (especially charcoals and walnuts) and lighter grays on the sets, especially from the third film onwards. (Wood is more often than not stained dark, while lighter hues are often provided by bricks or plaster.) The last two films use a lot of stormy blues and grays. Prisoner of Azkaban also emphasizes contrast between tones, which heightens a sense of texture. True black also appears throughout the films, such as on students' uniforms and many Death Eaters' outfits, and on the chairs in Malfoy Manor. White appears occasionally, especially on Hedwig, students' shirts, or during winter scenes, but pure white isn't otherwise really common. Paper or parchment is usually warm beige. There's also a lot of silver, gold, and brass, often appearing on things like dishware, tools, trinkets, Christmas baubles, and so forth. Bronze also comes up occasionally.

Reds, yellows, blues, and greens are pretty common throughout the films, even outside of Hogwarts, though you'll see just about every color somewhere. For example, orange is often found around the Weasleys, and orange, maroon, and purple feature in the divination classroom. Teal features prominently in Grimmauld Place (contrasted with saffron yellows).

Most colors aren't really super bright; a lot of the time they look a little faded, or like they're colored with natural dyes. If you use medieval illustrations to source your colors, or aim for earth tones and jewel tones, you'll be about right for a lot of what you see in the films. Bright colors are pretty rare; some of the brights we do see are in Honeydukes, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and certain magical effects, such as Floo fire.

A lot of light is provided by candles, torches, or fireplaces, which cast a warm yellow/orange light. Moonlight is represented by blue light in the first and second films. Blue light is also used for the Goblet of Fire and the penseive.

Another thing you gotta have in there is clutter. It should look kinda antique and give off a kind of magical or mystical atmosphere. Think books, storage jars, orreries, crystal balls, old lamps, antique clocks, vintage glassware, antique mirrors, old teapots, and little metal trinkets. (If you're trying to decorate a physical room, your stuff doesn't have to actually be antique, of course; antique-styled is fine.)

Texture is also very important, which can be represented with full or top grain leather book covers, stone walls, dents and scratches, cracks, embellishments, and embossing. Additionally, all damage and wear gives a sense of oldness to things. Stains and variegated colors also add interest. (If you're decorating a physical space, you might look into aging/distressing/antiquing techniques.)

If you want a space to look cozy, you don't really want bare or blank walls. Shelves, paintings, tapestries, and wallpaper can all help with that. Again, use brown, rather than black. Warm, yellow lighting will also help. If you lean toward blacks and cool lighting, you're going to have a colder-looking space.

Fashion in the wizarding world is extremely all over the place, ranging from stereotypical fantasy witch and wizard clothing, to pretty normal vintage clothing, to some wacky vintage-inspired looks, to the kind of fashion that would be put under the cozycore umbrella, to ordinary modern clothing. One thing that's absent is subculture fashion as we know it. (Bellatrix Lestrange does look kinda goth, but it's less a subculture thing, and more a "yeah we're putting our bad guys in fancy black stuff" thing.)

If you're trying to lean into the whole quirky/eccentric/old-fashioned kinda thing, you'll want to pass over the more modern and obviously synthetic type stuff. Also, patterns, textured fabrics, knits, mixed colors, lace, and other embellishments can add interest to outfits.

Architecture is also all over the place. Hogwarts is pretty medieval, while places like Diagon Alley give more Victorian vibe. The main thing is looking old fashioned and quaint.

To try and summarize all of that:

Browns. Lots and lots and lots of browns. Blacks and grays, too. Contrast between light and dark browns and blacks/grays.

More beige and gray than pure white; more charcoal gray and dark walnut brown than true black.

Among other colors, mostly earth tones and jewel tones. Very limited brights.

Polished metal and glass also add shininess.

Old-fashioned. Vintage. Antique.

Clutter, texture, patterns, variegation. Minimalist/clean aesthetic avoided.

Aged and distressed.

Lighting often yellow/orange due to coming from fire. Blue/teal light often coming from moonlight and certain magical light sources.

Now, here are some things we actually don't see. I'm not mentioning them to discourage you from using them if they're what you really want, but to inform you about them so you can consider whether they might throw off the vibe for you:

Green/purple/black combos.

Purple/silver/black combos. Pink/purple/teal combos.

Pink/black combos.

Orange/black combos.

Green/orange/purple combos.

Red/black combos.

Basically a lot of combos commonly associated with Halloween, witches, or vampires.

Big raw crystals. We see crystal balls now and then, but that's it.

Other natural items used as decorations - feathers, pinecones, sticks, etc. The one exception I can think of are the shells embedded in the walls of Shell Cottage.

Crushed velvet. Lots of fantasy uses this, HP films don't.

If you need inspiration, go look up medieval and renaissance diagrams and illustrations of stuff like the four elements, the zodiac, the solar system, and all that. Go look up alchemical symbols and emblems. Search up pre-WWII vintage ephemera. Go look up Victorian clipart. Look up stuff like botanical, zoological, and astronomical books and art from the 17th-19th centuries. Look up vintage wallpaper and fabric patterns. Look at vintage-style crafts. Research period architecture and fashion. Research European heraldry.

If you're wondering what exactly you're going to design around without Hogwarts and the Four Houses, here are some suggestions:

The four classical elements (earth, air, fire, and water)

The four seasons

Card suits - Tarot, French, whatever you want

Holidays - Halloween, Christmas, whatever

Fairy tales

Flowers

Mythical creatures

Bugs

Birds

Any other animals you like

Ecosystems

Your own original worldbuilding

So yeah, there ya go. You don't need to keep participating in HP to indulge in the aesthetic.

[NOTICE: Anybody who clowns on this post by making this about them and their childhood, patting themselves on the back about their chosen means of "ethical" participation, praising the fandom, or adding any other form of irrelevant bullshit is getting blocked. Also, I don't want to hear about PJO or Earthsea again for the millionth time, either.]

[gothushi]

thinking very heavily about simon so. heres some thoughts/random headcanons

honestly he’s fucking obsessed with you. knows every details about you, your exact route that you walk to go home from work, knows that you wear a certain type/color of jewelry rather than the rest, knows you dislike a certain flower but love another, knows the passcode to your phone, knows exactly what time you leave work every night, yk, simple stuff :)

always has to have a hand on you if he’s near you, on your waist, your arm, your back or your neck, combing over your hair, even in the back pocket of your jeans if you’re wearing denim

if he isn’t near you, say maybe he’s working the bar or stuck by Brendan in the club whilst you’re also there with your friends, he’ll literally keep his eyes on you the entire time. yk that stare he does, the resting psycho face? yeah, that. colored lights flashing and music blaring whilst one of Brendan’s clients chatters on and on but his eyes are only on you from across the room whilst you’re with your friends, never losing sight of you

speaking of Brendan, you slapped him one time when he got into a fight with Simon, and Simon had to drag you down to the bathroom to fuck you right after. Anytime he thinks about your palm hitting Brendans cheek he gets hard

looooves spoiling you. will buy you food, any snacks you want, gets you coffee from the cafe, or sandwiches from the deli. will 100% go shopping with you, even if it’s just for your normal groceries. if it’s in the city for clothes or something he’ll definitely pick out something he thinks you would look pretty in, and insists on buying it for you. same thing with jewelry, one of the first presents he bought you was a pretty necklace of your birthstone

will definitely walk you home from work and then fuck you in one of the alleyways on the way there. hand over your mouth, “shh sweetheart be quiet” pinning you to the rough brick wall in front of you, groaning into your neck, grunting out that he loves you and how good you feel

whenever he tells you that he’s an undercover cop, whether that’s soon after he meets you or months into your relationship, you cry. despite probably not being allowed to, he tells you about Cam, about what Brendan has done, and you weep for him and hold him. he even gets slightly emotional himself, because he doesn’t know how long since he’s been hugged like this and acknowledged, and the fact that you aren’t angry if he did hide it for a while is such a relief

loves lemon bars, and strong coffee. you make the percect cup of coffee for him and it makes him love you even more.

if you’re at chez chez with him, he’ll stare down any guy who flirts with you. like full on angry glares before kissing you deeply right in the crowd, sometimes even making eye contact with the dude whilst kissing you

LOVES letting you ride him. especially if you rest a hand on his neck, kiss hard at his pulse point and he’ll whine, letting you pleasure yourself on him. the fact that it’s you using his body to get off is just so good. his hands will grasp at your hips, on your thighs, blunt nails digging into your skin. (yk the way he was panting the first time Brendan slammed him into the wall and kissed him? yeah. that too.)

also loves marking you. but only in places others can’t see. your thighs, hips, tummy, tits, will probably leave bruises on your hips or legs.

can’t even imagine hurting you, or telling you no. you look up at him with those big puppy eyes and bat your lashes a bit and he instantly gets hard and gives you whatever you want. pray he never gets into an argument with you (which would be rare anyway) because he’ll lose.

will definitely 100% whimper if you mark his neck up. he’s so fucking obsessed with you and having you on him and kissing his neck and leaving physical proof of you just really makes him ache in his jeans

a lot of the time when he spends the night you steal his shirts in the morning, and a lot of the time he ends up fucking you over the kitchen counter because of it.

bites. teeth marks will be on your shoulder for a few hours after you’ve fucked, little indents of his fangs standing out as well

genuinely loves being lazy with you. he’s always so stressed, over the case, Cam, that laying down on the couch to watch a movie with you and share some snacks and also share some chaste little kisses could probably make him cry

cw gun play, bc I have to add it. if you ask nice enough, he’ll unload his gun and keep it against you whilst he fucks you. he couldn’t ever imagine hurting you, but you beg so pretty, and then he discovers that he really likes the way you sob in pleasure when he presses it against your cheek, hips meeting yours hard. but he keeps his finger away from the trigger the entire time