#queue and i walk a fragile line

[lucreziaces]

when lucrezia asks "and when will I marry?" and cesare responds "never if I can help it" through gritted teeth, thinking he means it from the perspective of a protective older brother, but really he means it from the perspective of a possessive lover. "surely it is good to marry, cesare" and instead of agreeing with her, he plants seeds of doubt in her mind about marriage. "as the pope's daughter, you will have every prince of europe vying for your hand," with his pointer finger, he guides her to look at him, "they may care very little for your heart" he says, staring into her eyes, his eyes saying what his mouth does not, that he is the only one who cares for her heart. and then lucrezia reflecting this idea that only they can love each other the way a husband and wife should in 1x03 when she tells him "for I shall never love a husband the way I love you, cesare" WHATTTTT INSANITY I LOVE THEM I WOULD HAPPILY SUFFER IN HELL FOR SHIPPING THEM ONLY INCEST SHIP I WILL THROW ALL MORALS OUT THE WINDOW FOR GODDDDDD THEY ARE EVERYTHING TO ME

[shaiyasstuff]

pretend | zayne

synopsis : In a tale of academic burnout, fried chicken, and poor impulse control, chaos incarnate—that’s you—somehow convinces your emotionally constipated med-student best friend to drink half a beer—which, shockingly, nearly kills him. Queue: slow realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve both been idiots in love this whole time. content : fluff, drunk zayne, i wrote this with absolute zeal in mind, college!au

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands in the air like you just won an Oscar for Most Sleep-Deprived Human Alive.

Across the table, Zayne lifts a brow and smirks—annoyingly composed for someone who just witnessed you spiral through caffeine-fueled thesis chaos.

“I’m finally done,” you announce dramatically, like you just ended a war. “Let’s go out tonight. I need meat on sticks and bad decisions.”

Zayne closes his book with a soft thud, taking off his glasses in that maddeningly slow, deliberate way—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to your blood pressure.

“I pity the skewers who will die by your hand tonight,” he deadpans.

You snort. “I pity you, who’ll have to witness me demolish a six-pack like a college frat bro on a redemption arc.”

It wasn’t a dig. It was a fact.

Zayne doesn’t drink—ever.

You’re convinced his blood is 80% black coffee and quiet judgment.

So, naturally, you’d assigned him the title of Sir Zayne, Protector of Drunk Y/N, a role he never officially accepted but continues to perform with the patience of a long-suffering saint and the sighs of a man who has seen too much.

Honestly? If that’s not love, you don’t know what is.

But you and Zayne never crossed the line.

Not because he didn’t want to—at least, you hoped that was the case—but because you never let it happen.

Courtesy of your own sparkling cocktail of overthinking, self-doubt, and the lingering fear of ruining something good.

Zayne was tall, handsome, smart—the kind of man who made professors nod in approval and grandmothers sigh wistfully.

And you? You were the chaotic best friend with a penchant for questionable snack combos and emotional repression.

You’d watched him grow up beside you, shedding his shy, bookish shell to become the quietly confident man sitting across from you now.

The same man who still gave you his hoodie when you complained about the cold and remembered your coffee order down to the sugar granules.

And sure, you said you loved each other. Threw it around between jokes and “don’t die today” texts.

But it was always buffered by a safe, platonic bubble wrap. You never dared to mean it the way your heart did—aching and wistful, quietly begging for something more.

Because admitting it out loud?

That would change everything.

And some things felt too fragile to risk breaking.

“I’m gonna take one very relaxing shower and meet you there, cool?” you say, slinging your backpack over your shoulder like the protagonist of a teen drama walking off into the sunset—except sweatier and more sleep-deprived.

Zayne gives you a look, all cool and composed as usual. “Don’t make me wait again.”

You gasp, offended. “It was one time!”

But he’s already walking off like he just won that round—he probably did, and you’re left chasing after him, muttering something about false accusations and revisionist history.

Back at your dorm, you kick the door shut with your foot, strip off the layers of thesis-fueled misery, and step into the shower.

The hot water hits your skin, and for the first time in weeks, your shoulders unclench.

Your body, a battlefield of all-nighters, instant noodles, and bad posture, finally starts to forgive you.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t just be about beer and skewers.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d let yourself hope for something more.

You step out into the cool night air, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands and rubbing them together like a gremlin summoning warmth.

The city hums quietly around you—streetlights flickering, distant honks, the occasional bark of a dog that clearly has beef with the moon.

It doesn’t take long to reach the barbecue stall, that familiar greasy heaven you and Zayne have treated like your unofficial therapy spot for years.

And there he is, already seated inside, calm and collected like he hadn’t just been abandoned seventeen minutes ago. Your favorite order of fried chicken sits next to him, still warm.

Because of course it does.

You beam, tapping him on the shoulder before plopping down beside him. “Was I late?”

He doesn’t even look at you. “By 17 minutes, yes.”

You snort, already digging into the chicken like a woman possessed. “Big deal,” you mutter through a mouthful of food, completely unapologetic.

Zayne simply shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching in the ghost of a smile.

You were chaos, and somehow, he always made room for it.

“So, what are your grand post-thesis plans, Doctor Zayne?” you ask, popping open a can with a dramatic pshhht that echoes like a battle cry into the night.

Zayne glances at you, then at the can in your hand like it personally offended his morals. “Hopefully not babysitting a tipsy gremlin.”

You raise your can in mock salute. “Too late. You signed up for this the day you let me copy your homework in seventh grade.”

He exhales through his nose, which is Zayne-speak for you’re unbearable, but I’ve made peace with it. “I’m thinking of applying for that research position at the hospital. Maybe specialize in cardiac surgery.”

You pause mid-sip, impressed. “Heart guy, huh? Makes sense. You’ve already stolen mine.”

He gives you a slow, pointed look.

You grin. “Kidding. Kind of.”

He doesn’t reply, just leans back and sips his coffee—the man’s choice of poison—and you wonder, just for a second, if maybe your heart wasn’t the only one on the table tonight.

Who were you kidding? Of course it isn’t.

If there was anything Zayne was good at—aside from saving lives, surviving on black coffee, and giving you judgmental looks—it was being honest. Blunt, even.

The guy didn’t know how to sugarcoat if his life depended on it.

So if he felt anything beyond friendship, he would’ve said something… right?

He wouldn’t just sit across from you night after night, remembering your order, walking you home, and quietly watching over you like some emotionally constipated guardian angel—unless it really was just friendship.

Right?

You shove another piece of chicken into your mouth, suddenly feeling very attacked by your own thoughts.

Maybe you were reading too much into it.

Maybe the long stares and rare half-smiles meant nothing.

Maybe he looked at everyone like that.

…Or maybe he didn’t.

But knowing Zayne?

If he wanted something more, he would’ve told you.

And that’s the part that hurts the most.

You finish your chicken in record time, like a seasoned warrior who’s trained her whole life for this exact moment.

Zayne watches you with the mild horror of someone witnessing a natural disaster unfold in slow motion.

“With all that grease you eat,” he scoffs, sipping his drink with far too much elegance, “it’s a wonder you’re still so thin.”

You wipe your mouth with a napkin and flash him a smug, greasy-lipped grin. “Courtesy of late-night study marathons and crippling stress. Better than any diet plan.”

He shakes his head, muttering something about clogged arteries and self-destruction, but the corners of his mouth twitch in that way that tells you he’s more amused than annoyed.

You lean back, arms stretched, feeling the food coma start to settle in. The air between you buzzes with something unspoken—comfortable, familiar, and maybe just a little tragic.

Like always.

You take a long sip from your beer can, eyes narrowing playfully at him over the rim. “You know, you should really start seeing someone.”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. He just turns his head, gives you that pointed, deadpan look—the one that says I’m humoring you, but only barely. “I am perfectly fine, single.”

You snort. “Yeah, perfectly fine sitting alone in your apartment reading medical journals and judging me for my life choices.”

He raises a brow. “Someone has to.”

You laugh, nudging his leg under the table. “Seriously, though. You’re handsome, smart, stable. Tragic levels of emotionally unavailable, but that’s practically a dating app requirement these days.”

Zayne doesn’t respond right away. Just takes a calm sip of his coffee, gaze lingering on you a second too long.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right kind of chaos,” he murmurs.

And just like that, you forget how to breathe.

You quickly look away, composing yourself with the grace of someone pretending not to be internally combusting.

The heat crawling up your neck? Yeah, definitely the alcohol. Totally not because of that look or that line.

You take another sip, stalling. “Seriously? I always thought you’d go for the quiet, put-together type. You know, the kind who alphabetizes her spice rack and drinks herbal tea.”

Zayne hums, eyes still on you. “I already have enough order in my life. Why would I want more of that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “So… chaos is the goal?”

He tilts his head slightly, a rare glint of mischief in his gaze. “Not chaos. Just… someone who makes life feel a little less dull. Someone who challenges me. Keeps me on my toes.”

You let out a breathy laugh, unsure if it’s the beer, the tension, or just him.

“Sounds exhausting,” you mutter.

He smiles. “Not if it’s the right person.”

And suddenly, you’re not so sure you can blame the warmth in your chest on the alcohol anymore.

You push all your thoughts aside—shove them into that dark mental closet labeled Feelings: Do Not Open.

With a practiced grin, you raise your can in mock toast. “Well, be sure to send me an invitation to the wedding,” you quip, voice light, smile lighter.

For someone who lives and breathes chaos, you’ve gotten remarkably good at pretending things don’t get to you.

Zayne just smirks, as if he sees right through the performance. And then—without a word—he reaches for a can of beer.

Pop.

The sound cuts through the air like a record scratch. You freeze, staring at him like he just broke the laws of physics.

“Wait, are you—what—you’re drinking?”

He shrugs, raising the can to his lips. “It’s just one.”

You gape. “You’ve lectured me for years about alcohol rotting brains.”

He glances at you, his voice calm. “Maybe I just needed a reason.”

And this time, it’s not just your cheeks that feel warm. It’s everything.

You cough, almost choking on your drink. “Are you sure?”

Zayne glances at the can in his hand, then back at you with that maddeningly unreadable expression. “What, afraid I’ll lose my sense of control?”

You blink. “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Who are you and what have you done with ‘water-only’ Zayne?”

He takes a slow sip, completely unfazed. “It’s just beer.”

“You say that like I didn’t once watch you refuse soda because it had too many bubbles.”

He shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Or maybe you’re trying to impress someone.”

He doesn’t answer. Just leans back in his seat, eyes still on you—calm, unreadable, dangerous in the way that makes your heart skip.

And now you’re the one who needs another drink.

Soon enough, Zayne learns the harsh truth of his choices.

Because not even halfway through the can, the damage is done—his face flushed a deep, telltale red, his breath coming in shallow little huffs like he’s just walked through a wind tunnel.

You glance over at him mid-sip, eyebrows shooting up.

“…You good?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice stiff and defensive—classic Zayne—but he’s blinking too much, his back too straight, like he’s focusing really, really hard on staying upright.

You stare. “You’ve had half a can.”

He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of his shirt as if the night air suddenly turned tropical. “I didn’t eat much today,” he mutters, clearly struggling to save face. “Also, the ground feels… uneven.”

You nearly snort beer up your nose. “The ground is fine. You are uneven.”

His glare is valiant, but his ears are glowing, and he’s gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth.

“I told you this would happen,” you say, half-concerned, half-delighted. “You’re like a lightweight legend.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his flushed face. “Remind me never to do this again.”

You lean your cheek into your palm, grinning. “Remind me to never let you not do this again.”

He exhales sharply—half sigh, half chuckle—and despite the mess he’s in, there’s still that look in his eyes.

Soft. Open. A little reckless.

And God help you, it suits him.

The night carries on, as nights with you usually do—spiraling steadily into chaos.

One of your many bad decisions includes convincing Zayne to finish the rest of that cursed can. He protests, of course—weakly, half-heartedly, with the conviction of a man who already knows he’s lost.

“I really shouldn’t—”

“Just a little more,” you grin, shoving it toward him like it’s a dare and not a crime against his entire system.

He sighs, long and resigned, then tips the can back with the tragic acceptance of someone walking into a trap they dug themselves.

Moments later, he’s slumped over the table, forehead resting on his arm, a soft groan escaping him. “I think I’m dying.”

You? You’re no help.

You’re already tipsy, which means your moral compass has long since clocked out. You’re doubled over with laughter, wheezing uncontrollably at the sight of composed, stoic, impossible-to-rattle Zayne looking one sip away from meeting God.

“You look like a Victorian lady with the vapors,” you cackle.

“I hate you,” he mumbles into the table.

“This is love,” you giggle, nearly falling off your stool.

And despite the headache he’ll definitely have tomorrow, he doesn’t argue. Not really.

After a few more cans—questionable choices all around—you find yourself leaning back in your seat, finishing the last of your skewers with drunken determination.

The stall’s almost empty now, the night stretching quiet and still around you, save for the low hum of streetlights and the occasional car passing by.

Zayne, meanwhile, is completely knocked out beside you.

Head lolled to the side, glasses tucked away somewhere, lips parted slightly as he breathes slow and deep.

His usually sharp features are softened, flushed, and peaceful in a way that makes your chest squeeze a little too tightly.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked cute like this.

But you do know better, so you just shake your head and smirk at the very real mess you helped create.

Tossing the empty skewer stick aside, you slide off your seat with a wobble, then crouch beside him.

You nudge his shoulder gently. “Come on, let’s go,” you whisper, voice low, a little fond, a little guilty.

He doesn’t budge.

Just lets out a tiny groan, eyelids fluttering like he’s having an incredibly dramatic dream about betrayal and liver damage.

You sigh, laughing under your breath. “This is what I get for enabling you, huh?”

Still, you loop an arm under his and begin to help him up—because even if he’s heavier than you remember and absolutely no help at all, he’s still your idiot to carry home.

And for once, he lets you.

You somehow manage to haul him upright—well, half-upright—his arm slung over your shoulders as he leans most of his weight on you.

He mumbles something incoherent against your hair, something that sounds like “never again” but could also be “chicken skewers are evil.” Hard to tell.

His dorm’s way too far, and in his current state, he’d probably collapse somewhere tragic and inconvenient—like the middle of the sidewalk or a bush with questionable origins.

So, you make the executive decision.

“My place it is,” you mutter, shifting his weight and starting the slow, awkward shuffle back toward your dorm.

He stumbles once or twice, groaning like a disgruntled old man, and you stifle a laugh.

“This is karma,” you tell him, breathless from both the effort and the ridiculousness of it all. “For every time you judged my life choices.”

He doesn’t respond, just leans more heavily into you—like he knows you’ll carry him anyway.

And you do.

Step by step, wordlessly and willingly, until your dorm door finally clicks open and you ease him inside, one breath, one stubborn heartbeat at a time.

You finally manage to plop him down onto your bed with the grace of someone who’s done this exact thing zero times and is running purely on muscle memory and spite.

Zayne flops back like a ragdoll, one arm splayed dramatically over his eyes, as if the sheer emotional weight of the night has bested him.

You shake your head, chest heaving, cheeks still warm from your own drinks. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Crossing the room, you grab your water bottle—your trusty, slightly dented savior—and take several deep gulps yourself before crouching at the edge of the bed.

Then, without thinking twice, you press it gently to his lips.

“Here,” you say, voice softer now. “It’ll help you feel better.”

Zayne makes a vague, pitiful noise. But he drinks, eyes still closed, brows faintly scrunched like he’s never tasted water before in his life.

You hold it steady, watching him carefully, your expression torn between amused and quietly tender.

It’s such a stupid, intimate moment.

And somehow, it feels like more than it should.

To your horror, he downs the entire bottle. Every last drop.

“Hey—hey! That’s mine!” you protest, trying to pry it from his hands, but Zayne holds it like a lifeline, drinking until it gives a dramatic little hollow gulp at the end.

He sets it down with an exaggerated sigh, flopping back against your pillows like he just climbed a mountain.

“You have legs,” you grumble, snatching the empty bottle. “The water dispenser is literally down the hall.”

“It’s too far,” he mumbles, eyes closed again. “Your bed is nice. I’m dying. Let me die hydrated.”

You roll your eyes, turning to set the bottle aside—and then pause when you feel the weight shift beside you.

Zayne suddenly sits up.

You glance over and freeze. He’s staring at you.

Not blinking. Not swaying. Just… staring.

A little too intently. A little too seriously.

“…What?” you squeak, completely thrown.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just keeps looking at you like you’ve said something outrageous.

Or like he just realized something important.

And suddenly, the room feels a little too quiet.

A little too close.

He stares into your eyes, and for a moment, everything else fades—the buzz of alcohol, the low hum of the city outside, even the dull ache in your limbs.

Then, slowly, his hands reach out and grasp your arms—not rough, not urgent, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. Before you can say a word, he pulls himself to his feet, swaying just slightly, and starts walking.

Pushing you back with each quiet, deliberate step.

You move without thinking, heart hammering in your chest as your knees bump into the edge of your desk.

You’re trapped between the wood at your back and the look in his eyes—sharp, unreadable, burning through the haze of the night.

“Zayne…” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re warning him or yourself.

He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, too close, the heat of him bleeding into your skin, his hands still lingering on your arms like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

And in that moment, you swear the entire world narrows to the space between you.

And whether it’s the alcohol or the truth breaking free—

You can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Uhm… are you okay?” you ask, your voice uncertain, breath catching in your throat as you stare up at him.

Zayne shakes his head, just once. “No.”

You blink, concern flaring. “What’s wro—”

But you don’t get to finish.

He closes the distance between you in a heartbeat, hands moving to cradle your face as his lips crash against yours.

It’s not soft. Not hesitant.

It’s hungry.

Like he’s been holding it back for far too long. Like something inside him finally snapped loose.

Your back presses harder against the desk as he leans in, kissing you like he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he doesn’t take all of it now.

And for a second—just a second—you forget everything else.

The drinks. The laughter. The years of pretending.

All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours and the staggering, undeniable truth of it.

His lips crash into yours before you can even finish your sentence—urgent, messy, filled with too much longing and too little clarity. It catches you off guard, your breath stolen, your thoughts scattering like the loose papers on your desk.

At first, you freeze.

Then your hands move to his chest, trying to push him back. “Zayne—wait—”

But he’s already pulling you closer, an arm slipping around your waist, the other sweeping across your desk in one rushed, careless motion—books, pens, everything clattering to the floor.

He grabs your hips and lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the desk like it’s instinct, like he’s done this a thousand times in his head.

“Zayne, stop!” you protest, voice sharp now, your palms pressed firmly against him.

And just like that, he halts—everything in him going still.

His breath is ragged, face flushed, eyes wide with a dawning realization as he looks at you—really looks.

Silence stretches between you.

Then he slowly steps back, as if waking from something he didn’t mean to fall into.

“…I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, shaken. “I shouldn’t have—”

You don’t answer right away. You’re still catching your breath, still feeling the echo of what just happened.

Because part of you is furious.

And part of you is trembling.

And somewhere, buried beneath it all, part of you wanted it.

But not like this.

Not drunk.

Not blurred.

And certainly not like something he’ll regret in the morning.

You try to steady the shaking in your voice, the racing in your chest, and force out a laugh—thin, awkward, strained.

“See?” you say, trying to make light of it, to patch over the tension like you always do. “This is exactly why you should get a girlfriend. Someone to… I don’t know, handle all that bottled-up intensity.”

But he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away.

Instead, his gaze sharpens—sober, unwavering, cutting right through your joke like it never existed.

“I don’t want one,” he says.

Simple. Final.

The room falls quiet again. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expect.

Your smile fades a little, the humor faltering on your lips. “Then what do you want?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

But his eyes never leave yours.

And that silence says more than words ever could.

“I want you,” he says quietly, each word deliberate, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

His eyes stay locked on yours as he takes a step closer.

“Only you.”

Your breath catches—completely, helplessly.

There’s no teasing in his tone, no drunken slur, no hesitation.

Just the raw, unfiltered truth of it. It lands in your chest like a drop of ink in water, spreading fast and uncontrollably.

You should say something. Anything.

But your voice is gone, swallowed by the weight of his words and the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re the only thing in the world worth reaching for.

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that he didn’t feel this. That he couldn’t.

But now?

He’s standing in front of you like he’s known all along.

And like he’s finally tired of pretending he doesn’t.

You open your mouth, stammering, grasping for something logical to say—anything to bring the air back into your lungs, to slow your racing heart.

“Zayne, you’re—this is just the alcohol talking, you don’t mean—”

But he cuts you off, his voice low and steady.

“I’m done pretending.”

The words hit you like a sudden shift in gravity.

There’s no hesitation in him now.

No trace of the usual restraint he always wore like armor. He’s standing there—bare, honest, and dangerously close.

You search his face for some sign of doubt, some crack you can cling to. But there’s nothing.

Just the truth laid out between you, heavy and real.

And your heart doesn’t know whether to run or leap.

“I don’t want this to happen just because you’re drunk,” you whisper, barely able to look at him.

It comes out softer than you mean it to—fragile, almost trembling—because beneath all the banter, beneath all the years of pretending, you’ve always been afraid of this exact moment.

Of wanting it too much and it not being real.

Zayne’s expression doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens—his gaze steady, clear, unwavering.

“I’m not drunk enough to forget this,” he says quietly. “And definitely not drunk enough to lie.”

You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you don’t see the walls he always kept between you. They’re gone. Just like that.

What’s left is him.

And the truth you’d both been trying so hard not to touch.

His hand reaches up, fingers brushing against your skin as he gently tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His touch is careful—soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

“It’s hard to see you trying to push me away,” he says, voice low and raw. “All the time.”

Your eyes widen, guilt and surprise rushing in at once. “I just thought…”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your lips, eyes searching yours like he’s waiting for you to see what he’s been trying to show you all along.

“No more thinking,” he murmurs.

Then he kisses you again—but this time, it’s slow.

Careful. Like he’s trying to tell you everything he couldn’t say with words.

And when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His forehead rests against yours, the space between you now completely, irreversibly gone.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “about earlier.”

A pause.

“But I’m not sorry for this.”

And just like that, you close your eyes and let it all fall away—the fear, the doubt, the need to overthink every moment.

Because for once, the truth is simple.

He’s here.

He chose you.

And despite everything you tried to convince yourself, despite all the ways you kept your heart guarded—you want him too.

You exhale, slow and shaky, forehead still pressed to his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.

No more pretending.

No more running.

You let yourself fall—not blindly, but willingly. Into him.

Into this.

Into whatever comes next.

masterlist

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

Hannibal? Meeting Mads at RDC6

Following on from meeting Hugh in Boston and gifting him a copy of Adapt. Evolve. Become: The Genderqueer Fandom of NBC's Hannibal, I wanted to gift a copy to Mads.

No disrespect to Mads, but I wasn't expecting (and didn't get) the same sort of interaction I had with Hugh. I've met Mads at many cons before, including one in 2018 right before I had top surgery where I had a lovely chat with him about queer and trans Fannibals.

But I've noticed over the years, including from accounts of other Fannibals too, that he's become much more guarded in his conversations. Which is fair, his star has been forever on the rise and he's been working for bigger studios and properties. But as a trans person, I am always very cautious when people become much less vocal about something they previously seemed to support - though I do acknowledge that some people just don't want to get dragged into what they see as a volatile issue. And I knew, given how much more stoic he's become, and the time limitations of signings at cons, that this would be the case regardless of his personal point of view.

Also (and I've mentioned this before in posts about his answers on con panels), Mads has a habit of just saying what he thinks people want to hear, and what will get the biggest reaction - he's a master at fanservice. Which even includes repeating the same stories (Fragile Little Teacup for example). Which again, is not a criticism, but an observation and another reason why I was pretty nervous about meeting him again. And that was BEFORE a couple of different Fannibals approached me with concerns that some of the things he'd said at RDC6 hinted that he might be making a movie that may include a trans character in an unflattering way. (I'm still on the fence about whether that was his meaning, but I'm glad I'm already pretty emotionally divorced from him since he did FB).

ANYWAY! I had talked with the fantastic wholeanddeadly before the event and we agreed on getting his brilliant "F**k transphobia Grindelwald" art print signed in order to auction it for trans charity (in fact we ended up getting two!). As we knew in advance we would be doing this, I wanted to let Mads know, because I don't feel right auctioning something without someone's knowledge if we had already made that plan.

So, this is what happened:

I was maybe third of forth in the queue (which was huge), so this was going to be a whistle stop and I'd thought carefully how to frame it and use my words wisely. So I walked up and he said "Hello, Sir!"

Which, thanks! (always love getting correctly gendered!)

I asked "May I give you a gift", and he said "Yes, of course!"

Whilst I was getting the book out of my back I told him that I met him in 2018 right before I had gender affirming surgery and he was very kind to me. His response was along the lines of "Oh yeah?"

I continued to tell him that since then, I have been involved a lot with of the trans and non-binary Fannibals and we made this book because of what the show means to us. He took it and flicked through and stopped at some of the art and admired it. He asked if it was just about Hannibal, and I said yes because I totally blanked in the moment, so the HEU stuff will be a nice surprise for him, lol.

Then the art print got passed over by his helper and I said I didn't want him to personalise the photo as I wanted to auction it to a charity that supports trans youth if he's OK with that. And he replied "you can do anything you like with it, man." I said thanks, and we were all done.

Whilst on the surface this was all good, I was definitely struck by the difference between this and times I'd met him before (especially in 2018). And perhaps it was just down to him being more guarded, but it felt very... standoffish. Which is fine, it is what it is.

The funniest thing is that Mads often signs the characters name on the things he signs, and the one we already had signed the day before via a friend, he didn't put the character name on it. On the one he signed for me, he did: Hannibal.

I saw him hesitate part way through signing the name but it just made me chuckle at the potential that this character meant so little to him he didn't recall his name and then the next day confused him for another character - Trans Rights Wizard Hannibal!

Anyway. I hope he reads the book. I hope he gets something out of it. I hope he's not making a transphobic movie.

And I hope you'll all check out @transhanniday on here (and on Twitter), where the two signed prints and some other bits will be going up for auction soon! The proceeds will be going to UK trans youth charity Mermaids, the same charity that Deadly supported with his original art prints.

[ad0rechuu]

★ MILKY WAY. ━━ (025) kang pompompurin

WORD COUNT. 1384

WARNINGS. hate comments and hints at anxiety

credits to @ari-shipping-stuff for being my beta reader / writer <33

YOU JUST DECIDED THAT THIS WAS THE LAST TIME YOU PLAYED ROCK PAPER SCISSORS WITH YOUR MEMBERS.

You scan your surroundings carefully, eyes moving from the paper in your hand to the sign plastered on the building in front of you. It’s exactly the same as the one that Seulgi had shown you before you left.

‘Hanuelsan.’

You adjust your headphones and step inside without much thought, repeating the words you had to say to the cashier in your head.

As you joined the short queue, you finally look around. It isn't busy inside the small cafe as it's close to dinner time. The day was coming to an end for most. But for people like you, it had only just begun. You were kind of grateful that you had to wear a mask and disguise in public; the dark circles underneath your eyes aren't the most appealing to your fans.

Before you know it, it's your turn in line. You lower the volume on your headphones and make eye contact with a girl. She regards you politely, greeting you with a pretty smile.

“Hello, I’m here to pick up an order for.. Kang Pompompurin—?!” You pause abruptly and try to regain your composure. But your voice only gets quieter the more you spoke as the embarrassment settles in. “..Yes. I’m here to pick up an order placed by, uhm.. Kang Pompompurin.”

Out of all the names to choose, she just had to use the one of her favorite Sanrio character.

If the cashier feels your embarrassment, she does a good job at hiding it. She nods and checks something on the cash register in front of her.

“Your order will be ready shortly. Please feel free to take a seat while you wait.”

You thank her and walk to a seat in front of the window, closest to the register. It's peaceful, a feeling you aren’t really used to.

Opening your phone you look trough social media. Specifically, the comments underneath your and Fatou’s new cover.

There are so many encouraging ones from people that support you and STAR, but the ones that stand out to you the most are the rude ones— the comments that tell you how bad you are at everything and that you should just quit or worse.

What if they are right? What if you really make your members and everyone else you associate with look bad? What if you are really that horrible to hear and look at? What if all those shooting stars only like you out of pity? What if—

“Order for Kang Pompompurin?” An employee calls out.

The sound of his voice interrupts the black hole your own thoughts dragged you into. You quickly stand up and make your way to the counter.

You nod along as he reads up your order, before noting the soft, mischievous sound of it with a small smile.

As he asks if the order is correct, you finally make eye contact. The confirmation in the back of your throat dies when you find yourself greeted by a familiar face.

The sharp eyes, well-shaped nose, and wide shoulders make him look like some sort of hidden Greek— well, Korean god. But the soft dimple and freckles lining his neck make him look so damn adorable. It’s a sight you’ve only ever seen in pictures before.

“San?”

His eyes widen at his name being called. You remove your headphones and pull the hood of your jacket down, as well as your mask.

Shock doesn’t leave his features but a childlike excitement joins when he gets a good look at your face. But it quickly gets replaced by concern as he reaches for your wrist over the counter, eyes darting around frantically. He pulls you closer and uses both of his hands to pull your hood back over your head. His movements are delicate, like you’re the most fragile thing on this earth.

A slightly red hue covers his cheeks when he realizes what he just did. He clears his throat and hands you your bag.

“S-So you were Kang Pompompurin. I was wondering why it sounded so familiar.”

You let out an angelic laugh that has the boy in front of you in a trance. “Seulgi ordered it. But I’m so surprised to see you here, dude.”

“Yeah, me too. I work here, my parents own this place.” He gestures to the whole cafe, which made you look around with much interest. He then points towards the pretty cashier from earlier, now busy in conversation with one of the other customers. “And that’s my sister.”

Your gaze finds its way back to San, your mouth slightly agape. “That’s so cool! I had no idea.”

He brings a hand to his nape, seemingly deep in thought. “You were actually my last customer for today. I-If you have time, would you consider having some coffee or boba or whatever you like with me maybe?

“It’s on the house of course!” He adds.

“You don’t have to do that, but yeah I’d love to.”

AFTER NOTIFYING YOUR members that you would be late, you two sit down at your previous spot in front of the window.

Time with San goes fast. He's exactly like you expected. Maybe a little shy but still really fun to talk to. It actually makes you sad that you hadn’t met him earlier in your life.

“And I loved your cover with Fatou, did you guys film it yourself?” He asks.

You nod. It feels weird having his full attention on you. You were used to being the most controversial member and people are usually more interested in what your members were up to rather than your words. Not that you mind, but it doesn't feel that way with San. He asks you questions and listens to your answers in rapt attention.

It feels… nice?

“Yeah, we did. You would be surprised how many times I embarrassed myself in public for my parts.” You reply, earning a laugh from him as you sip your drink of choice (which he refused to let you pay for).

You absentmindedly look at the big clock hanging on one of the walls. Your eyes widen as you catch a glimpse of the time. You're nearly late for evening practice.

San notices your bittersweet expression when you faced him, making his heart speed up a bit.

“I think I should go, I’m late for practice and the managers will be on my ass if they find out that I’m out alone when it’s nearly dark.”

The way he looks up at you as you stood made your heart hurt. The boy looks something like a kicked puppy (or kitty rather). Nonetheless, he nods and stands along with you.

“Would you like me to walk you back?”

“What way are you going?”

He points to the opposite direction of the way back to the company in response.

“No, thank you. I have to go the opposite way.”

You chuckle as he pouts at you. This guy truly doesn't know how much just talking to him made your day.

You take a step closer to the boy. “Can I give you a hug before I leave?” You ask, not wanting him to be uncomfortable.

San nearly chokes on air, but as nods frantically, like the moment was going to fade if he doesn't answer quick enough.

“Y-yes! Yeah, sure.” He awkwardly laughs.

You waste no time and move to embrace him. All the while, he timidly put his arms above your waist with a weak grip. You feel the warmth of his cheeks with the proximity in which you two stand by each other.

It lasts maybe less than 10 seconds, but San could barely contain his happiness, even as you two separated.

You grab your bag, leaving the flustered boy standing there. When you reach the door, you turn around one more time to wave and flash a hidden smile at him.

“It was really nice to have finally met you, San! You’re indeed very cute.”

As the chilly air outside reaches you once more, you make sure to remember the name of this cafe.

Because you have a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time you’d visit HanuelSan.

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NOTES. first written chapter i hope u enjoy it and please comment what u thought because i feel really self conscious about this one !! btw if u don’t get the get the kang pompompurin thing is a nod to seulgis priv twt username

TAGLIST. @bunnystrm @seongwin @aestheticsluut @meginthebuilding27 @gaebestie @stopeatread @pr1ncessm1ng1 @persphonesorchid @se0nghwaswife @seonghwasslytherin @leeknowsnothing @alixnsuperstxr @bluehwale-main @miriamxsworld @tocupid @lvsmeph @sunoo-bby @jcngh0-hq @dudufodd @nikisbf @mrowwww @end0rchans @qtdenks @mintgki @dear-dreamie @leo-seonghwa @legohwas @evilsailorsenshi @seonghwaddict @choichaeyiul @iw4milf @yunstarz @cvberidiot

[loveisaruthless]

Hi ok I feel like this is gonna sound really weird but I feel like I see that “queue and I walk a fragile line” tag all the time and I’m so curious as to why people tag that and I’ve seen you use it a decent amount so I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind explaining?

i think a lot people will tag their queues to separate from when they are online, at least that's what i do it for! and then i just used taylor's lyric as a play on words as i've seen other taylor blogs do as well! if that answers your question haha!

[rafor]

Chapter 14 - At the gates - The Glitch

I felt a surge of urgency. I had to get moving before nightfall. I vaguely recalled having wings before I arrived here, but they are gone now. I no longer felt like a divine being in the afterlife. I felt like a reborn human. Fragile and ordinary. Perhaps it was foolish to try to use my wings in this unfamiliar place, where other flying creatures could spot me and intercept me. I decided to stay on the ground and look for the gates. There had to be one somewhere.

I walked along the wall, keeping a safe distance from it, and scanned the surroundings for an opening. After a while, I spotted it. There was a gate guarded by several dragons of different sizes and colors, as well as a few griffins. They seemed to be merchants, waiting in a short queue to enter the city. I joined them at the end of the line. I was silent, out of place, and different from everyone else. The griffin and a dragon in front of me noticed me. They gave me a quick glance, then looked away. They whispered to each other, speculating about who I was. I could hear them say things like, “Have you ever seen that?” “No, but it looks cute.” I felt embarrassed by their comments until the griffin turned around and said, “Good day, I’m Nala. Nice to meet you.” She sounded friendly, but I was caught off guard by her sudden introduction. I replied politely, “Nice to meet you too, Nala. I’m Raphael.” I didn’t ask her anything else. I just stated my name. The dragon next to her also turned to face me and said, “Hi Raphael, I’m Razel. Are you an ape?” The griffin slapped him with one of her paws and said, “No, he’s not. He doesn’t have a tail. Please excuse my friend here. Anyway, what are you?” I felt offended by his question, but I answered calmly, “I’m a human. I guess you’ve never seen one before.” Nala said, “Oh, wow, a new kind of creature. I’ve never seen a human before. Are all humans so small?” I sighed inwardly and said, “I’m average height for a human. There are some taller than me, but that’s not important right now.” She apologized, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just curious.” I said, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Can I ask you what you are?” They said, “Isn’t it obvious?” I apologized, “Sorry, you are a griffin and you’re a dragon, right?” They said, “Yes, but not just any griffin or dragon. I’m a fire griffin.” “And I’m a wind dragon from the kingdom of the Whispering Wind, domain of Queen Freya.” I had never heard of these kingdoms before since I was new here, so I wanted to ask them more about them. But before I could do that, someone at the gate pointed at me and ordered something. Suddenly, two guards came over and grabbed me. One of them said, “You have to come with us.” I wondered how many knew about my arrival besides Zeno. The guards dragged me past the gate and brought me to a dragon with a paper list in his hand. He asked me my name. He seemed to already know it somehow. As soon as I said “Raphael”, he nodded to the guards and said, “It’s him. Bring him to them.” I had no idea who he meant by them, but they must have been someone of importance. We walked through the city for a long time. The guards didn’t offer to fly me there, and I didn’t dare to ask for it either. The city was old, large, and crowded with dragons of all kinds. Some of them looked at me with curiosity or suspicion. They probably had never seen a human either. It made me feel uncomfortable and exposed.

We reached a section of the city that was enclosed by another wall. Inside, there were more buildings than living beings. Elegant buildings that seemed more decorative than functional. One of them was a temple, where the guards took me inside and told me to wait until they called me in. Alone again in an empty building with walls covered with symbols and strange writings that made no sense to me, I waited as instructed. I had no choice or power in this situation. I didn’t want to mess up anything so soon after arriving here, so I followed every order as best as I could.

[treacherous-rep]

Much has changed since I was on tumblr regularly— I have 3 kids now. THREE. Technically two of them are twins, so I only had to do the whole birth thing twice but still. I’ve obviously listened to the albums that have come out since then, but they’ve evolved into melodies hummed under my breath while I rock my babies to sleep, music videos put on the TV in the living room for dance parties with my oldest. Life is in a new season but I’m enjoying it so much. I love Midnights, and I’m so proud of our girl and how much she’s accomplished. And no, I didn’t get tickets during the Great War 😅

[treacherous-rep]

My poor heart

taylor welcoming the crowd to her headlining tours through the years

[belphies-cuhm-sluht]

Request!! I think this is in the lines of parenting but having a kid with lucifer 👉🏼👈🏼 I love him I’m such a simp

Pairing these two together because they’re pretty much the same thing. Thank you for requesting! 

First Born (Lucifer x F!Reader)

WARNING : (Pregnancy, Babies, Children)

 A child!? A baby?! You want one of those… those things? They’re messy and irritating and they have absolutely no use to him. Why? Why would you want to do that to yourself, why would you want to do that to him? Are his brothers not enough like children already? Go take care of one of them, they’ll gladly keep you busy with their child-like behavior, and you won’t even have to ask. Better yet, you could take care of Cerberus if you want to be motherly and nurture something. Please, be his guest. That’s one less thing that he’d have to jam pack into his daily schedule. 

“It’s not for those reasons, Lucifer. I want a child with you, it’ll bring us closer. Don’t you think?” Was that a legitimate question that you’d like the answer to, because he was quite sure that you wouldn’t like what he had to say. He didn’t want to actually hurt your feelings, that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of him, and he prided himself in being one of the more gentlemanly of his brothers, so he just shook his head, burying his face back in the work stack that Lord Diavolo had given him. If he just ignored you, you would leave and give up on the topic, that’s what usually worked with Mammon. What he wasn’t expecting was what you’d say next as you stood up from the chair, still smiling to yourself. “Well, I guess it’s too late to ask those questions anyway.” 

What was that supposed to mean? His head snapped up from his desk, watching as you walked toward the door. Too late to ask those questions? He shook his head, grumbling to you as you reached the door. “That’s not very funny, Y/N. I don’t take jokes like that lightly.” He didn’t, it wasn’t something that you shouldn’t joke about, and he didn’t need that kind of stress when he was surrounded by it on the daily anyway, he thought you’d have enough common sense to respect that. 

It wasn’t a joke though, and he found that out a month later. Yes, you had been telling him over and over that you weren’t joking at all, but of course, he didn’t want to believe it. The thought of a child repulsed him, it made him gag. What use would a child be to him, other than taking away the already sparse time that he had with you. They would be of no use at all, only a hindrance in your relationship. 

You hadn’t gotten that god forsaken monthly waterfall of blood, and at first he thought that he had just miscalculated… but you usually got it at the same time every month. You weren’t complaining about cramps or the usual things that seemed to bother you, and unbeknownst to you, annoy the hell out of him. Now you were just… emotional? He didn’t understand it, not at all. It’s not that he knew nothing about women, he knew the basics, but this was all new to him. 

When you had run into his office crying at one point, he was ready to kill someone. Who had hurt you? He’d handle them immediately. “I saw a picture of a kitten and it was just so cute!” Then you started sobbing, and… what the hell is your problem? Why are you crying so hysterically over a kitten? It’s an animal, what? Did you want one? Would that make you feel better? He doesn’t understand. Please explain to him what is going on. His eyes watched with nothing but confusion as you wiped your tears, smiling softly up at him and shaking your head. “Sorry about that. I’ll go.” And you did. You left just as quickly as you had entered, as if none of that had happened. You were giving him emotional whiplash. 

He tried to find excuses for literally everything, and most things he could find excuses for. Not getting your period? It was just your body changing in reaction to the Devildom, he read that sometimes that happens, bodies change when they’re in a different setting or what not. You crying over almost anything and pretty much everything? Hormones are strange, women are strange emotional beings. Maybe you just like to cry a lot? Or maybe you just miss home and you’re crying about that and blaming it on other things. 

Everything had a reason, everything had a logical explanation that pointed to everything but… pregnancy. That couldn’t happen, not just because he didn’t want it to happen, but because it just wasn’t biologically possible. Your bodies were two completely different things, different beings. It shouldn’t have happened. What he couldn’t find a reason for though was the now constant puking that seemed to hit you every day, the same time of day as if it was following its own schedule. Were you ill? No. Were you running a fever? No. Had you eaten something that had gone bad? No. What was wrong with you then? By the fifth day worry had set in. Was it a reaction to the Devildom? Had something happened? It had to be something, something that didn’t involve procreation. 

So he took you back up to earth, played it off as a mini vacation, and for some reason, not that he wasn’t used to it at this point, but you cried, clinging onto his shoulder as you told him how excited you were. If he wasn’t so worried about your strange illness and your odd mood swings, he would have found it endearing. This also wasn’t an actual vacation, this was more of a trial and error experiment. See if you still threw up when you were on earth. Simple really, a hypothesis and a conclusion. If you stopped puking, he would keep you up on earth. If you kept puking, he would take you to the hospital to get you checked out. 

He watched you closely as you cuddled next to him on the hotel bed, counting down the time. It would supposedly be happening soon, and his little experiment would either fail or succeed. Just like clockwork, as if on queue, you pulled out of his arms and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door shut, your body forcibly removing everything you had eaten that day. He didn’t waste a second, as soon as you had left the bathroom he was ready to take you to the hospital. Of course, Lucifer wasn’t stupid. He knew that this was a sign of pregnancy, but he wanted so badly for it to be anything but that, he needed to get an official diagnosis. 

So it turned out that you weren’t joking, all of his excuses were wrong, and you were in fact… pregnant. First reaction? Get rid of it. Get it out. He doesn’t want that added responsibility. Of course, when he even began speaking those words you seemed so upset, so heartbroken, he immediately shut his mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was make you cry again, but seriously, why? Why do you want to keep it? Do you know how much work a child is? How expensive one is? Second reaction? How the hell is it going to work? How is it going to come out? Will it have his horns? Or will it be more like you? It could rip you to shreds. Demons, as you know, are much stronger than humans, surely that would still be true with a demon child. He was worried, of course, because he wasn’t about to lose the one person he actually loved to something that wasn’t even supposed to happen. Third reaction? Protect you at all costs. Not because you were carrying his child, he could care less about what happened to it. You were vulnerable though, far more fragile than you were before, and even then he would worry himself sick about you whenever you weren’t around. It would be far worse now. How was he supposed to focus on anything else when he had you to worry about even more? 

As you grew, and his child grew, he became more possessive over you. His brothers weren’t allowed within five feet of you, worried that they might do something stupid and end up hurting you. He couldn’t deny the faint glow that pregnancy gave you, and the sense of pride that filled him knowing that it was his seed that brought on that glow. He still didn’t really take part in any of the pregnancy milestones though, he could honestly care less. Feeling it kick for the first time? So what? He could kick too, what’s so special about it? Hearing the heartbeat? Was that supposed to make him feel something other than disgust knowing that it was still living and thriving in your womb? Still though, if he saw you go to any of his brothers to talk about it he’d quickly pull you away. Why tell them about it? They don’t have to know. He’d bring you to his office and pretend to listen to all the things that you were excited about as he sat at his desk going over paperwork. 

Once the child was born, he distanced himself, only willingly helping financially because it was sadly his responsibility to do so, and only actually interacting with his child when he really felt like you needed the help. Other than that, he was busy, happily taking on way more work than was good for him just to avoid having to hear the child cry. He hated it, he hated how much time it sucked out of you, time that you could have been spending with him if you had just listened to him. He wouldn’t even come up to the room at night, choosing to fall asleep at his desk just so he didn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to hear it crying. The kid cried so much, it drove him crazy. You would blow it off, telling him that it was just what babies do, but then he’d just question what the use of a child is if all it does is cry. He could tell that you were exhausted, you clearly weren’t getting an adequate amount of sleep, but then again, you wanted this, not him, yet you still seemed happy, he didn’t understand you, or the strange maternal bond you felt with the child. 

Over time though, you stopped bringing the child into his office. At first he was overjoyed by it, glad that he didn’t have to hear it or hear you making over it. Then you stopped coming to his office altogether, and although his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit it out loud, he missed seeing you. He even… missed seeing the child, because with the child was always you. He walked out of his office, his eyes immediately landing on the back of your head. You were sitting on the couch, your knees bunched up slightly for the child to lay against, seemingly happy for once considering he didn’t hear any crying. You were talking though, and he knew you weren’t talking to the baby. Then he saw someone's arms reach over and grab the child off your lap, holding it up in the air, even getting a… giggle out of it. 

It was a sting to his pride, a pride that he had no idea existed up until now. Fatherly pride, and it made him nauseous, angry, and even… jealous? Hearing the child… his child… laugh for someone else, for one of his brothers, it didn’t sit right with him. Then there was you, smiling over to his brother while he was holding HIS child. He wouldn’t stand for it. It was crossing a very thin line that he had made before the child was even born. He had given the rules to his brothers to stay away from you, to stay away from his child. Had you… had you gone to his brothers though? That stung even worse. 

He didn’t want to make a scene, he didn’t want to let on that he was feeling anything other than his usual indifference, but inside he was fuming. He walked over to where you sat, and at first you didn’t even look up at him, neither did Beel. Were you two ignoring him? He cleared his throat, getting the attention of you, Beel, and even the child, all three of you turning to look at him. “Y/N, I’d like a word with you for a moment, in my office, now. That’s not a request.” The way you smiled to Beel… was it his mind playing tricks on him, or was that the same smile you had given him when you had first started together? No, it couldn’t be. You wouldn’t do that to him. You leaned in to kiss the top of his son’s head, as if you were leaving him with Beel. “Bring him with you.” 

“Who? Beel? I mean…” He couldn’t hold back the groan that escaped him, he didn’t have time for this. He reached down and grabbed the child from Beel, not expecting the child to actually try to reach back for his brother. The way that you laughed at his child’s reaction, like this was a normal thing, the way that Beel actually reached out to try to take the child back. That hurt worse than anything. He pulled his son back against his chest, holding onto him tightly as he walked back to his office. It felt foreign, actually holding him, and he had seemingly grown so much since the last time he had seen him. How long had it been? 

You shut the door behind you quietly, moving over to grab the now fussy child out of his arms, his pride only being crushed more and more now. He had stopped crying immediately as soon as you grabbed him, clearly finding comfort in your arms rather than his own fathers. “What is it? Make it quick, it’s almost time for him to eat.” You sounded upset, irritated, and your eyes held the same emotions as you looked up at him. What was he supposed to say? That he didn’t want you around his brother anymore? Clearly you didn’t listen to him the first time he told you. 

“What were you doing with Beel? Why was he holding him? I thought I told you to stay away from them.” He watched his child perk up at even the mention of his brother's name, taking a deep breath to try to control the anger that was so close to boiling over. He wouldn’t have his child, his son looking at anyone else as a father figure. You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him as you sat down in the chair across from his desk.

“Why do you care? Do you even know how old he is? Do you even know anything about him?” He clenched his teeth, shaking his head as he leaned against his desk. “You made it clear that you didn’t want anything to do with him. Don’t act shocked that someone else filled the shoes that you didn’t even want to try on, Lucifer.” What was that supposed to mean? He didn’t understand, yet the words irritated him. Filling the shoes? He could sense that your irritation was growing even more as you waited for him to respond, but he didn’t know what to say. For once, he didn’t have a response. So he just stared at you, waiting for you to elaborate further. “Six months, Lucifer. He’s six months old, and how many times have you held him? I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him in your arms. You haven’t been around for six months, and I get it. You didn’t want him, so I’m not going to force him on you. But I’m not going to deny help when it’s offered.” 

Six months… had it really been that long? It didn’t seem like it, but with the way he’d sleep at his desk and wake up in the same spot, days seemed to blend. He didn’t even know what day it was anymore. That wasn’t even the worst part to him though, not at all. What really upset him, or, better yet pissed him off was that his brother had crossed the line that he had so clearly made. “You shouldn’t have accepted the help. This was your decision to make, you had options clearly given to you. My brother didn’t need to be dragged into this.” He moved back around to the other side of his desk, sitting in his chair and staring at you, his hands folded under his chin. “Tell him that you don’t need his help anymore. I… will be helping from now on.” 

He didn’t want his own son to hate him, to loathe him like he did his own Father. That was the last thing he wanted, and he surely didn’t like the fact that his child would rather go to Beel than his own father. Let it be known though, he wasn’t doing this for you, and he wasn’t doing this for his child. He was doing it for himself, because his pride wouldn’t let it be done for any other reason than that. 

[thewrongexecution]

it is Time. for Fashion.

I have been working on this project. for months. and it is finally. still incomplete on several technicalities but good enough for now. I'm very proud of what I've managed to accomplish. Please enjoy looking at my beautiful child,

Millennia Crowe.

(...Wait, what do you mean "30 image limit?" Uh, gimme a minute to edit these together. This post is gonna be long.)

Gunbreaker

The truest self. The most Millennia of all Millennias. Confident without being cocky, ornate without being gaudy. Black longcoat with silver and gold trim, splash of white for flair, and the Iconic Hat (TM). Very proud of the gauntlets (gold trim to match the coat) and boots (fur lining to match the collar).

That jacket was actually what inspired this whole project. I'd picked up every job and had outfits for each role by then, but the Jacket was a perfect match to The Hat... and Gunbreaker exclusive. Could I get all the rest their own unique look, that looked just as good?

Judge for yourself.

Warrior

Millie's first job. I'd tried Lancer on a different character, but was frustrated by how fragile they were; starting as a tank was partly to alleviate that concern, and partly to skip ahead in dungeon queues. And then I just. never stopped tanking, lmao.

Most of these outfits start from the chestpiece, and this one's no exception. The boots and pants went through a few revisions, but I think the heavy-plate look works well. Those elbow spikes still bother me a little, though; might rework those sometime.

Paladin

Here's our first what-I-call-military-formal outfit; you'll see them recur pretty often. While the jacket is suited to the valiant protector identity, Lenny also likes to antagonize Fray; wearing this outfit while in nominal service to the ruler of a corrupt, unjust society is one of her little jokes.

A lot of coats seem to me to just cut off abruptly in the front, so I was very proud to get those pants with the faux-hem. Shoulda tried for a better shot of the shield, but in most poses it obscures the rest of the outfit. Which is what it's supposed to do, I guess...

Dark Knight

The traditional look was actually too broody for my tastes; I've instead opted for the look of someone who walked halfway around the world without stopping to rest to find you and kick your ass. Postman's Creed (Evil)-type beat. Using the Forgiven's chestpiece is also another one of those fun little jokes.

Not many of these deviate from The Hat, but a more intimidating look that hides the identity just feels right, here.

White Mage

Gridanian jobs tend to lean more outdoorsy. Here, the fur lining evokes White Mage's traditional frills without leaning too far towards femme. Proud I found matching boots.

These days, Millennia gets chills if he channels light aether too much. It's a psychosomatic reaction, mostly, but the extra insulation helps all the same.

Technically incomplete, but the Rose Couverte takes slightly more grinding than I was willing to put in at the time. The hunt for perfection remains never-ending... But it's good to still have something to aim for.

Scholar

My current main! White Mage was my first healer, but I value the ability to preempt damage that Scholar provides. Nothing better than seeing a raidwide fail to touch the party's actual health. Your "real flame" ain't shit, bud.

(...A-hem. Right. Fashion.)

I wasn't sold on the ribbons at first, but military-formal longcoats with gold trim win out every time. Plus, it matches the book. Kinda funny that my two favorite classes still use these specific chestpieces, under the circumstances. What can I say? The li'l lady does good work.

Astrologian

Another victory for pants that look like shirts: that white bit with the triangles? Not part of the chestpiece! There's no good shot of it here, but the boots also have star ornaments that match the ones on the coat.

This one was fun to figure out the staging for. Originally, I was cropping these shots down, but didn't like how inconsistent the sizing was. Had to redo half of them, but I'd figured out proper lighting by then, so it worked out.

Sage

Once, Millie had a daydream of an admiral leading a fleet through the sea of stars, and feverishly assembled this getup in response.

Strange how things work out sometimes. The Manusya/Bonewicca gear was a mainstay of outfits past, but this is the only one in which the gloves survive. On the other hand, I might never have known the Raincoat's fashion potential if I'd never gone to the aquarium.

(Shoutouts to the Eorzean Museum Network, whose passion for elaborate digital projects, despite the conclusions you might draw from this post, far eclipses my own.)

Monk

This outfit originally belonged to Samurai, but I felt the simpler design drew better attention to those fists. Includes matching heavy metal boots, to amp the impact of kicks.

Dragoon

Another outfit where I was aiming for military-formal before I stumbled ass-backwards into this chestpiece while browsing the PvP gear. It just somehow incidentally went with all the other pieces I already had. Still hardly believe it.

Ninja

Nondescript traveler. Dressed well, but unmemorably. Safe to ignore.

I'm not actually that big a fan of the whole mystical wizard direction that Ninja takes; this outfit is meant to evoke its origins in Rogue. I even had Generic Dagger as a weapon for a while- anything with a proper hilt guard just doesn't feel right- but these shortblades better represent Millennia's actual threat level.

Might change the boots for something softer-soled sometime, but I like the way they flow into the pants.

Samurai

Used to have a cyberpunk getup that I was very proud to have assembled, but the vibes never hit quite right. I got very lucky with this year's Heavensturn reward. Also features the #55 boots, another staple of outfits past. Black and gold and so on, you know.

Reaper

I saw the scythe and I saw the chest and I knew I had a winner. I wish the skirt was a little less ornate? But it's like, the only one Reaper can wear that also has pants. So many opportunities for your dress to fly up in these latest dungeons...

Shoutouts to every DRK main with the same chestpiece, and the one Reaper I saw with the same getup but in white. I am shaking your collective hands.

Bard

Leaned into the outdoorsman/hunter look for this one. I debated waiting until Valentione's ended to pose in the amphitheatre, but fame is a mantle ill-tailored to Minnie; she'd rather perform for friends than crowds. Not that I've. ever actually used the performance feature...

Machinist

It may look silly when using flamethrower, but there's no real alternative to the platonic ideal of [Gun]. I'm sure you're all shocked to see another military-formal kit as well.

Sometimes it bothers me that so many of these just use Normal Black Glove, but you don't really need anything fancier if the sleeves and cuffs are good on their own.

Dancer

It is. so hard. to find Dancer-y outfits that actually cover the body. Very satisfied when this one came together.

Having second thoughts on the boots, but most other options were pointier than I liked. Not trying to evoke Waluigi, y'know?

Black Mage

Refined and elegant and big metal boots. Another little joke. Very lucky they released that hat; a surprising number of these pieces only came out within the last few weeks. The Appointed flatcap is fine- you've seen it in a couple outfits already- but the puffier look vibes better in general, I think.

Those gloves were the last piece I got before I considered this project complete enough to show off. They took three days to drop.

Worth it.

Summoner

I wanted a heavier look for Ifrit's melee skills and a draconic vibe overall. The Radiant's chest was my first pick, but ended up too monochrome; this still ticks all the boxes and pairs well with the Archfiend gauntlets.

Gonna need a new outfit if Oracle becomes real, though.

Red Mage

Took me a while to settle on this chestpiece. Used to have a lightly-armored look which had a scarf I rather liked, but there kept being too much brown leather for my tastes. This way, though, I can draw narrative connections to Alisaie. Inspiring and being inspired in turn, kinda deal.

Disciple of the Hand

If not for the utility belt, this would make for a perfect casual outfit. And the gloves, but those're on purpose.

Lenny's more keen on the intricate, high-detail work of alchemy and goldsmithing than the blunt routine of armorsmithing and the like. However, the armorsmithing guild has excellent staging, so that's whatcha get.

Someday, I plan to assemble unique outfits for each Disciple of Hand and Land, but for now I am literally out of glamour plates. Desperately hoping they add more by the time 7.0 rolls around.

Disciple of the Land

Did you know? The Disciples of Hand and Land share the base animations of the Paladin! I've exploited that for the action shot. Please do not chop wood one-handed unless you know what you're doing.

I think at this point the outfit speaks for itself, but that coat serves as a good reminder of how expensive this whole endeavor was. Must've cost about a million gil on its own, and that's with the relative discount of buying the materials and crafting it myself! Let alone all the jet-black dye I still haven't bought. I used to have savings in the seven digits...

Blue Mage

Didn't think I'd forgot, didja?

This one's a little special. Millennia uses the guise of Azuro as an escape from the pressures of being World's Savior; this outfit is deliberately gaudier than the others to better create a separate sense of identity.

Sometimes I wonder if using an Allagan outfit on a Meracydian job is in poor taste, but it's already being exploited for bloodsport, so...

...Uh. Azuro?

Whatcha... Whatcha doin' there, bud?

?????

Thank you for reading.

[boytouya]

𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

words: 1.3k

warning: blood (but it’s dabi crying), mention of child neglect (not towards you or your children)

requested: yeah lol

a/n: once again, i don’t proofread. i felt kinda faint writing this but i don’t think it reflects much🗿

It’s not much, but it’s Dabi. Dabi, who holds your hand and traces the lines in your palm as he slips a ring onto your finger. It’s cold against the overwhelming heat radiating from his hands. You’ve been through many arguments, times where both of you were wrong, quirk scares, financial issues, problems within your family...but it didn’t matter. He was with you through it all. He’d remain by your side, even if there was a door slammed between your faces.

An outdoor wedding, with only twelve guests in total, sits on a grassy green hill just above the park. Your kids picked out the place, the younger of the two explaining how it’d be much more fun. Neither of you could complain, as your hearts revolve around the two twins.

“Let’s get this over with.” Dabi jokes, a dimple forming on his cheek. His suit, the darkest shade of black the tailors could find, had blue accents on its sleeves to match his tie. A reference to his everburning fire quirk. It was a stark contrast to his hair, pure white with darker ends. You didn’t see his natural hair often, but the first time you had it was noticeably softer. Perhaps he wanted the wedding photos to actually show him, and not a watered down version of himself he’d created to hide his identity. Most of your shared income went into making sure everything looked nice, though the wedding was small. You had a few guests, Dabi (begrudgingly) went out of his way to invite the League. He even made Tomura and Twice his groomsmen.

Dabi’s eyes, blue as ever, shimmer from the sunlight beaming down on the two of you. His eyelashes, darkened from a thin layer of mascara bat against his cheek as he eyes the sparkling ring. To be honest, he was terrified of marriage. He was afraid of commitment, afraid your relationship would meet impending doom if he put a label on it. He was afraid he wouldn’t be good enough for you. He didn’t want to be the father he grew up with, that was his biggest fear. You could very easily remember the inner turmoil that leaked from trickling red beneath his scars the first time you had argued.

Those days, you felt as though you were walking on wire. Not because you were afraid of Dabi, just afraid he’d up and leave. A few nights before the ceremony he explained that he never would, because he knew what it was like to be ignored; neglected. But you knew that already. You cradled him through the night, when the wind pushed against your glass windows and he clung into the fabric of your shirt like your children had many times before.

There was a part of Touya that he’d lost many years ago, that of which only returned late at night through memories. Others looking into your relationship often called him childish, but he wasn’t. He was making up for lost time, replacing the festering rot from his childhood with something sweeter. The weight crushing his ribs and piercing his fragile heart had lifted, mended into something built from solid gold and diamond, something he stamped with the name ‘adoration.’ Something more gentle, loving. Something that came from you.

“To be honest, I didn’t write anything,” Dabi scratches the back of his neck, looking behind his shoulder then back at you. You can hear Twice shout behind him, then apologize not even a second later. If it were someone else, someone who wasn’t Dabi, you probably would’ve felt awkward. “I mean, seriously, I didn’t think I was the right person for this.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Choked up already, you’re not sure how to tell him it’s okay to continue when you yourself are looking for a bit of guidance. This man, who you met under unusual circumstances was now standing in front of you, making up his vows. And you loved him for it. He held the key that unlocked the box around your heart, swallowed it for safekeeping, and protected it himself. He knocked down all of your barriers, held you up when you were running on empty, and caught you when you fell completely enamoured for him. He softened up your hardest places, peppered kisses on your birthmarks.

“Anyone else could take my place,” Touya’s eyes flicker down to your hand, his fingers twitching as he hesitates to clasp his over your own. He’s struggling to get what he wants out. In his mind he’s screaming how much he loves you from the top of the highest mountain. In his head, he’s twirling your kids around while they giggle and call him Dad. In his head, he kisses you while fireworks go off and the whole world knows of your proclaimed love. Fuck. Is he prioritizing his thoughts over feelings? Fuck. Instead, he opens his mouth just to close it again. “I’m glad I got to you first, big guy. Not even writing my vows...drowning in my own genius, wouldn’t you say?”

“Dabi...Touya….D,” You nod to your kids, who are practically vibrating in their seats as they watch with stars in their eyes. You make a mental note to let them have extra big slices of cake tonight. “When we met, my- our kids were so scared of you. Which is kinda funny, considering they steal paint to look like you now...Anyway, I’m glad we all grew together. I hope you don’t regret this. You were there when no one else was. Sometimes you felt unseen, but you were there. And I saw you, I heard you. Sometimes we took each other for granted, but looking back on it, we were all the other had.”

Dabi swipes his thumb- his chipped black nail polish makes you smile- under his cheek, smearing a bit of blood across his cheekbones. Something you’d wipe away later, just like you always did.

“I love you, and I love how we can agree to disagree,” You wanted to add more, about how arguing with him felt like a game you couldn’t win, how sometimes it felt like he was ten steps ahead of you just when you’d managed to take one forward, how even from those ten steps he’d stretch himself thin and weary to pull you forward with him. “You’re an amazing father. You never believed me whenever I told you, but you are.”

You mimic his actions from earlier, slipping a wedding ring on his finger with a satisfied smile. There’s something dancing in his eyes, swimming laps in the pools of blue. He can't wait anymore, and takes your brief silence as his queue to kiss you. You went from sharing ownership of a couch, adopting a cat together, and sharing cologne to exchanging wedding rings.

One hand cups your cheek, the other on the base of your neck as he pulls you forward and spills the space between your parted lips. He steals the air from your lungs, plunges you into the deep waters of his obsession for you. He doesn’t want to pull away, holds your face closer to get as much contact as he can while his lips move with your own. You have to tap his cheek to get him to pull away, and he does, but only for a split second as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. There’s a series of “Ew!”s erupting from the children in front of you, along with a ring of clapping and whistles. You didn’t need anyone to tell you that you were his husband, it was apparent.

“Guess you’re stuck with me then?” Touya whispers. His lips, swollen and covered in a thin blanket of saliva, curl into a shark-like grin.

taglist:

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[skycounts]

Maya takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She’d never thought she’d get here; never thought she’d want to get married, let alone actually get married. Here she is, looking at herself in a suit on her wedding day.

She’s got on suspenders and a nice, white button-down shirt. It’s complete with dress pants and a nice belt. She’s a bundle of nerves, but happier than she ever was.

A few weeks before the wedding, she and Carina had agreed on a donor. Carina offered to carry the baby and Maya thought that was a good idea. They’ve even been looking at houses to buy. It feels surreal, settling into her life with Carina by her side, but she’s doing it. And she’s happy to do it for the rest of her life.

There’s a knock on Maya’s dressing room door and she hollers for whoever it is to come in.

Jack enters and offers Maya a smile. “You ready for this?” He asks.

Maya nods. “Very,” she says, turning around.

Jack’s smile gets bigger. “You look great,” he tells her.

“How’s my bride-to-be?” Maya asks, adjusting the cuffs on her shirt.

“She’s good, anxious,” he says. “The good kind.”

“Me, too,” Maya says.

“C’mon, Bishop, let’s go get you hitched.”

—

Maya’s mom walks her down the aisle. The two of them made up after the whole thing with her dad went down. She had invited her dad to the wedding, but he didn’t show. To Maya’s surprise, it didn’t bother her.

“My little girl is getting married,” Maya’s mom says before she lets go of Maya’s arm. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, mom,” Maya says.

Ben got ordained on the internet so that he could be the one to marry Maya and Carina. He stands at the alter and announces for everyone to rise.

The music queues, the doors open, and in walks Carina. She had hoped Andrea would be alive to walk her down the aisle when she got married. Instead, Richard Webber told Carina he would be honored to walk her down the aisle. He was Andrea’s coach, his guide and it only felt right to have Richard walk her down the aisle.

Maya’s eyes fill with tears as she looks at Carina. In her whole life, she has never seen anyone so damn beautiful.

Andy gives Maya a thumbs up from beside her. She had chosen all of 19 to be her brides crew. They were all up there with her. Andy, Vic, Dean, Jack, and Travis. Carina’s bride crew consisted of Meredith, Amelia, Jackson, Owen, and Miranda. People that mean a lot to her and meant a lot to her little brother.

Richard gives Carina’s hand to Maya. Maya’s chin quivers and Carina reaches to wipe her tears away.

“I’m so lucky,” Maya says through her tears.

Carina smiles. “Io sono il fortunato.”

“You may sit,” Ben says.

He continues on with welcoming everyone to the ceremony and thanking all who came.

“We are here today to celebrate the love of Maya Bishop and Carina Deluca,” Ben says. “I have watched their love grow in so many ways over these past couple of years. In my eyes, there is no better fit for them than each other. I once asked Maya what her favorite thing about Carina was and she said, ‘her eyes, they hold so much love and I’m so thankful to receive even just a freckle of it’.”

Carina squeezes Maya’s hands.

“I could go on and on about the love these two have for each other and the love I have for them, but I’ll let them take it from here,” he says. “It’s time for the vows.”

Maya clears her throat and looks deeply into Carina’s eyes. “Carina, when we first met, I tried so hard not to fall for you. But what I’ve come to realize is that you’re the greatest thing I’ve ever fallen for. Your love feels like crossing the finish line first and winning a gold medal. I feel like I’m on top of the world because you love me. You’re my greatest truth and my forever love. I promise that I will always take care of you; I promise that I will always love you; I promise that when there is no light in the dark, I will reach out my hand and guide you back. Just look in my eyes and you will see that I’m always going to be looking back at you. I love you.”

A year streams down Carina’s face.

“Maya, I crossed many bridges of heartbreaks to get to you. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you when you cradled my very fragile heart in your hands. You’re the toughest person I know, but you become soft with me. I love that you know that, with me, there is no ‘eyes forward’ but ‘eyes of love’ and you will always be the keeper of the love in my eyes. I promise to always bring you smoothies to the station; I promise to always kiss you goodnight; I promise to care for you even in our darkest moments. You are my greatest journey and the solace I seek in times of agony. You will forever be my bambina. I love you.”

Maya brings Carina’s hand up to her lips and kisses the back of it.

“May we have the rings please?” Ben asks.

Travis hands the rings to Ben.

“Maya, place this ring on Carina’s finger with a promise to love her forever,” Ben tells Maya.

Maya places the ring on Carina’s ring finger and says, “I promise to love you forever.”

“Carina, place this ring on Maya’s finger with a promise to love her forever,” Ben tells Carina.

Carina places the ring on Maya’s finger and says, “I promise to love you forever.”

“I now pronounce you wife and wife,” Ben says. “You may now kiss each other.”

Maya wraps her arms around Carina and kisses her. Carina’s hands get lost in Maya’s hair and everyone cheers for them.

When they pull away, the two of them smile, ready to take on the world together.

[ofcowardiceandkings]

UH WHOA not only am i posting art but theres so much of it lmfao

ive been meaning to do this for mmmm a long time, and i decided to get it cleaned up so i can present folks with my homebrew/headcanon/thingy for the d&d playable races !! i know ive missed a few off but these are ones ive seen more of over all in my own travels in Nerd Game lol

ive only DMed one thing so far (our lost mines of phandelver adventure was a total blast but oh boy the shenanigans) but im like ... drowning in it all, have been for a loooonng time since i first played Neverwinter Nights when i was like 11, i just didnt have a party to mess with yet lmao (fingers crossed our schedules get sorted so the campaign goes ahead soooooonnn).. so ive been developing some of these various homebrewy headcanons for uh over half my life

getting them all together in one place like this was unbelievably fun !!

gonna yell under the cut for a bit about it more but very shortly i’ll be opening for d&d character / item / creature commissions so watch this space or pop me a message to get in a queue <3

these headcanon things are half based on “that looks cool” and Sciencing. a lot of the more humanoid in some way races ive really pulled on human ancestors a lot, as well as muscle development in different sports. And Animals, because ye

i haven’t included humans in this mammoth endeavour because we should all know what a Human People looks like, and their proportions aren’t any different in the world of D&D i run at least lol similarly, because they’re an exact intersection between humans & either elves or orcs, the half-species arent included on here either [shrugs] i WILL talk about them some here though !!

i might eventually update this with some npc generators ive made using my own descriptors and headcanons >.>

ELVES av height; 5′6 | heads-high; 8.5 generally long limbed, with fine wispy hair, elves senses are very heightened. helping in this, their eyes are almond-shaped with slightly narrow pupils, their large radar-like ears are very mobile, and the underside of their noses are covered in a lightly damp pitted leather. part of their ability to maintain grace with an elongated frame, aside from longer springy feet, is aided by a tail built somewhat like a horse, with a skirt of hair down its length, only with a slightly longer bone to it than would be seen in the typical pony. excepting a very light dusting on their lower limbs, they typically have very little body hair. sometimes their skin shimmers, or freckles sparkle.

GNOME av height; 3′6 | heads-high; 6.5  gnomes are almost like diminutive elves with a few key differences. their hair tends to be wild if left alone, but is often styled wildly anyway. set rather low on rounded but long faces, their large almond eyes are keen, and small hands very nimble. it’s not sure if its due to their close environments or frequent encounters with accidents in experiments, but their skulls are surprisingly hard, and they possess small horn nubs made of bone and coated in keratin. their small petal-shaped ears are set low and point outward, and are able to move a little to catch sound. they may look fragile due to their size and build but they are pretty hardy and more than capable.

HALFLING av height; 3′ | heads-high; 6 a very hardy but soft and welcoming folk, halflings are built for walking and surviving well, often coming from a semi-nomadic tradition. they typically have round faces with stronger jaws and soft round eyes, and their large ears are pointed upright. their figures easily get a little curved and chubby, especially when they have easy access to decent food, in preparation for harder times and the odd period of hunkering down for some downtime, say in poor weather. truly the most functional part of a halfling is their short powerful legs with big fairly flexible hard feet, and lion-like tail for balance, both insulated by hair.

DWARF av height; 4′3 | heads-high; 6.5 dwarves are accustomed to life in tougher terrain, typically with large parts spent in the ground. their broad frames are also squat down with thick short limbs, for huge power and for life in tunnels. wide feet keep them steady and sensitive to significant seismic energy in the earth, and wide hands aid in their work and the feel of the rock. their large round ears stick outward and are slightly mobile, large noses help condition the air, and high-set eyes with huge irises aid their vision in darker spaces and the ability to peek over things without being fully exposed. their skulls are also very thick just in case of falling rocks. all dwarves are very hairy and grow beards, taking pride in keeping and styling it.

GOLIATH av height; 7′6 | heads-high; 10 a totally different variety of rock & mountain people to dwarves, they do share a few traits. a goliath’s thick limbs are long with a big reach and huge stride, with big hands and feet for steady movement. as well as being hugely tall, they are broad, especially in their shoulders, with a long neck elevating their head further. their facial features tend to be very sharp, but long. they have little to no body hair, and they often dont grow head hair either, but decorate their skulls with tattoos. as they get older, the upper surfaces of their body develop pebble like growths under the skin, often in similar patterns to their habitats.

FIRBOLG av height; 7′6 | heads high; 9 firbolg typically live in deep forests but are actually a giantkin - although not too unbelievable given their huge height and thick build. large parts of their body are hairy, nearly furry, and their head hair is thick and wild, and they often have facial hair too. their large heads have long thick noses with an almost bovine leather to their top lips, and wide set eyes. their fluffy ears are very mobile, but when relaxed they drop and point downward. their nails are thick and sturdy, aiding in being even more dexterous while being so big. sometimes they are covered in layers of clothing, but they possess a tiny goat-like tail.

DRAGONBORN av height; 6′6 | heads-high; 8 dragonborns diverged from true dragons in the ancient past, likely due to a strong magical influence of some kind, but not so long ago that the bloodlines of dragons are absent from the race of dragonborn. (the illustration shows the typical head-shape and placement of ears, each bloodline has its own features). their chest is still very round like an animal, with deep chest muscles, a slightly less mobile shoulder, and short upper arm. their 4 clawed hands and feet somewhat resemble that of a true dragon, but smaller and a little less dangerous. the length of a dragonborn’s tail can vary from just the length from hips to floor, or up to their full height, and as well as being very useful for balance and dexterity, can be used for fighting. different bloodlines can interbreed, with it being a matter of chance which line is present in offspring (although metallic is more dominant over gemstone, and chromatic over both ... (ah yeah gemstone, ill get to that soon))

AARAKOCRA av height; 5′ | heads-high; 8.5 as an avian species, especially one capable of flight, the aarakocra’s bones are hollow, making them on the one hand very agile but a little fragile. their large wingspan nearly brushes the floor, and their wings attach high on their back, through to a deep avian keel. their arms have a long forearm, which is covered in bird-like scutes, and their 4 clawed hands are still remarkably talon like which quite short palms and very mobile thumbs. their legs are very long and powerful, and backed by a typically wedge shaped tail. more often than not, their physical appearance takes after raptor species of birds, but different populations can trend towards many different appearances, including parrots and waterfowl.

TABAXI av height; 6′6 | heads-high; 9 tabaxi are an unusual sight in many places still. their cat-like bodies are very flexible and suited to their athletic climbing lifestyle. their long hands and feet have very a powerful grip, and they can retract their front claws. their long feline face is something like a cheetah or a clouded-leopard, with large highly mobile ears, large eyes and a strong nose. 

ORC

av height; 6′6 | heads-high; 8

orcs are very powerfully build, with heavy muscles and thick bodies overall. compared to other humanoids they can look a little gorilla-like. their short legs are usually a little bent to carry weight better instead of busting knees when locked. their course wiry hair grows profusely all over their body. their strong nails often grow out a little pointed. their large thick heads have high heavy brows and protruding lower jaws, short round noses and low bud-shaped ears which stick outward. the lower jaw and sometimes upper contain tusks, sometimes multiple tusks, which are greatly cared for and very impressive.

HALF-ELVES av height; 5′6 | heads-high; 8.25 a half-elf’s build will be somewhere between human and elf, often inheriting something of an elf’s eyes and nose leather, shorter elf ears, and maybe a small tufted tail something like a rabbits

HALF-ORCS av height; 6′ | heads-high; 8 a half-orc’s build will be somewhere between human and elf, often inheriting something of an orc’s skin colour and dark and profuse wiry hair, shorter orc ears, and some small tusks.

GOBLIN av height; 4′ (stood straight) | heads high; 5.5 bat/cat-like ears, nose something like bear/cat, domed head, arms/legs same length, sparse wiry hair, claws, short digits, lithe but very strong and hardy

HOBGOBLIN av height; 5′3 (stood straight) | heads high; 8 bat/cat-like ears but pinched at the base, nose something like bear/cat, very domed head, arms slightly longer than legs, claws, sparse wiry hair, quite broad

BUGBEAR av height; 7′ (stood straight) | heads high; 7.5 bat-like ears, long domed head something like a lion/bear, arms very long, nearly totally covered in thick fur, big tusks and often fangs, very bear-like hands/feet, big claws, very broad

TRITON av height; 5′2 | heads high; 7.5 lithe but well muscled, quite streamlined for a humanoid, frilled ears, pretty flat face, fins on limbs/back, “hair” is tendrils/fins/etc, short strong legs & long arms, long webbed fingers, long flipper feet, gills along front/side of chest

YUAN-TI PUREBLOOD av height; 5′9 | heads high; 9 domed angular faces, lips are not humanoid, triangular eyes, scales, quite flat nostrils with sense pits following along underside cheekbones, very little cartilage in ear, some may have cobra hoods extending out of ear instead, very tall and thin with small hands/feet, reptilian claws

CENTAUR av height; 7′ | heads high; 10 fairly stocky pony body (usually about 4′10 at withers), very muscled front end, long neck & sloping human-shoulders, long faces with long broad noses, prominent lips, horse-like ears sticking up and out, their whole scalp can grow hair but shaved sides are common, can grow hair nearly all down human-spine

KOBOLD av height; 2′6 | heads high; 5.5 almost alligator-like head & eyes, tiny nub horns, quite animal-like chest, arms/legs same length, thick stubby tail same length of body, 4 digits with stubby claws, lithe but strong for their tiny size

KENKU av height; 4′ | heads high; 5.5 corvid features, deep chest but no keel, longer arms than legs, 4 digits with talons, hands human-like but scaled, wedge-like tail half of leg height, not-quite fully bird feet.

LIZARDFOLK av height; 6′6 | heads high; 7 iguana-like, egg-shaped head, neck wattle, line of back spines varies in height, long arms and legs, very reptilian hands and feet with long claws, elbow spikes

GRUNG av height; 3′ | heads high; 6.5 large heads, neck leads nearly directly into torso, super flexible, very long limbs, triangular body, short upper arm, shorter thigh, large hands/feet, 4 digits

LOXODON av height; 7′6 | heads high; 5.5 large head, trunk as long as torso, short legs / long arms, huge bones under thick muscle, thick skin, 4 digits with thick nails, large hands / rounded cushioned feet, v e r y broad and thick build, small tail with tuft at the end, 

TORTLE av height; 7′6 | heads-high; 7 thick wrinkled skin encased in huge shell, stooping posture with neck extending forward, very long arms & short legs, 5 digits with reptilian claws, boxy head, heart shaped from above with features set far forward, tail to balance stoop

MINOTAUR av height; 7′ | heads-high; 9 powerful build with thick bones, typically well muscled, bovine head on thick neck, often very large horns, fairly long tufted tail, big hooved feet, broad 4 digit hands with thick nails, hair length varies

PLANE THINGS ???

listen this was a lot easier in the edition i first encountered lol anyway, until anything else comes up in extra material im just applying a few square & rectangle venn diagram rules

a useful word; planetouched. i dont really know why WotC seems to have dropped that term for at least 5e (i missed 4e entirely) but it refers to a “mortal native outsider” with lineage or influence from a plane other than the material, so “a material plane native creature with non-native plane influence, which can die”

GENASI height depends on material plane parent the result of a material plane / elemental pair (usually genies). they usually take after their material parent in build and broader features, but their elemental heritage comes through in features like magical hair, bright coloured eyes, unusual body temperatures, innate magics, etc.  genasi can interbreed with themselves, and the crossing of two elements can produce some interesting results (im working on that :>)

TIEFLINGS height depends on material plane parents this is the first of the squares & rectangles, and tbh its basically canonical. a tiefling is the result of a material plane humanoid being born with fiendish* influence. the word ‘tiefling’ refers specifically to a human with fiendish influence, but is also an umbrella term for ALL fiendish planetouched creatures. these DO have some names mentioned in the play material ! fey’ri = elves, tanarukk = orcs, wisplings = halflings, maeluth = dwarves, etc. so all fiendish planetouched are tieflings, but not all tieflings are human-based. the fiendish influence can be dormant for years or just string along for decades. AnyWay, all of them have horns, most have tails, odd skin or eye colour, and others can have all sorts of extraplanar features. *(fiends are another venn diagram thing in D&D, its an umbrella term for both demons and devils) 

AASIMAR height depends on material plane parents aaand this is the second of the squares & rectangles, the not-strictly-canon one. okay duplicate what i said about tieflings, but make it about celestials not fiends, basically lmao. aasimar is an umbrella term, but also a human/celestial planetouched specifically! unlike the above, since its my homebrew concept i dont have other words specifically for other races’ celestial planetouched, but i’ll get there watch this space lol EnyHoo, they all tend to have a strange glow about them in general, but usually in their eyes, and maybe hair especially. it isnt uncommon for them to have a kind of halo around themselves, or glowing glyphs/runes/sigils on or around them either. while MOST dont have full wings, a dusting of feathers isnt unusual. the features of celestials can vary a lot more. for example, unicorns and leonals are actually celestials!

aaand the slightly odd-ball;

WARFORGED height depends on build purpose these are an interesting case, as warforged are actually constructs, brought into this world by the fusing of organic muscle (like wood or leathery material) to an inorganic shell (like stone or metal), imbuing a life-giving fluid of some sort to act like blood, and bringing life to it by a powerful ritual - a unique glyph etched into their heads. as their name suggests they are usually created to become soldiers, or other army positions, although they could be suited to other purposes. unlike most constructs, they are fully self-aware and have a mind on par with humans. they do not need sleep (but require rest) and they also do not naturally reproduce. if they live longer than their purpose, then they are turned loose to deal with the world as they wish. as they are MADE they can vary greatly depending on who made them, and for what exact purpose - although they tend to have beak-like mouths, and 3 digit hands and 2 toed feet.

AV. HEIGHT CHART FROM LEFT TO RIGHT !!! human - elf - dwarf - gnome - halfling - orc - goliath - firbolg - dragonborn - aarakocra - tabaxi - kenku - hobgoblin - bugbear - yuanti - triton - kobold - grung - lizardfolk - tortle - centaur - minotaur - loxodon

oooboy that was a lot of waffle :L

[dadolorian]

Seven Days of Valentines, (Diamonds and Daddies side story) Whiskey x F!Reader CH 2

A/N: Thanks to @talesfromtheguild​ for Beta reading and helping me with many ideas for this! This will be a weekly series leading up to Valentines Day

I try to keep Readers physical appearance as open as possible for this story, but please note in these chapters shes going to become more of a ‘character’, some specific interests of hers are going to come into play.

This is canon to the main Diamonds and Daddies story, but i am uploading as its own thing. You do not need to have read Diamonds and Daddies to read this, just know its a fic about Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels being a Sugar Daddy and the reader is a professional Sugar Baby.

Fandom: Kingsman the golden circle Ship: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Cis F!reader  Warning/tags: established relationship, fluff, semi-public sex, sex against a window, P in V sex, fingering, Oral (M and F receiving) , multiple orgasms, slight over stimulation, dirty talk, choking, Daddy kink, DD/LG/BDSM style relationship, creampie,biting/marking, possessive language, aftercare, Jacks both a gentleman and a DIRTY BASTARD, Reader is 100% into it all

Word count: 6K +

My master list Seven days of Valentines masterlist  AO3 LINK Buy me a Kofi

Summary: Whiskey whisks his Sugar baby away for a romantic Valentine’s getaway. Day two he takes her to see her favorite work of art. 

Tuesday  9th of February

The second morning in Rome started with an early morning makeout session, soft, gentle kisses roused you from sleep, followed by a shower and a traditional Italian breakfast delivered to your suite as the two of you sat watching people make their way to the coliseum. 

The coffee and crespelles were a perfect way to start the day, made all the more better by Jack’s large hand resting on your thigh, drawing gentle patterns with his thumb as you each sipped your mugs in comfortable silence. 

By eight thirty AM the two of you were dressed in your warm clothes and out the door, ready to partake in whatever adventure Jack had planned. 

You sat literally on the edge of your seat in excitement as you were driven around Rome to our destination for the day. Jack warmly chuckled beside you at your boundless enthusiasm, smiling wider to himself as you began snapping pictures along the way of the general beauty that was Rome. 

Once you were dropped off Jack took your hand in his, leading the way up the road and round the corner. You practically hummed in excitement beside him, bouncing in glee as the large walls of Vatican City loomed over you. 

“Jaaaacccckkkk!” you squealed delightedly, as he led you to the back of a growing queue. “Are we going where I think we’re going?” 

He chuckled at your excitement again. “Couldn't take my girl to Rome without letting her see her favorite work of art could I?” 

You bounced in place, trying to express your excitement and gratitude in any articulate way you could, you cupped his face and pulled him down for an expressive kiss on his cheek. 

“You have no idea how excited I am Jack!” You elated, almost jumping for joy beside him. 

He tried to calm you down and keep you still by resting his hands on your hips, pulling you to his front in a gentle embrace. 

“I have a fair idea Sugar,” he hummed, kissing your brow affectionately. “I remember when you mentioned wanting to visit Rome, on our New Year's trip, just a passing comment, but your eyes lit up when you mentioned the Sistine Chapel, I just knew I had to take you one day Darlin.” 

Your hands rested lightly on his chest, with your gaze cast down you smiled, tenderly remembering the brief exchange you had shared months prior. At the time you never took much note of your conversation, having forgotten all about it until Jack had surprised you with this trip, but clearly Jack had taken notice, and went through great pains to make your wish you had barely ever shared before a reality. 

You had lost count of the amount of times he proved himself of how utterly perfect he was for you was incalculable. 

He amazed you every day, outdoing himself with each little surprise or adoring words, each grand gesture or gentle peck, each casual touch or passionate kiss.

Jack Daniels, as cocky, ridiculous, and flirtatious as he was, was everything you had ever hoped for. 

“I wish I knew, just how to show my gratitude to you Jack,” you whispered softly to him.

He gently pulled your gaze back up to meet his.

 “Darlin, you don’t need to do anything other than stay with me. You’ve made this lonely heart feel something again for the first time in years, and that's more than enough for me.” 

Your lower lip wobbled and your eyes threatened to spill, Jack preemptively stopped your sappy tears from spilling with a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“Come on Darlin, lines moving.”  

Jack walked arm in arm with you throughout the whole tour of Vatican city, your gaze was often fixed to the beautiful architecture or paintings, but everytime you glanced over at Jack, his eyes were fixed on you. You had his whole attention, not the paintings, not the tour guide, you. 

“Jack?” You asked softly, concerned he was only humoring you and didn't actually care about anything you were seeing. “Aren't you interested in all this?”

“Oh I am Darlin,” he reassured. “But I love watching the way your eyes light up, better than any painting here.” 

“You’re just trying to butter me up Cowboy,” you smiled up at him. 

“Can’t help it Sugar, pretty thing like you on my arm? Who can blame me?” 

“You flatter me Jack, You’ve been sweet talking me from the moment we met, I don't even think you would know how to stop,” you teased. 

He chuckled and kissed your cheek. 

“No Darlin, I don't think I would know how to either.” 

It was impossible to express just how fantastical it felt to see some of the famous pieces found in the Vatican museum, Raphael’s ‘Transfiguration’, The statue of Laocoön and his sons, The Vision of St. Helen , Da Vinci's St. Jerome in Wilderness, masterpieces you had only ever seen photos of on the internet or in your meager collection of art History books. Completely indescribable.  But these experiences paled in comparison to seeing Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam, photos could not compare to how breathtaking it was. It loomed above you, alongside dozens of other High Renaissance masterpieces, but your eyes were pulled back to that one each time. 

You imagined Michelangelo, centuries ago, in his genius, laying on his back atop the precarious scaffolding as he painted it, how grueling it was, how long it took.

You never thought you would ever see it, not in person, it had been such a fantasy to you you had never really mentioned it before until Jack had asked you those months ago.

Daddies had taken you on vacations before, trips to sunny beaches and tropical getaways, when they wanted to impress you and have you show some skin, but not once had they ever asked you where you wanted to go, what you wanted to see. 

There had been no desire to share your interests, to take you to experience culture and art over bikinis and parties. Jack had been right, you had been with some shit Daddies before you met him. 

The picturesque beaches and clear oceans may have been pretty to look at, but it couldn't hold a candle to the beauty above you.  

Standing there, with your neck strained up at the ceiling, your eyes began to water for the umpteenth time since you had landed in Italy, but you willed them away this time, focusing on the painting to burn the experience into your memory and refusing to let the tears fog your vision as emotions overwhelmed you once again. 

“Baby?” Jack’s soft voice cut in, his arms wrapped around your middle as he came up behind you, kissing your forehead. “You good?”

“Perfect, Jack,” you whispered back, giving your neck a break by resting the back of your head on him. 

“Everything you ever dreamed about?” He asked, following your gaze to the painting.

“Better,” you sighed, squeezing his arms around you. 

You clung to Jack’s arm as you made your way out of Vatican city and back to the streets of Rome. He patted your hand affectionately, placing a kiss to your temple. 

You had been so...so... moved, by Jack's surprise, by the artworks, by the experience and you knew you couldn’t express it to him. And you knew he knew.

You were beginning to understand the magnitude of his affections, he wasn’t just trying to impress you, to show off and boost his ego like many men before him. 

No, Jack's masculinity wasn’t so fragile that he had to prove himself like that, he may flash his money for you, to buy you trinkets and clothes just as they all had before, but the way he went about it was so different. 

Stuff wasn’t what he relied on to keep you with him, no, he kept you by his side by paying attention, by caring about you, for you.

He wanted to make you happy, truly, and he expected nothing from you in return apart from your companionship. 

His words from earlier in the day were really starting to strike a chord with you.

“You’ve made this lonely heart feel something again for the first time in years.”

You looked up at him from the corner of your eye as he led you through the streets. He seems to know where he wanted to go, and you trusted him not to get you lost. 

“Jack,” you whispered softly. “I-” 

“Don’t need to say a thing Baby,” he interrupted. “I know.” 

“But, I-” you sighed. “How?” 

“How do I know?” he asked, amused. “Baby you thank me every damn time I do something for you, no matter how big or small, I've picked up on a few things. I can tell when you’re struggling to figure out how to thank me.” 

He stopped in his tracks, guiding you to his front and pulling one of your hands up to his lips to kiss it. 

“You tear up when something specially meaningful, those are the times you can’t figure out what to say,” he cupped your face in his large, warm hands. They felt nice against the chill that had clung to your cheeks. “But you don’t need to say anything Sugar, I can tell just by lookin at’cha you’re grateful. It made you happy, that's all I wanted. I don’t need a ‘thank you’, I just need you.” 

Your lip wobbled and you pouted up at him, making him chuckle. 

“See? Just like that, and I get yer waterworks running,” he teased, thumb wiping a tear that was threatening to spill.

You rolled your eyes and swatted his chest playfully. 

“None of that Darlin” he laughed, ducking his head to kiss you. “My Baby gets all sappy for Daddy’s sweet words huh?”

“Don’t get cocky,” you giggled, trying to duck from him gleefully. 

“Thought you liked me ‘cocky’,” he joked as you turned and tried to walk off, pulling you back into his grip, back flush against his front. “Specially when it’s inside-” 

“Jack! People are watching!” you laughed, swatting at him over your shoulder, grateful at least your conversation wasn't too loud and probably not understood by the locals who rolled their eyes at the childish tourists as they passed. 

He laughed merrily, letting you go and gently taking your hand. 

“Such a killjoy,” he joked, leading the two of you again. “Come on then Sugar, lets get some lunch.”

Lunch  turned out to be in this adorable local cafe hidden down many sidestreets. 

Jack told him a work colleague told him about the hidden gem, unknown to most tourists, and had made a point to bring you there. 

You sat inside, safe from the bitter cold as you sipped your hot drinks and shared croissants and muffins.

Silence passes between you, as you watch from your window the small trickle of locals walk by, trudging through the remaining snow slush, on their way to wherever it was they were going.  It was a perfect way to relax after your tour, Jack told you to enjoy it while it lasted, because he had one more surprise for the day. 

Jack’s second surprise was a tour of Castel sant'angelo. 

It was originally built as a mausoleum, over the centuries it became a fortress and castle, in modern times, it had become a museum. 

“Two museum tours in one day?” You asked, humming as the two of you walked over the beautifully sculpted bridge leading up to the impressive building hand in hand. 

“Well with it being so close to the Vatican, I thought ‘Why not?’ , and I know how much my Baby appreciates her art and history,” he smiled.

Taking his words from earlier to hear, you thanked him with just a kiss on the cheek.

Jack insisted the two of you could walk back to your hotel by the time you were kicked out of the castle at closing time. 

‘Just a forty minute walk’ he promised.

You pouted at him, shaking your head no.  

“My feet are killing me Jack,” you whined. 

“Won't it be romantic though Baby?” He asked, trying to convince you.“Walking through the streets of Rome at night? Just the two of us?” 

 It did sound nice, in theory, but the sky was clouded over, your feet hurt, the ground was covered in slush and it was starting to seep into your supposedly waterproof boots. 

“My toes are going numb and it’s freezing Jack!” 

“But Baby-”

“Daddy,” you sniveled, trying to appeal to his dominant, caring role over you. You wrapped your arms around yourself to block out the cold as the temperature dropped further. It was bearable in the day, sunlight and warm clothes enough to keep you reasonably warm. But you weren't dressed with the expectation of being outdoors too long, and as the snow began to fall you pulled yourself to his chest, snuggling into his warmth. 

“Please Daddy, I don't want to walk like this.” 

He sighed and wrapped an arm around you, caving to his instincts to care for you. 

“Alright then, let me call a cab Honey Bee,” he relented, pulling out his phone. 

You groaned when you made your way into the hotel room, throwing the keycard on the table and collapsing by the door , tearing off your boots and letting your soaked, numb toes free. 

Jack chuckled at your dramatic behaviour, not removing any of his gear much to your confusion. 

“There’s a few more presents on the bed for you,” he smiled, heat in his eyes and flashing his canines at you as he crouched down in front of you, stroking your cheek. “Want you to go in there and put them on-” 

“Jack, my feet are too sore for any heels toni-”

“No heels, Honey Bee,” he said, his tone and use of your moniker a clear warning for you to fall in line. “You’ll like it, I promise. Now go open your presents and get dressed while I go pick up dinner.” 

He stood up as you nodded and took his hand when he offered it, helping you up and grabbing the keycard from where you discarded it.

“Be back soon Baby,” he smiled as he opened the door and left. 

Alone, you padded into the bedroom, your feet grateful for the plush carpet as you made your way over to the bed. 

Laid out across the sheets was a beautiful little pair of pink and black satin sleep shorts, a matching bralette, a cute pair of pink fluffy bunny slippers, and a long fuzzy pink gown. You ran your fingers over the material of them all, amazed at how soft they all were. 

Atop your outfit for the night was another folded up note. You picked it up carefully and opened it up, greeted by Jack’s familiar scrawl once again. 

“Day two of seven, I know your feet must be real sore today Baby, I hope a relaxing evening with Daddy makes up for it. Get dressed and go pick out a movie out in the livin room for me.  Happy Valentine’s Week Sugar,  Love Jack” 

You softened, reading his words, again as you folded the note back up and began redressing. 

The satin felt even smoother as it covered your skin, and the fuzzy robe and slippers helped warm you up after your cold trip back to your suite. 

Once dressed you wandered out into the living area,  delighted to see the couch covered in soft blankets and pillows, a gift hamper sat on the coffee table containing sweets, a bottle of wine, glasses and some foot lotion. Your heart warmed at the thoughtfulness of it all and how intimately comfortable it was.

As you snuggled under one of the blankets and flicked on the TV, scrolling through movie options you heard the keycard beep and the door unlock. 

“Back Darlin!” Jack called from the entranceway , you heard him put something down and head to the bedroom. 

He joined you a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips and his trademark stetson, carrying a large pizza box. 

You smiled and bit your lip, admiring his little tummy that you loved so much.

He placed the box on the coffee table and snuggled under the blanket with you. 

“Pick something out Baby?” He asked, one arm over the back of the couch and other hand wandering up your thigh under your robe and resting there. 

“I think so,” you hummed, relaxing back into his embrace and warmth, head resting on his shoulder. “Sci-Fi movie by the looks of it.” 

“Prospect?” Jack questioned. “Don’t usually sound like our kinda thing Darlin.” 

“Yeah, but one of the actors caught my eye in the preview clips,” you giggled. “He looks like you Daddy.” 

He quirked his eyebrow at you and gave you a shrug, letting you click play as he pulled the pizza and wine over for you to share. 

You almost choked on your pizza when the actor showed up and Jack exclaimed in annoyance that he looked nothing like him. 

“What are you talking about?” You laughed. “He could be your twin!” 

“I know for a fact my Mamma only gave birth to one Daniels boy thank you very much!” He proclaimed. 

You giggled hysterically, curling into him, trying not to knock the pizza box onto the floor. 

“He’s just you with more scruff!” You gasped for breath between your laughter. “Listen to him he’s even got a southern accent too!” 

“I resent being compared to a scruffy, sweaty, bastard space man who talks so damn weird Darlin!” 

You covered your mouth, biting back a sassy comment about the ‘talks weird’ comment and tried to compose yourself. 

“How can you not see it?” You asked when you finally calmed down. “The similarities are scary.”

The two of you eventually agreed to disagree as you finished your pizza and wine and moved on to a few after dinner chocolates from the hamper. 

Jack rubbed your feet with the lotion as you lay on the couch sideways, easing the tension and soreness from your feet in his lap as the movie went on. You melted to his touch, unwinding from the long day on your feet. 

You had taken quite a liking to the southern spaceman with the silver tongue, much to Jack's growing annoyance, he grumbled as you cooed at the man on screen.

But as irritated as he was, he pulled you to his side in comfort as you watched your little crush have his arm amputated, hiding your face in Jack’s chest throughout the difficult scene. 

“Poor Ezra,” you murmured when the scene was over. 

Jack rolled his eyes and kissed the crown of your head. “I don’t know what you see in him Darlin.” 

“He’s your scoundrel, space-cowboy twin Jack. What’s not to like?” 

“Think you need your eyes checked Darlin. I might actually be bothered ‘bout your little infatuation if you didn’t insist so damn hard that he looked like me.” 

You giggled and settled down again against his bare chest.

“Hmm...”

“What are you hmming about over there?”

“You’d look good with a little blonde patch.”

“Shut up.”

When the credits rolled Jack switched off the TV, shrouding the room in darkness and stood up, gently pulling you up to your feet beside him. You were tired after such a long day, and the movie and snuggles afterwards only made you more tired.

He rested his hands on your hips and gave you a tender, soft kiss. 

“You like your new jammies Baby?” He asked, smiling when you nodded. “Yeah? You look so dang cute in them.” 

He nuzzled his nose against yours. 

“Is my Baby too tired tonight? Or do you want to have some playtime with Daddy before bed?”

You whined in response, resting your hands on his chest. 

“I always want to play with you Daddy.” 

“Oh I know you do Baby, but Daddy thinks you need your rest. Bed time for you I think.” 

“I don’t want to go to bed Daddy.” 

“Think you’re awake enough for it Honey Bee?” he asked, gently shoving your new robe off of your shoulders and onto the floor. 

“Yes,” you nodded. 

“Prove it,” he rasped, firmly pushing you to your knees in front of the couch and pulling his sweats down enough for his balls and hardening cock to hook over them. 

You licked your lips and looked up at him, taking him in your hand at the base. His eyes burned into yours as you opened your mouth and began kitten licking at his tip, circling your tongue around him.

You kissed him, from base to tip, worshipping his cock. 

He moaned at your teasing little touches and you felt him twitch in your hand, hardening slowly under your touch. 

‘That's it Baby, Get Daddy nice and hard,” he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to lose himself to the feeling of you coaxing his cock.

You felt the crotch of your sleep shorts become wet, aroused by his raspy voice and lewd moans. But you kept your hands where they were, on his thigh and cock, knowing if you touched yourself without permission his ‘playtime’ with you would become a (delicious) punishment. 

You relaxed your jaw and took him into your mouth, letting your tongue run along the underside of his length as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper into your mouth. 

He let out a loud guttural moan, hands cupping your head to keep you in place. 

“Hmmmmm fuck Baby!” He spat, looking back down at you and gently thrusting his hips into your face, careful not to choke you. “You’ve gotten so good at that! Can take me so well now can’t cha? Almost all the way!” 

He rocked into you slowly, now fully erect in your mouth, you concentrated on breathing through your nose as he pushed himself deeper with each thrust. 

You had succeeded in taking him easier than when you first had gotten together, but it was still a struggle to truly deepthroat him and supress your gag reflex, so far you had never managed to take him all in before you backed out. You kept your hand on his thigh, ready to tap out when needed. 

Your eyes never left his face, and his never left your lips, watching as inch by inch his cock went further into your mouth. 

“Breathe Baby,” he encouraged, hungrily watching his spit covered cock push and pull in and out of you. “If you can take me all the way in tonight Baby, I’ll give you a big reward.” 

You mewled around him, excited by his promise of a reward. He always delivered on those promises in a spectacular way. 

You took a deep breath through your nose and relaxed your throat as best you could, successfully taking him further, your jaw hurt and your throat protested as he pushed in even deeper. 

Your eyes watered as your lips finally met the groomed hair at his base. You blinked up at him, waiting for approval and praise for having taken him all the way for the first time triumphantly.

“Hnnng! Fuck! Good girl! Good Girl!” he panted, watching you, transfixed on the way his cock looked shoved all the way down your throat. “Perfect, warm wet little mouth fuck!” 

He reached down cautiously, fingers tracing over your neck gently, feeling the bulge in your throat. You whined, feeling light headed as he gripped your neck and squeezed lightly, he gave an experimental thrust, even with the awkward angle and groaned at the feeling of his own hand squeezing your throat tighter around him. 

“Oh fuck Honey Bee I’m so deep,” he moaned, squeezing tighter, making you more light headed. “Doin such a good job, you need to tap out Sugar?” 

You shook your head no as best you could, head swimming and body buzzing as he chokes you with his hand and cock. 

“Can feel my fat cock moving inside you Baby, so damn hot, making me even fucking harder.” 

He kept thrusting into your throat slowly, careful to not actually choke you. You were getting a little high from the lack of oxygen, far more aroused by it than you ever thought you could be. You only tapped out when black dots started to swim in your vision. 

Jack pulled free without hesitation, crouching in front of you to check you were alright as the obstruction in your throat was gone and your lungs heaved in oxygen. 

You gulped down air hungrily as Jack kissed your face in praise. 

 “Did so well baby, so proud of you, you took me all the way,” he murmured, nose nuzzling along your hairline. He waited for you to be ready to continue , and when your breathing had calmed and you gave him a nod to continue, he kissed your forehead, stood up and pulled you to your feet with him. 

“As promised, my little girl deserves her reward,” he growled, nodding over to an armchair by the sliding door. “Go sit,” he ordered softly. 

You scrambled to comply, anticipating your reward with glee. 

He sauntered over, discarding his stetson on the coffee table before kneeling down in front of you, hooking his fingers into your sleep shorts. 

“Up,” he gently instructed, pulling them down your legs as you lifted your hips for him.

He brought the shorts up to his face and inhaled your scent, licking up the crotch of them to taste the juices that soaked them. 

“My baby tastes so good,” he praised, discarding the shorts over his shoulder. “Spread ‘em wide for me Sugar,” he said, gently coaxing your leg apart and licking his lips. 

He didn’t tease, intent on giving you your much deserved reward as he drank you down and shoved his tongue deep into your dripping hole. 

Your back arched, eyes closed and thighs shook, he pulled them over his shoulders to give himself more room, his strong arms wrapped around your thighs to hold them still.

You whimpered in delight, gripping his hair and pulling him deeper, his eyes cut up at you, letting you know that at any other time, an action would not be tolerated, and he would have you reprimanded for being greedy. 

But this was your reward, you deserved it. 

Jack did not hide his messy noises as he ate you out like a man starved, wet smacks of his lips on your lower lips, the sound of his skin coming into contact with your dripping thighs, his moans and your sounds of pleasure filled the room. 

You gasped when you felt a thick finger prod at your hole, pushing up into you beside his tongue. Your head snapped down to watch as he slowly pumped his finger into you, his tongue began lapping up your folds until he reached your clit, suckling on it gently. 

“Daddy!” You whimpered, pushing your hips up further into his face. 

He gave you a cocky grin as a second finger joined the first, stretching you out so perfectly, his fingers were so much thicker than yours, fuck you loved his fingers so much, and he knew just where to stroke to make your body sing. In such a short time he had learnt your body better than you ever had. 

“My Baby wants to cum?” He asked, running his tongue over your folds again. 

“Yes, please Daddy,” you pleaded. 

“Daddy prefers when you’re patient Baby. But you earned it tonight,” he growled, standing up with his fingers still inside you. Your legs dropped from his shoulders as he leant over you to nibble at your ear, you felt your juices that still coating his jaw as his skin met yours.

He abandoned his slow pumps of his hand, fucking you hard and fast with his skilled fingers. You keened under him, writhing at the sudden change. 

“Look outside that window Baby,” he ordered in your ear hotly. “There's still people out and about, all they have to do is look up here, and they’d see you getting fucked by my hand.” 

You felt your core clench around his fingers at his words, a wave of your arousal flooding out, soaking his hand. 

“You like that idea Sugar? You like the idea of some stranger seeing my fingers buried in this pussy?”

You whimpered and tried to thrust up into his hand. 

“Answer the question!” He growled.

“Y-Yes Daddy!” You cried, panting hard as you felt your pleasure building. 

“Yeah? You get off on the idea of someone else seeing you? Seeing what’s mine?”

He sucked a mark into your neck, hoping it would show tomorrow, his secret little claim. 

“Want everyone to see you? Like some kind of common whore? You’re mine Baby, don’t you forget that.” 

“T-that's what i want them to see!” You whined, racing towards the edge, hoping he wouldn’t deny you as he often did to tease. “I want them to see who-who I belong to!”

He growled in approval. 

“Yeah? What else Baby?” He asked, encouraging your line of thought. 

“W-want them to see...That you’re- you’re the only one who can make me cum, that you’re the only one good enough!” 

“Oh Baby you sure know what to say to stroke your Daddy’s ego,” he hummed in pride. “Go on then, show them, show anyone watching how hard Daddy makes you cum.” 

You were already well on your way to your pleasure when he gave you permission to cum, but he helped you along by diving down and sucking hard on your clit. 

Your back arched further as you screamed out his name, your walls clenching hard over his furious fingers, as they attacked that sweet deep spot inside you on a mission. 

It hurt how powerful your orgasm was, how hard his fingers fucked you through it. And as it washed over you you were ready for him to pull out, for him to let you come down from your high, but his fingers did not slow. 

You mewled, sensitive and sore from your first orgasm as you felt him forcing your body towards a second one already. 

“D-Daddy, too- too much!” You whined, wriggling in his grasp. 

“Yeah?” he asked, his teasing tone told you he didn’t believe you, he moved his head away from your clit to look you in the eyes, speeding up his fingers. “What’s your color then?”

Your hips began thrusting up to meet his hand again. 

“Color Baby?” He reminded. 

“Green,” bucking up hard now into his hand to chase your fast approaching second high. 

“Thought so,” he hummed, taking your nipple into his mouth through your bralette, gently sucking on it and tugging it with his teeth. 

When he had soaked the fabric and thoroughly teased you he released it.

“You’re going to cum again for me, that's your reward. Daddys going to make you cum so hard your pretty little pussy will be ruined tomorrow.” 

You sobbed under him, anticipating how tantalizingly sore you would be with great delight. 

“Come on, be a good little girl for me and cum,” he cooed, grabbing your jaw with his free hand to make you look at him, his face only inches away from yours. 

“Cum for Daddy, and I’ll fuck you right up against that window for everyone to watch.” 

Your stomach flipped at the thought and your core tightened around his fingers again. 

“If it weren't so damn cold out there I’d fuck you right on that balcony, so the whole of Rome can hear your screams for me.” 

He brushed your clit with his thumb as the words fell from his mouth, pushing you over the edge for a second time. 

“That's it Baby, cum for Daddy,” he cooed softly, lips ghosting yours. “Squeezing my fingers so tight. Can't wait till my cocks all snug up in there, my favorite, perfect little hole.” 

His words made your second orgasm just as powerful as the first, you shook hard in your chair and screamed loudly until your voice was hoarse. You tried to muffle the scream with your hands which, until now,  had been gripping the armrest for dear life ever since Jack removed himself from between your legs. 

He was having none of that however, grabbing your wrists in his hand and pulling them away from your face to hear your screams of pleasure. 

He coaxed your orgasm as long as he could, slowing his fingers but still thrusting them hard inside you. Dragging it out.

You shook from the aftershocks each time his fingers shoved up against your cervix, whimpering as your breathing struggled to return to normal and body tried to unwind. 

He pulled his fingers free from you, loving how your pussy tried to suck them back inside. You mewled at the loss despite how oversensitive you were. 

He held up his hand to inspect it, proudly displaying how drenched it was in your cum. 

“Look at that Baby, down past the wrist...You horny little thing,” he rasped, letting you watch as he wrapped his slick coated hand around his neglected cock, pumping it slowly, you could hear the wet pass of his hand with each pump.

“Stand up,” he ordered gently, not helping you as you stood up on shaky legs, struggling to comply as your legs threatened to give out underneath you.  

“Top needs to go too Honey Bee,” he instructed, watching you with predatory eyes as you raised your arms, taking the sexy little Bralette off and discarding it somewhere behind you. 

“Up against the window, arms up.” 

You wobbled over slowly, sighing as your body touched the cool glass. 

You felt so exposed up against the glass, despite the fact there was no one currently walking about outside, and there was no light in the living area now that the TV was off,  the only light source being the lights outside, lighting up the coliseum. 

You could see Jack's reflection in the glass as he came up behind you, stepping out of his sweats. You could hear him still pumping his cock with you slick.

Your back arched as he ran the tip of his cock over your dripping folds, making you gasp and shudder.

“Poor Baby, still so sensitive,” he teased, pushing you against the cold glass with his free hand, making your nipples tighten painfully at the chill. You wriggled slightly as he pushed his hips forward, tip entering your hole. 

“Shhhh Baby, Daddy needs his fair share too, needs to fuck your pussy,” he sighed, your tight wet heat slowly enveloped him as he slowly inched his hips forward. 

“Need to make you cum. One last time.” He emphasized the statement by snapping his hips forwards, filling you up completely as his hips slapped up against your ass. 

He gave your oversensetive body only a moment to adjust to the stretch before wrapping an arm around you and fucking into you hard and fast. His free arm grasped your neck, lightly choking you again as his cock hammered into you.

“Fuck, so wet baby. Your cums soaking me, dripping down Daddys balls,” he rasped into your ear.

Slap.  Slap.  Slap.  Slap.  Slap, filled the room as you were shoved up against the glass with each thrust. 

You cried at the delicious stretch, at how he made your tender, sore hole buzz with pleasure every time he shoved himself inside,  at how your body stung from the cold glass, and at the filth he rambled into your ear. 

“My perfect pussy, Daddy’s pretty little princess. Think about how anyone could walk past. Could see you,” he teased, turning you on more. “Stuffed full of my cock, wouldn’t be hard, this low down, just need to turn their head a lil bit, ‘s all it would take to see you.” 

You moaned at his words, tightening around him. 

“Fuck, squeezing me so tight,” he whispered in awe,thrusting harder into you. 

You closed your eyes and lost yourself to the delirium of being fucked by him, trying hard not to cum around him until he gave you permission. 

He didn’t like it when you came without his permission.

He chuckled darkly into your ear, slowing his thrusts down to teasing rolls of the hips. “There's someone now,” he rasped, watching someone walk by further down the street, you cracked your eyes open and could see just how close they were, close enough that if you called out with the window open, they would hear. 

“I don’t think they’ve spotted us. Let’s see if we can change that shall we?” He suggested with another dark laugh, letting go of your neck to grip your hips with both hands, making it much easier to thrust inside you and leaving nothing to silence your noises as he slammed into you again with the same speed as before. 

You shrieked, watching with wide eyes at the passer by, hoping he did not hear.

It was annoying just how arousing the idea of this stranger catching the two of you was. 

Before you could even stop yourself, you came around Jack’s cock without warning. No build up, no tensing, it hit you so suddenly you couldn’t have stopped yourself if you had tried. 

He growled angrily behind you, pausing his thrusts as you squeezed him hard, as your walls fluttered and tried to milk his cock. 

 There was no way you could hide what you just did, it may have snuck up on you fast but he felt it. Felt you squeeze him and shake in his grasp. 

“Did you just fucking cum Baby?” He snarled. “Without Daddy’s permission?” 

“I’m sorry!” you sobbed. “I didn’t mean to, it happened so fast!” 

“You got off  to the thought of some stranger seeing you, isn’t that right?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered pathetically, not wanting to anger him further by lying to him.

“Such a filthy little slut,” he berated, rocking back into you. “If Daddy didn’t need to cum so bad I'd punish you right now. Throw you over my knee and remind you that Daddy owns your orgasms.” 

“I know Daddy! I’m sorry! So sorry!” 

“I believe you Baby, but that don't change the rules. Doesn’t mean you get away without some sort of punishment.” He licked the shell of your ear, nibbling at you lightly. 

“Tomorrow night, I really will destroy your pussy. I’ll hold you down and fuck you so hard, till you cum so many times you pass out, never letting up until you’re beggin me to. Daddy will choose how many times you cum, when you cum, and how hard you cum, to remind you your pleasure belongs to me.” 

You sniveled, panting as your breath fogged up the glass.

“Y-Yes Daddy,” you agreed. 

“Now stay still, Daddy gonna fill you up, get you nice and creamy.”

His rocks built back up to the harsh thrusts, reserving no gentleness for you as his grip would no doubt leave bruises on your hips the next day. 

He growls, the steady slap of his thrusts, bumping of glass and the blood rushing in your ear was all you could hear. 

And even though you had already cum three times, you could feel a fourth bubbling deep inside, warming you up. 

He pounded you against the glass. 

He cursed as his thrusts became frenzied, violent bucks up against your ass as he chased his release. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, here it comes!” He bellowed, digging his teeth into your shoulder and marking you hard. He groaned against your skin as his hot cum flooded you. You felt it fill you and warm you up, even if he didn’t let you cum again, you adored the sensation of him filling you up each time.

His thrusts slowed as you felt his seed begin to leak out around his length. 

You mewled at the loss of the orgasm you knew he wouldn’t have given you anyway. 

He pulled out slowly, releasing your shoulder and watching as his softening length fell from you. 

Your knees buckled, but Jack was quick to catch you before you fell and scoop you up into his arms. 

“There we go Baby,” he murmured, gently nosing at your temple. “Let's get you sorted.”

As usual Jack’s aftercare consisted of his soft praises as he tended to your physical needs. 

He washed you, tended to your marks, dressed you back into your new pajamas, and tucked you into bed. You drifted in and out of his care, only catching a few words here and there.  

“Good girl”, “Did so well,” and “So proud,” were the familiar praises you heard.

 He joined you under the warm blankets when he decided you had been thoroughly cared for, pulling you close to his chest to snuggle and murmur affections at you. You nuzzled deeper into his warmth, completely boneless and spent, listening to the gentle timbre of his voice as you drifted off. 

That night you dream about old castles and handsome southern princes.

credit to @talesfromtheguild​ for this little bit

“Hmm...” “What are you hmming about over there?” “You’d look good with a little blonde patch.” “Shut up.”

Tag list:

@thats-one-tender-foot​  @luminescentlily​ @nuttybeardetective​ @ishqinbbc​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @calamity-queen​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @talesfromtheguild​ @the-arctic-violet​  @jeeperky​ @mando-amando​

[treacherous-rep]

The artist The fan

[papergirllife]

A Different Muffin For  A Different Mood

Qian Kun

*gif credits to owner.

*I know the gif isn’t showing a muffin, I’m sorry. I wrote this at the start of the pandemic and my mental health was really bad, I’m sorry if this is shit.

You weren’t texting back today, this could only mean one thing. Kun thought to himself.

Usually his bubbly and loving girlfriend wouldn’t be giving him the cold shoulder out of nowhere, unless they fought of course, but they hadn’t. Today is one of those days, rare times when his girlfriend has something going on in her  complicated mind, a complicated mind means a smart and deep one,which he finds very attractive, but once darkness clouds her mind, it’s a cold and dreary place.

Kun knew your over demanding job would deteriorate your mental health, it’s already fragile from your experiences back when you were a child and a teenager, that’s what made you move oceans away to Seoul, stumbling upon Kun one day at a shopping mall, peaking his interest when you spoke his mother tongue.

He knew every single detail about your past, he had been patiently listening when you told him about it, piece by piece, thinking about it makes him want to board a plane and fight everyone who made you this upset. Kun knew very early in the relationship, he had been so worried the first time, when he couldn’t reach your phone or your friends at all. He had personally went up to your apartment, knocking on the door like a mad man, in fear of anything happening to you.

His heart clenches at the memory, he quickly saves his music on the USB. Music can wait, you’re much more important now. Kun bumps into Sicheng on the way out of the building.

“What’s wrong? Why are you in a rush? I just bought lunch.”

“It’s Y/N, I have to go see her.”

Sicheng nods in understanding, passing Kun’s lunch to him.

Kun rushes out the building, going to your favourite bakery. There was a queue outside, the usual lunch time rush. But that didn’t matter to him, he waited years to debut, he could definitely wait for a few minutes or longer for you. Kun quickly picked up a tray and rushing to one specific spot in the shop, the muffins section. He scanned the muffins lining up for him to see.

Blueberry, chocolate chip, butterscotch, cranberry cream cheese, key lime, there it was, the last one, red velvet muffin. Kun placed it on the tray and grabbed the chocolate chip, just in case you got hungry later.

Kun struggled to hold his lunch and the tray, but he held it up, if Lucas could carry him with one hand, he’d be able to hold a tray and a bag of food. He cried in joy on the inside when he reached the counter, he had never been so glad to pay in his life.

Kun quickly walked to your place, the heated up muffins, especially the red velvet, filling his senses. He wish it wasn’t red velvet, you have a muffin for every different mood. 

Whenever you were happy you’d get the blueberry muffin, when you’re angry you’d get the dark chocolate mud muffin, he tried it once, it was gooey and bitter, only a chocolate lover like you would appreciate such bitter chocolate, at least that’s what Kun thinks.

His thoughts are interrupted when he realised his legs had finally bought him to his destination. Kun enters the code to your door, letting himself in, putting his shoes on the rack and changing into his house shoes.

He notices you sleeping on the couch, blanket drowning your figure, the flask left open but empty, Kun quickly fills up some warm water from the dispenser he had bought you, as he places it back down the coffee table, he notices dried tears on your cheeks.

Kun walks into your bathroom, wetting a towel with warm water, he comes back out and kneels in front of you, gently wiping away the flow of dried tears. His ministrations interrupt your sleep. Your eyes fluttered open to see your handsome boyfriend,but a worried expression on his face.

“Kun? I thought you were at work.”

“I was, but I noticed how you didn’t reply my texts, so I came to see you.”

Kun was always careful about the words he chose to describe your situation, he didn’t want you to feel scrutinised or judged in any manner, he just wants you to know that he’ll always be here for you.

“I’m sorry.”

You cursed at yourself for sounding like a dying whale, you were just about to reach for your flask, but Kun beat you to it.

“Careful, it might be too hot.”

Kun went to the kitchen to plate the food, putting the remaining muffin into ta glass container, hoping it’ll store the warmth of the muffin.

“I bought you your red velvet muffin, love.”

“How? They’re always full at this hour.”

“Anything for you.”

Red velvet muffin had always been your comfort food, when you’re down, sick, or just finished watching a sad movie in the cinema, you’ll always pick red velvet. You had started this obsession with muffins from the family mart muffins back when you were 15.

It bought you comfort in the midst of all the chaos raging in your life. You looked over at Kun who had started eating his lunch while watching you silently, making sure you were comfortable, or to see if you needed anything. Kun wouldn’t pressure you into talking either, instead he’d wait for you to calm down, and speak out only when you want to. Everything is at ease with Kun, nothing ever feels wrong or pressuring.

Even though a red velvet muffin can bring you comfort, the person who had made the effort to buy it brings you an immense sense of security and love, the anchor to your ship, the warmth of the sun after a rainy day.

A smile finally graces your lips today, and it’s because of your very own muffin of every flavour, Kun.