#exotic booze

[sohannabarberaesque]

On another half-baked espionage assignment for Secret Squirrel and Morocco Mole

[Mise en scene: The liquor section of some airport duty-free shop, where Morocco Mole finds something unusual among brandies--a water-clear such] MOROCCO MOLE, ever the fascinated one when it comes to the old exotic booze: Uh ... I always thought brandy was supposed to be a sort of tawny brown, but for some reason, this South African brandy is water-clear. Makes you wonder whether such would taste different.... SECRET SQUIRREL, looking at the bottle: You mean this Paarl Rock brandy? Morocco, I thought apartheid made South African wine rather unfashionable, but with apartheid's collapse, I have to wonder how a Wisconsin-type Old Fashioned might taste with Paarl Rock, to begin with. MOROCCO MOLE: And I wonder if the angels must be sighing at the sight and taste of such clear brandy, to be exact. Remember Crystal Pepsi? SECRET SQUIRREL: Correct me if I'm wrong, but yes, Morocco, I do recall Crystal Pepsi. [Pause] And isn't it true that Paarl is close to Cape Town?

[scoutswritingcorner]

Hey sugar~

Can we get some NSFW of either alsstor on his rut? Or reader on theirs~? And "helping eachothrr"

The One Who Cried Deer

Alastor x GN!Reader

TW:ITS 18+!! MINORS GET OUTTA HERE- cockwarming, biting, ruts, Reader is implied to have animalistic traits as well, scratching, semi-public sex.

-🦌 First off, let’s just get say this. Alastor does not like affection, especially of the sexual nature.

-🦌 But when it comes to you, he’s more cuddly and protective. It’s more of a he’s trying to show off, everytime he does he immediately looks over at you and puffs his chest out like an exotic bird.

-🦌 When his rut does get more into the territory of sexual intimacy, he does not hold back. Especially when yours does line up with his once in a blue moon.

-🦌 He won’t let you around anyone during those times and if you are around people he will drag you away and glare at the other poor soul around. Sometimes he spouts out curses and threats.

You sat at the bar slowly drinking some whiskey Husk had given you before he had to go fetch some more from the back. Leaving the almost empty bottle with you just in case you wanted the rest of it. The familiar feeling of static pricking at your skin made something inside of you set aflame. A warm feeling racing from your neck to your cheek as a clawed hand moved to wrap around your waist, fingertips threatening to dig into your hip. Practically pressing his body against yours, “My Love, I need to see you..privately.” He purred into your ear, leaning down to kiss at your neck. You placed the cup onto the bar counter getting up and not making eye contact with Husk who had finally come back holding two boxes full of different booze, Alastor gave him a glare which made the old tomcat flinch and avert his gaze. Husk sighed and turned his back on the display, he was too sober for this.

-🦌 His favorite thing to do while bending you over is mark your neck with bites and hickeys as his nails dig into your hips or sides leaving even more bloodied marks that he gets to happily lick up later.

-🦌 While he doesn’t mean to hurt you, he hates thinking that his own hands would hurt his partner like he hurts others that piss him off. It’s when he’s so far into his rut that he forgets himself and has the mindset of constantly breeding you all night. It’s his animalistic side he promises.

-🦌 He especially loves it when he makes you moan out his name or squeal between your moans and gasps. It just makes him much more eager to get those noises out of your mouth.

Holding your hips as he pounded his cock into you from behind as your hands gripped the back of the couch. Knuckles turning white as you keep yourself up for him, legs shaking as you keep them from buckling under your weight. Mouth hanging wide open as you moan out his name, feeling him push his cock deep into you. His teeth digging into your shoulder as he growls and grunts against you, blood escaping past his lips. Arms starting to shake from the position he had held you in as you squeal for him, body shaking as you feel how his thrusts falter for a second. “More..make more sounds for me, Darling.” He snarled out wrapping his arms around your waist, your blood coating his clawed hands.

-🦌 When he can’t pull you away from work or away from people for too long. He either pulls you into a closet and takes you in there or makes you cockwarm him until you snap and beg him to take you both somewhere private under the guise you weren’t feeling too well.

-🦌 Don’t get me started when you do decide to cockwarm him too, he’s gripping your hips like his life depended on it just to keep you down on his lap. He won’t pay much attention to you but will allow you to cover his face and neck in kisses if you want. 

-🦌 But don’t you worry, when he’s in his rut like this he won’t take long to break especially when you start to move your hips against him. Slowly at first to not rouse suspicion but then going faster until you're practically riding him and keeping his hands off of you. 

Alastor gasped out sending a half hearted glare up at you, tears in his eyes as you bounced down against his cock. Hands cupping his face as you kiss him carefully moans leaving your lips, his hands wrapped around your thighs as his tongue eagerly pushes into your mouth. In a flash your back pressed against your mattress as he started to thrust his cock deep into you, hands above your head as he listened to your loud moans of his name between his deep grunts and moans. His belt buckle clinking against his legs as he tugged you closer to him, claws digging into your wrists as he leaned his head down to mark your neck up to make sure everyone knew who was making you feel so good.

-🦌 Once his ruts or your rut wears off, the everloving gentleman your lover is, he runs you a bath. He won’t ever get into it with you, something he made very clear but he will help wash your hair or massage your shoulders. Once out of the bath, he will patch up any scratches you had gotten. He wants you to keep the bite marks uncovered but he will disinfect them for you.

-🦌 He won’t talk about his rut or your rut as it’s something he doesn’t like to talk about. He won’t stop you from talking about it but if he hears you breathe a word about how needy he was, he will deny it until you drop it and then you’ll be in bigger trouble. But if you respect his wishes and not breathe a word he’ll be a little more thankful. Either way he brings you to a nice dinner a night later to thank you for helping him out.

-🦌 All in all if your respectful to him and his wishes, he will return the favor tenfold especially during and after his rut. He appreciates you more than you know and more than he lets on.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Stranger danger (slasher!Konig x fem!Reader)

You never wanted to go to this stupid party. Turns out, you were right all along - it doesn't save you from this weird guy in a Ghostface mask though. Warnings and tags: Non-con, size difference, knives, slasher-y, slight degradation, obsessive Konig, yandere Konig, praise kink Word count: 3069 AO3

You told your friends you didn’t want to go to this stupid party. No one cared. You asked them for at least a funny group costume, and everyone agreed – only to bail at the fucking party, so you were the only one who went as a freaking ant from that one extremely sad meme. With a little handkerchief on a stick and everything. No one got it. 

You told your friends that you wouldn’t want to get drunk unless they would be with you because, honestly, college parties are the worst, and you don’t want anyone to get roofied. They left you by the snack table, making you eat smarties and occasional chips like salt counts don’t exist. 

You were munching on a particularly tough pretzel – the packaging was saying something in German, as exotic as this college could fucking get without being too scared of spices – when The Guy dropped himself on the couch next to you. 

Yes, The Guy – because you were in no right to call him just a guy, a dude, a lil’ bro, or anything like that. He was way over 6 feet, probably creeping on being the new form of a fancy light post, and built like a bear that was eating nothing but protein and particularly tasty American tourists. Dressed in all black, very original, he must love spending time in various shops and choosing between 50 shadows of the same dark attire. 

At this point, you were not surprised that he was wearing a Ghostface mask. At this point, you lost all of your capabilities to be surprised – only slightly intrigued, perhaps, and a little bit aroused when he manspreaded his legs and pushed his knee right against your leg, not stopping until he crammed you to the corner of a sofa. How the one man could take so much space, you had no idea. What he was eating to grow up this big – also. 

He looked like at least three frat boys from a sports team crammed together in one body. Tight muscles that could be seen even through the bagginess of his clothes – you aren’t sure if you could survive looking at his pecks without wanting to give up all of your life earnings for a gym membership. 

— Hey. 

A master of flirting, you just needed someone to talk to. 

The Guy didn’t respond. 

You frowned – a typical college boy would already try to flirt with you, probably getting you drunk to get an easy lay for the next 10 seconds of pure physical exercise. If he wasn’t interested in a conversation, he probably shouldn’t have sat in your corner – unless he wanted to steal snacks, of course. Something in his figure told you that he would be a freaking hurricane in the snack aisle. 

He smells like metal – weird, you think. Not like you wanted to smell him, of course not. You were just crammed in a really tight place against his shoulders, your nose forced to press into his shirt and inhale the deep scent of some generic perfume, a surprising hint at laundry detergent and cleaning supplies – and, of course, said metal. 

You expected sweat and cheap booze – but this means it smells like a butcher and a cleaning lady at the same time. 

To closer observation, he looked…nervous, almost. Hands fidgeting with a fake knife that he probably snatched from some Halloween supply shop – it’s surprisingly heavy looking, without that cheap shine that a lot of Ghostface costume knives have, and you feel almost endeared by the way he fidgets and spins the knife in his hands. Still, somehow, he looked anxious. 

— Are you alright? 

He continues to sit here silently. You fight the savior instinct inside of you, reminding yourself that you do not need to nurse and mother a grown-up college boy who is probably too high to talk right now or simply dozed off in his mask with no one to notice this – but still, something in his hunched posture made you feel…soft. Tender. This, or you’re too drunk to not be a doting mommy, since all of your friends ditched you and your sad ant cosplay to be slutty fish sticks. 

— Ja, I’m fine. 

German accent. This is a surprise for a college boy at this party. Guys who are usually visiting those places can barely speak English, so knowing German with that perfect weird accent of his makes you feel…things. Never too much for accents, you still sat a bit closer, your face pressed against his shoulder. Cheek smashed on his skin – he doesn’t say anything about extreme physical contact. You’re surprised at your own confidence. 

— From which program are you? 

— What? 

— Like…which school. What do you study? 

He paused. Flicks the knife in his hands – from this angle, it looks way too sharp for a simple plastic knife. Guy must be a crazy cosplayer who spends hours on trying to make foam and metallic paint look this realistic – you admire this level of nerdiness a little bit. With this skill, he could be more than a generic Ghostface. 

He shrugs, leaving you without an answer. Alright, not much of a talker. Probably from computing, STEM boys always act like contact with females would make them pregnant. 

— Are you enjoying the party? 

— Ja. 

— You came alone? 

— Ja. 

— What do you…alright, just tell me if I’m annoying. I’ll stop bothering you. 

He chuckles – your cheeks are immediately heated when he presses his hand closer to your thigh. The actions is suggestive, and you don’t quite…don’t quite mind it. You always had a thing for masks, and his body resembles the one of a greek statue – you wouldn’t want to pass on this opportunity. Definitely not for sex, not the type to hook up with a random boy on Halloween, but maybe a sloppy makeout and some number exchange would take place. 

König had different plans. 

Honestly, you made it too fucking easy for him. Good girl, polite girl, nice girl who actually fucking asked him if he was alright because his hands were shaking from the adrenaline he got from killing some weird asshole trying to get a drunk girl in his bed. He was shaking because he knew he’d get away with it – there were so many drugs on the venue, police wouldn’t even want to open this rathole and try to search for a killer in that random ass city he got on a break after the latest contract. 

You made it too easy – your weird costume, your sad face, and your attempts at caring for him actually made his blood boil from excitement, and his nerves(and his dick, throbbing in that baggy black pants) stir. You tucked in the corner, all by yourself, surrounded by loud noises and intoxicated people who couldn’t give less shit about your safety. He can slit your throat, and everyone would think it’s a costume. 

He can…and he can also take a little treat for having such a good last mission. Might even take you with him if you’d promise to be a good girl and don’t fight him in the trunk of his car. 

You can’t even scream when he pushes his hands on your throat, squeezing. You wanted to, he knew by the look in your eyes that there was a fire inside of you – so he extinguished it as fast as he possibly could, laughing at your pathetic attempts at fighting him off. Just like your friends, you are weirdly easy for him to handle. Just a bunch of drunk college mates, nothing compared to his experience. He’d say that he stood too low, so crazy on his leave, that he decided to search for the easiest prey imaginable, but sometimes you need to choose yourself and find some easy hobbies that you can partake in without taking too much from your psychological sources. 

Sometimes, you just need to kill a bunch of drugged students and take home one of them – for mental health reasons. Konis is sure that KorTac would allow him to take you to the base if he’d prove that you are his psychological support pet. Maybe he could even share you with some of his officers as a treat. You’d be so sweet for Krueger, he can tell just from that terrified look on your face when he pushes his hands further, blocking your windpipe. 

König is strong – stronger than anyone you know, probably. He knows how to use this strength for the better and for worse, and he isn’t afraid of pushing a bit too far, not enough to break you, but just freaking perfect to make you dazed and turn your brain into mush. So sweet for him, such tasty little noises and scratches of your nails on his gloved hands. He must leave some marks on you later since you’re so sweet to him now. 

— Not so talkative now, Schatzi? 

You squirm, trying to punch him right in his dick, and he only moans when your knees are jerking in a poor attempt at kicking his balls. If anything, it feels like a really nice massage. So fucking obedient for him, he can’t even imagine how cute you’ll look chained to his bed, forced to play his little girlfriend while he is searching for your friends to finish them off. 

Taking off your clothes is ridiculously easy. Even while you decided not to wear a slutty costume for Halloween, the cheap fabric isn’t a good barrier between him and his desire to freaking crush you – he exposes your breasts, covering them with one of his hands right about now, keeping his other hand firmly seated on your throat. You whimper and cry as he plays with your soft buds, making them harden, undoubtedly creating a pool in your shorts. God, you’re beautiful like this. 

He actually grieves wearing a mask that can’t be moved this easily – he’d love to munch on your breasts, to try your nipples with his tongue, and roll his teeth over your soft mounds. He can’t, not right now, at least – you’re not nearly broken enough not to tell the police about his face, and he doesn’t want you to close your eyes. Need to make sure you’ll see every inch of his dick. 

His rough gloves are creating a weird but pleasurable pressure on your buds – you whine and sob as he pushes his hands to stimulate you more, not caring that you don’t want it. Tugging and teasing with his fingertips, you actually feel like you’re going crazy just from the way he is playing with your breasts. Pushing from side to side, touching soft flesh, not even allowing you to moan as every time you try to open your mouth, he grips your throat tighter. 

When he is finally done playing with your boobs, you can almost feel bruises forming from his rough touches. You whine when he goes to rip your shorts – his touches feel like lava spreading between your legs, no matter how much you wanted him to stop, your tongue never came to actually beg him for it. 

To his delight, you are soaking. 

Your pretty pussy on full display for him – twitching and squeezing for nothing, poor thing, he might as well just push the finger already, stretching you out just enough to let you feel the burn without breaking you. König would love to just push his dick inside without all of these dancing around nothing, but he is aware of his size – and very, very aware of yours. Little things might not be as small as he likes to think you are, but you’re freaking tiny compared to him. Weak and fragile, you have no fucking excuse to just parade yourself like men around you aren’t a bunch of wolves that would love to rip you apart and fuck what remains. 

You can barely breathe while he pushes his fingers inside, just one digit is enough to make you squirm under him. You’re wet, pussy damp from all of the juices – lack of oxygen makes you dumber, pliable, make you his best little thing in the world. A girl like you has no business going to parties and whoring yourself to a bunch of early alcoholics – you should stay at home, his home, cooking him dinner and warming his dick. Cleaning his knife after he’d gut some dumb fuck, making sure to get your tongue into all the sharp edges. 

Scheisse, just the thought makes him harder than ever. Perhaps he needs to stop playing the nice guy and finally give you the pounding you deserve. 

Tired of just holding his hand on your throat, he forces the blade of his knife to take its place. Not nearly enough to cut your skin, but a constant reminder – if you’re a bad girl and would try to escape, he might slit your fucking throat as easily as butter. If you’re a good girl, unlike your friends, he might just take you with him. What a beautiful option. 

One finger turns to two very quickly – and, since he doesn’t stop you from moaning and talking, you finally gain your voice back. Poor girl, too dumb to understand that all of your little threats and cries and everything is just a fucking delight to his ears. Might as well record it for his alarm clock. 

— Get…get off me!

Such a strong words for such a weak girl. He’d spank you right away, but his fingers are too busy playing with your folds, smearing your juices all over your clit and trembling pussy. You’re dripping like a slut, and it busts his ego – a fancy college girl like you, so wet and needy for a nasty criminal. He knows how to treat you right and has all the resources for it – but somehow, it feels like you’d enjoy being treated like his doll. 

He can be sweet after he has fucked you raw. 

— Please, you can’t…I won’t tell anyone if you just stop, I promise! 

— Shatzi, why do you think I’d let you go after this? 

— I…I will scream. 

— Ja, you can scream. Do this for me, please.

He laughs as he plunges in, giving you sweet seconds to become accustomed to the feeling of his dick impaling you. Bulging in the outline of your soft tummy, another boost to his ego – just to think, he was so anxious about crashing this party, knowing it would be filled with prissy students who all get to live the life he dreamed of, but you made it all worth it. You’re sweet and fiery, and you grip him like a glove. No matter how wet you were and how much pre-cum he had leaked, you’re still tight for him. Too tight. 

You scream when he plunges it, and you continue to scream when he pushes deeper, further, when he moves back a little bit, only to push forward again. His hand finds your clit, never stopping until you’re squirming and crying full-on under him. Such a shame he can’t kiss you, not with this stupid mask – he can only play with your slit and push a knife against your throat over and over again, never allowing the adrenaline in your system to run dry. 

Over and over, pushing you further and further until he plunged inside fully – you’re so puffy around him, your pussy lips swollen and spread for him, your clit is throbbing from the pleasure he gives you. Getting you off like that is easy for him – but he has to make sure he isn’t taking it too far, not with how warm and tight you are. He hates being in a position of weakness, but you’re just so perfect, he can’t help but push further and further until you are a sobbing mess and he is on the edge of orgasm. 

He forces himself to be slower, his pushes are more and more deliberate – he doesn’t want to cum so fast, even though the mix of your sobs and his adrenaline high from the killing almost makes it impossible. He doesn’t want to stop like this, so fucking easy, but you’re so welcoming and cute and…

— Please, please, don’t…don’t come inside, I’m not on the pill, I’m…

God, you’re so sweet for him. Did the devil finally give him his gift for Halloween? 

He laughs as you sob softly, pushes you more and more, and your poor pussy is getting stretched far beyond its limits. He steals this orgasm from your decency, robs you of any accountability – you just lay here, under him, receiving his dick like a good girl you are. Couldn’t have it any other way, just wanted to have you pinned under his body forever. 

Your orgasm is crushing, painful in a way – you're all too sensitive for a dick this large to impale you, you sob, and you cry, begging for him to stop before he’d cum inside. Your biggest nightmare is alive when he pushes the knife away from your throat, squeezing it again just so he can cum in the tightness of your hole. 

He stays like this, connected to your deepest parts, for a good few minutes, dumb out after the orgasm. You try to squirm from under him, but he only laughs, slowly pushing away from your body. Just one load is enough to make your pussy all messy and even more wet. You’re so dirty for him, it’s actually impossible not to love you even more when you’re like this, dumb and sensitive and so, so fucking cute. 

His cum drips from your overflown pussy, pearly white liquid stuffs you ever so perfectly, König laughs, putting his clothes back together and getting one last look at your ruined hole, clenching around nothing. You can’t even talk at this point, poor thing – just how can he leave you here to be found by your perverted friends who would only take advantage of you? 

It’s only natural that he sneaks your limp body through the window, holding you like a beloved possession while he is getting in his car. 

It’s only natural that you fall asleep in his arms, your pussy stuffed so full, he just knows that he’ll add to the mess once he’d get rid of the body of a dumb college guy he killed moments ago. 

[seat-safety-switch]

Without the power of television, we'd all be living perfectly normal lives. Sure, some of us would read novels about moving to Australia and having cool adventures or something, but on the whole our aspiration would be a little lower. TV makes things happen. They make an exotic, dreamland lifestyle seem attainable. You can make your house beautiful. You can make your ass bounce pennies off it. And you can have an exotic sports car.

For years, the Porsche dealership has been doing a little test-drive event in my neck of the woods. They'll bring all of the latest beetle-shaped sports cars around and send the community's richest folks a little invitation to show up to a secret location. At that point, they let the rich folks bag on the cars a bit, shake some hands, serve some barbecue and booze, and it's a good weekend for everyone. The idea is that they sell extra cars the next week, to folks who just hadn't considered buying a new Porsche until they got all these nice gifts. They never counted on me.

While I'm not especially rich, I have managed to leverage my friend Letter-Carrier Louise's connections at the post office into knowing when and where this event is. It's not legal for me to open someone else's mail, but it is perfectly okay if I stand next to her while she sorts postcards, and read the words that say "hey rich guys come drive a Porsche at Boonies' Country Club and Horse Embalmatorium." Sometimes she has to go a little slow on the ol' letter sorting, because she knows I don't read very quickly anymore, not since the electroshock therapy.

You might be surprised that, although I'm not moneyed, I do own rich men's clothes. My secret? Estate sales, or to be more accurate, the thrift store closest to the rich part of town where they have the estate sales. Sure, they're not the latest fashions, but that means the salesmen will think that I'm an eccentric hyper-richo, and not, say, some degenerate who is only there to scare the shit out of a golf course owner by four-wheel-drifting a 600-horsepower electric hypercar around the bar until the tires explode. And they're right. I'm also there for the free barbecue, and as many cans of beer as I can stuff into the trunk of my 1978 Volare, which has been tactically parked in the groundskeeper's shed, ready to make good my escape.

Was this ethical? Absolutely not, but the acquisition of obscene wealth rarely is. They say you have to fake it until you make it, and I'm sure once that second part hits I'll swing by the dealer to make it up to them.

[roanniom]

since ur on a plane its only right to request mile high club with steve x reader ‼️‼️🔥🔥✈️

Up in the Clouds

Businessman!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, public sex/plane sex, fingering, a lil sugar daddy-ing from Steve but there’s no arrangement, he just likes showering you with gifts cuz he can

You’d never flown first class before. In fact, you’d rarely flown at all. That all changed when you started dating Steve Harrington. Notorious playboy Steve Harrington loved the finer things in life - expensive booze, beautiful women, fast cars, exotic places, and first class tickets.

That’s how you find yourself sequestered in the little pod that surrounds your two expensive seats. A blanket covering your lap as his hand lazily plays between your legs. Your skin feels hot and your brow furrows as you watch his smug grin widen along with the way your lips quiver and part.

“Steve, we shouldn’t. Not here…” you whisper, but he shakes his head with a chuckle.

“This is the best place for this, honey. Trust me.”

He uses his free hand to pass you your glass of champagne and you take it. When he nods you take a sip, letting the bubbles burst on your tongue just as Steve begins circling your clit with more pressure.

“Feel that? The altitude? The champagne? When you cum you’ll feel higher than the clouds we’re in, baby.”

You bite your lip to suppress the moan that wants to burst from your your throat. He’s right. You’re not sure if it’s the altitude or the alcohol or the fact that your new boyfriend is whisking you away on a trip or the fact that any flight attendant walking by could possibly hear you. But you feel electrified, dangling on the edge of an orgasm that is going to rocket you into outer space.

“Aw don’t hold out on me, honey, that’s no fair,” Steve pouts when he sees the way you are keeping yourself from letting go. “I don’t deny you anything, do I?”

He doesn’t. As is evidenced by the sparkling necklace swaying between your breasts and the gorgeous lace panties that he’s currently stretching and which is drenched with your slick.

“Steve. Oh Steve,” you whisper, making him beam at you.

“Feels good, I know. It’ll feel even better when you let go,” he coos his promise honey sweet, just like his nickname for you. “And when we get to the hotel, I’ll make you cum on my cock till the sun comes up. How about that?”

That’s the promise that does it. He knows what his cock does to you, feeling you clench around his fingers at the very thought before you’re spawning in his grasp, spilling champagne over yourself.

When you finally come down from the high, it’s to the feeling of Steve licking champagne off the tops of your breasts and the valley of your cleavage.

“So sweet, honey.”

“Thank you, Stevie,” you breathe. Just the same as you did when he gifted you the necklace and lingerie. He kisses his way up the column of your throat to bestow a lazy, lascivious kiss to your face waiting mouth.

“Welcome to the Mile High Club, babe,” he whispers against your lips. He leans back and smirks with a grunt when he feels your hand tentatively grip him through his pants. He’s rock hard, heavy and hot behind the luxe designer fabric.

“Oh. Want me to join you in the clouds, honey? Don’t mind if I do.”

~*~

Thanks for reading. Please comment and reblog to let me know what you think!!!

[cryptidcorners]

Old Friend — Prince!Derek Danforth x GN!Reader [ Part 1/? ]

Description: A royal ball celebrating the end of a decade of pure isolation between Houses brings you and an old acquaintance together once again.

# No Request

# A.N: I'm literally gushing over DND here, lol! There's sm story shit. it's more lore explaining than actual romantic stuff, SOOO. sorry. hope you enjoy the AU pfft

Media: The Beekeeper [ AU ]

Character: Derek Danforth [ AU ]

Tags: DND/Fantasy Inspired AU, Royalty, PLOT, Lore Dumping, Friends to ? ? ?, Romantic Implications, Fluff, Slight Suggestiveness { if you squint }, Slowburn, Childhood Friends, Flirting, Catching Up, OOC!Derek [?], Sweet Talk + Reader is !GN.

Warnings: Mentions of War/Isolation, Depression, Childhood Trauma, Substances/Acholic Beverages + Smoking.

TOS. Derek Dandorth Master List {TBW}.

The ballroom had been mildly entertaining at most, while Dandorth House was certainly exotic with fruitullius pickings like booze, muzzled griffins and gowns, you had found yourself a mere wallflower near the belt of the corner. Your attentive gaze remained ill as you stared at the chorus of visitors from all across the world clad in their signature wear, dancing the night away with tipping mindscapes.

You were impressed by their shiny attempt to win over the other Houses with opium and silver statues not seduced. The idea of taking wine brewed by a Dandorth was an idea you'd never subscribe to, as much as you valued their efforts in ore distribution, they weren't a House you'd call a friend, more of a neighbor with the temper of a sun bear.

The shine of silk, flashing grins and laughter had made you feel as if you didn't belong, as if you were nothing but a lonley phantom enviously spectating the quartz floors.

Your House, Tallis, was a symbol of artistry, sculpting, poets and other powers were the foundations of your land. You were the only heir to the throne, sharing no brother or sister to extend a blade at down the line. Alas, you were greatful no family blood would bare at your fingertips, but the crippling loniliess had carved you into a quiet, yet respectful noble with dreams just like any Tallis; only you wished there was another one to share it with.

"Admiring the dancefloor are we?" A voice asked, it's tone as complex as the limestone statues of old characters fronted at the palace. You felt something buzz in your soul, and your gaze had flocked up to the host.

Prince Derek Dandorth, only, he was much older than when you last laid your eyes on him.

It was around midnight when both Houses declared they'd go into hiding to cower away from the war. It was your last royal ball together, and you weren't interested in leaving yet. You were both children then, dumb and in love. You both had scurried off and his yourselves near the old balcony that you were sure had been rebuilt with golden rimmings and white rose bushes.

"When will I ever see you again?" You asked desperly, hands interlocking with his soft fingertips. Derek's eyes had arrowed into you, deep with longing. Back when his hair was still an endless rush of dark, brunette curls and gentle highlights.

"I don't know, but it'll be soon. Our Houses may be splitting, but that doesn't mean we won't be able to dance again, will it?" Derek whispered. "We'll see each other again. We have to."

He had been wrong, and you had been grieving over that broken promise when you were children for a long time. The Dandorth and Tallis Houses were at a halt, conflicted by some nearby wars circling close to the walls.

It had resulted in both kingdoms locking themselves in their labyrinths of treasure, with eyes paved into the stone. You were isolated in your House, only seeking comfort in carving your inner desires into rich pavement that was now collecting dust in your Queenship's second guest bedroom.

Now, he was here, cocky as ever. With blonde hair and light reminces of forest green and flakes of emerald flickering across his face. His signature uniform was gorgeous, with carefully decorated leaves and patterns that resembled rich lingering. His crown set carefully in his forest of curls, and you swore you could smell cologne that burst your nostrils with pure dopamine.

"Derek?" You uttered, slack jawed.

You blinked and he waved his hand in front of your stunned expression teasingly.

His hand carefully tightened around his glass, "Now, that's no way to greet a prince in his own House, is it?" the heir cooed. Your face fell and you arched a brow, unimpressed at his mock of carelessness. Prince Dandorth was certainly an idealist, but he was definitely not an actor.

He laughed, tone deep as ivory. "I'm just messing with you, Noble Tallis." Then, he opened his arms for an inviting hug you immediately fell into. Although, he felt stiff, you could sense he was relived to see you again.

"You look different." You pulled back.

Derek's gaze remained on you, "You like it? The hair that is—I had it personally dyed, you can tell how organic it looks, yes?"

You could tell he was trying his best to seem noble. So, you teased. "Oh, the hair? I hadn't noticed, silly me. I couldn't help but notice your blush and gown—are those earrings?"

His fingers ran down the golden patterns with a soft smile. "Well, the House of artistry was attending, I had to look my best, especially for the only heir." A warm smile spread across his face. "It's been way too long." Derek said breathlessly, "I missed you."

Prince Danforth's face softened. "Well, thank the Gods."

You eased, trying to stir up some conversation. "How are you? I've heard your House is doing well after the release." 

He boasted. "People are desperate over our caverns, you would not believe how many travelers were mounted at our doorstep ready for trade." Derek confirmed after a sip, "We might be in need of your creativity again, the walls are so dull, and they can certainly use some of your flare, don't you think?" 

You were flattered. Your eyes ran down the exterior of the walls, lightly scratching your jaw. "You know, you're right. Your palace does look a little—" 

"A little, what? He urged. 

You humored. "Like it was designed by a commoner."

Derek laughed. "You've always had an eye for details like this. Good to know I wasn't disappointed to know you haven't changed that much."

Then, he asked. "How about you? Any new inventions or views on the world? Hearing about your House is like turning a Jack-in-the-box."

You chewed your lip awkwardly. As Derek had imagined, there were many views and advances in Tallis. Though, it had caused a whide fued between philosophers and their audience. It was overwhelming, but nonetheless, Tallis had been doing much better than any other House, even with its complications with political attributes. "It's . . . going well."

You knew it wasn't in Derek's character to pester, so he hummed in delight for your vague answer. His lips settled on his narrow class, drinking in a rich selection of dark champagne. His apex gaze settled on you, "Mind if I steal you away for a moment? I see you don't fancy the music or dancing." Derek offered his hand, "Just like old times," he suggested.

There wasn't a sliver of reluctance in your answer, you eagerly gripped his hand and let him guide you outside the ballroom. The wash of silence veiled over your ears as the intrusive rhythm of the party began to fade away.

You had forgotten how large Prince Danforth's palace was, with high walls itching towards the sky and silver veins ripping through the quartz floors. He drank up your silence. "Beautiful, isn't it? I know there might be a thousand mistakes in your eyes, but it's something else entirely to me. My people sculpted and built this castle for my House, my bloodline, and no matter what I do, I may never repay their labor."

Derek sighed, gaze masking apologetically as his speech had been led astray. "Sorry, I haven't spoken to you in a while. I have a lot on my chest, Noble Tallis."

"No, no. It's alright, I assure you. Don't apologize for simply speaking to me."

Derek smiled shyly, "Thank you." his voice relaxed at his offer, "Would you fancy a tour?"

"Absolutely." Your eyes fluttered.

Derek nudged his head forwards the split of hallways, "Come, then."

Your fingertips parted and you were slightly disappointed when he walked a few steps in front of you, arms spread out like a hawk as he basked in the light of the exquisite chandeliers hooked to the carved ceiling.

You felt like a child again. Two rebellious souls giggling and whispering, racing up the staircases like hummingbirds and gazing at the web of art pieces that mapped the generations of his House. Tales of war generals and royal blood rivalry. Derek in particular had a knack for history, giving his share of intelligence of his family tree with eager eyes.

"Is that your grandfather?"

"Great-grandfather." Derek corrected. "My father told me a lot about him, he was the loyalest king of this House. He truly cared for his people, and it's how we were able to advance this far at all. He just had faith." His eyes fell, "Though, I worry it's all going to go to waste."

"How so?"

Derek set his hand carefully on the painting, fingertips grazing gently across the teeth of the large canvas. "My mother has been pushing our classes too hard this last decade. It's caused a commotion within our walls, they don't trust the House anymore. I have no authority like her, she won't . . ." he choked back a cry. "I can't do anything, I'm useless. I'm only a Prince, I'm nothing compared her."

He felt your warm grasp on his shoulder. You whispered, "That's not true. You're many things, Derek. A dreamer, a loyalist. You'll be a great king, this I tell you."

Derek paused. "But what if my kingdom can't wait? They're being pushed to the edge, working like dogs. It's no good leading a nation when there's nothing left. I don't want to wait."

This was a lot to take in. Tallis had been oblivious to how quickly Danforth had been advancing like no other House, now you were truly worried. A rebellion was possible, and every House had almost lost all their work by the lower classes arriving at their pearly gates with mounts of fire.

His hands fumbled with his dressing, voice grim. "I'm the only heir, the only one left to fix up her mistakes." Derek turned to you with desperate eyes. "I feel like I'm in a cage. The walls have opened up again, yet, I don't feel free. Like a bird in a cage, do you know what that feels like? To act as an audience, almost no word in anything unless I'm told to."

You hadn't noticed Derek taking both your hands and pressing them against his chest. You exhaled lightly, "Derek. What is the queen doing to you?"

Was Queen Danforth imprisoning him? A Prince should have a voice, especially as the only heir. Your grip tightened, "Prince Danforth, whatever is happening . . . you can tell me anything. I promise, your word will remained sealed between my lips, nobody will know."

"Oh, but they will." Derek explained. "Someone will always know. There's ears in the brick and mortar, eyes from friends."

You made a noise as if you were being strangled. "But what about now? I feel as if you told me everything and nothing at the same time." You were at the edge of tears. You couldn't loose him, not again.

"I haven't told you a lick of what's truly happening." He told you. "There's so much you don't know, Tallis. So much to know, such little time."

You were so confused. This was only the tip of the iceberg according to Prince Danforth, he wasn't the type to lie for as spoiled as he was. Regardless, his eyes were the darkest shade of sincerity you had ever seen. Your voice was hushed, "What do I do? I can't leave like this, Derek."

"I promise, I'll tell you everything." Derek rested his forehead against yours, "I promise." then, he pulled away. "I love you too much to let you get hurt because of my ignorance. Time will tell, just be patient."

Derek desperately needed someone to talk to. About his injustice and personal conflict, but he felt the need to warn you as well. Something else was brewing, a conspiracy perhaps? What was Queen Danforth up to? Would you ever know? So many questions.

Then, you broke out of your paralysis when he had mentioned love. You stammered, "You love me?"

He was shocked, frozen in his step. "Of course, I do. You're so fantastic, intelligent and sensitive. If I didn't know any better I figured I'd be under a spell," Derek chuckled. "I may as well be at this point. I care about you, so much. I can't lie to you, but I can't put you in harm's way either."

Your face warmed. Before he could spin away, you held his hands tightly, getting lost in his eyes once again. His breath hitched, and you heard him swallow harshly. "Tallis?" Derek didn't pull away, you could even sense him bringing himself closer, "You know, if we do this, there will be no turning back . . ."

You were longing, "Then so be it. I've been locked away for too long, the only company being memories of you."

Derek's speech slowed, harsh and husky. "All my life, I've always gotten what I've want, everything I asked for. However, this is the first time I've felt—" he rasped. "I needed something as precious as you."

Cupid's arrow has pierced your soul, and you had read him well enough to press your lips against his own, melting into a kiss. Derek pulled away, catching his breath with a giggle. "Oh, Heavens, give me a moment."

"Never kissed someone before?" You asked.

"No, never." He hushed you with a peck, that descended into a deeper kiss. You ran your fingertips across his silky wear, and you could feel shivers running down his spine. He felt like a peasant on his knees, begging for a penny to add to his name. Derek had felt desperate before, but never like this.

A strong desire had pulled you closer, stealing each other's breath away. Your sentimental feelings grew thin once he pulled away after making a noise, which made his face flush in raw embarrassment.

"A thousand pardons, I just, got a little wrapped into it." Derek mumbled and then repeated. "Sorry,"

"Don't be, I liked it, I promise." You traced his thumb to his cheek, lightly circling his warm skin. "Thank you for taking me out, and telling me everything, or . . . most of it at least."

Derek's face softened and rested his hand on yours. His face fell, "If I could, I'd run away with you, start somewhere fresh."

"Derek, you know we can't. We're the only heirs, the only ones who can hold the throne and make a difference. It's our duty."

He dipped his head, saddened at the taste of reality, "I know, I know, but a man can dream." though your face was infectious enough to let a smile spread across his face.

The rest of the night had been tranquill and hush, a few fruitful hours of nothing but gentle praises and a few butterfly kisses here and there without disturbance, until you finally stopped near a pool where a seahawk was perched, beak wrestling weeds out of the water. It was growing late and you could sense your House would be departing soon enough.

Derek took your hand once more, resting his lips on your knuckles. "This was a wonderful evening, Tallis."

"I hope I get to see you again." You told him.

"I'll make sure to write to you, maybe through a messenger bird so it's extra private." Derek toyed. "Maybe you can send me those beautiful drawings of yours."

You smiled softly. "I'll think about it."

You had kissed him goodbye again, before you could stir away from his side, his warm breath tickled your ear. "And don't forget what we spoke about,"

Dawn was tickling the air and the clouds were heavy with the deep scarlet of sunrise. Derek had gotten no sleep tonight, as his attention was too busy wandering through chapters of you. It wasn't the only thing keeping him up, as his mind was still swampy with anxiety. He had only fueled your curiosity to solve Danforth's conspiracy, all because his emotional vulnerability had gotten the better of him and he couldn't bring himself to hold back.

He walked tiredly to his study and wrapped his hands around the careful mold of his desk, carefully reelimg out a sealed envelope from the darkness of his cabinets. A red stamped, engraved with a symbol resembling a furious bee hunching over its stinger to the side was in bold, almost intimidating him. Derek's gaze hardened, he knew there was something else to his symbol,

And he would get to the bottom of it.

[renlyslittlerose]

Can I request "almost kisses that are interrupted by a third party"? 💙

Sorry for the delay, peach! Thanks so much for the prompt 💗

---

The mess deck was quiet on the Negotiator, save for the hum of droid engines and gears, and the soft whispers of an intimate conversation. Droids whirled around collecting abandoned plates and cups, strewn napkins and bits of dropped food, cleaning up the detritus left over from a rousing victory party held in honour of another mission well done, and another journey survived. Most of the ship’s occupants were gone, tucked away in their cots or returned to their postings as they slowly made their way back to Coruscant.

Most, but not all.

Anakin and Obi-Wan remained sat on the floor in the corner, their backs pressed against the metal hull as they shared the last of the drink and picked away at a slice of cake made out of the biscuits found in ration packets. The icing was gritty and the cake itself dry, while the beer was weak and had lost all its fizz, little bubbles long since evaporated into the recycles air up above. But both hit the spot in a way that not even the most expensive of parties on Coruscant could, with towers of glasses filled with perfumed alcohol, and decadent desserts coated in sugars and exotic fruit.

Anakin’s cheeks hurt from laughing and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his brow and the base of his neck slick with sweat, curls matted across his temples. The muscles of his legs and ass ached from the hard floor beneath him, and the cake was beginning to disagree with his meal from earlier, rations mixed with nutritional pellets, neither of which filled the void a proper meal could.

But he didn’t dare move, too comfortable and sated in other ways. Obi-Wan’s voice and the little pearls of laughter that slipped into his stories warmed Anakin’s belly; the twinkle in his eyes mesmerizing; the blush to his cheeks both from the warmth of the space and the effects of the drink its own sort of intoxication, and the lock of auburn hair across his brow captivated Anakin’s wandering attention, until he could think of nothing but Obi-Wan.

It was rare to see him this relaxed; rarer still where Anakin had time to enjoy it.

And so he remained on the floor, dissecting the last of the cake with an idle fork as Obi-Wan told him about a party he’d attended over a decade ago as a Padawan. He finished the story with a satisfied sigh, his hands linked together on his lap, legs kicked out in front of him as he stared out across the mess. The droids continued their mission dutifully, little beeps and chirps accompanying their actions.

Anakin admired the bob of Obi-Wan’s throat as he swallowed.

“What about you, Anakin?” Obi-Wan lolled his head to the side to look at him. His lids were heavy, eyes bleary with drink and exhaustion, his smile soft and patient.

“What about me?” he repeated.

“Any exciting parties from your past that I don’t know about?”

Anakin’s cheeks heated, and he ducked his head to look down at the crumbs on the plate. “Not that I was invited to,” he admitted.

Obi-Wan didn’t press into the bruise, for which Anakin was grateful. Obi-Wan knew Anakin struggled to make connections; nothing more needed to be said about it.

“How does this one stack compared to your other parties?” he asked, trying to deflect the questions back to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan straightened up a little and reached up to stroke his beard. He collected a dusting of icing he’d been unaware was there, his brows furrowing as he flicked it off his thumb and forefinger with a glare. Anakin smiled and rested his head against the wall.

“I’d say it was one of the better ones I’ve attended,” Obi-Wan finally said with a nod that gave it a sense of finality.

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I dunno, it’s just… the cake was awful, the booze were weak and there wasn’t nearly enough, and the Clones love to sing even when none of them can carry a tune.”

“So?”

Anakin shrugged. “You’ve been to all sorts of grand, luxurious events over the years - I thought those would be top of list. Besides, you’re also—”

“I’m also what?” Obi-Wan interrupted. His tone was clipped, but there was a spark in his eyes that spoke of amusement, and their bond remained steady.

“You’re also a bit of a snob.”

Obi-Wan’s laughter caught Anakin off-guard. It was lush and filling, like the rush of water on a hot Tatooine day. It skirted through Anakin’s body before settling in his stomach, making him unsteady and full.

“I’m not a snob,” Obi-Wan began as he picked imaginary lint from his tabards. “I simply enjoy quality things.”

“So a snob, then.”

Obi-Wan glared, but his expression softened almost immediately the second their eyes locked. Something shot through their bond then - a little spark of electricity that made Anakin’s toes curls in his boots, and his hands ball into fists as they lay uselessly on his lap. He knew that sensation - it always came just before a fight Obi-Wan knew he was going to win, quick and satisfied and so terribly smug.

Only there was excitement just below the current this time, making Anakin unsteady and nervous. He squeezed his hands harder together, the nails on his flesh hand digging into his palm, but the sharp stinging sensation did little to distract from the fact that Obi-Wan had leaned in closer. He was close enough where Anakin could smell the alcohol and sweetness on his breath, feel it across his cheeks and lips; close enough where if Anakin wanted to he could count every lash and freckle, every worn line and streak of grey, and close enough where he could touch Obi-Wan - slide his hand along his jaw, feel the bristle of his beard along his palm and the tips of his fingers, the heat of his skin, the softness of the space just behind his ear.

Close enough where he could take what he’d always wanted but had never been brave enough to ask for.

“W-what makes this party special then?” Anakin asked, his voice unsteady even to his own ears.

Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly, his eyes skirting down to Anakin’s lips before coming back up. Anakin caught movement at the corner of his eye but paid it no mind, transfixed by the presence of Obi-Wan.

“I thought it was obvious…” Obi-Wan mumbled. His voice was lower now, and rich like the honey on top of Coruscant dessert cakes. “It’s because you’re here, Anakin.”

Anakin let out a soft sigh and watched as Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed, his lips parting, his hand rising to cup Anakin’s cheek as he pulled him in closer and—

The loud beeping of a droid broke the spell, and Anakin watched in horror as Obi-Wan jumped away from him as if scalded. The droid remained oblivious to what it had done, the lights on the top of its head blinking as its small arms reached out for the abandoned plate and glasses tucked between them. Obi-Wan passed the dishes to the droid while Anakin sat back and glowered at the floor.

it was as if someone had just opened the airlock on him, sucking back all the warmth and oxygen before unceremoniously closing the doors again, just as Anakin was about to fly out into the vastness of space.

“Come, Anakin, it’s late.”

Anakin looked up to see Obi-Wan had risen from their space in the floor. He held his hand out to Anakin, a small smile on his lips, cheeks still flush - the only reminder that anything had almost happened. With a sigh, Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand and hauled himself up, grunting as his legs protested the sudden movement. Their hands remained locked for a moment longer - warm leather with soft flesh - but the spell had been broken, the moment undone.

“Goodnight, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said as they left the mess and stopped in the hallway.

“Goodnight, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s smile faltered a second before he nodded and headed down the hallway. The familiar tension was back, the stoicism of his Jedi Mantle once again donned, his role as Master firmly in place.

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek and turned the other way.

[unique-high]

Somebody's Problem | Dean Winchester x Blk Fem Reader

Summary: Dean couldn't help but think how you were somebody's problem.

No warnings.

A/N: This is a songfic loosely based on Morgan Wallen's song Somebody's Problem lyrics are written into the ff. Short read.

Parties were the best place to get laid. Especially college parties. Dean wasn't a college student, but where there was booze and chicks, he was there. He's got a red solo cup in his hand filled to the brim with warm beer. He's smiling at girls who send him flirtatious winks, but none of them are good enough to pull him their way. He keeps moving through the party. Bodies everywhere, weed lingers in the air and Eric Church played from somewhere. Dean sipped his beer moving through the party until he was out front with a couple who were almost out of their clothes on the front lawn. At least someone would be getting some ass.

A gray-matted BMW pulled up to the party. Windows rolled down, music blasting. Dean sees the 30-A sticker on the back windshield. Two-tone tank top slipping off your shoulder kinda girl when you step out. Dean lowers his red solo cup. For a second, the world stands still.

Ooh, I know where this is going. I already know it. Dean thought.

He watches as you walk past. Throws a look his way. A little smile from gloss cherry-tinted lips. Dean knew the type of girl you were. Likes shopping with Daddy's black American Express, and long vacations in exotic places.

It's like in those few split seconds Dean saw everything as you slowly moved by. He wanted to know your name. Know your favorite color and your favorite song. Shit. This wasn't like him to want to go that deep (that was deep for him). You were just a girl. But Dean's mind saw you as something more than that.

How you were somebody's problem. Somebody's goodbye.

You being the last number that they can't find.

You were somebody's best day. Somebody's worst night.

You were the reason somebody left the porch light on.

Then here was Dean, thinking of your beautiful complexion. You're a shade darker from being out on the beaches of Cancun.

Damn. He's thinking now how he loved to drown in them heartbreaker brown eyes of yours.

Oh, she's about to be my problem.

So Dean gets close to you. You're dancing in a way that Dean imagined was the way a Goddess could dance. And Dean he sips his drink watching you. You pulled him by his shirt, body pressed against his. He liked this. You smell of Jasmine blossom and lilacs, and Dean is crazy about the smell. He wanted to lean into you, to smell more of you, to kiss you, to wrap his arms around your waist and keep you forever.

You're the kinda girl once somebody had you, they couldn't stand to lose you. Kinda girl where your friends tell you “Don't F it up.”

You're the kinda girl that guys try to get your number to sliding through the summer to talking about love.

Dean wanted to be that summer love you'll think about in mid-hot September to harsh winters In December. He wants to be the thoughts that keep you warm in the middle of those cold nights. Dean doesn't think twice when he leans forward a bit and kisses your lips. He tastes of beer. You hold his face between your hands. For Dean, he thought he'd be a face you'd forget somewhere between the tequila shots by the end of the night if the two of you didn't end up upstairs in a bedroom naked between a stranger's bedsheets.

Wherever it led, Dean didn't care.

Dean loses himself in you. Oh, he wanted to try all the problems you were for somebody else.

He thinks he's crazy for wanting that, but maybe he was.

A/N: If you want to request Dean x blk reader my request are always open. :) Thanks for reading!

[therxtking]

Of ALL of the long term moots, how do you think each of them would be at Gordon's birthday rager?

Aw shit dog that's a LOT of muses and most of which I haven't really interacted with- some are newer but I can see going. uhh here we go:

@hxnger-unbcund Gluttony is actually here because he's a good friend and cares about Gordon. And he's also pumped as fuck for the food. And apparently he probably knows the most people here. But he's not allowed in the kitchen and he's arguing with Zoviary for being a party pooper. He does not great on the mechanical bull. Greed is here because what are all these demons congregating in these caves for? He's disappointed it's a birthday party for a rat but he'll stay because it's an awesome party and he doesn't see much of those. Envy is here for the same reasons as Greed.

@xaallo Xaallo is here because birthday rager and they're kinda almost maybe friends? Adraka told him to go be supportive. Initially he and Glutt hang out and laugh and catch up, and then spar a bit and break a table. So now he's sitting at the counter having a good chat and eating Gordon's Himalayan salt out of the shaker and asking where that baby went. Eventually he comes into the kitchen and helps cook. But he's far from comfortable with the two demons in there as well. Does either really good or really bad on the mechanical bull and keeps doing it until he beats everyone's scores. He never does. Kjoll is here because birthday rager and someone sexy who's stroked his ego in the past is here~ was GOING to be an exotic male dancer popping out of the cake but he didn't want to miss the rest of the party and is snooping around their house trying on their jewelry, scent marking their things and bed, and trying to antagonize Zoviary into chasing him to Gordon's bedroom and he's very mad at Okaal for being a 'party pooper'. Okaal doesn't know who's birthday this is or why he's here but he's assuming it's to keep Kjoll in line and tell him to behave himself and not fuck someone on their hosts bed. He's a good sport and tries the mechanical bull, and does alright!

@apexulansis Zoviary is here because Kjoll made him and he's not liking the loud riotous social function. But Gordon gave him a job to distract him and it's to keep Gluttony and Kjoll OUT of the kitchen so he's obviously doing his job right and pointing a gun at Glutt. Adraka is here because it sounded like fun and they felt bad for Gordon. And Xaallo needs to be a good friend. He tries the mechanical bull and actually does okay and has a great time at the party. Drags Xaa out to dance several times.

@skxrbrand Skarbrand doesn't know why the fuck he's here, probably followed Khazaan cause he thought he was trying to escape also what is he doing with all that stuff? He is judging everyone harshly and being aggressive, so Ira takes him outside to go fight somewhere. Kha'xanzyr thought he was boing left out of destroying the rat kingdom and is more than disappointed. He warns Gordon not to keep company with such dangerous creatures and expresses surprise the rat made it to twenty one. He leaves shortly. Khazaan has a whole brewing set up in the living room and is making concoctions to kill God. Petting Runic and telling the chefs they're using too much sugar, more blood, use more brains, they're filling and really good for you. Burn it more.

@velvetwarfare Betty is here for booze, dancing, Gordon's tiddies, and to party hard. Sitting at the counter tasting snacks, cuddling Glutt and teasing people, making fun of Gordon for being a baby. Between party and drinking games of course. And partially taking over the DJ booth. Does pretty well on the mechanical bull.

@heliinx Heliinx is here because everyone seems to be breaking into his home and surely he still adores her riiight? She's telling him to poison the food so he and her can eat everyone and loot them. She's punted out of the kitchen. Seeing Khazaan she hides a lot, but sneaks lots of food and trashes the home looking through and looting his things. Which Qhi'zhek stops.

@warhammer-fantasy-muses Qhi'zhek is here because he's a good friend, dammit. He's having a great time talking with him and Daz in the kitchen and helping make enough food for the uninvited guests. He's also keeping an eye on Kjoll, Zoviary, and especially Heliinx. Ikit is also here because he's a good supportive friend! He's loving the party, too. Not helpful in the kitchen but he loves helping Khazaan make the most lethal abominations known to alcoholism. Did not last one second on the mechanical bull.

@themosthatedbeingg Lucifer showed up dressed all nice for his new bestie with a nice gift. And very quickly ends up escalating the bullshittery of the small group of ragers in the living room. He hasn't been to a wild party in some time and he's having so much fun! He's just one of the guys! He uses his magic to help decorate. Did not last five seconds on the mechanical bull.

@onlywrath Satan arrived to be supportive of Gordon also he's not over him. He brought decorations, games, and a sick sound system to add to the DJ station. And a fucking mechanical bull of course. He's happy to meet Gordon's mother, too! He also has the highest score on the mechanical bull and no one can touch that score. No matter how hard Xaallo tries.

@vehxmence Daz is here because he was probably part of the instigation board for the surprise bash. He's in the kitchen with Gordon learning recipes and being a nuisance. Anything to see those ears shiver and that annoyed scowl on their face. And maybe he's taking an interest in their hobbbies and wants to be close to them for softer more genuine reasons... Him and Qhi hit it off as well and talk about how adorable Gordon is. He also loves that Gordon's choosing to stay in the kitchen with him rather than go party with the others. Azriel is here because he's met the rat once or twice and if Daz gets to go so does he. Az is play wrestling with Ira and chatting up the rest of the party. And eating everything he can get his hands on. And shaking Heliinx upside down to give up what she's trying to steal.

@kingbcwser (I've been following you awhile I guess?) Bowser heard surprise birthday rager and didn't care if he was invited. He's dancing and fist pumping to the music, playing music (He brought a band and DJ setup) playing drinking games, him and Betty hit it off smashingly. He bothers Gordon a bit because it's only polite to pay homage to the birthday boy also he's making all the delicious food. Did very badly on the mechanical bull but he's having a blast anyway. Threatens to take over Gordon's kingdom. Doesn't care if he breaks stuff. He's Khaz's new friend. Gordon dislikes him and doesn't know who invited them. Or who they are.

@serpentofslaanesh Lyss is here because many objects of their attention are here. They're chasing and hounding Heliinx and enjoying the party. And also snooping around in all of Gordon's things. Especially the shiny and pretty things. And trying to bother Gordon but they aren't allowed in the kitchen so they play games and get shitfaced with everyone else.

@oflostinfound Hax is here because they and Gordon bonded over nice pants, and they are not missing out on some big ass birthday bash. Does not do well at all on the mechanical bull.

@shiningsilverarmor Eos is here because it's her sweet little rat kings big birthday! She's not gonna let him go unappreciated! She has lots of fun dancing but scolds several other guests for being too rowdy and breaking his things.

@hannah-the-small Gritt and Clem are both here because the rat seemed cool, they heard rager, and supposedly no one else here will know them. And he's royalty. They can take some small things that'd sell for a pretty penny and lots of food. And get shitfaced. Neither of them try the mechanical bull and spend most of the party staying out from underfoot of others. Dancing on a table and drinking their lives away.

[deadbydangit]

HI idk when this was made but this is a godsend, especially considering the new dbd comic out. me, a rabid legion (frank) fan……. wonders

killers when they get to share in the campfire with you? just you and them sitting by the survivors campfire and taking in the area thats usually reserved for survivors

Aww, that's cute. I have to get ahold of those comics! I decided to make it a campfire party with the Legion.

Hanging out with them at the campfire.

Legion members: Frank, Julie, Joey, Susie

Frank

He's the one bringing the party!

And by that I mean the booze.

Yeah, lots of it.

"Hey guys, watch me do a back flip."

Literally the life of the party.

He does kind of try to show off.

He wants you to see how cool he is.

It might not always be safe.

"Five bucks says I can jump over the fire."

There is no money in the realm.

He's kind of drunk.

He gets drunk really fast.

He's the drunk who does really stupid shit.

Then picks a fight with the largest person there.

Then is their best friend.

Has no idea what happened the night before.

But he has a ton of bruises.

He's just glad he got to have fun with you and the others.

Julie

She's bringing booze too.

Except she brings more exotic things.

Special things she can only get from doing really well in trials.

Frank likes cheap beer.

Julie likes her fancy champagne.

All the things you would find at a fancy party.

But she drinks it right out of the bottle so...

Kind of defeats the purpose.

But look at her expensive taste.

Look how mature she is.

She really wants to impress you.

Liquid courage.

She's a real flirt.

She leans on you.

Arm around your shoulder.

Cheesy pick up lines.

The works.

But you're worth it.

Joey

Weed.

Joey is bringing weed.

He's a chill guy.

Sure, he'll have a drink.

But he'd rather just smoke some weed and chill.

"Wanna take a hit?"

If you do, they be aware.

He has the strongest stuff.

If not, no problem.

He won't judge you for it.

But he still wants you to have a good time.

Relax a little.

No one's here to kill anyone.

We're just chilling.

He's the one who will lay on the floor, just vibing.

He'll lean you on his chest.

Start talking about the most random things.

"Do you think butterflies know they only live a month?"

He's trying to be philosophical and impress you.

He sounds really stupid.

But he's trying so hard.

It's almost comical.

He just wants to seem cool in front of you.

Is that such a bad thing?

Susie

"Guys! I brought snacks!"

She brought snacks.

Not just a bag of chips.

All the snacks.

Candy bars?

Got up.

Marshmallows?

Check.

Sticks for making s'mores?

All ready.

Hell, she even has hot dogs to roast over the fire.

And every condiment you could ever want.

Where did she get all this?

And how did she store it in such a small bag?

The only thing she doesn't have is healthy foods.

She's got a bad sweet tooth.

But, who can really judge her.

Call it childish, but several of the other killers and survivors are partaking in her little feast too.

She's going to show you all the crazy combinations she's made.

"Ever had worms in dirt?"

She'll show you.

Pudding, Oreos, gummy worms.

She'll make you anything you want.

She just loves sweets.

That's why she loves you so much.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Somewhere in the Caribbean with Secret Squirrel and Morocco Mole

MOROCCO MOLE, somewhat perplexed at the label for Blue Curacao liqueur: So what exactly explains the orange-like flavour of this particular liqueur, even if it's dyed blue for some strange reason? SECRET SQUIRREL, with some pride in the voice: Morocco, I will have you know that blue curacao is derivate from a type of bitter orange endemic to Curacao in the Caribbean, whose aroma, for some bizarre reason, can be rather addicting! MOROCCO MOLE: Almost like Chanel No. 5? SECRET SQUIRREL: I would not go THAT far, Morocco. Try something like Florida Water.

[preposterousgreen]

Because literally nobody asked at all, here are some scent-related idle musings that may or may not qualify as headcanons:

Sephiroth doesn't wear fragrances per se, but there's a reason he uses thirteen out of the fourteen different scent options of his favorite line of shampoos, and the reason is the fourteenth one makes him sneeze all day even if he likes how it smells.

Genesis is rather picky about apple notes, so he actually doesn't wear many fragrances that include them. But when he finds one that works for him, he sticks with it. Apart from that, he has very broad tastes. Sometimes he puts on the rawest, dirtiest, most polarizing thing he can find, but sometimes he smells like the color pink.

Angeal would like to content himself with rubbing fresh herbs on his wrists and neck for special occasions, but he gets Genesis' point about how quickly the scent fades (plus he doesn't like hurting his babies except to eat them), so he accepts occasional gifts of fragrance with grace. Please don't tell him how much it cost.

Zack's first and last adventure with fragrances involved him spraying exactly one cologne perfume onto a test strip, smelling it, and saying out loud in the middle of a crowded, very fancy department store, "It smells like ass but in a good way?" in complete bewilderment.

Kunsel occasionally dabbles in samples of extremely niche and conceptual stuff, the weirder the better. One day, he gets forcibly sent through the hazmat decon booth for smelling, literally rather than figuratively, like the moon.

Lazard prefers discreet scents that only reveal themselves to him and to those who get up close and personal. His secretary, who has a lot of allergies, appreciates this very much.

Aerith doesn't need a product to smell like flowers. (Or dirt!) She does like nice soap, though, and when she has a chance to splurge, she goes for green or marine scents. Sea salt soap is so exotic to her! Does the ocean really smell like that?

Tifa dreams of having nice perfumes and fancy soap but the only thing available in Nibelheim is a tiny selection of trashy stuff at a huge import markup. Yuck! When she does get her hands on the goods, she is baffled to find that what she thought she'd like (airy flowers and tropical fruits) is not at all what she actually likes (dark leather and darker booze).

Cloud is—say it with him, folks!—not interested.

[sweet-chimera]

"Oh, a house party! That sounds like funn!! Do ya need any sorta food or drink? Or should I just bring everytin?" She would offer something more exotic than japanese food, but she doesn't have many options in that regard unless she starts smuggling things from underworlds.

"Tha only fancy thing I got is immortal lotus petals I can make tea outta - oh, and some Celestial Sake!"

"Honestly-- bringing anyt'in' would beh noice. We have so amny people bringing alcohol ah had tae higher a bartender. Doon't worry she's a whiz wit' booze. We have people bringing food, drugs, entertainment-- LOTUS TEA? OH-- girl. Do ye t'ink ye can bring yer native lotus and tae fruit from tae lotus eaters isle?"

[golvio]

As a companion to my notes post, here are my favorite BPAL perfumes out of the ones I've tried so far, in no particular order:

Menage A Trois: Golden Amber, Oak, and Muguet (A light, fresh, clean, and warm scent. Pleasant and lasting, but not obtrusive or overbearing.)

Jazz Funeral (The magnolias mixed with the booze and earth notes are heavenly!)

Tomie (Creamy and a little unconventional, floral without smelling like a granny perfume.)

Virahotkantita (Unfortunately discontinued, but I got a bottle of leftover stock for free with my big Christmas order. A lovely lilac and violet medley with some colder notes.)

Plague Doctor v10 (A prototype not for sale, and another free sample with the previous perfume. It's a fresh, clean aquatic scent that reminds me of my dad's aftershave.)

Titus Andronicus (Another "aftershave" scent, but warmer and spicier than Plague Doctor. Great for when you want to feel masculine but also a little bit regal.)

Shoggoth (Really weird and morphs a lot, but all the notes are pleasant. For me the lemon and floral notes were strongest.)

Arkham (Wildflowers and overturned forest dirt, how you'd smell after a strenuous but overall satisfying hike through the New England woods in springtime)

Envy (This one depends on what mood I'm in, but when I am in the mood, the lavender and lime hits the spot)

Cleric (Gorgeous, long-lasting, great throw)

Scherezade (Warm and sweet. Gives me comforting memories of the hippie granola health store I bought the lemon balm tea I self-medicated with in grad school, or that one time I tried burning my own incense as a teenager in my goth phase.)

Juke Joint (Basically a mint julep, very delicious.)

Diana (A little like Juke Joint, strangely, but with a touch more amber & aged leather.)

Endymion (Very sweet and beautiful, but it fades too fast.)

The Bow & Crown of Conquest (I like it for a lot of the same reasons why I like Envy, but it also has incense smoke.)

Masquerade (A beautiful, sparkling, orangey scent, but like Endymion fades too fast.)

Dee (All the things I liked about Endymion's rosewood, but less floral and more like incense and gentleman's cologne. Seems like something a 19th century mystic would wear to seem more "exotic.")

The Lady of Shalott (Really gorgeous, delicate florals and musks)

Chimera (Starts spicy with cinnamon, but then morphs in fascinating ways as the honeysuckle becomes more obvious.)

Lawful (Another gorgeous, incense-y scent.)

Les Bijoux (Sweet, sparkling prosecco with a crisp crunch of tart green apple.)

Rakshasa (Gorgeous rosy scent mixed with sweet patchouli and handsome, down-to-earth sandalwood. Feels like a beautiful masculine and feminine scent simultaneously. If you're being seduced by an otherworldly shapeshifter, they probably smell like this.)

Water of Notre Dame (Very sunny floral, reminds me of when I'd shower with my special Angel's Trumpet soap bar I splurged on as a treat for myself.)

[sterekchub]

Need more royalty fattening scenarios 👀 as big as you want them (royals always scream eventual superchubs to me)

oooh okay. I will say- dangerous to tell me as big as I want them because I like them BIG ;) (and these are just - top few scenarios TRUST me when I say there are...so many more. also there is way more plot but this...is the high level. Also - all human AUs) Derek: The King who never was meant for the throne. He has no interest to rule. He's not good at ruling. Talia was queen, Peter would have been next, Laura would have been 3rd....so, Derek never trained for it. And as a result- he's happy to let his husband rule from behind the scenes. Stiles isn't royalty, but he has an eye for political strategy, for how to improve the kingdom's economy (most of which involves the castle buying enough food and fabric to feed and cloth their massively obese king), and all the other duties Derek should be taking care of. They have an arrangement. Derek gets lazy and fat and is happily fed and fucked by his husband, announces Stiles' decisions like they are his own, signs over declarations with fingers so sausage like his royal rings no longer fit, and then goes back to eating. Stiles tells Derek what to say to his subjects- Derek repeats it with...a number of burps and wheezing pauses, and their satisfied subjects pretend they don't know who is pulling the strings. Peter: The lonely prince who indulges in whores and booze and too much food and gambling and any other vice. The black sheep of the Hale family. He who stumbles lost and drunk in the woods and hits his head, wakes up having been robbed of everything on himself, and has with no memory of who he is. He wanders to a small village on the outskirts- who have never seen the royal family or care about them, but they take him in anyway. Peter slowly regains his memory, but keeps up the amnesia lie, because he's so much happier out here than ever in the kingdom. Eventually Stiles finds out the truth, Peter goes back to the castle...and then returns with as much as wealth as he could and happily spends the rest of his life as a big-bellied dilf farmer lol. Stiles: It seems unfair to make the Hales royalty and not Stiles, but he just *screams* blubber bound to me. Either he and Scott are part of the staff at the castle who go down to the kitchen and steal food - which attracts the attention of Derek...or maybe the Hales are tired of Derek moping around and gift him Stiles as his personal companion. Either way- he's the perfect kingdom story "The prince who fell in love with a commoner" and what better way to show off that they care about their subjects then indulging Stiles in the finest foods imaginable. Stiles is waddling around the castle, panting and complaining there are too many stairs, and maybe trying to hide from Derek who has a full feast being prepared for him, and Stiles is pretty sure he's about to burst. The Sheriff: Maybe more a noble than a King. He gets so many suitors who are trying to woo his son, and the Sheriff is very strict about those that he allows to even see Stiles. So anyone that wants to potentially marry the prince, needs to get in with the Sheriff. So he gets a LOT of bribes from suitors. Baskets of rare, luxury goods, exotic meats and spices. Even Peter and Derek Hale have put in their offers for his son, sending full caravans of goods. The Sheriff hopes Stiles picks someone to wed soon, because he's a few pounds away from not fitting through the doors of their estate...

[souridealist]

FFXIVwrite day 6 (makeup): Halcyon

Sixth Astral Era

The forge is a weathered little thing, its beams splintered and gray where they aren’t soot-black and its roof a patchwork of mismatched shingles, but it’s as clean as a working forge ever can be, and every plain tool is well-made and hangs from perfect custom hooks. Smoke and whistling alike trail out from under the eaves, though for now the hammers are quiet.

Tonight will be a two-moon night, and Dalamud is already a silver flourish in the afternoon sky. Rowena’s feet fall easily into the flat places of the path; she raps at the doorframe of the forge before she leans through the open door.

“Afternoon, love,” she says. “I’m thinkin’ that fellow with the tacky vests might be all right to ship for us, and I’ve crossed a few blabbermouths off my list too. How about you? What’s today got for me?”

“Well, nothin’ as beautiful as ye,” Geralt says, smiling up at her from the workbench with the good light. She covers a laugh behind her hand. “But here, have a look at this.”

He holds out a lily grown from copper and silver. Veins trace through the leaves, waiting for time to turn them green; along the moonlight grain of the petals run drops of chipped-glass dew. Quartz pollen clings to the stamens at its heart.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Rowena says, turning it back and forth to catch the light. “What’s it for, like?”

He shrugs. “Lot of things. String a few of ‘em around a good stone — something uncut, I’m thinkin’ — and we’d have a cane any conjurer’d be proud to carry. If you want us goin’ into exotic goods, I’ll scale it up a bit and it’ll make a heart for one of those things the Sharlayan star-blokes use. Print a flower to match on the back of the cards, maybe. Or it’d be a fine cap on the pommel for any weight of sword, if someone wants to carry something more elegant-like. Anything that doesn’t need to bear up under too much pressure.”

“Aye, you’re right.” She cups the petals in her hands, half expecting them to give. “What’d you have in mind in making it?”

“Ah, well.” He rubs the back of his head. “You’re the business genius, not me.” She raises her eyebrows. With a sheepish laugh, he tucks the flower from her hand and tucks it just behind her ear.

Seventh Astral Era

“Gerolt, what did you — ugh. What was I even expectin’?”

The forge stinks of stale sweat and staler booze as much as it does smoke and metal. Gerolt is face-down on one of the workbenches, smearing ash into his face. A wine bottle is tucked into the curve of his arm, bleeding a purple stain onto the stain-rich wood. Drool gathers at the corner of his mouth, but the light is dim enough to hide the years on his face. He’s peaceful in sleep.

Rowena looks at him for a too-long time.

“Useless tosspot,” she says at last, and pulls the door closed.

Under the shadow of his arm, in a hollow space between the bottle and his chest, is a campanula flower worked in softsilver and chrondite.