#i love you you lil cannibal

[tadfools]

These are still one of my fav Durge dialogue options

[atinymexicanbird]

The Overlord meeting suddenly got interesting.

[Click for better quality]

[tang3r1n]

cute idea but hero!chizome grappling with a hopeless crush on all might’s daughter figure (jus a chick he took under his wing izuku style)

like UGH. he’s such an old-school gentleman FUCK. he sends flower bouquets with your favorite flowers and like a 4 page letter with the most beautiful and eloquent language used to talk about how in love he is, and he talks like he’s fucking dying. exhibit a;

“i would lay myself at your alter, goddess, my insides laid out for your tasting, your pleasure— please eat of my flesh, consume me whole and let me feel accomplished as a simple, filling meal for you.

oh i beg of you, let my soul forever intertwine with yours, let me feels the silk of your skin, the heat of your breathe, plunge your hand into my heart and cherish it. sink your teeth into my neck and devour me.

i yearn for you, lovely thing. warmly, obsessively, lovingly, carnally, i can only hope you pity my foolish desires— my insane ramblings of fanatic and desperate attempts to gain your affections. please, please by the grace of all that is just and fair, let me worship you. let me treat you as you want to be.

i pray to no god but that of your body, of your mind, of your soul. there is no religion outside of your teachings, my muse. your word is my law, my written oath, music in the grand hall, the rain, the air, the existence of love. i would sooner accept death and the failure of my life’s work than to even acknowledge the existence of beauty that shines brighter than yours.

i beg of you, let my lowly hands hold you, let my soiled and ugly form touch and feel you, let me court you, my fair woman.

let me love you.”

omfg and he’s so petty. randoms in the street and fellow heroes flirting with you? he’s sighing and scoffing dramatically before completing dissecting their speech patterns, body posture, heroing skills, physical appearance, literally anything he can to make them leave you two alone

i feel like he doesn’t care abt how he looks (i mean duh no nose.) but the second you mention liking muscles he’s suddenly finding excuses to flex and stretch around you non stop, he’s doubling up his workout routine and bulking like a MOTHER FUCKER to see if you’re staring yet.

AAAHHH idk i just love chizome and need him insanely badly.

[thywheelof-fate]

Durge, holding the mangled remains of their childhood pet: why can't I love something without wanting to eat it?

Durge, ripping off a bit of a corpse they just had fun with: why can't I love something without wanting to eat it?

Durge, biting into Enver's shoulder as the man claws at their back: why can't I love something without wanting to eat it?

Post-lobotomy Durge, looking at their companions: ...why am I hungry?

[venstm]

you know I’ve been good lately

[muriers]

This is my gift to @nobledragonflying for the @mcythorrorgiftexchange event!! It's so funny I got matched as your gifter for the recursive gift exchange and then this one XD

+ Here's a close up

[c1tyhaunts]

so I just watched "Bones & All" and I have Feelings.

[maegalkarven]

An interlude. What now?

Happens between Empty Prayers and Dreams of Red.

Nemo tries to be serious and Think of the Future. It backfires.

Characters: Dark Urge (Nemo), Enver Gortash, Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel.

TW: mentions of cannibalism, questionable way to raise children (Nemo wtf), canon-typical Durge behavior.

Info about Nemo's assassins:

https://www.tumblr.com/maegalkarven/732101148639707136/so-i-actually-created-most-of-the-notable?source=share

"You do realize we all are doomed, right?" The question comes out of nowhere amidst of one of the calmest nights they have. It breaks the feeble illusion of peace right away.

"Now, you don't have to put it like that," Gale tries. "We still have some choices-"

"Blowing yourself up is not a choice," Wyll cuts out, uncharacteristically sour.

"But-"

"No, Gale," Shadowheart agrees. "No more stupid self-sacrifices for the gods who do not deserve that. Besides, you remember what Gortash said? What if you have done as Mystra wanted you to and detonated the orb in the illithid colony, it would turn every parasite-infested person into mindflayer?"

"I'm not sure how much we can trust a word of the former Chosen of Bane."

"Fair," the former Chosen of Shar agrees. "I wouldn't trust him either. But something tells me this time he was telling the truth."

"He also sits just across you, if your memory is that fragile," Gortash comments. "And thank you, not like I was thinking of impending doom and our deaths for every hour of every day now."

"Not like you kickstarted this whole event," Karlach comments.

"And what would you have me to do, let Orin kill Nemo?"

"Well, you could have not tried to conquer the world using the extremely dangerous magical artifact and, you know, the Elder Brain."

"You keep saying that, but I have yet to hear a single idea how to fix it and for us, you know, not die drastically and like fools."

"Everyone always dies like a fool," Astarion comments. "Death is dumb like that."

"If you'd only let me finish," Nemo raises his voice. "And stopped this 'woe are us, we are doomed' crying-"

"We are listening," Wyll tries. "Oh, well, at least I am trying to."

Nemo sends him a grateful look.

"Alright, let's start it anew, you literal bickering children-"

"Hey-"

"Gortash started it-"

"Oh, fuck off-"

"Quiet," and surprisingly, they all quiet down. This is who Nemo is forced to work with these days. Unbelievable.

"We are screwed. This is not me being overly dramatic, this is not me being pessimistic, this is the actual truth we're dealing with. The Elder brain has one stone and if it wasn't breaking out of the hold before - which he was, very much - it's clearly out of it now. Now, the questions why it hasn't turned everyone into mindflayers and why it's playing laying low for now is a mystery, but-“

"It's luring us back to it," Astarion comments. "What? Can't we offer our thoughts too? I didn't know it's One Man show you're having here."

"You have no idea how many people have been stabbed over interrupting him mid speech," Gortash comments. "Me included."

"Oh yeah, well, maybe try to not talk over me, asho-"

"I wasn't talking over you-"

"Just like you aren't doing it now?" Nemo glares at him. "You're lucky I need you alive."

"Thank you oh so kindly, the gracious one-"

"Tsk'va," Lae'zel interrupts the quarrel. "You two desire to tear into each other’s flesh so much it makes you stupid. Go get the urges out of the system and come back when you're capable of being rational."

This comment, made with intention of calming things down, has rather the opposite effect.

"You're the one to talk," Nemo hisses as his face reddens.

"I do not ‘desire to tear into his flesh’," Gortash argues.

Astarion laughs.

"Yes, and I am not a vampire spawn."

"Can we not fight?" Wyll, an unfortunate voice of reason amidst this chaos.

"Oh, I don't know," Gale smirks. "I rather find it amusing to watch."

"You know what?" Nemo snaps. "Go on, detonate this orb. I'm done with it."

"Now I'm not going to, purposely because you asked me so nicely."

"I fucking hate this family."

"Karlach, you already said that."

"It doesn't mean I hate it any less."

"I miss my children," Nemo suddenly chimes in. "They listened to me."

"Your who?"

"Oh, please," Gortash snorts. "I once saw one of your children stab her brother over something minor."

"It was their brother and it was nothing minor. He took their target, that's just rude."

"I'm sorry," Gale tries. "Can we backtrack now? What children are you talking about now?"

Nemo blinks at them.

"Oh," he exclaims. "My assassins, of course, the ones I personally brought into the fold."

"And the reason you address them as children is because..?"

"They were orphans Nemo picked up from the streets," Gortash mentions. "At least that's what I was told."

"Excuse me, what?" Karlach, indignation flaring with her fire. "You stole children?"

"First of all, it's kidnapped and not stole. Second of all, they came willingly," Nemo scoffs. "And really, do you think they had any other choice? Do you think any good life was waiting for them? I saved their lives."

"You've abducted children into the cult and made them killers," Wyll speaks. "Nemo, this is-"

"Wrong?" He interrupts. "How wrong can it truly be? They would die without me, or better yet, get killed. Do you think there's mercy for a girl who took a life of her stepfather? Whose mother blamed her for the murder even if said stepfather was in dire need of killing?" He pierces Wyll with a sharp stare.

"Do you think Flaming Fists would save a little tiefling boy with too much magic in his blood? Do you think they'd get to the mad crowd in time and protect the boy from it? Do you think they'd even care?  A tiefling child, an evil child, a hellspawn. No one would miss him, no one would cry for him. And," he smiles and this smile looks poisonous.

"Do you think your honorable father would spare a child whose survival was linked to the deal with the fiend? Do you think he, who exiled his own son, would look at destruction of the House Et'rris, at the only surviving its member, linked to a devil, and help them? Save them?" His voice drops to a low tone.

"How dare you judge me? You were not there to save these children, I was. What did I do but gave them a second chance? What did I do but gave them home? Where else would they go? Who else would feed starving orphans on the streets, Duke Ravengard?" He laughs an ugly, bitter laugh.

"The Council of Four? Don't be ridiculous, they never even looked down to see the low folk struggling. Those children, all those children would die if not for me. From the so-called justice, from an angry mob, from prison, from starvation. I found them, fed them, cared for them. I made them best of the best, the perfect murderers, the perfect shadows of the night. And who can hurt them now, when they're the worst things haunting Baldur's Gate? Who would dare to strike at them but their own? I made them strong."

The stunned, eerie silence falls over the camp.

Then Karlach raises her voice.

"What did you feed them with?"

"This is irrelevant."

"No, it's not."

"It was a good meat: not rotten, not touched by any diseases, I even cooked it-"

"I fed children the human flesh?!" Gale asks in horror.

"Of course you'd assume it was human," Nemo scoffs. "It was elven too, you know. Some dwarf meat, even halfling or tiefling there and there-"

"You did what?!"

"It was that or starving on the streets! And anyway, I was fed humanoid flesh my entire life and I turned out alright-"

Astarion scoots a little closer to Gortash.

"He did not turn out alright," the pale elf whispers, watching the argument rising to new, dangerous heights. "And you knew that, didn't you?"

"What Nemo eats flesh?" Gortash hums. "It wasn't a big secret."

"And what he feeds his...children the same?"

"It's a Cult of Murder," the man shrugs. "One expects some level of atrocities from it."

"That's not the answer."

"That's the one you'll get," Astarion watches Gortash watching Nemo, a small satisfies smile dancing on his lips. "I don't particularly care what he feeds his assassins, only what all of them seem to care very little for table manners."

"So I'm guessing you've met them?"

"Yes."

"...What are they like?"

"Why don't you ask their benefactor that and not the man who saw them once or twice?"

"Because their benefactor is currently in a screaming match with our companions," Astarion's shrugs. "Though he seems to be holding his ground just alright."

Gortash snorts.

"He used to lead fifty or so bloodthirsty murderers and made it look easy," another long, heavy look at Nemo. "He is good at handling people. Bhaal convinced Nemo the best thing a bhaalshapwn can be is a perfect blade, which is a shame, really. Nemo would do wonders in high court; he has enough charisma and intelligence to wrap the nobles around his fingers without them so much as noticing it.”

"It sounds like you admire him," Astarion comments, trying very hard not to feel slighted at that. Of course tyrant admires his nearest in dearest, it was to be expected. And anyway, doesn’t Nemo deserve to be admired?

But why does it sit so ill against his skin?

"Of course I admire him," the tyrant replies, not even looking away from the assassin. "He is brilliant. His part in our plans is not to be overlooked; everything came falling apart the moment Orin replaced him. Bhaal might have been content with a mad woman who could not control her urges, but our plan could not. She made a mess of things, ruined several of carefully constructed plans and hadn't even noticed. The amount of people I had to tadpole simply because Orin was acting unwise is-" he sighs. "Where Nemo would just waltz into the room, smile and bullshit his way through everything, Orin made things worse."

Astarion hums.

"I once saw Nemo convince an orthon to kill his minions, then his pet, then himself," he mentions. "So I can easily see him doing that."

"An orthon?" Gortash looks surprised. "Where in the Nine Hells did you find an orthon?"

"In a Gauntlet of Shar," Astarion shrugs. "He made an ill-fitted deal with Raphael and tried to get out of it. Nemo tricked him into false getaway."

Three's a long silence after that.

"Raphael," Gortash speaks slowly, as if tasting the words. "It's been a while since I've heard that name. How did you stumble into him?"

"More like he stumbled into us. He appeared from the thin air, laid heavy on those sweet talks of his and tried to talk Nemo into a deal. Probably still trying, all things considered. I am not sure what exactly he wants from Nemo, but he is insistent."

Gortash grows silent once more.

"I would advise against strikingly any deals with that particular devil," he comments after a pause. "Deals with him are even fouler than the deal with the devil would be expected to be. Raphael is clever; he is patient and knows how to play the game. Worst of all, he is at advantage of knowing Nemo while Nemo does not know him, and in the position where he is holding a grudge against the dear assassin of mine."

Astarion bites down the bitter taste of the way Gortash claims Nemo as his.

This can wait. His questions would not.

"Why would he hold a grudge against Nemo?"

Gortash actually laughs, a short lived and curt sound, but laugh none less.

"Because Nemo has done something Raphael failed to do. Raphael has been lusting after the Crown of Karsus for millennia, but was never able to relieve it from Mephistopheles' vault. Together Nemo and I successfully orchestrated and executed the plan what brought the crown into our hands."

So this is what Raphael wants.

"He is after the crown," Astarion comment. "And he thinks Nemo will be able to get it for him."

Gortash nods.

"And I can't express enough how this is absolutely a thing what cannot happen. Raphael is bad enough without a otherworldly power what is the Crown of Karsus in his claws."

"So," Astarion studies the man closely. "Better the crown in your hands then?"

Gortash smiles.

"Providing what we can get it off Elder Brain first and live," he comments. "But yes."

[desalvar]

 . I'VE DIED EVERY DEATH I COULD .

    and i have survived each one ( MAIN VERSE. )

He is more myth than man. So happens to creatures with lives unreasonably long and caprices insolently frequent - they exist in endurable fractals. At once Nikodemos and Undying, for a time Octavian, for another Matteo, then Wolfslayer, Giver, Eris, Lucien; the Necromancer has been much and many, and will be many more. A self-contained legion of selves and lives lived.

Much like his history, his nature is vague and indistinctly capricious. Once upon a time a human, as human as his accursed kin of feeble, hollow-souled demonfood 'sensitives' could be, he fights the hand dealt tooth and claw long enough to become a thing transcendental and ineffable - neither living, nor dead, nor human, nor quite witch. The void at his core goes from inborn burden to weapon when he wrests control over what he can take unto himself and swiftly takes to taking souls. Magical talent he steals from the naturally gifted, mortal coil he trades in for manufactured immortality, his grimoire he writes in blood atop his very skin and in ink into his soul, and at last emerges from his doomed fate a terrible creature of his own creation - the first Eater.

And the Eater surely goes on to taste all he can of the world. From early antiquity onward one can encounter him in many places as many things. Amongst creature kin the terrors he once sowed still echo in certain places. Quiet about his dealings, his reputation as killer-eater have earned him few allies, even fewer friends and some of his more abhorrent titles. Where the esoteric and magical can be studied, he studies it, where it can't, he hunts it down. All for want of crafting his own perverse version of it. Magic is one thing, necromancy another, but a thief is a thief no matter the scale. Amongst humans where lies are far easier, he wears kinder masks. Covers himself in glory in battle and jewels in castles, becomes pauper, rebel, noble, knight, king, kingslayer. Becomes priest, saint, martyr, god. He crafts and sells the sweetest lies and seals the cruelest fates. Most of all, he eats. Gorges himself on meat damned and divine alike, morsels from any rare and rotten and terrible thing if he finds he can chew it (he finds he can), feeds himself in fists of human herds or handfuls of great big beasts. Swallows power too, and knowledge, adoration, love, all things a man may hunder for, he devours in excess. Most of all, he eats.

CHARACTERIZATION NOTES.

he can be played as far back as early antiquity where Nikodemus began his journey, all the way up to modern times

there is a time before he was Nikodemus - that history is available only upon extensive plotting

most names he's taken are self-contained lives he's lived. and while he doesn't always abandon those names and has allowed historical records of them to survive, connection rarely exists between them and one would find themselves hard pressed to find one. at best, the notion would count as a conspiracy theory. as a rule of thumb, only the preternatural and immortal tend to be aware of more than one of his reputations. otherwise, muses should know him only as what he introduces himself to be

despite the ironic title the undying, nik can in fact die, does it often, very well and rather casually. after each death he resurrects to full health, regrows all physical structures and then 'wakes up' back to square one - a reset of sorts. on the flip side, he feels the pain normally and experiences death like a human would. he just doesn't entertain it long (unless something interrupts his renimation).

he's something of an undead creature in technicality. he breathes, eats, has a pulse et al, but his soul and metaphysics are unnatural, his blood is rotten and his flesh performs odd processes. to blood-drinking creatures his palette would be disgusting or, in some cases, deadly.

he can sense souls. nothing whimsical like colors or anything, but he can metaphysically feel their energy and, after millenia of contact with various creatures, has learned to tell some apart. humans, spirits, undead, shifters, demonic and celestial he can pin down fast, while the outliers of the preternatural world are trickier. still, more often than not he can tell what caliber of power he's facing.

he can also eat souls. says it on the tin and everything. most times he can't do it freely and necessitates physical touch to put his binding mark down, through which he syphons out lifeforce. this ability won't be forced on any muse unless specifically requested and thoroughly plotted out, and may only appear connected to miscellany NPCs.

around the time of the early medieval period henceforth, Antonín Cainhurst may be mentioned in threads.

out of touch accents in everything he speaks.

notable liar.

HEADCANONS.

where i'll link all metas n studies i do of this bassard in his main verse ♡

On immortality

[this-aint-massachusetts]

bro

Bro when i say “i love you so much i want you to eat me” I don’t mean sex, i mean cut me open and tear apart my rips till you reach my heart and you can devour me like I was made for. Let me be apart of you, swallow down every bit of me til I’m gone and just a lump of flesh in your stomach.

[lottieurl]

FJSKSJ i’ve made that same calimari joke before…. we are literally on the same wavelength -cannibal laura lee anon

WHY ARE YOU ME. I'M ME

[ne--0n]

What form of love do you embody?

Got tagged by @rindemption tyty <<3 to do this quiz

LOVE AS HUNGER love as ravenous desire, love as something fragrant and home-built. When florence welch said "we all have a hunger" When jenny slate asked "who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me?" When violet trefusis wrote "I want you hungrily, frenziedly. passionately. I am starving for you..." When anne carson asked "what are we made of but hunger and rage?"

*bite bite bite bite bite* i know yall dont know much about this boy (and tbh neither do i) but he has some lore regarding love and 0|-< oh boy it fits

LOVE AS LIGHT love as a luminous force—warm, radiant, and golden. When mary oliver wrote "light of the world hold me” When charles bukowski said “I look at her and light goes all through me” When david viscott said “to love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides” When e. e. cummings said “lovers alone wear sunlight”

again it couldn't be anything else, sunshine boy, only knew love for most of his life then ofc i traumatize him but he finds himself again and T-T my baby son

Tagging @saevus-brutalis, @wraithsoutlaws, @noirapocalypto and @nw-art no pressure at all ofc ofc

[humantome]

hi hello!

i'm max or tome and this is my self-ship blog!

i'm very new to self-ship as a whole so please bear with me as i start my first steps into this lovely community

(bio, s/i and f/o info below!)

. . .

- self / self inserts -

Maxwell (real life!!!!)

he/they

adult

5'4"

hobbyist musician, writer and artist!! aspiring botanist <3

catch me falling for any fictional masked man out there

main / system blog @mindscapers

Orange (Among Us)

#🕹️;; ''i am the willing victim of a cannibal!''

crewmate extraordinaire & head of communications!

managed to convince the super scary shapeshifting imposter to NOT eat his crew and instead kiss him sloppy and hide undercover as a human with him on polus

will talk about retro video games for hours if given the chance and that is a threat. loves old handhelds, never leaves his dormitories without a gameboy color or gameboy advance sp

he/him

Maxwell (Lethal Company)

#🪐;; ''...and i stared back into them in a fearful trance''

a goofy and fun-loving botanist, who turned to working for the company to pay off his student debts. LOVES cracking jokes, but a nervous wreck when monsters are involved....

determined to keep his crewmates safe and to always meet quota no matter the risk! most likely in the group to run in with a shovel to save their crew, no matter how afraid

has a curiosity with the bracken ever since learning of it's botanical origins.... gains a bit of a crush on that plant monster after being stalked around the facility one too many times

he/him

. . .

- fictional others -

Simon Jarrett (SOMA)

#🌊;; ''take me back home‚ let me know that you're human''

MY ROBOT LOVERBOY... a human turned into AI, sent a hundred years into the future after the apocalypse

some of the last surviving evidence of humanity and hating every second of it

24/7 identity crisis! he needs a hug and he needs one badly. i for one am settling for kisses

he/him

Cyan (Among Us)

#🌠;; ''you're an enemy who i'm keen to defend!''

most lovable shapeshifting alien around!!

one of two impostors that took over our ship but he got better <3

we worked together to expose our crew member red for murder and got him thrown out the airlock

shhh the murdering stopped after that so the crew doesn't have to know that cyan caused like half of those deaths they can think he's human shhhhhhhh

he/it

Tardif (Darkest Dungeon)

#📜;; "i can fill your heart with something new"

also known as the bounty hunter!

a quiet yet intimidating loner.... no past and no future... he will hunt down anyone and everyone, for a price

...but i think he's secretly a big softie who's afraid of vulnerability and loves animals and likes to bake cookies because i'm INSANE

also very, very british

he/him

. . .

- fictional crushes -

The Bracken (Lethal Company)

#🌿;; ''with eyes as white as the moons...''

♪ he was a plant... i was a gardener.... can i make it any more obvious... ♪

has all of the best qualities of a monster boyfriend!

it could kill you in an instant. it's SHY! it lurks and follows from the shadows. IT HAS A CUTE LITTLE GROWL. it's territorial and protective. IT PURRS!!!!!

i would spritz it with water twice daily and sunbathe with it and prune its leaves and and and-

it/he

The Merchant (Resident Evil 4: Remake)

#💎;; ''oh‚ i'm in love with a stranger...''

GIVING HIM ALL MY MONEY <3

funny british pirate man likes to sell me guns and herbs

probably infected with the plaga but who doesn't like that?

no one knows his real identity behind that mask (and i want to pull it off him and find out) ((maybe kiss him along the way))

he/they

HUNK (Resident Evil)

#⚰️;; "kiss me‚ kill me‚ catch me‚ thrill me!"

his code name is HUNK, standing for "human unit never killed"

but to me? that's HUNK as in "god DAMN is he a hunk!"

no one knows anything about him, except for that almost every mission he's been on, every member of team died or never returned... except for one sole survivor, being himself

this also earned him the title of "the grim reaper".... but i think his title really should be "my boyfriend"

he/him

. . .

- familial f/o's -

Builderman (ROBLOX)

#🛠️;; "what will you build?"

obligatory "builderman is my dad" joke

the co-founder of the ROBLOX platform! he's a friendly (and heavily overworked) construction worker...

he loves his job so much but good GOD does ROBLOX need to give him a break. always makes it a point to be kind to the younger userbase despite the circumstances

(HE'S A CHARACTER I PROMISE MY FATHER IS NOT THE ACTUAL DAVID BASZUCKI)

he/him

. . .

all for now, thank you for stopping by!

[manneatcrarc]

Hmmm, I think I’ll let Dama enter her villain era on this blog…

[exoexid]

getting emotional about the closing lines of this book i'm reading about the interdisciplinar study of some of the neanderthal remais found in El Sidrón cave: "... one of the adult women was most likely a redhead; they made tools with local materials, but they knew they could get something different from mountains a little far away and weren't afraid of making the trip; this teenager boy (the iconic n° 1253 that helped us in partially sequencing ancient neanderthal mtDNA) presented modifications in the amino acids of the FoxP2 gene (a gene crucial for language) that are also found in the gene of modern humans; they could register bitter taste, but in a milder way than modern humans can (...) they were humans, just like us, with their successes and their miseries."

[ohproserpine]

i. deer dolly

part i | part ii | more | ao3 tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, human! possibly ooc! alastor so he's a bit more "tame" here, allusions to murder and such, unsettling & obsessive behavior, written before episode 7; may become inaccurate, gorey-ish descriptions of love

"So what?" Angel Dust hummed, drumming his nails on the counter. "You and Alastor are like... friends?"

"Oh, well, that ain't the word I would’ve used, but it's something like that!" Mimzy chirped, reaching for her drink and downing it in one go. "He used to frequent the club I had! In fact, that’s where he met his wife—"

“Wife?!” Angel Dust cut her off, jaw dropping. “Freaky face is married?”

“Oh yeah,” Mimzy hummed, waving her hand around. “Under all that murder and cannibalism, he’s a total sap! Can't blame him, I mean—his wife is a doll! Me an' her used to perform together!”

"An’ how come I never heard of this? People ain't told me shit!" Angel Dust grumbled, turning to Husk behind the counter. "You knew 'bout this, whiskers?"

"Yeah. They were together back in the living. But don't even think of bringing it up in front of Alastor. He gets all heated," Husk grumbled, grabbing a towel to wipe down Mimzy’s now-empty glass. The cat then turned to grab another bottle off the shelf, a grimace on his lips. "I would know."

Angel Dust leaned forward, resting his face on his folded hands. "Well, ain't that something. Never knew he even had one of those."

Mimzy cackled, her voice a raspy melody that echoed through the smoky air of the bar as she snatched the bottle of liquor away from Husk’s paws. "Oh, honey, you wouldn’t even know how deep it goes. They go way back."

"Spill," Angel Dust grinned, curiosity getting the better of him. 

Mimzy leaned in, looking both ways to make sure Alastor or his shadows weren't around before lowering her voice. "It was back in the day, at my joint. Alastor dropped by for the bootlegs, you know? But then he caught sight of her. She was singin’ and dancin’ on stage, a real heartbreaker. He couldn't resist the charm, and boom, he was struck on! Ever since then, he came around as frequently as he could. Made me so much money~" 

Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, his long lashes fluttering as he squished his cheek against his palm, a coy smirk playing on his lips. "And you were part of this love saga?"

Mimzy shook her head, a wicked glint dancing in her eyes before she lifted the bottle to her lips and downed its contents in one swift motion, her throat working as she swallowed. "Oh, sugar, just a witness to the drama. Those two lovebirds had their own dance going on. I just spiced things up."

Angel Dust chuckled, shaking his head. "Never thought smiles had it in him."

"Again. He likes to keep his shit private. So, don't go running your mouth unless you wanna be on the receiving end of one of his… episodes," Husk interrupted, his gruff voice breaking through the conversation as he leaned over the counter and reclaimed the bottle from Mimzy with a low growl.

Angel hummed dismissively, his golden tooth catching the glimmer of the bar lights as he spoke. “Anyone could've guessed that. Where is she, anyways? I haven't seen or heard of her since day one."

"Busy," Mimzy snorted, her finger lazily tracing the rim of her glass. She leaned back in her seat, the dim glow of the bar lights casting shadows across her features. "That's where."

“Really?" Angel's brow lifted in skepticism, his boot lightly kicking against the base of Mimzy's chair. "Busy? That’s it?”

Mimzy shrugged, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Can't tell ya much. Y'know Alastor doesn't like sharin'. Secrets and shadows, that's his game."

“Aww c'mon, tits,” Angel grinned, his golden tooth glinting beneath the bar lights with each word. “You gotta know more than you let on. It'll be our secret.”

"Well," Mimzy drawled, savoring the suspense as she tapped a gloved finger against her cheek. "I guess I can tell you a lil’ something about how they met…”

.

Alastor found himself standing in the heart of a secluded corner of town. 

A desolate, dimly lit street stretched out before him, raindrops rhythmically tapping on the worn concrete beneath his feet.

It was something he had never imagined—searching for a speakeasy in this far-off locale. Rarely did he have time for himself. Most of his days were dedicated to caring for his mother, his job as a radio host, and any free time he had was reserved for his… hobbies. But he supposed a change of scenery wouldn't hurt.

Adjusting his glasses, he gazed up at the timeworn, ragged sign of a barbershop that read, "Chum’s Clippers." 

Charming. 

With a roll of his eyes, the radio host stepped into the worn-down establishment, visibly grimacing at the shop's decrepit condition. His eyes surveyed the room, settling on a young blonde woman. 

Perched on the edge of the registrar counter, a cigar dangled between her cherry-red lips, the tendrils of smoke curling upwards in lazy spirals. Her legs crossed provocatively, causing the fabric of her dress to ride up her thighs, revealing more skin than what civil society would allow. 

As soon as she caught sight of Alastor's silhouette, a spark of excitement lit up her features, and she greeted him with an animated wave.

"Hey there, mistah! Names Mimzy!" she chirped with a friendly lilt. Her crimson-painted nails plucked the cigarette from her lips, trailing a wisp of smoke as she gestured toward Alastor. "Whatcha here for?"

"Pleasure to meet you," Alastor smiled back and stepped closer, offering her a bow of his head, “Quite a pleasure. You see, I was just strolling through these darling streets, and wouldn't you know it? The whispers in the wind pointed me straight to you, the gal in the know when it comes to bootlegs. Care to confirm?"

‘A potential client?" Mimzy thought, her smirk hidden behind her hand as she took one last puff, the cherry of her cigar glowing brightly before she flicked it into an ashtray. 'Straight to the point.'

"Well, well, mistah," she drawled with a playful twirl of her finger through her blonde curls. "You've got a nose for sniffin' out the good stuff, huh? Well, we might have a few things tucked away for the right kind of folk. But, sugar, we don't just give 'em to anyone.”

Alastor's smile widened as he smoothly fished out his wallet, giving it a theatrical wave. "I do have a penchant for fine libations, my dear. And I assure you, I'm just looking for a little taste of the local flavor, nothing more."

Mimzy's eyes sparkled with mischief as she perked up, eagerly hopping off the counter. The click of her heels echoed against the worn floor as she approached the tall man.

"You're in luck, then! Follow me, and we'll talk business in the back," she said, gesturing toward a concealed door at the back of the barbershop.

Alastor followed her through a narrow passage, which unveiled another door leading to the very speakeasy he’d heard talk of. The atmosphere changed instantly, lively jazz music filled the air, and the dimly lit space was alive with laughter and clinking glasses.

Mimzy guided Alastor to a private booth tucked away in a corner, where a polished bottle of bootleg whiskey awaited their arrival.

"Here's to unexpected encounters, mistah," she beamed, the words dripping with charm as she poured a generous measure into his glass. Alastor raised his glass in acknowledgment, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"To unexpected encounters," he echoed before taking a deep sip.

The whiskey was bitter and strong, yet there was a subtle sweetness that danced on his tongue, leaving behind a tantalizing warmth. It had been increasingly difficult to find such fine brews ever since the prohibition hit, making each sip all the more precious.

Seating himself comfortably, Alastor swirled the glass in his hand, mesmerized by the way the golden liquid caught the flickering candlelight. Beside him, Mimzy continued her lively chatter, her words accompanied by the persistent clinking of ice in their glasses as she refilled his drink, hoping to stack his bill higher with each pour.

As the room hummed with the soft, easy notes of a piano and the clinking of glasses, a sudden hush fell over the crowd as an announcer's voice sliced through the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the enchanting Dolly!"

Mimzy's excitement bubbled up even more, and she leaned in toward Alastor. "That's my sister! Well— not by blood, but you know, me and her are real, real close. One of my best performers here at the bar!"

"Is that so?" Alastor hummed, his eyes now alight with curiosity as he shifted his focus toward the stage.

In that moment, you stepped onto the platform, grabbing a hold of the standing microphone. With a subtle flick of your wrist, you directed attention to the dark-haired pianist, his fingers poised above the keys. A nod from you and the jazz ensemble sprung to life, setting the stage for your performance. As the spotlight enveloped you in a warm glow, a hushed silence fell over the speakeasy.

Folks, here's a story 'bout Minnie the Moocher She was a red hot hoochie-coocher She was the roughest, toughest frail But Minnie had a heart as big as a whale

The lyrics flowed easily through Alastor's mind, carried by the smooth, buttery tones of your voice that filled the air. The radio host found himself utterly hypnotized, his gaze never tearing from your form.

He could stare for hours, unabashed by any sense of shame—though, truth be told, he didn't possess much of that quality to begin with.

She messed around with a bloke named Smokey She loved him though he was kokey He took her down to Chinatown And he showed her how to kick the gong around

As Mimzy began clapping excitedly and waving her arms to beckon you over, Alastor's attention shifted. The final notes of the song echoed in the room, snapping him back to reality. In the haze of your performance, he hadn't even realized that the song had come to an end.

“What a gal!” Mimzy cackled, joyously wrapping her arms around you as you approached.

Alastor took a moment to study you with keen interest.

The dim lighting of the speakeasy lent a soft, ethereal glow to your figure as you moved, casting long shadows across the floor. A slender dress, shimmering with golden sequins, hugged your figure, shimmers and glitters catching the light. The dress boasted a daring low neckline, while its swaying boxed skirt gracefully fell just above your knees, accentuating your every movement. Complementing the ensemble were black kitten heels, their clicks and clacks adding a subtle rhythm to every step you took. Your hair, styled into a sleek bob, framed your demure features perfectly. Adorning your head was a headpiece adorned with golden yellow feathers and dark lace.

"Dollface, I want ya to meet Alastor!" Mimzy exclaimed, pulling you along and positioning you in front of him. “He’s new!”

With a wave of your hands and a warm smile, you tilted your head up to meet Alastor's gaze. The man standing before you was tall and slim, boasting broad shoulders. His white button-up clung perfectly to his frame, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms adorned with scars, cuts, and prominent veins.

‘Must be a hunter or a butcher,’ you noted heatedly.

Short, side-swept brunette hair framed his face, adding a touch of rugged charm to his appearance, while rectangular glasses perched on the bridge of his nose lent him an air of intelligence. As he smiled, a chill crept down your spine, and an odd sinking sensation settled in your stomach.

There was an unsettling nature to him, a subtle aura that left you uncertain of whether your reaction stemmed from the eerie quality of his smile or if it was simply a flustered response to his strikingly handsome features. 

“Pleasure to meet you, cher,” Alastor purred, turning on the charm. He delicately took your hand, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. In a subtle move, the radio host let his fingers linger over your skin, subtly checking for any sign of a ring. Noticing the absence, he filed the information away with a sly smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, sir,” you smiled, tucking your face behind your hand. Alastor observed with delight as a subtle blush painted your cheeks, a tacit acknowledgment that his presence had left an impression.

"Al here knows his way around a glass of whiskey like nobody else in these parts! Ain't that right, Al?" Mimzy chattered, her voice bubbling with familiarity as if she had known him for years and hadn't just met him one song and ten drinks ago.

Alastor chuckled, a low, melodic sound that sent your stomach doing flips. "

"Well, I do have a certain fondness for…" The radio host paused, his sharp, gaze raking up and down your form, his words trailing off. "…finer things in life."

A silence lingered in the air, and Mimzy, always attuned to the mood of a room, shot a knowing look between the two of you.

"Well, don't cha?" Mimzy exclaimed, her hands clapping with excitement. "If that's the case, then I'm sure Dolly would love to show you around here!"

"Is that so?" Alastor, maintaining that devilish smile, turned his attention back to you. "Well, what do you say, cher?" he questioned.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you met his gaze with a coy smile. "I'd be delighted to show you around. There's a lot more to this place than meets the eye."

Mimzy clapped her hands together. "Perfect! Now, why don't you two enjoy the rest of the night? I'll be right here waiting."

“Shall we?” Alastor offered his hand, gesturing to the dance floor.

With a small nod, you graciously accepted Alastor's outstretched hand, leading the way to the lively dance floor where the band played an upbeat tune. Around you, couples twirled in a dizzying dance, with heels tapping, shoes stomping, and skirts gracefully gliding and twirling. Alastor wasted no time, pulling you in and molding your form against his.

Looks were indeed deceiving, as despite his lean appearance, Alastor had no issue effortlessly tossing and spinning you round and round, lifting you as if you were as weightless as a feather. Each spin and dip was executed with skill, his footwork was a blur and soon enough, you found yourself willingly surrendering to the rhythm of his lead. 

This man could fucking dance.

As the music gradually slowed, Alastor guided you to the side, providing a moment to catch your breath after the energetic routine.

"Thank you for the dance, cher! You are quite quick on your feet," Alastor chuckled, his voice low, blending with the fading echoes of the music.

"You're not too bad yourself," you managed between breaths, a raspy laugh escaping your lips. "Nobody's ever been able to keep up with me," you continued, running a hand through your tousled hair and adjusting your dress. "I think I was the one who had to keep up with you."

After ensuring you were presentable, you lifted a hand to fix Alastor's slightly damp locks, adjusting his glasses and tie. Alastor froze, a foreign sensation enveloping him. Despite his typical aversion to physical contact, there was an absence of the usual recoil in disdain this time.

"Looks like we're both a bit of a mess, aren't we?" you chuckled, a wry smile playing on your lips as you gracefully brushed away a speck of dust from his shirt.

Alastor blinked and eventually relaxed, allowing you to proceed without any resistance. "Quite."

While you continued to fix him up, Alastor couldn't help but feel a sense of bewilderment. He felt as though coils had entwined themselves around his heart. Slowly constricting, they didn't just tighten but twisted, sharp edges digging into muscle, squeezing his emotions into a thick syrup that spilled beyond the confines of his ribs, seeping out in a haunting shade of crimson through the cracks in his chest.

As the seconds passed, he paid no mind to your touch, shifting his focus to instead dissect you with his eyes. He scrutinized the subtle reactions playing across your face—the delicate twitches of your brows, the soft pout of your blood-red lips, and the scrunches of your nose. 

What were you doing to him?

"There you go!" you announced, a note of satisfaction in your voice as you finished your task, your hand coming to rest briefly on his chest before retreating. "Ready to head back?"

Snapping out of his obsessive trance, Alastor emitted a soft hum, offering his arm to you. You gracefully accepted, intertwining your arm with his. The energetic atmosphere from the dance gradually subsided as you and Alastor made your way back to the private booth. Mimzy's mischievous grin awaited you as she rejoined your company.

"Looks like you two had quite the time!" she exclaimed, a twinkle in her eye.

Alastor quickly composed himself, nodding with a grin. "Indeed! It was quite a delightful dance."

Just as Alastor turned toward you, the insistent dings of a nearby clock echoed through the room. His expression shifted, a fleeting shadow of disappointment and ire crossing his face. The hours had danced away quicker than he had anticipated.

Undoubtedly, the night was still young for you, given that speakeasies often extended their festivities until the early hours of the morning.

However, as much as Alastor would adore the idea of continuing to enjoy your company, the weight of responsibilities at home tugged at him. He had his elderly mother waiting, relying on his care for her well-being, as well as an upcoming morning shift at the radio station.

"It's later than I realized, my dear," he admitted, his voice carrying a touch of regret. "I'm afraid I can't stay any longer. Duty calls, and the dawn awaits for my return."

Something twisted and snapped in Alastor's gut as he observed the unmistakable disappointment etched across your features, evident in the downturn of your blood-red lips. His fingers itched with an impulse to claw your mouth back into a smile, to dig his nails into your skin and carve your lips into a grotesque display of happiness, all in a desperate attempt to restore the radiance of your joy.

Meanwhile, Mimzy sighed in disappointment, yet Alastor discerned that beneath the theatrics, she was indifferent to it all, evident in her thinly veiled disinterest.

"Aww… That's too bad, sugar! The night's just gettin' started!" Mimzy exclaimed, shaking her head with a pout. 

"But I get it! Some folks got places to be," Mimzy waved it off. There was a sudden twinkle in her eye as she pulled out a tab from her dress pocket. "Anyways, 'bout those drinks you had, they weren't exactly on the house, sooo..."

Alastor chuckled and pulled out his wallet. "Of course, my dear! I apologize, it must not have crossed my mind!"

He settled the bill and threw in a generous tip, for both you and Mimzy. His job as a radio host was quite the money-spinner, affording him the pleasure of treating others to the finer things in life. Mimzy practically glowed with satisfaction, her blue eyes sparkling as she snatched the tab. Swift and efficient, she flipped through the bills, before pocketing the money.

"Thank you, love!" Mimzy chirped, already moving away from the table as she waved him off. "You're welcome anytime!"

“I’m sure I am,” Alastor responded flatly, almost mockingly, with a roll of his eyes, pulling a laugh from you. As Mimzy made her way off backstage, both you and Alastor were left alone.

“It's a shame you have to leave so soon. I've got more songs up my sleeve for later. I would have loved for you to stay and catch the performance,” you sighed, turning back to him.

Alastor's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. "Songs, you say? Well, cher, that does sound like a delightful experience. Perhaps I can catch your next show some other time."

You smiled, appreciating his enthusiasm. "I'd love that. I perform here regularly, and your company would be more than welcome anytime."

Alastor's gaze intensified, fixing onto you with a magnetic pull that seemed to draw you closer despite yourself. His eyes, pools of darkness, held an unexplainable intensity. As his lips curled up into a grin, there was a hint of something more primal than human lurking behind his charming facade. A shiver traced its way down your spine, leaving behind a lingering sensation that unsettled you to your core.

"I'll definitely make it a point to come by," he finally said. 

Scrambling for a response, the only sound that reached your ears was the rhythmic thud of your own heartbeat as your blood rushed through your veins.

"Y-You too! Don't let the night slip away too quickly," you stammered.

With a nod, Alastor bid you a final farewell, weaving through the dimly lit space towards the exit. 

Yes, he shall see you very soon.

Cher - Louisiana Creole term meaning "darling," "sweetie" or "honey."