#luna chat

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

POV: You are a very powerful being that dwells in the warp, minding your own business. One day, you encounter a daemon prince. He begs you to help him…hide from his brother? You do as he asks, if only to get him out of your hair. Next thing you know, he is making a new cult dedicated to you. You feel disgusted, and decide to gently get him to stop. You jokingly tell him the only place you want to be worshipped in is the bed. He takes it seriously. And so now, you spend your days dodging his clumsy attempts to seduce you. You can hear the four, and sometimes even the corpse on the throne, laughing their asses off.

Lol. Lmao, even. Another day when we torture poor Lorgar :D

[astros-boy]

que le guste la luna, las estrellas, los atardeceres y yo

[aventurineswife]

Thank you @spirit-of-the-hollow for making this and giving me permission to post this! 🤭💖

This is a continuation of these two: (1), (2)

[22plus15]

l&o cut of this stream from mario's press conference! 🫶

[daily-imbibitorlunae]

drawing imbibitor lunae everyday part 5:

he is not paid enough for this shit

[d1lf-loverr]

guys…

[mewguca]

OC AU doodle I had too much fun with... she's fine btw; a bit of possession never hurt anyone!

- the glyph font is taken from crystaluranium in the RW Official Discord, which references a tumblr post by ikayblythe

+ textless under the cut

since ur here I'll also explain it a bit more...

obviously SLS is echorator in this AU. Her close connection with the Void Sea due to this makes her a frequent target for channeling various entities, willingly or not

some sort of entity? force of nature? will? idk. it's called The Will Of The Void, I guess

and it wants to enforce that cycles remain perpetuated even as timelines are reset or branch out or etc. More specifically in this case it is trying to enforce that specific individuals who became echoes in another timeline shall become echoes once again in this one

and thus SLS can either help willingly or be puppeted against her will, yay! 👍

the idea sprang into my head last night in the shower lol

[merakiui]

for the fwb asks, "you're enjoying this way too much." with trey please? I am. frothing at the mouth <33

<3 forgive me for being indulgent with this. I wanted to include food play as well,,, orz please enjoy the tasty treat that is Trey's dick. >:D

(fwb dialogues)

In hindsight it was dangerous to do this in the Heartslabyul kitchen where anyone could walk in at any moment. But it's late into the night, and Trey had been kind enough to sneak you in on account of owing you a favor. That's all your relationship really is, truly. Just transactions. Mutual give and take. You help him relieve some stress (because Queen knows managing Riddle is an undertaking in itself) and in return he offers to pay you in sweets (and bodily pleasures, but the former is far more tempting).

You'd been expecting one of his renowned strawberry tarts or a slice of cake, so you're stunned when his lips lift into that trademark scheming smirk. He holds up a can of whipped cream next. Having known Trey long enough to decipher his tastes, it doesn't take a genius to figure this one out.

"You're crazy," you breathe, eyes wide.

"Just risky," he corrects, pushing his glasses up, because everyone's mad here. Moonlight catches on the lenses, shimmering back at you in a foreboding glint.

"We can't do that in here. What if someone walks in?"

Trey procures his magic pen from his pocket, pressing it to his lips. "I won't tell if you won't."

Right. Doodle Suit. Convenient.

"All right then. Get on with it," you concede after a short internal debate. The rewards outweigh the risk in this case. Something tells you Trey would bail you out even if you get caught. Partially because he'd be just at fault.

Trey grins. "Would you like to do the honors?"

"Absolutely. Did you even have to ask?"

Snatching the can from his hands, you squirt some on your finger for a taste while he works to fish himself from his pants. He works himself slowly in one hand, peering down at you after you've lowered to your knees. This isn't the first time you and Trey have fooled around with food and it certainly won't be the last.

You make quick work decorating his erection, unable to tamp down the delighted giggle when it twitches in response to the cool cream.

"Eager," you comment, finishing off with a dollop to his tip. You set the can on the tiled floor and admire your handiwork with an approving nod. "Do we have any cherries? Ooh, what about sprinkles?"

Amusement flickers on his face. "I've been meaning to pick some up. We used the rest of them last time."

"Aw. This'll have to do for now then." You press your lips to the head of his cock, swirl your tongue over it, and draw away with a mouthful of whipped cream. "It's still just as good."

Trey inhales sharply, grabbing at the counter behind him to brace himself. "Mm, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "T-That'll do..."

Scooting closer on the ground, you place your hands on his thighs and lean in again to lick a languid stripe up the underside of his shaft, gathering cream as you go. The motions come easily; you've had his cock in your mouth more times than you've truly studied for any of Professor Crewel's alchemy exams, a bad habit Trey's working to correct. To think you could retain information better when he's blowing your back out... Isn't that something?

Breathing through his nose, he tamps down the slew of sinful groans and instead grips the counter with more force. He's purposely holding back, whether for the sake of keeping quiet or because it's the build-up that entices him. You're not sure which it is, but you're determined to break him tonight.

Licking your lips clean, you look up at him through your lashes to assess the lustful haze glazing his eyes. Whipped cream spots your cheek; you pay it no mind and lean in and wrap your lips around him once more. It's sweet. There's definitely an innuendo to be found there, and Trey seems to notice it right away. He throbs in your mouth, painfully hard.

"You're enjoying this way too much," you say around the mouthful.

Trey chuckles, feigning sheepishness. "It's that obvious, huh?"

You pull away to speak more clearly. "It's cute."

"Not the adjective I'd use, but if it fits..." He laughs, shaking his head. Your word choices always enthrall him. Once you called him a midnight snack, a callback to previous times spent wrapped around one another. He doesn't mind it. Not particularly.

His fingers card through your hair to hold you firmly in place. "Sorry in advance."

"You don't mean that," you tease, and both of you know it's true. He likes seeing you choke on his cock. It's exhilarating.

You don't mind it. Not particularly.

[mr-skittles]

Did some silly sketchies of what they look like in my chatfic I’m writing and decided to colour them in

NGL I HATED HOW ROMEO LOOKED THEN I KEPT GOING AND NOW HES MY FAV ON THIS PAGE OUT OF THE THREE

(Ignore how messy it is I didn’t think I would actually like most of it)

[refriedcaprisun]

RAHHH HAPPY HALLOWEEN‼️🎃🦇

Since its almost halloween i had to draw them in halloween costumes!

I feel like Kyouka would like watching sailor moon and think it would be even funnier if she convinced atsushi to be artemis ヽ(*´∀｀)

[sweetnnaivete]

i think xenodora works so well because on the one hand we have this creepy porcelain doll-looking girl who's never been able to understand social cues and hierarchies no matter how much it's taught to her, and on the other hand we have a slightly loopy, clownish social butterfly who, despite not being popular, knows everyone. he understands the unspoken social rules, but he just doesn't care. to him, pandora is this enigma. she cares only about her family and her studies, and he's determined to win her favor. and though evan may protest that he's not worthy of her, she likes him. he helps her to feel more like her own individual person, and together they discuss their experimentations and findings (his failing and hers being a huge success, more often than not)

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

I am just imagining Perty in his gigantic terminator armour, his most iconic feature, with that stern, bitter expression on his rugged face. But, around his neck, stay his two daughters, giggling and playing together. His third, crawls up his leg. His fourth and fifth hold each an individual finger of his right hand. His youngest is held, over the expanse of his broad chest, by a baby sling. At the end, his very pregnant and very tired wife holds his left armour, having a melancholic but still calm expression

Lol, it would be hilarious and absolutely sweet.

And yet I can't imagine Bo in this situation. But I pictured Rogal with a bunch of daughters much more often (I don't know why).

I just pictured him with a stoic face negotiating or discussing important matters. And his daughters, one by one, come up to him and kiss him on the cheek before they go about their business. And the youngest one even puts a flower on him, because with it, daddy is so handsome.

And yes, he keeps the flower on all day. He's still negotiating. With a completely stoic face. Because he loves his daughters even if he doesn't tell them so, damn it.

[astros-boy]

que ganas de ser todo lo que buscas

[neathyingenue]

Introducing the 🪄Flighty Puppeteer

in the ♟️Great Game!

A Profit-Sharing Busker

You first see her not in Wilmot’s End proper, but a few blocks away, before the streets get quite so circuitous. A woman in a gauzy veiled hat sits on a stool under a gas-lamp, making a puppet dance. It’s a little soldier in paint so shiny it might still be wet, wearing a jaunty bandolier. The woman has no music. The performance is silent save the clacking of complex wooden joints and feet. Few people pass this way, but those who do can’t help but stare at the soldier as he marches in place, stumbles, picks himself up, marches again, stumbles again, picks himself up again—the march growing more labored, the getting-up slower. Finally he collapses, the strings going slack.

Now the Puppeteer’s veiled face raises toward your own. You can’t see her face, but you get the sensation that she’s looking at you. And now the puppet stirs. Its face raises as well. The painted black eyes look at you. Then��in a movement that should be impossible—the soldier heaves himself up and slings off the bandolier. No longer a soldier, he cuts a caper, and the Puppeteer’s up now, too, beating time with white boots that flash under her skirts. Finally, she curtsies, he takes a bow, the knot of onlookers applauds—but the show’s not over yet. The puppet looks at his Puppeteer and taps an impatient foot. She gives an exaggerated “What?” gesture. His foot reaches out and kicks at the bonnet holding the pennies she’s earned from the performance—not many—but she nods at him, understanding. She shifts the puppet’s apparatus to one hand and counts out the pennies—one for him, one for her, until the puppet nods in satisfaction.

How will you pay your respects?

>Approach with Two Pennies

Unlocked when you have Addressed As: "August Shaw"

As the onlookers disperse—some going to Wilmot’s End, some leaving it—you take out two pennies: one for the lady, one for the puppet. The puppet bows his thanks. And the Puppeteer speaks for the first time, low, so only you can hear:

“Sic semper tyrannus.”

She pronounces the Latin in the ecclesiastical style, as someone whose native tongue is a Romance language: your ear is trained enough to identify it as Spanish from the American continents, not the European.

Then she reaches her free hand and—for the briefest moment—pulls back her veil. You see a pretty plump face, warm brown, with a pronounced bow to the lips and wide-set eyes. She inclines her head to you, and you know she knows who you are, and what you have done. Then she drops the veil again and turns away.

A few days later, you pass a poster advertising “The Flighty Puppeteer in ‘La selva’—One Night Only—Mahogany Hall.” The pretty face, or a passable likeness, beams from the poster. A paper is tucked into the tiny space between the poster and the wall. You edge it out: a playing card, the King of Diamonds, torn in two.

>Approach with a whole Echo

Unlocked when you have Addressed As: "Robin Jones"

You make a shallow bow and extend a folded bill toward the Puppeteer. You inquire if she and the can puppet can split it between them?

Behind the veil, you see blurry features form a smile. The Puppeteer takes the bill between her gloved fingertips, brushing your own, and assures you that will be possible. “If I didn’t,” she explains, “he would not agree to perform with me at all. And he has been wanting some Whisper-Satin for a new cravat.” The Puppet nods emphatically.

The next time you dream of the Chessboard, an Ebullient Knight in Black dances across the board in perpendicular steps. It’s difficult to tell, but you get the unmistakable sense that she winks at you.

>Stand and contemplate the performance

Unlocked when you have Addressed As: "Mina Azoulai"

It takes your mind a moment to register that the performance is over, the few observers are tossing their pennies and wandering away, and you’re the only one still staring at the Puppeteer as she packs the puppet in a leather case. She’s put back her veil so she can see what she’s doing, and now she turns to you, her warm brown cheeks dimpling.

“Professor Azoulai?”

She motions you forward and snaps the puppet case shut. Then she recites softly:

“...no de esotra parte en la ribera dejará la memoria en donde ardía; nadar sabe mi llama la agua fría, y perder el respeto a ley severa.”*

So this is the agent you’ve heard of, then, who’s been assigned to Spain and the Americas—the countries like opposing riverbanks across the cold Atlantic, bound by language, custom, and the flame of resistance—just as your work spans the Straits of Gibraltar. As you puzzle over the archaic sonnet quotation, the Puppeteer tugs a folded paper out of her waistband and hands it over. You unfold it as she flounces away, swinging the puppet case: a poster for “The Flighty Puppeteer at Mahogany Hall.” A wordy paragraph assures the reader of the high quality of the act, and the first and last letter of each line forms an acrostic for an address.

*I will not leave memory where it burns on the other side of the riverbank; my flame knows how to swim in cold water and lose respect for the severe law.

Tagging the Midnighters: @zeebreezin, @viric-dreams, @letheology

[if-you-seek-fischl]

i feel like they just pasted her face on and called it a day

[willgraham-manwhore-moved]

If the Murder Husbands(tm) were instead Domestic Husbands -- there's no doubt in my mind Will runs a couple’s aesthetic instagram.

Hannibal helps him take pics for the doggy blog and leaves comments like:

"💘🤗💕👍" and: "Beautiful picture. Will, please check your direct messages. We are going out to dinner tonight. I love you."