#wears vests to formal events

[doubledyke]

where is my cringe millennial butch girlfriend

[safination]

Mistletoe Deal

|Masterlist| Pairings: Alastor x Reader Tags/ Warnings; f!Reader, Demon! Alastor, Established Relationships, Soft Alastor, P in V, Cockwarming, Oral Sex (f! Receiving) [TLDR: After seven years, Alastor finally decides to show himself to you. He can't stay for very long, but maybe a deal underneath the mistletoe could buy you a night with him, and him alone.] AN: Happy Christmas everyone! I hope you enjoy my litter offering for the winterfest event at @voxtekinc is hosting. Gosh, smut is so much harder than I thought it was. This isn't my best work, because I know I could do better but the holiday rush got to me, so this is all I've got T_T. Please, do enjoy, and don't forget to tell me what you think. This is my first smut huhu please be gentle with me <3

Alastor stands before you after seven, long years.

This is the first time you’ve seen him since he left. You heard about his stints in the news. The countless ways he’s defended the Hazbin Hotel in such big displays of power, and of course, his whole duet with Vox. It’s almost . . . as if he was being loud on purpose, as if it was a way to announce his presence.

There’s a part of you that hoped this was his way of calling out, that he would visit soon, but Alastor never did.

Alastor takes the open seat on the porch steps, staring straight at the dark, red night.

There must be a Christmas party happening in the Hazbin Hotel. It’s the only plausible reason why he’s wearing a dress suit, complete with a red vest, and a proper tail-coat. His hair is slicked back. Alastor only ever slicks it back for formal parties.

The nightgown you’re wearing suddenly feels a little bit underdressed.

You stay silent, upholding the silence that’s lasted for seven years.

You wrap the blanket closer around your shoulders, sitting as still as possible on the porch steps. There’s that small voice saying Alastor might disappear if you move.

There’s a sense of contentment. It’s weird, but in a funny way that always seems to arise with Alastor. You’ve imagined this day since the moment Alastor left: what you would say, what you would feel, what you would do.

Anger.

Irritation.

Sadness.

Questions— so many questions. Why? Why? Why why why why whywhywhywhwy? Why, Alastor?

None of your questions seem to matter right at this moment with Alastor sitting next to you. He’s so close that you can feel the heat of him despite the blanket. He’s so close that you can hear the breath he takes, and the distinct smell of alcohol. He’s so close, yet you do not dare move closer.

See? Weird in a funny way.

Yet, as Alastor watches the stars, you’re stuck watching him as if he was your own personal star. All you can think about is how the night air blows the strands of his hair. How he looks ahead of you with the same smile he’s always worn.

It’s silent for a long time — a very, very long time . . . until the slow rustle of clothes. Alastor slides his tail-coat off his shoulders, carefully removing it until they’re off his long arms. He folds it in front of him, fiddling with the lapels. It’s almost funny how unsure he looks.

Alastor leans closer, and your skin prickles from the heat. He pulls the blanket around your shoulders, securing them to protect you from Hell’s cruel and cold night until warmth itself settles straight into your bones.

Alastor presses one, single kiss on your cheek. “Merry Christmas, dearest.”

He wraps his coat around your shoulders, and it’s even warmer than the blanket. 

Alastor stays silent, even as he stands to leave.

No – not again.

Your hands reach out to grab him before you fully think about it. It’s instinct, plain and simple, instinct.

There’s surprise that flickers in his eyes. How silly of him to have such a look on his face. It’s almost insulting. What is seven years compared to the decades you’ve had together, or the decades you will have together?

Alastor relents to the silent command, sitting next to you once more. His fingers trace the ring you’ve always worn, and it’s as if he’s surprised you’re still wearing it. Now that . . . that’s insulting.

How silly.

How absolutely silly.

You take the other edge of the blanket, and wrap it around his shoulder. It forces him to press even closer than before.

“You have a talent for insulting me without having to say a word, dearest.” You lean on his shoulders, nuzzling straight into him. “Do you think my vows to you are so weak that seven years would make a difference?”

There’s still that insulting uncertainty in the way he reaches out, but you meet him halfway, leaning your cheek into his hand until his hold becomes confident. Alastor swipes your cheek with his thumb. “Is this much better?”

“Indeed.”

Silence rises once more, but it’s comfortable. There’s so much you want to say, and even more you want to do, . . . but . . . but Alastor traces the back of your hand oh, so softly, careful not to pierce you with his claws. You settle into his hold, enjoying this little bubble of a moment.

The tips of your claws trace the likes of his red vest. “Are you going to stay?”

“I . . ..” Alastor’s ears flicker before they press to the back of his head. “I can’t.”

“Alastor.” There’s more you want to say, but the words catch on his name. “Alastor . . . Alastor.”

 “Yes, my dear?” Alastor smiles at you, answering your call for him.

Oh . . . It’s been years since you called out his name, and received an answer.

“Don’t leave me tonight,” you say, plain and simple, even as your arms betray your desperation. They snake around his waist, holding him closer to you. “You can leave before the sun rises. If that’s too late you can leave as soon as I fall asleep.”

Alastor touches your face, smoothening whatever expression you seem to be making. “So much fussing,” he says. “Stop making such a face, cher.”

“Then, take responsibility,” you tell him, leaning into his touch. “You’ll be too busy to call me about your safety, and I’ll have to wait until the news reports of the next attack to see if you’re alive. I’ll have to wait the entire time, worrying about you.”

“You’re forgetting who I am.” Alastor laughs at you. 

“And you’re forgetting who you are to me,” you say, chuckling a little. “Why should I be subjected to such torture for you?”

Alastor laughs at you again, and his eyes bulge as he does. He takes your hand, pulling it closer to him with a smile that shows off the yellow in his teeth, and presses his lips on the ring around your finger.

Well, that’s certainly an answer to your question.

“It’s impossible to deny you when you’re making such a face.” Alastor smiles down at you, brushing his fingers down your cheek. It’s such a small gesture that means the world to you. “Shall we make a deal?”

“If it ensures you’ll stay tonight,” you tell him as Alastor tucks strands of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

Alastor snaps his fingers, and magic pools above you, conjuring something above. Oh . . . it’s a mistletoe. It dangles above your heads, swaying from the chill of Hell’s night air.

“Just one of these shall do.” Alastor brushes his thumb across your lips. “Just one from you, and I’ll stay until the night lasts, and not a second before.”

You lean even closer, pressing your forehead against his. Alastor’s here. He’s really here.

The first kiss goes on his cheek, and it lingers far longer than it should. The next one goes on his other cheek. His nose. His forehead. The edges of his lips. It’s foul to tease him like this, but you do so anyway.

You brush your lips across his, and finally, finally, give Alastor a proper kiss. It’s still the same soft and chapped lips as you remember. It’s all still the same.

Alastor brushes his thumb across your cheek, and your eyes flutter to a close.

The deal was for one, but you press kiss after kiss after kiss until there's no denying that you’ve fulfilled your end of the deal. Alastor has to stay for as long as the night lasts.

“I think this is my favorite Christmas tradition yet,” you say, a small but happy smile on your lips. “Merry Christmas, dearest.”

Alastor laughs, snapping the blanket and coat away, and steals one last kiss from your lips. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”

The door opens with a click, yet your hands are still around the metal. There’s no reason to be nervous, but your hand refuses to open the doorknob.

Alastor reaches from behind, wrapping his hand around yours. The warmth of his hold transfers to your skin. Such a simple gesture, yet it tethers you next to him. “My dear, shall we go inside together?”

It’s the way he said it, ‘together. 

There’s a small smile on your lips that you don’t remember smiling. That’s the thing with Alastor—just being with him brings out joy that blooms across your face. The door opens with a twist of the knob. 

Together – that’s how you and Alastor open the door, and that’s how it should be.

It’s . . . home. It’s been home for a very, very, long time even during the lonely nights you didn’t want them to be. These traces he left always seemed to haunt you.

The scattered radios across the shelves, the grand piano in the other room, and the clutter of stained broadcasting scripts; these will always be home.

Alastor slides into your field of vision with a cheery smile, and boops your nose. You almost succumb to that sweet calling of biting off that finger for such an audacity. “What’s going on inside that pretty, little head of yours – something ridiculous, perhaps?”

 Pretty. 

A pleased smile grows on your lips. It’s there despite the mix of praise and carefully hidden insults your husband likes to throw in for good fun.

“An answer, please.” He flicks the tip of your nose.

You swat his hand away.

Alastor rubs the back of his hand with a click of his tongue. “Come on, now, don’t be shy. I’m here to blow away any ridiculous thought of yours.”

“There’s nothing ridiculous about it,” you say. “I think . . .”

For the first time in seven years. . . it’s not just you in this house, and the wounds that haunt you begin to heal from the traces of you and him. 

There’s a wedding photo that shows you and Alastor. It’s propped up in a way that you and Alastor can see it over morning coffee.

There’s a book that Alastor reads out loud while you do some threadwork. It’s mindlessly thrown across a coffee table that has two distinct mug stains that sit next to each other.

“I was thinking about the living room.” You grab his hand, pressing one, single kiss over his ring. “That’s all there is.”

Alastor’s smiling at you. “And what do you see when you look at our living room?”

You and him.

Him and you.

The evidence is already there.

“I see us.” You squeeze his hand. “Me and you – right here, together.”

Alastor squeezes back with a smile, and crashes you straight into his arm with a hug. Your nose hits his chest, but you stay within his hold. The faint metallic scent of alcohol mixed with Alastor, and you cannot pull away. Not from him – never from him.

His hand travels up your back, ghosting over your neck until he cradles your head with an oh, so soft grasp.

“Al?” You tap on his bicep. “Al . . . Alastor!”

“Yes, dear?” He leans his full weight on you, not caring if you’re able to withstand the force of his body. “That is, indeed, my name.”

“Heavy! You’re too . . . heavy,” you wheeze out, and plant your feet on the floor. “Sweetheart, you’re going to fall!”

“Dearest, you keep forgetting who your husband is.” Alastor squeezes tighter, pressing you deeper into him with a hearty laugh. “As if I would ever let you go. We’re falling together.”

Your knees shake from the weight, and it’s that sheer will to stay upright that keeps you standing, even as Alastor goes limp in your hold.

He cradles your head in his hold, brushing the back of your neck with his thumb . . . before pushing you with his hips, knocking you over. A small groan escapes when your knees give out, and you collapse on top of Alastor, your nose hitting his chest.

There’s that small voice in your head. It fans the flames of irritation, but, well, Alastor took the brunt of the land. He cushions your body with his own, and it’s the only reason why you’re sprawled on his chest and not on the cold, hardwood, floor.

It’s simple, even when it’s not supposed to be, because all annoyance gets thrown out the window.

His eyes flutter to a close when he leans into your hand. There are no words, but everything that has to be said is already there.

Up the stairs, across the hallway, and into the bedroom, all done hand in hand.

The lights flick open and . . .oh. You and Alastor are between these walls as well.  

There it is again, that ever present, ‘two’. Two sets of pillows are tuck at the head of the bed. Two different alarm clocks facing each other on the nightstand. There’s only one blanket, but its thick corners are spread across two sides of the bed.

It’s you and him in this space. Together — as it should be. 

How were you able to endure seven years with just the traces of Alastor to accompany you through the night? It doesn’t matter, at least for tonight, not when he agreed to stay.

Alastor changes into his pajamas. It’s still in the same place it’s been for the last seven years. If he has questions about it, Alastor keeps them to himself.

You finally settle into the bed, watching Alastor crawl underneath the covers. It’s automatic, instinctive even, to press yourself into his chest.

Alastor settles a hand on your waist, pressing his cheek on the crown of your head. His thumbs go up and down and up and down, tracing small patterns into your nightgown.

You press your lips on his collarbone, and Alastor responds with a kiss to your forehead. It’s such a soft gesture that it compels you to trace your lips all over the lines of his shoulder, and hold him as close to you as possible.

There’s this nagging voice that’s fueling the need to feel him. You need to feel his skin underneath your touch. You need to feel the heat of his body, every inch of it, right now.

But that blasted shirt is getting in your way.

The buttons of his pajamas dig into your cheek. It’s annoying. So, fucking, annoying. It’s getting in the way. This blasted cloth is preventing you from fully feeling Alastor. 

You reach for the button of his shirt, but Alastor catches your wrist before you could reach the first one. “It’s annoying me,” you say, grumbling as you tug on your wrist. “I want it off.”

Alastor releases your wrist, and presses a hand to his face, but there’s a smile on his lips. “Do as you wish.”

The way he smiles drives you a little bit more insane. You start at him, blinking as you do, and rip open the buttons of his pajamas, exposing the light fluff on his chest.

Alastor crosses his arms over his chest, reeling away with a hearty laugh. “How uncouth of you, dearest.”

“Seven years and you’ve turned shy on me.” You laugh as well. “I’ve already seen every— “

Oh . . .oh.

So, that’s why Alastor tried to stop you. Scars are dime a dozen on his body, and you’ve worshipped every, single one, but that was new. There’s a long slash on his chest that obviously wasn’t there seven years ago. You’re intimate with all the marks on his body, but not this one.

You trace the scar with your lips, trailing soft kisses down the line.

“I heard what happened,” you say, whispering against the fur on his chest. A soft sigh escapes when you can finally feel the heat on his skin. “I was listening to your broadcast that day. You gave me quite the fright, Alastor.”

“I wasn’t aware you were listening.”

“I never stopped.” You press kiss after kiss after kiss on this new scar, and each word you say brushes your lips on him. “Our radios are constantly on, waiting until the static stops, and your broadcast fills the air.”

Alastor shudders underneath your attention. He tilts your chin with the tips of his fingers. Those eyes of his stare straight into yours with that oh, so soft look in him.

You press a kiss on the edge of his lips, teasing him for good fun.

Alastor huffs at you, jerking your chin to face him. His forehead rests against yours for more than a second. Chapped lips trace across your own, brushing them with such a familiar tenderness. Alastor captures your lips into a kiss.

The soft fur on his chest tickles your palms, and a small giggle escapes you. There’s fur all over your husband! He’s part deer, complete with antlers and a tail. Oh, what a silly afterlife you’re living.

Alastor snakes his arms around your waist, guiding you back towards the mattress. There’s a smile on him when he settles above you.

The kiss travels from your cheek to your lips until he’s nibbling on the bottom. It’s a silent command to part them, and one that you eagerly follow. Alastor inserts his tongue into your wet mouth, sliding it around with rhythmic swirls as he tastes the inside.

You run your hands across his shoulder and down his back. A small hum when he leaves a trail of wet kisses down your jaw and into your neck.

Alastor reaches for the straps of your nightgown, pulling it lower until your breasts are fully exposed to the dim night. His hot breath hovers above your nipple, and it tingles the sensitive skin

A small gasp escapes when Alastor latches onto your nipple, licking and nibbling around the sensitive bud. Alastor presses his shard teeth hard enough to leave a mark . . . and well, you can’t help but jump as pain morphs into a familiar pleasure that dampens your underwear further.

He detaches from your nipple with a slight pop. A thin line of saliva bridges his tongue and your breast.

And . . . huh.

When did Alastor raise your nightgown?  You weren’t aware of his fingers playing with the band of your underwear until he was tugging on it, asking for permission.

There’s a dangerous look on his face that has you clenching around nothing. A simple nod —that’s all you’re able to give. There’s nothing really else to do but give him the permission he’s been waiting for, especially as he watches you with that glint in his eyes.

Alastor’s fingers catch on the band of your underwear. He’s watching every twitch of your eyebrows, every heavy rise and fall of your breasts. Your underwear slips lower and lower.

He lifts your hips high enough that he’s able to pull the thing down your legs, and thrown somewhere irrelevant. They’re not needed for tonight, it seems.

Alastor takes your leg, worships it with soft nibbles that trail higher and higher and higher.

Your legs try to close together, but Alastor’s hold is too firm.

“Seven years, and you’ve turned shy on me.” Alastor pushes your knees even further apart. He rewards the inside of your thigh a little kiss when you don’t try to fight him. “It’s just me, cher.”

It takes a moment for you to find your voice. “Not exactly my fault,” you grumble, kicking him a little. “It’s been . . . It’s been a while.”

His smile widens. “Then I shall refamiliarize you.”.

Alastor doesn’t bother waiting for your reply, diving straight into your folds. His wet tongue swirls between your folds with agonizing slowness. You stiffen a moan, clutching the bed sheets as he continues to lap around them.

His tongue swirls around your clit, and your legs try to close, even as a small, breathy moan escapes. Alastor presses your thighs apart with more firmness than before. He anchors a leg on your shoulder, biting down on the fat as punishment. The tips of his tongue swirl around the bite mark.

“It really has been a while.” Alastor smiles up at you, mischief in his eyes, and presses a kiss right on top of his bite. “I’ll excuse your earlier eagerness. I’ve been neglecting you for far too long.”

You try to push your nightgown a little lower. It’s funny how shy you’ve suddenly become under his gaze.

“Don’t laugh. I didn’t. . . .” The words are hard to find, especially when he marks you with another bite while waiting for a response. “Alastor, I . . . I didn’t ask you to stay for this.”

He presses on your leg, bending you when he leans closer to chase a kiss from your lips. “You seduce me with your words, and say this isn’t what you were planning from the beginning.” He licks a path up your cheek. “Yet the buttons on my shirt are broken.”

You press a hand on his chest. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Very well,” he says, laughing at you. “One word from you, and I shall stop.”

Silence.

Alastor smiles at you, and takes the silence as the answer it is. He pulls your hips closer, diving straight down to slurp the slick from your cunt. The sudden jolt of stimulation forces your back to arch, and your hand finds his head, gripping his hair a little.

Half of his face is covered, but he’s looking so intently at you that it’s hard to look away.

Your eyes close as he pulls you even closer, swirling the tip of his tongue around your clit. Small gasps escape from your mouth as Alastor inserts his tongue into you.

Alastor plays with your folds before inserting a finger. A shudder runs straight up your spine.

“A-Al . . .,” you gasp out, thighs trembling when he massages that already sensitive bundle of nerves. “Ah!”

A familiar tight coil builds its tension. So much so that you’re meeting him halfway, grinding down on his face. You’re so close. Heat travels down your stomach, tingling every nerve of your body. You need . . .

“More.” It comes out like a greedy whine. “Please . . . I’m . . . I’m so clo— Ah!”

Alastor sucks on your clit, before inserting another finger. A loud moan tears through your throat. The sound mixes with squelching of your fluids to create such an indecent sound.

These seven years have not diminished his knowledge of your body. Alastor is using everything he knows to his advantage, easily playing you like a kazoo.

There’s that look in his eyes again — that glint that promises danger. Your legs wrap around his neck, and you pull him tighter to you, cushion him with the plump of your thighs. Alastor’s smile grows wider, and he sucks harder on your clit. The coil in your belly finally, finally snaps.

Your orgasm rushes out like a flood, and Alastor laps it all up like a thirsty Sinner. The fingers around your hips dig into the skin, pulling you closer even as your bud toes that line of overstimulation.

Alastor releases your cunt, and a line of saliva connects his tongue to you. The evidence of your release stains his mouth. His tongue licks around his lips, and a pleased smile grows on his face.

“You taste really sweet, cher.” Alastor rises higher, worshiping your body with trails of kisses up your stomach. It tickles a little. He captures your lips, and you have no idea what he’s talking about. There’s nothing sweet about what you taste.

The tips of your nails trace this new scar, running it along the length of his chest. You’re intimately familiar with the scars painting his chest. This one won’t be different—all you need is time, and eternity offers plenty.

Your fingers trail lower, breaching the band of his pajamas to pull him out. Alastor’s cock twitches as you massage that little bit of pre-cum around his head.

His head tilts back as a moan releases from his lips, but Alastor grabs your wrist, stopping you from going any lower. “We wouldn’t want to waste it,” he says. “It would be a shame to do so.”

You squeeze the length of his cock one last time before releasing him. “Next time, then.”

“Next time.”

Alastor leans closer, trailing his nose on the expanse of your neck before pressing a kiss and nibbling on the skin. His tongue swirls around the marks his sharp teeth leave, and it almost distracts you from the way he aligns the head of his cock, swirling it around to lubricate himself.

Alastor breaches your entrance, stretching your walls with such a slow pace that you would consider it a punishment of some sort. He takes his time as if letting your walls feel every inch of him until he’s bottomed out.

“Alastor . . . wait,” you say, sighing as you feel him inside your walls, and rub on his shoulders to grab his attention. “Just . . . wait.”

Alastor jerks away, but you wrap your arms around his neck before he could fully slip out of your cunt. The sudden force of your arms causes him to collapse on top of you.

A small groan escapes both your lips when he crashes on your breast. Despite the soft cushion, there’s a distinct twitch in his eye that makes you laugh.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Alastor glances up at you, face buried between your breast, and reaches out to tuck away a bit of hair from your face.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You hold him closer, tightening your embrace to pull him deeper into your chest. The weight of him grounds you, even as the words you want to say jostles in your throat. “I just . . .”

“Then, tell me what’s on your mind,” Alastor tells you, cock still inside. “Don’t lie to me, not to me – never to me.”

The base of his hooves presses against your ankles. The fur on his chest tickles your stomach with every breath he takes. His fingers are tracing small circles on your shoulder. Everything about him shoots waves of high frequency to your skin. You’re so keenly aware of everything about it that it becomes almost overwhelming.

“It’s you, Alastor,” you say, brushing a finger across his cheek, stifling a groan when his cock throbs inside you. “You’re on my mind. It’s just . . . ”

There’s so much you want to tell him, and so much more you want him to hear. It’s Alastor who’s always had the talent with words, and it's strikingly evident how incompetent you are when the words refuse to even form. 

How do you begin to describe the heavy beating of your chest?

Instead, you trail your hand down the expanse of his arm, until you’re pulling his hand closer to your lips. One, single kiss across the ring around his finger. It holds everything you want him to hear, but do not know how to say.

Alastor’s hips buckle, driving his cock deeper into your walls. The sudden feeling of his cock stretching even further forces your nails to dig into his skin.

He chuckles a little, grunting a small apology as he presses his lips on your cheek, and then to the other side. Alastor preppers your face with his lips, kissing you just as slowly, just as tenderly as the way he entered you. It’s less hungry, and less consuming.

There’s nothing to worry about, after all. Alastor always seems to understand you better than yourself.

“I was waiting for you. That's why I was outside in the cold.” You brush your fingers across the expanse of his jaw, using the tip of your nail to tilt his chin. “You didn’t come for me.”

Alastor leans lower to chase your lips into a kiss, but you grab a fistful of the back of his hair, forcing him to look into your eyes.

“You don’t come for me either.” Alastor groans as you tighten the grip on his hair, exposing his neck to you. “I put on such a grand show that day, hoping you were listening. That blasted picture box took a picture of me, and I allowed it to be taken for you, and only you.”

“I guess we were both fools waiting on each other.” You trace your fingers over the expanse of his smile. “Alastor . . .”

His smile widens. “Yes, my dear?”

“Alastor.” You press your finger into his lips, slipping into his mouth. “Alastor.”

Alastor twirls his tongue around the tip, nibbling the skin as he bobs his head. He releases your finger, and a bridge of saliva trails across. “Yes, dearest?”

The way he responds . . . it causes you to clench around him. It’s been so long, too long, since you heard him respond to your calls.

You brush your lips across his before chasing him into a kiss, moaning into it when Alastor rocks his hips into you. The way he drags his cock across your wall, slow and tender, forces you to hide your face into the crook of his shoulder.

“Alastor.” You drag your teeth across his shoulder, nipping at the skin.

“I’m right here,” he says. “I’m never leading again.”

Alastor’s hips press against yours, sliding across your walls. He inserts himself slowly, sliding with purpose as if making sure to give each and every sensitive nerve his attention.

A moan tears itself out of him when you bite down on his shoulder, just the way you know he enjoys it. He’s not the only one who’s knowledge hasn’t diminished.

Every movement he makes you keenly aware of him.

“Alastor.”

“I’m never letting you leave my side again,” Alastor says, chasing your lips into a kiss. “I’m staying right here with you, dearest.”

That wasn’t the deal, and you both know it. Just before the sun rises, Alastor will be allowed to leave and not a second before. If Alastor could already take you, he already would have done so. You know how to read between the lines. 

There’s a reason why he didn’t come for you, and that’s the very reason why you didn’t come for him, despite knowing he was calling out for you.

Right now . . . that doesn’t really matter. That same tight coil builds around you. Alastor pounds waves of pleasure into you, playing you like one of his instruments, and you sing into the air for him. The squelching sounds accompany your voice like a symphony.

“You and me, and me and you – for eternity.” Alastor holds you closer, hitting that sensitive spot. “I’m done breaking my vow.”

The words he whispered into your ear are the final nail to the coffin. You pull him even closer to you as the coil of pleasure snaps, shooting frequencies as you come undone in his arms.

Alastor chases his own release, practically rutting himself inside with sloppy strokes. You run your hands down his sweat-stricken back, feeling the fur that runs along his skin. You reach for the base of his tail, squeezing it between your fingers.

His cock spasms inside, shooting seeds to paint you with the evidence of his pleasure. The sound he makes causes you to clamp down on him.

There’s a distinct glare in his eyes as he continues to draw himself out, but none of you can deny that it’s his cum that’s slipping out your cunt, and mixing with the pool of fluids below.

It takes a moment, but your breathings eventually calm as you search for it. Alastor only pulls you closer, even as he softens inside. You press kiss along his face, laughing as Alastor’s breath tickles your skin.

“My dearest, Alastor.” You press a kiss on the edge of his lips. “Will you keep answering me?”

“As long as you keep calling for me,” he says, tracing your lips with a smile, “I’ll never stop answering you.”

The rest of the night goes something like this: tangled limbs under the covers, and gentler caresses with even gentler kisses. Eventually, soft snores replace hushed whispers of conversation.

The night ends.

The sun rises above the horizon, and . . . and well, it rises to two sleeping bodies who hold each other oh, so softly.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

"What's the matter?" Daryl asked, coming to stand behind you as you stared into the scant closet. His body landed flush against yours and his hands pulled your hips back into him more tightly.

You sighed. "I don't want to go to this stupid event. How is it possible there even are fancy events anymore?" you asked. "It just feels wrong..." You turned in his arms and your hands landed on his sides. He gripped your hips more firmly, more securely. "And you have to work security, so I'm going to be by myself. I'd feel a lot better if you were going to be with me, right next to me."

"Yumiko will be there," Daryl reminded you, trying to sound reassuring.

"Yeah," you said vaguely. "They didn't even give me a choice. I understand why Tomi was hiding his medical degree. Just because I had a stupid, fancy degree in the old world now I'm stuck orbiting around all these assholes..."

Daryl chuckled and you looked up at him and met his blue eyes, which were narrowed slightly in a smile. "S'just one night. It'll be okay. And I'll be close by."

"Yeah," you sighed again. You turned back to the closet. "Help me choose something to wear?"

"Mmm," Daryl hummed. He left his position behind you and stepped forward to the closet. He shoved most of the hangers out of the way, reaching for one specific item of clothing. He held it out to you, clearly proud of his joke, and you smiled. It was his vest, leather arms stitched on for the cooler weather so it was a complete jacket.

You couldn't help laughing at his joke. "Babe... I don't think it's up to the dress code. They said semi-formal."

"Hmm. Alrigh'. Put one of them fancy dresses underneath it," he retorted, still smirking.

You grabbed the hanger from him. "Somehow, I don't think it'll fly... but I tell you what—maybe I can save it for later tonight when it's just the two of us. You know... as a complete outfit." Daryl's eyebrows lifted.

"Ya better not be teasin'," he drawled.

"I would never joke about something like that," you giggled.

Prompt: "Help me choose something to wear?"

[long-death-dazai]

It is [Dazai stares up at the ceiling to avoid looking at Chuuya] it almost certainly is [he groans, covering his face with both hands and dragging them down] I’m so sure.

If someone tries to take another one of my knifes today I'm committing fUCKING WAR CRIMES AGAIN SO FUCK OFF

[tanuki-kimono]

Priests' outfits - Jikitotsu, Daimon, and Hentetsu

(as worn during Edo period - great charts by Nadeshico Rin). You can find more about samurai ranks and their regulated attires under the tag "samurai kimono".

"Hight Priest" jikitotsu

This outfit was worn for court events by Buddhist priests of the highest rank ( 法印 Hôin) and second highest rank (法眼 Hôgen). Those titles could also be also given to 儒者 Confucian scholars, 医師doctors, Buddhist 絵師 painters and 仏師 sculptors, etc.

直綴 Jikitotsu - type of monk robe, originally made by stitching together a 偏衫 henzan (monk robe covering the upper body) and a 裙子 kunsu (monk robe covering the lower body) together. Overtime, jikitotsu came to be worn opened, more like a haori vest.

末広 Suehiro - a type of formal folding fan. TN: the fan drawn here ressemble more a 中啓 chûkei, as suehiro have curving ribs which don't seems to be the case here (find more about fan types here)

(長)袴 (Naga)bakama - hakama pants with long trailing legs, here made of hiraginu (plain silk)

白小袖 Shiro-Kosode - white kosode (=ancestor of the kimono) /or/ 帷子 Katabira - thin garment made from hemp or raw silk (worn during Summer). Note that 経帷子 kyôkatabira designates a shroud (=the white kimono used to dress the dead). /or/ 熨斗目Noshime - kosode (=ancestor of the kimono) with stripes/lattice pattern at waist area

小さ刀 Chîsagatana - small katana

"Companion" formal kimono

First people helping buddhist priests, 同朋 dôbô (lit. "companions) became overtime men attending on the Shogun, feudal lords and other high-ranked officals.

They were in charge of miscellaneous tasks (like cleaning, messengers etc.), or depending on their talents more skilled ones (dance, music, ikebana, tea ceremony etc.).

大紋 Daimon is a specific hitatare set, patterned with large 紋 mon (clan/family crests)

菊綴 Kikutoji - decorative tassel-like knots, first appeared on Heian nobility clothes. Here, those were leather ones

胸紐 Munahimo - chest ties​, first appeared on Heian nobility clothes. Here, those were leather ones

熨斗目 Noshime - kosode (=ancestor of the kimono) with stripes or lattice pattern at waist area. Also note the colored undergarments collars.

袖括 Sodekukuri - decorative sleeve ties. Originally appeared on Heian clothings (like kariginu, nôshi, etc) where they were used to tighten sleeve cuffs. Here, those were leather ones

(長)袴 (Naga)bakama - hakama pants with long trailing legs, here made of white linen

小さ刀 Chîsagatana - small katana

The Proto-haori

This outfit was the formal wear worn by lower class priests, scholars, doctors, artists, etc.

編綴 Hentetsu (lit. "stitched together") - a vest with large and long boxy sleeves, made from gauze or plain silk, most often black or dark brown. The chest straps were also made of the same fabric It evolved from 十徳 jittoku (itself a variation of 直綴 jikitotsu, see above). First a casual wear for court nobles, and then spread to lower-class samurai who wore it over their kosode from Muromachi era and on. Its use then reached other social classes during Edo period. Overtime and minor variations, it finally became known as our modern 羽織 haori

服紗(小袖) Fukusa(kosode) - a kosode (=ancestor of the kimono) bearing crest, and made from soft silk (like habutae or rinzu). In summer, it was a katabira (thin garment made from hemp or raw silk) /or/ 熨斗目 Noshime - kosode (=ancestor of the kimono) with stripes or lattice pattern at waist area

[captain039]

PART 7 Heal your hurt LAST PART

Viktor x reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, health issues, mental health issues, light swearing, chubby reader, intimacy, sexual, friends to lovers, reader has chronic pain, unhealthy dependence xD, self-esteem issues, unhealthy thoughts

Previous part <-

Progress Day, a holiday to see a new invention to show the progress of Piltover. You wear a dress, do your hair and put on some makeup. You ignore the protest of your body, you have been for a while. Viktor’s little outburst into your office had forced you to numb yourself and think of nothing. You join Caitlyn for progress day, she wears her formal enforcer gear and her dark blue hair sleeked into a bun some blue shimmer on her eyes. You’re laughing with her and a few of her friends you’ve forgotten the name of. You see the golden boy, centre of attention surrounded by the rich members of Piltover and new buyers from other places. The one person you hoped to avoid is thankfully not here, his gaze not lingering on you whenever you’re in the same room together. You sip on some champagne acting like you belong here when you don’t. This crowd, these high status people it’s so- you noticed the doors open, you figured all the guests were here by now seeing as they closed the doors. Your heart stops though, Viktor walks in. He wears a suit that you’ve never seen, crisp and white with gold accents, his hair is styled lightly slicked back, he looks refreshed as he walks in. He goes to Jayce first who beams at his best friend, arm going around his shoulder as the others look in surprise.

“You’ll catch flys with your mouth open” Caitlyn whispers and you instantly shut your mouth, cheeks reddening as you look away and down to the floor. She smirks knowingly and you want to punch her. You excuse yourself from the group going to grab more champagne, you’d grab a whole bottle if you could. You hear your name being called and frown turning around seeing Jayce coming your way a happy smile on his face. You smile back at him noticing Viktor holding conversation with others. Jayce follows your gaze and chuckles.

“I’m as shocked as you are” he comments picking up a glass. You avoid the comment and look away making Jayce frown.

“Don’t” you say and he looks briefly hurt making you sigh and apologise softly.

“You can’t keep doing this” Jayce steps closer his voice low and you look away brows furrowed.

“Ok” Jayce sighs softly, Jayce hugs you gently and you tense and feel yourself wanting to cry at the contact, wishing it was someone else. Jayce walks away joining up with Caitlyn and you rush out of the event unable to hold it together anymore. You go to your office, you pace a moment kicking off the stupid heels you thought were a good idea. Your body screams in pain, you let yourself feel, let it wash over you like a full body ram. You lean against your desk and feel tears roll down your face and onto the wood you let out a cry and swipe everything off your desk which is very little but it still feels good. You’re close to fall to the floor when arms wrap around you. You go to fight but the cane that clatters on the floor beside you tells you who it is. You feel yourself sob your hands going to his arm holding them tightly. You turn around in his hold, bury your face in his lightly cologned vest and soak it with your tears. Viktor tightens his hold, one hand on your neck fingers up your scalp, the other splayed on your back. You stay like that for a while, your crying slowly drying, your body trembling lightly with each shaky breath you take. You look to his fancy vest and suit shirt under it.

“You look nice” you whisper voice a little hoarse.

“So do you” he says softly his hand giving your neck a soft squeeze. You sigh though sagging a bit.

“What do you need?” He asks.

“To go home” you mutter he nods and soon you’re leaving the building and heading back to your apartment. You hurt inside and out, your brain is slowed down to just making sure you don’t fall over your feet, Viktor’s free hand holding yours tightly making you focus on his warmth. Once home you want to go and collapse but don’t until Viktor guides you to your room, he takes your heels and puts them away while you take off the stockings you wore off uncaring. Viktor takes them and puts them in your laundry hamper. Viktor stands in front of you, leaning against his cane under his armpit while his hands go to your hair. He takes out the bobby pins and hair tie lying them on your bedside table before running soothing finger tips over your scalp.

“Do you want to lie down or shall I run a bath?” He asks and you blink back into focus looking up to him. Science. He’s so handsome, sharp cheekbones, his hair slicked back suits him, the suit hugging his body and neatly pressed. The last few weeks go out the window, you need him. You open your mouth but look back to your lap shaking your head. A finger tucks itself under your chin and forces you to tilt your head up.

“We’ll speak in the morning, tell me what you want” he says voice dropping a few octaves. You take a small breath, a clench in your stomach makes you flush and you watch his pupils dilate in response.

“Y-you” you manage wanting to look away but his finger under your chin keeps your gaze on his.

“Lie down” he orders eyes flicking to your pillow as his fingers leave your chin. Your heart pounds in your chest your pain forgotten out the window as you shuffle back and lie down. He sits down on the edge of the bed toeing off his shoes and taking his leg brace off before lying his cane against your bed side table. You lie like a statue mind running too quick for you to process. Slender fingers touch your arm and you jolt looking back to Viktor. His eyes are on your arm where his fingers trail over your skin. He lets out a small sigh and lies down, you watch as his face comes into view so he’s all you see face inches apart. He kisses you slowly lips melding together tongue sliding across your lips for entrance which you grant to easily. You try to tug him closer but he pulls back leaving you panting.

“Sleep” he orders and your mouth falls open and closes again. He lies on his side beside you and rests his hand on yours. You watch him close his eyes and you let out a small huff his hand clenching yours gently before you give in with a sigh. You roll over facing him your eyes studying his face, the few moles that grace his face, his cheekbones, his nose, lips.

“You are not sleeping” he comments, but you hear the light tinge of teasing under it. You glare at him before you sigh and close your eyes.

You wake up a little groggily, you lay on your side your knee hiked up the other stretched out. You’re not facing Viktor anymore but you can feel him behind you, his hand on your waist his breath against your neck again. You dread waking up, you can already feel your emotions boiling through the seams. You don’t want to move, knowing this is the first good rest you’ve gotten in a while, you’re relaxed, not stiff feeling like you’re made of wood. The dull ache in your body is less. You roll over though, Viktor’s hand lifting momentarily before it rests back on your waist. He opens his eyes, golden gaze meeting yours.

“Morning” you whisper.

“Good morning” he reply’s and you sadden, a sweet good morning.

“Would you like breakfast?” He asks and you shake your head, your anxiety crowding your stomach.

“You?” You ask back.

“No” he mutters a small frown going to his brows.

“I like this” you mutter running your hand over his suit vest for a minute. He doesn’t answer and you nod sighing rolling onto your back.

“What happened?” He asks voice softer, hurt and you clench your eyes shut taking a deep breath.

“My brain” you mutter it’s not exactly a good or serious answer, but it’s the truth. He doesn’t ask explanation, he waits patiently.

“You- I-“ you clench your jaw for a moment voice breaking.

“I felt this dependence, an over taking need to be with you, by you, touching you, I just needed you” you sigh.

“I got angry with myself, hated how the first time in years someone’s shown me interest I latch on like a leech and suck dry till there’s nothing left but burnt out feelings and desires. So I closed myself off, if I wasn’t available you wouldn’t be there, you’d leave me alone and this need would leave. My mind took over with self hatred, I’m not something one desires unless forced, or dared, or as a joke, second choice, a useless messenger” you mutter the last few words not daring to look at his face.

“I threw myself into something I’d hate so I’d be consumed by that instead, I forced my body past its limits and beyond to focus on the pain then the reeling in my mind” you feel tears rolling down your cheek before you quickly wipe them away.

“I’m not someone to desire” you whisper.

“You don’t want to be with someone like me” you add with a shaky voice.

“You know Sky? Sky Young? She has a crush on you” you let out a small humourless laugh.

“She’s smart, kind, funny, socially awkward like you, she’s perfect for-“ your words are cut off by a hard crash of lips and a painful clench of your hand.

“Miss Young is a student of the academy with a bright future, however if you say one more word about her I will not let you leave this bed till I’ve proven I don’t want Miss Young and you’re begging for me to stop” his voice takes on a dark tone that sucks your breath away. You nod hesitantly seeing the look in his eyes your heart pounding in your chest. He nods curtly back lying back to where he was.

“As for your explanation, I understand” he says his voice softer and normal now making you blink back to reality.

“You do not want the weakness with someone helping you even though it isn’t weakness” he adds.

“You view yourself unworthy of affections because boys have toyed and used you for their own entertainment and I hope they rot in the sewers” you watch his jaw clench lightly before he continues.

“As for needing me” he mutters.

“Did it occur to you that I need you just as feverishly?” Your eyes widen and you stare at him seeing no hint of toying or lies.

“You consume my every thought and these last few weeks of watching you drive yourself into the ground has been agony, I could not do anything without breaking trust and a process. I could not provide you with what you needed nor could you provide me with what I needed. I admit I half expected something however I did not think it would take such a harsh turn when I thought you were… enjoying me” he whispers the last words and you forget to breathe for a moment as you listen and repeat his words.

“I’m an idiot” you mutter more tears rolling down your face. Viktor sighs softly tugging you under his chin his fingers going through your hair.

“Only for a moment” he mutters and you huff out a small laugh.

“You needed to go through a process and you did even if it was destructive” he adds.

“Why?” You mutter.

“Why what?” He asks.

“Why did you stay? You could’ve thrown me under the rug” you add quietly fiddling with his vest.

“And miss out on a future with you always by my side? Never” he says almost offended a soft smile going to your lips.

[desmorotu]

“meet…cute…?”: an incomplete sam collins fic

lowercase intended!

it was unlike Samuel to be dressed so formally; a pair of shiny dress shoes, raven slacks, and an off-white shirt that looked straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean, he had said once. it laced in the front, showing off the small patch of hair that grew at his chest, as well as the contour of his pectoral muscle from under the thin fabric. he also adorned a corseted vest, of sorts—the silver, leafy decals shone under the warmly lit ballroom that he reluctantly stepped foot in. the black, silky mask that he was told to wear was stuck to his face by some type of prosthetic glue.

how had he gotten here? he relayed the events in his mind just as the wine glass in his hand touched his lips. it was a day just like any other—that was, until he’d gotten a call from Vincent.

“it’ll be fun,” he urged. “you never go out.”

“and for good reason,” Sam had tried to argue, rolling his eyes even though Vincent wouldn’t have seen it.

“do you remember that time i brought you a change of clothes after you had your little rendezvous with one of the—“

“okay, yes,” the older man groaned. “please don’t remind me. it was not my proudest moment. what’s that even got to do with anything?”

“you owe me.”

“shit.”

and now he was here, abandoned by Vincent as the latter went off to flirt with some kind electro-energetic. they radiated a spark of life—something that Vincent had no chance to stand against. Sam was just about ready to call it a night, fully prepared to drag his other half down and grab him by his ear, but as he sauntered through the bustling dance floor, eyebrows furrowed and mind set, his footsteps halted at the smell of something absolutely…delicious.

vanilla, cherry, and a hint of pistachio filled his nostrils with a welcoming sweetness that almost made his eyes roll back. what could that be? his silvery eyes darted around to track down the dessert table. he made a beeline for it, looking down at his feet and muttering an “excuse me” on multiple occasions on the way. was he really craving regular food this badly?

he scanned over the options; tarts, pastries, and cakes—but none that smelled of the delicate combination he had caught scent of before. It was only when his eyes met those of one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen in his life; oh shit, they were gorgeous.

he straightened himself out, flattening out the potential wrinkles in his vest and adjusting his tie. he walked past them in the hopes of inconspicuously catching another smell of just what perfume they had been wearing, and his knees almost buckled. he closed his eyes, savoring the almost sickly sweet scent that rolled off of them. he could feel that his pupils were dilated; he didn’t need a mirror to see that.

when they looked at him in peculiar manner, he choked on his own spit and coughed in a most undignified way. oh my, Samuel Collins, get your shit together!

“hi,” he finally sputtered, starstruck at the way their eyes sparkled in the warm light of the expansive space. “hi. you here with friends?”

“it’s more of a family thing,” they replied, gesturing to a few token members of the crowd. “it’s uh—it’s a birthday party. for one of my friends—his name is Asher—his partner wanted something grandiose.”

and that’s all i could manage to squeeze out because writing is harder than i originally thought…especially without motivation 😿

[perfectly-m1saligned]

K!nktober 11

Following @dreamlandcreations prompt list. Day 11: public sex; choking. You can find all my stories on my Wattpas as well. Toodles!

(NSFW: MDNI!! Reader's discretion is advised)

Simon Riley x reader

(Bodyguard!Simon)

cw: tight space, public sex, foreplay, protections are used (surprisingly)

word count: 2377

"For fuck's sake, y/n, your closet is flooding with clothes, why would you want to go shopping?"

Simon sipped his tea by the kitchen counter, brow furrowed in a grumpy expression, arms folded over his broad chest, biceps bulging under the tight black long-sleeve. "Because you're keeping me trapped in here!" You whined, only your stretched out legs visible as you sat upside-down on the couch, your bare feet hanging in the air. "And Daddy has a big event or something coming up, so I need to find something cute-"

"Spare me the bullshit," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "We can go, but you're wearing the vest. And if I see something that I don't like, we're leaving. Got it?" You were already up and sprinting up the stairs the moment he said "we can go". You were the daughter of a renowned politician, but being the controversial figure your father was, his family - namely, you - was always in the target of ill-intentioned people.

So that's when Simon Riley had come in, four months ago, a grumpy-looking beast, standing at 6'4" and probably 250+ lbs heavy, he was the perfect man for the job, since he had served for many years in the SAS, and had made a name for himself in the underbelly of the Special Forces, under the alias of Ghost, a trained killer, member of an anti-terrorism task force. Apparently, he had lost one of his closest comrades, and his Captain had taken out a general, so he retired, taking on some security gigs like this.

He was insufferable, paranoid, always on alert, even in the house. He was up your ass whenever you had to attend some formal events, and you were too embarrassed to show yourself in a normal social setting or even hang out with your friends, because his mere presence was anything but normal. But a golden cage is still a cage, and staying inside your property had become too suffocating. Plus, he must've been allergic to fun, because he had strictly rejected all your attempts at seducing him; you had some needs too, after all, and a beast of a man like him was bound to get your panties in a twist, or wet.

The vest looked ugly and made you look fat, so you had to hide it under a sweater, much to your dismay, but at least he had agreed on spending some time away from the house, so the least you could do was conforming to his obnoxious rules.

"Here," you said as you handed Simon yet another bag full of clothes, then proceeding to strut out of the boutique. It was comical, seeing him carrying all your girly shopping bags, though the way he did so effortlessly was rather hot; not surprising for someone who looked like he could snap a man's neck like a twig. "Isn't your father going to be mad when he checks his bank account?" Simon grumbled, lips curled in a displeased frown, peering down at you, your brattiness oozing from every pore, the way your ass moved side to side in those tight jeans-

"Daddy is happy as long as I'm happy," you said, shrugging your shoulders carelessly, snapping him out of his very unprofessional thoughts. Simon looked up ahead, impassive. "And spending his money makes me happy." He hummed in response, not disclosing his thoughts about your father's parenting skills - or lack thereof. He saw you suddenly veering to the right, making a beeline for yet another store. He eyed the mannequins on the display windows, and his blood froze at the sight of the lingerie.

Be strong, Simon. He mentally reprimanded himself, reluctantly following behind you. The amount of lace, rhinestones and whatever small gadgets they equipped lingerie with was truly confusing to Simon, yet he had to angle the shopping bags to hide the embarrassing hard-on that was growing in his jeans, simply at the thought of you in one of those little sets. And also at how you'd look at him, with your pretty cheeks flushed, and his teeth tearing the lace that would barely cover your sweet little cunt, before he would feast on you like a damn animal.

"Okay, I'm trying these on!" You chirped, your hands full of bras and panties in different shades, waddling like a kid towards the changing rooms. Simon had chosen a quiet hour, so the mall was mostly empty, and it was a monday, so all the workers were very much not in the mood to work. He stood by, as close as it seemed appropriate for him to be, watching the shadow of your feet move around, your jeans soon pooling to the floor.

Simon had dropped your bags on the floor by his feet, so he had to awkwardly stand with his hands folded in front of his crotch, his cock throbbing painfully hard, straining against his boxer briefs. How had he let this happen? When had he become this weak, turning into some caveman whenever he saw the daughter of his employer? Daughter who, by the way, he couldn't stand. You were bratty, selfish, entitled, and you never listened to him, you always had to fight him on everything, your stubbornness threatening to make him blow a fuse on more than one occasion.

But then you would look at him with those big doe eyes, perhaps in the middle of the night when you asked him what he was still doing awake, sitting on the couch, going through old documents, reliving Soap's death as if it was yesterday. He couldn't possibly tell you, but seeing you in those little pyjama sets you wore sometimes helped to take his mind off the painful memories of the past. And it would always end up in the same way, angrily fisting his cock under the shower until he pathetically came in his hand, hoping it was your mouth instead, or your pussy. He hated being this weak for you, but he somehow couldn't get you out of his head, and your little attempts at seducing him were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

"Simon?" Your soft voice called from behind the curtain, before your head peeked out. "I'm having some...technical difficulties." He mentally cursed himself, gathering all of his will to stay strong, and hoping you wouldn't notice his erection as he sauntered over to you. When he closed the curtain behind himself, the small space was soon crowded by his large frame alone.

Fucking hell, you were beautiful. The baby pink corset hugged your torso like a glove, making the top of your breasts almost spill from its confines. You were also wearing the smallest little matching thong, the string cutting between your plump, round asscheeks. "Sorry for the indiscretion, princess, but who the fuck is supposed to see you wearing this?" He asked, his low baritone holding a dangerous edge to it, eyes burning into you through the reflection of the mirror.

"I don't know," you rolled your eyes. "Can't I buy something nice for myself? Plus, this is not why I called you here. Can you help me untie the corset? I made a really strange knot and I can't get it out." You huffed, reaching behind your back with your hands. You gasped when Simon encircled both your wrists with one large hand, keeping them secured behind your back.

"Answer me, princess," he growled in your ear, hunching until his head was level with yours, basically cheek to cheek, as he kept you pinned on the spot, looking at you in the mirror. "Who do you think will see you wearing this?" You bit down on your bottom lip, feeling the heat pooling down in your belly, your stomach doing flips as he pressed into you from behind, his very evident erection nestling itself against the curve of your ass. So now it was your time to play.

"You?" You asked coyly, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you held his gaze. "Right answer, good girl." He said, lips curling into a wolfish grin. You gasped quietly when his hand encircled your neck, calloused fingers pressing down on the sides of your throat, your cheeks immediately growing a couple shades of pink darker.

"You think I hadn't noticed, hm?" He whispered, tracing the outline of your ear with his nose. "When you tried to seduce me, playing coy with me, wearing those tight clothes around the house when your father is out? Basically begging me with those big, sweet eyes of yours for me to bend you over the nearest flat surface and fuck you until you pass out?" His other hand had snaked between your thighs, feeling your juices already soaking the fabric. He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Tsk, tsk, y/n, you know we have to buy this now that you got these all wet, like some desperate slut? What is the worker going to think when she sees these little panties all soaked, hm?"

You couldn't answer, another gasp of pleasure being stolen by his long fingers collecting some of the slick between your folds, sliding the fabric to the side. A moan threatened to leave your mouth, but Simon's hand squeezed your neck as a warning. "If you make a sound, they'll hear, and our little game ends. I'm sure you don't want me to stop now, do you?" His hot breath fanned against the back of your head, nuzzling his nose into your hair, taking in your sweet, sweet scent. You simply nodded your head violently, teeth sinking into the plump flesh of your bottom lip, trying your best to keep quiet.

You winced when he slid two long fingers inside your hole, making scissoring motions against your walls to stretch you; you would need it to accommodate him. He kept his other hand wrapped around your throat, your cheeks a bright pink colour as he toyed with your oxygen intake, applying different levels of pressure against your airflow, but never to the point of actually choking you, or giving you pain. It was quite the opposite, actually, the dizziness of your constricted airflow, combined with the overwhelming pleasure his fingers were giving you was probably the most confusing yet best feeling ever. The sounds coming from your pussy were obscene, your juices coating his long, calloused digits, and you were doing your best to keep quiet, releasing the softest breathy moans and gasps.

"Good, you're doing so good, y/n," Simon murmured, a wicked glint in his eyes as he met your gaze in the mirror. "Let's see if you can keep quiet with the real thing." Your eyes widened, his movements quick and agile as he grabbed a condom from his wallet, keeping the wrapper between his lips as he worked with the buckle of his belt. With your hands still behind your back, you helped him with getting his jeans off. "You just go around with condoms in your wallet?" You quipped, pulling down the zipper as quietly as possible. "Do you want to go back home with my cum leaking down that pretty pussy of yours and make a mess everywhere?" Touché.

When you felt the tip of his cock ticling your needy entrance, you couldn't help but wiggle your hips, showing your impatience, earning a low, mocking chuckle from him. You wish you never did. As he slowly inserted himself, the burn from the stretch was eliciting the most animalistic sounds from you, but you couldn't act on any of them, suddenly remembering that you were, in fact, inside a changing room, and you were surprised no worker had still come to ask what you were doing in there for so long. You just hoped their laziness would last just a little longer.

Simon was currently feeling like he was in heaven, feeling your gummy walls clenching around him like a loving embrace, or like a snake encircling its prey, he was sure he had never felt anything better than this. And he was wearing a condom. The thought of having you again back at home, and many other times after that, without one, almost had him coming on the spot, but he tried to name the names of UK football teams in alphabetical order, and he calmed down.

You were a squirming mess by the time he bottomed out inside of you, the firm hand around your neck keeping the right amount of pressure to not let any unwanted sound slip, only allowing choked gasps of pleasure as he started to move his hips. He couldn't even fuck you properly, or the sound of skin slapping against skin would've certainly given away what was happening in the small cubicle. So he just settled for slow, deep strokes, nose buried in your hair as he bent you over, your hands on the wall to brace yourself. His free hand came to your front, stimulating your aching clit again with his thumb, making your eyes roll back into your skull.

The forbidden nature of your affair, the fear of being discovered, and maybe even the slight lack of oxygen to your brain, it all gave you an unfamiliar rush, a surge of adrenaline you'd never felt before, and you had also never been this turned on before. The heat coiling in your stomach soon reached its peak, a wave of euphoria rippling through your body as you almost clawed at the wall, biting down on your forearm, hard, to keep the noises building in your throat from coming out of your mouth.

Feeling you coming undone around him had to be the best thing to ever happen to him, feeling your sweet walls clenching, as if to keep him trapped inside of you, and he totally wouldn't have minded that. With one last stroke, he felt himself crumble as well, hips stuttering as he filled up the condom, a growl rumbling so low in his chest it revertìberated through your very own bones.

Your legs felt like jelly, needing to take a very deep breath the moment Simon unsheathed himself, and his hand fell from your neck. "I'll be waiting for you outside," he stated, his voice impassive as he pulled up his jeans, looking not even a fraction as flushed as you. "I really can't wait to see how you're going to explain that to the cashier." 

•This is an original work of fiction, please do not translate or share on this or any other platforms without credit•

[suuuupernovaaa]

Suit | Hobie Brown

Y/N sees Hobie in a suit for the first time. It goes... well.

18+

It had taken me at least 20 minutes to assemble the perfect jewelry set to go with my dress. Admittedly, the dress itself was boring. A deep maroon, with billowy sleeves and a tight bodice. Since the dress was so simple, I felt the need to adorn myself in gold jewelry. Earrings up and down both ears, multiple necklaces of varying lengths and textures, bracelets that clanged together in a satisfying way as I moved, and a gold hoop through my septum that was delicate and only noticeable up close.

"Perfect," I whispered, stepping away from the mirror to admire my appearance. It had been a while since I'd gotten so dressed up. My free time was either spent on the couch out in the living room, exercising (which I hated, but had a life-long compulsion to do), or doing whatever Hobie wanted to do.

Tonight was a first for us both. First wedding together. First formal event. First time Hobie was meeting my family.

"Well?" I heard Hobie say from behind me. He appeared in the doorway, and I could see him in the mirror before me.

My jaw fell to my lap.

Hobie, usually dressed in tight jeans, ripped t-shirts and studded jackets, looked entirely unlike himself.

He wore a suit - an honest to god suit - dark blue with silver trim. Underneath, he wore a gray, knitted vest over a white button up shirt. Everything was perfectly tailored to suit him, courtesy of my parents. The pants hung perfectly above a pair of gray dress shoes that I knew were pinching his toes. His shoulders looked broad and strong, his waist tantalizingly thin, and I stood up to get a good look.

"Wow," I replied in a whisper. The clean, sharp suit was in a delicious contrast with his facial piercings, and the tattoos creeping up over the collar of the freshly pressed white shirt.

He spun around, arms out to his side. "Well?" he asked again.

I glanced down at the watch dangling on my wrist. 11:30. We didn't need to be there until 1, which meant we had a little time before we needed to get in a cab.

"I don't think I can wait until after to fuck you," I replied, and Hobie's pierced eyebrows raised towards his hairline.

"That so?" he asked, already charging towards me. "Don't wanna mess up the suit."

"We'll be quick," I replied, meeting him in the middle of a room for a kiss that guaranteed I would need to re-apply my make up before leaving.

--

We weren't as quick as we thought we would be, but by 12:15, we were in a cab and only set to be a minute or two late. I buttoned the top button on Hobie's shirt and he smirked down at me.

"Should I wear a suit more often?" he asked.

Flashes of passionate kisses, Hobie ripping my underwear off, entering me without either of us taking any other clothes off, flashed across eyes, and I clenched my thighs together, well aware a cab driver was listening to us.

"I'm worried you'll attract too much attention," I replied with a teasing smile.

He put two fingers under my chin, and tilted my head up to his. He pressed a gentle kiss on my freshly lined lips, and one on my powdered nose.

"Yours is the only attention I want."

[twstunes]

(makes an au, forgets about it, abruptly remembers it, writes nearly 4k words about it)

Ramshackle Recruitment AU – from the outside in

Normally, transferring dorms at NRC requires redoing the dorm assignment ceremony. Transferring to Ramshackle dorm, however, only requires filling out some paperwork and getting approval from the Headmage. Sure, there’s still the matter of cleaning up a room to live in and getting all their stuff moved over, but it’s a much easier transfer process in comparison to the other dorms.

So, how do the other dorms feel about all this? Or, better yet: how do the housewardens react?

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: all Housewardens (+ Jamil & Ortho cameos)

Notes: gn Yuu

Warnings: some spoilers for the main story

Riddle Rosehearts originally pays the matter no attention. Who in their right mind would transfer to Ramshackle? The building is dusty and decrepit, the surrounding grounds are a mess, and the so-called ‘housewarden’ can’t even use magic. Clearly Heartslabyul is the superior choice through and through, especially under his skilled leadership. Those few that decided to leave during the recent Unbirthday Party would come crawling back soon enough, and he would dole out the appropriate punishments for such insubordinate behavior.

…of course, then he catches some of his dormmates talking about transferring as well. It’s obvious that they’re just joking around, but when one of them laughs about “getting out from under that half-pint’s thumb,” Riddle sets a new record for how fast his face can go scarlet. The students involved—and even a few who just happened to be nearby at the time—are collared and assigned a 10,000 word essay on the history of Heartslabyul. They obviously don’t realize how lucky they are to have been assigned to his dorm if they’re making wisecracks like that! Riddle throws such a fit that the whole dorm winds up aware of what happened, which inadvertently causes a number of students to seriously consider transferring.

After his overblot, Riddle is…a smidge more calm about things. He’s still not happy that someone would want to transfer out of Heartslabyul, and still feels that it reflects poorly on him as housewarden. Anyone wishing to transfer to Ramshackle will have to explain their reasoning for doing so, just in case it’s due to a problem that can be easily fixed.

Riddle checks in with Yuu regularly to ask how the Heartslabyul expats are doing, if they’re following the (Ramshackle dorm) rules, so on and so forth. He also asks after Yuu themself, wanting to know how they’re faring as both a freshman and a new housewarden. Having embarrassed himself so thoroughly early on in their acquaintanceship, he really wants to rehab their view of him into something more like “a reliable upperclassman.”

However. There’s one thing he refuses to let go, and it’s the fact that Ramshackle has no ‘official’ dorm uniform. Changing their school uniform is as simple as switching out vests and ribbons, but how are students meant to present themselves during formal events?! No, they can’t just wear their ceremonial robes for everything! He’s absolutely going to keep badgering Yuu about this until they come up with a satisfactory solution.

General Heartslabyul reaction: As previously alluded to, “running off to join Ramshackle” becomes a running not-so-joke in the dorm, especially among freshmen who keep getting collared left and right. For all the talk, though, a lot of them choose to stick it out in Heartslabyul anyway—it’s just nice to know the option is there. Those who do follow through on transferring might face some light jeering from their peers, but there’s rarely any legitimate ill will involved. Transfers are more worried about how Riddle will react to the news. Prior to his overblot, he’s liable to forbid them from setting foot in Heartslabyul ever again. Afterwards, he’s just…kind of overbearing, which can make interacting with him awkward.

It’s all fun and games to Leona Kingscholar until someone transfers from Savanaclaw, which has him spending roughly the next hour or so being noticeably agitated. And then he gets over it.

Sure, he’s not pleased that someone from his dorm would rather cast their lot with the dilapidated, rickety dorm being run by a total rookie…but so long as the outgoing student isn’t mouthing off, it’s no skin off his back. The situation as a whole is too funny for him to resent for long. Some frosh poaching students from Heartslabyul, right in front of Riddle, just to irritate the guy? Priceless. Crowley not even knowing until it was too late to break up the dorm? Comedy gold. Watching Riddle and Vil get worked up over ‘losing’ students to Ramshackle? That’s what they get for constantly upbraiding their dormmates. It’s a free fireworks show to him.

Truthfully, he expects Yuu to crash and burn within the first month of playing at being a housewarden. As fun as it is to watch them get under Riddle’s skin, their lack of planning is painfully obvious. A bold opening move isn’t worth much without a good strategy to capitalize on it with. Plus, being a magicless student at a mage academy, Yuu doesn’t exactly command respect from their peers; as the threat Riddle posed starts to fade, it’ll be hard for them to keep their newfound dormmates under control.

After his overblot, when it becomes apparent that Ramshackle dorm isn’t going under anytime soon, Leona can admit to being a little impressed. There must be more to Yuu than meets the eye if they’re still holding their own as housewarden, especially after dealing with two overblots in just as many months.

That doesn’t mean he has any intention of going out of his way to help out, of course, and he’s happy to remind Yuu of that as needed. He has his own agenda to attend to, even if a solid chunk of it consists of lazing about. But if someone happens to harass another student for being in Ramshackle, and it just so happens to disturb his sleep…well, it’s on the harasser for not being more aware of their surroundings. Sloppy work on their part.

Speaking of his naps, he’s fairly consistent about taking up real estate on the Ramshackle common room’s couch. He’s been using it as a secret nap spot for years now, and he’s not about to give it up. All the other housewardens are liable to invite themselves over to Ramshackle for one reason or another, anyway, so he hardly sees why this should be a problem. And hey, would you look at that! The place is a lot less dusty nowadays. Thanks, herbivores.

General Savanaclaw reaction: Savanaclaw’s treatment of Ramshackle transfers can range from “playful heckling” to “active ostracization.” Even if a Ramshackle-bound student is well-liked by their peers staying behind in Savanaclaw, there’s a good reason the latter dorm is often seen alongside the term ‘pack mentality.’ Once someone is out, they’re out—not just from the dorm, but from the various social groups within it as well. That said, even the meaner ones mellow out after the first time Leona gets on someone for hassling Ramshackle students. If their housewarden isn’t cool with it, then they should probably lay off…

For expectedly capitalist reasons, Azul Ashengrotto is greatly frustrated by these proceedings. Normally, a “for so long as the signatory is a resident of [insert dorm here]” clause is good enough to keep contractees firmly under his thumb for the rest of their stay at NRC. Does Yuu even realize how many Deals he has to go and re-negotiate now?? He supposes this is what he gets for thinking he could get away with not being as thorough as possible with each contract. He likely approaches Yuu to discuss the matter directly, especially if students start trying to change dorms just to render their contracts null. Of course, his version of “discussing the issue” feels, looks, and sounds a lot more like “trying to lure the Prefect into a Deal where they’re required to reject any Ramshackle applicant who has a standing contract.”

Apart from that whole headache, he’s incredibly calm about students transferring out from Octavinelle. Far be it from him, a model businessman, to discourage a fellow enterprising spirit! To tell the truth, he’s less interested in the transfers themselves and more interested in whatever Yuu is up to. Propping themself up as a housewarden despite having neither experience nor magic, getting Crowley to agree to a dorm transfer process leagues easier than the normal method, accepting just about any applicant who wants to join Ramshackle…why, NRC’s newest housewarden might be just as ambitious as himself! Post-overblot, he makes sure to notify them that even with his Deals business cut down at the knees, he’s still happy to lend a listening ear (or a helping hand) to any poor souls in need!

…which is to say, he’s getting antsy waiting for Yuu to actually do something with all the clout they’ve been accumulating. Even trying to open a competing café would make more sense than just…going about normal housewarden duties. But they have to be after something, right? It wouldn’t make sense to engineer such a perfect “rise to power” otherwise, even if it all seemed to have begun as just a way to spite Riddle. Being stuck watching and waiting like this is going to drive him nuts. To make matters worse, Floyd keeps whining that he’s going to run off to join Ramshackle dorm whenever he especially doesn’t feel like working at the Lounge. (It was funny the first couple times, admittedly, but now it’s just annoying.)

General Octavinelle reaction: The students of Octavinelle dorm might hold respect for their housewarden, but it’s also incredibly funny to watch him be inconvenienced like this. Most of them aren’t afflicted by the capitalist brain fungus Azul has going on, so they don’t see Ramshackle dorm as much more than Yuu trying to make the best of an exceedingly strange situation. The only time students from this dorm will cause a fuss about Ramshackle transfers is if they cause Mostro Lounge to be short-staffed for a shift. Azul is quick to set a rule that no one is allowed to transfer out of Octavinelle on days they’re scheduled to work.

Kalim Al-Asim is, for all intents and purposes, perfectly okay with everything! It’s sad to see people from his dorm leave, sure, and– okay, maybe it causes the people-pleasing part of his brain to itch and wonder if he’d upset them somehow, or if they don’t like him anymore or if he needs to apologize or– well, he’s fine! Really! None of that is gonna stop him from wishing them well! And besides, they’re just changing dorms. It isn’t like he’ll never see them again.

Unlike Riddle, he doesn’t check in with Yuu about how ex-Scarabia students are doing over at Ramshackle. Social butterfly that he is, he just goes and talks to them directly! He also checks in less than Riddle, though that might be because he occasionally forgets just who exactly has transferred…

Of the housewardens, Kalim is the most supportive of Yuu from the get-go, even if a lot of his support involves him delegating to Jamil in one way or another. Fortunately, as the eldest brother out of 30 kids, his Big Bro Instincts are sharp—he’s genuinely a good person for Yuu to go to if they start feeling lonely, homesick, or overwhelmed by housewarden duties. It’s amazing how much a magic carpet ride and a good talk can do!

He suggests throwing a party in celebration of the new dorm as soon as he hears about it, but Jamil is quick to talk him out of the idea. Better to save the celebrating for when (and if) Ramshackle is officially added to the lineup, rather than when it’s just Yuu, Grim, and the Heartslabyul expats squatting in a dusty old building. (And rather than when Riddle is still fuming over being ‘betrayed’ by his former dormmates. Jamil swears he could hear the guy shrieking “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD” all the way from Scarabia…)

Following Jamil’s overblot, Kalim tones down his “Jamil can help!” version of support in favor of helping out personally. Or, well, trying to help. Even for an upfront guy like him, it’s a little embarrassing to admit that he often finds himself floundering to figure out what he’s supposed to do as housewarden. He got the title dumped in his lap pretty much out of the blue, after all. From the looks of things, Yuu didn’t really plan to take on such an important role either…sooo, it’s the perfect opportunity to learn from each other!

Kalim’s probably the reason Ramshackle gets proper uniforms lbr. He feels bad that Yuu and Grim got pulled into the Scarabia mess (during vacation no less!), so he wants to make it up to them somehow. When Grim complains about how his bow got damaged during the overblot fight, it clicks—he could get Ramshackle dorm some nice uniforms done up, no problem! It’d be one less thing for Yuu to worry about, AND it would be a nice “welcome back” surprise for when the rest of the Ramshackle students return from winter break! He already has his personal tailors on standby when he pitches the idea to Yuu. (He completely forgets to run the idea by Crowley, but in his defense, the headmage isn’t answering his phone anyway.)

General Scarabia reaction: Out of all the dorms, Scarabia is the most friendly in their treatment towards Ramshackle transfers. Since Kalim is housewarden, there will almost invariably be going-away parties for the transferring students—this unintentionally causes Scarabia to have a more favorable view of the process than other dorms. They might not really understand why someone would want to transfer out of Scarabia (especially not to a dorm as dingy as Ramshackle), but hey, it’s their prerogative to do so.

Vil Schoenheit finds the situation laughable right up until someone actually tries to leave Pomefiore for Ramshackle, upon which he finds it pitiful. They want to leave Pomefiore—prestigious, comfortable, tidy Pomefiore, with all the amenities a student could need and its own private lab—for a run-down wreck of a dorm??

Later, he quietly kicks himself for not seeing this coming. He’s in charge of the Film Studies Club, for crying out loud; he should KNOW how attention-hungry his dormmates can get, chasing the spotlight whenever it presents itself. What better way to stand out than to surround themselves with less stylish peers, all while taking part in a sensational addition to the dorm lineup? It’s a cheap trick to boost their image, certainly, and Vil makes sure to give a stern lecture to anyone he catches entertaining the thought. (“Fame is earned through hard work and perseverance, not by making oneself the crown jewel of a garbage heap.”)

During his stay leading up to the SDC, he’s pleasantly surprised by the conditions at Ramshackle. Much of the building still needs patching up, and it’s very basic in terms of aesthetics, but it’s at least cleaner than he thought it would be. The other students living there seem to be doing well for themselves, too, even if all the dust has done nothing for their skin. He’s not going to say anything about it himself (at least not when he’s busy stressing out over the SDC team’s training), but Rook will probably let it slip to Yuu that Vil is impressed with how well they’re handling Ramshackle dorm.

After his overblot, Vil is…still fairly critical of both Ramshackle and its housewarden, but less disparaging overall. He can see now that he was wrong to dismiss the dorm so quickly, comparing it to an uncut gem: in need of refinement, but no less valuable for it. He’s far too busy with his own housewarden duties, modeling/acting work, and running the Film Studies Club to make it his sole mission, but he still finds the time to nag advise Yuu about their skincare, clothing care, etc. As a housewarden, they’re among the best NRC has to show to the world; they need to present themselves accordingly.

(Needless to say, Vil is holding Epel back by the scruff of the neck. If he has to become a one-man PR team for Harveston to keep this feral country boy in Pomefiore, he will.)

General Pomefiore reaction: Most Pomefiore students aren’t quiet in their contempt for their former dormmates, even if they do offer praise for “bringing a higher standard of beauty” to Ramshackle. A number of them combine their condescension with genuine concern, though, reminding the transfers that they can always come back to Pomefiore if things don’t work out. There’s no shame in admitting they made the wrong choice, after all! (…well. Maybe a little shame.)

Idia Shroud is a little baffled by the whole concept, but otherwise the most neutral of the housewardens. Sure, he briefly considers changing over to Ramshackle to escape being housewarden, but…ehhh. The fact he’d be dealing with a bunch of outgoing normies is a dealbreaker. Better to stay in Ignihyde with its unmatched Wi-fi and folks who understand his reclusive, nerdy ways. Housewarden is a pretty cool title anyway, even if its required questline is a pain sometimes.

He is a bit worried that students transferring from Ignihyde might reflect poorly on him as a housewarden, but…nah he actually couldn’t care less. Big “wow, that’s wild. GLHF tho” energy. He makes a token effort of calming Azul down whenever the guy works himself into a tizzy trying to figure out what Yuu is “angling for”—it’s pretty obvious (to him) that they’re just collecting allied units to help mitigate any plot-mandated threats that come their way. It’s not like they have any magic of their own to work with, so this is the next best thing.

The dread only sets in when Azul points out that Crowley will probably ask Idia to make sure Ramshackle is covered by the school’s security system sometime soon. It’d be cheaper than hiring a licensed electrician, and Idia wouldn’t really be able to deny the request, seeing as his shut-in behavior is only being allowed in exchange for him personally seeing to NRC’s security…man, what a pain. Getting scans of the building layout and planning where to put what would be a cinch, but just thinking about dealing with whatever nightmare wiring situation Ramshackle has going on sends his blood pressure skyrocketing. Maybe if he doesn’t say anything, it’ll slip the Headmage’s mind…

Post-overblot, Idia is fairly determined to never show his face around Ramshackle dorm, ever. Hepta team caused a lot of damage while capturing Vil and Jamil, and more than a few students got hurt in the process. AND they kidnapped Grim! Everything gets fixed up in the end, but most of the dorm is still justifiably unhappy with Idia.

Though he cautions Ortho against going over too frequently, Ortho doesn’t share the same reservations as his brother. He even volunteers them both to help do more renovations to the dorm! In-person, at that! Between getting the Wi-fi set up, improving the heating & AC, and replacing/repairing various kitchen appliances, Idia just barely manages to redeem himself in the eyes of most Ramshackle residents. He can feel his soul dying through every second of social contact.

At least Ramshackle no longer has wiring problems?

General Ignihyde reaction: Students from Ignihyde rarely consider changing dorms at all, so when someone does decide to take the plunge and transfer to Ramshackle, it’s a surprise to the whole dorm. Some students lament that they’re losing a fellow geek to The Normies™, some make bets on how long they’ll last before they come running back to Ignihyde, but most return to doing their own thing after the shock wears off. Those closer to the outgoing student might put together an Ignihyde-style going-away party—that is, they play video games together in the same room and eat snacks. The roughest part of the transition is being removed from the Ignihyde groupchat.

(Note: this is being written prior to the eng release of the Diasomnia arc and I am fighting for my life to not witness any spoilers)

Malleus Draconia finds himself growing increasingly amused the more he hears about Ramshackle dorm. His favorite abandoned building is certainly going through a metamorphosis, isn’t it? And he somehow stumbled into a friendship with the new housewarden, too…this year is proving to be an interesting one.

Like Leona, it doesn’t matter much to him if students from his dorm leave for Ramshackle, so long as they’re not badmouthing Diasomnia in the process. The only ones he would notice the absence of are those who would never transfer to begin with. He doesn’t make a point of checking in on former Diasomnia students, though he may ask how they’re settling in if he happens to encounter them—which is a much more likely scenario than they realize!

It quickly becomes a running joke that the Diasomnia transfers never really leave Diasomnia, considering how often they run into Malleus over at Ramshackle. They probably see him more frequently now than when they were still in his dorm, actually! When asked about it, he explains that housewarden Yuu was kind enough to extend him a standing invitation to visit the dorm as he pleases. Who is he to turn down such a gracious offer? (Also, it’s funny how awkward some of his former dormmates get upon spotting him.)

(He’s also a little smug whenever someone asks “What brings you here?” and he gets to respond with “I was invited.” Especially if it’s another housewarden. And especially if the other housewarden showed up without an invitation at all. Which is most of them, most of the time.)

As fond as Malleus was of the old, abandoned Ramshackle building, he finds he enjoys this new version of it as well. Maybe even more so. The lively bustle of dorm life fills up the structure now, some amount of sound seeping in from around every corner. Even at night, the hush that pervades the halls is gentle—a far cry from the suffocating, empty silence of before. The restoration work is tasteful, too, preserving the original aesthetics and architectural style while making the whole deal more habitable. And, thanks to Yuu and Grim’s combined influence, the students there are much less timid about approaching him than the rest of NRC. All of this change, compacted into such a short timespan…

…it’s odd. For some reason, recalling how deserted Ramshackle used to be makes his chest hurt.

He winds up with much to think about during his nightly walks.

General Diasomnia reaction: Despite their housewarden being perfectly fine with people transferring out, the idea of someone “defecting” leaves a sour taste in the mouths of most Diasomnia students. Unless a transfer happens to be especially well-liked, they can expect to be treated rather coldly by their former dormmates. Fortunately, this behavior lessens as the bizarreness of transferring to Ramshackle wears off—and especially after it comes out that Malleus considers Yuu a friend. (Some of them still cause a fuss, of course.) (By which I mean Sebek.)

[miss0atae]

BL fashion in Jack & Joker: U Steal My Heart (EP 5):

The best part of the week when it comes to BL fashion is when you get a new episode of Jack and Joker. The characters in this series are the best dressed (for me, of course).

Let's start with Jack. I said it before and I'm going to say it again, but Jack really has found his style since he has been working towards repaying his debts to the Boss. He is mostly wearing a blue, black, white color palette of outfits and it works really well. I feel his range goes from smart casual to formal. This blue shirt is doing wonders to him. It may seem minimalist, but it's always stylish.

As for Hope, I feel he was more into colors in this episodes. We were used to seeing him in black to black outfits, but it was a nice change to see him wearing more colors. If you know me, you know I love printed and colorful shirts. The first pictures make it seem like he is wearing a baseball jersey over a white tee. It creates a nice contrasts with the black pants and the white creeper shoes is wearing with this outfit is bringing a touch of rock flair. In the second picture, Hope opted for a Hawaiian shirt. He rocked them with a light blue jean and again with his white creeper shoes (definitely his statement piece) which gave more of an urban feel.

Next we get Arun and he is very fashionable too. I'm a bit sad he changed his outfit between the time they captured Tattoo and Hoy. That's because the lace laser cut beige dress over a sequin top was a very bold and audacious choice. It's like he was wearing an over-the-top outfit to attract Tattoo and then he decided to go for the a more casual version of his outfit after he got what he wanted. I like the beige lightweight cardigan over the black top. The ripped jean and the silver necklace are there to enhance his outfit by adding personality and texture. I would say Arun is good at gender fluid styling as he is blending traditionally fashion elements and express himself beyond the binary. The second picture doesn't give justice to the nice black button vest he is wearing. I think the back of the vest is with lace. Simple, but visually appealing. The bruise on his face and this outfit gives a bad boyish air to Arun.

I really like also what Arun, Hope and Jack were wearing at the auction. It was mostly black and white formal outfits, but they all choose a different style that represent them a lot. You can see their personality through the choice of their outfits. Hope preferred an all-black outfit with a band collar. It gives the wearer the chance to dress down while maintaining an air of elegance. Arun has to play a rich guy so he choose to wear a fur collar jacket to give the impression of sophistication. As for Jack, he preferred a classic tuxedo with bow tie. It is according to his taste and you can never go wrong at a formal event with it.

[simply-cooler]

anyways here’s the marauders era characters at a taylor swift themed birthday party

gosh, that’s a lengthy title

lily evans is our birthday girl!! (wish her happy birthday!! >:( )

regulus black does NOT want to there, but james dragged him out of his hibernation cabin (his room). he’s in a black and white suit, and a snake ring. he refused to wear any color or do anything else taylor swift related.

sirius black is very excited to be there, unlike his brother. james still had to drag him out of his room because he is not a morning person. many pillows were thrown at james’ face that morning. hes also wearing a black and white suit but with a dark green tie, shoes, and an assortment of reputation rings.

barty crouch was invited by regulus as plus one as long as he behaved. (he did NOT behave, he threw up on the pavement due to too much drinking). he’s wearing black button up shirt and a leather miniskirt. he dyed his hair a streak of purple in honor of speak now. lily hated his outfit, but he was too busy partying to care.

lily evans, our lovely birthday girl, was in a green dress, her curls pinned up, and in cowboy boots. her nails were a beautiful teal color.

remus lupin obviously wanted to go, he loves his best friend, lily evans. however, he was very stressed about what to wear. “eras tour attire?!? lily, what even is that??” he exclaimed when he got the invite. with the help of lily and sirius, he found himself in a folklore cardigan, grey dress pants, a button up shirt, and grey dress shoes. he hated the outfit, “who wears a cardigan over a button up shirt?” he thought, but shut his mouth in support for lily.

mary macdonald was very, very excited for her best friends’ party. like barty, she also wanted to dress up for speak now. however, she took another approach with a purple ballgown, her curls with bows in them, and heels. she was very scared of upstaging her best friend. she checked many times that lily was okay with her outfit. lily being lily loved it and was happy that there were some of her friends who actually dressed up nice.

marlene mckinnon didn’t know much about taylor swift, but she was ready with the help of mary and lily. she opted for a big red shirt that stated “a lot going on right now”, little ripped black shorts and red sneakers. “are you sure i’m not underdressed,” she asked mary when seeing her ball gown. “no, you look lovely,” lily exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

dorcas meadows also didn’t know much about taylor swift, but she was assisted by Pinterest. she had created a board just for this event. she wore a long, flowly yellow dress and cowboy boots, representing the fearless era.

peter pettigrew wasn’t very excited to go. he loved lily and all that, but he didn’t know what to wear at all. he settled on a big, brown sweater and pants for evermore. lily let him borrow a necklace that had “evermore” written in gold, cursive letters.

james potter was very excited to go, in support of his girlfriend/friend (ur choice if u ship jily or not). he woke up bright and early, even before lily. he wore a red sweater and black dress pants, along with his spider-man sneakers. lily did not approve of his shoe choice, but didn’t say anything.

evan rosier was not invited, but came as bartys plus one. lily was very frustrated, saying that barty was a plus one, and that plus ones don’t get to invite other people. she was also remarking that there wasn’t enough food for them. so, evan came with a basket of his own snacks for him and his boyfriend, barty. he wore a white vest with black details and a white colored shirt under, along with white dress pants and black shoes. lily did not appreciate that he didn’t come as an era, but she was happy that he was dressed so formally. he also was the one to pat barry’s back as he puked.

pandora was not invited but evan took her as his plus one. lily was very angry to see that evan also brought someone with him. but, pandora was the most normal out of her, barty, and evan, so lily held her tongue. she wore a pink, heart resin top and a flowly white skirt. she had heart clips in her braids. lily even complimented her outfit.

predictably, the night was very chaotic.

[its-vannah]

A Toast to the Bride and Groom | Graham Dunne x Reader

A/N: After all the angst Graham content I've been serving, you guys deserved something sweet.

Warnings: Implied sexual encounter (very, very minor), mentions of drug use, alcohol, alcoholism

Daisy Jones and The Six Masterlist

The sound of a fork tapping against someone's wine glass rang through the room, bringing everyone's attention to Graham.

"Before we get started and the band starts embarrassing me in front of my wife, I'd just like to thank all of you for coming today to celebrate with us," Graham said, smiling down at you as he spoke, "It was always my biggest dream to get married and I'm so happy I got to fulfill that with you."

Raising his glass, he looks around the room, grinning from ear to ear, "To Y/N Dunne."

The room erupted with applause and you couldn't help but lean into Graham's side. He eventually took his seat beside you, setting his class down.

Warren stood up not long after, clinking two classes together to get the attention that was already on him. When you come into a formal event wearing a fur vest, bell-bottoms, and round sunglasses, you brought attention to yourself.

Clearing his throat, Warren sat on the edge of the table, much to your parents dismay, "When I first met Graham, he was stick thin and getting over his first girlfriend who broke up with him at his locker. His dramatic ass acted like he'd never be able to move on. But he did, and when I say he upgraded, I mean it. I've never met a girl who puts a smile on my man's face more than Y/N/N. She really has become like a little sister to me. A wiser, smarter, prettier sister who puts up with my bullshit and Graham's."

Your mother cringes at his use of language, digging her nails into her fists as she throws you "the look." But you didn't pay her any mind.

Warren continued, "She allows us to continue our sword fights in their living room, encourages him to keep pursuing music, and loves him fully."

Looking around the room, clearing nearing being full on drunk, he winked at you and Graham, "I remember the night when she showed him how much she loved him."

To your left, your mother sank into her chair, her head in her hands. The two of you had told her you were waiting until marriage.

"To Y/N/N and peaches!" Warren said, holding up both glasses, pouring them both into his mouth, which ended with him pouring a glass directly down his chest.

Awkward silence and a few claps ensued, with Karen standing up next, waiting for everyone to quiet down.

"I'll keep it short and sweet, as I know half of have been very friendly with your alcohol, myself included," She began, "To go off of Warren, Graham—you're still awkward and you're still growing, but I think you have found the best woman to grow beside. And Y/N, let me know if you ever need any help babysitting these three."

She gestured to Warren, Eddie, and Graham, raising a brow before taking a seat.

Graham looked expectantly over at his brother, who was sat at his own table with Camila, Julia, and the twins. But Billy didn't move or even acknowledge him. His eyes were focused on the bottle of champagne in front of him, untouched.

Eddie went next, staying seated as he spoke, "Graham and I have known each other since we were kids in Pittsburgh. He was right when he said he was always dreaming of settling down. A big softy, really. But watching him meet and fall in love with Y/N made me realize how important it is to find someone who's right for you."

"Graham, man, I think it goes without saying, but we're happy for you. And Y/N, it's nice to see that he's not moping around anymore wondering if you like him back. Take good care of him, Dunne."

A smile grew on your face at his words, especially when he called you "Dunne." It was official, you married into one of the most famous families in America in the 70's.

Once again, Graham eyed Billy, waiting for him to speak. But he didn't even move.

Daisy stood, looking a bit out of place in her short, flashy dress and knee high boots, her ginger hair contrasting her heavy blue eyeshadow. It completely washed her out, as did all the drugs she was doing.

"Y/N was one of my first real friends who I could come to with anything. I trust her whole heartedly. She allows me to be—She lets—I'm the free spirit I am and she lets—She supports me."

Nothing she said was coherent, but she continued, "Graham, such a sweetheart. You two—congrats. You deserve the, you deserve... Congratulations."

Silence fell upon the room as she sat down in her chair. It broke your heart to see her like that, strung up on God knows what.

Graham squeezed your hand and before you knew it, your mother had raised her glass, tapping on it before rising to her feet.

"I remember the day I brought my daughter home from the hospital. She was so small in my arms, fast asleep as I carried her inside. It's hard to believe that she's married now. I feel like you should still be in my arms, asking me to check under your bed for monsters or sing you to sleep," She sighed, "Graham, you're a lovely boy. I never thought, and still don't think, anyone deserves my girl. But out of all the men she could've found, I'm happy it was you."

You knew her words were just for show, but for a moment, you let it all feel real.

She raised a glass, "To my sweet, beautiful, smart baby girl, and Graham."

He let out a small laugh beside you, shaking his head, whispering, "Only Mrs. L/N..."

Your head rested on his shoulder as Camila stood, "Billy's feeling a little under the weather today, so I'm speaking on his behalf, if you don't mind."

Graham felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest. His own brother couldn't put his own problems aside for one day? One day that wasn't about him?

Trying to restrain his tears, Graham nodded, forcing s smile on his face.

"Graham, I remember when Billy first introduced me to you. I'd never had a brother growing up, but you gave me the chance of getting firsthand experience. You were kind and funny, and especially good at the guitar then, and you're all those things and more now."

"Being married myself, I can't tell you what an honor it is to see the two of you finally together. There will be highs and lows for the rest of your lives together, but I have no doubt you'll rise above every obstacle that comes your way."

"Graham, Y/N, I'm so incredibly happy for the two of you. Mrs. Dunne, you've got a good one there, take good care of him for us."

For the next sixty five years, that's exactly what you did.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 3) Chapter Seven

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Seven: One Hell of a Celebration

Summary: It's the night before the Cricket Tournament, but a celebration just means more work (and bothers) for (Y/N) and Sebastian.

            “My, how handsome you look tonight, Mr. Noir,” said Sebastian playfully as (Y/N) entered the hall hosting the June third celebration of the Interhouse Cricket Tournament.

            (Y/N) smirked. “Thank you, Mr. Michaelis. You look quite dashing yourself.”

            They both wore their housemaster uniforms, but (Y/N) had traded their robes for some embroidery at the ends, and their suit vest was more decorative than usual. Sebatian had traded his cross for a more decorative one—the most ironic change a demon could make.

            “Now, shall we take our places for the opening speech?” said Sebastian.

            “We shall,” said (Y/N).

            They walked to their spots at the front of the crowd with their fellow housemasters, each itching to reach out and hold the other’s hand. On the dais before them, Agares stood and looked out over the crowd. He cleared his throat, and all of the guests quieted. This was the one event where outsiders could come to the college, and so there were a variety of people—family and highly connected businessmen—milling about in formal attire (fortunately, (Y/N) and Sebastian had yet to bump into the Midfords or anyone else who might notice them).

            “I do beg your pardon for interrupting your conversations, ladies and gentlemen,” said Agares. “Hello, everyone. I welcome you all and thank you for attending the opening ceremony of our storied Fourth of June Cricket Tournament. I am delighted to once again be able to hold the tournament this year. Please enjoy the festivities this tournament’s eve.” He cleared his throat. “Now then…” He threw out a hand dramatically. “Team representatives of each house, come forth!”

            The sound of heavy marching approaching the doors of the hall, and the crowd gasped.

            “What’s going on?!”

            “The floor, it’s shaking?!”

            The doors flung wide open.

            “Here they come!” cried the younger students. “Their overwhelming physical prowess and teamwork are second to none!”

            “Absolute champions, top of the world—the Green Lions!”

            Each member of Green house wore gleaming armor and green tunics. A cap fluttered over Greenhill’s shoulders, and he carried a torch. Edward and other members of the house carried Green Lion flags. Everyone was serious and carried themselves nobly.

            “Big brother! You look so handsome!” cheered a familiarly bubbly voice from within the crowd, and (Y/N) and Sebastian smothered chuckles as Edward’s face turned red in embarrassment.

            “I remember wearing armor like that,” said (Y/N). They sighed. “Awfully cumbersome. Not my style at all.”

            Sebatian chuckled.

            A moment after Green House took their places in the hall, rose petals flew through the air. The crowd gasped, and the women began whispering.

            “Look!” exclaimed students. “It’s the second-place house that drove Green House into a corner last year! Captivating spectators with their elegant plays!”

            “Brillian Eden, garden of fine plays—the Scarlet Foxes!”

            Dressed in kingly regalia, the Red House entered. Holding a candelabra in one hand and a rose in the other, Redmond entered with a smirk. Scarlet robes draped over ornate clothing, and behind him, the members of his house smiled sweetly at the crowd with roses and banners raised high. They looked every bit the lords they one day would be. As they passed through the crowd, women swooned, and various house members kissed hands and greeted all who saw them in a gentlemanly, albeit flirtatious, manner.

            “I once wore such clothing,” said Sebastian fondly. “I was able to order others around to my heart’s content, and I played my role well.”

            “What type of contract asked for that?” said (Y/N), raising a brow.

            “An ambitious woman looked to take a throne for herself and needed someone to act as king,” said Sebastian.

            (Y/N) smirked slightly at the idea of the power imbalance that usually kept women from advancing in society as they wished to turn on its head. That was their favorite type of contract.

            Sebastian was pleased to see (Y/N)’s approval of his contract. They were both unique in having personal principles over the types of contracts they took, so it wasn’t strange to compare why they had taken certain masters over the years.

            Fwoosh!

            The lights of the hall went out, and everyone jumped. In the empty doorway, a single torch lit, and the flame danced in the darkness. Smoke filtered into the room.

            “Could this be?!” exclaimed shaky voices. “The house team they say throws their opponents into confusion with unpredictable trick plays?”

            “The swarming specters of the ghost legion—the Violet Wolves!”

            From the middle of the crowd, Purple House appeared. Everyone jumped as the figures, cloaked in black and carrying lanterns carved into skulls, moved among them.

            “Very sorcerer-like,” said Sebastian. “Or should I say witch?” He smirked.

            (Y/N) tutted and shook their head, not dignifying that with a response.

            “They’re at their tricks from the start, what with not coming in through the doors…” said a few frightened patrons.

            Fwee!

            Everyone looked up as the lights were lit once more and owls soared into the hall.

            “Those birds are…”

            “That house, is it?”

            “Though their physical strength may leave much to be desired, they aim for an opportunity to win the championship with their strategic game plans…”

            “Attack of the cornered rats, God only knows—the Sapphire Owls.”

            Blue House stepped into the hall. Each wore long blue robes and carried an owl perched on their arm. Scholarly caps rested on their head, and Bluewer held a staff with a lantern atop it.

            Everyone clapped as they passed, but after the tepid introduction, the arrival felt somewhat unimpressive (though, what did they expect as the house that came last every year?).

            “Ciel! You look absolutely charming! Give it your best!” cheered Elizabeth.

            Ciel blushed, and (Y/N) and Sebastian chuckled.

            After all the houses took their places, the P4 stepped up to a large firepit, each holding their lantern, candle, or torch.

            “Now!” Agares raised his hand. “Light the flame of Saint George!”

            “We the players—” began Greenhill.

            “—in accordance with the great tradition of Weston College—” continued Bluewer.

            “—shall fight fair and square until the very end—” added Redmond.

            “—this we do solemnly swear,” finished Violet.

            The large cup lit on fire, and the flames curled up into the air. Everyone cheered and clapped, and the players whooped.

            “Now, I do hereby declare open the Interhouse Cricket Tournament of 1889!” announced Agares. “Tomorrow will surely be a day of fierce battles. So please enjoy this evening’s opening festivities to your heart’s content.”

            The crowd applauded as Agares walked off the dais. The instant he stepped onto the stairs, he tripped and tumbled down. The crowd gasped.

            “Vice Headmaster?!” cried another housemaster.

            “Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me,” said Agares, standing.

            Sebastian frowned. Once again, the vice principal had fallen and acted strangely.

            However, the party began to really grow into a proper celebration. Purple House crowded around a table, and people fearfully avoided them. Green House eagerly ate to gain strength for the coming day. Red House instantly mingled with the crowd—mostly eager women.

            “Hmph, what a very relaxed bunch,” said Bluewer. “Blue House, we will hold a meeting to perfect our strategy. We cannot afford to waste even a minute.”

            “Understood!” said Blue House.

            “Don’t be such a bore.” A woman put her hand on Bluewer’s shoulder. “Let down your hair a bit, why don’t you?”

            Bluewer jumped as seven women, a few older and a few younger, surrounded him. “Big sister?”

            “Let your hair down, let your hand down!” chanted two younger girls.

            “Look at you acting all high and mighty when you’re the exact opposite at home,” teased another sister.

            “The little boy who would always play house with me has grown up to be a prefect. How perfectly novel!” laughed another woman.

            “Big sister!” Poor Bluewer was red with embarrassment. “Please stop with the unnecessary commentary and go over there, would you?”

            “ ‘Unnecessary?!’ ” exclaimed another sister. “How dare you?!”

            “Ah, how do you do, everyone?” said a sister, smiling kindly. “Thank you for treating our little brother kindly.”

            “Big brother, where’s Lord Edgar?” chirped another girl.

            The entire picture of Bluewer trying to fend off his seven sisters was quite entertaining, and the Sapphire Owl house members were fighting not to chuckle at their prefect.

            (Y/N) and Sebastian smirked in amusement before speaking to the guests around them, mingling like model housemasters. Sebastian was irked by the several women who flirted with (Y/N). To the women, they were the ideal husband—attractive, intelligent, and gentile. Sebastian, too, was experiencing his fair amount of advances, but he was not paying them any mind and was instead busy to ensuring that any private conversation women attempted to have with (Y/N) was interrupted. What could Sebastian say? He was a jealous lover.

            “You seem quite intent on interrupting my discussions, Mr. Michaelis,” said (Y/N), smirking as they were drawn away from yet another unmarried lady.

            “I’m sure it was hardly stimulating conversation, Mr. Noir,” said Sebastian, raising a brow.

            (Y/N) tutted and shook their head in amusement, knowing full well they’d use this emotion to their benefit later—when they had privacy.

            Speaking of jealousy, Ciel had been cornered by a few of Bluewer’s sisters, who were analyzing his position as a potential suitor, and Elizabeth had immediately interceded.

            “Pleased to make your acquaintance, everyone!” she said formally, if not forcefully. “I am Ciel’s bride-to-be, Elizabeth.”

            Edward lunged and throttled poor Ciel for daring to hurt his sister’s feelings.

            “Blue House is boisterous as always,” chuckled Redmond.

            “Ciel! That strange house looks good on you!” laughed Soma.

            “I still can���t believe you were chosen to play for your house,” said Ciel.

            “Naturally!” said Soma.

            “Kadar is a deft hand at cricket, you know,” said Harcourt, smiling.

            “Cricket, introduced by the British, is all the rage in India,” said Soma. “Why, I even assembled my own team at the royal palace.”

            “Ah, Lord Edgar!” said one of Bluewer’s sisters. “How long must I wait before you ask me to dance?!”

            “Perhaps such time as you stop trampling on my feet?” teased Redmond kindly.

            “You are so cruel!” exclaimed the sister.

            “What foul words to fling at a fair lady, Edgar!”

            (Y/N) and Sebastian froze at the voice, and Ciel went blank in shock.

            Viscount Druitt stood in the middle of the crowd, and all eyes were immediately on him. Women stared with hearts in the eyes, and Druitt smiled out at everyone.

            “Ah, Viscount Druitt!” cheered the women.

            “How is he everywhere?” groaned (Y/N).

            “He is quite well-known,” sighed Sebastian.

            “Have my teachers escaped you, dear nephew?” bemoaned Druitt.

            “Uncle Aleister,” greeted Redmond with a smile.

            “Non!” said Druitt. “Do not call me uncle!” Undoubtedly, it made him feel old.

            “That explains the similarities of their appearances,” said Sebastian, raising a brow.

            “Ah! My beloved alma mater! The fresh springtime of my youth, like roses moist with morning dew, washes over me as if it were only yesterday!” As per usual, Druitt waxed poetry, and people adored it.

            “Luckily, his nephew is suspicious but not nearly as creepy,” muttered (Y/N). “Speaking of which, I’m going to leave before I get spotted—”

            “Ah!” Druitt’s eyes landed on them.

            Damn, why is it always me?

            “You, sir! What a face!” Druitt ran towards them and took their hand in his. “Truly, you may be a dashing man, but you have the grace of the feminine form! What an entrancing combination! Truly, a mysterious beauty worthy of a poet’s praise!”

            Even when I’m presenting masculine… sighed (Y/N). “What a…compliment, sir,” they forced out, shaking Druitt’s hand.

            Proud of himself, Druitt turned away to address the women beginning to gather around him.

            “Every time,” sighed (Y/N) as they drifted back to Sebastian’s side.

            Sebastian chuckled. He knew damn well Druitt had no chance of getting close to (Y/N), so, although his possessiveness had once again been piqued, he was also fairly amused by the endless compliments Druitt seemed to have for (Y/N), no matter the disguise.

            “There is quite a troublesome group gathering, indeed,” said Sebastian. Between Soma and the Midfords all in one place, it wouldn’t be wise to stay around. “Let us keep our distance.”

            “I daresay I agree with you,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            The pair turned away. The instant they did, a hand landed on each of their shoulders, and they froze. Turning, they faced one of the only human faces that could inspire any sort of twinge of trepidation—Marchioness Francis Midford.

            “You there, indecent manservant and maid, what brings you here?” she snapped.

            Of course she caught us, thought (Y/N) and Sebastian.

            “Goodness me, Marchioness Midford…” said Sebastian.

            “Good evening, Marchioness…” said (Y/N).

            “Look at you two!” she exclaimed. She grabbed Sebastian’s hair, and he stared at her in shock and a bit of surprised fright at a human being so forceful. “What housemaster in his right mind would go around in so dissipated a guise as this?” She turned her ire on (Y/N), and they coughed and stepped back quickly. “And you, what maid goes about dressed so?” She narrowed her eyes. “Hmph. No matter.” Francis put her hands on her hips and regarded them carefully. “iF you two are here and disguised so, then that must mean that Ciel’s enrollment at Weston is…”

            Sebastian bowed. “It is as you suspect, my lady.”

            “I do hope you can overlook my appearance due to the situation,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Hmph,” said Francis. That was all the acknowledgement they’d get.

            Elizabeth noticed Francis talking to the pair, and she blinked. “Oh? Why, if it isn’t (Y/N)—”

            “Ssh,” said (Y/N), winking and pressing a finger to their lips. Sebastian smirked.

            Elizabeth got the message and quieted instantly, but Edward and Alexis had already noticed the discussion going on.

            “Oh, who are these chaps, Mother?” asked Edward, staring as blankly as his father. “Sirs, are you acquainted with my mother?”

            “Oh, really now, you two!” said Elizabeth. “Those tutors are…” She whispered to them, and Edward and Alexis stared.

            “It has been quite a while, gentlemen,” greeted Sebastian.

            “A fine evening, isn’t it?” remarked (Y/N), smiling.

            “Ooh,” said Alexis. “I didn’t realize at all.”

            “Me neither,” agreed Edward.

            “You mean you actually hadn’t noticed and weren’t keeping quiet about this the whole time?!” exclaimed Ciel.

            “Edward Midford, you are in one of my classes,” sighed (Y/N), pinching the bridge of their nose. Apparently, it was the women in that family that were observant.

            Edward shrugged. “I didn’t look to closely.” He beamed. “And when Lizzie’s around, everyone else fades into the background, don’t they?”

            “Don’t come out and say that like it’s some kind of given,” sighed Ciel.

            “Does your work have anything to do with tomorrow’s matches?” asked Edward. Apparently, Ciel’s presence at Weston College had at least piqued some alarm.

            “Can’t say it doesn’t, but you can have at it without worrying about that,” said Ciel.

            “Then that’s just what I’ll be doing,” said Edward with a competitive grin.

            “I’ll cheer my heart out for you, so make sure you come back victorious!” said Elizabeth, hugging Ciel.

            “R-Right,” said Ciel. After seeing her kill hordes of bizarre dolls, he was still amazed by her usual personality.

            “You talk as if the perennially last place Blue House has even a hope of winning!” snapped Edward, huffing over Elizabeth cheering for Ciel.

            “Oh, but it does.” Alexis smiled. “Blue House did once win the tournament a long time ago.”

            “Are you perhaps talking about the Miracle of Sapphires?!” A redheaded young boy ran up to the group, and Ciel jumped. He shook Alexis’s hand brightly and introduced himself. “I’m McMillan, Phantomhive’s best friend!” Ciel blinked at that. “Oh, won’t you tell us the story, Marquess?!”

            “I doubt Soma would be pleased to hear his place taken,” tutted (Y/N) in amusement, and Sebastian smirked.

            “Very well, young man!” said Alexis. “It was back when I too resided in Green House and was the prefect’s drudge, just like Ed.”

            He dove into the Miracle of Sapphires, telling of how Diedrich, a Baron from Germany and the prefect of Green House in that time, was angry at Vincent Phantomhive, the prefect of Bue House at that time, for not making any preparations for the cricket tournament. The two ended up in a dispute that was more Diedrich upset than Vincent being at all concerned, but a feud began nonetheless, and they made a bet. If Diedrich and Green House won the tournament, then Vincent would have to renounce his position as prefect. If Vincent and Blue House won, then Vincent would a single mystery order for Diedrich to follow. The bet was set, and everyone expected Blue House to be beaten as usual and for Vincent to be humiliated.

            But that was not what happened. Once the tournament had ended, Sapphire Owl House was victorious, and Vincent had won the bet.

            “And Vincent and Diedrich became quite close business partners ever since!” finished Alexis, beaming. Everyone stared in surprise for various reasons.

            “Ah, business partners,” said (Y/N), knowing that meant the Guard Dog of the Queen had his connections in Germany.

            “The-The previous Earl was in Blue House?” said Ciel, blinking. He clearly hadn’t ever known it and wasn’t sure what to think.

            “I can’t believe your dad was the key player in the Miracle of Sapphires!” cried McMillan.

            “Ah, you didn’t know, hm, Ciel?” Alexis’s smile turned melancholy at how much Ciel had never learned of his father due to his death.

            “Father was a drudge…?” said Elizabeth.

            “He’s younger than Uncle Vincent…?” said Edward.

            Ignoring the insults from his children, Alexis smiled and put his hands on Ciel’s shoulders. “It was truly a brilliant game. It pains me to say this, but we were utterly clobbered. You have the blood of a genius game strategist in your veins. Have faith in yourself and give it your best.

            “Oh!” exclaimed Soma, noticing Agares approaching the dais again. “Something’s about to begin.”

            “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for waiting,” he said. “We will not draw lots to decide the tournament fixtures.” Agares gestured to Clayton. “You there, lend me your hat.” He took the scholarly hat—(Y/N)’s nose twitched at him not using his own; it felt off—and dropped two pairs of tokens into the hat. “Now, then, head housemasters, come forward and draw lots.” All four housemasters put their hands into the cap.

            Ciel and (Y/N) smirked as Sebastian dipped his hand in. They knew he’d get just the token they needed for their strategy to work perfectly. After all, the game had already begun. What use had they for miracle wins when they had tricks? Miracles were a thing of Heaven; tricks were a thing of Hell.

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[canisvesperus]

I’ve seen some discussion on this, so allow me to explain something.

Some people do not seem to grasp why artists like me draw so much fashionable Eridan. He’s not fashionable at all, just look at his canon outfit, they say. Well, it is simple. Eridan is one of the few trolls actually experimenting with fashion at a young age in the comic. Look me in the eye and tell me you too weren’t a hot mess trying to dress “fashionable” in middle school. Yet, chances are that if you had that awareness and drive early on, you will also develop a sense of style and grasp on aesthetics earlier in life compared to your peers. This was my experience. I was well known for being very stylish as a kid, but this didn’t happen overnight. Indeed, if you were one of these kids you most definitely started off with some odd or disharmonious clothing combinations that you threw together in an attempt to express yourself aesthetically despite inexperience in that type of self-expression. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I usually draw young adult Eridan. Obviously given some time, his tastes would develop and mature into something derived from those original aesthetic visions, but far more cohesive.

It’s clear he’s trying to assert his individualism and status in his clothing choices, and most of y’all shrug him off as having bad taste while not also foreseeing the intent and vision behind those choices. I see it, and so do other artists. We differ in how we portray this derivation because there are frankly a dozen different directions he could take it depending on the circumstances of the post-canon/fix it scenario. This is why you may see me refer to the Eridan in my depictions as “my Eridan”. I don’t presume to depict something identical to Homestuck proper, nor am I particularly interested in doing so. If you’re the type of person who is married to the events of canon and cannot consider a scenario involving an older Eridan who was allowed to grow and change, this is why we are not seeing eye to eye— and I’m certain this is the root cause of various other discourses as they pertain to portraying the character in post-canon fanworks. That’s fine. That’s your choice. My choice is different.

Eridan consistently demonstrates concern (an excess, really, which backfired for him in the cruelest of ways poor thing) with respect to how he is perceived, hence the consciously thought out image-crafting and classic Eridan façades that his own peers call him out on for being poorly executed, transparent, and otherwise not believable. They were kids. This is normal. Of course he doesn’t have himself figured out yet. It’s a process. Some people in this fandom believe his façade in the most literal and uncritical of ways but this is all a story for another day. Is his drip game shit though, without regards for fan interpretations? If you’re asking me, I don’t think it’s really that bad considering his age. I really don’t think it’s that bad. That kind of scarf with the cape is a bit much to wear around the neck. Maybe he’ll swap the big scarf for something similar in function and category but less top heavy— a cravat, jabot, bandana, or lavallière? If the cape is too overwhelming for the rest of the outfit, a smaller caplet, shawl, or a coat will work. To accommodate some of the alternative neckwear, a shirt with a collar would be preferable. What many people perceive as a turtleneck sweater, need not be entirely sacrificed. Put a sweater vest on that boy. I see lots of complaints about the shoes and pants. More discreet pinstripes and more formal shoes (field boots, paddock boots, oxfords) will work. Of course he can go in the opposite direction, less formal, in that case the cape can go and the long scarf can stay, get some cool sneakers, consider denim bottoms or casual slacks in a single color, accents welcome. However this isn’t the derivation I pursue so I feel less qualified to speculate. He could ditch all of it even. Start new and fresh especially if he were to go through a markedly subversive reclamation of identity and character redemption sort of process. In any case, he can work with it!!! You just have to believe in him.

I believe Eridan had a lot of narrative potential that was wasted, possibly out of disinterest for the character. It’s only predictable that artists like me simply want to devise a world in which these characters had a chance to actually live their lives. I truly do not understand why there has to be so much confusion over this. That‘s all.

[leggerefiore]

Cyrus probably wears more cosy and comfortable clothes that still have a veneer of formality for casual wear. Sweaters are common or tops with a mock neck, as those are his preferences. He probably has a tendency to get cold easily, too, so maybe an addition of a cardigan around the home or a peacoat or overcoat for public. Usually, he also wears slacks, too. Though, at home he does swap over to sweats.

Archie probably keeps to generally comfortable styles like a simple t-shirt and jeans/jean shorts. He may also wear swim trucks under his clothes so he is ready to go whenever. He slips off the bandana bravely to less advertise himself as the head of Team Aqua. He prefers to keep on either slip-on shoes or sandals. He spends a lot of time on beaches, so sand in his shoes is a concern.

Maxie probably has a style similar to Cyrus's own but more concerning since he lives in a tropical climate. Though, he does occasionally switch it up and pull out a polo and khaki capri shorts if the heat is even too much for him. He probably wears loafers because he is insane unless he is going to visit Mt. Chimney in which they are swapped out for hiking shoes.

Lysandre is over the top and wears suits no matter the situation. If it is too hot for one, he swaps out a suit jacket for a simple vest. He likely does not believe in dressing down too much unless it is for certain activities. He wears more appropriate attire for working out, for example. Around his home, he likely wanders around in robes until he has reason to get dressed for the day.

Colress forgets how to dress normally and insists that a lab coat is the most appropriate attire for him. In Alola, he likely is still wearing a full suit under his mobile terminal coat. He probably even sleeps in a lab coat. There is an aesthetic he must commit to entirely. (Though, honestly, he probably does wear normal clothes if his partner insists on it. Evil Colress sighting in a long sleeve shirt and black pants eating a bagel sandwich in Castelia.)

Guzma's clothing... Well, he basically dresses the same as his skull uniform. Depending on the heat index, his jacket might be shed to just the tank top underneath, but the sweats and speakers remain the same. He might be convinced to try jeans on or dress up for a formal event, but it always looks a bit off. Guzma is just meant to exist in atheleisure.