#you guys have unleashed the beast

[endless-ineffabilities]

OKAY YAY

What ab Ewan discovering that his gf wants to sit on his face but she’s shy ab it and then she gets to go for a riiiiiiiiiide

18+

It's never just a late afternoon nap with you two. It always, always turns into a romp in the sheets. Bellies full and bodies sludging in a state of food coma, you'd find your way into the bedroom on slow days. Limbs entangled, eyes fluttering shut, breathing slowly. Until his hand creeps up your shirt and begins flicking your nipple, squeezing at the mound of your breast. You'd look at him to find his eyes still closed, but there's that cheeky smirk that he can't hide. Well, might as well burn some pesky calories. But you can't do that lying still while he goes down on you, as he would position himself to do. He'd pull your shorts down, sliding them off your ankles, his warm breath against your core.

"Ewan?" — "Hmm?" — "I... oh, it's nothing." — "Not nothing. What is it, babe?" — "Can I... situnirface—'" — "What was that?" — "I want to try something." — "I'm game." — "I wanna... sit on your face?" — "Oh... Oh! Oh, fuck me, baby."

You'd move slowly, unsure. Afraid you'd be suffocating him, you try to shift your weight back, but he brings you closer. "Come here." The bridge of his nose lodges between your folds, his tongue darting out to taste the moisture seeping out of your core. "It might be too much on you." — "Baby, if you don't fuck my face right now, I will actually be upset with you, I swear."

[cloud-ya]

finally beat dark gaia today, had to draw werehog about it

[mechazushi]

Kafka Hibino

Kafka Hibino.... with visible salt and pepper side burns.

Kafka Hibino.... wearing glasses and has salt and pepper side burns.

Kafka HIbino.... in that black turtleneck and a dark brown leather jacket and also wearing glasses and has salt and pepper side burns.

Kafka Hibino.... wearing that outfit and is an Animal Biology Professor in an College Au.

Kafka Hibino..... asking out Hoshina who is an Advanced Mathematics Professor working at the same college, to have an after-work drink with him.

Slightly DRUNK Kafka Hibino... becoming very forward with an also slightly drunk Hoshina

Slightly Drunk Hoshina... immediately matching Kafka's freak tenfold and Kafka is very much fine with this.

[blackhazefanblog]

POV: Someone told Lin what kabedon was but neglected to inform her which gender is supposed to do it to whom. Whether the end result is a problem or the opposite of one is up to you to decide.

Either way, it was certainly a problem for Dio's heart.

[dyingswanpavlova]

Treasure

Pairing: Hwang In-ho/The Frontman × Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Smut, Age Gap (Reader is 25, In-ho is 54), Usage of Daddy, Mentions of Emotional Abuse in the Past, Low Self-Esteem, Sex as a Business Deal, Edging, Spanking, Overstimulation, Face Slapping, Oral Sex (Both receiving), Gagging, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Minors do not interact!

Author's note: It's mostly bad experiences and smut. Anyone who knows me, knows I can't do wholesome...But, you guys, I'm trying!

It has been quite a while since his wife died and he hasn't gotten over it. But now he found someone who brings out a softer side of him...or makes him feel anything at all. Even if it's just the fact that he doesn't have to dine and sleep alone.

The day of her death was always the worst.

Of course he was always cold. One might even muster up the courage to call it cruel.

He was a complicated man in any sense of the word. While he was as cunning as he was handsome, he was also cool and composed. He didn’t ever lose that tight composure, until he allowed himself to. There were only few situations that allowed him to let loose and unleash the beast that lived within him.

It was rather obvious that there was more to him. The way he carried himself made it seem like he was no more than the stoic business man, but sometimes, sometimes you caught a soft glimpse of whatever was underneath. The way his eyes shone in a certain light.

 His brother was enough.

His wife, of course.

 But you were clever. And your sense of self-preservation forbade you to pry. All you had to do was do your job. And what was your job?

You found yourself applying a drop of perfume to your neck and your wrists, staring at your form in the mirror. The black lace covered most of your intimate parts, but it was just enough to leave him yearning for more. He liked that especially – when he had to use his imagination.

But sometimes, on rare occasions like that night, he needed more. He needed a little, naughty dream, to distract him from the turmoil that raged within him.

He was never cruel to you. He was just cold.

It wasn’t like you minded. So far, you had heard all kinds of things from a few friends of yours. Men could be vile creatures, who performed the most heinous crimes, whenever they felt like it. You were sure you could call yourself lucky, when it came to that.

He was older, that was out of question. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not for you anyway.

You couldn’t tell when that started or what the exact reason was.

Your father had been a fairly good man. He never abused you and never hurt you out of the ordinary. The occasional session of spanking was something that stopped once you got older. Of course a child that steps out of line will get punished. It’s not that dramatic and you were sure, you took no damage after that.

He had been a kind man. Good-hearted. He loved you, your sister and your mother very much.

Until he got drunk.

Of course, he loved you then as well. And he never hit you then, either. Not you.

Your mother, sure. The poor, sweet woman she was. Her broken spirit cracked through the light in which her soul was covered, because she was strong like that. Gentle, but strong.

He wasn’t gentle when he drank. No, all you had to do was say the wrong thing at the wrong time and suddenly he’d explode. The way he yelled out of nowhere was the worst thing. The way he gritted his teeth like a wild animal.

You had flinched more than once during the course of your life, simply because he got so angry.

But after a while, he always calmed down, didn’t he? He came down from his demonic horror trip and suddenly, he was good again.

Of course he was proud. Too proud for anyone’s good. His pride often kept him from apologizing. In most cases, he’d just try and act like nothing changed, like nothing happened, like he didn’t just made the walls crumble with his anger.

But sometimes, when he went really overboard, he managed to swallow his pride and then he would apologize. A hug, a kiss, and everything was back to normal.

You forgave him. Why wouldn’t you? He was your father. He loved you.

But daddy issues? No. He was there, after all. He didn’t abuse you. Didn’t hit you.

You had no issues. Why would you?

Right?

You finished applying the perfume and decided to put on some lip balm. It held the faintest hint of rose-color. He didn’t like too much make-up. He didn’t like anything that felt like you were playing dress-up. The silk on your body, it only made sense if it highlighted your character in a way. Not change it.

The gloss on your lips, the blush on your cheeks. No eyeshadow allowed, unless it were natural colors. Mascara was alright, but no fake lashes.

Blush was okay, contour was not.

Lace was okay, leather was not.

J’adore was okay, Chanel Number 5 was not.

You released a slow breath and took a moment longer to check your appearance.

You were pretty, you knew that. Probably not in the way that made you get voted prom queen. More in the way that made weird men ogle you.

That was a talent of yours you had figured out at some point. Your eyes were expressive. And people loved to eye-fuck you.

Sometimes, you’d indulge. It depended on the man and the situation. It depended on the way his eyes on you made you feel.

Not any man would do. Some were perverts, some were disgusting, some desperate. You didn’t look back, when a man walked beside his oblivious wife and looked at you like he was ready to devour you. You also didn’t look back, when a man stared at you with wide eyes and licked his lip in a way that was too lecherous at once.

A subtle glance.

Not even a smile.

Just a look.

You’d look away and after a while, you’d check again. The feeling that spread in your chest was often the same. One of recognition, of attention. It made you feel pretty and desired. Someone wanted you. They were subtle about it, but not subtle enough to refrain themselves from staring.

In most cases, it didn’t lead to anything.

Sure, you had that messed-up phase, after you turned nineteen. Looking back, you really wished your father had been stricter with you. You were always allowed to do whatever you wanted. Meet who you want, do what you want, unless, of course, it got dark outside. No walking alone in the dark.

But he never checked who you were with, if you were truly where you said you were. Your parents trusted you. Back in the day, when you told them you had already finished your homework, they trusted you. Your bad grades weren’t their fault. They had trusted you to do better.

Back when you were nineteen, when you told them you were at the cinema with a few friends, they trusted you. They didn’t check, if maybe you were getting pounded away by some forty-seven year old man, who came on your face and left you feeling used and humiliated.

Never during. Always after.

You had no idea why you felt like you needed this so badly. Attention of men. Approval of men.

Men.

They were never good to you. They used you in most cases and then they’d just up and leave.

First, you were naïve. You pictured all kinds of things. Your mother’s Italian friend, who’d take you to Rome and buy you gelato. You’d walk some coast and he’d show you the lovely way Italians lived. He’d love you, you were sure.

It didn’t matter than he had a daughter your age or maybe even a few years older.

He’d love you.

But of course, he didn’t. Silly you, you really believed that, didn’t you? And he didn’t even say he would. You just made up that version of him in your head.

Some sweet guy from Oregon, who sang Arctic Monkeys song for you with his guitar. You only spoke online, but why care? You’d go and live the American dream with him. Of course you would. He had those soft, brown eyes and the voice of an angel.

You’d give him as many babies as he wanted.

So, of course you agreed, when he asked you to take your top off. Suck on your fingers, look up at the camera with doe eyes, while you did. You slipped two fingers inside yourself, moaning and gasping. Of course you were pretending. Who got off on this? Not you. All he did was stare at you. You didn’t see his face, while he pulled his pants down. It was either his face or the rest of him. But you were looking at him, while you touched yourself for him. It didn’t take him long to cum. But that was alright. You’d get married, after all. In some cases, long distance worked. This was one of them of course.

Blocked.

You spent months trying to find him again. But no way. He was gone, deleted, lost in the depths of the internet. A lost memory. A shameful one.

Sometimes you asked yourself, why your sister turned out normal. She had a job, a family, a husband who loved her. Or did he?

He did get angry, at times. And those few times when he called her a slut, when they argued. It wasn’t that bad, right?

That one time he left her standing at the sidewalk in the middle of the night, in a foreign city. It wasn’t that bad, right? She had angered him after all.

You felt nauseous, just thinking about it. Your sister was the epitome of life and liveliness. She was so spirited, that sometimes her anger scared you. Her confidence did for sure. She was your father’s daughter after all.

But the bastard she married broke that spirit.

And she didn’t even realize it. She just let it happen. You didn’t understand it.

But what you did understand was that she wasn’t as perfect as you always thought. Things were a little more complicated than you initially thought. But you were still far behind her.

You tried to push the thoughts of your messed-up existence and upbringing aside and focus on the task at hand.

Him.

Mr. Important.

You knew his real name and he knew yours, but names didn’t really matter. All you normally called him was daddy.

But luckily, you weren’t babygirl or little girl. That felt odd, even to you. It wasn’t that he was after that – someone who was remarkably younger than him. You just happened to be.

He was fifty-four, going fifty-five. You were twenty-five, going twenty-six.

Thirty years more or less, who cared about that?

And he didn’t really look his age. You found, he looked a good forty-six, maybe.

But aside from that, he was different. The were two kind of men in the world.

The real ones and the made up ones.

The ones who ogled you, while they were walking beside their wives and the ones who never got over their wife’s death and were looking for a way to distract themselves.

You had seen a picture of her. He didn’t make a secret of it. No, he was proud to having loved her. The thought filled you with something bittersweet. A part of you was jealous. Jealous, that someone got loved so intensely, that she’d never be forgotten, ever.

After all, she died young and pregnant. It made you nauseous.

And another part of you, the far bigger part, the less selfish part, it admired him.

He loved her. He loved her so dearly, that she took a great part of his soul with him, when she left.

God, you wished to be loved like that. To be loved at all.

You remembered the way you first met him. The subtle eye-contact. No smile.

But you didn’t feel like you normally did. Something about him was different. He wasn’t lecherous. He was calm. Almost like he was…lonely.

And he understood your loneliness.

The arrangement came quick and without any fuss. He did pay you, but not with money per say. He paid for your studies, he bought you gifts, sometimes he took you out to places you had never been before.

The theatre. The ballet. The opera, even.

That was what you loved the most. He didn’t just use you and left you feeling empty. He didn’t even fuck you every time you saw him. Sometimes you’d just go out. Have dinner. Talk.

You talked a lot and about everything. Sometimes you felt like you were an old soul, sometimes you felt like you knew nothing at all. He knew things. He looked at you. He listened to you.

Sometimes he could be really funny. On other nights he was rather quiet.

You didn’t care if he absentmindedly played with your hand or hair or if he stared straight ahead. Whatever he did, it always made your heart race.

You understood that you were treading on very thin ice.

Feelings were not a part of the arrangement.

He would never love you. You would never be more to him than treasure.

But when you lay there, your head on his chest and still breathless after you just spent hours doing the most wicked things to each other, you couldn’t help yourself. You craved his warmth. His arms around you and how protected he made you feel.

You couldn’t make a mistake. Nothing you did ever made him yell at you.

And that was rather dangerous.

Because you could picture it so easily. Being his wife. His everything. Having his children. Cooking his dinner. Doing all the things loving people did.

All the things loved people did.

You pushed the thought aside with intense fervor, when you heard his raspy voice call out for you.

“Treasure? Are you alright?”

You nearly gasped when you realized how long you had been in there. With a soft shake of your head and a slow exhale, you pushed down the door handle and stepped out of the bathroom. He stood in front of the fireplace and stared down at the flames, lost in thought. When he heard the door open, he looked up and met your gaze. Something in him stiffened for a moment and his gaze ran down your body slowly. You swallowed thickly and tried to push your nervousness aside.

You wanted to be perfect for him. But you were so far from perfect. Each and every time you feared he would look at you, scoff and shake his head.

“I don’t remember that much skin.”

“You looked younger last time.”

“Where’d that wrinkle come from?”

But of course he never said anything like that. Simply your insecurities, giving you a hard time.

He hummed softly and shifted so that he was fully facing you.

“You look beautiful.” He murmured. “Come here.”

You approached him with slow steps, the sound of your tiptoes the only sound beside the crackling of the fireplace.

You came to a halt before him and he tipped your chin up in a gentle way, slowly tilting your head up and making you look at him. He brushed his lips over yours in the softest way, making you shiver in response.

His hand slowly ran down the side of your neck, until his fingers brushed over the lace that covered your collarbone. His eyes followed the movement and he released a soft sigh.

“You get more and more beautiful every day.”

How did he expect you not to fall in love with him, when he was being like this?

“Thank you.” You whispered in return and swallowed a bit of your nervousness.

His eyes crinkled in a smile that hardly reached his eyes and his hands slowly came down to grip your hips.

“You know what day today is?”

You nodded.

“Good.” He whispered and dropped his hands to his sides. “Then be a good girl for daddy and distract him.”

You licked your lips and slowly pushed him back. He was letting you. Until you reached the armchair and he slowly sat down on it. You stood before him and tipped his chin up, making him look up at you now. The look in his eyes was nothing short of admiration. His breath against your skin sent a pleasant tingle down your spine.

You slowly straddled his lap and rested your knees on the armrests, pressing yourself against him and feeling the hardness in his pants press into you already. But not yet, you thought. Why not tease him a little?

You leaned in as if to kiss him, but the second before your lips met, you slowly pulled your head back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

A low growl grumbled in his chest. “Stop being a brat.” He murmured.

You bit your lip and leaned back with a grin. “Me? A brat?”

“You’re just asking to be punished.”

That made you chuckle. “Well…”

“Oh, I see.” He tangled a hand in your hair and tugged on it, tilting your head back and making you look up at him. “That’s how you want to play?” He murmured and his hot breath fanned over your lips and neck. “Alright, then. I invented this game, little dove.”

He released his grip on your hair and grabbed you by the hips, standing up and holding you against him. He picked you up like you weighed nothing and strode off to the bed, practically throwing you down onto it. The sudden intensity left you breathless and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He reached for his tie and slowly undid it.

“I thought you were daddy’s good girl. Looks like I was wrong.”

He sounded as calm as ever, not a hint of anger as usual. He was just being himself.

“I am your good girl.”

“I’d prefer you to be bad right now. Because I feel like punishing you.”

You swallowed thickly and bit your lip, like you did every so often when he got you cornered like this.

“How?” You whispered.

He smirked in that delicious way, which lit his whole face up without even trying. Then he slowly pulled the tie off and ran his fingers along the soft material.

“Turn around.”

Within seconds, you were on your knees and facing away from him. His hands were gentle as he reached for your wrists and brought them behind your back to tie them together. You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, while your body surrendered. It wasn’t hard for you. You trusted him. He knew your boundaries.

For whatever reason, with him you had boundaries.

Never in your life before had you ever told anyone to stop or not do something. Was it fear of being rejected? Simply fear? Something else? Whatever it was, it kept you from setting healthy rules to keep your body and mind safe. You were free to use. Anyone just did whatever they wanted.

Sometimes you did protest, but they wouldn’t stop and eventually you gave in.

But not so him.

He had asked not once, not twice, but countless times. Until eventually you had been forced to be honest and tell him what it was that threw you off. And to your surprise, he didn’t get angry, didn’t even move a muscle. He just nodded and accepted it.

There were a few freaky things you were into and you were obviously allowing him to do. But if there was something that you didn’t want, he didn’t do it. Just like that.

How hard it was not to fall for him. Impossible even.

He tied your wrists together fairly tight and made a point of pulling on the tie to make sure it was good enough. You felt his gaze roam along your back silently. He then ran his fingertips up your back, over your shoulder blades and eventually the back of your neck.

“You’re my little brat, aren’t you?” He purred.

When you didn’t respond at first, he made a point of gently tugging on your hair.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And you’ve been bad, haven’t you?”

When you nodded, he tugged again, slightly harder this time. You gasped and immediately added: “Yes. Yes, I’ve been bad.”

“So, you deserve to be punished. How should I punish you?”

There was only one right answer to that.

“However you wish.”

You heard the way he smirked. “Good girl. You’re learning.”

He hummed and slowly circled you like a predator. Of course you felt rather exposed, kneeling on the bed like that, wearing nothing but that thin piece of lace and nothing to cover the dampness between your legs.

“Look at you.” He murmured. “So open and ready for me. Let’s see how ready, shall we?”

He didn’t hesitate to slide his hand between your legs and run a finger over your wetness. You couldn’t help but inhale sharply. Your body was aching for his touch.

Surprisingly, he knew how to make you cum. Pretty good even. No other man had ever accomplished that. You’d normally count only on yourself for that, but Mr. Important? Fuck, he was skilled.

He circled your clit in the same skilled way, causing you to squirm and gasp under his touch. He began to work his fingers on you more and more quickly, keeping his gaze firmly on your face. Your brows furrowed in a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, but you didn’t care. You were so close. So close. So-

You whimpered when he sharply withdrew his hand, leaving you aching.

“Please-“ You whined.

“Not yet.” He said calmly. “Open your mouth.”

You obeyed wordlessly, allowing him to slide his slick fingers into your mouth and making you taste yourself on him. The bulge in his pants became more and more obvious and it did things to you. The way he looked at you, while he made you suck on his fingers was enough to make you go dripping wet. After a beat, he slowly pulled his fingers back and dried them against his shirt. You let out a shuddering gasp.

“You still ought to be punished, if I recall correctly.”

“Wasn’t this punishment enough?” You whispered.

He smirked. “Not even close.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently draped you over his lap, stomach down and your rear up in the air. Your cheek was pressed against the sheets and you closed your eyes.

“Ten. You know the rules.” He murmured and you nodded.

His flat hand cracked against your skin, sending a sharp pain through your body. He wasn’t gentle about that. Not at all.

You cried out in pain and tried not to squirm too much. “One. Thank you, daddy.” You gasped out.

He hummed approvingly, before his hand came down a second time, causing you to wince and cry out again. Somehow, every strike seemed to get more and more rough. Your skin felt raw and sensitive, more and more with every hit, but you forced yourself to stay still and count, like a good girl. By the time you reached the seventh hit, the pain was nearly unbearable. But you knew better than to beg and plead. It only turned him on more and he was ready and eager to start anew.

“Nine. Thank you, daddy.”

“One more. Just one more, treasure. You’re almost done.”

He deliberately waited for a few seconds, causing you to go rigid and tense in his grip. The uncertainty of when the next hit would follow was nearly killing you. Just when you expected it and you winced forcefully, he instead ran his palm along your red skin gently. You took a deep breath.

And then it came.

The most painful of them all and you immediately felt tears sting your eyes. Your voice cracked as you cried out: “T-ten. Ten. Thank you. Thank you, daddy.”

He made a soft sound, filled with approval and a hint of pride. “That’s my good girl. You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

His words made you feel warm and fuzzy and suddenly you felt like crying even more. Your feelings for him were more complicated than you thought.

“Thank you.” You whispered, still trying to catch your breath.

“I think you deserve a reward.” He murmured.

You tried to swallow, with your mouth dry and whispered: “I do?”

He ran a gentle hand over your hair and hummed again.

“You do. Let’s see what we can do for you.” He shifted you gently so you lay on the mattress instead, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He ran his knuckles over your cheek and smiled slowly.

“Was it too much?”

You shook your head.

He took a slow breath and nodded. “Good.” He shifted so he was on top of you now and pressed a leg between your own. His knee slowly pressed against your core and you felt your eyes fall shut. You didn’t try to hide your pathetic whimper.

He smirked against your ear and gently nipped at it. “Look at that. Have you been this wet all the time?”

Your face flushed painfully and you swallowed your embarrassment. “Yes.”

He hummed approvingly and ran his lips along your cheek, before they finally met your own. You had no time to understand what was going on, when his tongue already parted your lips and delved into your mouth. He wasn’t sweet about it, instead your tongues met in a messy battle, ready to prod at and devour each other.

“What are you?” He groaned against your lips.

“Your cumslut.” You whispered back.

He groaned again and bit down on your lower lip. “Fuck, yes, my dirty little cumslut. You want daddy’s cum, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.” You moaned out.

“Where do you want it, treasure? Dripping down your chin or deep inside you?”

Your eyes nearly rolled back. “Wherever you want.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss your neck. His kisses made you squirm and shudder, but it only ever got more and more intense. You felt so exposed and helpless, but also cared for.

He slowly moved his lips along your collarbone, before they brushed over the material that covered your breasts. He bit down on it and tore at until you felt the cold air hit your now exposed chest. He growled in response and didn’t hesitate to kiss and suck at the skin of your breast. Your hips involuntarily arched against his knee, which was still working on your core. You gasped breathlessly and rubbed yourself against him, desperate for more friction.

“Please-“

“Patience.”

He licked a wet path down your stomach, causing you to writhe and moan.

He wasn’t one for half things. When his lips reached your core, he wasn’t gentle or careful. No, his mouth enveloped your most sensitive spot and he began to work his tongue on you almost furiously. He sucked and licked, slid his tongue inside you and over your wet folds with an intensity that made you cry out. He then sucked on your clit in a way that was almost too much, but just right to make you cum so good that you felt like everything around you faded into nothingness. You felt warm and good, better than you had ever before. He took his time and made the moment last, riding out your release so intensely that you nearly had to pull away from him when it became to much. He smirked up at you and slowly came back up to face you. He was fighting for air, as were you.

“Oh God, that was-“

He pushed his tongue back inside your mouth, nearly fucking it. At the same time he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them torturously and pumping them against you in a way that brought you close yet again.

“P-Please, I- Ah!” Your release rolled over you again, hard and soft at the same time, with an intensity that was near painful. Your hips arched off the bed and you nearly screamed by the way you couldn’t find it in you to shut your mouth.

You gasped for air and expected him to finally pull back, but he didn’t. He kept curling his fingers against your sweet spot and the feeling quickly became too much. Your body was so sensitive and every new touch he added felt almost painful.

“Stop- Please- St-“ You cried out and pressed your hips against his hand involuntarily. Your release came crashing yet again, this time it was a feeling between heaven and hell. It still felt good, but it felt far too much.

“Please.” You gasped, before the feeling even was gone. “Please. I can’t take any more…”

He smirked against your lips and gently bit down on the lower one, before he slowly withdrew his hand.

“Good girl.”

You were still panting and gasping for air, when he gave your cheek a light slap. “Time for you to get to work.”

You moaned, and with some effort, fought your way to get up. Your hands were still tied, so you carefully slid down to your knees, kneeling in between his legs. He was still in his pants, so you looked up at him with innocent eyes and whispered: “Can you help me?”

He smirked again and gently cupped your cheek in his hand. “So obedient.”

He freed himself from his remaining clothes and you found yourself staring at him. Despite his age, he was so well-built and you were always desperate for every glimpse, every touch and every taste.

“Can I?” You breathed out.

He hummed and nodded. “Get to it.”

Your gaze wandered down, but he quickly caught your chin. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Your insides tingled with newfound desire. You forced yourself to keep looking at him, while your tongue slowly slid down his stomach. You saw the shift in demeanor. He was still dominant and calm, but his breathing sped up and something changed in his eyes.

“No teasing today.” He all but growled. “Let me feel that pretty mouth.”

You didn’t hesitate to obey. You parted your lips and ran your tongue over his tip. His head fell and back and he groaned. He then tangled his hand in your hair and guided your movements. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath, he just pushed you down and forced you to take him in. You were caught off-guard for a moment and felt yourself gag. He loosened his grip the tiniest bit and you began to move in the rhythm and pace that he set for you. He quickly went from calm and collected to a beast which rammed his thick cock into you and began to use your throat to his pleasure.

You felt yourself grow wet yet again as you moaned against his skin. Whenever he seemed to hit the back of your throat, he couldn’t control the low moans and groans that left his lips. Your movements became more and more frantic, determined to make him feel just as good as he had you.

Of course you wanted him to fuck you and he probably would in an hour or two. And again and again and again…But right then, you wanted nothing more than for him to shoot his hot load into your mouth and down your throat.

You sucked and flicked your tongue against him in a way that made his grip tighten more and more until he-

He went still, except for his cock, which was throbbing furiously inside you. He came with a low growl and he filled your mouth with his seed. He held your head in place, until he rode out his release. When he finally caught his breath back, he released a soft sigh and his grip on your hair became gentle again.

“Oh God, that was…” He sighed again. “Fuck.”

You slowly swallowed every drop of his cum, all the while never taking your eyes off him. His eyes instantly darkened again and he ran his thumb over your tongue.

“My good girl. My treasure.” He breathed out. “I’m so proud of you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. It became increasingly gentle and he slowly cupped your cheek in his hand.

“That was incredible.” He murmured. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He reached behind you and carefully freed your from his tie. Then he slowly rubbed his thumbs over your sore wrists.

“Does it hurt?” He murmured. You shook your head.

He pulled you up onto the bed again and gently laid you down beside him. He stared down at you for a long moment, before he finally rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a full-course meal right now.”

You chuckled and wrapped your arms around him, slowly running your hands down his back. “Isn’t that what you just gave me?”

He smirked and slowly opened his eyes. “You and that wicked mouth of yours.” He murmured.

Your smile softened when he pressed a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“Can I stay for the night?”

He would most likely let you. He never sent you away feeling used or unsatisfied or, God forbid, unwanted. But there was a part of you that needed to be reassured so badly. And he seemed to know.

He raised a brow and his own expression softened.

“Did you expect anything else?”

His coldness melted away whenever you were like this, entangled and breathless.

No matter how many times he said that it didn’t mean anything.

His eyes told a different story.

“No.” You whispered softly and rested your head on his chest. “No, of course not.”

[forcebewitht]

Hey, since book 6 has been out in English for a while, could we possibly see an Overblot!Idia x reader? I really love the idea of him dramatically taking off the mask he has on to kiss the reader.

A Dance With Death (Overblot!Idia Shroud x MC!Reader)

(Artwork by: Trashochist on Deviantart, X (Twitter), and Instagram)

(Possible TW: Slight yandere implications, stalking, manipulation, branding)

…The time had finally come. All of the trials and tribulations that you had gone through. The pain and strife that had overtaken you in just a few short days. It had all led up to this. The kidnapping of your beloved companion, Grim. The destruction of the Ramshackle dorm. The kidnapping of those who had Overblotted that you had helped through their trauma and developed bonds with overtime. The kidnapping of even the Headmaster of Night Raven College himself. The entirety of these events had thrown Night Raven College into turmoil.

And that was just what excited Idia even more. He had been watching curiously since the very first moment you had arrived at the institution. I mean- a student that didn’t have any magic? Yet arrived within a coffin here to a school of magical students? It was unheard of- and just that alone excited him. This excitement only grew once the Overblots started. His family and organization, S.T.Y.X., had been all over the research of Overblotting for years. But now, after all of this time, someone so close to him (in the school, that is-) was at the forefront of a handful of Overblots? It was far too perfect of a chance to pass up with that new Ramshackle prefect. The plan was sprung, footage and data gathered. He knew that they were going to come for their beloved friends- they were just so cool like that. Literally a superhero in disguise, an underdog that soon had risen to be one of the top dogs within the school. There was a lot of promise with them- no. Not a promise. This was the work of the Fates themselves, he believed. The Fates themselves had led someone to him. Someone powerful. Someone strong. Someone capable of protection. Someone…that could get him back what he had lost all of those years ago.

There they were. Descending down to the depths of Hell that he himself had wrought. They looked horrible- worn for wear, really. To think, these oh so powerful figures from Pomefiore, Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Scarabia, and Octavinelle, alongside the hero of the school themselves, would be bashed and broken already from mere secondary bosses? They wouldn’t stand a chance against this final boss. Idia grinned beneath the mask that he wore, his arms folding over themselves as the Blot around his figure billowed with every breath he took. He could feel the immeasurable power coursing through his veins- and the normally pessimistic male found himself growing rather cocky the more they walked forward. His golden gaze soon landed upon his hero- his knight in shining…well, uniform. He soon was speaking, his arms outstretched as the flames protruding from his figure began to blaze brighter- hotter.

“Bum bum buuummmm~! Our heroes have finally arrived to the final boss battle! But uh ohhhhhh~ looks like they didn’t level enough, now did they~?”

You found yourself gritting your teeth at Idia above. Already, Vil, Rook, and Epel were readying themselves at your side. The rest soon followed, the weapons they had gained during their prior fights with the Overblot Beasts being raised and ready to overwhelm Idia’s Blot. Idia began to cackle, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Uh ooohh~! Eheheheheheheeeee~! They found the special gear~! But that’s really not gonna do much, you guys! Totally on top of my game, y’know~? These HP and attack stats are through. The. ROOF!”

With his words, Idia’s Overblot Beast, Ortho, began to unleash a flurry of attacks upon you and your party, forcing all of them to scatter across the area. The Beast seemed to know precisely what to do- orders most likely given before this entire fiasco began. You began to find yourself being slowly but surely separated from everyone else thanks to the Beast’s targeted attacks. This separation was key- this was what Idia wanted. He watched as you eventually were cornered entirely, exactly where he wanted you. Once more, a grin spread out under his mask. You looked so cool and tough despite all of this neverending pressure, still shouting out commands for the others to work together to defend themselves, each other, or deflect the attacks his Beast was allowing itself to barrage them all with. He soared downwards until he was finally just before you. You had jumped back slightly upon noticing him approaching, but there truly was nothing that you could use at this time to defend yourself with. He leaned forward, his clawed hands now pressing themselves to either side of the wall beside your head.

“There you are~! The hero themselves~! The shining star of the hour- no, the entirety of Night Raven College~! This is our final stage, (Y/N)! Isn’t it thrilling~?”

“Idia, this is absolutely crazy! You are going to wind up killing us all with thi-”

A clawed finger pressed itself against your lips as he shifted, shushing you gently as he rolled his glowing amber eyes.

“Okay, listen- babe. (Y/N). Baby. Babycakes. Sweetheart. Sweetie pie. Wonder Student. I’m gonna stop you riiigghhtt there, actually- because I know. I know about the whole thing. But you’re gonna be my hero, you know~? You are going to save a life- just like you’ve been doing! So, it’s all good, ‘kay~?”

You began to attempt to protest, but you soon found yourself being swept into Idia’s arms and pulled about. The crazed Overblotted Idia now began to waltz with you despite all of the destruction around the both of you. He sighed blissfully, his eyes burning ablaze with a fiery passion- it was unnerving. He leaned forward once more, now beginning to hush into your ear through that glowing mask he wore.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment, (Y/N). The countless hours I have spent watching and studying your damn near every move…I know your exact schedule bit by bit, y’know, ehehehehee~ I mean, with you and your coolness, you never know when you’re gonna stop another Overblot, honestly. But that coolness that you have doesn’t matter down here- and y’know why~?”

Your eyes soon widened considerably as you felt Idia grab onto your arm. One of his clawed fingers now was set ablaze with a small, blue flame. His grip was tight- commanding in every sense of the word. The flame began to trace itself upon your flesh as he continued to speak- ignoring your cries and attempts to struggle away from him.

“I know everything about you. I have seen your struggles. Your pain. I mean, separated from your home, whatever friends and family you had before…and thrust into a world of magic without any magic yourself. You have been left in the cold by the Fates themselves to fend for yourself. You struggle simply to survive from day to day without any money here…you struggle to maintain your cool and calm composure and keep people like those Heartslabyul first years and the little guy in line…and you then have to deal with the rantings and ravings of spoiled brats like those that Overblotted and, despite wanting for it all to just end, have to buck yourself up instead and keep them from ending it all? It is just an endless cycle of pain, regret, and a loveless life that you have fallen into.”

The more Idia spoke and you felt that flame burning upon your arm, the more you found yourself getting lost into the swirling golden pools upon his sleek, pale, oddly handsome face that were his eyes. For the first time since you had arrived here…you actually genuinely felt seen. You felt heard. Oddly enough, from someone that you had truly rarely seen outside of his own room within the confines of the school itself. Your own gaze finally shifted down to your arm as his finger retracted. He had burned the insignia of his family’s company, S.T.Y.X., onto your flesh. He blew out the fire on his finger, now grinning once more wickedly beneath his mask as his clawed hands now seized you by the waist once more, pulling you into his deadly embrace.

“I know, I know. I know it hurts. All of that going on and absolutely nothing to ever truly be gained from it all…well, my Wonder Student…that’s gonna end for you right now. With what I just gave you…you are mine. And when you’re mine, you have a purpose. You will be protected, provided for. No longer shall you be within the confines of a cage and hidden away in the shadows- you shall be the bright and shining star in our tale- and properly get those monetary stats and all of that raised~!”

Idia’s hand whisked over his face- where that mask was nestled. The mask faded away, revealing his pearly white, razor sharp teeth. They glistened at you as it felt Death was grinning at you- which it essentially was. His royal blue lips curled upwards into a wicked grin as he tugged you even closer to himself, now leaning all of the way forward towards you.

“C’mon~”

He began to pull you with him once more, twisting and turning your body with himself. His clawed hands trailed up and down your figure within your shared dance of destruction, his thoughts split between what he would do with you now that you belonged to him…and that of his brother’s life that you soon would pull up from the depths of the Underworld for him. You all would be a family together- and that only seemed to excite him further as his motions grew swifter, yet sly. He soon had you dramatically dipped, and his lips captured yours in a warm, passionate kiss…thus beginning your true dance with death.

~End~

[nottivagos]

(Psst, read this!) Welcome Notti's "Not So Innocent" Notebook where I write some filth to make your Monday a little bit better <3 || 18+ mdni pls and ty

You and Mafia!Carlos Sainz have a messy kind of relationship. A tension that doesn't seem to dissipate as you both end up together, unable to keep your hands off one and other every time.

an: guys is my music inspo getting boring now because this is ANOTHER NOTEBOOK ENTRY inspired by a tiny lyric. anywho, the song is called "Sickly Sweet" by NewDad if you want to give it a listen!

You couldn’t do it again. Not now, not ever.

Strongly gripping onto your wine glass, you bit your tongue in irritation, deeply lost in your irked thoughts. How could you have been so careless? You’d told yourself over and over and even more over again that you wouldn’t be drawn into his wicked games. But here you were, standing around looking pretty, drawn to his estate like a moth to a flame.

Carlos Sainz was trouble. Big trouble, at that. He always had been. If he wasn’t trouble, he wouldn’t have acclaimed the reputation he did throughout Madrid. A dark shadow cast across the city, bringing Hell and suffering with it, crashing onto the innocent citizens like a wave.

Filthy businesses, the elites he’d been able to buy and bribe, large, wealthy empires built on crimson bloodshed that stained the pavements, people used as leverage and intel on the daily— the bitter reality churned with the burning alcohol in your stomach, the thought making you sick.

Maybe it was the thrill you clung onto. The fact that it wasn’t right, the knowledge that it never would be right morally, that kept making you crawl back hopelessly. The adrenaline of unleashing the beast inside of him, the sexual ferocity in his grip as he groped and touched every inch of your skin, the passion that coursed and shocked like electricity inside both of your bodies as you made messy love.

It’s not like it ended any differently. The finale was like clockwork, limbs tangled in twisted satin sheets, hands ever so gently intertwined, dried sweat and other human juices clinging onto your bare bodies as you bathed in the early morning sunlight— dishevelled, but content. Sexual bliss, or even a honeymoon period, perhaps as you crashed down from the high.

The feeling was too comfortable. It always was. It felt domesticated, too loving, too simple, as he pressed a soft kiss to the temple and muttered, “I love you, I’m sorry.” whilst you both stirred. Words and actions you’d felt and heard from the kingpin too many times before.

God, he was a walking juxtaposition. How the hell could a man so beautifully clean, fresh, neat and trimmed be so sickening to the stomach because of his occupation? His name? His status?

It was an intoxicating love affair. As if you both shared a sweet bite of each other, (in this instance, the sex), before the taste soured in your mouth, a bottomless pit of dread and regret pooling inside you, corrupting the one inkling of peace you’d both had together.

Messy was the only way to describe the ordeal. Maybe a good type of messy, (the type of messy that made you feel like a hormonal teenager experiencing sex for the first time– the type that makes your insides flip and turn fuzzy), because you were drawn deeper and deeper into his dark world of criminal boss madness.

Carlos himself wasn’t any better. To him, you were as addictive as a drug he desperately tried to quit, becoming love-drunk in your presence. Before he then inevitably fell into an obsessive spiral into getting you back. Not only in his arms, but in his bed, and fully in his life again.

Everything about you, in Carlos’s eyes anyways, was overwhelmingly magnetic. Soft curves and contours that complimented the sleazy designer dresses you wore like it was made solely for your body alone; plump, reddened lips that the sweetest of moans escaped from; pretty tits he could rub and pinch whenever he pleased; the wonderfully curved ass he cupped and slapped with ease; the richness of the colour of your hair, flowing graciously off of your shoulders…

It was a feeling and vivid memory he wanted to cling onto forever.

So that’s how you ended up here, dolled up and looking lavish on behalf of the Spaniard’s request, at one of his drab social events held at his estate. Gazes burnt holes into your form, men armed silently with guns and noticeably double your age, ogling dangerously for a second too long.

The air was suffocating. The clientele inside Sainz’s compound stunk of wealth, a fortune you yourself didn’t have. Lost in thought, you bit the inside of your cheek, the metallic bitterness simmering on your tongue.

“Thought I might’ve found you here, princesa,” a deep, thick accented voice spoke from the side of you, breaking your stream of consciousness. “Tense as always, I see,” the innocent tease made the man chuckle, despite your lack of amusement.

“Carlos,” you acknowledged, body burning but still looking ahead, before taking a brief sip from your glass.

“Do I not get the privilege of seeing your eyes?” he asked, before tutting disapprovingly. “It’s not polite to look away when someone’s speaking to you, nena,” he added, giving you a knowing glance.

The nicknames made your jaw tense and lock into place, the whites of your knuckles more visible as your body language tightened, posture stiffening. “Maybe you don’t deserve the privilege of seeing my face,” you bit back, voice spewing venom with each syllable.

He tutted again unamused by your witty remarks, arm coming to ghost over your shoulder, fingertips lazily brushing against your back. “That’s not very nice, is it?” he murmured lowly into your ear, words pooling thickly like honey. “Anyways, if you didn’t want to see me, then you wouldn’t be here.”

That comment wounded you even more. The tight coil of your wit nearly snapping as you couldn’t describe your emotion. Was it anger? Envy? Lust? The feeling unfathomable as you pressed the wine glass to your lips in response, drinking the rest of the liquid in one gulp, allowing the burning sensation to scorch your throat.

Tiny touches toyed with the flimsy straps of your dress, whilst you both looked forward, the silence heavy and palpable in the bustle of Carlos’s closest contacts and filthy assets who paraded the largely decorated room.

A faint flush burnt into your cheeks, gaze and tone dismissive, “I came for the free booze.”

“And now you’re a liar!” he exclaimed with amusement. His accent was like tar, low and gooey, as hot breath brushed against the shell of your ear, “We both know why you’re here. What's the point in lying, sweetheart?”

You bit the inside of your cheek again, nervous hands now playing with the hem of your skirt as Carlos continued to trail his own against your back, his motions creating soft, spontaneous patterns against the bare flesh.

“Can we go someplace quieter?” you blurted, eyes finally meeting his doe brown ones for the first time of the evening. “It’s stifling in here,” you muttered, a clammy palm rubbing against your arm slightly awkwardly.

Flashing his signature wolfish grin, he hummed contently. “That,” he began, the hand ghosting your back coming to snake around your waist, giving your hip a slight squeeze, “I can do, mi vida.”

Gazes burnt into you as other members of the party watched you leave the lavish hall with Carlos by your side. The winding corridors made the music seem distant, the melodies now distorted and humming faintly.

His eyes were hungry, you could sense that, as his spare hand came to grip the brass door handle in front of you, swinging the door open. “After you,” he motioned with such grace, stalking closely behind as you walked into the room.

Carlos Sainz’s office also reeked of wealth. The antique oak bookcases lining the walls, vintage leather chairs surrounding the polished wooden desk, his own portrait— hand painted with precision— staring down at you with that same authoritative glint in his animated eye.

“Is this more to your liking, darling?” His voice quickly broke you out of your drifting consciousness, a large hand coming to grip your wrist gently, before pressing your back into the edge of the desk in the middle of the room.

Briefly nodding, suddenly your shallow breathing mingled with his own steady breaths, the tension electric, dark eyes locking onto your wide ones.

“You don't know how badly I want you,” he mumbled, nose nuzzling your own as his hand slipped from your wrist to cupping your burning cheek. “How badly I need this,” his voice was breathy, the heat from his words dangerously fanning against your lips.

A gentle thumb brushed against the apple of your cheek, a crawling flush following in the calloused pad’s wake. Your own hand snaked around to his neck, “I want it too,” a whispered response followed as the slight pressure pushed his lips softly onto your own.

His smoky musk-like taste seeped into your mouth, as your lips magnetically intertwined, fighting for dominance. Breathing hitched, soft moans and groans echoed around the room when Carlos’s tongue dipped into your mouth. Frantic hands groping each other followed, tugging at any fabric they could grasp in your shared lustful frenzy.

Like a lone spark reacting with oxygen, the passion rekindled swiftly, the intensity of the flame rising as heat pooled to your core. Shared saliva mingled in your mouth, his tongue twisting and gliding over your own as his lips muffled your growing whimpers and moans. Fingers digging into your hips, lifting you onto the oak table with ease, kissing with the same passion as before.

Frantic fingers fumbled with his shirt’s buttons, before the fabric finally fell off of his back, your nails digging into his shoulders, muscles flexing in the shimmering moonlight. A breathy gasp escaped your lips as his own hungry fingertips found your flimsy straps again, pulling down your dress so it was hanging on your stomach, breasts spilling out gracefully.

His fingertips found your nipples, rolling the nubs into hardened, sensitive peaks as a whine escaped, silenced by another searing kiss. His hardening erection ground into your clothed cunt, the sensation burning your core, sending shocks of pleasure around your overheating body, his hands gripping your boobs in a lusty death grip.

“Carlos—” you whined breathlessly against his lips, hips bucking against his clothed cock like a bitch in heat. “Please…” you pleaded, puppy eyes meeting his darkened brown ones.

That small voice spoke volumes. His belt left his trousers, the soft clink heard as it dropped to the floor. Arms tangled around your half-naked body as his large palms left your breasts, pushing you against the cold oak, the sensation against your back tingling.

His pants slid down his legs, resting at his ankles as he allowed his hard length to bounce back as he revealed it from his boxers slowly, eye contact intense as he did so.

“Is this what you want?” a guttural, deep voice questioned as he gave the already throbbing shaft a few pumps, pre-cum angrily leaking from its tip. “Show me that you want it,” he challenged with a hungry growl.

Within an instant, your hands glided down to your burning cunt, fingertips hooking underneath your panties waistband, before pulling them down to your ankles as well.

Back arched as you dipped two fingers into your pulsing clit, spreading your pussy apart for him to see, juices leaking onto the desk below you, pooling as you panted.

“Please, Carlos,” you begged helplessly again, your bottom lip bouncing back from being caught in your teeth, chest rising and falling erratically with your overbearing need for him. “I need you.”

Carlos licked his lips at the sight of your leaking cunt, large hands coming to grip your thighs tightly, keeping them spread with ease.

He pointed the reddened tip at your folds, before thrusting deeply into your pussy in one sharp movement. A loud moan escaped your lips, hips bucking upwards to meet his controlled thrusts deep into your cunt.

Thumb trailed to your clit, adding extra stimulation as he twirled circles around it, allowing more moans to escape your lips uncontrollably. Eyes began to roll back in pleasure as your walls fluttered against Carlos’s cock, chasing your release relentlessly.

“Fuck, so good f’me, princesa,” he gruffly panted, gripping your thighs so tightly they started to bruise, thrusts deeper and harder as he chased his own release with gritted teeth. His mind was going fuzzy with the pleasure, the only sounds heard from inside the room being low groans and high pitched moans.

The coiled tightened in your stomach, the intensity of your orgasm reaching its peak as you cried out, hips moving with Carlos’s raging rhythm, walls fluttering against his cock, tightly milking him dry as your eyes went fully backwards.

You gasped, eyes widened as you rode out your high, followed with Carlos pushing himself deep inside of you, his cum shooting out of his length, your walls squeezing him dry as the ropes leaked out of your aching cunt.

Smiling whilst dazed, Carlos slipped his softening dick out of your pussy. You giggled, “thank you, Carlos,” you added with a cheeky grin, your combined juices leaking down your thigh onto the desk below.

He laughed a breathy laugh in return, lips lingering above your temple, before pressing a soft kiss there. “You're welcome, cariño,” he chuckled with a smirk, before straightening himself up, reaching for his boxers.

“You better get yourself cleaned, princesa. There's still a party happening to attend,” he hummed contently.

mafia carlos IM RIGHT HERE BABY. i don't care if your job is toxic and crazy as shit I'M RIGHT HERE. i'm going to lose the plot. - notti <3

[ironheart305]

So hitting the gym on a regular basis doesn’t mean you’re a bodybuilder. It keeps you healthy, makes us stronger and as Men gives us a place to blow off some aggression. There are so many benefits to exercise that have nothing to do with flexing on stage at a contest. Nothing but respect for brothers that have dedicated their lives to their bodybuilding goals but most of us will never reach that level of physical development. That’s fine…. Your goals in the gym are your own. Being consistent and making your body a priority in your life is a damn good thing.

And truth be told, you may not be the biggest guy in your gym, but showing up and doing the work makes you a tough gym bro…. You will find your brothers in the gym welcome you quickly into the Iron Brotherhood.

Unleash the Beast!

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Fic Present!!!

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays! While I am not posting it on AO3 until the whole fic is complete, I wanted to give you guys a festive gift, so please see below the cut for the first chapter of Heads Will Roll.

Siblings in Slaughter

1.

"When the wind blows from the East, expect the new and set the feast."

James Potter cleaned his dagger in the river when the deed was done.

His comrade-in-arms griped at him for it, but Sirius was right to complain. Neither he nor James were wielders of cheap steel, or the kind of workmanship which might deserve to be plunged into a river and shaken out to dry once removed. That particular dagger had been forged in the guild of the Hephaestans, who were the grandmasters of their trade. With an edge so sharp that it could cut iron and a blade imbibed with elven enchantments, it was entitled to the same attention that Sirius lavished upon his own weapons of a dry summer evening, when he would arch across his sword as if in prayer, applying oils and buffing indiscernible marks with the tender care of a parent who nurses their sickly child.

The more James relied upon rivers and lakes to cleanse his blade, the sooner he would find himself in need of another.

But they'd just slain a cockatrice, and an angry one at that.

The battle had worn on for what felt like an eternity and grew no easier once James had taken care of the beast's eyes to leave their way clear. Upon finding itself blinded, the sound it let out was bone-chilling, and it thrashed like hell unleashed, swiping viciously with its barbed tail and lunging wherever it heard sound. Its last earthly accomplishment, before Sirius lopped its galline head off with a clean swipe of his sword, was to gouge its rage into James's shoulder with a talon that was sharper than his wits.

The wound it left was not deep, and it would heal before the sun arose tomorrow, but his inertia had no immediate solution. The beast had taken a full day to track, and James was tired. Bone tired. Too tired to tend to the dagger, or his sword, or the silver tipped arrows that rustled in the quiver on his back. He made a shoddy attempt at wiping the mud from his boots and hauled himself atop his horse with Sirius's admonishments wafting over his head, too lethargic to properly hear them.

No doubt he'd repeat them tomorrow. He almost always did.

The ride back to Thorney Pass was a quick one, barely five miles, but sitting upright and awake felt like a struggle until they reached the inn, blood-stained but victorious, with a monster's head swinging from Sirius's saddle, and were treated to a hero's welcome by the small number of townsfolk who had remained there to wait—without much hope, perhaps—for their return.

"Bed," he mouthed to Sirius amidst the hubbub, and his brother nodded his understanding. It would be Sirius who collected their payment from the town elder and saw to it that the horses were settled for the night this time, while James retreated to their lodgings to rest. The inn was one of the nicer establishments in town, and their room a cosy space with two plush feather beds and a spacious copper bathtub, which the innkeeper—recently widowed by the cockatrice, whose head he would now mount upon his wall—was only too happy to have filled. Once alone, James divested himself of his weapons and clothing and sank into the steaming water with a grateful sigh, eager to scrub the stench of death from his body before turning in for the night.

When he awoke, what must have been hours later, the water he lay in was cold and he was shivering, while Sirius slept soundly in one of the beds, his slow, even breathing lending the room an air of peace that their occupation so rarely allowed them to enjoy.

He had cleaned and polished James's dagger and sword; they lay on the low wooden table beneath the window, next to a neatly-folded pile of clothes that James had earlier cast off and strewn haphazardly about the room.

In the moonlight they gleamed pristinely, vivid in their splendour, siblings in slaughter, alert like living things.

James needed, he reflected, to start taking better care of his weapons.

And himself.

He needed to take better care of himself.

*

"I've lined up another job for us."

"Another one?"

"In Upper Hangleton."

"The place with the library?"

"Yes, Upper Hangleton," Sirius repeated through a mouthful of blood sausage. He cleared his throat when he swallowed and ran his tongue along his top set of teeth, checking for imperfections. "About a day's ride from here."

The words were innocuous, even expected, but they curdled in the ear like sour milk.

The inn was bustling that morning, and while James would have liked to attribute that solely to the excellent breakfasts that the innkeeper had presented them with, he had lived this precise situation enough times to know that he and Sirius were the attraction of the hour. Word of the cockatrice's death would have spread overnight, as it always did, and the townsfolk were as curious as townsfolk always were, crowding the inn in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the mysterious, travelling heroes who had saved them from the beast who stalked their homes. The attention that surrounded their booth was palpable enough to run a blade through, and it was a tale as old as time itself after ten years on the road. The disbelief and uncertainty that greeted them at every new location would soon give way to grateful, ardent fawning, to cheers and gifts and victory feasts, even to fathers who offered their maiden daughters as brides, and saw not how they were monsters in a rather different sense. Each town to which they were summoned became a copy of the one that went before it, after a fashion. Only the beasts would vary.

James's mother had once warned them both that consistent adulation could ruin a man who wasn't prepared to nurture a healthy sense of shame, and while his younger self had paid her no mind, lapping up praise like praise alone could keep him breathing, the man that he had become felt as if those very same words were stitched into his soul.

He was tired.

Not in body. He was twenty-seven years old, in excellent physical condition, and a healthy sleeper.

But the rest…

"We can't take another job, we're going home," he reminded Sirius. This had been their agreement when they consented to take on the cockatrice.

"Yeah, I know," Sirius agreed, his demeanour unconcerned, "and Upper Hangleton is on the way."

"Give or take a detour of about thirty miles."

"What's thirty miles in the grand scheme of things?"

"In the grand scheme of things," James growled through his teeth, gripping his knife as he sawed through his breakfast with vigour, "you promised that we were going home after this job, and the job's done. Now is when we go home."

"We will go home. Mother and Father aren't shuffling off the mortal coil just yet, they can wait a little longer to see us."

"Maybe they can, but I can't. I'm bloody exhausted."

"The letter arrived this morning, while you were still asleep; they must have heard that we were here." From within an inner pocket of his aged leather overcoat, Sirius withdrew a shortened sheet of parchment and placed it in the centre of the table. "From the library's custodian, no less."

James spared the letter a brief glance and resumed his frustrated attack on his bacon, which was cooked so well it was almost burned black, resting on a slab of thick, warm bread and creamy butter which had been freshly churned—or so the innkeeper assured him—that very morning. Just how he liked it. "I don't want to see some silly library."

"A library that houses the largest and most diverse collection of books in the country is not some silly library," his brother coolly retorted, "and the letter—"

"I don't care about the letter."

"Just read it, alright?" Sirius slapped his palm down on the letter with such emphasis that their tankards rattled, and pushed it towards James. "Read it and then make up your mind."

There was very little arguing with Sirius when he got the bit between his teeth, and James could have stormed off, but his breakfast was the price he'd pay for his desertion, and this might have been the last good meal he'd get to enjoy for days. Not every inn they frequented served up food of such a high standard.

He picked up the letter with a hearty scoff and skimmed it, swiftly bypassing the usual pleasantries, the writer's apologies for having disturbed them, and his description of the town, until…

Hah.

He looked up from the letter and searched his brother's face for the punchline, incredulous.

None came.

"A hellbeast," he flatly read aloud, in case he had imagined such stupidity. "You think a hellbeast is on the prowl in Upper Hangleton?"

Sirius crossed his arms beneath his chest and smirked.

"Can't be," James insisted.

"Could be."

"It can't."

"You're no fun. What kind d'you reckon it is?" his brother asked, ignoring his scepticism completely. His eyes were alight with the kind of excitement that only an unknown, potentially undefeatable enemy could stir within him. "A Cerberus? A Cù-Sith?"

"Yeah, you're right, what would I know? Could even be a Black Shuck," James dryly suggested, more interested in his breakfast than in entertaining this nonsense. He put the letter down and pushed it back across the table without finishing it. "Or it could be an overdramatic murderer who disguises their kills as the act of one of the rarest monsters in existence."

"Yeah, it could." His smirk undiminished, Sirius tapped the bottom half of the letter with two fingers. "But there was a witness, so eat up and let's get moving, princess."

He leaned back in his seat and threw a wink at some of the women who were watching them from the bar and in whom, James knew, he couldn't have been less interested, because that was just the kind of shit-eating git he was. Sirius wasn't interested in anyone, but they flocked to him in their droves, entranced by his pale, pouty-lipped beauty, by his inscrutability, and by the fantasy of capturing the heart of a handsome monster hunter. The most that anyone could hope to get was a night of indulgence in his body before he coolly sent them on their way, alongside their disappointed hopes. He had no appetite for romance and little capacity for affection; he loved the job, loved their parents, and loved James best of all, but that was all he had room for.

No more, no less.

But it certainly would have suited James much better if Sirius could love the job a little bit less.

"I need a break," he helplessly pointed out. There was no victory to be found here. Sirius would get his way, as Sirius always did. "We both agreed that we needed a break."

"But this is a hellbeast."

"It probably isn't!"

"And what if it is?" Sirius challenged. "And what would Mother say if she knew we'd ignored the summons?"

Knowing well what his mother would say, and not stupid enough to fall into that trap, James fixed him with a flat stare and shoved a hunk of bacon into his mouth.

"One more job. Just one. Then we'll go home for a few months," his brother wheedled, utterly unconvincing in his attempt to look sympathetic, so James continued to stare and chew and stare, and Sirius held up his hands as if in surrender. "We will, I mean it this time."

It was a pointless endeavour. An imminently wasteful journey.

There was no hellbeast in Upper Hangleton. Couldn't be.

But if there was…

Well, fuck.

Because what if there was?

"One of these days, Sirius," he sighed, slumping over his breakfast, weary with defeat. "One of these days I swear I'll kill you."

"Stop moaning," Sirius chided, and flashed his gleaming teeth. "You know you love it really."

James's response was to grumble wordlessly into his eggs.

*

As much as James would have preferred to return to London and sleep for a complete lunar cycle, whenever he committed to a job, he committed to that job.

There was no hellbeast in Upper Hangleton.

Of this much he was certain.

There was a beast to contend with, however, and it had claimed several lives, and that was enough.

So here he was, in Upper Hangleton, a small East Anglian town contained almost entirely within the outer fringes of a thick, expansive forest named Corvid Copse; a town so sleepy it was practically comatose; a town that had nothing of note to boast of but a library of some renown, and where nothing much of note had ever happened until now.

Here he was.

Committed.

The promise of a delicious supper from the widowed innkeeper had kept them in Thorney Pass for longer than expected, so they rode through the night and reached their destination the next morning, stopping first at the famed library to meet the man who had summoned them.

James came to realise, when they arrived, that he had expected quite a lot of the library without ever consciously considering it—marble statues or intricate paintings, or a great domed ceiling, perhaps, something grandiose to mark its reputation—and the medieval battlement that housed it was certainly imposing, but once inside, they found themselves confronted with a library that was a library in the most macabre sense, a library with thick stone walls, stone floors, and no windows to speak of. The crenelles which had been notched into the walls centuries back allowed for only draughts and meagre threads of natural light to struggle through, so fireplaces and long, tapered candles were doing most of the heavy lifting, and glass-encased lanterns were provided to those who wished to explore among the shelves, or stay and read a while.

It was with a low whistle that Sirius took one of the lanterns and promptly wandered off, leaving James to talk to the custodian. Speaking with the public was the only part of the job that Sirius didn't relish with a reverence that inched close to worship, but James could coax a conversation out of a tree if it took his fancy, and played the role of interviewer gladly.

The man's name was Remus Lupin, a tall and rather slight fellow with a closely cropped beard and light brown hair that fell to his chin. He looked to be around James and Sirius's age, which seemed young for a head custodian, but people had been saying that about them both since they first took up the sword at seventeen, so James was of no mind to assume that his capabilities were lacking.

Lupin also shared his scepticism in regards to the creature.

"I thought it all a bit far-fetched, to be frank, but Mrs Abbott insisted that she knows what she saw," he disclosed, having invited James to take a seat at his desk near the entrance. "There hasn't been one confirmed sighting of a genuine hellbeast in England in centuries, from what I could uncover, so at first I thought it more likely to be an Acromantula, perhaps even an Erymanthian boar, although goodness knows how one of those could have found its way to a place like this."

"You seem to know your monsters," James remarked, impressed.

"Oh, I don't particularly, this is all a result of some cursory research, after the first few attacks," admitted Lupin, shuffling through some papers that were littered across his desk. "Of course, that was when I assumed that the attacks would be more frequent, but as they are…" His fingers stilled over a sheet of parchment, upon which several notes had been written in a neat and precise hand, and he let out a short, sheepish breath of laughter. "My apologies, I forget who I'm talking to. You likely need my opinion on this matter about as much as I need yours on antique book restoration."

James grinned. "Is there much profit in antique book restoration?"

"I profit in spirit, if only that counted."

"If I knew how you could profit financially, I might have an opinion," James returned, with a laugh of his own. It was a shame that Sirius had wandered off; this bloke was sharp. "But I won't take offence if you want to share yours."

"That's quite alright, I shall leave the hypothesising to you, but I have written down the facts as I was given them, if that might prove useful." Lupin lifted his sheet of notes. "Unfortunately, there have been two more attacks in the time since I first wrote."

James reached out for the sheet of parchment and Lupin handed it over. "In one night?"

"One last night, another the night before, which makes for three consecutive attacks, the same as last time."

With a quick nod to indicate that he was listening, James read through Lupin's list of victims, leaning close to a flickering candle to better see.

First attack - Mr Clive and Mrs Elsie Bishop - night of May 4th or morning of May 5th - bodies discovered at Nethermere on the morning of May 5th

Second attack - Mr Aethelred Green - night of May 5th or morning of May 6th - body discovered at Nethermere on the afternoon of May 6th

Third attack - Master Alfred Nott - early morning of May 7th - attacked in the rose garden of Nott House, witnessed by Miss Margaret Nott from her bedroom window - the distance between the window and the rose garden is approximately 120 yards and the attack was witnessed in darkness - Miss Nott described the creature as dark and gigantic - body was left in the rose garden

Fourth attack - Mr Richard Abbott - night of June 3rd - taken by the beast while returning from the Old George, yards from his home on Thackery Lane, witnessed by Mrs Anne Abbott from the front door - witness described the creature as enormous and dark with sharp claws and glowing red eyes, claims that it was speaking in demonic tongues - creature used its mouth to drag the victim away as he struggled - body located at Nethermere on the morning of June 4th

Fifth attack - Miss Winifred Calvert - night of June 4th or early morning of June 5th - body discovered on southern forest trail to Nethermere on the morning of June 5th

Sixth attack - Mr Archie Faircroft - night of June 5th or early morning of

James looked up at Lupin, who was watching him closely. "This one is unfinished?"

"I was updating it as you arrived," he said, "but there wasn't anything new to report. It seems that every victim was taken whilst outdoors, despite the curfew we've enacted, because there were no signs of struggle in any of their homes, and the body was found at Nethermere like the majority of the others, in much the same state as the rest."

"And what state was that precisely?"

"Ripped apart." Lupin's voice was impassive, but one hand was resting sideways on his desk, and the fingers that curled tightly into his palm told a different story. Whatever he may have been feeling, he saw the importance of a dispassionate retelling of facts. Too often, James and Sirius were confronted with witnesses on the verge of hysteria, witnesses who misremembered and exaggerated their experiences. That may still have happened with Miss Nott and Mrs Abbott, but Lupin had at least attempted to condense them into a form that made logical sense. "Limbs missing. Chunks torn from flesh. Bloodless," he added, with a slight, barely perceptible shudder. "Completely bloodless."

"Can I grab that quill?"

"Go ahead."

James, who never seemed to have a quill on him, reached over the desk, plucked Lupin's from its inkpot, gave it a quick shake and scribbled some fresh notes in his own, untidy scrawl. Dismembered. Drained. Consumed. "And Nethermere is?"

"The lake. It's a popular beauty spot with the locals for fishing, bathing, picnicking and such—at least it was—located about a mile from here if you take the western forest trail."

"Does the southern trail also lead to the lake?"

"It does, although it takes a little longer."

"And Nott House." Common kill site. Den? Ritualistic? "Is that close to Nethermere?"

"Nott House is an estate in itself," Lupin explained. "The front of the house overlooks the lake, but from the opposite bank. Alfred was…" His jaw twitched, then tightened resolutely, and he directed his gaze towards something to the left of James's shoulder. "His death was a particular shame. He was only fifteen years old, you see. Had a sweetheart in town, Jenny Smith, and we think he may have been sneaking out to see her, which would explain why he was in the rose garden. He often brought her flowers."

"Are you close with the family?"

"In a sense," he said quietly. His efforts to curb his emotions concerning the child's murder seemed to have won out, but barely. "I was his tutor for a time, and the family trusts me—more than they trust the parish constabulary, in any case. The Notts are responsible for paying your fare, in fact. The constabulary is under the impression that it can get to the bottom of the matter without outside interference, but there isn't much confidence in their ability to do so, and the Notts want to know what killed their son."

James cast his mind back over his and Sirius's overnight ride to Upper Hangleton, and to the way the star-dotted, inky black sky had looked when Sirius pointed out Canis Major, as he was frequently wont to do.

He wrote one final note at the bottom of the page.

"So they asked you to hire us?" he asked Lupin.

"When the attacks began again and it became clear that the constabulary were out of their depth, yes, they'd learned that you were nearby and asked me to write, along with several other neighbours and friends."

"Right," said James, scrunching his nose to one side. "You seem to have a lot of people relying on you considering, well…" He gestured across the desk. "Unless you're a centuries-old alchemist with the secret to eternal youth, surely you're a bit young for all of that?"

Lupin's mouth twitched like he wanted to smile. "I had my twenty-seventh birthday in the spring."

"When exactly?"

"March."

"I had my twenty-seventh birthday in March."

Lupin pointed to his own chest. "The 10th. You?"

"The 27th," James returned, and they exchanged upwards nods in the way that people often did when acknowledging that common ground had been discovered, no matter how inconsequential the similarity might have been. "Mind you, I don't doubt your capability at all, but is it not a bit unusual for a man our age to perform duties that a town elder would usually take on?"

"Well, my father was the town elder for fifteen years," said Lupin, "and very popular, but he passed away in the autumn and afterwards it seemed to fall to me to shoulder his burdens, somehow."

"I see."

"They still haven't appointed another elder, so it seems that the matter is settled," Lupin continued, candlelight dancing across his freckled face, "though I'm sure that if they did, I'd miss the qualifying mark by a solid thirty years."

"The only reward for competence is more work," quoted James.

"I've never heard it put that way before, but you're quite right."

"Can't take credit for that nugget of wisdom; it's something my mother always says. I'm quite daft, really."

"Monster hunting expertise aside?"

"That aside, yeah. My genius is confined to killing manticores and ghouls." He patted the scabbard that hung from his belt. Contained within was his sword, buffed and polished with a devotion and expertise that James did not deserve any credit for. "We'll get rid of that problem for you easily enough, by the by. The last kill site hasn't been cleaned up yet, has it?"

Lupin's gaze lingered on the sword's pommel for a few moments, then he shook his head.

"No," he said. "The constabulary sent volunteers to clean during the first spate of attacks but the Notts have exerted their considerable influence to prevent that from happening, so you'll find the way clear for an examination."

"Perfect. We'll make our way there once my brother returns from his travels."

"Quite right," said Lupin tightly, his attention falling to the sword pommel once again. "I'm sorry to ask, but…is that Haphaestan-forged?"

He did look sorry about it, sorry and uncomfortable to have dared to ask a simple question, which was really quite funny, but James didn't want to insult his hospitality by laughing at him.

He bent forwards and placed the quill back into the inkpot instead. "My sword?"

"If that was rude, I apologise, I just—"

"Nah, it's not. Their guild in Tower Hamlets handles all of our weapons, actually. Well spotted."

"Ah," said Lupin on a breath. Possibly a relieved breath. "I thought I recognised the maker's mark."

"They're the best around."

"So I've heard. And is—is the blade inlaid with silver?"

"See for yourself, if you want," he said, rising to his feet to withdraw the weapon from its scabbard and place it lengthways on the desk.

He would not have done it if his new acquaintance hadn't seemed such a decent sort, and probably shouldn't have done it regardless—Sirius certainly would have told him off for it, were he not neck deep in dusty tomes in an attempt to escape human contact—but it felt like the right decision, and the immediate, almost childlike excitement that sprang up in Lupin's eyes from the moment the blade tasted air and he sprang to his own feet, leaning forwards to bring his face closer to the sword, his hands braced on either end of the desk, felt gratifying in the same way it was gratifying whenever James made his brother laugh so hard he spurted ale out of his nose.

More gratifying than killing something with it, in any case.

"It's a fine weapon," Lupin breathed, openly drinking in the sight of it. "Excellent craftsmanship. Damascened in silver, yes?"

James nodded. "Some of master Ollivander's finest work, that."

"What's the story behind the scene depicted?"

"No idea," James admitted, staring down at the central panels on the blade, which depicted a stag and doe together amongst the woodlands. "Ollivander doesn't take suggestions, he crafts a sword that 'best befits you' and won't tell you why."

"And it handles well? Good balance?"

"It handles beautifully." A rather reckless thought occurred to him. "D'you want to swing it at something?"

For a moment, Lupin looked up at James as if all his birthdays had come at once, but there was an ominous creak, and suddenly the library's entrance hall was bathed in brilliant sunshine. Someone had thrown the door open on the perpetual twilight which seemed to exist within this odd building, someone who snapped the custodian's spine into a ramrod straight position in an instant, as if the very desk he was leaning over had spontaneously burst into flame.

"Miss Booth," he muttered faintly, looking rather as if his face had burst into flame as well.

Ah.

The glance James tossed over his shoulder was rather pointless, as the sunlight made it impossible to make out much beyond the visitor's silhouette, but he didn't need to see her properly to know that she would be pretty. For most living, breathing mortals, there was no better distraction from an item of importance than that of a pretty face, though Sirius would claim otherwise and James had learned to form an immunity against silly romantic notions years ago. This Miss Booth proved his theory right within seconds by advancing upon the desk as the door creaked shut with a lilting, "morning, Remus," and a bust swathed tightly in a cunning yellow bodice, her dark hair falling to her waist and catching the candlelight like a waterfall of silk.

She was, as expected, very pretty.

And as for the custodian, he was fortunate that his blush was shielded by the return of semi-darkness, but the sword was quite forgotten.

"Good morning," he managed to return without a stammer. "What a pl—what a surprise to see you back so soon."

Miss Booth slipped a book—The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling—from beneath her arm and placed it on the desk. If she was taken aback to see a sword there, it did not show in her face.

"Oh, I know," she sighed her agreement, "but Mama simply couldn't put it down. I think it's these monsters that have been prowling about, you know? She can't sleep a wink for worrying, and when she can't sleep, she reads. Voraciously."

All of this she said without a whit of concern in her tone, as if her mother's panic was more ridiculous than it was relatable. Either she was naive enough to think she had nothing to fear from a creature that had already murdered seven others, or she was a seasoned monster killer herself, and she certainly wasn't that. James would have known her if she was.

"She'll rest easier soon, with any luck." Lupin gestured to James. "Our monster hunters have arrived."

James nodded at Miss Booth, whose coolly appraising eyes swept over his entire person before she smiled politely.

"Is there more than one of you?" she asked him.

He gestured towards the endless rows of dark and shadowy bookshelves in response. "He's looking at books."

"Well, you're both fortunate to have Remus as your guide to Upper Hangleton," she gushed, turning a much warmer, far more genuine smile on Lupin. Perhaps his obvious affections were not entirely unreturned. "He certainly made Mama and I feel very welcome indeed."

"You're a newcomer too?"

"Not so much a newcomer now," said Lupin quickly. "I don't think?"

"Mama and I moved here in March," she explained to James without looking at him, holding Lupin's gaze throughout. "We took that lovely old cottage by the wishing well at the end of Baker's Lane, though it was left in such a state that we've had quite a time fixing it up, but we're feeling quite at home now, and Mama loves the library, of course."

Lupin nodded along to every word she said. His whole body was as rigid as a board. "Does she want another book?"

"She would like another by the same author, if he wrote any?"

"He did, he did." He spared a brief glance at the scramble of papers on his desk and made a hasty attempt to sweep some of them into a neat pile, which must have been a hard job, given that he could hardly take his eyes off the woman in yellow. "I almost—I should have put it aside for you, really, but I didn't expect you for another few days, so I'll just fetch it now."

"Oh, no, I'm sure I can find it!"

Lupin stopped gathering his papers and held up a placatory hand. "No, please, I know precisely where it is, I'll be back in a tick."

"Only if you're sure?"

"I'm certain."

Miss Booth cocked her head to one side, practically preening. "You are such a darling, Remus."

With a couple more nods, some blustery words and an awkward attempt to move away from his chair without catching his foot behind the leg of the desk, or something equally disastrous, Lupin grabbed hold of a lantern and retreated in the same direction that Sirius had gone earlier.

"If you see my brother skulking around," James called after him, "tell him to get his arse back here, would you?"

The custodian waved a hand to indicate that he had heard this instruction, then he turned behind a bookcase and vanished into the dark. This left James alone with Miss Booth, who rocked a little on her heels and hummed Bessy Bell and Mary Gray under her breath, evidently quite at ease, so he picked up his sword and sheathed it. If Lupin couldn't fetch Sirius, James would sniff him out himself. It was high time for them to get going and inspect the murder site, which would potentially confirm if James's current suspicions were true.

"You're very handsome," said Miss Booth all of a sudden.

James stared at her.

She stared back in the same serene, appraising way in which she had first looked at him—not cold, but not particularly warm either—as if he were an antique chalice that needed to be valued. It was an observation, not a flirtation, and James had been told that he was handsome by young women quite a few times in his life, but never with what seemed to be so evident a design to gain absolutely nothing from the interaction.

"Er," he said. "Thank you?"

"Of course, a monster hunter really should be handsome, don't you think?" she pondered aloud, ostensibly to herself, toying with a pendant that hung from a thin silver chain around her slender neck. "There's a certain romance that lends itself to the profession—from the outside looking in, at least. I imagine the reality of the job is quite a lot of pissing in bushes and lurking around in swamps, no?"

If he weren't so used to the various shocks and surprises that the job she was describing entailed, James might have done a double take.

Young ladies—or at least, the young ladies he had met—did not talk to strangers about things like pissing in bushes.

"Rescuing pretty damsels in distress must be the upside to it all, however," she continued without waiting for an answer. "Are you fond of helpless maidens? I imagine there are quite a few of those here in town, should you wish to indulge your desires."

Amusement was rolling into her voice like an oncoming wave, her lips picking up slightly at the corners to form the barest suggestion of a smirk, as though she and he both were in on a joke together. Or as though she took pleasure in making others uncomfortable. James certainly didn't feel at ease with this sudden and familiar line of questioning.

"Not really my type," he muttered.

She barely blinked an eyelash. "Helpless gents, then?"

"I like maidens just fine," he stonily responded. What business was it of hers? Furthermore, why was he answering her questions? "It's the helpless part that doesn't really appeal."

Women who were in need of rescuing from every minor setback (or, as he occasionally encountered, women who pretended to be in need of rescuing) were considered quite a treat amongst many who took up the sword, but they'd never appealed to James because he'd never been given the chance to find them appealing. There had never and would never be a greater, more accomplished monster hunter than his mother, Euphemia, who even in her retirement was famous and revered, and she had trained him in her trade since he was old enough to walk. As a mother, James adored her, as a hunter, he strove for her approval, and as a woman, he admired her far too much to have ever sought out the opposite for himself. There was nothing to despise or disrespect about a girl who did not share his mother's strength and self-reliance, but the ones he'd fancied in his youth were never helpless. His mother was not helpless.

Maitane certainly hadn't been helpless.

Not until the end.

"That's very reassuring," came Miss Booth's enigmatic response, her necklace twinkling in the candlelight as she twisted it back and forth. "And here's Remus! That was quick!"

Her demeanour changed instantly as Lupin jogged back to the desk with a vellum-bound book clasped in his hand, her sly amusement melting away in favour of a warm, almost adoring smile, and with such ease that it set James's instincts to prickling. Something about this woman wasn't quite right, but it wasn't his job to worry over why people acted the way they did, it was his job to dispose of monsters.

Which he needed to hop to, once Sirius reappeared.

"You were so kind to get this for me, thank you," she cooed at the custodian, who pressed the book into her outstretched fingers a little breathlessly, as if he had run to fetch it.

"Not a problem at all. Your brother is choosing some books to borrow," he added for James's benefit as he set his lantern down, "and then he'll be out."

James harrumphed between his teeth. "Trust him to worry about books when we have a mass murdering monster to kill."

"More than one monster now, I suppose," Miss Booth airily remarked.

Both men stared at her.

"Well, didn't you hear?" She clutched the book to her stomach and blinked at Lupin with wide, innocent eyes when he shook his head. "Mr Pettigrew's been insisting that he saw a demon in the forest."

Lupin's brows drew together above the centre of his nose. "Peter's back?"

Miss Booth nodded. "He got back yesterday. Apparently he fancied a stroll to the lake and saw a demon performing some sort of sacrificial ritual on Miss Calvert's remains on his way there, so he ran the whole way back to his house."

"When did you hear this?"

"In the post office, not fifteen minutes ago. He's telling anyone who'll listen."

"I didn't—Peter is a friend, but he's been in York for at least six weeks because his mother was gravely ill," said Lupin to James, looking stricken. "I didn't know her address or I'd have written to warn him. I had no idea that he was coming home so soon."

James narrowed his eyes on Lupin's face. "He's not the type to hear of a beast on the prowl and let his imagination run away with him, is he?"

He could have asked if Lupin's friend was the type who made up lies for attention, because that was what he really wanted to know, but that kind of honest questioning generally didn't go down well with even the most helpful witnesses, particularly where their friends and loved ones were concerned.

A demon, of all things.

There was no demon in Upper Hangleton, just as there was no hellbeast. That didn't mean that Mr Pettigrew had not seen something else, but James was not particularly in the mood to waste his own time if all the man had seen was a nosy villager with an interest in grisly murder scenes.

But Lupin merely shook his head. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

Bugger.

"And he's in the post office now?" asked James, addressing Miss Booth this time.

She shrugged. Not even a trace of her earlier, burgeoning smugness remained in her attractive, olive-skinned face, nor was there so much as a whisper of worry. Apparently, demons and monsters both were no match for this peculiar woman and her teasing sense of humour. "I imagine he's left by now, but he mentioned to the postie that he was heading right home."

Lupin snatched his quill from the inkpot and turned over a sheet of parchment that was covered in notes of some kind. "Peter lives on Kings Road, about a quarter mile east of here," he said, sketching out a crude map of the area, hunching over the desk as his hand flew across the back of the parchment. "If you cross the bridge near the post office and head south, his is the house with the hawthorn tree in the garden."

After a moment or two he straightened up, folded the parchment in half and handed it to James, who took it from him and tucked it into his belt.

"My brother and I will talk to Mr Pettigrew before we examine the kill site, and we'll report back to you as soon as we can," he promised the custodian. "In fact, I should go and find him now, or else we won't see him again before daylight."

Lupin gestured for him to take up the lantern he'd laid down. "Good luck, and thank you for taking on the case."

"My pleasure." He picked up the lantern and nodded his polite farewell at the woman. "Mr Lupin. Miss Booth."

Miss Booth dipped into a neat little curtsey. "James."

He turned away and headed into the dark.

[djevelbl]

Same train of thought, slightly different track — if I made a list of all my fictional crushes (criteria for WHAT makes a blorbo a fictional crush yet to be determined. probably whether or not I read x readers of the guy) there'd be certain trends happening that I'd laugh about just to not have a visit with my therapist--

GOD the things I'd do to make certain characters real so I had a shot at dating them,,,,

[tricksh0t]

★ el intocable

☾ sean diaz x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ sean with the black eye 🤤 btw no elaborate intro cause i could't think of one

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2,369 words

cw: anal, riding, no sub and dom dynamics rlly, banter -> fluff at the end: daniel thinks of sean as a dad, angsty teen

Sean pushes you backwards, and you land on his bed. The springs whine under your weight and the pallets he uses as a bedframe shift more, making the center of the mattress sink just that little bit more.

You can only laugh and ready yourself for the man that crawls his way on top of you.

"Bestia." You breathe out, grasping his hips as he settles on top of you. [Beast. (An exclamation)]

He takes a position of control on top of you, that black eye imposing. His reputation makes him all the more dangerous, "el Intocable": an honest repairman who just wants to live, but with a weapon, his bloodhound, who'll make sure of that, who he's not afraid to unleash. [the untouchable]

He smirks, flashing his canines, but his useless canines and the scar on his cheek warping with the dimpling of his face make his smile all the lovelier.

He's still a boss, past his niceties, and perched on top of you, you are truly under his mercy.

"So?" Sean fixes your hands, hooking them behind his back, wrapped around your waist. "¿Qué vas a hacer con el jefe on your lap?" [What are you going to do with the boss on your lap?]

You sure are lucky to be the one guy around town who speaks English.

"Mis intenciones..." You say, rubbing your thumbs over his clothes back, "no creo que las entiendas." [My intentions...I don't think you'd understand them.]

"¿Me subestimas?" Sean raises a brow, pressing down against your chest, keeping you down. [You underestimate me?]

You press a hand against his, bring it up to your lips and kiss. Sean rolls his eye, in turn. "No, jamás. ¿Pero sin tu perro guardian, quién eres?" [No, never. But without your guarding dog, who are you?]

"Daniel is not a dog." He narrows his eyes at you, but he's really not that peeved, you're sure.

You trust him not to be, anyway, as you flip the two of you over. Sean goes down without a fight, his smile rebirthed wider, his legs wrapped around your waist.

"No." You agree, leaning down to kiss his neck. Sean moans, dragged out and low, an ohh you will be dreaming about for days to come. "No, he is not."

"Pero aún, tú, jefe, solito eres un hombre común. Con un gran," You begin kissing down his neck, over the skin exposed by his half-unbuttoned shirt he'd used to bait and reel you in, "gran arsenal de herramientas tan útiles como son peligrosas, que hoy tampoco tienes." [But still, you, boss, are a common man alone. With a big, big arsenal of tools as useful as they are dangerous, which you don't have today either.]

"I'm not afraid of using my fists." Sean declares, but he doesn't anyway. His hand, instead, tangles in your hair.

"I'm sure you're not." You agree, sitting up to press yourself against his ass. "But would you try it?"

Sean scoots up and you, forward until he is perched atop the pillows and you see eye to eye. Despite this new equivalence, no, no he would not.

With you on top of him, you're just like another car he's used to be underneath of.

With no retort to think of, Sean breathes out a "Ya callate." and pulls you in. [Shut up already.]

You kiss. It's hot and needy and yet extremely meticulous. Your tongue licks against his one moment, then the next your lips meet in a dance, each second one of harmony and reciprocation.

You grind into him, making him let out a moan which you swallow gratefully.

You are sure glad you can touch Sean Diaz, el Intocable, because he is a delight to kiss, to touch, and to take.

You're so glad, your clothes even seem to fly off.

Of course, Sean is the culprit, but you're all too happy to tear his off as well. Buttons fly off too, but el jefe is more of a t-shirt guy anyway.

Sean can barely get your pant buttons off before you're grinding into him once more. Your tight jeans leave nothing to the imagination, and he delights in pressing his ankles into your beefy asscheeks, though he'll say he has another purpose.

"Hey!" You laugh, miraculously finding willpower to halt your kiss.

"Apúrate." Sean commands, furiously pushing down your tight jeans. They're eye candy in a literal sense, sticking to your skin like a vice. He had liked them earlier, but now? [Hurry up.]

You laugh, at his struggle, at how he stops trying the moment he can pull your boxers down.

You do the same for him, and Sean sighs like a weight has been lifted off his cock. "¿Todo bien, jefe?" [All good, boss?]

"Todo bien." Sean laughs. He shifts, throwing back his legs to expose his hole to you. "¿Y tu?" [All good. And you?]

"Peachy." The way you lick your lips makes Sean's chest burn with desire.

He tosses you a bottle of lube from underneath the pallets, a spot you haven't memorized yet. You catch it and wiggles your eyebrows at him. He rolls his eyes.

"Impressive."

"Gracias."

Sarcasm is cut out when you press a finger into him. Sean sighs out, threading his fingers through your hair again.

El Intocable. You lean in and take his lips in yours again. Tocado. Jaja, suena como un puto juego de la queda. [The Untouchable. Touched. Haha, sounds like a fucking game of tag.]

Sean's not untouchable, just troubled, discrete, distrustful. With what he's told you of his past, it's okay that he is.

Really, you're just glad he let his walls down enough for you. Enough for him to let his guard down, enough for him to fall in love, enough for you to press three fingers into him without complaint.

"Ay mierda." Sean winces. [Oh, shit.]

Or maybe with some complaint.

"Estas–?" [Are you–?]

"Don't ask me if I'm okay." His hand slides from your hair to your cheek. He takes in your face, taking in the amusement in your smile and your raised eyebrows. "Okay, nevermind, asshole."

"¿Qué? I was really going to ask you if you were okay." You snickered. [What?]

"Yeah, and I don't need supernatural empathy to know that you weren't really concerned."

"Snarky." You mutter like a curse under your breath, poking his prostate just to hear him whimper out and come back at him.

It's the shock that makes him yelp. "Hijo de puta!" [Son of a bitch.]

You don't need supernatural sight to see the way his toes curled, but you're better than that. You don't say it.

"Oh, shut up." He says anyway.

And you do, willingly, if only to kiss him.

Sean takes that opportunity, though, wrapping his leg around you and pulling some kind of wrestler move you weren't aware he knew how to do to surmount your body. He sits on top of you now, like he had earlier, a triumphant smirk on his face as if he's summited Everest itself.

"Sean."

He wants you in him first before replying, if only to make you a fool. He slides down onto your cock well, easily—not his first, not his last.

"Yeah?"

You should curse him, for his teasing smirk, for his amusement at your expense; but you don't.

You only laugh, grasping his hips.

"¿De qué te ries?" Sean rolls his hips. He's good, and he knows it. He wants to have control over you, and you know it. [What are you laughing at?]

You can't let him, but fuck is his movement addicting. Mesmerizing to the eye and the cock. "Nothing, just...you know."

Sean raises a brow. "I know?"

He leans down, like a cat, stretching his body out over you and yet still keeping his spot atop you. His chest doesn't touch yours.

Sean may look scrawny, but he's a mechanic, used to doing the heavy lifting and getting down and dirty. This is light work for him.

That's what makes it so hot. The way he's fucking himself on your cock, the way he likes it and he's not afraid to show it, because you can feel him clench around you.

"You know." You begin, staring into his mismatched eyes. "Hot, handsome, bonito."

"You're certainly enjoying yourself." Sean's lips ghost over yours, just barely giving you anything, before he pulls back and puts more work into it. He puts his hands on your grease-stained pants for leverage.

With a sudden urge to hold him, you trail your hand up his body, and he watches it. He watches it follow his happy trail, draw a circle around his belly button, and trace up the rolls of his torso and in between his pecs. It settles on one side of his jaw, and he bites playfully at it.

"It's easy to enjoy myself, contigo." [with you.]

Sean laughs. "Sap."

He thinks you're compliant, and it excites him. Finally, he's got you wrapped around his little finger. He stares down at you, black eye intense, brown eye fixed, but both amused.

He thinks this game is over, that you're content with him riding you.

You can't deny he feels good. You can't deny the pleasure-shock feeling that makes you feel like you're swimming in air, but you can say that it'd be a lot more fun with a fight.

You sit up a little, then more, until you're face to face with him. Then your lips are on his neck, distracting, just like he'd done for you, once.

Except you have the grace of letting him enjoy it for more than a second. You kiss his neck, open-mouthed and wet, and he moans breathily.

He wraps his arms around your neck, breathes quickening into a pant. Perfect.

When you push him down, in a panic, his legs wrap around you too. "Babe?"

It's your turn to grin down at him now. "¿Sí?"

He looks an utter mess on this other end of the bed, no pillow to support his head, shock written on his face; and you love that you're the cause of it.

"Agh, perro que eres." Sean groans. [Agh, you dog.]

That was an emotional groan. The one you pull from his lips when you start thrusting into him? That one's from pleasure.

"¿Perro que soy? ¿Se lo dices al hombre que te jode?" You hum, to which he rolls his eyes. [Dog? You're saying that to the man that fucks you?]

"Callate." Sean says, for the second time today. [Shut up.]

You're too busy riding the high of surmounting him to care, that and the way he feels.

This is more fun, to have control, to be the one making him feel good. It's more becoming of him anyway, to be a pillow princess. El jefe mafioso solo da los ordenes, no? [The mafia boss only gives orders, right?]

When his eyes close, you know he concedes; but he meets your thrusts anyway with a movement of his own, too prideful not to.

"Ay, baby." Sean sighs when you begin kissing his neck again.

It isn't too much, it's just right, how you fuck into him: not fast and senseless like feral man in heat, but slow and steady and fully.

It's constant, right into him, right into his sweet spot. He tightens his legs around you.

His Spanish slips away as Sean succumbs to the comfort of his first language. "It's so good, baby."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, oh fuck." He moans, hand tangling in your hair. His nails dig slightly into your scalp with a painful scratch, but it isn't much to complain about.

It only shows you he's lost in his pleasure.

He laughs, suddenly, trying to make fun of you. "You fuck like you're in heat."

"¿Qué quieres decir con eso?" You raise a brow, but Sean just keeps laughing. [What do you mean by that?]

"Nothing...just, you know."

You've met the Wolf. Of course you have. But that doesn't make his glare any less harsh.

He's no dog, but he's no wolf, either, just an overprotective little brother. He's special, sure; got supernatural powers he doesn't flaunt–Sean pointedly told you anymore–but doesn't hide them either.

You have a feeling the kid doesn't like you. It's probably because Sean is the only thing Daniel has and, in his eyes, you're "stealing" Sean away from him.

Sean laughs at something you just said, bumping his hip into yours in retaliation and making you stumble.

You laugh too, and knock him back in retaliation when you slide back into place by the faucet, cleaning dishes with him.

It's domestic, making each other laugh over little things, washing dishes for three.

Eventually, you're drying up the dishes with a towel, handing them over to Sean to put back in place.

You think it a comfortable silence between Sean, his vigilant little brother and you until the kid speaks up.

"You're not my dad–I mean, a brother-in-law!" He says, an embarrassed flush already settling on his cheeks at the mix up. He stands tense and rigid, fist on the table.

You stare at him with shock first, eyebrows raised and frozen in place. Then, you shake your head with a small laugh you hope doesn't offend him. "Yeah, I know, kid."

He does take it as offense. "Hey, don't call me kid! What'd I just say?"

Sean can't hide his laugh either, but he's back to the man that raised him soon enough. "That's enough, Daniel." He says, voice stern, "We'll talk about this later, kay?"

Daniel groans, turning heel quickly.

"Hey, don't get mad! I'm sorry, we should've talked about this earlier, but we will! I promise!" Sean calls after him as he walks off, and though it doesn't stop him in his tracks, he's at least heard it.

"He thinks of you like a dad." You note, handing him the next dish.

"It's..." Sean smiles, a small thing you just barely notice as he turns back to you. "Yeah, it feels good. Wholesome."

"Proud?" You add.

"Yeah." When Sean comes back to you for the next plate, he gives you a little peck.

El Intocable te tiene enganchado, because you chase after his lips, even though it was just an innocent thing. He holds you back, though, by the chin.

"Suppose that makes you the evil stepdad." He grins.

You laugh, "I'll make sure to play the part."

[shuenkio]

Second mask | Ksn. シ︎

Paring: Sunoo x male!reader | Genre: Soft smut (very soft)

Synopsis: He is the president of the students council, wherein you were his 'little helper' when he saw you with the other guy, who's the voice president, a fire burning in his eyes.

Cw: Cursing, jealousy, obsessed (not much), red flag but love you? FWB.

Non proof read|wc: 900+

English is not my 1st language.

All photos and dividers crd to the rightful owner.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums to this nsfw/sfw blog ©Shuenkio

𝐀/𝐍: This is from the request of one of the anon ask, and here it is finally make it debut lol (⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~ however let's say that I wrote 'Sunoo' here a bit out of Characters, from fluffy to the man he is and so. Hope you enjoy it.

"What the fuck are you doing, m/n sii?" The loud speaking voice of the student presi shouting angry at you in an empty office after he dragged you in, demanding the answer from you with your action that even you don't know what went wrong.

"Sunoo sii! What are you talking about? I don't understand." You fire back as the curiosity and the shouting voice he gives you make you want to brust out inappropriately on the spot, yet you hold back because you care for your reputation.

The older guy then started to chuckle suddenly, his laughter holding so much rage and sarcasm that it did goosebumps you a little at how his aura changed in a blink of an eye—the guy that used to have a bright aura with a strict rule turning to be a demon himself right in front of you. And you don't get it. All you did all day was your task and work; there was nothing else to make him press like this.

Even worse, he didn't say anything; instead, he just started to throw all of his at you as if you were a doll.

"You have the nerve to say that; did you forget what we are? Hm? Why in the world should you help that unknown vice president??" Sunoo is scowling at the sight; he looks like a crazy person, with a crazy smile on the corner of his lip, turning you back a little. What will happen if you don't answer his question? The fact that Sunoo and you were tied in a friendship of friends has benefits.

Ever since he discovered that you were cheating once on an exam during the first semester, he never let you slide like a wheel away, as he made a deal with you that if you ever disobeyed him, a consequence would happen, and so you have to agree because you love your reputation as a helper to the student president or vice president, not to mention you love being popular.

Let's say he got you trapped in his cage one more time; however, with this reason of his, it's clearly that he was jealous of you to interact with the other students other than him. To the point where he almost unleashed his inner beast like he used to at home. To make it settled in this conversation, you decide to take it easy and let him blame you with his unnecessary jealousy.

"*Sigh*, fine, I'll stop talking to them... Or helping them just don't do it here; it's embarrassed." You respond gently, trying to calm him down and gesturing to him with both of your hands. Nevertheless, it was too late. Abruptly,  Sunoo rushed toward you, fire in his eyes, hungry as he grabbed the back of your nape harshly before pressing both lips against each other.

His strength was so strong that, even though you try to push him away while shocking, it can't help anything. The students president council said that everyone thought he was a girly pop actually has something underneath. He was changing 360° once he's alone with you. The kisses were harsh and forceful, and his hatred for your lip was unexplainable, mixed with anger.

His tongue is dancing inside your mouth, twirling and licking the wall of your mouth and tongue, eager to taste all of you and mark you as his. It was blistering, forceful, and electrifying that sparked the intense moment along with the cries out of pleasuring of you, turning him on like a fuel put into fire.

He wanted to hear more of you, but he wasn't going to risk both of your imagines in a public space like this, which was soon replaced by his body pressed against close to yours with clothes on clothes. Talk about how wild Sunoo is when he turns on; he was insanely creepy; he loves to make you suffer in pain of ecstasy; and your moaning is like music to his ears.

"No! Sunoo, don't do it!" You were begging, and his hands were locking around your waist tightly, with yours resting on his shoulder. But you get nothing from his response as his hip sticks even closer to yours until you feel something hard poking in the middle of his hip. Your mind goes blank, speechless at the sight and the sensation, brushing against your thick fabric.

Is this the boy Sunoo thought was a sugar pie? More like an evil twin. able to do anything, you bite your lip, holding in the pleasure whenever he shoving up and down, punishing you from his obsessed ass in such a place as this.

"If, *huff*, you ever lay on him on those guys again, everything would burn, hm?" With a few more strokes, when he feels your pants are soaked, he stops before lifting up your chin with his finger and printing a small kiss on you one last time.

Coincidentally, it seems like he can predict the times; the other students who are struggling with their projects are knocking on the office door at the same times when he stops, and soon he leaves you there without replying, flushing one last bright smile as he leaves. You were there back in the office, looking down at your black pants that had a wet spot in the middle.

It was kind of disgusting,  but it's your body anyway, and the fact that your body responded to his makes all sense. It's lucky you brought your jacket with you; if so, everyone's going to have a different idea.

"Not again, Kim Sunoo!" 

🗣️Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ Please mind my English! ><

[mizgnomer]

Behind the Scenes of The Star Beast - Part Ten

Excerpt from Benjamin Cook's article in DWM 596:

When I catch up with Pat Mills and Dave Gibbons, they’re still raving about their day on set, at a cold, wet Uskmouth Power Station, with spin-off show Doctor Who Unleashed. “It was really quite something,” says Pat. “A bit overwhelming, actually.” “We were so well looked after,” says Dave, “and absolutely thrilled by what we saw. It’s incredibly flattering, all the attention we’re getting.” Well, let’s give them some more. Pat, now 74, is the ‘godfather of British comics’, creator of 2000 AD, and a major player in the development of Judge Dredd. Dave, also 74, has depicted the adventures of Superman, Batman, Dan Dare, Green Lantern and scores of other legendary characters, but is best known for co-creating – with writer Alan Moore – landmark 1980s comic Watchmen. And together they’re responsible for one of the most fondly remembered DWM comic strips ever: 1980’s Doctor Who and the Star Beast. [...] DWM: Were you surprised when you were approached about this? Pat: Completely surprised. A BBC producer got in touch. It came out of the blue. Dave: It was a very uncomplicated, very positive enquiry, which isn’t the sort of thing you’re used to in comics, you tend to be ridden over a bit roughshod, so to have somebody be respectful and polite enough to say what they wanted to do, and ask us how we felt about it, and to talk about renumeration for it – Pat: Which helps. Dave: – you think, yeah, maybe these guys’ hearts are in the right place. The word is respect. They’ve been so respectful of what we tried to do. Pat: It was so different to most of my experiences [with screen adaptations of his work]. It’s all we want, is just a little bit of respect. And we got more than that. You saw on our day on set, it was wonderful. DWM: David Tennant says that your Doctor Who Weekly strips were “better than the telly at that time”. Dave: What a nice man. Pat: I like him. DWM: He read The Star Beast as a kid. Forty-odd years later, he’s playing the Doctor in the TV adaptation. That’s mad. Dave: Yeah, look how he’s thrown his life away. DWM: The comic starred the Fourth Doctor as played by Tom Baker. From what you saw on set, how do you think David’s Doctor measures up? Dave: I know the Doctor is always larger than life, but there’s something about them both that’s particularly larger than life. Tom Baker brought a manic energy to the Doctor. From the point of drawing him, he’s an absolute gift, because he’s got the curly hair, the big nose, the double chin, and a huge, huge grin. I’ve never drawn David Tennant, but he’s got that same animated quality – exaggerated, funny, ridiculous, clownish – but also at the heart of it something quite hard and serious.

Additional parts of this set are in the #whoBtsBeast tag. The full episode list is [ here ]

[flicklikesstuff]

How about rambling about your top favorite Epithet characters?

Uh oh, I’m afraid you’ve unleashed a great beast my poor, poor Anon….. But if you insist :)

Introducing My Top 5 Favs:

AND full doodle page ;)

(⚠️HUGE EE Spoilers below⚠️)

1. Rick Shades

UGHHHHHHHHH. LOVE this man 💖💖 A pathetic and pitiful wizard dude with one of the coolest epithets! My favourite bit of him is that he’s introduced as some creepy weirdo who sounds like he’d backstab you BUT turns out to be a really fcked up guy with no social skills and genuinely really does want friends. I LOVE it when stories twist expectations for a character and Epithet Erased just keeps doing it a lot.

While Rick is mostly silly and used as comedy relief through POP really, his tragic backstory adds in so much depth and the narration treats the horrors he went through with respect. Chapter 8 has repeatedly dug my grave each time I listen to it. I’m going insane with any Rick/Toidei thoughts. There’s so much I could say about how his traumatic childhood affected him so much and how it shows through his mannerisms and behaviour that we’d be here all day. (Oh wait- I’ve already indulged into his character in like 4 posts.)

Anyways, in general, I would offer my soul to the scary magic man and treat him to a nice day at the beach.

2. Dr. Sylvester Ashling

Sylvie was the reason I got into Epithet Erased in the first place 😂. My favourite thing about him is his DESIGN and POWERS. The swirls and cloud/sheep motif looks sick and his epithet showcase in the museum arc is beyond awesome. Like omfg, it’s just so genuinely amazing to look at.

He seems fun to bully, especially with that pretentious grown-up attitude he puts up. But underneath that, Sylvie’s character is just depressing to the point where it’s intriguing for me. The choice they made to quickly grow up and skip childhood? I wonder what made them decide to do that. Despite what he says, Sylvie really just wants someone to talk to and he really does care for people. He’s just scared to loosen up and become vulnerable in front of anyone.

Sylvie wanting friends but having trust issues and not knowing how to make some? Honestly, what a mood-

I got too insanely happy hearing his short little cameo in POP, even though they weren’t around for too long. He was in there waiting and looking for his only friend awwwwww.

3. Molly Blyndeff

Molly my CHILD 🥺🥺!! Her bear motif is adorable and her character arc within the museum is so wholesome and satisfying to watch. Reading POP just cemented her as my top 3rd fav because her inner dialogue and way of thinking hit way too close to home for me. I was so close to tears many times throughout and I just LOVE her.

Molly just overall learning to stand up for herself and making it very clear she’s no longer taking any sh*t? She’s the character I wished my younger self got to know earlier because it’s what she would’ve needed at the time.

4. Giovanni Potage

Is it much of a surprise he’s in my top 5? Why wouldn’t I like this total sweetheart who would lift the earth for his minions? I adore how he has like one of the lamest-sounding epithets but his insane level of creativity makes up for it completely. I also really found his unique view on bad guys really interesting. The stark contrast between being evil but also absolutely wholesome makes for a great character I love seeing interact with everyone!

Hoping he gets some sort of character arc though. So far, he’s still the same Gio we know from the beginning and it would be very interesting to see him go through a struggle or make tough decisions.

5. Ramsey Murdoch

Haha funny ratman. As I’ve mentioned before, my expectations for him were twisted and I LOVED it. My fav character in the Redwood Run Arc because poor dude isn’t allowed to catch a break. Even outside the show within the streams, he gets absolutely bullied by the plot. This is entirely what he gets for being 1 of 2 people (the other is Molly) that have the braincell to question the bizarreness of….well, everything.

Ramsey is an impressively intelligent character who just has the hilarious misfortune of having things almost never go his way. He’s entirely the reason he and Percy manage to survive Zora and he STILL gets screwed over by getting arrested. Anyways, yes. I love his dynamic with Percy being a subversion of the typical buddy cop trope. Looking forward to having more of him in the next book: Sweet Escape :33

…………..

If you haven’t noticed already, this ask led me to go through multiple trials of tests to see which brushes and colouring process I prefer digitally.

Rick’s was my first attempt and it’s just… terribly basic really. I wasn’t used to Procreate at that point 😅.

Sylvie’s was next and after watching basic tutorial videos, I turn to really like the colouring style I did for them. Wasn’t fond of the rough outline though.

Gio’s was the exact opposite of what I’ve done with Sylvie. While I liked how it popped out in a comic-style kind of way, I wasn’t a fan of the solid shading.

For Ramsey’s, I was a lot closer to finding out my preferences. I pretty much just combined what I liked from Sylvie and Gio’s drawings. Softer shading and a smoother, thicker outline.

Molly’s was my last attempt and one I’m heavily satisfied with! :D It’s the same as Ramsey’s, but I added a lot more detail to the eyes, coloured in some outlines and even added an overlay!

The whole trial and error process was so much fun and very much worth it too! X3 💖💖

[velvvetcat09]

ok so this is talking about cc!mumbo for a bit

mumbo goes wild (haha pun intended) when he’s brought back as a zombie because he’s now not restraint from life counts. put him in survival mode and he panics, unsure of what to do, his mind zeroes on the fact that he can’t die stupidly and has to keep staying alive, this results in his paranoia and all. but sometimes, a lot of times actually, he forgets that he’s in survival mode, he forgets and becomes reckless bc that’s his natural instinct. he dies stupidly because he forgets his life counts.

mumbo plays mostly on creative. hermitcraft already feels like creative what with the shop and how everything functions there, death is just temporary. he’s such a sandbox guy. he’s so accustomed to sandbox environments that when you put him in actual long survival, he’s paranoid of dying but forgets his own habits. and yet his fascination and curiosity trumps his paranoia.

if you remember when grian first built the tnt minecart rail, grian was scared of how close mumbo was. mumbo felt he was already so familiar with this mechanic that he knew the range and felt he could inspect even closer. and when the setup was turned on, grian scared of how to turn it off when mumbo suggested it, easily saying about taking the redstone torch and doing it without caution bc he felt like this is his area of expertise, he knew how everything worked and forgot to be cautious. his death is so very mumbo that you’re not that surprised, really. he was doomed from the beginning by his own mind.

and zombie mode mumbo just unleashes mumbo’s restraint. no longer has to be concerned about his life counts, his true color shows. his intial idea of life series and its pvp mechanic (tho i think in his mind it’s ‘how many ways can you kill someone’) his creative mind is insane. he’s trained to see the subtle things (being a film director and all). mumbo shines like this. he’s already more unhinged at the start of wild life, bringing back him as a zombie just unleashed hell. all those kills and mumbo got the credit, with each written text it boosted mumbo into his next target.

i think wild life will be a huge lesson to mumbo personally on his approach to survival mode. he knew he died stupidly in previous series, tried to correct it by being more careful (paranoia). but evidently he’s still a subject to his own habits. found the validation that he wasn’t bad at killing people, it’s just he’s restrained by his own mind. a hesitation, second-guessing; resulting in him fumbling his kills. now with proper focus (not having to think about the survive part), he’s truly a menace lol he knows his strength now and as how he acted first in this season, he assessed his previous performances.

which means next season life series mumbo might be a beast. or at the very least no longer the last or second last.

what a guy

[yuurei20]

Short translation from the second Twisted Wonderland novel: Yuuya and the rumors

“'What's the matter? You look a bit down,’ says the ghost.

‘No…mm. It's nothing, but...' Yuuya’s reluctant response trails off in a sigh. ‘I just remembered that tomorrow is the start of another week.’ 

‘Ah, I get it.’ Ace nods in understanding. ‘You're all gloomy cause you don’t want to go to school.’

‘…yeah.’

‘I get that,’ Grim says with a knowing nod. ‘I hate all those boring classes.’

‘Nah, it’s cause he doesn’t want a bunch of guys he doesn’t even know giving him trouble again.’

Yuuya gives a weak nod.

Yuuya and Grim have been students at Night Raven College for a month. He’d assumed that everything would settle down in time, but after a certain incident things are more shaken up than ever.

It is as though there is no one at the school who has not heard the rumors surrounding Yuuya. Everyone is talking about the incident.

Riddle Rosehearts, the housewarden who reigned over Heartslabyul Dorm, and his excessively strict rules. His authoritarian regime may have continued until his graduation but then, disoriented, he had unleashed a torrent of magical power that resulted in his overblot. 

Blot is a byproduct of using magic. While a phenomenon that can pose a deadly threat to mages who allow it to accumulate, it is very rare for it to ever reach that point. For an overblot to occur within such a prestigious, traditional school for mages was unprecedented.

It was a major incident that involved both the students of Heartslabyul, and those of another dorm entirely.

A dorm that was most recently dubbed ‘Ramshackle.’ Its two members are Kuroki Yuuya, a human from another world incapable of using magic, and Grim, a magical beast.

They are special first-years, having received permission from the headmage to enroll due to unusual circumstances.

‘Well, it’s not like the rumors are wrong, but they leave out a lot of important parts.’

Listening to Ace explain, Yuuya starts to feel dizzy.

‘I wasn’t really that caught up in everything with Riddle-senpai, I just happened to be there with you two…I don’t really think ‘special first year’ is the right way to put it.’

‘I guess the main point is that they’re not just rumors.’ Deuce seems to be thinking hard, and Ace laughs aloud.

‘I get asked about you all the time, too, but it’s not like I can say they're wrong or refute them, right?’

‘It’s okay to refute them! People are even coming to our classroom, now, to look in. I thought I was just imagining it at first, but…it’s probably the rumors.’

‘Well, you hear something like that and of course you’re gonna think, ‘I wonder how amazing that first-year really is,’ right?’

‘Speaking of which, on Friday, when I saw you talking to someone from another class,’ Deuce blinks as if having just remembered something. ‘I thought it was someone you knew―they were just hassling you?’

‘Yeah...I might have fainted if you hadn't walked up.’

‘That's a bit dramatic...but then again, not for Yuu, I guess.’

While he is an ordinary human, there is one thing that sets Yuuya apart from others: he detests fighting. 

Even witnessing a conflict sets him on edge, and hearing the slightest argument makes him anxious. There is nothing that Yuuya would not do to avoid a fight.

And yet, it seems that a considerable number of students now view him as a rival. Night Raven College students have a lot of pride. Rumors about a special first-year student must have sparked their competitive spirit.

There is no end to the openly hostile students. Whenever he hears, ‘Hey, are you Yuu?,’ he gives an evasive answer and runs away.

‘What? Someone pickin’ a fight? We can’t just let ‘em mock Ramshackle Dorm.’ Grim growls, wrinkling his small, black nose. ‘Tell me who it is an’ where they are. I’ll knock ‘em right out!’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Well, don’t let it get to you.’ Ace pats Yuuya on the back. He hasn’t stopped chuckling. ‘People will forget about the rumors sooner or later. Hang in there!’

‘That’s easy for you to say…’

If any of them were significantly involved in the situation with Riddle, it was Ace. But with the gossip about Yuuya spreading like wildfire Ace has been able to avoid any negative attention, skillfully keeping himself out of the trouble.

Perhaps he feels guilty about it. ‘You actually seem to be fitting in with the class more,’ he offers in assurance.

‘You think so? Nothing feels different.’

‘Yeah, I think you’re starting to fit in, too.’ 

Yuuya remains glum, even despite Deuce's encouragement. Ace and Deuce exchange glances and shrug."