All of my fics sorted into their corresponding character or ship/pairing, alphabetized. Individual fics arranged by date posted, sft on top and nsft on bottom.
Alastor
Alastor has a really high spice tolerance
Alastor has chronic pain in his jaw
Alastor considers Vaggie to be a threat
[nsft] Alastor is a massive power switch
[nsft] Bad Dreams
Angel Dust
Angel Dust did drag in his living life
Husk
Husk purrs when he's completely relaxed
HuskerDust
Husk and Angel Dust always have very loving, gentle sex
Compiled some basic information I know about drawing fat characters for beginners since I've been seeing more talk about absence of really basic traits in a lot of art lately.
Morpho Fat and Skin Folds on Archive.org (for free!)
☆ Tags : platonic RadioRose, love at first sight, Alastor hasn't made his deal yet, Alastor can stop smiling, Alastor is a cannibal, Alastor belongs in hell, Alastor is ace, Rosie belongs in hell, Rosie is aroace, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of death, macabre, vulture culture
Author's Note : This one took me a little longer, since it's hard for me to imagine Alastor in intimate or emotionally open situations. But, I think Rosie just brings that side out in him <3
“Oh, this is gonna be so fun!” Rosie clapped as she led Alastor up the stairs of the emporium, into her apartment. “I haven't had a sleepover in ages! Are you hungry, Al? Oh, of course you are, here, I’ll whip something up,” she carried on and on, quickly climbing the stairs and waiting at the top. Alastor had to grip onto the railing as they ascended, still inebriated from the cannabis tea.
“Come on, just a few more,” Rosie called back teasingly, unlocking the door to her home and beckoning him in.
“A-ha, thank you,” Alastor sarcastically returned, finally making it to the top and, with more concentration than necessary, entered Rosie’s apartment.
It was as he expected, to be honest, but still a welcome sight. They entered into a plush lounge room, the decor a tasteful blend of decoratively antique and charmfully spooky. The wallpaper depicted an elegant floral design in various shades of pink, all slightly desaturated, with dark purple accents and doorframes. The wall and shelf decor was equally macabre, hosting old photos of Rosie and others in gold framed, as well as tasteful taxidermy and bone art. Several featured pieces included skeletal hands interlocking their digits, painted skulls, and books rebound in treated skins, interesting markings or scars displayed proudly.
He removed his shoes at the door, as he was raised to, carefully aligning them against the wall. Rosie walked into another room, the kitchen, and Alastor followed, hooves clicking against hardwood and hands behind his back as he scanned his surroundings. The kitchen was equally decorated in spooky and vintage style, though greys and whites now overtook the surfaces. Beyond the kitchen, he could see another lounge, as well as more stairs and doors.
“What a wonderful home you have, Rosie,” Alastor smiled as he leaned against the counter, watching Rosie prepare some sort of platter. “It’s perfect for a lady such as yourself~.”
“Why, thank you,” Rosie grinned, “as you can tell, I enjoy a certain aesthetic.
“As do I,” he nodded, gazing longingly at the sofas. Rosie finished up and set up the lounge, presenting charcuterie and green tea lemonade.
“Here, now,” she hummed, sitting in one of two sofas across from each other. Alastor sat in the other, a pleased sigh coming through his nose as he sank into the plush furniture. “I’m so happy you came, Alastor. You’ve been a real light in my life since I met you,” she smiled.
“And you in mine,” Alastor grinned back. “So, what does one do at a ‘sleep-over’?”
“Oh!” Rosie exclaimed, and clapped excitedly. She disappeared into another room, rummaging loudly, leaving Alastor to sip his lemonade, eyes drooping. Quickly as she left, she was back, and presented a large collection of items.
“Here,” Rosie began, sorting. “If you’re not gonna sleep, then we have to do all my favorite sleepover activities!”
Oh dear…
— Puzzles —
“We are missing a piece.”
“No, we’re not!” Rosie retorted, sorting through some remaining jigsaw pieces. “Here, see, I found it.”
Rosie slid the piece into place, only to find it was the wrong piece. Rosie blinked. Alastor fought to keep a neutral expression.
“Rosie.”
“Alastor, no—”
“Rosie, we are missing a piece.”
Rosie squinted at Alastor, picked up another piece, examined it carefully, and pressed it into the space. Both looked at the piece for a few silent moments.
“Haha!”
“Well then,” Alastor looked away, brow creasing as he held back chuckles, “I suppose we are not missing that piece.”
— Stories —
“That many?” Rosie gaped in disbelief. “Good lord, Alastor, they were just doin’ their job.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you were never investigated,” Alastor rolled his eyes, “and you know how infuriating it can be. Besides, if enough reporters go missing,” Alastor sipped, “reporters stop showing up”
“Sure,” Rosie shrugged. “I suppose I was just more selective about my victims,” she teased.
“Selective or otherwise,” Alastor growled playfully, “I found a lot of joy in what I did. Well, do,” Alastor chuckled. Rosie hooted in agreement.
— Skin Care —
“Absolutely not,” Alastor grimaced as Rosie plastered the thick paste onto her cheek.
“Oh, come on,” Rosie pleaded, continuing to layer on the strange substance, “it's the best face mask in Hell! I paid good money for this,” she pouted. Alastor grumbled with a squint, ear twitching.
“My dear, I will not be coerced into—” he began, and then choked slightly with a static whine as Rosie smeared a dollop onto his chin. Alastor growled, static buzzing, but Rosie only laughed. Alastor’s eye twitched, but he only sighed, relenting.
“Well, I suppose it's too late now.”
“Goody!”
— Art —
The pair were engaged in individual crafts, Rosie painting and Alastor drawing. He sat, sketching Rosie with feather-light pencil strokes, representing her with stylized accuracy. Rosie sat across, canvas on her crossed leg, reds and blacks layering, pulling an Alastor into view.
“What did you mean earlier?” Alastor broke the comfortable silence the two had established, setting his pencil down. Rosie glanced up from her paintbrush.
“When?”
“Before, during tea, our, ‘miscommunication’,” Alastor stumbled, feeling awkward. “You said, ‘you don't have to worry about me regarding that’. You implied something there,” he looked to Rosie, “what was it?”
“Ah,” Rosie gave a small smile, looking to the side. “Well, I just meant that you never have to fear me becoming attracted to you,” she chuckled. Alastor’s gaze remained on Rosie.
“Why?”
“What?”
Alastor sat straight. “In my experience with people, no matter where I go,” he glanced out the window, “everyone can become attracted to anyone, at any given time. Well, that's what it seems, at least.” One ear tilts down slightly.
“Why are you pushing so hard about this?” Rosie asks with an exasperated smile, facing Alastor.
Alastor straightened his lips, sucking on his teeth anxiously. “I wanted to know,” he slowly began, “if you were like… me.” Rosie blinked, tilting her head slightly. Alastor continued, feeling frustrated by his own embarrassment. “I wanted to know if you, like me,” his fist clenched, his ears beginning to pin. Why is this so difficult to say? “Lack… attraction.”
Rosie’s eyebrows rose, and for a moment she didn't speak. Then, she sighed. “Yeah,” she nodded. “I'm sorry I didn't just say it. But, you know, people from our time,” she hesitated, “not ‘loving’ normally… you know how it was,” she winged at the memory.
Alastor looked at his hands. He remembered his mother pestering him about girlfriends and grandbabies when he was a teenager, soon before she died.
“Why haven't you found a nice girl to kiss yet, baby?” She would casually ask while chopping vegetables or sipping tea on the couch, and Alastor would always cringe. “Ma, I just don't like girls that way!” He would retort. But, his mother would always just reassure him, “Oh, you will someday, ba’y,” and went back to whatever she had to do.
“Have you ever felt,” she began, pulling Alastor from his thoughts, “out of place? Like, if you could just ‘like’ people like everyone else, folk might leave you be?”
“Mm,” Alastor hummed. He stayed silent for a moment, but then began, not looking at Rosie, “I had decided from a young age that,” he hesitated “perverse form of affection that everyone seemed to enjoy, it was, not for me,” he linguistically tiptoed. His ears dipped back as he searched for words. “I've never felt, aligned with it.”
Rosie hummed a small laugh, nodding. “Neither do I. Neither one of the affections, really. Family, and friends,” Rosie looked at Alastor, who blinked, “I give my love to all of them. No one person will ever own my heart.”
“What about your late husband?”
Rosie straightened her lips. “I faked it the whole time. He thought I was loving, doting… His will was more enticing than his weak attempts at affection,” she gave a small, wicked grin.
Alastor thought for a moment, and then gave a wide grin. “How delightfully deceitful of you~.”
———
A large, engraved record player slowly spun a beloved jazz tune. Rosie quietly breathed next to Alastor, head dipping slightly. She had dozed off.
Alastor flipped the page of a novel he found on her shelves, ear twitching familiarly at the small imperfections of her rhythm, small smores pulling at the corner of his mouth. To his right, the fireplace crackled, emitting a warmth that pulled at his eyelids. He closed his book, and looked to Rosie, sleeping next to him. He felt fondness ache in his chest, and though he felt weak to admit it, it felt good to feel so comfortable around a friend, and to know they did to.
“It seems we'll be friends for a long time yet, won't we,” he whispered to Rosie, who hummed lowly in response. For the first time since his arrival in Hell, Alastor closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.
☆ Tags : platonic RadioRose, Alastor hasn't made his deal yet, Alastor can stop smiling, Alastor is a cannibal, Alastor belongs in hell, Alastor is ace, Alastor's death, Rosie is aroace, Rosie belongs in hell, Rosie likes cannabis, Alastor likes cannabis, graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of injury, graphic depictions of death, nongraphic depictions of cannibalism, drug use, hints at how Alastor's mother died
Author's Note : I had a lot of fun writing this! And I enjoyed showcasing some of my personal headcanons for Alastor and Rosie in this as well (which i also mention in the tags), that Alastor is ace, scared of romance, and sex repulsed, and Rosie is aroace.
It had been a few weeks since Alastor's first meeting with the overlord named Rosie. He was supposed to be at Rosie's emporium now, but he had found himself becoming… distracted.
Alastor licked the dark, bitter blood from his palm, chuckling in a demonic half-radio voice tiredly at the dying sinner beneath him. He dismissed his black, magic tendrils and uncomfortably contorted and cracked into his normal form, clicking his tongue at the damage done to his coat. Another trip to the tailor, he groaned. It was just as well; he was covered in blood anyways.
He assessed the sinner, once a threat but now a whining, bleeding little coward. Multiple large puncture wounds decorated his body, as well as dark bruising around his neck and limbs. Large, ragged gashes decorated his torso, a gift from the overlord's antlers, which also tore open the sinner's jaw. Sure, he had surprised Alastor by jumping off of a roof to attack him. But, the damage done was but a scratch compared to the maiming Alastor offered in return.
The Radio Demon brought his foot to rest upon the sinner's head, heel digging into his temple. The sinner weakly gargled, begging for his life, begging for forgiveness. But, Alastor bent down, grabbed the sinner's hair, and slammed his loose, gored jaw, into the ground. He gripped their hair tighter as they screamed, practically ripping it out.
“You will serve as a reminder to all,” Alastor growled, enunciating over the sinner's desperate wails, “why you do not mess with the Radio Demon.”
And with that, he finally brought his heel into the sinner's skull, shivering with a radio wave whine at the sickening squelch that followed the crunch. He sighed, shook the brain matter off of his foot, and dissipated into shadow, heading off to his favorite tailor.
———
An hour or so later, Alastor checked himself in the mirror. He wagged his tail at himself, squinting a grin.
“Perfect as always,” he smiled to the tailor, who printed Alastor a receipt. Alastor checked the clock, the hands ticking slowly as it read 7:35pm. The day seemed to have gotten away from him, and he was very tired, but he had wanted to visit Rosie's that day. Well, I do hope it's not too late for tea, he thought to himself as he sank into shadow, to Cannibal Town.
Alastor apparated near Rosie's Emporium. Thankfully, it seemed to still be open. He peered through the emporium’s doors with excitement, looking down the counter and spotted exactly the woman he came to see. She was bent over the counter, effortlessly signing something in elegant, detailed cursive.
“Rosie!” He sang with a bright, cheery radio tune to accompany, shutting the door behind himself and purposefully jostling the bell that announced his arrival. Rosie and the customer she was helping turned to look at him.
“Alastor! You distraction, you!” Rosie called back, finishing her signature and sending the grey-skinned sinner on her way. She walked around to the front of the counter and waved her hands happily. “I was wondering if I would get to see you today!”
“Yes, I apologize I'm later than usual, my dear,” he took Rosie's hand and squeezed it before letting go. “I had quite the exhausting day, but I looked forward to our visit every moment,” he charmed sarcastically.
“I'm sure!” Rosie hooted. “But, seriously, it's gettin’ late! The emporium closes very soon,” Rosie glanced at the clock.
“I know,” Alastor sighed, “I do apologize, I'm quite frustrated, as you could guess. But, I did come all this way,” he said in feigned exasperation, “perhaps you could humor me with some tea?”
“Oh, of course, darling!” She smiled. Rosie turned the sign to ‘Sorry, we're closed!’ and the pair went to settle in a private room with a hot kettle and Rosie’s personal collection of herbal blends.
———
“What did you say these were?” Alastor blinked as Rosie pulled out a decorative box of tea bags. The aroma was familiar somehow.
“Cannabis tea, my dear,” Rosie smiles with a hint of deviancy. “I thought we could relax for a while and, you know,” Rosie glanced at Alastor with what he could have sworn was hesitancy, “let our masks down.”
Alastor raised his eyebrows.
Rosie steeped the tea. “I mean, being an overlord is hard work, you know as one yourself,” Rosie looked up from the tea, “and, I like ya’, to be honest. You're charming and funny, and we seem to have lived around the same time anyways,” Rosie took off her hat. “And, you know, I've been down here a lot longer than you, and it can get kinda lonely” Rosie glanced away, brow faltering briefly.
She seemed genuine, Alastor thought. It was… strange. Out of everyone he had met, or ever could meet, a cannibal overlord was not one he expected to form any sort of deep bond with. Something in his chest squirmed; the thought that Rosie could be professing any sort of emotional vulgarity to Alastor made him feel sick.
Then again, Alastor soothed himself, analyzing Rosie with a calm expression, smile flattening with a sign. There’s no one else in Hell that I could ever relate to more, or even enjoy being around… This was confusing.
“Rosie,” Alastor fidgeted, “you should know, I don’t really participate in relations involving… intimacy…” He looked away, his own embarrassment angering him. His radio static blinked in and out.
Rosie paused. And then, a strange, choked noise escaped her nose, and her hand flew up to cover her face as she turned away.
Alastor’s brow creased and one ear tilted down. What was happening?
“Oh, Alastor,” Rosie said, dissolving into a raw, unfiltered laugh. Alastor’s eyes widened, and he felt a strange blend of relief and irritation. “Oh, God, no! No, no, no,” Rosie cackled, her hands pressing into the table as she supported herself. “No, sweetheart, platonically! I meant I wanna be friends with you,” she wiped tears away, her laughter beginning to subside.
Alastor let out a sigh of relief, a little more loudly than he intended, his masking grimace dropping into a relieved, lopsided smile. “Oh, thank God,” Alastor chuckled, “I’m sorry, dear, but you really scared me for a moment! Whew…” Alastor clutched his chest. Yes, she had scared him… why?
“Oh, none taken, Alastor,” she chuckled, waving her hand, “you don’t ever have to worry about me regarding that!”
The two relaxed now, neither feeling the need to keep up any facade. Alastor still felt a little hesitant, but allowed Rosie to have his trust. The two spoke idly about this and that as Rosie prepared the teas, and advised Alastor to ‘just chug’ the first one, because it would taste the worse anyways, and the effects of the tea would come more quickly that way.
“What ‘effects’ can I look forward to, my dear?” He eyed the tea. He remembered his mother drinking tea like this when he was younger, after his father came to visit or ‘the pains’ came back.
“You’ll probably get sleepy, and hungry,” she explained as she quickly drank her own, poured herself another, and added honey and cream. “And happier, for sure, that’s the best part.”
Alastor hummed as he swirled the greenish-amber brew in his cup. “Very well then,” he decided, and quickly downed the tea.
— Cup one —
“Oh, God, no,” Rosie groaned, “my last husband definitely went to Heaven. He was such a bore. He never even drank a second glass of whiskey.”
“Guilty!” Rosie giggled, reaching for a pinkie finger to nibble.
— Cup two —
“Dogs?” Rosie gasped, a hand coming up to her mouth. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s just awful.”
“The idiot they were hunting for thought I was a deer,” Alastor rolled his eyes, scratching at his arm where a scar ached. “It didn't last long, though. His aim was perfect,” he slowly reached a finger to tap against the center of his forehead.
“Well, only the best for you,” Rosie cooed. Alastor choked out a bleat of a laugh as he hit the table, wheezing.
— Cup three —
“No, literally every day,” Alastor whined, eyes unfocused, “it’s annoying! I mean, even just earlier today I was attacked by some low-level vermin on the street,” he growled, “which of course meant another hour at the tailor.”
“An hour?” Rosie said incredulously. “Were they sewin’ by hand?”
“Well, it’s hardly their fault,” Alastor grinned with sinister expression slightly muddled by his melted, at-ease demeanor, “the staining was quite severe.”
“Oh, you little monster!” Rosie hooted.
“I resent that statement!” Alastor chuckled back. “I’ll have you know I am a terror to behold! You’re lucky I like you so much, cher,” he squinted. He said it with sarcasm and sass, but he meant it. Rosie could tell.
“Oh, I bet,” she grinned, topping off their teas. Alastor reached for a treat, closing his eyes to enjoy the sweet, tangy flesh. This was all so lovely.
“You know, Rosie,” he sighed, “I think you and I are the last decent killers in Hell. Everyone here is so charmless and grotesque,” he looked up to Rosie, “I’m so glad I met you. Really,” he looked away for a moment, “you and I, we know how things really are.”
Rosie chuckled, “I hear you there. Hell, that’s why I made Cannibal Town! I take these sinners who, otherwise, would be chewing on dirty sinners in alleys,” she grimaced, sipping her tea, “and I turn them into ladies and gentlemen! I give them homes, jobs, impeccable decor,” she gestured to her parlor, and Alastor hummed ‘mhmm’ in agreement, “and they know to follow the rules and keep things that way! Otherwise, they get eaten themselves,” she smiled alike to a sadistic principal. Alastor’s grin came up to match hers.
“Rosie, you are simply to die for,” Alastor crooned.
“I know,” she sighed back, topping off both of their cups. She glanced at the time. “Say, Al, would you like to stay the night?”
☆ Word Count : 1.1k+
☆ Tags : platonic RadioRose, love at first sight, Alastor hasn't made his deal yet, Alastor can stop smiling, Alastor is a cannibal, Alastor belongs in hell, Rosie belongs in hell, nongraphic depictions of violence, nongraphic depictions of cannibalism, nongraphic depictions of death
Author's Note : fic 1 of 7! I'm so excited to be doing this, it's giving me the motivation to write more! For my fics for this event, they'll be sequential, and I'll make a masterpost for all 7 of them!
Alastor had been in Hell for quite some time now.
Truthfully, he had only manifested into this realm a few months ago. However, with his long list of sins and treacherous host of skills, he had managed to become an overlord quite quickly. Now, his daily routine sported several hours of radio broadcasting, exhilarating torture sessions, and long, roaming strolls through Hell. Each day he walked further from his radio tower, mentally mapping his new domain and further staking his claim of the landscape.
He was on such a walk today, briefly stopping to turn and gaze at his radio tower in the distance. He remembered the day it became his, abandoned and decaying. With a snap of his fingers (and a bit of elbow grease from his minions), it had become a fine sight.
Alastor hummed and turned on his heel, continuing on. He eyed the sinners he passed, each either completely avoiding him or too inebriated to care. One sinner attempted to approach him from behind, but Alastor only side-stepped and boredly impaled the figure with a dark tendril, never even seeing their face.
“My God,” Alastor grumbled to himself as he stepped over a puddle of who-knew-what, “isn't there anywhere in this place one can go for a little peace?” His ear flicked, annoyed. He could feel his smile faltering, and so turned down one of endless long, dark alleys.
“This whole place sickens me,” he growled, finally letting his smile go as he passed down the long hall. It was a skill he built in life, smiling for hours on end. Now, he never dared to be seen without it. But, of course, he couldn't keep it up forever. He cracked his jaw and massaged his face, growling, “Not a single drop of class, totally brimming with infuriating, uncultured bastards…”
Suddenly, his ears perked up, a familiar ragtime tune barely making its way to him atop the heavy, humid air. He turned slightly, eyes widening. He hadn't heard that song since he was a boy.
“Well,” Alastor pushed away from the wall, “it would be rather unlike me not to visit an establishment playing my favorite song,” he reasoned to himself, giving himself an obligation to investigate. His smile instinctively returned as he began to walk down the rest of the alley.
Alastor followed the song down a few more roads, trying not to seem eager as he turned the final corner, laying his eyes upon a… town?
‘Cannibal Town,’ a small pink sign declared. A light picket fence seemed to contain the entire area, and dashing, grey-skinned individuals with empty, black eyes and sharp-toothed grins wandered about within, bidding ‘good afternoon’s and tipping hats.
Alastor was taken aback.
“Why,” Alastor breathed, stepping toward the sign, the swinging beat of the song playing from in the town teasing his smile into a more genuine grin, “this place looks almost like home.”
Home…
Alastor crossed the threshold of the town, pupils dilating as he took in the scene. Small groups of cannibals sporadically took up grassy areas of the town, each participating in gruesome acts of cannibalism on some poor neighbor. Some shops and restaurants lined the streets, containing flesh, clothing, and furniture, along with . As he approached what seemed to be the town square, a large gazebo perfectly framed what seemed to be a location of interest: Rosie’s Emporium.
Emporium? Alastor tilted his head, squinting with intrigue. Emporium of what?
He strolled through the square, stepping through the gazebo, and approached the glass doors of the emporium. Beyond the glass, he saw a long counter hosting various delicacies, as well as some clothing further into the store. There were many tables, some containing more of the grey sinners, talking and eating and laughing.
My, my, Alastor thought playfully as he opened the door, a cheerful bell announcing his appearance, I’ve certainly found a treasure, here. He appreciated that he didn’t have to dip his head through the door, which made more sense as he laid eyes on who could only be Rosie of this ‘Rosie’s Emporium’.
She was tall, at least a foot more than him. And, this delighted him, as he had rarely found anyone taller than him in this new form. He had been tall in life, sure, but in Hell, he was 7 feet at a minimum, far taller than the average sinner. Not only this, but his heels and ears added even more, causing his ears to graze even high doorframes. But, not here. How accommodating!
“I’ll be with you in a moment, dear!” Rosie called without looking, finishing the bow on what appeared to be a box of chocolates, but was actually a decadent collection of eyes, fingers, and candied chunks of liver. “There now, give this to your girl, dear, and she’ll be fallin’ head over heels for you again!” She assured the customer, who happily took the package and left.
“Now then,” Rosie dusted herself off and turned to Alastor. “How can I help you?” Her sharp teeth grinned behind black painted lips, a fantastically adorned wide-brimmed hat he recognized from his century framing her light grey skin.
“Good afternoon, my dear,” he charmed, lilting his voice in a gentlemanly fashion, stepping up to the counter and offering his hand.
“Oh my,” Rosie smiled, allowing Alastor to take and kiss her hand, “what manners! Come, my dear, tell me your name!”
“Alastor,” his smile widened, and he retracted his hand. “And, you are Rosie, I assume?” Rosie tilted her head in affirmation. “Quite the lovely town you’ve got, here. I was drawn by your excellent taste in music,” he glanced at the treats behind the glass, eyeing a particularly enticing slice of flesh, “and in cuisine.”
“Why, thank you,” Rosie cupped her cheek and fanned her hand at Alastor, as if flattered. “Haven't seen you around before, though, have I?”
“No, unfortunately not,” Alastor flashed a mischievous look, “but perhaps you’ve heard of me from my radio show!” Alastor’s eyes flashed as radio dials, and his skin shivered as he remembered his last broadcast, the blood curdling screams and begging of his last victim echoing in his ears. Rosie blinked, and then gasped excitedly.
“Oh, my, stars,” she enunciated, “You’re the Radio Demon! What a surprise!” Rosie hopped excitedly, and Alastor blinked, a little surprised at her reaction. No one had been a fan of his show since life, and even then, his fans never jumped for joy. His smile was making his cheeks hurt from how widely he was smiling, but he couldn't stop.
“Oh, we simply must sit down for some tea,” Rosie walked from behind the counter and gestured to a nicely decorated booth.
Alastor smiled, and took a step toward the lady. He could feel a kinship between them forming. How delightful.
I'm not planning to do the whole week, but I'm gonna use it as an excuse to post old art that I didn't upload yet
( at least I don think I uploaded this-)
“Guilty!” Rosie giggled, reaching for a pinkie finger to nibble.
— Cup two —
“Dogs?” Rosie gasped, a hand coming up to her mouth. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s just awful.”
“It didn't last long, at least,” Alastor shrugged, scratching at his arm where a scar ached. “The idiot they were hunting for thought I was a deer. His aim was perfect too,” he slowly reached a finger to tap against the center of his forehead.
“Well, only the best for you,” Rosie cooed. Alastor choked out a bleat of a laugh as he hit the table, wheezing.
— Cup three —
“No, literally every day,” Alastor whined, eyes unfocused, “it’s irritating! Even just earlier today, I was attacked by some low-level vermin on the street,” he growled, “which of course meant another hour at the tailor.”
“An hour?” Rosie said incredulously. “Were they sewin’ by hand?”
“Well, it’s hardly their fault,” Alastor grinned with sinister expression slightly muddled by his melted, at-ease demeanor, “the staining was quite severe.”
jbbartram-illu
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
germansingergirl
