>>3993527
>Why do people want her to be in the show so much?
Part of me thinks it's the same type of person who would scream at every little Easter egg in something like the Minecraft movie. They don't really care for the show past pointing and screaming 'I know that character!', 'I get that reference!' Truthfully, I don't think we need any new characters unless they add depth to the existing ones. If Baxter does that for Niffty, fine. I'm okay with cameos from Mimzy and other characters like Angel's family, because it can give us more insight into the characters if done properly. But Crymini? We already have Cherri lol. On the Heaven front I feel like it's just an excuse for Viv to dump a new character of the week there, since thematically it adds very little.
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>>3986721
>He moves his hand down to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze, studying your face.
>It's a familiar, possessive touch.
>"You've been so good, and so very very hungry, haven't you, cher? Patience, now. You'll get to eat soon enough. Daddy knows what's best."
>You nod obediently, swallowing every bit of hunger you have, imagining yourself burying it in the thick mud of the bayou.
>"Yes, Daddy."
>He strokes your cheek once, slowly, then leans in to kiss the top of your head, lingering just a breath too long.
>"Good girl. Such a perfect little thing. Now go on, practice your pliés. I want to hear the music when I’m setting the table. Let Daddy see how well you’ve learned."
>The smile never leaves his face as he turns back to the stew, humming a soft jazz tune under his breath, one he used to play on the radio while reporting news of missing men, men no one ever found.
>You glide over to the victrola in the living room and turn on a rendition of 'Everybody Loves My Baby', you move gracefully to the sound of the jazz.
>Alastor leans against the doorway, spoon in hand, watching you with half-lidded eyes as the music curls through the room like smoke.
>"Oh, cher…that song?"
>He chuckles low, darkly amused.
>"Everybody loves my baby… but my baby don’t love nobody but me, hmm?" He hums to the tune wistfully.
>He steps closer, his polished shoes clicking softly on the creaking wood floor. His voice drops to a velvet purr as he circles you like a shadow.
>"Yes… yes, just like that. Turn on three… extend four… hold five. You move like water, like magic I made with my own hands. You're not just any little dancer."
>"You're MINE. All mine."
>"Now bend deeper… deeper still... good girl. Pain is beauty... and beauty belongs to Daddy."
>His fingers trace along your spine, just once, as he passes behind you toward the table to set down his stewpot, and to pour himself a glass of black coffee laced with something stronger.
>He moves his hand down to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze, studying your face.
>It's a familiar, possessive touch.
>"You've been so good, and so very very hungry, haven't you, cher? Patience, now. You'll get to eat soon enough. Daddy knows what's best."
>You nod obediently, swallowing every bit of hunger you have, imagining yourself burying it in the thick mud of the bayou.
>"Yes, Daddy."
>He strokes your cheek once, slowly, then leans in to kiss the top of your head, lingering just a breath too long.
>"Good girl. Such a perfect little thing. Now go on, practice your pliés. I want to hear the music when I’m setting the table. Let Daddy see how well you’ve learned."
>The smile never leaves his face as he turns back to the stew, humming a soft jazz tune under his breath, one he used to play on the radio while reporting news of missing men, men no one ever found.
>You glide over to the victrola in the living room and turn on a rendition of 'Everybody Loves My Baby', you move gracefully to the sound of the jazz.
>Alastor leans against the doorway, spoon in hand, watching you with half-lidded eyes as the music curls through the room like smoke.
>"Oh, cher…that song?"
>He chuckles low, darkly amused.
>"Everybody loves my baby… but my baby don’t love nobody but me, hmm?" He hums to the tune wistfully.
>He steps closer, his polished shoes clicking softly on the creaking wood floor. His voice drops to a velvet purr as he circles you like a shadow.
>"Yes… yes, just like that. Turn on three… extend four… hold five. You move like water, like magic I made with my own hands. You're not just any little dancer."
>"You're MINE. All mine."
>"Now bend deeper… deeper still... good girl. Pain is beauty... and beauty belongs to Daddy."
>His fingers trace along your spine, just once, as he passes behind you toward the table to set down his stewpot, and to pour himself a glass of black coffee laced with something stronger.