#Sahara Soul

[soulmusicsongs]

Sahara Soul: Soul from the Arab World

15 Sahara Soul songs

Argos Farfish - Sharhabil Ahmed (The King Of Sudanese Jazz, 2020)

Asif Aabas - Idir (Ay Arrac Nneɣ…, 1979)

Autopsie D'un Complot - Ahmed Malek (Musique Originale de Films, 1978)

Abu Ali - Ziad Rahbani (Abu Ali / Prelude (Theme From Mais El Rim), 1979)

Afrah El Mahgreb - Abdou El Omari (Nuits D'ete, 1976)

Alech - Dalton (Soul Brother / Alech, 1968)

Badala Zamana - Zohra (Badala Zamana / Fousse N'Melissa, 1977)

Dag Dagui - Mazouni (Fariza / Dag Dagui, 1973)

Egypt Strut - Cairo Jazz Band (Egypt Strut / Kahn El-Khaleely, 197?).

El Fen - Aït Messlaïne (Yémma / El Fen, 1976)

Forssa Saeeda - The Scorpions & Saif Abu Bakr (Jazz, 1980)

Malak Ya Saly - Sharhabil Ahmed (The King Of Sudanese Jazz, 2020)

Ores Kez Hed Antzav - Adiss Harmandyan (Adiss Harmandyan, 1971)

Sid Redad - Fadaul Et Les Privilèges (Sid Redad / Tayeh, 1975)

Zina - Ouiness (Bahebek Mara / Zina, 1979)

More Soul Songs

African James Brown in 14 songs

African Funk from the Seventies

Ethiopian Grooves

Top Fania Latin Soul Tracks

[choslut]

i’m telling you this RIGHT NOW one day i am going to put out the most delicious beidou x reader fic and when i do you’re gonna love me forever

[magnoliamyrrh]

realized a little while ago for years now ive been largely listening to blues-like things. weather actual american blues, or tuareg music called sahara blues, or romanian doine which ive seen jokingly described by romanians as either the origin of blues, or romanian blues

adding that to the list of things which make it apparent im a deeply melancholic and nostalgic being

[bkgrl]

Wtf?! NO

My precious baby, please Eri for the love of god save him !!

Izuku has lost his arms in the real world

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hello. (Bingo) Can you write Dark Clark Kent and plus size female kryptoian reader ?

.⋆｡The Last of His Kind｡⋆.

Dark!Clark Kent x plus size reader

Clark is no stranger to loneliness, but a mysterious ship in the middle of the desert could be just the answer he’s been searching for

Warnings: kryptonian!reader, DARK FIC but more soft than my usual stuff, naive reader, kidnapping?, possessive!clark, no use of Y/N, future isolation and controlling behaviour WC: 1k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Clark had always been alone in the universe, an unfortunate consequence of his own people’s arrogance and willing ignorance of the happenings of the world around them. He didn’t mind so much as he had never experienced anything different but after Zod and the briefest of hints that he wasn’t the last, Clark felt a deep stirring in his chest.

He often caught himself staring off into the void between stars, wondering if there were others out there. But his duty was to Earth, he couldn’t just leave because of some slim hope that other Kryptonians lived on a far away planet. And even if there were, they could be like Zod- power hungry and cruel. 

But on a cool day in late October, Clark got his chance to find out.

The office was almost empty, everyone having gone home early to beat the autumn storm that was predicted for later that evening, leaving Clark virtually alone in his block of cubicles. His article was almost done but he found himself picking it apart over and over again, like something deep in the recesses of his mind was telling him to delay returning home for as long as he could. Then, he heard it.

A heavy thud of something crashing into the earth, it had to be bigger than a meteor but far smaller than an airplane or weather balloon. Clark’s head tilted as he focused all of his senses to somewhere in the Sahara. The groan and pop of heated metal slowly cooling, the hiss of air escaping a pressurised chamber. He could smell gunpowder and dust that clung to the shell of whatever it was. But he could also hear the steady beat of something within the metal.

With a cautionary glance around the office, which was now absent of anyone save for him, Clark stood. He was careful enough to shut down his computer and gather his things but as soon as his bag was zipped and he was safely in the stairwell, he darted down the stairs, just barely keeping himself restrained enough not to go too fast and give himself away.

He could hear the beating slowly getting faster. He ran out of the building as the hissing ceased and the familiar turning of gears started, just like it had in the ship he discovered in the arctic. Clark stumbled over his work shoes, the buttons of his shirt practically flying off in his struggle to get out of them. If this was another Zod, he wouldn’t have much time to react before they started acclimating to Earth’s healthy sun. 

His glasses were barely off his nose when he finally heard it, a soft groan- delicate, gentle (as much as a groan could be) and Clark’s heart skipped a beat. She let out another soft sound and Clark finally took off. 

This could be it, the answer he needed so badly. Perhaps it was an elder who could really teach him about his home world, a child who had been lost just like him. But some deep part of his soul, a piece he had locked away a long time ago, wondered if it was someone his age, someone who would be his equal, his partner.

The sands of the Sahara quickly revealed a huge slash through the dunes, darkened by the heat of the ship’s dramatic entry. The ship itself was halfway buried in the sand, its black hull a stark contrast against the bright sand. Clark landed in front of its rounded end. 

Steam curled around the dark metal but he barely had time to appraise the vessel before a mechanical clanging began and the sand around its side started to shift. Clark darted forwards as a panel lifted and the earth around it immediately began to spill inside. He grabbed at the open frame and tugged the ship free just as its occupant became visible.

She was beautiful.

Large curves highlighted by tight spandex-like material, the exact same as his suit. The symbol spread over her generous chest consisted of two overlapping circles, one that he didn’t recognise even after his father’s lessons. Clark felt like he couldn’t even breathe as he looked down at her body, everything about her was captivating, hypnotising, everything he had ever wanted. Her hair was pulled back and away from her face, allowing him to observe every blemish and mark of her skin in extraordinary detail. She was a goddess in its truest sense, an ethereal being in mortal form.

And when she finally opened her eyes, he was met with the most brilliant shade of e/c he had ever seen. Panic briefly flashed across her face before she saw his own house symbol and immediately relaxed, her expression more calm than he thought it should be in this situation.

“I’m Kal-El.” Her eyes sparkled in the strong rays of the sun as a small smile crept onto her face.

“Kal.” She repeated his name back to him in a voice far more pleasant than he had ever heard before. Her lips parted again but suddenly her body rocked forwards, as painful coughs rattled through her lungs. Clark swept her into his arms without thinking and pressed her to his chest. She limply clutched at his back as she continued to cough.

He flinched with each of her laboured inhales, his own chest burning with a rage he couldn’t explain. But what he did know was that no one else could know of her. Only god knew what would happen if any government found out about another Kryptonian, especially a female one. Lois and his mother would try to corrupt her mind, encouraging her to leave him.

He wouldn’t let that happen. He would never let himself be alone again.

He could protect her, mould her. She would be safe. No one would know of her existence, not until she knew who exactly she belonged to, the only person that she would ever be able to trust.

Clark smirked as he cupped her head gently, his thumb tracing the apple of her perfect cheek. Oh yes, she was absolutely perfect.

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[jimmybutlrr]

The Love, I Have Longed For

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Tall Thick brown-skinned Women

Warnings : 18+. Romance, Mature Content (Cursing and Teasing), "drama"

Summary: She came to a realization that Actors can truly act

A/N: This is my first fanfiction, that I have ever wrought. I would really appreciate critical feedback or just feedback in general. I do hope that you enjoy this, as this is based off of a dream I had.

divider from @@uzumaki-rebellion

“Uhh ooh myyy gooood…I'm gonna cum so much” Estella moaned while gripping Aaron's head. Aaron was sucking, licking and eating her pussy like he had been stranded in the Sahara desert and starved for weeks. With his left hand twisting and pulling at her nipple, he slid his tongue between her lips from underneath her hood to her pulsing hole. “Let that shit out��� Aaron said into her pussy, adding 2 of his fat, long fingers driving them upwards, hitting her g-spot helping her reach the thing he's been begging for from the past few hours.

“Fuuuucckkkk” as her orgasm starts rippling through her body, causing her pussy to start clenching around his fingers while her clit pulses in his mouth. “Mmmmhmm” Aaron moans on her clit creating a vibration that begins to overstimulate her causing her to push his head away to stop him from continuing to eat her. “Ok I’m done, no more”. Aaron removes his fingers and slides his tongue all over her pussy, taking one last lick between his wife's fat lips.  He sits up and leans back to get a good look at her swollen, pulsing clit and pussy clenching around nothing. He looks up, admiring his wife, seeing that her eye’s are closed and she is out of breath. Estella slowly opens her eye’s to see her husband, staring at her in complete love and awe. 

She grabbed his big ass biceps, pulling him down, licking the inside of his mouth to taste herself. “Let me put the tip in,” Aaron said, mumbling into her mouth, “As much as I would love for you to stretch me out, we have a party to get to and I now have to shower again,” Estella said, savouring their kiss before she pushed him back and got out of bed. As she was walking away, he slapped her ass and he pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her body, kissing up her neck. He whispered in her ear “Alright but as soon as we get back, you better not fall asleep, because we have a long night waiting for us”. She let out a little giggle, pushing her husband away and walking into the bathroom with him following behind her, closing the door as soon as they entered. 

Estella looked at Aaron while he was driving to their destination, she took in how he liked to keep his hair buzzed or how he had barely noticeable scars on his face, that you would only notice if you truly paid attention to the details of his face. She took in note, the sun hitting his eyes, brightening them so that you could see the mix of baby sky blue and coin like grey in his eyes. The beautiful shine from cocoa butter and shea butter baby oil on his beautifully tanned honey coloured skin. Aaron looked to the side to see his beautiful wife truly considering himself as the luckiest man alive. He turned facing the road, picking up his wife's hand kissing the back of it, he said  “I am so in love with you……..Every moment I spend with you, makes me want to get down on my knees, rip my heart out of my chest, plate my heart on a silver platter and make it yours, so that all I could live for is you” he said declaring his love for his one and only true love, his soul mate, his wife Estella Pierre causing his brown skinned wife to start blushing and staring lovingly, leaving them in a comfortable silence.

He pulled into the driveway, parking behind the many cars in the lot, turning off the car, opening his door, then ran to open the door for his wife. “ thank you, big sexy” Aaron smiled, leaning down to kiss her, wrapping his lips with hers, slipping his tongue into her mouth, roaming her mouth, causing her to moan and slightly pull back “Don’t make me pull you into the back of car, and ride you until I can’t no more” she said sliding her hand down his body and ever so slightly over his bulge. “No, let's hurry up and get inside before I change my mind about this party”. Aron closes the door and locks the car before they make their way up the driveway, opening the door to see all the different people of different professions, from judges to actors to authors. “I know that ain’t who I think that is, yawl finally made it”, said Jayme Lawson, Aarons co-worker said. Smiling, they walked up to Jayme, Estella reaching to hug her first “I was trying to get here earlier but unfortunately we got caught up with something important” said Estella moving to the side, allowing Aaron to hug Jayme next. “It’s nice to finally see Aaron, outside of work instead of cooped up in his hotel “ said Jayme, causing a laugh to fall on those around them. “What can I say I love” - “ I know that ain’t my bestfriend I see” said by Amir, Estella’s best friend. “ohh, you just look tooo fabulous, look at your outfit Dora,” Estella said, letting out a loud laugh. “Uh, you talk too much shit, now follow me and let's go talk about the big, orange, racist bitch made man they just allowed in the election”. Estella, Amir shared a laugh, wrapping their arms around together and walking away for the rest of the group. “Babe, you just gon leave me like that” Estella turned pausing her conversation “Yes, Yes I am, go have fun, I'll see you later” Turning back to her best, they shared a look before walking away to the backyard. Where they spent the next few hours conversing about the bitch made, half dead man, gossip and Megan the stallions new twerk video. “I miss my man” Amir looked over at Estella” In the middle of our conversation ho”, “ Yes, I need just one kiss on my lips”, Amir laughed in disbelief  “Do you mean your lower lips?” causing Estella to smirk, “Mind your business” taking Amir’s hand, she dragged him into the house and went searching for her love in the crowd of people.

As they looked through the crowd of people not seeing him, they walked up to kelvin, she asked “ have you seen Aaron, we can’t seem to find him”, “He said he needed to use the washroom, awhile ago, it’s upstairs” Kelvin said yelling over the music, now starting to wonder, what was taking Aaron so long. Estella and Amir shared a confused look, making their way upstairs. As they got further away from the music, they checked the washroom to see it empty. “ You better call him real quick because there's no way that he just disappeared”, Estella picked up her phone, calling Aaron to hear the ringtone he had set for her in the room down the hall. Estella, slowly picked her head up and turned to look at Amir, seeing him stare back at her. She turned back forward, taking long strides to the room down the hall, bracing herself for whatever. Amir, not far behind her, took her hand, stopping her for a second “Babe, I want you to remember that you are an attorney, a black women attorney at that, don’t make no decisions that could affect your career”. Estella nodded, holding her tongue, so that she could hold in the emotions that she was feeling in the moment, she turned, arms locked with Amir’s, they then walked and walked until they reached the room, hearing moaning and groaning. Groans that she could recognize from a mile away, groans that she heard just a few hours ago.

She put her hand on the doorknob, twisted it open to see a sight she thought she would never see….Her husband Aaron Pierre, Fucking his co-worker Jayme Lawson in the mattress, hearing Jayme tell her husband, she loved him…and him saying…it…back. Aaron felt a weird sensation of someone staring at him, he looked towards the door, his heart dropping as he saw his wife and noticed a single tear slide down her face. “Babe, it’s not what it looks like”. Estella paused her crying, turning to look at Amir, they shared a laugh, Estella reached forward and grabbed the doorknob closing the door, all while Aaron pulled himself out of the women on the bed and tried to put on his pants to be able to reach his wife before she left the house, to then try and persuade his wife that he loved her and only her but it was too late.

Estella already walked out the house, coming to the realization that the love of her life, is only the love of HER life … .as she is not his. 

Tags -

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@blackgurlnhermoods

@easybrezzy

@planetblaque

@urfavblackbimbo

@jenlovey

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@kimuzostar

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@theereina

[leodette]

And Now My Head Hurts | MV33

fandom: Formula 1

pairing: Max Verstappen x OC (not named)

names/faceclaims: -

summary: too many drinks results in a headache

warning: alcohol consumption mentioned

requested: yes / no (my dear friend @coff33andb00ks asked for some soft Max and a headache)

**********

A loud smack of the door woke her up. The sun was peaking through the curtains of the bedroom, and she groaned, squinting her eyes against the intrusive beams.

“Morning, sweetheart,” a familiar voice resonated from the door, and she buried her face deeper in the fluffy pillows. A small fury body curled against her upper arm, causing her to finally open her eyes and frowning at the familiar cat. Sassy had a look in her eyes that clearly said “and who do you think you are, since there is no breakfast in the bowl?”

No, the cats didn’t care that she was hungover. But her boyfriend seemingly did, because in the next moment the mattress dipped as the Dutch driver sat on its edge, gently patting her hair.

“You’re awfully awake for the amount you drank yesterday,” she murmured, feeling jealous. After Max’s win in Barcelona they took the private jet back, offering lift to McLaren boys as well as Leclerc brothers and their respective partners. She had a great time catching up with Alex and Jade while the five boys had their own debriefing after pretty eventful race. And even though there was still some tension in between Lando and Charles, they both decided to ignore it for the time they were in the plane.

And as usual, Max proposed Jimmy’z as an evening plan. It was their usual schedule, especially during European races - finish race, fly home, go party.

She remembered drinking probably too many Skinny Bitches while dancing her soul out. She also recalled Max’s hands on her hips, pulling her close to him, whispering naughty words in her ear that made her feel things. But sadly, they weren’t able to get to them. Because after that, she remembers nothing. A loud groan escaped from her throat, her face falling back to the cushions.

“Morning regrets?” Max asked, and she just whined in confirmation.

“My mouth feels like Sahara desert. And my head hurts,” she finally looked up at her boyfriend. He was slightly sweaty, dressed in running shorts and tight t-shirt with familiar bull logo on chest.

“Please tell me you didn’t go running,” she whined, earning Max’s chuckle.

“I could tell you I wasn’t, but you don’t want me to lie to you,” he leaned closer and kissed her forehead, his eyes softening when she gave him murderous look.

“How about this - I help you to shower, you will eat some of those packet noodles that you love, then take some painkillers, and we will take a nap together,” Max murmured, each part of his ‘master plan’ earning her a peck on lips.

“Hmmm, that could work,” she nodded and slowly sat down, making sure her balance was on.

“Damn that hurts,” she pressed a ball of her palm to her forehead.

“I know, sweetheart. C’mon, you will feel better soon,” he gently grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up, his muscles flexing as she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his neck.

“I love you,” she murmured, earning herself a chuckle.

“I love you too. Even when you stink,” Max smirked and kissed her temple, the comment resulting in her weakly smashing her fist in his upper back.

[m00nchildwrites]

Saying "Daddy" in the bedroom has always made my stomach sour in the worst way. Instantly sucked any and all spicy feels right out of my soul leaving me feeling dryer than the Sahara-

BUT

If this man asked, I'd say it in a heartbeat and mean it.

[hwashotcheeto]

𝑫𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕

Kim Hongjoong X afab!gn!reader

Summary: You and Hongjoong hated each other. At least, that's what you told yourselves, until you ended up in the same bathroom at a party.

WC: 2.1k

Content: Smut, lots of smut, little bit of fluff, little bit of angst

Smut warnings: Dirty talk, kissing, fingering (reader receiving), oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected PIV sex (this is fairly vanilla)

AN: This is in reference to this post, so those of you who were interested, here you go. ;>

And this was originally written for @malldreamprincess but she gave me permission to edit it and post it. 💜

Tag List (Remember: Please send it through the ask box to be added to any tag lists!): @cherrycel @mxnsxngie

“You’re just a fucking bitch,” you spat, exasperated. Hongjoong laughed as he looked at you through the mirror, still more focused on fixing his stupid lipstick.

“Come on, even I say that. Do better, babydoll.” He puckered his lips and made a pop noise, finally satisfied with his application. He capped the tube and spun around to look at you, leaning back on the basin of the sink. His multitudes of rings clinked against the porcelain, and it was enough to make you want to rip your hair out of your skull. 

You clenched your hands into fists as he stared at you. He tilted his head. A taunt. 

You really had nothing except elementary level insults. “You’re not even pretty,” “you’re mean.” What could you say that someone hadn’t said already, that he didn’t already know, that Hongjoong wouldn’t have a smart, sexy retort to spit back at you with his bright red painted lips? 

“Your ex just fucked you because of your ass” is what came out. You didn’t even think about it, but all of a sudden, the words tumbled out and there they were. 

And to your surprise, the color drained from Hongjoong’s face. His smile dropped instantly and his eyes went wide. You felt pride that you’d finally stunned him, and then you were terrified half a second later by his sudden dead eyes that stared through you as you knew he was thinking about how to kill you. 

“I dare you to say that again,” he said slowly, his eyes still wide, but devoid of any and all emotion except for one: Rage. Unbridled, fiery rage. 

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest like a panicked bird, smacking against the sides of your rib cage. For a moment, you really considered staying quiet. 

“Your ex-” 

He threw you up against the wall and pinned your hands above your head. Your head hit the tiles of the bathroom wall and your vision swam for a second. 

When you could see again, all you were met with were Hongjoong’s eyes, staring into your very soul. Your lungs instantly shrunk and your stomach was in your throat. Your mouth was drier than sand in the Sahara. 

“You have no fucking right to say anything like that,” Hongjoong spat, pressing you against the wall harder. His body wasn’t touching yours, but fuck, it was so close, you could feel the heat coming off of him. 

“And what if I’m right?” You breathed. It was such a cheap line, and you knew there was a high chance he’d slap you for it. 

But he didn’t. And deep in his eyes, you saw it. Hestience. Uncertainty. 

Insecurity. 

I’m right, you thought, but you didn’t dare utter the words. 

Hongjoong finally collected himself and blinked. The insecurity disappeared, and the rage was starting to dissipate too. 

“Why did you say that?” He asked, still holding your hands above your head. 

And it was as if you both had a realization moment: What the fuck were you two doing? 

What were you doing here? In this bathroom, at this house party, arguing about a whole bunch of nothing, when you both could’ve ignored each other? It would've been so easy to ignore each other, to ignore Hongjoong, and stay with your friends and talk about everything and anything. 

You two didn’t like each other. You wanted nothing to do with each other. 

You hated each other. 

Right? 

“Because I hate you,” you breathed. 

And Hongjoong called your bluff. 

“No you don’t,” he whispered, and smashed his lips against yours. 

And it was a fiery kiss, of passion, rage, hidden and complex feelings neither of you wanted to confront. All tongue and teeth and spit. 

Hongjoong moved all over your body, groping at everything, your ass, hips, waist, tits, all of it, moaning into the kisses as he did. You gasped as he kissed down your neck feverishly. 

“Feels so good, Hongjoong,” you slurred, clinging onto him. 

“Yeah?” Hongjoong asked, running one of his hands down between your thighs, rubbing your clit through your pants. “Keep telling me that.” 

And you did, letting out all the whiny, desperate moans trapped inside you that Hongjoong forced out. Fire and desire raced through your body, from your head to your feet, your skin was screaming his name. 

Hongjoong groaned seeing your face, your eyes rolled back, feeling your slick all over his fingers, dripping out of you, it was so much. Everything he ever wanted. 

He leaned in and kissed you again, with the same intensity as before, pushing his tongue inside and fighting with yours, twisting and dancing, moving all over your mouth. 

As he pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your lips, you looked at him with half closed, dazed eyes as you mumbled: “Fuck me.” 

“Oh, I'll fuck you.”

Hongjoong helped you get your pants and underwear off before making you hold your own leg up to spread you wide for him. 

“Is this good?” You asked as you looked up at him through your lashes. Hongjoong smirked as he ran his fingers over your slit, gathering up some of your arousal. 

“Yeah, good doll,” he ground out as he pushed two fingers inside you. You’d hardly adjusted to the feeling of being stretched out before he was fucking you hard and fast. 

“Fuck, Hongjoong!” You cried out, clenching down on his fingers, rolling your eyes back into your head. 

“That’s it, keep saying my name, gorgeous.” Hongjoong’s forehead was leaned against yours, his nose pressed against yours, his lips a breath away, feeling his heavy breaths on your lips. 

You obeyed, whining and whimpering out his name while his fingers were slamming into you, pounding against your spot, fucking you wide open. Hongjoong smashed his lips on yours again, the kissy messy, his free hand in your hair, holding you in place so you couldn’t pull away. 

Not that you ever wanted to. 

“So perfect,” he mumbled in between kisses. “Feels so fucking good, all of it.” 

His words went straight to your cunt and you clenched down again, feeling your orgasm creeping up. 

“Hongjoong, I’m gonna come,” you whimpered out. 

She immediately pulled back, making you squeal and whine in disappointment. But you rolled your eyes back as he dropped to his knees and pushed back inside you again. 

“Come on my face, baby,” he whispered before he dove in, sucking on your clit and fucking up into you. And how could you deny him when he was fucking you like that? 

It didn’t take long before your thighs were shaking and your head was going light. One of your hands dropped down to grip onto Hongjoong’s hair, holding him as close as you could. She moaned and smothered his face in, putting his free hand on the small of your back to keep you close. 

With one final suck on your clit, you came with a scream of his name, pulling on his hair, trying your hardest to not let your legs buckle underneath you. 

Hongjoong moaned as he drank up everything that spilled out of you, fucking you through it, then licking at your still pulsing hole. His eyes were rolled back as he happily took it all. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so hot,” he breathed as he pulled away, leaning back on the floor on his hands. And fuck, he looked irresistible. 

The low lighting of the bathroom barely illuminated the shine of your slick on his face and neck, his hair was a mess, his pupils blown out with that little Cheshire smirk on his lips. 

You dropped to your knees and crawled over, pinning him on his back and kissing him again, and she let you do it. He let you pin him to the floor and kiss him, and have your way with him. 

Your hands went down and struggled with his pants, and he thankfully helped you get them down to give you access to his rock hard cock. You smiled into the kisses as you started stroking him, pulling a gasp out of him. 

“Aww, you’re so hard,” you cooed, sitting up on top of him. Hongjoong’s eyes rolled back as he bit his lip, stifling the noises that were beginning to bubble up in his throat. “I thought you hated me, Hongjoong.” You lined his cock up with your cunt and teased the head, making him buck his hips up and groan. 

“Shut up and fuck me,” he breathed, his nails digging into your hips. You almost wanted to make him beg for everything he ever did to you, but you stopped yourself, and slowly sunk down onto him. 

His mouth dropped open as he gasped, squeezing you tighter, trying to keep his noises quiet. But even as you were struggling to stay composed, you weren’t about to let him stay quiet,oh no. 

Thanks to him fucking you open already, you could set a fast pace from the beginning. Hongjoong let out a choked moan and closed his eyes. He bit down on his lip as a whine slipped out, his eyebrows going together. You were so tight on him, so warm, it was almost burning. His head was already going light from the pleasure in his veins. 

“Come on, Hongjoong, don’t be quiet,” you breathed, putting your hands on his chest, leaning close to his face. “I wanna hear how good it feels.” And at first, nothing changed, and you expected him to stay quiet. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t change. So you dropped down on his lap harder than before. 

And after that, all the noises were tumbling from his lips. Whines and whimpers, little broken gasps, all of it. 

“So good,” he whimpered out, his head tilted back against the floor. 

“Yeah?” You couldn’t help but smirk, even when your stomach was churning and twisting, and your thighs were quivering in pleasure. 

“Yeah, don’t stop, baby, please.” 

And you weren’t about to. 

You put your hands on either side of his head, staring down at him as you continued. Your eyes trailed down to his exposed neck, and got an idea. 

You leaned in and bit down, making him yelp in pain, but you began to suck and lick over it, soothing the pain and making a mark where everyone would see it. 

That he was yours now and no one was going to take him from you. 

His thighs began to tremble and his back arched. “I’m close, please don’t stop,” he gasped, his hands going up to grab onto your shoulders, holding you tight against his body. 

You were close too, and it was making it difficult to keep the pace up. But hearing all Hongjoong’s desperate cries and moans gave you the motivation to keep going. 

He could see how you were close, and how you were focusing on him and not yourself. So he took one shaking hand and rubbed your clit to help you along. 

And it was almost instantly that you came all over him, screaming his name, bouncing on him frantically to ride it out. He came when you did, fucking up into you, crying out your name as he dug his nails into your skin. 

“You marked me,” he panted once it was over. You smirked as you crawled up to him and looked at it. A dark mark, right in the middle of his neck, where everyone would see it. 

You looked at him, and he was smiling too. “Good.”

“Good?” You asked, slowly pulling up off of him. 

“Yeah.” He pulled his pants back up and got up off the floor, helping you as well. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you, but I have to now.” 

You looked at him confused as you began to clean yourself up. He helped you before you got redressed, and he helped you fix your outfit before he continued. 

“I never really hated you. I only ‘hated’ you because I wanted you. But when I did, I was dating my ex. I didn’t know what to do, and it came out at that. I’m sorry.” 

And all the animosity you ever felt towards Hongjoong disappeared, and you threw your arms around him in a tight hug. He froze, not really believing you were hugging him. It took a few seconds before he hugged you back, squeezing you so tightly. 

“You’d really have me?” 

“Yes. Now I know it wasn’t genuine. I’d love to have you.” 

Hongjoong smiled and held you even closer. It wasn’t how he wanted the conversation to go at all, but it ended better than he could’ve hoped. 

No matter what happened now, you'd be with him. Everything would be okay because you were with him.

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed! 💜

This is a work of fiction written by me. This does not represent the idol(s) in any way. Any re-upload is not allowed and will be reported.

[soulmusicsongs]

Alikali Adajo - Sahara All Stars Band Jos (Sahara All Stars Band Jos, 1976)

[astroboots]

looooooved your steven somno/cockwarming story! it did leave me wishing i could be inside stevens head though.... if u ever wanted to write a little drabble from his perspective about what he was up to while the reader was asleep i certainly would not be opposed...

I Need Some Sleep 2.0

Summary: Mini Drabble companion to I need some sleep from Steven's POV. You've fallen asleep with Steven deep inside you and the poor man tries to hold onto his failing sanity (cockwarming galore).

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

The acrid heat of the desert made the trek across the Sahara desert unbearable and our--

Our-- journey tha-- shit.

The book lands with a thud against the mattress. Steven's eyes squeezes shut as he tries to steady his own breathing. His heart rabbiting away with a punishing pace below his ribs somewhere.

He has to finish. The sooner he finishes... He grits his teeth and picks up the book again. Steven blinks up on the page. The words are blending together. Where was he? What did he read. God, he can't remember-- He's going to have to stop from the top of the page again isn't he...

The acrid heat-- The acri--- fuuuuuuuuuck.

Steven groans, a deep and pained groan torn from the depth of his soul and needy chest as he feels you shift against him, clamped tight and warm and achingly slick around his painfully hard cock.

This is bloody torture.

The heat of you wrapped all around him, and he feels like every nerve in him is strumming with a high-pitched scream, screeching in his blood. Oh fuuuck.

You're squeezing around him again. So blissfully tight he thinks he's going to lose his mind from it.

He wants to move. No, fuck, not want... needs to.

His arm comes to his forehead as he drapes it across his eyes, blocking out the light of the room and all his vision, so that he can just... breathe, for a second. He just -- he needs to focus... finish... fuck that's what you said wasn't it? He just needs to finish and then-- then--- shit, what did you say again?

Why is he doing this again? What is he doing?

His eyes dart to the book in his hand, and the distant memory of it vaguely flashes across the remaining operating brain cell fighting to hold on, between his temples.

'Finish the work' the memory of your voice reminds him, ringing sweet and taunting between his ears. 'You’ve promised Marc and I’m not going to move an inch until you finish.'

Right... Marc... He'd promised Marc.

Marc, who had been adamant that he finished reading this tome of a book tonight, even as you had gotten increasingly cranky for Steven to join you in bed.

Marc who had nagged him from the mirror all bloody evening about finding the location hidden somewhere in the accounts of Hargrave...

Marc who -- the moment you went to sleep, with his cock buried deep inside, dangling as a reward and punishment all wrapped into one blissfully aching and torturous parcel -- conveniently disappeared into smoke. That nagging grump of a man fled the scene, the moment you sank on his cock and left Steven to his own woeful devices.

Rotten traitor. Right arse. Marc's the one who got him in this damned mess in the first place.

You hum in your sleep, soft and sweet. Then you shift again, squeezing and clamping down and ---

shitshitshitshit. This is torture. Oxygen flees from his lungs in a rush. His toes curl into the sheets, and his hips stutters into you, but you're squeezing too hard around him. He can't get deeper, can't work himself into you like this and -- God.

Steven's gonna die. Or cry. Or black out. God this isn't fair.

His grip on the edges of the book tightens, and he can feel the blood leaving his knuckles, until he's gripping so hard he can feel the bones in his fingers pressing up against the leather of the cover.

The acrid heat, he recites to himself. That's where he left off... he just needs to finish. He just needs to finish this goddamn book. Just a few more pages, and then --- then...

The slick silken heat of you tightens around his cock, the blinding pressure searing through his spine--- oh god... it's so good, you're so tight.

Sinking his teeth hard against his bottom lip, the blunt pain sharpens his mind long enough that he swears he can taste blood. He could roll you over right now. Have you on your back as he pushes you into the mattress with his body. Wrap your legs around him, thrust into you, you're so wet already. Dripping down the length of him and he can feel it leak down his cock to his stomach.

It wouldn't take much, he's nearly there. Can feel his climax looming like a threat along the tip of his tongue promising him rhapsody if he'd only take it. Maybe he doesn't even need to do that, he could grind himself into you to completion from where he's lying, it'd be so good. You'd feel so good.

But you'd told him to finish this first... Told him you wouldn't move until he's done.

Fuckfuck, he clamps his eyes tightly shut, biting down the sob punching through his throat. Pushing back the tears that are pushing behind his eyelids. His hands at his sides tightens into a fist.

He can wait. He can do as he's told. That's what you wanted...

He can do this... Just... a few more pages, he's a fast reader... Yeah... he can-- he can do this.

Nodding to no one in particular but himself, Steven opens his eyes again, and brings the book up to his face.

The acrid heat of the desert made the trek across the Sahara desert unbearable....

Author's note: gaaaah thank you for this sweetie nonny, I'm so so sorry I've held onto for it as long as I did as I did intend to write a sequel but life has just been a runaway train from me lately.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications for when I post something new!

[seeking-love-poet]

TNT and Falling Sand

TNT and falling sand

Hotguy sighted with Poultry Man

A chicken army 5,000 in number

If they weren’t already, they’d be banned from the Perimeter

TNT and falling sand

Shenanigans make for a merry band

Flint and steel and a purple crown

They built it all up to watch it all fall down, down, down

TNT and falling sand

Doomed to fall by a friend’s hand

Gravity, so inevitably deadly

It’s time for another Hermitgang medley

Sahara and Monopoly Mountain

Hippie Commune and Area 77

A Boatem Pole and a Goatem Hole

Borrowed brain cells and shared souls

Glitching, twitching, furious wings

Butterflies, Buttercups, Dragons, and things

Things unnatural, things that feed

Things that See but are unseen

Look behind you

[fabdante]

@zutaraweek day 6, forge: it's 1994. you are at a party. and then you see a girl. and your soul remembers something: listen here (17 songs, 1 hour 9 minutes)

i've been thinking a lot about older internet. namely, old 8tracks playlists. and i thought it'd be fun to harvest a little of that nostalgia to make an old school fandom playlist meant to be listened to in order with a storyline and annotations!

song list with links and annotations under the cut (and if you liked this one, you can check out my longer zk playlist here)

~House of Metal by Chelsea Wolfe (You put your love inside the metal/You build the metal for your house): Tui and La. Moon and Ocean. Yin and yang. An eternal dance.

~Here She Comes by Slowdive (It's so lonely in this place): It’s 1994. He’s at a party. He doesn’t want to be. He looks up. And there she is.

~Home Soon by Vagabon (I’ll be home soon): Something remembers.

~Cinnamon by Jome (It’s a slow cinnamon summer/Your spell is pulling me under): It’s the last year of the 100 year war. The summer air is thick. Her smile’s the same. And something is happening that's far too sweet as they tumble towards the end of the world.

~First Light by Hozier (Could this be how every day begins?): A realization. A secret. A wish.

~Flaws by Daughter: She holds him after the lighting tore through him, after she saved him, as they watch the sky turn blue. What do you say after that? Besides what you want to, of course.

~Neptune by Sleeping at Last (I'm only honest when it rains/If I time it right, the thunder breaks/When I open my mouth/I wanna love you but I don’t know how): A realization. A horror. A little dream.

~Country Rain by Slowdive (I know I shouldn’t care/But I wish you were mine): They part. Not for the first time. Not for the last time.

~Spanish Sahara by Foals (I’m the ghost in the back of your head): Even after years, that summer won’t let go. Even after the years, she's as familiar as breathing.

~Lullabies by Yuna (Though you weren’t mine/You were my first love): A confession. A soft one.

~Fire in the Water by Feist (Nobody should see this/The freeness of the light): Knowledge that is learned cannot be unlearned. But things are seldom simple for them. It's never been simple for them.

~Cherry Tree by The National (Can we show/A little discipline?): What do we do with it? What have we ever done with it? The tangle of their lives, ever so complicated, and ever so woven. Maybe it's dangerous.

~Earth by Sleeping at Last (But I put it out of my mind/Long enough to call it courage): Wrong place, wrong time. That’s what it is.

~Good Day Sunshine by Slowdive: It’s 1994-It’s the dawn of time-It’s the 100 years war-It’s a cave between two cities-It’s-It’s-It’s-

~Samson by Regina Spektor (I loved you first/I loved you first): At least they’ll know. In the knot of his scar. In the tips of her fingers. In the glances, the letters, the comfortable silences side by side. At least they’ll know.

~Welcome Home (Reprise) by Radical Face: Maybe…maybe. Maybe now.

~When the Sun Hits by Slowdive (As the sun hits, she’ll be waiting/With her cool things and her heaven/Hey hey, lover, you still burn me/You’re a sun): It’s 1994. She’s at a party. She doesn’t want to be. She looks up. And there he is.

[vintagehellfire]

Life Eternal | E.M

summary: You'd promised each other your souls forever, that you'd be with each other forever...

warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, grief, major character death, graves, death, no seriously there is no comfort... okay maybe mayyyyyybe if you squint, but tbh just pure hurt, based on Life Eternal by Ghost

18+ MDNI

There was no denying the pain that came with having someone ripped from you far too soon, but what was worse was being unable even to have one last goodbye, being unable to see their face one last time before their soul departed from their body and before the rot settled in. There was something akin to a knife being driven through one's chest repeatedly when the devastating news of a loved one taking their last breath was delivered, and it was made much worse when the two parties touched each other’s souls in a way that no other had been able to. 

Tears fell onto the dampened earth, the lot still fresh, disturbed. The cold granite of the headstone felt glacial and yet unreal. It was a physical manifestation of devastation and yet its existence felt completely ersatz. Not only because the stone was clean for the most part - barring the red spray paint that refused to be removed, another permanent mark on the memories of that which is lost - but also because stuck out like a sore thumb in the old and run-down cemetery, a symbol of the young loss. 

Sobs wracked your body and your breathing uneven, but how could it ever be even again? It wouldn’t be, not as you sat at your kitchen table to receive the news, not as you received the devastating emotional blow of finding out that there wasn’t a body to be recovered, and not when you were in front of his grave, knowing that he wasn’t even beneath the earth below your feet. How nobody was able to find him left your mouth drier than the Sahara - you weren’t able to hold his hand one last time, no matter how cold they would be, unable to see his button nose or hug his dying body to you as you lost him for what felt like the second time in the span of a week. You choked on your breath for what was probably the hundredth time, the hundredth time you breathed your soul out through earth-shattering devastation. 

With nobody but the sodden cemetery ground to turn to, you fisted the earth and let out a heart-shattering sob into the open air, nobody to hear you or to console you through the pain. The one person you wanted most was the one person you would never see again. The lump in your throat silenced your voice, vocal cords worn thin from the sleepless nights that you sobbed into the infamous Hellfire shirt he wore. His scent was quickly fading from it and once you had realised that you were left an even bigger wreck than you could have imagined - the last tether to him slowly fraying, the last little fibres unravelling themselves in tune to your own emotional demise. 

Your whole body shook with anger and heartbreak - you wanted to get out of this god-forsaken town, but he haunted you and this cursed place was the only thing keeping him alive. You could swear that you’d feel his hands on your shoulders while you tried to cook - the first time it happened, you called his name before the sensation disappeared into thin air, leaving you heaving for oxygen. Your food was forgotten and left to burn while your wails carried through your apartment and your eyes stung from the tears. That night you sobbed until there was no longer any breath left in your lungs, until the walls of your home felt cold and unwelcoming. 

The second time it happened, you were walking past the arcade and you could have sworn you felt his hands on your hips and a laughter-filled call of your name. That time you spun around so quickly you nearly lost your balance, head whipping around to see who it was behind you, but his voice haunted you and so you pushed past everyone in your way, trying to hold yourself together enough to break down the moment you reached your car. You didn’t make it and instead, you found yourself sitting by your car’s front tire as you bawled, your body wracked with tremors. They felt never-ending – the tremors – terrorising you when you would least expect them. You longed for his arms around you again, to hear his laugh, to dance with him in your little kitchen as you did on the first night you had moved into your place. The memory only served as a painful reminder of that which you no longer had. Your body had memorised the way he held you to him, his quivering voice that told you that you’d touched his soul forever before leaning in for the most gentle kiss. The way his kiss seared into your skin was like a burn that would flare up when you least expected it, and it was clear that he too had touched your soul in a more permanent way than you had ever expected him to. 

“Eddie…” You sniffled, managing to find the capacity to croak out his name for the first time in months but the assault of tears that came immediately after you breathed life back into his name was too painful, your chest seizing, lungs collapsing on themselves as if you’d just been plummeted a thousand leagues under the dark ocean. Your life certainly felt much darker with him gone. You longed for him, even while he was around, you longed to spend time in his arms, to hear him ramble about his campaigns, about his little sheep, but now that he was gone you couldn’t help but yearn for all that you used to have with him. 

It had been months of this, of showing up to his gravestone and having to clean it from the obscenities that adorned it, a painful reminder of how little love he received for how much of it he had in his heart. You spent agonising hours scrubbing the red paint off with cleaning products and salty tears, leaving flowers and letters to him in hopes that they would somehow reach him on the other side, and yet with each passing day, the fire that lit your soul grew darker, and the yearning only grew stronger. Your jaw was in a state of constant pain from how much you were trying to hold yourself together, clenching it in both your waking hours and the moment sleep consumed you, trying to keep your very being from shattering. 

“Can you hear me say your name? Can you see me longing for you?” Your voice was hoarse, unused for far too long. You barely recognised it yourself, as if it was a third party speaking for you, projecting your thoughts for you. The moment you realised you had spoken, another wave hit you, knocking you down further than you had been before. You dug your hands into the graveyard dirt and let out a shaky breath, unable to fathom the reality that wrapped itself like a noose around your neck, slowly suffocating you. You wanted nothing more than to scream but the cry never came - your last breath was spent, it seemed, and all you could muster was a weak whimper. How could he be gone? You wondered to yourself, unable to come to terms with the devastating passing of your boyfriend. You refused to believe it, the lack of a body, he couldn’t be gone, could he? But as the days passed, your hope dwindled, and you had to resign yourself to the reality that he was gone. You had to just let go… Or so everyone seemed to preach. 

The promises you both whispered to each other in the dead of night, when the witching hour struck, and you had nothing but each other, haunted you. Sometimes you swore that you could hear whispers of his voice when you couldn’t fall asleep but ultimately it was most likely your delirious conscience that plagued you, making you hear things in the dead of night. 

“You promised…” Your sobs wracked your body, shuddering the more you tried to contain your tears, your voice completely breaking as you let go of the last ounce of strength that held you together. Your mind wandered to the sweet nothings that Eddie would shower you with, and that is what they amounted to in the end, wasn’t it? Nothing. With him gone, you didn’t have any options but to let go of those feelings, those sweet words, those promises of being yours forever. His romantic monologues and ramblings of being yours forever, and if death chose to do you part, how he’d find your soul once again from the afterlife, you had to let them go for they found themselves amounting to nothing. Death did you part, except it didn’t take you as well. 

You danced slowly in the candlelight, your hand on his shoulder, his on your waist, and his soft lips right beside your ear. He pulled you close to his body and while he was warm, his hands were cold against yours, as if he’d just come in from a cold winter’s night, but all he had done was share a joint with you, something that loosened you both up after your long day. His wild curls tickled your soft face and you giggled at some ridiculous line he was feeding you but soon the suave facade fell and his voice dropped to a low murmur. 

“Sweetheart, I love you.” His voice rattled, rattled like old windows in a summer storm, sturdy, protective, and yet stable, protecting that on the inside. “I would rip the heavens apart to find you again. I’d search for you in the afterlife if it meant I could be with you in lifetimes to come.” And while this sounded like standard Munson drivel, there was a certain intonation that inclined you to believe him. 

“I don’t think God would be too happy with you, Munson, nor the devil himself for that matter.” You tried to joke with him but it fell on deaf ears. Eddie was unrelenting with his honesty. His voice was earnest and thick with emotion when he answered you, a conviction you’d never heard before lacing itself into every word. 

“I don’t care, sweetheart, I’d fight Gods and devils alike… I’d fight Satan himself for you if it meant getting to be with you in the next life.” You couldn’t do anything but hold him closer in this moment, your words dying on your tongue. How were you to answer him when his emotions were so raw? How could you even muster up something as eloquent to say to him when he opened his heart up to you in such a vulnerable way?

“I’d raise armies to rip hell apart to find you, Eddie. I’d be longing for you forever…” You whispered to him as you both slowly danced together, the candles flickering softly, illuminating both your features in a warm glow - there was nothing more beautiful than the love you both shared, nothing more pure. 

Your forehead fell to the dank earth, lungs set ablaze by your dry heaving. You couldn’t find it in you to make this the moment you just let it go. Your soul called out for him as you longed painfully for his touch, his soft words of reassurance, but you wouldn’t get them, never again. The most you had was the little love notes he left you, his DnD notebooks… There wasn’t all too much that was left of your boyfriend, and you cherished every last thing that you had in your possession. He had touched your soul forever, whether he knew it or not. 

Your eyes burned painfully as sobs tore through your raw throat, your fingers digging further into the fresh dirt of the uprooted grave. The further you stuck your hands in, the more you prayed you’d hit something, anything, but you never would. Your hands would grow cold, and there would be a story in your heart - yours and Eddie’s - but your hands would never again find his body, never again hold him to you. They would never run through his tangled curls, or feel the plush of his lips, no, instead they’d feel the humidity seep into their bones and devour them from the inside out the longer you kept them buried, and the dirt would surely cake your fingernails to the point you wouldn’t be able to get it out from underneath them. The scent of petrichor would overtake the smell of weed, cigarettes, and his cheap musky cologne. You’d never feel his callouses graze across your soft skin again, and that small detail, the one that made Eddie so… so him, would in a year escape you, fading into nothingness as you were forced to let go of him. 

You wanted to dance with him once again, to feel the chill of his long fingers against yours but that was something that wouldn’t ever come back. Not even in the ghostings of touches, the whispers and bumps that came in the night. No matter how much those moments shattered you, no matter how much pain they brought on, the most painful would be the moment you forget the feeling of his lips or the way his hands splayed across the small of your back - those moments would disappear one day… or one day until someone came along that made you remember it, and that day would be one that would make every other touch but Eddie’s feel wrong. Nobody would have the honour to touch you in the same ways as he did. 

As you bawled into the graveyard dirt, you could have sworn there was a weight on your upper back and while it wasn’t pushing you into the dirt itself, it might as well have been. Part of you hoped it would be Eddie’s arm around you but when you turned, your body was violently assaulted by an onslaught of sobs at the realisation that your boyfriend wasn’t there to hold you while you cried. You were choking on each short breath, unable to calm yourself down. The one time you needed him more than anyone, he wasn’t present. 

I’m here. Just breathe, sweetheart, thassit, I’ve got you. 

There was something so off about the whole situation, about how clinically everything was treated, about how none of his “friends” seemed to show up. The funeral was quick and dirty, arranged by Wayne and yourself in the best way you both knew and after everything was said and done, you hid away, isolating yourself from the world itself. You barely left the house. The only time you breathed the fresh Hawkins air was when you went to visit his grave or the once-a-month trip to get groceries. You should have gone to see Wayne but he reminded you too much of everything that was ripped away from you and while you yearned to visit the man and sit down with him, to speak Eddie back into existence through memories and laughter, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You couldn’t bring yourself to break your heart over and over again even though you knew that in some capacity you both needed each other in order to sew together your broken hearts. 

“P-please Eds…” You choked out, your emotions were getting away from you, the more you thought about it, about him, the more you felt like you lost your family. He was your rock, the love of your life, in your own ways you’d sworn yourselves over to each other, sworn yourselves to life eternal with one another, and so having him ripped from you so suddenly left a dark pit in your chest, deeper than the ninth circle of hell would ever reach. You didn’t think it would have been possible for 

I’m right here with you, sweetheart.

The wind blew colder and you shivered, but you didn’t dare move, not an inch, because it meant moving from the grave you’d come to memorise - your muscles, your fingers, your heart, even your nose, all of you had come to memorise his grave - it was ingrained in you, and the epitaph was one that burned across your vision every single time your eyes closed – another ghost haunting you as you tried desperately to soothe your aching heart. People who say breakups would be easier are liars, you decided in this moment. 

They’re not… I promise you they’re not easy. At least nobody can compete with the dead.

They’d be easier because maybe on the off chance you’d get to have the person in your life, in your heart, you wouldn’t lose all the meaningful quirks the person had, you wouldn’t forget them in due time. You wouldn’t have a dead-end trail left of them, and yet… and yet it wouldn’t be easy either. Part of you wished you could have been the one to see the light disappear from his eyes, to have this confirmation of his departure from the mortal realm, another part of you didn’t even want to think of the darkness taking over his eyes, the reflection of the light fading to nothing, his breath stopping, and his brain giving out. You simultaneously wanted and did not want to be the one to witness his last breath, you did and didn’t want to be the one to watch the light behind his eyes disappear as he croaked, you did and did not want him gone because you weren’t sure which would wind up being easier to deal with. 

Neither would be easy, sweetheart.

“I wish you were here, Eds.” You sniffled the moment your sobs slowed, your body taking too much stock into keeping you alive and warm. You had exhausted yourself and cried every last tear you had in you for today, leaving a dry husk - a shell of a human – until tomorrow when you’d replenished your tear ducks.  

I’m right here with you always. I’m not going anywhere, I promised you that not even death could do us part.A cold gust of air pushed your hair from your face and you couldn’t contain your shiver, the cold was becoming as unbearable as your boyfriend’s passing, every waking hour haunted by memories of him, every corner of Hawkins harbouring his ghost, and every unconscious moment plagued by nightmares of his last moments, twisting memories, contorting them into grotesque scenes of abject horror. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself up to your knees and swallowed down any emotions you had, bringing your soiled sleeve to your face and wiping away the tears that threatened to spill. You were sure you looked like you had just crawled out of the grave due to the amount of dirt that caked your body and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when he was gone.

With a shaky breath, you leaned over and kissed his gravestone, your eyes fluttering shut, and at that moment you swore you heard his voice calling to you, you swore you felt the warmth of his hand on your puffy cheek, his thumb brushing across the damp valley of your eye. You kept your eyes shut for just a moment longer, longing to feel this small moment of reprieve despite the fact that it probably did far more harm than it did good. 

“I’m with you always, sweetheart.” Your eyes snapped open and your head dropped against the headstone, lip trembling as you tried to bite into it from the inside of your mouth - you couldn’t stop the heavy squeezing around your heart nor the feeling of a dark pit opening itself up in your stomach. When you lost your boyfriend a chasm had ripped itself through your chest, leaving you empty and numb to everything but the onslaught of pain that each waking moment brought you. Each waking moment was plagued with the knowledge that Eddie was gone before you were even aware of it. You hadn’t even been in town when the manhunt had begun, having been away to visit your mother’s side of the family, only to come home to find out he was in hiding - ripped away from you once, then twice. 

The fresh torrential downpour of tears was unexpected but they kept you at his grave, they kept you closer to him, they kept him alive even by some fucked up means. If crying for him meant that his memory was kept alive then you’d cry for him into the next lifetime, and while you thought you’d cried them all away, it seemed that neither love nor grief had limits.

tags: @munson-blurbs @rip-quizilla @the-unforgivenn @littlesubbyflower @hellfire--cult

[beevean]

The Devil Forgemasters in Netflixvania: why you shouldn't fix what is broken

I have a lot to say about how the show completely ruined Hector and Isaac, as characters and thematically. Adding more and more to the original post about how the changes made to Dracula and the Belmonts ruin the story would derail it more than I'd like to, so take this as some sort of lateral continuation.

Devil Forging is not tied to Dracula.

This is, admittedly, an obscure detail that not even many game fans know, but it's a good starting point.

Devil Forging (Japanese: 悪魔精錬術, Art of Devil Refining) is described to be a blasphemous branch of alchemy that creates life out of a wisp of conjuring matter. While it's ambiguous whether Hector and Isaac are the only Devil Forgemasters in the world or simply the most talented ones, it has been confirmed that they were infused with Dracula's own power to become Forgemasters.

Igarashi said it in a pre-release interview of the game...

"Innocent Devils are created out of strong magical essence. Previously when Hector was part of Dracula's army, Dracula himself provided that magical essence, so it was easy to create Innocent Devils..."

It was shown in a page of Prelude to Revenge...

And Death's entire plan in Curse of Darkness hinges on both Hector and Isaac being "suffused" with his master's power, making them the perfect vessels for his resurrection.

In the show, Devil Forging (or just Forging) is nothing of the sort. Forgemasters create Night Creatures by putting souls from Hell into recently dead, intact corpses. Hector in particular knew how to resurrect creatures in a zombie state since he was a child. Neither him nor Isaac, who studied by himself, needed Dracula to become Forgemasters: he met them when they were already adults and well-versed in dark arts.

This, on its own, doesn't ruin the story much: it's not a big deal if Devil Forging is changed from alchemy to necromancy, especially since this Dracula didn't use to be the alchemist Mathias Cronqvist. I also don't mind in a vacuum that the art has more limitations, like needing fresh corpses or tools. But, much like removing any hint that Lament of Innocence happened, it spirals into worse and worse consequences.

There is, however, something that can be mentioned here. The show makes a frequent point, through Carmilla, Lenore and the Captain, that Dracula might have planned to kill Hector and Isaac together with all the humans: Isaac accepted this fate and for this reason refused to befriend Hector, Hector could be manipulated at the other vampires' leisure. This conflict wouldn't have existed if Isaac and Hector trusted Dracula with their lives, as in, if he was the one who "made" them as they were: in fact, a big deal is made out of the Devil Forgemasters' humanity. I will elaborate more on the details next.

Dracula hired Hector and Isaac shortly after Lisa was killed.

In the prequels, Hector and Isaac went to knock to Dracula's door out of desperation (in one version when they were young boys), because there was no other place in the world for them. Dracula welcomed them and taught them the dark arts, on the condition that they would serve him, which they did out of gratitude for being allowed to live. Their talent was enough to earn them the titles of Devil Forgemasters and Generals. Their loyalty was then put to the test after Lisa's death, when Dracula used their powers to make an army to crush humanity with: Isaac was perfectly fine with it, Hector had reservations.

The wording implies that Hector was shocked by Dracula's descent into madness. One can even read his "indiscriminately" as a hint that at first Hector was also alright with punishing the guilty, but then had second thoughts the moment he realized Dracula's slaughter was beyond reason.

Only bits and pieces of all of this was kept in the show. As I mentioned, Dracula met the two when they were already adults and hermits, one in Rhodes and the other in the Sahara, and the two were impressed by how Dracula was the first one who treated them with kindness. Then he returned to them after Lisa's death, more or less telling both of them "I need you to exterminate the human race". Isaac was, again, up to it, while Hector had to be convinced with a lie: Dracula promised to him a compromise, that of culling the human race and using it as livestock. Then, he took them to his castle and immediately promoted them to Generals, because he trusted them as humans against humanity.

Why does it matter? Hector started off with all the building blocks to go through a similar character arc he goes through in the CoD prequels, but he's turned into a less sympathetic character, as he was on board with turning humans into cattle from the get go. An anti-villain who'd enslave his own kind out of a misguided sense of mercy needs a carefully woven narrative to justify, and possibly redeem. We all know what happened to him.

To be fair, the story wasting Hector is not the fault of the lore changes, so there's no point in elaborating here. I will mention, however, that some fans genuinely believe Hector deserved to be enslaved and raped precisely because of his original plan, which makes the narrative even grosser.

Why does it matter? 2: Hector not feeling grateful for Dracula giving him a home, because their relationship is now more shallow and cheaper, makes him weaker to Carmilla's and Lenore's manipulations: game Hector, pre-character development, would have had the right counterarguments against them, and he would have come off as less passive.

Why does it matter? 3: Hector and Isaac only worked under Dracula for a year, and they're already called Generals. In the prequels, it's implied they spent years studying under him and gaining experience, both in the alchemy lab and in the battlefield, which is why they're called Generals in the first place (unlike the show version, who allegedly aren't even physical fighters). While Dracula explains that he trusts them due to being humans willing to exterminate other humans, it's questionable that Dracula would trust their qualifications so much; this is made even worse by the fact that Hector was "hired" thanks to a lie. Their importance and talent are diminished, and Dracula comes off as more impulsive and less caring of those he trusts.

(and while this is more minor, Dracula, who in this version is meant to be more sympathetic, looks like more of a bastard for leaving Hector and Isaac in their isolated homes until he had a need for them. The story could have put Isaac through a character arc where he realized that his "friend" only saw him as a tool and discarded him as such, but nothing comes from it.)

Neither Dracula nor Isaac respect Hector.

In the games, Dracula respected both Hector and Isaac as his trusted Generals, but he favored Hector, which caused Isaac not a small amount of grief. Isaac himself was torn between respecting Hector as a friend and comrade and resenting him for "getting closer to Lord Dracula". In any case, it's obvious that both of them had a role in Dracula's court, it just happened that Hector was more talented than Isaac.

Before talking about the show, it's necessary to talk about the stats sheets that came out with Season 2, that implied that Hector and Isaac were meant to be both physically weak, with the former slightly stronger and more powerful in "necromancing" than the latter. This implies that the original idea was more in line with the games, with Hector being more talented than Isaac: this would have explained why Dracula resorted to lie to him to hire him.

But this, for whatever reason, was not kept at all. Not only the two are roughly on the same level of raw power; not only Isaac eventually is shown to be a menace in battle; but Dracula and Isaac have nothing but contempt for Hector as a person. They insult him gratuituously, calling him "a child in a man's body", "just a little boy", "a creature too simple for betrayal", "easy to lie to", and making fun of his love for animals. Furthermore, Isaac in particular says that he never cared to befriend Hector because he assumed, and accepted, that both of them will eventually die at Dracula's hands, so there was no point in forming a connection - but it could have been just an excuse because it's clear that he simply cannot stand him.

This is not just petty bullying, it's baffling writing.

Why does it matter?: this Hector should not even be in the castle, let alone with an important role like a General of Dracula's army. If Forging is a branch of magic well known in certain circles, unrelated to Dracula, why couldn't he attempt to find another one that would be on board with his plan? Especially since it seems to be common to shun them for their blasphemous powers, so there has to be another Forgemaster with a chip on their shoulder that wouldn't need to be manipulated.

Hector is kept in the dark about Dracula's real plan. He is considered so stupid that anyone could sway him. He yells in the middle of the war room that he doesn't enjoy paddling in the blood of children, confirming that he doesn't want to target innocents. He is also not special compared to Isaac, who is also shown to be quicker in Forging and capable in fighting. Hector is nothing short of a liability for Dracula, and it's all his fault for not realizing how much of a detriment hiring a naive "manchild" for a plan that goes against his very morals would eventually become.

But then again, Dracula in the show seems to like having liabilities in his castle.

Hector did not challenge Dracula of his own volition.

While the details are unclear and can only be inferred, it is pivotal that, at some point, Hector decided that he couldn't be an instrument of slaughter. He may have come to this conclusion out of principles (PtR) or out of pride for his own humanity (MF manga), but what matters is that he decided that he would rather flee to live in the human world that rejected him than to keep living in Dracula's castle where he was respected as a Devil Forgemaster but not as a person.

Hector's choice to run away in search of freedom, while understandable and admirable, has terrible consequences on Isaac, his foil and rival. He had to leave the castle to pursue the traitor: the two fought, and Isaac lost. Not only Hector left him alive instead of mercy killing him, letting the failure soak in, but thanks to their absence from the castle, Trevor and his companions had less obstacles to overcome, so they managed to reach Dracula and kill him. Isaac was beyond furious at Hector's betrayal: not only the rival he respected turned his back on both him and their Lord, but with one act, he stripped Isaac of everything he held dear in his life, from his position to the Lord who accepted him to his very home. Thus, the tragic cycle of revenge the two get stuck in during the game.

In the show, the real agent of S2 is Carmilla. She is the one who has decided that Dracula is an insane old man and she has to stop his insane plan (because it would harm vampires in the long run, of course). Her plan is to manipulate Hector into convincing him to convince Dracula to move the castle at Braila, all while praising his skills and reassuring she only wants to save his life from Dracula's insanity. Hector, who already had doubts, easily goes along with Carmilla's will, and by the time she reveals she disdains him as well, he doesn't have the strength to rebel, which leads to his beating and imprisonment in S3.

Why does it matter?: the most important theme of Hector's character is him gaining agency and choosing to amend his mistakes by being a better person than those around him. He is meant to be a parallel to Isaac (who close loyalty over freedom and couldn't rise above his bitterness and anger), Alucard (who is burdened by his family, not his wrong choices) and Dracula himself (who lost his heart out of grief and, like Isaac, kept spiraling downwards). Stripping him of his thematic relevance leaves Hector with nothing to his name: while Hector is canonically someone who clings in search of affection, the show takes this trait to absurd and frankly humiliating degrees.

Contrast the climax of game Hector's character arc of facing his former benefactor, telling him he has no right to judge mankind, and swearing that this time he will fight him face to face instead of running away:

with the climax of show Hector's character arc of protecting the woman who abused him, gaslighted him, raped him through deception, imprisoned him, never once respected him as a person and put a cursed ring on him that forced him to mutilate his own hand to break free, and then allowing her to die on her own terms so that she won't have to face the consequences of her actions, crawling back to her (and Dracula! He wanted Dracula back after everything he had done!) because up until the end, he never acknowledged the fatal flaw of weakmindness and insecurity that led him to being tortured in all sorts of ways.

(Isaac telling us that "he changed" is the biggest lie of the show. "He never had agency", he also says, and not only that is true, it keeps being true until the end of the show, in the face of any character development.)

Hector's character is much more than being a generic badass: he is meant to be an inspiration to not falter and succumb to your weaknesses because you are valuable as a person and human, regardless of how others see you. Even if you make mistakes, you can choose to become a better person, and you can find people who love you for who you are. It is incomprehensible how much his show's counterpart ends up promoting the complete opposite message.

Why does it matter? 2: while the story beats the viewer over the head that Hector is a simpleminded manchild, Dracula and Isaac actually look like the biggest idiots in the castle. Carmilla makes clear from her entrance that she has no respect for Dracula and would rather do as she pleases, yet Dracula keeps her alive, allowing her to talk with the "manchild easy to lie to", and Isaac flippantly agrees to her plan to "stop her from causing mischief". Hector gets all the blame for his naiveté and is punished beyond measure, while the other two gets off scot free from their plot-mandated stupidity. It's one thing when in the mangas Dracula and Isaac trusted Hector and thus were left blindsided by his betrayal: they have absolutely zero reason to leave Carmilla alive, let alone trust her.

Why does it matter? 3: Isaac has no solid reason to resent Hector. The two have no connection whatsoever, Carmilla is clearly the one in charge, Isaac sees Trevor, Sypha and Alucard storming the castle with his own eyes, and he was also partially responsible for Carmilla betraying Dracula. He never feels guilty for his negligence in recognizing her as a threat or Hector as someone capable of betrayal. His glee at seeing Hector suffering and his desire to kill him are far less motivated, impactful and tragic. It also comes as a slap in the face that in S4 he "forgives" Hector for lacking agency, without a word about his blind loyalty and stubbornness that nothing could harm his Lord.

Addendum: this is a smaller point related to the previous one, but I feel the need to mention it: there is a very big difference between an insane, ruined Isaac spying on a happy Hector from the shadows, plotting his downfall, and a gleeful Isaac spying on a tortured Hector and rejoicing in his suffering. The former creates palpable tension, because we are rooting for Hector's new happy life, and Isaac ruining it cements him as a despicable and threatening villain; when Isaac in the show is glad to see Hector in pain but still wants to kill him, it has no impact because everyone wants to see Hector suffer, and by that point, killing him would have been a mercy. Once again, it only feels spiteful and kicking someone when he's down.

Isaac and Hector swapped places without reason.

This is by far the most unpopular opinion and perhaps the most biased, but it has to be included.

Isaac in the games had a very specific role of being Hector's foil. He was the loyalty to Hector's pride, he saw himself as a tool while Hector recognized his own humanity, he succumbed to his own hatred while Hector eventually rose above it. He has a negative character arc, becoming more and more obsessed, unhinged and destructive from the prequels until the end of the game where he meets his tragic end, both puppeteer and puppet - his sister Julia is proof that he too had people who cared about him and he cared about, but it was not enough against Dracula's influence. Even his design tells us a lot about him: not only he let his uniform rot off his body in his insanity, but the intricate tattoos on his body can be seen as proof of how far he'd twist himself to show loyalty to his Lord.

While it's not necessary to recreate 1:1 his story in the show, it is immensely frustrating that show Isaac pretty much stole what should have been Hector's arc, leaving him with a flat arc that can be vaguely read as "forgive your abusers if they're sad enough".

It's not just about Hector, though. Show Isaac comes off as a worse version of both characters. I have already explained how in S2 he comes off as more negligent and thus less sympathetic than game Isaac in similar circumstances. S3 and 4, combined, should be about him travelling around, meeting new people and slowly realizing that he can be more than Dracula's right hand because not all humans are rotten to the core. In practice, show Isaac spends the majority of S3 causing much more reckless havoc than game Isaac, targeting people who merely dared to stop a dark wizard from invading their towns, flip-flopping between "maybe humans can be good" to "nevermind you are all rude and deserve to be used by me as demons", until in S4 he suddenly has the realization that he enjoys having agency and would rather build a better world (which includes killing people for "just" reasons); it's almost like the arc game Hector went through in the manga, except we actually see him trying to atone for his past sins, acknowledging that his dark past makes him hateable, and genuinely reforming thanks to Rosaly's influence.

Why does it matter?: Isaac is nowhere near as sympathetic as the show wants him to be, and his arc is shallow, rushed and generic. This is because he switches between two different characters with little buildup.

Why does it matter? 2: Hector and Isaac were meant to be foils in everything, from designs to personalities to arcs. They make each other stronger as characters. In the show, they have no thematic relevance, and the only contrast is that Isaac keeps getting what he wants while Hector keeps getting tormented and humiliated, not for a good narrative reason but out of petty favoritism and spite respectively. It makes their reunion in S4 ring hollow, because, much like the three protagonists, the two didn't have a relationship in the first place to make their mutual forgiveness poignant.

Bonus: the uniforms.

This is the hill I will die on: Hector and Isaac's designs in the games are crucial to the understanding of the characters, and the way the characters were redesigned in the show makes no sense.

In Prelude to Revenge, we see the Devil Forgemasters' full uniforms:

They wear a big, dark cassock with a sash, that makes the both of them look like priests, and bat-shaped chest armor bearing the crest of their position. As we know, Isaac also went so far as embedding that crest on his back, signifying how devoted he is.

After the events of the prequel and during the game proper, their outfit changes. Hector wears what we can assume are the clothes underneath the cassock, haphazardly stitched back together, but keeping the sash (now with Rosaly's ribbon tied around it) and the chest armor, symbolizing how he's forced to face his past again to avenge his wife. This outfit is also designed for running and combat, as shown by the one glove and the arm guard.

Isaac, on the other hand, is unrecognizeable. After three years of rotting in the ruins of the castle, the uniform fell off his body, and he did not bother to fix it. He only modified the chest armor, making it smaller and creating chains, shoulder pauldrons and a collar to keep it on his body. It is meant to contrast his previously put-together design, and convey that Isaac's sanity is as gone as his clothes. Furthermore, he is flaunting the tattoos that symbolize his utter devotion and belonging to Dracula.

In short, Hector and Isaac started from a similar place, but they diverged to very different paths.

This, on the other hand, is nothing short of lazy.

There is no explanation as to why they wear different uniforms. There is no color coordination, no red/blue motif in their clothes. There is no reason Isaac wears a dark priestly uniform while Hector still looks combat ready when he's only a smith (wouldn't the arm guard get in the way?). Hector is shown wearing a red sash ever since he was a child, which doesn't explain why it's included in Isaac's uniform as well. Even the crest on the armor looks different:

There was no thought put in any of this, it was all sloppily stolen from the fandom wiki, and once again, it ruins the carefully woven connection between the two characters.

Hector and Isaac's story was airtight, with just enough room for speculation but enough material to get invested in, emotional, a great example of tragedy, and every choice was made for a reason. It was a story of revenge on the surface, but it also tackled quite well, despite its limitations, themes of humanity and agency and freedom. The writing in the show is not only sloppy and more shallow, but it accidentally promotes terrible themes in its misanthropy, cruelty, and lack of care regarding abuse and trauma.

[delightfulcollectivetyphoon]

is it just me or does this pic radiate MAJOR predator/prey vibes? like he's just rawdoggin your soul. just me? okay

anyways, smutty thoughts below the cut

tw: loud concert, mentions of anxiety, mentions of wolves, mentions of smut, cuss words, kinda daddy issues?, fluffy angst (or angsty fluff)

a/n: so um yeah I meant for this to be like 10 sentences and I wrote a goddamn novel oopsies. and this ain't even the full thing.

You were sitting on the balcony all the way to the right of the entrance, at one of the smallest gigs you'd ever seen Metallica play. Wolf and Man was pounding into your ears, your senses blurring from the thrill of it all. You were watching Robert and Kirk run circles around each other, and you smiled at how silly these old men could be, like they were being kids again. You felt eyes burning into the side of your head and just 100 feet away was James, staring you down in a fierce manner. He didn't break eye contact as his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, he was hypnotizing. Your smile fell slowly as your lips parted, lost in his sultry glare. One of the spotlights fell on him so perfectly; you could see every beautiful outline and shadow of this masterfully sculpted man; his sweat covering his skin with a thin sheen. The massive screen behind the band was focused on him, and you saw up close how his eyes were clouded with something more than lust, a wolfish need, like he wanted to tear you apart, make you squeal, savor every inch of your skin. Something you had dreamed of ever since walking through the venue door and saw him in his vest and tank top. He smirked at you as he played the last few notes of the song and brought his tank to his mouth to wipe the sweat off his upper lip, the drops glittering his silver hair no more. The crowd screamed and clapped as the men gave their thank-yous and till-next-times.

-----------------------Backstage, a half hour later------------------------

The bag and ticket checks were brutal, and you started to wonder if this was a bad idea. Meeting Metallica seemed like a good idea in retrospect, yes, but now your anxiety was getting the best of you. Your palms were sweaty, your heart was racing, and your mouth was dry as the Sahara. The bottle of water sitting in your bag suddenly came back to mind as you snatched it from its pocket and tried to take off the cap. Your hand was shaking, making it difficult. You finally managed to get it off and sipped it for the next few minutes. Jesus Christ, was meeting 4 60-year-old men this fucking stressful? Some quick self-reflection brought you the idea that meeting Rob, Kirk, and Lars was exhilarating, but not stress-inducing. Meeting James was your main problem. It wasn't really a problem, he was just your favorite of the band, whether for his look or his playing, you didn't know, but you had chalked it up to a fair 50/50. This was a problem you were excited to have. Some parts of you were more excited than others, but you pushed that thought to the very recesses of your brain. If you had the scenario of screwing a man old enough to be your dad in the back of your head, it would definitely make its way into your conversation, which was more or less bound to get you a weird look and a premature "it was nice meeting you!" But God, his stare made you anxious in all the right ways and you just couldn't stop thinking of him staring into your soul as he chased you down, captured you, and made you his. You snapped out of your little thought bubble as you neared the platform. James was shaking the hand of a middle-aged man, someone you guessed was a father because of the 5-ish-year-old girl standing at his feet, holding onto the bottom of her father's shirt. James squatted down so he could be eye-level with the girl, and you instantly knew that he looked differently at others. He had reserved that stare just for you. Your brain ran rampant with the possibility that he might actually just want you, and that he wasn't generally so domineering and intense, but just when he saw you. In fact, his eyes returned to what you thought a 60-year-old's should look like, soft and sweet, teddy-bear-ish. He shook her tiny hand, and she shook it back and moved in for a hug. You couldn't blame her; he looked like just about the most huggable person there. He laughed as he closed her arms around her, telling the dad that it was okay after he tried to apologize and pull her away.

"Be good for your dad, okay," he asked, almost commanded as he straightened her jacket, ruffled from the embrace. He gave her one last smile as she nodded and walked off with her dad. The attendant ushered you forward as James picked up his water and took a sip at the same time you did. When he tilted his head back down, he saw you staring at his battle vest, or more importantly the tank top covering his chest and tummy. God, his tummy was hotter from up close. He caught you staring, and your faced burned with embarrassment.

"You like it?"

Your breath caught in your throat at his raspy tone.

"What?"

He laughed and set the bottle down on the table behind him. He gestured you to the chairs and table set up on the platform, probably decades-old wood that squeaked when you settled into it.

"My jacket, you like it? Saw you starin' at it, figured it interested you."

He was subtly fucking with you, letting you know he had caught you staring at his tummy, imagining it colliding with your back as he drove deeper and deeper into you, owning you. He had known that you were awe-struck by the idea ever since he saw you staring back during Wolf and Man. He had all the confirmation he needed.

"Oh, yeah, it's an awesome vest! I have one like it, just not as many patches. It's also a little less worn; I just bought it and started adding stuff about a week ago, actually."

He smiled and leaned back. The angle allowed his tank top to stretch tighter across his stomach; allowed his vest to cling to his shoulders, accentuating how broad he was. You involuntarily inhaled through your nose like it was the last sniff of oxygen you'd ever get. You'd tried your best not to gasp, that would for sure get his attention. He smirked.

"I know you're not here to talk about vests. I can tell something's on your mind. C'mon I have 3 kids, I can tell when something's wrong by poorly masked facial expressions," he joked, and you softened, comforted by his willingness to peer into your thoughts.

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thanks for reading, this is my first ever fic! i think i did fairly well, but feedback is appreciated! should i do a part 2?