#and then have the title be something like ‘He Fucks the Axe’

[junkart96]

*coughcough*straight-passing*cough*

[murdrdocs]

she’s driving me crazy

description. STILES STILINSKI finally gets another chance with you, and he won’t take it for granted

includes. SMUT 18+, riding, car sex, fem!reader, protective p n v, lots of making out, loser!stiles, awkward stiles, bi!stiles, exes getting back together, slightly manipulative reader, reader has easily malleable hair, reader wears makeup, drinking (but no drunk intercourse), bickering, scott guest appearance

wc. 6k+

a/n: long awaited stiles fic. bestie boo this one's for u. title from confidence by ocean alley. art credits unknown.

Stiles knows he fucked up. 

He had you, after almost a full year of tortuous pining, and he let you slip through his hands. All of it, your relationship with Stiles, really didn’t last more than two months. Two months where date nights were rain checked and eventually canceled. Sleepovers were lackluster, and nothing more than a movie playing in the back while Stiles worked over something that wouldn’t rest in his brain, leaving you alone in the center of his unmade bed. Promises were made, and never kept. It was a mess, a horrible, murky mess of Stiles’ own creation. 

He knows this. But he still allows himself to mourn what could have been. He grieves what was. All while nursing a warm beer that doesn’t sit well in his stomach, mostly because of the sight he has been doomed to acknowledge—also his own doing as he could definitely turn his gaze elsewhere. 

You’re tucked under the arm of some guy who looks nothing like Stiles, and he doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. Is that your dream guy? Or are you forcing yourself to branch out and try something that wasn’t him? He tries to resist the spiral that sends him on, and is only able to start crawling out of the self-deprecating and insecurity tunnel through Scott’s voice beside him. 

“What’re you staring at?” 

Scott reeks of alcohol and fruit-flavored syrup. If he wasn’t a werewolf, Stiles knows his best friend would be unable to stand straight by now. But Scott stands like his usual self next to Stiles, a big grin on his face probably from the attention he’s been getting from Kira. (It was sickening for Stiles to watch but he forced himself to be happy for the strong relationship his best friend has.)

Stiles’ immediate instinct is to lie. “Nothing.” He says it a little too fast. He tries to cover his slip up by taking a sip of his beer, but the flavor is unappealing to the point where the face of disgust he presents makes him look more guilty than he really is. 

Scott stares at Stiles, waiting. Stiles knows he won’t lie to Scott, not about something this small anyway, and it is only a matter of a few seconds before Stiles sighs. 

“Look,” he points at you and your suitor. “Don’t you think he’s making her uncomfortable? Look at that. He’s all over her. Probably reeks of Axe body spray.”

It’s then that the guy cracks another joke, your head throwing back in laughter just before you rest your ear against his chest. It’s so affectionate. As if you’ve known this guy for years, and not just mere minutes. 

Stiles flicks his eyes over to Scott, expecting to see his best friend analyzing the situation with at least a small amount of attention that Stiles is. Instead, Scott is looking over at Stiles, wearing what Stiles can only describe as a knowing smirk on his lips. 

Stiles steps back, a little bewildered. “What?” 

Scott, annoyingly, shrugs. He sips his drink, one he has solely for taste as Stiles knows, and only responds once he’s taken a long, slow swallow. 

“She seems fine to me. I thought you guys were broken up anyway.” 

“We are!” 

“Then why do you care so much?” 

Stiles can’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. He turns to face you and your human shaped bag of bricks once again, gesturing for Scott to do the same. His mouth opens, lips parted and tongue ready to spew out the analytics he’d been gathering this entire time in lieu of an excuse. 

Then Scott interrupts. 

“Do you want me to see what’s going on?” Scott throws a finger up towards his ear, one eyebrow lifted as he waits for Stiles to gather the implications and then make a decision. 

It takes Stiles longer to complete the latter than the former. 

He waits, thinks, looks at you and the guy. And then remembers the strict ‘no listening’ rule you all have set in place, the one he most definitely won’t betray in the name of jealousy, even if you aren’t particularly aware of all of the intricacies. 

When he sighs, it’s defeated and with his entire body. He knows he’s pouting, he assumes he resembles his teenage self—mopey and brooding. He doesn’t mean to speak through gritted teeth, but he ends up doing it anyway. 

“No. She’s probably … fine. I guess.” It hurts to admit, deep in Stiles' jealousy-filled gut. Scott’s way of comforting him is by clapping a hand on his shoulder, and telling him that you’re a grown adult who is allowed to make her own decisions, the same as him. 

Scott’s intentions aren’t understood until he points at someone in the opposite direction of you. A guy who, from the looks of it, has been eyeing Stiles for a while. He’s Stiles’ type. Exactly his type, actually, and Scott knows this. 

“Instead of sulking around …” Scott doesn’t need to finish his sentence in order for Stiles to understand. He only lingers for a few seconds, and then is pulled back towards the larger group by Kira’s eyes and grin. 

The guy on the other side of the bar is still watching Stiles. He’s smiling a small but confident smile, like he knows Stiles wants him as much as he wants Stiles. He tilts his head in a beckon, and Stiles is close to letting the guy pull him over there. Until he sees you step away from the man, smile dismissively up to him, and start towards Stiles instead. 

Instantly, it’s like a flip has been switched. 

He starts to feel the effects of the alcohol, even though he’d been nursing the same bottle the entire night. Still, he chooses to attribute the buzz flowing throughout his body to the overpriced beer and not excitement of finally having your attention. 

He watches your path, trying not to feel too disappointed as he takes notice of the way you’re struggling to walk in a straight line. 

You fall into his arms in a fit of giggles. Your head resting on his chest, your hands circling around his back. 

“Stiles,” you sing, long and drawn out and definitely drunk.  

He repeats your name in the same tune, placing his drink onto a tabletop next to him and abandoning it for good. Keeping you away from self destruction is his new main priority. 

You slump against him even more, turning yourself around and leaning back against his body. Your position leaves Stiles with nothing else to do other than stand stiffly. He knows that if you were sober, you wouldn’t be nearly as affectionate as you are now. He ignores the way your ass brushes against his crotch. He ignores the smell of your perfume wafting up to him, a scent he had the privilege of seeing you apply a few times before when you were dating. (The image of you getting ready for the day, lathering yourself in the oils and lotions and scents that worked to create your unique scent will never leave his brain, for better or for worse.)

He does his best to remain unaffected, but then you tilt your head up, the crown of your hair rubbing against Stiles’ shirt as you look at him. As soon as he glances down, he sees you pouting, clearly over exaggerated but it’s a look he, pathetically, will never be able to resist. 

“Why won’t you touch me?” You manage to sound pitiful, as if you had lost every single thing you hold dear to your heart in the last couple of minutes. 

In his response, he tries to remain neutral. Drunk or not, you know the game you’re playing, and Stiles foolishly believes that his knowledge of the ploy makes him insusceptible. 

“Because you’re drunk,” he platonically rests his hands on your shoulders and encourages you off of him. “And we aren’t together anymore.” 

You turn around to face him, grinning up at him like the cat with the canary as you tell him, “it didn’t stop us last time, right?”

That, and the way you almost throw yourself at some guy walking past, is enough reason for Stiles to link his hand in yours and pull you towards the others. Scott stares down at your interlinked palms for only a moment before Stiles explains his plan, which entails getting you back to your apartment before you do something you could regret. 

This isn’t an excuse for Stiles to continue hanging out with you. He makes sure he clarifies that to himself and his best friend before he’s pulling you out of the bar and towards his Jeep.

You’re both less than ten steps away from the entrance to the bar when you suddenly have your lips pressed to Stiles’. 

There is a moment where Stiles fails to resist. Where he reciprocates quicker than his brain can realize, acting on pure instinct and muscle memory instead of logic. He is unable to stop himself from getting comfortable, from linking this kiss to the last one he’d received from you. Hotter and messier than this one. (Lost in his appreciation to finally be kissing you again, Stiles fails to notice how you don’t taste like alcohol at all)

Only a few more seconds pass before Stiles reminds himself that you’re drunk, and that this is wrong. When he pulls away from your lips—regretfully, that is—he’s tempted into staying by the slight stickiness of your lipgloss and the almost-disgusting string of saliva that briefly keeps you two sewn together. 

You try to lean back in, but Stiles stops you with his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’re drunk,” he reminds you. 

You’re fixing him with a look, one that feels strong and weirdly sober. His suspicions have more proof to back them up when you say his name with the same matter-of-fact tone he had just used on you. 

“I’m not drunk.” 

He scrunches his eyebrows together, the muscles in his face mimicking the movement as well. His lips part as he nonverbally exclaims his confusion. He lifts one of his hands from your shoulder to hook his thumb towards the bar entrance. He looks around, for nothing or no one in particular, but as if the night will have an explanation that you would surely be willing to provide if he asks. 

He didn’t even need to ask before you provide an explanation. It’s cut and dry, matter-of-fact, spoken like it is the most casual thing in the world. 

“I faked being drunk so you could take me home.” 

Stiles knows what you mean. He’s not dumb. But he surely does feel it when he says, “If you didn’t feel well you could’ve just told Lydia. She would’ve taken you back to yours.” 

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t wanna sleep with me, that’s fine. Just let me know before I waste my time.” 

Stiles should stand up for himself. He should reprimand your attitude, and exclaim how unnecessary it was. Instead, he flounders and almost falls to your feet with the speed he clarifies himself. 

“No. I do wanna sleep with you. Like, really bad. But … um … well,” you lift your eyebrows and Stiles clears his throat. “How many fingers am I holding up.” 

“Jesus, fuck, Stiles.” He continues holding up his first three fingers on his right hand until you answer. “Three.” 

You lean in but Stiles takes a step back. And then another. And then another, until he’s standing against the wall of the bar and you’re standing at the edge of the sidewalk. 

“Walk in a straight line towards me.” 

You don’t seem happy about it, but you place one foot in front of the other over and over again until you’re in front of Stiles. Nothing more has to be said before Stiles places his hands on your hips, pulls you flush to him, and finally allows himself to kiss you. 

It’s been a while since Stiles had the privilege of kissing you. The last time, just a month ago, didn’t count in his mind. Sure, he remembered nearly every detail, but your shared inebriated state at the time overruled any legitimacy the encounter could have held. Now, it only acts as a reminder and motivator for Stiles to enjoy every moment of this that he can. 

Eventually, it would be smart, and preferable, to leave the outside of the bar and actually take you home where you two could be alone. But for now, Stiles presses his hands into the middle of your back as a way to pull you as close to him as possible. He has his legs spread, creating space for your limbs to stagger. Your hands rest on his shoulders, then at the back of his neck, then in his hair. Both of you are attempting to get as close to the other as possible, all while engaging in the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever had. You both kissed cleaner when you were drunk. 

Now, outside this bar with your closest friends inside, and with nothing but the night (and the bouncer) as witness, you submit to the other. There is a level of appreciation in the way your lips slide together. There is a level of gratitude in the presses of your tongues against each other. There is an exorbitant amount of longing that is solved each time you jerk your hips into Stiles and each time he reciprocates. 

You thread your hands through Stiles’ hair the same time that he slides his hands down to your ass and squeezes, pulling you as close to him as possible and rubbing his thigh against the center seam of your jeans. You both groan into each other's mouths—Stiles from the way you tug just right on his hair, and you from the feeling of his leg between yours. 

Sensing—knowing that he did something right, something good, Stiles does it again. And again. And again. The steady slide of his thigh between your legs does the job. You let your head fall, leaning the top of it against Stiles’ chest just right under his sternum. 

The sound of you moaning Stiles’ name goes straight to his dick, with a few remnants traveling to his head, leaving him dizzy and with a steady growing semi. His actions make you grip his hair stronger. His actions indirectly cause pleasure for him, too. 

It all disappears when the sound of spitting—loud and boisterous, almost cartoonish—breaks up the moment. Stiles stops his movements. He lays his hands flat on the back pockets of your jeans as he turns his head to the side. 

The eyes of the bouncer meet Stiles and Stiles’ ears burn. 

While the bouncer doesn’t say anything to him, Stiles knows the message he’s trying to communicate. 

Get the fuck out of here. 

Stiles is forced to push you back by hooking his fingers in your belt loops. He’s still touching you, at least an extension of you, but then your hands drop to your sides and Stiles can feel his body crying out for you. The same way his body calls out for vital needs—food, water, sleep, entertainment. He squashes his emotions for a second, plasters on a—truthfully sympathetic—face, one that comes off more as a tight lipped smile than anything else. 

“Sorry, man. You — uh. You have a goodnight.” He throws a hand up to the bouncer, hoping it is received as friendly. When the bouncer returns the gesture, still with that same look in his eyes, Stiles heads down the street and pulls you with him. 

The walk to the car is tortuous. His boner keeps rubbing against his jeans, leaving him to stop every few paces, face away from the street, and try to adjust himself. After the third time, you were voicing your frustration, claiming that it was taking forever to reach the car because of Stiles’ worry about who could see his erection. He tries things your way, ignoring the way his dick calls for his attention and instead focusing all of his attention on you. 

The way your hips sway in your tight jeans. The way the wind blows your perfume to him and lifts the edge of your shirt in one, giving Stiles a peek of your skin. It’s such a small look, nothing more than a glimpse, and Stiles feels like a Victorian man the way he’s having to bite his fist at the next crosswalk to avoid groaning. The street lights illuminate your face in just the right ways, highlighting your makeup in an unnaturally ethereal way. Everything about you is driving Stiles crazy. There’s no way he’s going to make it to your house. If he doesn’t get to his car soon, he might pull you into the next bar bathroom that he could find just for a semblance of privacy. 

If he could just get to his Jeep. 

It’s then that Stiles realizes he’s been walking for far too long. He stops in the center of the sidewalk. You stop right beside him. 

Stiles doesn’t say anything as he turns around and leads you three blocks down the street, one street over, and then into the parking garage elevator. 

The way you’re grinning at him alerts Stiles of the words soon to come out of your mouth, definitely words that would be at his expense. He stops you while you’re ahead. 

It’s nice to have the position switched. Your back against the wall instead of his. His hands are still on your hips, but he uses them to push you into the metal instead of pulling you into him. You have that part covered, your arms once more thrown over his shoulders, pressed into the back of his neck and head, drawing him in until the pressure of his lips against yours is a little painful. 

In the rush neither of you have pushed the button, leaving the elevator stagnant on the ground floor. Stiles notices at the same time that you scratch his scalp. He moans, he really can’t help it. His mouth opens as you purse your lips again, and he feels a little bad but you aren’t deterred. In fact, you do it again, your nails scratching in just the right spot and Stiles feels like an animal the way he shudders and keens. 

He’s more human when he admits, “Missed this.” He presses his lips to yours again, pulling back with a smack. “Missed you.” 

Your lips slide against his with what Stiles can only describe as desperation. Pure, unadulterated desperation and desire. You’re breathing a little heavy, deep exhales through your nose and inhales in the in between moments, and it doesn’t turn Stiles off at all. He wants more of you. He takes more of you. 

He doesn’t know how long you two are in there, but it is eventually you who pulls back first, your lips visibly swollen and lacking any of the makeup that was previously on it. 

“Has the elevator been moving at all?” You could check for yourself. Just one look over Stiles’ shoulder and you could see that the small screen still displayed a digital ‘1’. Yet, you’re looking up at him instead. Like Stiles is the most important thing in the elevator. Like he’s the most important thing in the world to you. (Maybe it’s Stiles’ delusion talking, but he chooses to believe it either way)

Still, Stiles looks over his shoulder, confirms that he hadn’t hit the button at all, and leans back to correct his mistakes. 

The elevator beeps twice, bringing you both to the third floor, and as much as Stiles’ wants to continue standing there and just admire you, he can hear the door daring to slide close. Again, he pulls you out behind him. 

As soon as he turns the corner, Stiles is immediately made aware of the lack of other cars on the level. It’s a little eerie, and if he wasn’t about to get his dick wet he would possibly be on the lookout for potential threats that could turn one of the best moments of his life into another inconvenience. 

Your hands are on his shoulders, his back, his arms, as you hold onto him. 

“Why did you park all alone? Did you plan this? Were you trying to get in my pants all night?” 

Stiles digs into the front pocket of his jeans and searches for his keys. “No. There were other people parked here earlier. They’re just all gone now.” 

You hum unconvincingly. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Stiles.” 

As soon as Stiles has the passenger door unlocked, he holds the door open for you and stares, hoping the annoyance is overpowering every other feeling he’s currently having towards you. 

“In the back,” he tells you. You smile up at him, big and entertained, and then do as he says. 

He climbs in right behind you. At this point in the night, there was no point in attempting to get back to your apartment or his. Stiles couldn’t wait much longer, and you two are no stranger to the back of his Jeep. You’ve been in this situation before. 

It’s all completely effortless. You’re already in the process of slipping your jeans off whenever Stiles has the door closed. He mourns for just a second, pouting to himself over not being the one to take those sinful jeans off of you. But then you climb over his lap, situating yourself to hover just a bit above him. 

Stiles plants his hands on your hips, just like he did before, and pulls you to sit right over him, just like you have before. He knows that the status of your relationship has changed since the last time he had the privilege of being in this space with you like this, but that doesn’t mean the way you do things has to change, too. 

You were never shy before. You would always be quick to attach yourself to Stiles in whatever ways you could, just like you had been doing just a little earlier into the night. But that’s gone now. Now, you’re staring at him, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip. 

Before you were together for a short time, Stiles had spent months pining. Months analyzing whatever he could about you. Months mentally cataloging your tells. And now, he calls on that information to declare that you’re hesitant. You’re nervous. No, not just nervous. You’re worried. Almost regretful. 

He tilts his head. “What’s wrong?” 

You shrug but Stiles knows you’re aware of what has you like this. He just gives you the time to voice it. 

Eventually, you say: “Will this change anything between us?” 

It’s his turn to shrug. “I dunno. Do you want anything to change?” 

You shrug again. 

“Well … do you want to keep going? And we decide that afterwards?” Stiles really wants to fuck you, but deep down he knows that if you stopped and got up off of him in this moment, he would be okay with it. Well, he would be okay with it after a few days. Maybe a week or two. 

A little part in him swells, jumps, and clicks its heels when you nod. 

“Yeah. That sounds good.” You press your lips to his once. 

“You just tell me when you decide, okay? I’m cool with whatever you’re cool with.” And Stiles means that. If he gets just one more time with you, if this is his final time with you, he would cut his losses and be grateful for the time that he was allowed. What else was he supposed to do? He would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize his spot in your life. 

Stiles can feel the warmth of your center is his hand when he trails his touch down. He cups your mound and his eyes flutter shut. He feels like a pervert for only a second before you start to work your lips down his neck and rock your hips into his hand. The way your mouth suctions around his favorite spot almost has him distracted enough to not notice your hands working on his pants. Almost. 

He can’t really tell in the dark, but he can slightly feel your once confident movements start to falter. You stop on his neck, keeping your lips as nothing but a pucker against his skin before you pull away completely to look down between the two of you. 

“When the fuck did you start wearing a belt?” 

Stiles doesn’t want to tell you the truth, he feels like it would be too embarrassing. Really, he knows it wouldn’t, but something about having to tell you that he decided to wear a belt because you always said he should makes him feel a little meek. So instead of filling the silence with the truth, he fills the silence with the clinks of his belt buckle as he undos it himself. 

“Recently,” is all he tells you when you’re still staring at him for a response. Somehow, it’s enough for you and your hands are back on his waistband. 

In record speed, your hands are down the elastic of his boxers and wrapping around Stiles’ cock. He doesn’t hiss, but he does shudder. He tries to hide it by pretending that the car is cold, which it was beforehand, but now it’s warm. It becomes warmer when you spit in your hand, wrap it around Stiles’ cock and pump him a few times, and then push your underwear to the side and hover above him. 

It really pains Stiles to stop you, but he does. He asks if you have a condom, then he asks if you want to use a condom, and the entire time he’s kicking himself. Because he can feel the warmth radiating. He has his tip already nudged between your folds, and just this small touch is already making him lose it. His nails are digging into your hips, he’s breathing harder than he was before, and he has to blink a few times to really focus on you. 

It feels like Stiles blinks and suddenly you’re tearing the foil packet open and slipping the condom over him. He watches it go down as best as he can, and the light doesn’t reveal much. Just the bottom of you and the tip of him is visible, the rest Stiles is forced to make out through squints and memorization. 

He’s just briefly dejected about the lack of visuals, but then your hands rest on his shoulders and he hears you take a breath and he knows it’s time. 

Stiles rests his hands on your side and looks up at you. 

You go down slowly. Softly. It allows Stiles to feel each delicious inch as they go by, revealing more and more of the inside of you as time passes. He battles between watching your face and simply basking in it. Eventually, he settles on the former. 

Your eyebrows are tightened just enough to show your discomfort. You have your lips parted, long breaths leaving them every so often, usually right before you sink down again. And Stiles has seen you take him before. He knows that you have been able to take him faster than this before. And then he wonders: is this your first time doing this, with anyone, in a while? Have you been as lost without him as he has been without you? Have you even attempted to fill that hole, and was your stunt earlier tonight just that: a stunt?

There isn’t time for him to ponder over his questions like he would have wanted to whenever you bottom out. It’s with a sigh, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his just briefly. 

You rest your forehead against his, and you both breathe together. Or, it’s more so you breathing and Stiles matching the pattern. 

You lean up, you move your hair out of your face, and you tell him, “Don’t remember it being this hard.” 

Slightly cocky, Stiles tilts his head.  At first he doesn’t say anything. He smiles, his eyes are heavy when they look you up and down, and then he rubs your back. “Take your time.” 

You take the time you need and then you start moving. Up and down. Up and down. Agonizingly slowly at first, and then faster when you get more comfortable. 

This is what Stiles has needed. This is what he has been missing in his life. You’re like a drug for him, and one hit seems like enough at the time, but by the time this is all over he knows he’s going to be searching for more. He’ll do anything he has to, so long as it gets him in a spot similar to this again. 

He searches for your hand, refusing to look away from the way your body moves atop of him for even a second. You help him out, bringing your hand to his, pressing the fingertips together, leaving Stiles to interlock them. He lifts your hands, looking at them in the white light that enters the foggy window. Somehow, this image is even more captivating. There is a more pornographic way the two of you are connected, one that demands Stiles’ attention. There is something about the innocence of this. He’s doing nothing but holding your hand, and Stiles feels like he might either lose his mind, or cum too quickly. 

He might do both. One after the other. 

You sink down on him again, a little awkwardly this time, but it does it for you. You hit a spot that makes your mouth widen and your eyes flutter shut. You search for it, and find it miraculously. Your head throws back as you hit that spot over and over again, pleasing yourself on Stiles’ dick. The image is heavenly for him. It’s euphoric. 

He lets his eyes wander down your neck, along your clavicle, and your shirt reveals just a bit of your bust but it’s not enough. With his free hand, he pulls the rest of the fabric down, and when he sees that you’re not wearing a bra, he almost cums into the condom then and there. He doesn’t wonder how he hadn’t noticed, he doesn't consider how he hadn’t taken into account the natural shape of your breasts pushing through the fabric, almost reaching out to him. Instead, he leans forward, presses his hand into the curve of your back, and attaches his mouth to the untouched skin. 

Your free hand sinks into Stiles’ hair. Your fingers weave through the back of his hair first, and then you make your way up to the front, pushing back his bangs blindly. 

Stiles peers up at you from his spot around your nipples. You’re still in ecstasy—your head now level once more, but your mouth still open and your eyes still closed. 

He detaches from your nipple to tell you: “Look at me.” 

It fuels Stiles’ ego when you do as told quickly. 

You’re looking at him on his command yet Stiles feels like he’s the one entranced. Because of your eyes. Fuck, your eyes. Watery, lazy, but your pupils are dilated. Your mascara has transferred to under your eyes by now, and it’s smudged a bit, making you look completely fucked out. Stiles thinks some of your makeup along your face has disappeared too, but it allows for a fresh skinned appearance instead. 

Really, there is nothing else for him to do except kiss you. It’s so messy but so good. You flatter in your movements on his cock, but Stiles feels absolutely no remorse when he takes over. 

He unlocks your hands and plants them both on your hips again. This time, he uses the leverage to pull you down on him again and again. He lets you lead the kiss, while he leads this. 

Your hands land on the leather of the seat behind Stiles' back and the foggy glass pane of the window. He hears your fingertips glide down the surface as he starts to fuck you harder, and then the sound is combined with your moans when your lips separate from Stiles’. 

You call his name, low and breathy. 

He hums. 

“‘m so close. Keep going. Just like that.” He nods. Then you add, “Little faster.” And he does as told. 

Your forehead pressed against his, the sweat on both of your skin making your heads glide more than anticipated. It doesn’t deter either of you. When your nose bumps against Stiles’, he kisses you again. When your head becomes too heavy for you to hold it up, he presses his thumb under your jaw, rests his fingers on the side of your neck, and holds the weight for you. 

“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, adding your name at the end to seal the deal. “Baby,” he says, and his heart swells when you hum in response. So he says it again. “Baby, you feel so good. Feel so good, babe.” 

He doesn’t know what more he says. He can vaguely recognize his lips forming the words and his own voice in his ears calling you the prettiest girl ever, telling you that he could never get this anywhere else, telling you he never wanted to get this from anywhere else. 

“Needed this so bad. I needed you so bad. I’ve missed you.” And just as his words finish, yours begin. 

“Stiles, Stiles. Right there. ‘m … I’m…!” 

He singles two fingers out, slips them between your thighs, and rubs along your clit until you’re shaking above him and holding onto his wrist between your bodies. He doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away, but watching you cum is too gorgeous for him to ever dream of making it stop. 

So he doesn’t. 

Not even when your eyes start to leak and your lips start to plead and you contract around him. 

“One more,” he asks. “I just need to see it one more time. Please.” 

The sound of him moving in and out of you is loud. He drifts his eyes down to watch it happen, groaning when he just barely sees a broken ring of white glinting in the fluorescents from the parking garage. 

It feels a little romantic when you cum and then Stiles follows right after. 

The Jeep is warm, the windows are foggy, and there’s an ache in Stiles’ thighs. He knows for every one of his aches, you have three. The condom has been removed, tied, and disposed of in an old paper bag Stiles had sitting on the floor of his car. His pants are pulled back up, but his belt is still undone. His shirt sticks to his skin and he really needs greasy food and a shower. 

But if that means leaving this moment, and never returning to it, he could put off his needs and wants for an eternity. 

You’re sitting next to him, redressed with the button of your jeans still undone. You’re staring straight ahead, trying to catch your breath as you rub the muscles in your thighs. 

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he licks his lips and he says, “Uh … do you … um. Would you like some … ice or something? For your legs?” 

You smile ahead, turn to face him, and shake your head. “It’ll be fine. Nothing a shower and good sleep won’t fix.” You pause. “And maybe some food.” 

Which is how Stiles ends up sitting in your bed, sipping the remnants of his Dr. Pepper as he watches you lather lotion on your legs with your towel still hanging off of your body. 

“Your food’s cold,” he tells you. He doesn’t tell you about the handful of fries he stole earlier, but he knows you’ll notice it and hold the grudge for later. 

Later. Will there be a ‘later’? 

“Be there in a second.” You start to walk back to the bathroom. “Should we go to that place in the morning? Or …” you look at your clock and wince at the time. “Later. The one with the really good pancakes?” 

Stiles is quick to agree. He would love to do something with you later. 

[sepublic]

Post-Hoot with Dana Terrace!

            Dana’s put over 200 hours into games she’s missed since the finale; Octopath Traveler, Little Nightmares, etc. Sarah Nicole-Robles cried harder than she ever did when she said I learned a language I’ll never forget, a whole chapter of my life is over, during the King-ceanera. She said the line once and was suddenly sobbing because of how meta it was. 

         Rebecca has a ‘sona during the bit with Barcus in the epilogue sequence. Cissy also cried when watching with her family, her kids asked her about it; Sarah was really excited as she watched the finale.

         No sequel happening, but we can always hope; Dana would like to do more, but Disney owns the IP and needs to give them permission. Dana knew the prequel line in the finale was ham-fisted as hell but still went with it because she was pissed (she said Fuck to express her rage). Rebecca went back to the Anger phase of grief after watching the finale after realizing what they missed, but Sarah was also in Acceptance because it was hard to regret something that ended so well.

         Dana doesn’t cry that much, but TJ’s remix in the soundtrack made her cry. Dana brought back everyone for BBBYYYEEEEEEE, noting this was every character’s last line, and wished Hooty had more lines. Alex improvised a cut line after the Bye with Hooty expressing appreciation for the finale and readiness for his spin-off.

         Dana won’t say much in hopes she’ll get to do more for TOH in the future; A Youtube reviewer (shoutout to all, Zachary Ax, Man of a Thousand Thoughts, Rebecca herself), the Third Bill got it right on Hooty, and Dana won’t be more specific about that.

         They found out about the shortening during S2; They had an ending in mind that Dana had in mind since development, but it needed too much setup and so they couldn’t pull it off. All of Season 2A was written before knowing the cancellation; Follies at the Coven Day Parade was the first episode fully written knowing the show was shortened, hence the tonal change. The Galdorstones was an arc Dana planned more on, as well as the Coven Heads; Bat Queen; It was a hard situation choosing what to leave out.

         There weren’t whole episodes written that had to be trashed; Just one-sentence ideas on a whiteboard never fully outlined or scripted. But Dana is still happy with what came out, because it was pretty damn cool.

         Rebecca Rose once saw someone with a King sweatshirt like hers at Disneyland and said hi, but they just side-eyed her and didn’t respond; Despite this, Rebecca hopes they had a happy day and believes they were just having a bad time. Sarah joked about not being so forgiving.

         String Bean’s inspiration: Owlbert is in the title of the show, String Bean indeed was there the whole time! The S wasn’t completely intentional at first, but Dana flipped the logo around and figured it out. When making the first episode, the logo wasn’t finalized. They always liked the idea of Luz being connected to snakes, it’s what she brought to school and they liked her reclaiming something she terrorized her classmates with. The Snake-Shifter idea specifically; Zach Marcus just said “Snake-Shifter” as they brainstormed ideas and Dana, being a sucker for lame puns, was sold.

         That was indeed Dana being represented as a student in the epilogue! She was Beastkeeping and Oracle; Dana can see the future of the show, and really likes animals. Raine’s palisman was indeed hidden within the violin’s design; Hunter and Dell worked to fix the palismen after Raine broke it trying to stop Belos. The violin is more akin to the staff, anyhow. Dana considered responding to a question about general Caleb, Evelyn, and Flapjack lore, but Sarah insisted she stay silent in case they get to answer it as an actual story later.

         Dana liked to think while writing Thanks to Them; No, Evelyn’s spirit isn’t in Flapjack. But to Philip, he saw Flapjack as the culmination of the corruption in his brother Caleb; He saw Flapjack, if it weren’t for YOU. You can see a hint of it in Masha’s story, Evelyn entices Caleb with Flapjack, who was Caleb’s introduction to magic. Evelyn was probably disguised as a human, and trusted Caleb for seeming reasonable and less violent. Perhaps like Dog owners passing each other by and suddenly becoming friends over this.

         Evelyn and Caleb’s relationship was sweet, from platonic curiosity to romantic. Eda doesn’t know she’s descended from them, nor does Hunter; And Dana has more to say, but will keep it hidden. Luz will stay the majority of her stay in the isles as she goes to college. Camila bought the shack leading to the human world, which allowed Luz to visit during holidays, weekends, etc.

         They never got to explore it, but it could’ve originally been the home of Philip and Caleb, long abandoned; Eda emerges after discovering the portal. In the next thirty years, she fixes up the shack as she builds the Owl House. Dana also advised fans to google Death of the Author, since she’s technically no longer working on the show, and thus gives permission for fans to write their own answers.

         Eda became the Owl Lady before Owlbert, due to the curse; They planned to do an episode where Eda learned palismen carving with Dell, and how Eda reclaimed the Owl identity to carve Owlbert. Dana stills has the outline of that episode in her head…

         According to Rebecca, Caleb and Philip’s graves were in the basement of the shack, based on this church in New Haven Dana passed by every day on her way to school (Gravesfield is based on some places in Connecticut). However, Dana realized the graves didn’t fit into the story. They also had an ‘original’ Belos design for him taking over animals. Marina Gardner did some amazing Belos designs, and Thanks to Them alluded to it.

         The Portal’s eye comes from the Titan’s missing eye!!! Hunter is bisexual, Willow is pansexual, this is how Dana always wrote and imagined them in her mind, but it’s not explicitly stated so technically it’s more headcanon. Dana noted how some people just picked it up. Dana likes to think Amity and Lilith rekindled their student-mentor relationship. Having worked in the library, Amity was interested in Lilith’s knowledge of history. Dana suggested to Zarya(?) from the design team to add notes to Lilith’s museum blueprints. A helicopter passed over and they joked it was Disney trying to stop spoilers.

         Cissy only got her lines and didn’t know any other details about the finale, to Dana’s surprise; Dana explained that people not getting a full script is due to the pandemic. Before quarantine, actors would get the full script. They have to rely on Eden Riegel and Dana for context a lot. Bosook Coburn spoiled Luz’s death to Rebecca Rose during the celebration party. They came up with a lot of designs for dying Luz, trying to figure out how they can hollow out her head how much. Dana mentions it’s up to the showrunner to show how much they want to the actors.

         Thanks to Sarah, they kept in Luz saying her own SFX during her fight with Eda in O Titan, Where Art Thou; She heard someone do it as part of the mock script and wanted it. When Dana voiced Eda and Luz at the end, Dana was crying. There’s a recording of Season 2B and Season 3 of Dana doing a voice-over of the script to get approved by executives.

         Dana clarified everyone would’ve had more of a chance to talk with each other, such as Hunter and Amity; Hunter would’ve talked to Vee, as well as more human realm kids, literally everyone would’ve had a little more time with each other. Dana loves Luz and Hunter’s sibling dynamic. Dana was sorry they couldn’t have Luz and Raine hang out, but they had the Hexsquad storyline. Luz finished high school in the human world, with the renewed motivation that she’ll go back to the isles. Knowing she has a safe space outside of high school made it more bearable, as was the case for Dana growing up.

         Cissy brought up Gus’ hair in the epilogue, which she loved; Emmy Cicierga did the design for Gus and Raine. Harpy Lilith was by Emmy; Dana did Emira, Eberwolf, and Skara’s timeskip designs. The name of the Titan is unpronounceable for humans.

         Dana can’t say much about the Archivists; The Collector never had a flash-forward design, as they age much more slowly than everyone else. Maybe the Collector got just a tiny bit taller. The idea of the Collector came from creepy dolls, as well as a nightmare; John Bailey Owen had a google folder filled with cool references of creepy dolls with a starry aesthetic, liminal minimalist nightmare-scape. They knew who the Collector was gonna be, what role they’d play, but the vibe still needed to be decided.

         Dana confirmed the Collector was always a part of the show before the shortening, and they solidified their placement after the announcement. The Collector has indeed stayed connected with the others, visits occasionally. Dana has seen fan comics on this and teared up.

         Hooty doesn’t have to be vacated from the Owl House if he doesn’t want to; When the door isn’t active, Hooty could be present. The new portal can probably fold up, and Hooty is busy as a curator for Hooty’s new museum.

         Dana said Raine and Eda’s business is their business; Not all love stories end in marriage. It’s their thing and it doesn’t diminish any love, but they do live in the Owl House together (Raine moved in).

         Mattholomule getting a palisman is something Zach Marcus can answer, since he made the character and Dana respects the lore he made. It’s hard to say for Dana if Vee and Masha are dating, since Masha didn’t show up in the finale, but Vee definitely has a crush on them. Again, Dana encourages the Death of the Author approach, if the headcanon makes you happy.

         Alador and Odalia got officially divorced after the finale, and the kids happily lived away from her. They might visit her if they have the energy, but also recognize she’s a toxic influence they can cut off at any point. Dana gave a shoutout to Rachel McFarlane’s voice acting, praising her performance for Odalia.

         In regards to the tower King was born in, Dana has an answer; It was related to a character we all know, who now may have amnesia.

         There was a plan to explore Gus and Willow’s glowing eyes, and do it for other characters; Amity wasn’t going to have that, strong emotions are indeed connected to magic. It was mostly a worldbuilding magic rule they could’ve expanded on, that Dana wishes she did early in the story.

         In the boards, Dawn Han(?) did Clouds on the Horizon, and did the scene of Amity and the twins hiding in the factory as their parents talk about the Abomatons, Alador is worried since it seems like a tad much. Alador had T-rex arms in the storyboard, and it reminded Dana of Remy from Ratatouille, so when they got to the scene of them looking into Alador’s lab, Ratador was drawn in his place as a joke. Dana laughed so hard she decided to keep it in, with Dana handwaving it as Alador’s palisman.

         According to Dana, a show should be appreciated for as it is; But the other way to enjoy it, under the context it was made, is also important to her; Both ways are valid. It was easier for Sarah to voice depressed Luz since she was also depressed. The writers preferred to put their feelings into the show, VS a more happy-go-lucky approach as others did; It was kind of dark for a bit, especially during quarantine. Sarah felt her own experience validated with Luz’s depression, but she and Dana appreciated the balance of having a happy ending too.

         What made the crew hopeful was knowing the characters would always have a happy ending; Luz could continue her studies in full-force, a new family. They KNEW it would end happy. Dana acknowledged how the fandom misinterpreted “I hate the term happy endings,” and Sarah knew about the quincenera when asked during previous Post-Hoots, but couldn’t answer.

         Rebecca commissioned 3D-printed Funko Pops of S2A Lilith and S1 Luz, and gave them to the others as gifts; Rebecca didn’t know about Avi’s appearance until two days before the Post-Hoot, otherwise she would’ve had a Funko of Raine made. Dana’s stand for Luz had to be made with painter’s tape (she appreciated it) due to Rebecca running out of the other kind, and planned to place it beside her Peabody award. Elizabeth Grullon, Camila’s VA, had to call her mom in the middle of a session to translate her line about maduros into English.

        Cissy clarified this wasn’t intended to be the final Post-Hoot! And the video was ended with a BBBBYYYEEEEE!!!!!

[psychedelicriot]

MONSTER X MEDIATOR Walkthrough: Red Room 001/NauseAxe_404/Your Biggest Fan

Hi, got this game DL'd just yesterday, and I'm defo frustrated since I want to see some walkthroughs ;-; Here we go, I guess? Note that this is how I got the ending through my way, pretty sure that there could've been any other way, but this is how I got mine! This would include commentaries on the ending, you might wanna skip if you don't care.

This game is still on progress, so far I've done both walkthroughs for both rooms!

TW/CW: This game contains questionable theme, bloods, explicit description of gore, and sexual assault on this route.

WILL BE UPDATED IF THE CREATOR MAKE ANOTHER UPDATE ON THE GAME! <3

If you'd like to, you can check other routes walkthrough here! Purple Room 004

For even getting to Room 001, you should know that you shouldn't run away with the money, but just enter the hotel.

Bad Ending: Overstimulated

OH MY GOD! I HAVE A FAN!!!

That's it. You're ded. This ending is basically him just being overstimulated by his emotions, even tho he already held onto his axe, therefore he lost it and just slam the axe up to your face, sha-zam. This ending could also be achieved through this:

I have a fan...?

Promise you'll write again if he leaves his room

Yes/No would still bring you back to the same route.

Why are you holding back?

Why would you die?

I do.

Bad Ending: Grape

I have a fan...?

Promise you'll write again if he leaves his room.

Yes/No would stil bring you back to the same route.

Why are you holding back? / I'll go write the story now

Why would you die?

I don't. And I'm not scared either.

That's not fear

1-I'm thrilled.

Touch him.

The ending title itself is pretty self-explanatory, but basically you just fangirl over him too much, he can't take it and he just decided to break your ribcage, slam his axe onto you, then grape you.

Bad Ending: Two Broken People

I have a fan...?

Promise you'll write again if he leaves his room

Yes/No would still bring you back to the same route.

Why are you holding back?

Why would you die?

I don't. I'm just scared.

Let's settle on...10 pages?

I can't.

Fuck you

You would love this one if you're interested in him calling you a... bitch... (Shame on you). Basically, he would degrade you, you'll degrade him back, and he actually liked it. It's hot and spicy, until you actually spit on him and say something like how he's broken beyond repair. You'll shame him for that, and FUCK THIS ROUTE IS SO AnGSTY. He'll sob while breaking you, claiming he actually knows that he's broken beyond repair, but he wants to pretend that there is any hope. sobs. Then you got what you deserve!!!! You're broken too!!!!

RED ROOM 001: PERSUASION SUCCESSFUL (1)

I have a fan...?

Promise you'll write again if he leaves his room

Yes/No would still bring you back to the same route.

Why are you holding back? / I'll go write the story now

Why would you die? / I'll go write the story now

I don't. I'm just scared.

Write the 100 pages

(You could fuck around by saying you're unable to, but remember that you need to concede at the end by saying Okay fine. Don't curse him.)

Yay, basically it's not the ending, you still need to handle the other rooms (if you haven't). Though, you basically managed to coerce him to leave the room. And you'll get his information sheet afterwards!

RED ROOM 001: PERSUASION SUCCESSFUL (2)

I have a fan...?

Promise you'll write again if he leaves his room

Yes/No would still bring you back to the same route.

Why are you holding back?

Why would you die?

I do.

That's not fear

I'm thrilled.

Leverage your safety.

You basically gaslight him into k1lling you, telling him to just banish you from existence, yadda yadda. To the point where he couldn't even be near you, so you ask him to leave.

RED ROOM 001: PERSUASION SUCCESSFUL (3)

I have a fan...?

Find out why he doesn't want to leave his room.

Yes/No would still bring you back to the same route.

Why else aren't you leaving your room? / Who's paying me to do this? (You can choose both option and would still come back to the same options-choosing)

What exactly are you?

Say please until he leaves his room. / Say it would be sooooo attractive if he left his room.

Both last option leads into the same result, but you might need to do more begging with the first one, it's cute and fun though!

[pandorasprongs]

JAMIE TARTT | call it what you want.

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

SUMMARY: reader's family comes to visit london and she ends up having to hide her relationship with jamie till the final game of the season.

WARNINGS: language, innuendos

A/N: this is technically a sequel to my comfort crowd story that was my first one about jamie, but it can be read as a standalone too! would recommend reading it first since it gives a little backstory to the garden and reader's past relationship. also, you'll probably be able to tell that i rewatched match scene in the finale for a certain scene AHAHAHA i really wanted to show jamie's more affectionate side, so there's def a few cheesy scenes in here! the title is taken from 'call it what you want' by taylor swift

It's midnight when you hear a knock on your door. Any reasonable person would've ignored it and/or hid in case it was some axe murderer. Of course, you knew it wasn't a murderer, just your boyfriend.

"I thought I said you couldn't stay over tonight?" You say when you open the door to reveal Jamie, whose expression quickly turns into a pouty face.

"I know, but I missed you," You playfully roll your eyes, yet are unable to stop your smile. Christ, he could be annoying, but he could also be pretty sweet. Those two balanced each other out.

"Fine, come in, but you can’t sleep here," You take his hand and bring him inside your flat. He plants a kiss on your temple and the two of you settle down on the couch, which for you was a deserved reward.

The reason why you were up so late despite having to work in the morning was that you had been trying to make your place spotless before your brother and his family came to visit the next day. They had already been in England for a few days but were only coming to London now to visit you and to attend the final Richmond match of the season.

"How's the cleaning going?" Jamie asks, as he wraps one arm around you and reaches for the remote in the other one.

"Took five hours, but at least it’s done." You sigh as you settle closer to Jamie. Even if you had warned him not to come over tonight, you still appreciated his presence.

When you started dating, you never expected the football player to be so clingy, but not even a day after your first date, he was already hanging around you every chance he got.

You couldn’t even hide it from the team because the moment Sam caught the two of you arriving at the clubhouse together, that was it for you guys. They were happy for the two of you, though sometimes too happy, especially whenever you had to call Jamie for a physical and they automatically assumed it was code for something.

"How was practice?"

"Good. The team's having a hard time mastering the start though. The timing's always off," He explains about the surprise goodbye performance they were doing for Ted and Beard. 

They had been planning it from the moment they heard the news the two of them were leaving for Kansas at the end of the season. Well, right after they all finished processing — through crying, screaming, protesting, and the like — the news.

"You guys will do fine," you take the remote from his hand and start looking for a certain movie. "Plus, even if you fuck it up, I’m sure they’ll love it regardless." That gets Jamie to chuckle and you feel the vibrations from his chest.

"How about this? Let's watch the Sound of Music, so you can try and copy one of the von Trapp siblings!" You suggest as you press play on the movie. Jamie doesn't protest and simply wraps his other arm around you too.

You look up at your boyfriend and suddenly feel a pang of guilt. "I'm really sorry,"

You don't need to explain further because Jamie instantly understands. He kisses you on your forehead, "Stop saying that. I know you don't want your family to know you're dating such a talented football player because you're afraid one of them will try and steal me from you."

You remove yourself from Jamie before playfully pushing his head. "Yeah, that's exactly right." The both of you laugh as Jamie pulls you in again.

You had already explained why you were hiding it from them back when you found out they were visiting. You had already been dating Jamie for a couple of months, but not a single person back home knew. 

Most of your family knew about the disastrous way your last relationship ended and you were sure they'd be extra protective about the next guy. As much as you loved being with Jamie and knew he wasn’t that guy anymore, you knew that your football-obsessed family was aware of who he used to be.  Stories of the multiple scandals, hook-ups, and rumors of unsportsmanlike conduct throughout the years were the exact reason you were so afraid to tell them. Those were in the past and you knew that, but you weren’t so sure how to convince your family of that, too. 

Jamie, true to form as the prick he is, completely understood and never tried to pressure you to tell them. He was even the one to tell the whole team that your brother was coming to visit and they had to, in his words, shut the fuck up about your relationship.

This was probably the last night for a few days you two could comfortably spend together, so you didn't really want to force him away. The two of you just sat there watching a Julie Andrews classic where you'd occasionally hear Jamie sing along to the musical numbers.

It was around 2 am when the movie finished and now, he definitely had to go home. Even then, you had a hard time separating yourself from Jamie, but your rational brain was telling you it would be bad for a secret relationship if your family caught him in the apartment.

"See you tomorrow, yeah?" Jamie says as he opens the front door.

Instead of responding, you plant a kiss on his lips, catching him by surprise. He's quick to wrap his arms around your waist as he reciprocates it. You separate and finally, answer him. "Yup, see you tomorrow." Jamie gives you one last hug and a kiss on the cheek before he leaves your apartment. 

You look around your place for a second, seeing if there's anything you need to fix up before tomorrow. Once you assess that it's as clean as it can be, you go to your room and catch some much-needed sleep.

——

When you hear a knock at your door, you drag yourself out of your bed and to the living room. Before you can even twist the doorknob, you hear a voice on the other side, "You should be awake by now!"

"I am!" you respond, as you open the door. You're greeted by the sight of your older brother Frank, your sister-in-law Denise, and their son Gregory.

"Hello, family," you say drowsily, as the three of them envelope you with a hug. Once they let go, you lead them inside your apartment. "How's your vacation so far?"

"Oh, amazing. I get why you moved to Europe," Denise answers, as she looks around your flat. "They have you set up pretty nice here, huh?" She plops down on your couch and pulls Gregory down next to her.

"Yup," you head to the kitchen to make the three of them some drinks. "So, what do you two plan to do while Gregory comes to work with me?" They had already told you ages ago that Gregory wanted to visit the clubhouse badly, but you knew it was also free babysitting.

"Sightseeing mostly," your brother replies, grabbing his cup of tea from you. When you take a seat next to Denise and your nephew, the former leans into you and whispers, "And get into places where 18 and unders can't." 

You chuckle and she plants a kiss on her son's head. As they enjoy their drinks, the three of you start catching up. You steer clear of any questions about relationships and instead focus on you being a physical therapist for a football team.

"Do their feet smell?" Gregory asks and you nod your head.

"Extremely, so always remember to wash your feet, okay?" You reply and the 8-year-old gives you a thumbs up and drinks his hot chocolate.

The topic then shifts to the upcoming final game between Richmond and West Ham. You managed to get the 3 of them tickets, — thank you, Higgins, — which they said was the perfect way to end their trip.

"I'll get you some shirts today, too. Gregory's gonna help me pick them out, yeah?" You turn to your nephew who is more than excited to do so.

"Nice," your brother reacts. "I'd appreciate an Obisanya one."

"Yup, and I want a Colin Hughes one if they're available. And of course, this one here," Denise pulls Gregory into a hug, "wants the captain's jersey."

"Will do," you make a mental note, before excusing yourself to get ready for work. 

You’re freshening up in your bathroom when you hear your nephew call out to you. "Mom's asking if you have an extra blanket!" 

"Check my room!" You hear him go to the room across and as he passes you again, he shouts a quick 'Thank you!'

Once you’re done getting changed, you head back to the living room. All three of them were ready to head out, so you lock up and hail a taxi to the AFC Richmond clubhouse. On the drive there, the seatbelt was practically the only thing stopping Gregory from bouncing up and down in the car. 

When you get there, you find some members of the team along with the Director of Football Operations standing front and center near the entrance of the building. You thank the driver and grab Gregory by the hand. You say goodbye to his parents, and since they’re so excited to have some alone time, they don't even bother looking up at the scene in front of them.

"What's all this?" You say as you approach the entrance. Gregory, despite his excitement, was now walking more cautiously, lagging behind you. When they hear your voice, the team finally settles down.

"Well, a little birdie told me that you'd be bringing someone special to work today and so we decided to assemble the Richmond Welcome Committee for him." You stare at all of them in disbelief and your smile grows wider. You find Jamie in the group, whose smug expression tells you exactly who it was.

"Hello there, Gregory," Higgins turns to your nephew and sticks his hand out, who is still hiding behind you. You move to the side and crouch down next to him, so he feels more at ease.

"Hi," your nephew finally speaks up and shakes his hand. 

Higgins then bends down to the eye level of your nephew. "Welcome to AFC Richmond! We prepared a little gift for you if that's okay."

Gregory nods his head. Higgins and the rest of the team start doing a drumroll and move out of the way to reveal Isaac, with a personalized jersey. You exhale in disbelief and turn to your nephew. 

"What do you say, Greg?" Said nephew was too awestruck by his favorite player to even move. 

After a few seconds, he finally ran up to Isaac and hugged his favorite player. The team captain was now the one in shock, but slowly reciprocated it. Gregory then lets go and accepts the jersey from him. The rest of the team moves to crowd the boy and start talking with him. Almost immediately, your nephew transforms from his former terrified state to the life of the party.

You moved to the side to give them space and thank Higgins, who just shook his head. "It's no problem," he started. "Henry doesn't come here that often anymore, so it was nice to do this for another kid." You smile, before noticing Jamie going toward you.

"And here's the little birdie now," Higgins jokes before excusing himself. You see the team busy entertaining Gregory, so you take the chance to plant a kiss on Jamie's cheek.

"If only the tabloids knew how sweet the striker of AFC Richmond could be." You whisper afterward.

"I know, I'm a great not-boyfriend." He continues to show his smug smirk and before you can reply, you notice that your nephew is starting to look for you.

You put enough distance between you and Jamie to seem platonic, "Greg?" You catch his attention and see him already wearing his jersey over his shirt.

"Can we go inside now?" He asks and you nod your head.

You turn back to the "welcome committee," and thank them. "This was so great." They wave goodbye to the both of you — with Isaac giving Gregory a high-five — as they head to the field for training.

Once you're alone again, Gregory turns to you. "That was so much fun!" You laugh at the boy's reaction as you settle down in your office.

For about 2 hours, you had to deal with the boy asking you about every detail of the papers in front of you. Vitals, size charts, diagrams, he was curious about all of it. A part of you hoped that he'd want to talk about something, anything else, but you soon regret wishing that.

"Auntie (Y/N), is Jamie Tartt your favorite player?" You try and hide your shock at the question. He's 8 years old and it's probably an innocent question.

"Yes, he is." You answer honestly and turn your chair to the treatment table where Gregory was lying down. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I saw you talking to him earlier." He observes, sitting up and looking like he's about to launch into a whole monologue. "And I saw a lot of his jerseys in your room too, so I thought you must be a fan. But you work here, so are you guys close?"

Maybe you should have closed the closet door before sending him in there. You try and keep your calm. "Kind of. I mean I'm close to all of the players, in a way."

If Gregory thinks anything is off, he doesn't show it. Instead, he nods his head and goes back to his comic book as you continue to work on some reports for the players.

Once you finish, you bring Gregory to watch the morning training. His parents were going to pick him up during lunch, so you only had to keep up the charade for just a little longer. The team was doing a few drills when you got there and Ted spots the two of you approaching. He immediately runs over and greets, "Is this the little guy? Hi, I'm Ted."

What was it with dads and shaking little kid's hands? Gregory, already getting used to meeting such famous football personnel, took his hand and shook it as firmly as an 8-year-old could. Jamie was too busy with his drills to notice you there and you’ve never been more relieved about that.

After spending the next hour watching the game from the stands, it was time for lunch and you headed to the car park to find Frank and Denise. You smile at them and hand off Gregory who started telling his parents about his brand-new personalized kit.

You feel your phone vibrate and take it out to find a message from Jamie. secret boyfriend bought secret lunch for a secret date in your office ;)

You chuckle at the message and send him a quick reply before hearing Gregory mention your name. "Auntie's friends with all the players, especially Jamie Tartt. He's her favorite and they're close."

Oh, this child is going to ruin you. You try and stop yourself from overreacting, though you instead end up letting out an exaggerated laugh. "Yeah, I mentioned him being my favorite player, but he seemed to forget that I said I'm also close with all the players, not just Jamie."

Frank seemed to buy it, but you can tell that Denise was starting to pick up on things. She could always tell when you were lying, even before you left for London. After you had broken up with Matt, it took one call before she realized what happened. So it was only a matter of time till she figured it out, but you had hoped you could delay it till after their trip. You wave to the three of them as their taxi left the car park.

You headed back to your office to find Jamie already devouring his pasta. "Hey, I thought this was supposed to be a date?" His head snaps towards you with noodles still hanging out of his mouth.

"I didn't know how long you'd take and I need my carbs." You roll your eyes as you go to the seat across from him. Jamie puts his plate down and brings out yours.

The two of you start talking about the upcoming game this Sunday, to which you bring up your usual 'night before' ritual.

"I thought your family was gonna stay at your flat that night?" Jamie asks, but you just shrug.

"I'll find a way to escape. No way you're going to the garden without me. I'm your good luck charm, Mr. Tartt." You lean towards the football player and playfully narrow your eyes at him. He breaks into a smile and takes your hand into his.

"Yeah, you are." He says softly, and your smile starts to fade. Jamie would never say it out loud, certainly not in the clubhouse where his teammates could hear him, but his nerves always reached an all-time high before a big game. Even after the Man City match and the talk with his mum, you noticed he still felt uneasy in the days leading up to this one.

He was good at hiding it from most people, but over the months, you figured out the small tells that showed he wasn't feeling his best. That's one of the reasons Dr. Sharon suggested he find a safe space, one where he could collect himself before a game, especially like the game on Sunday.

"Hey," You get him to look back at you and squeeze his hand tighter. "You and the whole team are going to dominate. You've already guaranteed a spot in the Champions League, so you’re set for next season. Plus, your beautiful and frankly, awesome girlfriend is gonna be there in the dugout cheering you on."

Jamie pulls you in for a quick kiss as a thank you before you start to fix up the table. He then suggests a rather inappropriate after-lunch activity — "Ay! Call it a motivational activity," — and you have to physically push him out the door for his afternoon practice.

——

It's the night before the match and you were currently arguing with your brother about the sleeping situation.

"Frank, I'll be fine. There's three of you, it's a king-sized bed, and you know I love couches." This time, he gives in. You watch him disappear into your room and after five minutes, you start heading out.

You go down to find a parked car outside, with its owner leaning on the side of it scrolling through his phone. Since you had dinner with family and he got a drink with Roy, the two of you had planned to meet up later than usual.

"Told you I still knew how to sneak out." You say to him, and the moment his eyes land on you, his expression seems to relax. You approach him and ask, "How was hanging out with Roy?"

"Weird, but good," he answered as the two of you got into the car. "Told me he was proud of me."

"That's nice of him. After all those training sessions and him barging on both our doors early morning, you deserve it." You’re reminded of when Roy came to your flat at 4 am after he realized that Jamie wasn't at his own house, which ended with you scolding the coach about it.

You didn't want to make a big deal of it, but you knew how much Jamie appreciated hearing that from someone he looked up to since childhood. Especially with their history back when Jamie first joined the team.

He continued to tell you about what went down, even mentioning how he convinced Roy to go to Keeley that night and finally ask her out again. Though, he admitted he partly did that was so they could finish earlier and he could see you.

You get to the garden and despite visiting it almost every week, you’re still amazed at its beauty. You remember the first time he brought you there before you were even dating. You had been so touched that Jamie was willing to share this place with you that you ended up kissing him right then and there. 

Ever since then, you ended up going with him before games, even if the two of you would just sit there in silence and simply take in the surroundings. That's exactly what was happening tonight, with you and Jamie sitting on a bench and just observing the garden.

After a while, you took the chance to look at Jamie without him noticing. He was always the most calm here and you could tell it from his side profile alone. His jaw was relaxed, his eyes were closed and he was breathing steadily.

You suddenly get the urge to admit something. "I'll tell Frank and Denise tomorrow." Jamie looks at you as you repeat, "I'm telling them about us tomorrow, after the game."

The football player breaks into a smile, and you can't help but mirror it. If the two of them could only get a glimpse of the Jamie you knew, who was thoughtful, enthusiastic, and truly kind-hearted, they wouldn't even care about all the dumb stories of the past. 

After a little while longer, Jamie drives you home and you give him a quick goodbye kiss before heading back to your flat. You try to be as quiet as possible, turning the knob ever so slowly. You soon realized you didn't have to, as you hear someone clear their throat. You open the door to find Denise sitting on the couch in her pajamas and you freeze. "You went out?"

"Yes," you finally managed to croak out, as you closed the door behind you and leaned on it. "Wanted some fresh air."

"Fresh air? From the car I just saw you get out of?" Denise crosses her arms and you accept defeat. You say nothing as your sister-in-law asks, "Who's the guy?"

"Jamie Tartt," you admit, and her eyes almost pop out of her head.

"Oh shit, you are dating him. I really thought Gregory was just exaggerating things." You roll your eyes and join her on the couch.

You quickly plead, "Please don't tell Frank yet. I promise I’ll tell him after the match. You know, just in case he gets an urge to do bodily harm to my boyfriend."

"Come on, you know he wouldn't actually do that." You tilt your head. She adds, "He probably wouldn't. But fine, I'll keep it from him." You sigh in relief until she starts giving you a look. "So, Jamie Tartt, huh?"

You groan. "Oh God, can we not do this right now? What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing! I just didn't think you'd go for a guy like him. You know, more laidback with a slight douchy vibe."

"He is not a douche!" You're quick to defend Jamie, but now Denise narrows her eyes at you. "Not anymore. He was the one who planned that jersey thing for Greg. Would a douche do something like that?"

"Okay, okay, I believe you. He doesn’t seem like the prick from before." Denise holds her hands up in surrender. "But, I only know that because of how you're acting now." She nudges you on the shoulder and you tilt your head. 

"Look, you just seem happier, lighter. Much better than when you were with Matt. I was never going to admit it, but you should’ve ended things after college. Nothing was too toxic about your relationship, but you always looked like you were holding something back."

It was true. It took a few months of not being with him anymore to realize just how many red flags he had. Yes, he was smart, polite, and always knew exactly what to say, but he was also the first to criticize you when you didn't live up to his “standard.” You had convinced yourself that he was only trying to make you better, but in reality, he was just an ass. 

Being with Jamie is what convinced you of that. He got you out of your comfort zone to enjoy things, without ever making it feel like he was pressuring you. You did the same for him too, and instead of pushing back like Matt always did, Jamie would actually listen to what you had to say and cared what you thought.

You explain all of that to Denise and at the end of it, you're sure she's starting to see why you fell for Jamie in the first place. "I'm glad you're happy." 

You hug your sister-in-law tightly before you both start getting tired. Everyone had to get up early tomorrow, so it was best to get some rest before then.

You're already lying down and tucked into the couch, but you grab your phone and send a quick message to Jamie.

i hope you're sleeping because this is for when you wake up tomorrow. good luck and i know you'll be the best fucking player on the field!

You hit the send button before returning your phone to the table and drifting off to sleep.

——

You had planned on getting to the clubhouse earlier than usual. You had to prepare for the match and your family didn’t want to push through a bunch of people to get to their seats. 

But even then, there was already a crowd around the building. Maybe it was because this was your first time working here with the team making it to the finals, but you've never seen that many AFC Richmond fans present.

You had separated from the three of them once they got their tickets and insisted they could find their seats on their own. Because of all the chaos of getting ready and setting up with the whole crowd, you hadn't gotten a chance to check if Jamie had replied or even look for him.

It was only when Will showed up at the dugout saying that Jamie was looking for you did you see him for the first time today.

"I've been waiting for my good luck kiss," is how he greets you and you can only laugh as you embrace him. He met you outside of the locker room, so you avoided all the whistles and 'oohs' from his teammates. 

You give him a quick kiss before telling him about last night. You could see his relief when he realized that your sister-in-law did approve of him, which you almost felt guilty about. 

Jamie Tartt, world-renowned football player, was nervous about what a relative of yours thought about him. 

"I'll tell Frank later. And, if you guys win the game, maybe he won't come after you and injure your other ankle." You remind him and he chuckles, but your straight face is enough for him to take it seriously.

"Shit. I guess we do have to win." 

After hearing Ted asking everyone to huddle up, you separate from Jamie and the two of you join the crowd inside the locker room. You with the rest of the physical therapists and Jamie with the players.

You had to admit, you were a bit nervous for the game. You knew the team was doing great, but after their crying session right before the match, you were worried they'd be too teary-eyed to make it through. And in the first half, you were right to be. Despite their efforts, West Ham was ahead much to every Richmond supporter’s dismay. 

But after whatever happened in the locker room, they seemed to be picking it up. After those 3 misses, you and the rest of the people in the dugout were ecstatic when Jamie finally scored. 

But then it led to a whole different issue. Now, West Ham was focused on marking Jamie. From both a personal and professional standpoint, you were worried. Jamie's ankle could still easily be injured after what happened at Man City and Richmond would lose what was called "their central cog." 

You were grasping your medical bag as the game continued, ready at any moment to rush over there. You flinched when Jamie fell to the ground, but when the referee called for a penalty, you knew this was one of his tricks and you sighed in relief. 

He looks at you with one of his signature smirks as he's pulled up by Sam. You playfully shake your head and roll your eyes, as the teams get ready for the kick.

And thank God Isaac was able to get it in the net. Well, through it? You could feel Gregory's excitement over it, even if you weren't sure where they were in the crowd.

After eavesdropping on Rupert Mannion ordering his manager to "take out" Jamie, you felt a lump forming in your throat. But at least George still had some integrity, even if you ended up seeing his balls after he gets pushed. As Rupert got heckled off the pitch, Jamie catches your eyes.

He notices your worried expression and gives you a reassuring look. It was his way of saying "Don't worry, you think they can take me out?" You not as the players head back onto the field.

Even then, the players were completely boxing Jamie in, but you watched as Ted signaled a strategy for the free kick which they seem to understand quickly. Jamie's trying everything to get Bumbercatch's attention, but the moment he sends it Sam's way, you know exactly what's going on.

"Go, go, go," You whisper, on the edge of your seat. You're squeezing Will's arm a little too tight, but even he is too immersed in the game to care.

Sam gets the ball in and the whole stadium erupts in cheers. You wait, but when the final whistle was blown, you and Will start celebrating too. The whole team starts running onto the pitch and at that point, you weren't thinking. 

The moment your eyes landed on Jamie, you were running across the pitch towards him. He catches you in his arms and pulls you into a kiss. You deepen it as if you weren't surrounded by thousands of people right then and there.

You break apart for a split second to say, "You guys absolutely smashed it. I knew you would win." 

He pulls you back for another kiss, before smiling against your lips. "You aren't worried about your brother seeing us?"

The thought hadn't occurred to you at that moment, but you try and find them in the crowd, still not removing yourself from Jamie's grasp. With all the chaos, you give up and just shrug it off, turning back to the football player. 

"I don't really care anymore." You admit as you laugh.

Jamie pulls you into a hug and spins you around in the air. You laugh and hold onto him tightly. When he puts you down, you find your family coming toward the two of you. Frank is the only one who seemed shocked by this whole ordeal, with Denise simply smirking and Gregory being distracted by all the people celebrating on the field.

"Right, hi Frank," you start and you slide your hand down from his arm to intertwine it with Jamie's hand to steady yourself. "Did I forget to tell you I have a boyfriend now?"

"Yeah, I don't think it's come up, no," He replies.

Jamie takes a step forward and stretches his other arm for a handshake. "Hello, it's nice to meet you. I'm Jamie—"

"Jamie Tartt, yes." Your brother firmly grasps his hand. "I know who you are." Jamie's legs buckle slightly at Frank's strength, but Denise puts a warning hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Not too hard, honey." which prompts Frank to finally let go of Jamie.

It's a few minutes of silence, — well, as quiet as a celebrating football stadium could be — before you finally try and escape the situation. "Maybe we should let Jamie celebrate with his team!"

"Yes, of course! Congratulations, Jamie! You guys did amazing." Denise says, causing Jamie to flash a genuine smile.

"Yes, you and your team did great," Frank adds on, notably less enthusiastic. "Especially with that last shot from Obisanya." Of course, he had to add his favorite player to this.

You try and pull Jamie away to bring him to his celebrating team, but your brother pulls him into a hug, forcing you to let go of Jamie's hand. You watch Frank whisper something in his ear, before letting go. He then says out loud, "Congratulations on making the Champions League. Can't wait to see you guys play next season."

All Jamie can do is nod in gratitude, as he seems to still be processing what happened before that. You decide to thank him on your boyfriend's behalf.

"See you guys later!" You say to your family as you bring Jamie away from them, his expression slightly worrying you. Once you put a safe amount of distance between them, you whisper, "What did he say?"

"Nothing," Jamie pursed his lips. "Just that he'd make my life a living hell and find a way to ruin my career if I broke your heart." He laughs it off, but you can hear a slight shakiness in his voice.

"Alright then," you interlock your arms with Jamie's, but neither confirm nor deny the truth in his statement.

"That was a joke, right?" Jamie tries to ask but you just shrug. His face almost turns white, but you laugh and instead, he playfully narrows his eyes at you. "That's not funny."

"Well, I’m pretty sure you aren't going to break my heart, so you'll never have to find out. You plant a kiss on his cheek and remove yourself from him. “Now go, celebrate your win!" 

You push him to the rest of his teammates, who are in the middle of celebrating, but he's quick to grab your arm and pull you close. "I know how I want to celebrate this win." He moves in for yet another kiss.

You briefly wonder if this is being televised and if it might be how all your friends and family back home find out, but you'd deal with that later. Right now, it's just you and Jamie. 

And you've always wanted that celebratory field kiss.

[moethewriter]

I had this idea for finnick I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing, it’s not very good but I was thinking Finnick comforting the reader (who’s a district 4 victor) after her younger sister who was repeaped for the games doesn’t make it in the games? And it finally causes the reader to break or something?

Don’t worry about it if not, thank you!

It's a great idea! Thank you for requesting anon! Hope you enjoy! - TITLE: Broken Melodies WORD COUNT: 1k PAIRING: Finnick Odair x (Fem Coded) Reader WARNINGS: Angst, brief descriptions of blood and violence TAGS: (LET ME KNOW IF ANYTHING NEEDS TO GO UNDER THERE!) A/N: Had a great time writing this one and loving all the requests everyone has had so far! I'm quite sick, so I do apologise if fics are little bit slower! -

You hadn’t been ready to hear those words from the escort of District Four. You hadn’t been ready to send your younger sister off into the Hunger Games to possibly never come back. The idea that she would be reaped nearly a year after you had never crossed your mind. The fact that you couldn’t volunteer to protect her killed you on the inside. Her face, the way it had dropped, the way she had cried … it was burnt into your memory forever. 

You couldn’t have given up on her, that you knew. You had to fight every step of the way to ensure a win and bring her home. You campaigned to sponsors, did everything Snow asked of you, and you tried to train her as best you could. But she could only do so much, she was fourteen years old. You, as her mentor, tried to comfort her and give her every reassurance possible but nothing was able to prepare her for the true horrors in that arena.

She was a child, she didn’t deserve to be thrown in there and face what you knew she couldn’t win. You had been sixteen, not much older than her at all but … she was your sister … your baby sister and you had failed her. You couldn’t protect her despite everything you sent her way.

Your mother had cried for days once you both left on the train, and you didn’t even have the decency to console her. There had been no time really, they had swept you away in what seemed like minutes. Though in some ways you were grateful, you didn’t want to lie to your mother. You couldn’t lie to her … you knew what your sister was going to face and you didn’t want to break two more hearts that day. 

She was the youngest of the bunch, but she had lasted for a while. She had fought so fucking hard, she had tried to make it back home … but she couldn’t hack it. A boy from District 2 had taken in her in the end, and then later he had died. You had never been a vengeful person but you were grateful he wouldn’t end up being a Victor.

When you saw her go down, all you could do was scream. Finnick dragged you from the room, kicking and screaming and sobbing. He had held you for hours, despite his own tribute still being in the arena. He had wrapped his arms around you, brought you close to him and whispered nothing but love into your ears as you cried. 

You were inconsolable, but you were thankful that he was there for you. 

It had been over a week now, since she died and the games ended. A girl from District 1 had taken the win, and you were still frozen in time. You couldn’t get the image of the axe out of your head, the blood that splattered everywhere. Nothing felt right anymore.  

“Hey.” Finnick whispered, crawling into bed beside you.

You could feel his arms wrap around your waist, a safe comforting gesture from him. Something you had craved so much these days. You needed him, and you needed him to tell you things were going to be okay.

“Hey.” You said, voice hoarse and low. 

“Mags dropped off dinner.” He said, moving to play with your hair. “I know you're probably not hungry, but let’s try to eat something later, okay?” 

His voice was a low rumble, like a small earthquake shattering every thought you’d ever had. The only time you ever smiled now was when you were with Finnick. He was your rock.

“Okay.” You sniffled, feeling like a chastised child. You hadn’t been eating well, far too sick to even try.

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.” Finnick said, kissing the crown of your head. “It’s not.”

“I didn’t protect her, FInnick.” You mumbled. “I didn’t protect her, I didn’t try hard enough and now she’s gone. She’s gone because I didn’t help the way I was supposed too.” You felt hot tears starting to leak from the corner of your eyes.

“No.” Finnick said, sternly. “You did everything you could. You mentored her the best way you knew how and you loved her every step of the way. She knows how much you tried and how much you did for her. She wouldn’t want you sitting here and blaming yourself for something you couldn’t control. You have always done right by your family, by her and she would hate to see you this way.”

“But she’s gone.” You said, flatly. “She’s gone and she hadn’t even begun to live her life. God this whole fucking system makes me sick.” You wiped your eyes aggressively, trying to control your emotions in some sort of way. 

“She is.” Finnick agreed, trailing his fingertips along the side of your face, making you shiver ever so slightly. “But she’s still all around us, and with us every step of the way. She’s never going to be truly gone. You have your memories of her, and you have everything she’s owned. She’s going to be present for the rest of your life, even if she can’t be here physically.” He told you, humming a soft tune in your ear. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, a small smile gracing your lips.

“There’s nothing you need to thank me for, Y/N. I love you, and I can’t stand seeing you this way. I’m going to be here no matter how long it takes for you to feel like yourself again.” He was stroking your shoulder now. “Even if you look a little different after everything, I’m still going to love you. I’m not leaving your side, you couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.”

“Can we look through photos?” You questioned. “While we eat? You didn’t know her well, not as well as me. I’d like to tell you about her.”

“I would love that.” Finnick smiled, leaning in to kiss your head one more time.

You weren’t sure what life was supposed to look like without her in it, but you knew come what may, you had Finnick. Finnick who would never leave your side for anything. Finnick, who would hold you on those dark days.

Finnick Odair, who loved you wholly and truly.

Maybe in some way, life would be okay.

[misguidedasgardian]

Wildcats (XXXII)

XXXII. Prosper season

MASTERLIST

Summary: Tomorrow never comes until it's too late.. 

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, injures, hostile takeover, threats, Lucille, someone brains getting bashed in, DEATH OF A SECONDARY CHARACTER, BLOOD, GORE, MOCKING, everything Negan related, kidnapping, LOVES I’M SERIOUS, PROCEED WITH CAUTION

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: Another song for a title jejejeje ANYWAYS… I pondered over this over and over about how to go about it… I hope I did it justice. 

The three of you looked at the scene, standing still, not daring to move

“What do we do?”, you asked them, “what the hell do we do!?”, you started to feel your own heart beating inside your chest, fear making an appearance.

“We get the hell out of here”, said Alexander, “now”

“We can’t leave!”, Rosita fought back, “We can’t leave our home! Carl! and the others!”

“They are gonna be fine, but we, are the capable ones, we are the experienced fighters, the threats”, he said quickly, ”we are the ones that get killed”

“He makes a good point”, you whispered.

“YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO, THAT HOUSE, THAT HOUSE AND THAT OTHER HOUSE! MOVE IT PEOPLE”, Negan, on the street, pointed at yours, Rosita’s and the other house that belonged to your group.

“They’re coming for us”, you whispered, you didn’t even have to ask if they were carrying, they took out their guns from their holsters, ready for anything.

“We stand our ground here”, said Alexander

“They already have hostages”, you whispered, “is not very…”, you interrupted yourself when you saw Arat herself, with that shit eating grin leading a group of goons into your house, “OH FUCK NO!”, you said, ready to get out and intercept her.

“No! wait!”, Rosita grabbed you before you could leave, you looked back at her with a plead in your eyes

“That’s the woman who tortured me”, you said seriously, Rosita and Alex exchanged looks

“Let’s fuck her up”, she said then. You just smirked at her.

But the door slamming open downstairs make all of your heads perk up

“We kill them first”, Rosita said, so you all three nodded, in agreements, and put the safety off of your weapons

Alexander blew the head of the first savior that appeared up the stairs. 

Rosita the second

“UH! LOOKS LIKE THE PARTY IS GETTING STARTED!”, Negan shouted, the gunshots resounded all over the house

It was like being in a movie, you had a grave voice as a commentator as you tried to prevent the saviors from coming into your house, you felt like that time at Terminus, it was you or them and right now, you couldn’t afford to be the one to doubt right now, if someone was going to come across you you were likely to kill them, and that was it. They were inside your home, your house, so no, it was non negotiable.

You managed to eliminate those who had entered through the front door, but more were coming, sot he three of you decided to sneak out the back door, and you moved right next door to your house, it was going to be a cold day in hell before you let that woman even touch something that belonged to you or your family. 

With the help of Alex you climbed right onto the small roof over the first floor leading to the windows of the second floor, and you climbed through there

Oh you could already hear her. She was giving commands as she register the first floor. You didn’t even wait for Alex and Rosita, but you heard gunshots outside, so you guessed they were on their own fight, but you had to get to Arat, for yourself, nobody could do that to you and come out winning, no way in hell.

You were in the last step of the stairs, and then you saw her, with her smug face signaling his goons to follow her, then she raised her face and saw you, oh you saw it, even if it lasted a second, you saw the fear. 

”What the fuck did I say?”, you asked, “that I was going to put my fucking axe through your thick skull”, you will come to be scared of this side of you, the one that not only was alright with killing people, but was enjoying to defeat your enemies, “and here you are, trying to get into my fucking house!?”, you threw your ax at her, as she was trying to get to her feet, she stumbled back the last steps and tried to get away from you as the ax got stuck in the wall where her head had been.

You ran down, grabbed your ax that was stuck to the wall and turned to face her. She had a knife in her hand, but that was not going to help her much. She came at you with it, but you blocked her easily, it was like you had been taken by a foreign entity, you didn’t even recognize yourself as you returned every swing.

The door was open and that’s why she flies back and trough it when you kicked her in her stomach 

“Get the hell out of my house!”, you screamed. You grabbed your ax with both hands as you were above her and swung it from above your head down, but as you were ready to end her, you heard like 5 automatics being unlocked. And five saviors were pointing them at you.

Arat stood to her feet, wiping the blood of her mouth

“You think this has a happy ending for you”, she asked you, grabbing your face as another man grabbed your weapons, “it doesn’t, you are not the heroes here”, she said with a mocking grin. 

”Although it's been fun to watch, end this now, or I’ll be forced to start killing your people now”, you heard

They grabbed you, making sure they took away your gun, for like the third time is that you lost one of your guns, and of course they took your ax, throwing it in the grass right there, at least they didn’t took it for themselves, and pulled you towards the round up, making sure to rough you up as much as they could, grabbing you tightly and pushing you around. 

You huffed when they pushed you to your knees, you didn’t want to fight it unnecessarily, but, you couldn’t help but to feel that usual glint of humiliation, to be treated like this, to be this helpless.

Once you were on the ground, Rosita by your side… there was an awful silence, like the calm before the storm. You felt his gaze on you, but you were so shocked, coming to terms with what was happening, that you didn’t even manage to look at him, your eyes were trailed on the street in front of you.

He whistled then, a sound that chilled you to the very bone, you didn’t even know why, he walked slowly, he was taunting you, he walked in front of you, and the around you, making his abt scratch the floor, as he passed behind you, it made your skin crawl, a tingle down your spine made you twist on the floor, making him chuckle

“Oh darling”, he teased, “are you afraid of me?”, he leaned in, until he could whisper in your ear, “you should be”

“You rapacious rat bastard”, you accused, and he just laughed, “we gave you sanctuary”

“Well, it's not like we needed it”, he said, hissing theatrically. “I already have a Sanctuary”

“If you could come in at any second, why do all of this?”, you asked him. He just looked down at you

“You won’t believe the valuable information I gathered these past weeks”, he said, now he spoke seriously, “How you work as a team, how you think… specially, how you think”, you frowned as you looked at him, “you gave me much to think darlin’, you did”, he said, “now!”, you jumped as he suddenly raised his voice, “I don’t want the others to think I play favorites, so, be a doll, and stay there looking pretty alright?”, He walked away from you, teasing, looking at the different people he had on his knees

You were nothing impressive, barely people that got a couple of weeks of training with Alex and Rosita, definitely no threats.

You looked around to find your people, Gabriel, and Tyresse, you cursed them in your mind, for you could tell they didn’t fight it, they just took it, and went willingly when armed guys entered their houses and made them kneel.

“People of Alexandria!”, he shouted, “For those who don’t know me… I’m Negan”, he said, he swung his barbed wire bat threateningly, “Deanna here did knew me better though, thought she could strike a deal with me, close and personal”, he teased with a wide smile, “but that’s not how it works”

“You told me we had more time”, she accused, and this was a bit above your paygrade, but… you really wanted to know what went down there.

You heard gunshots in the distance, coming from Olivia’s place down the street, you looked at Negan, but he was only smiling widely, a bit later, two men brought in Carl, alone, they haven't even touched him, but they treated him roughly and made him kneel right on the other side of the street in front of you. his eyes immediately found yours

“are you ok?”, you mouthed, and he barely nodded

“I will let Olivia stay in the house with Judith”, hearing the little girl’s name coming out from his mouth made your stomach turn, “for you to see how reasonable I can be”, he said with a smile. 

But that didn’t make you feel any better

“That’s all of them boss”, muttered a guy you haven't seen before, so Negan seemed to look for someone amongst you, you saw his dark eyes scanning the place, then he finally turned to the both of you

“Where’s Alexander?”, he asked, you looked around and realized, he wasn’t anywhere, they brought in Rosita, but not him

“He got away”, said Rosita with a smirk, but Negan was not amused at all. 

“Find him!”, he said, and a group of Simon's men ran to fulfill the order, you looked at Rosita and she nodded at you, you smiled back

He was going to indeed fuck them up

“This is not funny”, muttered Negan, “this shit ain’t funny at all, in fact, it's gonna cost you!”, he said, out loud.

Alex was right, he presented a threat to this, and it's a good thing he escaped, he could do so much from the outside, especially if he manages to get to the container filled with guns. 

“Before we can truly start this… we need to wait for the rest of you”, your eyes could not leave his form, he truly scared you, he was unpredictable, “they should be back shortly”, your eyes opened wide… oh the rest of them? Daryl? Rick? Michonne?

No no no no

“Yeah, you should leave before they get here”, said Carl, he was defiant as always, “they will kill you all”, he snapped

“Carl!”, you called, “stop”, Negan chuckled darkly, as did many of their men

“Really kid? threats?”, he asked

“You think you know us but you don’t”, he kept going, “you don’t really know how dangerous we are”

“Carl please!”, you said again. Alexander was right, you were the threats and so far… you had been fine, but Negan did not need to be reminded there was a clear difference between your group and the natives of Alexandria, not right now.

“Don’t be rude darling”, said Negan, “the kid and I are talkin”

Negan then looked around with a smile on his face

“Oh is that what this is? Are you waiting for the valiant heroes to come back and save you? for the badass group that your leader accepted into your home to rescue all from the big bad wolf?”, he laughed, he laughed in the faces of all the hopeful people, “oh if you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying much attention!”, he was like one of those charismatic presenters of those TV contests and if you weren’t at his mercy, with a gun pointing to the back of your head, you’d be really entertained 

The sky was turning gray, the new day threatening to show up, but you still had a couple of hours left… of darkness.

Headlights interrupted you, coming from the gates, and the rumbles of a couple of engines cut through the silence that had been settled above the lot of you.

“Damn! Was that cool or what? we timed it almost perfectly!”, Negan said with a wide smile, the gates opened to let four other vehicles in, two of them were vans, then there was the RV, Alexandria’s RV, and then a big truck. They came down the street until they were in front of the first vehicles. The vans parked backwards so the back was towards you. 

Several men surrounded the vehicles, and helped them unload whatever was in the van. Soon, you realized, they were the rest of your family.

Simon led the gloomy committee, as he made his men drag your family from the vehicles. You gasped when you saw Daryl, they just threw him on the street, he was not wearing the long sleeve shirt had this morning, he had his vest but nothing more, and he was shaking, covered by a thick blanket, and down his right arm was blood, shiny, new blood, he was wounded

His eyes found your own and you wanted to cry

The others seemed well, although, you could tell, there were some people missing… Maggie, Glenn, Beth, Carol, Morgan, they were nowhere to be seen.

Oh gods, where they dead?

You tried to get to Daryl but someone grabbed you roughly -again- making you whine in pain, throwing you back into the ground. 

You then looked for the eyes of Rick, who just looked like he just came down to the same realization as you. He was looking at Negan like he was the evil incarnated, and you realized that just now he was coming to the realization you had about an hour ago.

That Smith was Negan… That you were completely screwed, and at the mercy of the enemy that you had let inside your walls. 

The rest of them, Abraham, Sasha, Aaron, Eugene, Michonne, looked… like they had been through hell, and you could read the shock in their faces like an open book

Abraham, and Michonne looked more composed, showing nothing in their stone cold faces. But… the rest of them were completely frightened

“Great!, now that everyone’s here…!”, it was like Smith was on crack, “or at least… some of you”, shit shit shit, you looked frantically at Rick, who found your eyesight and nodded softly, trying to calm you down, you now were the one losing it, and quickly. 

“We can come to an agreement…”

“Nope!”, said Negan, swinging his bat into the air, “No, Rick, you don’t speak for Alexandria, and don’t think you’d notice… but you are not in a position to negotiate anything right now”, he said, he was very theatrical, he was. “Now, where were we?”, he asked, he turned and looked at you, you looked back at him wide-eyed, “oh yeah… first impressions, paying the price of someone escaping… yes… let’s wrap that up”, he said 

This couldn’t be good

“But…!”, with his sudden change of tone he always made you jump, “before we can begin, I need you all to turn to the same page as us… you need to understand… how things are going to be from now on… we… are the saviors, and now, you are under our wings”, he said with a taunting smile, “you will scavenge for me, you will work for me, and you will provide for me… in turn… we… will save you”

“From what?”, asked Abraham. But it only took one look from Negan for you to realize what he meant… from himself and his group.

“From the dead ones, of course”, he said, frowning, but with a wide smile on his face. “For you to understand who I am… and who we are… We want to make things clear from the get go… so I’m going to beat the hell out of one of you… fine people”, he said, you heard gasps and quiet ‘no’s’, and people moving on their own very spots, but everyone was frozen to death, “it should have been three…”, he said then, “I told Deanna to give me three names, preferably of the new group, from the Rick’s Pricks….”, you looked at Deanna and she looked possibly defeated, looking at Negan with a hate in her eyes

And for the first time, you understood what Mayor meant…

When a good man goes to war, even the devil clenches his buttcheeks… or something like that 

If looks could kill, Negan would definitely be dead

“... But she wouldn’t give even one of them up!”, said Negan, “and thennnn…”, he turned back to you, “this fine lady here made a really good point”, he said, and you couldn’t believe what good point you could have made. “You will not bend… oh no… the usual package won’t work with you, will it? you are survivors, fighters, you will fight and fight and fight me… so… let’s begin”

It was deadly quiet… you shared concerned looks as you found the one of Daryl, who looked like he wanted to spring to you, you mouthed to him, “I’m alright”, and you had faith that everything was going to be alright. 

“There is one person here, that will be the pea under my mattress, the little bitch stone inside my boot, this person… and that person… needs to die, for you all to realize how serious about this I am, and how I am able to fulfill my threats, I really want you all to know me”, he said. 

Negan walked… slowly, taunting you, he walked in front of all of you.

You felt Daryl’s gaze on you so you returned the stare

Whatever was going to happen, you couldn’t wait any longer, the wait, the uncertainty, was driving you mad, you wanted to go to him, to hold him, you could tell he was having a horrible time, his eyes… his face was sickly pale, he was shaking, he had a bullet wound on his shoulder, you could tell, he had been badly injured.

Behind him, you saw the bastard with Daryl’s own crossbow, pointing it at him, waiting for any excuse to kill him. Looking at him with such contempt, just like Arat looked at you, what the hell did you do to these people for them to hate you that much?

Without knowing it you gave a piece of your mind to the leader of the organization, and because of that he was going to take it out on your family.

He whistled once more, and he stopped right as he pointed his bat at you.

“NO!”, screamed Daryl. And Negan laughed

“Speak again and I will bash her pretty little brains in”, he said severely, “Relax Daryl-boy”, he said, recuperating his smile, “I wouldn’t dare to touch the golden girl here, oh no”, he said, then looking at Rick, he made a quick turn around, so quick that it made your head spin.

“Any takers?”, he asked.

You looked around once more and everyone was just petrified, you had seen freakishly scary leaders and what they could make his followers do, but not the locals, these people, were just now coming hard to this reality.

You saw it in Atlanta in the hospital, in Terminus, with the claimers, and with the biker gang in the road, and with the wolves.

The monsters this new sick world had created

But many of these people had never seen anything like this before.

But as you looked around more closely, the circle has kind of limited into your group, and Alexandrian’s inner circle, they didn’t bother with the old ladies and gentlemen, no, you didn't even saw Jesse anywhere

He was going to take his pick from the very top group.

“So nobody thinks they deserve to be taken by Lucille?”, he asked, swinging his bat again, did he name it? that was its name? you were confused. 

You were just coming to the realization that one of you was going to die tonight, that this Negan psycho was going to beat one of you to death. 

“You don’t have to kill anybody”, said Michonne quickly, “we understand”, she said severely, “we work for you now”, Negan just looked at her, the smile never wiped from his face.

“No, you see I don’t see that you understand, this woman here, tried to cut the corner, didn’t take me seriously, and that’s why I think I should bash someone’s head in, and I really wanted it to be Alexander”, he said out loud, “but… he ran like a cowards so another one must pay…”

The rage was leaving your body, like foam after being showered, what took your body instead was something you hadn't seen in a while… fear. It felt like a cold shower, numbing your shaking extremities. Maybe it was you, maybe it was and he said that to make you think you weren’t the chosen one, he knew you had brought in Alexander and you were close to Rick and Daryl, he was going to kill you. 

He swung his abt, with time, with purpose and determination towards Tyresse, and you heard, in fractions of a second, screams and gasps, but the bat missed his head by mere inches and you knew he hadn't missed on purpose, he was trying to scare you all.

It worked

Everyone was whimpering, and Tyresse had started crying, Sasha had screamed and she was now crying.

This couldn’t be happening. As you saw around, and looked at each and everyone one of the faces of the men and women there, tough as nails, waiting to shoot you int he head, or beat you to death, or held you captive, or torture you.

You started to think about all the things that happened between your both groups, what you did in the sanctuary, how you beat a couple of them up… how they beat you up… how you just tried to kill one of them because of your rage.

Did you bring this on your group?

Perhaps you should have done a deal with them from the beginning.

Perhaps things should have been different. 

Negan took himself to the other side of the round, this time, nearing the ones who showed up later to the party. He stopped right in front of Daryl, and then he turned to look at you. He played with the bat on his hand, that’s when the tears started falling from your eyes, silently, but you were just preparing for the worst.

The second best after Alex could be Daryl, he was like a wild horse of the great Northamerican wilderness, untamable, and Negan knew it.

“You know what?”, he said then, “I want to start our relationship on the right foot”, he said, taking long, slow steps, like he was marching right back to the center of the circle, “this ugly duckling colluded against your group Rick…”, he said, “he a two-faced prick, and you know what? nobody likes a person you cannot trust”, he said simply, “that will always be there… whispering behind your back, looking to tumble the first domino, and… I just hate snitches”, he said.

It was one second.

Only one

One moment Negan was looking at Rick, with his back turned to the cars with the lights on, and the next? 

You saw a trail of blood flying, passing right in front of the lights and for a fraction of a second, it shone like glitter.

That was before you heard the screaming

“NO!”

When you managed to focus your gaze, half of Spencer’s face was completely destroyed, and a piercing scream cut through the night.

It was Deanna

You had never heard something so soul piercing, it made you shake as you fell on your side.

Negan was still on position, with his bat over his shoulder tainted with red

“Anybody moves… they’re next”, he said simply, and you heard several safeties being taken out. 

“No! NO!”, Deanna whined, as Negan bashed Spencer’s head in, again, and again, and again.

His movements were dramatic, exaggerated, blood, and pieces of guts flew in every direction, some even landed on Deanna.

His own mother

Spencer was an asshole, but killing him in front of his own mother?

This was sick

You wanted to throw up, but at the same time, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Spencer’s shape, there was no longer a head to look at at, it was only a bloody pile as Negan kept coming at it, again and again

Like he wanted to make it clear to you

That he wasn’t playing around. 

“Wow!”, he said, finally turning back, leaving the rest of Spencer alone, “I love some nightly workout, keep my juices flowing, can’t wait to get back home to all my wives!”, he said, “two weeks was it? three? too damn long if you ask me! I gonna screw them all”

The only thing you heard was Deanna’s screeches, as she twisted in pain, clutching at her own chest, not being able to move as she -as everyone- was being held at gunpoint.

This was sick

Negan stood there, like he just didn’t kill a person in the most sadistic way possible, cracking jokes and talking about screwing women.

“Spencer let us in the middle of the night, he surrendered his own community to us”, he said, this time, he was not smiling, “I don’t want to have him on my team and I don’t want you to have him on yours”, he said.

You finally managed to turn and look back at Rick, his eyes were red, and trailed on Spencer still, he couldn’t believe what was happening, neither could you, this was so surreal

“I really hope i made myself clear because i just love doing that”, he said, “so does lucille”

“We get it!”, said Michonne, “we do”

“I’m glad”, Negan said, “because I truly believe this could be the beginning of a very nice relationship”, he said, “I’m not an idiot, I know that you went out there, you know about the hilltop, I don’t want you to get ideas…”

“We are not getting anything”, Tyresse assured him… he was trying to keep it together, for the group. Finally he had snapped out of his tightening fear, and you were somewhat relieved. 

“I love this”, he admired, “I love that you are understanding, and I want you to see how reasonable I can be”, he said, “that’s why, nobody else needs to die tonight…”

You could feel relieved but Negan proved to be so unstable and unpredictable you didn’t know if this was good or bad.

“I said I wanted three for Lucille, I only took one, but I think… I’m not gonna kill any more of you, because that just won’t work with you people, right?”, his smile was unsettling, and he directed it straight at you, because of what you said, “I’ll just take the right people, and each time you do something wrong, I’ll kill them, right in the comfort of my home”, that seemed to snap Rick out of his stupor, 

“No…”, said Rick shakily, “take me, only me…”, Negan chuckled

“Ever the righteous hero! I love that, but that’s not gonna cut it, not really”, he said, “I need you here leading the efforts to get things for me Rick”, he said, then, he started walking around, watching at each and everyone of you, “though pickins though”, he said pensively, “I noticed that some people are missing”, Rick looked around nervously, “tough mission out there?”, he asked, and Rick barely nodded, “If I find them in a certain community I might rethink what I just said… Rick…”, he threatened.

So the rest of them were on the Hilltop? all of them?

“Damn… I wanted to ask Maggie to come back with me”, he said, “well… lets wrap this up I want to go back home already”

He pointed, at two people, and his goons grabbed them, you heard screams, but you couldn’t look, you were looking at Daryl

It was your turn to scream as he pointed the bat at him

“NO!”, you screamed, trying to get up, “don’t touch him!”, two saviors grabbed you as three others, including Dwight, grabbed Daryl and loaded him in the same van he had come in, “GIVE HIM BACK!”, you tried to fight them, you did, but they were stronger than you, you were tired, and you had been through so much in the last hours, you weren’t even a threat to them right now.

So you could do nothing as you saw how they took the love of your life, and your friends.

They throw you back into the ground when they realize you were no threat to them.

“Oh darling, I’d take you too”, Negan said, “but I need you here, I need you here to convince your friends to cooperate, because if they don’t… you know what’s gonna happen to your Daryl, right?”, he asked, and you nodded, “I’ll treat him good”, he assured you, as you met his gaze, “if he wants it, I’ll make him a soldier and he will live like a King…”

You knew Daryl was never going to go for that

“... don’t you worry”, he said, “I’ll be back in a couple of days, I’ll leave you so you’ll… gather your thoughts”, he walked away from you to address the rest again, “and I want you to know, I still like to very much kill Alexander, so if you see him… tell him I have his girl, because he is a coward and a deserter, let’s move out!”

You felt them around you, walking around, getting in their cars, and driving off, but you felt nothing, as your eyes were set on the gates.

They took Daryl.

“Deanna? Deanna!”, you heard around you, but you couldn’t make your eyes work, you couldn’t make your body react.

“You were right Rick”

“Deanna! we are gonna get some help! you are gonna be alright”

“Rick… you were right”, she said. 

Sorry for taking so long... I really wanted to make it intense but then I'm not sure I accomplished what I wanted

taglist @crazyunsexycool @capricxnt

[daytaker]

Could you perhaps write something where gn!mc is just,,, a complete asshole. Fully standoffish and rude, I think it'd be hilarious [bonus points if they have a traumatic backstory for WHY]

No bonus points for me because my asshole MCs exist in a state of suspended animation and they're just like this Because They Are.

Now, I go on and actually explore my idea from an earlier prompt that MC being standoffish would derail the entire plot of OG Season 1 since it requires them to help Belphie get out of the attic.

And if you're wondering, yes, Solomon is quoting KJV Book of Revelation at the end there.

How Your Year-Long Vacation In the Devildom Ended in the Apocalypse

or; Asshole Standoffish MC says what?

Ship: None Word Count: ~1.3k Triggers: Uhhhh... (points to the title)

-----

You're not here to make friends.

And you're definitely not here to date any million-year-old demons who look like they stepped out of the pages of Esquire.

You're here because you're Fate's favorite bitch, and apparently you haven't been suffering enough lately.

So you go ahead and announce all that to your host family the first time you all sit down for dinner.

"...Are humans like that?" asks Asmodeus, looking between you and his brothers. "...I...I don't remember humans being like that."

"Wow. Okay," says Leviathan, staring at his Switch. "First of all, what's your damage. Second, you should probably find the demons who are interested in dating you and let them know, lmao." He fist-bumps Mammon without looking up from the screen.

"What's Esquire?" asks Beel.

"I'm gonna go eat in my room," you say. "Goodnight."

As you leave, you hear Mammon mumble, "Well, they were right about being a bitch."

------

Things aren't any less irritating at that stupid school. Honestly, who names a school after themselves and the fact that they're royalty? Was he just trying to make an easy acronym? Seriously. 'Royal Academy of Diavolo'.... It makes you cringe, hard.

So you sit in the back of all your classes and doodled your favorite sleep paralysis monsters getting closer and closer to the foot of your bed over the course of the day. You're just getting to where you can see the empty white scleras staring up at you when Dumb, Dumb, and Dumber turn up, A.K.A. the other exchange students, A.K.A. Simeon the Angel (dumb), Luke the Baby Angel (also dumb), and Solomon (dumber), the immortal human sorcerer and also the ancient king of Jerusalem? (Like, that Solomon? What the fuck, why does he look like a twenty-three year old anime boy?)

"You must be the newest exchange student," says the tall angel.

"Yeah, and?" you answer.

"Hey, you don't need to be so rude to him!" says the baby angel. His voice makes you want to throw yourself into a furnace.

"Yeah, and?" you answer again.

"Haha! So the new student has some spunk! I like that," says the Biblical king.

"Why are you all bothering me? I was drawing my sleep par--"

"We should all hang out at Purgatory Hall sometime," suggests Simeon, proving he hasn't been paying attention. "By the way, why did Diavolo end up putting you in with the brothers instead of situating you with us?"

"Because I walk around naked at night and I don't care who sees, and there's a child in your dorm."

"Really?" asks Simeon, covering Luke's ears. "Why do you do that?"

"Because fuck you, that's why. Leave me alone."

"I don't remember humans being like that," murmurs Simeon to Solomon as they walk away.

------

"I'm a human too," says the demon in the attic.

"Uh-huh," you say with undisguised skepticism. "And you want me to forge pacts because...?"

"Because then you can release me. Us humans have to stick together."

You let that hang there for a few seconds before dropping the ax.

"...So I know you're Belphegor. Because your fucking picture is up in the house. You absolute moron."

His expression drops.

"You idiot. You lying shit. Don't waste my time like this again. I'm not forging pacts with any demons. I know you missed my first dinner here, but to sum it up: I'm not here to make friends."

"I don't remember humans being like this," he mumbles to himself. "Wha- hey! Wait! Where are you going?! Come back! Come- come back!!!"

-----

It's Diavolo's birthday party, and Lucifer forces you to come.

By that, I mean he physically picks you up and drags you there while you struggle and rage.

"I don't remember humans being like this," Diavolo says to Barbatos with some concern as he sees you carried thrashing through the entry.

"Oh, they absolutely are," argues Solomon. "I only calmed down after I'd been around about a hundred years. But for their stage of development, I'd say they're pretty much par for the course."

Barbatos stares blankly at Solomon as Diavolo nods sagely. "I see, I see... I suppose I'll have to keep that in mind when selecting our next exchange student."

-----

"Finally! The year is almost up, which means this loser's going back to the human world, and Belphie's gonna come back home!" cheers Mammon.

"Very expository of you," Satan replies dryly.

"Oh, Belphie is Belphegor, right? Your youngest brother?" you ask, looking up from the knife you've been sharpening. It's one of the chores you reluctantly accepted over the course of your stay here. You're taking care of your knife duties while brothers 2 and 4 cook dinner.

"Uh, obviously," snorts Mammon. "Why, what do you care? You'll be gone before he gets here."

"I forgot I never mentioned this to any of you. He's in the attic."

Mammon and Satan stare at you. Mammon chuckles nervously. "Whaaa? Don't be stupid, there's nothing up in the attic. Lucifer doesn't even let us go up there."

You stare back at him, unblinking. The two brothers glance at each other.

-----

You sit on your suitcase in the front hall of the House of Lamentation as the place goes up in flames.

Beelzebub is in a mindless rage, cursing Lucifer and breaking down walls. Every now and then, the entire house rumbles, indicating its structural integrity is just that much less solid.

Leviathan summoned Lotan in a moment of panic when Mammon kicked his door in and announced that Belphegor was going to war against the human world and Lucifer and Diavolo and he'd better pick sides before he got drafted, so the entire ground floor is soaked in a few inches of water and tentacles keep reaching out from the depths of the house. You swat them away whenever they get too close. You're not sure where Levi is now, but based on the fact you can hear Mammon screaming and pounding at the bathroom door, you can make a good guess.

Asmodeus released Cerberus from the basement after charming him, and when he realized the dog was too enraptured to obey Lucifer, the pressure got to him and he fled. Now the two are on the war path to Majolish, because 'all this drama is stressing [them] out' and 'this is how [they] cope, okay?'

Lucifer is grappling with Belphie and Satan, who, upon hearing that Belphie intended to rebel against Lucifer, joined his cause. He keeps trying to bang their heads together; you can see it happening in front of the fireplace down the hall. But Satan's tail keeps slashing at him like some sort of prehensile melee weapon and it's clearly at least somewhat effective.

Looking up, you see what appears to be a pair of dragons grappling in the sky, and all around you are the sounds of screams and sirens. The earth rumbles around you, and even the stars seemed to be falling from the sky.

"I can't believe you did it!"

You turn around in surprise as the door opens. Solomon stands there, beaming at you like a proud father. "You really did it! You broke the sixth seal!"

"Sorry, what?"

"'And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood!'"

"Sorry, what?"

The roof begins to cave in, so you step out of the way, and Solomon laughs maniacally.

"It's still going! 'And the great kings of the land said to the mountains and rocks, "Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne!"'" Another chunk of the ceiling crashes directly in front of you.

"Are you high?"

"Yes!"

"Share."

So we smoke a joint, staring up through the broken roof into the starless sky, watching demons and brawl, awaiting the breaking of the seventh seal: silence.

[legendary-defender-of-fandoms]

You want to know the worst thing about Ralph Breaks the Internet?

It wasn’t the already-dated Internet jokes & references - we all knew going in that stuff was never going to work.

It wasn’t the new characters - honestly, they’re all fine (except maybe Double Dan - Alfred Molina deserves better!).

It wasn’t the exclusion of Felix & Calhoun (my delusional ass is still waiting for a short film about the two raising the Sugar Rush racers.)

It wasn’t even the thousands of details they ignored, retconned, or forgot from the original Wreck-it Ralph (Fix-it Felix Jr. was THIRTY years old when Ralph met Vanellope, Vanellope ABDICATED HER THRONE in favor of a constitutional democracy so everyone in Sugar Rush would have a say in how the game was run, Sugar Rush was a two-seater racing game, etc.)

No, the absolute, positively, undeniably worst thing Ralph Breaks the Internet did was tarnish & distort Ralph so thoroughly it made us all question if the original movie was even that good to begin with.

Everything else in Ralph Breaks the Internet could be forgiven or overlooked. But what they did to Ralph is just baffling. He was never going to be mistaken for a Rhodes scholar in the first movie, but he WAS smarter than the doofus who couldn’t even name a graduation cap in the sequel.

Wasn’t he?

And he wasn’t a gross slob by choice - he HATED living in the dump (I believe his exact words were “NOT cool! Unhygienic, and lonely! And boring.”) but he was kind of stuck there because the game literally left him nowhere else to stay. That’s why in the epilogue he decided to finally make something of his situation by building himself a proper shack instead of just camping on the bricks.

Wasn’t it?

And Ralph had many flaws in the first film - he had a short temper, he was a little clumsy, he broke things by accident just because he was a little too strong or things weren’t made for someone with his physical abilities in mind, he was stubborn, he had a one-track mind and couldn’t be deterred from his short-term goals no matter the long-term consequences. But the one thing he WASN’T was insecure. He knew his own strengths & weaknesses, and he wasn’t trying to change himself to win anyone’s approval. He was just trying to find VALIDATION, a way to satisfy the small-minded Nicelanders and prove to them (and himself) that he had value as he was.

Wasn’t he?

I’m terrified to rewatch the original movie now because I’m afraid the Wreck-it Ralph in my head is based on lies & fanfics, and the real Wreck-it Ralph was ALWAYS some insecure doofus with no accountability or self reflection.

And you know the absolutely insane part? Disney is doing their absolute darndest to pretend Ralph doesn’t exist. AND HE’S THE TITLE CHARACTER OF HIS OWN IP!!!!! There’s a new chapter book series about Vanellope & some of the Sugar Rush Racers getting stuck in a little girl’s tablet, and Ralph’s ONLY appearance so far is a line-drop in the first book when Vanellope says she left him sleeping in Game Central Station while all the consoles were unplugged for a remodeling of Litwak’s Arcade. WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Remember how EVERYONE in the first movie lost their shit at the possibility of their game being unplugged, treating it like an Apocalypse? Remember how even the sequel did a halfway decent job reminding folks that having a game unplugged was a Big Deal? Now everyone’s just chill axing on vacation in Game Central Station (which is NOT BIG ENOUGH to hold every single game character - it could barely fit the Sugar Rush citizens when they got unplugged) and Ralph is snoozing in a corner while his daughter is accidentally whisked away to some girl’s tablet.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!

The Wreck-it Ralph from the first movie wouldn’t be asleep in a corner when he could be spending time with Vanellope. And THAT man would go through Hell & high water to find her! While Vanellope & her gang are helping Molly (the kid with the tablet) learn about friendship & camping or whatever, Ralph should be an absolute MENACE online, tearing through every website, personal device, and Cloud account looking for his little girl!

Right? Wrong?

Did we all delude ourselves into thinking Ralph was deeper than he was intended to be? Or does Disney just hate Wreck-it Ralph now? And if it’s the latter, why? WHY do they hate him? Why do they want US to not care about him? Is it because he’s the last of the Lasseter projects? Did John C. Reilly and Bob Iger have some sort of falling-out? Did the FANBASE do something to put Disney staff off from ever wanting to do anything with Wreck-it Ralph ever again?

I think I could move on if I knew for certain whether Disney actively sabotaged Wreck-it Ralph with his sequel & subsequent exclusions from merchandise & multi-IP projects, or if I was just crazy for ever liking this character or his movie to begin with. It’s the not knowing that kills me.

[tenebriskukris]

Oshi No Ko Chapter 164 - My Thoughts/Analysis

It seems the authors have somehow managed to pull off a chapter that was worse than I could have intentionally come up with myself. Spoilers for Oshi No Ko Chapter 164 below.

This chapter starts off with a montage of events that have absolutely no relevance to the Aqua’s life hanging in the balance. How many pages was it? Three pages that could’ve been dedicated to the actual plot rather than a Windows Powerpoint Slideshow. I’d be more lenient with things if there weren’t two bloody chapters left.

And now, back to Oshi No Powerpoint, we see Aqua’s probable death. Nine panels of a slideshow that could’ve easily been folded into the past three or chapters. More than half of the chapter at this point has just been close to, if not completely superfluous. This “death” scene might as well have been thrown out because last chapter’s ending could’ve been enough to put the nail in the coffin for any hope of survival for Aqua and this series’ ending being somewhere even remotely close to decent. 

I don’t even care that Akane is basically infodumping everyone’s reactions to this travesty and her thoughts on Aqua’s death. If the police found his body, that means it’s over. They’re not going to mistake Aqua’s body for Hikaru’s especially since Akane mentions that the damage to the corpse was minor. I guess that confirms that Aqua’s dead, huh. As sad as Akane’s reactions are, I just can’t bring myself to care about the writing equivalent of someone’s shit being smeared onto a plate and having it actually being published. It’s an insult to all the well written manga that only have a fraction of success this godawful manga has garnered thanks to one lucky anime adaptation. 

I’d heard off the grapevine that one of the author’s other mangas that wasn’t Kaguya-sama was axed and if This is the kind of output that the author has been churning out, then that cancellation is more than deserved. These last ten chapters might as well have torched the series. I wouldn’t trust the authors to teach a fucking high school writing class, let alone go anywhere close to writing a popular manga again.

Alright. Fine. Final thoughts on the chapter. I’d like the time investment that this manga stole from me back. I don’t even feel the need to rub my braincells together to type out a competent analysis of a chapter that was just so objectively garbage from almost every angle that you’d think that they were trying to completely trying to nuke the manga’s quality. With how these past chapters have been going, it’s not the worst media ending I’ve ever seen, but it’s certainly up there. At least in the top 20 at best, and we’re not even fully over.

On a more serious note, it’s hard to meet this chapter where it is mostly because I don’t want to get my boots dirty in the filth that it’s swimming in. It’s difficult to meet the manga halfway and actually putting effort into analyzing something that the authors obviously didn’t even put a smidgen of effort into in terms of anything but the art. It’s almost the inverse of trying to analyze that one piece of installation art that is literally a urinal. If the creator of said piece of art wasn’t an actual good artist and didn’t put thought into Why the bloody thing was a urinal, then people wouldn’t be debating endlessly over it even to this day. Unfortunately, this manga isn’t a urinal, though with the quality of it being so piss poor, it might as well deserve that title. There are children’s television shows that can handle themselves better than the ending of this series even on a bad day.

So. Aqua’s dead. Probably. They found his body so he’s probably dead. Doesn’t mean that Crow Girl can’t deus ex machina him back and reincarnate him again. Would not even be surprised at this point. Maybe he’ll reincarnate as Ruby’s child. That feels about on the level of garbage writing that this series has been doing. I went on a whole tirade on Why this was a bad decision in my last analysis, and oh boy the authors proved me right again. This chapter was executed so badly that I think there are some people who have zero writing experience who could end it better. It’s actually impressive.

With this chapter out, it almost invalidates the last one. Which is certainly Not what you want to do when you only have a handful of chapters left. Hell, you could probably just read 162 and 164 and skip 163 and you would lose absolutely nothing but Aqua pitying himself for making some objectively bad decisions, because somehow Nino trying to stab Ruby was forgotten by the narrative at large. So was Akane, by the way. If Aqua really wanted to get rid of Hikaru in a more subtle manner he could’ve very easily just asked for her help for an alibi after getting rid of Hikaru. It’s all just so idiotic.

It’s a fucking crime that we don’t get to see Ruby in this chapter. All these side characters get a turn on the react couch to Aqua’s death and Ruby is just a footnote in this entire thing when she was the reason that Aqua went to these extremes in the first place. I’d say that the authors don’t know how to handle their characters, but that implies that they knew how to handle them in the first place, which is very debatable. The cracks in the series may have become more evident as it leapt toward the finish line, but they were still there at the start. They were just hidden because there was still decent writing that distracted from the rot hiding beneath the surface.

From what I gather, this arc’s title was Toward The Stars and Dreams. I have a better title for it. Toward Burning The Manga Tankobons Down. The funny thing is that all the emotions I have for this manga have crystallized into apathy with all the horrible decisions the manga is taking. I didn’t feel sad at the end of the chapter when everyone was reacting to Aqua’s death. It felt too much like a slideshow of things that should’ve been given more time in the spotlight. It’s just a feeling of “oh, that’s how they’re going with this? huh. that’s garbage!” and then go on my merry way. If you’re losing the emotional investment that your readers have with the work as as you sprint toward the finish line, then you’ve done something really wrong.

Two chapters left. Let’s just get on with it. I’m not going to be getting my time investment back with this godawful series, but at least I can put a little bow on it and rip it to shreds when its over.

[twinksintrees]

I can’t get over Fabian getting everyone gifts. Like, that shows how much he truly does care. By him not telling everyone and keeping it hidden, he proved it wasn’t an ego trip thing, he proved it wasn’t a show of his wealth, he proved how much he listens and understands all of the other bad kids. He gets Fig an engraved ruby guitar pick, not a cheap pick with silly little writing on it, he got that shit fucking ENGRAVED. With the saying Gorthalax’s girl, knowing how much that would mean to Fig even if he doesn’t personally get it. He gets Gorgug a magic axe holster, which is already fucking cool, but then he goes and gets a flower printed in the side, a sign of Gorgug’s more soft nature despite being a fucking dope ass barbarian and a wrecking ball in battle. Adaine,,,Adaine. More than anything she wants a makeover, she wants a shred of individuality her parents didn’t pick for her, she wants to look like a normal kid for once and have a normal life. The best Fabian can provide is a large sum of money for her use and a recommendation to the best tailor in town. Oh and Kristen’s. Kristen’s gift is so. meaningful. they all are, but Fabian’s gift to Kristen, and especially after realizing that is Fabian who hand picked this out for her, truly just gets to me in a way the others can’t even reach. He meets her and she’s this kind of weird, but nice, but weird church kid who is trying to branch out from her religion but still invites them to the prayer chain. He watches as she defeats corn cuties with divine light, she dies and she meets her god, Helio himself. and he watches as her faith begins to crumble. He’s never been religious, he doesn’t know what to say that will help her through this. so he provides a book, something that may contain answers to her questions that he himself will never have. And RIZ. Oh Riz. He gets Riz a briefcase, a beautiful, gorgeous, leather bound briefcase with Riz’s nickname, The Ball, on the front. Inside contain the most elegantly decorated business cards, etched with the most gorgeous penmanship you’ve ever seen. Fabian knows Riz, and he knows Riz needs a good briefcase, so he makes it a bag of holding, a briefcase of holding. He knows he needs business cards, so he makes them himself. After bad times and good times, battles and ice cream, Fabian comes to understand his friends. And they are, truly, his friends. He knows they want to belong, he will give them a title worth bearing. He knows they are unsure of how to carry themself, he will give them a symbol of reassurance. He knows they just want to truly call their own and he will give them all the means to buy it themself. He knows they want to grow and understand more, he may not have the answers personally but he will provide an outlet that might. He knows they are a detective, he knows they have a case. A good detective must have good equipment, he will provide what he can. He wants his friends to know he understands. He sees what they’re all going through. He provides gifts to help them on their journey. He only hopes they work.

[lostfirefly]

Life Must Have It's Mysteries (Ch.9)

I'm dying to share the new chapter with you! The idea for this chapter visited me at the very beginning of the story. And maybe it is a bit bad, but I wanted to include it in one of the chapters :) I also like the idea that for the girl he loves, Buggy would do anything. English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) Masterlist is here.

Description: Catherine's trapped. Will Buggy save her?

Warnings: Fun, fluff, arguing, sadness (have some tissues ready), adventure, inappropriate jokes, swearing (as always). Shitty shit again:)

Words: 4251

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots, @hey-august, @rorywritesjunk, @yujo-nishimura (I hope you still like it!)

The title is taken from “Life Must Have It's Mysteries” by Hans Zimmer (OST Inferno).

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“What did you do?” Buggy stared at the bars. His eyes were wide and jaw dropped. 

“I didn't do anything! I just ran my hand along the wall.”

“So maybe you shouldn’t run your hands along these fucking walls? Maybe you stepped on something there?” He tried to pull the bars. “Not moving! Fuck!! Can you get through these things?” He examined the gate from floor to ceiling.

“Are you kidding me?” Catherine tried to push herself between the bars. “Of course not. Look at the walls, maybe there are some drawings or something else there.”

Catherine examined the walls from her side, Buggy checked the walls from the other side.

“Nothing! I see nothing!” There was panic in his voice. “What should I do?” 

“What?” 

“You always tell me what to do. Look at this, Buggy. Click on this, Buggy. Put your pants on, Buggy. That's why we got this far. You're the only reason we got all the pieces of the fucking sceptre together. I couldn't have done it alone. I don't have too many brains.” He scratched his head. “Wait! Did you take an axe or something else?” 

“The axe. Here!” She quickly pulled out a hatchet from her bag and gave it to him. 

“Move away!” 

“But...” 

“Catherine, motherfucker, move away!” Buggy growled through his teeth.

“Don't get mad!” She barked back.

“I’m not mad!” 

“You call me by my full name, that means you're angry at me!” Catherine said loudly and came closer to the grate.

“Seriously? You want to talk about this now? Well, okay! What kind of reaction were you expecting? We're somewhere at the bottom of the fucking pyramid, where even tourists don't go. You're sitting in some fucking Egyptian bullshit because of your curiosity. I cannot get you out. Why wouldn't I be angry? Move away!” 

Catherine pressed herself closer to the corner and watched as Buggy hit the goal with his pickaxe several times with all his might. 

“It doesn’t open! Why doesn’t it open?” He kicked the gate angrily. 

“Buggy, stop. It cannot be opened. It’s a fucking trap.” Catherine whispered and closed her eyes. “That's it, I'll die here.” 

“What? No! There must be a way out. Are you planning to stay there? No way! I cannot lose you too!” Buggy looked around the walls. 

“I don't like to be a pessimist, my love. But you can't open it. This is perhaps some old punishment cell for thieves, or maybe a place for errant slaves. Which does not open like a regular door. Sometimes the guilty were released into such cells and they simply waited for their end.” Catherine walked up to the bars, leaned her back against the wall, and sank to the ground. “I don't know. I'm sorry.” She said quietly. 

“For what?” Buggy sat down opposite the grate, leaning on another part of the wall. 

“For dragging you here. For appearing in your life at all. If it weren’t for me, you'd be partying with some girl on the loose right now.” Catherine bent her legs and rested her forehead on her knees. 

“Cotton candy,” Buggy slipped his hand between the bars and took her hand. “I'm not very good at this romantic stuff of yours. But don't apologize for showing up in my life, please. You… Y-You're the best gift of fate for a pathetic loser like me.” 

“You're not a loser.” Catherine replied quietly, running her finger along his arm. “Try to find a way out. I'll die here in a few days. You'll find yourself another girl and live with her. And in your head, I'll remain just some girl who stupidly walked into a small room and got stuck in it forever.” 

“Are you out of your mind? Why would I want another girl? No one will piss me off and amuse me at the same time the way you do.” He grinned, resting the back of his head against the wall and exhaled. “You made me pancakes.” 

“What?” Catherine raised her head. 

“Well, you keep cracking up and wanting to know when I.. when I fell in love with you. Remember, after our adventure, I took you and your sister back to my house.” Buggy leaned closer to the grate and rested his head on it.

“Yeah.” 

“After the first night…”  

“I'm surprised you didn't hit on me, by the way.” Catherine giggled and saw him start to blush.

“Damn! Do you want to know the story, or are you just gonna mock me?” He glanced at her and his cheeks burnt. 

“I wanna know! Let this be the last good story.” Catherine squeezed his hand and closed her eyes. 

“Nah, my little pie, there will be many more. So… Don't interrupt. I'm having a hard time telling it. I woke up the next morning because I smelled something yummy in the kitchen.” 

“Why am I not surprised you fell for the food?” She ran the tips of her fingers over his knuckles. 

“Fuck you, honestly. Why do you always do this? Ok. I didn't realize what the smell was at first. So I walked into the kitchen, and there you were in your zebra pajama pants cooking me pancakes. You were humming a song while you were making them. You still do it, by the way. I call it “a pancake song.” 

“You're so cute. And I’m humming? Really? Didn't notice.” Catherine felt Buggy's hand start shaking during the story and began stroking her thumb over his arm.

“Yes, you are. Well.. I remember you turned around to me with a plate, smiled and told me to sit down to breakfast. And I.. I looked at you and thought, “fuck, I.. I love her! I wanna wake up in the same bed with her, be in her arms, see her smile, see stupid pants with animals and eat these pancakes for the rest of my life.” Embarrassment made Buggy redder than his nose. “May I say no more?” 

“I remember that morning, too. You piled into the kitchen, suffering from a hangover, wearing only your pajama pants. So hot and sexy. But I really didn't think you were happy that I was there.” Catherine looked at him with the corner of her eye. 

“I'm not a complete jerk, cotton candy. Come on! The most beautiful girl in the world is sleeping at my place and then making me breakfast. Usually the girls just ran away in the morning while I was still sleeping.”

“Okay, it should be fair play. Do you want me to confess? I wanted to come over to your couch on the first night. But my sister kept talking, and I couldn't leave. All I could think was, “shut up, I love him and I want to tell him that right now”. And when I came out to see you, you were already asleep.”

Buggy giggled and scratched the back of his head. “I didn't sleep then. I was.. I was under the covers, pretending to be asleep. Well. I liked you, so I.. I don't know. I heard your footsteps and got scared. I couldn't think of anything better than lying still on the bed.”

“You're unbelievable.” She laughed and cleared her throat. “Listen, can you tell me one more story? How do you get out of jail? And why do you keep that prison photo in your wallet? But if you're not ready, that's okay. Tell this to my mummy later.” 

“I don't keep that photo in my wallet. I just hid it. I don't know, I was afraid you'd find it and leave me. But you're not gonna get off my back on the prison thing, are you? Well…” Buggy squeezed her hand, and scratched his cheek with his other hand. He exhaled and told the story of the escape. 

Catherine couldn't stop laughing. “First, I won't leave you until I’ll die in this cage. Second. Really? You had help from a sixteen-year-old kid? The great clown Buggy had teamed up with a teenager. Delightful! And that's how that wax man knows you.” She looked at his face, which was all red with embarrassment, and stroked his hand.

“Fuck you. Stop laughing at me!” He scowled.

“I’m not! Thanks for telling me. Too bad you can't split up and sneak in here. I'd hug you goodbye. I’m so happy I met you. I love you so, so much, my Buggy Bear. Remember that, okay?” 

“I love y~… Cathie-pie. Wait!” Buggy got up abruptly from his seat and ran somewhere.

“What?” Catherine got up off the floor and tried to poke her head between the bars. “Ouch! Where are you?”

“There's something here!” He shouted out of the darkness. 

“What's in there? I can barely see anything out here. Do you have some kind of clown night vision or something?” 

“Shut up! I don't know, some kind of shit.” 

“Wow, Buggy the Clown. You're just a master of descriptions. Some shit. What does it look like?” 

“I don't know. A small board with squares on it.” 

“Describe m~. Oh, my God!” Catherine jerked sharply away from the grate, seeing his flying hand. “At least give me a warning that you're sending your parts to me.” 

“Give me something, I'll show you what I see.” 

She placed a pad and pen in his hand, and the hand disappeared into the darkness. “Buggy? Are you still there?” 

“I'm coming!” Buggy walked over to the cage and showed her the drawing. “There's this thing.” 

“What the fuck is it?” Catherine stared at awkwardly drawn curved lines. “How old are you? Five years old? Can't you draw at all?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I'm sorry I didn't take an academic drawing class, somehow I didn't think that fucking skill would come in handy in my thirties when I'm stuck at the bottom of the fucking pyramid. Actually, I thought you were going to send me a phone.” 

“Wa~. I..” Catherine was silent for a second. “You're pissing me off.” 

“That's great! You send me a fucking notebook, and I'm pissing you off.” Buggy leaned sideways against the cage and crossed his arms. 

“Lord knows, I'll come to you in spirit and ruin your life.” Catherine shook her head and looked at the drawing. “Wait. This looks like a senet.” 

“What the fuck is this? Is this another fucking god?” 

“No, it's a game. There's a legend that this game was thought to be an amulet of a guide to the world of the dead. But there's also a myth that it was the game of the god Thoth. He created this game to win the soul of the goddess Nut from the moon god Khonsu. I told you about that too, but I wouldn't be surprised if you forgot.” Catherine waved her hand at him. “Because it was in the first pyramid, and then we spent the night in a motel where you ruined me in every way possible.” She blushed. 

“Oh! I remember that night! Trust me, that hot sex session we had there superseded any memory of those dead gods." Buggy giggled idiotically. 

“Geez! Wipe that satisfied smile off your face, clown.” Catherine narrowed her eyes. “Do you have at least something stuck in your head?”

“If you wanna know the answer, ask me something next time you stand naked in front of me. Or you’ll lie naked under me. " He winked at her.

“You're disgus~ Wait!” She began to look around the floor, walls, and ceiling. “There's a sign of Osiris on the ceiling. And in the corners is Thoth, Nut. And there's Khonsu in the middle. Why didn't I notice them right away?”

“You were too busy nagging me.” Buggy said mockingly. 

“Fuck you, honestly. This isn't a punishment cell. We're apparently in some sort of burial chamber. Wait!" Catherine pulled a notebook and the map out of her bag and quickly flipped through the pages. “Oh, my God! It's written right here. Don't get me wrong, but I think you're going to have to play this game to win my soul from the moon god.” 

“Excuse me?” Buggy goggled at Catherine and his head separated from his body in surprise. “I have no idea how to play it!” He reattached his head back to his body. “Is there no other way? I don't know. Recite some Egyptian spell again. You're always muttering something under your breath and all that shit opens up.”

“What is the probability that a room with a game in it, and gods painted on the floor playing it, has nothing to do with this cell? I'm sorry, I don't have the magic dust to open the fucking door. All I have is you, clown!” Catherine answered angrily and pointed her index finger at Buggy. 

“But I don't know how to play this fucking game. I can't do it.” He raised his voice. 

“Buggy, you're panicking!” 

“Yeah, I'm panicking. Join me! I’m sorry, cotton candy, but I'm clearly not fit to be a savior.” He leaned his back against the gate.

“Hey!” Catherine softened her voice, came closer to the grate, took his hand and looked at him. “What are you saying? You’ve already saved me so many times. Why don’t you believe in yourself? You’re smart, although you don’t use your brains sometimes. Come on, free me from the clutches of the moon god. Only the love of my life can do this. Otherwise, I will come to you in the form of a ghost and will torture you until your last breath.” She reached her other hand through the bars and stroked his hair. “I believe in you, my blue-haired hero.” 

Buggy exhaled heavily. “Alright. Let's do it. There's no choice anyway. Tell me how to play it.”

“Look. The game consists of 30 squares, referred to as houses.” Catherine began to show him the drawing.

“Houses?”

“Don't interrupt me! But yes! These squares are arranged in three rows, with ten houses in each row. Each gamer has 5 pieces or figures, call them as you want. Only one piece can be placed in each house at a time. Also, you have 4 sticks. These are usually popsicle sticks with one side painted black and the other painted white. When it's your turn, you'll throw the sticks. And I will tell you how many steps to move the pieces. The goal of the game is to get all of your pieces off the board before the other player. At the beginning of the game, you must place your pieces on the first row. Player 1 will place his pieces on the first, third, fifth, seventh, and ninth houses. Player 2 should place his pieces on the second, fourth, sixth, eighth, and tenth houses.”

“Player 2?” Buggy asked. “Where can I find the second player? Are you suggesting that I should play with an imaginary friend? Or dig up a mummy?”

Catherine examined the walls again. “No. With me. You'll have to play with me. Of course! I'm sitting here, next to all these gods. If you win, they'll free me. If not, then I'll stay here.” She shrugged cheerfully and smiled.

“And you're so calm about it?” He blinked. “It was easier to escape from prison than to solve these fucking Egyptian riddles. Only this box is nailed there. How to play?” 

“So you’ll sit there and tell me everything. How will you come up with drawings like these...” She drew them on a piece of paper. “Let me know. Oh, and also the pieces have to move straight along the line, and when you get to the end of the line, you stand on the next line and move to the other side of the board. Like that. In the shape of a Z letter.” She drew a diagram of the movement. “Just bring me my sticks. I'll throw them and tell you how many steps to move my pieces.” 

Buggy sent one of his hands for the sticks, while the other held Catherine's hand. She felt a shiver in his hand and began stroking her finger across his palm. The hand quickly went back and brought the sticks, and he gave it to Catherine.

“Well, I'm off to rescue you from that Egyptian shit.” He kissed her hand and disappeared into the darkness. 

Catherine heard a noise and a muttering and chuckled softly. “He can't help but grunt.” She whispered under her breath. “You okay in there? Ready?” 

Buggy sat down on the floor with a lurch. “Wait a little while. I'm arranging the pieces according to your drawing. Done. Ready now.” He picked up the sticks in his hands, shook them a little, and threw them on the floor. “Throwing. Two white and two black.”

“Shit. Then move two steps forward! But you lose your next move! Then I throw twice.” Catherine began to write down all the moves in a notebook.

“It’s a good start. Fuck!!” He muttered. “Shit. One. Two. Done!” They both fell silent. “You're alive, cotton candy? Have the mummies of the Egyptian gods come for you yet?”

“Go to hell and don't scare me! I'm fine! Throwing sticks! Three black and one white. And then an extra move. My piece must now stand in place of yours. Get yours off the board, you've lost one of your army.” 

“Fuck! I told you, I’m a bad player!” 

“It's okay. I'm throwing it. Three black, one white. One step forward. And I have an extra turn again. Damn! Throwing! Yes! Two white and two black. I lose my turn.” Catherine made another note.

“Got it! One. Two. Done! Throwing! Three white and one black sides.” Buggy carefully rearranged the figures.

“Shit! Three steps forward and you lose your move!”

“What the fuck? Fucking Egyptian games!!” Buggy muttered. 

“Everything is fine! Calm down, please. Throwing! Two black, two white. I lose my turn, but you lose your piece again. Now there are only three left.” 

“How am I supposed to win? Only three pieces left!” Catherine could hear the irritation in his voice.

“It's okay. Throw it!”

“Damn! Four black and one white.” Buggy exhaled heavily. 

“Yes! Move five steps forward and throw again.”

“Oh, I like that! One, two… five. Throwing again! Two white and two black.” 

“Two steps forward and you miss a move. I throw. Four white. Move my chip four steps forward and I throw again. Three steps forward. I lose a move, but you lose a piece.” Catherine continued to cross out boxes on her notepad.

“Can you stop doing that? Fuck! How do I get to the end with two pieces?” He growled through his teeth.

“I didn't make the rules, Buggy!”

“Fuck! I'm throwing! Two black and two white.” He mumbled loudly. 

“Move to two. And you lose a move!” She heard him growl back. “It's all right! I'm throwing it! Okay, I have four whites and I throw again.” 

“One. Two. Four. Done!” Buggy mumbled. 

“Cool! Now it's my turn again. Three whites and I lose the move.”

“Got it! One, two. Three. How are we doing?” Buggy asked loudly.

“The moon god or Osiris are winning so far.” Catherine replied with a nervous laugh in her voice.

“Fucking Osiris! Four black.”

“Haha, you can be proud of yourself, clown. You knocked out one of my pieces. Move five squares forward. And throw again.” Catherine giggled.

“Got it. One. Two… Five. Throwing. Four white. One, two, three, four. Hey, Cathie-pie! I've reached the first drawing. It's like three bottles of rum.” Buggy answered happily, and Catherine heard him clap his hands.

“God, show some respect. That's not rum. It's Nefer hieroglyphics. It's a house of beauty. Drop your sticks. If four blacks come up, you’re gonna lose me to an Egyptian god.” There was silence in response. “Buggy? Are you throwing?”

He suddenly came back and sat with his back to the cage. 

“What happened?” Catherine asked and put her hand on his shoulder. 

“Don't say that again. It's not a funny joke, Catherine.” 

“What?” 

“You're going to lose me to an Egyptian god. Don't say this shit. It's not funny. You… You're my Cathie-pie. I can't lose you. I can't. I don't want to be alone again.” Buggy rested his head against the bars.

She stroked his head. “Sorry, my love. When I'm nervous, I make stupid jokes. Everything will be fine. See?” She showed him the piece of paper. “You're almost there!”

“You just said that if I throw four blacks, I'll lose.” Buggy glanced at Catherine with sad eyes. 

She smiled in response. “Not gonna lie. This option is possible.”

“I always lose. If you were with him, he would never let you get stuck in this kind of shit.” Buggy said quietly.

“Fuck him! You know, for some reason I’m sure that my blue-haired knight in shining clown armor will not lose his beloved girl to some god.”

“Where did you see the armor? I'm wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.” He sneered, took her hand and squeezed. 

“Still counts as armor.” Catherine stroked his head and asked softly. “Will my Buggy Bear save me?”. 

Buggy breathed out. “He'll try. Otherwise, he will be bored because there is no one to piss him off with this stupid nickname.”

“My hero! Look. Throw one and move here.” She showed him the drawing with three curved lines. “This is the House of Water. If a 5 is rolled, the piece remains in place. If a 4 is rolled, your piece leaves the board and you are the winner. In a different outcome, the piece goes here to the House of Revival. And then you have to start the game practically all over again. We don't want it. Don't cheat, please. And then I throw the sticks again after you.”

“Fine!” Buggy sighed heavily, stood up and walked into the darkness. “I’m throwing these fucking sticks.” 

Catherine clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut when she heard the sound of sticks being thrown. “Well, what's there?”

“Let your Egyptian gods go fuck themselves. It’s one!” Buggy snapped his fingers.

“I told you! You're great! I'm throwing. Four blacks. Move my piece to the House of Water!”

“Okay, but just keep in mind that you're not making it any easier for me to save you, Cathie-pie. A little more, and your chip will overtake mine.”

“Now you throw! Remember? If a 5 comes up, the chip stays in place, if a 4 com~.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buggy muttered. “I got it. I'm throwing.”

“Don't be mad.” Catherine closed her eyes again. “What's there?”

“Five. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. At least something else didn’t fall out, and that’s good. Now I’m throwing.” She shook the sticks in her hand. “You and I are the perfect couple, clown. I have five too.” She laughed. “It’s your turn now.”

“Understood.”

Catherine buried her face in her hands. “Well, what's there?”

“Your Egyptian gods love to mock me as much as you do. Five again!” Buggy laughed nervously. 

“It's okay. My turn now.” She put the sticks in her palms, whispered a little and threw them on the floor. “Fuck yes! Also, five. Your turn. Throw it again.”

“Understood.”

Catherine heard the sound of falling sticks. “What's there?” The answer was silence. “Buggy? What happened?” She tried to look through the bars. “Hey? Are you still there?”

Suddenly, a flying head appeared near the bars. “Four!”

“Where is your body?” She pointed into space.

At this moment he connected the head with the body. “Fuck, Catherine! Did you even hear what I said? Four! I won!”

“What? Seriously?!” She pulled the bars. “But.. Why doesn't it open?”

Buggy grabbed the bars and pulled them a couple of times. “What the fuck?”

“You didn't cheat?” Catherine narrowed her eyes.

“Do I look like a person who cheats?”

“Are you seriously asking me this now?” Catherine pursed her mouth and raised her hands questioningly. “Then I don’t understand.” She sat down on the floor and rested her feet against the adjacent wall. “Maybe the game didn’t work. But why? Although maybe sometimes drawings are just drawings. Go away, Buggy. Try to find a way out and go home. If you don't find a way out, come back here, we’ll die together like in a stupid snotty novel.” She laughed nervously.

“Fucking Egyptian gods!” Buggy rested his forehead against the bars. “What the hell? Cathie-pie.. I.. Wait! What is this?”

“What? Where?” 

“There are some small inscriptions on the bars.”

Catherine jumped up from the floor. “Where?” He pointed his finger at the words. Catherine squinted and began to read the inscription. “Your rebirth is in Thoth’s nest. Come to save me, o, silent Thoth.”

They both heard a click.

“Come here quickly!” Buggy opened the door and pulled Catherine out of the cell by the scruff of the neck. “Or else, something fails somewhere again, closes, or worse.”

Catherine looked at him with wet eyes. “You won! You saved me! Again!” She threw herself on his neck and pecked him on the lips several times.

“Of course.” Smack from Catherine. “I.” Smack again. “Saved.” Smack. “You.” Smack. “Nobody dares take my cotton candy away from me.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Write it down in your notebook. Buggy the Clown - 1.” He extended his other hand and showed his middle finger to the room with drawings. “Your Egyptian dead dudes - 0.”

[imustbenuts]

As a Gustav lover I recognize he's a bad father for Alfonse, no matter what one may create for Gustav story and AU all we have is what FEH wanted to show us and what we saw is that he's not a good father

While I understand wanting to put something of Gustav in Alfonse brave alt it didn't had to be all of it, even on a historical level heirs would get the most important parts of their father outfit that were recognized as iconic for the crown and king (expect it was a full armor but Gustav never had that) I would've preferred of they gave Alfonse Gustav fur coat and chest plate which I think we're the ones passed down to generation

They could've done a lot and take inspiration from different characters and mash them together not just his father, I mean it didn't hurted if his lower half resembled Bruno clothes or even his mask somewhere. Alfonse has many characters linked to him and it's a shame FEH doesn't do anything with it

Also I kinda wished they would've given us an adult Alfonse or one from the future? Technically base Alfonse isn't an hero and hasn't done anything yet to deserve that title. It would've been nice if they gave us an Alfonse that got crowned as king after all the wars and all because THEN he would be recognized as a hero

Also give him back his sword he didn't trained all his life in swordsmanship just to throw it away for his father axe that only he could use because Gustav is a bear of a man

Sorry for the long rant lol

*waves* hello!

big mood. im nodding and agreeing with what you've said, but again probably bc they havent planned that far or want to withhold info so the game's lifespan gets stretched brave alfonse is just what we got.

im more of a gustav is an interesting character kinda way but i think they fumbled the bag on this one. i did go out of my way to write a fic kinda focused on gustav and all so id like to believe i know maybe 5% of what im talking about

i just think. yeah. mmmmmmmmmmmm. maybe go a bit miles morales and spray paint the outfit at least, i dunno.

on the brightside, as @eriisaam mentioned we will never be getting a legendary alt of alfonse wearing his dad's outfit in this way. ever. so.... maybe thats a good thing

at least the axe is big as fuck tho.

[rebelcracker-s]

okay no because i am so fucking TIRED of male content creators using female friendship/"sisterhood" to discredit popular f/f ships??????

obviously this is about wenclair, OF COURSE THIS IS ABOUT WENCLAIR.

in case you weren't aware, wednesday co-creators miles millar and al gough just had an interview where they adressed the potential of wenclair being canon in season 2. millar started talking about the show's central "idea of sisterhood", of "exploring the friendship" in future seasons and not letting their vision get "misdirected by fans."

what the fuck. i know the title of the article linked says they're open to this relationship becoming romantic, but it really doesn't sound like that to me.

it's glaringly obvious that wenclair is FAR more popular than wenxavier and wentyler combined. a general majority of fans agree that the wednesday love triangle was lackluster and unnecessary. if the creators haven't decided on making wenclair canon, they're missing out on a massive opportunity to skyrocket the popularity of the show.

for an example of the popularity that wednesday could reach, let me remind you that the owl house, known for its canon f/f romance, reached second on tumblr's top 22 of 2022, after stranger things. lumity ranked number 7 on the ships list, being the second highest sapphic pairing on that list (the first being a stranger things pairing, of course).

if wednesday's creators committed to wenclair, they could be seeing popularity of that height. but no, they've decided that they want to "explore the friendship" instead.

how could these creators decide that representing "female sisterhood" is more important than sapphic representation, or more importantly, the show's popularity?

female friendships are NOWHERE near that rare that wednesday and enid's platonic relationship needs to be prioritized. if wednesday's creators wanted to show a sibling-esque relationship while also making wednesday and enid's relationship romantic, they could focus on wednesday's relationship with her brother pugsley or with eugene. hell, if they needed a female friendship, they could develop her relationship with bianca or create a new female character for wednesday to bond with.

this is not about female friendships at all. this is blatant homophobia.

there is ample room for female friendships in any piece of media. refusing to include a sapphic relationship because it interferes with the "friendship" or "sisterhood" of two characters (cough, cough, SOMAN CHAINANI) is just a horrible excuse to hide the fact that you're too lazy and homophobic to include sapphic representation.

which begs the question ... why are men in charge of these descisions at all?

men, ESPECIALLY straight men, have no right to be deciding the fates of female characters' sexualities and romance plotlines. they have absolutely no experience with what it means to be a queer woman in modern society. especially with the blatant bias against sapphic representation in media. while heartstopper, they both die at the end, and song of achilles are enjoying immense popularity due to their representation of m/m relationships, shows like the owl house and first kill are being axed just for their f/f representation.

there isn't just a demand for proper sapphic representation. there is a NEED. and it shouldn't be denied just because a man wants to focus on female friendships, something he doesn't know shit about.

[devinescribe]

What They Smell Like

I know that's a fucking weird title but it will make sense in a minute

Niragi

- Expensive colonge

- Dior most likely (the only luxury brand of colonge I like on men, but also just seems like something he'd buy)

- If its not that, he just buys good colonge that smells woodsy? Like it is very...

- Spicy?

- Cinamon, clove. There's something about him that tells me he just smells like burning cinnamon (actually smells so fucking good)

- You could probably smell it from a few feet away. It doesn't reek or smell gross like axe body spray

- It is just a very particular scent and it is very strong.

- Not only does he give you his shirts, just hugs you until his colonge has rubbed off on you so you smell like him for the rest of the day

- Then no one approaches you because... scary dog privileges.

Chishiya

- Clean

- Either like laundry detergent or like peppermint?

- If he buys perfume it is most likely like...

- Something that has a rain smell to it?

- It is most likely very subtle, you can only smell it if you're close to him or actively hugging him and smelling his neck

- Does not understand why you are constantly taking the hoodies he has worn

- Bitch because you smell good

Banda

- Smells good

- Probably like something you can't quite place.

- Like firewood and pine

- It is very particular. There is most likely a musky scent to it.

- But it is very addictive

- His body chemistry makes it work very well, it just accentuates the scent.

- There's also a slight flowery scent? Roses maybe.

- Definitely gives you his shirts with his perfume/colonge on it.

Matsushita

- He is another one that smells clean. I think he's a neat freak.

- But not like laundry detergent

- Smells like rain and pine

- Knows he smells good and uses that to his advantage

- You know when he's close to you just because of that damn scent

- He kinda maybe sorta hypnotized you to think about him whenever you smell rain or pine.

- But you are not complaining.

- Gives you his cardigans and sweaters just so you smell like him/smell him on something

- Possessive boyfriend tingz

Arisu

- Smells like axe body spray

- Not in a bad way

- Most days anyway

- He doesn't spray half a bottle

- Just a little bit

- Make it seem like he has his shit together

- Does not

- Has accidentally stolen your perfume and used it

- Smelled like flowers for the rest of the day and did not give a single fuck.

- Does give you his CLEAN shirts and hoodies. Which smell like laundry detergent, not him. But it is the thought that counts

Karube

- Smells like cigarettes and cinnamon

- Hey, sometimes he'll smell like cigarettes and your perfume

- Literally depends on the day

- and if he made out with you before work

- But most days it is a very spicy scent (cinnamon, ginger, cloves) with cigarette undertones.

- Like he doesn't reek of cigarettes, he hates smelling his cigarettes on his clothes I think.

- Tries to keep them clean. So a very spicy boy

- You want his stuff because you think he smells good?

- Will give you anything you ask for.

Chota

- Laundry detergent and incense

- Specifically the snuggle vanilla laundry detergent

- He has a fear of smelling bad.

- So he doesn't wear perfumes/colognes for fear of it not mixing with his body chemistry well

- The incense is most likely from his mom hugging him after being in the church for hours

- He hates the smell actually

- Thats why he washes his clothes almost immediately after seeing her.

- But thats just my headcanon

- Not only does he give you his clothes, makes sure it is freshly washed and has just come out of the drier for you.

Kuina

- Smells like vanilla and cigarettes

- Delicious

- I don't know if you guys have ever smelled that combo together ever, but it smells so good, and I hate smokers

- Theres even perfumes that smell like this irl

- However, some of her clothes just have that cigarette smell on them, and she uses vanilla perfume, so it just mixes

- And creates the most delicious scent in the world

- (reminds me of being back home in PR where my neighbor would smoke on the balcony as I baked cookies and cakes)

- Buys clothes in your size just for you and sprays her perfume on them

- Or just hugs you till her perfume rubs off on you

Usagi

- Actually smells very... flower? Is that flowers?

- Lavender and rosemary.

- It's a strange combination, but it works so well.

- Shes always in the woods, and nature, so sometimes she'll smell like dirt in the best way possible

- Like... you know what dirt smells like after rain? Yeah... yeah it actually smells nice lol

- Very flowery girl most of the time though

- You want her stuff? Sure

- She takes you with her hiking and climbing and just like... gives you her stuff?

- Very confused on why you want it, but what her dear girlfriend wants, her darling girlfriend gets God damnit.

Ann

- Clean and sharp scents

- Peppermint baddie

- It is something sharp and hits you like a truck

- She just smells clean and minty and there's always a slight candy scent?

- Smells like what peppermint white chocolate bars taste like

- Knows you want her stuff

- Just... gives it to you

- Probably even got a bottle of her perfume and gave it to you

- Its the little things

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 10

Illustration (and the art in the chapter!) by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Raphael is not very happy about the new and improved House of Hope. Karlach is not terribly excited about Raphael's continued existence either. Durge is still projecting like a cinema. This is fine. ***

“What the fuck do you mean, Raphael is here??”

“In the foyer--”

“If he so much looks at Hope, I’ll--”

“They’re keeping him there, don’t worry! Halsin got him entangled in vines the second he began yelling about the decor--”

“Why is the fucker alive and why is he with you? What’s going on? Oh gods, you didn’t pledge your soul to a devil again, did you?” Karlach groaned and grasped Wyll by the shoulders, so frantic she didn’t even seem to realize she’d pulled him off his feet to look him in the eye. “Tell me you didn’t give him your soul!”

“No, no! I couldn’t even if I wanted to, Mizora still holds it--”

“Good! Shit, no, still not good, but-- why is he here?”

“We sort of…” Wyll bit his tongue before he could say ‘made a deal’. It wasn’t too far off, but it was bound to make Karlach frantic. “We sort of came to an understanding--”

“An understanding!”

“I realize it sounds bad, but--”

“It sounds bad because it is bad! All the understanding you got to have about devils is that they’re bad news!”

“I am aware. More than most, really. But--”

“But it’s not all of him there, is it?” Hope spoke suddenly, causing Wyll to trail off and Karlach to look over, still holding Wyll a good couple of inches above the floor. Hope had seemed startled when Wyll had mentioned Raphael’s presence but not, he realized now, scared at all. “There is no devil in the House now. I’d feel it.”

Karlach blinked. “... All right, I’ll bite. What does that mean? Is he here, or is he not?”

Hope looked up, and joined her hands. “He is,” she said, and separated her hands, holding them apart. “And he is not. Not all of him. There is no devil here.”

“... Right,” Karlach said, in the tone of someone who had no clue what in the literal Hells was going on. She turned back to give Wyll a long, very clear look. 

Please tell me you know what’s going on.

“Raphael has ran afoul of Mephistopheles--”

“Yeah, Durge saw it in the ball, I remember. I thought daddy dearest had eaten him?”

“Well, he-- tried. But to make a long story short, his soul was split in two halves. One remained in Cania, and the other found its way to the Material Plane. As things stand now, he’s human. Well, the half of him we’ve got is, at least.”

“... So if I split his skull, he’ll stay down?”

“It would be best if you didn’t split his skull, though."

"Not hearing a no."

"No, Karlach. He knows where we can find something that can kill Zariel.”

“He claims he knows where we can find something--”

“If he’s lying, I’ll make sure to look the other way,” Wyll cut her off, and smiled. “In case your axe slips.”

Karlach seemed to consider it for a moment, then she smiled. No, she grinned. “That sounds good, really. Oh I can’t wait for the moment my axe slips. What does he even want in exchange? He’s got to want something if he’s to help us kill Zariel.”

“... The other half of his soul.”

This time, Karlach laughed - long and loud, putting Wyll down so that she could wrap her hands around her stomach and then laugh some more. “HAH! Good one! Fucker must be desperate if he thinks we’re gonna face off Mephistopheles to get half of his rotten soul back.” One last laugh, and she wiped a tear of mirth from her eye. “Ah, I can’t wait to see his face when he tries to hold us to it and we tell him to fuck off.”

The others may be of a different mind about that - specifically, Durge may be of a different mind - but there was no reason to bring it up now. They’d cross that bridge when they got to it, Wyll decided. “First thing, we need to focus on taking Zariel down.”

“Ah, yes. I’ll enjoy that too.” Karlach grinned, reaching back to stroke the handle of her greataxe. “I’ve been so bored here, you have no idea. No offense, Hope! It’s really nice here now that you run the place. And I’m grateful you let me stay. It’s just-- well-- uneventful,” she added. Hope made a vague gesture with her hand. 

“None taken. I like uneventful, as it turns out. I hope things stay uneventful here for a very very very veeeery long time. But I have a favor to ask you. Two, really.”

“Anything!”

“Please don’t split Raphael’s skull with an axe.”

Karlach blinked, the smile fading like she’d been told that her birthday was canceled. “But--”

“I still don’t know where my sister’s soul is and, technically, he owns it. So the information I need to get her back is in that skull and I don’t think it will drop out as a helpful little note if you split it. I mean, it would be really nice if it did, but I don’t think it would happen. It would be really really great if you could leave it in one piece at least until you can get some answers about Korrilla’s soul. And where it may be. And how to get it back. You know?”

“I…” Karlach worked her jaw a moment, and finally sighed. “Fine, no splitting his skull until I get him to fess up about that. Only because it’s you asking, Hope.”

A bright smile. “Thank you! Oh, and the other favor-- you know that box? The sad one?”

Wyll had no idea what box she was talking about, but Karlach clearly did. She nodded. “Yes, the one you wouldn’t touch? With the lyre and the pendant and all that?”

“Yes, that. Would you give it to Raphael?”

“Why? I get it that you’re nice, Hope, but everything here is yours now.”

“Not that. It’s his sadness. I don’t want to bear it for him, so he should have it back.” A shrug. “Maybe he can make something of it. Maybe it will just make him sad. He kind of deserves that anyway.”

“... I have no idea what all the rest means, but you’ll hear no objections from me on that point,” Karlach said. “Wait just a second, Wyll. I’ll pick the box up, say bye to the souls while I’m at it, and be right back.”

“Sure.” Wyll fell quiet a moment, watching her leave - what a relief to find her safe and well, even if bored half out of her mind! - then turned to Hope. “Thank you again, for keeping her safe. And-- sorry we took Raphael under this roof again. We know you’ve had enough of him for the next several lifetimes.”

A shrug, a wave of her hand. “I’ve had enough of him for the rest of eternity and a bit beyond that, but if I don’t have to see him, it’s fine.” A pause, then, “I’m sorry I can’t come to help, though. I thought I should, but the souls here kinda need me, and with Raphael involved--”

“You have done more than enough, Hope. We’d ask nothing more of you.”

“Will you tell the others I said hi? And that I’m sorry I’m not coming over to say hi myself. You know. Half of Raphael is still too much Raphael for me.” A pause. “Will you do it? Get that other half of him back?”

Ah. Wyll cleared his throat. “Well… I suppose it would be best if we didn’t, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes. Possibly. Maybe. Likely, really. He’d be dangerous again.” A pause, a frown. “... But if it helps get my sister back, you know, I wouldn’t oppose it. I trust your judgment. I just want her back.”

She rejected you at every turn, Wyll almost said, but what right did he have to say as much? He'd sold his soul twice over for the father who cast him out, and would do it a third time if he had to. In the end, he just nodded. “I understand,” he said. He did, he really did. 

He never had a sister, but if he ever did, he knew he’d stop at nothing to have her back, too. *** “... You know, I could use that organ now. To compose music. As it would be my task as the High Cantor and all that.”

“Five more minutes and I’ll give it back.”

“Ah-ha. Say it in Infernal, little duke. It’s about time you practiced that, too.”

“Ugh.” Raphael wrinkled his nose, pulling his hands away from the keys, and spoke again, more slowly. The words did not come as naturally, didn’t slide off his tongue quite as easily, but they did come. And in time, Antilia had told him, they would come effortlessly. “I’d like to practice a little longer, if you please, Lady Antilia.”

That brief, oddly musical laugh again. “Since you asked so politely, I shall allow it while Ionger while I look over my other compositions. Ten minutes, not one more.”

“Thank you, Lady Antilia.”

“Less talking and more playing. If you’re to bar me from using my own organ, you may as well make it worth it,” she said. In the end, however, she let him practice for more than ten minutes. Lady Antilia always allowed for more time, as long as he answered her questions correctly and in Infernal, even if a lot of them were not worded like questions. “Phlegethos,” was all she said now, not lifting her eyes from the music sheets.

“The fourth layer of the Nine Hells of Baator,” Raphael replied, without missing a beat. His fingers did not lose track of the music, either, and he kept playing even as he spoke. “Ruled jointly by Lord Belial and Lady Fierna.”

“Belial’s task?”

“Lord Belial supervises the Diabolical Court on behalf of Asmodeus. Any and all devils can be promoted and demoted there, or sent to the Pit of Flames for more serious crimes.”

“And what makes the Pit of Flames so terrible? Are we not immune to fire?”

That was such an easy question, Raphael may have almost found it insulting if not for the fact it gave him more time at the organ. He grinned, fingers still flying over the keys. The music was somewhat muted now, through some mechanism or maybe magic, to allow them to hear each other over it. “To fire, yes. But that in the Pit is Hellfire, created by Lord Mephistopheles, unbearable even for the mightiest baatezu.”

A chuckle. “Correct. And who--”

“I used it, once.”

“... What?”

Raphael turned, still grinning. He didn’t have many impressive things to talk about, compared to the intricate histories of the Hells Lady Antilia could tell him all about, so it was nice to have at least something to share now. “Hellfire. This one time we were attacked by perytons while traveling through the Starspire Mountains, and--”

“You used Hellfire? Back in the Material Plane?” Lady Antilia’s voice was suddenly sharp, her expression tense. It made the smile fade from Raphael’s face, and he got a wrong note that rang out like a graceless clang before he pulled his hands away from the organ keys. He found himself stammering, a sudden knot somewhere in his stomach. Was something wrong? Had he done something wrong? Raphael stumbled over his reply, wishing he could take that statement back. “I mean-- I think? It burned white-hot, the peryton pretty much melted and died in moments. And one of the guides said it looked like hellfire to hi--”

Lady Antilia stood, and walked up to Raphael’s seat. She crouched, grasping his shoulders  hard, and looked at him in the eye. Something about the intensity of her gaze made Raphael want to shift back, but her grip was too firm. “Who trained you to use it?”

“No one. I’d never even seen--”

“You were attacked, and you summoned hellfire entirely out of instinct?”

“I-- I think it was hellfire, but only once. I couldn’t do it again. I only summoned normal fire when I tried. Am I--”

Am I in trouble, he wanted to ask, but never got to. The heavy door leading to the music room opened, and a voice rang out. It was a woman’s voice, almost as musical as Antilia, but lower, all soft notes.

“Ah, here you are. It seems I missed the latest arrival.  My apologies for failing to welcome you until now, little one. I have only now returned to Cania.”

Both Raphael and Antilia turned to the source of the voice. Raphael had thought Antilia beautiful, and she was, but the devil standing in the doorway, dressed in fine silks of black and deep reds, could eclipse even her the way the sun hides distant stars. She was small - shorter than him, it seemed to Raphael - with long thin horns curling in a corkscrew shape and sharp, striking features. Her skin was the color of cinnamon, her eyes red as her hair, which fell over her shoulders in loose curls.

Her smile was warm as she walked in; still, Antilia quickly pulled away and bowed. “Lady Baalphegor,” she greeted her, and Raphael’s mouth went dry. 

He knew that name: Duchess Baalphegor, his father’s Consort. It seemed some sort of curse, really, that he’d meet each of his parents’ consort while knowing his actual parent through tales only. He’d failed to make a good first impression once before, squalling next to his dying mother; he surely hoped he could make a better impression now. 

So he stood, quickly, and bowed deep, following Antilia’s example. “Lady Baalphegor--”

“Oh, no need for that. Let me look at you, little one.” A warm hand under his chin, lifting up his face. He met her gaze to see her smiling. If she was in any way put off by the fact her consort had sired children with mortals, it did not show. “A handsome young devil if I’ve ever seen one. You look quite a lot like your father.”

The words were spoken kindly, but they opened up a pit somewhere in Raphel’s chest, heart skipping a beat. In the back of his mind he saw Rahirek Starspire gazing at his human form, truly looking at him for the first time. You look like your mother, he’d said.

He knew from the portraits that his devil form looked like his father, or at least one of the faces he wore - but hearing it from his Consort was… different. “I do?” he found himself asking, half bashful and half hopeful. She blinked. 

“Surely, you noticed-- oh.” A pause, a long-suffering sigh. “Lady Antilia, please do not tell me Lord Mephistopheles has yet to meet his son. This boy has been here for weeks, I am told.”

Antilia nodded, her gaze still held respectfully low. “Lord Mephistopheles has been very busy in your absence, it seems,” she said. “Hardly anyone has seen him.”

“Those silly experiments of his again.” Another sigh, while Antilia stiffened in a way that very much suggested no one else in all of Cania, or in all of the Hells save perhaps Asmodeus, would ever refer to Mephistopheles’ work with arcane magic as silly experiments. Ignoring her clear discomfort, Duchess Baalphegor looked back at Raphael. A thumb brushed over his cheek. “What is your name, little one?”

“Lord Mephistopheles named me Raphael, Lady Baalphegor.”

A huff. “If he named you, he should be bothered to properly meet you. Do not worry, Raphael, I’ll ensure that he does soon.” A pause, another smile before she let go of his face. “Your Infernal is excellent, for someone who’s been here so short a time.”

Raphael’s face grew warm, and he was once again thankful blushing did not show on his skin. “Thank you, Duchess.”

A brief, soft laugh. “I’ll take no thanks for stating a fact. I see you’re escaping the lessons with your preceptor to learn music from the High Cantor herself.”

“I have been ensuring he knows what he ought to know about Cania and Baator,” Antilia said, tilting her head. “He’s a bright pupil in both aspects.”

A chuckle. “Of course he is. I doubt a single soul in or outside the Hells could blame you for coming here, Raphael. I’d pick Lady Antilia over the preceptor myself. He is a uniquely unpleasant being.” Another smile, and she took a step back. “Ah, but I’ve interrupted a lesson. Do carry on - I am in need of rest from my travels. Expect your father to see you soon, child.”

“I-- thank you, Lady Baalphegor.”

“No need to thank me. Welcome home,” she replied, and that was it. A smile, a nod at Antilia and she was gone, closing the doors behind her. Raphael looked up, still reeling a little, to see the High Cantor let out a long breath. Something in her rigid posture seemed to relax, but her lips were still pulled in a tight line as she glanced down to meet his gaze. 

“... Until you are certain of your affinity with Hellfire,” she said, “do not speak of it. Not Lord Mephistopheles, not her - no one. And don’t ever tell them you used it entirely by accident.”

“I thought it was something all devils can--”

“You thought wrong,” she cut him off, her voice suddenly sharp. “Archedevils and very few others may hope to wield it. Go boasting about it, and you’ll be seen as too much a threat.”

Raphael frowned. “I wasn’t boasting, and-- I'm not planning to be a threat at all," he protested.

Antilia laughed. Only this time it didn’t sound like music anymore. "But you are, little duke," she said, tilting up his chin, a smile now playing on her lips. "Listen and listen well. You have mortal blood in you, as do I. But we are devils as much as anybody else here, and dangerous by virtue of our existence. As long as you live and breathe, you will be a threat to somebody. We all are. And we all must be. If you cease being a danger to anyone, little duke - if you make yourself harmless and toothless - that is the day you die. But if you show all your teeth, someone will take the chance and strike first. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Raphael thought back of the old story he had read when he was little, the scorpion tearing off its stinger to try and live like a beetle, and of what Lord Starspire had told him over the crackling fire in the hearth, looking at him across a lanceboard set-- You were too quick to get on the defense. Retreat begets regret. Remember that. -- and suddenly he knew what his existence would be, what it had to be, in the Nine Hells of Baator. An endless game with the highest stakes, with every other devil - be it pit fiends or gelugons, his own sire or his own siblings, everyone - a potential opponent. Every possible move, his own or others', would have to be calculated, predicted, accounted for in advance. All of Cania was a lanceboard with infinite pieces, each of them wearing a smile and hiding a dagger under their robes.

“Raphael. Do you understand ?"

He swallowed, and nodded. "I have to be a threat. But not so much a threat that my destruction becomes someone's priority."

Antilia stared a moment, and chuckled. "You learn fast. You may live well, after all, as long as you trust no one.”

“Not even you?” Raphael hadn't meant to sound like he wanted to, but the pleading note made it in his voice all the same. There he was, in his father's court, surrounded by others of his kind, learning music from the High Cantor, welcomed by Lord Mephistopheles’ own consort… and yet he had never felt so alone before. “I thought-- I hoped--”

For a moment, her smile dampened. "You ought to forget all about that hope, for your own good,” she murmured. “And you will.”

“I don’t want--”

“What you want is very human of you, little duke. But do not worry. In time you'll grow out of it, or you won't grow much older. Until then, don't let it show again - to anyone. Not even me," she added, and let go of his face. "You’d do well to mistrust me, and most of all mistrust anyone who tells you that you may trust them." She did not name Baalphegor, but she may as well have. “... Now go. I’ll be needing the organ,” she added with a sharp nod to the door.

And that, love, was that. *** “Release me at once!”

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s for your own good. Hope would absolutely destroy you as you are now. And we wouldn’t try too hard to stop her, either.”

Still struggling against the vines Halsin had cast the moment he’d started screaming and trying to storm in, damn near foaming at the mouth, Raphael didn’t seem to even register Astarion’s words. “What has she done to my--”

“ Her house now. I mean, really, if you wanted to claim ownership, you shouldn’t have named it House of Hope. I will concede, however, that the new decor is positively ghastly,” Astarion said, looking around. The flower beds and birds had to be some sort of illusion, surely, but the scattered art supplies and half-finished paintings looked very much real. 

None of them looked good - someone was trying to build some kind of statue out of broken pottery it seemed - but Astarion supposed everyone had a right to do whatever they wanted with relative, newfound freedom. Even when it meant questionable attempts at art therapy. 

The thought of turning Cazador’s castle into some sort of resort for his victims had never so much crossed his mind, but to be fair he could leave that place, while the souls there… well, the only thing outside the House of Hope was Avernus, so it made sense to stay there with the new management and make the best of it.

Unless you were Raphael, who both wanted to storm in and very much looked like he’d gladly take on Zariel and Mephistopheles at once with his bare hands rather than having to keep looking at Hope’s redecorations. All things considered, they were probably doing him a favor by not letting him see anything past the foyer. Astarion had once joked he’d probably have a stroke if he saw the changes Hope made to the place, but now it didn’t seem that far-fetched anymore.

Unaware of Astarion’s thoughts, Raphael made another useless attempt to break free from the vines and snarled. “I’m going to kill her. I’ll skin her alive and--”

“No, you won’t,” Durge replied, almost conversationally, just as Halsin lifted a hand. Yet another vine emerged from the ground, wrapping itself around Raphael’s neck, tight enough to make him trail off, the growl turning into a startled intake of breath.

“I suggest you pick your battles,” Halsin said, voice grave. He didn’t threaten often but when he meant business, he did mean business. “And I highly suggest you do not pick this one.”

Raphael’s mouth snapped shut, but only for a moment. He glowered at Halsin before turning to Durge. “This is my House of--”

“Not anymore it’s not, fucker.”

“Karlach!”

Raphael and his whining were forgotten very quickly when Karlach burst in and began pulling each of them into a near spine-breaking hug. It had been only weeks since they’d last seen each other, but it clearly had felt like a lot more to her. Honestly, Astarion thought, they were lucky she hadn’t grown bored enough to decide she’d rather brave Avernus on her own.

“Oh I’m so sorry for dragging you back to the Hells, but I’m so happy to see you guys.”

“You didn’t drag us anywhere, Karlach. We were happy to help.”

“I was so fucking bored, Durge, you have no idea.”

“I can imagine. Coming here took a while more than we thought it would--”

“Doesn’t matter though! You’re here and we’re ready to kick Zariel’s ass!”

Astarion cleared his throat. “Almost ready, I’d say. There just is a sword we’re supposed to pick up, but luckily,” he added, gesturing to Raphael, “we have a very convenient guide.”

Still tangled in Halsin’s vines, the very convenient guide glared at Karlach. “I’ve seen dogs greet long-lost masters with more dignity,” he snapped. “If you’re quite done with the moving reunion--”

“Ah, I almost forgot. Hey, Raphael! Catch!”

“Wha--”

A box Karlach had been keeping under her arm sailed through the air and hit Raphael’s forehead with remarkable aim. It got a rather undignified yelp out of him, which turned into a growl when the same vines that had kept him from catching anything kept him from touching his head. “Agh! What manner of joke is--” he snapped, only to trail off when his gaze fell on the box. He stared at it as though he couldn’t understand what he was even looking at. 

Karlach shrugged. “A little something that Hope wanted you to have. She said it’s yours. Consider it a goodbye gift, cause she’s never going to have to see your mug in this place. Now, ready to head out? Cause Zariel isn’t gonna off herself…”

They did leave, and it didn’t escape Astarion how, the vines removed, Raphael did pick up the box and stared at it for several moments, eyes blank, saying nothing. *** Dalah was almost out of the vault, her duty for the day done, when she felt those eyes on her again. No guards were in sight, but she was still wary to risk being spotted together, as they would soon enough realize one of their own was missing and go looking for him. So she turned, and gestured for Israfel to leave.

But he did not leave. He approached her in a curious gait, as though trying to make himself non-threatening if that was even possible, his flames burning low. He came to pause so close to her the heat almost singed her hair anyway, and made those chirring noises again. Dalah hesitated, suddenly reminded of what she’d been saying before they were interrupted.

You were tiny, then.

She remembered it as though it had only just happened, even after so many centuries. She remembered the pain and blood, the smell of the scorched mattress and her own seared flesh; the pain had been so unbearable she’d thought a fully grown devil would burst from her, scattering her entrails across the room like those of a gutted deer. 

Instead, it had been small. The worst of it had passed and she found herself sharing the mattress with the squirming, wailing thing she had brought forth entirely on her own after ordering the servants away with an excuse. He was covered in her blood, but it was barely noticeable on crimson skin. A male, she’d noted in the same detached fashion she’d noted the sharp nubs on his head that would grow into horns, the crinkled membrane of tiny wings, and the tail.

A devil. The price she’d paid so her husband may live, her death sentence. He had killed her for his first breath and yet he used that breath to wail and wail and wail like he was the one bleeding out, small limbs flailing, half tangled in the umbilical cord and his own tail. 

Part of her had expected his sire to appear in a cloud of sulfur and take his accursed offspring to the Hells with him, but no such thing happened. The sky outside began to darken, she kept bleeding, and the child kept screaming. What right did a devil have, she’d thought, to seek comfort the way a baby would? Yet she had wanted those cries to stop. 

She’d reached out, so weak she could barely pull the squalling creature up against her chest, in the crook of her arm. “Demanding, aren’t we?” she’d heard herself murmuring, her own voice barely audible.

She felt cold all over and yet she must have been warmer than the rest of the room, because the child grew a little quieter now, pressed against her. A tiny, bloodied hand had curled around her finger. Even this small, he had claws. 

Almost delirious with blood loss, not knowing that her husband was just now crossing the threshold of their home bearing gifts for her that he would soon place on her grave, Dalah had smiled. Her head rolled against her shoulder, dark hair spilling on the newborn’s brow. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was the first lullaby she’d ever learned. Half a rhyme, half a warning she’d failed to heed in the end. 

“Then down came the claw,” she’d whispered. “And that…”

“... And that, love, was that.”

Her words sounded even fainter now, amidst the icy walls of Mephistopheles’ vault, than they had on her deathbed that day. Still, Israfel heard, and made a high-pitched, metallic sound in response. Not the same shriek he’d let out when she’d uttered his name last, but a sound of distress nonetheless. Dalah swallowed. 

It was on me, all of it. I turned to a devil, offered him the souls of every servant in the  household for my husband’s life. I’d have bought half a city’s worth of slaves to sell him, if he asked. Even if Rahirek would have hated me for it, it wouldn’t have mattered as long as he lived. But all Mephistopheles wanted that day was my womb for his spawn and I saw it too late. He got his due and I got mine. Only one innocent party in all of it, and here he stands. 

“Do you know?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you know who I am now?”

For a few moments, there was no response. He just looked at her, that thing that was her son or at least part of him. Then he made a low clacking noise and lowered himself once more, and that clawed hand once again left long deliberate marks in the ice, like-- like--

Down came the claw. 

Dalah swallowed, feeling as though something was stuck in her throat. She could almost smell it again for a moment, so many mortal lifetimes later - the scorched mattress and seared flesh, and her own blood. 

“How?” she whispered. “How do you-- you were only just born, you cannot remember--”

There were steps, and her voice trailed off. One last look, and she turned away to hurry back before they had another incident on their hands they may not be able to cover up, steps as quick as her pounding heart.

It did not matter either way, she told herself. Any questions she may have asked would go unanswered: Israfel could not answer her, words beyond him. She’d had her chance to speak to him, all of him, when he’d first been brought to Mephistar and in all the years he'd lived at court. Several occasions, and she’d taken none. Each time she tried to look upon him, she’d turned away. 

Her doom, her folly, a price to pay - never her child. There had been no joy in his birth, much less in his conception; she could only remember the agony of it all, the icy touch of his sire on her skin.

This, too, I claim as mine.

Mephistopheles’ son, one of many. He’d claimed him as he’d claimed her womb and her soul, yet none of it had meant a thing for him. Something to claim and cast aside, like the many artifacts in his vaults, experiments started and interrupted and never looked at again.

But Rahirek had kept him, she was sure of it now. He raised him, looked after him, and even now this mutilated half of him still remembered the star-and-spire sigil of a long-extinct family. She did not recall her husband’s face as well as she wished she could, time and grief eroding her memories like water on stone, but she remembered he was kind. She remembered he had loved her. Of course he’d kept the boy, because he was hers. 

Mephistopheles had claimed so much - he’d been claiming and claiming and claiming for time immemorial - and she’d let him take what he would because there was no other choice she could make, then. She stood no chance to change things… until Lady Baalphegor gave her a ring, and told her to save her son.

Dalah did not know what Baalphegor’s plans for him were; she could only hope it would not end with his death. At the very least, she hoped - what an odd thing, hope, after all those centuries - she may meet the rest of him, perhaps see him whole one more time. Maybe they could talk, then, if only once. She could make it be enough.

This, at least, I claim as mine. *** “Here, this is yours. Lord Sunspear--”

“Starspire.”

“Whatever it may be. The mortal humbly requested this was delivered in your hands personally when we came to collect your possessions.”

Chamberlain Barbas was none too pleased to have been asked to run such an errand for a half-fiend spawn of Mephistopheles, and he had no qualms letting it show. Surrounded by piles of his old possessions plucked from the Material Realm - books, mostly, left carelessly in piles across the floor - Raphael bit back an insult and took the box. 

A wooden box, with the spear-and-star sigil on it. Unlike everything else that had been delivered to his room, he couldn’t recall seeing it before.

“I trust you won’t be needing anything else, little duke,” Barbas said, voice dripping with sarcasm at the title, and Raphael found he couldn’t muster the will to look back at him. He just shook his head, barely listening to the footsteps and the sound of a door closing, leaving him alone again amidst relics of a past life he could never go back to. 

Of all his things, he’d asked that box to be handed to him personally. Raphael swallowed, sat on the ground against the wall, and opened it.

Most things inside, he recognized. There was his mother’s lyre, the one he’d learned to play with, all black wood and ivory details; a book titled Rhymes from the Land of the Purple Dragon which too had belonged to her, and which he'd read cover to cover more than once. The black king from the lanceboard set back home, too, he recognized. There were two things in there he had never seen before: a pendant - a locket, decorated with the star-and-spire motif, and a letter. 

He reached in to pick up the locket, but then his gaze fell on the letter, penned in the familiar handwriting of Lord Starspire, and on the very first words on the upper left corner.

Dearest Israfel.

And it was all wrong, because there was no Israfel and there would never be again. His sire had named him Raphael and his will was unstoppable as the tide. He was to be Raphael, and Lady Antilia had made very clear who that would be. A fiend and a threat, mistrustful and untrustworthy and no one’s dearest ever again.

Raphael’s vision blurred, and he dropped the unopened locket back in the box as though it burned him. He slammed the box shut and pushed it away from him, to slide across the floor. He held his knees against his chest and closed his eyes, trying to make himself small.

If they suspect they have something on you, you must not turn that suspicion into certainty. That’s inviting them to strike. Do you understand?

If you make yourself harmless and toothless - that is the day you die.

He’d understood then and he understood now, but tears still spilled and he pressed his face against his knees to muffle all noise, so that no one would hear. *** Camping in Avernus wasn’t all that different from camping in the Material Plane. As long as one ignored the bare rocky ground, the rivers of boiling magma, the sulfur forcing itself in the lungs with each breath, the unnatural flaming yet sunless sky, the screams and hisses and shrieks and clangs that rang out at all times in the distance, from fights and skirmishes somewhere out of sight. 

… All right, so camping in Avernus was very different from camping in the Material Plane, but they had found a cave that looked as close to safe as it could get, and could finally take turns resting before heading off again. There was also something to be said for the magma taking away the need of starting a fire to cook, really. Durge finished the last of their meal, and looked away from their companions to the only person who was not, at the moment, sitting down to eat. Raphael had taken the first turn to watch out for dangers at the mouth of the cave unprompted, but of course he was not looking outside at all.

On the floor, the wooden box was open, and he  held an open locket in his hand.

There was laughter over something that Wyll had said, but Durge’s attention was already elsewhere. They gave Astarion’s hand a brief squeeze, which he returned, and they stood to walk up to the cave entrance; Raphael did not look up from the portrait in the locket, or acknowledge them in any way as they sat by him. Durge chose to allow a few more moments of silence before they spoke.

“... The same woman we saw in the orb.”

“How very perceptive,” was the dry reply. 

“The same debtor who helped you escape, you said.”

“Are you here to ensure your short term memory at least is still working?” Raphael replied, but his voice was too distant for his words to carry any bite. He was running his thumb over the miniature, his brow furrowed. Durge smiled weakly. 

“Had you never seen her before?”

“No.”

“I can see the resemblance.”

This time the corners of Raphael’s lips seemed to curl upwards, faintly, if just for a moment. “I was told as much, a very long time ago. In this form, clearly. The other one is all Mephistopheles, I suppose.”

“Well, I’d say it’s better than nothing. There is no part of me that did not come from Bhaal.”

“Had Mephistopheles had the power or chance to carve a son from his own flesh, I doubt I’m what he’d have chosen.”

Durge laughed. “He’s slowly melting his own kingdom from the inside out. I’d hesitate to consider him a paragon of wisdom. And besides, I didn’t work out too well as a Chosen of Bhaal either. Even his best laid plans did not account for an improvised lobotomy by a scorned sister.”

This time, the sound that left Raphael more closely resembled a chuckle, and he looked up from the portrait to glance at them. “I wouldn’t blame the lobotomy. If I were a betting man, I’d bet you always had a penchant to wreck any kind of plan.”

A fanged grin. “May very well be. We each have our talents,” Durge said, then, “Your mother was bold indeed, risking the ire of the Lord of the Eighth to save you.”

A scoff, and Raphael snapped the locked shut. “I am under no delusion it was her plan, or even what she wanted to do. She was following orders, that's all. Whose, I do not know.”

“I suppose you’ll have the chance to ask her once we get to Cania.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps she is already gone.” A shrug. “Debtors are of no consequence. Whoever used her as their chess piece may have sacrificed her immediately afterwards.”

“One can always hope for the best, no?”

“... Your other talent, it seems, is finding all the wrong words.”

“Yes, that’s usually why I let Astarion do the talking. Still pisses off a lot of people.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Raphael replied in a tone which suggested he could imagine it vividly. 

A brief pause followed. Durge glanced at the burning sky for a few moments, the House of Hope now merely a dot in the distance now, before they spoke. “... Halsin is keeping a bowl for you.”

“If the tiefling doesn’t put poison in it, I may consider the offer.”

“Not her style. She only needs-- well, can you blame her, given her history with your kind?”

A roll of his eyes, and he reached for something else in the box - a letter, it seemed. “She is perhaps three or four generations removed from being one of my kind,” Raphael pointed out. “Still, point taken. Now, you don’t need to stay and guard the entrance. I can do as much just fine.”

Durge may not always be the best at picking up social cues, but they could tell they were being dismissed. They nodded without a further word and went back to join the others inside the cave, leaving him to read the letter in peace.

*** [Back to Chapter 9]

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